“No,” said the black, shaking his head. “No kill um now. Plenty black boy ’top um; no let um kill Massa Allen. Come back now. Massa wait.”
“Oh, nonsense!” cried the lieutenant. “I am not going to be treated like this. Look here, you sir; you must go on and follow up the trail till we overtake this slaving scoundrel and make him prisoner. Do you hear?”
The black listened, and looked at the speaker gravely, but made no reply.
“Do you hear, sir?” cried the lieutenant again. “Speak to him, Mr Murray; he seems to listen to you better than he does to me.”
“I’ll try, sir,” said Murray, “but I’m afraid he will not stir now.”
“You tell him that he must, sir.”
Murray repeated the lieutenant’s words, with the result that the black listened to him with a face that for a few moments looked dull and obstinate, but which changed to a softer aspect as his bright eyes looked full in those of the frank young midshipman, before they closed slowly and their owner shook his head.
“Come, Mr Murray,” said the chief officer; “you are not making the fellow understand.”
“No, sir,” said Murray gravely, “and I am afraid he is not to be forced.” Then the lad’s eyes flashed with annoyance, for Roberts glanced at him and said to his leader—
“Shall I try, sir?”