A Middy of the King: A Romance of the Old British NavyCollingwood, Harry
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A Middy of the King: A Romance of the Old British Navy
Collingwood, Harry
Great Britain -- Fiction; Pirates -- Juvenile fiction; Seafaring life -- Juvenile fiction
The fellow sat considering this statement for so long a time that I
began to wonder whether perchance it was destined to affect my fate in
any way. At length, however, he appeared to have arrived at a decision,
for, drawing a greasy notebook from one pocket and a stub of pencil from
another, he proceeded with much labour to indite a communication of some
kind upon it, which, when completed, he folded in a peculiar way and
handed to Carlos, at the same time giving him, in a tongue with which I
had no acquaintance, what I took to be certain instructions. Whatever
the nature of the communication may have been it appeared to meet with
Carlos' emphatic disapproval, for he began to argue strenuously with the
other, the argument lasting some ten minutes and rapidly growing more
heated, until finally something was said that apparently convinced him
of the futility of further dispute on his part. Then he suddenly
desisted and, seizing me by the arm, dragged me away to a spot where we
were somewhat isolated from the rest of the camp, where he left me in
charge of his companions Jose and Miguel while he went off elsewhere.
His absence, however, was of but brief duration, for presently he
returned, followed by two other negroes who bore in a large calabash an
ample supply of boiled rice, roasted yams, and substantial portions of
roast goat mutton, which they deposited on the ground within easy reach
of us before they departed and left us to ourselves.
As soon as they had gone fairly out of ear-shot Carlos turned to me and,
pointing to the provisions, said, as he released me from my bonds:
"Help yourself, and eat freely, Senor Englishman, for we have a long
march before we are likely to again see a decent meal."
"Indeed!" I exclaimed. "Is your camp, or head-quarters, or whatever
you call it, so far off, then, as that would seem to imply?"
"We are not going to head-quarters," he replied rather tartly; "and you
may thank the good God that it is so; for, whatever may be your mode of
death, you may accept my assurance that it will not be anything like so
protracted or unpleasant as that which awaited you among the mountains
yonder."
"Well," said I, "that at least is good hearing. But if we are not going
to head-quarters, pray where are we going?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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