"Hocus-pocus, magic of a sort," the captain growled. "When a white man knows much about Ju-Ju his proper place is an asylum." He turned to the boys. "How did them other fellows go?"
"No savvy, sah. We done hear not'ing."
"I expect they were afraid to meddle," Brown remarked, and resumed: "Why did you lib for stop?"
"We Accra boy; white man's boy. Them bushman him d—n fool too much. Run in bush like monkey, without him clo'es."
Brown knitted his brows and then made a sign of resignation. "I reckon it's all we'll know! Well, the tide's falling and we must shift for some kernels before the sun is hot. Better start your pump."
The pump was soon at work, and Lister, watching the engine, mused. He wondered how much the Accra boys knew, or if it was possible the others had stolen away without waking them. Watson, the look-out, had heard nothing, and Lister remembered Brown's remarks about the Ju-Ju and thought the boys did know something but were afraid to tell. Watson had said the country was queer, and if he meant fantastic, Lister agreed. There was something about it that re-acted strangely on one's imagination. In the North American wilds, one was, so to speak, a materialist and conquered savage Nature by using well-known rules. In Africa one did not know the rules and felt the power of the supernatural. It looked as if there was a mysterious, malignant force. But the pump was running badly and Lister saw he must not philosophize.
When the sun got hot he stopped for breakfast and afterwards he and Brown smoked for a few minutes under the awning.
"I'm bothered about the boys' going," the captain declared. "There's not much doubt Montgomery got somebody to put Ju-Ju on them; bribed a magician to frighten them by a trick. Since they're a superstitious lot, I reckon we can't hire another gang in this neighborhood. However, now he's stopped our coal, you'll have to go to Sar Leone, and may pick up some British Kroos about the port."
"Then I'd better go soon," said Lister. "The braces I bolted on the pump won't hold long; she rocks and strains the shaft when she's running hard. I must get a proper casting made at a foundry. Besides, the engine crosshead's worn and jumps about. I must try to find a forge and machine-shop."
"They've got something of the kind at Sar Leone; I don't know about a foundry," Brown replied. "Take Learmont to navigate, and start when you like. We'll shift the hulk to leeward of the wreck and she ought to ride out a south-east breeze."