“You’re tied up near here?” Brant inquired.
“’Bout a mile over,” was the answer. “Will ye take yer nigger thar first?”
“Yes, I know Captain Lee. He’ll give me a chance at your gobbler, and then passage to Elizabeth City.” 53
That same afternoon, The Bonita continued her voyage. The captain obligingly made a landing at Elizabeth City, where Brant lodged his prisoner, and where the gratified Zeke stowed in his wallet ten times as much money as he had ever before possessed at one time. Naturally, he was in a mood of much self-complacency, for, in addition to the money gain, his adventure had notably increased his prestige aboard ship, where Brant’s praise for his prompt and efficient action was respectfully accepted. Yet, despite his contentment, the mountaineer found himself strangely troubled as he lay in his bunk, after the ship had got under way. It may be that his perturbation had a physical cause, at least in part, for there was more movement now as the vessel slid through the waves of Pamlico Sound. It was while he tossed restlessly, troubled over this unaccustomed inability to sleep, that there came a memory of the black bag:
“I plumb fergot the dum hoodoo!” Zeke muttered, in huge disgust. “An’ the chief said I must git another the first chance.” Then he grinned vaingloriously into the darkness of the fore-peak. “But I reckon hit hain’t put no cuss on me yit—seein’ as how I got a job an’ a peck o’ money right smack off.” Presently, however, his nervous mood suggested a sinister possibility. “P’rhaps, it don’t work on land—only jest on the sea, or mebby jest whar 54 it happens to be at. Hit wa’n’t ’long with me when I ketched the nigger. I ’low I ought to ’a’ got rid o’ the pesky thing like the chief said.”
Zeke realized that sleep was not for him. If he had had any hope otherwise, it was ended when the fog-horn of The Bonita wound its melancholy blasts, and other trumpetings began to sound over the waste from near and far. Already, by dint of many inquiries, Zeke had acquired enough information to know that the mournful noise was the accompaniment of a fog. Curious to see, he rose, and felt his way to the small port-hole, through which he sought to peer out into the night. His vision compassed no more than a few fathom’s distance; beyond, all was blackness. The port was open, and the cold mist stealing in chilled him. Zeke shivered, but an inexplicable disturbance of spirit kept him from the warmth of the blankets. He chose rather to slip on his trousers, and then again to gaze blindly out into the mysterious dark of this new world. He found himself hearkening intently for the varied calls of warning that went wailing hither and yon. The mellow, softly booming, yet penetrant notes of the conch-shells blown by the skippers of smaller craft, came almost soothingly to his ears. All the others, harsher, seemed tocsins of terror.
Clara Kimball Young under the direction of Lewis J. Selznick.
THE LOVERS ON STONE MOUNTAIN.