THE expression of pleasure which the renewal of our friendship had
traced on his features, faded away and an appearance of deep grief once
more pervaded them.
“Listen,” said he, coldly; “my father was the King of Kakongo. Each day
he sat at the door of his hut and dispensed justice amongst his
subjects. After every judgment, according to the custom of the kings his
ancestors, he drank a full goblet of palm wine. We were happy and
powerful. But the Europeans came to our country; it was from them that I
learnt the accomplishments which you appeared to be surprised at my
possessing. Our principal acquaintance amongst the Europeans was a
Spanish captain; he promised my father territories far greater than
those he now ruled over, treasure, and white women; my father believed
him, and gathering his family together, followed him.... Brother, he
sold us as slaves!”
The breast of the negro rose and fell, as he strove to restrain himself;
his eyes shot forth sparks of fire; and without seeming to know what he
did, he broke in his powerful grasp a fancy medlar tree that stood
beside him.
“The master of Kakongo in his turn had a master, and his son toiled as a
slave in the furrows of Saint Domingo. They tore the young lion from his
father, that they might the more easily tame him; they separated the
wife from the husband, and the little children from the mother who
nursed them, and the father who used to bathe them in the torrents of
their native land. In their place they found cruel masters and a
sleeping place shared with the dogs!”
He was silent, though his lips moved as though he were still continuing
his narrative; after a moment’s pause he seized me roughly by the arm,
and continued—
“Brother, do you understand, I have been sold to different masters like
a beast of burden? Do you remember the punishment of Ogé? it was on that
day that I saw my father after a long separation—_he was on the
wheel_!”
I shuddered; he went on—
“My wife was outraged by white men, and she died calling for revenge.
Must I tell you I was guilty towards her, for I loved another; but let
that pass by. All my people urged me to deliver and avenge them; Rask
brought me their messages, I could do nothing for them, I was fast in
your uncle’s prison. The day upon which you obtained my release, I
hurried off to save my children from the power of a cruel master. Upon
the very day that I arrived, the last of the grandchildren of the King
of Kakongo had expired under the blows of the white man; he had followed
the others!”
He interrupted his recital, and coldly asked me:
“Brother, what would you have done?”
This frightful tale froze me with horror. I replied by a threatening
gesture. He understood me, and with a bitter smile he continued—
“The slaves rose against their master, and punished the murder of my
children. They chose me for their chief. You know the frightful excesses
that were perpetrated by the insurgents. I heard that your uncle’s
slaves were on the point of rising. I arrived at Acul on the night upon
which the insurrection broke out. You were away. Your uncle had been
murdered in his bed, and the negroes had already set fire to the
plantation. Not being able to restrain them—for in destroying your
uncle’s property they thought that they were avenging my injuries—I
determined to save the survivors of his family. I entered the fort by
the breach that I had made. I entrusted your wife’s nurse to a faithful
negro. I had more trouble in saving your Marie; she had hurried to the
burning portion of the fort to save the youngest of her brothers, the
sole survivor of the massacre. The insurgents surrounded her, and were
about to kill her.... I burst upon them, and ordered them to leave her
to my vengeance; they obeyed me, and retired. I took your wife in my
arms, I entrusted the child to Rask, and I bore them both away to this
cavern, of which I alone knew the existence and the access. Brother,
such was my crime.”
More than ever overwhelmed with gratitude and remorse, I would again
have thrown myself at his feet, but he stopped me.
“Come,” said he, “take your wife, and let us leave this, all of us.”
In wonder I asked him whither he wished to conduct us.
“To the camp of the whites,” answered he. “This retreat is no longer
safe. To-morrow at break of day the camp of Biassou will be attacked,
and the forest will assuredly be set on fire. Besides, I have no time to
lose. Ten lives are in jeopardy until my return. We _can_ hasten because
you are free; we _must_ hasten because I am not.”
These words increased my surprise, and I pressed him for an explanation.
“Have you not heard that Bug-Jargal is a prisoner?” replied he,
impatiently.
“Yes; but what has Bug-Jargal to do with you?”
In his turn he seemed astonished, and then in a grave voice he
answered—
“_I am Bug-Jargal._”