“Eh?” came in a hoarse, raucous voice, as the man rolled forward, with the lamp, till he was near enough to hold it close to the doctor’s face, and then to those of the others.
“Only three on ’em, then. Don’t let ’em go, my sonnies. Now then, you, what do you say? What am I doing here? What are you doing—what do you want aboard my ship?”
“Your ship, you bullying, drunken ruffian!” cried the doctor, in a rage. “You’ve been down in the cabin helping yourself to the spirits, or you would not dare to speak to me like this.”
“Well! You do talk,” cried the man, with a hoarse laugh. “Yes, I’ve had a drop I found down there. Thirsty, my lad, thirsty.”
“Did you bring these black scoundrels aboard?” cried the doctor, who was beside himself with rage.
“Sartain I did; they’re my crew, and I’m their master, and I’ve only got to say the word and over you go to the sharks. Eh, sonny? Sharks, eh?”
“Sharkum, sharkum!” cried the man who seemed to be the leader, and he caught hold of the doctor, his example being followed by his fellows; but in an instant he was sent staggering back, and Bostock’s assailant met with similar treatment, while Carey struck out, but with very little effect, save that he hurt his knuckles against the grinning teeth of the black who seized him.
“Hold hard, my sonnies; not yet. Let’s see how they behave themselves. Stand back.”
It was evident that the great coarse-looking ruffian had perfect command over the party of black fellows, who shrank back at a word, and waited with glistening eyes, their faces shining in the lamplight.
“There,” said the man, “you see; so don’t be sarcy. I let you off this time, because you didn’t know; only if there’s any more of it I says the word, and over the side you go. Now then, who are you?”