“Afore you think about what all this means, you’d best to hear me,” began Daniel. “I’m very sorry I throwed you in the water, Mister Henry, but ’twas ‘which he should,’ as we say to home; an’ if I hadn’t done it, you’d have had me locked up. You thought you was right to go for me; an’ I reckoned I was right to go for you. An’ I should again, for I’m innocent afore Almighty God. May He strike me dead on this here dead man’s horse if I ban’t!”

“We’ll leave your affairs for the present,” replied Vivian. “What you’ve got to do is to tell me what all this means. Then I shall know how to act.”

“That’s all right,” answered the other; “but you’m rather too disposed to be one-sided, if I may say so without rudeness. A man like me don’t care to blow his own trumpet, but I must just remind you that I’ve saved you from a terrible ugly death during the last five minutes; and I’ll confess ’twas a very difficult job and took me all my time to do it. I’ve been a better friend to you than ever you was to me, though I know you was all for justice an’ that you meant to do your duty. But you was cruel quick against me. Well, thus it stands: the world thinks I’m a murderer, an’ my work in life is to prove I am not. An’ that I shall do, with or without your help, sir. But if you believe the lie, say so, an’ I’ll know where I be. If you’re my enemy still, declare it. Then if there’s got to be fighting the sooner the better. But think afore you throw me over. ’Twas because I loved you, when we were boys, an’ because I thought that, when you heard my story calmly, you’d come to believe in me, that I let the past go an’ saved your life. So now say how we stand, please, Mister Henry. If you’m against me still, be honest and declare it. But I know you can’t be. Ban’t human nature after what I’ve just done for you.”

Vivian stopped his horse.

“It’s not a time for reserve, Dan. You’re right and I’m wrong. You’ve taught me to be larger-hearted. I’ll take your word, and henceforth I’m on your side before a wilderness of proofs. From this hour I will believe that you’re an innocent man, and I thank you, under God, for saving my life.”

He held out his hand, and Sweetland shook it as if he could never let go.

“The Lord will bless you for that! I knowed well how ’twould be when you understood. An’ I hope you’ll forgive me for speaking so plain; but ’twas gall to me to know you thought me so bad. If you’m on my side, an’ my own Minnie at home, an’ my own friend, Titus Sim—you three—then I’m not feared for anything else. I’ll face the world an’ laugh at it now. But first I must tell you the meaning of all that’s happened to-day.”

“Here’s the Pelican,” interrupted Vivian. “You’ll do well to come in and have a wash while I send for the police.”

“Washing won’t get it off. I’ll be so black as the ace of oaks for many a long day yet; an’ maybe it’s best so. ’Twas that dead man’s idea that I should bide along with Jesse Hagan an’ pretend to be a deaf an’ dumb nigger, an’ lend Jesse a hand when you arrived. A very good idea too. So long as Dan Sweetland’s thought to be a murderer, he’ll be better out of the way.”

They entered the dwelling of Jabez Ford, while a negro took their horses.

Then Sweetland told his story from the beginning. He started with the night before his wedding, and gave every particular of his last poaching enterprise. He related how he actually heard the shot that must have slain Adam Thorpe, and explained how he returned to Hangman’s Hut, put his gun into its case, and then went home to his father’s house. His wedding, arrest, and subsequent escape followed. He mentioned his ruse at the King’s Oven, his visit to his wife, and his escape from Plymouth in the Peabody. He resumed the narrative at Scarborough, Tobago, and then related what had happened to him after flying from the wharf.

“I overheard Jesse and Jabez Ford talking, an’ very quickly tumbled to it that you was a deader if you comed to see the Obi Man. I’d watched the old, grey-haired devil dig your grave already. Then I set to work to save you. Maybe ’twas a fool’s trick, but I hadn’t much time to think about it, so I bluffed, an’ went in so bold as brass, an’ said as I wanted to take your life. Well, you may guess what Ford thought of that. A desperate, half-naked, savage sailor-man was just the tool for him. They let me help Jesse, an’ I make no doubt that Ford meant to turn on me afterwards, if ever he had to clear himself. He never smelt a rat—he never saw I was playing a part—I was that bitter against you. I axed the man an’ begged him to let me kill you myself, an’ I think he would have agreed to it; but Jesse said that ’twas his job, an’ he told us he wasn’t going to have no pig-killing in his house, but ordered us to leave it to him. To the last he wouldn’t tell me how he was going to do it. So I had an anxious time, I promise you. Then ’twas planned that I should be a black man, an’ the old chap gived me some stuff for my face an’ hands an’ neck—just the colour as you see. I’ve got the rest up there in a bottle. Well, Ford he went off, an’ Jesse told me what my part was to be. Simple enough—only to hand you your rum punch when the time came—nothing more. ’Twas all in that drop of drink. But he swore ’twasn’t when I axed him afore you come. And what he put in, or how he put it in, I can’t tell you. I only guessed when he handed me the drink that death was in your bowl, because he was so partickler about which was yours an’ which was Ford’s. So I said to myself, ‘I’ll change these here calabashes behind their backs, an’ if one’s a wrong ’un, let that crafty chap have it; an’ if both be honest, no harm’s done.’ You see how right I was. When I seed Ford screech an’ topple over, I knowed what I’d saved you from.”

“But why—what did the man want to poison me for?”

“Because he’d seed through you an’ knowed you’d seen through him. Because he found out you wasn’t satisfied and meant to have him turned off. I heard him tell the Obi Man the whole yarn. He read the letters you’d written your father after you’d gone to bed; an’ then he took yours out an’ put in others into your envelopes, an’ forged your signatures to ’em. Then, when they’d got you settled, they was going to pretend you’d gone bathing an’ been eaten by sharks. The story all hung together very suent an’ vitty, I lay. But now he’s dust himself, an’, if you take my advice, you’ll do what he’s done afore you, an’ make Jesse Hagan keep his mouth shut. No harm can come of that; then you’re free to go home. Whereas, if you have the whole thing turned over to the police, there’ll be the devil to pay, an’ a case at Trinidad, an’ lawyers, an’ trouble, an’ Jesse Hagan hanged, an’ Lord knows what else.”

“Let things go!” gasped Henry Vivian.

“Why not? Just consider. There’ll be oceans of bother for you if you stir this up. Nothing better could have happened. This wicked scoundrel’s taken off in the nick of time.”

“Hoist with his own petard, indeed!”

“Well, he’s gone—vanished like smoke—an’ nobody will mourn him neither. What could suit you so well? Forget you know anything about it. Why not? All you can do is to hang Jesse Hagan for his share. But, if you arrest him, so like as not he’ll turn round on me an’ say I done it. Then my name comes in, an’ I’d very much rather it didn’t just at present.”

They argued long upon this theme, but Vivian would not give way. His sense of justice and honour made him refuse to let the matter drift, and Daniel’s worldly-wise advice fell on deaf ears. They made a meal, and the negroes who served it looked curiously at the silent coloured man, who ate with their master’s guest; for while others were present Daniel kept dumb. Then, as the day advanced, the horses were again saddled, and Vivian, with Sweetland, rode off to the hut of Obeah.

While the attendants stared to see a ragged negro galloping off on Jabez Ford’s horse, Dan attempted again to convince Henry Vivian that a cynical silence would for the present best meet the case. It was only the thought of Sweetland’s own position, if all came to be laid bare, that made the other hesitate. Vivian, indeed, found himself still in doubt when they returned to the summit of the hill, tied their horses to the opuntia hedge, and returned to Jesse’s dim dwelling.

Profound silence reigned there, and the hut was empty. Neither the distorted corpse of Jabez Ford nor any sign of the Obi Man himself appeared. Hunting in a corner, Daniel found the bottle of dye which had served so effectually to disguise him; and at the same moment Henry Vivian discovered a scrap of paper on the table under the red eye of light that fell from the roof upon it.

“Jesse larf at ropes and bars, but Jesse no larf at Massa Judge at Trinidad who hang him. Jesse tired, so him go to bed along with other gem’men and Marse Ford under the snake-gourd in him garden.”

Daniel rushed out to find this statement true. The Obi Man had flung Ford into the grave prepared for Henry Vivian. He had then jumped in himself and, with a long knife that lay beside him, had severed the arteries of his thighs. A storm of insects rose up and whirled away from the ghastly grave.

“Where’s his spade?” cried Daniel. “Even you will grant there’s but one thing to do for ’em now.”

“My duty’s hard to know,” declared Vivian.

“Then leave it,” answered the other. “Here’s Fate busy working for you. Why for keep so glum about it? Let me advise, for I know I’m right. Take the next ship home an’ set out all afore your faither. He’ll say what’s proper to do. I’ll bury these sinners, an’ you can bear the tale home along; an’ when he’s heard all, Sir Reginald will know very well how to act. Trust him!”

“And you, Sweetland?”

“I’ll tell you what I think about myself so soon as I be through with this job. One thing’s clear as mud: the sooner we’re out of Tobago the better. If you can only trust the second in command at the Pelican works to carry on for the present, I say ‘be off.’ Then this scarey business will right itself. The bad man fades away from memory. His sins are forgotten. Never was a case where silence seemed like to suit everybody best an’ do the least harm.”

In his heart Henry Vivian felt somewhat nettled to find an untutored man rising to strength of character and practical force greater than his own at this crisis. But he could not fail to feel the sense of Dan’s advice. Moreover, he was awake to the immense debt he owed to Sweetland.

That night, while fireflies danced over the raw earth of the grave under the snake-gourd, Henry Vivian and the sailor held solemn speech together. They talked for hours; then Daniel had his way.

It was at length determined that Sir Reginald’s son should return home at once. Having yielded slowly to Dan’s strong entreaties in this matter, Vivian asked a question.

“And what do you do, Sweetland? Or, I should ask, what can I do for you? Your welfare is mine henceforth. This tragedy has merely obscured the problem with respect to you. I return home and convince my father that what has happened was really for the best. We will take it that he agrees, presently appoints a new overseer, and leaves this scoundrel in his unknown grave. So much for me and the issue of my affairs; but now what happens to you, my lad? One thing is to the good: you’ll have the governor on your side when he hears you saved my life.”

“Well,” answered Dan, “I was waiting for us to come to my business. To tell you the truth, I’ve thought of myself so well as you, Mister Henry. An’ this is what I’ve got to say. You’ll think I’ve gone cracked, I reckon, yet I beg you’ll hear me out, for I’ve given a lot of thought to the matter, you may be sartain; an’ mad though it do sound, if you think of it, you’ll see that ’tis about the only way. If you count that you owe me ought, I beg you’ll fall in with my plan; then I shall be in your debt for everlasting.”

“I owe you everything, Dan. I owe it to you that I’m not dead and buried in that old fiend’s garden, where he lies himself. Tell me what’s best to be done for you, and be sure if it’s in my power that I’ll do it.”

“Well, ’tis this way; you believe in me; you take my oath I’m honest. But the world don’t. I can’t go back to England and stand up an’ say ‘I didn’t do it, neighbours,’ because the Law’s up against me an’ there’s nought but short shrift an’ long drop waiting for me as things are. But—”

“Stop here, then, for the present.”

“That won’t do neither. I’ve gotten a feeling pulling at me like horses, to get home. I’m wanted there. My girl wants me. I know it.”

“How’s that to be done? Show your nose on the countryside and you’ll be arrested.”

“So I should be—such a nose as mine, for there’s no mistaking it; but how if I bide the colour I be now?”

“Go home black!”

“Why for not? ’Tis that I ax of you, sir, as payment for saving your life. You take me back as your black servant. I’m dumb, but I’m such a treasure that you can’t get on without me. Do it! Do it for love of a hardly-used man! I’ll ax it on my knees, if you say so. Let me go back with you as your nigger sarvant, an’ if I don’t clear myself in six months from the day I set foot in England, then I’ll clear out altogether and trouble you no more. The man’s living that killed Adam Thorpe, and who more likely to worm out the truth than I be, with such a motive to find it as I’ve got? There I’ll bide patient an’ quiet an’ dumb as a newt, an’ I’ll work for you as never man yet worked. I beg you let me do this—by my faither’s good name an’ for love of my mother an’ my little lonely wife, I beg you. You’ll never regret it—never. ’Tis a good deed and will stand to your credit in this world so well as t’other.”

“They’ll find you out. Sim will see through you, and your father will. Who can forget your size and your walk?”

“Don’t fear that. Such things be forgotten quick enough. Not a soul will know so long as I keep my mouth shut; an’ that I’ll do for my neck’s sake, be sure of it. Not a soul living will guess. I only ax for six months. Then I’ll vanish again, if I haven’t found some damned rascal to fill my shoes. An’ this I will bet; that my own mother don’t know me. With my curly hair an’ black eyes I was half a nig afore I comed here. Now I’m nigger all over. The coloured men here think I am, anyhow, for they axed me who I was, an’ where I comed from, an’ where Marse Ford was got to. But I just pointed to my mouth an’ shook my head, so they all think I’m dumb.”

“It might be better at home if they thought that you were deaf too,” reflected Vivian. “Since you’re so set on this experiment, I must fall in with it. I owe you too much to refuse.”

“I knowed you would! Wasn’t we boys together? Bless your good heart, sir! You’ll never be sorry—never. I’m yours, body an’ soul, for this—yours to be trusted an’ ordered while life’s in me.”

“So be it, Daniel; and, after your own wife, there’s no human being will be better pleased to see you proved guiltless than I shall. And what I can do to help you and justice, that will I do. Now our way is clear and we will waste no time.”

“Ban’t my business to speak any more then,” answered Sweetland. “For the future I’ll keep my mouth shut and obey. But one thing you must do; an’ that is cable home the first moment you get to Barbados. Ford sent his letter by the last station ship, an’ you can’t stop it. Your father will hear that you’ve been eaten by sharks. That’ll be likely to worry him bad. Anyway, you’ll have to telegraph an’ explain that you’re all right an’ on the way to home.”

“There’s another steamer that sails in two days’ time. To-morrow we’ll institute a solemn search for Ford; I’ll appoint his clerk as temporary overseer; and we’ll get back to Barbados and take the first home ship.”

“’Tis just the very thing,” said Dan.

“You must sleep in my cabin, that’s clear.”

“Good Lord, no! Who ever heard of a common nigger in his master’s cabin, sir?”

“It’s unusual, no doubt; but you certainly can’t go with the other servants, or share any other cabin than mine, Dan.”

“Why ever not, Mister Henry?”

“For the simple reason that when you turn in at night you’ll take your clothes off, I suppose; and a nigger with black face and hands and a white body might give rise to a little discussion.”

Sweetland roared with laughter.

“There now, if I didn’t forget that!” he said.

“The sooner you remember these difficulties the better, Dan, for your part will be hard enough to play at best,” his new master answered.

“I know it; but I’ll think of my neck, Mister Henry. That’ll steady me. An’ I’ll think of you, too, sir. If I come well out of it, an’ save myself, I’ll never tire of thanks an’ gratitude.”

Events fell out as the Englishman expected. Search for Ford failed, and the excitement occasioned by his disappearance ran high. As for Jesse, the old negro’s absence raised no alarm, because the Obi man often hid himself and vanished into the woods for many days together. A young Creole was appointed temporary overseer at the Pelican, and Sweetland, in his character of a deaf and dumb negro, returned with Henry Vivian to Barbados.

Sir Reginald received a telegram three days before Jabez Ford’s letter reached him, and ere he had ceased to wonder concerning the mystery, his son and Daniel were on their way home in the Royal Mail steamer Atrato.