"As you see; but what are you doing there? Why did you not escape during my absence?"
"Quoniam is no coward," he replied, "to escape while another is risking his life for him. I was waiting ready to surrender myself if the white hunter's life had been threatened."[1]
This was said with a simplicity full of grandeur, proving that such was really the Negro's intention.
"Good!" the hunter replied, kindly, "I thank you, for your intention was good; fortunately, your interference was unneeded; but, at any rate, you acted more wisely by remaining here."
"Whatever may happen to me, master, be assured that I shall feel ever grateful to you."
"All the better for you, Quoniam, for that will prove to me that you are not ungrateful, which is one of the worst vices humanity is afflicted by; but be good enough not to call me master again, for it grieves me; the word implies a degrading inferiority, and besides, I am not your master, but merely your companion."
"What other name can a poor slave give you?"
"My own, hang it. Call me Tranquil, as I call you Quoniam. Tranquil is not a difficult name to remember, I should think."
"Oh, not at all," the Negro said with a laugh.
[1] Nothing appears to us so ridiculous as that conventional jargon Which is placed in the mouth of Negroes; a jargon which, in the first place, impedes the story, and is moreover false; a double reason which urges us not to employ it here—all the worse for the local colouring.—G.A.