A very strange sound answered him, partly like the squall of a cat, and partly like the growl of a wild beast.
"He's hungry, poor old boy," said the lad, stepping forward and holding the meat to the bars of a cage in the farther corner, through which was dimly visible the gaunt outline of a young tiger, bought cheap in Southern India by the Captain, who expected to make a profit by selling it to some menagerie when he got home. For a tiger, it was tame enough; but the only one of the crew for whom it showed any liking was the little cabin-boy, who had named it Tom, after his favorite brother, and never lost a chance of talking to it, always insisting that it understood him perfectly.
"You see, Tom," said he, as the tiger seized the meat, "there ain't much for you, 'cause we're gittin' short ourselves; but you'll have plenty by-and-by, never fear."
The beast rubbed its huge yellow head caressingly against the hand which Jack thrust into the cage as unconcernedly as if he were only petting a kitten, and lifted, in obedience to the familiar call of "Shake hands, Tom," the mighty fore-paw, one stroke of which would have crushed the boy like an egg-shell.
But just as the two strangely assorted playmates were in the height of their sport, a sudden clamor of voices from above startled them both.
"Can't stop now, Tom," said the boy, as gravely as if he were excusing himself to one of his messmates. "There's something up, and the Captain'll want me to help him manage the ship, you know. By-by."
And up he went like a rocket.
When he reached the deck, the cause of the tumult at once became apparent. From behind the low reef five rudely built native boats, each with ten or twelve men on board, were creeping out toward the doomed vessel.
"They're coming now, sure enough," muttered the Captain through his set teeth; "but I guess they won't be here for another twenty minutes yet, for them boats o' their'n are too heavy and lubberly built to go fast. Say, boys, we must fight for it now, for them black sarpints won't leave a man of us livin' if they git the best of it. You that hain't got cutlasses, take boat-hooks or capstan bars, and jist break a few bottles, and scatter the glass around the deck: it'll astonish their bare feet some, I reckon. Hickman, lay that grindstone on the gunnel, and be ready to tip it over on to the first boat that comes alongside. If these black-muzzled monkeys want our scalps, they've got to pay for 'em."
The men obeyed his orders; but they did so with a subdued air which showed how little hope they had of anything beyond selling their lives as dearly as possible.