“Guess I will, though,” retorted Hiram. “I ain’t afeard o’ no nigger ez was buried two hundred year ago; no, nor on his ghostess neither. What say ye, Sam, consarnin’ this brother darkey o’ yourn?”
“Golly, Massa Hiram!” said Sam, grinning from ear to ear at the sight of the gold. “I’se tink I’se hab claim to de lot, if it am belong to de nigger family. Ho-ho-ho!”
With that we all laughed; whereupon the skipper, whom we had forgotten for the moment, made a movement where he still lay on the floor of the cave by the entrance, opening his eyes and trying to get up, which, of course, he was unable to do, from our having tied his legs together.
“Hillo!” he called out. “Whaar am I?”
His voice now seemed quite rational, and on Tom going up to him, he found that the delirium had left him, and that he was quite sober and in his senses again, so he unloosed him, helping him on to his feet.
Strange to say, Captain Snaggs did not utter a word about finding himself tied, nor did he seem in any way surprised at being there amongst us. He was not angry either a bit now!
He simply walked up to where we stood and, looking down at the hole with the chests piled up in it, as if following out a concentrated train of thought which had been simmering in his brain before his fit, exclaimed—
“Thaar it air, jest ez I told ye, an’ ez the buccaneer cap’n told me. Thaar it air all right, I reckon; an’ now we must see about gettin’ it down to the shep.”
This staggered us somewhat; but Tom Bullover thought it best to humour him.
“How would you like it took down to the shore, cap’en?” he asked, deferentially. “Shall I go and fetch some of the hands, sir?”