ketches his neck fast betwixt his two knees, an' blowed if he didn't jam them harder, grinning all the time, till down drops the little black throttled on the deck. "That's for thankin' a nigger!" says he, lookin' as savitch as a fiend, and got the knife in his teeth, when he turned to and sawed through the seizing round my wrists--an' in course I sets every man clear in quick-sticks. "_Now!_" says Job, looking round, "the quicker the better--that cussed lubber-ratin' hound's got my schooner, but maybe, my lads, this here iv'ry man'll pay expenses: if I'm made out a pirate, I'll arn the name!" "'Well, we squints up the hatchway, and see'd a young midshipman a-standing with his back to us, watching the brig's crew at the braces, an' a pistol in one hand--when all at once our skipper slips off his shoes, runs up the stair as quiet as a cat, an' caught the end of a capstan-bar as lay on the scuttle. With that down he comes crash on the poor fellow's scull from aft, and brained him in a moment. Every man of us got bloody-minded with the sight, so we scarce knowed what we did, ye know, mate, afore all hands o' them was gone--how, I ain't goin' for to say, nor the share as one had in it more nor another. The long an' the short on it was, we run the brig by sundown in amongst the creeks up the Camaroons river, thinkin' to lie stowed away close thereabouts till all wor cold. Hows'ever, they kicked up the devil's delight about a piratecy, and the sloop-o'-war comes back shortly, when night an' day there was that young shark of a leftenant huntin' arter us, as sharp as a marling-spike--we dursn't come down the river nohow, till what with a bad conscience, fogs, and sleepin' every night within stink o' them blasted muddy mangroves an' bulrushes together, why, mate, the whole ten hands died off one arter the other in the fever--leaving ownly me an' the skipper. Job Price was like a madman over the cargo, worth good knows how many thousand dollars, as he couldn't take out; but for my part, I gets the brig's punt one night and sculls myself ashore, and off like a hare into the bush by moonlight. No use, ye know, for to say what rum chances I meets with in the woods, livin' up trees and the like for fear o' illiphants, sarpents, an' high-annies; but, blow me, if I didn't think the farther ye went aloft, the more monkeys an' parrykeets you roused out, jabberin' all night so as a feller couldn't close an eye--an' as for the sky, be blowed if I ever once sighted it. So, d' ye see, it puts all notions o' fruits an' flowers out o' my head, an' all them jimmy-jessamy sort o' happy-go-lucky yarns about barbers' ileyands and shipherdresses what they used for to spell out o' dicshinars at school--all gammon, mate!' "'Lor' love ye, no, surely,' said Jack; 'it's in the Bible!'