“Oh no,” said Murray, reaching forward to pat the man upon the shoulder; but the poor fellow’s action told its own tale. He started violently, shrinking right away with a look of dread in his eyes. “There, don’t do that,” Murray continued, “I’m not going to hurt you;” and following the man he patted his shoulder softly, when the look of horror faded away, to give place to a faint smile, one which broadened into a grin.

“Massa no take and sell boys away?”

“No; tell them we come to set them free,” said Murray.

“Set niggah free?” cried the black excitedly.

“Yes; that’s why my ship has come.”

“Massa Huggin say come catch all de boy an’ flog ’em heart out.”

“Did your overseer tell you that, boy?” growled Tom May; and the man winced at the deep fierce voice of the sailor.

“Yes, sah; flog ’em all, sah.”

“Then you tell your Massa Huggin he’s a liar,” growled the big sailor.

The black showed his teeth in a wider grin than ever as he shook his head.

“No tell um,” he said. “Massa Huggin kill um dead.”

“Where is he now?” said Murray sharply.

“Massa Allen sick, sah.”

“No, no; Mr Huggins!”

“Massa sailor captain tell Massa Huggin – ”

“No, no; I’m not going to tell your overseer anything.”

The black looked at the speaker searchingly for a few moments, glanced round as if to see whether they were likely to be overheard; and then, as if gaining confidence, he leaned towards the midshipman and whispered —

“Massa overseer go to get men from schooner – fighting men come and kill sailor and burn up ship. Big fire. Burn ship. Burn, kill sailor. Massa no tell what Caesar say?”

“Oh no; I shall not tell Master Huggins, Caesar,” said Murray, smiling. “Now tell your men to come back and row your boat. I want to find Mr Allen.”

The black looked searchingly in the midshipman’s face once more, and then apparently gaining confidence, he turned sharply upon the big sailor, when that which he had gained seemed to be dying out again and he glanced at the shore of the lagoon, and Tom read so plainly that the black was thinking again of flight that he gave him a sharp slap on the shoulder, making him wince violently and utter a low sob.

“Why, you are a pretty sort of fellow,” cried the sailor, his face opening out into a jovial smile. “You seem to have a nice idee of a British sailor!”

“Bri’sh sailor?” said the black, slowly repeating the tar’s words. “You Bri’sh sailor, hey?”

“To be sure I am, my lad – leastwise I hope so.”

“Bri’sh sailor no hurt poor niggah?”

“Not a bit of it, darkie. Can’t you understand we’ve come to set the slaves free?”

“No,” said the black sadly. “Massa Huggin say – ”

“Massa Huggin say!” growled the big sailor, frowning fiercely. “You tell your Massa Huggins that the British sailor is going to – See here, you benighted heathen. I want to make you understand some’at. There, hold still; I’m not going to hurt you. Now see.”

As the sailor spoke he untied the knot of his neckerchief and threw it round the black’s neck, made a fresh slip-knot and drew it tight, and with horrible realism held up one end of the silken rope, while with a low wail the poor shivering wretch sank unresistingly upon his knees in the bottom of the boat.

“Don’t, don’t, Tom! You’re frightening the poor fellow to death.”

“Nay, sir; he’ll understand it directly. It’s all right, darkie,” he continued, with a broad grin at the black’s fear. “I want to show you what a British sailor means to do with your Massa Huggins.”

“Massa Huggin? No kill Caesar?”

“Kill Caesar, darkie?” cried the sailor. “No, no. Hang – yard-arm – Massa Huggins. We’ll teach him to talk about burning his Majesty’s Ship Seafowl. There, now do you understand?” cried Tom, slipping off the black silk handkerchief and knotting it properly about his own brawny neck, while as he gave the black another hearty clap on the shoulder the poor fellow’s shiny black face seemed to have become the mirror which reflected a good deal of the tar’s jovial smile. “There, sir,” continued the big sailor; “that’s our Mr Dempsey’s way o’ teaching a man anything he don’t understand. ‘Show him how it’s done,’ he says, ‘with your fisties, and then he can see, and he never forgets it again.’”

“That’s all very well, Tom,” said Murray, smiling, “but it’s rather a rough style of teaching, and you nearly made the poor fellow jump overboard.”

“That was afore he began to grasp it, sir. He’s got it now. You can see now; eh, darkie?”

“Bri’sh sailor kill Massa Huggin, no kill poor niggah,” cried the black.

“There, sir, what did I say?” cried Tom. “British tar’s the niggers’ friend, eh, what’s your name?”

The black sprang up and executed two or three steps of what he meant most probably for a triumphal dance.

“Steady, my lad, or you’ll have one of them stick-in-a-brick pretty little foots of yours through the bottom planks of the boat.”

Plop! went the black, letting himself down, not upon his feet, but upon his knees, and laying his head between the sailor’s feet he caught one by the ankle, raised it and began to plant it upon his woolly head.

“What game does he call that, sir?” cried Tom, in astonishment.

“He’s following up your style of teaching by an object-lesson, Tom,” cried the middy merrily. “It’s to show you he’s your slave and friend for ever.”

“Ho!” ejaculated the big sailor. “That’s it, is it? Well, that’ll do, darkie; we understand one another; but recklect this, you arn’t civilised enough yet for object-lessons. Here, what are you up to now?”

For the black had shuffled upon his knees to the side of the boat, to hold his hands to the sides of his capacious mouth, while he sent forth a cry wonderfully like the blast given trumpet-like through a conch shell to call slaves to plantation work in the fields.

No sooner did the deep tone float across the water than there was a movement amongst the giant reeds, and first in one place and then in another and from both sides, black faces and woolly heads began to appear, while the black who had uttered the cry made for one of the oars, passed it through the rowlock astern and began to paddle the boat along cleverly enough towards his fellows, who one by one began to take to the water like so many large black dogs, springing in with heavy splash after splash and beginning to swim.

This went on, to the amusement of the sailors, till every member of the boat’s black crew had been dragged into, or by his own effort had climbed into, the planter’s boat.

“Better be on the lookout, my lads,” said the middy. “They may play us false and row off.”

“Not they, sir,” said Tom confidently. “You may depend upon it they’ve been squinting at us through them bamboozling reeds, and took all my lesson in right up to the heft. I begin to think, sir, that when Mr Huggins shows his ugly yellow phiz to us again he’ll find that we’ve been making a few friends among the niggers.”

“I hope so, Tom; but all this time we’ve not been thinking about our prisoner that we were set to watch.”

“Yes, sir, and that’s bad; but just you cheer up, sir, and all will come right yet.”

“But the prisoner, Tom – the prisoner,” cried Murray sadly.

“Wait a bit, sir. Anyhow we’ve got his boat and his crew; and they knows his ways, and perhaps ’ll find out his whereabouts a good deal better than we could.”

“Yes, Tom, but – ”

“Nothing like patience, sir,” said the man. “You mark my words.”

Chapter Thirty Four.
The Lost Prisoner

Murray looked angrily at the big sailor for a few minutes, and then, mastering his annoyance at the easy way in which the man took his trouble, he said —

“Oh, I’ll have patience enough, Tom; but what is to be done next?”

Tom May scratched his head and his eyes wandered round till they lit upon the shiny black face of the negro, who was watching him eagerly.

“I’d make that chap lead the way back to the cottage place, sir. He knows all the ins and outs, and he’ll show us in half the time we could do it.”

“That’s good advice, Tom, but what for? I’m in no hurry to meet Mr Anderson.”

“But you’ve got to do it, sir, and the sooner you get it over the better.”

“That’s true, Tom,” said the middy sadly.

“’Sides, sir, how do we know but what Mr Allen may have come back while we’ve been gone?”

“Tom!” cried Murray excitedly, and after the fashion of the proverbial drowning man, he snatched at the straw the sailor held out to him. Turning to the black, who was squatting at his feet, he cried, “Take us to Mr Allen.”

The slave nodded and grinned as he settled himself down, chattering the while to his crew, who raised their oars ready to dip them in the placid water, when a thought seemed to strike him and he tucked the oar he had seized under one knee and turned to the middy, saying sharply —

“You go kill Massa Allen?”

“Kill him? No!” cried Murray, in surprise.

The man nodded and gave the black crew an order, and their oars dipped at once, while the little English party in the cutter followed the lead, and to Murray’s surprise he found himself taken through an entirely fresh canal-like lead of water of whose existence he had not the slightest idea.

“I thought so, sir,” said Tom May, in a low tone of voice. “This chap knows his way about, and it’s worth a Jew’s eye to have found him and made friends. You’ll see that he’ll show us where to go. Shouldn’t wonder if he takes us straight to that Mr Allen.”

“If he only would, Tom!” replied the midshipman, speaking as if a great load was being taken off his mind.

“Oh, you wait a bit, sir.”

“Bother your wait a bit, Tom! I’m sick of hearing it,” cried the lad angrily. “Why, look here, they’re making straight for the cottage after all.”

“Well, didn’t you expect they would, sir?” cried the big sailor.

“No; what’s the good of that?”

“What I said, sir. Maybe the gentleman has come back again.”

“No such good fortune, Tom. Well, we shall soon know;” and the lad sat back in the cutter’s stern sheets steering and watching the planter’s boat, to which he kept close up, while the black crew threaded their way in and out amongst the canes, till they pulled up by the bamboo landing-stage.

“Massa Allen in dere, sah,” whispered the black, pointing at the doorway of the cottage, and smiling with satisfaction as if delighted at the skill with which he had played the part of pilot.

Murray sprang on to the creaking bamboo stage, and, ready to believe that the sick man might have returned, he signed to May to follow him, hurried into the place, thrust open the study door and had only to glance in to satisfy himself that the little room was still vacant.

“Let’s look in the other room, Tom,” said the middy sadly, “but it’s of no use; our prisoner has not come back.”

A hurried glance was given to each portion of the cottage, and then Murray led the way back to the landing-stage, where the black coxswain sat grinning a welcome.

“He’s not there, my lad,” cried Murray, shaking his head. “Master Allen has gone.”

“Massa Allen gone!” repeated the black, and then, as if placing no faith whatever in the young officer’s assertion, he shuffled out of the boat on to the stage, and then ran up to the cottage doorway, where he hesitated for a few moments before entering cautiously on tiptoe.

“See that, sir?” whispered Tom May. “He knows all about them pisonous sarpents.”

At the end of a few minutes, during which the midshipman and his follower caught a glimpse or two of the black as he hurried from room to room and evidently made a thorough examination of the place, the man reappeared, with the broad eager grin his countenance had worn entirely gone, to give place to a look of concern and scare. It seemed to Murray that the black’s face no longer shone but looked dull and ashy, as if he had been startled, and his voice sank to a whisper as he crept up close to the young midshipman and whispered —

“Massa Allen gone!”

“Well, I told you so,” said Murray sharply. “Where has he gone?”

The black raised one hand to his lips, upon which he pressed all his fingers together, while he looked behind him and then all about as if to see if any one could hear his words – words which he seemed afraid to utter.

“Well, did you hear what I said? Where has he gone?”

The black shook his head violently.

“There, Tom, your idea is worth nothing,” said Murray sadly.

“I warn’t sure, sir, of course,” said the man, “but still I couldn’t help thinking he might have come back, ’specially as the darkie here was so cock-sure. Hallo! What’s he up to now?” continued the sailor. “Hi! Stop him, my lads!”

For the black had suddenly made a dash for his boat, and sprung from the stage into his place.

Murray’s first thought was that the black was about to escape with his companions, but directly after he saw the cause of the man’s scare, for there was the quick, steady chop, chop of oars, and the youth’s heart sank with a feeling of despair, for the bows of the Seafowl’s second cutter suddenly came into sight, with her crew pulling hard, and there in the stern sat the man, after the captain, whom he least desired to see, and close by him, sitting up smart and consequential to a degree, and seeming to fix his eyes at once keenly upon those of his brother midshipman, was Roberts, looking as if he divined that something was wrong.

“And ready to jump upon me,” said Murray to himself. “Oh, how am I to begin?” he thought. “I wish I was anywhere out of this!”

But the first lieutenant did not wait for the lad to begin; he opened the ball himself.

“Well, Mr Murray,” he cried, “what does this mean? Why have you got the planter’s boat and crew out here?”

“We found them, sir, by accident,” faltered the lad.

“Well, I suppose they did not want much finding. Where is your prisoner?”

Murray gazed at his officer vacantly, trying hard to reply, but, as he afterwards said to Roberts, if it had been to save his life he could not have uttered a word.

“What’s the matter, my lad?” said the chief officer kindly. “Not ill, are you?”

“No, sir,” replied Murray, finding his voice at last, and watching the lieutenant hard, followed by Dick Roberts, who was grinning as if he enjoyed hearing what he looked upon as the beginning of “a wigging.”

“Then why don’t you speak? I said where is your prisoner?”

“I – I don’t know, sir,” was the extremely feeble reply.

“Wha-a-a-t!” shouted the lieutenant. “I don’t know, sir,” cried Murray, desperately now. “He’s gone.”

“Gone? My good sir,” cried the lieutenant, “you were sent here in charge of him for some cryptic idea of the captain, and you tell me he’s gone? You don’t mean to tell me that you’ve let him escape!”

“I didn’t let him escape, sir,” faltered the lad, glancing at his brother middy and reading in his countenance, rightly or wrongly, that Roberts was triumphing over the trouble he was in – “I didn’t let him escape, sir,” cried Murray desperately, “for I was being as watchful as possible; but he was very ill and weak and said that he wanted to lie down in one of the rooms there. Tom May will tell you the same, sir.”

“I dare say he will, sir, when I ask him,” said the lieutenant sternly. “Now I am asking you the meaning of this lapse of duty.”

“I did keep watch over him, sir, and posted my men all round the cottage; but when I came to see how he was getting on – ”

“Getting on, sir! Getting off, you mean.”

“No, sir; I did not see him go off, sir,” faltered Murray.

“Don’t you try to bandy words with me, sir,” cried the lieutenant, beginning to fulminate with rage. “There, speak out plainly. You mean to tell me that when you came to look for your prisoner – for that is what he is – he was gone?”

“Yes, sir; that is right,” said the lad sadly.

“That is wrong, Mr Murray. Gone! And you stand here doing nothing! Confound it all, man, why are you not searching for him?”

“I have been searching for him, sir.”

“But you are here, my good sir, and have not found him.”

“No, sir, but I have done everything possible.”

“Except find him, sir. This comes of setting a boy like you to take charge of the prisoner. Well, it was the captain’s choice, not mine. I’ll be bound to say that if Mr Roberts had been sent upon this duty he would have had a very different tale to tell.”

Murray shivered in his misery, and tried to master the desire to glance at his brother middy, but failed, and saw that Roberts was beginning to swell with importance.

“Well, Mr Murray,” continued the lieutenant, after pausing for a few moments, after giving his subordinate this unkindly stab and, so to speak, beginning to wriggle his verbal weapon in the wound, “it is you who have to meet the captain when you go back after being relieved, not I. That I am thankful to say. But I fail to see, Mr Roberts, what is the good of setting you on duty with a fresh set of men to guard the prisoner, when there is no prisoner to guard. Here, show me where you bestowed the scoundrel.”

Murray led the way into the cottage, with his heart beating heavily with misery; the lieutenant followed him in silence; and Roberts came last, glancing at Murray the while and with his lips moving in silence as if he were saying, “I say, you’ve done it now!”

“Absurd!” cried the lieutenant, a few minutes later, and after looking through the room where the planter had lain down. “You might have been sure that the prisoner would escape. Then you did nothing to guard him?”

“Yes, I did, sir,” cried the lad desperately. “I posted men all round the cottage.”

“And a deal of good that was! Anything else?”

“I have been examining the place all about, sir, with Tom May and the two boat-keepers.”

“Well, and what was the result?”

“Only that I found one of the hiding-places of this maze of a place, sir.”

“With the prisoner safe within it?”

“No, sir; I only found the planter’s boat and crew, sir.”

“Of course – just come back after helping their master to escape. And of course they denied it?”

“The black coxswain was as much surprised as I was, sir,” said Murray.

“Of course he was, Mr Murray; perfectly astounded. Bah, man! How can you be so innocent! Well, I suppose I must try and get you out of this horrible scrape, for all our sakes. Which is the coxswain? That black fellow who has been staring at us all the time I have been listening to your lame excuses?”

“Yes, sir; and I have been thinking that he would be a valuable help to us in guiding us through the mazes of this strange place.”

“Let’s see first, Mr Murray, whether he will be any help to us in finding where the prisoner is. Call him here.”

“I have been trying to use him in that way, sir.”

“Humph!” ejaculated the lieutenant angrily. “Then now let Mr Roberts try. Here, Roberts!”

The midshipman stepped up to the officer quickly, after hearing every word that had been said.

“You called me, sir?”

“Of course I did, sir,” said the lieutenant sharply, and speaking as if annoyed with himself for what he had been about to do. “Go back to the boat. Sharp!” The lad’s eyes flashed with annoyance as he went back, and the chief officer turned his back and jerked his head to Murray. “Here,” he said, “you had better go on with this, my lad; it is your affair.”

“Thank you, sir,” said the lad, heaving a sigh of relief.

“Not much to thank me for, Murray,” said the chief officer kindly, “but you’ve made a horrible mess of this business. Now then, the black fellow.”

Murray made a sign to the black, who had been listening all through with his eyes seeming to start out of his head, and he sprang out of the boat and hurried to his side.

“Look here, Caesar,” he said quickly, “do you know where Mr Allen is?”

The black looked him sharply in the eyes, then gazed at the first lieutenant, and then all around as if on the lookout for danger, before he crept closer and whispered —

“Yes, massa. Caesar know.”

“Hah! This sounds business-like,” cried the lieutenant. “But why in the name of all that’s sensible didn’t you examine this fellow before, Murray?”

“I did, sir,” cried the lad, trembling with excitement, as he laid his hand upon the black’s arm. Then quickly, “Tell me where he is, my lad.”

“Massa, Bri’sh sailor no tell Massa Huggin Caesar open him moufe?”

“No, my lad. No one shall know that you told me. Speak out.”

“Massa Huggin cut Caesar all lilly pieces when he find out.”

“We will take care no one shall hurt you,” cried Murray excitedly. “Tell him, Mr Anderson, that we will set him free.”

“To be sure,” cried the lieutenant. “You shall be free.”

“Bri’sh sailor officer set Caesar free, – Caesar open um moufe?”

“That’s right, then open it wide, my sable friend,” said the lieutenant. “Tell me.”

“No, massa. Caesar tell young buccra officer;” and he turned with sparkling eyes upon Murray.

“Speak, then,” cried Murray, trembling with excitement; and the black glanced round him again as if for danger, and then reached forward so as to place his lips close to the midshipman’s ear.

“Massa Huggin come while Massa Allen fas’ ’sleep and take um right away.”

“Hah!” cried Murray. “But how, my lad, how?”

The black looked from one officer to the other, a smile of cunning overspreading his features, and he whispered —

“Caesar show Bri’sh officer. Caesar know.”