o 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.

"Much I care," returned the doctor. "It's the name of a buccaneer of my
acquaintance, and I call you by it for the sake of shortness, and what I
have to say to you is this: one glass of rum won't kill you, but if you
take one you'll take another and another, and I stake my wig if you don't
break off short, you'll die--do you underst