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Updated: September 28, 2025
"Bang, Bang Fyall He is evaporating with delight no weight at all, growing more and more ethereal lighter and lighter, as I am a gentleman he is off going, going, gone exhaled into the blue heavens, by all that is wonderful!"
"Bring the wet nightcap!" quoth our host. "Oh, it is that you are at?" said Transom, and he sung as required; but it was all pearls before swine, I fear. At last we stuck fast at Fyall. Music! there was not one particle in his whole composition; so the wet nightcap already impended over him, when I sung out, "Let him tell a story, Mr Wagtail! Let him tell a story!"
"Oh most lame and impotent conclusion," sung out the judge, who by this time had become deucedly prosy, and all hands arose, as if by common consent, and agreed that we had got enough. So off we started in groups. Fyall, Captain Transom, Whiffle, Aaron Bang, and myself, sallied forth in a bunch, pretty well inclined for a lark, you may guess.
I was very tired, and reckoned on going to bed now but no such thing. Fyall ordered Jupiter to bring a case from his gig box, containing some capital brandy. A new brewage of punch took place, and I found about the small hours that we were all verging fast towards drunkenness, or something very like that same.
"Why, I know that; but why don't you speak when I Hillo where's Aaron, and Fyall, and the rest, eh?" They had been attracted by sounds of revelry in a splendid mansion in the next street, which we could see was lit up with great brilliancy, and had at this time shot about fifty yards ahead of us, working to windward, tack and tack, like Commodore Trunnion.
Next morning, we set out in earnest on our travels for St Thomas in the Vale, in two of our friend Bang's gigs, and my aunt's ketureen, laden with her black maiden and a lot of bandboxes, while two mounted servants brought up the rear, and my old friend Jupiter, who had descended, not from the clouds, but from the excellent Mr Fyall, who was by this time gathered to his fathers, to Massa Aaron, rode a musket shot ahead of the convoy to clear away, or give notice of any impediments, of wagons or carts, or droves of cattle, that might be meeting us.
The honest fellow's straightforward appeal, far from giving offence to the kindhearted people to whom it was made, was not only taken in good part, but Mr Fyall himself took the lead in setting the whole household immediately to work, to have me properly cared for. The best room in the house was given up to me.
"How came this kale blade here, And how came it here?" Sung friend Bang, laughing, for he had great powers of laughter, and I saw he kept his quizzical face turned towards some object at the head of the bed, which I could not see. "You may say that, Aaron where's my wig, you rogue, eh?" "Never mind, Tom," said Fyall, "your hair will soon grow again, won't it, miss?"
This was the very thing I desired, and three days afterwards I left my kind friends in Kingston, and set forth on my visit to Mr Fyall, who lived about seven miles from town. .
Fyall called him Buckskin, which, with some other circumstances, made me guess that he was neither more nor less than an American smuggler. After supper, a glass of punch was filled for each person, the overseer gave a rap on the table with his knuckles, and off started the bookkeepers, like shots out of shovels, leaving the Yankee, Mr Fyall, the overseer, and myself, at table.
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