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The Maroon

Volume One – Chapter Thirty Five
A Love Scene under the Ceiba

The lover who is beloved need never fear disappointment. True to her tryst, and punctual to the time, did the expected sweetheart make her appearance within the glade.

With shy but graceful mien, she advanced towards the ceiba, and with sufficient firmness of step to show that she came not in doubt. A smile, confident and slightly coquettish, dancing in her dark eyes, and playing upon her prettily-curved lips, told of a love already plighted – at the same time betokening full faith in the vows that had been exchanged.

Cubina stepped forth to receive her; and the lovers met in the open ground, at some distance from the tree. Their demeanour at meeting told that it was not their first assignation; but that ofttimes before had they been together in that same rendezvous.

The presence of the runaway – not seen, however, from the spot – did not hinder Cubina from saluting his sweetheart with a kiss, nor prevent him from folding her for a short moment in his arms.

That spasm of exquisite pleasure passed, the dialogue began.

The girl spoke first.

“Oh, Cubina! news I have tell.”

“Come, my love – what news? Ah! you are looking grave, Yola; your news is not very joyful, I fear?”

“No, not joyful – bad news.”

“Let me hear them, love. Something Cynthy has been saying to you? You shouldn’t heed what that girl says.”

“No, Cubina, I no care what her me tell. I her know, wicked, bad girl. Not Cynthy say that thing me trouble now. Missa Kate me tell.”

“Ah! something Miss Vaughan has told you? I wouldn’t look for bad news from her. But what is it, dear Yola? Maybe, after all, it’s nothing?”

“Ah! yes, Cubina, something. I fear me keep from you long, long time.”

“Keep you from me! Surely Miss Vaughan don’t object to your meeting me?”

“No – not that. Something I fear me hinder from be – .”

“Be what?” inquired the lover, seeing that his sweetheart hesitated to pronounce some word, the thought of which was causing her to blush. “Come, dear Yola, don’t fear to tell me. You know we’re engaged. There should be no secret between us. What were you going to say?”

In a low, murmured voice, and looking lovingly in his eyes as she spoke, the girl pronounced the word “marry.”

“Ho! ho!” exclaimed the lover, in a confident tone. “I think nothing can occur to hinder that – at least, for a very long time. I have now nearly a hundred pounds laid by, and a lucky capture I’ve just made this morning will help still further to make up that sum. Surely the Custos will not require more than a hundred pounds; though if you were once mine,” continued the speaker, casting a look of smiling fondness upon his sweetheart’s face, “all the money in the world wouldn’t tempt me to part with you. I hope,” added he, speaking in a jocular air, “a hundred pounds will be enough to make you my slave?”

“You slave, Cubina?”

“Yes, Yola, as I am yours now.”

“Ah – that way, Yola yours; yours ever – evermore.”

“I will believe you, dear girl,” rejoined the lover, gazing, with a gratified look, in the face of his beloved. “I am very happy to think that in that way you are mine; and that I have, as you assure me, your heart and soul. But, dearest Yola, so long as another is the owner of your body – not with the right, but the powder to do, ay – indeed, almost as he might please – for who can hinder these proud planters from committing crimes of which they are their own judges? Ah! Yola, girl, it is fearful to reflect on their wicked doings. This very morning I have come across a sample of their cruelty; and when I think of you being in the power of one, it makes me feel as if every hour was a day until I can obtain your freedom. I am always in fear lest something may happen to hinder me.

“Just to-day I am in high hopes,” continued the lover, evincing the truth of his words by a pleasant smile. “I have succeeded in raising nearly the hundred pounds; and the bounty I expect to receive for the runaway I have caught will make it quite that.”

The girl returned no reply to this speech of her lover, but stood gazing upon him silently, and as if half reproachfully. Something of this kind he read, or fancied he read, in her looks.

“What, Yola, you are not satisfied with what I have said? You reproach me? Ah! true. I confess it is not a very creditable way of procuring your purchase-money. Maldito! what can I do? We Maroons have no other way of raising money, except by hunting the wild hogs, and selling their barbecued flesh. But that barely gives us a living. Crambo! I could never have got together a hundred pounds in that way. So do not reproach me, dear Yola, for what I’ve done. I assure you it goes against my grain, this man-hunting business. As for the young fellow I caught this morning, I’d risk a good real rather than give him up – if it wasn’t for the purpose of procuring your freedom. For that I must have the hundred pounds, which it is to be hoped will be enough to satisfy your master.”

“All, Cubina!” replied his slave-love, with a sigh, “that the bad news I you bring. Hundred pound no more enough. Only two days go, he have him offer twice so much for poor slave Yola.”

“Two hundred pounds offered for you!” exclaimed the Maroon, with a start of surprise, his brow becoming suddenly clouded. “Is that what you mean, Yola?”

“Ah, yes!” answered the slave, repeating her sad sigh.

“And who – who is he?” demanded the lover, in a quick earnest tone, at the same time that a gleam of jealous thought flashed from his dark eyes, like forked lightning across a clouded sky.

He knew that no man would have bid two hundred pounds for a slave – even for Yola – without some wicked motive. The girl’s beauty, combined with the extravagant offer, would have suggested the motive to one disinterested in her fate. How much more was it calculated to arouse the suspicions of a lover!

“A white man,” continued he, without waiting for the reply to his first question. “I need not ask that. But tell me, Yola, who is he that’s so desirous of becoming your owner. You know, I suppose.”

“Missa Kate me tell all. He Jew – wicked white man! Same who me take from big ship; and me first sell Massa Vaughan.”

“Ha!” sharply ejaculated the lover, “that old wretch it is? Wicked white man you may well call him. I know the old villain well. Crambo! what can he want with her?” muttered the Maroon, musingly, but with a troubled mien. “Some vile purpose, to a certainty? Oh, sure!” Then once more addressing himself to his slave sweetheart —

“You are certain, Yola, the old Jew made this offer?”

“So me say young missa.”

“Two hundred pounds! And Mr Vaughan refused it?”

“Missa Kate no allow Massa Vaughan me sell. She say ‘Never!’ Ah! young missa! she good for say so! No matter what money he give, she never let wicked white man buy Yola. She so say many time.”

“Miss Kate said this? Then she is good, she is generous! It must have been her doing, else the Custos would never have refused such a tempting offer. Two hundred pounds! It is a large sum. Well, I must begin again. I must work night and day to get it. And then, if they should refuse me! Ha! what then?”

The speaker paused, not as if expecting a reply from her who stood by his side, but rather from his own thoughts.

“Never mind!” continued he, his countenance assuming an expression partly hopeful, partly reckless. “Have no fear of the future, Yola. Worst come worst, you shall yet be mine. Ay, dearest, you shall share my mountain home, though I may have to make it the home of an outlaw!”

“Oh!” exclaimed the young girl, slightly frayed by the wild look and words of her lover, her eye at the same instant falling upon the red pool where the hounds had been slain. “Blood, Cubina?”

“Only that of some animals – a wild boar and two dogs – just killed there. Don’t let that frighten you, pet. You must be brave, my Yola; since you are to be the wife of a Maroon! Ours is a life of many dangers.”

“With you Yola no fear. She go any where – far over the mountains – to Jumbé Rock – anywhere you her take, Cubina.”

“Thanks, dearest! Maybe, some day, we may be forced to go far over the mountains – in flight, too, Yola. But we shall try to avoid that. If your master will only act right, there will be no need. If not, then you will fly with me – will you not?”

“What Cubina do, Yola do same; where he go, she go.”

The passionate promise was sealed by a kiss, followed by an interval of sacred silence.

“Enough, then!” said the lover, after the pause had passed. “As a last resource, we can do that. But we shall hope for the best; and, maybe, some good fortune may befall. My followers are true, and would help me; but, alas! all are poor hunters, like myself. Well, it may take some time before I can call you my own fearlessly, in the face of the world – longer, maybe, than I expected. Never mind for that; we can meet often. And now, dear Yola, listen to what I am going to say to you – listen, and keep it in your mind! If ever a white man insults you – you know what I mean? – if you are in danger of such a thing – as you would have been, were old Jessuron to become your master – ay, and who knows how, where, or when? – well, then, fly to this glade, and wait here for me. If I do not come, some one will. Every day I shall send one of my people to this place. Don’t fear to run away. Though I may not care to get into trouble about a common slave, I shall risk all to protect you – yes, my life, dearest Yola!”

“Oh, Cubina!” exclaimed the girl, in passionate admiration. “Oh, brave, beauty Cubina! you not fear danger?”

“There is no great danger in it,” returned the Maroon, in a confident tone. “If I had made up my mind to run away with you, I could soon take you beyond the reach of pursuit. In the Black Grounds we could live without fear of the tyranny of white men. But I don’t want to be hunted like a wild hog. I would rather you should become mine by honest means – that is, I would rather buy you, as I intend to do; and then we may settle down near the plantations, and live without apprehension. Perhaps, after all, the Custos may not be so hard with me as with the old Jew – who knows? Your young mistress is kind, you have told me: she may do something to favour our plans.”

“True, Cubina – she me love; she say never me part.”

“That is well; she means, she would not part with you against your will. But if I offer to buy you, it would be a different thing. Perhaps you might let her know all, after a while. But I have something to learn first, and I don’t wish you to tell her till then. So keep our secret, dear Yola, for a little longer.

“And now,” continued the Maroon, changing his tone, and turning towards the ceiba as he spoke, “I’ve got something to show you. Did you ever see a runaway?”

“Runaway!” said the girl; “no, Cubina – never.”

“Well, my love, there’s one not far off; he that I said I had captured this morning – only a little while ago. And I’ll tell you why I’ve kept him here: because I fancied that he was like yourself, Yola.”

“Like me?”

“Yes; and that is why I felt for the poor fellow something like pity: since it is to this cruel old Jew he belongs. From what I can make out, he must be one of your people; and I’m curious to know what account he will give of himself.”

“He Foolah, you think?” inquired the African maiden, her eyes sparkling with pleasure at the anticipation of seeing one of her own race.

“Yes; I am as good as sure of that. In fact, he has called himself a Foolah several times, though I can’t make out what he says. If he is one of your tribe, you will be able to talk to him. There he is!”

Cubina had by this time conducted his sweetheart round the tree, to that side on which the runaway was concealed between the two spurs.

The young man was still crouching within the angle, close up to the trunk of the ceiba. The moment the two figures came in front of him, and his eyes fell upon the face of the girl, he sprang to his feet, uttering a cry of wild joy. Like an echo, Yola repeated the cry; and then both pronouncing some hurried phrases in an unknown tongue, rushed together, and became folded in a mutual embrace!

Cubina stood transfixed to the spot. Surprise – something more – held him speechless. He could only think: —

“She knows him! Perhaps her lover in her own land!”

A keen pang of jealousy accompanied the thought.

Rankling it remained in the breast of the Maroon, till Yola, untwining her arms from the fond embrace, and pointing to him who had received it, pronounced the tranquillising words: —

“My brother!”

End of Volume One

Volume Two – Chapter One
Smythje in Shooting Costume

Several days had elapsed since that on which Mr Montagu Smythje became the guest of Mount Welcome; and during the time neither pains nor expense had been spared in his entertainment. Horses were kept for his riding – a carriage for his driving – dinners had been got up – and company invited to meet him. The best society of the Bay and the neighbouring plantations had been already introduced to the rich English exquisite – the owner of one great sugar estate, and, as society began to hear it whispered, the prospective possessor of another.

The matrimonial projects of the worthy Custos – that had been suspected from the first – soon became the subject of much discussion.

It may be mentioned – though it is scarce necessary – that in his designs upon Smythje, Mr Vaughan was not left all the field to himself. There were other parents in the planter fraternity of the neighbourhood blessed with good-looking daughters; and many of them, both fathers and mothers, had fixed their eyes on the lord of Montagu Castle as a very eligible sample for a son-in-law. Each of these aspiring couples gave a grand dinner; and, in turn, trotted out their innocent lambs in presence of the British “lion.”

The exquisite smiled amiably upon all their efforts – adopting his distinguished position as a matter of course.

Thus merrily passed the first fortnight of Smythje’s sojourn in Jamaica.

On a pleasant morning near the end of this fortnight, in one of the largest bed-chambers of Mount Welcome house – that consecrated to the reception of distinguished strangers – Mr Smythje might have been seen in front of his mirror. He was engaged in the occupation of dressing himself – or, to speak more correctly, permitting himself to be dressed by his valet de chambre.

In the extensive wardrobe of the London exquisite there were dresses for all purposes and every occasion: suits for morning, dinner, and evening; one for riding, and one for driving; a shooting dress, and one for the nobler sport of the chasse au cheval; a dress for boating, à la matelot; and a grand costume de bal.

On the occasion in question, Mr Smythje’s august person was being enveloped in his shooting dress; and, although a West India sportsman or an English squire would have smiled derisively at such a “rig,” the Cockney regarded it with complacency as being “just the thing.”

It consisted of a French tunic-shaped coatee of green silk velvet, trimmed with fur; a helmet-shaped hunting-cap to match; and a purple waistcoat underneath, embroidered with cord of gold bullion.

Instead of breeches and top-boots, Mr Smythje fancied he had improved upon the costume, by encasing his limbs in long trousers. These were of dressed fawn-skin, of a straw colour, and soft as the finest chamois leather. They fitted tightly around the legs, notwithstanding that the wearer was rather deficient in that quarter. Moreover, they were strapped at the bottoms, over a pair of brightly-shining lacquered boots – another error at which a true sportsman would have smiled.

Mr Smythje, however, was well satisfied with the style of his dress: as appeared from the conversation carried on between him and his valet Thoms, while the latter was making him ready for the field.

“’Pon honaw! a demmed becoming costume!” exclaimed he, surveying himself from head to foot in the mirror. “Dawnt yaw think so, Thoms?”

“Pe Cod! it’s all that, yer honner!” replied Thoms, with just enough of an Irish accent to show that he was a Welshman.

The object, for which Mr Smythje was thus having his person apparelled, was a shooting excursion to the hills, which he designed making, in order to vary his pleasures by committing havoc among the ramier pigeons and wild guinea-fowl which, he had been told, abounded there.

The projected expedition was not any grand affair by appointment – merely an ordinary, improvised thing. The sportsman intended going alone – as the Custos on that day had some important business at the Bay; and Mr Smythje, by a ramble through the neighbouring woods, fancied he might kill the time between breakfast and dinner pleasantly enough. This was all that was intended; and a darkey to guide him all that was needed.

“Weally!” resumed the exquisite, after some moments spent in enthusiastic admiration of his person, “weally, Thoms, these Queeole queetyaws are chawming – positively chawming! Nothing in the theataw or opwa at all to compare with them. Such lovely eyes! such divine figaws! and such easy conquests! Ba Jawve! I can count a dozen alweady! Haw, haw!” added he, with a self-gratulatory giggle, “it’s but natywal that – dawnt yaw think so, Thoms?”

“Parfectly natyeral, your honner,” replied Thoms, “considherin’ yer honner’s good looks.”

“Aw haw! that’s it, Thoms – that’s it. They can’t wesist.”

Either the lady-killer was not content with his twelve easy conquests, and wished to have the number more complete by making it “the baker’s dozen” – either this, or he was uncertain about his victory over one of the twelve – as would appear by the dialogue that followed between him and his confidential man.

“Hark yaw, Thoms!” said he, approaching the valet in a more serious way; “yaw are an exceedingly intelligent fellaw – yaw are, ’pon honnaw.”

“Thank yer honner. It’s keepin’ yer honner’s company has made me so.”

“Nevaw mind – nevaw mind what – but I have observed yaw intelligence.”

“It’s at yer honner’s humble sendee.”

“Ve-well, Thoms; ve-well! I want you to employ it.”

“In what way, yer honner? anything yer honner may desire me to do.”

“Yaw know the niggaw girl – the bwown girl with the tawban, I mean?”

“Miss Vaghan’s waitin’-maid?”

“Exactly – ya-as. Yolaw, or something of the sawt, is the queetyaw’s name.”

“Yis – Yowla; that’s her name, yer honner.”

“Well, Thoms, I pwesume you have excellent oppwotunities of holding convawsation with haw – the niggaw, I mean?”

“Plenty of oppurtunity, yer honner. I’ve talked with her scores of times.”

“Good. Now, the next time yaw talk with haw, Thoms, I want you to pump haw.”

“Pump her! what’s that, yer honner?”

“Why, dwaw something out of haw!”

“Feth! I don’t understan’ yer honner.”

“Not undawstand! yaw are stoopid, Thoms.”

“Keeping yer honner’s company – ”

“What, fellaw? keeping my company make yaw stoopid?”

“No, yer honner; ye didn’t hear me out. I was goin’ to say, that keeping yer honner’s company would soon take that out o’ me.”

“Haw – haw – that’s diffwent altogethaw. Well, listen now, and I’ll make yaw undawstand me. I want you to talk with this Yolaw, and dwaw some seek wets out of haw.”

“Oah!” answered Thoms, dwelling a long time upon the syllable, and placing his forefinger along the side of his nose. “Now I comprehend yer honner.”

“All wight – all wight.”

“I’ll manage that, don’t fear me; but what sort of saycrets does yer honner want me to draw out af her?”

“I want yaw to find out what she says about me– not the niggaw, but haw mistwess.”

“What the negur says about her mistress?”

“Thoms, yaw are intolawably stoopid this mawning. Not at all – not at all; but what haw mistress says about me – me.”

“Oh! fwhat Miss Vaghan says about yer honner?”

“Pwecisely.”

“Faith! I’ll find that out – ivery word af it.”

“If yaw do, Thoms, I shall be your debtaw faw a guinea.”

“A guinea, yer honner!”

“Ya-as; and if yaw execute yaw commission clevawly, I shall make it two – two guineas, do yaw heaw?”

“Never fear, yer honner. I’ll get it out of the negur, if I should have to pull the tongue from between thim shinin’ teeth af hers!”

“No, Thoms – no, my good fellaw! There must be no woodness. Wemember, we are guests heaw, and Mount Welcome is not an hotel. Yaw must work by stwategy, not stwength, as Shakespeaw or some other of those skwibbling fellaws has said. No doubt stwategy will win the day.”

And with this ambiguous observation – ambiguous as to whether it referred to the issue of Thoms’s embassy, or his own success in the wooing of Miss Vaughan – Mr Montagu Smythje closed the conversation.

Thoms now gave the last touch to the sportsman’s toilet, by setting the hunting-cap on his head, and hanging numerous belts over his shoulders – among which were included a shot-pouch, a copper powder-horn, a pewter drinking flask with its cup, and a hunting-knife in its leathern sheath.

Thus equipped, the sportsman strode stiffly from the apartment; and wended his way towards the great hall, evidently with the design of encountering the fair Kate, and exhibiting himself in his killing costume.