Roch supposed the negro must have had his quasi freedom, from seeing him go into a saloon, as the planters never allow their slaves to go into drinking-places; not because they think it immoral, but because the slaves would most likely become unfit for work.
Roch asked the negro if he knew where they kept good brandy.
"Golly, ib you want good licker, dis yer sloon is de place to find it!"
"Drive up, and we will sample some of it," ordered Roch.
Sambo willingly obeyed, and they went into the saloon. Roch again assumed his German accent. The two negroes at once recognized each other, and Roch, in his broken way, said:
"Vel, poys, vat vill you haf?"
The niggers grinned from ear to ear, and replied:
"De same ab you, boss."
"Barkeeper, you haf any lager got? Nein? Och, mine Got, dis ish von h—l of a blace! Notting put prandy und vhisky! I pelieves I vill go by Yarmany the steamer next. Vell, give us dree prandys! Trink hearty, poys. Mine frient," continued he, turning to the hackman, "your peesness ish goot? No?"
"Yes, sah! I always dribes the gemmen what comes on de steamer. Ya, ha! Dey nearly all goes to de same place. Dis mornin' a gemmen come on de steamer, an' say, 'Here, you nigga, dribe me as fas' as you can to Mudder Bink's.' I'se yer man, says I; an' golly, didn't I make dose hosses trabel! I was gwine like de debil when he stop me, an' went to de store. Den I took him to Madam's, and he say, 'Here, Sambo, you jus' go down town, an' come fur me in two hours;' an' I's gwine back, an' if dis yer nigga don't get a fiver for his trouble, den dis court don't know itself!"