Volume Three—Chapter Thirty Seven.The Corpse of a Cousin.Yes, the temple of Obi was untenanted, save by those dumb deities that grinned grotesquely around its walls.To ascertain this fact it was not necessary to enter within the shrine of the Coromantee Pantheon. Nevertheless, Cubina and Herbert, as if moved by a mechanical impulse, rushed inside the door.They looked around with inquiring glances. There were signs of late occupation. The lighted lamp was of itself sufficient evidence of this. Who save Chakra could have lit it? It was a lamp of lard, burning in the carapace of a tortoise. It could not have been loner alight: since but little of the lard was consumed.There was no doubt that Chakra had been there, with his captive. That added nothing to the knowledge they possessed already: since Yola had witnessed their descent into the Duppy’s Hole.But why had the robber so suddenly forsaken this apparently safe retreat? That the lamp was left burning betokened a hasty departure. And whither could he have gone?“Oh, where?—oh, where?” distractedly interrogated Herbert.Cubina could make no answer. He was equally astonished at not finding the Coromantee within his hut.Had he once more gone out from the Duppy’s Hole? The position of the canoe gave colour to this conjecture. But why should he have done so? Had he caught sight of that agile girl gliding like a shadow after him? and, becoming suspicious that his retreat might be discovered, had he forsaken it for some other at a greater distance from the scene of his crime?In any case, why should he have left in such haste, not staying to put out the light—much less to carry with him his peculiar Penates?“After all,” thought Cubina, “he may still be in the Duppy’s Hole. The canoe may have been used by some one else—some confederate. Chakra might have seen his pursuers crossing the lagoon, or heard them advancing through the thicket, and, taking his captive along with him, may have hastily retreated into some dark recess among the trees.”His sudden abandonment of the hovel rendered this view of the case the more probable.Quick as came the thought, Cubina once more rushed out of the hut, and summoning his men around him, directed them to procure torches and search every corner of the wood. Quaco was despatched back to the canoe, with orders to stay by it, and prevent any chance of escape in that direction.While the Maroons proceeded to procure the torchwood, their chief, accompanied by Herbert, commenced quartering the open ground in search of any trace which Chakra might have left. By the edge of the water, where the trees stood thinly, the moon afforded ample light to favour the investigation.On advancing towards the cascade, an object came under the eyes of Cubina that caused him to utter a quick ejaculation. It was something white that lay by the side of the cauldron into which the stream was precipitated. Within the pool itself were broad flakes of white foam floating upon the water; but this was not in the water, but above it, on one of the boulders; and all the more conspicuous from the black colour of the rock.Herbert had seen the white object at the same instant of time, and both simultaneously ran forward to examine it.A scarf!It bore evidence of ill-usage. It was tossed and torn, as if it had fallen from someone who had been struggling!Neither could identify the scarf, but neither doubted to whom it had belonged. Its quality declared it to have been the property of a lady. Who else could have owned it but she for whom they were in search?Cubina appeared to pay less attention to the scarf than to the place in which it lay. It was close up to the cliff, on the very edge of the pool into which the stream was projected.Behind this pool, and under the curved sheets of the falling water, a sort of ledge ran across, by which one could pass under the cascade.Cubina knew this: for, while on his hunting excursions, he had gone under it. He knew, moreover, that, half way across, there was a large cave or grotto in the cliff, several feet above the water in the pool.As the scarf was found lying upon the ledge that conducted to this grotto, the circumstance caused the Maroon to remember it, at the same time that it guided him to the conjecture that Chakra might be there. Alarmed by their approach, there was nothing more likely than for the Coromantee to have chosen the cave for his place of retreat—the last place where anyone, not aware of its existence, would have thought of looking for him.These reflections cost Cubina scarce two seconds of time. Quick as the conjecture had shaped itself, he ran back to the hut; and, seizing a torch, which one of his men had prepared, he hurried back towards the cascade.Then, signing to Herbert, and one or two others to follow him, he glided under the canopy of falling waters.He proceeded not rashly, but with due caution. There might be others within the cave besides Chakra! His robber confederates might be there; and these the Maroon knew to be desperate characters—men of forfeit lives, who would die before suffering themselves to be captured.With his drawnmachetéin one hand, and the torch in the other, Cubina advanced silently and stealthily towards the entrance of the grotto. Herbert was close behind, grasping his double-barrelled gun, in readiness to fire, in case resistance should be offered from within.Holding the torch in advance of him, Cubina entered first, though Herbert, anxious and eager, was close upon his heels.The glare of the torch was reflected back from a thousand sparkling stalactites, and for a while the sight of both was bewildered.Soon, however, their eyes became accustomed to the dazzling coruscation; and then a white object, lying along the floor of the cave, seen by both at the same instant, caused them to utter a simultaneous cry—as they did so, turning to each other with looks of the most painful despair.Between two large masses of stalagmite was the body of a woman, robed in white. It was lying upon its back, stretched out to its full length—motionless; apparently dead!They needed not to pass the torch over that pale face to identify it. It was not necessary to scrutinise those wan, silent features. On first beholding the prostrate form, too easily had Herbert rushed to the sad conclusion—that it was the corpse of his cousin!
Yes, the temple of Obi was untenanted, save by those dumb deities that grinned grotesquely around its walls.
To ascertain this fact it was not necessary to enter within the shrine of the Coromantee Pantheon. Nevertheless, Cubina and Herbert, as if moved by a mechanical impulse, rushed inside the door.
They looked around with inquiring glances. There were signs of late occupation. The lighted lamp was of itself sufficient evidence of this. Who save Chakra could have lit it? It was a lamp of lard, burning in the carapace of a tortoise. It could not have been loner alight: since but little of the lard was consumed.
There was no doubt that Chakra had been there, with his captive. That added nothing to the knowledge they possessed already: since Yola had witnessed their descent into the Duppy’s Hole.
But why had the robber so suddenly forsaken this apparently safe retreat? That the lamp was left burning betokened a hasty departure. And whither could he have gone?
“Oh, where?—oh, where?” distractedly interrogated Herbert.
Cubina could make no answer. He was equally astonished at not finding the Coromantee within his hut.
Had he once more gone out from the Duppy’s Hole? The position of the canoe gave colour to this conjecture. But why should he have done so? Had he caught sight of that agile girl gliding like a shadow after him? and, becoming suspicious that his retreat might be discovered, had he forsaken it for some other at a greater distance from the scene of his crime?
In any case, why should he have left in such haste, not staying to put out the light—much less to carry with him his peculiar Penates?
“After all,” thought Cubina, “he may still be in the Duppy’s Hole. The canoe may have been used by some one else—some confederate. Chakra might have seen his pursuers crossing the lagoon, or heard them advancing through the thicket, and, taking his captive along with him, may have hastily retreated into some dark recess among the trees.”
His sudden abandonment of the hovel rendered this view of the case the more probable.
Quick as came the thought, Cubina once more rushed out of the hut, and summoning his men around him, directed them to procure torches and search every corner of the wood. Quaco was despatched back to the canoe, with orders to stay by it, and prevent any chance of escape in that direction.
While the Maroons proceeded to procure the torchwood, their chief, accompanied by Herbert, commenced quartering the open ground in search of any trace which Chakra might have left. By the edge of the water, where the trees stood thinly, the moon afforded ample light to favour the investigation.
On advancing towards the cascade, an object came under the eyes of Cubina that caused him to utter a quick ejaculation. It was something white that lay by the side of the cauldron into which the stream was precipitated. Within the pool itself were broad flakes of white foam floating upon the water; but this was not in the water, but above it, on one of the boulders; and all the more conspicuous from the black colour of the rock.
Herbert had seen the white object at the same instant of time, and both simultaneously ran forward to examine it.
A scarf!
It bore evidence of ill-usage. It was tossed and torn, as if it had fallen from someone who had been struggling!
Neither could identify the scarf, but neither doubted to whom it had belonged. Its quality declared it to have been the property of a lady. Who else could have owned it but she for whom they were in search?
Cubina appeared to pay less attention to the scarf than to the place in which it lay. It was close up to the cliff, on the very edge of the pool into which the stream was projected.
Behind this pool, and under the curved sheets of the falling water, a sort of ledge ran across, by which one could pass under the cascade.
Cubina knew this: for, while on his hunting excursions, he had gone under it. He knew, moreover, that, half way across, there was a large cave or grotto in the cliff, several feet above the water in the pool.
As the scarf was found lying upon the ledge that conducted to this grotto, the circumstance caused the Maroon to remember it, at the same time that it guided him to the conjecture that Chakra might be there. Alarmed by their approach, there was nothing more likely than for the Coromantee to have chosen the cave for his place of retreat—the last place where anyone, not aware of its existence, would have thought of looking for him.
These reflections cost Cubina scarce two seconds of time. Quick as the conjecture had shaped itself, he ran back to the hut; and, seizing a torch, which one of his men had prepared, he hurried back towards the cascade.
Then, signing to Herbert, and one or two others to follow him, he glided under the canopy of falling waters.
He proceeded not rashly, but with due caution. There might be others within the cave besides Chakra! His robber confederates might be there; and these the Maroon knew to be desperate characters—men of forfeit lives, who would die before suffering themselves to be captured.
With his drawnmachetéin one hand, and the torch in the other, Cubina advanced silently and stealthily towards the entrance of the grotto. Herbert was close behind, grasping his double-barrelled gun, in readiness to fire, in case resistance should be offered from within.
Holding the torch in advance of him, Cubina entered first, though Herbert, anxious and eager, was close upon his heels.
The glare of the torch was reflected back from a thousand sparkling stalactites, and for a while the sight of both was bewildered.
Soon, however, their eyes became accustomed to the dazzling coruscation; and then a white object, lying along the floor of the cave, seen by both at the same instant, caused them to utter a simultaneous cry—as they did so, turning to each other with looks of the most painful despair.
Between two large masses of stalagmite was the body of a woman, robed in white. It was lying upon its back, stretched out to its full length—motionless; apparently dead!
They needed not to pass the torch over that pale face to identify it. It was not necessary to scrutinise those wan, silent features. On first beholding the prostrate form, too easily had Herbert rushed to the sad conclusion—that it was the corpse of his cousin!
Volume Three—Chapter Thirty Eight.The Sleep-Spell.During all this time where was Chakra?As soon as he had seen the mansion of Mount Welcome fairly given to the flames, the Coromantee, bearing its young mistress in his arms, hurried away from the spot. Outside the garden wicket he made stop: only for a moment, which was spent in a hasty consultation with the chief of the black bandits.In the brief dialogue which there took place between them, Adam was enjoined to carry the whole of the booty to his mountain home, where Chakra promised in due time to join him. The Coromantee had no intention to resign his share of the spoils; but just then he was in no mood for making the division. He was at that moment under the influence of a passion stronger than the love of plunder.Adam was only too eager to accede to these terms; and the confederates parted company—the robber and his followers at once shouldering their booty, and setting out for their forest dwelling among the far mountains of Trelawney.Like the tiger who has killed his prey—and, not daring to devour it on the spot, bears it to his jungle covert—so Chakra, half dragging, half carrying Kate Vaughan, proceeded up the mountain path in the direction of the Duppy’s Hole.Lifeless as the victim of the ferocious beast appeared the form of Lilly Quasheba, hanging supple and unconscious over the arm of the human monster—equally ferocious.Her screams no longer fell upon the ear. Her terror had exhausted her strength. Syncope, resembling death, had succeeded.It continued, happily for her, during the whole of the transit up the mountain. The wild forest path had no terrors for her: neither the descent into the dank solitudes of the Duppy’s Hole. In the traverse over that dark lagoon, she was not frightened by the scream of the startled night bird, nor the threatening roar of the close cataract. She knew no fear, from the moment she was earned away in the arms of a hideous monster, on a path lighted by the blaze of the roof under which she had been born and reared: she experienced no feeling of any kind, until she awoke to consciousness in a rude triangular hut, lit by a feeble lamp, whose glare fell upon a face hitherto well-known—the face of Chakra, the myal-man.His mask had been removed. The Coromantee stood before her in all his deformity—of soul as of person.Terror could go no further. It had already produced its ultimate effect. Under such circumstances reproach would have been idle; indignation would only have been answered by brutal scorn.Though she might not clearly comprehend her situation, the young Creole did not think she was dreaming. No dream could be so horrid as that! And yet it was difficult to believe that such a fearful scene could be real!O God! it was real. Chakra stood before her—his harsh voice was ringing in her ears. Its tone was mocking and exultant.She was upon the bamboo bedstead, where the myal-man had placed her. She had lain there till, on her senses returning, she discovered who was her companion. Then had she started up—not to her feet, for the interposition of the Coromantee had hindered her from assuming an erect position, but to an attitude half reclining, half threatening escape. In this attitude was she held—partly through fear, partly by the hopelessness of any attempt to change it.The Coromantee stood in front of her. His attitude? Was it one of menace? No! Not a threat threw out he—neither by word nor gesture. On the contrary, he was all softness, all suppliance—a wooer!He was bending before her, repeating vows of love! Oh, heavens! more fearful than threats of vengeance!It was a terrible tableau—this paraphrase of the Beast on his knees before Beauty.The young girl was too terrified to make reply. She did not even listen to the disgusting speeches addressed to her. She was scarce more conscious than during the period of her syncope.After a time, the Coromantee appeared to lose patience. His unnatural passion chafed against restraint. He began to perceive the hopelessness of his horrid suit. It was in vain to indulge in that delirious dream of love—in the hope of its being reciprocated—a hope with which even satyrs are said to have been inspired. The repellent attitude of her, the object of his demoniac adoration—the evidentdegoûttoo plainly expressed in her frightened features—showed Chakra how vain was his wooing.With a sudden gesture he desisted, raising himself into an attitude of determination that bespoke some dreadful design—who knows what?A shrill whistle pealing from without prevented its accomplishment, or, at all events, stayed it for the time.“’Tam de signal ob dat ole Jew!” muttered he, evidently annoyed by the interruption. “Wha he want dis time ob de night? ’Pose it somethin’ ’bout dat ere loss book-keeper? Wa! a know nuffin ’bout him. Dere ’tam ’gain, and fo’ de tree time. Dat signify he am in a hurry. Wha’s dat? Foth time! Den da be some trouble, sa’tin. Muss go to him—muss go. He nebba sound de signal fo’ time ’less da be some desp’rate ’casion fo’ do so. Wonder what he want!”“Nebba mind, Lilly Quasheba!” added he, once more addressing his speech to his mute companion. “Doan bex yaseff ’bout dis interupshun. De bisness ’tween you ’n me ’ll keep till a gets back, an’ den, p’raps, a no find you so ob’tinate. You come—you ’tay out hya—you muss no be seen in dis part ob de world.”As he said this, he seized the unresisting girl by the wrist, and was about leading her out of the hut.“Ha!” he exclaimed, suddenly stopping to reflect; “dat woan do, neider. De ole Jew mussn’t know she hya—no account. She mout run back in de shanty, darfur she muss be tied. An’ den she mout ’cream so he hear her, darfur she muss be gagged.”Still holding her wrist in his grasp, he looked around the hut as if in search of the means to put this design into execution.“Ha!” he ejaculated, as if inspired by some new thought, “what hab a been bodderin’ ma brains ’bout? Dar’s a better plan dan eider tyin’ or gaggin’—better dan boaf put togedder! De sleepin’ draff. Da’s de berry ting keep her quiet. Wha’s de bottle, a wonder? Dar um be.”With this, he stretched forth his disengaged hand, and drew something out of a sort of pocket cut in the palm-leaf thatch. It appeared to be a long narrow phial, filled with a dark-coloured fluid, and tightly corked.“Now, young missa!” said he, drawing out the cork with his teeth, and placing himself as if intending to administer a draught to his terrified patient; “you take a suck out ob dis hya bottle. Doan be ’feerd. He do no harm—he do you good—make you feel berry comf’able, I’se be boun’. Drink!”The poor girl instinctively drew back; but the monster, letting go her wrist, caught hold of her by the hair, and, twisting her luxuriant tresses around his bony fingers, held her head as firmly as if in a vice. Then, with the other hand, he inserted the neck of the phial between her lips, and, forcing it through her teeth, poured a portion of the liquid down her throat.There was no attempt to scream—scarce any at resistance—on the part of the young creole. Almost freely did she swallow the draught. So prostrate was her spirit at that moment, that she would scarce have cared to refuse it, even had she known it to be poison!And not unlike to poison was the effect it produced—equally quick in subduing the senses—for what Chakra had thus administered was the juice of thecalalue, the most powerful of narcotics.In a few seconds after the fluid had passed her lips, the face of the young girl became overspread with a death-like pallor—all through her frame ran a gentle, tremulous quivering, that bespoke the sudden relaxation of the muscles. Her lithe limbs gave way beneath her; and she would have sunk down upon the floor, but for the supporting arm of the weird conjuror who had caused this singular collapse.Into his arms she sank—evidently insensible—with the semblance rather of death than of sleep!“Now, den!” muttered the myal-man, with no sign of astonishment at a phenomenon far from being strange to him—since it was to that same sleeping-spell he was indebted for his professional reputation—“now, den, ma sweet Lilly, you sleep quiet ’nuff ’till I want wake you ’gain. Not hya, howsomedever. You muss take you nap in de open air. A muss put you wha de ole Jew no see you, or maybe he want you fo’ himself. Come ’long, disaway!”And thus idly apostrophising his unconscious victim, he lifted her in both arms, and carried her out of the hut.Outside he paused, looking around, as if searching for some place in which to deposit his burden.The moon was now above the horizon, and her beams were beginning to be reflected feebly, even through the sombre solitude of the Duppy’s Hole. A clump of low bushes, growing just outside the canopy of the cotton-tree, appeared to offer a place of concealment; and Chakra was proceeding towards them, when his eye fell upon the cascade; and, as if suddenly changing his design, he turned out of his former direction, and proceeded towards the waterfall.On getting close up to the cliff over which the stream was precipitated, he paused for an instant on the edge of the seething cauldron; then, taking a fresh hold of the white, wan form that lay helpless over his arm, he glided behind the sheet of foaming water, and suddenly disappeared from the sight—like a river-demon of Eld, bearing off to his subaqueous cavern some beautiful victim, whom he had succeeded in enticing to his haunt, and entrancing into a slumber more fatal than death.In a few seconds the hideous hunchback reappeared upon the bank, no longer embarrassed by his burden; and hearing the whistle once more skirling along the cliffs, he faced down stream, and walked rapidly in the direction of his canoe.
During all this time where was Chakra?
As soon as he had seen the mansion of Mount Welcome fairly given to the flames, the Coromantee, bearing its young mistress in his arms, hurried away from the spot. Outside the garden wicket he made stop: only for a moment, which was spent in a hasty consultation with the chief of the black bandits.
In the brief dialogue which there took place between them, Adam was enjoined to carry the whole of the booty to his mountain home, where Chakra promised in due time to join him. The Coromantee had no intention to resign his share of the spoils; but just then he was in no mood for making the division. He was at that moment under the influence of a passion stronger than the love of plunder.
Adam was only too eager to accede to these terms; and the confederates parted company—the robber and his followers at once shouldering their booty, and setting out for their forest dwelling among the far mountains of Trelawney.
Like the tiger who has killed his prey—and, not daring to devour it on the spot, bears it to his jungle covert—so Chakra, half dragging, half carrying Kate Vaughan, proceeded up the mountain path in the direction of the Duppy’s Hole.
Lifeless as the victim of the ferocious beast appeared the form of Lilly Quasheba, hanging supple and unconscious over the arm of the human monster—equally ferocious.
Her screams no longer fell upon the ear. Her terror had exhausted her strength. Syncope, resembling death, had succeeded.
It continued, happily for her, during the whole of the transit up the mountain. The wild forest path had no terrors for her: neither the descent into the dank solitudes of the Duppy’s Hole. In the traverse over that dark lagoon, she was not frightened by the scream of the startled night bird, nor the threatening roar of the close cataract. She knew no fear, from the moment she was earned away in the arms of a hideous monster, on a path lighted by the blaze of the roof under which she had been born and reared: she experienced no feeling of any kind, until she awoke to consciousness in a rude triangular hut, lit by a feeble lamp, whose glare fell upon a face hitherto well-known—the face of Chakra, the myal-man.
His mask had been removed. The Coromantee stood before her in all his deformity—of soul as of person.
Terror could go no further. It had already produced its ultimate effect. Under such circumstances reproach would have been idle; indignation would only have been answered by brutal scorn.
Though she might not clearly comprehend her situation, the young Creole did not think she was dreaming. No dream could be so horrid as that! And yet it was difficult to believe that such a fearful scene could be real!
O God! it was real. Chakra stood before her—his harsh voice was ringing in her ears. Its tone was mocking and exultant.
She was upon the bamboo bedstead, where the myal-man had placed her. She had lain there till, on her senses returning, she discovered who was her companion. Then had she started up—not to her feet, for the interposition of the Coromantee had hindered her from assuming an erect position, but to an attitude half reclining, half threatening escape. In this attitude was she held—partly through fear, partly by the hopelessness of any attempt to change it.
The Coromantee stood in front of her. His attitude? Was it one of menace? No! Not a threat threw out he—neither by word nor gesture. On the contrary, he was all softness, all suppliance—a wooer!
He was bending before her, repeating vows of love! Oh, heavens! more fearful than threats of vengeance!
It was a terrible tableau—this paraphrase of the Beast on his knees before Beauty.
The young girl was too terrified to make reply. She did not even listen to the disgusting speeches addressed to her. She was scarce more conscious than during the period of her syncope.
After a time, the Coromantee appeared to lose patience. His unnatural passion chafed against restraint. He began to perceive the hopelessness of his horrid suit. It was in vain to indulge in that delirious dream of love—in the hope of its being reciprocated—a hope with which even satyrs are said to have been inspired. The repellent attitude of her, the object of his demoniac adoration—the evidentdegoûttoo plainly expressed in her frightened features—showed Chakra how vain was his wooing.
With a sudden gesture he desisted, raising himself into an attitude of determination that bespoke some dreadful design—who knows what?
A shrill whistle pealing from without prevented its accomplishment, or, at all events, stayed it for the time.
“’Tam de signal ob dat ole Jew!” muttered he, evidently annoyed by the interruption. “Wha he want dis time ob de night? ’Pose it somethin’ ’bout dat ere loss book-keeper? Wa! a know nuffin ’bout him. Dere ’tam ’gain, and fo’ de tree time. Dat signify he am in a hurry. Wha’s dat? Foth time! Den da be some trouble, sa’tin. Muss go to him—muss go. He nebba sound de signal fo’ time ’less da be some desp’rate ’casion fo’ do so. Wonder what he want!”
“Nebba mind, Lilly Quasheba!” added he, once more addressing his speech to his mute companion. “Doan bex yaseff ’bout dis interupshun. De bisness ’tween you ’n me ’ll keep till a gets back, an’ den, p’raps, a no find you so ob’tinate. You come—you ’tay out hya—you muss no be seen in dis part ob de world.”
As he said this, he seized the unresisting girl by the wrist, and was about leading her out of the hut.
“Ha!” he exclaimed, suddenly stopping to reflect; “dat woan do, neider. De ole Jew mussn’t know she hya—no account. She mout run back in de shanty, darfur she muss be tied. An’ den she mout ’cream so he hear her, darfur she muss be gagged.”
Still holding her wrist in his grasp, he looked around the hut as if in search of the means to put this design into execution.
“Ha!” he ejaculated, as if inspired by some new thought, “what hab a been bodderin’ ma brains ’bout? Dar’s a better plan dan eider tyin’ or gaggin’—better dan boaf put togedder! De sleepin’ draff. Da’s de berry ting keep her quiet. Wha’s de bottle, a wonder? Dar um be.”
With this, he stretched forth his disengaged hand, and drew something out of a sort of pocket cut in the palm-leaf thatch. It appeared to be a long narrow phial, filled with a dark-coloured fluid, and tightly corked.
“Now, young missa!” said he, drawing out the cork with his teeth, and placing himself as if intending to administer a draught to his terrified patient; “you take a suck out ob dis hya bottle. Doan be ’feerd. He do no harm—he do you good—make you feel berry comf’able, I’se be boun’. Drink!”
The poor girl instinctively drew back; but the monster, letting go her wrist, caught hold of her by the hair, and, twisting her luxuriant tresses around his bony fingers, held her head as firmly as if in a vice. Then, with the other hand, he inserted the neck of the phial between her lips, and, forcing it through her teeth, poured a portion of the liquid down her throat.
There was no attempt to scream—scarce any at resistance—on the part of the young creole. Almost freely did she swallow the draught. So prostrate was her spirit at that moment, that she would scarce have cared to refuse it, even had she known it to be poison!
And not unlike to poison was the effect it produced—equally quick in subduing the senses—for what Chakra had thus administered was the juice of thecalalue, the most powerful of narcotics.
In a few seconds after the fluid had passed her lips, the face of the young girl became overspread with a death-like pallor—all through her frame ran a gentle, tremulous quivering, that bespoke the sudden relaxation of the muscles. Her lithe limbs gave way beneath her; and she would have sunk down upon the floor, but for the supporting arm of the weird conjuror who had caused this singular collapse.
Into his arms she sank—evidently insensible—with the semblance rather of death than of sleep!
“Now, den!” muttered the myal-man, with no sign of astonishment at a phenomenon far from being strange to him—since it was to that same sleeping-spell he was indebted for his professional reputation—“now, den, ma sweet Lilly, you sleep quiet ’nuff ’till I want wake you ’gain. Not hya, howsomedever. You muss take you nap in de open air. A muss put you wha de ole Jew no see you, or maybe he want you fo’ himself. Come ’long, disaway!”
And thus idly apostrophising his unconscious victim, he lifted her in both arms, and carried her out of the hut.
Outside he paused, looking around, as if searching for some place in which to deposit his burden.
The moon was now above the horizon, and her beams were beginning to be reflected feebly, even through the sombre solitude of the Duppy’s Hole. A clump of low bushes, growing just outside the canopy of the cotton-tree, appeared to offer a place of concealment; and Chakra was proceeding towards them, when his eye fell upon the cascade; and, as if suddenly changing his design, he turned out of his former direction, and proceeded towards the waterfall.
On getting close up to the cliff over which the stream was precipitated, he paused for an instant on the edge of the seething cauldron; then, taking a fresh hold of the white, wan form that lay helpless over his arm, he glided behind the sheet of foaming water, and suddenly disappeared from the sight—like a river-demon of Eld, bearing off to his subaqueous cavern some beautiful victim, whom he had succeeded in enticing to his haunt, and entrancing into a slumber more fatal than death.
In a few seconds the hideous hunchback reappeared upon the bank, no longer embarrassed by his burden; and hearing the whistle once more skirling along the cliffs, he faced down stream, and walked rapidly in the direction of his canoe.
Volume Three—Chapter Thirty Nine.A New Job for Chakra.Chakra, on reaching the crest of the cliff, found Jacob Jessuron in a state of impatience bordering upon torment. The Jew was striding back and forth among the trees, at intervals striking the ground with his umbrella, and giving utterance to his favourite exclamatory phrases—“Blesh my soul!” and “Blesh me!”—with unusual volubility.Now and then also could be heard the Teutonic ejaculation, “Ach!” proving that his soul was under the influence of some unpleasant passion, that was vexing him even to torture.“Wha’s de trouble, Massr Jake?” inquired the myal-man, scrambling over the edge of the rock. “Dar’s something go wrong, a ’pose, from de way you hab soun’ de signal? A hear de whissel fo’ time.”“There ish something wrong—a great deal ish wrong—s’help me, there ish! What hash kept you, Shakra?” he added, with a show of vexation.“Golly, Massr Jake, a war asleep; da’s wha’ d’layed me.”“How, then, hash you heard the signal four times?”The query appeared slightly to puzzle Chakra.“O—a—de signal fo’ time,” stammered he, after a pause of reflection. “Wa, ye see, a hear de fuss time in ma sleep—den de second time he wake me—de third a got to ma feet; and when de fo’th—”The Jew—either satisfied with the explanation, or too much hurried to hear the end of it—interrupted Chakra at “de fo’th.”“It ish no time for talk when Mount Welcome ish in flames. You knowsh that, I supposhe?”Chakra hesitated, as if considering whether to make a negative or affirmative reply.“Of course you knowsh it. I needn’t haf ashked. Who wash it? Adam hash been there. Wash it him?”“Ole Adam hab a hand in dat ere bizness, a b’lieve.”“You knowsh it, Shakra; and I knowsh another that hash had a hand in it. That ish not my bishness, nor what I hash come here about. There ish worse than that.”“Wuss, Massr Jake?” inquired the myal-man, with an air of feigned surprise. It might have been real. “Wuss dan dat? Hab de young man no come back?”“Ach! that ish nothings. There ish far worse—there ish danger: s’help me, there ish!”“Danger! Wha from, Massr Jake?”“Firsh tell me where ish Adam now? I want him, and all his fellish.”“He am gone back to de mountains.”“Ach! Gone back, you shay? How long ish he gone? Can you overtake him, Shakra?”“Possab’e a mout; dey won’t trabbel fass. Dey am too hebby load fo’ dat. But wha’ fo’ you want ole Adam, Massr Jake?”“Bishness of the greatesht importance. It ish life and death. Blue Dick hash been over to Mount Welcome. He hash heerd shtrange news—ach! terrible news! A messhenger who came in from the Saffana road hash brought the newsh of many dishagreeable things—among the resht that my Shpaniards haf been made prisoners by Cubina and thish ungrateful villain of a Vochan. They are accushed of murdering the Cushtos. Blesh my soul!”“What harm dat do you, Massr Jake? Wha’s de danger?”“Danger! Dosh you not see it, Shakra? If theesh hunters ish brought to trial, do you supposhe they would hold their tongues? S’help me, no! They will turn Shtate’s efidence; and then I should be exshposed—arreshted—ruined! Oh! why hash I ever trushted theesh clumshy fellish with a bishness of such importance?”“Dey am clumsy fellas, jess as you say, Massr Jake.”“Ach! it ish too late to shpeak of regretsh. It ish necessary to take some shteps to prevent thish terrible mishfortune. You musht go after Adam, and find him thish instant—thish instant, Shakra.”“All right, Massr Jake. A do whatebber you bid me, nebba fear. A soon track up Adam; but wha d’ye want me say to de ole nigga when a hab foun’ ’im?”“You needn’t shay anything—only bring him back with you to the Shumbé Rock. I shall wait there for you till you come. Don’t keep me long in sushpense, Shakra. Make all the shpeed in your power. If you don’t get back before sunrishe, all will be losht! I’ll be ruined—I will, s’help me!”“Nebba fear, Massr Jake. A woan lose a minnit. A doan tink dat ere ole nigga’s got far ’way jess yet. A soon obertake ’im. A go atter him at once. Whugh!”As Chakra uttered the exclamation, he turned on his heel, and was about to start up the mountain, in the direction of the Jumbé Rock, near which he would have to pass on his way towards the haunt of the black robbers.“Shtay!” cried the Jew, “I’she going with you ash far ash the Shumbé Rock. I may ash well wait there ash anywhere elshe. It ish no ushe my going home now. S’help me! I cannot resht till thish thing ish settled. And now, when I thinksh of it, you may ash well let Adam know for what he ish wanted—so ash he may come prepared. Say to him he ish to go shtraight to Mount Welcome—that ish, where it ushed to be. He’sh not to show hishelf there, but prosheed along the road, till he meets the Cushtos’ body, and them that ish with it. Then he ish to find some way to rescue the Shpaniards, an’ let them eshcape to me. You musht go along with Adam and hish men, elshe they may shpoil all. He musht bring his fellish well armed; you may shtand in need of them all. The messenger said there were some negroes from the eshtate of Content. Theesh won’t signify. They will all run away ash soon as you show yourselves; but the others may be inclined to make fight. There ish Cubina, and the young raschal of an Englishman, besides that giant Quaco, and the messenger hishself. You thinksh you can manage them, Shakra?”“Sure ob dat.”“You musht take them by an ambushcade.”“P’raps we kill some o’ dem.”“Ash many ash you like. Only make shure to get the Shpaniards off.”“Be no great harm to kill dem too—atter de fool dey hab made ob demselves, lettin’ dem fellas take um pris’ner dat a way. Whugh!”“No, no, goot Shakra!—we mushn’t kill our friendsh—we may need them again. You may promish Adam goot pay for the shob. I don’t care for the cosht, so long as it ish clefferly done.”“All right, Massr Jake; leab dat to me an’ Adam. We do de ting clebberly ’nuf, I’se be boun’.”And with this assurance Chakra strode off up the mountain, the Jew having set the example by starting forward in advance of him.
Chakra, on reaching the crest of the cliff, found Jacob Jessuron in a state of impatience bordering upon torment. The Jew was striding back and forth among the trees, at intervals striking the ground with his umbrella, and giving utterance to his favourite exclamatory phrases—“Blesh my soul!” and “Blesh me!”—with unusual volubility.
Now and then also could be heard the Teutonic ejaculation, “Ach!” proving that his soul was under the influence of some unpleasant passion, that was vexing him even to torture.
“Wha’s de trouble, Massr Jake?” inquired the myal-man, scrambling over the edge of the rock. “Dar’s something go wrong, a ’pose, from de way you hab soun’ de signal? A hear de whissel fo’ time.”
“There ish something wrong—a great deal ish wrong—s’help me, there ish! What hash kept you, Shakra?” he added, with a show of vexation.
“Golly, Massr Jake, a war asleep; da’s wha’ d’layed me.”
“How, then, hash you heard the signal four times?”
The query appeared slightly to puzzle Chakra.
“O—a—de signal fo’ time,” stammered he, after a pause of reflection. “Wa, ye see, a hear de fuss time in ma sleep—den de second time he wake me—de third a got to ma feet; and when de fo’th—”
The Jew—either satisfied with the explanation, or too much hurried to hear the end of it—interrupted Chakra at “de fo’th.”
“It ish no time for talk when Mount Welcome ish in flames. You knowsh that, I supposhe?”
Chakra hesitated, as if considering whether to make a negative or affirmative reply.
“Of course you knowsh it. I needn’t haf ashked. Who wash it? Adam hash been there. Wash it him?”
“Ole Adam hab a hand in dat ere bizness, a b’lieve.”
“You knowsh it, Shakra; and I knowsh another that hash had a hand in it. That ish not my bishness, nor what I hash come here about. There ish worse than that.”
“Wuss, Massr Jake?” inquired the myal-man, with an air of feigned surprise. It might have been real. “Wuss dan dat? Hab de young man no come back?”
“Ach! that ish nothings. There ish far worse—there ish danger: s’help me, there ish!”
“Danger! Wha from, Massr Jake?”
“Firsh tell me where ish Adam now? I want him, and all his fellish.”
“He am gone back to de mountains.”
“Ach! Gone back, you shay? How long ish he gone? Can you overtake him, Shakra?”
“Possab’e a mout; dey won’t trabbel fass. Dey am too hebby load fo’ dat. But wha’ fo’ you want ole Adam, Massr Jake?”
“Bishness of the greatesht importance. It ish life and death. Blue Dick hash been over to Mount Welcome. He hash heerd shtrange news—ach! terrible news! A messhenger who came in from the Saffana road hash brought the newsh of many dishagreeable things—among the resht that my Shpaniards haf been made prisoners by Cubina and thish ungrateful villain of a Vochan. They are accushed of murdering the Cushtos. Blesh my soul!”
“What harm dat do you, Massr Jake? Wha’s de danger?”
“Danger! Dosh you not see it, Shakra? If theesh hunters ish brought to trial, do you supposhe they would hold their tongues? S’help me, no! They will turn Shtate’s efidence; and then I should be exshposed—arreshted—ruined! Oh! why hash I ever trushted theesh clumshy fellish with a bishness of such importance?”
“Dey am clumsy fellas, jess as you say, Massr Jake.”
“Ach! it ish too late to shpeak of regretsh. It ish necessary to take some shteps to prevent thish terrible mishfortune. You musht go after Adam, and find him thish instant—thish instant, Shakra.”
“All right, Massr Jake. A do whatebber you bid me, nebba fear. A soon track up Adam; but wha d’ye want me say to de ole nigga when a hab foun’ ’im?”
“You needn’t shay anything—only bring him back with you to the Shumbé Rock. I shall wait there for you till you come. Don’t keep me long in sushpense, Shakra. Make all the shpeed in your power. If you don’t get back before sunrishe, all will be losht! I’ll be ruined—I will, s’help me!”
“Nebba fear, Massr Jake. A woan lose a minnit. A doan tink dat ere ole nigga’s got far ’way jess yet. A soon obertake ’im. A go atter him at once. Whugh!”
As Chakra uttered the exclamation, he turned on his heel, and was about to start up the mountain, in the direction of the Jumbé Rock, near which he would have to pass on his way towards the haunt of the black robbers.
“Shtay!” cried the Jew, “I’she going with you ash far ash the Shumbé Rock. I may ash well wait there ash anywhere elshe. It ish no ushe my going home now. S’help me! I cannot resht till thish thing ish settled. And now, when I thinksh of it, you may ash well let Adam know for what he ish wanted—so ash he may come prepared. Say to him he ish to go shtraight to Mount Welcome—that ish, where it ushed to be. He’sh not to show hishelf there, but prosheed along the road, till he meets the Cushtos’ body, and them that ish with it. Then he ish to find some way to rescue the Shpaniards, an’ let them eshcape to me. You musht go along with Adam and hish men, elshe they may shpoil all. He musht bring his fellish well armed; you may shtand in need of them all. The messenger said there were some negroes from the eshtate of Content. Theesh won’t signify. They will all run away ash soon as you show yourselves; but the others may be inclined to make fight. There ish Cubina, and the young raschal of an Englishman, besides that giant Quaco, and the messenger hishself. You thinksh you can manage them, Shakra?”
“Sure ob dat.”
“You musht take them by an ambushcade.”
“P’raps we kill some o’ dem.”
“Ash many ash you like. Only make shure to get the Shpaniards off.”
“Be no great harm to kill dem too—atter de fool dey hab made ob demselves, lettin’ dem fellas take um pris’ner dat a way. Whugh!”
“No, no, goot Shakra!—we mushn’t kill our friendsh—we may need them again. You may promish Adam goot pay for the shob. I don’t care for the cosht, so long as it ish clefferly done.”
“All right, Massr Jake; leab dat to me an’ Adam. We do de ting clebberly ’nuf, I’se be boun’.”
And with this assurance Chakra strode off up the mountain, the Jew having set the example by starting forward in advance of him.
Volume Three—Chapter Forty.Dead, or Asleep?On beholding what he believed to be the dead body of his cousin, the grief of Herbert Vaughan proclaimed itself in a wild cry—in tones of the bitterest agony. He flung his gun upon the rock—knelt down by the side of the corpse—raised her head upon his arm, and, gazing upon that face, in death beautiful as ever, drew it nearer to his own, kissed the cold, unconscious lips—kissed them again and again, as though he had hopes that the warmth of his love might re-animate the fair form over which he was bending.For some time his frenzied caresses were continued—their fervour unchecked by the presence of his rude companions who stood around. Respecting the sanctity of his grief, all observed a solemn silence. Nor word nor sound escaped the lips of any one. Sobs alone proceeded from Cubina. The Maroon had also cause to sorrow at that sad spectacle—but these were not heard. They were drowned by a more powerful voice—the melancholy monotone of the cataract—that had been speaking incessantly since the creation of the world.It was a long time before the heart of Herbert consented to his discontinuing those cold but sweet kisses—the first he had ever had; the last he was destined to have—from those pale lips; long before he could withdraw his supporting arm from beneath that beautiful head, whose shining tresses lay dishevelled along the rock.The torch held in the hands of Cubina was burning to its base. Only when warned by its flickering light, did the chief mourner rise once more to his feet; and then making a feeble signal to those who stood around, he moved in solemn silence towards the entrance of the grotto.His gesture was understood, and promptly obeyed. By the authority of his greater grief he had become master of the mournful ceremonies now to be observed.The Maroons, quietly crossing their arms under the inanimate form, raised it from the rock; and, following him who had given them their silent direction, they bore it to the hut—there placing it upon the cane couch. With instinctive delicacy all retired upon the completion of their task, leaving Herbert and Cubina alone with the body.An interval elapsed before either essayed to speak. Both were under the influence of a profound grief, that almost stifled reflection, Cubina was the first to have other thoughts, and to give expression to them.“Santa Virgen!” said he, in a voice husky with emotion, “I know not how she has died, unless the sight of Chakra has killed her. It was enough to have done it.”The suggestive speech received no other answer than a groan.“If the monster,” continued the Maroon, “has used other violence, I see no trace of it. There is no wound—no appearance of anything that should have produced death. Poor young creature!—there’s something dark inside her lips—but it’s not blood—”“O God!” cried Herbert, interrupting the speaker with a fresh paroxysm of grief. “Two corpses to be carried home to the same house—father and daughter on the same day—in the same hour: both the victims of villainy. O God!”“Both victims of the same villain, I have my belief,” rejoined Cubina. “The same hand that has laid low the Custos, if I mistake not, has been at the bottom of this horrible crime. Chakra is but the weapon. Another has dealt the blow—you know who, Master Vaughan?”Herbert was hindered from making reply. A dark form appearing in the door, distracted the attention of both from the theme of their conversation.Quaco had heard the melancholy tidings; and, relieved from his duty by the canoe, had hurried back to the hut. He it was who now appeared in the doorway, filling it from post to post—from step to lintel.Neither his chief nor Herbert offered any remark. Quaco’s presence did not surprise them. It was natural he should come to the hut—if only to satisfy his curiosity. Weighted with their sorrow, neither took any notice of his arrival, nor of his movements after he had entered the hut—which he did without waiting to be invited.Having stepped inside, the colossus stood for some moments by the couch, gazing down upon the sweet, silent face. Even on his features was depicted an expression of sorrow.Gradually this became more subdued, or rather appeared to undergo a total change—slowly but surely altering to an expression of cheerfulness.Slight at first, and imperceptible on account of the large scale upon which Quaco’s features were formed, the expression was every moment becoming more pronounced; until at length it attracted the notice of the others, notwithstanding the abstraction caused by their poignant grief.Both observed it at the same instant, and to both it caused a feeling of annoyance—amounting almost to indignation.“Lieutenant,” said Cubina, addressing his subaltern in a tone of reproach, “it is not exactly the time for being gay. May I ask you what is making you smile, while others around you are overwhelmed with sorrow?”“Why, cappen!” rejoined Quaco, “I can’t see what yar all a-grievin’ ’bout. Can’t be the Custos: since, sartinly, you’ve got over grievin’ for him long afore this!”The reply—grotesque in character, and almost jovial in the manner of its delivery—could not fail still further to astonish those to whom it was addressed. Both started on hearing it; and for some moments bent theireyeson the speaker in an expression of wonder, mingled with indignation.Had Quaco gone mad?“In the presence of death, sir,” said the young Maroon captain, directing a severe glance upon his lieutenant, “you might lay aside that merry mood, too common with you. It ill becomes you—”“Death, do ye say, cappen?” interrupted Quaco; “who’s gone dead here?”There was no reply to this abrupt interrogatory. Those to whom it was addressed were too much taken by surprise to say a word.“If you mean the young buckra lady,” continued Quaco, “I’d give all the barbecued hog I ever owned nebber to be more dead than she jess now. Dead, i’deed? nonsense dat: she only sleep!”Herbert and Cubina started from their seats, each uttering a cry of astonishment, in which might be detected the accents of hope.“Who’s got a piece o’ lookin’-glass!” continued Quaco, turning his glance interrogatively around the hut. “Good,” he exclaimed, as the sparkle of a piece of broken mirror came under his eyes; “here’s the thing itself!“Now, lookee hyar!” resumed he, taking the bit of glass from the place where it had been deposited, and rubbing its surface with a piece of rag: “you see thar’s ne’er a speck upon it?”The others, still held silent by surprise, made answer only by nodding their assent.“Wal, now,” continued Quaco, “watch me a bit.”Placing the smooth surface of the mirror to the mute lips, he held it there for a minute or more; and then, turning, he raised it up, and held it close to the light of the lamp.“Ye see,” he cried, triumphantly pointing to a white filmy bloom that appeared upon the glass, partially obscuring its sheen, “that’s her breath! She no gone dead, else how she hab breath?”His listeners were too excited to make reply. Only by exclamations did they signify their assent to the truth of his hypothesis.“Ho!” exclaimed Quaco, suddenly dropping the bit of glass, and clutching hold of a phial that lay upon the floor—now for the first time noticed.“What we got here?” continued he, drawing the cork with his teeth, and thrusting the neck up his wide nostril. “Sleepin’ draugh’! I thought so. So this is the spell that’s put the young buckra lady to rest. Well, there’s another that’ll wake her, if I can only find it. It’s boun’ be hya, somewheres about; and if I can git my claws on it, I’ll make this hya young creatur’ talk to ye in less than ten minutes!”So saying, the colossus commenced searching around the hut, looking into the numerous chinks and crannies with which both walls and roof were provided.Restrained by surprise, blended with hopeful anticipation, neither Herbert nor Cubina offered to interrupt his actions, by word or gesture. Both remained in their respective places—silently but anxiously awaiting the event.
On beholding what he believed to be the dead body of his cousin, the grief of Herbert Vaughan proclaimed itself in a wild cry—in tones of the bitterest agony. He flung his gun upon the rock—knelt down by the side of the corpse—raised her head upon his arm, and, gazing upon that face, in death beautiful as ever, drew it nearer to his own, kissed the cold, unconscious lips—kissed them again and again, as though he had hopes that the warmth of his love might re-animate the fair form over which he was bending.
For some time his frenzied caresses were continued—their fervour unchecked by the presence of his rude companions who stood around. Respecting the sanctity of his grief, all observed a solemn silence. Nor word nor sound escaped the lips of any one. Sobs alone proceeded from Cubina. The Maroon had also cause to sorrow at that sad spectacle—but these were not heard. They were drowned by a more powerful voice—the melancholy monotone of the cataract—that had been speaking incessantly since the creation of the world.
It was a long time before the heart of Herbert consented to his discontinuing those cold but sweet kisses—the first he had ever had; the last he was destined to have—from those pale lips; long before he could withdraw his supporting arm from beneath that beautiful head, whose shining tresses lay dishevelled along the rock.
The torch held in the hands of Cubina was burning to its base. Only when warned by its flickering light, did the chief mourner rise once more to his feet; and then making a feeble signal to those who stood around, he moved in solemn silence towards the entrance of the grotto.
His gesture was understood, and promptly obeyed. By the authority of his greater grief he had become master of the mournful ceremonies now to be observed.
The Maroons, quietly crossing their arms under the inanimate form, raised it from the rock; and, following him who had given them their silent direction, they bore it to the hut—there placing it upon the cane couch. With instinctive delicacy all retired upon the completion of their task, leaving Herbert and Cubina alone with the body.
An interval elapsed before either essayed to speak. Both were under the influence of a profound grief, that almost stifled reflection, Cubina was the first to have other thoughts, and to give expression to them.
“Santa Virgen!” said he, in a voice husky with emotion, “I know not how she has died, unless the sight of Chakra has killed her. It was enough to have done it.”
The suggestive speech received no other answer than a groan.
“If the monster,” continued the Maroon, “has used other violence, I see no trace of it. There is no wound—no appearance of anything that should have produced death. Poor young creature!—there’s something dark inside her lips—but it’s not blood—”
“O God!” cried Herbert, interrupting the speaker with a fresh paroxysm of grief. “Two corpses to be carried home to the same house—father and daughter on the same day—in the same hour: both the victims of villainy. O God!”
“Both victims of the same villain, I have my belief,” rejoined Cubina. “The same hand that has laid low the Custos, if I mistake not, has been at the bottom of this horrible crime. Chakra is but the weapon. Another has dealt the blow—you know who, Master Vaughan?”
Herbert was hindered from making reply. A dark form appearing in the door, distracted the attention of both from the theme of their conversation.
Quaco had heard the melancholy tidings; and, relieved from his duty by the canoe, had hurried back to the hut. He it was who now appeared in the doorway, filling it from post to post—from step to lintel.
Neither his chief nor Herbert offered any remark. Quaco’s presence did not surprise them. It was natural he should come to the hut—if only to satisfy his curiosity. Weighted with their sorrow, neither took any notice of his arrival, nor of his movements after he had entered the hut—which he did without waiting to be invited.
Having stepped inside, the colossus stood for some moments by the couch, gazing down upon the sweet, silent face. Even on his features was depicted an expression of sorrow.
Gradually this became more subdued, or rather appeared to undergo a total change—slowly but surely altering to an expression of cheerfulness.
Slight at first, and imperceptible on account of the large scale upon which Quaco’s features were formed, the expression was every moment becoming more pronounced; until at length it attracted the notice of the others, notwithstanding the abstraction caused by their poignant grief.
Both observed it at the same instant, and to both it caused a feeling of annoyance—amounting almost to indignation.
“Lieutenant,” said Cubina, addressing his subaltern in a tone of reproach, “it is not exactly the time for being gay. May I ask you what is making you smile, while others around you are overwhelmed with sorrow?”
“Why, cappen!” rejoined Quaco, “I can’t see what yar all a-grievin’ ’bout. Can’t be the Custos: since, sartinly, you’ve got over grievin’ for him long afore this!”
The reply—grotesque in character, and almost jovial in the manner of its delivery—could not fail still further to astonish those to whom it was addressed. Both started on hearing it; and for some moments bent theireyeson the speaker in an expression of wonder, mingled with indignation.
Had Quaco gone mad?
“In the presence of death, sir,” said the young Maroon captain, directing a severe glance upon his lieutenant, “you might lay aside that merry mood, too common with you. It ill becomes you—”
“Death, do ye say, cappen?” interrupted Quaco; “who’s gone dead here?”
There was no reply to this abrupt interrogatory. Those to whom it was addressed were too much taken by surprise to say a word.
“If you mean the young buckra lady,” continued Quaco, “I’d give all the barbecued hog I ever owned nebber to be more dead than she jess now. Dead, i’deed? nonsense dat: she only sleep!”
Herbert and Cubina started from their seats, each uttering a cry of astonishment, in which might be detected the accents of hope.
“Who’s got a piece o’ lookin’-glass!” continued Quaco, turning his glance interrogatively around the hut. “Good,” he exclaimed, as the sparkle of a piece of broken mirror came under his eyes; “here’s the thing itself!
“Now, lookee hyar!” resumed he, taking the bit of glass from the place where it had been deposited, and rubbing its surface with a piece of rag: “you see thar’s ne’er a speck upon it?”
The others, still held silent by surprise, made answer only by nodding their assent.
“Wal, now,” continued Quaco, “watch me a bit.”
Placing the smooth surface of the mirror to the mute lips, he held it there for a minute or more; and then, turning, he raised it up, and held it close to the light of the lamp.
“Ye see,” he cried, triumphantly pointing to a white filmy bloom that appeared upon the glass, partially obscuring its sheen, “that’s her breath! She no gone dead, else how she hab breath?”
His listeners were too excited to make reply. Only by exclamations did they signify their assent to the truth of his hypothesis.
“Ho!” exclaimed Quaco, suddenly dropping the bit of glass, and clutching hold of a phial that lay upon the floor—now for the first time noticed.
“What we got here?” continued he, drawing the cork with his teeth, and thrusting the neck up his wide nostril. “Sleepin’ draugh’! I thought so. So this is the spell that’s put the young buckra lady to rest. Well, there’s another that’ll wake her, if I can only find it. It’s boun’ be hya, somewheres about; and if I can git my claws on it, I’ll make this hya young creatur’ talk to ye in less than ten minutes!”
So saying, the colossus commenced searching around the hut, looking into the numerous chinks and crannies with which both walls and roof were provided.
Restrained by surprise, blended with hopeful anticipation, neither Herbert nor Cubina offered to interrupt his actions, by word or gesture. Both remained in their respective places—silently but anxiously awaiting the event.
Volume Three—Chapter Forty One.Quaco Turned Myal-Man.To Herbert Vaughan it was a moment of tumultuous emotions—joy springing up in the midst of utter woe. That his cousin still breathed he could not doubt; that she lived he was only too ready to believe. Though mystified beyond measure by what appeared the perfect semblance of death, the words of Quaco had given him some clue to a remarkable mystery—at the same time inspiring him with the belief that in that motionless form the soul was yet present. Her breathing upon the mirror had made him sure of it.The mystery to which Quaco’s speeches had introduced him was that ofmyalism. In this the Maroon lieutenant claimed to have skill almost equalling the regular professors of the art. In addition to being Cubina’s deputy on all important occasions, Quaco was the doctor of the band; and in his medical experience he had picked up some knowledge of the system of Obeah—more especially of the trick by which, in the belief of the ignorant, a dead body can be brought to life again—that dread secret of the Coromantee charlatan, known in the West Indies asmyalism.“Only a sleep-spell,” said Quaco, still continuing his search; “nothin’ more than that—a draught given her by the myal-doctor. I know it well enough; and I knows what’ll make all right again; though ’ithout that she’d come to of herself. A-ha! hyar it is! hyar’s the anecdote!”A small bottle glistened between his fingers; which in another instant was uncorked and brought in contact with his nostrils.“Yes, dis is the stuff that’s a-goin’ to countrack that spell. In ’less ’n ten minutes’ time you see her wake up, brisk as ebber she been in her life. Now, young master, if you jess hold up the young lady’s head while I spill a drop or two down her throat—It must go down to do her good.”Herbert, with joyful willingness, obeyed the request; and the beautiful head once more received the support of his arm.Quaco, with all the gentleness of which his huge, coarse fingers were capable, parted the pale lips; and, inserting the neck of the phial, poured out a portion of its contents into the mouth of the sleeper. This done, he held the bottle for some minutes to her nostrils; and then, laying it aside, he commenced chafing her hands between his own broad, corrugated palms.With heart wildly beating, and eyes alternately scanning the face of Quaco and the countenance of the silent sleeper, Herbert made no effort to conceal his terrible solicitude.It would have been far more terrible, but for the confident manner of the negro, and the triumphant tone in which he predicted the result.Scarce five minutes had elapsed from the time of administering the antidote—to Herbert they appeared fifty—when the bosom of the sleeper was seen to swell upward; at the same time that a sigh, just audible, escaped from her lips!Herbert could no longer restrain his emotions. With a cry of supreme joy, he bent his face nearer to that of the young girl, and pressed his lips to hers, at the same time gently murmuring her name.“Be quiet, young master!” cautioned Quaco, “else you may keep her longer from wakin’ up. Hab patience. Leave the anecdote to do its work. ’Tan’t goin’ to be very long.”Herbert, thus counselled, resumed his former attitude; and remained silently but earnestly gazing upon the beautiful face, already showing signs of re-animation.As Quaco had predicted, the “anecdote” was not long in manifesting its effects. The bosom of the young girl began to rise and fall in quick spasmodic motion, showing that respiration was struggling to return; while, at shorter intervals, sighs escaped her, audible even amidst the sounds, so similar, heard from without.Gradually the undulations of the chest became more regular and prolonged, and the lips moved in soft murmuring—as when one is endeavouring to hold converse in a dream!Each instant these utterances became more distinct. Words could be distinguished; and, among others, one that filled the heart of Herbert with happiness indescribable—his own name!Despite the prudent counsel of Quaco, he could no longer restrain himself; but once more imprinting a fervent kiss upon the lips of his beloved cousin, responded to her muttering by loudly pronouncing her name, coupled with words of love and exclamations of encouragement.As if his voice had broken the charm—dispelling the morphine from out her veins—the eyes of the young girl all at once opened.The long, crescent-shaped lashes displayed through their parting those orbs of lovely light, brown as the berry of thetheobroma, and soft as the eyes of a dove.At first their expression was dreamy—unconscious—as if they shone without seeing—looked without recognising.Gradually this appearance became changed. The spark of recognition betrayed itself fast spreading over pupil and iris—until at length, it kindled into the full flame of consciousness.Close to hers was the face of which she had been dreaming. Looking into hers were those eyes she had beheld in her sleep, and with that same glance with which, in her waking hours, they had once regarded her—that glance so fondly remembered!Again was it fixed upon her; but no longer in silence, and unexplained. Now it was accompanied by words of love—by phrases of endearment—spoken with all the wildabandonof an impassioned heart.“Herbert! cousin!” she exclaimed as soon as speech was restored to her. “It is you? Where am I? No matter, since you are by me. It is your arm that is around me?”“Yes, dearest cousin—never more to part from this sweet embrace. Oh, speak to me! Tell me that you live!”“Live? Ah! you thought me dead? I thought so myself. That horrid monster! He is gone? I see him not here! Oh! I am saved! It is you, Herbert? you who have delivered me from worse than death?”“Mine is not the merit, cousin. This brave man by my side—it is he to whom we are both indebted for this deliverance.”“Cubina! and Yola?—poor Yola? She, too, has escaped? Oh! it is a fearful thing. I cannot comprehend—”“Dearest cousin! think not of it now. In time you shall understand all. Know that you are safe—that all danger is past.”“My poor father! if he knew—Chakra alive—that fearful monster!”Herbert was silent, Cubina, at the same time, withdrawing from the hut to give some orders to his followers.“Ah, cousin, what is that upon your breast?” inquired the young girl, innocently touching the object with her fingers. “Is it not the ribbon you took from my purse? Have you been wearing it all this time?”“Ever since that hour! Oh, Kate! no longer can I conceal the truth. I love you! I love you! I have heard. But tell me, dearest cousin!—with your own lips declare it—do you return my love?”“I do! I do!”Once more Herbert kissed the lips that had given utterance to the thrilling declaration.In that kiss two loving souls were sealed for ever!
To Herbert Vaughan it was a moment of tumultuous emotions—joy springing up in the midst of utter woe. That his cousin still breathed he could not doubt; that she lived he was only too ready to believe. Though mystified beyond measure by what appeared the perfect semblance of death, the words of Quaco had given him some clue to a remarkable mystery—at the same time inspiring him with the belief that in that motionless form the soul was yet present. Her breathing upon the mirror had made him sure of it.
The mystery to which Quaco’s speeches had introduced him was that ofmyalism. In this the Maroon lieutenant claimed to have skill almost equalling the regular professors of the art. In addition to being Cubina’s deputy on all important occasions, Quaco was the doctor of the band; and in his medical experience he had picked up some knowledge of the system of Obeah—more especially of the trick by which, in the belief of the ignorant, a dead body can be brought to life again—that dread secret of the Coromantee charlatan, known in the West Indies asmyalism.
“Only a sleep-spell,” said Quaco, still continuing his search; “nothin’ more than that—a draught given her by the myal-doctor. I know it well enough; and I knows what’ll make all right again; though ’ithout that she’d come to of herself. A-ha! hyar it is! hyar’s the anecdote!”
A small bottle glistened between his fingers; which in another instant was uncorked and brought in contact with his nostrils.
“Yes, dis is the stuff that’s a-goin’ to countrack that spell. In ’less ’n ten minutes’ time you see her wake up, brisk as ebber she been in her life. Now, young master, if you jess hold up the young lady’s head while I spill a drop or two down her throat—It must go down to do her good.”
Herbert, with joyful willingness, obeyed the request; and the beautiful head once more received the support of his arm.
Quaco, with all the gentleness of which his huge, coarse fingers were capable, parted the pale lips; and, inserting the neck of the phial, poured out a portion of its contents into the mouth of the sleeper. This done, he held the bottle for some minutes to her nostrils; and then, laying it aside, he commenced chafing her hands between his own broad, corrugated palms.
With heart wildly beating, and eyes alternately scanning the face of Quaco and the countenance of the silent sleeper, Herbert made no effort to conceal his terrible solicitude.
It would have been far more terrible, but for the confident manner of the negro, and the triumphant tone in which he predicted the result.
Scarce five minutes had elapsed from the time of administering the antidote—to Herbert they appeared fifty—when the bosom of the sleeper was seen to swell upward; at the same time that a sigh, just audible, escaped from her lips!
Herbert could no longer restrain his emotions. With a cry of supreme joy, he bent his face nearer to that of the young girl, and pressed his lips to hers, at the same time gently murmuring her name.
“Be quiet, young master!” cautioned Quaco, “else you may keep her longer from wakin’ up. Hab patience. Leave the anecdote to do its work. ’Tan’t goin’ to be very long.”
Herbert, thus counselled, resumed his former attitude; and remained silently but earnestly gazing upon the beautiful face, already showing signs of re-animation.
As Quaco had predicted, the “anecdote” was not long in manifesting its effects. The bosom of the young girl began to rise and fall in quick spasmodic motion, showing that respiration was struggling to return; while, at shorter intervals, sighs escaped her, audible even amidst the sounds, so similar, heard from without.
Gradually the undulations of the chest became more regular and prolonged, and the lips moved in soft murmuring—as when one is endeavouring to hold converse in a dream!
Each instant these utterances became more distinct. Words could be distinguished; and, among others, one that filled the heart of Herbert with happiness indescribable—his own name!
Despite the prudent counsel of Quaco, he could no longer restrain himself; but once more imprinting a fervent kiss upon the lips of his beloved cousin, responded to her muttering by loudly pronouncing her name, coupled with words of love and exclamations of encouragement.
As if his voice had broken the charm—dispelling the morphine from out her veins—the eyes of the young girl all at once opened.
The long, crescent-shaped lashes displayed through their parting those orbs of lovely light, brown as the berry of thetheobroma, and soft as the eyes of a dove.
At first their expression was dreamy—unconscious—as if they shone without seeing—looked without recognising.
Gradually this appearance became changed. The spark of recognition betrayed itself fast spreading over pupil and iris—until at length, it kindled into the full flame of consciousness.
Close to hers was the face of which she had been dreaming. Looking into hers were those eyes she had beheld in her sleep, and with that same glance with which, in her waking hours, they had once regarded her—that glance so fondly remembered!
Again was it fixed upon her; but no longer in silence, and unexplained. Now it was accompanied by words of love—by phrases of endearment—spoken with all the wildabandonof an impassioned heart.
“Herbert! cousin!” she exclaimed as soon as speech was restored to her. “It is you? Where am I? No matter, since you are by me. It is your arm that is around me?”
“Yes, dearest cousin—never more to part from this sweet embrace. Oh, speak to me! Tell me that you live!”
“Live? Ah! you thought me dead? I thought so myself. That horrid monster! He is gone? I see him not here! Oh! I am saved! It is you, Herbert? you who have delivered me from worse than death?”
“Mine is not the merit, cousin. This brave man by my side—it is he to whom we are both indebted for this deliverance.”
“Cubina! and Yola?—poor Yola? She, too, has escaped? Oh! it is a fearful thing. I cannot comprehend—”
“Dearest cousin! think not of it now. In time you shall understand all. Know that you are safe—that all danger is past.”
“My poor father! if he knew—Chakra alive—that fearful monster!”
Herbert was silent, Cubina, at the same time, withdrawing from the hut to give some orders to his followers.
“Ah, cousin, what is that upon your breast?” inquired the young girl, innocently touching the object with her fingers. “Is it not the ribbon you took from my purse? Have you been wearing it all this time?”
“Ever since that hour! Oh, Kate! no longer can I conceal the truth. I love you! I love you! I have heard. But tell me, dearest cousin!—with your own lips declare it—do you return my love?”
“I do! I do!”
Once more Herbert kissed the lips that had given utterance to the thrilling declaration.
In that kiss two loving souls were sealed for ever!
Volume Three—Chapter Forty Two.The Rescue.On starting off from the Duppy’s Hole, it had been the intention of the Jew to wait by the base of the Jumbé Rock for the return of Chakra with the robbers. Before arriving at the rock, a better plan presented itself.In the absence of Chakra—which might be a prolonged one—it occurred to him that he might profitably pass the interval of time by making a reconnoissance of Mount Welcome and its precincts.Before parting from Chakra, therefore, a new place of rendezvous was arranged between them—at a particular place upon the mountain slope, only a short distance from the rear of the garden.This point being settled, Chakra continued on after the home-returning bandits; while his fellow-conspirator, facing down the mountain, proceeded towards the valley of Mount Welcome.He soon came upon the path habitually used in the ascent and descent of the mountain. Only for a short distance did he follow it, however. He conjectured that a pursuit would be already set on foot; and, apprehensive of encountering the pursuers, he preferred making his approach to the house by working his way through the woods, where no path existed. By this means he should advance more slowly, but with greater safety.Favoured by an occasional flash from the smouldering fires—seen at intervals through the trees—he had no difficulty in guiding himself in the right direction; and in due time he arrived at the rearward of the garden.Crouching behind the wall, and looking cautiously over its top, he could command a full view of the grounds—no longer containing a grand house, but only a smouldering mass of half-consumed timbers.There was still sufficient flame springing up amidst the smoke to reveal to the eyes of Jessuron a terribletableau.Under the light could be seen a number of human figures grouped around an object resembling a rude bier. On this lay the body of a white man, whose ghastly visage—ghastlier under the glare of the unnatural light—betokened it to be a corpse.A white man stood beside it, bent over the body, and looking thoughtfully on the face. Jessuron recognised in this individual the overseer of the estate. The others were blacks—both men and women—easily known as the domestics and field slaves of the plantation.At a short distance from these was another group—smaller in individual numbers, but equally conspicuous.Two men lay along the grass in attitudes that showed them to be fast bound. They were white men, in colonial phraseology, though their complexions of dark olive were but a shade or two lighter than those of the negroes who surrounded them. Jessuron easily identified them as his ownemployés, the Cubancaçadores.Some three or four black men stood around them, apparently acting as guards. The costume, arms, and accoutrements of these last—but quite as much their bold, upright bearing—proclaimed them to be men of a different caste from the negroes who encompassed the corpse. They were the Maroons whom Quaco had left in charge of the prisoners.As soon as Jessuron had finished making these observations, he returned to the place of rendezvous, where he was soon joined by Chakra and the robbers. The latter, on their homeward route, having halted for a rest not far beyond the Jumbé Rock, were there overtaken by the myal-man, and brought instantaneously back.The report of Jessuron was delivered to Chakra, who, along with Adam and his followers, advanced to the garden wall, and became himself a spectator of the scene already described.The circumstances suggested the necessity of immediate action. It was evident that Cubina and the main body of the Maroons had gone off in pursuit of the incendiaries at once. No account was made of the presence of the plantation negroes, and the weak guard of the Maroons that had been left could be easily overpowered.Such were the reflections of Chakra and Adam, acted upon almost as soon as conceived; and, leaving Jessuron to await their return, they and their followers crept forward through the shrubbery of the garden.A volley from their guns, fired from an ambush, was heard shortly after. It caused most of the Maroon guard to fall dead by the side of their prisoners, at the same time putting to flight the people of the plantation, with their overseer at their head.Nothing then remained but to relieve the captives from their cords; and this being readily accomplished, both robbers andcaçadoresretreated up the mountain.On nearing the Jumbé Rock, the confederates once more separated. Adam and his followers continued on towards their mountain home, while Chakra, accompanied by the Jew, and followed by Manuel and Andres, proceeded in the direction of the Duppy’s Hole.It was the design of Jessuron that the two Cubanos should remain in that safe asylum—as guests of the Coromantee—until such time as he might find an opportunity for shipping them back to the country whence they had come.Chakra’s consent to this arrangement had not yet been obtained, and it was to this end that the Jew was now on his errand—for the second time that night—to the sombre solitude of the Duppy’s Hole.
On starting off from the Duppy’s Hole, it had been the intention of the Jew to wait by the base of the Jumbé Rock for the return of Chakra with the robbers. Before arriving at the rock, a better plan presented itself.
In the absence of Chakra—which might be a prolonged one—it occurred to him that he might profitably pass the interval of time by making a reconnoissance of Mount Welcome and its precincts.
Before parting from Chakra, therefore, a new place of rendezvous was arranged between them—at a particular place upon the mountain slope, only a short distance from the rear of the garden.
This point being settled, Chakra continued on after the home-returning bandits; while his fellow-conspirator, facing down the mountain, proceeded towards the valley of Mount Welcome.
He soon came upon the path habitually used in the ascent and descent of the mountain. Only for a short distance did he follow it, however. He conjectured that a pursuit would be already set on foot; and, apprehensive of encountering the pursuers, he preferred making his approach to the house by working his way through the woods, where no path existed. By this means he should advance more slowly, but with greater safety.
Favoured by an occasional flash from the smouldering fires—seen at intervals through the trees—he had no difficulty in guiding himself in the right direction; and in due time he arrived at the rearward of the garden.
Crouching behind the wall, and looking cautiously over its top, he could command a full view of the grounds—no longer containing a grand house, but only a smouldering mass of half-consumed timbers.
There was still sufficient flame springing up amidst the smoke to reveal to the eyes of Jessuron a terribletableau.
Under the light could be seen a number of human figures grouped around an object resembling a rude bier. On this lay the body of a white man, whose ghastly visage—ghastlier under the glare of the unnatural light—betokened it to be a corpse.
A white man stood beside it, bent over the body, and looking thoughtfully on the face. Jessuron recognised in this individual the overseer of the estate. The others were blacks—both men and women—easily known as the domestics and field slaves of the plantation.
At a short distance from these was another group—smaller in individual numbers, but equally conspicuous.
Two men lay along the grass in attitudes that showed them to be fast bound. They were white men, in colonial phraseology, though their complexions of dark olive were but a shade or two lighter than those of the negroes who surrounded them. Jessuron easily identified them as his ownemployés, the Cubancaçadores.
Some three or four black men stood around them, apparently acting as guards. The costume, arms, and accoutrements of these last—but quite as much their bold, upright bearing—proclaimed them to be men of a different caste from the negroes who encompassed the corpse. They were the Maroons whom Quaco had left in charge of the prisoners.
As soon as Jessuron had finished making these observations, he returned to the place of rendezvous, where he was soon joined by Chakra and the robbers. The latter, on their homeward route, having halted for a rest not far beyond the Jumbé Rock, were there overtaken by the myal-man, and brought instantaneously back.
The report of Jessuron was delivered to Chakra, who, along with Adam and his followers, advanced to the garden wall, and became himself a spectator of the scene already described.
The circumstances suggested the necessity of immediate action. It was evident that Cubina and the main body of the Maroons had gone off in pursuit of the incendiaries at once. No account was made of the presence of the plantation negroes, and the weak guard of the Maroons that had been left could be easily overpowered.
Such were the reflections of Chakra and Adam, acted upon almost as soon as conceived; and, leaving Jessuron to await their return, they and their followers crept forward through the shrubbery of the garden.
A volley from their guns, fired from an ambush, was heard shortly after. It caused most of the Maroon guard to fall dead by the side of their prisoners, at the same time putting to flight the people of the plantation, with their overseer at their head.
Nothing then remained but to relieve the captives from their cords; and this being readily accomplished, both robbers andcaçadoresretreated up the mountain.
On nearing the Jumbé Rock, the confederates once more separated. Adam and his followers continued on towards their mountain home, while Chakra, accompanied by the Jew, and followed by Manuel and Andres, proceeded in the direction of the Duppy’s Hole.
It was the design of Jessuron that the two Cubanos should remain in that safe asylum—as guests of the Coromantee—until such time as he might find an opportunity for shipping them back to the country whence they had come.
Chakra’s consent to this arrangement had not yet been obtained, and it was to this end that the Jew was now on his errand—for the second time that night—to the sombre solitude of the Duppy’s Hole.
Volume Three—Chapter Forty Three.Down the Mountain.The midnight hour had passed ere the lovers forsook the solitude of the Duppy’s Hole.From mingled motives Herbert had lingered on that wild spot. He feared the dread development which he knew must take place on their return to Mount Welcome. What a terrible blow to that young bosom, now in the full enjoyment of earth’s supremest happiness! He knew the fatal truth could not loner be concealed; nevertheless, he was desirous of keeping it back as long as possible—at least until his cousin had further recovered from the shock which her spirit had that night sustained.In concert with Cubina, he had spent some time in reflecting how this temporary concealment might be effected.Only one way suggested itself—to conduct his cousin to the house of the overseer; there to remain until, as she might suppose, her rather could receive the news of the conflagration that had occurred, and return home again.The young girl knew that the mansion was burnt down. Its blaze was before her eyes when they ceased to see—lighting her ravisher along the forest path. The roof that had sheltered her childhood was a ruin. She knew all that.It was therefore but natural that a temporary home should be sought elsewhere, and in the house of the overseer. She could have no suspicion of any design in their taking her thither.Neither Herbert nor Cubina knew whether the corpse of the Custos had yet reached its destination. Quaco, on hurriedly parting with it, had given no orders, either to the bearers or the Maroons left in charge of the two prisoners, to move forward.The funeralcortègemight still be upon the road, where it had been left by Herbert and Cubina.If so, it might be possible for them to pass the ruined dwelling, and reach the house of the overseer, without any news of the assassination being communicated to her—the only one likely to be profoundly affected by that dread disaster.Once under the roof of Mr Trusty, means could be taken to keep silent the tongues of those who should be brought in contact with her.Such was the scheme, hastily concerted between Herbert and Cubina; and which they now proceeded to execute, by conducting the young creole out of the Duppy’s Hole and commencing their descent towards the valley of Mount Welcome.Only the two accompanied her. The Maroons, under their lieutenant, Quaco, remained behind; and for an important purpose—the capturing of Chakra.Cubina would himself have stayed, but for a certain impatience once more to enjoy the company of his beloved Yola, who had been left among the other domestics of the desolated establishment.The Maroon captain had perfect confidence—both in the skill of his lieutenant, and the courage of his followers. He could trust them for an affair like that; and as he parted from the Duppy’s Hole he had very little doubt that by daybreak, or perhaps before that time, Chakra would be the captive of Quaco.Slowly Herbert and his cousin moved down the mountain. The moon, now shining sweetly upon the perfumed path, favoured their descent; but there was no need—no desire for haste. Cubina kept ahead, to secure them from surprise or danger. The young girl walked side by side with Herbert, leaning upon his arm—that strong arm, once so freely and affectionately promised. The time had arrived when that offer was accepted and welcomed—a proud time for the young Englishman—a happy time, as he walked on, thrilled by the touch of that round arm softly pressing his own—at times more heavily leaning upon him, not from any physical weakness on the part of his companion, but rather out of the pure fondness of her affection.The strength of the young Creole had become almost restored—the effects of the narcotic having completed disappeared. She had also recovered from the prostration of spirit which it had produced—perhaps all the sooner from the cheering presence of him who was by her side.The terrible sufferings she had endured were succeeded by a happiness tranquil and profound. She now knew that Herbert loved her: more than once within the hour had he given her that sweet assurance.On her part there was no coyness—not a shadow of coquetry. She had responded to his vows by a full, free surrender of her heart.And her hand? Was it still free?Herbert sought an answer to this question as they passed onward—only indirectly, and with all the delicacy that circumstances would permit.Was it true, what he had heard, that a promise had been given to Smythje?With downcast eyes the young girl remained for some moments without vouchsafing any reply. Her trembling arm betrayed the painful struggle that was agitating her bosom.Presently the storm appeared to have partially subsided. Her features became fixed, as if she had resolved upon a confession; and in a firm, but low, murmured voice, she made answer,—“A promise! yes, Herbert, wrung from me in my darkest hour—then, when I thoughtyoucared not for me—when I heard that you also had made such promise—to another. Oh, Herbert! oh, cousin! believe me it was against my will; it was forced from me by threats, by appeals—”“Then it is not binding!” eagerly interrupted the lover. “There was no oath—no betrothal between you? Even if there had been—”“Even if there had been!” cried the young girl, repeating his words—the hot Creole blood mounting suddenly to her cheeks, while her eyes expressed a certain determination. “There was no oath. Even if there had been, it could no longer bind me. No! After what has occurred this night—in the hour of danger deserted by him—no, no! After that, I could never consent to be the wife of Mr Smythje. Rather suffer the charge of perjury, from which my own conscience would absolve me, than to fulfil that promise. Rather shall I submit to the disinheritance which my father threatens, and which upon his return he will doubtless execute. Yes, death itself, rather than become the wife of a coward!”“How little danger of that disinheritance!” thought Herbert. “How shall I tell the fearful tidings? How reveal to her that she is at this moment the mistress of Mount Welcome? Not yet—not yet!”For a while the young man remained silent, scarce knowing how to continue the conversation.She noticed his air of thoughtful abstraction. It guided her to unpleasant conjectures.“Cousin! are you angry with me for what I have said? Do you blame me—”“No—no!” cried Herbert, impressively; “far from it. By the conduct of this man—woman, I should call him, were it not for disgracing the name—by his behaviour to you, you would be released from the most solemn of oaths—much more a mere promise given against your will. It was not of that I was thinking.”“Of what, Herbert?”As she put this question she leant towards him, and gazed into his eyes with a look of troubled inquiry.The young man was puzzled for a reply. His thoughtful silence was evidently causing her uneasiness that each moment increased. Her glances betokened some painful suspicion.She did not wait for his answer; but, in a voice that trembled, put the additional interrogative,—“Haveyoumade a promise?”“To whom?”“Oh, Herbert! do not ask me to pronounce the name. You must know to whom I allude.”Herbert was relieved by the interrogatory. It changed the current of his thoughts, at the same time giving him a cue for something to say.“Ha! ha!” laughed he; “I think, cousin, I comprehend you. A promise, indeed! Nothing of the sort, I assure you; though, sinceyouhave been good enough to make confession, neither shall I conceal what has passed between her to whom you refer and myself. There was no love between us—at least, none upon my side, I can assure you, cousin. But, I will confess that, stung by what I fancied was your coldness to me—misled by a thousand reports, now happily found to be false—I had nearly committed myself to the speaking of a word which no doubt I should have rued throughout all the rest of my life. Thank fortune! circumstances have saved me—saved us both, may I say?”“Oh, happiness! Herbert—Herbert! then you will be mine—mine only?”Yielding to the promptings of an all-absorbing passion, the young creole gave utterance to this bold interrogatory.“Dearest Kate!” replied the lover, half delirious with joy, “my heart is yours—all yours. My hand—oh, cousin, I scarce dare to offer it! You are rich—grand—and I—I poor—penniless—even without a home!”“Alas! Herbert, you know not. Were I rich—ten times as rich as you, believe me, you would be welcome to all. But no. Perhaps I may be poor as yourself. Ah me! you do not know; but you shall. I shall conceal nothing. Know, then, dearest cousin, that my mother was a quadroon, and I am only amustee. I cannot inherit my father’s property, except by will; and not even that till an act is obtained from the Assembly. That is the errand upon which my father is gone. But whether he succeed or not, matters not now. Too surely will he disinherit me; for never shall I consent to become the wife of the man he has commanded me to many—never!”“Oh, cousin!” cried Herbert, enraptured by the emphatic tone in which she had declared her determination, “if you consent to become mine, I care not for your riches. Your heart is the wealth I covet—that will be enough for me. What matters it even should we both be poor? I am young. I can work. I can strive. We may yet find friends, or, if not, we can do without them. Be mine!”“Yours for any fate!—for life, Herbert! for life!”
The midnight hour had passed ere the lovers forsook the solitude of the Duppy’s Hole.
From mingled motives Herbert had lingered on that wild spot. He feared the dread development which he knew must take place on their return to Mount Welcome. What a terrible blow to that young bosom, now in the full enjoyment of earth’s supremest happiness! He knew the fatal truth could not loner be concealed; nevertheless, he was desirous of keeping it back as long as possible—at least until his cousin had further recovered from the shock which her spirit had that night sustained.
In concert with Cubina, he had spent some time in reflecting how this temporary concealment might be effected.
Only one way suggested itself—to conduct his cousin to the house of the overseer; there to remain until, as she might suppose, her rather could receive the news of the conflagration that had occurred, and return home again.
The young girl knew that the mansion was burnt down. Its blaze was before her eyes when they ceased to see—lighting her ravisher along the forest path. The roof that had sheltered her childhood was a ruin. She knew all that.
It was therefore but natural that a temporary home should be sought elsewhere, and in the house of the overseer. She could have no suspicion of any design in their taking her thither.
Neither Herbert nor Cubina knew whether the corpse of the Custos had yet reached its destination. Quaco, on hurriedly parting with it, had given no orders, either to the bearers or the Maroons left in charge of the two prisoners, to move forward.
The funeralcortègemight still be upon the road, where it had been left by Herbert and Cubina.
If so, it might be possible for them to pass the ruined dwelling, and reach the house of the overseer, without any news of the assassination being communicated to her—the only one likely to be profoundly affected by that dread disaster.
Once under the roof of Mr Trusty, means could be taken to keep silent the tongues of those who should be brought in contact with her.
Such was the scheme, hastily concerted between Herbert and Cubina; and which they now proceeded to execute, by conducting the young creole out of the Duppy’s Hole and commencing their descent towards the valley of Mount Welcome.
Only the two accompanied her. The Maroons, under their lieutenant, Quaco, remained behind; and for an important purpose—the capturing of Chakra.
Cubina would himself have stayed, but for a certain impatience once more to enjoy the company of his beloved Yola, who had been left among the other domestics of the desolated establishment.
The Maroon captain had perfect confidence—both in the skill of his lieutenant, and the courage of his followers. He could trust them for an affair like that; and as he parted from the Duppy’s Hole he had very little doubt that by daybreak, or perhaps before that time, Chakra would be the captive of Quaco.
Slowly Herbert and his cousin moved down the mountain. The moon, now shining sweetly upon the perfumed path, favoured their descent; but there was no need—no desire for haste. Cubina kept ahead, to secure them from surprise or danger. The young girl walked side by side with Herbert, leaning upon his arm—that strong arm, once so freely and affectionately promised. The time had arrived when that offer was accepted and welcomed—a proud time for the young Englishman—a happy time, as he walked on, thrilled by the touch of that round arm softly pressing his own—at times more heavily leaning upon him, not from any physical weakness on the part of his companion, but rather out of the pure fondness of her affection.
The strength of the young Creole had become almost restored—the effects of the narcotic having completed disappeared. She had also recovered from the prostration of spirit which it had produced—perhaps all the sooner from the cheering presence of him who was by her side.
The terrible sufferings she had endured were succeeded by a happiness tranquil and profound. She now knew that Herbert loved her: more than once within the hour had he given her that sweet assurance.
On her part there was no coyness—not a shadow of coquetry. She had responded to his vows by a full, free surrender of her heart.
And her hand? Was it still free?
Herbert sought an answer to this question as they passed onward—only indirectly, and with all the delicacy that circumstances would permit.
Was it true, what he had heard, that a promise had been given to Smythje?
With downcast eyes the young girl remained for some moments without vouchsafing any reply. Her trembling arm betrayed the painful struggle that was agitating her bosom.
Presently the storm appeared to have partially subsided. Her features became fixed, as if she had resolved upon a confession; and in a firm, but low, murmured voice, she made answer,—
“A promise! yes, Herbert, wrung from me in my darkest hour—then, when I thoughtyoucared not for me—when I heard that you also had made such promise—to another. Oh, Herbert! oh, cousin! believe me it was against my will; it was forced from me by threats, by appeals—”
“Then it is not binding!” eagerly interrupted the lover. “There was no oath—no betrothal between you? Even if there had been—”
“Even if there had been!” cried the young girl, repeating his words—the hot Creole blood mounting suddenly to her cheeks, while her eyes expressed a certain determination. “There was no oath. Even if there had been, it could no longer bind me. No! After what has occurred this night—in the hour of danger deserted by him—no, no! After that, I could never consent to be the wife of Mr Smythje. Rather suffer the charge of perjury, from which my own conscience would absolve me, than to fulfil that promise. Rather shall I submit to the disinheritance which my father threatens, and which upon his return he will doubtless execute. Yes, death itself, rather than become the wife of a coward!”
“How little danger of that disinheritance!” thought Herbert. “How shall I tell the fearful tidings? How reveal to her that she is at this moment the mistress of Mount Welcome? Not yet—not yet!”
For a while the young man remained silent, scarce knowing how to continue the conversation.
She noticed his air of thoughtful abstraction. It guided her to unpleasant conjectures.
“Cousin! are you angry with me for what I have said? Do you blame me—”
“No—no!” cried Herbert, impressively; “far from it. By the conduct of this man—woman, I should call him, were it not for disgracing the name—by his behaviour to you, you would be released from the most solemn of oaths—much more a mere promise given against your will. It was not of that I was thinking.”
“Of what, Herbert?”
As she put this question she leant towards him, and gazed into his eyes with a look of troubled inquiry.
The young man was puzzled for a reply. His thoughtful silence was evidently causing her uneasiness that each moment increased. Her glances betokened some painful suspicion.
She did not wait for his answer; but, in a voice that trembled, put the additional interrogative,—
“Haveyoumade a promise?”
“To whom?”
“Oh, Herbert! do not ask me to pronounce the name. You must know to whom I allude.”
Herbert was relieved by the interrogatory. It changed the current of his thoughts, at the same time giving him a cue for something to say.
“Ha! ha!” laughed he; “I think, cousin, I comprehend you. A promise, indeed! Nothing of the sort, I assure you; though, sinceyouhave been good enough to make confession, neither shall I conceal what has passed between her to whom you refer and myself. There was no love between us—at least, none upon my side, I can assure you, cousin. But, I will confess that, stung by what I fancied was your coldness to me—misled by a thousand reports, now happily found to be false—I had nearly committed myself to the speaking of a word which no doubt I should have rued throughout all the rest of my life. Thank fortune! circumstances have saved me—saved us both, may I say?”
“Oh, happiness! Herbert—Herbert! then you will be mine—mine only?”
Yielding to the promptings of an all-absorbing passion, the young creole gave utterance to this bold interrogatory.
“Dearest Kate!” replied the lover, half delirious with joy, “my heart is yours—all yours. My hand—oh, cousin, I scarce dare to offer it! You are rich—grand—and I—I poor—penniless—even without a home!”
“Alas! Herbert, you know not. Were I rich—ten times as rich as you, believe me, you would be welcome to all. But no. Perhaps I may be poor as yourself. Ah me! you do not know; but you shall. I shall conceal nothing. Know, then, dearest cousin, that my mother was a quadroon, and I am only amustee. I cannot inherit my father’s property, except by will; and not even that till an act is obtained from the Assembly. That is the errand upon which my father is gone. But whether he succeed or not, matters not now. Too surely will he disinherit me; for never shall I consent to become the wife of the man he has commanded me to many—never!”
“Oh, cousin!” cried Herbert, enraptured by the emphatic tone in which she had declared her determination, “if you consent to become mine, I care not for your riches. Your heart is the wealth I covet—that will be enough for me. What matters it even should we both be poor? I am young. I can work. I can strive. We may yet find friends, or, if not, we can do without them. Be mine!”
“Yours for any fate!—for life, Herbert! for life!”