"But there will be a moon to-night, I think?" replied Dennis.

"True, a little tiny one, like the horn of a cow. Maybe she will give light enough to guide us to a creek. We must e'en wait for her rising."

They had no means of telling the time, and the maroons grew so restless that, while it was still dark, Turnpenny ordered them to paddle cautiously along the sh.o.r.e.

"'Tis a creek I be looking for," he said to Dennis, "where we can run the canow with a fair chance of hiding it when day breaks."

"How far are we from the fort?"

"I cannot tell. I fear me I have overshot the mark with being over cautious."

"That is impossible, Amos. At least it is an error on safety's side.--Hist! what was that?"

His ears had caught a slight splash at no great distance sh.o.r.ewards.

"Nowt to make 'ee uneasy, sir," replied Turnpenny. "'Twas without doubt a cayman slipping off into deep water; and by the token, 'tis a guide for us, for the reptile haunts the banks of rivers, and sure the very creek we be looking for will be somewheres anigh here."

The men drove the canoe a little nearer in sh.o.r.e, and in a few minutes Turnpenny, who was in the bows peering intently ahead, whispered that he did indeed see the opening of a creek. Soon the canoe entered a fairly wide water-way, much obstructed with reeds, and darkened by the dense and high vegetation on either bank. Now and again, through a gap in the foliage, the late rising moon shed a wan mysterious light upon their course. As the canoe moved slowly and stealthily up the creek, Dennis was conscious of a strange home-sickness. How many times had he rowed by night on little tree-shaded creeks and river-mouths in far-off Devon! The deep shadows, the narrow paths of ghostly light, the silence, rendered only the more intense by the incessant croaking of frogs, lent a charm to the adventure that almost eclipsed its peril.

The creek made several curves within a short distance, and Turnpenny, speaking in a whisper, said that they had now come far enough to escape notice from the sea.

"'Tis well, my friend; and now, say: shall we land, or shall we rather remain in the canoe for the rest of the night? I give my voice for landing. We are packed here as close as biscuits, and I would fain stretch my limbs, and moreover get a little to windward of some of these our companions."

"I warrant the maroons would liever stay in the canow, sir; and I own I myself am somewhat chary of landing in the dark. I know summat o'

these forest lands, and there be fearsome wild creatures in 'em, the like of which you never saw in Maiden Isle yonder. There be wild hogs, of a surety, and monstrous wild cats that climb like monkeys, and see in the dark, and will pounce on a man and carry him off afore he can twink an eyelid. And as for these our bedfellows, my heart! there be worse ash.o.r.e--muskeeties, and sandflies, and ants in armies, that crawl aneath your clothes, and nip your arms and neck, and make themselves most pestilent ill neighbours. And we cannot light a fire to scare them away, for savage as they be, whether four foot or six foot, they be gentle and mild by comparison with the two-footed enemies the fire would bring on our tracks."

"We will lie by till morning, then, and pray the night be not disturbed."

The maroons were unmistakably glad when this decision was communicated to them. To their minds the mere darkness was awful, and when to this were added the manifold dangers of the forest, they would rather have faced an army of Spaniards than camp unprotected among the trees.

The party spent a restless, uncomfortable night in their cramped quarters. Yet in his wakeful moments Dennis found some pleasure in watching the fire-flies darting hither and thither on the sh.o.r.e, and in listening to the continuous drone of insects, that seemed to his ears a pleasant lullaby. Once a goat-sucker clattered heavily past, uttering its weird cry; now and again he was amused by the question, "Who are you?" shouted from the trees, and recognized it as the cry of some nameless bird. As morning drew on, these sounds were replaced by others. Macaws screeched from the tree-tops, toucans barked like puppies, tree-frogs whistled and boomed, and at intervals the whole neighbourhood reverberated with long howls which Turnpenny said were the morning song of red howler monkeys. As morning began to dawn, and these signs of forest life multiplied, Dennis noticed that Mirandola was becoming much excited; and when the canoe was run ash.o.r.e under a towering mora tree, the monkey sprang nimbly to land, chattering with delight, and in an instant was springing up into the foliage.

"Poor knave!" said Dennis. "It seems we have brought him home, Amos.

Would that we too were restored, whole and happy, to our friends!"

"G.o.d-a-mercy, do 'ee forget Hugh Curder, and Tom Copstone, and Ned Whiddon, poor souls? Do 'ee have more respect for the feelings of a heathen monkey?"

"Nay, nay, you mistake me," said Dennis, smiling at the sailor's honest indignation. "I do not forget them. By G.o.d's mercy we are here in safety, and ere long I hope to have all your friends to join our little company. Now, master mariner, what is to be our course?"

"Why, sir, we must first go and spy out the land."

"Through the forest? How shall we find our way?"

"Imprimis, this creek runs eastward of the bluff I steered by.

Wherefore 'tis our first business to lay our course westward and cut off that headland, as you might say."

"But can you be sure of setting your course aright?"

"There's the sun above us, and we may catch a glimpse of him here and there among the trees. And 'tis certain we shall encounter brooks wandering like lost children in the forest; only though they do seem lost, we know, being men, and in our right minds, that they be running all the while to the sea. By this and by that we'll come at the place we steer for."

"And who shall go on this inland voyage of discovery?"

"Why, you and me, sir. G.o.d-a-mercy, the very words of my dream! 'You and me, Haymoss, you and me!' 'Tis a good sign, for sure. The maroons shall lie hid in the creek, and keep ward over the prisoners."

"But can we trust them? Will they not, having arrived on the mainland, act after their own devices and depart?"

"'Tis a risk, in truth; but I will speak to them with all gravity, and bring to their mind the Spaniards' treasure, and the stripes they suffered in bondage. We will see if there be faith in their black blood."

After a conversation with the maroons, Turnpenny announced that they had agreed to remain in the creek until nightfall. If the white men had not returned then, they would hold themselves free to act as they pleased. Then Dennis and the sailor set off on their scouting expedition.

At the edge of the forest the trees grew fairly wide apart, and the canopy above admitted a few rays which lay as bright spots on the floor of dead leaves. But as the two adventurers proceeded the forest became thicker and thicker, until they walked in a dim twilight. Well covered with vegetation as Maiden Isle had been, Dennis had never imagined anything like the dense woodland through which he was now slowly making his way. It steamed with moisture; the din of early morning had given place to a mysterious stillness; birds and animals were quiet or asleep; and if the silence was broken at rare moments by the long howl of a monkey, the melancholy sound did but enhance the impression of utter solitude. Turnpenny led the way with great wariness; his former experiences of forest life warned him of dangers that might lie in wait--a slumbering jaguar which their footfall might disturb, a snake so cunningly marked that it was indistinguishable from the tree about which it was coiled. Several times he halted, in doubt of his bearings. Once, when he confessed himself beaten, he climbed with a mariner's agility a towering trunk, and declared when he descended that from its top he had caught a glimpse of the open sea and so learnt the general direction in which to go.

They came at length to a narrow open s.p.a.ce, where apparently trees had been felled at no very distant date. Turnpenny was pointing out a hairy sloth hanging under a branch like a nest of termites, when Dennis touched him on the arm and bade him look across the glade.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"Methinks the figure of a man, moving among the trees."

Though he had spoken under his breath, it almost seemed that his words had been overheard, for the figure halted, then instantly turned sideways and vanished from their sight.

"We must after him," said Turnpenny.

"Ay, and catch him, or there is an end to our venture and us. He is alone, for he made no sound, and if he had companions near by he would surely have summoned them."

Without further pause Dennis ran across the glade, and plunged into the forest on the other side, taking the southerly direction in which he had seen the figure disappear. He had not gone far before he heard the rustle and crash of some one forcing his way through the undergrowth; clearly the fugitive was not a good runner, or he would have been out of earshot before this. Dennis quickened his step, guided always by the sound, ever increasing in loudness. At length he again caught a glimpse of the man, labouring ahead; he gained on him, and was within a few yards when the runaway suddenly turned, and Dennis halted and swerved aside just in time to evade a spear hurled straight at him. It whizzed through the air, flew harmlessly by, and struck with a tw.a.n.g a tree trunk, where it hung quivering.

Next moment Dennis sprang forward and closed with the man. He had no time to take note of him, save that he was more than common tall. But it struck him with surprise that he met with no real resistance. The man staggered under the impact; the two rolled on the leaf-strewn ground; and in an instant Dennis was uppermost. He scarcely needed the Devonian trick of wrestling to maintain his advantage; his opponent was already spent. Holding him down, Dennis raised himself at arm's length to recover breath and take stock of the fugitive. He was struck by the glare of inextinguishable hate in the man's haggard eyes. Helpless as he was, there was no yielding in his mien; it was weakness, not fear or cowardice, that had made him such an easy captive.

In a few moments Turnpenny came up breathless. Seeing that Dennis held the man firmly down, he did not offer to a.s.sist, but halted and threw a keen glance at the prisoner.

"G.o.d-a-mercy!" he exclaimed, suddenly. "'You and me, Haymoss!' 'Tis the dream come true. 'Tis Tom Copstone, 'tis very Tom! Sir, let him up; 'tis my dear comrade, my messmate in the _Jesus_. Oh, Tom, what a piece of work is this!"

Dennis was amazed at the alteration in the man's expression. The fierce blaze of his blood-shot eyes was quenched in a mist of tears.

"Haymoss! dear Haymoss!" he murmured, and seemed like to swoon away.

Turnpenny was by this on his knees beside his old comrade.

"Oh, Tom, to see thee in this sorry plight!" he exclaimed, pitifully.

He raised the prostrate figure. Copstone did indeed present a sorry spectacle. His clothes were completely in tatters, he was emaciated almost to a skeleton; his hair and beard hung long, straggling and matted.

"Tell me, Tom, me and this true friend, what has brought 'ee to this fearsome pa.s.s."

"I ran away; 'tis three months since. Three, I say, but I cannot tell; maybe 'tis four or five. I ran away from those devils; 'twas more than flesh and blood could endure."

"But whither, whither, Tom?"

"I had hope to fall in with a friendly folk--maroons or Indians; for such hate the Spaniards, and whoso hates the Spaniards must be a friend to me. But I found none, and I had perforce to take to the forest, and here I made shift to keep body and soul together with the fruits of the earth. Then I was stricken with the forest fever, and lay for nights and days shivering and burning by turns."