University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

—The Town of Fatteconda, in ruins.
Selico discovered, wandering distractedly from L. to R., over the fragments of demolished dwellings, with the mantle of Farulho in his hand.
Sel.
Monsters of blood! I have borne all—yes, all
Without a groan, till now. They've murder'd her!
I'll fly to the foe's camp!—I'll do some deed
Shall strike them all with terror! Oh, my love!
Art thou then gone for ever! By our prophet!
I will have such revenge— [Stumbles.]
Fatigue and hunger
Have made me faint.

[Sinks on the ground, R.
Enter Madiboo, among the ruins, L. U. E.
Mad.
[Calling.]
Ho! Selico!—brother!
[Seeing Selico, and running forward, L.
Now, Mahomet be praised! at last I've found you.
Where have you been these five days, Selico?

Sel.
Plucking out arrows from the lifeless hearts
That lately throbb'd in our companions' bosoms;
Turning the faces of dead friends from earth,
Then pondering upon their ghastly lips
Which, ere the last moon waned, smiled sweetly on us.

Mad.
Fie! this is weekness, Selico: we want you
To help us for our mother.

Sel.
[Wildly.]
Have I one?

Mad.
Have you? Why, Torribal, and you, and I,
Bore her, upon our arms, into the woods,
On the same day that they besieged the town:
And after that you left us. But she lives—

Sel.
Well, 'tis some comfort,—she's lives. Ha, ha!
I have still a mother—yes, she still lives!
I saw her placed in safety, ere I went,
And both my brothers with her.

Mad.
Rise, and collect yourself. I have skulk'd here,
To find, if possible, a little food
Left in the village; and to seek out you.

Sel.
You have gain'd one point, if not the other—
You have found me.

Mad.
Not quite as I could wish;
We need you to assist us, and you seem
Scarce able to assist yourself. Our mother—

Sel.
[Springing from the ground.]
I'll fight for her while I've breath within me!

Mad.
Fight for a dinner, then, and win the battle!
Our implements of husbandry, the gun,
Fish-spear, and tackle, bird-snares, hatchet, arrows,
All that supported us before the war,
Are taken by the enemy: and still
Their camp remains so near our lurking-place,
(A little from the town) we almost fear
To venture out, in search of straggling berries
Our hands may pluck for us—we're famishing!

Sel.
And nothing to support Darina?

Mad.
Nothing;
This day, nor yesterday. The night before,
Food was so scanty, that she would not taste
The little we could get,—till, in her faintness,
We forced it on her.

Sel.
Not taste it!—Why?

Mad.
Each felt the other's want before their own.
She would not eat, fearing to rob her sons,
Nor they because they saw their mother starving.

Sel.
I'll grapple with the lioness, and tear
The fresh kill'd wild goat from her sinewy paws,
Ere she who gave me birth shall die by famine!
I know the spot we fixed my mother in,
I'll fly to succour her.

Mad.
Be cautious, then.
Stragglers, from the Mandingo camp, are prowling
All round our pillaged town. Pray, now, take heed,
Or you may lose your life.

Sel.
My life!—Oh, brother!
I wish that it were gone!

[Going, L.
Mad.
[Catching his arm.]
Stay, Selico!
You must not leave me thus. I dread to ask
What have been your losses in the town?

Sel.
[Distractedly.]
Oh, do not ask me!

Mad.
Look not so wildly—
You harrow me—you wish your life were gone?

Sel.
I do;—but fear not for me; I shall ne'er
Commit self slaughter: the revered Farulho
Taught me religion, and I know my duties.
Wretches who kill themselves, when life's a burden,
Shrink from their fellow men to brave their Maker—
Too tame to soar above the ills of earth,
Too rash to bend to the decrees of Heaven,
They fancy impious weakness resolution,
Scared into courage, the heroic cowards
Grow pusillanimously bold, and forfeit
All earthly ties, both human and divine!

Mad.
Where are Berissa and her father?

Sel.
[Throwing his arms round Madiboo, and sobbing on his neck.]
Dead!—both dead!

Mad.
I'll not believe it!—Selico—
Why, Selico! [Raising him affectionately from his neck.]
Come, come, dear brother—rouse!
Berissa has but fled—fled with her father
To some place of safety. Do not droop, man!
Come, pr'ythee do not!

Sel.
Look upon this mantle!

Mad.
[Starting.]
Well—well, our mother wove it for the priest.

Sel.
I threw it o'er his shoulders in the tent,
Just ere I hoped to wed my destin'd bride.
He—with a smile of soft benevolence
Smoothing the furrows in the face of age—
Vow'd to preserve it—every day to wear it
In token of the wedding and in kindness
To my dear mother; yea, that till he died,
He ne'er would part with it.

Mad.
This is nothing.
The tumult in the town might—

Sel.
[Interrupting him.]
Till to-day,
I could not clear the rubbish from the mosque;
And there, upon the steps—

Mad.
You found the mantle.
Ay, in his flight he dropp'd it—

Sel.
No, no, no!—
I pluck'd it from his headless corpse!

Mad.
Oh, brother!

Sel.
The porch was strew'd with mutilated bodies!
Close to the priest, and headless as himself,
Lay a female's mangled form, whose fingers
Twined in his! Some bridal ornaments,
Like the mantle in the haste of pillage,
Were scatter'd round!—I have them!

Mad.
[Shuddering.]
Not Berissa's?

Sel.
My clay-cold love's.

Mad.
Oh! never tell me so.

Sel.
Will not nature tell you so, my brother?
Beneath the hatchets of their murderers,
The father and his child, in life's last struggle,
Had pressed each other's hand, and death has clinched them.
She was the good man's only tendril. He
The aged vine she clasp'd—the storm was cruel:
The grateful shoot embraced the withering trunk,
And clung there, till they perish'd both together.

Mad.
Selico, I—Remember, we are men!
We must bear up, and—psha! I cannot speak!

[Weeps.
Sel.
You are a kind, kind brother!

Mad.
I trust so—
But there are others, still alive, that love you.
There's Torribal, a little rough, but kindly.
Then our dear mother. Yours are wringing losses,
But you have still some comfort in your family.

Sel.
More misery, as you describe it, now!
A family without a home! a mother,
Dying for want—and sons, in manhood's vigour,
Without the means to help her!

Mad.
The activity
Often required to fight off present ill,
Serves to efface the memory of the past.
We must find methods to support our mother—
Or perish in the search! Go to the wood,
You know the winding?

Sel.
I can trace it.

Mad.
Go!
Leave me a little; I'll soon be with you,—
My strength and spirits are not worn as yours.
Among the ruins of the town, perchance,
I yet may something find to save us all
From famishing. Go, brother—and be careful.

Sel.
[Faintly.]
Assist me to the outskirts—

Mad.
[Supporting him.]
You are faint!

Sel.
I am!—'Tis some time since I tasted food.

Mad.
Cheerly, now! Tut, man! all will yet be well.
Come, Selico—come, come!

[Exit, supporting Selico, over the ruins, L. U. E.

SCENE II.

—A Wood.
Enter Mug, R., carrying a basket full of eatables.
Mug.

This is what I call a complete smash. They have
as great a rage for knocking down houses in Africa, as
they have for building, in London. [Starting.]
What's
that?—Only a jackdaw! I'm afraid I'm frighten'd!—
Whenever I have caught myself whistling, hang me, if I
could tell whether the tune was “Guardian angels now
protect me,” or “Go to the devil and shake yourself.” I
wouldn't have ventured into this dismal town again, from
the camp of my new master, the Mandingo king, but for
the hankering after the fate of my old master, the Foulah
priest;—and, if I was quite sure little Sutta was deceased,
I'd go into short mourning. The poor creatures, here,
are all as dead as door-nails!—so to keep myself alive, as it
is a good English three miles to the conquering king's
camp, who has made me his secretary of state, [Sitting on the ground, and opening the basket.]

we men high in
office always make sure of some devilish pretty pickings.

Enter Madiboo, R.
Mad.

Selico is safe on his way. Now to get some food,
And— [Seeing Mug, whose back is turned on him.]
Ha! a man!—and eating!

Mug.

Here's a basket full! If the English secretary
for foreign affairs could see me now, wouldn't he say a
Mandingo cabinet minister lunches in style!

Mad.
[Rushing forward, and seizing him.]

You mustn't touch a morsel!

Mug.
[Rising, terrified.]

Don't kill me! keep me for a
show—you'll find it worth your while.

Mad.

Ah! white man, is it you?

Mug.

Let me look at you—is it—eh?—yes! Lord,
Mr. Madiboo! I'm heartily glad to meet you alive, though
you almost frightened me to death. You won't hurt your
old friend Henry Augustus Mug, the ivory turner?

Mad.

I can't tell! I am desperate!

Mug.

Are you? Pray don't put yourself in a passion,
Mr. Madiboo—it will make you angry.

Mad.

I must have food!

Mug.

I was just going to dinner. You have dropped in
a little unexpectedly; but I am vastly happy to see you.
Pray take a seat upon the ground; and excuse this bad
set out, as I didn't expect the honour of your company.

Mad.

Look you, chalk-face! Your fear invites me to
eat, what I should be very loath to snatch from you as
plunder. The black slave merchants, who travel up along
the Senegal and Gambia, say your nation is famed for humanity
and bravery: I won't insult its character for courage,
by attacking such a paltry specimen of it as yourself.
But I apply to you on a score which they say no Englishman
can withstand—an honest family is perishing—succour
the distressed.

Mug.

Take all the basket, and much good may it do you.
I'm a little nervous, but, hang me, if I do this out of fear!
When my heart is full, I'd as leaf my stomach was empty.

Mad.

You are a good white man. How can I thank you?

Mug.

Don't say a word; munch dumb. Lord love you,
I'm made secretary of state to the Mandingo king, and
have got plenty.

Mad.

Ha! how did that happen?

Mug.

Why, his majesty is a monarch of great natural
parts, but he can neither read nor write;—so, just as he
was going to cut my throat, his majesty humanely considered
that I might be of a great deal of use to him, and
generously spared my life.

Mad.

Yes, and he'll poison you, when he has no further
occasion for you. He is no rightful ruler; but worked
and bullied himself into power. When the troubles about
liberty broke out among the Mandingoes, he was of low note
among their warriors. Enterprise and good luck gave him,
at last, complete sway over the fighting men;—that's everything,
when a nation is in a ferment, and the successful
upstart is active, cruel, and cunning. But what has it
made him? Why, the usurping king of a people who
murdered their true king, because they would have no
king at all; and the pillaging protector of some trembling
neighbours, whom he forces to say, come and shoot one
half of us, that the survivors may thank you for putting
their property into your clutches.

Mug.

I happen to be his secretary of state, for all that;
so I must do my duty—and, in my official capacity, see
what I have drawn up as my first maiden letter, and sent
to the English governor at the factory, at the mouth of the
Senegal.

Mad.

Well, let me gather all the intelligence I can, before
I quit you—but, be quick.

Mug.

Don't hurry a cabinet minister; it will spoil your
preferment. No merchant has been up the country lately,
and his majesty is out of paper; so I wrote my official letter
on a bit of slate, [Pulling out a pocket-book.]
and here is
a copy. I commanded the state messenger to be very
careful not to spit on the despatches, for fear of rubbing
them out.

Mad.

Let me hear them.

Mug.

A little patience, as I used to say to my creditors.
I always took in the Gazette, at Snow-Hill, and by conning
it over, this kind of job comes as smooth as a bit of
polished ivory.

Mad.

Begin.

Mug.

I'm going.

[Reading from the pocket-book.]

“Sir, I have the honour to inform your excellency, that
his majesty Demba Sego Jalla, the Mandingo king of Kassan,
whose important cares of state have never afforded him
leisure to learn to write,—has taken many prisoners now
on sale. The capture has been so great that T. O.”—that's
turn over—“that it will be worth the English traders'
while to travel up to the camp to inspect them.”

Mad.

They'll never come so far inland.

Mug.

Won't they? The messenger is returned, and
they are all expected here in grand cavalcade this very day.
I knew my style would fetch 'em—for hear what I have
added. [Reading.]

“I have the honour to inform your
excellency, that, if the merchants take the trouble to come,
I'll be d---d if they won't find a lumping penn'orth. I
would send a list of the killed and wounded in this affair,
but slate runs short, and no paper. I have the honour to
be, with the highest consideration, your excellency's most
devoted servant, Henry Augustus Mug, wood and ivory-turner,
No. 25, Snow-Hill; were all orders are executed
on the lowest terms, for ready money only.”

Mad.

White man, I must hurry from you. The provisions
which you have given me, are wanted by those who
are now perishing with hunger.

Mug.

Why didn't you scamper off towards the desert?
I hear all have run there who were not taken prisoners.—
Pray, Mr. Madiboo, if I may make so bold to inquire,
what's become of your mamma—your mother?

Mad.

What's that to you?

Mug.
[Frightened.]

Oh, dear! nothing at all; I didn't

mean to be impertinent—but only to make my kind inquiries
after the health of the good family.

Mad.

I would tell you how we are placed; but unthinking
friends often divulge the serious secrets of those they
would serve, and bring them into calamity, without intending
it. Farewell, white man! I hope we may meet again;
I owe you much, much gratitude. Oh, Mahomet! can the
heart receive more thrilling transport than this unexpected
treasure will afford me, by enabling me to preserve the life
of her who gave me birth!

[Exit, hastily, R.
Mug.

He's off—and what's very uncommon, has taken
with him, without fee or reward, all that a secretary of
state had to give, to the utmost satisfaction of the donor.
I shall go back to the camp, with a clear conscience and
an empty stomach.

SONG.—Mug.

[Exit, L.

SCENE III.

—A Wood.—A rude shed is seen among the trees, R. U. E., which Darina's sons have formed as a temporary residence for their mother—a bank, R.
Torribal comes forward from the shed, supporting Darina.
Tor.
Come, mother! this way—more into the air;
Bear up a little! Madiboo, I hope,
Will hasten back to us, with nourishment.

Dar.
I'm not in pain; I think the worst is over:
For they have told me, and I feel 'tis true,
The famish'd never struggle at the last:—
Death spreads a gentle languor o'er their limbs,
And they expire in slumbers.

Tor.
Oh, mother!
Do not talk so; you cut me to the heart!
Rest upon the bank. Madiboo loiters.—
And as for Selico, I'd cast him off—

Dar.
Hold, Torribal!
No words of bitterness among my sons.

Tor.
He has neglected you.

Dar.
No, no!

Tor.
He has!

Dar.
He saw me here in safety.

Tor.
Saw you distress'd!
Then he left you—for five days has left you!
If e'er again I cross him—

[Passionately.
Dar.
Peace, I charge you!
I have woe enough!—Let me not hear
One of my children vilify the other.

Tor.
[Tenderly, and kneeling.]
Have I offended you?

Dar.
[Pressing his hand.]
You are too sudden.
Man, the commanding wonder of creation,
Has, like the insect, his allotted time
To do his task, and perish. Brief the span,
In which he reckons up these several claims
Parents, wife, children, sisters, brethren, friend—
And sometimes more, crowding at once upon him;
Besides the common social ties, that smooth
Life's road, and gently slope it to the grave.

Tor.
Ah! 'tis true—very true, my mother!

Dar.
Sure, then, no blame can fall on Selico,
Who helps to bear his mother from the war;
Then leaving both his brothers to protect her,
Hastes back to seek his bride, alive or murder'd.

Tor.
Hark! a footstep! [Looking off, L.]
Ha! 'tis he—'tis Selico!

[Darina rises.
Enter Selico, L.
Sel.
[Crossing to Darina, R.]
I am here again, to ask a blessing.
Can you forgive a wanderer?

Dar.
Forgive!
You had urgent and dear cause of absence.
You seem dejected;—tell me 'tis fatigue,
Not disappointment, that has made you thus.
Have you been prosperous?

Sel.
I left my brother,
Just at the outskirts of our ruin'd town,
Resolved to bring you food, if food were in it.
But I could find none.

Tor.
Could not? Chilling news!

Dar.
'Twas not on that account that I inquired
What has befall'n;—it was—

Sel.
[Distressed.]
I know;—I know.

Dar.
Tell me of—

Sel.
Our good priest?—and—and—

[Pauses.
Dar.
Berissa.

Sel.
[Much agitated.]
Mother, their fate is certain; no more now,—
Some other time I'll tell you.

Dar.
Selico,
You torture me! Their fate is certain!—Speak!
Have they escaped?

Sel.
Not so.

Tor.
Conceal'd within the town, then;
And, like ourselves, in want of sustenance.

Sel.
No, Torribal, not that.

Tor.
[Sorrowfully.]
Then they are—

[Hesitates.
Sel.
Ay;—
Brother, you faulter;—what then must I feel,
When I pronounce—they're butcher'd by the enemy!

[Darina turns aside, with her hands to her face, and totters to the bank.
Tor.
But are you sure of this?

Sel.
Certain! Fearing
I might shock my mother with a token,
Which, if display'd, would break the news at once,
Within the hollow of a tree. I hid,
Before I came in view, Farulho's mantle.
How I obtain'd it, let Madiboo inform you—
And spare my wounded feelings.

Tor.
Selico,
I fear that I have sometimes seem'd unkind;
Forgive me—'tis my nature to be rough;
But I—in short we never know how much
We love a friend, till he is in affliction.

[Embraces him.
Enter Madiboo with a basket, hastily, L.
Mad.
Where is my mother? I've brought provisions!

Tor.
(C.)
Welcome, welcome!

Mad.
[Pushing by him.]
There's no time for welcome;
For here's the dinner waiting. But where is—
[Seeing Darina.
Oh! she's there! How fares it, mother?—Courage!—
See here! here is something to restore you.
Cheerly, mother!—Into the shed, and eat!

[Helps her from the bank.
Dar.
You'll all partake?

Mad.
Knowing there was enough,
I snack'd as I kept running on the road.

Tor.
The shed's small, let Selico go with you.
I'll wait, for he, I fear, has fasted longest.

Mad.
Now, Torribal, that's kind. Why, Selico!

[Selico, who, from the time of Madiboo's entrance, has appeared abstracted and lost in thought, starts and runs to Darina.
Sel.
I had forgot,—I—now, dearest mother!

Dar.
[Leaning on him.]
My poor, unhappy boy!

[Selico and Darina retire into the shed, R. U. E.
Mad.
Unhappy boy!
What did she mean by that?

Tor.
Why, she knows all—
Farulho and his daughter both are dead.

Mad.
Then Selico has told her;—that was wrong;
She's weak,—such news came too abruptly on her.

Tor.
Not as he utter'd it: he would have strangled
Affliction in his breast; she wrung it thence
By eager questions: first, he rear'd his head,
Loftly in sorrow, like an aspen struck
By thunderbolts!—till, trembling at her breath,
He whisper'd out his woe so mournfully,
That, were it not for shame, I could have wept
Worse than the softest wench in Africa.

Mad.
Don't think a tear too weak on strong occassions.
A sniveller's whimpering fills sorrow's puddles;
But when a firm man weeps, each drop's a diamond.

Tor.
I fear calamity will pinch us harder,
Before we find another settlement.

Mad.
It will, unless we hit upon something,
And suddenly.

Tor.
Ay, but what?

Mad.
I know not.
But this I know—there's nothing in the town
That's worth a second venture; and where else
Is there a chance?

Tor.
No where; and we must starve.

Mad.
Not if we can help it; still we'll struggle.

Tor.
I see no struggle we can have, but one;
We must sit down by our poor mother's side,
And see her die before us.

Mad.
Here comes Selico.
Let us consult with him how to proceed.

Re-enter Selico, from the shed, R. U. E.
Sel.
Our mother sleeps: food, after fainful fasting,
Has lull'd her to repose.

Mad.
Come hither, then.
This meal, which the poor white man gave to me,
Has saved her life; but fortune will not send
The white man every day. Have you reflected
About a fresh supply, when this is gone?

Sel.
I dread to think on't!

Mad.
That's worse than folly.
Our inactivity is certain death
To our dear mother, and to all of us.

Tor.
Something must be done.

Sel.
Ay, but what? name it!

Mad.
Yes, there's the point that sorely puzzles us.
For now we are girded by the enemy;
And we have neither weapons of attack,
Nor instruments, to gain a livelihood
By hunt or tillage. In a little time,
The winter rains set in; and should that season
O'ertake us here, before the stock's laid up,
There's nothing but a miracle can save us.

Tor.
Suppose their camp should break up shortly,
'Twould leave us ranging room.

Mad.
Suppose a dinner,
A day too late, popp'd under dead men's noses!

Tor.
The camp must soon disperse.

Mad.
Not yet awhile.
There's business that will take at least ten days—
The English merchants are invited up
To buy the prisoners.

Sel.
[Quickly.]
Is that certain?

Mad.
To-day they are expected in the camp.

Sel.
To-morrow then my mother shall be rich!

Tor.
How, Selico?

Sel.
I'll be a slave—sell me!
The money will preserve my mother's life!
She shall have all—all this body's value.
So may the trader then become humane,
By purchasing a son, to save a mother!

Mad.
That son shall be myself!

Sel.
No!

Tor.
Hold a little!
'Tis true the purchase money would produce us
A stock of all we want; and one of us
Must be the sacrifice! Let us decide
By lot who shall be sold.

Sel.
No, my brother;
Mine is already cast—for more unhappy
I cannot be,—my early hope is gone!
I breathed in the soft spring of my desire,
Upon the sweetest violet that ever
Disclosed its fragrant loveliness to Heaven!
Untimely tempest nipp'd the modest flower,
And the world's garden is, to me, a desert.

Mad.
This must not be!

Sel.
It must,—and you shall lead
Me to the camp! 'Twill not be difficult
To mingle in the crowd, and some merchant
Find, willing to strike the bargain.

Mad.
Horrid!
You make my blood run cold—I cannot do it!
What! sell my brother?

Sel.
To save your parent.
Had we agreed, as Torribal proposed,
Still one had done this office for the other.

Tor.
Then let it be my lot.

Sel.
I'll not consent.
You two are heart-whole; wretched as I am,
I should be useless here. [To Madiboo.]
Come with me, now—
Or, by our prophet! I will seek the camp
Alone, and having found a purchaser,
Trust to some chance to send you back the money.
Hark! there's our mother stirring—we must part!
Say we go out to forage.

Mad.
Torribal, what can I do?

Tor.
[Mournfully.]
It must be as he says.

Sel.
Let me embrace her for the last, last time,
And leave her, then, for ever!

Mad.
I shall choke!

Darina appears at the opening of the shed, R. U. E.
Dar.
Torribal, how you stay! you must be faint;
Pr'ythee, come in and eat.

Tor.
I come, directly.

Sel.
And we, dear mother, now must leave you.

Dar.
[Coming forward.]
Leave me!—so soon, my son?

Sel.
Yes, to seek more food.
I must say farewell!

Dar.
Must say farewell?
There's a something in that word that makes
My heart feel heavy.

Sel.
[Apart to Torribal.]
Adieu, my dear brother!
May you long live happy!
[Presses his hands—then turns to Darina.
One kiss,—still one.
May Heaven shield and bless you, mother! Now
I am ready.—Onwards, Madiboo! onwards!

[Exeunt, Selico and Madiboo, hurriedly, L., Torribal and Darina, sorrowfully, into the shed, R. U. E.

SCENE IV.

—The Camp of Demba Sego Jalla, Mandingo King of Kassan.
Enter Mug, and several Mandingo Warriors, L. U. E.
Mug.

Pray, black generals, brigadiers, majors, colonels,
and captains, keep your distance. I am secretary at war,
and it is not pretty to press so strongly upon cabinet
questions.

First W.

Our prisoners are lying upon our hands: we
only want to know when the European merchants will
come to purchase them.

Omnes.

Ay, ay, that's all.

Mug.

But his majesty has commanded me not to let you
know the time.

First W.

Why?

Mug.

Because you are all so greedy: you would run out
of the camp to meet them, and forestall the market;—besides,
nothing but a verbal message has been given.

Second W.

We don't believe it. Read the letter sent
by the factory, that states the day when they will arrive.

Mug.

Thus far I am free to reply to the gallant general
of the black countenance, who spoke last. The finances
of the country, from our late glorious victory, are in a situation
that may make us proud; but I assure the gallant
general, that on the subject now under discussion, no authenticated
papers (however loudly they may be called for)
have yet reached my office. But set your hearts at rest;
I dare say you'll all drive your infernal trade to your own
advantage, and your unfortunate black and copper cattle
will go at a good price. [A march is heard at a distance.]

Hark! [Looking off, R.]
By the Lord Harry, the merchants
are coming already! Run, and draw out your prisoners.
[Exeunt the Mandingo Warriors, hurriedly, L.]
There
they are, in full march! What a capital procession!—
Some on horseback—some on oxen—and a long lanky
jockey, that looks like their leader, is stuck upon a camel.
Lord Mayor's show, on the ninth of November, is nothing
to it.

[The music is heard stronger.
Enter the European Merchants in procession, R.—Fetterwell, the chief of the merchants, seated on a camel, attended by six Slaves—Captain Adamant, Marrowbone, Flayall, Grim, and four other Merchants.
Fet.
[To Mug.]

I say—who are you?

Mug.

Secretary at war to his Mandingo majesty Demba
Sego Jalla, king of Kassan.

Fet.

Are you? then help me off my camel, and I'll give
you a shilling. [Mug helps him off.]
Zounds! but he's a
bone-setter! [The Attendants lead off the camel, R.]
Are
you the person that sent the letter to the governor at the
factory?

Mug.

I was commanded by the king, my master, to
write the despatch.

Fet.

Well, then, you are Henry Augustus Mug; turner
in wood and ivory when you are in London.

Mug.

Yes, and secretary at war, while I'm in Africa.

Fet.

Well, master Mug, your two professions agree
nicely, as the world goes: you are not the first, by many,
who has wriggled himself into power, when he has been in
the habit of turning. My name is Fetterwell, long known
as a merchant in the slave trade. Here are other gentlemen
of my profession. Are we to see his majesty?

Mug.

Not to-day; he has got the belly-ache.

Fet.

A very odd court excuse for not seeing a sovereign!
But let me introduce my friends and brother traders.—
Here's Mr. Flayall, bound to Barbadoes—Mr. Grim, going
to Jamaica—young Mr. Marrowbone, once a carcass
butcher in Clare-Market, but an estate dropping to him
in the West India Islands, he now barters for blacks, instead
of bargaining for bullocks,—Captain Abraham Adamant,
who lost his left leg when the inhuman negroes
chucked him down the hatchway, for only stowing fifteen
in a hammock, in hot weather,—and sundry others. Pray,
gentlemen, be known to the secretary.

Mar.

Pray, Mr. Quisby, how do you think we shall find
the market?

Mug.
[Aside.]

Mr. Quisby!—Oh, this is the young
Jemmy butcher. [Aloud.]
What d'ye buy, sir? what
d'ye buy?

Mar.

Buy slaves, to be sure.

Mug.

I don't know what they may be a pound to-day;
markets vary—

Mar.

I can't see why they should, here.

Mug.

Can't you? Now, supposing you were put up to
sale.

Mar.

Me? [Laughing.]
Ha, ha! that droll;—but what
then?

Mug.

Why, then a calf's head might fetch more or less
to-day than it would to-morrow.

Fet.

Well, but where are the parties?

Mug.

The black generals are arranging their prisoners.

Fet.

We must make short work of this, as this will be
our last venture; for, when I left London, a bill was passing
that will kick our business to the devil.

Mug.

I am very glad to hear it. The work begins in
the natural quarter, and the stream of freedom flows from
the very fountain head of true natural liberty. Here come
the generals with their prisoners; and we shall have the
common marketers pouring in, on all sides, directly.

A March.—Enter the Mandingo Warriors with their Prisoners, L. U. E., and range themselves opposite the Merchants, L.
CHORUS OF WARRIORS.
First Party.
March, brave Mandingoes, march! in triumph shout!
And draw your well-won prisoners out.

SOLO.—Second Warrior.
When Afric conquerors tread the field,
Slaves are the harvest battles yield.

Chorus.
March, Warriors, march!

Mug.
[Aside.]

Rabbit me, if there isn't my darling
short bit of a love, Sutta, among the prisoners—and among
his majesty's own proper lot, too. If I could but buy her
off, for myself.

Fet.

A pretty decent show.

Mar.

Yes, the women are tricked out as gay as a porkshop
on Saturday night; and the men seem tolerably strong.

Mug.

Now, gentlemen, I must address you in my official
capacity—so listen. Hem!—Gentlemen auctioneers of
the two-legged repositories: I am commanded by the king
my master to inform you, that it is his majesty's humane
decree, that you may purchase—your fellow-creatures—
but if you steal, or smuggle, a single slave, he will, with
infinite regret, put you to death in the tenderest manner
imaginable.

Fet.

The devil he will! I wish we hadn't come here.

Mug.

The market will be open a whole week; at the
end of which, if any of you prove defaulters, so great will
be his lenity to you, as his customers, that he will give you
the choice of your execution—of which there are three
sorts in this country.—You may either be burnt, impaled,
or scalded, which ever you think the most agreeable.

Fet.

This is a confounded arbitrary government. Let's
look over the goods. Now take care, my honest, respectable
friends, neither to smuggle nor steal.

[The Merchants go up the camp, Mug accompanying them.
Enter Selico, Madiboo, and an English Merchant, R.
Mer.

He's of the Foulah tribe, I believe?

Mad.

Ay.

Mer.

I would not give three mickellies for a slave of his
breed; they are not reckoned so hardy as the black negroes.
You'll get little or nothing for him, now the market is so
well stocked.—Good day!

[Walks away.
Sel.
They all reject us. What did he offer?

Mad.
I can't tell—I forget.—My heart sickens!

Sel.
I fear, my project now may not succeed.
The pittance they offer us could not
Support my mother through the winter.

Mad.
No matter. Mahomet forgive me!
But I had rather we should all perish,
Than you should be the price of our living;
And I employed to carry home the dross.
[A bustle heard without, L.
Stand aside, Selico! stand aside!
Something extraordinary has happened.
Yonder is the white man; he mustn't see us,
Lest they at once discover who we are.

[They retire.
Enter a Crier, L., followed by Africans, who crowd round him.
Africans.
Hear him! hear him! hear him!

Crier.
[Reading.]

“Proclamation and reward!—Last
night, a man, with his head muffled in his garment, escaped
through the fire of soldiery, from the tent of the king's
favourite female prisoner. Whoever shall bring the offender
into his majesty's presence, so that he may be
punished with death, shall receive four hundred ounces
of gold.”

[Exit the Crier, R., followed by the mob.—Fetterwell and Mug come forward, C.
Fet.

That's a good lot.—I'll take the whole.

Mug.

You have picked the prime of the market; those
are the tit-bits of the prisoners, and reserved for his majesty's
own private pocket.

Fet.

There's a little short girl among 'em, though, that
I don't think worth a fathing.

Mug.
[Aside.]

Bless her! that's my Sutta. [Aloud.]

Hasn't she a sweet face?

Fet.

Well enough for a blackamoor; but faces do no
work in the West Indies.

Mug.

You have a devilish bad taste. I'd rather have
her than all the rest tied up in a bunch.

Fet.

Why, master Mug, it is my opinion you are fond
of that little black pony.

Mug.

Oh, love! You know not, Mr. Fetterwell, its
power—I do.

Fet.

Then let me off at a hundred for the whole lot,
and I'll chuck the girl to you as a bonus.

Mug.

Will you? I'm naturally honest in office, but
the tender passion makes me peculate.—Done!

Fet.

Then the lot's mine. [Going among the Slaves, and pushing Sutta out from the ranks.]

Trundle out, little
one, and get a new master.

[Exit with Slaves, R.
Sutta.

Oh, dear! who my massa now?

Mug.

Your own Mug. Sutta, don't you remember your
Henry Augustus?

Sutta.

Ah, massa Mug! you alive?

Mug.

Alive! why, I'm secretary to his Mandingo majesty.
Come this way, and I'll talk to you.

[Exit with Sutta, R.—Selico and Madiboo come forward.
Sel.
'Twas a large reward the crier offered.

Mad.
It was.

Sel.
'Twould make my mother rich for ever.

Mad.
Ay, but that's hopeless.

Sel.
No, not so.

Mad.
Not so?

Sel.
No, certainly; the merchants, you perceive,
Just offer that which would prolong existence
A few short days—

Mad.
To leave us as we were.
Come home, dear Selico—come to the woods,
And let us trust to fortune.

Sel.
Never!

Mad.
No!

Sel.
I never will return—no, never, brother,
Hapless as I am, while I have means
To save a parent, and the means are offered.

Mad.
What are the means?

Sel.
You heard the proclamation.
Four hundred ounces, paid at once, in gold,
Would be a treasure. Take me to the king;
Drag me before him as the criminal;
Do you receive the offer'd sum; depart,
Preserve my mother's life;—leave me to death.

Mad.
Oh, God! you drive me mad! [Kneeling.]
Brother—dear brother!
On my knees, I entreat you to hear me!

Sel.
I am wild, but fix'd!

Mad.
Think on the torture!

Sel.
That may be calculated. She who bore me,
Suffer'd with joy the throes that gave me being;
The pangs that I endure, to save her life,
Will be as short and grateful.

Mad.
Proceed not!

Sel.
I'll raise the camp—proclaim myself the culprit,
If you refuse!

Mad.
Where would you hurry me?

Sel.
To the king's camp!—Go on—I am resolved!

Mad.
No!—you will repent, Selico.

Sel.
Never!

Mad.
I scarce know what I'm doing.

Sel.
Go forward!

[Exit Selico, L., resolutely dragging off Madiboo.