as being "breasted-in" to the wharf,
giving orders to his men, while the little child stood at the galley
looking at the people upon the wharf, making grimaces and pointing one
of the crew to several things that attracted his attention. Presently
the vessel hauled alongside of the dock, and Dusenberry, with his
companion Dunn, who had been watching all the movements of the vessel
from a hiding-place on the wharf, sprang out and boarded her ere she had
touched the piles.

The "nigger," seeing Dusenberry approach him, waited until he saw his
hand extended, and then, as if to save himself from impending danger,
ran aft and into the cabin, screaming at the top of his voice. The crew
began to run and move up into close quarters. The issue was an important
one, and rested between South Carolina and the little "nigger."
Dusenberry attempted to descend into the cabin. "Vat you vant wid my
John, my Baptiste? No, you no do dat, 'z my cabin; never allow stranger
go down 'im," said the captain, placing himself in the companionway,
while the little terrified nigger peeped above the combing, and rolled
his large eyes, the white glowing in contrast, from behind the captain's
legs. In this tempting position the little darkie, knowing he was
protected by the captain and crew, would taunt the representative of the
State with his bad French. Dunn stood some distance behind Dusenberry,
upon the deck, and the mission seemed to be such a mystery to both
captain and crew, that their presence aroused a feeling of curiosity as
well as anxiety. Several of the sailors gathered around him, and made
antic grimaces, pointing their fingers at him and swearing, so that
Dunn began to be alarmed by the incomprehensible earnestness of their
gibberish, turned pale, and retreated several steps, to the infinite
amusement of those upon the wharf.

"Vat 'e do, ah, you vant 'im? Vat you do vid 'im ven zu gets him, ah?
Cette affaire delicate demande," said one of the number, who was honored
with the title of mate, and who, with a terrific black moustache and
beard, had the power of contorting his face into the most repugnant
grimaces. And, at the moment, he drew his sheath-knife and made a
pretended plunge at Dunn's breast, causing him to send forth a pitiful
yell, and retreat to the wharf with quicker movements than he ever
thought himself capable of.

"Il n'y a pas grand mal cela," said the Frenchman, laughing at Dunn as
he stood upon the capsill of the wh