“Jist look at ’em now,” said Dinny; “call themselves men, and to go about like that, widout a bit o’ rag to their backs, and only a scrap of a skin apron hanging before and behind. Oh, go along now wid ye, ye ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”
“Hold your tongue, Dinny,” cried Mr Rogers.
“Certainly, sor,” said Dinny. “An’ murther, hark at the music. Hadn’t I better go and take the gun away from that naygur as keeps letting it off, sor? He’ll be shuting some one directly.”
“Well yes, Dinny,” said his master, to Dinny’s great astonishment; “go and take away his gun. We’ll go on. Do you hear?”
“Shure, sor, he mightn’t like it if I did,” said Dinny.
“Then stop where you are, and don’t brag,” said Mr Rogers sharply.
“Hark at that now,” muttered Dinny.
Meanwhile the king and his court was approaching, with one of the body-guard loading and firing an old musket in the air as fast as he could. In front came a couple of men, hugging what at first sight looked like cannons, but which proved to be drums, about four feet long, secured round their necks by a skin strap, and which drums they bestrode as they beat them with their hands.
Next came a couple more with evidently the kettle-drums, hung from their necks and beaten, like an Indian tom-tom, at both ends. Then the chief musician came with a large wooden harmonicon hung from his neck. This instrument, the marimba, he beat with a couple of round hammers, bringing forth a barbarous, modulated kind of music, not unlike that of the marrow-bones and cleavers of the London butcher-boys, as given by them on old-fashioned state occasions.
The instrument took Dick’s attention a good deal, and he saw that it, and another in the band, were formed by fastening so many dry hollow gourds in a frame, over which were placed a graduated scale of pieces of hard wood, which emitted a musical metallic sound when struck.