Music Welcome to Snewscast, the podcast designed to help you fall asleep. Find us on Snewscast.com and follow us on Instagram at Snewscast to find behind the scenes content. If you enjoy our show, please write a review on the podcast app. Also, share us with a friend. Please know that we read and appreciate every single one. Here is a recent review we loved. The subject line is brilliant. It goes. I have no problem going to sleep, but so much trouble staying asleep and generally wake up around 3 a.m. feeling wide awake. I have been listening to snooze cast for months now on my headphones and it sends me straight back to sleep.

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Thank you, Cardi, for your review.

And we are so happy to help you get back into Dreamland easily. If you would like to get an email once a week with upcoming sleep stories and other news, subscribe to the snooze letter at snoozecast.com. This episode is brought to you by our Patreon supporters, including our newest Patreon, Deborah, and by SmoothSailing. Tonight, we'll read Treasure Island by listener's suggestion. An adventure novel by Scottish author Robert Lewis Stevenson. It is a tale of Buccaneers and Barried Gold. Its influence is enormous on popular perceptions of pirates, including such elements as treasure maps marked with an X, scoeners, tropical islands,

and one like its semen bearing parrots on their shoulders. Let's get cozy. Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed. And now, take a few deep breaths. The old sea dog at the Admiral Ben-Bowl. Squire Trilani, Dr. Livsi, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particular is about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island. And that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted. I take up my pen now, and go back to the time, when my father kept theiral Ben-Bow in, and the brown old semen with the saber cut first took up his lodging under our roof. I remember as if it were yesterday, as he came plotting to the indoor, his sea chest following behind him in a hand-barrow, a tall, strong, heavy, nut-brown man. His tarry pigtail falling over the shoulder of his soiled blue coat. His hands ragged and scarred with black broken nails, and the saber cut across one she. Dirty, livid white. I remember him looking around the cove and whistling to himself as he did so, and then breaking out in that old C-song that he sang so often afterwards. 15 men on the Dead Man's chest, Yo Ho Ho in a bottle of rum, in the high old tottering voice that seems to have been tuned and broken at the cap-stand bars. Then he wrapped on the door, with a bit of stick like a hand spike that he carried, and when my father appeared, called roughly for a glass of rum. This, when it was brought to him, he drank slowly, like a connoisseur, lingering on the taste, and still looking about him at the cliffs and up at our signboard. This is a handy cove, he says at length, and a pleasant grog shop, much company mate. My father told him no, very little company. The more was the pity. Well then, said he. This is the birth for me. Here you, matey, he cried to the man who trundled the barrel. Bring up alongside and held up my chest. I'll stay here a bit."

He continued. I'm a plain man, rum and bacon eggs is what I want. And that head up there for to watch ships off. What you might call me, you might call me Captain. Oh, I see what you're at there. And he threw down three or four gold pieces on the threshold. You can tell me when I've worked through that, says he, looking as fierce as a commander. And indeed, bad as his clothes were and coarsely as he spoke. He had none of the appearance of a man who sailed before the mast, but seemed like a mate or skipper, a custom to be obeyed or to strike. The man who came with the barrel told us the male had set him down the morning before at the royal George, that he had inquired what ends there were along the coast. In hearing ours, well spoken of, I suppose, and described as lonely, that chosen it from the others for his place of residence. And that was all we could learn of our guest. He was a very silent man by custom. All day he hung around the cove or upon the cliffs with a brass telescope. All evening he sat in a corner of the parlor, next the fire and drank rum and water very strong. Mostly he would not speak when spoken to, only look up sudden and fierce and blow through his nose like a fog horn. And we and the people who came about our house soon learned to let him be. Every day, when he came back from his stroll, he would ask if any seafaring men had gone by along the road. At first we thought it was the want of company of his own kind that made him ask this question, but at last we began to see he was desirous to avoid them.

When a seamen did put up at the Admiral Ben-Bau, as now and then some did, making by the coast road for Bristol, he would look in at him through the curtain door before he entered the parlor and he was always sure to be as silent as a mouse when any such was present. For me, at least, there was no secret about the matter, for I was, in a way, a shareer in his alarms. Taken me a side one day and promised me a silver forpenny on the first of every month, if I would only keep my weather eye open for a seafaring man with one leg. And let him know the moment he appeared. Often enough, when the first of the month came round and I applied to him for my wage, he would only blow through his nose at me and stare me down. But before the week was out, he was sure to think better of it. Bring me my four penny piece and repeat his orders to look out for the seafaring man with one leg. How that person had haunted my dreams, I need scarcely tell you. On stormy nights, when the wind shook the four corners of the house, and the surf roared along the cove and up the cliffs, I would see him in a thousand forms, and with a thousand diabolical expressions. Now the leg would be cut off at the knee, now at the hip. Now he was a monstrous kind of creature who would never had but the one leg, in that in the middle of his body. To see him leap and run and pursue me overhead and ditch was the worst. Off the gather I paid pretty dear from my monthly for penny piece in the shape of these abominable fancies. But though I was so terrified by the idea of the seafaring man with one leg, I was far are less afraid of the captain himself than anybody else who knew him. There were nights when he took a deal, more rum in water, and then he would sometimes sit and sing his wicked, old wild sea-songs, minding nobody. But sometimes he would call for glasses round and force a halt the trembling company to listen to his stories or bear a chorus to his singing. Often I've heard the house shaking with Yo Ho Ho in a bottle of rum. All the neighbors joining in for dear life, in each singing louder than the other to avoid remark. For in these fits he was the most overriding companion ever known. He would slap his hand on the table for silence all round. He would fly up in a passion of anger at a question, and sometimes because none was put. And so he judged the company was not following his story. No, would he allow anyone to leave the inn till he had drunk himself sleepy and reeled off to bed? Stories were about walking the plank in storms at sea in the dry tortugas and wild deeds and places on the Spanish main. By his own account, he must have lived his life among some of the weakest men that God ever allowed upon the sea. And the language in which he told these stories shocked our plain country people almost as much as the crimes that he described. My father was always saying the inn would be ruined. For people would soon cease coming there to be, tyrannized over and put down and sent shivering to their beds. But I really believe his presence did us good. People were frightened at the time, but on looking back they rather liked it. It was a fine excitement in a quiet country life, and there was even a party of the younger men who pretended to admire him, calling him a true sea-dog and a real old salt in such like names, and saying there was the sort of man that made England terrible at sea. In one way, indeed, he bade fair to ruin us. For he kept on staying weak after weak and at last month after month so that all the money had been long exhausted, and still my father never plucked up the heart to insist on having more. If he ever mentioned it, the captain blew through his nose so loudly that you might say he roared and stared my poor father out of the room.

I have seen him reading his hands after such a rebuff.

All the time he lived with us, the captain made no change whatever in his dress,

but to buy some stockings from a hawker.

One of the cocks of his hat having fallen down, he let it hang from that day forth, though it was a great annoyance when it blew. I remember the appearance of his coat, which he patched himself upstairs in his room, in which, before the end, was nothing but patches. He never wrote or received a letter, and he never spoke with any but the neighbors, and with these, for the most part, only when drunk on rum. The great sea-chest none of us had ever seen open.

He was only once crossed, and that was towards the end. When my poor father was far gone in a decline that took him off, Dr. Livsey came late one afternoon to see the patient, took a bit of dinner from my mother, and went into the parlor to smoke pipe until his horse should come down from the hamlet.

Where we... and took a bit of dinner from my mother and went into the parlor to smoke a pipe until his horse had come down from the hamlet. But we had no stabling at the old Benbao. I followed him in, and I remember observing the contrast, the neat, bright doctor, with his powder as white as snow in his bright, black eyes and pleasant manners, made with the cultish country foe, and above all with that filthy, heavy, blear scarecrow of a pirate of ours, sitting far gone and rum, with his arms on the table. Suddenly, he, the captain, that is, began to pipe up his eternal song. Fifteen men on the Dead Man's chest, Yo-ho-ho in a bottle of rum. Drinking the devil had done for the rest, Yo-ho-ho in a bottle of rum. At first, I had supposed the Dead Man's chest to be that identical big box of his upstairs in the front room, and thought had been mingle than my dreams with that of the one-legged seafaring man. But by this time we had all long ceased to pay any particular notice to the song. It was new that night to nobody nobody but Dr. Livese. And on him I observed it did not produce an agreeable effect. For he looked up for a moment quite angrily before he went on with this talk to old tailor, the gardener, on a new cure for the rheumatics. In the meantime, the captain gradually brightened up at his own music, and at last flapped his hand upon the table before him in a way we all knew to mean silence. The voices stopped at once. All but Dr. Livesees. He went on as before, speaking clear and kind and drawing briskly at his pipe between every word or two. The captain glared at him for a while, flapped his hand again, glared still harder, and at last broke out with a villainous low oath, silence there between decks. Were you addressing me, sir? Says the doctor. And when the roughing had told him that another oath that this was so, I have only one thing to say to you, sir, replies the doctor.

That if you keep on drinking rum, the world will soon be quit of a very dirty scoundrel. The old fellow is furious. He sprang to his feet, drew and opened a sailor's clasp knife, and balancing it open on the palm of his hand, threatened to pin the doctor to the wall. The doctor never so much has moved. He spoke to him as before, over his shoulder, and in the same tone of voice, rather high, so that all the room might hear, but perfectly calm and steady. If you do not put that knife this instant in your pocket, I promise upon my honor, you shall hang. Then follow the battle of looks between them, but the captain soon knuckled under, put up his weapon and resumed his seat, rumbling like a beaten dog. And now, sir, continued the doctor. Since I now know there's such a fellow in my district, you may count I'll have an eye upon you day and night. I'm not a doctor only. I'm a magistrate, and if I catch a breath of complaint against you, if it's only for a piece of incivility like tonight's, I'll take the effectual means to have you hunted down and routed out of this. But that's the fight. Soon after, a doctor lives his horse, came to the door, and he rode away. the captain held his peace that evening, and for many evenings to come. Black dog appears and disappears. It was not very long after this that there occurred the first of the mysterious events that rid us at last of the captain, though not, as you will see, of his affairs. It was a bitter cold winter, with long hard frosts and heavy gals, and it was plain from the first that my poor father was little likely to see the spring. He sank daily, and my mother and I had all the in upon our hands, and we were kept busy enough without paying much regard to our unpleasant guest. It was one January morning, very early, a pinching frosty morning. The cove all gray with frost, the ripple lapping softly on the stones. The sun still low and only touching the hill tops and shining far to seward. The captain had risen earlier than usual, and set out down the beach. His cutlass swinging under the broad skirts of the old blue coat. His brass telescope under his arm. His hat tilted back upon his head. I remember his breath hanging like smoke in his wake as he strode off. And the last sound I heard of him as he turned the big rock was a loud snort of indignation, as though his mind was still running upon Dr. Liffsey. Well, mother was upstairs with father, and I was laying the breakfast table against the captain's return when the parlor door opened and a man stepped in on whom I had never set my eyes before. He was a pale, tally-wee creature, wanting two fingers of the left hand, and though Though he wore a cutlass, he did not look much like a fighter. I had always my eye open for seafaring men, with one leg or two, and I remember this one puzzled me. He was not sailorly, and yet he had a smack of the sea about him, too. I asked him what was for his service, and he said he would take rum, but as I was going out of the room to fetch it, he sat down upon a table and motioned me a drawn near. I paused where I was with my napkin in my hand. Come here, sonny," says he. Come nearer here. I took a step nearer. Is this your table for my mate Bill? He asked with a kind of lear. I told him I did not know his mate Bill Bill, and this was for a person who stayed in our house whom we called the captain. Well, said he, my mate Bill would be called the captain, as like as not. He has a cut on one cheek and a mighty pleasant way with him, particularly in drink, has my mate Bill. We'll put it for argument like that your captain has a cut on one cheek and we'll put it, if you like, that that cheeks the right one. Ah, well, I told you. Now is my mate Bill in this here house. I told him he was out walking. Which way, Sonny? Which way is he gone? And when I had pointed out the rock and told him how the captain was likely to return, and how soon, and answered a few other questions, ah, said he. This will be as good as drink to my mate Bill. The expression of his face as he said these words was not at all pleasant, and I had my own reasons for thinking that the stranger was mistaken, even supposing he meant what he said. But it was no fair of mine, I thought, and besides, it was difficult to know what to do. The stranger kept hanging around, just inside the end door, peering around the corner like a cat waiting for a mouse. Once I stepped out myself into the road, but he immediately called me back. And as I did not obey quick enough for his fancy, almost horrible change came over his taloey face, and he ordered me in with an oath that made me jump. As soon as I was back again, he returned to his former manner, half-fawning, half-snaring, padded me on the shoulder. Told me I was a good boy, and he had taken quite a fancy to me. I have a son of my own," said he. As like you as two blocks, and he's all the pride of my art. But the great thing for boys is discipline, sunny, discipline. Now, if you had sailed along a bill, you wouldn't have stood there to be spoke to twice, not you. That was never Bill's way. Nor the way of such as sailed with him. Then here, sure enough, is my mate Bill, with a spyglass under his arm. Bless his old art, to be sure. You and me'll just go back into the parlour, sunny, and get behind the door. And we'll give Bill a little surprise, bless his art and I say again. So saying, the stranger backed along with me into the parlor, and put me behind him in the corner so that we were both hidden by the open door. That was very uneasy and alarmed as you may fancy. and it rather added to my fears to observe that the stranger was certainly frightened himself. He had cleared the hilt of his cutlass and loosened the blade and the sheath, and all the time we were waiting there he kept swallowing as if he felt what we used to

call a lump in the throat. At last in strode the captain slammed the door behind him, without looking to the right or left, and marched straight across the room to where his breakfast awaited him. Bill, is that the stranger in a voice that I thought he had tried to make bold and big. The captain spun round on his heel and fronted us. All the brown had gone out of his face, and even his nose was blue, he had to look of a man who sees a ghost or the evil one.

Or something worse, if anything can be. And upon my word, I felt sorry to see him all in a moment, turned so old and sick. Come, Bill, you know me.

You know an old chipmate.

Bill, surely, said the stranger.

Captain- Come, Bill. You know me. You know an old shipmate. Bill, surely," said the stranger. Captain made a sort of gasp. Black Dog said he, and who else returned the other? Getting more at ease. Black Dog, as ever, was. Come for it as he is old shipmate, Billy, at the Admiral Ben Bowen. Ah, Bill. Bill, we have seen a sigh of times, us two. Since I lost them two talents, holding up his mutilated hand. Now, look here, said the captain. You've run me down. Here I am. Well, then, speak up, what is it? That's you, Bill. Return to Black Dog. You're on the right of it, Billy. I'll have a glass of rum from this dear child here, as I've took such a liking to. Then we'll sit down, if you please, and talk square, like old shipmates. When I returned with the rum, they were already seated at either side of the captain's breakfast table. Black dog next to the door and sitting sideways so as to have one eye on his old shipmate, and one, as I thought, on his retreat. He bade me go and leave the door wide open. None of your keyholes for me, sonny, he said, and I left them together and retired into the bar. 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 oats, from the captain. No, no, no, no, and an end of it, he cried once. And again, if it comes a 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. In the next instant I saw a black dog in full flight, in the captain, hotly pursuing, both with drawn cutlaces, 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 chime had it not been intercepted by our big

signboard of Admiral Benbaugh. 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 the little and caught himself of one hand against the wall. Are you hurt, Crydai? Rum, he repeated, I must get away from him 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 followed the tap. And while I was still getting in my own way, I heard a loud fall in the parlor, and running in.owed the captain lying full length upon the floor. At the same instant my mother, alarmed by the cries and fighting, and 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 was a horrible color. Dear, dear 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. 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. was a happy relief for us. from the door opened and Dr. Liftsie came in on his visit to my father. Oh, Dr. we cried. What shall we do? Where is he wounded? Wounded. A fiddle-sticks-end said the doctor. Some are 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. When I got back with the basin, the doctor had already ripped up the captain's sleeve and exposed his great arm. It was tattooed in several places. Here's luck, a fair wind, Billy Bones is fancy. We're very neatly and clearly executed on the forum. 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.

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