plegarth, and you too, gentlemen, I
noticed that our friend `the marquis,' although he gave himself great
airs, on account of the aristocratic blood and descent to which he lay
claim, pretending to think himself much superior in position to both
Captain Alphonse and myself, and regarding poor Cato, my servant, as
mere dirt under his feet, albeit the faithful negro was of a like colour
to himself--did not esteem it beneath his high dignity to associate with
the scum of the forecastle and bandy ribald obscenities, when he
believed himself unobserved, with his fellow scoundrels.

"Aye, I watched my gentleman carefully, and so, too, did my poor
faithful Cato!"

CHAPTER TWENTY.

THE SEVENTH OF NOVEMBER.

"My faithful negro, however," continued the colonel, pausing at this
point to puff out another cloud of smoke from his fragrant
cigar,--"well, he was unable to learn anything of the Haytians, though
he tried to make friends of them, for they always stopped their talk
amongst themselves on his approach, and would only reply to his
overtures in monosyllables expressive of distrust, accompanied by
contemptuous gestures that angered poor Cato greatly, for, as he
considered that he belonged to me, he felt the insult to be directed not
only at himself but at the whole family.

"`Golly, massa!' he said to me after a couple or so of attempts that
proved fruitless to ingratiate himself into the confidence of the gang,
`you just wait; I catch dem black raskils nappin' by-an'-bye, you see,
massa. You see, "speshly dat tarn markiss!"'

"He managed this sooner than he thought, and pretty smartly too, for the
very next day he caught the noble scoundrel, who was his particular
aversion, walking off with a pair of pistols from Captain Alphonse's
cabin. On Cato coming up and stopping him in the very act, the
`marquis' put down the pistols quickly, saying in his off-hand manner
that he was merely examining the locks, remarking how well they were
made. `But,' said Cato, `guess he no bamboozle dis chile!'

"The following day, sirs, was the seventh of November, last Friday, that
awful, that terrible day!

"Cato, who had been away forward early in the morning to see about our
breakfast, came back aft with a terrified face.

"`Yay, massa,' said he, `guess dose tam niggars up to sumfin'! I'se
hear um say dey smell de lan' an' de time was 'rive to settle de white
trash, dat what dey say, an' take ship. One ob de tam raskel see me