In less than half an hour after the brief conversation between Mr
Montagu Smythje and the young steerage passenger, the _Sea Nymph_ had
got warped into port, and was lying alongside the wharf.
A gangway-plank was stretched from the shore; and over this, men and
women, of all shades of colour, from blonde to ebony black, and of as
many different callings, came crowding aboard; while the passengers,
sick of the ship and everything belonging to her, hastened to get on
shore.
Half-naked porters--black, brown, and yellow--commenced wrangling over
the luggage--dragging trunks, boxes, and bags in every direction but the
right one, and clamouring their gumbo jargon with a volubility that
resembled the jabbering of apes.
On the wharf appeared a number of wheeled vehicles, that had evidently
been awaiting the arrival of the ship--not hackneys, as would have been
the case in a European port, but private carriages--some of them
handsome "curricles" drawn by a pair, and driven by black Jehus in
livery; others only gigs with a single horse, or two-wheelers of even an
inferior description--according to the wealth or style of the individual
for whose transport each had been brought to the port.
Waggons, too, with teams of oxen--some having eight in the yoke--stood
near the landing-place, waiting for baggage: the naked black drivers
lounging silently by the animals, or occasionally calling them by their
names, and talking to them, just as if their speeches had been
understood!
Among the different carriages ranged along the wharf, a handsome
barouche appeared conspicuous. It was attached to a pair of
cream-coloured horses, splendidly caparisoned. A mulatto coachman sat
upon the box, shining in a livery of lightest green, with yellow
facings; while a footman, in garments of like hue, attended at the
carriage-step, holding the door for some 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--had noticed this
magnificent equipage. He was still gazing upon it, when his attention
was attracted to two gentlemen, who, having walked direct from the
vessel, had just arrived by the side of the carriage. A white servant
followed them; and behind were two negro attendants, carrying a number
of parcels of light luggage. One of the gentlemen and the white servant
were easily recognised by Herbert: they were Mr Montagu Smythje and his
valet.
Herbert now recalled the odd expression made use 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 gentleman, who appeared to be an overseer,
following on horseback as an escort.
Herbert watched the receding vehicle, until a turn in the road hid it
from his view; and then, dropping his eyes towards the deck, he stood
for some moments in a reflective attitude,--revolving in his mind some
thoughts that were far from agreeable.
No one there to meet _him_ and bid him welcome!
The countenance of the young adventurer became clouded under the
influence of this thought; and he stood silently gazing upon the deck
with eyes that saw not.
"Sa!" said a negro boy, at this moment stepping up and interrupting his
reflections.
"Ha!" rejoined Herbert, looking up and perceiving, with some surprise,
that the darkey was regarding him with a fixed stare. "What might you
want, my lad? If it be money, I have none to give you."
"Money, sa? wharra fo' Quashie want money? He do wha' massr bid. Young
buckra ready go now?"
"Ready to go! where?--what mean you, boy?"
"Go fo' da great house."
"Great house! of what great house are you speaking?"
"Moun' Welc'm', sa--Massr Va'n. You fo' Massr Va'n, sa?"
"What!" exclaimed Herbert, in surprise, at the same time scanning the
darkey from head to foot; "how do you know that, my boy?"
"Quashie know dat well 'nuf. Cappen ob da big ship, obaseeah say so.
Obaseeah point out young buckra from de waff--he send Quashie fetch
young buckra to Moun' Welc'm'. Ready go now, sa?"
"You are from Mount Welcome, then?"
"Ya, sa--me hoss-boy da, an' pose-boy--fetch pony for young Englis'
buckra. Obaseeah he bring b'rouche for grand Englis' buckra. Baggage
dey go in de ox-waggon."
"Where is your pony?"
"Up yonna, sa; on de waff, sa. Ready go, sa?"
"All right," said Herbert, now comprehending the situation of affairs.
"Shoulder that portmanteau, and toss it into the waggon. Which road am
I to take?"
"Can't miss um road, sa--straight up da ribber till you come to de
crossin'. Dar you take de road dat don't lead to da leff--you soon see
Moun' Welc'm', sa."
"How far is it?"
"Bout sebben or eight mile, sa--reach dar long 'fore sun-down; pony go
like de berry lightnin'. Sure you no keep to da left by da crossin'."
Thus 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 his irksome voyage.
With his gun, a single-barrelled fowling-piece, on his shoulder, he
strode over the platform, and up the wooden wharf. Then detaching the
pony from the wheel of the ox-waggon, 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 him to Mount Welcome.
The excitement produced by the sudden change from ship to shore--the
stir of the streets through which he had to pass--the novel sights and
sounds that at every step saluted his eyes and ears--hindered Herbert
Vaughan from thinking of anything that concerned himself.
Only for a short time, however, was his mind thus distracted from
dwelling on his own affairs. Before he had ridden far, the road--
hitherto bordered by houses--entered under a dark canopy of forest
foliage; and the young traveller, all at once, found himself surrounded
by a perfect solitude.
Under the sombre shadow of the trees, his spirit soon returned to its
former gloomy forebodings; and, riding more slowly over a stretch of the
road where the ground was wet and boggy, he fell into a train of
thoughts that were anything but pleasant.
The subject of his reflections may be easily guessed. He had not failed
to notice--how could he?--the distinction made between himself and his
fellow-voyager. While a splendid equipage had been waiting for the
latter--and his landing had been made a sort of ovation, how different
was the means of transport provided for him!
"By the memory of my father!" muttered he, as he rode on, "it is an
insult I shall not overlook: an insult to him more than to myself. But
for the fulfilment of _his_ dying wish, I should not go one step farther
and as he said this, he drew his rough roadster to a halt--as if
half-resolved to put his hypothetic threat into practice.
"Perhaps," he continued, again moving forward, with a more hopeful air,
"perhaps there may be some mistake? But no," he added with a strong
emphasis on the negative monosyllable, "there can be none! This shallow
fop is a young man of fortune--I a child of misfortune;" and he smiled
bitterly at the antithesis he had drawn; "that is the reason why such a
distinction has been made between us. Be it so!" he continued, after a
pause. "Poor as I am, this churlish relative will find me as proud as
himself. I shall return him scorn for scorn. I shall demand an
explanation of his behaviour; and the sooner I have it the better!"
As if stimulated by a sense of the outrage, as also by a half-formed
purpose of retaliation, the young adventurer gave the whip to his shaggy
steed, and dashed onward at full gallop.
Volume One, Chapter XIV.