“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 pretty,” said George. “But how are we to get away with it, and us no ship?”

Silver suddenly sprang up, and supporting himself with a hand against the wall: “Now, I give you warning, George,” he cried. “One more word of your sauce, and I’ll call you down and fight you. How? Why, how do I know? You had ought to tell me that⁠—you and the rest, that lost me my schooner, with your interference, burn you! But not you, you can’t; you ain’t got the invention of a cockroach. But civil you can speak, and shall, George Merry, you may lay to that.”

“That’s fair enow,” said the old man Morgan.

“Fair! I reckon so,” said the sea-cook. “You lost the ship; I found the treasure. Who’s the better man at that? And now I resign, by thunder! Elect whom you please to be your cap’n now; I’m done with it.”