“To-night, Obi-woman!” said he resolutely. “To-night, or no night at all. Dis nigger no leave yaller woman here, fear of accidents. Perhaps to-morrow free blacks kill you same as white. You come with us down mountain-side into clearing. We keep you safe. You make prayer and sing whole time.” With a mischievous leer at a couple of his stalwart followers, he pointed to the Quadroon. They sprang from the ground and secured her, one on each side. The unfortunate Obi-woman strove hard to disarm suspicion by an affectation of ready compliance, but it was obvious they mistrusted her fidelity and had no intention of letting her out of their sight. It was with difficulty that she obtained a few moments’ respite, on the plea that night was about to fall, for the purpose of winding her shawl more carefully round her head, and in that brief space she endeavoured to warn her son of the coming outbreak, with a maddening doubt the while that he might not understand their purport, even if he could hear her words. Turning towards the door, behind which he was concealed, under pretence of arranging her head-gear at a bit of broken looking-glass against the panel, she sang, with as marked an emphasis as she dared, a scrap of some doggrel sea-ditty, which she had picked up from her first love in the old happy days, long ago:— “The boatswain looked upon the land, And shrill his whistle blew, The oars were out, the boat was manned, Says he, ‘My gallant crew, “‘Our captain in a dungeon lies, The sharks have got him flat, But if we fire the town, my boys, We’ll have him out of that! “‘We’ll stop their jaw, we’ll spike their guns! We’ll larn ’em what they’re at— You bend your backs, and pull, my sons, We’ll have him out of that!’” This she sang twice, and then professed her readiness to accompany Hippolyte and his band down the mountain, delaying their departure, however, by all the means she could think of, including profuse offers of hospitality, which had but little effect, possibly because the guests were personally satisfied that there was nothing left to drink. Nay, even on the very threshold of the hut she turned back once more, affecting to have forgotten the most important of the amulets she carried about her person, and, crossing the floor with a step that must have awakened the soundest sleeper, repeated, in clear loud tones, the boatswain’s injunction to his men— “You bend your backs, and pull, my sons, We’ll have him out of that!” CHAPTER XXXIV JACK AFLOAT But Slap-Jack was not asleep; far from it. His narrow hiding-place offered but little temptation to repose, and almost the first sentence uttered by Hippolyte aroused the suspicions of a man accustomed to anticipate, without fearing, danger, or, as he expressed it, “to look out for squalls.”