“Oh, I see,” said Johnnie, “I see now. Your wife cookee he, and you cookee she. Well, you’re a queer lot, you cannibal fellows.”
At first Ralph the blood-hound used to terrorise the whole population, specially the little pickaninnies or children, who all ran from him when he appeared on the white sandy beach where they played.
It made our young heroes laugh till their sides were sore to see a crowd of these naked little black children fleeing from Ralph, who, by the way, never condescended to chase them. It was a crowd of whirling legs and arms, and each tiny cannibal looked like the three-legged wheel you see on a Manx half-penny, only without stockings or bootlets on.
The king delighted to see the giant exhibit his strength. But when one day the tiny dwarf boy, unknown to the king, hid inside the bell-shaped end of Gourmand’s enormous brass basoon and jumped out with a wild shriek when the giant began to play, his majesty nearly went into a fit with laughing.
It was fun! And some fresh fun was invented every day for the purpose of making this great big baby of a king laugh and shake.
Ah! well, but after all, our shipwrecked Wandering Minstrels did long for home often enough too, and at supper-time or after, while by themselves in the fort, they were never tired of talking about their adventures in dear old England—in wayside camp and caravan.
One morning early, Johnnie, who had been out shooting rock-rabbits, came back into the fort with a rush or a run.
“Oh!” he cried; “the ship! the ship!”
Then indeed there was excitement in the little fort.