Volume 3 Chapter 1 - The Maroon by Mayne Reid
A Startling Summons
On the part of Cubina it was now a struggle between prudence and a desire to carry out his original programme—whether he should not go off alone, or still try to communicate with the sleeper in the hammock.
In the former case he could return to the glade, and there await the coming of Herbert Vaughan as at first fixed. But, by so doing, at least two hours would be lost; and even then, would the young Englishman be punctual to his appointment?
Even against his inclination something might occur to cause delay—a thing all the more probable, considering the circumstances that surrounded him; considering the irregularity of events in the domicile where he dwelt.
But even a delay of two hours! In that interval, Loftus Vaughan might have ceased to live!
These thoughts coursed quickly through the mind of the Maroon—accustomed as it was to perceptions almost intuitive. He saw that he must either go by himself to Mount Welcome, or awake the sleeper at once.
Perhaps he would have decided on the former course, but that he had other motives for an interview with Herbert Vaughan, almost as immediate in their necessity as that which related to the safety of the Custos. He had as yet no reason to believe that the peril in which the planter stood was so proximate as it really was: for it never occurred to him that the departure of the two Spaniards had any other object than that which related to their calling—the capture of some runaway slave.
Had he suspected the design of the two ruffians—had he known the mission of murder on which the slave-merchant had dispatched them—he would scarce have stayed for aught else than to have provided the means of intercepting their design.
In the dark about all this, he did not believe there was such necessity for extreme haste; though he knew something was on foot against the Custos which would not allow of much loss of time.
At that moment the occupant of the hammock turned over with a yawn.
“He is going to awake!” thought Cubina; “now is my time.”
To the disappointment of the Maroon, the limbs of the speaker again became relaxed; and he returned to a slumber profound as before.
“What a pity!” murmured the Maroon; “if I could only speak a word. But no. Yonder John Crow is more like to hear it than he. I shall throw something down into the hammock. Maybe that will awake him?”
Cubina drew out his tobacco-pipe. It was the only thing he could think of at the moment; and, guiding his arm with a good aim, he pitched it into the hammock.
It fell upon the breast of the sleeper. It was too light. It awoke him not.
“Crambo! he sleeps like an owl at noontide! What can I do to make him feel me? If I throw down my macheté, I shall lose the weapon; and who knows I may not need it before I’m out of this scrape? Ha! one of these cocoa-nuts will do. That, I dare say, will be heavy enough to startle him.”
Saying this, the Maroon bent downward; and extending his arm through the fronds beneath him, detached one of the gigantic nuts from the tree.
Poising it for a moment to secure the proper direction, he flung the ponderous fruit upon the breast of Herbert. Fortunately the sides of the hammock hindered it from falling upon the floor, else the concussion might also have awakened the sleeper in the chair.
With a start, the young Englishman awoke, at the same time raising himself upon his elbow. Herbert Vaughan was not one of the exclamatory kind, or he might have cried out. He did not, however; though the sight of the huge brown pericarp, lying between his legs, caused him considerable surprise.
“Where, in the name of Ceres and Pomona, did you rain down from?” muttered he, at the same time turning his eyes up for an answer to his classical interrogatory.
In the grey light he perceived the palm, its tall column rising majestically above him. He knew the tree well, every inch of its outlines; but the dark silhouette on its top—the form of a human being couchant, and crouching—that was strange to him.
The light, however, was now sufficiently strong to enable him to distinguish, not only the form, but the face and features of his ci-devant entertainer under the greenwood tree—the Maroon captain, Cubina!
Before he could say a word to express his astonishment, a gesture, followed by a muttered speech from the Maroon, enjoined him to silence.
“Hush! not a word, Master Vaughan!” spoke the latter, in a half whisper, at the same time that he glanced significantly along the corridor. “Slip out of your hammock, get your hat, and follow me into the forest. I have news for you—important! Life and death! Steal out; and, for your life, don’t let him see you!”
“Who?” inquired Herbert, also speaking in a whisper.
“Look yonder!” said the Maroon, pointing to the sleeper in the chair.
“All right! Well?”
“Meet me in the glade. Come at once—not a minute to be lost! Those who should be dear to you are in danger!”
“I shall come,” said Herbert, making a motion to extricate himself from the hammock.
“Enough! I must be gone. You will find me under the cotton-tree.”
As he said this, the Maroon forsook his seat, so long and irksomely preserved—and, sliding down the slender trunk of the palm, like a sailor descending the mainstay of his ship, he struck off at a trot, and soon disappeared amid the second growth of the old sugar plantation.
Herbert Vaughan was not slow to follow upon his track. Some disclosures of recent occurrence—so recent as the day preceding—had prepared him for a somewhat bizarre finale to the fine life he had of late been leading; and he looked to the Maroon for enlightenment. But that strange speech of Cubina stimulated him more than all. “Those who should be dear to you are in danger!”
There was but one being in the world entitled to this description. Kate Vaughan! Could it be she?
Herbert stayed not to reflect. His hat and cloak hung in the chamber close by; and in two seconds of time both were upon him. Another second sufficed to give him possession of his gun.
He was too active, too reckless, to care for a stairway at that moment, or at that height from the ground—too prudent to descend by that which there was in front, though guarded only by a sleeper!
Laying his leg over the balustrade, he leaped to the earth below; and, following the path taken by the Maroon, like him was soon lost among the second growth of the ruinate garden.