"Done," the Canadian exclaimed, eagerly; "but you must take two skins instead of one, as I intend to ask of you a rifle, an axe, and a knife, so that the poor devil we now set at liberty (for you are now halves in my good deed) may provide for his support."
"Be it so," the dealer said, good humouredly; "as the scoundrel insists on being at liberty, let him be, and he can go to the deuce."
At a sign from his master, one of the servants produced from his game bag ink, pens, and paper, and drew up on the spot, not a deed of sale, but a regular ticket of freedom, to which the dealer put his signature, and which the servants afterwards witnessed.
"On my word," John Davis exclaimed, "it is possible that from a business point of view I have done a foolish thing, but, you may believe me or not, as you like, I never yet felt so satisfied with myself."
"That is," the Canadian answered, seriously, "because you have to-day followed the impulses of your heart."
The Canadian then quitted the platform to go and fetch the skins. A moment after, he returned with two magnificent jaguar hides, perfectly intact, which he handed to the dealer. The latter, as was arranged, then delivered the weapons to him; but a scruple suddenly assailed the hunter.
"One moment," he said; "if you give me these weapons, how will you manage to return to town?"
"That need not trouble you," John Davis replied; "I left my horse and people scarce three leagues from here. Besides, we have our pistols, which we could use if necessary."
"That is true," the Canadian remarked, "you have therefore nothing to fear; still, as your wound will not allow you to go so far a-foot, I will help your servants to prepare you a litter."
And with that skill, of which he had already supplied so many proofs, the Canadian manufactured, with branches of trees he cut down with his hatchet, a litter, on which the two tiger skins were laid.
"And now," he said, "good bye; perhaps we shall never meet again. We part, I trust, on better terms than we came together: remember, there is no trade, however shameful, which an honest man cannot carry on honourably; when your heart inspires you to do a good action, do not be deaf to it, but do it without regret, for God will have spoken to you."
"Thanks," the dealer said, with considerable emotion, "but grant me one word before we part."
"Say on."
"Tell me your name, so that if any day accident brought us together again, I might appeal to your recollections, as you could to mine."
"That is true, my name is Tranquil; the wood-rangers, my companions, have surnamed me the Panther killer."
And, ere the slave dealer had recovered from the astonishment caused by this sudden revelation of the name of a man whose renown was universal on the border, the hunter, after giving him a parting wave of the hand, bounded from the platform, unfastened his canoe, and paddled vigorously to the other bank.
"Tranquil, the Panther-killer," John Davis muttered when he was alone; "it was truly my good genius which inspired me to make a friend of that man."
He lay down on the litter which two of his men raised, and after giving a parting glance at the Canadian, who at this moment was landing on the opposite bank, he said:
"Forward!"
The platform was soon deserted again, the dealer and his men had disappeared under the covert, and nothing was audible but the gradually departing growls of the bloodhounds, as they ran on ahead of the little party.
CHAPTER III
BLACK AND WHITE
In the meanwhile, as we have said, the Canadian hunter, whose name we at length know, had reached the bank of the river where he left the Negro concealed in the shrubs.
During the long absence of his defender, the slave could easily have fled, and that with the more reason, because he had almost the certainty of not being pursued before a lapse of time, which would have given him a considerable start on those who were so obstinately bent on capturing him.
He had not done so, however, either because the idea of flight did not appear to him realizable, or because he was too wearied, he had not stirred from the spot where he sought a refuge at the first moment, and had remained with his eyes obstinately fixed on the platform, following with anxious glance the movements of the persons collected on it.
John Davis had not at all flattered him in the portrait he had drawn of him to the hunter. Quoniam was really one of the most magnificent specimens of the African race: twenty-two years of age at the most, he was tall, well-proportioned and powerfully built; he had wide shoulders, powerfully developed chest, and well-hung limbs; it was plain that he combined unequalled strength with far from ordinary speed and lightness; his features were fine and expressive, his countenance breathed frankness, his widely opened eyes were intelligent in short, although his skin was of the deepest black, and unfortunately, in America, the land of liberty, that colour is an indelible stigma of servitude, this man did not seem at all to have been created for slavery, for everything about him aspired to liberty and that free-will which God has given to his creatures, and men have tried in vain to tear from them.
When the Canadian re-entered the canoe, and the American quitted the platform, a sigh of satisfaction expanded the Negro's chest, for, without knowing positively what had passed between the hunter and his old master, as he was too far off to hear what was said, he understood that, temporarily at least, he had nothing to fear from the latter, and he awaited with feverish impatience the return of his generous defender, that he might learn from him what he had henceforth to hope or fear.
So soon as he reached land, the Canadian pulled his canoe on to the sand, and walked with a firm and deliberate step toward the spot where he expected to find the Negro.
He soon noticed him in a sitting posture, almost at the same spot where he had left him.
The hunter could not repress a smile of satisfaction.
"Ah, ah," he said to him, "there you are, then, friend Quoniam."
"Yes, master. Did John Davis tell you my name?"
"As you see; but what are you doing there? Why did you not escape during my absence?"
"Quoniam is no coward," he replied, "to escape while another is risking his life for him. I was waiting ready to surrender myself if the white hunter's life had been threatened."1
This was said with a simplicity full of grandeur, proving that such was really the Negro's intention.
"Good!" the hunter replied, kindly, "I thank you, for your intention was good; fortunately, your interference was unneeded; but, at any rate, you acted more wisely by remaining here."
"Whatever may happen to me, master, be assured that I shall feel ever grateful to you."
"All the better for you, Quoniam, for that will prove to me that you are not ungrateful, which is one of the worst vices humanity is afflicted by; but be good enough not to call me master again, for it grieves me; the word implies a degrading inferiority, and besides, I am not your master, but merely your companion."
"What other name can a poor slave give you?"
"My own, hang it. Call me Tranquil, as I call you Quoniam. Tranquil is not a difficult name to remember, I should think."
"Oh, not at all," the Negro said with a laugh.
"Good! That is settled, then; now, let us go to something else, and, in the first place, take this."
The hunter drew a paper from his belt, which he handed to the Black.
"What is this?" the latter asked with a timid glance, for his ignorance prevented him deciphering it.
"That?" the hunter said with a smile; "it is a precious talisman, which makes of you a man like all the rest of us, and removes you from the animals among which you have been counted up to this day; in a word, it is a deed by which John Davis, native of South Carolina, slave dealer, from this day restores to Quoniam his full and entire liberty, to enjoy it as he thinks proper or, if you prefer it, it is your deed of liberation written by your former master, and signed by competent witnesses, who will stand by you if necessary."
"That?" the hunter said with a smile; "it is a precious talisman, which makes of you a man like all the rest of us, and removes you from the animals among which you have been counted up to this day; in a word, it is a deed by which John Davis, native of South Carolina, slave dealer, from this day restores to Quoniam his full and entire liberty, to enjoy it as he thinks proper or, if you prefer it, it is your deed of liberation written by your former master, and signed by competent witnesses, who will stand by you if necessary."
On hearing these words the Negro turned pale after the fashion of men of his colour; that is to say, his face assumed a tinge of dirty gray, his eyes were unnaturally dilated, and for a few seconds he remained motionless, crushed, incapable of uttering a word or making a movement.
At length he burst into a loud laugh, leaped up twice or thrice with the suppleness of a wild beast, and then broke suddenly into tears.
The hunter attentively watched the Negro's movement, feeling interested to the highest degree in what he saw, and evidencing each moment a greater sympathy with this man.
"Then," the Black at length said, "I am free truly free?"
"As free as a man can be," Tranquil replied, with a smile.
"Now I can come, go, sleep, work, or rest, and no one can prevent me, and I need not fear the lash?"
"Quite so."
"I belong to myself, myself alone? I can act and think like other men? I am no longer a beast of burthen, which is loaded and harnessed? I am as good as any other man, white, yellow, or red?"
"Quite so," the hunter answered, amused and interested at the same time by these simple questions.
"Oh!" the Negro said, as he took his head in his hands, "I am free then free at last!"
He uttered these words with a strange accent, which made the hunter quiver.
All at once he fell on his knees, clasped his hands, and raised his eyes to Heaven.
"My God!" he exclaimed, with an accent of ineffable happiness. "Thou who canst do all, thou to whom all men are equal, and who dost not regard their colour to protect and defend them. Thou, whose goodness is unbounded like thy power; thanks! Thanks! My God, for having drawn me from slavery, and restored my liberty!"
After giving vent to this prayer, which was the expression of the feelings that boiled in his heart, the Negro fell on the ground, and for some minutes remained plunged in earnest thought. The hunter respected his silence.
At length the Negro raised his head again.
"Listen, hunter," he said. "I have returned thanks to God for my deliverance, as was my duty; for it was He who inspired you with the thought of defending me. Now that I am beginning to grow a little calmer, and feel accustomed to my new condition, be good enough to tell me what passed between you and my master, that I may know the extent of the debt I owe you, and that I may regulate my future conduct by it. Speak, I am listening."
"What need to tell you a story which can interest you so slightly? You are free, that ought to be sufficient for you."
"No, that is not sufficient; I am free, that is true, but how have I become so? That is what I do not know, and I have the right to ask of you."
"The story, I say again, has nothing that can interest you at all; still, as it may cause you to form a better opinion of the man to whom you belonged, I will not longer refuse to tell it to you; so listen."
Tranquil, after this opening, told in all their details the events that happened between himself and the slave dealer, and when he had finished, added
"Well, are you satisfied now?"
"Yes," the Negro replied, who had listened to him with the most sustained attention. "I know that, next to God, I owe everything to you, and I will remember it; never will you have to remind me of the debt, under whatever circumstances we may meet."
"You owe me nothing, now that you are free; it is your duty to employ that liberty in the way a man of upright and honest heart should do."
"I will try not to prove myself unworthy of what God and you have done for me; I also thank John Davis sincerely for the good feeling that urged him to listen to your remonstrances; perhaps I may be able to requite him some day; and, if the opportunity offers, I shall not neglect it."
"Good! I like to hear you speak so, for it proves to me that I was not mistaken about you; and now what do you intend to do?"
"What advice do you give me?"
"The question you ask me is a serious one, and I hardly know how to answer it; the choice of a profession is always a difficult affair, and must be reflected upon ripely before a decision is formed; in spite of my desire to be of service to you, I should not like to give you advice, which you would doubtless follow for my sake, and which might presently cause you regret. Besides, I am a man whose life since the age of seven has always been spent in the woods, and I am, consequently, far too unacquainted with what is called the world to venture to lead you on a path which I do not know myself."
"That reasoning seems to me perfectly correct. Still, I cannot remain here, and must make up my mind to something or other."
"Do one thing."
"What is it?"
"Here are a knife, gun, powder, and bullets; the desert is open before you, so go and try for a few days the free life of the great solitudes; during your long hours of hunting you will have leisure to reflect on the vocation you are desirous to embrace; you will weigh in your mind the advantages you expect to derive from it, and then, when your mind is quite made up, you can turn your back on the desert, go back to the towns, and, as you are an active, honest, and intelligent man, I am certain you will succeed in whatever calling you may choose."
The Negro nodded his head several times.
"Yes," he said, "in what you propose to me there is both good and bad; that is not exactly what I should wish."
"Explain yourself clearly, Quoniam; I can see you have something at the end of your tongue which you do not like to say."
"That is true; I have not been frank with you, Tranquil, and I was wrong, as I now see clearly. Instead of asking you hypocritically for advice, which I did not at all intend to follow, I ought to have told you honestly my way of thinking, and that would have been altogether better."
"Come," the hunter said, laughingly, "speak."
"Well, really I do not see why I should not tell you what I have on my heart. If there be a man in the world who takes an interest in me it is certainly you; and hence, the sooner I know what I have to depend on, the better: the only life that suits me is that of a wood-ranger. My instincts and feelings impel me to it; all my attempts at flight, when I was a slave, tended to that object. I am only a poor Negro, whom his narrow mind and intelligence would not guide properly in towns, where man is not valued for what he is worth, but for what he appears. What use would that liberty, of which I am so proud, appear to me, in a town where I should have to dispose of it to the first comer, in order to procure the food and clothing I need? I should only have regained my liberty to render myself a slave. Hence it is in the desert alone I can profit by the kindness I owe to you, without fear of ever being impelled by wretchedness to actions unworthy of a man conscious of his own worth. Hence it is in the desert I desire henceforth to live, only visiting the towns to exchange the skins of animals I have killed for powder, bullets, and clothing. I am young and strong, and the God who has hitherto protected me will not desert me."
"You are perhaps right, and I cannot blame you for wishing to follow my example, when the life I lead seems to me preferable to all others. Well, now that is all settled, my good Quoniam, we can part, and I wish you luck; perhaps we shall meet again, sometimes, on the Indian territory."