Jimmy opened his mouth and his eyes very wide and stared at me.
“I say, do you think they are cannibals? How stupid! Do you think they eat man?”
“Yes; ’tupid, ’tupid. Eat man, lot o’ man. Bad, bad. Make um sick, sick.”
I turned cold, for here was corroboration of my fear. This was why they were treating us well instead of killing us at once; and I was turning a shuddering look at the circle of black faces around me when Jimmy exclaimed:
“Sha’n’t ums eat Jimmy. No, no. Jimmy eat a whole lot fust. No eat Mass Joe. Jimmy killum killum all lot.”
I stood there tightly bound, talking from time to time to the black, happier in mind at having a companion in my imprisonment, and trying to make him understand that our best policy was to wait our time; and then when our captors were more off their guard we could perhaps escape.
“No good ’t all,” said Jimmy, shaking his head. “Go eat um, Mass Joe, poor Jimmy. Make up fat um—fat um like big sheep. No run at all, catch fas’.”
“Not so bad as that, Jimmy,” I said, laughing in spite of my position at the idea of being made so fat that we could neither of us run.
Just then there was a movement among our captors, and having apparently satisfied themselves with a long inspection of their prisoners they were evidently about to take us back to our prisons.
“Jimmy gib all big kick?” said the black.