[The White Squall by John Conroy Hutcheson]@TWC D-Link bookThe White Squall CHAPTER ONE 6/6
Stepping up to the animal's side, he gave it one smart stroke on the nose, whereupon the iguana was incontinently settled, turning over on its back a second afterwards.
The brightness at once faded from its green and gold skin, while the rich cream-coloured throat changed to a dirty-white in the hues of death, in the same way that a dolphin alters its colour when taken from its native element. "Guess um well kill' now, nohow," said Pompey grimly, taking up the animal by the tail; but it was such a big one that he couldn't lift it, so he had to drag it along the ground towards the quarters of himself and the other negroes.
Here it would, I knew, ere long be skinned and dressed in a very savoury way, known only to African cooks, when a portion of the banquet would be sent in anon to "the big house," for the kindly acceptance of the white folks there--my mother, and sisters, and myself--elegantly dished up in plantain leaves with red peppers for dressing. While I stood for a second watching old Pompey making off with his prey in high good-humour, looking in the distance, as he climbed the slope of the hill up to the huts, uncommonly like a lean monkey dragging away a centipede, the intense glare of the tropical noontide, of which I was for the moment oblivious, changed in an instant to a deep gloom resembling the blackness of night.
It seemed as if some interposing body had suddenly been placed between the sun and the earth. Then came a tremendous crash of thunder, like the sound of heaven's dome breaking in, it was so fearfully loud and awesome; and the reverberating roar was accompanied by a vivid flash of forked lightning, whose zigzag stream struck a tall tamarind-tree standing in front of me, splintering the trunk from top to bottom with a scrunching noise like that made in rending timber! I turned and ran back to the house for shelter as fast as I could, anticipating what was coming, such storms being of frequent occurrence in the tropics after exceptional heat and when there is no wind to agitate the pent-up air; but, ere I could ascend the half dozen steps leading up to the terrace, the rain-cloud overhead burst and a sheet of water came down as if poured over the side of some giant reservoir in the sky, wetting me to the skin by the time I had gained the shelter of the verandah. My mother was just coming out of the drawing-room to see where I was, when Jake came up racing behind me, shouting out at the pitch of his voice, above the sound of the sluicing rain, "De packet am in, Mass' Tom! De packet am in!".
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