“Yes, sar, it am,” answered Caesar curtly, in a tone of voice which was evidently intended to cut short all further conversation. “An’ now, Peter,” he continued, “if you has finished yo’ supper we better be movin’. Nebber mind about puttin’ de t’ings away; de ole ’oman will see to dat when she comes home in de mornin’. Now den, Peter, you take hold ob de genterman’s legs, and help me to carry him out; does you hear?”
Peter the Silent grunted an affirmative, stooping as he did so and seizing my legs, while Caesar raised me by the shoulders in his powerful arms, remarking, as he did so—
“Massa Courtenay, jus’ listen to me, if you please, sah. We am goin’ to take you for a nice, pleasant lilly dribe in a cart, and I am goin’ to sit on you, so dat you may not fall out. Now I still has my knife wid me, and if I feels you begin to struggle, I shall be under de mos’ painful necessity ob drivin’ it into you to keep you quiet; so I hope dat you will lie most particular still durin’ yo’ little journey. You sabbe?”
I nodded my head.
“Dat’s all right, den,” resumed Caesar. “Now, Peter up wid him, and away we goes.”
And therewith the two black rascals raised me carefully, and carrying me into the open, placed me in a mule cart, covered me with a thick layer of green forage, and—Caesar coolly carrying out his threat to sit upon me—drove away.