HOW THE DAY ENDED
Immodesty is the principal vice I do not possess. When we started to get
back to _The Gentle Hand_ clothed in the odour of sanctity and
villainous liquor, I must say my heart failed me at the sight of the
town. We halted at the outskirts and tacked ship, standing for the house
of a conch, as the Bahama bank men are called. The mosquitoes and flies
had by this time made life almost unbearable, and something had to be
done. I objected to stealing on principle, but in practice I expected to
err, for, if a suit of clothes could be found not too dirty to wear, I
felt it my duty to quell my scruples in the interest of the
self-respecting citizens of Nassau.
“Tim,” said I, “you little speckled leopard, you shall go in front. You
have, at least, some large brown spots to cover your hide, while I’m as
pure white as the coral road we’re walking on.”
Tim demurred at this.
“What’s the matter with you? Put your hulking carcass in front, and I’ll
walk behind. There’s no use making fun of the thing. You strut about big
enough on deck, glad enough to have any one notice you--Hi! there’s an’
ole nigger woman now,” and he crouched down in the long grass.
I sank instantly and hailed the old lady.
“Hi, there! Mammy, have you a spare--er--er pair--I mean an apron or two
you could lend?”
“Lawd sakes! How yo’ scart me!” cried the old negress. “Where yo’ is,
honey?” and she looked about her.
“We’re over here in the grass. Lost our clothes while swimming. Don’t
come over, but just fetch out a bit of dunnage and run away, that’s a
good ole gal,” I said.
“Run away! Huh! Who is you toe tell me to run away. I’se Mr. Curtis’
nigger, an’ I doan’ run fo’ no one, I jest tell yo’ dat,” and she
advanced toward us.
“Ah, trot along,” growled Tim. “Get us some clothes, or we’ll take some.
We haven’t time to fool with any blamed old nigger.”
She advanced close to us, and I noticed she held a small black baby in
her arms. Tim edged behind me, and I tried to shove him in front.
“Land sakes alive!” she cried. “He, he, he, yah, yah! Well, I nebber.
Yo’ is sho’ nuff nakid. Jest as nakid as this little babe under his
clothes. Yah, yah, he is sho’ just as nakid as you is under his clothes.
Well, I nebber--”
But we waited no longer. The situation was too humiliating, and we
sprang to our feet and dashed down the path into the scrub.
“What the deuce will we do?” I asked, when we were out of sight. “If she
wasn’t a woman, I’d rip her clothes off pretty quick and make shift of
her skirt.”
“S’pose we lay for some man, then,” said Tim. “Seems to me you might
turn your knowledge of scrappin’ to some account.”
“I’ve a notion to practise a bit on you, you speckled beauty,” said I,
angrily. “It’s your foolishness that got us in this fix.”
“Here comes a feller your size. Try him.”
I turned and followed his gaze, and there, sure enough, loomed a huge
black conch with a bucketful of sour-sops in either hand, striding up
the path. Hung over his shoulder was a long blacksnake whip, such as
overseers sometimes used upon refractory slaves.
“Hi, there, uncle,” I cried, “I would like to buy some sops,” and we
both stepped forth into view.
The fellow’s ugly visage wrinkled, and he set his buckets upon the
ground.
“Who is yo’?” he asked, sourly.
“We? Why, we are visitors, friends of Mr. Curtis,” I said. “We left our
clothes over there at the inlet, and some son of a polecat ran off with
them. Give us some sops and give us a shift. We’ll pay you well for it.”
“Whar’s yo’ munny?” he growled.
“In our clothes. Sink you for a fool nigger, you don’t suppose we have
pockets in our skins, do you?”
“Who yo’ callin’ a fool nigger?” and he drew his whip over his shoulder.
“Don’t yo’ call me no names, yo’ po’ white trash. I’ll cut yo’ toe
ribbons, dat I will.”
Before either of us could spring aside, the lash flew out and caught
first one and then the other of us on our naked bodies. The pain was
awful. Tim dashed up the path instantly without waiting for a second
dose, and the huge conch sprang after him, leaving me behind.
Away they went, the lash flying out like the tongue of a snake, landing
every time upon that part of poor Tim’s anatomy which is said to be
equally discourteous to present to either friend or enemy. And every
time it landed, it brought forth a yell. I stood grinning for an
instant, in spite of the pain I suffered, and then the sense of outraged
decency getting the best of my risibilities, I launched myself full
speed in pursuit.
Away we went up that trail, Tim’s speckled body leading the way, his red
hair streaming in the wind, and close behind him rushed that big black
conch with his cruel whip, his bare feet not heeding in the least a
thousand things that pricked and pained the soles of mine, as I tore
along in his wake.
“Hi, hi, go it, Jackson!” howled a black fellow who stood in the path
and watched the race.
An upper cut with my left fist did much to abate his zeal, and left him
lying upon his back, while with undiminished speed I went ahead. Soon
the white coral street of the town showed a bit in front through the
bushes, and in another minute we were fairly into the main street of
Nassau.
I was now thoroughly aroused, and forgot entirely my predicament, so
intent was I upon reaching that rascal’s back. I called hoarsely for Tim
to stop, but, either because I was a bit winded or our pace was too fast
to allow the sound of my voice to reach him, he heeded it not at all,
but held his pace under all sail.
White men now sprang from doorways to see what had happened, as the
yells came flying down the thoroughfare, and many women immodestly
halted to view the spectacle. I don’t know how the matter would have
ended had not Tim turned a corner suddenly, and plunged straight into
the arms of Big Jones and Martin, who were rushing for the pavement at
the sound of alarm.
The Scotchman, with rare presence of mind, made a grab at Tim’s speckled
body, thinking it some peculiar breed of ape that had escaped from its
keeper, and in doing so lost his drunken balance, and plunged head
foremost into the stomach of the pursuing conch, and together they
rolled over into the street. Before they could disengage, I had a grip
upon that conch that he will remember yet.
“Deil save us, ye cateran, what is it?” gasped the inebriated Scot,
struggling to his feet. “What? You Heywood! Ye immodest heathen! Hold
him, ye black feller, an’ I’ll lay the lash upon his unchaste hide.”
Before he could come to the conch’s assistance, a speckled form sprang
upon him and bore him back again into the street, and I saw Tim change
from a fugitive into a veritable leopard, striking fiercely and tearing
at the blouse of the sailor until it had parted and come away in halves.
Just then I had business with the giant conch that needed attention, and
I saw nothing more of that fracas.
The black man was a powerful fellow, but he lacked skill. The blow in
the stomach had winded him temporarily, and, before he had recovered, I
was cutting him up scientifically with his own whip, while the crowd
hooted and cheered in derision. When I desisted, he could hardly stand,
much less walk, and then Big Jones, who was enjoying the spectacle,
offered me his jumper. This I put on by running my legs through the
sleeves, after splitting them, and buttoning it behind. Tim had by this
time divested Martin of his spare raiment, and, dressed somewhat alike,
we strode side by side with much dignity to the boat, followed by Big
Jones, the Welshman, and an admiring throng of natives who cheered us
lustily.
Martin and the well-thrashed overseer were left behind to compare notes,
while, with the blue eagle upon my breast fairly red with mortification,
we stepped aboard and shoved off.