The consul did his duty, but effected nothing; and such was the opposition manifested by the officials who were interested in the spoils of law, and politicians who could not see any thing important beyond secession, that there was no prospect of it. And, as the last resort, he appealed to the Judiciary through the “habeas corpus,” the result of which we shall show in a subsequent chapter.
Little George, the captain, and Mr. Grimshaw.
The consul had returned to his office rather discomfited at not being able to relieve Manuel, yet satisfied that he had placed matters in their proper light before the public. The Captain reported and left his manifest at the custom-house, after entering his protest and making the necessary arrangements for survey, &c. &c. And Colonel S—became so well satisfied of the affectation of law protectors, and that his services in behalf of humanity were like straws contending against a foaming current, that, acknowledging his regrets to the Captain, he preferred to make up in attention what he could not do for Manuel through the law.
Little George paid his respects to the Janson between ten and eleven o’clock, duly dressed. “Mr. Mate, where’s your, skipper?” he inquired, with an air of consequence that put an extra pucker on his little twisting mouth.
“Gone to jail, or to see Doctor Jones, I expect, not giving ye an ill answer,” replied the old mate, gruffly.
“Perhaps you don’t know who I am, sir. Your answer’s not polite. You must remember, sir, you’re in South Carolina, the sunny city of the South,” said the little secessionist.
“I al’a’s make my answer to suit myself. I study hard work and honesty, but never was known to carry a grammar in my pocket. But, my taut friend, I should know’d I was in South Carolina if you hadn’t said a word about it, for no other nation under the sky would a dragged a poor cast-away sailor to prison because he had the misfortune to have a tawny hide. It’s a ten-to-one, my hearty, if you don’t find the skipper in jail, and all the rest of us, before we leave. I’m lookin’ now to see some body-grabber coming down with a pair of handcuffs,” continued the mate.
“What! do you mean to insult me again, Mr. Mate? Explain yourself! I’m not accustomed to this ironical talk!”
“Well, it’s something like your laws. They dragged our steward off to jail this morning, without judge or jury, and with about as much ceremony as a Smithfield policeman would a pickpocket.”
“What! you don’t say. Well, I was afraid of that. Our officers are mighty quick, but I’d hoped differently. But, sir, give my compliments to the Captain. Tell him I’ll make the matter all right; my influence, sir, and my father’s—he is one of the first men in the city—tells mightily here. I have promised my services to the Captain, and I’ll see him through. Just pledging my word to Grimshaw will be enough to satisfy the judicial requisites of the law,” said George, switching his little cane on his trowsers.