"What are you going to do with that?" I says, surprised at the sight
of it, and he kept on smiling.

"I guess you and I will take the shiners ashore," he says; "I'd give
you a writing, but it would do you no good, Tommy. I'm what they
called tainted."

"I don't know what you mean by that," I says. "Scuttled she is, if
you say so. Shall we row for Tobago?"

"Well, I'll tell you how it is, Tommy," he says. "I don't know what
the Dagos will do, and they're pretty likely to get us anyhow, but
we'll give 'em a hunt. But I've got a fancy you ain't got to the end
of your rope yet, lad," and he says no more for a minute or two, and
then he heaves a sigh and says: "The shiners are yours if they cut me
off. I won't give you no more advice, Tommy, but I wish you luck."

But I don't see why he had such a notion that he was near his own end.

It was a hard thing to do, to blow a hole in the bottom of the good
ship. The night was dark now, but the lights of the cruiser in plain
sight, and we knew she'd stand off until morning, or as long as the
_Hebe Maitland's_ lanterns burned at the masts. The crew put off
in three boats to round the island and wait for us, and Clyde and I
took the fourth boat, and stowed the canvas bags, and went ashore,
running up a little reedy inlet to the end. We buried them in the
exact middle of a small triangle of three trees. Then we rowed out,
and I threw the spade in the water, and when we rounded the island,
taking a last look at the _Hebe Maitland_, she was dipping
considerable, as could be seen from the hang of her lanterns. Clyde