He aimed at keeping as much as possible under cover of the woods; and this he was enabled to do—the pimento groves on that side stretching down to the shrubbery that surrounded the dwelling.
He had got past the negro village—keeping it upon his right—without being observed. To both the “quarter” and the sugar works he gave as wide a berth as the nature of the ground would permit.
He succeeded in reaching the platform on which the house stood—so far unperceived.
But the moment of peril was not yet past. The dangerous ground still lay before him, and had still to be traversed. This was the open parterre in front of the house: for it was to the front that the path had conducted him.
It was dusk; and no one appeared—at least he could see no one—either on the stair-landing or in the windows of the great hall. So far good.
A rush for the open doorway, and then on to his own chamber, where Thoms would soon clothe him in a more becoming costume.
He started to make the rush, and had succeeded in getting half-way across the parterre, when, all at once, a crowd of people, carrying large flaming torches above their heads, appeared, coming from the rear of the dwelling.
They were the domestics and some field hands of the plantation, with Trusty, the overseer, at their head.
One might have fancied that they were setting out upon some ceremonious procession; but their hurried advance, and the presence of Quashie trotting in the lead, proclaimed a different purpose.
Smythje divined their errand. They were going in search of himself!