“What d’ye think, will she carry five hundred, hey?” he said.
The horror of the thing began to dawn upon me. The chains and staples were for human beings. The temperature of that hold, as it was, could not have been less than one hundred degrees. What would it be with a mass of filthy black humanity packed and wedged in as tight as they could be stowed!
“Is five hundred niggers her rating?” I asked, with unconcern.
Henry shot his fox-like glance at me.
“Don’t you really know no better’n that?” he said.
“Slaving and piracy hasn’t been my chief occupation, Henry,” I said. “My people have always been respectable, and I have been a man-o’-war’s man. Besides, my mother hasn’t been hung yet.”
“Well,” he said, wincing at this last part of my remark, “law an’ justice air two different things. It hain’t a penal hoffence to bring a fool into the world, but it should be,--an’ a capital one, too.”
“I’ll admit justice miscarried in the case of your parents, but let it go. Explain what’s wrong with me. I don’t know any better than ask if five hundred is this bark’s complement, cargo, or whatever you choose to call it.”
“Well, if ye’d ever been in a slaver before, Hi cudn’t hexcuse yer foolishness, Heywood, but, since ye ask me, ye may note that this here ’tween-decks will mighty nigh accommodate a trifle o’ five hundred. What about the lower hold, hey?”
“Do you mean that they’ll fill her up solid with human bodies?” I asked.