on the deck, and began to yell and roll over and over, as if he had been in the greatest agony. Presently he jumped on his legs again, and ran and laid hold of the little graven image. He caught it up by the legs, and smashed its head down on the hard deck. "You dam fetish—you false willain, dis what you give me for kill fowl, eh? and tro de blood in you face, eh? and stick fedder in you tail, eh? and put blanket over you shoulder when rain come, and night fog roll over we and make you chilly? What you give me for all dis? You drive me go on board dam footy little Englis cruiser, and give my vife, cost me feefty dallar, to be roast and eat? Oh, Massa Carpenter, do lend me one hax;" and seizing the tool, that had been brought on deck and lay near him, he, at a blow, split open the fetish's head, and continued to mutilate it, until he was forcibly disarmed by some of the men that stood by him.
After this the poor savage walked doggedly about the deck for a minute or two, as if altogether irresolute what to do; at length he dived suddenly below.
"Breakfast is ready, sir," said the boy who acted the part of steward; and Lanyard, having asked me to accompany him, descended to do the honours to his company—rather a large party, by the way, for the size of the small cabin.
We all made the best use of our time for a quarter of an hour; at length little Binnacle broke ground.
"We have been hearing a curious history of this black fellow, sir."
"What was it? Little good of him you could have heard, I should have thought," quoth Sprawl.
"Why, no great harm either," said young De Walden, who now chimed in, with his low, modest, but beautifully pitched voice—"We have had his story at large, sir, this morning, after the decks were holystoned and washed down."
"Come, Master De Walden, give it us then," said I.
"Beg pardon, sir," said the beautiful boy, "no one can do justice to it but himself."
"Shall I call him, sir?" said Mr. Marline.
I looked enquiringly at old Davie Doublepipe, as much as to say, Are those boys quizzing us now? "What say you, Sprawl, eh?"
"Why not, man—why not?" replied my excellent coadjutor. "If it were only to amuse the lads, surely there is no harm in it. But here, give me another cup of coffee—and, Master Marline, the wing of that spitchcock chicken, if you please—Why, Brail, if nothing else thrives in that most damnable Sierra Leone, fowls do."
While the lieutenant was employed in completing his stowage—no regular Stevedor could have gone more scientifically about it—little Binnacle ushered in our dark friend. What a change in his outward man! Where he had got his garments heaven knows, but there was the frantic barbarian of half an hour ago, newly and freshly rigged in a clean pair of duck trowsers, canvass shoes, and a good check shirt, with his never-failing black belt slung across his right shoulder, and supporting the rusty bayonet, already mentioned. He drew himself up at the door, soldier fashion, and put his hand to his cap. The light from the small scuttle above shone down strong on his tatooed countenance, and lit up his steady bronze-like features. I waited in expectation of his speaking. But the talkative savage of yesterday evening had now subsided into the quiet orderly soldier.
"I say, Serjeant Quacco," at length quod Davie Doublepipe, as he finished his ham, and swallowed his last cup of coffee, "we have been hearing from these young gentlemen that you have a story to tell; have you any objections to oblige us with it again?"
This flourish of trumpets was lost on poor Quacco. He stared vacantly, first at one, and then at the other, but remained silent.
"What you tell dem young gentlemen about who you is?" said I.
"Oh," promptly rejoined Serjeant Quacco, "is dat de ting massa dere want to know? I shall tell him over again, if massa choose, but it is one very foolis story."
"Never mind," said I, "let us have it again, by all means."
The poor fellow, after endeavouring to look as serious as possible, and giving sundry hems and haws, and looking unutterable things, as if in doubt whether we were in jest or no, began his story.
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SERJEANT QUACCO.
"Gentlemen," began our dark friend, "I tink it very proper dat you read dis certificate before I say more—proper you should be perswade dat I was one person of consequence, before we proceed farder." Whereupon he handed a small flat tin box to Davie Doublepipe.
"Read, Sprawl," said I—"read."
The lieutenant took off the lid, and produced a ragged piece of paper, which, after some trouble in deciphering, he found to contain the following words:—
"I certify, that the bearer, Corporal Quacco, late of H.M. ——West India regiment, has received his discharge, and a free passage to the coast of Africa, whither he has desired to return, in the first of his Majesty's ships that may touch here, belonging to that station; in consequence of his gallantry and faithful conduct during the late mutiny, wherein Major D—— unfortunately lost his life." I forget the name and rank of the officer who signed it.
"So you see, gentlemen, dat I is Kin's hofficer same as youselves, although on the retired list. Let me tell what you shall hear now. Twenty year ago, I was catch in de Bonny river, and sold to one nice captain from Livapool. He have large ship, too much people in him—a tousand—no—but heap of people. He was nice man, until him get to sea—was debil den—cram we into leetle, small, dam dirty hole—feed we bad—small time we get to breath de fresh air on deck, and plenty iron on we legs, and clanking chain on we neck, and fum, fum—dat is floggee—I sall not say where. But soon we come widin two week of West Indy—ho! food turn wery much better—we get more air—palm oil sarve out to we, to make we skin plump and nice.
"So, to make one long story short, we arrive at Jamaica, and ten of de best-looking of we"—(here the black serjeant drew himself up)—"were pick out—select, you call—by one hofficer, and dat day we were marshed to Fort Augusta, to serve his Majesty as soldiers in de grenadier company of de—— West India regiment. Long time pass over. We all pick up de Englis language—some better, some worser; for all peoples cannot expect to pronounce him so well as Serjeant Quacco."
"Certainly not," said Sprawl.
"And we drill, drill, drill, every day, and marsh and countermarsh, and wheel and halt, until we are quite proficient. I was now one corporal. Cat never touch my back;—never get dronk—dat is, except I know I can lie in hammock widout neglect my duty until I get sober again. My captain say, I was de best man in de company—and I tink so too myself, so de captain must have been right; and some good mans were amongst we, gentlemen—ah, and some wery bad ones also.
"We were, on a certain day, to have great inspection; so de fag, and work, and drill, become double for some time before we expect de general. De idle dogs say, 'What use dis? we quite perfect; no white regiment can manoeuvre better den we.' But I say, 'Never mind, will soon be over, so rest content.'—'Ah,' say one bitter bad fellow—Ogly Jack, dem call him—not wery genteel name, gentlemen, but can't help dat—'Ah,' say Jack, 'if de rest of de regiment was like me, you should see! Soon we should have our own way; and plenty tousand of de poor field-people would soon join us.'—'Ho, ho!' say I, Quacco, 'mutiny dis;—bloody murder and sudden death dis is;—so, Master Ogly Jack, I shall take de small liberty to wash you.' However, de inspection pass over; noting particular happen until de evening, about nine o'clock. De tattoo beat done long time, and I was eating my supper, at de end of de long gallery of de easternmost barrick, wery comfortable; looking out on de white platform below,
