The Indian rose, laid his hand on his chest, tottered, his features were contracted, and for a moment he seemed suffering from a violent internal emotion, which in spite of all the power he had over himself, he could not succeed in mastering. Montbarts, calm and gloomy, examined him attentively, while fixing a scrutinizing glance upon him. At length the Indian succeeded in speaking, though his voice issued from his throat like a whistle. "Omopoua was a renowned chief among his people," he said; "a Spaniard had degraded him by making him a slave, through treachery, and selling him like a beast of burden: you restore Omopoua to the rank from which he ought never to have descended. It is well, you lose a bad slave, but gain a devoted friend; were it not for you I should be dead--my life belongs to you." Montbarts offered the Carib his hand, which he kissed respectfully. "Do you intend to remain at Saint Kitts, or would you like to return to Haiti?" "The family of Omopoua," the Indian replied, "and what remains of his people, are wandering about the savannahs of Bohis, but where you go, I will go." "Very good, you shall follow me; now lead me to the man, you know whom." "At once." "Are you certain he is a Spaniard?" "I am." "You do not know for what motives he has entered the island?" "I do not." "And at what place has he sought shelter?" "With an Englishman." "In the English colony there?" "No; at Basse Terre." "All the better. What is the Englishman's name?" "Captain William Drake." "Captain Drake!" Montbarts exclaimed with surprise, "It is impossible." "It is so." "In that case, the Captain does not know him." "No; the man entered his house and asked for hospitality, and the Captain could not refuse it to him." "That is true; go up to my hatto, take clothes, a fusil--in short, what weapons you like, and come to me at Captain Drake's; if I am no longer there, you will find me on the port; begone." Montbarts then turned back, and proceeded toward Basse Terre, while the Carib went towards the hatto as the bird flies, according to Indian custom. Basse Terre was the entrepôt, or to speak more correctly, the headquarters of the French colony: at the period when our story is laid it was only a miserable township, built without order, according to the caprice or convenience of each owner, an agglomeration of huts, rather than a town, but producing at a distance a most picturesque effect through this very chaos of houses of all shapes and sizes, thus grouped along the seashore, in front of magnificent roads, filled with vessels swinging at their anchors, and constantly furrowed by an infinite number of canoes. A battery of six guns, built on an advanced point, defended the entrance of the roads.