“They haven’t been found, Jim,” said Dr. Gaston. “Big Sam says that the boat is gone from the landing, and that boat must be found to-night.”
“Marster,” said a negro, coming forward out of the group, “I seed a boat gwine down stream dis mornin’. I wuz way up on de hill—”
“And you didn’t come and tell me?” asked Dr. Gaston in a severe tone.
“Well, suh, I hollered at um, an’ dey ain’t make no answer, an’ den it look like ter me ’t wuz dem two Ransome boys. Hit mos’ drap out’n my min’. An’ den you know, suh, our chillun ain’t never had no doin’s like dat—gittin’ in de boat by dey own-alone se’f an’ sailin’ off dat a-way.”
“Well,” said Dr. Gaston, “the boat must be found. The children are in it. Where can we get another boat?”
“I got one, suh,” said Big Sam.
“Me, too, marster,” said another negro.
“Then get them both, and be quick about it!”
“Ah-yi, suh,” was the response, and in a moment the group was scattered, and Big Sam could be heard giving orders in a loud and an energetic tone of voice. For once he was in his element. He could be foreman on the Oconee if he couldn’t in the cotton-patch. He knew every nook and cranny of the river for miles up and down; he had his fish-baskets sunk in many places, and the overhanging limbs of many a tree bore the marks of the lines of his set-hooks. So for once he appointed himself foreman, and took charge of affairs. He and Sandy Bill (so-called owing to the peculiar color of his hair) soon had their boats at the landing. The other negroes were assembled there, and the most of them had torches.
“Marster,” said Big Sam, “you git in my boat, an’ let little Willyum come fer ter hol’ de torch. Jesse, you git in dar wid Sandy Bill. Fling a armful er light’ood in bofe boats, boys, kaze we got ter have a light, and dey ain’t no tellin’ how fur we gwine.”