“Not so sure about that,” observed the Dominie; “however, we will try and obtain some sleep.”
Before our eyes were closed the horrible chorus of howls and yelps and barking recommenced, and continued apparently on every side of our camp; still, while the fire burned brightly, there was no fear of the brutes rushing in on us. To sleep, while those dismal howls broke the stillness of night, was simply impossible. Now the creatures appeared to be coming nearer, now they retreated, now they seemed on this side, now on that; their voices had summoned a fresh pack, who, rushing in, quickly devoured the remainder of the feast. All night long the tumult was kept up. Occasionally Mr Tidey or I rose to attend to the fire. Upon each occasion I caught sight of numerous glaring eyes staring out at us from amid the darkness. As morning approached the sounds gradually ceased, and we had the satisfaction of believing that the wolves had retreated to the recesses of the forest. I immediately fell asleep, and when Mr Tidey roused Dan and me, the sun was already several degrees above the horizon. We breakfasted on some bear-steak, which we had fortunately secured, then set to work to scrape the skin and to pack it up in a tight compass. As we had no wish to carry the skin further than we could help, we put about and steered a course for home, which we calculated it would take us four days to reach. Nothing occurred worth narrating for the next three days.
We had still a march of about twenty-five miles to accomplish, and were looking for a convenient spot to camp in near a stream bordered by a wood, when we heard a low moan, which seemed to proceed from no great distance off.
“That’s a human voice,” observed Mr Tidey; “some poor fellow wounded by the Indians, or who perhaps has been injured by some other means.”
We hunted about, being still uncertain of the exact spot whence the sound proceeded. Again a moan reached our ears, and guided by it we hurried on, when behind a bush we found stretched on the ground, apparently at the last gasp, a negro dressed in the usual costume of the slaves, a rough shirt and loose trousers. His feet were cut and bleeding, probably from the sharp rocks and prickly bushes among which he had passed. He opened his languid eyes as the sound of our footsteps reached his ears, and pointing to his mouth murmured—
“Eat, eat,—massa, eat.”
Having fortunately the remains of our last dinner in our knapsacks, we were at once able to give him some food, while Mr Tidey poured some rum and water down his throat. The effect was most satisfactory. In a few minutes he was able to sit up, when he gazed at us earnestly.
“Where were you wanting to go, my poor fellow?” asked the Dominie in a kind tone.
The black’s eye brightened.
“Oh, massa, you kind to poor nigger,” he said in a weak voice.