The Gold Brick Part 8

These thoughts seemed to excite the man beyond anything that persons knowing his stern character would have believed. His hands clutched and unclutched themselves in the jewels, his lips quivered, and alternate gleams of fire and clouds of mist chased each other in his eyes. He started up, thrust the box back to its closet, forgetting the fears that had urged him to seek for it, and putting the key back into his pocket went on deck. The first sharp gust of wind that swept his face carried off these feverish thoughts and he grew hard as rock again.

Paul was on deck, crouching down among the barrels and bales of merchandise that offered him friendly concealment. Wretched and heart-broken, the child watched for Rice. When he saw Thrasher, fear made him shrink together and hold his breath as if some wild beast were creeping along his path. After a little, the mate went down again and Rice appeared.

The boy crept from his hiding-place and came up to the sailor.

"What have you done with him? please tell me."

"Oh, here you are, as large as life," said Rice, who had missed Paul from the deck, and felt some relief at finding him alone and so quiet.

"Done with him? why cleared out a snug harbor in the hold, and anch.o.r.ed him safe and sound. Come along, if you want to see."

"Oh, yes, yes, I want it so much. Is it dark?"

"Rayther, I should think."

"May I hold your hand?"

"Aye, aye, come along afore the captain knocks us all aback."

"Who goes there," cried out a voice from the cabin stairs.

"n.o.body but Rice and this 'ere little shaver," answered Rice, facing round to meet Thrasher.

"Where are you taking him?"

"Nowhere just now--he wants to take a look out."

"Very well--pa.s.s on."

Thrasher went down to the cabin again; he had seen Rice as he led the boy across the deck, and understood the opposition which was going on to his wishes. The train of thought that had seized him while examining the jewels had not entirely pa.s.sed away, but with it came others appealing to his worst pa.s.sions, and mingling themselves, as evil things sometimes will, with much that was tender and pure in the man's nature. He was not all bad--what human being is?--but he was a strong man, and used his evil strength without scruple to secure the love, which was, in truth, wounding him daily with its hungry cries.

Thrasher was afraid of Rice, and with him fear was an incentive to action. Jube and the boy Paul were also sources of great anxiety. They might interfere with his one great hope, and utterly destroy the brilliant future that lay so temptingly before him. All this was food for thought, and made him more than usually morose.

The sensitive nature of the boy Paul had suffered acutely by the indignity that had been put upon him, and still more by the awful scene of Jube's punishment. But there was a n.o.ble spirit in that little frame, and though he shrank from encountering his enemy, it was not from a cowardly feeling, but as a brave man may evade a wild beast that possesses a hundred-fold of his own physical powers. No amount of punishment would have induced the child to submit meanly; but he was a creature of exquisite refinement, and had, all his little life, been s.h.i.+elded from the first approach of sorrow. Within the last few weeks, he had been cast headlong into the boiling vortex of the most terrible scenes that ever disgraced humanity--scenes that drove many a stout man insane, and left a whole population at the mercy of savage, maddened slaves. He, a young, sensitive child, brought up in luxury, s.h.i.+elded from the very breath of a flower if it was not grateful to his fine sense--loved by his parents--idolized by a host of servants--had struggled through death, and horrors sharper than death, to find himself worse off a thousand times on board that brig, than any of his father's slaves had ever been.

And now his only friend was torn away, and cast into the black depths of the hold, smarting with pain, writhing under the ignominy of a first blow, and chained hand and foot like a mad dog. If little Paul had known that the captain would kill him, I think he might have found his way to that poor friend.

At last they were together, down in the black hollows of the s.h.i.+p, with scarcely a breath of air, and surrounded by a host of uncouth objects, which appalled them like the walls of a prison. They had no light, and the rush and gurgle of the waves sounded horribly distinct. Jube held up bravely after his little master came to bear him company. No groan escaped his lips, but he insisted on sitting up, and made Paul nestle close to him, striving to soothe and comfort the child, spite of his own keen suffering.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAINED IN THE HOLD.

Chained in the hold, drifting away--it was only after dark that Paul could visit his friend without fear of detection. On the third night, they were together in the hold. Thrasher himself had been down just before, and finding Jube without irons, had riveted them on his limbs with his own hands, so the poor fellow was bowed down with the weight of his chains, and could not even hold the child to his bosom when he came to share his solitude.

It was very dark, and Paul was compelled to feel his way through the freight heaped up on each side the place where Jube was confined.

"Jube, Jube! do you hear?" he called out, in a frightened voice.

Jube lay still, for he was afraid of frightening the boy by the clank of his chains, but he called out softly, "Yes, little master, here I am, just here, don't hurt yourself against the boxes."

"Can't you come and help me, Jube; it's dark as midnight."

"Well, little master, it ain't just convenient this minute; but if you'll listen while I talk, and come by the sound, it'll bring you right straight to Jube."

"Yes--yes, I hear; keep speaking, Jube, but not too loud. What a noise the water makes to-night, and the s.h.i.+p pitches so I can hardly stand.

Oh, here you are, dear Jube; just hold out your hands, to steady me.

What's that?"

"Only the handcuffs; but don't you mind, they don't amount to much after all--screwed a little tight--but not unpleasant, if it wasn't for that."

"Chained you--chained you!" said the boy, in a voice of such keen anguish that Jube forced a little, hoa.r.s.e laugh, in order to convince him that being chained hand and foot, in the black hold of a vessel, was rather a refres.h.i.+ng amus.e.m.e.nt than otherwise. "Why, it ain't nothing, little master, just see here!"

He tried to lift his hands, but the iron galled his wrists, and forced a groan from his brave heart.

"Oh, Jube, Jube, they will murder you!"

"Not they--why it's nothing."

"Let me help you hold the irons up, they drag on your poor hands--there, does that make them lighter?"

"A good deal, little master; every thing is light when you come to see Jube."

The gentle boy had knelt down in the darkness, and was striving to hold up the chains that dragged in rusty links from the poor fellow's hands.

"Are you hungry, Jube?"

"No, not at all, little master; had a splendid dinner just now."

The poor fellow had just eaten half a cake of hard sea bread soaked in water.

"Because I've saved my dinner," said the child, "and we'll eat it together."

"Oh, little master, there never was but one angel like you that ever I saw."

"Mamma!" said Paul, softly, "you mean her, I know."

"Yes; who else?"

"I shall never be beautiful and kind like her, Jube--never! but, when she finds us, you will tell her how I have tried to be good and patient, Jube?"

"Yes, little master."

"How mournfully you say that. Are you crying, Jube?"