The scene changed in a twinkling, for Miguel and some of his choice companions attacked these black dependants of theirs with what was, I am sure, a torrent of invective. The hoers resumed their work without a word of remonstrance; and the negress, evidently terrified at the threats hurled at her, fairly turned tail, and attempted to run in the direction of the hammock in which she had deposited her pickaninny. Any pace but that of a slow walk, however, was evidently foreign to this good lady’s habits, and in her confusion she caught her foot in the root of a tree, and went sprawling on the ground in a very helpless sort of fashion; for it was evident that she could not get up again without assistance, and was very much in the predicament of a turned turtle on the beach. The pickaninny set up a roar at this critical moment, and I could hear its “mammy” gasping and spluttering like a stranded fish.
Bearing away sharp to the left, we entered the belt of jungle of which I spoke before. Here the light was sombre, and, but for the fact that the trees had been felled along the route, would have been difficult to traverse.
In about ten minutes we emerged from the belt, and found ourselves in a singularly arid, barren-looking stretch of country, which had, I fancied, a volcanic appearance. The island was certainly larger than I had expected, and appeared to be of somewhat remarkable formation. Boulders of peculiar shape were scattered about in all directions, and ridges of scarred and fissured rock, running up towards the central ridge, broke up the slopes of the hills into numerous shallow stony ravines, one or two of the latter conveying streams of water in the direction of the sea.
A small lake of remarkably transparent emerald-green water lay beneath us, and on its surface was a canoe containing two dark figures, evidently men engaged in fishing. Miguel gave them a yell that might have awakened the dead, but we did not pause in our march for an instant. There came a responsive shout from the lake, whereupon I saw that the canoe was being paddled to the shore.
The path was now narrower and more stony, but the pirates did not diminish their pace. The way was tortuous, winding amongst huge cliff-like rocks, and around the brows of desolate boulder-strewn hills. Suddenly we arrived upon the verge of what looked like the large crater of an extinct volcano. Its edges were fringed with sparse vegetation, but within all was arid and desolate in the extreme, and the brown, bare, thirsty-looking soil was strewn with blocks of lava and igneous rocks, where lizards probably held high revelry whenever they felt in a “jinky” humour.
I jumped two or three feet off the ground!
The old greybeard, who was walking close to my side, had pulled out a bugle, on which he blew an ear-piercing and mighty blast.
The way the notes echoed and re-echoed in apparently endless reverberations amid the rocky cliffs of the crater sounded almost uncanny, at length dying away like the faint mutterings of some evil spirits lurking in the shadowy ravines.
A couple of vultures soared over our heads, and I fancied I heard in the distance the mournful howl of a jackal.
The evening air seemed unusually chilly after the sweltering heat of the day, and in spite of our brisk walk I felt a cold shivering fit come over me.