"—— your advice!" snapped Flint. "The tools I'll take. Is that my hostage wi' you?"
"'Tis my grandnephew, yes."
"Ye may as well leave him then. We can use him on the fort. He's not too proud to hand and haul, is he?"
Murray stepped so close to him that notwithstanding the dimness of the twilight their faces were clearly discernible to each other.
"When the time comes for it my grandnephew will be placed in your hands, Flint," he said quietly. "And I shall hold you strictly accountable for his treatment."
His manner chilled.
"D'ye hear, man? Strictly accountable, I said. The feckless knave that lays a finger to him, who has my own blood in his veins, shall be flayed alive and bound to the bowsprit of the James."
"Oh, aye," mumbled Flint, and faded into the shadows.
Long John Silver, who had tarried within earshot throughout their dialogue, stumped forward again.
"It grows sudden dark in these 'ere latitoods, captain!" he said. "Will ye ha' one o' our boats to take ye off?"