"Whether you have African blood in your veins or not, you must dislike a voyage like this. What did the mate say to you?"
"He told me I might loose one of your hands to let you eat your supper, but he would shoot me if I let you escape from the steerage," said he, unfastening the cord which bound my right arm to the stanchion.
"Can't you ease off the other just a little? The cord hurts my wrist very much."
"I'll do that."
He loosed the line, and thus to some extent relieved the pain I felt. He handed me some tea, bread and meat, of which I ate while we were talking.
"Where is the mate now?" I inquired.
"On deck."
"And the captain?"
"Drunk in his state-room. He came out to supper, but he did not eat anything; only drank two half tumblers of whiskey, and then turned in. I think the mate wishes to keep him drunk as much as possible, so that he won't meddle with the affairs of the vessel," replied the steward, in a whisper.
"Where are the two passengers?"