Obeah.
“This man is a puzzle,” said the lieutenant. “One hour he is a shivering cowardly slave, the next he plays the part of a hero; and now he is like a clever household servant who does the best he can for visitors in his master’s absence. Why, Murray—Roberts—we never expected such treatment as this.”
“No, sir,” said the two midshipmen together.
For Caesar had been bustling about, and one way and another had spread quite a supper in the planter’s little dining-room for the officers, and afterwards supplied the men in one of the back rooms with delicious coffee and bread, to the great refreshment of the tired adventurers.
“What are you thinking about, Mr Murray?” said the lieutenant. “Come, out with it, my lad;” for the middy had hesitated and turned red.
“I was only thinking, sir, that we ought to send a messenger to the Seafowl.”
“Humph! Strange, my lad. I have been thinking just the same, but I can spare neither man nor boat, and I have come to the conclusion that if Captain Kingsberry wants news he must send to us for it. What’s that you are muttering, Mr Roberts?—He will be angry?”
“I didn’t say so aloud, sir,” replied the lad.
“No, but you thought it, sir. Well, if he is he will soon be in a good humour again when he finds how busy we have been and what we have made out. Ah, here is our guide. Well, Caesar, what now?”
“Berry dark now, massa. Come see.”