“Did you fellers hear me?” asked Mr. Gull, coming toward Martin and the rest of us.

“Harkee, Mr. Gull,” said the Scot, “d’ye mean we can clear ef the wessel don’t suit? Is that the lay o’ it? She’s a fine ship, Mr. Gull, an’ fer me ye can lay to it. I’d never leave her, unless it’s the wish o’ the matchless officers that commands her.”

“If you drunkards ain’t aboard again by eight bells to-night, it’ll be a sorry crowd that’ll come next day,--an’ ye can lay to that, ye fine Scotchman, an’ with just as much scope as ye may care for.”

Big Jones smiled as he unbent the boat tackle. It was evident our second mate was not as big a fool as he looked, but it seemed strange we should be allowed ashore unless the captain had good reason to believe we could be back aboard again. Only a few minutes before we were planning some desperate means of reaching the beach, and now the invitation was offered to all who cared to avail themselves of the captain’s liberality.

In a very short time the boat was overboard, and a liberty crew, consisting of Martin, Tim, Big Jones, Bill, Anderson, a Norwegian of Gull’s watch, a German called Ernest, the black cook, and myself, jumped into her and started off.

“If I come back again,” said Jones, “they’ll need a good, strong heavy man over there or a pair o’ mules to drag me.”

“Good-bye,” said Bill. “Youst keep awake when we come alongside. ’Twould be a pity to rouse you,” and he grinned knowingly at the men who leaned over the rail to see us depart.

I saw the old rascal Watkins come out in the waist and stand a moment gazing after us, and Ernest bawled out a taunt in German which none of us understood. Then we shot out of hearing and headed for the landing, as wild for the beach as so many apprentices.

The “Doctor,” who was a most powerful nigger, grinned in anticipation of the joys on the shore. His clothes were nondescript and bore evidence of the galley, and his feet were big, black, and bare.

“Yah, yah, yah!” he laughed, “my feet is laughin’ at my pore ole body, all rags and grease. Dey’ll hab a time asho’. Ain’t seen no green grass lately.”

The boat was run upon the coral, and all hands sprung out without waiting to shove her up. We splashed ashore through the shallow water, leaving the Doctor to haul the boat up and make her fast. It was evident he intended going back aboard, but we were a bit differently inclined.

The black soon joined us and led the way to the nearest rum-shop, the place all sailors steer for, and, without comment, we filed into the dirty hole for our first drink.

“I says, Thunderbo’, give us disha stuff they says do a nigger good,” said the Doctor, who acted as our pilot. “My feet is sure laffin at my belly, Thunderbo’, ’cause it’s as empty as yo’ haid.”

Thunderbore, who was a huge, nautical-looking pirate as black as the Doctor, showed a set of white teeth and a large jar of a vile fluid which fairly tore my throat to ribbons as I swallowed my “whack.” Big Jones took his with a grimace, and was followed by Martin and the rest until all had drunk.

The stuff was pure fire, but the Doctor gulped a full half-pint, and smacked his lips.

“Thunderbo’, yo’ sho’ ain’t gwine to make a po’ nigger drink sech holy water as disha. Give us somethin’ that’ll scratch, yo’ ape, or I’ll have to take charge here,--I sho’ will,” said the Doctor.

Thunderbore had a good temper, but was used to dealing with all classes of desperadoes. He passed the jar again, and drew a Spanish machete or corn-knife from his belt. He reached over and smote the Doctor playfully a blow with the flat of it that sounded with a loud clap through the dirty den.

Some of the men laughed in derision, but the Doctor showed his ugly teeth and glared at the den-keeper. He took another drink, and the fiery liquid began to show its effects. Even Martin’s eyes looked queer after a second taste, and he edged toward the huge, smiling African who held the jar and knife.

“I weel ken ye a murderer by yer eye,” said he, “but dare ye lay aside the steel an’ stand forth, I’ll trim ye, ye black ape. I’ll trim ye for th’ sake o’ the good wittles the Doctor has cooked.”

The pernicious effect of the liquor was showing in the men’s faces. Even I, temperate and peacefully disposed as I always am, began to feel a desire to assert myself in a manner not in keeping with my usual modesty. In fact, there were some there who were so drunk they actually accused me afterward of having precipitated trouble by driving my fist into the good-natured Thunderbore’s anatomy and seizing his machete. If I did such a thing, it must have been in the same spirit of playfulness that he exhibited when smiting the Doctor, for I was that peacefully inclined that even after seeing a struggling pile of human forms upon the floor, with the jar beneath them, I tried to separate a few with all my strength. After exhausting this, I remember Tim cautioned me to leave the intemperate fellows, who still struggled, threatened, and swore at the black Thunderbore, who, with several friends who had rushed from an adjoining room to his aid, now held the sailors at bay with a boarding-pike. This he jabbed furiously at the Doctor, and, because Big Jones would not allow him to be impaled upon it, the sea cook took offence and turned upon his saviour, with Martin as an able ally.

The whole scene soon resolved itself into a sailors’ brawl, which I feel ashamed to describe. I therefore withdrew with my companion Tim, who was almost as averse to a quarrel as I was myself.

We left the den, and he guided the way through the white streets of coral rock, which shone glaringly in the sunshine. They were dazzling, and the light made my head swim a bit, but we kept on until we ran into a shady lane, where an old negress had a small shanty, in front of which she displayed a litter of shaddocks, sour-sops, and sapodillas. Tim purchased some of the fruit, and then we struck into the bush until we reached a small inlet. Here, in the clear water into which one could see several fathoms, we plunged, leaving our clothing upon the bank.

“That settles it for me,” I said. “I’ll not go back in that ship. Even Mr. Curtis, with all his money and influence, can’t get me back.”

“Mr. Curtis is closely related to the governor, and can get you easy enough if he wants you,” said Tim. “But I feel myself like making the jump right here. I’ve been here before. There ain’t nothin’ can get off the island without he knows it. That’s the only thing that keeps me from it.”

“I thought you were so keen for me to get out here,” I said, sourly.

“I didn’t suggest Nassau, did I?” said Tim.

“That’s the place,” I answered, “but I suppose you were a bit loony. What made you act bug-house and go over the side, hey?”

Tim looked at me strangely a moment.

“I didn’t mean you to jump right here. You can’t do it. They’ll have us back aboard to-morrow. Wait till we get to the s’uthard for wood. There’ll be a chance on the Caicos or Turk’s Island, and we go in there.”

I swam about, enjoying myself as much as possible with a rising temper at the thought of going back aboard. I began to study the question, and asked about the size of the island and the distances to the different points on the Bahama bank. Tim had been all over the bank, and knew it pretty well, and I became absorbed listening to him and forming my plans.

Suddenly it occurred to me I needed a smoke, and started for the shore to get my pipe out of my clothes. We could sit naked in the shade and enjoy life a bit while trying a scheme.

“Where the deuce did you put those clothes?” I asked Tim, who followed me.

“I never touched them. What’s the matter?”

“I don’t see them anywhere,” I answered, suspiciously.

We were both on the bank, and stood there gazing about us. There was nothing in the shape of a garment near, not even a handkerchief. Tim’s white, freckled body looked rather meagre, and I noticed several huge flies that lit upon him and made him jump with their bite. Then something got foul of my back and stung me madly.

“Devil nab me,” I yelled, “what the mischief is it?”

“Nothin’ but a fish-fly,” said Tim, slapping me a rousing whack between the shoulders. “Our clothes are gone all right, and we’ve got to foot it back to the landing naked. What’s the use growlin’ about it?”

“Well, you are a--” but words failed me. That couldn’t express what I felt. I had trusted to Tim’s knowledge of the place, and here was a mess. There was no possible means of clearing out without a stitch of clothing, and the rascally thief who had taken ours gave me an idea how closely a deserter would be followed over the low island barren of heavy timber. I looked along the bank, and saw there was no use.

“You’re the biggest fool I ever knew,” I finally said, and we started slowly back to the town, with nothing to clothe us save an air of seeming chastity not at all in keeping with civilization.