Chapter 24

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_ CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

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."

The black nodded, as if fully endorsing the plan. "Jackum go too."

"No, stop, I want you. Send all the others."

"Jackum want eat."

"You shall have plenty to eat," cried Carey, and the man grinned, spoke sharply to his companions, who ran with him forward, and, as the pair watched them and listened, they heard quite a babel of excited voices rise, and Carey's heart sank.

"They won't go," he said.

"Oh, won't they, sir," said Bostock, with a chuckle. "You'll see directly."

The old sailor was right, for directly after they were seen carrying the carefully skinned and cleaned serpent to the side, where they lowered it into the boat, into which they crowded till it was full, four of them perching on the outrigger.

Then with a loud shout the heavily-laden canoe was pushed off, the paddles began to splash, and Jackum came back.

"All gone 'way," he said, rather solemnly, as if disappointed at not being able to join the banquet. "Jackum want eat."

"Yes, of course. Come along. Here, Bob, what can you give him to eat?"

The black's eyes sparkled, as he turned eagerly to Bostock.

"What yer like, Sooty?" said the latter.

"Bob gib ticky-ticky; Pick Dilly. Much cake."

"Look ye here," said the old sailor. "You love damper?"

"Iss. Damper."

"Ticky-ticky?"

"Iss. Much ticky-ticky."

"And I'll light a fire and roast something for you to eat by-and-by."

"Jackum no like roast somefin. Cooky big bird."

"Yes, I'll cook a big bird for you. That do? Come along then."

A minute or two later Jackum was seated with a big damper cake and a basin of treacle between his legs, smiling all over his face wherever it was not coated with molasses, and that was naturally about the mouth. When they saw him fully occupied Carey and Bostock turned to where the arms were hidden, and soon after each was provided with a revolver and gun loaded, and with an ample supply of cartridges.

"Now, Bob," cried Carey, excitedly, "the _Chusan_ is once more our own. If we fastened up the gangways we could keep all those blacks off."

"What about Jackum?"

"He would obey me now."

"Dessay he would, sir, but what about Old King Cole?"

Carey gazed at him with wrinkled brow and was silent for a few moments, for the question was hard to answer, and he gave it up.

"Get an axe," he said.

This-was soon done, and they repaired to the saloon skylight, where Bostock leaned his gun against the erection ready for use if wanted, and began to use the axe.

At the first blow there was a crash of glass, followed by a revolver shot from the bottom of the stairs, when Bostock dropped the axe and seized and cocked his gun.

"The old un's at it, sir. Look out; maybe he's coming out."

"Fire at him if he fires at us," said Carey, excitedly.

"I'm a-going to fire at him, sir, afore he does," said the old sailor, sturdily. "See my swelled head, sir?"

Carey nodded.

"That's right, sir. Well then, 'cordin' to the rules of the game it's my first play this time, and yours too."

Carey was silent, and nothing followed the shot.

"He must be disabled, Bob?" whispered the boy. "Go on again."

Bostock struck once more, and there was another shot below, but this time the old sailor went on, striking again and again, beating out glass and dividing the cross pieces of wood to make an easy entrance for anyone to get down. But not a dozen strokes had been delivered before the black was once more at their side.

"Hullo!" cried Bostock; "you haven't eat all that damper."

"Jackum eat allum damper, allum ticky-ticky. Good!" cried the black, grinning.

"Well, I couldn't ha' done it myself in the time," said Bostock. "Here, lay hold."

He pointed to the partially demolished light, which the black seized and wrenched off, threw it down on the deck, and then, without hesitation, glided through, and dropped softly into the saloon cabin.

"You go next, Bob."

"Nay, sir, oughtn't you to order me on guard to shoot down the enemy if he comes on deck?" Carey nodded.

"Yes, keep watch," he said. "I'll go down." The way was easy enough now, and the next minute Carey was on the saloon table, from which he leaped to the floor, to face Jackum, who cried, eagerly:

"Doctor. Jackum know."

The black led the way to the captain's cabin, and there was a faint cry of delight as the boy sprang forward and let his gun drop against the locker, to grasp Doctor Kingsmead's extended hands.

"Oh, doctor, doctor!" he cried. "At last! at last! But how thin and white you look."

"Loss of blood, my lad. Ah, Jackum!"

For the black had crept close up to the berth and squatted down, gazing anxiously in the sufferer's face.

"Doc-tor mumkull?" he said.

"Killed? Oh, no, my man. I hope not for a long time yet."

"Mumkull--no," said Jackum. "Brokum?"

"Yes, broken if you like," and he pointed to the slit-up leg of his trousers and a large bloodstained bandage, tightly bound round.

"Who 'tick 'pear froo doctor leggum?" cried the black, springing up, with his eyes flashing and the look of war in his set teeth; and it was as if he wanted the name of the member of his pack, as he drew his club from behind, to shake it menacingly.

"No, no. Shot-gun," said the doctor.

"Ho! Big Dan?" whispered the black, and he pointed downward.

"Yes," said the doctor, and for a few moments his voice grew a little stronger. "Carey, lad, the cowardly ruffian must have been mad drunk this morning, for he came to me furious and foaming and accused me of encouraging you to set the blacks against him. I denied it, of course, and he grew more furious, using bullying and insulting language, till in my irritation I struck him, and he went away, while I began to repent, feeling how awkward our position was. But a few minutes later I had come to the conclusion that the time had arrived when we must strike for freedom, and I was looking longingly across the lagoon at where I could see you practising throwing the boomerang, and wishing you back. Then I turned to go forward and speak to Bostock, who was busy in the galley, when I saw that ruffian standing just outside the cabin entry, taking aim at me with a gun.

"I shouted and rushed at him, but he fired twice before I could reach him. I felt a tremendous blow on the leg, but I closed with him and we fell together, struggling down step by step to the saloon door, where I loosed my grasp and rolled in, to lie half insensible; but I heard the door banged to and locked on the outside. Then a deathly feeling of sickness came over me, and I lay wondering at the sounds I heard as of water splashing, as if bucket after bucket was dashed down to wash something away.

"That sound saved my life, Carey," said the doctor, after a pause, "for it seemed to revive me to a sense of what was wrong, and I crawled from the dreadful pool in which I lay, to tear a strip from the tablecloth and staunch the bleeding, before I fainted away, to be revived again by hearing a horrible crash as if someone had slipped upon the wet stairs. The door was nearly driven in, but the fall continued, and I could hear Mallam cursing horribly as he tried to get up, but only to fall back and lie silent for a time. I must have fainted again, but the desire for life was strong, and I forced myself to see to my injury. It's a horrible wound, Carey, and bled so that I thought it would never stop; but the bone was sound, and I was surgeon enough to tie the artery, and--and--"

His voice had been growing weaker and weaker, and now it ceased, the poor fellow lying with his eyes half-closed.

"Doc-tor go mumkull," whispered Jackum, but Carey made an angry gesture and, fetching water from the table, he moistened the wounded man's lips, and in a short time had the satisfaction of seeing him revive a little and in a faint whisper ask for a drink. Carey raised his head a little, and half a glassful was swallowed with avidity. This was reviving, and the doctor was soon able to press his young companion's hand.

"Where's Bostock?" he said at last.

"On deck," said Carey, promptly; but he said nothing about the old sailor's injury.

"Hah!" replied the doctor; "I can get better now. But what is the matter with you, my lad? Your voice sounds strange, and you keep one hand over your breast. What is it?"

"Oh, nothing much," said Carey, with a feeble attempt at a smile.

"Tell me," said the doctor, in almost a whisper; but there was a stern look in his eyes as he said, "I know. You have been overtaxing yourself. The old trouble has broken again."

"No, no," cried Carey, eagerly now. "I was on the cabin stairs seeking for you, when that old wretch fired at me, and I felt something strike me here." He pressed his hand upon his breast.

The knowledge that another was suffering seemed to renew the doctor's strength.

"Let me see," he said, more firmly.

Carey hesitated, but the stern eyes forced him to obey, and as he sat there with the last rays of the setting sun streaming into the cabin, he bared his breast, to show a great red patch as large as the palm of his hand.

"Spent or badly loaded bullet, Carey," said the doctor, faintly. "Painful, but no danger, lad. The skin is not pierced." He could say no more, but lay holding the lad's hand, while Jackum watched in the midst of an intense silence, till a shot suddenly rang out, just as the cabin was darkening.

"Hullo! What's that mean?" came in a deep growl from the top of the cabin stairs.

"Ahoy there!" roared Mallam. "Where's that there doctor?"

"You ought to know," shouted Bostock, every word in the silence of the gathering night sounding plainly on the listeners' ears. "Down below, with your shot in his limb."

"Curse his limb!" roared Mallam.

"Look ye here," said Bostock, in hoarse, stentorian tones, "I've got a double gun, double-loaded, in my fins, and I'm pynting down straight at you, my old beachcomber; and I tell you what it is, if you begin any of your games again I looses off both barrels and ends you. D'yer hear?"

"Yes, I hear, cooky. I won't fire any more. You must bring that doctor down to see to me. I'm wrecked."

"What's the matter with you?" growled Bostock; "too drunk to move?"

"No-o-o-o!" roared the beachcomber. "I fell down these cursed stairs and broke both my legs."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Bostock, coolly. "I was wondering what was the matter. Well, it'll keep you quiet for a bit."

"You send down the doctor, I tell you."

"He can't come, and if he could he wouldn't. I'll send some of your black fellows to come if you give up your pistols and gun."

"What!" roared Mallam. "I'm king here, and--here, you tell the doctor to come to me directly."

"Shan't," growled Bostock.

"Big Dan brokum," whispered Black Jackum.

"Yes," said Carey, "both legs."

"Black Jackum go and men'. No. Big Dan shoot um."

At that moment there was the sound of joyous shouting from the island, and the ruddy glare of a big fire played through the saloon window.

"Boy big eat corroborree," said the black, sadly. "Jack go eat snake? No. Big Dan not shoot, Jackum 'top men' both leggum."

"Ahoy, there!" roared Mallam, from the bottom of the stairs, "if that doctor aren't down here 'fore I count five hundred I'll fire down into the powder store and blow up the ship." _

Read next: Chapter 25

Read previous: Chapter 23

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