“Better wait till ye fetch thaar, boss,” said Hiram drily. “I guess we air hard an’ fast aground jest now; an’ it ain’t no good a-talkin’ till ye ken do ez ye sez; threat’nin’s air all bunkum!”
“I’ll soon show ye the rights o’ thet,” shouted Captain Snaggs, making a rush past Hiram to reach Sam, who drew away behind Tom, just beyond his grasp. “Only let me catch holt on thet durned nigger, an’ I’ll skin him alive. I’ll ghost him, I will!”
Hiram, however, protected the darkey with his outstretched arm, thus barring the skipper’s advance; while Tom Bullover also stood up in front, further shielding Sam, who now spoke up for himself from his safe position in the rear, whither I too retreated out of harm’s way.
“Golly! Massa Cap’en,” said Sam, with a native dignity and eloquence which I had not previously believed him to possess, “what fur am yer wish ter injure a pore black man like me, dat nebbah done yer no harm? But fur der impersition ob der good God abobe us all, yer’d a-murd’red me, as yer taut yer hab dat time dat yer shoots me, an’ I tumbles inter de sea?”
“Harm, cuss ye?” retorted Captain Snaggs. “Didn’t ye try to pizen me afore I went fur ye? It wer arter thet I drew a bead on ye with my six-shooter!”
“No, Mass’ Snaggs,” answered the negro solemnly; “I’se swan I nebbah done dat ting! I’se nebbah pizen yer, nor no man. I’se only put one lilly bit jalap in de grub, fo’ joke, ’cause yer turn me out ob de galley fo’ nuffin’. I’se only done it fo’ joke, I swan!”
“A durned fine joke thet, I reckon,” sneered the skipper, snorting and fuming with rage at the recollection. “Why, me an’ Flinders hed the mullygrabs fur a week arterwards; an’ I guess I don’t feel all right yet! I ain’t half paid ye fur it, by thunder! But, thet ain’t the wust by a durned sight; fur, by yer dodrotted tomfoolery, an’ carryin’ on with thet scoundrel yer accomplice thaar—thet British hound, Bullover, I mean—ye hev so fuddled every one aboard thet ye hev caused the loss of the shep an’ cargy on this air outlandish island. I’ll make ye answer fur it, though—I will by the jumpin’ Jeehosophet!”
“Ye air wrong thaar, cap,” put in Hiram here; “ye air wrong thaar!”
“Wrong! Who sez I’m wrong?”
“I dew,” replied the other, in his sturdy fashion, in no ways abashed by the question—“I sez ye air wrong. It warn’t Sam ez lost the ship, or ’cashion’d the wrack in airy a way, nor yet yerself, cap, neither. It wer summat else.”