“I wish as some ’un had pared her nails afore I comed here,” growled the nautical man.
“Hush, Zubby,” said Colonel Langley, taking the girl kindly by the arm; “we are doing Jim no harm; you’ll bring the janissaries in to see who is being murdered if you go on so—hush!”
But Zubby would not hush; the Colonel therefore called his black cook and handed her over to him—who, being a fellow-countryman, and knowing what a Zaharian frame could endure, carried her into an adjoining room and quietly choked her.
“He’s going—all right,” said the surgeon, with a look and nod of satisfaction, as the child, lying in the nautical man’s arms, dropt suddenly into a profound slumber.
“Now, we will pack him.—Stay, has he a cloak or shawl of any kind?” said the surgeon, looking round.
“Zubby alone knows where his mysterious wardrobe is to be found,” replied the Colonel.
“Then let the creature find it,” cried the surgeon impatiently; “we have no time to lose.”
Zubby was brought back and told to wrap her treasure in something warm, which she willingly did, under the impression that she was about to be ordered to take him out for a walk, but the tears which still bedimmed her eyes, coupled with agitation, caused her to perform her wonted duty clumsily, and to stick a variety of pins in various unnecessary places. She was then sent to the kitchen with some trivial message to the cook.
While she was away, Master Jim was packed in the bottom of the vegetable basket, and a quantity of cabbages, cauliflowers, etcetera, were placed above him. The basket was given to the nautical man to carry. Then the surgeon and the consul went out arm-in-arm, followed by two midshipmen, who were in attendance in the hall. Robinson—so the nautical man was named—brought up the rear.
They proceeded along the street Bab-el-Oued for some distance, and then, passing the mosque near the slave-market, descended the street that led to the Marina, and the place where the boat of the “Prometheus” lay in waiting.