“Yes, father,” I said, bluntly.
“Yes, my boy. It is forced upon me to do so; but it will be an easy slavery, George. We have thrown their chains away, and they are free to go wherever they like. Now call Morgan, and let’s have them up here.”
I called our man, and the sail was dragged aside, for the boy to crouch menacingly by the man, who lay gazing at us in a dull, heavy way.
“How are we to make them understand?” said my father, who advanced, bent down, and took hold of the negro’s wrist and felt his pulse.
The boy bared his teeth, but the man said a word or two in his own language, and the boy drew back.
“Stronger, decidedly,” said my father; and he stood watching his patient, while I fetched some more bread and soaked it in wine.
He ate it slowly and mechanically, like some beast of burden, and when it was finished my father signed to him to get up, saying the words at the same time.
He evidently understood, and tried to raise himself, nearly reaching to a sitting position, but falling back from sheer weakness, and gazing shrinkingly at us as if expecting a blow.
But as no blow came he spoke to the boy, who at once took his hands and pulled him into a sitting position, but the man could do no more, and uttered a low groan in his abject weakness as he gazed up in his eyes.
My father thought for a moment and then turned to Morgan.