“Well, sir, he’s riddling of me now, sir; I dunno what to say; on’y it don’t seem nat’ral to stand still and be blown up in a splosion, when you might get away. Ha! I have it, sir. S’pose I get the boat round under the cabin window, and you and Jackum shove the doctor out and lower him down. What d’yer say to that?”
“Nonsense!” cried Carey, impatiently. “I don’t understand wounds much—no, not a bit; but from what the doctor said I’m sure if we tried to move him he’d bleed to death.”
“That settles it, sir, then; you and me’s got to stay. But look ye here, Master Carey; they say it’s best in a splosion to lie down flat till it’s over. Ah, there he goes again. It’s coming now.”
For Mallam’s voice was heard once more, roaring for Bostock.
“No; he will not fire the magazine till he has had another talk to you.”
“Think not, sir? I were reading in the Mariner’s Chronicle that pirates always blows up their ships when things go again ’em, and he’s nothing better than a pirate, say what you will.”
There was a savage roar from the beachcomber, and as Bostock hurried along the quarter-deck and descended to the cabin entrance two shots were fired in rapid succession.
“Big Dan go mumkull—kill a feller,” whispered Jackum, as the exchange of words came to where they stood listening.
“Drop that! D’yer hear?” roared Bostock. “Drop it, before I come and finish you off.”
“Yes; come!” snarled Mallam.