I lurked in the shadows, debating whether to go and warn strung gentleman might do if he thought there was danger close Randolph, and decided not to; you never knew what that high. by. It seemed best to lurk in the shadows unobserved, keeping an eye on Bradlee and Omohundro, and ready to intervene — God alone knew how — if they decided to take an interest in my coffle. The truth was I just didn't know what to do for the best, and so did nothing.
Peeping over a box I watched while Omohundro, by the light of the overseer's lantern, examined a couple of Bradlee's slaves, walking round them prodding and poking. I couldn't hear what was said, what with the churning of the great paddle wheel and the steady murmur and crooning of the slaves, but after about five minutes Omohundro shook his head, I heard Bradlee laugh, and then the three of them moved slowly amidships, where Omohundro stopped to light a cigar. From where I lurked among the bales I began to hear their voices.
"… and of course I don't blame you, pricin' high," Omohundro was saying. "Reckon your figure is about right, these days, but that wouldn't leave any margin of profit. Still, I'm right sorry; good bucks you have, sub, an' well schooled."
"Guess I can train a nigger," says Bradlee. "Yessir, I jus' about think I can. Whup seldom, but whup good, my ol' dad used to say, an' he was right. Guess I ain't laid a rawhide on a nigger o' mine this las' twelve-month; don't have to. They got a respect for me, on 'count they know if I do trim one of 'em up, he'll stay trimmed."
"That's the style with 'em," chips in the overseer. "On'y way, otherwise they git spoiled. Breaks my heart to see good niggers spoiled, too, by soft handlin', like the coffle that Englishman brung aboard."
"How's that?" says Bradlee. "I hear they's prime; so Potter sayin'."
"Oh, prime enough — just now. But he don't know how to handle 'em, an' he in a right way to ruinin' 'em, to my way 0' thinkin'. Shame, it is." And then to my horror, he added: "Care to see 'em, gennelmen?"
My heart stopped beating, and then Omohundro said:
"Reckon not; he ain't sellin', so he tell me."
"No?" chuckles the overseer. "I guess he'll be glad 'nough to, come a year or so. Leastways with one of 'em — the uppitiest yaller son-of-a-bitch you ever see. First-rate nigger, too — clean, straight, smart, an' talks like a college p'fessor — oh, you know his sort, I reckon. All frills an' goddam' lip."
"Uh-huh," says Bradlee. "Educated, likely, an' spoiled to hell an' gone. Got no use for 'em, myself."
"That kind of fancy fetches a good price, though, once the tar's been taken out of 'em," says Omohundro. "Make valets, butlers, an' so forth — ladies in Awlins an' Mobile payin' heavy money for 'em." He paused. "Think the Englishman knows what this feller's worth.
"How could he?" says Bradlee. "He tells me he spent all his time in Afriky slave ships, till now. He don't know the value of talkin' niggers."
Shut up, shut up about my bloody niggers, I found myself whispering. Mind your own business and get upstairs where you belong, can't you. And they would have done but for that benighted swine of an overseer.
"Talkin' niggers is right — this one of Prescott's sure can handle his gab. Highest-f alutin' smart-assed buck in creation, answers back sassy as be damned. An' what you think Mist' Prescott do, gennelmen, hey? Why, he jus' pats and smooths him! Yessir. Makes a body sick to listen."
"The English is soft on niggers. Ev'yone know that," says Bradlee. "I'd like to see the buck'd talk back to me; I'd just about like to hear that."
"Well, suh, you don't have to stir more'n twenty feet to see him," cries the infernal clod. "Here, gennelman, step across this ways — I see Mist' Omohundro kinda interested anyway, that right, suh?"
I should have strode out then and there, I know, and done something, anything, to keep them away from my coffle. I might have talked them away, or damned their eyes for going near my blacks, or made some diversion. But my consternation had reached the point where I had lost my nerve altogether I hesitated, and then the overseer was up forward, barking at my niggers to rise and let the white men have a look at them. I waited, helpless, for the blow to fall.
"Where that George?" the overseer was shouting. "Here, you George, ye black varmint, step out when I calls ye!"
It was like watching a play I had seen before, and a bloody tragedy at that. Randolph, unsuspecting, stood up among his fellows, blinking in the light.
"That one?" says Bradlee. "Well, he don't look so dam' pert, eh, Omohundro? Good clean buck, too, quadroon, I reckon — why, what's the matter with you, boy? You seen a ghost?"
Randolph was staring, with his hand to his mouth, at Omohundro, who was stooping to peer at him.
"What's that? Wait, though — hold on a minute! What's your name, boy? I seen you before somewheres, ain't I — yes! By God, I have!" His voice rose in a shout of amazement. "You're George Rand —"
In that moment Randolph was on him like a tiger, carrying the big man to the deck, and then falling himself as his shackles tripped him. He was up in an instant though, agile as a cat, smashing a fist into Bradlee's face before the overseer, swearing in astonishment, managed to close with him. They reeled against the bales, locked together, and then Randolph jerked his knees up, and the overseer staggered away yelping, clutching his groin.
"Get him!" bawls Omohundro. "He's a runaway — Randolph! Stop him, Bradlee!"
Hobbled by his irons — he hadn't time to get at his hidden key — Randolph half hopped, half ran for the rail, with Bradlee clutching at his shirt, trying to drag him back. Omohundro got a hold, too, but stumbled and fell, cursing; as they tried to grapple him Randolph broke away, and before his irons ftnally tripped him he had covered half a dozen yards which brought him to the big box where I was crouching. He saw me as he fell, and shouted:
"Help! Help me, Prescott! Fight them off!"
Such an appeal, addressed to Flashy, meets a prompt response. I ducked back behind cover just as Omohundro came crashing over the bales, clutching at Randolph's feet. The quadroon kicked free, scrambled on to the rail, and was trying to roll over it when he must have realised that he would fall plumb in the path of the great thirty-foot paddle wheel; he shrieked, rearing up on the rail, the overseer's pistol banged, and I saw Randolph's body arch and his face contort with agony. He fell, outwards, and the huge wheel blades came churning down on him as he hit the water.
I daresay that if I had had a few minutes for quiet reflection it would have occurred to me that the safest course would be to stand my ground, playing the innocent trader amazed at the news that there had been a runaway in his coffle, and brazen it out that way. But I hadn't those few minutes, and I'm not sure I'd have acted any differently anyway. The overwhelming feeling that I had when I saw Randolph's body fall, with Omohundro and Bradlee roaring bloody murder and the whole deck in uproar, was that here was no place for Flashy any longer. I was skipping away between the bales before the echo of the shot had died; Omohundro's bellow to me to stop merely assisted my flight. I crossed the deck in half a dozen strides, and launched myself over the starboard rail in a fine flat dive; there was no wheel on that side, I knew, and when I surfaced in the warm Mississippi water with all the breath knocked out of me the Sultana was already a hundred yards away upriver.
10
Even today I can't feel anything but irritation and dislike for George Randolph. If he had only had the sense to keep his mouth shut and act humble for once, he'd never have been confronted by Omohundro that night; the odds are he'd have reached Canada without fuss and embarked immediately on a happy life as a professor at some liberal university, or the leader of a nigger minstrel troupe, or something equally useful. Instead his pride and folly had bought him a bullet in the belly and a grave in the Mississippi mud, as far as I could see; more important, he had put me in a highly dangerous and embarrassing position.