“One mornin’ I see ’em runnin’ up a long pennant an’ all de sailors lahf an dahnce about lak dey crazy.  Hit was de signal ‘omeward boun’.  We weigh anchor and head fer N’York.

“‘Well, Taylor,’ da officer say, when he pay me off ’you gwine ship wid us again?’

“‘I gotta go home,’ I tells ’im; ‘got a job t’ finish up in Key West.’

“So dey gin me my discharge an’ a Gov’ment pahs on de Mallory liner Clyde.  W’en I gits to Key West, fust place I goes was to dat fish mahket w’ere my mammy done sent me three year an’ six months befo’.  I buy fifteen cents wuth o’ fish an’ go on home.

“W’en I git dere, dey was jes’ settin’ down to dinner.  ‘Wait,’ Ah say, ‘put on one mo’ plate.’

“My mammy look at me lak she done see a ghost.  Den she run an’ ’gin beatin’ on me.

“‘Hol’ on,’ Ah tells ’er, ‘you ain’t forgot dat beatin’ yit?  I done got yo’ fish,’ an’ I gin ’er de pahcel.

“‘Mah boy, mah boy,’ she say, ‘Ah beatin’ on yuh kase Ah so proud t’ see yuh.  Heah Ah done wear black fer yuh, an’ gin yuh up fer daid; an’ bress de Lawd, heah you is, lak come beck f’m de grave.’

“Ah retch down, in m’ pocket an’ pull a pahcel an’ lay hit in her han’; three hunnert sebenty-eight dollahs, all de money I done made wid de Gov’ment sence Ah left, an’ I gin hit all to ‘er.  She lak t’ had a fit; an Ah she’ was de head man o’ dat fembly whilst Ah stayed.

“But de salt water stick to me—­Ah couldn’t stay ashore.  So ahftah Ah visit wid ’em a spell, Ah goes down to de docks an’ sign t’ ship on a fo’-mahster tramp.  Dat ol’ tub tek me all ovah de worl’.”

Pressed for details of some of his physical encounters on this second voyage, Uncle Dave seemed in deep thought, and finally said: 

“Well, Ah tell you ’bout de time I fout de bully of de ship.  We was still in Key West, waitin’ fer wind.  Dis ol’ tramp ship, she got a crew picked up f’m all ovah de worl’.  Dere ain’t no sich thing as a color line dere.  At mess time, white an’ black all git in de same line.  As dey pahs by de table, each one take a knife an’ cut off a piece o’ meat.

“Dere was a big, high-yeller Haiti higgah, what thought he done own de ship.  ’Trouble wiz ‘Merican niggahs,’ he say, ’dey ain’t got no sperrit.  I be offisaire een my own countree—­I don’t bow ze knee to nobody, white or black.”

“So when dey line up, dis here Haitian come crowdin’ in ahead o’ de fust man in de line, an’ he cut off de bes’ lean meat ’fore we gits ours.

“What’s dis,’ Ah say to de man ahead o’ me, ’huccome dat white man don’t bus’ dat damn yeller swab wide open?’

“‘Dat’s Rousseau,’ ’e says; ’Ain’t nobuddy on dis ship big enough to put ‘im on de tail end o’ de line.’

“I size ‘im up good w’ile we eats.  He weigh 196, dey tells me, an’ nobuddy be’n lucky ’nuff to lay ’im out.  ‘Cordin’ t’ ship rules, dey couldn’t gang up on ’im.  Cap’m mek ev’ybuddy fight single.  Wan’t no sich thing ez quarrelin’.  Effen two sailors gits in a rucus, day pipe ’em up on de main deck.”