Kentucky -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Slavery -- United States -- Fiction
Another silence fell, and the candle as well as the fire was dying.
"Dan," he said, "I have done enough scanning and soon now I am going to
take up the study of the law. You know that it is my ambition to be a
great orator, and something within me says that I shall be. I talk to
you as I could talk to no one else; with some degree of literal truth,
you are a part of myself--I own you." A shadow fell black upon the wall
and he looked round at the struggling candle. For a moment the light
revived, and he continued: "I believe that one day I shall stand in the
Senate, and the storm that rages within my breast will sweep over the
land."
"The hope of every young Kentuckian," I ventured to say, determined not
always to be a negro flatterer.
The light was nearly gone, but I saw his anxious face turn toward me.
"A streak of lie and a stripe of truth," he replied. "And why do all
young Kentuckians have that hope? Because Kentucky has produced so many
orators? Oh, I know that we don't take account of the failures. The
failures come largely from the plow, from lack of advantages, but I
have advantages, and I have fire and ability. Do you believe that?"
"Mars. Bob, I know it."
I wondered what there was in the tone of my voice to impress him so,
whether it was a sadness on my part or a sudden and moving conviction
striking deep into his own mind, but I saw his feet fall from the
chimney, saw him cover his face with his hands--and then the light was
gone save a dim glow in the gray fire; no sound in the house nor from
the cabins--the boundless night was dead.
CHAPTER X.
It must have been nearly a week later, for I know that the holidays
were drawing to a close, when my young master said to me: "Dan, I must
ask you to do something which may not seem to be very honorable, but
which must be done. I have told you that if Bates wins my sister I
will cut his throat; I have reconsidered that threat--I will not cut
his throat, but I will give him a chance to shoot me, and if he avails
himself of it like a man, all shall be fair, but if he does not, I will
shoot him. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir, but what is it you want me to do?"
We were in the stable at the time this conversation took place. He
peered about cautiously to see if any one were within hearing, and then
he said: "As I said, it is not very honorable, but it must be done. I
want you to sneak--I don't know of a softer word, Dan--I want you to
sneak about and--and as best you can listen to what he says to her."
"It is not for me to make an objection by asking such a question,
Mars. Bob; but do you think it is an honorable thing to do?"
He was looking at me over the partition of a stall, and his eyes
snapped. "Did you say something to me about honor?" he asked quietly,
but to me his soft tones were louder than a shout.
"Not of honor on your part, but on mine, Mars. Bob."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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