“I took him with me: but what he has done with the hut and the plantain ground, I can’t tell.”
“And the earthquake; grandpapa?” for I had not forgotten that.
“You want to know every thing, boy, and you forget that my memory fails me; however, I’ll try and recollect that too for some other night; but you must go to bed now, and to-morrow Davy will tell you all about it.”
I afterwards learned that Davy had rescued my poor dear mother from destruction at the risk of his own life during an earthquake in Trinidad, for which my grandfather had given him his freedom, together with the hut and land. But the free black had no protection in the west: the slaves plundered his property; sickness came, and no medical attendant would minister to his wants without his accustomed fee; he contracted debts, and his ground was sold to the estate on which it was situated to pay the lawyers. He quitted the island of Trinidad to go to Berbice; but being wrecked near Mahaica Creek, on the east coast of Demerara, he lost his free papers, was seized by the government, and sold as a slave to pay the expenses of advertising and his keep. He fortunately fell into the hands of a kind master, who at his death once more set him at liberty, and he had come to England in the hope of bettering his condition. But here misfortune still pursued him; the gentleman whom he accompanied died on the passage; he could obtain no employment on his landing; he had been plundered of what little money he possessed, and had since wandered about the country, till the evening that he implored charity and found a home.
My worthy grandfather is now numbered with the dead; and I love to sit upon his grave-stone at the evening hour: it seems as if I were once more placed upon his knee and listening to his tales of by-gone years. But Daddy Davy is still in existence and living with me; indeed whilst I have been writing I have had occasion to put several questions to him on the subject, and he has been fidgetting about the room to try and ascertain what I was relating respecting him. “I am only giving a sketch of my grandfather, Davy,” said I.
“Catch, massa! what he call catch?”
“About the schooner, and Trinidad, and the earthquake, Davy.”
“And da old massa what sleep in da Werk-en-rust?”[16]
“Yes, Davy, and the snow-storm.”
“Ah, da buckra good man! Davy see him noder time up dere,” pointing towards the sky; “Gor Amighty for eber bless kind massa!”