CHAPTER VI. THE JANSON IN THE OFFING.
AFTER several days' suffering for want of wafer and fatigue of labor, several of the crew were reported upon the sick-list. Manuel, who had borne his part nobly and cheerfully, was among the number; and his loss was more severely felt, having done a double duty, and succeeded, as far as the means were at hand, in making everybody on board comfortable. He had attended upon those who gave up first, like a good nurse, ready at the call, whether night or day, and with a readiness that seemed pleasure to him. From the captain to the little boy Tommy, his loss was felt with regret; and the latter would often go into the forecastle where he lay, lean over him with a child-like simplicity, and smooth his forehead with his little hand. “Manuel! I wish poor Manuel was well!” he would say, and again he would lay his little hand on his head and smooth his hair. He would whisper encouragement in his ear; and having learned a smattering of Portuguese, would tell him how soon they would be in port, and what pleasant times they would have together.
On the 21st they descried land, which proved to be Stono, about twenty-five miles south of Charleston. Tommy announced the news to Manuel, which seemed to cheer him up. His sickness was evidently caused by fatigue, and his recovery depended more upon rest and nourishment than medical treatment. That night at ten o'clock the wind came strong north-west, and drove the Janson some distance to sea again; and it was not until the morning of the 23d that she made Charleston light, and succeeded in working up to the bar. Signal was made for a pilot, and soon, a very fine cutter-looking boat, “Palmetto, No. 4,” was seen shooting out over the bar in the main channel. Manuel, somewhat recovered, had a few minutes before been assisted on deck, and through the captain's orders was laid upon a mattrass, stretched on the starboard side of the companion-way. By his side sat little Tommy, serving him with some nourishment.
The boat was soon alongside, and the pilot, a middle-sized man, well dressed, with a frank, open countenance, rather florid and sun-stained, and a profusion of gold chain and seal dangling from his fob, came on board. After saluting the captain, he surveyed the weather-beaten condition of the craft, made several inquiries in regard to her working, and then said in a sang-froid manner, “Well! I reckon you've seen some knocking, anyhow.” Then turning again and giving some orders in regard, to getting more way upon her, he viewed the laborious working at the pumps, and walking about midships on the larboard side, took a sharp survey of her waist. “Don't she leak around her topsides, Captain?” said he.
Receiving an answer in the affirmative, he gave a glance aloft, and then at the sky to windward; asked how long he had worked her in that condition, and where he took the gale. “It's a wonder she hadn't swamped ye before now. I'd a' beached her at the first point, if she'd bin mine; I'd never stand at slapping an old craft like this on. She reminds me of one o' these down-east sugar-box crafts what trade to Cuba,” he continued. Then walking across the main-hatch to the starboard side, he approached the men who were pumping, and after inquiring about freeing her, suddenly caught a glimpse of Manuel, as he lay upon the mattrass with his face uncovered.
“Heavens! What! have you got the yellow fever on board at this season of the year?” he inquired of the mate, who had just come aft to inquire about getting some water from the pilot-boat.
“No, we've had every thing else but the yellow fever; one might as well bin on a raft as such an infernal unlucky old tub as she is. It's the steward, sir—he's got a touch of a fever; but he'll soon be over it. He only wants rest, poor fellow! He's bin a bully at work ever since the first gale. He'll mend before he gets to town,” was the reply.
“Ah! then you've had a double dose of it. It gives a fellow bringer off them capes once in a while.—The steward's a nigger, isn't he?” inquired the pilot.
“Nigger!—not he,” said the mate. “He's a Portuguese mixed breed; a kind o' sun-scorched subject, like a good many of you Southerners. A nigger's mother never had him, you may bet your 'davie on that. There's as much white blood in his jacket as anybody's got, only them Portuguese are dark-lookin' fellers. He's no fool—his name's Manuel, a right clever feller, and the owners think as much of him as they do of the Skipper.”
“Gammon,” said the pilot to himself. “What would he think if we were to show him some specimens of our white niggers in Charleston?” And turning, he walked past Manuel with a suspicious look, and took a position near the man at the wheel, where he remained for some time fingering the seals of his watch-chain. The Captain had gone into the cabin a few minutes before, and coming on deck again, walked toward the place where the pilot stood, and took a seat upon an old camp-stool.