“For a long time, though I certainly did my best to listen, I could hear nothing but a low gattling; 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 chine 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 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 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 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 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; Jim, you get me a basin.”