Florida -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction; Historical fiction; War stories
He hardly noticed his partner--the torches threw confusing shadows,
her eyes were averted, her mouth hidden behind her black fan.
Presently one of the bystanders called out to him gayly in the
permissible words, "Say a word to her! Say a word to her!" He
responded mechanically in the set and ancient compliment, "What would
you have me say to her but that she has the face of a rose?" and
there was a clapping of hands. But her face, as the fan drooped
aside for an instant in acknowledgment, was not like that of a rose
but a darker and more barbarous flower. He sought idly for the name
of such a flower for a moment, then the thought passed from his mind
and the pattern of the dance took its place. "Ha! Ha!" cried the
musicians and stamped their feet--"Spain! Spain!" twanged the
strings of the guitars.
It was some time later and Sebastian was wholly absorbed in the flow
of the dance, when the little ape on the roof of one of the houses
overlooking the street, decided that there might be pickings down
among men if he were bold enough to go and look for them. He was
very hungry but equally terrified and the more recent events of his
life had given him little confidence in humanity. Bought from a
Barbary Jew by the master of a Spanish merchantman and sold again in
Mahon harbor to a drunken private of the Royal Irish Foot, he had
tasted the characteristics of three different nations of mankind in
the last few weeks and found each as bitter and strange as the cold,
stinging waters of the sea. He was a young, uninstructed ape,
smaller than most of his tail-less species--and his disposition
normally inclined toward the cheerful. But his heart was gloomy now,
and the fur of his body miserable.
There were neither proper victuals nor people of his race in this
stony region and he could not forget the fight between his latest
master and another bellowing, red-furred giant which had given him
his liberty some hours ago. The sergeant had made suggestions anent
the succulent qualities of roasted monkey which the other had not
treated with due respect--but a knowledge of this was spared the
cause of the combat who regarded all the various, inexplicable noises
emitted by the human race with the same timid disdain. Their
occupations, too, seemed both futile and mysterious, he thought as he
shivered on his rooftop, watching the dance. One never could expect
anything of them but curious pawings and tweakings and a series of
imprisonments in places that smelt indelicately of humanity. But his
hunger drove him, and presently he slipped down the wall of the house
to crouch a moment in the shadows at its foot, peering about with
quick, startled, melancholy eyes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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