none at all--'You coward fellow, come along,' say Jack--'here go me.'--Wid dat him let himself down by de rope.--'Coward! nay, me is no coward--so here go me Quacco'--and down I slid after him. We reach de bottom. 'Now follow me,' say Jack. Presently we come to de hut in de wood, but many a time I look back to see de glance of de sentry musket before him fire; but no one so much as hail we--so we walk, or rader run, along de small path, troo de cashaw bushes dat lead to de hut--de moonshine flicker, flicker on de white sandy path, troo de small leaf of de cashaw, no bigger as, and wery like, de leaf of de sensitive plant.--Ah, Massa Brail,"--I was smiling here,--"I know him name--I know de sensitive plant--often get tenpence from young buccra hofficer to hunt him out for him, and? indeed, I know where whole acres of him grow in Jamaica. But you put me out, Massa Brail--where I was?--oh--de moonshine shine bright and clear, and de lizard whistle _wheetle, wheetle_, and de tree-toad snore, and de wood-cricket chirp, and de beetle moan past we, and de bat whir, and de creech howl squake--So tink I, I wish I was once more in de barrick--but no help for it. Presently we were in front of de hut. Small black ogly hut him was--no light could be seen in him--at least none shine below de door--and dere was never no window in him none at all. Jack stop, and put him hand to de latch. I lay hold of him arm. I say, 'Massa Jack, is dis de hut you speak of, and dis de pleasant peoples I was to see, and de nice black girls, eh?'--'Stop,' say he, 'don't judge until you see--but come in, man, come in.'--I go in, but Jack was close de door instantly behind him. 'Hilo, what mean you by dat?' say I, 'you go leave me here widout fire?'--'Poo,' say he, 'fire? you shall soon have enough.' Wid dat him strike one light, den light some chip, and presently him tro someting on de fire, dat make it blaze up into one large blue flame dat make every ting look wery disagreab--oh, mosh wery. Jack sit down--he take piece roast pork, some yam, and some salt fis out of de crown of him shako--we eat--de rum bottle soon not heavy too much in de hand--and I forget, sinner dat I is, dat I should hab been in my bed in de barrick in de fort--so Jack, after poke de fire again, say, 'Quacco, broder Quacco; as I say before, we is countrymen--bote Eboe, is we?'--'Yes,' say I, 'we is Eboe, but we were wery different peoples in de Eboe country. You know, Jack, dat I was poor debil whose fader and moder was kill and carry away by dese dam Felatahs and'"---- Here friend Dick interrupted the thread of our friend Quacco's tale. "I say, serjeant, you are speaking of Felatahs--we have heard much of them on the coast--who and what are they, my man?"