THE two supple dusky forms went whirling so fast, there was no grasping them to part them. But presently the negro seized the Hindoo by the throat; the Hindoo just pricked him in the arm with his knife, and the next moment his own head was driven against the side of the cabin with a stunning crack, and there he was, pinned, and wriggling, and bluish with fright, whereas the other swart face close against his was dark-grey with rage, and its two fireballs of eyes rolled fearfully, as none but African eyes can roll.
Fullalove pacified him by voice and touch; he withdrew his iron grasp with sullen and lingering reluctance, and glared like a disappointed mastiff: The cabin was now full, and Sharpe was for putting both the blacks in irons. No splitter of hairs was he. But Fullalove suggested there might be a moral distinction between things that looked equally dark to the eye.
“Well, then, speak quick, both of you,” said Sharpe, “or I’ll lay ye both by the heels. Ye black scoundrels, what business have you in the captain’s cabin, kicking up the devil’s delight?”
Thus threatened, Vespasian panted out his tale; he had discovered this nigger, as he persisted in calling the Hindoo, eternally prowling about the good captain’s door, and asking stupid questions: he had watched him, and, on the surgeon coming out with the good news that the captain was better, in had crawled “this yar abominable egotisk.” And he raised a ponderous fist to point the polysyllables: with this aid the sarcasm would doubtless have been crushing; but Fullalove hung on the sable orator’s arm, and told him drily to try and speak without gesticulating. “The darned old cuss,” said Vespasian, with a pathetic sigh at not being let hit him. He resumed and told how he had followed the Hindoo stealthily, and found him with a knife uplifted over the captain — a tremor ran through all present — robbing him. At this a loud murmur filled the room; a very ugly one, the sort of snarl with which dogs fly at dogs’ throats with their teeth, and men fly at men’s throats with a cord.
“Be quiet,” said Sharpe imperiously. “I’ll have no lynching in a vessel I command. Now then, you, sir, how do you know he was robbing the captain?”
“How do I know! Yah! yah! Cap’n, if you please you tell dis unskeptical gemman whether you don’t miss a lilly book out of your bosom!”
During this extraordinary scene, Dodd had been looking from one speaker to another in great surprise and some confusion; but at the negro’s direct appeal, his hand went to his breast and clutched it with a feeble but heartrending cry.
“Oh, him not gone far. Yah! yah!” and Vespasian stooped, and took up an oilskin packet off the floor, and laid it on the bed. “Dis child seen him in dat ar niggar’s hand, and heard him go whack on de floor.”
Dodd hurried the packet into his bosom, then turned all gratitude to his sable friend: “Now God bless you! God bless you! Give me your honest hand! You don’t know what you have done for me and mine.”
And, sick as he was, he wrung Vespasian’s hand with convulsive strength, and would not part with it. Vespasian patted him soothingly all over, and whimpered out: “Nebber you mind, cap’n! You bery good man: this child bery fond of you a long time ago. You bery good man, outrageous good man! dam good man! I propose your health: invalesee directly!”
While Dodd was speaking, the others were silent out of respect; but now Sharpe broke in, and, with the national desire to hear both sides, called on Ramgolam for his version. The Hindoo was now standing with his arms crossed on his breast, looking all the martyr, meek and dignified. He inquired of Sharpe, in very broken English, whether he spoke Hindostanee.
“Not I: nor don’t act it neither,” said Sharpe.
At this confession Ramgolam looked down on him with pity and mild contempt.
Mr. Tickell was put forward as interpreter.
Ramgolam (in Hindostanee). He whom Destiny, too strong for mortals, now oppresses with iron hand and feeds with the bread of affliction ——
Mr. Tickell (translating). He who by bad luck has got into trouble ——
Ramgolam. Has long observed the virtues that embellish the commander of this ship resembling a mountain, and desired to imitate them ——
Tickell. Saw what a good man the captain is, and wanted to be like him ——
Vespasian. The darned old cuss.
Ramgolam. Seeing him often convey his hand to his bosom, I ascribed his unparalleled excellence to the possession of some sovereign talisman. (Tickell managed to translate this sentence all but the word talisman, which he rendered — with all a translator’s caution —“article.”) Finding him about to depart to the regions of the blessed, where such auxiliaries are not needed, and being eager to emulate his perfections here below, I came softly to the place where he lay ——
Tickell. When I saw him going to slip his cable, I wanted to be as good a fellow as he is, so I crept alongside ——
Ramgolam. And gently, and without force, made myself proprietor of the amulet and inheritor of a good man’s qualities ——
Tickell. And quietly boned the article, and the captain’s virtues. I don’t know what the beggar means.
Ramgolam. Then a traitor with a dark skin, but darker soul ——
Tickell. Then another black-hearted nigger ——
Ramgolam. Came furiously and misappropriated the charm thus piously obtained ——
Tickell. Ran in and stole it from me.
Ramgolam. And bereft me of the excellences I was inheriting: and —
Here Sharpe interrupted the dialogue by putting the misappropriator of other men’s virtues in irons, and the surgeon insisted on the cabin being cleared. But Dodd would not part with the three friends yet; he begged them to watch him, and see nobody else came to take his children’s fortune.
“I’ll sink or swim with it; but oh! I doubt we shall have no luck while it is aboard me. I never had a pirate alongside before, in all these years. What is this? — here’s something in it now — something hard — something heavy: and — why, it’s a bullet!”
On this announcement, an eager inspection took place: and, sure enough, a bullet had passed through Dodd’s coat and waistcoat, &c., and through the oilskin and the leather pocketbook, and just dented the “Hard Cash;” no more.
There was a shower of comments and congratulations.
The effect of this discovery on the sick man’s spirits was remarkable. “I was a villain to belie it,” said he. “It is my wife’s and my children’s, and it has saved my life for them.”
He kissed it and placed it in his bosom, and soon after sunk into a peaceful slumber. The excitement had not the ill effect the surgeon feared: it somewhat exhausted him, and he slept long; but on awakening, was pronounced out of danger. To tell the truth, the tide had turned in his favour overnight, and it was to convey the good news on deck the surgeon had left him.
While Dodd was recovering, the Agra was beating westward with light but contrary winds, and a good month elapsed without any incident affecting the Hard Cash, whose singular adventures I have to record. In this dearth, please put up with a little characteristic trifle, which did happen one moonlight night. Mr. Fullalove lay coiled below decks in deep abstraction meditating a patent; and being in shadow and silent, he saw Vespasian in the moonlight creeping on all fours like a guilty thing into the bedroom of Colonel Kenealy, then fast asleep. A horrible suspicion thrilled through Fullalove: a suspicion he waited grimly to verify.
The transatlantic Mixture, Fullalove, was not merely an inventor, a philanthrope, a warrior, a preacher, a hunter, a swimmer, a fiddler, a sharp fellow, a good fellow, a Puritan, and a Bohemian; he was also a Theorist: and his Theory, which dub we
THE AFRICAN THEORY,
had two branches. 1. That the races of men started equal; but accident upon accident had walked some tribes up a ladder of civilisation, and kicked others down it, and left others, standing at the foot.
2. That the good work of centuries could be done, at a pinch, in a few generations, by artificial condensation of the favourable circumstances. For instance, secure this worker in Ebony 150 years’ life, and he would sign a penal bond to produce Negroes of the fourth descent equal in mind to the best contemporary white. “You can breed Brains,” said he, “under any skin, as inevitably as Fat. It takes time and the right crosses; but so does Fat — or rather it did; for Fat is an institution now.” And here our Republican must have a slap at thrones. “Compare,” said he, “the opportunities of these distinguished Gentlemen and Ladies with their acts. Their seats have been high, but their minds low, I swan. They have been breeders for ages, and known the two rudiments of the science; have crossed and crossed for grenadiers, racehorses, poultry, and prize-bullocks; and bred in and in for fools; but which of them has ever aspired to breed a Newton, a Pascal, a Shakespeare, a Solon, a Raphael? Yet all these were results to be obtained by the right crosses, as surely as a swift horse or a circular sow. Now fancy breeding shorthorns when you might breed long heads.” So Vespasian was to engender Young Africa; he was to be first elevated morally and intellectually as high as he would go, and then set to breed; his partner, of course, to be elected by Fullalove, and educated as high as she would consent to without an illicit connection with the Experimentalist. He would be down on their Pickaninnies before the parents could transfer the remnant of their own weaknesses to them, polysyllables included, and would polish these ebony chips; and at the next cross reckoned to rear a genius, by which time, as near as he could calculate, he the Theorist would be in his dotage: and all the better; make a curious contrast in favour of Young Africa.
Vespasian could not hit a barn door sitting — with a rifle! it was purely with a view to his moral improvement mind you, that Fullalove invited him into the mizentop to fight the pirate. The Patient came gingerly and shivered there with fear. But five minutes elapsing, and he not killed, that weakness gave way to a jocund recklessness; and he kept them all gay with his quaint remarks, of which I must record but one. When they crossed the stern of the pirate, the distance was so small that the faces of that motley crew were plainly visible. Now, Vespasian was a merciless critic of coloured skins. “Wal,” said he, turning up his nose sky-high, “dis child never seen such a mixallaneous biling ‘o darkies as this yar; why darned ef there ain’t every colour in the rainbow, from the ace of spades, down to the fine dissolving views.” This amazing description, coupled with his look of affront and disgust, made the white men roar; for men fighting for their lives have a greater tendency to laugh than one would think possible. Fullalove was proud of the critic, and for a while lost sight of the pirate in his theory; which also may seem strange. But your true theorist is a man apart: he can withdraw into himself under difficulties. What said one of the breed two thousand years ago?
“Media inter praelia semper
Sideribus coelique plagis Superisque vacavi.”
Oh, the great African heart!” said Fullalove after the battle. “By my side he fears no danger. Of all men, negroes are the most capable of friendship; their affection is a mine: and we have only worked it with the lash; and that is a ridiculous mining tool, I rather think.”
When Vespasian came out so strong versus Ramgolam, Fullalove was even more triumphant: for after all it is not so much the heart as the intelligence of the negro we albiculi affect to doubt.
“Oh, the great African intellect!” said Fullalove publicly, taking the bull by the horns.
“I know,” said Mrs. Beresford maliciously; “it is down in the maps as the great African Desert.”
To balance his many excellences Vespasian had an infirmity. This was an ungovernable itch for brushing whites. If he was talking with one of that always admired, and now beloved, race, and saw a speck of dirt on him, he would brush him unobtrusively, but effectually, in full dialogue: he would steal behind a knot of whites and brush whoever needed it, however little. Fullalove remonstrated, but in vain; on this one point Instinct would not yield to Reason. He could not keep his hands off a dusty white. He would have died of the Miller of Dee. But the worst was he did not stop at clothes; he loathed ill-blacked shoes. Woe to all foot-leather that did not shine; his own skin furnished a perilous standard of comparison. He was eternally blacking boots en amateur. Fullalove got in a rage at this, and insisted on his letting his fellow-creatures’ leather alone. Vespasian pleaded hard, especially for leave to black Colonel Kenealy. “The cunnell,” said he pathetically, “is such a tarnation fine gentleman spoilt for want of a lilly bit of blacking.” Fullalove replied that the colonel had got a servant whose mission it was to black his shoes. This simply amused Vespasian. “A servant?” said he. “Yah! yah! What is the use of white servants? They are not biddable. Massa Fullalove, sar, Goramighty he reared all white men to kick up a dust, white servants inspecially, and the darkies to brush ’em; and likewise additionally to make their boots she a lilly bit.” He concluded with a dark hint that the colonel’s white servant’s own shoes, though better blacked than his master’s, were anything but mirrors, and that this child had his eye on them.
The black desperado emerged on tiptoe from Kenealy’s cabin, just as Macbeth does from the murdered Duncan’s chamber: only with a pair of boots in his hand instead of a pair of daggers; got into the moonlight, and finding himself uninterrupted, assumed the whistle of innocence, and polished them to the nine, chuckling audibly.
Fullalove watched him with an eye like a rattlesnake, but kept quiet. He saw interference would only demoralise him worse: for it is more ignoble to black boots clandestinely, than bravely; men ditto.
He relieved his heart with idioms. “Darn the critter, he’s fixed my flint eternally. Now I cave. I swan to man. I may just hang up my fiddle; for this darkie’s too hard a row to hoe.”
It was but a momentary dejection. The Mixture was (inter alia) a Theorist and an Anglo–Saxon; two indomitables. He concluded to temporise with the Brush, and breed it out.
“I’m bound to cross the obsequious cuss with the catawamptiousest gal in Guinea, and one that never saw a blacking bottle, not even in a dream.” Majora canamus.
Being now about a hundred miles south of the Mauritius, in fine weather with a light breeze, Dodd’s marine barometer began to fall steadily; and by the afternoon the declension had become so remarkable, that he felt uneasy, and, somewhat to the surprise of the crew — for there was now scarce a breath of air — furled his slight sails, treble reefed his topsails, had his top-gallant and royal yards and gaff topsail bent on deck, got his flying jib-boom in, &c., and made the ship snug.
Kenealy asked him what was the matter?
“Barometer going down; moon at the full; and Jonah aboard,” was the reply, uttered doggedly.
Kenealy assured him it was a beautiful evening, precursor of a fine day. “See how red the sunset is.
‘Evening red and morning grey
Are the sure signs of a fine day.’”
Dodd looked, and shook his head. The sun was red, but the wrong red: an angry red: and, as he dipped into the wave, discharged a lurid coppery hue that rushed in a moment like an embodied menace over the en............