Volume 2 Chapter 28 - The Maroon by Mayne Reid
Midnight Wanderers
Once more under the ceiba, that gigantic trysting tree, stood the Maroon and his mistress. Not, as before, in the bright noonday sun, but near the mid-hour of the night. The Foolah had dared the dangers of the forest to meet her beloved Cubina.
And there were dangers in that forest, more to be dreaded than fierce beasts or ravenous reptiles—more to be dreaded than the tusks of the wild boar, or the teeth of the scaly alligator. There were monsters in human form far more fearful to be encountered; and at that moment not very distant from the spot where the lovers had made their rendezvous.
Love recks little of dangers. Cubina knew of none; and, in Yola’s belief, there was no danger while Cubina was near.
The moon was in high heaven, full, calm, and clear. Her beams filled the glade with a silvery effulgence. It was a moonlight that almost rivalled the brightness of day. The flowers over the earth, and the blossoms upon the trees, appeared full blown: as if they had opened their petals to drink in the delightful dew. Borne upon the soft, silent breeze, the nocturnal sounds of the forest fell with a tremulous cadence upon the ear; while the nightingale of the West, as if proud of the superiority of her counterfeit notes, in turns imitated them all.
The lovers stood in shadow—but it was the shadow of the ceiba. There was none in their hearts; and had the moonlight at that moment fallen upon their faces, no trace of a cloud could have been detected there.
It was a happy meeting—one of the happiest they had yet enjoyed. Each had brought good news to the other. Cubina, that the brother of his beloved was still safe under his protection—safe and well; Yola, that her young mistress had promised to bestow upon her her freedom.
Within the few days since they had last met, many things had transpired to interest both. Each had a tale to tell.
Yola related how the story of her brother’s misfortunes, though strictly kept from the servants at Mount Welcome, had been told to her mistress; how Miss Vaughan, on hearing it, had requested her father to grant her (Yola’s) manumission; and how the Custos had consented to the request. Conditionally, however. Her “free papers” were to be dated from a certain day—that on which Kate Vaughan was to become a bride, but that day was supposed not to be far distant.
It was joyous news for the Maroon. He might keep his hundred pounds for the plenishing of his mountain home!
This piece of intelligence might have taken Cubina more by surprise, but for the understanding that now existed between him and the Custos—whom he had of late frequently visited. Certain conditions had become established between the magistrate and the Maroon, which rendered the latter less apprehensive about the future. Mr Vaughan had made some promises to himself in regard to the manumission of Yola. It is true, these had also been conditional; and their performance was to depend, to a great degree, on the success of the prosecution to be instituted against the Jew. But, with the Custos himself as a prosecutor, Cubina felt sanguine that the conditions would be accomplished.
These were circumstances to be kept secret. Even to his sweetheart the lover was not permitted to impart the knowledge of this affair. Only did he make known to her that steps were being taken to cause the restitution of her brother’s property; but how, where, and when, could not be divulged until that day when war should be openly declared against the enemy. So had the Custos commanded.
Cubina, nevertheless, could not help being gratified by the intelligence which Yola had conveyed to him. The promise of Miss Vaughan had but one condition—her bridal day; and that was definite and certain.
“Ah!” said Cubina, turning with a proud look towards his sweetheart, “it will be a happy day for all. No, not for all,” added he, his face suddenly assuming an expression of sadness; “not for all. There is one, I fear, to whom that day will not bring happiness!”
“I know one, too, Cubina,” rejoined the girl, her countenance appearing to reflect the expression that had come over his.
“Oh, you know it, too? Miss Vaughan has told you then, I suppose? I hope she does not boast of it?”
“What she boast of, Cubina?”
“Why, of breaking his heart, as you would do mine, if you were to marry somebody else. Poor young fellow! Crambo! If I’m not mistaken, it will be a sad day for him!”
The girl looked up, in puzzled surprise. “Sad day for him! No, Cubina; he very happy. For her—poor missa—that day be sad.”
“Vayate! What do you mean, Yola?”
“No more dan I say, Cubina. Missa Kate be very unhappy that day she marry Mr Mongew—she very so now.”
“What!” exclaimed Cubina, suddenly placing himself in an attitude of unusual attention; “do I understand you to say that Miss Vaughan don’t wish to marry this Mr Smythje?”
“She no love him, Cubina. Why she wish marry him, then?”
“Ha!” significantly ejaculated the Maroon, while an expression of joy came over his countenance; “what makes you think she don’t love him? Have you a reason, Yola?”
“Missa me say so. She me tell everything, Cubina.”
“You are sure she has said that she don’t love him?”
“She laugh at him—she no care for him. Girl no love one she laugh at—never.”
“Vaya! I hope you will never laugh at me, then! But say, dearest; do you know why she is going to marry Mr Smythje?”
“Massa her make marry. He Mr Mongew very, very rich—he great planter. That why she him go to marry.”
“Ho!—ho!” thoughtfully ejaculated the captain of Maroons. “I suspected there was some compulsion,” continued he, not speaking to his companion, but muttering the words to himself.
“Can you tell me, Yola,” he asked, turning again to his sweetheart; “do you know why your mistress does not like this grand gentleman? Has she told you any reason?”
“Very good reason, Cubina. She another love; that why she Mongew not like.”
“Ah! she’s in love with somebody else! Have you heard who it is, Yola?”
“Oh, yes; you know him youself. He Missa Kate’s cousin; she him love.”
“Her cousin, Herbert Vaughan?”
“Yes, he name Herber’; he come once—never more come. No matter, she love him first time—she him love ever more! Same I you, Cubina; I you love first time, all the same for ever.”
“You are sure of all this?” inquired Cubina, in his anxiety to know more, resisting the temptation to reciprocate the endearing speech; “you are sure Miss Vaughan loves her cousin Herbert?”
“Sure, Cubina; missa say so many, many time. She have very much grief for him. She hear he marry one fine, bad lady. You know old Jew Jess’ron—his daughter he go marry.”
“I have heard so,” rejoined Cubina, evidently keeping back from his sweetheart a more definite knowledge of the subject which he himself possessed; “I have heard so. After all,” he continued, speaking reflectingly, “it might not happen—neither of these marriages. There’s a proverb, Yola, I’ve heard among the white folks—‘Many a slip between the cup and the lip.’ I hope it won’t be true of you and me; but it might come to pass between young Master Vaughan and Miss Jessuron. Who knows? I know something. Por Dios! you’ve given me good news, I think, for somebody. But tell me, Yola; have you heard them say when your mistress and this great gentleman are to be married?”
“Massa he say soon. He tell Missa Kate he go great journey. When he come back they get marry; he Missa Kate say so yesterday.”
“The Custos going a journey? Have you heard where?”
“Spanish Town, missa me tell—a great big city far away.”
“I wonder what that can be for,” said Cubina to himself, in a conjectural way. “Well, Yola,” he added, after a pause, and speaking more earnestly, “listen to me. As soon as Mr Vaughan has set out on this journey, you come to me. Perhaps I may have a message for your mistress. Have you heard when he intends to take the road?”
“He go morrow morning.”
“Ha! so soon! Well, so much the better for us, and maybe for somebody else. You must meet me here to-morrow night. Tell your mistress it concerns herself. No, don’t tell her,” he added, correcting himself, “she will let you come without that excuse; besides, it might be that—never mind! Come, anyhow. I shall be waiting for you at this same hour.”
Yola gave her willing promise to keep an appointment so accordant to her inclinations.
For some time longer the lovers conversed, imparting to each other the ordinary news of life—the details of common things—to be at length succeeded by words only of love, of far, far deeper interest.
Cubina swore eternal truth—by the trees around—by the sky above—by the bright moon, and the blue heavens.
He had done the same a score of times; and as often had he been believed. But lovers never tire of such vows—neither of hearing nor repeating them.
The African maiden answered with promises of faithfulness, alike free, alike fervent. She no longer sighed for her far Gambian home—no more mourned the fate that had torn her from a court to consign her to slavery. The dark hours of her life seemed to have ended; and her future, as her present, was full of hope and bliss!
For more than an hour did the enamoured pair indulge in this sweet converse. They were about to close it with a parting kiss.
The Maroon stood with his strong arms tenderly entwined around the waist of his mistress, who willingly yielded to the embrace. Her slender form, under the shadow of the ceiba, looked like the statue of some Egyptian maiden in bronze antique.
The adieu had been spoken more than once; but still the lovers lingered, as if loth to give the parting kiss. There had been more than one, but not that which was to end the interview.
Ere their lips had met to achieve it, the design was interrupted. Voices fell upon their ears, and two forms emerging into the moonlight at the lower end of the glade, rapidly advanced in the direction of the ceiba.
As if by a common instinct, Cubina and his mistress stepped silently and simultaneously back, retiring together between the buttresses of the tree. There it was dark enough for concealment. Only an eye bent on purposed scrutiny could have detected their presence.
The forms drew near. They were those of a man and a woman. The moonlight shining full upon them, rendered them easy of recognition; but their voices had already declared their identity. Both the intruders were known to both the lovers. They were the Jew Jessuron and the slave Cynthia.
“Crambo!” muttered the Maroon, as he saw who they were. “What on earth can they be doing together, at this time of the night, and here—so far away from any house? Maldito! some wicked business, I warrant.”
By this time the brace of midnight strollers had got opposite to the tree, and the Jew was delivering himself of a speech, which was plainly heard by those who stood concealed in its shadow.
“Now, Cynthy—goot wench!—you hashn’t said yet why he hash sent for me! Do you know what it ish for?”
“I don’t, Mass Jess’ron, unless it be—”
“Unlesh what, wench?”
“Somethin’ ’bout the news I took him afore I come to you, when I went with his basket of provisions—”
“Ah-ha! you took him some newsh—what newsh, girl?”
“Only that Massr Vagh’n am a-goin’ away in the mornin’.”
“Blesh my soul!” exclaimed the Jew, suddenly stopping in his tracks, and turning towards the mulatta with a look of troubled surprise. “Blesh my soul! You don’t shay that, dosh you?”
“Dey say so at the Buff, Massr Jess’ron. Besides, I know m’self he’s a-goin’. I help pack up him shirts in de trabbelin’ valise. He’s a-goin’ a hossaback.”
“But where, wench? where?” gasped the Jew, in hurried and anxious speech.
“Dey say to ’Panish Town—odder side ob de Island.”
“Spanish Town! ach!” cried the penn-keeper, in a tone betokening that the words had conveyed some very unwelcome intelligence. “Spanish Town! S’help me, it ish! I knew it! I knew it! ach!”
And, as he repeated the aspirated ejaculation, he struck his umbrella fiercely into the ground—as if to render more emphatic the chagrin that had been communicated by the answer.
Only for a few seconds did he make pause upon the spot.
“Come on!” cried he to his companion, hurriedly moving off from the tree; “come on, wench! If that’sh the case, ash you shay, there’sh no time to be losht—not a minute, s’help me!”
And with this elegant reflection, he ended the brief dialogue, and strode swiftly and silently onward across the glade—the woman following close upon his heels.
“Demonios!” muttered the Maroon, as they went off. “That John Crow and his pretty partner are on some ugly errand, I fear! It appears to be the Custos they’re conspiring against. Crambo! I wonder what they are after with him! What can the old Jew have to do with his going to Spanish Town? I must follow them, and see if I can discover. There appears to be some scheme brewing, that bodes no good to Mr Vaughan. Where can they be gadding to at this time of night? From the Jew’s penn, instead of towards it!”
These interrogative reflections the Maroon made to himself. Then, turning once more to his sweetheart, with a gesture that declared his intention to be gone, he said:—
“We must part, Yola, and this instant, love: else I may lose their trail. Adieu! adieu!”
And, with a quick kiss and equally hurried embrace, the lovers separated—Yola returning to Mount Welcome, by a path well-known to her; while the Maroon glided off on the track taken by the penn-keeper and his female companion.