A CHANGE OF MASTERS
For some days Nahma's master had been uneasy about him. Close
confinement, lack of exercise and fresh air, and a hopeless melancholy
were so telling upon the captive that his health was seriously
affected. He was thin and miserable, had no appetite, and suffered from
a hacking cough. These things troubled the fur-dealer, not because of
his humanity, for he had none, but because of a prospect of losing the
money he had invested in this bit of perishable property. He was also
alarmed by Winslow's interest in the young Indian, and feared the very
thing that the former had planned.
Then, too, one of his gentleman customers had suggested that when the
fact of an American prince being in London came to the king's ears he
would probably order him to be brought to the palace. In that case, as
the furrier well knew, he would never be recompensed for his outlay,
since King James was not given to spending unnecessary money, and
he might even be called to account for holding a royal personage in
captivity. He wished now that he had not described his Indian as a
prince; and, all things considered, decided that the sooner he got rid
of him the better off he would be.
It happened that while he was in this frame of mind he was visited
by a travelling mountebank, whose business was to exhibit freaks and
curiosities of whatsoever kind he could obtain, at country fairs.
Having heard of the fur-dealer's Indian, he went to see him, and was so
impressed with his value as an attraction that he promptly offered ten
pounds for him.
"Already haf I refused forty," replied the furrier.
"It was doubtless offered when he was in condition. Now, as any one may
see, he is on the verge of a quick decline and is like to die on your
hands. It would be a risk to take him at any price, and it will cost a
pretty penny to restore him to health, without which he is of no more
value than a mangy dog."
"But I haf advanced twenty pund for his passage-money, and haf been at
the expense of his keep ever since."
"A cost that has been repaid a thousand-fold by the advertisement he
has given your wares. But to insure you against loss, which I well know
a Jew hates worse than death itself, I will give twenty pounds for the
varlet, sick and scrawny though he be. What say you? Is it a bargain?"
"Hand over the price and he is yours."
Of course the subject of this barter was not consulted concerning it.
Nor did he know anything of the change about to come over his life
until darkness had fallen. Then, as he lay on his bed of musty straw,
dreaming of the free forest life that was once his, he was startled by
the entrance into his room of two men, one of whom bore a rush-light.
In him Nahma recognized his hated keeper, but the other was a stranger.
"Come," said the former, gruffly; and, glad of any break in the deadly
monotony of his life, Nahma obediently followed him, while the other
brought up the rear.
Down-stairs they went and out into the darkness of the streets, where
each of the men grasped him by an arm as though fearful that he might
attempt an escape. The young Indian smiled bitterly as he realized
this, for nothing was further from his thought. In all that wilderness
of houses he had but one friend, and he knew no more where to look for
Winslow than he would if the latter were dead. To him all other white
men represented cruelty and injustice, therefore nothing was to be
gained by escaping from those who held him. He would only fall into
the clutches of others against whom he would be equally powerless. So
he went along quietly and with apparent willingness, somewhat to the
surprise of his new master.
"I fail to note but that he goes readily enough," he remarked.
"Methought you said he was vicious and like to prove troublesome."
"Oh, he's quiet enough now," replied the other, "but wait and see.
They're as treacherous, these Hammerican savages, as cats. Purr till
they see a good chance and then scratch. If they draw life's blood
they're all the more pleased. I knows 'em, for I've had experience,
and my word! but you've got to watch 'em every minute."
It was by such representations that the keeper hoped to induce the
showman to continue him in his present easy position. Now he wished
that his charge would make some aggressive exhibition merely to
demonstrate the necessity for his own presence. He slyly pinched
the prisoner's arm until it was ready to bleed, with the hope of at
least causing him to cry out; but Nahma endured the pain with all the
stoicism of his race and gave no sign.
Thus they proceeded through a weary labyrinth of foul streets, only
lighted at long intervals by flaring torches borne by retainers of
well-to-do pedestrians, until finally they turned into the yard of
a rambling tavern that stood on the outskirts of the town. It was a
famous resort for wagoners who transported goods to and from all parts
of the kingdom, and its court was now crowded with ponderous vehicles
and their lading.
Here Nahma was thrust for safe-keeping into an outhouse, the air of
which was close and foul, and its door was barred behind him. To our
unhappy lad it seemed as if the whole remainder of his life was to be
marked only by a succession of imprisonments, each more dismal than
its predecessor. In Quebec he had had Tasquanto's companionship and
an open window. On shipboard he had been given the same comrade and a
daily outing. In the furrier's establishment he had had a window and an
occasional hand-clasp from Winslow; but here he was alone, in absolute
darkness, and gasping for a breath of fresh air.
The wretched night finally came to an end, and with the first gray of
morning his new master appeared, bringing an armful of coarse clothing,
soiled and worn. Stripping Nahma of his buckskin suit, he compelled him
to don these ill-fitting garments, and then left him a platter of bones
for his breakfast.
A little later they were on the road, and, to his amazement, Nahma
found himself leading a bear. It was a big brown bear, and its
whole head was enclosed in a stout muzzle; but, in spite of this,
our young Indian, who had never heard of a tame bear, felt anything
but comfortable at finding himself in such company unarmed. Besides
himself and the bear, the party was made up of the showman, a
cadaverous youth answering to the name of "Blink," who afterwards
proved to be a contortionist, and a heavily laden pack-horse. To
Nahma's relief, the big man who had acted as his keeper was no longer
of the company.
For a time our lad was so taken up with his bear and the discomforts
of his unaccustomed clothing that he paid but slight attention to
his surroundings. Then, all of a sudden, he uttered a cry of amazed
delight, for they were entering a forest. No longer were houses to be
seen, no longer was the horrid din of the city to be heard. Once more
was he beneath green trees, with the songs of birds ringing in his ears
and the smell of the woods in his nostrils. He drew in long breaths
of the scented air, and a new light came into his eyes. Having found
a forest, might he not also hope to discover people of his own kind?
If there were forests in this strange land and bears, why should there
not also be Indians? At any rate, he would keep a sharp watch, and
if he should see any, how quickly he would take leave of his present
companions and join them!
That night they lay at an inn, where an iron shackle was locked about
one of Nahma's ankles, and, with the bear, he was chained up in a
stable. On the following day they reached a straggling country town in
which a fair was to be held and where they were to give an exhibition.
Here they pitched a tent. Nahma's suit of buckskin was restored to him,
and he was again made to paint his face.
In this first exhibition he had nothing to do but stand and be stared
at by curious rustics, but after this he was taught and encouraged to
perform a number of acts in company with the bear. One of these was to
shoot, with bow and arrow, an apple, or some other small object, from
the animal's head. Then they would wrestle together, and finally a sort
of a dance was arranged for them, in which Blink, made up as a clown
for the occasion, also took part. Thus the show became so unique and
popular that its proprietor coined more money than any other on the
road.
But with prosperity came an evil more terrible even than adversity;
for, with money to spend, the showman began to squander it in gambling
and drinking until it was a rare thing for him to draw a sober breath.
He became quarrelsome with his intimates and brutal to those in his
power. His poor bear was beaten and tortured to make it learn new
tricks until it became a snarling, morose beast, influenced only
by fear, and dangerous to all except the young Indian, who was its
fellow-sufferer. He, too, was abused, starved, beaten, and in all ways
maltreated for not learning faster and pouring more money into his
master's bottomless pockets.
One day, while Nahma and the bear were wearily performing their antics
before a crowd of gaping yokels in the market-place of a small shire
town in the west, the youth's attention was drawn to a child who was
uttering shrill cries of pleasure. She was a dainty little thing with
flaxen hair and blue eyes, exquisitely dressed, and was in charge of a
maid. They had come from a coach that was drawn up before a shop near
by, and the throng had opened to make way for them until they stood in
the very front rank.
Suddenly the child, in an ecstasy of delight, pulled away from her
nurse and ran forward with the evident intention of caressing the bear
as though he had been a big dog. The brute was so tired, hungry, and
cross that Nahma had with difficulty kept him to his work. Now, with
a snarl and a fierce gleam in his small bloodshot eyes, he raised a
threatening paw as though to sweep away the little fluttering thing
that came running so confidently towards him.
A great cry rose from the crowd. The maid, so terrified as to be
incapable of motion, screamed and covered her face with her hands; but
Nahma, darting forward, snatched the child from under the descending
paw. So narrow was the escape that his left arm was torn from shoulder
to elbow by the cruel claws, and he staggered beneath the blow.
The showman, who had been passing his cap among the spectators, ran
to the bear and, beating him over the head with a stout cudgel, drove
him to his quarters in a near-by stable. Part of the populace cheered
Nahma, while others demanded the death of the bear, and amid all the
confusion came the mother of the little girl, frantic with terror. To
her our lad delivered the child, frightened but unharmed. Then, without
waiting to be rewarded, or even thanked, he ran to look after his
friend the bear.