“They are going to kill us,” Nelse cried, in alarm, but forced to remain motionless before the blacks, each of whom held a short-bladed knife in his hands.
Mr. Jenkins no longer attempted to cheer his companions. He believed, as Nelse did, and with good reason.
While the old men sang, those who had evidently been selected as executioners advanced slowly, brandishing their weapons, and making gestures, while the remainder of the party stood nearby, gazing intently, as if at some fascinating spectacle.
Neither of the prisoners spoke. Death seemed so close at hand that the numbness of despair was upon them, and each watched the gleaming circles of steel as the knives came slowly toward them.
When the three men were not more than five feet away from him, Gil fancied he heard a slight noise directly in the rear, as if some one was lighting a match; but since none of the blacks paid any attention to it, he fancied he was mistaken, and tried to prepare himself in some slight degree for the supreme moment.
Now the circle of spectators grew smaller; the old men forced their way through, that they also might witness what was possibly one of their fiendish rites, and the gleaming steel almost touched the victims.
The two boys closed their eyes that they should not see the deadly blow when it was delivered, and Jenkins believed he had not many seconds to live, when a singular, hissing noise was heard directly behind the helpless ones.
Instantly it seemed that a shaft of fire came from the foliage, with a scream as of some living creature.
Opening their eyes suddenly, the boys saw this thing of flame tear its way through the crowd, throwing sparks right and left, and striking two of the blacks with sufficient force to hurl them to the ground.
The negroes fled with loud yells of terror, as the “thing,” apparently caught by the foliage, continued to send forth showers of flame, and before the last man disappeared, both Gil and Nelse had fainted.
The strain upon them had been too great, and over-taxed nature gave way beneath it.
At this particular time Jenkins paid but little attention to the boys. He fancied the sudden appearance of the stream of fire was simply a portion of the horrible ceremonies, and believed the negroes’ terror to be only simulated.