"We've got a fireman down below who has killed two or three niggers by butting them to death with his head."
"Send him up," I said, "and I'll butt him till he is sick of butting."
We had all been drinking wine, and everybody laughed, supposing that it was the liquor talking, and not me.
"Why, Devol, I wouldn't give five cents for your head if that nigger gets a lick at it," spoke up a young planter who was in the party.
Then I got mad, and exclaimed:
"I'll bet $500 I can make the nigger squeal."
The mate roared out with laughter; but I put up my money, and so did the young planter, thinking that I would back out. He only had $175 in his roll, and he offered to bet that.
"All right; I don't back out. I'll butt the nigger for $175."
The money was soon up in the barkeeper's hands; and then the mate knew that I meant business, and he put up $25 to make bet the even $200.
At this juncture the mate called a halt. "Wait till I see if the nigger will butt with a white man;" and rushing down stairs, the "image of God cut in ebony" was interviewed.