George stood upon the capsill of the wharf, with mortification pictured in his countenance. “Well, captain, you needn't make so much noise about it; your conduct is decidedly ungentlemanly. If you don't wish to sail in father's employ, leave like a gentleman,” said George, pulling up the corners of his shirt-collar.
It was the great craft that George had distended upon, and the veritable captain of the right stripe, who promised to toe the mark according to secession principles, but made no stipulations for the nigger feed that was the cause of the excitement. The captain, a Baltimore coaster, and accustomed to good feed in his vessels at home, had been induced by a large representations to take charge of the craft and run her in the Pedee trade, bringing rice to Charleston. On being told the craft was all ready for sea, he repaired on board, and, to his chagrin, found two black men for a crew, and a most ungainly old wench, seven shades blacker than Egyptian darkness, for a cook. This was imposition enough to arouse his feelings, for but one of the men knew any thing about a vessel; but on examining the stores, the reader may judge of his feelings, if he have any idea of supplying a vessel in a Northern port, when we tell him that all and singular the stores consisted of a shoulder of rusty Western bacon, a half-bushel of rice, and a jug of molasses; and this was to proceed the distance of a hundred miles, But to add to the ridiculous farce of that South Carolina notion, when he remonstrated with them, he was very indifferently told that it was what they always provided for their work-people.
“Take your' little jebacca-boat and go to thunder with her,” said the captain, commencing to pick up his duds.
“Why, captain, I lent you my gun, and we always expect our captains to make fresh provision of game as you run up the river,” said George.
“Fresh provisions, the devil!” said the captain. “I've enough to do to mind my duty, without hunting my living as I pursue my voyage, like a hungry dog. We don't do business on your nigger-allowance system in Maryland.” And here we leave him, getting one of the negroes to carry his things back to his boarding-house.
A few days after the occurrence we have narrated above little Tommy, somewhat recovered from his cold, shipped on board a little centre-board schooner, called the Three Sisters, bound to the Edisto River for a cargo of rice. The captain, a little, stubby man, rather good looking, and well dressed, was making his maiden voyage as captain of a South Carolina craft. He was “South Carolina born,” but, like many others of his kind, had been forced to seek his advancement in a distant State, through the influence of those formidable opinions which exiles the genius of the poor in South Carolina. For ten years he had sailed out of the port of Boston, had held the position of mate on two Indian voyages under the well-known Captain Nott, and had sailed with Captain Albert Brown, and received his recommendation, yet this was not enough to qualify him for the nautical ideas of a pompous South Carolinian.
Tommy got his baggage on board, and before leaving, made another attempt at the jail to see his friend Manuel. He presented himself to the jailer, and told him how much he wanted to see his old friend before he left. The jailer's orders were imperative. He was told if he came next week he would see him; that he would then be released, and allowed to occupy the cell on the second floor with the other stewards. Recognising one of the stewards that had joined with them when they enjoyed their social feelings around the festive barrel, he walked into the piazza to meet him and bid him good-by. While he stood shaking hands with him, the poor negro.
The name of this poor fellow was George Fairchild. After being sent to the workhouse to receive twenty blows with the paddle when he was scarcely able to stand, he was taken down from the frame and supported to the jail, where he remained several weeks, fed at a cost of eighteen cents a day. His crime was “going for whiskey at night,” and the third offence; but there were a variety of pleadings in his favor. His master worked his negroes to the very last tension of their strength, and exposed their appetites to all sorts of temptation, especially those who worked in the night-gang. His master flogged him once, while he was in the jail, himself, giving him about forty stripes with a raw hide on the bare back: not satisfying his feelings with this, he concluded to send him to New Orleans. He had an affectionate wife and child, who were forbidden to see him. His master ordered that he should be sent to the workhouse and receive thirty-nine paddles before leaving, and on the morning he was to be shipped, his distressed wife, hearing the sad news, came to the jail; but notwithstanding the entreaties of several debtors, the jailer could not allow her to come in, but granted, as a favor, that she should speak with him through the grated door. The cries and lamentations of that poor woman, as she stood upon the outside, holding her bond-offspring in her arms, taking a last sorrowing farewell of him who was so dearly cherished and beloved, would have melted a heart of stone. She could not embrace him, but waited until he was led out to torture, when she threw her arms around him, and was dragged away by a ruffian's hand.
Poor George Fairchild! We heard him moaning under the acute pain of the paddle, and saw him thrust into a cart like a dog, to be shipped as a bale of merchandise for a distant port, who had suffered with him in the guard-house came up and saluted him with a friendly recognition. Some two weeks had passed since the occurrence, and yet his head presented the effects of bruising, and was bandaged with a cloth. “Good young massa, do give me a' fo' pence, for Is'e mose starve,” he said in a suppliant tone. Tommy put his hand into his pocket, and drawing out a quarter, passed it to the poor fellow, and received his thanks. Leaving a message for Manuel that he would be sure to call and see him when he returned, he passed from the house of misery and proceeded to his vessel.
The captain of the schooner had been engaged by parties in Charleston, who simply acted as agents for the owners. He had been moved to return to Charleston by those feelings which are so inherent in our nature, inspiring a feeling for the place of its nativity, and recalling the early associations of childhood. Each longing fancy pointed back again, and back he came, to further fortune on his native soil. His crew, with the exception of Tommy, consisted of three good, active negroes, one of whom acted as pilot on the Edisto River. Accustomed to the provisioning of Boston ships, he had paid no attention to his supplies; for, in fact, he only took charge of the little craft as an accommodation to the agents, and with the promise of a large vessel as soon as he returned; and sailing with a fine stiff breeze, he was far outside the light when the doctor announced dinner. “What have you got that's good, old chap?” said he to the cook.