“Yes, sir,” whispered back the middy, “and I’m glad to hear you say that.”
“Glad, boy!” cried the lieutenant, in an angry whisper. “What do you mean by that?”
“Only that it makes me feel choky, sir,” whispered Murray, “and I was a bit ashamed.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, my lad. I feel as if I should be glad of a chance to set our lads at some of the torturing, murderous wretches who drag the people from their own country and treat them as they do.”
“I feel the same, sir,” replied Murray, as he stared straight before him at something that had caught his eye; “but we shall have our chance, I feel sure, sir, and have the blacks to help us, for they are not working themselves up like this for nothing.”
“Working themselves up,” whispered the lieutenant, as the weird chant went on and the heavy beat of the people’s bare feet grew more and more impressive, while the rate at which they now tore on increased. “Why, they are working my men up too. The great baby! I shouldn’t have believed it possible that a big strong fellow like that could have been so impressed.”
“What, Tom May, sir?” said Murray.
“Yes, my lad. There were two great tears rolling down his cheeks, and I suppose he didn’t know how they were shining in this dazzling light, for he rubbed them away with his great ugly fists. Don’t let him see that we noticed it, for I suppose it is genuine emotion, and no one can say that he is not as big and brave a fellow as ever stepped. Here, look, boy—look!” whispered the lieutenant excitedly.
“I am looking, sir,” replied the middy, “and so is every one else. Oh, Mr Anderson, I am glad I didn’t miss seeing this.”
“I don’t know, my lad, whether I am glad or whether I am sorry,” replied his leader, “but I should not have thought it possible. It sets one thinking about what we read regarding the worships of the old idolaters, and I never imagined that such things could be going on now. Look, look; they seem to be growing frantic. It can’t last long like this; the poor wretches are growing mad.”