“Indeed!” said Mark. “I shall be able to show you. I can pick out half-a-dozen blacks from the other schooner who will help the man forward to keep pretty good watch over your crew, and who will not be over particular if there are any tricks.”
“Oh! slaves!” said the man, with a sneer.
“There are no slaves here, sir, now. Under the British flag all men are free.”
“Oh, if yew’re going to talk Buncombe, squaire, I’ve done.”
“And so have I, sir,” said Mark, “for there is plenty of work wanting me.”
Leaving the American in charge of the big black, Mark set to at once to make his arrangements, after the poor creatures had been let out of the hold, where they had been nearly suffocated, and now huddled together on deck, trembling and wondering what was to be their fate.
“I don’t like parting with you, Tom Fillot,” said Mark, “but I must. You will take charge here with Billings, Dance, Potatoes, and three of the blacks Soup drilled as his guard. It’s a poor crew for you.”
“Best we can do, sir,” said Tom Fillot, cheerily.
“I’ll have half the Americans on board with me.”
“Beg pardon, sir, don’t.”