The Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson — Volume 1

The rain rains and the winds do beat upon the cottage of the late

Miss Macgregor and of, sir — Yours affectionately.

It is to be trusted that the weather may improve ere you know the halls of, sir — Yours emphatically.

All will be glad to welcome you, not excepting, sir — Yours ever.

You will now have gathered the lamentable intellectual collapse of, sir — Yours indeed.

And nothing remains for me but to sign myself, sir — Yours,

    ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

N.B. — Each of these clauses has to be read with extreme glibness, coming down whack upon the 'Sir.' This is very important. The fine stylistic inspiration will else be lost.

I commit the man who made, the man who sold, and the woman who supplied me with my present excruciating gilt nib to that place where the worm never dies.

The reference to a deceased Highland lady (tending as it does to foster unavailing sorrow) may be with advantage omitted from the address, which would therefore run — The Cottage, Castleton of Braemar.

Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE

THE COTTAGE, CASTLETON OF BRAEMAR, AUGUST 19, 1881

IF you had an uncle who was a sea captain and went to the North Pole, you had better bring his outfit. VERBUM SAPIENTIBUS. I look towards you.

    R. L. STEVENSON.

Letter: TO EDMUND GOSSE

[BRAEMAR], AUGUST 19, 1881

MY DEAR WEG, — I have by an extraordinary drollery of Fortune sent off to you by this day's post a P. C. inviting you to appear in sealskin. But this had reference to the weather, and not at all, as you may have been led to fancy, to our rustic raiment of an evening.

As to that question, I would deal, in so far as in me lies, fairly with all men. We are not dressy people by nature; but it sometimes occurs to us to entertain angels. In the country, I believe, even angels may be decently welcomed in tweed; I have faced many great personages, for my own part, in a tasteful suit of sea-cloth with an end of carpet pending from my gullet. Still, we do maybe twice a summer burst out in the direction of blacks.. and yet we do it seldom... In short, let your own heart decide, and the capacity of your portmanteau. If you came in camel's hair, you would still, although conspicuous, be welcome.

The sooner the better after Tuesday. — Yours ever,

    ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY

BRAEMAR [AUGUST 25, 1881]

MY DEAR HENLEY, — Of course I am a rogue. Why, Lord, it's known, man; but you should remember I have had a horrid cold. Now, I'm better, I think; and see here — nobody, not you, nor Lang, nor the devil, will hurry me with our crawlers. They are coming. Four of them are as good as done, and the rest will come when ripe; but I am now on another lay for the moment, purely owing to Lloyd, this one; but I believe there's more coin in it than in any amount of crawlers: now, see here, 'The Sea Cook, or Treasure Island: A Story for Boys.'

If this don't fetch the kids, why, they have gone rotten since my day. Will you be surprised to learn that it is about Buccaneers, that it begins in the ADMIRAL BENBOW public-house on Devon coast, that it's all about a map, and a treasure, and a mutiny, and a derelict ship, and a current, and a fine old Squire Trelawney (the real Tre, purged of literature and sin, to suit the infant mind), and a doctor, and another doctor, and a sea-cook with one leg, and a sea-song with the chorus 'Yo-ho-ho-and a bottle of rum' (at the third Ho you heave at the capstan bars), which is a real buccaneer's song, only known to the crew of the late Captain Flint (died of rum at Key West, much regretted, friends will please accept this intimation); and lastly, would you be surprised to hear, in this connection, the name of ROUTLEDGE? That's the kind of man I am, blast your eyes. Two chapters are written, and have been tried on Lloyd with great success; the trouble is to work it off without oaths. Buccaneers without oaths — bricks without straw. But youth and the fond parient have to be consulted.

And now look here — this is next day — and three chapters are written and read. (Chapter I. The Old Sea-dog at the ADMIRAL BENBOW. Chapter II. Black Dog appears and disappears. Chapter III. The Black Spot) All now heard by Lloyd, F., and my father and mother, with high approval. It's quite silly and horrid fun, and what I want is the BEST book about the Buccaneers that can be had — the latter B's above all, Blackbeard and sich, and get Nutt or Bain to send it skimming by the fastest post. And now I know you'll write to me, for 'The Sea Cook's' sake.

Your 'Admiral Guinea' is curiously near my line, but of course I'm fooling; and your Admiral sounds like a shublime gent. Stick to him like wax — he'll do. My Trelawney is, as I indicate, several thousand sea-miles off the lie of the original or your Admiral Guinea; and besides, I have no more about him yet but one mention of his name, and I think it likely he may turn yet farther from the model in the course of handling. A chapter a day I mean to do; they are short; and perhaps in a month the 'Sea Cook' may to Routledge go, yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! My Trelawney has a strong dash of Landor, as I see him from here. No women in the story, Lloyd's orders; and who so blithe to obey? It's awful fun boys' stories; you just indulge the pleasure of your heart, that's all; no trouble, no strain. The only stiff thing is to get it ended — that I don't see, but I look to a volcano. O sweet, O generous, O human toils. You would like my blind beggar in Chapter III. I believe; no writing, just drive along as the words come and the pen will scratch!

    R. L. S.

Author of BOYS' STORIES.

Letter: TO DR. ALEXANDER JAPP

BRAEMAR, 1881

MY DEAR DR. JAPP, — My father has gone, but I think may take it upon me to ask you to keep the book. Of all things you could do to endear yourself to me, you have done the best, for my father and you have taken a fancy to each other.

I do not know how to thank you for all your kind trouble in the matter of 'The Sea-Cook,' but I am not unmindful. My health is still poorly, and I have added intercostal rheumatism — a new attraction — which sewed me up nearly double for two days, and still gives me a list to starboard — let us be ever nautical!

I do not think with the start I have there will be any difficulty in letting Mr. Henderson go ahead whenever he likes. I will write my story up to its legitimate conclusion; and then we shall be in a position to judge whether a sequel would be desirable, and I would then myself know better about its practicability from the story- teller's point of view. — Yours ever very sincerely,

    R. L. STEVENSON.

Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY

BRAEMAR, SEPTEMBER 1881

MY DEAR HENLEY, — Thanks for your last. The 100 pounds fell through, or dwindled at least into somewhere about 30 pounds. However, that I've taken as a mouthful, so you may look out for 'The Sea Cook, or Treasure Island: A Tale of the Buccaneers,' in YOUNG FOLKS. (The terms are 2 pounds, 10s. a page of 4500 words; that's not noble, is it? But I have my copyright safe. I don't get illustrated — a blessing; that's the price I have to pay for my copyright.)

I'll make this boys' book business pay; but I have to make a beginning. When I'm done with YOUNG FOLKS, I'll try Routledge or some one. I feel pretty sure the 'Sea Cook' will do to reprint, and bring something decent at that.

Japp is a good soul. The poet was very gay and pleasant. He told me much: he is simply the most active young man in England, and one of the most intelligent. 'He shall o'er Europe, shall o'er earth extend.' (13) He is now extending over adjacent parts of Scotland.

I propose to follow up the 'Sea Cook' at proper intervals by 'Jerry Abershaw: A Tale of Putney Heath' (which or its site I must visit), 'The Leading Light: A Tale of the Coast,' 'The Squaw Men: or the Wild West,' and other instructive and entertaining work. 'Jerry Abershaw' should be good, eh? I love writing boys' books. This first is only an experiment; wait till you see what I can make 'em with my hand in. I'll be the Harrison Ainsworth of the future; and a chalk better by St. Christopher; or at least as good. You'll see that even by the 'Sea Cook.'

Jerry Abershaw — O what a title! Jerry Abershaw: d-n it, sir, it's a poem. The two most lovely words in English; and what a sentiment! Hark you, how the hoofs ring! Is this a blacksmith's? No, it's a wayside inn. Jerry Abershaw. 'It was a clear, frosty evening, not 100 miles from Putney,' etc. Jerry Abershaw. Jerry Abershaw. Jerry Abershaw. The 'Sea Cook' is now in its sixteenth chapter, and bids for well up in the thirties. Each three chapters is worth 2 pounds, 10s. So we've 12 pounds, 10s. already.

Don't read Marryat's' PIRATE anyhow; it is written in sand with a salt-spoon: arid, feeble, vain, tottering production. But then we're not always all there. He was all somewhere else that trip. It's DAMNABLE, Henley. I don't go much on the 'Sea Cook'; but, Lord, it's a little fruitier than the PIRATE by Cap'n. Marryat.

Since this was written 'The Cook' is in his nineteenth chapter.

Yo-heave ho!

    R. L. S.

Letter: TO THOMAS STEVENSON

[CHALET AM STEIN, DAVOS, AUTUMN 1881.]

MY DEAR FATHER, — It occurred to me last night in bed that I could write

The Murder of Red Colin,

A Story of the Forfeited Estates.