Roving Jack, The Pirate Hunter — page 122: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

142 He was almost exhausted with cold and fatigue, but managed to land. His first care was to lgok out a nook sheltered _from the wind but open to the beams of the morning sun, and haying at length selected such a spot, he threw himself at full length upon the ground, ex- claiming, “T’m blest ! ’Ere’s a rummy go!” CHAPTER LXV. SIMON SMUT FINDS A WIFE—AND LIES IN STATE. How long Simon Smut slept he knew not, but when - he awoke the sun was high in the heaven. His damp clothes had thoroughly dried on the uppermost side, though his back, which had lain upon the earth, was still damp. He got up and stood with his back to the sun, to warm his unbaked side. Presently he began to feel hungry. The question was how to procure food. He looked at the dashing, glittering ocean, and thought of the fried fish of his youthful days, He cast an eye upon the green hills in the centre of the island, and a blessed vision of “ baked taters all ’ot ” rose in his mind. “There must surely be something to eat here,” he thought. Another thought struck him, namely, that it would be advisable to look and see, He rose, and walked into the wood. No sound met his ear, save the chirping song of _ hundreds of birds, and the screaming of grey, green, and red parrots. Simon thought of eggs. He looked up into the trees in hopes of meeting with a nest. During all this time he had never thought of throwing a stick at any of the feathered inhabitants of the grove. But as no nests were visible, he caught up aheayy branch, and threw it with all his force into a bush where several species of birds were sitting, He almost screamed with joy as he saw one of them fall down into the bush. He ran and picked it up. Then two disagreeable questions presented them- selves to his mind, Was the bird good for food ? How was he to cook it? Simon Smut had never eaten raw meat, nor had he yet arrived at that stage of hunger when things which, in other moments, would be loathsome, be- come the choicest dainties, He held his prize in his hand, and walked slowly | onwards, | A rustling sound in the bushes excited his alarm, eS eC ROVING JACK, THE PIRATE HUNTER. He looked round, Through the green foliage he could just see a dusky form. Simon started in alarm, He was among savages. They might be cannibals. It was most probable they were, and 80, perhaps, he would form them.a dainty meal. He stopped a moment to consider, while drops of cold perspiration stood upon his brow. How should he escape? Should he fly towards the sea coast, or rush into the thickest part of the wood? <A thought convinced him that escape would be impossible. Simon Smut’s acquaintance with literature em- braced some wonderful accounts of the sagacity of the Indians of North America, and their skill in following the trail of man or beast. All savage races, in his opinion, possessed the same keen instinct, He walked on slowly, his hair on end, and every nerve of his body in a tremble, He walked on and on, until at length he entered a kind of ravine, with high rocks on both sides, Had he known that he was entering a cul-de-sac, or passage from which there was no escape save by retreating, he would have gone any other road, But he fancied that he would find a hiding place, and so kept on. Presently the forest beased, and the bottom of the ravine became free from woodland. Simon Smut walked on a few steps, then stopped as suddenly as though he had been stung by a serpent. There, right before him, was a hut or wigwam of sugar-loaf shape, constructed of bark, and gro- tesquely painted. To turn to the rightabout was the work of an instant, and again he stopped short. There, right before ‘him, in the very path by which he had come, was a tall savage, nearly black, with plume of feathers on head, and gorgeous striped blanket for dress. “Oh! mercy! mercy Mr, Injen, I ain’t done nothink wrong I ’ope |!” cried the frightened Simon throwing himself upon his knees, ‘““Burracompoochery—kickery, kookery boo!’ replied the native of the sunny island. “No, please don’t. I ain’t good cooked, I know. The taste of the soot is in me, and all the water in the sea won’t wash it out,” ‘““Comery longerabong.” The savage approached and beckoned, when, to his surprise, Simon perceived that he had been addressing himself to one of the native Zadies. The painted warrior was a painted woman, with a black child behind her back, Never while in the highest glories of his former profession had Simon been so black ag that naked urchin, | -