Already it was thick with slaves at work planting tobacco seedlings. He looked singularly out of place dressed in a fine silk shirt, coat, and white hose, a lavish plumed hat set on his head at a cocky tilt.
Monsieur Dulcet, a Frenchman of exceptionally fine breeding, was not one to notice individual slaves. But he did take note of Samson.
Samson, like so many Africans reloaded onto slave ships in the islands of the West Indies and sent on to the United States, was less than a perfect specimen. But as a slave, he was no slacker. To compensate for his twisted left shoulder, Samson had contrived a box which he hung around his neck with a strip of fabric torn from his blanket and angled toward his left side. This contraption enabled him to reach for a tobacco seedling with his weakened arm and hold it at the ready. At the same time he dipped low, and with his right hand made a hole in the soft dirt. With amazing accuracy, he dropped the seedling to the ground and in one swift move, secured it in the earth.
