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waterline, the Jolly Roger hanging from her peak.
Alongside lay one of the gigs, Silver in the stern-sheets--him I
could always recognize--while a couple of men were leaning over
the stern bulwarks, one of them with a red cap--the very rogue
that I had seen some hours before stride-legs upon the palisade.
Apparently they were talking and laughing, though at that
distance--upwards of a mile--I could, of course, hear no word of
what was said. All at once there began the most horrid, unearthly
screaming, which at first startled me badly, though I had soon
remembered the voice of Captain Flint and even thought I could
make out the bird by her bright plumage as she sat perched upon
her masterís wrist.
Soon after, the jolly-boat shoved off and pulled for shore, and
the man with the red cap and his comrade went below by the
Just about the same time, the sun had gone down behind the
Spy-glass, and as the fog was collecting rapidly, it began to grow
dark in earnest. I saw I must lose no time if I were to find the boat
The white rock, visible enough above the brush, was still some
eighth of a mile further down the spit, and it took me a goodish
while to get up with it, crawling, often on all fours, among the
scrub. Night had almost come when I laid my hand on its rough
sides. Right below it there was an exceedingly small hollow of
green turf, hidden by banks and a thick underwood about knee-
deep, that grew there very plentifully; and in the centre of the dell,
sure enough, a little tent of goat-skins, like what the gipsies carry
about with them in England.
I dropped into the hollow, lifted the side of the tent, and there