Again my grandfather scanned the dark features of the negro, and showed signs of agitation in his own. “Softly! Softly!” said he, imitating the black; “that’s just your negro cant! I know the whole gang of you; but you are not going to deceive me. Why, sirrah! I know you would sacrifice me and all I am worth for a bunch of plantains.”[12] [12] The plantain is a fruit which when ripe is very sweet; but roasted when green, it resembles a chesnut in taste. It is a general article of food instead of bread in the West Indies. “Massa hab eat de plantains den,” responded the black; “and yet massa tink hard of poor nigger who work for make ’em grow. Gor Amighty send rain,--Gor Amighty send sun: but Gor Amighty send poor nigger too.” “Well, well,” said my grandfather, softening his voice to its accustomed tone of mildness; “the Omnipotent is no respecter of colours, and we must not let you be put in the stocks till the morning, daddy;[13] so Robert, tell the cook to get some warm broth for this shivering piece of ebony; and bid her bear a hand about it.” [13] Daddy is a familiar term of kindness used by the male negroes to each other, as “Aunty” is used by the females; and it is nothing uncommon to hear children, as soon as they can talk, calling one another, “daddy” and “aunty.” “Gor Amighty for eber bless massa!” exclaimed the negro; and his countenance underwent an instantaneous change, as he listened to the order, and keenly directed his eye towards the person who had issued it; but my grandfather had turned his head towards me, so that his face was concealed from the grateful black. “So, I suppose you are some runaway slave,” said my grandfather harshly. “No, massa,” rejoined the African, more assured; “no massa, me neber run away; I free man. Good buckra gib freedom; but den I lose kind massa, and--” “Ay, ay,” replied my grandfather, interrupting him. “I think you said something about Plantation Josef, in Trinidad?” “Ky!” responded the negro as his eyes were bent upon his interrogator, who again concealed his face; “de buckra sabby [knows] ebery ting; him like angel of light for know de secret of de heart.” “Come nearer the fire, Daddy Davy,” said my grandfather, as he extended his hand to the poker and bent down his body to stir the burning coals. Never shall I forget the look of the African; joy, wonder, and admiration were pictured on his countenance as he exclaimed, whilst advancing forward, “De buckra know my name too! How dis?” My grandfather having rekindled a bright flame that illuminated the whole room, turned his face carelessly towards the black; but no sooner had the poor fellow caught sight of his features, than throwing himself at his feet, he clasped the old man’s knees, exclaiming, “My own massa! what for you give Davy him life? what for you give Davy him freedom? and now de poor nigger die for want! But no!” checking himself, “neber see de day for go dead, now me find my massa!”