ht honest."

"And who would believe us at a place like this, where we know that poor
wretches are brought to go up to the plantations?"

"Oh, hark at him!" sighed Pete. "And I'd been thinking our troubles
were over, and we'd got nothing to do but get plenty to eat and a good
ship to take us home. You're right, zir; it would be as mad as March
hares to go ashore. They'd put us in prison and keep us there till old
Zaunders come again with his dogs and guns and niggers to take us back;
and when we got to the plantation it would be the lash and short
commons, and the hoe again out in the hot sun."

"Yes, Pete," said Nic sadly; "that is what I fear."

"And you're a deal longer-headed than me, master. It's going and giving
ourselves up for the sake of a good dinner. Master Nic!"

"Yes, Pete."

"Just buckle your belt a bit tighter, two or three holes, like this.
That's the way. Now then, take hold of your oar again. We can hold out
another day or two on what we can find, while we coast along till we see
a ship outward bound somewhere. Sure to be lots. Then we'll row till
they see us and pick us up. They won't bring us back, that's for
sartain, but to the port they're going to; and of course they can't
starve us. Then they'll hand us over to a judge o' some kind, and as
soon as he hears your story you'll be all right; and--and--"

"Yes, Pete?"

"I know I've been a bad un; Master Nic; but I'm going to turn over a new
leaf, zir, and never meddle wi' the zalmon again. You'll put in a good
word for a poor fellow, won't you?"

"A good word for you--for one who has been ready to risk his life again
and again to help me? Pete, we have been brothers in our great
misfortune, and we must hold together, come what may."

"Then take a good grip of your oar, Master Nic, and let's forget being
empty by taking our fill of work. Pull away, my lad, right out, and I
dessay the tide'll run us along the shore, as it does at home. When the
day comes again we shall zoon zee a zhip. We can't give up now.
Ready?"

"Yes."

"Then pull."

And in their desperate strait, feeling as they did that they would
starve sooner than go back to slavery, those two bent to their oars in
the darkness that closed them in, and rowed on with the swift tide. The
lights on the shore grew fainter, the tide swifter, and the water became
rough; but they rowed on, hungry, exhausted: on and on, ignorant of the
set of the tides, of the trend of t