Beadle's New York Dime Library (no. 1080) (1904 01)
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—~ \ eed REID'S WORKS. —— \ NY NN Copyricu?, 1883, by Beapie & ADAMS. Adseicee case MaNULtt ay: the ie, tech app atelde® aad : sae JAn., 1904, Ho 1080, ST enneaenE ~-~4— — . Sar ager > FET WEA Published Every Wa. ma IV are & ‘s 0., Ek ublishers, 10 Cents a Copy. Month (JAMES SULLIVAN, Proprietor), $1.00 Y 0 . 379 Penrl Street, New Vork. . & + oar. ns 4 sm : meme nes et eee The Wiaroon. AVE A LR OR VOODOO MAND: O Bat Aves, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID, AUTHOR OF ‘‘THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN,” “ THE DEATH-SHOT,” ‘‘'THE SCALP HUNTERS,” ETO,, ETC. nN "i AN THE INCANTATION. ~~ 4
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2 — breke 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 fer- ward, snapping bis fingers, and ejaculating, *Good—good! I thougbt so!” : His daughter regarded his bebavior with eur- prise, Grayity was her fether’s habit, at times amounting to austerity. Such an exhibition of gayety was rare with Loftus Vaughan. ‘Some pleasing news, papa?” ‘Yes, you little rogue, very.” ‘* May } not bear it?’ ** Yes—no—no—not yet awbile,” “Papa! It is cruel of you to keep it from m I promise I shall share your joy.” ** Ab! you will when you hear the news— is, if you’re not a little simpleton, Kate.” ‘“‘Ta simpleton, papa? I shall not be called ” “Why, Pale be a simpleton if you don’t he joyful—when you—never mind, child—!’ll tell you all about it by-and-by. Good, good!” een- tinued he, in a state of ecstatic frenzy. “I thought so, I knew he would come.” ‘Then you expect some one, papa?” “T do. Guess who it is!” “ How could I? You know I am unacquaint- ed witb your English friends.” “Not with their names? You have heard their names, and seen letters from some of them f’ “Oh, yes, I often hear you speak of one—Mr. Smythje. A very cdd nameitis! I wouldn't be called Smytbje for the world.” “Ta, ta, child! Smyttje is a very pretty namie, especially with ontegu before it. Montagu is magnificent. Besides, Mr, Smythje is the owner of Montagu Castle.” “Ob, papa! bow can that make bis name sound any better? Is it be 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 :ail a week efter the letter was written, so that we may Jook ovt for bis arrival in afew days. Gad! J must prepare for him, Youknow Montagu Castile is out of re- air. He is to be my guest; and, bark yu, ‘atherine!” continued the planter, once mere seating himself at the table, and tendirg te- ward his daughter, so that bis softo vove 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 isa rich ove. It is tony interest to be friendly to him,” added Mr. Vaughan, im a still lower tone of voice, as if in eeliloquy, but loud enough for bis daughter to hear what was said. ‘‘Dear papa!” was the reply, “how could J be otherwise than polite to bim? If ovly fer your sake—” “If only for your own.” said the father, in- terrupting ber. and accompanying the remark with a sly look and Jaugh. ‘‘ But, dear Cath- erive,” continued he, ‘ we shal] find time to talk of this again. I must read the other letter. £0. Who on earth can it be from? Egad! 1 never saw the writing before.” “ 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. ‘death f exclaimed he, crushing the letter, as he finished reading it, and once more nervous- ly springing to bis feet. “Dead or living, the: iivetaiwed er of mine seems as if creatou
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The Maroon. > 7 to be a curse to me! While alive, always want- ing money; and now that he is dead sending cre disgrace me.” r father,” said the young girl, startled mere by his wild demeanor than what he was | saying—for the words were muttered in a low voiee, and rather in soliloguy—‘“ has the other letter brought unpleasant news?” “Ab! thatit has. You may read for your- self.” And onee more seating himself, he tossed the unwelcome epistle across the table, and recom- menced eating with apparent voracity—as if by that means to tranquilize his perturbed spirit. Kate took up the rejected letter; and, smooth- ing out the paper, ran ber eyes over the con- tents. Phe perusal] did not require much time; for considering that the letter bad made such a long journey, its contents were of the shortest; ‘*Lonpon, June 10, 18—. “Daar Uncie:—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 £°a Nymph, and is to sail upon the 18th in- stant, » 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 t.ken by the sheriff's officer and I am compelled, for want of money, to take e in the steerage, which I have been told is anything but a luxurious mode of traveling. But I am, young and strong, and no doubt shall be able to endare 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 of the epistle: and on finishing it, the phrase, ‘‘ poor fel'ow!” dropped vn if involuntarily, and just audibly, from her ps. CHAPTER IIL THE SLAVER, A nor West Indian sun was rapidly declining toward the Caribbean Sea, as if hastening to eool his fiery orb in th blue water, when a | a distance of a mile—he arrived at the point of , his destination without any other boat making slaver, that had rounded Pedro Point, in the | Island of Jamaica, was seen standing eastward fer Montego Bay. 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 mani- fest by the faded paint upon her sides, and the dark, dirt-colored blotches that marked the po- sition of her bawse-holes and scuppers. After getting fairly inside the bay, but still at a leng distance fromjthe (own, she was observed | suddenly to tack; and, instead of continuing on toward the barbor, head fora poiat 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 ebain, as it dragged throu zh the iron ring of the hawse-hole, announced the dropping of an anchor. In a few moments after the — swung round, and, drifting till the chain-cable became taut, Jay motionless upon the water. larque bad dropped anchor, a small boat shet out from the silent sbore; which, as soon as it had got fairly clear of the land, could be seen to be steering in the direction of the newly- | apebored vessel. There were three men in the boat, two of whom were plying black men; naked, witb the excéption of dirty white trowsers covering their limbs, and coarse palm-leaf bats upon their heads. Toe third occupant of the skiff was a white, er more properly, a whitish man. He appeared te be about sixty years old and had once been white; but long exposur* to a West Indian sun, eembined with the numerous dirt-bedaubed ereases and furrows in his skin, had darkened his eomplexion to the hue of leaf tobacco. His features, naturally of an angular shape, had become so narrowed and sharpened by age | as te leave scarce anything in front, and to get a view of his face it was necessary to step to one side and scan if en profil. Thus viewed, there was breadth enough and features of the most prominent character—in- eluding ; aoe = wert aeige of a lobster—a sharp, pro ng chin—with a deep embayment between, marking the locality of the lips; the eutlines of all suggesting a great resemblance te the profile of a parrot. The natural blackness of his eyes was ren- @ered deeper by contrast with long white eye- brews 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 | being the only parts not coveréd by a gar- was a white beaver hat, whose worn nap broken edges told of long service, the oars. These were both | | pearance, differing not ony from the whites Almost on the same instant that the slave- | u A pair of large green goggles resting on the humped bridge of his nose protected his eyes his son—a never do-well, like himself—to trouble | from the sun, though they might perhaps have | son China crape, the ends of which, han | been worn for another purpose—to conceal the | still lower, were adorned with a isinge-seak oF with a skirt that just reached below his knees, was bound around bis waist by a scarf of crim- villainous expression of the orbs that sparkled | gold. Over the left shoulder rested loosely an- beneath them. A sky-blue cloth coat, whitened by long wear, wita metal buttons, once bright, now cnanged to the bus of bronze; small-clothes of kersey- mere, glistening with grease; long stockings and tarnished top-boots made up the costume of this unique individual. A large blue cotton umbrel- la rested across bis 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, 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 evi- dently making for the newly-anchored bark, and evidently rowed at its best speed, | Indeed, the steersman appeared to be urging bis blacks to the exert on of their utmost strength. From time to time he was seen to twist his body half around and look toward the town, as though be expected or dreaded to see a rival boat coming from that quarter, and was desirous to reach the bark 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— its appearance, *Sbeep aboy!” shouted he, as the skiff was pulled up under the Jarboard quarter of the barque. “ Ay, ay!” responded a voice from above. ‘*Tsh that Cap ain Saowler I hearsh?” ** Hilloo! who's there?” interrogated some one on the quarter-deck; and the moment after, the sallow face of Captain Aminadab Jowler pre- sented himself at the gangway. ‘‘ Ah! Mister Jessuron, that you, eb? Deter- mined to have fust peep at my Siadkeyat Well, fust kim fust served, that’s my rule. Glad to see you, old fellow. How ’d deo?” “Fusht-rate! fusht-rate! lhopsh you're the same yourshelf, Captain Showler. How ish you for cargo?” “Fine, old boy! Got a prime lot this time. All sizes, colors, and sewes too, ha! ha! Youcan 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 bis accommoda- tion, 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 hand-shaking 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 the inspection of the “‘ cargo,” CHAPTER IV. THE FOOLAH PRINCE, On the quarter-deck of the slaver, and near the ‘‘companion,” stood a man of unique ap- who composed the crew, t also from the blacks and browns who constituted the cargo. His costume, attitude, and some other trivial circumstanves, proclaimed him as_ belongivg 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 privi- lege of remaining upon the second, he could not be one of the “ bales” of this human merchan- dise, and yet both costume and complexion for- bade 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 al- most European; but the complexion again neg- atived 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 character stics: fine arched eyebrow, nning an eye full and rotund; a nose slightly aquiline; thin, well- modeled lips; white teeth—whiter from con- trast with the dark shading on the upper lip— and over all an ample cherelure of jet-black hair, slightly curling. but not at all woolly. In nothing did he differ more from the dark- skinued helots of the hold than in his eostume. While none of these had any clothing upon their bodies, or next to none, he, on the contrary, was splendidly appareled—his face, throat, arms and limbs, from the knee to the ankle, ment. A sort of sleeveless tunic of yellow satin, re LO a] other scarf of blue burnous cloth, concealing the arm over which it hung; while, half hidden beneath its draping, could be perceived a cim- eter in its ricbly-chased scabbard, with a hilt of carved ivory. A turban upon the head, and sandals of Kardofan leather upon the feet, com- pleted bis costume. Notwithstanding the Asiatic character of the Cress, and tbe resemblance of the wearer to those East Indians known as Lascars, he was a true African, though not of that ty pe 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 (Fellat- tas)—that race of shepherd warriors w country extends from the confines of Darfur to the shores of the Atlantic—the lords of Socka- too 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 alove. Three or four others were around him, who also differed from the wretch- ed creatures in the bold. But their dresses of more common material, as well as other circum- stances, told that they were his inferiofs in rank—in short, his attendants. The humble mien with which they regarded him, and the watchful attention to his ev look and gesture, proclaimed tk®habitual obed ence to which they were accustomed; while the turbans which they wore, and their mode of salutaticn—the salaam—told of an obeisance Oriental and slavish. To the richness of the young man’s attire was added acertain haughtiness of mien that pro- claimed bim a person of rank, perhaps the chieftain of some African tribe. And such, in reality, be was—a Foolah prinee, from the banks of the Senegal. There, neither his presence nor appearance would have attracted more than passing obser- vation; but bere, on the western side of the Atlantic, on board a slave-ship, both required explanation. t was evident that he was not the same cate- gory with. his unfortunate countrymen “ be- tween decks,” doomed to peepe captivity. There were no signs that be had been treated as a captive, but the contrary. How, then, was his presence on board the sl.vs barque to he accounted for? Was hea passenger? In what relationsbip did he stand to the people,who surrounded bim! Such, though differently worded, were the in- terrogatories put by the slave-merchant, as re- turning 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, bolding up both bands, and looking with as- tonishment at the turbaned individuals on the quarter,deck, - ‘‘ Blesh my shtars!” be repeated; “what isb all thish? iy 3 my Gott! thesh fellows are not shlaves, are the ‘‘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, Captain Showler? a prinshe?” ‘Ye ain’t astonished at that, air ye. °"Tain’t the fust time l’ve had an African prince fora passenger. This yeer’s bis Royal Highness the Pri: ce Cingues, son o’ the Grand Sultan of Foota-toro, Tbe 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 ‘.zroom o’ the cham*er,’ I's’ ‘ ** Sultan of Foota-toro!” exclaimed the slave- merchant, still bolding P the blue umbrella m surprise; ‘King of the Cannibal Islandsh! Aha, a good shoke, Captain Showler! But, serious, mive friend, what for hash you tricked them out in this way? They won’t fetch a joey more in the market for a}! theesh fine feathers,” “Seerus, Mister Jessuron, they’re not for the market. 1 sw’ar to ye the fellur’s areal Afrikin rince.” ‘* African - fiddleshtick!” echoed the slave- merchant with an incredulous shrug. ‘‘ Come, worthy captain, what’sh the mashquerade about?” “Not abit of that, ole fellur! ‘Sure ye the nigger’s a prince, and my passenger—nothing more or less.” p you Gott, ish it so?” “So help me that!” emphatically replied fhe skipper. “Tt’s just as I’ve told ye, Mister Jes- su ron. ‘“‘ Blesh my soul!—a passenger, you shay?” ‘Yes; and he paid bis passage, too, like a prince, as he is.” “ But what hish business here in Shamaica!” “* Ah! that’s altogether a kewrious story, Mis- ter Jessuron. You'll bardly guess his bigness, I reckon?” / i, * Lesh hear it, friend Showler,.” j
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4 ——— “Well, then, the story air this: “Bout twelve months ago an army o’ Man- dingoes attacked the town of Old Foota-toro, and ’mong other plunder, carried uff one o’ his daughters—own sister to the young fellur you see there, They sold her to a West Indian trader; who, in course, brought the girl over here to some 0’ the islands, which ain’t known. Old Foota-téro, like the rest o’ ’em, thinks the slaves are all fetcved to one place, and he’s half beside himself ’bout the loss of this gurl—she war his favorite, 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 pur- chased her on this side. That’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 beyon . mere curiosity. At the same time he seemed as if trying to conceal any outward sign of emotion, by pre- serving, as much as possible, the rigidity of his features: ““Blesh my soul!” he exclaimed, as the skip- per had concluded. “ Asa I live,a wonderful shtory? But how ish he ever to find hish sister? He might ash well look for a needle in a hay- shtack.” ** Wall, that's true enough,” replied the slave skipper. ‘‘ As for that,” he added, with an air of stoical indifference, *‘’tain’t no busivess 0’ mine. My affair hez been to carry the young fellur acrcst 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 inthe answer. “He paid like a prince, as ’vetold you. D’ye gee that batch o’ yellow Mandingoes by the windlass youndr?”’ ““Yesh, yesh!” “‘ Forty there air, all told.” “Well?” “Twenty on ’em I’m to have fer fetchin’ him acrost. Cheap enough, ain’t it?” ‘Dirt sheep, friend Showler. twenty?” “They are his’n, 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 bis shoulders, ‘‘ that will not be an easy Captain Showler.” ** By Christopher Columbus, old fellow!” said the trader, apparently struck with an idea; ‘now I think of it, you might gi’e him some ‘belp in the findin’ o’ her. I know n> 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 troblue. Vm rayther anxious he should succeed. King Foota-toro is one of my hest 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 capt’in, I don’t know that there’s any hope, and won’t hold out any to his royal highnesh the prince. I’m not as able to et about ash I ushed to was; but I’ll try my hesht for you. As youshay, I might do some- thing 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, notared cent. Men and wo- men are the dollars of his country. He hez the four attendants, you see, They air his slaves hke the others.” “Twenty four, then, in all. Blesh my soul! What a lacky 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.” : Smacking his lips, and snapping his fingers as he talked, the old reprobate descended the com- anion stairway, the captain of the slaver fol- Drtag close beLind him. We know not, except by implication, the de- tails of the bargaining that took place below. The negotiation was a secret one, as became tho nature of any transaction between two such characters as a slave dealer and a slave-stealer, {t resulted, however, in the purchase of the whole cargo; and in so short a time, that just as the sun sunk 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 stave-merchant had put out. Among them were the twenty Mandingoes, the attendants of Ee prince. y The skiff was s#€n returning to the shore, a eable’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 gayly colored costume, even in the ' darkness, shining over the calm shadowy sur, face of the sea, rendered it easy to recognize this individual as the Foolah prince. The wolf and the lamb were sailing in the same boat, The cther p Cry , ‘kiog’s daughter in her own country; and I Nc ne en tpt i pS ae So pi ee = x ey pe ese a" 1 ee ea he 6 Maroon, CHAPTER V. 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 bis house, perceived a solitary horseman approach- ing by the long avenue. As the stranger drew nearer, the animal he bestrode appeared gradually to transform it- self 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 aud top boots, both sullied by long wear. A damaged brown beaver hat upon his bead with the ede 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 his right hand, enabled Mr. Vaughan to identify ove of his nearest neigh- bors; the pen keeper, Jacob Jessuron, who, among other live stock, was also known as an extensive speculator in slaves. “Well, Mishter Vochan,” began the Jew, “T hash come over to see you on a shmal! bishness, a very shmall bishness it is, shearcely 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?” « Pesk, yesh, I bought a shmall Jot, a very shmell lot. I hadn’t the monish to buy more. S’belp me Gott! the shlaves ish getting so dear ash I ‘can’t afford to buy. Posshible, I may bave a shmall lot to dishpose of in aday or two; but joost 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?” * Well, the truth ish, Mishter Vochan, I bash a cushtomer, who wants a likely wench for waiting at bish table. Theresh none among my shtock he thinks good enough for hish purposh, 1 wash thinking you has got one, if you could shpare her, that would suit him nishely.” ** Which do you mean?” ‘IT mean that young Foolah wench ash I sold you lasht year, joosh after crop time.” ‘*Oh! the girl Yola?”’ “Yesb, I think that wosh her name. Ash shomething on your bargain—shay ten pounds curreusby ?” ** Poh, poh, poh!” replied the planter with a deprecating shrug. ‘That would never do, even if meant to sell the girl. But I have no wish to part with her.” “Shay twenty, then?’ “Nor twice twenty, neighbor. I woaldn’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 bis chair. ‘‘ Och! Mishter Vochan, theresh not a black wench in the island worth half the monish. Two bunder poundsh! Blesh my soul, that ish a prishe! I’d be glad to give any two I harsh for two hunder poundsb.” ““Why, Mr. Jessaron! I thought you said just now slaves were getting very dear?’ ‘Dear, yesh; but thatis doublish dear, S’help me Gott! You don’t mean it, Mishter Vochan?” ‘* But [do mean it; and evenif you were to offer me two hundred—” “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 usb! Mishter Vochan; you ish shurely shokin? Why will you not take two hunder? I hash the moni-h in my pocket.” ‘*Tam sorry to disappoint you, neighbor; 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.” ** Miss 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.” yonr daughter shtand between you and a good hargain? Two bunder poundsh is big monish— big monish. Cushtos, The wench is 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 rishe.” “ Well,” replied the planter, after a moment's reflection, Ra apparently tempted by the hand- some offer, ‘‘aince 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 Jikes this young Foolah. [ have beard that the girl was — am as good as certain Kate won’t consent to her be- ing sold,” ‘ Not if vou wished it, Mishter Vochan?” “Oh, if I insisted upon it, of course; but I gave my daughter a promise not ee Laut “ But, Mishter Vochan! you shurely don’t let | you had ber dirt sheep, 1 don’t mind giving you ' the girl against her wish, and I never break my word, Mr. Jessuron—not to my own child.” With this rather affected profession, the plant- er walked cut of the room, leaving the slave- merehant to his reflections. ‘ May the deffel strike me dead if that man ishn’temad!” soliloquized the Jew, when left to himself; ‘‘shtark sntarin mad! refuse two hun- der poundsh for a sbe wench ash brown as a cocoanut! Bless my shtars?’ ** As I told you, Mr. Jessuron,” said the plant- er, re-entering the hali, ‘‘my daughter is inex- orable, Yola cannot be sold.” **Good-morning, Mishter Vochan,” seid the slave-merchant, taking up bis hat and umbrelia, #nd making for the door, ‘‘ Good morning, shir: I bash no other bishness to-day.” Then, putting on his bat snd grasping his um- brella‘ 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 awav in sullen silence. “Unusually free with his money this morn- ing,’ said the planter, looking efter him. ‘‘Seme shabby scheme, I have no doubt. . Well, I sup- pose I have thwarted it; besides, lam glad of an opportunity of disobliging the old curmud- pec) mapy’s the time he has done as much for me CHAPTER VI. JUDITH JESSURON. In the most unamiable of tempers did the slave-speculator ride back down the avenue. So out of sorts was be at the result of his inter- view, 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 puraplute fora very different epp every now and then be- laboring the ribs of his mule with it, as if to rid himself of bis spleen by venting it on the inno- cent mongrel. ; ‘The dusht off my shoosh to both of yoush!” he said, as be cleared the gate entrance, ‘‘ I’sh off your grounds now; and, if J bash you here, I sbay you sometbing of my mind, something ash meke you sell your wench for Jesh ssh two hunder poundsh! | dososome time, pleash Gott! Ach!” Uttering this last exclamation with a pro- longed aspirate, he raised. himself erect in his stirrups; and, half-turning bis mule, sbook bis umbrellain threatening manner toward Mount Welcome, bis eye accompanying the action with a glance that expressed some secret but vindic- tive determine tion. As he faced back into the road, another per- sonage appeared upon the scr ne—a female eques- trian, who, trotting briskly up, turned her horse, and rode along by his side. © She was u young girl, or rather a young woman—a bright, beautiful creature—who a peared an angel by the side of that demon-like old man. A sipgular contrast did they present as they rode together, this fair maid and that barsh- featured, ugly old man, unlike as the rose to its parent thorn. Sad are we to say that the contrast was on physical: morally, it was “like father like daughter.” In external form, Judith Jessuron was an angel; in spirit—and we say it with re- pret—she was the child of her father—deyilish as he, ‘** A failure?” said this fair she, taking the in- itiative. ‘‘ Pah! I needn’t bave asked you: it’s clear enough from your looks; though, certes, that beautiful countenance of yours is nota very legible index to your thougbts. What says Vanity Vaughan? Will he sell the girl?” ee oO » ** 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 buckward before me. How much?" ‘Two hunder poundsb.” ‘* 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 a wench—quite double what she’s worth ” “Ach! Shoodith, dear, it wash not Vochan hishelf that refused it,” ‘Who then?” * Hish daughter.” “She!” exclaimed the young Jewess, with a curl of the lip and a contemptuous twist of her beautiful nestril. “She, you say? I wonder what next? The conceited mustce, berself no better than a slave!” “Shtop, shtop, Shoodith.” interrupted the Jew, with a look of uneasiness, ‘‘ Keep that to yourshelf, my sbijd. Shey no more about it— at leasht, not now, not now. The trees may have earsb.” The burst of angry passion bindered the fair “Shoodith ” from making rejoinder, and for some moments father and daughter rode on in silence. The latter was the first to recommence the conversation. * You are foolish, good father,” she said; to part with © ‘absurdly foolish.” us, Ore Ade SR ee ouiecetentntit saeananl aateceme igvttekim ee
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Sn * 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. oy would say that you are silly, old rabbi Jacob; and that’s what I do sa “Blesh my shoul! Shoodith?” “Why, dear and worthy papa, you’re not always so dull of comprehension, Answer me: what do you want the Foolah for?” inshe will give hish twenty Mandingoes for keg There ish no doubt but that she’s his sis- ter. Twenty good shtrong Mandingoes, worth twenty hunder poundsh. Blesh my soul! it’sh a fortune!” “ Ay, and you’ve gone about it in such a foolish fashion that you run a great risk of los- ing 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 be did so darting toward his daughter a Icok half- puzzled, half-penetrating. **Good father Jacob,” continued she, halting at the same time, ‘‘ you are not wont to be so dull- witted.” “ Speak out, Shoodith. I don’t understand ou. “You will presently. Didn’t you say, just now, that Captain Jowler has reasons for not coming ashore?” “Showler daren’t show his face in the Bay— that’sh why he landed his cargo on the coast. | | a pair of close-fitting tights, and Hessian boots, 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. home at once, and strip his royal highness of those fine feathers before some of our curious neighbors come in and see them. People will talk scandal, you know. As for our worthy overseer—” ‘Ab, Ravener! he knowsh all about it. I was obliged to tell him ash he landed.” ‘* Of course you were; and it will cost you a Mandingo or two to keep Ais 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 !” exclaimed the admir- ing 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 skellin’.” And wivh this honest reflection, the slave- merchant hammered his mule into a trot, and followed his ‘‘ precious Shooditb,” who had al- ready given the whip to her horse, and was rid- ing rapidly homeward. CHAPTER VII. THE SEA NYMPH. Ow the third day after the slaver bad cast an- chor 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 harbor, The lettering upon her stern told that she was the ‘‘Sea Nymph, of Liverpool.” Though freighted with a cargo of merchan- dise, and in reality a merchantman, the pres- ence on board of several! individuals in the cos- tume of landsmen, denoted that the Sea Nymph also accommodated passengers. Among these was one of peculiarities suffi- ciently distinctive to attract attention. A single ee at this personage satisfied you that you ooked u time «4 water. 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. ; Notwithstanding a certain ill-disguised con- tempt 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 ymph 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 rp nangy of a magnificent sugar estate in Jamaica, left him me a deceased relative, to visit which was the aa of his voyage. . Smythje had not come over the water with any intention of settling upon his Jamaica estate, : “Such an ideaw,” to use his own phraseo- logy, ‘‘nevwaw entawed ma bwain. To ex- est-end exquisite of the very purest rato: a Be Pee a; y 4 + ‘ % a Th a wa m Meee ott (S's asa wT Hine ai irene Sy eStS es po - ” What Geek you mean, | We had better hasten | * What would you | baw! : i : } } | | ’ ! n a London cockney, at the same | ———_————— ‘The Maroon. change London and its pwesyaws for a wesi- dence among those haw-ed . iggaws—deaw, no! I could nevwaw think of such a voluntawy banishment; that would be a baw, a decided A meaw twip to see something of the twopics, of which I’ve heard such extwaor’nary stowies, bave a look at my sugaw plantation and the dem’d niggews; besides, I have a stwong desire to ake a squint at these Queeole queet- bbe are said to be dooc-ed pwetty. w! aw! After such fashion did Mr. Montagu Smytbje explain the purpose of his voyage tosuch of “Och! you know what I wantsher for. Thish | his fellow-passengers as chanced to take an interest in it. There were but few travelers 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 labor is monopolized 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 conspicueus 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 tho latter in almost everything else. In stature he was what is termed “‘ middle hight,” with Jimbs 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, The garmerts 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 gave him rather a distingue air, notwithstand- ing a little threadbarishness apparent along the seams. The occupation in which the young man was engaged betrayed a certain degree of refine- ment. Standing near the windlass, in the blank leaf of a book, which pi ogee to be his jour- nal, he was sketching the harbor into which the ship was about to enter; and tbe drawing cea no inconsiderable degree of artistic skill. As the ship drew near to the shore, he closed the book, and stood scanning the gorgeous pic- ture of tropical scenery, now, for the first time, disclosed to his eyes. Despite tbe pleasant emotions which so fair a scene was calculated to call forth, his counte- nance betrayed anxiety, perhaps a doubt as to whether a welcome awaited him in that lovely land upon which he was Jooking. Only a few moments Bad he been thus occu- pied, when a strange voice falling upon his ear caused him to turn toward the speaker, in whom he recognized the distinguished cabin passenger, Mr. Montagu Sinythje. As this gentlemen had voyaged all the way from Liverpool to Jamaica witbout once ven- turing to set his foot a¢roes the Jine which sep- arates the sacred precincts of the quarter from the more plebeian for’ard deck, his presence by the windlass might have been matter of sur- prise. A circumstance, however, explained it.’ It was the last hour of the voyage. The Sea Nymph was just heading into the harbor; and the passengers of all degrees bad rushed for- ward, in order to obtain a better view of the glorious landscape unfolding itself before their eyes. Notwithstanding his often-expressed an- tipathy to the ‘‘abom’nable smell of taw,” it was but natural that Mr. Smythje should yield to the general curiosity, aud go forward among the rest, ' Having pies an elevated standpoint upon the top of the windlass he had adjusted the lass to his eye, and commenced ogling the andecap’, now near enough for its details to be distinguished, Not for long, however, did Mr. Smythje re- main silent. He was not one of a saturnine habit. The fair scene was inspiring him with a poetical fervor, which soon found expression in characteristic speech. : **Dooc-ed pwetty, pon honaw!” he exclaimed ; ‘““would make a spwendid dwop-scene faw a theataw! Dawn’t 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 mainmast with as much scrupulousness as Mr, Smytbje had observed about venturing forward. Hence it was that the voice of the exquisite was as strange to him as if hc bad never set eyes on that itiustrious personage, On perceiving that the speech was meant for himself, he was at first a little nettled at its baer | tone; but the feeling of irritation soon passed away, and he fixed bis eyes upon the speaker, with a good-humored, though some- what contemptuous expression. “Aw—haw-—it is yaw, my young fellaw,” continued the exquisite, now for the first time rceiving to whom be bad made his eee ‘Aw, indeed! I’ve often observed yaw from the quarter-deck. Ba Jawye! yes; a vewy 5 gen or ben ie\ strange individwal! incompwehensibly stwange ! May I ask—pawdon the liberty—what is bwing.- ing 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 1 meant.” “No, I ashaw yaw. I meant what b’isness bwings yaw heaw. P’waps you have some pwofession?” “No, not any,” replied the young man; checking his inclination to retaliate the imperti- nent style of bis interrogator. “A twade, then?” **T am sorry to say [ bave 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 wantation, or viggar-dwivaw. Neithaw, I lieve, 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?” **T 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?” **] have, if he be still alive.” “Aw, haw! yaw are not shaw of that in- tewesting fact? P’waps yaw’ve not heard from him wately?” ‘‘Not for years,” replied the young steerage passenger, bis poor prospects now baving caused bim to relinquish the satirical tone which he bad assumed. ‘‘ Not for years,” repeated he, ‘*though I’ve written to him to say that I should com) by this ship.” * ““Veway stwange! And pway, may I ask what b’isness yaw unc'e follows? ‘He is a planter, I believe.” “ A sugaw planiaw?’ conan he wasso when we last heard from im. ‘* Aw, then, p’waps he is wich—a pwopwietor? In that case be may find something a to daw, bettaw than niggaw-dwiving. ke yaw his ovaw-seeaw. May I know yaw name?” ‘Quite welcome to it. Vaughan is my name.” “ Vawn!” repeated the exquisite, in a tone that betrayed some newly awakened _ interest; ‘* Vawn did I understand yaw to say?” “Herbert Vaughan,” replied the voung man, with firmer emphasis. ‘* And yaw uncle’s name?” ‘* He isalso called Vaughan. He is my father’s brother—or rather was—my father is dead.” “Not Woftus Vawn, Esq., of Mount Wel- come?” “Yes, Loftus Vaughan; my uncle is so called, and Mount Welcome is, I believe, the name of his estate.’ ‘“‘Veway stwange! incompwebensibly 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 twustee of my own pwoperty, the yvewy person to whom I am consigned. w me! ho dooc-ed stwange if yaw and I should yet be guests undaw the same woof!” The remark was accompanied by a super- cilious glance, that did not escape the observa- tion 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 re- joinder, 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. In less than balf an bour after the brief con- versation between Mr. Montagu Smythbje and the young steerage passenger, the Sea Nymph had got warped into port, and was lying along- side the wharf. A gangway plank was stretched from the shore; and over this, men and women, of all shades of color, from blonde to ebony. black, and of as many different callings, came crowd- ing aboard; while the passengers, sick of the ship and everything belonging to her, hastened to get on shore. . Among the different carriages ranged along the wharf, a handsome barouche appeared con- spicuous, It was attached toa pair of cream- colored horses, splendidly caparisoned. A mu-- latto coachman sat upon the box, shining in a livery of lightest green, with yellow facings; while a footman, in garments of like hue, at- tended at the carriage-step, holding the door for s me 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, bad notice! this magnificent equipage. He was still gezir + upon it, when his attention was attractea to ~s a2 is Pe i
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“ 44 6 ee two gentlemen, who, having walked directly trom the vessel, had just arrived by the side of “the carriage. A white servant followed tem, sand behind were two negro attendants, carry- ‘ing a number of parcels of light luggage. One “of the gentlemen and the white servaut were “easily recognized by Herbert; they were Mr, Montagu Smythje and his valet. Herbert now recalled the odd expression made ‘ase 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 gentle- man, who appeared to be an overseer, following on horsebac Herbert watched the receding vebicle, until a as an escort. | coolness. The Maroon. worthy of Apicius; and the wines—instead of | me. Your pardon, Mr. Smythje—only for one | 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, | A dinner of this good old-fashioned style had | Loftus Vaughan prepared for bis Englist guest | Behind the chairs appeared troops of colored attendants, gliding siiently over the smooth | floor. A constant stream of domestics pour d in and out of the hall, fetching and removing | the dishes and plates, or carrying the wine de- | canters in silver coolers. Young girls of vari- ous 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 The cloth having been removed from the turn in the road hid it from his view; and then | highly-polished table, the sparkling decanters dropping his eyes toward the deck, he stood for some moments in a reflective attitude, revolving in his mind some thoughts that were far from reeable. o one there to meet him and bid him wel- come! The countenance of the young adventurer be- came cloudy under the influence of this thought; eyes that saw not, “Sal” said a negro boy, at this moment step- ping up and interrupting bis reflections, Bal rejoined Herbert, looking up and per- ceiving, with some surprise, that the darky was regarding him with a fixed stare. ‘‘ What might you want, my lad? If it be money, I have none to give you.” r mone saf wharra fo’ money? He do wha’ mass’r bid. ready go now?” { Ready to gol where? What mean you, oy! ** Go fo’ da great house.” “Great house! of what great house are you speaking?” ‘* Moun’ Welc’m’, sa—Mass’r Va’n. Masy’r Va’n, sa?’ ‘*What!” exclaimed Herbert, in surprise, at | the same time scanning the darky from head | to foot; *‘ how do you know that, my boy?” ‘*Quashie know dat well ’nuf. Cappen ob da big snip, obaseeah say so. Obaseeab point out young buckra from de waff; he send Quashie fetch young buckra to Moun’ Welc’m’, Ready to go now, sa?” ‘You are from Mount Welcome, then?” “Ya, sa—me boss: boy da, an’ pose-boy; fetch my for yuung Englis’ buckra, Obaseeah he ring b’rouche for grand Englis’ buckra, Bag- gage dey goin de ox-wagon.” “Where is your pony ?” “Up yonna, sa; on de waff, sa. sa?” “ All right,” said Herbert, now comprehend ing the situation of affairs. ‘Shoulder that portmanteau, and toss it, into tne wagon, Which road am I to take?” “* Can’t miss um road, sa; straight up da rib- | ber till you come to de crossin’. Dar you take de road dat don’t lvad to da leff, you soon see Moun’ Welc’m’, sa.” “* How far is it?” **Bout sebben or eight mile, sa; reach dar long ’fore sundown; pony gu like de berry light- nin’, Sure you no keep to da left by da crossin’.”” Tbus 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 bis irksome voyage. Witb bis gun, a fowling-piees, on his shoulder, he strode over the platform, and up the wooden wharf. Then detaching the psny from the wheel of the ox-wagori, 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 bim to Mount Wel- come. uashie want oung buckra You fo’ CHAPTER VIII. A LITTLE CLOUD. THE carriage conveying Mr, MontaguSmytbje | from. Montego Bay to Mount Welcome passed np the «venue aud arrived at tie great bouse just one nour before Herbert Vaughan made his appearance at the entrance gate of the plan- tation. Mr. Smythje had arrived at balf-past three, Pp. 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 pormanteaus, and dress his master for the table, Though the Londoner had been all his life ac- eustomed to dining well, he could not help in- doiging in some surprise at the plentiful and luxurious repast that was placed before him, Perbaps 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 pocomroes times of sugar-planting, a Jamaican dinner was deserving the name of feast. Tur'le was the common soup; and the most sumptuous dishes were arranged thickly over the board. Even the ordinary everyday dessert was a spread and he stood silently gazing upon the deck with | | were once more passed round. In honor of bis guest, the planter had already made free with his own wines, all of which were of most excel- lent 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. f; 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 sbape half-human, balf-equine, that appeared near the ext:eme end of the long avenue, moving toward the house, When first seen by Loftus Vaughan it was still distant, though not so far off but that, with the raked eye, be could distinguish a man on horseback, From that moment he might have been ob- served to turn about in his chair, at short inter- vals casting uneasy glances upon the centaurean form than 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 borseman had made halt at the entrance of the by-path, and was seen coming on for the house, that the attention of either was drawn to the singular bebavior of | Mr. Vaughan. Then, however, his nervous anxiety had be- come so undisguisedly patent as to elicit from Miss Vaughan an ejacglation of alarm; while Ready go, ) the cockney involuniarfly exclaimed: ** Bless ma soul!” adding the interrogatory— ‘* Anything wrong, sir?” “Oh, nothing!” stammered the planter; “ only —orly—a little surprise—that’s all.” “Surprise, papa! what bas caused it? Oh, see! yonder is some one on horseback—a man— !ayoung 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 ali about?’ “Tut! sit down, child!” commanded the father, ina 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 no- tice her. The pony and his rider were no longer visible, as they were no too close to the house to be | seen over the sill of the window; but the clat- | tering hoofs could be heard, the sounds coming nearer and nearer. Mr. Vaughan was endeavoring to appear col- lected, and to say something, but his sang froid was assumed and unnatural; and being unable to keep up the conversation, an ominous silence wdigeated. The sound of the hoofs ceased to be heard, The pony, having arrived under the windows, bad been brought toa halt. Then there were voices, edrnest and rather loud. They were succeeded by the noise of foot- steps ov the stone stairway. Some one was coming up the steps Mr. Vaughan looked aghast. All his fine plans were about to be frustrated. There’ was | a hiteb in the programme—Quashie had failed in the performance of his part. ** Aha!” jaculated the planter, with return- ing delight, as the smooth, trim countenance of | his overseer made iis apprarance above the landing. ‘*Mr. Trusty w shes to speak with moment,” Mr. Vaughan rose from bis seat and hastened, as if wishing to meet the overseer before the latter could enter tbe room. Trusty, however, had already stepped inside the doorway; and, not being much of a diplo- matist, had bluntly declured bis errand-~in scttie voce, it is true, but still not low enough to bin- der a part of his comuunication from being heard. Amovg other words the phrase ‘“ your nephew” reacbed the ears of Kate, at that mo- ment keenly bent to catch every sound. The reply was also partially beard, though delivered in a low and apparently tremulous voice: ‘** Show him—summer- bouse—garden—tell hina to wait—there presently.” Mr. Vaughan turned back to the table with a half-satisfied air, He was fancy ing that be bad escaped from his dilemma, at least for the time; but the expression which he perceived on the countenance of his daughter restored bis sus- picions that all was not right. Scarce a second was he left in doubt, for al- most on the instant Kate cried out in a tone ef 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 cbild,” quickly interrupted her father, and appearing not to bave understood her interrogatory, * you may retire to your room. Mr. Smythje snd 1 would like to bave our cigar, and the smoke of tobacco don’t agree with you. Go, child, go!” The young girl instantly rose from ber chair, and hastened to obey the command, 1otwith- standing the protestations of Mr. Smyti je, wbo looked as if he would have much prefered her company to the cigar. But her father hurriedly repeated the ‘ Go, child, go!” accompanying the words with an- other of those severe glances which had already awed and mystified ber, Before she bad passed fairly out of the great hall, however, her thougbts reverted to the un- answered interrogatory; and as she crossed the threshold of ber chamber she was heard mutter- ing to herself: ‘I wonder if cousin be come,” CHAPTER JX. A BOLD RESOLVE. Far better would it have been for Mr. Vaughan, at least for the success of his schemes, had he adoyted an bonorable course with bis nepbew, and at once introduced bim openly and aboveboard to his table, his daughter, and his aristocratic guest. By bis shabby treatment of bis nephew, he was ii. vesting that young man with a romantic interest in the eyes of bis daughter, that per- baps might never havo been felt, or, at all events, not so readily. Misfortune, especially that which springs from persecution, isa grand suggester of sympsthy—that is, when tbe ap- peal is made to noble hearts; and the heart of Kate Vaughan was of this quality, In the brief uncertone that bad passed be- tween her father and the overseer she nad heard the command, ‘Show bim to the tummer- house.” She knew that the summer-bhouse was within view of her chamber window, She was curious to see what in all her life sbe had never beheld—a covsin. Her curiosity was not balked. On looking through the lattice her cousin was before ber eyes. With bis braided frock buttoned tightly over his breast, glittering Hessian boots on his well- turned limbs, bis neat three cornered bat set lightly over bis brown curls, he was not a sight to terrify a young girl, least of all a cousin. Even the bold, somewhat fierce expression upow his countenance, at that moment reflecting the angry emotions that were stirring within him, did not, in the eyes of the young creole, de- tract from the beauty of the face she saw be- fore her. For some moments she remained in the same attitude, gazing steadfastly and silent, Then, without turning, there escaped from her lips, Jow murmured, and as if by an involuntary ef- fort, the interrogatory: * Yola, is he not beautiful” ‘Beautiful, missa,” repeated the maid, who had not yet bebeld the object for whom this ad- miration was meant; ‘‘ who beautiful?” ‘* Who? My cousin, Yola,” ‘“ 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 be were my brother~. alas! I have none—I should do the same with. out hesitation, But with a cousin, that’s different. Besides, papa don’t like this cousin of mine, for some reason or another. 1 wonder what he can have against bim. J can’t «ee; and surely it can be no reason for my uot ikiog him? And, surely his being my cousin is just why I should go down and talk to hirn,. “Besides,” continued the young Oe sprak- + ing to herself rather than to the maid, ‘ he ap- : } i “= ™ ,’ »~ TE tease Sie ij
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; so taken u his-naine! ell, 1 may be doing wrong: per- haps papa will be angry: rbaps he won’t knew anything aboutit! Right or wrong, Ill go! Ishall go!” Se saying, the $i creole snatched a scarf from the fauteuil, flung it over ber shoulders, wad, gliding from the chamber, entered the summer-house. Herbert had not quite recovered from sur- prise 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 anawer, He soon found speech, however, for the hy- pothetical reply: “If you are the daughter of Mr. Loftus Vaugha:.—” “ am.” “Theo 1 am proud of calling myself your eousiD. I am Herbert Vaughan, from Eng- fand. 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 te notice. It produced a momentary incon- geniality, that was in danger of degenerating | into a positive coolness; and Kate, who had @eme forth under the ne of an affec- tionate instinct, trembled under a repulse, the @ause of which she could not comprehend. Jt did not, however, hinder her from court- eeusly rejoining: “We were expecting you, as father had re- aeived your letter, but not to-day. Papa said, not before to-morrow. Permit me, cousin, to welcome you to Jamaic>,.” Herbert bowed profoundly. Again the young creole felt her warm im- pulses painfully cnecked; and, blushing with embarrassment, she stood in an attitude of in- decision. Herbert, whose heart had been meiting like Snew under a tropic sun, now me sensible that he was committing a rudeness, which so far from being natura! to him, was costing bim . astraggle 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 hjs attitude of cold re- serve. “Thanks for your kind welcome!” said he, now speaking in a tone of affectionate frank- ness; ‘ but, fair cousin, you have not told me your name,” ‘Catherine; though I am usually addressed ey the shorter synonym, Kate.” “Catherine! that isa family name with us. My father’s mother, and your father’s, too—our grandmamma—was a Catherine. Was it also your mother’s name?” ‘No: my mother was called Quasheba.” BS omen’ that is a very singular uame,” $ you think so, cousin? I am sometimes called Quasbeba 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 remem- ber her. Indeed, cousin, I may say I never knew what it was to have a mother!” “Nor [ much. cousin Kate. My mother also died early. Butare you my only cousin?—No sisters nor brothers?” “Not one. Ah! I wish I had sisters and brotners!” “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 sis- ter or brother. Indeed,” added the young girl, in a reflective tone, “7 sometimes feel lonely enough!” it) Ab " : “ Perhaps, now that we are to have guests, it will ‘be different. Mr. Smythje is very amus- ing. “Mr. Smytbje! _Who is he?” “What! you do not know Mr, Smytbje? I thought that you and he came over in the same ship? Papa said so; and that you were not to be bere 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 eigars. But, bless me, cousin! Pardon me for not asking—perhaps you have not dined yet?” “No,” replied Herbert, in a tone that express- DH chagrin, ‘nor am [I likely to dine here to- ay. This storm of queries with which, in the sim- a ee ee oe ——— ence aud sweet converse had for the woment rescued him. Hence the character of bis reply. ‘*And why, cousin Herbert?’ asked she, wih a marked air of surprise. ‘‘If you have not diued, it is not too late. Why not here?’ ‘* Because ””"—and the young man drew him- self proudly up—‘‘ 1 prefer going without din- | per to dining where[ 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 ap- | peared in the dvuorway. ape Your father?” ‘*My father!” : “Kate!” cried the planter, in a tone that be- | spoke displeasure, ‘‘ Mr, Smythje would like to | hear you play upon the harp. I have been look- | ing for you in yourroom, and all over the house. What are you doing out there?” The language was coarse and common—the manner that of a vulgar man flusbed with wine. ‘Oh, papa! cousin Herbert is here. He is waiting to see you.” ‘“*Come you here, then! Come atonce. Mr. Smythje is waiting for you" And with this imperious rejoinder Mr. Vaughan re-entered the house. ‘* Cousin! I must leave you.” “Yes, I perceive it. One more worthy than I claims ‘your company. Go! Mr. Smythje is | impatient.” “Tt is papa.” ‘Kate! Kate! are you coming? Haste, girl! baste, 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 ber f ther came again ringing slong the corridor, now in tones irate and commanding. Obedience could | no longer be delayed; and with a half-puzizled, balf-reproachful glance at her cousin, she reluc- tantly parted from his presence. CHAPTER X. A SURLY RECEPTION. AFTER the young creole had disappeared within the entrance, Herbert remained in a | state of indecision as to bow he sbould act, He no longer needed an interview with his uncle, for the sake of having an explanation. This new slight bad crowned tis convictions that be was there an unwelcome guest, and no possible apology could now retrieve the iil- treatment be had experienced. He would bave walked off on the instant with- out a word; but, stung to the quick by the series of insults he had received, the instinctive retaliation had sprung up within him, and de- termined him to stay—at all events, until he could meet his relative face to face, and reproach him with his unnatural conduct. He was reck- lessly indifferent as to the result. i With this object he continued in the kiosk, bis patience being now baited with the prospect of that slight satisfaction, Shortly after a heavy footstep echoed along the passage. The door opened, and Herbert samba A it was his uncle, who bad at length | ound time to honor him with an interview. Though so joyous but the moment before, all traces of mirth had disappeared from the coun- tenance of Loftus Vaughan when he presented himself before the eyes of hisnephew. His face habitually red, was fired with the wine he bad been drinking to the hue of scarlet. Neverthe- less, an ominous mottling of a darker color upon his broad, massive brow. foretold the ungracious reception his relative was likely to have at his bands. His first words were uttered in a tone of inso- lent coolness: ‘*So you are my brother’s son, are you?” There was no extending of the hand, no ges- ture; not even a smile of welcome, Herbert checked his anger, and simply an- swered: **T believe so.” “ And pray, sir, what errand has brought you out to Jamaica?” ‘*Tf 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 -ynicism, but evidently taken down by the unexpected style of the reply. ‘* And what, may I ask, do you purpose doing here?’ i ‘* Have not the slightest idea,” answered Her- bert, with a provoking air of independence, ** Have you any profession?” : “ Unfortunately, not any.” ** Any trade#—I suppose not.” ** Your suppositions are perfectly correct.” : ip enon: sir, how do you expect to get your read ; | “Earn it the best way I can.” ** Beg it, ~ore likely, as your father before you ;: all his lite begging it, and from me.” “ ] n that respect’ 1 shall not resemble bim. ‘“ Yes, sir, disgrace. Coming out here as a pauper, in the steerage of a ship! And you must needs boast of relationship—letting all the world know that you are my nephew,’ ‘‘Boast of the relatiouship!” repeated Her- bert, withasmileof contempt ‘Hal ba! bat [ 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! bad [ known you then as well as I do now, I should have been ashamed to acknowledge it.” “* After that, sir,” shouted Mr, Vaughan, tura- ing purple with rage—‘“ after that, sir, no mere words. You shall leave my house this minute.” **] bad intended to have left it some minutes sooner. 1 only stayed to bave an opportunity of telling you what I thik of you.” ‘* What is that, sir? what is thet?” The angry youth bad summoned to the top ef his tovgue a few of the strongest epithets ke could think of, and was about to hur! them inte his uncle’s teetb, when on glancing up be 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 azing down upon bim and his uncle, and listem- ng to the dialogue with an anguished expression of countenance, “ He is her father,” muttered Herbert to him- self; ‘“‘for ber sake I shall not say the » orde;” and without making any reply to the last inter- rogatory of his uncle, he strode out of the kiosk, and was walking away. ‘Stay, sir!” cried the planter, somewhat takem aback by the turn things bad taken. ‘‘ A word before you go—if vou are going.” Herbert turned upon his beel and listened. ‘*Your letter informs me tbat you are with- out funds. It shall not be said that a relative of Loftus Vaugban 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 bas occurred bere; and, furthermore, that you keep to yourself that you are the nephew of Loftus aughan,” Without saying a word, Herbert took the proffered purse; but, in the next moment, the chink of the gold pieces was beard upon the gravel walk as he dashed the bag at the feet of his uncle. Then, turning to the astonished planter, and measuring him witb a look that scorned all pa- tronage, he faced once more to the patb, and walked proudly away. The angry * Begone, sir!” vociferated after bim was only addressed to his back, and was #}- together unheeded, Perhaps it was even nu- heard, for the expression in the eyes of the yours: man told that at that moment his attention wes occupied elsewhere. As he walked toward the house, with the ¢e- sign of going round it to get upon the fie t avenue, his glance was directed upward to tbe window where that beautiful face had been just seen. The lattice was now closed. and he en- deavored, to pierce the somber shadows bebind a The face was no longer there. No eyes met is. He glanced back toward 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 co:.cealed im. Herbert was about to glide nearer to the win- dow, and summon his cousin by name, when he beard bis own pronounced, in a soft whisper, and with the endearing prefix ‘‘ cousin.” Distinctly be beard ‘* Cousin Hertert !” and as if spoken around the angle of the building. e bastened thither, for that was his proper path by which to arrive at the front of the bouse, 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 be bas been taking much wine; be is not—Good cousin, you will pardon him?” ° erbert was about to make reply, when the young creole continued: 9 You said in your letter you had no money. You have refused father’s, you will not refuse mine? It is very little. Itisall I have. Take A bright object glistened before his eyes, and fell with a metallic cbink at hisfeet. He looked down. A small silk purse, containing coin, with a blue rittbon attached, was seen lying upon the ground. The young man raised it, and, holding it in one band, hesitated for a moment, as if be had thoughts of sccrpting it. It was not that, hov.- ever, but another thought that was passing in bis mind. His resolve was soon taken. _ : Oe a , eee
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eae a oe ae 8 “Thanks!” said he. ‘‘ Thanks, cousin Kate!” he added, witb increasing warmtb. ‘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 bence: 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 augbt that a bnomble relative could do for you; fut remember, Kate Vaughan, should you ever stand in need of a strong arm and a stout heort, 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 wivb 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 crecle could repeat her offer, or add another word of counsel or conso- lation, be had turned the angle of the building, and passed out of sight. CHAPTER XI. THE JEW’S PENN. WHILE these scenes were ‘ranspiring upon the plantation of Mount Welcome, others of 2 still more exciting nature were being enacted on that which adjoined it, the property of Jacob Jessuron, slave-merchant and penn- keeper. In the olden time, this plantation had borne the name of ‘‘ Happy Valley,” but, during the ownership of Jessuron, this designation—per- haps deemed inappropriate—had been generally dropped, and the place was never spoken of by any otber name than that of the ‘‘ Jow’s Penn.” Tato a “penn” (grazing farm) Jessuron had changed it, and it served well enough for the purpose, many of the old sugar fields, now over- grown by the valuable Guinea grass, affording excellent pasturage for horses and cattle. 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 bar- “od. 7 Outside the gate-entrance, upon the broad avenue leading to the main road, negro horse- tamers might every day be seen, giving their first Jessons to rough colts fresh caught from the pastures; while inside the grand inclosure, at oxen were being slaughtered to supply the markets of the Bay—huge, gaunt dogs bolding carnival over the off:l, while black butchers, naked to the waist, their brown arms reeking with red gore, stalked over the ground, bran- dishing blood-stained blades, and other instru- ments 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 ai the penn. The scene chosen for this exbibition was an inner inclosure, or court-yard, contiguous to the dwelling—the great bouse itself forming one side of this court, and opening upon it bya broad veranda, of a dingy, dilapidated appear- ance. There were white men in the court-yard— three of them, Two were of dark complexion, so swarth that many of the colored slaves were as fair-skinned as they. These two men were lounging by the stairway of the veranda, one of them seated upon the steps. Both were sparely clad in check shirts and trowsers, bav- ing broad-brimme! palmetto hats on their heads, and rough buskins on their feet and ankles. Eacb carried a long rapier-like blade—a ma- chete—hanging over bis bip in its leatbern sheath; while a brace of fierce dozs, looped in cotton rope leashes, attached to belts worn around their waists, crouched ujzon the ground at their feet, The exclamations that from time to time es- caped from. their lips, with tho few words of conversation that passed between them, bespoke them of Spanish race. Their costume, their arms and accouterments, their comrades, the fierce dogs, plainly proclaimed their calling, as well as the country from whence they came. They were cacadores de negros—negro bunters from the Island of Cuba. The third white man who appeared in the court-yard differed essentially from these; not so much in color, 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 beels of which appeared heavy 8 , with rowels three inches in sort of monkey-jacket of thick cloth, not- withstanding 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 7 diameter, |- The Maroon. same flaming color. 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 ssock of curling hair, so dark in color as to pass for black; a heavy beard, jet- black, and running most of the way around his | mouth; amber-colored 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 io reality the case; for the bearded man was another of the race of Abraham, and one of its least amia- ble specimens, His name was Ravener, his call- ing that of overseer: he was the overseer of | Jessuron. The symbol of his profession he car- ried under his arm—a buge cart-whip. He had it by bim at al] hours, by night, as by day; for by night, as by day, was he accustomed to make use of it. And the victims of bis long Jash were neither oxen nor horses—they were men and women / It was about twelve o’clock in the day. | Jessuron and his daughter bad just stepped forth into the veranda, and taken their stand by the balustrade looking down into the court. A small iron furnace, filled with live coals, had been placed ia the court-yard, near te bot- | Three or four ssullen-looking | tom of the steps. men—bdlacks and mulattoes—stood around it in lounging attitudes. Oue of these stooped over tbe furnace, turning in the fire what appeared to be a soldering-iron, or some other instrument of @ brazier, ‘Go on, Mishter Ravener!” cried the Jew, on reaching tbe front of the veranda, ‘‘Theesh first,” he added, pointing toward a gioup of Eboes, who stood trembling with apprebension in one corner of the yard. The Eboes were led forward, and held firmly by the assistants, while their breasts were pre- sented 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 witb a hiss, till the court became fiiled with a smell! of roas ing flesh! A struggle, some wild cries, and the operation was over. Tne slave was marked with those in- delible initials, to be carried with him to his grave. A batch of Pawpaws, from the Whidaw | country, came next. They were brought up one by one, like the Eboes, but altogether un- like these was their behavior. They neither gave way to extreme fear, nor yet displayed extraordinary courage. They appeared to sub- mit with asort of docile resignation, as though they regarded it in the light of a destiny or duty. A group of Coromantees were now to under- go the fiery ordeal. These bold and warlike indigenes of Africa evinced, by their attitudes am actions, the possession of a moral nature altogether different from that either of Paw- paw or Eboe. Instead of waiting to be led for- ward, each stepped bi Idly up, as he did so bar- ing bis breast to 1:eceive the red brand, at which be glanced with an air of lordly contempt. One young fellow even seized the iron from the grasp of the operator, and, turning it in his hand, struck the s\amp firmly against his breast, where he held it until the seething flesh told that a deep imprint had been made. Then, flinging the instrument back into the furnace, he strode away from the spot with the air of a triumphant gladiator. At this moment there occurred a pause in the proceedings—notas if the drama was ended, but only an act, Another was yet to come. Itavener stepped up to the veranda, in front of the place where Jessuron and his daughter st ‘“ Which next?” was the question put by Rave- ner to the Jew; ‘‘ the Mandingoes?’ ‘Either them or,the prinshe,” replied Jes- suron; *‘it don’t matter which ish marked first,” “Ob! the prince first, by all means,” sug- ested the amiable Judith, with a smile.of sat- isfaction. ‘Bring him out first, Mr. Ravener; I’m curious to see bow bis royal highness will stand fire.” He looked wretched, but not crestfallen. He had no idea of what was now designed for’ him, He had been sbut up in a windowless room, and saw nothing of the spectacle that had just passed. Some new outrage he antici- pated, but of what nature he could not guess. He was not allowed te remain long in igno- rance. Ravener, roughly grasping him by the wrist, Jed him up to the furnace, The iron by this time was ready, glowing red- bot among the coals, The operator stood watch- ing for the signal to use it, and on its being giv- en he seized the instrument in his grasp and poised it aloft. The prince now perceived the intention, but shrunk not at thesight. His eyes were not upon the iron, but, gleaming with a fire like that of the furnace itself, were directed upon the face of the old Jew—at intervals upon that of the angel-like demon at his side. The Jew alone shrunk from tbe glance; his. daughter returned it with a mocking imper- turbability. In another instant the red brand bissed as it burnt into the flesh of the F-liata’s bosom, Prince Cingues was the slave of Jacob Jessu- ron! As if the terrible reality had now for the first time burst upon him, the young man spru forward with acry, and before any one coul oppose his progress he had bounded up the: steps and entered the veranda, Then gliding along the gallery to the spot oc- cupied by Jesruron and bis daughter, he Janched himself forward upon the Jew. As he clutched the latter by the throat, both came together to the ground, and rolled over and over in the writhings of a desperate struggle. For.unate it was tor the slave-mercbvant that his victim hud been disarmed, else that mcment would have been fatal to him, As it was, he came very near “eo strangled, and bad it not: been for Ravener and the two Spaniards, who hastened to his rescue, the betrayal of the Foo- lah prince would bave been the last treason of. his life. Overpowered by pumbers, Cingues was ati length secured, and the throat of the slave-mer- chant was extricated from his death -likeclutch. ‘Kill him!” eried the Jew, as soon as he found breath to speak, ‘‘No, don’t kill him yet,” added he, correcting himself; ‘‘not Joosh yet, till I punish him forit. An’ if I don’t pun- ish bim—ach!” ‘* Flog the savage!” shouted the beautiful Ju- dith; ‘“*make an example of him, Mr. Ravener, else those others will rising upon us in the same style.” ‘** Yesh, flog him! That'll do to begin with.. Flog him now, goot Ravener, Give him a hun- ee rs th sh rrah-eeh i ** Ay, ay.” respon e overseer, draggin the victte owe ith s eps; “I')) give hima taf dose—never fear you!” Ravener w's as good as bis word. The tacie that followed was even more horrible to bekold than that which has been described, for the punishment of the lash is among the most fearful of exbibitions. The young Foolah was tied to a post—one that stood there for the purpose, A strong headman wielded tbe crur] quirt; and as the last stripe was administered, completing that horrid hundred, the poor victim sunk fainting against the blood-stained stake, CHAPTER XII. A COUCH OF SILK COTTON, On parting from whe presence of his fair cousin, and at the same time from the house of his inhospitable relative, Herbert Vaughn struck off through the shrubbery that stretched to- word the ridge on the right, On reaching the limits of the level platform he leaped a low wall that separated the sbrub- bery from the outer fields, and then, under cover of the pimento groves, commenced as- cending the slope of the ip oF On reaching the crest of the ridge, and be- fore plunging into the deep forest that stretched away on the other side, he endeavored through an opening in the trees to catch a view of those: white walls and green jalousies. In that glance there was more of ah apa hog than anger—- an expression of despair, such as may have ap- peared on the face of the fallen angel when. | gazing back over the golden palings of Para- The overseer made no reply; but, taking the | wish of the young lady as a command, proceeded to obey it, Stepping across the court, he opened a door that led into a room, separate from thatin which the slaves had been lodged. | under the som The overseer entered the room; and ina few | minutes came ouc again, bringing with him an | individual who by his dress it might have been difficult to recognize as the young Fellatta seen on board the slayer, but whose noble mien still rendered it possible to identify bim: for it was he. Changed, indeed, was his costume. The tur- ban was gone, the rich silken tunic, the sandals and cimeter—all his finery had been stripped off; and in its place appeared a coarse Osnaturg sbirt and trowsers—the dress of a plantation tbat in dise, As the young man turned away and entered r shadows of the forest, the ex- pression of despair seemed to become deeper and darker. , He walked on through the woods without taking much beed as to the direction in which. be was going. Anyone who could have seen: him just then might have sup that he had lost his way, and was wandering. The trees hindered him from seeing the sun. now low down. But even if a view of the golden orb had been afforded him it would bave served no purpose, since on riding out to Mount Welcome he bad taken no note of the relative directions between it and the Beye He was not much disGonce by the discoy- ery that be had lost himself, e reflection | Montego Bay he would be no better off.
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ae — hindered him from cumstance. He bad not the means tv command the shelter of a roof, even in the midst of a whole city full, and the chances were he might find none better than that which was above him at the moment—thespreading fronds of a gigan- tic cotton-tree. Now that he bad come toa halt, and having nothing better to do, he took his stand, watcb- ing the open glade. Perhaps some bird might yet show itself passing from tree to tree, or fly- ing about in pursuit of prey. It was the hour for owls. He felt perm a enough to eat one. Neither owl nor night jar came in sight; but his attention was attracted by an object edible as either, and which promised to relieve him from the pangs he was suffering. Close by the cotton-tree stood another giant of the forest, rivaling the former in hight, but differing from it as an arrow from its bow. Straight. as a lance, it rose to the hight of an hundred feet. It was branchless as « column of polished malachite or marble, up to its high summit, where its long green fronds, radiating outward, drooped gracefully over, like a circlet of reflexed ostrich plumes, A child could have told it to be a palm; but Herbert knew more. He had heard of the noble ‘‘mountain-cabbage” of Jamaica, the kingly areca oredoxwia. He knew that in the center of that circlet of far-stretching fronds, in that crown, there wasa jewel that had often proved more precious than gems or gold, for a had it been the means of saving human ife, ’ How was this jewel to be obtained? Like all crowns, it was placed high—far above the reach of ordinary mortals. Young and active though he was, and a climber at school, he could never “gwarm 8 that tall, smooth shaft. Without a ladder a bundred feet in length, it would not be ible to reach its summit. ut, see! the palm-tree stands not alone. A great back lliana stretches tortuously from the earth up to the crown, where its head is buried among the tufted leaves, as if it were some huge ig in the act of devouring its vic'im. erbert stood for a moment reconnoitering the grand stay-cable, that, trailing from the summit of the palm, offered, as it were, a natu- ral ladder for ascending it. Hunger stimulated him to the attempt; and, resting his gun against the trunk of the ceiba, he commenced climbing ward, Without much difficulty he succeeded in reaching the top, and making his way among the huge. pinne of the leaves, each in itself a leaf of many feet in length. He arrived at the youngest of them al!, that still infolded in the envelope of the bud, and which was the object for which he had climbed. With his knife he separated the summit leaf from the stem, flung it to the earth, and then descending tw the bottom of the tree, mado his supper upon the raw but sweet and succulent shoots of the mountain cabbage. Supper over, he collected a eer of the strewn fleece of the silk-cotton, and Pp g it between two of the great buttress-like root- spurs of the tree, constructed for himself a couch on which, but for some hard thoughts within, be might have slept as softly and as aaa? 22 Seer S Ser of a r. That he not sleep Serene Reve be at- tribated solely to his anxieties about the mor- the composition of his oo couch kept him iently warm, is cares, however, had rendered his spirit restless. ey were vivid enough to act even upon his ms, which several times during the night awoke him, and again, finally, just after the break of day. He felt hunger, even more than on the pre- ceding night; , although the raw mountain- cabbage offered no very pting dejeuner, he ng upon it, remembering, and very wisel g upon, the bird in the hand.” bear, now sailed him long before, but had been lly growing stronger, until it was now ost un- endurable, U the previous evening, while upon the oe of the cabbage-palm, be had glanced po eg across among the branches of the ceiba. is, as with all lap aber in the tropi- cal forest, was loaded with parasites—vriesias, long ed-looking cacti, bronclias, epiphyti- eal orchids, and the like. Tillandsias, too, of the kind known as “wild pines,” grew in the forks, or on the upper surface of the great limbs, flouris as luxuriantly as if their roots rested im the richest soil. Among them was conspicu- ous the most magnificent of the genu:, the noble Tillandsia linguata, with its spike of gorgeous crimson flowers projecting from the midst of its Broad sheathing leaves. It was in the concavi- ties of these huge leaves that Herbert bad ob- served something which did not belong to tbe plant—something he believed to be water. Ere long, he bad succeeded in reaching a main fork of the eeiba where nestled one of the largest of the wild pines. He had not been deceived. Ina hollow form- The Maroon. of dew and rain, which the rays of thesun could never reach, At bis approach the green Ayla sprung out | from this aerial pool, and leaping, frog-like, | from leaf to leaf—guarded against falling by the clammy sponge-disks of its feet—soon disap- peared amid the foliage. It was this singular creature whose voice Herbert had been hearing throughout the livelong night; and which, in constant chorus with others of its kind, had re- called to his memory the groaning and working of the Sea Nymph in a storm, The presence of the tree-toad in this, its nat- ural haunt, did not deter the young man from | ing thirst has no srup'es, and, | drinking. bending over one of the leaves of the Tillandsia, he placed his lips to the cool water and freely quaffed it, The labor of scrambling had taken away his breath, and to some extent fatigued bim. Ip- | stead, therefore, of descending at once—which he knew would cost him an effort equal to that | of the ascent—he determined to rest for a few minutes upon the large limb of the ceiba on which he had seated himself. ‘“* Well!” muttered he, in satisfied soliloquy, “if the people of this island have proved in- hospitable, I can’t say the same of its trees. Here are two of them—almost the first I bave encoun- tered; they have yielded me the three necessaries of life—meat, drink and lodging—Icdging, too, with an excellent bed—a thing not se common in many a human hostelry. What more is wanted? Under such a sky as this, who need care to have walls around or a roof over him? Verily, to sleep here, sub Jove, is rather a lux- ury t lonely, and that man is designed to be a social animal, I nignt pes my whole life in these glorious woods, without work or care of any kind. No doubt there is game, and I was told at home there are no game laws, so I might poach at pleasure. Ha! game? What do I see? A Geer? No! ahog! Ves, hog it is; but sucha singular rnc yb Posie red bristles, long legs, and tusks. wild boar!” CHAPTER XIII. THE HOG-HUNTER AND THE RUNAWAY. THE boar had stopped over the debris of Her- bert’s breakfast—some fragments of the moup- tain cabbage which had been left upon the round. Switching his feathered tail, and ut- ring a short grunt, expressive of satisfaction, the animal proceeded to snap up the scattered pieces, crunching them between his formidable grinders, All of a sudden the tranquil tableau became transformed into a scene of u more exciting na- ture. As Herbert continued to gaze, he saw the boar suddenly make a start, jerk his muzzle bich in the air, at the same instant uttering a pecu- liar cry. It was a cry of alarm, ming with angry menace, as testified by the bristles upon his back, which had suddenly shot up into an erect spinous mane. Just then a loud Py ae reverberated through tha glade, a bullet hissed through the air, and the animal with a shrill scream, turned over upon its back, the blood spouting from a wound in its thigh. In an instant it was on its feet again, but rage appeared to hinder it from arene flight! It retreated only a few paces,taking its stand between two of the buttresses of the ceiba, on the very spot where the young Englishman had emg the night. There, protected on both ks and in the rear, and uttering fierce grunts of defiance, it stood, as if awaiting an enemy. Soon after a man emerged from the under- wood, armed with what ‘appeared to be a straight sword or cutlass, In a dozen quick strides he crossed the glade, and, having reached the roots of the cotton-tree, became engaged in a deadly struggle with the wounded boar. After a while the struggle between biped and ) now was brougbt to a termination, Tbe ormer, who appeared to possess all the craft of his calling, put in practice a ruse that enabled him to give bis antagonist the coup de grace. Thus was the feat accomplished. In charg- ing forward upon his human adversary, the boar had incautiously ventured beyond the flanking buttresses of the tree. In fact, the bunter bad enticed the animal outward, by making a feint of retreating from the contest. Just then, and before the brute could divine his intention, the hunter rusbed forward, and throwing all his strength into the effcrt, sprung bigh into the air. Quite clearing the quadru- ped, he alighted in the angle formed by the converging spurs of the tree. The boar had now lost his position of de- fense, though that of the hunter for ths mo- ment appeared desperate. He had cal vulated his chances, however, for, before the enraged animal, hindered by its hanging ':mb, could face round to assail bim, he had Yes ed out bis long blade, and buried it up to tLe bilt between the creature’s ri With a sbrill scream the boar fell prostrate te the earth, the redstream from his side spurting nan inconvenience! And, verily,” con- | tinued he, “‘ were it not that I should feel rather | greatly regretting the cir- | ed by one of its buge ventricose leaves was the | over and spoiling the improvised mattress of natural reservoir he bad noticed—the gathering | | cotton-tree flock upon which the young Eng- lishman had passed the night. Up to this moment the latter had done no- thing, either by word or gesture, to make known bis presence. He was about to descend and congratulate the hunter for the perform- ance of a feat that had filled him with admira- tion. A fancy passing through his mind at the moment determined him to remain where he was a little longer; and, in obedience to this fancy, he sat gazing down upon tbe successful sportsman at the bottom of the tree. The complexicn of the hunter betokened a sang-mele, between African and Caucasian, which was further confirmed by the slight crisp- ing that appeared among the jet-black curls of bair thickly covering his head. The luxuriance of these curls was ps kept in check by a head- dress that Herbert Vaughan would have been less surprised to see in some country of the East; for at the first glance be had mistaken it | fora turban; on closer examination, however, it proved to be a brilliant kerchief—the Madras so as to sit coquettishly over the crown, with the knot a little to one side. It was a toque, not a turban. The other articles of dress worn by the young hunter were an outer coat, or shirt, of sky-blue cottonade, cut somewhat blouse-fashion; an under-shirt of fine white linen, ruffled and open at the breast; trowsers of the same material as the coat, and buff-colored boots of roughly- cleaned cowskin, There were straps and strings over both shoulders, all crossing each other on the breast. From the two that hung to the right side were suspended a powder-horn and skin shot- pouch; on the same side hung a large calabash canteen, covered with.a strong network of some forest withe to protect it from injury. Under the left arm was a carved and curving cow’s horn, evidently not for holding powder, since it was open at both ends; below this, against his hip, rested a black leatbern sheath —the receptacle of that long blade still reeking with the blood of the boar. This wea was the machete—half sword, half hunting-knife—which, with its straight, short blade and haft-like hilt of gray born, is to be found in every cottage of Spanish America, from California to the “Land of Fire.” Even where the Spaniards have been but are no longer—as in Jamaica—the universal machete may be seen in the hands of hunter and peasant—a relic of the conqueror colunists, Up to the moment tbat the boar was laid rostrate upon the ground, he in the toque had en kept too well employed with bis fierce — to find time for looking at anything else. t was only after dealing the death-blow to bis adversary that he was able to stand erect and take a survey around him. Tn an instant bis eye fell upon tbe gun of the young Englishman; and then the white pieces of palm-cabbage upon which the boar had been browsing. “Hob!” exclaimed he, still gasping for ee but with a look that betrayed surprise, ‘‘a guu Whose? Some runaway slave who bas stolen bis_ master’s fowling-piece? Notbing more likely. But why has he jeft the piece bebind bim/ and what bas started him away from bere? Surely not the bear? He must bhaye been gone before the anima) got up? Crambo! a richer prize than the porker, if 1 could only bave set eyes on bim! wonder in which direction he bas tracked it? Hosb! what do I see? The run- away! yes—yes, it is he! Coming back for his gun ambo! This is unexpected Juck, so early in the morning—a slave capture—a bounty !” As the bunter burriedly muttered these con- cluding phrases, be glided with stealthy tread between the two buitresses, and; baving placed himself in the extreme angle of their converg- ence, remained perfectly still, as if to await the arpreach of some one who was advancing to- ward the tree. Herbert, from his perch, had a full view of the new comer thus announced. A young men of a copper-red color, with straight black bair, shaggily tossed and pulled over his forehead, as if some one had been tear- ing it from his head! His face, too, a five one. notwithstanding its mahogany color, appea freshly lacerated, and his whole body bore the marks of inhuman abuse, The coarse cotton shirt that covered his shoulders was blotched with blood; and long, crimson-colored stripes running across his back looked like the imprints of an ensarguined lash! The attitude in which he was advancing was as peculiar as bis costume. When Herbert first set eyes on him be was crawling upon his bands and knees, yet going with considerable speed. This led to the belief that his bent position was assumed rather with a view toward conceal- ment, than from inability to walk erect. The belief was soon after confirmed, for on entering the glade the young man rose to bis feet trotted on, but still with body bent, to- ward the ceiba. ) What could he want there? Washe making for the huge tree asa haven check—ingeniously folded around the forehead, . py —_"
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Ses The Maroon. et ETE AE EARLY ATL SO AE SEY I LPT ESR NE TR NT A ST A OES SBS OE ET Na of safety from some deadly pursuers? Herbert | Scarce had he come to this determination, | when three new actors appeared upon the The bunter believed he was coming back for | fancied so. his gun, having no suspicion thatthe real owner | | was a tall, black-bearded man in a red waistcoat and high-topped borse-skin boots. | of your sort, and we'd of the piece was just over his head. Both remained silent, though from motives haying no similitude to each othar. In a few seconds’ time, the fugitive—for his actions tom of the tree. ‘* Halt!” cried the hunter, showing himself round the buttress, and stepping in front of the new-comer. ‘‘ You are a runaway, and my prisoner!” The fugitive dropped upon his knees, crossed his arms over his breast, and uttered some hrases in an unknown tongue, eae which erbert could distinguish the word ‘* Allah!” His captor appeared equally at fault about the meaning of the words, but neither the atti- tude of the speaker, nor the expression of his | countenance, could be mistaken; it was an ap- peal for mercy. : “ Orambo !” exclaimed the hunter, bending forward, and gazing for a moineut at the breast | of the runaway, on which the letters “J. J.” were conspicuously branded; ‘‘ with that tat- too on your skin, I don’t wonder you’ve given leg-bail to your master. Poor devil! they’ve tattooed you still more brutally upon the back.” As he said this, speaking ratber to himself than to the wretched creature that knelt before him, the hunter stretched forth his hand, raised the shirt from the shoulders of the runaway, and gazed for awhile upon his naked back. The skin was covered with purple wales, crossing each other like the arteriesin an anatomic plate! | *‘ Gud of the Christian!” exclamed the yellow hunter, with evident indignation at th» sight; | ‘*if this be your decree, then give me the fetish of my African ancestors. But no,” added he, after a pause, ‘J. J. is not a Christian; he cares for no God.” The soliloquy of the hunter was here inter- rupted by a second speech from the suppliant, spoken in the same unknown tongue, This time the gesture signified that it was an appeal for protection against some enemy in the rear, for the sympathetic looks of his captor had evidently won the confidence of the fugitive. “They are after you, no doubt of it,” said the hunter. ‘“ Well, let them come, whoever are your pursuers, This time they have lost their chance; and the bounty is mine, not theirs. roved him one—had reached the bot- | scene, One, the foremost, and apparently the ace plus The otber two were lean, lithe-looking fellows, in striped shirt and trowsers, each wearin broad-brimmed palm-leaf hats that shadow their sharp Spanish pbysiognomies. The bearded man, who appeared to be the leader, was the first to give speech to the senti- ment that animated all three. ‘What game’s this?” he cried, his face turn- ing purple with rage. ‘‘ Who are you that has dared to interfere with our pursuit?” **Carajo ! he’s killed our dogs!” vociferated one of the Spaniards. ‘* Demenivs! you'll pay for this with your lives!” added the other, raising his mavhete in menace, ‘And what if I have killed your dogs?” re- | joined the yellow bunter, with an air of sang | froid, which won the silent applause of the spectator. ‘‘What if 1 bave? If I had not killed them, they would have killed me.” “No,” said one of the Spaniards; “ they | would not have touched you. Carrambo! they were too well traived for that; they were after | him. Why did you put yourself in the way to protect bim? It’s no business of yours.” ‘“‘There, my wortby friend, you are mis- taken,” replied he in the toque, with a signifi- cantsneer. ‘' It is my business to protect bin my interest, too, since be is my captive.” “ Your captive!” exclaimed one of the men, with a glance of concern. ‘‘Certainly, he is my captive; and it was my interest not to let the dogs destroy him. Dead, I should only have got two pounds currency on his head; living, he is worth twice that, and mileage money to boot; though I’m sorry to see by the ‘J J.’ on his breast that the mileage money won't amount to much. Now, what have you to say my wortby gentlemen?” “Only this,” cried the man with the black beard, ‘‘ that we listen to no such nonsense as ' that there. Whoever you may be, I don’t care, | in this affair. Poor devil! it goes ag»inst my grain to deliver | you up; snd were it not for t me, I should scorn their paltry reward. Hark! onder they come! Dogs! asI’maman! Yes, it’s the bay of a bloodhound! Those villainous man-hunters of Batabano; I knew old Jessuron had them in his pay, Here, my poor fellow, in here!” and the hun- ter half-led, half-dragged the fugitive over the carcass of the wild boar, placing him between the buttresses of the ceiba. ‘Stand close in to the angle,” he continued; “‘lecve me to guard the front; here’s your gun; I see it’s loaded; I hope you know how to use it? Don’t fire till you’re sure of hitting! We'll need both blade and shot te save ourselves from thes, Spanish dogs, that will make no distinction between you and me; not they! Crambo! there they come!” The words had scarce issued from the speak- er’s lips, when two large dogs broke, with a swishiug noise, out of th> bushes on the opposite side of the glade, evidently running on the trail of the fugitive. The crimson color of their muzzles showed that trey bad been baited with blood, which, darkening as it dried, rendered more conspicu- ous the white fang-like teeth within their jaws, They were half hound, half-mastiff, but ran as true-bred bounds vn a fresh trail. No trail could have been fresher than that of the flogged fugitive, and, in a few seconds after entering the glade, the hounds had got up to the ceiba, in front of the triangular chamber in which stood the ranaway and his protector. These dogs have no instinct of self-preserva- tion—only an instinct to discover and destroy. Without stopping to bark or bay—without even slackening their pace—both dashed onward, bounding into the air as they lanched them- a ig upon the supposed objects of their pur- suit. The first only impaled himself upon the out- stretched machete of the yellow hunter; and as the animal came down to the earth, it was to utter the last howl of his existence. The other, springing toward the naked fugi- tive, Hechivelt the contents of the fowling-piece, and, like the first, rolled lifeless upon the earth. CHAPTER XIV. A COMBAT DECLENED, tator in the tree began to fancy that THE spec he was dresming. Within the short space of twenty minutes had been the witness of a greater number of exciting events than’ he might have seen, in bis own land, during the same number of years! Notbing, however, had yet transpired to ‘tempt bim from a strict neutrality; and, until something should, he determined to iit the passive attitude he bad hitherto e law that binds | | bearded overseer I suspect who you are; but that don’t hinder me from telling you you've no business to meddle This runaway slave belongs to Jacob Jessuron. I’m his overseer. He’s D taken on Jessuron’s own ground; therefore you can’t claim the captive, nor yet the bounty. So you'll have to give him up to us!” ** Carrambo, si!” vociferated both the Span- iards in a breath, af the same time that the three advanced toward the runaway; the istol in hand, and his two comrades with their machetes drawn, and ready to be used. ‘*Come on, then!” cried the hunter, in a taunt- ing tone, as he spoke making signs to the run- away to stand to bis defense ‘‘Come on, but remember the first that lays hand upon him is a dead man! There are three of you, and we are but two—one already half-dead with your in- human cruelty.” “Three against two! that’s nota fair t!” cried the young Englishman, dropping down from the tree, and ranging bimself on the weak- er side. “ Perhaps it'll be a better match now,” added he, taking a pistol from under the breast of his coat, and cocking i. as he did so, evidently with the intention of using it sbould the aff.ir be carried further. ‘* And who are you, sir?” demanded the over- seer, with as much arrogance as he could throw into bismanner. ‘‘ Who, sir, may I inquire, is the white man who thus places himself in opposition to the laws of the island? You know the nite, sir; and by my word, you shall pay it!” “ If I have committed a breach of the laws,” replied Herbert, ‘1 presume I shall have to an- swer for it. But I have yet to learn what law I bave broken, and I don’t choose that you shall be my judge.” “You are aiding in the escape of a slave.” “That’s not true,” interrupted the yellow bunter. ‘ The slave is already captured—he could not have escaped; and this young gentle- man—who is as much a stranger to me as to you—TI am sure had no intention of assisting him to escape.” Bau!” exclaimed the overseer; ‘‘ wecare not for your talk; we deny your right to capture him, and vou had no business to interfere. We had already tracked him down with the dogs, and should have had him withoutany help from you. He is our prize, therefore, and I again demand of you to give him up.” “Indeed!” sneeringly responded the yellow hunter, ‘“*T make the demand,” continued the other without noticing the sveer, “‘in the name of Jacob Jessuron, whose overseer I’ve told you I am, f ‘‘ Perhaps were you Jacob Jessuron himself I might resist your demand,” rejoined the bunter Coane, and without any appearance of bragga- ocio. “You refuse to surrender him, then?” said the overseer, as if making his final overture. “T dol” was the firm reply. ** Enough—you shall repent this; and you, sir,” | continued the deputy of Jessuron, turning a fierce look upon Herbert, ‘you shall answer before a magistrate for the part it has pleased you to play in this transaction. A pretty white man you for the islan of Jamaica! A few more have a nice time with our niggers, Don’t fear, mister; you'll see me in ‘*T have no particular desire,” rejoined Her- bert; ‘‘for certainly,” continued he, with pro- voking jocularity, ‘‘an uglier-looking face than yours I bave never set eyes upon; and it could be no pleasure to me to look upon it again.” ‘-Confusion!” cried the overseer. ‘‘ You'll repent that insult before you’re a month older— curse me if you don’:!” And with this characteristic menace, the ruf- fian turned and walked sulleniy away. ‘** Caspita!” cried one of the Spaniards, as the two hastened to follow their leader. "My brave dogs! Ah, demonio! you sball pay dearly for them. Two hundred pesos each; net a cuar tito less!” “Not a cuartito for either!” responded tbe pew hunter, with a mocking laugh, ‘‘ Haven’? proved that they are not worth it? With all your boasting of what your bloodbounds could do, look at them now. Vaya/ my fine fellows! Go back to your own country, and bunt run- away negroes there. Here you must leave that hg to those who Enow how tomanage it—the sroons!” Herbert observed that the hurter, on pro- nouncing these last words, crew bhimse]f up with an air of majestic pride, as he did sm glancing scornfuliy toward the crestfallen caca- dores. An angry ‘‘Carrari!” simultaneously hissed from the lips of both was the only reply made by the two Spaniards, who at the same instant turned their backs upon the ceiba and followed. their leader across the glade. CHAPTER XV. THE MAROONS. As soon as they were gi ne out of sight the bunter turned toward Herbert, his eyes spark- ling with gratitude. ‘* Master,” said be, making a low obeisance as he spoke, “after that, words ere but a poor way of <ffering thanks. If the brave white gentle- man who bas risked bis hfe for a colored outcast will let me know his name it will nov be forgot- ten by Cubina, the Maroon.” ‘*Cubina, the Maroon!” Struck by the oddness of the name and title, as he had Leen by the appearance and be- bavior of bim who bore them, Herbert repeat- ed tbe phrase mechanically rather than other- wiss ‘* Yes, that is my name, master.” The young Englishman, though not yet en- lightened as to the odd appellation, was too well bred to press for an explanstion. “Pardon me,” seid be, “tor not directly re- plying to your request. am en Englishman: my name is Vaugban—Herbert Vaughan.” ‘By that name, master. 1 teke it you have relatives in the island. Tbe owner of Mount Welcome estate—” “Is my uncle.” . “* Ah, then, sir, anything a poor Maroon hunt- er could do for you would not be much, All the same, you have my thanks, and if—; but, master,” continued the speaker, suddenly chang- ing bis tune, as if in obedience to some instinct of curiosity, “ se I muke bold to ask why you are afoot so early? The sun is not yet ten min- utes above the trees, and Mount Welcome is three miles distant. You must have tracked it here in the dark; no easy matter through these tangled woods.” it, “I passed the night here,” replied the En- glishbman caling: “that was my bed, where the boar is now s leeping.” ‘Then the gun is yours, not his?” The hunter nodded interrogatively toward the rupaway, who, standing some paces cff, was re- garding both the speakers with glances of grat- itude, not, however, unmingled with some signs eee, ' aid ‘Yes, itis my gun. I am ve ad the piece was not empty, 9p it enabled [ to destroy the fierce brute that would otherwise have had him by the throat. Wretched as the poor fel- low appears, he handled his weapon well. — is he, and what have they been doing to m “Ah, Master Vaughan, by those two ques- tions it is easy to tell you are a stranger to the island. I think 1 can answer both, though I never saw the young man before. Poor wretch! The answers are written out upon his'skin in letters that don’t require much scholarship to read. Those upon his breast tell that be’s a slave—the slave of J. J., Jacob. Jessuron. ting excuse me from giving my opinion of m, ** What have they done to you, my poor fel- low?” asked Herbert of the runaway, his com- passion ne be him from waiting for the more roundabout explanation of the y The blood-bedaubed creature, perceiving that the speech was addressed to him, made a long rejoinder, but im a tongue unknown both to the
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The Maroon. ss guish two words that be had heard before, either in their Jooks or gestures. But for the color of their skins, he would never have thought * Foolah” and *‘ Allah,” both of which occurred | of associating such men with the idea of slavery. repeatedly in the speech. Armed as they were with long knives and guns, “Tt’s no uss asking bim, Master Vaughan. | some of them with stout spears, they could not [ike yourself, he’s a stranger to the island, | be slaves. Besides, their equipments ‘old that though, as you see, they’ve already initiated | they were hunters, and warriors, if need be. him into some of its ways. his breast are nearly fresh, as you may tell by the red skin around the letters. He’s just been landed from Africa, it appears.” “From Africa, you say? He has not got , negro features.” As to his features, that don’t signify. There aretnmany African tribes who are not negro- featured, I can tell from this that he is a Foolah. I hear him use the word 4s he talks.” “Yoy—Foolah! Foolah!” cried the runaway on hearing pronounced the name of his people; and then he pis emer ed a — of ee same lan e, accompani y much gesticulation, - ign. a8 z a ag lingo,” said the hunter. I know he’s a Foolah. It is some reason why I should take an interest in him; and may be, if only for that, I might—” The speaker paused, as if he had been talking to himself; and then continued the soliloquy ovly in thought. After a pause he resumed speech. “Crambo! very little would tempt me not to restore him to his master,” ** And must you?” **T mast, We Maroons are bound by a treaty to deliver up all ranaways we may take; and if we fail to do so—that is, when it is known, pas these villains of old Jessuron know I have m— “You will receive a bounty, you say?” "Yes. They will try to deprive me of that: but it isn’t the bounty would tempt me in this case, There is something about this young fellow—My word, heis like her!—ay, asif he were her brother.” This last speech was delivered in soliloquy. ‘* Like ber! Like whom?’ demanded Herbert with a puzzled look. “Your pardon,” replied the hunter. ‘“‘Iw-s strack with a resemblance between this poor fellow and one whom I know; but, Master Vaughan,” he continued, asif wishing to change the subject, ‘‘you have not said how you came to be all night in the woods? You were hunt- ing yesterday and lost your way?” ‘True, T lost my way, but not exactly while haunting. ** Perhaps that is all the sort of breakfast you have had?’ and the Maroon pointed to some ‘pieces of the palm cabbage that still lay on the tarf, “Thave both supped and breakfasted upon it,” replied Herbert. ‘‘I had climbed the tree for water, when the boar came up to break bis fast upun what remained of it.” The Maroon smiled at this explanation of some circumstances by which even he had beeo mystified, ‘ Well,” said he, “‘if you are not anxious to return at once to Mount Welcome, and will give me five minutes’ time, I think I can pro- vide you something better than raw c*bbage.” As he said this, the hunter raised his curved eho his lips and blew a long, tremulous “That should procure us company and some- thing to eat, master,” said he, allowing the horn to drop back to its place. “Hark!” he continued, the instant after, “there are some of my fellows. I thought they could not be far off.” As he spoke, the sound of a horn was heard reverberating through the woods, and then another, and another, until nearly a dozen could be distinguished, yet all in different directions. They were evidently answers to the signal he hed sounded, ‘So, Master Vaughan,” he resumed, with an air expressive of triumph, though io a restrained and modest way, “ you see these vultures ‘would not have had it all theirown ay? My hawks were toonear for that. Not tha Jess am I be- holden to you, Master Vaughan. I did not think it worth while tocall my people. I knew the poltroons would not venture beyond a littls swaggering talk. See! they come! “Who?” “The Maroons!” Herbert heard a rustling among the bushes on the opposite side of the glade; and at the same > time, about a dozen armed men emerged from be underwood, and advanced rapidly toward cetba, The young English gentleman gazed upon the waraniine troop with keen curiosity, cy ea were about a dozen of them, all black men, or nearly all, only one or two of them showing an admixture of color. There was not a dwarfis or deformed figure in the party. On the con- ina every man of them possessed a tall stal- wart form, strong muscular limbs, askin shining with health, and eyes sparkling with a vigorous brilliance that betokened an innate sense of free- dom and independence. Their erect, upright mg and free, for- ward step confirmed the belief, which Herbert black men were ai already formed, that as ac doit Fig Totes whe nothing of the slave a ene Those brands upon | A}! of them had horus, with pouches stspended over their shoulders; and each was provided | with a netted calabash for water, like that of the yellow hunter, already described. A few carried an equipment altogether differ- ent, consisting of a smal! pannier of withe-work, or palm-fibre neatly woven. It rested upon the back, where it was held in its place by a band of palm-sinnet, crossing the breast, and another brought over the forehead, which thus sustained a portion of. the weight, This pannier was the cutacoo, the depo-itory of their provisions, and of such articles as were required in their wild forest rambles. With regard to their costume, that was bi- zarre, though not unpicturesque. No two were dressed alike, though there was a certain idio- synerasy in their attire, which proclaimed them all of ove following. The toqued “ bandanna ” was the most common tead-dress, a few having palm-leaf hats. Only some of them bad a shirt with sleeves; others wanted a complete pair of trowsers; and one or two were naked from the waist upward, and from the thighs down~ard —the white cotton loin-cloth being the unique and only garment! Allof them had their feet and ankles covered; as the stony and thorny paths they were accustomed to tread rendered necessary. The chaussure was the same with all; and appeared to bea tight-fitting jack-boot, of some species of raw hide, without seam or stitching of any kind; the reddish bristles stand- ing thinly over its surface, proclaimed the char- acter of the material. It was the skin of the wild hog, the hind leg of a boar, drawn upon the foot while fresh and warm, as it dries tight- ening over the instep and ankle like an elastic stocking. A little trimming with the knife is all that is necessary for this ready-made mocca- sin; and once on, it is never taken off till the wearing of the sole renders necessary a refit. Drawing on his boots, therefare, is no part of the diurnal duties of a Jamaica hog-hunter. “This white gentleman has not eaten break- fast,” said Cubina to his followers as they came up. ‘ Well, Quaco! what have you got in your cutacoos?’ The individual thus appealed to was a jet- black negro of large dimensions, with a grave yet quizzical cast of countenance. He appeared to be a sort of lientenant. “Well, worthy capten,” answered he, salut- ing the yellow bunter with a somewhat awk- ward grace; “I believe there’s enough. one thing with another—that be, if the gen’lman has gut a good appetite, and ’s not too nice about what he eat-.” ** A fire, and be quick!” commanded Cubina, At the word given a tinder was struck, dry leaves and branches qnickly collected, and a sparkling, crackling fire soon blazed upon tbe ground. Over this was erected a crane, resting horizontally on two forked sticks, «hich soon ve Nags a brace of iron pots suspended in the aze. A strong fire of dried fagots soon brought the pot to a furious boil; and the lieutenant Quaco—who appeared also to act as chef de cuisine—after repeatedly testing the contents, at length declared that the pepper-pot was ready for serving up. Dishes, bowls, cups, and platters made their appearance, all being shells of the calabash, of different shapes; and as soon as Herbert and the captain were helped io the choicest portions of the savory stew, the remainder was dis- tributed among the men; who, seating them- selves in groups over the ground, proceeded to discuss the well-known viand with an avidity that showed that it was also their breakfast. The pepper-pot was not the sole dish of the dejeuner. Pork steaks, cut from the carcass of the freshly-slain bosr, were added; while plan- tains and ‘‘ cocoa-fingers,” roasted in the eshes, contributed a substitute for bread not to be de- spisingly spoken of. The second pot boiling over the fire contained coffee; which, quaffed from the calabashes, tasted as fine as if snipped out of cups of the purest Sevres porcelain. In this * al-fresco” feast the poor captive was not forgotten, but was supplied among the rest, the colossal Quaco administering to his wants with an air of quizzical compassion. Breakfast over, the Maroons gathered up sey traps, and prepared to depart from the spo Already the wild boar had been butchered, cut up into portable flitches, and packed away in the cutacoos, The wales upon the back of the runaway had been anointed by the hand of Quaco with some balsamic cerate; and hy gestures the unfortu- nate youth was made to understand that be was to accompany the party. Instead of ob- ting to this, bis eyes sparkled with a vivid ‘G ib @ courtesy he bad already re- ceived at their hands, he could not augur evil. The ins, out of respect to their chief, whom they appeared to treat with submissive deference, had moved some. distance away, leaving Captain Cubina alone with his English guest. The latter, with his gun shouldered, stood ready to depart, ** You are astranger in the island?” said the Maroon, half interrogatively. “I fancy you have not been living long with your uncle?” “No,” answered Herbert. “I never saw my uncle before yesterday afternoon.” “*Crambo !” exclaimed the bunter-captain in some surprise; “‘you have just arrived, then? In that case, Master Vaughan, and that is why I have made bold to ask you—you will scarce be able to find your way back to Mount Wel- come, One of my people will go with you?” “No, thank you. I think I can manage it alone.” Herbert hesitated to say that he was not going to Mount Welcome. “Tt is a crooked path urged the Maroon; “though straight enough to one who knows it, You need not take the guide so far as the great house; though Mr, Vaughan, I believe, does not object to our people going on his grounds, as some other planters do. You can leave the man when you get within sight of the place, Without a on I fear you will not be able to find the path.” ““In truth, Captain Cubina,” said Herbert, no longer caring what idea bis words might communicate to his Maroon acquaintance, ‘‘ I don’t wish to find the path you speak of, I'm not going that way.” ‘**Not to Mount Welcome?” * No.” : “‘If you are going elsewhere, you will need a uide all the same. This glade is surrounded y a wide stretch of tangled woods. There is no good path leading any where.” ‘You are very kind,” answered Herbert, touched by the delicate solicitude of this man witb a colored skin, ‘‘I wish to reach Montego Bay; and if one of your men would see me on the mein road, I should certainly feel under great obligetions. As to rewarding bim for bis trouble, beyond thanking him, | am sorry to say that circumstances just now bave placed it out of my power.” “Master Vaughan!” said the Maroon, smiling courteously as he spoke, “‘ were you not a stran- ger to usand our customs, I should feel off: nded. ‘You speak as if you ig hy me to-present you with a bill for your breakfast. You seem to forget that, scarce an Dour ago, you tbrew your- self before the muzzle of a pisto! to protect the life of a Maroon, a poor outcast mulatto of the mountains! And now—but I forgive you. You know me anot—” ‘” Pardom me, Captain Cubina; I assure you— “Say no more! Iknow ycur English h master—still uncorrupted by vile prejudices caste and color. Long may it remain so; and whether Captain Cubina may ever see you again, remember! that up yonder in the Blue ountain,” the Maroon pointed as he spoke to the eaphoe outline of a mountain ridge, just visible over the tops of the trees, ‘“‘ up yonder dwells a man- a colored map, it is true, but one whose heart beats with gratitude perhaps as truly es that of the whitest; and should you ever feel the farcy to honor that man with a visit, under his bumble roof you will find both a frieud and a welcome,” “Thanks!” cried the young Englishman stirred toenthusiasm by the free friendship of the yellow hunter. ‘‘I may some day avail my- self of your hospitable offer. Farewell!” “Farewell!” responded the Maroon, eagerly grasping the band which Herbert hed held out to him. ‘“Queco!” be cried, calling to his lieu- tenant, “‘ conduct this gentlenian to the main rosd that leads to the bay. Farewell, Master Vaughan, and may fortune favor you!” CHAPTER XVL. QUACO. It was not without regret that Herbert par- ted with this new friend; and long time was he following upon the heels of Quaco, before he ceased to reflect on the circumstances that had led to his making so singular an acquaintance, Quaco, being one of the taciturn sort, made no attempt to interrupt Herbert’s meditations until the two had walked together for more than a mile. Then, however, some matter upon his mind brought the guide to a halt, and the com- mencement of a conversation. “Two tracks from here, buckra, We can fol- low either; but dis to the right am the shortest —the best ruad, too.” ‘Why not take it, then?’ ‘*O—a, master; there may be reasons,” “What! for avoiding it ““Ya—a!” replied Quaco, in a thoughtful, drawling tone. ‘* What reasons, friend?” ‘Don’t you see the roof of a house, just over the tops of them pawpaws?” ** Yes; what of that?” “That's the baracoon.” “ The baracoon?”’ ‘“ Ya—the penn of de Jew Jess'ron.” ** And what if it be?’ “‘ Ab, buckra, what if it bet If we take the © ; Vor
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12 —_— path to the right we must pass the Jew’s house, and some of his people are sure to see us. That John Crow’s a justice of the peace, and we may get into trouble.” “‘Oh! about the affair of the runaway, you mean? Your captain said he belonged to a Mr. Jessuron.” ‘*As much ’bout the dogs asthe man. Cap- tain had aright to claim, the runaway as his eatch; but these Spanish cusses ’]] make a muss *bout thar dogs. They’ll say our captain killed * them out o’ spite; that they’ll sw’ar to; since it’s well known we mountainee men don’t like such interlopers here, meddlin’ with our business.” “* But neither you nor I killed the dogs?” “Ab, buckra, all the same—you helped— your gun helped kill them. Besides, you hin- dered the John Crows from pecking the hawk.” ‘*For what I have done | am not afraid to answer before a justice,—be it this Mr. Jessuron, or any other,” said the young Englishman, con- scious of having acted rightly in the part he had taken in the quarrel. “Not much justice to be expected from Justice Jess’ron, master. My advice be to keep out of the hands of justice as long ’s we can; and that we can only do by taking the road to the left.” ** Will it be much out of the way?” asked Her- bert; not caring to greatly inconvenience him- at for -the reasons set forth by his sable ide. “Nothing to signify,” answered Quaco, though not speaking very truthfully; for the path he intended to take was really much longer than the one leading by Jessuron’s house. "In that case,” assented Herbert, “take which way you please!” Without further parley, Quaco strode for- ‘ward on the path branching to the left—as be- fore, silently followed by him whom he was Guiding. The track they had taken ran entirely through woods—in some places very difficult to traverse | on aceount of the thorny thickets as well as the unevenness Of the ground, which caused the puth to be constantly ascending or trending rapidly downward. At length, however, they arrived at the summit of a high ridge, and were moving onward amidst groves of pimento, more open than the forest from which they bad emerged. From the top of the ridge Herbert saw a large | house shining against the verdant background of the landscape, which he at once recognized as the mansion of Mount Welcome, They were not going toward the house, but in a diagonal direction, which would bring them out on the avenue near the entrance-gate, Herbert called out to his guide to make halt, ® young man did not like the idea of entering upon the aventie, lest he might encounter some of his ancle’s people—a circumstance which he pot not wish to have reported at the great ouse, “Mr.-Ravener here .will bring the charge. I've got nothing to do with that part of i, You must come before the nearest justice, I reckon the nighest justice from here is the Custos Vaughan,” This half-interrogatory of the constable was addressed, not to Herbert, but to his own fol- | lowers, Though it was spoken in rather an un- dertone, the young man oar it with sufficient distinctness, and with very little complacency. To be carried back into the presence of his un- / cle, whom he bad so lately defied, and in the character of a felon—to be brought, under such humiliating circumstance, before the eyes of his fair cousin—before the eye-glass of his late fellow-passenger, was a prospect that could not | fail to be unpleasant. It was a sort of relief, therefore, when Rav- ener—who appeared to use some guiding inuflu- | ence over the constable and bis posse comitatus | —overruled the suggestion that Mr. Vaughan | was the nearest magistrate, and claimed that honor for Jacob Jessuron, Esq., of the Happy | Valley. | After some discussion between the parties | upon this mo t legal point, the overseer’s opin- | ion was adopted, ard it was determined that | the case should be carried betore Justice Jessu- ron, Both Herbert and his guide were then form- ally arrested in the name of the king, and marched off in custody—not without some very vociferous protestations on the part of Quaco, wita a long string of threats that he would | some day make both constable and overseer pay for this outrage on the person of a free Maroon. | CHAPTER XVII. ASUDDEN CHANGE. JESSURON, Esquire, held court in the veranda of his dingy dweiling-house, where we have al- | ready seen him assisting at a different spectacle, He was now seated, with a small table before him, covered with a piece of green baize, and carrying a gold snuff-box, an inkstand, pen, and | some sheets of paper. book or two lay upon the table, one of which, by tbe lettering upon the cover, pro- claimed its title and character—The Jamaica Justice. It was bound in black leather—a color | sufficiently emblematic of the chief subject on which it treated, for more than four-fifths of the | laws and regulations it contained related to creatures w th black skins. | The justice was in full costume, as the occa- | sion required—tbat is, he wore his best blue | body coat with gilt buttons, his drab small- clothes and top-boots. The brown beaver had | been laid aside, as the sanctity of justice requires even the judge’s head to be uncovered, but the white cotton skull-cap still remained upon bis | cranium, justice in Jamaica not being so rigor- | ous as to exact its removal. Herbert had been brought up in front of the He therefore requested Quace to conduct him | table, bis captor, the constable, and one or two by some way lying more tu the right, so that of the posse, standing behind him. On theright he might reach the main road without being | side appeared Ravener, backad by two Spanish seen from Mount Welcome. Toe guide yielded compliance, though not without a little grumbling reluctance—as he turned off, muttering some words about giving “‘as wide a berth as possible to the ole Jew penn,” He obliqued, however, into a new direction; and, after unother traverse through the woods, Herbert had the satisfaction of finding himself on the main road leading to Montego Bay. The young Englishman had no further need of a guide, and Quaco was just on the point of taking leave of him, when at that moment a party of horsemen suddenly made their appear- ance round a bend in the road. There were six or seven in all, and they were riding forward at a rapid pace, as if bent upon some serious busi- n eSB. At the first sight of these strangers, Quaco shot ike an arrow into the underwood, calling upon the buckra to follow his example. Herbert, however, disdaining to hide himself, remained standing in the middle of the road. Secing his determination, Quaco returned to his side; as he did so, clamorously protesting against the imprudence of bis proteg-. ** Don’t like their looks,” muttered the Ma- roon, as he glanced apprehensively toward the orsemen. ‘It might be—by the Great Ac- mpong, it is!—tbat harpy Ravener, the over- seer of Jess’ron. Golly! buckra, we’s in for it! No use tryin’ to scape ’em now,” As Quaco finished speaking, the horsemen rode forward on the ground, one and all halting as they cume to fhe spot where the pedestrians were standing. ‘‘Here’s our fellow!” cried the bearded man at their head, whom Herbert easily identified. | “Just dropped upon him, like a duc: upon a June bug. Now, Mr. Tharpey, do your duty! We'll hear what this young gentieman’s got to say before the justice,” ‘lL arrest vou, sir,” said the person appealed to as Mr. Tuarpey. ‘‘I am bead constable cacadores, the last meutioned wortbies no longer—as bad formerly been their constant custom—atteuded by their canine companions, Quaco had been left in the yard below, un- guarded, since there was, in reality, no charge against him. There was one other witness to this magisterial trial—the daughter of the justice himself. Yes, the fair Judith was present, as on all important occasions, but this time not conspicuously so. On the contrary she was seated in a window that opened! on the veranda, her beautiful face half-concealed behind the netted fringe-work of the curtains, Tae posicion enabled ber to ob- serve what was passing, without formally ex posing her own person to view. Her face was not altogether bidden, and her white shining forehead and dark lustrous eyes, gleaming through the gauzy muslin that vailed them, only appeared more piquantly attractive. The young Rectigures though little disposed at that moment to the contemplation of aught beyond his own unpleasant position, could not help observing the beautiful face directly oppo- site to where he stood, Some time bad been occupied by the overseer in telling his story, to substantiate the charge he had made, That done, the prisoner was put upon his defense, ‘Young man!” said the justice, ‘‘ you bave heard what thish witness alleges against you, What bash you to say in your defense? And first tell ush what’s your name?” * Herbert Vaughan.” repeated the “Herbert Vocban?’ A j'1st ce, “ Might you he any kinshman of Mishter Vochan of Mount Welcome?” “His nephew,” was the laconic reply. “Ab! hish nephew! Bless me! ish that true?” This announcement, as testified by bis speech, produced a sudden commotion in the mind of the Jew justice, From some little that was known of his secret hostility toward his neigh- ber’ of Mount Welcome—Ravener knew more tos—accused of a serious crime, too—was a proud position for Jacob Jessuron, who could remember many a slight he had received from the haughty lord of Mount Welcome, Certainly the manner of the justice on learn- ing who was before him seemed to indicate that such were his reflections, He rubbed bis skin- ny hands logenner, helped himself from his gold snuff box, gleefully smiled from behind bis glasses, which were once more sbifted upon the sharp ridge of his nose, and then, bending his face forward over the table, he remained for some moments smili.g, but silent and thought- ful, as if considering how he should proceed. After a time he raised his eyes and freshly scrutinized the prisoner, who had already re- turned an affirmative answer to his last query. ‘*Blesh my soul! I never knew that Mishter Vochan bada nephew! Youare from England, young man? Hash your uncle any more Eng- ish nephews?” ‘Not that [am aware of,” replied Herhert, frankly, ‘I believe I am bis only relative of that kind—in England, at least.” The proviso in his reply betrayed a significant fact—that the young man was not very well ac- quainted with the family affairs of his colenial kinsman. The astute justice did not fail to notice this deficiency in the nephew’s knowledge. ‘*How long bash you been in Shamaica?”’ asked he, as if endeavoring to arrive at an ex- planation of some point that was puzeling bim. “A night and part of two days; in all, about twenty-tour hours,” replied Herbert, with seru- pulous exactness. “*Blesh my soul!” again exclaimed the justice; ‘only twenty-four bours! It’sb a wonder you’re not at your uncle’s house? You hash been there?” “Oh, yes!” answered Herbert, carelessly. “You come to shtay at Mount Welcome, I su aed i? in erbert made no reply to thie interrogatery. ‘You shleep there Jash vight? Excushe me, young map, for ashking the question, but ash a magistrate-—” “You are perfectly welcome to the answer, your worship,” said Herbert, laying a satirical emphasis on the titular phrase; ‘‘ I did not sleep there last night.” ‘* Where did you shleep, then?” "In the woods,” answered Herbert, ** Moshesh!” exclaimed the Jew-justice, rais- ing his spectacles in surprise. “‘ In the woods, ycu shay?” “Ip the woods,” reaffirmed the young man; “under a tree; anda very good bed I found it,” ke added, jocosely. * Ard did your uncle know of thish?” ‘| suppose my uncle knew nothing atout it, and as little did he care,” replied Herbert, with a reckless indifference as to what answer he gave. The little empbasis on the last words, with the tone in which they were delivered, did not es- cape the observation of Jessuron, A suspicion bad zrisen in bis mind that there was sometbir g amiss in the relationship between the age man and his uncle; to the comprebension o' which the answer of the former, aided by a knowledge of the cbaracter and affairs of the latter, was gradually giving him a clew. A secret joy sparkled in his sunken eyes, as be listenea to the last answer given. Ail at once he discontinued the direct ex- emination of the prisoner; and, signing to Revener and the constable to come near, he be- came engaged with these two worthies in a whispering conversation, What passed between the trio, the young Ergli-hman could not tell; nor indeed any one eise who chanced to be present. The result, lowever, was to Herbert as pleasant as unex- ected, ' When Jessuron agein returned to address him, a complete change appeared to have taken place in his manner; and, instead of the frown- ing justice, Herbert now saw before bim a man who appeared more in the character of a friend- ly protector—bland, smiling, almost obse- quious. ‘* Mashter Vochan,” said he, rising from bis mogisterial seat, and extending his hand to the prisoner, *‘ you will excush the rough treatment you bash tad from thesh people, It ish a great crime in thish country, he ping a Hyste'f shlave to eshcepe; but as you hash joosh landed, and cannot be ekshpected to know our sbtarutes, the law dedls mersbifully with a firsht offense. Besides, in thish instance, the runaway, who ish one of my own sblaves, did not eshcape. He ish in the hands of the Maroons, and will soon be brougbtin. The punishment I inflict upon you —and I shall inshist upon its being carried out— ish, that you eats your dinner with me, and I think that ish Pg a td enough. Mishter Ravener,” added he, calling to his overseer; and at the same time pointing to Queco, ‘take that good fellow and cee that be ish cared for. Now, Mashter Vochan, pleashe to step inside, and allow me to introshuce you to my daughter « e of the parish—I arrest you in the name of the | than a little—it might have been expected that | Shoodith.’ es Taw.” ? the discovery of the relationship of the prisoner It would have been contrary to all human ae ‘‘On what charge?’ demanded Herbert, in- | would have put him in high glee. To be sitting | nature had Herbert Vaughan not felt gratified a 3 Be ; in judgment upon the near kinsman of the Cus-' at the pleasant tura which this disagreeable ane dignantly.
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The Maroon, affair had taken; and perhaps this gratifica- tion was enhanced at the prospect of the pro- introduction. Indeed, no man, however cold bis nature, could bave looked upon those lovely eyes, so long wistfully watching him from the window, without wishing a nearer See a with their owner. us had the chapter of accidents that con- ducted Herbert Vaughan to the penn of Jacob Jessuron been brought to a very unexpected termination. But the end was not yet. There was more to come—much more. Herbert was surprised at the turn things had taken. The only. explanation he could think of was, that it was to his uncle’s name he was in- debted for the honors that were being done to him—a mere neighborly fesling of the penn- keeper for the great sugar-planter. “They are friends,” thought Herbert, “and this kindness to me is the offspring of that pe eigen il The reflection did not give him pleasure, but the contrary. He felt himself in an awkward position—the recipient of a hospitality not meant for himself, but rather for one who had injured bim, and who, although his own relative, he now rded as his enemy. nfluenced by these considerations, he re- solved to throw off the mask with «hich cir- camstances had momentarily invested him, and deciare the true position in which he stood to his haughty relative. It was not until the conclusion of the dinner, after the daughter of his host had retired smil- ingly from the table, that the young English- man unburdened himself. Then—perhaps a little prompted by the wine—he made a full confession of the disagreeable circumstances ex- isting between himself and the master of Mount Welcome. Was it the wine, somewhat freely pressed upon him, that hindered him from perceiving the displeasure which his communication bad produced upon bis hearer? Was thereany show of displeasure? If there was, Herbert did not perceive it. On the contrary, had the young man been closely observant, be might have noticed an effect of altogetber an opposite character. Be- hind the green goggles he might have seen those deep, dark Israeliti-h eyes sparkling with joy at the revelation he had made. “Tm exsheedingly sorry, young Masbter Voehan,” said the Jew, after bis surprise at Herbert's revelations had apparently subsided; ‘‘exsheedingly sorry I ish, to bear that you and your uncle are not on good terms. Ab! well, we mush hope for the besht; and ash I am one of Misbter Vochan’s humble friendsh, possibly I might do sometbinsh to reconshile your little uarre). Doosh you not intend going back to ount Welcome?’ “Never! After what has passed, never!” “ Ach! yoush musht not be too revengeful. Mishter Vochan ish a proud man; and I musht say be hash behaved badly, very badly; but still be ish your uncle.” “* He has not acted as such.” “That ish true—very true—thish fine ge: tle- man vou shpeak of; sbtill, that ish no reason why Mishter Vochan should treat hish own nepbew £0 shappy. Well, well; I am sorry, ex- sheeding sorry. But, Mashter Herbert,’ con- tinued, the penn keeper, interrogating his guest with evident interest, “what dosh you intend to do? I suppose you hash monish of your own?” “I am sorry to say, Mr. Jessuron, I have not.” ** No monish at all!” “Not a shilling,” affirmed Herbert, with careless a “That ish bad. Where dosh you think of going, since you shay you will not return to Mount Weicome?” nd Well,” said Herbert, still preserving his air of joeularity, ‘‘ | was making for the port again, when your worthy overseers and his friends in- tercepted me, luckily, I may say, since, but for their intervention, I should, in all likelibood, have without dinner to-day; at all eve.ts, I should not have dined so sumptuously.” ‘‘A wretched dinner, Mashter Vochan—a misherabie dinner to what your uncle could bave given you. I’m but a poor humble man compared with the Cushtos ; but whac I hash ish at your service any time.” “Thanks!” said Herbert. As Herbert spoke, he was rising to take his departure. “Sbtop, shtop!” cried his host, pusbing him back into bis chair; “not to-night, Mashter Voeban, not thish nigbt. I can’t promish you ast fine a bed as yoush might cet at Mount Welcome, but 1 think I can give you a better ask you shleep in last night—ha, ba! You musht stay with ush thish night: and Shoodith will make you some music. Don’t shay a word; I takesh no refusbal.” The offer wus a tempting one; and, after some farther pressure, Herbert acquiesced in it. 13 He was partly influenced to stay where he was and'still remained in’ the mountain fastnesses, by the poor prospect of a lodging which the Bay efforded him; and, perhaps, a little from a de- sire to hear the promised music. The conversation was continued by his host pe some further interrogatories:—How did erbert intend to employ himself in the Bay? What prospect had he of employment? and in what line? “IT fear not much in any line,” replied the young man, answering both questions in one, and in a tone of sarcastic despondence. ‘* Hash you no profeshion?’ ‘Alas, no!” replied Herbert. ‘It was in- tended by my father I should have one, but he died before my education was completed; and my college—as is too often the case—hes taught me little more than a knowledge of dead lang- uages.” eNO ushe—no ushe whatever,” rejoined the intelligent Isreelite. ‘**T can draw a landscape,” pursued the young man, modestly, ‘‘or paint a portrait tolerably well, I believe; my father bimself taught me these accomplishments,” “Ah, Mashter Vochan, neither ish of the shlightisbt ushe here in Shamaica. If ats could paint a house, or a wagon, or a shopkeeper’sh sign, it would bring you more monish than to make the likeneshes of every face in the island. What saysh you to the situation of book- keeper?” ‘*Unfortunately, I know nothing of accounts. The very useful science of book-keeping I have not been taught.” ‘*Ha! ha! hal” replied Jessuron, with an en- couraging chuckle, “* you ish what wein Sham- aica call green, Mashter Vochan. You musht know that a book-keeper here bash no books to keep. He doesh not even put a pen to paper.” | ‘“*How is that, Mr. Jessuron! I have heard the statement before, though I did not compre- hend what was meant by it.” | : : “Then I musht explain, Mashter Vochen. There ish a law here which makes all tors of shlaves keep a white man on hish estate for cits fifty blacksh. A very shilly law it ish, but it ish a law. Theesh white supernu- meries are called book-keepers; though, ash I’ve told you, they keepsh 1.0 books. Now you un- derstand what it meansh.” “Then, what duties do they perform?” “Oh, that depends on circumshtances. Some look after the shlaves, and scme dothish and some that. But, egad! now I think of it, Mash- ter Vochan, | am myshelf in need of a book- keeper. I have joosh bought a new lot of blacksh, and I musht not break the law. Iam ushed to give my book keepers fifty poundsh a year, currenshy; but if you would be content to accept such a berth, I would make the salary— on account of your uncle—a bundred poundsh a year. You would also be found in everything elshe, What dosh you shay, Mashter Vochan?’ This unexpected proposal on the part of the penn-keeper cause bis guest to hesitate and reflect. Not long, bowever. His forlorn, homeless situation presented itself too forcibly to his mind to keep him long in doubt as to what an- swer he should make. Suffice it to say that the offer, which to the young Englishman appeared only too generous, was accepted; and from that hour the Happy Valley became his home. CHAPTER XVIII. A DUSKY SWEETHEART. THE departure of the young Englishman, un- der the conduct of Quaco, was a signal for the black band to disperse. ~ At a word from their chief they broke up into knots of twoor three individuals each, and went off in different directions, disappearing amid the underwood as silently as they had emerged from it. Cubina alone remained in the glade, the cap- tured runaway cowering upon a log beside him. For some minutes the Maroon captain stood resting upon his gun, which one of bis followers had brought up, his eyes fixed upon the captive, He appeared to be meditating what course he shouts pursue in relation to the unfortunate slave, and the shadow upon bis countenance told that some thougbt was tronbling bim. The Maroon captain felt himself in a dilemma. His duty was in conflict witb his desires. From the first the face of the captive had interested him, and pow that he had time toscan it more narrowly, and observe its noble features, the idea of delivering him vptosuch a crue) mas- ter as he whose initials he bore upon his breast became all the more repugnant. Duty demanded bim todo so, It was the law of tbe land—one of the terms of the ip vee Be which the Maroons were bound—and disobedi- ence to that law would be sure to certain with puvishment stringent and severe. True, there was e time when a Maroon cap- tain would have held obedience to this law more lightly, but that) was before the conquest of Trelawny town—or rather its traitorous be- trayal—followed by the basest banishment re- corded among men. That betrayal had brought about a change. The Marocns, who had avoided the forced exile, roprie- | though preserving their independence, were no longer a-powerful people—only a mere remnent,. whose weakness rendered them amenable, not aoe J to the laws of the island, liut to the tyranny and caprice of such planter-justices as migut choose to persecute them. Such was the position of Cubina and his little band, who had established themselves in the mountains of Trelawny. With the Maroon captain, therefore, it was a necessity as well as a duty to deliver up the runaway captive. Filing to do so, he would plece bis own liberty in peril. He knew this, without the threat which Ravener had fulmin- ated in such positive terms. His interest also lay in the line of his duty. This also be could understand. The captive was a prize for which he would be entitled to claima reward—the bounty! Not for a moment was he detained by this last consideration. The prospect of the reward would have had no weight with bim whatever; it would not even’ bave cost him a reflection, but that, just then, and for a very singular pur- pose, Cubina re quired 7 This purpose was revealed in a soliloquy that at that moment escaped from bis lips. ** Orambo!” he muttered, using ah exclamation of the Spanish tongue, still found in a co: form among the Maroons; “if it wasn’t that I bave to make up the purchase money of Yola— Por Divs! he is as like to Yola as if be was her brother! I warrant he is of the same nation, perhaps of ber tribe. Two or three times be has ——s the word Foolah. Besides, his color, is shape, bis bair—all are like bers. No doubt of it, he’s a Foolab.” The last word was uttered so loud as to reach the ear of the runaway. “Yah! Foolah, Foolab!” he exclaimed, tarn- ing bis eyes appealingly vpon bis captor. “ No st-ve—no slave!” added he, striking his hand upon his breast as he repeated the words. “Slave! no slave!” echoed the Maroon, witha start of surprise; ‘that’s outs enough. They've taught him the ugly word.” ‘“‘Foolah me—no sli ve!” again exclaimed the youth, witb a similar gesture to that he had al- ready made, “Something curious in this,” muttered the Marvon, musingly. ‘‘ Whatcan be mean by saying he is no slave—for that is certainly what be is trying to say? Slave be must be, else how did he get bere? I’ve beard that. a cargo has been just landed, and that the old Jew got most or all of them. This young fellow must be one of that Jot. Very likely be’s picked up the word aboard ship. Perhaps he is speaking of what be was in his own country. Ab, poor devil! he'll soon find the difference here. * Santos Dios !” continued the Meroon, after a pause, in which he hed been silently roy the countenance of the newly-arrived African. “Tt’s a shame to make a slave of such as he—a hundred times more like a freeman than his master. Poor fellow! it’s a bard row he’ll have to hoe, I feel more than half-tempted to risk it, and save him from such a fate.” As this half-determination passed through the mind of the Maroon, a noble and proud expres- sion ceme over bis featnres, “If they bad not seen him in my possession,’ he continued to reflect; ‘‘ but the overseer and those Spanish poltroons know all, and will— Well, let them !—at all events, I shall not take bim hack till l’ve seen Yola. No doubt sbe can talk to him, If he’s a Foolah she can. We'll hear what he’s got to say, and what this ‘ no slave’ means.” On saying this the ker turned his eyes up- ward, and appeared for some moments to scan the sun. “Good,” he exclaimed. ‘It is near the bour. I may expect her at any moment. Oh! I must have bim out of sight, and these dead dogs, too, or my timid pet wil] be frayed. |There’s so muh doing about here—blood and fire—she will scarcely know the old trysting-place, Hark lees Foolab! Come this way and squat yourself in here till I call you out again.” To the runaway the gestures of his captor were more intelligible than his words. He un- derstood by them that he was required to con- ceal himself between the buttresses of the ceibay and, rising from the log, he readily obeyed the requisition, e Maroon captain seized the tail of one of the dead bloodhounds; and, after trailinz the carcass fcr some distance across the glade, flung it into a covert of bushes. Returning to the ceiba, in asimilar manner he removed the other; and then, oace more caution- ing the runaway to remein silent in bis conceal- ment, he awaited the approach of ber who had given him assignation. The lover who is beloved need never fear dis- appointment. True to her tryst, and punctual to the time, did the expected sweetheart make her appearance within the glade. The girl spoke first. “Oh, Cubina! news I have tell.” “Come, my Jove what news? Ab! you are looking grave, Yola; your news is not very joy- ful, I fear.” “No, not joyful; bad news,”
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14 “Tet me hear them, love. Something Cyn- ‘thy has been saying to you? You shouldn’t »“heed what that girl says.” *“*No, Cubina, I no care what her me tell. I her know, wicked, bad girl. Not Cynthy say that thing me trouble now. Missa Kate me tell’ _ “Ah! something Miss Vaughan has told you? T wouldn’t look for bad news from her. But what is it, dear Yola? Maybe, after all, it’s nothing.” ‘‘Ah! yes, Cubina, something. keep from you long, long time.” ‘Keep youfrom me! Surely Miss Vaughan don’s object to your meeting me?” i ** No, not that.. Something I fear me hinder from be—” “ Be what?” inquired the lover, seeing that his sweetheart hesitated to pronounce some word, the thought of which was causing her to blusb. Come, dear Yola, don’t fear to tell me. You know we're engaged; there should be no secret between us, hat were you going to I fear me ey 3% ; n a low, -sackinypadbe iy oa oie hetiyoe loy- in in his eyes as she spoke, the girl pro- on ar the sera tate atte **Ho, ho!” exclaimed the lover, in a confi- dent tone. ‘‘I think nothing can occur to hin- der that, at least for a very long time. I have now nearly a hundred pounds laid by, and a lucky capture I’ve just. made this morning will help still further to make up that sum. Surely the Custos will not require more than a bun ‘red pounds; though if you were once mine,” con- tinued tha speaker, casting a look of smiling fondness upon his sweetheart’s face, ‘all the money in the world woulda’t tempt me to part with you ” * Ah, Cubina!” replied his slave-love. with a sigh, *‘ that the bad news 1 you bring. Hundred unds no more enough, Only two days ago, a have him offer twice so much for por slave Yola.” * Two hundred pounds offered for you!” ex- claimed the Maroon, with a start of surprise, his brow becoming suddenly clouded. ‘Is that what you mean, Yola?”’ ‘* Ah, yes!” answered the slave, repeating her sad sigh. * And who—who is be?” demanded the lover, in a quick, earnest tone, at the same time that agleam of jealous thoaght flashed from his dark eyes, like forked lightning across a clouded sky. z A white man?” continued he, without wait- ing for the reply to his first question. *‘'I need not ask that. But tell me, Yoia, who is he that’s so desirous of becoming your owner. Youknow, TI suppose?” “Missa Kate me tell all. He Jow—wicked white man! Same who me take from big ship; and me first sell Massa Vaughan,” * Hal” sharply verter the lover, ‘* that old wretch it is! well call him. I know the old villain well. Crambo! what can he want with her!” mut- tered the Maroon, musingly, but with a tron- | bled mien. ‘*Some vile purpose, to a certainty! Oh, sure!” fo his slave sweetheart: “You are certain, Yola, the old Jew made this offer?” “So ma say young missa.” “Two hundred pounds! And Mr. Vaughan refused it?” ** Missa Kate no al'ow Massa Vaughan me sell. She say ‘Never!’ Ab! young missa! she for say so! No ma:ter what money he ve, she never let wicked white man buy Yola. he say so many time,” ‘*That is well; she means, she wonld not part with you against your wil!. But if I offer to bay you, it would be a different thing. Perbaps pe might let ber know ail, after awhile. But have something to learn first, and I don’t wish you to tell her till then, So keep our secret. dear Yola, for a little longer. ‘* And now,” continued the Maroon. changing his tone and turning toward the ceiba as he spoke, ‘I’ve go something toshow you, Did you ever see a runaway?” “Runaway!” said tha girl; ‘‘no, Cubina, never.” * Well, my love, thera’s one not far off; he that I said I had capture this morning, only a little whileago. And Ill tell you why I’ve kept him here—beciuse [ fancied that he was like yourself. Yola.” ** Like me?” “ Yes: and that is why I felt for the poor fel- low something like pitv, since it is to this cruel old Jew he belongs. From what I can make out, he must be one of your people; and I’m cu- rious to know what account he will give of him- “He Foolah, you think?" inqnired the Afri- can maiden, her eves sparkling with pleasure at the a 20 of seeing one of her own race, ‘* Yes, Lamas good as sure of that: in fact, he has called himself a Foolah several times, though I can’t make out what hesavs. If he is one of your tribe, you will be able to talk to him, ere he ist” Cubina had by this time conducted bis sweet- heart round the tree to that side on which the icked white man you may | Then, ooce more addressinz himself | The Maroon. runaway was concealed between the two spurs, Pthe young man was still crouching within the angle, close up to the trunk of the ceiba. The moment the two figures came in front of him, and his eyes fell upon the face of the girl, he sprung to bis feet, uttering acry of wild joy. ike an echo, Yola repeated the cry; and then, both pronouncing some hurried phrases in an unknown tongue, rushed together, and became folded in a mutual embrace. Cubina stood transfixed tothe spot. Surprise —something more—held him speechless. He could only think:— ‘‘She knows him! Perhaps her lover in her own land.” A keen pang of jealousy accompanied the thought. Rankling it remained in the breast of the Ma- roon, till Yola, untwining her arms from the fond embrace, and pointing to hi»: who had re- ceived it, pronounced the tranquilizing words; “My brother CHAPTER XIX. CARDIAC ANALYSIS, INAPPROPRIATE a8 Jacob Jessuron’s neighbors may have deemed the title of his estate—the Happy Valley—Herbert had no reason to regard it asa misnomer. From the hour in which he entered upon his situation of book-keeper, it was a round of pleasures, rather than duties, that be found himself called upon to fulfill; and his new life, so far from being laboriously spent, was one continued scene, or series of scenes, of positive time. Instead of ne books, or looking after slaves—or, in sbort, doing anything that might be déemed useful—most of bis time was spent in excursions, that had no other object tban recreation or amusement. Drives to the Bay, in which he was accompanied by Jessuron bim- self, and introduced to his mercantile acquaint- ances; visits to neighboring penns and planta- tions with the beautiful Juditb, in which he was made acqusinted with her circle; fishing parties upon the water, and picnics in the woods; all these were afforded him without stint. He was furnished with a fine horse to ride, dogs and equipments for the chase—every thing, in short, calculated to afford him the life of a gentleman of elegant leisure. A balf-year's salary had b en advanced to him unasked, thus delicately giving bim the means of replenishing his wardrobe and evabling bim to appear in proper costume for every occasion. Certainly, the Petre of the poo steerage- assenger seemed to have undergone a change or the better. Through the generosity of his unexpected patron he was playing a role at the Jew’s penn not unlike that which his fellow voy- ager was, at that very time, performing at Mount Welcome; and as there was not much difference in the social rank of the respective circles in which they were each revolving, it was by no means improbable that the two might meet again, and upon a more equal footing than formerly: To do Herbert Vaughan justice, it should be stated that he was more surprised than gratified by the luxurious life be was leading. There | was something rather extraordinary in the gen- erous patronage of the Jew—something that puzzled him not a little. How was he to ac- count for such kind hospitality? Thus for days after Herbert Vaughan had | made the Happy Valley his home matters moved | on smoothly enough to the superficial observer. | Slight incongruities that did occur from time to time wereingesiously explained: and the young Englishman, unsuspicious of any evil design, with the exception of the unwonted bospitality | that was being bestowed upon himself, saw | nothing extraordinary in the circumstances that surrounded him, Had he been less the honored guest of his Is- raelitish host perhaps bis perceptions might have been more scrupulous and discriminative. But the Arabs have a proverb, ‘* It is not in bu- man nature to speak ill of the borse that has ’ ! | } borne one out of danger;” and human nature in the East is but a counterpart of its homonym in the West. Noble as was the nature of the oung Englishman, still it was human; and to ave ‘‘ spoken ill of the bridge thet hed carried him safely over,” and from that desolate shore on which he bad late been stranded, would have argued a nature something more than buman. If he entertained any suspicion of his pat- ron’s integrity he zealously kept it to himself— not with any idea of surrendering either his in- dependence or self-respect, but to await the de- velopment of the somewhat inexplicable cour- tery of which he was the rec'pient. his courtesy was not confined to his Hebrew host. As Herbert had long been aware, his daughter exercised it inan equal degree, and fer more Hugg rae Indeed, among other trans- formay ring in the Happy Valley. the spirit of the fair Jewess seemed also to have sustained a remark- | able change, Thouch upon oeensions the proud, | imperious temper! wonld manifest itself, more generally now was Jodith in a sentimental vein —at times approaching to sadness, .There were ‘| other times when the old spitefulness would ee a + 8 ons that had been remarked as occur- ; show itself. Then the spiral nostrils would curl with contempt, and the dark Israelitish eyes flash with malignant fire. Happily, these rather ungraceful exhibitions, like the tornadoes of ber native land, were rare, for a certain pame—the cause that called them forth—was but rarely pronounced in her hear- ing. Kate Vaughan was the name, Herbert Vaughan bad passed searce a week under the roof of the Jew’s mansio~ when its mistress was in love with bim, to the ends of her anges, to the very extreme of jealousy! s for the object of this fervent passion, the young man was at this time altogether unable to analyze bis own feelings. It is true that the imperious spirit of the Jewess, aided by her endless wiles, bad gained a certain ascendancy over bim; but not so as to obliterate the image that had recently become impressed upon his heart. n the short interview which he had had with his cousin Kate, Herbert Vaughan hed looked, for the first time in bis life, on one whom to look at was to love. Though sensible that he had no claim upon his cousin beyond that of kinship—though not a word had been spoken by ber to show that she felt for him any other kind of regard, Herbert, strange enough, had conceived a hope that some day or other a more endearing relationsbip might exist between them. Not for long was he cheered by this sweet ex- pectancy. It was too transitory to stand the test of time. As day succeeded day, rumors reached him of the gay scenes that were trans- piring at Mount Welcome. Especially was he informed of the contentedness of bis cousin Kate in the society of the new companion which her father bad provided for her. The effect of this information was a gradual hut grievous extinction of the slight hope which Hashes bad conceived. The circumstances with which chance had now surrounded him may have rendered these regrets less painful. Though his cousin cared not for him, he had no reason to feel forsaken or forlorn. By his side—and almost constantly by his side—was beauty of no common brilliance, showering smiles upon him of no ordinary at- tractiveness. In such a dilemma was the heart of Herbert Vaughan. No wonder he found a difficulty in effecting its analysist In a condition somewhat similar to Herbert's was the heart of bis cousin; though hers was easier to analyze. It was simply trembling un- der the influence of a first and virgin love. Two forms had been presented to it in the same tour, both in the blush of youthful manhood—one a distinguished gentleman, the other an humble adventurer, The former had the additional advantage in riority of introduction; the latter was not even introduced. But the favorite does not alWays win. The earliest on the course may he the latest in the race; and though the beart of the young creole, on its pure virgin pege, bad re- ceived love’s image at first sight, it was not that of him who first presented himself to make the be “Phage a or was she kept in igncrance of outward events. Her maid Yola was the mecium by which she was acquainted with them. Through this medium she had heard of Herbert’s prox- imity, of bis bappi:ess and prosperity. The news would have given her jov tut that she had beard be was too bai py, Strange that this should be a cause of bitterness! As for the distinguis: ed Smythje, he was rot always in one mind, He, too, was troubled with‘an alternation of hopes and fears, The former, however, generally epee erg tg. and for the most part, be felt in his spirit the roud confidence of a conqueror. Often, with Thoms as Lis sudience, might Smythje be heard exult- ingly repeating the dispatch of Caesar—‘‘ Veni, vidi, vici.” CHAPTER XX. THE SMYTHJE BALL, As a climax to the round of fetes got up for the express amusement of Mr. Smythje, an- other was insugurated—a complimentery ball— Mr. Smythje the recipient of the pie dew formar No doubt, Mr. Vaughan would have Jooked for- ward to the Smythje ball with pleesant antici- ation, as likely to afford him a social triumph ut for the fact that he knew his nephew would be there, “ In Mount Welcome the name of Herbert Vaugban was no longer heard. Even Kate— whether it was that she had grown more sage, for she had been chided more than once for introducing it into the conversation, or whether she had ceased to think of bim—even she never pronounced his name. For all that, Mr. Vaughan was still vexed with some lingering suspicion that in that direction lurked danger; and this determined him to prevent, as far as ble, any interview between his daughter and nephew, He had tuken his ey to task upon this subject; and, using the full stretch of parental authority, compelled her to a solemn promise, that sbe was not again to speak to ber cousin, nor even acknowledge his presence!
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It was a hard. promise for the poor girl to make, Perhaps it would have }-en -till barder, had she known Herbert’s di: . Waby, ¢ = “i> ees = ba Boa = os ; > inietehe De a ome mal ast ry ee oe , ee, | 32
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' ¥ A = +, td - = eS) <i +t . 16 nished trees that frin the upper édge of the lagoon, and making for the bottom of the cliff beneath the spot wuere she stood. | A single individual occupied the canoe; who, even under the somber sbadow of the twilight, | appeared to be a man of dread aspect. e was a negro of gigantic size; though that might not have appeared as he sat squatted in the canoe but for the extreme breadth of his | shoulders, between which was set a huge head, almost neckless. His back was bent like a bow, presentiog an enormous bunch, partly the effect of advanced age, and partly from natural mal- formation, His attituie in the canoe gave him a double stoop: so that, as he leant forward to the paddie, his face was turned downward, as | if he was regarding some object in the bottom | of the craft. His long, spe Jike arms enabled him to reach over the gun wale without bending much to either side; and ovly witb these did he | appear to make any exertion, his body remain- | ing perfectly immobile. he dress of this individual was at the same time grotesque aud paid ae Tbe only part of it whieh belonged to civil fashion was a pair of white trowsers or drawers, of coarse Osna- burg lines, such asare worn by the fleld hands | on a sugar Plantetsiomn. Their dirty yellowish hue told that they kad long been strangers to the laundry; waile several crimson colored blotebes upon them proclaimed that their last wetting bad been witk blood, not water. A sort of kaross, or cloak, made out of the skins of the utia, and hung over his shoulders, | was the only other garment be wore. Tois, | fastened round bis thick, short neck by a piece | of leathern thong, covered the whole of his body down to the hams, the Osnaburg drawers continuing the costume thence to his ankles. His feet were bare. Nor needed they any protection from shoes, the soles being thickly covered with a horn-like callosity, which ex- tended from the ball of the great toe to the broad heel, far protruding backward. The head-dress was equally bizarre, It was asort of cap, constructed out of the skin of some wild animal; and my closely, exhibited, in all its pbrenological fulluess, the buge negro cranium which itcovered. There was no brim; but, in its place, the dried and stuffed skin of the great yellow snake was wreathed around the temples, with the bead of the reptile in | front, and two sparkling pebbles set in the — of its eyes to give it the appearance of ife The countenance of the negro did not need this terrific adornment to inspire those who be- held it with fear, The sullen glare of his deep- set eye-balls; the broad, gaping nostrils; the teeth, filed to a point, and gleaming, shark-like, behind his purple lips; the red tattooing upon | his cheeks and broad breast—the latter exposed by the action of his arms—all combined in mak- ing a picture that needod no reptiliform addition to render it hideous enough for the most horrid of purposes, It seemed to terrify even the wii | denizens of the Duppy’s Hole. The heron, ' couching in the ge. flapped up with an affrighted cry; and the flamingo, spreading her scarlet wings, rose screaming over the cliffs, and flew far away. Even the woman who awaited bim—bold as she may have been, and voluntary as ber ren- dezvous appeared to be—could not help shudder- ing as the canoe drew near; and for 1 moment | she appeared irresolute, as to whether she should trast herself in such uncanny company. Her resolution, however, stimulated by some ) strong ; passion, soon returned; and as the canoe | swept in among the bushes at the bottom of | the cliff, and she heard the voice of its occupant ) summoning her to descend, she plucked t’ + sig- | nal from tho tree, fixed the basket firmly over | her arm, and commeuced letting herself down | through the tangle of branches ; The canve reappeared upon the open water, returning across the lagoon. The mulatto wo- | man was seated in the stern, the man, as before, | plying the paddle, but now exerting all his | strength to prevent the light craft from being | carried down by the current, that could be soi hissing and groaning through the gorge ow, On getting back under the tree from which he had started, the negro corded the eynoe to one of the branches; an? then scrambling upon shore, followed by the woman, be walked on toward the temple of Obi—of which he was himself both oracle and priest. CHAPTER XXII. THE RESURRECTION. ARRIVED at the cotton-tree but, the myal- man—for such was the negro—dived at once into the open door, his broad and hunched shoulders scarce clearing the aperture. In a tone rather of command than request, he directed the woman to enter. to hesitate. Inside the bus; thouch without it was not very different. The shadow of the ceiba with its dense shrouding of moss, interrupted trees. The ii.gro noticed her hesitation, ** Come in!” cried he, repeating his command in the same gruff voice. “You me sabby— what fo’ you fear?’ ‘* Tse not afraid, Chakra,” replied the woman, though the trembling of her voice contradicted the assertion; “‘only,” she added, still hesita- ting, ‘* it’s so dark in tkere.” Well, den—you ’tay outside,” said the other, Serta, 2 ‘**you ‘tay dar wha you is; a soon trike a Jight.” A fumbling was beard, and then the chink of ; stee) against flint followed by fiery sparks. A piece of punk was set ablaze, and from tbis | the flame was communicated to a sort of lamp composed of the carapace of a turtle, filled | with wild-hog’s lard, and having the wick | twisted out of the down of the cotton-tree. “Now you come in Cynthy,” resumed the negro, placing tbe lamp upon the floor, ‘ Wha! you ‘till afeard! You de dauter ob Juno Vagh’n —you modder no fear ole Cbakra. Whugh! she no fear de Debbil!” Cynthia, thus addressed, might have thought that between t. e dread of these two personages there was not much to choose: for the Devil himself could hardly bave appeared in more hideous guise than the human being who stood before her. ‘Oh Chakra!” said she, as she stepped inside the door, and caugbt sight of the weird-looking arniture of the walls; ‘‘ woman may well be fraid. Dis am a feerful place!” “ Not so fearful as de Jumbe Rock,” was the reply of the myal-man, accompanied by a signi- | ficant glance, and something between « smile | and a grin, “True,” said the mulatta, gradually recover ing her self-possession; ‘“‘true; you hab cause say so, Chakra.” ‘Das a fac’, Grathys ‘But tell me, g Chakra,” continued the mulatta, giving way to a woman’s feeling— curiosity, ‘“‘ how did you ebber Scape from the Jumbe k? The folks said it was your skele- ton dat was there—chain to de palm-tree!” ‘De folk ’peek da troof. My ’keleton it was, jess as dey say.” The woman turned upon the speaker a glance in which astonishment was mingled with fear, the latter predominating. “Your skeleton?” she muttered, interroga- Oye: **Dem same old bones—de ’kull, de ribs, de jeinte, rum-ticks, an’ all. Goily, gal Cynthy! dat ere pears ’stonish you. Whafo’? Nuflfin in daat. ou sabby old Coakra? You kaow he myal-man? Doan care who know now—so long dey b’lieve um dead. Wha for myal man ef he no bring de dead to life ’gain? Be shoo Chakra no die bisself, so long he knows how bring dead body to de life. Ole Chakra know all dat. Dey no kill him, nebber! Neider de white fclk nor de brack fulk. Dey may shoot ’im wid gun; dey may hang ’im by de neck; dey may cut off *im head; he come to life gain, like de blue liz- ard and de glass snake, ey did try kill’im, you know. Dey ’tarva him till he die ob hunger and tbhuss)s De John Crow pick out him eves, and tear de flesh from de old ages body; leab nuffin but de bare bones! Ha! Chakra ’lib yet; he hab new bones, new flesh! Golly! you him og he trong, be fat as ebber he wa’! Ha! ha! ” And as the hideous negro uttered his exulting laugh, he threw up his arms and turned his eyes toward his own person, as if appealing to it for proof of the resurrection he professed to have accomplished ! The woman looked asif petrified by the reci- tal; every word of which she appeared implicit- ly to believe. Sbe was too much terrified to speak, and remained silent, apparently cower- ing under the influence of a supernatural awe. The myal-man perceived the advantage he had gained; and seeing that the curiosity of his listener was satisfied—for she had not the slight- est desire to bear more about that matter—be adroitly changed the subject to one of a more natural character. ae You've brought de basket ob wittle, Cyn- yt “* Yes, Chakra—there.” “Golly! um’s bery good—-guinea-hen an’ plenty ob vegetable fo’ de pepperpot. Anything fo’ drink, gal? Haben’t forgot daat, a hopef De drink am da mose partickla ob all,” ‘‘T have not forgotten it, Chakra. There’s a bottle of rum. You’! find it in the bottom of the basket. I had a deal trouble steal it.” ** Who you ’teal ’im from?” ‘*Why, master: who else? He have grown berry partickler of late: carries all de keys bim- self; and won’t let us colored folk go near de storeroom, as if we’re all ’teevin’ cats!” **Nebba mind—nebba you mind, Cynthy— may be Chakra watch him by’m-by. Wa, now!” added he, drawing the bottle of ram out. of the basket, and holding it up te the light. “De buckra preacher he say dat ’tolen water am sweet. A pose dat ’tolen rum folla de same excepshun. A see ef um do.” So saying, tie negro drew out the stopper, raised the bottle to his lips, and buried the neck up to the swell between his capacious jaws, A series of ‘‘clucks” proclaimed the pass the liquor over his palate, and not until be Sad avalowed half a pint of the flery fluid, ms ee ws a did he withdraw the neck of the bottle from be- tween his teeth. ‘“Whugh!” he exclaimed, with an aspirate | that resembled the snort of a startled hog. ‘*Whugh!” he repeated, stroking bis abdomen witb his buge paw. ‘De buckra preacher may talk ’bout bim ’tolen water, but jt me de *tolen: rum. You good gal. Cynthy—you berry good. gal, fo’ fetch ole Chakra dis nice basket 0’ wittle. He sometimes berry bungry—hbe need um all.” ‘‘T promise to bring more, whenebber I can get away from the Buff.” ‘Das right, my picaninny! An’ now, gal,” continued he, aban bis tone, and regerdiog” the mulatta witha ie of interrogation, *‘ wha’ fo’ you want see me dis night? You hab some punpos partickla? Dat so—eh, gal?” The mulatta stood hesitating. There are cer- tain secrets which woman avows with relnet- ance—often with repugnance. Her love is one: | and of this she cares to make confession only to bim who bas the right to hear it, Hence tbia’s silent and hesitating attitude. ** Wha’ fo’ you no ’peak?” asked the grim con- fessor. ‘Shoo’ you no bab fear ob ole Chakra? You no need fo’ tell ’im—he know you secret: a’ready--you lub Cubina, de cap’n ob Maroon? Dat troof, eh?” ‘It is true, Chakra, I shall conceal nothing from you.” “Better not, cause you can’t’ceal nuffin from ole Chakrs. He know ebbery ting—little bird tellum. Wanow, wha’ nex’? You tink Cubina no Inb you?” “Ab! lam sure of it!” replied the mulatta, yn her bold countenance relaxing into an an- guishect expression. ‘“‘I] once thought he love me. Now I no think so.” “You tink bim lub some odder gali” “Tem sure of it! Oh! I have reason!” “Who © m dis odder?” “ce Yol »” ‘“Yola? Dat ere name sound new te me. Wher d’s she ‘long to?” * She belongs to Mount Welcome. She Missa Kate’s maid. ne ge Quasheba J call dat young lady,” mut-: tered the myal-man, with a knowing grin. * But dis Yola?’ he added; ‘‘whar she come- from? A nebber hear de name afo’.” **Oh. true, Chakra! I did not think of tellin” you. She was bought from the Jew and fetched home since you—that is, after you left the plant- ation.’ “ Arter I lef’ de plantation, to die on de Jum- be Rock—ha, ha, ha! Dat’s wha’ you mean, Cynthy?” ‘* Yes; she came soon after.” “So do t’ink Cubina lub her?” ay do.” ‘* An’ she ’ciprocate de fekshun?” ‘* Ah, surely! How could she help do that?’ The interrogatory betrayed the speaker’s be- lief that the Maroon captain was irresistible, ** Wa, then, wha’ you want me do. gal? You want rehbenge on Cubina, ’cause he hab ’trayed yout You want me put de deathpell on bim?” ‘Oh, no, no!—not that, Chakra, for the love of Heavenj—not that!” * Den you want de lud- id **Ab! if he could be made love me’gain! He did once. That is, 1 thought he did. Is it ; sible, good Chakra, to make him love me again?” “ All t’ing possible to old Chakra; an’ to prove. dat,” continued he, with a determined air, “he promise to put de lub-spall on Cubina.” CHAPTER XXIII. THE LOVE-SPELL. TRE countenance of the myal man had as- sumed an air of solemnity that betokened seri- ous determination; and the mulatta felt a pre- sentiment that, in return for bis services, some- thing was about to be demanded of ber—some- thing more than a payment in meat and drink. His mysterious behavior as be passed around the hut—now stopping before ope of the gro- teeque objects that adorned the wall, now fum- bling among the little begs and baskets, as if in search of some ticular charm; his move- ments made in solemn ‘silence only broken by the melancholy sighing of the cataract without —all this was producing on the mind of the mu- latta an unpleasant impression; und, despite ber natural courage, sustained as it was by the burning passion that devoured ber, she was fast giving way to an indefinable fear. The priest of Obi, after appearing to bave worsbiped each fetisch in turn, at lei gth trans- ferred his devotions to the rum-bottle, perhaps the most potent god in his whole Pantheon, Taking another long-protracted a. fol- lowed by the customary ** Whugh!” he restored the bottle to its place; and then, seating bimself upon a huge turtle-sbell, that formed part of the plenisbing of his temple, be commenced giy- ing is devotee her lesson of instructions, ‘Fuss, den,” said he, ““to put de lub-spell on anybody—eider a man or a woman—it am nes- sary, at de same time, to hab de obeah-spell go ‘long wi’ it.” “What!” exclaimed his listener, exhibiting a degree of alarm—' the obeah-spellt on €n- bina, do you mean?” “No, not on him; dat’s not a nessary com ‘ in a i 2 ae ee =< ti tee ePine. Wee ra _ oe eres aes ae .
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ooh - t+ =. eS Sed = 4 <= + i “ pe kation. ~~. ———— sarquence. But fore Cubina be made lub you, semeb’dy else muss be made sick.” “Who f’ quickly inquired the mulatta, her mind at the moment reverting to one whom she might have wished to be the invalid ‘Who you t’ink fo’? who you greatest enemy you wish make sick?’ ** Yola,” answered the woman, in a low, mut- tered voice, and; with only a moment of hesita- * Woan do—woman woan dv; must be man. An’ more dan dat, muss be free man, Nigga slave woan do, Obi god tell meso jess now. Buckra man, too, it muss be If buckra man hab de obeah-’pel!, Cubina he take de Inb-spell streng—he lub you hard as a ole mule can kick.” "Oh, if he would!” exclaimed the ponvones mulatta, in an ecstasy of delightful expecta- tion; ‘I shall do anytoing for that—anything!”’ “Den you muss paige de obeah spell on some ob de white fo%. You hab buckra enemy —Chakra hab de same.” “ Who?’ inquired the woman, reflectively. **Who! No need tell who Chakra enemy— you enemy, too. Who fooled you long time’go? who ’bused you when te wa’ young gal? No need tell you dat, Cynthy Vagh’n?” The mulatta turned her eyes upon the speaker with a significant expression. Some old mem- ory seemed resuscitated by his words, evidently anything but a pleasant one, * Massa Loftus?” sbe said, in a balf- whisper. “Sartin shoo, Massa Loftus, dat ere buckra you enemy an’ mine boat.” “ And you would—” ‘« Bt de obeah fo’ him,” said the negro, finish- ing the interrogatory, which the other had hesi- tated to pronounce. The woman remained without making an- swer, and as if buried in reflection. The ex- pression upon ber features was not one of re- pentance. ‘« Muss be him!” continued the tempter, as if to win her more completely to his dark project; “no odder do so well. Obi god say so—muiss be de planter ob Moun’ Welc’m.” If Cubina will but love me, I care not who,” rejoine? the roulatta, with an air of reckless de- termination. “Nuff sei,” resumed the myal-man. ‘ De e@benh-spell sha’ be set on dea proud buckra, Loffus Vagh’n; an’ you, Cynthy, muss ’sist in de workin’ ob de charm.” “How can | assist?” inquired the woman, in @ voice whose trembling told of a slight irreso- “How, Chakra?” “Bat you be tole by’m-by, not dis night. De ‘pel take time. God Obi he no act all at once, not eben fo’ ole Chakra, You come ’gain when I teab de signal fo’ you on de trumpet-trer. Till den you keep dark ‘bout all dese ting. You ene eb de few dat know ole Chakra still ‘live. Qdders know ob de ole myal-man in de mask, but berry few ebber see um face, an’ nebba sus- k whoum be. Dasallright. You tell who wval-man am, den—” "Ob. never Chakra,’ interrupted his listener, *‘pever!” ‘No, berra not, You tell dat. Cynthy, you soon feel de obeah-spell on youself. ** Now, gal,” continued the negro, rising from his seat, and motioning the mulatta to do the same, ‘time fo’ you go, I s’pecks one odder s00n: no do fo’: ou to be cotch bya when dat odder come. Take you basket, an’ folla me.” So saying, he emptied the basket of its hetero- geveus contents, ani, handing it to its owner, conducted ber out of the but. CHAPTER XXIV. THE BARGAIN OF OBEAH. For a while after the d-parture of Cynthia the temple of Ovi remained untenanted, except by its dumb deities: its priest having gone ferry his neophyte across the lagoon. In a few minutes be returned alone, havin Jeft the mulatta to make her way up the cliff, und steht to Mount Welcome, where she vo longed. “It was evident that the visit of the mulatta hud given him gratification. Even in the dim ligt of his lard lamp an expression of demoniac joy could be distingvished upon his ferocious visage, as Be re-entered the hut. “One dead!’ cried be, in an exulting tone; ‘anoider upon ‘im death-bed; and now de third, de Jas’ av’ wuss ob ’em all—ha! ha! ha!— be soon feel de vengeance ob Chakra, de myal- an!” : Porice did the wild, maviac-like laugh peal from under the spreading limbs of the ceiba, re- verberating wivh an unearthly echo against the cliffs that bemmed in the Duppy’s Hole. Tt startled the denizens of the dark Jagoon: and, like echoes, came ringing up the ravine the scream of the crane, and the piercing cry of the wood ibis. : These sounds had searce died away, when one ef a somewhat different intonation was heard from above. It resembled a shriek; or rather as i# some one had whistled through his fingers. Whoever gave utterance to the sound was upon the top of the cliff—just over the hut, Chakra was not s He knew it was a The Maroon. signal; and that it was given by the guest he was expecting. *Da’s de ole Jew!” muttered he, taking the rum-bottle and concealing it under the bed- stead, ‘You stay dar till I wants ye ’gain,” added he, addressing himself in a confidential tone to this, the object of bis greatest adoration. ‘‘Now for de nigga-dealer! D’se hab news fo’ him ’l! tickle ’im in de ribs like a ole guana liz. zard, Not dat Chakra care fo’ him. No—only, on dis voyge, boaf am sailin’ iu de same boat. Da he go ’gaia!” This last exclamation referred to a repetition toward the gorge at the lower end. A third cali proceeded from that point where ing to Chakra that his visitor was there await- ing bim. as Charon himself—returned to his canoe; and once more paddled it across the lagoon. Whi e Chakra was thus occupied, a man could be seen descending the cliff, through the tangle of climbing plants, who, on the arrival of the canoe at the bottom, was standing, balf con- cealed among the bushes, ready to step into it. ‘The moon shone upon a blue body-coat, with | d | obeeh shpell for him?” bright buttops; upon a brown beaver hat an white skull-cap; upon tarnished top-boots, green Boggle, and an enormous umbrella. Cc was, Jacob Jessuron was there by appointment; and the nyal-man knew both his presence and his pufpose. down into the canoe, ‘°’Tep in lightly, Masse. Jake, an’ doan’ push 1 kin do to keep de ole craff out ob de eddy. Ef she get down da, den it ’ud. be all up wifb boaf o’ us.” “‘Blesh my soul! D’ you shay so?” oF Nomi the Jew, glancing toward the gorge, and shiver- ing as he listened to the hoarse groaning of ths water among the grim rocks. ‘'S'help me, I didv’t know it was dengerous. Don’t fear, Shakra! I shtep in ash light ash a feather.” So saying, the Jew dropped his umbrella into the bottom of the boat; and then let himself down upon the top of it, with as much gentle- | rect time. ness as if he was descending upon a basxet of of thesignal heard further down, as if he who | was sounding it was advancing along the cliff, | the ‘ree stairway scaled the precipice, indicat- | ithout further delay, the ferryman—grim | ap = ——s Va. . aa 4 Yhakra did not need to scan the sharp Israel- | itish features of the man to ascertain who he ) 17 the only answer made hy the myal-man. The utterance was not meant to convey any choly impression. On the contrary, by its a intonation, it indicated es n uch satis- action as any amount of words could have ex- pressed. “Tt ish very shtrange,” continucd the penn- keeper in the same tone of affected simplicity; “so short a time shince Mishter Ridgeley died. Two of the three sbustices that sat on your tri goot Shakra. It looksh ash if Providensh had a hand in it—it dosh!” ‘ Or de Dibbil, mo’ like, maybe!” rejoimed Chakra with a significant leer. “Yesh, Gott or the Devil, one or t’other. Well, Shakra, you hash had your refenge, whichever hash helped you to it. Two of your enemies ish not likely to trouble you again; and ash for the third—” ‘Nor he berry long. I’se speck,” interrupted the negro with a sigrificant grin. ‘‘What you shey?” exclaimed the Jew in an earnest undertone. ‘‘ Hash you heard any- things? Hash the wench been to see you?” ‘All right bout her, Massr Jake.” *“Goot, she basb been?” : ‘Jess leab dis place bout quar’r ob an keur 0.” ‘** And she saysh she will help you to set the ‘* Hab no fear—she do all dat. Obi bad spell oba her, dat make her do mose ur paler = anythin’ in de worl’—satin shoo, Obi all power- ful wi’ dat gal.” ‘* Yesb, yesh,” assented the Jew; ‘*I knowsh : ; ' all that. And if Obi wash to fail,” added be doubtingly, ‘‘ you hash a drink, goot Shakra—I | know you hash a drink ash potent as Obi or any ot a word of recognition passed between the | two, nor sign. Only a caution from Chakra, as | the Jew, swinging by a branch, let himself da canoe down ’tream. ’T am jess’ as much as | | other of your gotsh.” A glance of mutual intelligence passed be- tween the two, ‘* How long dosh it take your sbpell to work?” inquired the penn-keeper after an interval of si- lence, in which he seemed to be making some calculation, ‘* Dat,” replied the negro, ‘dat depend alto- gedder on de saccomstunee ob how long de spell am wanted to work. Ef *im wanted, Chakra make ‘im in tree day fotch de ’trongest indiwid- dible cla out o’ ’im boots, or in tree hour he do same; but ob coorse dat ’ud be too soon fo’ be safe. A spell of tree bours too ’trong. Dat not Obi work—%im look berry like p’isen.” ‘* Poison—yesh, yesh, it wou!d.” “Tree day too short—tree week am de cor- n de spell work ‘zactly like fever ob de typos. Nobody had s’picion ‘bout ’um.” “‘Three weeks you shay? nd no symptoms. eg The ferryman, seeing his freight safely aboard, | to make schandal? You're shure that ish suffi- paddled back to the mooring-place; and, baving | cient? Remember, Shakra, the secured his craft as before, conducted his visitor up the valley in-the direction of the but, On entering the temple of Obi, Jessuron—un- | bull, in dat period ob time he grow wea like the devotee who had just left it—showed no signs either of surprise or fear at its fantastic adornments. Is was evident he had worshiped there before. Nor did he evince a special veneration for the shrine; bu. seating himself familiarly on the bamboo bedstead, uttered as he did so a sonor- ous *‘ Ach!” which appeared as if intemded to | express satisfaction. t the same time he drew from the ample gg of his coat a shining object, which, when eld before the lamp, appeared to be a bottle. The label seen upon its side, with the symbolical bunch of grapes, proved it to be a bottle of — he exclamation of the myal-man, which the sight of the label bad instantaneously elicited proved that on his side equal satisfaction exis at this mode of initiating an interview. *“*Hash you a glass among your belonginsh?” inquired the Jew, looking around tbe hovel. “*No; dis yeer do?” asked his host, presenting a small calabash with a handle. **Fush rate. Thish liquor drinksh out of anything. I had it from Capten Showler on hish lasht voyage. Jesh taste it, good Shakra, before we begins bishness.” A grunt from the negro announced his willing assent to the proposal. ““Whugh!” he ejaculated, after swallowing “ty eiareqes poured out for him into the cala- sh, ‘‘ Ach! goot it ish!” said his guest on quaffin off a like quantity, and then the bottle an gourd being set on one side, the two queer char- acters entered into the field of free conversa- tion. In this the “ew took the initiative. **T hash shtrange news, if you hashn’t already heard it, Shakra? Who dosh you think ish dead?” “Ha!” exclaimed the myal-man, bis eye sud- denly lighting up with a gleam of ferocious joy, “he gone dead, am he?” ‘*Who? I hashen’t told you,” rejoined the Jew, his features assuming an expression of mock surprise. ‘But true,” he continued, af- ter a pause; ‘‘ true, you knew he wash sick—you knew Justish Bailey was sick, an’ not likely to get over it. Well—he hashen’t, poor man!—he’s news for you,” said he, “very | { Lushtos ish a as de as de dew-drop calf—I’se be boun’ he ’taggering Bob long fore dat. You say de word, Massr Jake. Obi no like to nigga. Nigga only brack man; he no get pay fo’ ’im work. . Obi ’zemble buckra man. He no work less him Lape *““Yesh, yesh; dat ish only shust and fair. strong man, strong asb a bull.” “No mar’r *bout dat. Ef he ‘tron Obi should be ga but shay, good Sbakra, — much ish bis prishe for a sbpell of thish ind? “Ef he hab no interest hisself in de workin’ ob de ’pell, he want a burder poun’. When he bab interest, das diff’rent, den be take fifty.” “Fifty poundsh! That ish big monish, good Shakra! In thish case Obi hash an interest, more ash anybody elshe. He hash an enemy, and wants refenge. Ish that not true, good | Shakra?” _— dead and in hish coffin by thish time; he breath- | ed hish lasht yesterday.’ A loud and highly-aspirated ‘‘Whugh” was “ Dash da troof. Chakra no go fo’ deny ‘im. But das jess why Obi ’sent do dat leetle chore fo" fifty pont Obi enemy big buckra—trong as you bad jess say—berry diff’cult fo’ ‘pell ‘.. Any odder myal-man charge de ful] hunder un’. Fack, no odder able do de job—no odder ut ole Chakra bab dat power.” “Shay no more about the prishe. Fifty poundsh be it, Here’sh half down.” The tempter s a purse containing coin into the out- stretched palm of the obeah-man. ‘All I stipu- late for ish, that in three weeks you earn the other balf; and we shall both be shquare with the Cushtos Vochan, for I bash my refenge to shatisfy ash well ash you, Shekra.” ‘Nuff sed, Massr Jake. ‘Fore tree day de *pell sha’ be put on. You back come to de Duppy Hoie tree night from dis, you hear how ’im work. bat pat bell in brought into requ shell was again ught into i- sition; and after a parting “‘ kiss” at the cognac, the “‘ heel-tap ” of which remajned in the hut, the precious pair emerged into tle open air. ® priest of Obi having cond his fellow- conspirator across the lagoon, returned to bis temple, and set himself assiduously to finish what was left of the liquor. ““Whugh!” ejaculated he, in one of the pauses that occurred between two vigorows pulls at the bottle; ‘‘ oie villum Jew wuss dan ra—wtss dan the debbil hisseff! Doan” know why he ba eet. Das gf pend wi s want reb- Rge, an’, great Accompong! I’se a-gwine f dis gal proob true as de oddere did—she muss proob true—in t’ree week de. proud, fat buckra jussis dat condemn me to dat. RU Ea Rete eas eae etre SS ee = ear REA PP AT OR Att OP re ap Oe ES vents we eees ~*~
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Jambe Rock, ‘ Cussos rodelorum,’ as dey call’im, —won’t bab no more flesh on ‘im bones dan de *keleton he t'ink wa’ myen, And den, when ’im die—ah! den, affer ’im die, de daughter ob dat ‘Quasheba dat twenty year ’go ’corn de lub ob de Coromantee for dat ob de yellow Maroon— «oaybe her dau’ter, de Lilly Quasheba, sleep in de arms ob Chakra de myal-man! Whugh!” The Maroon. | near the mid-hour ofthe night. The Foolah had dared the dangers of the forest to meet her be- loved Cubina. 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 ber young mistress As the minister of Obi gave utterance to this | had promised to bestow upon her her freedom. hypothetical threat, a lurid light glared up in his sunken eyes, while his white, shark-like teeth were displayed in an exulting grin, hideousasif | for all. No, not for all,” added he, the demon bimself were smiling over some mon- 2trous menace! | **not for all, | Abhf? said Cubina, turning with a proud look toward his sweetheart, ‘it will bea happy day is face | suddenly assuming an expression of sadness; There is one, | fear, to whom that Both cognac and ram-bottle were repeatedly | day will not briug happiness!” tasted, until the strong frame of the Coroman- tee gave way to the stronger spirit of the | ** 1] know one, too, Cubina,” rejoined the girl, her countenance appearing to refle.t the ex- alcohol: and, muttering fearful threats in his | pression that had come over his, gumbo jargon, ho at length sunk unconscious on | the floor. Tnere, under the light of the lard lamp—now flickering feebly—he lay like some hideous satyr, whom Bacchus, hy an angry blow, had £ prostrate to tbe earth! THE MYSTERIOUS MOTIVE. THE original motive of the myal man, in con- aspiring the death of the Custos Vaughan, would | have been strong encugh to urge him on with- . oat this uvew instigation. As we have seen, it | was one of deadly revenge—simple, and easily ) understood, Not so easily understood was that which actu- ated the Jaw. On the contrary, so secretly bad | be conceived bis purposs, that no living man— not eveu Chakra himself—bad been made privy | to them, Up to this moment they may have appeared mysterious; and the time bas arrived when it becoms necessary to reveal them, The explana- ie tion will show them to be only natural—only in | Pe keepiv | : CHAPTER XXV. : with the character of this crooked and | He cruel old man. * In the first place, he was well acquaintgd with ie the domestic bistory of the planter—at least, | 1 with that portion of it that had transpired sub- uent to the Jatter’s coming into possession of Mount Welcome. He knew something of Mr. Vauzhan previously—while the latter was manager of the Montagu Castle estate—but it was only after the Custos had become bis nearer y meighbor, by removal to his ras 2 residence, p i. that the Jew’s knowledge of bim and bis private | ns mfairs had become intimate and accurate. The Jew’s knowledge of the affairs of Loftus i, ? Vaugban extended to many facts unknown to | as f bakra, One of these was, that his neighbor was blessed with an English brother, who had t «an only son. in An artist was the English brother, without | ,. fortune—almost without name. Many . other 3 circumstances relating to him had cme to the knowledge of Jessuron; among the rest, that | “a the proud Custos k»e ’ little about bis o8 | nie ‘English relatives, cared loess, and scarcely kept ra up correspondence with them. ct ak In what way could this knowledge interest | “i Jacob Jessuront—for it did. | te Thus, then; it was known to him that Loftus be." Vauzhan had never been married to the quad- | ae roon Quasheha. Reap Kate Vaughan was herself only a mustes— it) still wanting one step further from slavery to i: bring ler witbin the protecting pale of freedom +b and the enjoyment of its favors. Sa 4 No will that Loftus Vaughan could decrees, no pa testamentary disposition he might make, could ‘elie render his daughter his devisee—bis heiress. pst He mizht will bis property to anybody he be ~< pleased; so long as that anybody was a so-called 3 white; bus. failing to make such testament, bis aes estate of Mount Welcome, with all he possessed Ming desides, must fall to the next of his own kin—in gaia)? hort, to his nephew Herbert. Boss Was there no remedy for this unspeakable di- Bs lemma? No means by which bis own daughter Pa wight be saved from disinheritance? vit here was. A sprcial act might be obtained ro ie ‘from the Assembly of the Island. oe L ftus Vaughan knew the remedy, and fully ai - intended to adopt it. Every day was he de- signing to set out for Spanish Town—the capital f -—to obtain the special act; and every day was a the sourysy pub off. It was the execution of this design that the Jew Jessuron of all things dreaded most, and to prevent it was the object of his visit to the Bat ; xemple of Obi. rye A hy be dreaded it scarce needs explanation. a Should Loftus Vaughan fuil in bis intent, es, : Gerbert Vaughan would be the heir of Mount ig Welcome; and Herbert’s heart was in the keep- Behe, ing of Judith Jessuron. So foudly believed the Jewess; and, with her - ~assnrance of the fact. so also the Jew. The love-spell wover by Judith had been the oe first step toward securing the grand inherit- vance. The second was to be the death-spell, ad- ministered by, Chakra and his acolyte. =~ ee CHAPTER XXVI. fons, MIDNIGHT WANDERERS. ee ees ONCE more under the ceiba, that gigantic - trysting tree, stood che Maroon and his mistress, ‘Not, as before, in the bright noonday sun, but | self “Ob, 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 bis beart, as you would do mine, if you we:e to marry somebody else. Poor young fellow: Crambo! It I’m not mis- taken, it wi'l be a sad day for him!” The girl looked up, in puzzled surprise. ‘Sad day for bim! No, Cubina, he verry cO8 $e For bher—poor missa—that day be sad, ** Vayate / What do you mean, Yola?” ‘No more dan I say, Cubina, Missa Kate be very unliappy that day she marry Mr. Mongew; she very so now,” **Can you tell me, Yola, why vour mistress not like this grand gentleman? Has she told you any reason?” “Very good reason, Cubina. Sbe another love; that why she Mongew not like.” ‘* Ab! she’s in love wich somebody else! Have you heard who itis, Yola?” “On, yes; you know him yourself. He missa Kate’s cousin; she him love.” ** Her cousin, Herbert Vaughan?’ ‘* Yes, he name Herber’; be come once—never more come. No matter, soe love him first time —she ovehimever more! SameJI you, Cubina; I you love first time, all the same forever.” ‘You are sure of all this?’ inquired Cubina, in his anxiety to know more, resisting the temp- tation to rec 'procate the endearing speech; ‘‘ you are sure Miss Vaughan loves her cousin Her- bert?” “Sure, Cubina; missa say so many, meny time. She bave very much grief for him. She hear he marry one five, bad lady. You know old Jew Jess’ron—his daughter he go mar- ry. **T have heard so,” rejoined Cubina, evident- ly keeping back from his sweetheart a more definite knowledge of the subject which be him- ssessed; ‘‘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; butit might comé to pass between young Master Vaughan and Miss Jessuron, ho knows? f 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 Kato say so yesterday.” “The Custos going a journey? Have you heard where?” **Svanish Town, missa tell me—a great big city far away.” *T wonder what thatcan befor,” 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 his journey, you come to ms. PerhapsI may bavea message for your mis- tress, 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 mis- tress it concerns herself. No. don’t tell ber,” he added, correcting himself, ‘she will let you ote a without that excuse; besides, it might be at— 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, Asif by a common instinct, Cubina and his mistress stepped silently and simultaneou-iy back, retiring together between the buttresses of the tree. There it was dark enough for con- cealment. Only an eye bent on purposed seru- tiny could have detected their presence. The forms dr w near, They were those of a man andawoman., The moonlight shining full upon them, reudered them easy of recognition; but their voices had already declared their iden- tity. 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 togemher. 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 plain- ly 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?” *\T 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-goit’ away im the mornin’.” “‘Blesh my soul!” exclaimed the Jew, sud- denly stopping in his tracks, and turning to- ward the mulatta with a look of troubled sur- prise. “ Blesh my soul! You don’t sbay that, dosh you?” * Dey say so at the Buff, Massr Jess’ron. Be- sides, | know m’self he’s a-goin’. I help pack up bim sbirts in de trabbelin’ valise. He's a- goin’ a horseback.” - “ But where, wench, where?” gasped the Jew, in burried and anxious a o Dey say to ‘Panish Town, odder side eb de island.” ‘*Spanish Town! ach!” cried the penn-keeper, in a tone betokening that the words had con- veyed some ve unwelcome. intelligence. “Spanish Town! Shelp me, it ish! I knew it! I knew it! ach!” And, as be repeated the aspirated ejaculation, he struck his umbrella flercely into the ground, as if to render more emphatic the chagrin that bad been communicated by the answer. Only for a few seconds did he make pause upon the spot, **Come on!” cried he to his companion, hur- riedly moving off from the tree; ‘come on, wench! If that’sh the case, ash you shay, there’sh no time to be losht—nota miuute, 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 beels, * D. monios!” muttered the Maroon, as they went off. ‘That Juhn Crow and bis pretly partner sre on some ugly errand, I fear! It appears to be the Custos they’re conspiring against. Cromblo! I wonder what they are after with him! What can the old Jew have to do with his going to Sg are 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 ew’s penn, instead of toward 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 [ 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 com- . panion, The Maroon was but a few moments in re- covering the “ spoor” of the two nocturnal strol- lers. At the point where they had gone out of the glade, there was a path that led up tbe hills in the direction of the Jumbe R It was a mere cattle track, used only very occasionally by bipeds, Being the omly path that went that way, and nudging, moreover, that neither the Jew vor his follower would be likely to traverse the thicket at randem, Cubina concluded that they had gone by this path. ‘They appear to be making for the Jumbe Rock,” mentally soliloquized Cubina, as they commenced sreending the slope of the moun- tain. ‘‘Crambe! That is odd enough! Valaa me Divs! what’s up now? They've stopped!’ The Jew and his companion, about a hundred vards ahead, had suddenly come to a stand. They appeared to be scrutinizime the path. Cubina, crouching in the dow of the bushes, stopped likewise; and waited for the others to advance. They did so after a short interval—hastening on as before; but in a slightly divergent di- rection. ‘** Ho, ho!” muttered the Maroon; “ not for the Jumbe Rock, but the Duppy’s Hole! I re member now. The parh forks up yonder. They’ve taken that which goes to the Hole. Well, it don’t help me to ores ie begag 0 pose a bit clearer. Carrai! that Duppy’s Hole! idp't some of my fellows tell me they've heard strange noises there lately! Quaco is ready to swear be saw the ghost of the old myal-man, Chakra, standing upon the edge of the cliff. spear going name’s Cubina there, as surg ag my — 4 Ap Fi %4 a 4 eg ee is 7a) wy, q ‘
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a on br And with this conjectural reflection the Ma- rvoon forsook the shadow under which he had been sheltering, and flitted forward along the path. Another five hundred yards further on, his conjecture was confirmed. The parties dogged 1 by him had reached the edge of the precipice | that frowned down upon the Duppy’s Hole, and | there halted. OCebina also made stop— himséW within the black shadow of the bushes. He had scarcely crouched down when his ears were saluted by a shrill whistle—not made by the lips, but proceeding from some instrument, asa reed or common dog signal, sounded either by Cynthia or the Jew; Cul@oa could not tell which. After about a minute’s time, he saw them enes more in motion, and then both appeared to vanish from his view, not wasting into the air, but sinking into the ground, as if a t —,. had admitted them to the interior of the earth. He saw this without much surprise. He knew they must have gone down the precipice, but how they had performed this feat was some- thing that did surprise him a little. [It was but a short spell of astonishment. In ‘a score of seconds he stood upon the edge of the precipice, at the spot where they had disap- peared, He looked down, He could trace, though dimly, a means of descent among thé wattle of boughs and corrugated creepers that clasped the facade of the cliff. Even under the fan- tastic gleam of th: moon he coul:| see that hu- man hands had helped the construction of this natural Jadder. He stayed not to scrutinize it. An object of greater interest challenged his eemg n the disk of the lagoon, in the moonlight, a sheet of silver, like a mirror in its frame of dark ma- hogany, moved a thing of sharp, elliptical shape —4i canoe, Midships of the craft, a form was crouching. Was it human or demon? The aspect was demon—the shap? scarce hu- aap. Long, ape-like arms; a bunched back; teeth gleaming in the mvonlight like the incisors of a sbark; features everything but human to one who bad not seen them before. Cubina had seen’them before. To him, {hough no” familiar, they were known, If not the ghost of Chakra, he saw Chakra himself. CHAPTER XXVIL CYNTHIA IN THE WAY. SATISFIED that he saw Chakra himself, the Maroon placed himself in a position to watch the movements both of the man in the canoe ‘and those who bad summoned him across the lagoon, *° another moment the canoe was lost sight of. It had passed under the bushes at the bottom of the cliff, where it was not visible from above. Voices now ascended, which could be Leard, but not distinctly. Cabina could distinguish three voices taking part in the conversation—Chakra’s, the Jew’s, and, at longer intervals, the shrill treble of the slave Cynthia. He bent bis ear, and listened with keen atten- tion, in hopes of hearing what they said. He could only catch an occasional word. The roar of the cascade rising along witb the voices bin- dered bim from hearing them distinctly; and, nothwithstanding his earnest desire to do so, he was unablo to make out the matter of the con- versa tion. Only fora short while was he kept waiting. ‘The trialogue came to a close, followed by a brief interval of silence; at the end of which the canoe once more made its appearance upon the open water of the lagoon, Two pei only were in it, Chakra and the Jew. Cynthia had stayed by the bortom of the cliff. To follow the conspirators further was out of the question, His chance is cut off by the interposition of the mulatta. He could only remain on the cliff and await their return, He was reflecting upon what course to pur- sve, when a rustling sound reached him from below. It was made by some one movin among the bushes that grew against the face o the precipice. He page one of the branches; and, sapporc- himself by it, craved bis neck over the cliff. fell upon the brilliant chequer of a band- anw, visible among the lewves, It was the toque upon the head of Cyvthia. It was in motion; ond he could see that she was ascend- ing by the tree stairway he had already ob- fae hy f Without staying to witness the ascent, he tarned back io the underwood by the side of the path; and, erouching down, he waited to «eo what thea woman intended doing. Perhaps her part in the performance had been played « at | ; Ls. — 2, a. 1 P iyi) mae i - LTTE Trobe Phe | ‘ ’ ‘ yi, Pee Pres, & oH Py 4 » Sy i.) Sean jae Oe a via 4 -* es U Praees Oe File “Ss (tale ) . 4 ‘ ; = : adel aa fi | : ; = ih 19 There will be plenty to help him. You must sbpell him, and soon asb you can, Sbakra. There’sh no time to lose—not a minnit, s’belp me! ‘“* A do wha a can, Massr Jake; but a mout's well tell ye, that it a’nt so easy to putde spell ona Maroon. It coss me more’n twenty year to put de obeah on him ole fadder, and Tse a been tryin’ um on dis young Cubina, fo’ some time—ebber since him fadder die, A hate de young un, same a hated de oleun. You knows why a hate boaf.” “*T knowsh all that—I knowsh all that.” “Wa, den! a do ma bess. Dat ar m’latta gib meno hope. She soon ’dmiuster de spell ef she hab chance—kase she think um de lub drink. She no hab chance, fo’ Cubina he no let ber come nigh o’ him. Nebba mivd: Chakra be find oppotunity some day; ‘fore long he put de death-spell on de son ob dat quaderoom.’ “Perhaps not so soon!” was the mental re- joinder of him who listened to this confident de- claration. ‘‘ [t’sh less matter about him than the other!” cried the Jew, giving way to a fresh burst of rage, ‘‘Shelp me! the Cushtos is going to shlip out of my fingers—the esbtate—all! Ach!” he ejaculated, as his disappointment came more lpably before him, ‘‘ you bash played me 8 pan I be’lief you’ve been playin’ me alse! As the Jew gave utterance to this conjectural speech, he started to his feet, taking a tighter hold upon his umbrella, and standing before his vis-a vis in a threatening attitude, ‘**T tell you,” resumed Jessuron, still in threat- ening speech, ‘‘l believe you bash been fooling me, Shakra! You hash some interest of your own—perbaps with this Lilly Quasheba. Hal never mind. I tell you thisb time—I tell you, Shakra, if the shpell does fail—yesh, if it fail, and the Cushtos reach the capital, where be ish going, I tell you, Shakra, you may look out for sbhquulls! You loosh your monish I promtsed you. Ay. you may loosh your life ash well. I hash only to shay a word, and the Dares Hole will be searched by the houndsh of the law. Now will you do your besht to keep the a from reaching the capital of the ls- and?” ‘‘ A promise, Mascr Jake,” said the myal man, leadingly; ‘* by de great Accompong, a do ma s. Ef de Cussus’trive’scape den you do wid ole Chakra whasomediver you bab mind to. *Liver him up, ef you like! Ha! de Cussus no ‘scape. Dis night Cyntby bab take bottle in ber basket of de ’trongest kind. It dode bizness in *bout twenty-fo’ hour. Daat am de true ceath- spell. Whugh!” “In twenty-four hours? You ish shure, Shakra? you ish shure?” ‘*Shoo’ as a’m now in Duppy Hole, Massr Jake. Doan’ you bab no mo’ doubt ob ole Cha- kra. He bab no Inb fo’ Cussus Va’ghan mo'd n youseff. P’raps he lub de Cussus’ dau’ter, t ut det em very ¢ciffrent sort ob fecshun. Whugh!” With this s)eech of fiendish gratification the dialogue ended; and the Jew was seen stepping outside, followed by his confederate. Both walked away from the spot, Chakra taking the lead, the Maroon closely watching their movements. On reaching the canoe the conspirators step- d aboard, and the craft was paddled over the agoon. Cubina waited for its return; and then, see- ing Chakra safe witbin his but, be hastened back to the water; and, as before, swimmin under the shadow of the rock, he re-ascend the tree stairway. and steod once more on the summit of the cliff. CHAPTER XXIX. WHERE NEXT? THE Maroon, after mounting to the summit of the cliff, paused for some moments to reflect upon a course of action. Having come to the conclusion that his best plan would be to pass the remaining hours of the night under tho eeiba, be made vo further delay by the Duppy’s Hole; but turning into the path that Jed down the slope, he proceeded back toward the glade, On reaching the rendezvous, his first con- cern was to kindle a fire. Sleep in a wet shirt was no to be thought of; and every stitch upon his body had been soaked in swimming the la- goon. Otberwise it would not bave mattered about a fire. He bad nothing to cook upon it; nor was he bun Bhar already eaten his supper. Kindled by a woedmen’s skill, a fire soon blazed up; and the bunter steod erect be- side it, turning himself at intervals to dry bis garments, still dripping with water, He was soon smoking all over, like fresbly- slaked lime: and. in order te pass the time more pleasantly, he commenced smoking in cnother sense—the nicotian—his pipe and tobacc: -pouch affording him an cpportunity for this indul- gence. Possibly the nicotine mav have stimalated his reflective powers: for he had not taken more than a dozen puffs at bis pipe, when a sudden and somewhat uveasy movement seemed to say that some pew had occurred to -
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« j re ta He DRS 20 ——-. — nee ETT aS a 8 SE Simultaneous with the movement, a muttered soliloquy escaped from bis lips. “ Orambo!” exclaimed he, giving utterance te his favorite shibboleth; ‘* say be sbould come an hour after sunrise, at least another we should be in getting to Mount Welcome, Por Di. s! it may be too late then! Who knows what time the Custos may fancy to set out?’ he added, after a pause; *‘I did uot think of that. How | stupid of me not to have asked Yola! * Orambo!” he again exclaimed, after an- other interval passed in silent reflection. ‘It | won’t do to leave things to chance, where a man’s lifeis m danger. Who knows what scheme these | Jobn Crows have contrived? I couldn’t hear | the whole of their palaver. If Master Vaughan was only here, we might go to Mount Wel- come at once. Whatever quarrel be may have | with the uncle, he won’t wish to let bim be mur- dered—no likelihood of that, Besides, the young fellow's interference in this matter, if I mistake not, would be likely to make all right between them—I’d like that, both for bis sake and hers— ab! hers especially, after what Yola’s told me. Santa Virgen! wouldn't that be a disappoint- ment to the old dog of a Jew,.. Never mind; I'll put a spark in his powder before be’s many days older! The young Englishman must know aj). Tl tell him all; and after that, if he consents to become the son-in-law of Jacob Jessuron, he would deserve a dog’s—. Bah! it cannot be! I won’t believe it till he tells meso himself; and then— ‘* Por Dios!” exclaimed he, suddenly’ inter- rupting the above train of reflections and pass- ing to another, ‘it won’t do for me to stay here till he comes. Two hours after sunrise, and the Custos might be cold. T’li go down to the Jew’s penn at once, and bang abouttill I see oung Vaughan. He’ll be stirring about day- reak, and that’ll save an hour, anyhow. A | word with him, and we can soon cross to Mount Welcome.” In vbedience to the thought, and without | staying to complete the drying of bis habili- ments, the Maroon stepped out from the glade; and turning into the track—little used—that led toward the Happy Valley, proceeded in | that direction. CHAPTER XXX. STALKING THE SLEEPER. CUBINA, on poet hie near the precine's of the nn, moved forward with increased caution. de knew that the penn keeper was accustomed to keep dogs and nigbt-w.tchers around his in- closure, not only to prevent the cattle and other quadrupeds from straying, but also the black bipeds that filled his barracoons, t was toward the back of the house that be | was advancing from the fields—or rather, the side of it, opposite to that on whicn lay the cat- tie and slave inclosures. He had made a short circuit to approach by this side, conjecturing that the others would be more lik ly to be guarded by the slave and cat- tle watchers. On getting within about a hundred yards of | the house, Cubina formed the intention not to go any nearer just then, The plan hs had traced | out was to station himself in some tion where he could command a view of the veranda | —or as much of it as it was ible to see from one place. There he would remain until day- reak. A slight elev tion of the ground, caused by the ernmbling ruios of an old wall, furnished the vidette station desired; and the Maroon mounting upor this, took his stand to watch the veranda, He could see the long rota from end to end on two sides of the dwelling, and he knew that it extended no further. Tbe Maroon bad not been many minutes upon the stand he had taken, when an object in the veranda arrested his attention. As his eye be- came more accustomed to the shadowy dark- ness inside, he was able to make out something that resembled a hammock, suspended cross- wise, and at some hight above the balustrade ef the veranda. It was near that end where the moonlight fell upon the floor. “ Tf it should the young Englishman him- self!” was the conjectural reflection of Cubina. He scanned the ground with a quick glance. A covoa-nut palm stood near the wall, whose erest of radiating fronds overlooked the ver- anda, drooping toward it. Could he but reach this tree unobserved, and climb up toits crown, he might command a close view of him who slept in the swinging couch, K second sufficed to determine him; and, érawling silently forward, he clasped the stem of the cocoa-tree, and ‘‘swarmed” upward. The feat was nothing to Cubina, who could climb like a squirrel. @n reaching the summit of the palm, he placed himself in the center of its leafy crown, where he had th» veranda directly under his eyes, and so near that he could almost have sprung into it. The hammock was within ten feet of him, in a downward direction. He could have pitched his tobacco-pipe upon the face of .the sleeper. The moonlignt was vow full upon it. It was the face of Herbert Vaughan. | Cubina recognized it at the first glance; and | he was reflecting bow be could awake the young Englishman without causing an alarm, when he heard a dvor turn upon its binges. The sound came up from the court yard; and cn looking in that direction, Cubina saw that the gate leading out to the cattle inclosure was in the aet of being opened. Presently a man passed through, entering fiom the outside; and ; the gate, by some other person unseen, was | Closed behind him. He who had entered walked directly toward the dwelling; and, mounting the steps, made his way into the veranda. While crossing the court yard, the moonlight, for a moment, fell upon his face, discovering to Cubina the sinister countenance of the Jew. “I must have passed him-on the path!” re- flected the Maroon. ‘But vo, that couldn’t be,” be added, correcting himself; *‘I saw his return track in the mud-bhole just by. He must have got here before me. Like enougnb: he’s been back, and out again «n some other dark business, Crambo/ iv’s true en ugh what I’ve heard say of bi; that he bardly ever goes to sleep. Our peopie have met him ia the woods at all hours of the night. 1 cau understand it now that I know the partner he’s got up there, Por Dios ! to think ot Chakra being still aliv-.” The Maroon peused in his x flections; and kept his eve sharply bent upon the shadowy form that, like a spirit of darkness. was silently flit- ting through the corridor. He wes in hopes that the Jew would soon retire to his chamber. CHAPTER XXX. A MISSION FOR THI) MAN HUNTERS. CuBINA tor some time preserved. his con- strained position, He dared not derange it; since the J+w still stayed in the shadowy corri- dor, sometimes moving about; but more | generally standing at the head of the wooden | Stairway, and looking across the court-yard, toward 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 voices of different tone, two men were seen stepping insie the court. recognized them, Their lithe, supple forms, and swarthy angular lineaments, enabled bim to identify the Cuban cacadores, They waiked straight up to the stairway, at | the bottom of which both stopped. The Jew, on seeing them inside the gate, had gone back into aroom that opened upon the veranda. He was gone but for an instant; and, coming out again, he returned to the top of the stair- way. ne of the Spaniards, stepping up, reached out, and r ceived 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,” be con- tinued, 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, Senor Don Jacob,” re- lied 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 bim.” _And without further dialogre or delay, the cacador descended the stair, rejoined bis com- rade, and both hurriedly recrossing the court- yard, disappeared through the door by which they had entered. ‘* An expedition after some poor slave!” mut- tered Cubina to bimself. ‘1 hope the scoun- drels won’t catch bim, anyhow, and | pity him if they do. After all, they’re no great hands at the business, spite of their braggadocio.” To the joy of Cubina, the Jew at that moment stepped back into his chamber, the door of which bad been left.standing open. “Good!” mentally ejaculated the Maroon. *T hope he'll stay in his bole, now that he’s in | it. I don’t want to see any more of him this night. Crambo |” As the exclamation indicated, the congratu- latory speech w scut sbort by the reappearance 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 hne still clung around his temples; for it was never doffed. To the consternation of Cubiua be came out, dragging a chair after him; as if be meant to place it in the veranda and take a seat upon it. And this was precisely his intention, for, after drawing his chair—a high-backed one—out into | the middle of the gallery, be planted it firmly upon the floor, and then dropped down into it. The moment after Cubina saw sparks, accom- panied by a sound that indicated the concussion of flint and steel, The Jew was striking a light. , The. smell of burning tobacco was borne As they passed under the moonlight, Cubina: slong the gallery, ascending to Cubina’s nostrils upon the summit of the palm. The Jew was smoking a cigar! Cubina fancied that not only a first cigar, bat a second, and, perhaps, a third, bad been lighted and smoked; but in the somber shadow iv which the smoker sat he could not be cer- tain how many. More than one, however, from the time spent in the operation; for dur- ing the full period of an hour a red coal could be seen glowing at the tip of that aquiline. pro- boseis. Cubina now perceived what troubled him ex- ceedingly—tbe blue dawn breaking over the | tops of the trees! By slightly turning bis head | he could see the goiden gleam of sunlight tint- | ing the summit of the Jumbe Rock! | ‘*Crambo! what was to be done?” so ran bis reflections, While considering how he might slip unper- ceived from the tree, he cinaner once more to- ward the occupant of the chair. The gradually brightening dawn, which had been filling bim with apprebension, now favored him. It en- abled him to perceive that the Jew was asleep. Witb bis bead thrown back against the slop- ing upholstery, Jessuron had at last surren- aered to the powertul divinity of dreams. His goggles were off: and Cubina cou'd see that the wrinkled lids were closed over bis sunken orbs, Undoubtedly he was oe His whole atti- tude confirmed it. His legs lay loosely over the front of the chair his arms bung down at the sides; and the blue umbrella rested upon the floor at his feet. This last evidence of somne- lency was not even counterbalanced by the stump of a cigar, burnt close, and still sticking between his teeth. At. that moment the occupant of the ham mock turned over with a yawn, ‘He is going to awake!” thought Cubina: ‘now is my time,” To the disappointment of the Meroon, the limbs of the sleeper again became relexed; and he returned to a slumber profound as before. 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 bammock. It fell upon the breast of the sleeper. It was too light. Jt 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 machete, I shall Jose the wea- n; and who knows I may not need it hefore *m out of this scrape! Ha! one of these cocoa- nuts will do, That, 1 dare say, will be heavy enough to startle him.” Saying this, the Maroon bent downward; and extending, bis 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 tbe chair, ; With a start, the young Englishman awoke, at the same time raising himself upon his elbow. Herbert Vavgban was not one of the exclama- tory kind, or he might bave cried out. He did not, however; though the sight of the huge brown pericarp lying between his Jegs 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 gray 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-divant entertuiner under the greenwood tree—tbe Maroon Captain, Cubina, Before he could say a word to express bis as- tonishment, a gesture, followed by a muttered shape from the Maroon, enjoined bim te si- ence, ‘* Hush! not a word, Master Vaughan!” spoke the latter, in a half whisper, at the same time he glanced significantly along the corridor. “Slip out of your hammock, get your hat, and follow me into the forest, Ihave news for you —importent! Life and death! Steal out; and, for your life, don’t let him see you.” ‘* Whof’ inquired Herbert, also speaking in a whisper. 3 ‘Look yonder!” said the Maroon, pointing toa the sleeper in the chair. * Allright! Well?” “Meet me in the glade. Come at once—rot: a minute to be lost! Jhose who should be dear to vou are in danger!” “‘] shall come,” said Herbert, making a mo- tion to extricate himself from the hammock. “Evough! IL must be gone. You will find me under the cotton-tree,’ As he said this, the Maroon forsook his seat, so long sy irksomely preserved, and, sliding down the slender trunk of the palm, like a Naha Pipe
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<n CR sailor descending the rormey of his ship, he struck off at a trot, and soon disappeared amid the second growth of the old sugar plantation. CHAPTER XXXII. THE STIRRUP-CUP, TRE sun was just beginning to re-gild the ‘glittering flanks of the Jumbe Rock, his rays not vet having reached toe valley below, when ights streaming through the jalousied windows of Mount Welcome proclaimed that the inmates of the mansion were already astir. Thongh a light still burned in the sleeping avartment of the Custos, and also in that of Kate, neither father nor daughter were in their own rooms, Both were in the great hall, seated by a table, on which, even at this éarly hour, breakfast had been spread. The costume in which the Custos appeared differed from his every-day wear. It was that of a man about to set forth upon a journey; in short, a traveling costume. The Custos had found his health giving way. He had lost appetite, and was rapidly losin flesh. A constant and barning thirst had'seize upon him, which, from morning to night, he was continually trying io quench. Tne plantation doctor was puzzled with the symptoms, and his prescriptions had failed in ving relief. Indeed,so obstinate and death- ike was the disease becoming that the sufferer would have given up his intention of going to Spanish Town—at least, to a more fitting time ——but for the hope that, in the capital, some ex- perienced physician might be found who would comprehend his malady and cure it. Indulging in this hope, he was determined to set forth at all bazards. If Loftus Vaughan was in low spirits, not more joyful seemed his daughter, as she assist- ed at that early dejeuner, On the contrary, a certain sadness overspread the eountenance of the young creole, as if re- tleeted from the spirit of her father, The purpose of her father’s journey may, in part, explain the melancholy that marked the manner of the young creole. She knew that pool pene She had learned it from her father’s ips, though only on the evening before. The intended traveler had no appetite for the solids with which the table was spread, and seemed to care only for drink. After quaffing off several cups of coffee, solely from a desire to quench thirst, and without eating bread or anything else along with it, he rose from the table and prepared to take his departure. Mr. Trusty entering, announced that the horses and the attendant groom were ready and waiting outside, The Custos donned his traveling bat, and with the assistance of Kate and her maid Yola put on his sleeved coat, as the air of the early morn- ing was raw and cold, The ‘*swizale” bowl stood on the sideboard. While breakfast was oe laced on the table Cynthia had been seen refilling the bowl with this delicious drink, which she had mixed in an outside chamber. Some one asked ber why she was performing that, ber diurnal duty, at so early an hour—espescially as master would be gone before the time of swizzle-drinking should Pn Semana during the hotter hours of the da . : o Praps massr like drink ob swizzle fore he al A the explanatory reply vouchsafed by vynthia. The girl made a successful conjecture. Just as the Custos was about to step outside for the purpose of descending the stairway, a fit of choking thirst once more came upon bles. and he called for drink. “ Massr like glass ob swizzle?’ inquired Cyn- thia, stepping up to his side, ‘Pve mixed for massa some berry good,” added she, with im- pressive earnestness, “Yes, girl,” replied her master, ‘That's the best thing I can take. Bring me a large goblet of it.” ; He had scarce time to turn round before the blet was presented to him, full to the brim, e did not see that the slave’s hand trembled as she held it up, nor yet that her eyes were avert- ed, as if to hinder them from beholding some fearful sight. . His thirst prevented him from seeing any- thing but that which promised to assuage it. He caught bold of the goblet and gulped down the whole of pd contents witbout once removing it from his lips. You've overrated its quality, girl,” said he, returning her the glass. *' It doesn’t seem at all good. There’s a bitterish taste about it; but I suppose it’s my palate that’s out of order, and one shouldn’t be particular about the stirrup- Y cap.” Winn this melancholy attempt at appearing gay, Loftus Vaughan bade adieu to bis daugh- ter, and climbing into the saddle rode off upon bis te Na Ah, Custos Vaughan! That stirrup-cup was the last you were ever destined to drink! In the caine “ swizzle™ was an infusion of the haneful Savannah flower. In that deep draught you had introduced into your veins one of the Geadiiest of the vegetable poisons! TITS _ The Maroon. 21 Chakra’s prophecy will soon be fulfilled. The | The Maroon captain again made a start, which death-spell will norv quickly do its work, In twenty-four hours you will be a corpse! CHAPTER XXXIII. THE HORN SIGNAL, CUBINA, on getting clear of the penn keeper’s precinc’s, lost little time in returning to the glade, and having once more reached the ceiba, seated himself on a log to await the arrival of the young Englishman. For some minutes he remained in this atti- tude, though every moment becoming more fidgety, as he perceived that time was passing, and no one came. He had not even a pipe to soothe his impatience, for it bad been left in the | hammock, into which he had cast it from the cocoa, Before:many minutes had passed, how- ever, a pipe would have been to little purpose in restraining his nervous excitement, for the non-appearance of the young Englishman began to cause him serious unsasiness, The Maroon at last raised the horn to his lips and blew a long, loud blast, and then another, and another, Tbere was a response to that signal, but not such as the young Englishman might have been expected make, Three shrill bugle-dlasts, borne back upon the breeze, seemed the echoes of his own. But the Maroon knew they were not. On hearing them he let the horn drop to his side, and stood in an attitude to listen. Auother—this time a single wind—came from the direction of the former. ‘*Three and one,” muttered the Maroon; “ it’s Quaco. He needn’t have sounded the last, for I could tell his tongue from a thousand. He’s | on his way back from Savanna-la-Mer. though I didn’t expect him to return so soon. So much | the better; I may want him.” Shortly after, Quaco came into the glade, car- ) rying a large bundle u bis back, under which he had trudged all the way from Savan- | na-la-Mer, The skin of the colossus was covered with a white sweat that appeared to be oozing from every pore of hiv dark epidermis. This might have been occasioned by his Jong walk, the last | hour of it under a broiling sun, and carryin weight, as he was, for the bag upon bis bac appeared a fifty-pounder, at least, to say noth- cry of a large musket balancad upon the top of t. None of these circumstances, however, would account for that inexplicable expression = ae his countenance—the wild rolling of his yellow eyeballs, the quick, hurried step, and uncouth gesticulations by which he was signalizing his Pig: bees hough, as already stated, they had arrested the ttention of his superior, the latter, accus- tomed to a certain reserve in the presence of bis followers, pretended not to notice them. As bis lieutenant came up he simply said: “Tam glad to have you come, Quaco.” ‘An’ a’m glad, Cappin Cubina, I’ve foun’ ye bar, War burryin’ home fass as my legs c’u’d carry me, ’spectin’ to find ye thar.” ‘“Ha!l” said Cubina, *‘some news, I suppose. Have you met any one in the woods—that young Englishman from the Jew's penn? [Um expecting himhere. He appears to bave missed tne way,” ‘** Ha’n’t met no Englishman, cappin. Cussos ) Vauzhan am dat—I’se a met him.’ *Orambo !” cried Cubina, starting as he ut- tered the exclamation. ‘‘ You’ve met Custos Vaughan? When and where?” ‘*When—dis mornin’. Where—’bout fo’ mile b'yond the crossin’ on the Carrion Crow road. That’s where I met him.” The emphasis upon the last word struck upon the ear of Cubina, It seemed to imply that Quaco, on bis route, had encountered others. “ Anybody else did you meet?’ he inquired hurriedly, and with evident anxiety as to the answer, ‘*Ya as, cappin,” drawled out the lieutenant, with a coolness strongly in contrast with his ex- cited manner on entering theglade, But Quaco saw that his superior was waiting for the com- ing of the young Englishman, and that he need not hurry the communication he was about to make, ‘* Ya-as, I met ole Plute, the head-driver at Moun’ Welcome. He was ridin’ ’longside the Cussos, by way o’ his escort.” ‘* Nobody else?” **Not jess then,” answered Quaco, evidently holding back the most interesting iiem of news be had to communicate. ‘‘ Not jess then, Cap- pin Cubina.” “But afterward? Speak out, Quaco. Did you meet any one going on the same road?” The command, with the impatient gesture that accompanied it, brought Quaco to a quick- er confession than he might have volunteered, *“T met, Cappin Cubina,” said he, his cheeks bulging with the importance of the communica- tion he was about to make, while his eyes rolled like ‘twin jelly balls ”in their sockets; “I met next, not a man, but a ghost !” “A ghost?” said Cubina,”, incredulously. ‘A duppy, I sw’ar by the great Accom- pong—same as I saw before-—the ghost of old Chakra!” | his lieutenant attribut | nouncement he had made. | ‘*Stop, ecappin!” said Quaco, inter upting | with a gesture that showed he had'somethin | more to communicate; *‘ you ha’n’t heard all. | I met more of ’em.” ‘* More of whom?” ‘*Tnat same queer sort. But two mile atter I'd passed the place where I see’d the duppy o’ the ole myal man, who d'ye think I met nex’?” “Who!” inquired Cubina, balf-guessing at the answer. “Them debbil’s kind; like encugh com y | for the duppy; them Spaniards of de iw nn to surprise at the an- | ‘*Ah! maldito!” cried the Maroon captain, in | & voice. of alarm, at the same time making.a ture as if a light had suddenly broken upon im. The Spaniards, you say! They, too, af- ter him! Come, Quaco, down with that bundle! throw it in the bush, anywhere! there's not a moment to be lost. I understand the series of | encounters you bave had upon the road. Lack- | ily, I’ve brought my 08 and you ycurs, We | may need them both before night. Down with | the bundle, and fol!ow me!” | ‘“‘Stop and take me with you,” cried a voice from the edge of the glade; ‘‘] have a gun, too.” And at the same m: ment the voung English- | Man, vith his gun upon bis shoulder, was seen emerging from the underwood and making to- ward the ceiba, Herbert Vaughan, apprised of the peril in | which his uncie stood, for the time forgot all - and only thought of pressing onward to his a CHAPTER XXXIV. THE SICK TRAVELER. | AFTER passing beyord the precincts of his own plantation, and traversing for :ome dis- tance a by-road known as the Carrion Crow, Mr. Vaughan at length resched the main high- way, which runs between Montego Bay on the north and Savapna-la-Mer on the southern side | of the Island. The day turned out to be one of the hottest, especially after the bour of noon; and the con- centrated rays of the sun glaring down upon | the white chalky road over wnich the traveler | was compelled to pass, rendered the journey not only disagreeable but irksome. | Added to this, the Custos, not very well on ee home, had been getting worse every | hour. | Jt was latein the afternoon that the symp- | toms of his disease became especially alarming ; | and then he was psssing throvgh an uninbabi. | ted portion of the country, a wild corner of | Westmoreland parish, where not a bouse was to be met with for miles along the highway. | Beyond this tract, and a few miles further on the road, be would reach the grand sugar estate of Content. It bad been the design of the traveler, before | starting out, to make Content the half-way | house of his journey, by stopping there for the | night. Still desirous of carrying out this design | he pusbed on, notwithstanding the extreme de- | bility that had seized upon his frume, and | which rendered riding upon horseback an ex- ceedingly painful operation, If was sunset when he came in sight of Con- | tent, The Custos gazed upon the sight with dizzy — The sounds fell. confusedly on his ear. s the shipwrecked sailor, who sees land with- | out the hope of ever reaching it, so looked Loftus | Vaughan upon the valley of Content. For any cbance of his reaching it that night, without | being carried thither, there was rone; no more | than if it had been a hundred miles distant, at | the extreme end of the island. He could ride no further. He could no longer keep the sad- | dle; and slipping out of it, he tottered into the | arms of his attendant! Close by the road-side, and half-hidden by | the trees, appeared a hut, surrounded by a kind of rude inclosure, that had once been the gar- den or ‘‘ provision ground” of a negro. Both hut and garden were ruinate—the former de- serted, the latter overgrown with that luxuri- ant vegetation which, in tropic soil, a single sea- son suffices to bring forth. Into this hovel the Custos was conducted, or nine carried, for he was now unable even to walk. A sort of platform, or banquette, of bamboos —the usual couch of the negro cabin—stood in one corner; a fixture seldom or “never removed on the abandonment of such a dwelling. Upon this the Custos was laid, with a horse-blanket spread beneath, and his calmet cloak thrown over him. More drink was administered; and then the attendant, by command of the individual him- self, mounted one of the horses, and galloped off to Content. Loftus Vaughan was alone! The black groom had galloped off for help, and ere the sound of his horse’s boofs bad ceased to reverberate through the unclayed chinks of the cabin, the shadow of a buman form, pro-
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22 jected through the open doorway, was flung darkly upon the floor. The shadow was defined and distinct. The hut faced westward. There were no trees be- fore the door—nothing to intercept the rays of the now sinking sun, that covered the ground with a reddish glare; nothing save that sinister silhouette. Only the upper half of a body was seen—a head, shoulders, and arms. In the sha- dow, the head was of gigantic size; the mouth open, displaying a serrature of formidable teeth; the shoulders surmounted by the hideous hump; the arms long and ape-like! Beyond donbt it was either the shadow of Chakra, or a duplication of bis ghost—-of late so often seen. he sick man was too terrified to speak; too horrified to think. 1t scarce added to his agony wher, instead of his shadow, the myal-man himself, in his own proper and hideous aspect, appeared within the doorway. and without pause stepped forward upon the floor! The scream that escaped from the lips of Loftus Vaughan announced the climax of his horror. On uttering it, he made an effort to rise tohs feet, as if with the intention of es- caping from the but; but finally, overpowered by his own feebleness, and orgge yielding to a gesture of menace made by the myal-man— and which told him that his retreat was inter- ceptedi—be sunk back upon the banquette in a paralysis of despair. ‘*Ha!” shouted Chakra, as he placed himself between the dying man and the door. ‘‘ No use fo’ try ’scape—no use wha’somdever! Hi e wa’ able get ’way from hya, you no go fur. "Fore you walk hunder yards you fail down in you track like new-drop calf. No use, you ole fool, Whugh!” Another shriek was th» only reply which the enfeebled man could make. ‘*Ha, ha, ha!” vociferated Chakra, showing his shark-like teeth in a fiendish laugh. ‘Ha, ha, ba! Skreek away, Cussus Va’ghan! Skreek till you bu’st your wind-pipe. Chakra tell you it no use. Dedeath-’pell am ’pon you—it am in you—an’ jess when dat ar sun hab cease shine upon de floor, you go join you two brodder jus- suses in de oder world, wha’ you no fine buckra no better dan brack man. Dey gone afore. Boaf go by de death’pell. Chakra send you ess the same; only he you keep fo’ de lass, ase you de grann Cussus, an’ he keep him bess victim fo’ de lass. De debbil him better like dat way.” ‘*Mercy! mercy!” shrieked the dying man, It was the last utterance of his liie. On giv- ing tongue to it, he had fallen back upon the bamboo bedstead, mechanically drawing the cloak over his face, as if to shut ont some horrid sight; and while the myal-man, gloating over bim, was endeavoring wi iets enc ee his pangs, the poison had completed its purpose, Chakr?, extending one of bis long arms, raised the fold from off bis face; and bolding it up, gazed for a moment upon the features of his bated foe, now rigid, blanched, and bloodless, Then, as if himself becoming frightened at the form and presence of death, the savage mis- creant dropped the cover quickly to its place, ruse from his stooping position, and stole stealth- ily from the but, CHAPTER XXXV. TWO SPECULATIVE 1RAVELERS. Hap Chakra, on leaving the but, only taken the main road back to Montego Bay—and that was the direction in which he interded going— be would have met two strange men. Not so strange but that they were known to him; but strange enough to arrest the attention of an or- dinary traveler. The brace of worthies thus described are al- Leste 4 known, They were the man-hunters of Jacob Jvssuron, Manuel and Andres—cacadores de cimmarones from the island of Cuba, Tbe sun bad already hidden his red disk under the sea borizon, when the man bunters mounted the hill, and approached the hut where Custos Vaughan had been ae er to make halt, and in which he was now lying lif-less, ‘* Mira, Manuel!” said Andres, as they came within sight of the hovel, and at the same in- stant saw the horse standing tied to the tree; $3 7s eavallo ! saddled, bridled, and with alfor- as “ A traveler’s horse!” rejoined Manuel, “and that very traveler we've been tracking. Yés! it’s the horse of the great alcalde of Mount Wel- come! Don’t you remember when we saw them before us at mid-day, that one of the horses was a bay, and the other a gray? There’s the gray, and i} was on that very animal the Custos was riding ” you're right; I wonder whether they're both side? It’s very odd we don’t see the negro’s borse!” ** Ha!” rejoined Andres, apparently struck with an idea. ‘‘What if he’s gone on to the plantation for some purpose? Suppose au acci- dent has happened to the Custos’s steed, or, car- rai! suppose he’s bimself taken’ sick?” “ Por Dios! If Blackskin’s out of the way now’s Our time; for there is more to be feared from that big buck nigger than his master, when it cous Ve Brees If it should prove that the Custos is sick—I hope it is so—-he won’t be in Picasa cent cial a condition to make much use of his weapons; | and currambo! we must get hold of them be- | fore he knows what we're after!” Creeping cautiously up to the wall, the caca- | dores peeped through the unclayed-chinks of tre ) cabin. At first the darkness inside hindered them | from distinguishing any object in particular. Presently; as their eyes grew more accustomed to the obscurity, they succeeded in making out the bamboo bedstead in the corner, with some- thing that resembled the figure of a man stretched lengthwise upon it. He appeared to be sound asleep: there was no motion perceptible—not even as much as would indicate that he breathed! The assassins looked toward one another with a significant glance. The Fates appeared to ) favor their attempt; and as both on the instant were actuated by the same sanguinary instinct, : they leaped simultaneously to their feet, drew | their sharp machetes, and rushed together through the doorway. ‘* Matelo ! matelo !” (kill him!) cried both, in the same voice, each with a view of encourag- ing the otber:.and, as they uttered the cruel | cry, they buried the blades in the body of the unresisting traveler—stabbing it repeatedly through the cloak. Convinced that they had finished their bloody work, the murderers were about to rush out again—probably with an eye to the saddle-bags outside, when it occurred to them as strange that the victim of their hired villany should have so so quiet In their frenzied excite- ment, while dealing what they supposed to be his death-blows, they had not stopped to notice anything odd in the bebavior of the man whom they were murdering. Now thatthe deed was done, and they could refl-ct more coolly, a sud- den surprise seized upon them, springing from the circumstance that the wretched man had made not the slightest motion, had neither stirred nor cried out! Perbaps the first stab had gone rigbt through bis beart; forit was so intended by Andres, who had given it, But even that does not produce instantaneous death, / and the man-hunters knew it, Besidcs, on the | blade of Andres’ machete, as well as that of his comrade, there was no'bl od ! It was very strange. Cculd the cleak or un- der-garments bave wiped it off? Partially, they might, but not altogether! Their blades were wet, but not with blood—of that they showed scarce a stain. “he's a gee thing, comrade,” exclaimed Manuel. ‘1! could almost fancy—Vaya/ Lift the cloak, and let’s have a look at him.” The other, stepped closer to the couch, stooped toward, and raised the fold of the camlet, from the face of the murdered man. As he did so, bis hand came in contact with the cold skin, while his glance fell upon the stiffened features of a corpse—upon eyes whose dull, blank film showed that the light bad long since forsaken them. The assassin stayed not for a second look. With acry of terror, be let go the garment, and rushed toward the door, followed by his Boon terrified companion. nu another moment both would have escaped outside, a d perhaps have taken the back track, | without thivking any more about the saddie- bags; but just as Andres had set foot upon the | door-sill, be saw before bim something that | caused him to pull up, and with a precipitancy | that brought his comrade with a violent con- cussion against his back, That something which had led to this sudden interruption was the presence of three men, standing in a triangular row, scarce five paces from the door. Each was holding a gun in such position that its derk, hollow tube was visible to the eves of the axssassin—pointing di- rectly upon himself. The three men were of three distinct colors— white, yellow, and black; all three known to | the man-bunter and his companion. They were Herbert Vaughan, Cubina, captain of the Ma- roons, and Quaco, bis lieutenant. CHAPTER XXXVI. THE CAPTURE OF THE CACADORES, Tue black, though peobanedy. the lowest in rank, was the first to break speech. ‘*No, ye don’t!” cried he, moving his musket up and down, while still keeping it leveled upon the foremost of the cacadores. ‘No, Mister | Jack Spaniard, not a foot do you set outside that . door till we see what you’ve been a-doin’ 'ithin | there. Steady, now, or thar’s an ounce of lead inter yer garlicky inside! Steady!” ‘*Surrender!” commanded Cubina, in a firm, authoritative voice, and with a threatening | gesture, which, though less demonstrative than that.of his lieutenant, was equally indicative of determination. ‘‘ Drop your ‘machetes, and yield at once! Resistance will only cost you your lives,” Thus threatened, Andres sulkily let fall his machete upon the floor—an action that was instantly imitated by his senior and superior. ‘* Now, ag! braves,” proceeded the black lieutenant, still holding his buge gun to the Spaniard’s breast; ‘‘lest ye mout be wantin’ to gi’e us leg-bail, you muss submit to be trussed a | trifle. Down upon yer behinds, both o’ ye; and keep that way till I get the cords and skewers ready.” The cacadores perfectly understood the order and perceiving thet there was no chance for disobedience, squatted down upon the floor, each on the spot where be had been standing. Quaco now picked up the two machetes, plac- ing them beyond the reach. of their ct devant owners, Then, handing his great gun over to the care of Cubina, who with Herbert was left to guard the prisoners, he walked off to a short distance among the trees. Presently he returned, trailing after him « long creeping plant that resembled a piece of cord, and carrying two short sticks, each about. three feet in fees 9 Quaco, habile in handling cordage of all kinds, more especially the many sorts of supple withes with whick the trees of a Jamaica forest are laced together, soon tied the two Spaniards wrist to wrist, and ankle to ankle; as tightly as could have been dome by the mest accomplished jailer. ; A long practice in binding runaway blacks had make Queco an expert in that de; artment, which, indeed, constitutes part of the profes- sional training of a Maroon, The captors had already entered within the cabin, now dark as death itself. For some mo- ments they stood upon the floor, their eyes en- deavoring to re the gloom around them. Bilent they stood—so still that they could hear their own breathing, with that of the two pris- oners upon the floor, At length, in the corner, they could dimly make out something like the form of a man lying stretched upon a low bed- stead. Quaco, though not without some trepidation, approached it. Stooping down, he applied his hand to it with cautious touch, ‘ i man!” muttered he; ‘‘eyther asleep or ead, ‘* Dead!” he ejaculated the instant after, as,. in groping about, his fingers chanced to fall upon the chill forehead—* dead and cold !” Cubina and Herbert, stepping’ forward and ening over the corpse, verified the assertion ° ACO, hose body wasit? It might not be that of Loftus Vaughan! It might be the black attend- ant, Pinto! No! it was not a black man. It needed ne light to show that, The touc: of the hair was sufficient to tell that a white man lay dead upon the. couch, ‘*Catch me one of those cocriyos /” said the Maroon captain, speaking to his lictutenant. Quaco stepped outside the but. Low down along the verge of the forest were flitting little: sparks, that appeared to be a galaxy of stars in motion, These were the lampyride, or small pee. Sem It was not with these Quaco had to do, Here and there, at Jonger intervals, could be: seen much larger sparks of a golden-green color. It was the at winged beetle—the cocuyo— that emitte + this lovely light. Doffing his old hat crown, Quaco used it as an insect-net; and after a few strokes, succeeded in capturing a cocuyo, ih this he returned into the hat, amd, crossing over, held it near the head of the corpse. He did not content bimself with the gold- green ligbt which the insect emits from the two eye-like tubereles on its thorax. The forest- craft cf Quaco enabled him to produce a brighter and better. Holding open the elytra with bis fingers, and bending back the abdomen with his thumb, he | exposed that oval disk of orange light, only seen when the insect is on the wing. A circle of a yard in diameter was i!luminated by tbe pbosphoric glow. In that circle was the face of a dead man, and sufficiently bright wes the lamp of the co uo to enable the spectators to identify the ghastly lineaments as those of the Custos Vaughan. None of the three started. or felt surprise. That bad been gradually poessing: for betore this their presentiment bad become almost a conviction. Quaco simply uttered one of those exclama- tions that proclaim a climax; Cubina felt cha- grined—disappointed in more i ag than one; while Herbert gave way to grief, thengl: less than he might have done had bis relative more deserved bis sorrow. At that instant the hoof-strokes of horses were heard in front of the hut; and the shad- owy forms of two horsemen could be distin- guished just outside the doorway, It was the black groom, who had returned from Content, accompanied by the overseer of the estate, : Shortly after a number of negroes appeared on foot, carrying a stretcher, Their purpose was to convey the sick man te Content, Circumstances had occured to make a change in the character of their daty. oe
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Wah Pet aR The Maroon. 23 CHAPTER XXXVII, THE VIGIL OF LOVE AND THE VIGIL OF JEAL- OuUSsY. Yous, true to her tryst, set forth to meet her beloved Maroon. The hour of midnight was | the time that had been appvinted; but in order to secure punctuality, she took her departure from Mount Welcome before that hour with great secrecy. From whatever motive sprung her cautious | behavior, it was not sufficient to prevent her departure from being observed; nor did it en- | able her to percséve that thing of woman’s shape that, like an evil shadow, flitted after her across | the fields, and went following her along the forest-path. On reaching the glade the young girl ad- vanced toward the ceiba, and took her stand withie its shadow, } Allowing her éyes to drop to the ground at | her feet, she stood for some minutes buried in a | reverie of reflection, a sweet reverie, as befitted | her situation of pleasant expectancy. She was startled frum this abstraction by the } behavior of a bird—a scarlet tanager—that rose, fluttering and frightened, out of a small clump of bushes about ten paces from the ceiba, and in whieb it had been reposing. The bird, uttering a cry of alarm, forsook the sbelter and flew off into the forest. Yola could see nothing that should have caused the creature to make so abrupt a de- parture from its roosting place. Some of its nataral enemies had frayed the bird? Perbaps a rat, an owlora serpent? Thus reasoned she; and was so satisfied. If, instead of contenting herself with this con- jeeture, she had stepped ten paces forward, and jooked into the little copse, she would have seen there something very different from any of the three creatuwes her fancy had coujured up. She would have seen the form of a woman crouch- ing within the shadow, with features set in su pressed rage, and eyes glowing indignantly upon herself. RKasily, too, would she have recognized the face as that of her fellow-slave, Cynthia or long hours did the Foolah maid wait for the eoming of her beloved Cubina, ber ear keen- ly bens to catch any sound that might announce his approach; her bosom every moment be- pests bead more and more a prey to painful im- patience. , Bqually long eonse the spy in her place of coneealment, equally suffering torture from jealous imaginings. To both it was a relief when a footstep upon the path, and a rustling of branches, proclaimed the uprroach of some one toward the spot. It was but a momentary relief, mocking the an- ticipations of both, thwarting the joy of the one, and the vengeful de-ign of the other, Instead of the «expected lover, a very different personage made bis appearance; and almost at the same instant another, coming from the op- posite side, Both at the same time advanced toward the middle of the glade; and without exchanging a word, stopped face to face near the ceiba, as if they bad met by appointment. ney were out in the open ground, and under the full light of the moon. Both were men, and the faces of both could be distinctly seen. Yola knew only one of them, pe the sight of him bindered her from staying to look upon the other. She merely glanced at a countenance that was fearful, tnough not more fearful to her than the one she had already recognized, and which bad at once determined her to get away from the ground. Kevping the great trunk between herself and the new comers, and retreating silently uader its shadow, she glided back into the underwood of the forest, and was soon far from the pre- sence of the two intruders, who had ar ber long and vain vigil to such an unsatisfactory termination. Cynthia could not have followed her exam- ple, even had she been so inclined, The two men had stopped within six paces of the spot in which slie lay concealed. n every side of it the ground was clear of cover, with the moon shining full upon it, A cat could not have crept out of the copse without attracting the atten- tion of one or the other. The two men who had thus interrupted the silent tableau by the ceiba tree were Jacob Jes- suron and Chakra the Coromantee, They met near the middle of the glade, just outside the shadow of the great tree, stopping face to face when within a pace or two of eac other. Not the slightest salutation was ex- changed between the two men, any more than if they bad been two tigers who bad just come together in the jungle. The secret compact be- tween them precluded the necessity for com- pliment or palaver. Each understood the other, and not a word was spoken to introduce the dialogue except that which was pertinent to the business between them. “Well, goot Shakra! you hasb news for me?” interrogated the Jew, taking the initiative in the conversation. ‘‘ You hash been in the di- reetion of Savanna? Ish all rizht on the road?” “ agit vociferated the ing out’ bis breast and hn en myal-man, throw- jerking up his shoulders with an air of triumpbant importance, ‘ All right, eh? Well, not azzackly on de road, but by de side ob daat same, dar lie a corp’, w’ich | by dis time oughter be as cold as de heart ob a watermillyum, an’ tiff as—’tiff as—as de ’kelton ,.0b ole Chakra. Hal! ha! ba!” And the speaker uttered a peal of fierce laugh- ter at the simile he bad had so much difficulty in couceiving; but which, when found, recalled the sweet triumph of his vengeance. “ Blesh my soul! Then it ish all over?” **Daat’s all ober—I’se be boun’.” ‘* And the shpell did it? The wench Cynthy thought ash how you bad followed the Cushtos,” “Whugh! dat ’ere gal talk too much. She hab her tongue ’topped ’fore long. She muss hab her tongue ’topp, else she gess boaf o’ us in trouble. Nebba mind! A make dat all right too—by~m-by. Now, Massr Jake, a wert dat odder twenty-five pound, De job am finish, an’ de work am done. Now’s de time fo’ de pay.” “That ish right, Shakra. I hash the rmonish here inred gold. There it ish.” As the Jew said this, he passed a bag contain- ing gold into the hands of Chakra. “You'll find it ish all counted correct. | Twenty-five poundsh currenshy. Fifty poundsh altogether, ash agreed. A deal of monish, a deal of monish, s’ help me!” Chakra made no reply to this significant in- | sinuation; but teking the bag, deposited it in tbe lining of bis skin kaross, as he did so giving utterance to bis favorite ejaculation, ‘‘ Whugh!” the meaning of which varied according to the accentuation given to it. “And now, goot Shakra!” continued the Jew; “Ihash more work for you. There ish another shpell wanted, for which you shall have another fifty poundsh; but firsht, tell me hash you seen any one to-day on your travels?” **See’d any one, eh? Well, dat am a quessin, Massr Jake. A see’d a good wheen on my trab- bels; more’n see’d me, l’se be boun’,” ‘* But ash you seen any one ash you know?” ‘“* Sartin a did—je Cussus fo’ one, tho’, by de lilies! a bardly w’u’d a know’d bim, he wur so ur gone -moas to de bone! He am almos’ as ae a ’keleton as ole Chakra hisself. Ha! ha! al pis Anybody elshe that you hash a knowledge te) ““No—nob’dy—neery one as a know anytbin’ *bout, ’ceppin’ de Cussus’ ’tendant. A see’d odder men on de road, but dey wur fur off, and a keep dem fur off as a‘ kud. Oa! yes, da wa’ one who comed near—mose too near—him I know’d. Dat wa’ one ob dem ’ere Trelawney Maroon—Quaco dey cal] um.” “Only Quaco, you shay? You hash seen nothing of hish capt’in, Cubina, nor of a young white gentlemansh along with him?” ‘‘Neider de one nor te todder ob dem two people. Wha fo’ you ask dat, Mass’r Juke?” *T hash a good reason, Shakra. The young fellow I speaksh of ish a book-keeper of mine. He hash left tae penn thish very morning. I con’t know for why, or whither he ish gone; but I bash a reason to think he ish in company with wea Cubina. Maybe not, and maybe he’ll be back again; but it looksh suspicious. _ If he’sh gone for goot, the sbpell will be all for nothingsh, S'help me, for nothingsh!” ‘““Dat’sa pity! I’m sorry fo’ dat, Mass’r Jake. A bope he no gone.” “Whether or, not, I mushn’t go to shleep about it. There ish another shpell that will be more needed vow ash ever,” “De Obi am ready. Whod’ye want ’em set fo’ nex’ ?? “ Por this rasheal Cubina.” - ‘Ah, dat ere in welkum. De god do him bess to ’pell him.” ‘He hash trouble for me, It ish not like to come so s00n new, ash the Cusbtos ish out of the way. But who knowsh bow soon? And better ash the shpell should be set at once. 8o, good Shakra, if you can manish to do for Cu- bina in as short a time ash you hash done the Cushtos. there ish another fifty pounds ready for you,” ‘** A’ll do ma bess, Mass’r Jake, to earn you money. A’ll do ma bess—de bess can do no mo’.’ : ‘That ish true, goot Shakra! Don’t you think this wench, Cynthy, can help you?” “Not a bit ob belp from dat quar’r; not worth a ‘traw for 'pelling Cubina. He no let de m'latta come nigh o’ ‘im fo’ no considerasbun. He sick ob de sight o’ her. ' Besides, dat gal, she knows too much now. She one ob dese days fotch de white folk to de Duppy Hole. Dat nebba do. Nofurrer use now. She hab serb her turn, an’ muss be got rid ob—muss go ‘long wi’ de odders—long wi’ de Cussus. Da’s my brn pe only way to keep a woman tongue tied, am to ‘top ’um waggin’ altogedder, Whugh!” After uttering the implied threat, the monster stood silent a moment, as if reflecting upon some mode by which he could make away with the life of the mu’atta. “You think, Shakra, you ish likely to find somebody elshe to assist you?” * Nebber fear, Mass’r Jake. Leab dat to ole Chakra; ole Chakra ‘an’ ole Obi. Dey do de bizness widout help from any odder.” “Fifty poundsh, then, Shakra. Ach! Pd give twice the monish—yes, s’help me! tem times the munish—if I knew it wash all right with young Vochan. Ach! where ish be gone?” The expression of hitter chagrin, almost anguish, with which the villainous old Jew, for at least the tenth time on tbat day, repeated this interrogative formula, told that, of ali the matters upon his mind, the absence of bis book keeper was the one uppermost, and deemed by him of most importance, *Biso my soul” continued he, lifting his umbrella bigh in the air, and continuing to hold it up, ** Bless my soul! if be ish gone for gcot, I shall have all thish trouble for nothing—alk the cr r—inconvenience!” It was ‘“‘crime” he was about to have said; but he changed the word—not from any deli- cacy in the presence of Chakra, but rather to still a shuddering within himself, to which the thought had given rise. ‘‘Nebba mind, Massr Jake,” said his confed- erate, encoursgingly; ‘‘you hab got rid oban enemy—same’s masseff. t am somet’ing, anyhow; an’a promise you soon get shot ob one odder. A go at once ‘bout dat berry biznes.” *“Yesh! yesh! soon, goot Shakra, soon ash you can! | won’t keep yoush any longer. It ish near deylight. I musbt go beck, and get rome sbleep, S'help me! I hash not had a wink thish night: Ach! 1 can’t sbleep so long ash he’sh not found. I musht go home, and see if there ish any newsh of him. So saying, and pesiag nt J on bis beel, without ** good-night,” or any other parting salutation, the Jew strode abstractedly off, leaving Chakra where he stood. ““Whugh!” ejaculated the Coromantee, as soon as kis c:nfederate was out of hearing; *‘dar’s something heavy on de mind ob dat 'ere cle Jew, somet’ing wuss dan de death ob de Cussus Va’gh’n, onder now wha’’erm be ali ‘pout? ’Bout dis yar book-keeper a knows it am. But wha’’bout bim? A’ll find out ’fore a’m many hour older. Daat a’ll do, Gollies? A muss go an’ git some sleep too. A’m jess like de Jew masseff—ha’n’t bud ne’er a wink dis night, por de night afore neider; nor doan ex- peck get de half of a wink morrer night! Dat will be night ob all odder? Morrer night, if al! ting go well, Chakra be no sleep him ’lone—te sleep no more by hisseff—he hab for him bed- fellow de beauty ob all de Island of Jamaica. He sleep wi’ de Lilly—” “Ere the full name of the victim threatened with this horrid fate bad passed from his lips. the menace of the myal-man was interrupted, The interruption was caused by a sound pro- ceeding from the little clump of bushes close ty where Chakra stood. It sounded exactly as if some one had sneezed, for it was that in reality. Cynthia bad sneezed. She bad not done so intentionally; far fron» it. After what she heard, it was not likely she should have uttered any sound to proclaim her presence. At that instant she would have given all she possessed in the world, all she ever hoped to possess, even the love of Cubina, to have been miles from the spot, within the safe kitcben of Mount Welcome; anywhere but where she then was, Long before the conversation between the Jew and Chakra had come to a close, she had made up her mind never to see the myal man again; never willingly. Now an encounter ap- peared inevitable; he must have heard the sneeze! The wretched woman reasoned aright; he ha heard it. A fierce ‘“‘whugh” was the ejaculation it ealled forth in response; and then the myal- man, turning suddenly in the direction whence it appeared to have proceeded, stood for a short time silent, and listening. ‘By golly!” said he, speaking aloud; ‘‘dat ere soun’ berry like a *peeze! Some ob dem ’ere trees ha’ been a-takin’ snuff, A’d jess like know wha’ sort ob varmint made dat obstro- polus noise. It wa’n’t a bush—dat's sartin’. Nor yet wa’ it a bird. What den? It wa’n’t ’t all onlike de ’neeze ob a nigga wench! But what w’u’d a wench be a-doin’in that Da’s what puzzles me. Lookee hya!” added he, raising his voice and addressing himself to who- ever or whatever might have produced the noise; ‘‘les’s hear dat ag’in, whosomebber you bel Take anodder piuce eb de snuff—louder dis time, so a can tell whedder you am a man or whedder you be femmynine, He waited for a while, to see if his co would elieit a response; but none came, ith- in the copse all remained silent, as if no living thing was sbeltered under its somber shadows, ** You won't ’neeze ;” continued he, see- ing there was no reply; ‘‘ den, by golly, a make you, ef you am what a ’ you is! some’dy hid in dar to lissen. No snake can’t a ’neeze dat way, no’ yeba lizzart. You muss be be man, b heerd bit apcog or sag egg Meer Fe: an’ wha’s been e scom ou Tis beware at ares Seems? on Be meserer Ube Dat nee ragraph of his a he he b oe atte te movin abe copse, which was 0 paces from the starting-point. Before the speech was com-
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re. = y 24 pes he had passed in among tbe bushes; and nding them over with his long, ape-like arms, was scrutinizing the ground underneath. The exclamation was called forth by his per- seiving the form of a woman in a crouching attitude within the shadow. In another moment be had seized the woman by the shoulder, and with a quick wrench jerked her into an erect position. *Cynthy!” he exclaimed, as the light fell upon the countenance of the mulatta. “Yes, Chakra!” cried the woman, screaming ere she spoke; ‘it’s me, it’s me!” ‘““Whugh! Wha’ you do hya? Youb been lissenin’. Wha’ fo’ you lissen?” ie On, Caakra! I did not intend it. I came “How long you been hya? Tell dat quick!” “On, Chakra—I came—” “ You hva ‘fore wecame in’ de glade. Needn’t ax dat. You no k’ud git bya atterwa'd. You heer all been said? You mus’ hab heer it.” ‘*Ob, Chakra, I couldn’t help it. I would bave e—” “Den you nebba bear nodder word more. Won’t do let vou go now. You come hya;: you stay hya. You nebba go out ob dis ‘pot, Whugh'” And giving to the monosyllable an aspirate of fierceness that caused it to sound more like utterance of a wild beast than a human being, the monster threw out his long, dark arms, and rushed toward his intended victim. In avother instant his long muscular fingers were clutched round the throat of the mulatta, clamping it with the tightness and tenacity of an iron garrote, The wretched creature could make no resis- tance against such a formidable and ferocious antagonist. She tried to speak; she could not even scream. ““Chak—r—a, de—ar, Chak—r—a!” came forth in a prolonged thoracic utterance, and this was the last articulation of her life. After that there was a gurgling in her throat —tbhe death-rattle, as the fingers relaxed their jong-continued clutch—and the body, with a sudden sound, fell back among the bushes, “You. lie da‘” said the murderer, on seeing that his horrid work was complete. ‘‘ Dar you tell no tale. Now for ds Duppy Hole; an’ a good long sleep to ’fresh me fo' de work of de morrer night. Whugh!” And turning away from the image of death he had just finished fashioning, the fearful Coromantee pulled the skirts of his skin mantle around him, and strode out of the glade, with as much composure as if meditating upon some abstrus2 chapter in the ethics of Obi. CHAPTER XXXVIIL. CHAKRA TRIMMING HIS LAMP, Day was dawning when the tiger Chakra returned to his lair in the Duppy’s Hole. With him the night was day, and the dawn of the morn the twilight of evening. His sleep was far from being silent. From his broad, compressed nostrils came a sonorous snoring, causing the cartilage to heave outward, accompanied by a gurgling emission through his throat that resembled the breathing of a ney agp ace bus slumbered Chakra throughout the live- long day, dreaming of many crimes committed or, perhaps, only of that, the sweetest crime of all, which was yet in absyance. It was near night when he awoke. The sun had gone down; at least, he was _no longer visi- ble from the bottom of the Duppy’s Hole; though some red rays, tinting the tops of the trees upon the summit of the cliff, told that the orb of the day was still above the horizon. His first thougbt was about something to eat, and his eyes fell upon the skillet, standing where he had left it, near the middle of the floor. It still contained a quantity of the miscellaneous stew—enough for « meal. The kin iling of the fire, the warming up of the pepper pot, and its ings Mies consumption, were three operations that did not take Chakra any very great amount of time. They were all over just as the darkness of night descended over the earth, “ Now fo’ wet ready de signal,” soliloquized he, moving about over the floor of his hut, and looking into crannies and corners, as if in search of some object. As he said this, he drew from under the bam- boo bedstead a gourd Shell, of nearly egg-shape, but of the dimensions of a large melon. It had a long, tapering shank—part of the fruit itsel , where the pericarp narrowed toward its pe- duncle—and through this a string had been passed, by which the gourd could be suspended upon a peg. Holding it by the handle, he raised the shell to the light of his Jard lamp, already kindled, and stood for some time silently inspecting it, The gourd was uot perfect—that is, it was no longer a mere empty shell, but a manufactured article, containing within a most singular ap- The Maroon. of the oval, and the apex, somewhat blunt, or truncated, extending toward the shank. Up to the level of the opening the shell was ailied with lard, in the middle of which appeared a wick of silk cotton staple; and behind this were two bits of broken looking-glass, set slant- ing to each other. The whole apparatus bore some resemblance toa saa tgs Sige af and that was in reality the purpose for which the rude contrivance had been constructed, Another weapon appeared to be wanting, in the shape of a large black bottle, iter myn | rum. ith this the Coromantee soon we himself, drawing one out from its secret hiding- place and holding it before the light, to make sure that it was full. “ Dis bottle,” said he, as he thrust it into a pouch in his kaross, ‘‘I hab kep to’ dis ’special casion; it am de bess weapon fo’ my puppos. When dem fellas get dar dose ob de rum, lar il be no back out in’em den. Golly!” be » Ided, lancing out, and seeing that it was now quite dark, “a muss be gone fro’ hya. By de time ole Adam sees de tellemgraff, an’ gets ’cross dem ’ere mountains, it be late ’auff for de biz. ness to begin.” Finishing with this reflection the sable con- jurer took up his ‘‘ telegraphic apparatus,” and stepping over the threebold, hurried away from the hut to the Jumbe Rock. On setting foot upon the summit, he undid the knot that fastened the skin mantle over his shoulders; and then —— off the garment, he spread it out upon the rock. The stick he had brought up with him he placed along one edge, and there made it fast with some pieces of string. When this was ac- At the repetition of the sound he started up and rapidly re-c to the opposite side. At tne point where the upward path de- oe upon the platform, he stopped te isten For the third time the sound was repeated. There was nothing strange in it—at least te ears familiar with the voices of a Jamaica for- est. It was the call of a common yet peculiar bird—the solitaire. Chakra’s private slogan was different—more mournful and less musical. It was an imitation of that melancholy utterance heard at night from the sedgy shores of the dark lagoon—the ery of the wailing bittern. With a smal) reed epplied to bis lipe, the Coromantea produced an exact imitation of this ery, and then remained silent, awaiting the result, At the bottom of the ravine could be heard a murmur of vcices, as if several men were to- gether, talking in guarded tones. Following this came a sound of scratching against the stones, and a rustling of branches, each moment becoming more distinct. Shortly after, the form of a man emerged cut of the shadowy cleft, stepping cautiously upon the platform. Another followed, and anotber, until six in all stood upon the summit of the rock. ‘Dat you, brodder Adam?’ said Chakra, stepping forward te receive the first who pre- sented himself at the head of the sloping path. Ya, ya! Am it Chakra?’ * Dat same ole nigga.” * All right, kommarade, We've see yar sig- nal as soon as it war hoisted. We wa’n’t long a-comin’, war we?” ES Berry quick. A didn’t speck ye fo’ half an complished, be lifted both stick and cloak from | hour mo’.” the rock, and proceeding to the palm, he laid | ‘* Well, now we’re bya, what’s the game? I the stick transversely across the stem, at about | hope dar’s a good big stake to play for! Our the hight of his own hand, and then lashed it fast to the tree. The kaross now hung down the stem, ina spread position, the transverse stick keeping it extended to its full width. Satisfled that the skin cloak was extended in the proper direction, the Coromantee next took up his reflector-lamp: and having attached it against that side of the kaross facing toward the mountains, he took out his flint, steel, and Huger and, after striking a light, set the wick on fire. In an instant the lamp burned brightly, and the light, reflected from the bits of looking-glass might have been seen from the back country to the distance of many miles; while, at the same time, it was completely screened from any eye looking from the side of the plantations. The projecting edges of the calabash hindered the rays from passing to either side; while the in- terposed disk of the spread kaross further pre- vented the “sheen” that otherwise might huve betrayed the presence of the signal. It was not meant for the eyes of honest men in the direction of Montego Bay, but for those of the robbers among the far hills of Trelawney. “ Whugh!” exclaimed Chakra, dropping his arms out of their fold, as if to set about some action, ‘I know’d dey wud soon see um, Yon- ner go’ de answer!” As he spoke a bright light was seen suddenly blazing up on the top of a distant eminence, which was suddenly extinguished. After a short interval another, exactly simi- lar, appeared in the same place, and in a similar manner went out again; and then, when an equal interval had elapsed, a third. All three resembled flashes produced by pow- der ignited in a loose heap. The moment the third response bad been given to bis signal, the Coromantee stepped up to his reflector and blew out the light. “Dar’s no use fo’ you any mo’,” said he, apostrophizing the lamp; “‘dar am some dan- ger keepin’ you dar, B'side, it am a gettin’ cold up hya, A want my ole cloak,” So saying, he took down the reflector, and after it the kaross; and separating the latter from tbe piece of stick, he once more suspended the garment around bis shouliers, This done, he moved forward to the front of the platform; and dropping his legs over, sat down upon the edge of the rock, as if to think over what he was going to do, From the spot where he bad seated himself, the mansion of Mount Welco* e was in view— that is, it would have been had it been daytime, or even a moonlight night. As it was, how- ever, darkness vailed the whole valley under its opaque shadows, and the situation of the house could only have been guessed at had it not been for the light streaming through the jalousied windows. These revealed its position to the eyes of the Coroman'ee, More than one window showed light—several that were side by side, Bye cos a strong glare. Thesce Chakra knew to the side win- dows of the great hall, or drawing-room. Its front windows could not be «seen from the Jumbe Rock, since they faced toward the val- ef and not to the mountain. he reflections of the Coromantee were inter- rupted by a sound that caused him to draw his stock of stuff wants remplenishin’ berry badly. We baven’t had de chance of a job fo’ more dan a month. We're a’most in want o’ wit- tles!” ‘* Wittles!” exclaimed the myal-man, laying a scornful emphasis on the word. ‘ Dar's a t'ing for ye do dis night dat’ll gib ye mo’ dan wittle—it gib you wealth—ebery one ob ye. Whugb!” “s ” ejaculated Adam, simultaneously with a chorus of like ¢xclamations; “glad to hear dat ’ere bit o’ intelligence. Am it dat’ere little job you ak me ’bout last time I see you? Datit, ole men AM “Dat same,” laco lly answered Chakra— “only wi’ dis diffurence,” added he, “ dat a cail um de big job in’tead of de little un.” ‘Big or little,” rejoined the other, ‘‘ we've come ready to do it—you see we hab?” Tbe speaker, who appeared to be the leader of the party who accompanied him, pointed to the others as he made this remark. The bint was scarce regarded by Chakra. Notwithstanding the murky gloom that envel- sg the forms of Adam and his companions, the myal-man could see that they were all armed and equipped, though in the most varied and uncouth fashions. Eagerly willing were they for the extremest action; but, in order to make more certain of their compliance, Chakra thought it prudent to ply them witb a little rum, ‘Ma frien’s,” said he, in an affectionate tone, ‘‘ you hab had de fatigue ob a long walk troo de darkness ob de night. A hab got hyaa leetle drop ob someting dat’s berry good fo’ keep de cold out ob you. ’Pose we all take a wet from dis bottle?” To this proposition there was a general assent, expressed in varied phraseology. There wag no teetotaler in that crowd ot wortbies. Chakra had not thought of providing himself with either drinking-cup or calabash; but the want was scarcely felt. The robbers each in turn refreshed himself direcily trom the neck of the bottle, until the rum ran out, “Vell, cle bumpy,” said Adam, drawing Chakra aside, and speaking in that familiar brase that betokened a thickness of thieves “grep oi ve Dat’s a fack, brotber Adam. It hab come now,’ “De great huckra gone from bome? “He gone from home; and gone to heme. Ha, Ha! ‘Come, dat’s a riddle. What you mean by gone to home?” **To?im long bome. Da’s wha’ I mean.” ‘‘Ha!” exclaimed Adam, ‘ you don’t say the Cussos—” ‘*Nebber mind ’bout the Cussus now, bredder Adam. Dat you know all’bout atterward, It am the Cussus’ silber plate dat consarn yeu now; and dar’s no time to was’e in p’laverin’. By de time we gets down da, an’ puts on de ~ masks, dey’ll be a-gwine to bed. tter de wa’ gone to bed; but by dat time, you -see, de moon ’ud be up, an’ fo’ all dese clouds mon’t shine out. Dat, as you know, won’t nebba do. . We must ’ticipate de risin’ ob de moon.” - “True enuf. All right. I’m ready, and so are de rest.” tween them, ‘‘I suppose the spoke *bout bab come round at Jas’ , ee eae Sareea. Ono one side appeared a hole, several nehes in diameter, and cut in a shape nearly pyramidal, the base being above the thick end ‘* Den foller me, allob you. We can plan de legs up on the rock, and assume an attitude as a + mode ob ’tack as we trabble ‘long. Plenty ob Pee if about to spring to his feet. - * sy Wie Te <2 meta b pln. 3 A f fie? ph. aris « ‘ i oN se iv" lees 2 ote ‘Sees aye pie a aoe ” | di: my
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time fo’ dat, when we find out how de land lie down below. Foller me!” And with this injunction, the Coromantee cemmenced descending the ravine, followed by Adam and bis band of burglars. CHAPTER XXXIX. THE ABDUCTION. To Chakra, viewing them from the summit of | the Jumbe Rock, the well-lighted windows of Mount Welcome had proclaimed the presence of company within the mansion. In this, however, the Coromantee was mistaken. Ln the past such | av appearance might have had that signilicunce, | or up to a very late period—that is, up to the date of the arrival of the distinguished Smy thje. Since the latter had become the guest of Mount Welcome, however, the illumination of the mansion with chandelier and candelabra was not only not unusual, but had been the nightly tice. The only individuals occupying the splendid apartments were Smythje and the young mis- tress of Mount Welcome; both yet ignorant of what had occurred upon the Savanna Road— that fearful event which had left Kate Vaughan a fatherless orphan, at the same time deprivin her of the proud title we have just bestowed | upon her, Little did Kate Vaughan suspect that the corpse of her father—lying cold and lifeless upon a stretcher, and surrounded by strange mourners—was at that moment scarce five | miles distant from where she sat, and slowly ap- roching the now masterless mansion of Mount elcome! Little did she suspect, while making music for | Smythje, that from another direction monsters in human form were moving toward that man- sion, their dark shadows projected across the glare of the window ligh's—vow stationary, now flitting s'ealthily onward, at each progress- ive movement drawing nearer and nearer to tho wall |} Not a word of warning, a sign or gesture, was | given to the occupants of the sperteients until, with wild, unearthly yells, half a-dozen fiend- like forms—men of horrid aspect—some with black masks, others with naked visage even more hideous to beho'd—burst into the grand hall, and commenced the work of pillage. One, of Pesntic size, masked from crown to throat, and wrapped in aa ample coverivg of skin, though not sufficient to conceal the deform- | ity of a bunched back, rushed directly up to | where the fair musician was seated, and dash- ing the harp to one side, commenced dragging his shrieking victim across the room toward the stair entrance, knocking Smytbje out of the way | like a baby. In less than a sco e of seconds Adam and his confederates had the mansion to themselves. — Jt was but the work of a few minutes to fling open the beffets and sideboards and plunder | them of their most valuable contents. In less | than a quarter of an hour the black burglars had finished their * job,” and were ready to de- rt. fp an incredibly short space of time the barp, the chairs, the ottomans, and other articles of light furniture, were piled up in the middle of the. floor, the jilousies were wrenched from their fastenings, flung upon the heap, and then set, on fire. Quick as tinder the dry wood blaz2d up, and in five minutes the noble mansion of Mount Welcome was in flames, In five mivutes more, under the red glare, flung far out into the distant fields, the robbers were seen, slowly and laboriously seeking con- cealment within the shadows beyond—six of them burdened with shining utensils. that gave back the gleam of the blazing mansion, while the seventh, the most formidable figure of all, earried in bis arms an object.of far different kind, the body of a beautiful woman—the faint- ing form of Lilly Quasheba! Jn solemn pace the procession which accompa- nied the corpse of Custos Vaughan moved si- lently on along the lonely road. The Jumbe Rock was now insight, encarmined by the last rays of the sinking sun.. Beyond iay Mount elconie, a house to which the sad cortege was about to carry the cue for wailing and desola- tion. They stopped to consider what was best to be one. : A plan soon suggested itselé A messenger could be sent forward upon one of the horses to communicate the sad tidings to Trusty, the overseer, and through him the melancholy news might be more gradually made known to her whom it most concerned, The man received bis instructions, and hay- Ge a _ ing mounted his own horse rode off at such speed as the darkness, now down upon the earth, would permit. ; ; . For another hour the party remained in the place where they had halted, to give time for the messenger to execute his commission. Then once more takiug the road, they moved forward at asiow pace, Herbert alongside Cu- bina—now a-foot, and jeading the horse upon which he bad hitherto ridden. In this way the cortege had proceeded for SEMI fore. some half mile cr so beyond its last resting- place, when it was again brought to a halt by the orders of those in the lead. The cause of this interruption was declared to all of the party at once. Al! heard the hoof strokes of a horse coming rapidly along the road, and from the opposite direction to that in which they were moving. It was not witbout a feeling of surprise, as the horseman dashed torward upon the ground and ulled up in front of the procession, that Her- rt and Cubina recognized the returned attend- ant He left them no time to speculate on the mys- | tery of his reappearance. The white froth upon the flanks of his steed, shining through the gloom, told of fast riding, while the stam:ner- ing and terrified accents in which the man pro- claimed the pa of bis return, rendered more startling the news he had to communi- cate. ‘ Mount Welcome was at that nomoent. at- tacked by a band of burglars, robbers and mur- derers! There were men in masks and men without them—equally terrible to look upon. They were plundering the great hall, had murdered Mr. Smytbje, were ill-treating the young mis- tress of the mansion, and firing guns and pis- tols at every one who came in their way! ‘*Quaco!” eried the Maroon sora, rushing to the rear, and addressing himself to his lieu- tenant, ‘‘think you our men can hear us from here? Sound your born on the instant: your blast is stronger than mine. There is trouble at Mount Welcome. We may need every man of them. Quick—quick!” “The devil!” cried Quaco, dropping his bold of the halter, and raising the horn to fis mouth ; ‘Tl make them hear if they’re in the island of Jamaica. You keep your ground, ye pair of Jobn Crows!” he added, ag he held the born an incb or two from his lips, ‘‘If either of you budgo a foot out of your places I’llsenda brace of bullets through your stinkin’ carcadges, and stop you that way. See if [ don’t!” nd wi'h this emphatic admonition, the col- lossus applied the horn to his mouth, and blew a blast that might have been heard for miles. In echoes it rung from the sides of the Jumbe Rock, and from many a peak lying far beyond. So loud and shrill rung it. that one might al- most have believed in Quaco’s affirmation—tbat it eon be beard to the extremity of the Isl- and, At all events, it was heard by some not so far off; for scarce had its echoes ceased to reverber- ate, when balf-a-doz2n similar sounds, proceediog from different directions, and apparently from different distances, came back in response, Cubina waited not to hear their repetition. ‘**Enough,” cried he, ‘there are half-a-dozen of them anyhow. That wi!llno doubt be enough. You, Quaco, stay here till they come up, and then tollow to Mount Welcome. Sound again, to direct them; and see that these two murder- ous villains don’t escape you.” ‘* Hadn’t [ better put obras of bullets through then?” naively inquired Quaco, ‘It'll save trouble if Ido that. What say you, Capen Cu- bina?” “No no, Quico; justice will settle accounts witb them. Bring them on along with you; and follow as soon as our mén get up!” . Before Quaco could offer any further sugges- tions, the Maroon captain had mounted the messenger’s bhorse—Herbert having already leaped into the saddle of the other, and both, without further speech, rode forward as fast as their steeds could carry them. In a few minutes they had attained the sum- mit of the ridge, whence they could command a full view of the valley of Mount Welcome, The mansion was in flames. ‘Too late! too late!” muttered both the horse- men in the same breath; and then, with despair on their faces and black fear in their hearts, they once more gave rein to their steeds; and riding recklessly down the slope, galloped on toward the conflagration. It was evident tle conflagration had been going on for some time, he upper story— which was but a framework of light timber— was now nearly consumed, and pend the stone- work below left standing. Over this the larger beams had fallen, no longer emitting flame, but lying transversely upon each other, charred, red, and smoldering. As the two men turned in the direction of the negro village, a figure started up in the path, having just emerged out of the bushes, In that semblance to the imp of darkness, seen under the distant glare of the conflagration, Herbert recognized his old acquaintance Quasbie, Quashie had already identified him, ‘Oh, young massr!” cried the darky, as he rose to bis feet; ‘‘de Buff am a-blazin’! It be all burn up! * Crambo ! tell us something we don’t know!” impatiently demanded Cubina. ‘‘ Who bas set it on fire?’ Do you know that?’ "Did you see the incendiariea?” hurriedly added Herbert. . “See who, massr?” ‘‘Those who set the house on fire?” inquired Herbert, still speaking with anxious haste, Herbert and Cubins.“»ced suddenly round.. As they did so, they perceived several dark forms moving between them and the bright background of the flames; their shadows pro- jected in gigantic outliues up to the spot where the spectators stood. Both sprung forward, regardless of conse- quences, resolved upon knowing the worst; and if their spprebensions should prove true, deter- mined upon death or vengeance. With their pieces cocked, and ready for in- stant execution, Cubina and Herbert were press- ing to get within range, when the notes of a horn, sounded by one of the men before the fire,, came swelling upon their ears. The sounds were re-assuring. Cubina knew the signal of bis lieutenant, and they were now near evough to recognize the colossal Quaco standing in the glare of red light, surrounded by some half-dozen of bis comrades, Quaco had left the corpse upon the road, and the prisoners well guarded by a’ couple of his followers: and thinking he migbt be wanted at Mount Welcome, bad hurried forward close upon tbe heels of the horsemen. This accession of strength might have proved useful had the enemy been upon the ground. Where were the robbers—the incendiaries—per- haps the murderers?) Where was Miss Vaughan? Where the maid Yola? Had they esca among the domestics, or had they perished in the flames ? Fearful as was the thought, it could not fail to be entertained; and in the solemn silence which the reflection produced, all stood bope lessly gazing upon the ruthless fire that was fast reduciug thé noble mansion toa shapeless and smoldering ruin. At that moment the stillness was interrupted by a voic: proceeding from an unexpected quar- ter. It appeared to come from out the great arched vault under the stone stairway, from a corner shrouded in conmtparative darkness. It was partly an exclamation, partly a groan. Quaco was the first to seek an explanation. Seizing a fagot still flared, he rushed under the archway, regardless of the scorching heat. Herbert and Cubina quickly followed, and all three stood within the vault, Quaco waved the torch in front of his bod) . to 1) uminate the place. The eyes of all three simultaneously rested upon an object that, at any other time, migls have elicited from them peals of laughter. In the corner of the vault stood a half-hogs bead, or large tub, its head covered with a heavy lid. Near the upper edge a square hole. had been sawed out; so that a hand containing a quart measure might be inserted, without necessity of raising the lia. Inside, and di- rectly opposite this opening, appeared the face of a man, with ample whiskers and mustaches: which face, despite the bedaubment of some- thing that resembled treacle or tar, was at once identified as that of the aristocratic Smytbje? “Mr. "Mytbje!” cried Quashie, who had fol- abs the others under the archway. ‘1 see’d im “ Fact, ma fwends, it’s Sraabioeg f else but ma- self,” interrupted the ludicrous image within the hogshead, as soon he recognized his ancient deliverer, Quaco, ‘‘Aw took wefuge here fwom those howid wobbers. Be so good as to waise the wid, and pawmit me to get out of this queeaw situation. Aw was afwaidaw should be dwowned. Ba Jawve! aw bwieve its tweakle!” Quaco, endeavoring to eangtons his laughter, Jost no time in throwing up the lid, and extract- ing the sufferer from his sweet, though un- ‘ear position—for it was, in reality, a bogs- ead of molasses into which the terrified Smythje had soused himself, in which, during the continuance of the tragedy enacted over his head, he bad remained buried up to the neck! Placed upright upon his legs on the flagged floor of the vault, glistening from neck to heel with a thick coat of the slimy treacle, the proud proprietor of Montagu Castle presented even a more judicrous appearance than when Quaco had last seen him upon the summit of the hol- low stump. The latter, recalling this scene to memory, and unrestrained by otber sentiments, could longer restrain himself from giving way to loud. laughter, in which Quashie, equally free from: sorrow, took part. 1 With Herbert and Cubina it was not the mo- ment for mirth; and as soon as 5 es bad . been fairly deposited on his feet, bot es ae questioned him as to the circumstaces that had transpired, Smythje admitted having fled—at the same time making an awkward attempt to justify himself. According to bis own account, and the statement was perfectly true, it was not til} after he had been. overpowered and struck down, that he betook himself to night How could he do otherwise? His antagonist was a. jiant, a man of vast magnitude and strength. ‘ “A bowid queetyaw,” continued Buny thje: defawmity “a queetyaw with long arms, anda
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26 —— The Maroon. —a pwotubewance upon his shawders, like the | haunch of a dwomedawy !” “ And what of Kate, my cousin?’ cried Her- bert, interrupting the exquisite, with con- | tenptuous impatience, “ Aw—aw—ves! yaw cousin—ma paw Kate! A feaw the wobbers have bawn her off. A know she was bwought outside. Aw beard haw | seweam out as they were dwagging haw down the staiw—aw—aw—” “Thank Heaven, then!” exclaimed Herbert; ** thank Heaven, she still lives!” Cubina had not waited for the whole of Smythje’s explanation. The description of the rebber had given him his cue! aud rushing out- side, he .lew a single blast upon his horn—the *‘assembly ” of his band. The Maroons, who had scattered around the ruin, instantly obeyed the signal, and soon mastered on bhe spot. ‘‘Upon the scent, comrades!” cried Cubina., | i i | —how soon her courageous sweetheart with bis ““T know the wild boar that has been makiug this havoc. I know whers the monster makes sais den. Cramb.! Ere ao hour passes over bis head, he shall answer for this villainy with ‘his accursed life. Follow me!” As Cubiia pronounced this command, he faeed toward the mountain, and was hastening to gain the wicket in the garden-wall, when an object came before his eyes that caused him to halt. him joy. He was not the only one to whom it brought gladness. Among tte Maroons that bad come with Qisco was one wio had been suffering anguish equally with Herbert and Cubina—one Amid the gloom, it was a sight that gave | | road, who had equal cause fur griet—if not for the | joss of sweetheart or cousin, for that which sbould be dear as either—a sister. A sister for whose sake he had crossed the wide ocean, had been sold into slavery, robbed by ruthless men, branded as a felon, chastised by the crnel scourge, bad suffered every indig- pit which man could put on man. In this individual may be identified the young Foolah prince—the unfortunoa e Cingues What was it that gave Cubina joy, shared thus by Cingues? It may be easily guessed. It was the sight of a female form, recognized by both—the sweet- heart of the one, the sister of the other—Yola! The girl was at that moment seen coming through the wicket-gate. Once | to the Duppy’s Hole. inside, she | made no stop. but hastened across the garden | toward the group of men. In another instant she was standing between aorta and brother, sharing the embrace of Orb. Her stor t> with breathless attention; by Herbert Vaughan with emotions that wrung blood- drops from his heart, It was short, bus far too Jong for the impatience of apprehension and revenge. The girl had been in one of the chambers as the robbers entered the great hall. Regardless of conseqitences, she had rushed out among ‘them. Like Smytbje, she had been struck down, and lay for some winutes insensible, un- conscious of what was transpiring. was soon told, and by all listened | | cliff, and looked down into that dark abysm, | where they hoped to find the spoiler and his When her senses returned, and she could look | around her, she perceived that her young mis- | tress was no longerinthe room The monsters were at that moment in the act of setting fire tu the mansion, A scream outside directed her. nized the voice of her mistress Springing to her feet, she glided through the open door, and down the stairway. The rob- bers were too much occupied—some with their ‘booby, others with their scheme of incendiarism , they either did not observe or did not think it worth while—further to molest her, On getcing outside, she saw her young mis- te ss borne off in the arms of a huge, mis- shapen man. He wore a mask over his face; but for all this she could tell that it was the same individual she bad seen upon the pre- ceding night ia comp vy with the Jew. The ma-ked man, whose attention seemed wholly She recog- engrossed by his precious prize, went off alone, | leaving the others to continue their work of plunder and devastation, The African maid, in ber native land habita- ated to similar scenes, with a quick instinct perceived the impossibility of rescuing her mis- ‘tress at that moment; and abandoning the idea of making an idle attempt, she determined to follow and ascertain to what place the robber was taking her, Mount Welcome, and guide those who would de sent upon the pursuit. Gliding silently along the path, and taking care not to show herself, she had kept the robber an view, without losing sight of hin for a moment. The darkness was in her favor, as also the sloping patb, enabling her to see from below, while she was herself in little danger of ‘Leinyg seen, iu this way had she followed the robber np the declivity of the movntain, and in an oblique <iirec'ion across it, still keeping close behind him; when all at once, and to ber astonish- ment, she saw him suddenly disappear into the earth, bearing her young mistress upon bis arm, like some moustrous fiend of the otker She might then return to | | and was carrying her to his dread home in the | mountain. | Coakra the Coromantee. | cliff, and saw the sheen of water at the bottom | In the dim light she could trace something like '@ means of descent down the face of the cliff, world, who had stolen a sweet image of this, regions of darkness. Notwithstanding the supernatural fear with | which the sudden disappearance had inspired | her, the bold maiden was not deterred from proceeding to the spot. Both her terror and astonishment were in some degree modified when she looked over a of a dark abysm yawning beneath her feet. and this at once dispelled all idea of the sh tie te he made no attempt to follow further. She | had seen enough to enable her to guide the pur- | suit; and instantly turning back upon the path, she hastened down the declivity of tbe She was thinking of Cubina and his Maroons brave band would have rescued her unfortunate | mistress—when at that moment, in the light of the flickering fire, she recognized the very image that was oceupying her thoughts. Her story was communicated in hurried phrase to Cubina and bis comrades, who, with- out losing a moment of time, passed through the wicket gate, and with all the speed in their power commenced ascending tbe mountain Yola remained behind with the Quashie and the other domestics, who were now flocking | around the great fire, looking like spectres in the flickering light. Cubina required no guide to conduct him. Forewarned by that wild conversation he had overheard, as well as by the events of the preced- ing day, he had already surmised the autbor of | that hellish deed, More than surmised it: he | was satisfied that, whatever head bad planned, the hand that had perpetrated it was that of ) CHAPTER XL. THE TRAIL, | EAGER as hounds ae a fresh trail—quick as young, strong limbs could carry them— | pressed the pursuers up the steep path that led | The horses bad been left behind. On the steep and tangled path they would have been only an incumbrance. Perbaps never before, by man on foot, had that path been traversed in so short a space of time. No stop was made anywhere, till the pursuers st upon the edge of the Duppy victim. Scarce a moment there, either, One after another they descended the tree stairway, Cu- bina going first, Herbert next, the others fol- lowing, with like rapidity. With the instinct of trained hunters, all made the descent in silence Only on arriving at the bottom of the cliff did an exclamation escape from the lips of their chief—Cubina. The sight of a cance, drawn up under the bushes, had elicited this exclamation, which ex- pressed surprise mingled with disappointment. Herbert saw the canoe almost at the same instant of time, but without drawing the inference that bad caused Cubina to utter that ery. He turned to the latter for an ex- planation. ‘The canoe!” whispered Cubina, pointing down to the Jittle craft half-hidden under the leafy branches. “T see it,” said Herbert, also speaking in a whisper. ** What does it signify?” “They have gone out again. Perhaps it is only Chakra himself; or maybe some one of the robbers who have been helping him, and who | may be expected to return again. In any case we must search the valley and make sure. Step | into the canoe! You can’t swim in your clothes, while my fellows are not embarrassed in that way. Here, Quaco! get your guns aboard this cockle-shell, and all of you.take to the water. Swim silently. No splashing, do you hear? Keep close under the cliff! Swim within the shatew: and straight for the otber side.” Without more delay the guns were passed from band to hand until all were deposited in the canoe. Cubina and Herbert had already stepped into the frail craft, the former taking possession of the paddle, In another instant the little vessel shot out from the bushes, and glided silently under the shadow of the cliff, Some half-dozen human forms, their heads Sey appearing above the surface of the water, ollowed in its wake —swimming with as little noise as if they had been a brood of beavers. There was no need to direct the canoe to its old landing-place under the tree. Cubina knew that this had been chosen for concsalment. In- stead of going thither, he made for the nearest int of the proeies shore. On touching land | oO » stépped out, making sign to his feliow-voy- ager to imitate his example. The Maroons waded out the moment after; aad once more getting hold of their guns, fol- lowed their captain aud his companion—already on their route to the upper cascade. As they advanced, the underwood became easier to traverse, and they were enabled to pro- ceed more rapidly. They reached, at length. the edge of the open- ing that extended for some distance beyond the branches of the cotton tree. The hut was before their eyes. A light was shining shrough the open door, Making a sign to his followers to stay among the trees, the Maroon caplain, with Herbert by bis side, crept up towara the cotton- tree, Having got fairly under its shadow, they rose to their feet, and with the silence of discm- bodied spirits, glided close up to the entrance of the but. In another instaut the silence was broken by both. A simultaneous cry escaped them as they arrived in front of the open door and Jooked in, It was a cry that expressed the extreme of dis- appointment, The hovel was empty! o ascertain this fact it was rot necessarv te enter within the shrine of the Coromantee Pan- theon. Nevertheless, Cubina and Herbert, as if moved by a mechanical impulse, rushed inside the door. They looked around with inquiring glances. There were signs of late occupation. The light- ed lamp was of itself sufficient evidence of this, Who save Chakra could bave lit it? It was a lamp of lard, burning in the carapace of a tor- toise. It could not have been long alight, since but little of the lard was consumed. There was no doubt that Chakra bad been there with his captive. That added nothing to the knowledge they possessed already, since Yco'a bad witnessed their descent into the Bup- py’s Hole. But why had the robber so suddenly forsaken this apparently safe retreat? That the laa p was left turning betokened a hasty departure. And whither could he bave gone? *“Ob, where?—ob, where?” distractedly inter- rogated Herbert. Cubina could make no answer, He was equally astonished at not finding the Coromantee within his but. Had he once more gone out from the Duppy’s Hole? The position of the canoe gave color to this conjec'ure. But why should be have done so? Had he caught sight of that egile girl glid- ing like a shadow after him? and, becoming sus- picious that his retreat might be discovered, bad he forsaken it for sume other at a greater dis- tance from the scene of bis crime? In any case, why should be have left in such baste, not steying to put out the light—much less to carry with him his peculiar Penates?# ‘* After al),” thougbt Cubina, ‘tbe may still be in the Duppy’s Hole. The canoe nay have been used by some one else—some confederate. Chakra might have seen bis pursuers crossing the Jagoon, or heard them advancing through the thicket, and, taking his captive slong with him, may have bastily retreated iniv scme dark recess among the trees,” His suddep abandonment of the bevel ren- psn this view! of the case the more prob- able. Quick as ceme the thought. Cubina once more rushed out of the but, and summoning his men around him, directed them to procure torchrs and search every corner of the wood. Qvearo was dispatebed back to the canoe, with ord rs to stay by it. and prevent any chance of escape in that direction, While the Maroons proceeded to procvre the torch-wood, their chief, accompanied by Her- bert, commenced quartering the open ground in eg of any trace which Chakra might have eft. By the edge of the water, where the trees stood thinly, the moon afforded ample light to favor the investigation. On advancing toward the cascade, an object came under the eyes of Cubina that cauger bim to utter a quick ejeculation. It was som hing white that lay by the side of the caJdro. into which the stream was precipitated. With the 1 itself were broad Takes of white foam fi at- ing upon the water; but this wes not in .be — water, but above it, on one of the bow)ders; and all the more conspicuous from the black color of the rock. Herbert bad seen the white object at thesame instant of time, and both simultaneously ran forward to examine it. A scarf! It bore evidence of ill usage. and torn, as if it bad fallen from some one who had been struggling! Neither could identify the scarf, but neither doubted to whom it had belonged. I's quality declared it to have been the property of a lady. Who else could baye owned it but she for whom they were in search? bina appeared to pay less attention to the scarf than to the placa in which it\ lay. It was close up to the cliff. on the very edge of the pool into which the stream was pro- jected. Behind the poo), and under the curved sheets It was tossed
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4 eae, Ses ef the falling water, a sort of ledge ran across, by which one could pass under the cascade, Qabina knew this; for while on his hunting exearsions he bad gone under it. He knew, moreover, that balf way across there was a large eave or grotto, in the cliff, several feet above the water in the pool. These reflection: cost Cubina scarce two seeends of time. Quick as the conjecture-had shaped itself, he ran back to the but, and seiz- ivg a torch, which one of bis men had prepared, be surried back toward the cascade. Tren, signing to Herbert and one or two thers to follow him, he glided under the canopy ef falling waters. : He proceeded not rashly, but with due caution, There might be others within the cave besides Ohakra. fis robber confederates might be there, and these the Maroon knew to be desperate characters—men of forfeit lives, who wouid die befere suffering themselves to be captured. With his drawn machete in one band, and the terch in the other, Cubina advanced silently and stealthily toward the entrance of the grotto. Herbert was close behind, grasping his double- barreled gun, in readiness to fire, in case re- sistance should be offered from within. Melding the torch in advance of him, Cubina entered first, though Herbert,anxious and eager, was close upon bis heels, The glare of the torch was reflected back from a thousand sparkling stalactites, and for a while the sight of both was bewildered. toon, bowever, their eyes became accustome 1 to the dazzling coruscation; and then a white object, lying along the floor of the cave, seen by both at the same instant, caused them to utter a simulteneous cry—as they did so, turning to eagh o.uer with looks of the most painful de- spair. Sertren two larg> masses of stalagmite was the body of a woman, robed in white. It was lyieg upon its back, stretched out to its full leugth — motionles:, apparently dead, and the fage was that of Kate Vauzhan, _ The Maroons, quietly crossing their arms un- der the inanimate form, raised it from the rock; and following bim who had given them their silent direction, they bore it to the hut, there placing it upon the cane couch, With instinctive delicacy all retired upon the completion of their — joaw 08 Herbert and Cubina alone with the body. An iotorvel elapsed before either essayed to speak, Both were under the influence of pro- tound grief that almost stifled reflection. Cubina was the first to have other thoughts, and to give exoression to them, “Santa Virgen!” said he, in a voice husk with emotion, **I know not how she has died, unless the sight of Chakra has killed her, It was enough te have done it.” Herbert was hindered from making reply. A dark form appearing in the door, distracted the attention of both from the theme of their con- versation. Quaco had heard the melancholy tidings, and relieved from his duty by the canoe, bad burried back to the but. Having stopped inside, the colossus stood for some moments by the couch, gezing down upon the sweet, silent face, Even on his features was depicted an expression of sorrow, #radually this became more subdued,or rather appeared to undergo a total change—slowly but surely altering to an expression of cheerful- ness, Slight at first, and imperceptible on account of the large scale upon which Quaco’s features were formed, the expression was every moment becoming more pronounced; until at length it attracted the notice of the others, notwithstand- ing ang abstraction caused by their poignant grief. Beth observed it at the same instant, and to bota it caused a feeling of annoyance, amount- ing almost to indignation, “Lieutenant,” said Cubina, addressing his Subaitern in a tone of reproach, “it is not ex- actly the time for beiog gay. May I ask you what is making you smil-, while others around you are overwbelined with sorrow?” ‘Why, cappen,” rejoined Quaco, “I can’t see what yar ali a-grieviv’ *bout. If you mean Hee Toeue buckra lady, I'd give all the barbe- cued hog [ ever owned nebber to be more dead thaw she jess now, Dead, i’deed! nonsense dat; she eniy s.cep!” Herbert and Cubina s'erted from their‘seats, each utterivg a cry of astonishment, in which migbt be detected the accents of bope. * Hol’ exclaimed Qaaco, suddenly. clutching hold of a vial that lay upon the floor—now for the first time noticed. “What we got bere?” continued he, drawing the cork witb his teeth and thrusting the’neck ap his wide nostril. ‘‘Sleepin’ draugh’! I thought sv. Sv this isthe spell that’s put the young buckra lady to rest. Well, there’s an- Otber thav’il wake her, if I can only find it. It’s boun’ be bya, somewhberes about; and if I can git my claws on it I'll make this bya young creatur’ talk to ye in less than ten min- ? So saying, the colossns commenced searching around the hut, looking iato the numerous "Sega: ? str snare hice chinks and crannies with which both walls and roof were provided, **Only a sleep-spell,” said Quaco, still continu- ing his search; ‘‘ nothin’ more than that—a draught given her by the myal-doctor. I know it well enough, and I knows what'll make all right. again, though ’ithout that she'd come to of berself. A—ha! byar itis! bhyar’s the anec- dote!” A small bottle glistened between his fingers, which in another instant was uncorked and brought in contact with his nostrils. ‘* Yes, dis is the stuff that’s a-goin’ to coun- track that spell. In less’n ten minutes’ time you see h.r wake up, brisk as ebber she been in her life. Now, young master, if you jess hold up the young lady’s head while I spill a drop or two down her throat, {t must go down to do her ‘ood Herbert, with joyful willingness, obeyed the request, and the beautiful head received the sup- port of bis arm. Quaco, with all the gentleness of which his huge, coarse fingers were capable, parted the pale lips, and inserting the neck of the vial, poured out a portion of the contents into the mouth of the sleeper. This done, he held the bottle for some minutes to ber nostrils, and then laying it aside, be commenced chafing ber bands between his own broad, corrugated palms. Scarce five minutes bad elapsed from the time of administering the antidote—to Herbert they appeared fifty—whben the bosom of the sleeper was seen to swell upward, at the same time that a sigh, just audible, escaped from her lips. Herbert could no longer restrain bis emo ions. With a cry of supreme joy, he bent his face nearer to that of the young girl, and pressed bis lips to hers, at the same time gently mur- muring her name, ** Be quiet, young master,” cautioned Quaco, ‘*else you may keep her longer from wakin’ up. Hab patience. Leave the anecdote to do its work. °Ta’n’t goin’ to be very long.” Herbert, thus counseled, resumed his former attitude, and remained silently but earnestly gazing upon the beautiful face, already showing signs of reanimation, As Quaco had predicted, the “ anecdote” was not loog in manifesting its effects. The bosom of the young girl began to rise and fall in quick spasmodic motion, showing that respiration was struggling to return, while at shorter in- tervals sighs escaped her, au ible even amid the sounds so similar heard from without. ‘Herbert, cousin!” she exclaimed as soon as speech was restored to ber. ‘‘It is you? Where am [? No matter, since you are by me. It is your arm that is around me?” ‘Yes, dearest cousin—never more to part from this sweet embrace. Oh, speak to me! Tell me that you live!” ** Live? Ah, youthought me dead? I thought so myself. That horrid monster! He is gone? I see him not here, Oh, Iam saved! It is you, Heriert, you who have delivered me from worse than death!” ‘‘Mine is not the merit, cousin. This brave man by my side—it is he to whom we are both indebted for this deliverance.” ““Cubina! and Yola!—poor Yola! She, too, has escaped? On, it is a fearful thing. TI can: not comprehend—” ‘Dearest cousin! think not of it now. In time you shall understand all, Know that you are safe—that ajl danger is ing ¥ ** My poor father! if he knew—Chakra alive —that fearful monster!” — Herbert was silent, Cubina at the same time withdrawing from the hut to give some orders to his followers, ‘** Ab, cousin! what is that upon your breast?” inquired the young girl, innocently touching the object with ber oS chal “Js it not the rib- bou you took from my purse? Have you been wearing it all this time?” ‘Ever since that hour! Oh, Kate! no longer can I conceal thetruth. I love you! 1 love you! I have heard— But tell me, dearest cousin! with your own lips declare it, do you return my love? “Ido! Ido!” Once more Herbert kissed the lips that had given utterance to the thrilling declaration. In that kiss two loving souls were sealed for- ever, Tbe midnight hour had passed ere the lovers forsook the solitude of the Duppy’s Hole, Slowly Herbert and his cousn moved down the mountain. The moon, now shining sweetly upon the perfumed path, favored their descent; but there was no need—no desire for haste, Cubina kept ahead to secure them from sur- prise or danger. They had nothing to do but talk love to each other. CHAPTER XLI. AN ORPHAN. THE earnest utterances of love exchanged be- tween the two cousins were suddenly inter- rupted. Sounds of woe broke upon the still- ness ef the night, They bad arrived within view of what was once the mansien of Mount Welcome. Through the foliage that fringed the path they could see glancing some remnants of red os gt Pe 27 light, here and there flickering into a faint blaze. Now and then, as they descended the slope, they had heard the crash of falling tim- bers, as they gave way under the wasting fire. A murmur of human voices, too, had reached their ears; but only as of men enguged in an ordinary conversation; or, at all events, not exhibiting excitement beyond what might be expected at the finale of such a scene as had there transpired. All at once abruptly breaking upon this com- parative tranquillity—at the same time inter- rupting the dialogue of the lovers—were heard utterances of a far different import; the cries of men, the screaming of women, shots, aad loud shouting. All these sounds appeared to proceed from the spot that but a few bours before had echoed toe the clangor of a chorus equally diabolical in its accents. Cubina, who had been moving some paces im advance, sprung instantly back upon the pat; and, with troubled look, stopped in front e the Jovers. ‘*What can it mean?” asked Herbert, equally showing sivns of apprebension. **The robbers! Master Vaugban! They have returned; but for what purpose I cunnot guess, It must be they. I know that voice, louder than the rest. Do you bear it? "Tis the voice Ho! that, too, I can distinguish. It’s the hbeli- ish sbriek of Chakra!” ‘*But why should they have come again? They took everything a robber would care for. What can have brought them back? There is notbing—” “There is/” cried Cubina, with a quick ges- ture, as though the solution had just then pre- sented itself to his mind. * There is Yola / As be said this he faced around, as if about to rush toward the fray, still strepitant—its noise rather on the increase. For an instant be appeared to be undecided; though not from eny fear of going forward, No, it was another thought that had caused that indecision; which was soon made manifest by bis words, ‘* Master Herbert Vaugban!” he exclaimed ia a tone of appeal, ‘1 have helped you to rescue your sweetheart. Mine is in danger!” The young Englisbman stood in no need of this appeal. Alr'ady be had gre yh his arm from that of his cousin, and stood ready for action. In a few seconds they ran down to the garden-wall, and passed rapidly through the wicket-gate, which they found standing open; on through the garden, and straight toward tbe place from which they imugined the sounds bad proceeded. Strange enough, these had ceased as abruptly as they had risen—the cries of the men, the screaming of the women, the shots, and the loud sbonting. All, as if by a simultaneous signal, had be- come silent, as though the earth had opened and swallowed not only the noises, but those who bad been causing them! Unheeding the change, Herbert and Cubina kept on; nor came to a stop until they bad passed the smoking remains of the mansion, and stood upon the platform that fronted it, There halted they. There was still some fitful light from the burning beams: but the beams of the moon told a truer tale. They illuminated a tableau signi- ficant as terrible. Near the spot was a stretcher, on which lay the corpse of a white man, half uncovered, ghastly as death could make it. Close to it were three others. corpses Jike itself, only that they were those of men with a black epidermis. Herbert easily identified the first. It bed been bis companion on that day’s journey. Ib was the corpse of his uncle. As easily did Cubina reeognize the others. They were, or bad been, men of bis own band— the Maroons—left by Quaco to guard the pris- oners, The prisoners! where were they? Escrped? It took Cubina but little time to resoive the mystery. To the practiced eye of one who bad tied up many a black runaway, there was no difficulty in interpreting the sign there present- ed to his view. A tangle of ropes and sticks brought to mind the contrivances of Quaco for securing bis cap- tives. They ley upon the trodden ground, cast away, and forsaken, The cacadores bad escaped. The affair had been a rescue! Rather relieved by this conjecture, which soon assumed the form of a conviction, Herbert and Cubina were about returning to the place where they had left the young creole—whom | they supposed to be still awaiting bem. But they had not calculated on the bravery of love—much less upon its recklessness, Love could no longer endure that avxieus sus- pense. The young creole had forsaken ber shel- ter to share the danger of bim she adored, Before either could interfere to prevent the , she had passed through the wicket * Geet
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28 —a way better known to her than to them—and came gliding across the garden, up to the spot where they stood. An exclamation of joy announced her percep- tion that her lover was still unharmed. Quick as an echo, a second exclamation es- caped from her lips—but one of a far different intonation, It was a cry of wildest despair— the utterance of ore who suddenly knew herself to be an orphan. Her eyes bad fallen upon the corpse of her father! CHAPTER XLII. CONCLUSION, THERE is but little more to tell of the fortunes of those personages, black, white and yellow, whom our readers have so far followed. Chakra, the Myal-man, and bis confederate, Jessuron, had gone one step too far when they rescued the villainous cavadvres from their Ma- roon guarcs at Mount Welcome. In the active pursuit that followed, Chakra himself with Jes- | suron and the cacadores, were chased into their retreat of the Duppy’s Hole and cornered there. Attempting to escape by the lagoon they got into the current of the cataract and were all swept over and finally dashed to pieces. Turn we then from them to pleasanter pictures. On the morning that succeeded the occur- rence of these tragic events, one entering at the at gate of Mount We'come estate, es ing his eye up the long, palm-shaded avenue, would have beheld but a ma s of black smoking ruius. On any other morning, twelve months after, the eye of a person looking in the same direc- tion would huve been gladdened by a sight far | different. Smiling in all its splendor, at the end of that vegetable vista, once more could be seen the proud mansion of Mount Welcome— renaissant ii every respect—its stone stairwa still standing—its white walls and green jal- | ousied windows looking as if they had sprung, phognix-like, from the flames—every item of the architecture so closely in imitation of the for- mer structure that even the eye of an old ac- quaintance could have detected no trace of the transformation. Outside, everything appeared as before. It was only upon entering the mansion that you might perceive a change, and this chiefly relating to its occupancy and ownership. Instead of a stout, red face}, and somewhat plebsian person- age, of over forty years old, you would see in the present proprietor of Mount Welcome a youth of noble mien, by age scarce Claiming the | privileges of manh hut in aspect and de- mweanor evidently fit for the performances of its duties—deserving to be the mast r of that aris- tocratic mansion. Near him—oh! certain to be near him—there is one upon whom the eye rests with still greater interest; one who bad graced the old mansion— et more gracing the new—the daughter of its ‘ormer proprietor, the wife of its present one, She has not even changed her name—only her condition. Lilly Quasheba is no longer Miss | but Mrs, Vaughan. Boh these personages may be seen seated in that great hall, with floor as smooth and furni- ture as resplendent as ever. Ti is the hour after breakfast, and also, as of yore, the hour when the post may be expected. Not that either cared to look abroad for that diurnal measenger—more welcome to those around whom Hymen has not yet wound his iden chain. Eq ally indifferent were these two happy in- dividuals to the actions of the outside world; neither cared for its news, Their love, still in the fresh flush of its honeymoon, was world enough for them; and what interests could either feel in the arrival of the mail? But the post has no respect either for indiffer- ence or anxiety. ve and the gay. It brings joy to the heart feet aden, and sorrow to that which the mo- ment before its arrival may bave been bound- ing with bliss. n that great hall in the mansion of Mount | Welcome there were two bosoms brimful of . bliss, or a feeling near akiu to it. Nay, why should we say akin to it, since they were two hearts in the enj »yment of a mutual love? If that be not bliss, there is no other—either on earth | or in heaven, Without any attempt at concealment, the eyes of both betrayed their mutunl delight, Gazing on each other, in sweet reciprocal admir- ation, they saw not that dark form—rudely cen- taurean—that approached up the long avenue. Had they seen it, it would have created nosur- prise. It was only the postboy Quashie, on his shaggy cob, returning from the Bay, After this speculative peroration, the reader mir be appreherisive of some dire development ringing m the Jetter-bag slung: over the oulders of the seh & Nothing of the kind, There was a letter, but not one that migbt be unwelcome. But for the postmark it might bave remained for hours un- opened. ‘ But the impress was liar. It was African, The letter was staraped with the name of a — near the mouth of the Gambia. It was addres- | . / ¥ , ‘ Grol ks Si direct- | It is transmitted alike to the | Ax Mh iy ; me fo Dye! BOP, Pas Tes Rees ta nce The Maroon. : sed to ‘‘ Herbert Vaughan, Esq., Mount Wel- | come, Jamaica.” ran over the contents of the letter. ‘“*From your brother Cubina,” said he, though he knew that be imparted no information by this. ‘‘ He writes to say that he is coming back | again to Jamaica,” | ‘Oh, 1am so glad of that! I knew he would | never Jive contented among those wild people, | notwithstanding he has been made a prince over ) them; but Yola—” ; “She comes with him, of course, 1b is not ) likely be would leave her behind, She longs for | her island-home again. I don’t wonder, dearest Kate! There is one spot on the earth hallowed | beyond all others—the spot where beart meets | heart in the free confession of a mutual love, No wonder the African maiden should desire to | return to ib. same. To me this island is the elysium of earth.” ** Ah! to me also!” , the youn other, and pressed lips as fervently as if they | had never been married! | After this fond embrace, Herbert continued | the reading of the letter. **Oh!” exclaimed he, when be bad perused another portion of tbe epistie; *‘ your brother wants to know whether he cau either become our tenant or purchase that piece of Jand that lies beyond the Jumbe Rock. The old king has given him a capital to start with, and be wants to turn coffee-planter,” | **[ am glad he has such intentions, Then be will settle down, and be near us.” Human nature is everywhere the | On giving utterance to this mutua) confession, busband and wite bent toward each | | | Tbe young planter broke the seal, and rapidly | ~ And to prove it te more than giving t us build t a and his dark-skinned bride, itbem, | propose somethin them the piece of land. | house upon it; so that upon their arrival they way have a roof to shelter them.” ‘*Ob, that would be a pleasant surprise for ‘Then we shall bring itabout, What a love-- ly morning! Don’t you think so, Kate?” As Kerbert put this interrogatory, he glanced out through the open jalousies. There was nothing particularly fine abont the morning—at least for Jamaica, but Kate saw wig) Herbert’s eyes; and just then, to the eyes of both, everything appeared couleur de-rose, ‘*Indeed, a beautiful morning!” answered the young wife, glancing inquiringly toward her husband, ‘*What say you, then, to a little excursion, a pied ?” ‘IT should be delighted, Herbert. Where do you thiok of going?’ ‘Guess now!” ‘* No—you must tell me.” ‘You forget. According to creole custom, cur honeymoon is to last for twetve months. | them!” | Until that be terminated, you are to be mas- 4 er, ee Kate. Where would you most like » gO “T have no choice, Herbert. Anywhere, In your rine! 9 it is all the same to me. You must decide,” ‘Well, then, dearest, since you leave it to me, 1 declare for the Jumbe Rock, Its summ t overlooks the piece of land we intend present- | ing to our brother Cubina. While we are there **He must not be permitted to purchase it. | We shall present it to bim, since we have | enough without if. What say you, Kate? It is yours, not mine, to give.” “Ah!” returned the young wife, in a tone of playful reproach, ‘‘do uot distress me with those sad souvenirs. You know that I gave it to you when I might tave believed myself its mistress; and—” | ‘Stay, dearest! Even bad we not be- come joint proprietors, I could never bave thought of dispossessing you. Say, then, that the land shall be Cubina’s!” A repetition of that sweet embrace pronounced the consent of both to the proposal of Cubinu. Herbert resumed the reading of the letter. perusal, ‘‘what a singular story! of the slaver who brought Yola’s brother over to Jamaica bas been back again to the coast. What a terrible retaliation !” “ What, dear Herbert?” “Only that they have eaten him!” “Qh, merciful Father!” ‘Sad and terrible though it be, it is true; else _Cubinva would not have written it. Hear what | he says:— “+ Jowler ’—‘ hat was the name of the slaver’s *Good heavens!” cried be, on fivishing its | The captain | | 174 PHantom KNigHTs 1175 Win Brux’s Trump Carp. | captain— presented himself before old Foolab- | , foota, in search of a fresh cargo of slaves, The king, already apprised of the skipper’s treason to Cingues; instantly ordered him to be seized; ! | and, without trial or other formality, caused | him to be chopped to pieces upon the spot. He | was afterward cooked and eateu, at the grand | national feast which was held on the celebra- | tion of my nuptials with the Princess Yola. Crambo ! it was a painful scene; and one might | have felt sympathy for the unfortun. te wretch, | had be been anything else than a dealer in | human flesh; but under that reflection, I stood | by without feelin any great desire to interfere in his behalf. In fact, my Fellatab father-in-law was so furious, I could not have saved the | wretch from a fate which, after all, was per- _ haps not more than he deserved, and to which, | no doubt, the poor victims he had carried across | the Atlantic would have been only too glad to have seen him consigned.’ ” | ‘It is well,” said Kate, with a thoughtful air, ‘*that Cubina bas, determined upon leaving a land where, | fear, such scenes are too common, I shall be so happy to see them both once more ‘in our dear, beautiful island! And you, Her- bert, Tam sure, will rejoice at their return.” ‘Most certainly I shall, Ah, Kate! did it ever occur ‘to you how much we are indebted to them?” : “Often, Herbert—often. And were it not that Iam a firm believer in destiny, I should fancy that but for them—” '* Nonsense, Kate!” playfully interrupted the ; young husband. ‘None of your creole super- | stitions; There is no such thing as destiny. It | was pot that which ruled my heart to believe | yeu the fairest thing in creation—but because | you are so. Dov’t be ungenerous to Cyubina and Yola. Give them all the credit that is due to them. Say frankly, love, that but for them pou eight have become Mrs. Smythje, and I— “Oh, Herbert! speak not of the past. Let that be buried in oblivion, since our present is everything we can desire!” :\* ! Bat for all that, dearest, do not let us forget the gratitude we owe to Cubina ‘ . ‘ ' an } ty fai , \ L hyP : mie j Mes : Ne eee es Cake 7 a bet ‘ , Jur Were iD oe ee Aa sae tS eA Dien sabi oR cee i f we can select the site for bis house, Is it agree- able to you? “ ‘*Dearest Herbert,” replied the young wife, entwining her arms around that of her hus- band’s, and gazing fondly into his eyes—* the very place I was thinking of.” THE END, Do not you distress me by | ' such an appeal! You were its rightful owner, | oR and sont bass been. | 163 Ben Brion, THE TRAPPER. CAPTAIN; or, Rep- 162 Taz Map Mariner, By Col. P. Ingraham . We PATH, THE Avencer. By Dr. J. H. Robinson, tc 164 Tur Kixe's Foon. By C. D. Clark pore 165 Joaquix, THe TERRIBLE. By Jos. E. Badger. We 166 OwrerT, THE Rosser Prince, By Septimus R. Urban eta bee Sig SOL aks 167 ThE Man or Sreeu, - By A. P. Yorris,.. hs 168 Wii Bri, rae Piston Dea Snr, By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. . i ee i Se 169 Corporat, CAXNon. By Col. Monstery...0... 1¢ 170 Sweer WiuuiAm. By Jos. E. Bac ger, Jr Me 171 Tiger Dick, The MAN OF THY IRON HEARY. By Philip 8. Warne. hth Me 172 Tae Brack Prrate, By Col. Ingreham..... 10¢ 173 CaLirorniA Joun. By Albert W. Aiken... .. Mc By Capt. F. Whiitaker. 0c By Major Burr, tte 176 Lavy Jaavar. _ By Capt. Mark Wilton... Me 177 Don Diasio. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham... Me 178 Dark Dasuwoop. By Majors. 8. Hall. 10 179 Conran, THE ( onvicT. Prof. 8. Gildersleeve. i0c 180 Op “49. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. ae Oe 181 THe ScarLet ScHooneR. By Col. Ingraham, 10c 182 Haxps Up. By Wm. R. Eyster i We 183 GitBerT, THE Guipe. By ©. Dunning Mark, 10+ 184 Tas Ocean Vamprre, By Col. P. Ingraham. ic 185 Man Sprper. By A. P. Morris .. . a; 186 Tue Buack Bravo. By BuckskinSam.. Me 187 Tue DeatH’s-Heap Currassivrs. Whittaker, Wx- 188 PyaNntoM Mazerpa. Major Dangerfield Burr, Mc 189 Winp Bitw’s Gop Tram, By P. Ingraham. tHe 190 Tus THREE GuarpsmMEN. By Alex Dumas... thc- 191 Tue TerRiBLe ToNKAWAY. By Buckskin Sam. Mc 192 THe LicHi NING Sport. By Wm. R. Eyster, We 193 Tae Manin Rep. By Capt. F, Whittaker, Me 194 Don SompreRo. By Captain Mark Wilton te 195 Tue Lone Star GAMBLER. By Buckskin Sam, We 196 LA Marmoset, By Albert W. Aiken... .... Se 187 Revotver Ros. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr... We 198 THe SKELETON Scuooner. By P. Ingraham, i0c 199 Dramoxp Dick. By Buckskin Sam. eon. 0e 200 Tue Ririe RANGERS, By Capt. Mayne Reid. tk-~ 201 THe PirATE OF THE PLACERS. By Badger. fe 202 Cacrus Jack. By Captain Mark Wilton, . i0¢ 203 Tue Dovsie Detective, By A. W. Aiken... 10° 204 Big Foor WaLLace. By BuckskinSam ... ie ‘vy ‘DHE GAMBLER IRATE, by Ce,. P. Ingrabam, We 2%} One Eye, THE CANNONEER, By WI)..ike.. We .U@ Own Harp Heap. By Philip +. Warne - 16¢ 20: Tue Ware Cuter. By Capt. Vayne Reid... ie 209 Buck Fartey. By Edward Willett.... . We +10 BuecanreR Bzss, By Prentiss Ingraham... ie 211 Ine Unknown Sport. By Capt. Whittaker. Ife 212 Tue Br-zos Tickers, By Buckskin Sam Ihe e919 fer Wen Than PR. Cantpie Marre Reid, we 214 Tur Two Coot Sports. By Wm. R. Eyster. tue 215 Parson Jim. By Captain Fred. Whittaker, 1%¢ 216 THe CorsatR PLANTER. — By Col. Ingraham, 10¢ 217 THe SERPENT or Ex Paso. By Buckskin 218 Tar Witp Huntress, By Capt. Mayne Reid. 10¢ 219 Tur ScorPion BroreErs, y Capt. Wilton, 1c 220 THe Specrer Yacut. By Col. P. Ingraham. i10¢ 221 Desperate Duke, By Buckskin Sam, . We 222 Biv., rae Brizzarp, By Edward Willett... ie 223 Canyon Dave. By ores: Mark Wilton We 224 Buack Brarp, By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.. 1c 225 Rocky Mountain AL. By Buckskin Sam.'. 1% 226 Map Hussars. By Captain Fred. Whittaker. 16c. 227 BucxsHot Ben, By Captain Mark Wilton. 10 228 Tae Maroon. By Capt Mavne Reid... Wo 229 Caprain Cursiegve, By William R. Eyster, 10c A new issue every week, Beadlv’s Dime Library is for sale by all. Newsdealers, ten cents per copy or sent by mail on. receipt of twelve cents each. EADLE Publishers, 98 Wiliam street, New York. & ADAMS, |
Page 29
} ’ ; Published Every Wednesday. Hach Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Ten Cents. No Double Numbers. BY JOSEPH E. BADGER, JR. 928 Gid Sobersides, the Detective of St. Louis. 925 White-Horse Wheeler, the Revenue Detective. _ 945 The Double Edged Detective. 907 Maverick Mark. the Man from Nowhere. 898 Silky steele, the Stay-in Sport. 881 Tne Spotter-Sport’s Neck-Tie Party. 870 High-Water Mark; or, Silver-Tip Sid. 362 Riata Rob, the Range Champion. 855 The C whoy Chief’s Sure-Shot. 848 The Rivai Red-Hat Sports. Curly Kid, the Cheyenne Sport. 824 The Sofs Hand Detective. 815 The Soft Kand’s Clutch. 809 Dan Daun the Soft-Hand Sport. 796 Tne Frisco Detective's Thug-Tangle. +89 Sam Cary, the River Spurt. ' 89 The Dead Sport’s Double. «71 Prince John, Detective Special 763 Dandy Don, the Denver Detective. 54 uhe Man from Texas; or, Dangerfield. the Doctor Detective. ‘ i444 Sweepstakes Sam,-the Silver Sport, : 720 The oret Six; or, O:d Halcyon. 712 The Man of Siik. : ‘% Bantam Bob, the Beauty from Butte. 2) ‘693 Kent Kasson, the Preacher Sport. yl = ry spe cander Detective, rt & Steel Surry, the Sport fri.m Sunrise ; 668 Solemn Saul’s Luck Strc ak mo a oa tytn ong . lVeetip ve, the Sky Sera from Siusaiyou. 546 Gopher Gabe, the Unseen Detective. ‘636 Dandy Darling, Detective. $27 Mosasback Mose, the Mountaineer, 617 The Grip Sack Sharp’s Even up. 597 Big Bandy, the Brigadier of Brimstone Butte, 588 Sandy sands, the Sharp from Snap City. 576 Silver-Tongued Sid; or, Grip Sack Sharp's Sweep. 664 The Grip-Sack Sharp; or, The Seraphs of Sodom. 656 Grip-Sack Sid, the Sample Sport. i 647 Lhe Buried Detective; or, Sa.l’s Six Sensations. > 41 Major Magnet, the Man of Nerve, : S35 Dandy Dutch, the Decorator from Dead-Lift ‘ '@7 Dandy Andy, the Diamond Detective, “a S14 Gabe Gunn, the Urizzly from Ginseng, $04 Solemn Saul. the Sad Man from san Saba. h 495 Rattiepate Rob; or, The Roundhead’s Reprisal \ 488% The Thor: ee Sport. r 474 Daddy Dead-Rye, the Desnot of Dew Drop. 2 ag Od ugh and Ready, the of Sundown Duteb Dan. the Pilgrim from Spitzenberg. 443 A Cool Hand; or, Pistol Johnny's Picnic. 448 Oklahoma Nick. 33 Lauyhing Leo; or, Sam's Dandy Pard. 425 The Ghost Detective; or, The Secret Service Spy. - 416 Monte Jim. the Black Sheep of Bismarck. “W8 Rob Roy Ranch; or, The Imps of Pan Handle. ft $08 Tne Nameless Sport. % 895 Deedly Aim, the Duke of Derringers. $87 Durk Durg, the Ishmael of the Hills. 672 Captain Crisp, the Man with a Record. 367 A Royal Fiush; or, Dan Brown's Kig Game. 369 Jumping Jerry, the Gamecock Sundown. 355 Stormy Steve, the Mad Athlete, st , 881 Nor’ West Nick, the Border Detective, ,, 345 Mast . Mark, the Mounted Detective. q 3389 Sproad Eagie Sam, the Hercules Hide dunter, 331 Chispa Charley. the Gold Nugget Sport. $17 Frank Lightfoot, the Miner Detective, 282 Moke Aorner, the Boss Roustabout, 288 Pistol Jonnny; or, O: e Man in a Thousand, 283 Sleek Sam, the Devil of the Mines, 257 Death Trap Diggings: or, A Man "Way Back 249 Elephant Tom. of Durango, 21 Spitfire Saul, King of the Rustlers. " 233 The Old soy of Tombstone, 20) Pirate of the Placers: or, Joaquin’s Death Huns 180 Old ‘49; or. The Amazon of Arizona. 170 Sweet William, the Trapper Detective, 165 Joaquin. the Terrible 154 Joaquin, the Saddie King. 141 Equinox Tom, the Bul'y of Red Rock. i19 Alabama Joe; or, The Yazoo Man-Hunters, 205 Dan Brown of Denver; or. The Detective. 88 Big George; or. The Five Outlaw Brothers. Ti Captain Cool Blade: or, Mississippi Man Shark, 67 The Boy Jockey; or, Honesty vs. Crookedness, 5@ Jack Rabbit, tne Prairie Sport. BY WM. G. PATTEN, #10 Fire-Kya, the Thug’s Terror. 795 Old Nizht-Hawk, the Crook Shadower. , 768 The Prin e of New York Crooks. 756 Old Burke, the Madison Square Detective. 747 Doubte-voice Dan's Double Disguise. 715 Dowble-Voice Dan on Deck. 72 Double-Voies Dan, the Always-on-Deck Detective 596 Double-Voice Dan, tLe Go-it Alone Detective, 689 The Sparkler Sbarp. 676 Hurricaue Hal, the Cowboy Hotspur. 66) Oid True Blue, the Trusty, \ 663 The Giant Sport: or, Sold to Satan. ¥56 Old Piug Ugly. the Rough and Ready. i 648 Gold Glove Gid, the Man of Grit. a 641 Aztec Jack, the Desert Nomad, Lo 631 Cotonel Conl, the Santa Fe Sharp, hY 62 Captain Nameless the Mountain Mystery. ~~ F “1 Old Dismal. the Rang* Detective. \ Hustler Harry, the Cowboy Sport. BY GEORGE ©, JENKS. f 810 ‘he Arizona Detective. a ee 694 Silver Sam. the Shasta Sport. Ran 880 The Silver Sport’s D uble. we Poth 808 The Course Detective. - The Hayseed Detective. 7 972 Captain Corden, the Twister Detective 755 W Pte the Broncho-Buster Detective. 7% Fearless Sam. the Grand Combinxztion Detective, ; 719 Boston Bob, the 5 ae Detective. I Jaunty Joe, the Jockey Detective. : ; Mad Sharp, the Rustler is ASS ae Rocket, the Tent Detective. “ h-Grip, the Tenderfoot Detective . 807 The Drummer Detective. 4M The Giant Horseman 098 Bleepless Kye, the Pacific Detective. ¢ 7 b BREADLE'’*] )IME*|[IBRARY. J BY WILLIAM R. EYSTER, 916 Two Dead-Square Sports. 902 Soft Velvet, tne Man from Sandrock. 891 Genteel Jim, Sport-at-Large. 881 The Clubman-Crook’'s Cat’s-paw. 867 The Frisco Sport. 852 The Stranger Sport’s ene ag ue 828 Kirk King, the Man from Kirby, 818 Gentleman Dave, the Dead Game Sport 783 The King-Pin Tramp. 767 The Sport of tilver Bend, 718 Unc'e Bedrock’s Big Bounce. 707 The Rival Rovers. 687 Double Cinch Dan, the Sport With a Charm. 677 Mr. Jackson, the Gent from Jaybira. 659 Gilt-Kdge Johnny; or, Roldan and His Rovers. 650 Lucky Lester's Lone Hand. 634 Old Handcart’s Big Dump. 622 The All Around Sports, 603 Deserc Alf, the Man With the Cougar. 590 Gentle Jacx, the High Roller from Humbug. 578 Seven Shot Steve, the Sport with a Smile. 568 [he Dude Detective. 558 Hurrah Harry, the High Horse from Halcyon. 549 Belshazzar Brick, the Bailiff of Blue Blazes, 533 Oregon, the Sport With a Scar. 508 The Dude from Denver. 478 Pinnacle Pete; or, The Fool from Way Back. 459 Peg Sunshine, the Man of Three Lives. 429 Hair Trigger Tom of Red Bend, 402 Snapshot Sam;-or, The Angels’ Mat Rac'ret, 896 The Piper Detective; or, The Gilt Edge Gang. 375 Royal George, the Three in One, 856 Thr e Handsome Sports; or, The Combination. 833 Derringer Dick, the Man with the Drop. 268 Magic Mike, ~he Man of. Frills. 229 Captain Cufsiceve; or, The Little Sport. 214 The Two Cool Sports; or, Gertie of the Gulch. 182 Hands Up; or, The Knights of the Canyon, 160 Soft Hand, Sharp; or, The Man with the Sand. 145 Pistol Pards; or, The Silent Sport from Cinnabar BY NED BUNTLINE. 657 Long Tom, the Privateer, 633 The Sea Spy. 621 The Red Privateer; or, The Midshipman Rover. 584 Fire Feather, the Buccaneer King. 617 Buffalo Bill's First Trail. 861 Tombstone Dick, the Train Pilot. 122 Saul Sabberday, the Idiot § y. 111 The Smuggler Captain; or, The Skipper's Crime, 18 The Sea Bandit; or, The Quéen of the Isle. 16 The White Wizard; or, The Seminole Prophet, BY JACKSON KNOX—‘‘ Old Hawk.” 838 Old Grips Still Hunt. 827 Detective Walden's Web. 778 Tbe Butler Detective; or, Old Grip's Grip 77) The Showman Dete tive. 762 Old Grip, the Detective. 740 Capt«in Clew, the Fighting Detective, 732 The Hurricane Detective. 643 Castlemaine, the Silent Sifter. 616 Magnus, the Weird Detective, 606 The Drop Detective. 595 Wellbasn, the Upper Crust Detective, 582 Joram, the Detective Expert. 574 Old Falcon’s Double. 561 The Thug King; or, The Falcon Detective’s Foe, 548 Falconbridge. the Sphinx Detective. 536 Old Falcon's Foe; or, The Detective’s Swell Job. 515 Short-Stop Maje, the Diamond Field Detective. 599 Old Falcon, the Thunderbolt Detective. 501 Springsteel Steve, tne Retired Detective, 494 The Detective’s Spy. 485 Rowlock. the Harbor Detective, 477 Dead-arm Brandt, 487 Mainwaring. the Salamander. 462 The Cizcus Detective. 451 Griplock, the Rocket Tetective. 444 The Magic Detective; or, The Hidden Hand, 424 Hawk Heron’s Deputy. ~ 886 Hawk Heron, the Falcon Detective. BY J, ¢, COWDRICK. 752 The Suspect Sport of Daisy Drift. 626 Ducats Dion, the Nabob Sport Detective, 612 Sheriff Stillw ood, the Regulator of Raspberry. 593 The Dominie Detective. : 591 Duke Daniels, the’ Society Detective, 580 Shadowing a Shadow. ‘ 565 Prince Paul, the Postman Detective. 557 The Mountain Graybeards; or, Riddles’ Riddle, 519 Old Riddles, the Rock ay ed 499 Twilight Charlie, the Sport. 472 Gilbert of Gotham, the Steel-arm Detective. 452 Rainbow Rob, the Tulip from Texas. 436 Kentucky Jean, the Sport from Yellow Pine. 422 Blue Grass Burt. the Gold Star Detective. 8% The Giant Cupid; or Cibuta John’s Jubilee. BY EDWARD WILLETT. 483 Flush Fred, the River Sharp. 868 The Canyon Kinz: or. a Price on his Head. 348 Dan Dillon, King of Crosseut. 337 Old Gabe, the Mountain Tramp. $27 Terrapin Dick, the Wildwood De acdtive: 315 Flush Fred’s Double; or, The Squatters’ League 308 Hemlock Hank, Tough and True. 298 Logger Lem; or. Lif: in the Pine Woods, 289 Flush Fred's Full Hand. " 274 Flush Fred, the Mississippi Sport. 248 Montana Nat, the Lion of Last Chance Camp, 222 Bill the Blizzard: or, Red Jack’s Crime, 209 Buck Farley. the Bonanza Prince. 129 Mississippi Mose; or, a Strong Man’s Sacrifice. BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID, M7 The White Squaw. 2 The Hunter's Feast. 21! The Wild Huntress; or. The Squatter. 200 The Rifle Rangers; or. Adventures in Mexico, 74 The Captain of the Rifles; or, The Lake Queen, 66 The Specter Barque. A Tale of the Pa 65 The Scalp Hunters, A Romance of the Plains, “& nae eats te Fare BY COL. PRENTISS INGRAHAM. : 911 The Blue Blockader; or, The Coast Grayhound. ‘ 906 The Cuban Cruiser. 854 Tne Ocean Gipsy. : 834 The Wild Steer Riders; or, Texas Jack's Terrors, ' 819 The Rival Monte Cristos, ; 805 The Last of the Pirates; cr, Dorm Driven. 801 The Water Wolves’ Detective; or, Trapving the Grave Ghouls. 791 The Coast-Raider's Death. Chase. 748 Arizona Charitie, the Cra: k-sbot Detective, 704 Invisible lvan. the Wizard Detective, 685 The Red-skin Sea Rover, ‘ 679 Revello, the Pirate Cruiser; or. The Rival Rovers 672 The Red Rapier; or, The Sea Rover’s Bride. 662 The Jew Detective: or, The Beautiful Conviet. 640 Tre Rov: r’s Ret ibution. 635 The Ex Buecane-r: cr, The Stigma of Sin. 625 Red Wings; or. The Gold Seekers of the Bahamas, 615 The Three | uccaneers. 610 The Red Flag Rover; or, White Wings of the Deep. 605 The Shadow Silver Ship. 600 The Silver Ship; or, The Sea Scouts of "76, 593 The Sea Rebel; or. Red Rovers of the Revolution, 587 Conrad, the Sailor. Spy; or, True Hearts of "76, 581 The Outlawed Skipper; or, The Gantlet Runpmer. 560 The Man from Mexico. 553 Ma. x Monte, the Mutineer; or, The Branded Brig. 546 TF» Doomed Whaler: or, The Life Wreck. - 530 The Savages of the Sea, 524 The Sea Chaser; or, The Pirate Noble, 510 El Moro, the Corsair Commodore. 493 The Scouts of the Sea. 457 The Sea Insurgent: or, The Conspirator Son, 446 Ucean Ogre, the Outcast Corsair. 485 The One-Armed Buccaneer. 430 The Fatal Frigate; or, Rivals in Love and Wag, 399 The New Monte Uristo, 398 The Convict Captian. 377 Afloat and Ashore; or. The Corsair Co % 369 The Coast Corsair: or. The Siren of the 864 The Sea Fugitive; or, The Queen of tne Coast, 341 The Sea Desperado, 836 Tne Magic Snip; or, Sandy Hook Freebooters. 325 The Gentleman Pirate ; or. Tne Casco Hermits, 318 The Indian isuccaneer: or, The Red Rovers. 307 The Phantom Pirate; or, The Water Wolves, 255 The Pirate Priest; or, The Gambler's are gama 246 arty Helen, the Amazon of the Overland. 235 Lightning the Man of Chance. 244 Black Beard, the Buccaneer. 220 The Specter Yacht; or, A Brother's Crime. 210 Buccaneer Bess. the Lioness of the Sea. 205 The Gambler Pirate; or, Lady of the Lagoas 198 The Skeleton Schooner; or, The Skimmer. 184 The Scarlet Schooner: or. The Sea Nemesis. 104 Montezuma, the Merciless. 103 Merle, the Mutineer; or, The Red Anchor Bragg. RY PHILIP 8S. WARNE, 802 Dan Dirk, King of No Man's Land. 583 Captain Adair, the Cattle King. 567 Captaiw Midnight, the Man of Craft. 544 The Back to Back Pards. 522 The Champion Three. 502 Bareback Buck, the Ceataur of the Plaina, 472 Six Foot Si; or, The Man to * Tie To." 431 California Kit, the Always on Hand. 404 Silver Sid; or, A “ Daisy *’ Bluff. 880 Tiger Dick's Pledge: or, Tne Golden Serpent, 359 Yellow Jack, the Mestizo 388 Jack Sands, the Boss of the Town, ' 299 Tnree of a Kind; or, Dicr, Desparc and the Sport 251 Tiger Dick vs. [ron Despard. 207 Old Hard Head; or. Whirlwind and his Mare. 171 Tiger Dick, the Mau of the Iron Heart. 114 The Geritleman from Pike. 80 A Man of Nerve; or, Caliban the Dwarf. 54 Always/on Hand; or, The Foot-Hiils Sport. 29 Tiger Dick. Faro King; or, The Cashier's Crime, 4 The Kidnapper; or, The Northwest Shanghat, BY CAPTAIN MARK WILTON, $23 Hotspur Hugh; or, The Banded Brothers, 811 Heavy Hand; or, The Marked Men. 805 Silver-Plated Sol, the Montana Rover. 291 Horseshoe Hank, the Man of Big Luck, 285 Lightning Bolt, the Canyon Terror. 276 Texa : Chick. the Southwest Detective, 271 Stonefist, of Big Nugget Bend. 266 Leopard Luke the King of Horse-Thievea 263 Iron-Armed Abe, the Hunchtack Destroye> 258 Bullet Head, the Colorado Bravo. 237 Long-Haireil Max; or, The Black League. 227 Buckshot Ben, the Man-Hunter of Idaho. 223 Canyon Dave, the Man of the Mountain. 219 The Scorpion Brothers; or, Mad Tom's Missic 202 Cactus Jack, the Giant Guide. 194 Don Sombrero the California Road Gent, 176 Lady Jaguar, the Robber Queen. RY OLL COOMES. 619 Kit Bandy & Co , the Border Deteetiver, 148 One-Armed Alf. the Giant Hunter. : 99 The Giant Rifleman: or. Wild Camp Live. 43 Dakota Dan, the Reckless Ranger. RY COL. TROMAS H. MONSTERS, 236 Charapion Sam: or, The Monarchsof the Show 150 El Rubio Bravo. King of the Swordsmen, BY DR. NOEL DUNBAR. 919 The Sea Scout; or, The Patriot Privateen 886 The King of Crooks, ( 4 858 Number One, the Dead-set Detective. 850 The Planter Detective. 730 Duke Despard, the Gambler Duelist, 604 The Detective in Rags; or, The Grim Shadowea, 500 The True-Heart Pards, ’ 4 new issue erery Wednesday Beadle’s Dime Library is for sale a Newsdealers, ten cents per copy, or sent by a receipt of twelve cents ea’
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Deadwood Dick, the Prine of the Road. By E.L. Wheeler. Yellowstone Jack. By Joseph E. Bulger, Jr. Bastar King, By Buffalo Bill, (Hon. W. F. Cody.) he W ild-iorse Munters. By Captain Mayne Reid and Captain Frederick Whitiaker. Vagabond Joe, the Young Wandering Jew. By Ol) Coomes. Double number, 10 cents. Bilt Biddon, Trapper. By Edward S. Ellis, The Flying Yankee, By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. ef eae ! am Nat ed or, The Fate of the Sioux Captives. By E. S, Ellis. Yetectives. By Albert W. Aiken, Gulliver’s Travels. A Voyage w Liliput, and a Voyage to Krovdingsag, By Dean Swift. The Dumb Spy. fry Oll Coomes, Aladdin ; or, The Wonderful Lamp. ‘the Sen-Cat, By Captain Frederick Whittaker. Rebinxon Crusoe. (21 Llustrations) By Defoe. Ralph Roy, the Bey Buccaneer, By Col, Prentiss Ingraham, Sindbad the Sailor, From the Arubian Nights, The Phantom Spy. By Buffalo Bill. The Double Daggers, By Edward L. Wheeler. The Frentier Angel. By Edward S. Ellis. aes Sea erpent or, The Boy Robinson Crusoe, By J. Lewis, ick o’ the Night; or, The Boy Spy of 76. By T. C, Harbaugh. Piamond Dirk. By Colonel Prahiies Ingraham, The rp | Captain, By Roger Starbuck. oot, the Buffalo Demon, Ky Edward L. Wheeler. Antelope Abe, the Boy Guile, By Ol Coomes, Buffalo ten, the Prince of the Pistol, By E, L. Wheeler. The Dumb I ¢, By Cuptain Frederick Whittaker. Roaring Kalph Roek wood. By Harry St. George. Keen. nite, Prince of the Prairies, By Ol} Cooimea. Bob Woolf, the Border Ruffian, By Edward L, Wheeler. The Ocean Bloodhound, By S. W. Pierce. Oregon Sol. By Cuptain J. F.C. Adatns, Wild Ivan, the Boy Claude Duval. By E. L. Wheeler, The Koy Olown, By Frank 8. Finn. B87 The Hidden Lod By T. C. Harbaugh, BS Ned Wylie, the Boy Scout. By Texas Jack. 89 Death-Fuce, the Detective. By Edward L, Wheeler, 40 Roving Ben. By J ibo J. Marshall, 44 Lasso p Bt oa the Young Mustanger. By Ol} Coomes. 42 The Phantom Miner. By Edward L, Wheeler. 43 Dick Darling, the Pony Express Rider, By Cupt. Whittaker. Rattling Kube. By Harry St. George. 45 Old Avalanche, th Great Annihilator, By E, L. Wheeler. 46 Glass Eye, the Groat Shot of the West. By J, F.C. Adams. rf Nightingale Naty; or, tbe Forest Captains. By Harbangh. 49 SESSESSSRNSSSESESSSAAERE EX Tex Black John, the Road-Agent. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. Omaha OL, the Masked Terror. By Edward L. Wheeler. 50 Burt Bunke , the Trapper. By C. E. Lasalle. 51 The Roy |. tle; or, The Underground Camp, By A.C.Iron, The White Buffalo. By C. E. Lasalle. Jim Mindsoe, Ir., the Boy Phenix. Hy EL. Wheeler. Ned tlazel, the Boy Trapper. By Capt. J. F, C. Adame. pegs Afar Oo the Unknown Scout. By Buffalo Bill. Vick Whilties’ Pet. By Captain J. F. C. Adams. Deudwood Dick's Eagles. By Edward L. Wheeler. The Border King; or, The Secret Foe. By Oli Coomes. ol oN Pet D or, Dandy Ellis’s Scalp, By Harry St. George. The White A ZSELEE « Red Brotherhood, By W. J. Hainilton. hosel, Jack. By T. C. Harbaugh. Murricane Bill, By Joseph E. Badger, Ir. 66 Single Mand; or, A Life fora Life. By W. J. Hamilton. Sf Patent-lLeather Joe. By Philip 8. Warne. 68 The Border Kobin ood. By Kuffalo Bill. 68 Gold Ritie the shirgehonter, By Edward L, Wheeler. TO Old Zip’» Cabin, Rc J. F.C. Adams. Delaware Dicks the oung Ranger Spy. By Oll Coomes, ts Mad Tom Western, the ‘Texan Ranger. By W.J. Hamilton. FESBZEEE ss rr = zt > : 2 z Rg ? PS 4 2 3 7 > & Z. 2 4 ? Deudwood Dick on Deck. hy Edward L. Wheeler. 4 Wawk-eye Marry. By 0}! Coomes. TS The Boy Dmelinc. By Colonel Prentiss Ing-aham. 7B Abe Colt, the Crow-Kilfer. By Albert W. Atken. 89 Inland Jim. By the author of *‘ Jac’ Harkaway,” the Drend Rider. By George Wt Jo Browne. 91 The Captain of the Club. By B acebruige erarhe. 92 Cun ada Chet, the Connterfeiter Chief. By E. L. Wheeler. 98 The pie d Minera. By Edward 8, Ellie, 94 Midnight ack, ihe Thoad Agent. Ry T.C. Harbaugh, 95 Tie Rival Rovers, By Lieut. Col. Hazeltine. 96 Watch-Eye, the Shadow. By Edward L. Wheeler. 97 The Gutiaw Brothers, By Jobn J. Marshall. 98 Kobtn Hood, the Outiawed Earl. By Prof. Gildersleeve. 99 The Tiger of Taos. By Georre Waldo Browne. 100 Deadwood Dick in Leadville, By E. L. Wheeler. 101 Jack Varkaway in New Yerk. lirncebriige Hewyng. 202 Dick Dead-Eye. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraiam. 108 The Lion of the Sca. By Colone! Delle Sara. 104 Deadwood Dick's Device. by Edward L. Wheeler, AOS Old Rube, the Hunter. By Captain H, Holmes. 106 Old Frosty, the Guide. By T. C. Harbaugh. 107 One-Eyed Sim, By James L. Bowen. 108 During Davy, the Young Bear-Killer. By H. St. George. z 109 Deadweod Dick as Detective. By B. L. Wheeler, 310 The Black Steed of the Prairies, By J. L. Bowen. 111 The Sea-Devil. by Colonel Prev tiss Ingraham. 312 The Mad Hunter. By Burton Saxe 118 Jack Hoyle the Young Speculator, By BE. L. Wheeler. 344 The Biack Schooner. By Roger Starbuck. 115 The Mad Miner. By eorge Waldo Browne. 116 The Hussar Sn tga By Col. Prentiss I yrabam, is @lit-Edged Dick. by Edward L. Wheelor. 18 WIL! Somers, the Bow D tective. By Charles Morris, 119 Mustang Sam 3 or. The King of the Plains. By J. E. Badger. 120 The Branded Hand. By Frank Dumont, 321 Cinnamon Chip, the Girl Sport. By EB. L. Wheeler. 322 Phil Hardy, the Bose Boy. By Charles Morris. 328 Kiowa Charicy, the White Mustanger. By T.C. Harhangh. ars Tippy, the Texan. By George Gleason. 25 Bonanza Bill, Miner. By Edward L. Wheeler. 126 oie une Pete. By Charles Morris 127 lid-Fire, the Boss of the Road. By Frank Dumont 128 The Young Privateer. By H. Cavendish. 129 Deadwood Dick's Double. By Edward L. Wheeler. 186 Detective Diek, By Charles Morris. The Golden Mand. By George Waldo Browne. The Munied Hunter. By Edward S. Ellis. The sehnioce Mand. Cry Gagan a eam ver PRREEETHEHGiar: rr <4 = ar fy z 3 147 Will Wildfire, the Thoroughbred. By Charles Morris. 148 Sharp Sam _ by J. Alexander Patten, 149 A Game of Gold. By Edward L. Wheeler. 150 Lance and Lasso. By Captain Frederick Whittaker, 1651 Panther Paul, the Prairie irate. y Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 152 Black Beas, Will Wildfire’s Racer, By Charles Morris, Eagle Kit, the Foy Demon, By Ol] Coomes. 154 The Sword Munters, By Capt. Frederick Whittaker, 155 Gold Trigger, the Spert. By T. C, Harbaugh, 156 Deadwood Dick of Deadwood, By E. L. Wheeler. 157 Mike Merry, the Harbor Police Boy. By Charles Morris, 158 Fancy Frank of Colorado. By Buffaio Bill. 159 The Lost Captain. By Cuptain Frederick Whittaker. 160 The Black Glant. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 161 New York Nell. By Edward L. Whe ler, 162 Will Wildfire in the Woods. By Charles Morris, 68 Little Texas, the Young Mustanger. By Ol! Coomes, 4 Dandy Keck’s Pledge. By George Waldo Browne. 5& Billy Baggage, the Railroad Boy. By Charles Morris, 6 Hickory Harry. By Harry St. George. TZ Asa Scott, the Steambont Boy. By Edward Willett. 8 Deadly Dash. By Joseph E. v Bore Jr. 9. Tornado Tom. by T. C, Harbaugh. 70 A ‘Trump Card. By Charles Morris. 1 Ebony Dan. By Frank Dumont. Thunderbolt Tom. By Harry St. George. Pandy Rock's Rival. By Geoige Waldo Browne Bob Rockett, the Boy Dodger. By Charles Morris, Captain Arizona. By Philip S. Warne. The Boy Runaway. By Lieutenant H. D Perry, U.S.N, Nobby Nick of Nevada, By Edward L. Wheeler. Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper. By Ol) Coomes. Bob Rocke the Bank Runner, By Charles Morris. The Sea Trailer, By Li@atenant H. D. Perry, U.S.N. Willd Frank of Montana. By Edward L. Wheeler. ittle Hurricane, th- Boy Captsin. By Ol] Coomes. 8&8 The Hidden Hand, By Charles Morris. The Boy Tratlers, By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 85 Evil Eye, King of the Cattle Thieves. By Frank Damont 86 Cool Desmond, By Colone) DeHe Sara. 87 Fred Halyard, the Life Boat Boy, By Charles Morris, 88 Ned Temple, the Border Boy. By T. C Harhangh. RY Bob Rockett, the Crackemun. By Charles Morris. 90 a Darke. By William R. Evater. 4 Buffalo Billy, the Boy Bullwhacker. B Capt. A. B, Taylor. 9 9 9 9 9 SAAGSBAR Pa oe ele tebetetebele ie) OK scensaresre 2 -~ 2 Captain Kit, the Wi gee ae By Lieut. Perry. 8 The Lady Rouad-Agent. By Philip 8. Warne. Buffalo BilPs Bet, By Captain Taylor. Deadwood Dick's Dream. By Edward L. Wheeler. 6 Shadowed. By Charles Morris. 7 Little Grit, the Wild Rider. By Co}, Prentiss Ingraham. 98 Arkansaw, ths Man with the Knife. By T, C. Harbaogh, 199 Featherwelght. By Edward Willett. 200 The Boy Bedoutna. | By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 201 The Black Mills Jezebel. By Edward L. Wheeler. 202 Proapect Pete, of tne Boy Brigade. By Ol) Coomes. 208 The Boy Parda. By Joseph KE. Badger, Jr. 204 Gold. Plume, the Boy Bandit. By Col. Prentisa Ingraham, 205 Deadwood Dick’s Doom, By Edward L. Wheeler. 206 Dark Paul, the Tiger King. By Charles Morris, 207 Navajo Nick, the Boy Gold Hunter, By T. C. Harbaugh. 204 The oy Hercules. By Ol! Coomes. 209 Fritz, the Bounl-Boy Detective. By Edward L. Wheeler. 210 Faro Frank of High Pine. | Iyy William R. Byster. 211 Crooked Cale. By Josevh E. Badge’, Jr. 212 Dashing Dave, the Dandy Netective, By Charles Morris. 18 Fritz tothe Front, By Edward L. Wheeler. . Wolfgang, the Robber of the Rhine, By Capt, Whittaker. ! 1 a a el eect 5 Captain Iballet, the Raider King. By 1, C. Harbangh. 6 Bison BI, the Prince of ihe Reins. By Col. P. Ingrabam, 7 Captain C°~_«-Shot, By Edward L. Wheeler, 218 Tiger To.n, the Texan Terror. By ON] Coomes. 219 Desapard, the Ducliat. By Philip S. Warne. Tom Tanner, Scalawag and Seapegrace, By Chas. Morris. 221 Sugar-Coated Sam, By Edward L. Wheeler, 222 Grit, the Bravo Sport. By Col Prentiss Ingraham. 228 Ozark Alf, King of the Mountain. By Edward Willett. 224 Dashing Dick. Ry Ol! So mes. Sam Charcoal, the Premium Darky. By Charles Morris. 6 Snoozer, the By Sharp. By Edward L. Wheeler. 22T Pusky Darrell, Trapper. By E. Emernon. 228 Little Wildfire. By Oll Coomes. 229 Crimson Kate. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, are pre Wankee Hajah. Ry C. Dunning Clark. ueky WH, of the Mountnin Trail. By T. C. Harbaagh. 2 Gold-Dust Dick. By Edward L. Wheeler. 288 Joe Buck of Angela, By Albert W. Aiken. 234 Old pevky's **Boyees,” By Buckskin Sam. 235 Shadow Sam, the Messenger Boy.’ By Charles Morris, 286 Apollo Bill. By Edward L. Wheeler. 237 Lone Star, the Cowboy Captain, By Gel. Ingraham, 288 The Parson Detective. By Ol) Coomes. 289 The Gold-seeker Guide, By Captain Mayne Reld. 240 Cyclone Kit. ly Edward |. Wheeler, 241 Bill Bravo and His Bear Pards, By T. C. Harbaugh. 2 The Two * Bloods.” By Charles Morne, 248 The Diaguised Guide. By 01! Coomes, 244 Sierra Sam. By Edward L. Wheeler. 245 Merle, the Middy. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham 246 Giant George. Hy Buckskin Sem. 247 Old Grizzly and His Peta. By Capt.“ Broin” Adams. 24% Sierra Sam’s Seerct. By Edtvard L. Wheeler. 249 Milo Romer, the Animal King. By Capt. Fred. Woittaker. aay The Midshipman Mutineer. By Col. P. Ingraham. 51 Light-house Lige. By ( aptain J. F.C. Adama, 252 Dick Dashaway. By Charies Morris, 258 flerre Sam’s Pard. By Edward L. Wheeler, 254 The Half-Blood, By,Edward S. Ellis. 255 Captain Apoll . By T. C. Harbaagh. 256 Young Kentuck. By Captalo Mark Wilton, 257 The Lost Hunters, By Capt. J. F. C. Adama, 258 Sierra Sam's Seven, By Edward L. Wheeler. 259 The Golden Harpoon, By Roger Starvuck. 260 Pare-Devil Dan. By Ol) Coomes, 261 Fergus Fearnaught. By George L. Atken. 262 ‘The Young Sleutha., By Charlies Morne, 68 Deadwood Pick’s Divide. By Edward L. Wheeler, 264 The Floating Feather, By Col, P, Invraham, 265 The Tiger Tamer. By Captain Fred, Whittaber. 266 Kilib’ar, the Guide. By Ensign Warren. 267 The Buckskin Detective. By T. C. Harbaugh. 268% Deadwood Dick’s Death Tratl. By E. L. Wheeler. 269 The Gold Ship. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, 270 Blizzard Ben. By Captain Mark Wiltm, 271 The Huge Hunter. By Edward §, Ellis. 272 Minkekin Mike. By Ol! Coomes. 27B Jumbo Joe. By Edward L. Wheeler. 274 Jolly Jim. By Charles Morris, 275 Arizona Jack. By Buckskin Sam. 276 Merle Monte’s Crutse. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 277 Denver Doll. By Edward L. Wheeler. 78 The Three ‘Trappers. By Major Lew!s W. Carson. 79 Old Winch, the Ritle King. By T. C. Harbaugh. 2RO Merle Monte’s Fate. By Col. Prentiss In 281 Denver Doll's Victory. Bv Edward L. Wheeler. 282 The Typo Detective. By Edward Willett. Indi» oe. By Major Lewis W. Carson, The Sen Marauder. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 255 Denver Doll's Decoy. By Edward L. Wheeler. 2R6 Joxh, tho Boy Tenderfeot. By Capt. Mark Witten. RAT Billy Blue-Eyes. By Colonel Prensies Incraham 288 The Scalp King. By Captain J. F.C. Adams, 289 Jolly Jim’« Jo By Charles Morris. 290 Little Foxfire, By Ol! Coomes. 291 Turk, the Ferret. By Edward L. Wheeler. 292 Sancho Pedro, By Major E. L. St. Vrain. 298 Red Claw, the One-Eyed Trapper. By Captain Comstock ov 294 Dynamite Dan. By T. C. Harbaugh. 295 Fearless Phil. By Edward Willets. 296 Denver Doll’s Drift. By Edward L. Wheeler, 297 The Tarantala of Taos. By Bockskin Sam, 298 The Water-HMound, By Charles Morris. 299 A No. 1, the Dashing ToN-Taker, By Edward L, Wagy’™ 800 The Sky Demon. By Ol! Coomes. 861 Leadville Nick, By Major E. L, St, Vrain. 802 The Mountain Detective, By T. C, Harbaugh. 808 *Liza Jane, the Girl Miner. By E, L. Wheeler. 804 The Dead Shot Dandy. By Colone) Prentiss Inguibapy 805 Dashaway, of Dakota. By Charles Morris, 806 Neck-Tie Ned. By Major H. B. Stoddard, 807 The Strange Pard. By Buckskin Sam, 808 Keno Kit, the Boy Bugler's Pard, By Col, P. Ingraham. 809 Deadwood Dick’s Big Deal. By E. L. Wheeler. $10 The Barranca Wolf. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 811 The Roving Sport. By Edward Willett. 812 Redtop Rube, the Vigilante Prince. By Maj. E. L, St Veute 818 Cimarron Jack, By Frederick Dewey. 814 The Mysterious Marauder, By Col. P. dngrahem, 815 Ned, the Cabin Boy. By Jeck Farragut 816 Ola Eclipse, Trump Card of Arizona, By T. ©, Harbangte 817 Peacoek Pete, By Lieutenant Alfred Thorne. 818 Ker-whoop, Ker-wheoo! By Buckskin Sam, 819 The Black Rider. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 820 The Sea Sorceress. By Jack Farraget. 821 Deadweod Di¢k’s Dozen. By Edward L, Wheeler. 822 Nemo, the Detective. By Edward Willett, 828 Arkansaw Jack. By Harry Hazard, 824 Ralph Ready, the Hotel Roy Detective. By tan Maerix, 825 Kelley, Hickey & Company, the Sleuths of Philadelphia By Edward «. Wheeler, 826 The Ten Pards; or, The Terror of Take-Notice. By T. @ Harbaugh. 827 Creeping Cat, the Caddo, By Bockskin Sam, 828 The Sky Detectives. By Major Mickey Free. 829 Red-Skin Tom. By Marry Hazard, 880 Little Quick-Shot. By Edward L. Wheeler. 881 Black Nick, the Demon Rider. By Capt. Fred. Whitansat, 882 Frio Fred. By Buckskin Sam. 888 Brimstone Bob, and Hia htn Horse Ghar tette. By Major FE. L, St. pie tae ine 884 Kangaroo Kit; or, The Mysterious Miner. By BE. L, Wiehe, 885 Old Double Fist, By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 886 Big Benson, By T. C. Harbaug’s. 887 Ben Bird, the Cave King. By W. J, Hamilton, 888 A Tough Boy. By Phihp S. Warne. 889 Kangaroo Kit’s Racket. By Edward L. Wheeder, 840 Clip, the Contortionist. By Edward Willett. ’ 841 Tony Thorne, the Vagabond Detective, By Charies qn. %42 The Mountain Devil. By Harry Hazard. 848 Manhattan Mike. By Edward L. Wheele 844 The Fighting Trio. By Buckskin Sam, 845 Pitiless Matt, By T. C. Harbaugh. 846 Rapler Raphacl. By Major H. B. Stoddard. 847 Deadwood Dick’s Ducats, By Edward L, Wheelen 848 Fire-Heels; or, Old Skinfllot the Death-Shadows ~~ Roger Starbuek. 849 Wild Wolf, the Waco, By Buckskin Sam. 850 Red Ralph, the River Rover. By Ned Buntlim, 851 Deadwood Dick Sentenced. By Edwatd L. Whee. 852 Tombatone Tom, By Maj. E. L. 8t. Vrain. 858 The Reporter-Detective. By Cuarles I orris. 854 Big Horn Ike the Hill Tramp. By Roger St...mek. 855 The King of the Weods; or, Daniel Boone's Last ‘trait’ By Joseph E. Badger. Jr. 856 Cool Sam and Pard. By T. C, Harhangh. 857 The Ranch Raldera, By Buckskin Sam. 858 First-Class Fred, ‘he Gent from Gopher, By BE. L. Whesten 859 Duoranco Dave, the Young Wrestier Champion. By Maj, EK L. St. Vrain. 860 Silver-Mask, the Man of Mystery, By J. C. Cowdriek. 861 The Phantom Lighthouse. By Roger Starbuck, 862 Deadwood Dick’s Claim. By Edward L, Wheeler, 868 Little Tornado, By Philip 8. Warne. 864 Snap-Shot, the Boy Ranger. By Buckekin Sam, 865 Baltimore Ben, By A. P. Morris, 866 Velvet Foot, the Indian Detective, By T. C. Harbangh. 867 Wide-Awake Joe, By Charles Morris. 868 Yreka Jim, the Gold-Gutherer, By E. L. Wheeler. 869 Shasta, the Gold King. By J. C. Cowdrick. 870 Breaker Ben, ‘he Reef-Runner. By Roger Stavbeck. 87 Kingbolt Chria, the ¥: u 8 Detective. By Mnj- E. L. St, Vrain, wong Seay a 872 Vreka Jim's Prize. By Edward L. Wheeler, 878 Little Jingo; or, the Queer Pafd. By Philip S. Wane 874 Gold-Dust Tom. By George H. Morse, 75 Chiota, the Creek, By Buckskin Sam. 876 California Joe's First Trail, By Capt. F. Whittekgs, 877 Bonodel, the Boy Rover, By Col. Prentiss Ingraham 878 Nabob Ned. By Edward L. Wheeler, 879 Larry, the Leveler. By Charles Morrts, 880 Avalanche Alf, By Major E. L. 8s. Vrain, 881 Bandera Bills or, Frio Frank to the Front, By Badisi® 882 Cool Kit, the King of Kids. By Edward L. Wheeler, 888 The Indian Pilot. | By Col. Prentise Ingrabem, 884 Whip-King Joe, the Boy Ranchero, By Ol Coomrw 885 Yreka Jim's Joker. By Edward L, Wheolet_ 896 Captain Cutlass, the Ocean Spider, By T. C. Harta. ¢* 887 Warpath WIN, the Boy Phantom, By Col. P. Ingr—_ H 888 Little Oh-my, By Philip S. Warne. A New lasuc Every Tuesda The Half-Dime Library is for sale by all sowedeney, cubis per copy, or sont by py pallens x he Pov, 5 BEAPLE AND ADAMA, Publishers, ' 98 Wilirwe Street, Now Weekes. Ta k I J 1 ! ausgeceggaseeaus AeEme Reis Os eel a
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md ) x WF 'S* DIME: TIBRARY. ; Published Every Wednesday. Hach Issue Com —_— BUFFALO BILL NOVELS. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 994 Buffalo Bill’s Lone Hand. Buffalo Lil’s Marked Bullet, Baffalo Bill’s Life Raffle, 279 Buffalo Pill’s Relentless Trail. $64 Buffa o Bi.l’s Invincibles. \960 Buffalo Biil’s blue Belt Brigade. 956 B ff..!o Bili’s Volunteer Vigilantes. 950 Biffalo Bill at Bay. $48 Buffalo Bill’s Block Game. $86 Buffal> Bill s Black Pard. 927 Buffalo Bill's Bluff; or, Dusky Dick the Snort, 921 Buffalo Bill's Quandary: or. Velvet Bill’s Vow. 15 Buffalo Bill and the Surgeon-Scout. uffaio Bill’s League; or, Red Butterfly. Buffalo Bill’s Tangled Trail. Buffalo Bill’s Rough Riders. Buffalo Bill’s Secret Ally. 890 Buffalo Bill’s Life-Stake. 882 The Three Bills: Buffalo Pill Wild Billand Band- box Bill; or, The Bravo in Broadcloth. $74 Buffalo ill’s Buckskiv Braves. Buffalo Bill’s Road-Agent Round-up, Buffalo Bill’s Dea bh Charm. 857 Daffalo Bill’s Royal Flush. 861 Buffalo Bill's Double Dilemma, 845 Buffalo Bil)’s Redskin Ruse. 830 Buffalo bill's Hovs in Blue. &26 Buffalo Bi'l’s Sharp Shooters, $22 Buffalo Bill’s Best Bower. $16 Buffaio Bil’s Red Trail. 812 Buffalo Bill’s Death-Knell, 794 Buffilo Bill's Winning Hand 787 Duffulo Bill’s Dead Shot, 781 Buffalo Bill's Brand. 777 Buffalo Bill's Spy Shadower, 789 Buffalo Rill’s Sweepstake, 763 B ffalo Bill’s Dozen; or, Silk Ribbon Sam. 761 Burtalo Bill’s Mascot. 757 Buffa'o Biil’s Double. 750 Buffalo Bill's Eig Four; or, Custer's Shadow. ?42 Buffalo Bill's Flush Hand, 739 Buffato }ill’s Blind: or, The Masked Driver. 735 Buffalo Bill and His Merry Men. 71 Buff.lo Bill's Beagies: or, Silk Lasso Sam, 727 Buffa'o Bill's Body Guard. 722 Buff, o Bill on the Wer-path. 71% Buffalo Jsiil’s Scout Shadowers. 710 Buffalo Bill Baffled: or. The Deserter Desperado. 697 Buffalo | ill’s Buckskin Brotherhood. 691 uffalo Bill's }Jind Trail; or, Mustang ig 667 Buffalo Bill's Swoop; or, Tbe King of the Mines, 688 The Cowbov Clan; or, The Tigress of Texas, 653 Lasso King's Reagent er. Buck Taylor in Texas. 649 Buifaio Bil’s Chief of Cowboys; or. Buck Taylor 644 Buffalo Sill’s }:onavza; or. Si ver Circle Knights, 862 Buffalo Bull’s Grip; or. Vath Bound to Custer, ‘$29 Butfalo Bill’s Pledge: or. The League of Three, 1 ild Bill's Gold Trail; or, The Desperate Dozen. 1% Wild Bill’s Trump Card: or, The Indian Heiress, \168 Wild Bill, the Pistol Dead Shot, By Buffalo Bill. The Dread Shot Four ie Texas Jack, the Lasso King 1839 The Ranci King Dead-Shot, '€20 White Geaver’s Still Hunt. 807 — il Bill, the Wild West Duelist. = Wild Bili, the Deeg Center Stot, ($39 Buffal» Bill's Gold King. (599 The Dead Shot Nine; or, My Pards of the Plains, 444 Red Renard, the Indian Detective. 401 One-Arned Pera; or, Borderland Retribution. 897 The Wizara Brothers: or, White Beaver's Trail, Py White Beaver, the Exile of the Platte. 319 Wild Bill, the Whirlwind of the West. 304 Texas Jack, the Prairie Rattler. 43 The Pilgrim Sharp; or, The Soldier's Sweetheart, 83 Gold Bullet Snorr: or, Knights of the Overland, 53 -Traiier, the Chiet of Scouts. By Leon Lewis, Ned Buntline, ete. 77 Buffalo B Il’s Ban; or, Cody to the Rescue, [ga3 Buffalo Bill's Seer t Cervice Trait, 62? Buf‘alo Bill's Daring Role; o-, Daredeatb Dick. 6 Buffalo Bi I's First I'rail; or, The Express Rider. be ae = Chtet «f Scouts, ae ' 6 Str. ard: Vandy. m® Bnifalo Bill, the Buckskin Kings eee 7 ip soos PAYNE, 1g83 The Man from Mexico in New York. #72 The King-Pin Shark; or, Thad Burr's Ten Strike. 861 ‘The Tenderloin Big Foyr 953 The Quaker City Crgok #14 Tracked to Chicago” 8% The Policy Broke; ping £29 The Frise> Sharper’s Cool Hand 821 The Tramp Slidower's Backer. - $13 The Sham Spccter’s Shrewd Scheme. 905 The Grand St,-eet Gold-Dust Sharpers. 798 Detective Barr's Luna ic Witness The Wail Street Sharper’s Snap. 4 “cae Purr ety pe Drop. susctive Burr Among the New York Thugs. 734 Detective Burr's Foil. or, AM oman's BITaegy : #8 Detective Burr, the Headquarters Special. 13 Detective Burr's Spirit Chase ; io seat a ae Seven Clues. ‘urr, the " a” 696 ‘The Matchless hee onl aes See 680 XX, the Fatal Clew; or, Burr's Master Case. | BY COL. THOMAS H. MONSTERY. 995 The Czar’s Spy." 906 Iron Wrist. the Swordm < is ast er . a ap a og hy or, The Monarchsof the Show, ravo, King of the § BY J W. osHON. Shadrac!), the Sport Detective, r, the Dandy be Sparkie, | SPOT Gilbert Goi BY OAPTAIN HOWARD HOLMES, 929 Gentleman George, the Showman Sport. 912 Genteel Joe’s i308 Hand. 903 The Train Detective. 896 Kent Keen, the Crook-Crusher. 888 Nightshade in New York. 879 Falcon Ls te the Flash Detective. 871 The Crook Cashier, 859 Clew-Hawk Keene's Right Bower. 847 Hiram Hawk, the Hariem Detective, 840 Major Bullion Boss of the Tigers. 831 Shidowing the Loncon Detective. 817 Plush Velvet, the Prince of Spotters, 808 The Bogus Broker's Right Bower. 788 The Nieht-Hiwk Detective, ia pet ay Cr oe etective Zach, the Broadway Spotter. 751 The Dark Lantern Det: ctive. 736 The Never-Fail'D tective. 724 Captain Hercules, the Strong Arm Detéctive, 711 Dan Damon, the Gilt-Edee Detective, 701 Silver Steve, the Branded Sport. $94 Gideon Grip, the Sec: et Shadower, 684 Velvet Van, the Mystery Shadower. 673 The Dude Desperado 871 Jason Clew, the Silk-Randed Ferret. 664 Monk Morel, the Man-Hun er. 654 Sol Spbinx, the Fer:et Detective. 612 Red Pard and Yellow 608 Silent Sam, the Shadow Sphinx. 592 Captain Sid, the Shasta Ferret. 579 Old Cormorant. the Bowery Shadow. 569 Captain Cobra, the Hooded Mystery. 559 Danton, the Shadow Sharp. 550 Suk Hand, te Mobave Ferret, &3 The Magnate Detective. 532 Jacx Javert. the Independent Detective. 523 Reynard of Red Jack: or, The Lost Detective 512 Captain Velvet’s Big Stake 505 Phil Fox, the Genteel Spotter. 4% Richard redfire, the Two Worlds’ Detective, 487 Sunshine Sam, a Chip of the Old Block. 480 Hawkspear. the Man with a Secret, 4°8 Coldgrip in Deadwood. 460 Captain Coldgrip. the Detective 453 Captain pty ae Long Trail. 447 Voicano, the FVisco Spy, 441 The California Sharp. 4%4 Lucifer Lynx, the \ onder Detective, 421 Father Ferret. the Frisco Shadow. 418 Captain Coldgrip in New York, 407 Captain Coldgrip’s Nerve; or, Injun Nick. 400 Captain Coldgrip; or. The New York Spotter. 892 The Lost !’onanza: or, The Boot of Silent Hound. 382 The Bonanza Bana: or, Dread Don of Cool Clan. 874 Major Blister, the Sport of Two Cities, 865 Keen Kennard, the Shasta Shadow, 852 The Desperate Dozen. 347 Denver Duke, the Man with “ Sand.” 840 Cool Conrad. the Dskota Detective. 335 Flash Dan, the Nabob, or, Blades of Bowie Bar. $21 California Claude, the Lone Bandit. 294 Broadcloth Burt. the Denver Dandy, 941 The Shadow Sport from Frisco. BY WILLIAM H. MANNING, 948 The Red-Gloved Detective, 931 Frisco Frank at Glory Guich. 920 The Montana Miner in New York. 908 The Doomsday-Den Detective. 899 The Double-Quick Detective. 893 Yellow Gid_of Dark Divide. 885 The Expert Detective’s Shake-up. 875 Trapp'ng the Race-Track Judge. 864 The Police Special’s Dilemma. 849 The Genteel Sharper’s Combine 841 Graydon’s Double Deal. 838 The Sport Detective’s Grip. 823 The Athlete Sport Abou: own, 808 TheCrook-Detective’s Pull. 790 Plunger Pete, the Race Track Detective, 782 Roval Rock, the Round-up Detective, 774 Steve Starr, the Dock Detective. 764 The New York Sharp’s Shadower. 738 Detective Claxton, the Record Breaker. 714 Gabe Gall, the Gambolier from Great Hump, 703 Spokane Saul, the Samaritan Suspect on ae a jo — Deep-Range Ex lorer, Strawberry San, the Man with the Birthmark. 646 Dark John, the Grim Guard. 638 Murdock, the Dread Detective. 623 Dangerous Dave, the Never-Beaten Detective. 611 Alxali Abe, the Game Chicken from Texas, 596 Rustler Rube; the Round-Up Detective. 585 Dan Dixon’s Double, 57o Steady Hand. the Napcleon of Detectives 863 Wyoming Zeke, t'e Hotspur of Honcysuck'ie. 551 Garry Kean the Man with Backbone, 539 Old Doubledark, the Wily Detective, 531 Saddle-Chief Kit, the Prairie Centaur. 621 Paradise Sam, the Nor’-West Pilot. 513 Texas Tartar, the Man With Nine Lives, 506 Uncle Honest. the heacemaker of Hornets’ Nest. 498 Central Pacific Paul the Mail Train Spy. 492 Border Bullet, the Prairie. Sharpshooter. 486 Kansas Kitten, the Northwest Detective. 479 Gladiator Gabe, the Samson of Sassajack. 470 The Duke of Dakota. 463 Gold Gauntlet. the Gulch Gladiator, 455 Yank Yellowbird, the Tall Hustler of the Hills, 449 Bluff Burke, King of the Rockies. 442 Wild West Walt. the Mountain Veteran 487 Deap Duke; or, The Man of Two Lives, 427 The Rivals of Montana Mill 415 Hot Heart, the Detective Spr. 405 Old Baldy the Brigadier of Buck Basin. 297 Colorado Rube, ths Strong Arm of Ho ¥ 279 The Gold Dragoon, ur, California Sie coal BY NED BUNTLINE. 657 Lovg Tom, the Privateer. 633 The Sea Ste 621 The Red Privateer; or, The Midshipman Rover. 584 Fire Feather, the Buccaneer King. 617 Buffalo Bill's First Trail. 861 Tombstone Dick, the Train Pilot. #22 Saul Sabberday, the Idiot 26 ' 111 The Smuggler Captain; or, The Skippers Crime, 18 The Sea Bandit; or, The Queen of the Isle. 18 The White Wizard: or ‘The Seminole e and Sold at the Uniform Price of Ten Cents. No Double Numbers. ; ALBERT W. AIKEN’S NOVELS. Dick Talbot Series, 991 Dick Talbot at the Mines: or, Kentuck, the Sport. 988 Rocky Mountain Rob 76 Overland Kit: or, The Idyl of White Pine. 1 Dick : alnot’s Close Call. Die< Telbot in Apache Land. Dick Talbot. the Ranch King. Dick Talbot’s Clean-Out. Dick Talbot in No Man’s Cam Dick Talbot; o1, The Brand of Cmmson Cross Dick Talbot; or, The Death-Stot of Shasta. Aiken’s Fresh of Frisco Series. Fresh, the Race-Track Sport. The Fresh in Montaua; or. Blake's Full Hand, T e Fresh's Rustie at Painted City. The Fresh at Santa Fe; or, Tb Stranger Sharp, 56 Fresh, the Sport: or, The Big Racket at Stide Out. Fresh Against the Field: or, Blake, the Lion, The Fresh in Texas; or. The Escobedo Millions, The Fresh of Frisco on the Rio Grande. The Fresh in Big Walnut Camp; or. Bronze Jack Aiken's Joe Phenix Series. Joe Phenix's Mascot. Joe Phenix’s Double Deal. 949 The Doctor from Texasi or, Joe Phenix’s Clua ¢ Bower. , Detective; or, Joe Phenix in | Silver City. : 799 Joe Phenix's Great Blue Diamend Case; or, The/ New York Sport at Long Branch. 793 Joe Phenix's Decoss or, The Man of Three, 760 Joe Phenix's Lone Hand, 749 Joe Phenix's Big Bulge, 745 Joe Phenix’s Mad Case. 708 Joe Phenix's Siren; or, The Woman Hawkshaw, 700 Joe Phenix’s Unknown; or, Crushing the : 681 Joe Phenix’s Specials; or, The Actress Detective 637 Joe Phenix in Crazy Camp. 632 Joe Phenix’s Master Search. { 628 Joe Phenix’s Combin ;cr,the Dandy Conspirator 620 Joe Phenix’s Silent Six. \ 601 Joe Phenix’s Shadow; or.the Detective’s Monitor 419 Joe Phenix,, the Kine of Detectives. f 161 Joe Phenix’s Great Man Hunt, 112 Joe Phenix, Private Detectuve; or, The League. 73 Joe Phenix, the Police Spy. Aiken’s Miscellaneous Novels. 980 The All-Around Athlete. 940 Captain Jack, the Scalper 935 The hawks and Wolves of New Yori 932 Detective Gordon’s Grip. $26 Old Sunflower, the Silent Smiter. 923 Old Sunflower. the Hayseed Detective. 901 The Hotel Swell-Sharp; cr, The Siren Shadowgm, } 892 The Country man Detective. 876 Gold Button Sport; or, The Miner Sharps, 842 Teton Tom. the Half-Blood. 835 The King-Pin Detective. 8i4 The New Yorker Among Texas Sports, 775 King Dandy, the Silver Sport. 753 Gideon’s —< Babylon } ar. 717 Captain Pat McGowen, tle Greencoat Detective, 674 Uncle Sun Up, the Born Detective, 670 Phe Lightw eight Detective. 665 Tne Frisco Detective; or, The Golden G ute Find, 613 Keen Billy, the Sport. 607 Oid Benzine, the “ Hard Case” Detective, 504 Fire Face, the Silver King’s Foe. 586 The Silver Sharp Detective. 577 Tom, of Calif ornia; or, Detective’s Shadow Act, 570 The Actress Detective; or, The Invisible Hand 562 Lone Hand, the Shadow, 620 The Lone Hand on the Caddo, 490 The one Hand in Texas. 475 Chin Chin, the Chinese Detective, 465 The Actor. Detective. 440 The High Hor-:e of the Pacific. 423 The Lone Hand; or, The Red River Recreants. 408 Doc Grip, the Vendetta of Death. 881 The Gypsy Gentleman: cr. Nick Fox. Detective 876 Black Beards: o1, The Rio Grande High Horge 870 The Dusky Detective: or. Purswed to the Ena. 863 Crowningshieid, the Detective 820 The Genteel Spotter: or The N. Y. Night Ha 252 The ‘Vali Street J lood; or, The Telegrath G 203 The Double Detective: or, The Mic night Mystery, 1% La Marmoset, the Letective Queen. 101 The Man from New York. 91 The Winning Oar: or. The mine ares He Daughter. 84 Hunted Down: or, The League of Three 81 Tne Human Tiger: or, A Heart of Fire. | 7 Gentleman George; or, Parlor Prison and Street, ; 72 The Phantom Hand; or, The 5th Avenue Heiress. 56 The Indian Mazeppa; or, Madman of the Plains. 49 Th» Wolf Demon; or. The Kanawha Queen 42 The California Detective: or, The Witches of N.Y. 81 The New York Sharp; or, The Flash of Lig! tnimg. 27 The Spotter Detéctive: or, Girls of New York. NEW ISSUES. 1000 Buffalo Bill’s Grim Guard. By OolL Ingram . 1001 Tae Ren ea of Cimarron. By John W. on. | 1002 Silver City Bam. Bv Jos. E. Badger. | 1003 = Dani or, Dick Talbot in Utah. By Albert . Aiken | 1004 Buffalo Bill’s Death Deal. By Col. Ingraham. | 1005 IPoot-Hills Frank. By Jos. E. Badger. ; : a3 efeees S28 xSS88he28 ee, et ee 1006 The Sea Cadet. By Col. P. Ingrabam. JUST ISSUED. 096 | Dick. the Shasta Dead Shot, By Aiken, 997 inuar Hal, the Sport from Hard Tuck. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. ) $98 Captai) Seawaif, Privateer. By Ned Buntline, | 990 The Velvet Hand; or, The Iron Grip of Injun Dick. By Albert W. Aiken. A new issue every Wednesday, THE PIME LIBRARY is for sale by af | Newsdealers. to- centg ver exp) or sent by mall or receipt of price. “_ + ee BR Re OF RE,
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a a tt tl ta Hey ™ { Se & We ae. . 921 © 15 8b 3 23% 874 830 BUHL) 979 Buffalo Bill's’ Relentless Trail. Complete. mM Novels Prentiss Ingraham. Plains. Ly Ccl. W. F. Cody. Buffalo Bill's Invincibles; or, The Sable Shad-! ower’s Sublime Sacrifice. ham. Buffalo Bill's Blue Belt Brigade; or, Sun- flower Sam of Shasta. By Col, P. Ingraham. Buffalo Bill's Volunteer Vigilantes; | or, The | Mysterious Man in Blue. By Col. P. ingra-| Buffalo Bill at Bay; or, The Gold Seeker s| Doom. By Col. P. Ingraham. Buffalo Bill’s Block Game; or, The Mounted Miners of the Overland. By Col. P, Ingra- ham. Buffalo’ Bill's Black Pard; or, The Gola! Boomers of the Big Horn. By Col. P. Ingra- ham. Buffalo Bill's Bluff; or, Dusky Dick, Sport. By Col. P. Ingraham. Buffalo Bill's Quandary; or, the Velvet Bill's Vow. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Buffalo Bill and the Surgeon Scout: or, Go- wan-go, the Redskin Rider, By Col. P. In- graham. Buffalo Bill's League; or, Red Butterfly. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Buffalo Bill's Tangled Trall; or, Gentleman Jack, the Man of Many Masks. By Col. P. Ingraham, Buffalo Bill’s Rough Riders; or, Texas Jack's Sharp-Shooters. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Buffalo Bill’s Secret Ally; or, The Texan's Double. By Col. Prentiss. Ingraham. Buffalo Bill's Life-Stake; or, The Pledged Three. By Col. P. Ingraham. The Three Bills; Buffalo Bill, Wild Bill and! Band-Box Bili; or, The Bravo in Broadcloth, By Col. P. Ingraham, Buffalo Bill's Buckskin Graves; or, The Card Quesn’s Last Gane. By Col. P. Ingraham. Buffalo Bill's Road Agent Round-Up, or, The ysterious Masked Man in Black. By Col. P. Ingraham.. * Buffalo Bill's Death-Charm; or, The Man With the sear. By Col, Prentiss Ingraham. Buffalo Bill's Royal Flush; or, The Pony Rl- der’s Death-Run. By Col, Prentiss Ingra- ham. Buffalo Bill's Double Dilemma; or, The Great! Scout’s Big Three. By Col. P. Ingraham, Buffalo Bill’s Redskin Ruse; or, Texas Jack's | Death Shot. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, } The Ranch King Dead-Shot: or, Texas Jack’s| Proxy: By Buffalo Bil. Buffalo Bill’s Boys tn Blue; or, The Brimstone Band's Blot-out. By Col. P. Ingraham. Buffalo Bill’s Sharp-Shooters; or, The Surgeon Scout to the Rescue. By Col. P. Ingraham. Buffalo Bill’s Best Bower; or, Montebello the Gold King. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, GPOCGGOObLODO By Col. P, Ingra-| . By Colonel! 820 White Beaver’s Still 973 The Dread.Shot Four; or, My Pards of the! 816 812 807 T94 787 731 727 722 716 710 O97 691 682 667 65S >| i ape DIME LIBRARY is for sale by all Newsdealers, 2 ten cents per copy, or sent by mail, pre-paid, on re- ceipt of price. “bray 653 The Lasso King’s League; or, The Tigera ef Marauder's Death-Tiack. By Buffalo Bill. Texas. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. Thuffalo Bill's Red Trail; or, The Road-Rider| 649 Buck Taylor, the Saddle King. Buffalo Bille Renegade’s Run Down. By Col. P. Ingraham. Chief of Scouts. By Col. P. Ingraham. Muivalo Bill's Death-Knell; or, The Red Hand 644 Buffalo Bill’s Bonanza; or, The Knights ef Riders of the Rockies. By Col, P. Ingraham. the Silver Circle. By Col. P. Ingraham. Hunt; or, The Miner 7 Wili Bil, tle Wild Wes: Duelist; cc, The Girl 639 The Gold King; or, Montebello, the Magnifi- Mascot of Moontight Mine, Ky Buialo Bill, cent. By Buffalo Bill. Wild Bill, the Wild West Duelist; or, The Girl) 629 Buffalo Bi'l's Daring Role; or, Daredeath Grande Ralph, the Cowboy Chief. By But-| Dick, King of the Cowboys. By Leon Lewis, falo Bill. 1599 The Dend Shot Nine; or, My Pards of the Buffalo Bill's Winning Hand; or, The Masked | Plains. By Buffalo Bill. Woman of the Colorado Canyon, By Col. P./ 517 Buffalo Bill's Firet Trail; or, Will Cody, the pee Pt a a hte od | Pony Express Rider. By Ned Buntline. Buffalo Bill's Dead Shot; or, e Skeleton Scou ive: or, The of the Colorado, ‘By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. | 414 ae 5 eden i Oe a Baffale Bill. Buffalo Bill's Brand; or, The Brimstone ry i Brotherhood. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, 401 podectaads ee phe og A Retribution tn Buffalo Bill's Spy-Shadower; or, The Masked) o.- , > v Men at Grand Canyon. By Col. P. Ingraham, | 397 Fh ag IE OF, Satine Hue Banyo, Cone: to. ane Rewcte| 30 White Beaver, the Zxile of the Platte; er, White Beaver’s By Leon Lewis. | A Wronged Man’s Red Trail. By Buffalo Buffalo Bill’s Sweepstake; or, The Wipe-ou’ Bill, at Last Chance. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, | gg9 Ryrfalo Bill's Grip; or, Oath-bound to Custer. Buffalo Bill's Dozen; or, Silkk Ribbon Sam, By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 329 Buffalo Bill's Pledge; or, The League ef Buffalo Bill’s Mascot; or, The Death Valley Three. By Col, P. Ingraham. Victim No. 13. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 319 Wild Bill, the Whirlwind of the West. By Buffalo Bill's Double; or, The Desperado De- Buffalo Bill. tective. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 304 Texas Jack, .the Prairie Rattler; or, The Buffalo Bill's Big Four; or, Custe’s Shadow. Queen of the Wild Riders. By Buffalo Bill, By Col, Prentiss Ingraham, 243 The Pilgrim Sharp; or, The Soldier's Sweet- Buffalo Bill’s Flush Hand; or, Texas Jack's heart. By Buffalo Bili, Government Scout Bravos. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, and Guide. Buffalo Bill's Blind; or, The Masked -Driver| 189 Wild Bill's Gold Trail; or, The Desperate of Death’s Canyon. By Col. Prentiss Ingra- Dozen. By Cel, P. Ingraham. ham, 175 Wild Bill's Trump Card; or, The Indian Buffalo Bull and His Merry Men; or, The Heiress. By Col, Prentiss Ingraham. Robin Hocd Rivals, By Col. Prentiss Ingra- ham, : Buffalo, Bill's Beagies; 168 Wild Bill, the Pistol Dead Shot; or, Dagger Don's Double. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. or, Silk Lasso Sam.} 158 Buffalo Bill, Chief of Scouts; or, The Doomed By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Dozen. By Dr, Frank Powell, Buffalo Bill’s Body Guard; or, The Still Hunt| 117 Buffalo Bill's Strange Pard; or, Dashing of the Hills. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Dandy, the Hotspur of the Hills. By Major D. surr. Buffalo Bill on the War Path; or, Silk Lasso 92 Buffalo. Bill the Buckskin King;, or, The Sam, the Will-o’-the-Wisp. By Col. P. In- Amazon of the West, By Major rfield graham. Burr. ; Dange Buffalo Bill’s Scout Shadowers: or, Emer-| 8% Gold Bullet Sport; or, The Knights of the ald Ed of Devil’s Acre. By Col. P. Ingraham. Overland: By Buffalo Bill. Ruffalo Bill Baffled; or, The Deserter Des-| 52 Death Trailer, the Chief of Scouts; er, Life perado's Defiance. By Col. P. Ingraham. and Love in a Frontier Fort., By Buffalo Buffalo .BiUl’s Buckskin Brotherhood; or, Bill. Opening Up .a Lost Trail. By Col. P. In- NEW ISSUES TO COME. graham, The Gold Lace Sport; or, The Texan Sam- son’s Wide Swath, By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 982 Chris Crewley’s Winning Hand; or, ‘The poner a Valet’s Double Game. By A. P. Morris. Buffalo Bill's Blind Trail; or, The Daughter of the Regiment. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, Buffalo Bill's Secret Service Trail By Major Dangerfield Burr, Buffalo Bill’s Swoop; or, the King of the] 983 Kid Glove Kris, the Sport. By J. C. Cow- Mines, By Col, Prentiss Ingraham. drick. Ready August 25, 984 Buffalo Bill's Life Raffle; or, The Doomed By Col. P. Ingraham. Ready Sept. 1. The Cowboy Clan; or, The Tigress of Texas. 3y Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. Three. 0000000080 G@O0O0OC0DO0007 009000000 te ow il “ — e lade" ge ey