He was by no means, however, wanting in bravery, as a little incident once showed. A great hulking white fellow had been abusing him, taunting him with cowardice, and daring him to fight. The sailors belonging to his ship looked on amused, and (as he was a blacky) not caring to interfere.
“You ain’t nothing but a coward,” said the white man; “a coward, and the son of a slave.”
At these words Mou-Setsé, who had been sitting very still and apparently unheeding, rose to the full length of his great height. The words “son of a slave” had brought a certain flash into his eye.
With a stride, he was at the real coward’s side.
“I not fight,” he said; “you not make me fight, when de Book say no. No; I not fight, but I knock you down.”
In a moment, without the least apparent effort, the hulking white fellow lay at his feet.
“I specs you not like to lie dere,” continued Mou-Setsé. “Well, you beg de black man’s pardon; den you get up and go away.”
After this little scene, no one cared: again to molest Mou-Setsé.
He remained a sailor until he was two-and-twenty; then he took his leave of the captain and his crew, and left their ship. He had become a sailor for the furtherance of his hidden and unspoken purpose. Now, having made and saved money, he went away. His purpose was calling him to America—then, indeed, the land of slaves.