“No,” replied the planter, “and when you begin to go amongst the slave-huts, you will, as a stranger, begin to wonder at their aspect, for the simplest shelter made with a few bamboos is soon turned by Nature into a home of beauty.”
“But all the same it is a slave’s prison,” replied Murray.
“We had better not discuss that question, young gentleman,” said the planter bitterly, “for I am sure that I could not convince you that I have tried for years past to render the slaves’ lot more bearable.”
“Nothing could make it more bearable,” said Murray sternly.
“Certainly not,” said the other sadly, “as matters are here.”
He raised his broad-brimmed Panama hat and turned to leave the bamboo platform, but, misjudging his strength, he reeled and would have fallen headlong into the placid water if it had not been for Murray’s prompt action. For, starting forward, he flung his arm round the sick man’s waist, and supported him to the doorway that had been pointed out beneath the broad verandah.
“Thank you! Thank you!” panted the sick man; and with a painful smile he continued, “Ah, it is a great thing to be young and strong, with the world before you and nothing to repent.—If you please, through that door to the left.”
They were standing now in a simply but handsomely furnished hall, whose principal decorations caught the lad’s eyes at once, being, as they were, sporting and defensive weapons of all kinds, and of
the best manufacture, hung about the walls; but for the moment Murray had no opportunity for inspecting these objects of interest, his attention being taken up by the planter, who availed himself of his guardian’s help to pass through the door upon their left, where he sank upon a couch at one side of the room and closed his eyes.