LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1877, 28 February 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT'S CHRISTMAS. By Fbkdebic Botlb. [author of "Camp Notes," &c., &o.] (Continued.) So Christmas Day arrived to cap the foolery. All the Indians of the neighbourhood assembled, with instruments of music, bringing their sisters, daughters, and cousins —their wives, too, probably, and grandmothers, but these I do not distinctly recollect- By Indians, of course, I mean peons —Christians—not the wild savages cf Mosquito, whose drums could be heard sometimes in the mysterious forest. After watching the crowd awhile, J. G. J. and I rode out into the hills A certain Mrs Bulay, widow of a prosperous man, but too old for the dangerous journey back, had asked us to dine, with all the respectable diggers of the place ; —poor thing, she was shot the same night, or the next, by a savage half-breed. A strange and amusing company sat down. Since that date I have eaten with criminals and Jews, Turks, and heretics of every degree ; not to mention princes, viceroys, and ambassadors, entertainments won't bear any comparison. Nowhere do I recollect laughing more conaumedly than at Libertad. Much of the wild slang lay beyond my comprehension, but M. Geraud, ex-captain of the Imperial Navy, was good enough to translate it into the French of the Philistine. Of the dinner no more remains in my memory than in my constitution, but some quaint choruses still haunt me, amid a general reminiscence of racket and laughter and constant motion.

Returning to " the store" at dusk, w» found there a crowd of Indian girls, rather frightened and silenced, but quite ready to accept all the little Chrittmasgift? their new acquaintances pressed on them. Dance they would not, however, until the sermon was done. Upon this Geraud mounted a cask and preached in the local patois. His subjeot was the deluge, and he seemed to treat it in quite a novel way. The diggers cried and rolled about with laughter, too breathless to translate. Therefore, I cannot tell yon what views aro held in Libertad about the deluge, but they seem to be mighty droll, All this is very modifying, but if a

man desire strictness of observance, he mas sot spend his Christmas in a gold digging. This I can say, that our fan if wild »nd noisy was innocent. Could all those who went to church that day declare as much ? The Indian men and women heard Geraud to the end with perfect gravity and respeot. That was the best of it. I saw several glance with surprised disapprobation at the irreverent foreigners. Whea the preacher descended breathless from his cask, amidst uproarious cheering in all languages—for everyone but ourselves had understood this common speech—we strolled through the moonlight to see "Nativities." I am'not i sure that is the technical word, but it will i serve. A nativity, then, is a scenfc:reprß- ' aentation of those events which we oorrv- , uienioTiite at Christmas, and each Nioara- ' guan housewife, unless she be a downright ' pauper, will have a peep-show of her own.- : I had secured as my partner for the evening the prettiest girl of the- fair, really a pretty ' creators and an heireso. Chattering gaily, she introduced me at the richest house of the village, where there is more wealth than appearances show. Here we saw marvels. The ohjeots essential for a Nativity are three dolls, a toy bed. a cow, and a pigeon of wood, sugar, or plaster of Paris. With these, a la rigueur, the curtain may rise, but no family which rerpecta itself would put such a mean exhibition on the stage. Rich people have their theatre six feet long and near as many wide, and every inch must bear a toy or ornament. At the back is placed the bed and the three dolls in attitudes fitting, whilst the cow stands behind, and the pigeon dangles overhead on a string. The dolls, of coarse, may be wax, or china, or wood ; may be jointed, or not; dressed in gold or rags. Tney may be big or little ; may move their eyes or no. Such details are regulated by a person's means ; bat the limited resources of Nicaragua generally confine the population to one penny par piece. Perhaps a regiment of tin soldiers stands next in order on the stage, then a few trees of painted shavings from a Noah's ark, and all the animals disposed about. Piaster of Paris imager, pets of the ballet, copies from the antique, busts of Garibaldi, Napoleon, Bolivar, &c, tower above the Liliputian soene. Ido not exaggerate a bit. The importation of penny dolls, cheap doll's honses with furniture, Noah's arkr, and all such things is large enough to puzzle Spanish-Amerioan traders unacquainted with the customs of the country. All that one could fancy moat incongruous Is pat upon these household theatres at Christmas time, for the adoration of the faithful. And that adoration is freely, solemnly granted, with crossings and genuflections and telling of Ave Marias. I could get no more smiles from my Indian maid until the last Nativity had been visited and reverentially saluted. How pretty she was 1 To think that brighteyed fairy is now a wrinkled, grizzled beldame, with no more figure than a brown dress upon a peg! Bat she is not the only one changed. These reflections are too painful. What a pleasant Christmas was that of 1871-2, which I passed with David Arnot, at Eskdale 1 Who in England knows the name of David Arnot ! who in South Africa ignores it! He and no other gave ns Griqualand West. Taking up the cause of Nicholas Waterboer when that chief's prospects were desperate, he fought single-handed against the Free State and the Transvaal. Twenty years the struggle lasted, with daily peril to Arnot's life ; but he gained the day. Waterboer and Monkoroane, in their gratitude, have made this fortunate politician the largest private land-owner in the world. How many thousand square miles of pasture, how many fair daughters, Arnot possessed that Christmas time I have no idea. 411 the ladies in our quadrille called him papa, and all were lovely. But alas! there is no comfort in South African memories. Even the fair-haired, blue-eyed little thing who was youngest of all must now be rivalling the beauty of her elder sisters, as we admired it a.d. Id7l. What a merry gathering it was at Eakdale 1 I drove from the busy anxious Diamond Fields to Hopetown, and In the cool morning time sped onwards, behind a pair of greys, the envy and delight of the neighbourhood. The springbok scattered from our path, their bounding flight arrested by no bullet in that kindly season. All the country side was flocking towards Eskdale. Souths galloped by on horseback, carts filled with ladies we passed. The scenery was dull and grey, the land burnt up, the heat more than tropical; but beauty—and dinner—were awaiting us, and no one regarded the unlovely veldt. Some of oar most prosperous diggers were of the company, but the words "diamond," "carat," "claim,"or "water" did not once get a hearing. The talk was of "home" and girlish things; the only outcome of it laughter and pleasant frivolity. David Arnot sat smiling over all his broad, dark face in the midst of us, and with difficulty I obtained the few minutes of serious talk which I had come some hundred miles to obtain. Then there was racing, and shooting at the mark, whilst the ladies withdrew to rest a little before the dance. Delightful time! Let ns try to forget that we are nine years older. On December the 21st, 1874-5, I had crossed the Prah, paddled by Bonny cannibals, had written a letter on the far bank under a cotton tree, and had dined with Evelyn Wood. Grant, of the Royals, was first across the river, and I second; but, in truth, several officers might have deprived me of that small distinction had they not been too buey. Returning with all speed, I reached Cape Coast in the forenoon of the 25th. What teeming recollections crowd on me as I think of that campaign! It was not my first. I had already seen war, but it was unique, The days of Plevna do not haunt me. When I think of them I can recall the noise and the tick excitement, the growl and crackle of musketry, the bursting'of shells, and the boom of cannon. I remember that terrible orchard where we lunched, poor Mac Gaban, Dobson of the "Daily News," and Jackson of the " New York Herald." How the rain poured, and the shells whizzed just below! The air was full of music, as of a thousand ./Kalian harps—the singing of iron fragments and bullets overhead. I tried to count the boom of cannon, and in three minutes by the watch, excluding three doubtful, I numbered one hundred and six.

But the Turkish war does not hang in one's mind like that of the Gold Coast. Its incidents were ten thousand times more Experience and wider observation have awful, but between-whiles one lived more or less in Christian fashion, with a clear sky above, the foe in view, and civilisation behind. The Gold Coast war was a six months' struggle with wood-demons, unseen, seldom felt, always threatening. How often at night, alone or in a bivouac of three or four, we heard the echoing beat of drums, the wail of cow-horns, and the superb chant of the Ashanti war aong. At each turn in the narrow path one traveled, a volley might issue from the trees Why an enemy famed for enterprise and recklessness of life never tried to cut the road —the one road we had—is a question asked in vain. It was not unusual, in the army as outside, to dispute J-ir Garnet's claim to high ability, shown me that our general had to face conditions wholly new, which he met with new tactics, and succeeded at every point. Greater merit than this cannot be claimed for a soldier. A fine confidence he showed when his strategy came to the test. One of memory's pictures freshest in my eye is the small clearing of Egginkaß9i, Sir Garnet walking quietly up and down, cigar in mouth, and hands behind him, in a ring of fire. He had made the best dispositions possible, and It only remained to watch. The general had thought, had worked; now he called on his soldiers for their part. Aides-de-camp and messengers hurried out from the wood, gave their report, received cool instructions, and vanished. Wounded men came limping up, or were borne on stretchers, and the general had a word for each. I have seen commanders white with excitement, others that seemed stupid with anxiety. One great general, rather known than famous, walked to and fro, with head downcast, cuiiously picking lumps of earth, and scrutinising them with interest. I have seen only Sir Garnet, who was quiet, dignified, and wholly himself. It was a quick journey I had before me, leaving Prabsu on December 22nd, to arrive In Cape Coast Castle for Christmas Day. Dawn and dewy eve saw me tramping through the mud, my hammock swinging behind, and my carriers panting in the rear. The sky was visible only in those small clearings we had made, where a lonely engineer superintended the building of huta for the army soon to arrive. I reached the hospitable house of Mr Selby at 10 a.m., when the inmates were preparing for church. I Amongst these was a youcg clerk named i Gould ; a fine Devonshire lad, who died of fever some weeks afterwaida. Neither of

t» felt inclined for chnrcb, and' I sat in the balcony, watching a chief's home opposite, whilst Gould went to dress. A mighty handsome girl was that chief's daughter, as beauty coes in negrolaad. An exsnisite figure in»' displayed,- her eyes were large, soft, and well opened, nose straight, and lip* not too expanded for prettiness. As usual, she was sitting under a palm tree in the compound, whilst two or three slavea dressed her Ibng wool. Operations of the toilet and cuisine were conducted all day long in that compound, where an indefinite number of wives, daughters, and slave girls passed their abundant leisure. To me, drowsily amused fcy the scene, arrived young Oould In awful eoastamatirm. Hiiy costume was as artless as that of tie Fanieea ontBide, his face pale with alarm. 'Oh Lord!' cries he, 'Th-a devil :s upstairs !' 'Where?' I ask, starting up. ' Sitting on my chair, by heaven ! ■ Gwald replies. It was a chance not to be missed. I bounded up the ricketty steps and entered the room. Kvery chair was vacant". 'IS will be my turn next,' I said severely. 'No, no!' exclaimed Gould, 'look I he's there-still!'

(75? be continued.)