“Answer me, Ben; tell me the truth. Is she a merchant vessel.”
“Oho! that’s what you’re driving at! Well, that depends upon what you may call a merchant vessel. There be many sorts o’ goods that comes under the name o’ merchandise. Some ships carry one sort, and some another.”
“What sort does the Pandora carry?” asked I, interrupting him.
As I put the question, I laid my hand gently upon the arm of the sailor, and looked earnestly in his face as I awaited his reply.
He hesitated for a moment, until he saw that he could not well evade giving me an answer, and then answered with the simple word—“Niggers.”
“It ’ud be no use playin’ hide and seek about it, lad. You must ’a found it out in time—the Pandora’s no merchantman—she be a trader—a regular slaver.”
“Oh, Ben,” I said, appealingly, “is it not a terrible life to lead?”
“Well, it’s not the life for you, my boy, and I’m sorry you’ve got into such hands. I saw you when you first comed aboard, and would have put a word in your ears, if I had got a chance; but the old shark nailed you afore I could get speaking to you. He wanted a boy and was determined to have you. When you comed the second time, I was below in my bunk, and in course you were brought off with us. No, little Will, it’s not the life for you, lad.”
“And for you, Ben?”
“Avast there, my youngster! Well, I won’t be angry with you, it’s but nat’ral you should think so. Maybe I’m not so bad as you think me.”