THE CHIMNEY
Noiselessly the two spectators slipped away through the bushes. Startled by the discovery of a white man, whose very stillness declared him a prisoner in bonds among these dancing savages, they felt the need of talking freely, unrestrained by precautions against being overheard. They hurried along at the base of the cliffs until they were out of earshot, then sat on a low rock where they could still see all that went on around the fire.
'Can it be that planter fellow on the Berenisa? What was his name?' said Trentham.
'You mean Grimshaw; he was the only man besides ourselves who wore ducks. I don't know. Grimshaw was a small man; the prisoner seemed a big fellow. I couldn't see his face.'
'Nor I. Whoever it is, I 'm afraid his number 's up.'
'I didn't take much stock of Grinson's yarns about cannibals, but it appears he 's right. The niggers would hardly bring their prisoner down the chimney for the fun of it, or the trouble of taking him up again.'
'Did you see a cooking-pot?'
'No, I was too busy watching the dancers to look around.'
'We 'll have to get him away.'
'Whew! That's a tall proposition, Trentham.'