In a work recently published in London, by Captain Millman, are to be
found some of the most thrilling scenes, from life in the tropics, it
has ever been our fortune to meet with. The following account of a
Carib's revenge on a sea captain, named Jack Diver, on one of the narrow
mountain paths of Guadaloupe, is exceedingly graphic and forcible:
While he was making up his mind, a dark figure had stolen unperceived
close behind him, with a small basket in his hand of split reeds, out of
which came a low buzzing, murmuring sound. He lay down quietly across
the path, at the point of the first angle of the elbow of the mountain
spar, not many feet from the hind legs of the horse. Jack Diver with a
scowling look, turned his horse round with some difficulty. It plunged
and reared slightly, but went on. Occupied with retaining his seat, the
master of the transport scarcely perceived the figure lying in the path.
He could not see who it was, for the face of the man was toward the
ground. But the horse saw it at once. The animal, accustomed to mountain
roads from its birth, had often stepped over both men and animals which
are sometimes forced in the narrowest parts to lie down to let the
heavier and stronger pass, in that highly dangerous and disagreeable
method, lifted his feet cautiously, one by one, so as not to tread on
the prostrate figure. As the horse was above him, the man lifted with
one hand the lid of the basket, and a swarm of wasps flew suddenly out,
buzzing and humming fiercely, and in a moment they began to settle on
the moving object. The horse commenced switching his tail to drive them
away, pricking up his ears, and snorting with terror.
The man on the path lay quite still until they had thus moved on a few
yards, and then he raised his head a little, and watched them with his
keen black eyes. The wasps, driven off for a moment, became only the
more irritated, and returned with vigor and wonderful pertinacity to the
attack,--beginning to sting the poor animal furiously in all the tender
parts. They assailed the wretched master in his turn, darting their
venomed barbs into his face and hands, and driving him nearly frantic.
The horse plunged furiously, and Jack Diver, losing his stirrups and his
presence of mind together, twisted his hands into the horse's mane, to
keep his seat, letting the reins fall on his neck. At last, with a rear
and a bound into the air, the maddened animal darted off at a gallop;
but the faster he went, the closer stuck the persevering wasps. Jack
Diver shut his eyes, screaming with fear and pain. Then the Carib chief
rose up, and again the hawk-like scream echoed along the valley. The
turn is to be made--can the horse recover himself? Yes, maddened as he
is, he sees the danger instinctively. His speed slackens--he throws
himself on his haunches, with his fore feet on the very brink of the
precipice. One more chance! The blind, infatuated man remains on his
back. Again the horse feels the stings of his deadly persecutors; again
he plunges forward, striving to turn quickly round the corner. Round,
and he is in comparative safety. On a sudden, from behind a buttress of
projecting rock, there start across the path three dusky forms,
flinging their hands wildly in the air. Then was heard that rare and
awful sound, the shriek of a horse in the fear of a certain and coming
death; when swerving one side, he lost his footing on the slippery
shelf, and struggling madly, but unsuccessfully, to recover it, he fell
over and over--down--down--a thousand feet down! From the sailor's lips
there came no cry.
[Illustration: GEN. COFFEE'S ATTACK ON THE INDIANS.]