"My mamma! she was a beautiful lady, oh! so beautiful! I know that's true, because papa told her so every day, when she put the red roses in her hair that Jube brought. You remember, Jube?"
"Yes, little master, I remember; but turn your eyes away, I can't bear 'em just now."
"And where did your father live?" persisted the mate, feeling his way adroitly, as a pointer scents his game.
The child pointed toward the town.
"In a large house?" said Thrasher.
"The biggest house on the island," answered Jube, true to the instincts of his class.
"And they drove your master away like the rest?"
"Like the meanest of them all. It was his own slaves began. They knew of his gold, and that he wanted to send it off to some other country."
"He was rich, then?"
"Rich—no man like him in all Domingo! It was a great family—six brothers; they all gathered up their gold and brought it to my master's, ready to be put on board some ship—this one it may be. I had care of the gold, but the boxes were heavy, and the other slaves guessed what was in them, and told about it. But they did not know where it was hid, for my master and his brothers only went with me to the cellar. It was a heavy lift for gentlemen like them, but we got it all into the vault, and heaped stones and rubbish against the door. They meant to move it that very night. A boat was ready to carry it to White's Island. The day before, masters and I went there, and dug a pit to bury it in."