

PROPER PRIDE. 



is head was rusty black-brown wool, as close and 

 curly as the coat of a water-spaniel. Judging from 

 his looks, in age he might have been anywhere 

 between thirty-five and seventy years. From cir- 

 cumstances he narrated to me, and incidents he 

 remembered, I ultimately concluded that he was 

 about fifty-five years old. 



Poor Cigar, it was not long before I learned his 

 value! The adage of "give a dog a bad name" 

 was truly verified in him. I was the first white 

 man that had treated him with kindness and con- 

 sideration, and I firmly believe that from the 

 moment he was aware that I was disposed to do so, 

 he would have given his life for mine, or fought 

 against any odds for my protection. 



Many, I dare say, think that it is absurd to 

 believe that a black man has pride proper pride, 

 of course, I mean. Well, take my word for it, they 

 have, and are quite as sensitive of affront, slight, or 

 injustice, as any white man can be. Moreover, 

 their cool, daring courage is extraordinary. The 

 following chapters satisfactorily prove this, as they 

 are episodes of his life. 



