"You have beaten me," said Jones; and a roar of laughter followed
from the other gentleman as poor Joe stepped down from the table.
"Well, I suppose I owe you half the nigger," said Thompson, as he
took hold of Joe and began examining his limbs.
"Yes," replied Jones, "he is half yours. Let me have five hundred
dollars, and I will give you a bill of sale of the boy."
"Go back to your bed," said Thompson to his chattel, "and remember
that you now belong to me."
The poor slave wiped the tears from his eyes, as, in obedience, he
turned to leave the table.
"My father gave me that boy," said Jones, as he took the money,
"and I hope, Mr. Thompson, that you will allow me to redeem him."
"Most certainly, Sir," replied Thompson. "Whenever you hand over
the cool thousand the negro is yours."
Next morning, as the passengers were assembling in the cabin and on
deck and while the slaves were running about waiting on or looking
for their masters, poor Joe was seen entering his new master's
stateroom, boots in hand.
"Who do you belong to?" inquired a gentleman of an old negro, who
passed along leading a fine Newfoundland dog which he had been
feeding.
"When I went to sleep las' night," replied the slave, "I 'longed to
Massa Carr; but he bin gamblin' all night an' I don't know who I
'longs to dis mornin'."
Such is the uncertainty of a slave's life. He goes to bed at night
the pampered servant of his young master, with whom he has played
in childhood, and who would not see his slave abused under any
consideration, and gets up in the morning the property of a man
whom he has never before seen.
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