“Damn your ignorance. It’s out of that this trouble’s come. Look, you Bol, you Dutchmen who are the cooks of this devil’s mess--look how I take this pair of metal legs and make them walk--look--every step signifying the flight of a ship in a week of prosperous gales. Look--peer close--value every one of these lines at twenty leagues; count them, Bol, count them.” “She vhas some vhays off; dot’s allowed,” answered Bol. “But dere vhas der island, und dere vhas ve, all in goodt time.” “Why _that_ island?” said I, stepping back from the chart to command the men’s faces. “Because I knows her,” answered Galen. “I vhas off her. She vhas an uninhabited island. She vhas lofty, mit goodt hiding ground. She vhas never visited.” “Dot’s vy,” said Bol. “I’ll not carry you there.” “Ve’ll turn it over, sir,” said Friend. “I’ll not help you to rob Mr. Tulp of his share.” “Dere vhas no robbery. Ve vhas lost at sea, mit all hands,” said Galen. “I’ll sail you home and, if you choose, will give you my bond to pay you so many of the dollars as we’ll agree to. But I’ll not take you to Amsterdam Island. So what will you do?” “What’ll _you_ do, sir?” exclaimed Teach. “My duty.” “Dot vhas not even half-way,” said Bol. I called to Jimmy to restow the charts and bring them below, and descended the companion ladder. I was alone, and glad to be alone. The looks and questions, nay, the presence of her ladyship would have been intolerable to me just then. I sat down at the table and thought, then jumped up and paced the cabin like a madman. It had come about as I had many a time feared, but more darkly than ever my imagination had foreboded. The road to Amsterdam Island ran through a hundred and fifty degrees of longitude. Suppose--an incredible suppose!--an average of a hundred and fifty miles a day; two months then in making the island! and afterward? The silver was to be landed and buried, and we should head on for Port Jackson in New Holland, where my throat would be cut if the spirit of murder left the crew a hand to cut my throat withal. And the money being buried, good-night to my six--my seven thousand pounds--to my fine prospects, my giving up the sea forever, and settling down ashore with a wife. Tulp? God bless you, no. It was not of Tulp I thought. What was he to me? I was no servant of his, under no obligation of fidelity to _him_. It was the six thousand pounds which ran in my head and set my brains boiling--the six thousand and the one bequeathed to me by Greaves.