“Yes,” said the lieutenant sharply; “it seems to me quite time we had a word to say about that. Let him lead on, Mr Murray. I want to have a few more words with our friend Mr Huggins. We must show him that there is a difference of opinion upon this question. Here, you darkie, does Mr Huggins indulge himself much in this kind of sport?”
The black, who was moving off sharply, stopped short, dropped his lower jaw to his breast, and stared vacantly at the speaker.
“What buccra sailor officer say?” he whispered.
“Don’t speak in that way,” said the lieutenant sharply. “Why don’t you speak aloud?”
“Caesar berry much ’fraid massa Huggins hear um. Den kill poor niggah.”
“That means, then, that Master Huggins does kill people sometimes?”
“Yes, massa often kill pore niggah when cross.”
“Well, look here, my lad; don’t you be very much afraid. I want you to show us all you can, for he is not going to kill our friend Master Allen.”
“Massa Allen friend,” said the black, nodding his head sharply. “Massa Allen kill pore niggah? No, nebber. Come ’long.”
The man led the way, holding tightly by the middy’s arm, and as soon as he had passed out of the tunnel, plunged into the dense forest, and threading his way among the trees, followed by the party, whose countenances were glowing with excitement, he carefully avoided every patch of earth which threatened to yield to the pressure of footsteps. This he kept on for over half-an-hour, when he stopped short and, bending down nearly double, pointed to where, instead of being firm, the way he had selected had suddenly become boggy, mossy, and of a rich green.