The sealer had quite taken leave of his monikin forbearance, and was enjoying himself in a peculiarly human manner. A dish of roasted meat was lying before him, and his eyes fairly glared as he turned them from me to the viand, in a way to render it a little doubtful whether I was a welcome visitor. But that honest old principle of seamen which never refuses to share equally with an ancient mess-mate, got the better even of his voracity.
“Sit down, Sir John,” the captain cried, without ceasing to masticate, “and make no bones of it. To own the fact, the latter are almost as good as the flesh. I never tasted a sweeter morsel!”
I did not wait for a second invitation, the reader may be sure; and in less than ten minutes the dish was as clear as a table that had been swept by harpies. As this work is intended for one in which truth is rigidly respected, I shall avow that I do not remember any cultivation of sentiment which gave me half so much satisfaction as that short and hurried repast. I look back to it, even now, as to the very beau ideal of a dinner! Its fault was in the quantity, and not in quality.
I gazed greedily about for more. Just then, I caught a glimpse of a face that seemed looking at me with melancholy reproach. The truth flashed upon me in a flood of horrible remorse. Rushing upon Noah like a tiger, I seized him by the throat, and cried, in a voice of despair:
“Cannibal! what hast thou done?”
“Loosen your grip, Sir John—we do not relish these hugs at Stunin’tun.”
“Wretch! thou hast made me the participator of thy crime! We have eaten Brigadier Downright.”
“Loosen, Sir John, or human natur’ will rebel.”
“Monster! give up thy unholy repast—dost not see a million reproaches in the eyes of the innocent victim of thy insatiable appetites?”
“Cast off, Sir John, cast off, while we are friends, I care not if I have swallowed all the brigadiers in Leaplow—off hands!”