Peter Simple

“And you nebba see de day dat de Grasshopper run on de Warrington.”

“Out of the way, you nigger!” cried one of the men who was rolling down a cask.

“Eh! who you call nigger? Me free man, and true Barbadian born. Go along, you man-of-war man.

“Man-of-war, buccra,
Man-of-war, buccra.
He de boy for me;
Sodger, buccra,
Sodger, buccra,
Nebba, nebba do.
Nebba, nebba do for me;
Sodger give one shilling,
Sailor give me two.

“Massa, now suppose you give me only one pictareen now. You really handsome young gentleman.”

“Now, just walk off,” said Swinburne, lifting up a stick he found on the beach.

“Eh; walk off:—

“Nebba see de day, boy,
’Badian run away, boy.”

“Go, do your work, sar. Why you talk to me? Go, work, sar. I free man, and real Barbadian born.

“Negro on de shore
See de ship come in,
De buccra come on shore,
Wid de hand up to de chin;
Man-of-war, buccra,
Man-of-war, buccra,
He de boy for me,
Man-of-war, buccra,
Man-of-war, buccra,
Gib pictareen to me.”

At this moment my attention was directed to another negro, who lay on the beach, rolling and foaming at the mouth, apparently in a fit.

“What’s the matter with that fellow?” said I to the same negro, who continued close to me, notwithstanding Swinburne’s stick.

“Eh! call him Sam Slack, massa. He ab um tic tic fit.”

And such was apparently the case. “Stop, me cure him;” and he snatched the stick out of Swinburne’s hand, and running up to the man, who continued to roll on the beach, commenced belabouring him without mercy.

“Eh, Sambo!” cried he at last, quite out of breath, “you no better yet,—try again—”

He recommenced, until at last the man got up and ran away as fast as he could. Now, whether the man was shamming or whether it was real tic tic, or epileptic fit, I know not, but I never heard of such a cure for it before. I threw the fellow half a pictareen, as much for the amusement he had offered me as to get rid of him.

“Tanky, massa; now man-of-war man, here de tick for you again to keep off all de dam niggers.” So saying, he handed the stick to Swinburne, made a polite bow, and departed. We were, however, soon surrounded by others, particularly some dingy ladies, with baskets of fruit, and who, as they said, “sell ebery ting.”

I perceived that my sailors were very fond of cocoa-nut milk, which, being a harmless beverage, I did not object to their purchasing from these ladies, who had chiefly cocoa-nuts in their baskets.

As I had never tasted it, I asked them what it was, and bought a cocoa-nut. I selected the largest.

“No, massa, dat not good for you. Better one for buccra officer.”

I then selected another, but the same objection was made—“No, massa, dis very fine milk. Very good for de ’tomac.”

I drank off the milk from the holes on the top of the cocoa-nut, and found it very refreshing. As for the sailors, they appeared very fond of it indeed. But I very soon found that if good for de ’tomac, it was not very good for the head, as my men, instead of rolling the casks, began to roll themselves in all directions, and when it was time to go off to dinner, most of them were dead drunk at the bottom of the boat. They insisted that it was the sun which affected them. Very hot it certainly was, and I believed them at first, when they were only giddy; but I was convinced to the contrary, when I found that they became insensible; yet how they had procured the liquor was to me a mystery.

When I came on board, Mr Falcon, who, although acting captain, continued his duties as first lieutenant almost as punctually as before, asked how it was that I had allowed my men to get so tipsy. I assured him that I could not tell, that I had never allowed one to leave the watering-place, or to buy any liquor: the only thing that they had had to drink was a little cocoa-nut milk, which, as it was so very hot, I thought there could be no objection to.

Mr Falcon smiled and said, “Mr Simple, I’m an old stager in the West Indies, and I’ll let you into a secret. Do you know what ‘sucking the monkey’ means?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, then, I’ll tell you; it is a term used, among seamen for drinking rum out of cocoa-nuts, the milk having been poured out, and the liquor substituted. Now do you comprehend why your men are tipsy?”

I stared with all my eyes, for it never would have entered into my head; and I then perceived why it was that the black woman would not give me the first cocoa-nuts which I selected. I told Mr Falcon of this circumstance, who replied, “Well, it was not your fault, only you must not forget it another time.”

It was my first watch that night, and Swinburne was quarter-master on deck. “Swinburne,” said I, “you have often been in the Indies before, why did you not tell me that the men were ‘sucking the monkey,’ when I thought that they were only drinking cocoa-nut milk?”

Swinburne chuckled, and answered, “Why, Mr Simple, d’ye see, it didn’t become me as a shipmate to peach. It’s but seldom that a poor fellow has an opportunity of making himself a ‘little happy,’ and it would not be fair to take away the chance. I suppose you’ll never let them have cocoa-nut milk again?”

“No, that I will not; but I cannot imagine what pleasure they can find in getting so tipsy.”

“It’s merely because they are not allowed to be so, sir. That’s the whole story in few words.”

“I think I could cure them, if I were permitted to try.”

“I should like to hear how you’d manage that, Mr Simple.”

“Why, I would oblige a man to drink off a half pint of liquor, and then put him by himself. I would not allow him companions to make merry with, so as to make a pleasure of intoxication. I would then wait until next morning when he was sober, and leave him alone with a racking headache until the evening, when I would give him another dose, and so on, forcing him to get drunk until he hated the smell of liquor.”

“Well, Mr Simple, it might do with some, but many of our chaps would require the dose you mention to be repeated pretty often before it would effect a cure; and what’s more, they’d be very willing patients, and make no wry faces at their physic.”

“Well, that may be, but it would cure them at last. But tell me, Swinburne, were you ever in a hurricane?”

“I’ve been in everything, Mr Simple, I believe, except a school, and I never had no time to go there. Did you see that battery at Needham Point? Well, in the hurricane of ’82, them same guns were whirled away by the wind, right over to this point here on the opposite side, the sentries in their sentry-boxes after them. Some of the soldiers who faced the wind had their teeth blown down their throats like broken ’baccy pipes, others had their heads turned round like dog vanes; ’cause they waited for orders to the ‘right about face,’ and the whole air was full of young niggers, blowing about like peelings of ingons.”

“You don’t suppose I believe all this, Swinburne?”

“That’s as may be, Mr Simple; but I’ve told the story so often, that believe it myself.”

“What ship were you in?”

“In the Blanche, Captain Faulkner, who was as fine a fellow as poor Captain Savage, whom we buried yesterday; there could not be a finer than either of them. I was at the taking of the Pique, and carried him down below after he had received his mortal wound. We did a pretty thing out here when we took Fort Royal by a coup-de-main, which means, boarding from the main-yard of the frigate, and dropping from it into the fort. But what’s that under the moon?—that a sail in the offing.”