The death of poor Quin filled his companions with sorrow and dismay. There was weeping all night long on board of the Isabel. He had been a true and faithful friend to each individual of the party, and they were all sincerely and devotedly attached to him. With this sad bereavement came the sense of personal peril, for those who had slain their associate would not be content till they had driven his companions from their covert, and shed their blood or again reduced them to slavery.
Lily was disposed to abandon all her hopes in despair, and Cyd trembled with fear as he thought of what the next day or the next week might bring forth. But the energy and firmness of Dan soon quieted their fears, and restored, in some measure, the confidence which had before prevailed in the camp.
"We have defeated the slave-hunters twice, and we can do it again," said he, as he rose from his seat at the cabin table, around which, as Dan ate his supper, the party had considered their sad and perilous condition.
"It's terrible to think of poor Quin," said Lily. "He was so good and kind."
"And we have one arm less to assist in our defence. Don't cry any more, Lily. I'm afraid we haven't seen the worst of it yet."
"Can't we do something? Can't we get away from this place?" asked Lily.
"That is impossible. The water is too low to float the Isabel down to the lake, even if she were ready to go. It will take several days to rig her, and put her in order for our voyage."
"What will become of us?"
"I don't know. I hope for the best. Don't cry, Lily. I am not afraid of any thing. If we are resolute, we can defend ourselves if the slave-hunters should find us, which I don't think they can."
"It's awful to think of fighting and being shot," murmured Lily, as she cast a tender glance at Dan.