My father thanked him, and remarked how much he was indebted to his slave Dio.
“The boy’s good property, I guess,” answered Mr Bracher, but not a word did he say of the black’s gallant conduct, and only laughed scornfully when my father alluded to it.
Our host spoke but little during the remainder of the time we sat at table, being employed as zealously as his overseers and clerks had been in devouring his food. My father then again reverted to Dio, and observed that he was anxious to make a suitable return to the black for the brave way in which he had risked his life in preserving ours.
“He is my property and you may thank me, but I don’t want thanks and I don’t want a recompense, though I should have lost well-nigh five hundred dollars if he had been drowned.”
“Will you take five hundred dollars for the boy?” asked my father feeling sure that unless he could obtain the slave, he should have no means of rewarding him.
“No, stranger, I guess I won’t,” answered Mr Bracher, putting a quid, which he had been working into form, into his mouth; “I don’t want money, and I wouldn’t take a thousand dollars for the black if I did: so you have your answer.”
My father saw that it would not do farther to press the subject. As soon as he properly could, he begged that my mother and I might be allowed to retire.
“This is liberty hall, and your wife can do as she likes, and so can you. I shall turn in myself before long, as I have had a pretty smart ride.”
On this my mother rose, and I had to return to my bunk, in which I was soon fast asleep. Next morning I remember looking out of the window just at daybreak and seeing a party of negroes mustered before being despatched to their respective labours. Two white overseers, dressed in broad-brimmed hats and gingham jackets, stood by with whips in their hands, giving directions to the slaves, and at the same time bestowing not a few lashes on their backs, if they did not at once comprehend what was said to them. Among them I caught sight of Dio. One of the overseers addressed him, and seemed to be putting questions to which satisfactory answers were not given. To my horror down came the lash on Dio’s back, cut after cut being given with all the strength of the white man’s arm.
“O father, father, they are beating Dio. Do go out and stop the cruel man,” I exclaimed. My father looked on for a moment, and then hurried out to the front of the house. I followed him, but Dio had disappeared and the overseer was walking along whistling in the direction one party of the blacks had taken.