PREFACE.
Scene.—A lonely shore.EnterYankeeandMosquito Man.Well, my dark friend, who are you?“Waikna!” A man!And what is your nation?“Waikna!” A nation of men!Pretty good for you, my dark friend! There was once a great nation—a few old bricks are about all that remains of it now—whose people were proud to call themselves —— but then what do you know about the Romans?“Him good for drink—him grog?”Bah! No!“Den no good! bah, too!”Exeunt ambo.
Scene.—A lonely shore.
EnterYankeeandMosquito Man.
Well, my dark friend, who are you?
“Waikna!” A man!
And what is your nation?
“Waikna!” A nation of men!
Pretty good for you, my dark friend! There was once a great nation—a few old bricks are about all that remains of it now—whose people were proud to call themselves —— but then what do you know about the Romans?
“Him good for drink—him grog?”
Bah! No!
“Den no good! bah, too!”
Exeunt ambo.
Now such a dialogue took place, or might have taken place, on the Mosquito Shore. For allartistic purposes it did take place; and, as my book is chiefly devoted to the Mosquito man and his country, it shall be calledWaikna—a word that, in the Mosquito tongue, means simplyMan, but which is proudly claimed as the generic designation of the people of the entire coast.