Part 22 (2/2)

Here we had a rare time of it for a week, it being Christmastide, and the inhabitants, who are English to the backbone, black, mongrel, and copper-coloured, as well as white, keeping up that festival with like enthusiasm to what we do at home.

As at Madeira, the s.h.i.+p's company were allowed leave to go on sh.o.r.e, watch and watch in turn: so, belonging as we both did to the starboard division, Mick and I were amongst those who had the first go-off.

I recollect, as if it were but yesterday, our landing alongside the jetty on the carenage, right in front of one of Da Costa's big warehouses, whose green jalousies relieved the effect of the staring white building under the hot West Indian sun; the glare of which, cast back by the rippling translucent water that laved the stone jetty, through which one could see the little fishes gliding about as clearly as in the Brighton Aquarium, almost blinded us with its intensity.

There were a lot of negro women hanging round the wharf in front of Da Costa's place, all of whom had big baskets, either balanced on their heads or put down on the ground by their side, which were filled with huge melons and pine-apples and bananas, besides many other tropical fruits the names of which are unknown to me.

Of course, we made for these at once; and there was a lot of chaffering and bargaining between our fellows and the negresses, who were all laughing and showing their white teeth, trying their best to wheedle the 'man-o'-war buckras' to buy their luscious wares at double the price, probably, such would fetch in open market from regular customers in Bridgetown.

Presently, we all got skylarking and pitching the fruit about; when a big mulatto, who was along with one of the fruit-sellers--her husband most likely and doing nothing just as likely, like most of his colour, for the household of which he was the head, save to collect the money his better half in every respect earned--seemed very much aggrieved at some damage Mick did to a bunch of ripe bananas, claiming a 'bit' or fourpence as compensation.

Mick, who, you must know, had grown a strapping fellow by now, took the tawny-complexioned gentleman's demand very good-humouredly.

”All roight, ould Patchwork,” he called out, with a laugh. ”Thare's a sh.e.l.lin' fur ye, which is more, bedad, than yer howl sthock-in-thrade is worth! Changee fur changee, black dog fur whoite moonkey, sure, as my ould fayther used fur to say!”

Whatever mollifying effect the sight of the silver coin might have produced on the mulatto's mind was entirely swamped by Mick's unfortunate quotation from his paternal archives.

”Say, you sailor buckra, who dat you call one black dog, hi!” said he, coming up to my chum in a threatening manner, brandis.h.i.+ng his arms and working his head about like a teetotum in a fit. ”I'se no n.i.g.g.ah slabe, you white tras.h.!.+ I'se free 'Badian born, an' 'low no man make joke ob me!”

Mick roused up in a minute.

”Faith, ye oogly yaller-faced raskil,” he cried, putting up his fists in the scientific way we had learnt from long practice on board with the gloves under our gymnasium instructor, ”Oi'll knock ye into the middle of nixt Soonday wake, ef ye don't kape a civil toongue in yer hid an'

put yer owld dhrumsticks behint ye!”

Instead of acting on Mick's advice, however, the mulatto, screaming with rage, and his whole face distorted with pa.s.sion, made a wild rush at him, trying to b.u.t.t him in the stomach.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

”REEF TOPSAILS!”

”A ring! A ring! Form a ring, all you Actives!” shouted out Mr Jones the signalman, who had come ash.o.r.e with us, wis.h.i.+ng to see the battle between our representative and the darkey conducted in regular s.h.i.+pshape fas.h.i.+on, in accordance with the rules observed in polite pugilistic circles at home. ”Form a ring, my lads, and let 'em fight it out fair.

If any of them blooming n.i.g.g.e.rs tries to h'interfere, boys, you jest fetch 'em a crack on the s.h.i.+ns with yer dancing pumps; it's no good trying to hit 'em on their n.o.bs, as they're made of the same stuff of the cocoa-nuts, and you might hit at 'em till doomsday without ever their feelin' on it, jist the same as if ye were hammerin' at the watertight bulkhead forrud!”

No sooner said than done.

With the help of the other bluejackets who had come ash.o.r.e with us in the second cutter, the ring which the signalman suggested was at once formed, our chaps artfully manoeuvring so as to shut out all the black and coloured gentry who instantly flocked to the scene of action, the news of the fight having got abroad in some mysterious way or other.

Before this had been done, however, Mick Donovan received and repulsed the mulatto's first onslaught in a highly satisfactory manner for our side.

Lifting his left knee suddenly as the infuriated beggar rushed in upon him in catapult fas.h.i.+on, with his body doubled and his head bent low, Mick at the same time, with all the force of his good right arm, struck downwards at the darkey's exposed ear, which was about the size of a small plate, catching him thus between his knee and fist like a piece of iron a blacksmith might be at work on at the forge beaten flat between hammer and anvil.

Result--down dropped the mulatto as if he were a felled ox!

”Hooray!” yelled out all the Actives; while there was a groan and a rush from the surrounding compatriots of Mick's opponent to pick up their champion. ”Give the bloomin' n.i.g.g.e.r fits, me boy! You've pretty nearly done for him already.”

But, the mulatto was not by any means settled yet.

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