“I suppose they are escaped slaves; there are certainly many of them in the mountains of Cuba. I suppose they saw us sailing in, and came down from the hills in the hope of capturing some of us. It is likely enough they take us for pirates, who are a constant scourge to them, capturing them in their little fishing-boats and either cutting their throats or forcing them to serve with them. I am afraid we shall have but very little opportunity of explaining matters to them, for, of course, they don’t speak English, and none of us understand a word of Spanish.”
They were carried up the hill and thrown down in a small clearing on the summit. Will in vain endeavoured to address them in English, but received no attention whatever.
“What do you think they are going to do with us, sir?” Dimchurch asked.
“Well, I should say that they are most likely going to burn us alive, or put us to death in some other devilish way.”
“Well, sir, I don’t think these niggers know much about tying ropes. It seems to me that I could get free without much trouble.”
“Could you, Dimchurch? I can’t say as much, for mine are knotted so tightly that I cannot move a finger.”
“That won’t matter, sir. If I can shift out of mine I have got my jack-knife in my pocket, and can make short work of your ropes and Tom’s.”
“Well, try then, Dimchurch. Half those fellows are away in the wood, and by the sounds we hear they are cutting brushwood; so there is no time to lose.”
For five minutes no remark was made, and then Dimchurch said: “I am free.” Immediately afterwards Will felt his bonds fall off, and half a minute later an exclamation of thankfulness from Tom showed that he too had been liberated.
“Now we must all crawl towards the edge of the forest,” Will said, “and then, instead of going straight down the hill we will turn off for a short distance. They are sure to miss us immediately, and will believe that we have made direct for the sea.”