"A passenger!" exclaimed the man, pretending surprise, for the negroes must have told him I was coming. "There ar'n't room for a passenger, Mr. Woodley."
"Oh, nonsense! You must make room, somehow or other."
"The bit o' caboose we hev air arredy crowded. Thar's me and Mr. Stinger in't, and thar's hardly room among the bales for the niggers to streetch themselves."
"You can roll two or three of the bales out upon the roof. You haven't far to take them now. By spreading a bit of tarpaulin over them, they'll get no harm."
"We hain't got no tarpaulin—neery a rag."
"Have some of my skins then; they will do admirably."
This proposal placed the captain of the flat in a dilemma. It was evident he did not wish me to proceed in his company, while at the same time he was at a loss for some reasonable objection that he might urge against my going.
What was causing his reluctance? I could guess. Neither could the planter, who, at first surprised, soon became indignant.
"Come! Mr. Black," he said, "this boat is my father's property, and therefore in some sense mine. My friend has expressed a wish to go down upon it, and I have given him a promise he shall; I must therefore insist upon your making the arrangement I propose, and taking him. Set your men to work and roll two or three cotton-bales out upon the roof."
To this Mr. Black replied that the cotton would get spoiled, and that he'd be in trouble with the broker to whom it was consigned.