บทที่ บทที่ 2 · II. Black Dog Appears and Disappears

. II. Black Dog Appears and Disappears

It 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.”