“I will tell you, friend Manuel,” I answered, for his wine had warmed me much, his daughter more; “I would have had her taught, at least, to read and write, that she had an immortal soul, a soul as precious to its Maker as to herself. I would have had her taught to despise such superstitious nonsense as Obeoism, mist spirits, and all the pernicious jargon of spells and fetishes. I would, my dear Manuel, have made her a fit companion for myself; for with such beauty and such a soul, I am convinced that she would realise female perfection as nearly as poor humanity is permitted to do.”
“Que voulez-vous?” again met my ears; it was attended by some attempt at justification of his very culpable remissness. He assured me, that, according to the laws, social as well as judicial, a person of her class, were she possessed of all the attributes of an angel, could never be received into white society, nor wed with any but a person of colour. The light of education, he asserted, would only the more show her her own degradation: he said he felt for her, deeply felt for her, and that he shuddered at the idea of his own death, for in that event he felt assured that she would be sold with the rest of the negroes on the estate, and be treated in all respects as a slave—and she had been so delicately nurtured. She had, indeed: her long white fingers and velvety hand bore sufficient testimony to this.
“But can you not manumit her?” said I.
“Impossible. When the island was more settled and better governed than now, the legal obstructions thrown in the way of the act were almost insuperable: at present it is impossible. I have no doubt that our blood-thirsty enemies, the Spaniards, who are our nearest neighbours, immediately you English leave the town, as you have dismantled our forts, and carried away almost all the male population captive, will come and take possession of this place—not that I care a sou for the brigands whom you have just routed out. I shall have to submit to the Spanish authority, and their slave laws are still more imperative than ours, though they invariably treat their slaves better than any other nation. No, there is no hope for poor Josephine.”
“Could you not send her to France?”
“Sacre Dieu! they guillotined all my relations, all my friends—all, all—and, my friend, I never made gold by taking a share in those long low schooners that you have kindly taken under your care. I have some boxes of doubloons stowed away, it is true. But, after all, I am attached to this place; I could not sell the estate for want of a purchaser; and I am surrounded by such an infernal set of rascals, that I never could embark myself with my hard cash without being murdered. No, we must do at Rome as the Romans do.”
“A sweet specimen of a Roman you are,” thought I, and I fell into a short reverie; but it was broken up most agreeably, by seeing Josephine trip before the open jalousies with a basket of flowers in her hand. She paused for a moment before us, and looked kindly at her father and smilingly at me. It was the first joyous, really joyous smile that I had seen in her expressive countenance. It went right to my heart, and brought with it a train of the most rapturous feelings.
“God bless her heart; I do love her dearly!” said the old man. “I’ll give you a convincing proof of it, my young friend, Rattlin. Ah! bah—but you other English have spoiled all—you have taken him with you.”
“Who?”
“Why, Captain Durand. That large low black schooner was his. Yes, he would have treated her well (said Monsieur le Père, musing), and he offered to sign an agreement, never to put her to field-work, or to have her flogged.”