“I think he is a faithful servant of the planter, sir, and wants us to save him from danger.”
“Yes, that’s how it suggests itself to me, Mr Murray, though I can hardly understand such conduct on the part of one of these wretched ill-used slaves towards the oppressor. But there, we shall see.”
He ceased speaking, for just then the black seemed to spring through the bushes, and joined them where they were waiting in the tunnel.
“Find Massa Allen,” said the black, in a quick excited whisper.
“Ah!” cried Murray joyfully, for somehow—he could not have said why—he had begun to feel the greatest interest in the sick man. “Ah! Where did you find him?”
“Massa Huggin got um.”
“But where is he?”
The black pointed in the direction from whence he had returned, evidently indicating the forest which closed in the end of the tunnel.
“What is he going to do with him?” asked Mr Anderson—“Keep him a prisoner?”
“Kill um,” said the black abruptly. “Come! Caesar show um;” and he caught hold of the middy’s arm, gave it a tug, and then signed to the others to follow.