THE JOURNEY TO THE COAST.
There was but little talking as they ate their meal in the darkness. Neither Nat nor the old nurse had said a word as to their feelings as they walked, but both felt completely exhausted, and it was not many minutes after they had finished their supper before they were sound asleep. At daybreak they were on their feet again, feeling better after the long night's rest, and happy at the thought that this day's walk would take them to home and safety. Nat now threw off his disguise, placed his cap upon his head, and appeared as a British officer, though certainly one of considerably darker complexion than was common; but he thought there was less danger now from slaves than from parties of maddened whites, who had been out to their former homes and might shoot any negroes they came upon without waiting to ask questions. Myra also discarded the negro gown.
"I think that I looked more respectable in that," she said with a laugh, "than in this draggled white frock."
"It has not been improved, certainly, by its week's wear, Myra; but just at the present moment no one will be thinking of dresses. Now let us be off. We shall be on the road soon, and in an hour or two will be in the town."
It seemed easy work after the toil of the previous day. They bore to the right until they fell into the main road, both because it would be safer, and because Nat hoped that he might meet someone who could inform Monsieur Duchesne—who he had no doubt would have gone out with the column—that his wife and daughter were in safety, and that he would find them at his house in the town. They had, indeed, gone but a short distance along the road when four men on horseback galloped up. They drew rein suddenly as they met the little party, astonished to see, as they thought, a mulatto girl in front, a negro woman carrying a litter on which was another mulatto woman, and which was carried behind by a young mulatto in the uniform of a British naval officer. Had they met them out in the country they would probably not have troubled to ask questions, but, travelling as they were along the road towards the town, and from the direction where the column had been fighting, it was evident that there must be some mystery about it.
"Who are you?" one of them asked Nat in a rough tone.
"I am an officer of his Britannic Majesty's frigate Orpheus, at present, I believe, in the port; this lady on the stretcher is Madame Duchesne; this young lady is her daughter, Mademoiselle Myra Duchesne; this negress, the faithful nurse of the two ladies, has saved their lives at the risk of her own."
One of the horsemen leapt from his saddle.
"Pardon me for not recognizing you, mademoiselle," he said to Myra, lifting his straw-hat; "but the change that you have made in your complexion must be my excuse for my not having done so. I trust that madame, your mother, is not seriously ill."