“And I’ll light a fire and roast something for you to eat by-and-by.”
“Jackum no like roast somefin. Cooky big bird.”
“Yes, I’ll cook a big bird for you. That do? Come along then.”
A minute or two later Jackum was seated with a big damper cake and a basin of treacle between his legs, smiling all over his face wherever it was not coated with molasses, and that was naturally about the mouth. When they saw him fully occupied Carey and Bostock turned to where the arms were hidden, and soon after each was provided with a revolver and gun loaded, and with an ample supply of cartridges.
“Now, Bob,” cried Carey, excitedly, “the Chusan is once more our own. If we fastened up the gangways we could keep all those blacks off.”
“What about Jackum?”
“He would obey me now.”
“Dessay he would, sir, but what about Old King Cole?”
Carey gazed at him with wrinkled brow and was silent for a few moments, for the question was hard to answer, and he gave it up.
“Get an axe,” he said.