The Maroon

After having got beyond the surroundings of the house, and some distance into the pimento forest, the Foolah walked with more freedom – as if no longer fearing interruption. She was, therefore, less likely to perceive that ill-omened shadow, that still continued on her track – following, as before, by a series of progressive traverses, and in death-like silence.

On reaching the glade, the young girl advanced towards the ceiba, and took her stand within its shadow – on a spot, in her eyes, “hallowed down to earth’s profound, and up to heaven.”

She merely glanced round to satisfy herself that Cubina was not there. She scarce expected him yet. The hour, though late, was earlier than the time appointed. It had not yet gone twelve – else she would have heard the plantation clock announcing it.

Allowing her eyes to drop to the ground at her feet, she stood for some minutes buried in a reverie of reflection – a sweet reverie, as befitted her situation of pleasant expectancy.

She was startled from this abstraction by the behaviour of a bird – a scarlet tanager, that rose, fluttering and frightened, out of a small clump of bushes about ten paces from the ceiba, and in which it had been reposing.

The bird, uttering a cry of alarm, forsook the shelter, and flew off into the forest.

Yola could see nothing that should have caused the creature to make so abrupt a departure from its roosting-place. Her own presence could scarce have been the cause: since she had been some minutes upon the ground, and standing in tranquil pose. Some of its natural enemies had frayed the bird? Perhaps a rat, an owl, or a serpent? Thus reasoned she; and was so satisfied.

If, instead of contenting herself with this conjecture, she had stepped ten paces forward, and looked into the little copse, she would have seen there something very different from any of the three creatures her fancy had conjured up. She would have seen the form of a woman crouching within the shadow, with features set in suppressed rage, and eyes glowing indignantly upon herself. Easily, too, would she have recognised the face as that of her fellow-slave, Cynthia!

But she saw it not, though Cynthia saw her – though for hours did the two remain in this singular juxtaposition – one occupied with the vigil of love, the other absorbed in the vigil of jealousy.

For long hours did the Foolah maid wait for the coming of her beloved Cubina – her ear keenly bent to catch any sound that might announce his approach; her bosom every moment becoming more and more a prey to painful impatience.

Equally long stayed the spy in her place of concealment – equally suffering torture from jealous imaginings.

To both it was a relief, when a footstep upon the path, and a rustling of branches, proclaimed the approach of some one towards the spot. It was but a momentary relief, mocking the anticipations of both – thwarting the joy of the one, and the vengeful design of the other.

Instead of the expected lover, a very different personage made his appearance; and almost at the same instant another, coming from the opposite side.

Both, at the same time, advanced towards the middle of the glade; and, without exchanging a word, stopped face to face near the ceiba, as if they had met by appointment.

They were out in the open ground, and under the full light of the moon. Both were men, and the faces of both could be distinctly seen.

Yola knew only one of them, and the sight of him hindered her from staying to look upon the other. She merely glanced at a countenance that was fearful – though not more fearful to her than the one she had already recognised, and which had at once determined her to get away from the ground.

Keeping the great trunk between herself and the new comers, and retreating silently under its shadow, she glided back into the underwood of the forest, and was soon far from the presence of the two intruders, who had brought her long and vain vigil to such an unsatisfactory termination.

Cynthia could not have followed her example, even had she been so inclined. The two men had stopped within six paces of the spot in which she lay concealed. On every side of it the ground was clear of cover, with the moon shining full upon it. A cat could not have crept out of the copse without attracting the attention of one or the other.

Cynthia knew both the men – was the confederate of both – though not without fearing them.

At first sight of them she would have discovered herself, but disliked to come under the observation of her rival. Afterwards, when the two men had entered into conversation, she was held in her place by a dread of a different kind. She had already overheard part of what they were saying; and she feared they might punish her for eavesdropping, involuntary though it was.

Better for Cynthia had she then declared herself; but dreaming not of discovery, or the fearful fate that might be involved in it, she determined to be still, and listen to the dark dialogue to its ending.

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Five

Cynthia in Trouble

The two men who had thus interrupted the silent tableau by the ceiba tree were Jacob Jessuron and Chakra the Coromantee.

Just at the time that Chakra departed from the Jumbé Rock to pay his nocturnal visit to the Jew, the latter was leaving his penn to honour the Coromantee with a similar call.

As both were travelling the same path, and in adverse directions, it was more than probable – a necessity, in fact – that each should meet the other before reaching the end of his journey. Also, as the glade, where stood the great ceiba, was on the same path, and midway between the Jumbé Rock and the Jew’s penn, it was natural this encounter should take place not far from that noted trysting-place. In effect, it occurred within the glade: the two men having entered it almost at the same instant of time.

The Jew had got first into the open ground, and was first seen. The myal-man might have had these advantages had he wished: he had been the first to arrive on the edge of the opening; but, true to his instinct of caution, he had kept under cover until making a reconnoissance, in which he saw and recognised his advancing vis-à-vis.

They met near the middle of the glade, just outside the shadow of the great tree, stopping face to face when within a pace or two of each other. Not the slightest salutation was exchanged between the two men – any more than if they had been two tigers who had just come together in the jungle. The secret compact between them precluded the necessity for compliment or palaver. Each understood the other; and not a word was spoken to introduce the dialogue except that which was pertinent to the business between them.

“Well, goot Shakra! you hash news for me?” interrogated the Jew, taking the initiative in the conversation. “You hash been in the direction of Savanna? Ish all right on the road?”

“Whugh!” vociferated the myal-man, throwing out his breast and jerking up his shoulders with an air of triumphant importance. “All right, eh? Well, not azzackly on de road, but by de side ob daat same, dar lie a corp’, wich by dis time oughter be as cold as de heart ob a water-millyum, an’ ’tiff as – ’tiff as – as – de ’keleton ob ole Chakra. Ha! ha! ha!”

And the speaker uttered a peal of fierce laughter at the simile he had had so much difficulty in conceiving; but which, when found, recalled the sweet triumph of his vengeance.

“Blesh my soul! Then it ish all over?”

“Daat’s all ober – Ise be boun’.”

“And the shpell did it? There wash no need – ”

With a start the Jew paused in his speech, as if about to say something he had not intended; and which had been very near escaping him.

“There wash no need – no need for you to haf gone after?”

This was evidently not the question originally upon his tongue.

“No need!” repeated Chakra, a little puzzled at the interrogatory; “no need, so far as dat war consarned. Ob coos de ’pell did de work, as a knowd it wud, an’ jess as a told you it wud. ’Twan’t fo’ dat a went arter, but a puppos ob my own. Who tole ye, Massr Jake, dat I wor gone arter?”

“Goot Shakra, I washn’t quite sure till now. The wench Cynthy thought ash how you had followed the Cushtos.”

“Whugh! dat ’ere gal talk too much. She hab her tongue ’topped ’fore long. She muss hab her tongue ’topp, else she gess boaf o’ us in trouble. Nebba mind! A make dat all right too – by-’m-bye. Now, Massr Jake, a want dat odder twenty-five pound. De job am finish, an’ de work am done. Now’s de time fo’ de pay.”

“That ish right, Shakra. I hash the monish here in red gold. There it ish.”

As the Jew said this, he passed a bag containing gold into the hands of Chakra.

“You’ll find it ish all counted correct. Twenty-five poundsh currenshy. Fifty pounsh altogether, ash agreed. A deal of monish – a deal of monish, s’ help me!”

Chakra made no reply to this significant insinuation; but, taking the bag, deposited it in the lining of his skin kaross, as he did so giving utterance to his favourite ejaculation, “Whugh!” the meaning of which varied according to the accentuation given to it.

“And now, goot Shakra!” continued the Jew: “I hash more work for you. There ish another shpell wanted, for which you shall have another fifty poundsh; but firsht tell me, hash you seen anyone to-day on your travels?”

“Seed any one, eh? Well, dat am a quessin, Massr Jake. A seed a good wheen on my trabbels: more’n seed me, I’se be boun’.”

“But ash you seen anyone ash you know?”

“Sartin a did – de Cussus fo’ one, tho’, by de gollies! a hardly wud a knowd him, he wa’ so fur gone – moas to de bone! He am almos’ as much a ’keleton as ole Chakra hisself. Ha! ha! ha!”

“Anybody elshe that you hash a knowledge of?”

“No – nob’dy – neery one as a know anythin’ bout ’ceppin’ de Cussus’ ’tendant. A seed odder men on de road, but dey wur fur off, and a keep dem fur off as a kud. Oa! yes, dar wa’ one who comed near – mose too near – him I knowd. Dat wa’ one ob dem ’ere Trelawney Maroon – Quaco dey call um.”

“Only Quaco, you shay? You hash seen nothing of hish capt’in, Cubina, nor of a young white gentlemansh along with him?”

“Neider de one nor de todder ob dem two people. Wha fo’ you ask dat, Massr Jake?”

“I hash a good reason, Shakra. The young fellow I speaksh of ish a book-keeper of mine. He hash left the penn thish very morning. I don’t know for why, or whither he ish gone; but I hash a reason to think he ish in company with Capt’in Cubina. Maybe not, and maybe he’ll be back again; but it looksh suspicious. If he’sh gone for goot, the shpell will be all for nothingsh. ’S’help me, for nothingsh!”

“Dat’s a pity! I’m sorry fo’ dat, Massr Jake. A hope he no gone.”

“Whether or not, I mushn’t go to shleep about it. There ish another shpell that will be more needed now ash ever.”

“De Obi am ready. Who d’ye want um set fo’ nex’?”

“For this rashcal Cubina.”

“Ah, dat ere in welkum. De god do him bess to ’pell him.”

“He hash trouble for me. It ish not like to come so soon now, ash the Cushtos ish out of the way. But who knowsh how soon? And better ash the shpell should be set at once. So, good Shakra, if you can manish to do for Cubina in as short a time ash you hash done the Cushtos, there ish another fifty poundsh ready for you.”

“A’ll do ma bess, Massr Jake, to earn you money. All do ma bess – de bess can do no mo.”

“That ish true, goot Shakra! Don’t you think this wench, Cynthy, can help you?”

“Not a bit ob help from dat quar’r – not worth a ’traw for ’pelling Cubina. He no let de m’latta come nigh o’ ’im fo’ no considerashun. He sick ob de sight o’ her. Besides, dat gal, she know too much now. She one ob dese days fotch de white folk to de Duppy Hole. Dat nebba do. No furrer use now. She hab serb her turn, an’ mus’ be got rid ob – muss go ’long wi’ de odders – long wi’ de Cussus. Da’s my way – de only way keep a woman tongue tied, am to ’top ’um waggin’ altogedder. Whugh!”

After uttering the implied threat, the monster stood silent a moment, as if reflecting upon some mode by which he could make away with the life of the mulatta.

“You think, Shakra, you ish likely to find somebody elshe to assist you?”

“Nebba fear, Massr Jake. Leab dat to ole Chakra – ole Chakra an’ ole Obi. Dey do de bizness widout help from any odder.”

“Fifty poundsh, then, Shakra. Ach! I’d give twice the monish – yes, s’help me, ten times the monish – if I knew it wash all right with young Vochan. Ach! where ish he gone?”

The expression of bitter chagrin, almost anguish, with which the villainous old Jew, for at least the tenth time on that day, repeated this interrogative formula, told that, of all the matters upon his mind, the absence of his book-keeper was the one uppermost, and deemed by him of most importance.

“Blesh my soul!” continued he, lifting his umbrella high in air, and continuing to hold it up, “Blesh my soul! if he ish gone for goot, I shall have all thish trouble for nothing – all the cr-r – inconvenience!”

It was “crime” he was about to have said; but he changed the word – not from any delicacy in the presence of Chakra, but rather to still a shuddering within himself, to which the thought had given rise.

“Nebba mind, Massr Jake,” said his confederate, encouragingly; “you hab got rid ob an enemy – same’s masseff. Dat am someting, anyhow; an’ a promise you soon get shot ob one odder. A go at once ’bout dat berry bizness.”

“Yesh! yesh! soon, goot Shakra, soon ash you can! I won’t keep yoush any longer. It ish near daylight. I musht go back, and get some shleep. S’help me! I hash not had a wink thish night. Ach! I can’t shleep so long ash he’sh not found. I musht go home, and see if there ish any newsh of him.”

So saying, and turning on his heel, without “good night,” or any other parting salutation, the Jew strode abstractedly off, leaving Chakra where he stood.

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Six

A Fatal Sneeze

“Whugh!” ejaculated the Coromantee, as soon as his confederate was out of hearing; “dar’s someting heavy on de mind ob dat ere ole Jew – someting wuss dan de death ob de Cussus Va’gh’n. Wonder now wha’ em be all ’bout? ’Bout dis yar book-keeper a knows it am. But wha’ ’bout him? A’ll find out ’fore a’m many hour older. Daat a’ll do. Gollies! A muss go an’ git some sleep too. A’m jess like de Jew masseff – han’t had ne’er a wink dis night, nor de night afore neider; nor doan expeck get de half ob a wink morrer night! Dat will be night ob all odder! Morrer night, if all ting go well, Chakra he no sleep him ’lone – he sleep no more by hisseff – he hab for him bedfellow de beauty ob all de Island ob Jamaica. He sleep wi’ de Lilly – .”

Ere the full name of the victim threatened with this horrid fate had passed from his lips, the menace of the myal-man was interrupted.

The interruption was caused by a sound proceeding from the little clump of bushes close to where Chakra stood.

It sounded exactly as if some one had sneezed – for it was that in reality. Cynthia had sneezed.

She had not done so intentionally – far from it. After what she had heard, it was not likely she would have uttered any sound to proclaim her presence.

At that instant she would have given all she possessed in the world – all she ever hoped to possess, even the love of Cubina – to have been miles from the spot, within the safe kitchen of Mount Welcome – anywhere but where she then was.

Long before the conversation between the Jew and Chakra had come to a close, she had made up her mind never to see the myal-man again – never willingly. Now an encounter appeared inevitable: he must have heard the sneeze!

The wretched woman reasoned aright – he had heard it.

A fierce “whugh!” was the ejaculation it called forth in response; and then the myal-man, turning suddenly in the direction whence it appeared to have proceeded, stood for a short time silent, and listening.

“By golly!” said he, speaking aloud; “dat ’ere soun’ berry like a ’neeze! Some ob dem ’ere trees ha’ been a-takin’ snuff. A’d jess like know wha’ sort ob varmint made dat obstropolus noise. It wan’t a bush – dat’s sartin. Nor yet wa’ it a bird. What den? It wan’t ’t all onlike de ’neeze ob a nigga wench! But what wud a wench be a-doin’ in tha? Da’s what puzzles me. Lookee hya!” added he, raising his voice, and addressing himself to whoever or whatever might have produced the noise; “les’s hear dat ag’in, whosomebber you be! Take anodder pince ob de snuff – louder dis time, so a can tell whedder you am a man or whedder you be femmynine.”

He waited for a while, to see if his speech would elicit a response; but none came. Within the copse all remained silent, as if no living thing was sheltered under its sombre shadows.

“You wan’t ’neeze agin,” continued he, seeing there was no reply; “den, by golly, a make you, ef you am what a ’speck you is – someb’dy hid in dar to lissen. No snake can’t a ’neeze dat way, no’ yet a lizzart. You muss be eyder man, woman, or chile; an’ ef you be, an’ hab heerd wha’s been say, by de great Accompong! you life no be worth – Ha! ha!”

As he entered upon this last paragraph of his apostrophe he had commenced moving towards the copse, which was only six paces from his starting-point. Before the speech was completed he had passed in among the bushes; and, bending them over with his long, ape-like arms, was scrutinising the ground underneath.

The exclamation was called forth by his perceiving the form of a woman in a crouching attitude within the shadow.

In another instant he had seized the woman by the shoulder, and with a quick wrench jerked her into an erect position.

“Cynthy!” he exclaimed, as the light fell upon the countenance of the mulatta.

“Yes, Chakra!” cried the woman, screaming ere she spoke; “it’s me, it’s me!”

“Whugh! Wha’ you do hya? Youb been lissenin’. Wha’ fo’ you lissen?”

“Oh, Chakra! I did not intend it. I came here – ”

“How long you been hya? Tell dat quick!”

“Oh, Chakra – I came – ”

“You hya ’fore we came in’ de glade. Needn’t axe dat. You no kud git hya atterwad. You heer all been said? You muss hab heer it.”

“Oh, Chakra, I couldn’t help it. I would have gone – ”

“Den you nebba hear nodder word more. Won’t do let you go now. You come hya; you stay hya. You nebba go out ob dis ’pot. Whugh!”

And giving to the monosyllable an aspirate of fierceness, that caused it to sound more like the utterance of a wild beast than a human being, the monster threw out his long dark arms, and rushed towards his intended victim.

In another instant his long muscular fingers were clutched round the throat of the mulatta, clamping it with the tightness and tenacity of an iron garotte.

The wretched creature could make no resistance against such a formidable and ferocious antagonist. She tried to speak; she could not even scream.

“Chak-r-a, de-ar Chak-r-r-a,” came forth in a prolonged thoracic utterance, and this was the last articulation of her life.

After that there was a gurgling in her throat – the death-rattle, as the fingers relaxed their long-continued clutch – and the body, with a sudden sound, fell back among the bushes.

“You lie da!” said the murderer, on seeing that his horrid work was complete. “Dar you tell no tale. Now for de Duppy Hole; an’ a good long sleep to ’fresh me fo’ de work of de morrer night. Whugh!”

And turning away from the image of death he had just finished fashioning, the fearful Coromantee pulled the skirts of his skin mantle around him, and strode out of the glade, with as much composure as if meditating upon some abstruse chapter in the ethics of Obi.

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Seven

Chakra Trimming his Lamp

Day was dawning when the tiger Chakra returned to his lair in the Duppy’s Hole. With him night was day, and the dawn of the morn the twilight of evening.

He was hungry: having eaten only a morsel of food since starting out on his awful errand, just twenty-four hours ago.

The remains of a pepper-pot, still unemptied from the iron skillet in which it had been cooked, stood in a corner of the hut.

To warm it up would require time, and the kindling of a fire. He was too much fatigued to be fastidious; and, drawing the skillet from its corner, he scooped up the stew, and ate it cold.

Finally, before retiring to rest, he introduced into his stomach something calculated to warm the cold pepper-pot – the “heel-tap” of a bottle of rum that remained over from the preceding night; and then, flinging himself upon the bamboo bedstead, so heavily that the frail reeds “scrunched” under his weight, he sank into a profound slumber.

He lay upon his hunched back, his face turned upward. A protuberance on the trunk of the tree, of larger dimensions than that upon his own person, served him for a bolster – a few handfuls of the silk cotton laid loosely upon it constituting his pillow.

With his long arms extended loosely by his side – one of them hanging over until the murderous fingers rested upon the floor – and his large mouth, widely agape, displaying a double serrature of pointed, shining teeth, he looked more like some slumbering ogre than a human being.

His sleep could not be sweet. It was far from being silent. From his broad, compressed nostrils came a sonorous snoring, causing the cartilage to heave outward, accompanied by a gurgling emission through his throat that resembled the breathing of a hippopotamus.

Thus slumbered Chakra throughout the livelong day, dreaming of many crimes committed, or, perhaps, only of that – the sweetest crime of all – which was yet in abeyance.

It was near night when he awoke. The sun had gone down – at least, he was no longer visible from the bottom of the Duppy’s Hole – though some red rays, tinting the tops of the trees upon the summit of the cliff, told that the orb of day was still above the horizon.

Extended on his couch, Chakra saw not this. His hut was dark, the door being shut close; but through the interstices of the bamboos he could see to some distance outside, and perceived that twilight was fast deepening among the trees. The cry of the bittern, coming up from the lagoon, the shriek of the potoo, heard through the sough of the cataract, and the hoot of the great-eared owl – all three true voices of the night – reaching his ears, admonished him that his hour of action had arrived.

Springing from his couch, and giving utterance to his favourite ejaculation, he set about preparing himself for the adventure of the night.

His first thought was about something to eat, and his eyes fell upon the skillet, standing where he had left it, near the middle of the floor. It still contained a quantity of the miscellaneous stew – enough for a meal.

“Woan do eat um cold,” he muttered, proceeding to kindle a fire, “not fo’ de second time. Gib me de ager chills, it wud. Mus’ fortify de belly wi’ someting warm – else a no be fit to do de work dat am to be done.”

The kindling of the fire, the warming up of the pepper-pot, and its subsequent consumption, were three operations that did not take Chakra any very great amount of time. They were all over just as the darkness of night descended over the earth.

“Now fo’ get ready de signal,” soliloquised he, moving about over the floor of his hut, and looking into crannies and corners, as if in search of some object.

“As de good luck hab it, dar be no moon to-night – leastways, till atter midnight. Atter den a doan care she shine as bright as de sun hisseff. Dare be plenty ob dark fo’ Adam to see de signal, and plenty fo’ de odder bizzness at Moun’ Welc’m’. Dar’ll be light ’nuf ’bout dat ere ’fore we takes leab o’ de place. Won’t dat be a blaze? Whugh!

“Wha hab a put dat ere tellemgraff lamp?” said he, still searching around the hut. “I’se fo’got all ’bout wha it am, so long since a use de darned ting. Muss be un’er de bed. Ya – hya it am!”

As he said this, he drew from under the bamboo bedstead a gourd shell, of nearly egg shape, but of the dimensions of a large melon. It had a long, tapering shank – part of the fruit itself, where the pericarp narrowed towards its peduncle – and through this a string had been passed, by which the gourd could be suspended upon a peg.

Holding it by the handle, he raised the shell to the light of his lard lamp, already kindled, and stood for some time silently inspecting it.