Great Britain -- History -- Stuarts, 1603-1714 -- Fiction
In fact, the thing I had foreseen quickly came to pass. When a man
lies in a lethargy of despair, his body, no longer fortified by a
cheerful mind, presently falls into any disease which is lurking
in the air. Diseases of all kinds may be likened unto wild beasts:
invisible, always on the prowl, seeking whom they may devour. The
young fall victims to some, the weak to others; the drunkards and
gluttons to others; the old to others; and the lethargic, again, to
others. It was not surprising to me, therefore, when Robin, coming
home one evening, fell to shivering and shaking, chattering with his
teeth, and showing every external sign of cold, though the evening
was still warm, and the sun had that day been more than commonly
hot. Also, he turned away from his food, and would eat nothing.
Therefore, as there was nothing we could give him, we covered him
with our rugs; and he presently fell asleep. But in the morning,
when we awoke, behold! Robin was in a high fever: his hands and
head burning hot, his cheek flushed red, his eyes rolling, and his
brain wandering. I went forth and called the overseer to come and
look at him. At first he cursed and swore, saying that the man was
malingering (that is to say, pretending to be sick, in order to
avoid work); that, if he was a negro instead of a gentleman, a few
cuts with his lash should shortly bring him to his senses; that, for
his part, he liked not this mixing of gentlemen with negroes; and
that, finally, I must go and bring forth my sick man or take it upon
myself to face the master, who would probably drive him afield with
the stick.
'Sir,' I said, 'what the master may do I know not. Murder may be
done by any who are wicked enough. For my part, I am a physician,
and I tell you that to make this man go forth to work will be
murder. But indeed he is light-headed, and with a thousand lashes
you could not make him understand or obey.'
Well, he grumbled, but he followed me into the hut.
'The man hath had a sunstroke,' he said. 'I wonder that any of you
have escaped. Well, we can carry him to the sick-house, where he
will die. When a new hand is taken this way he always dies.'
'Perhaps he will not die,' I said, 'if he is properly treated. If
he is given nothing but this diet of loblollie and salt beef, and
nothing to drink but the foul water of the pond, and no other doctor
than an ignorant old negress, he will surely die.'
'Good Lord, man!' said the fellow. 'What do you expect in this
country? It is the master's loss, not mine. Carry him between you to
the sick-house.'
So we carried Robin to the sick-house.
At home we should account it a barn, being a great place with a
thatched roof, the windows open, without shutter or lattice, the
door breaking away from its hinges. Within there was a black lying
on a pallet, groaning most piteously. The poor wretch, for something
that he had done, I know not what, had his flesh cut to pieces with
the whip. With him was an old negress mumbling and mouthing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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