The half moon hung like a silver slice of melon in a blackened ocean of sky. The hatch sprung open like a jack in the box of his youth and out from the depths he came.
“Master Christopher I believe.”?’ The fine fellow decreed.
The boy on the ships deck stood open mouthed as one catching flies. He replied by a slight nod of head but it seemed only to stun the speaker.
‘Cat had your tongue boy ?” He cried.
‘ No sir but in polite society dare I say best first to introduce ones self”
‘My my what a fiesty boy you are. Come come.Im Ranzifer Gosimaut of course .”He said in angered tone as one hurt at the boys ignorance to such a fellow as stood in charge.
“I am sorry but in all my toy box and books never heard of you. “relied the youth backing off as he said it.
The figure slid from the hatch and let it fall with a bang.
‘What in the name of Hadrian was that?” Screamed the latest arrival on deck. A small round little chap in a Tricorn hat and in hand a sword waving to all in introduction. .
‘ And who are you I demand? ‘Voiced the lad .
To this the sword waver bowed low ,as his hat fell of all could see that it was no more than the lost soul of the Captains cat himself. With some regard the cat looked up with moon sized eyes and smiled a cat like smile. My name is Beltain and im the one in your dream young Bob.”
At this the boy sprang up in his bed with a sinking feeling as the dream was so real. So vivid it haunted him for days . His mother was ill the maid had told him many tales to make him sleep and each one more vivid in his mind for ever welded.
He could make up a story in moments .Good easy beginning ,moving middle and excellent ending in six minutes of his tale you were hooked. His father wanted him in the family business which was light house designing and building but the boy now a youth was studying to take up law.
It was a rain cast day in Edinburgh At number 8 Howards Place in the gentlemans part of a velvet city and capital of Scotland . The boy had become a man but in not the best of health . He had passed the Bar exam to pass as a solicitor and this day he read the letter offering him work in England as a partner in a law practice. He was born 13th November 1850. He was to die on 3rd December 1894 on a far distant shore line.
He also had a short story published entitled The Squire De Malatrotts Door. A fine story in every way but alas too upmarket for the vast market of public need that existed then. He could tell a tale but decided he could not write one it seemed to him. Law hardly suited him but he gave his best.The cough was the real problem as it hurt him to stop when he had to.His chest you see had troubles. Or was it more that caused his pain. Father did not know and Bob did not complain
It was around the time of his next book that he went to see a top surgeon who told him it was his chest but start was the slower beat of his heart that was his cause. Young Robert had always felt ill .
Urged by his few friends to write a childrens tale .He talked with his publisher who told him to forget the high brow stuff carved from silky words and out of his educated mighty mind but what the reader wanted was gore and murder and filth.
Robert went home deluded .Sickly and weary with life.He sat down with his now wife to shut out all daylight .Next morning he took out a sheet of white paper and inked his nib to sit down and write in three days perhaps the most know book in history. Treasure Island .It hit the presses and has never been out of print.
He went on to give us Kidnapped and many more tales that trilled us as boys .He moved to a warmer place an island in the tropics but while opening a wine bottle for his guests in Somoa he had a sudden heart attack and died almost instantly. His name will live forever where British minds and manners meet. I give you Maestro- Robert Lewis Balfour Stephenson. But by now most of you have worked that out before hand. Robert Louis Stephenson was his writing name as he saw it. RLS to all of us
Thank you for reading my blogs
Yours with love Sir Kevin
copyright kevin Parr Bt 2021.