At this I had a happy inspiration.  I began to believe that I had found an ally, and I answered him at once.

“It’s not Flint’s ship, and Flint is dead; but I’ll tell you true, as you ask me—­there are some of Flint’s hands aboard; worse luck for the rest of us.”

“Not a man—­with one—­leg?” he gasped.

“Silver?” I asked.

“Ah, Silver!” says he.  “That were his name.”

“He’s the cook, and the ringleader too.”

He was still holding me by the wrist, and at that he give it quite a wring.

“If you was sent by Long John,” he said, “I’m as good as pork, and I know it.  But where was you, do you suppose?”

I had made my mind up in a moment, and by way of answer told him the whole story of our voyage and the predicament in which we found ourselves.  He heard me with the keenest interest, and when I had done he patted me on the head.

“You’re a good lad, Jim,” he said; “and you’re all in a clove hitch, ain’t you?  Well, you just put your trust in Ben Gunn—­Ben Gunn’s the man to do it.  Would you think it likely, now, that your squire would prove a liberal-minded one in case of help—­him being in a clove hitch, as you remark?”

I told him the squire was the most liberal of men.

“Aye, but you see,” returned Ben Gunn, “I didn’t mean giving me a gate to keep, and a suit of livery clothes, and such; that’s not my mark, Jim.  What I mean is, would he be likely to come down to the toon of, say one thousand pounds out of money that’s as good as a man’s own already?”

“I am sure he would,” said I.  “As it was, all hands were to share.”

“And a passage home?” he added with a look of great shrewdness.

“Why,” I cried, “the squire’s a gentleman.  And besides, if we got rid of the others, we should want you to help work the vessel home.”

“Ah,” said he, “so you would.”  And he seemed very much relieved.

“Now, I’ll tell you what,” he went on.  “So much I’ll tell you, and no more.  I were in Flint’s ship when he buried the treasure; he and six along—­six strong seamen.  They was ashore nigh on a week, and us standing off and on in the old walrus.  One fine day up went the signal, and here come Flint by himself in a little boat, and his head done up in a blue scarf.  The sun was getting up, and mortal white he looked about the cutwater.  But, there he was, you mind, and the six all dead—­dead and buried.  How he done it, not a man aboard us could make out.  It was battle, murder, and sudden death, leastways—­him against six.  Billy Bones was the mate; Long John, he was quartermaster; and they asked him where the treasure was.  ‘Ah,’ says he, ’you can go ashore, if you like, and stay,’ he says; ’but as for the ship, she’ll beat up for more, by thunder!’ That’s what he said.