To own the truth, Mr. Truck was a good deal mortified with this
failure, which, like all other unsuccessful persons, he was ready to
ascribe to anybody but himself.
"I begin to think, Mr. Leach," he said, "that this fellow is too stupid
for a spy or a scout, and that, after all, he is no more than a driveller
who has strayed from his tribe, from a want of sense to keep the road in a
desert. A man of the smallest information must have understood me, and yet
you perceive by his lamentations and outcries that he knows no more what I
said than if he were in another parallel of latitude. The chap has quite
mistaken my character; for if I really did intend to make a beast of
myself, and devour my species, no one of the smallest knowledge of human
nature would think I'd begin on a nigger! What is your opinion of the
man's mistake, Mr. Leach?"
"It is very plain, sir, that he supposes you mean to broil him, and then
to eat so much of his steaks, that you will be compelled to heave up like
a marine two hours out; and, if I must say the truth, I think most people
would have inferred the same thing from your signs, which are as plainly
cannibal as any thing of the sort I ever witnessed."
"And what the devil did he make of yours, Master Cookery-Book?" cried the
captain with some heat.
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