SCENE II.
Reading edition
Another part of the Forest.—A ship at anchor in the bay at a small distance.—Mouth of a cave.
Enter Sailors and Mate, as returning from foraging.
Mate. Come, come, bear a hand, my lads. Tho'f the bay is just under our bowsprits, it will take a damned deal of tripping to come at it—there's hardly any steering clear of the rocks here. But do we muster all hands? All right, think ye?
1st. Sail. All to a man——besides yourself, and a monkey——the three land lubbers, that edged away in the morning, goes for nothing, you know—they're all dead, may-hap, by this.
Mate. Dead! you be—Why they're friends of the captain; and if not brought safe aboard to-night, you may all chance to have a salt eel for your supper—that's all—Moreover the young plodding spark, he with the grave, foul weather face, there, is to man the tight little frigate, Miss Narcissa—what d'ye call her? that is bound with us for Barbadoes. Rot'em for not keeping under weigh, I say! But come, let's see if a song will bring 'em too. Let's have a full chorus to the good merchant ship, the Achilles, that's wrote by our captain.
SONG.
The Achilles, though christen'd, good ship, 'tis surmis'd, From that old man of war, great Achilles, so priz'd, Was he, like our vessel, pray fairly baptiz'd? Ti tol lol, &c. Poets sung that Achilles—if, now, they've an itch To sing this, future ages may know which is which; And that one rode in Greece—and the other in pitch. Ti tol lol, &c. What tho' but a merchant ship—sure our supplies: Now your men of war's gain in a lottery lies, And how blank they all look, when they can't get a prize! Ti tol lol, &c. What are all their fine names? when no rhino's behind, The Intrepid, and Lion, look sheepish you'll find; Whilst, alas! the poor Æolus can't raise the wind! Ti tol lol, &c. Then the Thunderer's dumb; out of tune the Orpheus; The Ceres has nothing at all to produce; And the Eagle I warrant you, looks like a goose. Ti tol lol, &c.
1st. Sail. Avast! look a-head there. Here they come, chased by a fleet of black devils.
Midsh. And the devil a fire have I to give them. We han't a grain of powder left. What must we do, lads?
2d. Sail. Do? Sheer off to be sure.
Midsh. [Reluctantly.] Well, if I must, I must. [Going to the other side, and holloing to Inkle, &c.] Yoho, lubbers! Crowd all the sail you can, d'ye mind me!
[Exeunt Sailors.
Enter Medium, running across the stage, as pursued by the Blacks.
Med. Nephew! Trudge! run—scamper! Scour—fly! Zounds, what harm did I ever do to be hunted to death by a pack of bloodhounds? Why nephew! Oh, confound your long sums in arithmetic! I'll take care of myself; and if we must have any arithmetic, dot and carry one for my money.
[Runs off.
Enter Inkle and Trudge, hastily.
Trudge. Oh! that ever I was born, to leave pen, ink, and powder for this!
Inkle. Trudge, how far are the sailors before us?
Trudge. I'll run and see, sir, directly.
Inkle. Blockhead, come here. The savages are close upon us; we shall scarce be able to recover our party. Get behind this tuft of trees with me; they'll pass us, and we may then recover our ship with safety.
Trudge. [Going behind.] Oh! Threadneedle-street, Thread—
Inkle. Peace.
Trudge. [Hiding.]—Needle-street. [They hide behind trees. Natives cross. After a long pause, Inkle looks from the trees.]
Inkle. Trudge.
Trudge. Sir. [In a whisper.]
Inkle. Are they all gone by?
Trudge. Won't you look and see?
Inkle. [Looking round.] So all is safe at last. [Coming forward.] Nothing like policy in these cases; but you'd have run on, like a booby! A tree, I fancy, you'll find, in future, the best resource in a hot pursuit.
Trudge. Oh, charming! It's a retreat for a king, sir: Mr. Medium, however, has not got up in it; your uncle, sir, has run on like a booby; and has got up with our party by this time, I take it; who are now most likely at the shore. But what are we to do next, sir?
Inkle. Reconnoitre a little, and then proceed.
Trudge. Then pray, sir, proceed to reconnoitre; for the sooner the better.
Inkle. Then look out, d'ye hear, and tell me if you discover any danger.
Trudge. Y——Ye—s—Yes.
Inkle. Well, is the coast clear?
Trudge. Eh! Oh lord!—Clear! [Rubbing his eyes.] Oh dear! oh dear! the coast will soon be clear enough now, I promise you——The ship is under sail, sir!
Inkle. Confusion! my property carried off in the vessel.
Trudge. All, all, sir, except me.
Inkle. They may report me dead, perhaps, and dispose of my property at the next island. [The vessel appears under sail.]
Trudge. Ah! there they go. [A gun fired.]——That will be the last report we shall ever hear from 'em I'm afraid.—That's as much as to say, Good bye to ye. And here we are left—two fine, full-grown babes in the wood!
Inkle. What an ill-timed accident! Just too, when my speedy union with Narcissa, at Barbadoes, would so much advance my interests.—Ah, my Narcissa, I never shall forget thy last adieu.—Something must be hit upon, and speedily; but what resource? [Thinking.]
Trudge. The old one—a tree, sir.—'Tis all we have for it now. What would I give, now, to be perched upon a high stool, with our brown desk squeezed into the pit of my stomach—scribbling away an old parchment!——But all my red ink will be spilt by an old black pin of a negro.
SONG.
[Last Valentine's Day.]
A voyage over seas had not entered my head, Had I known but on which side to butter my bread, Heigho! sure I—for hunger must die! I've sail'd like a booby; come here in a squall, Where, alas! there's no bread to be butter'd at all! Oho! I'm a terrible booby! Oh, what a sad booby am I! In London, what gay chop-house signs in the street! But the only sign here is of nothing to eat. Heigho! that I——for hunger should die! My mutton's all lost; I'm a poor starving elf! And for all the world like a lost mutton myself. Oho! I shall die a lost mutton! Oh! what a lost mutton am I! For a neat slice of beef, I could roar like a bull; And my stomach's so empty, my heart is quite full. Heigho! that I—for hunger should die! But, grave without meat, I must here meet my grave, For my bacon, I fancy, I never shall save. Oho! I shall ne'er save my bacon! I can't save my bacon, not I!
Trudge. Hum! I was thinking——I was thinking, sir—if so many natives could be caught, how much they might fetch at the West India markets!
Inkle. Scoundrel! is this a time to jest?
Trudge. No, faith, sir! Hunger is too sharp to be jested with. As for me, I shall starve for want of food. Now you may meet a luckier fate: you are able to extract the square root, sir; and that's the very best provision you can find here to live upon. But I! [Noise at a distance.] Mercy on us! here they come again.
Inkle. Confusion! Deserted on one side, and pressed on the other, which way shall I turn?—This cavern may prove a safe retreat to us for the present. I'll enter, cost what it will.
Trudge. Oh Lord! no, don't, don't——We shall pay too dear for our lodging, depend on't.
Inkle. This is no time for debating. You are at the mouth of it: lead the way, Trudge.
Trudge. What! go in before your honour! I know my place better, I assure you—I might walk into more mouths than one, perhaps. [Aside.]
Inkle. Coward! then follow me. [Noise again.]
Trudge. I must, sir; I must! Ah, Trudge, Trudge! what a damned hole are you getting into!
[Exeunt into a Cavern.