He was not only useless as an officer and a bad influence amongst the men, but it was plain that at this rate he must soon kill himself outright, so nobody was much surprised, nor very sorry, when one dark night, with a head sea, he disappeared entirely and was seen no more.

“Overboard!” said the captain.  “Well, gentlemen, that saves the trouble of putting him in irons.”

But there we were, without a mate; and it was necessary, of course, to advance one of the men.  The boatswain, Job Anderson, was the likeliest man aboard, and though he kept his old title, he served in a way as mate.  Mr. Trelawney had followed the sea, and his knowledge made him very useful, for he often took a watch himself in easy weather.  And the coxswain, Israel Hands, was a careful, wily, old, experienced seaman who could be trusted at a pinch with almost anything.

He was a great confidant of Long John Silver, and so the mention of his name leads me on to speak of our ship’s cook, Barbecue, as the men called him.

Aboard ship he carried his crutch by a lanyard round his neck, to have both hands as free as possible.  It was something to see him wedge the foot of the crutch against a bulkhead, and propped against it, yielding to every movement of the ship, get on with his cooking like someone safe ashore.  Still more strange was it to see him in the heaviest of weather cross the deck.  He had a line or two rigged up to help him across the widest spaces—­Long John’s earrings, they were called; and he would hand himself from one place to another, now using the crutch, now trailing it alongside by the lanyard, as quickly as another man could walk.  Yet some of the men who had sailed with him before expressed their pity to see him so reduced.

“He’s no common man, Barbecue,” said the coxswain to me.  “He had good schooling in his young days and can speak like a book when so minded; and brave—­a lion’s nothing alongside of Long John!  I seen him grapple four and knock their heads together—­him unarmed.”

All the crew respected and even obeyed him.  He had a way of talking to each and doing everybody some particular service.  To me he was unweariedly kind, and always glad to see me in the galley, which he kept as clean as a new pin, the dishes hanging up burnished and his parrot in a cage in one corner.

“Come away, Hawkins,” he would say; “come and have a yarn with John.  Nobody more welcome than yourself, my son.  Sit you down and hear the news.  Here’s Cap’n Flint—­I calls my parrot Cap’n Flint, after the famous buccaneer—­here’s Cap’n Flint predicting success to our v’yage.  Wasn’t you, cap’n?”

And the parrot would say, with great rapidity, “Pieces of eight!  Pieces of eight!  Pieces of eight!” till you wondered that it was not out of breath, or till John threw his handkerchief over the cage.