“Me got an onion patch, massa,—my ole woman raise him; got some bayberry taller,—Spaniards buy him quick to put in de candle; make him hard so he no melt. Me talk Spanish all same as one Spaniard; me tell ’em all about it.”
“But how will you get back? I am going to sell the craft.”
“O, massa, you know I good sailor man; you give me what you call recommend, I get a chance in some ship to go somewhere—don’t care where; my ole woman so debilish ugly me no want to come back. Last Monday mornin’ she break de skillet; she kill my dog; she put thistle under my horse’s tail when I goes to de store, so he fling me over his head—most break my neck.”
“Perhaps she thought you went to the store too often. And what did you do to her?”
“I beat her with the well-pole. When we were slaves to ole massa she well enough; but since freedom came I no live with her—she no mind me at all.”
“Well, Flour, I give the men four dollars a month, and their privilege. I’ll give you six, and your grog, and all the privilege you want; but I shall expect you to lend us a hand in bad weather, and perhaps take the helm, for there’s not a man in the vessel can steer in bad weather as you.”
“O, massa, you know this darky; he no be de last man when de watch is called.”
They were now all ready for sea, only waiting for a fair wind, and enough of it.