There was not a breath of air moving, nor a sound but that of the surf booming half a mile away along the beaches and against the rocks outside.  A peculiar stagnant smell hung over the anchorage—­a smell of sodden leaves and rotting tree trunks.  I observed the doctor sniffing and sniffing, like someone tasting a bad egg.

“I don’t know about treasure,” he said, “but I’ll stake my wig there’s fever here.”

If the conduct of the men had been alarming in the boat, it became truly threatening when they had come aboard.  They lay about the deck growling together in talk.  The slightest order was received with a black look and grudgingly and carelessly obeyed.  Even the honest hands must have caught the infection, for there was not one man aboard to mend another.  Mutiny, it was plain, hung over us like a thunder-cloud.

And it was not only we of the cabin party who perceived the danger.  Long John was hard at work going from group to group, spending himself in good advice, and as for example no man could have shown a better.  He fairly outstripped himself in willingness and civility; he was all smiles to everyone.  If an order were given, John would be on his crutch in an instant, with the cheeriest “Aye, aye, sir!” in the world; and when there was nothing else to do, he kept up one song after another, as if to conceal the discontent of the rest.

Of all the gloomy features of that gloomy afternoon, this obvious anxiety on the part of Long John appeared the worst.

We held a council in the cabin.

“Sir,” said the captain, “if I risk another order, the whole ship’ll come about our ears by the run.  You see, sir, here it is.  I get a rough answer, do I not?  Well, if I speak back, pikes will be going in two shakes; if I don’t, Silver will see there’s something under that, and the game’s up.  Now, we’ve only one man to rely on.”

“And who is that?” asked the squire.

“Silver, sir,” returned the captain; “he’s as anxious as you and I to smother things up.  This is a tiff; he’d soon talk ’em out of it if he had the chance, and what I propose to do is to give him the chance.  Let’s allow the men an afternoon ashore.  If they all go, why we’ll fight the ship.  If they none of them go, well then, we hold the cabin, and God defend the right.  If some go, you mark my words, sir, Silver’ll bring ’em aboard again as mild as lambs.”

It was so decided; loaded pistols were served out to all the sure men; Hunter, Joyce, and Redruth were taken into our confidence and received the news with less surprise and a better spirit than we had looked for, and then the captain went on deck and addressed the crew.

“My lads,” said he, “we’ve had a hot day and are all tired and out of sorts.  A turn ashore’ll hurt nobody—­the boats are still in the water; you can take the gigs, and as many as please may go ashore for the afternoon.  I’ll fire a gun half an hour before sundown.”