“If he be not, I don’t know who the devil is!” responded Richard, with an asperity that might be deemed a little unseasonable. “A man who serves his country, is true to his messmate, and has no skulk about him, I call a saint, so far as mere religion goes. I say, Guinea, my hearty, give the chaplain a gripe of the fist, if you call yourself a Christian. A Spanish windlass wouldn’t give a stronger screw than the knuckles of that nigger an hour ago; and, now, you see to what a giant may be brought.”
“His latter moment is indeed near. Shall I offer a prayer for the health of the departing spirit?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know!” answered Fid, gulping his words, and uttering a hem, that was still deep and powerful, as in the brightest and happiest of his days. “When there is so little time given to a poor fellow to speak his mind in, it may be well to let him have a chance to do most of the talking. Something may come uppermost which he would like to send to his friends in Africa; in which case, we may as well be looking out for a proper messenger. Hah! what is it, boy? You see he is already trying to rowse something up out of his ideas.”
“Misser Fid—he’m take a collar,” said the black, struggling for utterance.
“Ay, ay,” returned Richard, again clearing his throat, and looking to the right and left fiercely, as if he were seeking some object on which to wreak his vengeance. “Ay, ay, Guinea; put your mind at ease on that point, and for that matter on all others. You shall have a grave as deep as the sea, and Christian burial, boy, if this here parson will stand by his work. Any small message you may have for your friends shall be logg’d, and put in the way of coming to their ears. You have had much foul weather in your time, Guinea, and some squalls have whistled about your head, that might have been spaced, mayhap, had your colour been a shade or two lighter. For that matter, it may be that I have rode you down a little too close myself, boy, when over-heated with the conceit of skin; for all which may the Lord forgive me as freely as I hope you will do the same thing!”
The negro made a fruitless effort to rise, endeavouring to grasp the hand of the other, saying, as he did so,—
“Misser Fid beg a pardon of a black man! Masser aloft forget he’m all, misser Richard; he t’ink ’em no more.”
“It will be what I call a d——’d generous thing, if he does,” returned Richard, whose sorrow and whose conscience had stirred up his uncouth feelings to an extraordinary degree. “There’s the affair of slipping off the wreck of the smuggler has never been properly settled atween us, neither; and many other small services of like nature, for which, d’ye see, I’ll just thank you, while there is opportunity; for no one can say whether we shall ever be borne again on the same ship’s books.”
A feeble sign from his companion caused the topman to pause, while he endeavoured to construe its meaning as well as he was able. With a facility, that was in some degree owing to the character of the individual his construction of the other’s meaning was favourable to himself, as was quite evident by the manner in which he resumed,—
“Well, well, mayhap we may. I suppose they birth the people there in some such order as is done here below, in which case we may be put within hailing distance, after all. Our sailing orders are both signed; though, as you seem likely to slip your cable before these thieves are ready to run me up, you will be getting the best of the wind. I shall not say much concerning any signals it may be necessary to make, in order to make one another out aloft taking it for granted that you will not overlook master Harry, on account of the small advantage you may have in being the first to shove off, intending myself to keep as close as possible in his wake, which will give me the twofold advantage of knowing I am on the right tack, and of falling in with you”—