It had been three weeks since my arrival at the Benbow, and Jim and I had come to be the best of friends. We both had many similar interests, and had some intense battles of wit. Our affection for one another had grown in the past weeks. I had met Dr. Livesey, and he was indeed a charming fellow, and I enjoyed his company, as well as Mrs. Hawkins's. Unfortunately, Jim's father had passed away due to an illness, which had a drastic effect on Jim. He did not cry, though I knew he was suffering. I did the best I could to comfort him, and because of that, we had become closer than ever before.
I woke up one morning and went downstairs to see Jim, finding him standing in the doorway with a melancholy look on his face. I knew he must be thinking about his father. "Hello Jim," I whispered.
"Hello Mary," he sighed. "I was just thinking about my father." I looked at him but said nothing, for I didn't know what I could possibly say to ease his grief. We stood there for awhile, in companionable silence, until Jim and I spotted a man walking towards the inn. I had never seen someone in such poor shape. He was clearly blind, for he had a walking stick before him. The stranger wore an old, tattered sea-cloak, and his figure looked deformed. He came up to us and called out with a very sing-songy voice:
"Will any kind friend inform a poor blind man, who has lost the precious sight of his eyes in the gracious defense of his native country, England, and God bless King George! – where or in what part of this country he may now be?"
"You are at the Admiral Benbow," I said.
"At Black Hill Cove, my good man," said Jim.
"I hear two voices," said the blind beggar. "Will you give me your hands, my kind young friends, and lead me in?"
Jim and I held out our hands for the blind man to grab, and the blind man promptly grabbed it with his own, and not gently. I was very shocked by his strength, and I tried to break free of his grip. The blind man then pulled both me and Jim close to him and said, "Now boy, you and the lass take me to the captain."
Jim responded "Sir, upon my word, I dare not."
"Oh," sneered the blind man, "Take me straight, or I'll break your arm." And with that, he wrenched Jim's arm so hard that Jim cried out.
"You wouldn't dare," I growled, for I wouldn't let anything happen to Jim. I had become quite protective of him since his father's death.
"Quiet lass or I'll snap your arm as well!" shouted the blind man.
"We'd better do as he says Mary," Jim whispered. I nodded. "Sir," said Jim, "It is for yourself, I mean, the captain is not what he used be. He sits with a drawn cutlass. Another gentleman—"
"Come on now, march!" interrupted the blind man. His voice was harsh and icy, even more so than Mr. Darcy's. I was terribly frightened, not just for my life but for Jim's as well. Jim and I quickly obeyed him, walking into the inn and towards the parlor, where Bones sat, guzzling rum. The blind man squeezed our hands even tighter, and leaned all of his weight on us, which was almost more than we could carry, even for Jim and me.
The blind man hissed, "Lead me straight upon to him, and when I am in view, cry out, 'Here is a friend for you, Bill.' And if you don't, then I'll do this." He then grabbed Jim's arm and gave it a violent twist, and it was all I could do not to hit the wretched blind beggar. I was terrified, and for a moment had forgotten my terror of the captain. With one quick glance at Jim, we led the blind man into the parlor.
As soon as we entered, Jim cried out the words the blind man had instructed him to say. The captain reaction to the blind man was immediate; the drunken sleepiness had vanished from his face and was replaced by a look not of fear, but of sickness. The captain struggled to get up, but was unsuccessful. The blind man told the captain to stay where he was. The blind man ordered Jim to take the captain's left hand and bring it closer to him. I was left to hold the beggar, and by now I was trembling with fear. The tension in the parlor was so great that I felt that I could not breathe. As soon as Jim moved the captain's hand closer to the beggar, he gave something to the captain. "And now that's done," said the blind man. He let go of my arm and with shocking precision, the beggar skipped out of the inn. I just stood there, fear keeping me rooted to the spot. I had no idea of what just had happened; all I knew was that it wasn't good.
It was a long while before any of us spoke, but then the captain looked at his palm and exclaimed, "Ten o'clock! Six hours, we'll do them yet!" The captain leapt to his feet, only to collapse on the floor. Jim called to mother, but I stayed still. I knew it was all in vain; Captain Billy Bones was dead.