"Here, you, Sopsy!"
he continued in a loud voice.
A lantern was burning on the companion, which enabled the party to see
that the waist of the vessel was compactly packed with bales of cotton.
The schooner seemed to be of considerable size, and Christy thought she
must be loaded with a very large cargo of the precious merchandise. In
answer to the captain's call, Sopsy, who proved to be the negro cook of
the vessel, presented himself.
"All these people want something to eat, Sopsy. Let the crew eat in
the deck-house for'ad, and bring a lunch into the cabin right off,"
continued Captain Sullendine.
"Yis, sar," replied the cook with emphasis. "Git 'em quicker'n a man kin
swaller his own head. Libes dar a man wid soul so dead"--
"Never mind the varse, Sopsy," interposed the captain.
"--As never to hisself have said"--
"Hurry up, Sopsy!"
"He don't say dat, Massa Cap'n," added the cook, as he shuffled off over
the bales of cotton.
"Hullo there, Bokes! Where are you, Bokes?" called the captain again.
"On deck, Cap'n," replied a white man, crawling out from a small opening
in the bales.
"Wake up, Bokes! You ain't dead yet."
"No, sir; wide awake's a coon in a hencoop," added the man, who appeared
to be one of the two left on board by the deserters, the cook being the
other.
"Be alive, Bokes! Here, wait a minute!" and the captain ran down the
companion ladder to the cabin, from which he presently appeared with
a bottle in each hand.
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