“Only wait, my lad,” said Murray, through his set teeth.
“That’s what we keep on doing, sir,” said the man bitterly. “You see, it’s pretty well all wait.”
“The time will come, Tom.”
“Yes, sir; course it will, and when it does—”
The man moistened the palm of his right hand, clapped it to the hilt of his re-sheathed cutlass, and half drew it from the scabbard. “My!” he ejaculated, and his eyes seemed to flash in the morning sunshine. “It’s going to be a warm time for some of ’em. I shouldn’t like to be in that Yankee gentleman’s shoes, nor be wearing the boots of his men where they had ’em.”
“Oh, but these people could not be such inhuman wretches,” said Murray excitedly. “The murderous, atrocious treatment—the killing of those poor prisoners must be the act of the black chief and his men.”
“Hope so, sir,” said the sailor bluntly. “It’s too black to be done by a white. But all the same, sir, if the white skipper didn’t want his cargoes, the nigger king and his men wouldn’t supply ’em; and here’s the doctor come ashore, sir,” added the man, in a whisper.
For the two parties met just at the edge of a clump of trees, within whose shade the unfortunate creature who had interested the midshipman in her fate was lying with one of the seamen standing by her head, his musket grounded and his crossed arms resting upon the muzzle.
“Ah, gentlemen, you here!” said the doctor, nodding shortly. “Nice place, this. Humph!” he ejaculated, as with brows contracting he went down on one knee.—“There, don’t be frightened, my lass,” he continued softly, for as he drew near, the poor creature, who had been lying in the shade with her eyes half-closed, startled by the footsteps, suddenly raised her lids in a wild stare of horror and shrank away. “Poor wretch!” continued the doctor. “The sight of a man can only mean horrors for her.”
“Horrors indeed, doctor,” cried Murray excitedly; “but pray do something for her!”