"Yes—you black scoundrel,"—roared Hause, gathering breath, "where is the Ballahoo?—this is her buoy, don't you see?"
"Where is de Ballahoo!!!"—again screamed the negroes, in a volley, in utter extremity of amazement at the enquiry being seriously repeated.
"Yes, you ragamuffins," quoth I, Benjie Brail, excited in my turn—"Where is the Ballahoo?"
Omnes.—"WHERE IS THE BALLAHOO?"
CHAPTER VII.
THE DEVIL'S GULLY.
I was certainly extremely puzzled myself to conjecture what could have become of the brig—that she had vanished was certain—and as for poor Captain Hause, he was in a truly pitiable state; quite stunned with the suddenness and severity of the blow, so as to be altogether unable to think or act for himself—"Come, Hause, my lad," said I, encouragingly, "this won't do; rouse yourself, man, and let us see what's to be done." At this he slowly rose up in the canoe, rubbing his eyes, and pressing his forehead, as if he had awakened out of some horrid dream, the effects of which he was endeavouring to shake off; but the instant he was no longer in doubt as to the reality of his misfortune, he cast the slough of his despondency, and with terrific energy tore off his jacket and neckerchief, and dashing both into the water, along with his hat, threw himself headlong after them; being only prevented from accomplishing his purpose of self-destruction by my dragging him on board again by the leg, and then holding him in the canoe by main force.
"I say, my men,"—to the black canoemen—"pull to that big timber-ship, will ye?"
"Ay, ay, massa," rejoined the poor fellows; "only hold dat poor mad buccra hand—take care him don't get at we, please, massa—white somarry when him blod up, bad enough—but when buccra beside himself, for true and true—heigh, de devil, massa."