“Don’t make a noise, Massa Nadgel! Dere may be spies in de camp for all we knows, so we mus’ git off like mice. Canoe’s ready an’ massa waitin’; we gib you to de last momint.”
In a few minutes our hero was sleepily following the negro through the woods to the spot where the canoe was in waiting.
The night was very dark. This was in their favour,—at least as regarded discovery.
“But how shall we ever see to make our way down stream?” asked Nigel of the hermit in a whisper on reaching the place of embarkation.
“The current will guide us. Besides, I have studied the river with a view to this flight. Be careful in getting in. Now, Moses, are you ready?”
“All right, massa.”
“Shove off, then.”
There was something so eerie in the subdued tones, and stealthy motions, and profound darkness, that Nigel could not help feeling as if they were proceeding to commit some black and criminal deed!
Floating with the current, with as little noise as possible, and having many a narrow escape of running against points of land and sandbanks, they flew swiftly towards the sea, so that dawn found them among the mud flats and the mangrove swamps. Here they found a spot where mangrove roots and bushes formed an impenetrable screen, behind which they spent the day, chiefly in sleep, and in absolute security.
When darkness set in they again put forth, and cautiously clearing the river’s mouth, were soon far out on the open sea, which was fortunately calm at the time, the slight air that blew being in their favour.