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Updated: June 22, 2025
There were two litters bred in Bostock Spring; two, by Jove! in that little place. Dan," Dan was his second horseman, "I'll ride the young one this morning. You have Paddywhack fresh for me about one." Paddywhack was the old Irish horse which had carried him so long, and has been mentioned before. There was nothing remarkable in all this.
Carey nodded, and from some half-conceived and misty notion that he could not even analyse to himself, more than that it had something to do with trying to make himself as much master of the black fellows as the beachcomber seemed to be, he went about the work with alacrity, finding Bostock with his jacket off and sleeves rolled up, fast filling a basket with ship's biscuit.
That was enough, and Carey softly dropped down and whispered what he had seen to his companions. "And they could brain the old scoundrel at any moment with their clubs," said the doctor. "It is astonishing." "Yes, sir," said Bostock, softly; "but aren't it a bit like big savage dogs as I've seen? They could take a man by the throat and shake the life out of him in a minute, but they don't.
"I'll raise you up, pillow and all, and Bostock shall hold it to your lips. No, stop. Is the vessel much broken up, my man?" "Not a bit, sir, but I expect she's got holes in her bottom." "I won't be a minute, Carey, lad. I'm going to my surgery. Don't move." He hurried out, leaving Bostock standing with the glass and tin of water, breathing hard and staring down at the injured boy.
He had a hand, besides, in the amiable pleasantry which cost the life of Patteson; and when the sham bishop landed, prayed, and gave his benediction to the natives, Bostock, arrayed in a female chemise out of the traderoom, had stood at his right hand and boomed amens. This, when he was sure he was among good fellows, was his favourite yarn.
"Says they're going to kill us all if we don't lie down and be quiet," growled the old sailor; then aloud to the blacks, "Here, what do you want 'bacco sugar? Give plenty. Black fellow go." "Want 'bacco, sugar, take white fellow old ship," cried the black who had first spoken. "Take our old ship, will you?" said Bostock. "I think not, my lad. There, put down spear, mulla-mulla.
"Lovely, eh, Carey?" "It is glorious," panted the boy. "Isn't it fine, Bob?" Bostock grunted, laid down his gun, swung round the satchel containing the food, and passed the strap over his head, setting it afterwards on the ground in a very significant manner. "Yes," said the doctor; "we may as well have our lunch." "But I say," said Carey, "do you really think this was once a volcano, doctor?"
The early breakfast was over, and the satchel of provisions being prepared they were soon over the side, each bearing a double gun and a fair supply of ammunition, Bostock carrying, in addition, a small axe ready for use, and Carey hanging a billhook to his belt a handy implement for getting through cane or tangled thorn.
"It does look rather wet," said Carey, grudgingly; but he soon brightened up, and looked on while the doctor got out his gun and cleaned a few specks of rust from the barrel, while that afternoon Bostock prepared everything for the launching, getting done in such good time that, as there were a couple of hours' more daylight, it was decided to try and get the raft over the side.
"Good signs those, my lad," said the doctor, cheerily; "but not yet," and he sat down, after easing the poor boy's bandages, to chat to him about the state of affairs, every word of which was eagerly drunk in, while Bostock played the part of cook and warmed up some gravy soup.
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