The Maroon Part 58

Rising with a mysterious air, and taking down from its peg an old palm-leaf wallet, that appeared to contain some heavy article, the myal-man stepped out of the hut, closing the door behind him, lest--as he informed the mulatta, in _sotto voce_--the G.o.d might set his eyes on her, and get into a rage.

Cynthia seemed to consider the precaution scarce sufficient; for the moment the door was closed, in order to make herself still more secure against being seen, she glided up to the light and extinguished it.

Then, groping her way back to the bedstead, she staggered down upon it, and sate s.h.i.+vering with apprehension.

As the myal-man had enjoined upon her, she listened; and, as he had promised her, she heard--if not the voice of Accompong--sounds that were worthy of having proceed from the throat of that Ethiopian divinity.

At first a voice reached her which she knew to be human: since it was the voice of Chakra himself. It was uttered, nevertheless, in strange and unnatural tones, that at each moment kept changing. Now it came ringing through the interstices of the bamboos, in a kind of long-drawn solo, as if the myal-man was initiating his ceremonies with the verse of a psalm. Then the chaunt became quicker, by a sort of _crescendo_ movement, and the song appeared transformed to a _recitative_. Next were heard sounds of a very different intonation, resembling the shrill, harsh call of a cow-horn or conch-sh.e.l.l, and gradually dying off into a prolonged ba.s.s, like the groaning of a cracked trombone.

After this had continued for some moments, there ensued a dialogue--in which the listener could recognise only one of the voices as that of Chakra.

Whose could be the other? It could only be that of Accompong. The G.o.d was upon the ground!

Cynthia trembled as she thought how very near he was. How lucky she had blown out the light! With the lamp still burning, she must have been seen: for both Chakra and the deity were just outside the door, and so near that she could not only hear their voices with distinctness, but the very words that were spoken.

Some of these were in an unknown tongue, and she could not understand them. Others were in English, or rather its synonym in the form of a negro _patois_. These last she comprehended; and their signification was not of a character to tranquillise her thoughts, but the contrary.

_Chakra, chantant_:--

"Open de bottle--draw de cork, De 'pell he work--de 'pell he work; De buckra man muss die!"

"_Muss die_!" repeated Accompong, in a voice that sounded as if from the interior of an empty hogshead.

"De yella gal she gib 'im drink; It make 'im sick--it make 'im sr'ink, It send 'im to 'im grave!"

"_Him grave_!" came the response of Accompong.

"An' if de yella gal refuse, She 'tep into de buckra's shoes, An' fill de buckra's tomb."

"_Buckra's tomb_!" echoed the African G.o.d, in a sonorous and emphatic voice, that told there was no alternative to the fate thus hypothetically proclaimed.

There was a short interval of silence, and then the shrill, conch-like sound was again heard--as before, followed by the long-drawn ba.s.s.

This was the exorcism of the G.o.d--as the same sounds, previously heard, had been his invocation.

It was also the _finale_ of the ceremony: since the moment after Chakra pushed open the door, and stood in the entrance of the hut.

"Cynthy, gal," said he, with a look of mysterious gravity, "why you blow out de light? But no matter for light. It's all oba. Did you hear the G.o.d 'peak?"

"I did," murmured the mulatta, still trembling at what she had heard.

"You hear wha him say?"

"Yes--yes."

"Den he 'peak de troof. Nuffin mor'n dat. You take heed--I 'vise you, as you friend. You go troo wif de 'pell now 'im 'gun, else you life not worth so much trash ob de sugar-cane. A say no more. Ebbery night, in um fuss gla.s.s, de full ob de crab-claw, up to de mark. Now, gal, come 'lon'."

The last command was the more readily obeyed since Cynthia was but too glad to get away from a place whose terrors had so severely tested her courage.

Taking up the basket--in which the bottle containing the dangerous decoction had been already placed--she glided out of the hut, and once more followed the Coromantee to his canoe.

Volume Two, Chapter XXVIII.

MIDNIGHT WANDERERS.

Once more under the _ceiba_, that gigantic trysting tree, stood the Maroon and his mistress. Not, as before, in the bright noonday sun, but near the mid-hour of the night. The Foolah had dared the dangers of the forest to meet her beloved Cubina.

And there were dangers in that forest, more to be dreaded than fierce beasts or ravenous reptiles--more to be dreaded than the tusks of the wild boar, or the teeth of the scaly alligator. There were monsters in human form far more fearful to be encountered; and at that moment not very distant from the spot where the lovers had made their rendezvous.

Love recks little of dangers. Cubina knew of none; and, in Yola's belief, there was no danger while Cubina was near.

The moon was in high heaven, full, calm, and clear. Her beams filled the glade with a silvery effulgence. It was a moonlight that almost rivalled the brightness of day. The flowers over the earth, and the blossoms upon the trees, appeared full blown: as if they had opened their petals to drink in the delightful dew. Borne upon the soft, silent breeze, the nocturnal sounds of the forest fell with a tremulous cadence upon the ear; while the nightingale of the West, as if proud of the superiority of her counterfeit notes, in turns imitated them all.

The lovers stood in shadow--but it was the shadow of the _ceiba_. There was none in their hearts; and had the moonlight at that moment fallen upon their faces, no trace of a cloud could have been detected there.

It was a happy meeting--one of the happiest they had yet enjoyed. Each had brought good news to the other. Cubina, that the brother of his beloved was still safe under his protection--safe and well; Yola, that her young mistress had promised to bestow upon her her freedom.

Within the few days since they had last met, many things had transpired to interest both. Each had a tale to tell.

Yola related how the story of her brother's misfortunes, though strictly kept from the servants at Mount Welcome, had been told to her mistress; how Miss Vaughan, on hearing it, had requested her father to grant her (Yola's) manumission; and how the Custos had consented to the request.

Conditionally, however. Her "free papers" were to be dated from a certain day--that on which Kate Vaughan was to become a bride, but that day was supposed not to be far distant.

It was joyous news for the Maroon. He might keep his hundred pounds for the plenis.h.i.+ng of his mountain home!

This piece of intelligence might have taken Cubina more by surprise, but for the understanding that now existed between him and the Custos--whom he had of late frequently visited. Certain conditions had become established between the magistrate and the Maroon, which rendered the latter less apprehensive about the future. Mr Vaughan had made some promises to himself in regard to the manumission of Yola. It is true, these had also been _conditional_; and their performance was to depend, to a great degree, on the success of the prosecution to be inst.i.tuted against the Jew. But, with the Custos himself as a prosecutor, Cubina felt sanguine that the conditions would be accomplished.

These were circ.u.mstances to be kept secret. Even to his sweetheart the lover was not permitted to impart the knowledge of this affair. Only did he make known to her that steps were being taken to cause the rest.i.tution of her brother's property; but how, where, and when, could not be divulged until that day when war should be openly declared against the enemy. So had the Custos commanded.

Cubina, nevertheless, could not help being gratified by the intelligence which Yola had conveyed to him. The promise of Miss Vaughan had but one condition--her bridal day; and that was definite and certain.

"Ah!" said Cubina, turning with a proud look towards his sweetheart, "it will be a happy day for all. No, not for all," added he, his face suddenly a.s.suming an expression of sadness; "not for all. There is one, I fear, to whom that day will not bring happiness!"

"I know one, too, Cubina," rejoined the girl, her countenance appearing to reflect the expression that had come over his.

"Oh, you know it, too? Miss Vaughan has told you then, I suppose? I hope she does not boast of it?"

"What she boast of, Cubina?"

"Why, of breaking his heart, as you would do mine, if you were to marry somebody else. Poor young fellow! _Crambo_! If I'm not mistaken, it will be a sad day for him!"

The girl looked up, in puzzled surprise. "Sad day for him! No, Cubina; he very happy. For her--poor missa--that day be sad."

"_Vayate_! What do you mean, Yola?"

"No more dan I say, Cubina. Missa Kate be very unhappy that day she marry Mr Mongew--she very so now."

"What!" exclaimed Cubina, suddenly placing himself in an att.i.tude of unusual attention; "do I understand you to say that Miss Vaughan don't wish to marry this Mr Smythje?"

"She no love him, Cubina. Why she wish marry him, then?"