“Gib tickpence, you sable-looking unclothed rascal!” cried the captain, whose stern face relaxed. “Thank your stars that I didn’t give you a charge of heavy shot.”
“Tickpence. Look!”
“Why, it’s like a conjuring trick,” cried Norman, as the native joined them. “Look at him.”
To produce a little silver coin out of one’s pockets is an easy feat; but Ashantee brought out his sixpence apparently from nowhere, held it out between his black finger and thumb in the light for a minute, so that all could see, and then in an instant it had disappeared again, and he clapped his foot with quite a smack up against his leg again, and showed his teeth as he went on.
“White Mary ’gin to sing. Wee-eak!” he cried, with a perfect imitation of the cry the poor girl had uttered. “Pipum crow ’gin to sing morrow mornum.”
He let his spear fall into the hollow of his arm, and placing both hands to his mouth, produced a peculiarly deep, sweet-toned whistle, which sounded as if somebody were incorrectly running up the notes of a chord.
“Why, I heard some one whistling like that this morning early,” cried Tim.
“Pipum crow,” said the black again, and he repeated the notes, but changed directly with another imitation, that of a peculiarly harsh braying laugh, which sounded weird and strange in the still night air.
“Most accomplished being!” said Uncle Munday, sarcastically.
“Laughum Jackamarass,” said the black; and he uttered the absurd cry again.