“My name is Jerry Goldboy,” said the Englishman; “your health, gentlemen.”
“’Am Sandy Black,” said the Scot; “here’s t’ee.”
“Well, Mr Black and Mr Coldboy”—Goldboy, interposed Jerry—“I speak for my brothers and friend when I wish you all success in the new land.”
“Do talk less, Jack,” said Robert Skyd, the youngest brother, “and give our friends a chance of speaking—Have you come ashore lately!”
“Just arrived,” answered Jerry.
“I thought so. You belong to the Scotch party that goes to Baviaans River, I suppose?” asked Frank Dobson.
This question led at length to a full and free account of the circumstances and destination of each party, with which however we will not trouble the reader in detail.
“D’ee ken onything aboot Baviaans River?” inquired Sandy Black, after a variety of subjects had been discussed.
“Nothing whatever,” answered John Skyd, “save that it is between one and two hundred miles—more or less—inland among the mountains, and that its name, which is Dutch, means the River of Baboons, its fastnesses being filled with these gentry.”
“Ay, I’ve heard as much mysel’,” returned Sandy, “an’ they say the craters are gey fierce. Are there ony o’ the big puggies in the Albany district?”