estate which was given over to pasture; if it
had been sugar land we must have inevitably met negro laborers.

I was about to return and acquaint the others that we might safely
start when I heard a trotting horse, and from my place of
concealment among the trees, I soon afterwards saw a horseman
appear from the direction of Spanish Town and ride by towards the
big house two miles or more away. He was beyond doubt one of
Vetch's gang: 'twas impossible to mistake the thick ungainly
figure, and the exceedingly nautical way he had of sitting his
horse. 'Twas lucky indeed that we had not already begun the
crossing, for he must have seen us, the road being straight: and
for that same reason I deemed it well to delay a little, lest he
should chance to look back. And so 'twas a good half hour later
when, nothing further having happened to give us pause, we ran in a
compact body for the edge of the forest, crossed the road and a
long stretch of grass land, and arrived at the clump I have before
mentioned, where we stood a little while to recover breath.

And then we were amazed to hear the sound of singing--amazed, for
it was not the uncouth singing of negroes (who in happy
circumstances delight to uplift their voices in psalms) nor yet the
boisterous untuneable roaring of rough seamen, like Vetch's
buccaneers, but a most melodious and pleasing sound, which put me
in mind (and Cludde also) of the madrigal singers of our good town
of Shrewsbury. And as it drew nearer there seemed to be a something
familiar in the tone, though being quite without ear for music, as
I have confessed, I could not tell whether it was a known tune or
not.

With one consent, we had waited, held, I suppose, by the same
feeling of wonderment and curiosity. The sound continually
approached; 'twas from the direction of Spanish Town; and from our
vantage ground we should soon see the singer as he passed along the
road. But before he came within sight, the words of the song came
distinctly to my ears, and though I knew not one tune from another,
I started with a thrill of delight.

"What's that for?" cries out Salem Dick.
"What for, my jumping beau?
Why, to give the lubbers one more kick!"
Yo ho, with the rum below.

Thus rang the voice, and there ambled into view Joe Punchard,
perched upon a mule, and on mules behind him two negroes, their
countenances shining, their teeth flashing, with a happy smile.

"Joe!" I cried, in defiance of all caution.