"Ow—swiggle me stiff! 'Ere now, Ichi, you ain't goin' to leave me down 'ere alone, all ironed up, and with these bleedin' rats runnin' about!" There was positive fear in the cry.
Ichi chuckled.
"Yes, Mr. Henry, I am convinced that solitude will benefit your manners. Ah—I had not thought of the rats. But surely the great bull boatswain of the Cohasset can not fear the little rats! Ah, I am glad you mentioned them; yes, they shall be companions of your meditations."
The boatswain, in a forcible sentence, disclosed his opinion of the Japanese gentleman's ancestral line. Then, abruptly, his tone became conciliatory.
"Ow—but say! Ye'll send me some grub? Swiggle me, ye ain't going to bloody well starve me, are ye?"
Ichi, retreating to the ladder before Martin's advance, delivered his parting shot at the boatswain.
"Fasting, my dear friend, is an ancient companion of meditation. Tomorrow, perhaps, when thought has chastened your mood, there is a possibleness you may receive food."
Martin mounted the ladder with mingled feelings; with dismay at leaving the boatswain, with a wild hope of encountering Ruth above, with exhilaration at the success of the boatswain's strategy.
For Martin had fathomed the boatswain's reason for baiting the Japanese. The boatswain had known of the alloy of vanity in Ichi's composition, and he had seized upon it to extract needful information. He had succeeded; Ichi's conceit and vindictiveness had overcome his native caution.
The boatswain knew now something of the enemy's plans. More important, he knew that he was to be left alone, without disturbance, in the lazaret for a whole day. Ichi had already stepped into the cabin with his lantern. Martin called into the gloom behind him: