"Why, captain, what spree is this?" said I.
"Never you mind, but come here. I say, Mr Cringle, do you see him
piping away there"--and there he was, sure enough, still gurgling
through the wild cane--with his black guardian, whose province it was to
have removed the poultice, sound asleep, snoring in the huge chair at
Bang's head, wherein he had established himself, while the candle at his
patient's cheek was flickering in the socket.
My superior was evidently bent on wickedness.
"Get up and put on your trowsers, man."
I did so.
"Now wait a bit till I cooper him--Here, my darling"--to the sable
virgin who was now on the qui vive, bustling about--"here," said the
captain, sticking out a leg of Bang's trowsers, "hold you there, my
dear"
She happened to be a native of Haiti, and comprehended his French.
"Now hold you that, Mr Cringle."
I took hold of the other leg, and held it in a fitting position, while
Transom deliberately sewed them both up.
"Now for the coat sleeves"
We sealed them in a similar manner.
"So--now for his shirt."
We sewed up the stem, and then the stern, converting it into an
outlandish--looking pillow--case, and finally both sleeves; and last of
all, we got two live land--crabs from the servants, by dint of
persuasion and a little plata, and clapped one into each stocking foot.
We then dressed ourselves, and when all was ready, we got a piece of
tape for a landyard, and made one end fast to the handle of a large
earthen water--jar, full to the brim, which we placed on Bangs pillow,
and passed the other end round the neck of the sleeping negro.
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