I was relieved on hearing his voice. I heard it at some distance off in
the woods; but I drew fresh alarm from it as I listened. It was
uttered, not in reply to my call, but in accents of terror.
Mystified, as well as alarmed, I seized my pistols, and ran forward to
meet him. I could tell that he was coming towards me, and was near; but
under the dark shadow of the trees his black body was not yet visible.
He still continued to cry out, and I could now distinguish what he was
saying.
"Gorramighty! gorramighty!" he exclaimed in a tone of extreme terror.
"Lor! Massa George, are you hurt?"
"Hurt! what the deuce should hurt me?"
But for the two reports, I should have fancied that he had fired the
rifle in my direction, and was under the impression he might have hit
me.
"You are not shot? Gorramighty be thank you are not shot, Massr
George."
"Why, Jake, what does it all mean?"
At this moment he emerged from the heavy timber, and in the open ground
I had a clear view of him.
His aspect did not relieve me from the apprehension that something
strange had occurred.
He was the very picture of terror, as exhibited in a negro. His eyes
were rolling in their sockets--the whites oftener visible than either
pupil or iris. His lips were white and bloodless; the black skin upon
his face was blanched to an ashy paleness; and his teeth chattered as he
spoke. His attitudes and gestures confirmed my belief that he was in a
state of extreme terror.
As soon as he saw me, he ran hurriedly up, and grasped me by the arm--at
the same time casting fearful glances in the direction whence he had
come, as if some dread danger was behind him!
I knew that under ordinary circumstances Jake was no coward--Quite the
contrary. There must have been peril then--what was it?
I looked back; but in the dark depths of the forest shade, I could
distinguish no other object than the brown trunks of the trees.