Priscilla, barefooted, couldn't be caught by any man on the island: we soon saw that.

She flew down the road, with the white dust flying behind her, until she reached a big limestone quarry, where the calcareous building-material of the town is sawn out in great blocks, and there she made a sharp turn and dashed down in among the stones.

We reached the place just in time to see her run across the quarry, slip in between two great blocks that were standing up like statue pedestals on the other side, and disappear.
We rushed over, we searched and looked, here and there and everywhere, and all the darkeys searched and looked, but we found no Priscilla.

She had gone away.
Puffing and blowing like four steam-fire-engines, we sat down on some stones and wiped our faces.
"I guess we just ran that upstart queen out of her possessions," said the tall yellow-legs, dusting his boots with his handkerchief.

He was satisfied.
We walked home by the road at the edge of the harbor.