King o' the Beach Part 28

"No. Mumkull; kill, eatum."

"Not now. Be off."

The black darted back to his companions, and the beachcomber turned to Carey.

"Want some more proof?" he said.

Carey was silent.

"Here, you," said the man, turning to Bostock. "Been in these parts before?"

"Lots o' times," said the old sailor.

"Tell him, then."

"Is it true, Bob?"

"Yes, my lad, it's true enough," said Bostock. "They eat their prisoners, their old folks, and the babies and wives, too, when starvation times come."

"What, do you mean to tell me that such things go on out here in Australia and the islands--now?"

"It's true enough, Carey," said the doctor, gravely. "I've seen the bones at one of their camps after a feast."

The beachcomber laughed hoa.r.s.ely.

"Now you know what you've got to expect, youngster; so behave yourself,"

he said. "Now, doctor, you know. Be civil, and I daresay we shall be very good friends; be nasty, and I shan't keep my black pack quiet, but let 'em do as they like. Hi! Black Jack!"

The savage bounded once more to his side.

"See that the canoe and boat are fast, and then you shall have a feast."

"All fast. Tie rope," said the black, pointing to the farther side of the steamer deck. Then, to Carey's horror, he made a peculiar gesture and pointed at him.

"No. Salt beef. 'Bacco," growled his leader, and the man once more bounded away.

"Come below," continued the man, hoa.r.s.ely, "and get those brutes something to keep 'em quiet; and I want a big drink. You three go first."

Carey glanced at the doctor and then at Bostock, both of whom avoided his eye and went to the cabin entrance, leaving the boy to follow, feeling half-stunned and wondering whether they ought not to make some effort to drive the intruders overboard.

Note: Beachcomber. A white man who settles down in one of the South Sea Islands and lives by trading with the natives for copra--the dried kernels of cocoanuts--pearl sh.e.l.ls, and the sea slug _Beche de mer_; often living by wrecking, kidnapping the natives, or any nefarious scheme. Many of them have been drunken, unprincipled scoundrels, their ranks in the old days having been recruited from the convicts escaped from Botany Bay or Norfolk Island.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

To Carey's rage and discomfiture he found that their captor treated him as the s.h.i.+p's boy, following Bostock to the store-room and ordering him to carry the most solid of the provisions to the blacks.

"They won't want any knives and forks and plates, young 'un. Wait a moment. Where's the tobacco?"

This was produced in its tub, and in obedience to his orders Carey took out twenty of the long square compressed cakes.

"That's right. Twenty of 'em, and don't let either of the warmint s.n.a.t.c.h two."

"How am I to stop them?" said Carey, bitterly.

"Got a fist, haven't you?"

Carey nodded shortly.

"Hit the first as does in the mouth."

"To be knocked down with a club," said the boy, bitterly.

"No one dare touch you, my lad, unless I give 'em leave. I'm king here, I tell you, and the black dogs know it. Be off."

"You hideous, red-eyed brute!" said the boy to himself, as he took his load and turned to go. "How I should like to--"

He did not mentally say what, for he was brought up short by the word "Stop!" roared in a bullying tone.

"Here, you," cried the man to Bostock, "light a lanthorn; it's dark on deck. Follow him, and hold it till he's done. And look here, bring it away again, or they'll be setting the s.h.i.+p afire. They can see in the dark like cats. They want no light."

Bostock fetched a lanthorn, lit it in a surly way, and then went first, closely followed by Carey, who just caught sight of their captor pouring himself out a tumbler of rum from a half-emptied bottle; but there was no water near.

"Bob," panted the boy, as they reached the deck, "are we going to put up with this?"

"Dunno yet, my lad," growled the old sailor. "Not for long, I hope.

Seems to me like me knocking that there red and white savage's head off, and then blowing up the s.h.i.+p."

"But why doesn't the doctor do something?"

"Aren't made up his mind yet what to do, my lad, seemingly. He's hatching. That's what I think he's a-doing of. I s'pose we'd better wait."

"I can't wait," whispered Carey, "I feel in such a rage, I must do something."

"Take the prog to them black beasts then, sir, now. They aren't much better than annymiles."

"Look sharp, you two, and come back to the cabin," came in a fierce, hoa.r.s.e voice from the cabin stairs, proving that they were watched.

"Come on, and get the dirty job done, Master Carey," whispered Bostock.

"I shall 'ave to kill somebody over this before I've done."

Carey said nothing, but walked forward with his load, hearing the savages, who were chattering loudly, suddenly cease as if listening, and the next moment Black Jack came bounding to their side, looking eagerly from one to the other.

"Why can't you walk?" growled Bostock. "Can't you get over the deck, and not come hopping like a hingy-rubber ball, or one of your kangaroos?"

"Kangaroo? Wallaby?" said the black. "Over there. Lots."