The Quadroon: Adventures in the Far West
Page 34
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.
GABRIEL THE BAMBARRA.
The huge stature of the black--his determined attitude--the sullen glareof his lurid bloodshot eyes, set in a look of desperate resolve--thewhite gleaming file-pointed teeth--rendered him a terrible object tobehold. Under other circumstances I might have dreaded an encounterwith such a hideous-looking adversary--for an _adversary_ I deemed him.I remembered the flogging I had given him with my whip, and I had nodoubt that _he_ remembered it too. I had no doubt that he was now uponhis errand of revenge instigated partly by the insult I had put uponhim, and partly set on by his cowardly master. He had been dogging methrough the forest--all the day, perhaps--waiting for an opportunity toexecute his purpose.
But why had he run away from me? Was it because he feared to attack meopenly. Certainly it was--he feared my double-barrelled gun!
But I had been asleep. He might have approached me then--he mighthave--Ha!
This ejaculation escaped my lips, as a singular thought flashed into mymind. The Bambarra was a "snake-charmer"--I had heard so--could handlethe most venomous serpents at rail--could guide and direct them! Was itnot he who had guided the _crotalus_ to where I lay--who had caused meto be bitten?
Strange as it may appear, this supposition at that moment crossed mymind, and seemed probable; nay, more--I actually _believed it_. Iremembered that I had been struck with a peculiarity about the reptile--its weird look--the superior cunning exhibited in its mode of escape--and not less peculiar the fact of its having stung me unprovoked--a rarething for the rattlesnake to do! All these points rushingsimultaneously into my mind, produced the conviction that for the fatalwound on my wrist I was indebted, not to chance, but to Gabriel thesnake-charmer!
Not half the time I have been telling you of it--not the tenth nor thehundredth part of the time, was I in forming this horrid conviction. Itwas done with the rapidity of thought--the more rapid that everycircumstance guiding to such a conclusion was fresh in my memory. Infact the black had not changed his attitude of menace, nor I mine ofsurprise at recognising him, until all these thoughts had passed throughmy mind!
Almost with equal rapidity was I disabused of the singular delusion. Inanother minute I became aware that my suspicions were unjust. I hadbeen wronging the man who stood before me.
All at once his attitude changed. His uplifted arm fell by his side;the expression of fierce menace disappeared; and in as mild a tone ashis rough voice was capable of giving utterance to, he said--
"Oh! you mass'--brack man's friend! Dam! thought 'twar da cussed Yankeedriber!"
"And was that why you ran from me?"
"Ye, mass'; ob course it war."
"Then you are--"
"Am runaway; ye, mass', jes so--runaway. Don't mind tell you. Gabr'eltruss you--He know you am poor nigga's friend. Look-ee-dar."
As he uttered this last phrase, he pulled off the scanty copper-colouredrag of a shirt that covered his shoulders, and bared his back before myeyes!
A horrid sight it was. Besides the _fleur-de-lis_ and many other oldbrands, there were sears of more recent date. Long wales, purple-redand swollen, traversed the brown skin in every direction, formingperfect network. Here they were traceable by the darker colour of theextravasatod blood, while there the flesh itself lay bare, where it hadbeen exposed to some prominent fold of the spirally-twisted cowskin.The old shirt itself was stained with black blotches that had once beenred--the blood that had oozed out during the infliction! The sightsickened me, and called forth the involuntary utterance--
"Poor fellow!"
This expression of sympathy evidently touched the rude heart of theBambarra.
"Ah, mass'!" he continued, "you flog me with hoss-whip--dat nuff'n!Gabr'l bress you for dat. He pump water on ole Zip _'gainst him will_--glad when young mass' druv im way from de pump."
"Ha! you were forced to it, then?"
"Ye, mass', forced by da Yankee driber. Try make me do so odder time.I 'fuse punish Zip odder time--dat's why you see dis yeer--dam!"
"You were flogged for refusing to punish Scipio?"
"Jes so, mass' Edwad; 'bused, as you see; but--" here the speakerhesitated, while his face resumed its fierce expression; "but,"continued he, "I'se had rebenge on de Yankee--dam!"
"What?--revenge? What have you done to him?"
"Oh, not much, mass'. Knock im down; he drop like a beef to de axe.Dat's some rebenge to poor nigga. Beside, I'se a runaway, _an' dat'srebenge_! Ha! ha! Dey lose good nigga--good hand in de cotton-feel--good hand among de cane. Ha! ha!"
The hoarse laugh with which the "runaway" expressed his satisfactionsounded strangely on my ear.
"And you have run away from the plantation?"
"Jes so, mass' Edward--nebber go back." After a pause, he added, withincreased emphasis, "_Nebber go back 'live_!"
As he uttered these words he raised his hand to his broad chest, at thesame time throwing his body into an attitude of earnest determination.
I saw at once that I had mistaken the character of this man. I had hadit from his enemies, the whites, who feared him. With all the ferocityof expression that characterised his features, there was evidentlysomething noble in his heart. He had been flogged for refusing to floga fellow-slave. He had resented the punishment, and struck down hisbrutal oppressor. By so doing he had risked a far more terriblepunishment--even life itself!
It required courage to do all this. A spirit of liberty alone couldhave inspired him with that courage--the same spirit which impelled theSwiss patriot to strike down the cap of Gessler.
As the negro stood with his thick muscular fingers spread over hisbrawny chest, with form erect, with head thrown back, and eyes fixed instern resolve, I was impressed with an air of grandeur about him, andcould not help thinking that in the black form before me, scantily cladin coarse cotton, there was the soul and spirit of a man!