“Why, Brandy,” he said, “it is bigger than a feather bed. I begin to believe, my boy, we have landed on one of the enchanted islands I used to read of long ago; and I can easily fancy a ship-wrecked mariner making a boat of the shell of one of these beasts, and with a bamboo for a mast and his jacket for a sail, crossing the ocean to the mainland. And you strangled him?”
“No, he strangle his little self, sah. I help jes’ a leetle wid de axe. Den he bleed—O, he bleed mo’ dan one big bull, sah.”
“And where is the blood, Brandy?”
“De fly eatee he all up plenty quick, and de ants eatee all de fly leave. Den I dink all de rest myself. But come, sah; de soup is all ready.”
On board the ’Liza Ann Ginger Brandy had gone about his duties in a very quiet way, indeed. He had shown himself smart enough, but had exhibited no extra talent of any kind. Now, lo and behold! all his nature was changed. He was in the wilds; he was part and parcel of the wilds, and his capabilities of making the best of everything appeared to know neither bounds nor limits. During the time Tom had been lying insensible, he had not only got the boat drawn up, but had built a hut inside a broken-down rocky cone, which looked like a small volcanic crater. It was cool and clean. The roof was formed of the sail, and inside was a soft bed of sea-weed. The provisions and ammunition were also carefully stored here; and as there appeared to be no destroying angels in the shape of ants about, everything was safe enough.
The soup was splendid. Tom felt a new man as soon as he had eaten a shellful. They had no basins, only shells. But several pannikins or billies were among the precious stores; so there seemed but little likelihood that they would have to live on raw meat for many a day.
After dinner Tom noticed that Ginger Brandy was carefully banking the fire with turf and ashes.
“Why not let it out, Brandy? You can light it again.”
“No, sah; nebber no mo’.”
“Why?”