WHITE-JACKET ARRAIGNED AT THE MAST.
When with five hundred others I made one of the compelled
spectators at the scourging of poor Rose-water, I little thought
what Fate had ordained for myself the next day.
Poor mulatto! thought I, one of an oppressed race, they degrade
you like a hound. Thank God! I am a white. Yet I had seen whites
also scourged; for, black or white, all my shipmates were liable
to that. Still, there is something in us, somehow, that in the
most degraded condition, we snatch at a chance to deceive
ourselves into a fancied superiority to others, whom we suppose
lower in the scale than ourselves.
Poor Rose-water! thought I; poor mulatto! Heaven send you a
release from your humiliation!
To make plain the thing about to be related, it needs to repeat
what has s
