With a heart of lead, Captain Horn turned to look at his negro
companions, and saw them all sitting together on the sands, chattering
earnestly, and holding up their hands with one or more fingers extended,
as if they were counting. Cheditafa came forward.
"When all your men go away from you?" he asked.
The captain reflected a moment, and then answered, "About two weeks ago."
"That's right! That's right!" exclaimed the negro, nodding violently as
he spoke. "We talk about that. We count days. It's just ten days and
three days, and Rackbirds go 'way, and leave us high up in rock-hole,
with no ladder. After a while we hear guns, guns, guns. Long time guns
shooting. When they come back, it almost dark, and they want supper
bad. All time they eat supper, they talk 'bout shooting sharks. Shot
lots sharks, and chuck them into the water. Sharks in water already
before they is shot. We say then it no sharks they shot. Now we say it
must been--"
The captain turned away. He did not want to hear any more. There was no
possible escape from the belief that Rynders and all his men had been
shot down, and robbed, if they had anything worth taking, and then their
bodies carried out to sea, most likely in their own boat, and thrown
overboard.
There was nothing more at this dreadful place that Captain Horn wished to
see, to consider, or to do, and calling the negroes to follow him, he set
out on his return.
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