“And we don’t know how he is.”
“No, sir, we don’t know how he is, but he must be pooty bad, or else he wouldn’t go on shooting at everybody who goes nigh. I wish, though, he’d ha’ hurt old Jackum a bit more.”
“Why?”
“Might ha’ made the nigger so savage that he’d ha’ gone down and finished him off. I aren’t a murd’rous sort o’ man, Master Carey, but he tried to kill me, only he didn’t hit hard enough, and I get thinking that there old ruffian won’t be perfeck till he’s quite finished. Well, sir, what’s to be done? You’re skipper now as t’others is both wounded. I should say first thing is for you to rig yourself out with a revolver and a gun as I’ve got waiting for you ready, and, as it used to be when I was aboard a man-o’-war, you just read your commission out loud to the crew. They won’t understand it, but that don’t matter; we Jacks never did. Next you’d better make me your first lieutenant as well as cook, and then go and knock over a nigger or two just to let ’em see you mean business.”
“Don’t trifle, Bob,” cried Carey, angrily.
“Nay, sir, I aren’t trifling; I mean it. You’ve got the whip hand o’ they niggers, and they ’bout worships you. Just you bounce about a bit and let ’em see what you’re made of, and then give ’em your orders what to do.”
“Yes, what would you do first?”
“Well, sir, if it was me I should send Jackum and a couple more—no, I wouldn’t send jackum, because he’s not a bad sort o’ fellow, and we couldn’t spare him. He’ll be a splendid go-between, because you see he understands the language, and it’ll be better to tell ’em what they’re to do than knocking it into ’em with a club. You send three of ’em down below, and let ’em put the old king out of his misery.”
“What! Kill him?”
“Ay, sir, he must be badly hurt and half dead. Such chaps as him aren’t a bit o’ use in the world.”