New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [85]
He’d noticed the smoking chimney at once. It belonged to a house a few doors down the street. Even in the gathering darkness, he could see the thick black smoke coming out of it, although he saw no sign of any flames. Somebody had better take a look at that, he’d thought, but not wanting to get involved, he’d been going on his way when the two watchmen came round the corner.
They saw the smoke too. And they saw a black man. And they stared at him. They were staring at him hard.
And then he’d panicked.
He knew what they were thinking. Was he a black man starting a fire? He could stay where he was, of course, and protest he was innocent. But would they believe him? In any case, with the ship’s captain looking for him, he hardly wanted to be questioned by the authorities. There was only one thing to do. He took to his heels and ran. The watchmen shouted and came after him, but he was faster than they were. A quick turn down an alley, over a wall, down another alleyway, and he’d lost them.
He was halfway along Ferry Street now, hoping he was safe, when he heard the footsteps hurrying behind him, and turned to see the two watchmen.
For a moment, he wondered what to do. Should he run? He might get away, but if he didn’t, then running would confirm his guilt. Could they even be sure, in the darkness, that he was the black man they’d seen in the other street? Probably not. But they mightn’t care about that. He hesitated, and was on the point of fleeing again, when he saw that another man was now coming toward him, from the other end of the street. Quite a big, fit-looking man, carrying a silver-topped stick. If he fled, and the watchmen gave chase, the man with the stick would probably catch him. There was nothing to do but stand his ground, with what dignity he could.
The two watchmen reached him. Although he wasn’t moving, one of them grabbed him by the collar.
“Gotcha.” The fellow shook him. “We saw you.”
“Saw what?”
“Back in Vesey Street. Startin’ a fire.”
“A what? I wasn’t in Vesey Street.”
“Don’t answer back, nigger. You’re goin’ to jail.”
The man with the stick had reached them now.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“We saw this nigger boy tryin’ to burn down a house in Vesey Street,” said one of the watchmen. “Right, Herman?”
“Could be,” the other man answered. But Hudson noticed that he looked a little doubtful.
“Not me, it wasn’t,” Hudson protested. “I wasn’t even in that part of town.”
“And when was this?” asked the stranger.
“Maybe ten minutes ago, wasn’t it, Jack?” said Herman.
“The nigger belongs in jail,” said Jack.
“Not this one,” said the stranger, coolly. “Because until I sent him on an errand five minutes ago, he was with me.” He looked Hudson straight in the eye, then turned back to the watchmen. “My name’s John Master. Dirk Master’s my father. And this slave boy belongs to me.”
“He does?” Jack looked suspicious. But Herman was ready to capitulate.
“That’d explain it,” he said. “I thought he looked different.”
“Goddammit,” said Jack.
The stranger waited until the two watchmen had turned the corner before he spoke.
“You didn’t light a fire, did you?”
“No, sir,” said Hudson.
“Because if you did, I’m in trouble. Who do you belong to?”
“Nobody, sir. I’m free.”
“That so? Where do you live?”
“My grandfather had a tavern near the waterfront, but he died. He was called Hudson.”
“I know it. I’ve drunk there.”
“I don’t remember you, sir.”
“Only went there once or twice. But I’ve been in all the taverns. Been drunk in most of them. What’s your name?”
“I’m called Hudson too, sir.”
“Hmm. So where d’you live now?”
“Nowhere at present. I was at sea.”
“Hmm.” His rescuer considered him. “Jumped ship?”
Hudson was silent.
“There was a drunken captain down by the docks today, hollering for a Negro boy that jumped ship. Can’t say I liked the look of him. Drunk on board, too, I should guess.”
Hudson considered. The stranger, for whatever