I did not remind my new friend that while he thought I was a Spaniard he had been ready enough to cut my throat, but said, “You will not give me to them?”
“No, me no gib you to Okopa; but s’pose Okopa come, Spagnole come plenty gun, what can do, s’pose you lib in town? No plenty people talk say white man lib for my town, and den people come look and say Hararu white man he be Inglish all same Hararu, and den Okopa come and dat man you call Camacho, and dat oder bad man Pentlea, and catch you one time. S’pose now one time you go in bush to big fetichman and lib dere. My son, me call him Tom, and he peak English, no all proper same me; he take you away to oder country, and den dey send you where English ship he come, and den you go see your fader and broder.”
The whole of this conversation had taken place inside Jack Sprat’s own hut, and no one had been present but some of his womankind, and these he now sent away. His boy Tom, as he called him, who proved to be a grizzled negro of about fifty years of age, was sent for, and his father gave him a long series of instructions in the native language, to which Tom answered, “Bery good, bery good.”
When these were finished the old man said, “Now you go one time along with Tom, and me tell all people big fetich come take you away what time you sleep.”
I thanked old Jack Sprat for his kindness, and asked him if he could not manage to get me a pair of shoes, as I was afraid my feet would get hurt walking about on shore without them. He told me he would do what he could, but I must now get away at once.
Tom opened a sort of secret door in the side of the hut, and beckoning me to follow him, led the way along a very narrow passage between two lines of cane fence to the outer stockade of the village. Here removing a great log, which taxed all his strength, he was able to swing two of the trunks that formed the palisade on one side. We then scrambled down in the ditch and struck at once into a small and little frequented path, which we followed for about an hour and a half, till at last it seemed to lose itself in the thick and dense jungle.
From time to time Tom said to me, “Bery good, bery good,” as if to encourage me, and to all my questions he only answered, “Bery good,” so that I thought that these two words formed his whole stock of English. When he said “Bery good” once more, I thought that it was anything but “bery good,” for it seemed to me as if we had entirely lost our way. Tom now lifted up his voice and gave a series of most appalling yells, which after a little were answered by similar ones proceeding from what seemed to me the thickest part of the surrounding jungle. After a few minutes a mass of creepers hanging from one of the trees was pulled on one side, and a man appeared.
Tom went down on his knees before the new-comer, and picking up dust from the ground rubbed his arms and forehead with it; then getting up he spoke long and quickly, occasionally pointing to me. I could distinguish the words “Ingliz,” “Spagnole,” “Okopa,” and “Hararu” constantly repeated. The man answered him in a similar manner, and then signing to Tom and me to follow him, pulled the screen of creepers on one side and led the way along a very narrow and winding path, which every here and there had logs laid ready for blocking it.
After following our guide for ten minutes, Tom keeping on saying “Bery good,” we arrived at a strong sort of gate in a fence of tree trunks, which we passed through. We then found ourselves in a clear space, where there were about a dozen idols like the one I had seen in the village, each under its own little shed, and some half-dozen huts, in which the fetichmen (of whom our guide was one) who attended on them lived. In the centre was another stockade, inside which was a very large hut, and Tom, pointing to it, said, “Big fetich,” thus showing that he did know more English than “bery good.”