“Why,” said I, “are you so kind to me?” To this he replied that he had a kindness for plain sailormen; that they suffered much on their ships at the hands of hard masters, and many had, out of their little, often supplied his wants. For eight weeks black Jim thus cared for me,--a poor, forlorn, marooned seaman, and a sailor’s blessing rests upon him. I owe him my life. At the end of that time he came one day into the hut and said that a ship was standing in. He had brought my strength up so that I could now walk a little, and I went out into the sunshine and there, sure enough, was a ship,--and it was the ship of Mr. Every. He had evidently come again for water. Here then was a puzzle for me. Should I go back to him or stay with the good Jim and his people? I am an Englishman and not an African; I would be home again. Jim could not come down to the beach for fear of being taken as a slave, but he and the natives fled back into the island. I bade him good-by with all my heart,--the only friend I was to find in thousands of watery miles. Mr. Every was down at the boats. “Hallo, old May,” he said. “We thought you must be dead by now; that the sickness had taken you. You must have been born to be hanged!” IX Getting out to sea strengthened me a little more, and I took heart, though the evil associations of the _Charles the Second_ pained the conscience. Very small scrapings had fallen to them since they had left Joanna, and the mood of the crew was sour. However, they parliamented together and voted to go to the Gulf of Aden to find Moorish ships, and perhaps waylay the rich fleet of Mocha, whose movements they had learned of at Madagascar. “With that,” said Mr. Every, “we shall make our fortune”,--fortune being a great word in his mouth. In those regions the sun is cruel. As we drew on to the gulf the heat lay upon us like a smothering blanket; nay, like many blankets, so that the very air one breathed seemed to sear the throat; we went about our blistered decks nearly naked--to put your hand on one of the guns was like laying it on a hot oven--and Mr. Every sprawled under an awning that was rigged over the poop, drinking bomboo[10] and wishing he had made his fortune and were living in a fine house with a fine wife in England. Nor had we the comfort of looking toward cooler waters, but every day drew farther and farther into the furnace. [10] Grog of limes, sugar, etc.