CHAPTER XIV
JESSE’S FINGER-NAIL
For an hour Jesse Hagan, Jabez Ford and Daniel Sweetland spoke in secret together. Then the overseer mounted his horse and departed, while Daniel and the Obi Man remained.
The result of this curious conference will appear. Suffice it that for many a long month no man ever saw Daniel’s face again. Meantime Mr Ford resumed his attendance on Sir Reginald Vivian’s son, who continued to enjoy the generous hospitality of Tobago. Hue and cry for Daniel Sweetland quite failed to find him, or any sign of him. No trace of the sailor rewarded a close and systematic search. It was supposed that he had eluded all eyes, risked the sharks, and either perished or succeeded in swimming back to his ship on the night before she sailed. But the crew knew differently. To the deep regret of James Bradley and the rest of his mates, Daniel returned to the Peabody no more. To wait for him could not be thought of. A black man was, therefore, shipped in Sweetland’s stead, and the old steamer, with a small cargo of cocoanuts and turtle, sailed to Barbados. Dan from his hiding-place saw her depart unmoved, for he knew not the awful fate that would soon overtake his friends. Great issues had now opened in his own life, and extreme hazards awaited him.
A fortnight passed, and the afternoon of Henry Vivian’s visit to the Obi Man arrived. This event had been reserved for his last holiday in Tobago. In two days’ time a Royal Mail Packet would leave the island, and by it the visitor designed to return to Barbados, that he might pick up the next vessel that sailed for home.
While he packed his cabin trunks young Vivian reviewed the events of recent weeks, and thought, not without regret, of much that had happened. The pursuit of Sweetland had caused him deep sorrow. He forgave Dan his ducking, and only mourned that his own sense of duty had made it necessary to try and secure the escaped prisoner. He would have given much to know what had become of the fugitive, and hoped against his conscience that Daniel was safe in the Peabody. But the young man did not doubt that Sweetland had been guilty, for evidence of his crime seemed overwhelming, and the final fact that he had escaped from justice showed too certainly how the poacher had feared it. The circumstance of Jabez Ford’s dishonesty was also material for unquiet reflections. Mr Ford acquitted himself as an ideal host, and every instinct of the guest rebelled and hurt him for the part that he must play. Vivian felt himself guilty of treachery, and it was only by keeping the truth concerning Jabez Ford resolutely in sight that he could view his courtesy, good nature, and hospitality with an easy mind. That Ford had robbed his father Henry Vivian could not question; yet he blamed himself for being so silent. He felt that he had done better and more bravely to declare his doubts and charge the other openly. Then he reminded himself that he had actually done so, that he had expressed frank dissatisfaction on many occasions, and that Jabez Ford, with imperturbable good humour, had listened to his strictures, regretted his opinions, and assured him of his mistakes. At least Vivian determined that he would not leave the overseer in any uncertainty. He had failed to find a trustworthy and experienced man to take Ford’s place in Tobago; but he doubted not that such a man might be forthcoming at Barbados. Letters would reach him there from his father, and those letters Henry believed would grant him powers to dismiss Jabez Ford and appoint another overseer. He might, indeed, have to return to Tobago before leaving the West Indies. At anyrate, on the following day Ford was to lunch with Vivian on shipboard before the steamer sailed, and then Henry determined that the overseer should hear the truth, in order that he might make preparations for his departure from the Pelican Estate.
While the traveller thus decided, Jabez Ford was engaged upon a communication to Sir Reginald; and it was this letter, and not his employer’s son, that the overseer intended should travel homeward in two days’ time.
The fireflies danced across the velvet darkness of night; strange sounds of frogs echoed in the marshes, and sheet lightning sometimes outlined the dark heads of the palms as Jabez wrote. Now he sipped his grog; now he turned his cigar in his mouth; now he listened to the footfall of his guest on the floor above. Vivian was whistling “Widecombe Fair.” Already he wearied of the tropics and began to yearn for a sight of home.
Mr Jabez Ford tapped away at his typewriter and described with many an artistic and graphic touch events that had not yet happened. He told how Henry Vivian accompanied him to the abode of the old negro, Jesse Hagan; how, after inspecting the Obi Man’s mysteries, the visitor had ridden off alone to return to the Pelican Sugar Estate; how he had not come back, and how, protracted search being made, his clothes were discovered upon the seashore, while a single row of naked footprints were also observed leading from them to the sea. He added that young Vivian’s custom was to bathe twice daily, and that on more than one occasion, disregarding warnings, he had swum in the open water instead of behind the protections of the regular bathing-place. Mr Ford left it to the sorrowing father to guess what must have happened in those shark-haunted waters. He concluded with haste to catch the mail. He promised to write again as soon as possible, and to send a message by cable if any hopeful news might be despatched.
Then, well pleased with the effort, he slept, and presently woke again refreshed to make his story good.
Soon after noon Vivian and the overseer rode together by the steep forest path to Jesse’s lofty haunt, and the Obi Man in expectation prepared himself. Daniel Sweetland had vanished. Only an attendant negro waited on the master of the mysteries. All being arranged to Jesse’s satisfaction, the ancient man disappeared into an inner sanctum behind a curtain, and there completed his own horrible toilet. Upon his head he placed a fur cap with long black horns sprouting out of it, and over his lean carcase he drew hairy garments daubed with white and scarlet paint. These things were girt about his waist with a belt of feathers of the king-bird—a tropic fowl of gorgeous plumage. His arms remained bare, but to his wrists and ankles he fastened strips of lizard skin and hung bracelets of rattling seeds. About his neck he placed a chain of human teeth, and upon his breast for a loathsome amulet, the shrivelled-up mummy of a monkey hung. He next painted sundry blue hieroglyphics over his wrinkled face, and then gazed with unqualified pleasure at the general effect seen in a scrap of looking-glass.
“Obi somebody dis day!” said Jesse as he marched out into the daylight; and if he looked unearthly in the gloom of his own den, the display in full blaze of sunshine was still more terrific. He pranced hither and thither for his servant’s benefit. He jingled and clashed and flamed. His fantastic adornments glittered in the light; strange treasures, unseen until now, appeared amongst his accoutrements. A brass-bound Bible hung round his neck with a big jack-knife; upon his knees a pair of old naval epaulettes were fastened. The ghastly thing on his breast had yellow beads stuck into its head for eyes, and now they flashed with a sort of life, whilst its little mummied arms clung about Jesse and seemed to hug him.
The attendant eyed him without awe or admiration. Jacky, as he was called, lacked some of his senses and never spoke. Then, while Jesse capered about like a monkey, down in the hot haze of the distance amid trees and rocks, the old monster suddenly saw a cavalcade struggling up the hill. Two horsemen were approaching.
Now the Obi Man retired again to complete very special and secret preparations for the hope of the house of Vivian. He withdrew behind the curtain, stooped low in his secret corner, and drew forth a box from beneath much rubbish that covered it. Next he lighted a candle, opened the box and from it took a smaller one. This contained a grey, sticky matter, like bird-lime. Digging out some of the stuff upon the point of a wooden skewer, Jesse, with his thumb, held back the flesh of his middle right-hand finger, and, under the nail, deposited the compound from the box. He plastered it there, and since all his nails were long and dirty, the presence of this strange ointment was not likely to attract attention. He hid the box again, blew out his candle, and, returning to the air, went forward to meet his company.
The horsemen arrived and drew up before Jesse’s gate as he leapt forward and bowed low, while his finery made savage music.
“By Jove! we’re lucky!” exclaimed Jabez. “I told you that you should see an Obi doctor, but I never thought he would have all his war-paint on!”
“Tell him to get further off,” answered Vivian. “My horse is growing restive.”
“Gib you berry good day, Massa Ford; and you too, sar!” cried Jesse, bowing again and again. “Poor ole man Hagan, he berry pleased to see gem’men.”
“This is Mr Vivian, Jesse,” explained the overseer. “His father is Sir Reginald Vivian—the great man who owns the Pelican Estate.”
Jesse saluted respectfully.
“I proud nigger dis day. Wonderful esteats—wonderful sugar esteats, massa. No canes like de canes on Pelican land. Come in, gem’men. Jacky hold your hosses and make dem fast. I’se proud to see two such gem’men in dis place.”
Ford made signs to the negro, but did not speak. Then he turned to Henry Vivian.
“That’s old Jesse’s son,” he explained. “A rare fine nigger—full-blooded and strong as a horse. But he’s deaf and dumb—poor devil!—though he’s got all his other wits about him.”
Jacky made fast the horses and brought them a pail of water. Then Ford and the guest entered Mr Hagan’s hut, and Jesse followed them. He bustled about and fetched a basket of fruit from the garden. Next he produced a bottle of rum and drew the cork with his teeth.
Henry Vivian stared and showed a very genuine interest in the strange scene around him. Mr Ford sat on a barrel in a corner and smoked his cigar.
“You’ve got to thank old Jesse here for more than you know,” he declared. “He’s been worth pounds and pounds to the Pelican; and though I can’t show the profits that I’d like to show you, and hope to show you soon, yet but for this old wonder here, the figures would be far worse than they are. Two years ago a tremendous lot of sugar-cane was stolen from our plantation. The black thieves came by night—”
“He-he-he! Black tiefs come by night!” echoed Jesse.
“And took tons of the stuff. I placed the matter in the hands of the police; but it’s not much good setting a nigger to catch a nigger as a rule. The officers did no good; then I tried the parson. But he was powerless too. So I came to Jesse, and he stopped the rascals in no time.”
“Jesse stop de rascals in no time,” said the old negro.
“He put your father’s lands under Obeah, Mr Vivian. That doesn’t mean much to you; but we West Indians understand. All rubbish and nonsense really, perhaps, though I won’t allow that myself. At anyrate, Obeah is a terrible thing to Ethiopian ears. Some survival and fragment of their ancient, infernal religion of witchcraft and unimaginable devilries. There’s something in it, I believe—what, I cannot say. Our friend here is one of the last of the Obi Men, and he threw his spell over the sugar canes—hung up red rags and empty bottles on the skirts of the plantation—uttered some mumbo-jumbo spell in the ears of the frightened people and departed. It was enough. Devil another stick went.”
“Debble anudder stick go! He-he!” sniggered Jesse.
“We ought to be greatly obliged,” confessed Henry Vivian. “This has been a most interesting experience, and I hope you’ll accept an English sovereign from me in the name of my father, old man. Be sure I’ll tell him of your exploits and all that he owes to you.”
“Gold—me like gold berry much,” declared Jesse. He took the money greedily and slipped it into a pocket at his belt. “Massa King ob England on it—good!” he said.
“And now I’ll depart, if you please, Ford,” continued young Vivian. “I’m glad to have had this most interesting experience, but I can’t stand the place any longer. The uncanny odours are choking me.”
“Smoke then. We can’t go immediately. The old boy would never forgive us. I’ll be off as soon as I dare.”
He turned to Jesse.
“Seen any turtle lately?”
“Plenty turtle, sar. I take my walks on moony nights and see de great cock turtle making a fuss and de ladies laying dar eggs in de sand. Berry good soup—but Jesse like rum better. It work quicker. You gem’men shall taste Jesse’s rum punch. Nobody make rum punch like me, massa.”
He made signs to Jacky, and the silent negro, who stood at the door, drew three calabash shells from a corner and took them out to wash them.
“He my son, massa,” explained old Hagan. “Him no speak or hear. Him tongue tied by de Lord. But him understand berry quick. Him understand like a dog, sar. Him know tings dat we no know, for all dat we have ears and tongues.”
Vivian nodded dreamily and puffed his cigar. The vile atmosphere of the hut and Jesse’s voice that ran on ceaselessly began together to hypnotise him. He felt sleepy.
“How much more of it?” he asked Ford, and the other answered—
“Not five minutes. The drink is ready. We will wish him good luck and long life. Then we will clear out. His rum punch is really worth drinking. I know nothing like it.”
Meantime Jacky had rinsed out his three split calabash bowls and now placed them on the table in a row.
“Dis Obi punch I make for you, sar. Nobody make him but Jesse!” declared the host. Then he poured his concoction into the three bowls and, when he had emptied a large open pan, about half a pint of liquor filled each calabash.
“Drink and remember de poor old Obi Man, sars! Dar’s yours, Massa Ford, and dar’s yours, Massa Vivian; and dis am mine. Jacky and me will share and share togedder.”
He handed the calabashes to his son and a close observer might have noted that into one bowl of refreshment—that intended for Henry Vivian—Jesse dipped the long, bony middle finger of his right hand.
A moment later Jabez Ford lifted his drink and pledged the giver.
“Here’s to you, old fellow, and may your shadow never grow less. Good luck and long life to all of us!”
He drank heartily, smacked his lips, and set his empty bowl upon the table, while Vivian followed his example and drained his drink also.
“Splendid—splendid!” he said. “I’ll give you another sovereign for the secret of that!”
Jesse looked at the doomed man with his toad’s eyes.
“I fraid de secret no good whar you gwaine, massa. You dead gem’man, sar. Nuffing on God earf save you now. Five minutes more and we take off your tings and put you under Jesse’s snake-gourd, sar.”
“What the deuce is he talking about?” began Vivian. Then his jaw fell and he stared at the face of Jabez Ford. Behind them stood Jacky, and in front, on the other side of the table, the Obi Man quietly sipped his rum punch and waited.
But now a thing unforeseen occurred, and the awful, inevitable death that had been mixed with Henry Vivian’s cup fell upon another.
Jabez Ford it was who leapt to his feet, cried a hoarse oath and turned upon the negro behind him.
“Treachery—you—you—!” he began. Then he fell in a heap on the floor, twisted horribly like a snake, while his hands and feet beat the earth.
“Air—air—my God—life!” he cried, and at the same moment with a wild yell the Obi Man leapt forward and hurled himself at his son’s throat. But the younger negro was ready, and in his grasp the old man’s strength availed nothing. In a moment Mr Hagan was forced to the earth and Jacky, with a rope in readiness, had bound him hand and foot. His finery fell from Jesse while he shrieked and struggled and cursed. Then he sank into silence and watched Jabez Ford die.
Vivian, believing himself in some appalling nightmare, glared upon this scene; and its unreality and horror seemed increased to a climax worse than the sudden death of the overseer when the dumb negro turned upon him and spoke.
“Come!” said the man. “Come out of this! The horses are waiting. I’ll tell you what’s to tell, but not here with that mad old devil screeching in our ears and t’other glaring there with death gripping his throat. Come, Henry Vivian, an’ give heed to the man who has saved your life at the cost of this twisted clay here. Like him would you have been this minute but for me. ’Tis now your turn to be merciful.”
“Dan! Dan Sweetland!”
“So I be then—at your service. Come. No more till we’m out o’ sight of this gashly jakes. Let that old rip bide where he be for the present. Us can come backalong for him after dark, or to-morrow.”
A few moments later Sweetland, still disguised as a negro, mounted the dead man’s horse, and he and his old companion rode away together.
CHAPTER XV
DANIEL EXPLAINS
“Afore you think about what all this means, you’d best to hear me,” began Daniel. “I’m very sorry I throwed you in the water, Mister Henry, but ’twas ‘which he should,’ as we say to home; an’ if I hadn’t done it, you’d have had me locked up. You thought you was right to go for me; an’ I reckoned I was right to go for you. An’ I should again, for I’m innocent afore Almighty God. May He strike me dead on this here dead man’s horse if I ban’t!”
“We’ll leave your affairs for the present,” replied Vivian. “What you’ve got to do is to tell me what all this means. Then I shall know how to act.”
“That’s all right,” answered the other; “but you’m rather too disposed to be one-sided, if I may say so without rudeness. A man like me don’t care to blow his own trumpet, but I must just remind you that I’ve saved you from a terrible ugly death during the last five minutes; and I’ll confess ’twas a very difficult job and took me all my time to do it. I’ve been a better friend to you than ever you was to me, though I know you was all for justice an’ that you meant to do your duty. But you was cruel quick against me. Well, thus it stands: the world thinks I’m a murderer, an’ my work in life is to prove I am not. An’ that I shall do, with or without your help, sir. But if you believe the lie, say so, an’ I’ll know where I be. If you’re my enemy still, declare it. Then if there’s got to be fighting the sooner the better. But think afore you throw me over. ’Twas because I loved you, when we were boys, an’ because I thought that, when you heard my story calmly, you’d come to believe in me, that I let the past go an’ saved your life. So now say how we stand, please, Mister Henry. If you’m against me still, be honest and declare it. But I know you can’t be. Ban’t human nature after what I’ve just done for you.”
Vivian stopped his horse.
“It’s not a time for reserve, Dan. You’re right and I’m wrong. You’ve taught me to be larger-hearted. I’ll take your word, and henceforth I’m on your side before a wilderness of proofs. From this hour I will believe that you’re an innocent man, and I thank you, under God, for saving my life.”
He held out his hand, and Sweetland shook it as if he could never let go.
“The Lord will bless you for that! I knowed well how ’twould be when you understood. An’ I hope you’ll forgive me for speaking so plain; but ’twas gall to me to know you thought me so bad. If you’m on my side, an’ my own Minnie at home, an’ my own friend, Titus Sim—you three—then I’m not feared for anything else. I’ll face the world an’ laugh at it now. But first I must tell you the meaning of all that’s happened to-day.”
“Here’s the Pelican,” interrupted Vivian. “You’ll do well to come in and have a wash while I send for the police.”
“Washing won’t get it off. I’ll be so black as the ace of oaks for many a long day yet; an’ maybe it’s best so. ’Twas that dead man’s idea that I should bide along with Jesse Hagan an’ pretend to be a deaf an’ dumb nigger, an’ lend Jesse a hand when you arrived. A very good idea too. So long as Dan Sweetland’s thought to be a murderer, he’ll be better out of the way.”
They entered the dwelling of Jabez Ford, while a negro took their horses.
Then Sweetland told his story from the beginning. He started with the night before his wedding, and gave every particular of his last poaching enterprise. He related how he actually heard the shot that must have slain Adam Thorpe, and explained how he returned to Hangman’s Hut, put his gun into its case, and then went home to his father’s house. His wedding, arrest, and subsequent escape followed. He mentioned his ruse at the King’s Oven, his visit to his wife, and his escape from Plymouth in the Peabody. He resumed the narrative at Scarborough, Tobago, and then related what had happened to him after flying from the wharf.
“I overheard Jesse and Jabez Ford talking, an’ very quickly tumbled to it that you was a deader if you comed to see the Obi Man. I’d watched the old, grey-haired devil dig your grave already. Then I set to work to save you. Maybe ’twas a fool’s trick, but I hadn’t much time to think about it, so I bluffed, an’ went in so bold as brass, an’ said as I wanted to take your life. Well, you may guess what Ford thought of that. A desperate, half-naked, savage sailor-man was just the tool for him. They let me help Jesse, an’ I make no doubt that Ford meant to turn on me afterwards, if ever he had to clear himself. He never smelt a rat—he never saw I was playing a part—I was that bitter against you. I axed the man an’ begged him to let me kill you myself, an’ I think he would have agreed to it; but Jesse said that ’twas his job, an’ he told us he wasn’t going to have no pig-killing in his house, but ordered us to leave it to him. To the last he wouldn’t tell me how he was going to do it. So I had an anxious time, I promise you. Then ’twas planned that I should be a black man, an’ the old chap gived me some stuff for my face an’ hands an’ neck—just the colour as you see. I’ve got the rest up there in a bottle. Well, Ford he went off, an’ Jesse told me what my part was to be. Simple enough—only to hand you your rum punch when the time came—nothing more. ’Twas all in that drop of drink. But he swore ’twasn’t when I axed him afore you come. And what he put in, or how he put it in, I can’t tell you. I only guessed when he handed me the drink that death was in your bowl, because he was so partickler about which was yours an’ which was Ford’s. So I said to myself, ‘I’ll change these here calabashes behind their backs, an’ if one’s a wrong ’un, let that crafty chap have it; an’ if both be honest, no harm’s done.’ You see how right I was. When I seed Ford screech an’ topple over, I knowed what I’d saved you from.”
“But why—what did the man want to poison me for?”
“Because he’d seed through you an’ knowed you’d seen through him. Because he found out you wasn’t satisfied and meant to have him turned off. I heard him tell the Obi Man the whole yarn. He read the letters you’d written your father after you’d gone to bed; an’ then he took yours out an’ put in others into your envelopes, an’ forged your signatures to ’em. Then, when they’d got you settled, they was going to pretend you’d gone bathing an’ been eaten by sharks. The story all hung together very suent an’ vitty, I lay. But now he’s dust himself, an’, if you take my advice, you’ll do what he’s done afore you, an’ make Jesse Hagan keep his mouth shut. No harm can come of that; then you’re free to go home. Whereas, if you have the whole thing turned over to the police, there’ll be the devil to pay, an’ a case at Trinidad, an’ lawyers, an’ trouble, an’ Jesse Hagan hanged, an’ Lord knows what else.”
“Let things go!” gasped Henry Vivian.
“Why not? Just consider. There’ll be oceans of bother for you if you stir this up. Nothing better could have happened. This wicked scoundrel’s taken off in the nick of time.”
“Hoist with his own petard, indeed!”
“Well, he’s gone—vanished like smoke—an’ nobody will mourn him neither. What could suit you so well? Forget you know anything about it. Why not? All you can do is to hang Jesse Hagan for his share. But, if you arrest him, so like as not he’ll turn round on me an’ say I done it. Then my name comes in, an’ I’d very much rather it didn’t just at present.”
They argued long upon this theme, but Vivian would not give way. His sense of justice and honour made him refuse to let the matter drift, and Daniel’s worldly-wise advice fell on deaf ears. They made a meal, and the negroes who served it looked curiously at the silent coloured man, who ate with their master’s guest; for while others were present Daniel kept dumb. Then, as the day advanced, the horses were again saddled, and Vivian, with Sweetland, rode off to the hut of Obeah.
While the attendants stared to see a ragged negro galloping off on Jabez Ford’s horse, Dan attempted again to convince Henry Vivian that a cynical silence would for the present best meet the case. It was only the thought of Sweetland’s own position, if all came to be laid bare, that made the other hesitate. Vivian, indeed, found himself still in doubt when they returned to the summit of the hill, tied their horses to the opuntia hedge, and returned to Jesse’s dim dwelling.
Profound silence reigned there, and the hut was empty. Neither the distorted corpse of Jabez Ford nor any sign of the Obi Man himself appeared. Hunting in a corner, Daniel found the bottle of dye which had served so effectually to disguise him; and at the same moment Henry Vivian discovered a scrap of paper on the table under the red eye of light that fell from the roof upon it.
“Jesse larf at ropes and bars, but Jesse no larf at Massa Judge at Trinidad who hang him. Jesse tired, so him go to bed along with other gem’men and Marse Ford under the snake-gourd in him garden.”
Daniel rushed out to find this statement true. The Obi Man had flung Ford into the grave prepared for Henry Vivian. He had then jumped in himself and, with a long knife that lay beside him, had severed the arteries of his thighs. A storm of insects rose up and whirled away from the ghastly grave.
“Where’s his spade?” cried Daniel. “Even you will grant there’s but one thing to do for ’em now.”
“My duty’s hard to know,” declared Vivian.
“Then leave it,” answered the other. “Here’s Fate busy working for you. Why for keep so glum about it? Let me advise, for I know I’m right. Take the next ship home an’ set out all afore your faither. He’ll say what’s proper to do. I’ll bury these sinners, an’ you can bear the tale home along; an’ when he’s heard all, Sir Reginald will know very well how to act. Trust him!”
“And you, Sweetland?”
“I’ll tell you what I think about myself so soon as I be through with this job. One thing’s clear as mud: the sooner we’re out of Tobago the better. If you can only trust the second in command at the Pelican works to carry on for the present, I say ‘be off.’ Then this scarey business will right itself. The bad man fades away from memory. His sins are forgotten. Never was a case where silence seemed like to suit everybody best an’ do the least harm.”
In his heart Henry Vivian felt somewhat nettled to find an untutored man rising to strength of character and practical force greater than his own at this crisis. But he could not fail to feel the sense of Dan’s advice. Moreover, he was awake to the immense debt he owed to Sweetland.
That night, while fireflies danced over the raw earth of the grave under the snake-gourd, Henry Vivian and the sailor held solemn speech together. They talked for hours; then Daniel had his way.
It was at length determined that Sir Reginald’s son should return home at once. Having yielded slowly to Dan’s strong entreaties in this matter, Vivian asked a question.
“And what do you do, Sweetland? Or, I should ask, what can I do for you? Your welfare is mine henceforth. This tragedy has merely obscured the problem with respect to you. I return home and convince my father that what has happened was really for the best. We will take it that he agrees, presently appoints a new overseer, and leaves this scoundrel in his unknown grave. So much for me and the issue of my affairs; but now what happens to you, my lad? One thing is to the good: you’ll have the governor on your side when he hears you saved my life.”
“Well,” answered Dan, “I was waiting for us to come to my business. To tell you the truth, I’ve thought of myself so well as you, Mister Henry. An’ this is what I’ve got to say. You’ll think I’ve gone cracked, I reckon, yet I beg you’ll hear me out, for I’ve given a lot of thought to the matter, you may be sartain; an’ mad though it do sound, if you think of it, you’ll see that ’tis about the only way. If you count that you owe me ought, I beg you’ll fall in with my plan; then I shall be in your debt for everlasting.”
“I owe you everything, Dan. I owe it to you that I’m not dead and buried in that old fiend’s garden, where he lies himself. Tell me what’s best to be done for you, and be sure if it’s in my power that I’ll do it.”
“Well, ’tis this way; you believe in me; you take my oath I’m honest. But the world don’t. I can’t go back to England and stand up an’ say ‘I didn’t do it, neighbours,’ because the Law’s up against me an’ there’s nought but short shrift an’ long drop waiting for me as things are. But—”
“Stop here, then, for the present.”
“That won’t do neither. I’ve gotten a feeling pulling at me like horses, to get home. I’m wanted there. My girl wants me. I know it.”
“How’s that to be done? Show your nose on the countryside and you’ll be arrested.”
“So I should be—such a nose as mine, for there’s no mistaking it; but how if I bide the colour I be now?”
“Go home black!”
“Why for not? ’Tis that I ax of you, sir, as payment for saving your life. You take me back as your black servant. I’m dumb, but I’m such a treasure that you can’t get on without me. Do it! Do it for love of a hardly-used man! I’ll ax it on my knees, if you say so. Let me go back with you as your nigger sarvant, an’ if I don’t clear myself in six months from the day I set foot in England, then I’ll clear out altogether and trouble you no more. The man’s living that killed Adam Thorpe, and who more likely to worm out the truth than I be, with such a motive to find it as I’ve got? There I’ll bide patient an’ quiet an’ dumb as a newt, an’ I’ll work for you as never man yet worked. I beg you let me do this—by my faither’s good name an’ for love of my mother an’ my little lonely wife, I beg you. You’ll never regret it—never. ’Tis a good deed and will stand to your credit in this world so well as t’other.”
“They’ll find you out. Sim will see through you, and your father will. Who can forget your size and your walk?”
“Don’t fear that. Such things be forgotten quick enough. Not a soul will know so long as I keep my mouth shut; an’ that I’ll do for my neck’s sake, be sure of it. Not a soul living will guess. I only ax for six months. Then I’ll vanish again, if I haven’t found some damned rascal to fill my shoes. An’ this I will bet; that my own mother don’t know me. With my curly hair an’ black eyes I was half a nig afore I comed here. Now I’m nigger all over. The coloured men here think I am, anyhow, for they axed me who I was, an’ where I comed from, an’ where Marse Ford was got to. But I just pointed to my mouth an’ shook my head, so they all think I’m dumb.”
“It might be better at home if they thought that you were deaf too,” reflected Vivian. “Since you’re so set on this experiment, I must fall in with it. I owe you too much to refuse.”
“I knowed you would! Wasn’t we boys together? Bless your good heart, sir! You’ll never be sorry—never. I’m yours, body an’ soul, for this—yours to be trusted an’ ordered while life’s in me.”
“So be it, Daniel; and, after your own wife, there’s no human being will be better pleased to see you proved guiltless than I shall. And what I can do to help you and justice, that will I do. Now our way is clear and we will waste no time.”
“Ban’t my business to speak any more then,” answered Sweetland. “For the future I’ll keep my mouth shut and obey. But one thing you must do; an’ that is cable home the first moment you get to Barbados. Ford sent his letter by the last station ship, an’ you can’t stop it. Your father will hear that you’ve been eaten by sharks. That’ll be likely to worry him bad. Anyway, you’ll have to telegraph an’ explain that you’re all right an’ on the way to home.”
“There’s another steamer that sails in two days’ time. To-morrow we’ll institute a solemn search for Ford; I’ll appoint his clerk as temporary overseer; and we’ll get back to Barbados and take the first home ship.”
“’Tis just the very thing,” said Dan.
“You must sleep in my cabin, that’s clear.”
“Good Lord, no! Who ever heard of a common nigger in his master’s cabin, sir?”
“It’s unusual, no doubt; but you certainly can’t go with the other servants, or share any other cabin than mine, Dan.”
“Why ever not, Mister Henry?”
“For the simple reason that when you turn in at night you’ll take your clothes off, I suppose; and a nigger with black face and hands and a white body might give rise to a little discussion.”
Sweetland roared with laughter.
“There now, if I didn’t forget that!” he said.
“The sooner you remember these difficulties the better, Dan, for your part will be hard enough to play at best,” his new master answered.
“I know it; but I’ll think of my neck, Mister Henry. That’ll steady me. An’ I’ll think of you, too, sir. If I come well out of it, an’ save myself, I’ll never tire of thanks an’ gratitude.”
Events fell out as the Englishman expected. Search for Ford failed, and the excitement occasioned by his disappearance ran high. As for Jesse, the old negro’s absence raised no alarm, because the Obi man often hid himself and vanished into the woods for many days together. A young Creole was appointed temporary overseer at the Pelican, and Sweetland, in his character of a deaf and dumb negro, returned with Henry Vivian to Barbados.
Sir Reginald received a telegram three days before Jabez Ford’s letter reached him, and ere he had ceased to wonder concerning the mystery, his son and Daniel were on their way home in the Royal Mail steamer Atrato.
CHAPTER XVI
“OBI” AT MORETON
The red-gold light of evening beat into the bar of the White Hart Inn at Moretonhampstead, and its rich quality imparted a lustre not only to the shining pewter, the regiments of bottles, and the handles of the beer-engines, but also to the countenances of several customers. The day’s work was done; a moment for leisure had fallen; and it happened that amongst those that evening assembled were many known to us as well as to each other.
Mr Beer and Mr Bartley drank together and discussed the times from different points of view; but both agreed that they were bad. The constable deplored their quietude, for nothing ever happened to advance his interests or offer him an opportunity; and Mr Beer protested that history grew more and more colourless. For a week there had happened nothing to inspire so much as a couplet. Plenty of incident, however, fell out before the publican had finished drinking. Titus Sim dropped in and a murmur greeted his arrival, for behind him walked a tall negro. The black man was clothed in a long coat that reached to his feet, and a big slouch hat came low over his forehead and concealed most of his brows.
“’Tis Mister Henry’s new servant,” explained Sim. “He’s deaf and dumb, poor beggar, but harmless as an infant. I’m just taking him for an airing.”
The company regarded this man, thus removed from them by barriers impassable, with great interest.
“How do you make him understand?” asked Bartley.
“All by signs. There are a few very simple signs, and he knows them. Never was a creature less trouble, and certainly as a valet he couldn’t be beat. He looks after the new motor-car, too; but there’s a doubt if he can drive it, being deaf.”
Titus tapped a glass and the black man nodded and grinned.
“Give him rum and water, please; he don’t drink nothing else. He comes from Tobago, where the Vivian sugar estates are, you know. I asked Mister Harry however he could choose a poor lad minus two senses, and he said they were senses that a valet might do without. And so he can. Only we’ve got to tell him when his master’s bell goes. He can’t hear anything.”
“To think how many of these poor black varmints was choked off like flies when poor Dan Sweetland died,” said Mr Beer. “He’s a fine figure of a man for all his blackness, and since he’s deaf and dumb, he can’t do much evil. Though whether the devil creeps into us more through the ear than the eye be a nice question. Why, he’d be almost handsome if he wasn’t such a sooty soul.”
“Mister Henry has a good word for the niggers and says they’m just as teachable as dogs every bit. But the whites out there have given him more trouble than all the blacks put together.”
“They’m all human creatures, and their colour don’t count for nought in the eye of Heaven,” said an ancient man who sat in the corner. He was mostly in shadow, but his nose and hands caught the red sunshine.
“We’m all corn for the Lord’s grindstones,” he continued; “black or white—oats or wheat, neighbours. Rich and poor, Christian and heathen will all be ground alike; and them with horses and carriages and servants will be scat just so small as us. And that’s a very comforting thought to me, as have suffered from the quality all my life.”
Mr Beer shook his head.
“Your Radical ideas will undo you yet, Gaffer Hext,” he answered. “But ’tis the way of Hext to be ever vexed. Principalities and powers was always a thorn in the flesh to him. Yet, when all’s said, the uppermost folk pay the wages; and where’s the workers without ’em?”
“Hext never had no luck with his wife, you see. It have soured your spirit—eh, gaffer?” asked Mr Bartley.
“That’s no reason he should be a born Socialist an’ plan what’s going to happen at the end of the world,” replied Johnny Beer. “The Last Judgment ban’t his business, I believe. An’ whether the quality will be scat in pieces is an open question, if you ax me. They’ve got plenty to put up with so well as us. Look at what Quarter Day means to them—a tragedy; no doubt. And think how income-tax scourges ’em! No; for my part I don’t reckon ’tis all fun being a man of rank. I dare say Sir Reginald envies Sim here sometimes. There’s nought like care to thin the hair, and many a red-cheeked chap as smiles at market and rides a fine hoss, be so grim as a ghost behind the scenes, when there’s nobody to see and hear him but his wife.”
The black man tapped his tumbler again. It was empty.
“He may have one more,” said Titus, “then I must set him going. Mister Vivian calls him ‘Obi’; but I think he’s invented the name. Obi is a sort of religion out there among the black people, I hear tell. There’s been an awful deal of trouble over our estates, by all accounts, and the old overseer has bolted, or something—don’t know the particulars. But there’s money in sugar yet. Only last night I heard Sir Reginald say to his son, ‘The man gives you excellent advice. I shall not stir the dark depths of that business, but appoint a new overseer immediately—one who is honest and has our interests at heart.’”
“I suppose it’s not a job within the reach of the likes of me?” hazarded Mr Bartley. “I wouldn’t mind a warm climate at all, and I wouldn’t mind a change. My chance is gone—I feel that. Ever since the affair of Daniel Sweetland—”
“You was hookwinked in company.”
“That don’t make it better. And Corder be in high favour again—just because he catched that chap as killed his wife to Ashburton. To think Sweetland didn’t jump down Wall Shaft Gully after all! A crafty soul, a very first-rate rascal.”
“Don’t you speak like that,” said Sim, sharply. “Sweetland’s gone; but I ban’t, and ’tis pretty well known we were better than brothers. ’Twasn’t him that was crafty, but you and t’others that were fools. His craft got him free, and he died like a man in the hand of God, not like a dog in the hand of man. I am speaking of your son, Matthew,” he continued, for at that moment Sweetland the elder had entered the bar. He was grey, silent, morose as usual. Upon his left arm he wore a mourning band.
“Can’t his name rest? Ban’t it enough he’s gone to answer for his short life, an’ taken the secrets of it along with him?” asked the father. “A drop of gin cold,” he added; then he turned and looked at the tall, dumb Ethiopian who was regarding him.
“God’s truth!” he said harshly, “if that savage ban’t built the very daps of my dead boy—the very daps of un, if he wasn’t black!”
The others regarded the stranger critically, and “Obi” grinned about him and tapped his glass again. But Sim shook his head.
“No more, my lad. You must be moving soon. He’s Mister Henry’s servant,” he continued to Sweetland—“a poor, simple, afflicted creature, but true and faithful; and wonderful smart, seeing he can’t hear or speak. He saved Mister Henry’s life in some row he had in foreign parts, and now he’s thought the world of. Providence was looking after him, I reckon. He’ll drive the new motor so like as not, if it can be proved his deafness don’t matter.”
Sweetland still regarded the coloured man with interest. Then he turned to his glass. Presently he spoke to Beer.
“How’s it with you?” he asked. “A man may get a merry answer from you; and for my part, being near the end of my days, I shun sorrow where it can be done. Though it meets you everywhere. There’s nought else moving in town or country.”
“Don’t think it, Matthew,” urged the publican. “Sorrow be like a lot of other things; go to meet it and ’twill come half way. Put off sorrow till to-morrow, and very often you can stave it off altogether.”
“It’s no time for mourning either,” continued Titus. “It’s the time to be busy. Dan be gone; the memory of him be here. ’Tis for us to round off his history and let him be remembered as an honest man. And maybe afore a week’s out, ’twill be done.”
“Obi” had his glass in his hand, and at this noble sentiment he dropped it suddenly and it broke to pieces.
He shrugged his shoulders and produced twopence from his pocket and placed them on the counter.
“He’ve got his intellects, evidently. He knows it costs money to break glass,” said Bartley. “That one may say for him.”
“That he has,” assented Titus. “And as good-tempered as a bull-dog. Where’s my parcels? I must be going. Have you seen your daughter-in-law, Matthew?”
“Yes,” answered the gamekeeper. “I gave her a lift to Moreton. She’s gone to her aunt’s. She told me to tell you that she’d be in the yard of the White Hart afore seven o’clock. I hear poor Rix Parkinson be set on speaking to her afore he dies.”
“Yes; we’re going there now. Much may come of it.”
“A wasted life,” mused Mr Beer. “An’ a man of great parts was Rix Parkinson. God never made such a thirst afore. He’ll have to lift that excuse at Judgment—not that excuses will alter the set of things there. Yet they’m a part of human nature come to think of it. Adam’s self began it. He ate of the tree, then said ’twas she. Drunkard Parkinson’s cruel thirst have driven him from bad to worse; and though he often had D.T.’s, he never was seen upon his knees. If I had to write his tombstone, that would be the rhyme of it,” said Mr Beer.
“’Tis wrong to admire him, but I never could help doing so,” confessed Sim. “As a sportsman myself, I always felt his cleverness. He’ve had many and many a bird as you bred, Matthew.”
“If he knows ought as would clear Daniel, I’ll forgive him all,” answered the old keeper.
“I hope to goodness it may be so,” replied Titus. “My ear will be quick to hear it, I promise you. And this I’d say: leave it to Mrs Sweetland’s good time. If poor Parkinson have got any dark thing to get off his conscience, he won’t want it brought to the light of day while yet he lives.”
“You make my flesh creep,” said Beer. “Why for don’t the man call parson to him? You can only hear; but parson can both hear and forgive.”
The ancient in the corner spoke again.
“Don’t you know no wiser than that rot? You read your Bible better, Johnny Beer, an’ you’ll very soon find that nobody can forgive sins but God alone. An’ I lay it takes Him all His holy time, with such a rotten world as this.”
“No politics,” said the man behind the bar. “No politics, an’ no religion, Mister Hext, if you please.”
“You’m getting too cross-grained to deal with, gaffer,” answered Mr Beer, mildly. “’Tis well known in a general way that the clergy have power to forgive sins; an’ ’tis a very proper accomplishment, come to think of it, for their calling. Now, for my part—”
In the yard a voice broke into Beer’s argument, and a venerable rhyme ascended from an ostler’s throat:—