“George William Clarence, by the Grace of God, King of the Mosquito Territory, to our trusty and well-beloved officers and subjects, Greeting! We, by these presents, do give pass and license to Samuel A. Bard Esquire, to go freely through our kingdom, and to dwell therein; and do furthermore exhort and command our well-beloved officers and subjects aforesaid, to give aid and hospitality to the aforesaid Samuel A. Bard Esquire, whom we hold of high esteem and consideration. Given at Bluefields, this —— day of ——, in this the tenth year of our reign.”
(Signed,)
The ejaculations of “King paper! King paper!” were followed by loud shouts of “Capt’n! Capt’n!” while two or three tall fellows ran off in the direction of the huts. I was a little puzzled by the movement, but not long left in doubt as to its object, for, in a few moments, a figure approached, creating hardly less sensation among the people, than he would have done among the “boys” in the Bowery. I at once recognized him as the “Capt’n,” whose title had been so vigorously invoked. He was, to start with, far from being a fine-looking darkey; but all natural deficiencies were more than made up by his dress. He had on a most venerable cocked hat, in which was stuck a long, drooping, red plume, that had lost half of its feathers, looking like the plumes of some rake of a rooster, returning, crestfallen and bedraggled, from an unsuccessful attempt on some powerful neighbor’s harem. His coat was that of a post-captain in the British navy, and his pantaloons were of blue cloth, with a rusty gold stripe running down each side. They were, furthermore, much too short at both ends, leaving an unseemly projection of ankle, as well as a broad strip of dark skin between the waistband and the coat. And when I say that the captain wore no shirt, was rather fat, and his pantaloons deficient in buttons wherewith to keep it appropriately closed in front, the active fancy of the reader may be able to complete the picture. He bore, moreover, a huge cavalry sword, which looked all the more formidable from being bent in several places and very rusty. He came forward with deliberation and gravity, and I advanced to meet him, “king paper” in hand.
CAPTAIN DRUMMER.
When I had got near him, he adjusted himself in position, and compressed his lips, with an affectation of severe dignity. Hardly able to restrain laughing outright, I took off my hat, and saluted him with a profound bow, and “Good morning, Captain!” He pulled off his hat in return, and undertook a bow, but the strain was too great on the sole remaining button of his waistband; it gave way, and, to borrow a modest nautical phrase, the nether garment “came down on the run!” The captain, however, no way disconcerted, gathered it up with both hands, and held it in place, while I read the “paper that talked.”
The upshot of the ceremony was, that I was welcomed to Wasswatla, and taken to a large vacant hut, which was called the “king’s house,” and dedicated to the Genius of Hospitality. That is to say, the stranger or trader may take up his abode there, provided he can dislodge the pigs and chickens, who have an obstinate notion of their own on the subject of the proprietorship, and can never be induced to surrender their prescriptive rights. The “king’s house” was a simple shed, the ground within trodden into mire by the pigs, and the thatched roof above half blown away by the wind. But, even thus uninviting, it was better than any of the other and drier huts, for the fleas, at least, had been suffocated in the mud. Before night, Antonio had covered the floor, a foot deep, with cahoon leaves, and, with the aid of the Poyer boy and one or two natives, seduced thereunto by what they universally call “grog,” had restored the roof, and built up a barricade of poles against the pigs. These were not numerous, but hungry and vicious; and, finding the barricade too strong to be rooted down, they tried the dodge of the Jews at Jericho, and of Captain Crockett with the bear, and undertook to squeal it down! They neither ate nor slept, those pigs, I verily believe, during the period of my stay; but kept up an incessant squeal, occasionally relieving their tempers by a spiteful drive at the poles. Between them and pestilent insects of various kinds, my slumbers were none of the sweetest, and I registered a solemn vow that this should be my last trial of Mosquito hospitality.