They were a
glum and angry little band of prisoners.
Lights and voices ashore indicated that some of our assailants had saved
themselves, and by their cries and confused orders we knew that they in
turn were rescuing others. Of their dead we had no record, but the number
must have been large.
Of us six who had defied Falk in that time long ago, which we had come to
regard almost as ancient history, only Neddie Benson had fallen. Although
we had laughed time and again at the charming plump lady who had prophesied
such terrible events, it had proved in bitter earnest a sad last voyage for
Neddie.
From the low and distant land there continued to come what seemed to be
only faint whispers of sound, yet we knew that they really were the cries
of men fighting for their lives where the sea beat against the shore.
"Ah wonder," said the cook, grimly, "how dem yeh scalliwaggles gwine git
along come Judgment when Gab'el blows his ho'n and Peter rattles his keys
and all de wicked is a-wailin' and a-weepin' and a-gnashin' and can't git
in nohow. Yass, sah. Ah guess dis yeh ol' nigger, he's gwine sit on de
pearly gate and twiddle his toes at 'em."
He folded his arms and stood in the lantern light, with a dreamy expression
on his grotesque face such as I had seen there once or twice before.
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