“Um! Me see well ’nough now,” was the answer. “Me go right ’nough. But me rather stay, massa. Me always want to help.”
Dick patted him on the back, for he had long ago seen that Johnnie was a faithful fellow, and had taken his master into his special favour. He did not trouble to seek the cause, but knew that it was a fact—the little man had been proving his devotion to him in a hundred ways since they two had been left alone at the goldmine. But had Johnnie been asked, he would have quickly supplied a reason.
“Me lob Massa Dick,” he would often murmur to himself. “He not like some of dese white men who comes to de coast. Dey velly young often—jest like him—and dey tink dat dey oh so much finer dan de poor black man. So dey am; but no need kick and swear at um. Massa not like dat. He say, ‘please, Johnnie,’ nice and friendly, when he want him food. And he never forget ‘tank you, Johnnie.’ Dat what me like. Me work for man like dat. And massa velly fine young fellow. He brave. He make friend eberywhere—same’s Massa Pepson and de fat Dutchman. Dey his broders, who lob him same’s Johnnie.”
It was a clear explanation, and no doubt was perfectly truthful. Indeed, there is little doubt that a little more thought on the part of the white man would often result in better relations between himself and the man of darker complexion. Youth and inexperience are no excuse for harsh dealing and bitter words, for sneers and open scoffing. The black man needs special treatment. He can be ruled easily and well. He can be made a faithful and contented servant, and there are none more fitted to be his masters than are Englishmen. But whatever the black may be, he is a fellow human being, and deserves common kindness and courtesy, till he has proved himself unworthy of either; and a little care in such matters—more care than is always given—would perhaps lead to better relations in our Indian dominions.
“Me go wid de first lot, den,” said Johnnie. “Time massa reach de launch she hab steam fit to bust.”
“Then off you go to the hut, and bring me along that drum of kerosene oil we use for the miners’ lamps. Wait, though. I’ll go with you.”
He trudged off to the hut, and there for a quarter of an hour he and the little black stoker were hard at work, feeling sure that the miners would meanwhile hold all secure. Indeed, there was little to fear, for the moon was still up, though it was now close to the summit of the tree-tops, and would soon fall below the forest and be hidden. Still, while it was light, movement on their part, or on that of the enemy, would be madness.
“Now, Johnnie, smartly does it, as the sailors say,” cried Dick, as they entered the hut. “We will have that small lantern alight, and then we will commence operations. I am going to lay a little supper for Master James Langdon, expert thief and murderer. I will leave him a little legacy which will hardly please him. Got the lantern? Then bring all the picks and spare mining tools. Bring everything, in fact, likely to be of use in the mines, and now held in our stores. Pile them in the centre of the floor here close to the drum.”
The native looked up in astonishment, but flew at once to carry out the order. It took very little time, indeed, for the stores held in the hut were not very large or diverse. There were just sufficient spare parts to replace a few breakages—enough, in fact, to keep the mine going in its then primitive condition, and till it had shown whether it was valuable or not. The various articles were dumped down in the centre of the hut, while Dick busied himself with throwing there all the odds and ends of clothing hanging to the walls, scraps of paper, and inflammable articles.
“Now for the gold,” he said. “We have it in bags already, and have merely to divide it. Let me see. There are twelve miners, and they, with our two selves, make fourteen. Subtract two, for the chief and myself, who remain behind, and that leaves twelve. Twelve bags, Johnnie, do you hear?”