You don’t catch me tasting rum so much, but just a thimbleful for luck, of course, the first chance I have. I’m bound I’ll be good, and I see the way to. And, Jim”—looking all round him and lowering his voice to a whisper—“I’m rich.” I now felt sure that the poor fellow had gone crazy in his solitude, and I suppose I must have shown the feeling in my face, for he repeated the statement hotly: “Rich! Rich! I says. And I’ll tell you what: I’ll make a man of you, Jim. Ah, Jim, you’ll bless your stars, you will, you was the first that found me!” And at this there came suddenly a lowering shadow over his face, and he tightened his grasp upon my hand and raised a forefinger threateningly before my eyes. “Now, Jim, you tell me true: that ain’t Flint’s ship?” he asked. At this I had a happy inspiration. I began to believe that I had found an ally, and I answered him at once. “It’s not Flint’s ship, and Flint is dead; but I’ll tell you true, as you ask me—there are some of Flint’s hands aboard; worse luck for the rest of us.” “Not a man—with one—leg?” he gasped. “Silver?” I asked. “Ah, Silver!” says he. “That were his name.” “He’s the cook, and the ringleader too.” He was still holding me by the wrist, and at that he give it quite a wring.