Chapter Forty Two.
A New and Terrible Enemy.
It was daylight when I awoke—broad daylight. My companions, all but Clayley, were already astir, and had kindled a fire with a species of wood known to Raoul, that produced hardly any smoke. They were preparing breakfast. On a limb close by hung the hideous, human-like carcass of an iguana, still writhing. Raoul was whetting a knife to skin it, while Lincoln was at some distance, carefully reloading his rifle. The Irishman lay upon the grass, peeling bananas and roasting them over the fire.
The iguana was soon skinned and broiled, and we all of us commenced eating with good appetites.
“Be Saint Pathrick!” said Chane, “this bates frog-atin’ all hollow. It’s little meself dhramed, on the Owld Sod, hearin’ of thim niggers in furrin parts, that I’d be turning kannybawl meself some day!”
“Don’t you like it, Murtagh?” asked Raoul jocosely.
“Och! indade, yes; it’s betther than an empty brid-basket; but if yez could only taste a small thrifle ov a Wicklow ham this mornin’, an’ a smilin’ pratie, instid of this brown soap, yez—.”
“Hisht!” said Lincoln, starting suddenly, and holding the bite half-way to his mouth.
“What is it?” I asked.