"You men had better not come on board. Mind you, I've given you fair warning."
"What's that you're saying?"
"You better not come on board. We've got four cases of smallpox already, and two more that I think are coming down."
The men in the boat instantly shoved off, and a dozen feet away sat talking in low voices. Obviously they were undecided what to do.
To most of us Gleazen's cool, authoritative statement, that the most dread plague of the African coast, the terror alike of traders, cruisers, and slavers, had appeared among us—a downright lie—was so amazing that we scarcely knew what to make of it. I must confess that, little as I liked the means that he took, I was well pleased at the prospect of his gaining his end. But Gideon North, as he had been prompt to shatter at the start Gleazen's first attempt at fraud, promptly and unexpectedly thrust his oar into this one.
"That, gentlemen, is not so," he called down to the boat. "We have as clean a bill of health as any ship in the service."
"Come, come, now," cried the young officer. "What's all this?"
"I'm telling you the truth, and I'm master of this brig."
With his hands at his mouth Gleazen, half-pretending to whisper, called, "We're humoring him. He won't admit he has it. But what I've told you is God's honest truth."
Captain North started as if about to speak, then seemed to think better of it. Folding his arms, he let the matter stand.