Volume Three—Chapter Seventeen.The Sick Traveller.After passing beyond the precincts of his own plantation, and traversing for some distance a by-road known as the Carrion Crow, Mr Vaughan at length reached the main highway, which runs between Montego Bay on the north and Savanna-la-Mer on the southern side of the Island.Here, facing southward, he continued his route—Savanna-la-Mer being the place where he intended to terminate his journey on horseback. Thence he could proceed by sea to the harbour of Kingston, or the Old Harbour, or some other of the ports having easy communication with the capital.The more common route of travel from the neighbourhood of Montego Bay to Spanish Town, when it is desired to make the journey by land, is by the northern road to Falmouth Harbour, and thence by Saint Ann’s, and across the Island. The southern road is also travelled at times, without the necessity of going to the port of Savanna, by Lacovia, and the parish of Saint Elizabeth. But Mr Vaughan preferred the easier mode of transit—on board ship; and knowing that coasting vessels were at all times trading from Savanna to the ports on the southern side, he anticipated no difficulty in obtaining a passage to Kingston. This was one reason why he directed his course to the seaport of Savanna.He had another motive for visiting this place, and one that influenced him to an equal or greater extent. Savanna-la-Mer, as already stated, was theassize townof the western district of the Island—otherwise the county of Cornwall—including under its jurisdiction the five great parishes of Saint James, Hanover, Westmoreland, Trelawney, and Saint Elizabeth, and consequently the town of Montego Bay. Thus constituted, Savanna was the seat of justice, where all plaints of importance must be preferred. The process which Mr Vaughan was about to institute against the Jew was one for the consideration of a full court of assize. A surreptitious seizure of twenty-four slaves was no small matter; and the charge would amount to something more than that of mere malversation.Loftus Vaughan had not yet decided on the exact terms in which the accusation was to be made; but the assize town being not only the seat of justice, but the head-quarters of the legal knowledge of the county, he anticipated finding there the counsel he required.This, then, was his chief reason for travelling to Spanish TownviaSavanna-la-Mer.For such a short distance—a journey that might be done in a day—a single attendant sufficed. Had he designed taking the land route to the capital, then it would have been different. Following the fashion of the Island, a troop of horses, with a numerous escort of servants, would have accompanied the great Custos.The day turned out to be one of the hottest, especially after the hour of noon; and the concentrated rays of the sun, glaring down upon the white chalky road, over which the traveller was compelled to pass, rendered the journey not only disagreeable, but irksome.Added to this, the Custos, not very well on leaving home, had been getting worse every hour. Notwithstanding the heat, he was twice attacked by a severe chill—each time succeeded by its opposite extreme of burning fever, accompanied by thirst that knew no quenching. These attacks had also for their concomitants bitter nausea, vomiting, and a tendency towards cramp, ortetanus.Long before night, the traveller would have stopped—had he found a hospitable roof to shelter him. In the early part of the day he had passed through the more settled districts of the country, where plantations were numerous; but then, not being so ill, he had declined making halt—having called only at one or two places to obtain drink, and replenish the water canteen carried by his attendant.It was only late in the afternoon that the symptoms of his disease became specially alarming; and then he was passing through an uninhabited portion of the country—a wild corner of Westmoreland parish, where not a house was to be met with for miles alone: the highway.Beyond this tract, and a few miles further on the road, he would reach the grand sugar estate of Content. There he might anticipate a distinguished reception; since the proprietor of the plantation, besides being noted for his profuse hospitality, was his own personal friend.It had been the design of the traveller, before starting out, to make Content the halfway house of his journey, by stopping there for the night. Still desirous of carrying out this design, he pushed on, notwithstanding the extreme debility that had seized upon his frame, and which rendered riding upon horseback an exceedingly painful operation. So painful did it become, that every now and then he was compelled to bring his horse to a halt, and remain at rest, till his nerves acquired strength for a fresh spell of exertion.Thus delayed, it was sunset when he came in sight of Content. He did get sight of it from a hill, on the top of which he had arrived just as the sun was sinking into the Caribbean Sea, over the far headland of Point Negriee. In a broad valley below, filled with the purple haze of twilight, he could see the planter’s dwelling, surrounded by its extensive sugar-works, and picturesque rows of negro cabins, so near that he could distinguish the din of industry and the hum of cheerful voices, borne upward on the buoyant air; and could see the forms of men and women, clad in their light-coloured costumes, flitting in mazy movement about the precincts of the place.The Custos gazed upon the sight with dizzy glance. The sounds fell confusedly on his ear. As the shipwrecked sailor who sees land without the hope of ever reaching it, so looked Loftus Vaughan upon the valley of Content. For any chance of his reaching it that night, without being carried thither, there was none: no more than if it had been a hundred miles distant—at the extreme end of the Island. He could ride no further. He could no longer keep the saddle; and, slipping out of it, he tottered into the arms of his attendant!Close by the road-side, and half hidden by the trees, appeared a hut—surrounded by a kind of rude inclosure, that had once been the garden or “provision ground” of a negro. Both hut and garden were ruinate—the former deserted, the latter overgrown with that luxuriant vegetation which, in tropic soil, a single season suffices to bring forth.Into this hovel the Custos was conducted; or rather carried: for he was now unable even to walk.A sort of platform, orbanquette, of bamboos—the usual couch of the negro cabin—stood in one corner: a fixture seldom or never removed on the abandonment of such a dwelling. Upon this the Custos was laid, with a horse-blanket spread beneath, and his camlet cloak thrown over him.More drink was administered; and then the attendant, by command of the invalid himself, mounted one of the horses, and galloped off to Content.Loftus Vaughan was alone!
After passing beyond the precincts of his own plantation, and traversing for some distance a by-road known as the Carrion Crow, Mr Vaughan at length reached the main highway, which runs between Montego Bay on the north and Savanna-la-Mer on the southern side of the Island.
Here, facing southward, he continued his route—Savanna-la-Mer being the place where he intended to terminate his journey on horseback. Thence he could proceed by sea to the harbour of Kingston, or the Old Harbour, or some other of the ports having easy communication with the capital.
The more common route of travel from the neighbourhood of Montego Bay to Spanish Town, when it is desired to make the journey by land, is by the northern road to Falmouth Harbour, and thence by Saint Ann’s, and across the Island. The southern road is also travelled at times, without the necessity of going to the port of Savanna, by Lacovia, and the parish of Saint Elizabeth. But Mr Vaughan preferred the easier mode of transit—on board ship; and knowing that coasting vessels were at all times trading from Savanna to the ports on the southern side, he anticipated no difficulty in obtaining a passage to Kingston. This was one reason why he directed his course to the seaport of Savanna.
He had another motive for visiting this place, and one that influenced him to an equal or greater extent. Savanna-la-Mer, as already stated, was theassize townof the western district of the Island—otherwise the county of Cornwall—including under its jurisdiction the five great parishes of Saint James, Hanover, Westmoreland, Trelawney, and Saint Elizabeth, and consequently the town of Montego Bay. Thus constituted, Savanna was the seat of justice, where all plaints of importance must be preferred. The process which Mr Vaughan was about to institute against the Jew was one for the consideration of a full court of assize. A surreptitious seizure of twenty-four slaves was no small matter; and the charge would amount to something more than that of mere malversation.
Loftus Vaughan had not yet decided on the exact terms in which the accusation was to be made; but the assize town being not only the seat of justice, but the head-quarters of the legal knowledge of the county, he anticipated finding there the counsel he required.
This, then, was his chief reason for travelling to Spanish TownviaSavanna-la-Mer.
For such a short distance—a journey that might be done in a day—a single attendant sufficed. Had he designed taking the land route to the capital, then it would have been different. Following the fashion of the Island, a troop of horses, with a numerous escort of servants, would have accompanied the great Custos.
The day turned out to be one of the hottest, especially after the hour of noon; and the concentrated rays of the sun, glaring down upon the white chalky road, over which the traveller was compelled to pass, rendered the journey not only disagreeable, but irksome.
Added to this, the Custos, not very well on leaving home, had been getting worse every hour. Notwithstanding the heat, he was twice attacked by a severe chill—each time succeeded by its opposite extreme of burning fever, accompanied by thirst that knew no quenching. These attacks had also for their concomitants bitter nausea, vomiting, and a tendency towards cramp, ortetanus.
Long before night, the traveller would have stopped—had he found a hospitable roof to shelter him. In the early part of the day he had passed through the more settled districts of the country, where plantations were numerous; but then, not being so ill, he had declined making halt—having called only at one or two places to obtain drink, and replenish the water canteen carried by his attendant.
It was only late in the afternoon that the symptoms of his disease became specially alarming; and then he was passing through an uninhabited portion of the country—a wild corner of Westmoreland parish, where not a house was to be met with for miles alone: the highway.
Beyond this tract, and a few miles further on the road, he would reach the grand sugar estate of Content. There he might anticipate a distinguished reception; since the proprietor of the plantation, besides being noted for his profuse hospitality, was his own personal friend.
It had been the design of the traveller, before starting out, to make Content the halfway house of his journey, by stopping there for the night. Still desirous of carrying out this design, he pushed on, notwithstanding the extreme debility that had seized upon his frame, and which rendered riding upon horseback an exceedingly painful operation. So painful did it become, that every now and then he was compelled to bring his horse to a halt, and remain at rest, till his nerves acquired strength for a fresh spell of exertion.
Thus delayed, it was sunset when he came in sight of Content. He did get sight of it from a hill, on the top of which he had arrived just as the sun was sinking into the Caribbean Sea, over the far headland of Point Negriee. In a broad valley below, filled with the purple haze of twilight, he could see the planter’s dwelling, surrounded by its extensive sugar-works, and picturesque rows of negro cabins, so near that he could distinguish the din of industry and the hum of cheerful voices, borne upward on the buoyant air; and could see the forms of men and women, clad in their light-coloured costumes, flitting in mazy movement about the precincts of the place.
The Custos gazed upon the sight with dizzy glance. The sounds fell confusedly on his ear. As the shipwrecked sailor who sees land without the hope of ever reaching it, so looked Loftus Vaughan upon the valley of Content. For any chance of his reaching it that night, without being carried thither, there was none: no more than if it had been a hundred miles distant—at the extreme end of the Island. He could ride no further. He could no longer keep the saddle; and, slipping out of it, he tottered into the arms of his attendant!
Close by the road-side, and half hidden by the trees, appeared a hut—surrounded by a kind of rude inclosure, that had once been the garden or “provision ground” of a negro. Both hut and garden were ruinate—the former deserted, the latter overgrown with that luxuriant vegetation which, in tropic soil, a single season suffices to bring forth.
Into this hovel the Custos was conducted; or rather carried: for he was now unable even to walk.
A sort of platform, orbanquette, of bamboos—the usual couch of the negro cabin—stood in one corner: a fixture seldom or never removed on the abandonment of such a dwelling. Upon this the Custos was laid, with a horse-blanket spread beneath, and his camlet cloak thrown over him.
More drink was administered; and then the attendant, by command of the invalid himself, mounted one of the horses, and galloped off to Content.
Loftus Vaughan was alone!
Volume Three—Chapter Eighteen.A Hideous Intruder.Loftus Vaughan was not long alone, though the company that came first to intrude on the solitude that surrounded him was such as no man, either living or dying, would desire to see by his bedside.The black groom had galloped off for help; and ere the sound of his horse’s hoofs had ceased to reverberate through the unclayed chinks of the cabin, the shadow of a human form, projected through the open doorway, was flung darkly upon the floor.The sick man, stretched upon the cane couch, was suffering extreme pain, and giving way to it by incessant groaning. Nevertheless, he saw the shadow as it fell upon the floor; and this, with the sudden darkening of the door, admonished him that someone was outside, and about to enter.It might be supposed that the presence of any living being would at that moment have pleased him—as a relief to that lugubrious loneliness that surrounded him; and perhaps the presence of a living being would have produced that effect. But in that shadow which had fallen across the floor, the sick man saw, or fancied he saw, the form of one who should have been long since dead—the form of Chakra the myal-man!The shadow was defined and distinct. The hut faced westward. There were no trees before the door—nothing to intercept the rays of the now sinking sun, that covered the ground with a reddish glare—nothing save that sinistersilhouettewhich certainly seemed to betray the presence of Chakra. Only the upper half of a body was seen—a head, shoulders, and arms. In the shadow, the head was of gigantic size—the mouth open, displaying a serrature of formidable teeth—the shoulders, surmounted by the hideous hump—the arms long and ape-like! Beyond doubt was it either the shadow of Chakra, or a duplication of his ghost—of late so often seen!The sick man was too terrified to speak—too horrified to think. It scarce added to his agony when, instead of his shadow, the myal-man himself, in his own proper and hideous aspect, appeared within the doorway, and without pause stepped forward upon the floor!Loftus Vaughan could no longer doubt the identity of the man who had made this ill-timed intrusion. Dizzy though his sight was, from a disordered brain, and dim as it had been rapidly becoming, it was yet clear enough to enable him to see that the form which stood before him was no phantasy—no spirit of the other world, but one of this—one as wicked as could well be found amid the phalanx of the fiends of darkness.He had no longer either fancy or fear about Chakra’s ghost. It was Chakra’s self he saw—an apparition far more to be dreaded.The scream that escaped from the lips of Loftus Vaughan announced the climax of his horror. On uttering it, he made an effort to rise to his feet, as if with the intention of escaping from the hut; but finally overpowered by his own feebleness, and partly yielding to a gesture of menace made by the myal-man—and which told him that his retreat was intercepted—he sank back upon thebanquettein a paralysis of despair.“Ha!” shouted Chakra, as he placed himself between the dying man and the door. “No use fo’ try ’scape! no use wha’somdever! Ef ye wa able get ’way from hya, you no go fur. ’Fore you walk hunder yard you fall down, in you track, like new-drop calf. No use, you ole fool. Whugh!”Another shriek was the only reply which the enfeebled man could make.“Ha! ha! ha!” vociferated Chakra, showing his shark-like teeth in a fiendish laugh. “Ha! ha! ha! Skreek away, Cussus Va’ghan! Skreek till you bust you windpipe. Chakra tell you it no use. De death ’pell am ’pon you—it aminyou—an’ jess when dat ar sun hab cease shine upon de floor, you go join you two brodder jussuses in de oder world, wha’ you no fine buckra no better dan brack man. Dey gone afore. Boaf go by de death ’pell. Chakra send you jess de same; only he you keep fo’ de lass, ’kase you de grann Cussus, an’ he keep him bess victim fo’ de lass. De Debbil him better like dat way.”“Mercy, mercy!” shrieked the dying man. “Ha! ha! ha!” scornfully answered Chakra.“Wha’ fo’ you cry ‘mercy?’ D’you gib mercy to de ole myal-man, when you ’im chain up dar to de cabbage-tree? You show no mercy den—Chakra show none now. You got die!”“Oh! Chakra! good Chakra!” cried the Custos, raising himself upon the couch, and extending his arms in a passionate appeal. “Save me! save my life! and I will give you whatever you wish—your freedom—money—”“Ha!” interrupted Chakra, in a tone of triumphant exultation. “Gib me freedom, would you? You gib me dat arready. You money dis hya nigga doan’ care ’bout—not de shell ob a cocoa. He hab plenty money; he get wha’ he want fo’ de lub spell and de death ’pell. Whugh! De only ting you hab dat he care ’bout, you no can gib. Chakra take dat ’ithout you gibbin.”“What?” mechanically asked the dying man, fixing his eyes upon the face of Chakra with a look of dread import.“Lilly Quasheba!” cried the monster, in a loud voice, and leering horridly as he pronounced the name. “Lilly Quasheba!” he repeated, as if doubly to enjoy the fearful effect which his words were producing. “De dawter ob de quaderoom! Da’s only fair, Cussus,” continued he, in a mocking tone. “You had de modder yourseff—dat is, affer de Maroon! You know dat! It am only turn an’ turn ’bout. Now you go die, Chakra he come in fo’ de dawter. Ha! ha! ha!“Whugh!” he exclaimed, suddenly changing his tone, and bending down over the form of the Custos, now prostrate upon the couch. “Whugh! I b’lieve de buckra gone dead!”He was dead. On hearing the name “Lilly Quasheba,” accompanied by such a fearful threat, a wild cry had escaped from his lips. It was the last utterance of his life. On giving tongue to it, he had fallen back upon the bamboo bedstead, mechanically drawing the cloak over his face, as if to shut out some horrid sight; and while the myal-man, gloating over him, was endeavouring to procrastinate his pangs, the poison had completed its purpose.Chakra, extending one of his long arms, raised the fold from off his face; and holding it up, gazed for a moment upon the features of his hated foe, now rigid, blanched, and bloodless.Then, as if himself becoming frightened at the form and presence of death, the savage miscreant dropped the cover quickly to its place; rose from his stooping position; and stole stealthily from the hut.
Loftus Vaughan was not long alone, though the company that came first to intrude on the solitude that surrounded him was such as no man, either living or dying, would desire to see by his bedside.
The black groom had galloped off for help; and ere the sound of his horse’s hoofs had ceased to reverberate through the unclayed chinks of the cabin, the shadow of a human form, projected through the open doorway, was flung darkly upon the floor.
The sick man, stretched upon the cane couch, was suffering extreme pain, and giving way to it by incessant groaning. Nevertheless, he saw the shadow as it fell upon the floor; and this, with the sudden darkening of the door, admonished him that someone was outside, and about to enter.
It might be supposed that the presence of any living being would at that moment have pleased him—as a relief to that lugubrious loneliness that surrounded him; and perhaps the presence of a living being would have produced that effect. But in that shadow which had fallen across the floor, the sick man saw, or fancied he saw, the form of one who should have been long since dead—the form of Chakra the myal-man!
The shadow was defined and distinct. The hut faced westward. There were no trees before the door—nothing to intercept the rays of the now sinking sun, that covered the ground with a reddish glare—nothing save that sinistersilhouettewhich certainly seemed to betray the presence of Chakra. Only the upper half of a body was seen—a head, shoulders, and arms. In the shadow, the head was of gigantic size—the mouth open, displaying a serrature of formidable teeth—the shoulders, surmounted by the hideous hump—the arms long and ape-like! Beyond doubt was it either the shadow of Chakra, or a duplication of his ghost—of late so often seen!
The sick man was too terrified to speak—too horrified to think. It scarce added to his agony when, instead of his shadow, the myal-man himself, in his own proper and hideous aspect, appeared within the doorway, and without pause stepped forward upon the floor!
Loftus Vaughan could no longer doubt the identity of the man who had made this ill-timed intrusion. Dizzy though his sight was, from a disordered brain, and dim as it had been rapidly becoming, it was yet clear enough to enable him to see that the form which stood before him was no phantasy—no spirit of the other world, but one of this—one as wicked as could well be found amid the phalanx of the fiends of darkness.
He had no longer either fancy or fear about Chakra’s ghost. It was Chakra’s self he saw—an apparition far more to be dreaded.
The scream that escaped from the lips of Loftus Vaughan announced the climax of his horror. On uttering it, he made an effort to rise to his feet, as if with the intention of escaping from the hut; but finally overpowered by his own feebleness, and partly yielding to a gesture of menace made by the myal-man—and which told him that his retreat was intercepted—he sank back upon thebanquettein a paralysis of despair.
“Ha!” shouted Chakra, as he placed himself between the dying man and the door. “No use fo’ try ’scape! no use wha’somdever! Ef ye wa able get ’way from hya, you no go fur. ’Fore you walk hunder yard you fall down, in you track, like new-drop calf. No use, you ole fool. Whugh!”
Another shriek was the only reply which the enfeebled man could make.
“Ha! ha! ha!” vociferated Chakra, showing his shark-like teeth in a fiendish laugh. “Ha! ha! ha! Skreek away, Cussus Va’ghan! Skreek till you bust you windpipe. Chakra tell you it no use. De death ’pell am ’pon you—it aminyou—an’ jess when dat ar sun hab cease shine upon de floor, you go join you two brodder jussuses in de oder world, wha’ you no fine buckra no better dan brack man. Dey gone afore. Boaf go by de death ’pell. Chakra send you jess de same; only he you keep fo’ de lass, ’kase you de grann Cussus, an’ he keep him bess victim fo’ de lass. De Debbil him better like dat way.”
“Mercy, mercy!” shrieked the dying man. “Ha! ha! ha!” scornfully answered Chakra.
“Wha’ fo’ you cry ‘mercy?’ D’you gib mercy to de ole myal-man, when you ’im chain up dar to de cabbage-tree? You show no mercy den—Chakra show none now. You got die!”
“Oh! Chakra! good Chakra!” cried the Custos, raising himself upon the couch, and extending his arms in a passionate appeal. “Save me! save my life! and I will give you whatever you wish—your freedom—money—”
“Ha!” interrupted Chakra, in a tone of triumphant exultation. “Gib me freedom, would you? You gib me dat arready. You money dis hya nigga doan’ care ’bout—not de shell ob a cocoa. He hab plenty money; he get wha’ he want fo’ de lub spell and de death ’pell. Whugh! De only ting you hab dat he care ’bout, you no can gib. Chakra take dat ’ithout you gibbin.”
“What?” mechanically asked the dying man, fixing his eyes upon the face of Chakra with a look of dread import.
“Lilly Quasheba!” cried the monster, in a loud voice, and leering horridly as he pronounced the name. “Lilly Quasheba!” he repeated, as if doubly to enjoy the fearful effect which his words were producing. “De dawter ob de quaderoom! Da’s only fair, Cussus,” continued he, in a mocking tone. “You had de modder yourseff—dat is, affer de Maroon! You know dat! It am only turn an’ turn ’bout. Now you go die, Chakra he come in fo’ de dawter. Ha! ha! ha!
“Whugh!” he exclaimed, suddenly changing his tone, and bending down over the form of the Custos, now prostrate upon the couch. “Whugh! I b’lieve de buckra gone dead!”
He was dead. On hearing the name “Lilly Quasheba,” accompanied by such a fearful threat, a wild cry had escaped from his lips. It was the last utterance of his life. On giving tongue to it, he had fallen back upon the bamboo bedstead, mechanically drawing the cloak over his face, as if to shut out some horrid sight; and while the myal-man, gloating over him, was endeavouring to procrastinate his pangs, the poison had completed its purpose.
Chakra, extending one of his long arms, raised the fold from off his face; and holding it up, gazed for a moment upon the features of his hated foe, now rigid, blanched, and bloodless.
Then, as if himself becoming frightened at the form and presence of death, the savage miscreant dropped the cover quickly to its place; rose from his stooping position; and stole stealthily from the hut.
Volume Three—Chapter Nineteen.Two Speculative Travellers.The sun was sinking out of sight into the bosom of the blue Caribbean, and the twilight, long since extended over the valley below, was now spreading its purple robe around the summit of the hill, on which stood the hut. The shadows cast by the huge forest trees were being exchanged for the more sombre shadows of the coming night; and the outlines of the hovel—now a house of death—were gradually becoming obliterated in the crepusculous obscurity.Inside that deserted dwelling, tenanted only by the dead, reigned stillness, solemn and profound—the silence of death itself.Outside, were sounds such as suited the solemnity of the scene: the mournfulloo-who-ahof the eared owl, who had already commenced quartering the aisles of the forest; while from the heaven above came the wild wail of the potoo, as the bird went across the fast-darkening sky, in search of its insect prey.To these lugubrious utterances there was one solitary exception. More cheerful was the champing of the steel bit—proceeding from the horse that had been left tied to the tree—and the quick, impatient stroke of his hoof, as the animal fretted under the stings of the musquitoes, becoming more bitter as the darkness descended.The body of Loftus Vaughan lay upon the bamboo bedstead, just as Chakra had left it. No hand had been there to smooth that rude pillow—no friendly finger to close those eyes that were open, and saw not—those orbs glassed and coldly glaring from their sunken sockets!As yet the attendant had not returned with that succour which would come too late.Nor was it possible for him to get back in much less than an hour. Content, though in actual distance scarcely a mile from the hut, was full five in point of time. The slope of the mountain road was at an angle with the horizon of at least fifty degrees. There could be no rapid riding on that road—neither up nor down, upon the most urgent errand; and the black groom was not going to risk life by a broken neck, even to save the life of a Custos.It would be a full hour, then, before the man would return. As yet only twenty minutes had passed, and forty more were to come.But it was not fated that even for those forty minutes the body of the Custos Vaughan should be permitted to rest in peace.Twenty minutes had scarcely elapsed after Chakra had stolen away from the side of the corpse, when there came others to disturb it, and with a rude violence almost sufficient to arouse it from the slumber of death!Had Chakra, on leaving the hut, only taken the main road back to Montego Bay—and that was the direction in which he intended going—he would have met two strange men. Not so strange but that they were known to him; but strange enough to arrest the attention of an ordinary traveller.But among the proclivities of the myal-man, that of travelling alongmain roadswas one in which he did not indulge, except under the most unavoidable circumstances.Following his usual practice, as soon as he had cleared the precincts of the negro cabin, he struck off into a by-path leading through the bushes; and by so doing lost the opportunity of an encounter with two individuals, who, although of a different nationality, were as great villains as himself.The brace of worthies thus described are already known. They were the man-hunters of Jacob Jessuron, Manuel and Andres—caçadores de cimmaronesfrom the Island of Cuba.With the object for which they were journeying along the Savanna road the reader is equallyau fait. Jessuron’s talk with them, on starting them off, has plainly proclaimed the vile intent of his two truculent tools.All day long had these human bloodhounds been following upon the track of the Custos—now nearer to him—now further off—according to the halts which the traveller had made, and the relative speed of horseman and pedestrian.More than once had they sighted their intended victim afar off on the white dusty road. But the presence of the stout negro attendant, as well as the broad open daylight, had deterred them from proceeding in their nefarious purpose; and they had postponed its execution till that time which gives opportunity to the assassin—the going down of the sun.This hour had at length arrived; and just as the real murderer was hastening away from the hut, the intending assassins were hurrying towards it, with all the speed in their power!“Carrambo!” exclaimed he who was the older, and in consequence theleaderof the two, “I shouldn’t be surprised, Andres, if theingenierowas to slip out of our clutches to-night! Not far beyond lies Content, and the owner of thatingeniois a friend of his. You remember Señor Jacob said he would be like to put up there for the night?”“Yes,” replied Andres, “the old Judio was particular about that.”“Well, if he gets there before we can overhaul him, there’ll be nothing done to-night. We must take our chance on the road between that and Savanna.”“Carajo!” responded Andres, with somewhat spiteful emphasis; “if it wasn’t for them ugly pistols he carries, and that big buck nigger by his side, we might have stopped his breath before this. Supposing he gets to Savanna before we can have a talk with him? what then,compadre?”“Then,” answered he thus godfatherly addressed, “then our lines won’t lie in pleasant places. Savanna’s a big city; and it isn’t so easy to murder a man in the street of a town as among these trees. People prowling about have tongues, where the trees haven’t; and fifty pounds, Jamaica money, a’nt much for killing a man—more especially aCustos, as they call him.Carajo! we must take care, or we may get our necks twisted for this simple trick! These Custoses are like ouralcaldes—kill one, and a dozen others will spring up to prosecute you.”“But what,” inquired Andres, who, although the younger of the two, appeared to be gifted with a greater degree of prudence than his companion—“what if we don’t find a chance—even in Savanna?”“Then,” replied the other, “we stand a good chance of losing our fifty pounds—shabby currency as it is.”“How that, Manuel?”“How that? Why, because theingeniero, once in Savanna, will take ship and travel by sea. Theduenosaid so. If he do that, we may bid adieu to him; for I wouldn’t make another sea-voyage for five times fifty pounds. That we had from Batabano was enough to last me for my life.Carajo! I thought it was thevomito prietothat had seized upon me. But for the fear of another such puking spell I’d have gone home with the rest, instead of staying in this nest of Jews and nigger-drivers; and how I’m ever to get back to Batabano, let alone making a voyage for the purpose of—”The Cubano refrained from finishing his speech—not from any delicacy he had about declaring the purpose, but because he knew that the declaration would be supererogatory to an associate who already comprehended it.“In that case,” counselled the more sagacious Andres, “we must finish our business before Savanna comes in sight. Perhaps,compadre, by pushing on rapidly now, we may overtake the party before they get anchored in Content?”“You’re right,hombre; you’re right about that. Let us, as you say, push on; and, if it suits you as it does me, let our motto be, ‘Noche o nunca’ (this night or never)!”“Vamos!” rejoined Andres; and the assassins increased their speed, as if stimulated by the fear of losing their prey.
The sun was sinking out of sight into the bosom of the blue Caribbean, and the twilight, long since extended over the valley below, was now spreading its purple robe around the summit of the hill, on which stood the hut. The shadows cast by the huge forest trees were being exchanged for the more sombre shadows of the coming night; and the outlines of the hovel—now a house of death—were gradually becoming obliterated in the crepusculous obscurity.
Inside that deserted dwelling, tenanted only by the dead, reigned stillness, solemn and profound—the silence of death itself.
Outside, were sounds such as suited the solemnity of the scene: the mournfulloo-who-ahof the eared owl, who had already commenced quartering the aisles of the forest; while from the heaven above came the wild wail of the potoo, as the bird went across the fast-darkening sky, in search of its insect prey.
To these lugubrious utterances there was one solitary exception. More cheerful was the champing of the steel bit—proceeding from the horse that had been left tied to the tree—and the quick, impatient stroke of his hoof, as the animal fretted under the stings of the musquitoes, becoming more bitter as the darkness descended.
The body of Loftus Vaughan lay upon the bamboo bedstead, just as Chakra had left it. No hand had been there to smooth that rude pillow—no friendly finger to close those eyes that were open, and saw not—those orbs glassed and coldly glaring from their sunken sockets!
As yet the attendant had not returned with that succour which would come too late.
Nor was it possible for him to get back in much less than an hour. Content, though in actual distance scarcely a mile from the hut, was full five in point of time. The slope of the mountain road was at an angle with the horizon of at least fifty degrees. There could be no rapid riding on that road—neither up nor down, upon the most urgent errand; and the black groom was not going to risk life by a broken neck, even to save the life of a Custos.
It would be a full hour, then, before the man would return. As yet only twenty minutes had passed, and forty more were to come.
But it was not fated that even for those forty minutes the body of the Custos Vaughan should be permitted to rest in peace.
Twenty minutes had scarcely elapsed after Chakra had stolen away from the side of the corpse, when there came others to disturb it, and with a rude violence almost sufficient to arouse it from the slumber of death!
Had Chakra, on leaving the hut, only taken the main road back to Montego Bay—and that was the direction in which he intended going—he would have met two strange men. Not so strange but that they were known to him; but strange enough to arrest the attention of an ordinary traveller.
But among the proclivities of the myal-man, that of travelling alongmain roadswas one in which he did not indulge, except under the most unavoidable circumstances.
Following his usual practice, as soon as he had cleared the precincts of the negro cabin, he struck off into a by-path leading through the bushes; and by so doing lost the opportunity of an encounter with two individuals, who, although of a different nationality, were as great villains as himself.
The brace of worthies thus described are already known. They were the man-hunters of Jacob Jessuron, Manuel and Andres—caçadores de cimmaronesfrom the Island of Cuba.
With the object for which they were journeying along the Savanna road the reader is equallyau fait. Jessuron’s talk with them, on starting them off, has plainly proclaimed the vile intent of his two truculent tools.
All day long had these human bloodhounds been following upon the track of the Custos—now nearer to him—now further off—according to the halts which the traveller had made, and the relative speed of horseman and pedestrian.
More than once had they sighted their intended victim afar off on the white dusty road. But the presence of the stout negro attendant, as well as the broad open daylight, had deterred them from proceeding in their nefarious purpose; and they had postponed its execution till that time which gives opportunity to the assassin—the going down of the sun.
This hour had at length arrived; and just as the real murderer was hastening away from the hut, the intending assassins were hurrying towards it, with all the speed in their power!
“Carrambo!” exclaimed he who was the older, and in consequence theleaderof the two, “I shouldn’t be surprised, Andres, if theingenierowas to slip out of our clutches to-night! Not far beyond lies Content, and the owner of thatingeniois a friend of his. You remember Señor Jacob said he would be like to put up there for the night?”
“Yes,” replied Andres, “the old Judio was particular about that.”
“Well, if he gets there before we can overhaul him, there’ll be nothing done to-night. We must take our chance on the road between that and Savanna.”
“Carajo!” responded Andres, with somewhat spiteful emphasis; “if it wasn’t for them ugly pistols he carries, and that big buck nigger by his side, we might have stopped his breath before this. Supposing he gets to Savanna before we can have a talk with him? what then,compadre?”
“Then,” answered he thus godfatherly addressed, “then our lines won’t lie in pleasant places. Savanna’s a big city; and it isn’t so easy to murder a man in the street of a town as among these trees. People prowling about have tongues, where the trees haven’t; and fifty pounds, Jamaica money, a’nt much for killing a man—more especially aCustos, as they call him.Carajo! we must take care, or we may get our necks twisted for this simple trick! These Custoses are like ouralcaldes—kill one, and a dozen others will spring up to prosecute you.”
“But what,” inquired Andres, who, although the younger of the two, appeared to be gifted with a greater degree of prudence than his companion—“what if we don’t find a chance—even in Savanna?”
“Then,” replied the other, “we stand a good chance of losing our fifty pounds—shabby currency as it is.”
“How that, Manuel?”
“How that? Why, because theingeniero, once in Savanna, will take ship and travel by sea. Theduenosaid so. If he do that, we may bid adieu to him; for I wouldn’t make another sea-voyage for five times fifty pounds. That we had from Batabano was enough to last me for my life.Carajo! I thought it was thevomito prietothat had seized upon me. But for the fear of another such puking spell I’d have gone home with the rest, instead of staying in this nest of Jews and nigger-drivers; and how I’m ever to get back to Batabano, let alone making a voyage for the purpose of—”
The Cubano refrained from finishing his speech—not from any delicacy he had about declaring the purpose, but because he knew that the declaration would be supererogatory to an associate who already comprehended it.
“In that case,” counselled the more sagacious Andres, “we must finish our business before Savanna comes in sight. Perhaps,compadre, by pushing on rapidly now, we may overtake the party before they get anchored in Content?”
“You’re right,hombre; you’re right about that. Let us, as you say, push on; and, if it suits you as it does me, let our motto be, ‘Noche o nunca’ (this night or never)!”
“Vamos!” rejoined Andres; and the assassins increased their speed, as if stimulated by the fear of losing their prey.
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty.No Blood.The sun had already hidden his red disc under the sea horizon, when the man-hunters mounted the hill, and approached the hut where Custos Vaughan had been compelled to make halt, and in which he was now lying lifeless.“Mira, Manuel!” said Andres, as they came within sight of the hovel, and at the same instant saw the horse standing tied to the tree; “un cavallo! saddled, bridled, and withalforjas!”“A traveller’s horse!” rejoined Manuel, “and that very traveller we’ve been tracking. Yes! it’s the horse of the great alcalde of Mount Welcome! Don’t you remember, when we saw them before us at mid-day, that one of the horses was a bay, and the other a grey? There’s the grey, and it was on that very animal the Custos was riding.”“Quite true,compadre; but where’s the other?”“Maybe among the trees, or tied round the other side of the hut. The riders must be inside.”“Both, do you think, Manuel?”“Of course, both; though where Blackskin’s horse can be is more than I can say.Carrambo! what’s halted them here? There’s nobody lives in the ranche. I know that: I came this way about a week ago and it had no tenant then. Besides, theingeniowhere he was to put up for the night is just below. What, in the name of Saint Mary, has stopped them here?”“Por Dios, compadre!” said the younger of the twocaçadores, looking significantly at the saddlebags still hanging over the cantle of the Custos’s saddle. “There ought to be something valuable in thosealforjas?”“Caval! you’re right; but we mustn’t think of that just yet,camarado! After the other’s done, then we shall have the opportunity—I wonder whether they’re both inside? It’s very odd we don’t see the negro’s horse!”“Ha!” rejoined Andres, apparently struck with an idea. “What if he’s gone on to the plantation for some purpose? Suppose an accident has happened to the Custos’s steed, or,carrai! suppose he’s himself taken sick? You remember the man we met, who told us about them ugly pistols—he said that one of the travellers—the white man—looked sick. Didn’t the fellow say he saw him puking?”“Por Dios! he did. As you say, there may be something in it. If Blackskin’s out of the way, now’s our time; for there is more to be feared from that big buck nigger than his master, when it comes to a struggle. If it should prove that the Custos is sick—I hope it is so—he won’t be in a condition to make much use of his weapons; andcarrambo! we must get hold of them before he knows what we’re after!”“Hadn’t we better go round first?” counselled the sagacious Andres. “Let us explore the back of the hut, and see whether the other horse is there. If he’s not, then certainly the negro’s gone off on some errand! We can steal through the bushes to the other side, and get right up to the walls without any danger of being seen!”“That’s our plan,camarado. Let’s lose no time, then, for, if it be so that Blackskin’s abroad, we’re in luck. We mayn’t find such another chance—not between here and the world’s end. Follow me,hombre! and set down your feet as if you were stepping upon eggs with young birds in them.Vamos!”So saying, the chief of the twocaçadoresskulked in among the trees, closely followed by his companion.After making a circuit through the underwood, the assassins stole silently in towards the back of the hovel.They saw no other horse—only the grey, which stood tied to the tree in front. The bay was gone, and in all probability his rider. Andres already congratulated himself upon his conjecture being correct: the negro had ridden off upon some errand.This was put beyond all doubt by their perceiving the fresh tracks of a horse, leading away from the hut along the road towards Content. The hoof-prints were so plain as to be visible at some distance. The turf on the road-edge was torn up, and deeply indented—where the negro groom had urged his horse into a gallop.The assassins saw this, even without returning to the road; and were now satisfied that the attendant was gone away. It only remained to make sure that the traveller himself was inside the hut.Creeping cautiously up to the wall, thecaçadorespeeped through the unclayed chinks of the cabin.At first the darkness inside hindered them from distinguishing any object in particular. Presently, as their eyes grew more accustomed to the obscurity, they succeeded in making out the bamboo bedstead in the corner, with something that resembled the figure of a man stretched lengthwise upon it. A dark cloak covered the form, the face as well; but the feet, booted and spurred, protruding from under the cover, told that it was a man who was lying in that outstretched attitude—the man who was to be murdered!He appeared to be sound asleep: there was no motion perceptible—not even as much as would indicate that he breathed!Lying on the floor, at some distance from the couch, was a hat, and beside it a pair of pistols, in their holsters—as if the traveller had unbuckled them from his belt, and flung them down, before going to sleep. Even if awake he could scarce get hold of the pistols, before his assailants could spring upon him.The assassins looked towards one another with a significant glance. The fates appeared to favour their attempt; and, as both on the instant were actuated by the same sanguinary instinct, they leaped simultaneously to their feet, drew their sharpmachetés, and rushed together through the doorway.“Matelo! matelo!” (kill him!) cried both, in the same voice, each with a view of encouraging the other; and, as they uttered the cruel cry, they buried the blades in the body of the unresisting traveller—stabbing it repeatedly through the cloak.Convinced that they had finished their bloody work, the murderers were about to rush out again—probably with an eye to the saddlebags outside, when it occurred to them as strange that the victim of their hired villainy should have kept so quiet. In their frenzied excitement—while dealing what they supposed to be his death-blows—they had not stopped to notice anything odd in the behaviour of the man whom they were murdering. Now that the deed was done, and they could reflect more coolly, a sudden surprise seized upon them—springing from the circumstance that the wretched man had made not the slightest motion—had neither stirred nor cried out! Perhaps the first stab had gone right through his heart: for it was so intended by Andres, who had given it. But even that does not produce instantaneous death, and the man-hunters knew it. Besides, on the blade of Andres’macheté, as well as that of his comrade,there was no blood!It was very strange. Could the cloak or under-garments have wiped it off? Partially they might, but not altogether! Their blades were wet, but not with blood—of that they showed scarce a stain!“It’s a queer thing, comrade,” exclaimed Manuel. “I could almost fancy—Vaya! Lift the cloak, and let’s have a look at him.”The other, stepping closer to the couch, stooped forward, and raised the fold of the camlet from the face of the murdered man.As he did so, his hand came in contact with the cold skin, while his glance fell upon the stiffened features of a corpse—upon eyes whose dull, blank film showed that the light had long since forsaken them!The assassin stayed not for a second look. With a cry of terror he let go the garment; and rushed towards the door, followed by his equally terrified companion.In another moment both would have escaped outside; and perhaps have taken the back track, without thinking any more about the saddlebags; but just as Andres had set foot upon the door-sill, he saw before him something that caused him to pull up, and with a precipitancy that brought his comrade with a violent concussion against his back.The something which had led to this sudden interruption was the presence of three men, standing in a triangular row, scarce five paces from the door. Each was holding a gun, in such position, that its dark, hollow tube was visible to the eyes of the assassin—pointing directly upon himself.The three men were of three distinct colours—white, yellow, and black; all three known to the man-hunter and his companion. They were Herbert Vaughan, Cubina, captain of Maroons, and Quaco, his lieutenant.
The sun had already hidden his red disc under the sea horizon, when the man-hunters mounted the hill, and approached the hut where Custos Vaughan had been compelled to make halt, and in which he was now lying lifeless.
“Mira, Manuel!” said Andres, as they came within sight of the hovel, and at the same instant saw the horse standing tied to the tree; “un cavallo! saddled, bridled, and withalforjas!”
“A traveller’s horse!” rejoined Manuel, “and that very traveller we’ve been tracking. Yes! it’s the horse of the great alcalde of Mount Welcome! Don’t you remember, when we saw them before us at mid-day, that one of the horses was a bay, and the other a grey? There’s the grey, and it was on that very animal the Custos was riding.”
“Quite true,compadre; but where’s the other?”
“Maybe among the trees, or tied round the other side of the hut. The riders must be inside.”
“Both, do you think, Manuel?”
“Of course, both; though where Blackskin’s horse can be is more than I can say.Carrambo! what’s halted them here? There’s nobody lives in the ranche. I know that: I came this way about a week ago and it had no tenant then. Besides, theingeniowhere he was to put up for the night is just below. What, in the name of Saint Mary, has stopped them here?”
“Por Dios, compadre!” said the younger of the twocaçadores, looking significantly at the saddlebags still hanging over the cantle of the Custos’s saddle. “There ought to be something valuable in thosealforjas?”
“Caval! you’re right; but we mustn’t think of that just yet,camarado! After the other’s done, then we shall have the opportunity—I wonder whether they’re both inside? It’s very odd we don’t see the negro’s horse!”
“Ha!” rejoined Andres, apparently struck with an idea. “What if he’s gone on to the plantation for some purpose? Suppose an accident has happened to the Custos’s steed, or,carrai! suppose he’s himself taken sick? You remember the man we met, who told us about them ugly pistols—he said that one of the travellers—the white man—looked sick. Didn’t the fellow say he saw him puking?”
“Por Dios! he did. As you say, there may be something in it. If Blackskin’s out of the way, now’s our time; for there is more to be feared from that big buck nigger than his master, when it comes to a struggle. If it should prove that the Custos is sick—I hope it is so—he won’t be in a condition to make much use of his weapons; andcarrambo! we must get hold of them before he knows what we’re after!”
“Hadn’t we better go round first?” counselled the sagacious Andres. “Let us explore the back of the hut, and see whether the other horse is there. If he’s not, then certainly the negro’s gone off on some errand! We can steal through the bushes to the other side, and get right up to the walls without any danger of being seen!”
“That’s our plan,camarado. Let’s lose no time, then, for, if it be so that Blackskin’s abroad, we’re in luck. We mayn’t find such another chance—not between here and the world’s end. Follow me,hombre! and set down your feet as if you were stepping upon eggs with young birds in them.Vamos!”
So saying, the chief of the twocaçadoresskulked in among the trees, closely followed by his companion.
After making a circuit through the underwood, the assassins stole silently in towards the back of the hovel.
They saw no other horse—only the grey, which stood tied to the tree in front. The bay was gone, and in all probability his rider. Andres already congratulated himself upon his conjecture being correct: the negro had ridden off upon some errand.
This was put beyond all doubt by their perceiving the fresh tracks of a horse, leading away from the hut along the road towards Content. The hoof-prints were so plain as to be visible at some distance. The turf on the road-edge was torn up, and deeply indented—where the negro groom had urged his horse into a gallop.
The assassins saw this, even without returning to the road; and were now satisfied that the attendant was gone away. It only remained to make sure that the traveller himself was inside the hut.
Creeping cautiously up to the wall, thecaçadorespeeped through the unclayed chinks of the cabin.
At first the darkness inside hindered them from distinguishing any object in particular. Presently, as their eyes grew more accustomed to the obscurity, they succeeded in making out the bamboo bedstead in the corner, with something that resembled the figure of a man stretched lengthwise upon it. A dark cloak covered the form, the face as well; but the feet, booted and spurred, protruding from under the cover, told that it was a man who was lying in that outstretched attitude—the man who was to be murdered!
He appeared to be sound asleep: there was no motion perceptible—not even as much as would indicate that he breathed!
Lying on the floor, at some distance from the couch, was a hat, and beside it a pair of pistols, in their holsters—as if the traveller had unbuckled them from his belt, and flung them down, before going to sleep. Even if awake he could scarce get hold of the pistols, before his assailants could spring upon him.
The assassins looked towards one another with a significant glance. The fates appeared to favour their attempt; and, as both on the instant were actuated by the same sanguinary instinct, they leaped simultaneously to their feet, drew their sharpmachetés, and rushed together through the doorway.
“Matelo! matelo!” (kill him!) cried both, in the same voice, each with a view of encouraging the other; and, as they uttered the cruel cry, they buried the blades in the body of the unresisting traveller—stabbing it repeatedly through the cloak.
Convinced that they had finished their bloody work, the murderers were about to rush out again—probably with an eye to the saddlebags outside, when it occurred to them as strange that the victim of their hired villainy should have kept so quiet. In their frenzied excitement—while dealing what they supposed to be his death-blows—they had not stopped to notice anything odd in the behaviour of the man whom they were murdering. Now that the deed was done, and they could reflect more coolly, a sudden surprise seized upon them—springing from the circumstance that the wretched man had made not the slightest motion—had neither stirred nor cried out! Perhaps the first stab had gone right through his heart: for it was so intended by Andres, who had given it. But even that does not produce instantaneous death, and the man-hunters knew it. Besides, on the blade of Andres’macheté, as well as that of his comrade,there was no blood!
It was very strange. Could the cloak or under-garments have wiped it off? Partially they might, but not altogether! Their blades were wet, but not with blood—of that they showed scarce a stain!
“It’s a queer thing, comrade,” exclaimed Manuel. “I could almost fancy—Vaya! Lift the cloak, and let’s have a look at him.”
The other, stepping closer to the couch, stooped forward, and raised the fold of the camlet from the face of the murdered man.
As he did so, his hand came in contact with the cold skin, while his glance fell upon the stiffened features of a corpse—upon eyes whose dull, blank film showed that the light had long since forsaken them!
The assassin stayed not for a second look. With a cry of terror he let go the garment; and rushed towards the door, followed by his equally terrified companion.
In another moment both would have escaped outside; and perhaps have taken the back track, without thinking any more about the saddlebags; but just as Andres had set foot upon the door-sill, he saw before him something that caused him to pull up, and with a precipitancy that brought his comrade with a violent concussion against his back.
The something which had led to this sudden interruption was the presence of three men, standing in a triangular row, scarce five paces from the door. Each was holding a gun, in such position, that its dark, hollow tube was visible to the eyes of the assassin—pointing directly upon himself.
The three men were of three distinct colours—white, yellow, and black; all three known to the man-hunter and his companion. They were Herbert Vaughan, Cubina, captain of Maroons, and Quaco, his lieutenant.
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty One.The Capture of the Caçadores.The black, though presumably the lowest in rank, was the first to break speech.“No, ye don’t!” cried he, moving his musket up and down, while still keeping it levelled upon the foremost of thecaçadores. “No, Mister Jack Spaniard, not a foot d’you set outside that door till we see what you’ve been a-doin’ ’ithin there. Steady, now, or thar’s an ounce of lead into yer garlicky inside! Steady!”“Surrender!” commanded Cubina, in a firm, authoritative voice, and with a threatening gesture, which, though less demonstrative than that of his lieutenant, was equally indicative of determination. “Drop yourmachetés, and yield at once! Resistance will only cost you your lives.”“Come, my Spanish worthies,” said Herbert, “you know me! I advise you to do as you’re bid. If there’s nothing against you, I promise no harm—Ha! ’ware heels!” he continued, in sharp haste, observing that the Spaniards were looking over their shoulders, as if intending to escape by the back of the hut. “Don’t attempt to run away. You’ll be caught, no matter how fast you go. I’ve got two barrels here; and each is good for a bird on the wing. Show your backs, and they’ll be preciously peppered, I promise you.”“Carajo!” hissed out the older of thecaçadores. “What do you want with us?”“Ay!” added the other, in a tone of innocent reproach; “what have we been doing to make all thisfanfaronabout?”“What have you been doing?” rejoined the Maroon captain: “that’s just what we desire to know, and are determined upon knowing.”“There is nothing to be known,” answered the man, speaking with an air of assumed simplicity; “at the least, nothing that’s very particular. We were on our way to Savanna—me and my comrade here—”“Stach yer palaver!” cried Quaco, becoming impatient, and pushing the muzzle of his musket within an inch of the Spaniard’s ribs. “Did ye hear the cappen tell ye to drop yer toastin’ forks and surrender? Down with ’em this minnit, I say, an’ do yer jaw-waggin’ atterwards!”Thus threatened, either with a poke in the ribs, or, perhaps, a bullet between them, Andres sulkily let fall hismachetéupon the floor—an action that was instantly imitated by his senior and superior.“Now, my braves!” proceeded the black lieutenant, still holding his huge gun to the Spaniard’s breast; “lest ye mout be wantin’ to gie us leg-bail, you muss submit to be trussed a trifle. Down upon yer behinds, both o’ ye; and keep that way till I get the cords and skewers ready.”Thecaçadoresperfectly understood the order; and, perceiving that there was no chance for disobedience, squatted down upon the floor—each on the spot where he had been standing.Quaco now picked up the twomachetés, placing them beyond the reach of theirci-devantowners. Then, handing his great gun over to the care of Cubina—who with Herbert was left to guard the prisoners—he walked off to a short distance among the trees.Presently he returned, trailing after him a long creeping plant that resembled a piece of cord, and carrying two short sticks, each about three feet in length.All this was accomplished with as much celerity, and in as brief a space of time, as if he had simply taken the articles from an adjacent store-room.Meanwhile, Cubina and Herbert had kept their guns still pointed upon the twocaçadores: for it was evident that the villains were most eager to get off; and as it was now nearly night, had the least chance been allowed them, they might have succeeded in escaping through the darkness.Their captors were determined they should have no chance: for although neither Herbert nor Cubina could see into the obscure interior of the cabin, and were as yet ignorant of the fearful spectacle that there awaited them, they had reason to suspect that the Spaniards had either intended some dark deed, or had already committed it. They had learnt something along the road of the progress of thecaçadores, and their mode of journeying, which, to more than one whom they met, had appeared mysterious.The horse standing tied to the tree—caparisoned as he was for travel—that was the most suspicious circumstance of all. Though none of the three pursuers recognised the animal as belonging to Custos Vaughan, as soon as they set eyes upon it they had felt a presentiment that they had arrived too late.The wild haste with which the Spaniards were rushing from the cabin when intercepted at the door, almost confirmed their unpleasant foreboding; and before any of the three had entered the hut, they were half prepared to find that it contained a corpse—perhaps more than one, for the disappearance of Pluto was not yet explained.Quaco, habile in handling cordage of all kinds, more especially the many sorts of supple withes with which the trees of a Jamaica forest are laced together, soon tied the two Spaniards wrist to wrist, and ankle to ankle, as tightly as could have been done by the most accomplished gaoler. A long practice in binding runaway blacks had made Quaco an expert in that department, which, indeed, constitutes part of the professional training of a Maroon.The captors had already entered within the cabin, now dark as death itself. For some moments they stood upon the floor, their eyes endeavouring to read the gloom around them. Silent they stood—so still, that they could hear their own breathing, with that of the two prisoners upon the floor. At length, in the corner, they could dimly make out something like the form of a man lying stretched upon a low bedstead.Quaco, though not without some trepidation, approached it. Stooping down, he applied his hand to it with cautious touch.“A man!” muttered he: “eyther asleep or dead.“Dead!” he ejaculated the instant after, as, in groping about, his fingers chanced to fall upon the chill forehead—“dead and cold!”Cubina and Herbert stepping forward, and stooping over the corpse, verified the assertion of Quaco.Whose body was it? It might not be that of Loftus Vaughan! It might be the black attendant, Pluto!No! it was not a black man. It needed no light to show that. The touch of the hair was sufficient to tell that a white man lay dead upon the couch.“Catch me one of thosecocuyos!” said the Maroon captain, speaking to his lieutenant.Quaco stepped outside the hut. Low down along the verge of the forest were flitting little sparks, that appeared to be a galaxy of stars in motion. These were thelampyridae, or small fire-flies. It was not with these Quaco had to do. Here and there, at longer intervals, could be seen much larger sparks, of a golden green colour. It was the great winged beetle—thecocuyo(Pyrophorus Nectilucus.)—that emitted this lovely light.Doffing his old hat-crown, Quaco used it as an insect-net; and, after a few strokes, succeeded in capturing acocuyo.With this he returned into the hut, and, crossing over, held it near the head of the corpse.He did not content himself with the gold green light which the insect emits from the two eyelike tubercles on its thorax. The forest-craft of Quaco enabled him to produce a brighter and better.Holding open the elytra with his fingers, and bending back the abdomen with his thumb, he exposed that oval disc of orange light—only seen when the insect is on the wing.A circle of a yard in diameter was illuminated by the phosphoric glow. In that circle was the face of a dead man; and sufficiently bright was the lamp of thecocuyo, to enable the spectators to identify the ghastly lineaments as those of the Custos Vaughan.
The black, though presumably the lowest in rank, was the first to break speech.
“No, ye don’t!” cried he, moving his musket up and down, while still keeping it levelled upon the foremost of thecaçadores. “No, Mister Jack Spaniard, not a foot d’you set outside that door till we see what you’ve been a-doin’ ’ithin there. Steady, now, or thar’s an ounce of lead into yer garlicky inside! Steady!”
“Surrender!” commanded Cubina, in a firm, authoritative voice, and with a threatening gesture, which, though less demonstrative than that of his lieutenant, was equally indicative of determination. “Drop yourmachetés, and yield at once! Resistance will only cost you your lives.”
“Come, my Spanish worthies,” said Herbert, “you know me! I advise you to do as you’re bid. If there’s nothing against you, I promise no harm—Ha! ’ware heels!” he continued, in sharp haste, observing that the Spaniards were looking over their shoulders, as if intending to escape by the back of the hut. “Don’t attempt to run away. You’ll be caught, no matter how fast you go. I’ve got two barrels here; and each is good for a bird on the wing. Show your backs, and they’ll be preciously peppered, I promise you.”
“Carajo!” hissed out the older of thecaçadores. “What do you want with us?”
“Ay!” added the other, in a tone of innocent reproach; “what have we been doing to make all thisfanfaronabout?”
“What have you been doing?” rejoined the Maroon captain: “that’s just what we desire to know, and are determined upon knowing.”
“There is nothing to be known,” answered the man, speaking with an air of assumed simplicity; “at the least, nothing that’s very particular. We were on our way to Savanna—me and my comrade here—”
“Stach yer palaver!” cried Quaco, becoming impatient, and pushing the muzzle of his musket within an inch of the Spaniard’s ribs. “Did ye hear the cappen tell ye to drop yer toastin’ forks and surrender? Down with ’em this minnit, I say, an’ do yer jaw-waggin’ atterwards!”
Thus threatened, either with a poke in the ribs, or, perhaps, a bullet between them, Andres sulkily let fall hismachetéupon the floor—an action that was instantly imitated by his senior and superior.
“Now, my braves!” proceeded the black lieutenant, still holding his huge gun to the Spaniard’s breast; “lest ye mout be wantin’ to gie us leg-bail, you muss submit to be trussed a trifle. Down upon yer behinds, both o’ ye; and keep that way till I get the cords and skewers ready.”
Thecaçadoresperfectly understood the order; and, perceiving that there was no chance for disobedience, squatted down upon the floor—each on the spot where he had been standing.
Quaco now picked up the twomachetés, placing them beyond the reach of theirci-devantowners. Then, handing his great gun over to the care of Cubina—who with Herbert was left to guard the prisoners—he walked off to a short distance among the trees.
Presently he returned, trailing after him a long creeping plant that resembled a piece of cord, and carrying two short sticks, each about three feet in length.
All this was accomplished with as much celerity, and in as brief a space of time, as if he had simply taken the articles from an adjacent store-room.
Meanwhile, Cubina and Herbert had kept their guns still pointed upon the twocaçadores: for it was evident that the villains were most eager to get off; and as it was now nearly night, had the least chance been allowed them, they might have succeeded in escaping through the darkness.
Their captors were determined they should have no chance: for although neither Herbert nor Cubina could see into the obscure interior of the cabin, and were as yet ignorant of the fearful spectacle that there awaited them, they had reason to suspect that the Spaniards had either intended some dark deed, or had already committed it. They had learnt something along the road of the progress of thecaçadores, and their mode of journeying, which, to more than one whom they met, had appeared mysterious.
The horse standing tied to the tree—caparisoned as he was for travel—that was the most suspicious circumstance of all. Though none of the three pursuers recognised the animal as belonging to Custos Vaughan, as soon as they set eyes upon it they had felt a presentiment that they had arrived too late.
The wild haste with which the Spaniards were rushing from the cabin when intercepted at the door, almost confirmed their unpleasant foreboding; and before any of the three had entered the hut, they were half prepared to find that it contained a corpse—perhaps more than one, for the disappearance of Pluto was not yet explained.
Quaco, habile in handling cordage of all kinds, more especially the many sorts of supple withes with which the trees of a Jamaica forest are laced together, soon tied the two Spaniards wrist to wrist, and ankle to ankle, as tightly as could have been done by the most accomplished gaoler. A long practice in binding runaway blacks had made Quaco an expert in that department, which, indeed, constitutes part of the professional training of a Maroon.
The captors had already entered within the cabin, now dark as death itself. For some moments they stood upon the floor, their eyes endeavouring to read the gloom around them. Silent they stood—so still, that they could hear their own breathing, with that of the two prisoners upon the floor. At length, in the corner, they could dimly make out something like the form of a man lying stretched upon a low bedstead.
Quaco, though not without some trepidation, approached it. Stooping down, he applied his hand to it with cautious touch.
“A man!” muttered he: “eyther asleep or dead.
“Dead!” he ejaculated the instant after, as, in groping about, his fingers chanced to fall upon the chill forehead—“dead and cold!”
Cubina and Herbert stepping forward, and stooping over the corpse, verified the assertion of Quaco.
Whose body was it? It might not be that of Loftus Vaughan! It might be the black attendant, Pluto!
No! it was not a black man. It needed no light to show that. The touch of the hair was sufficient to tell that a white man lay dead upon the couch.
“Catch me one of thosecocuyos!” said the Maroon captain, speaking to his lieutenant.
Quaco stepped outside the hut. Low down along the verge of the forest were flitting little sparks, that appeared to be a galaxy of stars in motion. These were thelampyridae, or small fire-flies. It was not with these Quaco had to do. Here and there, at longer intervals, could be seen much larger sparks, of a golden green colour. It was the great winged beetle—thecocuyo(Pyrophorus Nectilucus.)—that emitted this lovely light.
Doffing his old hat-crown, Quaco used it as an insect-net; and, after a few strokes, succeeded in capturing acocuyo.
With this he returned into the hut, and, crossing over, held it near the head of the corpse.
He did not content himself with the gold green light which the insect emits from the two eyelike tubercles on its thorax. The forest-craft of Quaco enabled him to produce a brighter and better.
Holding open the elytra with his fingers, and bending back the abdomen with his thumb, he exposed that oval disc of orange light—only seen when the insect is on the wing.
A circle of a yard in diameter was illuminated by the phosphoric glow. In that circle was the face of a dead man; and sufficiently bright was the lamp of thecocuyo, to enable the spectators to identify the ghastly lineaments as those of the Custos Vaughan.
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Two.A Double Murder.None of the three started or felt surprise. That had been gradually passing: for before this their presentiment had become almost a conviction.Quaco simply uttered one of those exclamations that proclaim a climax; Cubina felt chagrined—disappointed in more ways than one; while Herbert gave way to grief—though less than he might have done, had his relative more deserved his sorrow.It was natural they should inquire into the circumstances of the Custos’s death. Now, firmly believing he had been murdered, and by thecaçadores, they proceeded to make an examination of the body.Mystery of mysteries! a dozen stabs by some sharp instrument, and no blood! Wounds through the breast, the abdomen, the heart—all clean cut punctures, and yet no gore—no extravasation!“Who gave the stabs? you did this, you wretches!” cried Herbert, turning fiercely upon theemployésof Jessuron.“Carrambo! why should we do such a thing, master?” innocently inquired Andres. “The alcalde was dead before we came up.”“Spanish palaver!” cried Quaco. “Look at these blades!” he continued, taking up the twomachetés, “they’re wet now! ’Ta’nt blood azzactly; but somethin’—. See,” he exclaimed, holding hiscocuyoover the wounds, and presenting one of themachetésto the light, “they fit to these holes like a cork to a bottle. ’Twere they that made em, nothin’ but they, an’ you did it, ye ugly skinks!”“By the Virgin, Señor Quaco!” replied Andres, “you wrong us. I’ll swear on the holy evangelists,wedidn’t kill the alcalde—Custos, I mean.Carrambo! no. We were as much surprised as any of you, when we came in here and found him lying dead—just as he is now.”There was an air of sincerity in the declaration of the wretch that rendered it difficult to believe in his guilt—that is, the guilt of him and his companion as the real murderers, though their intention to have been so was clear enough to Cubina.“Crambo! why did you stab him?” said he to the two prisoners. “You need not deny that you did that.”“Señor capitan,” answered the crafty Andres, who in all delicate questions appeared to be spokesman, “we won’t deny that. It is true—I confess it with shame—that we did run our blades once or twice through the body.”“A dozen times, you John Crow!” corrected Quaco.“Well, Señor Quaco,” continued the Spaniard, “I won’t be particular about the number. There may have been a thrust or two less, or more. It was all a whim of my comrade, Manuel, here—a little bit of a wager between us.”“A wager for what?” asked Herbert.“Well, you see, master, we’d been journeying, as I’ve said already, to Savanna. We saw the horse tied outside this little rancho, and thought we would go in and see who was inside.Carrambo! what should we see but the body of a dead man lying stretched out on the bamboos!Santissima! Señores, we were as much startled as you!”“Terribly surprised, I suppose?” sarcastically spoke Cubina.“Nearly out of our senses, I assure you, señor.”“Go on, you wretch!” commanded Herbert. “Let us hear what tale you have to tell.”“Well!” said thecaçadore, resuming his narration, “after a while we got a little over our fright—as one naturally does, you know—and then Manuel says to me, ‘Andres!’ ‘What is it, Manuel?’ said I. ‘Do you think,’ said he, ‘that blood would run out of a dead body?’ ‘Certainly not,’ said I; ‘not a drop.’ ‘I’ll bet you five pesos it will,’ challenged mycamarado. ‘Done!’ said I; and then, to settle the thing, we—I acknowledge it—did run ourmachetésthrough the body of the Custos—of course, we could do him no harm then.”“Monsters!” exclaimed Herbert; “it was almost as bad as killing him! What a horrid tale! Ha! you wretches, notwithstanding its ingenuity, it’ll not save your necks from a halter!”“Oh, señorito,” said Andres, appealingly, “we’ve done nothing to deserve that. I can assure you we are both right sorry for what we’ve done. Ain’t you sorry, Manuel?”“Carrai! that I am,” earnestly answered Manuel.“We both regretted it afterwards,” continued Andres, “and to make up for what we had done, we took the cloak and spread it decently over the body—in order that the poor alcalde should rest in peace.”“Liar!” cried Quaco, throwing the light of hiscocuyoon the corpse. “You did no such thing; you stabbed himthroughthe cloak. Look there!”And as Quaco gave this indignant denial, he pointed to the cuts in the cloth to prove the falsehood of the Spaniard’s statement.“Carrai-ai-i!” stammered out the confounded Andres. “Sure enough there’s a cut or two. Oh, now I recollect: we first covered him up. It was after we did that, we then made the bet—didn’t we, Manuel?”Manuel’s reply was not heard: for at that instant the hoof-strokes of horses were heard in front of the hut; and the shadowy forms of two horsemen could be distinguished just outside the doorway.It was the black groom, who had returned from Content, accompanied by the overseer of the estate.Shortly after a number of negroes appeared on foot, carrying a stretcher.Their purpose was to convey the sick man to Content.Circumstances had occurred to make a change in the character of their duty.
None of the three started or felt surprise. That had been gradually passing: for before this their presentiment had become almost a conviction.
Quaco simply uttered one of those exclamations that proclaim a climax; Cubina felt chagrined—disappointed in more ways than one; while Herbert gave way to grief—though less than he might have done, had his relative more deserved his sorrow.
It was natural they should inquire into the circumstances of the Custos’s death. Now, firmly believing he had been murdered, and by thecaçadores, they proceeded to make an examination of the body.
Mystery of mysteries! a dozen stabs by some sharp instrument, and no blood! Wounds through the breast, the abdomen, the heart—all clean cut punctures, and yet no gore—no extravasation!
“Who gave the stabs? you did this, you wretches!” cried Herbert, turning fiercely upon theemployésof Jessuron.
“Carrambo! why should we do such a thing, master?” innocently inquired Andres. “The alcalde was dead before we came up.”
“Spanish palaver!” cried Quaco. “Look at these blades!” he continued, taking up the twomachetés, “they’re wet now! ’Ta’nt blood azzactly; but somethin’—. See,” he exclaimed, holding hiscocuyoover the wounds, and presenting one of themachetésto the light, “they fit to these holes like a cork to a bottle. ’Twere they that made em, nothin’ but they, an’ you did it, ye ugly skinks!”
“By the Virgin, Señor Quaco!” replied Andres, “you wrong us. I’ll swear on the holy evangelists,wedidn’t kill the alcalde—Custos, I mean.Carrambo! no. We were as much surprised as any of you, when we came in here and found him lying dead—just as he is now.”
There was an air of sincerity in the declaration of the wretch that rendered it difficult to believe in his guilt—that is, the guilt of him and his companion as the real murderers, though their intention to have been so was clear enough to Cubina.
“Crambo! why did you stab him?” said he to the two prisoners. “You need not deny that you did that.”
“Señor capitan,” answered the crafty Andres, who in all delicate questions appeared to be spokesman, “we won’t deny that. It is true—I confess it with shame—that we did run our blades once or twice through the body.”
“A dozen times, you John Crow!” corrected Quaco.
“Well, Señor Quaco,” continued the Spaniard, “I won’t be particular about the number. There may have been a thrust or two less, or more. It was all a whim of my comrade, Manuel, here—a little bit of a wager between us.”
“A wager for what?” asked Herbert.
“Well, you see, master, we’d been journeying, as I’ve said already, to Savanna. We saw the horse tied outside this little rancho, and thought we would go in and see who was inside.Carrambo! what should we see but the body of a dead man lying stretched out on the bamboos!Santissima! Señores, we were as much startled as you!”
“Terribly surprised, I suppose?” sarcastically spoke Cubina.
“Nearly out of our senses, I assure you, señor.”
“Go on, you wretch!” commanded Herbert. “Let us hear what tale you have to tell.”
“Well!” said thecaçadore, resuming his narration, “after a while we got a little over our fright—as one naturally does, you know—and then Manuel says to me, ‘Andres!’ ‘What is it, Manuel?’ said I. ‘Do you think,’ said he, ‘that blood would run out of a dead body?’ ‘Certainly not,’ said I; ‘not a drop.’ ‘I’ll bet you five pesos it will,’ challenged mycamarado. ‘Done!’ said I; and then, to settle the thing, we—I acknowledge it—did run ourmachetésthrough the body of the Custos—of course, we could do him no harm then.”
“Monsters!” exclaimed Herbert; “it was almost as bad as killing him! What a horrid tale! Ha! you wretches, notwithstanding its ingenuity, it’ll not save your necks from a halter!”
“Oh, señorito,” said Andres, appealingly, “we’ve done nothing to deserve that. I can assure you we are both right sorry for what we’ve done. Ain’t you sorry, Manuel?”
“Carrai! that I am,” earnestly answered Manuel.
“We both regretted it afterwards,” continued Andres, “and to make up for what we had done, we took the cloak and spread it decently over the body—in order that the poor alcalde should rest in peace.”
“Liar!” cried Quaco, throwing the light of hiscocuyoon the corpse. “You did no such thing; you stabbed himthroughthe cloak. Look there!”
And as Quaco gave this indignant denial, he pointed to the cuts in the cloth to prove the falsehood of the Spaniard’s statement.
“Carrai-ai-i!” stammered out the confounded Andres. “Sure enough there’s a cut or two. Oh, now I recollect: we first covered him up. It was after we did that, we then made the bet—didn’t we, Manuel?”
Manuel’s reply was not heard: for at that instant the hoof-strokes of horses were heard in front of the hut; and the shadowy forms of two horsemen could be distinguished just outside the doorway.
It was the black groom, who had returned from Content, accompanied by the overseer of the estate.
Shortly after a number of negroes appeared on foot, carrying a stretcher.
Their purpose was to convey the sick man to Content.
Circumstances had occurred to make a change in the character of their duty.
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Three.Chakra on the Back Track.Of the three magistrates who condemned the Coromantee, one had been slumbering in his grave for six months; the second, about that number of days; and the third—the great Custos himself—was now a corpse!Of all three had the myal-man been the murderer; though in the case of the first two there had been no suspicion of foul play, or, at least, not enough to challenge inquest or investigation. Both had died of lingering diseases, bearing a certain resemblance to each other; and though partaking very much of the nature of a wasting, intermittent fever, yet exhibiting symptoms that were new and strange—so strange as to baffle the skill of the Jamaican disciples of Aesculapius.About the death of either one Chakra had not felt the slightest apprehension—nor would he even had an investigation arisen. In neither murder had his hand appeared. Both had been accomplished by the invisible agency of Obi, that at this period held mysterious existence on every plantation in the Island.With the assassination of the Custos, however, it was different. Circumstances had caused that event to be hurried, and there was danger—as Chakra himself had admitted—that the spell of Obi might be mistaken for a spell of poison. A death so sudden, and by natural causes inexplicable, would, undoubtedly, provoke speculation, and lead to the opening and examining of the body.Chakra knew that inside would be found something stronger than even the sap of the Savanna flower or the branchedcalalue; and that in all probability the malady to which the Custos had succumbed would be pronouncedmurder.With this upon his mind, he was not without apprehension—his fears pointing to Cynthia.Not that he suspected thehonestyof his confederate; but only that herconsistencymight be too weak to withstand the cross-questioning of a coroner.Fearing this, he had scarce got out of sight of the Custos’s corpse before he commenced contriving how Cynthia’s tongue could be tied—in other words, how the mulatta was to be made away with.Upon this design his thoughts were for the moment bent.He had less, if any, apprehension about his other accomplice in the crime. He fancied that Jessuron was himself too deeply dyed to point out the spots upon his fellow-conspirator; and this rendered him confident of secrecy on the part of the Jew.Neither did he dwell long upon the danger to be apprehended from Cynthia, and so trivial a matter as the silencing of her tongue soon became obliterated or blended with another and far more important project, to the execution of which he was now hastening.On leaving the hut where lay the dead body of his victim, he had taken to by-paths and bushes. Only for a short time did he keep to these. The twilight rapidly darkening into night left the highway free to him; and, availing himself of this privilege, he returned to it—showing by his hurried steps, as he regained the road, that he was glad to escape from a circuitous path.His face once more set towards the Trelawney hills, he walked in silence, and with a rapidity scarce credible—his long, ape-like legs, split trestle fashion to the centre of his body, enabling him to glide over the ground almost as fast as a mule could mince.Whenever anyone appeared upon the road before him, he adopted his customary plan of betaking himself to the bushes until they had passed; but when travellers chanced to be going the same way—which more than once did happen—he avoided an encounter by making a circuit through the woods, and coming out far ahead of them.The trouble thus taken to gain time, as well as the earnest manner with which the myal-man was hastening forward, proved that the crime just committed was not the crisis of Chakra’s villainies; but that some other evil purpose—to him of equal or greater import—was yet before him; and soon to be achieved, or, at least, attempted.Following back the main route between Savanna-la-Mer and the Bay, he at length arrived at the Carrion Crow Road, and, after traversing this for some distance, came within view of the Jumbé Rock, now glancing with vitreous sheen in the clear moonlight.Almost as soon as he had caught sight of the well-known land-mark, he forsook the road; and struck off into a by-path that led through the woods.This path, trending diagonally up the side of the Jumbé mountain, and passing near the base of the rock, was the same which Herbert Vaughan and the two Maroons had traversed on their way from the Happy Valley on that same morning.Chakra, however, knew nothing of this; nor aught either of the design or expedition of Cubina and his comrades. Equally ignorant was he of the errand on which Jessuron had dispatched his Cuban emissaries—by way of having his bow twice stringed.The Coromantee, fancying himself the only player in that game of murder, had no idea that there were others interested in it as much as he; and although once or twice during the day he had seen men moving suspiciously behind him along the road, it had never occurred to him who they were—much less that they had been deputed to complete his own job, should the “spell” fail to prove sufficiently potent.A somewhat longdétour—which he had taken after leaving the hut—had brought him out on the main road behind both parties; and thus had he remained ignorant of their proximity, at the same time that he had himself escaped the observation both of the villains who intended to assassinate the Custos, and of the men who were pressing forward to save him.Still continuing his rapid stride, Chakra climbed the mountain slope, with the agility of one accustomed to the most difficult paths.On arriving under the Jumbé Rock, he halted—not with any intention of remaining there, but only to consider.He looked up towards the summit of the cliff, in whose dark shadow he was standing; and then, raising his eyes still higher, he gazed for a short while upon the sky. His glance betrayed that interrogative scrutiny characteristic of one who, not being furnished with a watch, endeavours to ascertain the time. Chakra needed no watch. By day, the sun was sufficient to inform him of the hour; by night the stars, which were old and familiar acquaintances.The sinking of Orion towards the silvered surface of the sea told him that in two hours, or thereabout, no stars would be seen.“Kupple ob hour!” muttered he, after making the observation; “woan do—woan do. By de time I get to de Duppy Hole fo’ de lamp, an’ den back to de rock fo’ fix um—It woan do! Adam an’ his men de better part ob an hour ’fore dey ked climb up hya; an’ den it be daylight.Daatwoan do nohow. Muss be done in de night, else we git follered, an’ de Duppy Hole no longer safe ’treat fo’ Chakra. Mussent risk dat, whasomebber a do.“Whugh!” he continued, after reflecting a moment, and with a look of villainous chagrin overspreading his countenance; “’tam a piece of cuss crooked luck fo’ me no’ be hya ’bout two hour soona. Dat ’ud ’a been s’fishint to got ’em all up in time; an’ dar wud den a been gobs o’ time to ’complish de whole bizness.“Nebba mind!” cried he, after a pause, and rousing himself from the attitude of reflection; “nebba mind, ye old Coromantee fool! ’morra night do jess as well. Den dar be plenty ob time. ’Taint like dey get de dead corpus ob de Cussus back to de Buff afore two, tree day; an’ ef dat ere nigga fotch de news, it do no harm. Maybe do good, in de ’fusion it make ’bout de place. Nebba mind. It be all right fo’ ’morr’ night. ’Fore dis time ob de mornin’ de Lilly Quasheba—de beau’ful dauter ob dat proud quaderoom—she sleep in de ’brace o’ ole Chakra de myal-man. Whugh!“Two hour ’fore day,” added he, after a longer pause, in which he appeared to gloat over his fiendish expectations; “two hour. I’se jess hab time go down to de Jew penn, an’ den back to de Duppy Hole ’fore daylight. Dat ole sinner, he want know what’s a been done; an’ a want get de balance ob dat fifty poun’. A mout stan’ need ob de money, now a’s a-gwine ta hab a wife, an’ take to de keepin’ ob a ’tablishment. Ha! ha! ha!”And as he gave utterance to the laugh, the prospective bridegroom once more put his hideous form in motion, and followed the path leading to the Jew’s penn.
Of the three magistrates who condemned the Coromantee, one had been slumbering in his grave for six months; the second, about that number of days; and the third—the great Custos himself—was now a corpse!
Of all three had the myal-man been the murderer; though in the case of the first two there had been no suspicion of foul play, or, at least, not enough to challenge inquest or investigation. Both had died of lingering diseases, bearing a certain resemblance to each other; and though partaking very much of the nature of a wasting, intermittent fever, yet exhibiting symptoms that were new and strange—so strange as to baffle the skill of the Jamaican disciples of Aesculapius.
About the death of either one Chakra had not felt the slightest apprehension—nor would he even had an investigation arisen. In neither murder had his hand appeared. Both had been accomplished by the invisible agency of Obi, that at this period held mysterious existence on every plantation in the Island.
With the assassination of the Custos, however, it was different. Circumstances had caused that event to be hurried, and there was danger—as Chakra himself had admitted—that the spell of Obi might be mistaken for a spell of poison. A death so sudden, and by natural causes inexplicable, would, undoubtedly, provoke speculation, and lead to the opening and examining of the body.
Chakra knew that inside would be found something stronger than even the sap of the Savanna flower or the branchedcalalue; and that in all probability the malady to which the Custos had succumbed would be pronouncedmurder.
With this upon his mind, he was not without apprehension—his fears pointing to Cynthia.
Not that he suspected thehonestyof his confederate; but only that herconsistencymight be too weak to withstand the cross-questioning of a coroner.
Fearing this, he had scarce got out of sight of the Custos’s corpse before he commenced contriving how Cynthia’s tongue could be tied—in other words, how the mulatta was to be made away with.
Upon this design his thoughts were for the moment bent.
He had less, if any, apprehension about his other accomplice in the crime. He fancied that Jessuron was himself too deeply dyed to point out the spots upon his fellow-conspirator; and this rendered him confident of secrecy on the part of the Jew.
Neither did he dwell long upon the danger to be apprehended from Cynthia, and so trivial a matter as the silencing of her tongue soon became obliterated or blended with another and far more important project, to the execution of which he was now hastening.
On leaving the hut where lay the dead body of his victim, he had taken to by-paths and bushes. Only for a short time did he keep to these. The twilight rapidly darkening into night left the highway free to him; and, availing himself of this privilege, he returned to it—showing by his hurried steps, as he regained the road, that he was glad to escape from a circuitous path.
His face once more set towards the Trelawney hills, he walked in silence, and with a rapidity scarce credible—his long, ape-like legs, split trestle fashion to the centre of his body, enabling him to glide over the ground almost as fast as a mule could mince.
Whenever anyone appeared upon the road before him, he adopted his customary plan of betaking himself to the bushes until they had passed; but when travellers chanced to be going the same way—which more than once did happen—he avoided an encounter by making a circuit through the woods, and coming out far ahead of them.
The trouble thus taken to gain time, as well as the earnest manner with which the myal-man was hastening forward, proved that the crime just committed was not the crisis of Chakra’s villainies; but that some other evil purpose—to him of equal or greater import—was yet before him; and soon to be achieved, or, at least, attempted.
Following back the main route between Savanna-la-Mer and the Bay, he at length arrived at the Carrion Crow Road, and, after traversing this for some distance, came within view of the Jumbé Rock, now glancing with vitreous sheen in the clear moonlight.
Almost as soon as he had caught sight of the well-known land-mark, he forsook the road; and struck off into a by-path that led through the woods.
This path, trending diagonally up the side of the Jumbé mountain, and passing near the base of the rock, was the same which Herbert Vaughan and the two Maroons had traversed on their way from the Happy Valley on that same morning.
Chakra, however, knew nothing of this; nor aught either of the design or expedition of Cubina and his comrades. Equally ignorant was he of the errand on which Jessuron had dispatched his Cuban emissaries—by way of having his bow twice stringed.
The Coromantee, fancying himself the only player in that game of murder, had no idea that there were others interested in it as much as he; and although once or twice during the day he had seen men moving suspiciously behind him along the road, it had never occurred to him who they were—much less that they had been deputed to complete his own job, should the “spell” fail to prove sufficiently potent.
A somewhat longdétour—which he had taken after leaving the hut—had brought him out on the main road behind both parties; and thus had he remained ignorant of their proximity, at the same time that he had himself escaped the observation both of the villains who intended to assassinate the Custos, and of the men who were pressing forward to save him.
Still continuing his rapid stride, Chakra climbed the mountain slope, with the agility of one accustomed to the most difficult paths.
On arriving under the Jumbé Rock, he halted—not with any intention of remaining there, but only to consider.
He looked up towards the summit of the cliff, in whose dark shadow he was standing; and then, raising his eyes still higher, he gazed for a short while upon the sky. His glance betrayed that interrogative scrutiny characteristic of one who, not being furnished with a watch, endeavours to ascertain the time. Chakra needed no watch. By day, the sun was sufficient to inform him of the hour; by night the stars, which were old and familiar acquaintances.
The sinking of Orion towards the silvered surface of the sea told him that in two hours, or thereabout, no stars would be seen.
“Kupple ob hour!” muttered he, after making the observation; “woan do—woan do. By de time I get to de Duppy Hole fo’ de lamp, an’ den back to de rock fo’ fix um—It woan do! Adam an’ his men de better part ob an hour ’fore dey ked climb up hya; an’ den it be daylight.Daatwoan do nohow. Muss be done in de night, else we git follered, an’ de Duppy Hole no longer safe ’treat fo’ Chakra. Mussent risk dat, whasomebber a do.
“Whugh!” he continued, after reflecting a moment, and with a look of villainous chagrin overspreading his countenance; “’tam a piece of cuss crooked luck fo’ me no’ be hya ’bout two hour soona. Dat ’ud ’a been s’fishint to got ’em all up in time; an’ dar wud den a been gobs o’ time to ’complish de whole bizness.
“Nebba mind!” cried he, after a pause, and rousing himself from the attitude of reflection; “nebba mind, ye old Coromantee fool! ’morra night do jess as well. Den dar be plenty ob time. ’Taint like dey get de dead corpus ob de Cussus back to de Buff afore two, tree day; an’ ef dat ere nigga fotch de news, it do no harm. Maybe do good, in de ’fusion it make ’bout de place. Nebba mind. It be all right fo’ ’morr’ night. ’Fore dis time ob de mornin’ de Lilly Quasheba—de beau’ful dauter ob dat proud quaderoom—she sleep in de ’brace o’ ole Chakra de myal-man. Whugh!
“Two hour ’fore day,” added he, after a longer pause, in which he appeared to gloat over his fiendish expectations; “two hour. I’se jess hab time go down to de Jew penn, an’ den back to de Duppy Hole ’fore daylight. Dat ole sinner, he want know what’s a been done; an’ a want get de balance ob dat fifty poun’. A mout stan’ need ob de money, now a’s a-gwine ta hab a wife, an’ take to de keepin’ ob a ’tablishment. Ha! ha! ha!”
And as he gave utterance to the laugh, the prospective bridegroom once more put his hideous form in motion, and followed the path leading to the Jew’s penn.