“You never had to fetch it for me,” I rejoined, “or you would not have taken the trouble. What trouble would you take for me, if I were blind now and not you? I should become of no use to you, and you would leave me to die. You only let me live that you might make me work for you, and beat me cruelly. It’s my turn now—you’re the boy, and I’m the master.”
The reader must remember that I did not know the meaning of the word “boy;” my idea of it was, that it was in opposition to “master,” and boy, with me, had the same idea as the word “slave.”
“Be it so,” replied he, calmly. “I shall not want water long.”
There was a quietness about Jackson which made me suspect him, and the consequence was, that, although I turned into my bed-place, which was on the ground at the side of the cabin opposite to his, I did not feel inclined to go to sleep, but remained awake, thinking of what had passed. It was towards morning when I heard him move; my face being turned that way, I had no occasion to stir to watch his motions. He crept very softly out of his bed-place towards me, listening, and advancing on his knees, not more than a foot every ten seconds. “You want me in your grasp,” thought I; “come along,” and I drew my American knife from its sheath, without noise, and awaited his approach, smiling at the surprise he would meet with. I allowed him to come right up to me; he felt the side of my bed, and then passed his right hand over to seize me. I caught his right hand with my left, and passing the knife across his wrist, more than half divided it from his arm. He gave a shriek of surprise and pain, and fell back.
“He has a knife,” exclaimed he, with surprise, holding his severed wrist with the other hand.
“Yes, he has a knife, and more than one,” replied I; “and you see that he knows how to use it. Will you come again? Or will you believe that I am master?”
“If you have any charity or mercy, kill me at once,” said he, as he sat up in the moonlight, in the centre of the floor of the cabin.
“Charity and mercy,” said I, “what are they? I never heard of them.”
“Alas! No,” replied he, “I have showed none—it’s a judgment on me—a judgment on me for my many sins; Lord, forgive me! First my eyes, now my right hand useless. What next, O Lord of Heaven?”
“Why, your other hand next,” replied I, “if you try it again.”