Early one frosty January morning, the captain walked to the beach with his cutlass—the sword he always kept by his side—swinging under his old blue coat.
He carried his brass telescope under his arm, and he had his hat tilted back on his head.
The old man's breath hung in the air like smoke.
Mother was helping my sick father upstairs,
and I was setting the table for the captain's breakfast when the door opened and a pale, greasy-looking creature walked in.
He was missing two fingers from his left hand and he wore a cutlass too, but he didn't look like a seafaring man.
"May I help you, sir?" I asked.
"I'll have some rum," he said.
"Are you setting that table for my mate Bill?"
"It's for the captain," I said.
"Well," he said, "I expect Bill might like to be called 'captain.'
Does your captain have a scar on one cheek and a pleasant personality when he's drunk?
Has he a sea chest that he guards most carefully?" I nodded.
"Now, my lad, tell me, is my mate Bill here?"
"He's out walking," I said. "He'll return soon."
"Ah," said he, "good."
The stranger hung around the door like a cat waiting for a mouse.
Once, when I stepped outside, a change came over his face and he angrily said, "Get back in here!"
Then he suddenly became very polite, half smiling and half sneering.
"You're a good boy." He patted my shoulder. "I have a son of my own."
Then the stranger looked out the window and said cheerfully, "Ah, here comes my friend Bill.
Let's move aside, sonny, and we'll give Bill a little surprise—bless his heart."
He pushed me back until we were both hidden behind the open door.
I was very alarmed, but the stranger seemed frightened too.
He swallowed hard and grabbed the handle of his cutlass, loosening the blade in its sheath.
Unsuspecting, the captain marched in the door and across the room to the table where his breakfast lay.
"Bill," the stranger said in a bold voice as he pushed me away.
The captain spun around, and he became so pale that his nose was nearly blue.
I felt sorry to see him suddenly turn so old and sick.
"Black Dog!" gasped the captain, looking as if he'd seen a ghost.
"And who else?" the stranger said.
"I'm here to see you, Billy, my old shipmate. It's been a while since I lost these two fingers."
He held up his mutilated hand.
"Well, you found me," the captain said, recovering. "Here I am. What do you want?"
"Let's just sit down over there and talk like old shipmates, Billy Bones," Black Dog said.
Then Black Dog looked at me. "Leave us.
And I don't want to see you listening to our conversation, sonny."
I left them at the table, but I did my best to pick up a word or two from where I waited at the bar.
I heard mostly curses from the captain.
"No, no, no!" he cried. "If I'm going to hang, then everyone will!"
They shouted and swore and began to fight, knocking over a chair and table.
I ran over to watch as their cutlasses clashed.
Then Black Dog let out a cry of pain.
He turned and started to run with the captain right behind him.
Blood was streaming from Black Dog's left shoulder as he sprinted through the door.
The captain took aim with his cutlass and threw it at Black Dog,
and he might have split Black Dog's head in half if not for our big sign saying "Admiral Benbow."
The frame still has a nick where the sword hit it.
Despite his wound, Black Dog ran off and disappeared over the hill.
The captain rubbed his eyes and went inside.
"Jim," he said, clutching the wall, "I need some rum."
"Are you hurt?" I cried.
"Rum," he repeated. "Rum! Rum!"
Shaking, I ran to get it, but my hands were so unsteady I broke the glass and had to fill another.
Suddenly, I heard a loud crash and ran toward the sound.
The captain was lying on the floor.
Alarmed by all the noise, Mother came downstairs.
"He's drunk! What a disgrace!" she cried. "And with your poor father sick!"
My mother and I raised the captain's head.
His eyes were closed and he was breathing loud and hard.
I had the rum, but his teeth and jaws were shut tight.
We were relieved when the door opened, and we saw Dr. Livesey, here to visit Father.
"Oh, Doctor!" Mother cried.
"He looks as if he's had a stroke," said the doctor.
"Now, Mrs. Hawkins, run upstairs to your husband.
I'll do my best to help this worthless fellow."
The doctor had just loosened the captain's collar when the old man awoke.
The captain recognized the doctor and frowned, and then he saw me.
"Where's Black Dog?" he asked, trying to raise himself up.
"There's no black dog here," said the doctor.
"You drank too much and had a stroke."
"Where is he?" the captain gasped.
"Listen to me," the doctor said.
"One drink won't kill you, but keep drinking one after another and you'll die—do you understand that?—die."
We hoisted the captain upstairs and put him to bed.
"Heed my words," said the doctor. "Rum will kill you."
Out of earshot, the doctor told me, "He should rest for a week.
Another stroke could end his sorry life."