Tom Cringle's Log Part 35

"I say, quashie, where are the bombardiers, the artillerymen?"

"Oh, ma.s.sa, dem all gone to drink pruce."

"What, more spruce!--spruce--nothing but spruce!" quoth I.

"Oh, yes, ma.s.sa--after dem drink pruce done, dem all go to him breakfast, ma.s.sa--left we for take de gun to de barrack--beg one feepenny, ma.s.sa"--as the price of the information, I suppose.

"Are the guns loaded?" said I.

"Me no sabe, ma.s.sa--top, I shall see." And the fellow to whom I addressed myself stepped forward, and began to squint into the muzzle of one of the fieldpieces, slewing his head from side to side, with absurd gravity, like a magpie peeping into a marrow-bone. "Him most be load-- no daylight come troo de touch-hole--take care make me try him." And without more ado he shook out the red embers from his pipe right on the touch-hole of the gun, when the fragment of a broken tube spun up in a small jet of flame, that made me start and jump back.

"How dare you, you scoundrel?" said the captain.

"Eigh, ma.s.sa, him no hax me to see if him be load--so I was try see.

Indeed, I tink him is load after all yet."

He stepped forward, and entered his rammer into the cannon, after an unavailing attempt to blow with his blubber-lips through the touch hole.

Noticing that it did not produce the ringing sound it would have done in an empty gun, but went home with a soft thud, I sung out, "Stand clear, sir. By Jupiter, the gun is loaded."

The negro continued to bash at it with all his might.

Meanwhile, the fellow who was driving the mules attached to the fieldpiece, turned his head, and saw what was going on. In a trice he s.n.a.t.c.hed up another rammer, and, without any warning, came crack over the fellow's cranium to whom we had been speaking, as hard as he could draw, making the instrument quiver again.

"Dem you, ye, ye Jericho--ah so you bash my brokefast--eh? You no see me tick him into de gun before we yoke de mule, dem, eh? You tief you, eh?"

"No!" roared the other--"You Walkandyam, you hab no brokefast, you liard, at least I never see him."

"Dem lie dat!" replied Walkandnyam--"look in de gun." Jericho peered into it again.

"Dere, you son of a--" (I sha'n't say what)--"dere, I see de red flannin wadding over de cartridge--Your brokefast!--you be dem!" roared Jericho.

And he made at him as if he would have eaten him alive.

"You be dem youshef!" shrieked Walkandnyam--"and de red wadding be dem!"

as he took a screw, and hooked out, not a cartridge certainly, but his own nightcap, full of yams and salt fish, smashed into a paste by Jericho's rammer.

In the frenzy of his rage, he dashed this into his opponent's face, and they both stripped in a second. Separating several yards, they levelled their heads like two telescopes on stands, and ran b.u.t.t at each other like ram-goats, and quite as odoriferous, making the welkin ring again as their flint-hard skulls cracked together. Finding each other invulnerable in this direction, they closed, and began scrambling and biting and kicking, and tumbling over and over in the sand; while the skipper and I stood by cheering them on, and nearly suffocated with laughter. They never once struck with their closed fists I noticed; so they were not much hurt. It was great cry and little wool; and at length they got tired, and hauled off by mutual consent, finishing off as usual with an appeal to us--"beg one feepenny, ma.s.sa!"

At six o'clock we drove to Mr Pepperpot Wagtail's. The party was a bachelor's one, and, when we walked up the front steps, there was our host in person, standing to receive us at the door; while, on each side of him, there were five or six of his visitors, all sitting with their legs c.o.c.ked up, their feet resting on a sort of surbase, above which the jealousies, or movable blinds of the piazza, were fixed.

I was introduced to the whole party seriatim--and as each of the c.o.c.k legs dropped his trams, he started up, caught hold of my hand, and wrung it as if I had been his dearest and oldest friend.

Were I to designate Jamaica as a community, I would call it a handshaking people. I have often laughed heartily upon seeing two cronies meeting in the streets of Kingston after a temporary separation; when about pistol-shot asunder, both would begin to tug and rug at the right-hand glove, but it is frequently a mighty serious affair in that hissing hot climate to get the gauntlet off; they approach,--one, a smart urbane little man, who would not disgrace St James's Street, being more kiln-dried and less moist in his corporeals than his country friend, has contrived to extract his paw, and holds it out in act to shake.

"Ah! how do you do, Ratoon?" quoth the Kingston man.

"Quite well, Shingle," rejoins the gloved, a stout red-faced sudoriferous yam-fed planter, dressed in blue-white jean trowsers and waistcoat, with long Hessian boots drawn up to his knee over the former, and a spannew square-skirted blue coatee, with lots of clear bra.s.s b.u.t.tons: a broad brimmed black silk hat, worn white at the edge of the crown--wearing a very small neckcloth, above which shoots up an enormous shirt collar, the peaks of which might serve for winkers to a starting horse, and carrying a large whip in his hand--"Quite well, my dear fellow," while he persists in dragging at it--the other h.o.m.o all the while standing in the absurd position of a finger-post--at length off comes the glove--piecemeal perhaps--a finger first, for instance--then a thumb--at length they tackle to, and shake each other like the very devil--not a sober pump-handle shake, but a regular jiggery jiggery, as if they were trying to dislocate each other's arms--and, confound them, even then they don't let go--they cling like sucker fish, and talk and wallop about, and throw themselves back and laugh, and then another jiggery jiggery.

On horseback, this custom is conspicuously ridiculous--I have nearly gone into fits at beholding two men careering along the road at a hand gallop each on a goodish horse, with his negro boy astern of him on a mule, in clean frock and trowsers, and smart glazed hat with broad gold band, with ma.s.sa's umbrella in a leathem case slung across his shoulders, and his portmanteau behind him on a mail pillion covered with a snow white sheep's fleece--suddenly they pull up on recognising each other, when, tucking their whips under their arms, or crossing them in their teeth, it may be they commence the rugging and riving operation.

In this case, Shingle's bit of blood swerves, we may a.s.sume--Ratoon rides at him--Shingle fairly turns tail, and starts out at full speed, Ratoon thundering in his rear, with out-stretched arm; and it does happen, I am a.s.sured, that the hot pursuit often continues for a mile, before the desired clapperclaw is obtained. But when two l.u.s.ty planters meet on horseback, then indeed Greek meets Greek. They, begin the interview by shouting to each other, while fifty yards off, pulling away at the gloves all the while--"How are you, Canetop?--glad to see you, Canetop. How do you do, I hope."--"How are you, Yamfu, my dear fellow?"

their horses fretting and jumping all the time--and if the Jack Spaniards or gadflies be rife, they have, even when denuded for the shake, to spur at each other, more like a Knight Templar and a Saracen charging in mortal combat, than two men merely struggling to be civil; an after all they have often to get their black servants alongside to hold their horses, for shake they must, were they to break their necks in the attempt. Why they won't shake hands with their gloves on, I am sure I can't tell. It would be much cooler and nicer--lots of Scotchmen in the community too.

This hand-shaking, however, was followed by an invitation to dinner from each individual in the company. I looked at Captain Transom, as much as to say, "Can they mean us to take them at their word?" He nodded.

"We are sorry, that being under orders to go to sea on Sunday morning, neither Mr Cringle nor myself can have the pleasure of accepting such kind invitations."

"Well, when you come back you know--one day you must give me."

"And I won't be denied," quoth a second.

"Liberty Hall, you know, so to me you must come, no ceremony," said a third--and so on.

At length, no less a man drove up to the door, than Judge----. When he drew up, his servant, who was sitting behind on a small projection of the ketureen, came round and took a parcel out of the gig, closely wrapped in a blanket--"Bring that carefully in, Leonidas," said the Judge, who now stumped up stairs with a small saw in his hand. He received the parcel, and, laying it down carefully in a corner, he placed the saw on it, and then came up and shook hands with Wagtail, and made his bow very gracefully.

"What--can't you do without your ice and sour claret yet?" said Wagtail.

"Never mind, never mind," said the Judge; and here dinner being announced, we all adjourned to the dining room, where a very splendid entertainment was set out, to which we set to, and in the end, as it will appear, did the utmost justice to it.

The wines were most exquisite. Madeira, for instance, never can be drunk in perfection anywhere out of the Tropics. You may have the wine as good at home, although I doubt it, but then you have not the climate to drink it in--I would say the same of most of the delicate French wines--that is, those that will stand the voyage--Burgundy of course not included; but never mind, let us get along.

All the decanters were covered with cotton bags, kept wet with saltpetre and water, so that the evaporation carried on powerfully by the stream of air that flowed across the room, through the open doors and windows, made the fluids quite as cool as was desirable to worthies sitting luxuriating with the thermometer at 80 or thereby; yet, from the free current, I was in no way made aware of this degree of heat by any oppressive sensation; and I found in the West Indies as well as in the East, although the wind in the latter is more dry and parching, that a current of heated air, if it be moderately dry, even with the thermometer at 95 in the shade, is really not so enervating or oppressive as I have found it in the stagnating atmosphere on the sunny side of Pall Mall, with the mercury barely at 75. A cargo of ice had a little before this arrived at Kingston, and at first all the inhabitants who could afford it iced every thing, wine, water, cold meats, fruits, and the Lord knows what all, tea, I believe, amongst other things; (by the way, I have tried this, and it is a luxury of its kind;) but the regular old stagers, who knew what was what, and had a regard for their interiors, soon began to eschew the ice in every way, saving and expecting to cool the water they washed their thin faces and hands in; so we had no ice, nor did we miss it, but the judge had a plateful of chips on the table before him, one of which he every now and then popped into his long thin bell-gla.s.s of claret, diluting it, I should have thought, in rather a heathenish manner; but n'importe, he worked away, sawing off pieces now and then from the large lump in the blanket, (to save the tear and wear attending a fracture,) which was handed to him by his servant, so that by eleven o'clock at night, allowing for the water, he must have concealed his three bottles of pure claret, besides garnishing with a lot of white wines. In fine, we all carried on astonishingly, some good singing was given, a practical joke was tried on now and then by Fyall, and we continued mighty happy. As to the singing part of it,--the landlord, with a bad voice, and worse ear, opened the rorytory, by volunteering a very extraordinary squeak; fortunately it was not very long, but it gave him a plea to screw a song out of his right-hand neighbour, who in turn acquired the same right of compelling the person next to him to make a fool of himself; at last it came to Transom, who, by the by, sung exceedingly well, but he had got more wine than usual, and essayed the coquette a bit.

"Bring the wet nightcap!" quoth our host.

"Oh, it is that you are at?" said Transom, and he sung as required; but it was all pearls before swine, I fear.

At last we stuck fast at Fyall. Music! there was not one particle in his whole composition; so the wet nightcap already impended over him, when I sung out, "Let him tell a story, Mr Wagtail! Let him tell a story!"

"Thank you, Tom," said Fyall; "I owe you a good turn for that, my boy."

"Fyall's story--Mr Fyall's story!" resounded on all hands. Fyall, glad to escape the song and wet nightcap, instantly began.

"Why, my friends, you all know Isaac Grimm, the Jew snuff merchant and cigar maker, in Harbour Street. Well, Isaac had a brother, Ezekiel by name, who carried on business in Curacao; you may have heard of him too.

Ezekiel was often down here for the purpose of laying in provisions, and purchasing dry goods. You all know that?"

"Certainly!" shouted both Captain Transom and myself in a breath, although we had never heard of him before.

"Hah, I knew it!"--Well then, Ezekiel was very rich; he came down in August last, in the Pickle schooner, and, as bad luck would have it, he fell sick of the fever.--"Isaac," quoth Ezekiel, "I am wery sheek; I tink I shall tie." "Hope note, dear proder; you hab no vife, nor shildir; pity you should tie, Ezekiel. Ave you make your vill, Ezekiel?"

"Yesh; de vill is make. I leavish every ting to you, Isaac, on von condition, dat you send my pody to be bury in Curacao. I love dat place; twenty years since I lef de Minories, all dat time I cheat dere, and tell lie dere, and lif dere happily. Oh, you most sent my pody for its puryment to Curacao!" "I will do dat, mine proder." "Den I depart in peace, dear Isaac;" and the Israelite was as good as his word for once.

He did die. Isaac, according to his promise, applied to the captains of several schooners; none of them would take the dead body. "What shall I do?" thought Isaac, "de monish mosh not be loss." So he straightway had Ezekiel (for even a Jew won't keep long in that climate) cut up and packed with pickle into two barrels, marked, "Prime mess pork, Leicester, M'Call and Co. Cork" He then shipped the same in the Fan Fan, taking bills of lading in accordance with the brand, deliverable to Mordecai Levi of Curacao, to whom he sent the requisite instructions.

The vessel sailed. Off St Domingo she carried away a mast, tried to fetch Carthagena under a jury-spar--fell to leeward, and finally brought up at Honduras.

Three months after, Isaac encountered the master of the schooner in the streets of Kingston. "Ah, mine goot captain--how is you you lookish tin ave you been sheek?" "No, Moses I am well enough, thank you--poor a bit, but sound in health, thank G.o.d. You have heard of my having carried away the mainmast, and, after kicking about fifteen days on short allowance, having been obliged to bear up for Honduras?" "I know noting of all dat," said Isaac; "sorry for it, captain--very sad inteed"

"Sad--you may say that, Moses. But I am honest although poor, and here is your bill of lading for your two barrels of provisions; Prime mess, it says d.a.m.ned tough, say I--Howsomedever," pulling out his purse, "the present value on Bogle, Jopp, and Co's. wharf is L.5, 6s. 8d. the barrel; so there are two doubloons, Moses, and now discharge the account on the back of the bill of lading, will you?" "Vy should I take payment, captain? if de"--(pork stuck in his throat like 'amen' in Macbeth,) "if de barrel ish lost, it can't be help--de act of G.o.d, you know." "I am an honest man, Isaac," continued the captain, "although a poor one, and I must tell the truth--we carried on with our own as long as it lasted, at length we had to break bulk, and your two barrels being nearest the hatchway, why we ate them first, that's all. Lord, what has come over you?"--Isaac grew pale as a corpse.--"Oh, mine Got--mine poor proder, dat you ever was live, to tie in Jamaic--Oh tear, oh tear!"

"Did they eat the head and hands and--"

"Hold your tongue, Tom Cringle, don't interrupt me; you did not eat them; I tell it as it was told to me. So Isaac Grimm," continued Fyall, "was fairly overcome; the kindly feelings of his nature were at length stirred up, and as he turned away, he wept--blew his nose hard, like a Chaldean trumpet in the new moon--and while the large tears coursed each other down his care-worn cheeks, he exclaimed, wringing the captain's hand, in a voice tremulous and scarcely audible from extreme emotion,"