Good evening. Welcome to the Just Sleep podcast. I'm Tasia, your host.

Every week, I will read you an old story to help you relax, put the stressful day behind you, and drift off to sleep.

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Tonight, I continue the story, Treasure Island.

So lie down, close your eyes, and let me read you a story.

Chapter 24. The Cruise of the Coracle

It was broad day when I woke and found myself tossing at the southwest end of Treasure Island.

The sun was up, but was still hid from me behind the great bulk of the spyglass,

which on this side descended almost to the sea in formidable cliffs.

All bull and head and mizzen-mast hill were at my elbow, the hill, barren dark, the head,

bound with cliffs 40 or 50 feet high, and fringed with great masses of fallen rock.

I was scarce a quarter of a mile to seaward, and it was my first thought to paddle in and land.

That notion was soon given over. Among the fallen rocks, the breakers spouted and bellowed,

loud reverberations, heavy sprays, flying and falling, succeeded one another from second to second,

and I saw myself, if I ventured nearer, dashed to death upon the rough shore,

or spending my strength in vain to scale the beetling crags.

Nor was that all, for crawling together on flat tables of rock

or letting themselves drop into the sea with loud

reports, I beheld huge, slimy monsters, soft snails, as it were, of incredible bigness,

...