The stables, as I had learned from Uncle Moses, lay beyond the big
house, so that our driving by would awaken no suspicion. In order
that we might gain the further advantage of darkness, Uncle Moses
drove slowly, and there was but a glimmer of twilight when we
reached the house of the overseer. He had heard the rumbling of our
wheels, and was standing at his gate as we came up. Seeing only the
wagons and no horsemen, he cried out to know where the rest were.
The negro beside Uncle Moses (who shrank back to escape
recognition) made ready answer that the third wagon had broken
down, and would come on presently with the overseers. The white man
rapped out an oath, declaring (with what truth I know not) that the
cursed wagon was always breaking down, and we drove past. Two of
the buccaneers were smoking at the gates of the big house when we
came up, and they hailed us in rough sailor fashion, but showed no
curiosity; the work of the estate was no concern of theirs.
Uncle Moses had told me that there would certainly be a number of
the buccaneers in the kitchen of the big house, where they took
their supper and often sat far into the night drinking and dicing.
As we drew near, indeed, I heard through the sack that covered me
('twas very sticky and fraught with the cloying smell of sugar)
loud sounds of merriment proceeding from the house. Instead of
driving past in the direction of the stables, the negro, obeying
his instructions, pulled up his horses when the wagons came
opposite the kitchen door.
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