You'll see, we'll capture captains and generals,
and we'll cut their heads off and bury them in their own guts."
He made an ugly grimace, and a loathsome gesture, and Michael Clones felt
the man ought to die. He half drew his sword, but, thinking better of
it, he took the Maroon to the Castle and locked him up in a slave's hut,
having first bound him and put him in the charge of one he could trust.
But as he put the man away, he said:
"You talk of your people hiding, and men not being able to find you; but
did you never hear of bloodhounds, that can hunt you down, and chew you
up? Did you never hear of them?"
The man's face wrinkled like a rag, for there is one thing the native
fears more than all else, and that is the tooth of the hound. But he
gathered courage, and said: "The governor has no hounds. There ain't
none in Jamaica. We know dat--all of us know dat--all of us know dat,
massa."
Michael Clones laughed, and it was not pleasant to hear. "It may be the
governor has no bloodhounds, and would not permit their being brought
into the island, but my master is bringing them in himself--a lot with
their drivers from Cuba, and you Maroons will have all you can do to
hide.
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