by John Barth
“These words fell sweet on the eares of Burlingame. He did growe doublie hott, for thinking of them. When I recall’d to him then, what was our fate shd Attonce win the daye, he reply’d, that he worry’d not a beane. That he cd eate any Englishman or heathen under the table. And he smack’d his greate stomacke with his hand, whereupon it set up such a clamour, one had guess’d all the feends of Hell therein. These things we spoke in English, that Wepenter might not heare & guesse my ruse.
“Somewhile after, our companie was awake, and the souldiers & Gentlemen compleyning of there bellies, that they had naught to eate. The Salvages did gather without the hutt, and a greate fyre built, and we were led outside by Wepenter, and seated in a half-circle, he behind Burlingame. Across from us satt down Attonce, all fatt and uglie he was, and with him a score of his cohorts, in another half-circle upon the grownd. Came then from a hutt hard by, Pokatawertussan, and sat down betwixt the half-circles, on a kind of rugg, to see who shd be her next bedd-fellowe. She was that same mayde, who on the day just past had quieted all harangue, merelie by raysing her armes & walking bye. Half cladd she was, and bedawb’d with puckoone paynt, after the manner of Salvage wenches, and so surpassing faire & tight withal, I had neare wish’d my selfe greate of gutt, to win her favours. At sight of her, Attonce let goe a mightie hollowing, and Burlingame, like the rest of us save onelie me, all naked, for that our shirts had mended our sayle in the storme, and our breeches flung to the fishes after our siege of fluxes & grypes in Limbo Strait, he was so taken with her, that he shook all over, and slaver’d over his lipps & sundrie chinnes. He whisper’d to me, not to tell the others what we were about, that they wd not contend with him, and I agreed with a right good will, for that I desir’d no man save Burlingame to win.
“Attonce then commenc’d to slapp his bellie with his hands, to the end he might arowse a grander lust for food, and seeing him, Burlingame did likewise, untill the rumbling of there gutts did eckoe about the swamps like the thunder of vulcanoes. Next Attonce, sitting cross-legged, did bump his buttockes up & down upon the earthe, farther to appetyze him selfe; Burlingame also, that he give his foe no quarter, and the verie grownd shudder’d beneath there awful bummes. Burlingame then blubber’d his lipps & snapt the joynt-bones of his fingers, and Attonce likewise. Attonce op’d & shutt his jawes with greate rapiditie, and also Burlingame. And thus they did goe on, through many a ceremonie, whetting there hungers, whilst our companie sat as amaz’d, not knowing what they witness’d, and the Salvages clapt there hands & daunc’d about, and Pokatawertussan look’d all lustilie from one to the other.
“At length, from everie hutt in the towne, the women and old men brought forth the sundrie dishes of the feast, that had been some daies preparing. To each of us was given a platter of divers foods, and onelie one, wch shew’d, though it was sufficient to fill us with comfort, that none of us were reckon’d as contenders, save onelie Burlingame & Attonce, before whom they set dish after dish. For houres thereafter, while that the rest watch’d in astonishment, the two gluttons match’d dish for dish, and herewith is the summe of what they eat:
Of keskowghnoughmass, the yellowe-belly’d sunne-fish, tenne apiece.
Of copatone, the sturgeon, one apiece.
Of pummahumpnoughmass, fry’d star-fish, three apiece.
Of pawpeconoughmass, pype-fishes, four apiece, dry’d.
Of boyl’d froggs, divers apiece, assorted bulles, greenes, trees, & spring peepers.
Of blowfish, two apiece, frizzl’d & blow’d.
Of terrapin, a tortoise, one apiece, stew’d.
Also oysters, crabbs, trowt, croakers, rock-fish, flownders, clamms, maninose, & such other sea-food as the greate Baye doth give up.
They next did eate:
Of mallard, canvas-backe, & buffle-head ducks, morsels & mix’d peeces in like amounts.
Of hooded mergansers, one apiece, on picks as is there wont.
Of pypers, one apiece, dry’d & pouder’d.
Of cohunk, a taystie goose, half apiece.
Of snypes, one apiece, bagg’d.
Of black & white warblers, one apiece, throttl’d.
Of rubie-throated humming-birds, two apiece, scalded, pickl’d, & intensify’d.
Of gross-beeks, one apiece, bill’d & crack’d.
Of browne creepers, one apiece, hitt.
Of long-bill’d marsh wrenns, a bird, one apiece, growsl’d & disembowell’d.
Of catt birds, one apiece, dyc’d & fetch’d.
Of growse, a legg apiece, smother’d naturall.
Also divers eggs, and bitts & bytes of turkie and what all.
The fowles done, they turn’d to meat, and eat:
Of marsh ratts, one apiece, fry’d.
Of raccoon, half a one apiece, grutted.
Of dogg, equall portions, a sort of spaniell it was.
Of venison, one pryme apiece, dry’d.
Of beare-cubb, a rasher each, roasted.
Of catamount, a haunch & griskin apiece, spitted & turn’d.
Of batts, two apiece, boyl’d, de gustibus & cet.
No rabbitts. While that they eat of these severall meats, there were serv’d to them vegetables, to the number of five: beanes, rockahominy (wch is to say, parch’d & pouder’d mayze), eggplant (that the French call aubergine), wild ryce, & a sallet of greene reedes, that was call’d Attaskus. Also berries of divers sorts, but no frutes, and the whole wash’d downe with glue-broth and greate draughts of Sawwehonesuckhanna, wch signifyeth, bloudwater, a mild spirits they distill out in the swamp.
“The while this wondrous feast was being eat, Wepenter did pownd & stryke Burlingame upon the backe & bellie, to settle his stomacke, and Attonces aides did likewise him smite. After that each course was done, they did both ope there mowths wide, and Wepenter thrust his finger downe Burlingames crawe, & Attonce his owne likewise, or else have recourse to a syrup call’d hipocoacanah, so that they did vomitt what was eat, and cleare the holds for more. The Salvages did leap & daunce the while, and Pokatawertussan twist & wrythe for verie lust upon the rugg, at two such manlie men.
“When at last this Attonce did get him selfe to his redd berries, wch was the final dish, that the Salvages had prepar’d, and he did put one in his mawe, and drop out two therefrom, for want of room, his lieutenant smote him one last blow upon the gutt, whereat Attonce did let flie a tooling fart and dy’d upon the instant where he sat. And was too stuff’d, to fall over. Then did the Salvages on our side crie out, Ahatchwhoop, Ahatchwhoop, signifying, that Attonce was disqualify’d from farther competition. But albeit he was dead, our Burlingame was not yet victor, for that the twain had eat to a draw as far as to there final berrie. It wanted onelie for Burlingame to take but a single swallow more, and our lives were sav’d. We hollow’d at him, we cry’d & intreated, but Burlingame onelie sat still, his eyes rownd, his face greene, his cheeks blown out, his mowth fill’d with berries, and for all our exhortation, cd not eat another bite. Here I leapt up from where I sat, and snatching the last boyl’d batt out of the caldron, pry’d open his jaws & thrust it in. Then held shutt his mowth, and delivering him a stout rapp on the head, did cause him to swallow it down.
“So clearlie then was Burlingame the victor, that Wepenter sprang upon him, and rubb’d his nose against Burlingames, and fetch’d him a loving patt upon the bellie. Whereat Burlingame did heave up what he had eat, and so befowl’d Wepenter therewith, the Salvage must needs hie him selfe to the river-shoar & wash. All the people then declar’d Burlingame Werowance, or King, but he was too ill to grasp there words.
“It being by this tyme nightfall, for that the feast had lasted all the daie, Burlingame was carry’d in state to the old Kings hutt, and there install’d, not able to move, and Pokatawertussan follow’d after, all a tremble. Wepenter meanwhile, did exact allegiance from those Ahatchwhoops, that had been with Attonce, and bade them fetch awaye the dead mans carcase, and wch still sat, for buriall. I told my companie, that we were free men, and wd make
sayle on the morrow, at wch tydings they shew’d good humour, though they grasp’d little of what had pass’d.
“When that the sunne rose, we wak’d, and taking provisions a plentie, the gift of Wepenter, made readie to return to our barge, and pick up the broken thread of our journie. This Wepenter was in fine good spirits, and upon my asking, Wherefore? he reply’d, that neare midnight, while that he slept, Pokatawertussan had come to his hutt, albeit she was by custom bound to lye the first night with the proxie. I wonder’d thereat, and Burlingame joyning us at the last minute, even as we left downe the path to the shear, I ask’d him, Had Pokatawertussan earn’d her name? Whereupon he curs’d me ardentlie, and said, That the last boyl’d Batt had so undone him, he knew not where he was the whole night long. That he had not been able even to see any Salvage trollop, how much the less doe a mans work upon her. He was surpassing wroth with me, for having thrust the Batt upon him, and maugre my protestation, that I had spar’d the lott of us therebye, he vow’d afresh to tell his tailing tale on me, and write letters to the London C°, & cet… I responded, that I had made a pact with him, that shd he win, he cd doe whatsoever he wd, and turning, led my companie downe the path. Burlingame follow’d, in all innocence, till that, to his surprize, the Salvages lay’d hands on him, and maugre his whoops and hollowings, bore him back to the Kings hutt, to reign over them with Wepenter for ever.
“My souldiers and Gentlemen much alarm’d thereat, I made them a speach, that they shd be of good hearte. That the Salvages had demanded Burlingame as tribute for our libertie, and being so few & unarm’d, we had naught for it, but deliver him up & go in peece, onelie bearing his memorie for ever in our heartes. This counsell at length prevayl’d, albeit the companie shew’d great sadnesse, more especiallie the Gentlemen thereof, and we wav’d to Wepenter as we went downe to the barge. For the favour of Princes, even amongst the Salvages, is a slipperie boone, lightlie granted, and as lightlie withdrawn, and we wish’d onelie to retayne it, untill that we were safe againe in our barge, and awaye from this scurvie, barbarous countrie. Whither (God wot) I shall never return, nor yet (God grant) any other Englishman.
“And may He smyte me dead here where I sit, in the sternsheets of our trustie barge, if any word of these adventures passe my lipps, or those of my Companie (the wch I have this daye sworn to silence), or ever appeare in my greate Generall Historie, for:
When one must needs Companions leave for dead,
’Tis well the Tale thereof were left unread.”
8
The Fate of Father Joseph FitzMaurice, S.J., Is Further Illuminated, and Itself Illumines Mysteries More Tenebrous and Pregnant
WHEN EBENEZER LOOKED UP, still agape, from the couplet at the foot of the Secret Historie, Chicamec commanded him, through Drepacca, to return the volume to the chest, and the guards, who had knelt throughout the lengthy reading, rose to their feet and carried the chest back to its corner. Both Bertrand and McEvoy were surprised to hear the name Burlingame in the manuscript, but knowing nothing of the current Henry Burlingame’s past or the contents of the manuscripts relative to this one—and having the sentence of death upon their heads—they were more bewildered than astonished by the narrative. Ebenezer, on the other hand, was bursting with curiosity, but before he could formulate a proper question, the old chief demanded to hear again the poet’s description of his former tutor.
“What is his aspect?” Quassapelagh translated. “Tell of his skin and the rest.”
“I’faith—” Ebenezer frowned in recollection. “His skin is not so fair as McEvoy’s, yonder, nor yet so dark as Bertrand’s; ’tis near in hue to my own, I’d venture. As for his face—i’Christ, he hath so many—let me say only that in stature he is slighter than any of us, a quite short fellow, in fact, but his want of height is the less apparent forasmuch as he hath a deep chest and good shoulders, and his neck and limbs are stout. Ah, yes, and his eyes—they are dark, and have at times the glitter of a serpent’s.”
Chicamec nodded with satisfaction to hear these things; his next question caused the Anacostin King to narrow his eyes, and Drepacca to smile the briefest of royal smiles.
“The Tayac Chicamec desires to know about your friend…” He searched for words, and the old chief, as though to assist him, held up one of his little fingers grasped at the second joint. Quassepelagh went on determinedly, “He wishes to know about the part—”
“They call it the privy member,” offered Drepacca. Quassapelagh did not acknowledge the assistance but relied on it to make his message clear. “Whether it is of that small size, nor ever is moved by love to manly proportion?”
Ebenezer blushed and replied that, quite to the contrary, Burlingame was to be censured more for excess than for defect of carnal resources; that he was, in fact, the embodiment of lust, a man the catalogue of whose conquests surpassed all reasonable bounds in respect not only of length, but as well of manner and object.
The Tayac received this news without surprise or disappointment and merely inquired more particularly whether Ebenezer himself had been present at any of these deplorable activities.
“Of course not,” the poet said, a little annoyed, for he found the whole inquiry as uncomfortable as it was distasteful.
But surely the brother of Quassapelagh had observed with his own eyes the instrument of his teacher’s lechery?
“I have not, nor do I wish to! What is the end of these questions?”
Drepacca listened to his elder colleague and then declared to Ebenezer, “This man of whom you speak is Henry Burlingame Three; the fat Englishman of the book”—he pointed toward the chest in the corner—“is Henry Burlingame One, the father of the father of your friend.”
“In truth? ’Sheart, ’twas what Henry hoped for from the first, but ne’er could prove!” He laughed ironically. “What joy it is, to gladden a friend’s heart with news like this! But when Henry was my friend I’d naught to give him; now I have these wondrous tidings and no friend to give them to, for—” He was about to say that Burlingame had betrayed not only him but the cause of justice; he checked himself upon reflecting that, to say the least, he was no longer certain whether justice lay with Baltimore or John Coode, assuming the real existence of those gentlemen, and whether in fact it was Burlingame or Reality that had betrayed him, or the reverse, or simply he who had betrayed himself in some deep wise. “The truth of’t is,” he declared instead, and realized the truth of his proposition as he articulated it, “my friend hath passed into realms of complexity beyond my compass, and I have lost him.”
This sentiment proved incapable of translation, even by the knowledgeable Drepacca, who first interpreted it to mean that Burlingame was dead.
“No matter”—the poet smiled—“I love him still and yearn to tell him what I’ve found. But stay—we have the grandsire and grandson, it appears, but what came between? And how is’t Henry was found floating in yonder Bay? Ask the Tayac Chicamec who was Burlingame Two, and what came of him.”
Drepacca had no need to relay the question, for at the words Burlingame Two old Chicamec, who had been listening intently, grunted and nodded his head.
“Henry Burlingame Two.” He pronounced the words clearly, with no trace of Indian accent, and tapped his thumb against his shrunken chest. “Henry Burlingame Two.”
Even as Ebenezer protested his incredulity, he saw in the high cheekbones and bright reptilian eyes the ghost of a resemblance to his friend. “Ah, nay!” he cried. “Say rather he is the son of Andrew Cooke; tell me his name is Ebenezer, the Laureate of Maryland—’twere as easy to believe! Nay, gentlemen: ’tis beyond the Bounds; outside the Pale!”
Be that as may, Chicamec replied in effect, he was the father of Henry Burlingame III, whom he himself had set afloat to drown. He went on to tell a most surprising tale for which Quassapelagh, clearly his favorite, provided a running translation, deferring with reluctance to Drepacca at the more difficult passages:
“The Tayac Chicamec is a mighty foe of wh
ite men!” he began. “Woe betide the white-skinned traveler who sets foot on this island while even one Ahatchwhoop dwells here! For the Ahatchwhoops will not be sold into slavery like the people of Drepacca, nor traffick for English guns and English spirits like the people of Annoughtough and Panquas, nor yet flee their homes and hunting-places—”
“Like the people of Quassapelagh,” Drepacca obliged.
