Short stories; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
broad and comfortable, like the cap'n's wescoat; but the family's thinnin'
down a good deal lately and gettin' kind o' sharp and lean, and may be
Pierce is more suitable. But 's I was sayin', Cap'n Green took them
two--cheerful, loud-talkin' men they was both of 'em--aboard of her to go
through her, for he hadn't no notion o' goin' into that cap'n's stateroom
alone, even in broad daylight; but 'twan't there the secret of her lay;
there wan't nothin' in there to scare anybody. She was trimmed up, I
tell you, just elegant. Real mahogany, none of your veneerin', but the
real stuff; lace curt'ins to the berth, lace on the pillows, and a satin
coverlid, rumpled up as though the cap'n had just turned out; and there was
his slippers handy--the greatest-lookin' slippers for a man you ever saw.
They wouldn't 'a' been too big for the neatest-footed woman in the Harbor.
But Land! they was just thick with mould, and so was everythin' in the
place, even to an old gittar with the strings most rotted off of it,
and the picters of fur-rin-lookin' women on the walls,--trinin'-lookin'
creeturs most of 'em. They hunted all through his desk, but couldn't find
no log. 'Twas plain enough that whoever'd left that ship had took pains
that she shouldn't tell no tales, and 'twan't long before they found out
the reason.
“When they come to go below,--there was considerable of a crowd on deck by
that time, standin' round while they knocked out the keys and took off the
fore-hatch,--Cap'n Green called on Cap'n Purse and the deacon to go down
with him; but they didn't 'pear to be very anxious, and the old man wan't
goin' to hang back for company with everybody lookin' at him, so he lit a
candle and went down, and the folks crowded round and waited for him. I was
there myself, 's close to him as I be to that fish barrel, when he come up,
his face white 's a sheet and the candle shakin' in his hand, and sot down
on the hatch-combin'.
“'Give me room!' says he, kind o' leanin' back on the crowd. 'Give me air,
can't you? She's full o' dead niggers. She's a slaver.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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