The overseer seemed to have thought so too, for he lowered the musket, and Nic just caught sight of him striking savagely with it at the dogs, which began to bay and make rushes at him. But Nic saw no more, for a bend in the river, with a clump of trees thereon, hid the plantation from their sight; while Pete began to sing an old West-country ditty, something about a clever moneyless adventurer who, no matter what task he undertook, always succeeded in getting the best of his adversaries.
The words were absurd and often childish, but there was a ring in the familiar old melody that went straight to Nic’s heart and brought a strange moisture to his eyes, for it thrilled him with hope, and brought up memories of the far-away home that he began to feel now he might see again. And that feeling of hope drove away the horrible dread and the miserable sensation of weariness, sending vigour through every nerve, and making him bend to his oar to take a full grip of the water and swing back at the same moment as Pete, making the river ripple and plash beneath the bows and driving the boat merrily along, just as if the two fugitives were moved by the same spirit.
“Zome zaid a penny, but I zaid five poun’.
The wager was laid, but the money not down.
Zinging right fol de ree, fol de riddle
lee
While I am a-zinging I’d five poun’ free,”
chanted Pete in a fine, round, musical bass voice, and the trees on one side echoed it back, while the ungreased rowlocks, as the oars swung to and fro, seemed to Nic’s excited fancy to keep on saying, “Dev-on, Dev-on, Dev-on,” in cheery reiteration.
“Zinging right fol de ree!” cried Pete. “Zay, Master Nic, why don’t you join in chorus? You know that old zong.”
“Ay, Pete, I know it,” said Nic; “but my heart’s too full for singing.”
“Nay, not it, lad. Do you good. That’s why I began. Mine felt so full that it was ready to burst out, and if I hadn’t begun to zing I should ha’ broken zomething. I zay, Master Nic, get out o’ stroke and hit me a good whack or two with your oar and fisties, right in the back.”
“What for?”
“To waken me up. I’m dreaming, I’m afraid, and I’d rather be roused up than go on in a dream like this. It’s zo hearty, you zee, and makes me feel as if I could go on rowing for a month without getting tired.”
“So do I now, Pete.”