The wind was favorable, and we arrived at North Inlet early.
"Captain," Israel Hands said after a while, smiling uncomfortably, "look at my old shipmate here."
He pointed to his dead companion. "Let's heave him overboard."
"I'm not strong enough," I said.
"Ah, this ship is an unlucky ship, Jim," Hands said. "Many men have died on the Hispaniola.
Do you believe that a ship can be cursed?"
"I don't know, Mr. Hands," I replied. "But I do believe that the men sailing her can be, especially when they plan to murder their captain."
"Now, Jim, don't go on about that," said the pirate.
"I'm a sick man and can't do you any harm." Then he rubbed his nose.
"Um, Jim, would you mind getting me a bottle of wine? This brandy's too strong."
"He's lying," I thought. "And he's planning something."
Israel Hands smiled, looking guilty and embarrassed.
"Some wine?" I said, playing along. "White or red?"
"It doesn't matter to me," he grunted.
"As long as it's strong, and there's plenty of it."
"I'll get you some, Mr. Hands," I told him. "But I'll have to hunt for it."
I noisily ran downstairs, and then I took off my shoes.
Running quietly to another part of the ship, I climbed a ladder and peeked out at the top deck to get a good view of the wounded pirate.
"I knew I couldn't trust him," I muttered, as I watched him get on his hands and knees and crawl across the deck.
He picked a dagger out of a coil of rope and concealed it in his jacket.
Then he quickly crawled back to his old place.
"He's armed," I thought, "and I'm to be his next victim!"
I went back to the cabin, put on my shoes, grabbed a bottle of wine, and went back up on the deck.
The pirate lay as I'd left him. His eyes were half closed, as if he felt weak, but he opened the bottle easily.
"Here's to luck!" he said and gulped the wine. Then the pirate sighed.
"I have no strength. Every breath may be my last, lad."
"If you're so ill," I said, "you should start praying for God to have mercy on you."
"For thirty years," said Israel Hands, "I've sailed the seas and seen good and bad, but I've never seen good come from goodness yet.
Whoever strikes first wins. Dead men don't bite. Those are my views—amen."
Suddenly his tone changed. "That's enough of this nonsense," he declared.
"The tide's low enough. Take my orders, Captain Hawkins, and we'll sail in and be done with it."
Navigation was delicate and tricky, but Israel Hands was an excellent pilot.
"We'll beach her there." He pointed. "It's fine, flat sand, no wind, with trees all around. Get ready now, boy.
We're near the beach. Steer right a little—steady—right—steady—steady!
Now, my lad," he commanded, "sail the bow into the wind!"
I swung the Hispaniola around rapidly and pointed her bow toward the wooded shore.
I was so busy I'd almost forgotten my danger, but a sudden uneasiness seized me and I turned my head.
Mr. Hands was coming at me, with the dagger in his right hand.
I screamed, and he roared like a charging bull as he jumped toward me.
I leaped away, letting go of the wheel, which struck him sharply across the chest.
I ran to the main mast, drew a pistol from my pocket, and took aim.
I pulled the trigger, but nothing happened.
"The gunpowder's wet!" I cursed.
"Not your lucky day, Jim," laughed the pirate.
Though wounded, Hands moved fast. Using the main mast as a shield , I waited, every nerve tingling.
He came at me from one side of the mast and then the other as I dodged back and forth.
Just then, the Hispaniola struck the beach, shuddered, and tipped to one side, until the deck stood at a 45-degree angle .
Both of us fell over, rolling almost together, with the body of Red Cap tumbling after us.
I got up first, but I had no place to run, so I sprang up onto the rigging, climbing hand over hand.
"Your luck has run out, Jim!" yelled Hands as he threw the dagger at me.
It missed, but I didn't stop to breathe until I reached the crosspiece on the mast.
I quickly changed the gunpowder in one pistol and started to reload the other.
Israel Hands pulled himself into the ropes with a groan, retrieved the dagger, and put it between his teeth.
Then, slowly and painfully, he began to climb.
I finished reloading when he was about a third of the way up.
With a pistol in each hand, I shouted, "One more step, Mr. Hands, and I'll blow your brains out!
Dead men don't bite, you know," I added with a chuckle.
His eyebrows rose and he stopped.
"Ha-ha!" I laughed.
The pirate took the dagger from his mouth. "Jim," he said, "I reckon we'll have to make a deal.
I'd have killed you if that ship hadn't beached just then. Bad luck for me again!"
As he spoke, his right hand went back over his shoulder.
Then something sang like an arrow through the air, and I felt a blow and then a sharp sting.
He had pinned my shoulder to the mast with his dagger!
In the horrible pain and surprise of the moment—and without my intention—both my pistols went off and fell from my hands.
They didn't fall alone. With a choked cry, Israel Hands fell off the ropes and plunged headfirst into the water.