"No, sir," said the other with a start. "Now and then a fish splashed and she got her cable across the stem. Links rattled. That was all."
Lister thought the man had slept, but it was not important, since there was no obvious necessity for keeping anchor watch.
"Did you hear something, sir?" the other inquired.
"I don't know. I imagine I did!"
The sailor laughed, as if he understood. "A queer country; I've been here before! Beautiful, bits of it; shining surf, yellow sands, and palms, but it plays some funny tricks with white men. About half of them at the factories get addled brains if they stay long. Believe in things the bushmen believe, ghosts and magic, and such. Perhaps it's the climate, but on this coast you get fancies you get nowhere else. I'd sooner take look-out on the fo'cas'le in a North Sea gale than keep anchor watch in an African calm."
Lister nodded. He thought the man felt lonely and wanted to talk and he sympathized. There was something insidious and daunting about the African coast. He walked round the deck and then returning to his room presently went to sleep.
At daybreak he heard angry voices and going out found Brown storming about the deck. Two white sailors had come back in the boat from the hulk, with the news that the negroes berthed on board her had vanished in the night, except for three or four whom the sailors had brought to the tug. When Brown got cooler he went up to the men who squatted tranquilly on the hatch. They were big muscular fellows and wore, instead of the usual piece of cotton, ragged duck clothes.
"Where's the rest of the gang?" Brown asked.
"No savvy, sah," said one. "Some fella put them t'ing Ju-Ju on him and he lib for bush."
"What's a Ju-Ju?" Lister inquired.