“De fus’ thing dat happen’, Mars Johnson sez ter dis yer noo man:—­

“’W’at ‘s yo’ name, Sambo?’

“‘My name ain’ Sambo,’ ‘spon’ de noo nigger.

“‘Did I ax you w’at yo’ name wa’n’t?’ sez Mars Johnson.  ’You wants ter be pa’tic’lar how you talks ter me.  Now, w’at is yo’ name, en whar did you come fum?’

“‘I dunno my name,’ sez de nigger, ’en I doan ’member whar I come fum.  My head is all kin’ er mix’ up.’

“‘Yas,’ sez Mars Johnson, ‘I reckon I’ll ha’ ter gib you sump’n fer ter cl’ar yo’ head.  At de same time, it’ll l’arn you some manners, en atter dis mebbe you’ll say “suh” w’en you speaks ter me.’

“Well, Mars Johnson haul’ off wid his rawhide en hit de noo nigger once.  De noo man look’ at Mars Johnson fer a minute ez ef he did n’ know w’at ter make er dis yer kin’ er l’arnin’.  But w’en de oberseah raise’ his w’ip ter hit him ag’in, de noo nigger des haul’ off en made fer Mars Johnson, en ef some er de yuther niggers had n’ stop’ ’im, it ’peared ez ef he mought ‘a’ made it wa’m fer Ole Nick dere fer a w’ile.  But de oberseah made de yuther niggers he’p tie de noo nigger up, en den gun ’im fo’ty, wid a dozen er so th’owed in fer good measure, fer Ole Nick wuz nebber stingy wid dem kin’ er rashuns.  De nigger went on at a tarrable rate, des lack a wil’ man, but co’se he wuz bleedzd ter take his med’cine, fer he wuz tied up en could n’ he’p his-se’f.

“Mars Johnson lock’ de noo nigger up in de ba’n, en did n’ gib ’im nuffin ter eat fer a day er so, ’tel he got ‘im kin’er quiet’ down, en den he tu’nt ’im loose en put ’im ter wuk.  De nigger ’lowed he wa’n’t useter wukkin’, en would n’ wuk, en Mars Johnson gun ’im anudder fo’ty fer laziness en impidence, en let ‘im fas’ a day er so mo’, en den put ‘im ter wuk ag’in.  De nigger went ter wuk, but did n’ ’pear ter know how ter han’le a hoe.  It tuk des ‘bout half de oberseah’s time lookin’ atter ‘im, en dat po’ nigger got mo’ lashin’s en cussin’s en cuffin’s dan any fo’ yuthers on de plantation.  He did n’ mix’ wid ner talk much ter de res’ er de niggers, en could n’ ‘pear ter git it th’oo his min’ dat he wuz a slabe en had ter wuk en min’ de w’ite folks, spite er de fac’ dat Ole Nick gun ’im a lesson eve’y day.  En fin’lly Mars Johnson ’lowed dat he could n’ do nuffin wid ’im; dat ef he wuz his nigger, he ’d break his sperrit er break ’is neck, one er de yuther.  But co’se he wuz only sont ober on trial, en ez he did n’ gib sat’sfaction, en he had n’ heared fum Mars Jeems ‘bout w’en he wuz comin’ back; en ez he wuz feared he ’d git mad some time er ‘nuther en kill de nigger befo’ he knowed it, he ’lowed he ‘d better sen’ ’im back whar he come fum.  So he tied ’im up en sont ’im back ter Mars Dunkin.

“Now, Mars Dunkin McSwayne wuz one er dese yer easy-gwine gent’emen w’at did n’ lack ter hab no trouble wid niggers er nobody e’se, en he knowed ef Mars Ole Nick could n’ git ’long wid dis nigger, nobody could.  So he tuk de nigger ter town dat same day, en sol’ ’im ter a trader w’at wuz gittin’ up a gang er lackly niggers fer ter ship off on de steamboat ter go down de ribber ter Wim’l’ton en fum dere ter Noo Orleens.