Percival Keene Part 25

"Strange that you should have discovered the path; did any one betray it to you?"

"No one," replied I: and I then told him how I had fallen into it.

"Well you have returned all obligations, and more than ever you owed me," said he: "you have saved my life this time, and that when all chance was over."

"Then," replied I, "although I shall be very sorry to part with you, give me that liberty which I had gained, and which I lost in defending you from the dogs."

"I would have let you go then, Cato," replied he, "but your life would have been sacrificed. My pursuers would have hurried you to prison before you could have explained who you were. You forget your colour is changed; they were not seeking me, but a runaway slave, and the bloodhounds came upon my track. Those white men show no mercy; they have more pleasure in seeing a runaway slave torn to pieces by those dogs than in recovering possession of him. It is a sort of fox-chase to them," continued he, grating his teeth after he had said so. "Cato, I will give you your liberty, if you wish it, and I know you do wish it, as soon as I can with any prudence; that I promise you, and you know that I will keep my word."

"I am quite satisfied," replied I.

"And do you promise me that you will not attempt to escape a second time?"

"I promise you that I will not," replied I.

"Enough," said Vincent. "Now let us go down the hill, for I am very much torn by those infernal brutes, and must have the wounds washed and attended to."

We descended the hill, in silence, and in a quarter of an hour had gained the tent. Vincent was severely bitten and torn: as soon as his wounds had been dressed he lay down on his mat, and I did the same.

It was some days before Vincent recovered from the severe injuries which he had received from the bloodhounds; and he did not appear to be inclined to run any more risks of that sort. Although he said little, I could perceive that he was brooding over future vengeance and he was now nearly the whole of the day with his gla.s.s on the look-out hill.

One morning a schooner hove in sight, steering from the Havannah to the southward and eastward, either for the islands of the Spanish Main. The Stella had for many days been ready for instant sailing, and having watched her till near sunset, Vincent sent down orders for every soul to be on board, and the anchor hove up. Just as it was dark we towed out of the bay, and made all sail.

At daylight the schooner was but a few miles ahead of us and not being a fast sailer, in little more than an flour we were alongside of her. She proved to be bound to the island of Curacao, being the property of an old Dutch gentleman, who was on board with his daughter, a little girl about seven years old. The crew consisted chiefly of negroes, slaves to the owner; the master of the vessel and the mate being, with the exception of the old gentleman and the little girl, the only white people on board.

As usual, the crew were brought on board by the pirates, who reported to the captain that the vessel was in ballast, and of no value. As the crew of the Stella were already more than requisite, Vincent did not require the negroes; he told them that they might go on board the schooner again, and take her into any port they pleased; with the white people, however it was another affair.

I had remained below, not wis.h.i.+ng to witness a scene of butchery; but I was induced to look up the ladder, in consequence of Jose telling me that there was a little white girl come on board. At the time that I did so, Vincent had just done speaking with the negroes belonging to the captured vessel; they had fallen back, and there was then standing before Vincent, the master and mate of the vessel, the old Dutch gentleman, and the little girl.

A more interesting child I never had seen, and my heart bled at the idea of her being sacrificed. I could not help hoping that Vincent would have a similar feeling, but I was mistaken. The master and mate were pointed at, and immediately seized by negroes and tossed over into the sea. The old gentleman bowed his head over the beautiful child, and she knelt to him, as if for his blessing before she died. At that very moment Vincent gave the sign--I could remain quiet to longer--I sprang on the deck.

"Stop!" cried I to the men who were about to seize the old gentleman--"stop!" The negroes did fall back at my voice.

"What is this?" cried Vincent.

"Captain Vincent," cried I, "do you call yourself a man, to war with children and old grey-headed men? You must not, shall not, touch these two. You have wreaked your vengeance upon the white men; be content-- let these go."

"Cato," replied Vincent, fiercely, "it is well that it is you that have dared to s.n.a.t.c.h the prey from the fangs of the wild beast. Had it been another, this pistol should have sent a ball whizzing through his brain; as it is, go down below immediately."

"I do not fear your pistol, Captain Vincent, nor will I go below; that very pistol, in my hand, saved you from the fangs of the blood-hound. I tell you, therefore, that you must not destroy that innocent child--if you love me, you must not; for I will hate, detest, and scorn you ever afterwards. I entreat you--I implore you to let them go: they are not fit objects for your vengeance; and if you destroy them, I tell you, you are a coward."

"What!" roared the tiger, "a coward!" and, no longer able to contain himself he levelled his pistol at me and drew the trigger. It missed fire; Vincent looked very confused--he tossed the pistol on deck, folded his arms and turned his face away.

There was a dead silence. The negro crew looked first at me and then at the captain, as if awaiting orders, and uncertain of the issue. The Dutch gentleman seemed to be so lost in surprise, as to almost forget his impending fate; while the little girl clung to him and stared at me with her deep blue eyes. It was what on the theatres they would call a tableau.

I followed up my advantage. Stepping forward, and placing myself before the old man and the child, I first broke the silence.

"Captain Vincent," said I, "you did once promise me that you would never injure me or attempt my life; that promise you have broken. Since that, you have made me another promise--you may recollect it--which was, that you would allow me to leave you on the first favourable opportunity; there cannot be any opportunity more favourable than the present. The negroes whom you are to send back to the schooner do not know how to navigate her. I request, therefore, to know whether you intend to keep this second promise, or to break it as you have the first? I ask my liberty."

"If I broke my promise just now, it was your fault," replied Vincent, coolly. "I am sorry for it, and I can say no more; I intended to keep it, and, to prove so, I now keep my second--you may go."

"I thank you for that. I only wish that, now I leave you, I could leave you with feelings of good-will and not of--I must say it--of horror and disgust. Captain Vincent, once more let me beg, as a last favour, that you will spare these poor people."

"Since you are so particularly interested about this useless old man and still more useless child," replied Vincent, sarcastically, "I will now make a proposal to you. You have your liberty. Do you choose to give it up and remain here, provided I let them go away in the schooner?

Come now--take your choice; for I swear by my colour, that if you go away in the schooner, the moment you shove off, they shall go over the gunwale."

"My choice is then made," replied I; for I knew that when he swore by his colour he was in earnest: "release them, and I will remain here." I little knew what I was to undergo in consequence of this decision.

"Be it so," said Vincent: then turning to one of the mates, "let them go back with the negroes; hoist the boat up when she returns, and sail for the Rendezvous." So saying, he went down into the cabin.

"You are saved," said I, going up to the old Dutch gentleman; "lose no time; get into the boat as fast as possible, and make sail on your vessel as soon as you get on board. Good bye, little girl," said I, taking her hand.

"I thank you," replied the gentleman in good English--"I cannot say how much; I am so surprised at what I have seen but recollect the name of Vanderwelt, of Curacao; and if ever we meet again, you will find me grateful."

"I will; but ask no more questions now--into the boat--quick," said I, shaking his proffered hand. They were handed down into the boat by the negroes.

I remained on deck until they were put on board; the boat returned, was hoisted up, the schooner made sail again, and then I went down into the cabin. I found the negro captain stretched upon the sofa, his face covered up with both his hands; he remained in the same position, taking no notice of my coming down. Although my confidence in him was destroyed after his snapping the pistol at me, yet when I reflected how I had bearded him in his rage, I did make some excuse for him; moreover, I knew that it was my interest to be on the best terms with him, and, if possible, make him forget what had pa.s.sed, for I felt that his proud spirit would make it difficult for him to forgive himself for having been induced by his pa.s.sion to break an oath which he had sworn to by his colour; I therefore, after a little reflection, went up to him and said--

"I am sorry that I made you so angry, Captain Vincent; you must forgive me, but I thought that deed beneath you, and I could not bear to have a bad opinion of you."

"Do you mean to a.s.sert that you have not a bad opinion of me now?"

replied he, fixing his eyes upon me.

"No, certainly not; you have released those I pleaded for, and I am very grateful to you for having done so."

"You have made me do what I never did before," replied he, raising himself and sitting with his feet on the deck.

"I know I have; I have made you spare those of my colour."

"I did not mean that; you have irritated me so as to make me break my oath."

"That was my own doing--my fault rather than yours. I had no right to speak as I did; but I was in a great rage, and that is the truth. I do believe that, if I had had a pistol in my hand, I should have fired it at you; so we may cry quits on that score."

"I am angry with myself--the more so, that I little imagined that you would have remained with me after my breaking my oath. Either you must have felt great interest about those people, or you must have great confidence in me, a confidence winch I have proved that I do not deserve."

"That you did forget yourself, I grant; but I have that confidence that it will be a warning to you, and you will not forget yourself again; I therefore remain with you with perfect confidence, feeling I am quite safe, until you think proper to give me my liberty."

"You will wish to leave me then?"

"I have relations and friends--a profession to follow. What can I gain by remaining here, except your friends.h.i.+p? I never will be a pirate, you may be a.s.sured, I wish from my heart that you were not one."

"And who should be pirates if the blacks are not?" replied Vincent.

"Have they not the curse of Cain? Are they not branded? Ought not their hands to be against every one but their own race? What is the Arab but the pirate of the desert--the sea of sand? Black is the colour for pirates. Even the white pirates feel the truth of this, or why do they hoist the _black_ flag?"

"At all events, it's a profession that seldom ends well."

"And what matter does that make? We can die but once--I care not how soon. I have not found life so very sweet as to care for it, I a.s.sure you. Cato, there is but one thing sweet in existence--one feeling that never clogs and never tires, and that is revenge."