What might have followed will not go down in history, for just then Preston and I, emerging from around the corner of the building, appeared in view of the belligerents. The native—a respectable specimen of the class of poor whites—stood in a defiant attitude before the still-fire, while Joe was seated on a turpentine barrel near, quietly noting the time by a large silver watch which he held in his hand. He kept on counting the minutes, and gave no heed to his master's approach, till Preston said:
'Joe, what's to pay?'
'Nuffin, master Robert, 'cept I'se 'scharged dis man, and he say he won't gwo.'
'Do as Joseph bids you,' said Preston, turning to the white man, 'take your pay and go at once.'
The man stammered out a few words with a cringing air, but the planter cut him short with:
'I want no explanations. If you can't satisfy Joseph, you can't satisfy me.'
The native then leisurely took down a ragged coat that hung from one of the timbers, counted over a small roll of bank notes which Joe gave him, and meekly left the still-house.
Joe and his master devoted the next half hour to piloting me over the distilleries. I commented rather freely on the sad waste of valuable produce which was scattered about, and on the bad economy of keeping three 'stills' to do the work of one.
'It might have done years ago,' I remarked, 'before your trees ran to 'scrape,' and when they yielded enough 'dip' to keep all the stills busy; but now they are eating you up. You have fully four thousand dollars idle here. Sell them, Preston—that amount would help you out of debt.'
'Dat's what I tells master Robert, Mr. Kirke, but he sort o' clings to ole tings, sar,' said Joe, in the free, familiar tone usual with him.