“No, massa; s’pose pay ebery time, bead soon go. Best take wife.”
“But, Tom, if I go back to my own country how shall I do with a black wife, and what can she do in England?”
“Oh, s’pose you no care take wife own country, gib her me. Me like plenty wife; dat be good—bery good have plenty wife.”
I tried in vain to explain to him my ideas on the subject of marriage; but at last he said, “S’pose you no want wife, me tell Karema dat be your fetich. No have wife, but plenty slave must have.”
I tried to make him understand also that Englishmen would have nothing to do with slaves; but that he resolutely refused to agree to. At last, as the lesser of two evils, I consented to become nominally the owner of such slaves as Karema might assign to me; and I made up my mind to see that when I left the country they were made actually free and well rewarded for any services which they might render me.
By the time this long discussion was over it was time for sleep. Tom leaving me to myself, I said my prayers, and throwing myself on a bed which was covered with skins and mats, I was soon dreaming of all sorts of things. Sometimes I thought myself again on board the Petrel; and sometimes I was in the clutches of Pentlea and Camacho.
I slept long and soundly. When Tom came in and woke me the sun was already high in the heavens, and everything was prepared for the ceremony of my exchanging blood with Karema.
I washed my face and hands in a calabash of water which Tom brought me; and coming out of the hut with him I found all the people of the village squatted round a clear space, in which a couple of stools had been placed for Karema and me to sit on during the ceremony. As soon as the villagers saw me they sent up a great shout, and made way for Tom to lead me to the stool, where I sat down, he standing by me to act as my sponsor.