“Tankee, tankee, massa; God bless massa!” his vocabulary not enabling him to use any set phrases.
It was dark before the soup was ready. As soon as it was sufficiently cool, and I had added some pepper and salt, I took it to him.
“Oh, massa! dis too much good to poor nigger,” he murmured as he supped it up; and almost immediately afterwards sinking back, he fell into a deep slumber.
“I don’t care whether the black is a runaway slave or not, but I tell you what, boys, we must be cautious how we proceed with him, the chances are that he is pursued,” said the Dominie as we were seated before the fire eating our ample supper. “If so, the fellows who come after him are likely to treat us with scant courtesy.”
“I’m sure my father would wish to help the black, if he is a runaway slave, for he hates the system of slavery as much as any man,” observed Dan.
“I tell you what we must do, then,” continued the Dominie, “if any strangers appear, we must keep him inside the hut and cover him up with boughs and leaves. They will scarcely suspect he is with us, and you must leave me to answer any questions they put to us.”
“Suppose they have blood-hounds with them, the brutes are sure to scent him out.”
“If we see the dogs approaching, we must shoot them without ceremony, and take our chances of the consequences. I am only supposing what may not happen, but we must be prepared for contingencies.”
As on other nights, we kept watch, giving Dan a short one, the Dominie and I taking the longest. Our object, however, was to scare away wolves or bears, for no human enemies were likely to approach us during the night.
We got up as soon as it was daylight, but the black did not awake until the sun rose and we had finished our breakfast. We gave him some more soup, which suited him better than our own fare, but it was evident that he was still too weak to move.