"
And hereupon the tail of the beast, some fifty strong, music men, John
Canoe and all, began to rampauge about, as if they had been possessed by
a devil whose name was Legion:
"But Massa Buccra have white love,
soft and silken like one dove.
To brown girl--him barely shivel,
to black girl--oh, Lord, de Devil!"
Then a tremendous gallopading, in the which Tailtackle was nearly
capsized over the wharf. He looked quietly over the edge of it.
"Boat keeper, hand me up that switch of a stretcher," (Friend, if thou
be'st not nautical, thou knowest what a rack--pin, something of the
stoutest is.)
The boy did so, and Tailtackle, after moistening well his dexter claw
with tobacco juice, seized the stick with his left by the middle, and
balancing it for a second or two, he began to fasten the end of it into
his right fist, as if he had been screwing a bolt into a socket. Having
satisfied himself that his grip was secure, he let go the hold with his
left hand, and crossed his arms on his breast, with the weapon
projecting over his left shoulder, like the drone of a bagpipe.
The Device continued his chant, giving the seaman a wide berth, however:
"But when him once two tree year here,
Him tink white lady wery great boder;
De coloured peoples, never fear,
Ah, him lob him de morest nor any oder."
Then another tumblification of the whole party.
"But top--one time bad fever catch him,
colour'd peoples kindly watch him
in sick--room, nurse voice like music
from him hand taste sweet de physic.
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