“Yes, sah—sartain! Den—dat’s all! Dat’s who I am.”
Joe became conscious now, for the first time, that he was an object of the greatest curiosity to the whole crowd. Their alarm having subsided, they were pressing closely to him on all sides, looking narrowly at him, and some reaching out their fingers gently to touch his hands and his face, until, being rebuked by their leader, they drew back, and contented themselves with staring.
“Are you great medicine man?” asked Running Water, after a pause for reflection.
“Not very,” replied Congo. “I don’t often take medicine. I berry well—t’ank you.”
“Ware you git your paint?”
“Paint?”
“Uh! Ware you git um?” repeated the savage, rubbing his fingers over the negro’s hands, and then looking at them to see if the color came off.
“Jingo! Dat ain’t paint, cap’n! Dat’s my nat’ral color, sah. Didn’t you nebber see culled gemmen before?”
The chief did not reply, but gave some direction in his own tongue to one of his people, who disappeared, and presently appeared with a gourd of water, which he put down before Congo.
Running Water pointed first to the water and then to the left hand of the negro, and said: