Cubina for some time preserved his constrained position. He dared not
derange it; since the Jew still stayed in the shadowy corridor--
sometimes moving about; but more generally standing at the head of the
wooden stairway, and looking across the courtyard, towards 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 voice of different tone, two men
were seen stepping inside the court.
As they passed under the moonlight, Cubina recognised them. Their
lithe, supple forms, and swarthy angular lineaments, enabled him to
identify the Cuban _cacadores_.
They walked straight up to the stairway, at the bottom of which both
stopped.
The Jew, on seeing them inside the gate, had gone back into a room that
opened upon the verandah.
He was gone but for an instant; and, coming out again, he returned to
the top of the stairway.
One of the Spaniards, stepping up, reached out, and received 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," he continued, 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," replied 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 him."
And without further dialogue or delay, the _cacador_ descended the
stair, rejoined his comrade, and both hurriedly re-crossing the
courtyard, disappeared through the door by which they had entered.
"An expedition after some poor slave!" muttered Cubina to himself. "I
hope the scoundrels won't catch him, anyhow, and I pity him if they do.
After all, they're no great hands at the business, spite of their
braggadocio."
With this professional reflection, the Maroon once more bent his eyes
upon the form that remained in the shadow of the verandah.
"Surely," conjectured he, "the old John Crow will now go to his roost?
Or has he more of the like business on hand? Till he's out of that I
can't make a move. I durstn't stir, not for the life of me!"
To the joy of Cubina, the Jew at that moment stepped back into his
chamber--the door of which had been left standing open.
"Good!" mentally ejaculated the Maroon; "I hope he'll stay in his hole,
now that he's in it. I don't want to see any more of him this night.
_Crambo_!"
As the exclamation indicated, the congratulatory speech was cut short by
the re-appearance 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 hue, still clung around his temples; for it
was never doffed.
To the consternation of Cubina he came out, dragging a chair after him:
as if he meant to place it in the verandah and take a seat upon it.
And this was precisely his intention, for, after drawing the chair--a
high-backed one--out into the middle of the gallery, he planted it
firmly upon the floor, and then dropped down into it.
The moment after, Cubina saw sparks, accompanied by a sound that
indicated the concussion of flint and steel. The Jew was striking a
light!
For what purpose?
The smell of burning tobacco borne along the gallery, and ascending to
Cubina's nostrils upon the summit of the palm, answered that question.
A red coal could be seen gleaming between the nose and chin of the
Israelite. He was smoking a cigar!
Cubina saw this with chagrin. How long would the operation last?
Half-an-hour--an hour, perhaps? Ay, maybe till daybreak--now not very
distant.
The situation had changed for the worse. The Maroon could not make the
slightest move towards the awakening of Herbert. He dared not shift his
own position, lest his presence should be betrayed to the Jew. He dared
not stir upon the tree, much less come down from it!
He saw that he was in a fix; but there was no help for it. He must wait
till the Jew had finished his cigar: though there was no certainty that
even that would bring the _seance_ to a termination.
Summoning all the patience he could command, he kept his perch, silent
and motionless, though anxious, and suffering from chagrin.
For a long hour, at least, did he continue in this desperate dilemma--
until his limbs ached underneath him, and his composure was well-nigh
exhausted. Still the Jew stuck to his chair, as if glued to the seat--
silent and motionless as Cubina himself.
The latter fancied that not only a first cigar, but a second, and,
perhaps, a third, had been lighted and smoked; but in the sombre shadow,
in which the smoker sat, he could not be certain how many. More than
one, however, from the time spent in the operation; for during the full
period of an hour a red coal could be seen glowing at the tip of that
aquiline proboscis.
Cubina now perceived what troubled him exceedingly--the blue dawn
breaking over the tops of the trees! By slightly turning his head he
could see the golden gleam of sunlight tinting the summit of the Jumbe
Rock!
"_Crambo_! what was to be done?" so ran his reflections.
If he stayed there much longer he might be sure of being discovered.
The slaves would soon be starting to their work--the overseer and
drivers would soon be out and about. One or other could not fail to see
him upon the tree! He would be lucky now to escape himself, without
thinking any longer of the hammock or him who slept within its
tight-drawn meshes.
While considering how he might slip unperceived from the tree he glanced
once more towards the occupant of the chair. The gradually brightening
dawn, which had been filling him with apprehension, now favoured him.
It enabled him to perceive that the Jew was asleep!
With his head thrown back against the sloping upholstery, Jessuron had
at last surrendered to the powerful divinity of dreams. His goggles
were off; and Cubina could see that the wrinkled lids were closed over
his sunken orbs.
Undoubtedly he was asleep. His whole attitude confirmed it. His legs
lay loosely over the front of the chair--his arms hung down at the
sides: and the blue umbrella rested upon the floor at his feet. This
last evidence of somnolency was not even counterbalanced by the stump of
a cigar, burnt close, and still sticking between his teeth!
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