“Come on board,” said the captain.  “Let you be abolitionist or what you will, humanity will not let me see you driven out to sea in that manner; you would be swamped before you crossed the bar.”

He came on board, trembling and wet, the little boy handing up a couple of carpet-bags, and following him.  No sooner had he done so, than three or four balls whizzed past the captain’s head, causing him to retreat to the cabin.  A few minutes intervened, and he returned to the deck.

“Lower your boat and come on shore immediately,” they cried out.

The captain, not at all daunted, lowered his boat and went on shore.  “Now, gentlemen, what do you want with me?” said he, when S—­k stepped forward, and the following dialogue ensued:—­

“Who owns that vessel, and what right have you to harbor a d—­d abolitionist?”

“I don’t know who owns the vessel; I know that I sail her, and the laws of God and man demand that I shall not pass a man in distress, especially upon the water.  He protests that he is not, and never was an abolitionist; offers to prove it if you will hear him, and only asks that you allow him to take away his property,” rejoined the captain.

“What! then you are an abolitionist yourself?”

“No, sir.  I’m a Southern-born man, raised in Charleston, where my father was raised before me.”

“So much, so good; but just turn that d—­d scoundrel ashore as quick as seventy, or we’ll tie your vessel up and report you to the Executive Committee, and stop your getting on more freight on the Edisto.”

“That I shall not do.  You should have patience to investigate these things, and not allow your feelings to become so excited.  If I turn him and his son adrift, I’m answerable for their lives if any accident should occur to them,” rejoined the captain.

“Are you a secessionist, captain, or what are your political principles?  You seem determined to protect abolitionists.  That scoundrel has been associating with a nigger, and eating at his house ever since he has been here.”

“Yes, yes, and we’ll be d—­d if he isn’t an abolitionist,” joined in a dozen voices, “for he dined at Bill Webster’s last Sunday on a wild-turkey.  Nobody but an infernal abolitionist would dine with a nigger.”

“As for politics, I never had much to do with them, and care as little about secession as I do about theology; but I like to see men act reasonably.  If you want any thing more of me, you will find me at Colonel Whaley’s plantation to-morrow.”  Thus saying, he stepped into his boat and returned on board of his vessel.  Just as he was getting under-weigh again, whiz! whiz! whiz! came three shots, one in quick succession after the other, the last taking effect and piercing the crown of his hat, at which they retired out of sight.  Fearing a return, he worked his vessel about two miles farther up and came to anchor on the other side of the channel, where he waited the return of the tide, and had an opportunity to put his affrighted passengers on board a schooner that was passing down, bound to Charleston.