“Remind him of his father’s death!”
“Of the massacre of his people!”
“His own captivity!”
“Only let hatred inflame his heart, and he will be ours.”
The negro, who had remained for some time lost in thought, said suddenly: “Brothers, suppose Mahal the Smuggler were to betray us?”
“He” cried the Hindoo, almost with indignation; “he gave us an asylum on board his bark; he secured our flight from the Continent; he is again to take us with him to Bombay, where we shall find vessels for America, Europe, Africa.”
“What interest would Mahal have to betray us?” said Faringhea. “Nothing could save him from the vengeance of the sons of Bowanee, and that he knows.”
“Well,” said the black, “he promised to get Djalma to come hither this evening, and, once amongst us, he must needs be our own.”
“Was it not the Smuggler who told us to order the Malay to enter the ajoupa of Djalma, to surprise him during his sleep, and, instead of killing him as he might have done, to trace the name of Bowanee upon his arm? Djalma will thus learn to judge of the resolution, the cunning and obedience of our brethren, and he will understand what he has to hope or fear from such men. Be it through admiration or through terror, he must become one of us.”
“But if he refuses to join us, notwithstanding the reasons he has to hate mankind?”