Part 33 (1/2)
Bras-Coupe was six feet five. With a sweep as quick as instinct the back of the hoe smote the driver full in the head. Next, the prince lifted the nearest Congo crosswise, brought thirty-two teeth together in his wildly kicking leg and cast him away as a bad morsel; then, throwing another into the branches of a willow, and a woman over his head into a draining-ditch, he made one bound for freedom, and fell to his knees, rocking from side to side under the effect of a pistol-ball from the overseer. It had struck him in the forehead, and running around the skull in search of a penetrable spot, tradition--which sometimes jests--says came out despairingly, exactly where it had entered.
It so happened that, except the overseer, the whole company were black.
Why should the trivial scandal be blabbed? A plaster or two made everything even in a short time, except in the driver's case--for the driver died. The woman whom Bras-Coupe had thrown over his head lived to sell _calas_ to Joseph Frowenfeld.
Don Jose, young and austere, knew nothing about agriculture and cared as much about human nature. The overseer often thought this, but never said it; he would not trust even himself with the dangerous criticism. When he ventured to reveal the foregoing incidents to the senor he laid all the blame possible upon the man whom death had removed beyond the reach of correction, and brought his account to a climax by hazarding the a.s.serting that Bras-Coupe was an animal that could not be whipped.
”Caramba!” exclaimed the master, with gentle emphasis, ”how so?”
”Perhaps senor had better ride down to the quarters,” replied the overseer.
It was a great sacrifice of dignity, but the master made it.
”Bring him out.”
They brought him out--chains on his feet, chains on his wrists, an iron yoke on his neck. The Spanish Creole master had often seen the bull, with his long, keen horns and blazing eye, standing in the arena; but this was as though he had come face to face with a rhinoceros.
”This man is not a Congo,” he said.
”He is a Jaloff,” replied the encouraged overseer. ”See his fine, straight nose; moreover, he is a _candio_--a prince. If I whip him he will die.”
The dauntless captive and fearless master stood looking into each other's eyes until each recognized in the other his peer in physical courage, and each was struck with an admiration for the other which no after difference was sufficient entirely to destroy. Had Bras-Coupe's eye quailed but once--just for one little instant--he would have got the lash; but, as it was--
”Get an interpreter,” said Don Jose; then, more privately, ”and come to an understanding. I shall require it of you.”
Where might one find an interpreter--one not merely able to render a Jaloff's meaning into Creole French, or Spanish, but with such a turn for diplomatic correspondence as would bring about an ”understanding”
with this African buffalo? The overseer was left standing and thinking, and Clemence, who had not forgotten who threw her into the draining-ditch, cunningly pa.s.sed by.
”Ah, Clemence--”
”_Mo pas capabe! Mo pas capabe!_ (I cannot, I cannot!) _Ya, ya, ya! 'oir Miche Agricol' Fusilier! ouala yune bon monture, oui!_”--which was to signify that Agricola could interpret the very Papa Lebat.
”Agricola Fusilier! The last man on earth to make peace.”
But there seemed to be no choice, and to Agricola the overseer went. It was but a little ride to the Grandissime place.
”I, Agricola Fusilier, stand as an interpreter to a negro? H-sir!”
”But I thought you might know of some person,” said the weakening applicant, rubbing his ear with his hand.
”Ah!” replied Agricola, addressing the surrounding scenery, ”if I did not--who would? You may take Palmyre.”
The overseer softly smote his hands together at the happy thought.
”Yes,” said Agricola, ”take Palmyre; she has picked up as many negro dialects as I know European languages.”
And she went to the don's plantation as interpreter, followed by Agricola's prayer to Fate that she might in some way be overtaken by disaster. The two hated each other with all the strength they had. He knew not only her pride, but her pa.s.sion for the absent Honore. He hated her, also, for her intelligence, for the high favor in which she stood with her mistress, and for her invincible spirit, which was more offensively patent to him than to others, since he was himself the chief object of her silent detestation.
It was Palmyre's habit to do nothing without painstaking. ”When Mademoiselle comes to be Senora,” thought she--she knew that her mistress and the don were affianced--”it will be well to have a Senor's esteem. I shall endeavor to succeed.” It was from this motive, then, that with the aid of her mistress she attired herself in a resplendence of scarlet and beads and feathers that could not fail the double purpose of connecting her with the children of Ethiopia and commanding the captive's instant admiration.
Alas for those who succeed too well! No sooner did the African turn his tiger glance upon her than the fire of his eyes died out; and when she spoke to him in the dear accents of his native tongue, the matter of strife vanished from his mind. He loved.