That he had obtained the interview he sought, and that its result had
gratified him, might be inferred from the complacent smile that played
upon his countenance as he sallied forth from the house. Moreover, in
crossing the two or three hundred yards of open ground which separated
the dwelling from the wooded slope of the ridge, he walked with an
exalted, gingerly step--occasionally glancing back over his shoulder, as
if conscious of being observed.
He _was_ observed. Two faces could be seen at a window, one of which
Mr Smythje knew to be that of Kate Vaughan. The other, of darker hue,
was the face of the maid Yola.
Both were set in smiles. It did not matter to Mr Smythje whether the
maid smiled or not; but he fondly fancied he could distinguish a pleased
expression on the countenance of the mistress. He was at too great a
distance to be certain; but he had little doubt of its being a look of
intense admiration that was following him through his fine paces.
Had he been near enough to translate the expression more truly, he might
have doubted whether he was the object of so much admiration; and had
the remark made by Yola to her mistress reached his ear, with the clear
ringing laughter it called forth, his doubts would have had a melancholy
confirmation.
"He berry gran', missa!" said the maid. "He like cock-a-benny turned
yellow-tail!"--a plantation proverb, which, translated into plain
English, means, that the coarse and despised little fish, the
"cock-a-benny," had become metamorphosed into the splendid and esteemed
species known among the negroes as the "yellow-tail."
As the sportsman neither heard the remark nor the laugh it elicited, he
was enabled to carry his self-esteem into the woods unhurt and
undiminished.
At his heels walked an attendant--a negro boy, whose sole costume
consisted of an Osnaburgh shirt, with a huge game-bag slung over his
shoulders, and hanging down to his hams. It was the veritable Quashie,
post-boy, horseboy, and factotum.
Quashie's duties on the present occasion were to guide the English
buckra to the best shooting ground among the hills, and carry the game
when killed. As there was no dog--pigeon and pintado shooting not
requiring the aid of this sagacious animal--Quashie was to act also as
finder and retriever.
For a full mile over hill and dale, through "brake, brush, and scaur,"
tramped the ardent sportsman--his Ethiopian attendant, keeping like a
shadow at his heels. Still not a head of game had as yet been bagged.
Ramiers were scarce and shy, and as for the beautiful speckled hen--the
exotic _Numida meleagris_--not as much as the crest of one could be
seen. Their shrill skreek, like the filing of a frame saw, could be
occasionally heard afar off; and the hope of getting sight of one
enticed the sportsman still further into the forest.
Another mile was passed over, and another hour spent, almost equally
unfruitful in events. A few ramiers had been sighted and shot at; but
the thick corselet of feathers, that covers the bold breasts of these
beautiful birds, seemed impenetrable to the shot of a gun; at least,
they proved so to the double-barrelled "Manton" of the London sportsman.
Another mile traversed--another hour spent--still nothing bagged!
His want of success did not hinder the sportsman from growing hungry;
and, at the end of his third mile, he began to feel a certain void about
the epigastric region that called for viands. He knew that the bag
which Quashie carried contained a luncheon that had been carefully
provided and packed by the major-domo of Mount Welcome. It was time to
examine this luncheon; and, seating himself under the shadow of a
spreading tree, he directed the darkey to draw it forth.
Nothing loth was Quashie to respond to this request; for the weight of
the bag, which he had been wincing under for some hours, and its
distended sides, promised pickings for himself--after the grand buckra
should satisfy his hunger.
Certainly, there appeared enough for both, and to spare: for on
"gutting" the game-bag, a whole capon was turned out upon the grass,
with sundry slices of bread, ham, and tongue, and all the paraphernalia
of salt, pepper, and mustard.
A bottle of--claret was found at the bottom of the bag; which, in
addition to the flask of _eau de vie_ that the sportsman himself
carried, and which he now laid aside to disencumber him, was liquid
enough to wash down the savoury solids which the thoughtful steward had
provided.
A knife and fork were also turned out; and, as Mr Montagu Smythje was
more habile in the handling of these weapons than he was in the use of a
gun, in a trice the capon was cut into convenient pieces. In an equally
short space of time, many of these pieces had disappeared between his
teeth, in company with sundry slices of the ham and tongue.
Quashie was not invited to partake; but sat near the grand buckra's
feet, wistfully watching his movements, as a dog would his master
similarly occupied.
As the masticatory powers of the Cockney sportsman appeared to be of no
mean order, Quashie's look began to betray astonishment, mingled with a
growing dread that the "oughts" he might be called upon to eat would be
neither very numerous nor very bulky. Half the capon had already
disappeared, with a large proportion of the odd slices of ham and
tongue!
"I b'lieve de dam buckra glutton za gwine eat 'um all up--ebbery bit!"
was Quashie's mental, and not very good-humoured, soliloquy. "Ay, an'
drink 'um up too--ebbery drop!" continued he, in thought, as he saw Mr
Smythje quaff off a full cup of the claret without taking the vessel
from his lips.
Shortly after, another cup was poured into the same capacious funnel:
for the exercise he had undergone, combined with the warmth of the day,
had rendered the sportsman _drouthy_.
To the great chagrin of Quashie, and the no small mortification of
Smythje himself, a worse misfortune than that of its being drunk befell
the remainder of the claret. On setting down the bottle, after filling
his cup for the second time, the sportsman had performed the act in an
unskilful manner. The consequence was that the bottle, losing its
balance, toppled over; and the _balance_ of the claret trickled out upon
the grass.
Both Quashie's temper and patience were put to a severe test; but the
buckra's appetite being at length appeased, the _debris_ of the feast--
still a considerable quantity--remained to Quashie's share; and he was
directed to fall to and make his best of it.
The darkey was not slow in complying with the order; and, from the
manner in which he went to work, it was evident, that unless Mr Smythje
should make better shooting after luncheon than he had done before it,
the game-bag would go back to the house much lighter than it had left
it.
While Quashie was masticating his meal, the refreshed sportsman--his
spirits elevated by the claret he had quaffed--bethought him of taking a
stroll by himself. There was no time to be wasted--as the contingency
of having to return to Mount Welcome with an empty bag had already begun
to suggest itself; and after the sanguine expectations which his grand
sporting costume must have given rise to--assisted by some little
bravado he had indulged in while leave-taking--his failing to fulfil
these expectations could not be otherwise than humiliating.
He resolved, therefore, to return to his shooting with a more serious
earnestness, and, if possible, make up for the deficiencies of the
morning.
Slinging on his horn and pouch, and laying hold of his gun, the
sportsman once more started off, leaving his retriever busily employed
in polishing off the "drumsticks" of the capon.
Volume Two, Chapter III.