Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 72: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE CAPTIVES OF THE TEMPLE. Company by saying that whenever they knew of a flagrant abuse of power at sea they at once dismissed the of- fending officer from their service. _ There was something in the face of the black sailor as he rolled in my di- rection that warned me that a story of ill treatment was coming. The captain of the Wing was named Pence. I had never liked him, for, since I had first visited my father’s of- fice as a boy, I could remember Pence swaggering and cursing round the place like a drunken pirate. It is due Pence, however, to state that he was an able seaman and an ex- cellent navigator. Of late he had be- come addicted to drink, but the fact had not yet been brought to the notice of the firm. “Is you Senor Keybu’n? ” asked the negro sailor, stopping in front of me. I was struck at once, not only with his humility, but by his Spanish mode of address. His words were like those an American born uneducated negro might use, but his accent was strange. “IT am Oliver Keyburn,” I replied. “ If you want the senior member of the firm, Iam not he. That is my father.” “No,” he said dolefully. “ I no want de ole man. I want see you. My name Pedro Gapo. I’m seaman on de Wing. I ship las’ voyage an’ wan’ tell you somepin.” “ Well, Pedro,” I said, feeling a pe- culiar interest in the hideous but hon- est face, “ what can I do for you?” “T un’stan’, senor, dat you often takes de pa’t of many a pore sailorman when de captain dey put onto ’em, fur de ole man—’scuse me, senor—you fadder—he no han’ in’fere. How dat is I don’ know, but I jes’ know what I hear *bout you, an’ I say to myself I Jes’ tell dat Senor Oliver de nex’ time de Wing reach dis yere port.” “Well, what is it?” I asked. It was true that once or twice I had made it my business to have wrongs righted. “ Hit’s dat Captin Pence,” said the 5 A 63 negro. “ Dat man kin kill a nigger sooner dan anybody else on de sea. Hit’s awful, Senor Oliver, de way dat man ‘buses black folks. saint, so | say myself. But den I ain’t no beast fur to be knocked aroun’ an’ kicked by a old brute like Pence.” “Come,” I said testily. “ We are wasting words. If you wish to tell me anything, out with it. What has the captain done to you?” “He knock me down wid a iron bar an’ t’rowed me in a cabin an’ lock me in. I do not’in’ to him. I jes’ ten’ my business like de oder saillormans.. But he don’ use me like dey because I’se black an’ f’om Brazil. ‘ Cuss you, you black Spaniard!’ sohe say tome. An’ den he knock me down. Well, I is black, can’t you see?” He was black—very, very black, but with all his blackness and his ugliness, ‘there was an honest simplicity about him that was unmistakable. “Yes,” I said. “ You are not ex- actly white. But tell me the story.” “Hit jes’ like dis, Senor Oliver. Comin’ up de coas’ I was sick. A black man kin be sick like any oder man. But de captain, he say he take no ‘count of dat. He make niggers work all de time, sick or well. I tell him I too sick, an’ he up an’ knock me down _ wid de capstan bar, an’ kick me. Yas, he did dat, senor. An’ den he lock me up an’ say when de Wing come to port he goin’ to discharge me wid a bad name. What I done I like to know. why dat man take away my good name. He discharge me an’ I can’t get no more good ships. more berth like dis berth.” I rubbed my chin reflectively. It was just like Pence to knock a man down for being sick. Yet I did not doubt that the sailor had said or done some- thing to bring about the added pun- ishment of being locked up. “What did you say to the: captain to exasperate him?” I asked. “Say! Isay nothin’. I jes’ be sick dat all. Ask any of de men.” ECORRIC OO© I ain’t no - I never get any . Ss eco