the passengers crowded around him and began to ply him with eager questions as to his knowledge of the music of the beloved bard of Scotia. The idea of a darky singing Scotch ballads, and with such true emotional pathos and sweetness, was such a novelty to them that all were anxious to learn where he had heard them. Scobell briefly and modestly informed them that he had been raised by a gentleman who was a native of Scotland, who was himself a good singer, and that his master had taught him the music he loved so well. The Captain, who was also a Scotchman, and who had listened to the melodies with the tears trickling over his rubicund nose, now stepped forward and said heartily:
"Look here, young fellow, I need an extra man on this boat, and I'll give you forty dollars a month to work for me. The work is light—now what do you say?"
Here was a dilemma entirely unexpected. Scobell had not only sung himself into the good graces of the passengers, but of the rough old Captain also. It was plain that this offer came from the very heart of the old salt, who was as deeply touched by the melodies as was any one else, and he wanted to secure Scobell's services as much for the songs he could sing as for the work he could do.
Scobell bowed his thanks to the Captain, and said:
"I'm werry much obliged to yer Cap'n; I'se bin lookin' fur a job ebber since I left ole Mississippi, an' I'll do my best to please you, sure."
"All right," replied the Captain. "It's time to turn in now, so go below and tell the mate to take your time; your pay will commence from to-day."
"The work isn't hard. Now, what do you say." P. 364.
All hands went below, where Scobell duly reported to the mate, a bunk was assigned to him and he was made one of the crew of the steam-packet "Virginia." This was a rather different turn of affairs than he had expected, but he had done the best he could under the circumstances, and regretting that he was compelled to deceive the honest old Captain, he turned in for the night and slept soundly.