Volume 2 Chapter 36 - The Maroon by Mayne Reid
A Mission for the Man-Hunters
Cubina for some time preserved his constrained position. He dared not derange it; since the Jew still stayed in the shadowy corridor—sometimes moving about; but more generally standing at the head of the wooden stairway, and looking across the courtyard, towards the gate through which he had come in. It seemed as if he was expecting some one to enter after him.
This conjecture of Cubina’s proved correct. The great gate was heard once more turning on its hinges; and, after a word or two spoken by the black porter outside, and answered by a voice of different tone, two men were seen stepping inside the court.
As they passed under the moonlight, Cubina recognised them. Their lithe, supple forms, and swarthy angular lineaments, enabled him to identify the Cuban caçadores.
They walked straight up to the stairway, at the bottom of which both stopped.
The Jew, on seeing them inside the gate, had gone back into a room that opened upon the verandah.
He was gone but for an instant; and, coming out again, he returned to the top of the stairway.
One of the Spaniards, stepping up, reached out, and received something from his hand. What it was Cubina could not have told, but for the words of the Jew that accompanied the action.
“There’sh the flashk,” said he; “it ish the besht brandy in Shamaica. And now,” he continued, in an accent of earnest appeal, “my goot fellish! you hashn’t a minute to shpare. Remember the big monish you’re to gain; and don’t let thish runaway eshcape!”
“No fear about that, Señor Don Jacob,” replied he who received the flask. “Carrai! he’ll have long legs to get out of our way—once we’re well on the trail of him.”
And without further dialogue or delay, the caçador descended the stair, rejoined his comrade, and both hurriedly re-crossing the courtyard, disappeared through the door by which they had entered.
“An expedition after some poor slave!” muttered Cubina to himself. “I hope the scoundrels won’t catch him, anyhow, and I pity him if they do. After all, they’re no great hands at the business, spite of their braggadocio.”
With this professional reflection, the Maroon once more bent his eyes upon the form that remained in the shadow of the verandah.
“Surely,” conjectured he, “the old John Crow will now go to his roost? Or has he more of the like business on hand? Till he’s out of that I can’t make a move. I durstn’t stir, not for the life of me!”
To the joy of Cubina, the Jew at that moment stepped back into his chamber—the door of which had been left standing open.
“Good!” mentally ejaculated the Maroon; “I hope he’ll stay in his hole, now that he’s in it. I don’t want to see any more of him this night. Crambo!”
As the exclamation indicated, the congratulatory speech was cut short by the re-appearance of the Jew; not in his blue body-coat, as before, but wrapped in a sort of gabardine, or ample dressing-gown, the skirts of which fell down to his feet. His hat had been removed—though the skull-cap, of dirty whitish hue, still clung around his temples; for it was never doffed.
To the consternation of Cubina he came out, dragging a chair after him: as if he meant to place it in the verandah and take a seat upon it.
And this was precisely his intention, for, after drawing the chair—a high-backed one—out into the middle of the gallery, he planted it firmly upon the floor, and then dropped down into it.
The moment after, Cubina saw sparks, accompanied by a sound that indicated the concussion of flint and steel. The Jew was striking a light!
For what purpose?
The smell of burning tobacco borne along the gallery, and ascending to Cubina’s nostrils upon the summit of the palm, answered that question. A red coal could be seen gleaming between the nose and chin of the Israelite. He was smoking a cigar!
Cubina saw this with chagrin. How long would the operation last? Half-an-hour—an hour, perhaps? Ay, maybe till daybreak—now not very distant.
The situation had changed for the worse. The Maroon could not make the slightest move towards the awakening of Herbert. He dared not shift his own position, lest his presence should be betrayed to the Jew. He dared not stir upon the tree, much less come down from it!
He saw that he was in a fix; but there was no help for it. He must wait till the Jew had finished his cigar: though there was no certainty that even that would bring the séance to a termination.
Summoning all the patience he could command, he kept his perch, silent and motionless, though anxious, and suffering from chagrin.
For a long hour, at least, did he continue in this desperate dilemma—until his limbs ached underneath him, and his composure was well-nigh exhausted. Still the Jew stuck to his chair, as if glued to the seat—silent and motionless as Cubina himself.
The latter fancied that not only a first cigar, but a second, and, perhaps, a third, had been lighted and smoked; but in the sombre shadow, in which the smoker sat, he could not be certain how many. More than one, however, from the time spent in the operation; for during the full period of an hour a red coal could be seen glowing at the tip of that aquiline proboscis.
Cubina now perceived what troubled him exceedingly—the blue dawn breaking over the tops of the trees! By slightly turning his head he could see the golden gleam of sunlight tinting the summit of the Jumbé Rock!
“Crambo! what was to be done?” so ran his reflections.
If he stayed there much longer he might be sure of being discovered. The slaves would soon be starting to their work—the overseer and drivers would soon be out and about. One or other could not fail to see him upon the tree! He would be lucky now to escape himself, without thinking any longer of the hammock or him who slept within its tight-drawn meshes.
While considering how he might slip unperceived from the tree he glanced once more towards the occupant of the chair. The gradually brightening dawn, which had been filling him with apprehension, now favoured him. It enabled him to perceive that the Jew was asleep!
With his head thrown back against the sloping upholstery, Jessuron had at last surrendered to the powerful divinity of dreams. His goggles were off; and Cubina could see that the wrinkled lids were closed over his sunken orbs.
Undoubtedly he was asleep. His whole attitude confirmed it. His legs lay loosely over the front of the chair—his arms hung down at the sides: and the blue umbrella rested upon the floor at his feet. This last evidence of somnolency was not even counterbalanced by the stump of a cigar, burnt close, and still sticking between his teeth!
End of Volume Two.