Sam (during this speech busies himself taking off his shawl, brushing his clothes, smoothing his hair, etc.). What ails them objects? They look at me awful hard; they are evidently not accustomed to the presence of so elegant an individual in this hotel. So this is an hotel; this is the first time that ever I was in one. I declare, it’s quite elegant. And this is Boston, the hub of the universe, as Artemus Ward says. I wonder I have ever lived to get here, after having been cooped up in that horrid hole, Dismaltown. It is refreshing to get among civilized individuals. I’ve passed my whole life in that place without ever seeing anybody or anything, and I should be there now but for my uncle, the captain; and somehow I do feel quite homesick when I think of my Annastasia; but then my Annastasia is not there; she is nearer to me in Boston than in Dismaltown, for my Annastasia is now on a visit to her aunt in Brighton. I have received epistles often from the object of my heart’s adoration, and the last one was particularly interesting. She invited me in the name of her aunt to come and spend Christmas with her. I was particularly overjoyed at first, but how was I to get there? The people of Dismaltown never go anywhere, and I should never have got here but for my uncle, the captain. My uncle has always been called captain, though he never went to sea, but for years has been behind the counter of the little grocery at Dismaltown, where he made some money. Well, my uncle took it into his head to buy a sloop; so he bought a sloop; it was a very good sloop for a second-hand one. The sloop was well sold, and so, they said, was my uncle, the captain. My uncle bought her, and then was bent on going a voyage in her as skipper, and so he invited me to go with him on his first voyage to Boston. He never went to sea before, and don’t know anything about a sloop, and he was awful sick all the way, but he had a good mate, and he is a beautiful skipper; he talks such sea lingo, and swears so beautifully, though people do say that he knows no more about the sea than an owl; but that is all envy. Well, after I got aboard, I happened to think of one sentence in Annastasia’s letter, which read, “Be sure to learn how to carve before you come, as uncle is away, and aunt will expect you to carve the Christmas goose.” What an idea! they might as well ask me to carve an ox or an alligator. However, when I reached Boston, I bought a little book on the art of carving, and came up to this hotel to have a little practice. Look here, African. (Pete and Steve have been bobbing in and out of the door, L., during the speech, watching Sam. Enter Pete, L.) Do you know what a goose is?
Pete. Yes, massa; one ob dem two-legged fellers dat flops his wings jes’ so—dis way—so.
Sam. Well, I want one of them.
Pete. One ob dem flappers? Live one?
Sam. No, ignorance,—roasted.
Pete. Yes, massa. (Calls, L.) Roast goose for 86.
Sam. No, no, stupid! Not for eighty-six; I only want it for one.
Pete. It’s all right, massa; dat’s what I fought,—dat’s what I fought. Dar wont but one goose come up here, so decompose yourself,—decompose yourself. (Exit, L.)
Sam. What horrid grammar that African does indulge in! (Capt. Skillings outside—“Ship ahoy! ahoy!” through speaking-trumpet.) There’s my uncle, the captain. (Enter Captain, L.)
Capt. Shiver my timbers, blast my eyes, and keel-haul me, if this here craft ar’n’t the biggest seventy-four that ever I saw in all my cruisings. Such a climbing up hatchways and over bulkheads is trying to the narves of a tar with his sea-legs on.