“Now, yo’ll do, Ah reckons.”

With that, the mulatto guide of the night before threw down one end of an inch rope.

“Ah reckon yo’s sailor ernuff to clim’ dat.  Come right erlong, ‘less yo’ wants de dawgs ter jump down dar.”

“But they’ll tackle me if I come up,” objected Jack Benson.

“No, dey won’t.  Dem dawgs is train’ to dis wo’k.  Ah done tole yo’ dat.  Come right erlong.  Ah’ll keep my two eyes on dem dawgs.”

It looked like a highly risky bit of business, but Jack told himself that, now he had been deprived of his valuables, this yellow worthy must be genuinely anxious to be rid of the victim.  So he took hold of the rope and began to climb.  The mulatto and the dogs disappeared from the upper edge of the pit.

As his head came up above the level of the flooring Benson saw the mulatto and the dogs in the next room, the connecting door of which had been taken from its hinges.

“Come right in, Marse Benson.  Dere ain’ nuffin’ gwineter hu’t yo’,” came the rascal’s voice reassuringly.  Jack obeyed by stepping into the next room, though he kept watch over the dogs out of the corners of his eyes.

“Now, yo’ lie right down on de flo’, Marse Benson,” commanded the master of the situation.  “Ah’s gotter tie yo’ up, befo’ Ah can staht yo’ back ter ‘Napolis, but dere ain’ no hahm gwine come ter yo’.”

Making a virtue of necessity, Captain Jack lay down as directed, passing his hands behind his back.  These were deftly secured, after which his ankles were treated in the same fashion.  Immediately the mulatto, who was strong and wiry, lifted the boy and the lantern together.  The dogs remaining behind, Jack was carried out into the yard, where he discovered that daylight was coming on in the East.  He was dumped on the ground long enough to permit his captor to lock the door securely.  Then the submarine boy was lifted once more, carried around the corner of the house and dumped in the bottom of a shabby old delivery wagon.  A canvas was pulled over him, concealing him from any chance passer.  Then the mulatto ran around to the seat, picking up the reins and starting the horse.

It seemed like a long drive to the boy, though Benson was certainly in no position to judge time accurately.  At last the team was halted, along a stretch of road in a deep woods.  The mulatto lifted the submarine boy out to the ground.

“Now, w’en yo’s got yo’ se’f free, yo’ can take de road in dat direckshun,” declared the fellow, pointing.  “Bimeby yo’ come in sight ob de town.  Now, Marse Benson, w’at happen to yo’ las’ night am all in de co’se ob a lifetime, an’ Ah hope you ain’t got no bad feelin’s.  Yo’ suttinly done learn somet’ing new in de way ob tricks.  Good-bye, sah, an’ mah compliments to yo’, Marse Benson.”

With that the guide of the night before swiftly cut the cords at Jack’s wrists, then as swiftly leaped to the seat of the wagon, whipping up the horse and disappearing in a cloud of dust.