The next morning Jack Meredith was awakened by his servant Joseph before it was fully light. It would appear as if Joseph had taken no means of awakening him, for Meredith awoke quite quietly to find Joseph standing by his bed.
“Holloa!” exclaimed the master, fully awake at once, as townsmen are.
Joseph stood at attention by the bedside.
“Woke you before yer time, sir,” he said. “There's something wrong among these 'ere darkie fellers, sir.”
“Wrong! what do you mean?”
Meredith was already lacing his shoes.
“Not rebellion?” he said curtly, looking towards his firearms.
“No, sir, not that. It's some mortual sickness. I don't know what it is. I've been up half the night with them. It's spreading, too.”
“Sickness! what does it seem like? Just give me that jacket. Not that sleeping sickness?”
“No, sir. It's not that. Missis Marie was telling me about that—awful scourge that, sir. No, the poor chaps are wide-awake enough. Groanin', and off their heads too, mostly.”