e the word; and you
may lay to that, my son."

"Well, I don't say no, do I?" growled the coxswain. "What I say is,
when? That's what I say."

"When! By the powers!" cried Silver. "Well now, if you want to know,
I'll tell you when. The last moment I can manage, and that's when.
Here's a first-rate seaman, Cap'n Smollett, sails the blessed ship for
us. Here's this squire and doctor with a map and such--I don't know
where it is, do I? No more do you, says you. Well then, I mean this
squire and doctor shall find the stuff, and help us to get it aboard,
by the powers. Then we'll see. If I was sure of you all, sons of double
Dutchmen, I'd have Cap'n Smollett navigate us half-way back again before
I struck."

"Why, we're all seamen aboard here, I should think," said the lad Dick.

"We're all forecastle hands, you mean," snapped Silver. "We can steer
a course, but who's to set one? That's what all you gentlemen split on,
first and last. If I had my way, I'd have Cap'n Smollett work us back
into the trades at least; then we'd have no blessed miscalculations and
a spoonful of water a day. But I know the sort you are. I'll finish with
'em at the island, as soon's the blunt's on board, and a pity it is. But
you're never happy till you're drunk. Split my sides, I've a sick heart
to sail with the likes of you!"

"Easy all, Long John," cried Israel. "Who's a-crossin' of you?"

"Why, how many tall ships, think ye, now, have I seen laid aboard? And
how many brisk lads drying in the sun at Execution Dock?" cried Silver.
"And all for this same hurry and hurry and hurry. You hear me? I seen
a thing or two at sea, I have. If you would on'y lay your course, and a
p'int to windward, you would ride in carriages, you would. But not you!
I know you. You'll have your mouthful of rum tomorrow, and go hang."

"Everybody knowed you was a kind of a chapling, John; but there's others
as could hand and steer as well as you," said Israel. "They liked a bit
o' fun, they did. They wasn't so high and dry, nohow, but took their
fling, like jolly companions every one."

"So?" says Silver. "Well, and where are they now? Pew was that sort,
and he died a beggar-man. Flint was, and he died of rum at Savannah. Ah,
they was a sweet crew, they was! On'y, where are they?"

"But," asked Dick, "when we do lay 'em athwart, what are we to do with
'em, anyhow?"

"There's the man for me!" cried the cook admiringly. "That's what I call
business. Well, what woul