The black, though presumably the lowest in rank, was the first to break
speech.
"No, ye don't!" cried he, moving his musket up and down, while still
keeping it levelled upon the foremost of the _cacadores_. "No, Mister
Jack Spaniard, not a foot d'you set outside that door till we see what
you've been a-doin' 'ithin there. Steady, now, or thar's an ounce of
lead into yer garlicky inside! Steady!"
"Surrender!" commanded Cubina, in a firm, authoritative voice, and with
a threatening gesture, which, though less demonstrative than that of his
lieutenant, was equally indicative of determination. "Drop your
_machetes_, and yield at once! Resistance will only cost you your
lives."
"Come, my Spanish worthies," said Herbert, "you know me! I advise you
to do as you're bid. If there's nothing against you, I promise no
harm--Ha! 'ware heels!" he continued, in sharp haste, observing that the
Spaniards were looking over their shoulders, as if intending to escape
by the back of the hut. "Don't attempt to run away. You'll be caught,
no matter how fast you go. I've got two barrels here; and each is good
for a bird on the wing. Show your backs, and they'll be preciously
peppered, I promise you."
"_Carajo_!" hissed out the older of the _cacadores_. "What do you want
with us?"
"Ay!" added the other, in a tone of innocent reproach; "what have we
been doing to make all this _fanfaron_ about?"
"What have you been doing?" rejoined the Maroon captain: "that's just
what we desire to know, and are determined upon knowing."
"There is nothing to be known," answered the man, speaking with an air
of assumed simplicity; "at the least, nothing that's very particular.
We were on our way to Savanna--me and my comrade here--"
"Stach yer palaver!" cried Quaco, becoming impatient, and pushing the
muzzle of his musket within an inch of the Spaniard's ribs. "Did ye
hear the cappen tell ye to drop yer toastin' forks and surrender? Down
with 'em this minnit, I say, an' do yer jaw-waggin' atterwards!"
Thus threatened, either with a poke in the ribs, or, perhaps, a bullet
between them, Andres sulkily let fall his _machete_ upon the floor--an
action that was instantly imitated by his senior and superior.
"Now, my braves!" proceeded the black lieutenant, still holding his huge
gun to the Spaniard's breast; "lest ye mout be wantin' to gie us
leg-bail, you muss submit to be trussed a trifle. Down upon yer
behinds, both o' ye; and keep that way till I get the cords and skewers
ready."
The _cacadores_ perfectly understood the order; and, perceiving that
there was no chance for disobedience, squatted down upon the floor--each
on the spot where he had been standing.
Quaco now picked up the two _machetes_, placing them beyond the reach of
their _ci-devant_ owners. Then, handing his great gun over to the care
of Cubina--who with Herbert was left to guard the prisoners--he walked
off to a short distance among the trees.
Presently he returned, trailing after him a long creeping plant that
resembled a piece of cord, and carrying two short sticks, each about
three feet in length.
All this was accomplished with as much celerity, and in as brief a space
of time, as if he had simply taken the articles from an adjacent
store-room.
Meanwhile, Cubina and Herbert had kept their guns still pointed upon the
two _cacadores_: for it was evident that the villains were most eager to
get off; and as it was now nearly night, had the least chance been
allowed them, they might have succeeded in escaping through the
darkness.
Their captors were determined they should have no chance: for although
neither Herbert nor Cubina could see into the obscure interior of the
cabin, and were as yet ignorant of the fearful spectacle that there
awaited them, they had reason to suspect that the Spaniards had either
intended some dark deed, or had already committed it. They had learnt
something along the road of the progress of the _cacadores_, and their
mode of journeying, which, to more than one whom they met, had appeared
mysterious.
The horse standing tied to the tree--caparisoned as he was for travel--
that was the most suspicious circumstance of all. Though none of the
three pursuers recognised the animal as belonging to Custos Vaughan, as
soon as they set eyes upon it they had felt a presentiment that they had
arrived too late.
The wild haste with which the Spaniards were rushing from the cabin when
intercepted at the door, almost confirmed their unpleasant foreboding;
and before any of the three had entered the hut, they were half prepared
to find that it contained a corpse--perhaps more than one, for the
disappearance of Pluto was not yet explained.
Quaco, habile in handling cordage of all kinds, more especially the many
sorts of supple withes with which the trees of a Jamaica forest are
laced together, soon tied the two Spaniards wrist to wrist, and ankle to
ankle, as tightly as could have been done by the most accomplished
gaoler. A long practice in binding runaway blacks had made Quaco an
expert in that department, which, indeed, constitutes part of the
professional training of a Maroon.
The captors had already entered within the cabin, now dark as death
itself. For some moments they stood upon the floor, their eyes
endeavouring to read the gloom around them. Silent they stood--so
still, that they could hear their own breathing, with that of the two
prisoners upon the floor. At length, in the corner, they could dimly
make out something like the form of a man lying stretched upon a low
bedstead.
Quaco, though not without some trepidation, approached it. Stooping
down, he applied his hand to it with cautious touch.
"A man!" muttered he: "eyther asleep or dead.
"Dead!" he ejaculated the instant after, as, in groping about, his
fingers chanced to fall upon the chill forehead--"dead and cold!"
Cubina and Herbert stepping forward, and stooping over the corpse,
verified the assertion of Quaco.
Whose body was it? It might not be that of Loftus Vaughan! It might be
the black attendant, Pluto!
No! it was not a black man. It needed no light to show that. The touch
of the hair was sufficient to tell that a white man lay dead upon the
couch.
"Catch me one of those _cocuyos_!" said the Maroon captain, speaking to
his lieutenant.
Quaco stepped outside the hut. Low down along the verge of the forest
were flitting little sparks, that appeared to be a galaxy of stars in
motion. These were the _lampyridae_, or small fire-flies. It was not
with these Quaco had to do. Here and there, at longer intervals, could
be seen much larger sparks, of a golden green colour. It was the great
winged beetle--the _cocuyo_ [Pyrophorus Nectilucus.]--that emitted this
lovely light.
Doffing his old hat-crown, Quaco used it as an insect-net; and, after a
few strokes, succeeded in capturing a _cocuyo_.
With this he returned into the hut, and, crossing over, held it near the
head of the corpse.
He did not content himself with the gold green light which the insect
emits from the two eyelike tubercles on its thorax. The forest-craft of
Quaco enabled him to produce a brighter and better.
Holding open the elytra with his fingers, and bending back the abdomen
with his thumb, he exposed that oval disc of orange light--only seen
when the insect is on the wing.
A circle of a yard in diameter was illuminated by the phosphoric glow.
In that circle was the face of a dead man; and sufficiently bright was
the lamp of the _cocuyo_, to enable the spectators to identify the
ghastly lineaments as those of the Custos Vaughan.
Volume Three, Chapter XXII.