Most of the passengers sat on the cabin deck, which was protected from the sun by an awning, that hovered over us like the ghost of some broad sail that Old Ocean might have swallowed. We had not gone far, when a band of musicians from the land of Horace, Virgil, Cicero, Titus, Vespasian and the Cesars, treated us with some melodious strains on the violin, harp, and some other instruments. Although we would have regarded them as a nuisance in front of our doors in the city, we now really appreciated their talent; and when they had played half-an-hour, and one of them came round with an empty hat in his hand, there were but few, if any, who did not acknowledge their approbation by contributions of ten cent notes, or the like.
They had just disappeared, and I was beginning to regard the delightful scenery that began to unfold itself to us along the shores, when a very black African made his appearance on deck, and leaning over a kind of sky-light, called out to some one below in a loud tone:
“Hillo, Bill, down dah!”
“Well, what does you want?” was the response from below. It was evident that William was also a gentleman from the land where snakes, crocodiles, and savage beasts grow to their full size.
“Are you gwine up to Albany?” asked the darkey on deck.
“Yes, reckon I’se gwine up dah,” came from below.
“How’d you leabe all de folks?”
“O, well enough—but don’t ask so darned many questions,” said Bill, testily.
“Gettin’ rudder techy, ain’t you?”
“O, don’t bodder me! I didn’t git no sleep last night—I didn’t.”