ere crowded with faces of various
degrees of colour--eyes and mouths wide open, the latter displaying rows
of teeth, so even and so brilliantly white, that they might cause a
sensation of envy to many an English belle.

The party were ushered into a spacious and cool apartment on the
ground-floor, where a table was covered with all the varieties of a
tropical breakfast, consisting of fried fish, curries, devilled poultry,
salt meats, and everything which could tend to stimulate an enfeebled
appetite.

"Now, gentlemen, let me recommend you to take a white jacket; you'll be
more at your ease, and there is no ceremony here. Boy Jack, where's the
sangoree? This is a fine climate, Captain Berecroft; all you have to
attend to is--to be temperate, and not to check the perspiration."

Boy Jack who, _par parenthese_, was a stout, well-looking negro, of
about forty years of age, now made his appearance with the sangoree.
This was a beverage composed of half a bottle of brandy and two bottles
of Madeira, to which were added a proportion of sugar, lime-juice, and
nutmeg, with water _ad lib_. It was contained in a glass bowl, capable
of holding two gallons, standing upon a single stalk, and bearing the
appearance of a Brobdingnag rummer. Boy Jack brought it with both hands,
and placed it before his master.

"Now, sir, will you drink?" said the planter, addressing Mr Berecroft.

"Thank you," replied Mr Berecroft, "I never drink so early in the
morning."

"Drink! why this is nothing but _swizzle_. Here's your health, sir, I'll
show you the way."

The large goblet was fixed to his lips for upwards of a minute: at last
they unwillingly separated, and the old planter recovered his
respiration with a deep sigh. "Now then, gentlemen, do you take a
little; don't be afraid; there's nothing you mayn't do in this climate,
only be temperate, and don't check the perspiration." At this moment
Newton was startled, and looked under the table.

"I thought it was a dog, but it's a little black child."

"Oh! there's one out, is there? Why, Boy Jack, did I not tell you to
shut them all in?"

"Yes, sar, so I did," said the black man, looking under the table.
"Eh!--it's that d--d little nigger--two-year old Sambo--no possible
keeping him in, sar.--Come out, Sambo."

The child crawled out to his master, and climbed up by his knee: the old
planter patted his woolly head, and gave him a piece of grilled turkey,
with which he immediately dived