"Take your' little jebacca-boat and go to thunder with her," said the captain, commencing to pick up his duds.
"Why, captain, I lent you my gun, and we always expect our captains to make fresh provision of game as you run up the river," said George.
"Fresh provisions, the devil!" said the captain. "I've enough to do to mind my duty, without hunting my living as I pursue my voyage, like a hungry dog. We don't do business on your nigger-allowance system in Maryland." And here we leave him, getting one of the negroes to carry his things back to his boarding-house.
A few days after the occurrence we have narrated above little Tommy, somewhat recovered from his cold, shipped on board a little centre-board schooner, called the Three Sisters, bound to the Edisto River for a cargo of rice. The captain, a little, stubby man, rather good looking, and well dressed, was making his maiden voyage as captain of a South Carolina craft. He was "South Carolina born," but, like many others of his kind, had been forced to seek his advancement in a distant State, through the influence of those formidable opinions which exiles the genius of the poor in South Carolina. For ten years he had sailed out of the port of Boston, had held the position of mate on two Indian voyages under the well-known Captain Nott, and had sailed with Captain Albert Brown, and received his recommendation, yet this was not enough to qualify him for the nautical ideas of a pompous South Carolinian.
Tommy got his baggage on board, and before leaving, made another attempt at the jail to see his friend Manuel. He presented himself to the jailer, and told him how much he wanted to see his old friend before he left. The jailer's orders were imperative. He was told if he came next week he would see him; that he would then be released, and allowed to occupy the cell on the second floor with the other stewards. Recognising one of the stewards that had joined with them when they enjoyed their social feelings around the festive barrel, he walked into the piazza to meet him and bid him good-by. While he stood shaking hands with him, the poor negro.
The name of this poor fellow was George Fairchild. After being sent to the workhouse to receive twenty blows with the paddle when he was scarcely able to stand, he was taken down from the frame and supported to the jail, where he remained several weeks, fed at a cost of eighteen cents a day. His crime was "going for whiskey at night," and the third offence; but there were a variety of pleadings in his favor. His master worked his negroes to the very last tension of their strength, and exposed their appetites to all sorts of temptation, especially those who worked in the night-gang. His master flogged him once, while he was in the jail, himself, giving him about forty stripes with a raw hide on the bare back: not satisfying his feelings with this, he concluded to send him to New Orleans. He had an affectionate wife and child, who were forbidden to see him. His master ordered that he should be sent to the workhouse and receive thirty-nine paddles before leaving, and on the morning he was to be shipped, his distressed wife, hearing the sad news, came to the jail; but notwithstanding the entreaties of several debtors, the jailer could not allow her to come in, but granted, as a favor, that she should speak with him through the grated door. The cries and lamentations of that poor woman, as she stood upon the outside, holding her bond-offspring in her arms, taking a last sorrowing farewell of him who was so dearly cherished and beloved, would have melted a heart of stone. She could not embrace him, but waited until he was led out to torture, when she threw her arms around him, and was dragged away by a ruffian's hand.