Mr. Grimshaw thanked the captain, but made no reply about the manacles; taking them in his hand, and handing the boy over into the charge of Dusenberry.  In a few minutes he was ushered into the sheriff’s office, and the important points of his dimensions and features noted in accordance with the law.  We are not advised whether the pert characteristics of his nature were emblazoned,—­if they were, the record would describe a singular specimen of a frightened French darkie, more amusing than judicial.  But John Baptiste Pamerlie passed the ordeal, muttering some rotten Creole, which none of the officials could understand, and was marched off to the jail, where the jailer acted as his interpreter.  Being so small, he was allowed more latitude to ware and haul than the others, while his peculiar bon point and pert chatter afforded a fund of amusement for the prisoners, who made him a particular butt, and kept up an incessant teasing to hear him jabber.  The second day of his imprisonment he received a loaf of bread in the morning, and a pint of greasy water, misnamed soup.  That was the allowance when they did not take meat.  He ran down-stairs with the pan in hand, raising an amusing fuss, pointing at it, and spitting out his Creole to the jailer.  He was disputing the question of its being soup, and his independent manner had attracted a number of the prisoners.  Just at the moment, the prison dog came fondling against his legs, and to decide the question, quick as thought, he set the pan before him; and as if acting upon an instinctive knowledge of the point at issue, the dog put his nose to it, gave a significant scent, shook his head and walked off, to the infinite delight of the prisoners, who sent forth a shout of acclamation.  Baptiste left his soup, and got a prisoner, who could speak Creole, to send for his captain, who came on the next morning and made arrangements to relieve his condition from the ship’s stores.  The following day he whipped one of the jailer’s boys in a fair fight; and on the next he killed a duck, and on the fourth he cut a white prisoner.  Transgressing the rules of the jail in rejecting his soup-violating the laws of South Carolina making it a heinous offence for a negro to strike or insult a white person—­committing murder on a duck—­endeavoring to get up a fandango among the yard niggers, and trying the qualities of cold steel, in a prisoner’s hand, thus exhibiting all the versatility of a Frenchman’s genius with a youthful sang-froid, he was considered decidedly dangerous, and locked up for formal reform.  Here he remained until the seventeenth of August, when it was announced that the good barque Nouvelle Amelie, Captain Gilliet, was ready for sea, and he was forthwith led to the wharf between two officers, and ordered to be transferred beyond the limits of the State, the Captain paying the following nice little bill, of costs.  “Contrary to Law.”  “French Barque Nouvelle Amelie, Captain Gilliet, from Rouen, For John Baptiste Pamerlie, Colored Seaman. 1852.  To Sheriff of Charleston District.  August 26th, To Arrest, $2; Registry, $2, $4.00”