Chapter Twenty.
The party which had been out with the canoe reached the vessel with a goodly supply of beautiful fish just at the same time as the whale-boat with the treasured-up pearls, over which Mallam had sat chuckling all the way back, pointing out to Carey the beauties of the large ones, and glancing furtively the while at the doctor in his delight over that gentleman’s discomfiture.
Carey was bitterly annoyed, but he took it all pretty coolly.
“All right, old gentleman,” he said to himself. “You’ve only set your slaves to work and washed and cleaned them for us; we’ll have them all back again when you’ve cleaned the rest.”
But Carey had not been without his anxious feelings, though, all the time, regarding Bostock; and his first glance as he ascended the side of the stranded steamer was directed to the spot where he had last seen the old sailor with the row of black fellows watching him.
But a chill ran through the boy, for there was no sign of Bostock, and the ten blacks, his guards, were all forward in a cluster.
Carey sighed with relief the next minute, for, hearing them on deck, he thrust his head out of the cook’s galley, and the boy grasped the fact that Bostock was busy preparing dinner, and the blacks were attracted there by the smell.
Directly after the old sailor had an addition to his work in the shape of fish to fry, and Carey seized the opportunity the examination of the fish afforded to whisper to the old sailor.
“Well,” he said, “you’re all right.”
“Yes, I’m all right, my lad, but I were a bit mouldy when I saw you go, and went and got ready for action.”