Part 12 (1/2)
”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 a.s.sumed 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 n.i.g.g.e.r, 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_ n.i.g.g.e.rs?”
”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 att.i.tude, 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 cla.s.s, 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 pract.i.tioner 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 s.h.i.+llings, an occasional bottle of poteen, and many a severe thras.h.i.+ng.
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 pa.s.sion.
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.