"A deer."

But I, cradled in woodcraft, had heard plainly a man creeping through the
underbrush beside us. Fear of the Congo chief and pity for the wretch
tore at my heart. Suddenly there loomed in front of us, on the path, a
great, naked man. We stood with useless limbs, staring at him.

Then, from the trees over our heads, came a chittering and a chattering
such as I had never heard. The big man before us dropped to the earth,
his head bowed, muttering. As for me, my fright increased. The
chattering stopped, and Nick stepped forward and laid his hand on the
negro's bare shoulder.

"We needn't be afraid of him now, Davy," he said. "I learned that trick
from a Portuguese overseer we had last year."

"You did it!" I exclaimed, my astonishment overcoming my fear.

"It's the way the monkeys chatter in the Canaries," he said. "Manuel had
a tame one, and I heard it talk. Once before I tried it on the chief,
and he fell down. He thinks I'm a god."

It must have been a weird scene to see the great negro following two boys
in the moonlight. Indeed, he came after us like a dog. At length we
were in sight of the lights of Fanning Hall. The militia was there. We
were challenged by the guard, and caused sufficient amazement when we
appeared in the hall before the master, who was a bachelor of fifty.

"'Sblood, Nick Temple!" he cried, "what are you doing here with that big
Congo for a dog? The sight of him frightens me."