"Tell them," said Vaughan, well pleased, "that I will take them all to
Cape Palmas."
This did not answer so well. Cape Palmas was practically as far from
the homes of most of them as New Orleans or Rio Janeiro was; that is
they would be eternally separated from home there. And their
interpreters, as we could understand, instantly said, "_Ah, non
Palmas_" and began to propose infinite other expedients in most
voluble language. Vaughan was rather disappointed at this result of
his liberality, and asked Nolan eagerly what they said. The drops
stood on poor Nolan's white forehead, as he hushed the men down, and
said:
"He says, 'Not Palmas.' He says, 'Take us home, take us to our own
country, take us to our own house, take us to our own pickaninnies and
our own women.' He says he has an old father and mother who will die
if they do not see him. And this one says he left his people all sick,
and paddled down to Fernando to beg the white doctor to come and help
them, and that these devils caught him in the bay just in sight of
home, and that he has never seen anybody from home since then. And
this one says," choked out Nolan, "that he has not heard a word from
his home in six months, while he has been locked up in an infernal
barracoon."
Vaughan always said he grew gray himself while Nolan struggled through
this interpretation. I, who did not understand anything of the passion
involved in it, saw that the very elements were melting with fervent
heat, and that something was to pay somewhere.
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