He stopped suddenly, as if alarmed at what he had said, kissed his talisman, and relapsed again into the quiet, mild-eyed Indian boy, submissively awaiting my orders.
We left Duckwarra Lagoon by a creek connecting it with Sandy Bay Lagoon, and on the second afternoon from Wava River, arrived at the Sambo settlement, which is on its southern shore, about eight miles from the sea. It stands upon the edge of a savannah, that rises to the southward and eastward, forming, toward the sea, a series of bluffs, the principal of which is called Bragman’s Bluff, and is the most considerable landmark on the coast.
The town has something the appearance of Bluefields, and contains perhaps five hundred inhabitants, who affect “English fashion” in dress and modes of living. That is to say, many of them wear English hats, even when destitute of every other article of clothing, except the tournou, or breech-cloth. These hats are of styles running back for thirty years, and, moreover, crushed into a variety of shapes which are infinitely ludicrous, especially when the wearers affect gravity or dignity. A naked man cannot make himself absolutely ridiculous, for nature never exposes her creations to humiliation; but the attempts at art, in making up the man on the Mosquito Shore, I must confess, were melancholy failures.
Before we got to the village, the beating of drums, and the occasional firing off of muskets, announced that some kind of a feast or celebration was going on. As we approached nearer I saw the English flag displayed upon a tall bamboo, planted in the centre of a group of huts. I saw also a couple of boats, of European construction, drawn up on the beach, from which I inferred that there must be a trading vessel on the coast, and that I was just in time to witness one of the orgies which always follow upon such an event. I had had some misgivings as to the probable reception we should meet, in case the news of our affair with the Quamwatlas had reached here, and felt not a little reassured when I saw indications of the presence of foreigners.
The people were all so absorbed with their festivities that our approach was not noticed; but when we got close to the shore, I fired off both barrels of my gun by way of salute. An instant after, a number of men came out from among the huts, and hurried down to the beach. Meantime I had got out my “King-paper,” and leaped ashore.
The crowd that huddled around me would have put Falstaff’s tatterdemalion army to shame. The most conspicuous character among them wore a red check shirt, none of the cleanest, and a threadbare undress coat of a British general, but had neither shoes nor breeches. Nor was he equally favored with Captain Drummer in respect of a hat. Instead of a venerable chapeau, like that worn by the captain with so much dignity, he had an ancient bell-crowned “tile,” which had once been white, but was now of equivocal color, and which, apparently from having been repeatedly used as a seat, was crushed up bellows’ fashion, and cocked forward in a most absurd manner.
The wearer of this imposing garb had already reached the stage of “big drunk,” and his English, none of the best at any time, was now of a very uncertain character. He staggered up, as if to embrace me, slapping his breast with one hand, and druling out “I General Slam—General Peter Slam!” I avoided the intended honor by stepping on one side, the consequence of which was, that if the General had not been caught by Antonio, he certainly would have plunged into the lagoon.
I made a marked display of my “King-paper,” and commenced to read it to the General, but he motioned me to put it up, saying, “All good! very great good! I Peter Slam, General!” Meantime the spectators were reinforced from the village, and drums were sent for. They were of English make, and of the biggest. General Slam then insisted on escorting me up from the beach, “English gentleman fashion!” and taking my arm in his unsteady grasp, he headed the procession, with a desperate attempt at steadiness, but nevertheless swaying from side to side, after the immemorial practice of drunken men.
The General was clearly the magnate of Sandy Bay, (called by the Sambos Sanaby,) and when we reached the centre of the village, where the feast was going on, we were saluted by a “hurrah!” given “English fashion.” Here I noticed a big canoe full of mishla, around which the drinking and dancing was uninterrupted. General Slam took me at once to his own house or hut, where the traders in whose honor the feast was got up, were quartered. I found there the captain and clerk, and two of the crew of the “London Belle,” a trading vessel which had recently arrived at Cape Gracias, from Jamaica. There was also an Englishman, named H——, who lived at the Cape, and who seemed to hold here a corresponding position with Mr. Bell in Bluefields. They were all reclining on crickeries, or in hammocks, and appeared to be on terms of easy familiarity with a number of very sleek young girls, in whose laps they were resting their heads, and whose principal occupation, in the intervals of not over delicate dalliance, was that of passing round glasses of a kind of punch, compounded of Jamaica rum, the juice of the sugar-cane, and a variety of crushed fruits.