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\author{Robert Louis Stevenson}
\title{Treasure Island}

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\begin{adjustwidth*}{\absolutecenteradjustment}{-\absolutecenteradjustment}\itshape\centering
    Also by \theauthor{}:\smallskip{}\\
    Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde\\
    Kidnapped\\
    The Black Arrow
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\chapter{At the Admiral Benbow}

Squire Trelawney, Doctor Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having
asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from
the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the
island, and that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted, I
take up my pen in the year of grace 17—, and go back to the time when my
father kept the Admiral Benbow Inn, and the brown old seaman, with the
saber cut, first took up his lodging under our roof.

I remember him as if it were yesterday, as he came plodding to the inn
door, his sea-chest following behind him in a handbarrow; a tall,
strong, heavy, nut-brown man; his tarry pigtail falling over the
shoulders of his soiled blue coat; his hands ragged and scarred, with
black, broken nails, and the saber cut across one cheek, a dirty, livid
white. I remember him looking round the cove and whistling to himself as
he did so, and then breaking out in that old sea-song that he sang so
often afterwards:

\begin{quote}
    {“Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest,}\\
    {Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!”}
\end{quote}

in the high, old tottering voice that seemed to have been tuned and
broken at the capstan bars. Then he rapped on the door with a bit of
stick like a handspike that he carried, and when my father appeared,
called roughly for a glass of rum. This, when it was brought to him, he
drank slowly, like a connoisseur, lingering on the taste, and still
looking about him at the cliffs and up at our signboard.

“This is a handy cove,” says he, at length; “and a pleasant sittyated
grogshop. Much company, mate?”

My father told him no, very little company, the more was the pity.

“Well, then,” said he, “this is the berth for me. Here you, matey,” he
cried to the man who trundled the barrow; “bring up alongside and help
up my chest. I’ll stay here a bit,” he continued. “I’m a plain man; rum
and bacon and eggs is what I want, and that head up there for to watch
ships off. What you mought call me? You mought call me captain. Oh, I
see what you’re at—there”; and he threw down three or four gold pieces
on the threshold. “You can tell me when I’ve worked through that,” said
he, looking as fierce as a commander.

And, indeed, bad as his clothes were, and coarsely as he spoke, he had
none of the appearance of a man who sailed before the mast, but seemed
like a mate or skipper, accustomed to be obeyed or to strike. The man
who came with the barrow told us the mail had set him down the morning
before at the Royal George; that he had inquired what inns there were
along the coast, and hearing ours well spoken of, I suppose, and
described as lonely, had chosen it from the others for his place of
residence. And that was all we could learn of our guest.

He was a very silent man by custom. All day he hung round the cove, or
upon the cliffs, with a brass telescope; all evening he sat in a corner
of the parlor next the fire, and drank rum and water very strong. Mostly
he would not speak when spoken to; only look up sudden and fierce, and
blow through his nose like a foghorn; and we and the people who came
about our house soon learned to let him be. Every day, when he came back
from his stroll, he would ask if any seafaring men had gone by along the
road. At first we thought it was the want of company of his own kind
that made him ask this question; but at last we began to see he was
desirous to avoid them. When a seaman put up at the Admiral Benbow (as
now and then some did, making by the coast road for Bristol), he would
look in at him through the curtained door before he entered the parlor;
and he was always sure to be as silent as a mouse when any such was
present. For me, at least, there was no secret about the matter; for I
was, in a way, a sharer in his alarms.

He had taken me aside one day and promised me a silver fourpenny on the
first of every month if I would only keep my “weather eye open for a
seafaring man with one leg,” and let him know the moment he appeared.
Often enough when the first of the month came round, and I applied to
him for my wage, he would only blow through his nose at me, and stare me
down; but before the week was out he was sure to think better of it,
bring me my fourpenny piece, and repeat his orders to look out for “the
seafaring man with one leg.”

How that personage haunted my dreams, I need scarcely tell you. On
stormy nights, when the wind shook the four corners of the house, and
the surf roared along the cove and up the cliffs, I would see him in a
thousand forms, and with a thousand diabolical expressions. Now the leg
would be cut off at the knee, now at the hip; now he was a monstrous
kind of a creature who had never had but one leg, and that in the middle
of his body. To see him leap and run and pursue me over hedge and ditch,
was the worst of nightmares. And altogether I paid pretty dear for my
monthly fourpenny piece, in the shape of these abominable fancies.

But though I was so terrified by the idea of the seafaring man with one
leg, I was far less afraid of the captain himself than anybody else who
knew him. There were nights when he took a deal more rum and water than
his head would carry; and then he would sometimes sit and sing his
wicked, old, wild sea-songs, minding nobody; but sometimes he would call
for glasses round, and force all the trembling company to listen to his
stories or bear a chorus to his singing. Often I have heard the house
shaking with “Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum,” all the neighbors joining
in for dear life, with the fear of death upon them, and each singing
louder than the other to avoid remark. For in these fits he was the most
overriding companion ever known; he would slap his hand on the table for
silence all around; he would fly up in a passion of anger at a question,
or sometimes because none was put, and so he judged the company was not
following his story. Nor would he allow anyone to leave the inn till he
had drunk himself sleepy and reeled off to bed.

His stories were what frightened people worst of all. Dreadful stories
they were; about hanging, and walking the plank, and storms at sea, and
the Dry Tortugas, and wild deeds and places
on the Spanish Main. By his own account, he must have lived his life
among some of the wickedest men that God ever allowed upon the sea; and
the language in which he told these stories shocked our plain country
people almost as much as the crimes that he described. My father was
always saying the inn would be ruined, for people would soon cease
coming there to be tyrannized over and put down and sent shivering to
their beds; but I really believe his presence did us good. People were
frightened at the time, but on looking back they rather liked it; it was
a fine excitement in a quiet country life; and there was even a party of
the younger men who pretended to admire him, calling him a “true
seadog,” and a “real old salt,” and suchlike names, and saying there was
the sort of man that made England terrible at sea.

In one way, indeed, he bade fair to ruin us; for he kept on staying week
after week, and at last month after month, so that all the money had
been long exhausted, and still my father never plucked up the heart to
insist on having more. If ever he mentioned it, the captain blew through
his nose so loudly that you might say he roared, and stared my poor
father out of the room. I have seen him wringing his hands after such a
rebuff, and I am sure the annoyance and the terror he lived in must have
greatly hastened his early and unhappy death.

All the time he lived with us the captain made no change whatever in his
dress but to buy some stockings from a hawker. One of the cocks of his
hat having fallen down, he let it hang from that day forth, though it
was a great annoyance when it blew. I remember the appearance of his
coat, which he patched himself upstairs in his room, and which, before
the end, was nothing but patches. He never wrote or received a letter,
and he never spoke with any but the neighbors, and with these, for the
most part, only when drunk on rum. The great sea-chest none of us had
ever seen open.

He was only once crossed, and that was toward the end, when my poor
father was far gone in a decline that took him off. Doctor Livesey came
late one afternoon to see the patient, took a bit of dinner from my
mother, and went into the parlor to smoke a pipe until his horse should
come down from the hamlet, for we had no stabling at the old Benbow. I
followed him in, and I remember observing the contrast the neat, bright
doctor, with his powder as white as snow, and his bright, black eyes and
pleasant manners, made with the coltish country folk, and above all,
with that filthy, heavy, bleared scarecrow of a pirate of ours, sitting
far gone in rum, with his arms on the table. Suddenly he—the captain,
that is—began to pipe up his eternal song:

\begin{quote}
    {“Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest,}\\
    {Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!}

    {“Drink and the devil had done for the rest—}\\
    {Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!”}
\end{quote}

At first I had supposed “the dead man’s chest” to be that identical big
box of his upstairs in the front room, and the thought had been mingled
in my nightmares with that of the one-legged seafaring man. But by this
time we had all long ceased to pay any particular notice to the song; it
was new, that night, to nobody but Doctor Livesey, and on him I observed
it did not produce an agreeable effect, for he looked up for a moment
quite angrily before he went on with his talk to old Taylor, the
gardener, on a new cure for rheumatics. In the meantime the captain
gradually brightened up at his own music, and at last flapped his hand
upon the table before him in a way we all knew to mean—silence. The
voices stopped at once, all but Doctor Livesey’s; he went on as before,
speaking clear and kind, and drawing briskly at his pipe between every
word or two. The captain glared at him for a while, flapped his hand
again, glared still harder, and at last broke out with a villainous
oath: “Silence, there, between decks!”

“Were you addressing me, sir?” said the doctor; and when the ruffian had
told him, with another oath, that this was so, replied, “I have only one
thing to say to you, sir, that if you keep on drinking rum, the world
will soon be quit of a very dirty scoundrel!”

The old fellow’s fury was awful. He sprang to his feet, drew and opened
a sailor’s clasp-knife, and balancing it open on the palm of his hand,
threatened to pin the doctor to the wall.

The doctor never so much as moved. He spoke to him, as before, over his
shoulder, and in the same tone of voice, rather high, so that all the
room might hear, but perfectly calm and steady:

“If you do not put that knife this instant into your pocket, I promise,
upon my honor, you shall hang at the next assizes.”

Then followed a battle of looks between them; but the captain soon
knuckled under, put up his weapon, and resumed his seat, grumbling like
a beaten dog.

“And now, sir,” continued the doctor, “since I now know there’s such a
fellow in my district, you may count I’ll have an eye upon you day and
night. I’m not a doctor only, I’m a magistrate; and if I catch a breath
of complaint against you, if it’s only for a piece of incivility like
tonight’s, I’ll take effectual means to have you hunted down and routed
out of this. Let that suffice.”

Soon after Doctor Livesey’s horse came to the door and he rode away, but
the captain held his peace that evening, and for many evenings to come.

\chapter{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 gray with hoarfrost, 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 Doctor
Livesey.

Well, mother was upstairs with father, and I was laying the breakfast
table against the captain’s return, when the parlor 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
eyes 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 to me to draw near. I paused where I was, with my napkin in my
hand.

“Come here, sonny,” said 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 at 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 spyglass under his arm,
bless his old ’art, to be sure. You and me’ll just go back into the
parlor, 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 parlor, and put me
behind him into 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 gabbling; 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 chin 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 parlor, 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 was a horrible
color.

“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 fiddlestick’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; and, 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 color 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 color 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.”

\chapter{The Black Spot}

About noon I stopped at the captain’s door with some cooling drinks and
medicines. He was lying very much as we had left him, only a little
higher, and he seemed both weak and excited.

“Jim,” he said, “you’re the only one here that’s worth anything; and you
know I’ve always been good to you. Never a month but I’ve given you a
silver fourpenny for yourself. And now you see, mate, I’m pretty low,
and deserted by all; and, Jim, you’ll bring me one noggin of rum, now,
won’t you, matey?”

“The doctor—” I began.

But he broke in, cursing the doctor in a feeble voice, but heartily.
“Doctors is all swabs,” he said; “and that doctor there, why, what do he
know about seafaring men? I been in places hot as pitch, and mates
dropping round with yellow jack, and the blessed land a-heaving like the
sea with earthquakes—what do the doctor know of lands like that?—and I
lived on rum, I tell you. It’s been meat and drink, and man and wife, to
me; and if I am not to have my rum now I’m a poor old hulk on a lee
shore. My blood’ll be on you, Jim, and that doctor swab,” and he ran on
again for a while with curses. “Look, Jim, how my fingers fidges,” he
continued in the pleading tone. “I can’t keep ’em still, not I. I
haven’t had a drop this blessed day. That doctor’s a fool, I tell you.
If I don’t have a drain o’ rum, Jim, I’ll have the horrors; I seen some
on ’em already. I seen old Flint in the corner there, behind you; as
plain as print, I seen him; and if I get the horrors, I’m a man that has
lived rough, and I’ll raise Cain. Your doctor hisself said one glass
wouldn’t hurt me. I’ll give you a golden guinea for a noggin, Jim.”

He was growing more and more excited, and this alarmed me, for my
father, who was very low that day, needed quiet; besides, I was
reassured by the doctor’s words, now quoted to me, and rather offended
by the offer of a bribe.

“I want none of your money,” said I, “but what you owe my father. I’ll
get you one glass and no more.”

When I brought it to him he seized it greedily and drank it out.

“Ay, ay,” said he, “that’s some better, sure enough. And now, matey, did
that doctor say how long I was to lie here in this old berth?”

“A week at least,” said I.

“Thunder!” he cried. “A week! I can’t do that; they’d have the black
spot on me by then. The lubbers is going about to get the wind of me
this blessed moment; lubbers as couldn’t keep what they got, and want to
nail what is another’s. Is that seamanly behavior, now, I want to know?
But I’m a saving soul. I never wasted good money of mine, nor lost it
neither; and I’ll trick ’em again. I’m not afraid on ’em. I’ll shake out
another reef, matey, and daddle ’em again.”

As he was thus speaking, he had risen from bed with great difficulty,
holding to my shoulder with a grip that almost made me cry out, and
moving his legs like so much dead weight. His words, spirited as they
were in meaning, contrasted sadly with the weakness of the voice in
which they were uttered. He paused when he had got into a sitting
position on the edge.

“That doctor’s done me,” he murmured. “My ears is singing. Lay me back.”

Before I could do much to help him he had fallen back again to his
former place, where he lay for a while silent.

“Jim,” he said, at length, “you saw that seafaring man today?”

“Black Dog?” I asked.

“Ah! Black Dog,” said he. “\emph{He’s} a bad ’un; but there’s worse that
put him on. Now, if I can’t get away nohow, and they tip me the black
spot, mind you, it’s my old sea-chest they’re after; you get on a
horse—you can, can’t you? Well, then, you get on a horse and go to—well,
yes, I will!—to that eternal doctor swab, and tell him to pipe all
hands—magistrates and sich—and he’ll lay ’em aboard at the Admiral
Benbow—all old Flint’s crew, man and boy, all on ’em that’s left. I was
first mate, I was, old Flint’s first mate, and I’m the on’y one as knows
the place. He gave it me at Savannah, when he lay a-dying, like as if I
was to now, you see. But you won’t peach unless they get the black spot
on me, or unless you see that Black Dog again, or a seafaring man with
one leg, Jim—him above all.”

“But what is the black spot, captain?” I asked.

“That’s a summons, mate. I’ll tell you if they get that. But you keep
your weather-eye open, Jim, and I’ll share with you equals, upon my
honor.”

He wandered a little longer, his voice growing weaker; but soon after I
had given him his medicine, which he took like a child, with the remark,
“If ever a seaman wanted drugs, it’s me,” he fell at last into a heavy,
swoon-like sleep, in which I left him. What I should have done had all
gone well I do not know. Probably I should have told the whole story to
the doctor; for I was in mortal fear lest the captain should repent of
his confessions and make an end of me. But as things fell out, my poor
father died quite suddenly that evening, which put all other matters on
one side. Our natural distress, the visits of the neighbors, the
arranging of the funeral, and all the work of the inn to be carried on
in the meanwhile, kept me so busy that I had scarcely time to think of
the captain, far less to be afraid of him.

He got downstairs next morning, to be sure, and had his meals as usual,
though he ate little, and had more, I am afraid, than his usual supply
of rum, for he helped himself out of the bar, scowling and blowing
through his nose, and no one dared to cross him. On the night before the
funeral he was as drunk as ever; and it was shocking, in that house of
mourning, to hear him singing away his ugly old sea-song; but, weak as
he was, we were all in fear of death for him, and the doctor was
suddenly taken up with a case many miles away, and was never near the
house after my father’s death. I have said the captain was weak, and
indeed he seemed rather to grow weaker than to regain his strength. He
clambered up and down stairs, and went from the parlor to the bar and
back again, and sometimes put his nose out of doors to smell the sea,
holding on to the walls as he went for support, and breathing hard and
fast, like a man on a steep mountain. He never particularly addressed
me, and it is my belief he had as good as forgotten his confidences; but
his temper was more flighty, and, allowing for his bodily weakness, more
violent than ever. He had an alarming way now when he was drunk of
drawing his cutlass and laying it bare before him on the table. But,
with all that, he minded people less, and seemed shut up in his own
thoughts and rather wandering. Once, for instance, to our extreme
wonder, he piped up to a different air, a kind of country love-song,
that he must have learned in his youth before he had begun to follow the
sea.

So things passed until the day after the funeral and about three o’clock
of a bitter, foggy, frosty afternoon, I was standing at the door for a
moment, full of sad thoughts about my father, when I saw someone drawing
slowly near along the road. He was plainly blind, for he tapped before
him with a stick, and wore a great green shade over his eyes and nose;
and he was hunched, as if with age or weakness, and wore a huge old
tattered sea-cloak with a hood that made him appear positively deformed.
I never saw in my life a more dreadful-looking figure. He stopped a
little from the inn and, raising his voice in an odd singsong, addressed
the air in front of him:

“Will any kind friend inform a poor blind man, who has lost the precious
sight of his eyes in the gracious defense of his native country,
England, and God bless King George!—where or in what part of this
country he may now be?”

“You are at the Admiral Benbow, Black Hill Cove, my good man,” said I.

“I hear a voice,” said he, “a young voice. Will you give me your hand,
my kind young friend, and lead me in?”

I held out my hand, and the horrible, soft-spoken, eyeless creature
gripped it in a moment like a vise. I was so much startled that I
struggled to withdraw, but the blind man pulled me close up to him with
a single action of his arm.

“Now, boy,” he said, “take me in to the captain.”

“Sir,” said I, “upon my word I dare not.”

“Oh,” he sneered, “that’s it! Take me in straight, or I’ll break your
arm.”

He gave it, as he spoke, a wrench that made me cry out.

“Sir,” said I, “it is for yourself I mean. The captain is not what he
used to be. He sits with a drawn cutlass. Another gentleman—”

“Come, now, march,” interrupted he, and I never heard a voice so cruel,
and cold, and ugly as that blind man’s. It cowed me more than the pain,
and I began to obey him at once, walking straight in at the door and
towards the parlor, where the sick old buccaneer was sitting, dazed with
rum. The blind man clung close to me, holding me in one iron fist, and
leaning almost more of his weight on me than I could carry. “Lead me
straight up to him, and when I’m in view, cry out, ‘Here’s a friend for
you, Bill.’ If you don’t, I’ll do this,” and with that he gave me a
twitch that I thought would have made me faint. Between this and that, I
was so utterly terrified by the blind beggar that I forgot my terror of
the captain, and as I opened the parlor door, cried out the words he had
ordered in a trembling voice.

The poor captain raised his eyes, and at one look the rum went out of
him and left him staring sober. The expression of his face was not so
much of terror as of mortal sickness. He made a movement to rise, but I
do not believe he had enough force left in his body.

“Now, Bill, sit where you are,” said the beggar. “If I can’t see, I can
hear a finger stirring. Business is business. Hold out your left hand.
Boy, take his left hand by the wrist and bring it near to my right.”

We both obeyed him to the letter, and I saw him pass something from the
hollow of the hand that held his stick into the palm of the captain’s,
which closed upon it instantly.

“And now that’s done,” said the blind man, and at the words he suddenly
left hold of me, and with incredible accuracy and nimbleness, skipped
out of the parlor and into the road, where, as I stood motionless, I
could hear his stick go tap-tap-tapping into the distance.

It was some time before either I or the captain seemed to gather our
senses; but at length, and about the same moment, I released his wrist,
which I was still holding, and he drew in his hand, and looked sharply
into the palm.

“Ten o’clock!” he cried. “Six hours! We’ll do them yet!” and he sprang
to his feet.

Even as he did so, he reeled, put his hand to his throat, stood swaying
for a moment, and then, with a peculiar sound, fell from his whole
height face foremost to the floor.

I ran to him at once, calling to my mother. But haste was all in vain.
The captain had been struck dead by thundering apoplexy. It is a curious
thing to understand, for I had certainly never liked the man, though of
late I had begun to pity him, but as soon as I saw that he was dead I
burst into a flood of tears. It was the second death I had known, and
the sorrow of the first was still fresh in my heart.

\chapter{The Sea-Chest}

I lost no time, of course, in telling my mother all that I knew, and
perhaps should have told her long before, and we saw ourselves at once
in a difficult and dangerous position. Some of the man’s money—if he had
any—was certainly due to us, but it was not likely that our captain’s
shipmates, above all the two specimens seen by me—Black Dog and the
blind beggar—would be inclined to give up their booty in payment of the
dead man’s debts. The captain’s order to mount at once and ride for
Doctor Livesey would have left my mother alone and unprotected, which
was not to be thought of. Indeed, it seemed impossible for either of us
to remain much longer in the house; the fall of coals in the kitchen
grate, the very ticking of the clock, filled us with alarm. The
neighborhood, to our ears, seemed haunted by approaching footsteps; and
what between the dead body of the captain on the parlor floor and the
thought of that detestable blind beggar hovering near at hand and ready
to return, there were moments when, as the saying goes, I jumped in my
skin for terror. Something must speedily be resolved upon, and it
occurred to us at last to go forth together and seek help in the
neighboring hamlet. No sooner said than done. Bareheaded as we were, we
ran out at once in the gathering evening and the frosty fog.

The hamlet lay not many hundred yards away, though out of view, on the
other side of the next cove; and what greatly encouraged me, it was in
an opposite direction from that whence the blind man had made his
appearance, and whither he had presumably returned. We were not many
minutes on the road, though we sometimes stopped to lay hold of each
other and hearken. But there was no unusual sound—nothing but the low
wash of the ripple and the croaking of the inmates of the wood.

It was already candlelight when we reached the hamlet, and I shall never
forget how much I was cheered to see the yellow shine in doors and
windows; but that, as it proved, was the best of the help we were likely
to get in that quarter. For—you would have thought men would have been
ashamed of themselves—no soul would consent to return with us to the
Admiral Benbow. The more we told of our troubles, the more—man, woman,
and child—they clung to the shelter of their houses. The name of Captain
Flint, though it was strange to me, was well enough known to some there,
and carried a great weight of terror. Some of the men who had been to
fieldwork on the far side of the Admiral Benbow remembered, besides, to
have seen several strangers on the road, and, taking them to be
smugglers, to have bolted away; and one at least had seen a little
lugger in what we called Kitt’s Hole. For that matter, anyone who was a
comrade of the captain’s was enough to frighten them to death. And the
short and the long of the matter was, that while we could get several
who were willing enough to ride to Doctor Livesey’s, which lay in
another direction, not one would help us to defend the inn.

They say cowardice is infectious; but then argument is, on the other
hand, a great emboldener; and so when each had said his say, my mother
made them a speech. She would not, she declared, lose money that
belonged to her fatherless boy. “If none of the rest of you dare,” she
said, “Jim and I dare. Back we will go, the way we came, and small
thanks to you big, hulking, chickenhearted men! We’ll have that chest
open, if we die for it. And I’ll thank you for that bag, Mrs.~Crossley,
to bring back our lawful money in.”

Of course I said I would go with my mother; and of course they all cried
out at our foolhardiness; but even then not a man would go along with
us. All they would do was to give me a loaded pistol, lest we were
attacked; and to promise to have horses ready saddled, in case we were
pursued on our return; while one lad was to ride forward to the doctor’s
in search of armed assistance.

My heart was beating fiercely when we two set forth in the cold night
upon this dangerous venture. A full moon was beginning to rise and
peered redly through the upper edges of the fog, and this increased our
haste, for it was plain, before we came forth again, that all would be
bright as day, and our departure exposed to the eyes of any watchers. We
slipped along the hedges, noiseless and swift, nor did we see or hear
anything to increase our terrors till, to our huge relief, the door of
the Admiral Benbow had closed behind us.

I slipped the bolt at once, and we stood and panted for a moment in the
dark, alone in the house with the dead captain’s body. Then my mother
got a candle in the bar, and, holding each other’s hands, we advanced
into the parlor. He lay as we had left him, on his back, with his eyes
open, and one arm stretched out.

“Draw down the blind, Jim,” whispered my mother; “they might come and
watch outside. And now,” said she, when I had done so, “we have to get
the key off \emph{that}; and who’s to touch it, I should like to know!”
and she gave a kind of sob as she said the words.

I went down on my knees at once. On the floor close to his hand there
was a little round of paper, blackened on one side. I could not doubt
that this was the \emph{black spot}; and, taking it up, I found written
on the other side, in a very good, clear hand, this short message, “You
have till ten tonight.”

“He had till ten, mother,” said I; and, just as I said it, our old clock
began striking. This sudden noise startled us shockingly; but the news
was good, for it was only six.

“Now, Jim,” she said, “that key!”

I felt in his pockets, one after another. A few small coins, a thimble,
and some thread and big needles, a piece of pigtail tobacco bitten away
at the end, his gully with the crooked handle, a pocket compass, and a
tinderbox, were all that they contained, and I began to despair.

“Perhaps it’s round his neck,” suggested my mother.

Overcoming a strong repugnance, I tore open his shirt at the neck, and
there, sure enough, hanging to a bit of tarry string, which I cut with
his own gully, we found the key. At this triumph we were filled with
hope, and hurried upstairs, without delay, to the little room where he
had slept so long, and where his box had stood since the day of his
arrival.

It was like any other seaman’s chest on the outside, the initial “B”
burned on the top of it with a hot iron, and the corners somewhat
smashed and broken as by long, rough usage.

“Give me the key,” said my mother, and though the lock was very stiff,
she had turned it and thrown back the lid in a twinkling.

A strong smell of tobacco and tar arose from the interior, but nothing
was to be seen on the top except a suit of very good clothes, carefully
brushed and folded. They had never been worn, my mother said. Under that
the miscellany began—a quadrant, a tin cannikin, several sticks of
tobacco, two brace of very handsome pistols, a piece of bar silver, an
old Spanish watch, and some other trinkets of little value and mostly of
foreign make, a pair of compasses mounted with brass, and five or six
curious West Indian shells. I have often wondered since why he should
have carried about these shells with him in his wandering, guilty, and
hunted life.

In the meantime we found nothing of any value but the silver and the
trinkets, and neither of these were in our way. Underneath there was an
old boat-cloak, whitened with sea-salt on many a harbor-bar. My mother
pulled it up with impatience, and there lay before us, the last things
in the chest, a bundle tied up in oilcloth, and looking like papers, and
a canvas bag that gave forth, at a touch, the jingle of gold.

“I’ll show those rogues that I’m an honest woman,” said my mother. “I’ll
have my dues and not a farthing over. Hold Mrs.~Crossley’s bag.” And she
began to count over the amount of the captain’s score from the sailor’s
bag into the one that I was holding.

It was a long, difficult business, for the coins were of all countries
and sizes—doubloons, and \textit{louis-d’ors}, and
guineas, and pieces of eight, and I know not what besides, all shaken
together at random. The guineas, too, were about the scarcest, and it
was with these only that my mother knew how to make her count.

When we were about halfway through, I suddenly put my hand upon her arm,
for I had heard in the silent, frosty air, a sound that brought my heart
into my mouth—the tap-tapping of the blind man’s stick upon the frozen
road. It drew nearer and nearer, while we sat holding our breath. Then
it struck sharp on the inn door, and then we could hear the handle being
turned, and the bolt rattling as the wretched being tried to enter; and
then there was a long time of silence both within and without. At last
the tapping recommenced, and to our indescribable joy and gratitude,
died slowly away again until it ceased to be heard.

“Mother,” said I, “take the whole and let’s be going”; for I was sure
the bolted door must have seemed suspicious, and would bring the whole
hornet’s nest about our ears; though how thankful I was that I had
bolted it, none could tell who had never met that terrible blind man.

But my mother, frightened as she was, would not consent to take a
fraction more than was due to her, and was obstinately unwilling to be
content with less. It was not yet seven, she said, by a long way; she
knew her rights and she would have them; and she was still arguing with
me, when a little low whistle sounded a good way off upon the hill. That
was enough, and more than enough, for both of us.

“I’ll take what I have,” she said, jumping to her feet.

“And I’ll take this to square the count,” said I, picking up the oilskin
packet.

Next moment we were both groping downstairs, leaving the candle by the
empty chest; and the next we had opened the door and were in full
retreat. We had not started a moment too soon. The fog was rapidly
dispersing; already the moon shone quite clear on the high ground on
either side, and it was only in the exact bottom of the dell and round
the tavern door that a thin veil still hung unbroken to conceal the
first steps of our escape. Far less than halfway to the hamlet, very
little beyond the bottom of the hill, we must come forth into the
moonlight. Nor was this all; for the sound of several footsteps running
came already to our ears, and as we looked back in their direction, a
light, tossing to and fro, and still rapidly advancing, showed that one
of the newcomers carried a lantern.

“My dear,” said my mother, suddenly, “take the money and run on. I am
going to faint.”

This was certainly the end for both of us, I thought. How I cursed the
cowardice of the neighbors; how I blamed my poor mother for her honesty
and her greed, for her past foolhardiness and present weakness! We were
just at the little bridge, by good fortune, and I helped her, tottering
as she was, to the edge of the bank, where, sure enough, she gave a sigh
and fell on my shoulder. I do not know how I found the strength to do it
all, and I am afraid it was roughly done, but I managed to drag her down
the bank and a little way under the arch. Farther I could not move her,
for the bridge was too low to let me do more than crawl below it. So
there we had to stay—my mother almost entirely exposed, and both of us
within earshot of the inn.

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