“Fust stripe, Massa Cap'en. A right good chance o' homony and bacon fry,” returned the negro.
“Homony and what? Nothing else but that?”
“Why, massa! gracious, dat what Massa Whaley give all he cap'en, an' he tink 'em fust-rate,” said the negro.
As they were the only whites on board, the captain took little Tommy into the cabin with him to sit at the same table; but there was too much truth in the negro's statement, and instead of sitting down to one of those nice dinners which are spread in Boston ships, both great and small, there, on a little piece of pine board, swung with a preventer, was a plate of black homony covered with a few pieces of fried pork, so rank and oily as to be really repulsive to a common stomach. Beside it was an earthen mug, containing about a pint of molasses, which was bedaubed on the outside to show its quality. The captain looked at it for a minute, and then taking up the iron spoon which stood in it, and letting one or two spoonfuls drop back, said, “Old daddie, where are all your stores? Fetch them out here.”
“Gih, massa! here 'em is; 'e's jus' as Massa Stoney give 'em,” said the negro, drawing forth a piece of rusty and tainted bacon, weighing about fifteen pounds, and, in spots, perfectly alive with motion; about a half-bushel of corn-grits; and a small keg of molasses, with a piece of leather attached to the bung.
“Is that all?” inquired the captain peremptorily.
“Yes, massa, he all w'at 'em got now, but git more at Massa Whaley plantation win 'em git da.”
“Throw it overboard, such stinking stuff; it'll breed pestilence on board,” said the captain to the negro, (who stood holding the spoiled bacon in his hand, with the destructive macalia dropping on the floor,) at the same time applying his foot to the table, and making wreck of hog, homony, molasses, and plates.
“Gih-e-wh-ew! Massa, I trow 'im o'board, Massa Whaley scratch 'em back, sartin. He tink 'em fust-rate. Plantation nigger on'y gits bacon twice week, Massa Cap'en,” said he, picking up the wreck and carrying it upon deck, where it was devoured with great gusto by the negroes, who fully appreciated the happy God-send.
The captain had provided a little private store of crackers, cheese, segars, and a bottle of brandy, and turning to his trunk, he opened it and drew them out one by one, passing the crackers and cheese to Tommy, and imbibing a little of the deacon himself, thus satisfying the cravings of nature. Night came on; they were crossing the bar and approaching the outlet of the Edisto, which was broad in sight; but there was neither coffee nor tea on board, and no prospect of supper-nothing but a resort to the crackers and cheese remained, the stock of which had already diminished so fast, that what was left was treasured among the things too choice to be eaten without limitation. They reached the entrance, and after ascending a few miles, came to anchor under a jut of wood that formed a bend in the river. The baying of dogs during the night intimated the vicinity of a settlement near, and in the morning the captain sent one of the negroes on shore for a bottle of milk. “Massa, dat man what live yonder ha'n't much no-how, alwa's makes 'em pay seven-pence,” said the negro. Sure enough it was true; notwithstanding he was a planter of some property, he made the smallest things turn to profit, and would charge vessels going up the river twelve and a half cents per bottle for milk.