Mou-Setse grew up to be a man, with a very fixed purpose in his heart.
All his thoughts and all his desires were bent on its accomplishment;
but, as I said before, he was reserved, and never spoke of this thought
of his inmost heart to human being. It brought out, however, marked
characteristics in his face, and those who knew him well often spoke of
the fire and earnestness in his eyes.
As a sailor, he was a favourite with the crew and with the captain--that
is, he was as great a favourite as any boy with a black skin could be,
for it must not be supposed that all white people were as kind to him as
the good missionaries; but, on the whole, he was well treated, and no
rude words addressed to him on account of his colour brought a retort
from his lips.
He was by no means, however, wanting in bravery, as a little incident
once showed. A great hulking white fellow had been abusing him,
taunting him with cowardice, and daring him to fight. The sailors
belonging to his ship looked on amused, and (as he was a blacky) not
caring to interfere.
"You ain't nothing but a coward," said the white man; "a coward, and the
son of a slave."
At these words Mou-Setse, who had been sitting very still and apparently
unheeding, rose to the full length of his great height. The words "son
of a slave" had brought a certain flash into his eye.
With a stride, he was at the real coward's side.
"I not fight," he said; "you not make me fight, when de Book say no.
No; I not fight, but I knock you down."
In a moment, without the least apparent effort, the hulking white fellow
lay at his feet.
"I specs you not like to lie dere," continued Mou-Setse. "Well, you beg
de black man's pardon; den you get up and go away."
After this little scene, no one cared: again to molest Mou-Setse.
He remained a sailor until he was two-and-twenty; then he took his leave
of the captain and his crew, and left their ship. He had become a
sailor for the furtherance of his hidden and unspoken purpose. Now,
having made and saved money, he went away. His purpose was calling him
to America--then, indeed, the land of slaves.