d bags of dollars; and this in the
rainy season. They had starved and suffered, and shivered and agonised,
yet they had lost but two men, poor Gayny, who was drowned, and
(apparently) one who had slipped away on the third day of the march.
This man may have been the Spanish Indian. A note in Ringrose's
narrative alludes to the capture of one of Dampier's party by the
Spanish soldiers, and this may have been the man meant.

Two days later, when the Indian guides had gone, and the privateer was
fit for the sea, they set sail for "the rendezvous of the fleet," which
had been fixed for Springers' Key "another of the Samballoes Isles."
Perhaps the English pirates hove up the anchor, the grand privilege of
the guests, aboard ship, to the old anchor tune, with its mournful and
lovely refrain--

"I'll go no more a-roving with you, fair maid."

The old band of never-strikes were outward bound on another foray.

As for Wafer, and his two companions, they stayed with the Indians for
some days, living on plantains (given very grudgingly), and wondering
whether the Indians would kill them. The natives were kindly, as a rule,
to the French and English, but it was now the rainy season, when they
liked to stay in their huts, about their fires. The pirates "had in a
Manner awed the Indian guides they took ... and made them go with them
very much against their Wills." The Indians had resented this act of the
pirates, and as days went by, and the guides did not return, they judged
that the white men had killed them. They prepared "a great Pile of Wood
to burn us," says Wafer, meaning to avenge their fellows, whom they "had
supposed dead." But a friendly old chief dissuaded them from this act, a
few hours before the intended execution.

While the three were living thus, in doubt whether they would be
speared, or held as slaves, or sold to the Spaniards, the two pirates,
Spratlin and Bowman, who had been left behind at the Rio Congo, arrived
at the village. They had had a terrible journey together, "among the
wild Woods and Rivers," wandering without guides, and living on roots
and plantains. On their way, they had come upon George Gayny "lying dead
in a Creek where the Eddy had driven him ashore," "with the Rope twisted
about him, and his Money at his Neck." They left the body where it lay,
with its sack of silver dollars for which the poor man had come so far,
and suffered so bitterly. They had no use for dollars at that time
"be