“I am ready for the burial. I see them waiting for me outside. Don’t stop me; I am ready for the burial.”
In attempting to move forwards, he fell heavily.
“Help, help!” cried Alfred to his companion. “Lay him on the mat: sprinkle water on his face; chafe his hands!”
It was too late. He was gone. He was indeed “ready for the burial.” Alfred waited for Becky that he might give her the only comfort in his power, in the hope that, now her filial cares were ended, she might join her sister by the exchange of the one or the other.
“Cassius has been climbing every hour since sunrise, to where he may see the sea,” said Mr. Bruce, laughing, to Alfred, on the day preceding his return to Barbadoes. “He is like a school-boy going home for the holidays.”
“To compare great things with small,” added Alfred.
“So you ship him with a party of your own, and your neighbour’s liberated slaves, for Liberia. How did you get leave? How did you gain any interest with the American Colonization Society?”
“Our object being the same, father, there was no difficulty in coming to an understanding. We planters take upon ourselves the expense of transportation, and the society receives our free blacks under the protection of its agent at Liberia.”
“And what do you suppose will become of them there?”
“That which has become of the free blacks of the United States who are settled there. They will labour, and prosper and be happy. They will become farmers, planters, merchants, or tradespeople. They will make their own laws, guard their own rights, and be as we are, men and citizens.”