The White Squall | Page 4

out a case-
bottle from the sideboard where it stood handy for the purpose. Then,
filling the old darkey's footless wine-glass, which he held with a
remarkably steady hand considering his age, he tossed off the contents
without drawing breath, the fiery liquor disappearing down his throat
with a sort of gurgling "gluck, gluck," as if it had been decanted into
the capacious orifice, Pompey not even winking once during the
operation.

"Tank you, Mass' Tom," said he, when he had sucked in the last drop;
when, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stalked off across
the terrace again towards the stable to fetch his cutlass to cut the
guinea-grass for the horses, according to his usual habit at this time of
day. This Jake well knew, by the bye, when he said he thought he
would be able to return from his mission before the old fellow should
have started, Pompey being as regular as clockwork in his movements,
carrying out his daily routine most systematically.
I did not expect to see him again until later on in the afternoon on his
return from the mountain at the back of the house, laden with a bale of
provender for the stable, which he had charge of; but, what was my
surprise a few minutes afterwards, to see him hurrying up again to the
house, without his customary companion the cutlass and in a state of
great excitement most unaccountable in one generally so phlegmatic.
"Hullo, Pompey! what's the matter now?" I called out as he began to
ascend the steps leading up to the terrace, his boots coming down with
a heavy stamp on the marble surface. He was a most peculiar old fellow;
for, unlike again most of the negroes, who only wear any foot covering
on Sundays, when they torture themselves horribly by squeezing their
spreading toes into patent leather pumps if they can get them by hook
or by crook, the old darkey invariably stalked about in a tall pair of
Wellington boots that made him walk as gingerly as a cat with its paws
in walnut shells.
"Hey, Mass' Tom, look smart," he sang out in response. "Um big 'guana
down by de stable; come quick an' bring 'tick an' we kill him togedder!"
An iguana? This was something to make one excited; for, harmless
though the reptile is, one does not come across one everyday. Besides,
it is capital eating, tasting just like a chicken, and that of the tenderest:
you could not tell the difference between the two when well cooked.
Catching up a thick stick, I was after Pompey in a minute, forgetting
alike the heat of the sun's rays in the open--although but a short period
before I had been forced to retreat under the shade of the verandah--and
my anxious watch for Jake with news of the mail steamer, about whose

delay I had been so impatient.
I soon overtook the darkey, who never could make much headway in
his boots. They were so big for him that I believe his feet used to have
a quiet walk inside them on their own account!
"Where's the 'guana?" I said.
"Just dere, Mass' Tom," he replied, pointing with one of his lean, bony,
mottled fingers, the black colour of which seemed to have been worked
off them by years of rough usage.
"Where?" I repeated, for I could not see the animal as yet anywhere.
"Dere, on manure heap--see?"
"Yes, I see now," I replied, as, getting nearer to the stables, I noticed
something on the top of a mound of straw rubbish. It was a creature
like a gigantic lizard, some five or six feet long and as broad about the
head as a decent-sized pig.
"Yah, yah, dere he is, dere he is!" shouted out Pompey. "Golly, Mass'
Tom, he am big 'guana, too! Give me de 'tick, and dis niggah will soon
'top um runnin' 'way."
The green-looking creature had been basking in the sun, enjoying itself
all the more, probably, from the warmth of the manure heap on which it
lay; but now, on our nearer approach, it raised its serpent-like head and,
puffing out its creamy throat, grew in an instant to double its former
size, while the beautiful iridescent colouring of its skin became more
conspicuous.
Pompey raised the stick I had handed to him, and the iguana, as if
likewise springing to arms to resist attack, elevated a sort of spiny
fringe, resembling a mane, that reached from the crest of its head to the
shoulders. At the same time, it slung round its tail, in crocodile fashion,
as if to give a blow with it to its assailant.

The old darkey, however, was not frightened at the motion. Stepping up
to the