“Fortunately the fellows don’t consider us enemies, or they might have shot us down with impunity,” he observed. “There is something going forward among the blacks, I fear; and at all events the sooner we are on our return home the better.”
An ample luncheon of fish, flesh, and fowl, vegetables, and fruit of every description had been prepared. It was hurried over somewhat rapidly; the servants were directed to pack up and proceed on their way homeward; and as soon as the tent was struck, the steeds, which had been tethered in the shade with their heads in nose-bags, were bridled and saddled.
“To horse! to horse! ladies and gentlemen,” shouted Mr Twigg. “We must brave the heat and dust, instead of riding home by moonlight as we proposed; we shall enjoy the cool evening all the more on our arrival.”
The younger members of the party, who had heard nothing of the cause which had created anxiety in the minds of Major Malcolm and Mr Ferris, were somewhat surprised at the summons, but quickly prepared to start.
“Let me assist you to mount, Miss Pemberton,” said Major Malcolm. Leading forward her horse, and placing his hand a little above the ground, he dexterously lifted her into her saddle. Lieutenant Belt, imitating his example, brought forward Ellen’s steed, and was delighted to find that she accepted his services, poor Archie being compelled to fall into the rear. The party on horseback led the way, the carriages rattling after them. Major Malcolm, who once having gone a road never forgot it, rode on with Miss Pemberton, Ellen and her cavalier following close behind them. They had just passed the cliff, when, the road being broad and level, Fanny proposed a canter. They had ridden on about a mile further, when they saw, beneath the shade of the tall trees directly ahead, a horseman galloping at full speed towards them. As he approached he was seen to be a white-headed negro, his hat, which just then blew off, exposing his hoary locks.
“He is old Martin, Mr Twigg’s butler,” exclaimed Fanny. “What could have made him come out to meet us in so great a hurry?”
“Where Massa Twigg?” exclaimed the old man. “I tank Heaven I meet you so soon.”
“He is close behind,” answered Major Malcolm. “I trust that you are not the bearer of bad news?”
“Yes, sar, I bring berry bad news: we all hab our troats cut and be murdered and burnt before dis night,” answered old Martin, who had fastened a huge silver spur to one of his heels, and had caught up a slave-driver’s whip. Without waiting for further questions he galloped forward, leaving Major Malcolm and Miss Pemberton as ignorant as at first of what had occurred.