The two negroes comprising the sailboat’s crew were Caribs. They talked together in their native tongue, every word seeming to end in “boo” or “boo-hoo.”
“A whoop, two grunts, and a little blubbering,” said Dick, “will give a fellow a pretty fair Carib vocabulary. What ails Cassidy?”
“I think he sampled the flask of brandy when he brought it to the captain,” replied Bob.
“That was plain enough, for he had a breath like a rum cask. But it wasn’t that alone that made him so grouchy. There’s something else at the bottom of his locker.”
“Well, he’s the mate,” went on Bob, dropping his voice and turning a cautious look on the two negroes, “and I suppose he thinks Captain Nemo, junior, ought to have put him in command. To have a fellow like me jumped over his head may have touched him a little.”
“Probably,” murmured Dick, “but it’s a brand-new side of his character Cassidy’s showing. I never suspected it of him. Do you think the captain’s trouble is anything serious?”
“I hope not, Dick, but I’m worried. The sickness came on so suddenly I hardly know what to think.”
“He may have some of the poison from that idol’s head still under his hatches. It’s queer, though, that he should be so long getting over it, when Carl cut himself adrift from the same thing so handsomely.”
“Things of that kind never affect two people in exactly the same way.”
The negroes brought their boat alongside the wharf. As Bob paid for their services, and climbed ashore, Dick called his attention to the Grampus. Cassidy could be seen on the speck of deck running the Stars and Stripes to the top of the short flagstaff. The other sailboat, to the boys’ surprise, was standing in close to the submarine.