It didn't do to waste time in talking at
moments like that, so we set to, got a good bag
of biscuit each, a revolver, some bullets,
powder and caps, filled a flask with brandy, and then
prepared to go ashore. For there lay the shore on
the starboard bow: a long low line of sand-bank,
with a few scrubby trees here and there in the
hollows, but no cliffs or trees to mention.

It was not two hundred yards off, yet in my
delight at finding Sam Johnson alive, I had never
before turned my eyes that way.

"I am sure there are natives," said Sam,
"for from the cross-trees I could see smoke
rising over the scrub to the west."

How to get on shore was the point. At
last Sam and I decided to lash a rope crossways
round a likely cask which lay near the mast, and
probably contained salt pork; and then, tying
ourselves to it, to guide it with two rough
paddles that I had cut out of the oars of the
captain's gig. There was a strong ground swell
rolling in green and bright, and the surf soon
washed us in high and dry, cask and all.

When we turned and looked round, be hanged
if the old Chariot of Fame hadn't gone down!
All that was left of her was two or three big spars
that wandered about in a helpless sort of
inquiring way, and finally floated out of sight
round the next headland.

"There goes a nice mouthful for the under-
writers!" said Sam.

The first thing Sam did was to wring out his
hair, and put his shoes to dry on a rock with a bit
of stick in them to keep them from shrinking;
he then in the handiest way possible took up a
big stone to beat in the head of our pork cask,
for, says he:

"We shall want a snack, Harry, about noon,
and this junk and some fresh shell-fish, with a
sip of brandy, will be a tidy meal enough."

So we pounded away, and at last got the head
of the cask off, and when we got the head off, how
our jaws dropped to find it was not pork but
rosin! Now, a man can't live on rosin, and, as
for myself, I felt ready to sit down and blubber.

"I'll be hanged," says Sam, after kicking the
cask about in a rage, like a football, for ten
minutes, "if I don't go and overhaul that
village! You come with me, Harry. We can't
spend all our lives on a sea-shore, eating rosin
and mussels; besides, the mussels in these
outlandish places ain't like the Liverpool mussels."

Off we went, and sure enough, in about a mile,
we saw some huts in a clump of gum-trees, and
beyond them a forest stretching as far as you
could see, here and there opening out into green
places like parks, then closing up again into
woods.

Well, on we went, Sam first, for he was a
better walker than I was, and when we reached
the first hut he ran forward and looked through
the chinks.

He came back on tiptoe, motioning me to be
quiet, making faces like a clown, and stopping
his mouth to prevent laughing.

"By the living jingo!" said he, "Harry, I
don't know what sort of niggers we've got
amongst; but, whatever they are, here's their
dancing crib."

I stole on tiptoe to look. Sure enough there
were some sixty niggers, men and women, with
nothing particular on them except their great
mops of oily black hair, and belts of strips of
matting, rigged out for a regular dance.

The master of the ceremonies, who had his
back turned to us, was dressed in the costume
of 1830— long cinnamon-coloured swallow-tailed
coat, frilled shirt, pumps, and claret-coloured
pantaloons. Over this, he wore a sort of 'possum
skin cloak, and he carried a sort of long white
wand in his hand.

"Take your places, gentlemen, for a cotillon,
La Mignonette Française; now all at ze once."

Here the fiddle struck up, and the sixty niggers
began to dance and jabber, every other word
sounding like "Golly, golly;" which is the name,
therefore, which they went by henceforth with
Sam Johnson. All the time the man with the
violin went on dancing like a madman in among
them, and shouting, "Ladies, moulinet to the
right. Each couple allemande to the left. Now
La Grande Chaine. La Promenade. Chassé.
Balancé. Retour du Char. Tail of ze cat.
Rigadoon. Poussette. Now ze great Round.
Ver well."

Presently up runs a nigger from the shore and
brought out the dancing-master, who very soon
passed close to us, followed by all the niggers.
We could see him now quite well; he was a tall
lean old nankeen- coloured Frenchman, with
thin long legs and cat-like face, remarkable for
his hollow lantern cheeks, sunken eyes, and
prominent cheek-bones, all crowned by a full curly
Brutus wig, very dusty, and almost worn out.

We followed them at a distance, and hid behind
a tree, from a spot where we could see all
he did. As soon as the nigger who had brought
the news led him to the cask, and he had stooped
down and examined it, he gave a sort of shriek,
took out a lump of the rosin, scraped his fiddle
bow, and began dancing.

"Ladies, chain!" he cried, and away they went
dancing round the cask as if they were all gone
mad.

"They are as mad as March hares," said I.
"Sam, I can't stand it any longer. I must
speak, for there is no doubt about one thing,
and that is, that the lubber is a civilised
Christian, for he knows how to dance."

So out we stepped and walked straight up to
the lubber, and told him about our vessel and
how we were cast away. But the man didn't
answer a word at first, he was so surprised.

"There, he doesn't know your lingo after all,
Sam," said I; "do it by deaf and dumb signs."
Then I tried him with the deaf and dumb alphabet,
and went through a sort of ballet to show
that we had been cast on shore, were hungry,
and wanted a night's shelter.

"What for you make zose faces, gentlemen
matelots," he said, breaking out all at once;
"you are welcome to what I have of mine, what
for you play ze fool? Come, I will tell you of
my news at ze village."