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"I have got plenty vegetables, an' lot fruit fer sell," I shouted eagerly in negro French, putting all the volume possible into my voice, hopeful my words might penetrate the hidden deck above. "Plenty 'tatoes, peaches, olibs eberyting fer de oppercers." "Don't want them pull away, and be lively about it."
It was a moment of despair, every hope suspended in the balance; my heart beating like a trip-hammer with suspense. The thoroughly enraged guard lifted his gun to the shoulder; there was threat in his eyes, yet I ventured a desperate chance of one more word. "I got de only olibs on dis ribber." "Bastenade!" yelled the infuriated fellow. "I 'll give you a shot to pay for your insolence."
I'se your man dis time suah 'nough. Dat fat ol' Dutchman, down by de Tehoupitoulas Gate, suah as you're born had a whole barrel ob dem yesterday. I done disremember fer de minute, boss, jist whar I done saw dem olibs, but I reckon as how de money 'd fotch 'em all right." I drew forth a handful of French coins. "Then run for it, lad!" I exclaimed in some excitement.
Even as he spoke, fumbling the lock of his gun, that same head observed before suddenly popped over the high rail like Punch at a pantomime. "Vat zat you say, nigger?" its owner cried doubtingly. "Vas it ze olif you haf zare in ze leetle boat?" I eagerly held up into view a choice handful of green fruit, my eyes hopeful. "Oui, Señor Oppercer fresh olibs; same as ob your lan'."
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