"Above the shrieking and howling, which rose and fell in a sort of
unholy chorus, I heard one long, wailing sound, repeated and repeated.
It was an African word. But I knew its meaning.
"It was '_Bat Wing_!'
"My doubts were dispersed. This was a meeting-place of Devil-
worshippers, or devotees of the cult of Voodoo! One man only could I
see clearly so as to remember him, a big negro employed upon one of my
estates. He seemed to be a sort of high priest or president of the
orgies. Attached to his arms were giant imitations of bat wings which
he moved grotesquely as if in flight. There were many women in the
throng, which numbered fully I should think a hundred people. But the
final collapse of my brave, unhappy Valera at this point brought home
to me the nature of the peril in which I stood.
"He lay at my feet, moving convulsively, and sinking ever deeper in the
swamp, red leeches moving slowly, slowly over his fast-disappearing
body."
Colonel Menendez paused in his appalling narrative and wiped his moist
forehead with a silk handkerchief. Neither Harley nor I spoke. I knew
not if my friend believed the Spaniard's story.
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