of the pit.

As his head came up above the level of the flooring Benson saw the mulatto
and the dogs in the next room, the connecting door of which had been taken
from its hinges.

“Come right in, Marse Benson. Dere ain’ nuffin’ gwineter hu’t yo’,” came
the rascal’s voice reassuringly. Jack obeyed by stepping into the next
room, though he kept watch over the dogs out of the corners of his eyes.

“Now, yo’ lie right down on de flo’, Marse Benson,” commanded the master
of the situation. “Ah’s gotter tie yo’ up, befo’ Ah can staht yo’ back ter
’Napolis, but dere ain’ no hahm gwine come ter yo’.”

Making a virtue of necessity, Captain Jack lay down as directed, passing
his hands behind his back. These were deftly secured, after which his
ankles were treated in the same fashion. Immediately the mulatto, who was
strong and wiry, lifted the boy and the lantern together. The dogs
remaining behind, Jack was carried out into the yard, where he discovered
that daylight was coming on in the East. He was dumped on the ground long
enough to permit his captor to lock the door securely. Then the submarine
boy was lifted once more, carried around the corner of the house and
dumped in the bottom of a shabby old delivery wagon. A canvas was pulled
over him, concealing him from any chance passer. Then the mulatto ran
around to the seat, picking up the reins and starting the horse.

It seemed like a long drive to the boy, though Benson was certainly in no
position to judge time accurately. At last the team was halted, along a
stretch of road in a deep woods. The mulatto lifted the submarine boy out
to the ground.