Chapter 2 — II<br>Black Dog Appears and Disappears

t was not very long after this that there occurred the first of the mysterious
events that rid us at last of the captain, though not, as you will see, of his
affairs. It was a bitter cold winter, with long, hard frosts and heavy gales;
and it was plain from the first that my poor father was little likely to see
the spring. He sank daily, and my mother and I had all the inn upon our hands,
and were kept busy enough without paying much regard to our unpleasant guest.

It was one January morning, very early—a pinching, frosty morning—the cove all
grey with hoar-frost, the ripple lapping softly on the stones, the sun still
low and only touching the hilltops and shining far to seaward. The captain had
risen earlier than usual and set out down the beach, his cutlass swinging under
the broad skirts of the old blue coat, his brass telescope under his arm, his
hat tilted back upon his head. I remember his breath hanging like smoke in his
wake as he strode off, and the last sound I heard of him as he turned the big
rock was a loud snort of indignation, as though his mind was still running upon
Dr. Livesey.

Well, mother was upstairs with father and I was laying the breakfast-table
against the captain’s return when the parlour door opened and a man stepped in
on whom I had never set my eyes before. He was a pale, tallowy creature,
wanting two fingers of the left hand, and though he wore a cutlass, he did not
look much like a fighter. I had always my eye open for seafaring men, with one
leg or two, and I remember this one puzzled me. He was not sailorly, and yet he
had a smack of the sea about him too.

I asked him what was for his service, and he said he would take rum; but as I
was going out of the room to fetch it, he sat down upon a table and motioned me
to draw near. I paused where I was, with my napkin in my hand.

“Come here, sonny,” says he. “Come nearer here.”

I took a step nearer.

“Is this here table for my mate Bill?” he asked with a kind of leer.

I told him I did not know his mate Bill, and this was for a person who stayed
in our house whom we called the captain.

“Well,” said he, “my mate Bill would be called the captain, as like as not. He
has a cut on one cheek and a mighty pleasant way with him, particularly in
drink, has my mate Bill. We’ll put it, for argument like, that your captain has
a cut on one cheek—and we’ll put it, if you like, that that cheek’s the right
one. Ah, well! I told you. Now, is my mate Bill in this here house?”

I told him he was out walking.

“Which way, sonny? Which way is he gone?”

And when I had pointed out the rock and told him how the captain was likely to
return, and how soon, and answered a few other questions, “Ah,” said he,
“this’ll be as good as drink to my mate Bill.”

The expression of his face as he said these words was not at all pleasant, and
I had my own reasons for thinking that the stranger was mistaken, even
supposing he meant what he said. But it was no affair of mine, I thought; and
besides, it was difficult to know what to do. The stranger kept hanging about
just inside the inn door, peering round the corner like a cat waiting for a
mouse. Once I stepped out myself into the road, but he immediately called me
back, and as I did not obey quick enough for his fancy, a most horrible change
came over his tallowy face, and he ordered me in with an oath that made me
jump. As soon as I was back again he returned to his former manner, half
fawning, half sneering, patted me on the shoulder, told me I was a good boy and
he had taken quite a fancy to me. “I have a son of my own,” said he, “as like
you as two blocks, and he’s all the pride of my ’art. But the great thing for
boys is discipline, sonny—discipline. Now, if you had sailed along of Bill, you
wouldn’t have stood there to be spoke to twice—not you. That was never Bill’s
way, nor the way of sich as sailed with him. And here, sure enough, is my mate
Bill, with a spy-glass under his arm, bless his old ’art, to be sure. You and
me’ll just go back into the parlour, sonny, and get behind the door, and we’ll
give Bill a little surprise—bless his ’art, I say again.”

So saying, the stranger backed along with me into the parlour and put me behind
him in the corner so that we were both hidden by the open door. I was very
uneasy and alarmed, as you may fancy, and it rather added to my fears to
observe that the stranger was certainly frightened himself. He cleared the hilt
of his cutlass and loosened the blade in the sheath; and all the time we were
waiting there he kept swallowing as if he felt what we used to call a lump in
the throat.

At last in strode the captain, slammed the door behind him, without looking to
the right or left, and marched straight across the room to where his breakfast
awaited him.

“Bill,” said the stranger in a voice that I thought he had tried to make bold
and big.

The captain spun round on his heel and fronted us; all the brown had gone out
of his face, and even his nose was blue; he had the look of a man who sees a
ghost, or the evil one, or something worse, if anything can be; and upon my
word, I felt sorry to see him all in a moment turn so old and sick.

“Come, Bill, you know me; you know an old shipmate, Bill, surely,” said the
stranger.

The captain made a sort of gasp.

“Black Dog!” said he.

“And who else?” returned the other, getting more at his ease. “Black Dog as
ever was, come for to see his old shipmate Billy, at the Admiral Benbow inn.
Ah, Bill, Bill, we have seen a sight of times, us two, since I lost them two
talons,” holding up his mutilated hand.

“Now, look here,” said the captain; “you’ve run me down; here I am; well, then,
speak up; what is it?”

“That’s you, Bill,” returned Black Dog, “you’re in the right of it, Billy. I’ll
have a glass of rum from this dear child here, as I’ve took such a liking to;
and we’ll sit down, if you please, and talk square, like old shipmates.”

When I returned with the rum, they were already seated on either side of the
captain’s breakfast-table—Black Dog next to the door and sitting sideways so as
to have one eye on his old shipmate and one, as I thought, on his retreat.

He bade me go and leave the door wide open. “None of your keyholes for me,
sonny,” he said; and I left them together and retired into the bar.

For a long time, though I certainly did my best to listen, I could hear nothing
but a low gattling; but at last the voices began to grow higher, and I could
pick up a word or two, mostly oaths, from the captain.

“No, no, no, no; and an end of it!” he cried once. And again, “If it comes to
swinging, swing all, say I.”

Then all of a sudden there was a tremendous explosion of oaths and other
noises—the chair and table went over in a lump, a clash of steel followed, and
then a cry of pain, and the next instant I saw Black Dog in full flight, and
the captain hotly pursuing, both with drawn cutlasses, and the former streaming
blood from the left shoulder. Just at the door the captain aimed at the
fugitive one last tremendous cut, which would certainly have split him to the
chine had it not been intercepted by our big signboard of Admiral Benbow. You
may see the notch on the lower side of the frame to this day.

That blow was the last of the battle. Once out upon the road, Black Dog, in
spite of his wound, showed a wonderful clean pair of heels and disappeared over
the edge of the hill in half a minute. The captain, for his part, stood staring
at the signboard like a bewildered man. Then he passed his hand over his eyes
several times and at last turned back into the house.

“Jim,” says he, “rum”; and as he spoke, he reeled a little, and caught himself
with one hand against the wall.

“Are you hurt?” cried I.

“Rum,” he repeated. “I must get away from here. Rum! Rum!”

I ran to fetch it, but I was quite unsteadied by all that had fallen out, and I
broke one glass and fouled the tap, and while I was still getting in my own
way, I heard a loud fall in the parlour, and running in, beheld the captain
lying full length upon the floor. At the same instant my mother, alarmed by the
cries and fighting, came running downstairs to help me. Between us we raised
his head. He was breathing very loud and hard, but his eyes were closed and his
face a horrible colour.

“Dear, deary me,” cried my mother, “what a disgrace upon the house! And your
poor father sick!”

In the meantime, we had no idea what to do to help the captain, nor any other
thought but that he had got his death-hurt in the scuffle with the stranger. I
got the rum, to be sure, and tried to put it down his throat, but his teeth
were tightly shut and his jaws as strong as iron. It was a happy relief for us
when the door opened and Doctor Livesey came in, on his visit to my father.

“Oh, doctor,” we cried, “what shall we do? Where is he wounded?”

“Wounded? A fiddle-stick’s end!” said the doctor. “No more wounded than you or
I. The man has had a stroke, as I warned him. Now, Mrs. Hawkins, just you run
upstairs to your husband and tell him, if possible, nothing about it. For my
part, I must do my best to save this fellow’s trebly worthless life; Jim, you
get me a basin.”

When I got back with the basin, the doctor had already ripped up the captain’s
sleeve and exposed his great sinewy arm. It was tattooed in several places.
“Here’s luck,” “A fair wind,” and “Billy Bones his fancy,” were very neatly and
clearly executed on the forearm; and up near the shoulder there was a sketch of
a gallows and a man hanging from it—done, as I thought, with great spirit.

“Prophetic,” said the doctor, touching this picture with his finger. “And now,
Master Billy Bones, if that be your name, we’ll have a look at the colour of
your blood. Jim,” he said, “are you afraid of blood?”

“No, sir,” said I.

“Well, then,” said he, “you hold the basin”; and with that he took his lancet
and opened a vein.

A great deal of blood was taken before the captain opened his eyes and looked
mistily about him. First he recognized the doctor with an unmistakable frown;
then his glance fell upon me, and he looked relieved. But suddenly his colour
changed, and he tried to raise himself, crying, “Where’s Black Dog?”

“There is no Black Dog here,” said the doctor, “except what you have on your
own back. You have been drinking rum; you have had a stroke, precisely as I
told you; and I have just, very much against my own will, dragged you
headforemost out of the grave. Now, Mr. Bones—”

“That’s not my name,” he interrupted.

“Much I care,” returned the doctor. “It’s the name of a buccaneer of my
acquaintance; and I call you by it for the sake of shortness, and what I have
to say to you is this; one glass of rum won’t kill you, but if you take one
you’ll take another and another, and I stake my wig if you don’t break off
short, you’ll die—do you understand that?—die, and go to your own place, like
the man in the Bible. Come, now, make an effort. I’ll help you to your bed for
once.”

Between us, with much trouble, we managed to hoist him upstairs, and laid him
on his bed, where his head fell back on the pillow as if he were almost
fainting.

“Now, mind you,” said the doctor, “I clear my conscience—the name of rum for
you is death.”

And with that he went off to see my father, taking me with him by the arm.

“This is nothing,” he said as soon as he had closed the door. “I have drawn
blood enough to keep him quiet awhile; he should lie for a week where he
is—that is the best thing for him and you; but another stroke would settle
him.”