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Nic Revel; A White Slave's Adventures in Alligator Land, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 23. Nic's Appeal |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. NIC'S APPEAL "This, then, is my owner," thought Nic, scanning the settler narrowly as he stood apart talking in a quick, decisive manner to the overseer, who seemed to treat him with great respect, while the blacks stood apart waiting for their orders. These were not long in coming, for the man turned sharply upon them. "Clear the boat," he said; and the blacks ran to the bows, a couple of them holding the vessel steady while the prisoners stepped clanking out, to stand in a row on the bank, with their new master scanning them sharply. "Here, Saunders," he said, "why is that boy not in irons?" "That is the sick one, sir. Weak as a rat." "Oh!--Here, what's the matter with you, boy?" cried the settler. "No disease, have you?" "No, sir," said Nic, speaking out firmly, for his time seemed to have come. "I was beaten about the head, and received a wound from a cutlass on the night these men were seized during an outrage, and--" "That will do. I don't want a sermon," said the settler brutally. "Nor I to preach one, sir; but I was seized with these men by mistake." "Ah, yes," said the settler, frowning; "some bad mistakes of this sort are made. That will do." "But I appeal to you, sir. I was hurried on board a ship while stunned, and I only recovered my senses when I reached this place." "Then you were a long time without them, my lad; but you are wrong." "I do not understand you, sir." "Well, I'll tell you," said the settler, sharply. "You lost your senses before you got into trouble." "I was only defending my father's property, sir," cried Nic passionately. "I am a gentleman--a gentleman's son." "Yes, we get a good many over here in the plantation, my lad; they are the biggest scamps sent over to rid the old country of a nuisance; but we do them good with some honest work and make decent men of them." "But I assure you, sir, I am speaking the truth. I appeal to you, men. Tell this gentleman I was not one of your party." "Hor, hor," roared Humpy, derisively. "What a sneak you are, Nic Revel. Take your dose like we do--like a man." "I appeal to you, Pete Burge. Tell this gentleman that I was brought out here by mistake." "Yes, it was all a mistake, master," cried the man. Humpy roared with laughter again. "Don't you believe him, master," he cried; "that there Pete Burge is the biggest liar we have in our parts. He'd say anything." "Men, men!" cried Nic, wildly, to the others; "speak the truth, for Heaven's sake." "Course we will," cried Humpy quickly. "It's all right, master. Don't you show more favour to one than another. We was all took together after a bit o' poaching and a fight. Youngster there got a crack on the head which knocked him silly, and he's hatched up this here cockamaroo story in his fright at being sent out. Do him good--do all on us good, and we're all glad to ha' got with such a good master; aren't we, lads?" "That will do," said the settler. "You have got too much grease on your tongue, my man." "But, sir," cried Nic. "Silence!" "You will let me write to my friends?" "We don't want you to write to us, mate," cried Humpy grinning; "we can't none on us read. You can tell us what you want to say." "Silence, you, sir," said the settler, sternly; "I keep a cat here, and that man who saw to your irons knows how to use it. Hold your tongue, once for all." "Oh, all right master; I on'y--" "Silence!" Humpy gave his mouth a slap, as if to shut it, and the settler turned to Nic. "Look here, young man," he said; "I have only your word for your story, and it seems likely enough to be as your fellow-prisoner says, something hatched up from fear. You are sent out here for your good." "You don't believe me, sir?" cried Nic, wildly. "Not a word of it," replied the settler. "We get too much of that sort of thing out here. Every man, according to his own account, is as innocent as a lamb. You were sent out of your country, and came in a king's ship. You are assigned to me for a labourer, and if you--and all of you," he cried, turning to the others, "behave well, and work well, you'll find me a good master. You shall be well fed, have decent quarters and clothes, and though you are slaves I won't make slaves of you, but treat you as well as I do my blacks. Look at them; they're as healthy a set of men as you can see." The blacks grinned and seemed contented enough. "That's one side of the case--my part," continued the settler; "now for the other. I've had a deal of experience with such men as you are, and I know how to treat them. If you play any pranks with me, there's the lash. If you attack me I'll shoot you down as I would a panther. If you try to escape: out north there are the mountains where you'll starve; out south and east there is the swamp, where the 'gators will pull you down and eat you, if you are not drowned or stifled in the mud; if you take to the open country those bloodhounds will run you to earth in no time. Do you hear?" he said meaningly, "run you to earth; for when they have done there'll be nothing to do but for some of my blacks to make a hole for you and cover you up. Now, then, you know what's open to you. Your country has cast you out; but we want labour here; and, rough and bad as you are, we take you and make better men of you." "Thank ye, master," cried Humpy; "that's fair enough, mates." The settler gave him a look which made the man lower his eyes. "Now then," said the settler, "I am going to begin, and begin fairly with you.--Samson." "Yes, massa," cried the big black. "Take off their irons.--And if you all behave yourselves you'll never have to wear them again." The basket was at hand; the assistant brought out the little anvil, and the task of filing and then drawing out the rivets began, with the dogs looking on. "As for you, my lad," said the settler, "I can see you look weak and ill; you can take it easy for a few days till you get up your strength." "But you will make some inquiries, sir?" pleaded Nic. "Not one, boy. I know enough. I take the word of the king's people; so say no more." He turned his back upon his white slave, and it was as if the old confusion of intellect had suddenly come back: Nic's brain swam, black specks danced before his eyes, and he staggered and would have fallen but for Pete Burge's arm, as the man caught him and whispered: "Hold up, Master Nic; never say die!" _ |
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