EVERY day at the same hour I visited him. His position rendered me very
uneasy, for in spite of all our prayers, my uncle obstinately refused to
withdraw his complaint. I did not conceal my fears from Pierrot, who
however listened to them with indifference.
Often Rask would come in with a large palm-leaf tied round his neck. His
master would take it off, read some lines traced upon it in an unknown
language, and then tear it up. I had ceased to question him in any
matters connected with himself.
One day as I entered he took no notice of me, he was seated with his
back to the door of the cell, and was whistling in melancholy mood the
Spanish air, “Yo que soy contrabandista” (“A smuggler am I”). When he
had completed it, he turned sharply round to me, and exclaimed—
“Brother, if you ever doubt me, promise that you will cast aside all
suspicion on hearing me sing this air.”
His look was earnest, and I promised what he asked, without noticing the
words upon which he laid so much stress, “_If ever you doubt me_.” He
took the empty half of a cocoa-nut which he had brought in on the day of
my first visit, and had preserved ever since, filled it which palm wine,
begged me to put my lips to it, and then drank it off at a draught. From
that day he always called me _brother_.
And now I began to cherish a hope of saving Pierrot’s life. My uncle’s
anger had cooled down a little. The preparations for the festivities,
connected with his daughter’s wedding had caused his feelings to flow in
gentle channels. Marie joined her entreaties to mine. Each day I pointed
out to him that Pierrot had had no desire to insult him, but had merely
interposed to prevent him from committing an act of perhaps too great
severity; that the negro had at the risk of his life saved Marie from
the alligator; and besides, Pierrot was the strongest of all his slaves
(for now I sought to save his life not to obtain his liberty), that he
was able to do the work of ten men, and that his single arm was
sufficient to put the rollers of a sugar-mill in motion. My uncle
listened to me calmly, and once or twice hinted that he might not follow
up his complaint.
I did not say a word to the negro of the change that had taken place,
hoping that I should soon be the messenger to announce to him his
restoration to liberty.
What astonished me greatly was, that though he believed that he was
under sentence of death, yet he made no effort to avail himself of the
means of escape that lay in his power. I spoke to him of this.
“I am forced to remain,” said he simply, “or they would think that I was
afraid.”