Brought ForwardCunninghame Graham, R. B. (Robert Bontine)
History
Brought Forward
Cunninghame Graham, R. B. (Robert Bontine)
Fiction; Short stories
By this time the Italian captain in his tug had gently brought the other
lighter to the beach, and from its side another string of horses came out
on to the grass. They too all rolled, and, seeing the other band, by
degrees mixed with it, so that four hundred horses soon were feeding
ravenously on the sweet grass just at the little river’s mouth that lay
between its banks and the thick belt of wood.
Though it was early, still the sun was hot, and for an hour we held the
horses back, keeping them from the water till they had eaten well.
The Italian tugmaster, having produced a bottle of trade gin (the Anchor
brand), and having drank our health, solemnly wiped the neck of the
bottle with his grimy hand and passed it round to us. We also drank to
his good health and voyage to the port, that he pronounced as if it were
written “Bono Airi,” adding, as it was war-time, “Avanti Savoia” to the
toast. He grinned, and with a gesture of his thick dirty hand, adorned
with two or three coppery-looking rings, as it were, embedded in the
flesh, pronounced an all-embracing curse on the Tedeschi, and went aboard
the tug.
When he had made the lighters fast, he turned down stream, saluting us
with three shrill blasts upon the whistle, and left us and our horses
thousands of miles away from steam and smoke, blaspheming skippers, and
the noise and push of modern life.
Humming-birds poised themselves before the purple bunches of the ceiba
{25} flowers, their tongues thrust into the calyx and their iridescent
wings whirring so rapidly, you could see the motion, but not mark the
movement, and from the yellow balls of the mimosas came a scent, heady
and comforting.
Flocks of green parroquets flew shrieking over the clearing in which the
horses fed, to their great nests, in which ten or a dozen seemed to
harbour, and hung suspended from them by their claws, or crawled into the
holes. Now and then a few locusts, wafted by the breeze, passed by upon
their way to spread destruction in the plantations of young poplars and
of orange trees in the green islands in the stream.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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