He is
the man about whom so much talk and little feeling has been
enlisted--a fine, well-made, generous-hearted Portuguese. He is
olive-complexioned--as light as many of the Carolinians--intelligent
and obliging, and evidently unaccustomed to such treatment as he
receives here.
Manuel appeared before the jailer's office this morning with two
junks of disgusting-looking meat, the neck-bones, tainted and
bloody, in each hand. His Portuguese ire was up. "Mister Poulnot,
what you call dis? In South Carolina you feed man on him, ah? In my
country, ah yes! we feed him to dog. What you call him? May-be
somethin' what me no know him. In South Carolina, prison sailor when
he shipwreck, starve him on nosin', den tell him eat this, ah! I
sails 'round ze world, but never savage man gives me like zat to
eat! No, I starve 'fore I eat him, be gar! Zar, you take him," said
he, throwing the pieces of meat upon the floor in disdain.
"Meat! Yes, it's what's sent here for us. You mustn't grumble at me;
enter your complaints to the sheriff, when he comes," said the
jailer, with an expression of mortification on his countenance.
"Meat, ah! You call dat meat in South Carolina? I call him
bull-neck, not fit for dog in my country. I see, when Capitan come,
vat he do," said Manuel, turning about and going to his room in a
great excitement.
Pages:
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249