Volume Three—Chapter Forty Four.An Orphan.These earnest utterances of love exchanged between the two cousins were suddenly interrupted. Sounds of woe broke upon the stillness of the night, and in the same place as before.They had arrived within view of what was once the mansion of Mount Welcome.Through the foliage that fringed the path, they could see glancing some remnants of red light, here and there flickering into a faint blaze. Now and then, as they descended the slope, they had heard the crash of falling timbers, as they gave way under the wasting fire.A murmur of human voices, too, had reached their ears; but only as of men engaged in an ordinary conversation; or, at all events, not exhibiting excitement beyond what might be expected at thefinaleof such a scene as had there transpired.All at once abruptly breaking upon this comparative tranquillity—at the same time interrupting the dialogue of the lovers—were heard utterances of a far different import: the cries of men, the screaming of women, shots, and loud shouting!All these sounds appeared to proceed from the spot that but a few hours before had echoed to the clangour of a chorus equally diabolical in its accents.Cubina, who had been moving some paces in advance, sprang instantly back upon the path; and, with troubled look, stopped in front of the lovers.“What can it mean?” asked Herbert, equally showing signs of apprehension.“The robbers! Master Vaughan! They have returned; but for what purpose I cannot guess. It must be they. I know that voice, louder than the rest. Do you hear it? ’Tis the voice of the brigand Adam!Crambo! I’ll silence it some day ere long—maybe, this very night. Hark! there’s another, still louder and wilder. Ho! that, too, I can distinguish. It’s the hellish shriek of Chakra!”“But why should they have come again? They took everything a robber would care for. What can have brought them back? There is nothing—”“Thereis!” cried Cubina, with a quick gesture, as though the solution had just then presented itself to his mind. “There is Yola!” As he said this he faced around, as if about to rush towards the fray, still strepitant—its noise rather on the increase.For an instant he appeared to be undecided; though not from any fear of going forward.No, it was another thought that had caused that indecision; which was soon made manifest by his words.“Master Herbert Vaughan!” he exclaimed, in a tone of appeal; “I have helped you to rescueyoursweetheart. Mine is in danger!” The young Englishman stood in no need of this appeal. Already he had disengaged his arm from that of his cousin, and stood ready for action.“Oh, Herbert!” cried the young girl, in wild accents of distress; “there is fearful danger! Oh, you must not go. Oh, do not leave me!”Cubina looked as if regretting the challenge he had thrown out.“Perhaps you had better not?” said he, with no sarcasm meant by the words. “There is danger, but you must not share it. Your life now belongs to another. I did not think of that, Master Vaughan.”“In the eyes of that other,” replied Herbert, “my life would be worthless, as it would to myself, were I to play the poltroon. Brave Cubina! I cannot fail you now. Dear Kate! it is Yola who is in danger—Yola, to whom we are both indebted. But for her I should not have known that you loved me; and then we should both—”“Ah! Yola in danger!” interrupted the young Creole, her affection for her maid half stifling the fear for her beloved. “Oh, Herbert! go if you will, but let me go with you. I should die if you returned not. Yes, yes; if death comes to you, it shall be mine also. Herbert, do not leave me behind!”“Only for a moment, Kate! I shall soon return. Fear not. With right on our side, the brave Cubina and I can conquer a score of these black robbers. We shall be back before you can count a hundred. There! conceal yourself in these bushes, and wait for our coming. I shall call out for you. Behind the bushes you will be safe. Not a word, not a movement, till you hear me calling your name.”As he uttered these admonitions, the brave young man gently guided his cousin into the thicket. Causing her to kneel down in a shaded covert, he imprinted a hurried kiss upon her forehead, and then hastily leaving her, followed Cubina towards the fight.In a few seconds they ran down to the garden wall, and passed rapidly through the wicket-gate, which they found standing open; on through the garden, and straight towards the place from which they imagined the sounds had proceeded.Strange enough, these had ceased as abruptly as they had risen—the cries of the men, the screaming of the women, the shots, and the loud shouting!All, as if by a simultaneous signal, had become silent; as though the earth had opened and swallowed not only the noises, but those who had been causing them!Unheeding the change, Herbert and Cubina kept on; nor came to a stop until they had passed the smoking remains of the mansion, and stood upon the platform that fronted it.There halted they.There was still some fitful light from the burning beams; but the beams of the moon told a truer tale. They illumined atableausignificant as terrible.Near the spot was a stretcher, on which lay the corpse of a white man, half uncovered, ghastly as death could make it. Close to it were three others, corpses like itself, only that they were those of men with a black epidermis.Herbert easily identified the first. It had been his companion on that day’s journey. It was the corpse of his uncle.As easily did Cubina recognise the others. They were, or had been, men of his own band—the Maroons—left by Quaco to guard the prisoners.The prisoners! where were they? Escaped?It took Cubina but little time to resolve the mystery. To the practised eye of one who had tied up many a black runaway, there was no difficulty in interpreting the sign there presented to his view.A tangle of ropes and sticks brought to mind the contrivances of Quaco for securing his captives. They lay upon the trodden ground, cast away, and forsaken.Thecaçadoreshad escaped. The affair had been a rescue!Rather relieved by this conjecture, which soon assumed the form of a conviction, Herbert and Cubina were about returning to the place where they had left the young Creole—whom they supposed to be still awaiting them.But they had not calculated on the bravery of love—much less upon its recklessness.As they faced towards the dark declivity of the mountain, a form like a white-robed sylph was seen flitting athwart the trunks of the trees, and descending towards the garden wall. On it glided—on, and downward—as the snow-plumed gull in its graceful parabola.Neither was mystified by this apparition. At a glance both recognised the form, with its soft, white drapery floating around it.Love could no longer endure that anxious suspense. The young Creole had forsaken her shelter, to share the danger of him she adored.Before either could interfere to prevent the catastrophe, she had passed through the wicket—a way better known to her than to them—and came gliding across the garden, up to the spot where they stood.An exclamation of joy announced her perception that her lover was still unharmed.Quick as an echo, a second exclamation escaped from her lips—but one of a far different intonation. It was a cry of wildest despair—the utterance of one who suddenly knew herself to bean orphan. Her eyes had fallen upon the corpse of her father!
These earnest utterances of love exchanged between the two cousins were suddenly interrupted. Sounds of woe broke upon the stillness of the night, and in the same place as before.
They had arrived within view of what was once the mansion of Mount Welcome.
Through the foliage that fringed the path, they could see glancing some remnants of red light, here and there flickering into a faint blaze. Now and then, as they descended the slope, they had heard the crash of falling timbers, as they gave way under the wasting fire.
A murmur of human voices, too, had reached their ears; but only as of men engaged in an ordinary conversation; or, at all events, not exhibiting excitement beyond what might be expected at thefinaleof such a scene as had there transpired.
All at once abruptly breaking upon this comparative tranquillity—at the same time interrupting the dialogue of the lovers—were heard utterances of a far different import: the cries of men, the screaming of women, shots, and loud shouting!
All these sounds appeared to proceed from the spot that but a few hours before had echoed to the clangour of a chorus equally diabolical in its accents.
Cubina, who had been moving some paces in advance, sprang instantly back upon the path; and, with troubled look, stopped in front of the lovers.
“What can it mean?” asked Herbert, equally showing signs of apprehension.
“The robbers! Master Vaughan! They have returned; but for what purpose I cannot guess. It must be they. I know that voice, louder than the rest. Do you hear it? ’Tis the voice of the brigand Adam!Crambo! I’ll silence it some day ere long—maybe, this very night. Hark! there’s another, still louder and wilder. Ho! that, too, I can distinguish. It’s the hellish shriek of Chakra!”
“But why should they have come again? They took everything a robber would care for. What can have brought them back? There is nothing—”
“Thereis!” cried Cubina, with a quick gesture, as though the solution had just then presented itself to his mind. “There is Yola!” As he said this he faced around, as if about to rush towards the fray, still strepitant—its noise rather on the increase.
For an instant he appeared to be undecided; though not from any fear of going forward.
No, it was another thought that had caused that indecision; which was soon made manifest by his words.
“Master Herbert Vaughan!” he exclaimed, in a tone of appeal; “I have helped you to rescueyoursweetheart. Mine is in danger!” The young Englishman stood in no need of this appeal. Already he had disengaged his arm from that of his cousin, and stood ready for action.
“Oh, Herbert!” cried the young girl, in wild accents of distress; “there is fearful danger! Oh, you must not go. Oh, do not leave me!”
Cubina looked as if regretting the challenge he had thrown out.
“Perhaps you had better not?” said he, with no sarcasm meant by the words. “There is danger, but you must not share it. Your life now belongs to another. I did not think of that, Master Vaughan.”
“In the eyes of that other,” replied Herbert, “my life would be worthless, as it would to myself, were I to play the poltroon. Brave Cubina! I cannot fail you now. Dear Kate! it is Yola who is in danger—Yola, to whom we are both indebted. But for her I should not have known that you loved me; and then we should both—”
“Ah! Yola in danger!” interrupted the young Creole, her affection for her maid half stifling the fear for her beloved. “Oh, Herbert! go if you will, but let me go with you. I should die if you returned not. Yes, yes; if death comes to you, it shall be mine also. Herbert, do not leave me behind!”
“Only for a moment, Kate! I shall soon return. Fear not. With right on our side, the brave Cubina and I can conquer a score of these black robbers. We shall be back before you can count a hundred. There! conceal yourself in these bushes, and wait for our coming. I shall call out for you. Behind the bushes you will be safe. Not a word, not a movement, till you hear me calling your name.”
As he uttered these admonitions, the brave young man gently guided his cousin into the thicket. Causing her to kneel down in a shaded covert, he imprinted a hurried kiss upon her forehead, and then hastily leaving her, followed Cubina towards the fight.
In a few seconds they ran down to the garden wall, and passed rapidly through the wicket-gate, which they found standing open; on through the garden, and straight towards the place from which they imagined the sounds had proceeded.
Strange enough, these had ceased as abruptly as they had risen—the cries of the men, the screaming of the women, the shots, and the loud shouting!
All, as if by a simultaneous signal, had become silent; as though the earth had opened and swallowed not only the noises, but those who had been causing them!
Unheeding the change, Herbert and Cubina kept on; nor came to a stop until they had passed the smoking remains of the mansion, and stood upon the platform that fronted it.
There halted they.
There was still some fitful light from the burning beams; but the beams of the moon told a truer tale. They illumined atableausignificant as terrible.
Near the spot was a stretcher, on which lay the corpse of a white man, half uncovered, ghastly as death could make it. Close to it were three others, corpses like itself, only that they were those of men with a black epidermis.
Herbert easily identified the first. It had been his companion on that day’s journey. It was the corpse of his uncle.
As easily did Cubina recognise the others. They were, or had been, men of his own band—the Maroons—left by Quaco to guard the prisoners.
The prisoners! where were they? Escaped?
It took Cubina but little time to resolve the mystery. To the practised eye of one who had tied up many a black runaway, there was no difficulty in interpreting the sign there presented to his view.
A tangle of ropes and sticks brought to mind the contrivances of Quaco for securing his captives. They lay upon the trodden ground, cast away, and forsaken.
Thecaçadoreshad escaped. The affair had been a rescue!
Rather relieved by this conjecture, which soon assumed the form of a conviction, Herbert and Cubina were about returning to the place where they had left the young Creole—whom they supposed to be still awaiting them.
But they had not calculated on the bravery of love—much less upon its recklessness.
As they faced towards the dark declivity of the mountain, a form like a white-robed sylph was seen flitting athwart the trunks of the trees, and descending towards the garden wall. On it glided—on, and downward—as the snow-plumed gull in its graceful parabola.
Neither was mystified by this apparition. At a glance both recognised the form, with its soft, white drapery floating around it.
Love could no longer endure that anxious suspense. The young Creole had forsaken her shelter, to share the danger of him she adored.
Before either could interfere to prevent the catastrophe, she had passed through the wicket—a way better known to her than to them—and came gliding across the garden, up to the spot where they stood.
An exclamation of joy announced her perception that her lover was still unharmed.
Quick as an echo, a second exclamation escaped from her lips—but one of a far different intonation. It was a cry of wildest despair—the utterance of one who suddenly knew herself to bean orphan. Her eyes had fallen upon the corpse of her father!
Volume Three—Chapter Forty Five.An Involuntary Suicide.On seeing the dead body of her father, Kate Vaughan sank to the earth beside it; not unconsciously, but on her knees, and in an agony of grief. Bending over it, she kissed the cold, speechless lips—her sobs and wilder ejaculations following each other in rapid succession.Only the face of the corpse was uncovered. The camlet cloak still shrouded the body, and its gaping but bloodless wounds. She saw not these; and made no inquiry as to the cause of her father’s death. The wasted features, now livid, recalled the disease under which he had been suffering previous to his departure. It was to that he had succumbed; so reasoned she.Herbert made no attempt to undeceive her. It was not the time to enter into details of the sad incident that had transpired. The most mournful chapter of the story was now known—the rest need scarce be told: Kate Vaughan was fatherless.Without uttering a word—not even those phrases of consolation so customary on such occasions, and withal so idle—the young man wound his arms round the waist of his cousin, gently raised her to an erect attitude, and supported her away from the spot.He passed slowly towards the rear of the ruined dwelling.There was still enough light emitted from the calcined embers to make plain the path—enough to show that the little summer-house in the garden still stood there in its shining entirety. Its distance from the dwelling-house had saved it from the conflagration.Into this Herbert conducted his protégée, and, after placing her on a settee of bamboos, which the kiosk contained, seated himself in a chair beside her.Yola, who had once more appeared upon the scene, followed them, and flinging herself on the floor, at her young mistress’s feet, remained gazing upon her with sympathetic looks, that evinced the affectionate devotion of the Foolah maiden.Cubina had gone in search of the overseer, and such of the domestics as might still have concealed themselves within a reasonable distance.The Maroon might have acted with more caution, seeing that the second attack of the robbers had unexpectedly been made. But he had no fear of their coming again. The escape of the prisoners explained their second appearance—the sole object of which had been to rescue thecaçadores.For a while the three individuals in the kiosk appeared to be the only living forms that remained by the desolated mansion of Mount Welcome. The return of the robbers had produced even a more vivid feeling of affright than their first appearance; and the people of the plantation—white as well as black—had betaken themselves to places of concealment more permanent than before. The whites—overseer, book-keepers, and all—believing it to be an insurrection of the slaves, had forsaken the plantation altogether, and fled towards Montego Bay.Among these panic-struck fugitives, or rather at the head of them, was the late distinguished guest of Mount Welcome—Mr Montagu Smythje.On being left alone, after the departure of the pursuing party, he had made a rapid retreat towards the stables; and there, by the assistance of Quashie, had succeeded in providing himself with a saddled horse.Not even staying to divest himself of his sacchariferous envelope, he had mounted and ridden at top speed for the port, announcing his fixed determination to take the first ship that should sail for his “deaw metwopolis.”Smythje had seen enough of Jamaica, and its “queeole queetyaws,” and more than enough of “its howid niggaws.”Cubina, returning with Quashie—who again, imp-like, had started up in his path—the only living being the Maroon could discover, announced the fact that Mr Smythje was no longer on the ground.From those who occupied the kiosk, the intelligence elicited no response. Notwithstanding the many jealous pangs he had cost Herbert Vaughan, and the important part he had played in the history of the young Creole’s life, the great lord of Montagu Castle was no longer regarded even as a unit in the situation. Neither spoke of him—neither gave a thought to him. With perfect indifference, both Herbert and his cousin listened to the report that he was no longer on the ground.But there was at that very moment one upon the ground who might have been better spared—one whose proximity was a thousand times more perilous than that of the harmless Smythje.As we have said, Cubina had no apprehensions about the return of the robbers; but there was a danger near, and equally to be dreaded—a danger of which neither he nor any of the others could have had even the slightest suspicion.The Maroon had delivered his report at the kiosk, and with Quashie attending on him, had gone back to the spot where the dead body still rested. He had gone thither to ascertain which of his own men had fallen in the late struggle, and also the better to acquaint himself with the direction which the robbers might have taken.Just as he had turned his back upon the kiosk, a human figure—gliding so softly that it might have been mistaken for a shadow—passed through the wicket-gate in the rear of the garden, and, with stealthy step, advanced in the direction of the summer-house.Notwithstanding an ample cloak in which the figure was enveloped, itscontourcould be distinguished as that of a woman—one of boldly-developed form.The blaze of the still-burning timbers was no longer constant. At intervals some piece—losing its equilibrium under the effect of the consuming fire—would fall with a crushing sound; to be followed by a fresh glare of light, which would continue for a longer or shorter period of time, according to the circumstances that created it.Just as the silent figure, approaching along the path, had arrived within a few paces of the summer-house, one of these sudden coruscations arose, lighting up not only the interior of the summer-house, but the whole enclosure to its furthest limits.Under that light, had anyone been looking rearwards across the garden, they would have beheld a beautiful face—beautiful, yet disfigured by an expression of mingled rage and pain, that rendered it even hideous. It was the face of Judith Jessuron.It is not necessary to explain why she was there. The fire of jealousy was still burning in her breast—more furiously, more bitterly than ever.In another instant she had placed herself in a position that commanded a view of the interior of the kiosk.What she saw there was not calculated to extinguish the fearful fire that consumed her. On the contrary, like the collision of the falling timbers, it had the effect of stirring it to increased strength and fierceness.Kate Vaughan had raised herself from her reclining position, and was sitting upright on the bamboo settee. Herbert was by her side, also seated. Their bodies were in contact—the arm of the young man softly encircling the waist of his cousin. It would have been evident to the most uninterested observer that their hearts were equallyen rapport; that between them was a tie—the strongest on earth—the tie of mutual love!It needed no reasoning on the part of Judith Jessuron to arrive at this conclusion.The tableau was typical. It was a picture that required no explanation, nor did she who looked upon it ask for any.She did not even stay to notice the brown-skinned damsel, who seemed to be guarding the entrance of the kiosk; but, springing past her, she stood in a defiant attitude in the presence of the lovers.“Herbert Vaughan!” cried she, in a tone of bitter abandonment; “traitor! perjured villain! you have been false to me—”“It is not true, Judith Jessuron!” cried the young man, interrupting her, and, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise, springing to his feet. “It is not true. I—I never intended—”“Ha!” screamed the Jewess, her rage apparently becoming more fierce at the attempted explanation; “never intended what?”“Never intended to marry you. I never gave you promise—”“False!” cried Judith, once more interrupting him. “No matter now—it is all past; and since you never intended to marry me, she at least will never be your wife!”The action that followed rendered the menace of the mad woman too easily intelligible.As she gave utterance to it she passed her hand under the mantle in which her figure was enveloped; and, as she drew it forth again, a shining object appeared between her fingers.It was a pistol, with silver sheen and ivory handle—small, but large enough to take life at such close quarters.It was presented as soon as drawn, but not at Herbert Vaughan. It was towards his companion that its muzzle was pointed!Scarce a second passed before the report was heard; and, for a time, the kiosk was filled with smoke.When this cleared away, and the shining light once more penetrated the apartment, a woman was seen extended on the floor, her form quivering in the last throes of life. In another instant it was motionless—a corpse!The shot had proved fatal; but the victim was not Kate Vaughan, but Judith Jessuron!The transposition was due to the Foolah maid. Seeing the life of her mistress in such imminent peril, she had sprung up from her seat by the door; and, bounding forward with the supple quickness of a cheetah, had seized the wrist of the intended murderess, with the intention of averting her aim, and, in doing so, had directed it upon herself.It was by accident, therefore, and not from design on the part of Yola, that Judith Jessuron thus terminated her life by an involuntary suicide.
On seeing the dead body of her father, Kate Vaughan sank to the earth beside it; not unconsciously, but on her knees, and in an agony of grief. Bending over it, she kissed the cold, speechless lips—her sobs and wilder ejaculations following each other in rapid succession.
Only the face of the corpse was uncovered. The camlet cloak still shrouded the body, and its gaping but bloodless wounds. She saw not these; and made no inquiry as to the cause of her father’s death. The wasted features, now livid, recalled the disease under which he had been suffering previous to his departure. It was to that he had succumbed; so reasoned she.
Herbert made no attempt to undeceive her. It was not the time to enter into details of the sad incident that had transpired. The most mournful chapter of the story was now known—the rest need scarce be told: Kate Vaughan was fatherless.
Without uttering a word—not even those phrases of consolation so customary on such occasions, and withal so idle—the young man wound his arms round the waist of his cousin, gently raised her to an erect attitude, and supported her away from the spot.
He passed slowly towards the rear of the ruined dwelling.
There was still enough light emitted from the calcined embers to make plain the path—enough to show that the little summer-house in the garden still stood there in its shining entirety. Its distance from the dwelling-house had saved it from the conflagration.
Into this Herbert conducted his protégée, and, after placing her on a settee of bamboos, which the kiosk contained, seated himself in a chair beside her.
Yola, who had once more appeared upon the scene, followed them, and flinging herself on the floor, at her young mistress’s feet, remained gazing upon her with sympathetic looks, that evinced the affectionate devotion of the Foolah maiden.
Cubina had gone in search of the overseer, and such of the domestics as might still have concealed themselves within a reasonable distance.
The Maroon might have acted with more caution, seeing that the second attack of the robbers had unexpectedly been made. But he had no fear of their coming again. The escape of the prisoners explained their second appearance—the sole object of which had been to rescue thecaçadores.
For a while the three individuals in the kiosk appeared to be the only living forms that remained by the desolated mansion of Mount Welcome. The return of the robbers had produced even a more vivid feeling of affright than their first appearance; and the people of the plantation—white as well as black—had betaken themselves to places of concealment more permanent than before. The whites—overseer, book-keepers, and all—believing it to be an insurrection of the slaves, had forsaken the plantation altogether, and fled towards Montego Bay.
Among these panic-struck fugitives, or rather at the head of them, was the late distinguished guest of Mount Welcome—Mr Montagu Smythje.
On being left alone, after the departure of the pursuing party, he had made a rapid retreat towards the stables; and there, by the assistance of Quashie, had succeeded in providing himself with a saddled horse.
Not even staying to divest himself of his sacchariferous envelope, he had mounted and ridden at top speed for the port, announcing his fixed determination to take the first ship that should sail for his “deaw metwopolis.”
Smythje had seen enough of Jamaica, and its “queeole queetyaws,” and more than enough of “its howid niggaws.”
Cubina, returning with Quashie—who again, imp-like, had started up in his path—the only living being the Maroon could discover, announced the fact that Mr Smythje was no longer on the ground.
From those who occupied the kiosk, the intelligence elicited no response. Notwithstanding the many jealous pangs he had cost Herbert Vaughan, and the important part he had played in the history of the young Creole’s life, the great lord of Montagu Castle was no longer regarded even as a unit in the situation. Neither spoke of him—neither gave a thought to him. With perfect indifference, both Herbert and his cousin listened to the report that he was no longer on the ground.
But there was at that very moment one upon the ground who might have been better spared—one whose proximity was a thousand times more perilous than that of the harmless Smythje.
As we have said, Cubina had no apprehensions about the return of the robbers; but there was a danger near, and equally to be dreaded—a danger of which neither he nor any of the others could have had even the slightest suspicion.
The Maroon had delivered his report at the kiosk, and with Quashie attending on him, had gone back to the spot where the dead body still rested. He had gone thither to ascertain which of his own men had fallen in the late struggle, and also the better to acquaint himself with the direction which the robbers might have taken.
Just as he had turned his back upon the kiosk, a human figure—gliding so softly that it might have been mistaken for a shadow—passed through the wicket-gate in the rear of the garden, and, with stealthy step, advanced in the direction of the summer-house.
Notwithstanding an ample cloak in which the figure was enveloped, itscontourcould be distinguished as that of a woman—one of boldly-developed form.
The blaze of the still-burning timbers was no longer constant. At intervals some piece—losing its equilibrium under the effect of the consuming fire—would fall with a crushing sound; to be followed by a fresh glare of light, which would continue for a longer or shorter period of time, according to the circumstances that created it.
Just as the silent figure, approaching along the path, had arrived within a few paces of the summer-house, one of these sudden coruscations arose, lighting up not only the interior of the summer-house, but the whole enclosure to its furthest limits.
Under that light, had anyone been looking rearwards across the garden, they would have beheld a beautiful face—beautiful, yet disfigured by an expression of mingled rage and pain, that rendered it even hideous. It was the face of Judith Jessuron.
It is not necessary to explain why she was there. The fire of jealousy was still burning in her breast—more furiously, more bitterly than ever.
In another instant she had placed herself in a position that commanded a view of the interior of the kiosk.
What she saw there was not calculated to extinguish the fearful fire that consumed her. On the contrary, like the collision of the falling timbers, it had the effect of stirring it to increased strength and fierceness.
Kate Vaughan had raised herself from her reclining position, and was sitting upright on the bamboo settee. Herbert was by her side, also seated. Their bodies were in contact—the arm of the young man softly encircling the waist of his cousin. It would have been evident to the most uninterested observer that their hearts were equallyen rapport; that between them was a tie—the strongest on earth—the tie of mutual love!
It needed no reasoning on the part of Judith Jessuron to arrive at this conclusion.
The tableau was typical. It was a picture that required no explanation, nor did she who looked upon it ask for any.
She did not even stay to notice the brown-skinned damsel, who seemed to be guarding the entrance of the kiosk; but, springing past her, she stood in a defiant attitude in the presence of the lovers.
“Herbert Vaughan!” cried she, in a tone of bitter abandonment; “traitor! perjured villain! you have been false to me—”
“It is not true, Judith Jessuron!” cried the young man, interrupting her, and, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise, springing to his feet. “It is not true. I—I never intended—”
“Ha!” screamed the Jewess, her rage apparently becoming more fierce at the attempted explanation; “never intended what?”
“Never intended to marry you. I never gave you promise—”
“False!” cried Judith, once more interrupting him. “No matter now—it is all past; and since you never intended to marry me, she at least will never be your wife!”
The action that followed rendered the menace of the mad woman too easily intelligible.
As she gave utterance to it she passed her hand under the mantle in which her figure was enveloped; and, as she drew it forth again, a shining object appeared between her fingers.
It was a pistol, with silver sheen and ivory handle—small, but large enough to take life at such close quarters.
It was presented as soon as drawn, but not at Herbert Vaughan. It was towards his companion that its muzzle was pointed!
Scarce a second passed before the report was heard; and, for a time, the kiosk was filled with smoke.
When this cleared away, and the shining light once more penetrated the apartment, a woman was seen extended on the floor, her form quivering in the last throes of life. In another instant it was motionless—a corpse!
The shot had proved fatal; but the victim was not Kate Vaughan, but Judith Jessuron!
The transposition was due to the Foolah maid. Seeing the life of her mistress in such imminent peril, she had sprung up from her seat by the door; and, bounding forward with the supple quickness of a cheetah, had seized the wrist of the intended murderess, with the intention of averting her aim, and, in doing so, had directed it upon herself.
It was by accident, therefore, and not from design on the part of Yola, that Judith Jessuron thus terminated her life by an involuntary suicide.
Volume Three—Chapter Forty Six.Quaco in Ambush.The Maroon captain, before leaving the Duppy’s Hole, had given official orders to his lieutenant about the capture of Chakra. There could no longer be any question of the absence of the myal-man from his haunt. The Maroons had continued their search after the discovery in the cave, still thinking that he might be concealed somewhere in the wood. The bushes were well beaten—the trees, where it was possible for a man to have climbed, were all scrutinised; and the search had ended without their finding any other trace of the Coromantee than what had been already discovered.Beyond doubt, Chakra had gone abroad—though in what direction, no one could guess; and to have attempted tracking him at night, and through a pathless forest, would have been labour lost.The correct scheme for capturing him was for the Maroons to remain in the Duppy’s Hole, against his return; and, by keeping in ambuscade until he should have re-crossed the lagoon, they would have him, as it were, in a trap.This was the plan chosen—with the execution of which Quaco was intrusted.Indeed, the initiatory steps had been taken already: for ever since the search by torchlight had been abandoned, Quaco and his men had been placed in ambush.Cubina perceived the error he had committed in causing the search to be made.Chakra might have been upon the cliff above, where he could not have failed to see the light of the torches.If so, there would not be the slightest hope of his returning for that night. After witnessing such an invasion of his secret haunt, his caution would be upon thequi vive—enough to hinder him from venturing down into the Duppy’s Hole, notwithstanding the attractive lure he had there left behind him.Cubina thus reflected with regret—with chagrin. The capture of Chakra had now become an object of primary importance.After all, the apprehension that he had seen the torches, or in any way become aware of the intrusion of strangers upon his solitary domain, may have been an idle one. If so, then he would be certain to come back. The presence of his prisoner was earnest of his return, and at no distant period of time.To make sure of his capture, the Maroon captain had himself planned the ambush. Quaco and his men were placed under the great tree—where the myal-man was accustomed to moor his craft. Some of them were stationed on the tree, among its branches, with the design that they should drop upon the shoulders of the Coromantee, as soon as he should arrive at his anchorage.The canoe itself was to be left at the bottom of the stairway, after being taken thither by the Maroon captain and his two companions, on their departure from the place. All this was done as designed.Before parting from the canoe, Cubina had taken the precaution to place it in the exact position in which it had been left by Chakra: so that the latter could have no suspicions that the craft had been used during his absence.These arrangements having been completed, Quaco and his comrades—Cingües among the number—from their station by the edge of the lagoon, with eyes bent alternately upon the water and the face of the cliff, awaited the coming of the Coromantee.The Maroons were armed with guns, loaded and primed. Not that they intended to kill Chakra. On the contrary, Cubina’s orders were to capture him. Criminal as was the outlawed myal-man, it was not their province to decide upon his criminality—at least, not so far as to the depriving him of his life. Free as was the licence enjoyed by these mountain rovers, there were laws around them by which even they were bound to abide. Besides, there would be no danger of his escaping from the punishment that was his due. They knew that Chakra’s capture would be but the prelude to his execution.They had a different reason for being attentive to their arms. It was just possible the Coromantee mightnot return alone. They knew he had been in the company of others—Adam and his band of desperate robbers. These confederates might come back along with him. In that case, the quiet scheme of their capture might be transformed into a sanguinary encounter.It was not necessary all should keep awake. One-half of the little band were appointed sentinels, while the others went to sleep.The lieutenant himself was among the number of those who were entitled to the latter privilege: since for two days and nights he had scarce slept a wink.Speedily surrendering himself to the drowsy god, Quaco indulged in a profound slumber—snoring in such fashion, that, but for the louder intonation of the waters surging through the gorge below, his huge nostrils would have betrayed his presence to the expected Chakra—even before the latter should have set foot in his canoe.As it was, however, the roaring of the cataract quite drowned the nasal music of the sleeping Quaco, and his companions suffered him to snore on.
The Maroon captain, before leaving the Duppy’s Hole, had given official orders to his lieutenant about the capture of Chakra. There could no longer be any question of the absence of the myal-man from his haunt. The Maroons had continued their search after the discovery in the cave, still thinking that he might be concealed somewhere in the wood. The bushes were well beaten—the trees, where it was possible for a man to have climbed, were all scrutinised; and the search had ended without their finding any other trace of the Coromantee than what had been already discovered.
Beyond doubt, Chakra had gone abroad—though in what direction, no one could guess; and to have attempted tracking him at night, and through a pathless forest, would have been labour lost.
The correct scheme for capturing him was for the Maroons to remain in the Duppy’s Hole, against his return; and, by keeping in ambuscade until he should have re-crossed the lagoon, they would have him, as it were, in a trap.
This was the plan chosen—with the execution of which Quaco was intrusted.
Indeed, the initiatory steps had been taken already: for ever since the search by torchlight had been abandoned, Quaco and his men had been placed in ambush.
Cubina perceived the error he had committed in causing the search to be made.
Chakra might have been upon the cliff above, where he could not have failed to see the light of the torches.
If so, there would not be the slightest hope of his returning for that night. After witnessing such an invasion of his secret haunt, his caution would be upon thequi vive—enough to hinder him from venturing down into the Duppy’s Hole, notwithstanding the attractive lure he had there left behind him.
Cubina thus reflected with regret—with chagrin. The capture of Chakra had now become an object of primary importance.
After all, the apprehension that he had seen the torches, or in any way become aware of the intrusion of strangers upon his solitary domain, may have been an idle one. If so, then he would be certain to come back. The presence of his prisoner was earnest of his return, and at no distant period of time.
To make sure of his capture, the Maroon captain had himself planned the ambush. Quaco and his men were placed under the great tree—where the myal-man was accustomed to moor his craft. Some of them were stationed on the tree, among its branches, with the design that they should drop upon the shoulders of the Coromantee, as soon as he should arrive at his anchorage.
The canoe itself was to be left at the bottom of the stairway, after being taken thither by the Maroon captain and his two companions, on their departure from the place. All this was done as designed.
Before parting from the canoe, Cubina had taken the precaution to place it in the exact position in which it had been left by Chakra: so that the latter could have no suspicions that the craft had been used during his absence.
These arrangements having been completed, Quaco and his comrades—Cingües among the number—from their station by the edge of the lagoon, with eyes bent alternately upon the water and the face of the cliff, awaited the coming of the Coromantee.
The Maroons were armed with guns, loaded and primed. Not that they intended to kill Chakra. On the contrary, Cubina’s orders were to capture him. Criminal as was the outlawed myal-man, it was not their province to decide upon his criminality—at least, not so far as to the depriving him of his life. Free as was the licence enjoyed by these mountain rovers, there were laws around them by which even they were bound to abide. Besides, there would be no danger of his escaping from the punishment that was his due. They knew that Chakra’s capture would be but the prelude to his execution.
They had a different reason for being attentive to their arms. It was just possible the Coromantee mightnot return alone. They knew he had been in the company of others—Adam and his band of desperate robbers. These confederates might come back along with him. In that case, the quiet scheme of their capture might be transformed into a sanguinary encounter.
It was not necessary all should keep awake. One-half of the little band were appointed sentinels, while the others went to sleep.
The lieutenant himself was among the number of those who were entitled to the latter privilege: since for two days and nights he had scarce slept a wink.
Speedily surrendering himself to the drowsy god, Quaco indulged in a profound slumber—snoring in such fashion, that, but for the louder intonation of the waters surging through the gorge below, his huge nostrils would have betrayed his presence to the expected Chakra—even before the latter should have set foot in his canoe.
As it was, however, the roaring of the cataract quite drowned the nasal music of the sleeping Quaco, and his companions suffered him to snore on.
Volume Three—Chapter Forty Seven.The Doom of Destiny.Until daybreak was Quaco permitted to continue his snoring and his slumber. Up to that time, no Chakra appeared; but just as the red aurora began to tinge the tops of the forest trees, a dark form was distinguished upon the summit of the cliff, just over the tree stairway.It had scarce made its appearance, when another was seen coming forward by its side; and, in the rear of both, another—and then a fourth.All four halted for a moment upon the brow of the precipice. Whether they were in conversation could not be told. Likely they were, but their voices could not be heard above the mutterings of the moving water.Presently, he who had first made his appearance commenced descending the cliff, followed by the others, apparently in the same order in which they had arrived upon its edge.Cingües had already shaken Quaco from his slumbers. The other sleepers had also been aroused by their companions; and, perceiving the numbers of the enemy, had grasped their guns with a firmer hold.Though the day had now dawned, none of the four shadowy figures, outlined against the façade of the cliff, could be identified. The dark rock and the bramble hindered them from being fairly seen. Not even when they had reached the bottom of the stair could they be recognised: for there also the frondage afforded them cover.It was only after the two foremost had entered the canoe, and the craft was seen gliding out into the open water, that Quaco could tell who were the two individuals thus seeking the solitude of the Duppy’s Hole.“Chakra!” said he, in a whisper to Cingües. “The t’other? Prince! if my eyes don’t bamboozle me, it’s your old acquaintance, the penn-keeper!”To the Fellatah this piece of information was superfluous: he had already recognised the well-known features of the man who had so deeply injured him.The memory of all his wrongs rushed into his heart, accompanied by a thirst for vengeance—keen, irresistible.With a wild cry—and before Quaco could interpose—he raised his piece and fired.The young African was a marksman of unerring aim; and but for the upraised arm of Quaco, that had disturbed the level of that deadly tube, the hours of Jacob Jessuron would have been numbered.And numbered they were. Despite the interruption—despite the accident that guided that leaden missile far wide of its mark—destiny had determined upon having its victim.Neither of the occupants of the canoe appeared to have been wounded; but as the smoke cleared away, it could be seen that the shot had not passed them without effect. Chakra’s hands were empty; the paddle had been struck by the bullet; and, carried clean out of them, was now seen on the surface of the water, fast gliding towards the gorge!A shrill cry escaped from the lips of the Coromantee. He alone understood the danger to which this accident had exposed him. He alone knew of the whirl that threatened to overwhelm both himself and his companion.Instantly he threw himself upon his knees, and, with an arm extended on each side of the canoe, and his body bent down to the gunwale, he commenced heating the water with his broad palms. His aim was to prevent the craft from being drawn into the centre of the current.For some moments this strange struggle was kept up—the canoe just holding its own—making way neither upwards nor downwards.The Maroons watched the movement with mute surprise; and no doubt would have continued to do so, but that the two men left by the bottom of the stairway—perhaps stirred by a like curiosity—had rushed forward to the edge of the water, and thus permitted their faces to be seen. At the same instant were they recognised by one who had an old account to settle with them.“The jack Spaniards!” cried Quaco, surprised beyond measure at the sight of hisci-devantprisoners. “They have got loose from our guard. Fire upon them, comrades! Don’t let them escape a second time!”The stentorian voice of the Maroon lieutenant, audible above all other sounds, at once awakened thecaçadoresto a sense of their dangerous situation; and, like a brace of baboons, they commenced sprawling up the tangled stairway.Too late had they taken this resolution. Before they had got a third of the way to the summit, half-a-dozen triggers were pulled; and their bodies, one after the other, fell with a heavy plunge into the water below.Meanwhile Chakra, in the canoe, had kept up his life and death struggle, now going against the current—and now the watery element appearing to prevail.For the moment the Maroons could not have decided that strife. They were engaged in re-loading their guns; and the Coromantee was left free to continue his struggles without interruption.Chakra’s bitterest enemies could scarce have desired to bring that scene to a speedy termination. No avenger need have wished his victim in a more terrible situation than were he and his confederate at that moment.The former, acting under the instinct of self-preservation, had not yet given way to despair; while the terrified look of the latter, who appeared to have already succumbed to it, might have restrained his deadliest foe from interference.Between the long, sinewy arms of Chakra and the strength of the current, it was difficult to decide which would conquer. For many minutes the forces appeared to be equally balanced. But the strength of the man was declining, while that of the element remained the same. In the end, the waters must prevail. Chakra at length appeared to become convinced of this; and cast round him a glance of mingled inquiry and despair.At that moment an idea seemed to strike him—some thought, perhaps, that promised him a chance of escape.All at once he desisted from his hopeless efforts to stay the canoe, as if some resolution had suddenly become fixed; and, turning towards his companion, he bent down, apparently with the intention of whispering to him. His wild, dark look, however, declared his design to be far different.When fairly within reach, he threw out his long arms with a sudden jerk, and, clutching the Jew by both shoulders, drew him up into his embrace, like some gigantic spider seizing upon its prey.Suddenly changing his hold, he grasped an arm and limb; and, raising the body high in air, with an immense muscular effort, he projected it clear over the gunwale of the canoe.One shriek from the Jew—emitted in the extremest accent of grief—was heard simultaneously with the plunge; and then the body of the unfortunate man disappeared beneath the dark waters of the lagoon.His hat and umbrella alone floated on the surface, both rapidly carried along by the current.The wretched creature rose again, but not to discover any chance of saving himself from destruction. The only gratification he could have drawn from his temporary emergence was to perceive that his false confederate must perish as well as himself.Chakra had hoped that by lightening the canoe he might contend more successfully with the current; but it soon became evident that his hopes would prove vain.In disembarrassing himself of hiscompagnon du voyagehe had lost way; and, before he could recover it, the canoe was sucked into a charybdis, from which even the power of the paddle could not have extricated it.In less than ten seconds the craft entered the embouchure of the gorge, gliding downward with the velocity of an arrow.It was but a despairing effort on the part of its occupant to seize upon a tree that grew horizontally from the rocks; though in his despair Chakra clutched it. Even had the bush been firmly rooted, his strength would not have sustained him against the fierce, resistless flood.But it was not. The roots gave way; and, in another instant, the Coromantee and his canoe were precipitated an hundred feet sheer among the black rocks below!His confederate had preceded him only by two seconds of time; and the dead bodies of both came once more in close contact—circling round and round, amidst the frothy spume that creamed over the cauldron below!
Until daybreak was Quaco permitted to continue his snoring and his slumber. Up to that time, no Chakra appeared; but just as the red aurora began to tinge the tops of the forest trees, a dark form was distinguished upon the summit of the cliff, just over the tree stairway.
It had scarce made its appearance, when another was seen coming forward by its side; and, in the rear of both, another—and then a fourth.
All four halted for a moment upon the brow of the precipice. Whether they were in conversation could not be told. Likely they were, but their voices could not be heard above the mutterings of the moving water.
Presently, he who had first made his appearance commenced descending the cliff, followed by the others, apparently in the same order in which they had arrived upon its edge.
Cingües had already shaken Quaco from his slumbers. The other sleepers had also been aroused by their companions; and, perceiving the numbers of the enemy, had grasped their guns with a firmer hold.
Though the day had now dawned, none of the four shadowy figures, outlined against the façade of the cliff, could be identified. The dark rock and the bramble hindered them from being fairly seen. Not even when they had reached the bottom of the stair could they be recognised: for there also the frondage afforded them cover.
It was only after the two foremost had entered the canoe, and the craft was seen gliding out into the open water, that Quaco could tell who were the two individuals thus seeking the solitude of the Duppy’s Hole.
“Chakra!” said he, in a whisper to Cingües. “The t’other? Prince! if my eyes don’t bamboozle me, it’s your old acquaintance, the penn-keeper!”
To the Fellatah this piece of information was superfluous: he had already recognised the well-known features of the man who had so deeply injured him.
The memory of all his wrongs rushed into his heart, accompanied by a thirst for vengeance—keen, irresistible.
With a wild cry—and before Quaco could interpose—he raised his piece and fired.
The young African was a marksman of unerring aim; and but for the upraised arm of Quaco, that had disturbed the level of that deadly tube, the hours of Jacob Jessuron would have been numbered.
And numbered they were. Despite the interruption—despite the accident that guided that leaden missile far wide of its mark—destiny had determined upon having its victim.
Neither of the occupants of the canoe appeared to have been wounded; but as the smoke cleared away, it could be seen that the shot had not passed them without effect. Chakra’s hands were empty; the paddle had been struck by the bullet; and, carried clean out of them, was now seen on the surface of the water, fast gliding towards the gorge!
A shrill cry escaped from the lips of the Coromantee. He alone understood the danger to which this accident had exposed him. He alone knew of the whirl that threatened to overwhelm both himself and his companion.
Instantly he threw himself upon his knees, and, with an arm extended on each side of the canoe, and his body bent down to the gunwale, he commenced heating the water with his broad palms. His aim was to prevent the craft from being drawn into the centre of the current.
For some moments this strange struggle was kept up—the canoe just holding its own—making way neither upwards nor downwards.
The Maroons watched the movement with mute surprise; and no doubt would have continued to do so, but that the two men left by the bottom of the stairway—perhaps stirred by a like curiosity—had rushed forward to the edge of the water, and thus permitted their faces to be seen. At the same instant were they recognised by one who had an old account to settle with them.
“The jack Spaniards!” cried Quaco, surprised beyond measure at the sight of hisci-devantprisoners. “They have got loose from our guard. Fire upon them, comrades! Don’t let them escape a second time!”
The stentorian voice of the Maroon lieutenant, audible above all other sounds, at once awakened thecaçadoresto a sense of their dangerous situation; and, like a brace of baboons, they commenced sprawling up the tangled stairway.
Too late had they taken this resolution. Before they had got a third of the way to the summit, half-a-dozen triggers were pulled; and their bodies, one after the other, fell with a heavy plunge into the water below.
Meanwhile Chakra, in the canoe, had kept up his life and death struggle, now going against the current—and now the watery element appearing to prevail.
For the moment the Maroons could not have decided that strife. They were engaged in re-loading their guns; and the Coromantee was left free to continue his struggles without interruption.
Chakra’s bitterest enemies could scarce have desired to bring that scene to a speedy termination. No avenger need have wished his victim in a more terrible situation than were he and his confederate at that moment.
The former, acting under the instinct of self-preservation, had not yet given way to despair; while the terrified look of the latter, who appeared to have already succumbed to it, might have restrained his deadliest foe from interference.
Between the long, sinewy arms of Chakra and the strength of the current, it was difficult to decide which would conquer. For many minutes the forces appeared to be equally balanced. But the strength of the man was declining, while that of the element remained the same. In the end, the waters must prevail. Chakra at length appeared to become convinced of this; and cast round him a glance of mingled inquiry and despair.
At that moment an idea seemed to strike him—some thought, perhaps, that promised him a chance of escape.
All at once he desisted from his hopeless efforts to stay the canoe, as if some resolution had suddenly become fixed; and, turning towards his companion, he bent down, apparently with the intention of whispering to him. His wild, dark look, however, declared his design to be far different.
When fairly within reach, he threw out his long arms with a sudden jerk, and, clutching the Jew by both shoulders, drew him up into his embrace, like some gigantic spider seizing upon its prey.
Suddenly changing his hold, he grasped an arm and limb; and, raising the body high in air, with an immense muscular effort, he projected it clear over the gunwale of the canoe.
One shriek from the Jew—emitted in the extremest accent of grief—was heard simultaneously with the plunge; and then the body of the unfortunate man disappeared beneath the dark waters of the lagoon.
His hat and umbrella alone floated on the surface, both rapidly carried along by the current.
The wretched creature rose again, but not to discover any chance of saving himself from destruction. The only gratification he could have drawn from his temporary emergence was to perceive that his false confederate must perish as well as himself.
Chakra had hoped that by lightening the canoe he might contend more successfully with the current; but it soon became evident that his hopes would prove vain.
In disembarrassing himself of hiscompagnon du voyagehe had lost way; and, before he could recover it, the canoe was sucked into a charybdis, from which even the power of the paddle could not have extricated it.
In less than ten seconds the craft entered the embouchure of the gorge, gliding downward with the velocity of an arrow.
It was but a despairing effort on the part of its occupant to seize upon a tree that grew horizontally from the rocks; though in his despair Chakra clutched it. Even had the bush been firmly rooted, his strength would not have sustained him against the fierce, resistless flood.
But it was not. The roots gave way; and, in another instant, the Coromantee and his canoe were precipitated an hundred feet sheer among the black rocks below!
His confederate had preceded him only by two seconds of time; and the dead bodies of both came once more in close contact—circling round and round, amidst the frothy spume that creamed over the cauldron below!
Volume Three—Chapter Forty Eight.Conclusion.On the morning that succeeded the occurrence of these tragic events, one entering at the great gate of Mount Welcome estate, and directing his eye up the long, palm-shaded avenue, would have beheld but a mass of black, smoking ruins.On any other morning, twelve months after, the eye of a person looking in the same direction, would have been gladdened by a sight far different. Smiling in all its splendour, at the end of that vegetable vista, once more could be seen the proud mansion of Mount Welcome—renaissantin every respect—its stone stairway still standing—its white walls and green-jalousied windows looking as if they had sprung, phoenix-like, from the flames—every item of the architecture so closely in imitation of the former structure, that even the eye of an old acquaintance could have detected no trace of the transformation.Outside, everything appeared as before. It was only upon entering the mansion that you might perceive a change, and this chiefly relating to its occupancy and ownership. Instead of a stout, red-faced, and somewhat plebeian personage, of over forty years old, you would see in the present proprietor of Mount Welcome a youth of noble mien, by age scarce claiming the privileges of manhood, but in aspect and demeanour evidently fit for the performance of its duties—deserving to be the master of that aristocratic mansion.Near him—oh! certain to be near him—there is one upon whom the eye rests with still greater interest; one who had graced the old mansion—yet more gracing the new—the daughter of its former proprietor, the wife of its present one.She has not even changed her name—only her condition. Lilly Quasheba is no longerMissbutMrsVaughan!Both these personages may be seen seated in that great hall, with floor as smooth and furniture as resplendent as ever.It is the hour after breakfast, and also, as of yore, the hour when the post may be expected. Not that either cared to look abroad for that diurnal messenger—more welcome to those around whom Hymen has not yet wound his golden chain.Equally indifferent were these two happy individuals to the actions of the outside world: neither cared for its news. Their love, still in the fresh flush of its honeymoon, was world enough for them; and what interest could either feel in the arrival of the mail?But the post has no respect either for indifference or anxiety. It is transmitted alike to the grave and the gay. It brings joy to the heart heavy laden, and sorrow to that which the moment before its arrival may have been bounding with bliss.In that great hall in the mansion of Mount Welcome there were two bosoms brimful of bliss, or a feeling near akin to it. Nay, why should we sayakinto it, since they were two hearts in the enjoyment of a mutual love? If that be not bliss, there is no other—either on earth or in heaven.Without any attempt at concealment, the eyes of both betrayed their mutual delight. Gazing on each other, in sweet reciprocal admiration, they saw not that dark form—rudely centaurean—that approached up the long avenue.Had they seen it, it would have created no surprise. It was only the post-boy, Quashie, on his shaggy cob, returning from the Bay.After this speculative peroration, the reader may be apprehensive of some dire development springing from the letter-bag slung over the shoulders of the darkey.Nothing of the kind. There was a letter, but not one that might be unwelcome. But for the post-mark, it might have remained for hours unopened.But the impress was peculiar. It was African. The letter was stamped with the name of a port near the mouth of the Gambia. It was addressed to “Herbert Vaughan, Esquire, Mount Welcome, Jamaica.”The young planter broke the seal, and rapidly ran over the contents of the letter.“From your brother, Cubina,” said he, though he knew that he imparted no information by this. “He writes to say he is coming back again to Jamaica.”“Oh! I am so glad of that! I knew he would never live contented among those wild people, notwithstanding he has been made a prince over them; but Yola—”“She comes with him, of course. It is not likely he would leave her behind. She longs for her island-home again. I don’t wonder, dearest Kate. There is one spot on the earth hallowed beyond all others—the spot where heart meets heart in the free confession of a mutual love. No wonder the African maiden should desire to return to it. Human nature is everywhere the same. To me this Island is the elysium of earth!”“Ah! to me also!”On giving utterance to this mutual confession, the young husband and wife bent towards each other, and pressed lips as fervently as if they had never been married!After this fond embrace, Herbert continued the reading of the letter.“Oh!” exclaimed he, when he had perused another portion of the epistle; “your brother wants to know whether he can either become our tenant or purchase that piece of land that lies beyond the Jumbé Rock. The old king has given him a capital to start with, and he wants to turn coffee-planter.”“I am glad he has such intentions. Then he will settle down, and be near us.”“He must not be permitted to purchase it. We shall present it to him, since we have enough without it. What say you, Kate? It is yours, not mine to give.”“Ah!” returned the young wife, in a tone of playful reproach, “do not distress me with those sadsouvenirs. You know that I gave it to you when I might have believed myself its mistress; and—”“Stay, dearest. Do not you distressmeby such an appeal! You were its rightful owner, and should have been. Even had we not become joint proprietors, I could never have thought of dispossessing you. Say, then, that the land shall be Cubina’s!”A repetition of that sweet embrace pronounced the consent of both to the proposal of Cubina.Herbert resumed the reading of the letter. “Good heavens!” cried he, on finishing its perusal, “what a singular story! The captain of the slaver, who brought Yola’s brother over to Jamaica, has been back again to the coast. What a terrible retaliation!”“What, dear Herbert?”“Only thatthey have eaten him!”“Oh, merciful Father!”“Sad and terrible though it be, it is true; else Cubina would not have written it. Hear what he says:—“‘Jowler’—that was the name of the slaver’s captain—‘presented himself before old Foolah-foota, in search of a fresh cargo of slaves. The king, already apprised of the skipper’s treason to Cingües, instantly ordered him to be seized; and, without trial or other formality, caused him to be chopped to pieces upon the spot. He was afterwards cooked and eaten, at the grand national feast, which was held on the celebration of my nuptials with the princess Yola.Crambo! it was a painful scene; and one might have felt sympathy for the unfortunate wretch, had he been anything else than a dealer in human flesh; but, under that reflection, I stood by without feeling any great desire to interfere in his behalf. In fact, my Fellatah father-in-law was so furious, I could not have saved the wretch from a fate which, after all, was perhaps not more than he deserved; and to which, no doubt, the poor victims he had carried across the Atlantic would have been only too glad to have seen him consigned.’”“It is well,” said Kate, with a thoughtful air, “that Cubina has determined upon leaving a land where, I fear, such scenes are too common. I shall be so happy to see them both once more in our dear, beautiful Island. And you, Herbert, I am sure, will rejoice at their return.”“Most certainly I shall. Ah, Kate! did it ever occur to you how much we are indebted to them?”“Often, Herbert—often. And were it not that I am a firm believer in destiny, I should fancy that but for them—”“Nonsense, Kate!” playfully interrupted the young husband. “None of your Creole superstitions. There is no such thing as destiny. It was not that which ruled my heart to believe you the fairest thing in creation—but because youareso. Don’t be ungenerous to Cubina and Yola. Give them all the credit that is due to them. Say frankly, love, that but for them you might have become Mrs Smythje, and I—I—”“Oh, Herbert! speak not of the past. Let that be buried in oblivion, since our present is everything we can desire!”“Agreed! But for all that, dearest, do not let us forget the gratitude we owe to Cubina and his dark-skinned bride. And to prove it to them, I propose something more than giving them the piece of land. Let us build them a house upon it; so that upon their arrival they may have a roof to shelter them.”“Oh, that would be a pleasant surprise for them!”“Then we shall bring it about. What a lovely morning! Don’t you think so, Kate?”As Herbert put this interrogatory, he glanced out through the open jalousies.There was nothing particularly fine about the morning—at least, for Jamaica, but Kate saw with Herbert’s eyes; and just then, to the eyes of both, everything appearedcouleur-de-rose.“Indeed, a beautiful morning!” answered the young wife, glancing inquiringly towards her husband.“What say you, then, to a little excursion,à pied?”“I should be delighted, Herbert. Where do you think of going?”“Guess now!”“No—you must tell me.”“You forget. According to Creole custom, our honeymoon is to last for twelve months. Until that be terminated, you are to be master, sweet Kate. Where would you most like to go?”“I have no choice, Herbert. Anywhere. In your company it is all the same to me. You must decide.”“Well, then, dearest, since you leave it to me, I declare for the Jumbé Rock. Its summit overlooks the piece of land we intend presenting to our brother, Cubina. While we are there we can select the site for his house. Is it agreeable to you?”“Dearest Herbert,” replied the young wife, entwining her arm around that of her husband’s, and gazing fondly into his eyes—“the very place I was thinking of.”“Why of it? Tell me, Kate!”“Shame, Herbert! Must I tell you? You know that I have told you before.”“Tell me again. It gives me pleasure to hear you speak of that hour.”“Hour! scarce a minute was it, and yet a minute worth all the rest of my life! A minute in which I learnt that the language of your eyes was truer than that of your tongue! But for that belief, Herbert, I might, indeed, have yielded to despair. The memory of that sweet glance haunted me—sustained me through all. Despite all, I continued to hope!”“And I, too, Kate. That remembrance is as dear to me as it can be to you. Let us seek the hallowed spot.”An hour after, and they stood upon the Jumbé Rock, on that spot so consecrated in their hearts.Herbert appeared to have forgotten his purpose. Not a word was said about Cubina or the site of his dwelling. Not a word of the Happy Valley, or the unpleasant recollections it was calculated to call up. All the past appeared to be forgotten, except that one sweet scene; and on this were concentrated the thoughts of both—their words as well.“And you loved me then?” inquired he, only to enjoy the luxury of an affirmative answer. “You loved me then?”“Oh, Herbert! how could I help loving you? Your eyes were so beautiful then!”“What! Are they not so now?”“How cruel to ask the question! Ah! far more beautiful now! Then I beheld them only with anticipation; now I look into them with the consciousness of possession. That moment was pleasure—this is ecstasy!”The last word was perfectly appropriate—not a shade too strong to express the mutual feeling that existed between Herbert Vaughan and his cousin-wife. As their rounded arms became entwined, and their young bosoms pressed fondly together, both believed that even in this unhappy world ecstasy may exist.The End.
On the morning that succeeded the occurrence of these tragic events, one entering at the great gate of Mount Welcome estate, and directing his eye up the long, palm-shaded avenue, would have beheld but a mass of black, smoking ruins.
On any other morning, twelve months after, the eye of a person looking in the same direction, would have been gladdened by a sight far different. Smiling in all its splendour, at the end of that vegetable vista, once more could be seen the proud mansion of Mount Welcome—renaissantin every respect—its stone stairway still standing—its white walls and green-jalousied windows looking as if they had sprung, phoenix-like, from the flames—every item of the architecture so closely in imitation of the former structure, that even the eye of an old acquaintance could have detected no trace of the transformation.
Outside, everything appeared as before. It was only upon entering the mansion that you might perceive a change, and this chiefly relating to its occupancy and ownership. Instead of a stout, red-faced, and somewhat plebeian personage, of over forty years old, you would see in the present proprietor of Mount Welcome a youth of noble mien, by age scarce claiming the privileges of manhood, but in aspect and demeanour evidently fit for the performance of its duties—deserving to be the master of that aristocratic mansion.
Near him—oh! certain to be near him—there is one upon whom the eye rests with still greater interest; one who had graced the old mansion—yet more gracing the new—the daughter of its former proprietor, the wife of its present one.
She has not even changed her name—only her condition. Lilly Quasheba is no longerMissbutMrsVaughan!
Both these personages may be seen seated in that great hall, with floor as smooth and furniture as resplendent as ever.
It is the hour after breakfast, and also, as of yore, the hour when the post may be expected. Not that either cared to look abroad for that diurnal messenger—more welcome to those around whom Hymen has not yet wound his golden chain.
Equally indifferent were these two happy individuals to the actions of the outside world: neither cared for its news. Their love, still in the fresh flush of its honeymoon, was world enough for them; and what interest could either feel in the arrival of the mail?
But the post has no respect either for indifference or anxiety. It is transmitted alike to the grave and the gay. It brings joy to the heart heavy laden, and sorrow to that which the moment before its arrival may have been bounding with bliss.
In that great hall in the mansion of Mount Welcome there were two bosoms brimful of bliss, or a feeling near akin to it. Nay, why should we sayakinto it, since they were two hearts in the enjoyment of a mutual love? If that be not bliss, there is no other—either on earth or in heaven.
Without any attempt at concealment, the eyes of both betrayed their mutual delight. Gazing on each other, in sweet reciprocal admiration, they saw not that dark form—rudely centaurean—that approached up the long avenue.
Had they seen it, it would have created no surprise. It was only the post-boy, Quashie, on his shaggy cob, returning from the Bay.
After this speculative peroration, the reader may be apprehensive of some dire development springing from the letter-bag slung over the shoulders of the darkey.
Nothing of the kind. There was a letter, but not one that might be unwelcome. But for the post-mark, it might have remained for hours unopened.
But the impress was peculiar. It was African. The letter was stamped with the name of a port near the mouth of the Gambia. It was addressed to “Herbert Vaughan, Esquire, Mount Welcome, Jamaica.”
The young planter broke the seal, and rapidly ran over the contents of the letter.
“From your brother, Cubina,” said he, though he knew that he imparted no information by this. “He writes to say he is coming back again to Jamaica.”
“Oh! I am so glad of that! I knew he would never live contented among those wild people, notwithstanding he has been made a prince over them; but Yola—”
“She comes with him, of course. It is not likely he would leave her behind. She longs for her island-home again. I don’t wonder, dearest Kate. There is one spot on the earth hallowed beyond all others—the spot where heart meets heart in the free confession of a mutual love. No wonder the African maiden should desire to return to it. Human nature is everywhere the same. To me this Island is the elysium of earth!”
“Ah! to me also!”
On giving utterance to this mutual confession, the young husband and wife bent towards each other, and pressed lips as fervently as if they had never been married!
After this fond embrace, Herbert continued the reading of the letter.
“Oh!” exclaimed he, when he had perused another portion of the epistle; “your brother wants to know whether he can either become our tenant or purchase that piece of land that lies beyond the Jumbé Rock. The old king has given him a capital to start with, and he wants to turn coffee-planter.”
“I am glad he has such intentions. Then he will settle down, and be near us.”
“He must not be permitted to purchase it. We shall present it to him, since we have enough without it. What say you, Kate? It is yours, not mine to give.”
“Ah!” returned the young wife, in a tone of playful reproach, “do not distress me with those sadsouvenirs. You know that I gave it to you when I might have believed myself its mistress; and—”
“Stay, dearest. Do not you distressmeby such an appeal! You were its rightful owner, and should have been. Even had we not become joint proprietors, I could never have thought of dispossessing you. Say, then, that the land shall be Cubina’s!”
A repetition of that sweet embrace pronounced the consent of both to the proposal of Cubina.
Herbert resumed the reading of the letter. “Good heavens!” cried he, on finishing its perusal, “what a singular story! The captain of the slaver, who brought Yola’s brother over to Jamaica, has been back again to the coast. What a terrible retaliation!”
“What, dear Herbert?”
“Only thatthey have eaten him!”
“Oh, merciful Father!”
“Sad and terrible though it be, it is true; else Cubina would not have written it. Hear what he says:—
“‘Jowler’—that was the name of the slaver’s captain—‘presented himself before old Foolah-foota, in search of a fresh cargo of slaves. The king, already apprised of the skipper’s treason to Cingües, instantly ordered him to be seized; and, without trial or other formality, caused him to be chopped to pieces upon the spot. He was afterwards cooked and eaten, at the grand national feast, which was held on the celebration of my nuptials with the princess Yola.Crambo! it was a painful scene; and one might have felt sympathy for the unfortunate wretch, had he been anything else than a dealer in human flesh; but, under that reflection, I stood by without feeling any great desire to interfere in his behalf. In fact, my Fellatah father-in-law was so furious, I could not have saved the wretch from a fate which, after all, was perhaps not more than he deserved; and to which, no doubt, the poor victims he had carried across the Atlantic would have been only too glad to have seen him consigned.’”
“It is well,” said Kate, with a thoughtful air, “that Cubina has determined upon leaving a land where, I fear, such scenes are too common. I shall be so happy to see them both once more in our dear, beautiful Island. And you, Herbert, I am sure, will rejoice at their return.”
“Most certainly I shall. Ah, Kate! did it ever occur to you how much we are indebted to them?”
“Often, Herbert—often. And were it not that I am a firm believer in destiny, I should fancy that but for them—”
“Nonsense, Kate!” playfully interrupted the young husband. “None of your Creole superstitions. There is no such thing as destiny. It was not that which ruled my heart to believe you the fairest thing in creation—but because youareso. Don’t be ungenerous to Cubina and Yola. Give them all the credit that is due to them. Say frankly, love, that but for them you might have become Mrs Smythje, and I—I—”
“Oh, Herbert! speak not of the past. Let that be buried in oblivion, since our present is everything we can desire!”
“Agreed! But for all that, dearest, do not let us forget the gratitude we owe to Cubina and his dark-skinned bride. And to prove it to them, I propose something more than giving them the piece of land. Let us build them a house upon it; so that upon their arrival they may have a roof to shelter them.”
“Oh, that would be a pleasant surprise for them!”
“Then we shall bring it about. What a lovely morning! Don’t you think so, Kate?”
As Herbert put this interrogatory, he glanced out through the open jalousies.
There was nothing particularly fine about the morning—at least, for Jamaica, but Kate saw with Herbert’s eyes; and just then, to the eyes of both, everything appearedcouleur-de-rose.
“Indeed, a beautiful morning!” answered the young wife, glancing inquiringly towards her husband.
“What say you, then, to a little excursion,à pied?”
“I should be delighted, Herbert. Where do you think of going?”
“Guess now!”
“No—you must tell me.”
“You forget. According to Creole custom, our honeymoon is to last for twelve months. Until that be terminated, you are to be master, sweet Kate. Where would you most like to go?”
“I have no choice, Herbert. Anywhere. In your company it is all the same to me. You must decide.”
“Well, then, dearest, since you leave it to me, I declare for the Jumbé Rock. Its summit overlooks the piece of land we intend presenting to our brother, Cubina. While we are there we can select the site for his house. Is it agreeable to you?”
“Dearest Herbert,” replied the young wife, entwining her arm around that of her husband’s, and gazing fondly into his eyes—“the very place I was thinking of.”
“Why of it? Tell me, Kate!”
“Shame, Herbert! Must I tell you? You know that I have told you before.”
“Tell me again. It gives me pleasure to hear you speak of that hour.”
“Hour! scarce a minute was it, and yet a minute worth all the rest of my life! A minute in which I learnt that the language of your eyes was truer than that of your tongue! But for that belief, Herbert, I might, indeed, have yielded to despair. The memory of that sweet glance haunted me—sustained me through all. Despite all, I continued to hope!”
“And I, too, Kate. That remembrance is as dear to me as it can be to you. Let us seek the hallowed spot.”
An hour after, and they stood upon the Jumbé Rock, on that spot so consecrated in their hearts.
Herbert appeared to have forgotten his purpose. Not a word was said about Cubina or the site of his dwelling. Not a word of the Happy Valley, or the unpleasant recollections it was calculated to call up. All the past appeared to be forgotten, except that one sweet scene; and on this were concentrated the thoughts of both—their words as well.
“And you loved me then?” inquired he, only to enjoy the luxury of an affirmative answer. “You loved me then?”
“Oh, Herbert! how could I help loving you? Your eyes were so beautiful then!”
“What! Are they not so now?”
“How cruel to ask the question! Ah! far more beautiful now! Then I beheld them only with anticipation; now I look into them with the consciousness of possession. That moment was pleasure—this is ecstasy!”
The last word was perfectly appropriate—not a shade too strong to express the mutual feeling that existed between Herbert Vaughan and his cousin-wife. As their rounded arms became entwined, and their young bosoms pressed fondly together, both believed that even in this unhappy world ecstasy may exist.
|Volume 1 Chapter 1| |Volume 1 Chapter 2| |Volume 1 Chapter 3| |Volume 1 Chapter 4| |Volume 1 Chapter 5| |Volume 1 Chapter 6| |Volume 1 Chapter 7| |Volume 1 Chapter 8| |Volume 1 Chapter 9| |Volume 1 Chapter 10| |Volume 1 Chapter 11| |Volume 1 Chapter 12| |Volume 1 Chapter 13| |Volume 1 Chapter 14| |Volume 1 Chapter 15| |Volume 1 Chapter 16| |Volume 1 Chapter 17| |Volume 1 Chapter 18| |Volume 1 Chapter 19| |Volume 1 Chapter 20| |Volume 1 Chapter 21| |Volume 1 Chapter 22| |Volume 1 Chapter 23| |Volume 1 Chapter 24| |Volume 1 Chapter 25| |Volume 1 Chapter 26| |Volume 1 Chapter 27| |Volume 1 Chapter 28| |Volume 1 Chapter 29| |Volume 1 Chapter 30| |Volume 1 Chapter 31| |Volume 1 Chapter 32| |Volume 1 Chapter 33| |Volume 1 Chapter 34| |Volume 1 Chapter 35| |Volume 2 Chapter 1| |Volume 2 Chapter 2| |Volume 2 Chapter 3| |Volume 2 Chapter 4| |Volume 2 Chapter 5| |Volume 2 Chapter 6| |Volume 2 Chapter 7| |Volume 2 Chapter 8| |Volume 2 Chapter 9| |Volume 2 Chapter 10| |Volume 2 Chapter 11| |Volume 2 Chapter 12| |Volume 2 Chapter 13| |Volume 2 Chapter 14| |Volume 2 Chapter 15| |Volume 2 Chapter 16| |Volume 2 Chapter 17| |Volume 2 Chapter 18| |Volume 2 Chapter 19| |Volume 2 Chapter 20| |Volume 2 Chapter 21| |Volume 2 Chapter 22| |Volume 2 Chapter 23| |Volume 2 Chapter 24| |Volume 2 Chapter 25| |Volume 2 Chapter 26| |Volume 2 Chapter 27| |Volume 2 Chapter 28| |Volume 2 Chapter 29| |Volume 2 Chapter 30| |Volume 2 Chapter 31| |Volume 2 Chapter 32| |Volume 2 Chapter 33| |Volume 2 Chapter 34| |Volume 2 Chapter 35| |Volume 2 Chapter 36| |Volume 3 Chapter 1| |Volume 3 Chapter 2| |Volume 3 Chapter 3| |Volume 3 Chapter 4| |Volume 3 Chapter 5| |Volume 3 Chapter 6| |Volume 3 Chapter 7| |Volume 3 Chapter 8| |Volume 3 Chapter 9| |Volume 3 Chapter 10| |Volume 3 Chapter 11| |Volume 3 Chapter 12| |Volume 3 Chapter 13| |Volume 3 Chapter 14| |Volume 3 Chapter 15| |Volume 3 Chapter 16| |Volume 3 Chapter 17| |Volume 3 Chapter 18| |Volume 3 Chapter 19| |Volume 3 Chapter 20| |Volume 3 Chapter 21| |Volume 3 Chapter 22| |Volume 3 Chapter 23| |Volume 3 Chapter 24| |Volume 3 Chapter 25| |Volume 3 Chapter 26| |Volume 3 Chapter 27| |Volume 3 Chapter 28| |Volume 3 Chapter 29| |Volume 3 Chapter 30| |Volume 3 Chapter 31| |Volume 3 Chapter 32| |Volume 3 Chapter 33| |Volume 3 Chapter 34| |Volume 3 Chapter 35| |Volume 3 Chapter 36| |Volume 3 Chapter 37| |Volume 3 Chapter 38| |Volume 3 Chapter 39| |Volume 3 Chapter 40| |Volume 3 Chapter 41| |Volume 3 Chapter 42| |Volume 3 Chapter 43| |Volume 3 Chapter 44| |Volume 3 Chapter 45| |Volume 3 Chapter 46| |Volume 3 Chapter 47| |Volume 3 Chapter 48|