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Just then Aunt Linda, who had been completing the preparations for her supper, entered the room with her husband, and said, "Salters, let me interdoos you ter my fren', Mr. Robert Johnson, an' his niece, Miss Leroy." "Why, is it possible," exclaimed Robert, rising, and shaking hands, "that you are Aunt Linda's husband?" "Dat's what de parson sed," replied Salters.
At Fortress Monroe, on our homeward voyage, the terrible tidings of the President's assassination pierced us like a dagger, on the wharf. Near the Fortress poor negro women had hung pieces of coarse black muslin around every little huckster's tables. "Yes, sah, Fathah Lincum's dead. Dey killed our bes' fren, but God be libben; dey can't kill Him, I's sho ob dat."
He bounced up and stared at me wild. Then he drops down on his knees, and puts his hands together and says: "Doan' hurt me don't! I hain't ever done no harm to a ghos'. I alwuz liked dead people, en done all I could for 'em. You go en git in de river agin, whah you b'longs, en doan' do nuffn to Ole Jim, 'at 'uz awluz yo' fren'." Well, I warn't long making him understand I warn't dead.
To our summons appeared a very suave and courteous figure that, it appeared, of the alcalde of the place. "My fren'," explained the padrone in English, for our benefit, "they good peepele. They wan' estay. Got no place estay." The alcalde, a portly gentleman with side whiskers and a great deal of dignity, bowed. "My house is all yours," said he.
Thas whale bad un. I show him." He went to Kreps. "I tell you, dam Dutchman," he says, meaning to be soothing and persuasive. "I tell you, we cutta bamboo, harpoon whale. Donnerblissen! Easy!" "Du animal!" says Kreps. "Mitout perception, mitout soul, mitout delicate!" "Oh!" says Kamelillo; "girl whale. All right, dam Dutchman, me fren. You break jam. Letta go."
Me fren', Mr. whuzya name, ole chappie? Tell us your name." "Rudkus Jurgis Rudkus." "My fren', Mr. Rednose, Hamilton shake han's." The stately butler bowed his head, but made not a sound; and suddenly Master Freddie pointed an eager finger at him. "I know whuzzamatter wiz you, Hamilton lay you a dollar I know! You think hic you think I'm drunk! Hey, now?" And the butler again bowed his head.
He waved his hand, as who should say, "It's a stiff job, but I'm going to do it." "Explashion," he said. "You do," said I grimly. "I should like to hear it." "Dear sir, listen me." "Go on then." "You came me. You said 'Hawk, Hawk, ol' fren', listen me. You tip this ol' bufflehead into watter, you said, 'an' gormed if I don't give 'ee a poond note. That's what you said me.
If, on t'other hand, it is proposed to send preachin alone, all I can say is that it's a hard case for the niggers. If you expect a colored person to get deeply interested in a tract when his stummuck is empty, you expect too much." I gave the negro as much as I could afford, and the kind-hearted lan'lord did the same. I said: "Farewell, my colored fren, I wish you well, certainly.
"You'se not de fuss pusson from de Norf, massa, dat's been 'stounded by what de niggers say in de Souf here. I 'member wunst old Massar hab a fren cum here from somewhar, State of York, I tink 'twas, an' he taut a great sight ob him, and took him roun' de city in de big carriage, and made big dinners for him, and 'vited all his notorious 'quaintances to meet him at his house, and all dat.
B'leeve me, my young fren', I kin place my old hands tenderly on the fair yung hed of the Virginny maid whose lover was laid low in the battle dust by a fed'ral bullet, and say, as fervently and piously as a vener'ble sinner like me kin say anythin', God be good to you, my poor dear, my poor dear." I riz up to go, & takin' my young Southern fren' kindly by the hand, I sed, "Yung man, adoo!
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