Scarcely had his anchor brought up than he was hailed from the shore
by a rough-looking man, who appeared to be chief in the manouvre,
and who proved to be no less a personage than a Mr. S--k, a wealthy
planter.
"Don't take that man on board of your vessel, at the peril of your
life, captain. He's an abolitionist," said he, accompanying his
imperative command with a very Southern rotation of oaths.
The man paddled his canoe on the outside of the vessel, and begged
the captain "for God's sake to take him on board and protect him;
that an excitement had been gotten up against him very unjustly, and
he would explain the circumstances if he would allow him to come on
board."
"Come on board," said the captain. "Let you be abolitionist or what
you will, humanity will not let me see you driven out to sea in that
manner; you would be swamped before you crossed the bar."
He came on board, trembling and wet, the little boy handing up a
couple of carpet-bags, and following him. No sooner had he done so,
than three or four balls whizzed past the captain's head, causing
him to retreat to the cabin. A few minutes intervened, and he
returned to the deck.
"Lower your boat and come on shore immediately," they cried out.
The captain, not at all daunted, lowered his boat and went on shore.
"Now, gentlemen, what do you want with me?" said he, when S--k
stepped forward, and the following dialogue ensued:--
"Who owns that vessel, and what right have you to harbor a d--d
abolitionist?"
"I don't know who owns the vessel; I know that I sail her, and the
laws of God and man demand that I shall not pass a man in distress,
especially upon the water.
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