Great Britain -- History -- Stuarts, 1603-1714 -- Fiction
'Come out, ye dogs of rebels and traitors!' It was the loud and
harsh voice of the master himself, who thus disturbed us at our
breakfast. 'Twas his custom thus to rise early, and to witness the
beginning of the day's work. And 'twas his kindly nature which
impelled him thus to welcome and encourage his newly-bought slaves.
'Come out, I say! Ye shall now show of what stuff ye are made.
Instead of pulling down your lawful King, ye shall pull up your
lawful master and make him rich. If ye never did a day's work in
your lives, ye shall now learn the how by the must. Come forth, I
say, ye lazy, guzzling skulkers!'
'Ay, ay,' said Barnaby, leisurely scraping his bowl, 'we are like,
indeed, to be overfed here.' He rolled sailor fashion out of the hut.
'Barnaby,' I said, 'for God's sake, say nothing to anger the master!
There is no help but in patience and in hope.'
So we, too, went forth. The master, red-faced as he was, looked as
if he had been drinking already.
'So,' he cried, 'here is the learned physician. Your health,
Doctor. And here is the gallant Captain, who was once a sailor.
The air of the fields, Captain, will remind you, perchance, of the
quarter-deck. This young gentleman looks so gallant and gay that I
warrant he will ply the hoe with a light and frolick heart. Your
healths, gentlemen. Hark ye, now. You are come of a good stock,
I hear. Therefore have I bought you at a great price, looking to
get my money back and more. Some planters would suffer you to lie
at your ease cockered up with bonavist and Madeira till the money
comes. As for me, I shall now show you what you will continue to do,
unless the money comes. Therefore you will at once, I doubt not,
ask for paper and pen and presently write. Sixty pounds a-piece,
gentlemen--not one penny less--will purchase your freedom. Till
then, the fields. And no difference between white and black; but one
whip for both.'
We made no reply, but took the hoes which were given out to us and
marched with the rest of the melancholy troop.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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