The Border Rifles: A Tale of the Texan War. Aimard Gustave
Thou, whose goodness is unbounded like thy power; thanks! Thanks! My God, for having drawn me from slavery, and restored my liberty!"
After giving vent to this prayer, which was the expression of the feelings that boiled in his heart, the Negro fell on the ground, and for some minutes remained plunged in earnest thought. The hunter respected his silence.
At length the Negro raised his head again.
"Listen, hunter," he said. "I have returned thanks to God for my deliverance, as was my duty; for it was He who inspired you with the thought of defending me. Now that I am beginning to grow a little calmer, and feel accustomed to my new condition, be good enough to tell me what passed between you and my master, that I may know the extent of the debt I owe you, and that I may regulate my future conduct by it. Speak, I am listening."
"What need to tell you a story which can interest you so slightly? You are free, that ought to be sufficient for you."
"No, that is not sufficient; I am free, that is true, but how have I become so? That is what I do not know, and I have the right to ask of you."
"The story, I say again, has nothing that can interest you at all; still, as it may cause you to form a better opinion of the man to whom you belonged, I will not longer refuse to tell it to you; so listen."
Tranquil, after this opening, told in all their details the events that happened between himself and the slave dealer, and when he had finished, added —
"Well, are you satisfied now?"
"Yes," the Negro replied, who had listened to him with the most sustained attention. "I know that, next to God, I owe everything to you, and I will remember it; never will you have to remind me of the debt, under whatever circumstances we may meet."
"You owe me nothing, now that you are free; it is your duty to employ that liberty in the way a man of upright and honest heart should do."
"I will try not to prove myself unworthy of what God and you have done for me; I also thank John Davis sincerely for the good feeling that urged him to listen to your remonstrances; perhaps I may be able to requite him some day; and, if the opportunity offers, I shall not neglect it."
"Good! I like to hear you speak so, for it proves to me that I was not mistaken about you; and now what do you intend to do?"
"What advice do you give me?"
"The question you ask me is a serious one, and I hardly know how to answer it; the choice of a profession is always a difficult affair, and must be reflected upon ripely before a decision is formed; in spite of my desire to be of service to you, I should not like to give you advice, which you would doubtless follow for my sake, and which might presently cause you regret. Besides, I am a man whose life since the age of seven has always been spent in the woods, and I am, consequently, far too unacquainted with what is called the world to venture to lead you on a path which I do not know myself."
"That reasoning seems to me perfectly correct. Still, I cannot remain here, and must make up my mind to something or other."
"Do one thing."
"What is it?"
"Here are a knife, gun, powder, and bullets; the desert is open before you, so go and try for a few days the free life of the great solitudes; during your long hours of hunting you will have leisure to reflect on the vocation you are desirous to embrace; you will weigh in your mind the advantages you expect to derive from it, and then, when your mind is quite made up, you can turn your back on the desert, go back to the towns, and, as you are an active, honest, and intelligent man, I am certain you will succeed in whatever calling you may choose."
The Negro nodded his head several times.
"Yes," he said, "in what you propose to me there is both good and bad; that is not exactly what I should wish."
"Explain yourself clearly, Quoniam; I can see you have something at the end of your tongue which you do not like to say."
"That is true; I have not been frank with you, Tranquil, and I was wrong, as I now see clearly. Instead of asking you hypocritically for advice, which I did not at all intend to follow, I ought to have told you honestly my way of thinking, and that would have been altogether better."
"Come," the hunter said, laughingly, "speak."
"Well, really I do not see why I should not tell you what I have on my heart. If there be a man in the world who takes an interest in me it is certainly you; and hence, the sooner I know what I have to depend on, the better: the only life that suits me is that of a wood-ranger. My instincts and feelings impel me to it; all my attempts at flight, when I was a slave, tended to that object. I am only a poor Negro, whom his narrow mind and intelligence would not guide properly in towns, where man is not valued for what he is worth, but for what he appears. What use would that liberty, of which I am so proud, appear to me, in a town where I should have to dispose of it to the first comer, in order to procure the food and clothing I need? I should only have regained my liberty to render myself a slave. Hence it is in the desert alone I can profit by the kindness I owe to you, without fear of ever being impelled by wretchedness to actions unworthy of a man conscious of his own worth. Hence it is in the desert I desire henceforth to live, only visiting the towns to exchange the skins of animals I have killed for powder, bullets, and clothing. I am young and strong, and the God who has hitherto protected me will not desert me."
"You are perhaps right, and I cannot blame you for wishing to follow my example, when the life I lead seems to me preferable to all others. Well, now that is all settled, my good Quoniam, we can part, and I wish you luck; perhaps we shall meet again, sometimes, on the Indian territory."
The Negro began laughing, and showed two rows of teeth white as snow, but made no reply.
Tranquil threw his rifle on his shoulder, gave him a last friendly sign of parting, and turned to go back to his canoe.
Quoniam seized the rifle the hunter had left him, passed the knife through his girdle, to which he also fastened the horns of powder and bullets, and then, after a final glance to see he had forgotten nothing, he followed the hunter, who had already gained a considerable start on him.
He caught Tranquil up at the moment he reached his canoe, and was about to thrust it into the water; at the sound of footsteps, the hunter turned round.
"Halloh," he said, "is that you again, Quoniam?"
"Yes," he answered.
"What brings you here?"
"Why," the Negro said, as he buried his fingers in his woolly hair, and scratched his head furiously, "you forgot something."
"What was it?"
"To take me with you."
"That is true," the hunter said, as he offered him his hand; "forgive me, brother."
"Then you consent?" he asked, with ill-restrained joy.
"Yes."
"We shall not part again?"
"It will depend on your will."
"Oh, then," he exclaimed, with a joyous outburst of laughter, "we shall be together a long time."
"Well, be it so," the Canadian went on. "Come; two men, when they have faith in each other, are very strong in the desert. Heaven, doubtless, willed that we should meet. Henceforth we shall be brothers."
Quoniam leaped into the canoe, and gaily caught up the paddles.
The poor slave had never been so happy; never had the air seemed to him purer, or nature more lovely – everything smiled on him, and made holiday for him, for that moment he was about to begin really living the life of other men, without any bitter afterthought; the past was no more than a dream. He had found in his defender what so many men seek in vain, throughout a lengthened existence – a friend, a brother, to whom he could trust entirely, and from whom he would have no secrets.
In a few minutes they reached the spot which the Canadian had noticed on his arrival; this spot, clearly indicated by the two oaks which had fallen in a cross, formed a species of small sandy promontory, favourable to the establishment of a night bivouac; for thence not only could the river be surveyed a long distance