“Oh Paul!” I cried out, seizing his hand, “I have indeed then good news for you. Your father’s and your prayers have been answered, for I can assure you that your mother is a true and faithful Christian. I have known her all my life, her name she has told me was Ambah, and that she was torn away from her husband and child as your mother was from you.”
“Yes, yes, Ambah was my mother’s name, and did she tell you that her husband’s name was Quamino, and their piccaniny was called Cheebo?” he asked, almost gasping for breath.
“Those were the very names she gave me, and I wrote them in my pocket book so that I might not forget them.” I answered.
“Oh, Massa Harry, that is indeed joyful news,” he cried out. “Then I and my mother and father will all meet in heaven, Praise God! I now not fear what man can do unto me.”
It would be difficult to do justice to the feeling displayed by Paul, even were I to repeat all he said, his piety, his gratitude, and his joy. He could talk of nothing else during the night. He seemed to be insensible to hunger and thirst, and to forget altogether the dangerous position in which we were placed. Now he kneeled down in prayer, now he gave vent to his feelings in a hymn of praise. I could not help sympathising with him, and rejoicing that I had been the means of giving him the information which made him so happy. Still I must confess that I myself suffered not a little from the pangs of hunger, and would have given much for a glass of cold water.
When morning dawned the schooner was still in sight. I looked anxiously round for the sign of a breeze, hoping that if it did come the stranger would stand towards us. At all events it seemed probable that having seen the burning vessel those on board, in common humanity, would sail over the spot where she had been, on the chance of picking up any of her crew who might have escaped. Paul, however, did not seem to wish this as much as I did. I saw him narrowly watching the vessel, then he shook his head as if he did not like her looks.
The sun rose high in the sky, and beat down on our heads. My thirst became intolerable, and whatever might be the character of the stranger, I could not help longing that she would pick us up. The breeze came at last, her sails filled. How eagerly I watched her.
“She is standing towards us,” I cried out, “we must soon be seen.” I stood up on a thwart and waved a handkerchief.
“Better not Massa Harry,” said Paul, but I did not heed him.
The schooner came on rapidly. Again I waved my handkerchief, and held it between my two hands, so that it might flutter in the breeze. The stranger approached. She was a fine large square topsail schooner, with a black hull and taunt raking masts. She rounded to close to us, so that she could drop down to where our boat lay.