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The Maroon

by Mayne Reid · English · Gutenberg #35295 · 1,036,596 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Maroon

Author: Mayne Reid


        
Release date: February 15, 2011 [eBook #35295]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35295

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAROON ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The Maroon
By Captain Mayne Reid
Published by Hurst and Blackett, 13 Great Marlborough Street, London.
This edition dated 1862.

Volume One, Chapter I.

A JAMAICA SUGAR ESTATE.

A sugar estate, and one of the finest in the "land of springs," is that
of "Mount Welcome."

It is situated about ten miles from Montego Bay, in a broad valley,
between two rounded ridges.  These ridges, after running parallel for
more than a mile, and gradually increasing in elevation, at length
converge with an inward sweep--at their point of convergence, rising
abruptly into a stupendous hill, that fairly merits the name which it
bears upon the estate--_the "mountain_."

Both the ridges are wooded almost down to their bases; the woods, which
consist of shining pimento trees, ending on each side in groves and
island copses, pleasantly interspersed over a park-like greensward.

The "great house" or "buff" of the estate stands under the foot of the
mountain, just at the point of union between the two ridges--where a
natural table or platform, elevated several feet above the level of the
valley, had offered a tempting site to the builder.

In architectural style it is not very different from other houses of its
kind, the well-known planter's dwelling of the West Indies.  One
storey--the lower one, of course--is of strong stone mason-work; the
second and only other being simply a wooden "frame" roofed with
"shingles."

The side and end walls of this second story cannot with propriety be
termed walls: since most part of them are occupied by a continuous line
of Venetian shutters--the "jalousies" of Jamaica.

These impart a singular cage-like appearance to the house, at the same
time contributing to its coolness--a quality of primary importance in a
tropical climate.

Outside in the front centre a flight of broad stone steps, resting upon
arched mason-work, and bordered by strong iron balustrades, conducts to
the level of the second storey--the real dwelling-house: since the
ground-floor is entirely occupied by store-rooms and other "offices."

The entrance door is from the landing of the aforesaid _escalier_, and
conducts at once into the "hall"--a spacious apartment, of
crucifix-shape, running clear across the building from side to side, and
end to end.  The current of air admitted by the open jalousies, passing
constantly through this apartment, renders it at all times delightfully
cool; while the lattice-work serves to mellow the glare of light, which,
under the sky of the tropics, is almost as disagreeable as the heat.  An
uncarpeted floor, composed of the hardest sorts of native wood, and
subjected to a diurnal polish, contributes to increase the coolness.

This great hall is the principal apartment of the dwelling.  It is
dining and drawing-room in one--where side-boards and cheffoniers may be
seen in juxta-position with lounge chairs, fauteuils, and ottomans--a
grand chandelier in the centre extending its branches over all.

The bed-chambers occupy the square spaces to one side of the cross; and
these also have their jalousied windows to admit the air, and exclude,
as much as possible, the sultry rays of the sun.

In Mount Welcome House, as in all other country mansions of Jamaica, a
stranger would remark a want of correspondence between the dwelling
itself and the furniture which it contains.  The former might be
regarded as slight, and even flimsy.  But it is this very character
which renders it appropriate to the climate, and hence the absence of
substantiality or costliness in the style and materials of the building.

The furniture, on the other hand--the solid tables of mahogany, and
other ornamental woods--the shining carved side-boards--the profuse show
of silver and cut glass that rests upon them--the elegant couches and
chairs--the glittering lamps and candelabras--all combine to prove that
the _quasi_ meanness of the Jamaica planter's establishment extends no
farther than to the walls of his house.  If the case be a cheap one, the
jewels contained in it are of the costliest kind.

Outside, the great house of Mount Welcome looks grand enough.  Its broad
facade, in which the deep green of the jalousies contrasts pleasantly
with the white of the surrounding walls--the massive stone stairway in
front--the wooded mountain sweeping up and forming a background of
variegated green--the noble avenue of nearly a mile in length, with its
double rows of tamarinds and cocoa-palms, leading up in front from the
lower end of the valley--all contribute to produce a picture of almost
palatial grandeur.

Nor does a nearer view detract from the splendour of this picture.  The
platform on which the house is built affords space for a large garden
and shrubbery, extending rearward to the mountain-foot, from which they
are separated by a high wall of stone.

The _mountain_ is a conspicuous feature of the landscape.  Not so much
from its height: for there are others of equal elevation near to it; and
further off, though still within sight, many still higher.  Even the
famed "Blue Peak" is visible, towering hundreds of feet above the
surrounding summits.

Nor is it conspicuous from being isolated.  On the contrary, it is only
a spur of that vast elevated chain of hills, that, separated by deep
gorge-like valleys, and soaring thousands of feet above the level of the
Caribbean Sea, are known as the "Blue Mountains of Jamaica."

Covering almost the entire area of the island--which is thus broken into
an endless succession of gigantic corrugations--Jamaica presents a
surface rough and irregular as the crumplings upon a cabbage-leaf; and
"land of mountains" would be a title as appropriate as its ancient
Indian appellation, "the land of fountains."

The hill which overlooks the estate of Mount Welcome is less than two
thousand feet above sea-level; but what renders it remarkable is the
geometrical regularity of its outlines, and, still more, its
singularly-shaped summit.

Viewed from the valley below, it presents the appearance of an exact and
somewhat acute cone, up to within about fifty yards of its top.  There
the sloping outline ends--the line on each side thence trending
vertically, and abruptly terminating in a square table-top, forty or
fifty feet in diameter.  In general appearance, this truncated summit is
not unlike that of the famed "Cofre di Perote" of Mexico.

The sloping sides of the mountain are densely wooded, especially that
fronting the valley of Mount Welcome--towards which is presented a broad
frowning _facade_, thickly clothed with a forest that appears primeval.

Alone at its top is it treeless--bare and bald as the crown of a
Franciscan friar.  There stands the square coffer-like summit, a mass of
solid rock, which repels the approach of the vegetable giants that crowd
closely around its base, some of them stretching out their huge arms as
if to strangle or embrace it.

One tree alone has succeeded in scaling its steep rampart-like wall.  A
noble palm--the _areca_--has accomplished this feat, and stands
conspicuously upon the table-top, its plumed leaves waving haughtily
aloft, like a triumphal banner planted upon the parapet of some
conquered castle.

This summit rock presents a singular appearance.  Its seamed and scarred
surface is mottled with a dark glaze, which during the sunlight, and
even under the mellower beams of the moon, gives forth a coruscation, as
if the light were reflected from scale armour.

To the denizens of the valley below it is known as the _Jumbe Rock_--a
name characteristic of the superstitious ideas attached to it.  Though
constantly before their eyes, and accessible by an hour's climbing up
the forest path, there is not a negro on the estate of Mount Welcome,
nor on any other for miles around, that would venture alone to visit the
Jumbe rock; and to most, if not all of them, the top of this mountain is
as much of a _terra incognita_ as the summit of Chimborazo!

I am speaking of a period more than half a century ago.  At that time
the terror, that was attached to the Jumbe Rock, did not altogether owe
its origin to a mere superstition.  It had been partly inspired by the
remembrance of a horrid history.  The rock had been the scene of an
execution, which for cruel and cold-blooded barbarity rather deserves to
be called a crime.

That table-summit, like the blood-stained temples of the Moctezumas, had
been used as an altar, upon which a human sacrifice had been offered up.
Not in times long past, neither by the sanguinary priesthood of Azteca,
but by men of white skin and European race--their victim a black and an
African.

This incident, illustrating Jamaica justice during the dark days of
slavery, deserves to be given in detail.

Volume One, Chapter II.

THE MYAL-MAN.

In the West Indies, a few years previous to the Emancipation, there was
much agitation on the subject of _Obeah-ism_.

The practice of this horrid art had become appallingly common--so common
that upon almost every extensive estate in the island there was a
"professor" of it; in other words, an "Obeah-man."  "Professor," though
often used in speaking of these charlatans, is not a correct title.  To
have _professed_ it--at least in the hearing of the whites--would have
been attended with peril: since it was punishable by the death penalty.
_Practitioner_ is a more appropriate appellation.

These mysterious doctors were almost always men--very rarely women--and
usually natives of Africa.  Universally were they persons of advanced
age and hideous aspect: the uglier the more successful in the pursuit of
their criminal calling.

There was a class of them distinguished as "myal-men," whose chief
distinction consisted in their being able to _restore life to a dead
body_.

Such was the belief of their ignorant fellow slaves, who little
suspected that the defunct subject had been all the while only dormant,
his death-like slumber secretly brought about by the myal-man himself,
assisted by a prescription of the branched "calalue"--a species of
_caladium_.

I cannot here enter into an explanation of the mysteries of Obi, which
are simple enough _when understood_.  I have met it in every land where
it has been my lot to travel; and although it holds a more conspicuous
place in the social life of the savage, it is also found in the
bye-lanes of civilisation.

The reader, who may have been mystified about its meaning, will perhaps
understand what it is, when I tell him that the _obeah-man_ of the West
Indies is simply the counterpart of the "medicine man" of the
North-American Indians, the "piuche" of the South, the "rain-maker" of
the Cape, the "fetish man" of the Guinea coast, and known by as many
other titles as there are tribes of uncivilised men.

It is the _first dawning of religion on the soul of the savage_; but
even when its malignant spirit has become changed to a purer aspiration
after eternal life, it still lingers amidst the haunts of ignorance, its
original form almost unaltered--_witchcraft_.

To the statement above made--that on every large plantation there was an
obeah-man--the estate of Mount Welcome was no exception.  It, too, was
blessed, or rather cursed, by a follower of the art, an old Coromantee
negro--Chakra by name--a man whose fell and ferocious aspect could not
have failed to make him one of the most popular of its practitioners.

Such, to his misfortune, had he become.

He had long been suspected of having poisoned his master, the former
owner of the estate, who had made an abrupt and mysterious exit from the
world.  The fate of this man, however, was not much lamented, as he bore
the reputation of being a cruel slave-master.  The present proprietor of
Mount Welcome had least reason to regret it: since it gave him
possession of an estate he had long coveted.

It was greater chagrin to him, that since entering upon the enjoyment of
the property, several of his most valuable slaves had terminated their
existence suddenly, and in a manner which could only be accounted for by
the supposition that Obi had accomplished their destruction.

Chakra, the myal-man, was suspected of causing their deaths.  He was
arraigned and brought to trial.

His judges were three--three justices of the neighbourhood--for that
number was sufficient to pass the death-sentence upon a slave.  The
president of the court was the man's own master--Loftus Vaughan,
Esquire, proprietor of Mount Welcome, and _custos rotulorum_ of the
precinct.

The substance of the crime charged against Chakra was "practising the
arts of Obi."  The charge had no reference to the death of his former
master.

The proofs were not very clear; but were deemed sufficiently so by the
court to warrant a conviction.

Strange to say that of the three justices, the man's own master--the
president of the court--appeared the most anxious to bring the trial to
this termination.  So anxious indeed, that he used every effort to
overrule the opinions of the other two: his superior position as
_custos_ giving him a certain power of controlling the decision.  One of
them had actually pronounced in favour of an acquittal; but after a
whispering consultation with the custos, he retracted his former
opinion, and gave his vote for the verdict.

There was a rumour at the time, that Loftus Vaughan, in this trial, was
actuated by meaner motives than either a stern love of justice, or the
desire to put down the practice of Obi.  There was a whisper abroad of
some secrets--family secrets--with which the Coromantee had become
acquainted; some strange transaction, of which he was the sole living
witness; and of such a character, that even the testimony of a negro
would have been an inconvenience; and it was suspected that this, and
not obeah-ism, was the crime for which Chakra had to answer with his
life.

Whether this was true or not, the Coromantee was condemned to die.

The trial was not more irregular than the mode of execution, which these
irresponsible justices thought fit to decree.  It was almost as
whimsical as it was cruel towards the wretched criminal.

He was to be taken to the top of the Jumbe rock, chained to the
palm-tree, and there left to perish!

It may be asked why this singular mode of execution was selected.  Why
was he not hanged upon the scaffold, or burnt at the stake--a custom not
unusual with condemned criminals of his kind?

The answer is easy.  As already stated, at this particular period, much
unpleasant feeling prevailed on the subject of obeah-ism.  In almost
every district mysterious deaths had occurred, and were occurring--not
only of black slaves, but of white masters, and even mistresses--all
attributed to the baneful influence of Obi.

The African demon was ubiquitous, but invisible.  Everywhere could be
witnessed his skeleton hand upon the wall, but nowhere himself.  It had
become necessary to make a conspicuous example of his worshippers.  The
voice of all planterdom called for it; and the myal-man, Chakra, was
selected for that example--in the belief that his fearful fate would
terrify the votaries of the vile superstition to their very hearts'
core.

The Jumbe rock suggested itself as the most appropriate place for the
execution of the Coromantee.  The terrors with which the place was
already invested--added to those now to be inspired by the fearful form
of punishment of which it was to be the scene--would exert a beneficial
effect on the superstitious understandings of the slaves, and for ever
destroy their belief in Obeah and Obboney.

Under this belief was the myal-man escorted up to the summit of the
Jumbe rock; and, like a modern Prometheus, chained there.

No guards were placed near him--none were required to stay by the spot.
His chains, and the terror inspired by the act, were deemed sufficient
to prevent any interference with his fate.

In a few days, thirst and hunger, aided by the vultures, would perform
the final and fatal ceremony--as surely as the rope of the hangman, or
the axe of the executioner.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was long before Loftus Vaughan ascended the mountain to ascertain the
fate of the unfortunate negro, his _ci-devant_ slave.  When, stimulated
by curiosity, and, perhaps, a motive still stronger--he, at length,
climbed to the top of the Jumbe rock, his hopes and expectations were
alike confirmed.  A skeleton, picked clean by the John-crows, hung
suspended to the stem of the tree!

A rusty chain, warped around the bones, kept the skeleton in place.

Loftus Vaughan had no inclination to dwell long upon the spot.  To him
the sight was fearful.  One glance, and he hurried away; but far more
fearful--far more terrifying--was that which he saw, or fancied he saw,
in passing homeward down the forest path--either the ghost of the
myal-man, or the man himself!

Volume One, Chapter III.

A JAMAICA DEJEUNER.

On a tranquil morning in the fair month of May--fair in Jamaica, as
elsewhere on the earth--a large bell ringing in the great hall of Mount
Welcome announced the hour of breakfast.

As yet there were no guests around the table, nor in the hall--only the
black and coloured domestics, who, to the number of half-a-dozen, had
just come up from the kitchen with trays and dishes containing the
viands that were to compose the meal.

Though but two chairs were placed by the table--and the disposition of
the plates, knives, and forks indicated that it had been set for only
that number of guests--the profusion of dishes, thickly covering the
snow-white damask cloth, might have led to the belief that a large party
was expected.

It was emphatically a _dejeuner a la fourchette_.  There were cutlets
plain, and with _sauce piquante_, _cavished_ fish, _entrees_ of devilled
fowl and duck, broiled salmon, and the like.  These _hors d'oeuvres_
were placed around the table, while a cold ham on one dish, and a tongue
on another, occupied the centre.

Of "bread kind" there were mealy yams--some mashed with milk and butter,
and dished up in shapes--roast plantains, hot rolls, toast, cassada
cakes, and sweet potatoes.

But that a splendid silver tea-service, and a large glittering urn were
conspicuous, the spread might have been mistaken for a dinner, rather
than the matutinal meal.  The hour--nine o'clock a.m.--also precluded
the idea of its being dinner.

Whoever were to be the guests at this table, it was intended they should
fair sumptuously.  So did they every day of their lives; for there was
nothing occasional in that morning's meal.  Both the style and the
profuseness were of diurnal occurrence--the mode of Jamaica.

Soon after the tones of the bell had ceased to vibrate through the hall,
they for whom the summons was intended made their appearance--entering
from opposite sides, not together, but one coming in a little before the
other.

The first was a gentleman of somewhat over middle age, of a hale
complexion, and fall, portly form.

He was dressed in a suit of nankeens--jacket and trousers, both of ample
make--the former open in front, and displaying a shirt bosom of finest
white linen, the broad plaits of which were uncovered by any vest.  A
wide turn-down collar was folded back, exhibiting a full development of
throat--which, with the broad jaws of ruddy hue, appeared clean and
freshly shaven.

From a fob in the waistband of his trousers hung a massive gold chain,
with a bunch of seals and watch-keys at one end; while at the other was
an immense chronometer watch of the old-fashioned "guinea gold," with
white dial, upon which the black figures were conspicuously painted.
The watch itself could be seen; as, on entering, the wearer had drawn it
out of its fob with a view of ascertaining whether his servants were
punctual to the minute: for the gentleman in question was a very
martinet in such matters.

Loftus Vaughan, Esquire, proprietor of Mount Welcome,--Justice of the
Peace, and _Custos Rotulorum_,--was the man thus characterised.

After casting a scrutinising glance at the display of viands, and
apparently satisfied with what he saw, the master of Mount Welcome
seated himself before the table, his face beaming with a smile of
pleasant anticipation.

He had scarce taken his seat when a fair apparition appeared entering
from the further end of the hall--a young virgin-like creature, looking
as fresh and roseate as the first rays of the Aurora.

She was habited in a dress, or rather an undress, of purest white: a
morning wrapper of fine lawn, that, fitting closely behind, displayed
the waving _contour_ of her back.  In front, the dress fell in loose
folds--scarce, however, concealing the full, bold outlines of her bosom;
and then draped gracefully downward, so low as to leave nothing visible
but the tips of a pair of tiny satin slippers, alternately showing
themselves like white mice as the young girl glided over the polished
surface of the floor.

Her throat, full and finely rounded, was encircled with a string of
amber beads; and a crimson blossom--the beautiful bell of the
Quamoclit--glittered amidst the ample folds of her hair.  This, of a
rich chestnut colour, was parted on her forehead, and carried in a
curving sweep over cheeks that rivalled the radiance of the flower.

It would have required an experienced eye--one well acquainted with the
physiological characteristics of race--to have told that that young girl
was not of the purest Caucasian blood.  And yet the slight undulation of
the hair; a rotund rather than an oval face; eyes of darkest umber, with
a light gleaming perpetually in the pupils; a singular picturelike
expression in the colouring of the cheeks--were all characteristics,
that proclaimed the presence of the _sang-melee_.

Slight indeed was the _taint_; and it seems like profanation to employ
the phrase, when speaking of a creature so beautifully fair--for
beautifully fair was the daughter of Loftus Vaughan.  She was his only
daughter--the only member of his family: for the proprietor of Mount
Welcome was a widower.

On entering the hall, the young girl did not proceed directly to seat
herself; but, gliding behind the chair occupied by her father, she flung
her arms around his neck, and imprinted a kiss upon his forehead.

It was her usual matutinal salute; and proved that, on that morning they
had met for the first time.

Not that it was the first appearance of either: for both had been much
earlier abroad--up with the sun, indeed, as is the universal custom in
Jamaica.

Mr Vaughan had entered the hall from the front door, and the
broad-brimmed Leghorn hat, and cane carried in his hand, told that he
had been out for a walk--perhaps to inspect the labour going on at the
"works," or ascertain the progress made in the cultivation of his
extensive cane-fields.

His daughter, on the contrary, might have been seen entering the house
some half-hour before, in riding costume--hat, habit, and whip--proving
that her morning exercise had been taken on horseback.

After saluting her father as described, the young girl took her seat in
front of the coffee urn, and commenced performing the duties of the
table.

In this she was assisted by a girl apparently of her own age, but of
widely-different appearance.  Her waiting-maid it was, who, having
entered at the same time, had taken her station behind the chair of her
mistress.

There was something strikingly peculiar in the aspect of this
personage--as well in her figure as in the colour of her skin.  She was
of that slender classic shape which we find in antique sculptures--like
the forms of the Hindoo women known in England as "ayahs" and differing
altogether from the negro outline.  Her complexion, too, was not that of
a negress--still less of a mulatta or quadroon.  It was an admixture of
black and red, resulting in a chestnut or mahogany colour; which, with
the deep damask tincture upon her cheeks, produced an impression not
unpleasing.

Nor were the features at all of a negro type.  On the contrary, far
removed from it.  The lips were thin, the face oval, and the nose of an
aquiline shape--such features as may be traced on Egyptian sculptured
stones, or may be seen in living forms in the lands of the Arab.

Her hair was not woolly, though it differed altogether from the hair of
a European.  It was straight, and jet-black, yet scarcely reaching to
her shoulders.  Not that it had been shortened by the scissors: for it
appeared to be at its fullest growth; and, hanging, as it did, loosely
over her ears, it imparted a youthful appearance to the brown-skinned
damsel.

The girl was far from ill-looking; and, to an eye accustomed to her
"style," she may have appeared even handsome.  Her elegant shape,
exposed by the extreme scantiness of her costume--a sleeveless robe,
with a Madras kerchief worn _a la toque_ upon her head--her graceful
attitudes, which seemed natural to her, either when in motion or
standing poised behind the chair of her mistress; the quick glance of
her fine, fiery eyes; and the pearl-like whiteness of her teeth; all
contributed to make up a picture that was far from commonplace.

This young girl was a slave--the slave _Yola_.

Volume One, Chapter IV.

TWO LETTERS.

Instead of standing in the middle of the floor, the breakfast table had
been placed close to the front window--in order that, with the jalousies
thrown open, the fresh air might be more freely felt, while at the same
time a view could be obtained of the landscape outside.  A splendid view
it was, comprising the valley with its long palm-shaded avenue, a reach
of the Montego river, the roofs and spires of the town, the shipping in
the bay and roadstead, the bay itself, and the blue Caribbean beyond.

Striking as was this landscape, Mr Vaughan just then showed no
inclination to look upon it.  He was too busily occupied with the rich
viands upon the table; and when he at length found time to glance over
the window-sill, his glance extended no further than to the negro "gang"
at work among the canes--to see if his drivers were doing their duty.

The eyes of Miss Vaughan were oftener directed to the outside view.  It
was at this hour that one of the servants usually returned from Montego
Bay, bringing the letters from the post-office.  There was nothing in
her manner that betrayed any particular anxiety about his arrival; but
simply that lively interest which young ladies in all countries feel
when expecting the postman--hoping for one of those little letters of
twelve sheets with closely-written and crossed lines, most difficult to
decipher, and yet to them more interesting than even the pages of the
newest novel.

Very soon a dark object, of rudely Centaurean form, appeared coming
along the avenue; and, shortly after, an imp-like negro lad upon the
back of a rough pony galloped up to the front entrance.  This was
Quashie--the post-boy, of Mount Welcome.

If Miss Vaughan expected a billet, she was doomed to disappointment.
There were only two letters in the bag, with a newspaper; and all three
were for the Custos himself.

All bore the English post-mark; and the superscription of one of the
letters was by him at once recognised--a pleasant smile stealing over
his features as he broke open the seal.

A few moments sufficed to make him master of its contents, when the
smile increased to a look of vivid gratification; and, rising from his
chair, he paced for some time back and forward, snapping his fingers,
and ejaculating, "Good--good!  I thought so!"

His daughter regarded this behaviour with surprise.  Gravity was her
father's habit, at times amounting to austerity.  Such an exhibition of
gaiety was rare with Loftus Vaughan.

"Some pleasing news, papa?"

"Yes, you little rogue; very."

"May I not hear it?"

"Yes--no--no--not yet a while."

"Papa!  It is cruel of you to keep it from me.  I promise I shall share
your joy."

"Ah! you will when you hear the news--that is, if you're not a little
simpleton, Kate."

"I a simpleton, papa?  I shall not be called so."

"Why, you'll be a simpleton if you don't be joyful--when you--never
mind, child--I'll tell you all about it by-and-by.  Good, good!"
continued he, in a state of ecstatic frenzy.  "I thought so--I knew he
would come."

"Then you expect some one, papa?"

"I do.  Guess who it is!"

"How could I?  You know I am unacquainted with your English friends."

"Not with their names?  You have heard their names, and seen letters
from some of them?"

"Oh, yes, I often hear you speak of one--Mr Smythje.  A very odd name
it is!  I wouldn't be called Smythje for the world."

"Ta, ta, child!  Smythje is a very pretty name, especially with Montagu
before it.  Montagu is magnificent.  Besides, Mr Smythje is the owner
of Montagu Castle."

"Oh, papa! how can that make his name sound any better?  Is it he whom
you expect?"

"Yes, dear.  He writes to say that he will come by the next ship--the
_Sea Nymph_ she is called.  She was to sail a week after the letter was
written, so that we may look out for his arrival in a few days.  Gad!  I
must prepare for him.  You know Montagu Castle is out of repair.  He is
to be my guest; and, hark you, Catherine!" continued the planter, once
more seating himself at the table, and bending towards his daughter, so
that his _sotto voce_ might not be overheard by the domestics, "_you_
must do your best to entertain this young stranger.  He is said to be an
accomplished gentleman, and I know he is a rich one.  It is to my
interest to be friendly with him," added Mr Vaughan, in a still lower
tone of voice, and as if in soliloquy, but loud enough for his daughter
to hear what was said.

"Dear papa!" was the reply, "how could I be otherwise than polite to
him?  If only for your sake--"

"If only for _your own_," said the father, interrupting her, and
accompanying the remark with a sly look and laugh.  "But, dear
Catherine," continued he, "we shall find time to talk of this again.  I
must read the other letter.  Who on earth can it be from?  Egad!  I
never saw the writing before."

The announcement of the projected visit of Mr Montagu Smythje, with the
trumpet-like flourish of his many accomplishments--which Kate Vaughan
had not now listened to for the first time--appeared to produce in the
heart of the young lady no very vivid emotions of pleasure.  She
received it with perfect indifference, not seeming to care much one way
or the other.  If there was a balance, it was rather against him: for it
so chanced that much of what she had heard in relation to this gentleman
was not at all calculated to prepossess her in his favour.

She had heard that he was an exquisite--a fop, in fact--perhaps of all
other characters the one most repulsive to a young Creole: for,
notwithstanding the natural disposition of these to become enamoured of
fine personal appearance, it must be accompanied by certain qualities of
mind, if not of the highest morality, or even intellectuality, yet
differing altogether from the frivolous accomplishments of mere
dandyism.

Nature, that inspires the creole maiden to give her _whole heart away
and without any reserve_, has also taught her to bestow it with
judgment.  Instinct warns her not to lay her precious offering upon an
altar unworthy of the sacrifice.

There was another circumstance calculated to beget within the heart of
Kate Vaughan a certain feeling of repulsion towards the lord of Montagu
Castle; and that was the conduct of her own father in regard to this
matter.  From time to time--when speaking of Mr Montagu Smythje--he had
made use of certain expressions and innuendoes, which, though couched in
ambiguous language, his daughter very easily comprehended.

The heart of woman is quick, as it is subtle, in the understanding of
all that relates to the disposal of itself; and this even at the
earliest age of maidenhood.  It is prone to repel any effort to guide it
from its natural inclinings, or rob it of its right to choose.

Mr Vaughan, in his ignorance of these rather recondite truths, was
erecting a barrier to his own designs, all the while that he fancied he
was successfully clearing the track of presumptive obstructions, and
making the path smooth and easy.

At match-making he was likely to prove a bungler: for it was evident
that match-making was in his mind.

"Never saw the handwriting before," said he, in repetition, as he broke
open the seal of the second epistle.

If the contents of the first had filled him with joy, those of the
second produced an effect directly the opposite.

"'Sdeath!" exclaimed he, crushing the letter, as he finished reading it,
and once more nervously springing to his feet.  "Dead or living, that
ill-starred brother of mine seems as if created to be a curse to me!
While alive, always wanting money; and now that he is dead sending his
son--a never-do-well, like himself--to trouble, and, perhaps, disgrace
me."

"Dear father!" said the young girl, startled more by his wild demeanour
than what he was saying--for the words were muttered in a low voice, and
rather in soliloquy--"has the other letter brought unpleasant news?"

"Ah! that it has.  You may read for yourself."

And once more seating himself, he tossed the unwelcome epistle across
the table, and recommenced eating with apparent voracity--as if by that
means to tranquillise his perturbed spirit.

Kate took up the rejected letter; and, smoothing out the paper, ran her
eye over the contents.

The perusal did not require much time: for considering that the letter
had made such a long journey, its contents were of the shortest:--

London, June 10, 18--.

"Dear Uncle,

"I have to announce to you the melancholy intelligence that your
brother, my dear father, is no more.  His last words were, that I should
go over to you: and, acting in accordance with his wish, I have taken
passage for Jamaica.  The ship is the _Sea Nymph_, and is to sail upon
the 18th instant.  I do not know how long we shall be at sea, but I hope
it will prove a short voyage: as poor father's effects were all taken by
the sheriffs officer, and I am compelled, for want of money, to take
passage in the _steerage_, which I have been told is anything but a
luxurious mode of travelling.  But I am young and strong, and no doubt
shall be able to endure it.

"Yours affectionately,

"Herbert Vaughan."

Whatever effect the reading of the letter may have had upon Kate
Vaughan, it certainly did not produce indignation.  On the contrary, an
expression of sympathy stole over her face as she mastered the contents
or the epistle; and on finishing it, the phrase, "poor fellow!" dropped
as if involuntarily, and just audibly, from her lips.

Not that she knew anything of Herbert Vaughan, more than the name, and
that he was her cousin; but the word _cousin_ has an attractive sound,
especially in the ears of young people, equalling in interest--at times
even surpassing--that of sister or brother.

Though uttered, as we have said, in a tone almost inaudible, the words
reached the ears of her father.

"Poor fellow!" he repeated, turning sharply to his daughter, and
regarding her with a glance of displeasure, "I am surprised, Kate, to
hear you speak in that strain of one you know nothing about--one who has
done nothing to deserve your compassion.  An idle, good-for-nothing
fellow--just as his father was before him.  And only to think of it--
coming over here a _steerage_ passenger, in the very same ship with Mr
Montagu Smythje!  'Sdeath!  What a disgrace!  Mr Smythje will be
certain to know who he is--though he is not likely to associate with
such _canaille_.  He cannot fail to notice the fellow, however; and when
he sees him here, will be sure to remember him.  Ah!  I must take some
steps to prevent that.  Poor fellow, indeed!  Yes, poor enough, but not
in that sense.  Like his father, I suppose, who fiddled his life away
among paint-brushes and palettes instead of following some profitable
employment, and all for the sake of being called an _artist_!  Poor
fiddlestick!  Bah!  Don't let me hear you talk in that strain again!"

And as Mr Vaughan ended his ill-natured harangue, he tore the wrapper
off the newspaper, and endeavoured, among its contents, to distract his
mind from dwelling longer on the unpleasant theme either of the epistle,
or him who had written it.

The young girl, abashed and disconcerted by the unusual violence of the
rebuke, sat with downcast eyes, and without making any reply.  The red
colour had deepened upon her cheeks, and mounted to her forehead; but,
notwithstanding the outrage done to her feelings, it was easy to see
that the sympathy she had expressed, for her poor but unknown cousin,
was felt as sensibly as ever.

So far from having stifled or extinguished it, the behaviour of her
father was more likely to have given it increase and strength: for the
adage of the "stolen waters" is still true; and the forbidden fruit is
as tempting now as upon the morning of creation.  As it was in the
beginning, so will it ever be.

Volume One, Chapter V.

THE SLAVER.

A hot West Indian sun was rapidly declining towards the Caribbean Sea--
as if hastening to cool his fiery orb in the blue water--when a ship,
that had rounded Pedro Point, in the Island of Jamaica, was seen
standing eastward for Montego Bay.

She was a three-masted vessel--a barque--as could be told by the lateen
rig of her mizen-mast--and apparently of some three or four hundred tons
burden.

As she was running under one of the gentlest of breezes, all her canvas
was spread; and the weather-worn appearance of her sails denoted that
she was making land at the termination of a long ocean voyage.  This was
further manifest by the faded paint upon her sides, and the dark,
dirt-coloured blotches that marked the position of her hawse-holes and
scuppers.

Besides the private ensign that streamed, pennon-like from her peak,
another trailed over her taffrail; which, unfolded by the motion of the
vessel, displayed a blue starry field with white and crimson stripes.
In this case the flag was appropriate--that is, in its stripes and their
colour.  Though justly vaunted as the flag of the free, here was it
covering a cargo of slaves: the ship was a _slaver_.

After getting fairly inside the bay, but still at a long distance from
the town, she was observed suddenly to tack; and, instead of continuing
on towards the harbour, head for a point on the southern side, where the
shore was uninhabited and solitary.

On arriving within a mile of the land she took in sail, until every inch
of canvas was furled upon her yards.  Then the sharp rattling of the
chain, as it dragged through the iron ring of the hawse-hole, announced
the dropping of an anchor.

In a few moments after the ship swung round; and, drifting till the
chain cable became taut, lay motionless upon the water.

The object for which the slaver had thus anchored short of the harbour
will be learnt by our going aboard of her--though this was a privilege
not granted to the idle or curious.  Only the initiated were permitted
to witness the spectacle of which her decks now became the theatre: only
those who had an interest in the disposal of her cargo.

Viewed from a distance, the slaver lay apparently inert; but for all
that a scene of active life was passing upon her deck--a scene of rare
and painful interest.

She carried a cargo of two hundred human beings--"bales," according to
the phraseology of the slave-trader.  These bales were not exactly
alike.  It was, as her skipper jocularly styled it, an "assorted
cargo"--that is, one shipped on different points of the African coast,
and, consequently, embracing many distinct varieties of the Ethiopian
race.  There was the tawny, but intelligent Mandingo, and by his side
the Jolof of ebon hue.  There the fierce and warlike Coromantee,
alongside the docile and submissive Pawpaw; the yellow Ebo, with the
visage of a baboon, wretched and desponding, face to face with the
cannibal Moco, or chained wrist to wrist with the light-hearted native
of Congo and Angola.

None, however, appeared of light heart on board the slaver.  The horrors
of the "middle passage" had equally affected them all, until the dancing
Congese, and the Lucumi, prone to suicide, seemed equally to suffer from
dejection.  The bright picture that now presented itself before their
eyes--a landscape gleaming with all the gay colours of tropical
vegetation--was viewed by them with very different emotions.  Some
seemed to regard it with indifference; others it reminded of their own
African homes, from which they had been dragged by rude and ruffian men;
while not a few gazed upon the scene with feelings of keen
apprehension--believing it to be the dreaded _Koomi_, the land of the
gigantic cannibals--and that they had been brought thither _to be
eaten_!

Reflection might have convinced them that this would scarcely be the
intention of the _Tobon-doo_--those white tyrants who had carried them
across the ocean.  The hard, unhusked rice, and coarse maize corn--their
only food during the voyage--were not viands likely to fatten them for
the feast of Anthropophagi; and their once smooth and shining skins now
exhibited a dry, shrivelled appearance, from the surface coating of
dandruff, and the scars of the hideous _cra-cra_.

The blacks among them, by the hardships of that fearful voyage, had
turned ashy grey and the yellows of a sickly and bilious hue.  Males and
females--for there were many of the latter--appeared to have been alike
the objects of ill-usage, the victims of a starved stomach and a stifled
atmosphere.

Some half-dozen of the latter--seen in the precincts of the cabin--
presented a different aspect.  These were young girls, picked from the
common crowd on account of the superiority of their personal charms; and
the flaunting vestments that adorned their bodies--contrasting with the
complete nudity of their fellow-voyagers--told too plainly why they had
been thus distinguished.  A horrid contrast--wantonness in the midst of
woe!

On the quarter-deck stood the slave-skipper--a tall, lathy individual of
sallow hue--and, beside him, his mate--a dark-bearded ruffian; while a
score of like stamp, but lower grade, acting under their orders, were
distributed in different parts of the ship.

These last, as they tramped to and fro over the deck, might be heard at
intervals giving utterance to profane oaths--as often laying violent
hands upon one or other of their unfortunate captives--apparently out of
the sheer wantonness of cruelty!

Immediately after the anchor had been dropped, and the ropes belayed and
coiled in their places, a new scene of this disgusting drama was entered
upon.  The living "bales," hitherto restrained below, were now ordered,
or rather driven, upon deck--not all at once, but in lots of three or
four at a time.  Each individual, as he came up the hatchway, was rudely
seized by a sailor, who stood by with a soft brush in his hand and a
pail at his feet; the latter containing a black composition of
gunpowder, lemon-juice, and palm-oil.  Of this mixture the unresisting
captive received a coating; which, by the hand of another sailor, was
rubbed into the skin, and then polished with a "dandybrush," until the
sable epidermis glistened like a newly-blacked boot.

A strange operation it might have appeared to those who saw it, had they
not been initiated into its object and meaning.  But to the spectators
there present it was no uncommon sight.  It was not the first time those
unfeeling men had assisted at the spectacle of black bales _being made
ready for the market_!

One after another were the dark-skinned victims of human cupidity
brought from below, and submitted to this demoniac anointment--to which
one and all yielded with an appearance of patient resignation, like
sheep under the hands of the shearer.

In the looks of many of them could be detected the traces of that
apprehension felt in the first hours of their captivity, and which had
not yet forsaken them.  Might not this process be a prelude to some
fearful sacrifice?

Even the females were not exempted from this disgusting desecration of
God's image; and they too, one after another, were passed through the
hands of the rough operators, with an accompaniment of brutal jests, and
peals of ribald laughter!

Volume One, Chapter VI.

JOWLER AND JESSURON.

Almost on the same instant that the slave-barque had dropped anchor, a
small boat shot out from the silent shore; which, as soon as it had got
fairly clear of the land, could be seen to be steering in the direction
of the newly-anchored vessel.

There were three men in the boat--two of whom were plying the oars.
These were both black men--naked, with the exception of dirty white
trousers covering their limbs, and coarse palm-leaf hats upon their
heads.

The third occupant of the skiff--for such was the character of the
boat--was a white, or more properly, a _whitish_ man.  He was seated in
the stern-sheets, with a tiller-rope in each hand; and steering the
craft--as his elbows held a-kimbo, and the occasional motion of his arms
testified.  He bore not the slightest resemblance to the oarsmen, either
in the colour of his skin, or the costume that covered it.  Indeed, it
would not have been easy to have found his counterpart anywhere either
on land or at sea.

He appeared to be about sixty years old--he might have been more or
less--and had once been white; but long exposure to a West Indian sun,
combined with the numerous dirt-bedaubed creases and furrows in his
skin, had darkened his complexion to the hue of leaf-tobacco.

His features, naturally of an angular shape, had become so narrowed and
sharpened by age as to leave scarce anything in front; and to get a view
of his face it was necessary to step to one side, and scan it _en
profil_.

Thus viewed, there was breadth enough, and features of the most
prominent character--including a nose like the claw of a lobster--a
sharp, projecting chin--with a deep embayment between, marking the
locality of the lips: the outline of all suggesting a great resemblance
to the profile of a parrot, but still greater to that of a Jew--for
such, in reality was its type.

When the mouth was opened in a smile--a rare occurrence, however--only
two teeth could be detected within, standing far apart, like two
sentinels guarding the approach to the dark cavern within.

This singular countenance was lighted up by a pair of black, watery
orbs, that glistened like the eyes of an otter; and eternally glistened,
except when their owner was asleep--a condition in which it was said he
was rarely or never caught.

The natural blackness of his eyes was rendered deeper by contrast with
long white eyebrows running more than half-way around them, and meeting
over the narrow ridge of the nose.  Hair upon the head there was none--
that is, none that was visible--a skull-cap of whitish cotton-stuff
covering the whole crown, and coming down over both ears.  Over this was
a white beaver hat, whose worn nap and broken edges told of long
service.

A pair of large green goggles, resting on the humped bridge of his nose,
protected his eyes from the sun; though they might, perhaps, have been
worn for another purpose--to conceal the villainous expression of the
orbs that sparkled beneath them.

A sky-blue cloth coat, whitened by long wear, with metal buttons, once
bright, now changed to the hue of bronze; small-clothes of buff
kerseymere glistening with grease; long stockings, and tarnished
top-boots, made up the costume of this unique individual.  A large blue
cotton umbrella rested across his knees, as both hands were occupied in
steering the skiff.

The portrait here given--or, perhaps, it should be styled profile--is
that of Jacob Jessuron, the slave-merchant; an Israelite of Germanic
breed, but one in whom--it would not have been truth to say--there was
"no guile."

The two oarsmen were simply his slaves.

The little craft had put out from the shore--from a secluded spot at a
distance from the town, but still within view of it.  It was evidently
making for the newly-anchored barque; and evidently rowed at its best
speed.  Indeed, the steersman appeared to be urging his blacks to the
exertion of their utmost strength.  From time to time he was seen to
twist his body half round and look towards the town--as though he
expected or dreaded to see a rival boat coming from that quarter, and
was desirous to reach the barque ahead of her.

If such was his design it proved successful.  Although his little skiff
was a considerable time in traversing the distance from shore to ship--a
distance of at least a mile--he arrived at the point of his destination
without any other boat making its appearance.

"Sheep ahoy!" shouted he, as the skiff was pulled up under the larboard
quarter of the barque.

"Ay, ay!" responded a voice from above.  "Ish that Captain Showler I
hearsh?"

"Hilloo! who's there?" interrogated some one on the quarter-deck; and
the moment after, the sallow face of Captain Aminadab Jowler presented
itself at the gangway.

"Ah!  Mister Jessuron, that you, eh?  Determined to have fust peep at my
blackeys?  Well! fust kim, fust served; that's my rule.  Glad to see
you, old fellow.  How'd deo?"

"Fusht-rate!--fusht-rate!  I hopsh you're the same yourshelf, Captain
Showler.  How ish you for cargo?"

"Fine, old boy! got a prime lot this time.  All sizes, colours, and
_sexes_, too; ha! ha!  You can pick and choose to suit yourself, I
reckin.  Come! climb aboard, and squint your eye over 'em!"

The slave-merchant, thus invited, caught hold of the rope-ladder let
down for his accommodation; and scrambling up the ship's side with the
agility of an old ape, stepped upon the deck of the slaver.

After some moments spent in handshaking and other forms of gratulation;
proving that the trader and merchant were old friends--and as thick as
two thieves could possibly be--the latter fixed the goggles more firmly
on the ridge of his nose, and commenced his inspection of the "cargo."

Volume One, Chapter VII.

THE FOOLAH PRINCE.

On the quarter-deck of the slaver, and near the "companion," stood a man
of unique appearance--differing not only from the whites who composed
the crew, but also from the blacks and browns who constituted the cargo.

His costume, attitude, and some, other trivial circumstances, proclaimed
him as belonging neither to one nor the other.

He had just stepped up from the cabin, and was lingering upon the
quarter-deck.

Having the _entree_ of the first, and the privilege of remaining upon
the second, he could not be one of the "bales" of this human
merchandise; and yet both costume and complexion forbade the supposition
that he was of the slaver's crew.  Both denoted an African origin--
though his features were not of a marked African type.  Rather were they
Asiatic, or, more correctly, Arabian; but, in some respects, differing
also from Arab features.  In truth, they were almost European; but the
complexion again negatived the idea that the individual in question
belonged to any of the nationalities of Europe.  His hue was that of a
light Florentine bronze, with a tinge of chestnut.

He appeared to be about eighteen or nineteen years of age; with a person
well proportioned, and possessing the following characteristics:--A fine
arched eyebrow, spanning an eye full and rotund; a nose slightly
aquiline; thin, well-modelled lips; white teeth--whiter from contrast
with the dark shading on the upper lip--and over all an ample
_chevelure_ of jet-black hair, slightly curling, but not at all woolly.

In nothing did he differ more, from the dark-skinned helots of the hold,
than in his costume.  While none of these had any clothing upon their
bodies, or next to none, he, on the contrary, was splendidly
apparelled--his face, throat, arms, and limbs, from the knee to the
ankle, being the only parts not covered by a garment.

A sort of sleeveless tunic of yellow satin, with a skirt that just
reached below his knees, was bound around his waist by a scarf of
crimson China crape, the ends of which, hanging still lower, were
adorned with a fringe-work of gold.  Over the left shoulder rested
loosely another scarf of blue _burnous_ cloth, concealing the arm over
which it hung; while half hidden beneath its draping could be perceived
a scimitar in its richly-chased scabbard, with a hilt of carved ivory.
A turban on the head, and sandals of Kordofan leather upon the feet,
completed his costume.

Notwithstanding the Asiatic character of the dress, and the resemblance
of the wearer to those East Indians known as Lascars, he was a true
African--though not of that type which we usually associate with the
word, and which suggests a certain _negroism_ of features.  He was one
of a people entirely distinct from the negro--the great nation of the
Foolahs (Fellattas)--that race of shepherd warriors whose country
extends from the confines of Darfur to the shores of the Atlantic--the
lords of Sockatoo and Timbuctoo--those fanatic followers of the false
prophet who conspired the death of Laing, and murdered Mungo Park upon
the Quorra.  Of such race was the individual who stood on the
quarter-deck of the slaver.

He was not alone.  Three or four others were around him, who also
differed from the wretched creatures in the hold.  But their dresses of
more common material, as well as other circumstances, told that they
were his inferiors in rank--in short, his attendants.

The humble mien with which they regarded him, and the watchful attention
to his every look and gesture, proclaimed the habitual obedience to
which they were accustomed; while the turbans which they wore, and their
mode of salutation--the _salaam_--told of an obeisance Oriental and
slavish.

To the richness of the young man's attire was added a certain
haughtiness of mien that proclaimed him a person of rank--perhaps the
chieftain of some African tribe.

And such, in reality, he was--a Foolah prince, from the banks of the
Senegal.

There, neither his presence nor appearance would have attracted more
than passing observation; but here, on the western side of the Atlantic,
on board a slave-ship, both required explanation.

It was evident that he was not in the same category with his unfortunate
countrymen "between decks"--doomed to perpetual captivity.  There were
no signs that he had been treated as a captive, but the contrary.

How, then, was his presence on board the slave-barque to be accounted
for?  Was he a passenger?  In what relationship did he stand to the
people who surrounded him?

Such, though differently worded, were the interrogatories put by the
slave-merchant, as, returning from the fore-deck, after completing his
inspection of the cargo, his eyes for the first time fell upon the young
Fellatta.

"Blesh my shtars, Captain Showler!" cried he, holding up both hands, and
looking with astonishment at the turbaned individuals on the
quarter-deck.  "Blesh my shtars!" he repeated; "what ish all thish?
S'help my Gott! theesh fellows are not shlaves, are they?"

"No, Mister Jessuron, no.  They ain't slaves, not all on 'em ain't.
That 'ere fine fellow, in silk and satin, air a owner o' slaves hisself.
He air a prince."

"What dosh you say, Captin Showler? a prinshe?"

"Ye ain't 'stonished at that, air ye?  'Tain't the fust time I've had an
African prince for a passenger.  This yeer's his Royal Highness the
Prince Cingues, son o' the Grand Sultan of Foota-toro.  The other
fellows you see thar by him are his attendants--courteers as waits on
him.  That with the yellow turban's `gold stick;' him in blue 's `silver
stick;' an' t'other fellow's `groom o' the chamber,' I s'pose."

"Sultan of Foota-toro!" exclaimed the slave-merchant, still holding up
the blue umbrella in surprise; "King of the Cannibal Islandsh!  Aha, a
good shoke, Captain Showler!  But, serious, mine friend, what for hash
you tricked them out in this way?  They won't fetch a joey more in the
market for all theesh fine feathers."

"Seerus, Mister Jessuron, they're not for the market.  I sw'ar to ye the
fellur's a real Afrikin prince."

"African fiddleshtick!" echoed the slave-merchant with an incredulous
shrug.  "Come, worthy captin, what'sh the mashquerade about?"

"Not a bit of that, ole fellur!  'Sure ye the nigger's a prince, and my
passenger--nothing more or less."

"S'help you gott, ish it so?"

"So help me that!" emphatically replied the skipper.  "It's just as I've
told ye, Mister Jessuron."

"Blesh my soul!--a passenger, you shay?"

"Yes; and he's paid his passage, too--like a prince, as he is."

"But what's hish business here in Shamaica?"

"Ah! that's altogether a kewrious story, Mister Jessuron.  You'll hardly
guess his bizness, I reckon?"

"Lesh hear it, friend Showler."

"Well, then, the story air this: 'Bout twelve months ago an army o'
Mandingoes attacked the town of Old Foota-toro, and, 'mong other
plunder, carried off one o' his daughters--own sister to the young
fellur you see there.  They sold her to a West India trader; who, in
course, brought the girl over here to some o' the islands; which one
ain't known.  Old Foota-toro, like the rest o' 'em, thinks the slaves
are all fetched to one place; and as he's half beside himself 'bout the
loss of this gurl--she war his favourite, and a sort of a court belle
among 'em--he's sent the brother to search her out, and get her back
from whoever hez purchased her on this side.  There's the hul story for
you."

The expression that had been gathering on the countenance of the Jew,
while this relation was being made to him, indicated something more than
a common interest in the tale--something beyond mere curiosity.  At the
same time, he seemed as if trying to conceal any outward sign of
emotion, by preserving, as much as possible, the rigidity of his
features.

"Blesh my soul!" he exclaimed, as the skipper had concluded.  "Ash I
live, a wonderful shtory!  But how ish he ever to find hish sister?  He
might ash well look for a needle in a hayshtack."

"Wall, that's true enough," replied the slave-skipper.  "As for that,"
added he, with an air of stoical indifference, "'taint no business o'
mine.  My affair hez been to carry the young fellur acrost the Atlantic;
an' I'm willin' to take him back on the same tarms, and at the same
price, if he kin pay it."

"Did he pay you a goodsh price?" inquired the Jew, with evident interest
in the answer.

"He paid like a prince, as I've told you.  D'ye see that batch o' yellow
Mandingoes by the windlass yonder?"

"Yesh-yesh!"

"Forty there air--all told."

"Wen?"

"Twenty on 'em I'm to have for fetchin' him acrost.  Cheap enough, ain't
it?"

"Dirt sheep, friend Showler.  The other twenty?"

"They are _hisn_.  He's brought 'em with him to swop for the sister--
when he finds her."

"Ah, yesh! if he finds the girl."

"In coorse, if he finds her."

"Ach!" exclaimed the Jew, with a significant shrug of his shoulders;
"that will not be an easy bishness, Captin Showler."

"By Christopher Columbus, old fellow!" said the trader, apparently
struck with an idea; "now I think of it, you might gie him some help in
the findin' o' her.  I know no man more likely than yourself to be able
to pilot him.  You know everybody in the island, I reckon.  No doubt he
will pay you well for your trouble.  I'm rayther anxious he should
succeed.  King Foota-toro is one of my best sources of supply; and if
the gurl could be found and took back, I know the old nigger would do
the handsome to me on my next trip to the coast."

"Well, worthy captin, I don't know that there's any hope, and won't hold
out any to hish royal highnesh the prince.  I'm not as able to get about
ash I ushed to was; but I'll try my besht for you.  As you shay, I might
do something towardsh putting him in the way.  Well, we'll talk it over;
but let ush first settle our other bishness, or all the world will be
aboard.  Twenty, you shay, are his?"

"Twenty of them 'ere Mandingoes."

"Hash he anything besides?"

"In cash? no, not a red cent.  Men and women are the dollars of his
country.  He hez the four attendants, you see.  They air his slaves like
the others."

"Twenty-four, then, in all.  Blesh my soul!  What a lucky fellow ish
this prinsh.  Maybe I can do something for him; but we can talk it over
in the cabin, and I'm ready for something to drink, worthy Showler."

"Ah!" he exclaimed, as, on turning round, he perceived the group of
girls before mentioned.  "Blesh my soul!  Some likely wenches.  Just the
sort for chambermaids," added he, with a villainously significant look.
"How many of that kind hash you got, good Showler?"

"About a dozen," jocularly responded the skipper; "some splendid
breeders among 'em, if you want any for that bizness."

"I may--I may.  Gad! it's a valuable cargo--one thing with another!
Well, let ush go below," added he, turning towards the companion.
"What's in your locker?  I musht have a drink before I can do bishness.
Likely wenches!  Gad--a valuable cargo!"

Smacking his lips, and snapping his fingers as he talked, the old
reprobate descended the companion stairway--the captain of the slaver
following close behind him.

We know not, except by implication, the details of the bargaining that
took place below.  The negotiation was a secret one--as became the
nature of any transaction between two such characters as a slave-dealer
and a slave-stealer.

It resulted, however, in the purchase of the whole cargo; and in so
short a time, that just as the sun sank into the sea, the gig, cutter,
and long-boat of the slaver were lowered into the water; and, under the
darkness of night, the "bales" were transported to the shore, and landed
in the little cove whence the skiff of the slave-merchant had put out.

Amongst them were the twenty Mandingoes, the attendants of the prince,
and the "wenches," designed for improving the breed on Jessuron's
plantation: for the slave-merchant was also a land-proprietor and
planter.

The skiff was seen returning to the shore, a cable's-length in the wake
of the other boats.  Now, however, a fourth personage appeared in it,
seated in the stern, face to face with the owner.  The gaily-coloured
costume, even in the darkness, shining over the calm shadowy surface of
the sea, rendered it easy to recognise this individual as the Foolah
prince.  The wolf and the lamb were sailing in the same boat.

Volume One, Chapter VIII.

A HANDSOME OFFER.

On the day after the slave-ship had landed her cargo, and at an early
hour in the morning, Mr Vaughan, looking from the front window of his
house, perceived a solitary horseman approaching by the long avenue.

As the stranger drew nearer, the animal he bestrode appeared gradually
to transform itself into a mule; and the rider was seen to be an old
gentleman in a blue coat, with metal buttons, and ample outside
pockets--under which were breeches and top-boots, both sullied by long
wear.  A damaged brown beaver hat upon his head, with the edge of a
white cotton skull-cap showing beneath it--green goggles upon the nose--
and a large blue umbrella, instead of a whip, grasped in the right
hand--enabled Mr Vaughan to identify one of his nearest neighbours: the
penn-keeper Jacob Jessuron, who, among other live stock, was also known
as an extensive speculator in slaves.

"The old Jew!" muttered Mr Vaughan, with an accent that betokened a
certain degree of discontent.  "What can _he_ want at this early hour?
Some slave stock for sale, I suppose?  That looked like a trader I saw
yesterday in the offing; and he's sure to have had a lot or two out of
her.  Well, he won't find a market here.  Fortunately, I'm stocked.
Morning, Mr Jessuron!" continued he, hailing his visitor as the latter
dismounted by the bottom of the stairway.  "As usual, you are early
abroad.  Business, eh?"

"Ach, yesh, Mishter Vochan!  Bishness must be minded.  A poor man like
me can't afford to shleep late theesh hard times!"

"Ha! ha!  Poor man, indeed!  That's a capital joke, Mr Jessuron!  Come
in.  Have you breakfasted?"

"Yesh, thanks, Mishter Vochan," replied the Jew, as he climbed up the
steps.  "I always breakfasht at six."

"Oh, that is early!  A glass of swizzle, then?"

"Thanks, Mishter Vochan; you ish very kind.  A glash of shwizzell will
be better ash anything else.  Itsh warm thish morning."  The _swizzle_,
a mixture of rum, sugar, water, and lime-juice, was found in a large
punch-bowl that stood upon the sideboard, with a silver ladle resting
across the rim, and glasses set around it.  This is a standing drink in
the dwelling of a Jamaica planter--a fountain that may be said never to
go dry, or, at all events, renewed as soon as exhausted.

Stepping up to the sideboard, where he was attended to by a black
butler, the penn-keeper briskly quaffed off a tumbler of the swizzle;
and then smacking his lips, and adding the observation, "'Tish goot!" he
returned towards the window, where a chair had been placed for him
beside the one already occupied by his host.

The visitor removed his beaver hat, though the white skull-cap--not over
clean--was still permitted to keep its place upon his head.

Mr Vaughan was a man possessed of considerable courtesy, or at least,
an affectation of it.  He remained silent, therefore, politely waiting
for his guest to initiate the conversation.

"Well, Mishter Vochan," began the Jew, "I hash come over to see you on a
shmall bishness--a very shmall bishness it is, shcarcely worth troubling
you about."

Here the speaker hesitated, as if to put some proposition into shape.

"Some black stock for sale, eh?  I think I've heard that a cargo came in
yesterday.  You got part, I suppose?"

"Yesh, yesh, I bought a shmall lot, a very shmall lot.  I hadn't the
monish to buy more.  S'help me gott! the shlaves ish getting so dear ash
I can't afford to buy.  This talk about shtoppin' the trade ish like to
ruin ush all.  Don't you think so, Mishter Vochan?"

"Oh, as for that, _you_ needn't fear.  If the British Government should
pass the bill, the law will be only a dead letter.  They could never
guard the whole of the African coast--no, nor that of Jamaica neither.
I think, Mr Jessuron, you would still contrive to land a few bales,
eh?"

"Ach, no, Mishter Vochan! dear, oh dear, no!  I shouldn't venture
againsht the laws.  If the trade ish to be stop, I musht give up the
bishness.  Slaves would be too dear for a poor Jewsh man like me to deal
in: s'help me, yesh! they're too dear ash it ish."

"Oh, that's all nonsense about their getting dearer!  It's very well for
you to talk so, Mr Jessuron: you have some to sell, I presume?"

"Not now, Mishter Vochan, not now.  Posshible, I may have a shmall lot
to dishpose of in a day or two; but joosht now, I haven't a shingle head
ready for the market.  Thish morning I want to buy, instead of shell."

"To buy!  From me, do you mean?"

"Yesh, Mishter Vochan, if you're disposed to shell."

"Come, that's something new, neighbour Jessuron!  I know you're always
ready for a trade; but this is the first time I ever heard of you buying
slaves on a plantation."

"Well, the truth ish, Mishter Vochan, I hash a cushtomer, who wants a
likely wench for waiting at hish table.  Theresh none among my shtock,
he thinks good enough for hish purposh.  I wash thinking you hash got
one, if you could shpare her, that would suit him nishely."

"Which do you mean?"

"I mean that young Foolah wench ash I sold you lasht year--joosh after
crop time."

"Oh! the girl Yola?"

"Yesh, I think that wosh her name.  Ash you had her dirt sheep, I don't
mind giving you shomething on your bargain--shay ten pounds currenshy?"

"Poh, poh, poh!" replied the planter, with a deprecating shrug.  "That
would never do--even if I meant to sell the girl.  But I have no wish to
part with her."

"Shay twenty, then?"

"Nor twice twenty, neighbour.  I wouldn't, under any circumstances, take
less than two hundred pounds for that girl.  She has turned out a most
valuable servant--"

"Two hunder poundsh!" interrupted the Jew, starting up in his chair.
"Och!  Mishter Vochan, theresh not a black wench in the island worth
half the monish.  Two hunder poundsh!  Blesh my soul, that ish a prishe!
I wish I could shell some of my shtock at that prishe!  I'd be glad to
give any two I hash for two hunder poundsh."

"Why, Mr Jessuron!  I thought you said just now slaves were getting
very dear?"

"Dear, yesh; but that is doublish dear.  S'help me gott!  You don't mean
it, Mishter Vochan?"

"But I do mean it; and even if you were to offer me two hundred--"

"Don't shay more about it," said the slave-merchant, hurriedly
interrupting the hypothetical speech; "don't shay more; I agreesh to
give it.  Two hunder poundsh!--blesh my shtars! it'll make a bankrup' of
me."

"No, it will not do that: since I cannot agree to take it."

"Not take two hunder poundsh?"

"No--nor twice that sum."

"Gott help ush, Mishter Vochan; you ish shurely shokin?  Why will you
not take two hunder?  I hash the monish in my pocket."

"I am sorry to disappoint you, neighbour; but the fact is, I could not
sell the girl Yola at any price, without the consent of my daughter--to
whom I have given her."

"Mish Vochan?"

"Yes--she is her maid; and I know that my daughter is very fond of her.
It is not likely she would consent to the girl's being sold."

"But, Mishter Vochan! you shurely don't let your daughter shtand between
you and a good bargain?  Two hunder poundsh is big monish--big monish,
Cushtos.  The wench ish not worth half ash much, and, for myshelf, I
wouldn't give half; but I don't want to dishappoint a good cushtomer,
who'sh not so particular ash to prishe."

"Your customer fancies the girl, eh?" said Mr Vaughan, glancing
significantly at his guest.  "She is very good-looking--no wonder.  But,
if that be the reason for his wanting to buy her, I may as well tell
you, I should myself not be inclined to part with her; and, as for my
daughter, if she suspected such a purpose, all the money you have got,
Mr Jessuron, wouldn't reach the price of Yola."

"S'help me gott, Mishter Vochan, you're mishtaken!  The cushtomer I
speak of never shet hish eyes on the wench.  Itsh only a waiting-maid he
wants for hish table; and I thought of her, ash she'sh joost what he
deshcribes.  How do you know that Mish Vochan might not conshent to let
her go?  I promish to get her another young girl ash goot or better ash
Yola."

"Well," replied the planter, after a moment's reflection, and apparently
tempted by the handsome offer, "since you seem so determined upon buying
the wench, I'll consult my daughter about it.  But I can hold out very
little hope of success.  I know that she likes this young Foolah.  I
have heard that the girl was some king's daughter in her own country;
and I am as good as certain Kate won't consent to her being sold."

"Not if _you_ wished it, Mishter Vochan?"

"Oh, if I insisted upon it, of course; but I gave my daughter a promise
not to part with the girl against her wish, and I never break my word,
Mr Jessuron--not to my own child."

With this rather affected profession, the planter walked out of the
room, leaving the slave-merchant to his reflections.

"May the diffel strike me dead if that man ishn't mad!" soliloquised the
Jew, when left to himself; "shtark shtarin mad! refuse two hunder
poundsh for a she wench ash brown ash a cocoa-nut!  Blesh my shtars!"

"As I told you, Mr Jessuron," said the planter, re-entering the hall,
"my daughter is inexorable.  Yola cannot be sold."

"Good morning, Mishter Vochan," said the slave-merchant, taking up his
hat and umbrella, and making for the door.  "Good morning, shir: I hash
no other bishness to-day."

Then, putting on his hat and grasping his umbrella, with an air of
spitefulness he was unable to conceal, he hurried down the stone steps,
scrambled upon the back of his mule, and rode away in sullen silence.

"Unusually free with, his money this morning," said the planter, looking
after him.  "Some shabby scheme, I have no doubt.  Well, I suppose I
have thwarted it; besides, I am glad of an opportunity of disobliging
the old curmudgeon: many's the time he has done as much for me!"

Volume One, Chapter IX.

JUDITH JESSURON.

In the most unamiable of tempers did the slave-speculator ride back down
the avenue.  So out of sorts was he at the result of his interview, that
he did not think of unfolding his blue umbrella to protect himself from
the hot rays of the sun, now striking vertically downward.  On the
contrary, he used the _parapluie_ for a very different purpose--every
now and then belabouring the ribs of his mule with it: as if to rid
himself of his spleen by venting it on the innocent mongrel.

Nor did he go in silence, although he was alone.  In a kind of
involuntary soliloquy he kept muttering, as he rode on, long strings of
phrases denunciatory of the host whose roof he had just quitted.

The daughter, too, of that host came in for a share of his muttered
denunciations, which at times, assumed the form of a menace.

Part of what he said was spoken distinctly and with emphasis:--

"The dusht off my shoosh, Loftish Vochan--I flingsh it back to you!
Gott for damsch! there wash a time when you would be glad for my two
hunder poundsh.  Not for any monish?  Bosh!  Grand lady, Mish Kate--Mish
Quasheby!  Ha!  I knowsh a thing--I knowsh a leetle thing.  Some day,
may be, yourshelf sell for lesh ash two hunder poundsh.  Ach!  I not
grudgsh twice the monish to see that day!

"The dusht off my shoosh to both of yoush!" he repeated, as he cleared
the gate-entrance.  "I'sh off your grounds, now; and, if I hash you
here, I shay you something of my mind--something ash make you sell your
wench for lesh ash two hunder poundsh!  I do so, some time, pleash gott!
Ach!"

Uttering this last exclamation with a prolonged aspirate, he raised
himself erect in his stirrups; and, half turning his mule, shook his
umbrella in a threatening manner towards Mount Welcome--his eye
accompanying the action with a glance that expressed some secret but
vindictive determination.

As he faced back into the road, another personage appeared upon the
scene--a female equestrian, who, trotting briskly up, turned her horse,
and rode along by his side.

She was a young girl, or, rather a young woman--a bright, beautiful
creature--who appeared an angel by the side of that demonlike old man.

She had evidently been waiting for him at the turning of the road; and
the air of easy familiarity, with the absence of any salutation as they
met, told that they had not long been separated.

Who was this charming equestrian?

A stranger would have asked this question, while his eye rested upon the
object of it with mingled feelings of wonder and admiration: admiration
at such rare beauty--wonder at beholding it in such rude companionship!

It was a beauty that need not be painted in detail.  The forehead of
noble arch; the scimitar-shaped eyebrows of ebon blackness; the
dark-brown flashing pupils; the piquant prominence of the nose, with its
spiral curving nostrils; were all characteristics of Hebraic beauty--a
shrine before which both Moslem and Christian have ofttimes bent the
knee in humblest adoration.

Twenty cycles have rolled past--twenty centuries of outrage, calumny,
and wrong--housed in low haunts--pillaged and persecuted--oft driven to
desperation--rendered roofless and homeless--still, amid all, and in
spite of all, lovely are Judah's dark-eyed daughters--fair as when they
danced to the music of cymbal and timbrel, or, to the accompaniment of
the golden-stringed harp, sang the lays of a happier time.

Here, in a new world, and canopied under an occidental sky, had sprung
up a very type of Jewish beauty: for never was daughter of Judah
lovelier than the daughter of Jacob Jessuron--she who was now riding by
his side.

A singular contrast did they present as they rode together--this fair
maid and that harsh-featured, ugly old man--unlike as the rose to its
parent thorn.

Sad are we to say, that the contrast was only physical morally, it was
"like father like daughter."  In external form, Judith Jessuron was an
angel; in spirit--and we say it with regret--she was the child of her
father--devilish as he.

"A failure?" said this fair she, taking the initiative.  "Pah!  I
needn't have asked you: it's clear enough from your looks--though,
certes, that beautiful countenance of yours is not a very legible index
to your thoughts.  What says Vanity Vaughan?  Will he sell the girl?"

"No."

"As I expected."

"S'help me, he won't!"

"How much did you bid for her?"

"Och!  I'sh ashamed to tell you, Shoodith."

"Come, old rabbi, you needn't be backward before me.  How much?"

"Two hunder poundsh."

"Two hundred pounds!  Well, that is a high figure!  If what you've told
me be true, his own daughter isn't worth so much.  Ha! ha! ha!"

"Hush, Shoodith, dear!  Don't shpeak of that--for your life don't shpeak
of it.  You may shpoil some plansh I hash about her."

"Have no fear, good father.  I never spoiled any plan of yours yet--have
I?"

"No, no!  You hash been a good shild, my daughter!--a good shild, s'help
me gott, you hash."

"But tell me; why would the Custos not sell?  He likes money almost as
well as yourself.  Two hundred pounds is a large price for this
copper-coloured wench--quite double what she's worth."

"Ach, Shoodith dear, it wash not Vochan hishelf that refused it."

"Who then?"

"Thish very daughter you speaksh of."

"She!" exclaimed the young Jewess, with a curl of the lip, and a
contemptuous twist of her beautiful nostril, that all at once changed
her beauty into very ugliness.  "She, you say?  I wonder what next!  The
conceited _mustee_--herself no better than a slave!"

"Shtop--shtop, Shoodith," interrupted the Jew, with a look of
uneasiness.  "Keep that to yourshelf, my shild.  Shay no more about it--
at leasht, not now, not now.  The trees may have earsh."

The burst of angry passion hindered the fair "Shoodith" from making
rejoinder, and for some moments father and daughter rode on in silence.

The latter was the first to re-commence the conversation.

"You are foolish, good father," said she; "absurdly foolish."

"Why, Shoodith?"

"Why?  In offering to buy this girl at all."

"Ay--what would you shay?" inquired the old Jew, as if the interrogatory
had been an echo to his own thoughts.  "What would you shay?"

"I would say that you are silly, old rabbi Jacob; and that's what I do
say."

"Blesh my shoul!  What dosh you mean, Shoodith?"

"Why, dear and worthy papa, you're not always so dull of comprehension.
Answer me: what do you want the Foolah for?"

"Och! you know what I wants her for, Thish prinshe will give hish twenty
Mandingoes for her.  There ish no doubt but that she's his sister.
Twenty good shtrong Mandingoes, worth twenty hunder poundsh.  Blesh my
soul! it'sh a fortune?"

"Well; and if it is a fortune, what then?"

"If it ish?  By our fathers! you talk of twenty hunder poundsh ash if
monish was dirt."

"My worthy parent, you misunderstand me."

"Mishunderstand you, Shoodith?"

"You do.  I have more respect for twenty hundred pounds than you give me
credit for.  So much, as that I advise you to _get it_."

"Get it! why, daughter, that ish shoosht what I am trying to do."

"Ay, and you've gone about it in such a foolish fashion, that you run a
great risk of losing it."

"And how would you have me go about it, mine Shoodith?"

"By _taking it_."

The slave-merchant suddenly jerked upon the bridle, and pulled his mule
to a stand--as he did so darting towards his daughter a look
half-puzzled, half-penetrating.

"Good father Jacob," continued she, halting at the same time, "_you_ are
not wont to be so dull-witted.  While waiting for you at the gate of
this pompous sugar-planter, I could not help reflecting; and my
reflections led me to ask the question: what on earth had taken you to
his house?"

"And what answer did you find, Shoodith?"

"Oh, not much; only that you went upon a very idle errand."

"Yesh, it hash been an idle errand: I did not get what I went for."

"And what matters if you didn't?"

"Mattersh it?  Twenty Mandingoes mattersh a great deal--twenty hunder
poundsh currenshy.  That ish what it mattersh, Shoodith mine darling!"

"Not the paring of a Mandingo's toe-nail, my paternal friend."

"Hach! what shay you, mine wise Shoodith?"

"What say I?  Simply, that these Mandingoes might as well have been
yours without all this trouble.  They may be yet--ay, and their master
too, if you desire to have a prince for your slave.  _I_ do."

"Speak out, Shoodith; I don't understand you."

"You will presently.  Didn't you say, just now, that Captain Jowler has
reasons for not coming ashore?"

"Captain Showler!  He would rather land in the Cannibal Islands than in
Montego Bay.  Well, Shoodith?"

"Rabbi Jessuron, you weary my patience.  For the Foolah prince--as you
say he is--you are answerable only to Captain Jowler.  Captain Jowler
comes not ashore."

"True--it ish true," assented the Jew, with a gesture that signified his
comprehension of these preliminary premises.

"Who, then, is to hinder you from doing as you please in the matter of
these Mandingoes?"

"Wonderful Shoodith!" exclaimed the father, throwing up his arms, and
turning upon his daughter a look of enthusiastic admiration.  "Wonderful
Shoodith!  Joosh the very thing!--blesh my soul!--and I never thought of
it!"

"Well, father; luckily it's not too late.  _I_ have been thinking of it.
I knew very well that Kate Vaughan would not part with the girl Yola.
I told you she wouldn't; but, by the bye, I hope you've said nothing of
what you wanted her for?  If you have--"

"Not a word, Shoodith! not a word!"

"Then no one need be a word the wiser.  As to Captain Jowler--"

"Showler daren't show hish face in the Bay: that'sh why he landed hish
cargo on the coast.  Besides, there wash an understanding between him
and me.  He doeshn't care what ish done with the prinshe--not he.
Anyhow, he'll be gone away in twenty-four hours."

"Then in twenty-four hours the Mandingoes may be yours--prince,
attendants, and all.  But time is precious, papa.  We had better hasten
home at once, and strip his royal highness of those fine feathers before
some of our curious neighbours come in and see them.  People will talk
scandal, you know.  As for our worthy overseer--"

"Ah, Ravener! he knowsh all about it.  I wash obliged to tell him ash we
landed."

"Of course you were; and it will cost you a Mandingo or two to keep
_his_ tongue tied: that it will.  For the rest, there need be no
difficulty.  It won't matter what these savages may say for themselves.
Fortunately, there's no scandal in a black man's tongue."

"Wonderful Shoodith!" again exclaimed the admiring parent.  "My precious
daughter, you are worth your weight in golden guinish!  Twenty-four
shlaves for nothing, and one of them a born prinshe!  Two thousand
currenshy!  Blesh my soul!  It ish a shplendid profit--worth a whole
year's buyin' and shellin'."  And with this honest reflection, the
slave-merchant hammered his mule into a trot, and followed his "precious
Shoodith"--who had already given the whip to her horse, and was riding
rapidly homeward.

Volume One, Chapter X.

THE SEA NYMPH.

On the third day after the slaver had cast anchor in the Bay of Montego,
a large square-rigged vessel made her appearance in the offing; and,
heading shoreward, with all sail set, stood boldly in for the harbour.
The Union Jack of England, spread to the breeze, floated freely above
her taffrail; and various boxes, bales, trunks, and portmanteaus, that
could be seen on her deck--brought up for debarkation--as well as the
frank, manly countenances of the sailors who composed her crew,
proclaimed the ship to be an honest trader.  The lettering upon her
stern told that she was the "_Sea Nymph_, of Liverpool."

Though freighted with a cargo of merchandise, and in reality a
merchantman, the presence on board of several individuals in the costume
of landsmen, denoted that the _Sea Nymph_ also accommodated passengers.

The majority of these were West India planters, with their families,
returning from a visit to the mother country--their sons, perhaps, after
graduating at an English university, and their daughters on having
received their final _polish_ at some fashionable metropolitan seminary.

Here and there an "attorney"--a constituent element of West Indian
society, though not necessarily, as the title suggests, a real limb of
the law.  Of the latter there might have been one or two, with a like
number of unpractised disciples of Aesculapius; both lawyer and doctor
bent on seeking fortune--and with fair prospects of finding it in a land
notorious for crime as unwholesome in clime.  These, with a sprinkling
of nondescripts, made up the list of the _Sea Nymph's_ cabin-passengers.

Among these nondescripts was one of peculiarities sufficiently
distinctive to attract attention.  A single glance at this personage
satisfied you that you looked upon a London Cockney, at the same time a
West-End exquisite of the very purest water.  He was a young man who had
just passed the twenty-first anniversary of his birth; although the
indulgence of youthful dissipation had already brushed the freshness
from his features, giving them the stamp of greater age.  In complexion
he was fair--pre-eminently so--with hair of a light yellowish hue, that
presented the appearance of having been artificially curled, and
slightly darkened by the application of some perfumed oil.  The whiskers
and moustache were nearly of the same colour; both evidently cultivated
with an elaborate assiduity, that proclaimed excessive conceit in them
on the part of their owner.

The eyebrows were also of the lightest shade; but the hue of the eyes
was not so easily told: since one of them was kept habitually closed;
while a glancing lens, in a frame of tortoise-shell, hindered a fair
view of the other.  Through the glass, however, it appeared of a
greenish grey, and decidedly "piggish."

The features of this individual were regular enough, though without any
striking character; and of a cast rather effeminate than vulgar.  Their
prevailing expression was that of a certain superciliousness, at times
extending to an affectation of sardonism.

The dress of the young man was in correspondence with the foppery
exhibited in the perfumed locks and eye-glass.  It consisted of a
surtout of broadcloth, of a very light drab, with a cape that scarce
covered the shoulders; a white beaver hat; vest and pants of spotless
huff kerseymere; kid gloves on his hands; and boots, blight as lacquer
could make them, on his feet.  These items of apparel, made in a style
of fashion and worn with an air of _savoir faire_, loudly proclaimed the
London fop of the time.

The affected drawl in which the gentleman spoke, whenever he
condescended to hold communion with his fellow-passengers, confirmed
this character.

Notwithstanding a certain ill-disguised contempt with which he was
regarded by some of his fellow-voyagers, not a few treated him with
marked deference; and the obeisance paid him by the steward and cabin
boys of the _Sea Nymph_ gave evidence of his capability to bestow a
liberal largess.  And such capability did he possess: for Mr Montagu
Smythje, the individual in question, was a youth of good family and
fortune--the latter consisting of a magnificent sugar estate in Jamaica,
left him by a deceased relative, to visit which was the object of his
voyage.

The estate he had never seen, as this was his first trip across the
Atlantic; but he had no reason to doubt the existence of the property.
The handsome income which it had afforded him, during several years of
his minority, and which had enabled him to live in magnificent style in
the most fashionable circles of London society, was a substantial proof
that Montagu Castle--such was the name of the estate--was something more
than a castle in the air.  During his minority, the estate had been
managed by a _trustee_ resident in the island: one Mr Vaughan, himself
a sugar-planter, whose plantation adjoined that of Montagu Castle.

Mr Smythje had not come over the water with any intention of settling
upon his Jamaica estate.  "Such an ideaw," to use his own phraseology,
"nevwaw entawed ma bwain.  To exchange London and its pwesyaws for a
wesidence among those haw-ed niggaws--deaw, no--I could nevwaw think of
such a voluntawy banishment; that would be a baw--a decided baw!"  "A
meaw twip to see something of the twopics, of which I've heard such
extwaor'nary stowies--have a look at my sugaw plantation and the dem'd
niggaws--besides, I have a stwong desire to take a squint at these
Queeole queetyaws, who are said to be so dooced pwetty.  Haw! haw!"

After such fashion did Mr Montagu Smythje explain the purpose of his
voyage to such of his fellow-passengers as chanced to take an interest
in it.

There were but few travellers in the steerage of the _Sea Nymph_.  They
who are compelled to adopt that irksome mode of voyaging across the
Atlantic have but little errand to the West Indies, or elsewhere to
tropical lands--where labour is monopolised by the thews and sinews of
the slave.  Only three or four of this class had found accommodation on
board the _Sea Nymph_; and yet among these humble voyagers was one
destined to play a conspicuous part in our story.

The individual in question was a young man, in appearance of the same
age as Mr Montagu Smythje, though differing from the latter in almost
everything else.  In stature he was what is termed "middle height," with
limbs well set and rounded, denoting activity and strength.  His
complexion, though not what is termed _brunette_, was dark for a native
of Britain, though such was he.

His features were nobly defined; and his whole countenance sufficiently
striking to attract the attention of even an indifferent observer.
Dark-brown eyes, and hair of like colour, curling jauntily over his
cheeks, were characteristic points of gracefulness; and, take him all in
all, he was what might justly be pronounced a handsome young fellow.

The garments he wore were his best--put on for the first time during the
voyage, and for the grand occasion of _landing_.  A dark blue tunic
frock, faced with black braid, skirting down over a pair of
close-fitting tights, and Hessian boots, gave him rather a _distingue_
air, notwithstanding a little threadbarishness apparent along the seams.

The occupation in which the young man was engaged betrayed a certain
degree of refinement.  Standing near the windlass, in the blank leaf of
a book, which appeared to be his journal, he was sketching the harbour
into which the ship was about to enter; and the drawing exhibited no
inconsiderable degree of artistic skill.

For all that, the sketcher was _not_ a professional artist.
Professionally, indeed, and to his misfortune, he was nothing.  A poor
scholar--without trick or trade by which he might earn a livelihood--he
had come out to the West Indies, as young men go to other colonies, with
that sort of indefinite hope, that Fortune, in some way or other, might
prove kinder abroad than she had been at home.

Whatever hopes of success the young colonist may have entertained, they
were evidently neither sanguine nor continuous.  Though naturally of a
cheerful spirit, as his countenance indicated, a close observer might
have detected a shadow stealing over it at intervals.

As the ship drew near to the shore, he closed the book, and stood
scanning the gorgeous picture of tropical scenery, now, for the first
time, disclosed to his eyes.

Despite the pleasant emotions which so fair a scene was calculated to
call forth, his countenance betrayed anxiety--perhaps a doubt as to
whether a welcome awaited him in that lovely land upon which he was
looking.

Only a few moments had he been thus occupied, when a strange voice
falling upon his ear caused him to turn towards the speaker--in whom he
recognised the distinguished cabin-passenger, Mr Montagu Smythje.

As this gentleman had voyaged all the way from Liverpool to Jamaica
without once venturing to set his foot across the line which separates
the sacred precincts of the quarter from the more plebeian for'ard deck,
his presence by the windlass might have been matter of surprise.

A circumstance, however, explained it.  It was the last hour of the
voyage.  The _Sea Nymph_ was just heading into the harbour; and the
passengers of all degrees had rushed forward, in order to obtain a
better view of the glorious landscape unfolding itself before their
eyes.  Notwithstanding his often-expressed antipathy to the "abom'nable
smell of taw" it was but natural that Mr Smythje should yield to the
general curiosity, and go forward among the rest.

Having gained an elevated stand-point upon the top of the windlass, he
had adjusted the glass to his eye, and commenced _ogling_ the landscape,
now near enough for its details to be distinguished.

Not for long, however, did Mr Smythje remain silent.  He was not one of
a saturnine habit.  The fair scene was inspiring him with a poetical
fervour, which soon found expression in characteristic speech.

"Dooced pwetty, 'pon honaw!" he exclaimed; "would make a spwendid
dwop-scene faw a theataw!  Dawnt yaw think so, ma good fwend?"

The person thus appealed to chanced to be the young steerage passenger;
who, during the long voyage, had abstained from going _abaft_ of the
main-mast with as much scrupulousness as Mr Smythje had observed about
venturing forward.  Hence it was that the voice of the exquisite was as
strange to him, as if he had never set eyes on that illustrious,
personage.

On perceiving that the speech was meant for himself, he was at first a
little nettled at its patronising tone; but the feeling of irritation
soon passed away, and he fixed his eyes upon the speaker, with a
good-humoured, though somewhat contemptuous expression.

"Aw--haw--it is yaw, my young fellaw," continued the exquisite, now for
the first time perceiving to whom he had made his appeal.  "Aw, indeed!
I've often observed yaw from the quawter-deck.  Ba Jawve! yes--a veway
stwange individwal!--incompwehensibly stwange!  May I ask--pawdon the
liberty--what is bwinging yaw out heaw--to Jamaica, I mean?"

"That," replied the steerage passenger, again somewhat nettled at the
rather free style of interrogation, "which is bringing yourself--the
good ship _Sea Nymph_."

"Aw, haw! indeed!  Good--veway good!  But, my deaw sir, that is not what
I meant."

"No?"

"No, I ashaw yaw.  I meant what bisness bwings yaw heaw.  P'waps you
have some pwofession?"

"No, not any," replied the young man, checking his inclination to
retaliate the impertinent style of his interrogator.

"A twade, then?"

"I am sorry to say I have not even a trade."

"No pwofession! no twade! what the dooce daw yaw intend dawing in
Jamaica?  P'waps yaw expect the situation of book-keepaw on a
pwantation, or niggaw-dwivaw.  Neithaw, I believe, requiaws much
expewience, as I am told the book-keepaw has pwositively no books to
keep--haw! haw! and shawly any fellaw, howevaw ignowant, may dwive a
niggaw.  Is that yaw expectation, my worthy fwend?"

"I have no expectation, one way or another," replied the young man, in a
tone of careless indifference.  "As to the business I may follow out
here in Jamaica, that, I suppose, will depend on the will of another."

"Anothaw! aw!--who, pway?"

"My uncle."

"Aw, indeed! yaw have an uncle in Jamaica, then?"

"I have--if he be still alive."

"Aw--haw! yaw are not shaw of that intewesting fact?  P'waps yaw've not
heard from him wately?"

"Not for years," replied the young steerage passenger, his poor
prospects now having caused him to relinquish the satirical tone which
he had assumed.  "Not for years," repeated he, "though I've written to
him to say that I should come by this ship."

"Veway stwange!  And pway, may I ask what bisness yaw uncle follows?"

"He is a planter, I believe."

"A sugaw plantaw?"

"Yes--he was so when we last heard from him."

"Aw, then, p'waps he is wich--a pwopwietor?  In that case he may find
something faw yaw to daw, bettaw than niggaw-dwiving.  Make yaw his
ovawseeaw.  May I know yaw name?"

"Quite welcome to it.  Vaughan is my name."

"Vawrn!" repeated the exquisite, in a tone that betrayed some
newly-awakened interest; "Vawn, did I understand yaw to say?"

"Herbert Vaughan," replied the young man, with firmer emphasis.

"And yaw uncle's name?"

"He is also called Vaughan.  He is my father's brother--or rather
_was_--my father is dead."

"Not Woftus Vawn, Esquire, of Mount Welcome?"

"Yes, Loftus Vaughan; my uncle is so called, and Mount Welcome is, I
believe, the name of his estate."

"Veway stwange! incompwehensibly stwange!  D'yaw know, my young fellaw,
that yaw and I appeaw to be making faw the same pawt.  Woftus Vawn, of
Mount Welcome, is the twustwee of my own pwoperty--the veway person to
whom I am consigned.  Deaw me! how dooced stwange if yaw and I should
yet be guests undaw the same woof!"

The remark was accompanied by a supercilious glance, that did not escape
the observation of the young steerage passenger.  It was this glance
that gave the true signification to the words, which Herbert Vaughan
interpreted as an insult.

He was on the point of making an angry rejoinder, when the exquisite
turned abruptly away--as he parted drawling out some words of
leave-taking, with the presumptive conjecture that they might meet
again.

Herbert Vaughan stood for a moment looking after him, an expression of
high contempt curling upon his lip.  Only for a short while, however,
did this show itself; and then, his countenance resuming its habitual
expression of good-nature, he descended into the steerage, to prepare
his somewhat scanty baggage for the debarkation.

Volume One, Chapter XI.

LOFTUS VAUGHAN ON THE LOOK-OUT.

Every day, after that on which he had received the two English letters--
and almost every hour during daylight--might Loftus Vaughan have been
seen, telescope in hand, at one of the front windows of his house,
sweeping with his glass the roadstead and offing of Montego Bay.

The object of this telescopic observation was, that he might descry the
_Sea Nymph_ before she had entered the harbour: in order that his
carriage should be at the port to receive the distinguished Smythje on
the moment of his landing.

At this period there were no steamers trading across the Atlantic,
punctual to a day, and almost to an hour.  Though the letter of advice
had been written several days before that on which the _Sea Nymph_ was
to sail, there could be no calculation made upon such uncertain data as
winds and waves; and the ship which carried Montagu Smythje might arrive
at any hour.

That some distinguished guest was expected, was a fact that had become
well-known to every domestic in the establishment of Mount Welcome.
Every day saw some article or articles of costly furniture brought home
from the "Bay"; and the chambers of the "great house" were being freshly
decorated to receive them.  The house-wenches and other indoor servants
were furnished with new dresses, some even with liveries--an unusual
piece of finery in Jamaica--while shoes and stockings were forced upon
feet that, perhaps, had never felt such _impedimenta_ before, and whose
owners would have been only too glad to have escaped the torture of
wearing them.

It need scarcely be said that the planter was undergoing all this
extravagant expenditure for the reception of Mr Montagu Smythje, and
him alone.  Had it been only his nephew that was expected, no such
continuous look-out would have been kept, and no such preparations made
to do him honour on his arrival.

Neither do Mr Vaughan's motives require explanation: the reader will
ere this have surmised them.  He was the father of a daughter ready at
any moment for marriage.  Mr Montagu Smythje was, in his eyes, not only
an eligible, but highly desirable, specimen for a son-in-law.  The young
man was possessed of a splendid property, as Mr Vaughan well knew: for
the worthy planter was not only Custos Rotulorum, but for many long
years had been custos of Montagu Castle, and could tell its value to a
shilling "currency."  It lay contiguous to his own.  He had looked with
a longing eye upon its broad acres and black retainers, until he had
become imbued with a desire, amounting indeed to a passion, to possess
it--if not in his own right, at least in that of his daughter.  The
union of the two estates, Mount Welcome and Montagu Castle, would make a
magnificent domain--one of the richest in the Island.

To accomplish this object had long been the wish of Loftus Vaughan.  It
had grown and grown upon him, till it had become the most cherished
purpose of his heart.

Let us not conceal a really creditable motive that Mr Vaughan had for
desiring this union.  He had been too long in Jamaica to be ignorant of
the true social position of his daughter.  However beautiful and
accomplished Kate Vaughan was; however much her father loved her--and,
to do him justice, his paternal affection was of the strongest--he knew
that her mother was a _quadroon_, and she only a _mustee_.  No matter
how little trace there might be of the _taint_--however imperceptible to
the outward eye--he knew that between her and the young gentlemen of his
acquaintance--that is, those who would have been eligible--there was
still enough to erect a certain social barrier.  He knew, moreover, that
young Englishmen, especially on their first arrival, make light of this
barrier; in fact, altogether disregard it, until corrupted by the
"society" of the island.

In his match-making designs the Jamaica planter was not more of a sinner
than hundreds of other parents both at home and abroad; and there is
this much in his favour: that, perhaps, his affection for his daughter,
and the desire of ennobling her--for by such an alliance would the
_taint be extinguished_--were the chief motives for the conduct he was
pursuing in regard to Montagu Smythje.

So far Mr Vaughan's conduct may be excused.  But, unfortunately, the
studied courtesy with which he was preparing to receive the lord of
Montagu Castle presented a damaging contrast to the discourtesy he had
designed for his kinsman.

In the latter case, both his acts and intentions were paltry beyond
parallel.

The announcement in the nephew's letter, that he had taken a _steerage
passage_, had been to his uncle a source of bitter chagrin.  Not that he
would have cared a whit about the thing, had the young fellow voyaged in
any other vessel than the _Sea Nymph_, or had he travelled unrecognised.
What troubled Mr Vaughan was the fear that the relationship might
become known to Mr Montagu Smythje, and thus create in the mind of the
latter a suspicion of his, the planter's, respectability.

The dread of this _expose_ so preyed upon Mr Vaughan's mind that, had
it been possible, he would have denied the relationship altogether.

He had conceived a hope that this recognition might not take place
during the voyage: building his hope on the character of the
aristocratic Cockney, which he knew to be a type of supercilious pride.
Confiding in the faith that nothing might transpire on board ship to
make Mr Smythje acquainted with the connection, he was determined there
should be no chance on shore.  To preclude the possibility of such a
thing, he had conceived a design as childish as it was cruel: his nephew
was to be _kept out of the way_.

The plan of action he had traced out long before the arrival of the _Sea
Nymph_.  Mr Montagu Smythje was to be met at the landing, and at once
hurried off to Mount Welcome.  Herbert Vaughan was likewise to be
conducted thither; but not direct.

A different means of transport was to be provided for him; and on his
arrival within the bounds of the plantation, he was to be taken by a
private road to the house of the overseer--which stood in a secluded
corner of the valley, nearly half a mile distant from the "Buff."

Here he was to remain as the guest of the latter, until such time as his
uncle could find a way of disposing of him--either by procuring some
employment for him at Montego Bay, or the situation of book-keeper on
some distant plantation.

With this ingenious contrivance did Mr

Vaughan await the arrival of his guests.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was upon the third day after receiving his letters of advice, and
near the hour of noon, that the planter, playing as usual with his
telescope, perceived in the offing of Montego Bay, and standing in for
the port, a large square-rigged vessel--a ship.

It might be the Sea Nymph, and it might not; but, taking into
consideration some circumstances, known to Mr Vaughan, the
probabilities were that it was the expected vessel.

Whether or no, the planter was determined that the programme, he had so
ingeniously sketched out, should _not_ be spoiled by any mismanagement
in the performance; and its execution was ordered upon the instant.

Bells were rung for a general muster of the domestics; a horn was
sounded to summon the overseer; and, in less than half an hour
afterwards, the family barouche--a handsome equipage, drawn by a pair of
splendidly-caparisoned horses--was on the road to the Bay, with the
overseer on horseback, riding as an escort behind it.

In rear of this went a waggon, to which eight large oxen were attached;
and behind the waggon appeared an escort _sui generis_: a rough negro
boy, mounted on the shaggiest of steeds, who was no other than the
post-boy already mentioned--the identical Quashie.

Quashie was not on his usual diurnal duty: his present errand was one of
a far more important character, and the duty confided to him of an
exceedingly delicate nature.

At this hour the great hall of Mount Welcome exhibited a scene that, to
the eye of a stranger to West Indian customs, might have appeared
curious enough.

Scattered over the floor, at certain distances from each other, were
some six or eight negro girls, or "wenches," as they are called, most of
them being of the younger brood of the plantation blacks.  All were down
on their knees--each one having by her side, and within reach of her
hand, an orange freshly cut in halves, some bees'-wax, and a portion of
the fibrous pericarp of a cocoa-nut.

The floor itself was without carpet of any kind; but instead of being of
plain deal, it presented a mosaic of hard woods, of different colours--
among which might be recognised the mahogany and heart-wood, the
bread-nut and bully-tree.

To give the tesselated surface a polish was the business of the dark
damsels on their knees; and for that purpose were the oranges and
cocoa-husks provided.

To an islander the sight was one of common, indeed daily, occurrence.
The lustre of his hall floor is a matter of pride with a Jamaica
planter; as much so as the quality or pattern of his drawing-room carpet
to a householder at home; and every day, and at the same hour, the
dark-skinned housemaids make their appearance, and renew the glitter of
the surface, whose gloss has been tarnished by the revels of the
preceding night.

The hour set apart for this quaint custom is just before laying the
cloth for dinner--about three or four o'clock; and that she may not
sully the polish while carrying in the dishes, the barefooted Abigail
adopts a plan that deserves mention on account of its originality.

Having provided herself with two small pieces of linen or cotton cloth,
she spreads them out upon the floor, and then places a foot upon each.
As the toes of a West Indian house-wench are almost as prehensile as her
fingers, she finds no difficulty in "cramping" the cloth and holding it
between the "big toe" and its nearest neighbour; and with this simple
_chaussure_ she is enabled to slide over the floor without in the least
degree "smoutching" its gloss, or leaving any sign of her passage over
its shining surface.

While such a busy scene was transpiring in the great hall of Mount
Welcome, one of a different character, but of equal activity, was going
on in the kitchen.  This "office" stood a little apart from the main
dwelling, communicating with its lower storey by a covered gallery.
Along this passage black and yellow wenches could be seen constantly
going and returning, each with her load--a haunch of venison, a ham of
the wild hog, a turtle, ramier pigeons, and mountain crabs, all on their
way to the spit, the stew-pan, or the chafing-dish.

A similar sight might have been witnessed at Mount Welcome any other day
in the year; but perhaps with a less abundant variety in the materials,
and with not half so much movement among the staff of wenches pertaining
to the _cuisine_--whose excited manner in the performance of their
specific duties testified, as much as the variety of luxuries lying
around, that on this particular day a repast of the most sumptuous kind
was expected from their skill.

Their master did not leave these preparations to be made without his own
personal surveillance.  From the time that the ship had been descried,
he was everywhere--in the stable, to look after the sable grooms; in the
kitchen, to instruct the cooks; in the great hall, to inspect the
polishing of the floor; and, at last, on the landing outside, standing,
telescope to his eye, and looking down the long avenue, where the
carriage containing his distinguished visitor might at any moment be
expected to make its appearance.

Volume One, Chapter XII.

KATE AND YOLA.

Occupying one corner of the mansion of Mount Welcome--that which was
farthest removed from the din and clangour of the kitchen--was a small
chamber, richly and elegantly furnished.  The light was admitted into it
on two sides through latticed windows, that, when open, left a free
passage from the floor to a little balcony outside--with which each of
the windows was provided.

One of these windows looked out to the rearward, commanding a view of
the garden, and the wooded steep beyond.  The other opened to the left
side of the house, upon the shrubbery grounds that extended in that
direction as far as the foot of the ridge.

Even had there been no one within this little chamber, the style and
character of its furniture would have told, that the person to whom it
appertained was of the gentler sex.

In one corner stood a bed, with carved posts of yellow lance wood; from
which hung what at first sight might have been taken for white muslin
curtains, but which, on closer scrutiny, could be seen to be the
gauze-like netting of a "mosquito bar."

The size of the bed told that it was intended for but one individual.
Its habitual occupant was therefore unmarried.

In the bay of one of the windows stood a dressing-table of _papier
mache_, inlaid with mother-of-pearl; and upon this was placed a mirror
of circular shape on a stand of the finest Spanish mahogany.

In front of the mirror was a variety of objects of different forms--
among which might be noticed the usual implements of the toilet, with
many of those eccentric little articles of _luxe_ and _vertu_, that
bespeak the refined presence of woman.

Other pieces of furniture in the room were three or four Chinese chairs;
a small marqueterie table; a work-box of tortoise-shell veneer, on a
pedestal of like material; and a little cabinet of ebony wood, richly
inlaid with buhl.

There was neither mantel nor fireplace--the climate of eternal summer
precluding all necessity for such "fixtures."

The window-curtains were of a thin transparent muslin, with a pattern of
pink flowering woven into the stuff, and bordered with a fringe of
alternate pink and white tassels.

A breeze, laden with the perfume of a thousand flowers, blowing in
through the open lattice-work of the jalousies, kept these light
hangings almost continually in motion, imparting an aspect of coolness
to the chamber.  This was further heightened by the glossy smoothness of
the hard-wood floor, which glistened under foot like a mirror.

No one could have glanced into this little apartment, without being
struck with its costly yet chaste adornment.  Rich and elegant, however,
as was the case, it was no more than worthy of the jewel which it was
accustomed to contain.  It was the bedroom and boudoir of "Lilly
Quasheba," the heiress _presumptive_ of Mount Welcome.

But few were ever favoured with a glance into that luxurious chamber.
It was a sacred precinct, into which curious eyes were not permitted to
penetrate.  Its polished floor was not to be trodden by vulgar feet.
With the exception of her father, no man had ever intruded into that
virgin shrine; and he, only on rare and extraordinary occasions.  Even
to the domestics it was not of free access.  Only one, besides its
mistress, could enter it unbidden--her brown-skinned handmaid Yola.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

On that same day--shortly after the ringing of the bells had announced
the arrival of the English ship, and while the dusky domestics were
engaged, as described, in their ante-prandial preparations--two
individuals occupied the chamber in question.

One was the young lady to whom the apartment pertained--the other her
maid.

They were in different attitudes: the mistress seated upon one of the
Chinese chairs in front of the window, while the maid was standing
behind, occupied in arranging her mistress's hair.

The girl was just entering upon her task--if we may so designate that
which many might have deemed a pleasure.  Already the complicated
machinery of combs and hair-pins lay strewed over the table; and the
long chestnut-coloured tresses hung in luxuriant confusion around those
shoulders of snow, in whose velvet-like epidermis there appeared no
trace of the _taint_.

Involuntarily the maid ceased from her task, and stood gazing upon her
young mistress with a look of instinctive admiration.

"Oh, beautiful!" exclaimed she, in a low, murmured voice; "you
beautiful, missa!"

"Tut, Yola: 'tis only flattery of you to say so!  You are as beautiful
as I; only your beauty is of a different order.  No doubt, in your
country you would be a great belle."

"Ah, missa, you belle anywhere--black man--white man--all think you
beautiful--all the same!"

"Thank you, Yola! but I shouldn't particularly desire to be the object
of such universal admiration.  For my part, I don't know one male biped
in whose eyes I care to appear attractive."

"Perhaps missa no so say, when come young buckra from Inglis' country!"

"Which buckra?--there are two of them expected from the English
country."

"Yola no hear two come.  Massa she hear speak of one--only one."

"Oh, you've heard speak of one only!  Did you hear his name mentioned?"

"Yes; he grand man--great lord--Sultan of Mongew.  He have other name--
Yola hear it; but she no sabbey speak it."

"Ha! ha! ha!  I don't wonder at that.  It's as much as I `sabbey' myself
to pronounce that second name: which I presume to be _Smythje_.  Is that
the name you heard?"

"That it, missa--he berry fine gentl'man, he beauty man.  Massa he so
tell Massr' Trusty."

"Ah, Yola! your master is a man, and men are not always the best judges
of one another's looks.  Perhaps the Sultan of Mongew, as you call him,
might not be such a pattern of perfection as papa describes him.  But no
doubt, we shall soon have an opportunity of judging for ourselves.  Did
you hear your master say nothing about another `buckra' that is
expected?"

"No, Missa Kate.  One only he speak of--dis same one of Mongew Castle."

A low ejaculation, expressive of disappointment, escaped the lips of the
young Creole, as she settled down into an attitude of silent reflection,
her eyes turned upon the shining floor at her feet.

It is not easy to tell why she put the last interrogatory.  Perhaps she
had some suspicion of her father's plans.  At all events, she knew there
was some mystery, and was desirous of penetrating it.

The maid was still gazing upon her, when all at once the dark Arab-like
features of the latter assumed a changed expression--the look of
admiration giving place to one of earnest inquiry, as if some strange
thought had occurred to her.

"Allah!" ejaculated she, still keeping her eyes fixed upon the face of
her mistress.

"Well, Yola," said the latter, attracted by the exclamation, and looking
up; "why do you call upon Allah?  Has anything occurred to you?"

"Oh! beauty missa! you so like one man."

"I like a man!  I resemble a man!  Is that what you mean?"

"Yes, missa.  Nebber see it before--you berry, berry like!"

"Well, Yola, you are certainly not flattering me now.  Who might this
man be?  I pray you tell me."

"He man of the mountains--Maroon."

"Oh! worse and worse!  I resemble a _Maroon_?  Gracious me!  Surely you
are jesting, Yola?"

"Oh! missa, he beauty man; roun black eyes that glance like the fire-fly
in the wood--eyes like yours--berry like you eyes, missa."

"Come, silly girl!" said the young lady, speaking in a tone of reproval,
more affected than real; "do you know that it is very naughty of you, to
compare me to a man--much more to a Maroon?"

"Oh!  Missa Kate, he beauty man--berry beauty man."

"That I doubt very much; but even were it so, you should not speak of
his resembling _me_."

"Me pardon, missa.  I no more so say."

"No, you had better not, good Yola.  If you do, I shall ask papa to
_sell_ you."

This was said in a tone of gentle raillery, which told that any
intention of carrying out the threat was far from the speaker's
thoughts.

"By the bye, Yola," continued the young lady, "I could get a good price
for you.  How much do you suppose I was offered for you the other day?"

"Missa Kate, I no know.  Allah forbid me you ebber leave!  If you no
more my missa, I care no more live."

"Thanks, Yola," said the young Creole, evidently touched by the words of
her attendant, the sincerity of which was proved by the tone in which
they were spoken.  "Be not afraid of my parting with you.  As proof that
I shall not, I refused a very large sum--how much, can you guess?"

"Ah! missa, I worth nothing to no one but you.  If I you forced leave, I
be no more happy in this world."

"Well, there is one who thinks you worth two hundred pounds, and has
offered that for you."

"Who, missa?"

"Why--he who sold you to papa--Mr Jessuron."

"Allah help poor Yola!  Oh! missa Kate, he bad master; he berry wicked
man.  Yola die--Cubina kill her!  Yola herself kill rather than she go
back to Jew slave-dealer!  Good missa!--beauty missa!--you no sell you
poor slave?"

The girl fell upon her knees at the feet of her young mistress, with her
hands clasped over her head, and for some moments remained in this
attitude.

"Don't fear my selling you," said the young lady, motioning the
suppliant to rise to her feet; "least of all to him--whom I believe to
be what you have styled him, a very wicked man.  Have no fear for that.
But tell me, what name was that you pronounced just now?  _Cubina_, was
it not?"

"Yes, missa, Cubina."

"And pray who is Cubina?"

The brown maid hesitated before making reply, while the crimson began to
show itself on her chestnut-coloured cheeks.

"Oh, never mind!" said her young mistress, noticing her hesitation.  "If
there's any secret, Yola, I shall not insist upon an answer."

"Missa, from you Yola no have secret.  Cubina, he mountain man--Maroon."

"What! is he the Maroon I am supposed to resemble?"

"True, missa, he same."

"Oh!  I see how it is--I suppose that accounts for you thinking _me_
beautiful?  This Cubina, no doubt, is a sweetheart of yours?"

Yola lowered her eyes without making reply.  The crimson appeared in
deeper tint through the chestnut.

"You need not answer, good Yola," said the young Creole, with a
significant smile.  "I know what your answer _ought_ to be, if you were
to speak your mind.  I think I have heard of this Cubina.  Have a care,
my girl!  These Maroons are a very different sort of men from the
coloured people on the plantations.  Like me, he is--ha! ha! ha!" and
the young beauty glanced coyly at the mirror.  "Well, Yola, I'm not
angry with you, since it is your sweetheart with whom I am compared.
Love, they say, is a wonderful beautifier; and no doubt Master Cubina
is, in your eyes, a perfect Endymion.

"Come girl!" added she, coquettishly tossing the chestnut tresses over
her shoulders of ivory, "I fear we have been wasting time.  If I'm not
ready to receive this grand guest, I'll get into trouble with papa.  Go
on, and trick me out in a style becoming the mistress of Mount Welcome."

With a peal of merry laughter at the air of grandeur she had thus
jestingly assumed, the young lady bent down her head, submitting her
magnificent _chevelure_ to the manipulation of her maid.

Volume One, Chapter XIII.

QUASHIE.

In less than half an hour after the brief conversation between Mr
Montagu Smythje and the young steerage passenger, the _Sea Nymph_ had
got warped into port, and was lying alongside the wharf.

A gangway-plank was stretched from the shore; and over this, men and
women, of all shades of colour, from blonde to ebony black, and of as
many different callings, came crowding aboard; while the passengers,
sick of the ship and everything belonging to her, hastened to get on
shore.

Half-naked porters--black, brown, and yellow--commenced wrangling over
the luggage--dragging trunks, boxes, and bags in every direction but the
right one, and clamouring their gumbo jargon with a volubility that
resembled the jabbering of apes.

On the wharf appeared a number of wheeled vehicles, that had evidently
been awaiting the arrival of the ship--not hackneys, as would have been
the case in a European port, but private carriages--some of them
handsome "curricles" drawn by a pair, and driven by black Jehus in
livery; others only gigs with a single horse, or two-wheelers of even an
inferior description--according to the wealth or style of the individual
for whose transport each had been brought to the port.

Waggons, too, with teams of oxen--some having eight in the yoke--stood
near the landing-place, waiting for baggage: the naked black drivers
lounging silently by the animals, or occasionally calling them by their
names, and talking to them, just as if their speeches had been
understood!

Among the different carriages ranged along the wharf, a handsome
barouche appeared conspicuous.  It was attached to a pair of
cream-coloured horses, splendidly caparisoned.  A mulatto coachman sat
upon the box, shining in a livery of lightest green, with yellow
facings; while a footman, in garments of like hue, attended at the
carriage-step, holding the door for some one to get in.

Herbert Vaughan, standing on the fore-deck of the _Sea Nymph_--as yet
undecided as to whether he should then go ashore--had noticed this
magnificent equipage.  He was still gazing upon it, when his attention
was attracted to two gentlemen, who, having walked direct from the
vessel, had just arrived by the side of the carriage.  A white servant
followed them; and behind were two negro attendants, carrying a number
of parcels of light luggage.  One of the gentlemen and the white servant
were easily recognised by Herbert: they were Mr Montagu Smythje and his
valet.

Herbert now recalled the odd expression made use of, but the moment
before, by his fellow-passenger--that he was "consigned" to the
proprietor of Mount Welcome.

The carriage having received Mr Montagu Smythje, and the footman having
mounted the box--leaving the rumble to the English valet--was driven off
at full speed; the second gentleman, who appeared to be an overseer,
following on horseback as an escort.

Herbert watched the receding vehicle, until a turn in the road hid it
from his view; and then, dropping his eyes towards the deck, he stood
for some moments in a reflective attitude,--revolving in his mind some
thoughts that were far from agreeable.

No one there to meet _him_ and bid him welcome!

The countenance of the young adventurer became clouded under the
influence of this thought; and he stood silently gazing upon the deck
with eyes that saw not.

"Sa!" said a negro boy, at this moment stepping up and interrupting his
reflections.

"Ha!" rejoined Herbert, looking up and perceiving, with some surprise,
that the darkey was regarding him with a fixed stare.  "What might you
want, my lad?  If it be money, I have none to give you."

"Money, sa? wharra fo' Quashie want money?  He do wha' massr bid.  Young
buckra ready go now?"

"Ready to go! where?--what mean you, boy?"

"Go fo' da great house."

"Great house! of what great house are you speaking?"

"Moun' Welc'm', sa--Massr Va'n.  You fo' Massr Va'n, sa?"

"What!" exclaimed Herbert, in surprise, at the same time scanning the
darkey from head to foot; "how do you know that, my boy?"

"Quashie know dat well 'nuf.  Cappen ob da big ship, obaseeah say so.
Obaseeah point out young buckra from de waff--he send Quashie fetch
young buckra to Moun' Welc'm'.  Ready go now, sa?"

"You are from Mount Welcome, then?"

"Ya, sa--me hoss-boy da, an' pose-boy--fetch pony for young Englis'
buckra.  Obaseeah he bring b'rouche for grand Englis' buckra.  Baggage
dey go in de ox-waggon."

"Where is your pony?"

"Up yonna, sa; on de waff, sa.  Ready go, sa?"

"All right," said Herbert, now comprehending the situation of affairs.
"Shoulder that portmanteau, and toss it into the waggon.  Which road am
I to take?"

"Can't miss um road, sa--straight up da ribber till you come to de
crossin'.  Dar you take de road dat don't lead to da leff--you soon see
Moun' Welc'm', sa."

"How far is it?"

"Bout sebben or eight mile, sa--reach dar long 'fore sun-down; pony go
like de berry lightnin'.  Sure you no keep to da left by da crossin'."

Thus instructed, the young steerage-passenger took his departure from
the ship--after bidding adieu to the friendly tars, who had treated him
so handsomely during his irksome voyage.

With his gun, a single-barrelled fowling-piece, on his shoulder, he
strode over the platform, and up the wooden wharf.  Then detaching the
pony from the wheel of the ox-waggon, to which it had been tied, he
threw himself into the saddle, and trotted off along the road pointed
out as the one that would conduct him to Mount Welcome.

The excitement produced by the sudden change from ship to shore--the
stir of the streets through which he had to pass--the novel sights and
sounds that at every step saluted his eyes and ears--hindered Herbert
Vaughan from thinking of anything that concerned himself.

Only for a short time, however, was his mind thus distracted from
dwelling on his own affairs.  Before he had ridden far, the road--
hitherto bordered by houses--entered under a dark canopy of forest
foliage; and the young traveller, all at once, found himself surrounded
by a perfect solitude.

Under the sombre shadow of the trees, his spirit soon returned to its
former gloomy forebodings; and, riding more slowly over a stretch of the
road where the ground was wet and boggy, he fell into a train of
thoughts that were anything but pleasant.

The subject of his reflections may be easily guessed.  He had not failed
to notice--how could he?--the distinction made between himself and his
fellow-voyager.  While a splendid equipage had been waiting for the
latter--and his landing had been made a sort of ovation, how different
was the means of transport provided for him!

"By the memory of my father!" muttered he, as he rode on, "it is an
insult I shall not overlook: an insult to him more than to myself.  But
for the fulfilment of _his_ dying wish, I should not go one step farther
and as he said this, he drew his rough roadster to a halt--as if
half-resolved to put his hypothetic threat into practice.

"Perhaps," he continued, again moving forward, with a more hopeful air,
"perhaps there may be some mistake?  But no," he added with a strong
emphasis on the negative monosyllable, "there can be none!  This shallow
fop is a young man of fortune--I a child of misfortune;" and he smiled
bitterly at the antithesis he had drawn; "that is the reason why such a
distinction has been made between us.  Be it so!" he continued, after a
pause.  "Poor as I am, this churlish relative will find me as proud as
himself.  I shall return him scorn for scorn.  I shall demand an
explanation of his behaviour; and the sooner I have it the better!"

As if stimulated by a sense of the outrage, as also by a half-formed
purpose of retaliation, the young adventurer gave the whip to his shaggy
steed, and dashed onward at full gallop.

Volume One, Chapter XIV.

TRAVELLING AT THE TAIL.

For nearly an hour did the cob continue its gallop, without pause or
slacking.  The road was a wide one, much tracked by wheels; and, as it
ran in a direct course, the rider took it for granted he was keeping the
right path.  Now and then he caught a glimpse of water through the
trees--no doubt, the river mentioned in the directions given him by the
darkey.

The crossing at length came in sight, causing him to desist from his
rapid pace--in order that he might ford the stream.  There was no
appearance of a bridge.  The water, however, was only knee-deep; and,
without hesitation, the pony plunged in and waded over.

Herbert halted on the opposite bank: for there appeared in front of him
a dilemma.  The road forked.  The negro boy had warned him of this--
telling him at the same time to take the one that _didn't_ lead to "da
leff"; but instead of two "tines" to the fork, there were _three_!

Here was a puzzle.  It was easy enough to know which of the three _not_
to take--the one that _did_ lead to "da leff"; but which of the other
two was to be chosen was the point that appeared to present a difficulty
in the solution.  Both were plain, good roads; and each as likely as the
other to be the one which would conduct him to Mount Welcome.

Had his rider left the pony to its own guidance, perhaps it would have
chosen the right road.  In all likelihood he would have done so in the
end; but, before determining on any particular line of action, he
thought it better to look for the wheel-tracks of the carriage, that he
knew must have passed in advance of him.

While thus cogitating, the silence occasioned by his momentary halt was
all at once interrupted by a voice that sounded at his very side, and
the tones of which he fancied were not new to him.

On suddenly turning in the saddle, and looking in the direction whence
the voice appeared to proceed, what was his astonishment on beholding
the negro boy--the veritable Quashie!

"Da, sa! das da crossin' me you tell 'bout; you no take by de leff--dat
lead to ole Jew penn; nor da right--he go to Mon'gew Cassel; de middle
Massr Va'n road--he go straight na Moun' Welc'm'."

The young traveller sat for some moments without speaking, or making
reply in any way--surprise, as by a spell, holding him silent.  He had
left the boy on the forward deck of the ship, to look after his luggage;
and he had seen him--he could almost swear to it--still on board, as he
rode away from the wharf!  Moreover, he had ridden a stretch of many
miles--most of the way at full gallop, and all of it at a pace with
which no pedestrian could possibly have kept up!  How, then, was he to
account for the lad's presence upon the spot?

This was the first question that occurred to him; and which he put to
the darkey, as soon as he had sufficiently recovered from his surprise
to be able to speak.

"Quashie foller young buckra--at him pony heels."

The answer went but a short way towards enlightening the "young buckra;"
since he still believed it utterly impossible for any human being to
have travelled as fast as he had ridden.

"At the pony's heels!  What, my black skin! do you mean to say you have
run all the way after me from the landing-place?"

"Ya, sa: dat hab Quashie do."

"But I saw you on board the ship as I started off.  How on earth could
you have overtaken me?"

"Yaw, massa, dat wa' easy 'nuf.  Young buckra, he start off; Quashie, he
put him porkmantle in da ox-waggon, an' den he foller.  Buckra, he go
slow at fuss, Quashie soon cotch up, and den easy run 'long wi' da
pony--not much in dat, sa."

"Not much!  Why, you imp of darkness, I have been riding at the rate of
ten miles an hour, and how you've kept up with me is beyond my
comprehension!  Well, you're a noble runner, that I will say!  I'd back
you at a foot-race against all comers, whether black ones or white ones.
The middle road, you say?"

"Ya, sa, dat de way to Moun' Welc'm'; you soon see de big gate ob de
plantation."

Herbert headed his roadster in the direction indicated; and moved onward
along the path--his thoughts still dwelling on the odd incident.

He had proceeded but a few lengths of his pony, when he was tempted to
look back--partly to ascertain if Quashie was still following him, and
partly with the intention of putting a query to this singular escort.

A fresh surprise was in store for him.  The darkey was nowhere to be
seen!  Neither to the right, nor the left, nor yet in the rear, was he
visible!

"Where the deuce can the boy have gone?" inquired Herbert,
involuntarily, at the same time scanning the underwood on both sides of
the road.

"Hya, sa!" answered a voice, that appeared to come out of the ground
close behind--while at the same instant the brown mop of Quashie, just
visible over the croup of the cob, proclaimed his whereabouts.

How the boy had been able to keep up with the pony was at length
explained: he had been _holding on to its tail_!

There was something so ludicrous in the sight, that the young Englishman
forgot for a moment the grave thoughts that had been harassing him; and
once more checking his steed into a halt, gave utterance to roars of
laughter.  The darkey joined in his mirth with a grin that extended his
mouth from ear to ear--though he was utterly unconscious of what the
young buckra was laughing at.  He could not see anything comic in a
custom which he was almost daily in the habit of practising--for it was
not the first time Quashie had travelled at the tail of a horse.

Journeying about half a mile further along the main road, the
entrance-gate of Mount Welcome was reached.  There was no lodge--only a
pair of grand stone piers, with a wing of strong mason-work on each
flank, and a massive folding gate between them.

From the directions Herbert had already received, he might have known
this to be the entrance to his uncle's plantation; but Quashie, still
clinging to the pony's tail, removed all doubt by crying out,--

"Da's da gate, buckra gemman--da's de way fo' Moun' Welc'm'!"

On passing through the gateway, the mansion itself came in sight--its
white walls and green jalousies shining conspicuously at the extreme end
of the long avenue; which last, with its bordering rows of palms and
tamarinds, gave to the approach an air of aristocratic grandeur.

Herbert had been prepared for something of this kind.  He had heard at
home that his father's brother was a man of great wealth; and this was
nearly all his father had himself known respecting him.

The equipage which had transported his more favoured fellow-voyager--and
which had passed over the same road about an hour before him--also gave
evidence of the grand style in which his uncle lived.

The mansion now before his eyes was in correspondence with what he had
heard and seen.  There could be no doubt that his uncle was one of the
grandees of the island.

The reflection gave him less pleasure than pain.  His pride had been
already wounded; and as he looked up the noble avenue, he was oppressed
with a presentiment that some even greater humiliation was in store for
him.

"Tell me, Quashie," said he, after a spell of painful reflection, "was
it your master himself who gave you directions about conducting me to
Mount Welcome?  Or did you have your orders from the overseer?"

"Massr no me speak 'bout you, sa; I no hear him say nuffin."

"The overseer, then?"

"Ya, sa, de obaseeah."

"What did he tell you to do?  Tell me as near as you can; and I may make
you a present one of these days."

"Gorry, massr buckra!  I you tell all he say, 'zactly as he say um.
`Quashie,' say he, `Quashie,' he say, `you go down board de big ship;
you see dat ere young buckra'--dat war yourseff, sa--`you fotch 'im up
to de ox-waggon, you fotch 'im baggage, too; you mount 'im on Coco,'--
da's de pony's name--`and den you fetch him home to _my_ house.'  Da's
all he say--ebbery word."

"To _his_ house?  Mount Welcome, you mean!"

"No, young buckra gemman--to de obaseeah own house.  And now we jess got
to da road dat lead dar.  Dis way, sa! dis way!"

The darkey pointed to a bye-road, that, forking off from the main
avenue, ran in the direction of the ridge, where it entered into a tract
of thick woods.

Herbert checked the pony to a halt, and sat gazing at his guide, in mute
surprise.

"Dis way, sa!" repeated the boy.  "Yonna's de obaseeah's house.  You see
wha da smoke rise, jess ober de big trees?"

"What do you mean, my good fellow?  What have I to do with the
overseer's house?"

"We's agwine da, sa."

"Who? you?"

"Boff, sa; an' Coco too."

"Have you taken leave of your senses, you imp of darkness?"

"No, sa; Quashie only do what him bid.  Da obaseeah Quashie bid fotch
young buckra to him house.  Dis yeer's da way."

"I tell you, boy, you must be mistaken.  It is to Mount Welcome I am
going--my uncle's house--up yonder!"

"No, buckra gemman, me no mistake.  Da obaseeah berry partikler 'bout
dat same.  He tell me you no fo' da great house--da Buff.  He say me
fotch you to 'im _own_ house."

"Are you sure of that?"  Herbert, as he put this interrogatory, leant
forward in the saddle, and listened attentively for the reply.

"Lor, buckra gemman!  I'se sure ob it as de sun am in de hebbens dar.  I
swa' it, if you like."

On hearing this positive affirmation, the young Englishman sat for a
moment, as if wrapt in a profound and painful reverie.  His breast rose
and fell as though some terrible truth was breaking upon him, which he
was endeavouring to disbelieve.

At this moment, Quashie caught the rein of the bridle, and was about to
lead the pony into the bye-path.

"No!" shouted the rider, in a voice loud and angry.  "Let go, boy! let
go, or I'll give you the whip.  This is _my_ way."

And, wrenching the rein from the grasp of his sable guide, he headed the
pony back into the main avenue.

Then laying on the lash with all his might, he pressed forward, at full
gallop, in the direction of the "great house."

Volume One, Chapter XV.

A SLIPPERY FLOOR.

The carriage conveying Mr Montagu Smythje from Montego Bay to Mount
Welcome, passed up the avenue and arrived at the great house, just one
hour before Herbert Vaughan, mounted on his rough roadster, and guided
by Quashie, made his appearance at the entrance-gate of the plantation.

Mr Smythje had arrived at half-past three, p.m.  Four was the regular
dining hour at Mount Welcome: so that there was just neat time for the
valet to unpack the ample valises and portmanteaus, and dress his master
for the table.

It had been the aim of Mr Vaughan to make the introduction of Mr
Smythje to his daughter as effective as possible.  He was sage enough to
know the power of first appearances.

For this reason, he had managed to keep them apart until the moment of
meeting at the dinner-table, when both should appear under the advantage
of a full dress.

So far as the impression to be made on Mr Smythje was concerned, Mr
Vaughan's scheme was perfectly successful.  His daughter really appeared
superb--radiant as the crimson quamoclit that glistened amidst the
plaits of her hair; graceful as nature, and elegant as art, could make
her.

The heart of the cockney felt--perhaps for the first time in his life--
that true sentiment of admiration which beauty, combined with virgin
modesty, is almost certain to inspire.

For a moment, the remembrance of the ballet girl and the lewd
recollections of the _bagnio_ were obliterated; and a graver and nobler
inspiration took their place.

Even vulgar Loftus Vaughan had skill enough to note this effect; but how
long it would last--how long the plant of a pure passion would flourish
in that uncongenial soil--was a question which it required an abler
physiologist than Loftus Vaughan to determine.

The sugar-planter congratulated himself upon his success.  Smythje was
smitten, beyond the shadow of a doubt.

Had the calculating father been equally anxious to perceive a
_reciprocity_ of this fine first impression, he would have been doomed
to a disappointment.  As certainly as that of Mr Smythje was a
sentiment of admiration, so certainly was that of Kate Vaughan a feeling
of _degout_; or at least of indifference.

In truth, the Londoner had made a most unfortunate _debut_.  A
_contretemps_ had occurred in the ceremony of introduction--just at that
crisis-moment when all eyes are sharply set, and all ears acutely bent
in mutual _reconnoissance_.  Mr Vaughan had committed a grand error in
causing the presentation to take place in the grand hall.  Ice itself
was not more slippery than its floor.  The consequence was unavoidable;
and the cockney, essaying one of his most graceful attitudes, fell flat
upon his face at the feet of her he simply intended to have saluted!

In that fall he had lost everything--every chance of winning Kate
Vaughan's heart.  A thousand acts of gracefulness, a thousand deeds of
heroism, would not have set him up again, after that unfortunate fall.
It was a clear paraphrase of the downfall of Humpty Dumpty--the
restoration alike hopeless, alike impossible.

Mr Montagu Smythje was too well stocked with self-complacency to suffer
much embarrassment from a _lapsus_ of so trifling a character.  His
valet had him upon his feet in a trice; and with a "Haw-haw!" and the
remark that the floor was "demmed swippeway," he crept cautiously to his
chair, and seated himself.

Though the Londoner had been all his life accustomed to dining well, he
could not help indulging in some surprise at the plentiful and luxurious
repast that was placed before him.

Perhaps in no part of the world does the table groan under a greater
load of rich viands than in the West Indian Islands.  In the prosperous
times of sugar-planting, a Jamaican dinner was deserving of the name of
feast.  Turtle was the common soup; and the most sumptuous dishes were
arranged thickly over the board.  Even the ordinary every-day dessert
was a spread worthy of Apicius; and the wines--instead of those dull
twin poisons, port and sherry--were south-side Madeira, champagne,
claret, and sparkling hock--all quaffed in copious flagons, plenteous as
small beer.

These were glorious times for the white-skinned oligarchy of the sugar
islands--the days of revel and rollicky living--before the wedge of
Wilberforce split the dark pedestal which propped up their pomp and
prosperity.

A dinner of this good old-fashioned style had Loftus Vaughan prepared
for his English guest.  Behind the chairs appeared troops of coloured
attendants, gliding silently over the smooth floor.  A constant stream
of domestics poured in and out of the hall, fetching and removing the
dishes and plates, or carrying the wine decanters in silver coolers.
Young girls of various shades of complexion--some nearly white--stood at
intervals around the table, fanning the guests with long peacock plumes,
and filling the great hall with an artificial current of delicious
coolness.

Montagu Smythje was delighted.  Even in his "dear metwopolis" he had
never dined so luxuriously.

"Spwendid, spwendid--'pon honaw!  A dinner fit for a pwince!" he
exclaimed, in compliment to his entertainer.

The savoury dishes were partaken of, and removed, and the table,
arranged for _dessert_, exhibited that gorgeous profusion which a tropic
clime can alone produce--where almost every order of the botanical world
supplies some fruit or berry of rarest excellence.  Alone in the
intertropical regions of the New-World may such variety be seen--a
_dessert table_ upon which Pomona appears to have poured forth her
golden _cornucopiae_.

The cloth having been removed from the highly-polished table, the
sparkling decanters were once more passed round.  In honour of his
guest, the planter had already made free with his own wines, all of
which were of most excellent quality.  Loftus Vaughan was at that moment
at a maximum of enjoyment.

Just at that very moment, however, a cloud was making its appearance on
the edge of the sky.

It was a very little cloud, and still very far off; but, for all that, a
careful observer could have seen that its shadow became reflected on the
brow of the planter.

Literally speaking, this cloud was an object on the earth, of shape half
human, half equine, that appeared near the extreme end of the long
avenue, moving towards the house.

When first seen by Loftus Vaughan, it was still distant, though not so
far off but that, with the naked eye, he could distinguish a man on
horseback.

From that moment he might have been observed to turn about in his
chair--at short intervals casting uneasy glances upon the centaurean
form that was gradually growing bigger as it advanced.

For a time, the expression on the face of Mr Vaughan was far from being
a marked one.  The looks that conveyed it were furtive, and might have
passed unnoticed by the superficial observer.  They had, in fact,
escaped the notice both of his daughter and his guest; and it was not
until after the horseman had made halt at the entrance of the bye-path,
and was seen coming on for the house, that the attention of either was
drawn to the singular behaviour of Mr Vaughan.  Then, however, his
nervous anxiety had become so undisguisedly patent, as to elicit from
Miss Vaughan an ejaculation of alarm; while the cockney involuntarily
exclaimed, "Bless ma soul!" adding the interrogatory,--

"Anything wong, sir?"

"Oh! nothing!" stammered the planter; "only--only--a little surprise--
that's all."

"Surprise, papa! what has caused it?  Oh, see! yonder is some one on
horseback--a man--a young man.  I declare it is our own pony he is
riding; and that is Quashie running behind him!  How very amusing!
Papa, what is it all about?"

"Tut! sit down, child!" commanded the father, in a tone of nervous
perplexity.  "Sit down, I say!  Whoever it be, it will be time enough to
know when he arrives.  Kate!  Kate! 'tis not well-bred of you to
interrupt our dessert.  Mr Smythje--glass of Madeira with you, sir?"

"Plesyaw!" answered the exquisite, turning once more to the table, and
occupying himself with the decanter.

Kate obeyed the command with a look that expressed both reluctance and
surprise.  She was slightly awed, too; not so much by the words, as the
severe glance that accompanied them.  She made no reply, but sat gazing
with a mystified air in the face of her father--who, hob-nobbing with
his guest, affected not to notice her.

The pony and his rider were no longer visible: as they were now too
close to the house to be seen over the sill of the window; but the
clattering hoofs could be heard, the sounds coming nearer and nearer.

Mr Vaughan was endeavouring to appear collected, and to say something;
but his _sang froid_ was assumed and unnatural; and being unable to keep
up the conversation, an ominous silence succeeded.

The sound of the hoofs ceased to be heard.  The pony, having arrived
under the windows, had been brought to a halt.

Then there were voices--earnest and rather loud.  They were succeeded by
the noise of footsteps on the stone stairway.  Someone was coming up the
steps.

Mr Vaughan looked aghast.  All his fine plans were about to be
frustrated.  There was a hitch in the programme--Quashie had failed in
the performance of _his_ part.

"Aha!" ejaculated the planter, with returning delight, as the smooth,
trim countenance of his overseer made its appearance above the landing.
"Mr Trusty wishes to speak with me.  Your pardon, Mr Smythje--only for
one moment."

Mr Vaughan rose from his seat, and hastened, as if wishing to meet the
overseer, before the latter could enter the room.  Trusty, however, had
already stepped inside the doorway; and, not being much of a
diplomatist, had bluntly declared his errand--in _sotto voce_, it is
true, but still not low enough to hinder a part of his communication
from being heard.  Among other words, the phrase "your nephew" reached
the ears of Kate--at that moment keenly bent to catch every sound.

The reply was also partially heard, though delivered in a low and
apparently tremulous voice:--"Show him--summer-house--garden--tell him
to wait--there presently."

Mr Vaughan turned back to the table with a half-satisfied air.  He was
fancying that he had escaped from his dilemma, at least, for the time;
but the expression which he perceived on the countenance of his daughter
restored his suspicions that all was not right.

Scarce a second was he left in doubt, for almost on the instant, Kate
cried out, in a tone of pleased surprise,--

"Oh, papa, what do I hear?  Did not Mr Trusty say something about `your
nephew'?  After all, has cousin come?  Is it he who--"

"Kate, my child," quickly interrupted her father, and appearing not to
have understood her interrogatory, "you may retire to your room.  Mr
Smythje and I would like to have our cigar; and the smoke of tobacco
don't agree with you.  Go, child--go!"

The young girl instantly rose from her chair, and hastened to obey the
command--notwithstanding the protestations of Mr Smythje, who looked as
if he would have much preferred her company to the cigar.

But her father hurriedly repeated the "Go, child--go!" accompanying the
words with another of those severe glances which had already awed and
mystified her.

Before she had passed fairly out of the great hall, however, her
thoughts reverted to the unanswered interrogatory; and as she crossed
the threshold of her chamber, she was heard muttering to herself:

"I wonder if cousin be come!"

Volume One, Chapter XVI.

THE KIOSK.

A portion of the level platform, on which Mount Welcome was built,
extended to the rear of the dwelling; and was occupied, as already
described, by a garden filled with rare and beautiful plants.  Near the
midst of this garden, and about a dozen paces from the house, stood a
small detached building--a summer-house--the materials of which were
ornamental woods of various kinds, all natives of the island, famed for
such products.  The pieces composing this summer-house, or "kiosk," as
it was habitually called, had all been cut and carved with skilful care;
and the whole structure had been designed as a representation of a
miniature temple, with a cupola upon its top, surmounted by a gilded and
glittering vane.

Inside there were neither stairs nor partitions--the whole space being
taken up by a single apartment.  There were no glass windows: but all
around, the walls were open, or closed only with Venetian blinds, the
laths of which were of the finest mahogany.  A Chinese mat covered the
floor, and a rustic table of bamboo cane pieces, with some half-dozen
chairs of like manufacture, constituted the principal part of the
furniture.

On the aforesaid table stood an inkstand of silver, elaborately chased,
with plume pens pertaining to it.  Some writing-paper lay beside it; and
on a silver tray there were wafers, red sealing-wax, and a signet seal.
An escritoire stood on one side; and two or three dozen volumes placed
upon the top of this--with a like number thrown carelessly on chairs--
formed the library of Mount Welcome.

Some magazines and journals lay upon the centre-table, and a box of best
Havannahs--open and half used--showed that the summer-house served
occasionally for a smoking-room.

It was sometimes styled the "Library," though its purposes were many.
Mr Vaughan, at times, used it for the reception of visitors--such as
might have come upon errands of business--such, in short, as were not
deemed worthy of being introduced to the company of the grand hall.

Just at the moment when Kate Vaughan quitted the dinner-table, a young
man was shown into this detached apartment, Mr Trusty, the overseer,
acting as his chaperon.

It is not necessary to say that this young man was Herbert Vaughan.

How he came to be conducted thither is easily explained.  On learning
from Quashie the destination designed for him--aggrieved and angry at
the revelation--he had hurried in hot haste up to the house.  To Mr
Trusty, who was keeping guard at the bottom of the stairway, he had
announced his relationship with Mr Vaughan, and demanded an interview--
making his requisition in such energetic terms as to disturb the
habitual _sang froid_ of the overseer, and compel him to the
instantaneous delivery of his message.

Indeed, so indignant did Herbert feel, that he would have mounted the
steps and entered the house without further parley, had not Mr Trusty
put forth his blandest entreaties to prevent such a terrible
catastrophe.

"Patience, my good sir!" urged the overseer, interposing himself between
the new comer and the stairway; "Mr Vaughan _will_ see you, presently--
not just this moment; he is engaged--company with him.  The family's at
dinner."

So far from soothing the chafed spirit of the young man, the
announcement was only a new mortification.  At dinner, and with
company--the cabin-passenger, of course--the ward--not even a relative--
while he, the nephew--no dinner for him!

In truth, Herbert recognised in this incident a fresh outrage.

With an effort, he gave up the idea of ascending the stairs.  Poor
though he was, he was nevertheless a gentleman; and good breeding
stepped in to restrain him from this unbidden intrusion: though more
than ever did he feel convinced that an insult was put upon him, and one
that almost appeared premeditated.

He stood balancing in his mind whether he should turn upon his heel, and
depart from his uncle's house without entering it.  A feather would have
brought down the scale.  The feather fell on the negative side, and
decided him to remain.

On being conducted into the summer-house and left to himself, he showed
no wish to be seated; but paced the little apartment backward and
forward in a state of nervous agitation.

He took but slight heed of aught that was there.  He was in no mood for
minutely observing--though he could not help noticing the luxurious
elegance that surrounded him: the grandeur of the great house itself;
the splendid _parterres_ and gardens filled with plants and flowers of
exquisite beauty and fragrant perfume.

These fine sights, however, instead of soothing his chafed spirit, only
made him more bitterly sensible of his own poor fortunes, and the
immeasurable distance that separated him from his proud, rich uncle.

Through the open sides of the kiosk he merely glanced hastily at the
grounds; and then his eyes became bent upon the great house--directed
habitually towards an entrance at the back that by a flight of steps
conducted into the garden.  By this entrance he expected his uncle would
come out; and in angry impatience did he await his coming.

Had he seen the beautiful eyes that were, at that moment, tenderly
gazing upon him from behind the lattice-work of the opposite window,
perhaps the sight would have gone far towards soothing his irate soul.
But he saw them not.  The jalousies were closed; and though from the
shadowy interior of the chamber, the kiosk and its occupant were in full
view, the young Englishman had no suspicion that he was at that moment
the object of observation--perhaps of admiration--by a pair of the
loveliest eyes in the island of Jamaica.

After turning, for the twentieth time, across the floor--at each turn
scanning the stairs with fresh impatience--he somewhat spitefully laid
hold of a book, and opened it--in the hope of being able to kill time
over its pages.

The volume which came into his hands--by chance: he had not chosen it--
was but little calculated to tranquillise his troubled spirit.  It was a
digest of the statutes of Jamaica relating to slavery--the famous, or
rather infamous, _black code_ of the island.

There he read: that a man might mutilate his own image in the person of
a fellow-man--torture him, even to death, and escape with the punishment
of a paltry fine!  That a man with a black skin--or even white, if at
all tainted with African blood--could hold no real estate, no office of
trust; could give no evidence in a court of law--not even had he been
witness of the crime of murder; that such a man must not keep or ride a
horse; must not carry a gun, or other weapon of defence; must not defend
himself when assaulted; must not defend wife, sister, or daughter--even
when ruffian hands were tearing them from him for the most unholy of
purposes!  In short, that a _man of colour_ must do nothing to make
himself different from a docile and submissive brute!

To the young Englishman, fresh from a Christian land--at that period
ringing with the eloquent denunciations of a Wilberforce, and the
philanthropic appeals of a Clarkson--the perusal of this execrable
statute-book, instead of producing tranquillity, only infused fresh
bitterness into his soul; and stamping his foot fiercely on the floor,
he flung the detestable volume back to its place.

At that moment--just as he had reached the maximum of reckless
defiance--a noise was heard in the direction of the great house, and the
door of the stair-landing was seen to turn on its hinges.

Of course, he expected to see a surly old uncle, and was resolved to be
as surly as he.

On the contrary, and to his pleased surprise, he beheld in the doorway a
beautiful young girl, bending her eyes upon him with an affectionate
look, and as if courting recognition!

A sudden revulsion of feeling passed through his whole frame; his
countenance changed its angry expression to one of admiration; and,
unable to utter a word, he remained silently gazing on this lovely
apparition.

Volume One, Chapter XVII.

A BOLD RESOLVE.

Far better would it have been for Mr Vaughan--at least, for the success
of his schemes--had he adopted an honourable course with his nephew; and
at once introduced him, openly and above-board, to his table, his
daughter, and his aristocratic guest.

Had he known before dinner what he was made aware of in less than five
minutes after it, he would, in all likelihood, have adopted this course.
It would have spared him the chagrin he was made to feel, on Mr
Smythje reporting to him the encounter he had had on board ship--which
the latter proceeded to do, the moment after Kate had been so
unceremoniously dismissed from the hall.

Smythje had also overheard the communication of the overseer--the word
"nephew," at least--and this recalled to his mind--not without some
unpleasant remembrance of the satire from which he had suffered--the
steerage passenger who had treated him so brusquely on board the _Sea
Nymph_.

The miserable bubble was burst; and the onus of a somewhat bungling
explanation was put upon the shoulders of the pompous planter--into
whose heart a bitter drop of gall was infused by the disclosure.

As the deception could be sustained no longer, the relationship was
necessarily acknowledged; but the spark of ire thus introduced boded a
still more unwelcome reception to the unlucky nephew.

The planter partially cleared himself of the scrape by a false
representation.  In other words, he told a lie, in saying that his
nephew had not been expected.  Smythje knew it was a lie, but said
nothing; and the subject was allowed to drop.

Loftus Vaughan was a common man; and the course he had followed--shallow
and self-defeating--was proof of an intellect as low as its morality.

By his shabby treatment of his nephew, he was investing that young man
with a romantic interest in the eyes of his daughter, that perhaps might
never have been felt, or, at all events, not so readily.  Misfortune--
especially that which springs from persecution--is a grand suggester of
sympathy--that is, when the appeal is made to noble hearts; and the
heart of Kate Vaughan was of this quality.

Moreover, this surreptitious dealing with the poor relative--smuggling
him into the house like a bale of contraband goods--was sufficient of
itself to pique the curiosity of those whom it was meant to mystify.

So far as Kate Vaughan was concerned, that very effect it produced: for,
on leaving the dining-room--from which, to say the truth, she was only
too happy to escape--the young girl glided at once to that window that
opened out upon the garden; and, parting the lattice with her fingers,
looked eagerly through.

In the brief undertone that had passed between her father and the
overseer, she had heard the command, "Show him to the summer-house."
She knew that the summer-house was within view of her chamber-window.
She was curious to see what in all her life she had never beheld--a
_cousin_.  Her curiosity was not balked.  On looking through the
lattice, her cousin was before her eyes--pacing the little apartment as
described.

With his braided frock, buttoned tightly over his breast--glittering
Hessian boots on his well-turned limbs--his neat three-cornered hat set
lightly over his brown curls--he was not a sight likely to terrify a
young girl--least of all a cousin.  Even the bold, somewhat fierce,
expression upon his countenance--at that moment reflecting the angry
emotions that were stirring within him--did not, in the eyes of the
young Creole, detract from the beauty of the face she saw before her.

What impression did the sight produce?  Certainly not terror--certainly
not dislike.  On the contrary, she appeared gratified by it: else, why
did she continue her gaze, and gaze so earnestly?  Why became her eyes
filled with fire, and fixed, as by some fascination?  Why did her young
bosom heave and fall, as if some new, undefinable emotion was for the
first time germinating within it?

For some moments she remained in the same attitude, gazing steadfastly
and silent.  Then, without turning, there escaped from her lips, low
murmured, and as if by an involuntary effort, the interrogatory,--"Yola!
is he not beautiful?"

"Beautiful, missa," repeated the maid, who had not yet beheld the object
for whom this admiration was meant; "who beautiful?"

"Who?  My cousin, Yola."

"You cousin--what cousin, young missa?"

"Look yonder, and see!  That's my cousin."

"I see a man."

"Ah! and saw you ever such a man?"

"True, missa; never see man look so--he surely angry, missa?"

"Angry?"

"Berry angry.  He go back, he go forward, like hyena in a cage."

"He is only impatient at being kept waiting.  My word!  I think he looks
all the better for it.  Ah! see how his eye flashes.  Oh!  Yola, how
handsome he is--how different from the young men of this island.  Is he
not a beautiful fellow?"

"He curled hair, like Cubina!"

"Cubina! ha! ha! ha!  This Cubina must be a very Proteus, as well as an
Adonis.  Do you see any other resemblance, except in the hair?  If so,
my cousin may, perhaps, resemble _me_."

"Cubina much darker in de colour ob him skin, missa."

"Ha! ha! that is not unlikely."

"Cubina same size--same shape--'zactly same shape."

"Then I should say that Cubina is a good shape; for, if I know anything
of what a man ought to be, that cousin of mine is the correct thing.
See those arms! they look as if he could drag down that great tamarind
with them!  Gracious me! he appears as if he intended doing it!  Surely,
he must be very impatient?  And, after his coming so far, for papa to
keep him waiting in this fashion!  I really think I should go down to
him myself.  What is your opinion, Yola?  Would it be wrong for me to go
and speak with him?  He is my cousin."

"What am cousin, missa?"

"Why, cousin is--is--something like a brother--only not exactly--that
is--it's not quite the same thing."

"Brudder!  Oh, missa! if he Yola brudder, she him speak; she care not
who be angry."

"True, Yola; and if he were my brother--alas!  I have none--I should do
the same without hesitation.  But with a cousin--that's different.
Besides, papa don't like this cousin of mine--for some reason or
another.  I wonder what he can have against him.  I can't see; and
surely it can be no reason for _my_ not liking him?  And, surely, his
being my cousin is just why I should go down and talk to him.

"Besides," continued the young girl, speaking to herself rather than to
the maid, "he appears very, very impatient.  Papa may keep him waiting--
who knows how long? since he is so taken up with this Mr Montagu
What's-his-name!  Well, I may be doing wrong--perhaps papa will be
angry--perhaps he won't know anything about it!  Right or wrong, I'll
go!  I _shall_ go!"

So saying, the young Creole snatched a scarf from the fauteuil; flung it
over her shoulders; and, gliding from the chamber, tripped silently
along the passage that conducted towards the rear of the dwelling.

Volume One, Chapter XVIII.

THE ENCOUNTER OF THE COUSINS.

Opening the door, and passing out, Kate Vaughan paused timidly upon the
top of the stairway that led down into the garden.  Her steps were
stayed by a feeling of bashful reserve, that was struggling to restrain
her from carrying out a resolve somewhat hastily formed.

Her hesitancy was but the matter of a moment; for on the next--her
resolution having become fixed--she descended the stairs, and advanced
blushingly towards the kiosk.

Herbert had not quite recovered from surprise at the unexpected
apparition, when he was saluted by the endearing interrogatory,--"Are
you my cousin?"  The question, so _naively_ put, remained for a moment
unanswered: for the tone of kindness in which it was spoken had caused
him a fresh surprise, and he was too much confused to make answer.

He soon found speech, however, for the hypothetical reply:--

"If you are the daughter of Mr Loftus Vaughan--"

"I am."

"Then I am proud of calling myself your cousin.  I am Herbert Vaughan--
from England."

Still under the influence of the slight which he believed had been put
upon him, Herbert made this announcement with a certain stiffness of
manner, which the young girl could not fail to notice.  It produced a
momentary incongeniality, that was in danger of degenerating into a
positive coolness; and Kate, who had come forth under the promptings of
an affectionate instinct, trembled under a repulse, the cause of which
she could not comprehend.

It did not, however, hinder her from courteously rejoining:--

"We were expecting you--as father had received your letter; but not
to-day.  Papa said not before to-morrow.  Permit me, cousin, to welcome
you to Jamaica."  Herbert bowed profoundly.  Again the young creole felt
her warm impulses painfully checked; and, blushing with embarrassment,
she stood in an attitude of indecision.

Herbert, whose heart had been melting like snow under a tropic sun, now
became sensible that he was committing a rudeness; which, so far from
being natural to him, was costing him a struggle to counterfeit.

Why should the sins of the father be visited on the child--and such a
child?

With a reflection kindred to this, the young man hastened to change his
attitude of cold reserve.

"Thanks for your kind welcome!" said he, now speaking in a tone of
affectionate frankness; "But, fair cousin, you have not told me your
name."

"Catherine--though I am usually addressed by the shorter synonym, Kate."

"Catherine! that is a family name with us.  My fathers mother, and your
father's, too--our grandmamma--was a Catherine.  Was it also your
mother's name?"

"No; my mother was called Quasheba."

"Quasheba! that is a very singular name."

"Do you think so, cousin?  I am sometimes called Quasheba myself--only
by the old people of the plantation, who knew my mother.  Lilly Quasheba
they call me.  Papa does not like it, and forbids them."

"Was your mother an Englishwoman?"

"Oh, no! she was born in Jamaica, and died while I was very young--too
young to remember her.  Indeed, cousin, I may say I never knew what it
was to have a mother!"

"Nor I much, cousin Kate.  My mother also died early.  But are you my
only cousin?--no sisters nor brothers?"

"Not one.  Ah!  I wish I had sisters and brothers!"

"Why do you wish that?"

"Oh, how can you ask such a question?  For companions, of course."

"Fair cousin!  I should think _you_ would find companions enough in this
beautiful island."

"Ah! enough, perhaps; but none whom I like--at least, not as I think I
should like a sister or brother.  Indeed," added the young girl, in a
reflective tone, "I sometimes feel lonely enough!"

"Ah!"

"Perhaps, now that we are to have guests, it will be different.  Mr
Smythje is very amusing."

"Mr Smythje!  Who is he?"

"What! you do not know Mr Smythje?  I thought that you and he came over
in the same ship?  Papa said so; and that _you_ were not to be here
until to-morrow.  I think you have taken him by surprise in coming
to-day.  But why did you not ride out with Mr Smythje?  He arrived here
only one hour before you, and has just dined with us.  I have left the
table this moment, for papa and him to have their cigars.  But, bless
me, cousin!  Pardon me for not asking--perhaps _you_ have not dined
yet?"

"No," replied Herbert, in a tone that expressed chagrin, "nor am I
likely to dine here, to-day."

The storm of queries with which, in the simplicity of her heart, the
young Creole thus assailed him, once more brought back that train of
bitter reflections, from which her fair presence and sweet converse had
for the moment rescued him.  Hence the character of his reply.

"And why, cousin Herbert?" asked she, with a marked air of surprise.
"If you have not dined, it is not too late.  Why not here?"

"Because,"--and the young man drew himself proudly up--"I prefer going
without dinner to dining where I am not welcome.  In Mount Welcome, it
seems, I am _not_ welcome."

"Oh, cousin--!"

The words, and the appealing accent, were alike interrupted.  The door
upon the landing turned upon its hinge, and Loftus Vaughan appeared in
the doorway.

"Your father?"

"My father!"

"Kate!" cried the planter, in a tone that bespoke displeasure, "Mr
Smythje would like to hear you play upon the harp.  I have been looking
for you in your room, and all over the house.  What are you doing out
there?"

The language was coarse and common--the manner that of a vulgar man
flushed with wine.

"Oh, papa! cousin Herbert is here.  He is waiting to see you."

"Come you here, then!  Come at once.  Mr Smythje is waiting for you."
And with this imperious rejoinder Mr Vaughan reentered the house.

"Cousin!  I must leave you."

"Yes; I perceive it.  One more worthy than I claims your company.  Go!
Mr Smythje is impatient."

"It is papa."

"Kate!  Kate! are you coming?  Haste, girl! haste, I say!"

"Go, Miss Vaughan!  Farewell!"

"Miss Vaughan?  Farewell?"  Mystified and distressed by those
strange-sounding words, the young girl stood for some seconds undecided,
but the voice of her father again came ringing along the corridor--now
in tones irate and commanding.  Obedience could no longer be delayed;
and, with a half-puzzled, half-reproachful glance at her cousin, she
reluctantly parted from his presence.

Volume One, Chapter XIX.

A SURLY RECEPTION.

After the young Creole had disappeared within the entrance, Herbert
remained in a state of indecision as to how he should act.

He no longer needed an interview with his uncle, for the sake of having
an explanation.  This new slight had crowned his convictions that he was
there an unwelcome guest; and no possible apology could now retrieve the
ill-treatment he had experienced.

He would have walked off on the instant without a word; but, stung to
the quick by the series of insults he had received, the instinct of
retaliation had sprung up within him, and determined him to stay--at all
events, until he could meet his relative face to face, and reproach him
with his unnatural conduct.  He was recklessly indifferent as to the
result.

With this object, he continued in the kiosk--his patience being now
baited with the prospect of that slight satisfaction.

He knew that his uncle might not care much for what he should say: it
was not likely such a nature would be affected by reproach.
Nevertheless, the proud young man could not resist the temptation of
giving words to his defiance--as the only means of mollifying the
mortification he so keenly felt.

The tones of a harp, vibrating through the far interior of the dwelling,
faintly reached the kiosk; but they fell on his ear without any soothing
effect.  Rather did they add to his irritation: for he could almost
fancy the music was meant to mock him in his misery.

But no; on second thoughts, that could not be.  Surely, that sweet
strain was not intended to tantalise him.  He caught the air.  It was
one equally appropriate to the instrument and to his own situation.  It
was the "Exile of Erin."

Presently a voice was heard accompanying the music--a woman's voice--
easily recognisable as that of Kate Vaughan.

He listened attentively.  At intervals he could hear the words.  How
like to his own thoughts!

  "`Sad is my fate,' said the heart-broken stranger;
      `The wild deer and wolf to the covert can flee,
  But I have no refuge from famine and danger--
      A home and a country remain not to me!'"

Perhaps the singer intended it as a song of sympathy for him?  It
certainly exerted an influence over his spirits, melting him to a degree
of tenderness.

Not for long, however, did this feeling continue.  As the last notes of
the lay died away in the distant corridor, the rough baritones of the
planter and his guest were heard joining in loud laughter--perhaps some
joke at the expense of himself, the poor exile?

Shortly after, a heavy footstep echoed along the passage.  The door
opened; and Herbert perceived it was his uncle, who had at length found
time to honour him with an interview.

Though so joyous but the moment before, all traces of mirth had
disappeared from the countenance of Loftus Vaughan, when he presented
himself before the eyes of his nephew.  His face, habitually red, was
fired with the wine he had been drinking to the hue of scarlet.
Nevertheless, an ominous mottling of a darker colour upon his broad
massive brow foretold the ungracious reception his relative was likely
to have at his hands.

His first words were uttered in a tone of insolent coolness:--

"So you are my brother's son, are you?"  There was no extending of the
hand, no gesture--not even a smile of welcome!

Herbert checked his anger, and simply answered,--

"I believe so."

"And pray, sir, what errand has brought you out to Jamaica?"

"If you have received my letter, as I presume you have, it will have
answered that question."

"Oh, indeed!" exclaimed Mr Vaughan, with an attempt at cynicism, but
evidently taken down by the unexpected style of the reply.  "And what,
may I ask, do you purpose doing here?"

"Have not the slightest idea," answered Herbert, with a provoking air of
independence.  "Have you any profession?"

"Unfortunately, not any."

"Any trade?--I suppose not."

"Your suppositions are perfectly correct."

"Then, sir, how do you expect to get your bread?"

"Earn it, the best way I can."

"Beg it, more likely, as your father before you: all his life begging
it, and from me."

"In that respect I shall not resemble him.  You would be the last man I
should think of begging from."

"S'death! sirrah, you are impertinent.  This is fine language to me,
after the disgrace you have already brought upon me!"

"Disgrace?"

"Yes, sir, disgrace.  Coming out here as a pauper, in the steerage of a
ship!  And you must needs boast of your relationship--letting all the
world know that you are my nephew."

"Boast of the relationship!" repeated Herbert, with a smile of contempt.
"Ha! ha! ha!  I suppose you refer to my having answered a question
asked me by this pretty jack-a-box you are playing with.  Boast of it,
indeed!  Had I known you then as well as I do now, I should have been
ashamed to acknowledge it!"

"After that, sir," shouted Mr Vaughan, turning purple with rage--"after
that, sir, no more words!  You shall leave my house this minute."

"I had intended to have left it some minutes sooner.  I only stayed to
have an opportunity of telling you what I think of you."

"What is that, sir? what is that?"

The angry youth had summoned to the top of his tongue a few of the
strongest epithets he could think of, and was about to hurl them into
his uncle's teeth, when, on glancing up, he caught sight of an object
that caused him to change his intention.  It was the beautiful face of
the young creole, that appeared through the half-open lattice of the
window opposite.  She was gazing down upon him and his uncle, and
listening to the dialogue with an anguished expression of countenance.

"He is _her_ father," muttered Herbert to himself; "for _her_ sake I
shall not say the words;" and, without making any reply to the last
interrogatory of his uncle, he strode out of the kiosk, and was walking
away.

"Stay, sir!" cried the planter, somewhat taken aback by the turn things
had taken.  "A word before you go--if you _are_ going."

Herbert turned upon his heel and listened.

"Your letter informs me that you are without funds.  It shall not be
said that a relative of Loftus Vaughan left his house penniless and
unprovided.  In this purse there are twenty pounds currency of the
island.  Take it; but on the condition that you say nothing of what has
occurred here; and, furthermore, that you keep to yourself that you are
the nephew of Loftus Vaughan."

Without saying a word, Herbert took the proffered purse; but, in the
next moment, the chink of the gold pieces was heard upon the gravel walk
as he dashed the bag at the feet of his uncle.

Then, turning to the astonished planter, and measuring him with a look
that scorned all patronage, he faced once more to the path, and walked
proudly away.

The angry "Begone, sir!" vociferated after him, was only addressed to
his back, and was altogether unheeded.  Perhaps it was even unheard: for
the expression in the eyes of the young man told that at that moment his
attention was occupied elsewhere.

As he walked towards the house--with the design of going round it to get
upon the front avenue--his glance was directed upwards to the window
where that beautiful face had been just seen.  The lattice was now
closed; and he endeavoured to pierce the sombre shadows behind it.  The
face was no longer there.  No eyes met his.

He glanced back towards the kiosk to see if he might linger a moment.
His uncle was in a bent attitude, gathering the scattered pieces of
gold.  In this position the shrubbery concealed him.

Herbert was about to glide nearer to the window, and summon his cousin
by name, when he heard his own pronounced, in a soft whisper, and with
the endearing prefix "cousin."

Distinctly he heard "Cousin Herbert!" and as if spoken around the angle
of the building.

He hastened thither: for that was his proper path by which to arrive at
the front of the house.

On turning the wall, he looked up.  He saw that another window opened
from the same chamber.  Thence came the sweet summons, and there
appeared the fair face for which he was searching.

"Oh, cousin Herbert! do not go in anger!  Papa has done wrong--very
wrong, I know; but he has been taking much wine--he is not--Good cousin,
you will pardon him?"

Herbert was about to make reply, when the young Creole continued:--

"You said in your letter you had no money.  You have refused father's--
you will not refuse mine?  It is very little.  It is all I have.  Take
it!"

A bright object glistened before his eyes, and fell with a metallic
chink at his feet.  He looked down.  A small silk purse containing coin,
with a blue ribbon attached, was seen lying upon the ground.

The young man raised it, and, holding it in one hand, hesitated for a
moment--as if he had thoughts of accepting it.  It was not that,
however, but another thought that was passing in his mind.

His resolve was soon taken.

"Thanks!" said he.  "Thanks, cousin Kate!" he added, with increasing
warmth.  "_You_ have meant kindly, and though we may never meet again--"

"Oh, say not so!" interrupted the young girl, with an appealing look.

"Yes," continued he, "it is probable we never shall.  Here there is no
home for me.  I must go hence; but, wherever I may go, I shall not soon
forget this kindness.  I may never have an opportunity of repaying it--
you are beyond the necessity of aught that a humble relative could do
for you; but remember, Kate Vaughan! should you ever stand in need of a
strong arm and a stout heart, there is one of your name who will not
fail you!

"Thanks!" he repeated, detaching the ribbon from the bag, and flinging
the latter, with its contents, back through the open window.  Then,
fastening the ribbon to the breast-button of his coat, he added: "I
shall feel richer with the possession of this token than with all the
wealth of your father's estate.  Farewell! and God bless you, my
generous cousin!"

Before the young Creole could repeat her offer, or add another word of
counsel or consolation, he had turned the angle of the building, and
passed out of sight.

Volume One, Chapter XX.

THE JEW'S PENN.

While these scenes were transpiring upon the plantation of Mount
Welcome, others of a still more exciting nature were being enacted on
that which adjoined it--the property of Jacob Jessuron, slave-merchant
and penn-keeper.

Besides a "baracoon" in the Bay, where his slaves were usually exposed
for sale, the Jew was owner of a large plantation in the country, on
which he habitually resided.  It lay contiguous to the estate of the
Custos Vaughan--separated from the latter by one of the wooded ridges
already mentioned as bounding the valley of Mount Welcome.

Like the latter, it had once been a sugar estate, and an extensive one;
but that was before Jessuron became its owner.  Now it was in the
condition termed _ruinate_.  The fields where the golden cane had waved
in the tropic breeze were choked up by a tangled "second growth,"
restoring them almost to their primitive wildness.  With that quickness
characteristic of equatorial vegetation, huge trees had already sprung
up, and stood thickly over the ground--logwoods, bread-nuts, cotton, and
calabash trees, which, with their pendent parasites, almost usurped
dominion over the soil.  Here and there, where the fields still remained
open, instead of cultivation, there appeared only the wild nursery of
nature--glades mottled with flowering weeds, as the Mexican horn-poppy,
swallow-worts, West Indian vervains, and small _passiflorae_.

At intervals, where the underwood permitted them to peep out, might be
seen stretches of "dry wall," or stone fence, without mortar or cement,
mostly tumbled down, the ruins thickly trellised with creeping plants--
as convolvuli, cereus, and aristolochia; cleome, with the cheerful
blossoming _lantana_; and, spreading over all, like the web of a
gigantic spider, the yellow leafless stems of the American dodder.

In the midst of this domain, almost reconquered by nature, stood the
"great house"--except in size, no longer deserving the appellation.  It
consisted rather of a _pile_ than a single building--the old "sugar
works" having been joined under the same roof with the dwelling--and
negro cabins, stables, offices, all inclosed within an immense high
wall, that gave to the place the air of a penitentiary or barrack,
rather than that of a country mansion.  The enclosure was a modern
construction--an afterthought--designed for a purpose very different
from that of sugar-making.

Garden there was none, though evidence that there _had been_ was seen
everywhere around the building, in the trees that still bloomed: some
loaded with delicious fruits, others with clustering flowers, shedding
their incense on the air.  Half wild, grew citrons, and _avocado_ pears,
sop and custard apples, mangoes, guavas, and pawpaws; while the
crown-like tops of cocoa-palms soared high above the humble denizens of
this wild orchard, their recurvant fronds drooping as in sorrow at the
desolation that surrounded them.

Close to the buildings stood several huge trees, whose tortuous limbs,
now leafless, rendered it easy to identify them.  They were the giants
of the West Indian forest--the silk-cotton-tree (_Eriodendron
anfractuosum_).  The limbs of these vegetable monsters--each itself as
large as an ordinary tree--were loaded with parasites of many species;
among which might be distinguished ragged _cactacae_, with various
species of wild pines, from the noble _vriesia_ to the hoary, beard-like
"Spanish moss," whose long streaming festoons waved like winding-sheets
in the breeze--an appropriate draping for the eyrie of the black
vultures (John-Crows) that might at all times be seen seated in solemn
silence upon the topmost branches.

In the olden time, this plantation had borne the name of "Happy Valley";
but during the ownership of Jessuron, this designation--perhaps deemed
inappropriate--had been generally dropped; and the place was never
spoken of by any other name than that of the "Jew's Penn."

Into a "penn" (grazing farm) Jessuron had changed it, and it served well
enough for the purpose: many of the old sugar fields, now overgrown by
the valuable Guinea grass, affording excellent pasturage for horses and
cattle.

In breeding and rearing the former for the use of the sugar estates, and
fattening the latter for the beef markets of the Bay, the industrious
Israelite had discovered a road to riches, as short as that he had been
travelling in the capacity of slave-dealer; and of late years he had
come to regard the latter only as a secondary calling.

In his old age, Jessuron had become ambitious of social distinction; and
for this reason, was desirous of sinking the slave-merchant in the more
respectable profession of penn-keeper.  He had even succeeded so far in
his views as to have himself appointed a justice of the peace--an office
that in Jamaica, as elsewhere, is more distinctive of wealth than
respectability.

In addition to penn-keeper, the Jew was also an extensive
spice-cultivator, or rather spice-gatherer: for the indigenous pimento
forests that covered the hills upon his estate required no cultivation--
nothing further than to collect the aromatic berries, and cure them on
the _barbacoa_.

Though changed from a plantation to a penn, the estate of Jacob Jessuron
was not less a scene of active industrial life.

In the fields adjacent to the house, and through the glades of Guinea
grass, horses and half wild cattle might be seen in turns neighing and
bellowing, pursued by mounted herdsmen, black and half-naked.

Among the groves of pimento on the hills, gangs of negro wenches could
be heard screaming and chattering continually, as they picked the
allspice berries from the branches; or, with the filled baskets poised
on their heads, marched in long, chanting files towards the _barbacoa_.

Outside the gate-entrance, upon the broad avenue leading to the main
road, negro horse-tamers might every day be seen, giving their first
lessons to rough colts fresh caught from the pastures; while inside the
grand enclosure, fat oxen were being slaughtered to supply the markets
of the Bay--huge, gaunt dogs holding carnival over the offal--while
black butchers, naked to the waist, their brown arms reeking with red
gore, stalked over the ground, brandishing blood-stained blades, and
other instruments of their sanguinary calling.

Such scenes might be witnessed diurnally on the estate of Jacob
Jessuron; but on the day succeeding that on which the slave-merchant had
made his unsuccessful errand to Mount Welcome, a spectacle of a somewhat
rarer kind was about to be exhibited at the penn.

The scene chosen for this exhibition was an inner inclosure, or
courtyard, contiguous to the dwelling--the great house itself forming
one side of this court, and opening upon it by a broad verandah, of a
dingy, dilapidated appearance.

_Vis-a-vis_ with the dwelling was another large building which shut in
the opposite side of the court--the two being connected by high massive
walls, that completed the quadrangle.  A strong double gate, opening
near the centre of one of these walls, was the way out--that is, to the
larger enclosure of the cattle-penn.

From the absence of chimneys and windows, as well as from its plain
style of architecture, the building that stood opposite the
dwelling-house might have been taken for some large granary or barn.
But a peep into its interior at once controverted this idea.  Inside
could be seen groups of human beings, of all colours, from ebony black
to jaundice yellow, in all attitudes--seated, standing, or lying upon
the floor--and not a few of them, in pairs, manacled to one another.
Their attitudes were not more various than the expressions upon their
faces.  Some looked sad and sullen; some glanced fearfully around, as if
waking from horrid dreams, and under the belief that they were
realities; others wore the vacant stare of idiotcy; while here and there
a group--apparently regardless of past, present, or future--chattered in
their barbaric language with an air of gaiety that bespoke the most
philosophic _insouciance_.

The building that contained them was the baracoon--the storehouse of the
slave-merchant.  Its occupants were his stores!

The "stock" had been just replenished by the cargo of the slave-ship,
though there were also some old "bales" on hand; and these were in the
act of entertaining the new comers, and initiating them into the ways of
the place.  Their means, of showing hospitality had been limited--as
testified by the empty calabashes and clean-scraped wooden platters that
lay scattered over the floor.  Not a grain of rice, not a spoonful of
the pepper-pot, not a slice of plantain, was left.  The emptiness of the
vessels showed that the rations had been as short as the viands were
coarse and common.

Outside, in the yard, were many groups, happier to escape from the
stifled atmosphere of their crowded quarters; though that was freedom
when compared with the 'tween-decks of the _middle passage_.

Each group was gathered around some old hand--some compatriot who had
preceded them across the great sea--and who, himself initiated into
slavery under a western sky, was giving them some notions of what they
had to expect.  Eager looks of all, from time to time, directed towards
the verandah, told that they were awaiting some event of more than
ordinary interest.

There were white men in the courtyard--three of them.  Two were of dark
complexion--so swarth that many of the coloured slaves were as
fair-skinned as they.  These two men were lounging by the stairway of
the verandah--one of them seated upon the steps.  Both were sparely clad
in check shirts and trousers, having broad-brimmed palmetto hats on
their heads, and rough buskins on their feet and ankles.

Each carried a long, rapier-like blade--a _machete_--hanging over his
hip in its leathern sheath; while a brace of fierce dogs--looped in
cotton-rope leashes, attached to belts worn around their waists--
crouched upon the ground at their feet.

The faces of these men were clean-shaven--a pointed chin-tuft, or
"bigote," alone being left; and the hair on the heads of both was
close-cropped.  Their sharp, angular features were thus fully displayed,
denoting a high order of intelligence; which might have produced a
pleasing effect, but for the pronounced expression of cruelty which
accompanied it.

The exclamations that from time to time escaped from their lips, with
the few words of conversation that passed between them, bespoke them of
Spanish race.  Their costume--their arms and accoutrements--their
comrades, the fierce dogs--plainly proclaimed, their calling, as well as
the country from whence they came.  They were _cacadores de negros_--
negro-hunters from the Island of Cuba.

The third white man who appeared in the courtyard differed essentially
from these--not so much in colour, for he was also of swarth
complexion--but in size, costume, and calling.  A pair of horse-skin
riding-boots reached up to his thighs, on the heels of which appeared
heavy spurs, with rowels three inches in diameter.  A sort of
monkey-jacket of thick cloth--notwithstanding its unsuitableness to the
climate--hung down to his hips; under which appeared a waistcoat of
scarlet plush, with tarnished metal buttons, and a wool comforter of the
same flaming colour.  Crowning all was a felt hat; which, like the other
articles of his dress, gave evidence of exposure to all weathers--sun
and rain, storm and tornado.

A thick shock of curling hair, so dark in colour as to pass for black; a
heavy beard, jet-black, and running most of the way around his mouth;
amber-coloured eyes, with a sinister, shining light that never seemed to
pale; lips of an unnatural redness gleaming through the black beard; and
a nose of aquiline oblique, were the points in the personal appearance
of this man that most prominently presented themselves.

The effect of this combination was to impress you with the conviction,
that the individual in question belonged to the same nationality as the
proprietor of the penn.  Such was in reality the case: for the bearded
man was another of the race of Abraham, and one of its least amiable
specimens.  His name was Ravener, his calling that of overseer: he was
the overseer of Jessuron.  The symbol of his profession he carried under
his arm--a huge cart-whip.  He had it by him at all hours--by night, as
by day--for by night, as by day, was he accustomed to make use of it.
And the victims of his long lash were neither oxen nor horses--they were
men and _women_!

No sparing use made he of this hideous implement.  "Crack, crack!" was
it heard from morn to eve; "crack, crack!" from eve to midnight; if need
be, from midnight to morning again: for some said that the overseer of
Jessuron never slept.  "Crack, crack!" did he go through the courtyard,
apparently proud of exhibiting his power before the newly-arrived
negroes--here and there swinging his long bitter lash among the groups,
as if to break up and scatter them in sheer wantonness.

Volume One, Chapter XXI.

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

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