An hour before the appointed time Ole Thorwald, under cover of a dark night, stole out of his own dwelling with slow and wary step, and crossed the little plot of ground that lay in front of it with the sly and mysterious air of a burglar, rather than that of an honest man.

 

Outside his gate he was met in the same cautious manner by a dark-skinned human being, the character of whose garments was something between those of a sailor and a West India planter. This was Sambo, Thorwald’s major-domo, clerk, overseer, and right-hand man. Sambo was not his proper name, but his master, regarding him as being the embodiment of all the excellent qualities that could by any possibility exist in the person of a South Sea islander, had bestowed upon him the generic name of the dark race, in addition to that wherewith Mr Mason had gifted him on the day of his baptism.

 

Sambo and his master exchanged a few words in low whispers, and then gliding down the path that led from the stout merchant’s house to the south side of the village, they entered the woods that lined the shore, like two men bent on a purpose which might or might not be of the blackest possible kind.

 

“I don’t half like this sort of work, Sambo,” observed Thorwald, speaking and treading with less caution as they left the settlement behind them.

 

“Ambushments, and surprises, and night forages, especially when they include Goats’ Passes, don’t suit me at all. I have a strong antipathy to everything in the way of warfare, save a fair field and no favour under the satisfactory light of the sun.”

 

“Ho!” said Sambo quietly, as much as to say—I hear and appreciate, but having no observation to make in reply, I wait for more from your honoured lips.

 

“Now, you see,” pursued Thorwald, “if I were to follow my own tastes—which it seems to me I am destined not to be allowed to do any more in the affairs of this world, if I may judge by the events of the past month—if I were to follow my own tastes, I say I would go boldly to the prison where this pestiferous pirate captain lies, put double irons on him, and place a strong guard round the building. In this case I would be ready to defend it against any odds, and would have the satisfaction of standing up for the rights of the settlement like a man, and of hurling defiance at the entire British navy (at least such portion of it as happens to be on the island at this time) if they were to attempt a rescue—as this Bumpus hints they are likely to do. Yet it seems to me strange and unaccountable that they should thus interest themselves in a vile pirate. I verily believe that I have been deceived, but it is too late now to alter my plans or to hesitate. Truly, it seemeth to me that I might style myself an ass without impropriety.”

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