“All vhas uninhabited,” answered Bol.
“Ne’er a hut?” shouted Teach.
“Vhas dot uninhabited, you tonkey? Dere vhas no shtir. Dot vhas der country for my dollars until by um by. Hurrah!”
He rose slowly and heavily from his posture of leaning, and put the glass down. I took another long look at the island we were approaching. There was majesty in its loneliness; there was majesty in the altitude its dark terraces and inland heights rose to. A crown of cloud was upon the brow of its central height, and the sunshine whitened into silver that similitude of regal right—as real and lasting, for all its being vapor, as any earthly crown of gold!
“There’s your island, and there’s your landing-place,” said I, thrusting my hands into my pockets. “What’s the next stroke, Yan Bol?”
“Vhat vhas der soundings here?” he answered, going to the side and looking down.
“What do you want with the soundings?”
“Shall you not pring oop?”
“No, by thunder!” I cried. “What? Bring up off that island with four men and a boy to man the capstan should it come on to blow a hurricane on a sudden out of the eastward there, putting that black coast dead under our lee? No, by thunder! If we are to bring up I’ll go ashore with you; I’ll not stay with the brig; I’ll not risk my life. Oh, yes! It will kill the time to hunt for the dollars at low water after the brig’s stranded and gone to pieces, eh? Bring up?” I continued, shouting out that all the men might hear me; “send plenty of victuals ashore if that’s your intention. I’m no man-eater; and what but Dutch and English flesh will there be to eat if it comes to anchoring?”
“Mr. Fielding knows what he’s talking about,” sung out Teach; “I’m to stay aboard for one, and I guess he’s right. No good to talk of slipping if it comes on to blow; we aren’t flush of anchors, and the end of this here traverse is a blooming long way off yet.”