“But this is the man I meant,” she said.
“This one?” Contempt rang in the voice.
Peter Blood found himself staring into a pair of
beady brown eyes sunk into a yellow, fleshly face
like currants into a dumpling. He felt the colour
creeping into his face under the insult of that contemptuous
inspection. “Bah! A bag of bones.
What should I do with him?”
He was turning away when Gardner interposed.
“He maybe lean, but he’s tough; tough
and healthy. When half of them was sick and
the other half sickening, this rogue kept his legs
and doctored his fellows. But for him there’d
ha’ been more deaths than there was. Say
fifteen pounds for him, Colonel. That’s
cheap enough. He’s tough, I tell your
honour — tough and strong, though he be lean.
And he’s just the man to bear the heat when
it comes. The climate’ll never kill him.”
There came a chuckle from Governor Steed. “You
hear, Colonel. Trust your niece. Her sex
knows a man when it sees one.” And he
laughed, well pleased with his wit.
But he laughed alone. A cloud of annoyance swept
across the face of the Colonel’s niece, whilst
the Colonel himself was too absorbed in the consideration
of this bargain to heed the Governor’s humour.
He twisted his lip a little, stroking his chin with
his hand the while. Jeremy Pitt had almost ceased
to breathe.
“I’ll give you ten pounds for him,”
said the Colonel at last.
Peter Blood prayed that the offer might be rejected.
For no reason that he could have given you, he was
taken with repugnance at the thought of becoming the
property of this gross animal, and in some sort the
property of that hazel-eyed young girl. But it
would need more than repugnance to save him from his
destiny. A slave is a slave, and has no power
to shape his fate. Peter Blood was sold to Colonel
Bishop — a disdainful buyer — for the ignominious
sum of ten pounds.
ARABELLA BISHOP
One sunny morning in January, about a month after
the arrival of the Jamaica Merchant at Bridgetown,
Miss Arabella Bishop rode out from her uncle’s
fine house on the heights to the northwest of the
city. She was attended by two negroes who trotted
after her at a respectful distance, and her destination
was Government House, whither she went to visit the
Governor’s lady, who had lately been ailing.
Reaching the summit of a gentle, grassy slope, she
met a tall, lean man dressed in a sober, gentlemanly
fashion, who was walking in the opposite direction.
He was a stranger to her, and strangers were rare
enough in the island. And yet in some vague
way he did not seem quite a stranger.
