Murray made a dash at the black and caught him by the arm, while Tom May sprang to the other side, for, startled by the sudden movement of the midshipman, the poor fellow winced and looked as if about to run.

“No, no,” cried Murray; “it’s all right, Caesar. Show us directly where Mr Allen is.”

“Yes,” whispered the man; “but no tell Massa Huggin. Him kill Caesar for sure. Caesar very frighten.”

“You shan’t be hurt, boy,” cried the middy. “Now then; lead us to where Mr Allen is. Quick!”

The black nodded his head, gave a sharp glance round, and then with trembling hand caught hold of Murray’s wrist and led him into the hall again, closely followed by the lieutenant and Tom May, who was as watchful as if he felt sure that their guide was bent upon making his escape.

“Shall I follow with some of the men, sir?” said Roberts, who was in a state of fret from the fear of missing anything that was about to take place.

“No, it is not necessary,” said Mr Anderson.

“I beg pardon, sir,” cried Murray; “from what this black fellow has said, I think you ought to have some of the men with us.”

“Oh, very well, then,” cried the lieutenant, “bring half-a-dozen of the lads with you, Mr Roberts;” and the hall had a very business-like aspect as, to Murray’s great disgust, Caesar led him into the study.

“Why, what are you doing, man?” he cried. “Mr Allen is not in here. I’ve searched the place three times.”

The black looked up at him quickly and showed his teeth; but it was in no grin of cunning, for the poor fellow’s face looked muddy and strange.

“Caesar know,” he whispered hoarsely, and the midshipman felt the fingers which gripped his wrist twitch and jerk as he was pulled towards the corner of the room just beyond the window.

Here the black stopped short, trembling violently, and pointed downward, before darting back, loosening Murray’s wrist and making for the door.

“Stop him, Roberts,” cried Murray; but his words were needless, for the way of exit was completely blocked by the midshipman and his men.

“What does he mean by all this?” said Mr Anderson angrily.

“I don’t quite know, sir,” cried Murray; but he followed and caught the black by the arm. “Come,” he continued; “show us where Mr Allen is.”

“Caesar berry frighten’, massa,” whispered the poor fellow, whose teeth were chattering; but he yielded to Murray’s hand and followed him back towards the corner of the little room, where his eyes assumed a fixed and staring look as he leaned forward and pointed downward at the thick rug of fur which covered that part of the floor.

“What does he mean?” cried the lieutenant. “Is the planter buried there?”

“Show us what you mean,” cried Murray, and he tried to draw the black forward; but the poor fellow dropped upon his knees, resisting with all his might, and, with eyes starting and rolling and teeth chattering, he kept on pointing downward, darting his index finger at the floor.

“I beg pardon, sir,” said Tom May gruffly. “I think I know what he means.”

“What is it, then?” cried Murray.

“It’s snakes, sir, same as I heered up-stairs.”

“Perhaps so,” said the lieutenant, “so take care; some of these serpents creep into the houses here, and they are very poisonous. Mind what you are about, Mr Murray. Let the black pull the rug away. Mr Roberts, a couple of your men here with cutlasses. Be smart, my lads, and strike the moment the brute is uncovered.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” came in a chorus from the guard; but every Jack stood fast, waiting for his fellows to volunteer.

“Pull the rug away, Caesar,” said Murray, as soon as the men had been ordered to advance, which they did after making a great show of spitting in their hands to get a good grip of the cutlasses they drew.

“No, no, no, massa. Caesar ’fraid, sah. Massa Huggin kill poor Caesar dead, for show.”

“Is there a snake there, darkie?” said the lieutenant impatiently.

“No, massa. No, massa,” panted the poor fellow. “Caesar brave boy; no frighten snake. Massa Huggin kill um for show.”

“What does he mean? Master Huggin will make a show of him?”

“No, sir,” cried Murray. “He’s afraid of being murdered for showing the way. I have it, sir,” he said now excitedly. “That explains everything. There’s a way out here;” and stooping down the middy seized one corner of the rug, gave it a sharp jerk, and laid bare what seemed to be a trap-door neatly made in the polished floor.

A murmur of excitement ran through the room, and Murray exclaimed —

“Then the poor fellow has been killed, Tom.”

“And buried, sir, seemingly,” growled the sailor; and without waiting for orders, he went down on one knee to raise the broad square flap, while the black shrank a little more away where he knelt, and began rubbing his hands together excitedly.

“Well, my lad,” cried Mr Anderson, “be smart! You’re not afraid, are you?”

“Not a bit, sir,” growled the big sailor; “but there seems to be some sort o’ dodgery over this here hatchway. You see, there arn’t no ring-bolt.”

“Take your cutlass to it, Tom,” said Murray; and as he spoke he drew his dirk.

“Ay, ay, sir; that’ll do it,” replied the sailor, and directly after the middy and he began to force in the edges of their blades so as to try and prise open the trap.

“Come, come, come,” cried the lieutenant, “don’t bungle like that;” and he drew his sword. “Let me try.”

Murray made way, and the officer began to try and force in the edge of his service blade.

“Humph! Dear me!” he muttered. “The floor is made of mahogany. Very hard wood. Not so easy as I thought, May, my lad.”

A broad smile covered the big sailor’s countenance as he watched his officer’s failure.

“Ay, ay, sir!” he growled. “Beg pardon, sir; you’ll be breaking your sword.”

“Yes, my lad, and I don’t want to do that,” said the lieutenant. “Here, hallo! What do you mean by that? Look here, Mr Murray; your nigger is trying to tell you how to do it. He knows all about it. Let him try.”

For, as if recovering somewhat from his abject dread, the black knelt and shuffled about as if longing to perform the task himself.

“Yes, sir, that’s it,” said the midshipman eagerly. “Now then, Caesar, show us how it’s done.”

But this only made the black shrink away more and more, and begin shaking his head violently and resuming the pointing as before.

“Here, he must be made to show how it is done,” cried the lieutenant impatiently. “We cannot waste time like this.”

“I think I can manage now, sir,” said Murray, for just then the black caught hold of his hand, slipped his own up the lad’s wrist, and pressed him to one side of the square trap that refused to open.

The rest was plain, for it soon became clear that, though the black was afraid to do anything towards opening the trap himself, he was quite ready to use the hands of another party for the purpose.

“Oh, that’s it, is it, Caesar?” cried Murray, who now submitted himself entirely to the slave’s direction and let him press his hands down with a thrusting movement upon one of the floor-boards, with the result that the square trap glided away smoothly as if running upon rollers, while a dark opening appeared, showing a flight of ladder stairs running down into what seemed to be total darkness.

“A subterranean passage leading somewhere or another.”

“It is the way out by which Mr Allen went,” said Murray excitedly.

“Escaped, you mean,” cried the lieutenant.

“Perhaps so, sir; but mayn’t it be that he has been taken away by his enemies?” suggested Murray.

“Well, that we have to see,” replied the lieutenant.

“Look here, Caesar,” said Murray, addressing the black, “has Mr Allen gone this way?”

The black took a step or two towards the opening, listened, looked round cautiously, and then took hold of the lad’s arm and drew him away, to whisper in his ear —

“Massa Huggin come and fesh him away.”

“Then you think this Master Huggins is down there?”

The black nodded his head quickly and then pointed to the sailors, ran first to one and then to another and touched their swords and the muskets they carried, before pointing downward to the concealed flight of steps.

“I can understand that, Mr Murray,” said the lieutenant. “He wants us to go down armed and follow the steps to where they lead; but we must have lights. Humph!” he added. “The fellow understands English well enough.”

For the black darted to a corner closet, opened the door, and took out a bottle, a box and a silver candlestick which stood all ready, a wax taper which the black placed upon the side-table, and then, as cleverly as if he had seen it done scores of times, he took the stopper out of the little bottle, from which a strong odour of phosphorus arose, took a match from the box, and thrust it into the bottle, with the result that he brought it out burning, after the fashion of our fathers’ time before the invention of lucifer matches and congreve lights – a fashion adopted when a letter had been written and the writer, who knew not adhesive envelopes and desired to seal his missive, made use of the phosphorus bottle instead of producing a light with a flint and steel.

“Well done,” said the lieutenant. “Now then, are you going to light the way?”

The black shook his head and shrank away once more.

“We’re to do it ourselves, it seems, Mr Murray;” and the lieutenant drew his sword. “I’ll trouble you to light me, sir, for I must lead the way. Come, Mr Roberts, you can lead the men, and you will keep close up. Draw – no, no, leave that dress ornament in its scabbard. You too, Mr Murray. Take two of the men’s cutlasses, and they can use their muskets. Here, darkie, are you coming too?”

“Yes, Massa buccra officer. Caesar come show the way. You no let Massa Huggin kill poor niggah?”

“That I promise you, my good fellow,” said the lieutenant. “Now, Mr Murray, forward, please.”

To the surprise of all present the black stepped quickly to the top of the stairs, and kneeling down thrust his head over and seemed to listen attentively before placing a hand upon the floor upon either side of the opening and lowering himself down.

“Massa come along quick. Nobody here.”

“How’s that?” cried Murray. “Isn’t Mr Allen there?”

“No, massa. Him gone along Massa Huggin – take him right away, so him no tell Bri’sh officer where all de slabes hid ashore, and whar to fine de slaber ship.”

“Light is beginning to dawn into my benighted intellect now, Mr Murray,” said the lieutenant, following the midshipman, as, carefully sheltering the little taper from the damp wind which seemed to blow up from the hole in the floor, the lad stepped down quickly after the black. “And it seems to me, for your comfort, my lad, that you need not be in the slightest degree alarmed at the prospect of facing the captain and being called to account for the loss of your prisoner, for your loss is going to turn out a great gain. Here, follow close up with the men, Mr Roberts. No, not next; I’ll have May behind me; he’s big and strong, and he’s something to depend upon if we have a sudden attack.”

Roberts winced and frowned, for he felt as if his dignity had been a little touched at being put aside to make way for the big sailor, and in addition the chief officer had spoken in a way which made matters take a different turn from what he had expected.

If any one had asserted that he was a bit jealous and envious of his brother middy he would have denied it with indignation, but all the same there was a something near akin to envy somewhere in his breast, and he would have liked it a great deal better if he had been called upon to play several of the parts which somehow would fall to Murray’s share.

So Dick Roberts frowned as he grasped the clumsy cutlass that had been handed to him by one of the men, and then after four of the party had received orders to mount guard at the entrance to the subterranean way, he followed closely upon Tom May’s bulky form, ready to help protect those who had gone before; and grasping his weapon very tightly he stood at last at the foot of the stairs in a well-paved arched way just lit faintly by the wax taper, and was able to see that the passage was composed of the lava which had been quarried from one of the volcanic masses thrown from a burning mountain ages before.

“Keep together, my lads, close up,” said the lieutenant; and his voice sounded whispering and strange as it seemed to reverberate down a passage, and finally died away.

“Where does this lead to, I wonder?” said the midshipman softly, and the walls repeated “I wonder” in a tone that sounded loud.

Chapter Thirty Six.
“Berry much ’fraid.”

Julius Caesar, after getting over his first fear of the white strangers and a natural dread of the fierce American slaver, whose threats seemed to dominate his life, threw himself bravely into the enterprise upon which he was engaged and proved himself to be an admirable guide, one too with a full knowledge of the risks he ran. He grew more and more confident now of the strength to protect him of the man-o’-war’s men, and every now and then, as the party continued its way along what proved to be a carefully constructed tunnel, he stopped short and whispered to Murray to shade the light while he hurried on into the pitchy darkness.

The first time he did this, after laying his black arm across both Murray’s and the lieutenant’s breasts, he seemed to be so long gone that the latter expressed it as his belief that he had tricked them and escaped; but this opinion had hardly been whispered in the middy’s ear before there was a faint rustling as of bare feet heard, and then, breathing hard, the black was close upon them.

“Come ’long now, massa,” he said. “Show light now.”

Thrice more this was repeated, and then all at once upon their guide’s return he exclaimed —

“Massa put out light now.”

“What for?” said Murray sharply.

“Candle burn all away sure. Wantum go back. All dark.”

“But how are you going to light it?” said Mr Anderson.

“July Caesar got lilly bottle o’ fire; massa Allen lilly bottle, sah.”

“But we can’t see in the darkness,” said Murray.

“Take hol’ hand. Caesar show way. See with one hand run along top wall.”

Setting aside the seeing, the black soon proved to those who followed him that he could feel his way along the rest of the distance, during which it was quite dark; and he hurried his followers along till the black gloom gradually became twilight, and that increased in power till it became possible to follow the dimly seen figure which went on in front. Then the twilight became a pale green, which grew brighter and brighter till all at once the black stopped short and whispered —

“No make noise. Caesar go first and see Massa Huggin gone take Massa Allen ’way.”

The party stopped and saw the black hurry on for a few dozen yards, and then disappear through what seemed to be a clump of bushes, which pretty well blocked up the end of the passage.

“I should like to know what’s going to be the end of this,” said the lieutenant; “but I suppose we must go on with it now and trust the black, for he seems to be proving himself honest. What do you say, Mr Murray?”

“I feel sure he is,” replied the midshipman.

“But his motive? We are almost complete strangers.”

“I think he is a faithful servant of the planter, sir, and wants us to save him from danger.”

“Yes, that’s how it suggests itself to me, Mr Murray, though I can hardly understand such conduct on the part of one of these wretched ill-used slaves towards the oppressor. But there, we shall see.”

He ceased speaking, for just then the black seemed to spring through the bushes, and joined them where they were waiting in the tunnel.

“Find Massa Allen,” said the black, in a quick excited whisper.

“Ah!” cried Murray joyfully, for somehow – he could not have said why – he had begun to feel the greatest interest in the sick man. “Ah! Where did you find him?”

“Massa Huggin got um.”

“But where is he?”

The black pointed in the direction from whence he had returned, evidently indicating the forest which closed in the end of the tunnel.

“What is he going to do with him?” asked Mr Anderson – “Keep him a prisoner?”

“Kill um,” said the black abruptly. “Come! Caesar show um;” and he caught hold of the middy’s arm, gave it a tug, and then signed to the others to follow.

“Yes,” said the lieutenant sharply; “it seems to me quite time we had a word to say about that. Let him lead on, Mr Murray. I want to have a few more words with our friend Mr Huggins. We must show him that there is a difference of opinion upon this question. Here, you darkie, does Mr Huggins indulge himself much in this kind of sport?”

The black, who was moving off sharply, stopped short, dropped his lower jaw to his breast, and stared vacantly at the speaker.

“What buccra sailor officer say?” he whispered.

“Don’t speak in that way,” said the lieutenant sharply. “Why don’t you speak aloud?”

“Caesar berry much ’fraid massa Huggins hear um. Den kill poor niggah.”

“That means, then, that Master Huggins does kill people sometimes?”

“Yes, massa often kill pore niggah when cross.”

“Well, look here, my lad; don’t you be very much afraid. I want you to show us all you can, for he is not going to kill our friend Master Allen.”

“Massa Allen friend,” said the black, nodding his head sharply. “Massa Allen kill pore niggah? No, nebber. Come ’long.”

The man led the way, holding tightly by the middy’s arm, and as soon as he had passed out of the tunnel, plunged into the dense forest, and threading his way among the trees, followed by the party, whose countenances were glowing with excitement, he carefully avoided every patch of earth which threatened to yield to the pressure of footsteps. This he kept on for over half-an-hour, when he stopped short and, bending down nearly double, pointed to where, instead of being firm, the way he had selected had suddenly become boggy, mossy, and of a rich green.

“Young officer, look dah,” he whispered. “No speak loud. Massa Huggin men hear um.”

“Well,” said Murray, “I am looking dah, sir, but there is nothing to see.”

“No see? Caesar see. Massa Huggin men come ’long. Carry Massa Allen, make men foot go down soft. Make mark.”

“Perhaps so,” said Murray, “but I can see nothing.”

“Let him lead on, Mr Murray,” said the lieutenant. “I want to get to business.”

“Caesar show,” whispered the man, and now, walking half doubled and with his hands hanging down, he broke into a trot, closely followed by the party, for another few hundred yards, before stopping short so suddenly that those who followed were on the point of over-running him.

“Massa officer look now,” whispered the black. “Massa no say can’t see now.”

“No: I can see now,” said Murray. “Look here, sir,” he whispered, imitating the cautious utterance of the black, as the lieutenant closed up to him.

“Yes,” said the officer eagerly; “this is real trail. So many seals impressed in the soft boggy soil; all leading off yonder in a fresh direction after evidently making a halt here. You can make it out, Mr Murray, eh?”

“I can make out the footsteps, sir,” replied the lad, “but I can’t say I understand them.”

“Oh no, of course not,” said the lieutenant, “but I suppose our black friend here can. Tell us all about it, what’s your name – Caesar?”

“Yes, massa,” said the black promptly; and he began eagerly to point out the various impressions in the earth, carefully keeping on one side and nearly touching the ground as he bent down.

“Dose niggah foots,” he whispered, picking out carefully the trails of four pairs of footsteps which had passed to where they stood, evidently coming to an end. “Yes, sah; dose niggah foots. Carry Massa Allen. All ’tick down deep in de mud.”

“Ah, to be sure!” cried Murray. “I see.”

“Dey get tire’ carry Massa Allen long way. No, Caesar t’ink Massa Allen say he walk bit now, and jump down. Dose Massa Allen foots. Got shoe on. Massa officer see?”

“To be sure he does, darkie. Well done! You see, Mr Murray?”

“Oh yes, sir; I can see now he shows me.”

“Yes; young buccra officer see Massa Allen shoe ’tick down in de mud. Dose black niggah foots,” continued the black, pointing.

“How do you know they are black footsteps?” asked Murray.

“All a toes ’tick out wide,” replied the man promptly; and he raised one of his own feet with the toes spreading widely, stepped to a soft patch of green-covered mud, and pressed his foot down and raised it again. “Dah,” he continued; “Massa buccra see? Dat black niggah foots, and dat are white man foot. Look toopid all queezum up in hard boot. Dat Massa Huggin foots.”

“Ah!” cried the lieutenant eagerly. “How do you know, darkie?”

“Massa Huggin put foots in big hard boot. Caesar know um – kick Caesar. ‘Get outah way, black dog!’ he say.”

As he spoke the black went through something of a pantomime so perfectly that the lieutenant and Roberts burst out laughing. Murray’s countenance remained unchanged, and he met the black’s eyes gravely, and noted their fierce aspect as his brow wrinkled up and his thick, fleshy, protuberant lips were drawn away from the beautifully perfect white teeth.

“Hurt pore black niggah, massa,” he said, rather piteously. “Kill some niggah. Massa Huggin sabage. Pore niggah die dead. Hurt Caesar sometime. Wouldn’t die.”

“Well, go on, my lad,” said the lieutenant; and the black continued his object-lesson.

“Massa Allen say walk now. Look at um foots. Lilly shoe dah, big boot, hard boot, dah. One boot, ’noder boot. Massa Huggin say Come along, sah. Look dah. Walk ’long dah, and niggah foots walk over um. Lot o’ niggah foots walk all over cover um up.”

“Well,” said the lieutenant, “now you have found out the trail so well, lead on and let’s overtake them.”

“Ah!” cried the black excitedly, for he had suddenly caught sight of something at which he bounded and caught it up to hold it before him and gaze at it with starting eyes.

“What does that mean, Mr Murray?” said the lieutenant, in a low tone, his attention having been thoroughly taken up by the intelligent black’s behaviour.

“I don’t quite know, sir. It’s a soft piece of plantain stalk notched at the edge in a peculiar way. Look, sir.”

For, paying no more heed to his companions for the moment, the black began to search about to the right of the trail, till he suddenly bounded on for a few paces and caught up a piece of green cane about six inches long and evidently scratched in a special manner.

“What’s that, Caesar?” asked the middy.

The black, who was gazing at the piece of cane with fixed and staring eyes which seemed to glow, started at the lad’s address, and pressed forward to look him questioningly in the eyes, hesitating.

Then he smiled and nodded.

“Massa buccra. Good Bri’sh sailor. Come set pore niggah free. Him no tell Massa Huggin. Him no kill pore black darkie. Iss, Caesar tell um,” he whispered now, with his lips so close that the lad felt the hot breath hiss into his ear. “Dat Obeah, massa. Dat black man’s Obeah. Come along now Caesar know. Find fetish. Plenty many black boy speak soon.”

“But you are going the wrong way,” said Murray, clapping the black upon the shoulder to draw him back.

“No, sah. Caesar go right way. Way Obeah tell um.”

“But Mr Allen: we want to follow Mr Allen.”

“No can, sah. Not now. Come back. Not time yet.”

“But you said that this Huggins would kill Mr Allen now that he has got him away.”

“No,” said the black, shaking his head. “No kill um now. Plenty black boy ’top um; no let um kill Massa Allen. Come back now. Massa wait.”

“Oh, nonsense!” cried the lieutenant. “I am not going to be treated like this. Look here, you sir; you must go on and follow up the trail till we overtake this slaving scoundrel and make him prisoner. Do you hear?”

The black listened, and looked at the speaker gravely, but made no reply.

“Do you hear, sir?” cried the lieutenant again. “Speak to him, Mr Murray; he seems to listen to you better than he does to me.”

“I’ll try, sir,” said Murray, “but I’m afraid he will not stir now.”

“You tell him that he must, sir.”

Murray repeated the lieutenant’s words, with the result that the black listened to him with a face that for a few moments looked dull and obstinate, but which changed to a softer aspect as his bright eyes looked full in those of the frank young midshipman, before they closed slowly and their owner shook his head.

“Come, Mr Murray,” said the chief officer; “you are not making the fellow understand.”

“No, sir,” said Murray gravely, “and I am afraid he is not to be forced.” Then the lad’s eyes flashed with annoyance, for Roberts glanced at him and said to his leader —

“Shall I try, sir?”

“Yes, do. These people want to be made to understand that when they receive orders they must obey them.”

“Yes, sir,” cried Roberts, making the most of himself, as he frowned at their black guide. “Murray is too easy with them. Here, you sir – ”

Here Roberts’s speech was cut short by the lieutenant, who had been watching the change in Murray’s countenance, and he exclaimed —

“That will do, Mr Roberts, thank you. I think I can manage the matter better myself. Here, what’s your name – Caesar?”

“Yes, sah; Caesar,” said the black; and Murray looked at him sharply, for the man’s manner seemed completely changed.

“Then listen to me. You ought to have learned with the power to speak English that a servant must obey his master.”

The black drew himself up with his face growing hard from his setting his teeth firmly.

“Massa Huggin make me servant and call me slabe; beat me – flog me – but I was prince once, sah, in Obeah land.”

The lieutenant’s face flushed and he was about to speak angrily, but there was something in the slave’s manner that checked him, and the two middies looked at him wonderingly, as instead of giving some stern order he said in a quiet, matter-of-fact, enquiring way —

“Indeed? So you were a prince or chief in your own country?”

“Yes, sah,” was the reply; and it was given with such calm dignity that colour, the half-nude figure, and the blur of slavery were forgotten by the lookers-on, and the feeling of wonder at the lieutenant’s treatment of their guide died out.

“How came you here?” said the lieutenant quietly.

“There was war, sah, and my people were beaten. There were many prisoners, and we were sold to the man – sold.”

“Hah! Hard – very hard for you,” said the lieutenant, looking at their guide thoughtfully. “How long is that ago?”

“Twenty year, sah.”

“And you have been this Mr Huggins’s slave ever since?”

“No, sah; not long time. Caesar sold free time before Mr Allen bought me; and he was good massa. He call me Caesar, and make me lub him.”

“Not for christening you Caesar, of course. Then he treated you well?”

“Yes, sah. Then Massa Huggin come and make Massa Allen like slave.”

“Indeed! Well, I have heard something of this from Mr Allen himself, and you will most likely see that this slave-driving scoundrel’s reign is over. Do you understand my English?”

“Yes, massa,” said the black quietly.

“Then you quite understand that you have been helping me as guide so that we can save Mr Allen from this man, and punish him for all the evil he has done – I mean for this buying and selling of the poor blacks who are brought from Africa here?”

“Yes, massa.”

“Then why do you refuse to go on guiding us to find Mr Allen?”

“Massa no understand,” said the black quietly. “Caesar want to save Massa Allen. Caesar want to kill Massa Huggin.”

“Do you?” said the lieutenant, smiling. “Well, we do not ask you to do that. We will manage the punishing; but I want you to go on guiding me and my men to where this slave-dealer is.”

“Yes, massa. Caesar want too, but massa mus’ wait.”

“What for? Why should we wait?”

“Massa no understand.”

“I understand from your behaviour that you are afraid,” said the lieutenant sternly.

“No, massa; not now. Caesar drefful ’fraid lil bit ago. Not now. Caesar want to save Massa Allen, but not time yet, massa. Bri’sh officer wait lil while.”

“Why?” said the lieutenant sharply.

“Massa no understand. Massa go now and find Massa Huggin. Take one, two – five, ten man Bri’sh sailor; Massa Huggin got ten, twenty, forty, fifty men sword gun plenty powder shot. Plenty ’nough to kill officer and Bri’sh sailor. Plenty strong; two ship. Kill everybody; Massa Allen too. Massa no good.”

“But how do I know that my men would not be too many for this scoundrel?”

“No, not many. Not ’nuff, sah,” said the black, shaking his head.

“Then you think we had better go back to the ship and fetch more men?”

The black shook his head and smiled sadly.

“Caesar ’fraid massa get killed, sailor get killed, Caesar too get killed. Massa officer must wait.”

The lieutenant gazed at the speaker searchingly, while the black returned his keen examination without flinching.

“Why must I wait?” he said.

“Too soon, massa. Time not come.”

“Time for what? To give Mr Huggins time to collect his men? He has plenty of black sailors, has he not?”

“Yes, massa. Hundred, two hundred, tree hundred.”

“So I supposed. Well, I do not feel disposed to wait longer than it will take me to get up some more of my men – as many as the captain can spare – and then I shall attack at once.”

“No massa can,” said the black quietly.

“Oh yes, I can, because you who have served us as guide so well, and who want to save your master, will show us the way.”

“No, massa. Caesar no show the way.”

“Why not?” said the lieutenant angrily.

“Massa Bri’sh officer and all men be killed. Massa must wait.”

“And if I say I will not wait?” cried Mr Anderson.

“Caesar show Massa Bri’sh officer why must wait.”

“When will you show me?” asked the lieutenant sharply.

The black stood silent for a few moments as if debating within himself sadly and doubtfully. Then turning his eyes upon Murray, his own brightened, and he thrust his hand within the cotton shirt which loosely covered his breast and shoulders. Then quickly drawing out the piece of young notched cane and the marked plantain leaf, he looked at them eagerly, turning them over in his hands and seeming to read the marks that were cut through rind and skin.

As he did this the black’s face brightened and he seemed to have found the way out of a difficulty as he held out the tokens of something or another to Murray.