Chapter 24

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