“I should like to have ’em try me, to see whether I was a nigger or a white man.  It must be a funny law, ‘nigger or no nigger.’  If a feller’s skin won’t save him, what the devil will?” said the Captain.

“Why, show your mother and her generation were white, to be sure!  It’s easy enough done, and our judges are all very larned in such things—­can tell in the twinkling of an eye,” said the pilot.

“I should think the distinguishing points would be to show that their mother had nothing to do with a nigger.  Do your judges make this a particular branch of jurisprudence?  If they do, I’d like to know what they took for their text-books.  If the intermixture is as complex as what you say, I should think some of the judges would be afraid of passing verdict upon their own kin.”

“Not a whit!” said the pilot; “they know enough for that.”

“Then you admit there’s a chance.  It must be an amusing affair, ’pon my soul! when a nice little female has to draw aside her vail before a court of very dignified judges, for the purpose of having her pedigree examined,” said the Captain.

“Oh! the devil, Cap; your getting all astray—­a woman nigger never has the advantage of the law.  They always go with the niggers, ah! ha! ha!!”

“But suppose they’re related to some of your big-bugs.  What then?  Are your authorities so wise and generous that they make allowance for these things,” asked the Captain, innocently.

“Oh! poh! there you’re again:  you must live in Charleston a year or two, but you’ll have to be careful at first that you don’t fall in love with some of our bright gals, and think they’re white, before you know it.  It doesn’t matter seven coppers who they’re got by, there’s no distinction among niggers in Charleston.  I’ll put you through some of the bright houses when we get up, and show you some scions of our aristocracy, that are the very worst cases.  It’s a fact, Cap, these little shoots of the aristocracy invariably make bad niggers.  If a fellow wants a real prime, likely nigger wench, he must get the pure African blood.  As they say themselves, ’Wherever Buckra-man bin, make bad nigger.’”

“Well, Pilot, I think we’ve had enough about mixed niggers for the present.  Tell me! do you really think they’ll give me trouble with my steward?  He certainly is not a black man, and a better fellow never lived,” inquired the Captain earnestly.

“Nothing else, Cap,” said the pilot.  “It’s a hard law, I tell you, and if our merchants and business men had a say in it, ’twouldn’t last long; ye can’t pass him off for a white man nohow, for the thing’s ‘contrary to law,’ and pays so well that them contemptible land-sharks of officers make all the fuss about it, and never let one pass.  Just take the infernal fees off, and nobody’d trouble themselves about the stewards.  It all goes into old Grimshaw’s pocket, and he’d skin a bolt-rope for the grease, and sell the steward if he could get a chance.