As soon as they were gone out of sight, the hunter turned towards
Herbert, his eyes sparkling with gratitude.
"Master!" said he, making a low obeisance as he spoke, "after that,
words are but a poor way of offering thanks. If the brave white
gentleman who has risked his life for a coloured outcast will let me
know his name, it will not be forgotten by _Cubina, the Maroon_."
"Cubina, the Maroon!" Struck by the oddness of the name and title--as
he had already been by the appearance and behaviour of him who bore
them--Herbert repeated the phrase mechanically, rather than otherwise.
"Yes, that is my name, master." The young Englishman, though not yet
enlightened as to the odd appellation, was too well-bred to press for an
explanation.
"Pardon me," said he, "for not directly replying to your request. I am
an Englishman; my name Vaughan--Herbert Vaughan."
"By that name, master, I take it you have relatives in the island. The
owner of Mount Welcome estate--"
"Is my uncle."
"Ah! then, sir, anything a poor Maroon hunter could do for you would not
be much. All the same, you have my thanks; and if--; but, master,"
continued the speaker, suddenly changing his tone, as if in obedience to
some instinct of curiosity, "may I make bold to ask why you are afoot so
early? The sun is not yet ten minutes 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?"
"I passed the night here," replied the Englishman, smiling; "that was
_my_ bed, where the boar is now sleeping."
"Then the gun is yours, not his?"
The hunter nodded interrogatively towards the runaway, who, standing
some paces off, was regarding both the speakers with glances of
gratitude, not, however, unmingled with some signs of uneasiness.
"Yes, it is my gun. I am very glad the piece was not empty: since it
enabled him to destroy the fierce brute that would otherwise have had
him by the throat. Wretched as the poor fellow appears, he handled his
weapon well. What is he, and what have they been doing to him?"
"Ah, Master Vaughan; by those two questions, it is easy to tell you are
a stranger to the island. I think I 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 he's a slave--the slave of J.J.: Jacob
Jessuron. You'll excuse me from giving my opinion of _him_."
"What have they done to you, my poor fellow?" asked Herbert of the
runaway--his compassion hindering him from waiting for the more
roundabout explanation of the Maroon.
The blood-bedaubed creature, perceiving that the speech was addressed to
him, made a long rejoinder; but in a tongue unknown both to the hunter
and Herbert. The latter could distinguish two words that he had heard
before--"Foolah" and "Allah"--both of which occurred repeatedly in the
speech.
"It's no use asking him, Master Vaughan. Like yourself, he's a stranger
to the island; though, as you see, they've already initiated him into
some of its ways. Those brands upon 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. As for the marks upon his back--those have been
made by a plaything, the white planters and their overseers in these
parts are rather too fond of using--the cart-whip! They've been
flogging the poor devil; and, _Crambo_! they've given it to him thick
and sharp."
As the Maroon made this remark, he raised the blood-stained shirt,
exposing to view that back so terribly reticulated. The sight was
sickening. Herbert could not bear to gaze upon it; but averted his eyes
on the instant.
"From Africa, you say? He has not got negro features!"
"As to his features, that don't signify. There are many African tribes
who are not negro-featured. I can tell from his that he is a Foolah. I
hear him use the word as he talks."
"Yoy--Foolah! Foolah!" cried the runaway on hearing pronounced the name
of his people; and then he continued in a strain of the same language,
accompanied by much gesticulation.
"I wish I knew his 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 only in thought. After a pause he resumed
speech.
"_Crambo_! very little would tempt me _not_ to restore him to his
master."
"And must you?"
"I must. We Maroons are bound by a treaty to deliver up all runaways we
may take; and if we fail to do so--that is, _when it is known_; but
these villains of old Jessuron know I have him--"
"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! he _is_ like her!--ay, as if he were her brother."
This last speech was delivered in soliloquy.
"Like her! Like whom?" demanded Herbert with a puzzled look.
"Your pardon," replied the hunter. "I was struck with a resemblance
between this poor fellow and one whom I know; but, Master Vaughan," he
continued, as if wishing to change the subject, "you have not said how
you came to be all night in the woods? You were hunting yesterday and
lost your way?"
"True, I lost my way, but not exactly while hunting."
"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 turf.
"I have both supped and breakfasted upon it," replied Herbert. "I had
climbed the tree for water, when the boar came up to break his fast upon
what remained of it."
The Maroon smiled at this explanation of some circumstances by which
even he had been 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 provide you
something better than raw cabbage."
"I am not particularly in a hurry about getting back to Mount Welcome.
Perhaps I may never go back!"
These words, combined with the air of the young Englishman as he uttered
them, did not escape the notice of the intelligent Maroon.
"Something strange in this young man's history!" said he to himself,
though he had the delicacy not to demand an explanation of the ambiguous
speech just made. "Well, it's not my affair, I suppose!"