The Treasure Island: Chapther 2

Treasure Island

CHAPTER

2

The Blind Beggar

Escrito por: Albert Shamir Galvá de Jesús

it was on that January morning that the captain had awakened earlier  than usual. He had gone down to the beach. His sword was swinging under his old, blue coat. His telescope was under his arm. It was so cold that his breath hung in the air like smoke.

On that clear, frosty day, Black Dog came to the inn. This was the first of the strange events that rid us, at last, of the captain.

“I’ll have a glass of rum from this child here,” said Black Dog to the captain, “and we will sit and talk like old shipmates.”

When I came back with the rum, I found them seated at the table. They told me to go away. For a ,long time I did my best to listen, but could hear nothing. Then I heard the captain say, “No, no, no—and an end of it!”

All of a sudden there was a terrific outburst. Their voices were so loud that I felt certain that they could be heard a mile away. A chair and table fell over. A clash of swords followed. Then I heard a cry of pain. In the next instant. I saw Black Dog run past me in flight. The captain, with his sword flashing, ran right after him. At the door, the captain raised his sword to aim one last blow—but he hit the signpost of the inn instead. To this day, you can still see where the sword struck. That blow was the last of the battle. Black Dog disappeared over the edge of the hill. I turned to the captain. His color was gray. Finally, he spoke. “Jim,” said the captain, “rum.”

He was not steady on his feet and he leaned against the wall.

“Are you hurt?” I cried.

“Rum,” he said again. “I must get away from here. Rum. Rum, I say!”

I ran to fetch it as I hurried, I heard a loud noise. Running back into the parlor, I saw the captain Iying on the floor. At the same moment, my mother, who had been alarmed by all the noise, came running downstairs to help me. We lifted the captain’s head. He was breathing hard, and his face had a horrible color. I tried to put the rum down his throat—but his teeth were tightly shut. We were glad when the door opened and Dr. Livesey came in. He was on his way to visit my father.

“Oh, Doctor,” we cried, “what shall we do? Where is he wounded?”

“Wounded? A fiddlestick’s end!” said the doctor. “He’ s not wounded. The man has had a stroke. I must do what I can to save his worthless life.”

Between us, and with much trouble, we carried him upstairs and laid him on his bed.

“He should lie where he is for a week. That is the best thing for him,” said Dr. Livesey. 

“another stroke is sure to kill him.”

At noon, I stopped at the captain’s door with cool drinks and medicines.

The captain said, “Black Dog is a bad one, but  there are worse. If they give me the black spot, it is my old sea chest they are after. There is something in there from Captain Flint. I was his first mate.”

“What is the black spot, Captain?” I asked. But the captain gave no answer.

My poor father had been ill all winter, and he died quite suddenly that evening. Because of our sorrow, planning the funeral, and all of the work of the inn that still had to be done, I hardly had time to think of the captain.

He came downstairs the next morning. No one dared to bother him. His temper was more violent than ever.

On the night before the funeral, the captain got drunk. It was shocking to hear him singing his ugly old sea-song in that sad house. As weak as he was, he still climbed up and down the stairs. He went from the parlor to the bar and back again, sometimes putting his nose outdoors to smell the sea. He had a frightful way of laying his sword before him on the table. But with all that, the captain would mind his own business and seemed shut up in his own thoughts.

On a chilly afternoon the day after the funeral, I was standing by the inn door. I saw someone coming slowly up the road. It was a blind man, and he tapped before him with a stick. Bent over and wearing a tattered cloak with a hood, he looked like a hunchback. Raising his voice in a strange way, he spoke to the air in front of  him saying, “will a kind friend tell a poor blind man where he is?”

“You are at the Benbow Inn, my good man,” said I.

“I hear a young voice,” he said. “Give me your hand, my kind young friend, and lead me in.”

I held out my hand and that horrible, soft-spoken, eyeless man gripped it like a vise. I was so surprised that I struggled to draw my hand away. But the blind man pulled me close with his strong grip.

From: Treasury of Ilustrated Classics Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson Adapted by Barbara Green 1996-2004.