“I have a chart here,” says Captain Smollett.  “See if that’s the place.”

Long John’s eyes burned in his head as he took the chart, but by the fresh look of the paper I knew he was doomed to disappointment.  This was not the map we found in Billy Bones’s chest, but an accurate copy, complete in all things—­names and heights and soundings—­with the single exception of the red crosses and the written notes.  Sharp as must have been his annoyance, Silver had the strength of mind to hide it.

“Yes, sir,” said he, “this is the spot, to be sure, and very prettily drawed out.  Who might have done that, I wonder?  The pirates were too ignorant, I reckon.  Aye, here it is:  ’Capt.  Kidd’s Anchorage’—­just the name my shipmate called it.  There’s a strong current runs along the south, and then away nor’ard up the west coast.  Right you was, sir,” says he, “to haul your wind and keep the weather of the island.  Leastways, if such was your intention as to enter and careen, and there ain’t no better place for that in these waters.”

“Thank you, my man,” says Captain Smollett.  “I’ll ask you later on to give us a help.  You may go.”

I was surprised at the coolness with which John avowed his knowledge of the island, and I own I was half-frightened when I saw him drawing nearer to myself.  He did not know, to be sure, that I had overheard his council from the apple barrel, and yet I had by this time taken such a horror of his cruelty, duplicity, and power that I could scarce conceal a shudder when he laid his hand upon my arm.

“Ah,” says he, “this here is a sweet spot, this island—­a sweet spot for a lad to get ashore on.  You’ll bathe, and you’ll climb trees, and you’ll hunt goats, you will; and you’ll get aloft on them hills like a goat yourself.  Why, it makes me young again.  I was going to forget my timber leg, I was.  It’s a pleasant thing to be young and have ten toes, and you may lay to that.  When you want to go a bit of exploring, you just ask old John, and he’ll put up a snack for you to take along.”

And clapping me in the friendliest way upon the shoulder, he hobbled off forward and went below.

Captain Smollett, the squire, and Dr. Livesey were talking together on the quarter-deck, and anxious as I was to tell them my story, I durst not interrupt them openly.  While I was still casting about in my thoughts to find some probable excuse, Dr. Livesey called me to his side.  He had left his pipe below, and being a slave to tobacco, had meant that I should fetch it; but as soon as I was near enough to speak and not to be overheard, I broke immediately, “Doctor, let me speak.  Get the captain and squire down to the cabin, and then make some pretence to send for me.  I have terrible news.”

The doctor changed countenance a little, but next moment he was master of himself.

“Thank you, Jim,” said he quite loudly, “that was all I wanted to know,” as if he had asked me a question.