Carey opened his eyes just at sunrise, feeling, as a healthy lad should,
light-hearted and happy; for he was perfectly unconscious of all that
had taken place overnight till he turned his head a little and saw
Doctor Kingsmead with his arm resting against the side, gazing out of
the open port.
Then it all came to him, and he felt horribly selfish and miserable.
"Oh, doctor!" he cried.
"Ah, Carey, lad!" said the doctor, starting and turning to him.
"Morning. You've had a capital sleep."
"Yes, and you watching there. Why didn't you rouse me up to take my
turn?"
"I've not been watching all the night. I sat thinking till I felt that
it was of no use to worry any longer, and then I dropped asleep. I've
not been awake now for more than half an hour."
"Ah, that's better," said Carey, raising himself a little to look
towards the door, to see Bostock lying across it, turning himself into a
human bar to prevent any one from entering without waking him up. He
was now on his back, sleeping heavily, with his mouth open.
The doctor looked at him too and then smiled sadly at Carey.
"I say," said the latter, "it seems rum, doesn't it, for us three
prisoners to go off to sleep like that without minding a bit?"
"Nature will have her own way," said the doctor.
"Eh? Right, sir! I--well, look at that now! It's a rum 'un."
Bostock had suddenly awakened, and he now rose quickly and stared at
Carey.
"I say, I aren't been asleep all night, have I?"
"Yes, Bob. There, it's all right."
"Well, they haven't killed and eaten us, sir; but I don't like this.
You ought to ha' wakened me, doctor."
"I was not awake myself, Bostock."
"Oh! That was it, was it?" said the old sailor, shaking his head and
looking very serious. "Then about work, sir; what's the first thing?
Shall I see about breakfast?"
The doctor was silent for a few moments.
"Yes," he said at last. "I have thought over our position again this
morning, and it seems to me that the best thing to do, if we are
allowed, is to go on quietly and submit, until a good opportunity
occurs--say of the blacks going ashore in their canoe."
"And then seize the vessel again?" said Carey, eagerly.
"And chuck Mr King Beachcomber overboard, sir," whispered Bostock.
"Or make him prisoner till we can hand him over to the authorities,"
said the doctor.
"But there are no authorities to hand him over to, sir," said Carey.
"Have patience, my lad; we never know what may happen. We had a piece
of bad luck last night; to-day we may have a bit of good. Yes, we'll go
on as usual. See to the breakfast."
"Right, sir," cried the old sailor, and he turned the handle of the door
without effect.
"Locked?" said Carey, in a hoarse whisper.
"Can't say, sir, but it's made fast somehow."
To the surprise of all, though, the door was opened the next moment, and
their captor stood before them, looking from one to the other, while at
a glance Carey saw that the blacks had disappeared.
"Come out of that," growled the ruffian, sourly. "I want some
breakfast; and you, sailor chap, get out rations of beef or pork for my
pack. They'll be hungry again by this time. Light the fire first, and
let's have some tea soon."
Carey involuntarily glanced at the bottle on the table, and saw that it
was empty. He saw, too, that his glance was noticed, for the
beachcomber said with a hoarse laugh:
"Oh, yes, I drink tea too. But put another bottle of that stuff on the
table as well."
They passed out into the saloon, and Carey made at once for the door.
"Where are you going, boy?" cried the beachcomber.
"To get a bucket of fresh water and have a sluice," replied Carey,
sulkily, for he objected to be called "boy."
"Humph! You look clean enough," growled the man. "Be off then, and
make haste back to get breakfast."
Carey stepped back to catch up a towel, and then went to the saloon
doorway and out on deck.
"Yes, I'll come back soon, and I'll help," muttered the boy through his
teeth; "but only wait till I get my chance. Brrrr!" he snarled, "how it
all makes me feel as if I should like to do something to somebody."
He walked sharply to where the bucket he used every morning stood ready,
with a line attached to the handle; but before he reached it, there was
the soft pattering of feet, and the pack of black fellows came running
to meet him, headed by Black Jack, who stopped short close upon the boy
to strike an attitude, making a hideous grimace, and poising his spear
with one hand while he rested it upon the fingers of the other as if to
steady it for hurling, while his companions snatched melon-headed clubs
or boomerangs from out of the cord-like girdles which supported a broad
shell hanging in front.
Carey had not had his breakfast, a fact which added fuel to the hot
temper he was already in, consequent upon his treatment in the saloon.
Feeling perfectly reckless and irritated by the action of the naked
blacks, and the most utter contempt for their childish attempt to
frighten him, Carey's temper boiled over.
"Out of the way, you black monkey," he cried, and, treating the
threatening spear with the most perfect contempt, he made a dash at the
black and flicked at him sharply with the towel, catching him with a
smart crack on the thigh and making him utter a yell, as he bounded
back, dropping his spear and stooping to rub the place.
As soon as Carey had delivered the flick so dexterously, one often
practised on bathing excursions when at school, he repented, fully
expecting that the others would rush upon him with their clubs.
But to his utter astonishment and relief, they uttered a shout of
delight on seeing their leader's discomfiture, and some broke into a
triumphal dance, chattering and laughing, while three of the party threw
themselves on deck and rolled about in convulsions of mirth.
"I don't care," muttered Carey; "I'll let them see I'm not afraid of
them," and, without pausing now, he walked to the side, caught up the
bucket, and twisting one end of the line round his left hand, went to
the open gangway of that side of the vessel to throw down the bucket
into the clear, cool water.
But he paused, for just beneath him, fastened by ropes, were a small
whale-boat and an outrigger canoe.
He walked farther, and as soon as he was clear of the two craft, he sent
the bucket down topsy-turvy so that it filled; hauled it up and turned
to find himself hemmed in by a semi-circle of blacks.
Again acting on the impulse of the moment, Carey placed a second hand to
the bucket and gave it a quick swing round, discharging its contents in
an arc, with the intention of dowsing the savages; but they were too
quick for him, bounding back, grinning with delight at their cleverness,
but coming forward again, laughing like a pack of mischievous boys to
tempt him to throw again.
"Oh, I'm not going to keep on at that," muttered Carey, as he raised the
bucket again and threw it overboard for a fresh supply; and as soon as
he had it up, he knelt down by it, had a good sluice, and rose to begin
towelling, while the grinning blacks looked on.
As he finished, with the towel now well damped, he made believe to throw
the water over his audience, and as they bounded away, he hurled the
contents over the side, put down the bucket under the bulwarks and
turned to go back to the cabin, making the wet towel snap like a whip as
he flicked at first one and then at another of the naked bodies so
temptingly displayed, the blacks roaring with laughter as they leaped
and bounded about to avoid the cuts; but far from showing any resentment
against the boy, evidently treating it all as a magnificent piece of
fun.
The boy left them chattering and laughing, Black Jack as merry as the
rest, while the object of their mirth began to wonder at the power he
seemed to have exercised over the pack of childlike savages, and to ask
himself whether there was anything in these people to mind.
"But dogs will bite if they are set at any one by their master," the boy
said to himself in conclusion, and found himself face to face with the
man of whom he had been thinking.
"Oh, there you are," he said, sourly. "Go and help them with the
rations, and then go and feed the black dogs."
Carey nodded, and from some half-conceived and misty notion that he
could not even analyse to himself, more than that it had something to do
with trying to make himself as much master of the black fellows as the
beachcomber seemed to be, he went about the work with alacrity, finding
Bostock with his jacket off and sleeves rolled up, fast filling a basket
with ship's biscuit.
"I s'pose I shall have to boil up a lot of the men's pork, Master
Carey," he said. "The black beggars must be satisfied with biscuit this
morning."
"I'll take it to them, Bob," said Carey. "I say, though, can you find a
jar of molasses?"
"Ay, there's plenty, my lad. Going to give 'em that?"
"Yes, look sharp."
In another minute or so, the jar was brought out of the store, and Carey
provided himself with a big iron cooking spoon, and thus armed and with
basket and jar, he made his way towards the deck, to be met directly by
the blacks, ready to chatter, grin, and dance about him, as he brusquely
walked right through them till well forward, where he seated himself on
a ship's fender and set the basket and jar before him.
Black Jack did not seem to display the slightest animosity as he pressed
forward, grinning and showing a set of the whitest teeth.
"Whar bull cow meat?" he cried. "Baal beef."
"None cooked yet," said Carey, shortly.
"What dat?" he cried, and his hand darted at the treacle jar.
_Crack_!
Carey was as quick, bringing the iron spoon down heavily on the black's
hand, making him utter a sharp cry as he snatched it away, sending his
companions into an ecstasy of delight, and making them dance about and
twist and writhe.
Black Jack clapped the back of his hand to his mouth, and then, as if
the injury were not of the slightest consequence, he pointed now at the
jar, in which the boy was inserting the big spoon.
"Dat not good," he shouted. "Dat mumkull, kill a fellar. Chuck um--
chuck um away."
"Ah, you thick-headed, tar-faced idiot!" cried Carey. "Not good,
indeed! I suppose you want raspberry jam." And he brought out the
spoon covered with the stringy treacle, turned it a few times and placed
a great dab on one of the biscuits.
"Baal good!" cried Black Jack, angrily. "Mumkull. Black fellow. Chuck
um 'way."
He made a snatch at the biscuit, but down came the spoon on his black
hand.
"Yah!" he yelled, and clapped the treacly place to his mouth, tasted the
molasses, and the fierce look died out, his countenance expanding into a
grin as he sucked, and then in good animal fashion began to lick,
holding out his other hand for the biscuit.
The next minute he was munching away in a high state of delight, while
the others crowded round with hands extended, and were served as fast as
the boy could place dabs of the sticky syrup on the hard biscuits.
They crowded him so that several times over he whisked the spoon round,
giving one a dab on the hand, another on the cheek, while one had a
topper on his thick, black-haired head--all these rebuffs being received
with shouts of laughter, the recipients setting to work at once to
prevent the saccharine mess from being wasted.
But at last all were supplied, and the boy rested for half a minute,
looking at the merry, delighted crowd with good-humoured contempt.
"Well, you are a set of savages," he said.
"More--gib more," cried Black Jack, who had just finished.
"You look a pretty sticky beauty," said Carey.
"Berry 'ticky good," said Black Jack. "Gib more; plenty 'ticky."
Carey took another biscuit from the basket and put a very small dab of
treacle upon it, to the black's great disgust.
"No, no, no!" he yelled, with childlike annoyance. "Plenty 'ticky--
plenty 'ticky."
"Not good," said Carey, mockingly. "Kill a black fellow."
Black Jack's face expanded again into a tremendous grin.
"Yah!" he cried; "baal mumkull. Good--good--good!"
"There you are, then," said Carey, giving the spoon a twirl and dabbing
a goodly portion on the biscuit. "That do?"
"Good, plenty 'ticky," cried the savage, gumming his face gloriously and
grinding up the biscuit as easily as if it were a cracknel.
By this time the others were finishing, and for another quarter of an
hour the boy was kept busy at work, to find in the very thick of it that
he had an addition to his audience in the shape of the coarse-faced
beachcomber, who looked less ferocious now, with his countenance
softened by a good-humoured grin.
"Feeding 'em up then," he said. "Mind they don't finish up by eating
you."
"I'm not afraid of that," said Carey, shortly.
"Aren't you? Well, perhaps we shall see. But it's your turn now:
breakfast. Come on."
Carey followed him without a word, and, like his companions in
adversity, ate the meal in silence.