Part 14 (1/2)
”An' so you expec's they're goin' to make you a king for all that?”
”Yis, dat is fat me 'xpec's, for our old king be just dead; but dey nebber tell who dey going to make king till dey do it. I not more sure ob it dan the n.i.g.g.e.r dat walk dare before you.”
Neepeelootambo pointed as he spoke to a negro who certainly had a more kingly aspect than any native they had yet seen. He was a perfect giant, considerably above six feet high, and broad in proportion. He wore no clothing on the upper part of his person, but his legs were encased in a pair of old canvas trousers, which had been made for a man of ordinary stature, so that his huge bony ankles were largely exposed to view.
Just as Phil and Rokens stopped to take a good look at him before pa.s.sing on, a terrific yell issued from the bushes, and instantly after, a negro ran towards the black giant and administered to him a severe kick on the thigh, following it up with a cuff on the side of the head, at the same time howling something in the native tongue, which our friends of course did not understand. This man was immediately followed by three other blacks, one of whom pulled the giant's hair, the other pulled his nose, and the third spat in his face!
It is needless to remark that the sailors witnessed this unprovoked a.s.sault with unutterable amazement. But the most remarkable part of it was, that the fellow, instead of knocking all his a.s.sailants down, as he might have done without much trouble, quietly submitted to the indignities heaped upon him; nay, he even smiled upon his tormentors, who increased in numbers every minute, running out from among the bushes and surrounding the unoffending man, and uttering wild shouts as they maltreated him.
”Wot's he bin doin'?” inquired Rokens, turning to his black companion.
But Rokens received no answer, for Neepeelootambo was looking on at the scene with an expression so utterly woe-begone and miserable that one would imagine he was himself suffering the rough usage he witnessed.
”Arrah! ye don't appear to be chairful,” said Briant, laughing, as he looked in the negro's face. ”This is a quare counthrie, an' no mistake;--it seems to be always blowin' a gale o' surprises. Wot's wrong wid ye, b.u.mble?”
The negro groaned.
”Sure that may be a civil answer, but it's not o' much use. Hallo! what air they doin' wid the poor cratur now?”
As he spoke the crowd seized the black giant by the arms and neck and hair, and dragged him away towards the village, leaving our friends in solitude.
”A very purty little scene,” remarked Phil Briant when they were out of sight; ”very purty indade, av we only knowed wot it's all about.”
If the surprise of the two sailors was great at what they had just witnessed, it was increased tenfold by the subsequent behaviour of their negro companion.
That eccentric individual suddenly checked his groans, gave vent to a long, deep sigh, and a.s.suming a resigned expression of countenance, rose up and said--”Ho! It all ober now, ma.s.sa.”
”I do believe,” remarked Rokens, looking gravely at his s.h.i.+pmate, ”that the feller's had an attack of the mollygrumbles, an's got better all of a suddint.”
”No, ma.s.sa, dat not it. But me willin' to go wid you now to de sea.”
”Eh? willin' to go? Why, Nippi-Too-c.u.mble, wot a rum customer you are, to be sure!”
”Yis, ma.s.sa,” rejoined the negro. ”Me not goin' to be king now, anyhow; so it ob no use stoppin' here. Me go to sea.”
”Not goin' to be king? How d'ye know that?”
”'Cause dat oder n.i.g.g.e.r, him be made king in a berry short time. You mus' know, dat w'en dey make wan king in dis here place, de peeple choose de man; but dey not let him know. He may guess if him please-- like me--but p'raps him guess wrong--like me! Ho! ho! Den arter dey fix on de man, dey run at him and kick him, as you hab seen dem do, and spit on him, and trow mud ober him, tellin' him all de time, `You no king yet, you black rascal; you soon be king, and den you may put your foots on our necks and do w'at you like, but not yit; take dat, you tief!' An' so dey 'buse him for a littel time. Den dey take him straight away to de palace and crown him, an', oh! arter dat dey become very purlite to him. Him know dat well 'nuff, and so him not be angry just now. Ah! me did 'xpec, to hab bin kick and spitted on dis berry day!”
Poor Neepeelootambo uttered the last words in such a deeply touching tone, and seemed to be so much cast down at the thought that his chance of being ”kicked and spitted upon” had pa.s.sed away for ever, that Phil Briant burst into a hearty fit of laughter, and Tim Rokens exhibited symptoms of internal risibility, though his outward physiognomy remained unchanged.
”Och! b.u.mble, you'll be the death o' me,” cried Briant. ”An' are they a-crownin' of him now?”
”Yis, ma.s.sa. Dat what dey go for to do jist now.”
”Troth, then, I'll go an' inspict the coronation. Come along, b.u.mble, me darlint, and show us the way.”
In a few minutes Neepeelootambo conducted his new friends into a large rudely-constructed hut, which was open on three sides and thatched with palm-leaves. This was the palace before referred to by him. Here they found a large concourse of negroes, whose main object at that time seemed to be the creation of noise; for besides yelling and hooting, they beat a variety of native drums, some of which consisted of bits of board, and others of old tin and copper kettles. Forcing their way through the noisy throng they reached the inside of the hut, into which they found that Ailie Dunning and Glynn Proctor had pushed their way before them. Giving them a nod of recognition, they sat down on a mat by their side to watch the proceedings, which by this time were nearly concluded.
The new king--who was about to fill the throne rendered vacant by the recent death of the old king of that region--was seated on an elevated stool looking very dignified, despite the rough ordeal through which he had just pa.s.sed. When the noise above referred to had calmed down, an old grey-headed negro rose and made a speech in the language of the country, after which he advanced and crowned the new king, who had already been invested in a long scarlet coat covered with tarnished gold lace, and cut in the form peculiar to the last century. The crown consisted of an ordinary black silk hat, considerably the worse for wear. It looked familiar and commonplace enough in the eyes of their white visitors; but, being the only specimen of the article in the district, it was regarded by the negroes with peculiar admiration, and deemed worthy to decorate the brows of royalty.