Variety is charming. No one laying claim to the smallest amount of that
very uncommon attribute, common-sense, will venture to question the
truth of that statement. Variety is so charming that men and women,
boys and girls, are always, all of them, hunting after it. To speak
still more emphatically on this subject, we venture to affirm that it is
an absolute necessity of animal nature. Were any positive and
short-sighted individual to deny this position, and sit down during the
remainder of his life in a chair and look straight before him, in order
to prove that he could live without variety, he would seek it in change
of position. If he did not do that, he would seek it in change of
thought. If he did not do _that_, he would die!
Fully appreciating this great principle of our nature, and desiring to
be charmed with a little variety, Tim Rokens and Phil Briant presented
themselves before Captain Dunning one morning about a week after the
storm, and asked leave to go ashore. The reader may at first think the
men were mad, but he will change his opinion when we tell him that four
days after the storm in question the _Red Eric_ had anchored in the
harbour formed by the mouth of one of the rivers on the African coast,
where white men trade with the natives for bar-wood and ivory, and where
they also carry on that horrible traffic in negroes, the existence of
which is a foul disgrace to humanity.
"Go ashore!" echoed Captain Dunning. "Why, if you all go on at this
rate, we'll never get ready for sea. However, you may go, but don't
wander too far into the interior, and look out for elephants and wild
men o' the woods, boys--keep about the settlements."
"Ay, ay, sir, and thank'ee," replied the two men, touching their caps as
they retired.
"Please, sir, I want to go too," said Glynn Proctor, approaching the
captain.
"What! more wanting to go ashore?"
"Yes, and so do I," cried Ailie, running forward and clasping her
father's rough hand; "I did enjoy myself _so_ much yesterday, that I
must go on shore again to-day, and I must go with Glynn. He'll take
such famous care of me; now _won't_ you let me go, papa?"
"Upon my word, this looks like preconcerted mutiny. However, I don't
mind if I do let you go, but have a care, Glynn, that you don't lose
sight of her for a moment, and keep to the shore and the settlements.
I've no notion of allowing her to be swallowed by an alligator, or
trampled on by an elephant, or run away with by a gorilla."
"Never fear, sir. You may trust me; I'll take good care of her."
With a shout of delight the child ran down to the cabin to put on her
bonnet, and quickly reappeared, carrying in her hand a basket which she
purposed to fill with a valuable collection of plants, minerals and
insects. These she meant to preserve and carry home as a surprise to
aunts Martha and Jane, both of whom were passionately fond of
mineralogy, delighted in botany, luxuriated in entomology, doted on
conchology, and raved about geology--all of which sciences they studied
superficially, and specimens of which they collected and labelled
beautifully, and stowed away carefully in a little cabinet, which they
termed (not jocularly, but seriously) their "Bureau of Omnology."
It was a magnificent tropical morning when the boat left the side of the
_Red Eric_ and landed Glynn and Ailie, Tim Rokens and Phil Briant on the
wharf that ran out from the yellow beach of the harbour in which their
vessel lay. The sun had just risen. The air was cool (comparatively)
and motionless, so that the ocean lay spread out like a pure mirror, and
revealed its treasures and mysteries to a depth of many fathoms. The
sky was intensely blue and the sun intensely bright, while the
atmosphere was laden with the delightful perfume of the woods--a perfume
that is sweet and pleasant to those long used to it, how much more
enchanting to nostrils rendered delicately sensitive by long exposure to
the scentless gales of ocean?
One of the sailors who had shown symptoms of weakness in the chest
during the voyage, had begged to be discharged and left ashore at this
place. He could ill be spared, but as he was fit for nothing, the
captain agreed to his request, and resolved to procure a negro to act as
cook's assistant in the place of Phil Briant, who was too useful a man
to remain in so subordinate a capacity. The sick man was therefore sent
on shore in charge of Tim Rokens.
On landing they were met by a Portuguese slave-dealer, an American
trader, a dozen or two partially-clothed negroes, and a large concourse
of utterly naked little negro children, who proved to demonstration that
they were of the same nature and spirit with white children, despite the
colour of their skins, by taking intense delight in all the amusements
practised by the fair-skinned juveniles of more northern lands--namely
scampering after each other, running and yelling, indulging in mischief,
spluttering in the waters, rolling on the sand, staring at the
strangers, making impudent remarks, and punching each other's heads.
If the youth of America ever wish to prove that they are of a distinct
race from the sable sons of Africa, their only chance is to become
paragons of perfection, and give up _all_ their wicked ways.
"Oh!" exclaimed Ailie, half amused, half frightened, as Glynn lifted her
out of the boat; "oh! how funny! Don't they look so _very_ like as if
they were all painted black?"
"Good-day to you, gentlemen," cried the trader, as he approached the
landing. "Got your foretop damaged, I see. Plenty of sticks here to
mend it. Be glad to assist you in any way I can. Was away in the woods
when you arrived, else I'd have come to offer sooner."
The trader, who was a tall, sallow man in a blue cotton shirt, sailor's
trousers, and a broad-brimmed straw hat, addressed himself to Glynn,
whose gentlemanly manner led him to believe he was in command of the
party.
"Thank you," replied Glynn, "we've got a little damage--lost a good
boat, too; but we'll soon repair the mast. We have come ashore just
now, however, mainly for a stroll."
"Ay," put in Phil Briant, who was amusing the black children--and
greatly delighting himself by nodding and smiling ferociously at them,
with a view to making a favourable impression on the natives of this new
country. "Ay, sir, an' sure we've comed to land a sick shipmate who
wants to see the doctor uncommon. Have ye sich an article in these
parts?"
"No, not exactly," replied the trader, "but I do a little in that way
myself; perhaps I may manage to cure him if he comes up to my house."
"We wants a nigger too," said Rokens, who, while the others were
talking, was extremely busy filling his pipe.
At this remark the trader looked knowing.
"Oh!" he said, "that's your game, is it? There's your man there; I've
nothing to do with such wares."
He pointed to the Portuguese slave-dealer as he spoke.
Seeing himself thus referred to, the slave-dealer came forward, hat in
hand, and made a polite bow. He was a man of extremely forbidding
aspect. A long dark visage, which terminated in a black peaked beard,
and was surmounted by a tall-crowned broad-brimmed straw hat, stood on
the top of a long, raw-boned, thin, sinewy, shrivelled, but powerful
frame, that had battled with and defeated all the fevers and other
diseases peculiar to the equatorial regions of Africa. He wore a short
light-coloured cotton jacket and pantaloons--the latter much too short
for his limbs, but the deficiency was more than made up by a pair of
Wellington boots. His natural look was a scowl. His assumed smile of
politeness was so unnatural, that Tim Rokens thought, as he gazed at
him, he would have preferred greatly to have been frowned at by him.
Even Ailie, who did not naturally think ill of any one, shrank back as
he approached and grasped Glynn's hand more firmly than usual.
"Goot morning, gentl'm'n. You was vish for git nigger, I suppose."
"Well, we wos," replied Tim, with a faint touch of sarcasm in his tone.
"Can _you_ get un for us?"
"Yees, sare, as many you please," replied the slave-dealer, with a wink
that an ogre might have envied. "Have great many ob 'em stay vid me
always."
"Ah! then, they must be fond o' bad company," remarked Briant, in an
undertone, "to live along wid such a alligator."
"Well, then," said Tim Rokens, who had completed the filling of his
pipe, and was now in the full enjoyment of it; "let's see the feller,
an' I'll strike a bargain with him, if he seems a likely chap."
"You will have strike de bargin vid _me_," said the dealer. "I vill
charge you ver' leetle, suppose you take full cargo."
The whole party, who were ignorant of the man's profession, started at
this remark, and looked at the dealer in surprise.
"Wot!" exclaimed Tim Rokens, withdrawing his pipe from his lips; "do you
_sell_ niggers?"
"Yees, to be surely," replied the man, with a peculiarly saturnine
smile.
"A slave-dealer?" exclaimed Briant, clenching his fists.
"Even so, sare."
At this Briant uttered a shout, and throwing forward his clenched fists
in a defiant attitude, exclaimed between his set teeth--
"Arrah! come on!"
Most men have peculiarities. Phil Briant had many; but his most
striking peculiarity, and that which led him frequently into extremely
awkward positions, was a firm belief that his special calling--in an
amateur point of view--was the redressing of wrongs--not wrongs of a
particular class, or wrongs of an excessively glaring and offensive
nature, but _all_ wrongs whatsoever. It mattered not to Phil whether
the wrong had to be righted by force of argument or force of arms. He
considered himself an accomplished practitioner in both lines of
business--and in regard to the latter his estimate of his powers was not
very much too high, for he was a broad-shouldered, deep-chested,
long-armed fellow, and had acquired a scientific knowledge of boxing
under a celebrated bruiser at the expense of a few hard-earned
shillings, an occasional bottle of poteen, and many a severe thrashing.
Justice to Phil's amiability of character requires, however, that we
should state that he never sought to terminate an argument with his
fists unless he was invited to do so, and even then he invariably gave
his rash challenger fair warning, and offered to let him retreat if so
disposed. But when injustice met his eye, or when he happened to see
cruelty practised by the strong against the weak, his blood fired at
once, and he only deigned the short emphatic remark--"Come on,"
sometimes preceded by "Arrah!" sometimes not. Generally speaking, he
accepted his own challenge, and _went_ on forthwith.
Of all the iniquities that draw forth the groans of humanity on this sad
earth, slavery, in the opinion of Phil Briant, was the worst. He had
never come in contact with it, not having been in the Southern States of
America. He knew from hearsay that the coast of Africa was its
fountain, but he had forgotten the fact, and in the novelty of the scene
before him, it did not at first occur to him that he was actually face
to face with a "live slave-dealer."
"Let me go!" roared the Irishman, as he struggled in the iron grip of
Tim Rokens; and the not less powerful grasp of Glynn Proctor. "Och! let
me go! _Doo_, darlints. I'll only give him wan--jist _wan_! Let me
go, will ye?"
"Not if I can help it," said Glynn, tightening his grasp.
"Wot a cross helephant it is," muttered Rokens, as he thrust his hand
into his comrade's neckcloth and quietly began to choke him as he
dragged him away towards the residence of the trader, who was an amused
as well as surprised spectator of this unexpected ebullition of passion.
At length Phil Briant allowed himself to be forced away from the beach
where the slave-dealer stood with his arms crossed on his breast, and a
sarcastic smile playing on his thin lips. Had that Portuguese
trafficker in human flesh known how quickly Briant could have doubled
the size of his long nose and shut up both his eyes, he would probably
have modified the expression of his countenance; but he didn't know it,
so he looked after the party until they had entered the dwelling of the
trader, and then sauntered up towards the woods, which in this place
came down to within a few yards of the beach.
The settlement was a mere collection of rudely-constructed native huts,
built of bamboos and roofed with a thatch of palm-leaves. In the midst
of it stood a pretty white-painted cottage with green-edged windows and
doors, and a verandah in front. This was the dwelling of the trader;
and alongside of it, under the same roof, was the store, in which were
kept the guns, beads, powder and shot, etcetera, etcetera, which he
exchanged with the natives of the interior for elephants' tusks and
bar-wood, from which latter a beautiful dye is obtained; also ebony,
indiarubber, and other products of the country.
Here the trader entertained Tim Rokens and Phil Briant with stories of
the slave-trade; and here we shall leave them while we follow Glynn and
Ailie, who went off together to ramble along the shore of the calm sea.
They had not gone far when specimens of the strange creatures that dwell
in these lands presented themselves to their astonished gaze. There
were birds innumerable on the shore, on the surface of the ocean, and in
the woods. The air was alive with them; many being similar to the birds
they had been familiar with from infancy, while others were new and
strange.
To her immense delight Ailie saw many living specimens of the
bird-of-paradise, the graceful plumes of which she had frequently beheld
on very high and important festal occasions, nodding on the heads of
Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane. But the prettiest of all the birds she saw
there was a small creature with a breast so red and bright, that it
seemed, as it flew about, like a little ball of fire. There were many
of them flying about near a steep bank, in holes of which they built
their nests. She observed that they fed upon flies which they caught
while skimming through the air, and afterwards learned that they were
called bee-eaters.
"Oh! look!" exclaimed Ailie in that tone of voice which indicated that a
surprising discovery had been made. Ailie was impulsive, and the
_tones_ in which she exclaimed "Oh!" were so varied, emphatic, and
distinct, that those who knew her well could tell exactly the state of
her mind on hearing the exclamation. At present, her "Oh!" indicated
surprise mingled with alarm.
"Eh! what, where?" cried Glynn, throwing forward his musket--for he had
taken the precaution to carry one with him, not knowing what he might
meet with on such a coast.
"The snake! look--oh!"
At that moment a huge black snake, about ten feet long, showed itself in
the grass. Glynn took aim at once, but the piece, being an old
flint-lock, missed fire. Before he could again take aim the
loathsome-looking reptile had glided into the underwood, which in most
places was so overgrown with the rank and gigantic vegetation of the
tropics as to be quite impenetrable.
"Ha! he's gone, Ailie!" cried Glynn, in a tone of disappointment, as he
put fresh priming into the pan of his piece. "We must be careful in
walking here, it seems. This wretched old musket! Lucky for us that
our lives did not depend on it. I wonder if it was a poisonous
serpent?"
"Perhaps it was," said Ailie, with a look of deep solemnity, as she took
her companion's left hand, and trotted along by his side. "Are not all
serpents poisonous?"
"Oh dear, no. Why, there are some kinds that are quite harmless. But
as I don't know which are and which are not, we must look upon all as
enemies until we become more knowing."
Presently they came to the mouth of a river--one of those sluggish
streams on the African coast, which suggest the idea of malaria and the
whole family of low fevers. It glided through a mangrove swamp, where
the tree seemed to be standing on their roots, which served the purpose
of stilts to keep them out of the mud. The river was oily, and
sluggish, and hot-looking, and its mud-banks were slimy and liquid, so
that it was not easy to say whether the water of the river was mud, or
the mud on the bank was water. It was a place that made one
involuntarily think of creeping monsters, and crawling objects, and
slimy things!
"Look! oh! oh! such a darling pet!" exclaimed Ailie, as they stood near
the banks of this river wondering what monster would first cleave the
muddy waters, and raise its hideous head. She pointed to the bough of a
dead tree near which they stood, and on which sat the "darling pet"
referred to. It was a very small monkey with white whiskers; a dumpy
little thing, that looked at them with an expression of surprise quite
equal in intensity to their own.
Seeing that it was discovered, the "darling pet" opened its little
mouth, and uttered a succession of "Ohs!" that rendered Ailie's
exclamations quite insignificant by comparison. They were sharp and
short, and rapidly uttered, while, at the same time, two rows of most
formidable teeth were bared, along with the gums that held them.
At this Ailie and her companion burst into a fit of irrepressible
laughter, whereupon the "darling pet" put itself into such a passion--
grinned, and coughed, and gasped, and shook the tree, and writhed, and
glared, to such an extent that Glynn said he thought it would burst, and
Ailie agreed that it was very likely. Finding that this terrible
display of fury had no effect on the strangers, the "darling pet" gave
utterance to a farewell shriek of passion, and, bounding nimbly into the
woods, disappeared.
"Oh, _what_ a funny beast," said Ailie, sitting down on a stone, and
drying her eyes, which had filled with tears from excessive laughter.
"Indeed it was," said Glynn. "It's my opinion that a monkey is the
funniest beast in the world."
"No, Glynn; a kitten's funnier," said Ailie, with a degree of emphasis
that showed she had considered the subject well, and had fully made up
her mind in regard to it long ago. "I think a kitten's the _very_
funniest beast in all the whole world."
"Well, perhaps it is," said Glynn thoughtfully.
"Did you ever see _three_ kittens together?" asked Ailie.
"No; I don't think I ever did. I doubt if I have seen even two
together. Why?"
"Oh! because they are so very, very funny. Sit down beside me, and I'll
tell you about three kittens I once had. They were very little--at
least they were little before they got big."
Glynn laughed.
"Oh, you know what I mean. They were able to play when they were very
little, you know."
"Yes, yes, I understand. Go on."
"Well, two were grey, and one was white and grey, but most of it was
white; and when they went to play, one always hid itself to watch, and
then the other two began, and came up to each other with little jumps,
and their backs up and tails curved, and hair all on end, glaring at
each other, and pretending that they were so angry. Do you know, Glynn,
I really believe they sometimes forgot it was pretence, and actually
became angry. But the fun was, that, when the two were just going to
fly at each other, the third one, who had been watching, used to dart
out and give them _such_ a fright--a _real_ fright, you know--which made
them jump, oh! three times their own height up into the air, and they
came down again with a _fuff_ that put the third one in a fright too; so
that they all scattered away from each other as if they had gone quite
mad. What's that?"
"It's a fish, I think," said Glynn, rising and going towards the river,
to look at the object that had attracted his companion's attention.
"It's a shark, I do believe."
In a few seconds the creature came so close that they could see it quite
distinctly; and on a more careful inspection, they observed that the
mouth of the river was full of these ravenous monsters. Soon after they
saw monsters of a still more ferocious aspect; for while they were
watching the sharks, two crocodiles put up their snouts, and crawled
sluggishly out of the water upon a mud-bank, where they lay down,
apparently with the intention of taking a nap in the sunshine. They
were too far off, however, to be well seen.
"Isn't it strange, Glynn, that there are such ugly beasts in the world?"
said Ailie. "I wonder why God made them?"
"So do I," said Glynn, looking at the child's thoughtful face in some
surprise. "I suppose they must be of some sort of use."
"Oh! yes, _of course_ they are," rejoined Ailie quickly. "Aunt Martha
and Aunt Jane used to tell me that every creature was made by God for
some good purpose; and when I came to the crocodile in my book, they
said it was certainly of use too, though they did not know what. I
remember it very well, because I was _so_ surprised to hear that Aunt
Martha and Aunt Jane did not know _everything_."
"No doubt Aunt Martha and Aunt Jane were right," said Glynn, with a
smile. "I confess, however, that crocodiles seem to me to be of no
other use than to kill and eat up everything that comes within the reach
of their terrible jaws. But, indeed, now I think of it, the very same
may be said of man, for _he_ kills and eats up at least everything that
he _wants_ to put into his jaws."
"So he does," said Ailie; "isn't it funny?"
"Isn't what funny?" asked Glynn.
"That we should be no better than crocodiles--at least, I mean about
eating."
"You forget, Ailie, we cook our food."
"Oh! so we do. I did not remember to think of that. That's a great
difference, indeed."
Leaving Glynn and his little charge to philosophise on the resemblance
between men and crocodiles, we shall now return to Tim Rokens and Phil
Briant, whom we left in the trader's cottage.
The irate Irishman had been calmed down by reason and expostulation, and
had again been roused to great indignation several times since we left
him, by the account of things connected with the slave-trade, given him
by the trader, who, although he had no interest in it himself, did not
feel very much aggrieved by the sufferings he witnessed around him.
"You don't mane to tell me, now, that _whalers_ comes in here for
slaves, do ye?" said Briant, placing his two fists on his two knees, and
thrusting his head towards the trader, who admitted that he meant to say
that; and that he meant, moreover, to add, that the thing was by no
means of rare occurrence--that whaling ships occasionally ran into that
very port on their way south, shipped a cargo of negroes, sold them at
the nearest slave-buying port they could make on the American coast, and
then proceeded on their voyage, no one being a whit the wiser.
"You don't mean it?" remarked Tim Rokens, crossing his legs and devoting
himself to his pipe, with the air of a man who mourned the depravity of
his species, but did not feel called upon to disturb his equanimity very
much because of it.
Phil Briant clenched his teeth, and glared.
"Indeed I do mean it," reiterated the trader. "Would you believe it,
there was one whaler put in here, and what does he do but go and invite
a lot o' free blacks aboard to have a blow-out; and no sooner did he get
them down into the hold then he shut down the hatches, sailed away, and
sold 'em every one."
"Ah! morther, couldn't I burst?" groaned Phil; "an' ov coorse they left
a lot o' fatherless children and widders behind 'em."
"They did; but all the widders are married again, and most of the
children are grown up."
Briant looked as if he did not feel quite sure whether he ought to
regard this as a comforting piece of information or the reverse, and
wisely remained silent.
"And now you must excuse me if I leave you to ramble about alone for
some time, as I have business to transact; meanwhile I'll introduce you
to a nigger who will show you about the place, and one who, if I mistake
not, will gladly accompany you to sea as steward's assistant."
The trader opened a door which led to the back part of his premises, and
shouted to a stout negro who was sawing wood there, and who came forward
with alacrity.
"Ho! Neepeelootambo, go take these gentlemen round about the village,
and let them see all that is to be seen."
"Yes, massa."
"And they've got something to say to you about going to sea--would you
like to go?"
The negro grinned, and as his mouth was of the largest possible size, it
is not exaggeration to say that the grin extended from ear to ear, but
he made no other reply.
"Well, please yourself. You're a free man--you may do as you choose."
Neepeelootambo, who was almost naked, having only a small piece of cloth
wrapped round his waist and loins, grinned again, displaying a double
row of teeth worthy of a shark in so doing, and led his new friends from
the house.
"Now," said Tim Rokens, turning to the negro, and pointing along the
shore, "we'll go along this way and jaw the matter over. Business
first, and pleasure, if ye can get it, arterwards--them's my notions,
Nip--Nip--Nippi--what's your name?"
"Coo Tumble, I think," suggested Briant.
"Ay, Nippiloo Bumble--wot a jaw-breaker! so git along, old boy."
The negro, who was by no means an "old boy," but a stalwart man in the
prime of life, stepped out, and as they walked along, both Rokens and
Briant did their best to persuade him to ship on board the _Red Eric_,
but without success. They were somewhat surprised as well as chagrined,
having been led to expect that the man would consent at once. But no
alluring pictures of the delights of seafaring life, or the pleasures
and excitements of the whale-fishery, had the least effect on their
sable companion. Even sundry shrewd hints, thrown out by Phil Briant,
that "the steward had always command o' the wittles, and that his
assistant would only have to help himself when convanient," failed to
move him.
"Well, Nippi-Boo-Tumble," cried Tim Rokens, who in his disappointment
unceremoniously contracted his name, "it's my opinion--private opinion,
mark'ee--that you're a ass, an' you'll come for to repent of it."
"Troth, Nippi-Bumble, he's about right," added Briant coaxingly. "Come
now, avic, wot's the raisin ye won't go? Sure we ain't blackguards
enough to ax ye to come for to be sold; it's all fair and above board.
Why won't ye, now?"
The negro stopped, and turning towards them, drew himself proudly up;
then, as if a sudden thought had occurred to him, he advanced a step and
held up his forefinger to impose silence.
"You no tell what I go to say? at least, not for one, two day."
"Niver a word, honour bright," said Phil, in a confidential tone, while
Rokens expressed the same sentiment by means of an emphatic wink and
nod.
"You mus' know," said the negro, earnestly, "me expec's to be made a
king!"
"A wot?" exclaimed both his companions in the same breath, and very much
in the same tone.
"A king."
"Wot?" said Rokens; "d'ye mean, a ruler of this here country?"
Neepeelootambo nodded his head so violently that it was a marvel it
remained on his shoulders.
"Yis. Ho! ho! ho! 'xpec's to be a king."
"And when are ye to be crowned, Bumble?" inquired Briant, rather
sceptically, as they resumed their walk.
"Oh, me no say me _goin'_ to be king; me only _'xpec's_ dat."
"Werry good," returned Rokens; "but wot makes ye for to expect it?"
"Aha! Me berry clebber fellow--know most ebbery ting. Me hab doo'd
good service to dis here country. Me can fight like one leopard, and me
hab kill great few elephant and gorilla. Not much mans here hab shoot
de gorilla, him sich terriferick beast; 'bove five foot six tall, and
bigger round de breast dan you or me--dat is a great true fact. Also,
me can spok Englis'."
"An' so you expec's they're goin' to make you a king for all that?"
"Yis, dat is fat me 'xpec's, for our old king be just dead; but dey
nebber tell who dey going to make king till dey do it. I not more sure
ob it dan the nigger dat walk dare before you."
Neepeelootambo pointed as he spoke to a negro who certainly had a more
kingly aspect than any native they had yet seen. He was a perfect
giant, considerably above six feet high, and broad in proportion. He
wore no clothing on the upper part of his person, but his legs were
encased in a pair of old canvas trousers, which had been made for a man
of ordinary stature, so that his huge bony ankles were largely exposed
to view.
Just as Phil and Rokens stopped to take a good look at him before
passing on, a terrific yell issued from the bushes, and instantly after,
a negro ran towards the black giant and administered to him a severe
kick on the thigh, following it up with a cuff on the side of the head,
at the same time howling something in the native tongue, which our
friends of course did not understand. This man was immediately followed
by three other blacks, one of whom pulled the giant's hair, the other
pulled his nose, and the third spat in his face!
It is needless to remark that the sailors witnessed this unprovoked
assault with unutterable amazement. But the most remarkable part of it
was, that the fellow, instead of knocking all his assailants down, as he
might have done without much trouble, quietly submitted to the
indignities heaped upon him; nay, he even smiled upon his tormentors,
who increased in numbers every minute, running out from among the bushes
and surrounding the unoffending man, and uttering wild shouts as they
maltreated him.
"Wot's he bin doin'?" inquired Rokens, turning to his black companion.
But Rokens received no answer, for Neepeelootambo was looking on at the
scene with an expression so utterly woe-begone and miserable that one
would imagine he was himself suffering the rough usage he witnessed.
"Arrah! ye don't appear to be chairful," said Briant, laughing, as he
looked in the negro's face. "This is a quare counthrie, an' no
mistake;--it seems to be always blowin' a gale o' surprises. Wot's
wrong wid ye, Bumble?"
The negro groaned.
"Sure that may be a civil answer, but it's not o' much use. Hallo! what
air they doin' wid the poor cratur now?"
As he spoke the crowd seized the black giant by the arms and neck and
hair, and dragged him away towards the village, leaving our friends in
solitude.
"A very purty little scene," remarked Phil Briant when they were out of
sight; "very purty indade, av we only knowed wot it's all about."
If the surprise of the two sailors was great at what they had just
witnessed, it was increased tenfold by the subsequent behaviour of their
negro companion.
That eccentric individual suddenly checked his groans, gave vent to a
long, deep sigh, and assuming a resigned expression of countenance, rose
up and said--"Ho! It all ober now, massa."
"I do believe," remarked Rokens, looking gravely at his shipmate, "that
the feller's had an attack of the mollygrumbles, an's got better all of
a suddint."
"No, massa, dat not it. But me willin' to go wid you now to de sea."
"Eh? willin' to go? Why, Nippi-Too-Cumble, wot a rum customer you are,
to be sure!"
"Yis, massa," rejoined the negro. "Me not goin' to be king now, anyhow;
so it ob no use stoppin' here. Me go to sea."
"Not goin' to be king? How d'ye know that?"
"'Cause dat oder nigger, him be made king in a berry short time. You
mus' know, dat w'en dey make wan king in dis here place, de peeple
choose de man; but dey not let him know. He may guess if him please--
like me--but p'raps him guess wrong--like me! Ho! ho! Den arter dey
fix on de man, dey run at him and kick him, as you hab seen dem do, and
spit on him, and trow mud ober him, tellin' him all de time, `You no
king yet, you black rascal; you soon be king, and den you may put your
foots on our necks and do w'at you like, but not yit; take dat, you
tief!' An' so dey 'buse him for a littel time. Den dey take him
straight away to de palace and crown him, an', oh! arter dat dey become
very purlite to him. Him know dat well 'nuff, and so him not be angry
just now. Ah! me did 'xpec, to hab bin kick and spitted on dis berry
day!"
Poor Neepeelootambo uttered the last words in such a deeply touching
tone, and seemed to be so much cast down at the thought that his chance
of being "kicked and spitted upon" had passed away for ever, that Phil
Briant burst into a hearty fit of laughter, and Tim Rokens exhibited
symptoms of internal risibility, though his outward physiognomy remained
unchanged.
"Och! Bumble, you'll be the death o' me," cried Briant. "An' are they
a-crownin' of him now?"
"Yis, massa. Dat what dey go for to do jist now."
"Troth, then, I'll go an' inspict the coronation. Come along, Bumble,
me darlint, and show us the way."
In a few minutes Neepeelootambo conducted his new friends into a large
rudely-constructed hut, which was open on three sides and thatched with
palm-leaves. This was the palace before referred to by him. Here they
found a large concourse of negroes, whose main object at that time
seemed to be the creation of noise; for besides yelling and hooting,
they beat a variety of native drums, some of which consisted of bits of
board, and others of old tin and copper kettles. Forcing their way
through the noisy throng they reached the inside of the hut, into which
they found that Ailie Dunning and Glynn Proctor had pushed their way
before them. Giving them a nod of recognition, they sat down on a mat
by their side to watch the proceedings, which by this time were nearly
concluded.
The new king--who was about to fill the throne rendered vacant by the
recent death of the old king of that region--was seated on an elevated
stool looking very dignified, despite the rough ordeal through which he
had just passed. When the noise above referred to had calmed down, an
old grey-headed negro rose and made a speech in the language of the
country, after which he advanced and crowned the new king, who had
already been invested in a long scarlet coat covered with tarnished gold
lace, and cut in the form peculiar to the last century. The crown
consisted of an ordinary black silk hat, considerably the worse for
wear. It looked familiar and commonplace enough in the eyes of their
white visitors; but, being the only specimen of the article in the
district, it was regarded by the negroes with peculiar admiration, and
deemed worthy to decorate the brows of royalty.
Having had this novel crown placed on the top of his woolly pate, which
was much too large for it, the new king hit it an emphatic blow on the
top, partly with a view to force it on, and partly, no doubt, with the
design of impressing his new subjects with the fact that he was now
their rightful sovereign, and that he meant thenceforth to exercise all
the authority, and avail himself of all the privileges that his high
position conferred on him. He then rose and made a pretty long speech,
which was frequently applauded, and which terminated amid a most
uproarious demonstration of loyalty on the part of the people.
If you wish to gladden the heart of a black man, reader, get him into
the midst of an appalling noise. The negro's delight is to shout, and
laugh, and yell, and beat tin kettles with iron spoons. The greater the
noise, the more he enjoys himself. Great guns and musketry, gongs and
brass bands, kettledrums and smashing crockery, crashing
railway-engines, blending their utmost whistles with the shrieks of a
thousand pigs being killed, all going at once, full blast, and as near
to him as possible, is a species of Elysium to the sable son of Africa.
On their occasions of rejoicing, negroes procure and produce as much
noise as is possible, so that the white visitors were soon glad to seek
shelter, and find relief to their ears, on board ship.
But even there the sounds of rejoicing reached them, and long after the
curtain of night had enshrouded land and sea, the hideous din of royal
festivities came swelling out with the soft warm breeze that fanned
Ailie's cheek as she stood on the quarterdeck of the _Red Eric_,
watching the wild antics of the naked savages as they danced round their
bright fires, and holding her father's hand tightly as she related the
day's adventures, and told of the monkeys, crocodiles, and other strange
creatures she had seen in the mangrove-swamps and on the mud-banks of
the slimy river.