University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

—The Town of Fatteconda, in Bondou, a district of Africa, inhabited by the Foulahs, and situate between the rivers Senegal and Gambia—a large tract of romantic Country beyond the town—a Hut, L. S. E.— The horizon is very faintly tinged with the rays of the sun, which grow stronger till the sun is completely risen.
Selico discovered leaning against a tree, R.
Sel.
Rise, orb of light!—those streaks, thy harbingers,
Are sluggish glowworms on the mountain's brow;—
Thy bird, the eagle, mourns; and constant dawn,
Whom thou wert wont to press with hasty fire,
Weeps dew, in token of thy love's neglect,
Thou follow'st her so slow.—Though oft, ere noon,
Faint from thy influence I seek the shade,
Come sun, and scorch me now!—dart thy full beams
O'er Afric's sands upon me!—bring me day!
Bring me to my Berissa—to my bride!

[Torribal puts his head through an aperture in the hut, L. S. E.
Tor.
Selico!

Sel.
Ha, Torribal! what say you?

Tor.
That the sun don't rise sooner for your bawling,—
But I do!—so I'll come and speak to you.

He disappears.
Sel.
Close to a brake, I've seen a playful lion
Pawing his fellow whelp;—'tis rough diversion,
Much like my brother's wit. Well, he loves me—
We're brother lions, but I the tamest!

Enter Torribal, from the hut, L. S. E.
Tor.
Now, Selico, my younger brother!—Soon
They'll beat the tabala, to tell us all
That you will soon be married.

Sel.
Ay, ay,
With the consent of our loved mother,
And with the sanction of our good priest
Farulho, father of my bride Berissa.
Pr'ythee, what then?

Tor.
Why, then, 'tis to be hoped
You won't for sun-beams hunt so soon to-morrow
As to-day, lest your sweet bride should sour.

Sel.
Still, brother, you will mock.

Tor.
Mock!—Oh, not I!—
Love is a pretty pastime;—and last night,
'Neath the tabba tree, in our market place,
Did I harangue the people on your nuptials.

Sel.
'Twas kind. What said you?

Tor.
Africans! said I,—
Townsmen of Fatteconda, here in Bondou,
Between the Senegal and Gambia,
We Foulahs are the prettiest of the negroes—
The same sun that dyes our neighbours black,
Feloops, Mandingoes, Jaloops, and the rest,
Hath tinged us Foulahs lighter by ten shades.
Berissa is the prettiest maid amongst us;
My brothers are the prettiest of our tribe;
And brother Selico—except myself—
The handsomest of all our family.
So pray this loving couple's love may last
A little longer than my wedding-speech.

[Crosses to R.
Sel.
A speech of scoff and ribaldry!—my heart
Grieves that it cannot thank you. Side by side,
When first I followed you into the wars,
(A stripling I, you season'd in the fight)
Remember, Torribal—

Tor.
That you fought well.

Sel.
No, no, not that,—but that you saved my life.
You saw the arrow coming, and your arm,
Guarding my breast, received it.—In your flesh
It quiver'd, and ne'er scarr'd the youth you clasped.—
You wrenched the barb, reeking from your sinews,
And, smiling, you exclaimed, “They must not wound
My little brother Selico!”

Tor.
Umph!—Did I?

Sel.
Yes, Torribal: you may forget, I cannot.
But pr'ythee think, good brother, though thy hand
Taking Torribal's hand.
So fondly screen'd my bosom, your tongue
May deeply—very deeply, wound my heart.

Tor.
I hate all honey-mouth—all flattery!
Young men may marry; there's no harm in that.
What's one wife? our laws allows us plenty.
But, to desert a mother—

Sel.
What? desert!
You touch me to the quick! the very wolf
Feels there the tie of nature! Our mother
Rejoices in my—Prophet Mahomet!
Whom Afric's converts worship!—who shall say
I leave a mother in the hour of need?
Could I, who—

Madiboo
is seen crossing in the distance, from L. to R., winding round a pathway on a hill, and singing, till he is hid by the intervening bushes.
Kouskous and sinkatoo, for king Ali Beg, oh!
But Serawooli king he eat antelope's leg, oh!
Sing shannawang, sing sharrawang,
Sing shongo!

Tor.
Over the hills comes Madiboo, our brother:
He went before the moon sunk to fetch home
Provision by the dawn.

Sel.
He will not say,
While you and he remain, and I at hand,
I left a mother destitute.

Tor.
Not he!—
He never thinks—mad-pates have no morrow.
His scull holds just enough to oil his limbs,
And make him active. Then he runs a field,
Shoots paroquets, and snares the red-legg'd partridge;
Hastes back, incumber'd with more game than brains,
And so we go to dinner.

Sel.
Still unjust.
His frame, robust and pliant, boasts a nature
Well suited to it, for 'tis bold yet yielding—
Fierce to his foe as panther's. But the dove,
Who wings her anxious journey home with food,
Returns not to her young with more delight,
Than he comes laden to his family.
The strong, but generous sovereign of the woods,
And the spring lamb that frolics on the green,
Have mingled both their qualities in him.

Tor.
Enough.

Sel.
Not quite.—They who have brains enough
To prompt them honestly to use their limbs,
And work a living for their humble homes,
Are neither fools nor burthens in a nation.

Enter Madiboo, singing, carrying corn and game, R.
Good wife had Kickawick,—she drowny one night, oh!
But Kickawick no fish again, for fear him wife bite, oh!
Sing shannawang, &c.

Mad.
[Putting down the different articles near the door.]
There's maize,—I'll throw it into the paloon
And pound it for my mother's kouskous pudding,—
And there are partridges; ground nuts, and rice;
And three fat guinea fowls.—I shot them, Selico,
For your bride's father.

Tor.
(R.) [Sneeringly.]
Ay, priests love good eating.

Mad.
(C.)
Bless all their jolly chops! I love to see—
When there's a wedding dinner—the good old man,
Who joined the couple, smiling at the feast.

Tor.
Well, let them gorge.

Sel.
(L.) [Warmly.]
Farulho is no glutton.

Mad.
[Looking at his brother.]
A glutton!—Oh! I see—the old work!
You have been fretting him about Berissa—
And on the wedding-day, too, Torribal!
Come, come, this is not kind.

Tor.
[Sulkily.]
It all began
In a good joke.

Mad.
[Laughing.]
Then you did not begin it.
You are, 'tis certain, as incapable
Of a good joke, as an owl is of singing.

Tor.
Why, how now, Madiboo!—you bird-catcher!
Hunt and be dumb! your wit lies in your heels.

Mad.
And where lies yours? Your muddy jibes are like
The frisking of an elephant,—you trample,
And fancy you have caper'd! I have mark'd you,
A thousand times, tormenting Selico—
Dashing your gall—which you call pleasantry—
Upon his milky spirit, 'till his heart
Has ached with pain, and mine has boil'd with anger!

Tor.
I tell you, fool, I jested.

Mad.
Jested, did you?
Why, you are grown, of late, as bright as lead—
As comical as malice! and cut as keen
As any rusty hatchet, notched!
[Pointing to Selico.
Shame on it, Torribal! see how he grieves!
You jeer a brother as the Moorish chief
Treated a neighbour at a merry-making:
He cried, “I'll tickle you!” and chopp'd his head off.

Sel.
[Crossing to C., stepping between them, and taking their hands.]
Peace, I entreat you! pray let us be friends!
We outrage, else, our parent's tenderness;
Who, left in widow'd poverty, wept o'er us;
Toil'd in her sickness, fasting while we fed,
And clung to life, only to rear her babes!
When brothers are at variance, could they think
On the fond tear a mother shed on them,
That woke their slumbers while their infant arms
Circled each other's neck, 'twould surely quench
All sparks of strife within their breasts for ever.

Mad.
[Affected.]
My sparks are all gone out; [To Torribal.]
and, goodman Gruff,
When you're extinguish'd, say so, and be friends.

Tor.
[Crossing, and holding out his hand.]
There then!

Mad.
[Shaking it.]
And there!

Sel.
That's as it should be.

Darina.
[Calling without, L.
Selico!

Mad.
Our mother calls you—run!

Sel.
I come, good mother.

[Exit into the hut, L. S. E.
Tor.
He talks it well.

Mad.
Who?—he?

Tor.
Ay, Selico.
But if he bears us all such loads of love,
Why does he quit us?

Mad.
Why?—to take a wife.

Tor.
Ay, the priest's daughter; she is rich and grand,—
Else why not bring her to our little family?

Mad.
Because, 'tis like, she'll have a little family;
And then, in time, the cabin would not hold us.

Tor.
This mother, whom we work for now she's old—

Mad.
[Emphatically.]
Ay, and who work'd for us when she was young!

Tor.
Well,—her he leaves, and goes—

Mad.
A stone's throw off;—
How barbarous! [Pointing off, L.]
There stands the house he'll live in!
He'll not be able, now, to visit her
Above ten times a-day.

Tor.
Well, well,—his labour
Falls on us now; and added to our own—

Mad.
We shall be kill'd; we're both such puny children!

Tor.
Psha! If 'tis right to-marry, then how comes it
He marries first?

Mad.
Oh! are you thereabouts?
Now it comes out you want a wife yourself,—
You would be billing, would you?—oh, you sly one!

Tor.
Not I!—but he's the youngest—

Mad.
That's the reason!
Girls always like the youngest best, that's certain.

Tor.
As things fall out—

Mad.
Come, come, don't you fall out,
When things fall out just as we might expect them.
I shoot, you till the garden, for our mother.
To gain a daily blessing for her, Selico
Has paid a daily visit to our priest.

Tor.
Well?

Mad.
When your corn and vegetables sprout,
Do pretty girls sprout with them?

Tor.
No, not one.

Mad.
And when I've been upon the hunt for birds,
I never once put a priest's daughter up!
But Selico went in the way of beauty;
And she, whom he soon loved, loved him. What said
Her father—good old soul!—the priest Farulho?
Just this—“The filial heart of Selico
Bespeaks him good, and he shall have my girl.
An honest husband is a wife's best wealth.
A rich wife helps a poor and kindly son
To cheer an aged widow and a mother.”
When every match is made upon this plan,
Family quarrels won't be quite so common.

Tor.
Perhaps I've been too bitter.

Mad.
Worse than wormwood.
We want no home disturbers of the wedding;
Others may come, that—

Tor.
Others!

Mad.
Yes;—but first swear not to blab.

Tor.
I promise.

Mad.
Your promise
Is so unlike your joke, that I can take it.
Listen, then!—The Mandingo king, 'tis thought,
Will take us by surprise.

Tor.
The usual way of war, among our nations.

Mad.
Coming home, I saw among the thickets
A party of Mandingoes, arm'd in ambush.

Tor.
The army's then at hand. [Going, R.]
I'll raise our people!

Mad.
[Catching him by the arm.]
As sure as you attempt to raise the people,
I take you by surprise, and trip your heels up.
You'll mar the wedding!

Tor.
Yes, but are you mad?

Mad.
Be calm! 'twas but a straggling party. We have time,
Before the main force comes, to give alarm,
So let us have the marriage over.

Tor.
But if—

Mad.
Nay, be ruled; the very moment
Our brother has secured his bride, we'll rouse
The town.

Tor.
Agreed.

Mad.
The time will be but short;
And then—Hush! here's our mother; not a word!

Enter Darina, from the hut, L. S. E., with a mantle an her arm.
Tor. & Mad.
Bless our dear mother!

Dar.
Blessings on my children!
On this day double blessings! for it brings
Joy to my youngest born; and, therefore, joy
To both his brothers. Oh! the drops that now
Steal on my cheek are sweet as morning gems;
For my heart's sunshine sparkles in my eye,
And grateful is the dew that glitters there.

Mad.
Come, 'tis full time that we should to the priest;
The bride will grow impatient.

Dar.
I shall follow;
And, as our custom is, the marriage over,
We'll join you at the feast.

Mad.
Good.
Brother Torribal, do you go with us?
[While Darina is unfolding the mantle, Madiboo whispers Torribal.
Don't!—Remain at home to guard our mother.
If any of the stragglers come to skirmish,
Fight like a devil till I come to back you.

Tor.
[Apart to Madiboo.]
Enough! [Aloud.]
Away, Madiboo! I shall stop
To stow in the provisions you have brought;—
Then, mother, you and I can go together.

[He takes up the articles that Madiboo had put down, and exits into the hut, L. S. E.
Re-enter Selico, from the hut, L. S. E.
Sel.
Now, mother, once more bless me, and I go.

Dar.
Stay, Selico; present this to Farulho.

Mad.
A curious mantle that.

Dar.
[Giving it to Selico.]
The widow's offering,
On her son's marriage, to the good old priest.
Say, while she work'd it, many and many a prayer
Of gratitude, burst from Darina's lips,
For him who thus has bless'd her and her son.

Sel.
Embrace me, mother; and our prophet guard you!

[They embrace.
Mad.
[Aside.]
My mind misgives me;—should the foe arrive
Before we—hum! [Aloud.]
Now, good mother, farewell!
You'll come to dinner?

Der.
Yes,—to find all happy.

Mad.
Ay, to be sure! The priest will have his game,
And that will make him happy; Selico
Will have Berissa, that will make them happy;
And Torribal stays here to come with you,
So you two will be happy.—Oh, there never
Were such a set of happy, happy people,
As we shall be to-day, in Africa!
Come, Selico! come! Farewell, good mother!

[Exeunt, Madiboo and Selico R., Darina into the hut, L. S. E.

SCENE II.

—The Interior of Farulho's House.
Enter Henry Augustus Mug, R.
Mug.

Oh, nature! since you form'd me amorous, why
did fortune cast me on a soil, where to be fair is to be ugly?
Oh, Henry Augustus Mug! once a turner, both in wood
and ivory, and free of the city of London; you are now a
slave, among the living ebony ware of the world's creation.
The chief folks, indeed, of Fatteconda, the Foulahs as they
call themselves, are some shades lighter than the original
natives, and my fellow-slaves; but the town altogether
looks like a back-gammon board, when the game is over,
and all the black and yellow men are jumbled together.—

Still that little jade, Sutta, runs in my head strangely!—
She's a dingy Venus, of the dumpling sort, sprung out of
the Black sea. [Looking off, L.]
Eh! here she comes!

Enter Sutta, L., and crosses to R.
Mug.
(C.)

Sutta! Sutta!

Sutta.

Ah, massa Mug! me go get sweet scent for
bride,—good missy Berissa.

Mug.
[Taking her hand.]

But I want to talk with you.
Oh, Sutta! if I had you with me in my own country, I
could make you so happy!

Sutta.

Where you live, when you at home?

Mug.

Upon Snow-Hill—Mug and Co., goods for exportation.
Little did I think, when I exported myself, to buy
a cargo of elephant's and hippopotamus's teeth, on the
banks of the Gambia, that I should be kidnapp'd by a
negro slave merchant, and carried up the country to be sold.

Sutta.

How much you sell for?

Mug.

D---n the price! it mortifies me! On account of
my colour, I didn't fetch more than an English sand-man
would give for a good donkey.

Sutta.

What dat?—Donkey very poor white man?

Mug.

Oh, no; we have many fine gentlemen of the
donkey breed in London, with more money than they know
what to do with. But, after pawing me about in the market,
as a butcher handles a sheep, all this handsome human
mutton, that now stands before you, was sold for five minkallis;
value, not quite two pounds ten shillings sterling.

Sutta.

Farulho good priest, he kind to poor slave.

Mug.

He's a very sympathetic savage. But, ah, Sutta!
should you ever go with me to Snow-Hill, what pretty
things I would turn for you!

Sutta.

Wish you turn ugly thing for me, now.

Mug.

How?

Sutta.

Turn your face t'other way, massa Mug;—
'cause, when you look me full, it make me jump.

Mug.

Jump! what for?

Sutta.

Skin like tooth—white all over.

Mug.
[Aside.]

If this girl got over Blackfriars-Bridge
into the city, she'd refuse the hand of the lord-mayor, to
marry a chimney-sweeper. [To Sutta.]
So, you object to
my complexion? [Sutta nods.]
And my features, too,
perhaps.

Sutta.

No; pity you not black—for your features look
like negro man, very.

Mug.

D---m me, if the best looking Londoner mustn't
be smokedried, like king Charles at Charing Cross, before
he has any chance in this country! Why, I tell you, as I
told you over and over again, white is the handsomest.

Sutta.

Ah! black for me.

DUET.—Sutta and Mug.
Sutta.
Oh, the jet feather'd raven, how lovely it look, ah!
When he spread him black wing to fly over the brook, ah!
Ulacol! ulacol!

Mug.
Oh, the white swan he swims in the Thames mighty smugly,
But he hides his black legs 'cause they look so d---d ugly.
Fol de rol! fol de rol!

Sutta.
Young negro girl skin make her eye to shine out, ah!
And sparkle like night star, when bats flit about, ah!
Ulalown! ulalown!

Mug.
A white woman's eye, through her eyelashes darting,
Makes black ladies' eyes “All my eye, Betty Martin.”
Derry down!

Sutta.
But I be Afric—I be Afric:
Blacky man he be my delight, ah!

Mug.
And I'm a Cockney—I'm a Cockney:
I love black when I can't get white, ah!

Sutta.
Go away, white man—white man, go!
Then me sing quicka—wicka—wit!

Mug.
If I had a little black girl I know
Then I'd sing, fal de ral tit!

Together.
Sutta.
Sweet black boy, Love, me bend before you!

Mug.
White urchin, Cupid, I adore you!

Sutta.
Black boy, Love!

Mug.
White boy, Love!

Mug.

Still I maintain that— [Looking off, R.]
Stay!
here's our master, the priest Farulho.

Enter Farulho, R.
Far.

Come, Sutta! my Berissa stays for you—
Prepare,—for Selico will soon be here.

Sutta.

I go quick, massa!

[Exit, L.
Far.

Our prophet guard you, white man!

Mug.

Thank you reverence;—but if nobody else guarded
me, I should make bold to give you the slip.

Far.
Be not so sullen, christian; be not moody
On my child's wedding-day: for I obtain'd you
From a harsh man, to soften your captivity;—
And when I paid your rate—

Mug.

Sink the money, if you please; 'tis devillish disagreeable!
—I have sold an ivory tooth-pick case out of
my show-glass for double the money!

Far.
Nay, I was not the cause of your inthralment.
You were in bondage when I saw you first,
And toiling past your strength beneath the lash.—
I purchased you to smooth your yoke with down.—
I wanted not the white man for my slave,
But he could find no friend—yet needed one.

Mug.

You are the kindest copper-coloured clergyman
that ever took tithes of the mussulman negroes. But I
shall be as deadly-lively at your jollification, as a shut-up
shop on a fast-day.

[Wild music heard without, L.
Far.
Forget your cares awhile; my daughter marries—
The house cries holiday; jocund mirth floats
Down the musky vale, and echo answers it.
Each slave to-day shall have a double portion.

Mug.

That's as much as to say, we are all allow'd to
get drunk with dooli—a sort of African Whitbread's
Entire.

Far.
Oh, no! excess befits not me, nor mine;
A priestly festival unbends the brow,
As cheerful morning lights the sober hills:
The drunkard's revel is a heated day,
That ends in midnight storm distorting nature.

Mug.

Pray, did your reverence ever hear of Dolly's
Chop-House?

Far.

I know not what you mean.

Mug.

You may get a better dinner there for eighteen
pence, than all the rich men here could give at a pic-nic.

Far.

What would you have to make your fare more
dainty?

Mug.

What you have no notion of. A clean table-cloth,
and a three prong'd pork, with a neat turn'd ivory handle;
a hot beaf-steak, done by a quick fire; with mash'd potatoes,
and pickled cabbage; the mustard and pepper-cruets
at one elbow, and a pot of porter with a cauliflower head,
at the other.

Far.

You talk of things I do not understand.

Mad.

And how the devil should you? Lord love your
mahogany holiness, how you would stare to see Leaden-hall
Market! If once I should get home again, I'd not
give up the comforts of an English shopkeeper's dinner,
in his back parlour, to be archbishop of Africa!

Far.
I would you were at home, since thus you pine.

Mug.
Then why do you keep me here?

Far.
To rescue you from death. You would be slain,
I passing through this country to your own,
A strange, lone wanderer. I but detain you,
Poor white man, to preserve you. Should there ever
Come christian merchants, trading, through this town,
To them I would consign you, and unransom'd,
That you might journey to your native land.

Mug.
Why, would you—honour bright!—Do you promise?

Far.
I do, as I love truth, and feel compassion.

Mug.
[Kissing his hand.]

Heaven bless you! When
we part, we shall never meet again in this world; but
though our persuasions are as different as our colour, I
think a generous heart on your side, and a grateful one on
mine, will bring us together in another.

[Wild music without, L.
Enter Slaves, singing and dancing, L.
DANCE AND CHORUS OF SLAVES.
Now the tang-tang thump; big tabala beat;
While the flute and the bells make music sweet;
And the negro girl on the simbing play,
For this be missy's wedding-day.
Then calabash we fill, for massa kind,
And he let slave play as much as he mind.
I too kate boo kou la, &c.
So the tang-tang thump, &c.

Enter Berissa, R.—The Slaves bow.
Far.
Berissa, my loved child!—my dear Berissa!

Ber.
Oh, father! too much happiness, I find,
Yields aching pleasure—my flurried spirits
Pain me with joy—thus let me kneel and soothe them!
[Kneels.
This day, (a solemn day for both!) in which
The anxious father renders up his child;
In which the child doubts whether destiny
Has mark'd her marriage voyage for calms or storms;—
Oh! on this day, with double zeal, bestow
Your priestly benediction! raise me, then,
To your fond breast, and add a parent's blessing.

Far.
Thy priest, child, prays Heaven to protect thee!
[Extends his arms over her.
Thy father's feelings almost choke his utterance!
Come, rise, and let me clasp thee to my bosom!

[He raises, and embraces her.
Mug.

I gave away Miss Griffin, at St. Andrew's church,
Holborn, but, hang me! if the white curate moved me so
much at the marriage, as this African parson does, giving
his daughter a blessing.

Far.
I trust, my daughter, that you will be happy.

Ber.
Yes, Selico is good: but I leave you;—
I shall not tend you quite as I was wont.

Far.
Well, well; the elder doves, by nature, know
Their callow family in time will fly,
And pair with youthful mates in other nests.

Ber.
Oh, but they fly for ever!—I would not,
For all the kings of Africa could give,
Wing a far distant flight from you my father.
Your bird will hover near her native tree;—
And, though she nestles not where she was born,
Each day she'll plume, to circle round the spot
That gave her birth; rest there to murmur love;
Then fly off, and soon renew her visit.

Mug.

Bless her! she's a dove indeed! If I ever carve
pigeon-pies again, I shall never cut up one without thinking
of her.

Far.
All's well—all must be well—a parent's eye
Has mark'd a bridegroom that I think deserves you.
So cheer thee, daughter! Single out a wish
Wherein I can indulge you. I would make
A wedding present to my child's desires,
Our slaves shall be so happy on this day!

Ber.
[Earnestly seizing his hand.]
Slaves happy!—Oh, my father! there's my wish—
To make men happy you must make them free!

[The Slaves shout.
Mug.

Huzza, miss! that's an English sentiment: go to
London, and parliament will naturalize you directly.

[Exit, L.
Far.
I am a gentle task master; I gall not
The man I buy. Is this your bridal boon?

Ber.
Yes, yes,—your daughter begs it. Do but think
How the slave's heart must sicken for his home!
The nightingale's wild carol to the moon,
Reminds him of the sweet and mellow notes
Once warbled near his cot of liberty.
If he's a father, and a prattling child
Lisps where he labours, “Where are now the babes,”
He groans, “that I am torn from?” Mothers captive,
Must know still keener anguish. In bondage,
Man or woman, doubly feel all kindred ties;—
And when they die, Heaven only numbers
How many slaves have perish'd by despair!

Re-enter Sutta, L.
Sutta.

Massa Farulho, Selico be now in your tent, out
of door. He wait to take you to mosque, missy, and make
you nice wife.

Far.
Come, sweet! though captives chaunt your bridal song,
Their burden shall be freedom. They who hear me,
Spread through my house, and fields, Farulho's promise,
At dawn I will assemble all my slaves,
And give them liberty for ever!
[The Slaves shout.]
[To Berissa.]
Come!

[Exeunt Farulho and Berissa, L., followed by Slaves, dancing.
Sutta.

Liberty! oh, dat make my heart go tump tump!
When I see my home, how my eye will trickle joy! Ah!
priest Farulho dear, good massa!—but some massa, oh!
dey whippy so!

SONG.—Sutta.

[Going, R.
Enter Madiboo, L.
Mad.

Well done, Sutta! the blackbird is a cuckoo to
you. I should like to jump down your throat, steal your
voice and run away with it.

Sutta.

Madiboo, why you no in tent with Selico, to see
dance and joy, before bride go to mosque?

Mad.

Because I've been with Squabba, the cook, plucking
Guinea fowls, till I am half fledged with their feathers.
We are to have such a wedding dinner as never was known
before in Bondou. Besides kous-kous, honeycombs, yams,
watermelons and milk, there will be my birds at one end
of the table, and a quarter of an elephant at the other; a
broil'd ostrich garnished with ganders, twenty stewed magpies,
and an antelope's brisket.

Sutta.

Dat nice.

Mad.

Very delicate: we shall all gobble like ducks in a
frog pond.

Sutta.

And to-morrow massa Farulho, he make all him
poor slave free.

Mad.

No! does he? Mahomet prosper him!—but 'tis
no more than his slaves had a right to expect. When a
priest shows feeling for his fellow-creatures, he only performs
the duty it is his business to preach. So, you'll go
home, Sutta; and—I suppose you have got a sweetheart
there.

Sutta.
[Laughing.]

Hee! hee!

Mad.

Hee! hee! I understand.—If a woman titters at
anything we ask her, she has made up her mind to say
Yes, when we put the question again. What made you
fall in love with him? was it because he was tall?

Sutta.

He promise, when dey put me in chain, to be
good to father and mother, till Sutta come back; and if
they die, he say—but when he say dat, me cry so, me
hear no more.

Mad.

Marry him the moment you get home. Good
daughters and honest fellows are something scarce, and I

wish you a large family together, if 'tis only to keep up
the breed.—Though marriages are but blind bargains, at
best—like the priest's of Kajaago.

SONG.—Madiboo.

Re-enter Mug, in a fright, L.
Mug.

Oh, lord! I am scared out of my seven senses!

Mad.

What's the matter, whitey?

Mug.

Matter enough, whitey-brown. The infernal Mandigoes
are making a descent upon us with a huge army.

Sutta.

Den all poor slave Fahulho make free, Mandingo
man make slave again.

Mad.

Are they in the town?

Mug.

Pop your head out and see. I was just taking a
little walk, and ran home again as if the devil was at my
heels—for they are all in an uproar on the outskirts, where
there has been a skirmish already.

Mad.
[Impetuously.]

Did you pass my mother's hut?—
is she safe?

Mug.
[Not attending to Madiboo.]

Oh! if I was but
turning tee-to-tums now on Snow-Hill?

Mad.
[Seizing hold of him.]

Speak directly! or I'll
shake your lily cheeks into sand grains!

Mug.

Yes, I did—I did pass her hut!—but, my dear
friend with the nankeen chops, you frighten me as much
as the enemy does!

Mad.
[Still holding him.]

Is all quiet there?

Mug.

Still, as the Royal Exchange on a Sunday.

Mad.
[Shaking him.]

What's that?—Speak, or—

Mug.

Why, zounds! all is quiet there; and I wish you
would be so, too.

Mad.
[Releasing him.]

Oh! Did you see my brother
Torribal?

Mug.

Yes, rot him! He gave me a cursed clout o'the
jaws, and called me a coward,—then bid me go back, and
not say a word, but mind my business at the wedding.

Mad.
[Aside.]

Then they are only skirmishers yet.—
Were there any real peril, Torribal would have sent me
word. [Ruminating.]
Let me once see the marriage over,
and then—

Mug.

Oh, dear! we shall have no quarter! I am afraid
the patent-blacking generals don't fight half so genteelly
as the ivory commanders.

Sutta.

Cheer up, massa Mug! Mandingo men dey no
hurt you.

Mug.

No!—Why do you think so?

Sutta.

When enemy see you, you fright dem so, dey
all run away.

Mug.

Pray, Mr. Madiboo, if I may make so bold, don't
you think we are in a confounded deal of danger?

Mad.
[Assuming ease.]

No, none at all.

Mug.

I am rejoiced to hear it. What, then, these
Mandingo gentlemen of the military, are—

Mad.

Psha!—mere nothings. Don't you be a fool, now,

and give an alarm about it, among the merry-makers, in the
tent. If you do, you villain, I'll be the death of you!

Mug.

I'm dumb; you have such an amiable way of
swearing a man to secrecy, there's no resisting you.

Mad.

Pooh! I tell you these little brushes are common
in our country.

Mug.

And don't your little brushes sweep a great
many off?

Mad.

Nothing to fear,—they happen every day. Don't
they, Sutta?

Sutta.

Great many fight since Sutta been here.

Mad.

Ay, and here we are still; all safe and sound.—
[Aside.]
Between my mother's safety, and the wedding,
I hardly know which way to turn. [Aloud.]
I'll just go
round the town, and you'll see how soon I shall be back
to say all's well.

TRIO.—Madiboo, Sutta, and Mug.
Mad.
All's well! all's well!
Yes, I'm sure that all's well.

Mug.
That's rather more than you can tell.

Sutta.
Sutta hope that all's well.

Mad.
Fatteconda's a town that is ancient and strong;
Its inhabitants staunch, and have lived in it long,
And many a contest have weather'd.

Mug.
Be the gentry assured, of this old corporation,
It would give me most sensible mortification,
To see the dark freeholders leather'd.

Sutta.
Madiboo soon come and tell
Mandingo gone, and all well.
All well! all well!
Madiboo soon come and tell—

Together.
Mad.
Yes, I'll soon come back and tell
That they are gone and all's well.

Mug.
I hope you'll soon be back to tell
That they are gone and all's well.

Sutta.
There lived an old chief, in war he grew gray,
Oh, to his men in battle he said,
“See how many ball it whiz out of the way,
And how many arrows fly over the head.”

Mad.
Ay, ay, no fear.

Mug.
Still I wish I was not here.

Mad.
No, fear, Sutta! all well!

Together.
Sutta.
Madiboo soon come and tell.

Mad.
Yes, I'll soon come back and tell.

Mug.
I hope you'll soon come back and tell.

[Exeunt, Madiboo L., Mug and Sutta, R.

SCENE III.

—The Interior of Farulho's Tent, adjoining his House.
Farulho, Selico, and Berissa, discovered, attended by Domestics and Slaves.—The Slaves shout.
Far.
Nay, be less clamorous; for we have yet
The sacred ceremony to perform,
That is to make us joyful. But I yield
To custom; and, ere we proceed to mosque,
The bridal dance shall have its due observance

Sel.
Then strike upon the string; and, as your feet
Mark the light maze of fancy on the ground,
Be every motion swift as my heart's pulse,
That throbs to make my loved Berissa mine!

A NEGRO BRIDAL DANCE.
[The Dance is interrupted by a discharge of muskets, shrieks, and shouts, without—they all run over to R., in consternation.
Enter Madiboo, R. U. E., rushing forward, C., in the utmost agitation.
Mad.

To arms, directly!—Place the women in safety!—
Break off the marriage!

Sel.
[Hurriedly.]

Break off the marriage!

Ber.

What's our danger?

Far.
[Eagerly.]

Speak!

Mad.

I have so much to say, and so little breath to—
The enemy is pouring down in torrents!

Sel.

A straggling party,—as it often happens.

Mad.

I hoped so at first, myself; then I had my doubts;
then I smothered my apprehensions; then—Oh, Selico—
dear brother! I had so fixed my hopes on this day ending
happy, that—but 'tis too late to conceal anything now.
Their whole army is in the midst of the town; neither age
nor sex is spared;—at this moment, they are even trampling
upon infants, and half our houses are in flames!

Ber.
Oh, Selico!

Sel.
Be firm, sweet—pray, be firm!
While I have life, I will not leave you!

Mad.
But you must!

Sel.
What, leave my love in danger!

Mad.

Think, think—we have a mother!—a helpless aged
mother that gave us life, and whose life it is our first duty
to preserve.

Ber.
True; fly to her, Selico—fly quickly!

Sel.
Oh! how my separate duties tear me.

Far.
They should not, Selico; for nature points
Your path to action. I have slaves and servants,
To guard me and my child; and I have more—
The temple of our prophet,—sure they cannot
Profane the house of prayer: there will I
Haste with Berissa.—Nay, we have no time
For council now.

[Crash, discharge of muskets, and shouts, without.
Mad.
[Taking Selico by the arm.]

Come! we shall be
too late.

Sel.
[With great emotion.]
It must be so! [Embracing Berissa.]
Oh, my love! this struggle!—
Farewell!—I trust we soon shall meet again!
Oh, guard her, Farulho!

Mad.
[Tearing him from Berissa.]
Away!

Sel. & Ber.
Farewell!

[Exeunt, Selico and Madiboo R., Farulho, Berissa, and Slaves, L.—Shouts, yells, and crash without.
Enter Mug, R. U. E.
Mug.

Mercy on me! I would give all the goods in my
shop to be up to my neck in an English horse-pond! I
declined being a sharp-shooter, because the Tower-guns,
on a birth-day, gave me the colic; and now I have run my
unhappy head into an African town, that's invaded by an
emperor as black as the kitchen chimney of the London
Tavern. [Shouts and crash, without.]
Here they come—
but where shall I go? Oh, Henry Augustus Mug! what
will become of you?

[Runs off, R. U. E.—Shouts without.
Enter Mandingoes, R. and L., yelling and brandishing firebrands —they tear down the tent, and apply the firebrands to it—when it is demolished, the town of Fatteconda is seen in flames.
A Mandingo Chief and Warriors discovered at the back—they rush forward, and join the other Warriors with wild exultation.
CHORUS OF WARRIORS.
Rear—rear the torch! to victory proceeding!
Mandingo men are stout, and conquer all.
Oh! never heed your victims bleeding—
Rush on—and every foe must fall!
Rush on!