“Do you mean no?” asked he.
“I do,” I replied.
“Reflect,” he answered, with a sinister glance at the instruments of torture.
“It is because I have reflected that I refuse,” replied I. “You are alarmed for the safety of yourself and your men, and you count upon this letter to delay the just vengeance of the whites. I do not desire to retain a life which may perhaps have saved yours. Let my execution commence.”
“Ha, boy,” exclaimed Biassou, touching the instruments of torture with his foot, “you are growing familiar with these, are you? I am sorry, but I have not the time to try them on you. Our position is a dangerous one, and we must get out of it as soon as we can. And so you refuse to act as my secretary? Well, you are right, for it would not after all have saved your miserable life, which, by the way, I have promised to his reverence my chaplain. Do you think that I would permit any one to live who holds the secrets of Biassou?”
He turned to the Obi, who just then entered.
“Good father, is your guard ready?”
The latter made a sign in the affirmative.
“Have you taken it from amongst the negroes of Morne-Rouge? for they are the only ones who are not occupied in preparations for departure.”
Again the Obi bowed his head.