I was greatly elated with my new command, and pleased with the bright, sunshiny weather and these different prospects of the coast.  I had now plenty of water and good things to eat, and my conscience, which had smitten me hard for my desertion, was quieted by the great conquest I had made.  I should, I think, have had nothing left me to desire but for the eyes of the coxswain as they followed me derisively about the deck and the odd smile that appeared continually on his face.  It was a smile that had in it something both of pain and weakness—­a haggard old man’s smile; but there was, besides that, a grain of derision, a shadow of treachery, in his expression as he craftily watched, and watched, and watched me at my work.

26

Israel Hands

The wind, serving us to a desire, now hauled into the west.  We could run so much the easier from the north-east corner of the island to the mouth of the North Inlet.  Only, as we had no power to anchor and dared not beach her till the tide had flowed a good deal farther, time hung on our hands.  The coxswain told me how to lay the ship to; after a good many trials I succeeded, and we both sat in silence over another meal.

“Cap’n,” said he at length with that same uncomfortable smile, “here’s my old shipmate, O’Brien; s’pose you was to heave him overboard.  I ain’t partic’lar as a rule, and I don’t take no blame for settling his hash, but I don’t reckon him ornamental now, do you?”

“I’m not strong enough, and I don’t like the job; and there he lies, for me,” said I.

“This here’s an unlucky ship, this Hispaniola, Jim,” he went on, blinking.  “There’s a power of men been killed in this Hispaniola—­a sight o’ poor seamen dead and gone since you and me took ship to Bristol.  I never seen sich dirty luck, not I. There was this here O’Brien now—­he’s dead, ain’t he?  Well now, I’m no scholar, and you’re a lad as can read and figure, and to put it straight, do you take it as a dead man is dead for good, or do he come alive again?”

“You can kill the body, Mr. Hands, but not the spirit; you must know that already,” I replied.  “O’Brien there is in another world, and may be watching us.”

“Ah!” says he.  “Well, that’s unfort’nate—­appears as if killing parties was a waste of time.  Howsomever, sperrits don’t reckon for much, by what I’ve seen.  I’ll chance it with the sperrits, Jim.  And now, you’ve spoke up free, and I’ll take it kind if you’d step down into that there cabin and get me a—­well, a—­shiver my timbers!  I can’t hit the name on ’t; well, you get me a bottle of wine, Jim—­this here brandy’s too strong for my head.”