“Yes, massa—but it’s sca’cely fair when life an’ def am in de balance to expect me to hit ’im on de legs on a dark night. Legs is a bad targit. Bullet’s apt to pass between ’em. Howseber, dat feller won’t hop much for some time to come!”
A couple of hours later, having carried the canoe and baggage across the spits of land above referred to, and thus put at least half-a-day’s journey between themselves and their foes, they came to a halt for the night.
“It won’t be easy to find a suitable place to camp on,” remarked Nigel, glancing at the bank, where the bushes grew so thick that they overhung the water, brushing the faces of our travellers and rendering the darkness so intense that they had literally to feel their way as they glided along.
“We will encamp where we are,” returned the hermit. “I’ll make fast to a bush and you may get out the victuals, Moses.”
“Das de bery best word you’ve said dis day, massa,” remarked the negro with a profound sigh. “I’s pritty well tired now, an’ de bery t’ought ob grub comforts me!”
“Do you mean that we shall sleep in the canoe?” asked Nigel.
“Ay, why not?” returned the hermit, who could be heard, though not seen, busying himself with the contents of the fore locker. “You’ll find the canoe a pretty fair bed. You have only to slip down and pull your head and shoulders through the manhole and go to sleep. You won’t want blankets in this weather, and, see—there is a pillow for you and another for Moses.”
“I cannot see, but I can feel,” said Nigel, with a soft laugh, as he passed the pillow aft.
“T’ank ee, Nadgel,” said Moses; “here—feel behind you an’ you’ll find grub for yourself an’ some to pass forid to massa. Mind when you slip down for go to sleep dat you don’t dig your heels into massa’s skull. Dere’s no bulkhead to purtect it.”
“I’ll be careful,” said Nigel, beginning his invisible supper with keen appetite. “But how about my skull, Moses? Is there a bulkhead between it and your heels?”