He ruminated a moment, polishing the steel of his hook against the other arm of his shirt.  Suddenly he looked up at me with a humorous twinkle.

“You’re afraid of us!” he accused.

I was silent, not knowing just how to meet so direct an attack.

“No need to be,” he continued.

I said nothing.

He looked at me shrewdly; then stood off on another tack.

“Well, sir, I didn’t mean just that.  I didn’t mean you was really scared of us.  But we’re gettin’ to know each other, livin’ here on this old island, brothers-like.  There ain’t no officers and men ashore—­is there, now, sir?  When we gets back to the old Laughing Lass, then we drops back into our dooty again all right and proper.  You can kiss the Book on that.  Old Scrubs, he knows that.  He don’t want no shore in his. He knows enough to stay aboard, where we’d all rather be.”

He stopped abruptly, spat, and looked at me.  I wondered whither this devious diplomacy led us.

“Still, in one way, an officer’s an officer, and a seaman’s a seaman, thinks you, and discipline must be held up among mates ashore or afloat, thinks you.  Quite proper, sir.  And I can see you think that the arms is for the afterguard except in case of trouble.  Quite proper.  You can do the shooting, and you can keep the cartridges always by you.  Just for discipline, sir.”

The man’s boldness in so fully arming me was astonishing, and his carelessness in allowing me aboard with Captain Selover astonished me still more.  Nevertheless I promised to go for the desired cartridges, fully resolved to make an appeal.

A further consideration of the elements of the game convinced me, however, of the fellow’s shrewdness.  It was no more dangerous to allow me a rifle—­under direct surveillance—­for the purposes of hunting, than to leave me my sawed—­off revolver, which I still retained.  The arguments he had used against my shooting Perdosa were quite as cogent now.  As to the second point, I, finding the sun unexpectedly strong, returned from the cove for my hat, and so overheard the following between Thrackles and his leader: 

“What’s to keep him from staying aboard?” cried Thrackles, protesting.

“Well, he might,” acknowledged Handy Solomon, “and then are we the worse off?  You ain’t going to make a boat attack against Old Scrubs, are you?”

Thrackles hesitated.

“You can kiss the Book on it, you ain’t,” went on Handy Solomon easily, “nor me, nor Pulz, nor the Greaser, nor the Nigger, nor none of us all together.  We’ve had our dose of that.  Well, if he goes aboard and stays, where are we the worse off?  I asks you that.  But he won’t.  This is w’ats goin’ to happen.  Says he to Old Scrubs, ‘Sir, the men needs you to bash in their heads.’  ’Bash ’em in yourself,’ says he, ‘that’s w’at you’re for.’  And if he should come ashore, w’at could he do?  I asks you that.  We ain’t disobeyed no orders dooly delivered.  We’re ready to pull halliards at the word.  No, let him go aboard, and if he peaches to the Old Man, why all the better, for it just gets the Old Man down on him.”