“Oh, Mesty, Mesty,” exclaimed our hero; “you should not have done that— there will be mischief come from it.”

“Now he dead, Massa Easy, so much less mischief.”

Gascoigne then interpreted to Don Philip and Agnes, the former of whom looked very grave, and the latter terrified.

“Let him go on,” said Don Philip; “I am most anxious to hear what he did with the body.”

Mesty, at the request of our hero, proceeded: “Den I thought what I should do, and I said I would hide him, and I tink I take his coat for myself— so I pull off him coat and I pull off all his oder clothes— he not wear many— and I take the body in my arm and carry him where I find a great split in de rock above all road. I throw him in, and den I throw plenty large pieces rock on him till I no see him any more; den I take de two mules and get on mine wid de dollars, and lead the other three four mile, till I come to a large wood— take off him saddle and bridle, turn him adrift. Den I tear up all clothes all in lilly bits, hide one piece here, noder piece dere, and de saddle and bridle in de bush. All right, now, I say; so put on friar cloak, hide my face, get on my mule, and den I look where I shall go— so I say, I not be in dis road anyhow. I passed through wood till I find nother. I go ’bout two mile— moon go down, all dark, and five six men catch hold my bridle, and they all got arms, so I do nothing— they speak to me, but I no answer, and neber show my face. They find all dollars (d— n um) fast enough, and they lead me away through the wood. Last we come to large fire in de wood, plenty of men lie ’bout, some eat and some drink. They pull me off, and I hold down my head and fold my arms, just like friar do. They bring me along to one man, and pour out all my dollar before him. He give some order, and they take me away, and I peep through the cloak, and I say to myself, he that d— n galley slave rascal Don Silvio.”

“Don Silvio!” cried Jack.

“What does he say of Don Silvio?” demanded Don Philip.

Mesty’s narrative was again translated, and he continued.

“Dey lead me away ’bout fifty yards, tie me to tree, and den they leave me, and dey all drink and make merry, neber offer me anyting, so I hab noting den to eat; I eat de ropes and gnaw them through, and den I stay there two hour until all go asleep, and all quiet; for I say to myself, stop a little. Den when dey all fast asleep, I take out my knife and I crawl ’long de ground, as we do in our country sometime— and den I stop and look ’bout me; no man watch but two, and dey look out for squarl, not look in board where I was. I crawl ’gain till I lay down longside that d— n galley slave Don Silvio. He lie fast asleep with my bag thousand dollars under him head. So I tink, ‘you not hab dem long, you rascal.’ I look round— all right, and I drive my knife good aim into him heart, and press toder hand on him mouth, but he make no noise; he struggle little and look up, and den I throw off de head of de gown and show him my black face, and he look and he try to speak: but I stop dat, for down go my knife again, and de d— n galley slave dead as herring.”

“Stop, Mesty, we must tell this to Don Philip,” said Gascoigne.

“Dead, Don Silvio dead! well, Mesty, we are eternally obliged to you, for there was no safety for my father while he was living. Let him go on.”

“So when I put de knife through his body, I lie down by him, as if noting had happened, for ten minute, and den I take de bag of dollars from under him head, and den I feel him all over, and I find him pistols and him purse, which I hab here, all gold. So I take them and I look— all asleep, and I crawl back to de tree. Den I stay to tink a little; de man on watch come up and look at me, but he tink all right and he go away again. Lucky ting, by de power, dat I go back to tree. I wait again, and den I crawl and crawl till I clear of all, and den I take to my heel and run for um life, till day-light come, and den I so