“My dear captain,” he said, in slow, measured tones, as he adjusted his eyeglass, “I cannot agree with you. Africa has passed through many changes of late years. These men will surely be heard from again, and may even be freed eventually.”
“Yes, yes, you are right, doctor; your views are eminently sound,” said Lieutenant Carl von Leyden.
Captain Becker removed his meerschaum from his lips, and shook himself in his chair until his sword clanked on the floor.
“Now listen,” he cried. “These men of whom we speak, the governor of Zaila, the English colonel, the captain of the Aden steamer, and the other two unfortunate Englishmen, not one of these men will ever come out of Africa alive, I will wager a hundred thalers.”
“Done!” cried Lieutenant von Leyden.
“Done!” echoed Dr. Goldbeck.
Hardly had the echoes of their voices died away when the sentry wheeled about hastily and said: “Captain, something comes down the river. It has just rounded the bend. It looks too large for a boat.”
Captain Becker rushed down below, hurried back with a pair of glasses, and took a long survey.
“It is a raft,” he cried, turning to his companions. “Men are lying on it; whether dead or alive I cannot tell. Man a boat at once. The current runs swift, and we will have barely time to reach it.”
The boat was ready almost as soon as they reached the ground, and under the steady movement of four pairs of oars they shot swiftly out on the yellow tide of the Juba.