However, I at length succeeded in doing so. The underwood came to an end. The misshapen cypress trunks alone stood up out of the miry, black soil; and far off, down one of their dark aisles, I caught sight of the negro, still running at the top of his speed. Fortunately his garments were light-coloured, else under the sombre shadow I could not have made him out. As it was, I had only a glimpse of him, and at a good distance off.

But I had cleared the thicket, and could run freely. Swiftness had now everything to do with the race; and in less than five minutes after I was close upon the heels of the black, and calling to him to halt.

"Stop!" I shouted. "For G.o.d's sake, stop!"

No notice was taken of my appeals. The negro did not even turn his head, but ran on, floundering through the mud.

"Stop!" I repeated, as loudly as my exhausted breath would permit.

"Stop, man! why do you run from me? I mean you no harm."

Neither did this speech produce any effect. No reply was given. If anything, I fancied that he increased his speed; or rather, perhaps, he had got through the quagmire, and was running upon firm ground while I was just entering upon the former.

I fancied that the distance between us was again widening; and began to fear he might still elude me. I felt that my life was on the result.

Without him to guide me from the forest, I would miserably perish. He _must_ guide me. Willing or unwilling, I should force him to the office.

"Stop," I again cried out; "halt, or I fire!"

I had raised my gun. Both barrels were loaded. I had spoken in all seriousness. I should in reality have fired--not to kill, but to detain him. The shot might injure him, but I could not help it. I had no choice--no other means of saving my own life.

I repeated the awful summons:--

"Stop--or I fire!"

This time my tone was earnest. It left no doubt of my intention; and this seemed to be the impression it produced upon the black; for, suddenly halting in his tracks, he wheeled about, and stood facing me.

"Fire! and be dam!" cried he; "have a care, white man--don't you miss.

By Gor-amighty! if ya do, your life's mine. See dis knife! fire now and be dam!"

As he spoke he stood full fronting me, his broad chest thrown out as if courageously to receive the shot, and in his uplifted hand I saw the shining blade of a knife!

A few steps brought me close up; and in the man that stood before me I recognised the form, and ferocious aspect of _Gabriel the Bambarra_!

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

GABRIEL THE BAMBARRA.

The huge stature of the black--his determined att.i.tude--the sullen glare of his lurid bloodshot eyes, set in a look of desperate resolve--the white gleaming file-pointed teeth--rendered him a terrible object to behold. Under other circ.u.mstances I might have dreaded an encounter with such a hideous-looking adversary--for an _adversary_ I deemed him.

I remembered the flogging I had given him with my whip, and I had no doubt that _he_ remembered it too. I had no doubt that he was now upon his errand of revenge instigated partly by the insult I had put upon him, and partly set on by his cowardly master. He had been d.o.g.g.i.ng me through the forest--all the day, perhaps--waiting for an opportunity to execute his purpose.

But why had he run away from me? Was it because he feared to attack me openly. Certainly it was--he feared my double-barrelled gun!

But I had been asleep. He might have approached me then--he might have--Ha!

This e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n escaped my lips, as a singular thought flashed into my mind. The Bambarra was a "snake-charmer"--I had heard so--could handle the most venomous serpents at rail--could guide and direct them! Was it not he who had guided the _crotalus_ to where I lay--who had caused me to be bitten?

Strange as it may appear, this supposition at that moment crossed my mind, and seemed probable; nay, more--I actually _believed it_. I remembered that I had been struck with a peculiarity about the reptile-- its weird look--the superior cunning exhibited in its mode of escape-- and not less peculiar the fact of its having stung me unprovoked--a rare thing for the rattlesnake to do! All these points rushing simultaneously into my mind, produced the conviction that for the fatal wound on my wrist I was indebted, not to chance, but to Gabriel the snake-charmer!

Not half the time I have been telling you of it--not the tenth nor the hundredth part of the time, was I in forming this horrid conviction. It was done with the rapidity of thought--the more rapid that every circ.u.mstance guiding to such a conclusion was fresh in my memory. In fact the black had not changed his att.i.tude of menace, nor I mine of surprise at recognising him, until all these thoughts had pa.s.sed through my mind!

Almost with equal rapidity was I disabused of the singular delusion. In another minute I became aware that my suspicions were unjust. I had been wronging the man who stood before me.

All at once his att.i.tude changed. His uplifted arm fell by his side; the expression of fierce menace disappeared; and in as mild a tone as his rough voice was capable of giving utterance to, he said--

"Oh! you ma.s.s'--brack man's friend! Dam! thought 'twar da cussed Yankee driber!"

"And was that why you ran from me?"

"Ye, ma.s.s'; ob course it war."

"Then you are--"

"Am runaway; ye, ma.s.s', jes so--runaway. Don't mind tell you. Gabr'el truss you--He know you am poor n.i.g.g.a's friend. Look-ee-dar."

As he uttered this last phrase, he pulled off the scanty copper-coloured rag of a shirt that covered his shoulders, and bared his back before my eyes!

A horrid sight it was. Besides the _fleur-de-lis_ and many other old brands, there were sears of more recent date. Long wales, purple-red and swollen, traversed the brown skin in every direction, forming perfect network. Here they were traceable by the darker colour of the extravasatod blood, while there the flesh itself lay bare, where it had been exposed to some prominent fold of the spirally-twisted cowskin.

The old shirt itself was stained with black blotches that had once been red--the blood that had oozed out during the infliction! The sight sickened me, and called forth the involuntary utterance--

"Poor fellow!"

This expression of sympathy evidently touched the rude heart of the Bambarra.

"Ah, ma.s.s'!" he continued, "you flog me with hoss-whip--dat nuff'n!

Gabr'l bress you for dat. He pump water on ole Zip _'gainst him will_-- glad when young ma.s.s' druv im way from de pump."

"Ha! you were forced to it, then?"

"Ye, ma.s.s', forced by da Yankee driber. Try make me do so odder time.

I 'fuse punish Zip odder time--dat's why you see dis yeer--dam!"

"You were flogged for refusing to punish Scipio?"

"Jes so, ma.s.s' Edwad; 'bused, as you see; but--" here the speaker hesitated, while his face resumed its fierce expression; "but,"

continued he, "I'se had rebenge on de Yankee--dam!"

"What?--revenge? What have you done to him?"

"Oh, not much, ma.s.s'. Knock im down; he drop like a beef to de axe.

Dat's some rebenge to poor n.i.g.g.a. Beside, I'se a runaway, _an' dat's rebenge_! Ha! ha! Dey lose good n.i.g.g.a--good hand in de cotton-feel-- good hand among de cane. Ha! ha!"

The hoa.r.s.e laugh with which the "runaway" expressed his satisfaction sounded strangely on my ear.

"And you have run away from the plantation?"

"Jes so, ma.s.s' Edward--nebber go back." After a pause, he added, with increased emphasis, "_Nebber go back 'live_!"

As he uttered these words he raised his hand to his broad chest, at the same time throwing his body into an att.i.tude of earnest determination.