“Who is the Captain?”
“Cap’n ain’t come, marster—name’s Brown—’spectin’ him to-morrow.”
Quickly climbing the rope, he picked up the gun of the guard, and began descending. Neither was he to be confused in the fog and darkness. Many times in the Eseeolas had he taken his bearings from a bucket, two sticks and the pole star, as though he were really lost.
“You git it?” It was the mulatto’s voice.
“Yeah, aisy,” Ervin answered in pure Combahee.
He went on down the parapet.
“Where you goin’, you blame bluegum gullah?” the mulatto called.
“Huh, you swongerrin’ mighty rash to a free nigger wid a gun!”
The mulatto laughed.
“If I c’d see you, I’d shoot you like one of them d—n rebels. That’s a fancy way you goin’ to camp.”