Massa bids me ax, said Peter, if you are a gentleman, an if you know it am de custom in England for gentleman-prisners to give dere word-ob-honour dat dey not run away, an den go about as if dey was free?
Tell him that every officer in the service of the King of England is considered a gentleman.
Come now, sar, interrupted Peter sternly, you know das not true. I bin in England myselfcook to a French restrung in Londonan I nebber hear dat a pleece officer was a gentleman!
Well, I mean every commissioned officer in the army and navy, returned Foster, and when such are taken prisoner I am aware that they are always allowed a certain amount of freedom of action on giving their word of honour that they will not attempt to escape.
When this was explained to Ben-Ahmed, he again said a few words to the negro, who translated as before.
Massa say dat as you are a gentleman if you will gib your word-ob-honour not to escape, he will make you free. Not kite free, ob course, but free to work in de gardin widout chains; free to sleep in de out-house widout bein locked up ob nights, an free to enjoy youself wen you gits de chance.
Foster looked keenly at the negro, being uncertain whether or not he was jesting, but the solemn features of that arch hyperkrite were no index to the working of his eccentric mindsave when he permitted them to speak; then, indeed, they were almost more intelligible than the plainest language.
And what if I refuse to pledge my word for the sake of such freedom? asked our hero.
Wy, den youll git whacked, an youll sperience uncommon hard times, an youll change you mind bery soon, so I tink, on de whole, you better change im at once. Seems to me yous a remarkably obsnit young feller!
With a sad feeling that he was doing something equivalent to locking the door and throwing away the key, Foster gave the required promise, and was forthwith conducted into the garden and set to work.
His dark friend supplied him with a new striped cotton shirthis own having been severely torn during his recent adventuresalso with a pair of canvas trousers, a linen jacket, and a straw hat with a broad rim; all of which fitted him badly, and might have caused him some discomfort in other circumstances, but he was too much depressed just then to care much for anything. His duty that day consisted in digging up a piece of waste ground. To relieve his mind, he set to work with tremendous energy, insomuch that Peter the Great, who was looking on, exclaimed
Hi! what a digger you is! Youll bust up altogidder if you goes on like dat. De moles is nuffin to you.
But Foster heeded not. The thought that he was now doomed to hopeless slavery, perhaps for life, was pressed home to him more powerfully than ever, and he felt that if he was to save himself from going mad he must work with his muscles like a tiger, and, if possible, cease to think. Accordingly, he went on toiling till the perspiration ran down his face, and all his sinews were strained.
Poor boy! muttered the negro in a low tone, hes tryin to dig his own grave. But he not succeed. Many a man try dat before now and failed. Howsomeber, its blowin a hard gale wid him just nowan de harder it blow de sooner its ober. Arter de storm comes de calm.
With these philosophic reflections, Peter the Great went off to his own work, leaving our hero turning over the soil like a steam-plough.
Strong though Foster wasboth of muscle and willhe was but human after all. In course of time he stopped from sheer exhaustion, flung down the spade, and, raising himself with his hands stretched up and his face turned to the sky, he cried
God help me! what shall I do?
Then, dropping his face on his hands, he stood for a considerable time quite motionless.
What a fool I was to promise not to try to escape! he thought, and a feeling of despair followed the thought, but a certain touch of relief came when he reflected that at any time he could go boldly to his master, withdraw the promise, and take the consequences.
He was still standing like a statue, with his hands covering his face, when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. It was the negro who had returned to see how he was getting on.
Look yar, now, Geoge, he said in quite a fatherly manner, disll neber do. My massa buy you to work in de gardin, not to stand like a statoo washin its face widout soap or water. We dont want no more statoos. Got moren enuff ob marble ones all around. Besides, you dont make a good statooleastwise not wid dem slop cloes on. Now, come yar, Geoge. I wants a little combersation wid you. Ill preach you a small sarmin if youll allow me.
So saying, Peter led his assistant slave into a cool arbour, where Ben-Ahmed was wont at times to soothe his spirits with a pipe.
Now, look yar, Geoge, dis wont do. I say it once and for alldis wont do.
I know it wont, Peter, replied the almost heart-broken middy, with a sad smile, youre very kind. I know you take an interest in me, and Ill try to do better, but Im not used to spade-work, you know, and
Spade-work! shouted Peter, laying his huge black hand on Fosters shoulder, and giving him a squeeze that made him wince, das not what I mean. Work! wy yous done moren a days work in one hour, judging by de work ob ornary slabes. No, das not it. Whats wrong is dat you dont rightly understand your privleges. Das de word, your privleges. Now, look yar. I dont want you to break your heart before de time, an fur dat purpus I would remind you dat while dars life dars hope. Moreober, yous got no notion what luck youre in. If a bad massa got hold ob you, he gib you no noo cloes, he gib you hard, black bread stead o de good grub what you gits yar. He make you work widout stoppin all day, and whack you on de sole ob your foots if you dar say one word. Was you eber whacked on de sole ob your foots?
No, never, replied Foster, amused in spite of himself by the negros earnest looks and manner.
Ho! den you dont know yet what Paradise am.
Paradise, Peter? You mean the other place, I suppose.
No, sar, I mean noting ob de sort. I mean de Paradise what comes arter its ober, an you gins to git well again. Hah! but youll find it out some day. But, to continoo, yous got eberyting whats comfrable here. If you ony sawd de Bagnio slabes at workIll take you to see em some dayden youll be content an pleased wid your lot till de time comes when you escape.
Escape! How can I escape, Peter, now that I have given my word of honour not to try?
Noting easier, replied the negro calmly, yous ony got to break your word-ob-honour!
Im sorry to hear you say that, my friend, returned Foster, for it shakes my confidence in you. You must know that an English gentleman never breaks his wordthat is, he never should break itand you may rest assured that I will not break mine. If your view of such matters is so loose, Peter, what security have I that you wont deceive me and betray me when it is your interest or your whim to do so?
Security, Massa? I lub you! Is fond o your smood babby face. Isnt dat security enough?
Foster could not help admitting that it was, as long as it lasted! But what, he asked, what security has Ben-Ahmed that you wont be as false to him as you recommend me to be?
Security, Massa? I lub you! Is fond o your smood babby face. Isnt dat security enough?
Foster could not help admitting that it was, as long as it lasted! But what, he asked, what security has Ben-Ahmed that you wont be as false to him as you recommend me to be?
I lub massa too! answered the negro, with a bland smile.
What! love a man whom you have described to me as the most obstinate fellow you ever knew?
Ob course I do, returned Peter. Wy not? A obsnit man may be as good as anoder man what can be shoved about any way you please. Ha! you not know yit what it is to hab a bad massa. Wait a bit; you find it out, praps, soon enough. Look yar.
He bared his bosom as he spoke, and displayed to his wondering and sympathetic friend a mass of old scars and gashes and healed-up sores.
Dis what my last massa do to me, cause I not quite as smart as he wish. De back am wuss. Oh, if you knowd a bad massa, youd be thankful to-day for gettin a good un. Now, what I say is, nobody never knows whats a-goin to turn up. You just keep quiet an wait. Some slabes yar hab waited patiently for ten-fifteen year, an more. What den? Sure to scape sooner or later. Many are ransum in a year or two. Oders longer. Lots ob em die, an scape dat way. Keep up your heart, Geoge, whateber you do, and, if you wont break your word-ob-honour, something elsell be sure to turn up.
Although the negros mode of affording comfort and encouragement was not based entirely on sound principles, his cheery and hopeful manner went a long way to lighten the load of care that had been settling down like a dead weight on young Fosters heart, and he returned to his work with a happier spirit than he had possessed since the day he leaped upon the deck of the pirate vessel. That night he spent under the same roof with his black friend and a number of the other slaves, none of whom, however, were his countrymen, or could speak any language that he understood. His bed was the tiled floor of an out-house, but there was plenty of straw on it. He had only one blanket, but the nights as well as days were warm, and his food, although of the simplest kind and chiefly vegetable, was good in quality and sufficient in quantity.
The next day, at the first blush of morning light, he was aroused with the other slaves by Peter the Great, who, he found, was the Moors overseer of domestics. He was put to the same work as before, but that day his friend the negro was sent off on a mission that was to detain him several days from home. Another man took Peters place, but, as he spoke neither English nor French, no communication passed between the overseer and slave except by signs. As, however, the particular job on which he had been put was simple, this did not matter. During the period of Peters absence the poor youth felt the oppression of his isolated condition keenly. He sank to a lower condition than before, and when his friend returned, he was surprised to find how much of his happiness depended on the sight of his jovial black face!
Now, Geoge, was the negros first remark on seeing him, yous down in de blues again!
Well, I confess I have not been very bright in your absence, Peter. Not a soul to speak a word to; nothing but my own thoughts to entertain me; and poor entertainment they have been. Dyou know, Peter, I think I should die if it were not for you.
Nebber a bit ob it, massa. Yous too cheeky to die soon. Is noticed, in my sperience, dat de young slabes as has got most self-conceit an imprence is allers hardest to kill.
I scarce know whether to take that as encouragement or otherwise, returned Foster, with the first laugh he had given vent to for a long time.
Take it how you please, Geoge, as de doctor said to de dyin manwont matter much in de long-run. But come long wid me an lets hab a talk ober it all. Lets go to de bower.
In the bower the poor middy found some consolation by pouring his sorrows into the great black sympathetic breast of Peter the Great, though it must be confessed that Peter occasionally took a strange way to comfort him. One of the negros perplexities lay in the difficulty he had to convince our midshipman of his great good-fortune in having fallen into the hands of a kind master, and having escaped the terrible fate of the many who had cruel tyrants as their owners, who were tortured and beaten when too ill to work, who had bad food to eat and not too much of it, and who were whipped to death sometimes when they rebelled. Although Foster listened and considered attentively, he failed to appreciate what his friend sought to impress, and continued in a state of almost overwhelming depression because of the simple fact that he was a slavea bought and sold slave!
Now, look yar, Geoge, said the negro, remonstratively, you is a slabe; das a fact, an no application ob fut rule or compasses, or the mulplication table, or any oder table, kin change dat. Dere you ama slabe! But you aint a bused slabe, a whacked slabe, a tortered slabe, a dead slabe. Youre all alibe an kickin, Geoge! So you cheer up, an someting sure to come ob it; an if noting comes ob it, wy, de cheerin up hab come ob it anyhow.
Foster smiled faintly at this philosophical view of his case, and did make a brave effort to follow the advice of his friend.
Das right, now, Geoge; you laugh an grow fat. Moreober, you go to work now, for if massa come an find us here, hes bound to know de reason why! Go to work, Geoge, an forgit your troubles. Das my wayan Is got a heap o troubles, bress you!
So saying, Peter the Great rose and left our forlorn midshipman sitting in the arbour, where he remained for some time ruminating on past, present, and future instead of going to work.
Apart from the fact of his being a slave, the youths condition at the moment was by no means disagreeable, for he was seated in a garden which must have borne no little resemblance to the great original of Eden, in a climate that may well be described as heavenly, with a view before him of similar gardens which swept in all their rich luxuriance over the slopes in front of him until they terminated on the edge of the blue and sparkling sea.
While seated there, lost in reverie, he was startled by the sound of approaching footstepsvery different indeed from the heavy tread of his friend Peter. A guilty conscience made him glance round for a way of escape, but there was only one entrance to the bower. While he was hesitating how to act, an opening in the foliage afforded him a passing glimpse of a female in the rich dress of a Moorish lady.
He was greatly surprised, being well aware of the jealousy with which Mohammedans guard their ladies from the eyes of men. The explanation might lie in this, that Ben-Ahmed, being eccentric in this as in most other matters, afforded the inmates of his harem unusual liberty. Before he had time to think much on the subject, however, the lady in question turned into the arbour and stood before him.
If the word thunderstruck did justice in any degree to the state of mind which we wish to describe we would gladly use it, but it does not. Every language, from Gaelic to Chinese, equally fails to furnish an adequate word. We therefore avoid the impossible and proceed, merely remarking that from the expression of both faces it was evident that each had met with a crushing surprise.
We can understand somewhat the midshipmans state of mind, for the being who stood before him waswaswell, we are again nonplussed! Suffice it to say that she was a girl of fifteen summersthe other forty-five seasons being, of course, understood. Beauty of feature and complexion she had, but these were lost, as it were, and almost forgotten, in her beauty of expressiontenderness, gentleness, urbanity, simplicity, and benignity in a state of fusion! Now, do not run away, reader, with the idea of an Eastern princess, with gorgeous black eyes, raven hair, tall and graceful form, etcetera! This apparition was fair, blue-eyed, golden-haired, girlish, sylph-like. She was graceful, indeed, as the gazelle, but not tall, and with an air of suavity that was irresistibly attractive. She had a good face as well as a beautiful, and there was a slightly pitiful look about the eyebrows that seemed to want smoothing away.