“Very noisy dead men, for they snore most confoundedly loud,” he cried out. “As I am a gentleman, here’s Robson, and he has chosen the fat stomach of a greasy nigger for his pillow! I hope he enjoys the odoriferous, sudoriferous resting-place. His dreams must be curious, one would think. What is to be done with him, I wonder?”
By this time we had all assembled round our fallen shipmate. We in vain tried to rouse him. A few inarticulate grunts were the only answers he could give to our often-repeated remonstrances. The negro was much in the same condition; but it was evident that he had had sense enough before falling into repose to allow the ruling passion to have sway, and he had contrived to pick our friend’s pocket of his purse and watch, which he held firmly in his grasp. The negro guard, when he came up, wanted to prevent our recovering Robson’s property, and pretended that it belonged to his compatriot and that we had no right to it.
We guessed, as was the case, that Robson had been hospitably entertained at some farm, when, having taken on board a further supply of liquor, he had been completely overcome, and that the negro had been sent to guide him on his way. Probably our shipmate had been treating him in return, and, when pulling out his purse to pay the reckoning, had excited his cupidity. Happily for Robson his guide was too far gone by this time to run off with his booty, and so both had come to the ground together, the robber and the robbed levelled by that arch destroyer of the human intellect—strong drink. Oh, when I now come to think of it, how disgusting was the scene!—though I did not trouble my head much about the matter myself in those days. Robson was a gentleman, and had refined ideas and pleasant, agreeable manners, and yet, when once wine thus got the better of him, he would thus sadly demean himself. After some pulling and hauling we got him up, and having caught his mule, which was quietly grazing near, wiser than his rider, we put the biped on his back. Delisle went ahead and O’Driscoll and I propped him up on either side—the negro we hauled up on a hank and left to recover and make the best of his way home. We had difficult work to keep Robson steady, for the bumping of the mule brought him sufficiently round to make him fancy that he could take care of himself, and he every now and then made an attempt to do something which he was utterly unable to accomplish. Certainly one of the most trying things to the patience is to conduct a drunken man along a straight road. Our guard also was continually urging us to go faster, which we were utterly unable to do. Fortunately, before long we came in sight of a house belonging apparently to a large coffee estate, and standing near the road. Bright lights were gleaming from within, and the sounds of music and revelry came forth through the open windows. It was a sight tempting indeed to poor forlorn creatures like ourselves, who had little chance of seeing such again for many a long day.
“What say you?” cried O’Driscoll. “Perhaps we may kill two birds with one stone. We may get these merry people to take care of Robson and at the same time to entertain us, if Sambo there don’t interfere. We’ll try at all events. Delisle, my boy, come along and interpret for us, will you?”
Delisle, who on most occasions was one of the most quiet and best behaved men in existence, albeit a perfect fire-eater on occasion, entered at once into the fun of the thing and followed his countryman under the balcony, when the latter began to cry out—
“Oh messieurs! oh mesdames! ici, ici! un pauvre garçon se va mourire!”
Several ladies came into the balcony and looked over, curious to ascertain what was the matter. When they saw us bearing Robson in our arms, some of them cried out that a stranger had come with a dead man. Others said that he was only sick; and then some gentlemen came and looked out, all dressed in knee-breeches, long silk waistcoats and coats, and with swords by their sides—a very respectable-looking assemblage. They all talked away and consulted for some time, and the upshot of the matter was that several of them came down, and calling us round to the front door, assisted us to carry Robson up the steps and into a quiet room, away from the scene of revelry. There we put him to bed, one of the gentlemen recommending a tumbler of eau-sucré as the best medicine we could give him. He took a huge draught of it.
“Superb nectar! finest grog I’ve tasted for a long time?” he exclaimed. “Give me more of it.”
We gave him another huge jorum. He sucked it down with great satisfaction, and it undoubtedly cooled the fever which was raging in his inside. Our French friends, we flattered ourselves, did not find out his real condition; and when we had made him comfortable they invited us all to the room in which they were holding their revels. Sambo, our guard, for some reasons best known to himself, made no objections to the proceeding. Perhaps he judged that it was the best way of disposing of us. Perhaps he had some acquaintance—I won’t say of the fair sex—among the sable inmates of the mansion, with whom he had no objection to pass a short time while we were amusing ourselves in the society of the masters and mistresses.
We danced, and ate sweetmeats, and drank coffee and claret-and-water and smoked cigars and cigarettes to our hearts’ content, and laughed and talked to the nut-brown maids who composed the female portion of the party, for there was not a white face among them. We were quite disappointed when our black guard put his head into the room and sang out—