Manuel Pereira; Or, The Sovereign Rule of South Carolina. F. Colburn Adams

and smooth his forehead with his little hand. “Manuel! I wish poor Manuel was well!” he would say, and again he would lay his little hand on his head and smooth his hair. He would whisper encouragement in his ear; and having learned a smattering of Portuguese, would tell him how soon they would be in port, and what pleasant times they would have together.

      On the 21st they descried land, which proved to be Stono, about twenty-five miles south of Charleston. Tommy announced the news to Manuel, which seemed to cheer him up. His sickness was evidently caused by fatigue, and his recovery depended more upon rest and nourishment than medical treatment. That night at ten o'clock the wind came strong north-west, and drove the Janson some distance to sea again; and it was not until the morning of the 23d that she made Charleston light, and succeeded in working up to the bar. Signal was made for a pilot, and soon, a very fine cutter-looking boat, “Palmetto, No. 4,” was seen shooting out over the bar in the main channel. Manuel, somewhat recovered, had a few minutes before been assisted on deck, and through the captain's orders was laid upon a mattrass, stretched on the starboard side of the companion-way. By his side sat little Tommy, serving him with some nourishment.

      The boat was soon alongside, and the pilot, a middle-sized man, well dressed, with a frank, open countenance, rather florid and sun-stained, and a profusion of gold chain and seal dangling from his fob, came on board. After saluting the captain, he surveyed the weather-beaten condition of the craft, made several inquiries in regard to her working, and then said in a sang-froid manner, “Well! I reckon you've seen some knocking, anyhow.” Then turning again and giving some orders in regard, to getting more way upon her, he viewed the laborious working at the pumps, and walking about midships on the larboard side, took a sharp survey of her waist. “Don't she leak around her topsides, Captain?” said he.

      Receiving an answer in the affirmative, he gave a glance aloft, and then at the sky to windward; asked how long he had worked her in that condition, and where he took the gale. “It's a wonder she hadn't swamped ye before now. I'd a' beached her at the first point, if she'd bin mine; I'd never stand at slapping an old craft like this on. She reminds me of one o' these down-east sugar-box crafts what trade to Cuba,” he continued. Then walking across the main-hatch to the starboard side, he approached the men who were pumping, and after inquiring about freeing her, suddenly caught a glimpse of Manuel, as he lay upon the mattrass with his face uncovered.

      “Heavens! What! have you got the yellow fever on board at this season of the year?” he inquired of the mate, who had just come aft to inquire about getting some water from the pilot-boat.

      “No, we've had every thing else but the yellow fever; one might as well bin on a raft as such an infernal unlucky old tub as she is. It's the steward, sir—he's got a touch of a fever; but he'll soon be over it. He only wants rest, poor fellow! He's bin a bully at work ever since the first gale. He'll mend before he gets to town,” was the reply.

      “Ah! then you've had a double dose of it. It gives a fellow bringer off them capes once in a while.—The steward's a nigger, isn't he?” inquired the pilot.

      “Nigger!—not he,” said the mate. “He's a Portuguese mixed breed; a kind o' sun-scorched subject, like a good many of you Southerners. A nigger's mother never had him, you may bet your 'davie on that. There's as much white blood in his jacket as anybody's got, only them Portuguese are dark-lookin' fellers. He's no fool—his name's Manuel, a right clever feller, and the owners think as much of him as they do of the Skipper.”

      “Gammon,” said the pilot to himself. “What would he think if we were to show him some specimens of our white niggers in Charleston?” And turning, he walked past Manuel with a suspicious look, and took a position near the man at the wheel, where he remained for some time fingering the seals of his watch-chain. The Captain had gone into the cabin a few minutes before, and coming on deck again, walked toward the place where the pilot stood, and took a seat upon an old camp-stool.

      “Cap,” said the pilot, “ye'll have trouble with that nigger of your'n when ye git to town. If you want to save yerself and the owners a d—d site o' bother and expense, y' better keep him close when y' haul in; and ship him off to New York the first chance. I've seen into the mill, Cap, and y' better take a friend's advice.”

      “Nigger!” said the Captain indignantly, “what do they call niggers in Charleston? My steward's no more a nigger than you are!”

      “What, sir?” returned the pilot in a perfect rage. “Do you know the insulting nature of your language? Sir, if the law did not subject me, I would leave your vessel instantly, and hold you personally responsible as soon as you landed, sir.”

      The Captain, unconscious of the tenacity with which the chivalrous blood of South Carolina held language that mooted a comparison of colors, considered his answer; but could see nothing offensive in it.

      “You asked me a question, and I gave you a proper answer. If you consider such a man as my steward—poor fellow—a nigger, in your country, I'm glad that you are blessed with so many good men.”

      “We polishes our language, Captain, when we speak of niggers in South Carolina,” said the pilot. “A South Carolinian, sir, is a gentleman all over the world. It don't want nothin' further than the name of his State to insure him respect. And when foreign folks and Northerners from them abolition States bring free niggers into South Carolina, and then go to comparing them to white folks, they better be mighty careful how they stir about. South Carolina ought to've seceded last year, when she talked about it, and sent every Yankee home to make shoe-pegs. We wouldn't bin insulted then, as we are now. I'll tell you what it is, Cap,” said he, rather cooling off, “if our folks was only as spunky as they were in eighteen hundred and thirty-two times, them fellers what come here to feed upon South Carolina, put the devil in the heads of the niggers, and then go home again, would see stars and feel bullet-holes.”

      The Captain listened to the pilot's original South Carolina talk, or, as the pilot himself had called it, polished language, without exhibiting any signs of fear and trembling at its sublime dignity; yet, finding that the pilot had misconstrued the tenor of his answer, said, “You must have mistaken the intention of my reply, sir; and the different manner in which you appropriate its import may be attributed to a custom among yourselves, which makes language offensive that has no offensive meaning. We never carry pistols or any such playthings in my country. We have a moral security for our lives, and never look upon death as so great an enemy that we must carry deadly weapons to defend it. In fact, pilot,” he said in a joking manner, “they're rather cumbersome little bits for a feller's pocket: I'd rather carry my supper and breakfast in my pocket. Now tell us, who do you call niggers in South Carolina?”

      “Why, Captain, we call all what a'n't white folks. Our folks can tell 'em right smart. They can't shirk out if it's only marked by the seventeenth generation. You can always tell 'em by the way they look—they can't look you in the face, if they are ever so white. The law snaps 'em up once in a while, and then, if they're ever so white, it makes 'em prove it. I've known several cases where the doubt was in favor of the nigger, but he couldn't prove it, and had to stand aside among the darkies. Dogs take my skin, Cap, if theren't a Jew feller in town as white as anybody, and his father's a doctor. It got whispered round that he was a nigger, and the boarders where he stayed raised a fuss about it. The nigger's father had two of them sued for slander, but they proved the nigger by a quirk of law that'd make a volume bigger than Blackstone; and instead of the old Jew getting satisfaction, the judges, as a matter of policy, granted him time to procure further proof to show that his son wasn't a nigger. It was a very well-considered insinuation of the judges, but the young-un stands about A-1 with a prime nigger-feller.”

      “I should like to have 'em try me, to see whether I was a nigger or a white man. It must be a funny law, 'nigger or no nigger.' If a feller's skin won't save him, what the devil will?” said the Captain.

      “Why, show your mother and her generation were white, to be sure! It's easy enough done, and our judges are all very larned in such things—can tell in the twinkling of an eye,” said the pilot.

      “I should think the distinguishing points would be to show that their mother had nothing to do with a nigger.