"What battle?" I asked, as I walked beside him.
"The fight between the sailors and the Haïtiens, sir."
"You don't mean," I said, "that the sailors have come down here to——"
"No, only those are here who were left here." He parted the shoreward bushes and revealed to me three men lying there. Two of them were white men. They were our sailors Wilson and Tanby. The other was a Haïtien. He was lying by a partly dug grave. Indeed, so nearly ready was the grave that I had some thought of confiscating it for the body of one of our sailors. There were two other graves; at least, so I took them to be. They were finished, and their occupants were at rest under that wonderful leafy bower which only the tropics can afford. I thought that I heard a rustling in the bushes, and told the Bo's'n my suspicions. The Minion pointed to the thicket, and with a wild yell disappeared. One never knew what the Minion would do. One always knew what he would say, and that was nothing. There seemed to be an air of mystery about this secluded spot. I watched the bushes, expecting the Minion's return, and, as I watched, I felt that a pair of eyes was fixed on me. I pierced the undergrowth right and left with my gaze, but only the mompoja leaves moved languidly in the baby breeze which was now stirring, the precursor of a later wind. I followed the Minion into the thicket, but saw no one. Even the Minion had vanished. It was a great relief to me to be able to act like a man with courage once more, instead of guarding my words for fear that they would agitate the being the dearest in the world to me.
"Did you see any one as you came along the beach, Bo's'n?" said I.
"No, sir, Mr. Jones, sir; I was not looking or thinking of any one when I stumbled right on them bodies. I was running to get away, sir."
Again the look of horror overspread his features, and he glanced backward over his shoulders toward the camp.
I believe in always going to the root of a matter with the ignorant and superstitious.
"Now, Bo's'n," I said, with an air of logical argument, "what should you see in that simple, plain, iron trinket—" But he stopped me with a gesture which was strangely authoritative from an inferior to a superior, and in hushed, scared tones he said:
"Don't speak of it, Mr. Jones. Don't mention it, sir. Don't think of it. Make the young lady throw it away."