Seeing that his only chance was submission, the negro got upon his feet with some difficulty, and stood awaiting further orders.
Nelatu now unfastened the thongs that bound him.
“Go before me,” he said.
Crookleg hobbled forward with a demoniac look upon his face.
They reached the water’s edge.
“Is that your canoe?”
“Yes, massa; dat dug-out b’long to me.”
“Get in.”
The black scrambled into the stern.
“Not there—the other end.”