hn. "They're a nice lot, ain't they? You
say this cruise is bungled. Ah! by gum, if you could understand how bad
it's bungled, you would see! We're that near the gibbet that my neck's
stiff with thinking on it. You've seen 'em, maybe, hanged in chains,
birds about 'em, seamen p'inting 'em out as they go down with the tide.
'Who's that?' says one. 'That! Why, that's John Silver. I knowed him
well,' says another. And you can hear the chains a-jangle as you go
about and reach for the other buoy. Now, that's about where we are,
every mother's son of us, thanks to him, and Hands, and Anderson, and
other ruination fools of you. And if you want to know about number four,
and that boy, why, shiver my timbers! isn't he a hostage? Are we a-going
to waste a hostage? No, not us; he might be our last chance, and I
shouldn't wonder. Kill that boy? not me, mates! And number three? Ah,
well, there's a deal to say to number three. Maybe you don't count it
nothing to have a real college doctor come to see you every day--you,
John, with your head broke--or you, George Merry, that had the ague
shakes upon you not six hours agone, and has your eyes the color of
lemon peel to this same moment on the clock? And maybe, perhaps, you
didn't know there was a consort coming, either? But there is, and not so
long till then; and we'll see who'll be glad to have a hostage when it
comes to that. And as for number two, and why I made a bargain--well,
you come crawling on your knees to me to make it--on your knees you
came, you was that downhearted--and you'd have starved, too, if I
hadn't--but that's a trifle! you look there--that's why!"

And he cast down upon the floor a paper that I instantly
recognized--none other than the chart on yellow paper, with the three
red crosses, that I had found in the oilcloth at the bottom of the
captain's chest. Why the doctor had given it to him was more than I
could fancy.

But if it were inexplicable to me, the appearance of the chart was
incredible to the surviving mutineers. They leaped upon it like cats
upon a mouse. It went from hand to hand, one tearing it from another;
and by the oaths and the cries and the childish laughter with which they
accompanied their examination, you would have thought, not only they
were fingering the very gold, but were at sea with it, besides, in
safety.

"Yes," said one, "that's Flint, sure enough. J. F., and a score below,
with a close hitch to it, so he done ever."

"Mighty