Poor Bob Bostock's head had seemed as much swollen mentally as it had
been externally, but these words on the part of Carey gave a fillip to
his power of thinking, and he stared at the lad with his mouth open and,
instead of being stupefied and weak, he grew rapidly stronger.
"My eyes and limbs, Master Carey!" he gasped; "you don't mean to go and
say such a thing as that, do you?"
"I do, Bob, but look here," he went on, keeping to a whisper; "try and
be cool and take it all as a matter of course. Everything may depend
upon our taking our troubles calmly. We must not let the black fellows
think we are upset over it."
"I see, sir. Yes, that's right. You mean if we show the white feather
these fellows'll come and pluck us."
"Something of the kind, Bob. There, go on bathing your head and keep
friendly with Black Jack."
"Right, sir. I see. Chuck dust in their eyes?"
"Exactly."
"Here goes, then, sir, and I'll begin with water and make out that I
think it all a big lark."
The old sailor knelt down before the bucket and began to bathe his
forehead and the tremendous swelling, while Black Jackum looked on
anxiously. The next minute Bostock raised his head, saw that the second
black was looking at him solemnly, and he made a hideous grimace at
him--an extremely hideous grimace, for his swollen and disfigured
forehead helped to make it so.
The black stared, with the opalescent whites of his eyes forming rings
around his irides. Then, grasping the fact that it was done as a joke,
he burst into a loud guffaw, slapped his thighs and cried, "Bunyip--
bunyip!" bounding away the next moment, for Bostock sent a handful of
water splashing all over his face.
Black Jackum roared at this, and Bostock made a feint of splashing him,
to the other blacks' great delight.
Jackum dodged and ducked his head, Bostock keeping up the threatening
till Jackum protested.
"No--no--no," he cried. "Let feel um," and he stretched out his hands.
"All right," cried Bostock, ceasing his watery threats; "feel then."
"Feel cookie," said Jackum, solemnly. "Cookie brokum?"
The black's fingers were applied with delicate touch to the old sailor's
head.
"Gently, old soot-box," said Bostock, quietly submitting; "it feels as
if it was red-hot."
"No brokum," said Jackum, turning sharply to Carey and catching at the
boy's wrist. "Feelum."
Carey felt the injured head gently, and was not a bit the wiser, save
that he could not feel the movement of fractured bones, so he nodded
back to Jackum and repeated the black's words.
"No brokum," he said, and the black laughed, caught hold of Bostock's
loose neckerchief, slipped it off, and tied it round the injured place,
laughing and nodding as he turned the old sailor round and pointed out
the bandage to Carey. "Big Dan hit um," he said.
"That's right, sonny," cried Bostock, laughing. "I say. Big Dan,
drinkum, drinkum," and he made a pantomimic gesture with his hand as if
tossing off a dram.
Black Jackum gave a sharp glance aft to make sure that his white chief
was not on deck, and then, grinning with delight, he imitated Bostock's
action with his doubled hand as if drinking.
"Rum--rum," he said, and then, with a wonderful display of the imitative
faculty, he went through a clever pantomime, turning his black face into
a grotesque copy of Mallam's, as he made believe to pour rum out of a
bottle, drinking again and again, smiling in an imbecile manner at
first, and then beginning to grow fierce, while his companions squatted
on the deck, nodding and enjoying the performance.
In a few seconds Jackum's countenance changed, his eyes began to roll,
his face seemed puffed out, and a brutally savage look came over it. He
growled like a wild beast, turned on his black companion suddenly, and
kicked him over, ending by jumping on him softly, to the black fellow's
great delight. Then he seemed to run _amok_ among a number of imaginary
people, pulling out his boomerang, pretending to cock it, and shooting
in all directions, ending by making a furious rush at Bostock, making
believe to drag him to the hatchway, where he took out his club, struck
one tremendous blow and clapped down the trap-door. Then he took up a
bottle and glass from where they did not stand on the deck, drank two
glasses and, after pretending to drain the bottle, threw it overboard,
and, with his eyes half shut and a horribly brutal look, went slowly to
the side, settled himself down, and went to sleep.
The whole performance did not take a minute, and then he was back beside
Carey.
"Big Dan," he whispered, with his eyes twinkling with the same delight
which infused his companion, who rolled on the deck in the excess of his
mirth.
"Yes, that's it," said Carey, impatiently. "Big Dan. Drink. Bad.
Now, Jackum, look here."
"Look?" said the black. "What look?"
"Listen, then. Find doctor."
"Find doctor. Where doctor?"
"Yes," said Carey.
Jackum turned to his companion and asked him, but it was evident that
the man knew nothing, and Jackum stood for a moment or two thinking.
"Doc-tor," he said at last, making a significant gesture downward.
"Sleep um," and he shut his eyes and laid his face upon his hand.
"No," said Carey.
"Jackum go see."
He started to run aft, and Carey and the other two followed, the black
fellows, who were busy picking and cleaning the game they had brought
back, paying no heed.
As they reached the cabin entry Carey anxiously caught Jackum's arm.
"Mind," he whispered, pointing downward. "Big Dan. Shoot, shoot!"
The black nodded, and dropped upon his face, to crawl up and cautiously
thrust his head inside and listen, drawing it back again directly,
shutting his eyes, puffing out his face and uttering a low deep snore.
The next moment he was in again, crawling like a huge black slug head
first down the stairs, till they saw only the soles of his feet, and
then they disappeared, the other looking on grinning as he squatted
down.
"It's not snoring, Bob," whispered Carey. "There is something terrible
below. I think the doctor is dead, after wounding Mallam badly."
"Oh, don't say that, my lad; but hullo! what's wrong with your chesty?
You keep putting your hand there."
"I don't think it's much," said the boy. "Never mind now. It hurts
badly now and then. Mallam shot at me."
_Bang_!
There was a sharp report, a rush, and quite in a little cloud of smoke
Jackum bounded out on the deck, whipped his club out from where it was
stuck in his girdle behind, and made several vicious blows at nothing in
the direction of the cabin stairs, his teeth bared, and a savage look of
rage in his eyes.
Then, clapping his left hand to his ear, which was bleeding, he
whispered:
"Big Dan shoot."
He turned to his fellow, who examined the wounded ear, the lobe of which
was split. Then the injury was pinched together for a few moments, a
little grass bag was produced from somewhere, and a pinch of clay-dust
applied to the wound.
This done, Jackum grinned again.
"Big Dan there," he whispered.
"But the doctor?" whispered Carey, excitedly.
"Jackum find," was the confident reply, and with a quick nod he bounded
to one of the open saloon skylights, lay down, and edged himself through
the slit, let his body go down, hung by his hands a moment or two, and
let go, dropping into the saloon without a sound.
Carey and Bostock stood listening for some minutes, but there was no
sign made, and though the boy lay down on the deck with his ear close to
the opening he could hear nothing; and at last he rose and made for the
cabin entrance, to kneel down and listen there to the low, deep groans
uttered from time to time.
It was horrible, and in spite of the pain he was in Carey was ready to
risk everything and rush down to put an end to his suspense.
Just when this was unendurable he felt a light touch upon his shoulder,
and turned to find the second black pointing upward to the quarter-deck.
Carey went up at once, and found that Jackum was just squeezing himself
edgewise beneath the hinged opening of the saloon skylight.
He grinned with satisfaction.
"Find doc-tor," he said, fumbling in his girdle. "Big Dan shoot--
shoot."
"Not killed--mumkull?" whispered Carey, in a voice full of the anguish
he felt.
"No, no, no. Baal mumkull. Big Dan shoot. Doctor broke."
"Where, his head?" said the boy, with a sigh of relief, as he touched
his own.
"Baal head. Leggum," said the black, touching his thigh; and then from
out of one tightly clasped hand he took a roughly doubled-up piece of
paper, holding it out to the boy with a peculiar look of awe in his
countenance.
"Ah!" cried Carey, joyfully, as he snatched at the paper, a leaf
evidently torn out of a little pocket-book. "Here, Bob," he said, with
his voice trembling, as he opened out the scrap to display a few words
hastily pencilled in straggling characters, and he read:
"Thank Heaven you are alive. That ruffian fired at me, and the shot
divided an artery. I am too weak to stir. Take care. He is somehow
injured and lying at the bottom of the cabin stairs groaning. I am
dreadfully weak and faint, but I managed to stop the bleeding."
"Three cheers for that," said Bostock, softly. "This is bad noos,
Master Carey, but there's a deal o' good in it, though; now, aren't
there?"
"Good?" cried Carey, with a look of horror.
"Yes, sir, good," said the old sailor, stolidly. "You see, he says he's
stopped the bleeding."
"Yes, yes, that is good, certainly," said Carey, with his hand pressed
to his aching breast.
"Then there's something better, sir; he says Old King Cole's somehow
injured, and lying at the bottom o' the cabin stairs groaning, and if
that aren't a blessing in disguise I should like to know what is."
"And we don't know how he is."
"No, sir, we don't know how he is, but he must be pooty bad, or else he
wouldn't go on shooting at everybody who goes nigh. I wish, though,
he'd ha' hurt old Jackum a bit more."
"Why?"
"Might ha' made the nigger so savage that he'd ha' gone down and
finished him off. I aren't a murd'rous sort o' man, Master Carey, but
he tried to kill me, only he didn't hit hard enough, and I get thinking
that there old ruffian won't be perfeck till he's quite finished. Well,
sir, what's to be done? You're skipper now as t'others is both wounded.
I should say first thing is for you to rig yourself out with a revolver
and a gun as I've got waiting for you ready, and, as it used to be when
I was aboard a man-o'-war, you just read your commission out loud to the
crew. They won't understand it, but that don't matter; we Jacks never
did. Next you'd better make me your first lieutenant as well as cook,
and then go and knock over a nigger or two just to let 'em see you mean
business."
"Don't trifle, Bob," cried Carey, angrily.
"Nay, sir, I aren't trifling; I mean it. You've got the whip hand o'
they niggers, and they 'bout worships you. Just you bounce about a bit
and let 'em see what you're made of, and then give 'em your orders what
to do."
"Yes, what would you do first?"
"Well, sir, if it was me I should send Jackum and a couple more--no, I
wouldn't send jackum, because he's not a bad sort o' fellow, and we
couldn't spare him. He'll be a splendid go-between, because you see he
understands the language, and it'll be better to tell 'em what they're
to do than knocking it into 'em with a club. You send three of 'em down
below, and let 'em put the old king out of his misery."
"What! Kill him?"
"Ay, sir, he must be badly hurt and half dead. Such chaps as him aren't
a bit o' use in the world."
Carey looked at the man with so much disgust painted in his face that
Bostock shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, p'raps that would be a bit strong, sir, but one must do
something, and it won't do to leave him down there shooting at everyone
who goes nigh."
"Let's get to the doctor first," said Carey.
"Nay, sir; I aren't going to let you go down them stairs and be shot
again, whether you're my officer or whether you aren't," said the old
sailor, stoutly.
"I am not going down that way. We must get axes to work and enlarge the
opening through the skylight," said Carey.
"Ah, now you're talking sense, sir. Of course, but you'll have a
revolver?"
Carey nodded, and Bostock hurried off, to return in a few minutes
without the objects of which he had been in search.
"Well, where are the arms?" cried Carey.
"Aren't got 'em yet, sir. Them chaps want me to light a fire and cook
the thumping big snake they've got, and it's a horrid idee, sir. The
oven'll never be fit to use again. They made signs that if I didn't
they'd light a fire on the deck, and one chap began rubbing his
fire-sticks to get a light."
"I can't spare you, Bob," cried Carey, anxiously. "What am I to do?
Here, I know," said the boy, rising to the emergency. "Here, Jackum!"
The man, who had been watching him intently, sprang to his side on the
instant, looking ready to obey the slightest order.
"Tell your boys to take the snake over to the sands and light a fire
there to roast it. They can make a feast."