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<h3> The Last of the Blind Man </h3>
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<p>Y curiosity, in a sense, was stronger than my fear, for I could not
remain where I was, but crept back to the bank again, whence, sheltering
my head behind a bush of broom, I might command the road before our door.
I was scarcely in position ere my enemies began to arrive, seven or eight
of them, running hard, their feet beating out of time along the road and
the man with the lantern some paces in front. Three men ran together, hand
in hand; and I made out, even through the mist, that the middle man of
this trio was the blind beggar. The next moment his voice showed me that I
was right.</p>
<p>“Down with the door!” he cried.</p>
<p>“Aye, aye, sir!” answered two or three; and a rush was made upon the
Admiral Benbow, the lantern-bearer following; and then I could see them
pause, and hear speeches passed in a lower key, as if they were surprised
to find the door open. But the pause was brief, for the blind man again
issued his commands. His voice sounded louder and higher, as if he were
afire with eagerness and rage.</p>
<p>“In, in, in!” he shouted, and cursed them for their delay.</p>
<p>Four or five of them obeyed at once, two remaining on the road with the
formidable beggar. There was a pause, then a cry of surprise, and then a
voice shouting from the house, “Bill’s dead.”</p>
<p>But the blind man swore at them again for their delay.</p>
<p>“Search him, some of you shirking lubbers, and the rest of you aloft and
get the chest,” he cried.</p>
<p>I could hear their feet rattling up our old stairs, so that the house must
have shook with it. Promptly afterwards, fresh sounds of astonishment
arose; the window of the captain’s room was thrown open with a slam and a
jingle of broken glass, and a man leaned out into the moonlight, head and
shoulders, and addressed the blind beggar on the road below him.</p>
<p>“Pew,” he cried, “they’ve been before us. Someone’s turned the chest out
alow and aloft.”</p>
<p>“Is it there?” roared Pew.</p>
<p>“The money’s there.”</p>
<p>The blind man cursed the money.</p>
<p>“Flint’s fist, I mean,” he cried.</p>
<p>“We don’t see it here nohow,” returned the man.</p>
<p>“Here, you below there, is it on Bill?” cried the blind man again.</p>
<p>At that another fellow, probably him who had remained below to search the
captain’s body, came to the door of the inn. “Bill’s been overhauled
a’ready,” said he; “nothin’ left.”</p>
<p>“It’s these people of the inn—it’s that boy. I wish I had put his
eyes out!” cried the blind man, Pew. “There were no time ago—they
had the door bolted when I tried it. Scatter, lads, and find ’em.”</p>
<p>“Sure enough, they left their glim here,” said the fellow from the window.</p>
<p>“Scatter and find ’em! Rout the house out!” reiterated Pew, striking with
his stick upon the road.</p>
<p>Then there followed a great to-do through all our old inn, heavy feet
pounding to and fro, furniture thrown over, doors kicked in, until the
very rocks re-echoed and the men came out again, one after another, on the
road and declared that we were nowhere to be found. And just the same
whistle that had alarmed my mother and myself over the dead captain’s
money was once more clearly audible through the night, but this time twice
repeated. I had thought it to be the blind man’s trumpet, so to speak,
summoning his crew to the assault, but I now found that it was a signal
from the hillside towards the hamlet, and from its effect upon the
buccaneers, a signal to warn them of approaching danger.</p>
<p>“There’s Dirk again,” said one. “Twice! We’ll have to budge, mates.”</p>
<p>“Budge, you skulk!” cried Pew. “Dirk was a fool and a coward from the
first—you wouldn’t mind him. They must be close by; they can’t be
far; you have your hands on it. Scatter and look for them, dogs! Oh,
shiver my soul,” he cried, “if I had eyes!”</p>
<p>This appeal seemed to produce some effect, for two of the fellows began to
look here and there among the lumber, but half-heartedly, I thought, and
with half an eye to their own danger all the time, while the rest stood
irresolute on the road.</p>
<p>“You have your hands on thousands, you fools, and you hang a leg! You’d be
as rich as kings if you could find it, and you know it’s here, and you
stand there skulking. There wasn’t one of you dared face Bill, and I did
it—a blind man! And I’m to lose my chance for you! I’m to be a poor,
crawling beggar, sponging for rum, when I might be rolling in a coach! If
you had the pluck of a weevil in a biscuit you would catch them still.”</p>
<p>“Hang it, Pew, we’ve got the doubloons!” grumbled one.</p>
<p>“They might have hid the blessed thing,” said another. “Take the Georges,
Pew, and don’t stand here squalling.”</p>
<p>Squalling was the word for it; Pew’s anger rose so high at these
objections till at last, his passion completely taking the upper hand, he
struck at them right and left in his blindness and his stick sounded
heavily on more than one.</p>
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<p>These, in their turn, cursed back at the blind miscreant, threatened him
in horrid terms, and tried in vain to catch the stick and wrest it from
his grasp.</p>
<p>This quarrel was the saving of us, for while it was still raging, another
sound came from the top of the hill on the side of the hamlet—the
tramp of horses galloping. Almost at the same time a pistol-shot, flash
and report, came from the hedge side. And that was plainly the last signal
of danger, for the buccaneers turned at once and ran, separating in every
direction, one seaward along the cove, one slant across the hill, and so
on, so that in half a minute not a sign of them remained but Pew. Him they
had deserted, whether in sheer panic or out of revenge for his ill words
and blows I know not; but there he remained behind, tapping up and down
the road in a frenzy, and groping and calling for his comrades. Finally he
took a wrong turn and ran a few steps past me, towards the hamlet, crying,
“Johnny, Black Dog, Dirk,” and other names, “you won’t leave old Pew,
mates—not old Pew!”</p>
<p>Just then the noise of horses topped the rise, and four or five riders
came in sight in the moonlight and swept at full gallop down the slope.</p>
<p>At this Pew saw his error, turned with a scream, and ran straight for the
ditch, into which he rolled. But he was on his feet again in a second and
made another dash, now utterly bewildered, right under the nearest of the
coming horses.</p>
<p>The rider tried to save him, but in vain. Down went Pew with a cry that
rang high into the night; and the four hoofs trampled and spurned him and
passed by. He fell on his side, then gently collapsed upon his face and
moved no more.</p>
<p>I leaped to my feet and hailed the riders. They were pulling up, at any
rate, horrified at the accident; and I soon saw what they were. One,
tailing out behind the rest, was a lad that had gone from the hamlet to
Dr. Livesey’s; the rest were revenue officers, whom he had met by the way,
and with whom he had had the intelligence to return at once. Some news of
the lugger in Kitt’s Hole had found its way to Supervisor Dance and set
him forth that night in our direction, and to that circumstance my mother
and I owed our preservation from death.</p>
<p>Pew was dead, stone dead. As for my mother, when we had carried her up to
the hamlet, a little cold water and salts and that soon brought her back
again, and she was none the worse for her terror, though she still
continued to deplore the balance of the money. In the meantime the
supervisor rode on, as fast as he could, to Kitt’s Hole; but his men had
to dismount and grope down the dingle, leading, and sometimes supporting,
their horses, and in continual fear of ambushes; so it was no great matter
for surprise that when they got down to the Hole the lugger was already
under way, though still close in. He hailed her. A voice replied, telling
him to keep out of the moonlight or he would get some lead in him, and at
the same time a bullet whistled close by his arm. Soon after, the lugger
doubled the point and disappeared. Mr. Dance stood there, as he said,
“like a fish out of water,” and all he could do was to dispatch a man to B——
to warn the cutter. “And that,” said he, “is just about as good as
nothing. They’ve got off clean, and there’s an end. Only,” he added, “I’m
glad I trod on Master Pew’s corns,” for by this time he had heard my
story.</p>
<p>I went back with him to the Admiral Benbow, and you cannot imagine a house
in such a state of smash; the very clock had been thrown down by these
fellows in their furious hunt after my mother and myself; and though
nothing had actually been taken away except the captain’s money-bag and a
little silver from the till, I could see at once that we were ruined. Mr.
Dance could make nothing of the scene.</p>
<p>“They got the money, you say? Well, then, Hawkins, what in fortune were
they after? More money, I suppose?”</p>
<p>“No, sir; not money, I think,” replied I. “In fact, sir, I believe I have
the thing in my breast pocket; and to tell you the truth, I should like to
get it put in safety.”</p>
<p>“To be sure, boy; quite right,” said he. “I’ll take it, if you like.”</p>
<p>“I thought perhaps Dr. Livesey—” I began.</p>
<p>“Perfectly right,” he interrupted very cheerily, “perfectly right—a
gentleman and a magistrate. And, now I come to think of it, I might as
well ride round there myself and report to him or squire. Master Pew’s
dead, when all’s done; not that I regret it, but he’s dead, you see, and
people will make it out against an officer of his Majesty’s revenue, if
make it out they can. Now, I’ll tell you, Hawkins, if you like, I’ll take
you along.”</p>
<p>I thanked him heartily for the offer, and we walked back to the hamlet
where the horses were. By the time I had told mother of my purpose they
were all in the saddle.</p>
<p>“Dogger,” said Mr. Dance, “you have a good horse; take up this lad behind
you.”</p>
<p>As soon as I was mounted, holding on to Dogger’s belt, the supervisor gave
the word, and the party struck out at a bouncing trot on the road to Dr.
Livesey’s house.</p>
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