Day was dawning when the tiger Chakra returned to his lair in the
Duppy's Hole. With him night was day, and the dawn of the morn the
twilight of evening.
He was hungry: having eaten only a morsel of food since starting out on
his awful errand, just twenty-four hours ago.
The remains of a pepper-pot, still unemptied from the iron skillet in
which it had been cooked, stood in a corner of the hut.
To warm it up would require time, and the kindling of a fire. He was
too much fatigued to be fastidious; and, drawing the skillet from its
corner, he scooped up the stew, and ate it cold.
Finally, before retiring to rest, he introduced into his stomach
something calculated to warm the cold pepper-pot--the "heel-tap" of a
bottle of rum that remained over from the preceding night; and then,
flinging himself upon the bamboo bedstead, so heavily that the frail
reeds "scrunched" under his weight, he sank into a profound slumber.
He lay upon his hunched back, his face turned upward. A protuberance on
the trunk of the tree, of larger dimensions than that upon his own
person, served him for a bolster--a few handfuls of the silk cotton laid
loosely upon it constituting his pillow.
With his long arms extended loosely by his side--one of them hanging
over until the murderous fingers rested upon the floor--and his large
mouth, widely agape, displaying a double serrature of pointed, shining
teeth, he looked more like some slumbering ogre than a human being.
His sleep could not be sweet. It was far from being silent. From his
broad, compressed nostrils came a sonorous snoring, causing the
cartilage to heave outward, accompanied by a gurgling emission through
his throat that resembled the breathing of a hippopotamus.
Thus slumbered Chakra throughout the livelong day, dreaming of many
crimes committed, or, perhaps, only of that--the sweetest crime of all--
which was yet in abeyance.
It was near night when he awoke. The sun had gone down--at least, he
was no longer visible from the bottom of the Duppy's Hole--though some
red rays, tinting the tops of the trees upon the summit of the cliff,
told that the orb of day was still above the horizon.
Extended on his couch, Chakra saw not this. His hut was dark, the door
being shut close; but through the interstices of the bamboos he could
see to some distance outside, and perceived that twilight was fast
deepening among the trees. The cry of the bittern, coming up from the
lagoon, the shriek of the _potoo_, heard through the sough of the
cataract, and the hoot of the great-eared owl--all three true voices of
the night--reaching his ears, admonished him that his hour of action had
arrived.
Springing from his couch, and giving utterance to his favourite
ejaculation, he set about preparing himself for the adventure of the
night.
His first thought was about something to eat, and his eyes fell upon the
skillet, standing where he had left it, near the middle of the floor.
It still contained a quantity of the miscellaneous stew--enough for a
meal.
"Woan do eat um cold," he muttered, proceeding to kindle a fire, "not
fo' de second time. Gib me de ager chills, it wud. Mus' fortify de
belly wi' someting warm--else a no be fit to do de work dat am to be
done."
The kindling of the fire, the warming up of the pepper-pot, and its
subsequent consumption, were three operations that did not take Chakra
any very great amount of time. They were all over just as the darkness
of night descended over the earth.
"Now fo' get ready de signal," soliloquised he, moving about over the
floor of his hut, and looking into crannies and corners, as if in search
of some object.
"As de good luck hab it, dar be no moon to-night--leastways, till atter
midnight. Atter den a doan care she shine as bright as de sun hisseff.
Dare be plenty ob dark fo' Adam to see de signal, and plenty fo' de
odder bizzness at Moun' Welc'm'. Dar'll be light 'nuf 'bout dat ere
'fore we takes leab o' de place. Won't dat be a blaze? Whugh!
"Wha hab a put dat ere tellemgraff lamp?" said he, still searching
around the hut. "I'se fo'got all 'bout wha it am, so long since a use
de darned ting. Muss be un'er de bed. Ya--hya it am!"
As he said this, he drew from under the bamboo bedstead a gourd shell,
of nearly egg shape, but of the dimensions of a large melon. It had a
long, tapering shank--part of the fruit itself, where the pericarp
narrowed towards its peduncle--and through this a string had been
passed, by which the gourd could be suspended upon a peg.
Holding it by the handle, he raised the shell to the light of his lard
lamp, already kindled, and stood for some time silently inspecting it.
The gourd was not perfect--that is, it was no longer a mere empty shell,
but a manufactured article, containing within a most singular apparatus.
On one side appeared a hole, several inches in diameter, and cut in a
shape nearly pyramidal, the base being above the thick end of the oval,
and the apex, somewhat blunt, or truncated, extending towards the shank.
Up to the level of the opening the shell was filled with lard, in the
middle of which appeared a wick of silk cotton staple; and behind this
were two hits of broken looking-glass, set slanting to each other.
The whole apparatus bore some resemblance to a reflecting lamp; and that
was in reality the purpose for which the rude contrivance had been
constructed.
After a careful examination, its owner appeared to be satisfied that it
was in good order; and having "trimmed" it, by adding a little fresh
lard, and straightening up the wick, he set the lamp aside, and
proceeded with the preparation of some other paraphernalia necessary for
the night's expedition.
A stick, some four feet in length, and a piece of strong cord, were the
next articles procured; and these were also put on one side.
To these succeeded a long-bladed knife, and a stout pistol, with flint
lock, which the Coromantee loaded and primed with great care. Both were
stuck behind a belt which he had already buckled around his ribs, under
the skin kaross.
"A doan 'ticipate," said he, as he armed himself with these formidable
weapons, "dar a-gwine be much need fo' eider ob 'em. Dar ain't nob'dy
down dar am like show fight. Dat ere gran' buckra ob late come to Moun'
Welc'm' de say he be 'fraid ob de shadda ob danger; an' as fo' de brack
folks, de look ob dese weapon be suffishient fo' dem. Ef dat woan do,
den a trow off my mask. De sight ob ole Chakra, dat dribe 'em into
fits. Dat send ebbery nigga on de plantashun into de middle ob next
week. Whugh!"
Another weapon appeared to be wanting, in the shape of a large black
bottle, containing rum. With this the Coromantee soon supplied himself,
drawing one out from its secret hiding-place, and holding it before the
light, to make sure that it was full.
"Dis bottle," said he, as he thrust it into a pouch in his kaross, "I
hab kep fo' dis 'pecial 'casion; it am de bess weapon fo' my puppos.
When dem fellas get dar dose ob de rum, dar'll be no back out in 'em
den. Golly!" he added, glancing out, and seeing that it was now quite
dark, "a muss be gone fro' hya. By de time ole Adam sees de
tellemgraff, an' gets 'cross dem 'ere mountains, it be late 'nuf for de
bizness to begin."
Finishing with this reflection, the sable conjuror took up his
"telegraphic apparatus," and, stepping over the threshold, hurried away
from the hut.
Volume Three, Chapter XXVIII.