Part 29 (2/2)

Fullalove referred her--with humour-twinkling eye--to Vespasian. ”I have a friend here who says he can tell you something about him.”

”Can you, my good man?” inquired the lady, turning haughtily towards the negro.

”Iss, Missy,” said Vespasian, showing his white teeth in a broad grin, ”dis child knows where to find dat ar n.i.g.g.ar, widout him been and absquatulated since.”

”Then go and fetch him directly.”

Vespasian went off with an obedient start.

This annoyed Fullalove; interfered with his system: ”Madam,” said he gravely, ”would you oblige me by bestowing on my friend a portion of that courtesy with which you favour me, and which becomes you so gracefully?”

”Certainly not,” replied Mrs. Beresford. ”Mr. Fullalove, I am out of patience with you: the idea of a sensible intelligent gentleman like you calling that creature your friend! And you an American, where they do nothing but whip them from morning till night. Who ever heard of making friends with a black?--Now what is the meaning of this? I detest practical jokes.” For the stalwart negro had returned, bringing a tall bread-bag in his arms: he now set it up before her, remarking, ”Dis yar bag white outside, but him 'nation black inside.” To confirm his words, he drew off the bag, and revealed Ramgolam, his black skin powdered with meal. The good-natured negro then blew the flour off his face, and dusted him a bit: the spectators laughed heartily, but Ramgolam never moved a muscle: not a morsel discomposed at what would have made an European miserably ashamed, even in a pantomime--the Caucasian darkie retained all his dignity while the African one dusted him; but, being dusted, he put on his obsequiousness, stepped forward, joined his palms together to Mrs. Beresford--like medieval knights and modern children at their devotions--and addressed her thus:--

”Daughter of light, he who basks in your beams said to himself, 'The pirates are upon us, those children of blood, whom Sheitan their master blast for ever! They will ravish the Queen of Suns.h.i.+ne and the ayahs, and throw the sahibs and sailors into the sea; but, bread being the staff of existence, these foxes of the water will not harm it, but keep it for their lawless appet.i.tes; therefore Ramgolam, son of Chittroo, son of Soonarayan, will put the finger of silence on the lip of discretion, and be bread in the day of adversity: the sons of Sheitan will peradventure return to dry land and close the eye of watchfulness; then will I emerge like the sun from a cloud, and depart in peace.”

”Oh, very well,” said Mrs. Beresford; ”then you are an abominable egotist, that is all, and a coward: and thank Heaven Freddy and I were defended by English and Americans, and--hem!--their friends, and not by Hindoos.” She added charmingly, ”This shows me my first words on coming here ought to have been to offer my warmest thanks to the brave men who have defended me and my child;” and swept them so queenly a curtesy, that the men's hats and caps flew off in an instant ”Mr. Black,” said she, turning with a voice of honey to Vespasian, but aiming obliquely at Fullalove's heart, _”would_ you oblige me by kicking that dog a _little:_ he is always smelling what does not belong to him--why, it is blood; oh!” and she turned pale in a moment.

Sharpe thought some excuse necessary. ”You see, ma'am, we haven't had time to clean the decks since.”

”It is the blood of men--of the poor fellows who have defended us so n.o.bly,” faltered the lady, trembling visibly.

”Well, ma'am,” said Sharpe, still half apologetically, ”you know a s.h.i.+p can't fight all day long without an accident or two.” He added, with nautical simplicity and love of cleanliness, ”However, the deck will be cleaned and holy-stoned to-morrow, long before you turn out.”

Mrs. Beresford was too much overcome to explain how much deeper her emotion was than a dislike to stained floors. She turned faint, and on getting the better of that, went down to her cabin crying. Thence issued a royal order that the wounded were to have wine and every luxury they could fancy, without limit or stint--at her expense.

The next day a deep gloom reigned in the s.h.i.+p; the crew were ranged in their Sunday clothes and bare-headed; a grating was rigged; Sharpe read the burial service; and the dead, each man sewed up in his hammock with a 32-lb. shot, glided off the grating into the sea with a sullen plunge; while their s.h.i.+pmates cried so that the tears dripped on the deck.

With these regrets for the slain, too violent to last, was mingled a gloomy fear that Death had a heavier blow in store. The surgeon's report of Captain Dodd was most alarming; he had become delirious about midnight, and so continued.

Sharpe commanded the s.h.i.+p; and the rough sailors stepped like cats over that part of the deck beneath which their unconscious captain lay. If two men met on the quarter-deck, a look of anxious, but not hopeful, inquiry was sure to pa.s.s between them.

Among the constant inquirers was Ramgolam. The grave Hindoo often waylaid the surgeon at the captain's door, to get the first intelligence This marked sympathy with a hero in extremity was hardly expected from a sage who at the first note of war's trumpet had vanished in a meal-bag.

However, it went down to his credit. One person, however, took a dark view of this innocent circ.u.mstance But then that hostile critic was Vespasian, a rival in matters of tint. He exploded in one of those droll rages darkies seem liable to: ”Ma.s.sa cunnel,” said he, ”what for dat yar n.i.g.g.ar always prowling about the capn's door? What for he ask so many stupid questions? Dat ole fox arter no good: him heart so black as um skin: dam ole n.i.g.g.ar!”

Fullalove suggested slily that a person with a dark skin might have a grateful heart: and the colonel, who dealt little in innuendo, said, ”Come, don't you be so hard on jet, you ebony!”

”Bery well, gemmen,” replied Vespasian ceremoniously, and with seeming acquiescence. Then, with sudden ire, ”Because Goramighty made you white, you tink you bery wise without any more trouble. Dat ar n.i.g.g.ar am an abominable egotisk.”

”Pray what does that mean?” inquired Kenealy innocently.

”What him mean? what him mean? Yah! yah!”

”Yes. What does it mean?”

”What him mean? Yah! What didn't you hear Missy Besford miscall him an abominable egotisk?”

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