On the second day they returned to the beach, where they had pitched their little camp, hungrier than on the previous evening. The doctor had been successful in making a capital bag, and securing many specimens that he believed, when placed in Edinburgh Museum, would hand down his name to posterity. They were looking forward, therefore, to a good feed.
Sambo met them. He was grinning good-naturedly from ear to ear.
"Ah, massa," he cried, "you hab one bery good dinnah to-day."
So it was served. You will believe me it was a failure when I inform you that Sambo had made a kind of Irish stew of sea-gulls, pork, fish, and roots all boiled up together!
* * * * *
Just one other example of negro cookery and negro innocence.
In the grounds of Jamaica hospital there were some fine tamarind trees, in which the very smallest known species of humming-bird used to build its nest and rear its tiny young. I do not say it was not cruel of Dr. Reikie to shoot these birds, but he wanted some specimens very much. But the smallest shot blew the birds to the back of the north wind apparently, and the doctor was in despair.
Paddy O'Rayne stood by him. Paddy was scratching his poll in a considering kind of way.
"Have you got an idea, Paddy?" said the doctor.
"Indade and I have, sorr. If ye want to kill the burds, sorr, widout injuring them at all, troth it's a pinch of gunpowder and a thrifle of sago you must be after using."