“But don’t you know, sir, that we may die of hunger in this iron cage?”
“Bah!” said Conseil, with his usual philosophy, “we can hold out for some time yet.”
“My friends,” said I, “we must not despair. We have not come to the worst yet. Do me the favour to wait before you form an opinion respecting the captain and crew of this vessel.”
‘My opinion is already formed,” replied Ned; “they are a set of rascals.”
“Good; and of what country?”
“Of a rascally country.”
“My brave Ned, that country is not clearly laid down upon the map of the world; and I confess that the nationality of these two strangers is difficult to determine. That they are neither English, French, nor German we can affirm. Now I am tempted to admit that they were born in lower latitudes. There is a southerly look about them; but whether they be Spaniards, Turks, Arabs, or Indians, their physical types do not enable me to decide. Their language is simply incomprehensible.”
“There is the drawback of not knowing every language,” replied Conseil, “and the disadvantage of not having a universal one.”
“That would not help us at all,” replied Ned Land. “Do you not understand that these fellows have got a language of their own, invented to drive to despair those brave people who ask for something to eat? But in any country in the world, if you open your mouth, move your jaws, smack your lips, would they not understand what you meant? Would not that be sufficient
