Argosy, Vol. 1 (December 9, 1882) — page 70: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE FETTERS OF IGNACIO. 61 _ For once the dull indifferent faces of the blacks were alive with interest. They looked eagerly, expectantly, at Crenshawe and Edwardes, saying little or nothing, but evincing by attitude and expression their entire readiness to risks lives, now that they had found leaders, in a grand assault for freedom. Edwardes went about among them, talking informally. Whenever he paused, a group of a dozen or more pressed close around him and drank in his every word. Crenshawe could feel the excitement rising. It was terribly patent that here was a force for destruction that could be triumphantly effec- tive, if only it could be directed wisely. He could not doubt the wisdom of the plan, for it was largely his own. There was to be the capture of the Don after his evening meal on the following day. This was to be accomplished while he was sitting under his favorite tree at a little distance from the mansion, and screened from view of its doorways and windows by the foliage of trees upon his lawn. Once captured, the Don was to be taken to the prison house and tied to the stone post. The slaves were to be massed there, ready to charge upon the magazine, armed with hooks, scythes, hammers, and such other implements as Edwardes could find for them. With the capture of the magazine, there would be arms enough for the more discreet among them to go out and drive in the guards one after the other. Then an assault was to be made upon the port. An effort would precede it in the way of inducing the captain of the Don’s vessel to surrender. The situation would be explained to him in a mulitary sense, and if he did not sur- render the consequences would be upon his own head. “ These fellows are like a powder magazine,” said Edwardes, turning from a group to Crenshawe. “ Are they anxious to make the attack tonight? ” “They'd start now if we gave the word.” The Englishman spoke seriously, and when Crenshawe looked signifi- cantly at him, he set his jaws hard together and turned to another group. The fear of their own engine was eating its way into the hearts of the white leaders. Elsewhere in the crowd Crenshawe saw that Tony and Maloa were talk- ing with their comrades and undoubtedly laying before them the details of the campaign. It was a quiet meeting. The moon glinted down through the foli- age upon dusky faces that seemed to be set in expressions of patient determi- nation. There were no cries, no curses, no savage mutterings, but mingled with the small sounds of the forest there was only the dull murmur of the slaves’ voices, as they asked questions, and now and again the clear, incisive accents of the Englishman outlining the plan. } As he rubbed up against one and another of the slaves, Crenshawe imag- ined that he could feel their muscles grow tense, and now and again there seemed to pass a shiver over the entire assembly, as if it were one black mon- ster straining in the leash and eager to be off. But Crenshawe, unable to talk with them, himself nerved to the highest, was excitable, not to say emotional. If he could have spoken and so relieved his feelings, he might not have been so sensitive to these slight manifestations of interest on the part of his dark allies- ECOMmicooolkKks CO