Chapter Thirty Four.
The Lost Prisoner.
Murray looked angrily at the big sailor for a few minutes, and then, mastering his annoyance at the easy way in which the man took his trouble, he said—
“Oh, I’ll have patience enough, Tom; but what is to be done next?”
Tom May scratched his head and his eyes wandered round till they lit upon the shiny black face of the negro, who was watching him eagerly.
“I’d make that chap lead the way back to the cottage place, sir. He knows all the ins and outs, and he’ll show us in half the time we could do it.”
“That’s good advice, Tom, but what for? I’m in no hurry to meet Mr Anderson.”
“But you’ve got to do it, sir, and the sooner you get it over the better.”
“That’s true, Tom,” said the middy sadly.
“’Sides, sir, how do we know but what Mr Allen may have come back while we’ve been gone?”
“Tom!” cried Murray excitedly, and after the fashion of the proverbial drowning man, he snatched at the straw the sailor held out to him. Turning to the black, who was squatting at his feet, he cried, “Take us to Mr Allen.”
The slave nodded and grinned as he settled himself down, chattering the while to his crew, who raised their oars ready to dip them in the placid water, when a thought seemed to strike him and he tucked the oar he had seized under one knee and turned to the middy, saying sharply—
“You go kill Massa Allen?”
“Kill him? No!” cried Murray, in surprise.
The man nodded and gave the black crew an order, and their oars dipped at once, while the little English party in the cutter followed the lead, and to Murray’s surprise he found himself taken through an entirely fresh canal-like lead of water of whose existence he had not the slightest idea.
“I thought so, sir,” said Tom May, in a low tone of voice. “This chap knows his way about, and it’s worth a Jew’s eye to have found him and made friends. You’ll see that he’ll show us where to go. Shouldn’t wonder if he takes us straight to that Mr Allen.”
“If he only would, Tom!” replied the midshipman, speaking as if a great load was being taken off his mind.
“Oh, you wait a bit, sir.”
“Bother your wait a bit, Tom! I’m sick of hearing it,” cried the lad angrily. “Why, look here, they’re making straight for the cottage after all.”
“Well, didn’t you expect they would, sir?” cried the big sailor.
“No; what’s the good of that?”
“What I said, sir. Maybe the gentleman has come back again.”
“No such good fortune, Tom. Well, we shall soon know;” and the lad sat back in the cutter’s stern sheets steering and watching the planter’s boat, to which he kept close up, while the black crew threaded their way in and out amongst the canes, till they pulled up by the bamboo landing-stage.
“Massa Allen in dere, sah,” whispered the black, pointing at the doorway of the cottage, and smiling with satisfaction as if delighted at the skill with which he had played the part of pilot.
Murray sprang on to the creaking bamboo stage, and, ready to believe that the sick man might have returned, he signed to May to follow him, hurried into the place, thrust open the study door and had only to glance in to satisfy himself that the little room was still vacant.
“Let’s look in the other room, Tom,” said the middy sadly, “but it’s of no use; our prisoner has not come back.”
A hurried glance was given to each portion of the cottage, and then Murray led the way back to the landing-stage, where the black coxswain sat grinning a welcome.
“He’s not there, my lad,” cried Murray, shaking his head. “Master Allen has gone.”
“Massa Allen gone!” repeated the black, and then, as if placing no faith whatever in the young officer’s assertion, he shuffled out of the boat on to the stage, and then ran up to the cottage doorway, where he hesitated for a few moments before entering cautiously on tiptoe.
“See that, sir?” whispered Tom May. “He knows all about them pisonous sarpents.”
At the end of a few minutes, during which the midshipman and his follower caught a glimpse or two of the black as he hurried from room to room and evidently made a thorough examination of the place, the man reappeared, with the broad eager grin his countenance had worn entirely gone, to give place to a look of concern and scare. It seemed to Murray that the black’s face no longer shone but looked dull and ashy, as if he had been startled, and his voice sank to a whisper as he crept up close to the young midshipman and whispered—
“Massa Allen gone!”
“Well, I told you so,” said Murray sharply. “Where has he gone?”
The black raised one hand to his lips, upon which he pressed all his fingers together, while he looked behind him and then all about as if to see if any one could hear his words—words which he seemed afraid to utter.
“Well, did you hear what I said? Where has he gone?”
The black shook his head violently.
“There, Tom, your idea is worth nothing,” said Murray sadly.
“I warn’t sure, sir, of course,” said the man, “but still I couldn’t help thinking he might have come back, ’specially as the darkie here was so cock-sure. Hallo! What’s he up to now?” continued the sailor. “Hi! Stop him, my lads!”
For the black had suddenly made a dash for his boat, and sprung from the stage into his place.
Murray’s first thought was that the black was about to escape with his companions, but directly after he saw the cause of the man’s scare, for there was the quick, steady chop, chop of oars, and the youth’s heart sank with a feeling of despair, for the bows of the Seafowl’s second cutter suddenly came into sight, with her crew pulling hard, and there in the stern sat the man, after the captain, whom he least desired to see, and close by him, sitting up smart and consequential to a degree, and seeming to fix his eyes at once keenly upon those of his brother midshipman, was Roberts, looking as if he divined that something was wrong.
“And ready to jump upon me,” said Murray to himself. “Oh, how am I to begin?” he thought. “I wish I was anywhere out of this!”
But the first lieutenant did not wait for the lad to begin; he opened the ball himself.
“Well, Mr Murray,” he cried, “what does this mean? Why have you got the planter’s boat and crew out here?”
“We found them, sir, by accident,” faltered the lad.
“Well, I suppose they did not want much finding. Where is your prisoner?”
Murray gazed at his officer vacantly, trying hard to reply, but, as he afterwards said to Roberts, if it had been to save his life he could not have uttered a word.
“What’s the matter, my lad?” said the chief officer kindly. “Not ill, are you?”
“No, sir,” replied Murray, finding his voice at last, and watching the lieutenant hard, followed by Dick Roberts, who was grinning as if he enjoyed hearing what he looked upon as the beginning of “a wigging.”
“Then why don’t you speak? I said where is your prisoner?”
“I—I don’t know, sir,” was the extremely feeble reply.
“Wha-a-a-t!” shouted the lieutenant. “I don’t know, sir,” cried Murray, desperately now. “He’s gone.”
“Gone? My good sir,” cried the lieutenant, “you were sent here in charge of him for some cryptic idea of the captain, and you tell me he’s gone? You don’t mean to tell me that you’ve let him escape!”
“I didn’t let him escape, sir,” faltered the lad, glancing at his brother middy and reading in his countenance, rightly or wrongly, that Roberts was triumphing over the trouble he was in—“I didn’t let him escape, sir,” cried Murray desperately, “for I was being as watchful as possible; but he was very ill and weak and said that he wanted to lie down in one of the rooms there. Tom May will tell you the same, sir.”
“I dare say he will, sir, when I ask him,” said the lieutenant sternly. “Now I am asking you the meaning of this lapse of duty.”
“I did keep watch over him, sir, and posted my men all round the cottage; but when I came to see how he was getting on—”
“Getting on, sir! Getting off, you mean.”
“No, sir; I did not see him go off, sir,” faltered Murray.
“Don’t you try to bandy words with me, sir,” cried the lieutenant, beginning to fulminate with rage. “There, speak out plainly. You mean to tell me that when you came to look for your prisoner—for that is what he is—he was gone?”
“Yes, sir; that is right,” said the lad sadly.
“That is wrong, Mr Murray. Gone! And you stand here doing nothing! Confound it all, man, why are you not searching for him?”
“I have been searching for him, sir.”
“But you are here, my good sir, and have not found him.”
“No, sir, but I have done everything possible.”
“Except find him, sir. This comes of setting a boy like you to take charge of the prisoner. Well, it was the captain’s choice, not mine. I’ll be bound to say that if Mr Roberts had been sent upon this duty he would have had a very different tale to tell.”
Murray shivered in his misery, and tried to master the desire to glance at his brother middy, but failed, and saw that Roberts was beginning to swell with importance.
“Well, Mr Murray,” continued the lieutenant, after pausing for a few moments, after giving his subordinate this unkindly stab and, so to speak, beginning to wriggle his verbal weapon in the wound, “it is you who have to meet the captain when you go back after being relieved, not I. That I am thankful to say. But I fail to see, Mr Roberts, what is the good of setting you on duty with a fresh set of men to guard the prisoner, when there is no prisoner to guard. Here, show me where you bestowed the scoundrel.”
Murray led the way into the cottage, with his heart beating heavily with misery; the lieutenant followed him in silence; and Roberts came last, glancing at Murray the while and with his lips moving in silence as if he were saying, “I say, you’ve done it now!”
“Absurd!” cried the lieutenant, a few minutes later, and after looking through the room where the planter had lain down. “You might have been sure that the prisoner would escape. Then you did nothing to guard him?”
“Yes, I did, sir,” cried the lad desperately. “I posted men all round the cottage.”
“And a deal of good that was! Anything else?”
“I have been examining the place all about, sir, with Tom May and the two boat-keepers.”
“Well, and what was the result?”
“Only that I found one of the hiding-places of this maze of a place, sir.”
“With the prisoner safe within it?”
“No, sir; I only found the planter’s boat and crew, sir.”
“Of course—just come back after helping their master to escape. And of course they denied it?”
“The black coxswain was as much surprised as I was, sir,” said Murray.
“Of course he was, Mr Murray; perfectly astounded. Bah, man! How can you be so innocent! Well, I suppose I must try and get you out of this horrible scrape, for all our sakes. Which is the coxswain? That black fellow who has been staring at us all the time I have been listening to your lame excuses?”
“Yes, sir; and I have been thinking that he would be a valuable help to us in guiding us through the mazes of this strange place.”
“Let’s see first, Mr Murray, whether he will be any help to us in finding where the prisoner is. Call him here.”
“I have been trying to use him in that way, sir.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the lieutenant angrily. “Then now let Mr Roberts try. Here, Roberts!”
The midshipman stepped up to the officer quickly, after hearing every word that had been said.
“You called me, sir?”
“Of course I did, sir,” said the lieutenant sharply, and speaking as if annoyed with himself for what he had been about to do. “Go back to the boat. Sharp!” The lad’s eyes flashed with annoyance as he went back, and the chief officer turned his back and jerked his head to Murray. “Here,” he said, “you had better go on with this, my lad; it is your affair.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the lad, heaving a sigh of relief.
“Not much to thank me for, Murray,” said the chief officer kindly, “but you’ve made a horrible mess of this business. Now then, the black fellow.”
Murray made a sign to the black, who had been listening all through with his eyes seeming to start out of his head, and he sprang out of the boat and hurried to his side.
“Look here, Caesar,” he said quickly, “do you know where Mr Allen is?”
The black looked him sharply in the eyes, then gazed at the first lieutenant, and then all around as if on the lookout for danger, before he crept closer and whispered—
“Yes, massa. Caesar know.”
“Hah! This sounds business-like,” cried the lieutenant. “But why in the name of all that’s sensible didn’t you examine this fellow before, Murray?”
“I did, sir,” cried the lad, trembling with excitement, as he laid his hand upon the black’s arm. Then quickly, “Tell me where he is, my lad.”
“Massa, Bri’sh sailor no tell Massa Huggin Caesar open him moufe?”
“No, my lad. No one shall know that you told me. Speak out.”
“Massa Huggin cut Caesar all lilly pieces when he find out.”
“We will take care no one shall hurt you,” cried Murray excitedly. “Tell him, Mr Anderson, that we will set him free.”
“To be sure,” cried the lieutenant. “You shall be free.”
“Bri’sh sailor officer set Caesar free,—Caesar open um moufe?”
“That’s right, then open it wide, my sable friend,” said the lieutenant. “Tell me.”
“No, massa. Caesar tell young buccra officer;” and he turned with sparkling eyes upon Murray.
“Speak, then,” cried Murray, trembling with excitement; and the black glanced round him again as if for danger, and then reached forward so as to place his lips close to the midshipman’s ear.
“Massa Huggin come while Massa Allen fas’ ’sleep and take um right away.”
“Hah!” cried Murray. “But how, my lad, how?”
The black looked from one officer to the other, a smile of cunning overspreading his features, and he whispered—
“Caesar show Bri’sh officer. Caesar know.”
Chapter Thirty Five.
Black Caesar.
Murray made a dash at the black and caught him by the arm, while Tom May sprang to the other side, for, startled by the sudden movement of the midshipman, the poor fellow winced and looked as if about to run.
“No, no,” cried Murray; “it’s all right, Caesar. Show us directly where Mr Allen is.”
“Yes,” whispered the man; “but no tell Massa Huggin. Him kill Caesar for sure. Caesar very frighten.”
“You shan’t be hurt, boy,” cried the middy. “Now then; lead us to where Mr Allen is. Quick!”
The black nodded his head, gave a sharp glance round, and then with trembling hand caught hold of Murray’s wrist and led him into the hall again, closely followed by the lieutenant and Tom May, who was as watchful as if he felt sure that their guide was bent upon making his escape.
“Shall I follow with some of the men, sir?” said Roberts, who was in a state of fret from the fear of missing anything that was about to take place.
“No, it is not necessary,” said Mr Anderson.
“I beg pardon, sir,” cried Murray; “from what this black fellow has said, I think you ought to have some of the men with us.”
“Oh, very well, then,” cried the lieutenant, “bring half-a-dozen of the lads with you, Mr Roberts;” and the hall had a very business-like aspect as, to Murray’s great disgust, Caesar led him into the study.
“Why, what are you doing, man?” he cried. “Mr Allen is not in here. I’ve searched the place three times.”
The black looked up at him quickly and showed his teeth; but it was in no grin of cunning, for the poor fellow’s face looked muddy and strange.
“Caesar know,” he whispered hoarsely, and the midshipman felt the fingers which gripped his wrist twitch and jerk as he was pulled towards the corner of the room just beyond the window.
Here the black stopped short, trembling violently, and pointed downward, before darting back, loosening Murray’s wrist and making for the door.
“Stop him, Roberts,” cried Murray; but his words were needless, for the way of exit was completely blocked by the midshipman and his men.
“What does he mean by all this?” said Mr Anderson angrily.
“I don’t quite know, sir,” cried Murray; but he followed and caught the black by the arm. “Come,” he continued; “show us where Mr Allen is.”
“Caesar berry frighten’, massa,” whispered the poor fellow, whose teeth were chattering; but he yielded to Murray’s hand and followed him back towards the corner of the little room, where his eyes assumed a fixed and staring look as he leaned forward and pointed downward at the thick rug of fur which covered that part of the floor.
“What does he mean?” cried the lieutenant. “Is the planter buried there?”
“Show us what you mean,” cried Murray, and he tried to draw the black forward; but the poor fellow dropped upon his knees, resisting with all his might, and, with eyes starting and rolling and teeth chattering, he kept on pointing downward, darting his index finger at the floor.
“I beg pardon, sir,” said Tom May gruffly. “I think I know what he means.”
“What is it, then?” cried Murray.
“It’s snakes, sir, same as I heered up-stairs.”
“Perhaps so,” said the lieutenant, “so take care; some of these serpents creep into the houses here, and they are very poisonous. Mind what you are about, Mr Murray. Let the black pull the rug away. Mr Roberts, a couple of your men here with cutlasses. Be smart, my lads, and strike the moment the brute is uncovered.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” came in a chorus from the guard; but every Jack stood fast, waiting for his fellows to volunteer.
“Pull the rug away, Caesar,” said Murray, as soon as the men had been ordered to advance, which they did after making a great show of spitting in their hands to get a good grip of the cutlasses they drew.
“No, no, no, massa. Caesar ’fraid, sah. Massa Huggin kill poor Caesar dead, for show.”
“Is there a snake there, darkie?” said the lieutenant impatiently.
“No, massa. No, massa,” panted the poor fellow. “Caesar brave boy; no frighten snake. Massa Huggin kill um for show.”
“What does he mean? Master Huggin will make a show of him?”
“No, sir,” cried Murray. “He’s afraid of being murdered for showing the way. I have it, sir,” he said now excitedly. “That explains everything. There’s a way out here;” and stooping down the middy seized one corner of the rug, gave it a sharp jerk, and laid bare what seemed to be a trap-door neatly made in the polished floor.
A murmur of excitement ran through the room, and Murray exclaimed—
“Then the poor fellow has been killed, Tom.”
“And buried, sir, seemingly,” growled the sailor; and without waiting for orders, he went down on one knee to raise the broad square flap, while the black shrank a little more away where he knelt, and began rubbing his hands together excitedly.
“Well, my lad,” cried Mr Anderson, “be smart! You’re not afraid, are you?”
“Not a bit, sir,” growled the big sailor; “but there seems to be some sort o’ dodgery over this here hatchway. You see, there arn’t no ring-bolt.”
“Take your cutlass to it, Tom,” said Murray; and as he spoke he drew his dirk.
“Ay, ay, sir; that’ll do it,” replied the sailor, and directly after the middy and he began to force in the edges of their blades so as to try and prise open the trap.
“Come, come, come,” cried the lieutenant, “don’t bungle like that;” and he drew his sword. “Let me try.”
Murray made way, and the officer began to try and force in the edge of his service blade.
“Humph! Dear me!” he muttered. “The floor is made of mahogany. Very hard wood. Not so easy as I thought, May, my lad.”
A broad smile covered the big sailor’s countenance as he watched his officer’s failure.
“Ay, ay, sir!” he growled. “Beg pardon, sir; you’ll be breaking your sword.”
“Yes, my lad, and I don’t want to do that,” said the lieutenant. “Here, hallo! What do you mean by that? Look here, Mr Murray; your nigger is trying to tell you how to do it. He knows all about it. Let him try.”
For, as if recovering somewhat from his abject dread, the black knelt and shuffled about as if longing to perform the task himself.
“Yes, sir, that’s it,” said the midshipman eagerly. “Now then, Caesar, show us how it’s done.”
But this only made the black shrink away more and more, and begin shaking his head violently and resuming the pointing as before.
“Here, he must be made to show how it is done,” cried the lieutenant impatiently. “We cannot waste time like this.”
“I think I can manage now, sir,” said Murray, for just then the black caught hold of his hand, slipped his own up the lad’s wrist, and pressed him to one side of the square trap that refused to open.
The rest was plain, for it soon became clear that, though the black was afraid to do anything towards opening the trap himself, he was quite ready to use the hands of another party for the purpose.
“Oh, that’s it, is it, Caesar?” cried Murray, who now submitted himself entirely to the slave’s direction and let him press his hands down with a thrusting movement upon one of the floor-boards, with the result that the square trap glided away smoothly as if running upon rollers, while a dark opening appeared, showing a flight of ladder stairs running down into what seemed to be total darkness.
“A subterranean passage leading somewhere or another.”
“It is the way out by which Mr Allen went,” said Murray excitedly.
“Escaped, you mean,” cried the lieutenant.
“Perhaps so, sir; but mayn’t it be that he has been taken away by his enemies?” suggested Murray.
“Well, that we have to see,” replied the lieutenant.
“Look here, Caesar,” said Murray, addressing the black, “has Mr Allen gone this way?”
The black took a step or two towards the opening, listened, looked round cautiously, and then took hold of the lad’s arm and drew him away, to whisper in his ear—
“Massa Huggin come and fesh him away.”
“Then you think this Master Huggins is down there?”
The black nodded his head quickly and then pointed to the sailors, ran first to one and then to another and touched their swords and the muskets they carried, before pointing downward to the concealed flight of steps.
“I can understand that, Mr Murray,” said the lieutenant. “He wants us to go down armed and follow the steps to where they lead; but we must have lights. Humph!” he added. “The fellow understands English well enough.”
For the black darted to a corner closet, opened the door, and took out a bottle, a box and a silver candlestick which stood all ready, a wax taper which the black placed upon the side-table, and then, as cleverly as if he had seen it done scores of times, he took the stopper out of the little bottle, from which a strong odour of phosphorus arose, took a match from the box, and thrust it into the bottle, with the result that he brought it out burning, after the fashion of our fathers’ time before the invention of lucifer matches and congreve lights—a fashion adopted when a letter had been written and the writer, who knew not adhesive envelopes and desired to seal his missive, made use of the phosphorus bottle instead of producing a light with a flint and steel.
“Well done,” said the lieutenant. “Now then, are you going to light the way?”
The black shook his head and shrank away once more.
“We’re to do it ourselves, it seems, Mr Murray;” and the lieutenant drew his sword. “I’ll trouble you to light me, sir, for I must lead the way. Come, Mr Roberts, you can lead the men, and you will keep close up. Draw—no, no, leave that dress ornament in its scabbard. You too, Mr Murray. Take two of the men’s cutlasses, and they can use their muskets. Here, darkie, are you coming too?”
“Yes, Massa buccra officer. Caesar come show the way. You no let Massa Huggin kill poor niggah?”
“That I promise you, my good fellow,” said the lieutenant. “Now, Mr Murray, forward, please.”
To the surprise of all present the black stepped quickly to the top of the stairs, and kneeling down thrust his head over and seemed to listen attentively before placing a hand upon the floor upon either side of the opening and lowering himself down.
“Massa come along quick. Nobody here.”
“How’s that?” cried Murray. “Isn’t Mr Allen there?”
“No, massa. Him gone along Massa Huggin—take him right away, so him no tell Bri’sh officer where all de slabes hid ashore, and whar to fine de slaber ship.”
“Light is beginning to dawn into my benighted intellect now, Mr Murray,” said the lieutenant, following the midshipman, as, carefully sheltering the little taper from the damp wind which seemed to blow up from the hole in the floor, the lad stepped down quickly after the black. “And it seems to me, for your comfort, my lad, that you need not be in the slightest degree alarmed at the prospect of facing the captain and being called to account for the loss of your prisoner, for your loss is going to turn out a great gain. Here, follow close up with the men, Mr Roberts. No, not next; I’ll have May behind me; he’s big and strong, and he’s something to depend upon if we have a sudden attack.”
Roberts winced and frowned, for he felt as if his dignity had been a little touched at being put aside to make way for the big sailor, and in addition the chief officer had spoken in a way which made matters take a different turn from what he had expected.
If any one had asserted that he was a bit jealous and envious of his brother middy he would have denied it with indignation, but all the same there was a something near akin to envy somewhere in his breast, and he would have liked it a great deal better if he had been called upon to play several of the parts which somehow would fall to Murray’s share.
So Dick Roberts frowned as he grasped the clumsy cutlass that had been handed to him by one of the men, and then after four of the party had received orders to mount guard at the entrance to the subterranean way, he followed closely upon Tom May’s bulky form, ready to help protect those who had gone before; and grasping his weapon very tightly he stood at last at the foot of the stairs in a well-paved arched way just lit faintly by the wax taper, and was able to see that the passage was composed of the lava which had been quarried from one of the volcanic masses thrown from a burning mountain ages before.
“Keep together, my lads, close up,” said the lieutenant; and his voice sounded whispering and strange as it seemed to reverberate down a passage, and finally died away.
“Where does this lead to, I wonder?” said the midshipman softly, and the walls repeated “I wonder” in a tone that sounded loud.
Chapter Thirty Six.
“Berry much ’fraid.”
Julius Caesar, after getting over his first fear of the white strangers and a natural dread of the fierce American slaver, whose threats seemed to dominate his life, threw himself bravely into the enterprise upon which he was engaged and proved himself to be an admirable guide, one too with a full knowledge of the risks he ran. He grew more and more confident now of the strength to protect him of the man-o’-war’s men, and every now and then, as the party continued its way along what proved to be a carefully constructed tunnel, he stopped short and whispered to Murray to shade the light while he hurried on into the pitchy darkness.
The first time he did this, after laying his black arm across both Murray’s and the lieutenant’s breasts, he seemed to be so long gone that the latter expressed it as his belief that he had tricked them and escaped; but this opinion had hardly been whispered in the middy’s ear before there was a faint rustling as of bare feet heard, and then, breathing hard, the black was close upon them.
“Come ’long now, massa,” he said. “Show light now.”
Thrice more this was repeated, and then all at once upon their guide’s return he exclaimed—
“Massa put out light now.”
“What for?” said Murray sharply.
“Candle burn all away sure. Wantum go back. All dark.”
“But how are you going to light it?” said Mr Anderson.
“July Caesar got lilly bottle o’ fire; massa Allen lilly bottle, sah.”
“But we can’t see in the darkness,” said Murray.
“Take hol’ hand. Caesar show way. See with one hand run along top wall.”
Setting aside the seeing, the black soon proved to those who followed him that he could feel his way along the rest of the distance, during which it was quite dark; and he hurried his followers along till the black gloom gradually became twilight, and that increased in power till it became possible to follow the dimly seen figure which went on in front. Then the twilight became a pale green, which grew brighter and brighter till all at once the black stopped short and whispered—
“No make noise. Caesar go first and see Massa Huggin gone take Massa Allen ’way.”
The party stopped and saw the black hurry on for a few dozen yards, and then disappear through what seemed to be a clump of bushes, which pretty well blocked up the end of the passage.
“I should like to know what’s going to be the end of this,” said the lieutenant; “but I suppose we must go on with it now and trust the black, for he seems to be proving himself honest. What do you say, Mr Murray?”
“I feel sure he is,” replied the midshipman.
“But his motive? We are almost complete strangers.”
“I think he is a faithful servant of the planter, sir, and wants us to save him from danger.”
“Yes, that’s how it suggests itself to me, Mr Murray, though I can hardly understand such conduct on the part of one of these wretched ill-used slaves towards the oppressor. But there, we shall see.”
He ceased speaking, for just then the black seemed to spring through the bushes, and joined them where they were waiting in the tunnel.
“Find Massa Allen,” said the black, in a quick excited whisper.
“Ah!” cried Murray joyfully, for somehow—he could not have said why—he had begun to feel the greatest interest in the sick man. “Ah! Where did you find him?”
“Massa Huggin got um.”
“But where is he?”
The black pointed in the direction from whence he had returned, evidently indicating the forest which closed in the end of the tunnel.
“What is he going to do with him?” asked Mr Anderson—“Keep him a prisoner?”
“Kill um,” said the black abruptly. “Come! Caesar show um;” and he caught hold of the middy’s arm, gave it a tug, and then signed to the others to follow.
“Yes,” said the lieutenant sharply; “it seems to me quite time we had a word to say about that. Let him lead on, Mr Murray. I want to have a few more words with our friend Mr Huggins. We must show him that there is a difference of opinion upon this question. Here, you darkie, does Mr Huggins indulge himself much in this kind of sport?”
The black, who was moving off sharply, stopped short, dropped his lower jaw to his breast, and stared vacantly at the speaker.
“What buccra sailor officer say?” he whispered.
“Don’t speak in that way,” said the lieutenant sharply. “Why don’t you speak aloud?”
“Caesar berry much ’fraid massa Huggins hear um. Den kill poor niggah.”
“That means, then, that Master Huggins does kill people sometimes?”
“Yes, massa often kill pore niggah when cross.”
“Well, look here, my lad; don’t you be very much afraid. I want you to show us all you can, for he is not going to kill our friend Master Allen.”
“Massa Allen friend,” said the black, nodding his head sharply. “Massa Allen kill pore niggah? No, nebber. Come ’long.”
The man led the way, holding tightly by the middy’s arm, and as soon as he had passed out of the tunnel, plunged into the dense forest, and threading his way among the trees, followed by the party, whose countenances were glowing with excitement, he carefully avoided every patch of earth which threatened to yield to the pressure of footsteps. This he kept on for over half-an-hour, when he stopped short and, bending down nearly double, pointed to where, instead of being firm, the way he had selected had suddenly become boggy, mossy, and of a rich green.
“Young officer, look dah,” he whispered. “No speak loud. Massa Huggin men hear um.”
“Well,” said Murray, “I am looking dah, sir, but there is nothing to see.”
“No see? Caesar see. Massa Huggin men come ’long. Carry Massa Allen, make men foot go down soft. Make mark.”
“Perhaps so,” said Murray, “but I can see nothing.”
“Let him lead on, Mr Murray,” said the lieutenant. “I want to get to business.”
“Caesar show,” whispered the man, and now, walking half doubled and with his hands hanging down, he broke into a trot, closely followed by the party, for another few hundred yards, before stopping short so suddenly that those who followed were on the point of over-running him.
“Massa officer look now,” whispered the black. “Massa no say can’t see now.”
“No: I can see now,” said Murray. “Look here, sir,” he whispered, imitating the cautious utterance of the black, as the lieutenant closed up to him.
“Yes,” said the officer eagerly; “this is real trail. So many seals impressed in the soft boggy soil; all leading off yonder in a fresh direction after evidently making a halt here. You can make it out, Mr Murray, eh?”
“I can make out the footsteps, sir,” replied the lad, “but I can’t say I understand them.”
“Oh no, of course not,” said the lieutenant, “but I suppose our black friend here can. Tell us all about it, what’s your name—Caesar?”
“Yes, massa,” said the black promptly; and he began eagerly to point out the various impressions in the earth, carefully keeping on one side and nearly touching the ground as he bent down.
“Dose niggah foots,” he whispered, picking out carefully the trails of four pairs of footsteps which had passed to where they stood, evidently coming to an end. “Yes, sah; dose niggah foots. Carry Massa Allen. All ’tick down deep in de mud.”
“Ah, to be sure!” cried Murray. “I see.”
“Dey get tire’ carry Massa Allen long way. No, Caesar t’ink Massa Allen say he walk bit now, and jump down. Dose Massa Allen foots. Got shoe on. Massa officer see?”
“To be sure he does, darkie. Well done! You see, Mr Murray?”
“Oh yes, sir; I can see now he shows me.”
“Yes; young buccra officer see Massa Allen shoe ’tick down in de mud. Dose black niggah foots,” continued the black, pointing.
“How do you know they are black footsteps?” asked Murray.
“All a toes ’tick out wide,” replied the man promptly; and he raised one of his own feet with the toes spreading widely, stepped to a soft patch of green-covered mud, and pressed his foot down and raised it again. “Dah,” he continued; “Massa buccra see? Dat black niggah foots, and dat are white man foot. Look toopid all queezum up in hard boot. Dat Massa Huggin foots.”
“Ah!” cried the lieutenant eagerly. “How do you know, darkie?”
“Massa Huggin put foots in big hard boot. Caesar know um—kick Caesar. ‘Get outah way, black dog!’ he say.”
As he spoke the black went through something of a pantomime so perfectly that the lieutenant and Roberts burst out laughing. Murray’s countenance remained unchanged, and he met the black’s eyes gravely, and noted their fierce aspect as his brow wrinkled up and his thick, fleshy, protuberant lips were drawn away from the beautifully perfect white teeth.
“Hurt pore black niggah, massa,” he said, rather piteously. “Kill some niggah. Massa Huggin sabage. Pore niggah die dead. Hurt Caesar sometime. Wouldn’t die.”
“Well, go on, my lad,” said the lieutenant; and the black continued his object-lesson.
“Massa Allen say walk now. Look at um foots. Lilly shoe dah, big boot, hard boot, dah. One boot, ’noder boot. Massa Huggin say Come along, sah. Look dah. Walk ’long dah, and niggah foots walk over um. Lot o’ niggah foots walk all over cover um up.”
“Well,” said the lieutenant, “now you have found out the trail so well, lead on and let’s overtake them.”
“Ah!” cried the black excitedly, for he had suddenly caught sight of something at which he bounded and caught it up to hold it before him and gaze at it with starting eyes.
“What does that mean, Mr Murray?” said the lieutenant, in a low tone, his attention having been thoroughly taken up by the intelligent black’s behaviour.
“I don’t quite know, sir. It’s a soft piece of plantain stalk notched at the edge in a peculiar way. Look, sir.”
For, paying no more heed to his companions for the moment, the black began to search about to the right of the trail, till he suddenly bounded on for a few paces and caught up a piece of green cane about six inches long and evidently scratched in a special manner.
“What’s that, Caesar?” asked the middy.
The black, who was gazing at the piece of cane with fixed and staring eyes which seemed to glow, started at the lad’s address, and pressed forward to look him questioningly in the eyes, hesitating.
Then he smiled and nodded.
“Massa buccra. Good Bri’sh sailor. Come set pore niggah free. Him no tell Massa Huggin. Him no kill pore black darkie. Iss, Caesar tell um,” he whispered now, with his lips so close that the lad felt the hot breath hiss into his ear. “Dat Obeah, massa. Dat black man’s Obeah. Come along now Caesar know. Find fetish. Plenty many black boy speak soon.”
“But you are going the wrong way,” said Murray, clapping the black upon the shoulder to draw him back.
“No, sah. Caesar go right way. Way Obeah tell um.”
“But Mr Allen: we want to follow Mr Allen.”
“No can, sah. Not now. Come back. Not time yet.”
“But you said that this Huggins would kill Mr Allen now that he has got him away.”
“No,” said the black, shaking his head. “No kill um now. Plenty black boy ’top um; no let um kill Massa Allen. Come back now. Massa wait.”
“Oh, nonsense!” cried the lieutenant. “I am not going to be treated like this. Look here, you sir; you must go on and follow up the trail till we overtake this slaving scoundrel and make him prisoner. Do you hear?”
The black listened, and looked at the speaker gravely, but made no reply.
“Do you hear, sir?” cried the lieutenant again. “Speak to him, Mr Murray; he seems to listen to you better than he does to me.”
“I’ll try, sir,” said Murray, “but I’m afraid he will not stir now.”
“You tell him that he must, sir.”
Murray repeated the lieutenant’s words, with the result that the black listened to him with a face that for a few moments looked dull and obstinate, but which changed to a softer aspect as his bright eyes looked full in those of the frank young midshipman, before they closed slowly and their owner shook his head.
“Come, Mr Murray,” said the chief officer; “you are not making the fellow understand.”
“No, sir,” said Murray gravely, “and I am afraid he is not to be forced.” Then the lad’s eyes flashed with annoyance, for Roberts glanced at him and said to his leader—
“Shall I try, sir?”
“Yes, do. These people want to be made to understand that when they receive orders they must obey them.”
“Yes, sir,” cried Roberts, making the most of himself, as he frowned at their black guide. “Murray is too easy with them. Here, you sir—”
Here Roberts’s speech was cut short by the lieutenant, who had been watching the change in Murray’s countenance, and he exclaimed—
“That will do, Mr Roberts, thank you. I think I can manage the matter better myself. Here, what’s your name—Caesar?”
“Yes, sah; Caesar,” said the black; and Murray looked at him sharply, for the man’s manner seemed completely changed.
“Then listen to me. You ought to have learned with the power to speak English that a servant must obey his master.”
The black drew himself up with his face growing hard from his setting his teeth firmly.
“Massa Huggin make me servant and call me slabe; beat me—flog me—but I was prince once, sah, in Obeah land.”
The lieutenant’s face flushed and he was about to speak angrily, but there was something in the slave’s manner that checked him, and the two middies looked at him wonderingly, as instead of giving some stern order he said in a quiet, matter-of-fact, enquiring way—
“Indeed? So you were a prince or chief in your own country?”
“Yes, sah,” was the reply; and it was given with such calm dignity that colour, the half-nude figure, and the blur of slavery were forgotten by the lookers-on, and the feeling of wonder at the lieutenant’s treatment of their guide died out.
“How came you here?” said the lieutenant quietly.
“There was war, sah, and my people were beaten. There were many prisoners, and we were sold to the man—sold.”
“Hah! Hard—very hard for you,” said the lieutenant, looking at their guide thoughtfully. “How long is that ago?”
“Twenty year, sah.”
“And you have been this Mr Huggins’s slave ever since?”
“No, sah; not long time. Caesar sold free time before Mr Allen bought me; and he was good massa. He call me Caesar, and make me lub him.”
“Not for christening you Caesar, of course. Then he treated you well?”
“Yes, sah. Then Massa Huggin come and make Massa Allen like slave.”
“Indeed! Well, I have heard something of this from Mr Allen himself, and you will most likely see that this slave-driving scoundrel’s reign is over. Do you understand my English?”
“Yes, massa,” said the black quietly.
“Then you quite understand that you have been helping me as guide so that we can save Mr Allen from this man, and punish him for all the evil he has done—I mean for this buying and selling of the poor blacks who are brought from Africa here?”
“Yes, massa.”
“Then why do you refuse to go on guiding us to find Mr Allen?”
“Massa no understand,” said the black quietly. “Caesar want to save Massa Allen. Caesar want to kill Massa Huggin.”
“Do you?” said the lieutenant, smiling. “Well, we do not ask you to do that. We will manage the punishing; but I want you to go on guiding me and my men to where this slave-dealer is.”
“Yes, massa. Caesar want too, but massa mus’ wait.”
“What for? Why should we wait?”
“Massa no understand.”
“I understand from your behaviour that you are afraid,” said the lieutenant sternly.
“No, massa; not now. Caesar drefful ’fraid lil bit ago. Not now. Caesar want to save Massa Allen, but not time yet, massa. Bri’sh officer wait lil while.”
“Why?” said the lieutenant sharply.
“Massa no understand. Massa go now and find Massa Huggin. Take one, two—five, ten man Bri’sh sailor; Massa Huggin got ten, twenty, forty, fifty men sword gun plenty powder shot. Plenty ’nough to kill officer and Bri’sh sailor. Plenty strong; two ship. Kill everybody; Massa Allen too. Massa no good.”
“But how do I know that my men would not be too many for this scoundrel?”
“No, not many. Not ’nuff, sah,” said the black, shaking his head.
“Then you think we had better go back to the ship and fetch more men?”
The black shook his head and smiled sadly.
“Caesar ’fraid massa get killed, sailor get killed, Caesar too get killed. Massa officer must wait.”
The lieutenant gazed at the speaker searchingly, while the black returned his keen examination without flinching.
“Why must I wait?” he said.
“Too soon, massa. Time not come.”
“Time for what? To give Mr Huggins time to collect his men? He has plenty of black sailors, has he not?”
“Yes, massa. Hundred, two hundred, tree hundred.”
“So I supposed. Well, I do not feel disposed to wait longer than it will take me to get up some more of my men—as many as the captain can spare—and then I shall attack at once.”
“No massa can,” said the black quietly.
“Oh yes, I can, because you who have served us as guide so well, and who want to save your master, will show us the way.”
“No, massa. Caesar no show the way.”
“Why not?” said the lieutenant angrily.
“Massa Bri’sh officer and all men be killed. Massa must wait.”
“And if I say I will not wait?” cried Mr Anderson.
“Caesar show Massa Bri’sh officer why must wait.”
“When will you show me?” asked the lieutenant sharply.
The black stood silent for a few moments as if debating within himself sadly and doubtfully. Then turning his eyes upon Murray, his own brightened, and he thrust his hand within the cotton shirt which loosely covered his breast and shoulders. Then quickly drawing out the piece of young notched cane and the marked plantain leaf, he looked at them eagerly, turning them over in his hands and seeming to read the marks that were cut through rind and skin.
As he did this the black’s face brightened and he seemed to have found the way out of a difficulty as he held out the tokens of something or another to Murray.
“What have you there, my man?” cried the lieutenant.
“Obeah, massa. Fetish. Massa officer come with Caesar to-night, Caesar show him why wait.”
“Come with you alone?” said the lieutenant.
The black shook his head.
“No, massa come bring massa officer, Bri’sh sailor. Come and see. Caesar not ’fraid now. Massa come to-night.”
“Come where?” cried Mr Anderson.
“Caesar show.”
“You will show me a good reason why I should wait?”
“Yes, massa. Come ’long now.”
“Come now? Where to?”
“Massa Allen sleep house. Come ’long. Caesar show.”
And without waiting for further question or order, the black thrust the tokens he had found into his breast as he made his way back into the tunnelled passage, where he drew out the phosphorus bottle and taper, lit the latter and then led the way as swiftly as his companions could follow, the taper just lasting long enough to light the party back to within hearing of a call from the guards awaiting them anxiously at the entrance.
“Now for our rations, my lad, and a rest,” said the lieutenant, as all stood once more in the cottage room and watched the black deftly replace the trap, drawing over it the rug and making all that had passed seem to the two midshipmen and the chief officer as if they had been taking part in a dream.
Chapter Thirty Seven.
Obeah.
“This man is a puzzle,” said the lieutenant. “One hour he is a shivering cowardly slave, the next he plays the part of a hero; and now he is like a clever household servant who does the best he can for visitors in his master’s absence. Why, Murray—Roberts—we never expected such treatment as this.”
“No, sir,” said the two midshipmen together.
For Caesar had been bustling about, and one way and another had spread quite a supper in the planter’s little dining-room for the officers, and afterwards supplied the men in one of the back rooms with delicious coffee and bread, to the great refreshment of the tired adventurers.
“What are you thinking about, Mr Murray?” said the lieutenant. “Come, out with it, my lad;” for the middy had hesitated and turned red.
“I was only thinking, sir, that we ought to send a messenger to the Seafowl.”
“Humph! Strange, my lad. I have been thinking just the same, but I can spare neither man nor boat, and I have come to the conclusion that if Captain Kingsberry wants news he must send to us for it. What’s that you are muttering, Mr Roberts?—He will be angry?”
“I didn’t say so aloud, sir,” replied the lad.
“No, but you thought it, sir. Well, if he is he will soon be in a good humour again when he finds how busy we have been and what we have made out. Ah, here is our guide. Well, Caesar, what now?”
“Berry dark now, massa. Come see.”
“Come and see in the dark?” said the lieutenant, who appeared to be in the best of humours. “Well, what have you to show us?”
The three officers rose from the table and followed their guide out on the platform, where he pointed to a ruddy glow which rose from beyond the trees.
“Fire!” said Murray excitedly. “Can that be where the plantation house lies, sir?”
“No, Mr Murray, I think not. But if it is I should not be surprised if, taking advantage of their master’s absence, the blacks have fired his house to burn it down. Here, Caesar, are they burning the place?”
“No, massa,” replied the black. “Massa bring all sailor. Come see.”
The lieutenant nodded, and said in a low tone to Murray—
“Look here, my lad, I believe this fellow is to be trusted, but one’s caution and discipline will whisper that we ought to be careful, and it will not do for us to come back and find that our boats are burned.”
“No, sir,” replied the lad quickly. “Whom will you leave in charge of them?”
“I should like to leave May, but I want him with us. What do you say, Mr Roberts? It is an important charge.”
“Yes, sir,” faltered the midshipman, “but—”
“You want to go with us, eh? Well, it is only natural. Murray too, I suppose, feels the same. But you must take into consideration that this may be a very dangerous expedition we are going upon.”
“Do you think so, sir?”
“I do, Murray, and I cannot help hesitating now and then—from ignorance, of course, for though our guide seems to be trustworthy, we know absolutely nothing of what his feelings may be towards us. Well, I shall leave six men in charge of the two boats, with Titely at their head and instructions to keep well off shore.”
These arrangements were quickly made while the black stood looking on impatiently; and then Murray heard him utter a sigh of relief, for Mr Anderson told him to lead on.
The man sprang to the front at once, and was closely followed by the blacks who formed the crew of the planter’s boat.
“Massa keep close to Caesar,” said their guide, “and tell men not to talk and make noise. Soon get not dark.”
For the time being the darkness seemed to be impenetrable, but somehow the black leader was quite able to thread his way along an invisible track, which however soon grew easier, for the glow in the distance increased till the tops of the forest trees began to stand out clearly against the ruddy light.
Murray had received whispered instructions from his officer, whose caution seemed to increase as they went on, and those instructions turned the midshipman into the head of a rear-guard made up of himself, Tom May and two men, with instructions to report upon anything that seemed to be suspicious.
It was not long before the lad began to follow out his instructions by leaving the big sailor for a few minutes and hurrying forward to join the lieutenant.
“That you, Mr Murray?” he said. “You’ve come to say that the fire is increasing, and that there is another one away to the left?”
“No, sir; I saw that,” replied the middy.
“Then why have you left your men?”
“To tell you, sir, that we are being followed very closely by a body of blacks who are hemming us in.”
“Hang it! You don’t mean that!”
“I do, sir. Twice over we have seemed to pass through men who are hanging back on either side to let us pass, and who then close in behind us and follow up silently.”
“Humph! Unarmed, I suppose?”
“No, sir; I have not had much opportunity, but I am pretty well sure that, some of them have muskets, while all have those clumsy hangers with which they clear away the canes and growth from the forest paths.”
“Well, we are in for it now, Mr Murray. But look here, they are not many, I suppose?”
“They are, sir, and keep on increasing in numbers.”
“But they seem peaceable?”
“Yes, sir, quite; but I can’t help feeling suspicious.”
“Yes, it is suspicious, but they may not mean harm. I believe in that black Caesar all the same. If I did not I should give the order to retreat at once. There, go back to your men, and keep close up. Take special care not to let the blacks get between you and us.”
“There is no need, sir. They hang back to let us all pass.”
“That may be part of their plan to shut us in. But I will go on believing in the fellow till I have good cause to turn upon him, and then it will be very hard if our lads can’t keep any number at bay. There, stand fast till your men overtake you.”
Murray halted and let the men march by till Tom May and his messmates joined him; and then as he resumed his place he became aware that the blacks in their rear had increased greatly in number. Short as had been his absence, it was now much lighter, so that it was plain to see that they were being followed by a dense mass of white-cotton-clothed plantation slaves, all bearing arms of some kind or another, and moving in comparative silence, their bare feet making hardly a sound upon the soft earth.
“They seem to be increasing fast, Tom,” whispered Murray, as the sailors tramped steadily on.
“Yes, sir; tidy—tidy,” replied the big fellow.
“But they don’t seem to mean mischief, Tom.”
“No, sir, not yet; but if that was their game they could eat our little lot without salt.”
“You don’t seem to be a bit alarmed, Tom.”
“No, sir; no, sir, only a bit bothered.”
“What about—the darkness?”
“Nay, sir; that’s getting easier. It’s twice as light as it was. I meant about what game’s up. We seem to be going on some expedition or another, and I’ve been trying to settle it down in my mind. Don’t think it’s a coon hunt, do you, sir?”
“No, Tom; they are all too grave and serious for that.”
“Yes, sir, but that might be ’cause they don’t want to scare the game.”
“No; this is no hunt, Tom.”
“P’raps not, sir, and I only fancied that’s what it might be. No, sir, I don’t feel much worried about it—oneasy, you may say. Do you, sir?”
“Well, to be honest, Tom, I don’t like to be shut up like this among these blacks. Why, they’re growing thicker and thicker!”
“That’s so, sir. They’re hundreds upon hundreds strong. What does the chief officer think of it?”
“He doesn’t say, Tom, but I could see that he felt the need of caution by the order he gave me about keeping close together.”
“Oh, he did that, sir, did he? But I say, I wonder what the skipper would say about our being in such a hole.”
Murray looked sharply round at the speaker, who to his surprise began to chuckle softly.
“I don’t see anything to laugh at, Tom May,” said the middy sharply.
“No sir,” replied the man; “I s’pose not. There aren’t really nothing.”
“Then why do you laugh?”
“Couldn’t help it, sir. Only you see it does seem such cheek on our part, just a boat and a half’s crew and our orficer marching right in here no one knows where, only as it’s forest and just as cool as you please, and all these here niggers—reg’lar black thunderstorm of ’em—shutting us in, and all as quiet as mice. We’re not a bit frightened of ’em, but I’ll be bound to say as they’re scared of us. It do make me laugh, it do; but I s’pose it’s because we’ve got what they arn’t, sir—discipline, you see.”
“I think it takes something more than discipline, Tom,” said the midshipman. “Our men’s pluck has something to do with it.”
“Well, sir, I s’pose it has,” replied the man. “But look here, how they’re standing on each side for us to pass through. Talk about hundreds, why if it goes on like this there’ll be thousands soon.”
For the rich red glowing light became stronger and stronger, until at the end of half-an-hour the trees grew more open and the party could make out flame and smoke arising, while the silence of the marching men was at times broken by the crackle of burning wood.
“Well, sir,” exclaimed the big sailor, “I can’t say as I can make it out yet what game this is going to be, but anyhow we’re in for it whatever it is. I say, Mr Murray, sir, these here black African niggers arn’t cannibals, are they?”
“Some of them, Tom, I believe.”
“Then that’s it, sir; they’re all gathering up together for a great feed. Over yonder’s a big opening like with the fire in the middle of it, and we’re in for it now, and no mistake!”
“Oh, nonsense, Tom!”
“Is it, sir? Well, I never see such a turn out o’ nonsense before. It’s going to be a feast they’re set upon, and it don’t seem to me as we’re going to have a bit o’ room if the first luff makes up his mind to fight. All I can say is that cook me how they please, I’m sorry for the poor beggar of a black who’s got to stick his teeth into me. Talk about a tough un, Mr Murray, sir, I’m one,” chuckled the big fellow. “They’re gathered together for a big feast, as I said afore, and it’s no use to show fight, for there arn’t room. They’ll squeeze us all up pretty tight before the cooking begins, and that may make a bit o’ difference in the way of being tender, but I shall give some of them the toothache for certain, and I don’t think after the feed’s over many of ’em’ll want to try British tar again. British tar!” repeated the man jocosely. “Wonder whether I shall taste o’ best Stockholm tar. I’ve got pretty well soaked in it in my time.”
“Hush, Tom! Here’s Mr Anderson waiting for us to join him.”
For it had proved to be as the sailor had said. They had been marched into a wide amphitheatre of trees, in the midst of which a tremendous fire was burning brightly, and by its light the English party could make out the long serpentine line of men who were marching into the amphitheatre, which was lined with hundreds upon hundreds of blacks, whose eyes glowed in the firelight, while whenever lips were parted there was the glistening of the brilliantly white teeth.
It was a strangely impressive sight, as the lieutenant said when Murray joined him.
“I don’t know even now,” he added, “what it signifies. They don’t mean harm to us, my lad; but if they did we should have small chance of resistance. It seems to me that they have gathered for some special reason. It is a sort of feast, I suppose.”
Murray caught sight of Tom May’s eyes fixed upon him, and he closed one eye very slowly and solemnly as he frowned at the midshipman, as much as to say, “There, sir, I told you so!”
“What is your opinion of it, Mr Murray?”
“It looks to me, sir, like a rising of the blacks, for they are all armed.”
“Well,” said the lieutenant, “they are not rising against us. If they were they would not be so civil. Besides, they have nothing against us to rise about. They can’t rebel against those who have come to give them their freedom. Let’s go and see what is going on there.”
Just then their black guide came forward and stood before them, evidently for the purpose of stopping their progress, for the lieutenant had begun to cross the middle of the wide opening in the woods to where something important was apparently taking place.
“Well, Caesar,” said the lieutenant, “what is going on there?”
The black shook his head and looked anxiously from one officer to the other.
“Massa not go dah,” whispered the man. “Massa just look, see, and listen to what Obeah man say.”
“Obeah man?”
“Yes, massa. Obeah man. Snake fetish. Big snake in great box dah. Priest Obeah man take snake out o’ box soon. Not good for massa.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said the lieutenant. “Do you know anything about all this, Murray?”
“No,” replied the lad, “only that I have heard something of serpent worship which the blacks have carried with them to Barbadoes and Jamaica, sir.”
“Say Hayti too, my lad.”
“No, sir,” said Murray, smiling, his face looking bright in the warm glow spread by the tremendous fire now burning. “I can’t say any more, for I have heard so little about these people and their religion.”
“I expect you know as much as I do, Murray, my lad. This is Obeah, isn’t it? Serpent worship, Caesar?”
“Yes, massa. Not good for Bri’sh officer and brave sailor. Snake in big box. Priest show um to people. Obeah. Berry dreadful, sah.”
“Very dreadful nonsense, Murray,” said the lieutenant to his companion, in a low tone. Then speaking aloud: “And what is it all for?”
The black shook his head.
“Caesar can’t tell, massa. Priest show big snake Caesar people. Make all see fire and fight.”
“Aha! Fight, eh?” said the lieutenant, after a glance at Murray.
“Yes, massa; make people fight—kill.”
“Fight and kill us?” said Mr Anderson.
The man showed his white teeth and shook his head.
“No, massa; Caesar people no fight Bri’sh captain, Bri’sh officer. All come do poor black fellow good. Massa want know why not go fesh Massa Allen. Not good time. Caesar people all come to snake fetish. Obeah priest call people to come not know who Massa Huggin friend, who Massa Allen friend. Caesar bring Bri’sh officer, Bri’sh sailor, see Obeah night. See Obeah priest show big snake. Snake fetish. Caesar go now.”
The black turned away and walked quickly to where several strange-looking negroes—probably Obeah men—had now begun to walk in procession around the blazing fire, in front of which a long coffin-shaped box had been placed, and behind which a black, who must have attained to some consequence among his superstitious brethren on account of his gigantic height, stood now in the ruddy glow tossing his arms on high, gesticulating and uttering a weird strange chant, until the English party saw that their guide had approached quite close to the huge giant, and was evidently talking to him eagerly and with a great show of respect.
“Well, we know where we are now, Murray,” said the lieutenant. “Our guide has brought us here to see the mummery of their barbarous religion, and there is no doubt that the people have met to be stirred up to some rising against the planters who own them as slaves.”
“You think so, sir?” asked Murray.
“Yes, I feel sure of it, my lad. But look here, Murray; the people are quite friendly towards us, so help me in making our lads behave themselves. I mean, there must be no ribald laughing at the poor wretches. That is not the way to appeal to their better feelings. Look at that! Poor benighted creatures. These slave-owners must keep them in a darkness as black as their skins.”
For as the party from the Seafowl stood looking on, the strange chant rose and fell, while the huge black, who seemed to be the priest and leader, marshalled the people into a procession which he led round the fire, the blacks gesticulating, raising their arms in the air, and then bowing themselves down as they marched in a slow and solemn tramp about the blazing embers. Stamp, stamp, stamp; the vibration of the earth and the movement of the concourse of the excited people raised a current of air which fanned the flames and sent the sparks flying upwards eddying into the black night, while flakes of fire that were now and then dazzling in the brilliancy of their colour flashed and fluttered as they rose on high.
There was no need for the lieutenant’s words to his young officer, for, far from giving vent to mocking laughter, the sailors stood together looking on with wonder and something like awe at the intensity of feeling displayed by the people, who as they marched slowly onward in the weird procession, kept on pausing with wonderful unanimity to stamp and utter a wild and stirring moan as if of despair. Then they tossed their hands on high in obedience to the movements of their leader, who seemed to tower up above them, and whose black skin, which had most probably been heavily anointed with palm oil, glistened in the firelight until when every now and then he stopped short and stood motionless, he looked like some great image cast in ruddy bronze.
Onward and onward tramped and stamped the great procession; the strange thrilling chant rose and fell, now uttered as a wild shrieking yell, and then descending gradually until the sailors were listening to a wail of despair, as if the wretched people were appealing for pity in their terrible position and asking for help to relieve them from their piteous bondage.
“And I was afraid my lads would laugh, Murray,” whispered the lieutenant huskily. “Why, my lad, there’s something so terrible, so horrible, about it all that one seems to want no explanation. It tells its own tale of the poor wretches’ sufferings.”
“Yes, sir,” whispered back the middy, “and I’m glad to hear you say that.”
“Glad, boy!” cried the lieutenant, in an angry whisper. “What do you mean by that?”
“Only that it makes me feel choky, sir,” whispered Murray, “and I was a bit ashamed.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, my lad. I feel as if I should be glad of a chance to set our lads at some of the torturing, murderous wretches who drag the people from their own country and treat them as they do.”
“I feel the same, sir,” replied Murray, as he stared straight before him at something that had caught his eye; “but we shall have our chance, I feel sure, sir, and have the blacks to help us, for they are not working themselves up like this for nothing.”
“Working themselves up,” whispered the lieutenant, as the weird chant went on and the heavy beat of the people’s bare feet grew more and more impressive, while the rate at which they now tore on increased. “Why, they are working my men up too. The great baby! I shouldn’t have believed it possible that a big strong fellow like that could have been so impressed.”
“What, Tom May, sir?” said Murray.
“Yes, my lad. There were two great tears rolling down his cheeks, and I suppose he didn’t know how they were shining in this dazzling light, for he rubbed them away with his great ugly fists. Don’t let him see that we noticed it, for I suppose it is genuine emotion, and no one can say that he is not as big and brave a fellow as ever stepped. Here, look, boy—look!” whispered the lieutenant excitedly.
“I am looking, sir,” replied the middy, “and so is every one else. Oh, Mr Anderson, I am glad I didn’t miss seeing this.”
“I don’t know, my lad, whether I am glad or whether I am sorry,” replied his leader, “but I should not have thought it possible. It sets one thinking about what we read regarding the worships of the old idolaters, and I never imagined that such things could be going on now. Look, look; they seem to be growing frantic. It can’t last long like this; the poor wretches are growing mad.”
For the chant had grown louder and wilder, the wails in chorus more piercing and thrilling, and the heavy stamping of the bare feet more heavy and deep-toned, so that all round the great circle in which the slaves were stamping, the earth vibrated more thunderously than ever.
Then, as if by one impulse, every actor in the weird scene stopped short in response to a signal given by the huge leader, who threw up his arms just when the fire, fanned so strangely by the hundreds of figures sweeping round it, tore upward in a vast whirl of fluttering flame and eddying sparks, and all with a low, deep musical hum which strangely dominated the silence.
It was as if the multitude had ceased to breathe, and all present were reflecting from their staring protuberant eyes the ruddy light of the roaring cone of flame. The great bronze figure formed the centre upon which all eyes were fixed, and he stood now with his hands raised on high as if to hold his followers’ attention and make them as statue-like as himself.
Murray felt impressed and held as it were by the gesture of the great leader, and for one brief moment turned his eyes upon his brother middy, to see that his face was thrust forward, his lips were apart, and his eyes and teeth were glistening in the light.
It was but a momentary glance, and then his own eyes were watching the great glistening black, who, perfectly nude, now lowered his arms till they were horizontal, and, with levelled and pointing fingers stalked towards where the great coffin-shaped box lay in the full light of the glowing and roaring fire.
He stood with his hands outstretched above the chest for what seemed to be long-drawn endless minutes; but no one stirred, and then, with one quick movement, he seemed to sweep off the long lid before him, stooped, and plunged his hands into the chest, just too as the fire burned the brightest; and as he rose erect again he tore from out of where it rested, a great writhing serpent, whose myriad scales flashed in the brilliant light as if it were of gold.
And then, and then only, a deep, low, moaning murmur rose from the many throats and died away as if in the distance in one deep sigh.
Silence again, and Murray’s eyes were fixed, his breast thrilling, and a sensation ran through him as if some strange force were plucking at his nerves and making them vibrate throughout his frame.
For as the great bronze figure stood erect those who watched could see that the serpent was all in motion, gliding, twining and crawling all over the priest’s stalwart frame, while he too seemed to be working hard with his hands, trying to control the reptile’s movements, but only for it to go on gliding rapidly through his fingers; and as the midshipman watched, he kept on getting glimpses of an oval flattened head gliding over the negro’s breast, passing beneath his arms, reappearing again over his shoulders to pass round his neck, and always eluding the busy hands which tried to restrain it.
The scene was wonderful. Murray had watched the black snatch the reptile from the box which held it, and then it was as if he had snatched forth a dozen serpents which were ever after twining and intertwining in continuous motion and flashing the while in a wonderful quivering, endlessly moving flame of glistening scales which seemed to throw off a phosphorescent mist of light that enveloped both reptile and man.
As Murray gazed, fascinated by the weirdly strange scene before him, it seemed to him a dozen times over that a deadly struggle was going on between the two writhing creatures, and that every now and then, as the golden oval head darted out of the confusion of movement, it was only to gather force for a dart at the man and fix its fangs in the quivering flesh. But there was no cessation; the reptile was ever strong, and the man as vigorous as ever. Darting at the struggling figure about which it was twined, and then—perhaps it was the boy’s imagination—gaping wide to fix upon some part of the quivering flesh, breast, back, shoulder, or side, perhaps most often at the hands which kept on moving about as sharply as the flat head which played around with such wonderful rapidity. And the motion was ceaseless, always glistening and flashing with light, and watched by the hundreds upon hundreds of glowing opal eyes which reflected the cone of flame still going on spiralling upwards and burning more fiercely than ever.
What is going to be the end? Murray asked himself. Will the serpent conquer and the great black priest fall faint and powerless, strangled to death by the folds of the reptile, which were ever tightening round breast and neck? But they were ever loosening as well, and at one time the boy’s chest expanded with a glow of satisfaction, for it seemed to him that the man was gaining the mastery over his enemy, having succeeded in grasping the serpent’s neck with both hands, and begun to swing and whirl it round and round, whizzing through the air level with his neck. Murray could almost believe that it was whirled round so fast that he could even hear it hum and then snap and crack as if it were some mighty whip-lash with which the great black was flogging the golden darkness of the night.
The middy panted again, and there was a feeling of constriction about his chest, just as if the serpent or one of the many serpents that at times, it seemed, had thrown a fold about him—yes, and another had been cast about his neck, for in the struggle going on before his eyes the reptile seemed to be gaining the best of it once more, and the man was weakening rapidly.
He wondered too that the crowd eddying around remained so silent. It seemed to him only natural that they should give vent to their feelings with shouts of joy when the priest looked successful, and groanings when the serpent had him circled tightly in its toils.
But all the same the midshipman in his excitement realised that he was as silent as the rest, and stood there, with the perspiration trickling down from brow to cheek, watching and watching for the end which seemed as if it would never come.
It must be, he was sure, a struggle that could only end in one way—death for one of the combatants. And yet the lad felt doubt creep in, and he asked himself whether it might not end in death for both.
There were moments when, as he saw the great negro struggle and free himself partially from the serpent’s folds, he foresaw the reptile’s end in the glowing fire, which would become man’s colleague as well as servant, and he could almost see the monster writhing and curling up in the roaring flames to which it was apparently adding fresh fury.
But the next moment there was another phase of horror, for one fold of the many convolutions seemed to be tightened about the man’s arm, and he was evidently about to be dragged into the fire too, and, as he had before imagined, it was to be death for both.
But no; the serpent snatched itself away from the impending danger and tightened itself about the man, who was the next instant bound by the great living thong about and about his heaving body, and the struggle was resumed upon equal terms.
Was it never going to finish?
The end was at hand in a way that the watcher had never for a moment anticipated, for all at once, when the silence, save for the humming noise of the fire, was at its greatest depth, there arose the sudden hollow trumpet-like blast of a great conch shell, followed by a savage fiendish yell, and for one brief moment Murray saw the huge black, golden red in the fire’s glow, standing wiping, as it were so to speak, the folds of the great serpent from off his arms, then from his neck, and again from his breast, about which it heaved and twined, before it was gone, as it were, twisted up by the great knotted arms of the huge negro, and thrown into the long coffin-shaped chest, whose lid was slammed down with a noise like the report of a gun; and this was followed by a noise as of a great wind passing over the amphitheatre, and Murray looked to see the fire swept away and growing extinct before the force of what sounded like a storm.
But the fire blazed still, and dominating the rushing wind a voice arose from close at hand with the familiar cry of—
“Seafowls ahoy!”