“Well, well, have it so.”
“Pah! I no care dat mooch for de Arabs. Pah! When dey catch me den dey kill me. What matter? Some day all die. I am happy, I have one, two, tree wife, and dey all love Doomah, ebery one mooch more dan de oder. And when I go home I shall marry Number 4. Ha! ha!”
Doomah kept talking to Harry till all his melancholy had almost if not quite gone.
It was now about four bells in the middle watch, and Harry was thinking of sleep, when the curtain was drawn aside and Nicholls the bo’s’n entered. He was Harry’s lieutenant.
“Sorry to say, sir, the ship is leaking like a sieve, sir.”
“That is bad news, Nicholls,” said Harry, starting up.
“It be, sir; but what makes matters worse is that I believe she is scuttled.”
“But there were no signs of leakage before we parted with the Bunting.”
“No, indeed, sir, these rascally slaver Arabs know what they are about. The scuttling was filled up with paper, sure to come out after she had a few hours of way on her.”
“This is serious indeed. Think you—can we keep her afloat till we reach Zanzibar?”