“Good morning,” I replied.

“Ridin’ far, yer honor?” said the man again.

“Massa Humf’y Bold ridin’ jest as far as Missus Cludde’s at Penolver,” said my guide, coming at this moment into the room with a plate of jams and part of a fowl.  “Massa Bold a king’s officer, and don’t want do no talk wiv common man.  Me do talk for massa.”

I laughed at the negro’s officiousness, which the man did not appear to resent.  He said nothing more to me, and I soon knew by his snores that he had fallen asleep.

After a light meal and a long rest, we set off again, and came at dark to another humble roadside hostelry, where I was glad to put up for the night.  I had not yet gone to sleep when I heard the trot-trot of a horse, and wondered a little, as the sound died away in the distance, who could be riding so late.  A brilliant moon was shining, and I thought that perhaps I had done better if I too had pursued my journey through the night, and rested during the day.  But it was too late to think of that now; I was very tired, and with the faint sounds of the trotting horse still in my ears I fell asleep, not awaking till the sun was an hour or two above the horizon.

’Twas towards evening next day when, after riding through a wild hilly country, densely clad with tropical vegetation, amid which the only road was a horse track, my guide told me we were approaching our journey’s end.  The road broadened, and by and by ran between large fields of pasture land.  Then we came beneath a thick grove, and were jogging along carelessly, when my horse suddenly stumbled and went down with so violent a shock that I was jerked from the saddle.  Before I could get upon my feet, rough hands seized me, in a trice cords were lashed round me with a dexterity that identified my captors as seamen, and I was forthwith hauled along at the heels of as villainous a crew as I had ever seen.  And I knew from sundry moans and howls behind me that Jacob had been dealt with in like manner.

Chapter 23:  Uncle Moses.

Since my former kidnapping at Bristowe I had learned that ’tis mere folly to fly into a rage and rail at fate or your enemies.  So, affecting a cheerful tone, I said: 

“Why, sure this is scurvy treatment to deal out to a king’s officer, my friends.”

“No friends of yourn,” replied one of the men.

Another laughed and said:  “Strap me if we ha’n’t caught a tolly, mates.”

“Tolly,” as I learned afterwards, was the cant name by which king’s officers were known to the buccaneers.  The fact that I was an officer, of which they had apparently been ignorant, seemed to give the men much pleasure.  Some of them, no doubt, had once been king’s men, and knew without any telling the gravity of their offense.  I wasted no more words on them.  They took me to a wooden shanty standing by itself, tied me to a staple in the wall, shut and padlocked the door, and went away.