“I wish I knew a prar,” he whispered to himself, “for if ever hosses ’sarved it they do;” but the rude African had never prayed since he was a little child, and thinking himself too old to begin now, he rose up from the stump, just as his companions, having finished their task, were beginning to ridicule his bare head, telling him he must have an unkind master, judging from his own appearance and the sad fates of the horses, while one of them advised him to run away.
This was touching Bill in a tender point, for though he had loved the horses much, he loved his master more, and he would not hear him censured; accordingly he retorted petulantly that “thar warn’t a better master in all Georgy than mars’r Dick, nor a richer one neither,—and ’twan’t nobody’s business if he killed five hundred horses—he could afford it—’twan’t as though he was poor and owned nothin’ but a few low trash like the ’Gusty niggers!”
This insinuation the “Gusty niggers,” chose to resent as an insult, and a regular negro fight ensued, in which Bill, being the weaker party, came off rather badly beaten, his face being scratched in several places, while his pants received a huge rent, which in no wise tended to improve his personal appearance. Matters being at last amicably adjusted, the victorious party returned home, while Bill, who had frequently been in Augusta with his master, wended his way to a hatter’s shop, where he soon made himself the owner of a second-hand beaver, which at his request was ornamented by a weed of crape as a badge of mourning for his favorite steeds. Then seeing that the carriage was safely stowed away, he started on foot for home, stopping at the negro quarters of almost every plantation to relate his wonderful adventures. As he was perfectly trusty and faithful, he was always allowed to carry a pass by his good natured master and thus he found no difficulty in his journey, which he took quite leisurely, never reaching Sunny Bank until the close of the second day after the one on which he had left it.
In the meantime Mr. Delafield, with closely knit brows and compressed lip, his usual look when he was in deep thought, sat musing of the time when Rosa Lee would be his wife, while at his side the Yankee peddler, with his basket of essence carefully stowed under the seat, was casting curious glances at his companion, whose history he was desirous of knowing. But there was something in Mr. Delafield’s appearance which forbade familiarity, so for once the loquacious Yankee was silent.
They were now about half-way between Augusta and Charleston and going at great speed, when suddenly at a short curve there was a violent commotion—the passengers were pitched forward and backward, while the engine plunged down a steep embankment, throwing the train from the track and dragging after it the baggage car, which in some way became detached from the rest. The new “Yankee engineer” was a daring, reckless fellow, who at the North had been discharged for carelessness, and had come to try his fortune at the South. Fortunately no one was seriously hurt except Mr. Delafield, whose injuries were simply mental, as he knew this accident would probably detain them for many hours. In a perfect storm of excitement he stalked up and down the track, asking the conductor every few minutes how long it would probably be before they could go on, and at last growing so dark in his face that the Yankee, after looking over his essence basket and finding but few of his bottles broken, ventured to say, “Now, Squire, don’t git mad at a feller for askin’ a sassy question, but I raley du want to know if there ain’t a little atom of black blood in you?”
“Very likely,” answered Mr. Delafield; while the Yankee, now that the ice was broken, continued to ply him with questions, which, though very annoying to the haughty Southerner, tended to relieve in a measure the tediousness of waiting.
The sun had long been set and the stars were shining brightly ere they were able to proceed, and it was after midnight when they at last reached Charleston. Driving immediately to the lauding, Mr. Delafield to his great joy found that the steamer bound for New York still lay at the wharf and would not start until morning. But was Rosa Lee on board? That was a question which puzzled him, and as there was no way of satisfying himself until morning, he sat down in one of the state rooms and rather impatiently awaited the dawn of day.
The hurry—the confusion—and the excitement of starting was over. We were out upon the deep blue sea, and from the window of my state-room I watched the distant shore as it slowly receded from view, and felt that I was leaving the land of sunlight and of flowers. Notwithstanding the fatiguing journey of the previous day, I was better this morning than I had been for many months before, for I had slept quietly through the night.
An hour or two after breakfast Charlie came to me with a very peculiar expression on his face and asked me to go upon deck, saying the fresh breeze would do me good. I consented willingly, and throwing on my shawl and a simple Leghorn flat which had been of much service to me at Cedar Grove, and which Mr. Delafield had often said was very becoming, I went out with Charlie, who led me to the rear of the boat, where he said we were not so liable to be disturbed. Seating me upon a small settee he asked to be excused for a few moments, saying I should not be long alone. The motion of the boat produced a slight dizziness in my head, and leaning my elbow upon the arm of the settee I shaded my eyes with my hand and sat lost in thought until I heard the sound of a footstep.