Chapter Thirty Nine.
How Ali brought News, and was not believed.
There was plenty of excitement on board the steamer, as the falls were hooked on and the light gig was run up to the davits, the boat then being swung on board; and as lights were brought, the body of the man they had tried to save was laid upon the deck.
“Why, it’s a nigger!” exclaimed Bob Roberts; and then, with a cry of horror, “Oh, Mr Johnson, it’s old Ali! Here, quick! help, brandy! Oh, he’s dead! he’s dead!”
“No, he aren’t, sir,” said Dick gruffly; “leastwise, I don’t think so.”
“Carry him into the cabin,” said Lieutenant Johnson sharply; and this being done, the poor fellow was stripped, briskly rubbed, and the customary plans adopted to restore respiration, Bob Roberts eagerly taking his turn, till, to his delight, as he watched Ali’s arms being worked up and down, so as to empty and fill his chest, there was a faint flutter, a sigh, and the doubts as to the young Malay’s life being spared were at an end.
“Hooray!” cried Bob, who was only in his shirt and trousers, his collar open, and his sleeves rolled right up to his shoulders. “Hooray!” he cried; and forgetting all his dignity as second officer in command of Her Majesty’s ship, he indulged in a kind of triumphal dance, which ended with a flop, caused by his bringing one foot down flat on the cabin floor.
“I think that will do, Mr Roberts,” said the lieutenant quietly; and Bob coloured up and looked confused.