“From Africa, you say? He has not got negro features!”
“As to his features, that don’t signify. There are many African tribes who are not negro-featured. I can tell from his that he is a Foolah. I hear him use the word as he talks.”
“Yoy—Foolah! Foolah!” cried the runaway on hearing pronounced the name of his people; and then he continued in a strain of the same language, accompanied by much gesticulation.
“I wish I knew his lingo,” said the hunter. “I know he’s a Foolah. It is some reason why I should take an interest in him; and may be, if only for that, I might—”
The speaker paused, as if he had been talking to himself; and then continued the soliloquy only in thought. After a pause he resumed speech.
“Crambo! very little would tempt me not to restore him to his master.”
“And must you?”
“I must. We Maroons are bound by a treaty to deliver up all runaways we may take; and if we fail to do so—that is, when it is known; but these villains of old Jessuron know I have him—”
“You will receive a bounty, you say?”
“Yes. They will try to deprive me of that; but it isn’t the bounty would tempt me in this case. There is something about this young fellow.—My word! he is like her!—ay, as if he were her brother.”