The Merry Men, and Other Tales and FablesStevenson, Robert Louis
History
The Merry Men, and Other Tales and Fables
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Boys -- Fiction; Great Britain -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Paranormal fiction; Treasure troves -- Fiction
reassured; if he were a slave, as I supposed, I could not but judge he
must have fallen from some high place in his own country, and fallen as
he was, I could not but admire his bearing. As we passed the grave, I
paused and raised my hands and eyes to heaven in token of respect and
sorrow for the dead; and he, as if in answer, bowed low and spread his
hands abroad; it was a strange motion, but done like a thing of common
custom; and I supposed it was ceremonial in the land from which he
came. At the same time he pointed to my uncle, whom we could just see
perched upon a knoll, and touched his head to indicate that he was mad.
We took the long way round the shore, for I feared to excite my uncle
if we struck across the island; and as we walked, I had time enough to
mature the little dramatic exhibition by which I hoped to satisfy my
doubts. Accordingly, pausing on a rock, I proceeded to imitate before
the negro the action of the man whom I had seen the day before taking
bearings with the compass at Sandag. He understood me at once, and,
taking the imitation out of my hands, showed me where the boat was,
pointed out seaward as if to indicate the position of the schooner, and
then down along the edge of the rock with the words “Espirito Santo,”
strangely pronounced, but clear enough for recognition. I had thus been
right in my conjecture; the pretended historical inquiry had been but a
cloak for treasure-hunting; the man who had played on Dr. Robertson was
the same as the foreigner who visited Grisapol in spring, and now, with
many others, lay dead under the Roost of Aros: there had their greed
brought them, there should their bones be tossed for evermore. In the
meantime the black continued his imitation of the scene, now looking up
skyward as though watching the approach of the storm now, in the
character of a seaman, waving the rest to come aboard; now as an
officer, running along the rock and entering the boat; and anon bending
over imaginary oars with the air of a hurried boatman; but all with the
same solemnity of manner, so that I was never even moved to smile.
Lastly, he indicated to me, by a pantomime not to be described in
words, how he himself had gone up to examine the stranded wreck, and,
to his grief and indignation, had been deserted by his comrades; and
thereupon folded his arms once more, and stooped his head, like one
accepting fate.
The mystery of his presence being thus solved for me, I explained to
him by means of a sketch the fate of the vessel and of all aboard her.
He showed no surprise nor sorrow, and, with a sudden lifting of his
open hand, seemed to dismiss his former friends or masters (whichever
they had been) into God’s pleasure. Respect came upon me and grew
stronger, the more I observed him; I saw he had a powerful mind and a
sober and severe character, such as I loved to commune with; and before
we reached the house of Aros I had almost forgotten, and wholly
forgiven him, his uncanny colour.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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