The Island Treasure. John C. Hutcheson
my cost, during the short acquaintance I had of his temper since we had left the Mersey—as mild as a sucking dove, with a vengeance!
“Ye durned nigger!” he commenced; “what d’ye mean by not answerin’ when I hailed ye?”
“Me no hear yer, mass’ cap’n.”
“Not haar me, by thunder,” screeched the other, raising his voice. “Ye aren’t deaf, air ye?”
“Golly, yeth, massa,” said Sam eagerly. “I’se def as post.”
“Ye ken haar, though, when grog time comes round, I guess!” retorted the captain. “Whar wer ye when ‘all hands’ wer called jest now?”
“Down in de bread room, gettin’ out de men’s grub wid de stooard,” answered the cook, with much coolness; “me no hear ‘all hands’ call.”
“Thet’s a lie,” said Captain Snaggs, furiously. “The stooard wer up hyar on deck, so ye couldn’t hev been down below with him, ye durned nigger! I’ve a tarnation good mind to seize ye up an’ give ye four dozen right away.”
“Me no niggah slabe,” said Sam proudly, drawing himself up and looking up at the captain, as if daring him to do his worst. “I’se one ’spectacle culled gen’leman, sah!”
“Ho! ho! thet’s prime!” laughed out the skipper, astounded at his cheek; while the first-mate sniggered his aggravating “he! he!” behind him. “Oh, ye’re ‘a ’spectable coloured gentleman,’ air ye?”
“Yeth, massa; me free Jamaica born, an’ no slabe,” repeated Sam, courageously, the first-mate’s chuckle having put him on his mettle more than the captain’s sneer. “I’se a free man!”
“Guess ye’ve come to the wrong shop then, my bo,” said Captain Snaggs; “ye’ll find ye ain’t free hyar, fur I’m boss aboard this air ship, an’ want all hands to know it. Ye shipped as cook, hey?”
“Yeth, massa,” replied Sam, as sturdily as ever. “I’se jine as cook fo’ de v’yage to ’Frisco at ten dollar de month.”
“Then, Master Sam, Sammy, Sambo Clubfoot, ye’ll be kinder good enuff to take yer traps out of the galley an’ go furrud into the fo’c’s’le, as one of the foremast hands. As ye wouldn’t turn out when all hands wer called jist now, ye’ll hev the advantage of doin’ so right through now, watch in an’ watch out all the v’yage! D’ye hear thet, Sam Clubfoot?”
“Dat not my name,” said the other indignantly. “I’se chris’en Sam Jedfoot.”
“Well then, d’ye underconstubble what I’ve sed, Mister Jedfoot, if ye like thet better—thet ye’re cook no longer, an’ will hev to muster with the rest of the crew in the port watch? I’ll put him with ye, Flinders, I know ye hev a hankerin’ arter him,” observed the skipper, in a stage whisper, to the first-mate, who sniggered his approval of this arrangement. “D’ye understand thet, ye durned nigger, or, hev yer ears got frizzed agen, makin’ ye feel kinder deaf?”
“I’se he-ah, cap’n,” replied Sam sullenly, as he turned away from under the break of the poop, and made his way forward again to where I stood watching his now changed face, all the mirth and merriment having gone out of it, making him look quite savage—an ugly customer, I thought, for any one to tackle with whom he might have enmity. “I’se he-ah fo’ suah, an’ won’t forget neider, yer bet!”
Chapter Three.
A Terrible Revenge.
“I’m very sorry for you, Sam,” I said, when he came up again to the galley, making his way forward much more slowly than he had scrambled aft to interview the skipper. “Captain Snaggs is a regular tyrant to treat you so; but, never mind, Sam, we’ll soon have you back in your old place here, for I don’t think there’s any fellow in the ship that knows anything about cooking like you!”
“Dunno spec dere’s am,” he replied, disconsolately, speaking in a melancholy tone of voice, as if overcome at the idea of surrendering his regal post of king of the caboose—the cook’s berth on board a merchant vessel being one of authority, as well as having a good deal of licence attached to it; besides giving the holder thereof an importance in the eyes of the crew, only second to that of the skipper, or his deputy, the first-mate. The next moment, however, the darkey’s face brightened, from some happy thought or other that apparently crossed his mind; and, his month gradually opening with a broad grin, that displayed a double row of beautifully even white teeth, which would have aroused the envy of a fashionable dentist, he broke into a huge guffaw, that I was almost afraid the captain would hear away aft on the poop.
“Hoo-hoo! Yah-yah!” he laughed, with all that hearty abandon of his race, bending his body and slapping his hands to his shins, as if to hold himself up. “Golly! me nebber fought ob dat afore! Hoo-hoo! Yah-yah! I’se most ready to die wid laffin! Hoo-hoo!”
“Why, Sam,” I cried, “what’s the matter now?”
“Hoo-hoo! Cholly,” he at last managed to get out between his convulsive fits of laughter. “Yer jess wait till cap’n want um grub; an’ den—hoo-hoo!—yer see one fine joke! My gosh! Cholly, I’se one big fool not tink ob dat afore! Guess it’ll do prime. Yah-yah! Won’t de ‘ole man’ squirm! Hoo-hoo!”
“Oh, Sam!” I exclaimed, a horrid thought occurring to me all at once. “You wouldn’t poison him?”
The little negro drew himself up with a native sort of dignity, that made him appear quite tall.
“I’se hab black ’kin, an no white like yer’s, Cholly,” said he gravely, wiping away the tears that had run down his cheeks in the exuberance of his recent merriment. “But, b’y, yer may beleeb de troot, dat if I’se hab black ’kin, my hart ain’t ob dat colour; an’ I wouldn’t pizen no man, if he wer de debbel hisself. No, Cholly, I’se fight fair, an’ dunno wish to go behint no man’s back!”
“I’m sure I beg your pardon,” said I, seeing that I had insulted him by my suspicion; “but what are you going to do to pay the skipper out?”
This set him off again with a fresh paroxysm of laughter.
“My golly! Hoo-hoo! I’se goin’ hab one fine joke,” he spluttered out, his face seemingly all mouth, and his woolly hair crinkling, as if electrified by his inward feelings. “I’se goin’—hoo-hoo!—I’se goin’—yah-yah!—”
But, what he was about to tell me remained for the present a mystery; for, just then, the squalls ceasing and the wind shifting to the northward of west, the captain ordered the lee braces to be slacked off, and we hauled round more to starboard, still keeping on the same tack, though. Our course now was pretty nearly south-west by south, and thus, instead of barely just weathering the Smalls, as we should only have been able to do if it had kept on blowing from the same quarter right in our teeth, we managed to give the Pembrokeshire coast a good wide berth, keeping into the open seaway right across the entrance to the Bristol Channel, the ship heading towards Scilly well out from the land.
She made better weather, too, not rolling or pitching so much, going a bit free, as she did when close-hauled, the wind drawing more abeam as it veered north; and Captain Snaggs was not the last to notice this, you may be sure. He thought he might just as well take advantage of it, as not being one of your soft-hearted sailors, but a ‘beggar to carry on when he had the chance,’ at least, so said Hiram Bangs, who had sailed with him before.
No sooner, therefore, were the yards braced round than he roared out again to the watch, keeping them busy on their legs—
“Hands, make sail!”
“Let