"Oh! poh! there you're again: you must live in Charleston a year or
two, but you'll have to be careful at first that you don't fall in
love with some of our bright gals, and think they're white, before
you know it. It doesn't matter seven coppers who they're got by,
there's no distinction among niggers in Charleston. I'll put you
through some of the bright houses when we get up, and show you some
scions of our aristocracy, that are the very worst cases. It's a
fact, Cap, these little shoots of the aristocracy invariably make
bad niggers. If a fellow wants a real prime, likely nigger wench, he
must get the pure African blood. As they say themselves, 'Wherever
Buckra-man bin, make bad nigger.'"
"Well, Pilot, I think we've had enough about mixed niggers for the
present. Tell me! do you really think they'll give me trouble with
my steward? He certainly is not a black man, and a better fellow
never lived," inquired the Captain earnestly.
"Nothing else, Cap," said the pilot. "It's a hard law, I tell you,
and if our merchants and business men had a say in it, 'twouldn't
last long; ye can't pass him off for a white man nohow, for the
thing's 'contrary to law,' and pays so well that them contemptible
land-sharks of officers make all the fuss about it, and never let
one pass. Just take the infernal fees off, and nobody'd trouble
themselves about the stewards.
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