“You send him down.”
As Carey listened it became plain to him that no matter how defective the black was in speech he understood pretty well every word that was said, for a firm sinewy hand was laid upon the lad’s arm and the man said softly, “Jackum won’t go. Want ’top ’long you. Big Dan mumkull Jackum.”
There were a couple more random shots fired, eliciting raging threats from Bostock, and then the old sailor came back to the light.
“How’s the doctor, sir?” he said.
“Sleeping heavily.”
“Good job too, sir,” said the old sailor, with a sigh. “Wish I could go to sleep and never know what’s going on. Come much easier to be blowed up when one didn’t expect it. Wonderful how cowardly a man feels when he knows that there’s a lot o’ gunpowder as may go off any moment just under his feet.”
“But you must see, Bob,” said Carey, softly, “that it’s only a bit of bragging. He can’t blow up the ship.”
“Think not, sir?”
“I feel sure of it.”