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"Ha! ha!" laughed the weird old creature who ushered the astonished youths into this strange banqueting hall, "the rubberts rubbers you calls dem?" "Robbers, she means; that's the naughty men," explained Letta, who seemed to enjoy the old woman's blunders in the English tongue. "Yis, dats so roberts an' pyrits ha! ha! dems feed here dis mornin'. You feed dis afternoons. Me keeps house for dem.
Many time me stan' by dat keg, t'inkin', t'inkin', t'inkin' if me stuff de light in it, and blow de pyrits vid all dere tings to 'warsl smash; but no me tinks dat some of dem wasn't all so bad as each oder."
"Me tink so!" replied Meerta, with an intelligent nod. "On'y us t'ree here. All de pyrits gone away. Dem sinners on'y come here for a feed p'r'aps for leetil poodre. Soon go away."
Meanwhile, Slagg, Stumps, and Johnson, having spread some palm branches on a couple of stout poles, laid our hero thereon, and bore him in safety to the pirates' cave, where, for several days, he lay on one of the luxurious couches, tenderly nursed by Letta and the old woman, who, although she still pathetically maintained that the "roberts an pyrits wasn't all so bad as each oder," was quite willing to admit that her present visitors were preferable, and that, upon the whole, she was rather fond of them.
"No, some o' dem pyrits not so bad as each oder. You let 'em alone; me let you alone." This gentle intimation that Meerta had their lives in her hand, induced Sam to ask modestly what she would have him do. "Go," she replied promptly, "take rifles, swords, an' poodre. Hide till pyrits go 'way. If de finds you fight. Better fight dan be skin alive!"
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