 | The Africans ; or, War, Love, and Duty |  |
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.—
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.
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!
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.
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;—
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
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!
To her hut she hie, now;
Parents tear she dry, now
No more to roam:
Father, mother,
Sister, brother,
They will cherish slave come home.
Joy and hope forsake us;
From all dear they take us,
Far, far to roam.
Then we languish,
Toil in anguish,
Till slave perish far from home.
Sutta he befriend her;
To her hut he send her,
No more to roam.
Though me grieve now,
Him to leave now,
Oh! what joy when slave reach home!
[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
the breed.—Though marriages are but blind bargains, at
best—like the priest's of Kajaago.
SONG.—Madiboo.
When he took to his bosom a wife,
Cried “Deary, I never shall see you, I own,
But you'll be the delight of my life.”
Then his arm o'er her shoulders he lovingly pass'd,
And says he, “my love, what is this lump?”
She faulter'd a little—but told him at last,
“Please your holiness, only my hump!”
Though I tenderly love you, indeed!
For I've taken an oath that my children shan't be
Of the camel or buffalo breed.”
So he married another he fancied would fit:
Coming home in sweet conjugal talk,
She stopp'd the blind priest, staying, “Sit down a bit,
For my legs are too bandy to walk.”
So sit there as still as a mouse;
For Mahomet curse me, if ever your shins
Shall waddle you into my house!”
Then he turn'd up his eyes, like the white of boil'd eggs,
And pray'd thus to Mahomet smack:
“Great prophet, afford me a wife with good legs,
And never a hump on her back.”
And rumbled thus, over his head:
“A handsome young woman, that can't speak a word,
Shall bless your blind reverence's bed.”
The priest he bow'd low, crying, “Mahomet's kind;
Of happiness this is the sum!
For a handsome young wife likes her old husband blind,
And most men like a wife that is dumb!”
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.
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,
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!
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.
| The Africans ; or, War, Love, and Duty | |