"I should be glad of your company," said he, leading the way to the gangway. "Hold on a minute, captain," he added, when I began to order my boat. "There is the boatman that carried off Cornwood's letter. He is looking for a job: suppose we give him one?"
I did not object, and the mate hailed the boatman. We seated ourselves in his boat, and he pulled for the shore. Our uniforms gave us great distinction among the colored people. Very likely some of them thought we were United States naval officers: at any rate, they all treated us with "distinguished consideration."
"What's your name, boatman?" asked Washburn.
"Moses Dripple," replied the man.
"Well, Moses Dripple, were you alongside our steamer last evening?" continued the mate.
"Yes, sar; made a quarter taking a letter ashore," answered Moses, showing teeth enough for a full-grown alligator.
"Put it in the post-office, did you?" inquired Washburn, indifferently, as he looked behind him at the steamer.
"No, sar; didn't put it into the post-office; car'ed it to a saloon-keeper, and he gave me a drink of apple-jack, as soon as he had read it, for bringin' de letter."
"Is it possible that you drink apple-jack?" asked the mate, with some observations on the folly of drinking liquor.
"Drink it when I git it, sar."