Not long afterwards
the first stranger came to the inn looking for the captain.
My mother was upstairs with my father who was very ill.
The captain was out walking the cliffs as usual
and I was busy getting his breakfast.
The door opened and in walked a pale, greasy man
with two fingers missing from his left hand.
He wore a cutlass at his belt
though he didn't look like much of a fighter.
'Come here, sonny,' he said to me.
'Is my mate Bill staying here?
He has a scar on one cheek.'
I told him the captain was out walking.
The stranger waited just inside the door,
peering round the corner like a cat waiting for a mouse.
I didn't trust him but there was little I could do.
At last the captain walked in.
'Bill,' said the stranger,
in a voice that I thought he tried to make bold and strong.
The captain spun round
and all the colour drained from his face.
He looked as if he was staring at a ghost.
'Come, Bill, you know me, your old shipmate.'
The captain gave a kind of gasp.
'Black Dog!' he said.
Black Dog ordered a glass of rum
and the two men sat talking in low voices.
I brought the drink and left them together.
I tried my best to listen from the bar
but for a long time,
I could only hear a low muttering.
Then voices were raised
and the captain cried out,
'No, no, no!
If it comes to hanging, we all hang, say I.'
Then there was a tremendous explosion of noise.
The chair and the table crashed over,
there was the clash of steel blades and a cry of pain.
The next minute I saw Black Dog running out
with the captain chasing him.
Black Dog had blood streaming from his shoulder.
The captain staggered back into the house.
'Jim!' he called to me.
'Rum.'
He clutched at the wall to stop himself falling.
'Are you hurt?' I asked.
'Rum,' he repeated.
I must get away from here.
Rum, rum!'
I ran to fetch it
but while I was gone I heard a loud fall in the parlour.
When I returned I found the captain lying on the floor.
He was breathing heavily
and his face had turned a deathly colour.
My mother came mnning downstairs,
but neither of us knew what to do.
Luckily at that moment,
Dr Livesey arrived to visit my father.
'Doctor! Is he wounded?' I asked.
'Wounded? Fiddlesticks!' said the doctor.
The man has had a stroke, just as I warned him.
He'll kill himself if he keeps on drinking rum.'
Between us we managed to get the captain up to bed
where the doctor said he must stay for a week.
If he had another stroke
it would certainly be the death of him.