“Yes, sir, quite; but I can’t help feeling suspicious.”
“Yes, it is suspicious, but they may not mean harm. I believe in that black Caesar all the same. If I did not I should give the order to retreat at once. There, go back to your men, and keep close up. Take special care not to let the blacks get between you and us.”
“There is no need, sir. They hang back to let us all pass.”
“That may be part of their plan to shut us in. But I will go on believing in the fellow till I have good cause to turn upon him, and then it will be very hard if our lads can’t keep any number at bay. There, stand fast till your men overtake you.”
Murray halted and let the men march by till Tom May and his messmates joined him; and then as he resumed his place he became aware that the blacks in their rear had increased greatly in number. Short as had been his absence, it was now much lighter, so that it was plain to see that they were being followed by a dense mass of white-cotton-clothed plantation slaves, all bearing arms of some kind or another, and moving in comparative silence, their bare feet making hardly a sound upon the soft earth.
“They seem to be increasing fast, Tom,” whispered Murray, as the sailors tramped steadily on.
“Yes, sir; tidy—tidy,” replied the big fellow.
“But they don’t seem to mean mischief, Tom.”
“No, sir, not yet; but if that was their game they could eat our little lot without salt.”
“You don’t seem to be a bit alarmed, Tom.”