Prisoners of Hope | Page 8

hewing down
the forest. I told Woodson to bring them around to me this afternoon
when they had been decently clothed. I always give the scoundrels a
piece of my mind to begin with. It saves trouble."
"Do they give you much trouble?"
"Not on this plantation. Woodson and Haines are excellent overseers."
The planter refilled his pipe, struck a light with his flint and steel, and
leaning back amidst the fragrant clouds, allowed his eyelids to droop
and his mind to wander over a pleasant sunshiny tract of nothing in
particular.
Sir Charles tasted his sack, adjusted his ruffles, and resumed his
reading. But even the delectable adventures of the Presbyterian knight,
over whom all London was laughing, palled on such an afternoon, and
the young gentleman, after listlessly turning a page or two, laid the
book across his knee, and with closed eyes commenced the
construction of an air castle of his own.
He was roused by the sound of approaching footsteps upon the shell
path leading to the back of the house, and by the harsh voice of the
overseer.
"Here come your hopeful purchases, sir," he said lazily.
The overseer turned the corner of the house and came forward with the
three convicts at his heels. He doffed his hat to the two gentlemen, then
turned to his charges. "Fall into line, you dogs, and salute his Honor!"
The first man, he of the long nose and the twitching lip, smiled sweetly,
and bent so low that his fell of greasy hair well-nigh swept the steps;
the second, with a brow like a thunder cloud, gave a vicious nod; the
third, with as impassive a countenance as Sir Charles's own, bowed
gravely, and stood with folded arms and a quietly attentive mien.

The planter gathered himself up from his chair and came forward to the
top of the steps, his tall, corpulent figure towering above the men below
much as his fortunes towered above theirs.
"Now, men," he said, speaking sternly and with slow emphasis. "I have
just one word to say to you. Listen well to it. I am your master; you are
my servants. I reckon myself a good master, it not being my way to
treat those belonging to me, whether white or black, like dumb beasts.
Give me obedience and the faithful work of your hands, and you shall
find me kind. But if you are stubborn or rebellious, by the Lord, you
will rue the day you left Newgate! Whipping-post and branding-irons
are at hand, and death is something closer to a felon in Virginia than in
England. Be careful! Now, Woodson, what have you put these men
to?"
"They'll go into the three-mile field to-morrow morning, your honor,
unless you wish other disposition made of them."
"No, that will do. Take them away."
The overseer faced about and was marching off with the recruits for the
three-mile field when his master's voice arrested him.
"Take those two in front on with you, Woodson, and send me back the
brown-haired one."
The "brown-haired one" turned as his companions disappeared around
a hedge of privet and came slowly back to the steps.
"You wished to speak to me, sir?" he said quietly.
"Yes. You are the man who was tolerably helpful in the squall last
night?"
"I was so fortunate as to be of some small service, sir."
"You understand the handling of a boat?"
"Yes, sir."

"Hum. I will tell Woodson to try you with a sloop when the press of
work in the fields is past. What is your name?"
"Godfrey Landless."
"Chevalier d'Industrie and frequenter of the Newgate Ordinary," put in
Sir Charles lazily. "Of the Roundhead persuasion too, if I mistake
not,--from robbery in the large, descended to thievery in the small;
from the murder of a King to knives and a black alley mouth.
Commend me to these grave rogues for real knaves! Pray inform us to
what little mishap we owe the honor of your company. Did you
mercifully incline to relieve weary travelers over Hounslow Heath by
disburdening them of their heavy purses? Or did you mistake your own
handwriting for that of some one else? Or did you woo a mercer's wife
a thought too roughly? Or perhaps--"
The man shot a fiery upward glance at the slim, elegant figure and
mocking lips of his tormentor, but kept silence. Colonel Verney, who
had returned to his pipe, interposed. "What is all this, Charles? What
are you saying to the man?"
"Oh, nothing, sir! This gentleman and I were shipmates, and I did but
ask after his health since the voyage."
"Sir Charles Carew is very good," the man said proudly. "I assure him
that the object of his solicitude is well, and only desires an opportunity