“My Name Cuffey, said he, me no Baccararo_ Negro now; me Freeman. [Baccararo_, the Name Negroes give the Whites.] You no let cutty my Foot, so me no let cutty your Head; no be sadd, you have bumby grande *yam yam. [*_Yam yam_, in Negroes Dialect, signifies victuals.]”

He endeavoured to comfort me under my Afflictions in this barbarous Dialect; but I was so possess’d with the Notion of my being reserv’d to be murdered, that I received but little Consolation.

We marched very slowly, both on account of the Heat, and of the Plunder they had got from some Plantations; for every one had his Load of Kidds, Turkies, and other Provisions.

About Three in the Afternoon, we reach’d a Village of run-away Negroes, and we were received by the Inhabitants with all possible Demonstrations of Joy.  The Women sung, danc’d, and clapp’d their Hands, and the Men brought Mobby (a sort of Drink) and Rum, to welcome the return’d Party.  One of the Negro Men ask’d Cuffey, why he did not bring my Head, instead of bringing me alive?  He gave his Reason, at which he seem’d satisfied, but said it was dangerous to let a Baccararo know their Retreat; that he would tell Captain Thomas, and he must expect his Orders concerning me.

Cuffey said he would go to give Captain Thomas an Account of what had happen’d in this Sortie, and would carry me with him.  As they spoke in the Negroes English, I understood them perfectly well.  My Friend then went to Captain Thomas, who was the Chief of all the run-away Blacks, and took me with him.  This Chief of theirs was about Seventy Five Years old, a hale, strong, well-proportion’d Man, about Six Foot Three Inches high; the Wooll of his Head and his Beard were white with Age, he sat upon a little Platform rais’d about a Foot from the Ground, accompanied by Eight or Ten near his own Age, smoaking Segars, which are Tobacco Leaves roll’d up hollow.

Cuffey, at his Entrance, threw himself on his Face, and clapp’d his Hands over his Head; then rising, he, with a visible Awe in his Countenance, drew nearer, and address’d the Captain in the Cholomantaean Language, in which he gave an Account, as I suppose, of his Expedition; for when he had done speaking, my Comrades Heads were brought in, and thrown at the Captain’s Feet, who returned but a short Answer to Cuffey, tho’ he presented him with a Segar, made him sit down, and drank to him in a Calabash of Rum.

After this Ceremony, Captain Thomas address’d himself to me in perfect good English.