And hundreds of Creoles and coloured folk
beating the ground in agitation, and slaves a-plenty carrying boxes to
the ships that are leaving, and white folk crowding the streets, and
bugles blowing, and the tramp of the militia, and the rattle of carts on
the cobble-stones, and the voices of the officers giving orders, and
turmoil everywhere.
"Then, suddenly, the sharp sound of a long whip and a voice calling, and
there rises out of the landing place the procession--the sixty dogs in
three wagons, their ten drivers with their whips, but keeping order by
the sound of their voices, low, soft, and peculiar, and then the horses
starting into a quick trot which presently would become a canter--and the
hounds were off to Salem! There could be no fear with the hounds loose
to do the hunting."
"But suppose when they get to Salem their owner is no more."
The Custos laughed. "Him, your honour--him no more! Isn't he the man
of whom the black folk say: "Lucky buckra--morning, lucky new-comer!"
If that's his reputation, and the coming of his hounds just when the
island most needed them is good proof of it, do you think he'll be killed
by a lot of dirty Maroons! Ah, Calhoun's a man with the luck of the
devil, your honour! He has the pull--as sure as heaven's above he'll
make success.
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