CHAPTER VIII.

MY UNCLE.

Here, late as it was, all was bustle and activity; the boiling-house

was brilliantly lighted up, the clouds of white luminous vapour

steaming through the apertures in the roof; while the negroes feeding

the fires, sheltered under the stokehole arches from the weather, and

almost smothered amongst heaps of dry cane-stalks, or trash, as it is

called, from which the juice had been crushed, looked in their glancing

nakedness like fiends, as their dark bodies flitted between us and the

glowing mouths of the furnaces. A little farther on we came to the two

cone-roofed mill-houses, one of which was put in motion by a spell of

oxen, the other being worked by mules, while the shouting of the

drivers, the cries of the boilermen to the firemakers to make stronger

fires, the crashing of the canes as they were crushed in the mills, the

groaning and squealing of the machinery, the spanking of whips, the

lumbering and rattling of wains and waggons, the hot dry axles

screaming for grease, and the loud laugh and song rising occasionally

shrill above the Babel sounds, absolutely confounded me.

We stopped at the boiling-house door, and asked the book-keeper on

duty, a tall cadaverous-looking young man, dressed in a fustian jacket

and white trowsers, who appeared more than half asleep, if the overseer

was at home. He said he was, and, as we intended to leave our horses

at his house, we turned their heads towards it, guided by one of the

negroes from the mill.

The peep I had of the boiling-house was very enlivening;--for,

independently of the regular watch of boiler-negroes, who were ranged

beside the large poppling and roaring coppers, each having a bright

copper laddie, with a long shank like a boathook, in his hands, it was

at this time filled with numbers of the estate's people, some getting

hot liquor, others sitting against the wall, eating their suppers by

the lamp light, and not a few quizzing and loitering about in the mist

of hot vapour, as if the place had been a sort of lounge, instead of a

busy sugar manufactory--a kind of sable _soirée_.

By the time we arrived in front of the overseer's house, we found the

door surrounded by a group of four patriarchal-looking negroes and an

old respectable-looking negro woman. The men were clad in Osnaburg

frocks, like those worn by waggoners in England, with blue frieze

jackets over them, and white trowsers. The old dame was rigged in a

man's jacket also, over as many garments apparently as worn by the

grave-digger in Hamlet. I had never seen such a round ball of a body.

They were all hat-in-hand, with Madras handkerchiefs bound round their

heads, and leaning on tall staffs made from peeled young hardwood

trees, the roots forming very fantastical tops. Their whips were

twisted round these symbols of office, like the snakes round the

caduceus of their tutelary deity, Mercury. These were the drivers of

the various gangs of negroes on the estate, who were waiting to receive

busha's[1] orders for the morrow.

[1] The West India name for overseer, or manager of an estate; a

corruption, no doubt, of bashaw.

On seeing us, the overseer hastily dismissed his levee, and ordered his

people to take charge of our horses.

"Mr Frenche is at home, I hope?" said Mr Twig.

"Oh, yes, sir--all alone up at the _great_ house there," pointing to a

_little_ shed of a place, perched on an insulated rocky eminence, to

the left of the abode he himself occupied, which overlooked the works

and whole neighbourhood.

This hill, rising as abruptly from the dead level of the estate as if

it had been a rock recently dropped on it,--rather a huge areolite, by

the way,--was seen in strong relief against the sky, now clear of

clouds, and illuminated by the moon.

At the easternmost end of the solitary great house--in shape like a

Chinese pavilion, with a projecting roof, on a punch bowl, that adhered

to the sharp outline of the hill like a limpet to a rock--a tall

solitary palm shot up and tossed its wide-spreading, fan-like leaves in

the night wind high into the pure heaven. The fabric was entirely

dark--not a soul moving about it--nothing living in the neighbourhood

apparently, if we except a goat or two moving slowly along the ridge of

the hill. At the end of the house next the palm-tree there was a low

but steep wooden stair, with a landing-place at top, surrounded by a

simple wooden railing, so that it looked like a scaffold.

"There is Mr Frenche, sir," continued busha, pointing to the figure of

a man lounging in a low chair on the landing place, with his feet

resting on the rail before him, and far higher than his head, which

leant against the wall of the house, as if he had been a carronade

planted against the opposite hill. Under the guidance of one of the

overseer's waiting boys, we commenced the zig-zag ascent towards my

uncle's dwelling, and as we approached, the feeling of desolateness

that pressed on my heart increased, from the extreme stillness of the

place even when near to it. Light, or other indication of an inhabited

mansion, there was none--even the goats had vanished.

"Cold comfort in prospect for me," thought I; "but _allons_, let us

see,"--and we moved on until we came to a small outhouse beside a gate,

which seemed to open into the enclosure, in the centre of which stood

the solitary building.

"How terribly still every thing is about Mr Frenche's domicile," said

I, as we paused until Flamingo undid the fastening of the gate. "And,

pray, what hovel is this that we have come to?"

"This?--Oh, it is the kitchen," quoth Twig. "Stop, I will knock up the

people."

"Don't do any such thing," said Flamingo, who, I saw, was after some

vagary. "Here, Mr Brail, get up the stair,"--we had now reached the

small platform on which the house stood,--"and creep under his legs,

will ye--there, get into the house and conceal yourself, and Twig and I

will rouse him, and have some fun before you make your appearance."

I gave in to the frolic of the moment, and slipped silently up the few

steps of the steep stair, as I was desired. There, on the

landing-place, reposed, _al fresco_, Uncle Lathom, sure enough--his

chair swung back, his head resting on the door-post, and his legs

cocked up, as already described, on the outer railing of the stair. He

was sound asleep, and snoring most harmoniously; but just as I stole

up, and was in the very act of creeping beneath the yoke to get past

him, I touched his limbs slightly; but the start made him lose his

balance and fall back into the house, and there I was, like a shrimp in

the claws of a lobster, firmly locked in the embrace of my excellent

relative--for although his arms were not round my neck, _his legs were_.

"Who is that, and what is that, and what have I got hold of now?"

roared Uncle Latham, in purest Tipperary.

"It is me, sir," I shouted as loud as I could bellow; for as we rolled

over and over on the head of the stair, I discovered he had spurs on;

but the devil a bit would he relax in his hold of my neck with his

legs,--"me, your dutiful nephew, Benjamin Brail--but, for goodness

sake, mind you have spurs on, uncle."

"My nephew--my nephew, Benjamin Brail, did you say?--Oh, murder, fire,

and botheration of all sorts--spurs, sir?--spurs?--Hookey, but I'll

find stronger fare than spurs for you--You are a robber, sir--a

robber--Murphy, you villain--Murphy--Dennis--Potatoblossom--bring me a

handsaw, till I cut his throat--or a gimblet--or any other deleterious

eatable--Oh, you thieves of the world, why don't you come and help your

master?--Lights, boys--lights--hubaboo!"

By this I had contrived to wriggle out of my Irish pillory, and to

withdraw my corpus into the house, where I crept behind a leaf of the

door--any thing to be out of the row. I could now hear my uncle

crawling about the dark room like the aforesaid lobster, disconsolate

for the loss of its prey, arguing with himself aloud whether he were

awake, or whether it was not all a _drame_, as he called it;--and then

shouting for his servants at one moment, and stumbling against the

table, or falling rattle over a lot of chairs, that all seemed to have

placed themselves most provokingly in his way, the next. During his

soliloquy, I heard Twig and Flamingo's suppressed laughter at the other

end of the room. At length Mr Frenche thundered in his gropings

against the sideboard, when such a clash and clang of glasses arose, as

if he had been literally the bull in the china shop.

"Ah," he said, "it must be all a drame, and looking at people drinking,

has made me dry--so let me wet my whistle a bit--here's the beverage,

so--now--ah, this is the rum bottle--I know it by the smell--and what

the devil else should I know it by in the dark before tasting, I should

like to know?--he! he!--if I could but lay my paw on a tumbler now, or

a glass of any kind--not one to be found, I declare--Murphy, you

villain, why don't you come when I call you, sirrah?"--There was now a

concerto of coughing, and sneezing, and _oich, oiching_, and yawning,

as if from beneath.--"Will these lazy rascals never make their

appearance?" continued Mr Frenche, impatiently--"Well, I cannot find

even a teacup to make some punch in--hard enough this in a man's own

house, any how--but I have the materials--and--and--now, for the fun of

the thing--I will mix it Irish fashion--deuce take me if I don't," and

thereupon I heard him _gurgle, gurgle_ something out of one bottle--and

then a long _gurgle, gurgle, gurgle_, out of another, apparently, for

the gurgling was on different keys,--both followed by a long

expiration. He then gave several jumps on the floor.

He had, as I guessed, first swallowed the raw caulker from the rum

decanter, and then sent down the lemonade to take care of it. "Now,

that rum is very strong--stop, let me qualify it a bit with some more

beverage--how thirsty I am, to be sure--murder!--confound that

wide-necked decanter." Here I could hear the liquid splash all over

him. "There--so much for having a beautiful small mouth--why, Rory

Macgregor, with that hole in his face from ear to ear, would have drunk

you the whole bottle without spilling a drop, and here am I, suffocated

and drowned entirely, and as wet as if I had been dragged through the

Bog of Allan--Murphy, you scoundrel?"

Anon, two negro servants, stretching and yawning, each with a candle in

his hand, made their appearance, one in his shirt, with his livery coat

hanging over his head, the cape projecting forward, and a sleeve

hanging down on each side; the other had his coat on certainly, but

stern foremost, and not another rag of any kind or description

whatever, saving and excepting his Kilmarnock nightcap.

By the illumination which those ebony candlesticks furnished, I now

could see about me. The room we were in was about twenty feet square,

panelled, ceiled, and floored--it looked like a large box--with

unpainted, but highly-polished hard-wood, of the colour of very old

mahogany--handsomer than any oak panelling I had ever seen. There was

a folding door that communicated with the front piazza, out of which we

had scrambled---another, that opened into a kind of back dining-hall,

or large porch, and two on each hand, which opened into bedrooms. A

sideboard was placed by the wall to the right, between the two bedroom

doors, at which stood a tall and very handsome elderly gentleman, who,

if I had not instantly known to be my uncle, from his likeness to my

poor mother, I might, after the adventures of the day, and the oddities

of _messieurs_ my friends--_the_ Twig of the Dream, and the Flamingo of

Peaweep, Snipe, and Flamingo--have suspected some quiz or practical

joke in the matter.

The gentleman, evidently not broad awake yet, was dressed in

light-coloured kerseymere small-clothes, top-boots, white vest, and

blue coat--he was very bald, with the exception of two tufts of

jet-black hair behind his ears, blending into very bushy whiskers. His

forehead was round and beetling--you would have said he was somewhat

bullet-headed; had the obduracy of the feature not been redeemed by his

eyebrows, which were thick, well arched, and, like his hair and

whiskers, jet-black--and also by his genuine Irish sparklers, dark,

flashing, and frolicsome.

His complexion was of the clearest I had seen in Jamaica--I could never

have guessed that he had been above a few weeks from the "First gem of

the Sea,"--and his features generally large and well formed. There was

a playful opening of the lips every now and then, disclosing nice ivory

teeth, and evincing, like his eyes, the native humour of his country.

"So, Master Murphy, you are there at last," said he.

"Yes, massa--yes, massa."

"Pray, can you tell me, Murphy, if any one has arrived here--any

stranger come into the house while I slept;" then _aside_, as the

players say, "or has it really and truly been all a _drame_?"

"No see noting, massa--nor nobody"--[_yawn_.]

"You didn't, oh--there, do you see any thing now?" said my uncle--as he

took the candle out of the black paw, and put the lighted end, with all

the composure in life, into Murphy's open mouth, where it shone through

his cheeks like a rushlight in a winter turnip, until it burned the

poor fellow, and he started back, overturning his sleepy coadjutor,

Dennis, headlong on the floor. On which signal, Twig and Flamingo, who

were all this time coiled up like two baboons below the sideboard,

choking with laughter, caught Uncle Frenche by the legs, a limb a

piece, who thereupon set up a regular howl--"ach, murder! murder! it is

abducted, and ravished, and married against my will I shall

be--murder!"--as _he_ in turn capsized over the prostrate negroes, and

all was confusion and vociferation once more--until my two travelling

friends, who had cleverly slipped out of the _mêlée_, while my uncle

was clapperclawing with his serving-men, returned from the pantry,

whither they had betaken themselves; and now stood on the original

field of battle, the landing-place of the stair, each with a lighted

candle in his hand, and making believe to be in great amazement at the

scene before them.

"Heyday," quoth Twig, "what's the matter, Master Frenche?--what uproar

is this in the house?--we heard it at the Devil's Gully, two miles off,

believe me."

"Uproar?" shouted Uncle Lathom, still sitting on the floor, scratching

his poll--"uproar, were you pleased to say?--pray, who the mischief are

you, gentlemen, who conceive yourselves privileged to speak of any

little noise I choose to make in my own house?--tell me in an instant,

or by the powers I will shoot you for a brace of robbers"--clapping the

lemonade decanter, which had all this time escaped by a miracle, to his

shoulder, blunderbuss fashion.

Here gradually slewing himself round on his tail, and rubbing his eyes,

he at length confronted me, as I sat coiled up behind the leaf of the

door--"Why, _here_ is a second edition of my drame." The very absurd

expression of face with which he said this, and regarded me, fairly

upset my gravity, already heavily taxed, and losing all control, I

laughed outright.

"Another of them! and who _may you be_, young gentleman?--_you_ seem to

find yourself at home, at any rate, I think."

"Come, come," said Flamingo--"enough of this nonsense--don't you know

your friends Twig and Flamingo, Mr Frenche?"

"Twig and Flamingo, did you say?--Twig and Flamingo--Twig--oh dear, oh

dear--it is no drame after all--my dear fellows, how are you?--why,

what a reception I have given you--you must have thought me mad?" By

this time he had got on his legs again, and was welcoming my

fellow-travellers with great cordiality, which gave me time to resume

the perpendicular also. "I am so glad to see you--why, Jacob, I did

not look for you until Tuesday next, but you are the welcomer, my good

boy--most heartily welcome--how wet you must have got, though--boys,

get supper--Felix, I am so rejoiced to see you--supper, you

villains--why, we shall have a night on't, my lads."

"Give me leave to introduce this young gentleman to you first," said

Twig, very gravely, leading me forward into the light, "your nephew, Mr

Benjamin Brail."

"My nephew!" quoth Mr Frenche--"why, there's my drame again--my

nephew!--when did he arrive?"--here he held a candle close to my face,

as if my nose had been a candle-wick, and he meant to light it; then

fumbling in his bosom with the other hand, he drew forth a miniature of

my mother--"my nephew!--my poor sister's boy, Benjie!--as like her as

possible, I declare--how are you, Benjamin?--oh, Benjie, I am rejoiced

to see you--my heart is full, full--how are"----And as the tear

glistened in his eye, he made as if he would have taken me in his arms,

when a sudden light seemed to flash on him, and he turned sharply round

to Twig--"If you are playing me a trick here, Jacob; if you are

trifling with the old man's feelings, and allowing his dearest wish on

earth to lead his imagination to deceive him in this matter"----

Twig held out his hand; I could notice that the kind-hearted fellow's

own eye was moist. "You cannot seriously believe me capable of such

heartless conduct, Mr Frenche, with all my absurdities; believe me, I

would sooner cut off this right hand than play with the kindly feelings

or affections of any one, far less with those of my long-tried and

highly-esteemed friend;" and he shook my uncle's proffered paw warmly

as he spoke.

"Tol, lol, de roll--Murphy, Dennis--supper, you

villains--supper--Benjie, my darling, kiss me, my boy--I am so

happy--tol de roll"--here, in his joy and dancing, he struck his toe

sharply against the leg of a table; and as it was the member from

whence the gout had been but recently dislodged, the pain made him

change his tune with a vengeance; so he caught hold of the extremity in

one hand, and pirouetted, with my assistance, to an arm-chair. But we

were all tired; therefore, suffice it to say, that we had an excellent

meal, and a drop of capital _hot_ whisky-punch--a rare luxury in

Jamaica--and were soon all happy and snoozing in our comfortable beds.

The first thing I heard next morning, before I got out of bed, was Mr

Rory Macgregor, the Samaritan to whom our cards had been carried the

night before, squealing about the house in his strong Celtic accent,

for he spoke as broad as he did the day he first left home, some twenty

years before. He was too proud, I presume, to be obliged to the

_Englishers_, as he called them, even for a dash of their lingo. He

had come to invite us to dine with him on the following day; and the

fame of my arrival having spread, a number of the neighbours also paid

their respects during the forenoon, so that my levee was larger than

many a German prince's.

Mr Macgregor, and the overseer of the neighbouring estate, remained

that day to dinner; the latter was also a Scotchman, a Lowlander, and

although I always resist first impressions when they are unfavourable,

still there was something about him that I did not like. I felt a sort

of innate antipathy towards him.

From what I was told, and indeed, from what I saw, I knew that he was a

well-connected and a well-educated man, and both by birth and education

far above the status of an overseer on a sugar estate in Jamaica; but

he had bent himself, and stooped to his condition, instead of

dignifying by his conduct an honest although humble calling.

His manners had grown coarse and familiar; and after dinner, when we

were taking our wine, and Flamingo and Twig were drawing out little

Roderick, much to our entertainment, this youth chose to bring the

subject of religion on the table, in some way or other I cannot well

tell how. My uncle, I think, had asked him if he had attended the

consecration of the new church or chapel, and he had made a rough and

indecent answer, expressing his thankfulness to _Heaven!_ that he was

above all bigotry, and had never been in a church, except at a funeral,

since he had left Scotland. He was instantly checked by Mr Frenche,

who was unexpectedly warm on the subject; but it seems this was not the

first time he had offended in a similar way; so I was startled, and not

a little pleased at the _dressing_ he now received at the hands of my

usually good-natured uncle.

"Young gentleman," said he, with a gravity that I was altogether

unprepared for, "you compel me to do a thing I abhor at any time,

especially in my own house, and that is to touch on sacred subjects at

untimely seasons; but this is not the first time you have offended

under this roof, and I therefore am driven to tell you once for all,

that I never will allow any sneering at sacred subjects at my table. I

just now asked you a simple and a civil question, and you have returned

me a most indecent and unchristian answer."

"Christian--Christian!" exclaimed the overseer; "you believe in those

things, I suppose?"

"I believe my Bible, sir," rejoined my uncle, "as I hope you do?"

"Oh!" said the overseer, "Mr Frenche has turned Methodist," and burst

into a vulgar laugh.

He had gone too far, however. My uncle at this rose, and for several

seconds looked so witheringly at him, that, with all his effrontery, I

could perceive his self-possession evaporating rapidly.

"Methodist, sir--Methodist I am none, unless to believe in the religion

of my fathers be Methodism. Heaven knows, whatever my belief may be,

my practice is little akin to what theirs was; but let me tell you,

once for all, although I am ever reluctant to cast national

reflections, it is your young Scotchmen, who, whatever they may have

been in their own country, and theirs we all know to be a highly

religious and moral one, become, when left to themselves in Jamaica,

beyond all comparison, the most irreligious of the whole community.

How this comes about I cannot tell; but I see, young man, false modesty

has overlaid your better sense, and made you ashamed of what should

have been your glory to avow, as it will assuredly be one day your

greatest consolation, if you are a reasonable being, when you come to

die. At all events, if you do not believe what you have so improperly

endeavoured to make a jest of, I _pity_ you. If you do believe, and

yet so speak, I _despise_ you; and I recommend you hereafter, instead

of blushing to avow the Christian principles that I know were early

instilled into your mind, to blush at your conduct, whenever it is such

as we have just witnessed; but let us change the subject. I say,

Benjie, let us have a touch of politics--politics."

Here the kind-hearted old man's anxiety to smooth the downfall of the

sulky young Scotchman was so apparent, that we all lent a hand to help

him to gather way on the other tack; but our Scotch friend could not

stomach being shown up, or put down, whichever you may call it, so

peremptorily; and the first dinner I ate in mine uncle's house was any

thing but a pleasant one.

According to previous arrangement, we had the whole of the next

forenoon to ourselves. Many a long and kindly family yarn was spun

between us; but as this is all parish news, I will not weary the reader

with it, simply contenting myself with stating, that, before we began

to prepare for our ride, I had more reason than ever to be grateful to

my dear uncle.

At two o'clock we mounted our horses, and set out, accompanied by

Messrs Twig and Flamingo, to dine with our Highland friend, Roderick

Macgregor, Esq. We rode along the _interval_ or passage between two

large cane-pieces, the richest on the estate, which was situated in a

dead level, surrounded by low limestone hills. By the way, the

locality of Ballywindle was very peculiar, and merits a word or two as

we scull along. Stop, and I will paint it to the comprehension of all

the world, as thus--Take a punch bowl, or any other vessel you choose

approaching to the same shape, and fill it half full of black mould;

pop three or four lumps of sugar into the centre, so that they may

stick on the surface of the mould, without sinking above a half of

their diameter. They are the works, boiling-house, still-house,

trash-houses, and mill-houses. Then drop a large lump a little on one

side, and balance a very tiny one on the top of it, and you have the

small insulated hill on which the great house stands. As for the edges

of the vessel, they are the limestone hills, surrounding the small

circular valley, the faces of them being covered with Guinea grass

pieces, sprinkled with orange and other fruit-trees; both grass and

trees finding their sustenance of black earth, as they best may,

amongst the clefts of the honey-combed limestone that crops out in all

directions, of which indeed the hills are entirely composed, without

any continuous superstratum of earth whatever. You see the place now,

I suppose? Well, but to make it plainer still--take a sheet of paper,

and _crumple_ it in your hand; then throw it on the table, and you have

a good idea of one of those hills, and not a bad one of the general

surface of the island taken as a whole.

The ridges of the hills were in this case covered with high wood. So

now let us get hold of our yarn once more. The field on the right

hand, from a large sink-hole, as it is called, or aperture in the

centre--I love to be particular--was called "Tom's Pot," and the cane

patch on the left, "Mammy Polder's Bottom."

I found that a level cane-piece, in such a situation, was always called

a _Bottom_. Again, as for those sink-holes, or caverns in the rock, I

can compare them, from their sinuosities, to nothing more aptly than

the human ear. They generally seem to be placed in situations where

they answer the purpose of natural drains to carry off the water; the

one in question, for instance, always receiving the drainings of the

little valley, and never filling; having a communication, beyond doubt,

with some of the numberless streamlets, gullies, or small rivers (hence

such natural syphons as the Fairywell), that cross one's path at every

turn in this "land of streams," as the name Jamaica imports in the

Charib tongue, as I have heard say.

The canes grew on each side of the interval, to the height of eighteen

or twenty feet; but as they did not arch overhead, they afforded no

shelter from the sun, although they prevented the breeze reaching us,

and it was in consequence most consumedly hot.

"Now for a cigar to _cool_ one," quoth Twig, chipping away, cigar in

mouth, with his small flint and steel, as we began to ascend the narrow

corkscrew path that spiralled through the rocky grass-piece bounding

the cane fields.

After we had zigzagged for a quarter of an hour on the face of the

hill, we attained the breezy summit, where the guinea grass-piece

ended, and entered, beneath the high wood, on a narrow bridle-path,

that presently led us through a guava plantation, the trees heavily

laden with the fruit, which makes a capital preserve, but is far from

nice to eat raw. It is in shape and colour somewhat like a small

yellow pippin, with a reddish pulp, and the flavour being rather

captivating, I had demolished two or three, when Flamingo picked two

very fine ones, and shortened sail until I ranged alongside of him. He

then deliberately broke first the one and then the other, and held up

the halves to me; they were both full of worms.

"Dangerous for cattle," quoth Don Felix, dryly.

"Come, that is rough wit, Flamingo," chimed in Twig. "But never mind,

Mr Brail. Cows _do_ die of bots sometimes hereabouts, after

trespassing; but then you know they also die of a surfeit of wet

clover. At all events, there is nothing bucolical about you."

"Bots," thought I; "how remarkably genteel and comfortable, and what an

uncommonly delicate fruit for a dessert."

Leaving the guava jungle, we proceeded through a district that seemed

to have once been in cultivation, as all the high timber, with the

exception of a solitary mahogany or cedar here and there, was cut down,

and there was nothing to be seen but a thicket of palma Christi, or

castor oil bushes, on every side. There had apparently been some heavy

showers on this table land during the time we had been winding up the

hill, as the bushes and long grass were sparkling brilliantly with

rain-drops, and the ground was heavily saturated with water.

"Hillo, Twig, my darling," sung out uncle Lathom, who was the sternmost

of all, except the servants, as we _strung_ along the narrow path in

single file "mind you take the road to the right there--it will save us

a mile."

"Ay, ay, sir," returned he of the Dream.

Master Flamingo, who was between him and me, was busy at this moment

with his fowling-piece, that he carried in his hand; the fame of

abundance of teal and quails in the Macgregor's neighbourhood having

reached him before starting.

"What a very beautiful bird that is, Mr Brail," here he pointed with

the gun to the huge branch of a cotton tree that crossed the path

overhead, where a large parrot was perched, looking at us; one moment

scratching its beak with its claws, and the next, peeping knowingly

down, and slewing its head first to one side and then to the other--a

parrot, amongst the feathered tribes, being unquestionably what a

monkey is amongst quadrupeds.

"I should like to bring that chap down now," said Flam, stopping in his

career, and damming us up in the narrow path, whereby we all became

clustered in a group about him; then suiting the action to the word,

he, without any farther warning, dropped the rein into the hollow of

his arm, and taking aim, let drive--and away went the whole party

helter skelter at the report, in every direction, by a beautiful

centrifugal movement. If we had been rockets disposed like the spokes

of a cart-wheel, with the matches converging to a centre, and fired all

at once, we could scarcely have radiated more suddenly. It was quite

surprising the precision with which we flew crashing through the wet

bushes, some of us nearly unhorsed amongst them, if the truth were

known:--and such shouting from whites and blacks, and uproarious

laughter, as we all got once more into sailing order!

"Now, friend Felix," said Twig, as he and his horse emerged from the

brushwood, with his pale yellow nankeens as dark with moisture as a wet

sail, his shirt frill and collar as if the garment had been donned

fresh from the washing-tub, and with the large silvery globules of

moisture as thickly clustered on the black silk frogs of his coat as

diamonds on the Dowager Lady Castlereagh's stomacher--there's a simile

for you,--"now, friend Felix--give one some notice next time you begin

your fusilade, if you please. Why, did you ever see a pulk of Cossacks

on a forage, Mr Frenche?--I declare I am glad to find myself on the

beaten path again, for my horse took so many turns that I was fairly

dumfounded, and having no pocket-compass nor a sextant to take the sun

by--you perceive I have been at sea, Master Brail--I thought I should

have been lost entirely, until you should have been piloted to me some

days hence by the John Crows. But ah, ye little fishes, what is

that--what _is_ that?"

It was neither more nor less than the sound of an ill-blown, yelling

and grunting bagpipe. We rode on--the diabolical instrument squealing

louder and louder--until the path ended in a cleared space amidst the

brushwood, with a small one-story _wattled_ house in the centre, having

a little piazza in front, with a yard or two at each end, shut in with

wooden blinds, sadly bleached by the weather. There was a group of

half-naked negroes squatting before it, and a number of little naked

black children, and a sprinkling of brown ones, running about, and

puddling in a dirty pond, amongst innumerable ducks, fowls of many

kinds, and at least a dozen pigs. "No signs of any approach to famine

in the land at all events," thought I.

There was no rail or fence of any kind enclosing this building, which,

to all appearance, was neither more nor less than a superior kind of

negro-house. It stood on the very edge--indeed was overshadowed by

some gigantic trees (beneath whose Babylonish dimensions it shrank to a

dog-kennel) of the high natural forest, a magnificent vista through

which opened right behind it, overarching a broken up and deeply rutted

road, the path, apparently, through which some heavy timber had been

drawn, it being part of Rory's trade to prepare mill-rollers and other

large pieces of hard-wood required for the estates below.

In front of this shed--full fig, in regular Highland costume, philabeg,

short hose, green coatee, bonnet and feather--marched the bagpiper,

whose strains had surprised us so much, blowing his instrument, and

strutting and swelling like a turkey-cock, to some most barbarous

mixture of "a gathering of the clans," and the negro tune of "Guinea

corn, I love for nyam you."

The fellow was a negro, and as black as the ace of spades--shade of

Ossian, let thy departed heroes hereafter recline on clouds of tobacco

smoke--and as we approached he "loud and louder blew," to the great

discomfiture of our whole party, as the animals we bestrode seemed to

like the "chanter" as little as they had done the report of Flamingo's

gun, one and all resolutely refusing, as if by common consent, to face

the performer--so there we were, jammed, snorting, and funking, and

splashing each other to the eyes with mud of the complexion and

consistency of _peas brose_, in the narrow path; Twig and I, the head

of the column, as it were, being the only individuals visible on the

fringe of the brushwood.

"I say, Rory--Rory Macgregor," shouted Twig, "do give over--do tell

your black bagpiper to have done with his most infernal noise, and be

hanged to him--or we must all go home again without our dinner--none of

our horses will _debouche_ in the face of such a salutation, don't you

see?"

"Ou ay, ou ay," rejoined Rory, emerging from the house himself, also

dressed, like his man, in full Highland costume--and having desired the

piper in _Gaelic_, with the air of the hundredth and fiftieth cousin to

"her Grace the Tuke," to cease _her bumming_, he marshalled us into the

house, evidently in no small surprise that any breathing creature

whatever, biped or quadruped, should have any the smallest objections

to the "music of the _cods_."

The bagpiper, we found afterwards, was his servant, whom he had taken

to Scotland with him two years before, and polished him there, through

the instrumentality of a Highland Serjeant, to the brilliancy we had

witnessed. However, let me be honest--he received us with the most

superabundant kindness; and when we had retired into the inner part of

the house, which was his dining-hall, he gave the word for dinner, and,

every thing considered, the set out was exceedingly good--we had a

noble pea-fowl--and, as if that had not been sufficient, a young turkey

also--a capital round of beef--a beautiful small joint of mutton;

excellent mountain mullet; a dish of Cray-fish; and a small sort of

fresh-water lobster, three or four times bigger than a large prawn,

which are found in great plenty below the stones in the Jamaica

mountain streams--black or land crabs, wild-duck, and wild Guinea fowl,

and a parrot-pie--only fancy a parrot-pie!--wild pigeons, and I don't

know what all besides--in truth, a feast for six times our number--but

in the opinion of our host, there appeared to be something wanting

still.

"Tuncan," this was our friend the musician, who had laid down his

instrument to officiate as butler--"Tuncan, whar hae ye stowed tae

hackis--whar hae ye stowed tae hackis, man?--a Heeland shentleman's

tinner is nae tinner ava without tae hackis!"

"Me no know, massa," quoth the Celtic _neger_.

"You ton't know--ten you pehuvet to know, sir--Maister Frenche, shall I

help you to a _spaul_ of tae peacock hen?--Maister Flamingo, will you

oplige me py cutting up tae turkey polt?"

"All the pleasure in life--whew!--what is this?" as a cloud of fragrant

vapour gushed from the plump breast of the bird.

"As I am a shentleman, if tae prute peast of a cook has na stuffet tae

turkey polt we tae hackis--as I am a shentleman!"

"And what is this, then," said Dr Tozy, a neighbouring surgeon, who was

one of the party--and a most _comfortable_ looking personage in every

sense of the word, as a dish, containing the veritable haggis to all

appearance, was handed over his shoulder and placed on the table. "A

deuced good-looking affair it is, I declare," looking at it through his

eyeglass--"here is the real haggis, Master Macgregor, here it is."

"Ah, so it is--so it is"--quoth Rory, rubbing his hands. "Here,

poy--here, Tuncan--pring it here--let me cut it up mysell--let me cut

it mysell."

It was accordingly placed before Rory, who, all impatience, plunged his

knife into it--murder, what a _hautgout_, and no wonder; for it

actually proved to be a guava pudding, that the drunken cook had

stuffed into the sheep's stomach!

However, we had all a good laugh, doing great honour, notwithstanding,

to an excellent dinner; and when we began to enjoy ourselves over our

wine, Dr Tozy and Twig, aided and abetted by Flamingo, amused us

exceedingly by the fun they extracted from our friend Rory.

Mr Macgregor not being quite so polished a gentleman as his Majesty

George IV., had been rather particular, shortly after this, in his

notice of Mr Twig's coat--the colour of which some how did not please

him.

"Noo, I taresay, Maister Twick, you ca' that plue--a plue coat--put I

think it mair plack tan plue."

"Why, Mac, you are not so far wrong, it is more black than blue."

"Ah, so I thought," quoth Rory.

"And I'll give you the reason, if you promise not to tell," said Twig.

"It is the first trial piece of my new patent cloth."

"Your patent cloth!" whispered the last of the Goths, "have _you_ a

patent for cloth."

"To be sure I have--that never loses the colour, and is as impervious

to wet as a lawyer's wig, or a duck's wing."

"It al no pe a Mackintosh, will it?"

"Mackintosh!" exclaimed his jovial friend--"Mackintosh!--why Charley

cannot hold the candle to me--no, no, it is the first spun out of--here

lend me your lugs," and he laid hold of the Highland man's ear, so as

to draw his head half across the table in a most ludicrous fashion.

"It is made entirely out of negro wool."

"Necroo wool?" rejoined Rory, lying back in his chair, holding up his

hands, and looking to the roof, with a most absurd expression of face,

half credulous, half doubting--"wool from tae veritable neger's heads,

tid you say?"

"Negro-head wool, Rory, every fibre of it. The last bale I sent home

was entirely composed of the autumn shearing of my own people at the

Dream--I sent it to some manufacturing friends of mine in

Halifax"--and, holding out his sleeve--"there, the Duke of Devonshire

patronises it, I assure ye--nothing else will go down next season at

Almack's."

"Allmac's?" exclaimed Rory, "to you mean to say it will shoopersede tae

forty-second tartan?"

"Ay, and ninety-second too. However, I find it will not take on indigo

freely, in consequence of the essential oil."

"Oil!" said Rory; "creeshy prutes."

"So, in consequence, I intend after this to confine the manufacture to

_black_ cloth, which will require no dye you know; if you choose to

contract, Rory, I will give you half-a-crown per pound for all you can

deliver during the next year--or threepence a-fleece--_head_, I

mean--and that is the top of the market for Spanish wool--but it must

be clean--free of--you understand?"

By this time I perceived that Dr Tozy and Flamingo were both literati

in a small way, whereby one or two amusing mistakes took place on the

part of Master Rory Macgregor, who, of all points of the compass, had

no pretensions to any kind or description of erudition.

The conversation happened to turn on Irish politics, and Mr Frenche had

just remarked that, notwithstanding all the noise and smoke of the

demagogues who lived and battened on the disturbances of the country,

he believed on his conscience, from what he saw, when he was last in

Ireland, that there were very few influential men of respectability or

property who countenanced them or their doings.

"Yet, strange as it does appear, there are some, uncle," said I.

"Oh yes, undoubtedly," exclaimed Tozy, an Irishman himself; "but very

few--very few indeed--mere drops in the bucket--_rari nantes in gurgite

vasto_."

"Fat's tat, toctor?--is tat Creek?"

"Yes; it means capital brandy for a long drink," said Tozy, swigging

off his glass of cold brandy grog as coolly as possible.

"What an expressive language!--maist as much sae as tae Gaelic. To you

know, py the very soond, I guessed it was something apoot pranty and a

long trink?" quoth Rory.

"You shine to-day, doctor," said Twig; but presently Flamingo flew off

with the thread of the conversation, like a magpie stealing twine, and

I forget the prominent topics we discussed, but we had a great deal of

fun and laughter, until Don Felix once more settled down in some

literary talk with Tozy, and incidentally noticed the Decameron of

Boccaccio.

Rory, unfortunate Rory, once more pricked up his ears at this, and

determined to show his conversational powers now, if he had been

interrupted before, being by this time also a little in the wind. So,

after grunting to himself, "Cameron--Cameron," he, after a moment's

thought, perked himself up in his chair and swore stoutly that he knew

_him_ very well--"as fine a chiel as ever pore the name of Cameron, and

her place was ane of tae finest in the west coast of Arkyleshire--na,

am no shust shure put she may pe a farawa' cousin of Lochiel's hersell."

"The very same," quoth Twig, trotting away with the Macgregor, as if he

had got him on one of his own _shelties_, and entering on a long

rambling conversation, during which he took care to butter him an inch

thick--"Why, you do make the shrewdest remarks, Mac; shrewd! nay, the

wisest, I should say. You really know _every thing_ and _every

body_--you are a perfect Solon."

Flamingo here saw, and so did I, that Macgregor--whether he began to

feel that Jacob was quizzing him or not, I could not tell--looked as

black as thunder, so he good-humouredly struck in with--"Now, Jacob, do

hold your tongue, you are such a chatterbox!"

"Chatterbox!--to be sure--I can't help it. I have dined on parrot-pie,

you know, Felix."

"I wish tae hat peen hoolets for your sake, Maister Twick," said

Roderick, fiercely.

"Why, Rory, why? An owl-pie would not quite suit my complexion.--But,

hang it, man, what is wrong? Judging from your own physiog, one might

suppose you had been making your dinner on the bird of Minerva

yourself."

"Maister Twick," said Rory, with a face as sour as vinegar, "I am

unwilling to pe uncivil in my own house;--but I red you no to pe sae

free wi' your nicknames."

"Nicknames!" interjected Twig, in great surprise.

"Yes, sir--you have taken tae unwarrantaple liperty of calling me a

Solan--yes, sir, a Solan.--Tid you mean it offensively, sir?"

"No offence, Mac," shouted Twig, "none in the least.--Offence!--in

likening you to Solon, the glory of Greece--the great lawgiver--the

_Athenian_ Solon!"

Rory grew frantic at this (as he thought) additional

insult.--"Creese--Creese!--I ken o' nae Solans, sir, put tae filthy

ill-faured pirds tat leeve in tae water."

"But Rory, my dear fellow"----

"Ton't tear fellow me, sir.--You may ca' them what ye like, sir, in

_Creese_--but a Solan at tae Craik of Ailsa[2] is ca'd a cuse, sir, an'

naething else, I ken tat, sir, I ken tat; and if ony shentlemans will

tare to liken Roterick Macgregor to sic an ill-flavoured pird, sir,

py"----

[2] A remarkable insulated rock in the frith of Clyde, famous for its

solan geese, from which (the rock, not the geese) the Marquis of Ailsa

takes his title.

"I assure you, upon my honour, I said Solon, and not Solan, Mac," quoth

Twig. "There, ask Tozy.--You know I would not say an uncivil thing to

you, Rory, for the world."

We were like to expire with laughter at this, but the Celt was pacified

at length, through the good offices of the doctor, and we all held on

in good fellowship. But as the evening wore away, the musquittoes

began to be very troublesome, as we could _feel_ ourselves, and _hear_,

if we had not felt, from their loud buzzing, as well as from our host's

sounding slaps on his bare limbs, the kilt not being just the thing for

a defence against Monsieur Musquitto. Indeed, after Rory's localities

had been fairly explored by these stinging pests, we suffered little,

as they left us all (like reasonable animals choosing their food, where

it was easiest to be had) in comparative peace, to settle in clouds on

the unfortunate Highlander's naked premises.

At length he could stand it no longer.--"Tuncan!"--then a loud slap on

his thigh;--"Lachlan!"--another slap;--"Macintosh, pring a prush, pring

a prush!"--and a negro appeared forthwith with a bunch of green twigs

with the leaves on.--"Noo, Macintosh, kang pelow tae table with your

prush, and prush my leeks free from tae awful plakues. Prush, ye

prute, prush!"

This scheme had the desired effect; the enemy was driven off, and Rory,

in the fulness and satisfaction of his heart, now insisted on setting

Tuncan to give us a regular pibroch, as he called it, on the bagpipe,

whether we would or not.

I had observed Quacco, who had accompanied us, and that mischief-maker,

Squire Flamingo, in close confabulation while dinner was getting ready;

I therefore made sure of witnessing some comical issue of their complot

before long, in which I was not disappointed--for the black serjeant

now ushered in the bagpiper, whom, I could perceive, he had fuddled

pretty considerably, besides adding to his rig in a most fantastical

manner. He had, it seems, persuaded the poor creature that he was by

no means complete without a queue, and powder in his hair; so he now

appeared with his woolly poll covered with flour, and the spout of an

old tin watering-pan, with a tuft of red hair from the tail of a cow

stuck into the end of it, attached to the back of his head by a string.

In the midst of this tuft I saw a small red spark, and when he

approached there was a very perceptible burning smell, as of the

smouldering of a slow match.

"Now, Mr Flamingo," said I to our friend, "I see you are about

wickedness--No more percussion powder, I hope?"

He trod on my toe, and winked.--"Hush, you shall see."

When Tuncan first entered, he had, to save himself from falling, sat

down on a chair close by the door, with his back to us. This was

altogether out of character, for Tuncan plumed himself on his breeding.

"Is tat your mainers, you plack rascal?" cried Rory. "Ket up, sir,

or"----

Quacco was at hand, and assisting the sable retainer to rise, got him

on his pins; and when he had fairly planted him on his parade ground,

which was the end of the piazza farthest from us, he seemed to recover

himself, blew up his pipes, and began to walk mechanically backwards

and forwards steadily enough. Flamingo kept his eye en him very

earnestly, while a small twitch of his cheek, just below his eye, every

now and then, and a slight lifting of the corner of his mouth, showed

that the madcap was waiting in expectation of some fun. All

conversation had been fairly swamped by the infernal pipes--Roderick's

peacock hen, had she been alive, could not have made herself heard, so

we had nothing else for it but to look at each other, and listen to the

black bagpiper. I am sure I wished him any where but where he was,

when, just as he had turned his back to us in one of his pendulum

movements, a jet of sparks like those from a squib issued from his

queue, which, drunk as he was, made him turn round fast enough; the

instant he found that the fire proceeded from his own tail, he dashed

down his bagpipes, rushed out of the house, and never stopped until he

was up to the neck in the muddy duck-pond before the door, still

fizzing most furiously. In a vain attempt to rid himself of the

annoyance, he dipped his head below the water, and just as he

disappeared, a crack--crack--crack showed that the squib had

_eventuated_, as the Yankees say, in the usual manner, viz. in a

zigzag, or cracker.

It turned out afterwards, as I suspected, that Quacco, who was a

tolerable fireworker, amongst his other accomplishments, at Flamingo's

instigation had beat up some charcoal and gunpowder, moistening the

mass well, and filled the tin tube which composed poor Tuncan's queue

with it; thus literally converting it into a squib.

Great was the amazement of Master Roderick at all this, and loud were

his exclamations as his retainer was dragged out of the pond, more dead

than alive with fear, and all but choked with mud; seeing, however,

that he had been drinking, and, what was more in blackey's favour, his

master having been indulging himself, he was, after much entreaty,

pleased to send the poor fellow home, instead of clapping him in the

stocks.

I had noticed that a little mulatto boy, also in a kilt, had been the

chief agent in the extrication of poor Tuncan.

"Ah, Lachlan," said Mr Frenche to this lad, "when did you return? Why,

I thought you were in Scotland!"

"So he was," said Rory. "I sent him last fall to my sister in tae

Western Highlands, that is married _upon_ tae minister; put she

returned tae puir callant py next post, saying she was surprised that I

should make no more of sending home my--I'll no say what--and _them_

yellow too, than if _they_ were sae mony tame monkeys--'_and to a

minister's hoose_!'--Maype, if they hat na heard of my coffee crop

having peen purned in the store, and if I hat no forgotten to say ony

thing apoot tae callant's poord, tey wad na hae peen sae straitlaced."

It was now getting dark,--the horses had been some time at the door,

and we were about saying good-night to Rory and Flamingo, who was to

take up his quarters for the evening, in order, as previously arranged,

to his having a day's shooting at wild-ducks and pigeons on the morrow,

when it suddenly came on to rain, as if a waterspout had burst over

head; so the animals were ordered back into the stable, as it was out

of the question starting in such a _pour_.

We had coffee, and were waiting impatiently for it to clear, but it

came down faster and faster, and soon began to thunder and lighten most

awfully.

I am not ashamed to acknowledge that a storm of this description always

moves me; and although the rest of the party carried on in the inner

hall at a game at whist, while Roderick and I were having a hit at

backgammon in a corner, none of them appearing to care much about it;

yet one explosion was so loud, go simultaneous with the blue blinding

flash, and the reverberations immediately afterwards _thundered_--I can

find no stronger word--so tremendously overhead, making the whole house

shake, and the glasses ring on the sideboard, that both parties

suddenly, and with one accord, stopped and started to their feet, in

the middle of their amusement. Where I stood, I had a full view into

the long vista of the natural wood already mentioned, festooned from

tree to tree with a fantastic network of withes, which, between us and

the lightning, looked like an enormous spider's web. Another bright

flash again lit up the recesses of the forest, showing distinctly,

although but for a moment, a long string of mules, loaded with coffee

bags, with a dark figure mounted on every third animal, and blasting

every object, the masses of green foliage on the trees especially, into

a smoky and sulphurous blue.

Before the rumbling of this thunder-clap had passed over our heads, the

noise of the rain on the hollow wooden roof increased to a deafening

roar, like the sound of a water-fall, or as if every drop had been a

musket-bullet.

"Tat's hail!" said Rory, in great amazement at such an unusual

occurrence.

"Small doubt of that," quoth Flamingo.

Here one of the negro servants came running in.

"Massa--massa--sugar-plum fall from de moon--sugar-plum fall from de

moon--see, see," and opening his palms, where he had caught the hail,

and thought he had it safe, and finding only drops of water, he drew

back as if he had seen a spirit--"Gone! gone! and _burn_ my hand too;

Obeah--most be Obeah!" and before another word could be said, it

lightned again so vividly, even through the sparkling mist of hail,

that I involuntarily put my hands to my eyes, and lay back in my chair,

overcome with breathless awe.

Unlike any lightning I had ever seen before, it was as if a dart of

fire had struck the large tree next us right in the cleft, and then

glanced like a ray of the most intense light shot down into the centre

of the back yard, where it zigzagged along, and tore up the solid

ground, that appeared covered with white smoke from the bounding and

hopping of the rattling hailstones. I can compare the sharpness of the

report that accompanied it to nothing more fittingly than that of a

long eighteen-pounder fired close to the ear. Involuntarily I repeated

to myself that magnificent passage of sacred writ--"And the Lord sent

thunder and hail, and the fire ran along upon the ground; so there was

hail, and fire mingled with the hail, very grievous."

A long tearing _rive_, as of the violent disruption of a large bough,

had instantly succeeded the flash, and then a crashing and rushing

heavy fall, and loud shrieks. It was nearly a minute before any of us

found breath to speak, and then it was only in short half-suppressed

exclamations.

"What is that?" as a smouldering yellow flame burst from the roof of

the negro house that adjoined the Macgregor's habitation, and gradually

illuminated the whole scene--the glistering hail-covered ground, the

tall trees overhead, the cattle that had run beneath them for

shelter--and showed a large limb split off from the immense cedar next

us (with the white splinter-mark glancing), that still adhered to the

parent tree by some strong fibres; while the outermost branches had

fallen heavily on, and crushed in the roof of the cottage that was on

fire.

The lurid flashes continued, contrasting most fearfully with the bright

red glare of the burning cottage, the inhabitants of which, a woman and

three children, were now extricating themselves, and struggling from

under the fallen roof. Presently we saw them cluster round a dark

object lying in the middle of the yard like a log, between us and the

tree that had been struck. They stooped down, and appeared to pull it

about, whatever it was, for a minute or so, and then began to toss

their arms, uttering loud cries. I was puzzling myself as to what they

could be after, when the word was passed amongst the black domestics of

"a man kill--old Cudjoe kill." This ran like wildfire, and in a second

we were all out in the midst of the storm, with the rapidly melting

hail-stones crunching beneath our feet.

The body was brought into the house, and the doctor being fortunately

on the spot, every thing was done that could be devised, but all in

vain. When a vein was opened in the arm, the blood flowed sluggishly,

but was quite fluid; and all the joints were even more than naturally

pliant, the vertebrae of the neck especially. Indeed I had never seen

such a general muscular relaxation; but the poor old fellow was quite

dead. One spot on the cape of his Pennistone greatcoat, about the size

of a dollar, was burnt black, and so completely consumed, that in

carrying him into the house, which was no easy matter, from the extreme

pliancy and eel-like limberness, if I may so speak, of the whole body,

the tinder or burnt woollen dropped out, leaving a round hole as clean

as if it had been _gouged_ out.

After this unfortunate transaction we had little spirit to pursue our

amusement, and accordingly, after a parting cup, we all retired to bed.

I soon fell asleep, and remembered nothing until I was awakened by the

crowing of the cocks in the morning. It was still dark, and in the

unceiled and low-roofed house I could hear my allies snoring most

harmoniously in their several snuggeries. At length, after several

long yawns, and a few preparatory snorts, and clearances of his voice,

out spoke my restless acquaintance, Master Flamingo.

"Why, Rory--Rory Macgregor--how sound the body sleeps--why, Rory, I

say"----

"Oich, oich, fat's tat--wha's tat--and what will she pe wantin'?"

"Wanting?--Don't you remember your promise? Didn't I tell you that I

had come to spend the night here, in order to have a crack at the ducks

this morning?"

"Ducks this morning," thought I--"Ducks--does the madcap mean to shoot

ducks, after such a night and such a scene?"

"Tucks," grunted Rory--"tucks?" then a long snore.

"Ducks, to be sure; so get up, Mac--get up."

"Well, well," yawned the Macgregor; "I will, I will; put ton't waken

tae hail hoose--ton't tisturp Mr Frenche nor Mr Prail."

"Oh, never mind, Flamingo," quoth my uncle, turning himself in his bed,

and clearing his voice; "I am awake, and Dennis has brought my gun I

find."

And here followed a concerto of coughing, and yawning, and groaning,

and puffing, as of the pulling on of tight or damp boots, and rumblings

and stumblings against the furniture of the various apartments, and all

the other miscellaneous noises incidental to a party dressing in the

dark.

"Romulus, a light," shouted Twig.

"Twister, a ditto," roared Flamingo; and these exclamations called

forth a renewed volley of snortings and long yawns from the negro

servants, who were sleeping in the inner hall.

"Twister, get me a light, you lazy villain, don't you hear?"

"Yes, yes, massa, directly"--snore.

"_Directly_, you sleepy dog!--_now_, sir--get it me _now_. Don't you

hear that I have broken my shin, and capsized the basin-stand, and I

can't tell what besides?"

"Yes, yes, massa"--snore again.

I heard a door open, and presently a loud tumble, and a crackling and

rattling of chairs, and startled cries from the negroes.

"Murder! Twig--where's your patent lucifer match box? Here have I

fallen over that rascal of yours, and I am terrified to move, lest I

break my own neck, or extinguish some black fellow out and out.

Gemini! if my great toe has not got into some one's mouth. Hillo,

Quashie, mind that's my toe, and not a yam. Oh dear, will no one get

me a candle? Jacob, you cannibal, do come and rescue me, or I shall be

smothered amidst this odoriferous and flat-nosed variety of the human

species."

I had never spent such a morning, and as it was quite evident that

there was no more sleep to be had, I got up and dressed the best way I

could. We were soon all congregated in the inner hall by candle light,

with half a dozen black fellows, and as many fowling-pieces,

blunderbusses, and muskets as there were buccras, ready to sally forth

to attack the teal.

Quacco was here, as elsewhere, the most active of the throng, and

sideling up to me, "Massa, you and de old gentleman take de

blonderboosh--I hab load dem bote wid one bushel of dock hail. You

shall never see so much bird as you shall knock down--take dem,

massa--take dem."

After coffee, we put ourselves _en route_ and sallied out of the house.

"Why, uncle," said I, "I have no great stomach for the fight after what

happened last night."

"Poo, poo," said he, "never mind--people don't mind a thunder-storm

here."

"But then the poor old watchman--struck down almost before one's eyes."

"Ah! that was melancholy enough--but it can't be helped, so come along,

you must do as others do."

The morning was thick, dark, damp, and dreary; there should have been a

moon, but she had veiled her beauties behind the steamy clouds, that

seemed to be resting themselves on the tree-tops. The earth sent up

its vapours, as of water poured on hot bricks; and all the herbs and

grass and leaves of bushes, through which the footpath lay, seemed

absolute _blobs_ of water, for the instant you touched them they

dissolved into a shower-bath; while I soon perceived that I was walking

ankle deep in soft mud--indeed we were travelling as much by water as

on terra firma. After _ploutering_ through this chaos for about a

mile, we entered a natural savannah, inlaid with several ponds, which

looked like dark mirrors, dimmed by the films of thin grey mist that

floated on their calm surfaces. Rory walked round several of these

natural pieces of water, while the negro scouts were also very active;

but it was all--"The tiel a tuck is tere," from Rory. "The devil a

teal is here," from Flamingo. And "no teal, no dere; no duck no here;

none at all," from the negroes.

"So we shall have been roused out of our warm beds, and soaked to the

skin, to say nothing of a very sufficient plastering with mud, for no

use after all," said I.

"No fear--no fear--only have patience a little," quoth Mr Twig.

There was a low marshy ditch that ran across the savannah, nearer the

house than where we now were, that had overflowed from the rains, and

which covered about six acres of the natural pasture. We had waded

through it on our advance, expecting to find the teal in the ponds

beyond. But being unsuccessful, we now tried back, and returned to it;

and just as we faced about, the clouds lifted from the hill tops in the

east, and disclosed a long clear stripe of primrose-coloured sky, the

forerunner of early day-dawn. As we reapproached the flooded ground,

one or two cranes sounded their trumpet notes, and taking wing with a

rustling splashy flaff, glided silently past us.

"Halt," quoth Serjeant Quacco, in a whisper, "halt, gentlemen, I hear

de teal on de feed."

"The deuce you do!" said I, "you must have the ears of an Indian;" and

we all held our breath, and stooped and leant our ears towards the

ground, in imitation of the serjeant; and to be sure we now heard

distinctly enough the short quacks of the drakes, and the rustling and

cackling of the feathered squadrons among the reeds. My uncle, the

Macgregor, and myself, were planted at the westernmost end of the

swamp; two of us armed with blunderbusses, and the Celt with his

double-barrelled gun--while Messrs Twig, Flamingo, and Quacco, made a

sweep towards the head of it, or eastern end.

The rustling continued, as of great numbers of large birds on the

opposite side; while near at hand we heard an occasional plump, and

tiny splashes, such as a large frog makes when he drops into the water,

and curious crawling and crackling noises, made, according to my

conception, by reptiles of some kind or another, amongst the reeds.

"Any alligators here?" whispered I to Mr Frenche, who was next me.

"Great many," was the laconic reply.

"How comfortable," thought I; "and snakes?"

"Abundance."

"Pleasant country," said I Benjie, again to myself. But all this time

I could see nothing like the teal we were in pursuit of, although it

was as clear as mud that the reeds all round us were alive with

something or another. At length, as the morning lightened, and the

clouds broke away, and the steamy sheet of water began to reflect them

and our dark figures, and the trees and other objects on the margin, a

line of ten or a dozen large birds emerged from the darkness and mist

at the end where Flamingo was situated, and began slowly to sail

towards us in regular line of battle.

"Tere tae come at last--noo--mak reaty, Maister Prail; frient Frenche,

pe prepared," and Rory himself, lying down on his chest on the wet

grass, and taking deliberate aim, fired both barrels--and such a

squatter!--as a flock of a thousand teal, I am certain there could not

have been fewer, rose into the air with a loud rushing noise like the

sound of a mighty stream--a perfect _roar_ of ducks. I fired my

bellmouthed trabucco with the bushel of shot at random into the

thickest of the flock, and so did mine uncle; whereupon _down_ came a

feathery shower upon our _heads_, and _down_ came we both on our

_tails_--the bushels of shot having told in more ways than one. This

hot discharge had the effect, however, of turning the flock, and

Flamingo and Twig had their own share of the spoil at the head of the

swamp. The four shots had brought down four-and-thirty feathered

bipeds, and two without feathers--we were as regularly smothered in

ducks, as you ever saw a rabbit in onions.

"I say, uncle, how do you feel?"

"Rather chilly at tother end of me, Benjie; and I believe my shoulder

is dislocated," quoth he, scratching his bald pate, as he sat on the

ground, where Quacco's bushels of shot had deposited both of us.

"And my cheek is stove in," quoth I.

"My nose is bleeding like a pump," quoth he.

"And mine is blown off entirely," said I. Here we both got on our

feet, the ground around us being literally covered with killed, and

alive with the wounded birds.

"See if our facsimiles in the soft mud are not like two punch bowls,

Benjie?" And true enough we had made a couple of holes in the spungy

soil, that instantly filled with water as we rose, leaving two round

pools.

"I say, uncle, your punchbowl is somewhat the biggest of the two,

though, eh? mine is only the jigger."

"Bah!" quoth he, showing his white teeth.

But how came Rory on all this while, the hero who had led into action?

Right in front of us, half a dozen black spots rested dead still, where

his shot had just torn up the sleeping surface of the grey swamp, while

as many more waterfowl of some description or another, that had been

wounded, were quacking and splashing, and wheeling, half flying, and

half running on the water, in a vain attempt to escape from the

Macgregor, who, in the enthusiasm of the moment, had dashed in up to

his waist to secure the prey.

And there he was chasing the wounded birds, all about, every now and

then tripping in the weeds, and delving down, nose and ears, under

water; whereby he lost his hat and dropped his gun, puffing and

snorting all the time with many an outlandish exclamation, and dripping

like a water-god.

"Never was such a morning's sport," roared the Highlander, "never did I

see such pluidy wark in aw my porn days; stalking tae ret tear is

nothing to it," as he regained terra firma, with both hands filled with

ducks' legs and necks as full as he could gripe; the wounded birds

flaffing and flapping, and struggling round him, as if they would have

flown away with the wee Hieland body up into the air.

By this time I had secured my wounded, and the daylight was fast

brightening.

"Quacco, my man," said uncle Lathom to the serjeant, as he passed him,

"the next time you clap a _bushel_ of shot into my gun, pray don't let

it be imperial measure, if you please."

"Why," said Twig, who had now joined us, "this is capital sport

certainly. Never saw such a flock of teal in my life before--but,

Roderick, what have you got there--what sort of game is that you have

shot--let me see?" Here he deliberately counted out of the Macgregor's

hands eight large _tame_ Muscovy ducks, and a goose.

"As I am a sinner," said the poor Highlander, in great dismay when he

saw what he had been about, "if I have not killed my own puire tucks;

and the vera coose hersell that I expected to eat at Michaelmas. Hoo

cam tae here--hoo tae teevil cam tae oot o' the pen?" and he turned a

fierce look at his servant. Alas, on reflection, he remembered that

the poor old man who was killed by the lightning had been the hen_man_,

and no one having taken his place, and the pen having been beaten down

by the hail overnight, the sacrifice of the ducks and the poor

Michaelmas goose had been the consequence and crowning misfortune.

But the absurdity of our entertainer having shown his expertness as a

shot by murdering his own poultry was too much, and it was with the

greatest difficulty any of us could keep his gravity.

We returned to the house--shifted, breakfasted, and that forenoon

returned to Ballywindle, where we spent an exceedingly pleasant week

with our friends Twig and Flamingo, who, in the mean time, prevailed on

Mr Frenche to make a return visit to them in Kingston, and we

accordingly prepared for our trip.

It was the Saturday before the Monday on which we meant to start. I

was playing at piquet with Mr Twig; my uncle and Flamingo were lounging

about the piazza, and the horses were ready saddled for an airing, at

the door, when my antagonist and I were startled by a loud rushing, or

rather roaring noise, that seemed to pass immediately overhead. "A

flock of teal," thought I, remembering the exploit at Rory Macgregor's.

Simultaneously all the shutters, which, according to the usual West

India fashion, opened outwards, were banged to with great force--doors

were slammed, and the whole house shook with the suddenness of the gust.

"Hillo," said Twig, "what's all this?" as his point, quint, and

quatorze were whisked out of his hand, and a shower of gritting sand,

with a dash of small pebbles in it, was driven against our faces

through the open windows, like a discharge of peas.

My uncle and his companion had halted in their walk, and seemed as much

surprised as we were. Presently the noise ceased, and all was calm

again where we were. We naturally looked down into the mill-yard below

us to see what would take place there.

It was as busy as usual--the negro boys and girls were shouting to the

mules and steers, as they drove them round the circles of the cattle

mills--the mule drivers, each with a tail of three mules loaded with

canes from the hilly cane-pieces, where waggons could not work, were

stringing into the yard, and spanking their whips. The wains, each

with a team of six oxen, yoked two and two, built up with canes as high

as a hay waggon, were rumbling and rattling on their jolty axletrees,

as they were dragged through deep clayey ruts, that would have broken

Macadam's heart to have looked on; the boilermen were shouting in the

boiling-house, their voices, from the reverberation of the lofty roof,

rising loud above the confusion, as if they had been speaking in masks,

like the Greek and Roman actors of old; and the negro girls were

singing cheerily in parts, their songs blending with their loud

laughter, as they carried bundles of canes to be ground, or balanced

their large baskets full of _trash_ on their heads, while the creaking

of the mill machinery, and the crashing of the canes between the

rollers, added to the buzz.

The dry sun was shining down, like a burning-glass, into the centre of

this ant's nest, where every thing was rolling on, as it had been doing

for hours before, no one apparently anticipating any unusual

occurrence; but in an instant the tornado that had passed us reached

_them_, whirled the trash baskets off the negroes' heads nearest us,

and up went whole bundles of canes bodily into the air, and negro hats

and jackets; indeed, every thing that would rise, and ruffling the

garments of the black ladies most unceremoniously, notwithstanding all

their endeavours to preserve their propriety, so that they looked like

large umbrellas reversed, the shanks, in most cases, being something of

the stoutest.

Before it took effect in the hollow, every thing was in motion; by the

time it passed over, every thing it did not take with it _was fixed to

the spot_, as if by the wand of an enchanter. Negroes were clinging to

the bamboos of the cattle pens; cattle and mules were standing as rigid

as statues, gathered on their haunches, with their forelegs planted

well and firmly out, the better to resist the effects of the wind. The

mill had instantly stopped, and all was silent.

But the instant Quashie recovered his surprise, and every thing had

become calm again in the mill-yard, there arose _such_ a cackling,

shouting, and laughter, and lowing of kine, and _skreiching_ of mules,

as Rory Macgregor would have said, as baffles all description.

The course of the tornado, after passing over the mill-yard, continued

to be distinctly marked, by the different substances it carried up and

whirled round in its vortex, keeping them suspended in the air by its

violent centrifugal motion; I especially remember the effect it had on

a grove of cocoa-nut trees. It took them by the tops, which it tossed

fiercely with a wide circular motion, tearing their long leaves up into

the sky like hair, as if some invisible spirit was trying to shake the

fruit down from the tormented trees. As it neared a field where a

number of people were at work, one of the house servants, rubbing his

black paws, whispered to his neighbour in my hearing, "Softly,

now--maybe it will whip away busha"--a thing he, to all appearance,

would not have broken his heart about.

Next morning, at breakfast, I stumbled on the following announcement in

the newspaper I had just taken up:--

"_Lucie--such a date._

"Last evening the Kingston trader, the Ballahoo, anchored in Negril

bay. She had been cut out by two piratical vessels, a felucca and a

schooner, from Montego bay, on such a day; and after having been in

possession of the pirates for a week, during which the Spanish

passengers were compelled to disclose where their money (the only thing

taken) was concealed, she was _politely_ given up to them and the crew.

"The felucca is Spanish built, painted black outside, and red within,

and sails remarkably fast; the schooner is a long, low, but very

heavily armed vessel, painted black, with a red streak--no guns were

seen in the felucca."----

"So, so, poor Hause has got his vessel, then; but that wicked little

Midge, I fear her cruising is not over yet," said I, handing the

paragraph to my uncle, who, as he already knew the story, easily

comprehended the import of the newspaper announcement--"well, I am glad

of it"--And I resumed my attack on the yams, ham, and coffee.

Mr Frenche put on his spectacles, and, as he began the perusal of the

paper, said dryly, "I suppose you consider that the letter lying on the

table there, addressed to you, will keep cool--at least you appear to

be in no hurry to open it."----

I seized it--not having previously noticed it, and blushed like I don't

know what, when I perceived it was in very truth her dear, delightful,

and all the rest of it, _fist_--there's a sentence ending plump for

you--my hand trembled as I broke the seal, or rather _drew_ it open;

for in such a climate wax is so soft, you cannot call it _breaking_,

which always implies a short, sharp crackle, to my mind--assuming a

careless swaggering look, I began to peruse it. I could with the tail

of my eye, however, perceive Friend Twig and Monsieur Flamingo exchange

very knowing glances. But here goes--here is _the_ letter:--

"_Havanna--such a date_

"MY DEAR BENJAMIN,

"I expected to have had an opportunity of writing by a vessel for

Jamaica before this, but have been disappointed.

"You will be surprised at our change of plans. A grand uncle of my

father's, a very old man, has lately died, and left some money and land

to us in the United Kingdom"--(a Yankyeism, thought I--_United_ States,

_United_ Kingdom)--"and in consequence he is obliged to go out to

England immediately"--(_out_ to England). "His first determination was

to send mamma and me home to New York, but as we did not like to leave

him, we have persuaded him that we shall make ourselves very portable,

so we all go together, in a fine London ship, to sail the day after

to-morrow. Dicky Phantom, dear pet, says, 'Oh, I shall make myself

more leetle small, as one busy bee dat make de honey.' I am angry at

myself sometimes, but I almost dread going to the 'old country,' lest

we should be obliged to restore the darling little castaway to his

kinsfolk--I am sure none of them can ever love him more than his

_mamma_ Helen does. Any letter you may write to me, you must now send

to the care of the House of Baring Brothers of London. As I have no

concealments from mamma, and as you always give me credit" (_credit_,

in the mouth of a young lady!) "for being a circumspect person, she has

arranged for me, that at all events we shall not leave England until we

hear from you in answer to this; so I have made a duplicate of it"

(_duplicate_ of a love letter, ye gods!), "a thing that has proved more

irksome than writing ten originals, which I will send by the next

opportunity, as I know you would be sadly annoyed if any confusion

should take place, such as your going to New York, and finding us

abroad" (_abroad_--in England); "at least, I know, my dearest Benjamin,

I should be miserable at the thoughts of it." (Well you might, my

lady, thought I)--"I am all impatience for another letter from you,"

(why, she has not acknowledged one yet); "surely your excellent uncle

will enter into your feelings; indeed I have satisfied my heart that he

will, and made up my mind not to distress myself, in the mean time, in

the hope that all will run smooth with us. You see I have no darts,

and flames, and nonsense for you--nothing _ultra_, Benjamin--no

superlatives--I have studied myself as well as I can, and there is no

character, I am persuaded, that suits me so well as what you gave me.

I am a quiet, prudent, unobtrusive, but warm-hearted little

woman--there is a vain girl for you--and oh, Benjamin, my heart tells

me, if I am spared in _His_ mercy, that you will find what my father

says to be true, 'Whoever marries my Helen will get a wife that will

wear well, _I calculate_.'

"You will be surprised to learn that the old Gazelle is here again.

After being a week out, she was forced back from bad weather, and is

now repairing. Poor Mr Donovan has had to invalid; they say he never

recovered his severe illness on the coast of Africa, and was always

raving about some fair one with one eye, who lived in a street to which

Broadway in York was a narrow lane--but it is a melancholy affair for

him, poor young man, and I check my thoughts, and stop my pen, as I had

a jest regarding him, that was ready to drop from it.

"And what do you think?--Henry de Walden has got an acting order as

lieutenant in his stead. The ship had been a week here, before Mr

Donovan could make up his mind, and all that time Master Henry never

once looked near us, and poor Sophie did nothing but spoil wax flowers,

and weep--but, two days ago, as she and I were returning in the volante

from our evening drive, who should we meet, in charge of a party of

seamen who were returning from the funeral of a comrade who had died

that morning--oh, Benjamin, what a fearful climate this is--but

him!--He did not see us until we were close upon him, when I desired

the driver to pull up, so he could not escape us if he had tried it;

poor Sophie lay back in the volante, out of sight, as she thought--I am

sure I heard her heart beat. I asked him why he had not come to see

us--he seemed unprepared to answer; indeed, as you used to say, he was

evidently taken completely aback--and blushed, and then grew pale, and

blushed again--for he saw very well who was cowering at the back of the

carriage.--'I was going to call on you this very evening,' he said, at

length; 'I thought you would all be glad to hear of my promotion'--Poor

Sophie's rigid clasp round my waist relaxed, and she gave a sigh as if

her heart had burst--but it was her pent feelings that had been

relieved,--'Your promotion!' I cried, in great joy.--'Yes, I have got

poor Mr Donovan's vacancy,'--'Dead? Is poor Mr Donovan dead?'--'No,'

continued he, 'he is not dead, but has invalided this forenoon, and Sir

Oliver has given me an acting order as lieutenant in his stead. I make

no doubt it will be confirmed; indeed he said he knows it will.'

"He came in the evening according to his promise, and most happy we

were to see him--but what a world of changes--the very next day the

Spider arrived, when we heard of your narrow escape; to show you my

composure, I have purposely kept this out of sight until this moment,

nor will I say much now. I went when I heard it, and offered up my

prayers to that Almighty Being who rules over all, and orders every

thing for the best, although we poor shortsighted creatures may not see

it, and blessed _His_ holy name, that you had safely reached your

destination.

"But I am getting confused, I find. The bearer of your letter, poor

young man, is no more--he died this morning of yellow fever. And who

do you think is appointed to the Spider?--why, Henry De Walden, once

more--nothing, you see, but Henry de Walden!

"To make a long story short, Mr Duquesné has now given his consent to

their union, but old Sir Oliver, who exercises a _great_, and to me

unaccountable control over Henry, will not hear of it, until he is made

commander, so they must both live in hope; but for the moment, they are

but too happy to be extricated from the gloomy slough of despond in

which they had made up their minds they were both set fast. My father,

mamma, Mr Duquesné, Sophie, and Henry De Walden, all unite in kindest

regards to you. And now, my dearest Benjamin, do not be alarmed at

this blistered manuscript; my heart is melting, and weeping relieves

me, but I am not unhappy--oh, no--but anxious--oh, _how_ anxious!--I

will now retire to my closet, and cast myself before the rock of my

trust, and pray to my God, and your God, in whose great hand we stand,

to bless us both; and speedily, _if_ it be his good pleasure, to bring

us once more together, never to be parted. I am fond and foolish,

Benjamin--fond and foolish--but I know to whom I write. The seaman who

waits for the letters is ordered on board, and I must conclude. Give

my love to your uncle--I am sure I shall _love him_--tell him he _must

love_ me, for your sake, if not for my own. Once more adieu, and God

bless you.

"Your own affectionate

"HELEN HUDSON."

"P.S.--Dicky has scrambled up on my knee, to give me a kiss to send to

his _papa_. He bids me say that 'Billy, de sheep, quite well; only him

hair wont curl any more, like Dicky's, but begin to grow straight and

ugly, like Mr Listado's."