I remember one
Sunday afternoon when Packard had accepted our invitation to stop to
dinner. The soup was just served, when Hughie saw a nigger peering in
through the door. He went out to him, for it was a violation of Berande
custom. Any nigger has to send in word by the house-boys, and to keep
outside the compound. This man, who was one of Packard's boat's-crew,
was on the veranda. And he knew better, too. 'What name?' said Hughie.
'You tell 'm white man close up we fella boat's-crew go along. He no
come now, we fella boy no wait. We go.' And just then Hughie fetched
him a clout that knocked him clean down the stairs and off the veranda."
"But it was needlessly cruel," Joan objected. "You wouldn't treat a
white man that way."
"And that's just the point. He wasn't a white man. He was a low black
nigger, and he was deliberately insulting, not alone his own white
master, but every white master in the Solomons. He insulted me. He
insulted Hughie. He insulted Berande."
"Of course, according to your lights, to your formula of the rule of the
strong--"
"Yes," Sheldon interrupted, "but it was according to the formula of the
rule of the weak that Packard ruled. And what was the result? I am
still alive. Packard is dead.
Pages:
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88