POPULAR WORKS nr CAPTAIN MAYNE REID. 1. *HB 80ALP HUNTER* $. THB WAR TRAIL, 8. THE HITNTEB'S FEABT. <. THE 9MGER HUNTER. 5. OSOBOLA, TO SEMINOLB. & THB QUADROON. 7. RAB01RS AND RBGULATOaS, ft THB WHITE GAUNTLET. 9. WILD LIFE. 10. THB HEADLESS flOB8BiU* 11. LOST LENORE. 15. TH23 WOOD BANGBBt*. 18. THB WHITB CHIEF. 14 THB WILD HUNTRESS, 10. THB MAKOON. 16. THB RIFLE RAN GEES. Otofctfn Mayne Reid's works are oi an Intensely haterert- tag and fascinating character. Nearly all of them bdng founded upon some historical eveut, truf s a permanent ralne while lling, earnest, Maahlng flctoo passed by no noyel of fee day. All leaned uniform with this volume. Price, $1.50 each, and eent/rw by mail, on receipt of price, by 0. W. DILLINGHAM, PUBLISHER, BUCOB880B TO G. W. CAELETON & CO., New York. THE MAROON. BT CAPTAIN MAYNE REID, AUTHOR OF "THE SCALP HUNTERS," "THE RIFLE BANGERS," "THI TIGER HUNTER," " THE WAR TRAIL," "THE WHITE CHIEF," "THE HUNTER'S FEAST," "THE WILD HUNTRESS," "THB WOOD RANGERS," " WILD LIFE," "THE MAROON," "OSCEOLA THE SEMINOLE," " THE WHITE GAUNT* LET," "THE HEADLESS HOBSEJUH," ETC., ETC., ETC. NEW YORK: OOPYBIGHT, 1892, BT G. IV. Dillingham, Publisher^ SUCCESSOR TO G. W. CARLETON & C^ CONTENTS. I. A Jamaica Sugar Plantation, . . . 9 II. The Myal-man, . . . . . 141 III. Loftus Vaughan, Esquire, . . .14 IV. A Jamaica Dejeuner, . .... 18 V. Two Letters, ...... 20 VI. Poor Fellow, . . . . .24 VII. The Slaver, 26 VIII. Jowler and Jessuron, . .... 38 IX. The Foolah Prince, . . . . .80 X. A Handsome Offer, .... 84 XL Judith Jessuron, . . . . .87 XII. The Steerage Passenger, .... 41 XIII. The Cabin Passenger, . . . . .43 XIV. Loftus Vaughan on the Look-out, ... 45 XV. Kate and Yola, . . . . . . 49 XVI. Two Travellers for the Same Bourne, . . 53 XVII. Quashie, 57 XVIII. Travelling at the Tail, .... 59 XIX. On to Mount Welcome, . . . . .62 XX. A Slippery Floor, . . . . .05 XXI. The Coming Cloud, . . . . .67 XXII. The Kiosk, 70 XXIII. A Bold Resolve, . .... 72 XXIV. The Encounter of the Couiiai, ... 75 XXV. A Surly Reception, 77 j XXVI. The Jew Penn, 80 XXVII. A Fiery Baptism, . . . . .85 XXVIII. A Couch of Silk Cotton, .... 88 XXIX. The Tree Fountain, . . . . .91 XXX. The Hog-hunter, . .... 94 XXXI. The Runaway, . . . . * .95 XXXII. A Combat declined, . . . . .99 XXXIII. The Maroons, 102 XXXIV. A Forest Breakfast, 105 XXXV. Captain Cubina, 108 XXXVI. Quaco the Guide, . . . . .119 XXXVII. A Jamaica Justice, . . . -. .118 XXXVIII. An Unexpected Patron, .... 117 SI11992 XXXIX. A Plotting Parent, . . . $ .121 XL. Another of the Same, . , , 124 XLI. A Sweetheart Expected, . . .128 XLII. A Love Scene under the Ceiba, . % < XLIII. Smythje in Shooting Costume, . . . . 133 XLIV. A Cockney Sportsman, .... 139 XLV. Stalking a Turkey, . . . . 142 XLVI. Symthje Embarrassed by his Boots, . , .145 XL VII. A Tropic Shower, . . . . .148 XLVIII. A Dangerous Dance, . . . . 150 XLLX. Quashie in a Quandary, . . . . * .154 L. A Scarcity of Trousers, . . . .157 LI. Herbert in the Happy Valley, .... 160 LII. In Search of Justice, ..... 165 LIH. Magistrate and Maroon, . . . 168 LIV. The Smythje Eclipse, ..... LV. A Proposal Postponed, . . . . .178 LVI. The Obscuration, ..... 179 LVII. An Encounter of Eyes, . . . . .183 LVIII. The Smythje Ball, ..... 185 UX. Lost and Won, . . . . .189 LX. After the Ball, . . . . . .192 LXI. Paving the Way, . . . . . .195 LXII. The Duppy's Hole, ..... 200 LXHI. Chakra, the Myal-man, . * . . .203 LXIV. The Resurrection, ..... 206 LXV. Cynthia Confessed, . . . . .208 LXVI. The Love-spell, 210 LXVIL The Bargain of Obeah, 211 LXVIII. The Mysterious Motive, . . . .215 LXIX. The Death-spell, 218 LXX. The Invocation of Accompong, . . . 219 LXXI. Chakra Redivivus, 223 LXXII. Midnight Wanderers, ..... 226 LXXIII. Tracking the Strollers, . . . .231 LXXIV. Cynthia in the Way, ..... 233 LXXV. Strange Disclosures, . . . . . 236 k LXXVI. A Stormy Scene, 239 1 LXXVII. Where next ? . . . . .242 LXXVIII. A Dark Compact, 247 LXXIX. Staking the Sleeper, ..... 250 LXXX. A Mission for the Man-huntera, . . .253 LXXXI. A Startling Summons, . . . . .255 LXXXIL Blue Dick, ...... 257 LXXXIII. The Mysterious Absence, ..... 259 LXXXIV. A Shadowed Spirit, 268 LXXXV. The Stirrup-cup, . . . . . .265 LXXXVI. The Horn Signal, t . . . . M7 LXXXVII. Q^ar j's Queer Encounter, , 870 LXXXVIII. An Uncle in Danger, ... 273 LXXXIX. An Equestrian Excursion, . . .274 XC. Smytbje among the Statues, . . XCI. A Strange Determination, . 278 XCIL A Jealous Reconnoissance, . 280 XCIIL A Spy in Ambush, 282 XCIV. A Fell Purpose Defeated, XCV. Cynthia's Report, . 287 XCVI. A Day of Conjectures, .... 289 XCVIL The Sick Traveller, 291 XCVIII. A Hideous Intruder, .... XCIX. Two Speculative Travellers, .... 296 C. No Blood, 298 CI. The Capture of the Cacadores, . . . .801 Oil. A Double Murder, 803 CHI. Chakra on the Back Track, . . . .805 CIV. The Vigil of Love and the Vigil of Jealoniy, . 808 CV. Cynthia in Trouble, . . . . .311 CVI. A Fatal Sneeze, .... CVII. Chakra Trimming His Lamp, . . . .816 CVIII. Setting the Signal, 819 CIX. The Cry of the Solitaire, . . . .321 CX. A Sad Procession, ..... 824 CXI. The Abduction, 826 CXII. Burglars ! Robbers 1 Murderers 1 CXIII. Dread Conjectures, -~ . . . .333 CXIV. Smythje Still Living I . . ... CXV. On the Track of the Destroyer, . . . 837 CXVI. Too Late 1 339 CXVII. The Corpse of a Cousin, . . . .843 CXVIII. The Sleep-spell, CXIX. A New Job for Chakra, . . . .349 CXX. Dead or Asleep ? . . . CXXI. Quaco Turned Myal-man, .... 355 CXXII. The Rescue, 858 CXXIII. Down the Mountain, . , . . .860 CXXIV. An Orphan, CXXV. An Involuntary Suicide, . . . .868 CXXVI. Quaco in Ambush, ..... 872 CXXVU. The Doom of Destiny, 878 CXXVLLI. Conclusion, ... 79 CHAPTER I. 1 JAMAICA SUGAR PLANTATION. A 03AR plantation, and one of the finest in the " land of springs," is the state f "Mount Welcome'/' it is situated about five miles from Montego Bay, in a broad valley, between two rounded ridges. These ridges, after running parallel for more than a mile, and gradually increasing in eleva tion, at length converge with an inward sweep h to a stupendous hill, that fairly merits the name which it bears upon the estate the " moun- tain." Both the ridges are wooded almost down to their bases ; the woods, which consist of shining pimento trees, ending on each side in groves and island copses, pleasantly interspersed over a park-like greensward. The "great house " or "buff" of the estate Mount Welcome itself- stands under the foot of the mountain, just at the point of union between the two ridges, where a natural table or platform, elevated several feet above the level of the valley, had offered a tempting site to the builder. In architectural style it is not very different from other houses of its kind, and after the same fashion as the well-kxown planter's dwelling of the West Indies. One storey the lower one, of course is of strong tone mason-work ; the second and only other being simply a wooden " frame " house set on the top of the stone-work, and roofed with Ameti- can " shingles." The side and end walls of this second storey cannot with propriety be termed walls : since most part of them are occupied by a continuous lin of Venetian shutters the "jalousies " of Jamaica. ^ These impart a singular cage-like appearance to the house, at the saoM time contributing to its coolness a quality of primary importance in tropical climate. OuUide in the front centre a flight of broad stone steps, resting upoo 1 i. JAMAICA FTTOAR rLANTATKMT. arohed.ma>K>ri-woik, and Bordered by strong iron balustrades coniactf to the level of the second storey the real dwelling-house: since the ground floor is eiitirely occupied by store-rooms, magazines, and other M offices." The entrance door is from the landing of the aforesaid cscaHer, and conducts at once into the " hall," a spacious apartment, of crucifix-shape, running clear across the building from side to side, and end to end. The current of air which enters at the openings of the jalousies, passing con- stantly through this apartment, renders it at all times delightfully cool, and the lattice-work serves to mellow the glare of light which, under the sky of the tropics, is almost as disagreeable as the heat. The uncarpet> ed floor, moreover, composed of the hardest sorts of native wood, and subjected to a diurnal polish, contributes to increase the coolness. The great hall is the principal apartment of the dwelling. It is dining and drawing-room in one, where side-boards and cheffoniers may be seen in juxta-position with lounge chairs, fauteuils, and ottomans a grand chandelier in the centre suspended over all. The bed-chambers occupy the square spaces to one side of the cross ; and these also have their jalousied windows to admit the air, and ex- clude, as much as possible, the sultry rays of the sun. In Mount Welcome House, as in all other country mansions of Jamaica, a stranger would remark a want of correspondence between the dwel* ling itself and the furniture which it contains. The former might be re- garded as unsubstantial and even flimsy, for in reality it is so. But it is this very character which renders it appropriate to the climate, and hence the absence of substantiality or costliness in the style or materials of the building. The furniture, on the other hand the solid tables of mahogany, and other ornamental woods the shining carved sideboards the profuse show of silver and finely cut glass that rests upon them the elegant couches and chairs the glittering lamps and candelabras all combine to prove that the quasi meanness of the Jamaica planter's establishment extends no farther than to the walls of his house. If the case may be considered a cheap one, the jewels contained in it are of the rarest and costliest kind. Outside, the great house of Mount Welcome looks grand enough. Its kroad fagade, in which the deep green of the jalousies contrasts prettily with the white of the surrounding walls the massive stone stairway in front the wooded mountain sweeping up and forming a back-ground uf variegated green the noble avenue of nearly a mile in length, with its double rows of tamarinds and cocoa palms, leading up in front all con- tribute to produce a picture of almobi palatial grandeur, especially when viewed from the lower end of the valley. Nor does a nearer view detract from the splendour of this picture. The platform on which the house is built affords space for a large gardetf and shrubbery, extending rearward to the mountajn-foot, from whick they are separated by a high wall of stone. This mountain is a conspicuous feature of the landscape. Kot BO much from its height ; for there are others of eqnal elevation near to it, and further off, though still within sight, many far Higher. Even the A JAMAICA StJGAk PLAN^ATIOK li lamed "Blue Peak " is visible, towering hundreds of feet abtve the ur rounding summits. Nor is it conspicuous from being isolated. On the contrary , it is only a spur of that vast elevated chain of hills, that separated by deep gorge- like valleys, and soaring thousands of feet above the level of the Carib- bean Sea, are known as the " Blue Mountains of Jamaica." Covering almost the entire area of the island, which is thus broken into an endless succession of gigantic corrugations, Jamaica presents a surface rough and irregular as the crumpling upon a cabbage-leaf, and " land of mountains " would be a title as appropriate as its ancient In- dian appellation, " the land of fountains." The one which overlooks the estate of Mount Welcome is only two thousand feet above sea-level ; but what renders it remarkable is the geometrical regularity of its outlines, and, still more, its singularly shap- ed summit. Viewed from the valley below, it presents the appearance of an exact and somewhat acute cone, up to within about fifty yards of its top. There the sloping outline ends, the line on each side thence trending vertically upward, and abruptly terminating in a square table-top, forty or fifty feet in diameter. In general appearance, this truncated Bumrnit is not unlike that of the famed " Cofre di Perote " of Mexico. The sloping sides of the mountain are densely wooded, especially that fronting the estate of Mount Welcome, to which is presented a broad frowning facade, thickly clothed with a forest that appears primeval. Alone at its top is the mountain tree-less. There it is bare and bald as the crown of a Franciscan friar ; but only the square coffer-like sum- mit, which, being a mass of solid rock, repels the approach of the vege- table giants that crowd closely around its base, some of them stretching out their huge arms as if to strangle or embrace it. One only has suc- ceeded in scaling its steep rampart-like wall. A noble palm the areca has accomplished this feat, and stands conspicuously upon the table top, its plumed leaves waving haughtily aloft, like a triumphant banner over some conquered castle. The rock itself presents a singular appearance. Its seamed and scarred surface is mottled with a dark glaze, which during the sunlight, and even under the mellower beams of the moon, gives forth a corruscation, as if the light were reflected from scale armour. To the denizens of the valley below it is known as the Jumbe Rock A name characteristic of the superstitious ideas attached to it since " Jumbe " is the Coromantee appellation for his Satanic majesty. Though constantly before their eyes, and accessible by an hour's climbing up the forest path, there is not a negro on the estate of Mount Welcome, nor on any other for miles around, that would venture alone to visit the Jumbe rock ; and to most, if not all of them, the top of this mountain is as much of a terra incognita as the summit of Chimborazo. This terror of the Jumbe rock does not altogether owe its origin to a mere superstition, but has been partly inspired by the remembrance of * horrid history : for the rock has been the scene of an execution, which for cruel and cold-blooded barbarity rather deserves to be called a crime. That ^able-summit, like the blood stained temples rf the Moctezumas THE MYAL-MAH. has been used as an altar upon which a human sacrifice has been offered up. Not in times long past, neither by the sanguinary priesthood of Azteca, but by men of white skin and European race, cruel and ferocious as they. A black victim has there breathed his last If that lone palm could speak, it might tell a wild tale of woe, as testified by the bones that lie scattered around its root the chief sustenance of its vigorous rerdure I The tree is iilent ; but for all that the story has been told : no legend either, but a veritable history; and one of such an atrocious character as needs to stand in a chapter by itself. CHAPTER II. THl MTAL-MAH. IN Jamaica, a few years previous to the period when our tale opens, there was much agitation on the subject of " obeah-ism." The practise of this horrid art had become appallingly common so common that upon almost every extensive estate in the island there was a " professor," of it, in other words, an " obeah-man." " Professor," though often used in speaking of these charlatans, is not a correct title. To have professed it at least in the hearing of the whites would have been attended with peril ; since it was punishable by the death penalty. Practitioner is a more appropriate appellation. These mysterious doctors were almost always men very rarely women and usually natives of Africa. Universally were they persons of advanced age and hideous aspect ; the uglier the more successful in the pursuit of their criminal calling. There was a class of them distin- guished as " myal-men," whose chief distinction consisted in their being able to restore life to a dead body. Such was the belief of their igno- rant fellow slaves, who little suspected that the defunct subject had been only dormant, not dead : his death-like slumber having been secretly brought about by the myal-man himself, assisted by a prescription of the branched " calalue" a species of caladiwn. I cannot here enter into an explanation of the mysteries of Obi, which are simple enough when understood. I have met it in every land where it has been my lot to travel ; and although it holds a more conspicuous position in the social life of a savage, it is also found in the bye-lanes of civilisation. The reader, who may have been mystified about its meaning, will per- haps understand what it is, when I tell him that the obeah-inan of the West Indies is simply the counterpart of the " medicine man" of the North American Indians, the " piuche" of the South, the " rain maker" of the Cape, the " fetish man" of the Guinea coast, and known by as many other titles as there are tribes of uncivilised men It is the first dawning of religion on the soul of the savage ; but even when its malignant spirit has become changed to a purer aspiration after eter- nal life, it still lingers amidst the hauuts of ignorance, its original form almost unaltered witchcrrft. THB MYAL-MAN. 13 To the statement before made that on every laige plantation (here Wa* an obeah-man the estate of Mount Welcome was no exception. It, too, was blessed, or rather cursed, by a follower of the art, an old Coro- mantee negro Chakra by name a man whose fell and ferocious aspect could not have failed to make him one of the most popular of its practi turners ; and such, to his misfortune, had he become. He had long been suspected of having poisoned the former owner of the estate, who had made an abrupt and mysterious exit from the world His fate, however, was not much lamented, as he bore the reputation of being a cruel slave-master. The present proprietor had least reason to regret it : since it gave him possession of an estate he had long coveted. It was more chagrin to him, that since entering upon the enjoyment of the property, several of his most valuable slaves had terminated their existence suddenly, and in a manner which could only be accounted for by the supposition that Obi had had a finger in their fate. Chakra, the myal-man, was suspected of causing their deaths, arraigned and brought to trial. The judges were three three justices of the neighbourhood for that number was sufficient to pass the death-sentence upon a slave. The president of the court was the man's own master, Loftus Vaughan, Esq., proprietor of Mount Welcome, and custos rotulorum of the precinct. The substance of the crime charged against Chakra was " practising the arts of Obi." The charge had no reference to the death of the for- mer master of Mount Welcome ; but to those of the slaves that had oc- curred more recently upon the estate, as also upon the plantations of the other two justices who officiated at the trial. The proofs were not very clear ; but were deemed sufficiently so by the court to warrant a conviction. , Strange to say that of the three justices, the man's own master the president of the court appeared the most anxious to bring the trial to this termination. So anxious indeed, that he used every effort to over- rule the opinions of the other two ; his superior position giving Him a certain power of controling the decision. One of them had actually pro- nounced himself in favour of an acquital ; but after a whispering con- sultation with the custos, he suddenly retracted hii former opinion, and gave his vote for the verdict. There was a rumor at the time, that Loftus Vaughan, in this trial, was actuated by meaner motives, than either a stern love of justice, or the desire to put down the practise of Obi. There was a whisper abroad of | some secrete family secrets with which the Coromantee had become acquainted some strange transaction, of which he was the sole living witness ; and of such a character, that even the testimony of a negro would have been an inconvenience ; and it was suspected that this and not obeah-ism was the crime for which Chakra had to answer with hia life. The rumour, as is too often the case, may have been a scandal a lander. Whether or not, the Coromantee was condemned to die. The trial was not more irregular than the mode of execution, decreed for the wretched criminal. He was to be talren to the top of the Jumbe rock, chained to the palm tree, and there left to perish ! It may be asked why this singular mode of execution was selected ? Why wai he not hung 14 LOFTtTS VAUGHAN, ESQTJIRB. upon the scaffold, or burnt at the stake a custom not unusual damned criminals of his class ? The answer is easy. As already stated, at this particular period much unpleasant feeling prevailed on the subject of obeah-ism. In al- most every district mysterious deaths had occurred, and were occurring not only of black slaves, but of white masters, and even mistresses all attributed to the baneful influence of Obi. The African demon was ubiquitous, but invisible. Everywhere could be witnessed his skeleton hand upon the wall, but newhere himself. It had become necessary to make a conspicuous example of his worship- pers. The voice of all planterdom called for it ; and the myal-man, Chakra, was selected for that example, in the belief that his fearful fate would terrify the votaries of the vile superstition to their very hearts' core. The Jumbe rock suggested itself as the most appropriate place for to* execution of the Cororaantee. The terrors with which the place was al remdy invested added to those now to be inspired by the fearful form of punishment of which it was to be the scene must exert a oeneficial effect on the superstitious understandings of the slaves, arid for ever de- stroy their belief in Obeah and Obboney. With this design was the myal-mari escorted up to the summit of the Jumbe rock ; and like a mod- ern Prometheus, chained there. No guards were placed over him none were required to stay near the spot. His chains, and the terror inspired by the act, were deemed sufficient to prevent any interference with hia fate. In a few days, thirst and hunger, aided by the vultures, would perform the final and fatal ceremony as surely as the rope of the hang- man, or the axe of the executioner. It was long before Loftus Vaughan ascended the mountain to ascertain the fate of the unfortunate negro, his ci-devant slave. When, stimulated by curiosity and, perhaps, a motive still stronger he at length, accom- panied by his overseer, climbed to the top of the Jumbe rock, his hopes and expectations were alike confirmed. A skeleton, picked clean by the John crows, hung suspended to the stem of the tree 1 A rusty chain, turned around the bones, kept the skeleton in place ; though the fore-arms had become disconnected at the elbow joints, and would have fallen but for the support thus afforded. Loftus Vaughan had no inclination to dwell long upon the spot To him the sight was fearful. One glance, and he hurried away ; but far more fearful far more terrifying was that which he saw, or fancied he aw, in passing homeward down the forest path either the ghost of th$ nejsu,-man ; . or the man himself! CHAPTER IH. LOFTUS VAUGHAN, ESQUIRE. LOFTUS VAUGHAN was a widower, as generally supposed, with hut one child a daughter. Kate was the name of this young lady, ac least, it was the name she bore among her friends and acquaintances'. Another iwne might occasionally be heard" lily Quashoba," T^ only on &$ LOFTU8 VAUGHAN ESQUIRE. 15 lips of some of the older negroes of the estate, and never in the presence of Mr. Vaughan who had sternly forbidden it to be pronounced. There were doubts of the young girl having ever received either of theee names at the baptismal font : partly arising from the circumstanct that none of Mr. Vaughan's friends had witnessed the ceremony, and partly from a general knowledge of the fact, that the mother of Mr. Vaughan's daughter had been a 1 js the quadroon had been regarded in the light of a temporary wife, there was not the slightest scandal. On the other hand, had Mr. Vaughan rendered the connection permanent, by a marriage which elsewhere might have been to his credithe would have been at once tabooed, and rigorousljr excluded from society. Indeed, at one time, he came near being the victim of such a social exclusion : a report having got abroad that he had privately married hi* Blare 1 It waa not true in fact ; but, to do him justice it was so in intention, both to have married and manumitted her. This laudaole design he had procrastinated from time to time until death stepped in, and placed the act beyond his power. Then, more than ever, did he feel regret for his negligence more than regret remorse. Moreover, this negligence had left his offspring illegitimate ; in Jamaica, at that time, a phrase of peculiar significance, and far more comprehen- sive than elsewhere. Had the mother been white, it would have signified less. The daugh- ter would still have been illegitimate ; but she could have inherited her father's property by testamentary disposition. Not so the "lilly Quasheba." No will that her father could devise would make Kate Vaughan the heiress of his estate ! She was a mustee (quinteroon some- times called), and therefore still one remove from being free of the negro disabilities. The cruel statute of 1762 applied to her case. Beyond 2,000 currency she could not inherit even by will. All the rest of her father's property must go to the heir-at-law the nearest of his own kin. Loving his daughter as he did, and determined on making her his heiress, this would have been a terrible dilemma, had there been no way of escaping from it. Fortunately there was, and Mr. Vaughan well knew it The same assembly that had passed the flagitious statute had also provided a means by which, in certain exceptional cases, it could be avoided : that is, a man of great wealth and influence might be favoured by a special act. As Loftus Vaughan was just such a man, he of course knew he could procure the act at any time, and fully intended doing so ; but the same spirit of procrastination that had withheld him from performing his duty toward the mother, was again the cause of his neglecting that which he owed to the child her child and his. To procure the special statute would require him to make a journey to the capital perhaps a lengthen- ed sojourn there the solicitation of assembly men, and much worry and expense. The prospect of all these troubles caused him from time to lime to delay the execution of his project ; and, although he had never for a moment entertained a thought of abandoning it, still did it remain unperformed. In this condition were his family affairs at the period our narrative commences. " Lilly Quasheba," though gifted with every natural charm, educated, accomplished, and refined in short a lady was still tin daughter of a slave 1 18 A JAMAICA DEJEUNEB. CHAPTER IT A JAMAICA DEJEUNEB. OH a tranquil morning in the fair month of May fair in Jamaica, as eler beads ; and a crimson blossom the beautiful flower of the Quamoclit glittered amidst the ample folds of her hair. This, of a rich chestnut colour, was parted on the forehead, and carried in a curving sweep over cheeks that rivalled the radiance of the rose. It would have required an experienced eye, one well acquainted with the physiological characteristics of race, to have told that that young girl was not of the purest Caucasian blood. And yet the slight undu- lation of the hair ; a rotund rather than an oval face ; eyes of darkest umber, with a light gleaming perpetually in the pupils a singular pic- ture-like expression in the colouring of the cheeks were all characteris- tics, that proclaimed the presence of the sang melee. Slight indeed was the taint, and it seems like profanation to employ the phrase, when speaking of a creature so beautifully fair for beautifully fair was the daughter of Loftus Vaughan. This, then, was the " lilly Quasheba," the child of the erring and ill starred quadroon. "Little" was no longer an appropriate word for one just stepping over the threshold of womanhood, and whose large, finely- developed form created in the mind of the beholder an impression of the majestic rather than the diminutive. On entering the hall, the young girl did not proceed directly to seat herself ; but, gliding behind the chair occupied by her father, she flung her arms around his neck, and imprinted a Kiss upon his forehead. Ifc was her usual matutinal salute ; and proved that on that morning they had met for the first time. Not that it was the first appearance of either: for both had been much earlier abroad up with the sun, indeed, as ia the universal custom in Jamaica. Mr. Vaughan had entered the ball from the front door, and the Leghorn hat and cane carried in his 20 TWO LETTERS. told that hf> had been out for a walk perhaps to inspect the labeuf going on at the " works," or ascertain the progress made in his extensive cane-fields. Kate, on the contrary, might have been seen entering th house some half-hour before, in riding costume hat, habit, and whip- proving that her morning exercise had been taken on horseback. After saluting her father as described, the young lady took her seat in front of the great urn, and commenced performing the duties of the tablo. In this she was assisted by a girl apparently of her own age, but of far ! different appearance. Her waiting-maid it was, who, having entered al the same time, had taken her station behind the chair of her mistress. There was something strikingly peculiar in the aspect of this young girl as well in her figure as in the colour of her skin. She was of that slender classic shape which we find in antique sculptures, like the forms of the Hindoo women known in England as " ayahs" and differing alto- gether from the negro outline. Her complexion, too, was not that of a negress still less of a mulatto or quadroon. It was an admixture of black and red, resulting in a clear chestnut or mahogany colour, which, with the damask tincture upon the cheeks, produced an impression not unpleasing. Nor were the features at all of a negro type. On the contrary, far re- moved from it The lips were thin, the face oval, and the nose of an aquiline cast, such as may be traced on Egyptian sculptured stones, or such as might yet be seen in living forms in the land of the Arabs. Her hair was not woolly, though it differed altogether from the hair of a European. It was straight, and jet black, yet scarcely reaching to her shoulders. Not that it had been shortened by the scissors, for it appear- ed to be at its fullest growth, and, hanging loosely over her ears, it im- parted a youthful appearance to the brown-skinned damseL She was far from ill-looking ; and, to an eye accustomed to her " style," she may have appeared even handsome. Her elegant shape, exposed by the extreme scantiness of her costume, a sleeveless robe, with a Madrat kerchief worn a la toque upon her head ; the graceful attitude, which seemed natural to her either when in motion or standing poised behind the chair of her mistress ; the quick glance of her fine, fiery eye ; and the pearl-like whiteness of her teeth, all contributed to make up a picture that was far from common-place. This young girl was a slave the slave Yola. CHAPTER V. TWO LKTTBB8. being in the middle of the floor, the breakfast table had y meed a little to one side of the entrance door, that, with the jalousie* thiown open, the fresh air might be more freely felt, while at the same time a view could be obtained of the landscape outside. A splendid view it wan, comprising the valley from end to end, with its long palm- fhftded avtnue, a reach of the Montego river, the roofs and spires of th TWO LETTERS. 21 town, tlie shipping in the bay and roadside, the bay itself, and the blue Caribbean beyond. Striking as waa this landscape, Mr. Vaughan just then felt no inclina- tion to look upon it. He was too busy occupied with the rich viands upon the table ; and when he did find time to glance over the window- sill, his glance extended no further than to the negro " gang" at work among the canes, to see if his drivers were doing their duty. The eyes of Miss Vaughan were oftner directed to the outside view. It was at this hour that one of Mr. Vaughan's servants usually returned from Montego Bay, bringing the letters from the post-office. There was nothing in her manner that betrayed any inward anxiety, but simply that lively interest which young ladies in all countries feel when expecting the postman hoping for one of those little tetters of twelve sheets with closely written and crossed lines most difficult to decipher, and yet to them more interesting than even the pages of the newest novel. The landscape without appeared to possess more interest for the girl Tola, or rather was it the water that lay beyond. Now and then, when her attendance was not required at the table, her eyes wandered to the distant sea with a strange dreamy expression, as if her thoughts were carried away over the wide expanse to the far land of her nativity that African home from which she had been forced into captivity, and sold as a slave. Whatever impatience Miss Vaughan may have felt for the arrival of the post, it was soon to be appeased. Only a few minutes after the ringing of the breakfast bell, a dark object in the avenue proclaimed the approach of Quashie, the post-boy ; and shortly after, an imp-like negro lad upon the back of a rough pony galloped up to the front entrance ; and flinging his bag to the butler, who had met him at the bottom of the stair, turned off towards the stables. If the fair Kate expected a billet, she was doomed to disappointment. There were only two letters in the bag, with a newspaper, and all three were for Mr. Vaughan himself. AU bore the English post-mark ; and the superscription of one of the letters was by him at once recognised a pleasant smile stealing over his features as he broke open the seal. A few moments sufficed to make him master of its contents, when the smile increased to a look of vivid gratification; and, rising from his chair, he naced for sometime back and forward, snapping his fingers, and eja- 1 -nlating, " Good good ! I thought so I" His daughter regarded this behaviour with surprise. Gravity was her father's habit, at times amounting to austerity. Such an exhibition of guiety was rare with Loftus Vaughan. " Some pleasing news, papa ?" " Yes, you little rogue ; very." "May I not hear it?" " Yes no no not yet awhile." " Oh, papa I It is very cruel of you to keep it from me. I promi e I thall share your joy." M Ah ! you will when you hear the news that is, if you're not * little impleton, Kate." "la simpleton, papa ? I shall not be called so if to be joyful is all that's needed to sparu me the reproach." 22 YWO tT5TTER& " Why, you'd be a simpleton if you don't bo joyful never ramd, child Tn J tell you all about it by-uud-by. Good, good!" continued he, Mill cracking his fingers in a sort of ecstatic frenzy. " I thought so I knew he would come." " Ah 1 you expect some one, papa?" " I do. Guess who it is 1" " How could I ? You know I am unacquainted with your English friends, and I see the letter bears an English post-mark.'* " Not with their names ? You have heard their names, and seen let tori from some of them?" " Oh, yes, I often hear you speak of one Mr. Smythie a very odd name it is. I would'nt be called Smythje for the world. " Ta, ta, child 1 Sraythje is a very pretty name, especially with Mon- tagu before it. Montagu is magnificent. Besides, Mr. Smythje is the owner of Montagu Castle." " Oh, papa ! how can that make the name sound any better T Is it ho whom you expect ?" " Yes, dear. He writes to say that he will come by the next ship the Sea Nymph she is called. She was to sail a week after the letter was written, so that we may look out for his arrival in a few days. Gad ! I must prepare for him. You know Montagu Castle is out of repair. He is to be my guest ; and, hark you, Kate 1" continued the planter, once more seating himself at the table, and bending towards his daughter, so that biBjotto voce might not be overheard by the domestics, " you must do your oest to entertain this young stranger. He is said to be an ac- complished gentleman, and I know he is a rich one. It is to my interest to be friendly with him," added Mr. Vaughan, in a still lower tone of voice, and as if in soliloquy, but loud enough for his daughter to hear what he said. " Dear papal" was the reply, " how could I be otherwise than polite to him ? If only for your sake* - " " If only for your own" said the father, interrupting her, and accom- panying the remark with a sly look and laugh. " But, dear Kate, con- tinued he, " we shall find time to talk of this again, I must read the other letter. Who on earth can it be from ? Egad 1 I never saw the writing before." The announcement of the projected visit of Mr. Montagu S my tin a irith the trumpet-like flourish of his many accomplishments which Kate Vaughan had not now listened to for the first time appeared to produce in the heart of the young quinteroon no very vivid emotion & of pleasure at least, there was no evidence that it did so. She had re- ceived it with perfect indifference, not seeming to care much one way or the other. If there was a balance, it was rather against him : for i t so chanced that much of what she had heard in relation to this gentleman was not at all calculated to prepossess her in his favour. And she had ieard a good deal about him, both from her father and her father's ac- quaintances : for the lord of Montagu Castle was often the topic (it jrfter-dinner talk. m Jamaica, Mr. Montagu Smythje was only known by repute : for during all the yean of hU minority even from infancy ~ h had been a TWO LET^EES. 23 feoident of London, lie was, in truth, a " cockney/* not only by breed ing, but by birth for he was not the son of the deceased proprietor of Montagu Castle, but only his nephew and heir. We have said that Kate Vaughan had heard nothing of this youtg man to create within her an interest in her favour, but rather the reverse. She had heard that he was an exquisite a fop in fact perhaps of all other characters the one most repulsive to a young Creole : for, notwith- standing the natural disposition of these to become enamoured of fine personal appearance, it must be accompanied by certain qualities of mind if not of the highest morality, or even intellectuality, yet differing alto- gether from the frivolous accomplishments of mere dandeyism. Nature, that inspires the Creole girl to give her whole heart away, and without any reserve, has also taught her to bestow it with judgment. In Btinct warns her not to lay her precious offering upon an altar unworthy )f the sacrifice. There was another circumstance calculated to beget within the heart of Kate Vaughan a certain feeling of repulsion towards the lord of Montagu Castle ; and that was the conduct of her own father in regard to this matter. From time to time when speaking of Mr. Montagu Smythje he had made use of certain expressions and inuendoes, which, though uttered in ambiguous language, the young girl very easily com- prehended. The heart of woman is quick, as it is subtile, in the anderstanding of all that relates to the disposal of itself ; and that even at the earliest age of maidenhood. It is prone to repel any effort that may be made to guide it from its natural inclinations, and rob it of its /ight to choose. Mr. Vaughan, in his ignorance of these rather recondite truths, was erecting a barrier to his own designs, all the while he fancied he was successfully clearing the track of presumptive obstructions, and making the path smooth and easy. At match-making Mr. Vaughan was but a bungler : for it was evident that match-making was in his mind. " Never saw the handwriting before," said he, in repetition, as he broke open the seal of the second letter. If the contents of the first epistle had filled him with joy, those of the wvuond produced an effect directly the opposite. " 'Sdeath 1" exclaimed he, crushing the letter, as he finished reading it *nd once more nervously springing to his feet. " Dead or living, that ill- tarred brother of mine seems as if born to be a curse to me ! While alive, always wanting money ; and now that he is dead sending his son, a never-do-well, like himself, to trouble, and, perhaps, disgrace me." " Dear father !" said the young girl, startled more by his wild demeanoi than what he was saying for the words were muttered in a low voice, and rather in soliloquy " has the other letter brought unpleasant news ?* " Ah I that it has. You may read for yourself." And once more seating himself, he tossed the unwelcome epistle acrose the (able, and re-commenced eating with apparent voracity as if by tiiiK moans to tranquillise his perturbea spirit. Kate took up the rejected letter, and smoothing o~st the crumples rai her eyes over the contents 24 *OOB FELLOW. The perusal did not require much time : for, considering that the lettet had made such a long journey, its contents were of the shortest : DEA.K UNCLE, London, June 10, 18 , I have to announce to you the mel*acholy intelligence that your brother, my dear father, is no more. His last words were, that I should go over to Jou ; and, acting in accordance with his wish, I have taken passage fot amaica. The ship is the Sea Nymph, and is to sail upon the 18th instant, ,1 do not know how long we shall he at sea, hut I hope it will prove a abort ' voyage : as my poor father's effects were all taken by the sheriff's officer, and am compelled, for want of money, to take passage in the tUerage, which I have been told is anything hut a luxurious mode of travelling. But I am young and strong, and no doubt shall be able to endure it. Yours affec- tionately, HBBBBBT YAUOHAV. CHAPTER VI. rOOB FELLOW. WHATEVER effect the reading of the letter may have had upon Kate Vaughan, it certainly did not produce indignation. On the contrary, an expression of sympathy stole over her face as she mastered the contents of the epistle ; and on finishing it, the phrase " poor fellow I" dropped as if involuntarily, and just audibly, from her lips. Not that she knew any- thing of Herbert Vaughan, more than the name, and that he was her cousin ; but the word cousin has an attractive sound, especially in the ears of young people, equalling in interest at times even surpassing that of sister or brother. Beyond doubt, the affection felt for a blood relation is an instinct of our nature ; and though it may at times be outraged, and be- come an antipathy where avarice, or some other passion, gains predomi- nance the antipathy is the exception, and not the rule. In the case of Loftus Vaughan, worldly ambition, combined with ava- rice, had usurped the dominion of his heart, and destroyed every vestige of fraternal affection. Under the influence of these baneful passions, ho had long since ceased to care for his kin ; and even the paltry sums which from time to time, he had transmitted to his less fortunate brother, had been wrung from him by repeated and earnest solicitation, and given with grudging reluctance. There were no such passions in the heart of his daughter to misguicto Its instincts, and mislead them out of their true channel ; and though she r.ould know very little of the nature of the relationship, the word " cousin" had awakened within her those natural instincts of endearment which it usually calls forth. Herbert Vaughan was the only one who stood to her in this relationship ; and indeed with the exception of this young man and her own father now that that father's brcthei was dead she knew of no other relative she had upon earth. Nei- ther her mother, nor her mother's kindred, had ever been known to her. She had neither brother nor sister ; and Herbert Vaughan was uot POOR FELLOW. 25 only hei cousin, but her only cousin. This state of comparative orphan- age may have strengthened the instinctive tie which nature pron pted her to feel. There was another circumstance calculated to exsrt a similar in- fluence. Though surrounded by every luxury, and waited on by troops of slaves, still there was a want ; and one which she could not otherwise than be sensible of. Her father's friends were all dining friends, and ah 1 of the opposite sex. Their wives, sisters, and daughters were rarely ever seen at Mount Wei I some ; and when by chance they did present themselves, their behavioui f proclaimed that they were there as the friends of Mr. Vaughan rather thar i/f his daughter. Between them and Miss Vaughan there was a certain restrainta coldness of demeanour on their part which, although not ooservable to one unacquainted with Jamaican " society," never tlioless existed. The young girl knew it herself though ignorant of the cause, and in her innocent simplicity not caring to inquire into it. Happily she had never been told of the taint in her blood, and knew not that there was a stigma attached to the appellation of " lilly Quasheba." So far had kind fortune withheld from her this humiliating knowledge. Still was she conscious of a certain social isolation a lack of real friends ; and this, no doubt, contributed to impress her heart as it had also done her features, with a character of self-possession and self-reli ance but little corresponding with her age. It had also strengthened the ties of tenderness which attached her to her father. And might it not have invested with a certain interest the word cousin ? Whether it did, or whether it was mere childlike compassion for mis- fortune, certain it is that Kate Vaughan, as she laid aside the letter, was heard to pronounce the phrase, " poor fellow !" Though uttered, as we have said, in a tone almost inaudible, the words reached the ears of her father. " Poor fellow 1" he repeated, turning sharply to his daughter, and re- garding her with a glance of displeasure. " I am surprised, Kate, to near you speak in that strain of one who has done nothing to deserve your compassion. An idle, good-for nothing fellow just as his father was before him. And only to think of it coming over here a steerage passenger, in the very same ship with Mr. Montagu Smythjel 'Sdealh I What a disgrace ! Mr. Smythje will be certain to know who he is- though he is not likely to associate with such canaille. He cannot fail to notice the fellow, however ; and. when he sees him here, will be sure to remember him. Ah ! I must take some steps to prevent that. Poor fellow, indeed ! Yes, poor enough, but not in that sense. Like his father, I suppose, who fiddled his life away among paint-brushes and palettes instead of following some profitable employment, and all for the gake of being called an artist ! Poor ! fiddlestick ? Bah 1 Don't let me hear the words agajn !" And as Mr. Vaughan ended his ill-natured harangue, he tore the wrap* per off the newspaper, and endeavoured, among its contents, to distaoet bis mind from dwelling longer on the unpleasant theme of the epistle, or him who had written it. 26 TfllS SLAVES. The young girl, abashed and disconcerted b} the uraisriAl violence of the rebuke, sat with downcast eyes, and without making any reply, The red colour had deepened upon her cheeks, and mounted to herfore* head ; but, notwithstanding the outrage done to her feelings, it was easj to see, that the sympathy she had expressed for her poor but unknown cousin was felt as sensibly as ever. So far from having stifled or extinguished it, the behaviour of her ather was more likely to have given it increase and strength : for tl_* adage of the " stolen waters " is still true ; and the forbidden fruit ia ur tempting now as upon the morning of creation. As it was in the begir ning, BO will it ever be. CHAPTER VII. THE SLAVER. A HOT West Indian sun was rap. ily declining towards the Caribbean Sea as if hastening to-cool his fieiy orb in the blue water when a ship, rounding Pedro Point, in the island of Jamaica, stood eastward for Mon- tego Bay. She was a three-masted vessel a barque as could be told by the lateen rig of her mizenmast and apparently of some three or four hundred tons burden. As she was running under one of the gentlest of breezes, all her canvas was spread ; and the weather-worn appearance of her sails denoted that she was making land at the termination of a long ocean voyage. This was further manifest by th/ faded paint upon her sides, and the dark, dirt-coloured blotches that marked the position of her hawse-holes and scuppers. Besides the private ensign that streamed, pennon-like, Irom her peak, another trailed over her taffrail ; which, unfolded by the motion of the vessel, displayed a blue starry field with white and crimson stripes. In this case the flag was appropriate, both in its stripes and their colour. Though proudly vaunted as the flag of the free, here was it covering a cargo of slaves : the ship was a slaver. After getting fairly inside the bay, but still at a Jong distance from the town, she was observed suddenly to tack ; and, instead of continuing on towards the harbour, made for a point on the southern side, where tho shore was uninhabited and solitary. On arriving within a mile of the land she took in sai], until every inch of canvas was furled upon her yards. Then the shnrp rattling of the chain, as it dragged through the iron ring of the hawse-hole, announced the dropping of her anchor. A few moments after the vessel swung round, and, drifting till the chain cable became taut, lay motionless upon the water. The object for which the slaver had thus anchored short of the har- bour will be learnt by our going aboard of her though this was a privilege not granted to the idle or curious : only the initiated were per- mitted to witness the spectacle of which her decks now became tha thettre : only such as had an interest in the disposal of her cargo. TfiE SLAVEit. 27 Viewed from a distance, the slaver lay apparently inert; but lot a!" that a scene of active life was passing upon her deck a scene of rare and painful interest. The barque carried a cargo of two hundred human beiLgs " bales," according to the phraseology of the slave-trader. These bales were not exactly alike. It was, as her skipper jocularly styled it, an "assorted cargo" that is, one shipped on different points of the African coast, and, consequently, embracing many distinct varieties of the Ethiopian race. There was the tawny, but intelligent Mandingo, und by his side the Jolof of ebon hue ; there the fierce and warlike Coromantee, alongside the docile and submissive Pawpaw ; the yellow Ebc, with the visage of a baboon, wretched and desponding, face to fac with the cannibal Moco, or chained wrist to wrist with the light-hearted native of Congo and Angola. None, however, appeared of light heart on board the slaver. The hor- rors of the " middle passage " had equally affected all ; until the dancing Congeee, and the Lucumi, prone to suicide, seemed equally to suffer from dejection. The bright picture that now presented itself before their eyes a landscape gleaming with all the gay colours of tropical vegetation was viewed by them with very different emotions. Some seemed to re- gard it with indifference ; others it reminded of their own African homes, from which they had been dragged by rude and ruffian men ; while not a few gazed upon the scene with feelings of keen apprehension believ- ing it to be the dreaded Kocmi, the land of the gigantic cannibals and that they had been brought thither to be eaten ! Reflection might have .convinced them that this would scarcely be the intention of Tdbon-doo those white tyrants who had carried them across the ocean. The hard, unhusked rice, and coarse maize corn their only food during the voyage were not vi&nJs likely to fatten them for the feast of Anthropophagi ; and their once smooth and shining skins now exhibited a dry, shrivelled appearance, from the surface coating of dand- ruff, and the scars of the hideous era-era. The blacks among them, by the hardships of that fearful voyage, ha:! turned ashen-grey, and the yellows of a sickly and bilious hue. Males and females for there were many of the lattei appeared to have been alike the objects of ill-usage, the victims of a starved stomach and a stifled atmosphere. Some half a dozen of the latter seen in the precincts of the cabin presented a different aspect. These were young girls, picked from the common crowd on account of the superiority of their personal charms ; End the flaunting vestments that adorned their bodies contrasting with Ihe complete nudity of their fellow-voyagers told too plainly why they had been thus distinguished. A horrid contrast wantonness in the midst of woe ? On the quarter-deck stood the slave-skipper a tall, lathy individual of callow hue and, beside him, his mate a dark-bearded ruffian ; while ? score of like stamp, but lower grade, acting under their orders, were di* tributed in different parts of the ship. These last, as they tramped to and fro over the deck, might be heard it intervals giving utterance to pn fane oaths, as often laying violeul AND J nancls upon one of their unfortunate captives, apparently out A tiie sheer wantonness of cruelty. Immediately after the anchor had been dropped, and the ropes belayed and coiled in their places, a new scene of this disgusting drama W:IF entered upon. The living " bales," hitherto restrained below, were now ordered, or rather driven, upon deck not all at once, but in lots of three or four at a time. Each individual, as he came up the hatchway, v it rudely seized by a sailor, who stood by with a soft brush in his hand ji'itl a pail at his feet ; the latter containing a black composition of gunpowder, lemon-juice, and palm-oil. Of this mixture the unresisting captive re- ceived a coating, which, by the hand of another sailor, was rubbed into the skin, and then polished with a " danbybrush," until the sable epider- mis glistened like a newly-blacked boot A strange operation it might have appeared to those who saw it, had they not been initiated into its object and meaning. But to the spectiv- tors there present it was no uncommon sight. It was not the first time those unfeeling men had assisted at the spectacle of a slaver's cargo being made ready for market ' One after another were the dark-skinned victims of human cupidity brought from below, and submitted to this demoniac anointment to which one and all yielded with an appearance of patient resignation, like sheep under the hands of the shearer. In the looks of many of them could be detected the traces of that apprehension felt in the first hours of their captivity, and which had not yet forsaken them. Might not this process be a prelude to some fearful sacrifice ? Even the females were not exempted from this disgusting desecration of God's image ; and one after another were passed through the hands of the operators, with an accompaniment of brutal jests, and peals of ribald laughter 1 CHAPTER VHL JOWLER AND JESSUROX. ALMOST on the same intant that the slave-barque had dropped anchor, a email boat shot out from the silent shore ; which, as soon as it had got I fairly out into the water, could be seen to be steering in the direction rf the newly-anchored vessel. There were three men in the boat, two of whom were plying the oara. These were both black men naked, with the exception of dirty unite trousers covering their limbs, and coarse palm-leaf hats upon their heads. The third occupant of the skiff for such was the character of the boat was a white, or more properly, a wliitisU man. He was seated in the etern-sheets, with a tiller-rope in each hand ; and steering the craft as his elbows a-kimbo, and the occasional motion of his arms testified. He bore not the slightest resemblance to the oarsmen, either in the colour of his skin, or the costume that covered it. Indeed, it would not have beec faay to hav found his counterpart anywhere either on land or at ee* JOWLEB AND JESSUBON. 29 At the first glance an entire stranger would have pronounced him a char acter; and those who knew him more intimately did not hesitate to call him a queer character. He appeared, to be about sixty years old ha might have been more or less and had once been white ; but long ex- posure to a West Indian sun, combined with the numerous dirt-filled creases and furrows in his skin, had darkened his complexion to the hue of leaf tobacco. His features, naturally of an angalar shape, had become so narrowed and sharpened by age as to leave scarce anything in front ; and to get a v'sv? of his face it was necessary to step to one side and ecan it en w e ,jlte. Thus viewed, there was breadth enough, and features of t*a xaoat prominent character including a nose like the claw of a lobster -a sharp, projecting chin with a deep ernbayment between, marking ne locality of the lips : the outline of all suggesting a great resemblance to the profile of a parrot, but still greater to that of a Jew for such, in reality, was its type. When the mouth was opened in a smile a rare oc- currence, however only two teeth could be detected within, standing far apart, like two sentinels guarding the approach to the dark entrance within. This singular countenance was lighted up by a pair of black watery orbs, that glistened like the eyes of an otter ; and eternally glis- tened, except when then: owner was asleep a condition in which it was said he was rarely or never caught. The natural blackness of his eyes was rendered deeper by contrast with long white eyebrows running more than half way around them, and meeting over the narrow ridge of the nose. Hair upon the head there was none that is, none was visible a skull-cap of whitish cotton-stuff covering the whole crown, and coming down over both ears. Over this was a white beaver hat, whose worn nap and broken edges spoke of long service. A pair of large green goggles, resting on the humped bridge of his nose, protected his eyes from the sun ; though they might perhaps have been worn for another purpose to conceal the viUanous expression of the eyes that sparkled beneath them. A sky-blue cloth coat, whitened by long wear, with metal buttons, once Wight, now changed to the hue of bronze ; small-clothes of buff kersey- mere glistening with grease, long stockings ; and tarnished top-boots, made up the costume of this unique individual. A large blue cotton um- brella rested across his knees : as both hands were occupied in steering the skiff. The portrait here given or, perhaps, it should be styled profile is that of Jacob Jessuron, the slave-merchant ; an Israelite of the Portuguese breed, but one in whom it would not be truth to say there was " no guile." The two oarsmen were simply his slaves. The little craft had put out from the shorefrom a secluded spot at a distance from the town, but still within view of it. It was evidently rowed at its best speed. In- deed, the steersman appeared to be urging his blacks to the exertion of their utmost strength : as though for some reason he wished to arrive on board at the very earliest moment possible. Moreover, from time to time, he was seen to twist his body naif round and look towards the town as though he expected or dreaded to see a rival boat coming from that quarter, arid was deaixous to reach the barque tbead of her. 80 THE FOOLAH PKINOE. If soch was hii design, it proved successful. Although his little gldfi was a considerable time in traversing the distance from shore to ship distance of at least a mile he arrived at the point of his destination with- out any other boat making its appearance. " Sheep ahoy I" shouted he, as the skiff was pulled up under the lar board quarter of the barque. " Ay, ay I" responded a voice from above. " Ish that Captain Showier I hearsh ?" ? " Hilloo 1 who's there ?" interrogated some one on the quarter-deck ; and f the moment after, the sallow face of Captain Aminidab Jowler presented itself at the gangway. " Ah 1 Mister Jessuron, that you, eh ? Determined to have fust peep at my blackeys ? Well 1 fust kim, fust served ; that's my rule. Glad to see you, old fellow. How d' deo ?" " Fusht-rate 1 fusht-rate 1 I hopsh you're the shame yourshelf, Captin Showier. How ish you for cargo ?" " Fine, old boy 1 Got a prime lot this time, A1J sizes, colours, and sexet too ; ha ! ha ! You can pick and choose to suit yourself, I reckon. Come climb aboard, and squint your eye over 'em 1" The slave merchant, thus invited, caught hold of the rope ladder let down for his accommodation ; and, scrambling up the ship's side with the agility of an old ape, stepped upon the deck of the slaver. After some moments spent in hand-shaking and other forms of gratnlation proving that the trader and merchant were old friends, and as thick as two thieves could possibly be the latter fixed the goggles more firmly on the ridge of his nose, and commenced his inspection of the " cargo." CHAPTER IX. THB POOIAH PBINOK. ON the quarter-deck of the slaver, and near the "companion, ' stood a man of unique appearance differing, not only from the whites who composed the crew, but also from the blacks and browns who constituted the cargo. His costume, attitude, and some other trivial circumstances, proclaimed him as belonging neither to one nor the other. He had just stepped ^p from the cabin, and was lingering upon the quarter-deck. Having the entree of the first, and the privilege of remaining upon the second, he could not be one of the " bales " of this human merchandise , and yet both costume and complexion forbade the supposition that he was of the slaver's crew. Both denoted an African origin, though his features were not of a marked African type. Rather were they Asiatic, or, more correctly, Arabian ; but, in some respects, differing also from Arab features. In truth, they were more nearly European ; but the com- plexion again negatived the idea that the individual in question belonged to any of the nationalities of Europe. His hue was that of a light Floren- tine bronze, with a tinge of chestnut. He appeared to be about eighteen or nineteen years of ago ; tall, and well proportioned, and possessed the following characteristics : A fine arched eyebrow, spanning an eye full and rotund; a nose slightlj THE FOOLAH PRINCE. aquiline ; thin, well-modelled lips ; white teeth whiter from contract with the dark shading 011 the upper Jp and over all an ample chevelwt of jet-black hair, slightly curling, but not at all woolly. In nothing did he differ more from the dark-skinned helots of the hold than in his costume. While none of these had any clothing upon their bodies, or next to none, he, on the contrary, was splendidly apparelled- - his face, throat, arms, and limbs, from the knee to the ankle, being the jnly parts not covered by a garment. A sort of sleeveless tunic of yel- 1 .ow satin, with a skirt that just reached below his knees, was bound around his waist by a scarf of crimson China crape, the ends of which, hanging still lower, were adorned with a fringe work of gold. Over the left shoulder rested loosely another scarf of blue burnous cloth, conceal- ing the arm over which it hung ; while half hidden beneath its draping could be perceived a scimitar in its richly-chased scabbard, and with a hilt of carved ivory. A turban on the head, and sandals of Kordofan leather upon the feet, completed his costume. Notwithstanding the Asiatic character of the dress, and the resemblance of tke wearer to those East Indians known as Lascars, he was a true African* though not of that typo which we usually associate with the word, and which suggests a certain negroism of features. He was one of a people entirely distinct from the negro the great nation of the Foolaha (Fellattas) that race of shepherd warriors whose country extends from the confines of Darfur to the shores of the Atlantic the lords of Sockatoo and Timbuctoo these fanatic followers of the false prophet who conspir- ed the death of Laing, and murdered Mungo Park upon the Quorra. Of such race was the individual who stood on the quarter-deck of the slaver. He was not alone. Three or four others were around him, who also dif- fered from the wretched creatures in the hold. But their dress of more common material, as well as other circumstances, told that they were his inferiors in rank in short, his attendants. The humble mien with which they regarded him, and the watchful attention to his every look and ges- ture, proclaimed the habitual obedience to which they were accustomed ; while the turbans which they wore, and their mode of salutation the salaam told of an obeisance Oriental and slavish. To the richness of this young man's attire was added a certain haughti- ness of mien, that proclaimed him a person of rank perhaps the chief- tain of some African tribe. And such, in reality, he was a Foolah prince, from the banks of the Senegal. There, neither his presence or appearance would have attracted more than passing observation ; but here, on the other side of the Atlantic, on board a slave-ship, both required explanation. It was evident he was not in the same category with his unfortunate countrymen " between decks" doomed to perpetual captivity. There were no signa that he had been treated as a captive, but the contrary. How, then, was his presence on board the slave barque to be account- ed for ? Was he a passenger ? or in what relationship did he stand to the people that surrounded him ? Of such a character, though differently worded, were the interrogatories fcut by the slave merchant, as, returning from the fore-deck, after com- pleting his inspection of the cargo, his eyes for once fell upon Uie young Fellatta, 32 THE FOOLAH PRINCE. " Blesh my shtars, Captain Showier I" cried he, holding up both hand*, and looking with astonishment at the turbaned individuals on the quar- ter-deck. " Blesh my ehtars !" he repeated ; " what ish all thish V S'help My Gott 1 theesh fellows are not shlaves, are they ?" " No, Mister Jessuron, no ; they ain't slaves, not all on 'em aint. That 'ere fine fellow, in silk and satin, air a owner o' slaves hisself. That ero'i a prince." f " What dosh you say, Captain Showier ? a prince ?" " Ye aint 'stonished at that, air ye ? 'Taint the fust time I've had ov African prince for a passenger. This yeer's his Royal Highnejs the f Prince Cingues, son o' the Grand Sultan of Footatoro. The other fellows you see thar by him are his attendants courteers as waits on him. That with the yellow turban's 'gold stick ;' him in blue's ' silver stick / an' t'other fellow's ' groom o' the chamber,' I s'pose." " Sultan of Foota-toro 1" exclaimed the slave merchant, still holding up tlie blue umbrella in surprise ; " King of the Cannibal Islandsh ! Aha, a good shoke, Captain Showier 1 But, serious, mine friend, what for hash you tricked them out in thish way ? Won't fetch a joey more in the market for all theesh fine feathers." " Seems, Mister Jessuron, they're not for the market. I sw'ar to ye the fellur's a real Afrikin prince." "African fiddleshtickl" echoed the slave merchant, with an incredulous shrug. " Come, worthy cap tin, what'sh the mashquerade about?" " Not a bit of that, ole fellur ! 'Sure ye the nigger's a prince, and my passenger nothing more or less." " S'help you Gott ish it so ?" " So help me that 1" emphatically replied the skipper. " It's just as 1 Ve told ye, Mister Jessuron." " Blesh my soul 1 a passenger, you shay ?" " Yes ; and he's paid his passage, too Like a prince, as he is." " But what's hish business here in Shamaica ?" "Ahl that's altogether a kewrious story, Mister Jessuron. You'll hardly guess his bizness, I reckon?" " Lesh hear it, friend Showier." " Well, then, the story air this : 'Bout twelve months ago an army o' Mandingoes attacked the town of old Foota-toro, and, 'mong other plunder, carried off one o' his daughters own sister to the young fellur you see there. They sold her to a West India trader, who, of course, brought the girl over here to some o 1 the islands ; which one ain't known. Old Foota- toro, like the rest o' 'em, thinks the slaves are ah 1 fetched to one place ; and, as he's half besides himself 'bout the loss of this gurl he war nis favourite, and a sort o' a court belle among 'em he's sent the brother to search her out, and get her back from whoever hez purchased her on thif side. There's the hul story for you." The expression that had been gathering on the countenance of the Jew, while this relation was being made to him, indicated something more than a common interest in the tale something beyond mere curiosity at tha same time ho seemed as if trying to conceal any outward sign of emotion, oy preserving, as much as possible, the rigidity of his features." " Blesh my soul I" he exclaimed, as the skipper had concluded. " Ash I live, a wonderful sthory I But how ish he ever to find hish sister ? H &ight ash well look for a needle in a ha^-shtack." THE FOOLAH FBIKOB. S3 * Wai, that's true enough," replied the slave skipper. " As for that," added he, with an air of stoical indifference ; " tain't no business o' mine. My affair was to carry the young fellur acrost the Atlantic, as' I'm willin 1 to take him back on the same terms, and at the same price, if he kin pay " Did he pay you a goodsh price ?" inquired the Jew, with evident anx- fety as to the answer. " He paid like a prince, as I've told vou. D'ye see that batch o' yellow Mandingoes by the windlass yonder ? "Yesh yesh." "Forty there air all told." "Well?" " Twenty on 'em I'm to have for fetchin* him across. Cheap enough, ain't it?" " Dirt cheap, friend Showier. The other twenty?" " They are his'n. He's brought 'em with him to swop for the sister, when he finds her." " Ah, yesh 1 if he finds the girl." " In coorse, if he finds her." " Ach 1" exclaimed the Jew, with a significant shrug of his shoulders ; " that will not be an easy bishness, Captin Showier." etru< findin' pilot him ; you know everybody in the island, I reckon. No tfoubt he will pay you well for your trouble. I'm anxious he should succeed. Old Foota-toro is one of my best sources of supply ; and if the girl could b found and taken back, I know he would do the handsome to me on my next trip to the coast." " Weft, worthy captin, I don't know that there's any hope, and won't hold out any to hish royal highnesh, the prince. I'm not as able to get about ash I ushed to was ; but I'll do my besht for you. As you shay, I might do something towardsh putting him in the way. Well, we'll talk it over ; but let ush first settle our other bishness, or all the world wUl be aboard. Twenty, you shay, are his ?" " Twenty of them 'ere Mandingoes." " Hash he anything besides 2" " In cash ? no, not a red cent. Men and women are the dollars of his country. He hes the four attendants, you see. They air ,his slaves like the others." * " Twenty-four, then, in all. Blesh my soul I What a lucky fellow ish tin's prince. Maybe I can do something for him ; but we can talk it over in the cabin, and I'm ready for something to drink, worthy Showier." " Ha !" exclaimed he, as, on turning round, he perceived the group oi girls before mentioned. " Blesh my soul 1 Some likely wenches. Just the sort for chambermaids," added he, with a villanously significant look. " How many of that kind hash you got, my good Showier ?" " About a dozen," jocularly responded the skipper ; " some splendid breeders among 'em, if you want any for that bizness." " I may '1 may. Gad I it's a valuable cargo one thing with another I Well, lot ush go below," adde4 fc e tanung towards the 34 A HANDSOME OFFER. * What's in your locker ? I inusht have a drink before I can do bfchneM Likely wenches! Gad a valuable cargo I 1 Smacking his lips, and snapping his fingers as he talked, the old repro- bate descended the companion stairway the captain of the slaver follow ing close behind him. We know not, except by implication, the details of the bargaining that look place below. The negotiation was a secret one as became ule na- ture of any transaction between two such characters as a slave-dealer and slave-stealer. It resulted, however, in the purchase of the whole cargo, and in so -.ihort a time, that just as the sun sunk into the sea, the gig, cuttei, and long-boat of the slaver were lowered into Uiu water ; and, under the dark- ness of night, the " bales" were transported n> the shore, and landed in the little cove whence the skiff of the slave Merchant had put out. Amongst them were the twenty Man;Lngoes, the attendants of the prince, and the " wenches," designed for improving the breed on Je.s.suron's plantation : for the slave merchant was also a land proprietor and planter. The skiff was seen returning to the shore, a cable's-length in tiio wake of the other boats. Now, however, a fourth personage appeared in it, seated in the stern, face to face with the owner. The gaily-coloured cos- tume, even in the darkness, shining over the calm, shadowy surface of the sea, rendered it easy to recognise this individual as the Foolah prince. The Jew and the .Moslem the wolf and the lamb were sailing in the tame boat. CHAPTER X. A HANDSOME OFFER. On the day after the slaver had landed her cargo, and at a very early hour in the morning, Mr. Vaughan, looking from the front window of his house, perceived a strange horseman approaching by the long avenue. As the stranger drew nearer, his horse appeared gradually to trans form himself into a mule ; and the rider was seen to be an old gentleman in a blue coat, with metal buttons, and ample outside pockets under which were breeches and top-boots, both sullied by long wear. A dam* aged brown beaver hat upon his head, with the edge of a white cottor. nightcap showing beneath it ; green goggles upon the nose ; and a large blue umbrella, instead of a whip, grasped in the right hand, enabled Mr Taughan to identify one of his nearest neighbours, the penn-keepo? Jessuron, who, among other live stock, was also known as an extensive apeculator in slaves. "The Jew?" muttered Mr. Vaughan, as soon as the sharp features of the Israelite were recognised. " What can he want at this early hour 1 Bome slave stock for sale, I suppose. That looked like a trader I saw yesterday in the offing, and he's sure to have the first lot. Well, ha won't find a market here. Fortunately, I'm stocked. Morning, Mr Jbftsuron 1" continued ke, hailing his visitor from the too of tUe stairway * A& usual, you are earlv abroad. Bi^iiiess, fcl} ?" A HANDSOME OFFEB. 33 * Ach, yesh, Mishter VDchan ! Bislniess must be minded. A. poor aarish like me can't afford to shleep late theesh hard times !" "Hal ha! Poor man, indeed! That's a good joke, Mr. Jessuronl CSorne, alight! Have you breakfasted ?" " Yesh, thanks, Mister Vochan. I always breakfasht at six." " Oh, that is early ! A glass of swizzle, then ?" " Thanks, Mishter Vochan ; I will. A glash of shwizzell will be bettei e i anything else. Itsh warm thish mornings." The swizzle, a mixture of rum, sugar, water, and lime-juice, was found in a large punch-bowl that stood upon the sideboard, with a silver tagjfcie resting across the rim, and glasses set around it. This is a standing drink in the dwelling of a Jamaica planter a fountain that never gets dry, or always renewed when exhausted. Stepping up to the sideboard, where he was attended to by the butler, the penn-keeper briskly quaffed off a tumbler of the swizzle ; and thoflL smacking his lips, and adding the observation, " Tish good," he returned towards the window, where a chair had been placed for him beside that of his host. He had already removed his beaver, though the white skull-cap not over clean, by-the-bye was still permitted to keep its place upon his head. Mr. Vaughan was a man possessed of considerable courtesy, or, at least, an affectation of it. He remained silent, therefore, politely waiting for his guest to initiate the conversation. " Well, Misbter Vochan," began the Jew, " I hash come over to see you on a shmall bishness a very shmall bishness it is, and shcarcely worth troubling you about." Here the Jew hesitated, as if to put some proposition into shape. " Some black stock for sale ? I think I've heard that a cargo came in yesterday. You got part, I suppose ?" " Yesh, yesh, I bought a shmall lot, a very shmall lot. I had'nt the monish to buy more. S'help me ! the shlaves ish getting so dear ask I can't afford to buy. This talk about shtoppin' the trade ish like to ruin ush all. Don't yoush think so, Misher Vochan ?" " Oh ! as for that, you need'nt fear. If the British Government should pass the bill, the law will be only a dead letter. They could never guard the whole of the African coast no, nor that of Jamaica neither. I think If r. Jessuron, you would stih 1 contrive to land a few, eh ?" " Ach, no, Mishter Vochan ! dear, oh dear, no I I shouldn't venture fc^ainsht the laws. If the trade ish stop, I musht give up the bishness. Bhlaves would be too dear for a poor Jewish man like me to deal in : so 'liolp mo ! they're too dear ash it ish." " Oh, that'i all nonsense about their getting dearer ! It's very well for j ou to talk so, Mr. Jessuron ; you have some to sell, I presume ?" " Not now, Mishter Vochan, not now. Posshible I may have a shrnall lot in a day or two, but joosht now I haven't a shingle head ready for the market. Thish morning I want to buy, instead of shell." " To buy ! From me, do you mean ?" " Yesh, Mishter Vochan, if you're disposed to shell." Come, that's something new, neighbour Jeesuron. I know you'rf 86 A HAKDSOMB OFFER. always ready for a trade ; but this is the first time I ever heard of yoi ouying off a plantation." " Well, the truth ish, Mishter Vochan, I have a cushtomer who wanta a likely wench for waiting at hish table. Theresh none among my shtock he thinks good enough for hish purposh ; I was thipking ycu hash got one, if you could shpare her, that would suit him niaaely." " Which do you mean ?" " I mean that youngsh Foola wench ash I sold you lasht year- j M! after crop time." " Oh 1 the girl Tola?" " Yesh, that wosh her name. Ash you had her dirt sheep, I don't UULI. ' giving you shomethings on your bargain shay ten pounds currenehy ?* " Poh, poh, poh 1" replied the planter, with a deprecating shrug. " Tlia* would never do, even if I meant to sell the girl ; but I have no wish to part with her." " Shay twenty, then ?" " Nor twice twenty, neighbour. I would'nt, under any circumstances, take less than two hundred pounds for Tola. She has turned out a mo*l valuable servant " " Two hunder poundsh !" interrupted the Jew, starting up in his chair. " Osh ! Mishter Vochan, theresh not a black wench in the island wortib half the monish. Two hunder poundsh ! Blesu my soul, that ish a prishe ! I wish I could shell some of my shtock at that prishe 1 I give any two I hash for two hunder poundsh." " Why, Mr. Jessuron, I thought you said just now slaveb were becom- ing very dear !" " Dear, yesh ; but that's doublish dear. S'help me ! you don't mean it, Mishter Vochan ?" " But I do mean it ; and even if you were to offer me two hundred " " Don't shay more about it," said the slave merchant, hurriedly interrupt- ing the hypothetic speech ; " don't shay more ; I agreesh to give it. Two hunder poundsh ! blesh my shtars ! it'll make a bankrup' of me." " No, it will not do that : since I cannot agree to take it." " Not to take two hunder poundsh ?" " No nor twice that sum, if you were disposed to offer it." " Gott help ush, Mishter Vochan ; you shurely ish shokin? Wh^ can you not take it ? I hash the monish in my pocket." " I am sorry to disappoint you, neighbour ; but the fact is, I could no! ell the girl Tola at any price, without the consent of my daughter, tc whom I have given her." * "Mish Vochan?" " Yes she is her maid, and I know that my daughter is very fond of her. It is not likely she would consent to the girl's being sold." " But, Mishter Vochan, you shurely don't let your daughter slitand be* Iween you and a good bargain ? Two hunder pound is big monish, big monish, Mishter Vochan. The wench ish not worth half the monish, and, for myshelf, I wouldn't give half ; but I don't want to dishappoint a good cuahtomer, who'se not so particular ash to the prishe." " Your customer fancies the girl, eh ?" said Mr. Vaughan, glancing si Ri&cantlv at his guest " She js yerv good looking uo wonder. ro JUDITH JESSURON. 8 i that be the case, I may as well tell you, I should myself not bo helmed to part with her ; and, as for my daughter, if she suspected such a purpose. all the money you have got, Mr. Jessuron, would'nt reach the price." " STielp me , Mishter Vochan, you're mishtaken. The cushtomcr 1 apeak of never shet hish eyes on the wench. Itsh only a waiting-maid- he wants foi hish table ; and I thought of her, ash she'sh joosht what he des- cribes. How do you know that Mish Vochan might not consent to let he* eo ? 1 promish to get her another young girl ash good or better ash Tola." " Well," replied the planter, after a moment's reflection, and apparently tempted by the handsome offer, " since you seem so determined upon buying her, I'll consult my daughter about it ; but I can hold out very little hope of success. I know that she likes this Foolah. I have heard that the girl was some king's daughter in her own country ; and I am as good as certain Kate won't consent to her being sold." " Not if you wished it, Mishter Vochan ?" " Oh, if I insisted upon it, of course ; but I give my daughter a sort of promise not to part with the girl against her wish, and I nevpr v^o^ m y word, Mr. Jessuron not to my own child." With this rather afifected profession, the planter walked out of the room, leaving the slave merchant to his reflections. " May the devil shtrike me dead if that man ishn't mad 1" soliloquised the Jew, when left to himself. " STielp me , if he isn't 1 refuse two hunder pound for a neger wench as brown as a cocoa-nut shell 1 Blesh my shtars 1" " As I told you, Mr. Jessuron," said the planter, returning to the hall, " my daughter is inexorable. Tola cannot be sold." " Good morning, Mishter Vochan," said the slave merchant, grasping his hat and umbrella, and making for the door. " Good morning, shir ; I hash no other bishness to-day." Then, putting on his hat and grasping his umbrella with an air of spite- ful energy he was unable to conceal, he hurried down the stone steps, scrambled upon the back of his mule, and rode away in sullen silence. " Unusually free with his money this morning," said the planter, looking after him. " Some shabby scheme, I have no doubt. Well, I suppose I have thwarted it ; besides, I am glad of an opportunity of disobliging the eld rascal : many's the tune he has done as much for me." CHAPTER XL JUDITH JES8DRON. Ill the most unamiable of tempers did the slave speculator ride back down the avenue. So out of sorts was he at the result of his interview, that he did not think of unfolding his blue umbrella to protect himself from the hot rays of the sun, now striking vertically downwards. On the con- trary, he used the parrapluie for a very different purpose every now and then belabouring with it the sides of his mule, as if to rid himself of hif pleen by venting it on the innocent mongrel. 38 JUDITH JESfltJBOH. Nor did he go in silence, although he was alone. In a kind of tark soliloquy he kept muttering, as he rode on, long strings of phrases denunciatory of the host whose roof he had just quitted. The daughter, too, of that host came in for a share of this muttered denunciation, which, at t|pies, assumed the form of a menace. Part cf what he said was spoken distinctly, and with emphasis : " The duaht of my shoosh, Loftish Vochan I flingsh it back to yoa I Oott for damsch 1 there wash a time when you would be glad for my two bonder poundsh. Not for any monish ? Bosh ! Grand lady, Mish Kate Mish Quasheby ! Ha 1 I knowsh a thing I knowsh a leetle thing. Some day, may be, yourshelf sell for lesh as two hunder poundish : ach ! 1 not grudgsh twice the monish to see that day ! " The dusht of my shoosh to both of yoush 1" he repeated, as he clear- ed the gate entrance. " I'sh off your grounds, now, and, if I hash you here, I shay you something of my mind something as make you sell your wench for lesh as two hunder poundsh ! I do so, some time yet, pleaeh Gott. Ach 1" As he uttered this last exclamation with a prolonged aspirate, he raised nimself erect in his stirrups, and, half turning his mule, shook his umb- rella in a threatening manner, towards Mount Welcome, his eye accom- panying the action with a glance that expressed some secret but vindictive determination. As he faced back into the road, another personage appeared upon the scene a female equestrian who, trotting up briskly, turned her horse, and rode on by his side. She was a young girl, or rather a young woman a bright beautiful creature, who appeared an angel by the side of the demon-like old man. She had evidently been waiting for him at the turning of the road ; and the air of easy familiarity, with the absence of any salutation as they met told that they had not long been separated. Who was this charming equestrian. A stranger would have asked this question while his eye rested upon the object of it with mingled feelings of wonder and admiration at such rare beauty wonder at beholding it in such rude companionship ! It was a beauty that need not be painted in detail. The forehead of noble arch, the scimetar-shaped eye-brows of ebon blackness, the dark brown flashing pupils, the piquant prominence of the nose, with its spiral , curving nostrils, were all characteristics of Hebraic beauty a shrine b'>- , lore Trtiich both Moslem and Christian have oftimesbent the knee in hum I Sblest adoration. \ Twenty cycles have rolled past twenty centuries of outrage, calumny, nd wrong housed in low haunts pillaged and persecuted oft driven to desperation rendered roofless and homeless still amid all, and in spite of all, lovely Judah's dark-eyed daughters, fair as when trey danced to the music of cymbal and timbrel, or, to the accompaniment of the gaiden-stringed harp, sang the lays of a happier time. Here, in a new world, and canopied undor the occidental sky, had sprung up a very type of Jewish beauty ; for never was daughter of Judah lovelier than the daughter of Jacob Jessuron she who was now riding by his side. A singular contrast did they present this fair maid JtTBlTH JESStJfcOH. 39 tc that harsh-featured, ugly old man unlike as the rose ta its Sad are we to say, that the contrast was only physical : morally, it was. like father like daughter. In external form Judith Jessuron was an angel ; in spirit and we say it with regret she was the child $f heu father. The truth of our avowal will be readily deduced from the dialogue that on the moment of their meeting commenced between them. " A failure ?" said she, taking the initiative. " Oh ! I needn't have ask- ed you : it's clear enough from your looks though, certes, that beautiful countenance of yours is not a very legible index to your thoughts. What says Vanity Vaughan ? Will he sell the girl ?" "No." " As I expected." " S'help me, he won't !" " How much did you bid for her ?" " Osh ! Fsh ashamed to tell you, Shoodith." " Come, old rabbi, you needn't be backward before me. How much T" " Two hunder poundsh." " Two hundred pounds ! Well that is a high figure. If what you've told me be true, his own daughter isn't worth so much. Ha 1 ha ! ha !" " Hush, Shoodith, dear ! Don't shpeak of that for your life don't hpeak of it. You may shpoil all my plansh I" " Have no fear, good father. I never spoiled any plan of yours yet have I ?" " No, no ! You hash been a good shild, my daughter 1 a good shild s'help me - , you hash f." " But tell me, why would the custos not sell ? He likes money almost as well as yourself. Two hundred pounds is a large price for thia cop- per-coloured wench quite double what she's worth." " Ach, Shoodith dear it wash not Vochan hishelf that refused." " Who then ?" " Thish very daughter you speaksh of." " She !" exclaimed the young Jewess, with a curl of the lip, and a con- temptuous twist of her beautiful nostril, that all at once changed her beauty into very ugliness. " She, you say? I wonder what next? The conceited mustee; herself a slave !" " Shtop shtop, Shoodijth," interrupted the Jew, with a look of uneaai- ieos. " Keep that to yourshelf, my shild. Shay no more about it at leasht, not now, not now. The trees may have ears, Shoodith." The burst of angry passion hindered the fair Judith from making re- joinder, and for some moments father and daughter rode on in silence. The latter was the first to re-open the conversation. " YoSi are silly, good father," said she, " in offering to buy this girl at |fi." " Ay what would you shay ?" inquired the old Jew, as if the interro- gatory had been an echo to his own thoughts. " What would you hay ?" " I Tvovld say that vou are silly, old rabbi Jacob, tod that's what I d ) JUDITH JEBSTJKOff. " Blesh my sn )ul ! What dosh you mean, Shoodith ?" " Why dear, dear father! you're not always so dull of comprehension. Answer me : What do you want the Foolah girl for ?" " Osh 1 You know what I wants her for. Thish prinsh will give hist twenty Mandingoes for her. There ish no doubt but she's hieh sister. Twenty good shtrong Mandingoes, worth twenty hunder poundsh. Blesh ny soul 1 it'sh a fortune 1" " Well, and if it is a fortune, what then ?" " If it ish ? By our fathers 1 you talk of twenty hunder poun' ash if ttonish was dirt." " My worthy parent, you misunderstand me." " Mishunderstand you, Shoodith ?" " You do. I have more respect for twenty hundred pounds than yon give me credit for. So much, as to advise you to get it" " Get it I why, daughter, that ish shoosh what I am trying to do." " Ay, and you've gone about it in such a bungling fashion, that you run the risk of losing it." " And how would you go about getting it, mine Shoodith ?" " By taking it" The slave merchant jerked upon the bridle, and pulled his mule to a stand as ho did so darting towards his daughter a look half-puzzled, half-penetrating. " Good father Jacob," continued she, halting at the same time, " you are not wont to be so dull-witted. While waiting for you at the gate of this pompous sugar planter, I could not help reflecting ; and my reflections led me to ask the question : what on earth had taken you to his house ?" " And what answer did you find, Shoodith ?" " Oh, not much ; only that you went upon a very idle errand." " Yesh, it nash been an idle errand ; I did not get what I went for." " And what matters it if you didn't ?" "What mattersh it? Twenty Mandingoes mattersh a great deal twenty hunder poundsh currenshy. That ish what it mattersh, Shoodith, nine darling I" " Not the paring of a Mandingo's toe-nail, my good rabbi Jessuron." " Hach ! what shay you, mine wise Shoodith ?" " Wheat say I ? Simply, that these Mandingoes might as well have been yours without all this trouble. They may be yet ay, and their master too, if you desire to have a prince for your slave. I do." " Shpeak out, Shoodith ; I don't understand you." " You will presently. Did you not say that Captain Jowler nas reason* for not coming ashore ?" " Captain Showier ! He would rather land in the Cannibal Islands than to Montego Bay. Well, Shoodith ?" 4< Rabbi Jessuron, you weary my patience. For the Foolah prinoe, an f ou say he is, you are answerable only to Captain Jowler. Captain Jow- fer comes not ashore." " True it ish true," assented the Jew, with a gesture that signified hia comprehension of these preliminary premises. " Who, then, is to hinder you from doing as you please in the matter of these Mandingoes T ' THE STEERAGE fASSENGEft. 41 "Wonderful Shoodith !" exclaimed the father, throwing up his wms, and turning upon his daughter a look of enthusiastic admiration. "Woi> derful Shoodith 1 Joosh the very thing } blesh my soul 1 and I nevei thought of it," " Well, father ; luckily it's not too late. / have been thinking of it. '. knew very well that Kate Vaughan would not part with the girl Yola. I told you she wouldn't ; but, by-the-bye, I hope you've said nothing f 4 what you wanted her for ? If you have " ! " Not a word, Shoodith 1 not a word !" " Then no one need be a word the wiser. As to Captain Jowler * 44 Showier daren't show his face in the Bay ; that'sh why he landed hiah cargo up the coast. He'll be gone away in twenty-four hours." 44 Then in twenty-four hours the Mandingoea may be yours prince, at tendants, and all. But time is precious, papa. We had better hasten home at once, and strip his royal highness of those fine feathers, befor* some of our curious neighbours may come in : people will talk scandal, you know. As for our worthy overseer " 44 Ah, Havener 1 he knoweh all about it. I wash obliged to tell him ash we landed." 41 Of course you were ; and it will cost you a Mandingo or two to keep his tongue tied : that it will. For the rest, there need be no difficulty. It won't matter what these savages may say for themselves : fortunately, there's no scandal in a black man's tongue." " Wonderful Shoodith I" again exclaimed the Admiring parent. " My precious daughter, you are worth your weight in golden guinish 1 Twen- ty-four shlaves for nothing, and one of them a born prinsh 1 Two thous- and currenshyl Blesh my soul I It ish a shplendid profit worth a whole year's buyin' and shellin'." And with this honest reflection, the slave merchant hammered his mule into a trot, and followed his " precious Shoodith " who had already given the whip to her horse, and was riding rapidly homeward. CHAPTER XII. X THE 8TEHRAGE PASSENGER. >. the third day after the slaver had cast anchor in the Bay of Montega, A la-ge square-rigged vessel made her appearance in the offing ; and head- i jg shoreward, with all sail set, stood boldly in for the harbour. The Un- ion Jack of England, spread to the breeze, floated freely above her taff- rail ; and various boxes, bales, trunks, and portmanteaus, that could be seen mi her deck brought up for debarcation as well as the frank, man- ly countenances of the sailors who composed her crew, proclaimed the ship to be an honest trader. The lettering upon her stern told that ehe was the " Sea Nymph, of Liverpool." Though freighted with a cargo of merchandise, and in reality a mer< chantman. the presence on board of several individuals in the costume of landsmen, denoted that the Sea Nymph also accommodated passenger* STEEttAlYR The majority of these were West India planters, with their famffias -eturuing from a visit to the mother country their sons, perhaps, aftef graduating at an English university, and their daughters on having re- ceived their final polish at some fashionable metropolitan seminary. Here and there an " attorney" a constituent element of West Indian society, though not necessarily, as the title suggests, a real limb of the law. Of these, however, there might have been one or two, and an unpractised Jisciple of Bsculapius both professionally bent on seeking fortune, and with fair prospects of finding it, in a land notorious for crime as unwhole- *ome in clime. These, with a sprinkling of nondescripts, made up the list of the Sea Nymph's cabin passengers. There were but few in the steerage. They who are compelled to adopt that irksome mode of voyaging across the Atlantic have but little errand to the West Indies, or elsewhere to tropical lands where labour is mon- opolised by the thews and sinews of the slave. Only three or four of this class had found passage on board the Sea Nymph ; and yet, among these humble voyagers was one destined to play a conspicuous part in our story. The individual in question was a young man, in appearance of twenty or twenty-one years of age. In stature he was what is termed " middle height," with limbs well rounded and tersely set, denoting activity and strength. His complexion, though not what is termed brunette, was dark for a native of Britain, though such was he. His features were nobly de- nned, and his whole countenance sufficiently striking to attract the atten- tion of even an indifferent observer. Dark brown eyes, and hair of lik^a colour waving luxuriantly over his cheeks, were characteristic points ol gracefulness ; and, take him all in all, he was one that might jutftly be pronounced a handsome young fellow. His dress, though neither rich in quality nor cut in the newest fashion, was, nevertheless, becoming to him, and did not detract from the graces which Nature had somewhat lavishly bestowed upon his person. It was a costume not at all rustic, but rather such as might be worn by some young student, whose poor but fond parents had pinched themselves, to provide for him an education superior to that of the common parochial school, and a dress becoming the position which they sought for him. The garaents he wore were his best, put on for the first time during the voyage, and for the grand occasion of landing. Nor did the young fellow make such a mean appearance in them. Their scantiness only aerved to exhibit the fine tournure of his body and limbs ; and the dark blue tunic frock, with black braid, skirting down over a pair of close-fitting tights, and Hessian boots, gave him rather a distingue air, notwithstanding a little threadbarishness auparent along the seams. The occupation in which the young man was engaged betrayed a certaia degree of refinement. Seated upon the fore-mast head, in the blank leaf of a book, which appeared to be his journal, he was sketching the bar bour into which the ship was about to enter ; and the drawing though merely intended as an outline limning, exhibited no inconsiderable degree of artistic skill. For all that, the young man was not an artist. Professionally, indeed, vid to his misfortune, he was nothing. A poor scholar without trick or CABIN PASSENGER. 43 trade by whish he might earn a liveimooa, ne had come c it to u.t. West Indies, as young men go to other colonies, with that sort of indefinite hop* that Fortune, in some way or other, might prove kinder abroad than sh had been at home. Whatever hopes of success '.he young colonist may have entertained, "Jhey were evidently neither sanguine nor continuous. Though naturally of a cheerful spirit, as his countenance indicated, a close observer mighl have detected, now and then, a certain shadow upon it. As the ship drew near to the shore, he closed the book, and sate scan ning the gorgeous picture of trcpical scenery now, for the first time, di slosed to his eyes. Despite the pleasant emotions which so fair a scene vae calculated to call forth, his countenance betrayed some anxiety perhaps a doubt as to whether a welcome awaited him in that lovely land upon which he was looking. CHAPTER XIII. THE CABIN PASSENGER. ANOTHER passenger of the Sea Nymph, with whom our readers raust necessarily become acquainted, was also a young man, apparently of the same age as the one already introduced. Only in this, and the circum- stance that both were Englishmen, did they resemble each other. In al other respects they were signally unlike. In complexion, colour of the hair, eyes, and beard, each presented a complete contrast to the other. Tho former has been desoribed as of dark complexion ; the latter was fair-skinned pre-eminently so with hair of a light yellowish hue, having the appearance of being artificially curled, and slightly darkened with the gloss of some perfumed oil. The whiskers and moustache were nearly of the same colour, both evidently cultivated with an elaborate assiduity, that proclaimed excessive conceit in them on the part of their owner. The eyebrows were also of the lightest shade ; but the colour of the eyes was not so easily told ; since one of them was kept habitually closed, while a glancing lens, in a frame of tortoise-shell, hindered a fair view of the other. Through the glass, however, it appeared of a very light grey and decidedly " piggish." The features of this individual were regula? enough; though without any striking character, and of a cast rather effemi- nate than vulgar. Their prevailing expression was that of a certain superciliousness, at times extending to an affectation of sardonism. The dress of the young man was in correspondence with the foppry exhibited in the perfumed locks and eye-glass. It consisted of a surtout of broadcloth, of a very light drab, with a cape that scarce covered the shoulders ; a white beaver hat ; vest and pants of spotless buff kersey mere ; kid gloves on his hands ; and boots, bright as lacquer could nmkw them, on his feet all itoms of apparel made in a style of fashion, and worn with au air of savoir faire that loudly proclaimed the Ixmdon ex- quisite. The affected drawl in which the gentleman spoke, whenever he condea- 44 THE OABtN PASSfctfGfifi. cended to hold communion with his fellow-passengeri confirmed this character a fop of the first water. It need not be added that our exquisite was a cabm pawenger in thii respect also differing from his less favoured compagnon du voyage; and the marked obeisance which was paid him by the steward and cabin boys of the Sea Nymph, gave evidence of his capability to bestow a liberal largess. Even the blunt skipper treated him with a certain deference, which proved his passenger to be a person either of wealth or distinction, or, may be, both. Let us bid adieu to circumlocution, and at once declare who and what he was. Yclept Montagu Smythje a presumed improvement upon Smith the individual in question was a youth of good family and for- tune ; the latter consisting of a magnificent sugar estate in Jamaica left him by a deceased relative to visit which was the object of his voyage. The estate he had never seen : as this was his first trip across the At- lantic ; but he had no reason to doubt the existence of the property. The handsome income which it had afforded him, during several years of his minority, and which had enabled him to live in magnificent style in the West End of London, was a substantial proof that Montagu Castle such was the name of the estate was something more than a castle in the air. He had been virtually its owner for several years ; but up to the attainment of his majority a very recent event the property had been managed by a trustee, resident in the island : one Mr. Vaughan, himself a sugar planter, and next neighbour to the original lord of Montagu Castle. Mr. Smythje had not come over the water with any intention of settling upon his Jamaica estate " Such an ideaw," to use his own phraseology, ' nevwaw entawed my bwain. To exchange London and its pwesyws fox a wesidence among those howid niggaws--deaw, no ; aw could neywaw ttfnk of such a voluntawy banishment that would be a baw a decided bawl" After this fashion did Mr. Montagu Smythje declare himself to his fel- low-passengers of the Sea Nymph, as he explained to them the object ot his voyage. " A meaw twip to see something of the twopics, of which awVe heard eartwaor'nary stories have a look at my sugaw plantation and niggawa dooced nyce cwib,they say, but sadly out -of repawa and hot aw, hot us the infawnal regiaws." To say the truth, Mr. Smythje could scarce teh 1 why he was making this trip. It was not the obedience to the promptings of any inclination that he had consented to seperate himself, even temporarily, from his " deaw London," and its gay delights j nor had he the slightest curiosity to see the goose that laid his golden eggs, so long as the eggs themselves were transmitted safely to his banker in London. It was partly at the in- stigation of his friends who fancied that an absence from the gay metro- polis might do something to cure him of certain proclivities towards dis- sipation to which he was too recklessly giving way and partly at the solicitation of his Jamaica trustee, that he had adventured on this voy- ^e. Another motive, which he himself proclaimed perhaps as powerful was his " deeiaw te see some oi those Queole queetyaws," whom he LOFTUS VAUGHAN ON THE LOOK-OUT. *6 had heard too be "dooced pwetty." Even the sober guardian, Mr Vaughan as if well comprehending the character of his ward, though never having seen him had made use of this lure in his letter of invita- tion, though only in an incidental and extremely delicate manner. It argued well for the trustee's integrity thus courting, as it were, a per sonal inspection of the estate in trust. Perhaps, however, he might have been actuated by some motive not quite so creditable ! One fact may here be mentioned : the young proprietor, during his tay in the island, was to be Uie guest of Mr. Vaughan, on the plea that Montagu Castle having been for years uninhabited, was not in a fit stale for the reception of its distinguished owner. The trustee had not deem ed it worth while to go to the unnecessary expense of putting it in order, sinoe only * temporary residence was intended. His own house was to be placed at the service of his ward in trust during the latter's sojourn in the island. There he would find ample accommodation; since the man- sion A! Mount Welcome was one of the largest in Jamaica, while the fank'Jy of its proprietor was one of the smallest : Mr. Vaughan having but one child an only daughter. CHAPTER XIV. .XJFTUB VAUGHAN ON THE LOOK-OUT. EVBKT day, after that on which he had received the two English letters, and almost every hour during daylight, might Loftus Vaughan have been seen, telescope in hand, at one of the open windows of his house, sweep- ing with his glass the roadstead and offing of Montego Bay. The object of this telescopic observation was, that he might descry the Sea Nymph refore she had entered the harbour ,-in order that his carriage should be at the port to receive the distinguished Smythje on his landing. At this period there were no steamers trading across the Atlantic punctual to a day and almost to an hour. Though the letter of advice had been writ- ten ten days before that on which the Sea Nymph was to sail, there could be no calculation made upon such uncertain data as winds and waves ; and the ship which carried Montagu Smythje might arrive at any hour. That some distinguished guest was expected, was a fact that had ren- dered itself conspicuous to every domestic in the establishment of Mount Welcome. Every day saw some article or articles of costly furniture brought home from the " Bay ;" and the chambers of the " great house " were being freshly decorated to receive them. The house wenches, and other in-door servants, were furnished with tew dresses, some even with liveries an unusual piece of finery in Jamaica while shoes and stockings were forced upon feet that, perhaps, had never felt such impedimenta before, and whose owners would have feeen only too glad to have escaped the torture of wearing them. It need scarcely be said that the planter was undergoing all this ex- travagant expenditure for the reception of Mr. Montagu Smythje, and him aloDe Had it beeu only his own nephew that was expected, BQ 4| LOFITTS VAtfGHAN ON THE LOOK -OUT. Biicli continuous look-out would have becu kept for him, and no suci preparations made to do him honour on his arrival. Neither do M. Vaughan 's motives require explanation : the reader will ere this have surmised them. He was the father of a daughter, ready ai any moment for marriage. M. Montagu Smythje was, in his eyes, not only eligible, but highly desirable, specimen for a son-in-law. The youLg man was possessed of a splendid property, as Mr. Vaughan well knew ; for the worthy planter was not onty custos rotulorurn, but for many long v-Airs had been custos of Montagu Castle. He could tell its value to a ^milling " currency." It lay contiguous to his own. He had often looked with a longing eye upon its broad acres and its black retainers ; and had imbibed a desire, amounting indeed to a passion, to possess it if not in his own right, ateeast in that of his daughter. The union of the two estates, Mount Welcome and Montagu Castle, would make a magnificent domain one of the richest in the island. To accomplish this object had long been the wish of Loftus Vaughan. It had grown and grown upon him, till it had become the most cherished purpose of his heart. Let us not conceal a more creditable motive that Mr. Vaughan had for desiring this union. He had been too long in Jamaica to be ignorant of, the true social position of his daughter. However beautiful and accomplished Kate Vaughan was ; however much her father loved her anal, to do him justice, his paternal affection was of the strongest he knew he had observed it, and knew that between her and the young gentleman of his acquaintance that is, those who would have been eligible there was that social barrier, the taint. Often had he reflected upon it, and with bitterness. He knew, moreover, tha*; young Englishmen, especially on iheir first arrivel in the island, made light of this barrier ; in fact, alto- gether disregarded it, until corrupted by the " society " of the place. In his match-making designs the Jamaica planter was not more of a sinner than hundreds of other parents, both at home and abroad ; and there is this much in his favour : that, perhaps, his affection for his daughter, and the desire of ennobling her for by such an alliance would the taint be extinguished were the chief motives for the conduct he was pursuing. Unfortunately, it becomes our duty to record other traits in his char- acter, with acts springing from them, that cannot be characterised aug otherwise than mean. Mr. Vaughan, despite his vigorous prosecution of the business of life, despite the energy that had enabled him to grow rich, was still only a weak-minded man. Like many men of humble birth who had rieen to /ank and fortune, he had become the " beggar set on horaeback ;" far more jealous of aristocratic honours than those who are born to them ; an advocate for hereditary privileges, ever on the qui vivc to battle for them ; in short, a true specimen of " plush." In these peculiarities, the character of Mr. Vaughan does not stand out in such bold relief. His counterparts are comma** enough, even at this later day. We can see them in hundreds around us. In the '' uppyr house," among our "law lords," most of whom, and the banest born of them, are the stoutest advocates of uviHtocniiic privilege. In the streets we have our " Sir Peters" and " Sir Roberta," bearing the broad of trade aide by side with the fire-new patent of nobility. LOFTUS VAITGHAN ON THE LOOK-OUT. 47 studied courtesy with which Mr. Vaughan was preparing to re- the lord of Montagu Castle was in strong contrast with the dia- ,y he had designed for his kinsman. were the offsprings of mean motives ; but in the latter case, both and the intention were paltry beyond parallel. The announce- in the nephew's letter that he had taken a steerage passage had been ais uiiile a source of bitter chagrin. Not that he would have cared a Mt about the thing, had the young fellow voyaged in any other vessel .i;in the Sea Nymph, or had he travelled unrecognised. What troubled ilr. Vaughan was the fear, that this fact might become known to Mr. Montagu Smythje ; and thus creat in the mind of the latter a suspicion jf his, the planter's, respectability. The dread of this expose so preyed upon Mr. Yaughan's mind that, had it been possible, he would have denied the relationship altogether. He had conceived a hope that this recognition might not take place during the voyage : building his hope on the character of the aristocratic cockney, which he knew to be a type of supercilious pride. Confiding in the faith that nothing might transpire on board ship to make Mr. Smythje acquainted with the relationship, he was determined there should be no chance on shore. To preclude the possibility of such a thing, he had conceived a design as childish as it was cruel : his nephew was to be kept out of the way. The plan of action he had traced out long before the arrival of the Sea Nymph. Mr. Montague Smythje was to be met at the landing, and at once hurried off to Mount Welcome. Herbert Vaughan was likewise to be conducted thither ; and also direct. It was not desirable he should be left to make inquiries in the town, where his uncle was universally known, and where a disclosure of his relationship to the poor steerage passenger would have been equally unpleasant to the proud planter. A different means of transport was to be provided for the expected visitors, and* their transit was arranged to take place at different tirne.R to avoid the possibility of an encounter on the road. Further more, on the arrival of Herbert upon the plantation, he was not to proce3d to the dwelling of his uncle, but was to be taken by a private road to the hotiHa of the overseer which stood in a secluded corner of the valloy, nearly half a mile distant from the " Buflf." Here he waa to remain as the guest of the overseer, until such time aa his uncle could find a way of disposing of- him either by procuring cmo employment for him at Montego Bay, or the situation of book-keeper on some distant plantation. The execution of the programme thus prepared was intrusted to the overseer of Mount Welcome estate a man every way worthy of such a confidence, and, like most of his caliiug, capable of schemes even still less commendable. With this ingenious contrivance did Mr. Vaughan await the arrival of his guests. ******* It was upon the eighth day after receiving his letters of advice, and about the hour of noon, that the planter, playing as usual with his tele* cope, perceived in the offing of Montego Bay, and standing in for tU jjort, a large square-rigged vessel a ship 48 tOFTUS VAUGHAN ON THE LOOK-OUT. It might be the Sea Nymph, and it might not ; but taking into coneide ration the time and some other circumstances known to Mr. Vaughan, thf probabilities were that it was the expected vessel. Whether or no, the planter was determined that the programme he had o ingeniously sketched out should not be spoiled by any mismanage- ment in the performance; and its execution was ordered upon the ii- tant. Bells were rung for a general muster of the domestics ; a horn was Bounded to summons the overseer ; and, in less than half an hour after- wards, the family barouche a handsome equipage, drawn by a pair of > splendidly caparisoned horses was on the road to the Bay, with the overseer on horseback, riding as an escort behind it. In rear of this went a wagon, to which eight large oxen were attached ; and behind the wagon appeared an escort sui generis: a rough negro boy, mounted on the shaggiest and scraggiest of steeds,who was no other than the post-boy already mentioned the identical Quashie. Quashie was not now on his usual diurnal duty : his present errand was one of a far more important character. At this moment the great hah 1 of Mount Welcome exhibited a scene that, to the eye of a stranger to Weat Indian customs, might have ap- peared curious enough. Scattered over the floor, at certain distances from each other, were some six or eight negro girls, or " wetiches," as there called, most of them being of the younger brood of the plantation. All were down on their knees, each one having by her side, and within reach of her hand, an orange freshly cut in halves, some bees' wax, and a portion of the fibrous pericarp of a cocoa-nut. The floor itself was without carpet of any kind, and, instead of being of plain deal, it presented a mosaic of hard woods, of different colours among which might be recognised the mahogany and heart-wood, the bread-nut, and bully-tree. To give the tesselated surface a polish was the businesi of the dark damsels on their knees ; for that purpose were the oranges and cocoa- husks provided, To an islander the sight was one of common, indeed, daily occurrence. The polish of his hall floor is a matter of pride with a Jamaica planter ; as much so as the quality or pattern of his drawing-room carpet to a ho nee- holder at home ; and every day, and at the same hour, the dark-skim ieH housemaids make their appearance, and renew their glitter of the surface, whose gloss has been tarnished by the revels of the preceding night The hour set apart for this quaint custom is just before layiwg the cloth for dinner about three or four o'clock ; and that they may not sully the polish while carrying in the dishes, these barefooted Abigails adopt a plan that deserves mention on account of its originality. Each having provided herself with two small pieces of linen or cotton d>th, spreads them out upon the floor, and then places a foot upon each. As the toes of a West Indian house wench are almost as prehensile as her lingers, she finds no difficulty in " cramping " the cloth and holding it be- tween the " big-toe " and its nearnest neighbour ; and with this simple chau* 9*r: she is euabled to slide- over the Boor, without in the bast degree KATE AND TOLA. 49 H sinoutching " its gloss, or leaving any sign of her passage ovor the shining surface. While such a busy scene was transpiring in the~ great hall of Mount Welcome, one of a different character, but of equal activity, was going on in the kitchen of the establishment. This " office " stood a little apart from the main dwelling, communicating with the lower storey of the lat- ter by a covered passage. Along this, black and yellow wenches could be seen constantly going and returning, each with her load a haunch o venison, a ham of the wild hog, a turtle, ramier pigeons, and rnountaii j crabs, all on their way to the spit, the stew-pan, or the chafing-dish. A similar sight might have been witnessed at Mount Welcome any ] other day in the year, but perhaps with a less abundant variety in the materials, and with not half so much movement among the staff of wenches pertaining to the cuisine whose excited manner in the per- formance of their specific duties testified, as much as the variety of luxuries lying around, that on this particular day a repast of the most sumptuous kind was expected from their hands. The custos did not leave the preparations to be made without his own personal surveillance. From the time that the ship had ben descried he was everywhere in the stable, to look after the sable grooms ; in the kitchen, to instruct the cooks ; in the great hall, to inspect the polish of the floor ; and, at last, on the landing outside, standing, telescope to hia eye, and looking down the long avenue, where the carriage containing his distinguished vis tor might at any moment be expected to appear. CHAPTER XV. KATE AND TOLA. IK one corner of the mansion of Mount Welcome that which was far- thest removed from the din and clangor of the kitchen was a small chamber richly and elegantly furnished. The light was admitted into it on two sides through jalousied windows, that, when open, left a free passage from the floor to a little balcony outside, with which each of the windows was provided. One of them looked to the rearward, commanding a view of the back garden, and the wooded steep beyond ; the other opened to the left si tioned ?" " Yes ; he grand man Sultan of Mongew. Other name Tola hear she no sabbey speak it." " Ha 1 ha! ha ! I don't wonder at that. It's as much as I ' sabbey' my- self to pronounce that second name, which I presume to be Smythje. L that the name you heard ?" " That is, missa he berry fine gentl'man, he beauty man. The over- seer massa tell so." " Ah, Yola ; your master is a man, and men are not always the best judges of one another's looks. Perhaps the Sultan of Montagu, as you call him, might not be such a pattern of perfection as papa describes him, But, no doubt, we shall soon have an opportunity of judging for our- selves. Did you hear your master tell the overseer nothing about an- other buckra that is expected ?" " No, missa. One only he speak of he same one of Mongew Castle." A low ejaculation, expressive of disappointment, escaped the lips of the young Creole, as her head settled down into an attitude of silent re- flection, her eyes turned upon the shining floor at her feet. It is not easy to tell why she put the last interrogatory to her maid. Perhaps she had some suspicion of her father's plans. At all events, she knew there was some mystery, and was desirous of penetrating it. The maid was still gazing upon her, when all at once the dark Arab-like features of the latter assumed a changed expression the look of admiration giving place to one of inquiry, as if some idea had occurred to her. " Allah !" muttered the girl, as she gazed earnestly in the face of hei mistress. " Well, Yola," said the latter, attracted by the exclamation, and looking dp at her attendant, " why do you exclaim Allah ? Has anything occurred to you ?" " Oh ! beauty missa I you so like one man." " I like a man ? I resemble a man ? Is that what you mean ?" " Yes, missa." " Well, Yola, you are certainly not flattering me now. Who might this man be ? I pray you tell me." " He man of the mountains Maroon." " Oh ! worse and worse I I resemble a Maroon ? Gracious me 1 Surel/ you are jesting, Yola ?" " Oh 1 missa, he beauty man ; roun' black eyes that glance like fire-fliei like yours berry, berry like you eyes, missa," 2 KATE AND TOLA. " Come, illy girl I" said the young lady, speaking in a tone of reproval more affected than real ; " do you know that it is very naughty of you, to compare me to a Maroon ?" " Oh ! Missa Kate, he beauty man berry beauty man.'* " That I doubt very much ; but even were it so, you should riot speak of his resembling me ' " Me paidon, missa, I not more so say." " No, you had better not, good Tola. If you do I shall ask papa to sell jou." This was said in a tone of gentle raillery, which told that the intention of carrying out the threat was far from the speaker's thoughts. " By-the-bye, Yola," continued the young lady, " I could get a good price for you. flow much do you suppose was offered for you the other day." " Missa Kate, I know not. Allah forbid me you ebber leave. If you no more my missa, I care not more to live." " Thanks, Yola," said the young creole, evidently touched by the words of her maid, the sincerity of which was proved by the tone in which they were spoken. " Be not afraid of my parting with you. As proof that I shall not, I refused a very large sum how much can you guess." " Ah ! missa, I worth nothing to no one but you. If I you leave I die.* " Well, there is one who thinks you worth two hundred pounds, andhaa offered that for you." " Who he, missa ?" " Why he who sold you to papa Mr. Jessuron." " Allah protect poor Yola! Oh! missa Kate, he bad master ; he berry wicked man. Yola die Gubina kill her I Yola self kill if she sold back to wicked slave-dealer I Good missa ! oeauty missa ! you no sell you poor slave ?" The girl fell upon her knees at the feet of her young mistress, with her hands claaped over her head, and remained for some moments in this attitude. "Don't fear my selling you," said the young lady, motioning the sup- pliant to rise to her feet ; " least of all to him, whom I believe to be what you have styled him, a very wicked man. Have no fear for that But tell me, what name was that you pronounced just now ? Cubina, was It not?" " Yes, missa, Cubina," " And, pray who is Cubina ?" The brown maid hesitated before making reply, while the crimson be- ^au to show itself on her chesnut-coloured cheeks. " Oh I never mind !" said her young mistress, noticing her hesitation. 14 If there's any secret, Yola, I shall not insist upon an answer." " Missa, from you Yola not have secret. Cubina he mountain man-- Maroon." " What ! is he the Maroon I am supposed to resemble t" " True missa, he same." " Oh ! I see how it is then I suppose that that accounts for you think ihg me beautiful ? This Cubina, no doubt, is a sweetheart of yours ?" Yola hung her head without making reply The crimson spread mort Widely over the chesnut TWO TfcAVELLEfcS FOB THE SAME BOURNE. {>3 ** You need riot answer, good Tola," said the young Creole, with a sig- nificant smile. " 1 know what your answer ought to be if you spoke your mind. I think I have heard of this Cubina. Have a care ! these Maroons are a very different sort of men from the coloured people "oh the planta- tions. Like me, he is ! ha ! ha ha !" and the young beauty glanced coyly at the mirror " Well, Tola ; I'm not angry with you, since it is your sweetheart with whom I am compared. Love, they say, is a wonder- ful beautifier ; and no doubt Master Cubina is, in your eyes, a perfect Bndymicn. "Come!" added she, after a pause and another spell of laughter, "I fear we have been wasting time. If I'm not ready to receive this grand guest, I'll get into trouble with papa. Haste, Tola! and dress me out in a style becoming the mistress of Mount Welcome." With a peal of merry laughter at the air of grandeur she had thui jestingly assumed, the young lady bent down her head, submitting her magnificent chevdwe to the manipulation of her maid. CHAPTER XVI. TWO TRAVELLERS FOR THE SAME BOURNK. MR. MONTAOU SMYTHJE had voyaged all the way from Liverpool to Jamaica, without ever having set his foot one inch over that line which (separates the sacred precinct of the quarter-deck from the less respected midships and for'ard part of the vessel. Beyond the main mast he had not been. Thus, rarely except when the ship was sailing close upon a wind did the tarry frequenters of the forecastle come between the breeze and Mr. Smythje's nasal susceptibility. As the Sea Nymph was not a regular packet, or " royal liner," but only an ordinary merchant vessel incidentally carrying a few passengers, no very strict rules were observed as to quarter-deck privileges. Of course, the common sailors were not allowed to violate the usual custom ; and these only visited the quarter-deck, when the necessities of duty, more imperi- ous than the most despotic skipper, required their presence there. The ( steerage passengers, however, with the exception that they might not enter the cabin, had the freedom of the whole vessel ; and might lounge along the poop, or pace the quarter-deck itself if so inclined. Most, in- deed all, of them, with one exception, had from time to time felt Ibis in- clination, and taking advantage of the favour allowed them in fine weather passing the greater part of their time abaft the binnacle, or else- where around the cabin. The one exception to this rule was the young man already mentioned and described the amateur artist. During the long voyage of six weeks, he had never sot foot on the quarter-deck, nor, indeed, was he much to be seen upon deck. As a general thing he kept himself below ; though when the weather was temptingly fine, he might be observed silently climbing the shrouds, and eating himself on the fore-mast head where book in hand, he would re- i for hours together. 54 TWO TRAVfttftimS FO^ TTTR SAME BOTTfcS*. The spriteail yard, too, was another favourite locality with him ; and there, stretched along the furled sail, he would lie, gazing down into the blue water, as if watching the movements of the turquoise-hued dolphini fchat might be seen almost constantly gliding beneath, as if deputed by Neptune to form an escort to the ship. It was not that the young fellow was of a gloomy or solitary disposi- tion, for at other times he might be seen diving down through the trap, like hatchway of the forecastle ; and the clear ring of his voice, mingling in jest and laughter with those of the jolly Jack tars, proved that hii uatnral inclination was neither saturnine nor anti-social. That he was a great favourite with " Jack" was certain. Evidence of this is found in the fact that, while crossing the " lino* 1 (Jack regards the tropic of Cancer as the " line," when the real one, the equator, does not come within the limits of his voyage) while crossing the line, Neptune did not insist on shaving him with hig rough razor ; al- though he was too poor to have escaped the operation by bribing the barbers of the sea-god. The god was less lenient with Mr. Montagu Smythje, who was compelled to pay no less than six bottles of rum, with sundry plugs of tobacco, to preserve his elegant whiskers and mouataches from the pollution of tar and " tub fat." Why the young steerage passen- ger thus kept himself clear of the quarter-deck, and shunned communion with the denizens of the cabin, was a mystery to those who chanced to speculate upon the circumstance ; though after all, there was not much mystery about his behaviour. Doubtless, he was actuated by a certain personal pride, and felt humiliated by his inferior position as a steerage passenger a feeling natural enough, though, perhaps, not very com- mendable. He knew the allowance of the quarter-deck to those of his class was a courtesy, not a privilege ; and being one of those independ ent spirits who refuse to accept that which they cannot claim as a righ% he had declined to avail himself of the quarter-deck courtesy. Since he had never been aft, and Mr. Montagu Smythje had as re- ligiously abstained from venturing forward, it was not likely that much conversation had passed between the two. In truth, thero had not been any not even the exchange of a word during the whole voyage. Of course the two young men had often seen each other, and were perfectly familiar each with the other's face. Smythje had even noticed the peculiarity of his fellow-voyager, in keeping apart from the rest, anil had pronounced him a " demried queeaw fella w" a description which the latter in thought, if not in speech had no doubt reciprocated. The cockney exquisite, moreover notwithstanding the paucity of hi reflective powers had gradually become inspired with a certain degree of curiosity as to who and what the " queeaw fellaw" might be. More than once he had put this question to the captain and others ; but all these, equally with himself, were ignorant of the antecedents of the steerage passenger. " Know nothing about him/' said the blunt skipper ; " nothing what- ever. Came aboard the day before we sailed, with an old portmanteau, paid his passage money, and took possession of his berth that's all I know." " Demned queaaw fellaw 1" reiterated Mr. Smythje, for the tweniietn TWO TRAVELLERS FOR THE SAME BOURNE. 55 *irae. " Aw aw should ask himself if thaw was an oppawtunity ; bu< the odd animal nevaw comes this way aw cawnt undawtake a jawn^y up yawndaw the place smells abawinnably of taw." The " oppawtunity" thus desired turned up at length ; but only at the eleventh hour. In the very last hour of the voyage just as the Set Nymph was heading in to the harbour the passengers of all degrees Walked towards the ship's head in order to get a better view of the glorious landscape now unfolding itself before them ; and the exquisite, yielding to a curiosity so general, went forward among the rest. Having gained at elevated standpoint upon the top of the windlass, he adjusted his glass to his eye, and commenced ogling the landscape, whose details were now near enough to be distinguished. Not for long, however, did Mr. Smythje remain silent, for he was not one of a saturnine habit. The fair scene had inspired him with a poetical fervour, which soon found ex- pression in characteristic speech. " Dooced pwetty, 'pon honaw 1" he exclaimed ; " would make a splen- did dwop scene faw a theataw. Don't you think so, my good fwend ?" ad- d*d he, addressing "himself somewhat presumingly to a person who was standing by his side. " Really, my good fwend," replied the person addressed, and who chanced to be the young steerage passenger, " I think that altogether de- pends upon the subject that may have been chosen for your d wop-scene." Notwithstanding the satirical wording of the reply, it was uttered with- out any evidence of ill-nature. On the contrary, a good-humoured smile curled upon the lips of the speaker, at the same time that he fixed his eyes upon the exquisite, with a somewhat quizzical expression. " Aw haw it is yaw, my young fellaw," said the latter, now for the first time perceiving to whom he had made his appeal. " Aw, indeed I" he continued, without appearing to notice the cynical attitude which the other had asumed. " Aw ! a veway stwange individwal ! incompwe- hensibly stwange. May aw ask pawdon the liberty what is bwing- ing yaw out heaw to Jamaica, aw mean ?" " That," replied the steerage passenger, slightly nettled at this rather free style of interrogation, " which is bringing yourself the good ship Bea Nymph." " Aw, haw ! indeed I Good veway good I But, my deaw saw, that is not what aw meant." "No?" fc No, aw ashcw yaw. Aw meant what bwisness bwings yaw her P*waps you have some pwofession ?" " No, not any, I ashow yaw." " A twade, then ?" w I am sorry to say I have not even a twade.** " No pwofession i no twade ! what the dooce daw yaw intend da wing in Jamaica ? P'waps yaw expect the situation of bookkeepaw on a pwantation, or niggaw dwiver. Neithaw, aw believe, requiaws mnch expewienco, as aw am told, the bookkeepaw has pwositively no books to keep haw! haw 1 and showly any fellaw, howevaw igpowant, may. dwive a niggaw. Is that yaw expectation, my worthy fwend ?" " I have no expectation, one way, or another " replied the young man. 56 TWO TRAVELLERS FOR THE SAME BOURNE. in a tone of careless indifference. " AB to the buisness I maj foJlow oat here in Jamaica, that, I suppose, win depend on the will of another.** " Anothaw 1 aw ! who, pway ?" " My uncle." " Aw, indeed ! yaw have an uncle in Jamaica, then T" " I have if he be still alive." "Aw hawl yaw are not sure of that intewesting fact? P'wp# jraw've not heard from him wately ?" " Not for years, 1 ' replied the young steerage passenger, his poor pro* pects now having caused him to relinquish the satirical tone he had a umed. " Not for years," repeated he, " though I've written to him, to say that I should come by this ship." " Veway stwange 1 And, pway, may I ask what bwisness yaw nncle follows ?" " He is a planter, I believe." " A sugaw plantaw ?" 11 Yes he was so when we last heard from him.** " Aw, then, p'waps he is wich a pwopwietor. In that case he may find something faw yaw to daw bettew than niggaw-dwiving ; make yaw his ovawseeaw ? May aw know yaw name !" u Quite welcome. Herbert Vaughan is rny name." " Vawn ! repeated the exquisite, in a tone that betrayed some newly awakened interest ; " Vawn, do aw understand yaw to say ?" " Herbert Vaughan," replied the young man, with firmer emphasis. " And yaw uncle's name ?" "He is also called Vaughan. He is my father's brother or rather was my father is dead." " Not Woftus Vawn, Esq., of Mount Welcome 1" " Loftus is my uncle's baptismal appellation, and Mount Welcome is, I believe, the name of his estate." "Veway stwange 1 incompwehensibly stwange! D'yaw know, my young fellaw, that yaw and aw appeaw to be making faw the same pawt. Woftus Vawn, of Mount Welcome, is the twustwee of my own pwoperty the veway fellaw to whom aw am consigned. Deaw me 1 how dooced stwange yaw and aw should be guests -undaw the same woof!" The re- mark was accompanied by a supercilious glance, that did not escape tho observation of the young steerage passenger. It was this glance that gave the true signification of the words, -\lhich Herbert Vaughan inter- preted as an insult. He was on the point of making an appropriate re- joinder, when the exquisite abruptly turned away as he parted drawt ing out some words of leave-taking, with the presumptive conjecture that they might meet again. Herbert Vaughan stood for a moment looking after him, an expression of high contempt curling upon his lip. Only for a short while, however, did this show itself ; and then, his countenance resuming its habitual expression of good nature, he descended into the steerage, to propar bis somewhat scanty baggage for the debarkation. QUASH1E. 57 CHAPTER XVII. QUA8HIE. IK less tLan half an hour after the brief conversation between Mr, Montagu Smythje and the young steerage passenger, the Sea Nymph had got warped into port, and was lying alongside the wharf. A gangway-plank was stretched from the shore : and over this, men *nd women, of all shades of colour, from blonde to ebony black, and of 8 many different callings, came crowding aboard ; while the passengers lick of the ship and everything belonging to her, hastened to go ashore. Half-naked porters black, brown, and yellow were wrangling over the luggage dragging trunks, boxes, and bags in every direction but the right one, and clamouring their gumbo jargon with a volubility that resembled the jabbering of apes. On the wharf appeared a number of wheeled vehicles, that had evi- dently been awaiting the arrival of the ship not hackneys, as would have been the case in a European port, but private carriages some of them handsome " curricles," drawn by a pair, and driven by black Jehus in ftvery : others only gigs with a single horse, or other two wheelers of even an inferior description, according to the wealth or style of the individual for whose transport each had been brought to the port. . Wagons, too, with teams of oxen some having eight in the yoke atood near the landing-place, waiting for baggage : the naked black driv ers lounging silently by the animals, or occasionally calling them by their names, and talking to them just as if their speeches had been un- derstood. I Among the different carriages ranged along the wharf, a handsome barouche appeared conspicuous. It was attached to a pair of cream- coloured horses, splendidly harnessed. A mulatto coachman sat upon the box, shining in a livery of lightest green, with yellow facings ; while a footman, in garments of like hue, attended at the carriage step, holding the door for some one to get in. i Herbert Vaughan, standing on the fore-deck of the Sea Nymph as yet nndecided as to whether he should then go ashore had noticed this magnificent equipage. He was still gazing upon it, when his attention was attracted to two gentlemen, who, having walked direct from the ves- sel, had just arrived by the side of the carriage. A white servant fol- lowed them ; and behind were two negro attendants carrying a number of parcels of light luggage. One of the gentlemen and the white servant (were easily recognised by Herbert : for both had been his fellow-passen- jgers. They were Mr. Montagu Smythje and his valet. The other, who jftppeared to act as chaperone, was of the island, and the two negro at- |tendante were his. Herbert now recalled the odd expression made use jof, but the moment before, by the fop that he was " consigned " to the prcrprietor of Mount Welcome. Was the carriage from Mount Welcome ? And was the bland-looking gentleman, who accompanied it, his uncle ? JEIo the man was too young for that ? and, moreover, his rather welt jworn coat, and common duck trousers would scarcely become the owner Jof inch an equipage ? Herbert turned round and looked for some one, tc 58 QTTA9HIE. whom lie might address an inquiry. Plenty of islanders wer aboard whites as well as coloured people but most of them were far off amii eliips, or on the quarter-deck. Only one veritable native was within speaking distance a negro boy of such clumsy and uncouth appearance, that the young man hesitated about putting his interrogatory hopeltell had summoned the guests ; Mr. Vaughan had presented the honoured ctranger to his daughter Kate ; and the three father, daughter, and, in Mr. Vaughan's view the pre- sumptive son-in-law had seated themselv*e windows, and come to a halt. Then there were voices earnest and *4iiir lo'*.. These were succeeded by the noise of footsteps on the stone scan wtkj/', f j '*ke one was coming up the steps. Mr. Vaughan looked aghast. All his fine plans were about to be frustrated. There was a hitch in tiue* programme Quashie had failed in the performance of his part. " Aha 1" ejaculated the planter, with delight, as the smooth, trim coun- tenance of his overseer made its appearance above the landing. ' * Mr. Trusty wishes to speak with' me. Your pardon, Mr. Smythje ociy for one moment." As he said this, he rose from his seat, and hastened to meet the over- seer before he could enter the room. The latter, however, had already stepped inside the doorway ; and, not being much of a diplomatist, ha^ bluntly declared his errand in sotto voce, it it tru^, but still not 1< enough to hinder a part of his communication from being heard. Amor^ other words, the phrase, " your nephew," reached the ears of Kate at that moment keenly bent to catch every sound. The reply was also partially heard, though delivered in a low, and ap- parently tremulous voice " Show him kiosk garden tell him there presently." Mr. Vaughan turned back to the table with a half-satisfied look. He was fancying that he had escaped from his dilemma, at least, for the time ; but the expression he perceived on the countenance of his daugh- ter restored the suspicion that all was not right. Scarce a second was he left in doubt, for almost on the instant that the words were uttered, Kate cried out, in a tone of pleased surprise ' Oh ! papa, what do I hear ? Did not Mr. Trusty say something about 1 yaur nephew ?' After all, has cousin come ? Is ft he who " " Kate,, my child," quickly interruptei her father, and appearing not to have heard her interrogatory, "you may retire to your room. Mr. Bmythje and I would like to have a cigar ; and the smoke don't agree with you. Go, child go 1" The young girl instantly rose from her chair, and hastened to obey the command notwithstanding the protestations of Mr. Smythje, who looked 70 THE KIOSK. as if he would have preferred her company to the cigar. Bait her hurriedly repeated the " Go, child, go 1" accompanying the words with another of those severe glances, which had already awed and mystified her. Before she had passed fairly out of the great hall, however, her thoughta reverted to the unanswered interrogatory ; and as she crossed the threshold of her chamber, she was heard muttering to herself, " I monder if cousin be come ?" CHAPTER XXII. THE KIOSK. A PORTION of the level platform on which Mount Welcome was built ex- tended to the rear of the dwelling ; and was occupied, as already des- cribed, by a garden filled with rare and beautiful plants. Near the midst of this garden, and about a dozen paces from the house, stood a small detatched building, the materials of which were ornamental woods of various kinds, all natives of the island, famed for such products. The pieces composing this cottage, or " kiosk," as it was habitually called, had all been cut and carved with skillful care ; and the whole structure had been designed as a representation of a miniature temple, with a cupola upon its top, surmounted by a gilded and glittering vane. Inside there were neither stairs nor partitions the whole space being occupied by a single apartment. There were no glass windows, either ; but all round the walls were open, or closed with Venetian blinds, the laths of which were of the finest mahogany. A Chinese mat covered the floor, and a rustic table of bamboo cane pieces, with some half dozen chairs of like manufacture, constituted the principal part of the furniture. On the aforesaid table stood an inkstand of silver, elaborately chased, with plume pens pertaining to it. Some writing paper lay beside, and on a silver tray there were wafers, red sealing-wax, and a signet seal. An escritoire stood on one side ; and .two or three dozen volumes placed upon the top of this, with a like number thrown carelessly on chairs, formed tho litrary of Mount Welcome. Some magazines and journals lay upon the centre table, and a box of best Havannahs open and half used showed that the kiosk served o - casionally for a smoking-room. It was sometimes styled the " library,^ though its purposes were many. Mr. Vaughan, at times, used it for the reception of visitors such as might have come upon an errand of busi- ness such, in short, as were not deemed worthy of being introduced to the company of the grand hall. Just at the moment when Kate VaughaD quitted the dinner-table, a young man was shown into this detached apartment, Mr. Trusty, the overseer, acting as his chaperone. It is not necessary to say that this young man was Herbert Vaughan. How Herbert came to be conducted thither is easily explained. On learning from Quashie the destination designed for him aggrieved and ;>gry at the revelation he had hurried in hot haste up to the house. To THE KlusK. 71 Mr. Trusty, who was keeping guard at the botton. of the stairway, ho^an- nounced hia relationship with Mr. Vaughan, and demanded an interview making his requisition in such energetic terms, as to disturb the habit- nal sang-froid of the overseer, and compel him to the instantaneous de- livery of his message. Indeed, so indignant did Herbert feel, that he would have mounted tL fteps and entered the house without further parley, had not Mr. Trustr >ut forth his blandest entreaties to prevent such a terrible catastrophe. " Patience, my good sir!" urged the overseer, interposing himself be tween the new comer and the stairway ; " Mr. Vaughan will see you, pre sently not just this moment; he is engaged company with him. Tin family's at dinner." So far from soothing the chafed spirit of the young man, the announce ment was only a new mortification. At dinner, and with company the cabin passenger, of course the ward not even a relative while he, the nephew no dinner for him I In truth, Herbert recognised in this inci- dent a fresh outrage I With an effort, he surrendered the idea of ascending the stairs. Poor though he was, he was nevertheless a gentleman ; and good breeding stepped in to restrain him from this unbidden intrusion, though more than ever lid he feel convinced that an insult was put upon him, and one that almost appeared premeditated. He stood balancing in his mind whether he should not turn upon his heel, and leave his uncle's house without entering it. A straw would have brought down the scale. The straw fell on the negative side, and decided him tc remain. On being conducted to the kiosk, and left to himself, he showed no wish to be seated ; but paced the little apartment backward and forward, in a state of nervous agitation. He took but slight heed of aught that was there. He was in no mood for minutely observing though he could not help noticing the luxurious elegance that surrounded him ; the grandeur of the great house itself; the splendid parterres and gardens filled with plants and flowers of ex- quisite beauty and fragrant perfume. These fine sights, however, instead of soothing his chafed .spirit, only made him more bitterly sensible of his own poor fortunes, and the immeasurable distance that separated him from his proud, rich uncle. Through the open sides of the kiosk he merely glanced hastily at the grounds ; and then his eyes became bent upon the great house, directed habitually towards an entrance at the back, that by a flight of steps con- ducted into the garden. By this entrance he expected his uncle would come out, and in angry impatience did he wait his coming. Had he seen the soft eyes that were, at that moment, tenderly gazing upon him from behind the lattice-work of the opposite window, perhaps the sight would have gone far towards soothing his irate soul. But he aw them not. The jalousies were closed ; and though, from the shadowy interior of the chamber, the kiosk and its occupant were in full view, the young Englishman had no suspicion that he was at that moment the ob- ject of observation perhaps of admiration by a pair of the loveliesi eyes in the island of Jamaica. After turning for the twentieth time across the door at each time 72 A BOLD BESOLVS. scanning the stairs with fresh impatience he somewhat spitefully laid hold of a book, and opened it, in the hope of being able to kill time over it* pages. The volume which came into his hands by chance, for ne had not chosen it was but little calculated to tranquillise his troubled spirits. It was a digest of the statutes of Jamaica relating to slavery the famous, or rather infamous, black code of the island. There he read, that a man might mutilate his own image in the person of a fellow-man torture him, even to death, and escape with the pun ishment of a paltry fine I That a man with a black skin, or even white if at all tainted with African blood, could hold no real estate no office of trust ! could give no evidence in a court of law not even had he been witness of the crime of murder I That such a man must not keep or ride a horse ; must not carry a gun, or other weapon of defence ; must not de- fend himself when assaulted ; must not defend wife, sister, or daughter even when ruffian hands were tearing them from him for the most un- holy of purposes 1 In short, that a man of colour must do nothing to make himself different from a docile and submissive brute 1 To the young Englishman, fresh from a Christian landat that period ringing with the eloquent denunciations of a Wilberforce, and the phi- lanthropic appeals of a Clarkson the perusal of this execrable statute- book, instead of producing tranquillity, only infused fresh bitterness into his soul ; and stamping his foot fiercely upon the floor, he flung the de- tested volume back to its place. At this moment just as he had reached the maximum of reckless de* fiance a noise was heard in the direction of the great house ; and the door of the stair landing was seen to turn on its himges. Of course, he expected to see a surly old uncle, and was resolved to be as surly as he. On the contrary, and to his pleased surprise, he beheld in the doorwaj a beautiful young girl bending her eyes upon him with an affectionate look, and as if courting recognition ! A sudden revulsion of feeling passed through his whole frame ; hig countenance changed its angry expression to one of admiration ; and unahla to utter a word, he remained silently gazing on this lovely appari- tion CHAPTER XXIH. A BO LS RES 3LV B. FAB bet ** would it hare been for Mr. Vaughan at least, for tho sue" oe8 cf hii schemes of a matrimonial alliance had he adopted an honour" able course vith hie nephew ; and at once introduced him, openly and above board to his table, his daughter, and his aristocratic guest. Had he known r-tfore dinner, what he was made aware of in less than five minutes after it, he would, in all likelihood, have adopted this course. It would have spared him the chagrin he was made to feel, on Mr. Smythje reporting 1r \iirn the encounter he had had on board ship ; which he pro- A BOLD BESOLVfi. 73 ceedod to do, the moment after Kate had boon BO unceremoniously dis- missed from the hall. Smythje had also overheard the communication of the overseer the word " nephew," at least and this recalled to his mind not without gome unpleasant remembrance of the satire from which he had suffered the steerage passenger who had treated him so brusquely on board the 3ea Nymph. I The miserable bubble was burst ; and the onus of a somewhat bung ftig explanation was put upon the shoulders of the pompous planter into whose heart a bitter drop of gall was infused by the disclosure. Ai the deception could be sustained no longer, the relationship was neces- sarily acknowledged ; but the spark of ire thus introduced boded a still more unwelcome reception to the unlucky nephew. The planter partially cleared himself of the scrape by a false representation. In other worda, he told a lie, in saying that his nephew had not beeen expected. Smythja knew it was a lie, but said nothing ; and the subject was allowed to drop, Loftus Vaughan was a common man ; and the course he had followed shallow and self-defeating was proof of an intellect as low as its morality. By his shabby treatment of his nephew, he was investing that young man with a romantic interest in the eyes of Kate, that, perhaps, might never have been felt, or, at all events not so rapidly. Misfortune espe- cially that which springs from persecution is a grand suggestor of sym- pathy ; that is, when the appeal is made to noble hearts ; and the heart of Kate Vaughan was of this quality. Moreover, this surreptitious dealing with the poor relative smuggling him into the house like a bale of contraband goods was sufficient of itself to pique the curiosity of those whom it was meant to mystify. So far as Kate Vaughan was concerned, that very effect it produced ; for, on leaving the dining-room from which, to say the truth, she was only too happy to escape the young girl glided at once to that window that opened out upon the garden ; and, parting the lattice with her fingers, looked eagerly through. In the brief undertone that had passed between her father and the overseer, she had heard the command, " Show him to the kiosk ;" and she knew that the kiosk was within view of her chamber window. She was curious to see what in all her life she had never beheld a cousin ; and cer curiosity was not baulked. Her cousin was before her eyes, pacing ihe little apartment to and fro, as described. With his blue braided frock, buttoned tightly over his breast ; glitter- ing Hessian boots on his well-turned limbs ; his neat three-cornered hat set lightly over his brown curls ; he was not a sight likely to terrify a young girl least of all a cousin. Even the bold, somewhat fierce, ex- pression upon his countenance, at that moment reflecting the angry emo- tions that were stirring within him, did not in the eyes of the young Creole, detract from the gracefulness of the noble face before her. What impression did the sight produce ? Certainly not terror certainly not disgust. On the contrary, she appeared gratified by it : else, why did she continue her gaze, and gaze so earnestly ? Why became her eyes filled with fire, and fixed, as by some fascination ? Why did her yaung 74 ^ BOLD heave and fall, as if sonic now, wulefiiiable emotion was for the first timo germinating within it ? For some moments she remained in the same at- titude, gazing steadfastly and silent. Then, without turning, there es- caped from her lips, low murmured, and as if by an involuntary effort, the interrogatory : " Tola ! is he not beautiful ?" "Beautiful, missa," repeated the maid, who had not yet beheld th 'bject for whom this admiration was meant ; " who beautiful ?" Who ? My cousin, Tola." " You cousin what is cousin, young missa?" , " Look yonder, and see ! That's a cousin." * " I see a man." " Ah ! and saw you ever such a man ?" " True, missa ; never see man look so he surely angry, missa ?" " Angry ?" " Berry angry. He go back, he go forward, like hyena in 'im cage.** " He is only impatient at being kept waiting. My word ! I think ii looks all the better for it. Ah 1 see how his eye flashes. Oh ! Tola, how handsome he is how different from the young men of this island. Is he not a beautiful fellow ?" " He curled hair, like Cubina ?" "Cubina! ha I ha ! ha! This Cubina r^ust be a very Proteus, as well as an Adonis. Do you see any other resemblance, except in the hair? If BO, my cousin may, perhaps resemble me." " Cubina much darker in de colour ob de skin, missa." " Ha ! ha! ha ! that is not unlikely." " Cubina same size same shape 'zactly same shape." " Then, I should say that Cubina is a good shape j for, if I know any- thing of what a man ought to be, that cousin of mine is the correct thing. See those arms ! they look as if he could drag down that great tamarind with them ! Gracious me ! he appears as if he intended doing it 1 Surely he must be very impatient ! And, after his coming so far, for papa to keep him waiting in this fashion ! I really think I should go down to him myself. What is your opinion, Yola ? Would it be wrong for me to gt> and speak with him ? He is my cousin." " What am cousin, missa ?" " Why cousin is is something like a brother only not exactly that if it's not quite the same thing." " Brudder 1 Oh, missa I if he Yola brudder, she him speak ; she care for no one be angry." ' True, Yola ; and if he were ray brother alas ! I have none I should do the same without hesitation. But with a cousin, that's different. Bo- lides, papa don't like this cousin of mine for some reason or another. I wonder what can he have against him. I can't see ; and surely it can be no reason for my liking him. And, surely, his being my cousin is just why I should go down and talk to him. " Besides," continued the young girl, speaking to herself rather than to the maid, " he appears very, very impatient. Papa may keep him waiting who knows how long, since he is so taken up with this Mr. Montagu what s his narno ? Well, I may be doing wrong perhaps papa will bt tHE ENCOUNTER OF THE COtJStN&. ?5 Angry perhaps he won't know anything about it 1 Right or wrong, I'll go ! I shall go 1" So saying, the young Creole snatched a scarf from the fauteuil ; flung it over her shoulders ; and, gliding from the chamber, tripped silently aloi.g the passage that conducted towards the rear of the dwelling. CHAPTER XXIV. THE ENCOUNTER OP THE COUSINS. th door, and passing out, Kate Vaughan paused timidly upon the top of the stairway that led down into the garden. Her steps were stayed by a feeling of bashful reserve, that was struggling to restrain her from carrying out a resolve, somewhat hastily formed. Her hesi- ^ancy was but the matter of a moment ; for on the next her resolution having become fixed she descended the stairs, and advanced blushing- ly towards the kiosk. Herbert had not quite recovered from surprise at the unexpected apparition, when he was saluted by the endearing interrogatory " Are you my cousin ?" The question, so ' naively' put, remained for a moment unanswered : for the tone of kindness in which it was spoken had caused him a fresh surprise, and he was too much confused to make answer. He soon found speech, however, for the hypothetical reply : * " If you are the daughter of Mr. Loftus Vaughan " " I am." "Then I am proud of calling myself your cousin. I am Herbert Vaughan, from England." Still under the influence of the slight, which he believed had been put upon him, Herbert made this announcement with a certain stiffness of manner, which the young girl could not fail but notice. It produced a momentary incongeniality, that was in danger of degenerating into a positive coolness ; and Kate, who had come forth under the prompting of an affectionate instinct, trembled under a repulse, the cause of which she could not comprehend. It did not, however, hinder her from cour- teously rejoining : "We were expecting you as father had received your letter; but not today. Papa said not before to-morrow. Permit me, cousin, to wel- come you to Jamaica." Herbert bowed profoundly. Again the young Creole felt her warm impulses painfully checked ; and, blushing with embarrassment, she tood in an attitude of indecision. Herbert, whose heart had been melt- ing like snow under a tropic sun/now became sensible that ho was com- mitting a rudeness, which, so far from being natural to him, was costing him a struggle to counterfeit. Why should the sins of the father be visited on the child, and such a child ? With a reflection kindred to this the young man hastened to change his attitudo of cold reserve. " Thanks for your kind welcome !" said he, now speaking in a tone of 76 THE ENCOUNTER OF THE COUSINS. affectionate frankness ; " but, fair cousin ; you have not told mo yom name." " Catherine though I am usually addressed by the shorter synonym, Kate." " Catherine 1 that is a family name with us : my father's mother, and your father's too our grandmamma was called Kate. Was it also your mother's name ?'' " No ; my mother was called Quasheba." " Quasheba that is a very singular name." " Do you think so cousin ? I am sometimes called Quasttba myself only by the old people of the plantation, who knew my mother. Lilly Quasheba they call me. Papa does not like it, and forbids them." " Was your mother an Englishwoman 1" " Oh, no ! she was brn in the island, and died while I was very young too young to remember her. Indeed, cousin, I may say I never knew what it was to have a mother 1" " Nor I much, cousin Kate. My mother also died early. But are yon my only cousin? no sisters nor brothers ?" " Not one. Ah 1 1 wish I had sisters and brothers 1" " Why do you wish that ?" " Oh, how can you ask such a question ? For companions, of course.** " Fair cousin ! I should think you would find companions enough in this beautiful island." " Ah 1 enough, perhaps ; but none whom I like at least, not as I think I should like a sister or brother. Indeed," added the young girl, in i re- flective tone, " I sometimes feel lonely enough !" "Ahl" " Perhaps, now that we are to have guesti, it will be different. Mr Smythje is very amusing." " Mr. Smythje ! Who is he ?" " What 1 you do not know Mr. Smythje ? I thought that ycM and he came over in the same ship ? Papa said so ; and that you we^e not to arrive until to-morrow. I think you have taken him by surprise in com- ing to-day. But why did you not ride out with Mr. Smythje ' He ar- rived here only one hour before you, and has just dined with us. f have left the table this moment, for papa and him to have their cigars. But, bless me, cousin 1 Pardon rne for not asking perhaps you have not dined yet ?" " No, cousin Kate," replied Herbert, in a grave tone ; * nor am I likely lo dine here, to-day." The storm of queries with which, in the simplicity of her heart, the young creole thus assailed him once more brought him back into that train of bitter reflection, from which her fair presence and sweet converse had for the moment rescued him. Hence the character if his reply. " And why, cousin Herbert ?" asked she, in a tone of marked surprise. " If you have not dined, it is not too late. Why not here ?" " Because" and the young man drew himself proudly up " I pis fef going without dinner to dining where I am not welcome. In Mount Wel- come, it seems, I am not welcome," " Oh, cousin " A BURLY RECEPTION. 77 The words, ana tne appealing accent were alike interrupted. The doorr npon the landing turned upon its hinge, and Loftus Vaughan appeared in the doorway. "Your father?" " My father 1" "KateJ" cried the planter, in a tone that bespoke displeasure, " Mi Smythje vould like to hear you play upon the harp, I have been looking for you is your room, and all over the house. What are you doing ^u1 here?" The language was coarse and common the manner that of a /ulgai nan flushed with wine. " Oh, papa 1 cousin Herbert is here. He is waiting to see you." " Come you here, then 1" was the imperious rejoinder. " Come, Mr. Smythje is waiting for you." " Cousin ! I must leave you." 11 Yes : I perceive it. One more worthy than I claims your company Go 1 Mr. Smythje is impatient." " It is papa." " Kate ! Kate ! are you coming ? Haste, girl I haste, I say 1" " Go, Miss Vaughan ! Farewell !" " Miss Vaughan ? Farewell ?" Mystified and distressed by those strange-sounding words, Kate Vaughan stood for some seconds undecided and speechless; bet the voice of her father again came ringing along the corridor now in tones irate and commanding ; obedience could no longer be delayed ; and, with a half-puzzled, half-reproachful glance at her cousin, the young girl reluc- tantly parted from his presence. CHAPTER XXV. A SURLY RECEPTION. AJTER the yo'ing creole had disappeared within the entrance, Herbert re- mained in a state of indecision as to how he should act. He no longer needed an interview with his uncle for the sake of having an explana- tion. This new slight had crowned his convictions that he was there au unwelcome guest, and no possible apology could retrieve the ill-treatment * he had experienced. He would have walked off on the instant without a word ; but, stung to the quick by the series of insults he had received, the instinct of retaliation had sprung up within him, and determined him to stay at all events, until he could meet his relative face to face, and re- proach him with his churlish conduct. He was recklessly indifferent as to the result. With this object, he continued in the kiosk his patience being now baited with the prospect of that slight satisfaction. He knew that his uncle might not care much for what he could say ; it was not likely such nature would be affected by reproach. Nevertheless, the proud young - could not resist the temptation of giving words to his defiance, as 78 A SURLY RECEPTION. the only course by which he could mollify the mortification he so keeulj felt. The tones of a harp, vibrating through the far interior of the dwelling faintly reached the kiosk ; but they fell on his ear without any soothing effect. Rather did they add to his irritation ; for he could almost fancj the music was meant to mock him in his misery. But no : on second thoughts, that could not be. Surely, that sweet f.rain was not intended to tantalise him. He caught the air. It was one squally appropriate to the instrument and to his own situation. It waft ;he " Exile of Erin." Presently a voice was heard accompanying the music a woman's voictt easily recognisable as that of Kate Vaughan. He listened attentively. At intervals he could hear the words. How like to his own thoughts ! " * Sad is my fate,' said the heart -"broken stranger : 4 The wild deer and wolf to the covert can flee ; But I have no refuge from famine and danger A home and a country remain not to me.' " Perhaps the singer intended it as a song of sympathy for him ? It cer tainly exerted an influence over his spirits, melting him to a degree of tenderness. Not for long, however, did this feeling continue. As the last notes of the lay died away in the distant corridor, the rough baritones of the planter and his guest were heard joining in loud laughter perhaps some joke at the expense of himself, the poor exile ? Shortly after this, a heavy footstep echoed along the passage. The door opened ; and Her- bert perceived that it was his uncle, who had at length found time to hon- our him with an interview. Though so joyous but the moment before, all traces of mirth had dis- appeared from the countenance of Loftus Vaughan, when he presented himself before the eyes of his nephew. His face, habitually red, was fired with the wine he had been drinking to the hue of scarlet. Never- theless, an ominous mottling of a darker colour upon his broad massive brow foretold the ungracious reception his relative was likely to have at his hands. His first words were uttered in a tone of insolent coolness : " So you are my brother's son, are you ?" There was no extending of the hand, no gesture not even a smile f welcome ! Herbert checked his anger, and simply answered " I believe so." " And pray, sir, what errand has brought you out to Jamaica ?" "If you have received my letter, as I presume you have, it will have answered that question." " Oh, indeed I" exclaimed Mr. Vaughan, with an attempt at cynicism, but evidently taken down by the unexpected style of the reply. " And what, may I ask, do you purpose doing here ?'' " Have not the slightest idea," answered Herbert, with a provoking air f independence. " Have you any profession ?" A BURLY RECEPTION 79 ** Unfortunately, not any." "Any trade ? I suppose not?" " Your suppositions are perfectly correct." " Then, sir, how do you expect to get your bread ?" " Earn it, the best way I can." " Beg it, more likely, as your father before you : all his life begging it, ind from me." " In that respect I shall not resemble him. You would be the last man I should think of begging from." M S'death I sirrah, you are impertinent. This is fine language to mo t after the disgrace you have already brought upon me." " Disgrace ?" " Yes, sir, disgrace. Coming out here as a pauper, in the steerage of a ship 1 And you must needs boast of your relationship letting all the world know that you are my nephew." " Boast of the relationship 1" repeated Herbert, with a smile of con- tempt. "Hal ha! ha! I suppose you refer to my having answered a question asked me by this pretty jack-a-box you are playing with. Boast of it, indeed ! Had I known you then as well as I do now, I should have been ashamed to acknowledge it." " After that, sir," shouted Mr. Vaughan, turning purple with rage " after that, sir, no more words. You shall leave my house this minute." " I had intended to have left it some minutes sooner. I only stayed to have an opportunity of telling you what I think of you." " What is that, sir ? what is that ?" The angry youth had summoned to the top of his tongue a few of the strongest epithets he could think of, and was about to hurl them into his uncle's teeth, when, on glancing up, he caught sight of an object that caused him to check his intention. It was the beautiful face of the young Creole, that appeared through the half-opened lattice of the window op- posite. She was gazing down 'upon him and her father, arid listening to the dialogue with an anguished expression of countenance. " He is her father," muttered Herbert to himself; "for her sake I shall m.t say the words ;" and, without making any reply to the last interroga- tory of his uncle, he strode out of the kiosk, and was walking away. " Stay, sir !" cried the planter, somewhat surprised at the turn things ind taken. " A word before you go if you are going.' 1 Herbert turned upon his heel and listened. " Your letter informs me that you are without funds It sha^l not be ea : d that a relative of Loftus Vaughan left his house penniless and un- ?ruvided. In this purse there are twenty pounds cnrrency of the island ake it ; but on the condition that you say nothing jf what has occurred here ; and, furthermore, that you keep to yourself, that you are the nephew of Loftus Vaughan." Without saying a word, Herbert took the protfered purse ; but, in the next moment, the chink of the gold pieces was heard upon the gravel walk as he dashed the bag at the feet of his uncle. Then turning to the astonished planter, and measuring him with a look that scorned all patronage, he faced once more to the path, and -walked proudly away. THE JEW PENN. The angry " Begone, sir !" vociferated after, was only addressed to hii back, and was altogether unheeded. Perhaps it was even ur-heard, for the expression in the eyes of the young man told that his attention waa occupied elsewhere. CHAPTER XXVI. I THE JEW PENN. As he walked towards the great house with the design of going round it to get upon the avenue his glance was directed upwards to the win- dow where that beautiful face had been just seen. The lattice was now closed ; and he endeavoured to pierce the sombre shadows behind iL Oh 1 for one word one look though it might be a look of sorrow, per- haps of reproach 1 There was no look met his no eyes were glancing through the lat- tice. He looked back, to see if he might linger a moment His uncle wai in a bent attitude, gathering the scattered pieces of gold. In this position the shrubbery concealed him. Herbert was about to glide nearer to the window, and call out the name oft Kate Vaughan, when he heard his own pronounced, in a soft whisper, and with the endearing word " cousin " prefixed. Distinctly he heard " Cousin Herbert." Not from the lattice above did the words proceed, but as if spoken around the angle of the building. He hastened thither : for that was his proper path by which to arrive at the front of the house. On turning the wall, he looked up. He saw that another window opened from the same chamber. Thence came the sweet summons, and there shone the face for which he was searching. " Oh, cousin Herbert! do not go in anger. Papa has done wrong very wrong, I know ; but he has been taking much wine he is not him- self. Good cousin, you will pardon him ?" Herbert was about to make reply, when the young Creole continued : " You said in your letter you had no money. You have refused father's you will not refuse mine? It is very little. It is all I have Take it!" A bright object glistened before the e#es of the young man, and foi with a metallic chink at his feet. He looked down. A small silk bag containing coin, with a blue ribbon attached, was lying upon the ground. He raised it, and holding it in one hand, hesitated for a moment as if he had thought of accepting it. It was not that, however, but another thought that was passing in his mind, His resolve was soon taken. " Thanks 1" said he. " Thanks, cousin Kate !" he added, with increas- ing warmth. " You have meant kindly, and though we may never meet fgain- " Oh, say not so 1" interrupted the young girl, with an appealing look. " Yes," continued he, " it is probable we never may. Here there is no THE JEW PENN. 81 home for me. I must go hence ; but, wherever I may go, I shall not soo^n forget this kindness. I may never have an opportunity of repaying ityou are beyond the necessity of aught that an humble relative could do for you ; but remember, Kate Vaughan I should you ever stand in need of a strong arm and a stout heart, there is one of your name who will not fail you ! " Thanks 1" he repeated, detaching the ribbon from the bag, and fling- Ing the latter, with its contents, back through the lattice. Then, fasten- ing the ribbon to the breast button of his coat, he added : " I shall feel I richer with the possession of this token than with all the wealth of your 1 father's estate. Farewell ! and God bless you, my generous cousin 1 Before the young Creole could repeat her offer, or add another word of counsel -or consolation, Herbert Vaughan had turned the angle of the building, and passed suddenly out of sight. While these scenes were transpiring upon the plantation of Mount Welcome, others of still more exciting nature were being enacted on that which adjoined it the property of Jacob Jessuron, slave-merchant and penn-keeper. Besides a " baracoon " in the Bay, where his slaves were usually ex- posed for sale, the Jew was owner of a large plantation in the country, on which he habitually resided. It lay contiguous to the estate of the custos Vaughan separated from the latter by one of the wooded ridges al- ready mentioned as bounding the valley of Mount Welcome. Like the latter it had once been a sugar estate, and an extensive one ; but that was before Jessuron became its owner. Now it was in the con- dition termed ruinate. The fields where the golden cane had waved in the tropic breeze were choked up by a tangled " second growth," restoring them almost to their primitive wildness. With that quickness character- istic of equatorial vegetation, huge trees had already sprung up, and stood thickly over the ground logwoods, bread-nuts, cotton, and cala- bash trees, which, with their pendent parasites, almost usurped dominion over the soil. Here and there, where the fields still remained open, in- stead of cultivation, there appeared only the wild nursery of nature glades mottled with flowering weeds, as the Mexican horn-poppy, swal- loworts, West Indian vervains, and small passijlorae. At intervals, where the. underwood permitted them to peep out, might be seen stretches of " dry wall," or stone fences, without mortar or semont, mostly tumbled down, the ruins thickly trellised with creeping plants as convolvuli, cereus, and aristolochia ; cleome, with the cheer fill blossoming lantana ; and, spreading over all, lik the web of a gigan- tic spider, the yellow leafless stems of the American dodder. In the midst of this domain, almost reconquered by nature, stood the * great house " except in size, no longer deserving the appellation. It consisted rather of a, pile than a single building the old " sugar-works n having been Joined utfder the same roof with the dwelling and negro cabina, stables, offices, all inclosed within an immense high wall, that gave to the place the air of a penitentiary or barracks, rather than that of a country mansion. The inclosure, however, was a modern construc- tion an afterthought designed for a purpose very different from that of sugar-making. 82 THE JEW PENN. Gardei. there was none, though evidence that there had been was seen everywhere around the building, in the trees that still bloomed : some loaded with delicious fruits, others with clustering flowers, shedding their incense on the air. Half wild, grew citrons, and avocado pears, sop and custard apples, mangoes, guavas, and pawpaws ; while the crown-like tops of cocoa-palms soared high above the humbler denizens of this wild orchard, their recurvant fronds drooping, as if in grief at the desolation around. Close to the buildings stood several huge trees, whose tortuous limlis. now leafless, rendered it easy to identify them. It was the giant of the West Indian forests the silk-cotton tree (Eriodendron anfractuosum}. The limbs of these vegetable monsters each itself as large as an ordinary tree were loaded with parasites of many species ; among which might be distinguished ragged cactacas, with various species of wild pines (bromelicv), from the noble vriesia to the hoary, beard-like "Spanish moss," whose long streaming festoons waved like winding-sheets in the breeze an appropriate draping for the eyrie of the black vultures (John Crows) perched in solemn silence upon the topmost branches. In the olden time this plantation had borne the name of " Happy Val- lejf ;" but during the ownership of Jessuron, this designation perhaps deemed inappropriate had been generally dropped ; and the place wa never spoken of by any other name than that of the " Jew's Perm." Into a " penn " (grazing farm) Jessuron had changed it, and it served well enough for the purpose: many of the old sugar fields, now over- grown with the valuable Guinea grass, affording excellent pasturage for horses and cattle. In breeding and rearing the former for the use of the sugar estates, and fattening the latter for the beef markets of the Bay, the industrious Israelite had discovered a road to riches, as short as that he had been travelling in the capacity of slave dealer ; and of late years he had come to regard the latter only as a secondary calling. In his old age, too, he had become ambitious of social distinction, and, for this reason, was de- sirious of sinking the slave merchant in the more respectable profession of penn-keeper. He had even succeeded so far in his views as to have him- self appointed a justice of the peace an office that, in Jamaica, as else- where, is more distinctive of wealth than respectability. In addition to penn-keeper, the Jew was also an extensive spice-culti- vator, or rather spice gatherer: for the indigenous pimento forests that covered the hills upon his estate required no cultivation nothing farther than to collect the aromatic berries, and cure them on the barbacoa. Though changed from a plantation to a penc, the estate of Jacob T e- suron was not leas a scene of active industrial life. In the fields adjacent to the house, and through the glades ol Guinea grass, horses and half-wild cattle might be seen in turns neighing and bellowing, pursued by mounted herdsmen, black and half-naked. Among the groves of pimento on the hills, gangs of negro wenchea could be heard screaming amd chattering continually, as they picked the allspice berries from the branches ; or, poising the filled baskets on their heads, marched in long, chanting files towards the barbacoa. Outaide the gate-entrance, upon the broad avenue leading to the main THE JEW PENN. 83 road, negro horse-tamers mi;hT ever} T day be observed, giving their first lessons to rough colta fresh caught from the pastures ; while inside the grand inclosure, fat oxen were slaughtered to supply the markets of the Bay huge, gaunt dogs holding carnival over the offal while black butchers, naked to the waist, their brown arras reeking with red gore, stalked over the ground, brandishing blood-stained blades, and other in- struments of their sanguinary calling. Such scenes might be witnessed diurnally on the estate of Jacob Jes- suron ; but on the day succeeding that on which the slave merchant had made his unsuccessful errand to Mount Welcome, a spectacle of a some- what rarer kind was about to be exhibited at the penn. The scene chosen for this exhibition was an inner inclosure, or court- yard, that lay contiguous to the dwelling the great house itself farming one side of this court, and opening upon it by a broad verandah, of a dingy, dilapidated appearance. 1 Vis-a-vis ' with the dwelling was another large building, which shut in the opposite side of the court the two being connected by high, massive walls, that completed the quadrangle. A strong, double gate, opening near the centre of one of these walls, was the way out that is, to the larger inclosure of the cattle-penn. From the absence of chimneys and windows, as well as from its plain style of architecture, the building that stood opposite the dwelling-house might have been taken for some large granary or barn, But a peep into its interior at onca controverted this idea. Inside were seen groups of human beings, of all colours, from ebony black to jaundice yellow, in all attitudes seated, standing, or lying upon the floor and not a few of them, in pairs, manacled to one another. Their attitudes were not more various than the expression upon their faces and features. Some looked sad and sullen ; some glanced fearfully around, as if waking from horrid dreams, and under the belief that they were realities ; others wore the vacant stare of idiotqy ; while here and there a group apparently re- gardless of past, present, or future chattered in their barbaric language, with an air of gaiety that bespoke the most philosophic insouciance. The building that contained them was the baracoon the storehouse of the slave merchant. Its occupants were his stores ! The " stock " had been recently replenished by the cargo of a slave ship, but there were also some old " bales " on hand ; and these were in the act of entertaining the new comers, and initiating them into the wayf of the place. Their means of showing hospitality had been limited a* testified by the empty calabashes and clean-scraped wooden platters that lay scattered over the floor. Not a grain of rice, not a spoonful of the pepper-pot, not a slice of plantain was left. The emptiness of the vessels showed that the rations had been as short, as the viands were coarse and common, Outside, in the yard, were many groups, happier to escape from the stifled atmosphere of their crowded quarters ; though that was freedom when compared with the 'tween-decks of the middle passage. Each group was gathered around some old hand some compatriot who had preceded them actoss the great sea and who, himself initiated into slavery under a western sky, wa giving them some notions of what 84 THE JEW PENH. they had to expect. Eager looks of all, from time to time directed to- wards the verandah, told that they were awaiting some event of iworc than ordinary interest. There were white men in the court-yard three of them. Two were of dark complexion o swarth that many of the coloured slaves were a* fair-skinned as they. These last were lounging by the stairway of the verandah one of them seated upon the steps. Both were sparely clad in check shirts and trowsers, having broad-brimmed palmetto hats on their heads, and rough buckskins on their feet and ankles. Each carried a long rapier-like blade a machete hanging over his hip in its leathern sheath ; while a brace of fierce dogs looped in cotton rope leashes, attached to belts worn around their waists crouched upon the ground at their feet. The faces of these men were clean shaven, a pointed chin-tuft, or " bigots," alone being left ; and the hair on the heads of both was close cropped. Their sharp, angular features were thus fully displayed, de- noting a high order of intelligence, which might have produced a pleas- ing effect, but for the pronounced expression of cruelty which accom- panied it The exclamations that from time to time escaped from their lips, with the few words of conversation that passed between them, spoke of a Spanish origin. Their costumes, their arms and accoutrements their comrades, the fierce dogs plainly proclaimed their calling, as well as the country whence they came. They were ' cacadores do negros ' negro-hunters of Cuba. The third white man who appeared in the court-yard differed essential ly from these not so much in colour, for he was also of swarth com- plexion but in size, costume, and calling. A pair of horseskin riding- boots reached up to his thighs, on the heels of which appeared heavy spurs, with rowels three inches hi diameter. A sort of monkey jacket of thick cloth notwithstanding its unsuitableness to the climate hung down to his hips, under which appeared a waistcoat of scarlet plush, with tarnished metal buttons, and a wool comforter of the same flaming colour. Crowning all was a felt hat ; which, like the other articles 'jf his dress, gave evidence of exposure to all weathers sun and rain, storm and tornado. A thick shock of curling hair, so dark in colour as to pass for black ; a heavy beard, jet black, and running most of the way around his mouth ; amber-coloured eyes, with a sinister, shining light that never seemed to pale ; lips of an unnatural redness gleaming through the black beard ; and a nose of aquiline oblique, were the points in the personal appearance of this man that most prominently presented themselves. The effect of their combination was to impress you with the conviction that the individual in question belonged to the same nationality as the proprietor of the penn. Such was in reality the case : for the bearded man was another of the race of Abraham, and one of its least amiablt specimens. Hia name was Havener, his calling that of overseer : ho was the overseer of Jessuron. The symbol of his profession he carried under his arm a huge cart-whip. He had it by him at all hours by night, ai ty dayfor, by night, as, by day, was he accustomed to wake use of it A FtEBY i3Af"fiSM. 85 And the victims ef his long lash were neither oxen noi hor&e~ they wer No sparing use made he of this hideous implement. " Crack, crack I" was it heard from morn to eve , "crack, crack 1" from eve to midnight j if need be, from midnight to morning again ; for some said that the over- seer of Jessuron never slept. " Crack, crack !" did he go through the court-yard, proud to show off his power before the newly arrived ne- groes here and there swinging h'is long bitter lash among the grouf,M if to break up and scatter them in sheer wantonness 1 CHAPTER XXVII. A FIERY BAPTISM. IT was about twelve o'clock in the day. Jessuron and his daughter had just stepped forth into the verandah, and taken their stand by the balus- trade looking down into the court. The countenances of both betrayed a certain degree of solicitude ; as if they had come out to be witnesses to some spectacle of more than common interest. The house wenches and other domestics, trooping behind them with curious looks, showed that some rare scene was to be enacted. A small iron furnace, filled with live coals, had been placed in the courtyard, near the bottom of the steps. Three or four sullen-looking men blacks and mulattoes stood around it in lounging attitude. One of these stoop- ed over the furnace, turning in the fire what appeared to be a soldering iron, or some other instrument of a brazier. It was not that however, as the spectators well knew. All who beheld it recognised the dreaded branding iron : for every one present, the whites and newly arrived Africans excepted, had, ere now, felt its hot, seething fire in their flesh. These last had already learnt what was preparing for them ; and stood re- garding the preparations, most of them with looks of silent awe. Some Coromrantees there were among the number, who looked on with reckless indifference, chatting as gaily and, at intervals, laughing as loudly as if they awaited the beginning of some merry game. Little did these courageous sons of Ethiopia whose sable skins bore scars of many a native fray little cared they for the scorching of that red brand. It was not long before the inhuman spectacle commenced. The entrance of Jessuron and his daughter was the cue to begin ; and the bearded over- seer, who was master of the ceremonies, had only been waiting till these should make their appearance. The man, from experience, knew that hi master always gave his personal superintendance when such a scene wag to be enacted. He knew, moreover, that his master's daughter was equally accustomed to assist at these interesting ceremonies 1 " Go on, Mishter Havener 1" cried the Jew, reaching the front of the verandah. " Thesh first," he added, pointing towards a group of Eboes who stood trembling with apprehension in the corner of the yard. At a ign from the overseer, who was one of the taciturn sort, a number of old negroes evidently used to the business laid hands upon the Eboea and led them up to the furnace. 8 A FIERY BAPTISM As the victims were brought, near to the ^re, ami saw the red if<$& glowing amid the coals, fear became more vividly depicted upon their faces, and their frames shook with a convulsive terror. Some of them, the younger ones, screamed aloud, and would have rushed away from the spot had they not been held in the grasp of the attendants. Their ap- peals, made by the most pitiful looks and gestures, were answere-l only by unfeeling jeers and shouts of laughter in which the old Jew himself I'cined in which, incredible to relate, joined his beautiful daughter 1 Noi was it a mere smile which appeared on the face of the fair Judith ; cloai laughter rang from her lips, exhibiting her regular rows of pretty wliite teeth as if some fiend had assumed the form of an angel 1 The Eboes were led forward, and held firmly by the assistants, while their breasts were presented to receive the brand. The red hot iron flashed for a moment in the eyes of each ; then fell with a dull clap upon the clammy skin. Smoke ascended with a hiss, followed by the smell of roasting flesh. A struggle, some wild cries, and the operation was over. The slave was marked with those indelible initials, to be carried with him to his grave. One by one the Eboes received this terrible baptism, and were led away from the ground. A batch of Pawpaws from the Whidaw country came next. They were brought up one by one, like the Eboes ; but altogether unlike these was their behaviour. They neither gave way to extreme fear, nor yet displayed extraordinary cour- age. They appeared to submit with a sort of docile resignation : as though they regarded it in the light of a destiny or duty. The operation of branding them* was a short work, and afforded no mirth to tho by-standers ; as there was no ludicrous display of terror to laugh at. This facile disposition renders the Whidaw people the most valuable of slaves. A group of Coromantees were now to undergo the fiery ordeal. Theke bold and warlike indigenes of Africa, evinced, by their attitudes and actions, the possession of a moral nature altogether different from that either of Pawpaw or Eboe. Instead of waiting to be led forward, each stepped boldly up, as he did so, baring his breast to receive the red brand, at which he glanced with an air of lordly contempt. One young fellow even seized the iron from the grasp of the operator, and turning it in his hand, struck the stamp firmly against his breast, where he held it until the seething flesh told that a deep imprint had beer, made. Then, flinging the instrument back into the furnace, he strode >vay from the spot with the air of a triumphant gladiator 1 At this mo uent there occurred a pause in the proceedings not as if the drama vvd* ended, bat only an act. Another was still to come. Ravener stepped up to the verandah, in front of the place where Jes- Huron and his daughter stood. With the former, or indeed with both, he communicated in a voice just audible, but not as if with any design of concealing what he said only because he was at no time a loud-talker. The two man-hunters were the only persons there he might have had *iiy care to be cautious about ; but these were at the moment busy with their doge, and not heeding aught that was going on. Branding a batch Hi* negroes was no new sight to them ; and they were spectators, merely tVora having, at the moment, nothing better to do. "Which next?" was the question put by Havener to the Jew ; " the Mandingoe* ?" A FIEftY BAPTISM. 87 "Either them, or the pritish," replied Jcssuron ; "it don't mattei which !sh marked first." " Oh, the prince first, by all means!" suggested the amiable Judith^ with a smile of satisfaction. " Bring him out first, Mr. Havener ; I'm cu- rious to see how his royal highness will stand fire." The overseer made no reply ; but, taking the wish of the young lady for an order, proceeded to obey it. Stepping across the court, he opened a door at one corner that led into ft room separate from that in which the slaves had been lodged. The overseer entered the room. In a few minutes he came out again, bring' lag with him an individual who, by his dress, it would have been difficult to recognise as the young Fellata seen on board the slaver, but whose noble mien still rendered it possible to identify him ; for it was he. Changed, indeed, was his costume. The turban was gone, the rich gilfcen tunic, the sandals and scimetar all his finery had been stripped off; and, in its place, appeared a coarse Osnaburg shirt and trowsers the dress of a plantation negro. He looked wretched, but not crest- fallen. No doubt he had by this time learnt, or suspected, the fate that was in store for him ; but, for all that-, his features exhibited the proud air of a prince ; and the glances which he cast upon the overseer by his side, but oftener upon Jessuron whose instrument he knew the othei to be were those of concentrated anger and defiance. Not a word es- caped his lips, either of protest or reproach. This had all passed before when the first rude assault had been made upon hba, to deprive him of his garments and the adornments of his person. T* e hour of recrimi- nation was past. He saw he had no alternative but submission, and he was submitting though in angry and sullen silence. He knew not what was now intended to be done to him. He had been shut up in a window- less room, and saw nothing of the spectacle that had just passed. Some new outrage he anticipated ; but of what nature he could not give a guess. He was not allowed to remain long in ignorance. Havener, roughly grasping him by the wrist, led him up to the furnace. The iron by this time was ready, glowing red hot among the coals. The operator stood watching for the signal to use it ; and this being given, he seized the instrument in his grasp, and poised it aloft. The prince now per- ceived the intention, but shrank not at the sight. His eyes were not upon the iron, but, gleaming with a fire like that of the furnace, were now di- rected upon the face of the old Jew now upon that of the angel -like demon at his side. The Jew alone shrank from the glance . his daughter returned it with a mocking imperturbability. In another instant the red brand hissed as it burnt into the flesh of the Fellata's bosom. Prince Cingtues was the slave of Jacob Jessuron ! As if the terrible reality had now for the first time burst upon him, the young man leaped forward with a cry ; and before any one could oppose his progress, he had bound- ed up the steps and^entered the verandah. Then, rushing along the gal- lery, to the spot occupied by Jessuron and his daughter, lie sprung up like a tiger, and launched himself forward upon the Jew. AH ho clutched the latter by the throat, both caine together to the ground, and rolled over and over in the writhings of a desperate struggle. Fortunate 88 OOTTOH OF SILK CDTTOJT. it was fcr the slave n^rch ant that his victim had been disarmed: else that moment would have been fatal to him. As it was, he came very neat being strangled ; and had it not been for Havener and the two Spaniarda who hastened to his rescue, the betrayal of the Foolah prince would have been the last treason of his life. Overpowered by numbers, and by the brutal strength of the overseer, Cingues was at length secured, and the throat of the slave merchant was extricated from his death-like clutch. " Kill him 1" cried the Jew, as soon as he found breath to speak. "No. don't kill him yet," added he, correcting himself, " cot joosh yet, till 1 punish him fustl an' if I don't punish him ach!" " Flog the savage 1" shouted the beautiful Judith ; " make an example ot him, Mr. Havener ; else those others will be rising upon us in the same style." " Yesh, flog him! that'll do to begin with. Flog him now, good Rave ner ! Give him a hundred lashes thish minute 1" " Ay, ay I" responded the overseer, dragging the victim down the steps; " I'll give him his full dose never fear you !" Ravener was as good as his word. The spectacle that followed was even more horrible to behold than that which has been described ; for the punishment of the lash is among the most fearful of exhibitions. The young Foolah was tied to a post one that stood there for the purpose. A strong headman wielded the cruel quirt; and as the last stripe was administered, completing that horrid hundred, the poor victim sank, fainting and bloody, against the stake I The occupants of the verandah showed not the slightest signs of hav ing been moved to pity by this horrid spectacle. On the contrary, both father and daughter seemed to draw delight from iij and instead of retir- ing when the fearful scene was over, both, seemingly with perfect uncon- cern, remained to witness the finale of the day's work the marking of the Mandingoes 1 CHAPTER XXVIII. A COUCH OF BILK OOTTOW OK parting from the presence of his fair cousin, and, at the same time, from the house of his inhospitable relative, Herbert Vaughan struck off ihrough the shrubbery that stretched towards the ridge on the right. Notwithstanding the storm that was raging hi his breast, a reflection had occurred to him, which hindered him from going by the main avenue. Suffering from a keen sense of humiliation, he had no desire to meet with any of his uncle's people ; since the very slaves seemed to be privy to his false position. Still less desirious was he of being observed, while making the long traverse of the avenue, by eyes that might be directed upon him from the windows of the great house. On reaching the limit* of the level platform, he leaped a low wall, that separated the shrubbery from the outer fields ; and then, under cover of the pimento groves, con* menced ascending the slope of the ridge. L COUCH OF 8JL& COfrOK. 89 For some time the conflicting emotions that were stirring ir: his BOU] hindered him from anything like tranquil reflection. Conflicting, I say j for two very opposite sentiments had been aroused by the two individ- uals with whom he had just held interviews ; opposite as darkness from day as sorrow from joy perhaps, as hate from love. The conflict might have lasted longer, had there been an oppcrtunity to give way to idle emotions ; but there was not. The young man felt too forlorn and friendless to indulge in the luxury of passionate thought ; and, on this t account, the sooner did the storm subside. His first reflection, after caku | had been partially restored, was, " Whither ?" and the answer, " To Mon- Uego Bay." What he should do on his arrival there was not so easily answered. He had no longer a claim for shelter on board the ship though no doubt the friendly fellows of the forecastle would have made him welcome as ever to a share of their " bunks" and sea biscuits. But Herbert knew that the hospitality of the Sea Nymph was not theirs to bestow ; and, even if it had been, it could not long avail him. To return to England again, and by the same ship, might have entered his thoughts ; but that was out of the question. It had cost him twenty pounds, and his last shilling, to come out. It would have required the same amount to pay his passage back therefore the idea was not to be entertained for a moment. Perhaps the thought of returning did not en- ter his mind ? Perhaps he would not have gone back, had a free passage been offered him ? Neither of these suppositions is improbable. Not- withstanding the ill-treatment he had received from his uncle notwith- standing the now desperate situation of his affairs there was something, he scarce knew what, that hindered him from hating Jamaica ay, even from hating Mount Welcome, the scene of his greatest humiliation ! On reaching the crest of the ridge, and before plunging into the deep forest that stretched away on the other side, he endeavoured, through an open- Ing in the trees, to catch a view of those white walls and green jalousies. In that glance there was more of regretfulness than anger an expres- sion of despair, such as may have appeared on the face of the fallen angel when gazing back over the golden palings of Paradise. As the young man turned away, and entered under the sombre shadows of the forest, the expression of despair seemed to beccme deeper and darker. To make Montego Bay to seek in it such humble home as might offer tp wait there till his poorly-stocked portmanteau, now on its way to Mcunt Welcome, should be returned to him these were the simple plan* that suggested themselves. His mind was still too much on the rack to permit of his dwelling upon any ulterior purpose. He walked on through the woods, without taking much heed as to the direction in which he was going. Any one who could have seen him just then might have supposed that he had lost his way, and was wandering. It was not so, however. He knew, or believed, that by keeping to the left of his former course, he would get out upon the main road, by which he had reached the entrance gate of Mount Welcome. In any case, he could not fail to find the river he had already crossed ; and, by following it downward, he ^arould in time arrive at the town. With this confidence, 90 A cotron ov SILTC COTTOIC. false as it may havo been, lie was not wandering only absoibed la thought iii coniraou pai'lance, absent-minded. Bat this absence of mind lasted so long, that it led to the result it resembld : he lost his "way in reality. The trees hindered him from seeing the sun now low down. But even if a view of the golden orb had been afforded him. it would have served no purpose: since, on riding out to Mount Welcome, he had taken no note of the relative directions between it and the Bay. He was not Bttuch disconcerted by the discovery that he had lost himself. The reflec- tion, that m Montego Bay he would be no better off, hindered him from greatly regretting the circumstance. He had not the means to command the shelter of a roof even in the midst of a whole city full and the chances were he might find none better than that which was above him at the moment the spreading fronds of a gigantic " ceiba," or cotton- tree. At the time that this reflection crossed his mind, the sun had gone quite down : for the cotton-tree stood upon the edge of an opening where he could see the sky above him, and he perceived that it was already tinged with the purple of twilight. To find his way in the darkness would be no longer possible, and he resolved for that night to accept the hospita- lity of the " ceiba." It had even spread a couch for him : for the seed capsules had burst upon its branches, and the pale-brown staple thickly covered the ground beneath, offering a couch that, under the canopy of a West Indian sum- mer sky, was sufficiently luxuriant. Was there a supper as well ? Herbert looked around he was hungry. Not a morsel had he eaten since breakfast, only a piece of mess-pork and a brown wormy biscuit, on parting from the ship. Hunger had already made itself felt. During his wanderings, having his gun with him, he had looked out for game. Had any appeared, he was too good a sportsman to nave let it escape. But none had shown itself neither beast nor bird. The woods seemed deserted as himself. He could hear the voices of birds all strange to his ear he could see bright-winged creatures flut- tering among the trees ; but none near enough for the range of his fowl- ing-piece. Now that he had come to a halt, and having nothing better to do, he took his stand, watching the open glade. Perhaps some bird might yet show itself, passing from tree to tree, or flying about in pursuit of prey. It was the hour for owls. He felt hungry enough to eat one. Neither owl nor night-jar came in sight ; but his attention was attract- ed to an object edible as either, and which promised to relieve him from the pangs he was suffering. Close oy the cotton-tree stood another giant of the forest rivalling the former in height, but differing from it as an arrow from its bow. Straight as a lance, it rose to the height of an hundred feet. It was branchless, as a column of polished malachite or marble up to its high summit, where its green, feather-like fronds, radiating outward, drooped gracefully over, like a circlet of reflexed ostrich plumes. A child could have told it to be a palm, but Herbert knew more : he had heard ol the noble " mountain cabbage" of Jamaica the kingly zreca wedoxia. He knew that in the centre of that circlet of far-stretching fronds in that crown there was a jewel that had often proved mor THE TREE FOUNTAtH. 91 Erecious than gems or gold : for often had it been the means of saving imian life. How was tins jewel to be obtained ? Like all crowns, it waa placed high far above theVeach of ordinary mortals. Young and active though he was, and a climber at school, he could never " swarm up" that tall, smooth shaft. Without a ladder an hundred feet in length, it would Dot be possible to reach its summit. But, see ! the palm-tree stands not alone. A great black lliana a parasite stretches tortuously from the earth up to the crown, where its head is buried among the feathery fronds, as if it were some huge dragon in the act of devouring his victim! Herbert stood for a moment reconnoitering this grand stay-cable, th-n', trailing from the summit of the palm, offered, as it were, a natural Uuldc-i for ascending it. Hunger stimulated him to the attempt ; and, resting hit gun against the trunk of the ceiba, he commenced climbing upwards. With out much difficulty, he succeeded in reaching the top, and making his way among the huge pinna of the leaves each in itself a leaf of many feet in length. He arrived at the youngest of them all that still enfolded in the envelope of the bud, and which was the object for which he had climbed. With his knife he separated the summit leaf, flung the mass to the earth, and then, descending to the bottom of the tree, made his sup- per upon the raw but sweet and succulent shoots of the mountain cab- bage. Supper over, he collected a quantity of the strewn fleece of the silk-cotton, and placing it between two of the great buttress-like root spurs of the tree, constructed for himself a couch, on which, but for some hard thoughts within, he might have slept as softly and soundly as upon a palliasse of white goose feathers and a mattress of eider. CHAPTER XXIX. THE TREE FOUNTAIN. THAT he did not sleep soundly may be attributed solely to his anxieties about the morrow : for the night was mild throughout, and the composi- tion of his improvised couch kept him sufficiently warm. His cares, however, had rendered his spirit restless. They were vivid enough to act even upon his dreams which several times during the night awoko in'm, and again, finally, just after the break of day. This time, on opening his eyes, he perceived that the glade was filled with soft blue light ; and the quivering fronds of the cabbage-palm just visible where he lay had caught the first trembling rays of the sun. Only there, and among the summit branches of the ceiba far o'ertopping the spray of the surrounding forest, was the sun yet risible. Bverything else was tinted with the blue grey of the morning twilight. Herbert could sleep no longer ; and rose from his forest lair, intending to make an immediate departure from the spot. He had no toilet to make nothing to do further than brush off the silken floss of the tree-cotton that ad- hered to his clothes, shoulder his gun and, go. He felt hungry, even more than on the preceding night ; and, although the raw mountain-cabbage offered no very tempting ' dejeuner,' he determined, before starting, to muiui 92 tEE TREE another meal upon it remembering, and very wisely acting upon, tht adage of a " bird ILL the hand." There was plenty left from the suppei ko serve him for breakfast ; and, once more making a vigorous onslaught Dn the chou de palmute, he succeeded in appeasing his hunger. But an- other appetite, far more unpleasant to endwe, now assailed him. In truth, it had assailed him long before, but had been gradually growing tronger ; and was now unendurable. It was the kindred appetite, thirst j which the cabbage of the palm, instead of relieving, had, from a certain Iicridity in its juice, only sharpened till the pain amounted almost to torture. The sufferer would have struck off into the woods in search of water. He had seen none in his wanderings ; still he had the hope of being able to find the river. He would have started at once, but for an idea he had conceived that there was water near the spot where he had slept. Where ? He had seen neither stream nor spring, pond nor river ; and yet he fancied he had seen water in fact he felt sure of it I In a very singular situation he had seen it so thought he at the time aince it was over his head in the top of the cotton tree ! On the previ- ous evening, while up on the crown of the cabbage-palm, he had glanced slantingly across, among the branches of the cciba. These, as with all great trees in the tropical forests, were loaded with parasites vricsiat, long, ragged-looking cacti, bromelias, epiphytical orchids, and the like. Tttlandsias too, of the kind known as " wild pines," sat snugly in the forks, or on the upper surfaces of the great limbs, flourishing as luxu- riantly as if their roots rested in the richest soil. Among them was con- spicuous the most magnificent of the genus, the noble Tillandsia lingu- lato, with its spike of gorgeous crimson flowers projecting from the midst of its broad sheathing leaves. It was in the convexities of these huge leaves that Herbert had observed something which did not belong to the plant something he believed to be water. It would cost but a few seconds' time to confirm or refute this belief a climb among the branches of the ceiba. Another huge parasite, from the same root as the former, trended tortuously up to the limbs of the silk cotton-tree, here and there touching and twisting around them. Its diagonal direction rendered it easy of ascent ; and Herbert, impelled by his desire to drink, commenced climbing it. Ere long, he had succeeded in reaching a main fork of the ceiba, where .nestled one of the largest of thw wild pines. He had not been deceived. I In the convexity formed by its huge ventricose leaves was the natural 'reservoir he had noticed the gatherings of dew and rain, which th rays of the sun could never reach. At his approach, the green hyla sprang out from this aerial pool ; and leaping, frog-like, from leaf to leaf protected from falling by the clammy sponge-disks of its feet soon disappeared amid the foliage. It was this singular creature whose voice Herbert had heard throughout the live- long night ; and which, in constant chorus with othars of its kind, had recalled to his memory the groaning and working of the Sea Nymph in a storm. The presence of the tree-toad, in thia its natural haunt, did not deter the young man from drinking. Raging thirst has no scruples ; and, bending over one of the leaves of the tiUandsia, he placed his lips to the THE THEE FOUNTAIN. 93 Oool water, and freely quenched it. The labour of scrambling ii[> the ttiana had taken away his breath, arid to some extent fatigued him. In- tead, therefore of descending at once which he knew would cost him effort equal to that of the ascent he determined to rest for a few min- utes upon the large limb of the ceiba on which he had seated himself. " Well 1" muttered he, in satisfied soliloquy, " if the people of this island have proved inhospitable, I can't say the same of its trees. Here we two of them three, if I include the parasite almost the first I have encountered. They have yielded me the three necessaries of life meat drink, and lodging lodging, too, with an excellent bed, a thing not so common in many a human hostelry, What more is wanted 1 Undei uch a sky as this, who need care to have walls around, or a roof over him 2 Verily, to sleep here, sub Jove, is rather a luxury than an incon venieace ? And, verily," continued he, " were it not that I should feel rather lonely, and that man is designed to be a social animal, I mighl pass my whole life in these great woods, without work or care of any kind. No doubt there is game ; and I was told at home there were no game laws so I might poach at pleasure. Ha ! game ? What do I see ? A deer ? No I a hog ? Yes, hog it is ; but such a singular fellow prick ears, red bristles, long legs, and tusks. A boar ! and why not a wild boar ?" There was no reason why it should not be, since it wot one a wild boar of the Jamaica foresta true descendant of the Canarian hog, trans- ported thither by the Spaniards. The young Englishman never having seen a wild boar in its native haunts, put the question conjecturally ; but a moment's observation of the animal convinced him that his conjecture was correct. The short upright ears, the long head, hams, and legs, the shaggy neck and frontlet, the foxy red colour, the quick short step as it moved onward all these points, combined with a certain savage air which Herbert noticed at a glance, satisfied him that the animal under his eyes was dot one of the domestic breed, but a genuine wild hog of the woods. The grunt, too, which the creature uttered as it moved across the glade short, sharp, and fierce had but slight resemblance to the squeaking sounds of the (arm-yard. A wild boar beyond a doubt ! On perceiving this noble head of game, and so near him, Herbert's first reflection was one of extreme regret. How unlucky that he 'should be up in the tree, with his gun upon the ground 1 Had the piece only beoa in his hands, he could have shot the boar from where he sat, and right easily too : for the creature had actually come to a stand under the ceiba, and so fairly under him, that if he had been provided with a stone, he could have dropped it right upon its back. It was very tantalising ; but the young man saw it would be impossible to get hold of his gun without giving the alarm. To attempt descending from the tree, or even to make a movement upon the branch, would be sufficient to send the boar scampering from the spot : of course never to be seen more. Con* scious of this, Herbert preferred remaining upon his perch the silent spectator of a scene of wild Nature, to which chance hid o oddly intro- duced him. 94 THE HOG-HUNTER. CHAPTER XXX. THE HOG-HUNTER. THB boar had stopped over the ' debris' of Herbert's breakfast com* fragments of the mountain cabbage which th^voung man had left upon the ground. Switching its feathered tail, and nctering a short grunt, ex- pressive of satisfaction, the animal proceeded to snap up the scattered ^pieces, crunching them between its formidable grinders. All of a sudden I ihe tranquil tableau became transformed into a scene of a more exciting nature. As Herbert continued to gaze, he saw the boar suddenly make a ' start, jerk its muzzle high in the air, at the same instant uttering a pecu- liar cry. It was a cry of alarm, mingled with angry menace as testified by the bristles upon its back, which had suddenly shot up into an erect spinous mane. Herbert looked for the enemy. None was in sight at least to his eyes. The boar, however, had either seen or heard something : for he was evi- dently upon the strain to spring off. Just then, a loud report reverberated through the glade, a bullet hissed through the air, and the animal with a shrill scream turned over upon its back, the blood spouting from a wound in its thigh. Herbert saw that the boar was not killed, but only crippled by the loss of a leg. In an instant the animal was on his feet again, and upon the other three might have easily escaped ; but rage appeared to hinder it from attempting flight 1 It retreated only a few paces, taking its stand between two of the buttresses of the ceiba, on the very spot where Herbert had passed the night. There protected on both flank and in the rear and uttering fierce grunts of defiance it stood awaiting its enemy. Herbert looked in the direction whence the shot came, expecting to see the individual who had fired it. He had not long to wait. In an instant after the hunter appeared rushing across the glade towards the disabled game. Sword in hand came he, and without any gun ! Herbert presum- ed that the empty piece must have been left behind him. The young Englishman was struck with the peculiar appearance of the Jamaica sportsman ; but he had little time for observing it, before the latter was directly under him. In a dozen quick strides the hunter had crossed the glade, reached the roots of the cotton tree, and became engaged in deadly struggle with the wounded boar. Notwithstanding the damage done to it, the creature was still a formid- ^ ble antagonist ; and it required all the address of the hunter habile though he appeared to be to avoid contact with its terrible tusks. Each alternatively charged upon the other the hunter endeavouring to thrust the quadruped with his long blade, while the boar in his turn would re- peatedly rush towards his antagonist, suddenly rear himself upon his hind legs, and strike upwards with his armed and grinning muzzle. It was one of the fore-legs of the animal that had been broken by the shot ; but the wound, although greatly disabling it, did not hinder it from making a protracted and desperate defence. The spurs of the cotton-tree rising on each side proved its best protectors, hindering its assailant from turning its ftanka and piercing it in the side. The combat, therefore, was fac^ *$ THE BUNAWAT. 95 face ,* and the Hade of the hunter, repeatedly thrust forward, as often glaLced harmlessly from the hard skull, or glinted with a metallic ring against the tusks of the boar. For several minutes did this singular con test continue the young Englishman all the while watching it with lively interest ; but without giving the slightest signs of his being a spectator. Indeed, the scene was so exciting, and had come under his eyes so unex pectedly, that he was for a time held speechless by sheer surprise. As soon as he had recovered from this, he would have made his presence known, and hurried down to the assistance of the hunter ; but the thought quickly occurred to him that any movement on his part might distract the attention of the latter, and expose him to danger from his fierce anta gonist. His sudden descent from the tree which would have brought dim down almost on the shoulders of the man could not otherwise than disconcert the latter, and perhaps put his life in peril : for, had the hunter faltered for a moment, or desisted from the ^attack, the boar would un doubtedly have charged after him. Herbert, himself a sportsman, comprehended all this with a quick in- stinct; and, with a prudent resolve, determined to keep quiet and remain where he was. At that instant the struggle between biped and quadru- ped was brought to a termination. The hunter who appeared to possess all the craft of his calling put in practise a ruse that enabled him to give his antagonist the cov/p de grace. It was a feat, however, accompanied by no slight danger ; and so adroit- ly did the hunter perform it, as to create within the mind of his English spectator both surprise and admiration. Thus was the feat accomplished, In charging forward upon his human adversary, the boar had incautiously ventured beyond the flanking buttresses of the tree. In fact, the hunter had enticed the animal outward by making a feint of retreating from the contest. Just then and before the brute could divine his intention the hunter rushed forward, and, throwing all his strength into the effort, sprang high into the air. Quite clearing the quadruped, he alighted in the angle formed by the converging spurs of the tree I The boar had now lost his position of defence ; though that of the hunter for the moment appeared desperate. He had calculated his chances, however ; for before the enraged animal hindered by its hang- ing limb could face round to assail him, he had lunged out with his long blade, and buried it up to the hilt between the creature's ribs. With a shrill scream the boar fell prostrate to the earth the red stream fromhi side spurting over and spoiling the improvised mattress of cotton-tret 4ock, upon which Herbert had passed the night CHAPTER XXXI. THB RUNAWAY. Ur to this moment the young Englishman had done nothing, either by word or gesture, to make known his presence. Now, however, lie waj about to descend, and congratulate tbe hunter upon a feat that ha-4 ullod THE RUNAWAY. him with admiration. A fancy passing through his mind at the moment, determined him to remain where he was a little longer ; and in obedienc* to this fancy, he sat gazing down upon the successful sportsman at th bottom of the tree. To say the least, the appearance presented by this individual was pio turesque especially so to the eyes of an Englishman unacquainted with West Indian costumes ; but, in addition to picturesqueness of attire, there was something in the features of the man that could not fail to make a remarkable impression upon the beholder. The impression was Decidedly pleasing, though the facejfchat produced *, it was not that of a white man. Neither was it the face of a black man ; I nor yet the yellow countenance of the mulatto. A shade lighter than the last, but still not so light as the skin of a quadroon ; but, like many quadroons, there was a dash of crimson in the cheeks. It was this colouring of the cheeks, perhaps, combined with a well-rounded, spark- ling iris, that imparted the agreeable expression. The man was young. Herbert Vaughan might have guessed him about his own age, without being many months astray ; and in point of size and shape, there was no great dissimilitude between them. In the colour of their hair, complexion, and features, there was no resemblance whatever. While the face of the young Englishman was of the oval type, that of the West Indian hunter was rotund. A prominent, well-cut chin, how- ever, hindered it from degenerating into any expression of feebleness ; on the contrary, firmness was the prevailing cast of the features ; and the bold, swelling throat was a true physical index of daring. His complex- ion has been told. It only remains to say that it betokened a ' sang- melee' between African and Caucasian, which was further confirmed by the slight crisping that appeared among the jet black curls of hair thickly covering his head. The luxuriance -of these curls was partly kept in check by a head-dress, that Herbert Vaughan would have been less sur- prised to see in some country of the East : for, at the first glance, he had mistaken it for a turban. On closer examination, however, it proved to be a brilliant kerchief the Madras check ingeniously folded around the forehead, so as to sit coquettishly over the crown, with the knot a little to one side. It was a toque not a turban. The other articles of dress worn by the young hunter were an outer to*t, or shirt, of sky-blue cottonade, cut somewhat-blouse fashion ; an un- dershirt of fine white linen, ruffled and open at the breast ; trowsers of the same material as the coat ; and buff-coloured boots of roughly-cleaned i cowskin. There were straps and strings over both shoulders, all crossing ' each other on the breast. From the two that hung to the right side were suspended a powder- horn, and skin shot-pouch. On the same side hung a large calabash can- teen, covered with a strong network of some forest withe, to protect it from injury. Under the left arm was a carved arid curving cow's horn, evidently not for holding powder, since it was open at both ends. Below this, against his hip, rested a black leathern sheath the receptacle of that long blade still reeking with tho blood of the boar. This weapon was the machete half sword, half hunting-knife which with its straight, short blade, and haft-like hilt of grey horn, it in to bf THE BUN AWAY. 97 found in every cottage of Spanish America, from California to the " Land of Fire." Even where the Spaniards have been, but are no longer as in Jamaica the universal machete may be seen in the hands of hunter and peasant a relic of the conqueror colonists. * * *** * * Up to the moment that the boar was laid prostrate upon the ground, h in the toque had been kept too well employed with his fierce game to find time for looking at anything else. It was only after dealing the death blow to his adversary that he was able to stand erect, and take a survey around him. In an instant his eye fell upon the gun of the young Englishman, and then the white pieces of palm-cabbage upon which the boar had been browsing. " Hoh I" exclaimed he, still gasping for breath, but with a look that be- trayed surprise ; " a gun I Whose ? Some runaway slave who has stolen his master's fowling piece ? Nothing more likely. But why has he left the piece behind him ? And what has started him away from here ? Surely not the boar ? He must have been gone before the animal got; up ? Crambo 1 a richer prize than the pig, if I could only have set eyes upon him 1 I wonder in which direction he has tracked off. Hish ! what do I see ? The runaway 1 yes yes, it is he 1 He is coming back for his gun ? Crambo ? This is unexpected luck, so early i' the morning a slave capture a bounty As the hunter hurriedly muttered these concluding phrases, he glided with stealthy tread between the two buttresses ; and having placed him- self in the extreme angle of their convergence, remained perfectly still as if waiting the approach of some one who was advancing towards the tree. Herbert, from his perch, looked for the new comer thus announced, and saw him with surprise surprise, not at his appearance, which was ex- pected, but at the attitude in which he was advancing, and the wild aspect of the individual. A young man of a copper red colour, with straight black hair, shaggily tossed and drawn over his brows, as if some one had been tearing it from his head ! His face, too a fine one, notwithstanding its mahogany colour appeared freshly lacerated ; and his whole body also bore the marks of nhuman abuse! The coarse cotton shirt that covered his shoul- ders was blotched with blood ; and long, crimson-coloured stripes run- ning across his back, looked like the imprints of an ensanguined lash. The shirt was his only clothing every rag he wore. Head, throat, legs and. feet were all uncovered. The attitude in which he was advuLciug was as peculiar as his costume. When Herbert first set eyes on him ho was crawling upon his hands and kuees, yet going with considerable speed. This led to the belief that his crawling position was assumed rather with a view towards concealment, than from the inability to walk erect. This belief was soon after confirmed, for on entering the,glade the young man rose to his feet, and trotted on but still with body bent towards the ceiba. What could he want there ? Was he making for the huge tree as a haven of safety from some deadly pursuers ? Herbert fancied so. The hunter believed he was coming back for his gun having no suf piuion that the real owner of the piece was just over his toad* *- ~ --.~+~ ,--*** * ' * L UM |i->g - ^.^ $8 THE RUNAWAY Both remained silent ; though from motives that had no similitude to each other. In a few seconds' time, the fugitive for his actions proved him on* - had reached tho bottom of the tree. " Halt!" cried the hunter, showing himself round the buttress, and step- ping in front of the new comer. " A runaway, and my prisoner !" The fugitive dropped upon his knees, crossed his arms Dver his breast, and uttered some phrases in an unknown tongue amongst which Herbert 11 could distinguish the word "Allah." His captor appeared equally at fault HJ about the meaning of the words ; but the attitude of the speaker, and J the expression upon his countenance, could not be mistaken : it was an appeal for mercy. " Crambo /" exclaimed the hunter, bending forward, and gazing for a noment at the breast of the runaway on which the letters " J. J." were conspicuously branded " with that tattoo on your skin, I don't wonder you've given leg-bail to your master. Poor devil! they've tattooed you atill more brutally upon the back." As he said this speaking rather to himself than to the creature that knelt before him the hunter stretched forth his hand, raised the shirt from the shoulders of the runaway, and gazed for a while upon his back. The skin was covered with purple wales, crossing each othsr like the arte- ries in an anatomic plate ! " God of the Christian I" exclaimed the yellow hunter, with evident in- dignation at the sight, "if this be your decree, then give me tho fetish of my African ancestors. " But no," added he, after a pause, " J. J. is not a Christian he cares for no God." The soliloquy of the hunter was here interrupted by a second speech from the suppliant, spoken in the same unknown tongue This time the gesture signified that it was an appeal for protection against some enemy in the rear : for the pitying looks of his captor had evidently won the confidence of the fugitive. " They are after you no doubt of it," said the hunter. " Well, let them come whoever are your pursuers. This time they have lost their chance ; and the bounty is mine, not theirs. Poor devil ! it goes against my g-rain to deliver you up ; and were it not for the law tha ; binds me, I should scorn their paltry reward. Hark ! yonder they come Dogs, as I'm a man 1 Listen ! the bay of a bloodhound ! Ha-a-a ! Those villanoui man-hunters of Batabano i I knew old Jessuron had them in his pay. Here, my poor fellow, iii ncre !" and the hunter half-led, half-dragged the fugitive over the carcass of the wild boar, placing him between the but- tresses of the cebia. " Stand close in to the angle," he continued. "Leave me to guard the front. Here's your gun : I see it is Imded. I hope you know how to use it ? Don't fire till you're sure of hitting : we'll need both blade and shot to save ourselves from these Spanish dogs, who will make no distinction between you and mo Not they Cravibo I there they come I" The words had scarce issued from the speaker's lips, when two larg^ dogs broke, with a swishing noise, out of tho bushes on the opposite de of the glad* evidently running on the trail of the fugitive. The crimson colour of their uju/.z!^.? showed that they had been belied A COMBAT DECLINED. 99 with blood which, darkening as it dried, rendered more conspicuous tbe white fang-like teeth within their jaws. They were half hound, half mastiff ; but ran as true-bred hounds on a fresh trail. No trail could have been fresher than that of the flogged fugitive ; and, in a few seconds after entering the glade, the hounds were up to the ceiba, in front of the triangular chamber in which stood the runaway and his protector. These dogs have no instinct of self-preservation only an instinct to discover and destroy. Without stopping to bark or bay without even slackening their pace both dashed onward, bounding into the air as they launched themselves upon the supposed objects of their pursuit. The first only impaled himself upon the outstretched machete of the yellow hunter ; and as the animal came down to the earth, it was to ut- ter the last howl of his existence. The other, springing towards the naked fugitive, received the contents of the fowling-piece ; and, although the gun was loaded only with small bird-shot, at such close quarters it proved equal to a bullet ; and the second dog sank lifeless by the side of his comrade. CHAPTER XXXII. A COMBAT DECLINED. THE spectator in the tree began to fancy that he was dreaming. Within the short space of twenty minutes he had been the witness of a greater number of exciting events, than he might have seen, in his own country during the same number of years ! And yet he had not witnessed the finale of the drama. The gestures of the runaway, and the speeches of nis captor, had already warned him that there was another act to come ; and, from the attitudes of both, it was evident that that act would be performed on the same stage, without any change of scene. As yet the young Englishman saw no particular reason why he should cease to be a spectator, and become an actor, in this West Indian drama. That the yellow hunter should kill a wild boar, capture a runaway slave, and afterwards shield both his captive and himself from a brace of blood- hounds, by killing the fierce brutes, was no affair of his. The only thing that concerned him was the unceremonious use that had been made of his fowling-piece ; but it is scarce necessary to say, that the young Englishman, had he been asked, would have freely lent the piece for such purpose. Nothing, however, had yet transpired to tempt him from a strict neu- trality ; and, until something should, he determined to preserve the pas- sive attitude he had hitherto held. Scarce had he come to this determination, when the new actors ap- peared upon the scer.e. They were evidently expected both l>y the fugitive and his protector, both of whom, after the defeat of the dogs stood looking towards the thicket w^err^, the animals had issued. Of the new comers there were three, One, the foremost, aud appar- JOO * COMBAT DECLINED. ently the leader, was a tall, black-bearded man in a red plush waistcoat, and high-topped horseskin boots. The other two were lean, lithe-looking fellows in striped shirts and trowsers, each wearing a broad-brimmed palm-leaf hat that shadowed a sharp Spanish physiognomy. The bearded man was armed with gun and pistols. The others ap poared to be without firearms of any kind ; but each carried in his hand a long rapier-like blade, the sheath of which hung dangling from his hip. It was the machett the same kind of weapon as that which the yellow hunter had but the moment before so skilfully wielded. On perceiving the tableau under the tree, the three new comers halted and with no slight surprise depicted in their looks. The men of Span- ish face appeared more especially astonished indignation mingling with their surprise when they beheld in that grouping of figures the bodies of their own blood-hounds stretched dead upon the sward 1 The bearded man, who, as we have said, appeared to be the leade^ was the first to give speech to the sentiment that animated all three. " What game's this ?" he cried, his face turning purple with rage. "Who are you that has dared to interfere with our pursuit?" " Carajo ! who's killed our dogs ?" vociferated one of the Spaniards. " Demonios ! you'll pay for this with your lives !" cried the other, rais- ing his machete in menace. " And what if I have killed your dogs ?" rejoined the yellow hunter, with an air of sang froid, which won the silent applause of the spectatoi What if I have ? If I had not killed them, they would have killed me* " No," said one of the Spaniards ; " they would not have touched you. Carramba I they were too well trained for that they were after him. Why did you put yourself in the way to protect kirn ? It's no business of yours." " There, my worthy friend, you are mistaken," replied he in the toque, with a significant sneer. " It is my business to protect him my interest too : since he is my captive." " Your captive !" exclaimed one of the men with a glance of concern. " Certainly, he is my captive ; and it was my interest not to let the dogs destroy him. Dead, I should have got only two pounds currency for his head. Living he is worth twice that, and mileage money to boot; though I'm sorry to see by the * J. J.' on his breast that the mileage money won't amount to much. Now what more have you to say, my good gentlemen ?" " Only this," cried the man with the black beard, " that we listen to no such nonsense as that there. Whoever you may be, I don't care. I sus- pect who you are ; but that don't hinder me from telling you, you've no business to meddle in this affair. This runaway slave belongs to Jacob Jessuron. I'm his overseer. He's been taken on Jessuron's own ground : for this is on it. You can't claim the captive, nor yet the bounty. So you'll have to give him up to us" " Carrambo, si !" vociferated both the Spaniards in a breath, at th same time that the three advanced towards the runaway the bearded overseer pistol in hand, and his two comrades with their machetes drawn, *nd ready to be used. pa, then !" cried &- ljunter, in a tauntmg tone as he spokt A COMBAT DEC&INED, , >, > 101 tiaking signs to the runaway, whose gun he had re-ioiJod, to stand to his defence. , ;\ "Come on! but, remember! the first thac layb haud upon him or me is a dead man. There are three of you, and we are but two one already half dead with your inhuman cruelty." " Three against two ! that's not a fair fight !" cried the young English man, dropping down from the tree, and ranging himself on the weaker ide. " Perhaps it'll be a better match now," added he, taking a pistol * from under the breast of his coat, and cocking it as he did so evidently with the intention of using it on the person of the overseer, should the latter attempt to proceed with the affray. This addition, to the number of the combatants, equally unexpected by both parties, in both created surprise. But, when it was seen on which bide the new comer had placed himself, other emotions took the place of surprise one party regarding him with looks of joyful gratitude, while the other viewed him with feelings of dire hostility. His advent having nearly equalised the strength of the adverse parties, as it had their numbers, produced, as is not unusual in such cases, a withdrawal from the battle the bearded overseer, and his two swarthy coadjutors, at once dropping down from their attitude of menace to one of parley. " And who are you, sir ?" demanded the first, with as much arrogance as he could throw into his manner. " Who, sir, may I inquire, is the white man who thus places himself in opposition to the laws of the island ? You know the penalty, sir ; and by my word, you shall pay it 1" " If I have committed a breach of the laws," replied Herbert, " I pre- sume I shall have to answer for it. But I have yet to learn what law I have broken ; and I don't choose that you shall be my judge." " You are aiding in the escape of a slave !" " That's not true," interruped the yellow hunter. "The slave is already captured ; he could not have escaped ; and this young gentleman, who is as much a stranger to me as to you, I am sure, had no intention of assist- ing him to escape." ' Bah !" exclaimed the overseer ; " we care not for your talk we deny your right to capture him ; and you had no business to interfere. We had already tracked him down with the dogs and should have had lim . without any help fro/n you. He is our prize, therefore ; and I again de * aiand of you to give him up." " Indeed I" sneeringly responded the yellow hunter. " I moke the demand," continued the other, without noticing the sneer, u in the name of Jacob Jessuron whose overseer I've told you I am." 44 Perhaps, were you Jacob Jessuron himself, I might resist it/' rejoined the hunter, coolly, and without any appearance of braggadrcio. " You refuse to surrender him, then ?" said the overseer, as if making bis final demand. " I do," was the firm reply. " Enough you shall repent this ; and you, sir," continued the deputy of Jessuron, turning a fierce look upon Herbert, " you shall answer before * magistrate for the part it has pleased you to play in this transaction. A pretty white man you for the island of Jamaica J A few more of yom 102 t&E MAEOOH8. tort, and we'd have a nice time, with our niggers. Don't fear, mist/or you'] ^so,e me ; agajin/ : ... , , " 1 havb'u'o particular- desire," rejoined Herbert ; " for certainly," con- tinued he, with a provoking jocularity, " an uglier looking face than yours I have never set eyes upon ; and it could be no pleasure to rue to look upon it again." " Confusion 1" cried the overseer. " You'll repent that insult before you're a month older curse me if you don't 1 ' And with the dreadful menace the ruffian tuined and walked sullenly way. " Cospita!" cried one of the Spaniards, as the two hastened to follow their leader. " My brave dogs 1 Ah, demonio ! you shall pay dearly for them. Two hundred pesos each not a cuartito less 1" ' Not a cuartito for either !" responded the yellow hunter, with a mock ing laugh. " Haven't I proved that they are not worth it ? With all your boasting of what your bloodhounds could do, look at them now, Vaya ! my fine fellows ! Go back to your own country, and hunt runaway negroes there. Here you must leave that game to those that know how to manage it the Maroons /" Herbert observed that the hunter, on pronouncing this last word, drew himself up with an air of majestic pride as he did so, glancing scornfully at the ' cacjadores.' An angry " Carrai.'" simultaneously hissed from the lips of both, was the only reply made by the two Spaniards ; who, at the same instant, turned their backs upon the ceiba, and followed their leader across the glade. In a few moments the three had entered the underwood , and became lost to the view of those who remained by the tree the young English- man, the yellow hunter, and the red runaway. CHAPTER XXXIII. THE MAROONS. As soon as they were gone, the hunter turned towards Herbert, hi yes sparkling with gratitude. , " Master 1" said he, making a low obeisance as he spoke, " after, triat.J Trords are but a poor way of offering thanks. If the brave white gentle- man, who has risked his life for a coloured outcast, will let me know his name, it will not be forgotten by Cubina, the Maroon." " Cubina, the Maroon 1" Struck by the oddness of the name and title as he had already been by the appearance and behaviour of him who bore them Herbert re- peated the phrase mechanically, rather than otherwise, " Yes, that is my name, master." The young Englishman, though not yet enlightened as to the odd JK pellation, was too well bred to press for an explanation. " Pardon me," said he, " for not directly replying to your request. I aa n Englishman ; my name Vaughan Herbert Vaughan.'' THE MAfcOONS. 103 u By that name, master, I take it you have relatives in the island. The awner of Mount Welcome estate " " Is my uncle." " Ah ! then, air, anything a poor Maroon hunter could do for you would iiot bo much. All the same, you have my thanks ; and if ; but, mas- ter," continued the speaker, suddenly changing hi tone, as if in ebeaienca to some instinct of curiosity, " may I make bold to ask why you are afoot BO early ? The sun is not yet ten minutes above the trees, and Mount "Welcome is three miles distant. You must have tracked it here in the dark no easy matter, through these tangled woods ?" " I passed the night here," replied the Englishman, smiling ; " that was my bed, where the boar is now sleeping." " Then the gun is yours, not his ?" The hunter nodded interrogatively towards the runaway, who standing some paces off, was regarding both the speakers with glances of grati- tude, riot, however, umningled with some signs of uneasiness. " Yes, it is my gun. I am very glad the piece was not empty : since it enabled him to destroy the fierce brute, that would otherwise have had him by the throat. Wretched as the poor fellow appears, he handled his weapon well. What is he, and what have they been doing to him ?" " Ah, Master Vaughan ! By those two questions, it is easy to tell you are a stranger to the island. I think I can answer both though I never saw the young man before. Poor wretch ! The answers are written out upon his skin, in letters that don't require much scholarship to read. Those upon his breast tell that he's a slave the slave of J. J. : Jacob Jea- suron. You'll excuse me from giving my opinion of him: since he's a magistrate of the parish, and a friend of your uncle the custos." " What have they done to you, my poor fellow ?" asked Herbert of the runaway his compassion hindering him from waiting for the more roundabout explanation of the Maroon. The blood-bedaubed creature, perceiving that the speech was ad- dressed to him, made a long rejoinder ; but in a tongue unknown both to the hunter and Herbert. The latter could distinguish two words that he had never heard before " Foolah " and " Allah " both of which occur- red repeatedly in the speech. " It's no use asking him, Master Vaughan. Like yourself, he's a stran- ger to the island ; though, as you see, they've already initiated him into some of its ways. Those brands upon his breast are nearly fresh aa one may tell by the inflamed skin around the letters. He's just landed from Africa, it appears. As for the marks upon his back those have teeen made by a plaything the white planters and their overseers in these parte are rather too fond of using the cartwhip 1 They've been flog- ging the poor devil, and, Crambo ! they've given it to him thick and sharp." As the Maroon made this remark, he raised the blood-stained shirt, ex- posing to view that back so terrible reticulated. The sight was sicken- ing. Herbert could not bear to gaze upon ii ; but averted hia eyes on the instant. I " Fresh from Africa, you say ? He has not negro features." 1 " As to his features that don't siguifv. There are many African 104 THE MAEOONS. who are not negro-featured. I can tell from this that fie is a Foolah. ] hear him use the word when he talks." Yoy Foolah I Foolah 1" cried the wretched young man, on hearing pronounced the name of his people ; and then he continued in a strain of the same tongue, accompanied by much gesticulation. " I wish I knew his language," said the hunter. " I know he's a Foolah. It is some reason why I should take an interest in him ; and maybe if only for that I might " The speaker paused, as if he had been talking to himself ; and then continued the soliloquy only in thought. After a pause he resumed peech. " Crambo I little would tempt me not to restore him to his master." 4 And must you ?" " I must. We Maroons are bound by a treaty to deliver up all run- aways we may take ; and if we fail to do so that is, when it is knowng but these villains of old Jessuron know I have him " " You will receive a bounty, you say ?" " Yes. They will try to deprive me of that ; but it isn't the bounty would tempt me in this case. There is something about this young fellow ' My word ! he is like her I ay, as if he were her brother 1" The last speech was involuntary, and delivered as if in soliloquy. " Like her ! Like whom ?" demanded Herbert, with a puzzled look. " Your pardon," replied the hunter. " I was struck with a resemblance between this poor fellow and one whom I know : but, Master Vaughan," he continued, as if wishing to change the subject, " you have not said how you came to be all night in the woods ? You were hunt- ing yesterday, and lost your way ?" ' True, I lost my way ; but not exactly while hunting." " Perhaps that is all the sort of breakfast you have had ?" and the Maroon pointed to some pieces of the cabbage that still lay on the turf. " I have both supped and breakfasted upon the palm. I had climbed the tree for water, when the boar came up to break his fast upon what remained of it." The Maroon smiled at this explanation of some circumstances by which even he had been mystified. " Well," said he, " if you are not anxious to return at once to Mount Welcome, and will give me five minutes' time, I think I can provide you something better than raw cabbage." "I am not particularly in a hurry about getting back to Mo ant Welcome. Perhaps 1 may never go back!" These words, combined with the manner of the young Englishman a* he uttered them, did not escape the notice of the intelligent Maroon. " Something strange in this young man's history," said he to himself, though he had the delicacy not to demand an explanation of the ambig- uous speech just made. " Well, it's not my afiair, I suppose I" Then, addressing himself to Herbert, he said aloud " Do you agree, Master Vaughan, to eat a forest breakfast of my provid- ing?" " Indeed, with pleasure," answered Herbert. ^ " Then I must ring for my servants." A tfOKEStf BBEARFA8T. AJ he said this, the hunter raised the curved horn that was suspended undw his left arm ; and, placing the small enl to his lips, blew a long, tremulous blast. It had scarce ceased reverberating through the woods, when similar calls to the number of a dozen or more were heard ringing in reply 1 So like were they to that given by the yellow hunter, and to one another that for a moment Herbert believed them to be echoes ! J ; That should procure us company, and something to eat, master," said the Maroon, allowing the horn to drop back to its place. " Hark !" he continued, the instant after, " there are some of my fel- lows ! I thought they could not be far off. You see these vultures would not have had it all their own way, since my hawks were so near? Not the less am I beholden to you, Master Vaughan. I did not think it worth while to call my people. I knew these three poltroons would not venture beyond a little swaggering talk. See ! they come !" " Who ?" " The Maroons J" Herbert heard a rustling among the bushes on the opposite side of the glade ; and, in another instant, about a dozen armed men emerged the underwood, and advanced rapidly towards the ceiba. CHAPTER XXXIV. A. FOREST BREAKFAST. Tm. young Englishman gazed upon the advancing troop with keen curios- ity. There were about a dozen of them, all black men, or nearly all only one or two of them showing any admixture of colour. There was not a dwarfish or deformed figure in the party. On the contrary, every man of them possessed a tall stalwart form, strong muscular limbs, a skin shining with health, and eyes sparkling with a vigorous brilliance that betokened an innate sense of freedom and independence. Their erect, upright carriage, and free, forward step, confirmed the be- lief, which Herbert had already formed, that these black men were not bondsmen. There was nothing of the slave either in their looks or gestures. But for the colour of their skins, he would never have thought of as- sociating such men with the idea of slavery. Armed as they were with long knives and guns, some of them with stout spears, they could not be slaves. Besides, their equipments told that they were hunters and warriors, if need be. All of them had horns, with pouches suspended over their shoulders ; and each was provided with a netted calabash for water, like that of the yellow hunter, already described. A few carried an equipment altogether different, consisting of a small Cnier of withe-work, or palm-fibre neatly woven. It rested upon the k, where it was held in place by a band of the same palm sinuet, crossing the breast, and another brought over the forehead, which sus- tained a portion of the weight. This pannier was the " cutacoo " tha depository of the " commissariat," or such other articles as were requir ed in their *dld forest rambles 106 - With regard to their costume, that was " bizarre," though not unpifr turesque. No two were dressed alike, though there was a certain idiosyncrasy in their attire, which proclaimed them all of one following The *' toqued " " bandanna " was the most common head-dress a fe^ having palm-leaf hats. Only some of them had a shirt with sleeves others wanted a complete pair of trousers ; and one or two were nakea from the waist upward, and from the thighs downwards the white cot- ton loin-cloth being the unique and only garment! All of them had their feet and ankles covered : as the stony and thorny paths they were ac- customed to tread rendered necessary. The " chaussure " was the same in all ; and appeared to be a tight-fitting jack-boot, of some species of raw hide, without seam or stitching of any kind ! The reddish bristles standing thickly over its surface, proclaimed the character of the material It was the skin of the wild hog : the hind leg of a boar, drawn upon the foot while fresh and warm, as it dries tightening over the instep and ankle like an elastic stocking. A little trimming with the knife is all that is necessary for this ready-made moccassin ; and once on, it is never taken off till the wearing of the sole renders necessary a refit. Drawing on his boots, therefore, is no part of the diurnal duties of a Jamaica hog- hunter. I have said that Herbert Yaughan regarded the new comers with a feeling of curiosity as well as surprise. It was no wonder he did so The mode in which they had been summoned into his presence, their echoing answers to the horn signal, and their prompt, almost instantaneous appearance, formed a series of incidents that more resembled what might have been witnessed upon the stage of a theatre than in real life ; and had the yellow hunter been a white man, and he and his followers clad in Lincoln green, the young Englishman might have fancied himself in Sher- wood Forest, with bold Robin- " redivivus," and his merry men gathering around him ! What could these men be ? So interrogated himself Herbert Vaughan. Brigands with black skins ? The arms and accoutrements gave some colour to the supposition that it was a band of sable robbers. " Mar roons," the yellow hunter had called them ; and he had used the same title in speaking of himself. Herbert had often heard the word ; had met with it in books and news- papers ; but was not acquainted with its true signification. Maroon ? runaway negro, as generally understood ; but the men before him di d not correspond to that definition. Though negroes, they had not the appear- ance of being runaways. On the contrary, the yellow hunter had just made a declaration that forbade this belief. They could not be run This white gentleman has not eaten breakfast," said Cubina, as the> came up. " Well, Quaco ! what have the men got in their cutacoos ?" The individual thus appealed to was a jet black negro of large dimen- sions, with a grave yet quizzical cast of countenance. He appeared to be a sort of lieutenant : perhaps the " Little John" of the party. " Well, worthy captain," answered he, saluting the yellow hunter with a somewhat awkward grace ; " I believe there's enough, one thing with another that be, if the gentleman has gt>t a good appetite, and 's not to? nice about what ho eats." A FOREST BREAKFAST. "What is there? Let me see!" interrupted Cubina, as he proceeded to inspect the panniers. " A ham of wild hog barbecued," continued he, turning out the contents of a cutacoo. " Well, that to begin with you white gentry are rather partial to our barbecued hog ! What else 1 a brace of soldier crabs. So far, good ; ah ! better still, a pair of ramier pigeons, and a wild guinea fowl. Who carries the coffee and sugar ?" " Here, captain," cried another of the cutacoo men, throwing his pan nier to the ground, and drawing out several bags which contained the no cessary materials for coffee-making. " A fire, and be quick 1" commanded Cubina, evidently the captain of this black band. At the word given a tinder was struck, dry leaves and branches quick- ly collected, and a sparkling, crackling fire soon blazed upon the ground. Over this was erected a crane resting horizontally on two forked sticks which soon carried a brace of iron pots suspended in the blaze. With so many cooks, the process of preparing the meat for the pots was very short and quick. The pigeons and guinea fowl were singed as fast as feathers would burn ; and then being " drawn and quartered," were flung in torn fragments into the largest of the pots. The soldier crabs shared the same fate ; and some pieces of the wild hog ham. A handful of salt was added, water, a few slices of plantain, eddoes, calalue, and red capsicum all of which ingredients were supplied from the cutacoos. A strong fire of dried sticks soon brought the pot to a furious boil ; and the lieutenant Quaco who appeared also to act as chef de cuisine after repeatedly testing the contents, at length declared that the pepper-pot was ready for serving up. Dishes, bowls, cups, and platters made their appearance all being shells of the calabash, of different shapes ; and as soon as Herbert and the captain were helped to the choicest portions of the savoury stew, the re. maincler was distributed among the men : who, seating themselves in groups over the ground, proceeded to discuss the well-known viand with an avidity that showed it was also their breakfast. The pepper-pot was not the sole dish of the dejeuner. Pork steaks', cut from the carcass of the freshly-slain boar, were added ; while plantains and " cocoa-fingers," roasted in the ashes, contributed a substitute for bread not to be despisingly spoken of. The second pot boiling over the fire contained the coffee ; which, quaffed from the calabashes, tasted as fine as if sipped out of cupg of the purest Sevres porcelain. In this " al-fresco" feast the poor captive was not forgotten, but waj| supplied among the rest the colossal Quaco administering to his wants with an air of quizzical compassion. A 0t CAPTAIN CTJBINA. CHAPTER XXXV. CAPTAHT OUBIXA. , BMEAJCFAST over the Maroons gathered up their traps, and prepared fcc depart from the spot. Already the wild boar had been butchered, cut up into portable ftitchet and packed away in the cutacoos. The wales upon the back of the runaway had been anointed by the hand ot Quaco with some balsamic cerate ; and by gestures the unfortu- nate youth was made to understand that he was to accompany the party Instead of objecting to this, his eyes sparkled with a vivid joy. From the courtesy he had already received at their hands, he could not augur evil. Whatever might be their intention, their chief had delivered him for the time ; and from enemies, whose fiend-like treatment of him was indelibly stamped upon his person. He knew that he could not well fall into more unfeeling hands, than those from which he had escaped. Sat- isfied on this score, he regarded his new acquaintances in the light of deliverers. Had he known their true character and calling, it might have hindered him from falling into that happy illusion. The Maroons, out of respect to their chief whom they appeared to treat witl submissive deference had moved some distance away, leav- ing Captain Cubina alone with his English guest. The latter, with hia gun shouldered, stood ready to depart. " You are a stranger in the island V said the Maroon, half interroga- tively. "I fancy you have not been living along with your uncle T" " No;" answered Herbert. " I never saw my uncle before yesterday afternoon." " Crambo !" exclaimed the hunter captain in some surprise ; " you have just arrived, then ? In that case, Master Vaughan and that is why I have made bold to ask you you will scarce be able to find your way back to Mount Welcome. One of my people will go with you f " " No, thank you. I think I can manage it alone." Herbert hesitated to say that he was not going to Mount Welcome. " It is a crooked path," urged the Maroon ; " though straight enough fco one who knows it You need not take the guide to the great house with you ; though Mr. Vaughan, I believe, does not object to our people going on his ground, as some other planters do. You can leave the man when you get within sight of the place. Without a guide, I fear yon will not find the path." " In truth, Captain Cubina," said Herbert, no longer caring what idea his words might communicate to his Maroon acquaintance, " I don't wislj to find the path you speak of. I'm not going that way." " Not to Mount Welcome ?" " No." The Maroon remained for a moment silent, wnile a puzzled expression played over his features. " Only arrived late yesterday out all night in the woods not going back ! Something strange in all this." Such were the quick reflections that passed through his mind. He had already noticed an air of distraction of dejection, too in thf OAPTAIN OUBINA. 109 countenance of the stranger. What could it mean? The gay ribbon knotted in the button-hole of his coat what could that mean ? Captain Cubina was of the age, and perhaps just then in the very tem- per, to observe all matters that appeared indications of a certain soft sentiment; and both the blue ribbon and the thoughtful attitude were of that signification. The Maroon captain knew something of the white denizens of Mount Welcome more, perhaps, of those with a coloured skin. Could the odd behaviour of the young Englishman be attributed to some family difficulty that might have arisen there ? The Maroon mentally answered this interrogatory for himself, with the reflection that something of the kind had occurred. Perhaps Captain Cubina was not merely guessing ? Perhaps he had already listened to some whisper of plantation gossip : for electricity it- self can scarce travel faster than news in the negro quarter! If the hun- ter captain had any suspicions as to the real position ef his woodland guest, he was polite enough not to express them. On the contrary, he waived the opportunity given him by Herbert's ambiguous rejoinder, and simply said " If you are going elsewhere, you will need a guide all the same. This glade is- surrounded by a wild stretch of tangled woods. There is no good path leading anywhere." *' You are very kind," answered Herbert, touched by the delicate so- licitude of this man with a coloured skin. " I wish to reach Montego Bay ; and if one of your men would set me on the main road, I should certainly feel under great obligations. As to rewarding him for his trouble, beyond thanking him, I am sorry to say that circumstances just now have placed it out of my power." " Master Vaughan !" said the Maroon, smiling courteously as he spoke, " were you not a stranger io us and to our customs, I should feel offend- ed. You speak, as if you expected me to present you with a bill for your breakfast. You seem to forget, that, scarce an hour ago you threw yourself before the muzzle of a pistol to protect the life of a Maroon a poor outcast mulatto of the mountains ? And now but I forgive you. You know me not " " Pardon me, Captain Cubina ; I assure you " "Say no more ! I know your English heart, sir still uncorruj tod by vile prejudices of caste and colour. Long may it remain so ; and whether Captain Cubina may ever see you again, remember ! that up f jonder in the blue mountains" the Maroon pointed as he spoke to the | purple outline of a mountain ridge, just visible over the tops of the trees " up yonder dwells a man a coloured man, it is true, but one whose heart beats with gratitude perhaps as truly as that of the whitest ; aiid should you ever feel the fancy to honour that man with a visit, under his humble roof you will find both a friend and a welcome." " Thanks I" cried the young Englishman, stirred to enthusiasm by th free friendship of the Maroon. "I may some day avail myself of your hospitable offer. Farewell !" " Farewell 1" responded the mulatto, eagerly grasping the hand which Herbert had held out to him. " Quaco !" he cried, calling to his lieuten- ant, " conduct this gentleman to the main road that leads to ttc Bay. Farewell, Master Yaughan, and may fortune favour youl" 110 QTJACO THE GUIDE. It was not without regret that Herbert parted with this now friend ; and long time was he following upon the heels of Quaco, before ne ceas- ed to reflect on the circumstances that had led to his making BO singular %n acquaintance. CHAPTER XXXVL ^ QUACO THE GUIDE. QDACO being one of the taciturn sort, made no attempt to interrupt Her- bert's meditations until the two had walked together for more than a mile. Then, however, some matter upon his mind brought the negro to a halt, and the commencement of a conversation. " Two tracks from here, buckra. We can follow either ; but die to the right am the shortest the best road, too." " Why not take it, then ?" " a, master ; there may be reasons." " What ! for avoiding it ?" " Ya a !" replied Quaco, in a thoughtful, drawling tone. " What reasons, friend ?" " Don't you see the roof of a house just over the tops of them paw- paws ?" "Yeswhat of that?" " That's the baracoon." "Thebaracoon?" " Ya the house of Jew Jessuron." " And what if it be T" ' Ah, buckra, what if it be ? If we take the path to the right we must pass the Jew's house, and some of his people sure see us. That John Crow's a justice of the peace, and we may get in trouble." " Oh 1 about the affair of the runaway, you mean ? Your captain said he belonged to a Mr. Jessuron." " As much 'bout the dogs, as the man. Captain had a right to clairr the runaway as his catch ; but these Spanish cusses '11 make a muss Too at the dogs. They '11 say our captain killed them out o' spite that they '11 swa to ; since it's well known we mountainee men don't like such inter- lopers here, meddlin' with our business." " But neither you nor I killed the dogs ?" " Ah, bucrka, all the same you helped your gun helped kill the dog. Besides you hindered the John Crows from pecking the hawk." ' For what I have done I am not afraid to answer before a justice, be it this Mr. Jessuron, or any other," said the young Englisliman ; conscious of having acted rightly in the part he had taken in the quarrel. " Not much justice to be expected from Justice Jessuron, master. My advice be to keep out of the hands v f justice as long 's can ; and that we can only do by taking the roadHo the left." " Will it be much out of our way ?" asked Herbert ; not caring tc greatly inconvenience himself foj Mk 3 reasons set forth by his compap ion. QUACO THE GUIDE. Ill a Nothing to signify," answered Quaco, though not speaking very truth* fully : for the path he intended to take was really much longer than the one leading by Jessuron's house. " In that case," assented Herbert, " take which way you please." Without further parley, Quaco strode forward on the path branching to ihe left as before, silently followed by him whom he was guiding. Trio track they had taken ran entirely through woods in some places very difficult to traverse on account of the thorny thickets as well as the onevenness of the ground, which caused the path to be constantly iscending, or trending rapidly downward. At length, however, they ar- rived at the summit of a high ridge, and were moving onwards amidst groves of pimento, more open than the forest from which they had emerged. From the top of the ridge, Herbert saw a large house shining against the verdant back-ground of the landscape, which he at once recognised as the Mansion of Mount Welcome. They were not going towards the house, but in a diagonal direction, which would bring them out on the avenue near the entrance gate. Herbert called out to his guide to make halt. The young man did not like the idea of entering upon the avenue, lest he might encounter some of his uncle's people a circumstance which he should not wish to have reported at the great house. He therefore requested Quaco to conduct him by some way lying more to the right so that he might reach the main road without being seen from Mount Welcome. The guide yielded compliance, though not without a little grumbling reluctance as he turned off, muttering some words about giving "as wide a berth as possible to the baracoon." He obliqued, however, into a new direction ; and after another tra versa through the woods, Herbert had the satisfaction of finding himself on the main road leading to Montego Bay. He would not have known it but for the guide, as he had. only travelled this road as far as the gate of Mount Welcome ; and the point at which he had now reached it was a half-mile further on. Bettor for him if he had left Quaco to his own judgment, and permitted himself to be conducted by the path which the guide had originally intended to take. By doing so, he would havo reached the road at a point nearer the town, and in all probability have avoided an encounter of a most disagreeable kind. On the main road he had no farther need of a guide, and Quaco was just on the point of taking leave of him, when at that moment a party of horsemen suddenly made its appearance round a bend in the road. There were six or seven in all ; and they were riding forward at a rapid pace, as if bent upon some serious business. At the first sight of these stran- gers, Quaco shot like an arrow into the underwood calling upon the buckra to follow his example. Herbert, however, disdaining to hide himself, remained standing in the middle of the road. Seeing his deter- mination, Quaco returned to his side as he did so, clamorously protest- ing at the imprudence of his ' protege.' " Don't like their looks," muttered the Maroon, as he glanced appre- hensively towards the horsemen, " It might be by the Great Accom- pong it is ! that harpy Havener, the overseer of Jessurou. Now, buckra, we'y JJJ for it ! No use try in' to escape 'em now/' 112 A JAMAICA JUSTICE. As Qnaco finished speaking Hie horsemen rode forward on the grouftd one and all halting as they came to the spot where the pedestrian! Were standing. "Here's our fellow," cried the bearded man at their head, whom Her- bert easily identified. "Just dropped upon him like a duck upon a June bug. Now, Mr. Tharpey, do your duty ! We'll hear what this young gentleman's got to say before the justice." " I arrest you, sir," said the person appealed to as Mr. Tharpey. " I am head constable of the parish I arrest you in the name of the law." " On what charge ?" demanded Herbert, indignantly. i "Mr. Havener here will bring the charge. I've got nothing to do with I that part of it. You must come before the nearest justice. I reckon the nighest justice from here is the custos Vaughan ?" This half interrogatory of the constable was addressed not to Her- bert, but to his own followers. Though it was spoken rather in an undertone, the young man heard it with sufficient distinctness, and with very little complacency. To be carried back into the presence of his uncle whom he had so lately defied and in the character of a felon ; to be brought, under such humiliating circumstances, before the eyes of his fair cousin before the eye-glass of his late fellow-passenger was a prospect that could not fail but be unpleasant. It was a sort of relief then when Havener who appeared to use some guiding in- fluence upon the constable, and his posse comitatus overruled the sug- gestion that Mr. Vaughan was the nearest magistrate, and claimed the honour for Jacob Jessuron, Esq., of the Happy Valley. After some discussion between the parties upon this moot legal point, the overseer's opinion was adopted ; and it was determined thai the case should be carried before Justice Jessuron. Both Herbert and Quaoo were then formally arrested in the name of the king, and march- ed off in custody not without some very vociferous protestations on the part of the latter, with a long string of threats that he would some day make both constable and overseer pay for this outrage upon the person of a Maroon, CHAPTER XXXVII. A JAMAICA JUSTICK. JISSURON, ESQUIRE, held court in the verandah of his dingy dwelling-house, where we have already seen him assisting at a different spectacle. He was n<1w seated, with a small table before him, covered with a piece of green baize, and carrying a gold snuff-box, an inkstand, pens, and some sheets of paper. A book or two lay upon the table, one of which, by the lettering upon its cover, proclaimed its title and character The Jamaica Justice. It was bound in black leather a colour sufficiently emblematic of the chief subject on which it treated : for more than four-fifths of the laws and regulations it contained related to creatures with black skins. The justice was in full costume, as the occasion required that is, he jroie his beat blue body coat with gilt buttons, hie clraD smallclothes, an4 . A JAMAICA JUSTICE. 113 top-boots. The white beaver had been laid aside ; as the sanctity of jus- tice requires even the judge's head to be uncovered. With Judge Jea suron, however, the uncovering extended only as far as the hat. The white cotton skullcap still remained upon his cranium : justice in Jamaica not being so rigorous as to exact its removal. With the spectacles well set upon his nose, and his thin face screwed into an expression of pom* pous importance, Squire Jessuron sat behind the baize-covered table that constituted the bench. He was sole justice present ; but, of course, it was merely a " preliml- j nary inquiry before a magistrate." To have tried a white criminal on the j serious charge brought against Herbert Vaughan, would have required a fuller bench at least three magistrates, and one of them a custos. Jessuron's power could go no farther than to commit the presumed criminal to prison, until a more formal process should be organised Against him. Herbert had been brought up in front of the table- his captor, the constable ; and one or two of the posse standing behind him. On the right side appeared Havener, backed by the two Spanish cacadores ; the lask-mentioned worthies no longer as had formerly been their constant custom attended by their canine companions. Quaco had been left in the yard below unguarded since there was, in reality, no charge against him. There was one other witness to this magisterial trial the daughter of the justice himself. Yes, the fair Judith was present as on all important occasions ; but this time not conspicuously so. On the con- trary, she was seated in a window that opened on the verandah, her beautiful face half concealed behind the netted fringe-work of the cur- tains. The position enabled her to observe what was passing without formally exposing her own person to view. Her face was not altogether hidden ; and her white shining forehead and dark lustrous eyes, gleaming through the gauzy muslin that veiled them, only appeared more piquantiy attractive. It was evident, from her actions, that the gentle Judith had no intention of remaining unseen. There were several rather good-look- ing young men in the party that accompanied the constable dashing fel- lows he had picked up by the way and who desired nothing better than a lark of this kind. From the moment that these had entered the court- yard, the fair mistress of the mansion had been almost constantly at the window. It was only, however, after the people had got grouped in the gallery, that she took her seat behind the curtain and entered upon a more minute inspection of their faces and persons. She was not long engaged in thii game, when a change might have been observed passing over her counte- nance. At first her eyes had wandered from face to face with rather a sneering, cynical expression such as the Jewess well knew how to put on. All at once, however, her gaze became fixed, and the contemptuous smile gradually gave place to a look of more serious regard. By follow- ing the direction of her eyes the object of this regard could easily be discovered. It was the " prisoner at tho bar 1" What was the meaning of that gaze ? Sympathy for the accused ? She knew why the young man was there. Havener had already in|&r- 9ed her father of all that had transpired, and .he daughter had heard th 114 A JAMAICA JUSTICE. tale. Was it a generous pity for the position in which this unknown youth was placed, that was now stirring within the breast of the fair Judith, and had produced that sudden change in the expression of her countenance ? Hers was hardly the soul for such a sentiment. Certainly, however, was she actuated by some motive different from the common : as the trial progressed she no longer looked stealthily from be- hind the curtain ; but having drawn it to one side, she directed her full glance on the stranger, and kept her eyes fixed upon him, apparently re gardless of any observation which her conduct might call forth. Her father, whose back was towards her, saw nothing of this ; though it waa not unnoticed by the others- -Ravener, in particular, appearing to suifei annoyance at the act. The young Englishman though little disposed at that moment to the contemplation of aught beyond his own unpleasant position could not help observing the beautiful face directly opposite to where he stood ; nor did he fail to notice the peculiar glance with which he was being re- garded. Was the old man, oefore whom he stood on trial, the father of that fair creature at the window ? Such was his interrogative reflection as he glanced inquiringly from the one to the other. If so, the frowns of the father were in striking contrast with the soft, sympathetic looks directed upon him by the daughter ! Herbert could not hinder himself from making the observation. Some time had been occupied by the overseer in telling his story to substantiate the charge he had made. That done, the prisoner was put upon his defence. " Young man !" said the justice, " you have heard what thish witness alleges against you. What hash you to say in your defence ? and first telJ ush what's your name ?" " Herbert Vaughan." Jessuron re-adjusted his spectacles, and looked at the prisoner with Borne show of surprise. The by-standers stolid constable and all Rcemed a little startled. Quaco, whose colossal form rose above the rail- ings in the background, uttered a grunt of satisfaction on hearing the young man's name which he had not known before a name all-powyrful in the district, being that of the mighty custos himself! There was one upon whom the words appeared to produce an impres* sion different from that of mere surprise. A glance of anger shot from the dark eyes of the Jewess as she heard it pronounced, and the look of sympathy for the moment disappeared. Evidently, to her the name waa distasteful " Herbert Yochan ?" repeated the justice. " Might you be any kinsh man of Mishter Vochan of Mount Welcome ?" " His nephew," was the laconic reply. " Ah I hish nephew ! Blesh my soul ! is that true ?" This announcement, as testified by his speech, produced a sudden com- motion in the mind of the Jew-justice. From some little that was known of his secret hostility towards his neighbour of Mount Welcome Rave- ner knew more than a little it might have been expected that the dis- covery of the relationship of the prisoner would have put him in high glee. To be sitting in judgment upon the near kinsman of the custoB A JAMAICA JUSTICE. of a serious crime, too was a proud position for Jacob Jessuron, \vhc could remember many a slight he had received from the haughty lord of Mount Welcome. What a splendid revanche ! Certainly the manner of the justice, on learning who was before him, eemed to indicate that such were his reflections. He rubbed his skinny hands together ; helped himself from his gold snuff-box ; gleefully smiled from behind his glasses, which were once more shifted upon the sharp ridge of his nose ; and then, bending his face forward over the table, he remained for some moments smiling, but silent and thoughtful, as if con- sidering how he should proceed. After a time he raised his eyes and freshly scrutinised the prisoner who had already returned an affirmative answer to his last query. " Blesh my soul ! I never knew that Mishter Vochan had a nephew I You are from England, young mansh ? Hash your uncle any more Eng- lish nephews ?" " Not that I ain aware of," replied Herbert, frankly. " I believe I am his only relative of that kind in England, at least." The proviso in this reply betrayed a significant fact : that the young man was not very well acquainted with the family affairs of his colonial kinsman. The astute justice did not fail to note this deficiency in the nephew's knowledge. " How long hash you been in Shamaica ?" asked he, as if endeavouring to arrive at an explanation of some point that was puzzling him. " A night, and part of two days in all, about sixteen hours," replied Herbert, with scrupulous exactness. " Blesh my soul 1" again exclaimed the justice ; " only sixteen hours I It'sh a wonder you're not at your uncle's house ? You has been there ?" " Oh, yes," answered Herbert, carelessly. " You come to shtay at Mount Welcome, I supposh ?" Herbert made no reply to this interrogatory. " You shleep there last night ? Excush me, young man, for aahking the question, but as a magistrate " " You are perfectly welcome to the answer, your worship" said Herbert, laying a satirical emphasis on the titular phrase ; " I did not sleep there last night." " Where did you shleep ?" " IB the woods," answered Herbert. " Moshesh !" exclaimed the Jew-justice, raising hia spectacles in sur prise. " In the woods, you shay ?" " In the woods," re-affirmed the young man ; "under a tree ; and a rery good bed I found it," he added, jocosely. " And did your uncle know of thish ?" " I suppose my uncle knew nothing about it, and as little did he care," replied Herbert, with a reckless indifference as to what answer he gave. The bitter emphasis on the last words, with the tone in which they were delivered, did not escape the acute observation of Jessuron. A suspicion had arisen in his mind, that there was something amiss in the relationship between the young man and his uncle ; to the comprehen- sion of which the answer of the former, aided by a knowledge of the character and affairs of the latter, was gradually giving him a clue. A ecret joy sparkled in his sunken eyes as he M*tonod to the last answer A JAMAICA JTJ8TIOB. given. All at once he discontinued the direct examination cf the pri oner ; and, signing to Ravener and the constable to come nearer, ho be- came engaged with these two worthies in a whispering conversation. What passed between the trio the young Englishman could not tell, noi indeed any one else who chanced to be present. The result, however, was to Herbert as pleasant as unexpected. When Jessuron again re- turned to address him, a complete change appeared to have taken place in his manner ; and instead of the frowning iustice, Herbert now saw be- 1 fore him a man who appeared more in the character of a friendly pro too- tor bland, smiling, almost obsequious 1 " Mr. Vochan,'' said he, rising from his magisterial seat and extending his hand to the prisoner, " you will excush the rough treatment you hash had from theesh people. It ish a great crime in thish country helping a runaway shlave to eshcape ; but as you hash joosh landed, and cannot be ekshpected to know our shtatutes, the law deals mershifully with a firsht offence. Besides, in thish instance, the runaway who ish one of my own shlaves did not eshcape. He ish in the hands of the Maroons, and will soon be brought in. The punishment I inflict upon you and I shall tnshist upon its being carried out ish, that you eats your dinner with me, and I think that ish punishment enough. Mishter Ravener ," added he, calling to his overseer, and at the same time pointing to Quaco, " take that good fellow and see that he ish carred for. Now, Mr. Vochan! pleash to step into the housh, and allow me to introshuce you to my daughter Shoodith." It would have been contrary to all human nature had Herbert Vaughan not felt gratified at the pleasant turn which this disagreeable affair had taken ; and perhaps this gratification was enchanced at the prospect of the proposed introduction. Indeed, no man, however cold his nature, could have looked upon those lovely eyes so long watching him from the window without wishing a nearer acquaintance with their owner. The angry glance had been evanescent. It was gone long before the conclusion of the trial scene ; and as the young Englishman in obedience to the invitation of his ci-devant judge stepped across the verandah, the fair face, retreating from the window, seemed suffused with the sweet- est and most sympathetic of smiles. AS trNEXl'ECTEl) FATfcOtf. 117 CHAPTER XXXVIIL AH UNEXPECTED F A T R H . THUS had the chapter of accidents that conducted Herbert Vaughtn to the penn of Jacob Jessuron come to a very unexpected ending. But the end was not yet. There was more to come much more. We have seen how the prisoner became the guest of his judge being sen- tenced by the latter to dine with him, Nor did the former find the pen- alty a severe one, as his host had incidently hinted it might be. On the contrary, the young Englishman found himself seated before a table far better provided than anything to which he had been accustomed at home and riot much inferior to that which he might have seen spread at Mount Welcome had it been his good fortune to dine there. Nor was a fine dinner a rarity on the table of Jacob Jessuron. Grasp- ing and avaricious as was this West Indian Israelite, and somewhat neg- lectful of external appearance as indicated by his rather shabby dress he was, nevertheless, addicted to luxurious living ; and, though with less parade, as fond of good eating and drinking as the owner of Meunt Welcome. Not that in his mcnaga he eschewed ornament altogether. His estab- lishment was genteel, his domestics numerous and well equipped of late years more than formerly : on account of the advance which he had made both in wealth and social position. Herbert, therefore, dinned well ; and was, of course, no little gratified by the unexpected hospitality shown him by the Jew-justice the more BO when he contrasted it with the niggardly behaviour of his own uncle. <, He took it for granted that it was to his uncle's name he was indebted J for the honours that were being done to him a mere neighbourly feel- ing of the penn-keeper for the great sugar-planter. " They are friends," thought Herbert, " and this kindness to me is the offspring of that friendship." The reflection did not give him pleasure, but the contrary. He felt himself in an awkward position the recipient of a hospitality not meant for himself, but for one who had injured him; and who although his own relative, he now regarded as his enemy. Had the reflection occured to him sooner, he would have declined the in vita tion to dine even at the risk of giving offence. But the thing had come upon him so unexpectedly, that he had not thought of the peculiar posi- tion in which he was placing himself with regard to his uncle. He thought of it now, and uneasily. His uncle would hear of it no doubt, AN UNEXPECTED PATROW. soon and would be able to accuse him of taking advantage of his lame. The thought caused Herbert a very unpleasant feeling. Perhaps he would have cared less had there been no one but his uncle to be cogniz- ant of the false position. But there was. His short and troubled visit to Mount Welcome had made Herbert Vaughan acquainted with one whose remembrance was likely fer a long time to oxert an influence over his thoughts, even though lips as red, and eyes, perhaps, as brilliant ac hers, were now smiling courteously upon him. The memory of his cousin Kate was still mellow ; he could fancy her soft, sweet voice yet ringing ie his ears ; the warm glow of her virgin presence seemed hanging like t halo around him ; all these urging him to preserve the heroism of hi* character, if only for the sake of standing well in her estimation. Influenced by these considerations, he resolved to throw off the niAsk with which circumstances had momentarily invested him, and declare the true position in which he stood to his haughty relative. It was not until the conclusion of the dinner after the daughter of his host had retired smilingly from the table that the young Englishman unburdened himself. Then perhaps a little prompted by the wine he made a full confession of the disagreeable circumstances existing between himself and the mas- ter of Mount Welcome. Was it the wine somewhat freely pressed upon him that hindered him from perceiving the displeasure which his com- munication had produced upon his hearer ? Was there any displeasure ? Herbert did not perceive it, if there was. On the contrary, had the young man been closely observant, he might have noticed an effect altogether of an opposite character. Behind the green goggles, he might have seen those deep, dark, Israelitifih eyes sparkling with a fiendish joy at the re- velation he had made. Though Herbert did not perceive this, he could not help biing consci- ous that his confession had not done much injury to himself in the eyes of his entertainer. The Jew was certainly not less courteous than before but, if anything more profuse in his proffers of hospitality. Indeed, be- fore another hour had passed over his head, the homeless adventurer came to know that in his Hebrew host in his judge, who, but a sbort while ago, had been trying him for a serious misdemeanour he had found a sympathetic friend ; at all events, a patron and protector ! The young Englishman could not be otherwise than convinced of this, by th-s conver- sation that followed, and the consequences resulting from it. " Tin exsheedingly sorry, young Mishter Vochan," said the Jw, some iime after his surprise at Herbert's revelations had apparently eubsided " exsheedingly sorry I ish to hear that you and your uncle ish not oil good terms. Ah 1 well ; we mush hope for the better ; and, ash / am ono of Mishter Vochan's humble friendish, possibly I might do something to reconshile your little quarrel. Dosh you not intend going back te Mount Welcome !" " Never. After what has passed, never !" " Ach 1 yoush musht not be too revengeful. Miahter Vocha* ish a proud man ; and I mush say he hash behaved badly very badly ; but still iio ish your uncle." " He has not acted as such.'' " That iflh true very true thish fine gentleman you shspeak -,f htfll AK UNEXPECTED PATROff. 119 that ish no reason why Mishter Vochan shouU treat liiah o^n ne^new eho flkabby, Well, well I am sorry exsheedirigly sorry. But, Mashtei Herbert," continued the penn-keeper, interrogating his guest with evident interest, " what dosh you intend to do ? I supposb you hash monish of your own ?" " I am sorry to say, Mr. Jessuron, I have not.*' " No monish at all !" " Not a shilling," affirmed Herbert, with a careless laugh, " That ish bad. Where dosh you think of going since you sLay yon will not return to Mount Welcome ?" " Well," said Herbert, still preserving his air of jocularity, " I was making for the port again, when your worthy overseer and his friend in- tercepted me luckily, I may say, since, but for their -intervention, I should in all likelihood have gone without dinner to-day at all events, T should not have dined so sumptuously." " A wretched dinner, Mashter Vochan a misherable dinner to what your uncle could have given you. I'm but a poor humble man coc. pared with the cushtos ; but what I hash ish at your service any time." " Thanks !" said Herbert ; " I know not, Mr. Jessuron, how I shall over repay you for your hospitality. I must not tax it any longer, however. I see, by the sun, it is time I should be making for the Bay." As Herbert spoke, he was rising to take his departure. " Shtop, shtop !" cried his host, pushing him back into his chair ; '* not to-night, Mashter Vochan, not thish night. I can t promish you ash fine a bed as yoush might get at Mount Welcome, but I tLink I can give you a better as you slileep in lash night ha, hal You musht stay with ush thish night, and Shoodith will make yoush some music. Don't shay a word ; I takesh no refushal." The offer was a tempting one; and, after some further pressure, Her- bert acquiesced in it. He was partly influenced by the poor prospect of a lodging which the Bay afforded him ; and, perhaps, a little from a desire to hear the promised music. The conversation was continued, by his host putting some further interrogatories. How did Herbert intend to employ himself in the Bay ? What prospect had he of employment ; and in what line t " I fear not much in any line" replied the young man, answering both questions in one, and in a tone of sarcastic despondence. " Hash you no professhion ?" " Alas, no !" replied Herbert. "It was intended by my father I shcuM have one ; but he died before my education was completed ; and my col- lege as is too often the case has taught me little more than a knowledge of dead languages." " No \ishe no ushe, whatever," rejoined the intelligent Israelite. " I can draw a landscape," pursued the young man, modestly, " or paint a portrait tolerably well, I believe my father himself taught me these accomplishments." " Ah ! Mashter Vochan, neither ish of the shlightest ushe here in Shamaica. If you Could paint a housh, or a wagon, it would luring you more monish than to make the likeneshes of every face in the island What saysh you to the situation of book-keeper ?" 120 &** tJN EXPECTED PATKOtf. * Unfortunately, I know nothing of accounts. The very useful science of book-keeping either by double or single entry I have not been taught" u Ha I ha 1 ha I" replied Jessuron, with an encouraging chuckle, " you ish what we, in Shamaica, call green, Mashter Vochan. You musht know that a book-keeper here hash no books to keep neither day-books nor ledgers. He doesh not even put a pen to paper." " How is that, Mr. Jessuron ? I have heard the statement before, though I did not comprehend what was meant by it." " Then I musht explain, Mashter Vochan. There ish a law here which makes all proprietors of shlaves keep a white man on hish estate for every fifty blacksh. A very shilly law it ish ; but it ish a law. Theesh white supernumeraries are called book-keepers : though, ash I've told you, they keepsh no books. Now you undershtand what it meansh." " Then what duties do they perform ?" " Oh ! that depends on circumsthances. Some look after thd shlaves, and some do thish and some that. But, egad 1 now I think of it, Mashter Vochan, I am myshelf in need of a book-keeper. I have joosh bought a new lot of blacksh, and I musht not break the law. I am ushed to give my book-keepers fifty poundsh a year, cutrenshy ; but if you would be content to acchept such a berth, I would make the salary on account of your uncle a hundred poundsh a year. You would also be found in everything elsh. What dosh you shay, Mashter Vochan ?" The unexpected proposal caused the young Englishman to hesitate and reflect. Not long, however. His forlorn, homeless situation presented itself too forcibly to his mind, to detain him long in doubt as to what an- swer he should make. A hundred a year, though it was " currency," was more than he was likely to obtain else where far more than he had ex- pected. And for this there was apparently no very arduous duties to be performed. It is true he knew nothing whatever of the man who pro- posed to employ him. He had not failed to notice his Jewish and some- what forbidding physiognomy ; but after the kind treatment he had al- ready experienced at the hands of this man, he could not augur very ill of him. After all, what signified who might be his master, whether Jew or Gentile ? He was not in a position to be over-scrupulous about whose bread he should eat. These reasons and reflections passing rapidly through his mind, urged him to the acceptance of the proposal mad* by his host. There was another reflection that occurred to him ; and though so faint and vague, that he was scarce conscicus of its existence, yet it was a motive for his remaining, stronger than all the rest With or with- out the others, it would have decided him to give an affirmative answer. After a little more fencing about the conditions which Herbert deenv ed only too generoushe accepted the situation ; and from that hour th Happy Valley became his home s A PLOTTING PABENT. CHAPTER XXXIX. A PLOTTING PARENT. JACOB JESSUROIT was never knowr to be generous without expecting some reward. Never did he fling out a sprat, without the expectation of catch- inga. salmon. What object had he in view in thus becoming the patron and protector of the young Englishman an outcast adventurer, apparently incapable of making him any return ? Why such liberal conditions; unasked, and to all appearances unmerited for, to say the truth, Herbert Vaughan was not the stuff for a slave-driver, a term almost synonymous with that of book-keeper. No doubt the Jew had some deep scheme ; but in this, as in most other matters, he kept his thoughts to himself. Even his " precious Shoodith" was but half initiated into his designs upon this special subject : though a conversation, which occurred between father and daughter, had placed before the latter some data calculated to assist her in guessing at them. The date of this dialogue was upon the morning after Herbert's arrival at the penn ; and it referred chiefly to the treatment which the new book- keeper was to receive from the denizens of the Happy Valley, but more particularly at the hands of Judith herself. " Show the young man every kindness, Shoodith dear ! Don't shpare pains to please him." " Why particularly him, my worthy parent ?" " Hush ! mine Shoodith 1 Shpeak low, for the luf of Gott I Don't let him hear you talk in that shtyle. Theesh young Englishmen are not ushed to our free ways. I hash a reason for being friendly to him." " What ! because he is the nephew of Vanity Vaughan ? Is that your teason, rabbi?" " I shay, shpeak low 1 He's in his shleeping room, and may hear ush. JL single word like that you shay might shpoil all my plans." " Well, father, I'll talk ic whispers, if you like. But what are your plans ? You'll let mt know them, I suppose ?" " I will, Shoodith, but not shoos now. I hash an idea, mine daughter grand idea, it ish ! And if all goes right, you, Shoodith, will be tiie richest woman in Shamaica." " Oh, I have no objection to that to be the richest woman in Jamaica, with a prince for my footman I Who won't envy Judith Jessuron, the daughter of the slave-merchant ?" 44 Shtay ! a word about that, Shoodith dew. In hiflh presence we musht ay M little ash possible upon the subject of shlaves. He musht see no 122 A PLOTTING PARBKT. hlave-wii.'pping here at least till he comes uslied to it. Rjuener nmshi be told to behave himself. I knowsh of more than one young English- mans who left hish place joosh for that thing. He needn't go among the field handsh at all. I'll take care of that. But, dear Shoodith 1 every thing depends on you ; and I knowsh you can, if you will." " Can what, worthy father ?" " Make this young fellow satishfied to shtay with ush." Tbe look which accompanied these words betokened some other meo& j ing than what they might have literally conveyed. " Well," replied Judith, affecting to understand them literally, " I fancj there will not be much difficulty about that. If he's as poor as you say, he'll only be too well pleased to get a good situation, and keep it, too, I Bhould think." " Fsh not so sure about that. He'sh a young man of a proud shpirit That ish proved by hish leaving his uncle ash he has done without a shil ling in hish pocket and then to defy the cushtos faysh to faysh ! Blesh my soul I 'what a foolish young fellow he ish ! He must be managed, Shoodith, dear he must be managed; and you're shoost the girl to do it." " Why, father, to hear you talk, one would think that this poor young Englishman was a rich sugar estate to be managed for some grand profit " " Aha !" exclaimed the other, interrupting her ; " maybe yesh maybe he ish a rich sugar estate. We shee we shee." " Now, had it been the grand guest of Mount Welcome," continued Judith, without heeding the interruption ; "had it been this lord of Mon- tagu Castle that you wished me to manage" at the word the Jewess smiled significantly " I might have come nearer comprehending you." " Ah ! there is no schance there no schance whatever, Shoodith." " No chance of what ?" abruptly inquired the Jewess. " Why, no schance of that ish " " Come, worthy rabbi, speak out ! You needn't be afraid to tell me what you're thinking : for I know it already." " What wash I thinking, Shoodith ?'' The father put this question rather with a view to escape from an ex- planation. The daughter instantaneously answered. " You were thinking, and I suppose still are, that I your daughter, &e child of an old nigger-dealer as you arc would have no chance with this aristocratic stranger who has arrrived this Mr. Montagu Syinthje. That's your thought, Jacob Jessuron ?" " Well, Shoodith, dear ! you know he ish to be the guesht of the cushtos ; and the cushtos, ash I hash reason to know, hash an eye to him for hish own daughter. Mish Vochan is thought a great belle, and il would be no ushe for ush to ashpire ' " She a belle 1" exclaimed the Jewess, with a proud toss of her head, and a slight upturning of her beautiful spiral nostril ; " She was not tho belle of the last ball at the Bay not she, indeed ; and as for aspiring, the daughter of a slave-dealer is at least equal to the daughter of a slave herself, as I've heard you sav." PAftENf. 123 " Hush, Shoodith 1 not a word about that not a whisper in the hearing of thish young man. You know he ish her cousin. Hush !" " I don't care if he was her brother," rejoined the Jewess, still speak- ing in a tone of spiteful indignation for Kate Vaughan's beauty was Judith Jessuron's especial fiend ; " and if he were her brother," continued she, " I'd treat him worse than I intend to do. Fortunate for him, he's only her cousin ; and as he has quarrelled with them all, I suppose has he said anything of ~h.tr ?" " Of hish cousin Kate, you mean ?" " Why, who should I mean 1" demanded the daughter, bluntly. " Thei ' r is no other she in Mount Welcome the young fellow is likely to bo talk * ing about ; nor you either unless, indeed, you've still got that copper coloured wench in your head. Of course, it's Kate Va'ighan I mean. What says he of her ? He must have seen her shor ; as his vxsil seems to have been ; and, if so, you must have talked about her last night since you sat late enough to have discussed the whole scandal of the island. Well ?" With all this freedom of verbiage, the Jewess seemed not to loose sight of the original interrogatory ; and her frequent repetition of it was rather intended to conceal the interest with which she looked for the ans- wer. If her words did not betray that interest, her looks certainly did : for, as she bent forward to listen, a skilled observer might have detected in her eyes that sort of solitude which springs from a heart whence the love passion is just beginning to appear budded but not yet blooming. " True, Shoodith, true," admitted the slave merchant, thus bantered by his own bold offspring. " The young man did shpeak of hish cousin ; for 1 hash a wish to know what wash hish opinion of her, and ashked him. I wash in hopes he had quarrelled with her too ; but ach no he hashn'L he hashn't." " What might that signify to you ?" " Moch moch, daughter Shoodith ; a great deal." " You're a mysterious old man, father Jacob ; and, though I've been studying you for a score of years, I don't half understand you yet But what did he say of Kate Vaughan ? He saw her, I suppose ?" " Yesh. He had an interview with hish cousin. He saysh she be- haved very kind to him. He'sh not angry with her. S'help me, no !" This information appeared to produce no very pleasant impression upon the Jewess ; who, with her eyes downcast upon the floor, remained for some moments in a thoughtful attitude. " Father," she said, in a tone half serious, half in simplicity, " theyoun^ fellow has got a bit of blue ribbon in his button-hole. You have noticed it, I suppose ? I am curious to know what he means by wearing that. If it an order, or what ? Did he tell you ?" " No. I noticed it ; but, ash he shayed nothing about it, I did not ashk him. It'sh no order nothing of the kind. Hiih father wash only a poor artisht." " I wonder where he procured that piece of ribbon ?" said Judith, speaking in a low tone, and half m soliloquy. " You can ashk him for yourself, 9hoodith. There ish no harm in that," " No, not I," answered Judith, suddenly changing countenance, as if 124 Atfofrtrtft OP Tits SAME. ashamed of having shown the weakness of curiosity. " What care I for him or his ribbon ?" " No matter for that, Shoodith, dear ; no matter for that, if yoush can make him care for you" "Care for me! What, father 1 do you want him to fall in love with me?" " Joosh that joosh so." " For what reason, pray?" * " Don't ashk now. I hash a purpose, you shall know it in good time, Shoodith. You make him in luff with you over head and earsh, if you like." The counsel did not appear displeasing to her who received it. Any- thing but displeasure was in her looks as she listened to it. " But what," asked she, after a reflective pause, and laughing as she spoke, " what if, in luring him, I should myself fall into the lure ? They gay that the tarantula is sometimes taken in its own trap ?" " If you succeed in catching your fly mine goot shpider Shoodith, that won't signify. So much the better ish that. But fusht catch your fly. Don't let go the shtrings of your heart, till you hash secured hish ; and then you may do as you pleash. But hush! I hear him com- ing from hish shamber. I musht go and bring him in to hish breakfasht. Now, Shoodith dear, show him every reshpect. Shower on him your sweetest of shmiles 1" And terminating the dialogue with this parental injunction, Jacob Jes- suron walked off to conduct his guest into the great hall. " Ah ! worthy father I" said Judith, looking after him with a singular smile upon her countenance " for once you may find a dutiful daughter ; though not for you or your purpose whatever that may be. I have my suspicion of what it is. No, not for that either grand destiny as it may be deemed. There is something grander still a passion perilous to play with ; and just for that peril shall I play with it Ha he comes 1 How proud his step 1 He looks the master, and you, old Israelite, his overseer his book-keeper ha ! ha ! ha 1 " Ach !" she exclaimed, suddenly checking her laughter, and changing her smile to a frown ; " the ribbon ! he wears it still 1 What can it mean t Jo matter now I Ere long I shall unravel the skein of itg silken mystery - -even if this heart should be torn in the attempt 1" CHAPTER XL. ANOTHER OF THE SAMH. AT that same hour, a scene of remarkable parallelism was passing at Mount Welcome. Loftus Vaughan was holding dialogue with his daugh- ter, as Jacob Jessuron with Judith the subject very similar, the motives of planter and penn-keeper equally mean Smythje was still abed. In his"dwea metwopolis," matutinal heuri he had never known ; and probably, in all his life, had never looked upon the rising of the sun. The ordinary hour of a Jamaica ' dejeuner' would ANOTHER OF THE SAMS. have been far too early for him ; so, knowing his habits, the courteous custos had ordered each morning the postponement of the meal till hia guest should give some signs of restored wakefulness. No one was per- mitted to disturb either his dreams or his slumbers, till Morpheus had made a voluntary exit from his chamber ; and then his valet, Thorns, who had charge of the important vigil, would enter, and return with the an- nouncement that his master would presently show himself. On this, the second morning after his arrival, the cockney was lying late as usual. The planter and Kate had paid their tribute to the skies several hours before. Both had been abroad though on different errands and had now met in the great hall, at the hour at which they had been accustomed to have breakfast. No breakfast appeared upon the table, although the cloth was laid in readiness. None must appear until the dis- tinguished guest should condescend not to come down, since his cham- ber was on the same floor but to come out. As for the young Creole, sho cared little about the change of hours for the morning or any other meal. She was too young to have contracted habits that called for indulgence. With Mr. Vaughan the thing was different, and he found the postpone- ment of his breakfast a somewhat serious inconvenience. In order to re- medy it, in some measure at least, he had ordered a cup of coffee and a biscuit, with which he was breaking his fast, when Kate entered the room. Occasional glances, half expectant, half anxious, which he had cast along the corridor the direction in which Kate must come beto- kened some purpose : either that he expected a communication, or had one io make. The latter was the more likely, as the young Creole, on entering, manifested herself in an interrogative manner. You have sent for me, papa ? Breakfast is not yet ready ?" " No, Catherine," replied Mr. Vaughan, gravely, " it is not for that." The grave tone was not needed. The " Catherine" was enough to tell Kate that her father was in one of his serious moods : for it was only when in this vein that he ever pronounced her baptismal name in full. " Sit down there !" he said, pointing to a faisteul in front of where he was himself seated. " Sit down, my daughter, and listen : I have some- thing of importance to say to you." The young lady obeyed in silence, and not without a little of that re- luctant gaudurie" which patients display when seating themselves in front of a physician ; or a naughty child composing itself to listen to the parent- tal lecture. The natural gaiety of " lilly Quasheba" was not easily restrained ; and though the unusual gravity depicted in her father's face might have checked it, the formality with which he was initiating the interview had an opposite effect. At the two corners of her pretty mouth might have been observed a strong tendency towards a smile. Her father did observe this ; but, instead of reciprocating the smile, he returned it by a frown. u Come, Catherine I" said he, reprovingly, " I have called you out to felk 3ver a serious matter. I expect you to listen seriously, as becomes the subject I am about to introduce." " Oh ! papa ; how can I be serious till I know the subject T You arc tot ill, I hope ?" 126 ANOTHER OF THE SAME. "Tut ( no. It has nothing to do with my health which, thank Providence, is good enough nor yours neither. It is our wealth, not oui aealth, that is concerned our wealth, Catherine !" The last phrase was spoken with emphasis, and in a confidential way, IB if to enlist his daughter's sympathies upon the subject. ' Our wealth, papa 1 I hopo nothing has happened ? You have had nc losses ?" " No, love," replied Mr. Vaughan, now speaking in a fond, parenta, i tone ; " nothing of the gort, thanks to fortune, and perhaps a little to my \ >wn prudence. It is net losses I am thinking about, but gains.** J " Gains 1" "Aye, gains, you little rogue! gains which you can. assist me in ob- taining." " I, papa ? How could I assist you ? I know nothing of business I am sure I know nothing." "Business! ha! ha! It's not business, Kate. The part which yon will have to play \rill be one of pleasure I hope so, at least." " Pray tell me what it is, papa 1 I am sure I'm fond of pleasure. Every- body knows that." " Catherine 1" said her father, once more adopting the grave tone, " do you know how old you are ?" " Certainly, papa I at least, what I have been told. Eighteen just past last birthday." " And do you know what young girls should, and generally do, think about, when they come to be of that age ?" Kate either affected or felt profound ignorance of the answer she wag expected to make. " Come I" said Mr. Vaughan, banteringly, "you know what I mean, Catherine ?" " Indeed, papa, I do not. You know I keep no secrets from you : you taught me not. If I had any, I would tell you." " I know you're a good girl, Kate. I know you would. But that is a sort of a secret I should hardly expect you to declare even to me, your father." " Pray what is it, papa ?" " Why, at your age, Kate, most girls and it is but right and natural N they should take to thinking about a young man." " Oh ! that is what you mean t Then I can answer you, papa, I haw taken to thinking about one." " Ha I" ejaculated Mr. Vaughan, in a tone of pleased surprise ; " you have, have you ?" " Yes, indeed," answered Kate, with an air of most innocent 'naivete " I have been thinking of one and so much, that he is scarce ever out of my mind." "Hoi" said the custos, repeating his exclamation of surprise, and rather taken aback by a confession so unexpectedly candid, " Since how long has this been, my child ?" The answer was listened for witli some anxiety. "Since how long?" rejoined Kate, muyingly. " Yes. When did YOU first begin to think of this young man t" ANOTHER OF THE SAMB. 127 "Oh! the day before yesterday, after dinner ever since I first saw trim, father." " At dinner you first saw him," said Mr. Yaugliati, correcting his daughter. " But no matter for that," he continued, gleefully rubbing his hands together, and not noticing the puzzled expression upon Kate's countenance. " It might be, that you did not think of him in the firsi moment of your introduction. It's not often people do. A little bash- fulness has to be got over. And so, then, Kate, you like him now y;i I think you like him now ?" " Oh ! father, you may be sure I do better than any one I ever saw excepting yourself, dear papa." " Ah ! my little chit, that's a different sort of liking altogether differ- ent. The one's love the other is but fillial affection each very well in its place. Now, as you're a good girl, Kate, I have a bit cf pleasant news for you." "What is it, papa?" " I don't know whether I should tell you or not," said the custos, play- fully patting his daughter upon the cheek ; " at least, not now, I think. It might make you too happy." " Oh ! papa ! I have told you what you wished me ; and I see it has made you happy. Surely you will not conceal what you say will do the same for me ? What is the news ?" " Listen, then, Kate 1" and Mr. Vaughan bending forward, as if to make his communication more impressive, pronounced in a whisper, " He reci- procates your feeling he likes you /" " Father, I fear he does not," said the young Creole, with a serious air. " He does I tell you so, girl. He's over head and ears about you. I know it. In fact, I saw it from the first minute. A blind man might have perceived it ; but then a blind man can see better than a young lady that's in love. Ha ! ha! ha 1" Loftus Vaughan laughed long and loudly at the jest he had so unex- pectedly perpetrated : for at that moment he was in the very mood for merriment. His dearest dream was about to be realised. Montagu Smythje was in love with his daughter. That he knew before. Now his daughter had more than half admitted in fact, quite confessed that shd liked Smythje ; and what was liking but love?" " Yes, Kate," said he, as soon as his exultation had to some extent sub- sided, " you are blind, you little silly else you might have seen it all. Hi behaviour would show how much he cares for you." " Ah ! father, I think that his behaviour would rather show that he cares nat for either of us. He is too proud to care for any one." " What 1 too proud ? Nonsense ! it's only his way. Surely he has not hown anything of that to you, Kate ?" " I cannot blame him," continued the young girl, still speaking in a serious tone. " The fault was not his. Your treatment of him, father you must not bo angry at me for telling you of it now that I know all, dear papa was it not enough to make him act as he has done ?" " My treatment of him 1" cried the custos, with a self-justifying but Fuszled look. " Why, child, you rave ! I could not treat him better, if wa to try ever so. I have done e~\ ervthing to entertain him, and make 128 A SWEETHEART EXPECTED. him feel at home here. As to what he has done, it's all nonsense about his pride : at least, with us he has shown nothing of the kind. On tht contrary, he is acting admirably throughout the whole matter. Certainly, no man could behave with more politeness to you than Mr. Smythje i doing ?" "Mr. Smythje I" The entrance of this gentleman at the moment prevented Mr. 7aughan from nDticing the effect which the mention of his name had produced: an unexpected effect, as might have been seen by the expression which Kate's features had suddenly assumed. * But for that interruption hindering the " eclaircissement* which, nc" \ doubt, his daughter would on the instant have made Mr. Vaughau might have sat down to breakfast with his appetite considerably im paired. Hie guest requiring all his attention caused him to withdraw suddenly from the dialogue ; and he appeared neither to have heard the exclama- tory repetition of Smythje's name, nor the words uttered by Kate in a lower tone, as she turned towards the table : " I thought it was Herbert .'" CHAPTER XU. A SWEHTIIBART BXPBOT1D. THE departure of the young Englishman, under the conduct of Quaoo, was a signal for the black band to disperse. At a sign from their chief, they broke up into knots of two or three individuals each, and went off in different directions disappearing amid the underwood as silently as they had emerged from it. Cubina alono remained in the glade, the captured runaway cowering upon a log beside him. For some minutes the Maroon captain stood resting upon his gun which one of his followers had brought up his eyes fixed upon the captive. He appeared to be meditating what course he should pursue in relation to the unfortunate slave ; and the shadow pon his countenance told that some thought was troubling him. The runaway on his side was regarding his captor with a look ha]f t cheerful, hajf apprehensive; or rather, with these expressions altcrnat jL ing, as he observed similar changes on the countenance of the other. His hopes, however, outweighed his fears. Though unable to comprehend what had occurred, and ignorant of the motives of the Maroon in rescu- ing him from his pursuers, he knew that he had escaped from merciless men, to fall into the hands of others that appeared not only merciful, but friendly. Had he known that just then his captor was debating with himself, as to whether he should deliver him up, and to the very men from whom he had rescued him, or their equally merciless master could he have conjectured that this was the subject of that silent cogitation, ol which he was a witness, Ms apprehensions would have been stronger his hopes, A SWEETHEART EXPECTED. The Maroon captain felt himself in a dilemma : hence his hesitating and reflective attitude. His duty was in conflict with his desires. From the first the face of the captive had interested him ; and now that he had time to scan it more narrowly, and observe its noble features, tho idea of delivering him up to such a cruel master, as him whose initials ):e bore upon his breast, became all the more repugnant. Duty demand- ed him to do so. It was the law of the land of the treaty by which th Maroons were bound and disobedience to that law would be certain to meet with punishment stringent and severe. True, there was a time when a Maroon captain would have held obedience to this law more lightly ; but that was before the conquest of Trelawny town or, rather its traitorous betrayal followed by the basest banishment recorded among men. That betrayal had brought about a change. The Maroons who had avoided the forced exile, and still remained in the mountain fastnesses, though preserving their independence, were no longer a powerful people only a mere remnant, whose weakness rendered them amenable, not only to the laws of the island, but to the tyranny and caprice of such planter justices as might chooae to persecute them. Such was the posi- tion of Cubina and his little band, who had established their home in the mountains of Trelawney. With the Maroon captain, therefore, it was jt necessity, as well as a duty, to deliver up the runaway captive. Failing to do so, he would place his liberty in peril. He knew this, without the threat which Havener had fulminated in such positive terms. His interest also lay in the line of his duty. This also he could under- stand. The captive was a prize, for which he would be entitled to claim a reward the bounty. Not for a moment was he detained by this last consideration. The prospcet of the reward would have had no weight with him whatever ; it would not even have cost him a reflection, but that, just then, and for a very singular purpose, Cubina required money. Thus, there were three powerful motives in favour of restoring the slave to his master duty, necessity, and self-interest. But one nobler than all was stirring within the breast of the yellow hunter humanity. Would it prevail over the other three ? Some words he had let drop before the departure of Herbert a hypo- thetical threat of disobedience to the laws might lead to the hope that it would. As he stood gazing upon his captive, this threat was repeated in a kind of involuntary soliloquy, while another motive was revealed by an additional phrase or two that escaped from his lips. " Crawbo /" he muttered, using an exclamation of the Spanish tongue, utill found in a corrupted form among the Maroons ; " he is as like to Tola as if he was her brother 1 I warrant he's of the same nation per- haps of her tribe. Two or three times he has used the word Foolah. Besides, his colour, his shape, his hair, are all like hers. No doubt of it, he's Foolah." The last word was uttered so loudly as to reach the ear of the run- away. f/ Yah I Foolah, Foolah !" he exclaimed, turning his eyes appealing upon 130 A SWEETHEART EXPECTED. his captor. " No slave no slave 1" added he, striking his hand upon bit breat as lie repeated the words. " Slave ! JK> slave !" echoed the Maroon, with a start of surprise ; " that's English enough. They've taught him the word. No slave I what can ha intend by saying that ?" " Foolah me no slave I" again extAiimed the youth, with a similar gea* ture to that he had already made. " Something curious in this 1" muttered the Maroon, musingly. " What can he mean by saying he is no slave for that is certainly what he is trying to say ? Slave he must be : else how did he get here ? I've heard that a cargo was landed the day before yesterday, and that the old Jew got most or all of them. This young fellow must be one of that lot. Very likely he's picked up the word* aboard ship. Perhaps he is speak- ing of what he was in his own country. Ah ' poor devil ! he'll soon find the difference here. " Crambo /" continued the Maroon, after a pause, in which he had been silently regarding the countenance of the newly-arrived African. " It's a shame to make a slave of such as he an hundred times more like a free- man than his master. Ah 1 Dios ! Dios ! it's a hard row ho'll have to hoe. I feel more than half tempted to risk it, and save him from such & fate. But that I want this money " As this half determination passed through the mind of the Maroon, it was accompanied by a noble and proud expression of features. " If they had not seen him in my possession," he continued to reflect; 1 but the overseer and those Spanish poltroons know all, and will Well, let them at all events, I shall not take him back till I've seen Tola. No doubt she can talk to him ; if he's Foolah she can. We'll hear whal he's got to say, and what this ' no slave' means. Ha !" exclaimed the speaker, now uttering his soliloquy aloud, and glancing upward to the sky, " the time has been passing. What ! noon ? It is within a few min utes. Tola should soon be here. Twelve o'clock was her hour. Oh ! 1 must have him out of sight, and these dead dogs, too, or my timid pei will be frayed. There's been so much doing about here blood and burning fires she will scarce know the old trysting-place. Hark, you Foolah ! Come this way, and squat yourself in here, till I call you out again." To the runaway the gestures of his captor were more intelligible than his words. He understood by them that he was required to conceal him- self between the buttresses of the ceiba ; and, rising from the log, he readily obeyed the requisition. The Maroon captain seized the tail of one of the dead bloodhounds : wad, after trailing the carcase for some distance across the glade, flung i into a covert of bushes. Returning to the ceiba, in a similar manner he removed the other ; and then, cautioning the runaway to remain silent in his concealment, he awaited the approach of her whose assignation had boen fixed for Uie hoiir of noon. A tGTE SCENE UNDER THE CHAPTER A LOTS SCENE UNDER THE OEIBA. THE iuver who is beloved need never fear disappointment. True to bet tryst, and punctual to the time, did the expected sweetheart make her appearance within the glade. With shy but graceful step, she advanced towards the ceiba, and with sufficient firmness of mein to show that she came not in doubt. A smile, confident and slightly coquettish, dancing in her dark eyes, and playing upon her prettily curved lips, told of a love already plighted at the same time betokening free faith in the vows that had been exchanged. Cubina stepped forth to receive her ; and the lovers met in the open ground, at some distance from the tree. Their demeanour at meeting told that it was not their first assignation, but that ofttimes before had they come together in that same rendezvous. The presence of the runaway not seen, however, from the spot did not hinder Cubina from saluting his sweetheart with a kiss, nor prevent him from enfolding her for a moment in his arms. That spasm of exquisite pleasure passed, the dialogue began. The girl spoke first. " Oh, Cubina 1 news I have tell." "Come, my love what news? Ah I you are looking grave, Tola; your news are not very joyful, I fear ?" " No, no joyful bad news." " Let me hear them, love. Something Cynthy has been saying to you. Ton shouldn't heed what that girl say." " No, Cubina, I no care what her mo tell. I her know, wicked, bad girL Not Cynthy say that thing me trouble now. Miss Kate me telL" * Ah I something Miss Vaughan has told you. I wouldn't look for bad news from her. But what is it, dear Tola' Maybe, after all, it's no- thing ?" " Ah ! yes, Cubina, something. 1 fear me keep from you long, long time." " Keep you from me ? Surely Miss Yaughan don't object to yoiu meek ing me ?" " No no! that. Something I fear me hinder from be " " Be what?" inquired the lover, seeing that his sweetheart hesitated U pronounce some word, the thought of which was causing Irer to l.lu.sK. "Come, dear Tola, don't fear to tell me! You know we're engaged. should be. &Q 8cr an English squire, would have smiled derisively at sttch a " rig/' the ockney regarded it with complacency as being "just the thing." Jt consisted of a French tunic-shaped coatee of green silk velvet, trim- med with fur ; a helmet-shaped hunting cap to match ; and a purple waistcoat underneath, embroidered with cord of gold bullion. Instead of breeches and top-boots, Mr. Sruythje fancied he had im- proved upon the costume by encasing his limbs in long trousers. These were of dressed fawn skin, of a straw colour, and soft as the finest chamois leather. They fitted rather tightly around the legs, notwith- standing that the wearer was rather spindly in that quarter. Moreover, they were strapped at the bottoms, over a pair of brightly shining lac- quered boots another error at which a true sportsman would have smiled. No matter for that. These little eccentric innovations on the shooting costume of the time were designed on the part of Mr. Smythje : who looked upon himself as by right a fashionable original since his very handsome fortune enabled him to set the style among a limited circle of his acquaintances in great Cockneydom. Theoretically considered, the dress looked well enough. Practically, it would have suited only for the stage of a theatre whence, no doubt, the idea of the costume had been taken. The suit had never seen service in the field ; but was being donned, for the first time, since coming from the fingers of the tailor. Not a stain tarnished the delicately soft fawn skin trousers not a crease could be seen in the smooth nap of the velvet tunic. Vest and all were new and fresh, as just drawn out of a band-box. The object, for which Mr. Smythje was thus having his person ap- parelled, was a shooting excursion to the hills ; which he designed mak- ing in order to vary his pleasures, by committing havoc among tho ramier pigeons and wild guinea fowl which, he had been told, abounded there. To show himself in his splendid snooting costume was another motive, perhaps, of equal moment ; but this was known only to his valet a personage too accomplished to disclose the fact, that in his eyes his master had long ceased to be a hero. The projected expedition was not any grand affair by appointment merely an ordinary, improvised thing. The sportsman intended going alone as the custos on that day had some important business at the Bay ; and Mr. Smythje, by a ramble through the neighbouring woods, fancied he might kill the time between breakfast and dinner pleasantly enough. This was all that was intended ; and a darkey to guide him all that was needed. " Weally 1" remarked he, in a moment of enthusiasm, as he stood before bis glass, and addressing himself to his valet, " these queeole queetyavv* SMYTH JE IN SflOO-flNa COSTtlME. 13*7 are chawming- -positively chawming! Nothing iu tlie theataw or opewa at all to compare with them. Such lovely eyes, such divine figawu, and such easy conquests ! By jove ! aw can count a dozen alweady ! Haw, haw 1" added Le, with a self-gratulatory chi^kle, " it's but natywal that dawn't yaw think BO, Thorns ?" " Parfectly natyeral, your homier," replied Thorns, with just enough ol an Irish brogue to show he was a Welshman. Either the lady-killer was not content with his twelve easy conquests, iid wished to have the number more complete by making it "a baker's 1-o/eii" either this, or he was uncertain about his victory over one of the twelve as would appear by the dialogue that followed between him and his confidential man. " Hark, yaw, Thorns," said he, approaching the valet in a more serious way ; "yaw are an exceedingly intelligei* fellaw yaw are, 'pon honaw." " Thank your honner. It's keepin' your honner'e company has made me so." " Nevaw mind nevaw mind what but I have observed yaw intelli- gence." " It's at your honner's humble service." " Ve-well, Thorns ; ve-well ! I want you to employ it.,' " In what way, your honner ? anything your honner may desire me to do," " Yaw know the niggaw girl the brown girl with the tawban, aw mean ?" " Miss Vaghan's waitin'-maid ?" " Exactly ya-as. Yolaw, or something of the sawt, is the queetyaw's name." " Yis Yowla ; that's her name, your honner." u Well, Thorns, aw pwesume you have excellent oppowtunities of hold Ing convawsation with haw the niggaw, aw mean ?" " Plenty of oppurtunity, your honner. I've talk'd with her scores of times." " Good. Now, the next time yaw talk with haw, Thorns, I want yaw to pump haw." " Pump her 1 what's that, your honner ?" " Why, dwaw something out of haw 1" \ " Fetli 1 1 don't understaii' your hormer." " Not uudawstand 1 yaw are stoopid, Thorns." " Keeping your honner's company -- " ' What, fellaw ? keeping my company make yaw stoopid ?" M No, your honner ; ye didn't hear me out. I was goin* to say, that keeping your honner's company would soon take that out o' me." " H;;w haw that's diffwent altogethaw. Well, listen now, and awt make yaw undawstand me. Aw want yaw to talk with this Yolaw, and dwaw some seekwets out of haw." " Oah I" answered Thorns, dwelling a long time upon the sound, and placing his forefinger along the flat side of his nose. " Now I comprehend your honner." " All wight-all wight" 138 fiMTTHJE IN STtooTttfG COSTtftfE. " I'll manage that, don't fear me ; but what sort of sacrets docs yoni hornier want me to draw out af her ?" " Aw want yaw to find out what she says about IM not the niggaw, but haw mistress." " What the negur says about her mistress t" < " Thorns, yaw are intolawably stoopid this mawning. Not at all not at all ; but what haw mistress says about me me." " Oh 1 fwhat Miss Vaghan says about your homier ?" " Pwecisely." " Faith I I'll find that out every word af it." " If yaw do, Thorns, aw shall be your debtaw faw a guinea." \ " A guinea, your honner 1" " Ya-as ; and if yaw execute yaw commission clevawly, aw "shall make il two two guineas, do yaw heaw ?" u Never fear, your homier. I'll get it out of the negur, if I sl/ould have to pull the. tongue from between thim shinin' teeth af hers !" " No, Thorns no, my good fellaw 1 There must be * no woodness. Wemernber, we are guests heaw, and Mount Welcome is not an hotel. You must work by stwategy, not stwength, as Shakespeaw or some other of those skwibbling fellaws has said. No doubt stwategy will win tho day." And with this ambiguous observation ambiguous as to whether it re- ferred to the issue of Thoms's embassy, or his own success in the wooing of Miss Vaughan Mr. Montagu Smythje closed the conversation. Thorns now gave the last touch to the sportsman's toilet, by setting the hunting-cap on his head, and hanging numerous belts over his shoulders among which were included a shot-pouch, a copper powder-horn, a pewter drinking flask with its cup, and a hunting-knife in its leathern sheath. " Pon honaw 1 a demmed becoming costume !" exclaimed the exquisite, surveying himself from head to foot in the rairpor. " A killing costume- decidedly spawtsman-like. Yaw think so, Thems 1" " Pe cod 1 it is all that, your honner." " I must see my fwends, and say good-bye befaw starting out Aw ya-as, sawtinly I must." And so saying, the exquisite strode stiffly from the apartment his tight-fitting fawnskins hindering any very supple movement and wended his way towards the great hall, evidently in the hop* of encountering t'"- fair queetyaw Kate in his killing costume. A COCKNEY SPORTSMAN. CHAPTER XLTV, A COCKNEY SPORTSMAN THAT Mr. Montagu Smythje had obtained the interview he sought, and that its result had gratified him, might be inferred from the complaisant smile that played upon his countenance as he sallied forth from the house. Moreover, in crossing the two or three hundred yards of open ground which separated the dwelling from the wooded slope of the ridge, h walked with an exalted, gingerly step occasionally glancing back over his shoulder, as if conscious of being observed. He was observed. Two faces could be seen at a window, OL ot which Mr. Smythje knew well enough to be that of Kate Vaughan. The other, of darker hue, was the face of the maid Tola. Both were set in smiles. It did not matter to Mr. Smythje whether the maid smiled or not ; but he fondly fancied he could distinguish a pleased expression on the countenance of the mistress. He was at too great a distance to be certain ; but he had little doubt of its being a look of intense admiration that was following him through his fine paces. Had he been near enough to translate the expression more truly, he might have doubted whether he was the object of so much admiration ; and had the remark made by Tola to her mistress reached his ear, with the clear ringing laughter it called forth, his doubts would have had a melancholy confirmation. " He berry gran, missa !" said the maid. " He like cock-a-benny turned yellow-tail I" a plantation proverb, which, translated into plain English, means, that the coarse and despised little fish, the " cock-a-benny," had become metamorphosed into the splendid and esteemed species known among the negroes as the " yellow-tail." As the sportsman neither heard the remark nor the laugh it elicited, he was enabled to carry his self-esteem into the woods unhurt and undiinii> ished. At his heels walked an attendant a negro boy, whose sole costume consisted of an Osnaburgh shirt, with a huge game bag slung over his shoulders, and hanging down to his hams. It was the veritable Quashie, post-boy, horse-boy, and factotum. Quashie's duties on the present occasion were to guide the English buckra to the best shooting ground among the hills, and carry the game when killed. As there was no dog pigeon and pintado shooting not requiring the aid of this sagacious animal Quashie was to act also aa finder and retriever. ^ For a full mile over hill and dale, through " brake, brush, and scaur," 140 tramped the ardent sportsman, and his Ethiopian attendant, Quashis, keeping like a shadow at the heels of the grand buckra. Still not ahead of game had as yet been bagged. Ramiers were scarce and shy, and ae for the beautiful speckled hen the exotic Numida meleagrisnot as much as the crest of one could be seen. Their shrill shreek, like the filing of & frame saw, could be occasionally heard " skirling" afar off in the woods; and the hope of getting sight of one enticed the sportsman still further into the forest Another mile was passed over, and another hour spent, almost equally unfruitful in events. A few ramiers had been sighted and shot at ; but the thick corselet of feathers, that covers the bold breasts of these beau- tiful birds, seemed impenetrable to the shot of a gun ; at least, they proved so to the double-barrelled " Manton" of the London sportsman. Another mile traversed another hour spent still nothing bagged 1 His want of success did not hinder the sportsman from growing hungry ; and, at the end of his third mile, he began to feel a certain void about the epigastric region that called for viands. He knew that the bag which Quashie carried contained a luncheon, that had been carefully pro- vided and packed by the major-domo of Mount Welcome. It was time to examine this luncheon ; and, seating himself under the shadow of a spreading tree, he directed the darkey to draw it forth. Nothing loth was Quashie to respond to this request ; for the weight of the bag, which he had been wincing under for some hours, and it distended sides, promised pickings for hinself after the grand buckra should satisfy his hunger. Certainly there appeared enough for both, and to spare : for on " gut- ting" the game bag, a whole capon was turned out upon the grass, with sundry slices of bread, ham, and tongue, and all the paraphernalia of salt, pepper, and mustard. A bottle of claret was found at the bottom of the bag; which, in addition to the flask of eau de vie that the sportsman himself carried, and which he now laid aside to disencumber him, was liquid enough to wash down the savoury solids which the thoughtful steward had provided. A knife and fork was also turned out ; and, as Mr. Montagu Smythje was more habile in the handling of these weapons than he was in the use of a gun, in a trice the capon was cut into convenient pieces. In an equally short space of time, many of these pieces disappeared between his teeth, in company with sundry slices of the ham and tongue. Quashio was not invited to partake ; but sat near the grand buckra'i feet, wistfully watching his movements, as a dog would his master simi- larly occupied. ( . ,;., As the masticatory powers of the cockney sportsman appeared to be of no mean order, Quashie's look began to betray astonishment, mingled with a growing dread, that the " oughts" he might be called upon to oat would be neither very numerous nor very bulky. Half the capon had already disappeared, with a large proportion of the odd slices of the haw and tongue 1 " I b'lieve de dam buckra glutton za gwine eat um all up ebberry bit !' was Quashie's mental, and not very good-humoured, soliloquy. *' Ay, ai drink 'um up too ebbory drop 1" continued he, in thought, as ae uv A COCKNEY SPORTSMAN 141 Mr. Smythje quaff off a full cup of the claret without taking the vessel from his lips. Shortly after, another cup was poured into the same capacious funnel : for the exercise he had undergone, combined with the warmth of the day had rendered the sportsman drouthy. To the great chagrin of Quashie, and the no small mortification of flraythje himself, a worse misfortune than that of its being drunk befel the remainder of the claret. On setting down the bottle, after filling hio oup for the second time, the sportsman had performed the act in ari un- skilful manner. The consequences was that the bottle, losing its balance toppled over ; and the balance of the claret trickled out upon the grass-, Both Quashie 'a temper and patience were put to a severe test ; but the buckra's appetite being at length appeased, the ' debris' of the feast still a considerable quantity remained for Quashie's share ; and he was directed to fall to and make his best of it. The darkie was not slow in complying with the order ; and, from the manner in which he went to work, it was evident, that unless Mr. Siaythje should make better shooting after luncheon than he had done before it, the game bag would go back to the house much lighter than it had left it. While Quashie was masticating his meal, the refreshed sportsman his spirits elevated by the claret he had quaffed bethought him of taking a stroll by himself. There was no time to be wasted as the contigency of having to return to Mount Welcome with an empty bag had already be- gun to suggest itself ; and after the sanguine expectations which his grand sporting costume must have given rise to assisted by some little bravedo he had indulged in while leave-taking his failing to fulfil these expecta- tions could not be otherwise than humiliating. He resolved, therefore, to return to his shooting with a more serious earnestness, and, if possible, make up for the deficiencies of the morning. It was now one o'clock, and he had yet three hours to the good, before it would be necessary to face homeward. Dinner was to be on the table at five ; for since his arrival at Mount Welcome, Mr. Vaughan had chang- ed the hour for that important meal from three to five to accommodate the fashionable habits of his aristocratic guest Slinging on his horn and pouch, and laying hold of his gun, the sport* man once more started off, leaving his retriever busily employed in polish tog off the " drumsticks" of the capon. WALKING A TURRET CHAPTER XLV. STALKING A TURKEY IT almost seemed as if the divine patron of the chase the gxid St. fTn bert had regarded the spilt wine as an oblation to himself, and, in re turn had consented to give the sportsman success. Scarce had the latter advanced two hundred yards from the spot where he had launched, when his eyes were gratified by the splendid spectacle of a flock of large, fine-looking birds. They were upon th ground, in an open field or glade of several acres in extent, by tne edge of which the sportsman had arrived. They were sitting, or rather standing, close together ; and had Mr Smythje not been so terribly flurried by the sight, he might have observ- ed that they were clustered round the skeleton of a pig or some other animal from whose bones the flesh had been stripped as cleanly as if intended for a museum. As Smythje'e knowledge of natural history was confined to what lie had picked up in a stray visit to a London menagerie, it never occurred to him what kind of birds they were, or what they might be doing there. At first he had taken it for granted they were the Guinea hens he was in search of ; but, on looking at them more particularly, he began to doubt whether they were Guinea hens. The latter at least the tame ones he had seen about Mount Welcome were all bluish and speckled ; whereas the birds now in view were of a uniform black. Perhaps the wild Guinea fowls might be a different breed from their tame cousins, and this would account for the want of resemblance in the colour of their plumage. While making these conjectural reflections, he noticed another pecu- liarity about the birds. They had all of them naked necks and heads, of a reddish or flesh colour just like turkeys. " Haw ! tawkeys they are 1 By Jawve ! a flock of wild tawkeys I" The London exquisite had heard, somehow or somewhere, that the wild turkey was indeginous to America, and, of course, also to Jamaica since Jamaica is part of America. However erroneous the deduction, the reasoning satisfied Smythje ; and, firmly convinced that he saw before him a flock of wild turkeys, ho determined on taking measures to circumvent them. They were still at too great a distance to offer any chance for a shot- gun ; and, in order to get nearer, h* dropped clown upon 14* knees, 9$$ STALKING A TURKEY. 143 commenced creeping behind the low bushes that grew around the His delicate fawn-skin inexpressibles were likely to suffer d*niige by this mode of progression ; and he now felt the inconvenience of the straps ; but so desirous was he of success, that the total deati action ot both straps and trousers would not have deterred him from proceeding. Ee thought only of the chagrin of returning to Mount Welcome with an empty game bag, and the glory of going back with a full one. Instead of crouching among the shrubs in the idle contempt to con- tonceal his person from the observation of the birds had he walked straight forward to them, in all probability he would have suc- ceeded in getting a shot. This is the more probable : since the birds instead of being turkeys, were only turkey-buzzards (or " John Crows," as they are called in Jamaica) ; and, knowing themselves to be under the protection of a statute of the island, they would have taken no more no- tice of the sportsman than if he had been a cow straying among them. The fact, however, of his being, a cockney which the Jamaica " John Crows" could not have failed to observe combined with the sly manner of his approach, aroused their suspicions ; and, taking the alarm, one and all of them rose up into the air, and flapped sluggishly away. They did not fly far : most of them alighted on the adjacent trees ; and one in particular perched itself on the top of a stump which could not be more than a hundred yards from the spot where Smythje was kneel- ing. This bird apparently the finest of the flock now monopolised the attention of the sportsman to the exclusion of all the rest. He saw that a pot shot at the flock was no longer possible, as they were scattered over the trees ; and he thought it better to content him self with a single bird. Even one of these large creatures would make a bag not to be bantered about. A wild turkey and a cock bird at that would be worth half a dozen of Guinea hens, or a half-score of ramier pigeons. To insure success, the sportsman still kept to his knees, and crawled forward cautiously. If he could only make thirty yards in advance, he knew his gun was good for the other seventy the complement of the hundred, at which distance he guessed the turkey to be from him. In fine, the thirty yards were accomplished, and still the turkey remain- ed upon its perch. The gun was brought to bear npon the bird ; Joe Manton did the work; and, simultaneous with the " bang," the turkey was seen to tumble over, disappearing as it did so from the top of the stump. The overjoyed sportsman hastened forward to secure his game ; and soon arrived at the spot where he expected to find it To his surprise, it was not there! The others had all flown away ; had it gone along with them ? Impossible ! He had seen it fall, and without a flutter. It must have been shot quite dead ? It could not have come to life again ? He search- ed all about going round the stump at least a dozen times, and carefully scrutinising every inch of the ground for a score of yards on each side but no turkey could be found 1 Had the unlucky sportsman been at all doubtful of the fact of his hav- ing killed the bird, he would have given up th.e g^ajoh 10 despair. Bui 144 upon this point he was as certain as of his own existence ; and it wad tluu which rendered him so pertinacious in his endeavours to find it. lie was determined to leave neither stick nor stone unturned ; and to aid him in the prosecution of his search, he caDed loudly for hia retriever Quashie. , But to his repeated calls no Quashie came ; and Mr. Smythje was forc- ed to the conclusion that the darkey had either gone to sleep or had strayed away from the spot where he had been teft. He had some thoughts of going back to look for Quashie ; but, while he was moditf ting on the matter, an idea occurred to him, which promised to explaii i the mysterious disappearance of the bird. | The stump upon which the " turkey" had been perched could scarcely be termed a stump. It was rather the trunk of a huge tree, that had been abruptly broken off below the limbs, and still stood some fifteen or twenty feet in height, erect and massive as the tower of some ruined castle. Though quite a dead wood, and without any branches of ite own, it was, nevertheless, garnished with verdure. A complete matting of vines that grew around its roots, and parasites that sprang from its da cay ing sides, inclosed it all around with a tortuous trellis work so that only near its top could the shape of the old tree be distinguished. At first the sportsman supposed that his game had dropped down among the ragged shrubbery that clustered around the tree ; but he had searched the whole of this with elaborate minuteness, and in vain. It had now occurred to him and this was the idea that promised eclairctssement spoken of that the bird had never fallen from the stump, but had dropped dead upon the top of it, and there might still be lying I The diameter of the dead wood, which at its broken summit, was some five or six feet, rendered this conjecture probable enough ; and Smythie resolved upon putting it to the proof, by climbing to the top. He would have appointed Quashie to the performance of this feat ; but Quashie was non e*stt invtntus. Several thick cable-like vines, that struggled up to the summit of the dead wood, promised an easy means of ascent ; and, although the cock- ney could climb about as dexterously as a shod cat, he fancied there could be no great difficulty in attaining the top of that stump. Throw- ing aside his gun, he entered enthusiastically upon the attempt ! The feat was not so easy of performance but that it cost him an exer tiDn. Stimulated, however, by the desire to retrieve his game, and the r flections about the g>me bag, already alluded to, he put forth his utmost energies, and succeeded in reaching the summit. 1 His conjecture proved correct. There lay the bird not on the stump, but in it at the bottom of a largo cylinder-shaped concavity, which opened several feet down the heart of the dead wood. There it was dead as the tree itself. The sportsman could not restrain himself from uttering a cry of joy as he saw his fine game at length secure within his reach. It proved not exactly within his reach, however : aa, upon kneeling down and stretching his arm to its full length, he found that he could nor touch the bird, even with the tips of his fingers. That signified IRtlfv It would only be necessary for him to descer 3 f -v.... SMYTHJE EMBARKASSED BY HIS BOOTS. 145 into the cavity, and this lie could easily do : as it was wide enough, and not over four feet in depth. Without further reflection, he rose to his feet again, and leaped down into the hole. It would have been a wiser act if he had remember the prudent coun- ael of the paternal frog, and looked before leaping. That was one of the most unfortunate jumps Mr. Smythje had ever made in his life. Tke brown surface upon which the bird lay, and which looked so deceptive solid, was nothing more than a mass of rotton heartwood, honeycoml f with long decay. So flimsy was it in structure, that, though supporting | a dead bird, it gave way under the weight of a living man ; and the lord \ of Montagu Castle shot as rapidly out of sight as if he had leaped feet foremost from the mainyard of the Sea Nymph into the deepest sounding of the Atlantic 1 CHAPTER XLVL 8MYTHJE EMBARRASSED BY HIS BOOTS. RAPID as was the pitch, and dark the abyss into which it was made the sportsman was not killed. Neither was he much hurt, for the " punk" through which he had pitched, though not firm enough to support him, had offered some resistance to the velocity of his descent ; and towards the bottom he had settled down more gradually. But though neither killed nor yet stunned by the fall, he was for awhile as completely deprived of his senses as if he had been both. Surprise had bereft him not only of the power of speech, but of thought as well ; and for some moments he was as quiet as Jack after being jerk- ed into his box. After a time, however, feeling that, though badly scared, he was not much hurt, his consciousness began to return to him ; and he made a scramble to recover his legs ; for, in going down, he had somehow got doubled up in a sort of tailor fashion. He found his feet after an effort ; and, as he saw that light came from above, he raised his eyes in that direction. It took him some time to make out the exact character of the place in which he was : for a thick " stoor" was swimming around him, that not only impeded his sight, but, having entered his mouth and nostrils, had inducted him into a violent fit of sneezing. The dust, however, gradually thinned away ; and Smythje was enabled to " define his position." Above his head was a clear circular patch, which he knew to be the sky ; while all around him was a dark brown wall that rose many feet beyond the reach of his outstretched arms. He became conscious that he was standing in the concavity of a huge upright cylinder, with a sur- face of corrugated rotten wood rising all around him. As his senses, grew clearer and also the atmosphere he arrived at a bettor comprehension of the mishap that had befallen Jiim. He did ziot, 146 SMYTHJE EMBARRASSED BY HIS BOOTS. at nrst, regard it in the light of a misfortune at least not a very heavy one arid he was rather disposed to laugh at it as a ludicrous adventure. It was not till he began to thkik of climbing out, and had actually made the attempt, that he became aware of a difficulty hitherto unsus- pected; and the contemplation of which at once inspired him with a feel- ing of alarm. A second attempt to get out was unsuccessful as the first ; a third equally so ; a fourth had no better issue ; a fifth was alike a failure ; and after the sixth, he sat down upon the rotten rubbish in a state bordering an despair. Well might he have exclaimed : '* Facilis descensus Avcrni, sed revocare gradum."* The mind of Mr. Smythje was now under the influence of an indescrib- able awe ; which for some time held mastery over it and hindered him even from reflecting. When reflection came to his aid, it was only to make more certain the fearful reality of his situation. The more he reflected upon it,. the more he be came convinced of the peril into which his rash leap had precipi- tated him. It was not simply a slight mishap a ludicrous adventure he no long- er saw it in that light Neither was it a mere misfortune ; but a posi- tive danger the danger of his life 1 Yes, his life was most certainly in danger ; and he was not slow in ar- riving at this knowledge. The chain of inductive reasoning that led to it was but too palpably clear every link of it from premises to conclu- sion. If he could not help himself out of the prison, in which by his un- lucky leap he had incarcerated himself, who was to help him ? Hope could not dwell long upon Quashie. The darkey had been left some distance off ; and since he had not answered to his calls, he must be asleep or straying ? In either case, or even if awake and still on tho ground of the bivouac, what chances would Quashie have of finding him? Could the boy follow his tracks to the tree ? Very unlikely. Sraythje remembered that most of the ground over which he had come was cov- ered with wild guinea grass, upon which neither his feet nor his knees would leave any impressions. Its elastic culms would spring up again, as soon as tj had passed over them, leaving but little evidence of hii passage-, efiipugh, perhaps, for a skilled hunter to have tracked him ; but not sufficient for a loutish negro lad a stable boy of the plantation. And if Quashie should fail to take up his track, what chance was there of the boy's finding him ? None at all ; or only one in a thousand. Who else was to find him, if not Quashie ! who else ? Who wa* likely to come that way ? Not a soul! The tree that contained him stood in the midst of a wild tract a solitary forest all round no roads, no paths he had observed none. He might be there for a month without a human being approach- ing the place ; and a week would bo enough to destroy him ? Yes, in one week, or far less, he might expect to die of starvation ? perhapi ooner than that? The prospect way appalling. * " JCaay is the descent to Avernus, but to retrace OUO'B step IB not BO easy." 7iM ift - SMYTHJE EMBARRASSED IN HIS BOOTS. 147 And it so appalled him, that again his mind gave way under it; and relapsed into the stupor of despondence. It is not natural that one should sink at once into utter despair, with- out making an extreme effort. The instinct of self-preservation com- mon to the lowest animals will nerve even the weakest spirit of man. That of Montagu Smythje was none of the strongest, and had given way at the first shock ; but, after a time, a reaction came, stimulating him to make a fresh effort for his life. Once more starting to his feet, he attempted to scale the steep walli that encircled him ; but the attempt, as betore, proved a failure. In this last trial, however, he discovered that his exertions were greatly hindered by three special impedimenta ike tight fawnskin trousers that, moistened with perspiration, clung closely aroued his legs ; his boots j but, above all, the straps that bound boots and trousers together. To get rid of these obstacles became his next thought ; and the execu- tion of such a design might appear easy enough. On tiral, however, it proved a most difficult undertaking. From the confined space in which he stood, he could not get into a stooping attitude, so as to reach down to the straps and unbutton them ; and so long as these remained buttoned, it was impossible to take off the boots. He could squat down tailor-fashion, as he had already done ; but in that posture the straps became so tightened, that to unbutton them was clearly out of the question. The delicate fingers of the dandy were unequal to the effort. " Necessity is the mother of invention." This adage held good in Smythje's case, for it just then occurred to him to unfasten his suspen- ders instead of his straps, and divest himself of his under garments all at once ! For this purpose he rose to his feet: in doing so, a better idea suggest- ed itself, to cut off this fawn-skinned inexpressibles just above the knees ; and thus free boots, straps, and pantaloon bottoms all together 1 He had left his hunting knife by his brandy flask, and both on the ground of the bivouac. Fortunately, however, a penknife, which he car- ried in his waistcoat pocket, would answer even better ; and, drawing it forth, he proceeded to execute his design, A cross section of the fawnskins just above the knees was easily made j and then by the alternate application of toe to heel boots, trousers, bottoms and all, were cast simultaneously, and Smythje stood in hia stockings 1 He did not remain long inactive. Danger urged him to exert himself; and onco more he essayed to scale the walls of his tree prison. Alas ! alter many efforts many oft-repeated, but unsucceasful clam berings he was forced back to the appalling conviction that the thing was impossible. He could get up within about four feet of the orifice ; but there the sur- face, which had been long open to the atmosphere, was worn so smooth by the weather besides being still wet and slippery from late rains that he could find no holding place upon it ; and at every endeavour to grasp the rotten wood, he lost his balance, and fell backward to the bottom. These falls frequently stunned him, aunost knocking the breath out of 148- A TROPIO 8HOWEB. his body They were from a considerable height ten or twelve feet and, but for the soft rubbish below, that modified the shock as ho camt down, one such descent would have been sufficient to cripple him for life. Once more his spirit sank within him. Once more he yielded t-> (let- pair. CHAPTER XLVH. A TROPIC SHOWER. WBOEK reflection again favoured the unfortunate Smythje which it did after a short time had passed over his thoughts took a new turn. He made no further attempt at climbing out : the many trials already made had fully convinced him of its impracticability. He now felt satisfied that his only hope lay in the chance of Quashie or some one else coming that way. And this chance was grievously doubtful. Even should one pass near the dead wood, how was he to know that Smythje was inside it ? Who would suspect that the old tree was hollow ? and, least of all, that a huiran being was inclosed within its cylindrical cell buried alive, as it were, in this erect wooden sarcophagus ? True, a person passing might see the gun lying upon the ground out- side ; but that would be no clue to the whereabouts of its owner. There was no chance of his being seen ; his only hope was that he might be heard; and the moment this thought came into his mind, he com- menced crying out at the highest pitch of his voice. He regetted that he had not done so before : since some one might have passed in the interim. After falling in, he liad shouted several times during the moments of his first surprise ; but while making his attempts to clamber out, he had "desisted the earnestness of his exertions having reduced him to silence. Now that he had comprehended the necessity of making a noise, he determined to make up for his former remissness ; and he continued to pour forth scream after scream with all the power of his lungs,, | For several minutes, without ceasing, did he keep crying out ; but not- withstanding the loud clamour he was making, he was very anxious on the scre of being heard. Even should people be passing near, could his Toioe reach them ? It was no thin shell that was around him. He knew from the diameter of the trunk, that a thick wall of solid wood was be- tween him and the open air to say nothing of the matting of vines ana parasites all calculated to deaden the sound. As these facts passed before his mind, the suspicion that he might not be heard soon assumed the shape of a certainty ; and again the terrible phantom of despair rose up before him grim and ghastly as ever. For a moment it paralysed him almost depriving him of the powei of utterance. But necessity urged him to renewed efforts. His only chance of life lay in making himself heard ; and, convinced of this, he once more put forth his voice, its tones now varying from a icrewn to groan. A TilOPlC SHOWED. 149 for nearly an hour did he continue thifi melancholy cavahna, without receiving any response beyond tho echoes of his own voice, which re- veberated through the concavity in hollow, sepulchral tones a mourn- ful monologue of alternate groaning and howling, with pauses, at short intervals, as the utterer listened for an answer. But no answer came ; no change took place in his situation, except one that was calculated to make it still more deplorable and forlorn. As if his lugubrious appeals had invoked the demon of the storm, the skr above became suddenly overcast with heavy, black clouds, from whick came pouring rain such as might have fallen during the forty days of the deluge 1 It was one of those tropic showers, where the water pours down, not in single, isolated drops, but in long, continuous streams : as if heaven's canopy was one great shower-bath, of which the string had been jerked and tied down. Though well sheltered from wind, the unfortunate Smythje had no roof no cover of any kind to shield him from the rain, which came pouring down upon his devoted head, as though the spout of a p-ump nad been directed into the hollow of the dead wood. Indeed, the funnel- shaped orifice, which was wider than the rest of the concavity, aided in conducting a larger quantity of rain into it ; and, but that the water found means of escape, by percolating through the mass of dry rubbish below, Mr. Smythje might have been in danger of a more sudden death than by starvation ; since there fell sufficient water to have drowned him. If not drowned, however, he got well douched. There was not a stitch of clothing upon his person that was not wetted through: the silk velvet shooting-coat, the purple vest, and what remained of the fawn- skin trowsers, all were alike soaked and saturated. Even his whiskers had parted with their crisp rigidity; the curls had come out of the tails of his moustaches ; his hair had lost its amplitude ; and all three hair, whis- kers, and moustaches hung dripping and draggled. In that melancholy image of manhood, that, stood shivering in the hollow tree, it would have required a quick imagination to have recognised Mr Montagu Smythje, the dabonair sportsman of the morning. Lugubrious as were his looks they were nothing to compare with his thoughts. There were moments when he felt angry angry at his ill- fortune angry at Quashie angry at Mr. Vaughan, for having provided | an attendant so inattentive to his duties. There were moments when ho felt spiteful enough to swear. Yes, in that fearful crisis Smythje swore the owner of Mount Welcome and Quashie being alternately the object of his abjurations. Jamaica, too, came in for a share of his spite its pigeom and Guinea hens, its trees, and, above all, its wild turkeys 1 " The howwid island I" he cried in his anguish ; would to his " Ma- keaw" he had never set foot on its " shaws !" What at that moment would he not have given to be once more in his " dwear metwopolis ?' Gladly would he have exchanged his tree-prison for a chamber in the King's Bench ay, for the meanest cell which the Old Bailey could have afforded ! Poor Smythje ! he had not yet reached the climax of his sorrows. A uew suffering was in store for him one in comparison with which all [50 A EAtfGEROtTS DANCE* he had undergone was hut a mild endurance. It was only when that slimy tiling came crawling over his feet, and began tc cut wine itself round his ankles its cold clammy touch painfully perceptible through his silk stockings it was only then that he felt something like a sensa- tion of real horror ! He was on his legs at the moment ; and instantly sprang upward, as if hot coals had been suddenly applied to the soles of his feet. But spring- ing upward did not avail him, since it resulted in his dropping down again in the same spot ; and, as he did so, he felt writhing bci>8atb hii feet the slippery form of a serpent .' CHAPTER XLVIII. A DANGEROUS DANCE. BEYOND the shadow of a doubt was Smythje standing upon a snake, or, rather, dancing upon one ; for as he felt the scaly creature crawling and writhing under his feet with a strong muscular action, it was contrary to human nature that he should remain at rest upon such a perilous pe- destal. For some moments he danced about upon this dangerous dei, expect- ing every instant to feel the sharp sting of a bite. Any one who could have looked on him at that crisis would have seen a face white with hor- ror, eyes starting from their watery sockets, and his dripping hair and whiskers doing their best to stand on end. Through his dark sky of dread a gleam of light flashed upon his spirits : he remembered having heard that in Jamaica there is no poisonous ser- pents. Still it was but a spark of consolation. If the reptile could not sting. it could bite ; and, being such an enormous creature as to cover with its coils the whole floor of his cylindric chamber, its bite should be a for- midable one. Perhaps, after all, it was not a single snake ? Perhaps there vms a whole family of serpents, crawling one over another, and wreathing fan- tastic figures of eight beneath his feet? If go and this was probable enough he might be bitten by all ; r*' peatedly torn to pieces devoured ! Wha* matter whether they were poisonous or not ? He might as well perish from their fangs, as by their teeth ! Fortunately it was for Smythje that the snakes for his conjecture tha* mere were more than one was correct fortunate for him that they were still half asleep, else the danger he dreaded might have come to pap. As it was, the whole baud of reptiles had just been aroused from a state of torpidity the wash of cold rain having reached them in their crushed cave, and scattered the mutual coil in which they had been closely slumb- ering. Still only half awakened, in the confusion of their ideas, they could not distinguish friend or foe ; and to this was Mr. Smythje indebt- ed for the circumstance that his skin, and ^venhis silk stockings, still r mained intact. A. DAKGEROtTS DANCE. tjl As it was, lie escaped without a single bite though without Knowing the reason. Notwithstanding his having remained so long untouched, his dread had by no means diminished. On the contrary, the thought of being eaten up alive which succeeded that of being stung by poisoned fangs still continued his terror, and incited him to fresh efforts to escape from hig perilous position. Only one mode suggested itself : to clamber up the " chimney" as far as lie could g% and by that means get out of reach of the reptiles. On the instant of his conceiving this new design, he sprang upward, shaking the serpent coils from his feet ; and, after a few seconds of scratching and scrambling, he arrived at an elevation of some ten feet from the bottom of the tree. Here a slight projection offered a tolerable support for his posteriors ; and setting his toes well against the opposite side, he did the best he could to sustain himself in position. It was an irksome effort, and could not have lasted long as to his con- sternation he soon discovered. His strength would soon give way, his toes become cramped and nerve- less ; and then, losing his hold, he must inevitably drop down among the monsters below who, perhaps, in a second collision, with him, would be less chary about using their teeth ? The prospect of such a terrible fate stimulated him to put forth all his strength in preserving his balance and his place at tl'e same time that it drew from him cries of the keenest anguish. His strength could not have saved him, but his ^ries at this crisis proved his friend. The former was well-nigh exhausted, and he was on the point of letting go his hold, when, just then, an object came before his upturned eyes that determined him to hold out a little longer, even should his toes be torn out of their joints. Above him, and half-filling the orifice of the hollow, appeared an enor- mous head, with a face black as Erebus, and two yellowish-white eyes shining in the midst of it. No other feature was at first seen ; but pre- sently a double row of great white teeth appeared, gleaming between a pair of freshly-opened purplish lips, of a massive, cartilaginous structure. In the confusion of his senses Smythje was, for the moment, Inclined to believe himself betweeen two demons one below, in the shape of a monstrous serpent, and the other above him, in human form : for the grin- ning white teeth, and yellow eyeballs rolling in sockets of sable ground, presented an appearance sufficiently demoniac. Of the two demons, however, he preferred the company of the one who bore something of his own shape ; and when a huge black man like the trunk of a young tree with the hand of a Titan attached to it. wa stretched down to him, he did not decline to take ; but eagerly clutched at the gigantic paw thus proffered, he felt himself raised upward, at lightly as if elevated upon the extremtiy of a " see-saw !" In another instant he found himself upon the summit of the dead- wood, his deliverer standing by his side. So much light rushing all at once into the eyes of the rescued Smythje, instead of enabling him to see distinctly, quite blinded him and it wan 152 * DANGEROUS DANOlB. only by the touch that he knew a man was by his side a man of colot- sal size, and nearly naked. All this Smythje had surmissed by the feel; for so dizzy was he on em- erging from the hollow tree, that the man had been compelled to hc*d him some minutes in a sort of embrace to prevent his staggering over Smythje, in groping about the breast of his gigantic deliverer, had come in contact with various straps and strings, from which sundry horns and pouches were suspended and from this he concluded that the man wa* a hnnter. Very soon Mr. Smythje's eyes became sufficiently strengthened to bear the light ; and then he saw, in full length, the individual who had res- cued him from his perilous dilemma. He saw, too, that the man was not alone ; for, on looking down from his elevated position, he beheld a dozen others standing around the tree, all, or nearly all, with black skins all, with one or two exceptions, similarly armed, costumed, and accoutred. They could not all be hunters ? He had been mistaken in his first sur- mise ? His deliverer was not a hunter, but a runaway negro a robber ? He had fallen among a band of brigands black brigands moreover ; for what other kind could he expect to encounter in the mountains of Jamaica? " Wobbers they shcwly are !" muttered Smythje to himself. If robbers, they appear at least to be a merry band ; for no sooner did the sportsman stand erect on the summit of the stump with the inten- tion of descending than a loud chorus of laughter hailed him from below, in which his gigantic deliverer not only joined, but played first trombone ! Although more than half believing that the joke was at his own ex pense, Mr. Smythje was well pleased to find the robbers in this merry mood. From such funny fellows he need not fear any ill-treatment, far ther; perhaps, than to be stripped of his purse, arms, and accoutrement*. His clothes, in their present condition, they would hardly covet. The better to conciliate them by being beforehand with their demands Bmythje, as soon as safely landed on terra firma, pulled out his purse, and commenced distributing its contents among his new acquaintances giv- ing to his deliverer, under whose special protection he now placed him- self, a double share of the cash. This free surrender seemed to have a happy effect. The robber no longer laughed at their captive, but hastened to show him all the polite* ness in their power. One of them a young fellow in light yellow colour, who appeared to be their captain even refused to accept any thing, declining the proffered douceur with a dignified grace that some- what astonished Smythje. The latter, however, was determined not to be outdone in politeness, and suspecting that the gift was rejected on account of its being money, immediately substituted for the coin his handsome, London-made shot-belt and powder-flask, which, throughout all his struggles, had clung to his shoulders. This proved a more ac- ceptable offering to the robber chieftain who, on receiving it from the hands of the donor, acknowledged the present in a becoming and appro- priate speech. Smythje, now seeing that no further harm was likely to be done to him A DANGE&OUS DANCE. 153 fa^ldly recovered his habitual equanimity ; and, at the request of th robber chieftain, explained how he had got entrapped in the hollow tree, by giving a full account of his adventure, from the time he commenced talking the " wild turkey," up to the moment of his deliverance. HIB, bizarre audience listened with a vivid interest especially to that part of the story which gave them the information that there were wild turkeys in the woods of Jamaica a point upon which they appeared rather incredulous. As soon as Smythje had finished his narrative, the robber captain was <*een making a sign, and whispering some words to one of his followers the most diminutive of the band. The latter, in obedience to the order thus given, proceeded to draw on a pair of large goatskin gloves, or gauntlets rathei , that reached quite up to his elbows ; and then, without further delay, he " speeled" up to the summit of the dead wood. Fastening a cord, which he had carried up with him, around the top of the stump, he fearlessly let nimself down into the dark, snake-tenanted chamber, which Mr. Smythje had been so glad to get out of 1 The little fellow had not been more than half a minute out of sight, when a glittering object was seen projected above the top of the stump, It was of serpent form, and bright yellow colour. Wriggling and writh- ing, it hung, for a moment, suspended in the air ; and then, yielding to the laws of gravitation, it came down with a thump upon the turf. Its large size, and its lines of black and gold, rendered it easy of identifica- tion as the " yellow snake" of Jamaica (chilabothrus inornatu*}. Scarce had it touched the ground when a second and similar projectile was ejected from the hollow stump ; and then a third- and another, and yet another, until no less than a dozen of these hideous reptiles lay scat- tered over the grass ! The blacks killed them as they came down -not from any particular spite at the serpents, nor even with the design of destroying them as " vermin." On the contrary, each, as it was deprived of life, was care- fully stowed away in one of the wicker cutacoos, which carried the com- missariat of these forest-rangers. After the dead wood had been delivered of its last snake, an object of a far different character was seen to issue forth in a similar manner. It was a misshapen mass, of a dirty buff colour, and proved, upon inspec- tion, to be one of Mr. Smythje's boots, still incased in its fawnskin cover- ing ! Its mate soon followed ; and then, to the infinite amusement of the blacks, the " wild turkey," which had led the sportsman into his deplora- ble dilemma, and which now, with half its plumage gone, and the other half " drooked" and bedagglsd, offered but a poor chance for the gar- nishing of his game-bag. Smythje, however, too well contended with escaping with his life, thought no more of his game-bag, nor of anything else, but getting back to Mount Welcome by the shortest route possible. His boots being restored to him, he lost no time in drawing them on, leaving the bottoms of his trousers in the companionship of the worth- less " turkey," which the robbers, better acquainted with tht ornithology of Jamaica, assured him waa. after all, no turkey, but only a turkey-bu* card a John Crow *in short, a stinking vulture I 154 QtTASIIir TX A QUANDARY. To his grea 1 - joy, and not a li'ile to his astonishment, the bandits mad no attempt to s,rip him of aught save his money ; and that he had deliv- ered up without waiting for them to demand it. Even his valuable gold repeater was not taken from him ; and not only was his gun restored, but a guide was furnished by the polite robber chieftain to conduct him on his road to Mount Welcome ! So grateful was the humiliated Smythje for the kind treatment he had experienced at the hands of these black-skinned but gentle brigands, that on parting company with them he shook hands with every individual of the band ; as he did so, promising one and all, that should he ever heal of them being in any danger of having their necks stretched, he would use his utmost influence to prevent that inconvenient catastrophe. The Maroons (for these were the robbers into whose hands Smythje had fallen, Quaco being his deliverer), though somewhat mystified by the remark, graciously thanked him for whatever it meant ; and, after once more shaking hands with their captain, the pseudo-sportsman took nil departure. CHAPTER XLIX. QUASHIE IN A QUANDARY. DURING all this time, where was Quashie ? What was become of him ? Mr. Smythje did not know, and no longer did he care. Too glad to get altogether away from the scene of his unpleasant adventure, he made no inquiry about his negligent squire ; nor did he even think of going back to the place where he had left him. The road by which his new guide was conducting him led in quite another direction. As to the empty game-bag left with Quashie, the sportsman cared not what became of that ; and as for his hunting-knife and brandy flask, no doubt the darkey would see to them. In this conjecture Mr. Smythje hit the nail upon the head at least so fer as regarded tfce brandy-flask. It was by seeing too well to it, that Quashie had lost all thought of everything else not only of the duties he had been appointed to perform, but of the whole earth and everything upon it. The buckra had not been twenty minutes out of his presence, when Quashie, by repeated application of the brandy-flask to his lips, brought his optical organs into such a condition, that he could not have told the differ ence between a turkey and a turkey-buzzard any more than Mr. Smythje himself. The drinking of the eau de vie had an ehectupon the negro the very re- Terse of what it would have had upon an Irishman. Instead of making him noisy and quarrelsome, it produced a tendency towards tranquility BO much so that Quashie, in less than five minutes after his last flask coggled over upon the grass, and fell fast asleep. So soundly slept he, that not only did he fail to hear the report ot Sinythje's gun, but the discharge of a whole battery of field-pieces close to his ear would not, at that moment, have awakened him. It is scarce possible to say how long Quashie would have continued in tN A gtUXDilY. 155 this state of half-sleep, half-inebriety, hud he been left undisturbed ; noi was he restored to consciousness by human agency, or living creature of any kind. That which brought him to himself waking and partially sobering him, at the same time was the rain, which, descending like a cold shower-bath on his semi-naked skin, caused him to start to his feet Quashie, however, had enjoyed more than an hour's sleep, before the rain began to fall ; and this may account for the eau de vie having in some measure lost its influence when he awoke. He was sensible that he had done wrong in drinking the buckra's brandy ; and as the temporary courage with which it had inspired him was now quite gone, he dreaded an encounter with the white " gemman." He would have shunned it, had he known how ; but he knew very well that to slink home by himself would bring down upon him the wrath of massa at Mount Welcome pretty sure to be accompanied by a couple of dozen from the cartwhip. After a while's reflection, he concluded that his most prudent 'plan would be to wait for the young buckra's return, and tell the best tale he could. To say he had been searching for him, and that was how he had spent the time was the story that suggested itself to the troubled imagination of Quashie. To account for the disappearance of the cognac for he had drank every drop of it the darkey had bethought him of another little bit of fabrication suggested, no doubt, by the mischance that had befallen the bottle of claret. He intended to tell the grand buckra and " thrape" it down his throat if need be that he, the buckra, had left out the stopper of the flask, and that the brandy had followed the example set by the " heel tap" of wine. Thus fortified with a plausible scheme, Quhshie awaited the return of the buckra sportsman. The sky cleared after a time, but no buckra came ; nor yet, after a con- siderable spell of fine weather had transpired, did he make his appear- ance. Quashie became impatient, and slightly anxious. Perhaps the English " gemman" had lost himself in the woods ; and if so, what would be done to him, the guide ? Massa Vaughan would be sure to punish him ? In fancy he could hear the crack of the cartwhip resounding afar off ovei the hills. After waiting a while longer, he determined to put an end to his ani. iety by going in search of the sportsman ; and taking up the empty bag, along with the equally empty flask, and the hunting knife, he set forth. He had seen Mr. Smythje go towards the glade, and so far he could fol- low his trail ; but once arrived at the open ground, he was completely at fault. He had not the slightest idea of what direction to take. After pausing to reflect, he took the right that which wotdd conduct him to the dead wood, the top of which was visible from the point whf'TO he had entered the glade. It was riot altogether accident that conducted him thither ; but rather because he heard, or fancied he heard, voices in that direction. As ho drew nearer to the decapitated tree, a glittering object on tbt QTTAStttE ttf A ground caught his eye. He halted, thinking it might be a snake a cftMk ture of which most plantation negroes have a wholesome dread. On scrutinising the object more closely, Quashie was surprised to per- ceive that the glittering object was a gun ; and on a still nearer acquaint- ance with it, he saw that it was the gun of the buckra sportsman! It was lying upon the grass near the bottom of the dead-wood. What was it doing there ? Where was the buckra himself? Had some accident happened to himf j Why had he abandoned his gun ? Had he shot himself ? Or had some [body else shot him? Or what on earth had befallen him? Just at that moment the most lugubrious of sounds fell upon his eat It was a groan, long-drawn and hollow as if some tortured spirit wag about taking its departure from the earth I It resembled the voice of a man, and yet it differed from this 1 It was like the voice of some one speaking from the interior of a tomb 1 The darkey stood horrified his black epidermis turning instantaneous- ly to an ashen-grey colour, quick as the change of a cameleon. He would have taken to his heels, but a thought restrained him. It might be the buckra still alive, and in trouble ? In that case he, Qnashie, would be punished for deserting him. The voice appeared to issue from behind the dead-wood. Whoever uttered it must be there. Perhaps the sportsman lay wounded upon the other side ? Quashie screwed up his courage as high as it would go, and commenced moving round to the other side of the stump. He proceeded cautiously, step by step, scrutinising the ground as he went. He reached the other side. He looked all over the place. Nobody there neither dead nor wounded ! There were no bushes to conceal an object so large as the body of a man at least, not within twenty yards of the stump. The groan could not have come from beyond that distance ? Nor yet could a man be hidden under the trellis of climbing plants that hung around the underwood. Quashie had still enough courage loft to peep among them and see. There was nobody there ! At this moment a second groan sounded in the darkey's ear, increasing his t&rror. It was just such an one as the first, long protracted and se- pulchral, as if issuing from the bottom of a well. Again it came from behind the stump ; but this time from the side I which he had just left, and where he had seen no one ! . Had the wounded man crawled round to the other side while he, QuashiWINO the guide which the robber captain had appointed to conduct him, Mr. Smythje trudged unhappily homeward. How different his craven, crestfallen look, from the swell, swaggering Bportsman of the morning ! and the condition of his person was not more dilapidated than that of his spirit. It was not the past either that was pressing upon it. He had suffered no material injury to grieve over. The damage done to his fine dress, or the coin he had been compelled to disburse among the bandits as he still considered them these were trifles to a rich man like him. His regrets were not on that score, nor retrospective in any way. They were diro.ct- d to something,, before him, altogether prospective. And what was that something ? It was no longer the disgrace of re turning with an empty game-bag, but the chagrin, which he expected to have to undergo, presenting himself at Mount Welcome in the " pickie" in which his adventure had left him. He was now, when near the house, even in a more ludicrous plight than 1(56 m SEARCH OF JUSTICE. portot! to Mr. Vallghan, the Jew had made in connection with that :/ incident. If nothing had of late transpired to increase this fear on the part of the Custos, a circumstance had arisen to strengthen his hostility. The pro- tection which had been given to his discarded nephew, and the parade which his neighbour was making of him, had proved to the Custos a acandal of the most irksome kind ; and almost every day was he made aware of some unpleasant bit of gossip connected with the affair. So irritated had he become with the reports, or rumours, constantly reaching him, that his hatred for the Jew had grown stronger than ever before ; and he would have given a dozen hogsheads of his best muscovado to any one who should have provided him with the means of humiliating the detested penn-keeper. Just at this crisis chance, or fortune, stepped in to favour him, appar- ently offering him the very opportunity he desired ; and in a way that, instead of costing him a dozen hogsheads of sugar, was likely to put far more than that amount of property into his pocket. It was the day before that on which Smythje had dropped into the dead-wood. The Custos was in his kiosk alone, smoking a plantation segar, and conning over the statutes of the " black code" a favourite study with him, and necessary also : since he had arrived at the distinc- tion of being the chief magisterial authority of the district. Just at that moment Mr. Trusty's shadow was projected into the summer-house. " Well, Trusty, what is it?" " There's a man below wants to see your worship." " On what business, pray ?" " Don't know," answered the laconic overseer ; " he won't tell. Says it's important, and can only communicate to yourself." " What sort of a man is he ? Negro or white man ?" " Neither, your worship. He's a clear mulatto. I've seen him about before. He's one of the Maroons that have their settlement over among the Trelawney Hills. He calls himself Cubina." " Ah 1" said the Custos, showing a slight emotion as the name was pro- nounced ; " Cubina ! Cubina ! I've heard the name. I fancy I've seen the man--at a distance. A y >ung fellow, isn't he ?" " Very young ; though the} say he's the captain of the band." 11 What on earth can the Maroon want with me ?" muttered Mr. Vaiighan half to himself. " He hasn't brought in any runaways, has ho ?" " No," answered the overseer. " Thanks to your worship's good . management, we haven't any of late not since that old schemer Chakra v was put out of the way." " Thanks to your good management, Mr. Trusty," said the planter, re- turning his overseer's compliment, not without a show of nervous ex- citement, which the reference to Chakra had called forth. "Then iff nothing of that kind, you think ?" hastily added he, as if desirous of changing the theme. " No, your worship. It cannot be : there's not a runaway upon mj list ;" replied Trusty, with an air of triumph. " Gad ! I'm glad to hear it," said the Cuatos, rubbing his hands together as an expression of his contentment. " Well, I suppose the young fellow IIS' SEAncft 3F JUSTICE. 161 has come to consuk me in my magisterial capacity. In some scrape, no doubt ? These Maroons are alway getting themselves into trouble with some of our planters. I wonder who he's come to complain about ?" " Well, that much I think I can tell you," rejoined the overseer, evi- dently knowing more of the Maroon's errand than he had yet admitted for Mr. Trusty was a true disciple of the secretive school. " If I should be allowed to make a guess, your worship, I should say it is something relating to our neighbour of the Happy Valley." "What! the Jew?" " Jacob Jessuron, Esquire." " You think so, Trusty ?" inquired Mr. Vaughan, with an earnest and gratified look. " Has the young fellow said anything?" " No," answered tho overseer ; " it's not anything he has said. I heard something a day or two ago about a runaway the Maroons had got among them a slave belonging to the Jew. It appears they don't want to give him up." " Whom did you hear it from ?" " Why, not exactly from any one, your worship. I should rather say I overheard it, quite by accident. One of the Trelawney Maroons a big fellow that comes down here occasionally after black Bet was telling her something. I was passing Bet's cabin, and heard them talking about it." " Don't want to give him up 1 And for what reason do they refuse ?" "Can't tell, your worship. I could only make out part of the conver- sation." " So you think it's about that the young fellow has come ?" " I think it likely, your worship. He's close, however, and I couldn't get a word out of him about his business. He says he must see you." " All right, then ! You can show him in here as good a place as any. And hark ye, Mr. Trusty ! See Black Bet, and get out of her what you can. This is an interesting matter. A Maroon refusing to deliver up a runaway ! There must be something in it. Perhaps the mulatto will tell me all about it ; but, whether he does or not, you see Bet. You can promise her a new gown, or whatever you like. Show the young fellow up at once. I am ready to receive him." Mr. Trusty bowed, and walked off in the direction of the wcrks, where the Maroon had remained ; while the Gustos, composing himself into an official attitude, awaited the approach of his visitor. " I'd give a good round sum," soliloquised he, " to learn that the old rascal has got into some scrape with these Maroon fellows. I shouldn't wonder," he added, in gleeful anticipation. " I shouldn't wonder ! 1 know they don't much like him less since he's taken the Spaniards into his pay and I suspect he's been engaged in some underhand transactions of late. He's been growing grander every day, and nobody knows where all the money comes from. Maybe Master Maroon has a tale to tell ; and, if it's against Jessuron, 111 take care he has an opportunity to tell it. Ah, here he comes ! Egad, a fine-looking fellow ! So, so ! This is the young man that my daughter jokes Yola about ! Well, I don't wondei the Foolah should have taken a fancy to him ; but I must see that he doesn't make a fool of her. These Maroons are. dangerous dogs among the women of the plantations ; and Yola, whether a princess or not in her MAGISTRATE AtfD MAKOCI?. own country princess, ha! ha! Well, at all events, the wench is no common nigger ; and it won't do for Master Maroon to come humbugging her. I shall lecture him about it, now that I've got him here. I hope he has other business than that, though." By this time the Maroon captain equipped just as we have seen him in the forest had arrived in front of the kiosk ; and, making a deferen- tial bow, though without taking off his hat which being the toqued ker- chief, could not conveniently be removed stood waiting for the Gustos to address him. The latter remained for a considerable time without vouchsafing farther speech, than the mechanical salutation, " Good morning." There was something in the physiognomy of his visitor that had evidently made an impression upon him ; and the gaze, with which he regarded the latter, was one that bespoke some feeling different from that of mere curiosity or admiration. It was a glance of keen scrutiny : as if the face of the young man had called up some souvenir one, too, not altogether agree- able. This was indicated by a slight shadow that, at the moment, made its appearance upon the planter's countenance. Whatever it was, he seemed desirous of suppressing it ; and, making an effort to that effect, appeared to succeed : for the instant after the shadow cleared away ; and, with a magisterial but courteous smile, ne commenced the conversation. CHAPTER LttL MAGISTRATE AND MAROON. " WELL, young man," began the Gustos, in an affable tone, " you, I think, are one of the Maroons of Trelawney?" "Yes, worship," bluntly answered Cubina. " The captain of a town, are you not ?' " Only a few families, worship. Ours is a small settlement." " And your name is ?" " Cubina." " Ah ! I've heard the name," said the Gustos. " I think," added he, with a significant smile, " we have a young girl here on the plantation who knows you ?" Cubina blushed, as he stammered out an affirmative. " Oh ! that's all right," said the qustos, encouragingly. M So long ae there's no harm meant, there's no harm done. Mr. Trusty tells me yon have business with me. Is it about that?' " About what, your worship ?" inquired the Maroon, a little taken by surprise at the question so unexpectedly put to him. " About your sweetheart ?" " My sweetheart, worship ?" " Ay, Tola. Is she not your sweetheart ?" " Well, Mr. Vaughan," rejoined the Maroon, " I'm not going to deny that something has passed between me and the young girl ; but it warnl AND MAROOtf. exactly about that I've come to see you, though now, beiri' here, 1 might as well talk that matter, too, if it so please your worship." " Very good, Captain Cubina ; I'm ready to hear what you have to say. Go on !" * Well, then, your worship, the truth is, I want to buy Tola." " What ! Buy your own sweetheart ?" " Just so, worship. . Of course, as soon as she were mine, I'd set nef free." * " That is, you would change the bonds she now wears for the bonds of Matrimony ? ha ! ha I ha! Is that it, Cubina 1" And the Gustos laughed at the conceit he had so neatly expressed. " Something of that sort, your worship," replied Cubina, slightly pal ticipating in the worthy magistrate's mirth. 44 And do you think Tola desires to become Mrs. Cubina ?" " If I didn't think so, your worship, I wouldn't propose to buy her. It would be nothing to me to own the girl, if she warn't agreeable." " She is agreeable, then ?" " Well, worship, I think so. Not that she don't like the young mistress that owns her at present ; but you see, your worship but " " But there's somebody she likes better than her mistress ; and that's yourself, Master Cubina ?" " Well, you see, worship, that's a different sort of liking, and " " True enough true enough !" interrupted Mr. Vaughan, as if wishing to hasten the end of the conversation at least, upon that subject. ' Well, Captain Cubina," he added, "suppose I was willing to part with Tola, how much could you afford to give for her ? Mind you, I don't say I am willing ; for, after all, the girl belongs to my daughter : and she would have something to say about the matter." " Ah, sir !" exclaimed Cubina, in a tone of tender confidence, " Miss Vaughan is good and generous. I've often heard say so. I am sure she would never stand in the way of Tola's being happy." " Oh, you think it would make Yola happy, do you ?" " I hope so, your worship," answered the Maroon, modestly dropping his eyes, as he made the reply. " After all," said the planter, " it would be a matter of business. My daughter, even if she wished it, could not afford to part with the girl for * less than the market price ; which in Tola's case wculd be a large one, [low much do you suppose I have been offered for her ?" " I've heard two hundred pounds, your worship." " Just so ; and I refused that, too." " Maybe, Mr. Vaughan, you would not have refused it from another from me, for instance ?" " Ah, I don't know about that 1 But could you raise that large Bum ! M "Not just now, your worship. I am sorry to say I could not. I had rubbed and scraped together as good as a hundred thinking that would be enough when, to my sorrow, I learnt I had only got half way. But, if your worship will only allow me time, I think I can manage in a month or two to get the other hundred, and then " " Then, worthy captain, it will be time to talk about buying Tola Meanwhile, I can promise you that she sha'n't be sold to anybody else. Will that satisfy you?" MAGISTRATE AND " Oh, tliank your worship ! It is very kind of you, Mr VaughaiL I'D liot fail to be grateful. So long as Yola " " Yola will be safe enough in my daughter's keeping. But now, my young fellow, since you say this was not exactly the business that brought vou here, you have some other, I suppose ? Pray tell me what it is." The Gustos, as he made this request, set himself to listen, in a more at- cntive attitude than he had yet assumed. " Well, your worship !" proceeded Cubina, " I've come over to ask you for some advice about a matter I have with Mr. Jessuron he as keeps pemi close by here." > Mr. Vaughan became doubly attentive. I "What matter?" asked he, in simple phrase, lest any circumlocution might distract the speaker from his voluntary declaration. " It's an ugly business, your worship ; and I wouldn't bother about it, but that the poor young fellow, who's been obbed out ,of his rights, turns out to be neyther more nor less than the brother of Yola herself. It's a queer story altogether ; and if it warn't the old Jew that's done the thing, one could hardly believe it." " What thing? Pray be explicit, my friend I" -" Wei), your worship, if you'll have patience to hear me, I'll tell you the whole story from beginning to end that is, as far as it has gone : for it ain't ended yet." " Go on 1" commanded the Gustos. " I'll hear it patiently. And don't be afraid, Captain Oubina," added he, encouragingly. "Tell me all you know every circumstance. If it's a case for justice, I promise you justice shall be done." And with this magisterial commonplace, the Gustos resumed his atti- tude of extreme attention. " I'll make no secrets, your worship, whether it gets me into trouble or no. I'll tell you all leastwise, all that's come to my knowledge." And with this , proviso, the Maroon captain proceeded to detail the circumstances connected with the capture of the runaway ; the singular encounter between brother and sister ; and the mutual recognition that followed. Then afterwards the disclosures made by the young man : how he was an African prince ; how he had been sent in search of his sister ; the ransom he had brought with him ; his landing from the ship, consigned by Captain Jowler to the care of Jessuron ; his treatment and betrayal by the Jew ; the branding of his person, and robbing him of his property ; his escape from the penn ; his capture by Cubina, already , detailed ; and, finally, his detention by the latter, ID spite of severe messages and menaces, sent by the Jew, to deliver him up. "Good !*' cried Loftus Yaughan, starting from his chair, and evidently delighted by the recital, somewhat dramatically delivered by the Maroon. " A melodrama, I declare ! wanting only one act to complete it. Egad, I shall feel inclined to be one of the actors before it's played out. Ho !" exclaimed he, as if some thought had suddenly struck him ; " this may explain why the old rascal wanted to buy the wench though I don't clearly see his purpose in that. It'll come clear yet, no doubt." Then changing from his soliJoquised speeches, and addressing himself onco more to the Maroon : AND MAftOOtt. i "Twenty-four jlandingoes, you say twenty -four oclonged to .the prince ?" " Yes, your worship. Twenty regular slaves, and fonr others that were his personal attendants. There were more of the slaves, but they were the lawful property of the captain for bringing him over." "And they were all carried to the Jew's penn?" <4 AH of them, with the others ; in fact, the whole cargo came there The Jew bought all. There were some Coromantees among them ; anarth. The re-dawning of the light showed the cousins still standing in the same relative position unchanged even as to their attitudes. During the interval of darkness Herbert had neither stirred nor spoken ; and after the harsh rejoinder to which, in the bitterness of her pique, the young Creole had given words, it was not her place to continue the conversation. Pained though Herbert was by his cousin's reply, he nevertheless re- membered his indebtedness to her the vows he had made the proud proffer at parting. Was he now to repudiate the debt of gratitude, and prove faithless to his promise? Was he to pluck from his breast that silken souvenir, still sheltering there, though in secret and unseen ? True, it was but the memorial of an act of friendship of mere cousin- ly kindness. He had never had reason to regard it in any other light ; and now, more than ever, was he sure it had no higher signification. She had never said she loved him never said a word that could give him the right to reproach her. On her side there was no repudiation, since there had been no compromise. It was unjust to condemn her cruel to defy her, as he had done. That she loved another was that a crime. Herbert now knew that she loved another was sure of it> as that he Btood upon the Jumbe Rock. That interrupted tableau had left him no loop to hang a doubt on. The relative position of the parties proclaimed the purpose a proposal. The kneeling lover may not have obtained his answer ; but who could doubt what that answer was to have been ? The situation itself declared consent. Bitter as were these reflections, Herbert made an effort to subdue them. He resolved, if possible, to stifle his spleen ; and, upon the ruin of his hopes, restore that relationship the only one that could now exist between himself and his cousin friendship. With a superhuman effort he succeeded ; and this triumph of virtue over spite, backed by the strongest inclinings of the heart, for a moment solaced his spirit, and rendered it calmer. Alas 1 that such triumph can be only temporary. The struggle upon which he was entering, was one in which no man has ever succeeded. Love undenied, may end in friendship*; but love thwarted or unrecipro- cated, never 1 AN ESCOtTNTEft OF EYES. "JS"ow, V.!IO:T (lie r-\vifi Klioiio cleaves hi? way Vmtween Heights, that appear as lovers wlio have parted ID hate, whose mining depths HO intervene, That they can meet no more, though broken hearted ; Though in ttu-ir souls, which thus each other thwarted, Love was the very root of the fond rage Which blighted their life's bloom " Herbert Vaughan was perhaps too young too inexperienced in the flairs of the heart to have ever realised the sentiments so expressed ; rise would he have desisted from his idle attempt, and surrendered him elf at once to the despair that was certain to succeed it. Innocent perhaps happily so of the knowledge of these recondite truths, he yeilded to the nobler resolve ignorant of the utter impracti- cability of its execution. CHAPTER LVIL AN ENCOUNTER OF EYES. I WHILE Herbert Vaughan was making these reflections, the light began fc re-dawn gradually, as it were, raising the veil from the face of his cous- in. He could not resist turning to gaze upon it. During the interval of obscurity, a change had passed over the coun- tenance of the young girl, both In its hue and expression. Herbert noticed the change. It even startled him. Before, and during the unhap- py dialogue, he had looked upon a flushed cheek, a fiery eye, an air proud and haughty, with all the indices of defiant indifference. All were gone. Kate's eyes still sparkled, but with a milder light ; a uniform pallor overspread her cheeks, as if the eclipse had robbed them of their roses ; and the proud air had entirely disappeared, replaced by an expression of sadness, or rather of pain. Withall, the face was lovely as ever lovelier, thought Herbert. Why that sudden transformation ? What had caused it ? Whence sprang that painful thought that was betraying itself in the pale cheek and lips compressed and quivering ? Was it the happiness of another that was making that misery ? Smythje seemed happy very happy, to judge by his oft-repeated "haw ! haw ! " Was this the cause of that expression of extreme sadness ? So did Herbert interpret it. Making a fresh effort to subdue within himself the same spirit which he believed to \rd actuating his cousin, he remained silent though unable to withdraw his glance from that lorn but lovely face. While still gazing, upon it, a sigh escaped him. It could scarce have been heard by her who stood nearest; nor hers by him: for she also sighed, and at the same instant of time 1 Perhaps both were moved by tome secret sympathetic instinct ? Herbert had succeeded in obtaining another momentary triumph ovei his emotions : and was once more on the eve of uttering words of friend ship, when the young girl looked up and reciprocated his gaze. It was the first time during the interview their eyes had met : for up to that moment Kate had only regarded her cousin with furtive glance*. 184 AN ENCOUNTER OF EYES. For some seconds they stood face to face each gazing into the eyes ol the other, as if both were the victims of some irresistible fascination. Not a word passed between them their very breathing was stilled. Both seemed to consider the time too important for speech : for they were seeking in one another's eyes those faithful mirrors of the sou] those truest interpreters of the heart the solution of that, the most in- teresting enigma of their existence. 1 his silent interrogation was instinctive as mutual uncorrupted by a shadow of coquetry. It was bold and reckless as innocence itself un- ding outward observation. What cared they for the eclipse? for the sun, or the moon, or the waning stars ? What for the uni- verse itself ? Less far less for those human forms that chanced to be so near them 1 Drew they gratification from that mutual gaze ? They must else why had they continued it ? Not for long : not for long were they allowed. An eye was upon them the eye of that beautiful demon. Ah ! fair Judith, thy flirtation has proved a failure. The ruse has recoiled upon thyself ! The golden sunlight once more fell upon the Jumbe rock, revealing the forms of four individuals all youthful all in love, though two only were beloved ! The returning light brought no joy to Judith Jessuron. It revealed to her that glance of mutual fascination which, with a quick, sharp cry, she had interrupted. A bitter embarrassment seemed all at once to have seized upon her proud spirit, and dragged it into the dust. Skilled in the silent language of the eyes, she had read in those of Herbert Vaughan, as he bent them upon his cousin, an expression that stung her, even to the utterance of a scream ! From that moment the flirtation with Smythje ceased; and the cock ney exquisite was forsaken in the most unceremonious manner left to continue his telescopic observations alone. The conversation was no longer dos y dos, but at once changed to a trio t and finally restored to its original quartette form soon, however, to bo broken up by an abrupt separation of the parties. The Jewess was the first to propose departure the first to make it. She descended from the Jumbe rock in a lees lively mood than that IB which she had climbed up to it ; inwardly anathematising the eclipse, and the fortune that had guidtd fe&r to the choice of such an ill-starred observatory. Herbert Vaughan was, of course, compelled to accompany her. Gladly would the young man have continued that silent duet of the eyes glad would he have been to stay longer on the summit ; but the partner of the excursion was, at least, in one sense, his mistress; and something more than mere courtesy required compliance with her wishes. A certain air of hesitancy, as he stepped down from tho rock, betrayed the irksomeness he experienced at that abrupt departure. Perhaps, had their interview been prolonged, the cousins might hare separated with a better understanding of each other, than was expressed iu that cold, ceremonious adie^ with which they parted. THE SMYTHJE BALL. 185 Smythje and Kate Vaughan were once more alone upon the summit of the rock; and the supercilious lover was now free to continue the decla- ration. One might suppose that he would have instantly dropped tack upon his knees, and finished the performance so vexatiously interrupted. Not so, however. The spirit of Smythje's dream seemed equally to have undergone a change ; as if he, too, had seen something. His air of high confidence had departed, as also the climax on which ae had counted : for the sun's disc was now quite clear of the eclipse, and the pretty speeches, intended for an anterior time, would now have been pointless arid inappropriate. Whether it was this that influenced him, or a presentiment that the offer of his heart and hand might just then stand some chance of a rejec- tion, can never be known: since Smythje, who alone could divulge it, nas left no record of the reason. Certain it is, however, that the proposal did not take place on the Jumbe rock on the day of the eclipse ; but waa postponed, sine die, to some future occasion. CHAPTER LVIII. THE SMYTHJE BALL. As if the eclipse had not been a sufficient climax to the round of * fetaa* got up for the express amusement of Mr. Smythje, only a few days or, rather, nights after, still another was inaugurated, to do honour to thin young British lion. Unlike the eclipse, it was a terrestrial phenomenon one of the most popular of sublunary entertainments a ball a complimentary ball Mr. Smythje the recipient of the compliment. Montego Bay was to be the place ; which, notwithstanding its provin- ciality, had long been celebrated for its brilliant assemblies from the time that fandangoes were danced by the old Spanish pork-butchers, down to that hour when Mr. Montagu Smythje had condescended to hono^ir its salons by the introduction of some very fashionable steps from the world's metropolis. The ball was to be a grand affair one of the grandest ever given in the Bay and all Plauterdom was expected to be present. Of course, Kate Vaughan would be there ; and so, too, the Custot himself. Mr. Smythje would be the hero of the night ; and, as such, surrounded by the fairest of the fair hedged in by a galaxy of beautiful belles, and beset by an army of match-making parents, all seeking success with as much eagerness as Loftus Vaughan himself. Under these circumstances, it would be but simple prudence thai Kate should be there to look after him : for the worthy Gustos was not unacquainted with the adage, that " The sweetest smelling flower is that Dearest the nose." Mr* Vaughan would have rejoiced at the opportunity thus offered, off 186 THJ3 SMYTHJJE BAU* letting all the monde of Jamaica know the relatioiiRhip in whtcn he stood and was likely to stand, to the distinguished individual to whom tht entertainment was dedicated. He had no doubt but that Kate would be chosen as the conspicuous partner: for well knew lie the condition of Mr. Smythje's mind upon that subject. To him the latter had made no secret of his affections ; and the cunning Gustos, who had been all along warily watching the development of the passion, now knew to a certain- ty that tne heart of Montagu's lord was not only smitten with his daugh ter, but was irretrievably lost so far as such a heart could suffer love's perdition. No doubt, then. Mr. Vaughan would have looked forward to the Smythje ball with pleasant anticipation as likely to afford him a social triumph but for a little circumstance that had lately come to his knowl- edge. It was the incident which had transpired on the ' Jurnbe Rock' the meeting between his daughter and nephew on the day of the eclipse. The Gustos had been the more particular in obtaining the details of that interview from his presumptive son-in-law, on account of a suspicion that had arisen in his mind, as to the inclinings of his daughter's heart. Something she had said during the first days after Herbert's Irusqv* dismissal from Mount Welcome some sympathetic expression she had made use of unguarded and overheard, had given rise to this suspicion of her father. He was sufficiently annoyed about Kate having met Herbert on the ' Jumbe Rock'; and believed it quite possible that the latter had come there in the hope of encountering his cousin. In Mount Welcome the name of Herbert Vaughan was no longer heard. Even Kate whether it was that she had grown more sage for she had been chided more than once for introducing it into the conversa- tion or whether she had ceased to think of him even she never pro- nounced his name. For all that, Mr. Vaughan was still vexed with some lingering suspi- cion that in that direction lurked danger ; and this determined him to prevent, as far as possible, any further interview between his daughter and nephew. After the encounter on the ' Jumbe Rock,' he had taken his daughter to task upon this subject ; and using the full stretch of parental authority compelled her to a solemn promise, that she was not again to speak to her cousin, nor even acknowledge his presence 1 It was a hard promise for the poor girl to make. Perhaps it would have been still harder, had she known Herbert's disposition towards her? There can be no doubt that her father, in extracting this promise, had in view the event about to take place the grand Smythjo ball. There an encoun ter between the cousins was not only possible, but probable; so much so as to render Mr. Vaughan apprehensive. Judith Jessuron was Bure to be present perhaps the Jew himself ; and Herbert, of course. The nephew was now cordially disliked. Sturig by the defiant speeches which the young man had made on the day of his arrival, his uncle even detested him ; for the proud planter was himself too poor in spirit to admire this quality in any one else. The Cuitos had heard all about the hospitality which his neighbour wai SMYl'HJE BALI. 187 extending to Herbert, and the kindness which the patron was lavishing upon his protege. Though not a little mystified by what was going on, he availed himself of the ordinary explanation that it was done to vex himself ; and, if so, the stratagem of the Jew was proving perfectly suc- cessful : for vexed was Mr. Vaughan to his very heart's core. The night of the Smythje ball came round in due course. The grand ball-room of the Bay was decorated as became the occasion. Flags, fes- toons, and devices were hung around the walls ; and over the doorway a large transparency supported by the loyal emblems of the Union Jack and banner of St. George, and surmounted by the colonial colours pro- claimed, in letters of eighteen inches diameter: "WELCOME TO SMYTHJE 1" The hour arrived ; the band shortly after ; close followed by strings of carriages of every kind current in the island, containing scores ey, hundreds of dancers. * Twenty miles was nothing to go to a Jamaica ball. Mount Welcome, though more than ten (for Quashie's estimate of " fo' mile" was far wide of the mark) was near, compared with the dis- tances which some of the dancers travelled to be present at the Smythje ball. The grand barouche of Loftus Vaughan arrived with the rest, only fashionably behind time, bringing the Gustos himself, his truly beautiful daughter, but, above all as before all perhaps should have been men- tioned the hero of the night. " WELCOME TO SMYTHJE !" How his proud heart swelled in triumph under the magnificent ruffles of his shirt, as he caught sight of the flattering phrase 1 How conquer ing his smile, as he turned towards Kate Vaughan, to note the effect which the transparency could not fail to produce ! " Welcome to Smythje !" pealed from a hundred pair of lips as the carriage drove up to the door ; and then a loud cheer followed the words of greeting ; and then the distinguished stranger was ushered into the ball-room ; and, after remaining for a few moments in a conspicuous posi tion the cynosure of at least two hundred pair of eyes the great man set the example by pairing off with a partner. The band struck up, and the dancing began. It need scarce be said who was Smythje's first partner. Kate Vaughan, of course. The Custos had taken care of that. Smythje looked superb. Thorns had been at him all the afternoon His hay-coloured hair was in full curl his whiskers in amplest bush his moustache crimped spirally at the points ; and his cheek pinked with jut-:t the slightest tinting of vermilion. His dress was that of a ball-room ' elegant' of the first water. A claret- coloured coat, lined through and through with white satin ; a vest of the Bame material as the lining of the coat, but richly embroidered with cord of gold; breeches also of white satin; spotless stockings of spun silk : and patent pumps with gold buckles. A white cravat around his neck, and a black crush-nat under his arm, completed his costume du bal- ull perfectly 'en regie' according to the fashion of the time. Remembering what has already been insinuated about Mr. Smythje'a legs, this full dress might be supposed to have submitted his weak point* V) exposure. Not so, however ; Thorns had taken care to guard against TE SMYTH JE BALL. that ; for both the small clothes and silk stockings were provided with padding underneath ; and Smythje sported a pair of thighs, with calves to match, as large and rotund as the best-limbed man in the room. This tendency towards elephantiasis might have interfered with his dancing, had he been an ordinary practitioner of the Terpsichorean ait. But he was not. On the contrary, he was so perfectly up in every species of ball-room saltation, that he could, with grace, have gone through a waltz in the snow-boots of a Samoeid. | It would have been a disgrace indeed not to have danced well with i-siich a partner ; for the young Creole, like all of her country and race, was a skilled and graceful dancer. In her simple dress of white silk the outlines of her fine figure unbroken by the ungainly angles of corset or crinoline she appeared the personification of that divine idea the poetry of motion by the Greeks termed Terpsichore or rather might she have been likened to the goddess whom Terpsichore had taught to dance. When the w,altz came on in which Kate Vaughan had again the dis- tinction to stand up with Smythje and a splendid couple they ap- peared . " So stately hit form, and BO lorely her face, That never a hall suoh a gal liar d did graoe." There may have been finer forms on the floor than that of Mr. Smythje Acknowledged. But a lovelier face than his partner's there was not in the room. And yet there were fair faces, too. Ay, many ; and among the fairest that of Judith Jessuron. Arrived a little late, the Jewess had not appeared in the first set. Ip the waltz she was conspicuous : not from her dress of rich purple velvet not from the splendid tiara of pearls that glistened against the back- ground of her glossy, raven hair not from the dazzling whiteness of her teeth, that gleamed between lips like curved and parted rose leaves not from the damask tinting of her cheeks ; nor the liquid light that flashed incessantly from the black, Israelitish eyes not from any of these was she conspicuous ; but from all combined into one, and composing a grand and imperious picture. It was a picture upon which more than one eye gazed with admiration ; and more than one continued to gaze. SThe partner of Judith was not unworthy to embrace such beauty. She was in the arms of a young man a stranger to the most in the room ; but the glances bestowed upon him by bright eyes some interrogative, some furtive, some openly admiring promised him an easy introduction to any one he might fancy to know. Not that this stranger appeared to be conceitedly conscious of the graces which nature had so lavishly bestowed upon him ; or even sensi- ble of the good fortune that had given him such a partner. On the contrary, he was dancing with despondency in his look and a cloud upon his brow, that even the exciting whirl of the waltz was failing to dissipate. The partner of Judith Jessuron was Herbert Vaughan. LOST AND WON. 189 A lJl-room may be likened to a kaleidoscope the personages are iho same, their relative positions constantly changing. Design it or not, either during the dance or the interregnum one time or another you will find yourself face to face, or side by side, with every individual in the room. So in the ball-room of Montego Bay came face to face two sets of walt- zes Smythje and Kate, Herbert and Judith. The situation arose, as they were resting from the dizzy whirl of a waltz. Smythje, flattening the opera-hat over his bosom, bent profoundly to- wards the floor Judith, with an imperious sweep, returned the salutation \ Herbert bowed to his cousin, with a half-doubting, half-appealing glance ; but the nod received in return was so slight, so distant, that even the keen-eyed Gustos, closely watching every movement of the quartette, failed to perceive it ! Poor Kate ! She knew that the paternal eye, severely set, was upon her. She remembered that painful promise. Not a word passed between the parties. Scarce a moment stood they together. Herbert, stung by Kate's salutation unexpectedly cold, almost insultingly distant warped his arm around the waist of his willing partner, and spun off" through the unobservant crowd. Though often again upon that same night Smythje and Kate, Herbert and the Jewess were respectively partners so often as to lead to gene- ral observation never again did 'the four stand vis-a-vis or side by side. Whenever chance threatened to bring them together, design, or some- thing like it, stepped in to thwart the approximation 1 CHAPTER LIX. LOST AND WON. ALMOST all the night did Herbert dance with the Jewess no longer with despondency in his look, but with the semblance of a gay arid reckless joy. Never had Judith received from, the young Englishman such ardent attention ; and for the first time since their introduction to each other, did she fpel conscious of something like a correspondence to her own fierce love. For the moment her proud, cruel heart became dissolved to a true feminine tenderness ; and in the spiral undulations of the waltz, as he coiled round the robust form of her partner, her cheek rested upon his shoulder, as if laid there to expire in the agony of an exquisite bliss, She stayed not to question the cause of Herbert's devotedness. Her own heart, blinded by love, and yearning for reciprocity, threw open its portals to receive the passion without challenge or scrutiny without knowing whether it was real, or only apparent. A wild anguish would she have experienced at that moment, could she have divined what was passing in Herbert's bosom. Little did she sui- pect that bis devotednese to her was only a demonstration intended to 190 L OST AND WOIT. act upon another. Little dreamt she that real love for another was the cause and origin of that counterfeit that was deceiving herself. Happy for her heart's peace she knew not this. Herbert alone knew this. As the kaleidoscope evolved the dazzling dancers one after another, often did the face of Kate Vaughan flit before the eyes of her cousin, and his before her eyes. On such occasions, the glance hastily exchanged was one of defiant indifference ; for both were playing at piques ! The cold salutation had given him the cue, ignorant |d,s he was of its cause. She had begun the game only little later on ob- * serving the attitude of extreme contentment which Herbert had assumed , towards his companion. She knew not that it was studied. Her skill in coquetry, although sufficient for the pretence of indifference, was not deep enough to discern it in him ; and both were now behaving, as if each believed the love of the other beyond all hope. A Before abandoning the ball-room, this belief erroneous as it might be on both sides received further confirmation. A circumstance arose that strengthened it to a full and perfect conviction. From the gossip of a crowded ball-room many a secret may be learnt. In those late hours, when the supper champagne has untied the tongue, and dancers begin to fancy each other deaf, he who silently threads his way, or stands stiff among the crowd, may catch many a sentence not in- tended to be over-heard, and often least of all by himself. Many an in- voluntary eaves-dropper has fallen into this catastrophe. At least two in- stances occurred at the Smythje ball ; and to the two individuals in whom, perhaps, we are mast interested Herbert and Kate Vaguhan. Herbert was for a moment alone. Judith, not that she had tired of her partner, but perhaps only to save appearances, was dancing with another. It was not Smythje, whom all the evening she had studiously avoided. She remembered the incident on the Jumbe rock ; and feared that dancing with him might conduct to a similar disposition of the part- ners, as that which had occurred on the day of the eclipse. It was not flirtation in any way. On that night Judith had no need. Confident in her success with Herbert, she was contented ; and cared not to do anything that might hazard a rupture of the blissful chain she believed she had woven around him. Herbert was standing alone in the crowd. Two young planters were near him engaged in conversation. They had mixed their liquor and therefore talked loud. Herbert could not help hearing what they talked of; and, having ' h:ard could not help heeding it. He was interested in the subject though not from its singularity ; for it was the common topic of the ball room, and had been throughout the night. The theme was Smythjo ; and coupled with this name was that of Kate Vaughan. On hearing these names. Herbert was no longer an involuntary lis- tener. He strained his ears to catch every word. He had not heard the beginning of the dialogue, but the introduction was easily inferred. " When is it to come off?" inquired the least kr owing of the planters, from him who was imparting the information. " No time fixed yet at least, none has been naentipned. Soon, I sap LOST AND WON. 191 u There'll be a grand spread upon the occasion breakfast, dinner, sup per, and ball, no doubt ?" " Sure to be all that. The Gustos is not the man to let the ceremony pass without all the ' eclat.' " " Honeymoon tour afterwards ?" " Of course. He takes her to London. I believe they are to reside there. Mr. Smythje don't much relish our colonial life : he misses the opera. A pity : since it'll make one beautiful woman less in the island I* " Well, all I've got to say is, that Loff Taughan has sold his nigge* well." " Oh, for shame ! to use such a word when speaking of the beautiful* the accomplished Kate ! Come, Thorndyke ! I'm shocked at you." Thorndyke, by the expression, had hazarded the punching of his head not by his companion, but by a stranger who stood near. Herbert curbed his indignation. Kate cared not for him! Perhapa she would not have accepted him even as her champion? Almost at that same moment she, too, was listening to a dialogue pain- fully analagous. Smythje could not dance all the night with her. Too many claimed the honour of his partnership ; and for a set or two she had been forsaken by him left under the guardianship of the watchful Gustos. " Who can he be ?" inquired one of two gentle gossips within ear-shot of Kate. " A young Englishman, I have heard : a relative of the Vaughans of Mount Welcome ; though, for some reason, not acknowledged by the Gustos." " That bold girl appears willing enough to acknowledge him. Who is she ?" " A Miss Jessuron. She is the daughter of the old Jew penn-keeper, who used to deal largely in blacks." " Faugh ! she is behaving as if she belonged to a " The last word was whispered, and Kate did not hear it. " True enough 1" asserted the other ; " but, as they are engaged, that, I suppose, is nobody's business but their own. He's a stranger in the island ; and don't know much about certain people's position I suppose. A pity ! He seems a nice sort of young fellow ; but as he makes his bed BO let him lie. Ha ! ha ! If report speaks true of Miss Judith JessuroB, he'll find no bed of roses there. Ha ! ha! ha!" What causes merriment tc one may make another miserable. Thai was true of the words last spoken. From the speaker and her companion they elicited a laugh from Kate Vaughan they drew a sigh, deep and ad. She left the ball with a Bleeding heart. " Lost ! lost for ever !" murmured she, as she laid her head upon a sleepless pillow. " Won!" triumphantly exclaimed Judith Jessuron, flinging her majestio form on a couch. " Herbert Vaughan is mine I" " Lost ! lost for ever !" soliloquised Horbert, as he closed the door of his solitary sleeping-room. * Won t" cried the victorious Smythje, entering his elegant 192 AFTER THE BALL. ber, and, in the fervour of his enthusiasm, dropping his metropolitan patois. " Kate Vaughan is mine 1" CHAPTER LX. AFTER THE BALL. TH* time was rapidly drawing nigh when the ambitious scheme of the| Gustos Vaughan was either to be crowned with success, or end in failure.* Of the latter he had little apprehension. Though Smythje, having lost the opportunity of the eclipse, had not yet declared himself, Mr. Vaughan knew it was his intention to do so on an early occasion. Indeed, the declaration was only postponed by the advice of the Gustos himself, whose counsel had been sought by his intended son-in-law. Not that Mr. Vaughan had any fear of Kate giving a negative answer. The stern father knew that he had his daughter too well in hand for that. His wish would be her will on that point was he determined ; and it was less the fear of a refusal than some other circumstances that had hindered him from bringing the matter to a crisis. As for Smythje, he never dreamt of a rejection. Kate's behaviour at the ball had confirmed him in the-belief that she was entirely his own , and that without him her future existence would be one of misery. Her pale cheek, and sad, thoughtful air, as she appeared next morning at the breakfast-table, told him too plainly that she would never be happj under any other name than that of Mrs. Smythje. Again, upon that morning, it occurred to him that the proposal should be made. It would be an appropriate finale, to the ' fete' of the preced- ing night. His brow still glowing with the laurels that had bedecked it, like a second Antony he would approach his Cleopatra, triumphantly ir- resistible. After breakfast, Mr. Smythje drew the Gustos into a corner, and once more expressed his solicitude to become his son-in-law. Whether, because Kate's behaviour at the ball had also impressed Mr. Vaughan with the appropriateness of the time, or for some other reason, Bcnythje found him agreeable. Only first, the father desired to have an interview with his daughter, in order to prepare her for the distinguished j honour of which she was so soon to be the recipient. Kate had gone out into the kiosk. There Mr. Vaughan sought her, to bring about the proposed preliminary interview. Smythje also stepped into the garden ; but, instead of going near the summer-house, he saun- tered along the walks at a distance, occasionally plucking a flower, or chasing the butterflies, bright and gay as hig own the ugh ts. Kate's countenance still preserved the air of ntelancholy that had clouded it all the morning ; and the approach of the Gustos did nothing to dissipate it. On the contrary, its shadows became deeper, as if the ponderous presence of her father, coming between her and the sun, was about to shut out the little light left shining in her heart From what she had heard that morning, she presumed that the time had AFTER THE BALL, 193 arrived when she must either submit to the wishes of her father, and re- sign herself to an unhappy fate ; or, by the disobedience, brave his inger, and perhaps she knew not what. She only knew that she did not like Mr. Smythje, and never could. She did not hate the man she did not detest him. Her feeling towards him was that of indifference, slightly tinctured with contempt Harmless she deemed him ; and, no doubt, a harmless husband he would make ; but that was not the sort to suit the taste of the young Creole. Far different wag the hero of her heart. Neither the lover, nor his prospective father-in-law, could have chosen a time more opportune for making their approaches. Although at that timo Kate Vaughan felt towards Smythje more indifference pernapg more contempt than she had ever done, at that very hour was she wav- ering in the intention, hitherto cherished, of refusing him. Though both lover and father had erroneously interpreted her air of dejection, it was nevertheless in their favour. It was not love for Smythje under which she was suffering ; but despair of this passion for another ; and in that despair lay the hope the only hope of the lord of Montagu Castle. It was a despair not unmingled with pique with anger ; that proud rage, which, painfully wringing the heart, prompts it to desperate re- solves : even to the utter annihilation of all future hope as if happiness could be obtained by destroying the happiness of the one only being who could give it I Yes, the heart of Kate Vaughan had reached, or almost reached, that fearful phase of our moral nature, when love, convinced of its unrequital, seeks solace in revenge I The Smythje ball, which had crowned the hopes of him to whom the compliment was given, had been fatal to those of Kate Vaughan. Certain it was that she had conceived hopes that pointed to Herbert Vaughan. Love could scarce have been kindled without them. They were founded upon those fond words spoken at their first parting. Slight as was the foundation, up to that night bad they endured : for she had treasured and cherished them in spite of absence, and calumny, and false report True, as time passed they had waxed fainter, with longer intervals of doubt, until the day in which had occurred the unexpected incident of meeting with Herbert on the Jumbe Rook. There notwithstanding the many circumstances that had arisen cal- culated, as one would suppose, to produce an opposite effect the hopes of the young Creole, instead of becoming extinguished, had rather gained strength. Was it an instinct taught her that Herbert's tongue was less truthful than his eyes ? Perhaps it was an intuition founded upon her own feelings for was not she also practising a similar deception ? Cer- tain it is, that upon that occasion she had placed less faith in her cousin'* words than his looks: for in that encounter of the eyes,alreaiy chronicled she had read something to cause a revival of her hopes. They had lived with more or lees intermission until that fatal night the night of the ^mythje fcajl wtion they were doomed to utter AFTER THE BALL. All night long he had come but once near her only that once by th mere chance of changing positions. And then that bow that single salutation, friendly as it might have been deemed, she could only remem- ber as being cold, almost cynical 1 She did not think how cold and distant had been her own at least, how much BO it must have appeared to him. Though her eyes had often ought him in the crowd, and often found him, she did not know that hia tvere equally following her, and equally as often fixed upon her. Both .vere ignorant of this mutual espionage, for each had studiously declined csponding the glance of the other. r Never more that night had he come near never again had he shown a desire or made an attempt to address her ; though opportunities there were many of them when no paternal eye was upon her to prevent an interview. All nightlong had his attentions been occupied by another apparently engrossed and that other a bold, beautiful woman just such a one as Herbert might love. " He loves her ! I am sure he loves her !" was the reflection that passed often and painfully through the thoughts of Kate Vaughan, as she swept her eye across that crowded ball-room. And then came the climax that half-whispered gossip that reached her ear, falling upon it like a knell of death. They were to be married : they were already betrothed ! It needed no more. In that moment the hopes of the "young Creole were crushed so cruelly, so completely, that, in the dark future before her, no gleam of light, not even a ray, arose to resucitato them. No wonder that the morning sun shone upon a pale cheek no wonder that an air of deep dejection sate upon the countenance of Kate Vaug- han. In this melancholy mood did the father find his daughter, on entering the kiosk. She made no attempt to conceal it not even with the counterfeit of a smile. Rather with a frown did she receive him ; and in her eyes might have been detected the slightest scintillation of anger, whether or not he was its object. It is possible that just then the thought was passing through her mind that but for him, her destiny might have been different ; but for him, Her bert Vaughan, and not Montagu Smythje, might have been on the eve ol offering for her hand, which would then have gone wipi her heart. Now, in the contingency of her consenting to the proposal she expected, would they be separated, and for ever Never more was she to experience that supreme happiness the Kupremest known upon earth and, perhaps, equalling the joys of heaveL. itself; nevermore could she indulge in that sweet, delicious dream a virgin's love with the hope of its being returned. Her love might re- main like a fiower that had lost its perfume, only to shed it on the soli- tary air ; nc more a sweet passion, but a barren, bitter thought, without hope to cheer it tillthe end of time. Ah, Gustos Vaughan 1 proud, foolish parent! Could you have known &ow von were aiding to destroy &$ hap 111033 of youjr childhow you PAVING THE WAY. 195 were contributing to crusn that young heart you would have approaches! less cheerfully to complete the ceremony of its sacrifice CHAPTER LXL PAVING THB WAY. *CAIHERINE ! M gravely began the father on stepping inside the kiosk ; "Father!" The parental appellative was pronounced in a low murmur, the speaker- Hot uplifting her eyes from the object upon which she had been gazing. The object was a small silken purse that lay upon the table. Stringless it was, though the broken ends of a blue ribbcto attached to it showed that it had not always been so. Loftus Vaughan knew not the history of that purse, neither why it lay there what had stripped it of its string, or why his daughter was B<, sadly gazing upon it. All these circumstances, however, he noticed on entering the kiosk ; and, but for the last, he might neither have thought of nor attempted to account for them." " Ah, your purse 1" said he, taking it up and examining it more minute- ly. " Some one has torn the string from it a pity 1 who can have done it?" Little did he care for the answer. As little did he suspect that the rape of that bit of ribbon had aught to do with his daughter's dejection, which he had observed throughout all the morning. The surprise he had expressed, and the question put, were only intended to initiate the more serious conversation he was about to introduce. " Oh, papa ! it don't signify," said Kate, avoiding a direct answer ; " 'tis but a bit of blue ribbon. I can easily replace it by another that will serve as well." Ah, Kate ! you may easily replace the ribbon upon the purse, but not so easily that peace of mind which parted from your bosom at the same time. When that string was torn, torn, too, were the strings of your heart. Some such reflection must have passed through her mind as she made the reply ; for the shadow stole deeper over her countenance. Mr. Vaughan pursued the subject of the purse no further ; but looking tnrough the lattice-work and perceiving Smythje in chase of the butter- flies, endeavoured to draw his daughter's attention to that sportive gen tleman. This was the more easily done ; as Mr. Smythje was at the re omen humming a tone, and could be heard as well as seen. ' I'd be a butterfly, wig Smythje* 196 PAVING THE WAT. And then, as if to contradict tbi.s pleasant prospectus of insect life, lie was at that instant s?2n seizing a splendid Vanessa, and " scrunching" the frail creature between his kid-gloved fingers! " Isn't he a superb fellow ?" said Mr. Vaughan, first gazing enthusiast*.- call} *n Smythje. and then fixing his eyes upon his daughter, to note the character of the reply. " I suppose he must be papa since everybody says BO." There was no enthusiasm in Kate's answer nothing to encourage tht Oiistos. " Don't you think so, Kate ?** This was coming more directly to the point ; but the response prove* * equally evasive. " You think so, papa and that should do for both of us." The melodious voice of Sraythie again interrupted the conversation, ejul turned it into a new channel. amythje singing " I'd never languish for wealth mot for power, I'd never sign to see slaves at my feet I" " Ah, Mr. Smythje I" exclaimed the Gustos, in a kind of soliloquy, though meant for the ear of Kate ; " you have no need to sigh for them you have them ; five hundred in all. And beauties, too ! Wealth and power, indeed I You needn't languish for either one or the other. The estate of Montagu Castle provides you with both, my boy 1" Smythje still chanted : " Those whojihave wealth may be watchful and wary, Power, alaa 1 nought but misery brings." " Do you hear that, Kate ? What fine sentiments he utters I" " Very fine, and apropos to the occasion," replied Kate, sarcastically * They are not his, however ; but, no doubt, he feels them ; and that'* just as good." " A splendid property r* continued Mr. Vaughan, returning to what in- terested him more than the sentiments of the song, and not heeding the sarcasm conveyed in the speech of his daughter ; " a splendid property I toll you ; and with mine joined on to it will make the grandest establish- ment in the island. The island, did I say ? In the West Indies ay, in the Western World ! Do you hear that, my daughter ?" " I do, papa," replied the young Creole. " But you speak aa if the two estates were to be joined together? Does Mr. Smythje intend to pur- chase Mount Welcome ? or you Montagu Castle ?" These questions were asked with an air of simplicity evidently assum- ed. In truth, the interrogator knew well enough to what the conversa- tion was tending ; and, impatient with the ambiguity, that was every mo- ment growing more painful to her, desired to bring it to its crisis. Mr. Vaughan was equally desirous of arriving at the same result, aa testified in his reply. " Ah, Kate ! you little rogue ?" said he, looking gratified at the opening thus made for him. " Egad! you've just hit the nail on thr head. You've guessed right, only that we, WQ bvtU V > b^buyers, Mr. Suaythje is to PAVING THE WAI. li purchase Mount Welcome ; and what do you suppose he 8 to pay for it? Guess that !" " Indeed, father, I cannot ! How should I know ? I am sure I do not Only this I know, that I am sorry you should think of our leaving Mount Welcome. Though I do not expect now ever to be happy here, I think I should not be happier anywhere else." Mr. Yaughan was too much wound-up in the thread of hie own thought* to notice the emphasis on the word " now," or the double meaning of hit ? daughter's words. " Ha ! ha ! ha I" laughed he ; " Mr. Smythje's purchase won't dispossess as of Mount Welcome. Don't be afraid of that, little Katey. But, come, try and guess the price he is to pay ?" " Father, I need not try. I am sure I could not guess it not within thousands of pounds." " Not a thousand pounds ! no, not one pound, unless hie great big heart weighs that much, and his generous hand thrown into the scale for that, Catherine, that is the price he is to pay." Mr. Vaughan wound up this speech with a significant glance, and a triumphant gesture, expressive of astonishment at his own eloquence. He looked for a response one that would reciprocate his smiles and the joyful intelligence he fancied himself to have communicated. He looked in vain. Notwithstanding the perspicuity of hia explanation. Kate obstinately refused to comprehend it. Her reply, was provokingly a " shirking of the question." " His heart and his hand, you say ? Neither seem very heavy. But it it not very little for an estate where there are many hands, and many hearts, too ? To whom does he intend to give them ? You have not lot me know that, papa ?" " I shall let you know now," replied the father, his voice changing to a more serious tone, as if a little nettled by Kate's evident design to mis- understand him. " I shall let you know by telling you what I intend to give him for Montagu Castle. I told you we were both to be buyers in this transaction. It is a fair exchange, Kate, hand for hand, and heart for heart. Mr. Smythje freely gives his, and I give yours" " Mine 1" " Ay, yours. Surely, Kate, I have not made a mistake ? Surely yoi itie agreeable to the exchange ?" " Father," said the young girl, speaking in a tone of womanly gravity, 4 there can be no exchange of hearts between Mr. Smythje and myself. He may have given his to me. I l^now not nor care. But I will not de- ceive you, father. My heart he can never have: it is not hi my power to give it to him." " Nonsense !" exclaimed Mr. Vaughan, startled by this unexpected declaration ; " you are deceiving yourself, my child, when you talk thu. I do not see how you can fail to like Mr. Smythje so generous, so accom- plished, so handsome as he is! Come, you are only jesting, Kate? You do like him ; you do not hate him ?" " No, no 1 I do not hate him ! Why should I ? Mr. Smyfhje lias don nothing to offend me. I believe he is very honourable." " Why, that is almost saying that you like tim ?" rejoined tins fathe* in a tone of returning gratification. 198 " Liking is not love," murmured Kate, as if speaking to herself. " It may turn to it," said the Gustos encouragingly. " It often dc**-~ especially when two people become man and wife. Besides, it's nol always best for young married folks to be too fond of each other at first As my old spelling-book used to say, ' Hot love soon grows cold.' Never ^dar, Kate 1 you'll get to like Mr. Smythie well enough, when you come to oe the misttress of Montagu Castle, ana take rank as the grandest lady of the island. Won't that be happiness, little Kate ?" M Ah I" thought the young Creole, " a cabin shared with Mm would be greater happiness far, far greater !" It is needless to say that the " him" to whom the thought pointed wai not Smythje. "As Mrs. Montagu Smythje," proceeded the Gustos, with the design of painting the future prospects of his daughter in still more glowing tints, " you will have troops of friends the highest in the land. And remem* ber, my child, it is not so now. You know it, Catherine ?" These last words were pronounced in a tone suggestive of some secret understanding between father and daughter. The purpose was to bring forcibly before the mind of the young girl a certain fact and thought in order that she might the more eagerly embrace the opportunity of escap- ing from that humiliating position, of late better known to her. Whether the confidential speech produced the desired effect, he who made it did not stay to perceive ; but continued on in the same breath to finish the rose-coloured picture he had essayed to paint. " Yes, my little Kate! you will be the observed of all observers the cynosure, as the poets say. Horses, slaves, dresses, carriages at will. You will make a grand tour to London egad ! I feel like going myself 1 In the great metropolis you will hob-nob with lords and ladies ; visit the operas and balls, where you will be a belle, my girl a belle ; do you hear ? Every one will be talking of Mrs. Montagu Smythje 1 How do you like it now ?" " Ah, papa !" replied the young Creole, evidently unmoved by these promises of pomp and grandeur ; " I should not like it at all. I am sure I should not. 1 never cared for such things you know I do not. They cannot give happiness at least, not to me. I should never be happy away from our own home. What pleasure should I have in a great city? None, I am sure; but quite the contrary. I should miss our grand mountains and woods our beautiful trees with their gay, perfumed blossoms our bright-winged birds with the sweet songs ! Operas and t balls! I dislike balls; and to be the belle of one papa I detest the word I" Kate at that moment, was thinking of the Smythje ball, and its dis agreeable souvenirs perhaps the more disagreeable, that oftener than once during the night she had heard the phrase " belle of the ball" applied to one who had aided in the desolation of ier heart. " Oh I you will get over that dislike,'' returned Mr. Vaughan, " once vou go into fashionable sorlety Most young ladies do. There is no harm in balls, after a girl gets married, and her husband goes with her, to take care of her no harm whatever. u But, now, Kate," continued the Gustos, betraying a certain degree of WAY. 199 L>rvous impatience " We must come to an understanding. Mr. 9mythj te waiting." " For what is he waiting, papa?" " Tut ! tut ! child," said Mr. Vaughan, slightly irritated by his daughter'* apparent incapacity to comprehend him. " Surely you know ? Have I not as good as told you ? Mr. Smythje is going to to offer you hi heart and hand ; and and to ask yours in return. That is what he is waiting to do. You will not refuse him? you must not 1" Loftus Vaughan would have spoken more gracefully had he omitted the last phrase. It had the sound of a command, with an implied threat; and jarring upon the ear of her to whom it was addressed, might have roused a spirit o rebellion. It is just possible that such would have been its effect,- had it been spoken on the eve of the Smythje ball instead of the morning after. The incidents occurring there had extinguished all hope in the breast of the young Creole that she should ever share happiness with Herbert Vaughan had at the same time destroyed any thought of resistance to the will of her father ; and, with a thought of apathetic despair, she sub- mitted herself to the sacrifice which her father had determined upon. " I have told you the truth," said she, gazing fixedly in the face of her father, as if to impress him with the idleness of the arguments he had been using. " I cannot give Mr. Smythje my heart ; I shall tell him the same." " No no !" hastily rejoined the importunate parent ; " you must do nothing of the kind. Give him your hand ; and say nothing about your heart. That you can bestow afterwards when you are safe married." " Never, never !" said the young girl, sighing painfully as she spoke. " I cannot practice that deception. No, father, not even for you. Mr. Smythje shall know all ; and, if he choose to accept my hand without my heart " " Then you promise to give him your hand ?" interrupted the Gusto*, in joy at this hypothetical consent. " It is you who give it ; not I, father." " Enough I" cried Mr. Vaughan, hastily turning his eyes to the garden, as if to search for the insect-hunter. " I shall give it," continued he, " and this very minute. Mr. Smythje !" Smythje, standing close by the kiosk, on the qui vive of expectation, promptly responded to the summons; and in two seconds of time appeared in the open doorway. " Mr. Smythje Sir!" said the Gustos, putting on an air of pompous solemnity befitting the occasion. "You have asked for my daughter'* Land in marriage ; and, Sir, I am happy to infcrm you, that she has con- sented to your becoming my son-in-law. I am proud of the honour, Sir." Here Mr. Vaughan paused to get breath. " A.w, aw !" stammered Smythje. This is a gweat happiness veway gweat. indeed ? Quite unexpected !- aw, aw II am shaw. Miss Vawns, I nevaw dweamt " " Now, my children," playfully interrupted the Gustos covering Bmythje's embarrassment by the interruption " I have bestowed yo upon one another ; and, with my blessing, I leave you to yourself." 200 THE DUPPY'S HOLE. So saying, the gratified father stepped forth from rho kiosk, and -wend ing his way along the walk, disappeared within the door of his dwelling We shall not intrude upon the lovers thus left alone, nor repeat a singh word of what passed between them. Suffice it to say, that when Smy thje Game out of that same kiosk, his air was rather tranquil than triumphant A portion of the shadow that sate upon Kate's countenance seemed to have been transmitted to his. One might have fancied him the recipient of the " sack," but for the words that passed between him and his in- tended father-in-law, as they met the moment after in the great hall. " Well ?" anxiously inquired the latter. " Aw ! all wight ; betwothed. Vewy stwaynge, thaw inexpwicably gtwange 1" " Eow strange 1" demanded Mr. Vaughan, " Aw, vewy mild. Aw expected haw to go into hystewics. Ba Jawve naw : she weceived ma declawation as cool as a cucumbaw !" She had done more than that : she had given him a hand without a heart. And Smythje knew it ; for Kate Vaughan had kept her promise. CHAPTER LXII THB DTJPPT'S HOLE. ON the flank of the " Mountain," that frowned towards the happy Valley, and not far from the Jambe Rock, a spring gushed forth. So copious was it as to merit the name of fountain. In its descent down the slope it was joined by others, and soon became a torrent leaping from ledge to ledge and foaming as it followed its onward course. About half-way between the summit and base of the mountain, a deep longitudinal hollow lay in its track into which the stream was precipi- tated, in a clear, curving cascade. This singular hollow resembled the crater of an extinct volcano in the circumstance that on all sides it was surrounded by a precipice facing in- ward, and rising two hundred feet sheer from the level below. It was not of circular shape, however as craters generally are but of the form of a ship, the stream falling in over the poop, and afterwards escap- ing through a narrow cleft at the bow. Preserving the simile of a ship, it may be stated that the chapnel ran directly fore and aft, bisecting the surface of the valley, an area of seve- ral acres, into two equal parts but in consequence of an obstruction at its exit, the stream formed a lagoon, or dam, flooding the whole of the fore-deck, while the main and quarter decks were covered with a growth of indigenous timber-trees, of appearance primeval. The water, ou leaving the lagoon, made its escape below, through a gorge black and narrow, bounded on each side by the same beetling cliffs that surrounded the valley. At the lower end of this gorge was a second waterfall, where the stream again pitched over a precipice of more than a hundred feet in height ; and thence, traversing the slope of the mountain, ended in be- coming a tributary of the Montego River. The upper cascade precipitated itself upon a bed of grim black bouldejuj 1) UP PITS ilULK. between which the froth-crested water seethed onward tt the lagoon below. Above these boulders hung continuously a cloud of white Tapour, like steam ascending out of some gigantic cauldron or gas-work. When the sun was upon that side of the mountain, an iris might be seen shining amidst the fleecelike vapour. But rare was the eye that be- held this beautiful phenomenon ; for the Duppy's Hole in negro parlanco I the appellation of the place shared the reputation of the Jumbe rock; |ind few were the negroes who would have ventured to approach, oven to the edge of this cavernous abysm. Fewer those who would have dared to descend into it. Indeed, something more than superstitious terror might have hindered the execution of this last project ; since a descent into the Duppy's Hole appeared an impossibility. Down the beetling cliffs that encompassed it, there was neither path nor pass not a ledge on which the foot might have rested with safety. Only at one point and that where the preci pice rose over the lagoon might a descent have been made by means of some stunted trees that, rooting in the clefts of the rock, formed a strag gling screen up the face of the cliff. There an agile individual might possibly have scrambled down ; but the dammed water dark and deep would have hindered him from reaching the quarter-deck of this ship- ehaped ravine, unless by swimming ; and this, the suck of the current to- wards the gorge below would have rendered a most perilous perform nee. It was evident that some one had tempted this peril : for on scrutini- sing the straggling trees upon the cliff, a sort of stairway could be dis- tinguished the outstanding stems serving as steps, with the parasitical creepers connecting them together. Moreover, at intervals during the day, a tiny string of smoke might have been seen ascending out of the Duppy's Hole, which, after curling diffusely over the tops of the tall trees, out of which it rose, would dis- solve itself, and become invisible. Only one standing upon the cliff above, and parting the foliage that screened it to its very brink, could have seen this smoke ; and, if only superficially observed, it might easily have been mistaken for a stray waif of the fog that floated above the waterfall near which it rose. Closely scrutinised, however, its blue col- "* our and soft filmy haze rendered it recognisable as the smoke of a wood fire, and one that must have been made by human hands. Any day might it have been seen, and three times a-day at morning noon, and evening as if the fire had been kindled for the purpose of cooking the three regular meals of breakfast, dinner, and supper. The diurnal appearance of the smoke proved the presence of a human- being or beings. One, at least, disregarding the superstitious terror at- tached to the place, had made the Duppy's Hole his home. By exploring the valley, other evidences of human presence could be found. Under the branches of a large tree, standing by the edge of the lagoon, and from which the silvery tillandsia fell in festoons to the surface of the water, a small canoe of rude construction might be seen, a foot or two of its stem protruding from the moss. A piece of twisted withe attach- ing it to the tree told that it had not drifted there by accident, but wa moored by some one who meant to return to it* 202 ttfE DUPPY^S TTOL& From the ? dge of the lagoon to the upper end of the valley, the ground^ as already stated, was covered with a thick growth of forest timber- where the eye of the botanical observer might distinguish, by their forms and foliage, many of those magnificent indigenous trees for which the tylva of Jamaica has long been celebrated. There stood the gigantic )edrela, and its kindred, the bastard cedar, with elm-like leaves ;* the * mountain mahoe ; " f the " tropic birdt ;"J and the world known mahogany. Here and there the lance-like culms of bamboos might be seen ekvsot- ing up over the tops of the dicotyledons, or forming a fringe along the cliffs above, intermingled with trumpet trees with their singular peltate loaves, and tall tree-ferns, whose delicate lace-like fronds formed a netted tracery against the blue background of the sky. In the rich soil of the valley nourished luxuriantly the noble cabbage palm ih s prince of the Jamaica forest while, by its side, claiming admi- ration for the massive grandeur of its form, stood the patriarch of West Indian trees the grand uibn\ the hoary Spanish moss that drooped from its spreading branches forming an appropriate beard for the venerable giant. Every tree had its parasites not a single species but in hundreds, and of as many grotesque shapes some twining around the trunks and boughs like huge snakes or cables some seated upon the limbs or in the forking of the branches ; and others hanging suspended from the topmost twigs, like stream TB from the rigging of a ship. Many of these trailing from tree to tree, were loaded with clusters of the most brilliant flowers, thus uniting the forest into one continuous arbour. Close under the cliff, and near where the cascade came tumbling down from the rocks, stood a tree that deserves particular mention. It was a ceiba of enormous dimensions, with a buttressed trunk, that covered a surface of more than fifty feet in diameter. Its vast bole, rising nearly to the brow of the cliff, extended horizontally over an area on which five hundred men could have conveniently encamped ; while the profuse growth of Spanish moss clustering upon its branches, ratker than its own iparse foilage, would have shaded them from the sun, completely shutting out the view overhead. Not from any of these circumstances was the tree distinguished from others of its kind frequently met with in the mountain forests of Jamaica. What rendered it distinct from those around was, that between two of the great spurs extending outwards from its trunk, an object appeared which indicated the presence of man. This object was a hut constructed in the most simple fashion having for its side walls the plate-like buttresses already mentioned ; while in front a stockade of bamboo stems completed the inclosure. In the centre of the stockade a narrow space had been left open for the entrance which could be closed, when occasion required, by a door of split bam- boos that hung lightly upon its hinges of withe. In front, the roof trendled downward from the main trunk of the tre following tae slope c f the spin? to a height of some six feet from the ground. Its construction was of the simplest kind being only a few t Hibiscus tili;icc;i* J Bursera. $ CferoaplM. CfiAfcKA, Tfifi MtAL-MAtt. 203 poles laid transversely, and over these a thatch of the long \ innate leaves of the cabbage palin. The hut inside was of triangular shape, and of no inconsiderable size since the converging spurs terming its side walls extended full twelve feet outwards from the tree. No doubt it was large enough for whoever occupied it ; and the narrow platform of bamboo canes, intended as a bed- stead, showed that only one person was accustomed to pass the night tinder the shelter of its roof. That this person was a man could be told, by the presence of some ar tides of male attire lying upon the bamboo couch where also lay a piece of rush matting, and an old, tattered blanket evidently the solo stock ol bedding which the hut contained. The furniture was scanty as simple. The cane platform already men- tioned appeared to do duty also as a table and chair ; and, with the ex- ception of an old tin kettle, some calabash bowls, and platters, nothing else could be seen that might be termed a " utensil." There were articles, however, of a different character, and plenty of them ; but these were neither simple, nor their uses easily understood. Against the walls hung a variety of singular objects some of them ri^ diculous, and some of hideous aspect. Among the latter could be ob- served the skin of the dreaded galliwasp ; the two-headed snake ;* the skull and tusks of a savage boar ; dried specimens of the ugly gecko lizard ; enormous bats, with human-like faces, and other like hideous creatures. Little bags suspended from the rafters contained articles of still more mysterious import. Balls of whitish coloured clay ; the claws of the great eared owl ; parrots' beaks and feathers ; the teeth of cats, alligators, and the native aguti ; pieces of rag and broken glass ; with a score of like odds and ends, forming a medley as miscellaneous as unintelligible. In one corner was a wicker basket the cutacoo filled with roots and plants of several different species, among which might be identified the dangerous dumb cane ;f the savanna flower ;J and other " simples" of a suspicious character. Entering this hut, and observing the singular collection of specimens which it contained, a stranger to the island of Jamaica would have been puzzled to explain their presence and purpose. Not so, one acquainted with the forms of the serpent worship of Ethiopia the creed of the Coromantees. The grotesque objects were but symbols of the Africac jetiaoh. The hut was a temple of Obi : in plainer terms, the dwelling of an (Jbeah man. CHAPTER LXm. CHAKRA, THE MYAL-MAN. THB sun was just going down to his bed in the blue Carribeau, and lint- ing with a carmine-coloured light the glistening surface of the Jumbf Rock when a human figure was seen ascending the mountain patj> that led to that noted summit. I *fjrphop. ' I t OaladJam sejrulnnm j*. I Kchltei itrt>erectt 204 CHAfcEA, TtfS MYAl-MAtf. Notwithstanding the gloom of the indigenous forest every moment becoming more obscure under the fast deepening twilight it could be easily seen that the figure was that of a woman ; while the buff com- plexion of her face and naked throat, of her gloveless hands, and shoe- less, stockinglees feet and ankles, proclaimed her a woman of colour a znulatta. Her costume was in keeping with her caste. A frock of cotton print t' flaunting pattern, half open at the breast ; a toque of Madras kerchief 3l gaudy hues these were all she wore, excepting the chemise of scarce (y white calico, whose needle -embroidered border showed through the opening of her dress. She was a woman of large form, and bold, passionate physiognomy ,* possessing a countenance not altogether unlovely, though lacking in deli- cacy of feature its beauty, such as it was, being of a purely sensual character. Whatever errand she was on, both her step and glance bespoke courage- ous resolve. It argued courage her being upon the " Mountain," and so near the Jumbe Rock, at that unusual hour. But there are passions stronger than fear. Even the terror of the supernatural fades from the heart that is benighted with love, or wrung by jealousy. Perhaps this lone wanderer of the forest path was the vic- tim of one or the other ? A certain expression of nervous anxiety at times becoming more anguiphed would have argued the latter to be the passion which was uppermost in her mind. Love should have looked more gentle and hope- ful. Though it was evident that her errand was not one of ordinary busi- ness, there was nothing about her to betray its exact purpose. A basket of palm wicker-work, suspended over her wrist, appeared to be filled with provisions : the half-closed lid permitting to be seen inside a conge- ries of young plantains, tomatoes, and capsicums ; while the legs of a guinea-fowl protruded from the opening. This might have argued a certain purpose an errand to market ; but the unusual hour, the direction taken, and, above all, the air and bearing of the mulatta, as she strode up the mountain path, forbade the supposi- tion that she was going to market The Jumbe Rock was not a likely place to find sale for a basket of provisions. After all, she was not bound thither. On arriving within sight of the ummit, she paused upon the path ; and, after looking around for a minute or two aa if making a reconnoissance she faced to the left, and advanced diagonally across the flank of the mountain. Her turning aside from the Jumbe Rock coulcl not have been from fear : for the direction she was now following would carry her to a place equally dreaded by the superstitious the Duppy's Hole. That she was proceeding to this place was evident. There was no distinct path leading thither, but the directness of her course, and the confidence with which she kept it, told that she must have gone over the ground before. Forcing her way through the tangle of vines and branches, she strode courageously onward until at length she arrived on the edge of th* Duppy's Hole. CHAKRA, THE MTAL-MAK. 205 The point where she reached it was just above the gorge tlie plac where the tree stairway already described led down to the lagoon. From her actions, it was evident that the way was known to her ; and that she meditated a descent into the bottom of the valley. That she knew she could not accomplish this feat of herself, and ex- pected some one to come to her assistance, was also evident from hot proceeding to make a signal as soon as she arrived upon the edge of the cliff. Drawing from the bosom of her dress a small white kerchief, she spread it open upon the branch of a tree that grew conspicuously over the precipice ; and then, resting her hand against the trunk, she stood gazing with a fixed and earnest look upon the water below. In the twilight now fast darkening down, even the white kerchief might have femalued unnoticed. The woman, however, appeared to have no apprehension upon this head. Her gaze was expectant and full of confidence : as if the signal had been a preconcerted one, and she was conscious that the individual for whom it was intended would be on the lookout. Forewarned or not, she was not disappointed. Scarce five minutes had transpired from the hanging out of the handkerchief, when a canoe was seen shooting out from under the moss-garnished trees that fringed the upper edge of the lagoon, and making for the bottom of the cliff beneath where she stood. A single individual occupied the canoe ; who, even under the sombre shadow of the twilight, appeared to be a man of dread aspect. He was a negro of gigantic size though that might not have appeared as oe sat squatted in the canoe, but for the extreme breadth of his shoul- ders, between which was set a huge head, almost neckless. His back was bent like a bow, presenting an enormous hunch, partly the effect of advanced age, and partly from natural malformation. His attitude in the canoe gave him a double stoop : so that, as he leant forward to the paddle, his face was turned downward, as if he was regarding some object in tho bottom of the craft. His long, ape-like arms, however, enabled him to reach over the gunwale without bending much to either side ; and only with these did he appear to make any exertion his body remaining perfectly immobile. The dress of this individual was at the same time grotesque and savage. The only part of it which belonged to civilised fashion was a pair of wide trousers or drawers, of coarse Osnaburgh linen such a*; are worn by the field hands on a sugar plantation. Their dirty, yellowish I hue told that they had long been strangers to the laundry ; while severa 1 crimson-coloured blotches upon them proclaimed that their last wetting had been with blood, not water. A sort of kaross, or cloak, made out of the skins of the utia, and hung cyer his shoulders, was the only garment he wore. This, fastened round his thick short neck by a piece of leathern thong, covered the whole of hie body down to the hams the Osnaburgh drawers continuing th costume thence to his ankles. His feet were bare. Nor needed they any protection from shoes the soles being thickly covered with a horn' like callosity, which extended from the ball of the great toe to the broad heel, far protruding backward. w The hoad-dress was equally bitarrt, It was a sort of cap, constructed 206 THE RESURRECTION. put of the skin of some wild animal ; and fitting closely, exhibited, in all its phrenological fullness, the huge negro cranium which it covered. There was no brim ; but, in its place, the dried and stuffed skin of the great yellow snake was wreathed around the temples, with the head of the reptile in front, and two sparkling pebbles set in the sockets of its eyes to give it the appearance of life ! The countenance of the negro did not need this terrific adornment to inspire those who beheld it with fear. The sullen glare of hia deep- sot eyeballs the broad gaping nostrils the teeth filed to a point, and gleaming, shark-like, behind his purple lips the red tattooing upon his cheeks and broad breast the latter exposed by the action of his arms all combined in making a picture that needed no reptiliform addition to render it hideous enough for the most horrid of purposes. It seemed to terrify even the wild denizens of the Duppy's Hole. The heron, couch- ing in the sedge, flapped up with an affrighted cry ; and the flamingo, spreading her scarlet wings, rose screaming over the cliffs, and flew far away. Even the woman who awaited him bold as she may have been, and voluntary as her rendezvous appeared to be could not help shud- dering as the canoe drew near; and for a moment she appeared irresolute as to whether she should trust herself in such uncanny com- pany. Her resolution, however, stimulated by some strong passion, soon re- turned ; and as the canoe swept in among the bushes at the bottom of the cliff, and she heard the voice of its occupant summoning her to de- scend, she plucked the signal from the tree, fixed the basket firmly over her arm, and commenced letting herself down through the tangle of branches. The canoe re-appeared upon the open water, returning across the lagoon. The mulatta woman was seated in the stern, the man, as before, plying the paddle ; but now exerting all his strength to prevent the light craft from being carried down by the current that could be heard hissing and groaning through the gorge below. On getting back under the tree from which he had started, the negro corded the canoe to one of the branches ; and then, scrambling upon 0hore, followed by the woman, he walked on towards the temple of Obi of which he was himself both oracle and priest. CHAPTER LXIV. THE RESURRECTION. A RBIYKD at the cotton-tree hut, the myal-man for such was the negro dived at once into the open door, his broad and hunched shoulders scarce dealing the aperture. In a tone rather of command than request, he directed the woman to enter. The mulatta appeared to hesitate. Inside, the place was dark as Ere- bus ; though without it was not very different. The shadow of the ceiba, with its dense shrouding of moss, interrupted every ray of the moonlight THE RESURRECTION. 207 BOW glistening among the tops, of the trees. The negro noticed the woman's hesitation. " Come in !" cried he repeating his command in the same gruff voice* " You me iabbey what fo' you fear ?" " I'se not afraid, Chakra," replied she, though the trembling of her voice contradicted the assertion , " only," she added, still hesitating, " it's BO dark in there." " Well, den you 'tay outside," said the other, relenting ; " you 'lay dar wha you is ; a soon 'trike a light." A fumbling was heard, and then the chink of steel against flint, followed by a fiery spark. A piece of punk was set ablaze, and from this the flamo was communicated to a sort of lamp, composed of the carapace of a turtle, filled with wild hog's lard, and with a wick twisted out of ttie down of the cotton tree. " Now you come in, Cynthy," resumed the negro, placing the lamp upon the floor. " Wha I you 'till afread ? You de dauter ob Juno Vaghn you modder no fear ole Chakra. Whugh 1 she no fear de debbil I" Cynthia, thus addressed, might have thought that between the dread of these two personages there was not much to choose ; for the devil him- self could hardly have appeared in more hideous guise than the human being who stood before her. " Oh, Chakra !" said she, as she stepped inside the door, and caught Bight of the weird-looking garniture of the walls ; " woman may well bo 'fraid. Dis am a fearful place ?" " Not so fearful as de Jumbe rock," was the reply of the myal-man, ac- companied by a significant glance, and something between a smile and ft grin. " True " said the mulatta, gradually recovering her self-possession ; " true you hab cause say so, Chakra." " Das a fac', Cynthy." ' " But tell me, good Chakra," continued the mulatta, giving way to a woman's feeling curiosity "how did you ebber 'scape from the Jumbe rock ? The folks sez your skeleton is still up there chain to de palm tree !" " De folk 'peek da troof. My 'keleton am da, jess as dey say." The woman turned upon the speaker a glance in which astonishment was mingled with fear, the latter predominating. " Your skeleton?" she muttered, interrogatively. " Dem same ole bones da 'kull, de ribs, de joints, drumticks, an' alL Golly, gal Cynthy 1 dat ere 'pears 'stonish you. Wha fo' ? Nuffin in dat. You sabbey ole Chakra? You know he myal-man'! Doau care who know nov> so long dey b'lieve um dead. Wha for myal-man, ef he no bring de dead to life 'gain ? Be shoo Chakra no die hisself, so long he knows how store dead body to de life. Ole Chakra know all dat. Dey no kill him, nebber 1 Neider de white folk nor de brack folk. Dey may shoot 'im wid gundey may hang 'im by the neck deymay cut off 'im head he come to life 'gain, like de blue lizard and de glass snake. Dey did try kill 'im, you know. Dey 'tarve him till he die ob hunger and thuss. De John Crow pick out him eyes, and tear de flesh from de old niggar's body leab numn but de bare bones! Ha! Chakra 'lib yet he hab new bones, new fleeh ! Golly ! you him sec ? he 'tronghe fat as ebborhe wa'J Ha", ha: ha!" 208 CYNTHIA CONFESSED. And as the niaeous negro uttered his exulting laugh he threw up his arms and turned his eyes towards his own person, as if appealing to it for proof of the resurrection he professed to have accomplished 1 The inulatta stood as if petrefied by the recital : every word of which she appeared implicitly to believe. She was too much terrified to speak and remained silent, apparently cowering under the influence of a super natural awe. CHAPTER LXT. OTNTHIA CONFISSBD. THE royal-man perceived the advantage he had gained ; and seeing that the curiosity of his listener was satisfied for she had not the slightest desire to hear more about the matter he adroitly changed the subject to one of a more natural character. " You've brought de basket ob wittle, Cynthy ?" " Yes, Chakrathere." " Golly ! urn's berry good guinea-hen an' plenty ob yegable fo' the pepperpot. Anything fo' drink, g* Habent forgot daat, a hope? Iss da mose partickla ob all.*' "I have not forgotten it, Chakr There's a bottle of rum. You'll find it in the bottom of the basket ' fed a deal trouble steal it." "Who you 'teal it from ?" " Why, master : who else ? He hav grown berry partickler of late carries all de keys himself ; and woa\ let us coloured folk go near de storeroom, as if we were all teevin' oafrn 1 * " Nebba mind nebba you mind, Oj.tthy maybe Chakra watch him by'm-bye. Wa, now !" added he, drfclf jig the bottle of rum out of the basket, and holding it up to the light* "De buckra preacher he say dat 'tolen water am sweet. A 'pose da : u)Rn rum folia de same exoepshuna. A see ef urn do." So saying, the negro drew out the stepper ; raised the bottle to his lip , and buried the neck up to the swdil between his capacious jaws. A series of " clucks" proclaimed the pas gage of the liquor over his palate j and not until he had swallowed half a pint of the fiery fluid, did he with- draw the neck of the bottle from between liis teeth. " Whugh !" he exclaimed, with an aspirate that resembled the snort _! a startled hog. " Whugh I" he repeutot: stroking his abdomen with his huge paw. " De buckra preacher i mi -lk 'bout him 'tolen water, but gib me de 'tolen rum. You good gia, Cyuthy you berry good gal to tetch ole Chakra dis nice basket o' wittle he sometime berry hungry -he need um all." " I promise to bring more whenebber I can get away from the Buff.' "Das right, my picaninny ! An' now, gal," continued the myal-man changing his tone, and regarding the mulatto, with a look of interroga- ttoii ; " wha fo' you want see me dis night? Tou hab some purpiss par tickJa ? Dat soeh, gal ?" CYNTHIA CONFESSED. 209 this slie cares to make confession, only to him who has the right to hear it. Hence Cynthia's silent and hesitating attitude. " Wha fo' you no 'peak ?" asked the grim confessor. " Shoo' you no hab fear ob ole Chakra? You no need fo' tell 'im he know you secret a'ready -you lub Cubina, de capen ob Maroon ? Dat troof, eh ?" " It is true, Chakra. I shall conceal nothing from you." " Better not, 'cause you can't 'ceal nuffin from ole Chakra he Know eUbery ting little bird tell um. Wa, now, wha nex' ? You tink Cubina no lub you 1" " Ah 1 I am sure of it," replied the mulatto, her bold countenance relax- 1 ing into an anguished expression. " I once thought he love me. Now 1 \ no think so." " You tink him lub some odder girl ?" " I am sure of it oh ! I have reason." " Who am dis odder ?" "Yola." * Yola ! Dat ere name sound new to me. Wha d's she long to ?" " She belongs to Mount Welcome she Missa Kate's maid." " Lily Quasheba, 1 call dat young lady," muttered the myal-man, with a knowing grin. " But dis Yola ?" he added : " whar she come from ? A nebber hear the name afo'." " Oh, true, Chakra ; I did not think of tellin you. She was bought from the Jew, and fetched home since you that is, after you left the planta- tion." " Arter I lef de plantation to die on de ' Jumbo* rock' ; ha t ha I ha I Dat's wha you mean, Cynthy ?" " Yes she came soon after." "So you tink Cubina lub her T " I do." " An' she 'ciprocate de fekshun ?" " Ah, surely! How could she help do that?" The interrogatory betrayed the speaker's belief that the Maroon captain was irresistible. " Wa, then wha you want me do, gal ? You want rebbenge on Cubina, 'cause he hab 'trayed you ? You want me put de death- pell on him ?" " Oh ! no no ! not that, Chakra, for the sake of heaven I not that 1" * Den you want de lub-spell T fc Ah 1 if he could be made love me 'gain he did once. That is I thought he did. Is it possible, good Chakra, to make him love me ?" " All ting be possible to ole Chakra ; an' to prove dat," continued h, with a determined air ; " he promise put de lub-spell on Cubina." " Oh, thanks ! thanks 1" cried the wmman, stretching out her hands, and speaking in a tone of fervent gratitude. "What can I do for you, Chakra ? I bring you everything you ask. I steal rum I steal wine I come every night with something you like eat." ' Wa, Cynthy ; dat berry kind ob you ; but you muss do more dan all dat?" " Anything you ask me what more ?" " You must help in de spell. It take bof you an' me to bring im t bout f " Only tefl me how to do ; and trust me, Chakra, I shall follow your advice." 210 THE LOVE-SPELL. " Wa, den lissen I tell you all 'bout it. But sit down on da bambooi dar. It take some time." The woman, thus directed, took her seat upon the cane bedstead, and remained silent and attentive watching every movement of her hideous companion, and not without some misgivings as to the compact which was about to be entered into between them. CHAPTER LXVL THE LOVE-SPELL. THE countenance of the myal-rnan had assumed aa air of solemnity that betokened some serious determination ; and the mulatta felt a presenti- ment that, in return for his services, something was about to be demand- ed of her something more than a payment in meat and drink. His mysterious behaviour as he passed around the hut ; now stopping before one of the grotesque objects that adorned the wall, now before another now fumbling among the little bags and baskets, as if in search of some particular charm his movements made in solemn silence, only broken by the melancholy sighing of the cataract heard from without : all this was producing on the mind of the mulatta an unpleasant impres- sion ; and, despite her natural courage, sustained as it was by the burn- ing passion that devoured her, she was fast giving way to indefinable fear. The priest of Obi, after appearing to have worshipped each fetich in turn, at length transferred his devotions to the rum-bottle perhaps the most potent god in his whole Pantheon. Taking another long spell at the neck, followed by the customory " Whugh!" he restored the bottle to its place ; and then, seating himself upon a huge turtle-shell, that formed part of the plenishing of his temple, he commenced giving his devotee her lesson of instructions. " Fues, dea," said he, " to put de lub-spell on any body eider a man or a woman it am nessary, at de same time, to hab de death-'pell 'long wi' it." " What !" exclaimed his listener, exhibiting a degree of alarm :" the death-spell ? on Cubina, do you mean?" " No, not on him dat's not a nessary consarquence. But 'fore Cubina be made lub you, someb'dy else muss be made die' 1 " Who," quickly inquired the mulatta, her mind at the moment rever ting to one whom she would have wished to be the victim. " Who you tink fo' ? who you greatest enemy you wish die 1" " Tola," answered the woman, m a low, muttered voice, and with scarce ajtnoment of hesitation. " Woah do woman woan do muss be man ; an' more dan dat, muss be free man. Nigga slave woan do. Obi god tell me so jess now. Buckra man, too, it must be. If buckra man hab de death-'pell, Cubina he tak de lub-spell 'trong he lub you hard as a ole mule can kick." " Oh 1 if he would !" exclaimed the passionate mulatta, in an ecstacy of delightful expectation ; " I shall do anything for that anything." THE BARGAIN OF OBEAH. 2ll ' u Den you muss help put de dcath-'pell on some ob de white folk. You hb buckra enemy ? Chakra hab de same." " Who ?" inquired the woman, reflectingly. "Who! No need tell who Chakra enemy you enemy too. Who fooled you long time 'go ? who 'bused you when you wa* young gal ? No need tell you dat, Cynthy Vagh'n ?" The mulatta turned her eyes upon the speaker with a significant expression. Some old memory seemed resuscitated by his words, and evidently anything but a pleasant one. " Massa Loftus ?" she said, in a half -whisper. " Sartin shoo, Massa Loftus dat ere buckra you enemy an' mine boaf." "And you would ?" " Set de obea' fo' him," said the negro, finishing the interrogatory, which the other had hesitated to pronounce. The woman remained without making answer, and as if buried in reflection. The expression upon her features was not one of repentance. " Muss be him 1" continued the tempter, as if to win her more com- pletely to his dark project ; " no odder do so well. Obi god say so muss be de planter ob Moun' Welc'm." " If Cubina will but love me, I care not who," rejoined the mulatta, with an air of reckless determination. " 'Nuff sed," resumed the myal-man. " De death-'pell ob de obeah sha' be set on de proud buckra, Loffus Vagh'u ; an' you, Cynthy, must 'sist in be workin* ob de tsharm." " How can I assist ?" inquired the woman, in a voice whose trembliDg told of a slight irresolution " How, Chakra 1" " Dat you be tole by'm-by, not dis night. De 'pelltake time. You de only one, 'sides one odder, who know ole Ghakra still 'live. Odders know de ole myal-man in de mask, but nebba see urn face, an' nebba suspeck who um be. Das all right. You tell who de myal-man am, den " " Oh, never, Chakra," interrupted his listener, " never !" " No, berra not. You tell dat, Cynthy, you soon feel de death-'pell OD youseflf. Now, gal," continued the negro rising from his seat, and motion- ing the mulatta to do the same, " time fo 1 you go. I speck's one odder soon : no do fo' you to be cotch heaw when dat odder come. Take yon basket, an' folia me." So saying, the speaker emptied the basket of its heterogeueou* contents ; and, handing it to its owner, conducted her out of the hut. CHAPTER LXVII. THE BARGAIN OP OBEAH. t\ a while after the departure of Cynthia, the temple of Obi remained nntenanted, except by its dumb deities : its priest having gone to ferry his neophyte across the lagoon. In a few minutes he returned alone having left the mulatta to make her way up the cliff, and homeward to Mount Welcome, where 8&a 212 THE BARGAIN OF OBEAH. It was evident that the visit of the mulatto had given him gratifies tion. Even in the dim light of his lard lamp an expression of demoniag joy could be distinguished upon his ferocious visage, as he re-entered the hut. " One dead 1" cried he, in an exulting tone, "anodder upon 'im death bed ; and now de third, de las' an' wuss ob 'em all ha I ha ! ha ! he soon feel de bengeance ob Chakra, de myal-man 1" Thrice did the wild, maniac-like laugh peal from under the spreading \ limbs of the ceiba reverberating with an unearthly echo against the cliffs that hemmed in the Duppy's Hole. It startled the denizens of the dark lagoon ; and like echoes came riding up the ravine the scream of tht crane, and the piercing cry of the wood ibis. These sounds had scarce died away, when one of a somewhat differ- ent intonation was heard from above. It resembled a shriek ; or rather as if some one had whistled through his fingers. Whoever gave utter- ance to the sound was upon the top of the cliff just over the hut. Chakra was not startled. He knew it was a signal, and given by the guest he was expecting. " Da's de ole Jew 1" muttered he, taking the rum-bottle, and concealing it under the bedstead. " You stay dere till I wants ye 'gain," added he addressing himself in a confidential tone to this, the object of his great- est adoration. " Now for de nigga-dealer ! I'se hab news fo' him '11 tickle 'im in de ribs like a ole guana lizzard. Not dat Chakra care fo' him. No only, on dis voyage, boaf am sailin' in de same boat. Da he go 'gain !* This last exclamation referred to a repetition of the signal heard fur- ther down : as if the whistler was advancing along the cliff, towards the gorge at the lower end. A third call proceeded from that point where the tree stairway scaled the precipice indicating to Chakra that his visitor was there awaiting him. Without further delay the ferryman grim as Charon himself return- ed to his canoe ; and once more paddled it across the lagoon. At the same time, a man could be seen descending the cliff, through the tangle of climbing plants, who, on the arrival of the canoe, stood half -concealed among the bushes at the bottom, ready to step into it. The moon shone upon a blue body-coat, with bright buttons ; upon a brown beaver hat and white skull-cap ; upon tarnished top-boots, green goggle*;,! and an enormous umbrella. Chakra did not need to scan the sharp Israelitish features of the man,' to ascertain who he was. Jacob Jessuron was there by appointment : and the myal-man knew both his presence and his purpose. Not a word of recognition passed between the two, nor sign. Only a caution from Chakra as the Jew, swinging by a branch, let himself down into the canoe. " 'Tep in lightly, Massr Jake, an' doan* push da canoe down *tream. Tarn jess' as much as I ken do to keep de ole craflf out ob de eddy. She get down da, an' den it am all up wif boaf o' us." , " Blesh my soul t You shay Bf V rejoined the Jew, glancing fc tfardi the gorge, and shivering as he Hsteutnl to the hoarse groaning of the water among the grim rocks. " S'help me, I didn't know it waa danger oua. Don't fear, Shakra ! I step in aab light ash a feather," t] A tin At N OF OUR AS. 213 So saying, the Jew dropped his umbrella into the bottom of the boat ; and then let himself down upon the top of it, with as much gentleness as if he had been descending upon a basket of eggs. The ferryman, seeing his freight safely aboard, paddled back to the mooring-place ; and, having secured his craft as before, conducted his visitor up the valley in the direction of the hut. On entering the temple of Obi, Jessuron unlike the devotee who had just left it showed no sighs either of surprise or fear at its fantastic adornments. It was evident he had worshipped there before. Nor did he evince a special veneration for the shrine ; but, seating himself familiarly on the bamboo bedstead, uttered as he did so a sonor- ous " Ach !" which appeared as if intended to express satisfaction. At the same time he drew from the ample pocket of his coat a shining object, which, when held before the lamp, appeared to be a bottle. The label seen upon its side, with the symbolical bunch of grapes, proved i\ to be a bottle of cognac. The exclamation of the myal-man, which the sight of the label had in- stantaneously elicited, proved that equal satisfaction existed on his side at this mode of initiating an interview. " Hash you a glass among your belongingsh ?" inquired the Jew, look* ing around the hovel. " No ; dis yeer do ?" asked his host, presenting a small calabash with a handle. " Fush rate. Thish liquor drinksh goot out of anything. I had it from Capten Showier on hish last voyage. Jesh taste it, good Shakra, before wo begins bishness." A grunt from the negro announced his willing assent to the proposal. " Whugh ! he ejaculated, after swallowing the allowance poured for him into the calabash. " Ach 1 goot it ish I" said his guest, on quaffing off a like quantity ; and then the bottle and gourd being set on one side, the two queer char- acters entered into the field of free conversation. In this the Jew took the initiative. " I hash news for you," said he, " very shtrange news, if you hashn't already heard it, Shakra ! Who dosh you think ish dead ?" " Ha I" exclaimed the myal-man, his eye suddenly lighting up with a gleam of ferocious joy ; " he gone dead, am he ?" " Who ? I hashn't told you," rejoined the Jew, his features assuming an expression of mock surprise. " But true," he continued, after a pause ; '* true, you knew he wash sick you knew Justish Bailey was sick, an* not liktly to get over it. Well he hashen't, poor mansh ! he's dead and in his coffin by thish time ; he breathed his lasht yesterday." A loud and highly aspirated " Whugh 1" was the only answer made by myal-man. The utterance was not meant to convey any melancholy im- pression. On the contrary by its peculiar intonation, it indicated as ttuch satisfaction as any amount of words could have expressed. " It ish very shtrange," continued the penn-keeper, in the same tone of affected simplicity ; " so short a time since Mishter Ridgely died. Two of the three shustices that sat on your trial, good Shakra. It looksh ash if Providensh had a hand in it it dosh 1" u Or de dibble, mo' like, maybe ?" rejoined Chakra, with a significant 214 THE BARGAIN OF OBEAtt. " Yesli Gott or the devil one or t'other. "Well, Shakra, you hash liaa your refenge, whichever hash helped you to it. Two of your eriemiei ish not likely to trouble you again ; and ash for the third " " Nor he berry long, Fse speck',' interrupted the negro, with a signifi- cant grin. " What you shay ?" exclaimed the Jew, in ar earnest under-tone, ' Hash you heard anythings ? Hash the wench been to see you ?" " All right 'bout her, Massr Jake." Goot^-she hash been?" " Jess leab dis place 'bout quar'r ob an hour 'go." " And she saysh she will help you to set the obeah shpell for him "?' " Hab no fear she do all dat. Obi hab spell oba her, dat make her dus expression of countenance, in which hope appeared struggling with doubt. " De lub-spell ? No not 'zackly dat De lub-spell am different. U am ob de nature ob an ointment. Hya I I'se got 'im in de coco-shell." As Chakra said this, he raised his hand and drew out from a cranny in the thatch, about three-quarters of the shell of a cocoa-nut ; inside which, instead of its white coagulum, appeared a carrol>coloured paste, resemb- ling the pulp of the sapata-mammee for this, in reality, it was. " Das da lub mixture 1" continued the obeah-man, in a triumphant tone ; " das for Cubina 1" " Ah 1 Cubina is to take that?" " Shoo he am. He mus' take 'im. A gib it him, and den he go mad for you. You he lub, an' he lub you like two turtle dove in de 'pring time. Whugh 1" " Good Chakra you are sure it will do Cubina no harm ?" The query proved that the jealousy of the mulatta had not yet reached he point cf revenge. u No," responded the negro ; " do 'im good do 'im good, an nuffin else* Xow, Cynthy, gal," continued he, turning his eyes upon the bottle ; " daa for de ole Cussos ob Moun' Welc'm take um put 'im in you basket," The woman obeyed ; though her fingers trembled, as she touched th bottle that contained the mysterious medicine. " And what am I to do with it, Chakra ?" she asked, irresolutely. " Wha you do ? I tole you arready wha you do. You gib to Mas*r - you enemy and my en." "But what is it?" " Why you ask daat ? I tole yon H am de death-'pell." " Oh, Chukra! is it poison ?" * No, you foo' ef 'twa pizen, den it kill de buckra right off. It no kill 1m. It only make um sick, an' den, preehap, it make 'im die. DM no I You 'fuse give im ? M TH* INVOCATION OF AOCOMPOHO. The woman appeared to hesitate, as if some sparks of a better nature were rising within her soul. If there were such sparks, only for a short while were they allowed to shine. " You 'fuse gib 'im ?*' repeated the tempter, hastening to extinguish them. " If you 'fuse, I no put de lub-spell on Cubina. Mor'n dat I set de obeah fo' you you, yauseff 1" M no no,Chakra!" cried she, cowering before the Coromantee ; "I consider the precaution scarce sufficient ; for, the moment the door was closed, in order to make herself still more secure against being seen, she glided up to the light and extinguished it. Then groping her way back to the b adstesvl she staggered down upon it, and tt nhivering with apprehension. 222 THE INVOCATION OF ACCOMPOffG. As the myal-man had enjoined upon her, she listened ; and, as he nad promised her, she heard if not the voice of Accompong sounds that were worthy of having proceeded from the throat of that Ethiopian divinity, At first a voice reached her which she knew, to be human: since it was the voice of Chakra himself. It was uttered, nevertheless, in strange and unnatural tones, that at each moment kept changing. Now it came ring. ing through the interstices of the bamboos, in a kind of long-drawn song, ? iH if the myal-man was initiating his ceremonies with the verse of a * psalm. Then the chaunt became quicker, by a sort of crescendo move- ment, and the song appeared transformed to a recitative. Next were heard sounds of a very different intonation, now resembling the shrill, harsh c^l of a cowhorn, or conch-shell, and gradually dying off into a prolonged bass, like the groaning of a cracked trombone. After this had continued for some time, there ensued a dialogue in which the listener could recognise only one of the voices as that of Chakra. - Whose could be the other ? It could only be that of Accompong. The god was upon the ground ! Cynthia trembled as she thought how very near he was. How lucky she had blown out the light ! If still burning, she must have been seen ; for both Chakra and the deity were just outside the door, and so near that she could not only hear their voices with distinctness, but the very words that were spoken. Some of thee were in an unknown tongue, and she could not under- stand them. Others were in English, or rather its synonym in the form of a negro patois. These last she comprehended ; and their signification was not of such a character to give solace to her thoughts, but the con- trary. Chakra chantant: Open de bottle draw de oorjc, De 'pell he work de 'pell he work ; De buokra man muss die I" tl Musi die!" repeated Accompong, in a voice that sounded as if from tb interior of an empty hogshead. " De yella gal she gib 'fan drink ; It make 'im sick it make 'im Brink. It send 'im to 'im tomb." * Him tomb * came the response of Accompong. " An' If de yella gal refuse, She 'top into de buekra's shoes, An 1 nil de buckra'a grave," " Buckra's grave!" echoed the African god, in a sonorous and emphatic Toice, that told there was no alternative to the hypothetical fate thus pro- claimed. There was a short interval of silence, and then the shrill, conch-lik* was again heard as before, followed by the long-drawn bans. CHAKBA, REDIVI7US. 223 This was the exorcism of tho god as the same sounds, previously heard, had been his invocation. It was also the Jlnale of tho ceremony : since the moment after Chakra pushed open the door, and stood in the entrance to the hut. " Cynthy,. gal," said he, with a look of mysterious gravity, " why you blow out de light? But no matter for light. Its all oba. Did you beai J 3 god 'peak?" I did," murmured the mulatta, still trembling at what she had heard* " You hear wha him say ?** "Yes yes." " Den he 'peak de troof. Nuffin more'n dat. You take heed I 'vise fou, as you friend. You go troo wif de 'pell now 'im 'gun, else you life not worth so much trash ob de suga-cane. A say no more. Ebbery night, in um fuss glass, de full ob de crab-claw, up to de mark. Now, gal, come 'long." The last command was the more readily obeyed : since the woman was but too glad to get away from a place whose terrors had so severely tested her courage. Taking up the basket in which the bottle containing the dangerous decoction had been already placed she glided out of the hut, and once more followed the Coromatitee to his canoe. CHAPTER LXXI. CHAKRA REDIVIVUS. THE scene that had thus transpired in the depths of the Duppy's Hole requires some explanation. The dialogue which Cynthia had held with the hideous Coromantee, though couched in ambiguous phrase, clearly in' dicated an intention to assassinate the Gustos Vaughan ; and by a mode which these arch-conspirators figuratively almost facetiously termed the death-spell ! In the diabolical design, the woman appeared to be acting rather as coadjutor than conspirator ; and her motive for taking part in the plot, though wicked enough, presents, in the language of French law, one or 'wo '* extenuating circumstances." A word or two of the mulatta's history will make her motive under- stood, though her conversation may have already declared it with suffi- cient distinctness. Cynthia was a slave on the plantation of Mount Welcome one of the house-wenches, or domestics belonging to the mansion ; and of which^ in a large establishment like that of Gustos Vaughan, there is usually a numerous troop. The girl, in earlier life, had been gifted with good looks. Nor eoulJ it be said that they were yet gone ; though hers was a beauty that no longer presented the charm of innocent girlhood, but rather the sensualis- tic attractions of a bold and abandoned woman. Had Cynthia been other than a slave *hat is, had she lived in 224 CHAKRA. BEDIVimS. lands her story might have been different. But in that, her nativ country and under conditions of bondage that extended alike to body and soul her fair looks had proved only a fatal gift. With no motive to tread the paths of virtue with a thousand tempta- tions to stray from it Cynthia, like, it is sad to think, too many of her race, had wandered into ways of wantonness. It might bo, as Chakra had obscurely hinted, that the slave had been abused. Wherever lay the blame, she had, at all events, become abandoned. Whether loving them or not, Cynthia had, in her time, been honoured , with more than one admirer. But there was one on whom she had aft length fixed her affections or, more properly, her passion to a degree J of permanence that promised to end only with her life. The one waa the young Maroon captain, Cubina ; and although it was a love of compara- tively recent origin, it had already reached the extreme of passion. So fierce and reckless had it grown, on the part of the wretched woman, that she was ready for anything that promised to procure her its requital ready even for the nefarious purpose of Chakra. To do Cubina justice, this love of the slave Cynthia was not recipro- cated. To the levities and light speeches habitually indulged in by tho Maroons, in their intercourse with the plantation people, Cubina was a singular exception ; and Cynthia's statement that he had once returned her love somewhat doubtingly delivered had no other foundation than her own groundless conjectures, in which the wish was father to the thought. Some friendly words may have passed between the Maroon and mulatta for they had often met upon their mutual wanderings ; but tha latter, in mistaking them from words of love, had, sadly for herself, mis- conceived their meaning. Of late her passion had become fiercer than eTer since jealousy had arisen to stimulate it jealousy of Cubina with Tola. The meeting and subsequent correspondence of the Maroon with the Foolah maiden were events of still more recent date ; but already had Cynthia seen or heard enough to produce the conviction that in Tola she had found a rival. With the passionate ' sang-melee', jealousy pointed to revenge ; and she had begun to indulge in dark projects of this nature when Chakra chanced to throw his shadow across her path. Cynthia was one of those slaves known as night-dangers. She was in the habit of making occasional and nocturnal excursions through th* woods, for many purposes ; but, of late, principally in the hope of meet | ing Cubina, and satisfying herself in regard to suspicion she had con ceived of meetings that occurred between him and Tola. In one of these expeditions she had encountered a man whose appear- ance filled her with terror ; and very naturally ; since it was not a ma*\ lut a ghost that she saw the ghost of Chakra, the myal-man! That it was the " duppy" of old Chakra, Cynthia on sight firmly believed j and might have continued longer in that belief, had she been permitted to make her escape from the spot, as she was fast hastening to do. But the long, ape-like arms of the myalman, flung around her on the instant, restrained her flignt and she became convinced that it was not Chakra's ghost, but Ch,al:~a himselt, who embraced her ! OHAKBA BEDIVITU8. 225 It was not altogether by chance this encounter had occurred at least, on the part of Chakra. He had been looking out for Cynthia for some time before. He wanted her for a purpose. The mulatta made no revelations of what she had seen. With all htt ugliness the myal-man had been the friend of her mother had often dandled her, Cynthia, upon his knees. But the tongue of Juno's daughter was held sileot by stronger ties than those of affection. Fear was one ; and there was also another. If Chakra wanted Cynthia for a purpose, quick instinct told her she might stand in need of him. He was just tht> instrument by which to accomplish a revenge. On the instant, mulatta and myal-man became allies. This mutual confidence had been but very recently established only % few days, or rather nights before that on which Cynthia had given Chakra the first ' seance' in the temple of Obi. The purpose for which the myal-man wanted the mulatta or one pur- pose, at least has been sufficiently set forth in the dialogues occurring between them. He required her assistance to put the death-spell upon the planter, Loftus Vaughan. The character of Cynthia, which Chakra well understood with the opportunities she had, in her capacity of housemaid promised to provide the assassin with an agency of the most effective kind ; and the pretended love-spell he was to put upon Cubina had given Chakra a talisman, by which his agent was but too easily in- duced to undertake the execution of his diabolical design. Among many other performances of a like kind, it was part of Chakra's programme, some day or other ; to put the death-spell upon the Maroon himself ; to " obeah" young Cubina as it was suspected he had the old Cubina, the father, after twenty years of tentation. It was but the want of opportunity that had hindered him from having long before accom- plished his nefarious project upon the son, as upon the father in satisfac- tion of a revenge, so old as to be anterior to the birth of Cubina him- self, thought associated with that event. Of course, this design was not revealed to Cynthia. His motive for conspiring the death of Loftus Vaughan was without any mystery whatever ; and this perhaps more than any other of his crimes, either purposed or committed might plead " extenuating circum- stances." His cruel condemnation, and subsequent exposure upon the Gumbe Rock, was a stimulus sufficient to have excited to revenge a gentler nature than that of Chakra, the Coromantee. It need scarce be said that it had stimulated his to the deadliest degree. The resurrection of tjie myal-man may appear a mystery as it did to the slave, Cynthia. There was one individual, however, who understood its character. Not to an African god was the priest of Obi indebted for his resuscitation, but to an Israelitish man to Jacob Jessuron. It was but a simple trick that of substituting a carcase afterwards to become a skeleton for the presumed dead body of the myal-man. The baracoon of the slave-merchant generally had such a commodity in stock. If not, Jessuron would not have scrupled to create one for the occasion. Humanity had nothing to do in the supplying of this proxy. Had there been no other motive than that to actuate the Jew, Cbjtkra, aoigM have roUe4 under the B.MQW of the cabbage-pain), 226 MIDNIGHT WANDERERS. But Josauron had his purpose for saving the life of the condemned criminal more than 6110, perhaps and he had saved it, Since hib iwurrectivn, Chakra had pursued his iniquitoua catting wrth even more energy than of old ; but now in the most secret and surrepti- tious manner. He had not been long in re-establishing a system of confederates un- doi the auspices of a new name but only of sight, and with disguised form and masked face, did he give his clients rendezvous. Never :n tie Uuppy's Hole, for few were sufficiently initiated into the mysteries ol Jiyalism, to be introduced to its temple in that secure retreat. Although the confederates of the obeah-man rarely reveal the secret ol his whereabouts even his poor victims dreading to divulge it Ghakra knew the necessity of keeping as much as possible en-perdu ; and no out- law with halter threatening his neck, could have been more cautious in his outgoings and incomings. He knew that his life was forfeit on the old judgment ; and, though he had once escaped execution, he might not be so fortunate upon a, second occasion. If recaptured, some surer mode of death would be provided a rope instead of a chain ; and in place of being fastened to the trunk of a tree, he would be pretty certain of being suspended by the neck to the branch of one. Knowing all this, Chakra redivivus trod the forest paths with caution, and was especially shy of the plantation of Mount Welcome. Around the sides of the mountain lie had little to fear. The reputation of the Jumbe Rock, as well as that of the Duppy's Hole, kept the proximity of these noted places clear of all dark-skinned stragglers ; and there Chakra had the beat to himself. Upon dark nights, however, like the wolf, ho could prowl at pleasure, and with comparative safety especially upon the outskirts of the more remote plantations ; the little intercourse allowed between the slaves of, distant estates making acquaintanceship among them a rare exception. It was chiefly upon these distant estates that Chakra held communications with his confederates and clients. It w?s now more than a year since he had made his pretended resur- ructioD ; and yet so cautiously had he crawled about, that only a few in dividn?.j8 were aware of the fact of his being still alive. Others had MT his ghost ! Several negroes of Mount Welcome plantation would have sworn to having met the " duppy" of old Chakra, while travelling through the woods at night ; and the sight had tured these writaegaes of then* propensity for nocturnal wandering. CHAPTER LXXII. MIDNIGHT WANDERERS Ovci more under the ceiba, that gigantic trysting-tree, stood the Maroon and his mistress. Not, as before, in the bright noonday sun, but near th midhour of the night. The Foolah ha4 dared the dangers of the forest fc> meet her b]oyd Cubiua, MIDNIGHT WANDERERS. 227 An ' ;here were dangers in that forest, more to bo dreaded than fierce beasts or ravenous reptiles more to be dreaded than the tusks of the wild boar, or the teeth of the scaly alligator. There were monsters in human form far more fearful to be encountered ; and at that moment not very distant from the spot where the lovers had made their rendezvous. Love recks little of- dangers. Cubina knew of none; and, in Tola's belief, there was no danger while Cubina was near. Tlio moon was in high heaven, full, calm, and clear. Her beams filled the glade with a silvery effulgence. It was a moonlight that almost rival- led the brightness of day. The flowers over the earth, and the blossoms upon the trees, appeared full blown : as if they had opened their petals to drink in the delightful dew. B _>rne upon the soft silent breeze, the nocturnal sounds of the forest fell with a tremulous cadence upon the ear ; while the nightingale of the West, as if proud of the superiority of her counterfeit notes, in turns imitated them all. The lovers stood in shadow but it was the shadow of the ctiba There was none in their hearts ; and had the moonlight at that moment fallen upon their faces no trace of a cloud could have been detected there. It was a happy meeting one of the happiest they had yet enjoyed. Each had brought good news to the other. Cubina, that the brother of his beloved was still safe under his protection safe and well ; Tola, that her young mistress had promised to bestow upon her her freedom. Within the few days since they had last met, many things had transpir- ed to interest both. Each had a tale to tell. Tola related now the story of her brother's misfortunes, though strictly kept from the servants at Mount Welcome, had become known to her mistress ; how Miss Vaughan, on hearing it, had requested her father to grant her (Tola's) manumission ; and how the Gustos had consented to the request. Conditionally, it was true. Her " free papers" were to be dated from a certain day that on which her young mistress was to be- come a bride, but that day was supposed not to be far distant. It was joyous news for the Maroon. He might keep his hundred pounds for the plenishing of his mountain home 1 This piece of intelligence might have taken Cubina more by surprise, but for the understanding that now existed between him and the Gustos whom he. had of late frequently visited. Certain conditions had become tistublished between the magistrate and the Maroon, which rendered the latter less apprehensive about the future. Mr. Vaughan had made some promises to himself in regard to the manumission of Tola. It is true, these had also been conditional ; and their performance was to depend, lo a great degree, on the success of the prosecution to be instituted against the Jew. But, with the Gustos himself as a prosecutor, Cubina felt sanguine that the conditions would be accomplished. There were circumstances to be kept secret. Even to his sweetheart the lover was not permitted to impart the knowledge of the affair. Only did he make known to her that steps were being taken to cause the resti- tution of her brother's property ; but how, where, and when, could not be divulged until that day when war should be openly declared against the enemy. So Uu4 tlit Gustos commanded. 228 MIDNIGHT WAtfDEKERfl. Cubiua. nevertheless, could not holp bcin^ gratified by the the mtelli gence which Tola had conveyed to him. The promise of Miss Vuughao had but one condition her bridal day ; and that was definite and certain. " Ah 1" said Cubiua, turning with a proud look towards his sweetheart, " it will be a happy day for all. No, not for all," added he, his face eud denly assuming an expression of sadness ; " not for all. There ie one, I fear, to whom that day will not bring happiness !' ' "I know one, too, Cubina," rejoined the girl, her countenance appear* ag to reflect the expression that had come over his. " Oh, you know it, too ? Miss Vaughan has told you then, I suppOM T I hope she does not boast of it?" " What she boast, Cubina?" "Why, of breaking his heart, as you would do mine, if you were to marry somebody else. Poor young fellow! Crambo! If I'm not mistaken, it will be a sad day for him !" The girl looked up in puzzled surprise ! "Sad day for him! No, Cubina; he very happy. For her poor missa that day be sad." " Vayate ! What do you mean, Tola ?" " No more dan I say, Cubina. Missa Kate be very sorrow that day sne marry Mr. Mongew she very sorrow now. " " What !" exclaimed Cubina, suddenly placing himself in an attitude of unusual attention; " do I understand you to say that Miss Vaughan don't wish to marry this Mr. Smythje ?" " She no love him, Cubina. Why she wish marry him, then ?" " Ha !" significantly ejaculated the Maroon, while an expression of joy seemed to steal over his countenance ; " what makes you think she don't love him ? Have you a reason, Yola ?" " Missa me say so ; she me tell everything, Cubina." "You are sure she has said that she don't love him ?" " She laugh at him she no care for him. Girl no love one she laugh at never." " Vaya ! I hope you will never laugh at me, then! But say, dearest ; do you know why she is going to marry Mr. Smythje ?" "Massa her make inarry. He Mr. Mongew very, very rich he great planter. That why she him go marry." " Ho? he !" thoughtfully ejaculated the Captain of Maroons. " I su pected there was some compulsion," continued he, not speaking to hw companion, but muttering the words to himself. " Can you tell me, Yola," he asked, turning again to his sweetheart ; "do you know why your mistress does riot like .this grand gentleman? Has she told you any reason ?" "Very good reason, Cubina. She another love ; that why she Mongew not like." "Ah ! she's in love with somebody else ! Have you heard who it it Tola?" " Oh, yes ; you know him youself. He Missa Kate's cousin ; she him love." " Her cousin, Herbert Vaughan?" ''Yes, he nau>e Herber'; hy ygi^e 04190 nevei more come, NO Batter, MIDNIGHT WANDERERS. he V --'e him first time she him love ever more I Same I } r ou. Cubina , I yc'i love first time, all the same for ever." " You are sure of all this ?" inquired Cubina, in his anxiety to know- more, resisting the temptation to reciprocate the endearing speech ; "you are sure Miss Vaughan loves her cousin Herbert ?" " Sure, Cubina ; Missa say so many time. She have very much griftf for him. She hear he marry one fine, bad lady. You know old Jew his daughter he go marry." " I have heard so," rejoined Cubina, evidently keeping back from his weetheart a more definite knowledge of the subject which he himself pos- sessed ; " I have heard so. After all," he continued, speaking reflectingly, "it might not happen neither of these marriages. There's a proverb, Tola, I've heard among the white folks ' many a slip between the cup and Hit lip. 1 I hope it won't be true of you and me ; but it might come to pass between young Master Vaughan and Miss Jessuron. Who knows? I know something. For Dios ! you've given me good news I think, for some- body. But tell me, Tola ; have you heard them say when your mistress and this great gentleman are to be married ?" "Massa he say soon. He tell Miss Kate he go great journey. When he come back they get marry ; he Missa Kate say so yesterday." "The Gustos going a journey ? Have you heard where ?" "Spanish town, Missa me tell a great big place far away." " I wonder what that can be for ?" said Cubina to himself, and in a conjectural tone. "Well, Yola," he added, after a pause, and speaking more earnestly, "listen to me. As soon as Mr. Vaughan has set out on this journey, you come to me. Perhaps I may have a message for your mis- tress. Have you heard when he intends to take the road ?" " He go to morrow morning." " Ha ! so soon ! Well, so much the better for us, and maybe for some* body else. You must meet me here to-morrow night. Tell your mistress it concerns herself. No, don't tell her," he added, correcting himself, "she will let you come without that excuse ; besides, it might bo that never mind ! Come anyhow. I shall be waiting for you at this same hour." Yola gave her willing promise to keep an appointment so accordant to her inclinations. For some time longer the lovers conversed, imparting to each other the ordinary news of life the details of common things to be at length suc- ceeded by words only of love of far diviner interest. Cubina swore eternal truth by the trees around by the sky above Ir y the bright moon, and the blue heavens. He had done the same a score of times ; and as often had he been believed. But lovers never tire of such vows neither to near or to re- peat them. The African maiden answered with promises of faithfulness, alike free, alike fervent. She no longer sighed for her far Gambian home no more mournod the fate that had torn her from a court to consign her to slavery The dark hours of her life seemed to have ended ; and her future, as her present, was fall of hope and bliss! For more then an hour did the enamoured pair indulge in tlua sweet converse. They were about to close it with a parting kiss. 230 MIDNIGHT WANDERERS. The Maroon stood y^th his strong arms tenderly entwined around & waist of his mistress, who willingly yelded to the embrace. Her slender form under the shadow of the ceiba looked like the statue of some Egyp- tian maiden in bronze antique. The adieu had been spoken more than once ; but still the lovers linger- ed, as if loth to give the parting kiss. There had been more than one, but not that which was to end the interview. Ere their lips had met to achieve it, the design was interrupted. Voices fell upon their eaj a, and two forms appeared emerging into the moonlight, at the lower en 1 of the glade, rapidly advancing in the direc- tion of the ceiba. As if by a common instinct, Cubina and his mistress stepped silently and simultaneously back, i etiring together between the buttresses of the tree. There it was dark enough for concealment. Only an eye bent on purposed scrutiny could fcave detected their presence. The forms drew near. They were those of a man and a woman. The moonlight shining filling on them, rendered them easy of recognition ; but their voices had already declared their identity. Both the intruders were known to botk the lovers. They were the Jew Jessuron and the slave Cynthia. " Crambo!" muttered the Maroon, as he saw who they were. " What on earth can they be doing together ? At this time of the night, arid here so far away from any house ? Maldito ! some wicked errand, I warrant." By this time the brace of midnight strollers had got opposite to the tree, and the Jew was delivering himself of a speech, which was plainly heard by those who stood concealed in its shadow. " Now, Cynthy goot wench! you hashn't said yet why he haah sent for me ? Do yoush know what it ish for ?" " I don't, Mass Jess'ron, unless it be " " Unlesh what, wench ?" " Somethin' 'bout the news I took him afore I come to you, when I went with his basket of provisions " " Ah-ah 1 you took him some newsh what newsh, girl ?" " Only that Massr Vaugh'n am a goin' away in the mornin'." " Blesh my soul 1" exclaimed the Jew, suddenly stopping in his tracks, and turning towards the mulatta with a look of troubled surprise. ** Blesh my soul 1 You don't shay that, dosh you ?" I " De> say so at the Buff, Massr Jess'ron. Besides, I know m'self he's i goin'. I help to pack up him shirts in de trabbelin valise. He's a* goin' a hossaback." " But where, wench? where?" gasped the Jew, in hurried and anxioui peech. '-' Dey say to Tanish town odder side ob de island." " Spanish town 1 ach !" cried the pennkeeper, in a tone betokening that the words had conveyed some very unwelcome intelligence. " Spanish Town ! S'help me, it ish ! I knew it 1 I knew it! ach 1" And, as he repeated the aspirated ejaculation, he struck hie umbrella fiercely into the ground, ae if to render more emphatic the chagrin that nad been communicated by the answer. Only for a few seconds did he muke pause upon the spot. TUB SffcOLLEftS. " Come on !" cried he to his companicn, hurriedly moving off from the tree ; " come on, wench ! if that'sh the case, ash you shay, there'sh no time to be losht not a minute, s'help me 1" And with this elegant reflection, he ended the brief dialogue, and strode swiftly and silently onward across the glade the woman following close upon his heels. "Demonios!" muttered the Maroon, as they went off. "That John Crow and his pretty partner are about some bad business, I fear ? It Appears to be the Gustos they're conspiring against. Crambo ! I wonder what they are after with him ? What can the old Jew have to do with his going to Spanish Town ? I must follow them, and see if I can discover. There appears to be some scheme brewing, that bodes no good to Mr. Vaughan. vV here can they be going at this time of night ? From the Jew's perm, instead of towards it !" These interrogative reflections the Maroon made to himself. Then turning once more to his sweetheart, with a gesture that declared his in- tention to be gone, he said: " We must part, Tola, and this instant, love, else I may lose their trail Adieu 1 adieu !" And with a quick kiss, and equally hurried embrace, the lovera separ- ated Tola, returning to Mount Welcome, by a path well known to her , while the Maroon glided off on the track taken by the pennkeeper and his female companion. CHAPTER LXXIH. TRACKING THE STROLLERS. THE Maroon was but a few moments in recovering the " spoor" of the two nocturnal strollers. At the point where they had gone out of the glade, there was a path that led up the hills in the direction of the Jumbe Rock. It was a mere cattle track used only very occasionally by bipeds. Being the only path that went that way, and judging moreover, that neither the Jew nor his follower would be likely to traverse the thicket at random, Cubiua concluded that they had taken this path. Throwing himself upon it, and advancing with a quick but silent stop, lie soon came in sight of them. The shade of the gigantic trees it was a primeval forest through which they were passing was favourable to his design ; and without much risk of being seen, he was able to keep them in sight, and almost within earshot. At that moment, the mind of the Jew was too pro-occupied to be sus- picious ; and the mulatta was not likely to trouble her thoughts about whether they were followed or not. Had she known, however had she even suspected that her steps were dogged, and by Cubina the Maroon, it would, no doubt, have sharpened her senses. tl They appear to be making for the Jumbe Rock ?" mentally soliloqnis- d Cutina, as they commenced ascending the slope of the mountain 232 TRACKING THE 8TKOLLEKS. " Crambo . That is odd enough ! What do they intend to do there at this hour of the night ? Or at any hour, I might say ? And who's the he that's been sending for Jessuron ? She took him a provision basket? By that it ought to be some runaway ? But what has the old Jew to d with a runaway ? To get out of his bed at this time of the night, and tramp it three miles through the woods ! For that matter, they say he don't sleep much anyhow ; and, like the owl, night's his favourite time J suppose. Something's being cooked for the Gustos ; for that girl's a very devil 1 Not that I should' care so about him at any other time. He's not much ; and is only helping me in that matter for him ; but from what Tola's told me, I'd go to the world's end for his daughter. Ha ! I may do her a service yet. Volga, me Dios ! what's up now ? They've stopped !" The Jew and his companion, about a hundred yards ahead, had sudden- ly come to a stand. They appeared to be scrutinising the path. Cubina, crouching in the shadow of the bushes, stopped likewise ; and waited for the others to advance. They did so after a short interval hastening on as before ; but in a slightly divergent direction. " Ho, ho 1" muttered the Maroon ; " not for the Jumbe Rock, but the Duppy's Hole I I remember now. The path forks up yonder. They've taken that which goes to the Hole. Well ! it don't help me to comprehend their purpose a bit clearer. Carrai! that Duppy's Hole. Didn't some of my fellows tell me they've heard strange noises there lately ? Quaco is ready to swear he saw the ghost of the old myal-man, Chakra, standing upon the edge of the cliff I They're going there, as sure as my name'g Cubina !" And with this conjectural reflection the Maroon forsook the shadow, under which he had been sheltering, and flitted forward along the path. Another five hundred yards farther on his conjecture was confirmed. The parties dogged by him had reached the edge of the precipice that frowned down upon the Duppy's Hole, and there halted. Cubina also made stop as before concealing himself within the black shadow of the bushes. He had scarcely crouched down, when his ears were saluted by a shrill but cautious whistle not made by the lips, but proceeding from gome instrument : a reed or a common dog-call. It was plainly a signal, nounded either by Cynthia or the Jew, Cubina could not tell which. Only once was it given. And there was no answer for that similar sound, that came like an echo from the far forest, was a counterfeit. It was the mimic-note of the mock- bird. Cubina, skilled in these voices of the night, knew that, and paid no heed to the distant sound. His whole attention was absorbed in watch- ing the movements of the too individuals, still standing upon the edge of the cliff. The white sky was beyond them, against which he could ee their dark silhouettes outlined with perfect distinctness. After about a minute's time, he saw them once more in motion ; and then both appeared to vanish from his view not wasting into the air, but sinking into the ground, as if a trap-door had admitted them to the interior of the earth ! Ue saw this without much surprise. He knew they must iiave gont IN THE WAY. 233 down the precipice ; but how they had perform '^as feat was some- thing that did surprise him a little. It was but a short spell of astonishment. In a score of seconds he stood upon the edge of the precipice, at the spot where they had disap peared. He looked down. He could trace, though dimly, a means of descent wnong the wattle of boughs and corrugated creepers that clasped the * fagade" of the cliff. E' en under the fantastic gleam of the moor., he eould see that human han^s had helped in the construction of tl^s natural ladder. He stayed not to scrutinise it. An object of greater interest challeng od his glance. On the disc of the lagoon in the moonlight, a sheet of silver, like a mirror in its frame of dark mahogany moved a thing of sharp, elliptical shape a canoe. Midships of the craft, a form was crouching. Was it human or demon? The aspect was demon the shape scarce human. Long, ape-like arms ; a hunched back ; teeth gleaming in the moonlight like the inoisori of a shark ; features anything but human to one who had not seen them before 1 Cubina had seen them before. To him, though not familiar, they wer known. If not the ghost of Chakra, he saw Chakra himself 1 CHAPTER LXXIV. CYNTHIA IN THE WAT. THE heart of the young Maroon, though by nature bold and brare, was for a moment impressed with fear. He had known the myal-man of Mount Welcome never very intimately but enough to identify his per- son. Indeed, once seen, Chakra was a man to be remembered. Cubina had, like every one else for miles around, heard of the trial of the Coromantee conjurer, and his condemnation to exposure on the Jumbe Rock. The peculiar mode of his execution the cruel sentence the celebrity of the scene where the criminal had been compelled to pass the last miserable hours of his existence all combined to render uis death even more notorious than his life ; and few there were in the western end of the island who had not heard of the myal man of Mount Welcome, and the singular mode of atonement that justice had demanded him to make for his crimes. In common with others, Cubina believed him dead. No wonder, then, that the heart of the Maroon should for a moment misgive him on seeing Chakra seated in a canoe, and paddling himself across the calm surface of the lagoon ! Under any circumstances, the sight of the Coromantee was not calcu- lated to beget confidence in the mind of the beholder ; but his unexpect- ed appearance just then produced within the mind of the Maroon a feel- ing somewhat stronger than astonishment, and for some seconds he stood trembling upon the cliff. 234 OYNTTTTA TNT TtfE WAY. Very soon, however, he remembered the statement vhich his ant had made aud which Quaco had put in the form of an asservation. Quaco, like most of his colour, a firm believer in " Duppv" and " Jam- be," ha-^ believed it to be Chakra's ghost he had seen ; and under the terr JT, with which the sight had inspired him, instead of making an attempt to pursue the apparition, and prove whether it was flesh and blood, or only " empty air," he had used bis utmost speed to get away from the spot, leaving the myal-man's ghost full master of the ground. Cubina, less given to superstitious inclinings, only for a moment per- mitted himself to be mystified with the idea of a " Duppy." Quaco's ex- perience, along with the presence of the penn-keeper and his companion \ there evidently for a purpose guided him to the conclusion that what he saw in the canoe was no spiritual Chakra, but Chakra in the flesh. How the Coromantee came to be still living and moving, the Maroon might not so easily comprehend ; but Gubina possessed acute reasoning powers, and the presence of the Jew, evidently en rapport with the res- tored conjurer, went far towards explaining the mystery of the latter's resurrection. Satisfied that he saw Chakra himself, the Maroon placed himself in a position to watch the movements, both of the man in the canoe, and those who had summoned him across the lagoon. In another moment the canoe was lost sight of. It had passed under the bushes at the bottom of the cliff, where it was not visible frsm above. Voices ascended, which could be heard, but not distinctly. Cubina could distingush three voices taking part in the conversation Chakra's, the Jew's, and, at longer intervals, the shrill treble of the slave Cynthia. He bent his ear, and listened with keen attention in hopes of hearing what they said. He could only catch an occasional word. The roar of the cascade rising along with the voices hindered him from hearing them distinctly ; and, notwithstanding his desire to do so, he was unable to make out the matter of the conversation. Only for a short while was ne kept waiting. The trialogue came to a close, followed by a brief interval of silence at the end of which the the canoe once more made its appearance upon the open water of the lagoon. Two persons only were in it, Chakra and the Jew. Cynthia had staid by the bottom of the cliff. Cubina made this conjecture with some chagrin. It was a circum tance that promised to frustrate the design he had suddenly conceived, of following the myal-man to his lair. This he desired to do in order to make himself acquainted with the hiding-place of the remarkable runa- way. That it was in the Duppy's Hole there could be no doubt ; and there- fore the Maroon might at any time find him there. This reflection would have contented him, but, on seeing the Jew ferried across the lagoon, he conjectured that he and Chakra were bent npon the completion of some horrid plot, which, by following, he, Cubina, might have overheard, and, perhaps, have been enabled to counteract. The Maroon was aware of the difficulty of descending into the Duppy'i Hole. He knew there was but one way by the bushes that clustered CYNffllA IN THE WAt. 235 along the face of the cliff at his feet. Once, while on the chuse, he had ffone down there, swimming across the lagoon ; and, in search of gamey he had explored the wooded covert beyond. At that time, however, Chakra had not been executed; and the hunter had found no trace of hu ;-aan presence in the solitary place. He knew, therefore, that he could have followed the canoe by swim- ming , but now that Cynthia barred the way, it would be impossible for him to reach the water unobserved. To follow the conspirators farther was out of the question. Hii chance was cut off by the interposition of the slave. He could only remain upon the cliff and await their return. He was reflecting upon what course to pursue, when a rustling sound reached him from below. It was made by some one moving among the bushes that grew against the face of the precipice. He caught one of the branches ; and, supporting himself by it, craned his neck over the cliff. His eye fell upon the brilliant chequer of a bandanna, visible among the leaves. It was the toque upon the head of Cynthia. It was in motion ; and he could see that she was ascending by the tree stairway he had already observed. Without staying to witness the ascent, he turned back into the under- wood by the side of the path ; and, crouching down, he waited to see what the slave intended doing. Perhaps her part in the performance cad been played out at least, for that night and she was on her way homeward ? That was what Cubina conjectured, as well as just what he would have wished. His conjecture proved correct. The mulatta, on mounting to the crest of the cliff, stopped only for a moment, to adjust upon her arm a basket she had brought up from the half-open lid of which protruded the neck of a bottle. Then, casting her eyes forward, she struck off into the shadowy forest path, and was soon out of sight. The moment after she had passed him, the Maroon glided silently for- ward to the edge of the cliff, and commenced descending the stair. Such feat was nothing to him ; and in a few seconds he had reached the edge of the lagoon. Here he paused to make sure that the canoe had arrived at its destina- tion, and that its late occupat_ts had disembarked from it. After a moment spent in this reconnaissance looking sharply, and lis- tening with all his ears he became satisfied that the coast was clear ; and, letting himself stealthily into the water, he swam for the opposite Shore of the lagoon. Upon only about two thirds of the surface of the lagoon did the moon- light fall the cliff casting its shadow upon the other third. Keeping within the boundaries of this shadow, and swimming as silently as a fish, Cubina succeeded in reaching the opposite shore, without perceiving any sign that he had been observed. Under the heavy timber with which the upper half of the ravine wa covered the darkness was as deep as if not a ray of moonlight came down from the sky. Only on the stream itself, and here and there through a hroifck iu the umbrageous forest, could the moon beams reach the surface of the earth. Elsewhere, from cliff to cliff, the obscurity was complete. Cubina conjectured, and correctly, that there was a j.ath leading Iron the anchorage of the canoe ; and to find this was his first purpose. Keeping around the edge of the lagoon, he soon came upon the craft empty, and anchored under a tree. The moonlight entering here from the open water, showed him the wibouchre of the path, where it entered the underwood ; and, without AOS- ing a moment's time, he commenced moving along it. Silently as a cat he stole around, at intervals pausing to listen, but he sould only hear the hissing sound of the upper cascade to which ho was aow making approach. For a space in front of the waterfall the trees stood thinly, and thii opening was soon reached. On arriving at its edge the Maroon again stopped to reconnoitre. Scarce a second of time did he need to pause. Light flashed in hii eyes through the interstices of what appeared to be a sort of grating. It was the bamboo door of the Obeah hut. Voices, too, reverberated through the bars. Within were the men upon whom it was his purpose to play eaves- dropper. In another instant Cubina was cowering under the cotton tree, close up to the door-post CHAPTER LXXV. 8TEANQK DISCLOSURES THE two plotters were palavering loud enough. In that place there was no need at least, so thought they for restrained speech ; and the listener could have heard every word, but for the hoarse hissing of the cataract. This, at times, hindered him from distinguishing what was said ; and only in detached portions could he pick up the thread of the discourse. Enough, however, heard he, to cause him astonishment tho greatest of all, that in the island of Jamaica, or upon the earth, existed two such villains as Chakra the Coromantee, and Jessuron the Jew ! He could see the conspirators as well as hear them. The chinks be- tween the bamboos enabled him to obtain a view of both. The Jew, slightly blown with his long walk against the hill, had drop- ped into a sitting attitude upon the truck-like bed-sted ; while the Coro- mantee stood before him, leaning against the buttress of the tree which formed one side of his dwelling. The conversation had commenced before Cubina came up. It could not have proceeded far. The lard lamp seemed recently lit. Besides, the Maroon knew he had only been a few minutes behind them. The plot, therefore, whatever it was. had not yet made much progress. So reasoned the listener ; but it soon appeared that it was the contin nation of a plot, and not its first conception, to which he was to become privy a plot so demoniac as to include murder in its design! The Jew, when Cubina first got eyes on him, appeared as if he had just fdhrea utterance to some angry speech. His dark, weasel-like orbs wer* STRANGE DISCLOSURES. 237 parkling in their sunken sockets, with a fiendish light. The goggles were off, and the eyes could be seen. In his right hand the eternal umbrella was grasped, with a firm clutch, as if held in menace ! Chakra, on the other hand, appeared cowed and pleading. Though almost twice the size, and apparently twice the strength of the olci Israelite, he looked at that moment as if in fear of him 1" "Gorry, Massr Jake !" said he in an appealing tone ; " how ebber wa' 1 to know de Cussus warn a gwine so soon ? A nebber speered ob dat; au you nebber tole me you wanted de death-'pell to work fasser dan wai ate. Ef a j d a know'd dat, a kud a fetch de dam Cussus out o' him boot* in de shake ob a cat's tail dat kud a did 1" " A/ch 1" exclaimed the Jew, with an air of unmistakable chagrin ; "' he's going to shlip us. S'help me, he will 1 And now, too, when I wants more ash ever the shpell upon him. I'sh heard something from thish girl Cynthy of a conshpiracy against myself. Sheesh heard them plotting in the summer-house in the Cushtos's garden." " Wha' dey plot 'gain you, Massr Jake ? Who am dey dat go plottin 1 1" "The Cushtos is one, the other ish that scamp son of Cubina, the Maroon the young Cubina. You knowsh him ?" " Dat same a know well 'nuf." " Ah ! the proud Cushtos don't know though he hash his sushpicions that hish wife Quasheba was the mistress of a Maroon. Ha ! ha ! ha t And she luffed the mulatta better ash ever she luffed Vanities Vochan. Ha! ha! ha!" " Dat am berry near de troof," observed the negro, with a thoughtful air. " Little doesh the Cushtos think," continued Jessuron, without heeding the interpolation ; " that thish young fellow, whosh a helping' him to conshpire againsht me is a sort of a son to hish consheited worship. Ha halha!' It was startling intelligence for the listener outside the door. It was the first intimation the young Maroon ever bad as to who was his mother. Some vague hints had been conveyed to him in early childhood ; but his memory recalled them as dreams ; and he himself had never allow- ed them expression. His father he had known well called as himself Cubina the Maroon. But his mother, who or what she had been, he had never known. Was it possible, then, that the quadroon, Quasheba of whose fame he, too, had heard was it possible she was his own mother ? That " lily Quasheba," the beautiful the accomplished daughter of the Gustos Vaughan was his half-sister ? He could not doubt it. The conversation that followed put him in possession of further details, and more ample proofs. Besides, srfch re- lationships were too common in the island of Jamaica, to make them matter either of singularity or surprise. Notwithstanding, the listener was filled with astonishment far more than that for the revelation was one to stir his soul to emotions of the strangest and strongest kind. New thoughts sprang up at the announce- ment ; new vistas opened before the horoscope of his future ; new ties were established within his heart, hitherto unfelt and unknown. Stifling his new-sprung emotions, as well ae he was a at iemo otter tioie h re-b^t his ear to 238 He hoard enough to satisfy him that h-3 had a sister- -a half-sister, it if true but still a sister. The next point determined on between the conspirators was equally calculated to startle and astonish him. It was no less than a design to render that sister brotherless! "You musht put the ehpell on him, too," said the Jew ; "for heeh &h principal in thish plot againsht me. Even if the Cushtos wash out of the way, thish schamp, Cubina, will go to some other magistrate to carry out hish design. There will be plenty to help him. You musht shpell kin, and soon ash you can, Shakra. Therc'sh no time to loose not a mmnit, S'help me. " A do wha a can, Massr Jake ; but a rnout's well tell ye, dat it a'nt so easy to put de 'pell on a Maroon. It coss me more'n twenty years to put de Obeah on him ole fadder, and I'se a been trying' urn on dis young Cubina fo' some time ebber since him fadder die. A hate the young un same a hated de ole un. You knows why a hate boaf." I knowsh all that^-I knowsh all. that." " Wa, den ! a do ma bess. Dat ar rn'latta gib me no hope. She soon 'dminster de 'pell ef she hab chance kase she think urn de lub drink. She hab no chance, fo' Cubina he no let her come nigh of him. Nebber mind : Chakra he find opportunity some day ; 'fore long he put de death 'pell on de son ob dat quaderoom." " Perhaps not so soon !" was the mental rejoinder of hiai ^ho listened to this confident declaration. " It'sh less matter about him than the other !" cried th* Jew, giving way to a fresh burst of rage. " S'help me ! the Cushtos is g oing to shlip out of my fingers the eshtate all ! Ach," he ejaculated as his dis- appointment came more palpably before him, " you hash placed me false, Shakra ! I b'lief you've been playin' me false ! As the Jew gave utterance to-this conjectural speech, he sHrted to his feet taking a tighter hold upon his umbrella, and standing before hie 1 vis-a-vis' in a threatening attitude. " No, Massr Jake," replied the myal-man, without altering 1 the air of obeisance he had hitherto assumed. " No nuffin of dat anv how, t'se can say, dar's nuffin ob dat. You yaseff sabbey well 'nuf, a hah as good roezun as yaseff to make de 'pell work, an, I tell you it shall worH" " Tesh ! when too late too late! I don't care then. If the P*i8Mct get to Spanish Town if he procuresh the shpecial act, I'm a ruined Shew ! I don't care a shtraw if the death-shpell wash put on myshelf I don't!" This speech was rather a soliloquy than addressed to Chakra, who lie tened to it without clearly comprehending its import: for the chief motive which was stimulating the Jew was still unknown to his felloe conspirator. " I tell you," resumed Jesauron, still in threatening speech, " I believe you hash been fooling me, Shakra! You hash seme interest of your OWE perhaps with thish Lilly Quasheba. Hal never mind ! I tell you thish time I tell you, Shakra, if the shpell dosh fail yesh, if it fail, and the Cushtos reach the capital where he ish going I tell you, Shakra, you may look out for shqualls 1 You loosh your mouish I promised you. . Ay, you may loosh your life ash well. I hash only to shay a word, aud tka A STOBMT SCENE. 239 Duppy's Hole will be searched by the houndsh of the law. Now will you do your beskt, to keep the Cuehtos from reaching the capital of the island ?" As Jessuron finished the speech containing this hypothetical threat, he moved in the direction of the door, apparently with the intention of taking his departure. The Maroon, perceiving the movement, stepped further back into th shadow of the cotton-tree taking care to conceal himself effectually. This change of position prevented him from hearing what subsequent- ly passed between the two conspirators. Some more conversation there was on both sides an interchange of it, which lasted for several minutes; but although the listener could hear the sound of the voices, he was un- able to make out the words spoken. What was ^aid by the Jew was principally the repetition of hifl menace in terms the most emphatic he could employ ; while Chakra, with equal emphasis, repeated his promises to accomplish the nefarious purpose already agreed upon between them. " A promise, Massr Jake," said the myal-man, in conclusion, " by tha great Accompong, a do ma bess. Ef de Cussus 'trive 'scape, den y*u do wid ole Chakra whasomediver you hab mind to. 'Liver him, up ef you like ! Ha 1 De Cussus no 'scape. Dis night Cynthy hab take bottle in her basket ob de 'trongest kind. It do de bizness in 'bout twenty-fo f hour. Daat am de true death-'pell. Whugh I" " In twenty-four hours ? You ish shure, Shakra ? you ish shure ?" " Shoo' as a 'm now in de Duppy Hole, Massr Jake. Doan' you bab no mo' doubt ob ole Chakra. He hab no lub fo' Cussus VaTian mo' dan youseflf. P'raps he lub de Cussus' dau'ter, but dat am berry diffrent sort ob 'fecshun. Whugh 1" With this speech of fiendish signification the dialogue ended ; and tho Jew was seen stepping outside, followed by his confederate. Both walked away from the spot, Chakra taking the lead, the Maroon closely watching their movements. On reaching the canoe the conspirators stepped abroad, and the craft was paddled over the lagoon. Cubina waited for its return ; and then, seeing Chakra safe within hia hut, he hastened back to the water ; and swimming, as before, under the . shadow of the rock, he re-ascended the tree stairway, and stood onc iwore on the summit of the cliff. CHAPTER LXXVI. A STORMY 8G1KX. { OH emerging from the Duppy's Hole, the penn-keeper tracked it, aa straight as the path would permit him, towards his own home. He walked with hurried steps, as if he had some purpose before him beyond that of going to bed. Late as was the hour or early, it should rather be uaid, siuce it was getting on for day-break in the eye of the old Israelite thoro wag uo sign of sleepiness ; but, on the contrary, a wide-awake ex 240 A STORMY SCENE. pression that betokened his intention to accomplish some desired object before retiring to rest. The mutterings which fell from his lips, as he moved onward among the trees, told that his discontent still continued. Chakra's assurances, that had, for the moment, partially removed his ill-humour, on reflection failed to satisfy him. More than once before, the myal-man had given him promises which he had failed hi keeping; and so might it be with the promise of the death-spell. With this thought was revived in full vigour the apprehension that his enemy might escape ; and, consequently, his deep- conceived scheme would result in ignominious failure. The measures which the myal-man had taken for administering the $ spdl-medic'me that bottle of strong waters which Cynthia carried home in her basket had been revealed to the Jew. The revelation had been made as iuited the subject in a low tone of voice ; and it was this part of the dialogue between the two conspirators which Cubina had not heard. But the Coromantee might be mistaken in his skill ? The prescription might fail in producing the desired effect ? The slave might not find the opportunity to administer it ? Considering the early hour at which the traveler was to start Jessu- ron knew the hour Cynthia might not have a chance to give the medi- cine ? Or frayed by contemplation of the fearful consequence, which she now knew would follow almost instantaneously upon the act, she might in the end shy from the dangerous duty ? The intended victim might, in the meantime, have become suspicious of the mixtures prepared by the mulatta, and decline to drink the deadly draught ?" There were many chances that the Gustos might escape. " ' There ieh many a shlip between the cup and the lipsh,' " muttered the wicked old man, quoting one of his favourite proverbs. " Ach I that ish true," he added, with bitter emphasis, as the probabilities of failure passed more palpably before his mind. " S'help me !" continued he, with an attempt at self-consolation ; " I Shall not be deprived of my refenge that ish certain whether he goesh to Spanish Town or shtays at home. Ach 1" he exclaimed, again chang- ing his tone to one of chagrin, " what dosh that signify, beshide the other? If he could be shtopped, it wash a grand deshtiny for mice Bhoodith, for myself me, old Shacob Sljessuron 1 Mount Welcome wash mine ! It rnusht belong to thish young fellow he belongs to Shoodith Shoodith belongsh to me ! Ach I what a pity if my shkeme ish to fail- after all I hash done to make it succeed I " If it fail," he continued, the probabilities of failure presenting a new phase to him, " if it fail, I'm a ruined man ! I am 1 Shooditn* may want to marry thish young fellow. I believe she luffs him I'm afeerd stya dcosh and he hashn't the worth of the shoosh he sh stands in. Blesh my shoul! I musht try to prevent it. It musht go no farther till I'm ehure of the Cushtos. Not a shtep not a shtep. She musht be seen, and thish very night. Yesh ; I musht see Shoodith before I siileep!" Urged on by the desire of the interview thus announced, the Jew ha* tened his steps ; and soon arrived under the shadow of the dark pile that constituted his perm. by the bjac& porter at the gate for that of th ourt-yard, A STORMY SCENE. 241 or Blare enclosure, was always kept Locked he mounted the wooden steps, and stole as silently along the verandah, as if he had been a stranger in the house instead of its owner. His object, in this stealthy movement, appeared to be, to avoid disturbing some one who slept hi a hammock near one end of the long gallery. It was toward the other end, however, that he went hi the direction of a chamber, through the lattice-window of which a light was streaming. ft was the sleeping apartment of the Jewess. On arriving opposite the door, he knocked, not loudly, at the same time pronouncing, in a half whisper, the name " Shoodith 1" " That you, old rabbi T" inquired a voice from within ; while a footstep passing across the floor told either that the Jewess had not yet sought her couch, or had sought, and again forsaken it The door was opened ; and the worthy father of this wakeful daugh- ter passed inside. " Well," said she, as he entered, " I won't inquire what errand you've been on, my good papa Jessuron : some slave speculation, I suppose T But what have I to do with it, that you should compel me to sit up for you till this time of the night ? It's now near morning ; and I'm precious leepy, I can tell you." " Ach ! Shoodith, dear," replied the father. " Everything ish goin* wrong ! shelp me, everything 1" " Well, one might think so, from that doleful phiz of yours. What'i troubling you now, my worthy parent ?" " Ach 1 Shoodith ! Don't dishtress me by your speeches. I hash something of importance to shay to you, before I go to shleep." " Say it quick, then : for I want to go to sleep mysell What is it, pray ?" " Well, Shoodith, dear, it ish this ; you mushn't trifle any more with thish young fellow." " What young felld|r do you mean, my good man ?" " \ ochan, of coursh Mashter Vochan." " Ho ! ho 1 you've changed your tune. What's this about T H " I hash reason, Shoodith ; I hash reason." "Who said I was trifling with him? Not I, father! Anything but that, I can assure you. " " That ish not what I mean, Shoodith." " Well, then, what do you mean, old gentleman? Come now I mak yourself intelligible." " I md&n thish, Shoodith : you mushn't let thinjjs go any farther with the young fellow that ish, shoost now till I knowsh sonic-thing inoro about hiia. I thought he wash going to be rich you know I thought that, mind daughter but I hash lound out, thish very night, that per- haps he may never be worth a shingle shilling ; and therefore, Shoodith, vou couldn't think of marrying him and mushn't think of it till wo knowsh more about him I'' " Father 1" replied the Jewess, at once throwing aside her habitual badinage, and assuming a serious tone, ** it is too late I Did I not tell you that the tarantula might get caught in its own trap ? The prcrverb hai proved true ; lam that unhappy spider 1" "You don't shay so, Sfaoodith?" inquired the father, with a look of 42 WHERE NEXT? " I do ! Yonder sleeps the fly" ~and the speaker pointed aloiig tli gallery in the direction of the hammock " secure from any harm I can ever do him. And were he as poor as he appears to be as humble aa the lowest slave on your estate he is rich enough for me. Ah! it will be hi* fault, not mine, if he do not become my husband !" The proud, determined tone in which the Jewess spoke, was only modified as she uttered the last words. The conjunctive form of the tlosing speech, with a certain duplexity of expression upon her counte- nance, showed that she was not yet sure of the heart of Herbert Vaughan. Notwithstanding his attentions at the ball notwithstanding much that had since occurred, there appeared to be a doubt a trace of distrust that still lingered. " Never, Shoodith 1" cried the father, in a tone of determined authority. " You mushn't think of itl You shall never marry a pauper never !" " Pauper him as much as you like ; father, he won't care for that, any more than I do." " I shall disinherit you, Shoodith 1" said the Jew, giving way to his spiteful feeling of resentment. " As you like about that, too. Disinherit me at your pleasure. But re- member, old man, it was you who began this game -you who set me to playing it ; and if you're in danger of losing your stake whatever it may be I tell you you're in danger of losing me that is, if he " The hypothetic thought whatever it was that at this crisis crossed the mind of the Jewess, was evidently one that caused her pain : as could be seen by the dark shadow that came mantling over her beautiful brow. Whether or not she would have finished the speech is uncertain. She was not permitted to proceed. The angry father interrupted her : ' I won't argue with you now, Shoodith. Go to your bed, girl ! go to ehleep! Thish I promish you and s'help me. I keepsh mypromishl if thish pauper ish to be a pauper, he 'never marries you with my con- shent ; and without my conshent he never touches a shilling of my uoonish. You undershtand that, Shoodith?" And without waiting to hear the reply which was quite as defiant as his own declaration the Jew hurried out of his daughter's chamber, and shuffled off along the verandah CHAPTER LXXVII. WHERE NEXT! THE Maroon, after mounting to the summit of the cliff, paused for som moments to reflect upon a course of action. In his bosom were many new emotions, springing from the strange re- velations to which he had just listened. His mind was in such a state of chaotic confusion, that it required some time to determine what h ought to do next, or whither he should go. The thought that thrilled him most, was that which related to the dit> overy of maternal relationship to Miss Vaughan. But this matter WHERE NEXT. 243 however strange it was, required no immediate action to be taken on his part ; and though the semi-fraternal affection, now felt for the first time, strengthened the romantic friendship which he had conceived for the young lady- -whom he had now seen several times still from what he had overheard of the scheme of the conspirators, his new discovered ister did not appear to be in any danger. At least, not just then ; though some horrid hints darkly .thrown out by Chakra pointed to a pro- bable peril at some future time. That her father was in danger, Cubina could not doubt. Some de- moniac plot, had been prepared for the Gustos, which was to deprive him even of life ; and from what the Maroon could make out of the half-heard conversation of the conspirators, action was to be taken upon it, so early as the following morning. Mr. Vaughan intended a journey. Yola had herself told him so ; and the confabulation between Jessuron and Chakra confirmed it. Cynthia, had been their informant ; and it was evident that upon that very night she had brought the news from Mount Welcome. Evident, also, that the piece of intelligence thus conveyed had taken both the conspirators by surprise causing them to hasten some devilish plan that before that night had not been quite ripe for ex- ecution. All this was clear enough to the mind of the Maroon. Equally clear was it, that the plan was no other than an atrocious plot to murder the proprietor of Mount Welcome ; and that poison was the safe silent weapon to be used for Cubina was not unacquainted with the signification of the death-spell of Obeah. Before that night he had reason to believe that his own father had fallen by that secret shaft, and reasons to suspect that Chakra had shot it. What he had just heard confirmed his belief and but that he saw the necessity of hastening to the rescue of the threatened Gustos and knew, moreover, that he could find Chakra at anj time he would, in all probability, have avenged his father's dealt before leaving the Duppy's Hole. The young Maroon, however, was a man of mild character combining prudence with an extreme sang-froid that hindered him from bringing any event to an ambiguous ending. Though leaving Chakra for the time, he had determined soon to return to him. The resurrection of the myal-mau, though it at first very naturally as- tonished him, had soon ceased to be a mystery to the mind of the Maroon, hi fact the presence of the Jew had at once explained the whole thing. Cubina conjectured, and correctly, that Jessuron had released the condemn- ed criminal from his chains, and substituted the body of some dead negro afterwards to become the representative of Chakra's skeleton. For this the Jew, well known for wickedness, might have many mo- tives. The Maroon did not stay to speculate upon them. His thoughts were directed to the present and future rather than the past to the rescue of the Gustos, over whom a fearful fate seemed to impend. tit need not be denied that Cubina felt a certain friendship for the plan tcr of Mount Welcome. Hereto fore it had not been of a very ardent cha- racter ; but the relations lately established between him and the Gustos i prospect of the process to be taken against their common enemy, the 244 WHERE NEXT! penn keeper has, of course, occasioned a fellow-feeling between thu, The revelations of that night had strengthened the interest which the Maroon had begun to feel for Mr. Vaughan ; and it is not to be wondered at that he now felt an honest desire to save the father of her whom he was henceforth to regard as his own sister. To this end, then, were his thoughts directed. He stayed not long to speculate upon the motives either of Chain -a ( ! Jessuron. Those of the myal-man he could guess to a certainty. Revenge for the sentence that exposed him to that fearful fate on the Jumbe Rock I The motives of the Jew were less transparent. His deepest did not appear in the confabulation Cubina had overheard. Even Chakra did not Knoir it. It might be fear of the approaching trial i which by some means the Jew had become apprised of. But no. On reflection, Cubina saw it could not be that : for the conver nation of the conspirators betrayed that their plot had been anterior to any information which the Jew could have had of the design of the Gus- tos. It could not be that. No matter what. Mr. Vaughan, the father of the generons young lady she who had promised to make him a present of his beloved bride, and who now proved to be his own step-sister her father was in danger 1 Not a moment was to be lost. Without regard to motives, measurea must be taken to avert that danger, and punish the miscreants who de- signed it Cubina continued to reflect upon what step should be first taken. Should he go direct to Mount Welcome, and warn the Gustos, by re- porting to him what he had heard. That was the first idea that presented itself to his mind ; but at that hour Mr. Vaughan would be a-bed, and he a Maroon might not be admitted, unless, indeed, he could show, by pleading the urgency of his errand, good cause for the Gustos to be roused from his slumber. This, undoubtedly, would he have done, had he known that the scheme of the conspirators had been definitely arranged. But, as already stated, he had not heard Chakra's concluding speech referring tc Cynthkx and the bottle of strong medicine ; and all the rest only pointed vaguely at some measures to be taken to frustrate the expedition to Spanish Town. It would be time enough, thought he, to meet these measures by going tc Mount Welcome in the morning. He could get there before Mr. Vaughan should start upon his journey. He could go at an early hour, but one when his appearance would not give cause for any unnecessary remark. It did not occur to him to reflect, that the time of the traveller's de- parture from Mount Welcome of which Cubina had not been apprised might be anterior to that of his arrival there. The Maroon, thinking that the great Gustos was not likely to inconvenience himself by early rising, had no apprehension about missing him by being himself too late. With this confidence, then, he resolved to postpone his visit to Mount Welcome until some hour after daybreak ; and, in the meantime, to carry out the preliminaries of a programme, referring to a very different affair, And which had been traced out the day before. Tbe first sooae in this programme was to be a mooting with Herbert WHERE NEXT. 245 Vaughan. It had been appointed to take place between them on die fol- lowing morning ; and on the same spot where the two young men had first encountered one another in the glade under the great ceiba. The interview was of Herbert's own seeking ; for although neither had seen the other, since the day on which the runaway had been rescued, some items of intelligence had passed between them Quacc acting as the medium of their correspondence. Herbert had an object in seeking the interview. He desired a confer- ence with Cubina, in hopes of obtaining from him an explanation of mori than one circumstance, that had lately arisen to puzzle and perplex him. His patron's suspicious story about the red runaway was one of these circumstances. Herbert had heard from Quaco that the slave was still staying with the Maroons in their mountain town ; and had been adopted into their little community in fact, had himself become a Maroon. This did not tally with the account given by Jessuron. Of course, Quaco could not state the reasons. The secrecy enjoined by the Custog kept Cubina's tongue tied upon that theme; and his own men knew nothing of the design which their captain had conceived against the Jew. This was not the only matter which mystified the young Englishman, and which he was in hopes of having cleared up by Cubina. His own position at the penn of late developing itself in a manner to surprise and startle him also needed elucidation. There was no one near of whom he could ask a question in regard to it, and never in his life did he stand more in need of a confidant. In this dilemma he had thought of his old acquaintance, the Maroon captain. The intelligent mulatta appeared to be the very man. Herbert remembered the promise made at parting, his own conditional acceptance of it, which now appeared prophetic, since the contingency then ex- pressed had come to pass. He had need to avail himself of the friendly proffer, and for that purpose had he made the appointment under the ceiba. Equally desirous was the Maroon to meet with the young Englishman, He had preserved a grateful recollection of his generous interference in what appeared a very unequal combat ; and, so far from having lost sight of his noble ally, he had been keeping him in mind after a fashion that was calculated to show the deep gratitude with which Herbert'! conduct had inspired him. He longed for an opportunity of giving renewed expression to this gratitude ; but he had other reasons for wishing to see the young Englishman just then ; and the meeting with Tola on that same night had an object somewhat different from the mere repetition of love vows already pronounced over and over again, upon a score of distinct oc- casicns. Now that the night hours had nearly all passed, and that the morning was nigh, the Maroon, instead of returning to his mountain home, decid- ed on going back to the glade, spending the few hours of interval under the shadow of the ceiba. Indeed, the time would not now allow of his returning home. The uu would be up in three or four hours. A little after sunrise was the appointed time for the meeting with Herbert Vaughan. Before that 940 uour snould arrive, he could scarce reach his own " toTiii" and get bael again. The thing, therefore, was net to be thought of. To sleep under a tree, or on one, was no new thing for Cubina. It would never occur to him to consider such a couch as inconvenient. In his hog-hunting excursions often continuing for days, and even weeks he was accustomed to repose upon the cold ground upon the swirl of withered leaves upon the naked rock^-any where. Not much did ii matter to a Maroon, to be sheltered by a roof not much, whether a tree lhadowed his slumbers, or whether on his grassy couch he saw shining over him the starry canopy of the sky. These were but the circumstan- ces of his every-day life. Having come to the conclusion that his best plan would be to paaa the few remaining hours of the night under the ceiba, he made no further delay by the Duppy's Hole ; but turning into the path that led down the slope, he proceeded back towards the glade, where Herbert Vaughan was to give him rendezvous. He moved down the mountain road, slowly, and with some degree of circumspection. He went slowly, because there was no need for haste. It would be several hours before the young Englishman should be in the glade. As already stated, a little after sun- rise was the time agreed upon, through the messenger Quaco. There was no particular reason for Cubina's being in a hurry to get to the glade unless he wished to have more time for his nap under the tree. For sleep, however, he had but little relish just then. Wild thoughts, consequent on the strange disclosures he had listened to, were passing through his mind ; and these were sufficient to deprive him even of the power to sleep. He moved onward with circumspection from a different motive. He knew that Jessuron, in returning to his penn, must have taken the same path. Should the latter be loitering sine he had only started but a few minutes before Cubina might overtake him ; and he had no wish to see any more of the Jew for that night or, at all events, to be himself seen by the latter. To avoid all chance of an encounter, he stopped at inter- vals, and reconnoitred the wood ahead of him. He arrived in the glade without seeing either Jew, Christian, or living being of any kind. The penn-keeper had passed through a good while before. Cubina could tell this by an observation which he made on coin ing out into the open ground. A mock-bird perched on a low tree, thai stood directly by the path, was singing with all its might. The Maroon had heard its melody long before entering the glade. Had any one pass- ed recently, fhe bird would have iorsaken its perch as it did on the ap- f roach of Cubina himself. On reaching the rendezvous, 'his first concern was to kindle a fire. Sleep in a wet shirt was not to be thought of ; and every stitch upon his body had been soaked in swimming the lagoon. Otherwise, it would oot have mattered about a fire. He had nothing to cook upon it ; nor was he hungry having already eaten his supper. Kindled by a woodman's skill, a fire soon blazed up ; and the hunter stood erect beside it, turning himself at intervals to dry his garmenta still dripping with water. He was soon smoking all over, like freshly slaked lime ; and, in order to pass the time more pleasantljfyjie commenced smoking in another A DAfcK COMPACT. 247 geiise the nicotian--]\\s pipe and tobacco-pouch afforclii g him an oppor tunity for this indulgence. Posaibly the nicotine may have stimulated his reflective powers ; foi he had not taken more than a dozen puffs at his pipe, when a sudden and somewhat uneasy movement seemed to say that some new reflection had occurred to him. Simultaneous with the movement, a muttered soliloquj fell from his lips. " Crambo .'" exciaimed he, giving utterance to his favourite shibboleth } " say he should come an hour after sunrise another we should be in get- ting to Mount Welcome. Pordios ! it may be too late then I Who knows what time the Gustos may fancy to set out?" he added, after a pause ; " 1 did not think of that. How stupid of me not to have asked Yola! " Crambo /" he again exclaimed, after another interval passed in a silent reflection. " It won't do to leave things to chance, where a man's life is in danger. Who knows what a scheme these John Crows have contrived? I couldn't hear the whole of their palaver. If Master Vaughan was only here, we might go to Mount Welcome at once. Whatever quarrel he may have with the uncle, he won't wish to let him be murdered no fear of that. Besides, the young fellow's interference in this matter, if I mis- take not, would be likely to make all right between them I'd like that, both for his sake and hers ah ! hers especially, aftor what Tola's told me Santa Virgin ! wouldn't that be a disappointment to the old dog of a Jew 1 Never mind ; I'll put a spark in his powder before Le's many days older. The young Englishman must know all. I'll tell him all ; and after that if he consents to become the son in-law of Jacob Jessurrn,he would deserve a dog's Bah ! it cannot be 1 I won't believe it till he tells me so him- self ; and then " Pordios !" exclaimed he, suddenly interrupting the above train of re- flections and passing to another. " It won't do for me to stay here till he comes. Two hours after sunrise, and the Gustos might be cold. I'll go down to the Jew's penn at once ; and hang about till I see young Vaughan, He'll be stirring about daybreak, and that 11 save an hour, anyhow. A word with him, and we can soon cross to Mount Welcome." In obedience to the thought, and without staying to complete the dry- Ing of his habiliments, the Maroon stepped out from the glade ; and turning into the track little used that led towards the Happy Valley, proceeded in that direction. CHAPTER LXXVHL A DARK COMPACT. ON closing so abruptly the stormy dialogue with his daughter, es8uroB proceeded to his own sleeping apartment like the others, opening upon the verandah. Before entering the room, he glanced along the gallery, towards the suspended hammock. In that hammock slept Herbert Vaughan. His long sea-voyage had ac- customed him to the use of a swing couch- even to a liking for it ; and 248 A DAEK COMPACT. aa the night was warm, he had preferred the hammock to his bed in fb8 contiguous chamber. Jessuron had a fear that the angry conversation might have been over* heard by the occupant of the hammock ; for, in the excitement of temper, neither he nor Judith had observed the precaution of speaking low. The hammock hung motionless, oscillating scarce an inch ; and this only under the influence of the night breeze that blew gently along the ve*ran- dah. Its occupant appeared to be in the middle of a profound slumber. Satisfied of this, the Jew returned to his own chamber. There was no light, and on entering, he sat down in the darkness. The moon shining in through the window gave him light enough to discover a chair; And into that he had flung himself, instead of seeking his couch. For a time he displayed no intention either of undressing or betaking himself to bed ; but remained in the high-backed chair in which he had seated himself, buried in some reflection, silent as profound. We are permitted to know his thoughts. " S'help me, she'll marry him !" was that which came uppermost. " She will, s'help me 1" continued he, repeating the reflection in an altered form, " shpite of all I can shay or do to prevent her. She ish a very deffil when raished and she'll have her own way, she will. Ach! what ish to be done ? what ish to be done ?" Here a pause occurred in the reflections, while the Jew, with puzzled brain, was groping for an answer to his mental interrogatory. " It ish of no ushe 1" he continued, after a time, the expression on his face showing that he had not yet received a definite reply. " It'sh no ushe to opposhe her. She'd run away with thish young man to a cer- tainty 1 " I might lock her up, but that ish no good. She'd contrive to eshcape sometime. I couldn't a^Vaysh keep her under lock and key? No no, it ish Imposhible ! " And if she marriesh him without the monish without the great BhTlgar eshtate I Blesh me 1 that ish ruin I "It musht not be. If she marriesh him she musht marry Mount Wel- come. She musht ! she musht ! " But how ish it to be ? How ish he to be made the heir ?" Again the Jew appeared to puzzle his brains for an answer to this last interrogatory. " Ha !" he exclaimed aloud, at the same time starting from his chair, as if the iolution had discovered itself; " I hash it! the Spaniards? I hash it! " Yesh," he continued, striking the ferrule of his umbrella against the floor, " theesh are the very fellows for the shob worth a schore of Shakra's shpells, and hish bottles to boot ! There ish no fear that their "sedishin will fail. S'help me, no ! Now, ash I think of it," continued he, * that ish the plan the very besht. There is no other safe and sure like that ish I Ha I Cushtos I you shan't eshcape yet. Ha ! Shoodith, mine rirl, you ish welcome to your way ; you shall have the young man after mil!" On giving utterance to those ambiguous speeches, the Jew dropped back into his chair, and sat fa? some minutes in silent but earnest medita- tion. A BAKtf COJTPA01*. 249 The matter of his meditation may be known by tLe act that followed. " There ishn't an hour to be losht ! muttered he, starting to his feet, and fcurriecfly making for the door ; " no, not ash much ash a minute. I musht see them now. The Cushtps is to shtart at sunrishe. The wench hash said it. They'll joosht have time to get upon hish track. S'help me," he added, opening the door, and glancing up at the sky, " ash I live it'sh mcsht sunrishe now." Sticking his beaver firmly upon his head, and taking a fresh clutch of Ithe everlasting umbrella, he rushed rapidly out of the verandah, crossed I the courtyard, re-passed the porter at his own gate, and then, traversing the little incloeure outside, stood in the open fields. He did not stand long only to look around him, and see that the ground was clear of stragglers. Satisfied on this head, he proceeded onward. At the distance of three or four hundred yards from the outside stock- ade stood a detached cabin, more than half hidden among the trees. Towards this he directed his steps. Five minutes sufficed for him to reach it ; and, on arriving at the door, he knocked upon it with the butt of his umbrella. " Quien es ?" spoke a voice from within. " It'sh me, Manuel me Shessuron 1" replied the Jew. "It's the 'Dueno'" (master), was heard muttering one of the other for the cabin was the dwelling of these notable negro-hunters. " Carajol what does the old ladron want at this hour?" interrogated the first speaker, in his own tongue, which he knew was not understood by the Jew. " Maldito!" added he, in a grumbling voice ; " it's not very pleasant to be waked up in this fashion. Besides, I was dreaming of that yellow-skin that killed my dogs. I thought I had my machete up to the hilt in his carcase. What a pity I was only dreaming itl" " Ta-ta.'" interrupted the other; "be silent. Andres. The old gan+ dero is impatient. Vamos ! I'm coming, Senor Don Jacob 1" " Make hashte, then 1" answered the Jew frcm without. " I hash im- portant bishness with both of yoush." At this moment the door opened ; and he who answered to the name of Manuel appeared in the doorway. Without waiting for an invitation, Jessuron stepped inside the cabin. " Does your business require a candle, senor ?" inquired the Spaniard, " No no 1" answered the Jew, quickly and impressively, as if to pre- vent the striking of a light. M It ish only talk ; we can do it in the dark- ness." And darkness, black and profound, was most appropriate to the con- versation that followed. Its theme was murder the murder of Loftui Vaughan I The plan proposed was for the two Spaniards fit instruments for such purpose to waylay the Gustos upon the road in some dark defile of the forest anywhere it mattered not, so long as it was on this side of Bpanish Town. " Fifty poundsh apeesh ; goot island currenshy," was the reward promised offered and accepted. Jeasuron instructed his brace of entrepreneurs in all the details of tho plan. He had learnt from Cynthia tkat the Gustos intended to take th 250 RTATtlNG THE SLEEPER. southern road, sailing at Savanna-la-Mer. It was a roundabout way to the capital; but Jessuron had his supicions why that route had been chosen. He knew that Savanna was the assize town of Cornwall ; and the Gustos might have business there relating to himself, Prince Cinglies, and his two dozen Mandingoes ! It was not necessary to instruct the ' ca9adores' in these multifarious matters. There was no time to use on any other thaii the details of their murderous plan; and these were made known to them with the rapidiu of rapine itself. In lees than twenty minutes from the tune he had entered the calm , the Jew issued out again ; and walked back with joyous mien and agile step towards his dark dwelling. CHAPTER LXXIX. STAKING THE SLEEPER. CUBINA, on arriving near the precincts of the penn, moved forward with increased caution. He knew that the penn-keeper was accustomed to keep dogs and night watchers around his inclosure, not only to prevent his cattle and other quadrupeds from straying, but also the black bipeds that filled his baracoons. The Maroon was conscious, moreover, that his own attitude towards the slave-merchant was, at this time, one of extreme hostility. His re- fusal to restore the runaway had been a declaration of open war between them ; and the steps he had since taken in conjunction with the Gustos which he now knew to be no longer a secret to the slave-dealer could not otherwise than render him an object of the Jew's most bitter hatred. Knowing all this, he felt the necessity of caution in approaching the place ; for should the penn-keeper's people find him prowling about the premises, they would be certain to capture him, if they could, and carry him before Jacob Jessuron, J. P., where he might expect to be treated to a little "justices' justice." With this prospect before him, in the event of being detected, he ap- proached the Jew's dwelling as cautiously as if he had been a burglar about to break into it. It was towards the back of the house that he was advancing from the fields or rather, the side of it, opposite to that on which lay the cattle and slave incloeures. He had made a short circuit to approach by this side, conjecturing that the others would be more likely to be guarded by the slave and cattle watchers. The fields, half returned to the condition of a forest, rendered it easy to advance under cover. A thick, second growth of logwood, bread-nut and calabash trees covered the ground ; and nearer the walls the old garden, now ruinate, still displayed a profusion of fruit trees growing in wild luxuriance, such a guavas, mangoes, paw-paws, orange and lemon, sops, custard-apples, the akee, and avocada pear. Here and there a co- raised its tufted crown far above tha topmost spruf ui the THE SLEEPES8. 251 humbler fruit trees, its long, feathery fronds gently oscillating undei the silent zephyrs of the night. On getting within about a hundred yards of the house, Cubina formed the intention not to go any nearer just then. The plan he had traced out was to station himself in some position where he could command a view of the verandah or as much of it as it was possible to see from on place. There he would remain until daybreak. His conjecture was, that Herbert Vaughan would make his appearam^ as soon as the day broke, and this was all the more probable on account of his engagement with the Maroon himself. The 'protege' of Jessuron would show himself in the verandah on leav-' ing his chamber. He could not do otherwise, since all the sleeping-rooms and Cubina knew this opened outward upon the gallery. Once seen, a signal by some means by Cubina showing himself out- side, or calling the young Englishman by name would bring about the desired interview, and hasten the execution of the project which the Maroon had conceived. A slight elevation of the ground, caused by the crumbling ruins of an old wall, furnished the vidette station desired ; and the Maroon, mounting upon this, took his stand to "watch the verandah. He could see the long gallery from end to end on two sides of the dwelling, and knew that it extended no farther. Though the house glistened under a clear moonlight, the verandah it- self was in shade ; as was also the courtyard in front the old grey pile projecting its sombre shadow beyond the walls that surrounded it. At the end, however, the moonbeams, slanting diagonally from the sky, poured their light upon the floor of the verandah, there duplicating the strong, bar-like railing with which the gallery was inclosed. The Maroon had not bean many minutes upon the stand he had taken when an object in the verandah arrested his attention. As his eye be- came more accustomed to the shadowy darkness inside, he was able to make out something that resembled a hammock, suspended crosswise, and at some height above the balustrade of the verandah. It was ncui that end where the moonlight fell upon the floo% As the moon continued to sink lower in the sky, her beams were flung farther along the gallery ; and the object which had attracted the at tea- ion of Cubina came->more into the light. It was a hammock, and evidently occupied. The taut cordage told that some one was inside it. " If it should be the young Englishman himself 1" was the conjectural reflection of Cubina. If so, it might be possible to communicate with him at once, and save the necessity of waiting till the day-break ? How was the Maroon to be satisfied that it was he ? It might be eome one else ? It might be Havener, the overseer ; and Cubina desired no conversation with him. What step could he take to solve this Uih certainty ? As the Maroon was casting about for some scheme that would triable him to discover who was the occupant of the hammock, he noticed that the moonbeams had now crept nearly up to it, and in a few minutes more be shining full upon it. He could already perceive, though verj ST^i'LVG 't'Ml': SLEEi'KS. dimly, the face and part of the form of the sleeper inside. Gould he only get to some elevated position a little nearer to the house, he might t-e able to make out who it waa. He scanned the ground with a quick glance. A position sufficientlj elevated presented itself, but one not so easily to be reached. A cocoa nut palm stood near the wall, whose crest of radiating fronds overlooked the verandah, drooping towards it. Could he but reach this tree unob- served, and climb up to its crown, he might command a close view D! | him who slept in the swinging couch. A second sufficed to determine him ; and, crawling silently forward, he clasped the stem of the cocoa-tree, and " swarmed" upward. The feat was nothing to Cubina, who could climb like a squirrel. On reaching the summit of the palm, he placed himself in the centre of its leafy crown where he had the verandah directly under his eyes, and so near that he could almost have sprung into it. The hammock was within ten feet of him, in a downward direction. He could have pitched his tobacco pipe upon the face of the sleeper. The moonlight was now full upon it. It was the face of Herbert Vaughan I Cubina recognised it at the first glance ; and he was reflecting how he could awake the young Englishman without causing an alarm, whe '" be heard a door turn upon it hinges. The sound came up from the court- yard ; and on looking in that direction, Cubina saw that the gate leading out to the cattle inclosure was in the act of being opened. Presently a man passed through, entering from the outside ; and the gate, by some other person unseen, was closed behind him. He who had entered walked directly towards the dwelling; and, mounting the steps, made his way into the verandah. While crossing the courtyard, the moonlight, for a moment, fell upon his face, discovering to Ca&ma the sinister countenance of the Jew. " I must have passed h;M on the path ?" reflected the Maroon. " But no, that couldn't be," he added, correcting himself; "I saw his return track in the mud-hole just by. He must have got here before me. Like enough, he's been back, and, out again on some other dark tusineai. Crambo ! it's true enough what I've heard say of him ; that he hardly ever goes to sleep, Our people have met him in the woods at all hours iof the night. I can understand it now that I know the partner he's got up there. For Dios! to think of Chakra being still alive !" The Maroon paused in his reflections ; and kept his eye sharply bent upon the shadowy form that, like a spirit of darkness, was silently flit- ting through the corridor. He was in hopes that the Jew would soon retire to his chamber. So long as the latter remained outside, there was not the slightest chance for Cubina to communicate with the occupant of the hammock without being observed. Worse than that, the Maroon was now in dan* ger of being himself seen. Exposed as he was upon the cocoa with nothing to shelter him from observation but its few straggling fronds he ran every risk of his presence being detected. It was just a question of whether the Jew might have occasion to look upwards ; if BO, he could scarce fail to perceive the dark ailhouett of a man, outlined as it was against the light blue of the sky. A MISSION FOB THE MAN-HUNTERS. That would be a discovery of which Cubina dreaded the consequences, and with reason. It might not only frustrate the intended interview with the young Englishman, but might end in his own capture and detention- the last a contingency especially to be avoided. Under the apprehension the Maroon stirred neither hand nor foot ; but kept himself siJent and rigid. In this attitude of immobility he looked like some statue, placed iii sedentary posture upon the summit of the Corinthian column the crushed crocus represented by the fronds of th;^ palm-tree. I CHAPTER LXXX. A MISSION FOB THIC MAN-HUNTERS. CUBIXA for since time preserved his constrained position. He dared not derange it ; since the Jew still stayed in the shadowy corridor some* times moving about; but more generally standing at the head of the wooden stairway, and looking across the courtyard, towards the gate through which he had come in. It seemed as if he was expecting some one to enter after him. This conjecture of Cubina's proved correct. The great gate was heard once more turning on its hinges ; and, after a word or two spoken by the black porter outside, and answered by a voice of different tone, two men were seen stepping inside the court. As they passed under the moonlight, Cubina recognised them. Their lithe, supple forms, and swarthy angular lineaments, enabled him to iden- tify the Spanish cacadores. They walked straight up to the stairway, at the bottom of which both stopped. The Jew on seeing them inside the gate, had gone back into a room that opened upon the verandah. He was gone but for an instant ; and, coming out again, he returned to the top of the stairway. One of the Spaniards, stepping up, reached out, and received some- thing from his hand. What it was Cubina could not have told, but for the words of the Jew that accompanied the action. " There'sh the flashk," said he ; " it ish the besht brandy in Shamaica. And now," he continued, in an accent of earnest appeal, " my goot fel- Ush ! you bashn't a minute to shpare. Remember the big monish you're to gain ; and don't let thish runaway eshcape !" * No fear about that, Senor Don Jacob," replied he who received the flask. " Carraia I he'll have long legs to get out of our way once we're well on the trail of him." And without further dialogue or delay, the cacadore descended the stair, rejoined his comrade, and both hurriedly re-crossing the courtyard, dis- appeared through the door by which they had entered. An expedition after some poor slave 1" muttered Cubina to himself, the scoundrels won't catch him anyhow, and I pity him i 254 A MISSION FOR THE MAN-BANTERS. do. After all, they're no great hands at the business, spite of theii braggadocio." With this professional reflection, the Maroon once more bent his eye* upon the form that remained in the shadow of the verandah. " Surely," conjectured he, " the old John Crow will now go to his roost ? Or has he more of the like business on hand ? Till he's got out of that T can't make a move. I darn't stir not for the life of me I" To the joy of Cubina, the Jew at that moment stepped back into his fharaber the door of which had been left standing open. " Good !" mentally ejaculated the Maroon ; " I hope he'll stay in hia ' bole, now that he's in it. I don't want to see anymore of him this night. ' Crambo .'" An exclamation indicated, that the congratulatory speech was cut short by the re-appearance of the Jew ; not in his blue body-coat, as before, but wrapped in a sort of gabardine, or ample dressing-gown, the skirta of which fell down to his feet. His hat had been removed though the skull cap, of dirty whitish hue, still clung around his temples ; for it was never doffed. To the consternation of Cubina he came out, dragging a chair after him ; as if he meant to place it in the verandah and take seat upon it. And this was precisely his intention, for after drawing the chair a high-backed one out into the middle of the gallery, he planted it firmly upon the floor, and then dropped down into it. The moment after Cubina saw sparks accompanied by a sound that in- dicated the concussion of a flint and steel. The Jew was striking a light! For what purpose ! The smell of burning tobacco borne along the gallery, and ascending to Cubina's nostrils upon the summit of the palm, answered that question. A red coal could be seen gleaming between the nose and chin of the Israelite. He was smoking a cigar ! Cubina saw this with chagrin. How long would the operation last ? Hall an hour an hour, perhaps ? Ay, maybe till daybreak now not very distant? The situation had changed for the worse. The Maroon could not make the slightest move towards the awakening of Herbert. He dared not shift his own position, lest his presence should be betrayed to the Jew. 1 He da^ed not stir upon the tree, much less come down from it 1 He?s^ that he was in a fix ; but there was no help for it. He must wait till the Jew had finished his cigar ; though there was no certainty that even that would bring the ' seance' to a termination. Summoning all the patience he could command, he kept his perch, ilertf and motionless, though anxious and suffering from chagrin. For a long hour, at least, did he continue in this desperate^ dilemma Until his limbs ached underneath him, and his composure was well nigh exhausted. Still the Jew stuck to his chair, as if glued to the seat silent and Motionless as Cubina himself. The latter fancied that not only a first cigar, but a second, and, per- haps, a third, had been lighted and smoked ; but in the sombre shadow, in which the smoker sat, he could not be certain how many. More than A STARTLING SUMMONS. 255 one, however from the time spent in the operation ; for during the full period of an hour a red coal could bo seen glowing at the tip :>f that aquiline proboscis. Cubina now perceived what troubled him exceedingly the blue dawn breaking over the tops of the trees 1 By slightly turning his head Le could see the golden gleam of sunlight tinting the summit of the Jumbt Rock! Crambo ! what was to be done ? So ran his reflections. If he stayed there much longer he might be sure of being discovered. The slaves would soon be starting to their work the overseer and drivers would be out and about. One or other could not fail to see him upon the tree ? He would be lucky now to escape himself, without thinking any longer of the hammock or him who slept within its tight- drawn meshes. While considering how he might slip unperceived from the tree, he glanced once more toward the occupant of the chair. The gradually brightening dawn, which had been filling him with apprehension, now favoured him. It enabled him to perceive that the Jew was asleep ! With his head thrown back against the sloping upholstery, Jessuron had at last surrendered 1o the powerful divinity of dreams. His goggles were off; and Cubina could see that the wrinkled lids were closed over his sunken orbs. Undoubtedly he was asleep. His whole attitude confirmed it. His legs lay loosely over the front of the chair his arms hung down at the sides ; and the blue umbrella rested upon the floor at his feet. The last evidence of somnolency was not even counterbalanced by the stump of a cigar, burnt close, and still sticking between his teeth I CHAPTER LYYYL A STARTLING SUMMONS. ON the part of Cubina it was now a struggle between prudence and a desire to carry out his original programme whether he should not go off alone, or still try to communicate with the sleeper in the hammock. la the former case he could return to the glade, and there await the coming of Herbert Vaughan as at first fixed. But by so doing, at least two hours would be lost ; and even then, would the young Englishman be punctual to his appointment? Even against his inclination something might occur to cause delay a thing all the more probable, considering the circumstances that surround- ed him ; considering the irregularity of events in the domicile where he dwelt. But even a delay of two hours I In that interval Loftus Vaughau might have ceased to livel These thoughts coursed quickly through the mind of the Maroon ac- customed as it was to perceptions almost intuitive. He saw that he must either go by himself to Mount Welcome, or awake the sleeper at 206 A STARTLING StJMMOTf!. Perhaps he would have decided on the former course, but that he had other motives for an interview with Herbert Vaughan, almost as imme- diate in their necessity as that which related to the safety of the Gustos. He had as yet no reason to believe that the peril in which the planter stood was so proximate as it really was : for it never occured to him that the departure of the two Spaniards had any other object than thai which related to their calling the capture of some runaway slave. Had he suspected the design of the two ruffians had he known the mission of murder on which the slave-merchant had despatched them he would scarce have stayed for aught else than to have provided the* means of intercepting their design. In the dark about all this, he aid not believe there was such necessity for extreme haste ; though he knew something was on foot against the Gustos which would not allow of much loss of time. At that moment the occupant of the hammock turned over with a yawn. " He is going to awake !" thought Cubina ; " now is my time." To the disappointment of the Maroon, the limbs of the speaker again became relaxed ; and he returned to a slumber profound as before. " What a pity I" murmured the Maroon ; " if I could only speak a word But no. Yonder John Crow is more like to hear it than he. I shall throw something down into the hammock. Maybe that will awake him ?" Cubina drew out his tobacco-pipe. It was the only thing he could think of at the moment ; and, guiding his arm with a good aim, he pitch- ed it into the hammock. It fell upon the breast of the sleeper. It was too light It awoke him not. " Giambo ! he sleeps like an owl at noontide ! What can I do to make him feel me ? If I throw down my machete, I shall lose the weapon ; and who knows I may not need it before I'm out of this scrape ? Ha ! one of these cocoa-nuts will do. That, I dare say, will be heavy enough to star- tle him." Saying this, the Maroon bent downward; and extending his arm through the fronds beneath him, detached one of the gigantic nuts from the tree. Poising it for a moment to secure the proper direction, he flung the ponderous fruit upon the breast of Herbert Fortunately, the sides of the hammock hindered it from falling upon the floor, else the concussion | might also have awakened the sleeper in the chair. With a start, the young Englishman awoke, at the same time raising himself upon his elbow. Herbert Vaughan was not one of the exclama- tory kind, or he might have cried out. He did not, however, though the sight of the huge brown pericarp, lying between his legs, caused him considerable surprise. " Where, in the name of Ceres and Pomona, did you rain down from ?" muttered he, at the same time turning his eyes up for an answer to his classical interrogatory. In the grey light, he perceived the palm, its tall column rising majesti- cally above him. He knew the tree well, every inch of its outlines ; but BLUB DIG*. 257 the dark tilhouette on its top the form of a human being euchant and crouching that was strange to him. The light, however, was not sufficiently strong to enable him to distin- guish, not only the form, but the face and features of his cidevant enter- tainer under the greenwood tree the Maroon captain, Cubina ! Before he could say a word to express his astonishment, a gesture followed by a muttered speech from the Maroon, enjoined him to silence * Hush not a word, Master Vaughan !" spoke the latter, in a half whisper, at the same time that he glanced significantly along the corridor. " Slip out of your hammock, get your hat, and follow me into the forest I have news for you important! Life and death! Steal out ; and, for your life, don't let him see you 1" "Who ?" inquired Herbert, also speaking in a whisper. " Look yonder 1" said the Maroon, pointing to the sleeper in the chair. "All right! Well?" "Meet me in fhe glade. Come at once not a minute to be loatl Those who should be dear to you are in dangerl" " I shall come," said Herbert, making a motion to extricate himself from the hammock. " Enough ! I must begone. You will find me under the cotton-tree." As he said this, the Maroon forsook his seat so long and irksomely preserved and, sliding down the slender trunk of the palm, like a sailor descending the mainstay of his ship, he struck off at a trot, and soon dis- appeared amid the second-growth of the old sugar plantation. Herbert Vaughan was not slow to follow upon his track. Some dis- closures of recent occurrence so recent as the day preceding had pre- pared him for a somewhat bizarre finale to the fine life he had of late been leading ; and he looked to the Maroon for enlightenment. But that strange speech of Cubina stimulated him more than all. " Those who should be dear to you are in danger /" There was but one being in the world entitled to this description. Kate Vaughan ! Could it be she ? Herbert staved not to reflect. His hat and cloak hung in the chambei close by ; and in two seconds of time both were upon him. Another second sufficed tc give him possession of his gun.^ He was too active, too reckless, to care for a stairway at that moment, or at that height from the ground too prudent to descend by that which there was in front, though guarded only by a sleeper 1 Laying his leg over the balustrade, he leaped to the earth below ; and following the path taken by the Maroon, like him, was soon lost among the second-growth of the ruinate garden. CHAPTER LXXXTT. BLUB DICK. In making his hurried departure from the Happy Valley, Herbert Van ghan narrowely escaped observation. A delay of ten minutes longei would have led to his design being interrupted ; or, at all events, to hii being questioned as to the object of jjis early excursion j and in all pro bability, followed and watched. 258 BLUE DIOK. He had scarce passed out of sight of the penn, when he heard th jangling tones of a swing bell harshly reverberating upon the still air of the morning'. The sounds did not startle him. He knew it was not an alarm ; only the plantation bell, summoniDg the slaves to enter upon their daily toil. Knowing that it must have awakened the sleeper in the chair, ho con- gratulated himself on his good luck at getting away, before the signal had been wounded at the same time that it caused him to quicken his steps ji'owaids the rendezvous given by the Maroon. I (Jubina, though from a greater distance, had also heard the bell, and , had in a similar manner interpreted the signal, though with a greatei degree of uneasiness as to the effect it might have produced. He, too, had conjectured, that the sounds must have awakened the sleeper in the chair. Both had reasoned correctly. At the first " ding-dong" of the bell, the Jew had been startled from his cat-like slumber, and rising erect in his seat, he glanced uneasily around him. "Blesh my soul!" he exclaimed, spitting out the bit of burnt cigar that clung adheringly to his lips. " It ish broad daylight ! I musht have been ashleep more ash two hours. Ach ! theesh are times for a man to keep awake. The Cushtos should be on hish road by thish ; and if theesh Spanish hunters do their bishness as clefferly ash they hash promise, he'll shleep sounder thish night ash effer he hash done before. Blesh my soul 1" he again exclaimed, and with an accent that betokened a change in the tenor of his thoughts. " Supposhe they should get caught in the act? Hal what would be the Teshult of that? There ish danger shtrike me dead if there ishn't! Blesh mel I ueffer thought of it," continued he, after some moments spent in reflection of an apparently anx- ious kind. '* They might turn Kingsh' evidence, and implicate me me a shustice ! To save themselves, they'd be likely enough to do ash much ash that. Yesh : and eefen if they did'nt get taken in the act, sti.U there ish danger. That Manuel hash a tongue ash long ash his machete. He'sh a prattling fool. I musht take care to get him out of the island both of them ash soon ash I can." In his apprehensions the Jew no longer included Chakra : for he was now under the belief that the dark deed would be accomplished by the Spanish assassins ; and that to 8teel,not poison, would the Gustos yield up his hie. Even should Cynthia have succeeded in administering the deadly dose a probability on which he no longer needed to rely even should the Custos succumb to poison, the myal-man was not to be feared. There was no danger of such a confederate declaring himself. As for Cynthia, the Jew had never dealt directly with her ; and therefore she was witl* out power to implicate him in the hellish contract. " I musht take some shteps," said he, rising from his chair, and making a feint towards retiring to his chamber, as if to adjust his dress. " Wha< ish besht to be done? Let me think," he added, pausing near the door, and standing in an attitr<> * of reflection; "yesh! yesh ! that's it 1 1 musht send a messensher t Mount Welcome. Some one can go on a* excushe of bishness. It w look strange since we're such bad neigh- THE MYSTERIOUS ABSENCE. 259 bouioh of latQ ? No matter for that. The Cushtos is gone, I hope ; MM} Kafener can send the message to Mishter Trusey. That will bring ash newsh. Here, Rafener 1" continued he, calling to his overseer, who, cart- whip in hand, was moving through the court below, " I want ye, Mishter Rafener 1" Ravener, uttering a grunt to signify that he had heard the summon* stepped up to the stairway of the verandah ; and stood silently waiting to know for what he was wanted. " Hash you any bishness about which you could send a messensher tc Mishter Trusty to Mount Welcome, I mean ?" " Hump 1 There's business a plenty for that. Them consarned hogi of the Gustos has got into our corn patch up the valley, and played pitch and toss with the young plants. Ye must have damages for it." " That ish right that ish right." " Humph ! You won't say it's right when once you've seen the meu they've made. We'll have a sorry show at crop time, I tell ye." " Neffer mind that we'll have an action. Ish not let it pass ; but joosh now I hash other bishness on hand. You send a messensher to Mishter Trusty and tell him about it. And harksh you, Mishter Rafener I I want this messensher to be discreet. I want him to find out whether the Cushtos ish at home without making a direct ashking about it. I have heerd that he ish going on a shourney ; and I want to know if he hash set out yet. You understand me ?" " All right," replied Ravener, with an air that betokened comprehension. " All right 1 I'll send a fellow that'll get an answer to that question with- out asking it. Blue Dick can do that." " Ah ! true, Blue Dick isb the one. And harken you, Mishter Rafener I tell him to try if he cwa see the mulatta wench, Cynthy." " What is he to pay to her ?" " He ish to tell her to come ofer here, if she hash an oppprlunity. I wants to shpeak with her. But mind ye, Mishter Rafener I Dick is to b careful what he saysh and doesh. He musht talk with the girl only in vhishpcrs." " I'U instruct him in all that," replied the overseer, in a tone of confr dence. " You want him to go now ?" " Thish minute thish very minute. I hash a reason for being in a Luriy. Send him off as soon ash you can." Havener, without further parley, walked off to dispatch his messenger ; End a few minutes after he had gone out of the court, that yellow " com- plected" Mercury, known by the soubriquet of " Blue Dick" was seoa " streaking" it along the path which conducted from the Jew's Penn to ^bo mansion of Mount Welcome. CHAPTER LXXXHL THB MY8TER'; r JR ABSENCE. THE brief conversation between Jessuron ami his overbeer had place sotto wee : as it was not ilesin;!;ie it should be overheard by any one much k'ss by the j.'phoTT of him who w*s its chief subject" a; id* whf 260 THE MYSTERIOUS ABSEN01* was supposed k> be suspended in a hammock not ton paces from Ae pot. The hammock, however, was not visible from the front stairway being hung in that part of the verandah that extended along the other side of the house. On the departure of Havener from his presence the Jew proceeded with his original intention to put his person in order for the day. His toilet did not take long. After a very brief absence within hit room, he re-appeared on the gallery in the same pocketed blue coat, breeches and tops, that served him for aU purposes and occasions. The scat was buttoned over his breast, the whitey-biown beaver once \ more upon his head, and the goggles adjusted on the knife-back ridge on his nose. It was evident he intended a stroll. This was all the more certain as he had regained the umbrella which had dropped from him during sleep and holding it in his grasp, stood by the top of the stair way, as if on the eve of starting out. Whither was he going ? For what purpose so early ? His muttered soliloquy declared his design. " It musht be to-day yesh, I musht get them married thish very day ; and before any newsh can come. The report of the Cushtos' death might shpoil all my plans. Who knowsh what the young man might do, if he hash only a hint of hish good luck ? After all, may be, Shoodith ish not so shure of him ? She hash said something lash night. Ha ! it musht be thish day. It ish no ushe going to the rector of the parish. He ish the Cushtos' friend-; and might make some obsheckshun. That won't do s'help me, no! I musht go to the other. Hee'sh poor, and won't shtand shilly-shally. Besides, hish knot would be shoost as hard to looshe ash if it wash tied by the Bishop of Shamaica. He'll do ; and if he won't, then I knowsh one who will for monish ; ay, anything foi monish !" After this soliloquy, he was about setting foot upon one of the steps with the intention of descending, when a thought appeared to strike him; and turning away from the stair, he walked with shuffling gentleness along the gallery, towards that part of the verandah where the hammock was suspended. " I eupposhe the young shentleman ish shtill ashleep. Shentleman, indeed ! now he ish all that or will be, the next time he goesh to shleep. Well if he ish, I mushn't dishturb him. Rich shentlemen muslm t havr their shlumbers interrupted. Ach /" The exclamation escaped from his lips, as on rounding the angle of the * verandah, he came within sight of the hammock. "Tish empty, I declare! He'sh early ashtir. In hish room, I sup- poshe?" Sans ceremonie, the Jew kept on along the gallery until he had arrived in front of his book-keeper's private apartme'nt. There he stopped, look- ing inward. The door was ajar almost wide open. He could see the greater por- tion of the interior through the door ; the rest of it through the jalousies. There was ho one in the room either sitting, standing, or moving about! 4< Mashter Vochan! Are you there?" The interrogatory was put rather by way of confirming his observation! for he saw there was no on0 inside, THIS MYSTERIOUS ABSENCE. 261 ** Whisre are you, Mashter Herbert ?" continued he, repeating the inter rogatory in an altered form at the same time craning his neck into the apartment and glancing all around it. " Ash I live, it'sh empty liko tht hammock ! He musht have gone out. Yesh. Hish hat's not hero hie cloak ish not here and I see no gun. He alwaysh kept hish gun joosh there. How hash he passed me without my hearing hish foot ? I shleep so ash I can hear a cat shteelin' over the floor 1 Hash he gone by the shtairway at all ? Ash I live, no ! Blesh my soul 1 there is a track where } somebody musht have shumped over the railing down into the garden. S'help me, it ish his track ! There'sh no other but him to have made it What the deffil ish the young fellow after this morning ? I hope there iah nothing wrong in it." On missing the young Englishman out of his hammock and room, the penn-keeper felt at first no particular uneasiness. His ' protege' had, no doubt, gone out for a stroll in the woods. He had taken his gun along with him, to have a shot at some early bird looking for the early worm. He had done so many a time before though never at so early an hour. The hour, however, was not enough of itself to cause any surprise to his patron ; nor even the fact of his having leaped over the verandah railing. He might have seen the owner of the house asleep in his chair near the head of the stairway ; and, not wishing to disturb him, had chosen the other mode of exit. There was nothing in all this to cause uneasiness. Nor would the Jew have thought anything of it had it not been for some other circumstances which quickly came under his notice guiding him to the suspicion that something might be amiss" The first of these circumstances was that Herbert, although having taken his gun along with him, had left behind his shot-belt and powder- flask I Both were there in his room, hanging upon their peg. They did not escape the sharp glance of tht Jew ; who at once began to draw con- clusions from their presence. If the young man had gone out on a shooting excursion, it was strange that he did not take his ammunition along with him ? Perhaps, however, he had seen some sort of game near the house ; and, in his hurry to get a shot at it, had gone off hastily trusting to the two charges which his gun contained. In that case he would not go far; and in a few minutes might be expected back. A few minutes passed, and a great many minutes until a full hour had ' transpired and still nothing was heard or seen of the book-kesper : though messengers had been dispatched in search of him, and had quartered all the ground for half a mile around the precincts of the penn. Jessuron whose matutinal visit to the minister had been postponed by the occurrence began to look grave. ta It ish shtrange," said he, speaking to his daughter, who had now risen, and was far from appearing cheerful ; " shtrange he should go abroad in thish fashion, without shaying a word to either of ush?" Judith made no reply : though her silence could not conceal a certain degree of chagrin, from which she was evidently suffering. Perhaps she had even more reason than the " rabbi" to suspect there was something amiss? Certainly, something disagreeable a misunderstanding, at least, had arisen between her and Herbert on the proceeding day. Her speech had already given so slight hint of it; bnt much more her manner, 262 THE MYSTERIOUS AB8KWOS. which, on the night before, and now unmistakably in the raorm'Lg, b ti'ayed a mixture of melancholy and suppressed indignation. It did not add to the equanimity of her temper, when the house werxh - -who was unslinging the hammock in which Herbert had slept an- nounced it to contain two articles scarce to be expected in such a placa a cocoa-nut and a tobacco-pipe 1 The pipe could not have belonged to Herbert Vaughan : he never smoked a pipe ; and as for the cocoa-nut, it had evidently been plucked from the tree standing near. The trunk of the palm exhibited scratches, as if some one had climbed up it, and above could be seen the freshly torn peduncle, where the fruit had been wrenched from its stalk ! What should Herbert Vaughan have been doing up the palm-tree, flinging cocoa-nuts iuto his own couch ? His unaccountable absence was becoming surrounded by circumstan- ces still more mysterious. One of the cattle-herds, who had been sent in search of him, now coming in, announced a nev, fact of further signi- ficance. In the patch of muddy soil, outside the garden wall, the herd had discovered the book-keeper's track, going up towards the hills ; and near it, on the same path, the footprint of another man, who must have gone over the ground twice, returning as he had come! This cattle-herd, though of sable skin, was a skilled tracker. His word might be trusted. It was trusted ; and produced an unpleasant impression both on Jessuron and Judith an impression more unpleasant as time passed, and the book-keeper was still unreturned. The father fumed and fretted ; he did more he threatened. The young Englishman was his debtor, not only for a profuse hospitality but for money advanced. Was he going to prove ungrateful ? a defaulter ? Ah ! little had that pecuniary obligation to do with the chagrin that was vexing the Jew Jessuron. Far less with those emotions, like the waves of a stormy sea, that had begun to agitate the breast of his daughter ; and which every slight circumstance, like a strong wind, was lashing into fury and fome. . ******** Blue Dick came back. He had executed his errand adroitly. The Gus- tos was gone upon a journey 1 he had started exactly at the hour of daybreak. "Goot 1" said Jessuron ; " but where is hish nephew ?" Blue Dick had seen Cynthia ; and whispered a word in her ear. as the overseer had instructed him. She would come over to the penn, as soot: as she could find an opportunity for absence from Mount Welcome. " Goot 1" answered the Jew. " But where ish Mashter Voclian ? whei t bah he betaken himshelf ?" " vV&ere ?" mentally interrogated Judith, a* the noonday sun saw tlrt black clouds coursing over her brow. A SHADOWED smtf. 253 CHAPTER LXXXIV. A SHADOWED SPIRIT THI sun was just beginning to re-gild the glittering flanks of tne Jumb* Rock, his rays not yet having reached the valley below, when light* streaming through the jalousied windows of Mount Welcome proclaim td that the inmates of the mansion were already astir. laghts shone through the lattices of several distinct windows one fr<.m the Gustos' sleeping room, another from the apartment of Lilly Quasheba, while a brilliant stream, pouring through the jalousies in front, betokened that the chandelier was burning in the great hall. From Smy thje's chamber alone came no sign either of light or life. The windows were dark, the curtains close drawn. Its occupant was asleep. Yes, though others were stirring around him, the aristocratic Smythje was still sleeping as soundly and silently as if dead, perhaps dreaming of the fair " cweeole queetyaws," and his twelve conquests, now happily extended to the desired baker's dozen, by the successful declaration of yesterday. Though a light still burned in the sleeping apartment of the Gustos, and also in that of Kate, neither father nor daughter were in their own rooms. Both were in the great hall, seated by a table, on which, even at this early hour, breakfast had been spread. It was not the regular matutinal meal, as certain circumstances showed. Mr. Vaughan only was eating ; while Kate appeared to be present merely for the purpose of pouring out his coffee, and otherwise attending upon him. The costume in which the Gustos appeared differed from his every-day wear. It was that of a man about to set forth upon a journey in short, a travelling costume. A surtout, of strong material, with ample out- side pockets ; boots reaching above his knees ; a belt with pistol holstera around his waist a guard against any chance encounter with runaway negroes : a felt hat, lying on a chair beside him, and a camlet cloak, hanging over the back of the same chair all proclaimed the purpose of a journey, and one about to be entered upon within a few minutes of time. A pair of large silver spurs, buckled over his boots, told also th ) mode of travel intended. It was to be on horseback. This was further manifested by the fact that two horses were at that moment standing at the bottom of the stone stairs outside, their forma dimly visible through the blue dawn. Both were saddled, bridled, and equipped, with a black groom by their side, holding them in hand him- elf in travelling toggery. Valises, Jbuckled upon the croup, and saddle-bags suspended across the cantie, showed that the travellers were to carry their luggage along with them. The object of the intended journey is already known. Mr. Vaughan was about to put into execution a design long delayed to perform a duty which he owed to his daughter, and which, if left unaccomplished, would seriously imperil the prosperity and happiness of her future life, He was about proceeding to the capital of the island, to obtain from the Assembly that special act of grace, which they alone could givo j 264 A SHADOWED SPIRIT. and which would free his daughter from those degrading (Usabilities f 'i Black Code had inflicted upon all of her unfortunate race. Six line! from the Assembly, with the governor's signature attached, though it might not extinguish the taint, nor the taunt of malevolent lips, would levertheleas, remove all obstacles to hereditament ; and Kate Vaughan jould then become the heiress to her own father's property, without rear of failure. To sue for this act and obtain it was the purpose of that journey upon which Loftus Vaughan was on the eve of setting forth. He had no apprehension of a failure. Had he been only a book-keeper or small tradesman, he might have been less sanguine of success ; but Gustos of an important precinct, with scores of friends in the Assembly, he knew that he would only have to ask and it would be given him. For all that, he was not setting out in very high spirits. The unpleas- ant prospect of having such a long and arduous journey to make was a source of vexation to him : for the Gustos liked an easy life, and hated the fatigue of travej. But there was something besides that dispirited him. For some days past he had found his health giving way. He had lost appetite, and was rapidly losing flesh. A constant and burning thirst had siezed upon him, which, from morning to night, he was continually trying to quench. The plantation doctor was puzzled with the symptoms, and his pre- scriptions had failed in giving relief. Indeed, so obstinate and death-like was the disease becoming, that the sufferer would have given up his in- tention of going to Spanish Town at least, till a more fitting time but for a hope, that in the capital, some experienced physcian might be found who would comprehend his malady and cure it. Indulging in this hope, he was determined to set forth at all hazards. There was still another incubus upon his spirits, and one, perhaps, that weighed upon them more heavily than aught else. Ever since the death of Chakra or rather since the glimpse he had got of Chakra's ghost a sort of supernatural dread had taken possession of the mind of Loftus Vaughan. Often had he speculated on that fearful phenomenon, and wondered what it could have been. Had he alone witnessed the appari- tion, he might have got over the awe it had occasioned him ; for then could he have attributed it to an illusion of the senses a mere freak of his imagination, excited, as it was at the time, by the spectacle on the Jumbe Rock. But Trusty had seen the ghost, too 1 and Trusty's mind was not one of the imaginative kind. Besides, how could both be delud- ed by the same fancy, and at the same instant of time ? Turn the thing in his own mind as ne might, there was something that ttill remained inexplicable something that caused the heart of the Gus- tos to tingle with fear every time that he thought of Chakra and his ghost. This intermitent awe had oppressed him ever since the day of his Tisit to the Jumbe Rock that day described; for he never went a second time. Nor yet did he afterwards care to venture alone upon the wooded mountain. He dreaded a second encounter with that weird ap- parition. In time, perhaps, the fear would have died out, and, in fact, was dying out the intervals during which it wasjoot felt becoming gradually more THE si'iRiiup-ctjp. 265 Attended. Loftus Vaughan, though he could never have i< r^otten the myal-man, nor the terrible incidents of his death, might have ceased to trouble himself with thoughts about Chakra's ghost, but for a circum stance that was reported to him on the day that Smylhje sank into the deadwood. On the afternoon of that day, as Quashie was making his way home- ward through the forest and over the hills, the darkey declared that, on -passing near a noted spot called the Duppy's Hole, he had " see'd degost l-boleChakral" Quashie, on reaching home, announced the fact, with chattering teeth and eyes rolling wildly in their sockets ; and, though the loutish boy wan only laughed at by his fellow-slaves, the statement made a most painful impression on the mind of his master restoring it to the state of habit- ual terror that had formerly held possession of it, and from which it had become only partially relieved. The circumstance related by Quashie still fresh in the thoughts of the Gustos had contributed not a little to increase that feeling of dejection and discouragement under which he suffered at the moment of setting oat upon his proposed expedition. CHAPTER LXXXV. THE 8TIEBUP-OUP. IF Loftus Vaughan was in low spirits, not more joyful seemed hii daughter, as she assisted at the early " dejuner." On the contrary, a certain sadness overspread the countenance of tho young Creole ; as if reflected from the spirits of her father. A stranger to the circumstances that surrounded her might have fan- cied that it was sympathy at seeing him so dull and downcast mingled with the natural regret she might have at his leaving home, and for so long an absence. But one who scrutinised more closely could not fail to note in those fair features an expression of sadness that must have sprung from a different and deeper source. The purpose of her father's journey may, in part, explain the melan- choly that marked the manner of the young Creole. She knew that pur- pose. She had learnt it from her father's lips, though only on the evei* ing before. Then, for the first time in her life, was she made acquainted with thoso adverse circumstances that related to her birth and parentage : for up to that hour she had remained ignorant of her position, socially as well as legally. Then, for the first time, was fully explained to her her own true status in the social scale the disabilities and degradation under which she suffered. It was to remove these disabilities and wipe out, as it were, the de- gradation that her father was now going forth. The young girl did not fail to feel gratitude ; but perhaps the feeling might have been stronger, had her father taken less trouble to make he* feel sensible of the service he was about to perform using it as a levef STTRRtJP-CtfJ 1 . to remove that reluctance to the union witli Smythje, which still fingered. During the few minutes that Mr. Vaughan was engaged in eating his breakfast, not many words passed between them. The viards, luxurious enough, were scarce more than tasted. The intended traveller had no appetite for the solids with which the table was spread, and seemed to care only for drink. After quaffing off several cups of coffee, solely from a desire to quench thirst, and without eating bread or anything else along with it, he rose from the table, and prepared to take his departure. Mr. Trusty entering, announced that the horses and the attendant groom were ready, waiting outside. The Gustos donned his travelling hat, and with the assistance of Kate and her maid Tola, put on his sleeved cloak : as the air of the early morning was raw and cold. While these final preparations were being made, a mulatta woman waa jeen moving about the room at times acting as an attendant upon the table, at other times standing silently in the background. She was the slave Cynthia. In the behaviour of this woman there was something peculiar. Therr was a certain amount of nervous agitation in her manner as she moved about ; and ever and anon she was seen to make short traverses to dif- ferent parts of the room apparently without errand or object Her steps, too, were stealthy, her glances unsteady and furtive. All this would have been apparent enough to a suspicious person ; but none of the three present appeared to notice it. The " swizzle " bowl stood on a side-board. While breakfast was being placed on the table, Cynthia had been seen refilling the bowl with this delicious drink, which she had mixed in an adjoining chamber. Some one asked her why she was performing that, her diurnal duty, at so early an hour especially as her master would be gone before the time of swizzle-drinking should arrive ; usually during the hotter hours of the day. " P'raps massr like drink ob swizzle Tore he go," was the explanatory reply vouchsafed by Cynthy. The girl made a successful conjecture. Just as the Gustos was about to step outside for the purpose of descending the stairway, a fit of chok- ing thirst once more came upon him, and he called for drink. " Massa like glass ob swizzle ?" inquired Cynthia, stepping up to his ide, " I've mixed for massa some berry good," added she, with impres- sive earnestness. " Yes, girl," replied her master. " That's the best thing I can take. Bring me a large goblet of it." He had scarce time to turn round before the goblet was presented to him, full to the rim. He did not see that the slave's hand trembled as she held it up, nor yet that her eyes were averted as if to hinder them from beholding some fearful sight. Hik thirst prevented him from seeing anything, but that which 'pro- mised t assuage it. He caught hold of the goblet ; and gulped down the whole of its con tenf, without once removing it from his lips. u You'v* overrated its quality, girl," said ho, returning her the fHE HO&N SIGNAL. *2 "It cheflfc't eem at all good. There's a bitterish taste about it; but I uppose it's my palate that's out of order, and one -shouldn't be particu- lar about the stirrup-cup." With this melancholy attempt at appearing gay, Loftus Vaughan bade adieu to his daughter, and climbing into the saddle, rode off upon hi journey. Ah! Gustos Vaughan 1 That stirrup-cup was the last you were ever destined to drink. In the sparkling "swizzle" was an infusion cf the baneful Savanna Jlowcr. In that deep draught you had introduced inU your veins one of the deadliest of vegetable poisons. Chakra's prophecy will soon be fulfilled. The death-spell will now quickly do its work. In twenty-four hours you will be a corpse I CHAPTER LXXXVI. THE HORN SIGNAL. CUBINA, on getting clear of the penn-keeper's precincts, lost little time in returning to the glade ; and, having once more reached the ceiba, seated himself on a log to await the arrival of the young Englishman. For some minutes he remained in this attitude though every moment becoming more fidgety, as he perceived that time was passing, and no one came. He had not even a pipe to soothe his impatience : for it had been left in the hammock, into which he had cast it from the cocoa. Before many minutes^had passed, however, a pipe would have been to little purpose in restraining his nervous excitement ; for the non-appear- ance of the young Englishman began to cause him serious uneasiness. What could be detaining him 1 Had the Jew been awakened ? and was he by some means or other hindering Herbert from coming out? There was no reason, that Cubina could think of, why the young man should be ten minutes later than himself in reaching the ceiba. Five minutes even the half of it might have sufficed for him to robe himself, in such garments as were needed ; and then what was to prevent him from following immediately ? Surely the appeal that had been made to him, the danger hinted at to those dear to him, the necessity for haste, spoken in unmistakable terms surely, all this would be sufficient to attract him to the forest, without a moment's hesitation? Why then was he delaying ? The Maroon could not make it out : unless under the disagreeable sup- position that the Jew no longer slept, and was intercepting his egress. What if Herbert might have lost his way in proceeding towards the rendezvous ? The path was by no means plain, but the contrary. It was a mere cattle track, little used by men. Besides, there were others of the same scores of them trending in all directions, crossing and con- verging with this very one. The half-wild steers and colts of the penn- keeper ranged the thickets at will. Their tracks were everywhere ; and it would require a person skilled in woodcraft and acquainted with the lay of the country to follow any particular path. It was likely enough that the young Englishman had strayed 268 fHE &ORN SIGNAL. it Just then these reflections occurred to Oubina. He chided himaeil for not thinking of it sooner. He should have stayed by the penn waited for Herbert to come out, and then taken the road along with him. " Not to think of thatl Crambo ! how very stupid of me r muttered the Maroon, pacing nervously to and fro ; for his impatience had long since started him up from the log. " Like enough he's lost his way ? " I shall go back along the path. Perhaps I may find him. At all tivents, if he's taken the right road, I must meet him." And as he said this, he glided rapidly across the glade, taking the back track towards the penn. The conjecture that Herbert had strayed was perfectly correct The young Englishman had never revisited the scene of his singular ad- venture, since the day that introduced him to the acquaintance of so many queer people. Not but that he had felt the inclination, amounting almost to a desire, to do so ; and more than once had he been upon the eve of satisfying this inclination, but otherwise occupied, the opportunity had not offered itself. Not greatly proficient in forest lore as Cubina had also rightly con- jectured especially in that of a West Indian forest, he had strayed from the true path almost upon the instant of entering upon it ; and was at that very moment wandering through the woods in search of the glade where grew the gigantic cotton-tree 1 No doubt, in the course of time, he might have found it, or perhaps stumbled upon it by chance, for made aware, by the earnest invitation he had received, that time was of consequence he was quartering the ground in every direction, with the rapidity of a young pointer in his first season with the gun. Meanwhile the Maroon glided rapidly back along the path leading to the penn, without seeing aught either of the Englishman or his track. He re-entered the ruinate fields of the old sugar estate, and continued on till within sight of the house, still unsuccessful in his search. Proceeding with caution, he stepped over the dilapidated wall of the old orchard. Caution was now of extreme necessity. It was broad day \ and, but for the cover which the undergrowth afforded him, he could not have gone a step farther without the risk of being seen from the house. He reached the ruin from which he had before commanded a view from the verandah ; and, once more stealing a glance over its top, he obtained full view of the long rambling corridor. Jessuron was in it not as when last seen, asleep in his arm-chair, but on foot, and hurrying to and fro, with quick step and excited mien. His black-bearded overseer was standing by the door as if listening to seme orders which the Jew was issuing. The hammock was still hanging in its place, but its collapsed sides, showed that it was empty. Cubina saw that, but no signs of its late oc- cupant neither in gallery nor about the buildings. 11 s'all there, he must be in some of the rooms? but that one which opened nearest the hammock, and which Cubina conjectured to be hia bed-room, appeared to be unoccupied. Its r stood ajar, and no one to bt inside. THE HORN SIGNAL. 269 The Maroon was considering whether he she nld .sta/ awhile longef upon the spot, and watch the movements of the two men, when it oc- curred to him that if the young man had gone out, and up the right path, he must have crossed a track of muddy ground, just outside the garden wall! Being so near the house and in the expectation of seeing something there to explain Herbert's delay he had not stayed to examine this e>n his second approach. Crouching cautiously among the trees, he now returned to it ; and, almost t the first glance, his eye revealed to him the truth. A fresh footprint was in the mud, with its heel to the house and its to pointing to the path I It was not his own ; it must be that of the young Englishman t * * He traced the tracks, as far as they could be distinguished ; but that was only to the edge of the damp earth. Beyond, the ground was dry and firm covered with a close-cropped carpet of grass, upon which the hoof of a horse would scarcely have left an impression. The tracks, however, on leaving the moist ground, appeared as if trending towards the proper path ; and Cubina felt convinced tha-t, for some distance at least, the young Englishman had gone towards the glade. That he was no longer by the house was sufficiently certain ; aud equally so that he had kept his promise and followed Cubina into the woods. But where was he now ? " He may have reached the glade in my absence, and is now waiting for me ?" was the reflection of the Maroon. Stimulated by this, as well as by the chagrin which his mischances or mismanagement were causing him, he started back along the path at a run as if struggling in a match against time. Far quicker than before he reached the glade, but, as before, he found it untenanted 1 No Englishman was under the ctiba no human being in eight. As soon as he had fairly recovered breath, he bethought him of shouting His voice might be of avail in guiding the wanderer to the glade ; for Cubina now felt convinced that the young Englishman was straying perhaps wandering through the woods at no* great distance from the spot. His shouts might be heard ; and although the stranger might not recog- nise the voice, the circumstances were such, that he might understand the object for which it was put forth. | Cubina shouted, first at a moderate pitch, then hallooed with all th strength of his lungs. No answer, save the wood echoes. Again and again : still no response. '* Crambo! " exclaimed he, suddenly thinking of a better means of mak- ing his presence known. " He may hear my horn ? He may remember tlfct, and know it. If he's anywhere within a mile, 111 make him hear it." The Maroon raised the horn to his lips and blew a long, loud blast then another, and another. There was a response to that signal ; but not such as the young Eng- lishman might have been expected to make. Three shrill bugle borne back upon the breeze, seemed the echoes of hia own* 270 But the Mar ton knew they were not. On hearing them, he let drop the horn to his side, and stood in an attitud* to listen, Another this time a single wind came from the direction of the former. "Three and one," muttered the Maroon; "it's Quaco. He needn't have sounded the last, for I could tell his tongue from a thousand. He'i on his way back from Savanna-la-Mer though I didn't expect him to be back so soon. So much the better I want him." On finishing the muttered soliloquy, the Maroon captain stood as if coa eidoring. " Crambo /" he muttered, after a pause, and in a tone of vexation. "What has become of this young fellow? I must sound again lest Quaoo's horn may have misled him. This time, lieutenant, hold your tongue 1" So saying and speaking, as if the " lieutenant" was by his side, he raised the horn once more to his lips, and blew a single blast giving it an intonation quite different from the other. After an interval of silence, he repeated the call in notes exactly simi- lar, and then, after another pause, once again. To none of these signals did the " tongue" of Quaco make reply : but hortly after that worthy responded to the original summons by present- ing himielf ' in proprifc persona.' CHAPTER LXXXVII. QUAOO'S QUBBB ENCOUNTER. QUACO came into the glade carrying a large bundle upon his back under which he had trudged all the way from Savanna-la-Mer. He was naked to the breech-cloth excepting the hog-skin greaves up- on his shanks, and the old brimless hat upon his head. This, however, was all the costume Quaco ever wore all, indeed, that he owned ; for, notwithstanding that he was the lieutenant, his uniform was no better bari that of the meanest private of the band. His captain, therefore, exhibited no surprise at the scantiness of Quaoo'i clothing ; but what did surprise Cubina was the air with which he en- tered the glade, and some other circumstances that at once arrested his attention. The skin of the colossus was covered with a white sweat that appear- ed to be oozing from every pore of his dark epidermis. This might have been occasioned by his long walk the last hour of it under a broiling uu, and carrying weight, as he was: for the bag upon his back appear- ed a fifty pounder, at least, to say nothing of a large musket balanced upon the top of it None of these circumstancefe, however, would account for that inex- plicable expression upon his yellow eyeballs the quick, hurried step, and uncouth gesticulations by which he was signalising his approach. Though, as already stated, they had arrested the attention of hie 8*p fior, the latter accustomed to a certain reserve in the prewoce o.f fcis QUACO'S QUEER ENCOUNTER. 271 followers, pretended not to notice them. As his lieutenant came up, ht simply said : " I am glad you are come, Quaco." " An' a'm glad, Captain Cubina, I've foun' ye har. War huiryin' home fass as my legs cud carry me, 'spectin' to find ye thar." " Ha 1" said Cubina ; " some news, I suppose. Have you met any on in the woods that young Englishman from the Jew's penn ? I'm expect- ing him here. He appears to have missed the way." " Han't met no Englishman, Cappin. Cussos Vaughan am that I's i niai him." " Crambo .'" cried Cubina, " You've met Gustos Vaughan ? When and where ?" " When dis mornin . Where 'bout fo' mile b'yond the crossin* on the Carrion Crow road. That's where I met him" The emphasis upon the last words struck upon the ear of Cubina. It seemed to imply that Quaco, on his route, had encountered others. " Anybody else, did you -meet ?" he inquired, hurriedly, and with evi- dent anxiety as to the answer. " Ya-as, Cappin," drawled out the lieutenant, with a coolness strongly in contrast with his excited manner on entering the glade. But Quaco aw that his superior was waiting for the coming of the young English- man, and that he need not hurry the communication he was about to make. " Ya-as, I met ole Flute, the head driver at Moun' Welcome. He waa ridin' 'longside o* the Cussos, by way o' his escort." "Anybody else?" " Not jest then," answered Quaco, evidently holding back the most in- teresting item of news he had to communicate. " Not jess then, Cappin Cubina." *' But afterwards ? Speak out, Quaco ! Did you meet any one going on the same road ?" The command, with the impatient gesture that accompanied it, brought Quaco to a quicker confession than he might have volunteered. " I met, Cappin Guinea," said he, his cheeks bulging with the impor- tance of the communication he was about to make, while his eyes rolled like " twin jelly balls" in their sockets " I met next, not a man but a ghost /" " A ghost ?" said Cubina, incredulously. " A duppy, I sw'ar by the great Accompong same as I saw before tho ghost of ole Chakra." The Maroon captain again made a start, which his lieutenant attributed to surprise at the announcement he had made. Cubina did not undeceive him as to the cause. " And where ?" interrogated he, in hurried phrase. " Where did yen meet the ehost T" " I didn t zacly meet it," answered Quaco, " I only seed it on the road afore mo -'bout a hundred yards or that away. I wor near enuf to be sure o' it and it was Chakra's ghost joes as I seed him t'other day up Jnar by the Duppy Hole. The old villain can't aleep in his grave. He'd nbout these woods yet." ''How far waa it from where you met Mr. Vaughan V " Nt4 a great way, cappiii. 'B,;in a uaarter o' a mile, I shed think 272 ** UKOLB Ilf DANGER. Soon as it spied ine, it tuck to the bushes ; and I seed no more on it II was alter daylight, and the cocks had crowed. I heard 'era crowing at ole Jobson's plantation close by, and, maybe, that sent the Duppy a ecuttlin' into the River." " We must wait no longer for this young man we must be gono from here, Quaco." And as Cubina expressed this intention, he appeared to move away from the spot. " Stop, Cappin," said Quaco, interrupting bun with a gesture, thai showed he had something more to communicate ; "You han't heard all. I met more of 'em." | " More of whom I" " That same queer sort. But two miles atter I'd passed the place where I seed the duppy o' the ole myal-man, who d'ye think I met nex'?" <4 Who ?" inquired Cubina, half guessing at the answer. " Them debbil's kind like enuf company for the Duppy them dam* Spaniards of the Jew's penu." " Ah 1 Maldito /" cried the Maroon captain, in a voice of alarm at the same time making a gesture as if a light had suddenly broke upon him. " The Spaniards, you say 1 They, too, after him 1 Come, Quaco ! Down with that bundle 1 Throw it in the bush anywhere ! There's not a moment to be lost. I understand the series of encounters you have had upon the road. Luokily, I've brought my gun, and you yours. We may need them both before night. Down with the bundle and follow me 1" " Stop and take me with you," cried a voice from the edge of the glade ; " I have a gun, too." And at the same moment the young Englishman, with his gun upon his shoulder, was seen emerging from the underwood and making towards the ceiba. CHAPTER AN UNCLE IN DANGBB. * You appear to be in great haste, Captain Cubina," said Herbert, ad- Tancing in double quick time. " May I know what's the matter ? Anj- thing amiss ?" " Amiss, Master Vaughan 1 Much indeed. But we shouldn't stand to talk. We must take the road to Savannah, and at once." " What ! you want me to go to Savannah ? I'm with you for any rea- sonable adventure ; but my time's not exactly my own ; and I must first have a reason for such a journey." "A good reason, Master Vaughan. Your uncle, the Gustos, is in trouble." " Ah 1" exclaimed the young Englishman, with an air of disappoint- ment " Not so good a reason as you may think, captain. Was it him you meant when you said just now one who should be dear to me was ia danger ?" it was," answored Cubina. " Captain Ci \bina." said Herbert, speaking with a certain air of indiffo AN UNCLE IN DANGER. 273 >, " this uncle of mine but little deserves my interfeience." M But his life's in danger 1" urged the Maroon, interrupting Herbert in hid explanation. " Ah 1" ejaculated the nephew, " do you say that ? Is his life in danger, then " " Yes," said the Maroon, again interrupting him, " and nth*~t too may be in peril from the same enemy yourself, perhaps, Master Vaughan, Ay, and maybe those that might be -dear to you as yourself." " Ha!" exclaimed Herbert, this time in a very different tone of voice i * You have some evil tidings, Captain ? Pray tell me all at once ?" " Not now, Master Vaughan, not now. There's not a momfcit to be wasted in talk. We must take the route at once. I shah 1 tell you as we go along." " Agreed then," cried Herbert. " If it's a life and death matter, I'm with you even to Savannah ! No book-keeping to-day, Master Jessuron and " (the speaker only mentally pronounced the name) " Judith may well spare me for one day especially for such a purpose as the saving of lives. All right ; I'm with you, Captain Cubina." " Vamos /" cried the Maroon, hastily moving off. " For want of horses we must make our legs do double quick time. These skulking scound- rels have sadly got the start of us." And saying this, he struck into the up-hill path, followed by Herbert the taciturn lieutenant, no longer embarrassed bj his bundle, keeping close in the rear. The path Cubina had chosen appeared to conduct to Mount Welcome. " You are not going there ?" inquired Herbert, hi a significant way, at the same time stopping, and appealing to his conductor for an answer. It had just occurred to the nephew that a visit to his uncle's houeo might place him in a position both unpleasant and embarrassing. " No !" answered the Maroon ; " there is no longer any need for us to go to the house : since the Gustos has left it long hours ago. We could learn nothing there more than I know already. Besides, it's half a mile out of our way. We should lose time ; and that's the most important of all. We shall presently turn out of this path, into one that leads over the mountain by the Jumbe Rock. That's the shortest way to the Savannah road. Vamot /" With this wind-up to his speech, the Maroon again moved on ; acd Herbert his mind now at rest, strode silently after. Up to this time the young Englishman had received no explanation of the object of the journey he was in the act of undertaking ; nor had he asked any. The information, though as yet only covertly conveyed that those dear to him were in danger was motive enough for trusting the Maroon. Before long, however, it occurred to him that he ought to be informed of the nature of that danger ; over whom it impended ; and what was the wgnification of the stop they were now taking to avert it. These questions he put to his conductor, as they hastened together along the path. In hurried phrase the Maroon made known to him much, though not all, of what he himself knew of the position of affairs more especially/ the peril in which the Gustos appeared to be placed. He gave ai 274 AN EQTJI&TRIAN EXCURSION. account of his own descent into the Duppy's Hole ; of the conversation he had overheard there ; and though still ignorant of the motives, stated his suspicions of the murderous plot, in which Herbert's own employer was playing a principal part. It is needless to say that the young Englishman was astounded by these revelations. Perhaps he would have been still more astonished, but that the do velopment of these wicked dealings were only a confirmation Of a whole series of suspicious circumstances, that for some days before had been constantly coming under his notice, and for which he had been vainly seeking an explanation. From that moment all thoughts of returning to dwell under the roof of Jacob Jessuron vanished from his mind. To partake of the hospitality :>f such a man a murderer, at least by intent was completely out of die question. He at once perceived that his fine, sinecure situation must be given up ; and, despite the scandal his desertion might bring about, He could never again make his home in the Happy Valley. Even the fas- cinations of that fair Judith would not be strong enough to attract him thither. Cubina listened to these resolves, and apparently with great satisfaction. But the Maroon had not yet made known to Herbert many other secrets, of which he had become the depository ; and some of which might be to the young Englishman of extremest interest. The communication of these he reserved to a future opportunity when time might not be so pressing. Herbert Vaughan, now apprised of the peril in which his uncle stood, for the time forgot all else, and only thought of pressing onward to hia aid. Injuries and insults appeared alike forgotten and forgiven even , that which had stung him more sharply than all the cold chilling bow at the Smythje ball ! Beyond the Jumbe Rock, and at no great distance from the by-path by which they were travelling, lay the proper country of the Maroons. By winding a horn, it might have been heard by some of the band ; who at that hour would, no doubt, be engaged in their usual occupation hunt- ing the wild hog. Cubina knew this ; and, on arriving at that point on the path nearest V) the town, he halted, and stood for a moment reflecting. Then, as if deeming himself sufficiently strong in the companionship of the robust young Englishman and the redoubtable lieutenant, he gave up the idea of calling any of them to his assistance; and once more moved for- ward along the route towards the Savannah road. CHAPTER LXXXIX. AN EQUESTRIAN EXCURSION. TDKOUJHOUT the day the penn-keepei kept to his Po&n. The unexplained absence of his ' protege' rendered it prudent to postpone his proposed v^eit to the minister ; besides, Cynthia was expected. ^rom the niulatta he hoped to obtain much information. 1 er know- ledge of events must be fresher thai: even that of Chakra else would he have gone up to the Duppy's Hole to'cousult the oracle of ObL AN EQUESTRIAN EXCURSION. 275 would be likely to know all. She could at least tell him whether the Rpell had been administered how, and when. These were facts worth knowing, and Jessuron stayed at home to await tie advent of Cynthia. Not so Judith. Devoured by spleen, inaction was too irksome. She could not content herself in the house ; and resolved to seek outside, if jot solace, at least distraction to her thoughts. Shortly after breakfast she ordered her steed to be saddled, and prepared to go forth. Strange it was he should absent himself on that day above any other! Just after his uncle had departed on a journey ? That was strange ? Judith summoned the herdsman who had discovered the tracks in th* mud. " You are sure it was the track of young Master Vaughan you saw T w " Sartin sure, Missa Jessuron one ob 'em war." " And the other ? What was it like ? Was it also the track of a man ?" " Ya, missa ; 'twar a man's track leastwise, I nebber seed a woman *rack big as dat 'ere. Sartin do sole dat make it wor de fut ob a man, though it wa'n't de boot oba gen'l man like young Massa Vaughan." Whip in hand, the Jewess stood reflecting. A messenger might it be ? From whom, if not from Kate Vaughan ? With whom else was he acquainted ? Such strange conditions of relation- ship 1 The mysterious mode by which the messenger must have ap- proached him ; for fresh mud upon the back of the tree told that he who nad climbed up must have been the same who had made the foot-marks by the garden wall. The articles found in the hammock had been flung down to awake and warn the sleeper ? Clearly a secret message, delivered by a crafty messenger I Clearly a surreptitious departure ? And the motive for all this ? No common one ? -it could not be. No errand after game. The fowling piece was gone ; but that was no evidence of an intention to spend the day in sporting. Herbert was in the habit of taking his gun, whenever he strolled out into the fields or forest. But the other and necessary paraphernalia had been left behindl A. shooting excurtion? Nothing of the sort! A messenger with a love message a summons willingly accepted- - j >rornptly responded to I " Oh, if it be!" cried the proud, passionate woman, as she sprang upon the back of her steed ; " if it be, I shall know it 1 I shall have revenge !" The horse came in for a share of this jealous indignation. A spiteful cut of the whip, and a fierce " dig" from her spurred heel, set the animal in rapid motion his head towards the hills. Judith Jessuron was a splendid equestrian, and could manage a horse as well as the best breaker about her father's penn. In the saddle she was something to be seen and admired ; her brilliant beauty, enhanced by the charm of excitement, exhibiting itself in the heightened colour of hr cheeks, and the stronger flashing of her dark Jewish eyes. The outline of her form was equally attractive. Of full womanly development, and poised in the saddle with an air of piquant abandon, it illustrated the curve of Hogarth in all its luxuriant graceful- ness. Such a spectacle was calculated to elicit something more than ordinary admiration ; and it required a heart already pre- \7couyied to 276 BMTTHJE AMONG THE STATUES. resist its fascinations. If Herbert Vaughan had escaped them, it oonlC only be from having his heart thus defended from a danger that few men might have tempted with a chance of safety! Galloping across the old garden, with a single leap she cleared th ruined wall; and arriving at the spot where were still to be seen those tell-tale tracks, she reined up, and leaned over to examine them. Yes that was his track his small foot was easily dialing*! filial 'I The other ? There it was the footprint of a negro pegged brcg'jni | White men do not wear them. Some of the slave people of Mount Wei I come? But why twice back and forward? Was not once sufficient. Had there been a double message ? There might have been a warning, and afterwards an appointment ! Perhaps, to meet in the forest ? Ha ! perhaps at that moment 1 The bitter conjecture brought her reflections to an abrupt ending ; and once more plying whip and spur, the jealous equestrian dashed rapidly on, up the sloping path that trended towards the hills. The purpose of this expedition, on the part of the Jewess, was altogether indefinite. It simply sprang from that nervous impatience that would not permit her to rest a faint hope that during her ride she might discover some clue to the mysterious disappearance. Wretched- ness might be the reward of that ride. No matter 1 Uncertainty was un- endurable. She did not go exactly in the direction of Mount Welcome, though thither went her thoughts. She had never been a guest of the Gustos, and therefore had no colourable excuse for presenting herself at the mansion else she would have ridden direct to it Her design was different. Though she might not approach the house, she could reconnoitre it from a distance ; and this had she determined upon doing. She had fixed upon the Jumbe Bock as the best point of observation. She knew that its ^summit commanded a bird's-eye view of Mount Wel- come estate, lying "under the mountain like a spread map, and that any movement by the mansion, or in the surrounding inclosures, might be minutely marked especially with the aid of a powerful lorgnette, with which she had taken the precaution to provide herself. With this intent did she head her horse towards the Jumbe Rock- urging the aniiEa! with fierce, fearless energy up the difficult declivity ot the mountain. CHAPTER Xa BMYTHJJE AMONG THE STATUES. AT that hour, when the heart of Judith Jessuron was alternately torn bj the passions of love and jealousy, a passion equally profound, though ap purently more tranquil, was burning in the breast of Lilly Quasheba, in spired by the same object Herbert Vaughan. In vain had the young Creole endeavoured to think indifferently of hei in vaia had afce striven to reconcile her love with, what bff AMONG TTtE STAtlTES. 277 father had taught her to deem her duty, and think differently of Mr Smythje in vain. The effort only ended in a result the very opposite to that intended in strengthening her passion for the former, and weakening her regard for the latter. And thus must it ever be with the heart's in clinings, as well as its disincliuings. Curbed or opposed, it is but ita instinct in both cases to rebel. From that hour in which Kate had yielded to the will of her father, and consented to become the wife of Montagu Smythje,she felt more sensi- bly than ever the sacrifice she was about to make. But there was none to step forth and save her no strong hand and stout heart to rescue her ?roin her painful position. It had now become a compromise ; and, sum- moning all the strength of her soul, she awaited the unhappy issue with such resignation as she could command. She had but one thought to cheer her, if cheer it could be called she had not sacrificed her JUiaL affection. She had performed the wishes of her father that father who, however harsh he might be to others, had been ever kind and affectionate to her. Now, more than ever, did she feel impressed with his kindness, when she considered the errand on which he had gone forth. Though thus resigned, or trying to feel so, she could neither stifle her passion for Herbert, nor conceal the melancholy which its hopelessness occasioned ; and during all that morning, after her father had left her, the shadow appeared upon her countenance with more than its wonted dark- ness. Her lover that is, her ' finance :' for Smythje now stood to her in that relationship did not fail to observe her unusual melancholy, though fail- ing to attribute it to the true cause. It was natural that the young lady should feel sad at the absence of her worthy parent, who for many years had never been separated from her beyond the period of a few hours' duration, or, at most a single day. She would soon get used to it, and then ah 1 would be right again. With some such reflections did Smythje account for the abstraction he had observed in the behaviour of his betrothed. During all the morning he had been assiduous in his attentions mor than wontedly so. He had been left by the Gustos in a proud position that of protector and he was desirous of showing how worthy he was of the trust reposed in him. Alas 1 in the opinion of Kate he was by far too assiduous. The ' protegee' felt importuned; and his most well-meant attentions had the effect only to weary her. Too glad would she have been to be left alone to her sighs and her sadness. Shortly after breakfast, Smythje proposed a stroll a short one. He had no zest for toilsome excursions ; and, since the day of his shooting adventure, no zeal again to attempt any distant traverse of the forest. The stroll was only to extend to the shrubbery and among the statues set there. The weather was temptingly fine. There was no reason why Kate Vaughan should refuse ; and, with a mechanical air, she acceded to the proposal. Smythje discussed the statues, drawing largely from the stock of classic lore which his university had afforded him dilating more wpecially on those of Venus, Cupid and Cleopatra, all suggestive of th* 27$ A 8fRA.ttGfc DETEEMINATKHf* tender sentiments that wero stirring within his own romantic bosom, fcnd to which, more than once, he took occasion to allude. Though narrowly did he watch, to see what effect his fine speeches were producing, h failed to perceive any that gave him gratification. The countenance of his companion obstinately preserved that air of pre-occupation that had been visible upon it all the morning. In the midst of ono of his scholastic dissertations the classical exquisite was interrupted by the advent of his valet, Thorns who appeared com ing from the house with the air of a servant who brings a message foi liis master. The message was declared : a gentleman friend of Mr. Smythje foi h had now many such in the island had called to see him. No particu- lar business merely a call of compliment. The name was given. It was one which should be honoured by a polite reception ; else the proud owner of Montagu Castle might have de- clined leaving the company in which he was upon so trivial a purpose. But the visitor was one of note a particular friend, too. Miss Vaughan would not deem him rude, leaving her only for a moment ? " By no means I" said Kate, with a free haste that almost said as much as that she was only too glad to get quit of him. Smythje followed his valet into the house ; and the young Creole was left among the statues alone herself the fairest shape in all that classical collection. CHAPTER XCL A STRANGE DETERMINATION. FOB some moments after Smythje was gone, Kate Vaughan remained where he had left her silent and motionless as the sculptured marbles by her side. Niobe was near ; and, as if by accident, the eyes of the young Creole turned upon the statue of the weeping daughter of Dione. *' Ah I" muttered she, struck with a strange thought ; " unhappy mother of a murdered offspring 1 If thy sadness was hard to endure as mino^ thy punishment must have been a pleasure. Would that I like the* were suddenly turned into stone. Ah, me I" And finishing her apostrophe with a profound sigh she stood for gome time silently gazing upon the statue. After a while her thoughts underwent some change ; and along witli it her eyes wandered away from the statues and the shrubbery. Her glance was turned upwards towards the mountain, and rested upon the summit the Jumbe rock now glittering gaily under the full sheen of the sun- light " There," soliloquised she, in a low murmur ; " upon that rock, arid there only, have I felt one hour of true happiness that happiness of which I had read in books of romance, without believing in, but which I now know to be real to gaze into the eyes of him you love, and think. as I then thought, that you are loved in return. Oh 1 it was bliwi 1 it wa hlis 1* DETERMINATION. 2?9 The remembrance of that briyf interview with her cousin for it was to that her words referred came BO forcibly before the mind of the im- passioned creole as to stifle her utterance, and for a moment or two she was silent. Again she continued " An hour have I said ? Ah ! scarce a minute did the sweet delusion last ; but had I my choice I would rather live that minute over again than all the rest of my past life certainly, than all of it that is to come !" Again she paused in her speech, still gazing upon the rock wh >se sparkling surface seemed purposely presented to her eyes, as if to cheer her heart with the sweet souvenir it recalled. " Oh 1 1 wonder," she exclaimed at length, "I wonder how it would be were I but up there again ! To stand on the spot where I stood ! Could I fancy him, as then, beside me ? Could I recall the looks he gave me, and my own sweet thoughts as I returned it 1 Oh 1 it would be like some delicious dream 1" Passion again called for a pause ; but soon after her reflections found speech. " And why should I not indulge in it ? why not ? What harm can it do me ? Even if the souvenir should bring sadness, it cannot add to that which overwhelms me. No; I need not fear to terrpt the trial ; and I shall. This very hour shall I go up, and stand upon that same spot. There shall I invoke the past, and give to memory, to fancy, its fullest play. I need not fear. There will be no witness but tho heaven above and the God who dwells in it alike witness to the sa aifice of a broken heart made in the fulfilment of my duty." On completing this impassioned speech, the young girl raised a ker- chief of white cambric which she carried in her hand, and hastily adjust- ing it over the luxuriant plaits of her hair, glided towards the rear of the