"Don't ye worry, Bill. There'll be no man in this crew willing to lift a finger after I come aboard again. Where's my Flemish pistolets?"
When they were finally gone I looked an unspoken question at Peter.
"Ja," he said.
"But six to one! Why?"
"He wants der treasure where only he can reach it. Ja, dot's it."
The morning of the sixth day I was awakened by a considerable clamor on the deck, and Darby McGraw danced into my stateroom, so excited that his brogue was nigh incomprehensible.
"Haste ye! Haste ye, Master Bob!" he cried. "'Tis Flint comin' off, and him by his lone."
I roused Peter, and we threw on our clothes and ran out upon the maindeck, which was crammed with pirates, staring in rapt suspense across the sta'b'd bulwarks. The sun was just rising, and the island shelved upward, darkly portentous, from the creamy lather of the surf. The Walrus was standing south, with the White Rock on her sta'b'd quarter and the entrance to Captain Kidd's Anchorage ahead. Outside the entrance, and pulling to meet us, was the gig we had left behind for the convenience of Flint and his companions. A single figure with a light-blue scarf wrapped around his head, rowed at the oars.
"But how be certain 'tis Flint!" I exclaimed. "His back is toward us, and at this distance——"
"Beggin' your pardon, Master Ormerod," said Silver at my elbow, "we ha' made him out wi' glasses. Bill—" he waved his free hand toward the poop, where Bones strode up and down by the helmsman—"is sure o' him."