“And you won’t tell me your master’s name?” said Nigel.
Moses shook his woolly head. “No, sar, no. I’s ’fraid ob him—he! he! I ’fraid ob hurtin’ his feelin’s!”
“Well, never mind; I’ll find it out from himself soon. By the way, what were you telling me about explosions yesterday when that little white gull came to admire your pretty face, and took off our attention?”
“Well, I dun know. Not got much to tell, only dar’s bin rumblin’ an’ grumblin’s an’ heavin’s lately in de mountains as didn’t use to be, an’ cracks like somet’in’ bustin’ down b’low, an’ massa he shook ’is head two or t’ree times an’ look solemn. He don’t often do dat—shook ’is head, I mean—for he mostly always looks solemn.”
A few minutes later the boat, running through a narrow opening among the rocks into a small circular harbour not more than fifty yards in diameter, rested its keel gently on a little bed of pure yellow sand. The shore there was so densely covered with bushes that the harbour might easily have been passed without being observed.
Jumping ashore, Moses made the painter fast to a tree.
“What a quiet, cosy place!” said Nigel, as he sprung on the beach and looked admiringly round.
“Yes, an’ not easy to find if you don’t knows ’im. We will leabe de boat here,—no danger ob bein’ tooked away—an’ den go up to de cave.”
“Is it far?” asked Nigel.
“A good bit—near de top ob de mountain,” answered the negro, who looked at his companion somewhat uneasily.