Transcriber’s Note: Obvious printing errors have been corrected. Original
period spelling, though, has been maintained.
EMMANUEL APPADOCCA;
OR,
BLIGHTED LIFE.
A TALE OF THE BOUCANEERS.
BY
MAXWELL PHILIP.
Φεῦ. ὦ μῆτερ ἥτις ἐκ τυραννικῶν δόμων
δούλειον ἦμαρ εἶδες, ὡς πράσσεις κακῶς,
ὅσονπερ εὖ ποτ᾽· ἀντισηκώσας δέ σε
φθείρει θεῶν τις τῆς πάροιθ᾽ εὐπραξίας.
EURIPIDES.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
CHARLES J. SKEET, PUBLISHER,
10, KING WILLIAM STREET, CHARING CROSS.
MDCCCLIV.
TO HARRY DANIELS, ESQ.,
4, ESSEX COURT, TEMPLE.
DEAR FRIEND,
I DEDICATE TO YOU THE FIRST-BORN OF MY BRAINS. RECEIVE THIS TRIFLING
MARK OF ESTEEM IN THE SPIRIT IN WHICH IT IS MADE, AND ACCEPT THE WILLING
HOMAGE THAT I RENDER TO—OH, MOST RARE POSSESSION!—A GOOD AND TRUE HEART.
MAXWELL PHILIP.
PREFACE.
This work has been written at a moment when the feelings of the Author
are roused up to a high pitch of indignant excitement, by a statement
of the cruel manner in which the slave-holders of America deal with
their slave-children. Not being able to imagine that even that dissolver
of natural bonds—slavery—can shade over the hideousness of begetting
children for the purpose of turning them out into the fields to labour
at the lash’s sting, he has ventured to sketch out the line of conduct,
which a high-spirited and sensitive person would probably follow, if
he found himself picking cotton under the spurring encouragement of
“Jimboes” or “Quimboes” on his own father’s plantation.
The machinery, or ground-work of the story is based on truth—the known
history of the Boucaneers. It is scarcely necessary to tell the reader
that the other parts are fiction.
The scenes are laid principally in the Island of Trinidad. This is done
entirely from natural predilection, for Trinidad is the Author’s native
isle, whose green woods, smiling sky, beautiful flowers, and romantic
gulf, together with a thousand sweet and melting associations, eternally
play on his willing memory, and make him cherish ever the fond hope, that
when the spark of life shall have been extinguished, his bones may be
deposited on the rising ground that looks over the sea, and that already
contains the being who, in death, as well as she was in life, was the
object of his deep love and high veneration.
4, ELM COURT, TEMPLE.
_February, 1854._
EMMANUEL APPADOCCA;
OR,
BLIGHTED LIFE.
CHAPTER I.
“Plots have I laid; inductions dangerous,”—
RICHARD III.
Between the north-west coast of Venezuela and the island of Trinidad
there lies an extensive expanse of water, known as the Gulf of Paria:—a
name which it has derived from the neighbouring Spanish coast.
At first sight this gulf presents to the eye the appearance of a vast
lake. On the north, east, and south, it is bordered by the dark mountains
of Trinidad: while, on the opposite side the cloud-capt Andes, which
terminate in that direction, rear their towering heads, and present a
lofty western boundary.
The gulf, thus narrowly surrounded on all sides, communicates with the
great Atlantic ocean only by two narrow outlets, which are situated
at its northern and southern extremities, and are respectively named
“the Dragon’s, and the Serpent’s Mouth.” It is by these narrow straits,
as the reader will have already gathered, that Trinidad is separated
from the mainland of South America. Shielded as they are by these
elevated boundaries, the waters of the gulf are ever calm and placid.
The hurricanes which periodically ravage the adjacent regions, never
sweep their quiet surface: and ships from the ports of the neighbouring
colonies usually avail themselves of the protection afforded by this
sheltered haven, and safely ride away the tempestuous months on its
smooth expanse.
The scenery around this gulf is extremely picturesque and beautiful.
Small green islands are dispersed here and there, and seem to float gaily
on the bosom of the slumbering waters; the forest-clothed mountains that
beetle from above, cast their lengthy shadows far and wide, and the
diving birds that continually ply the wing over the reflecting surface,
throw into the scene some of the choicest features of romantic beauty.
It was here, that, on a lovely morning in the month of March, two skiffs
might barely be seen floating quietly far, far away at sea.
It was as yet early: the gray mist of the tropical morning was just
melting away before the rays of the rising sun, that was fast ascending
from behind the mountains in the east; a thin haze, nevertheless, was
still left surrounding every object. Scarcely a ripple as yet marked the
gulf, and in the quiet of the hour might be heard the waking haloos of
the mariners on board their ships in the harbour of Port of Spain, as
they summoned each other to the labours of the day.
The two skiffs were at a great distance from land. In the haze it was
difficult on a hasty glance to distinguish them from the sea; but, on
closer observation, they might be discovered to be a small fishing-boat,
such as those which are generally seen on the gulf, and a curial, or
Indian canoe.
There were three men in the fishing-boat: two who were rowers, and one
that was sitting at its stern, and was apparently the master. He was of
mixed blood: of that degree known as that of mulatto, and seemingly of
Spanish extraction, but his two men were blacks. The men were resting on
their oars, the master was occupied in deep sea-fishing, and the boat
floated passively on the water. In the Indian canoe there seemed also but
three men: one sat at the stern, the other two crouched in the centre,
their paddles were carelessly rested on the sides of the light vessel,
and the canoe, like the fishing-boat, was permitted to float unsteered on
the gulf.
The two skiffs were not far from each other, and as the haze cleared
away, the master of the fishing-boat, in the musing calm attendant on
quiet fishing, observed to his men, as he dreamingly looked on the canoe—
“Those fellows are Guaragons; I dare say they paddled from the canoe the
whole of last night, and they are now taking their breakfast to get up to
town before the breeze rises.”
“Yes, sa,” briskly rejoined one of the boatmen; “dey wok all night,
all nakid as dey be dey; dey no ’fraid rain, dey no ’fraid sun,
but wen dey begin dey wok—wok so—night and day, you see paddle go
phshah—phshah—phshah,” here the speaker screwed up his little features
to the utmost, in order to express the energy with which the Indians are
supposed to paddle, while, at the same time, he endeavoured to imitate
the sound of the paddle itself, as it dashes the water.
“Awh!” he exclaimed, with emphasis, after this display, “dey no get dis
Jack Jimmy,” pointing to himself, “foo do dat—no:—oohn—oohn,” and he
shook his head energetically.
The master smiled both at the humour of his man, and the horror which he
appeared to entertain for the work and exposure of the Indians.
“And den wha dey eat,” he continued, “ripe plantin! dey eat ripe plantin
fo brofost, ripe plantin fo dinna—awh! me no know how dey get fat, but
dey always berry fat.”
The strange little man continued in this vein to make his remarks about
the Indians, and the master attended to his line until the morning was
considerably advanced, and the sun had already risen to a great height.
“Now, my boys,” said the last mentioned individual, “I think it is time
for us to go, we have not had much luck to-day.” With this he began
leisurely to draw in his line, gazing listlessly on the Indian canoe,
while he did so,—“but these fellows are taking a long time to eat their
ripe plantains this morning, Jack Jimmy,” he observed.
“Me tink so foo true, sa,” replied the individual answering to that name.
“An da big Injan in de tern a de canoe da look pan awee berry hard—berry
hard—he bin da look pan awee all de manin so,” and then looking anxiously
on the canoe, he continued, “an me no da see parrat, me no da see monkey,
me no da see notting pan de side a de canoe, an you neber see Injan ya
widout parrat an monkey.”
Having delivered himself of this sage opinion, he looked at the canoe
again, long and anxiously, shook his head, and moved restlessly on his
thwart.
“What is the matter with you, Jack Jimmy,” inquired the master, “you
seem to be displeased with these Indians?”
Jack Jimmy made no answer, but gave expression to a sound like “hom!”
Then began to look into the bottom of the boat, while he beat time
apparently to his own ruminations with his chubby great toe.
“But what is the matter with you, man?” again inquired the master.
“Massa—massa—me—me-me-me no like close, close so to Injans pan big salt
water, so, no.”
The first part of the sentence Jack Jimmy pronounced moodily, but he shot
out the latter part with such rapidity and earnestness, that the gravity
of the master could hold out no longer, and he laughed heartily at his
man.
“Bah! you fool,” said he, when the fit was over: “what do you expect
these Indians will do to us?”
Jack Jimmy, much piqued at being laughed at, raised his shoulders, and
answered stoically—“Me no know; but me tink we better go.”
“Yes: we are not doing anything here, and there does not seem much
prospect of having better luck,” said the master, “let us go.”
He then took up his paddle from the bottom of the boat, and put it over
the stern to steer it.
The men began to row, and the little boat began to move through the water.
The Indian canoe, which had remained all the time as passive on the
water as the fishing-boat, was now also put in motion, by two paddles,
and seemed to be steered in the same direction as the fishing-boat. Jack
Jimmy saw this, opened his eyes, and cried, in a voice that began to
tremble,—“Dey da come, too.” The master looked round, and saw in truth
that the canoe was following in their wake.
The three persons now became somewhat uneasy, and anxious, about the
intentions of their mysterious follower. After a time, however, when they
saw it was not gaining ground upon them, nor seemed to be propelled with
any intention of coming up to them, these feelings were considerably
diminished, and they pulled calmly along, while the canoe followed at the
same distance from the little boat.
When the fishing-boat had reached to within a mile of the ships which lay
in the harbour of Port of Spain, the master was challenged by a brisk
“Haloo” from the man at the stern of the canoe.
“Haloo, there!” cried the man in a commanding voice, “haloo, there—stop!”
The master paid no attention to this order, but pretended that he did
not hear it, or did not consider it addressed to him, and he remained
silent; but Jack Jimmy had not so much command over himself.
“Wha,” cried he, “wha eber yierry Injan peak plain—plain so? hen!” and he
shook his head mysteriously. “But wha,” following out his reflections,
“dey want we fo tap foo—tell dem we no da sell fish, ya; let dem come
sho.”
“Will you stop, there—ho?” again cried the man from the stern of the
pursuing canoe.
“We cannot stop,” replied the master, “if you wish to buy fish, come
ashore. Pull boys,” addressing himself to his men; “those seem to be
strange customers.” Jack Jimmy and the other boatman bent on their oars.
As soon as the little fishing-boat was put in a more rapid movement, ten
Indians simultaneously sprung as if it were by magic from the bottom of
the canoe, and ranged themselves at its sides, paddle in hand.
“Wha, look dey!” cried Jack Jimmy, pointing tremblingly to the canoe,
“pull,” addressing himself to his companion, “pull, me tell you:” and
he himself drew his oar with all the energy and vigour which fear alone
can impart. “Pull, me tell you,” continued he, every moment, to exhort
his companion; “pull, me tell you.” Under these efforts the little shell
boat skipped like a feather over the water: but it was no match for the
canoe, propelled as it was by the vigorous paddles of twelve stout men.
Like an arrow from an Indian bow, or like the noiseless course of a
serpent, through the lake it drew on the little fishing boat. Jack Jimmy
and his companion exerted themselves to the utmost; the master too, plied
his paddle strongly and continuously, but nearer and nearer the canoe
approached. When at last it came opposite the pursued, the man at the
stern dexterously threw his paddle on the other side, a rapid movement
was made through the water, and the head of the canoe was at once athwart
the little fishing boat.
Jack Jimmy could bear it no longer; as soon as the boat was boarded,
with a convulsive spring, he plunged into the gulf; while the syllables
of his interjected “Garamighty” bubbled up after him as he disappeared.
But the first impulse of the master was to draw his knife from the side
of the boat, where it was stuck in a chink of the boards, and with a
deep-mouthed “carajo” was going to plunge it into the nearest Indian, but
his arm was no sooner raised than it was paralized by a blow dealt him
with his paddle by a man at the stern, and the knife fell from his grasp
into the water.
“Fool,” cried the man who had thus struck him, “what is the use of your
resistance: do you not see we number more than you? Get into this canoe
immediately, you and your man, and see if you can save that strange
creature that is capering on the water there;” and he pointed to Jack
Jimmy, who had now come again to the surface, and in the extremity of
his fear, with his mouth wide open, and his white eye-balls glaring, was
swimming most furiously out to sea. The sight was too ridiculous even
for the occasion; the whole of the Indians burst into a fit of laughter
at poor Jack Jimmy, who was fatiguing himself at such a rate that his
strength would probably not have lasted more than two minutes.
“Paddle to that poor fellow,” said the man at the stern, and the order
was obeyed. But Jack Jimmy would not be taken; he dived several times to
escape, to the no small amusement of the Indians: his strength however
began to fail, and he was at last captured.
They took him into the canoe, when he was almost exhausted, and he was
laid at the bottom of it, where he kept his eyes closed and stretched
himself stiffly out, to pretend that he was dead. The Indians seemed
highly amused by him. At last, however, he ventured to open his eyes,
when, seeing some cutlasses and pikes that lay by his side at the bottom
of the canoe, he closed them abruptly again and cried, “Oh La-a-r-rd, me
dead!”
When Jack Jimmy had been saved from drowning, the master and the other
rower were transhipped into the canoe. The master, shrewder than his
men, thought he observed, in addition to the circumstance of speaking
English, other marks in the Indians which resembled disguise. They seemed
more assured and less savage than Indians generally are; besides, they
had thick beards and mustachios which the savages never wear; and, above
all, their arms, instead of being rude bows and arrows, or at best rusty
fowling pieces, were beautiful rifles, cutlasses and pikes.
“But who are you?” he inquired after he had detected these appearances,
and become justly alarmed by them. “Who are you, and what do you intend
to do with us?”
“With regard to the first question,” answered the man at the stern with
stoical coolness, “That is not any business of yours;—in answer to the
second, be assured that we mean you no harm. I hope you are satisfied.
Now, my order to you is, that you ask no further questions.”
“But, sir,—” the master was about to inquire again.
“Silence!” cried the man in a voice that carried authority.
He then took a small telescope that was concealed in a locker formed
in the thwart on which he sat, and began to examine the ships and the
harbour with seemingly great care and minuteness.
This examination continued for the best part of an hour, after which
the man at the stern handed the telescope to the master fisherman and
requested him to look also at the ships: “for,” added he, “you will have
to answer questions about them.”
“I know them already,” answered the master and returned the telescope.
The latter instrument was carefully replaced, and a small marine compass
was taken out of the same locker and placed before the man at the stern.
“To your paddles, it is now two o’clock and will be late before we
arrive.”
The head of the canoe was immediately turned out to sea. The men plied
their paddles, and the wind, which had just risen, wafted the light bark
rapidly before it. Its destination, however, was incomprehensible to the
fishermen, for they could not possibly conceive to what place a canoe
that was thus turned out to open sea could be bound.
But whatever alarm they felt, they were obliged to conceal; for it would
have been dangerous, they thought, to break the strict command of the
man at the stern; and whatever they could have said or done, would have
had no effect on men who seemed to be little accustomed to be crossed,
and who, undoubtedly, had the power of enforcing their will.
They resigned themselves, therefore, passively to their fate: and did so
with the greater readiness, as they had not, as yet, experienced, from
those among whom they were so strangely thrown, any treatment which could
lead them to apprehend anything horrible or atrocious.