If it do n't make me cold inside to think of Flint . This is one of HIS jokes , and no mistake . Him and these six was alone here ; he killed 'em , every man ; and this one he hauled here and laid down by compass , shiver my timbers ! They 're long bones , and the hair 's been yellow . Aye , that would be Allardyce . You mind Allardyce , Tom Morgan ? '' `` Aye , aye , '' returned Morgan ; `` I mind him ; he owed me money , he did , and took my knife ashore with him . '' `` Speaking of knives , '' said another , `` why do n't we find his 'n lying round ? Flint war n't the man to pick a seaman 's pocket ; and the birds , I guess , would leave it be . '' `` By the powers , and that 's true ! '' cried Silver . `` There ai n't a thing left here , '' said Merry , still feeling round among the bones ; `` not a copper doit nor a baccy box . It do n't look nat ` ral to me . '' `` No , by gum , it do n't , '' agreed Silver ; `` not nat ` ral , nor not nice , says you . Great guns ! Messmates , but if Flint was living , this would be a hot spot for you and me . Six they were , and six are we ; and bones is what they are now . '' `` I saw him dead with these here deadlights , '' said Morgan . `` Billy took me in . There he laid , with penny-pieces on his eyes . ''
`` Dead -- aye , sure enough he 's dead and gone below , '' said the fellow with the bandage ; `` but if ever sperrit walked , it would be XXXXX 's .
Allardyce Flint Merry Messmates Morgan deadlights left penny-pieces ral war