Slowly and with a dazed look the seaman raised himself on one elbow and looked round.
“Any—anything of ye left, boy?” he asked, quietly.
“I—I’s not kite sure, ’Ockins,” replied the negro, slowly passing his hand down one of his legs without rising from the floor. “’Ow does it feel wid you?”
“All right, I think,” replied the seaman, rising and presenting a remarkable exhibition of singed beard and frizzled locks, “no bones broke, anyhow.”
At that instant Mark rushed into the smoke-filled room in consternation, followed by the Secretary and a number of soldiers who formed the guard of the palace, and great was their surprise, as well as their satisfaction, to find that the two men had received no damage worth mentioning.
“Well, I am thankful,” exclaimed Mark, beginning to pick up the débris of plates and furniture.
“So am I,” remarked the sailor, “thankful to think that I’ve got it over at last—so easy too!”
“Why, what do you mean?”
“I means, doctor, that I’ve gone the whole round o’ human possibilities now—leastwise I think so—and am alive to tell it! I’ve bin shot, an’ stabbed, an’ drownded—all but—an’ now I’ve bin blow’d up!”
“So’s I, ’Ockins, so you needn’t boast,” remarked Ebony, as he tenderly felt the place where his wool ought to have been, but where only a few irregularly-shaped patches of scrub remained.