He was quite mild, indeed, for him, as I had learnt already, to my cost, during the short acquaintance I had of his temper since we had left the Mersey—as mild as a sucking dove, with a vengeance!
“Ye durned nigger!” he commenced; “what d’ye mean by not answerin’ when I hailed ye?”
“Me no hear yer, mass’ cap’n.”
“Not haar me, by thunder,” screeched the other, raising his voice. “Ye aren’t deaf, air ye?”
“Golly, yeth, massa,” said Sam eagerly. “I’se def as post.”
“Ye ken haar, though, when grog time comes round, I guess!” retorted the captain. “Whar wer ye when ‘all hands’ wer called jest now?”
“Down in de bread room, gettin’ out de men’s grub wid de stooard,” answered the cook, with much coolness; “me no hear ‘all hands’ call.”
“Thet’s a lie,” said Captain Snaggs, furiously. “The stooard wer up hyar on deck, so ye couldn’t hev been down below with him, ye durned nigger! I’ve a tarnation good mind to seize ye up an’ give ye four dozen right away.”
“Me no niggah slabe,” said Sam proudly, drawing himself up and looking up at the captain, as if daring him to do his worst. “I’se one ’spectacle culled gen’leman, sah!”
“Ho! ho! thet’s prime!” laughed out the skipper, astounded at his cheek; while the first-mate sniggered his aggravating “he! he!” behind him. “Oh, ye’re ‘a ’spectable coloured gentleman,’ air ye?”