ened everybody in the house; indeed, I
heard shouts from the rear; no doubt the overseer, and the two
buccaneers who had been on guard during the night, would in a few
moments be upon the scene. Snatching up the men's muskets and
bandoliers that lay on a bench against the wall, we dashed into the
veranda, sprang down the steps, and made off across the plantation.

We had not run a hundred yards when we heard a bellow behind us,
and, turning, I saw a man at the head of the steps lighting the
match for his musket. I was pleased at this, for it would give us
another hundred yards' start before he could fire. The muskets of
these days can not boast of great precision, but those of fifty
years ago were infinitely more cumbersome and clumsy, so that I did
not fear he would hit us, unless by some unlucky chance. And
indeed, when his weapon flashed, we were quite two hundred and
fifty yards away, and the slug went very wide. He would have done
better, I thought, to pursue us at once on foot.

But as we sped on side by side, I heard a great horn blast that
seemed to set the welkin ablaze. 'Twas the signal that a slave had
run away, and I could not doubt that Vetch would immediately
suspect what had actually happened. Before long, beyond question,
he would be hot upon our traces.

"How far to the forest?" I asked of the negro.

"More'n a mile, massa," he replied.

And then, as I ran, I looked more closely at the man whom fate had
made my comrade in this desperate adventure. He was an older man
than I had expected; very powerfully made, as his cast of the
buccaneer had proved; but his hair was white, and, short as was the
distance we had run, I could see that he would soon be laboring for
breath. But it was two miles to the big house, as he had called
Mistress Lucy's abode, and I did not despair of reaching the edge
of forest land before Vetch could make up on us, even if he started
the very moment he heard the alarm. If once we gained the forest,
we might perhaps blind our trail in a stream, and so gain time
enough for our further flight to the swamp.

We were running on a broad track that divided the sugar plantation,
and here and there negro laborers who had been roused from their
noontide sleep by the horn blast and the shot rose up to see what
was afoot. None of them offered to interfere. They stared at us for
the most part in silence, one or two of the older people crying out
that it was Uncle Moses on the run, and w