“Very well, then,” cried Humphrey. “Let’s start, then, at once. Now, then, south!” he cried to the man.
“South?” said the Indian.
“Yes, south!” cried the captain, pointing. “Show us the way.”
“Show. El Commodore Yunk. No.”
He shook his head, and pointed around him, and then to the lanterns, which shed a dim light over the scene.
“No. Dark,” he said.
“He means it is too dark to go,” said the second officer. “Look here, old brownskin. Light? sun?”
“Light—sun!” cried the Indian, eagerly, pointing to the east, and then seizing the thin rope which had been twisted round his neck, he ran to the gangway, slid down into his boat, made the cord fast, and came scrambling up again to secure the signal-line.
This done, he said a few words to his companion, and, going to the side, threw himself down under the bulwarks, and seemed to go to sleep at once.
“Yes; that’s plain enough,” said Humphrey. “He means to wait till daylight. Keep a strict watch. We may have found the right man at last.”