Volume 3 Chapter 47 - The Maroon by Mayne Reid
The Doom of Destiny
Until daybreak was Quaco permitted to continue his snoring and his slumber. Up to that time, no Chakra appeared; but just as the red aurora began to tinge the tops of the forest trees, a dark form was distinguished upon the summit of the cliff, just over the tree stairway.
It had scarce made its appearance, when another was seen coming forward by its side; and, in the rear of both, another—and then a fourth.
All four halted for a moment upon the brow of the precipice. Whether they were in conversation could not be told. Likely they were, but their voices could not be heard above the mutterings of the moving water.
Presently, he who had first made his appearance commenced descending the cliff, followed by the others, apparently in the same order in which they had arrived upon its edge.
Cingües had already shaken Quaco from his slumbers. The other sleepers had also been aroused by their companions; and, perceiving the numbers of the enemy, had grasped their guns with a firmer hold.
Though the day had now dawned, none of the four shadowy figures, outlined against the façade of the cliff, could be identified. The dark rock and the bramble hindered them from being fairly seen. Not even when they had reached the bottom of the stair could they be recognised: for there also the frondage afforded them cover.
It was only after the two foremost had entered the canoe, and the craft was seen gliding out into the open water, that Quaco could tell who were the two individuals thus seeking the solitude of the Duppy’s Hole.
“Chakra!” said he, in a whisper to Cingües. “The t’other? Prince! if my eyes don’t bamboozle me, it’s your old acquaintance, the penn-keeper!”
To the Fellatah this piece of information was superfluous: he had already recognised the well-known features of the man who had so deeply injured him.
The memory of all his wrongs rushed into his heart, accompanied by a thirst for vengeance—keen, irresistible.
With a wild cry—and before Quaco could interpose—he raised his piece and fired.
The young African was a marksman of unerring aim; and but for the upraised arm of Quaco, that had disturbed the level of that deadly tube, the hours of Jacob Jessuron would have been numbered.
And numbered they were. Despite the interruption—despite the accident that guided that leaden missile far wide of its mark—destiny had determined upon having its victim.
Neither of the occupants of the canoe appeared to have been wounded; but as the smoke cleared away, it could be seen that the shot had not passed them without effect. Chakra’s hands were empty; the paddle had been struck by the bullet; and, carried clean out of them, was now seen on the surface of the water, fast gliding towards the gorge!
A shrill cry escaped from the lips of the Coromantee. He alone understood the danger to which this accident had exposed him. He alone knew of the whirl that threatened to overwhelm both himself and his companion.
Instantly he threw himself upon his knees, and, with an arm extended on each side of the canoe, and his body bent down to the gunwale, he commenced heating the water with his broad palms. His aim was to prevent the craft from being drawn into the centre of the current.
For some moments this strange struggle was kept up—the canoe just holding its own—making way neither upwards nor downwards.
The Maroons watched the movement with mute surprise; and no doubt would have continued to do so, but that the two men left by the bottom of the stairway—perhaps stirred by a like curiosity—had rushed forward to the edge of the water, and thus permitted their faces to be seen. At the same instant were they recognised by one who had an old account to settle with them.
“The jack Spaniards!” cried Quaco, surprised beyond measure at the sight of his ci-devant prisoners. “They have got loose from our guard. Fire upon them, comrades! Don’t let them escape a second time!”
The stentorian voice of the Maroon lieutenant, audible above all other sounds, at once awakened the caçadores to a sense of their dangerous situation; and, like a brace of baboons, they commenced sprawling up the tangled stairway.
Too late had they taken this resolution. Before they had got a third of the way to the summit, half-a-dozen triggers were pulled; and their bodies, one after the other, fell with a heavy plunge into the water below.
Meanwhile Chakra, in the canoe, had kept up his life and death struggle, now going against the current—and now the watery element appearing to prevail.
For the moment the Maroons could not have decided that strife. They were engaged in re-loading their guns; and the Coromantee was left free to continue his struggles without interruption.
Chakra’s bitterest enemies could scarce have desired to bring that scene to a speedy termination. No avenger need have wished his victim in a more terrible situation than were he and his confederate at that moment.
The former, acting under the instinct of self-preservation, had not yet given way to despair; while the terrified look of the latter, who appeared to have already succumbed to it, might have restrained his deadliest foe from interference.
Between the long, sinewy arms of Chakra and the strength of the current, it was difficult to decide which would conquer. For many minutes the forces appeared to be equally balanced. But the strength of the man was declining, while that of the element remained the same. In the end, the waters must prevail. Chakra at length appeared to become convinced of this; and cast round him a glance of mingled inquiry and despair.
At that moment an idea seemed to strike him—some thought, perhaps, that promised him a chance of escape.
All at once he desisted from his hopeless efforts to stay the canoe, as if some resolution had suddenly become fixed; and, turning towards his companion, he bent down, apparently with the intention of whispering to him. His wild, dark look, however, declared his design to be far different.
When fairly within reach, he threw out his long arms with a sudden jerk, and, clutching the Jew by both shoulders, drew him up into his embrace, like some gigantic spider seizing upon its prey.
Suddenly changing his hold, he grasped an arm and limb; and, raising the body high in air, with an immense muscular effort, he projected it clear over the gunwale of the canoe.
One shriek from the Jew—emitted in the extremest accent of grief—was heard simultaneously with the plunge; and then the body of the unfortunate man disappeared beneath the dark waters of the lagoon.
His hat and umbrella alone floated on the surface, both rapidly carried along by the current.
The wretched creature rose again, but not to discover any chance of saving himself from destruction. The only gratification he could have drawn from his temporary emergence was to perceive that his false confederate must perish as well as himself.
Chakra had hoped that by lightening the canoe he might contend more successfully with the current; but it soon became evident that his hopes would prove vain.
In disembarrassing himself of his compagnon du voyage he had lost way; and, before he could recover it, the canoe was sucked into a charybdis, from which even the power of the paddle could not have extricated it.
In less than ten seconds the craft entered the embouchure of the gorge, gliding downward with the velocity of an arrow.
It was but a despairing effort on the part of its occupant to seize upon a tree that grew horizontally from the rocks; though in his despair Chakra clutched it. Even had the bush been firmly rooted, his strength would not have sustained him against the fierce, resistless flood.
But it was not. The roots gave way; and, in another instant, the Coromantee and his canoe were precipitated an hundred feet sheer among the black rocks below!
His confederate had preceded him only by two seconds of time; and the dead bodies of both came once more in close contact—circling round and round, amidst the frothy spume that creamed over the cauldron below!