Baker was disgusted.--"Then why the devil did you ship aboard
here?"--"I must live till I die--mustn't I?" he replied. The grins
became audible.--"Go off my deck--get out of my sight," said Mr. Baker.
He was nonplussed. It was a unique experience. James Wait, obedient,
dropped his broom, and walked slowly forward. A burst of laughter
followed him. It was too funny. All hands laughed.... They laughed!...
Alas!
He became the tormentor of all our moments; he ''was worse than a
nightmare. You couldn't see that there was anything wrong with him: a
nigger does not show. He was not very fat--certainly--but then he was no
leaner than other niggers we had known. He coughed often, but the most
prejudiced person could perceive that, mostly, he coughed when it suited
his purpose. He wouldn't, or couldn't, do his work--and he wouldn't
lie-up. One day he would skip aloft with the best of them, and next time
we would be obliged to risk our lives to get his limp body down. He
was reported, he was examined; he was remonstrated with, threatened,
cajoled, lectured. He was called into the cabin to interview the
captain. There were wild rumours.
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