The Cruise of the Midge. Michael Scott

we pass dat part of de barrick where de grenadier were, we meet two tree men; but no notice take dem of we; so we go down to de esplanade. All still dere but de loud 'Ha, ha!' from de mess-room, where de band was play, and wax-lights shine. No one else stir, except sentry over de big heap of shell—one large pile of ten, twelve, tirteen inch shell dat was heap up in de middle of de fort—so we turn to de left, and ascend de platform. 'Who go dere?' sing out de sentry, as him walk backward and forward between de two gun facing we; 'Who go dere?' say he. Jack spring forward to de sentry, and say something. I could not hear what he whisper; but, though I speak never one word, de man mediately say, 'Pass, friend!' and den him stomp away in de oder direction from where we was. Jack now take hold of my hand—'No time for lost; so come along, broder Quacco.' I hold me back. 'Ah ha!' say I, 'show me de cause for all dis, Massa Jack.' 'And so Jack shall,' him say—'but come here, man, come here;' and he lead me into de embrazure of one long four-and-twenty; and taking one good strong rope out of de muzzle of de gun, where him seem to have been stow on purpose, him make one loop in him and hook him over de leetle nose dat stick out from de breech of him behind. 'Now, Quacco, I know you is clever fellow; so warp yourself down by dis rope—dere is no wet ditch here—so down you go, and'——'Gently,' say I, 'where we go to?—tell a me dat.'—'I will,' say he, 'but de night air chill, so here take anoder drop'—and, lord, we have de oder pull at de case bottle. Him puff one long puff after him drink.—'I see you suspicious wid me still,' him say, 'but only come de length of de old hut in de cashaw bush dere, and you shall see I is true man.'—Here I stand back leetle piece to remember myself—but he would give me no time to tink none at all—'You coward fellow, come along,' say Jack—'here go me.'—Wid dat him let himself down by de rope.—'Coward! nay, me is no coward—so here go me Quacco'—and down I slid after him. We reach de bottom. 'Now follow me,' say Jack. Presently we come to de hut in de wood, but many a time I look back to see de glance of de sentry musket before him fire; but no one so much as hail we—so we walk, or rader run, along de small path, troo de cashaw bushes dat lead to de hut—de moonshine flicker, flicker on de white sandy path, troo de small leaf of de cashaw, no bigger as, and wery like, de leaf of de sensitive plant.—Ah, Massa Brail,"—I was smiling here—"I know him name—I know de sensitive plant—often get tenpence from young buccra hofficer to hunt him out for him, and? indeed, I know where whole acres of him grow in Jamaica. But you put me out, Massa Brail—where I was?—oh—de moonshine shine bright and clear, and de lizard whistle wheetle, wheetle, and de tree-toad snore, and de wood-cricket chirp, and de beetle moan past we, and de bat whir, and de creech howl squake—So tink I, I wish I was once more in de barrick—but no help for it. Presently we were in front of de hut. Small black ogly hut him was—no light could be seen in him—at least none shine below de door—and dere was never no window in him none at all. Jack stop, and put him hand to de latch. I lay hold of him arm. I say, 'Massa Jack, is dis de hut you speak of, and dis de pleasant peoples I was to see, and de nice black girls, eh?'—'Stop,' say he, 'don't judge until you see—but come in, man, come in.'—I go in, but Jack was close de door instantly behind him. 'Hilo, what mean you by dat?' say I, 'you go leave me here widout fire?'—'Poo,' say he, 'fire? you shall soon have enough.' Wid dat him strike one light, den light some chip, and presently him tro someting on de fire, dat make it blaze up into one large blue flame dat make every ting look wery disagreab—oh, mosh wery. Jack sit down—he take piece roast pork, some yam, and some salt fis out of de crown of him shako—we eat—de rum bottle soon not heavy too much in de hand—and I forget, sinner dat I is, dat I should hab been in my bed in de barrick in de fort—so Jack, after poke de fire again, say, 'Quacco, broder Quacco; as I say before, we is countrymen—bote Eboe, is we?'—'Yes,' say I, 'we is Eboe, but we were wery different peoples in de Eboe country. You know, Jack, dat I was poor debil whose fader and moder was kill and carry away by dese dam Felatahs and'"——

      Here friend Dick interrupted the thread of our friend Quacco's tale. "I say, serjeant, you are speaking of Felatahs—we have heard much of them on the coast—who and what are they, my man?"

      "I shall tell massa," said Serjeant Quacco. "Dam troublesome fellow dem Felatah—never stay at home—always going about fighting here—stealing dere. You go to bed—hear de pig in de oder end of your hut grunt quite comfortable—you wake—him gone—'ah, Felatah must have been dere.' You hab only two wife, so you go into market—bazar, de Moorish people call him—you buy anoder leetle wife, because maybe one of de two grow old, and de oder grow stupid maybe; well, you bring de leetle wife home—nice leetle person—you tell him de story how Felatah come, while you sleep, and tief pig—ha, ha—you laugh, and he laugh, and you drink small piece of tody, after nyam supper, and go werry merry to bed—ho—you wake next morning—debil—him gone too well as de pig—de leetle wife gone—oh, lord—'sure as can be, Felatah must be dere.' And your bag of cowrie never safe—every ting dat cursed Felatah can lay him fist on, him grab—de Livapool ship people call him Scotchman."

      "Don't tell that part of your story in the hearing of Corporal Lennox, friend Quacco," said I, laughing.

      He grinned, and proceeded. "I say to Jack, 'I was catch when I was leetle naked fellow by de Felatahs, wid my fader and moder, and carry off to dem country, and afterward sell for slave; but you was great man always—big fetish priest you was—many fetish you make in your time; you kill goat and pig before de fetish.'—'Ay,' said Jack, 'and maybe, Quacco, I kill oder ting you no dream of before de fetish, beside dem who hab cloven hoof and four leg and one tail'—and he rose up—on which me Quacco jump on my feet too. 'Massa Ogly Jack, I onderstand you now, you willain; you is one mutiny, sir, and I arrest you, sir, in de name of de Kin.' All dis time I was press de tumb of my left hand against de pipe of my bayonet to see dat him was loose in de sheath. Jack again throw someting into de fire, dat dis time flare up wid red flame, not wid blue one as before, when every ting—de roof, de leetle wildcane bed, de rafter, and whole inside of de hut, de calabash hang against de wall, all look red, red and glowing hot, as if we had plump into de bad place all at once—even Jack, and me Quacco, seem two big lobster. I was wery terrible frighten, and drew back to de corner as far as I could get. Jack did not follow me, but continued standing in de same spot where he had risen up, wid both hand stretch out towards me. I try for speak, but my troat stop up, as if you was plug him wid piece of plantain. 'Quacco,' at length say Jack wery slow, like one parson, 'Quacco, you have say I was fetish man, and hab kill goat and pig—and I say I was so; and dat I have in my time make fetish of oder ting dat have no cleft in him hoof, and hab not four leg, nor one tail. Listen to me, Quacco; you is not goat?'—'No,' say me Quacco, 'certainly I is not goat.'—'You is not pig?' continue Jack.—'No, no—Oh! oh! oh!' groan me Quacco again—'You hab not cloven foot?' him go on to say.—'No,' roar I.—'Nor four leg?'—'No,' again me roar, shaking out my two foot for make him see.—'Nor one tail?'—Here I get mad wid fear, and jump forward wid my drawn bayonet right upon Jack—but, fiz, as if water had been thrown on it, out goes de fire. I nearly stifle wid de smoke, but determined to grapple wid Jack. I tumble all about de hut, but no Jack dere; I try de door—all fast. What shall I do?—he vanish—he must be debil—and I retreat de best way I could, groping along de wall, until I once more get into de corner dat I was leave. 'Oh, my God'' say me Quacco, 'here I sall be murder—or if I be not murder, den I sall be flog for being out of barrick widout leave—Oh, poor me Quacco, poor me Corporal Quacco—oh, to be flog at de triangles would be one comfort, compare wid walk to de hell place in dis fashion!' 'Quacco,' say one voice, it was not Jack voice, 'Quacco.'—'Hillo,' say I, 'who de debil is you next, eh?' No hanswer—den I begin to ruminate again. 'Quacco,' again de voice say.—'Hillo,' again say I, frighten till de sweat hop, hop over my forehead, and den from my chin and de point of my nose,"—("Where may that be?" whispered little Binnacle)—"when it drop down on de floor like small bullets. 'Quacco.'—'Oh, oh, oh!' groan I; for dis time it sound as if one dead somebody was speak out of one hollow coffin, lying at de bottom of one new open grave; 'put you hand at you feet, and see what you catch dere, and eat what you catch dere.' I did so—I find one calabash, wid boil nyam, and piece salt pork dere; I take him up—taste him—wery good—eat him all—why not? 'Quacco,' again say de voice, 'grope for de calabash dat hang against de wall.' I do so—quite heavy—let me see. 'Drink what in him,' again say de debil—'To be sure, Massa Debil,' say I, 'why not?' I taste him—good rum—ah, ah, ah—wery good rum, when flash de fire again