“What’s ramsumd, massa?”
“Try to get our friends to give them money for us. Have they killed many of the men—or got hold of the women and children?” asked Lawrence, anxiously.
“Yes, dey’s kill a few ob de men, but not many, for some hab got into de huts, an’ some into de corral, an’ dey’ll fight to de last. De savages am holdin’ a palaver jist now—see, dey’s agwine to begin again. Screw your head roun’ to de right an’ you see.”
Lawrence obeyed, and saw the savages assembled on a knoll. After driving the defenders into the huts, they had held a brief consultation, and seemed on the eve of renewing the attack. Filled with deep anxiety for the fate of the poor women and children, our hero made a desperate struggle to snap his bonds.
“No use, massa,” remarked Quashy. “I’s tried dat till I nearly bu’sted. Better lie still. P’r’aps dey forgit us.”
Lawrence groaned. He felt so helpless, and consequently hopeless, that he almost gave way to despair.
The spot where they had been flung down after their capture was so covered with rank grass that they could not see far in any direction. What they did see, however, aroused curiosity, if it did not inspire hope, for the savages seemed suddenly to have changed their plans. They were talking excitedly together on the knoll, and pointing eagerly towards the horizon.
“Das funny, massa,” remarked the negro.
“It is indeed. Perhaps they see some of their friends coming.”
“Or inimies,” suggested Quashy.