A splash.
"And now who'll say as Bill Bones is not cap'n o' the Walrus?" demanded Bones, gruffly menacing.
Peter touched my arm, pushing open Moira's door very gently.
"Ye'll not be leaving me?" she breathed.
"Neen," he denied. "But we better hear what they do."
Bones was talking again as we stole into the deserted companionway. He sat on the barrel which Flint had been used to occupy. A battle lanthorn hung over his head, and the pale yellow light showed him to be nigh as drunk as his dead commander.
"—and to —— wi' luck! He was a good pal, Flint was; but he thought too much o' luck. I'm a seaman, I am. Give me sun and stars, and I'll steer ye a course. Give me sight o' tops'ls, and I'll fetch ye 'longside o' a prize. I'm no man for fuss, I'm not. Ye can ha' all the rum ye want, so be ye sail the ship and fight her.
"Now, what ha' ye to say? Speak up, any o' you swabs as is for trouble!"
Long John Silver spoke from the shadows, his words flowing smoothly with an insinuating, oily inflection.
"We better make it all reg'lar, Bill. You're mate, and you say as how Flint give you the treasure-map and says you was to be cap'n a'ter him; but reg'lar's reg'lar, and it don't do no harm to——"