“You thought to kill me, did you?” he exclaimed—“you thought that you could deprive me of life as easily as you did those miserable men you have just destroyed—me, a man who never injured you or yours; who has never wronged one of the sons of Africa. Ay, I can say that with a clear conscience. Often have I benefited them, often have I saved them from injury; and perhaps even here there are some who know me, and know that I speak the truth.”
“One is here who can prove all he says to be true,” exclaimed a tall negro, stepping forward from among the crowd. He was the very man I had remarked approaching the spot along the causeway.
“My friends, hear me,” he exclaimed. “We have already satisfied our just vengeance, and do not let us destroy the innocent with the guilty. Some years ago a ship from Africa, laden with the children of her fruitful soil torn cruelly from their homes, struck on a coral-reef. A heavy sea dashed over the devoted vessel. Land was in sight, but yet far-off, blue and indistinct. The white crew had many boats. They launched them and pulled away with heartless indifference, leaving three hundred human beings, men, women, and helpless children, to almost certain destruction. Night came on. Oh, what a night of horrors! Many died, some from terror; many were drowned, manacled as they lay in the noisome hold. When the morning broke a sail appeared in sight. She approached the spot. Some of the negroes who had broken loose made signs to notify that human beings were still alive on board. The storm had much abated; a boat was lowered and came close to the wreck. When they saw that no white men were on board, did they pull away and leave us to our fate? No; they hailed us as fellow-creatures, and told us to calm our alarms, and that they would do their best to save us. I was there—a slave—I who had been a chief in my own country! I asked how many the boat would hold, and as many, about a dozen, I allowed to enter her at a time. Another boat from the ship soon came to our assistance, and one remained uninjured on board the wreck. We launched her, and many of the Africans being able to paddle, helped to carry her people to the ship. Thus all who remained alive on board the wreck were saved. The ship sailed from the spot and approached the land. I asked the brave captain how he would dispose of us. Some of the people believed that he would carry us into a port, and there sell us as slaves. He looked at me hard. ‘I am no slave-dealer,’ he exclaimed. ‘Men have called me what they deem worse, but that matters not. I should obtain a large price for you all, and steep my soul in as black a sin as ever stained our human nature. No; I will land you on yonder coast, far from the habitations of men. There fruit, and roots, and numberless productions of kind Nature will amply supply you with food. There you may be free. I cannot take you back to your own country. I have no other means of helping you.’ The generous captain was as good as his word—we were landed in safety ere the sun set; and more than that, he supplied us with such food as he could spare to strengthen us for our journey inland to the spot he advised us to seek, where we might remain in safety. Yes, my friends; there is the man who did this noble deed—there is the man whom you were, in your blindness, about so cruelly to slay!”
While the stranger was speaking, I recognised in him the tall negro who had come on board the brig, on my first voyage, with the mysterious old man, whom I supposed to be Captain Ralph. As soon as he stepped forward I felt almost certain that our lives would be spared; but still I did not let go the chief’s legs. He did not often get them so thoroughly pinched, I suspect.
“I have yet more to tell you,” continued the tall negro. “The noble deed which that brave man had done was discovered by some of his white countrymen, and he was persecuted by them, and compelled to fly for his life, and for long to become a wanderer over the face of the ocean. They drove him to take to a course of life which they themselves condemned; and had they captured him, they would have made it plea for his destruction.”
The harangue which the negro made was even longer than I have given, and the language was perhaps somewhat more suited to the comprehension of his hearers. The effect, at all events, was most satisfactory. Enthusiastic shouts of applause burst from every side; and the chief, in words and by looks not to be mistaken, assured the captain that both his and my life would be preserved, and only begged that he would have the goodness not to squeeze him so tightly.
On this the captain released him, and the negroes rushing forward, lifted him up on their shoulders, and bore him in triumph round their village. The boys, not to be outdone by their elders, got hold of me as soon as I had let go the chief’s legs, and lifting me up in the same way, followed the captain. Tom-toms were beat, and horns sounded, and cymbals were clashed, and men, and women, and children shrieked and shouted at the top of their voices, and never was heard a wilder outcry and hubbub than that with which we were welcomed as we passed through the rebel village. It was far pleasanter than being shot, I thought. The truth is, that so great and sudden was the change in our position, that I could scarcely collect my ideas and convince myself of its reality. Everything seemed like a dream, both past and present. Still I felt that my life was spared. I tried to be serious, and to be thankful for the mercy shown me; but I am conscious that I succeeded very ill, and allowed my mind to be entirely occupied with the scene going forward before my eyes.
While we were being thus paraded about the village, the women were engaged in preparing a feast, of which we were invited to partake; and I know that, however excited had been my feelings, I had not lost my appetite.
“Captain,” said I, holding the leg of a roasted monkey in my fist, while he was munching away at a stewed snake, or lizard, or some creeping thing or other, “this is pleasanter than feeding the crows down below there. I want, sir, to beg the chief’s pardon for pinching his legs so tight. I hope that he was not offended.” I spoke in a very different tone to that in which I had ever before addressed my captain. The truth was, I felt and acted almost as if I were tipsy.
The captain looked at me somewhat sternly. “Be more serious, Jack,” he answered; “we should be thankful to Heaven that we are not as those unhappy men are. We have both been mercifully preserved. Restrain your feelings, lad; you’ll have much to go through before you are out of the fire.”