"That's right; I shipped first out of Bristol."

"So did I, mate--twenty years ago though, and I never went back since.
My name is Tom Watkins. Let's shake; there is quite a sprinkling of us
Britishers aboard, and we ought to hang together."

He put out a big, hairy fist, and I gripped it heartily, decidedly
liking the man as his eyes frankly met mine. He appeared honest and
square, a fine type of the English seaman.

"Tom Watkins, you said. May I ask if you were out on the bow-sprit
along with Haines last night?"

"Just afore the long-boat come in? Yes, we were there."

"Well, I was down below, hanging to the cable, and overheard you two
talking together. Somehow, Watkins, you do not seem to me to fit in
exactly with this gang of pirates; you don't look to be that sort. How
long have you been with them?"

He glanced about warily, lowering his voice until it became a hoarse
whisper.

"Three years, mate, and most of that time has been hell. I haven't
even been ashore, but once, and that was on an island. These fellows
don't put any trust in my kind, nor give them any chance to cut and
run. Once in awhile a lad does get away, but most of them are caught;
and those that are sure get their punishment. They never try it again.
I've seen them staked out on the sand, and left to die; that ain't no