Black Dog the Pirate Appears

Soon, the first of the mysterious events that rid us at last of the (pirate) captain, though not, as you will see, of his affairs, occurred. It was a bitterly cold winter, with long, hard frosts and heavy gales, and it was plain that my poor father was not likely to see the spring. He sank daily. My mother and I had the entire inn to care for and 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 grey with hoarfrost, the ripple lapping softly on the stones, the sun still low and only touching the hilltops and shining far to seaward. The captain had risen earlier than usual and set out down the beach, his cutlass swinging under the broad skirts of his old blue coat, his brass telescope under his arm and his hat tilted back upon his head. I remember his breath hanging like smoke in his wake as he strode…