The old man shook his head mournfully, as he answered with a meditative sigh: ‘Ah, buckra too strong for us—too strong for us altogedder; come upon us too many. Colonel Macgregor, him come wit plenty big army, gun an’ bay’net, an’ shoot us down, an’ charge us ridin’; so we all frightened, an’ run away hide in de bush right up in de mountains. Den dem bring Cuban bloodhound, hunt us out; an’ dem hab court-martial, an’ dem sit on Trelawney, an’ dem hang him, hang him dead, de buckra. An’ dem hang plenty. We kill twenty—twenty-two—twenty-four buckra; an’ buckra kill hundred an’ eighty poor naygur, to make tings even. For one buckra, dem kill ten, fifteen, twenty naygur. But my master hide me till martial law blow ober, because I is strong, hearty young naygur, an’ can work well for him down in cane-piece. Him say: “Doan’t must kill valuable property!” An’ I get off dat way. So dat de end ob John Trelawney him rebellion.’ If the poor soul could only have known it, he might have added with perfect truth that it was the end of every other negro rebellion too; the white man is always too strong for them. But hope springs eternal in the black breast as in all others, and it was with a placid smile of utter oblivion that he added next minute: ‘But we doan’t gwine to be beaten dis time. We too strong ourselbes now for de soldier an’ de buckra. Delgado make tings all snug; buy pistol, drill naygur, plan battle, till we sure ob de victory. De Lard wit us, an’ Delgado him serbant.’ At that moment, Louis Delgado himself stepped forward, erect and firm, with the unmistakable air of a born commander, and said a few words in a clear low earnest voice to the eager mob of armed rioters. ‘Me fren’s,’ he said, ‘you must obey orders. Go quiet, an’ make no noise till you get to de buckra houses. Doan’t turn aside for de rum or de trash-houses; we get plenty rum for ourselbes, I tellin’ you, when we done killed all de buckra. Doan’t set fire to de house anywhere; only kill de male white folk; we want house to lib in ourselbes, when de war ober. Doan’t burn de factories; we want factory for make sugar ourselves when de buckra dribben altogedder clean out ob de country. Doan’t light fire at all; if you light fire, de soldiers in Port-ob-Spain see de blaze directly, an’ come up an’ fight us hard, before we get togedder enough black men to make sure ob de glorious victory. Nebber mind de buckra le-ady; we can get dem when we want dem. Kill, kill, kill! dat is de watchword. Kill, kill, kill de buckra, an’ de Lard delibber de rest into de hands ob his chosen people.’ As he spoke, he raised his two black hands, palm upwards, in the attitude of earnest supplication, towards the darkening heaven, and flung his head fervently backward, with the whites of his big eyes rolling horribly, in his unspoken prayer to the God of battles.