and the compass read duly E.S.E. and by E.
I thought so, cried the cook; this here is a p inter. Right up there
is our line for the Pole Star and the jolly dollars. But, by thunder!
If it don t make me cold inside to think of Flint. This is one of HIS
jokes, and no mistake. Him and these six was alone here; he killed em,
every man; and this one he hauled here and laid down by compass, shiver
my timbers! They re long bones, and the hair s been yellow. Aye, that
would be Allardyce. You mind Allardyce, Tom Morgan?
Aye, aye, returned Morgan; I mind him; he owed me money, he did, and
took my knife ashore with him.
Speaking of knives, said another, why don t we find his n lying
round? Flint warn t the man to pick a seaman s pocket; and the birds, I
guess, would leave it be.
By the powers, and that s true! cried Silver.
There ain t a thing left here, said Merry, still feeling round among
the bones; not a copper doit nor a baccy box. It don t look nat ral to
me.
No, by gum, it don t, agreed Silver; not nat ral, nor not nice, says
you. Great guns! Messmates, but if Flint was living, this would be a hot
spot for you and me. Six they were, and six are we; and bones is what
they are now.
I saw him dead with these here deadlights, said Morgan. Billy took me
in. There he laid, with penny-pieces on his eyes.
Dead--aye, sure enough he s dead and gone below, said the fellow with
the bandage; but if ever sperrit walked, it would be Flint s. Dear
heart, but he died bad, did Flint!
Aye, that he did, observed another; now he raged, and now he hollered
for the rum, and now he sang. Fifteen Men were his only song, mates;
and I tell you true, I never rightly liked to hear it since. It was
main hot, and the windy was open, and I hear that old song comin out as
clear as clear--and the death-haul on the man already.
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