Майн Рид
The Maroon

Volume One – Chapter Twenty One
A Fiery Baptism

It was about twelve o’clock in the day. Jessuron and his daughter had just stepped forth into the verandah, and taken their stand by the balustrade looking down into the court. The countenance of both betrayed a certain degree of solicitude, as if they had come out to be witnesses to some spectacle of more than common interest.

The house-wenches and other domestics, trooping behind them with curious looks, showed that some rare scene was to be enacted.

A small iron furnace, filled with live coals, had been placed in the courtyard, near the bottom of the steps. Three or four sullen-looking men – blacks and mulattoes – stood around it in lounging attitudes. One of these stooped over the furnace, turning in the fire what appeared to be a soldering iron, or some other instrument of a brazier.

It was not that, however, as the spectators well knew. All who beheld it recognised the dreaded branding iron: for every one present, the whites and newly-arrived Africans excepted, had, ere now, felt its hot, seething fire in their flesh.

These last had already learnt what was preparing for them; and most of them stood regarding the preparations with looks of silent awe.

Some Coromantees there were among the number, who looked on with reckless indifference, chatting as gaily – and, at intervals, laughing as loudly – as if they awaited the beginning of some merry game. Little cared these courageous sons of Ethiopia – whose sable skins bore scars of many a native fray – little cared they for the scorching of that simple brand.

It was not long before the inhuman spectacle commenced. The entrance of Jessuron and his daughter was the cue to begin; and the bearded overseer, who was master of the ceremonies, had only been waiting till these should make their appearance. The man, from experience, knew that his master always gave his personal superintendence when such a scene was to be enacted. He knew, moreover, that his master’s daughter was equally accustomed to assist at these interesting ceremonies!

“Go on, Mishter Ravener!” cried the Jew, on reaching the front of the verandah. “Theesh first,” he added, pointing towards a group of Eboes – who stood trembling with apprehension in one corner of the yard.

At a sign from the overseer, who was one of the taciturn sort, a number of old negroes – evidently used to the business – laid hands upon the Eboes, and led them up to the furnace.

As the victims were brought near to the fire, and saw the red iron glowing amid the coals, fear became strongly depicted upon their faces, and their frames shook with a convulsive terror. Some of them, the younger ones, screamed aloud, and would have rushed away from the spot, had they not been held in the grasp of the attendants.

Their appeals, made by the most pitiful looks and gestures, were answered only by unfeeling jeers and shouts of laughter, in which the old Jew himself joined – in which, incredible to relate, joined his beautiful daughter! Nor was it a mere smile which appeared on the face of the fair Judith; clear laughter rang from her lips, exhibiting her regular rows of ivory-like teeth – as if some fiend had assumed the form of an angel!

The Eboes were led forward, and held firmly by the assistants, while their breasts were presented to receive the brand. The red-hot iron flashed for a moment in the eyes of each; and then fell with a dull clap upon the clammy skin. Smoke ascended with a hiss, till the court became filled with a smell of roasting flesh! A struggle, some wild cries, and the operation was over. The slave was marked with those indelible initials, to be carried with him to his grave.

One by one, the poor beings received this terrible baptism, and were led away from the ground.

A batch of Pawpaws – from the Whidaw country – came next. They were brought up one by one, like the Eboes; but altogether unlike these was their behaviour. They neither gave way to extreme fear, nor yet displayed extraordinary courage. They appeared to submit with a sort of docile resignation: as though they regarded it in the light of a destiny or duty.

The operation of branding them was a short work, and afforded no mirth to the bystanders: since there was no ludicrous display of terror to laugh at. This facile disposition renders the Whidaw the most valuable of slaves.

A group of Coromantees were now to undergo the fiery ordeal. These bold and warlike indigenes of Africa evinced, by their attitudes and actions, the possession of a moral nature altogether different from that either of Pawpaw or Eboe. Instead of waiting to be led forward, each stepped boldly up, as he did so baring his breast to receive the red brand, at which he glanced with an air of lordly contempt!

One young fellow even seized the iron from the grasp of the operator; and, turning it in his hand, struck the stamp firmly against his breast, where he held it until the seething flesh told that a deep imprint had been made! Then, flinging the instrument back into the furnace, he strode away from the spot with the air of a triumphant gladiator!

At this moment there occurred a pause in the proceedings – not as if the drama was ended, but only an act. Another was yet to come.

Ravener stepped up to the verandah, in front of the place where Jessuron and his daughter stood. With the former, or indeed with both, he communicated in a voice just audible, – not as if with any design of concealing what he said – but because there was no necessity for loud talking.

The two man-hunters were the only persons there he might have had any care to be cautious about; but these were at that moment busy with their dogs, and not heeding aught that was going on. Branding a batch of negroes was no new sight to them; and they were spectators, merely from having, at the moment, nothing better to do.

“Which next?” was the question put by Ravener to the Jew; “the Mandingoes?”

“Either them or the prinshe,” replied Jessuron; “it don’t matter which ish marked first.”

“Oh, the prince first, by all means!” suggested the amiable Judith, with a smile of satisfaction. “Bring him out first, Mr Ravener; I’m curious to see how his royal highness will stand fire.”

The overseer made no reply; but, taking the wish of the young lady as a command, proceeded to obey it.

Stepping across the court he opened a door that led into a room, separate from that in which the slaves had been lodged.

The overseer entered the room; and in a few minutes came out again, bringing with him an individual who, by his dress, it might have been difficult to recognise as the young Fellatta seen on board the slaver, but whose noble mien still rendered it possible to identify him: for it was he.

Changed, indeed, was his costume. The turban was gone, the rich silken tunic, the sandals and scimitar – all his finery had been stripped off; and in its place appeared a coarse Osnaburg shirt and trousers – the dress of a plantation negro.

He looked wretched, but not crestfallen.

No doubt he had by this time learnt, or suspected, the fate that was in store for him; but, for all that, his features exhibited the proud air of a prince; and the glances which he cast upon the overseer by his side, but oftener upon Jessuron – whose instrument he knew the other to be – were those of concentrated anger and defiance.

Not a word escaped his lips, either of protest or reproach. This had all passed before – when the first rude assault had been made upon him, to deprive him of his garments and the adornments of his person. The hour of recrimination was past. He knew he had no alternative but submission, and he was submitting – though in angry and sullen silence.

He had no idea of what was now designed for him. He had been shut up in a windowless room, and saw nothing of the spectacle that had just passed. Some new outrage he anticipated; but of what nature he could not guess.

He was not allowed to remain long in ignorance. Ravener, roughly grasping him by the wrist, led him up to the furnace.

The iron by this time was ready – glowing red-hot among the coals. The operator stood watching for the signal to use it; and on its being given, he seized the instrument in his grasp, and poised it aloft.

The prince now perceived the intention, but shrank not at the sight. His eyes were not upon the iron, but, gleaming with a fire like that of the furnace itself, were directed upon the face of the old Jew – at intervals upon that of the angel-like demon at his side.

The Jew alone shrank from the glance; his daughter returned it with a mocking imperturbability!

In another instant the red brand hissed as it burnt into the flesh of the Fellattas bosom. Prince Cingües was the slave of Jacob Jessuron!

As if the terrible reality had now for the first time burst upon him, the young man sprang forward with a cry; and before anyone could oppose his progress, he had bounded up the steps and entered the verandah.

Then, gliding along the gallery, to the spot occupied by Jessuron and his daughter, he launched himself forward upon the Jew. As he clutched the latter by the throat, both came together to the ground, and rolled over and over in the writhings of a desperate struggle.

Fortunate it was for the slave-merchant that his victim had been disarmed: else that moment would have been fatal to him. As it was, he came very near being strangled; and had it not been for Ravener and the two Spaniards, who hastened to his rescue, the betrayal of the Foolah prince would have been the last treason of his life.

Overpowered by numbers, Cingües was at length secured; and the throat of the slave-merchant was extricated from his death-like clutch.

“Kill him!” cried the Jew, as soon as he found breath to speak. “No, don’t kill him yet,” added he, correcting himself, “not joosh yet, till I punish him for it! an’ if I don’t punish him – ach!”

“Flog the savage!” shouted the beautiful Judith; “make an example of him, Mr Ravener: else those others will be rising upon us in the same style.”

“Yesh, flog him! that’ll do to begin with. Flog him now, goot Ravener. Give him a hundred lashes thish minute!”

“Ay, ay!” responded the overseer, dragging the victim down the steps; “I’ll give him his full dose – never fear you!”

Ravener was as good as his word. The spectacle that followed was even more horrible to behold than that which has been described: for the punishment of the lash is among the most fearful of exhibitions.

The young Foolah was tied to a post – one that stood there for the purpose. A strong headman wielded the cruel quirt; and as the last stripe was administered, completing that horrid hundred, the poor victim sank fainting against the blood-stained stake.

The occupants of the verandah showed not the slightest signs of having been moved to pity by this horrid spectacle. On the contrary, both father and daughter seemed to draw delight from it; and, instead of retiring when the fearful scene was over, both, seemingly with perfect unconcern, remained to witness the finale of the day’s work – the marking of the Mandingoes!

Volume One – Chapter Twenty Two
A Couch of Silk-Cotton

On parting from the presence of his fair cousin, and, at the same time, from the house of his inhospitable relative, Herbert Vaughan struck off through the shrubbery that stretched towards the ridge on the right.

Notwithstanding the storm that was raging in his breast, a reflection had occurred to him, which hindered him from going by the main avenue. Suffering from a keen sense of humiliation, he had no desire to meet with any of his uncle’s people: since the very slaves seemed to be privy to his false position. Still less desirous was he of being observed, while making the long traverse of the avenue, by eyes that might be directed upon him from the windows of the great house.

On reaching the limits of the level platform, he leaped a low wall, that separated the shrubbery from the outer fields; and then, under cover of the pimento groves, commenced ascending the slope of the ridge.

For some time the conflicting emotions that were stirring in his soul hindered him from anything like tranquil reflection. Conflicting, I say: for two very opposite sentiments had been aroused by the two individuals with whom he had just held interview; opposite as darkness from light – as sorrow from joy – perhaps, as hate from love.

The conflict might have lasted longer, had there been an opportunity to give way to idle emotions. But there was not. The young man felt too forlorn and friendless to indulge in the luxury of passionate thought; and, on this account, the sooner did the storm subside.

On reaching the crest of the ridge, and before plunging into the deep forest that stretched away on the other side, he endeavoured, through an opening in the trees, to catch a view of those white walls and green jalousies. In that glance there was more of regretfulness than anger – an expression of despair, such as may have appeared on the face of the fallen angel when gazing back over the golden palings of Paradise.

As the young man turned away, and entered under the sombre shadows of the forest, the expression of despair seemed to become deeper and darker.

To make Montego Bay – to seek in it such humble home as might offer – to wait there till his poorly-stocked portmanteau, now on its way to Mount Welcome, should be returned to him – these were the simple plans that suggested themselves. His mind was still too much on the rack to permit of his dwelling upon any ulterior purpose.

He walked on through the woods, without taking much heed as to the direction in which he was going. Anyone who could have seen him just then might have supposed that he had lost his way, and was wandering.

It was not so, however. He knew or believed that by keeping to the left of his former course he would get out upon the main road, by which he had reached the entrance-gate of Mount Welcome. In any case, he could not fail to find the river he had already crossed; and by following it downward, he would in time arrive at the town.

With this confidence, false as it may have been, he was not wandering; only absorbed in thought – in common parlance, absent-minded.

But this absence of mind lasted so long, that it led to the result it resembled: he lost his way in reality.

The trees hindered him from seeing the sun – now low down. But even if a view of the golden orb had been afforded him, it would have served no purpose: since, on riding out to Mount Welcome, he had taken no note of the relative directions between it and the Bay.

He was not much disconcerted by the discovery that he had lost himself. The reflection that in Montego Bay he would be no better off, hindered him from greatly regretting the circumstance. He had not the means to command the shelter of a roof – even in the midst of a whole city full – and the chances were he might find none better than that which was above him at the moment – the spreading fronds of a gigantic cotton-tree.

At the time that this reflection crossed his mind, the sun had gone quite down: for the cotton-tree stood upon the edge of an opening where he could see the sky above him; and he perceived that it was already tinged with the purple of twilight. To find his way in the darkness would be no longer possible, and he resolved for that night to accept the hospitality of the ceiba.

It had even spread a couch for him: for the seed capsules had burst upon its branches; and the pale-brown staple thickly covered the ground beneath – offering a couch that, under the canopy of a West Indian summer sky, was sufficiently luxuriant.

Was there a supper as well? Herbert looked around – he was hungry. Not a morsel had he eaten since breakfast – only a piece of mess-pork and a brown wormy biscuit, on parting from the ship. Hunger had already made itself felt. During his wanderings, having his gun with him, he had looked out for game. Had any appeared, he was too good a sportsman to have let it escape. But none had shown itself – neither beast nor bird. The woods seemed deserted as himself. He could hear the voices of birds – all strange to his ear – he could see bright-winged creatures fluttering amongst the leaves; but none near enough for the range of his fowling-piece.

Now that he had come to a halt, and having nothing better to do, he took his stand, watching the open glade. Perhaps some bird might yet show itself passing from tree to tree, or flying about in pursuit of prey. It was the hour for owls. He felt hungry enough to eat one.

Neither owl nor night-jar came in sight; but his attention was attracted to an object edible as either, and which promised to relieve him from the pangs he was suffering.

Close by the cotton-tree stood another giant of the forest – rivalling the former in height, but differing from it as an arrow from its bow. Straight as a lance, it rose to the height of an hundred feet. It was branchless as a column of polished malachite or marble – up to its high summit, where its long green fronds, radiating outward, drooped gracefully over, like a circlet of reflexed ostrich plumes.

A child could have told it to be a palm; but Herbert knew more. He had heard of the noble “mountain-cabbage” of Jamaica – the kingly areca oredoxia. He knew that in the centre of that circlet of far-stretching fronds – in that crown – there was a jewel that had often proved more precious than gems or gold: for often had it been the means of saving human life.

How was this jewel to be obtained? Like all crowns, it was placed high – far above the reach of ordinary mortals. Young and active though he was, and a climber at school, he could never “swarm up” that tall, smooth shaft. Without a ladder a hundred feet in length, it would not be possible to reach its summit.

But, see! the palm-tree stands not alone. A great black lliana stretches tortuously from the earth up to the crown, where its head is buried among the tufted leaves, as if it were some huge dragon in the act of devouring its victim.

Herbert stood for a moment reconnoitring the grand stay-cable, that, trailing from the summit of the palm, offered, as it were, a natural ladder for ascending it. Hunger stimulated him to the attempt; and, resting his gun against the trunk of the ceiba, he commenced climbing upward.

Without much difficulty, he succeeded in reaching the top, and making his way among the huge pinnae of the leaves – each in itself a leaf of many feet in length. He arrived at the youngest of them all – that still enfolded in the envelope of the bud – and which was the object for which he had climbed.

With his knife he separated this summit leaf from the stem, flung it to the earth; and then, descending to the bottom of the tree, made his supper upon the raw but sweet and succulent shoots of the mountain-cabbage.

Supper over, he collected a quantity of the strewn fleece of the silk-cotton; and, placing it between two of the great buttress-like root-spurs of the tree, constructed for himself a couch on which, but for some hard thoughts within, he might have slept as softly and soundly as upon a bed of eider.

Volume One – Chapter Twenty Three
The Tree Fountain

That he did not sleep soundly may be attributed solely to his anxieties about the morrow: for the night was mild throughout, and the composition of his improvised couch kept him sufficiently warm. His cares, however, had rendered his spirit restless. They were vivid enough to act even upon his dreams – which several times during the night awoke him, and again, finally, just after the break of day.

This time, on opening his eyes, he perceived that the glade was filled with soft blue light; and the quivering fronds of the cabbage-palm – just visible from where he lay – had caught the first trembling rays of the sun.

Only there, and among the summit-branches of the ceiba, far overtopping the spray of the surrounding forest, was the sun yet visible. Everything else was tinted with the blue grey of the morning twilight.

He could sleep no longer; and rose from his forest lair, intending to make an immediate departure from the spot.

He had no toilet to trouble him – nothing to do, further than brush off the silken floss of the tree-cotton, shoulder his gun, and go.

He felt hunger, even more than on the preceding night; and, although the raw mountain-cabbage offered no very tempting déjeuner, he determined before starting, to make another meal upon it – remembering, and very wisely acting upon, the adage of “a bird in the hand.”

There was plenty left from the supper to serve him for breakfast; and, once more making a vigorous onslaught on the chou de palmiste, he succeeded in appeasing his hunger.

But another appetite, far more unpleasant to bear, now assailed him. In truth, it had assailed him long before, but had been gradually growing stronger; until it was now almost unendurable.

It was the kindred appetite, thirst; which the cabbage-palm, instead of relieving, had, from a certain acridity in its juice, only sharpened – till the pain amounted almost to torture.

The sufferer would have struck off into the woods in search of water. He had seen none in his wanderings; still he had hopes of being able to find the river. He would have started at once, but for an idea he had conceived that there was water near the spot where he had slept.

Where? He had observed neither stream nor spring, pond nor river; and yet he fancied he had seen water – in fact, he felt sure of it!

In a very singular situation he had seen it – so thought he at the time – since it was over his head in the cotton-tree!

On the previous evening, while upon the crown of the cabbage-palm, he had glanced slantingly across, among the branches of the ceiba. This, as with all great trees in the tropical forests, was loaded with parasites —vriesias, long ragged-looking cacti, bromelias, epiphytical orchids, and the like. Tillandsias too, of the kind known as “wild pines,” grew in the forks, or on the upper surface of the great limbs, flourishing as luxuriantly as if their roots rested in the richest soil. Among them was conspicuous the most magnificent of the genus, the noble Tillandsia lingulata, with its spike of gorgeous crimson flowers projecting from the midst of its broad sheathing leaves. It was in the concavities of these huge leaves that Herbert had observed something which did not belong to the plant – something he believed to be water.

It would cost but a few seconds’ time to confirm or refute this belief – a climb among the branches of the ceiba. Another huge parasite, from the same root as the former, trended tortuously up to the limbs of the silk-cotton-tree – here and there touching and twisting around them. Its diagonal direction rendered it easy of ascent; and Herbert, impelled by his desire to drink, commenced climbing it.

Ere long, he had succeeded in reaching a main fork of the ceiba, where nestled one of the largest of the wild pines.

He had not been deceived. In a hollow formed by one of its huge ventricose leaves was the natural reservoir he had noticed – the gathering of dew and rain, which the rays of the sun could never reach.

At his approach, the green hyla sprang out from this aerial pool; and leaping, frog-like, from leaf to leaf – guarded against falling by the clammy sponge-disks of its feet – soon disappeared amid the foliage. It was this singular creature whose voice Herbert had been hearing throughout the livelong night; and which, in constant chorus with others of its kind, had recalled to his memory the groaning and working of the Sea Nymph in a storm.

The presence of the tree-toad in this its natural haunt, did not deter the young man from drinking. Raging thirst has no scruples; and, bending over one of the leaves of the tillandsia, he placed his lips to the cool water, and freely quaffed it.

The labour of scrambling up the lliana had taken away his breath, and to some extent fatigued him. Instead, therefore, of descending at once – which he knew would cost him an effort equal to that of the ascent – he determined to rest for a few minutes upon the large limb of the ceiba on which he had seated himself.

“Well!” muttered he, in satisfied soliloquy, “if the people of this island have proved inhospitable, I can’t say the same of its trees. Here are two of them – almost the first I have encountered. They have yielded me the three necessaries of life – meat, drink, and lodging – lodging, too, with an excellent bed, a thing not so common in many a human hostelry. What more is wanted? Under such a sky as this, who need care to have walls around, or a roof over him? Verily, to sleep here, sub Jove, is rather a luxury than an inconvenience! And, verily,” continued he, “were it not that I should feel rather lonely, and that man is designed to be a social animal, I might pass my whole life in these glorious woods, without work or care of any kind. No doubt there is game; and I was told at home there are no game laws – so I might poach at pleasure. Ha! game? What do I see? A deer? No! a hog! Yes, hog it is; but such a singular fellow – prick ears, red bristles, long legs, and tusks. A boar! and why not a wild boar?”

There was no reason why it should not be, since it was one – a wild boar of the Jamaica forest – a true descendant of the Canarian hog, transported thither by the Spaniards.

The young Englishman, never having seen a wild boar in its native haunts, put the question conjecturally; but a moment’s observation of the animal convinced him that his conjecture was correct. The short upright ears, the long head, hams, and legs, the shaggy neck and frontlet, the foxy red colour, the quick short step as it moved onward – all these points, combined with a certain savage air which Herbert noticed at a glance, satisfied him that the animal under his eyes was not one of the domestic breed, but a genuine wild hog of the woods. The grunt, too, which the creature uttered as it moved across the glade – short, sharp and fierce – had but slight resemblance to the squeaking sounds of the farm-yard. A wild boar beyond a doubt!

On perceiving this noble head of game, and so near him, Herbert’s first reflection was one of extreme regret. How unlucky that he should be up in the tree, with his gun upon the ground!

It was very tantalising; but the young man saw it would be impossible to get possession of his gun without giving the alarm. To attempt descending from the tree, or even make a movement upon the branch, would be sufficient to send the boar scampering from the spot: of course never to be seen more.

Conscious of this, Herbert preferred remaining upon his perch – the silent spectator of a scene of wild Nature, to which chance had so oddly introduced him.