"How you call dat long ting?" demanded a third.
"Eh! you tupid black tings," replied the proud possessor of the new word, with a look of ineffable scorn, "you no know what um call Poton-hoton-poll-fass. Me no tell you," continued she, as she walked away, leaving the others almost white with envy and astonishment.
Shortly after this Mr Kingston with his party took their leave of the hospitable old planter, and commenced their return to Bridgetown. They had not proceeded further than a quarter of a mile, when, ascending a little hill, Newton discovered that a negro was assisting his own ascent by hanging on to the tail of his mule.
"How do you do this morning, sar?" said the man, grinning, as Newton looked round.
"I'm very well, sir, I thank you; but I'm afraid I shall not be able to keep up with the rest, if my mule has to pull you up hill, as well as carry me."
"Es, sar, mule go faster. Massa not understand; mule very obstinate, sar. Suppose you want go one way, he go anoder—suppose you pull him back by tail, he go on more."
"Well, if that's the case, you may hold on. Do you belong to the plantation?"
"No, sar, me free man. Me work there; carpenter, sar."
"A carpenter! How did you learn your trade, and obtain your freedom?"
"Larn trade board man-of-war, sar—man-of-war make me free."