Around noon, I went to the captain’s room with some medicine and a cool drink.
He was lying exactly as we had left him, though he was slightly raised in bed. He looked both weak and restless.
“Jim,” he said, “you’re the only decent person around here. You know I’ve always treated you well. Every month, I gave you a silver coin for yourself. And now you can see my condition. I’m weak, alone, and abandoned by everyone. Jim, my boy, bring me a little rum, will you?”
“The doctor said—” I began.
But he immediately interrupted me and started cursing the doctor.
“Doctors know nothing about sailors,” he said in a weak but angry voice. “What does that man understand about the sea? I’ve been through places hotter than hell itself. I’ve watched my shipmates fall sick with deadly diseases, and I’ve stood on islands where the ground shook like waves in a storm. What does a doctor know about those things?”
“Rum has kept me alive. It has been my food, my drink, everything to me. If you refuse me now, when I’m just an old wreck washed up on the shore, then my death will be on your hands and that doctor’s too.”
He continued muttering curses for a while.
“Look at my hands, Jim,” he said suddenly in a softer voice. “See how they shake? I can’t keep them still. I haven’t had a drop today. That doctor is a fool. If I don’t get some rum, I’ll start seeing things. I’ve already had a taste of it.”
“I saw old Flint standing over there in the corner behind you. I saw him as clearly as I see you now.”
“If the horrors come back, I’ll become a dangerous man. Your doctor himself said one glass wouldn’t hurt me. I’ll give you a gold coin for one drink, Jim.”
He became more and more excited. I was worried because my father was very sick that day and needed peace and quiet.
I also remembered what the doctor had told me, and I felt annoyed by the captain’s attempt to bribe me.
“I don’t want your money,” I said. “Only what you owe my father. I’ll bring you one glass, but no more.”
When I brought him the rum, he grabbed it quickly and drank every drop.
“Ah, that’s better,” he said. “Now tell me, did the doctor say how long I have to stay in this old bed?”
“At least a week,” I replied.
“A week?” he shouted. “Impossible! By then they’ll put the black spot on me.”
“The fools are already searching for me. They want what belongs to me. Is that how honest sailors behave?”
“But I’m careful. I never wasted my money, and I never lost it either. I’ll fool them again. I’m not afraid of them. I’ll escape once more.”
While saying this, he struggled out of bed and grabbed my shoulder so tightly that I nearly cried out.
His legs moved like they belonged to someone else, and he could barely stand.
His words sounded brave, but his weak voice showed the truth.
After sitting on the edge of the bed, he stopped and whispered:
“That doctor has finished me. My ears are ringing. Help me lie down.”
Before I could properly help him, he fell back into bed and lay there silently.
After a while, he spoke again.
“Jim, did you see that sailor today?”
“Black Dog?” I asked.
“Yes, Black Dog,” he said. “He’s a bad one. But there are worse men behind him.”
“If I cannot escape, and they give me the black spot, remember this: they are after my old sea chest.”
“Get on a horse—you can ride, can’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered.
“Then ride to that doctor. Yes, that doctor, even if he’s a useless land man. Tell him to gather the authorities. Tell him to bring the magistrates and everyone he trusts to the Admiral Benbow.”
“Tell him they must capture every one of Flint’s old crew who is still alive.”
“I was Flint’s first mate. I was the only one who knew where it was. Flint gave me the secret at Savannah when he was dying. He trusted me with it.”
“But don’t tell anyone unless they put the black spot on me, or unless you see Black Dog again, or another sailor with one leg.”
“Especially the one-legged man, Jim. Watch out for him above all.”
“But what is the black spot, Captain?” I asked.
“It’s a warning. A sailor’s death sentence, if it comes to that. I’ll explain when you see one.”
“Keep your eyes open, Jim, and I’ll share everything with you. I promise.”
He continued talking for a little while, but his voice became weaker and weaker.
After I gave him his medicine, he swallowed it like a child.
“If any sailor ever needed medicine,” he muttered, “it’s me.”
Soon after, he fell into a deep, almost unconscious sleep.
I left him there.
I still don’t know what I would have done if everything had gone normally. Most likely, I would have told the doctor everything, because I was terrified the captain might regret his words and try to silence me.
But that evening, everything changed.
My poor father suddenly died.
All my thoughts about the captain disappeared. My mother and I were overwhelmed with grief. Neighbours came to visit, we had to arrange the funeral, and we still had to keep the inn running.
I was so busy that I hardly had time to think about the captain, let alone fear him.
The next morning, the captain came downstairs.
He ate his meals as usual, though very little. But he drank more rum than before.
He helped himself from the bar, glaring at everyone and breathing heavily through his nose.
Nobody dared stop him.
The night before my father’s funeral, the captain became completely drunk again.
In that house filled with sadness, hearing him sing his terrible old sailor’s song was deeply disturbing.
But everyone was afraid he might die too, and the doctor had been called away many miles to treat another patient. After my father’s death, he never came near the inn again.
The captain did not recover.
In fact, he seemed weaker every day.
He climbed the stairs slowly, walked between the dining room and the bar, and often stood at the door smelling the sea air.
He had to hold onto the walls for support, breathing heavily like a man climbing a steep mountain.
He never spoke directly to me again.
I believe he had almost forgotten everything he had told me.
But his temper became worse.
When he was drunk, he sometimes pulled out his sword and placed it openly on the table beside him.
Still, he seemed less interested in other people and more lost inside his own thoughts.
Once, to everyone’s surprise, he even sang a gentle country love song.
It was probably something he had learned in his younger days, before he became a sailor.
This continued until the day after my father’s funeral.
It was a freezing, foggy afternoon around three o’clock.
I stood outside the inn, thinking sadly about my father, when I saw someone slowly approaching along the road.
The man was clearly blind.
He tapped the ground with a stick as he walked.
A large green cover hid his eyes and nose.
His body was bent, as if from age or weakness.
He wore a huge, torn sailor’s coat with a hood that made him look almost unnatural.
I had never seen such a frightening person.
He stopped outside the inn and called out in a strange singing voice:
“Can any kind person tell a poor blind man, who lost his precious eyesight while bravely defending his country, England—God bless King George!—where he is now?”
“You are at the Admiral Benbow Inn, Black Hill Cove,” I said.
“I hear a voice,” he replied. “A young voice.”
“Will you give me your hand, kind young friend, and lead me inside?”
I reached out my hand.
The moment he grabbed it, his fingers closed around mine like a metal trap.
I was shocked and tried to pull away.
But the blind man pulled me close with surprising strength.
“Now, boy,” he said, “take me to the captain.”
“Sir, I really cannot,” I said.
“Oh, I understand,” he sneered. “Then take me there at once, or I’ll break your arm.”
He twisted my arm so hard that I cried out.
“Sir,” I said, “I’m only worried for you. The captain is not the man he used to be. He sits there with his sword drawn. Another gentleman—”
“Enough. Move.”
His voice was the coldest and cruelest voice I had ever heard.
I was more frightened by him than by the pain in my arm.
I obeyed.
Holding me tightly with one hand, the blind man forced me toward the captain’s room.
“Take me straight to him,” he whispered. “When we reach him, say: ‘Here is a friend for you, Bill.’”
“If you don’t, I’ll do this.”
He squeezed my arm again.
The pain was so terrible that I thought I might faint.
I was now more afraid of the blind beggar than of the captain.
When I opened the door, I shouted in a trembling voice:
“Here is a friend for you, Bill.”
The captain looked up.
The moment he saw the blind man, the rum seemed to disappear from his mind.
His face became pale.
It was not exactly fear.
It looked more like a man who had just seen death approaching.
He tried to stand, but he was too weak.
“Sit down, Bill,” said the blind man. “I may not see, but I can hear the smallest movement.”
“Business is business.”
“Hold out your left hand.”
“Boy, take his wrist and bring his hand toward mine.”
We did exactly as he ordered.
I saw him place something into the captain’s palm.
The captain immediately closed his fingers around it.
“That’s finished,” said the blind man.
Then he suddenly released me.
With amazing speed and confidence, he left the room and walked out onto the road.
I stood frozen.
Soon, I could hear his walking stick tapping farther and farther away.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
For some time, neither the captain nor I could move.
Then, almost at the same moment, I released his wrist.
The captain pulled back his hand and stared at his palm.
“Ten o’clock!” he cried.
“Six hours. We still have time!”
He jumped to his feet.
But immediately, he staggered.
He grabbed his throat.
He swayed for a moment.
Then he fell forward onto the floor with a strange sound.
I rushed to him and called for my mother.
But it was too late.
The captain was dead.
He had died from a sudden stroke.
It is strange to admit, because I had never truly liked the man.
But recently, I had begun to feel sorry for him.
And when I saw him lying there dead, I burst into tears.
It was the second death I had ever experienced, and the pain of losing my father was still fresh in my heart.