“Bravo!” cried Ralph, when Freezing Powders had finished his story. “Now, Allan, lad, cut us all another slice of that glorious ham, and let us be moving.”
“Yes,” said Allan. “Here goes, then, for night is falling already, and the captain will be longing to hear of our adventures.”
Chapter Thirteen.
More about Freezing Powders—“Perseverando”—Dining in the Sky—The Descent of the Crater.
A black man in a barrel of treacle is said by some to be emblematical of happiness. So situated, a black man without doubt enjoys a deal of bliss, but I question very much if it equals the joy poor Freezing Powders felt when he found himself once more safe on board the Arrandoon, and cuddled down in a corner with his old cockatoo. (It may be as well to state here that neither the negro boy nor the cockatoo is a character drawn at random; both had their counterparts in real life.) What a long story he had to tell the bird, to be sure!—what a “terrible tale,” I might call it!
As usual, when greatly engrossed in listening, the bird was busily engaged helping himself to enormous mouthfuls of hemp-seed, spilling more than he swallowed, cocking his head, and gazing at his little black master, with many an interjectional and wondering “Oh!” and many a long-drawn “De-ah me!” just as if he understood every word the boy said, and fully appreciated the dangers he had come through.
“Well, duckie?” said the bird, fondly, when Freezing Powders had concluded.
“Oh! der ain’t no moh to tell, cockie,” said the boy; “but I ’ssure you, when I see dat big yellow bear wid his big red mouf, I tink I not hab much longer to lib in dis world, cockie—I ’ssure you I tink so.”