CHAPTER XII. HOW THE DAY ENDED

Immodesty is the principal vice I do not possess. When we started to get back to The Gentle Hand clothed in the odour of sanctity and villainous liquor, I must say my heart failed me at the sight of the town. We halted at the outskirts and tacked ship, standing for the house of a conch, as the Bahama bank men are called. The mosquitoes and flies had by this time made life almost unbearable, and something had to be done. I objected to stealing on principle, but in practice I expected to err, for, if a suit of clothes could be found not too dirty to wear, I felt it my duty to quell my scruples in the interest of the self-respecting citizens of Nassau.

“Tim,” said I, “you little speckled leopard, you shall go in front. You have, at least, some large brown spots to cover your hide, while I’m as pure white as the coral road we’re walking on.”

Tim demurred at this.

“What’s the matter with you? Put your hulking 101carcass in front, and I’ll walk behind. There’s no use making fun of the thing. You strut about big enough on deck, glad enough to have any one notice you--Hi! there’s an’ ole nigger woman now,” and he crouched down in the long grass.

I sank instantly and hailed the old lady.

“Hi, there! Mammy, have you a spare--er--er pair--I mean an apron or two you could lend?”

“Lawd sakes! How yo’ scart me!” cried the old negress. “Where yo’ is, honey?” and she looked about her.

“We’re over here in the grass. Lost our clothes while swimming. Don’t come over, but just fetch out a bit of dunnage and run away, that’s a good ole gal,” I said.

“Run away! Huh! Who is you toe tell me to run away. I’se Mr. Curtis’ nigger, an’ I doan’ run fo’ no one, I jest tell yo’ dat,” and she advanced toward us.

“Ah, trot along,” growled Tim. “Get us some clothes, or we’ll take some. We haven’t time to fool with any blamed old nigger.”

She advanced close to us, and I noticed she held a small black baby in her arms. Tim edged behind me, and I tried to shove him in front.

“Land sakes alive!” she cried. “He, he, he, yah, yah! Well, I nebber. Yo’ is sho’ nuff nakid. Jest as nakid as this little babe under his clothes. 102Yah, yah, he is sho’ just as nakid as you is under his clothes. Well, I nebber--”

But we waited no longer. The situation was too humiliating, and we sprang to our feet and dashed down the path into the scrub.

“What the deuce will we do?” I asked, when we were out of sight. “If she wasn’t a woman, I’d rip her clothes off pretty quick and make shift of her skirt.”

“S’pose we lay for some man, then,” said Tim. “Seems to me you might turn your knowledge of scrappin’ to some account.”

“I’ve a notion to practise a bit on you, you speckled beauty,” said I, angrily. “It’s your foolishness that got us in this fix.”

“Here comes a feller your size. Try him.”

I turned and followed his gaze, and there, sure enough, loomed a huge black conch with a bucketful of sour-sops in either hand, striding up the path. Hung over his shoulder was a long blacksnake whip, such as overseers sometimes used upon refractory slaves.

“Hi, there, uncle,” I cried, “I would like to buy some sops,” and we both stepped forth into view.

The fellow’s ugly visage wrinkled, and he set his buckets upon the ground.

“Who is yo’?” he asked, sourly.

103“We? Why, we are visitors, friends of Mr. Curtis,” I said. “We left our clothes over there at the inlet, and some son of a polecat ran off with them. Give us some sops and give us a shift. We’ll pay you well for it.”

“Whar’s yo’ munny?” he growled.

“In our clothes. Sink you for a fool nigger, you don’t suppose we have pockets in our skins, do you?”

“Who yo’ callin’ a fool nigger?” and he drew his whip over his shoulder. “Don’t yo’ call me no names, yo’ po’ white trash. I’ll cut yo’ toe ribbons, dat I will.”

Before either of us could spring aside, the lash flew out and caught first one and then the other of us on our naked bodies. The pain was awful. Tim dashed up the path instantly without waiting for a second dose, and the huge conch sprang after him, leaving me behind.

Away they went, the lash flying out like the tongue of a snake, landing every time upon that part of poor Tim’s anatomy which is said to be equally discourteous to present to either friend or enemy. And every time it landed, it brought forth a yell. I stood grinning for an instant, in spite of the pain I suffered, and then the sense of outraged decency getting the best of my risibilities, I launched myself full speed in pursuit.

104Away we went up that trail, Tim’s speckled body leading the way, his red hair streaming in the wind, and close behind him rushed that big black conch with his cruel whip, his bare feet not heeding in the least a thousand things that pricked and pained the soles of mine, as I tore along in his wake.

“Hi, hi, go it, Jackson!” howled a black fellow who stood in the path and watched the race.

An upper cut with my left fist did much to abate his zeal, and left him lying upon his back, while with undiminished speed I went ahead. Soon the white coral street of the town showed a bit in front through the bushes, and in another minute we were fairly into the main street of Nassau.

I was now thoroughly aroused, and forgot entirely my predicament, so intent was I upon reaching that rascal’s back. I called hoarsely for Tim to stop, but, either because I was a bit winded or our pace was too fast to allow the sound of my voice to reach him, he heeded it not at all, but held his pace under all sail.

White men now sprang from doorways to see what had happened, as the yells came flying down the thoroughfare, and many women immodestly halted to view the spectacle. I don’t know how the matter would have ended had not Tim turned a corner suddenly, and plunged straight into the arms 105of Big Jones and Martin, who were rushing for the pavement at the sound of alarm.

The Scotchman, with rare presence of mind, made a grab at Tim’s speckled body, thinking it some peculiar breed of ape that had escaped from its keeper, and in doing so lost his drunken balance, and plunged head foremost into the stomach of the pursuing conch, and together they rolled over into the street. Before they could disengage, I had a grip upon that conch that he will remember yet.

“Deil save us, ye cateran, what is it?” gasped the inebriated Scot, struggling to his feet. “What? You Heywood! Ye immodest heathen! Hold him, ye black feller, an’ I’ll lay the lash upon his unchaste hide.”

Before he could come to the conch’s assistance, a speckled form sprang upon him and bore him back again into the street, and I saw Tim change from a fugitive into a veritable leopard, striking fiercely and tearing at the blouse of the sailor until it had parted and come away in halves. Just then I had business with the giant conch that needed attention, and I saw nothing more of that fracas.

The black man was a powerful fellow, but he lacked skill. The blow in the stomach had winded him temporarily, and, before he had recovered, I was cutting him up scientifically with his own whip, while the crowd hooted and cheered in derision. 106When I desisted, he could hardly stand, much less walk, and then Big Jones, who was enjoying the spectacle, offered me his jumper. This I put on by running my legs through the sleeves, after splitting them, and buttoning it behind. Tim had by this time divested Martin of his spare raiment, and, dressed somewhat alike, we strode side by side with much dignity to the boat, followed by Big Jones, the Welshman, and an admiring throng of natives who cheered us lustily.

Martin and the well-thrashed overseer were left behind to compare notes, while, with the blue eagle upon my breast fairly red with mortification, we stepped aboard and shoved off.