“I dunno, sir. Let’s go back,” cried the man in an agitated whisper. “It’s very horrid though. There’s lots of ’em shuffling and scrambling about in the cracks and holes, staring at you with their wicked-looking eyes, and more ’n once I’ve seen ’em flapping their wings. I don’t like it. Let’s go back.”
“Go back to be taken? Impossible. Look, they are only bats.”
“Bats with wings a yard across, sir? Oh, come, I know better than that.”
“What are they then?” said Jack angrily.
“Oh, I dunno, sir. Something horrid as lives in this dreadful place. They make me feel creepy all down my back. I’d rather have a set-to with one of the ugliest blacks yonder.”
“I tell you they are bats—the great fruit bats. Why, Captain Bradleigh pointed them out to me the other night, flying overhead in the darkness just like big crows.”
“Are you sure, sir? There, look at that thing staring down at you and making noises. Mind, pray, Mr Jack, sir, or he’ll have you. Perhaps their bite’s poison.”
“They will not bite if we leave them alone. They are flying foxes.”
“Flying wolves, I think, sir. I say, hadn’t we better go back?”
“No,” said Jack firmly. “Why, Ned, are you going to turn coward?”