_A MAN'S STORY._
Three days longer Penn lay there on his rude bed in the cave, helpless
still, and still in ignorance.
Pomp repeatedly assured him that all was well, and that he had no cause
for anxiety, but refused to enlighten him. The negro's demeanor was well
calculated to inspire calmness and trust. There was something truly
grand and majestic, not only in his person, but in his character also.
He was a superb man. Penn was never weary of watching him. He thought
him the most perfect specimen of a gentleman he had ever seen; always
cheerful, always courteous, always comporting himself with the ease of
an equal in the presence of his guest. His strength was enormous. He
lifted Penn in his arms as if he had been an infant. But his grace was
no less than his vigor. He was, in short, a lion of a man.
Cudjo was more like an ape. His gibberings, his grimaces, his antics,
his delight in mischief, excited in the mind of the convalescent almost
as much surprise as the other's princely deportment. For hours together
he would lie watching those two wonderfully contrasted beings. Petulant
and malicious as Cudjo appeared, he was completely under the control of
his noble companion, who would often stand looking down at his tricks
and deformity, with composedly folded arms and an air of patient
indulgence and compassion beautiful to witness.
Meanwhile Penn gradually regained his strength, so that on the fourth
day Pomp permitted him to talk a little.
"Tell me first about my friends," said Penn. "Are they well? Do they
know where I am?"
"I hope not, sir," said the negro, with a significant smile, seating
himself on the giant's stool. "I trust that no one knows where you are."
"What, then, must they think?" said Penn. "How did I leave them?"
"That is what they are very much perplexed to find out, sir."
"You have heard from them, then?"
"O, yes; we have a way of getting news of people down there. Toby has
nearly gone distracted on your account. He is positive that you are
dead, for he believes you could never have got well out of his hands."
"And Miss--Mr. Villars----?"
"They have been so much disturbed about you, that I would have been glad
to inform them of your safety, if I could. But not even they must know
of this place."
"Where am I, then?"
"You are, as you perceive, in a cave. But I suppose you know so little
how you came here that you would find some difficulty in tracing your
way to us again?" This was spoken interrogatively, with an intelligent
smile.
"I am so ignorant of the place," said Penn, "that it may be in the
planet Mars, for aught I know."
"That is well! Now, sir," continued the negro, "since you have several
times expressed your obligations to us for preserving your life, I wish
to ask one favor in return. It is this. You are welcome to remain here
as long as you find your stay beneficial; but when you conclude to go,
we desire the privilege of conducting you away. That is not an
unreasonable request?"
"Far from it. And I pledge you my word to make no movement without your
sanction, and to keep your secret sacredly. But tell me--will you
not?--how you came to inhabit this dreadful place?"
"Dreadful? There are worse places, my friend, than this. Is it gloomy?
The house of bondage is gloomier. Is it damp? It is not with the cruel
sweat and blood of the slave's brow and back. Is it cold? The hearts of
our tyrants are colder."
"I understand you," said Penn, whose suspicion was thus confirmed that
these men were fugitives. "And I am deeply interested in you. How long
have you lived here?"
"Would you like to hear something of my story?" said the negro, the
expression of his eyes growing deep and stern,--his black, closely
curling beard stirring with a proud smile that curved his lips. "Perhaps
it will amuse you."
"Amuse me? No!" said Penn. "I know by your looks that it will not amuse:
it will absorb me!"
"Well, then," said Pomp, bearing his head upon his massy and flexible
neck of polished ebony like a king, yet speaking in tones very gentle
and low,--and he had a most mellow, musical, deep voice,--"you are
talking with one who was born a slave."
"You know what I think of that!" said Penn. "Even such a birth could not
debase the manhood of one like you."
"It might have done so under different circumstances. But I was so
fortunate as to be brought up by a young master who was only too kind
and indulgent to me, considering my station. We were playmates when
children; and we were scarcely less intimate when we had both grown up
to be men. He went to Paris to study medicine, and took me with him. I
passed for his body servant, but I was rather his friend. He never took
any important step in life without consulting me; and I am happy to
know," added Pomp, with grand simplicity, "that my counsel was always
good. He acknowledged as much on his death-bed. 'If I had taken your
advice oftener,' said he, 'it would have been better for me. I always
meant to reward you. You are to have your freedom--your freedom, my dear
boy!'"
The negro knitted his brows, his breath came thick, and there was a
strange moisture in his eye.
"I loved my master," he continued, with simple pathos. "And when I saw
him troubled on my account, when he ought to have been thinking of his
own soul, I begged him not to let a thought of me give him any
uneasiness. My free papers had not been made out, and he was for sending
at once for a notary. But his younger brother was with him--he who was
to be his heir. 'Don't vex yourself about Pomp, Edwin,' said he. 'I will
see that justice is done him.'
"'Ah, thank you, brother!' said Edwin. 'You will set him free, and give
him a few hundred dollars to begin life with. Promise that, and I will
rest in peace.' For you must know Edwin had neither wife nor child, and
I was the only person dependent on his bounty. He was not rich; he had
spent a good part of his fortune abroad, and had but recently
established himself in a successful practice in Montgomery. Yet he left
enough so that his brother could have well afforded to give me my
freedom, and a thousand dollars."
"And did he not promise to do so?"
"He promised readily enough. And so my master died, and was buried, and
I--had another master. For a few days nothing was said about free
papers; and I had been too much absorbed in grief for the only man I
loved to think much about them. But when the estate was settled up, and
my new master was preparing to return to his home here in Tennessee, I
grew uneasy.
"'Master,' said I, taking off my hat to him one morning, 'there is
nothing more I can do for him who is gone; so I am thinking I would like
to be for myself now, if you please.'
"'For yourself, you black rascal?' said my new master, laughing in my
face.
"I wasn't used to being spoken to in that way, and it cut. But I kept
down that which swelled up in here"--Pomp laid his hand on his
heart--"and reminded him, respectfully as I could, of the doctor's last
words about me, and of his promise.
"'You fool!' said he, 'do you think I was in earnest?'
"'If you were not,' said I, 'the doctor was.'
"'And do you think,' said he, 'that I am to be bound by the last words
of a man too far gone to know his own mind in the matter?'
"'He always meant I should have my freedom,' I answered him, 'and always
said so.'
"'Then why didn't he give it to you before, instead of requiring me to
make such a sacrifice? Come, come, Pomp!' he patted my shoulder; 'you
are altogether too valuable a nigger to throw away. Why, people say you
know almost as much about medicine as my brother did. You'll be an
invaluable fellow to have on a plantation; you can doctor the field
hands, and, may be, if you behave yourself, get a chance to prescribe
for the family. Come, my boy, you musn't get foolish ideas of freedom
into your head; they're what spoil a nigger, and they'll have to be
whipped out of you, which would be too bad for a fine, handsome darkey
like you.'
"He patted my shoulder again, and looked as pleasant and flattering as
if I had been a child to be coaxed,--I, as much a man, every bit, as
he!" said Pomp, with a gleam of pride. "I could have torn him like a
tiger for his insolence, his heartless injustice. But I repressed
myself; I knew nothing was to be gained by violence.
"'Master,' said I, 'what you say is no doubt very flattering. But I want
what my master gave me--what you promised that I should have--I shall be
contented with nothing else.'
"'What! you persist?' he said, kindling up. 'Let me tell you now, Pomp,
once for all, you'll have to be contented with a good deal less; and
never mention the word "freedom" to me again if you would keep that
precious hide of yours whole!'
"I saw he meant it, and that there was no help for me. Despair and fury
were in me. Then, for the only time in my life, I felt what it was to
wish to murder a man. I could have smitten the life out of that smiling,
handsome face of his! Thank God I was kept from that. I concealed what
was burning within. Then first I learned to pray,--I learned to trust in
God. And so better thoughts came to me; and I said, 'If he uses me well,
I will serve him; if not, I will run for my life.'
"Well, he brought me here to Tennessee. Here he was managing his aunt's
estate, which she, soon dying, bequeathed to him. Up to this time I had
got on very well; but he never liked me; he often said I knew too much,
and was too proud. He was determined to humiliate me; so one day he said
to me, 'Pomp, that Nance has been acting ugly of late, and you permit
her.' I was a sort of overseer, you see. 'Now I'll tell you what I am
going to have done. Nance is going to be whipped, and you are the fellow
that's going to whip her.'
"'Pardon, master,' said I, 'that's what I never did--to whip a woman.'
"'Then it's time for you to begin. I've had enough of your fine manners,
Pomp, and now you have got to come down a little.'
"'I will do any thing you please to serve your interests, sir,' said I.
'But whip a woman I never can, and never will. That's so, master.'
"'You villain!' he shouted, seizing a riding whip, 'I'll teach you to
defy my authority to my face!' And he sprang at me, furious with rage.
"'Take care, sir!' I said, stepping back. ''Twill be better for both of
us for you not to strike me!'
"'What! you threaten, you villain?'
"'I do not threaten, sir; but I say what I say. It will be better for
both of us. You will never strike me twice. I tell you that.'
"I reckon he saw something dangerous in me, as I said this, for, instead
of striking, he immediately called for help. 'Sam! Harry! Nap! bind this
devil! Be quick!'
"'They won't do it!' said I. 'Woe to the man that lays a finger on me,
be he master or be he slave!'
"'I'll see about that!' said he, running into the house. He came out
again in a minute with his rifle. I was standing there still, the boys
all keeping a safe distance, not one daring to touch me.
"'Master,' said I, 'hear one word. I am perfectly willing to die. Long
enough you have robbed me of my liberty, and now you are welcome to what
is less precious--my poor life. But for your own sake, for your dead
brother's sake, let me warn you to beware what you do.'
"I suppose the allusion to his injustice towards me maddened him. He
levelled his piece, and pulled the trigger. Luckily the percussion was
damp,--or else I should not be talking with you now. His aim was
straight at my head. I did not give him time for a second attempt. I was
on him in an instant. I beat him down, I trampled him with rage. I
snatched his gun from him, and lifted it to smash his skull. Just then a
voice cried, 'Don't, Pomp! don't kill master!'
"It was Nance, pleading for the man who would have had her whipped. I
couldn't stand that. Her mercy made me merciful. 'Good by, boys!' I
said. They were all standing around, motionless with terror. 'Good by,
Nance! I am off; live or die, I quit this man's service forever!'
"So I left him," said Pomp, "and ran for the woods. I was soon ranging
these mountains, free, a wild man whom not even their blood-hounds could
catch. I took the gun with me--a good one: here it is." He removed the
rifle from its crevice in the rocks. "Do you know that name? It is that
of its former owner--the man who called himself my master. Do you think
it was taking too much from one who would have robbed me of my soul?"
He held the stock over the bed, so that Penn could make out the
lettering. Delicately engraved on a surface of inlaid silver, was the
well-known name,--
"_Augustus Bythewood._"