They waited awhile. From the Nest came the sound of revelry, and from the slave camp there rose other sounds, the voice of groaning broken by an occasional wail wrung out of the misery of some lost creature who lay there in torment. Gradually the sky brightened a little.
“Perhaps we had better be making a start,” said Leonard; “there is a canoe which will serve our turn.”
Before the words were out of his mouth they heard the splash of oars, and a boat crept past them and made fast to the water-gate twenty yards away.
“Who goes there?” came the challenge of the sentry in Portuguese. “Speak quick or I fire.”
“Don’t be in such a hurry with your rifle, fool,” answered a coarse voice. “The very best of friends goes here. An honest trader called Xavier who comes from his plantation on the coast to tell you all good news.”
“Pardon, senor,” said the sentry, “but how was a man to see in the dark, big as you are? What is the news then? Are the dhows in sight?”
“Come down and help us to tie up this cursed boat and I will tell you. You know where the post is, and we can’t find it.”
The sentry obeyed with alacrity, and the man called Xavier went on: “Yes, the dhows are in sight, but I don’t think that they will get in to-night because of this wind, so you may look for a busy day to-morrow loading up the blackbirds. One is in by the way—a small one from Madagascar. The captain is a stranger, a big Frenchman named Pierre, or he may be an Englishman for anything I know. I hailed him and found that he is all right, but I didn’t see him. However, I sent him a note to tell him that there was fun on here to-night, which was generous of me, as he may be a rival bidder.”
“Is he coming, senor? I ask because, if so, I must look out for him.”
“I don’t know: he answered that he would if he could. But how is the English girl? She is to be put up to-night, isn’t she?”