Chapter XXI: Flint’s Way

Bones swaggered into the cabin whilst we were still eating, and his leathery face crinkled in what he intended for an amorous grimace as his eyes fell upon Moira.

“This is what I calls proper homelike,” he declared. “You come and sit on Billy’s knee, my pretty, and cut up this here goat for me.”

I started to rise, but Darby was ahead of me.

“Do ye so much as put a finger on her, and I’ll send a bullet into the black heart o’ ye,” he challenged in his shrill boy’s voice.

“Oh, ye will? Ye red-headed----”

“Me head’s the ship’s luck,” boasted Darby. “The less ye say on that score, the betther for ye.”

“We’ll see to that!” snarled Bones. “You’re the cabin boy, my lad, and no more; and I----”

He tugged at his cutlass-hilt, and Darby, in no wise daunted, hauled forth a pistol as long as his arm. But before one could assail the other Flint shoved in from the companionway and caught Bones by the shoulder.

“What now, Bill?” he demanded. “Ain’t we got enough to face wi’out you fightin’ in the cabin?”

“And would ye ha’ me take impidence and worse from this red-headed land-rat as Long John picked up in New York?” shouted Bones.

“I’d not,” returned Flint. “Darby, you may be my good luck and a lad o’ promise, but I’ll lay the cat to your shoulders if you go for to make trouble.”

“’Twas him was afther makin’ the throuble,” answered Darby sturdily. “Wasn’t he botherin’ Misthress O’Donnell? Sure, I’m Irish, the same as her, and I’ll kill the rogue that does be givin’ her cause for to weep a tear--that I will. And I care not who he may be!”

“Easy, all,” admonished Flint. “What’s this, Bill?”

“Blow me for a dock-swab if I can see as how she’d oughter be set apart,” blustered Bones. “I’m mate, I am, and if I----”

Flint’s bloodshot eyes focused upon him with something of the silent force that I had seen Murray employ against his wild crew.

“You know better nor that, Bill,” he said quietly. “Here Long John’s just been to tell me the crew ha’ demanded a fo’csle council, and God knows what Allardyce and his gang will be up to. And you want to bust into the middle of Rule Four. Gut me! There’s many things I held against Andrew Murray, but one thing he did as was the wisest any gentleman adventurer ever done--and it’s to his credit no less because Bart Roberts done it before him--and that was Rule Four.”

“A woman’s a prize, same as treasure,” grumbled Bones.

“Oh, no, she ain’t! A woman’s trouble--she’s no prize. You know what happens when there’s women aboard a buccaneer. Jealousy, fightin’, and as much blood spilled as in an action. We can’t afford to lose no more men, Bill. Here we are wi’ a bare ship’s company left out o’ five hundred men! I tell ye I’m for sendin’ down the plank any man as draws a knife from this day.”

“Much good it’ll do ye,” said Bones.

“We’ll see to that. Anyhow, I’ll ha’ no fightin’ over women.”

He scowled himself.

“I’d throw the wench overboard if it weren’t that she’s my best chance to find the stuff Murray hid.”

“If harm comes to her you’ll get no such knowledge from any of us,” I interposed.

“Oh, belay that!” he rasped. “You’re lucky to be alive, and the one reason for it is that ye know what ye know.”

He turned to Bones again.

“Now, mark me, Bill, lay off her. When we get this treasure cleaned up ye can take all the time ye fancy for wenches or aught else.”

“Aye, when we do!”

“And that’ll be sooner than ye think,” retorted Flint.

“Wi’ the crew all shoutin’ for disbandment? Allardyce talkin’ of goin’ home tomorrow? I ha’ seen ye handle some bad times, John Flint, but you’re no Andrew Murray!”

The gibe annoyed Flint. His face turned blue, as it did when his temper was fanned or he was in liquor.

“Watch me,” he snapped. “I’ll learn ’em a few things yet. No Andrew Murray! Maybe not. But I ha’ my own way, Bill. Aye, Flint’s way! And it ain’t so bad.”

He suddenly remembered us.

“Keep your mouths shut, d’ye hear? No sneakin’ up to John Silver or any one else. And as for you, my wench--” he frowned at Moira--“keep under cover, for your own sake as well as mine. This is a rough ship, a pirate ship, and----”

“Don’t ye worry about Misthress O’Donnell,” said Darby loyally. “I’ll see to her.”

“Oh, ye will!”

Flint laughed.

“You’re beginning young, Darby. Gut me, what a lad! Well, you keep her out o’ harm’s way, and when we divide the treasure maybe there’ll be an extry allowance for ye. How’d ye like to have her, eh?”

“She’ll be better worth the havin’ than all the treasure there is,” flashed Darby. “And do ye be mindin’ what I’m afther tellin’ ye, Cap’n Flint. If harm comes to her, or sorrow into the heart of her, ’twill be the end o’ your luck--aye, lucky ye’ll be do ye come off wi’ a neck ye can breathe through.”

Flint went pale.

“Now, now, Darby,” he wheedled. “Don’t ye talk that reckless way. ’Tain’t good for our luck. And I ha’ been main kind to ye, and----”

“’Tis you would be the ruin of our luck,” said Darby. “All I’m for tellin’ ye is to be gentle in handlin’ an eligant young maid as ye ought to be on your two knees before this moment for the throuble and sore dismay ye ha’ wrought wi’ her.”

“She’s safe enough, Darby,” Flint answered. “I’d never harm her. We’ll keep her until we ha’ lifted what’s buried on the Dead Man’s Chest, and then she and her two buckos can take a small boat and fare how they please, and----”

“And I’ll be with ’em,” added Darby.

“Oh, no, not you, Darby! Think o’ all the red gold ye’ll have aboard the _Walrus_. And there’s your luck we’ll still need.”

“Me luck!” fumed Darby. “May the ---- curse me luck! ’Tis more of a nuisance than a help.”

“Ah, that’s no way to talk.”

Flint was nigh frantic.

“Lad, would ye lose all your red head has brought us? And look ye, too, if the maid’s to be safe, ’tis I alone can keep her so, for wi’out me there’ll be ---- to pay, and none to stall the reckoning.”

“And that before this glass is out,” affirmed Bones with saturnine emphasis.

The mate knocked the neck off a flask of rum with his cutlass-hilt and poured the equivalent of a water-glass down his throat, gurgling it lustily that he might secure the full savor of the fiery liquor.

“I’ll take the rest o’ that!” exclaimed Flint eagerly. “Aaa-aah! There’s naught like good rum to put heart in a man, Bill. Here, Darby, you finish it. That’s the lad! And don’t talk no more about losin’ your luck. We’re goin’ to need that luck mighty bad these next few days. Aye, this very day, as Bill says. For here’s Tom Allardyce and a batch o’ chicken-hearted ---- ---- a-cryin’ we should be satisfied wi’ what we got, disband and save our necks. And I don’t know what more bilge-slush.”

“’Tain’t Allardyce I’m ’feared of,” said Bones wisely, “but Silver. He’s got a head on his shoulders, Long John has, and all the men’ll listen to him after the way he carried the stockade.”

Flint nodded.

“True for you; but what you’re amiss on is that John feels same as I do about disbandin’. After the treasure’s all lifted, look out for squalls. But right now, Bill, Silver’s as strong for pullin’ together as you and me.”

“Maybe,” said Bones with more of doubt than conviction.

“Maybe? Gut me for a lubber if I’m not right.”

Flint rose from the seat he had assumed.

“You come along on deck, and I’ll show ye. You, too, Darby. No, no, lad--” when Darby would have hung back--“I want ye by me. I tell ye that red head o’ yours is the best beacon I ever steered by.”

At the exit to the companionway he halted and spoke to us over his shoulder:

“You mind what I said about the girl. Keep her under cover.”

“Must we all remain below decks?” I demanded with some heat.

“That’s as ye may happen to feel,” he replied carelessly. “So long as ye don’t try to suck up to any o’ my men and make trouble you can go and come around the ship; but let me find ye up to mischief, and treasure or no treasure, I’ll keelhaul ye.”

His green eyes twinkled evilly.

“Maybe Murray told ye what that might mean.”

He gave Darby a push before him.

“Run out and call the men aft,” he commanded. “That’s the boy! Bill, ---- ye for a low-hearted ---- ----, plaster a grin on that mug o’ yours and pipe up a song. We mustn’t let them swabs for’ard figure us to be worried none, eh?”

And his voice boomed hollow betwixt the confined walls of the companionway:

“Oh, a fine, tall ship was the _Elephant_
As ever sailed the seas;
She came down-Channel apast Ushant
Bound for the East Indies.

“And Dicky Lamb, he says to the crew--
He was the bosun’s mate--
Tickle my guts! Will ye do what I do?
Be game, says I; tempt fate!’”

Bones joined valiantly in the sweep of the tune:

“We are forty-five before the mast,
And ten green clerks berthed aft,
With the cap’n, the cook, the mates and last,
Simmy, the boy, who’s daft.

“That’s fifteen hands against forty-five.
Christ! What an easy lay!
We’ll take ’em at night, and dead or alive,
Pitch ’em in Biscay Bay.

“Oh, that was a night the wind howled free,
The sails froze to the mast,
And Dicky Lamb and the Portugee,
They bound the cap’n fast.”

They were out on deck now, and Flint stayed the song long enough to roar:

“Lay aft, ye swabs! Ye asked for a fo’csle council, and ye shall have it. ---- me, Bill, can’t ye sing louder?”

“Louder!” I muttered to Moira and Peter. “Certes, ye might hear them on the Spyglass.”

“Ssh!” reproved Moira. “I will be wanting to hear the rest of it. There, Darby is singing now--and others.”

A score of voices took up the savage lilt:

“Sandy Grant bashed the mate in the head
And dropped him overside.
The second mate they stabbed abed,
And so the ten clerks died.

“The cook they choked on his own salt pork;
But Simmy they couldn’t find,
For Simmy was daft, and their evil talk
Had addled his feeble mind.

“He groped his way to the darkest hold,
With ax and bit and saw,
And laughed with glee as the waters rolled
In through the hole he tore.

“Oh, that was the end of the _Elephant_--
She’s under the Biscay seas,
And she’ll never more slant past Ushant,
Bound for the East Indies.”

By the time they came to the last verse the whole crew must have been singing. The roar of voices made the dishes quiver on the table before us.

“A proper song, ‘The _Elephant_,” commented Flint’s voice. “Barrin’ ‘Fifteen Men’ ’tis the best I know. I ain’t no preacher, but I can’t help bearin’ in mind that every crew has some feller like Simmy, some feller as always wants to scuttle the prize for his own satisfaction, and never mind what his mates thinks.”

There was no answer to this, only the slapping of bare feet on the deck and the rustle of men crowded close together.

“Well, speak up, fo’csle,” he went on with a note of satire. “What d’ye seek? I’ve heard tell as how there was talk of givin’ me the Black Spot--whatever that may be--and sailin’ home by your lones and dead reckonin’. What’s the argyment, I say?”

The companionway acted like a voice-tube to carry the deck-noises to our ears; but hearing was not the same as seeing, so Peter and I persuaded Moira to slip into her stateroom and ourselves advanced to a position immediately inside the doorway issuing upon the main deck, where the council was being held.

The scene was almost identical with that which I had witnessed a few nights previously when I spied upon Flint’s preparations to surprize Murray. Flint sat, as he had then, upon an upturned barrel, with Bones, Silver, Pew and two or three more. The remainder of the crew were squatted on the deck, a semicircular pattern of coppery faces and tattooed chests. The weather had turned warm after the storm, and practically all of them wore Darby’s costume, a pair of trousers or breeches, usually slashed off above the knees.

Foremost in the ring of seamen was a tall, lanky fellow with rather long, yellow hair and a belligerent expression. ’Twas he who sustained the burden of the debate with Flint, supported to some extent by a group of a score or so, who sat behind him.

“Aye, aye, Tom Allardyce,” Flint was saying as we reached our aerie. “You was the man all against attackin’ Murray.”

“Wasn’t I right?” retorted Allardyce. “Didn’t all happen as I said it would? Butchered, we was.”

“Everything don’t go right from the beginnin’,” answered Flint. “But just look where we be now, mates.”

“It ain’t your doin’,” asserted Allardyce. “’Twas only blind luck as the storm wrecked Murray and we rode it out.”

“Ah!” said Flint agreeably. “Luck is right. The very words I’d use myself, Allardyce. For see ye, ’tis luck counts for the most, and I ha’ been main lucky o’ late. No man can deny that. Whatever I put my hand to turns out well.”

This received a murmur of endorsement, and the yellow-haired man cried out----

“Luck is well enough, but all luck comes to an end, and I am saying that ye ha’ stretched yours overthin, cap’n.”

“That’s moderate,” admitted Flint. “I’d say myself as I’m for doublin’ my luck. Ye see, mates--” he appealed to the several hundred men who thronged the deck--“my luck has won us eight hundred thousand pounds, and I’m for using it to win eight hundred thousand pounds more. And that’s askin’ less o’ luck than ye might think, seein’ the heaviest part is accomplished. We ha’ three prisoners as know the secret o’ Murray’s cache, and all we need do is sail to the Dead Man’s Chest, land a party and ferry the stuff aboard.”

“Aye, and s’pose a frigate jumps us?” called one of the men sitting with Allardyce.

“Depends on the frigate, man,” answered Flint equably. “A Spanisher I’d fight. A King’s ship I’d run from. A Frenchy--I don’t know.”

“The ship’s foul. We couldn’t run,” said Allardyce. “No, mates, I say we ha’ eight hundred thousand pounds, and we’d better be satisfied wi’ that. ’Tis a couple o’ thousand pounds apiece.”

“Aye, aye,” came from a number of men. “Disband while the luck’s wi’ us.”

“Disband wi’ eight hundred thousand pounds more as good as in our pockets!” exclaimed Flint. “I never heard crazier talk.”

“Better live wi’ eight hundred thousand pounds than lose a third o’ us to win twice that,” insisted Allardyce doggedly.

“Not while I ha’ aught to say about it!” roared Flint. “Gut me if I’ll lose riches we all ha’ worked and fought for just to please a handful o’ swabs as haven’t got the courage to risk a bit more.”

There were expressions of opinion both ways upon this; the company was fairly well divided. And Allardyce proceeded to press his advantage.

“If ye talk about losin’ riches, cap’n, ’tis you are willing to risk losing the eight hundred thousand pounds we have in hand. Ye’d go for the other treasure and most likely lose what we already have.”

Flint squinted reflectively at the yellow-haired man.

“Now that might be a good argyment, Allardyce, if ’twas true,” he remarked. “But it ain’t. The truth is, I am all for makin’ the treasure we have safe before we go cruisin’ to the Dead Man’s Chest. Treasure is a poison on shipboard if ye ain’t got a sure use for it. That’s why I had ye leave ashore the lot Murray moved to the blockhouse. It’s out o’ the ship.”

Allardyce lost his temper.

“Aye, ye want it where ye can get your hand on it, and give us the slip!”

“How’d I do that, Allardyce?” inquired Flint softly.

“If I knowed how you were plannin’ to do it I’d stop ye.”

“Ah, stop me, would ye?”

“I would! There’s other men ha’ marooned or murdered the half o’ a ship’s company that there might be fewer to share in the prize.”

“That’s kindly of ye,” said Flint. “I take that real kindly! There’s some, Allardyce, as might draw pistol for that. No, no, put up your weapon! I’m a-goin’ to prove to ye, whether ye like it or not, that I mean well by ye. I’ll tell ye what I’ll do.

“First off, mates--” he addressed the whole crew--“do ye or don’t ye want to win eight hundred thousand pounds more wi’out havin’ to fight for it?”

A fair majority were in favor of this.

“Second, mates, are ye willin’ as the treasure we have shall be buried here on the Rendezvous until we ha’ fetched back the part that’s on the Dead Man’s Chest?”

“Who’s to bury it?” put in Allardyce sullenly. “’Tis easy for a few men to bury treasure so’s none save theirselves can find it--and if they disappear suddenlike, what’ll their shipmates do?”

“There’s sense in that,” agreed Flint. “Let’s say as you and me bury it, Allardyce.”

The yellow-haired man shook his head.

“There’d be one o’ us come back--and ’twouldn’t be me.”

“Got a great idea o’ me, ain’t ye?” mocked Flint. “But s’posin’ ye took along some friends? Would ye feel safe then?”

“How many?”

Flint turned to Silver, whose hard eyes had been studying the faces of both parties to the debate.

“How many would ye say, Long John?”

Silver’s big face split in a smile of derisive quality.

“Seein’ as you’re one o’ the party, cap’n, maybe we might say five--six includin’ himself.”

“Ye think he’d be safe from me wi’ five friends along?” asked Flint earnestly.

“Six is a good number for buryin’ treasure,” replied Silver, grinning broader than ever. “And with you ’twould be seven--and seven’s lucky.”

Flint regarded him admiringly.

“Wouldn’t ye know ’twould take Long John to think o’ that? Seven is lucky, says he! Ah, yes, and who for? Well, Allardyce, what d’ye say? Will ye feel safe wi’ six friends?”

Several men laughed.

“Yes,” answered the yellow-haired man.

“Then that’s settled,” said Flint. “Pick ’em now. We’ll start settin’ the treasure ashore at once. You and your friends and me, we’ll go off soon as that’s finished. Bill Bones will take command o’ the _Walrus_. Bill, ye’d better take her out east o’ the island and stand off and on, weather permitting. If ye lie up here wi’ naught to do, there’ll be trouble, and men will be comin’ ashore, and so we’ll get no work done.”

“How long will ye be?” asked Bones, smiling in a knowing way.

Flint hailed Allardyce, who was already deep in conversation with his group of supporters.

“How long d’ye figure it should take to stow away the two lots of treasure, Allardyce? We’ll put the gold and coined silver in one cache and the bar silver in another.”

“How do I know?” snarled Allardyce.

“‘How does he know?’ says he,” Flint echoed gravely. “Tell ye what, Bill, you just stand off and on like I said, and when we’re ready to come aboard we’ll row out o’ the Anchorage. That’s simple enough, ain’t it? No chance for misunderstandin’ or aught goin’ wrong.”

Peter and I ducked into our stateroom as the two came aft. They went into Bones’ room, which was next to Moira’s, and for some time we could hear them talking in low tones. When they came out Flint was saying:

“Mind, Bill, an easy rein, but give ’em no slack. And leave the wench alone. ’Twould only make endless trouble wi’ the crew.”

Bones replied with a blistering string of curses.

“And ye were a fool,” he wound up, “to let Long John make odds o’ six to one. Why, even Murray----”

“Stow that!”

I could feel an edge of temper to Flint’s voice.

“I’m sick o’ hearing you prate Murray this and Murray that. I’ll show this crew that Flint’s way is as sure as Murray’s.”

“It’s plum duff to Silver if aught happens to ye,” remonstrated the mate.

“Don’t ye worry, Bill. There’ll be no man in this crew willing to lift a finger after I come aboard again. Where’s my Flemish pistolets?”

When they were finally gone I looked an unspoken question at Peter.

“_Ja_,” he said.

“But six to one! Why?”

“He wants der treasure where only he can reach it. _Ja_, dot’s it.”

The morning of the sixth day I was awakened by a considerable clamor on the deck, and Darby McGraw danced into my stateroom, so excited that his brogue was nigh incomprehensible.

“Haste ye! Haste ye, Master Bob!” he cried. “’Tis Flint comin’ off, and him by his lone.”

I roused Peter, and we threw on our clothes and ran out upon the maindeck, which was crammed with pirates, staring in rapt suspense across the sta’b’d bulwarks. The sun was just rising, and the island shelved upward, darkly portentous, from the creamy lather of the surf. The _Walrus_ was standing south, with the White Rock on her sta’b’d quarter and the entrance to Captain Kidd’s Anchorage ahead. Outside the entrance, and pulling to meet us, was the gig we had left behind for the convenience of Flint and his companions. A single figure with a light-blue scarf wrapped around his head, rowed at the oars.

“But how be certain ’tis Flint!” I exclaimed. “His back is toward us, and at this distance----”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Master Ormerod,” said Silver at my elbow, “we ha’ made him out wi’ glasses. Bill--” he waved his free hand toward the poop, where Bones strode up and down by the helmsman--“is sure o’ him.”

The one-legged man sniggered and lowered his voice.

“Ye ain’t surprized, are ye?” he asked.

“Six to one!” was all I could think to say.

“_Ja_,” agreed Peter, chuckling.

Silver sniggered again.

“Aye, six to one. A strong, desperate feller is Flint. Now what d’ye reckon he’ll do wi’ the map?”

“What map?”

“When ye bury treasure ye draws a map,” Silver explained oracularly. “If so be as one man knows where ’twas buried and he has the map that treasure is safe till doomsday--’nless some one else gets the map.”

“Well, he won’t give me the map,” I returned shortly.

“No-oo-o, it ain’t likely. But if he ever stows it where ye can lay your hands on it or ye see him give it to anybody else you just remember as Long John stands your friend, gentlemen. Friend is the word, remember. And the old saw says as a friend in need is a friend indeed.”

His black eyes glinted icily as they rested in turn upon Peter’s face and mine. Then he stumped aft, shouting:

“Rig them boatfalls, mates. Stand by to hoist the cap’n’s gig aboard.”

Presently we rounded into the wind and came to, and Flint pulled under our lee, rowing slowly, with long, leisurely strokes like a man who is very weary but intent upon finishing a difficult undertaking. Now that he was so close we could see that the scarf around his head was crusted with blood. His coat and shirt were torn to shreds, and his shoes and stockings gummed with mud.

A man heaved him a couple of lines, and he knotted them carefully to bow and stern before he began to climb the cleats of the side ladder, moving stiffly but with unerring precision. As his face lifted above the bulwarks the men nearest to him gasped and trod back upon the toes of those behind them. Such a face I have never seen. ’Twas not alone the terrible blue color and the congested veins that bulged redly under the skin, but a suggestion of experiences beyond the pale of ordinary human understanding. His eyes glared savagely. His mouth was fixed in a grimace of hatred. In his tanned cheeks were riven lines of fear, of anger, of revenge, of cupidity, of insensate ambition--aye, and of remorse.

He dropped to the deck and peered watchfully around him.

“Well, here I be,” he croaked. “Ho, you Darby, fetch me a bottle o’ rum. Yarely, lad!”

Darby skipped away on his errand, white-cheeked and shaking.

Nobody spoke, and Flint laughed--oh, dreadfully!

“Ye ain’t glad to welcome your skipper back, eh? How’d ye make out, Bill?”

Bones had shouldered a path through the clustering ranks, but even he was speechless before Flint’s ghastly figure.

“We--we--we’re all right,” he stuttered finally.

Silver, only, seemed unimpressed.

“Ye were seven as went ashore, cap’n,” he said apologetically, “and one to return aboard.”

Flint laughed that dreadful laugh a second time.

“Aye, there’s six stayed ashore, Silver; six tall fellows. Six, says you, and seven’s lucky. Aye, lucky! Main lucky! And Allardyce says he’s safe wi’ six! Ho, ho, ho!”

“Where--where--are they?” questioned Bones.

“Ashore, I told ye, Bill. All safe ashore.”

“Dead?” pressed Bones.

“Aye, dead as Harry Morgan--or Avery.”

Darby dived through the jam with an open bottle of rum, and Flint stretched out both arms and tossed men right and left to make way for the lad.

“Rum!” he exclaimed. “That’s what I need. Rum--and plenty of it!”

He bent back his head, put the bottle to his lips and drank--and drank. You could hear the gurgle of it as it trickled down his gullet.

“Aaaa-aah!” he breathed. “That was rare stuff. Get me another, Darby.”

He tossed the bottle overboard, and started to sing a stave of that savage sea-song which was the chief delight of the crew:

“Tom Avery died of a cutlass slash--
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle o’ rum!
Mounseer Tessin felt the galleys’ lash--
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle o’ rum!”

“But the treasure,” spoke up Silver. “What’d ye do wi’ it, cap’n?”

Flint eyed him for as long as ’twould take to count twenty. And I am bound to say Silver met his eye unflinchingly.

“Why, ’tis safe, John,” answered Flint in the horribly soft tones he had employed with Allardyce. “All tucked where it’ll stay safe.”

“Aye, but where?” persisted Silver.

Flint’s blue, mottled visage became convulsed with a passion words can not describe.

“Where?” he mouthed. “Aye, where? Ask on, man! Or seek it, if ye wish. Aye, go ashore. Lay off those ropes,” he shouted to the men at the falls to which his gig was hitched. “There’s a boat,” he went on. “There’s tools on the island. Ye can have food and rum. Go ashore if ye like, and stay--any o’ ye! Search for the treasure till ---- opens wide for ye. But as for the ship, she’ll beat up for more, by thunder!”

He waited a moment, but no man accepted his challenge. Silver, indeed, stumped deliberately out of the crowd, with a far-away look in his eyes that were as bright and hard as a pair of polished buttons.

“That’s well,” said Flint. “The course is so’west by south, Bill. We’re for the Dead Man’s Chest. All sail, and a lookout in every top!”