The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 06Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 06
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century
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 down-stairs 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 up-stairs 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 here will 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 recognised 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 head-foremost out of the grave. Now, Mr. Bones----"
"That's not my name," he interrupted.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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