But the general opinion of Hartley had not, it was soon seen, done him injustice. Twice, thrice, was the price of Abe’s freedom raised just as he seemed on the eve of gaining it; and after the third disappointment, the slave became utterly hopeless, and, abandoning all extra labour, spent his spare hours in the darkest corner of his wretched cabin, brooding over his wrongs. This was by no means what Hartley intended; so, to encourage Abe, he was led to promise, in the presence of Mr Randolph, that he would abide by the sum last named. In law, of course, the promise was good for nothing; but the ci-devant slave-driver was supposed to have some regard for public opinion. In vain Mr Randolph offered a higher price than was demanded for the slave himself. Abe should buy himself, Hartley said, or he should not be bought at all.
Three years had passed, when Abe, getting a half-holiday from the builder who hired him, set off for Hartley’s with the stipulated sum. On his way there he stopped at Prescott Place to tell the good news. This was just at the beginning of the war; and Mr Randolph, being about to join the army, had promised to take Abe with him as his servant.
Next morning, while breakfast was being served at Prescott Place, a loud scuffle was heard at the dining-room door, and Hartley, using his whip freely on the servant who tried to stop him, strode into the room livid with passion, and flourishing his whip in Mr Randolph’s face, yelled, with an oath: ‘Where is that nigger?’
Dick Randolph’s blood was up in a moment, but he was first of all a gentleman. ‘Do you see my wife?’ he asked sternly.
A coarse response from Hartley was all the reply, and in a moment the ruffian had measured his length on the floor; nor did he remember more till he found himself struggling in a pool of not very clean water by the highway. The negroes had received orders to take him off the plantation, and the precise spot where they were to deposit him not having been mentioned, they had selected one in accordance with his deserts.
Hartley thought it prudent to disappear for a time. Whether he was simply a coward, or feared that some ugly facts connected with the case might leak out, was never known. Abe himself was not seen or heard of; and his story, except by a few, was soon, in these eventful times, forgotten.
But the facts of the case were these: on the evening referred to, Abe had found his master pleasant, and even jocular, wishing he had not given the promise, offering to buy Abe back again, and so on. At last he turned to business. The money was produced and counted.
‘Well?’ said Hartley, inquiringly.
Abe did not understand. Hartley seemed waiting for something. At last he spoke plainly. ‘Where is the rest of the money?’
The scoundrel had made up his mind to deny having received the previous payments, to deny all knowledge even of sums he had meanly borrowed from his slave, and to hand him back to helpless, hopeless slavery.