The spectators on the wharf were not inclined to move, either not wishing to meddle themselves with South Carolina's affairs-wanting larger game to show their bravery-or some more respectable officer to act in command. The little darkie, seeing Dusenberry driven to the wharf, ran to the gangway, and protruding his head over the rail, worked his black phiz into a dozen pert expressions, showing his ivory, rolling the white of his eyes, and crooking his finger upon his nose in aggravating contempt.
“Shure, we'll turn the guard out and take ye an' yer ship, anyhow. Why don't yees give the nager up dasently, an' don't be botherin'. An' isn't it the law of South Carolina, be dad; an' be the mortis, ye'd be getting' no small dale of a pinalty for the same yer doin',” said Dunn.
A gentleman, who had been a silent looker-on, thinking it no more than proper to proffer his mediation, perceiving where the difficulty lay, stepped on board and introducing himself to the captain, addressed him in French, and explained the nature of the proceeding. The captain shook his head for some time, and shrugged his shoulders. “La police y est bien administree,” said he, with an air of politeness; and speaking to his mate, that officer again spoke to the men, and Dusenberry was told by the gentleman that he could come on board. Without further ceremony, he mounted the rail and made a second attempt at the young urchin, who screamed and ran into the cook's galley, amid the applause of the seamen, who made all sorts of shouts inciting him to run, crying out, “Run, Baptiste! run, Baptiste!” In this manner the little darkie kept the officer at bay for more than fifteen minutes, passing out of one door as the officer entered the other, to the infinite delight of the crew. At length his patience became wearied, and as he was about to call Dunn to his assistance, the captain came up, and calling the child to him-for such he was-delivered him up, the little fellow roaring at the top of his voice as the big officer carried him over the rail under his arm. This ended the vaudeville comique on board of the French bark Nouvelle Amelie, Captain Gilliet.
The dignity of the State was triumphant, and the diminutive nigger was borne off under the arm of its representative. What a beautiful theme for the painter's imagination! And how mutely sublime would have been the picture if the pencil of a Hogarth could have touched it. The majesty of South Carolina carrying a child into captivity!
After carrying John Baptiste about halfway up the wharf, they put him down, and made him “trot it” until they reached the Dutch grog-shop we have described in the scene with Manuel. Here they halted to take a “stiff'ner,” while Baptiste was ordered to sit down upon a bench, Dunn taking him by the collar and giving him a hearty shake, which made the lad bellow right lustily. “Shut up, ye whelp of a nigger, or ye'll get a doz for yeer tricks beyant in the ship,” said Dunn; and after remaining nearly an hour, arguing politics and drinking toddies, Mr. Dunn got very amiably fuddled, and was for having a good-natured quarrel with every customer that came; into the shop. He laboured under a spirit-inspired opinion that they must treat or fight; and accordingly would attempt to reduce his opinions to practical demonstrations. At length the Dutchman made a courteous remonstrance, but no sooner had he done it, than Dunn drew his hickory stick across the Dutchman's head, and levelled him upon the floor. The Dutchman was a double-fisted fellow, and springing up almost instantly, returned the compliment. Dusenberry was more sober, and stepped in to make a reconciliation; but before he had time to exert himself, the Dutchman running behind the counter, Dunn aimed another blow at him, which glanced from his arm and swept a tin drench, with a number of tumblers on it, into a smash upon the floor. This was the signal for a general melee, and it began in right earnest between the Dutch and the Irish,—for the Dutchman called the assistance of several kinsmen who were in the front store, and Dunn, with the assistance of Dusenberry, mustered recruits from among a number of his cronies, who were standing at a corner on the opposite side, of the street. Both came to the rescue, but the O'Nales and Finnegans outnumbering the Dutch, made a Donnybrook onset, disarming and routing their adversaries, and capsizing barrels, boxes, kegs, decanters, and baskets of onions, into one general chaos,—taking possession of the Dutchman's calabash, and proclaiming their victory with triumphant shouts.
They had handcuffed the boy Baptiste as soon as they entered the store, and in the midst of the conflict he escaped without being observed, and ran for his vessel, handcuffed, and crying at the top of his voice. He reached the Nouvelle Amelie, to the consummate surprise of the officers and crew, and the alarm of pedestrians as he passed along the street. “Mon Dieu!” said the mate, and taking the little fellow to the windlass-bits, succeeded in severing the handcuffs with a cold-chisel, and sent him down into the forecastle to secrete himself.
When Dunn's wild Irish had subsided, Dusenberry began to reason with him upon the nature of the affair, and the matter was reconciled upon the obligations that had previously existed, and a promise to report no violations of the ordinances during a specified time. Looking around, Dunn exclaimed, “Bad manners till ye, Swizer, what a' ye done with the little nager? Where did ye put him?—Be dad, Duse, he's gone beyant!” An ineffectual search was made among barrels and boxes, and up the old chimney. “Did ye see him?” inquired Dunn, of a yellow man that had been watching the affray at the door, while Dusenberry continued to poke with his stick among the boxes and barrels.
“Why, massa, I sees him when he lef de doo, but I no watch him 'till 'e done gone,” said the man.
Dunn was despatched to the vessel in search, but every thing there was serious wonderment, and carried out with such French naviete, that his suspicions were disarmed, and he returned with perfect confidence that he was not there. A search was now made in all the negro-houses in the neighborhood; but kicks, cuts, and other abuses failed to elicit any information of his whereabouts. At length Dunn began to feel the deadening effects of the liquor, and was so muddled that he could not stand up; then, taking possession of a bed in one of the houses, he stretched himself upon it in superlative contempt of every thing official, and almost simultaneously fell into a profound sleep. In this manner he received the attention of the poor colored woman whose bed he occupied, and whom he had abused in searching for the boy. In this predicament, Dusenberry continued to search alone, and kept it up until sundown, when he was constrained to report the case to the sheriff, who suspended Mr. Dunn for a few days. The matter rested until the next morning, when the case of the little saucy nigger vs. South Carolina was renewed with fresh vigor. Then Mr. Grimshaw, accompanied by Dusenberry, proceeded to the barque, and there saw the boy busily engaged in the galley. Mr. Grimshaw went on board, followed by Duse, and approaching the cabin door, met the captain ascending the stairs. “Captain, I want that nigger boy of yourn, and you may just as well give him up peaceably,” said he.
“Yes, monsieur,—but you no treat 'im like child wen you get 'im,” said the captain. Retiring to the cabin, and bringing back the broken manacles in his hand, he held them up to Mr. Grimshaw, “You put such dem thing on child like 'im, in South Carolina, ah? What you tink 'im be, young nigger, ox, horse, bull, ah! what? Now you take'e him! treat him like man, den we no 'struct to laws wat South Carolina got,” continued he.