Избранные рассказы английских и американских писателей

УДК 
372.8:821.111.0
ББК 
81.2 Англ-93
 
И32

ISBN 978-5-9925-1041-6

И32 Избранные рассказы английских и американских писателей : книга для чтения на 
английском языке [подготовка текста, комментарии и словарь С. Ф. Шмелькина]. — 
Санкт-Петербург : КАРО, 2015. — 192 с. — 
(Серия «Classical Literature»).

ISBN 978-5-9925-1041-6.

В предлагаемый вниманию читателей сборник вошли 
отрывки из произведений знаменитых английских и американских писателей Р. Л. Стивенсона, Г. Лонгфелло, М. Твена 
и других. Книга адресована в первую очередь юным читателям, начинающим изучать английский язык и знакомящимся с английской и американской литературой.

УДК 372.8:821.111.0
ББК 81.2 Англ-93

© КАРО, 2015

THE OLD SEA-DOG

From “ Treasure Island,” 
by R. L. Stevenson

Treasure Island, by Robert Louis Stevenson, is one 
of the most popular stories ever written. Th e tale is 
related by a boy — Jim Hawkins — and it is crammed 
with exciting adventures — a stolen map — cruel 
and blood-thirsty pirates — thrilling incidents on 
board the “Hispaniola” while in quest of hidden 
treasure — the discovery of untold wealth and the 
fi nal victory over the buccaneers.

I take up my pen and go back to the time when 
my father kept the “Admiral Benbow” Inn, and the 
brown old seaman with the sabre-cut fi rst took up 
his lodging under our roof.

I remember him as if it was yesterday, as he 
came plodding to the inn-door, his sea-chest 
following behind him in a hand-barrow; a tall, 
strong, heavy, nut-brown man; his tarry pigtail 
falling over the shoulders of his soiled blue coat; 
his hands ragged and scarred, with black, broken 
nails; and the sabre-cut across one cheek, a dirty 
livid white.
I remember him looking round the cove and 
whistling to himself as he did so, and then breaking 
out in that old sea-song that he sang so oft en 
aft erwards —

“Fift een men on the dead man’s chest —
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum,
Drink and the devil had done for the rest —
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum.”

He rapped at the door with a bit of stick, and 
when my father appeared, called roughly for a glass 
of rum. Th is, when it was brought to him, he drank 
slowly, and kept looking about him at the cliff s and 
up at the signboard.
“Th is is a handy cove,” says he at length, “and 
a pleasant grog-shop. Much company, mate?”
My father told him no — very little company, 
the more was the pity.

“Well, then,” said he, “this is the berth for me. Here 
you, matey,” he cried to the man who trundled the 
barrow, “bring up alongside and help up my chest. 
I’ll stay here a bit,” he continued. “I’m a plain man; 
rum and bacon and eggs is what I want, and that 
head up there, for to watch ships off . You may call me 
Captain. Oh! I see what you’re at — there!” and he 
threw down three or four gold pieces on the threshold. “You can tell me when I’ve worked through 
that,” says he, looking as fi erce as a commander.

And indeed, bad as his clothes were, and coarsely 
as he spoke, he had none of the appearance of a man 
who had sailed before the mast; but seemed like 
a mate or skipper. Th e man who came with the 
barrow told us the mail had set him down the 
morning before at the “Royal George,” that he had 
enquired what inns there were along the coast, and 
hearing ours well spoken of, I suppose, and described as lonely, had chosen it from the others as his 
place of residence. And that was all we could learn 
of our guest.
He was a very silent man by custom. All day he 
hung around the cove, or upon the cliff s, with 
a brass telescope; all evening he sat in a corner of 
the parlour next the fi re, and drank rum and water 
very strong. Mostly he would not speak when 
spoken to; only look up sudden and fi erce, and blow 
through his nose like a fog-horn; and we, and the 
people who came about the house, soon learned to 
let him be. Every day when he came back from his 
stroll, he would ask if any seafaring men had gone 
by along the road.
At fi rst we thought it was the want of company 
of his own kind that made him ask this question; 
but at last we began to see he was desirous to avoid 
them. When a seaman put up at the “Admiral 
Benbow,” he would look in at him through the 

curtained door before he entered the parlour; and 
he was always sure to be as silent as a mouse when 
any such was present. For me, at least, there was no 
secret about the matter, for I was, in a way, a sharer 
in his alarms.
He had taken me aside one day, and promised 
me a silver fourpenny on the fi rst of every month, if 
I would only keep my “weather-eye open for 
a seafaring man with one leg,” and let him know the 
moment he appeared. Oft en enough, when the fi rst 
of the month came round, and I applied to him for 
my wage, he would only blow through his nose 
at me, and stare me down; but before the week was 
out he was sure to think better of it, bring me my 
fourpenny piece, and repeat his orders to look out 
for “the seafaring man with one leg.”
How that personage haunted my dreams, I need 
scarcely tell you. On stormy nights, when the wind 
shook the four corners of the house, and the surf 
roared along the cove and up the cliff s, I would see 
him in a thousand forms. To see him leap and run 
and pursue me over hedge and ditch, was the worst 
of nightmares. And altogether, I paid pretty dear for 
my monthly fourpenny piece in the shape of these 
fancies.
But, though I was so terrifi ed by the idea of the 
seafaring man with one leg, I was far less afraid of 

the Captain himself, than anybody else who knew 
him. Th ere were nights when he took a deal more 
rum and water than his head could carry; and then 
he would sometimes sit and sing his wicked, old, 
wild sea-songs, minding nobody; but sometimes, 
he would force all the trembling company to listen 
to his stories, or bear a chorus to his singing.
Oft en I have heard the house shaking with “Yoho-ho, and a bottle of rum”; all the neighbours 
joining in for dear life, with the fear of death upon 
them, and each singing louder than the other, to 
avoid remark. People were frightened at the time, 
but on looking back they rather liked it; it was a fi ne 
excitement in a quiet country life; and there was 
even a party of the younger men who pretended to 
admire him; calling him a “true sea-dog” and a “real 
old salt,” and such like names, and saying there was 
the sort of man that made England terrible at sea.

* * *
sea-dog [ґsI:dDM] — опытный моряк, морской волк, 
пират
Treasure Island [ґtreZAґaIlAnd] — Остров Сокро вищ

QUESTIONS ON THE STORY

1. From what famous story is this lesson taken?
2. Who is the author of the story?
3. What was the name of the inn?
4. Who is the chief character of the story?
5. Describe in detail his appearance.
6. Where did he keep all his worldly posses sions?
7. What other inn is mentioned in the story?
8. Give as much as you can of the song.
9. Why did the Captain choose to stay at this particular inn?
10. What advance payment for lodging did he 
make?
11. How did he pass the time during the day?
12. What did he take with him?
13. What question did he always ask on return from 
his daily strolls?
14. What happened when a seafarer put up at the 
inn?
15. For whom was the boy told to keep a sharp lookout?
16. How much did the Captain promise to give the 
boy?
17. When was the reward to be paid to him?
18. What did the boy see in his nightmares?
19. What would the Captain sometimes force the 
company to do?
20. How did some of the younger folk describe him?

PAID IN HIS OWN COIN

From “ Hajji Baba of Ispahan,” 
by J. Morier

When Muhammad [or Mahomet] the Great 
Prophet died, the Arabs entrusted the spiritual power 
of their religion to the Caliphs. Th e following story 
illustrates the wisdom of the Caliph Haroun-alRaschid, who was known as the “Solomon of the 
Arabs.” So that you will understand the story better, 
here are the meanings of certain uncommon words 
which appear in the lesson: BEY — a governor, 
AGA — a commander or lord, CADI — a local judge, 
MUFTI — a law offi  cial, KORAN — the Muslim 
Scriptures upon which Arab Law is based.

In the reign of Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid, of 
happy memory, there lived in the city of Baghdad