The dignity of the State was triumphant, and the diminutive nigger was borne off under the arm of its representative.  What a beautiful theme for the painter’s imagination!  And how mutely sublime would have been the picture if the pencil of a Hogarth could have touched it.  The majesty of South Carolina carrying a child into captivity!

After carrying John Baptiste about halfway up the wharf, they put him down, and made him “trot it” until they reached the Dutch grog-shop we have described in the scene with Manuel.  Here they halted to take a “stiff’ner,” while Baptiste was ordered to sit down upon a bench, Dunn taking him by the collar and giving him a hearty shake, which made the lad bellow right lustily.  “Shut up, ye whelp of a nigger, or ye’ll get a doz for yeer tricks beyant in the ship,” said Dunn; and after remaining nearly an hour, arguing politics and drinking toddies, Mr. Dunn got very amiably fuddled, and was for having a good-natured quarrel with every customer that came; into the shop.  He laboured under a spirit-inspired opinion that they must treat or fight; and accordingly would attempt to reduce his opinions to practical demonstrations.  At length the Dutchman made a courteous remonstrance, but no sooner had he done it, than Dunn drew his hickory stick across the Dutchman’s head, and levelled him upon the floor.  The Dutchman was a double-fisted fellow, and springing up almost instantly, returned the compliment.  Dusenberry was more sober, and stepped in to make a reconciliation; but before he had time to exert himself, the Dutchman running behind the counter, Dunn aimed another blow at him, which glanced from his arm and swept a tin drench, with a number of tumblers on it, into a smash upon the floor.  This was the signal for a general mel‚e, and it began in right earnest between the Dutch and the Irish,—­for the Dutchman called the assistance of several kinsmen who were in the front store, and Dunn, with the assistance of Dusenberry, mustered recruits from among a number of his cronies, who were standing at a corner on the opposite side, of the street.  Both came to the rescue, but the O’Nales and Finnegans outnumbering the Dutch, made a Donnybrook onset, disarming and routing their adversaries, and capsizing barrels, boxes, kegs, decanters, and baskets of onions, into one general chaos,—­taking possession of the Dutchman’s calabash, and proclaiming their victory with triumphant shouts.

They had handcuffed the boy Baptiste as soon as they entered the store, and in the midst of the conflict he escaped without being observed, and ran for his vessel, handcuffed, and crying at the top of his voice.  He reached the Nouvelle Amelie, to the consummate surprise of the officers and crew, and the alarm of pedestrians as he passed along the street.  “Mon Dieu!” said the mate, and taking the little fellow to the windlass-bits, succeeded in severing the handcuffs with a cold-chisel, and sent him down into the forecastle to secrete himself.