The ex-man-o’-war’s man is for a time in doubt as to which of the three he should address himself. In point of intelligence there seems not much to choose. However, he with the black skin cuts short his hesitation by stepping forward, and saying:
“Well, mass’r sailor-man, wha’ you come for? S’pose you want see de cappen? I’se only de cook.”
“Oh, you’re only the cook, are you? Well, old caboose; you’ve made a correct guess about my bizness. It’s the capten I do want to see.”
“All right. He down in de cabin. You wait hya. I fotch ’im up less’n no time!”
The old darkey shuffling aft, disappears down the companion-way, leaving Harry with the two monstrous-looking creatures, whom he has now made out to be orang-outangs.
“Well, mates!” says the sailor, addressing them in a jocular way, “what be your opeenyun o’ things in general? D’ye think the wind’s goin’ to stay sou’-westerly, or shift roun’ to the nor’-eastart?”
“Cro—cro—croak!”
“Oh, hang it, no. I ain’t o’ the croakin’ sort. Ha’n’t ye got nothin’ more sensible than that to say to me!”
“Kurra—kra—kra. Cro—cro—croak!”
“No; I won’t do anythink o’ the kind; leastways, unless there turns out to be short commons ’board this eer craft. Then I’ll croak, an’ no mistake. But I say, old boys, how ’bout the grog? Reg’lar allowance, I hope—three tots a day?”