Clara had sat all this time intently watching every movement, but too weak from agitation to interfere, even if she had been so disposed.
Ratcliff, recovering from the confusion of brain produced by the rapid blows he had endured, looked to see to whom he had been indebted for help. In all the whims of Fate, could it be there was one like this in reserve? Yes! that negro was the same he, Ratcliff, had once caused to be scourged till three men were wearied out in the labor of lashing. The fellow’s back must be all furrowed and criss-crossed with the marks got from him, Ratcliff. Yet here was the nigger, coming to the succor of his old master! The instinct of servility was stronger in him even than revenge. Who would deny, after this, what he, Ratcliff, had often asserted, “Niggers will be niggers?”
And so, instead of recognizing a godlike generosity in the act, the slave-driver saw in it only the habit of a base spirit, and the wholesome effect, upon an inferior, of that imposing quality in his, Ratcliff’s, own nature and bearing, which showed he was of the master race, and justified all his assumptions.
Watching his opportunity Ratcliff crawled toward the billiard-room door, and, suddenly starting up, pulled it open, thinking to escape. To his dismay he encountered a large black dog of the bloodhound species, who growled and showed his teeth so viciously that Ratcliff sprang back. Following the dog appeared a young soldier, who, casting round his eyes, saw Clara, and darting to her side, seized and warmly pressed her extended hand. Overcome with amazement, Ratcliff reeled backward and sank into an arm-chair, for in the soldier he recognized Captain Onslow.
Voices were now heard on the stairs, and two men appeared. One of them was of a compact, well-built figure, and apparently about fifty years old. He was clad in a military dress, and his aspect spoke courage and decision. The individual at his side, and who seemed to be paying court to him, was a tall, gaunt figure, in the coarse uniform of the prison. He carried his cap in his hand, showing that half of his head was entirely bald, while the other half was covered with a matted mass of reddish-gray hair.
This last man, as he mounted the stairs and stood on the landing, might have been heard to say: “Kunnle Blake, you’re a high-tone gemmleman, ef you air a Yankee. You see in me, Kunnle, a victim of the damdest ongratitood. These Noo-Orleenz ’ristocrats couldn’t huv treated a nigger or an abolitioner wuss nor they’ve treated me. I told ’em I wuz Virginia-born; told ’em what I’d done fur thar damned Confed’racy; told ’em what a blasted good friend I’d been to the institootion; but—will you believe it?—they tuk me up on a low charge of ’propriatin’ to private use the money they giv me ter raise a company with;—they hahd me up afore a committee of close-fisted old fogies, an’ may I be shot ef they didn’t order me to be jugged, an’ half of my head to be shaved! An’ ’t was did. Damned ef it warnt! But I’ll be even with ’em, damn ’em! Ef I don’t, may I be kept ter work in a rice-swamp the rest of my days. I’ll let ’em see what it is to treat one of the Hyde blood in this ’ere way, as if he war a low-lived corn-cracker. I’ll let ’em see what thar rotten institootion’s wuth. Ef they kn afford ter make out of a born gemmleman a scarecrow like I am now, with my half-shaved scalp, jes fur ’propriatin’ a few of thar damned rags, well and good. They’ll hahv ter look round lively afore they kn find sich another friend as Delancey Hyde has been ter King Cotton,—damn him! They shall find Delancy Hyde kn unmake as well as make.”
To these wrathful words, Blake replied: “Perhaps you don’t remember me, Colonel Hyde.”
“Cuss me ef I do. Ef ever I seed you afore, ’ was so long ago that it’s clean gone out of my head.”
“Don’t you remember the policeman who made you give up the fugitive slave, Peek, that day in the lawyer’s office in New York?”