Just where we were going to fit into it, I couldn’t see for the life of me. We’d fit in some place, all right, but it looked to me like it would be an unpleasant fit. It was bad enough to be shut up in the enemy’s camp, but now we had two sets of enemies, and the last were worse than the first.
I’ve read about mutinies, and I know what mutineers do to cabin boys and such who happen onto the secret of their plot. I thought of a dozen stories, and every one was worse than the one before. The back of my neck got prickly, and I came close to giving myself up altogether. “Here’s the finish of Wee-wee Moore,” says I to myself, “and likely nobody’ll ever know what become of me.”
For another two or three weeks I sat being awful sorry for myself, and then the man with the lantern got up and walked away. I listened, and heard him going farther and farther, and then everything was quiet. The camp sound asleep, it seemed as though.
Then Catty leaned over with his lips close to my ear and whispered.
“Isn’t it—gorgeous?” he says.
“Yes,” says I, “it ain’t.”
“I never expected to be mixed up in a real mutiny. Pirate treasure was fine, but who ever would expect to pile mutiny on top of it?”
“Not me,” says I, “or I wouldn’t have come.”
“And we’ll make out to be the heroes—like Jim in Treasure Island,” he says.
“Thank you,” says I, “none on my plate. I got enough.”