“Ay, ay, but look out, or he’ll be overboard. He’s lively as an eel,” came from below.
“Right!” said the captain; and he took up a small line and held it ready in both hands.
The rope tightened; there was a cheery “Yo-ho!” and up came a black, impish-looking boy of about my own age, kicking, struggling, and tearing at the rope round his chest.
But it was all in vain; he was swung round, held suspended with his feet just clear of the deck, and his wrists were caught in a loop of the line bound together, his ankles were served the same, and the lad was dropped on the deck to lie writhing like some wild animal, showing his teeth, and watching us all in turn with his rolling eyes.
“Come,” said the slave captain, laughingly turning to Colonel Preston; “he’s lively enough to make up for the other. Better have ’em. I’ll throw them in for next to nothing.”
“No,” said our neighbour, coldly. “That man is dying, and the boy would be of no use to me.”
“The man is not dying,” said the slave captain roughly, “but he soon will be if you don’t have him. As for this shaver, he’s about as near being an imp as we can find. Keep away, my lad, or he may bite you.”
This was to me, as I approached the boy, who showed his teeth at me like a vicious dog.
“Going to have ’em, colonel?”
“No; once more, no,” said the colonel, sternly. “I am only waiting for my boat.”