I looked in the direction to which he pointed, and on the lofty peak to which he had drawn my attention during our last interview with Marie, and which was now glowing in the rays of the setting sun, I saw a huge black flag, its folds flapping idly in the breeze.
(At this point of his recital D’Auverney again paused.)
I learned afterwards that Biassou, in a hurry to leave his ground, had ordered the flag to be hoisted without waiting for the return of the negroes who had been despatched to assist at my execution. Bug-Jargal was still in the same position—his arms folded, and his eyes eagerly fixed upon the fatal signal.
Suddenly he started, and seemed about to descend from his post of observation.
“Great heavens! my unfortunate comrades!” cried he. “Did you hear the gun?”
I made no reply.
“It was the signal, my brother. They are leading them now to the place of execution.”
His head fell upon his breast; after a short pause, he said—
“Go, brother, and rejoice your wife; Rask will guide you to her;” and he whistled an African air, which Rask appeared to recognize, for he wagged his tail, and seemed ready to set out.
Bug-Jargal grasped my hand, and strove to smile, but his features were contracted, and his look was ghastly.