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Updated: May 15, 2025
"Why are you not at school to-day?" "Ain' got no teacher, Mars Geo'ge. Teacher's gone!" "Gone!" exclaimed Tryon, with a sudden leap of the heart. "Gone where? What do you mean?" "Teacher got los' in de swamp, night befo' las', 'cause Plato wa'n't dere ter show her de way out'n de woods. Elder Johnson foun' 'er wid dawgs and tawches, an' fotch her home an' put her ter bed. No school yistiddy.
Angelica's ob de same opinion, so we's made up our minds, wid massa's purmission, to go wid you to ole England. We's all goin' togidder, Geo'ge. Ain't dat jolly?" "But how can we ever get to England in a small boat like this?" asked the middy, in much anxiety, for in the hurry and excitement of the start the difficulty had not occurred to him.
"Now, look yar, Geo'ge," said the negro, remonstratively, "you is a slabe; das a fact, an' no application ob fut rule or compasses, or the mul'plication table, or any oder table, kin change dat. Dere you am a slabe! But you ain't a 'bused slabe, a whacked slabe, a tortered slabe, a dead slabe. You're all alibe an' kickin', Geo'ge!
Now, tell me the truth, has the English slave, George Fos Fos I forget his name " "Geo'ge Foster," suggested the negro, with an amiable look. "Yes; has Foster had no hand in the matter?" "Unpossible, I t'ink," said Peter. "You see he was wid me and all de oder slabes when de girl hoed off, an' I don't t'ink eben a Englishman kin be in two places at one time. But you kin ax him; he's in de gardin."
"Who was the lady, Plato?" asked the teacher when the visitor had driven away. "Dat 'uz my ole mist'iss, ma'm," returned Plato proudly, "ole Mis' 'Liza." "Mis' 'Liza who?" asked Rena. "Mis' 'Liza Tryon. I use' ter b'long ter her. Dat 'uz her son, my young Mars Geo'ge, w'at driv pas' hyuh yistiddy wid 'is sweetheart." Rena had found her task not a difficult one so far as discipline was concerned.
"What you bin do all dis time?" he asked in surprise. "I was more'n half t'ink you desarve a lickin'!" "Perhaps I do, Peter," answered the young slave, in a tone so hearty and cheerful that the negro's great eyes increased considerably in size. "Well, Geo'ge," he said, with a sudden change in his expression, "I wouldn't hab expeck it ob you; no, I wouldn't, if my own mudder was to tell me!
Go to work, Geo'ge, an' forgit your troubles. Das my way an' I's got a heap o' troubles, bress you!" So saying, Peter the Great rose and left our forlorn midshipman sitting in the arbour, where he remained for some time ruminating on past, present, and future instead of going to work.
Many are ransum in a year or two. Oders longer. Lots ob 'em die, an' 'scape dat way. Keep up your heart, Geo'ge, whateber you do, and, if you won't break your word-ob-honour, something else'll be sure to turn up."
"Dey'll foller us in a minnit or two," continued the negro. "What kep' you so long, Geo'ge?" "Couldn't manage it sooner. But can you guess, Peter, why Ben-Ahmed behaved in the strange way he has done?
Meet me here in half an hour, and I'll give you the letter. Meantime, keep your mouth shut." "Yas, Mars Geo'ge," replied Plato with a grin that distended that organ unduly. That he did not keep it shut may be inferred from the fact that within the next half hour he had eaten and drunk fifty cents' worth of candy, ginger-pop, and other available delicacies that appealed to the youthful palate.
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