_ CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
To Carey's rage and discomfiture he found that their captor treated him as the ship's boy, following Bostock to the store-room and ordering him to carry the most solid of the provisions to the blacks.
"They won't want any knives and forks and plates, young 'un. Wait a moment. Where's the tobacco?"
This was produced in its tub, and in obedience to his orders Carey took out twenty of the long square compressed cakes.
"That's right. Twenty of 'em, and don't let either of the warmint snatch two."
"How am I to stop them?" said Carey, bitterly.
"Got a fist, haven't you?"
Carey nodded shortly.
"Hit the first as does in the mouth."
"To be knocked down with a club," said the boy, bitterly.
"No one dare touch you, my lad, unless I give 'em leave. I'm king here, I tell you, and the black dogs know it. Be off."
"You hideous, red-eyed brute!" said the boy to himself, as he took his load and turned to go. "How I should like to--"
He did not mentally say what, for he was brought up short by the word "Stop!" roared in a bullying tone.
"Here, you," cried the man to Bostock, "light a lanthorn; it's dark on deck. Follow him, and hold it till he's done. And look here, bring it away again, or they'll be setting the ship afire. They can see in the dark like cats. They want no light."
Bostock fetched a lanthorn, lit it in a surly way, and then went first, closely followed by Carey, who just caught sight of their captor pouring himself out a tumbler of rum from a half-emptied bottle; but there was no water near.
"Bob," panted the boy, as they reached the deck, "are we going to put up with this?"
"Dunno yet, my lad," growled the old sailor. "Not for long, I hope. Seems to me like me knocking that there red and white savage's head off, and then blowing up the ship."
"But why doesn't the doctor do something?"
"Aren't made up his mind yet what to do, my lad, seemingly. He's hatching. That's what I think he's a-doing of. I s'pose we'd better wait."
"I can't wait," whispered Carey, "I feel in such a rage, I must do something."
"Take the prog to them black beasts then, sir, now. They aren't much better than annymiles."
"Look sharp, you two, and come back to the cabin," came in a fierce, hoarse voice from the cabin stairs, proving that they were watched.
"Come on, and get the dirty job done, Master Carey," whispered Bostock. "I shall 'ave to kill somebody over this before I've done."
Carey said nothing, but walked forward with his load, hearing the savages, who were chattering loudly, suddenly cease as if listening, and the next moment Black Jack came bounding to their side, looking eagerly from one to the other.
"Why can't you walk?" growled Bostock. "Can't you get over the deck, and not come hopping like a hingy-rubber ball, or one of your kangaroos?"
"Kangaroo? Wallaby?" said the black. "Over there. Lots."
"Go and join 'em then, you sable son of a three-legged pitch-pot."
"Got meat?"
"Yes," said Carey, and he served out the big lumps cut ready, while Bostock held the light, the blacks taking it steadily enough till all were served, and Carey stood looking at them.
Then a murmur arose, Black Jack shouting the one word "'bacco," and his fellows all joining.
"Can't you wait a minute, you set o' undressed nigger minstrels?" growled Bostock. "There, give 'em the cakes o' 'bacco, sir, and I wish it would make 'em sick."
Carey had placed the oblong squares of compressed leaf in his pocket, and he now took out half-a-dozen, the light being cast upon his hands and giving the boy a glimpse of one of the party in the act of making a snatch.
Carey recalled his orders, and he was in the right humour for taking advantage of it, for his blood was up, and he jumped at the opportunity of getting a little satisfaction out of his enemies.
The black was quick, but the boy was equally so, and as the savage made a snatch, Carey's disengaged fist flew out in good school-boy fashion. There was the sound of a heavy blow, a yell, and the black bounded off the deck, to come down again club in hand and grinning ferociously as he raised it as if to strike.
Carey did not pause to think.
"Ah, would you?" he cried, and he struck out again quick as lightning, striking the black on the right cheek and drawing back quickly, expecting a general attack for his pugnacity.
But to his great surprise and satisfaction there was a yell of laughter, and the party danced round him, shouldering their fellow away, as in a series of strange antics they displayed their delight at his discomfiture.
"'Bacco, 'bacco!" they kept on shouting, as they pressed round, each taking his portion eagerly enough, but there was no snatching, till all had received a cake save the one who had been made to give way.
"There you are," cried Carey, holding out the last, but standing on his guard so as to avoid an expected blow.
But it did not come. The black took his cake and joined the others, to go back chattering to partake of their meal, while Carey and Bostock turned to go back to the cabin.
"Now, I call that there plucky," said the old sailor, gruffly.
"What?" said Carey, wondering.
"You hitting that walking blacking bottle twice over in the mouth. I don't know as I should ha' dared."
"Plucky!" said Carey, wonderingly. "You don't know what a fright I felt in when I did it; but I was in such a passion that I was obliged to hit something."
"And so you did, sir, a regular smeller. I don't believe a French or a Jarman boy would ha' done it."
"Nonsense, Bob."
"Oh, no, it aren't, my lad; it's some sense, and it's taught me a deal."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, it's give me a feeling as we're going to get out o' this job without being cooked and eaten. You see how they go down on their knees like to old Bottle-nose yonder?"
"Yes."
"Well, it's because he's a white man and not a bit afraid of 'em."
"Yes, of course; but we--I mean, I am."
"Not you, sir. Didn't look like it just now. Well, you're a white un. I won't call you a white man; that would be gammoning you, because man you aren't yet. But you're a plucked un, and they was all delighted to see you hit their mate. Well, you go on like that, and they'll be afraid of you. There's something in a white skin as is too much for them, and you've only got to let 'em see that you don't care a quid o' 'bacco for their blunt wood sticks and knob clubs, to keep 'em where they ought to be, down--right down. For they're only good enough to make door-mats to wipe your shoes on. Eat us? I should like to ketch 'em at it!"
"I shouldn't, Bob."
"Ah, well, I didn't quite mean that, sir; it was only a way o' speaking."
"Are you two chaps going to be all night?" came in a fierce voice from the cabin stairs.
Carey stepped up to the speaker directly.
"My black pack haven't worried you, then?" said the man, with a grin which showed two or three yellow teeth. "I began to think they'd eaten you raw, as you didn't come back. There, I don't want to starve you; get below and have your supper along with your mate. I've half done mine."
They went into the saloon, to find the doctor waiting for them with some food ready at one end of the table, while at the other the beachcomber's stood, consisting of a ship's biscuit and about half of the bottle of rum, which he had taken possession of before they came back.
"Get your prog, my lads, and then go to sleep. And look here, don't you either of you try any games, or maybe you won't see daylight again."
As may be supposed, the trio had not much appetite for their suppers, but they made pretence of eating, and saw that their captor was watching them all the time, sipping his neat rum and nibbling a little of the hard biscuit, which he softened a little at times by dipping it in his rum glass.
"Now then," he said at last, "is that your cabin?"
"It is mine," said the doctor.
"All right. Go in then, all three of you."
"I don't sleep here," growled Bostock. "I've got a bunk below."
"You'll go in there," said the man, fiercely.
"But there aren't room."
"Sleep on the floor then."
Bostock turned to the doctor, but the latter's eye was averted, and he made no sign, nor spoke.
"All right," growled the old sailor, and he turned to Carey. "I won't snore more'n I can help, sir," he said. "It aren't my fault."
"In with you all," said the beachcomber, roughly; "and look here, I'm going to sit here a bit to finish my physic, so don't come out and disturb me. My black pack used to come prowling round sometimes of a night, but they never do now."
As he spoke he took out a revolver and cocked it, before laying it down beside his tumbler of spirits with a meaning look.
"Are we to consider ourselves prisoners, sir?" said the doctor, speaking at last.
"Dunno," was the reply, shortly given. "All depends. If you ride the high horse I may tell my pack to set you ashore somewhere else, but if you're civil--well, we shall see. Only just recollect this, and don't argue. These are my islands all round here, and all that comes ashore's mine. Now go to bed."
He threw himself back in his chair and raised the glass to his lips, and without a word the three prisoners filed into the state-room, and the door swung to and clicked behind them. _