I told Captain Norton what the black had said. “Let him go at once, but it will be as well for one of us to follow him and see what he is about,” he said. “I am not quite satisfied with his manner; and yet I daresay he is honest enough.”
Captain Norton did not object to my proposal to follow the black. As soon as he set off, I started close behind him, but at such a distance that he did not hear my footsteps. After making my way through the forest—not without considerable fear of losing him—I saw a bright light some way ahead, which I knew must proceed from a fire, and observed he was directing his course towards it. I therefore followed more leisurely, and at length caught sight of the fire, with several blacks near it, some apparently collecting wood, others cutting up a deer. I looked round for Rochford, but he was nowhere to be seen. Just then Pompey made his appearance among the people, and at once asked for “the white massa.”
“Him gone,” answered one of the blacks. “Him not come back since yesterday; bery likely Redskin got him.”
“Redskin got him! oh dat bad news!” exclaimed Pompey in a truly sorrowful voice. He then, in the peculiar jargon of the blacks, informed his companions that a party had arrived from Fort King, who would be bitterly disappointed at not finding Massa Rochford. They now held a consultation as to what should be done. Pompey finally announced his intention of returning to tell us of Rochford’s absence, and to say that, should we wish it, he would accompany us farther, and, though at the risk of his life, try to find our white friend. From what I heard him say, I was now convinced of his honesty, as also of his affection for Rochford. His unwillingness to take us at once to the camp was fully accounted for. The people before me, I saw, were evidently a party of runaway blacks; two, indeed, I recognised as those who had deserted from us, and I had little doubt that Rochford had persuaded them that he would obtain their freedom. I felt very doubtful whether I should find my way back. As I had been guided by Pompey in going towards the negro camp, I had forgotten the difficulties I should experience in returning to our own. My anxiety also as to what had become of Rochford made me at first forget the risk I ran of losing my way. I might tread on a snake or encounter a panther, or tumble into a hole, or get smothered in the trunk of a rotten tree or some black pool full of noxious creatures. As long, however, as I could see the light of the blacks’ fire, by occasionally looking back, I managed to make my way in the direction leading to our camp; but after that I could only guess whether I was going the right way by the momentary glimpse of a star overhead. At last, however, when trying to pass through a thick part of the forest, I was fairly bewildered. Still, as I could not contentedly remain where I was, I pushed forward. It was with an intense feeling of relief that I caught sight, far away before me, of a slight ruddy tinge on the trunks of the trees, which, I was convinced, was produced by the camp-fire of my friends. I advanced, not without many a scratch, while my clothes were well-nigh torn to pieces. Suddenly the thought occurred to me that the distance was greater than I had come, and that the fire might possibly be that of an Indian camp. I stopped to listen, but no sound reached me. Then again I went forward. The glow increased, and I was sure I was approaching a camp. Still I could hear no one speaking. Suddenly, however, a hail reached my ears—
“Arrah! who goes there?” and, to my infinite satisfaction, I recognised Tim’s voice.
“It’s Maurice; don’t be after shooting me,” I cried out; and I was soon in the midst of my friends.
The information I brought caused them considerable anxiety; still they hoped that Rochford might after all return. They resolved, however, to wait until Pompey made his appearance before deciding on what to do. He at last arrived, looking very crestfallen. We, of course, did not tell him that we already possessed most of the information he had to give. He told us, in addition to what we already knew, that a party of Indians had been seen following up Rochford’s trail. Fears were entertained, therefore, that he had been overtaken, especially as one of the Indians was on horseback.
“Then it must be that rascal Spotted Wolf!” exclaimed Carlos. “I guessed from the first that he was plotting some mischief, and I wish that he had been shot at once.”
Cross-questioning the black, we found that the Redskins had been seen on the previous day, so that should they have fallen in with Rochford, they could not as yet have got very far away. Pompey offered to bring another black, who had caught sight of them, and who, knowing the country well, would assist in guiding us.