“Fine, old boy! got a prime lot this time. All sizes, colours, and sexes, too; ha! ha! You can pick and choose to suit yourself, I reckin. Come! climb aboard, and squint your eye over ’em!”
The slave-merchant, thus invited, caught hold of the rope-ladder let down for his accommodation; and scrambling up the ship’s side with the agility of an old ape, stepped upon the deck of the slaver.
After some moments spent in handshaking and other forms of gratulation; proving that the trader and merchant were old friends—and as thick as two thieves could possibly be—the latter fixed the goggles more firmly on the ridge of his nose, and commenced his inspection of the “cargo.”
Volume One—Chapter Seven.
The Foolah Prince.
On the quarter-deck of the slaver, and near the “companion,” stood a man of unique appearance—differing not only from the whites who composed the crew, but also from the blacks and browns who constituted the cargo.
His costume, attitude, and some, other trivial circumstances, proclaimed him as belonging neither to one nor the other.
He had just stepped up from the cabin, and was lingering upon the quarter-deck.