"Let us get back to the black men," he said, knowing from his own experience the value of action in banishing sad thoughts. "Are they Indians of America?"
"Maroons, sir, half Injun, half negro; lusty fighters, and faithful souls when they do love 'ee."
"We'll knock off their chains and give them arms. What can they use?"
"Not muskets, nor harquebuses, but anything that will dint a blow."
"Half-pikes and swords, then. For yourself, take your pick."
"Ay, it do give me heart to handle a cutlass again. Here's a fine blade, now, and a musket—give me a harquebus; I could shoot once, but my arm is all of a wamble now. Lookeedesee!"
He raised the heavy weapon to his shoulder and tried to steady it.
"See! Shaking like a man with the palsy," he said, his nervousness returning. "I be no more good than a bulrush."
"Pish, man!" said Dennis cheerily. "You are overwrought; your arm is tired with wielding the axe. An hour's rest will set you up. Come, bring the file and the weapons; we must see that the others are not scared in our absence."
The four maroons had remained on the spot where they had been left, keeping guard over the Spaniard, who had now quite recovered from his blow. They eyed Dennis with a wide stare, and fell silent when he approached, seeming scarcely to comprehend the wonderful good fortune that had befallen them. The removal of their fetters and the gift of arms struck them as a crowning mercy; they grovelled upon the ground as in the act of worship.