Flash For Freedom!

main strength.

When I laid her on the bed she was either in a swoon or asleep from exhaustion and fright; I was so tuckered myself that I just collapsed in a chair and didn't stir until the whistles shrieked again and the wheel began to pound and I knew we'd done it. Then I began to siop the brandy down — lord, I needed it. The last-minute scare and hurry had been the final straw; the glass was chattering against my teeth, but it was as much exultation as nervous reaction, I think.

Cassy didn't stir for three hours, and then she could hardly believe where she was; not until I had ordered up a meal and a bottle of bubbly did she understand properly that we had got away, and then she broke down and cried, swaying from side to side while I comforted her and told her what a damned fine spunky wench she was. I got some drink into her, and forced her to eat, and at last she calmed, and when I saw her hand go up, shaking, and push her hair back, I knew she was in command of herself again. When they can think of their appearance, they're over the worst.

Sure enough, she went to the mirror, pulling the coat round herself, and then she turned to me and said:

'I don't believe it. But we are here.' She put her face in her hands. 'God bless you — oh, God bless you! Without you, I'd be — back yonder.'

'Tut-tut,' says I, champing away, 'not a bit of it. Without you, we'd be in queer street, instead of jingling with cash. Have some more champagne.'

She didn't answer for a moment. Then she says, in a very low voice. 'You kept your word. No white man ever did that to me before. No white man ever helped me before.'

'Ah, well,' says I, 'you haven't met the right chaps, that's all.' She was overlooking, of course, that I hadn't any choice in the matter, but I wasn't complaining. She was grateful, which was first-rate, and must be promptly taken advantage of. I walked over to her, and she stood looking at me gravely, with the tears brimming up in her eyes. No time like the present, thinks I, so I smiled at her and set the glass to her lips, and slipped my free hand beneath her coat; her breast was as firm as a melon, and at my touch she gave a little whimper and closed her eyes, the tears squeezing out on to her cheeks. She was trembling and crying again, and when I pushed away the coat and carried her over to the bed she was sobbing aloud as she clasped her arms round my neck.

12

I blame myself. If there is one thing that can make me randier than usual, it is danger safely past, and with a creature like Cassy to occupy me I don't give a thought to anything else. She, for her part, was probably still so distraught that she was ready to abandon herself altogether — she said later that she had never willingly made love to a man before, and I believed her. I suppose if you've been a good-looking female slave, used to being hauled into bed by a lot of greasy planters whether you like it or not, it sours you against men, and when you meet a fine upstanding lad like me, who knows when to tickle rather than slap — well, you're grateful for the change, and make the most of it. But whatever the reasons, the upshot was that Mr and Mrs Montague spent that night and the rest of next day in passionate indulgence, never bothering about the world outside, and that was how I came adrift yet again.

Of course, a moralist would say that this was to be expected: he would doubtless point out that I had fornicated my way almost continuously along the Mississippi valley, and draw the conclusion that all my trials arose from this. I don't know about that, as a general statement, but I'll agree that if I hadn't made such a beast of myself in Cassy's case I would have avoided a deal of trouble.

What with sleeping and dallying, it was late on the next afternoon before I tumbled out to dress myself and take a turn on the promenade; it was a splendid sunny day, the good ship Missouri was booming along in great style, and I was in that sleepy, well-satisfied state where you just want to lean on the rail, smoking and watching the great river roll by, with the distant bank half hidden in haze, and the lumber rafts and river craft sweeping down, their crews waving, and the whistles tooting overhead. Cassy wouldn't come out, though; she decided that the less she was seen the better, until we were up among the free states, which was sensible.

Well, thinks I, you've had some bad luck, my boy, but surely it's behind you now. Charity Spring and his foul ship, the noseyparkering Mr Lincoln, the Yankee Navy — they were all a long way south. I could smile at the ludicrous figure of George Randolph, although he had brought me catastrophe enough at the time; the abominable Mandeville and his shrew of a wife, the terror of the slave-cart, and the anxieties of Memphis — all by and done with, Up the Ohio to Louisvffle and then Pittsburgh, a quick trip to New York, and then it would be England again, and not before time. And Flashy the Vampire could go to work on his father-inlaw — I was looking forward to that, rather.

I wondered, as I watched the brown water swirling by, what would become of Cassy. If she'd been a woman of less character I'd have been regretful at the thought of parting soon, for she was a fine rousing gallop, all sleek hard flesh like an athlete, except for her top hamper. But she was too much the spitfire, really; her present lazy compliance didn't fool me. I'd bid her farewell around Pittsburgh, where she'd be as safe as the bank, and could travel easily to Canada if she wanted. There, with her looks and spirit, she'd have no difficulty in getting a fortune somehow, I'd no doubt. Not that I minded, but she was a game wench.

Presently I went back to the state-room, and ordered up a dinner — the first full meal we had sat down to in style, and the first Cassy had had since she was a little girl, she told me. Although we were alone in the cabin, she insisted on putting on the finest dress I had bought her; it was a very pale coffee-coloured satin, I remember, and those golden shoulders coming out of it, and that strange Egyptian head of hers, with its slanting eyes, quite kept me off my food. That night she tasted port for the first time in her life; I recall her sipping it and setting down the glass, and saying:

'This is how the rich live, is it not? Then I am going to be rich. What use is freedom to the poor?'

Well, thinks I, it doesn't take long to get ambition; yesterday all you wanted was to be free. However, all I said was:

'What you want is a rich husband. Shouldn't be difficult.'

She clicked her lips in contempt. 'I need no man, from now on. You are the last man I shall be indebted to — I should hate you for it, but I don't. Do you know why? It is not just because you helped me, and kept your word — but you were kind also. I shall never forget that.'

Poor little simple black girl, I was thinking, to mistake absence of cruelty for kindness; just wait till it serves my interest to do you a dirty turn, and you'll form a different opinion of me. And then she took me aback by going on:

'And yet I know that you are not by nature a kind man; that there is little love in you. I know there is lust and selfishness and cruelty, because I feel it when you take me; you are just like the others. Oh, I don't mind — I prefer that. I tell myself that it levels the score I owe you. And yet, it cannot quite level it, ever, because even although you are such a man as I have always taught myself to hate and despise-still, there were moments when you were kind. Do you understand?'

'Clearly,' says I. 'You're maudlin. It's the port, of course.' Tell the truth, I was half-amused, half-angry, at the way she told me what she thought of me. Still, if the fool wanted to think I was kind, she was welcome. She was looking at me in her odd, solemn way, and do you know, it made me somehow uncomfortable; those big eyes saw far too much. 'You're a strange chit,' I told her.

'Not as strange as the man who buys a dress like this one for a runaway slave girl,' says she, and blast me if the tears didn't start again.

Well, there you are; understand 'em if you can. So to cheer her up, and put an end to her foolish talk I came round and took her, across the table this time, with the crockery rattling all over the place, the wine splashing on the floor, and my left knee in a bowl of fruit. It was a fine frenzied business, and pleased me tremendously. When it was over I looked down at her, with the knives and forks scattered round her sleek head, and told her she should run away more often.

She reached over an apple and began to eat it, her eyes smouldering as she looked up at me.

'I shall never have to run again,' she said. 'Never, never, never.'

That was all she knew. Our blissful little idyll was coming to an end, for next morning I made a discovery that turned everything topsy-turvy, and drove all thoughts of philosophy out of her head. I had determined to breakfast in