“Yes, sah,” cried the man, with his eyes flashing. “Dat what Massa Allen tell um. Massa Allen say he desarve be hung at um yard-arm for kill an’ murder poor black niggah, and Massa Huggin laugh and say Massa Allen hang too. Dat right, sah?”
“No, no; that wouldn’t be right, Caesar.”
“Bri’sh captain not kill Massa Allen?”
“Certainly not, my man,” said Murray earnestly. “No, sah. Much a bes’ way for Caesar gib Massa Huggin Obeah.”
“No, no, and that would not do either. Hallo! what do you mean by that?”
The black had suddenly thrown himself down upon his face and dragged the midshipman beside him, a movement instantly imitated by the big slave who was seated among the bushes beside Roberts, who lay motionless as if asleep.
“Massa see?” whispered Caesar.
“See what?” asked Murray excitedly.
The black slowly and cautiously extended his right hand while he placed the fingers of his left to his lips.
Murray gazed with wonder in the direction indicated, but for some minutes he could make out nothing more than the closely-packed canes that commenced before the patch of jungle in which they were concealed. Everything seemed to be dim, and in the distance it was as though the thick growth was formed into a soft twilight, but as the lad strained his eyesight, he fancied that in one part the canes were swaying slightly here and there, as if the wind was pressing them on one side. Then as he turned his head a little he started and his heart began to beat with excitement, for what had been for a time indistinct now grew plainer and plainer and shaped itself into what looked to be quite a strong body of men, evidently rough sailors, creeping slowly through a plantation of sugar-cane and making for some definite place. One minute they would be quite indistinct and faint; the next they would stand out quite clearly; and it soon became plain that they were well-armed, for from time to time there was a faint gleam that Murray made out to be shed from the barrel of some musket.