“Who are you? What do you want?” cried the doctor.
“Go mumkull white fellow; baal, lie down, quiet, still!”
“Says they’re going to kill us all if we don’t lie down and be quiet,” growled the old sailor; then aloud to the blacks, “Here, what do you want—’bacco—sugar? Give plenty. Black fellow go.”
“Want ’bacco, sugar, take white fellow old ship,” cried the black who had first spoken.
“Take our old ship, will you?” said Bostock. “I think not, my lad. There, put down spear, mulla-mulla. We’ll give you sugar, ’bacco.”
The man laughed, and his companions too.
“Where boat?” said Bostock, speaking as if he thought the savages must be deaf, and the spokesman pointed over the other side of the vessel.
“It’s all right, sir,” said Bostock. “Nothing to mind; they’re a party who’ve come in contact with English folk before, and they must have seen the ship. It only means giving them a bit of ’bacco and sugar and sending ’em away again. Don’t look afraid of ’em. Better give ’em what they want and let ’em go. They wander about, so we may never see ’em again.”
“Very well; fetch up some tobacco and sugar and give them,” said the doctor; but at the first step Bostock took half the men rushed at and seized him, making his companions snatch at their guns, but only to have them wrested away, the blacks cocking them and drawing the triggers so as to
