The Bahaman gave one glance through the open barbette at the racing, black, foam-flecked waves and then, with a grin of satisfaction, he sprang to Tom’s side, whipped off the blanket, and tore loose the bonds about his wrists. Lifting the unconscious boy in his powerful black arms, he raced with him to the deck and to the room where Tom’s father and the others were chatting, all oblivious of the tragedy which had taken place beneath their feet.
To their frenzied questions as they worked feverishly over Tom, Sam could give but very vague and unsatisfactory replies. “Ah jus’ cotch tha’ soun’ of tha’ young gen’man’s cry, Chief,” he told Mr. Pauling. “An’ Ah knowed tha’ mus’ be trouble for he an’ burs’ into the room. An Ah seed tha’ Englishman jus’ mekkin’ fo’ to heave he out the gun po’t, Chief.”
“Englishman!” cried Mr. Pauling. “What Englishman?”
“Tha’ English sailor man, Chief,” replied Sam.
“You don’t mean Robinson!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling. “Where is he? What happened?”
“Yaas, Chief, tha’ officer we picked up in tha’ boat, Chief. He’s finish, Chief. Ah don’ rightly know where he gone, but Ah’ ’spec tha’ sharks got he.”
“Suffering cats!” cried out Rawlins. “Did you knock him overboard?”
Sam grinned. “Yaas, Sir,” he replied. “Leastwise, when Ah seed he mekkin’ to heave the young gen’man out, Ah jus’ butted he afore he could mek to shoot an Ah ’spec Ah butted he pretty hard, fo’ he jus’ mek one good grunt an’ scooned out o’ tha’ po’t like Davy Jones was callin’ he.”
“You old black rascal!” cried Rawlins, slapping Sam on the back. “I’ll say you butted him good--and I’ll bet he ‘scooned.’ Why, by glory, I’d rather be kicked by a mule than butted by that kinky head of yours.”
“Jove, but this is a mystery!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “The fellow must have gone crazy suddenly. Why on earth should he wish to injure Tom?”