“Well, then, away you go, my boy, and a dollar shall be yours when you come back,” said Mr Pemberton.
“Ki! dat’s good,” exclaimed Quashie, eager to be off.
The planter took him down to a back-door, by which he let him out that he might creep away, lest any prowling foe might be watching the house; not that there was much risk of that, or Jack and his friends would not have performed their expedition so securely.
Quashie ran on along the well-accustomed road till he got near his own village, when, taking off the few clothes he wore, he did them up in a bundle and stowed them away in the hollow of a tree to be ready for his return, leaving only a piece of black stuff round his waist, with which Mrs Pemberton had supplied him at his request. The sharpest of eyes only could have detected Quashie as he crept along under the hedges: he felt confident there was very little risk of his being discovered. Few of his age could outstrip Quashie, and making good use of his legs, he got over the ground in a third of the time Jack Pemberton had taken to accomplish the distance. He now moved more cautiously, stopping to listen every now and then for the sound of voices which might warn him of the whereabouts of the rebels.
At first he began to fancy that they must have decamped. Creeping down the hill, he suddenly found himself close to a group of men lying stretched on the ground fast asleep, while as he peered over a bush he observed others in the same position. He stole silently back, making his way to the left at a cautious distance from the besieging force, if they could be dignified by such a title. Presently, again he drew near, looking out for some opening in their line through which he might make his way, but they appeared to have extended themselves so as completely to encircle the house. Again and again he got up close to the line; still he was not to be daunted. He had undertaken to get through them, and he intended by some means or other to do so. Suddenly he heard a shot, followed by several others. The blacks close to him started to their feet, and hurried off in the direction from whence the shot came.
Now was his opportunity. He darted forward down the hill, springing up the opposite declivity like a hunted hare, at the same time keeping his body almost bent to the ground; and before he was perceived, he was close to the chevaux-de-frise. In vain, however, he endeavoured to find his way through it. The garrison were too much occupied with what was going forward on the other side of the house to observe him; indeed, his small, black, lithe body could scarcely have been perceived. He ran on like a mouse, looking for a hole through which to escape, and considering whether he should not cry out for assistance and ask to be taken in. At last he got to an opening, and in he darted, just as two men rushed up from the lower ground, no one in the darkness perceiving him. As soon as the men were in the inside, several persons filled up the gap, and he made his way undiscovered within the palisades and through the door of the house.
The first person he met was Martha, who had come out to learn what was going forward. Their delight was mutual. Tears streamed from the eyes of his mother as she pressed him to her heart. The planter who had lately expressed an opposite opinion would have acknowledged that the slaves, degraded as they were, were capable of human affection.
His errand was soon told, and Martha, proud of his performance, took him to her master, who was naturally very much surprised at seeing him.
“I bring message from Massa Pemberton,” he said.
“Where is it?” asked Mr Twigg.