“Look he-ah, stranger,” exclaimed Peek, rising to his feet, with a look of savage irritation, and clenching his fists, in spite of the irons on his wrists, “you jes’ put yer foot on me agin, and I’ll come at yer, shoo-ar!”
“You’ll do that, will you,” said Vance, laying both hands on the slave’s throat, shaking him, and muttering words audible to him only.
Peek, seeming to struggle, thrust his fettered hands into the bosom of his antagonist, as if to knock him down; but Vance pushed him up against the bulwarks of the boat, and held him there, with his grasp on his throat, till the slave begged humbly for mercy. Vance then let him go, and turning to Colonel Hyde, with perfect coolness, said, “That’s the way to let a nigger know you’re master.” To which the Colonel, unable to repress his admiration, replied: “I see as how yer understand ’em, from hide to innards, clar’ through. A nigger’s a nigger, all the world over. Now let’s liquor.”
They went to the bar, around which a motley group of smokers and drinkers were standing. The bar-keeper was a black man, and between him and Vance there passed a flash of intelligence.
“What shall it be, Mr. Vance?” asked the Colonel.
“Gin for me,” was the reply.
“Make me a whiskey nose-tickler,” said the Colonel, who seemed to be not unfamiliar with the fancy nomenclature of the bar-room.
The bar-keeper, with that nimbleness and dexterity which high art alone could have inspired, compounded a preparation of whiskey, lemon, and sugar with bitters, crushed ice, and a sprig of mint, and handed it to the Colonel, at the same time placing a decanter labelled “Gin” before Vance. The latter poured out two thirds of a tumbler of what seemed to be the raw spirit, and, adding neither water nor sugar, touched glasses with the Colonel, and swallowed it off as if it had been a spoonful of eau sucré. So overpowered with admiration at the feat was the Colonel, that he paused a full quarter of a minute before doing entire justice to the “nose-tickler” which had been brewed for him.
Some of the loungers now drew round the Colonel, and asked him to join them in a game of euchre. He looked inquiringly at Vance, and the latter said, “Go and play, Colonel; I’ll rejoin you by and by.” Then, in a confidential whisper, he added, “I must find out about that yellow girl,—whether she’s for sale.”
The Colonel winked, and answered, “All right,” and Vance walked away.