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"And we have brought some fine fish," I said, "to add to the feast." "Then we will put them on the spit at once," observed the captain; on which I ran down to the raft and returned with a big fish in each hand. Peter, who acted as cook, with Sambo's assistance soon had the fish cleaned and spitted, when the latter took his seat by the fire to keep the various roasts turning.
He had approached as near as he could to Gerald, without actually touching him; but when he remarked his abrupt movement, and heard the sudden outburst of feeling which accompanied it, he half fancied he was apostrophizing some spirit visible only to himself, and shocked and terrified at this idea, he turned away his head. Sambo's alarm was not to terminate here.
So he got poor Little Black Sambo's beautiful Green Umbrella, and went away saying, "Now I'm the grandest Tiger in the Jungle." And poor Little Black Sambo went away crying, because the cruel Tigers had taken all his fine clothes. Presently he heard a horrible noise that sounded like "Gr-r-r-r-rrrrrr," and it got louder and louder.
Beautifully unconscious, for the most part, that the song was by way of stirring Scot against Saxon, its deeper patriotism had seized upon us all. Englishmen, Scotchmen, and sons of Erin, we all shouted at the top of our voices, Sambo's fiddle not being silent.
He judged correctly that they had been followed in their nocturnal excursion, and that it was the face of some prying visitant which Sambo's superstitious dread had transformed into a hideous vision of the past.
I feel more concerned about getting her acquiescence than I do about getting the Government interested. I really fear that she is like Sambo's mule: 'When he so quiet an' still like, yo' look out! He templatin' trouble den, shuah! There's something up, and I must have it out with her to-night; and I want you to stand in and say all you can to help me out.
It am a long worm dat nebber turns, an' Ah'se done reckon dat Ah'se de tu'ning worm to-night! Thumbs up, gemmen!" Despite Sambo's bantering tone there could be no doubt that to fail to obey him would be to invite a swift fusillade. Reluctantly Tom Reade thrust his hands up skyward. Nor did Dick Prescott hesitate to follow so prompt an example.
He had approached as near as he could to Gerald, without actually touching him; but when he remarked his abrupt movement, and heard the sudden outburst of feeling which accompanied it, he half fancied he was apostrophizing some spirit visible only to himself, and shocked and terrified at this idea, he turned away his head. Sambo's alarm was not to terminate here.
For the first time in his life, the fatherless, motherless, brotherless, sisterless stray of the streets felt himself alone. The sensation was an awful one. He had lost so many, and had not one left! That gash in Sambo's black throat had slain "a whole cityful."
Suddenly came the sound of a great gush, and the group parted from the bed and vanished. Gibbie darted towards it. The words, "O Lord Jesus!" came to his ears, and he heard no more: they were poor Sambo's last in this world. The light of a street lamp fell upon the bed: the blood was welling, in great thick throbs, out of his huge black throat. They had bent his head back, and the gash gaped wide.
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