It was sometime before I found
out the real meaning of this crafty move; the sharp prince, sent
to do me honour, intended me to recommend him to Mr. Hogg as an
especially worthy recipient of "trust." Roi Denis added an
abundance of "sweet mouf," and, the compact ended, he
condescendingly walked down with me to the beach, shook hands and
exchanged a civilized "Au revoir." I reentered the boat, and we
pushed off once more.
Prince Paul, a youth of the Picaresque school, a hungry as well
as a thirsty soul and vain with knowledge, which we know "puffeth
up," having the true African eye on present gain as well as to
future "trust," proceeded: "Papa has at least a hundred sons,"
enough to make Dan Dinmont blush, "and say" (he was not sure), "a
hundred and fifty daughters. Father rules all the southern shore;
the French have no power beyond the brack and there are no
African rivals,"--the prince evidently thought that the new-comer
had never heard of King George. Like most juniors here, the youth
knew French, or rather Gaboon-French; it was somewhat startling
to hear clearly and tolerably pronounced, "M'sieur, veux-tu des
macacques?" But the jargon is not our S'a Leone and West-coast
"English;" the superior facility of pronouncing the neo-Latin
tongues became at once apparent.
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