On that same evening, about half-an-hour before sunset, a singular
procession was seen moving along the Carrion Crow Road, in the direction
of Mount Welcome. Its slow progress, with the staid looks and gestures
of those who composed the procession, betokened it to be one of a
melancholy character.
A rude litter, carried upon the shoulders of four men, confirmed this
impression; more especially when the eye rested upon a human form
stretched along the litter, and which could easily be identified as a
dead body, notwithstanding the camlet cloak that covered it.
There were ten individuals forming this funeral _cortege_; though all
were not mourners. Two were on horseback, a little in advance of the
rest. Four followed, carrying the litter; while close behind these came
four others, two and two--the foremost pair being lashed arm and arm to
one another--each also with his hands tied behind his back, and both
evidently prisoners. The two that brought up the rear appeared to be
guarding them.
The individuals composing this mournful procession may be easily
identified.
The two riding in advance were Herbert Vaughan and the Maroon captain;
the horses they bestrode being the same that had passed over that road
the day before, carrying the Custos and his negro attendant. The
prisoners were the Spanish _cacadores_--their guards, Quaco and the
before-mentioned attendant; while the four men bearing the body were
slaves belonging to the plantation of Content.
It need scarce be added that the corpse, stretched stark and stiff upon
the litter, was all that remained of the grand Custos Vaughan.
Strictly describing them, not one of the procession party could be
called a mourner. None of them had any reason to be greatly aggrieved
by the fate that had befallen the owner of Mount Welcome--not even his
relative. Notwithstanding this absence of a cause for grief, the faces
of all--the prisoners excepted--wore a look of decent gravity becoming
the occasion.
Perhaps the nephew would have more keenly felt the situation--for now
that his uncle was no more, every spark of hostility had become
extinguished--perhaps he might even have mourned, but for certain
circumstances that had just come to his knowledge; and which had the
effect not only to counteract within his heart all tendency towards
sorrow, but almost to overpower it with joy.
It was only with an effort, therefore, that he could preserve upon his
features that expression of sadness, due to the melancholy position in
which he was placed.
Despite the presence of death, his heart was at that moment filled with
a secret satisfaction--so sweet that he could not deny himself its
indulgence. The source of this satisfaction may be easily traced. It
will be found in the information communicated to him by the Maroon
captain. During their journey of the preceding day, their vigil of the
night, and, still further, their long, slow march of that morning,
Cubina had made known to him many circumstances of which he had been
hitherto ignorant; among other items of intelligence, one of the most
interesting that language could have imparted.
It need scarce be said what this was. It may be guessed at by recalling
the conversation between the Maroon and his mistress Yola, occurring at
the last tryst under the _ceiba_--that part of it which related to the
Lilly Quasheba. Though Cubina's knowledge was only second-hand, it was
sufficiently definite to inspire Herbert with hope--something more than
hope; and hence that secret joy whose outward manifestation he found it
difficult to suppress.
Every word of the conversation that had passed between the Maroon and
his mistress--every word that referred to _her_ mistress--Cubina had
been compelled to repeat over and over again; till Herbert knew it as
well as if he had been present during the dialogue. No wonder he was
not in a condition to feel very profoundly for the sad fate that had
befallen his uncle--hitherto only known to him as a relative harsh and
hostile.
Other secrets had Cubina disclosed to him--among the rest, the true
character of his patron, Jessuron--which Herbert had already begun to
suspect, and which was now revealed to him in all its hideous
wickedness. The history of the Foolah prince--hitherto unknown to
Herbert--besides his own experiences during the last twenty-four hours,
was sufficient to confirm any suspicion that might point to Jacob
Jessuron. Though it was plain that the two prisoners in the custody of
Quaco had not actually assassinated the Custos, it was equally clear
that such had been their intention, anticipated by a death of another
kind. This both Cubina and Herbert conjectured to have proceeded from
the same hand--the hand of Herbert's _ci-devant_ host.
The phrase is appropriate. Long before Herbert had heard one half of
Cubina's disclosures, he had resolved never more voluntarily to set foot
in the Happy Valley--much less return to seek shelter under the roof of
Jessuron.
If he should hereafter have aught to do with the Israelite, it would be
in the course of justice; as avenger of the death of his murdered
relative. That Loftus Vaughan was the victim of assassination neither
he nor the Maroon for a moment doubted. The conversation which the
latter had listened to between Chakra and the Jew--and which,
unfortunately, at the time he had not clearly comprehended--was no
longer mysterious; only its motive remained so. The deed itself had now
furnished the terrible interpretation.
Neither Herbert nor Cubina had any idea of permitting the matter to
drop. An event of such fearful significance called for the fullest
investigation; and they were now proceeding with the preliminary step--
carrying the body to Mount Welcome, in order that the authorities might
be called together, and an inquest instituted.
How different were the feelings of Herbert from those he experienced on
his former and first approach to the mansion of his haughty relative!
He was now the victim of emotions so varied and mingled as to defy
description!
Volume Three, Chapter XXXI.