I saw that the announcement startled him. Brave man though he was, it was enough to bring the paleness to his cheeks, and cause him to stand for some moments speechless and irresolute.
“You’re sure he said that—sure o’ it, Willim?”
“Quite sure—they were his very words.”
“A barrel o’ powder aboard!”
“He said it just as they rowed off. I’ve been thinking he might have done it out of spite—to frighten us?”
“No, no, lad, it’s true—shiver my timbers! if it an’t. The powder—’twas believed we’d turned it all over to King Dingo. Now I remember something. I thought I seed the skipper hide a barrel o’ it after it was counted out; he stole it from the nigger, for sartin. I thought so at the time, but warn’t sure. Now I be sure. There be a barrel aboard, sure as we’re livin’! Heaven o’ mercy—we’re lost, lad!—we’re lost!”
The momentary relief, which I had experienced from my late conjecture, was at an end; and my apprehensions were now as acute as ever. It was no jest then—the skipper had been in earnest. The gunpowder was on board—the stolen barrel—and for this theft we were now to be sacrificed while the thief himself had escaped!
Brace stood for some seconds, as if paralysed with the intelligence I had given him. He seemed to watch and listen for the crisis, and so did I.
After a short while, however, my companion recovered his presence of mind and appeared busy thinking out some plan of deliverance.
But a few seconds only was he silent, and then, making a sign for me to go after him, he glided towards the bows of the vessel.