“Look at ’em, Captain; now you just take a fair look at ’em; and then say that Mr. Surrey’s wife belongs to the same family,—­own kith and kin,—­you ca-a-n’t do it.”

“Faugh! for heaven’s sake, shut up! of course, when it comes to this, I can’t say anything of the kind.”

“’Nuff said.  You see, I believe in Mr. Surrey, and what’s more, I believe in Miss Ercildoune,—­have reason to; and when I hear anybody mixing her up with these onry, good-for-nothing niggers, it’s more’n I can stand, so don’t let’s have any more of it”; and turning with an air which said that subject was ended, Jim took up his forgotten coffee, pulled apart some brands and put the big tin cup on the coals, and then bent over it absorbed, sniffing the savory steam which presently came up from it.  Meanwhile the two men were skulking about among the trees, watching, yet not coming near,—­“at their usual work of waiting,” as the Captain said.

“Proper enough, too, let ’em wait.  Waiting’s their business.  Now,” taking off his tin and looking towards them, “what d’ye s’pose those anemiles want?  Pity the boat hadn’t tipped over before they got here.  Camp’s overrun now with just such scoots.  Here, you!” he called.

The men came near.  “Where’d you come from?”

One of them pointed back to the boat, seen dimly on the sand.

“Was that you howling a while ago, ‘Roll Jordan,’ or something?”

“Yes, massa.”

“And where did you come from?—­no, you needn’t look back there again,—­I mean, where did you and the boat too come from?”

“Come from Mass’ George Wingate’s place, massa.”

“Far from here?”

“Big way, massa.”

“What brought you here? what did you come for?”

“If you please, massa, ‘cause the Linkum sojers was yere, an’ de big guns, an’ we yearde dat all our people’s free when dey gets yere.”

“Free! what’ll such fellows as you do with freedom, hey?”

The two looked at their interrogator, then at one another, opened their mouths as to speak, and shut them hopelessly,—­unable to put into words that which was struggling in their darkened brains,—­and then with a laugh, a laugh that sounded woefully like a sob, answered, “Dunno, massa.”

“What fools!” cried Jim, angrily; but the Captain, who was watching them keenly, thought of a line he had once read, “There is a laughter sadder than tears.”  “True enough,—­poor devils!” he added to himself.

“Are you hungry?” Jim proceeded.

“I hope massa don’t think we’s come yere for to git suthin’ to eat,” said the smaller of the two, a little, thin, haggard-looking fellow,—­“we’s no beggars.  Some ob de darkies is, but we’s not dem kind,—­Jim an’ me,—­we’s willin’ to work, ain’t we, Jim?”

“Jim!” soliloquized Given,—­“my name, hey? we’ll take a squint at this fellow.”

The squint showed two impoverished-looking wretches, with a starved look in their eyes, which he did not comprehend, and a starved look in their faces and forms, which he did.