otten that it formed an element in his plan. In passing he allowed
a few sparks to fall on the heap of powder, which exploded with so
bright a flame that the whole cavern was illuminated for an instant. It
also set fire to the ragged scraps with which Peterkin had decked
himself out--a result which had neither been intended nor anticipated--
so that he rushed towards the mouth of the cave howling with pain as
well as with a desire to scare the savages.

The effect of this apparition was tremendous. The negroes turned and
crushed through the narrow entrance screaming and shrieking with terror.
The bats, no less alarmed than the men, and half suffocated with smoke,
fled out of the cave like a whirlwind, flapping their wings on the heads
of the negroes in their flight, and adding, if that were possible, to
their consternation. The negroes ran as never men ran before, tumbling
over each other in their mad haste, dashing against trees and crashing
through bushes in their terror, while Peterkin stood leaping in the
cave's mouth, smoking and blazing and spurting, and unable to contain
himself, giving vent to prolonged peals of demoniacal laughter. Had the
laugh been that of negroes it might have been recognised; but Peterkin's
was the loud, violent, British guffaw, which, I make no doubt, was
deemed by them worthy of the fiends of the haunted cave, and served to
spur them on to still greater rapidity in their wild career.

Returning into the cave's innermost recess, we lighted one of the
torches dropped by the savages, and placing it in a sort of natural
niche, seated ourselves on several pieces of rock to rest.

Our first act was to look earnestly in each other's faces; our next to
burst into peals of laughter.

"I say, comrades," I exclaimed, checking myself, "don't we run some risk
in giving vent to our feelings so freely?"

"No fear," cried Peterkin, who was still smoking a little from
unextinguished sparks. "There is not a man in the whole crew who will
draw rein till he is sitting, with the teeth still chattering in his
head, at his own fireside. I never saw men in such a fright since I was
born. Depend upon it, we are safe enough here from this day forth.--
Don't you think so, Mak?"

Our guide, who was now trying to reassure his trembling bride, turned,
with a broad grin on his sable countenance, and said--

"Safe? ho! yis, massa. Dere not be a man as'll come to dis yere cuvern
for de nix tree hun'r year