“Which might have itself been escaped if you had been quicker and braver,” answered the young man, coldly. “I’m afraid you are a coward, Jabez Ford.”
“Presence of mind is a precious gift,” answered the overseer, with great humility. “I did the best that I could think of. Of course, had I guessed that he was going to throw you into the sea, I should have rushed at him myself, cost what it might.”
Mr Ford turned his face away as he spoke.
“Come,” he said. “You must change your clothes quickly or you will be chilled.”
“After I have been to the Office of Police, not before,” answered Henry Vivian.
Meanwhile the runaway made small work of such opposition as was offered to his escape. Two negroes tried to stop him, but only one stood up to him at the critical moment, and was paid for his pluck by a terrific knock-down blow on his flat nose. The harbour-master—a small but brave Scot—next stood in the way of liberty and, despite Dan’s shouted warning, attempted to intercept the runaway. He was in the dust a moment later, and Sweetland, sending a dozen men, women, and children flying like cackling poultry before his rush, got clear of Scarborough and took to the hills. He pushed steadily onwards and upwards to an impenetrable jungle that lay on the steep side of Fort Saint George, and there, where aforetime French and English had fought at death grips, he rested, drew his breath, and considered his position. Far beneath spread the stagnation of the little port, southward gleamed the metal roofing of the Pelican Sugar Estate, and from time to time, faint through the distance, he heard a hooter roaring from the hungry works to the plantations for more cane. Steam puffed from tall pipes; smoke rolled from chimneys; like bright insects the Coolies ran hither and thither in the compounds.
Day died while the fugitive kept his hiding-place. Then a swift, but amazing sunset encompassed him. Rose and gold was the sky, all streaked with tattered ribbons of orange cloud. The light swam reflected upon the sea, and it spread to the lofty horizon in broad sheets of reflected splendour. From the mountains the scene was superb in its manifold glory; then the vision perished and inky silhouettes of palm and plantain and bread-fruit tree stood out black and solid against the water. Far below the Peabody lay, like a toy ship, and twinkled with lights upon the rosy sea. Darkness leapt out of the East and under the fringes of the forest night had already come. Tree-frogs chirruped with endless crisp tinkle of sound; the air was filled with the drowsy hum of insect life, fireflies flashed; and from far below, the mournful boomings of the marsh-frogs made music proper to the time.
Sweetland pursued his slow way until midnight came. He climbed on mechanically hour after hour, until the air on his cheek and the stars above told him that he had reached some mountain-top. Further for the present it was impossible to proceed. Until day, therefore, he postponed thought and action. He tightened his belt to stay hunger; then rolled up in a dry corner under the savage and spined foliage of an opuntia, and there slept dreamlessly until the return of the sun.