CHAPTER VIII.
J
JERUSHA, the East Indian coolie, sat at the door of her hut, nursing her baby on her knee, and with a very sullen expression on her countenance. Indeed, all the hands on Beauregard had borne more or less of a rebellious look of late. They had no particular grudge against Mr Courtney, who was a kind, if rather an indolent master, delegating all his duties to his overseer; but they detested Henri de Courcelles, and the accounts of his cruelty, and selfishness, and dishonesty, formed thestaple portion of their conversation. His very beauty, and evident self-consciousness of it, the vast superiority which he assumed over them, and the rigour with which he carried out the rules of the plantation, all combined to set the coolies against him, and they thirsted to find out something which might degrade him from his office. The reports from the Fort, too, the constant attempts at rising which had to be quelled, had incited them on to imitation, and altogether the plantation workers were seething under a sense of wrong, and ripe for rebellion. Poor little Jerusha, with her handsome half-caste baby in her arms, might have furnished them with a pretext for denouncing the overseer, had not her case been too common a one amongst them. But to the girl it meant the devastation of her life. She had not courted her destiny.She had been landed in San Diego, a poor trembling Indian coolie amongst a herd of fellow-sufferers, who had been persuaded to leave Calcutta under a promise of good wages, and plenty of food, and very little work, and after a voyage of four months (during which they had been herded between decks like so many swine), had been marched ashore at San Diego, too weak and frightened and disappointed to have any hope left in them, unless it were that they might die. They had been all standing together for hire, when De Courcelles had sauntered by and picked out the likely ones for Mr Courtney’s plantation. Jerusha well remembered how he came like a prince amongst them, and how handsome he had looked in his white linen suit and broad-brimmed hat, with the blue silk handkerchief knotted at his throat, and thecrimson rose blooming in his button-hole,—and when he had stopped beside her and spoken to her in his low soft tone, she had thought him more glorious still. She had not sought him out, this poor little Indian girl, but he had pertinaciously come after her. He had asked for her the very day after she had entered the plantation, and put so many questions as to whether her hut was comfortable, and her food sufficient, that Jerusha was quite bewildered. And then he had given her new clothes, smart dresses—such as the natives love to deck themselves in—and gold earrings for her ears; and the usual consequence followed. She fell to the tempter’s seductive arts. It was a sort of heaven to the poor untaught coolie to be selected from all the other girls to be the favourite of the handsome young overseer. She nevertroubled her head to think how long his preference would last. She knew that he would never marry her—she would have laughed at so ludicrous an idea—and yet she fancied somehow that her happiness would never end, and was terribly disappointed and bitterly incensed when the day came that De Courcelles ordered her back to her quarters with the other coolies, and refused to make any difference between them. She had reproached him with his conduct on the occasion which has been related, but, if anything, it had had the effect of making him more severe with her, and Jerusha realised at last that all was over between them, and that she had been only a tool and a plaything to minister to his short-lived pleasure. She was pondering resentfully on his neglect as she sat on the ground, with both her hands claspedround her knees to make a cradle for her little Henri, as she would persist in calling the child, greatly to the annoyance of the overseer. Henri was a beautiful infant, large and round and buoyant, with much more of the father than the mother in his appearance. He was gaily dressed in a short calico shirt of red and white striped cotton, with bangles on his fat brown arms, and a string of blue beads round his neck, and as Jerusha rocked him to and fro, and heard him crow with delight at the exercise, the gloom on her face would suddenly disappear, and she would seize the boy in her arms and kiss him vehemently. As she was thus amusing herself, a shadow fell between her and the setting sun, and old Jessica from the White House stood before her. Jessica had been much put outby her young mistress leaving her behind when she started for the hill range. It was the first time such a thing had occurred, and the old nurse felt it accordingly. Had she not waited on Missy Quita, hand and foot, ever since she was a baby? and if shehadbeen sharp enough to discover her secret, had she not kept it as faithfully as Missy would have done herself? And why should Missy Quita leave her behind just as she had obtained her wish and was on the road to make the great marriage that Jessica had always foretold for her? The faithful old negress felt aggrieved; and when sunset came, and Mr Courtney had gone out for his evening drive, and the White House seemed deserted, her heart turned to her old friends in the negro quarters, and she walked down tohave a chat with them, and unburden herself of her troubles.
‘Eh, Jerusha, gal!’ she exclaimed, as she caught sight of the young East Indian, ‘and how’s de baby? He berry fine boy, Jerusha. He make big strong coolie, bime-by.’
‘Coolie,’ repeated Jerusha scornfully. ‘My little Henri never make coolie boy. I tell you dat, Aunty Jess. Henri’s a lord’s son, and he’ll be gennelman, bime-by.’
‘You go ways, Jerusha; you talking nonsense! Lords is only for great ladies like my Missy Quita.’
‘Missy Quita going to marry a lord?’ said Jerusha inquisitively, as Jessica took a seat beside her.
‘Wall, he’s not quite a lord yet, but I ’spect he will be bime-by. But he’s a great rich gennelman, and the Governorof San Diego, and that’s next to being a king—jes’ so! But I wish my missy take me up to hills with her. I never been lef’ behind before. I can’t tell why my missy think to go widout me.’
‘Praps she want de lord all to herself—’
‘I not interferin’ wid her little games! All her life I let her do jes’ as she like; and she don’t mind ole Jessica! Ah, I know more dan one secret ob my missy’s—you bet, Jerusha!’
‘I dessay! All gals hab dere secrets, and dere lovers too. Dis lord not Missy Quita’s first lover,Iknow.’
‘Why, o’ course not—handsome young lady like dat. But de good looks not allays de good heart. Missy not grateful, ’pears to me,’ grumbled Jessica. ‘She not want me any longer now she got Sir Russell to wait on her.’
‘De good looks not allays de good heart,’ echoed Jerusha; ‘you may well saydat, Aunty Jess. De good looks sometimes cover de debbil’s heart—like Massa Courcelles’!’
‘Sakes! what you know ’bouthim, Jerusha?’
‘I don’t know nogoodof him, Aunty.’
‘Jes’ like all de rest ob de world. I nebber could bear dat oberseer; he berry bad fellow; and dis morning he ’sulted me dreffully. Jes’ hear, Jerusha. I comin’ from White House, quiet as could be, wid nothin’ to do, now my missy gone, when I meet dat Courcelles walkin’ along and swearin’ to himself. He came straight up to me and he say, “Out ob my way, you d—d old hag! If it hadn’t been for your peepin’ and listenin’, I believe I should have had my own way. Wait till I getyou down to de cotton fields agen, and I’ll serve you out for dis.”’
‘Laws, Aunty Jess, and whatyousay?’
‘Isay “You jes’ stop dat, you bad man. I knows all about you; and you’ll nebber get me down to cotton fields agen, for if you tries it, I’ll blow de roof ob de Oleander Bungalow off your head, and tell de ole master eberyting!”’
‘An’ what is der to tell?’ cried Jerusha, with sudden interest.
‘Sakes, gal, more thanyouguess! But I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell you, now my missy safe, and goin’ to marry de Governor. ’Sides, my missy not behave berry grateful to me. ’Tis de way wid de white folk. Why, Jerusha, dat oberseer Missy Quita’s lover for ober a year, and she go out night afternight to meet him in de bungalow, as I’m a livin’ woman—’
‘She—go—meet—Massa Courcelles?’ gasped Jerusha.
‘Sure! And more, dat baby down at Doctor’s bungalow no more Miss Lizzie’s child than it is yours. Dat baby ’long to Missy Quita and Massa Courcelles.Iknows! but I never tell till my missy so ungrateful as to leave me behind, and dat man swear and call me “d—d hag!” But you nebber tell nobody else, Jerusha! You keep dat secret like your life, till de wedding’s ober—and then, what matter?’
‘Dat baby ishis? Oh, de false man!’ cried the coolie, with flashing eyes, as she sprang to her feet, and held little Henri at arm’s length. ‘And dis chile ob mine, dis white-skinned boy, whoyou thinkhe’long to, Aunty Jessica? Why, to that villain too! Dat’s his fader! Your fine Massa Courcelles, what ruin your missy and me same time!’
‘What you say, Jerusha? Your baby’s fader de oberseer?’
‘Sure! Didn’t he favour me ober all de other coolie girls on de plantation? Didn’t he give me my earrings and bangles and my Sunday shawl, and tell me I de prettiest girl he ebber see? And I fool enough to believe him, Aunty; I thinkin’ he lub me allays, and be good to me, for little Henri’s sake. But when he found I should hab a baby, he sent me back to de fields, and I work dere till I nearly drop. And he beat me—yes, Aunty!’ shrieked Jerusha in her rage, as she turned her flaming eyes up to theskies; ‘he whipped me and my poor baby, and laughed when I dared him to strike us! And I vowed to hab my revenge on him, and I will hab it yet. Massa Courcelles shall live to wish he nebber deceived a poor coolie girl, or struck her baby! That’s so!’
‘AndI’llhelp you, Jerusha, for I hate dat man, and I swore once to give him obeah water for deceiving my poor missy. And now he serve you de same—dat’s twice bad; and I know anudder heart what he’s broken, though she as good and pure as de white May lilies in de garden—and dat’s Miss Lizzie.’
‘NebberMiss Lizzie!’ cried Jerusha incredulously. ‘Miss Lizzie do wicked ting? Why, she’s de best woman I ebber see!’
‘No, no, Jerusha! I not mean dat.Only dis villain make lub to de poor gal, and promise to marry her, and now she breakin’ her heart because he so false. Rosa tell me eberyting. She pretend to be asleep in verandah dis morning, and hear all they say. Miss Lizzie ’clare she nebber, nebber marry him now.’
‘She miserable woman if she do,’ said Jerusha. ‘But hush, Aunty Jess, here come Miss Lizzie. Don’t say nuffin ’bout little Henri ’fore her. She too good and sweet! She not like us! I never dare tell her who was his fader.’
As the coolie spoke, Lizzie came up to them, pale but smiling. She carried her basket as usual on her arm, and as soon as she saw little Henri, she drew a small sponge-cake from a selection of such dainties which she carried for the sick, and held it out to him.
‘What a beauty he grows, Jerusha! He will soon be out of arms now, and toddling after you everywhere.’
‘Yes, Missy Liz, he bery fine boy,’ replied the young mother, in a subdued tone.
‘Is anything the matter?’ said Lizzie, quickly glancing from Jerusha to the old nurse. ‘No bad news of Miss Maraquita, I hope, Jessica?’
‘Oh, no, Missy Liz. Missy quite well enough, I guess. ’Tis them she leave behind what feel bad.’
‘You miss her, I daresay, and the White House seems dull without her. Well, you will soon be gay enough when the wedding takes place.’
‘I s’pose so, Missy Liz. Is dat baby at your bungalow all right, missy?’ continued Jessica inquisitively.
Lizzie flushed to the roots of her hair.She had encountered some impertinence on this subject before, and she feared a repetition of it.
‘It is quite well, Jessica, although it is very weakly, and I am not at all sure of rearing it.’
‘A good ting if it die,’ said the nurse; ‘and if all such babies died, Missy Liz—we’ve no room for them here.’
‘You shouldn’t say that, Jessica,’ returned Lizzie mildly; ‘for it may be God’s will that it should live.’
‘Better say good ting if itsfaderdied!’ exclaimed Jerusha. ‘That’s the sort we’ve no room for. Ah, Missy Liz, no use you opening your eyes like dat. We know plenty on dis plantation, we do!—and we know de good from de bad too, and may de Lord help us to root ’em out.’
‘Have you any special enemy here then, Jerusha?’ demanded Lizzie.
‘Yes, I have,’ replied the coolie, with dogged determination. ‘Massa Courcelles is my special enemy, and I hate him!’
‘Monsieur de Courcelles, Jerusha? Has he been unkind to you, or done you any wrong?’
‘He has done mediswrong!’ cried Jerusha, holding out her baby. ‘He has given me dis chile, and blows on the top of it!’
She would have said more, but Lizzie put her hand to her head, and, with a low cry, passed swiftly from them. The women gazed after her in astonishment. They could not understand a nature without any feeling of revenge in it,—with only the deepest pain for the sins of one it loved, and a horror of hearing them mentioned by others. They thought that Lizzie had misunderstood them, or had not heard aright.
‘Dat’s funny!’ exclaimed Jerusha. ‘’Pears I didn’t put things right, or she would have smacked little Henri on the head, or killed him dead, as I’d like to kill dat baby at de bungalow.’
‘Missy Liz not one ofoursort,’ said Jessica. ‘She allays berry quiet and gentle, but I guess shefeelsame as rest.’
‘Does sheknowabout dat baby at de bungalow?’
‘I ’spect she knows eberyting, and dat dese low niggers say it isherchile: same as Massa Courcelles did! Poor Miss Lizzie, she’s too good for us. She oughter run a knife into him and the chile too.’
‘That’s so,’ cried Jerusha; ‘and dat’s whatIwill do for her! I full of revenge, Jessica. I like to get up some night and fire de Oleander Bungalow, and burn datman in his bed! I like to stick him wid knife, same as pig—an’ to make him drink poison water till he die.’
‘Better give him de obeah water—dat safe and silent,’ replied the nurse; ‘but you must do it secret, Jerusha. You mustn’t tell anybody but me.’
‘I telling no one; but I watch and wait, and I hab my revenge. I swear it on my little Henri’s head!’ said Jerusha solemnly.