It was a long, dreary day; but the sunset came at last, flooding the harbor with crimson, which made the water look ensanguined like the land. One by one the lights of the town began to flame out again, and hoarse sounds mingled with the surf of the tide. Now the boy became restless, and his eyes began to gleam impatiently.
"Jube, dear Jube, let us go ashore with a big boat, and bring them away! don't you hear the noise—don't you see how the fire flashes. They'll be hurt, Jube, and we shan't be there to help them."
Thrasher, the mate, was passing as the boy said this; he paused, and patted the little fellow's head.
"Who is it you want to help, my little man?" he said.
The child shrunk against his black guardian, and looked up with such gentle earnestness that Thrasher's eyes fell under the glance.
"We want to go after them, monsieur. My papa and mamma; she couldn't wait for me, because papa wanted her, and so rowed away after him. But she sent dear old Jube to stay with me, didn't she Jube?"
He lifted both hands, and pressed the palms lovingly against the black cheeks of the slave, with a childishness which was the more touching because of its mournful trust.
"So you think your mother has gone back to the shore again?" said Thrasher, whose attention to this child was singular, for he was in no way a man of fine sensibilities, and had received the boy, and, afterward, the slave, rather grudgingly.
"Yes," answered Paul; "after papa lay down to rest, you know, mamma wanted to go back there, and struggled, and cried; but they wouldn't let her. You might know she'd be off the minute she woke up and found the captain had left her with a boat all to herself; but she's a long time. Don't you think it's a long time. I'm so tired of waiting."
"And who was your mamma, my little man?"