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The Maroon

Volume Two – Chapter Thirty One
Strange Disclosures

The two plotters were palavering loud enough. In that place there was no need – at least, so thought they – for restrained speech; and the listener could have heard every word, but for the hoarse hissing of the cataract. This, at times, hindered him from distinguishing what was said; and only in detached portions could he pick up the thread of the discourse. Enough, however, heard he to cause him astonishment – the greatest of all, that in the Island of Jamaica, or upon the earth, existed two such villains as Chakra, the Coromantee, and Jessuron, the Jew!

He could see the conspirators as well as hear them. The chinks between the bamboos enabled him to obtain a view of both.

The Jew, slightly blown with his long walk against the hill, had dropped into a sitting attitude upon the truck-like bedstead; while the Coromantee stood before him, leaning against the buttress of the tree which formed one side of his dwelling.

The conversation had commenced before Cubina came up. It could not have proceeded far. The lard lamp seemed recently lit. Besides, the Maroon knew that he had been only a few minutes behind them. The plot, therefore, whatever it was, had not yet made much progress.

So reasoned the listener; but it soon appeared that it was the continuation of a plot, and not its first conception, to which he was to become privy – a plot so demoniac as to include murder in its design!

The Jew, when Cubina first got eyes on him, appeared as if he had just given utterance to some angry speech. His dark, weasel-like orbs were sparkling in their sunken sockets, with a fiendish light. The goggles were off, and the eyes could be seen. In his right hand the eternal umbrella was grasped, with a firm clutch, as if held in menace!

Chakra, on the other hand, appeared cowed and pleading. Though almost twice the size, and apparently twice the strength of the old Israelite, he looked at that moment as if in fear of him!

“Gorry, Massr Jake!” said he, in an appealing tone; “how ebber wa’ I to know de Cussus warn a gwine so soon? A nebber speered ob dat; an’ you nebber tole me you wanted de obeah-spell to work fasser dan war safe. Ef a’d a know’d dat, a kud a fotch de dam Cussus out o’ him boots in de shake ob a cat’s tail – dat cud a a’ did!”

“Ach!” exclaimed the Jew, with an air of unmistakable chagrin; “he’s going to shlip us. S’help me, he will! And now, when I wants more ash ever the shpell upon him. I’sh heard something from thish girl Cynthy of a conshpiracy against myshelf. Sheesh heard them plotting in the summer-house in the Cushtos’s garden.”

“Wha’ dey plot ’gain you, Massr Jake? Who am dey dat go plottin’?”

“The Cushtos is one, the other ish that scamp son of Cubina, the Maroon – the young Cubina. You knowsh him?”

“Dat same a know well ’nuf.”

“Ah! the proud Cushtos don’t know – though he hash his sushpicions – that hish wife Quasheba wash the mishtress of a Maroon. Ha! ha! ha! And she luffed the mulatto better as ever she luffed Vanities Vochan! Ha! ha! ha!”

“Dat am berry near de troof,” observed the negro, with a thoughtful air.

“Little dosh the Cushtos think,” continued Jessuron, without heeding the interpolation, “that thish young fellow, whosh a-helpin’ him to conshpire againsht me, is a sort of a son to hish consheited worship. Ha! ha! ha!”

It was startling intelligence for the listener outside the door. It was the first intimation the young Maroon ever had as to who was his mother.

Some vague hints had been conveyed to him in early childhood; but his memory recalled them only as dreams; and he himself had never allowed them expression. His father he had known well – called, as himself, Cubina, the Maroon. But his mother, who or what she had been, he had never known.

Was it possible, then, that the quadroon, Quasheba – of whose fame he, too, had heard – was it true she was his own mother? That “Lilly Quasheba,” the beautiful, the accomplished daughter of the Custos Vaughan, was his half-sister?

He could not doubt it. The conversation that followed put him in possession of further details, and more ample proofs. Besides, such relationships were too common in the Island of Jamaica, to make them matter either of singularity or surprise.

Notwithstanding, the listener was filled with astonishment – far more than that – for the revelation was one to stir his soul to emotions of the strangest and strongest kind. New thoughts sprang up at the announcement; new vistas opened before the horoscope of his future; new ties were established within his heart, hitherto unfelt and unknown.

Stifling his new-sprung emotions as well as he was able – promising them indulgence at some other time – he re-bent his ear to listen.

He heard enough to satisfy him that he had a sister – a half-sister, it is true – but still a sister.

The next point determined on between the conspirators was equally calculated to startle and astonish him. It was no less than a design to render that sister brotherless!

“You musht put the shpell on him, too,” said the Jew; “for heesh the principal in thish plot againsht me. Even if the Cushtos wash out of the way, thish Captain Cubina will go to some other magistrate to carry out hish design. There will be plenty to help him. You musht shpell him, and soon ash you can, Shakra. There’sh no time to lose – not a minnit, s’help me!”

“A do wha a can, Massr Jake; but a mout’s well tell ye, that it a’nt so easy to put de spell on a Maroon. It coss me more’n twenty year to put de obeah on him ole fadder, and I’se a been tryin’ um on dis young Cubina fo’ some time – ebber since him fadder die. A hate de young un, same a hated de ole un. You knows why a hate boaf.”

“I knowsh all that – I knowsh all that.”

“Wa, den! a do ma bess. Dat ar m’latta gib me no hope. She soon ’dminster de spell ef she hab chance – kase she think um de lub drink. She no hab chance, fo’ Cubina he no let her come nigh o’ him. Nebba mind: Chakra he find oppotunity some day; ’fore long he put de death-spell on de son ob dat quaderoom.”

“Perhaps not so soon!” was the mental rejoinder of him who listened to this confident declaration.

“It’sh less matter about him than the other!” cried the Jew, giving way to a fresh burst of rage. “S’help me! the Cushtos is going to shlip out of my fingers – the eshtate – all! Ach!” he ejaculated, as his disappointment came more palpably before him, “you hash played me false, Shakra! I b’lief you’ve been playin’ me false!”

As the Jew gave utterance to this conjectural speech, he started to his feet – taking a tighter hold upon his umbrella, and standing before his vis-à-vis in a threatening attitude.

“No, Massr Jake,” replied the myal-man, without altering the air of obeisance he had hitherto assumed, – “no – nuffin ob dat – anyhow, I’se can say dar’s nuffin ob dat. You yaseff sabbey well ’nuff a hab as good reezun as you to make de spell work, an’ I tell you it shall work!”

“Yesh! when too late – too late! I don’t care then. If the Cushtos get to Spanish Town – if he procuresh the shpecial act, I’m a ruined Shew! I don’t care a shtraw if the death-shpell wash put on myshelf! I don’t!”

This speech was rather a soliloquy than addressed to Chakra, who listened to it without clearly comprehending its import: for the chief motive which was stimulating the Jew was still unknown to his fellow-conspirator.

“I tell you,” resumed Jessuron, still in threatening speech, “I believe you hash been fooling me, Shakra! You hash some interest of your own – perhaps, with thish Lilly Quasheba. Ha! never mind! I tell you thish time – I tell you, Shakra, if the shpell dosh fail – yesh, if it fail, and the Cushtos reach the capital – where he ish going – I tell you, Shakra, you may look out for shqualls! You loosh your monish I promised you. Ay, you may loosh your life ash well. I hash only to shay a word, and the Duppy’s Hole will be searched by the houndsh of the law. Now will you do your besht to keep the Cushtos from reaching the capital of the Island?”

As Jessuron finished the speech containing this conditional threat, he moved in the direction of the door, apparently with the intention of taking his departure.

The Maroon, perceiving the movement, stepped further back into the shadow of the cotton-tree – taking care to conceal himself effectually.

This change of position prevented him from hearing what subsequently passed between the two conspirators. Some more conversation there was on both sides – an interchange of it – which lasted for several minutes; but although the listener could hear the sound of their voices, he was unable to make out the words spoken by either.

What was said by the Jew was principally a repetition of his menace – in terms the most emphatic he could employ; while Chakra, with equal emphasis, repeated his promises to accomplish the nefarious purpose already agreed upon between them.

“A promise, Massr Jake,” said the myal-man, in conclusion, “by de great Accompong, a do ma bess. Ef de Cussus ’trive ’scape, den you do wid ole Chakra whasomediver you hab mind to. ’Liver him up, ef you like! Ha! de Cussus no ’scape. Dis night Cynthy hab take bottle in her basket of de ’trongest kind. It do de bizness in ’bout twenty-fo’ hour. Daat am de true death-spell. Whugh!”

“In twenty-four hours? You ish shure, Shakra? you ish shure?”

“Shoo’ as a ’m now in de Duppy Hole, Massr Jake. Doan’ you hab no mo’ doubt ob ole Chakra. He hab no lub fo’ Cussus Va’ghan mo’ dan youseff. P’raps he lub de Cussus’ dau’ter, but dat am berry diffrent sort ob ’fecshun. Whugh!”

With this speech of fiendish signification the dialogue ended; and the Jew was seen stepping outside, followed by his confederate.

Both walked away from the spot, Chakra taking the lead, the Maroon closely watching their movements.

On reaching the canoe the conspirators stepped aboard, and the craft was paddled over the lagoon.

Cubina waited for its return; and then, seeing Chakra safe within his hut, he hastened back to the water; and, as before, swimming under the shadow of the rock, he re-ascended the tree stairway, and stood once more on the summit of the cliff.

Volume Two – Chapter Thirty Two
A Stormy Scene

On emerging from the Duppy’s Hole, the penn-keeper tracked it, as straight as the path would permit him, towards his own home. He walked with hurried steps, as if he had some purpose before him beyond that of going to bed. Late as was the hour – or early, it should rather be said, since it was getting on for daybreak – in the eye of the old Israelite there was no sign of sleepiness; but, on the contrary, a wide-awake expression that betokened his intention to accomplish some desired object before retiring to rest.

The mutterings which fell from his lips, as he moved onward among the trees, told that his discontent still continued. Chakra’s assurances, that had, for the moment, partially removed his ill-humour, on reflection failed to satisfy him. More than once before, the myal-man had given him promises which he had failed in keeping; and so might it be with the promise of the death-spell. With this thought was revived in full vigour the apprehension that his enemy might escape; and, consequently, his deep-conceived scheme would result in ignominious failure.

The measures which the myal-man had taken for administering the spell-medicine– that bottle of strong waters which Cynthia carried home in her basket – had been revealed to the Jew. The revelation had been made – as suited the subject – in a low tone of voice; and it was this part of the dialogue between the two conspirators which Cubina had not heard.

But the Coromantee might be mistaken in his skill? The prescription might fail in producing the desired effect? The slave might not find the opportunity to administer it?

Considering the early hour at which the traveller was to start – Jessuron knew the hour – Cynthia might not have a chance to give the medicine? Or, frayed by contemplation of the fearful consequence, which she now knew would follow almost instantaneously upon the act, she might in the end shy from the dangerous duty? The intended victim might, in the meantime, have become suspicious of the mixtures prepared by the mulatta, and decline to drink the deadly draught?

There were many chances that the Custos might escape.

“‘There ish many a shlip between the cup and the lipsh’!” muttered the wicked old man, quoting one of his favourite proverbs. “Ach! that ish true,” he added, with bitter emphasis, as the probabilities of failure passed more palpably before his mind.

“S’help me!” continued he, with an attempt at self-consolation; “I shall not be deprived of my refenge – that ish certain – whether he goesh to Spanish Town, or shtays at home. Ach!” he exclaimed, again changing his tone to one of chagrin, “what dosh that signify, beshide the other? If he could be shtopped, it wash a grand destiny for mine Shoodith, for myshelf – me, old Shacob Shessuron! Mount Welcome wash mine! It musht belong to this young fellow – he belongs to Shoodith – Shoodith belongsh to me! Ach! what a pity if my shkeme ish to fail – after all I hash done to make it succeed!

“If it fail,” he continued, the probabilities of failure presenting a new phase to him, “if it fail, I’m a ruined man! – I am! Shoodith may want to marry this young fellow. I believe she luffs him – I’m afeerd she doesh – and he hasn’t the worth of the shoosh he shstands in. Blesh my shoul! I musht try to prevent it. It musht go no further till I’m sure of the Cushtos. Not a shtep – not a shtep. She musht be seen, and thish very night. Yesh; I musht see Shoodith before I shleep.”

Urged on by the desire of the interview thus announced, the Jew hastened his steps; and soon arrived under the shadow of the dark pile that constituted his dwelling.

Admitted by the black porter at the gate – for that of the courtyard, or slave inclosure, was always kept locked – he mounted the wooden steps, and stole as silently along the verandah, as if he had been a stranger in the house instead of its owner. His object, in this stealthy movement, appeared to be to avoid disturbing some one who slept in a hammock near one end of the long gallery.

It was towards the other end, however, that he went – in the direction of a chamber through the lattice-window of which a light was streaming. It was the sleeping apartment of the Jewess.

On arriving opposite the door, he knocked, not loudly – at the same time pronouncing, in a half-whisper, the name “Shoodith!”

“That you, rabbi?” inquired a voice from within; while a footstep passing across the floor told either that the Jewess had not yet sought her couch, or had sought, and again forsaken it.

The door was opened; and the worthy father of this wakeful daughter passed inside.

“Well,” said she, as he entered, “I won’t inquire what errand you’ve been on, my good papa Jessuron: some slave speculation, I suppose? But what have I to do with it, that you should compel me to sit up for you till this time of the night? It’s now near morning; and I am precious sleepy, I can tell you!”

“Ach! Shoodith, dear,” replied the father, “everything ish goin’ wrong! s’help me, everything!”

“Well, one might think so, from that doleful phiz of yours. What’s troubling you now, my worthy parent?”

“Ach! Shoodith! Don’t dishtress me by your speeches. I hash something of importance to shay to you, before I go to shleep.”

“Say it quick, then: for I want to go to sleep myself. What is it, pray?”

“Well, Shoodith, dear, it ish this: you mushn’t trifle any more with thish young fellow.”

“What young fellow do you mean, my good man?”

“Vochan, of coursh – Mashter Vochan.”

“Ho! ho! you’ve changed your tune. What’s this about?”

“I hash reason, Shoodith; I hash reason.”

“Who said I was trifling with him? Not I, father! Anything but that, I can assure you.”

“That ish not what I mean, Shoodith.”

“Well, then, what do you mean, old gentleman? Come now! make yourself intelligible!”

“I mean thish, Shoodith: you mushn’t let things go any further with the young fellow – that ish, shoost now – till I knowsh something more about him. I thought he wash going to be lich – you know I thought that, mine daughter – but I hash found out, thish very night, that – perhaps – he may never be worth a shingle shilling; and therefore, Shoodith, you couldn’t think of marrying him – and mushn’t think of it till we knowsh more about him!”

“Father!” replied the Jewess, at once throwing aside her habitual badinage, and assuming a serious tone, “it is too late! Did I not tell you that the tarantula might get caught in its own trap? The proverb has proved true; I am that unhappy spider!”

“You don’t say so, Shoodith?” inquired the father, with a look of alarm.

“O do! Yonder sleeps the fly,” – and the speaker pointed along the gallery in the direction of the hammock – “secure from any harm I can ever do him. And were he as poor as he appears to be – as humble as the lowest slave on your estate – he is rich enough for me. Ah! it will be his fault, not mine, if he do not become my husband!”

The proud, determined tone in which the Jewess spoke, was only modified as she uttered the last words. The conjunctive form of the closing speech, with a certain duplexity of expression upon her countenance showed that she was not yet sure of the heart of Herbert Vaughan. Notwithstanding his attentions at the ball – notwithstanding much that had since occurred, there appeared to be a doubt – a trace of distrust that still lingered.

“Never, Shoodith!” cried the father, in a tone of determined authority. “You mushn’t think of it! You shall never marry a pauper – never!”

“Pauper him as much as you like, father; he won’t care for that, any more than I do.”

“I shall disinherit you, Shoodith!” said the Jew, giving way to a feeling of spiteful resentment.

“As you like about that, too. Disinherit me at your pleasure. But remember, old man, it was you who began this game – you who set me to playing it; and if you are in danger of losing your stake – whatever it may be – I tell you you’re in danger of losing me– that is, if he – ”

The hypothetic thought – whatever it was – that at this crisis crossed the mind of the Jewess, was evidently one that caused her pain: as could be seen by the dark shadow that came mantling over her beautiful brow.

Whether or not she would have finished the speech is uncertain. She was not permitted to proceed. The angry father interrupted her: —

“I won’t argue with you now, Shoodith. Go to your bed, girl! go to shleep! Thish I promish you – and, s’help me, I keepsh my promish! – if thish pauper ish to be a pauper, he never marries you with my conshent; and without my conshent he never touches a shilling of my monish. You understand that, Shoodith?”

And without waiting to hear the reply – which was quite as defiant as his own declaration – the Jew hurried out of his daughter’s chamber, and shuffled off along the verandah.

Volume Two – Chapter Thirty Three
Where Next?

The Maroon, after mounting to the summit of the cliff, paused for some moments to reflect upon a course of action.

In his bosom were many new emotions, springing from the strange revelations to which he had just listened. His mind was in such a state of chaotic confusion, that it required some time to determine what he ought to do next, or whither he should go.

The thought that thrilled him most, was that which related to the discovery of his maternal relationship to Miss Vaughan. But this matter, however strange it was, required no immediate action to be taken on his part; and though the semi-fraternal affection, now felt for the first time, strengthened the romantic friendship which he had conceived for the young lady – whom he had now seen several times – still, from what he had overheard of the scheme of the conspirators, his new-discovered sister did not appear to be in any danger. At least, not just then: though some horrid hints darkly thrown out by Chakra pointed to a probable peril at some future time.

That her father was in danger, Cubina could not doubt. Some demoniac plot had been prepared for the Custos, which was to deprive him even of life; and from what the Maroon could make out of the half-heard conversation of the conspirators, action was to be taken upon it, so early as the following morning.

Mr Vaughan intended a journey. Yola had herself told him so; and the confabulation between Jessuron and Chakra confirmed it. Cynthia had been their informant; and it was evident that upon that very night she had brought the news from Mount Welcome. Evident, also, that the piece of intelligence thus conveyed had taken both the conspirators by surprise – causing them to hasten the dénouement of some devilish plan that before that night had not been quite ripe for execution.

All this was clear enough to the mind of the Maroon.

Equally clear was it, that the plan was no other than an atrocious plot to murder the proprietor of Mount Welcome; and that poison was the safe, silent weapon to be used – for Cubina was not unacquainted with the signification of the death-spell of Obeah. Before that night he had reason to believe that his own father had fallen by that secret shaft, and reasons to suspect that Chakra had shot it. What he had just heard confirmed his belief; and but that he saw the necessity of hastening to the rescue of the threatened Custos – and knew, moreover, that he could now find Chakra at any time – he would, in all probability, have avenged his father’s death before leaving the Duppy’s Hole.

The young Maroon, however, was a man of mild character – combining prudence with an extreme sang froid– that hindered him from bringing any event to a hasty or ambiguous ending. Though leaving Chakra for the time, he had determined soon to return to him.

The resurrection of the myal-man, though it at first very naturally astonished him, had soon ceased to be a mystery to the mind of the Maroon. In fact, the presence of the Jew had at once explained the whole thing. Cubina conjectured, and correctly, that Jessuron had released the condemned criminal from his chains, and substituted the body of some dead negro – afterwards to become the representative of Chakra’s skeleton.

For this the Jew, well-known for wickedness, might have many motives.

The Maroon did not stay to speculate upon them. His thoughts were directed to the present and future rather than the past – to the rescue of the Custos, over whom a fearful fate seemed to impend.

It need not be denied that Cubina felt a certain friendship for the planter of Mount Welcome. Heretofore it had not been of a very ardent character; but the relations lately established between him and the Custos – in prospect of the process to be taken against their common enemy, the penn-keeper – had, of course, occasioned a fellow-feeling between them. The revelations of that night had strengthened the interest which the Maroon had begun to feel for Mr Vaughan; and it is not to be wondered at that he now felt an honest desire to save the father of her, whom he was henceforth to regard as his own sister. To this end, then, were his thoughts directed.

He stayed not long to speculate upon the motives either of Chakra or Jessuron. Those of the myal-man he could guess to a certainty. Revenge for the sentence that exposed him to that fearful fate on the Jumbé Rock.

The motives of the Jew were less transparent. His deepest did not appear in the confabulation Cubina had overheard. Even Chakra did not know it. It might be fear of the approaching trial: which by some means the Jew had become apprised of.

But no. On reflection, Cubina saw it could not be that: for the conversation of the conspirators betrayed that their plot had been anterior to any information which the Jew could have had of the design of the Custos. It could not be that.

No matter what. Mr Vaughan, the father of the generous young lady – she who had promised to make him a present of his beloved bride, and who now proved to be his own stepsister – her father was in danger!

Not a moment was to be lost. Without regard to motives, measures must be taken to avert that danger, and punish the miscreants who designed it.

For some minutes Cubina remained on the spot, reflecting upon what step should be first taken.

Should he go direct to Mount Welcome and warn the Custos, by reporting to him what he had heard?

That was the first idea that presented itself to his mind; but at that hour Mr Vaughan would be abed, and he – a Maroon – might not be admitted, unless, indeed, he could show, by pleading the urgency of his errand, good cause for arousing the Custos from his slumber.

This, undoubtedly, would he have done, had he known that the scheme of the conspirators had been definitely arranged. But, as already stated, he had not heard Chakra’s concluding speech – referring to Cynthia and the bottle of strong medicine; and all the rest only pointed vaguely at some measures to be taken for frustrating the expedition to Spanish Town.

It would be time enough, thought he, to meet these measures by going to Mount Welcome in the morning. He could get there before Mr Vaughan should start upon his journey. He could go at an early hour, but one when his appearance would not give cause for any unnecessary remark.

It did not occur to him to reflect, that the time of the traveller’s departure from Mount Welcome – of which Cubina had not been apprised – might be anterior to that of his arrival there. The Maroon, thinking that the great Custos was not likely to inconvenience himself by early rising, had no apprehension of missing him by being himself too late.

With this confidence, then, he resolved to postpone his visit to Mount Welcome until some hour after daybreak; and, in the meantime, to carry out the preliminaries of a programme, referring to a very different affair, and which had been traced out the day before.

The first scene in this programme was to be a meeting with Herbert Vaughan. It had been appointed to take place between them on the following morning; and on the same spot where the two young men had first encountered one another – in the glade, under the great ceiba.

The interview was of Herbert’s own seeking, for, although neither had seen the other since the day on which the runaway had been rescued, some items of intelligence had passed between them – Quaco acting as the medium of their correspondence.

Herbert had an object in seeking the interview. He desired a conference with Cubina, in hopes of obtaining from him an explanation of more than one circumstance that had lately arisen to puzzle and perplex him.

His patron’s suspicious story about the red runaway was one of these circumstances. Herbert had heard from Quaco that the slave was still staying with the Maroons in their mountain town; and had been adopted into their little community – in fact, had himself become a Maroon.

This did not correspond with the account given by Jessuron. Of course, Quaco could not state the reasons. The secrecy enjoined by the Custos kept Cubina’s tongue tied upon that theme; and his own men knew nothing of the design which their captain had conceived against the Jew.

This was not the only matter which mystified the young Englishman, and which he was in hopes of having cleared up by Cubina. His own position at the penn – of late developing itself in a manner to surprise and startle him – also needed elucidation. There was no one near of whom he could ask a question in regard to it, and never in his life did he stand more in need of a confidant.

In this dilemma he had thought of his old acquaintance, the Maroon captain. The intelligent mulatto appeared to be the very man. Herbert remembered the promise made at parting, his own conditional acceptance of it, which now appeared prophetic; since the contingency then expressed had come to pass.

He had need to avail himself of the friendly proffer; and for that purpose had he made the appointment under the ceiba.

Equally desirous was the Maroon to meet with the young Englishman. He had preserved a grateful recollection of his generous interference in what appeared a very unequal combat; and, so far from having lost sight of his noble ally, he had been keeping him in mind – after a fashion that was calculated to show the deep gratitude with which Herbert’s conduct had inspired him.

He longed for an opportunity of giving renewed expression to this gratitude; but he had other reasons for wishing to see the young Englishman just then; and the meeting with. Yola on that same night had an object some what different from the mere repetition of love vows – already pronounced over and over again, upon a score of distinct occasions.

Now that the night had nearly passed, and that the morning was nigh, the Maroon, instead of returning to his mountain home, decided on going back to the glen, and spending the few hours of interval under the shadow of the ceiba.

Indeed, the time would not allow of his returning home. The sun would be up in three or four hours. A little after sunrise was the appointed time for the meeting with Herbert Vaughan. Before that hour should arrive, he could scarce reach his own “town” and get back again. The thing, therefore, was not to be thought of.

To sleep under a tree, or on one, was no new thing for Cubina. It would never occur to him to consider such a couch as inconvenient. In his hog-hunting excursions – often continuing for days and even weeks – he was accustomed to repose upon the cold ground – upon the swirl of withered leaves – upon the naked rock – anywhere. Not much did it matter to a Maroon to be sheltered by a roof – not much, whether a tree shadowed his slumbers, or whether on his grassy couch she saw shining over him the starry canopy of the sky. These were but the circumstances of his every-day life.

Having come to the conclusion that his best plan would be to pass the remaining hours of the night under the ceiba, he made no further delay by the Duppy’s Hole; but turning into the path that led down the slope he proceeded back towards the glade.