We now began to feel uncommonly peckish, and it became necessary to make inquiries into the state of the commissariat department.
“Sambo,” said Mr. Triggs, addressing one of the negroes, “what have you got to eat?”
“Golly, sah, no got nuffin,” said the fellow with a frightened expression.
“Nothing!” thundered the gunner. “How are we to get on without any food?”
Sambo scratched his woolly poll, and looked bewildered.
“Der am six or sheven cocoa-nut,” he said at length, “and tree fiss. Berry mosh afraid dat all, massa.”
It was quite true; these were all the provisions there were. The negroes had intended to go out fishing only for the day, and had therefore not thought it necessary to provide themselves with anything but a few cocoa-nuts wherewith to quench their thirst. The three fish had been caught just before the earthquakes commenced, and appeared to be red mullet.
Mother Bunch’s face when Sambo explained to her that we wished to voyage to Cuba without any provisions on board lost all its rotundity, and lengthened out into a most dolorous, woe-begone visage. For about ten minutes she talked fifteen to the dozen in a most excited manner, evidently telling her husband that she foresaw an early death for herself, and perhaps giving him leave to present her skeleton to some West Indian museum in the interests of science.
Into such a state of excitement did the good lady work herself, that at length she jumped up and double-banked her husband’s oar, leaving her offspring to kick by itself in the stern-sheets. Right lustily did she pull, too—so lustily that her spouse at length relinquished the oar entirely to her, and went to the tiller to take a spell of rest, where he promptly fell fast asleep.
We toiled on through the sweltering heat, and made the old boat buzz along; but in spite of our almost superhuman efforts, the brig crept up stealthily but surely. Our capture was only a question of time.