Flash For Freedom!

There was a fine, short answer to that, but I daren't give it. 'Sir,' says I, 'tlth is a startling proposal. Oh, you honour me, indeed you do. But sir, my duty is to my country — I must return at once —'

He laughed exultantly. 'But of course, and you shall! You may do this thing and be in England faster than if you wait here to catch a packet home. Listen, sir — you would go upriver by steamboat, as a slave-trader, with a coffle for — Kentucky, let us say. But you sail straight on to Cincinnati — why, you will be there in six days, pass Randolph to our agent there, and continue to Pittsburgh. You may be in New York in a week or a little more from now, sir, and a sailing there will have you home far more speedily than a boat from Orleans — if you could even get one here. Remember, the Navy are watching for you.'

'But, sir,' I protested, cudgelling fearfully for excuses, 'Con sider the danger, not to me, but to my own mission — the information I hold, if I went astray, would be lost to my own government, and yours —'

'I have thought of it,' cries he. Of course, he would, rot his measly little soul. 'You may commit it to paper here, sir, this very night, under seal, and I swear upon my honour it shall go straight to London. No one in Washington, no one at all, shall see it. You have my word. But, Mr Comber,' he went on earnestly, 'there is no risk of that. You will come through without the slightest danger — no slave-catcher will give you a second glance. They know us, sir, but not you. And you will be serving the cause dear to your heart; I implore you, sir, say you will aid us in this.'

Well, I knew the cause dear to my heart, if he didn't. 'Sir,' says I. 'I am sorry. Believe me, I would aid you if I could, but my duty must come above my personal inclination.'

'But you will be doing that duty, don't you see? Better than if you refuse — for if you do, why then, I could only apologise for bringing you here, and — send you back to the Navy Department. I should be reluctant — it would delay you still further, for they would keep you here for the trial of Spring and his pirates. But that would plainly be my only course.'

So there it was. Blackmail, the pious little scoundrel. Oh, he was twinkling solemnly; he thought, you see, that all I had to fear from being delivered back to the clutches of the Navy and the U.S. Government was delay and more inconvenient questioning. He didn't know that if I appeared at the Balliol College trial my true identity must appear, and it would be into the dock for Flashy with the rest of the crew. Then it would be prison — my God, they might even hang us. Against that, the risk — which he said was no risk — of running a fugitive nigger to Ohio. He had me, the little serpent, but he didn't know how he had me, and he mustn't find out.

Well, if I refused him, I was done for, that was sure. So presumably, I must accept. I tried to think straight, tried to reason, tried to see a way out, but couldn't. My innards quailed at what he had proposed, but it was only a risk against a certainty. And he didn't think the risk was much at all — not that I put any faith in that. What could I do, though? I've been trapped so often, between two loathsome choices, and it's in my coward's nature to choose what seems the less dangerous. That was all I could do now, at this moment, and see what turned up. Yes, that was it: I must accept, and be ready to fly at the first hint of danger. If I must take this lout Randolph north, well, there it was. If things went adrift, I'd slide out somehow. I'd deny him, if I had to. But if all went well — and the chances were they would — why, I'd be half way home, with Spring and the U.S. Navy and the rest far astern. Looking back, I can only say it seemed the lesser of two evils. Well, I've been wrong before.

When you have to bow the knee, do it with grace.

'Very well, sir,' says I, looking solemn, 'I must accept. I must combine duty —' and I forced myself to look him in the eye '— with the desire of my heart, which is to assist you and your worthy cause.'

Comber couldn't have said it better, and the little monster was all over me. He wrung my hand, and called me a saviour, and then he got business-like again. He called in another chap, a long-faced zealot, this one, and introduced me '— our own names,' he added to me, 'I think it wiser not to divulge to you, Mr Comber. I choose to be known as Mr Crixus, which you will no doubt consider appropriate, ha-ha.'³⁴

And then it was all joy and good fellowship and be damned, they were so delighted, and my mind was in a turmoil, but I couldn't for the life of me see a way clear. Crixus bustled about, calling in two other chaps who I suspected were the men who had brought me, and told them the glad news, and they shook hands, too, and blessed me, full of solemn delight. Yes, they said, all was ready, and the sooner things were started the better. Crixus nodded eagerly, rubbing his hands, and then beamed at me:

'And now I promise myself another little pleasure. I told you, Mr Comber, that George Randolph was in hiding. He is — in this house, and it shall now be my privilege to present to each other two of the greatest champions of our cause. Come, gentlemen.'

So we filed out, downstairs, and came to the back of the house, and into a plain room where a young nigger was sitting at a table, writing by the light of an oil lamp. He looked up, but didn't rise, and one sight of his face told me that here was a fellow I didn't like above half.

He was about my age, slim but tall, and a quadroon. He had a white man's face, bar the thickish lips, with fine brows and a most arrogant, damn-you-me-lad expression. He sat while Crixus poured out the tale, turning his pencil in his hand, and when he had been told that here was the man who would pilot him to the promised land, and Crixus had got round to presenting me, he got up languidly and held out a fine brown hand. I took it, and it was like a woman's, and then he dropped it and turned to Crixus.

'You are in no doubt?' says he. His voice was cold, and very precise. A right uppity white nigger, this one was. 'We cannot afford a mistake this time. There have been too many in the past.'

Well, this took me flat aback; for a moment I almost forgot my own fears. And Crixus, to my astonishment, was all eagerness to reassure him.

'None, George, none. As I have told you, Mr Comber is a proved fighter on our side; you could not be in better hands.'

'Ah,' says Randolph, and sat down again. 'That is very well, then. He understands the importance of my reaching Canada. Now, tell me, exactly how do we proceed from here? I take it the modus operandi is as we have already discussed it, and that Mr Comber is capable of falling in with it precisely.'

I just gaped. I don't know what I had expected-one of your woolly-headed darkies, I suppose, massa-ing everyone, and pathetically grateful that someone was going to risk his neck to help him to freedom. But not your Lord George Bloody Randolph, no indeed. You'd have thought he was doing Crixus a favour, as the old fellow went through the plan, and our runaway sat, nodding and occasionally frowning, putting in his points and pursing his lips, like a judge on the bench. Finally he says:

'Very well. It should answer satisfactorily. I cannot pretend that I welcome some of the … er … details. To be chained in a gang of blacks — that is a degradation which I had hoped was behind me. But since it must be —' he gave Crixus a pained little smile '— why, it must be endured. I suppose it is a small price to pay. My spirit can sustain it, I hope.'

'It can, George, it can,' cries Crixus. 'After all you have suffered, it is a little thing, the last little thing.'

'Ah, yes — always the last little thing!' says Randolph. 'We know about the camel, do we not, and the final feather. Do you know, when I look back, I ask myself how I have borne it? And this, as you say, is a trifle — why should it seem so bitter a trifle? But there.' He shrugged, and then turned in his chair to look at me — I was still standing, too.

'And you, sir? You know the gravity of what lies before us. Your task should not be hard — merely to ride on a steamboat, in rather greater comfort than I shall be. Are you confident of …'

'Yes, yes, George,' says Crixus. 'Mr Comber knows; I talked to to him in the library.'

'Ah,' says Randolph. 'In the library.' He looked about him, with a little, crooked smile. 'In the library.'

'Oh, now, George,' cries Crixus, 'you know we agreed it was safer here… .'

'I know.' Randolph held up a slim hand. 'It is of no importance. However, I was speaking to Mr Comber — yes, you will have been told, sir, how vitally important is this journey of ours. So I ask again, do you trust yourself entirely to carry it through — simple though it should be?'

I could have kicked the black bastard off his chair. But caught as I was, in the trap Crixus had sprung on me, what was there to do but cram down my resentment on top of my fears — I was an overloaded man, believe me — and say:

'No, I've no doubts. Play your part on the lower deck, and I'll play mine in the saloon — George.'

He stiffened just a little. 'You know, I believe I prefer Mr Randolph, on first acquaintance.'