On Lancey being placed before him, the captain turned and said a few words to the officer at his side, who was a splendid fellow, in the prime of life, with a square bony frame and red beard, which harmonised, if it did not contrast, with his scarlet fez and blue tassel. A rich Eastern shawl encircled his waist, from the folds of which peeped the handles of a brace of pistols.
He looked at the dripping Englishman earnestly and sternly for a few moments, and the slightest tinge of a smile lighted his grave countenance as he said in broken, but sufficiently fluent English—
“The captin do want you to repeat vat you have say on deck.”
Lancey repeated it, with a considerable number of additions, but no variations.
After translating it all, and listening to something in reply, the officer turned again to Lancey.
“The captin,” he said, with quiet gravity, “bids me tell to you that you is a liar.”
Lancey flushed deeply. “I would tell you,” he said, with a frown, “to tell the captain that ’e’s another, on’y that would show I was as bad-mannered as ’imself.”
“If I do tells him zat,” returned the officer, “you should have your head cutted off immediately.”
Lancey’s indignation having already half-cooled, and his memory being refreshed just then with some vivid remembrances of the Eastern mode of summoning black slaves by the clapping of hands, followed by the flying off of heads or the prompt application of bowstrings to necks, he said, still however with an offended air—
“Well then, tell ’im what you like, hall I’ve got to say is that I’ve told the plain truth, an’ ’e’s welcome to believe it or not as ’e likes.”