“And no wonder,” he said to himself; as he bent down to lay his hand upon his tingling ankle. “Poor fellows! They—”
Brace started upright again, and was in the act of taking a step to reach the running water, when a voice sounded louder from among the whisperers, and in the intense silence of the night he plainly heard the words:
“Not a foot furder do I go, mates, and leave that gold.”
There was silence for a few moments, and then a voice said:
“You can do as you like, my lads: here I am, and here I stays till I’ve made my pile.”
“That was Jem’s voice,” thought Brace; and then he listened again intently.
“What about the skipper?” said a voice.
“Skipper’ll have to put up with it,” said another of the men. “I like the skipper, and I haven’t a word to say about the two mates. I like Mas’ Dellow as well as I like Mas’ Lynton, and t’other way on; but gold aren’t silver, messmates, and what we might do over a shilling’s a diffrun thing to what a man feels boun’ to do over a pound. Here we are with the gold lying in shovelfuls among the sand o’ this here river, plenty for all on us to make our fortuns, and I says it would be a sin and a shame to leave it behind to go shooting red and yaller and blue cock robins and jenny wrens to get their skins. There, that’s the longest speech I ever made in my life, but it had to be done. So I says I’m your side, messmate Jemmy, and my name’s gold.”
There was a low murmur here, and Jem spoke again:
“Anyone else got a word to say?”