Part 2, Chapter 11: What I Heard in the Apple-Barrel

⁠​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​​​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌‌‌‌‌‌​​​​⁠“No, not I,” said Silver. “Flint was cap’n; I was quartermaster, along of my timber leg. The same broadside I lost my leg, old Pew lost his deadlights. It was a master surgeon, him that ampytated me—out of college and all—Latin by the bucket, and what not; but he was hanged like a dog, and sun-dried like the rest, at Corso Castle. That was Roberts’ men, that was, and comed of changing names to the