“No, mass’r—I’se afeerd he nebber, nebber will—ebberybody ’feerd he be drownded—folks a been to de village—up an down de Lebee—ebery wha. No Toney. Captain ob de boat blowed clar into de sky, an fifty passengers gone to de bottom. Oder boat save some; some, like young mass’r, swam ’shore: but no Toney—no Mass’r Toney!”
“Do you know if he could swim?” I asked.
“No, mass’r, ne’er a stroke. I knows daat, ’kase he once falled into de bayou, and Ole Zip pull ’im out. No—he nebber swim—nebber.”
“Then I fear he is lost indeed.”
I remembered that the wreck went down before the Magnolia had got close alongside. I had noticed this on looking around. Those who could not swim, therefore, must have perished.
“Poor Pierre, too. We hab lost Pierre.”
“Pierre? Who was he?”
“De coachman, mass’r, he war.”
“Oh! I remember. You think he is drowned, also?”
“I’se afeerd so, mass’r. Ole Zip sorry, too, for Pierre. A good nigger war daat Pierre. But, Mass’r Toney, Mass’r Toney, ebberybody sorry for Mass’r Toney.”