I noticed also the odd manner in which queer rope ladders led up from either side of the broad deck to the vast spars high above, rising tier on tier until my head grew dazed with gazing at them.
"Vel, Sambo, my black fellow," grinned the officer, whose eyes were still lazily following my erratic movements as I peered innocently into the muzzle of a brass carronade in apparent hope of discovering the ball, "zis vus ze first time you vus ever on ze war-sheep, I sink likely.

How you like stop here, hey, an' fight wis dos sings ?" And he rested his yellow hand caressingly upon the breech of the gun.
I shook my head energetically, rendering as prominent as possible the whites of my eyes, at which he grinned wider than ever.
"No, sah, Mister Oppercer Man; you don't git dis hyer nigger into no fought, sah," I protested with vehemence.

"I done fought wid de Injuns onct, sah, an' I done don't want no mo'." "Veil, you not vorry, boy; you voud be no good on ze war-sheep.

But now you come wis me to ze Capitaine--bring ze olif." Bearing a tempting sample of the Spaniard's favorite fruit tightly clutched in my black hand, and pulling my battered straw hat lower in concealment of my telltale hair, I made awkward attempt to shuffle along behind him, as he carelessly advanced toward the after part of the vessel.

But I loitered along our passage to examine so many objects of curiosity, asking such a multitude of extremely absurd questions, that we consumed considerable time in traversing even the comparatively short distance to where the rigid sentinel fronted us before the cabin door.