aboard again, says you?" he repeated. "Why, now,
who's to hinder you?"

"Not you, I know," was my reply.

"And right you was," he cried. "Now you--what do you call yourself,
mate?"

"Jim," I told him.

"Jim, Jim," says he, quite pleased, apparently. "Well, now, Jim, I've
lived that rough as you'd be ashamed to hear of. Now, for instance, you
wouldn't think I had had a pious mother--to look at me?" he asked.

"Why, no--not in particular," I answered.

"Ah, well," said he, "but I had--remarkable pious. And I was a civil,
pious boy, and could rattle off my catechism that fast as you couldn't
tell one word from another. And here's what it come to, Jim, and it begun
with chuck-farthen on the blessed grave-stones! That's what it begun
with, but it went further'n that; and so my mother told me, and predicked
the whole, she did, the pious woman! But it were Providence that put me
here. I've thought it all out in this here lonely island, and I'm back on
piety. You don't catch me tasting rum so much; but just a thimbleful for
luck, of course, the first chance I have. I'm bound I'll be good, and I
see the way to. And, Jim"--looking all round him, and lowering his voice
to a whisper--"I'm rich."

I now felt sure that the poor fellow had gone crazy in his solitude, and
I suppose I must have shown the feeling in my face; for he repeated the
statement hotly:--

"Rich! rich! I says. And I'll tell you what: I'll make a man of you, Jim.
Ah, Jim, you'll bless your stars, you will, you was the first that found
me!"

And at this there came suddenly a lowering shadow over his face, and he
tightened his grasp upon my hand, and raised a forefinger threateningly
before my eyes.

"Now, Jim, you tell me true: that ain't Flint's ship?" he asked.

At this I had a happy inspiration. I began to believe that I had found an
ally, and I answered him at once.

"It's not Flint's ship, and Flint is dead; but I'll tell you true, as you
ask me--there are some of Flint's hands aboard; worse luck for the rest
of us."

"Not a man--with one--leg?" he gasped.

"Silver?" I asked.

"Ah, Silver!" says he; "that were his name."

"He's the cook; and the ringleader, too."

He was still holding me by the wrist, and at that he gave it quite a
wring.

"If you was sent by Long John," he said, "I'm as good as pork, and I know
it. But where was you, do you suppose?"

I had made my mind up in a moment, and by way of answer told him the
whole story o