“Make um go to de bottom, sah, and neber come up no more.”
“Bah! you grinning black idiot. Didn’t you tell me he was alive?”
“Yes, sah; quite ’livo, sah.”
“Drop him in the boat, then, and hurry about it, or we shan’t get up to the farm before the tide turns. There, four of you take him; and you below there, ease him down. Don’t let him go overboard again, if you want to keep whole skins.”
The men seized the heavy figure by the hands and legs, and bearing it quite to the edge, lowered it down to the others, room being made at the bottom of the boat, where it was deposited with about as much ceremony as a sack of corn. Then, in obedience to another order, the blacks descended, and the overseer stepped down last, to seat himself with his back to the dogs; while the smith and his assistant once more took up their guns and their places as guards. Then the boat was pushed off. Four of the blacks seized the oars, the boat’s head swung round, and the next minute, with but little effort, she was gliding rapidly up the muddy stream.
It was dangerous work to begin talking, but as Nic sat there in silence, with his head growing clearer, and gazing compassionately at the prostrate figure, two of the prisoners put their heads together and began to whisper.
“Close shave for old Humpy,” said one. “Think he’ll come round again?”
“Dunno; but if he does, I’m not going to help in any more games about going off. This job has made me sick.”
“He won’t want you to; this must have pretty well sickened him if he comes to.”
“Mind what you’re saying. That there black image is trying to hear every word.”