Nic Revel Part 27

That meant a fierce bullying, as Nic knew, and he hesitated no longer, but stepped into Pete's row.

"I don't like this; it is too full of deceit," said Nic. "You will be blamed for not doing more work."

"Nay; I shan't," replied Pete, "because I shall work harder. We're a-going to do it this way; they won't notice it, and if I keep pulling you up a bit level with me it'll make your work easier."

"But I have no right to let you."

"'Taren't nought to do wi' you; it's for the zake of the old country.

When you get stronger and more used to the hoeing you'll do more than I can, p'raps, and help me."

For the prisoners had been compelled to settle down at the plantation; and men who had never been used to regular hard toil, but had lived by fis.h.i.+ng and salmon-spearing, and any odd task which offered, now slaved away among the sugar-canes or the Indian-corn, the rice cultivation being allotted to the blacks.

The settler had kept his word as to the behaviour to his white servants, treating them with what he considered stern justice; but every effort Nic had made to obtain a hearing failed, the last producing threats which roused the young man's pride, and determined him to fight out the cruel battle as fate seemed to have ordained.

Three months had pa.s.sed since the boat reached the place that night, and there had been little to chronicle, for the prisoners' life had been most monotonous, embraced as it was in rising early, toiling in the plantation in the hot suns.h.i.+ne all the day, with the regular halts for meals, and the barn-like shed at night, with the men's roughly-made bunks, a blanket, and a bag of husks of Indian-corn.

The life suited Nic, though, for after the first fortnight he rapidly began to gain strength, and soon after he was sent out with the rest of the men.

There had been no open trouble; the prisoners shared the same building, and their meals were served out to them together; but there was a complete division between them which was kept up whenever possible; and one day out in the field Pete began about it to Nic, who took no heed of either party.

"Zee Humpy Dee look at me, Master Nic?" said Pete.

"Yes."

"Know why, don't you?"

"No."

"You do: I telled you. He zays, as you heered, that I set the zailors on 'em to get 'em brought out here."

Nic said nothing.

"He means to kill me one o' these days. He'll hit me on the head, or pitch me into the river, or zomething; and the others won't interfere."

Nic looked up at the speaker quickly.

"Comes hard on me," continued Pete. "I never done nothing, and they keeps me off, and don't speak; and you don't, Master Nic, zo I zeem all alone like. It makes me feel zometimes as if I must make mates o' the blacks, but I s'pose they wouldn't care for me. Wish I'd got drowned."

Nic raised his head to look in the man's face; but the old trouble rankled in his breast. His heart would not go out to him, fellow-sufferers though they were.

It was so several times over, Pete trying hard to show what goodwill he could under their painful circ.u.mstances; but it was not until that day out in the corn-rows, when Pete helped him with his work at a time when the heat was trying his barely-recovered strength, that Nic felt that perhaps there was some truth in the man's story. At any rate, he was showing himself repentant if guilty, and the prisoner recalled how Pete had nursed him and without doubt had saved his life.

Pete went on hoeing till he had worked level with Nic, and then he worked harder to get as far ahead as he could before slipping back to his own row, for Nic to return to his with once more a good start, and a feeling of grat.i.tude for his companion's kindness, which softened his voice next time he spoke, and delighted Pete, who began talking at once.

"Know where they keep the boat, Master Nic?" he said, as they worked away.

"No. Do you?"

A few hours earlier Nic would have said, "No," and nothing more.

"Think I do," said Pete, brightening up. "I mean to get it out of the n.i.g.g.e.rs zomehow. We never zee it go after they've been out in it. They tie it up at night, and next morning it's always gone."

"Yes," said Nic; "I have noticed that."

"It's that Zamson and old Xerxes who take it away zomewhere in the night, and walk or zwim back."

"Very likely, Pete."

"Yes, Master Nic; that's it; but keep on hoeing. I've laid awake nights thinking about it, for we must have that boat. I don't mean Humpy Dee and his lot when I zay 'we,' because you will go off wi' me if I zee a chance?"

"I--I think not, Pete."

"Master Nic!"

"Well, yes, then; I will."

"Hab, my lad; you zeem to ha' put life into a man. There's zummat to live for now. I've thought and thought till I've felt zick; but that's the on'y way. I could risk running for it; but there's the dogs--the dogs--Pst! look out!"

The warning was needed, for there were steps coming in their direction, and directly after the overseer strode up.

"I thought so," he said; "I've had my eye on you--you scoundrel! Every now and then your hoe has stopped, and I could tell from your manner that you were talking, and wasting your time. Here are you a good six feet behind this weak young fellow. Get on, and catch up to him."

Nic felt stunned, and he turned to speak and exculpate his fellow-slave; but there was such an agonised, imploring look in Pete's eyes that he was silent, and felt compelled to join in the little deception.

"Yes," said the overseer, "a good six feet behind you, my lad, when it ought to be the other way on. Get on, you, sir, get on."

"Yes, zur; zoon pull up, zur."

"Zur and zoon!" cried the overseer. "Bah! what a savage burr you have."

He went on, followed by one of the two dogs which accompanied him, the other hanging back to look up at Nic with its tail wagging slowly, till its absence was noticed and a shrill whistle rang out, which fetched it along with a rush, doubtless caused by recollections of the whip.

"Oh, Pete!" whispered Nic reproachfully.

"It's all right, lad," said the man, laughing merrily. "What a game it was. I didn't mind a bit."

"I did."

"Then don't, Master Nic, zur. I can't have you wear yourself out.

We've got to 'scape, my lad, and the boat's the thing; but if you could get t'other two dogs as friendly as that one, we'd make for the woods.

But anyhow, you've got to grow as strong as me; we can't do nothing without. Master Nic--"

"Yes."

"If it was the last words I'd got to zay, I did fight for you that night, and it waren't my fault you was took."

"I begin to believe it now, Pete," was the reply.