“Meat!  Yes, it’s what’s sent here for us.  You mustn’t grumble at me; enter your complaints to the sheriff, when he comes,” said the jailer, with an expression of mortification on his countenance.

“Meat, ah!  You call dat meat in South Carolina?  I call him bull-neck, not fit for dog in my country.  I see, when Capitan come, vat he do,” said Manuel, turning about and going to his room in a great excitement.

“You’d better be careful how you talk, or you may get locked up when the sheriff comes.”

It seems that the Captain had received a note from him, addressed by one of the white prisoners on the same floor, and reached the jail just as Manuel had ascended the stairs.  He rang the bell and requested to see Manuel.

“Manuel Pereira?” inquired the jailer.

“Yes,” said the Captain, “he is my steward.”

He heard the Captain’s voice, and immediately returned to the lobby.  The tears ran down his cheeks as soon as he saw his old protector.  “Well, Manuel, I am glad to see you, but sorry that it is in imprisonment.  Tell me what is the matter.  Don’t they use you well here?” inquired the Captain.

Stepping within the office door, he caught up the pieces of meat, and bringing them out in his hands, held them up.  “There, Capitan, that no fit for man, is it?” said he.  “Law send me prison, but law no give not’ing to eat.  What I do dat people treat me so?  Ah, Capitan, bull neck, by gar, yes-bull born in South Carolina, wid two neck.  Ils sont r‚duits … l’extr‚mit‚,” said he, concluding with broken French.

“That cannot be; it’s against the law to kill bulls in South Carolina,” interrupted the jailer jocosely.

“Must be.  I swear he bull-neck, ’cas he cum every day just like him.  Bull born wid one neck no cum so many.  What I get for breakfast, Capitan, ah?—­piece bad bread.  What I get for dinner, ah?—­bull-neck.  Yes, what I get for supper, too?—­piece bread and bucket o’ water.  May-be he bad, may be he good, just so he come.  You think I live on dat, Capitan?” said he, in reply to the Captain’s questions.

The Captain felt incensed at such treatment, and excused himself for not calling before; yet he could not suppress a smile that stole upon his countenance in consequence of Manuel’s quaint earnestness.

“That is certainly strange fare for a human being; but the supper seems rather a comical one.  Did you drink the bucket of water, Manuel?” inquired the Captain, retaining a sober face.

“Capitan, you know me too well for dat.  I not ask ’em nozin’ what he no get, but I want my coffee for suppe’.  I no eat him like zat,” throwing the putrid meat upon the floor again.

“Hi, hi!  That won’t do in this jail.  You’re dirtying up all my floor,” said the jailer, calling a negro boy and ordering him to carry the bull-necks, as Manuel called them, into the kitchen.

“You call him dirt, ah, Miser Jailer?  Capitan, just come my room; I shown him,” said Manuel, leading the way up-stairs, and the Captain followed.  A sight at the cell was enough, while the sickly stench forbid him to enter beyond the threshold.  He promised Manuel that he would provide for him in future, and turning about suddenly, retreated into the lower lobby.