THE consul had returned to his office rather discomfited at not being able to relieve Manuel, yet satisfied that he had placed matters in their proper light before the public. The Captain reported and left his manifest at the custom-house, after entering his protest and making the necessary arrangements for survey, &c. &c. And Colonel S--became so well satisfied of the affectation of law protectors, and that his services in behalf of humanity were like straws contending against a foaming current, that, acknowledging his regrets to the Captain, he preferred to make up in attention what he could not do for Manuel through the law.
Little George paid his respects to the Janson between ten and eleven o'clock, duly dressed. "Mr. Mate, where's your skipper?" he inquired, with an air of consequence that put an extra pucker on his little twisting mouth.
"Gone to jail, or to see Doctor Jones, I expect, not giving ye an ill answer," replied the old mate, gruffly.
"Perhaps you don't know who I am, sir. Your answer's not polite. You must remember, sir, you're in South Carolina, the sunny city of the South," said the little secessionist.
"I al'a's make my answer to suit myself. I study hard work and honesty, but never was known to carry a grammar in my pocket. But, my taut friend, I should know'd I was in South Carolina if you hadn't said a word about it, for no other nation under the sky would a dragged a poor cast-away sailor to prison because he had the misfortune to have a tawny hide. It's a ten-to-one, my hearty, if you don't find the skipper in jail, and all the rest of us, before we leave. I'm lookin' now to see some body-grabber coming down with a pair of handcuffs," continued the mate.
"What! do you mean to insult me again, Mr. Mate? Explain yourself! I'm not accustomed to this ironical talk!"
"Well, it's something like your laws. They dragged our steward off to jail this morning, without judge or jury, and with about as much ceremony as a Smithfield policeman would a pickpocket."
"What! you don't say. Well, I was afraid of that. Our officers are mighty quick, but I'd hoped differently. But, sir, give my compliments to the Captain. Tell him I'll make the matter all right; my influence, sir, and my father's--he is one of the first men in the city--tells mightily here. I have promised my services to the Captain, and I'll see him through. Just pledging my word to Grimshaw will be enough to satisfy the judicial requisites of the law," said George, switching his little cane on his trowsers.
"My good fellow," said the mate, "if you can get our steward out a limbo, you'll be doing us all a good turn, and we'll remember you as long as we pull a brace."
"You may reckon on me, Mister Mate; and if I a'n't down before six o'clock, my father will certainly take the matter in hand; and he and Mazyck belong to the secession party, and control things just as they please at Columbia." So saying, George bid the old mate good morning, and bent his course for the head of the wharf.
"There," said the old mate, "it's just what I thought all along; I knew my presentiment would come true. I'll wager a crown they treat Manuel like a dog in that old prison, and don't get him out until he is mildewed; or perhaps they'll sell him for a slave a'cos he's got curly black hair and a yellow skin. Now I'm a hardy sailor, but I've sailed around the world about three times, and know something of nature. Now ye may note it as clear as the north star, prisons in slave countries a'n't fit for dogs. They may tell about their fine, fat, slick, saucy niggers, but a slave's a slave--his master's property, a piece of merchandise, his chattel, or his football-thankful for what his master may please to give him, and inured to suffer the want of what he withholds. Yes, he must have his thinking stopped by law, and his back lashed at his master's will, if he don't toe the mark in work. Men's habits and associations form their feelings and character, and it's just so with them fellers; they've become so accustomed to looking upon a nigger as a mere tool of labor--lordin' it over him, starving him, and lashing him-that they associate the exercise of the same feelings and actions with every thing connected with labor, without paying any respect to a poor white man's feelings," continued the mate, addressing himself to his second, as they sat upon the companion, waiting for the Captain to come on board and give further orders.
Never were words spoken with more truth. The negro is reduced to the lowest and worst restrictions, even by those who are considered wealthy planters and good masters. We say nothing of those whose abuse of their negroes by starvation and punishment forms the theme of complaint among slaveholders themselves. His food is not only the coarsest that can, be procured, but inadequate to support the system for the amount of labor required. Recourse to other means becomes necessary. This is supplied by giving the slave his task, which, so far as our observation extends, is quite sufficient for any common, laborer's day's-work. This done, his master is served; and as an act of kindness, (which Sambo is taught to appreciate as such,) he is allowed to work on his own little cultivated patch to raise a few things, which mass'r (in many cases) very condescendingly sells in the market, and returns those little comforts, which are so much appreciated by slaves on a plantation-tea, molasses, coffee, and tobacco-and now and then a little wet of whiskey. This is the allowance of a good man doing a good week's work, and getting two pounds of bacon and a peck of corn as his compensation. But, in grateful consideration, his good master allows him to work nights and Sundays to maintain himself. In this way was "Bob's bale of cotton" raised, which that anxious child of popular favor, the editor of the "Savannah Morning News," so struggled to herald to the world as something magnificent on the part of the Southern slave-masters. At best, it was but a speck. If the many extra hours of toil that poor Bob had spent, and the hours of night that he had watched and nursed his plants, were taken into account, there would be a dark picture connected with "Bob's bale of cotton," which the editor forgot to disclose.
Every form of labor becomes so associated with servitude, that we may excuse the Southerner for those feelings which condemn those devoted to mechanical pursuits as beneath his caste and dignity. Arrogance and idleness foster extravagance, while his pride induces him to keep up a style of life which his means are inadequate to support. This induces him to subsist his slaves on the coarsest fare, and becoming hampered, embarrassed, and fretted in his fast-decaying circumstances, his slaves, one by one, suffer the penalty of his extravagance, and finally he himself is reduced to such a condition that he is unable to do justice to himself or his children any longer; his slaves are dragged from him, sold to the terrors of a distant sugar-plantation, and he turned out of doors a miserable man.
We see this result every day in South Carolina; we hear the comments in the broadways and public places, while the attorney and bailiff's offices and notices tell the sad tale of poverty's wasting struggle.
George, in passing from the wharf into the bay, met the Captain, who was shaping his course for the brig. He immediately ran up to him, and shook his hands with an appearance of friendship. "Captain, I'm right sorry to hear about your nigger. I was not prepared for such a decision on the part of Mr. Grimshaw, but I'm determined to have him out," said he.
"Well!" said the Captain, "I'm sorry to say, I find things very different from what I anticipated. My steward is imprisoned, for nothing, except that he is a Portuguese, and everybody insists that he's a nigger. Everybody talks very fine, yet nobody can do any thing; and every thing is left to the will of one man."
"Why, Captain, we've the best system in the world for doing business; you'd appreciate it after you understood it! Just come with me, and let me introduce you to my father. If he don't put you right, I'll stand convicted," said little George.
Accepting the invitation, they walked back to the "old man's" counting-room. George had given the Captain such an extended account of his father's business and estates, that the latter had made up his mind to be introduced to an "India Palace' counting-room. Judge of his surprise, then, when George led the way into an old, dirty-looking counting-room, very small and dingy, containing two dilapidated high desks, standing against the wall. They were made of pitch pine, painted and grained, but so scarred and whittled as to have the appearance of long use and abuse. In one corner was an old-fashioned low desk, provided with an ink-stand, sundry pieces of blotting-paper, the pigeon-holes filled with loose invoices, letters, and bills of lading, very promiscuously huddled together; while hanging suspended on a large nail, driven in the side, and exposed to view, was an enormous dust-brush. A venerable-looking subject of some foreign country stood writing at one desk, a little boy at the other, and George's veritable "old man" at the low desk. Here and there around the floor were baskets and papers containing samples of sea-island and upland cotton. George introduced the Captain to his father with the suavity of a courtier. He was a grave-looking man, well dressed, and spoke in a tone that at once enlisted respect. Unlike George, he was a tall, well-formed man, with bland, yet marked features, and very gray hair. He received the Captain in a cold, yet dignified manner-inquired about his voyage, and who he had consigned to, and what steps he had taken to proceed with his business,--all of which the Captain answered according to the circumstances.
"What! then you have consigned already, have you?" said little George, with surprise.
"Oh yes," returned the Captain, "I have left my business in the hands of the consul, and shall follow his directi............