“Yes,” said the other. “I mean to put Longshore Jack on to this Mr. Jermyn. If I aren't foul of the buoy there's money in Mr. Jermyn. More than in East Indian slaves.” “Oh,” the boatswain answered, carelessly, “I don't bother about my betters, myself. What d'ye think to get from Mr. Jermyn?” The carpenter made no answer; but lighted his pipe at the lantern, evidently turning over some scheme in his mind. After that, the talk ran on other topics, some of which I could not understand. It was mostly about the Gold Coast, about a place called Whydah, where there was good trading for negroes, so the boatswain said. He had been there in a Bristol brig, under Captain Travers, collecting trade, i.e. negro slaves. At Whydah they had made King Jellybags so drunk with “Samboe” (whatever Samboe was) that they had carried him off to sea, with his whole court. “The blacks was mad after,” he said, “the next ship's crew that put in there was all set on the beach. I seed their bones after. All picked clean. But old King Jellybags fetched thirty pound in Port Royal, duty free.” He seemed to think that this story was something laugh at. I strained my ears to hear more of what they said. I could catch nothing more relating to myself. Nothing more was said about me. They told each other stories about the African shore, where the schooners anchored in the creeks, among the swamp-smells, in search of slaves or gold dust. They told tales of Tortuga, where the pirates lived together in a town, whenever they were at home after a cruise. “Rum is cheaper than water there,” the bo'sun said. “A sloop comes off once a month with stores from Port Royal. Its happy days, being in Tortuga.” Presently the two men crept aft to the empty cabin to steal the captain's brandy. Soon afterwards they passed forward to their hammocks. When they had gone, I lay awake, wondering I was to avoid this terrible danger of being sold to the Dutch East India merchants. I wondered who Longshore Jack might be. I feared that the carpenter suspected our party. I kept repeating his words, “There's money in Mr. Jermyn,” till at last, through sheer weariness, I fell asleep. In the morning, as cleared away breakfast, from the cabin-table, I told Mr. Jermyn all that I had heard. The Duke seemed agitated. He kept referring to an astronomical book which told him how his ruling planets stood. “Yes,” he kept saying, “I've no very favourable stars till July. I don't like this, Jermyn.” Mr. Jermyn smoked a pipe of tobacco (a practise rare among gentlemen at that time) while he thought of what could be done. At last he spoke. “I know what we'll do, sir. We'll sell this man as carpenter to the Dutch East India man. We'll give the two of them a sleeping draught in their drink. We'll get rid of them both together.” “It sounds very cruel,” said the Duke.