No sooner did the deep tone float across the water than there was a movement amongst the giant reeds, and first in one place and then in another and from both sides, black faces and woolly heads began to appear, while the black who had uttered the cry made for one of the oars, passed it through the rowlock astern and began to paddle the boat along cleverly enough towards his fellows, who one by one began to take to the water like so many large black dogs, springing in with heavy splash after splash and beginning to swim.
This went on, to the amusement of the sailors, till every member of the boat’s black crew had been dragged into, or by his own effort had climbed into, the planter’s boat.
“Better be on the lookout, my lads,” said the middy. “They may play us false and row off.”
“Not they, sir,” said Tom confidently. “You may depend upon it they’ve been squinting at us through them bamboozling reeds, and took all my lesson in right up to the heft. I begin to think, sir, that when Mr Huggins shows his ugly yellow phiz to us again he’ll find that we’ve been making a few friends among the niggers.”
“I hope so, Tom; but all this time we’ve not been thinking about our prisoner that we were set to watch.”
“Yes, sir, and that’s bad; but just you cheer up, sir, and all will come right yet.”
“But the prisoner, Tom—the prisoner,” cried Murray sadly.
“Wait a bit, sir. Anyhow we’ve got his boat and his crew; and they knows his ways, and perhaps ’ll find out his whereabouts a good deal better than we could.”
“Yes, Tom, but—”
“Nothing like patience, sir,” said the man. “You mark my words.”