A few days later, Hugh Norris rushed unexpectedly into Lizzie’s
presence.
‘I have come to wish you good-bye!’ he exclaimed, in a voice of
distress. ‘I have received orders this morning which compel me to sail
at once; and as the _Trevelyan’s_ repairs are complete, I have no
possible excuse for disobedience.’
Lizzie changed colour slightly as she heard the news, but she answered
quietly,--
‘And I am sure that, under any circumstances, you would make none. Have
you not often told me that a sailor’s first duty is towards his ship?’
‘Ah, yes; that is all very well in theory,’ he said, with a rueful
look, ‘but you cannot know what I feel at leaving you alone, Lizzie, at
this anxious time.’
‘I shall be safe enough, my dear friend, so have no fears for me. When
do you sail?’
‘With the tide this evening, and hardly know how I shall get through
all my work by that time. I didn’t expect to get off for another week.’
‘Then I mustn’t detain you, Captain Norris; though it was good of you
to think of me at the last.’
‘Of whom else should I think? I shall not be away long this time,
Lizzie. I only go to England and back. A couple of months may see me
here again. What can I do for you there?’
‘Nothing, thanks. I have no commissions for you.’
‘Have you spoken to Mr Courtney yet on the subject of your family?’
Lizzie started.
‘Oh, yes; and that reminds me that I have some letters I want to show
you. Wait a moment Captain Norris, whilst I fetch them--’
‘Missy Liz! Missy Liz!’ piped a shrill little voice at the open door.
‘What is it, Pete?’ she asked of a negro boy, whose dusky face was
anxiously peering in upon them.
‘Oh, Missy Liz, please come quick to Mammy Chloe’s baby! That’s kinder
sick; taken drefful, with its eyes turned up so, and its body quite
stiff like a piece of wood!’
‘_Convulsions!_’ exclaimed Lizzie, as she threw the packet of letters
she had just taken from her desk across the table, and put her hat upon
her head. ‘Captain Norris, I _must_ go. Read those whilst I am gone.’
‘But I cannot stay till you come back, Lizzie. Each moment is precious
to me. Give me five minutes more.’
‘I dare not. This is a new-born infant, and a matter of life and death.
God bless you, and good-bye!’
He had only time to wring her hand, when she darted from the house. He
watched her figure running swiftly towards the negroes’ quarters, and
then returned to the shaded apartment, with a deep sigh. What interest
had he then in the packet of letters she had left him to peruse?
Lizzie was gone. He should not see her again, perhaps for months,
and the world seemed to be a blank without her. In the hope of her
speedy return, he sat down for a few minutes more, and mechanically
drew the letters towards him. But as his eye fell upon the written
words his countenance changed, and his expression became one of the
deepest interest. He hastily scanned through the letters, making sundry
notes as he did so, and then, with a long low whistle, he tied the
envelopes together again, and, laying them upon Lizzie’s desk, walked
to the window to watch for some token of her return. None came. The
Indian sun was blazing in all its splendour on the tropical leaves and
flowers, the pathway to the coolies’ huts was one long line of white
dust glittering like golden sand; but not a sound could be heard but
the far-off hum of the workers in the cotton fields, not a living
creature to be seen but Rosa in the shaded verandah, with Maraquita’s
child slumbering on her knees, and an aged negro, long past work, who
was warming his stiffened limbs in the sunshine. Hugh Norris watched
impatiently for a few minutes from the open door, and then, with a
rapid glance at his watch, and a deep sigh, he unwillingly prepared to
leave the bungalow.
‘Be a good girl to your mistress, Rosa,’ he said, as he passed the
yellow girl; ‘take great care of her and the baby, and I’ll bring you a
beautiful string of beads when I come back from England.’
‘Tank you, sar,’ replied Rosa. ‘I’ll be berry good all time you away;
and I’d like a nice shawl too, sar.’
‘Well, you’re not bashful, Rosa,’ replied Hugh Norris, laughing; ‘but
you shall have the shawl too, if you’ll keep your promise. And if there
should be any trouble on the plantation--you know what I mean--take
Missy Lizzie up to the White House at once, and don’t mind what she
says about staying here.’
‘I understand, sar; but nebber you fear. De niggers on dis plantation
too good for dat. They lub Massa and Missus Courtney; and as for Missy
Liz, they die for her--dat’s jes’ so.’
Captain Norris gave a sigh of relief.
‘I hope so, Rosa, and it makes me happier to hear you say it; but still
I am not easy. But take this and buy yourself a new gown; and remember,
when you wear it, that you have promised me to be faithful.’
He thrust a five-dollar note into her hand as he spoke, and with one
yearning look in the direction of the negro quarters, walked rapidly
away towards the town. Rosa rolled her eyes with delight at the feel of
the five-dollar note.
‘_He_ gone ’coon too,’ she thought, with a sapient air; ‘dar’s another
what Missy Liz have done for. And she’s so quiet all de time. Dat’s
what beats me. ’Pears as if she didn’t care if they _was_ “gone” or
not. Wall, if dey all gib me five-dollar notes, I wish there was a
thousand of them.’
Meanwhile, Lizzie was kneeling down beside Mammy Chloe’s straw
mattress, putting the poor little black baby into hot baths, and
watching by it as tenderly as if it had been a princess of the blood
royal, until the attack of convulsions had ceased, and it was sleeping
peacefully on its mother’s breast again.
‘Dar now, dat’s jes’ wonderful!’ exclaimed the crowd of dusky mortals,
who had anxiously watched her proceedings, ‘dat babby jes’ dyin’,
’pears as though death was in its face, and its body cold and stiff
a’ready, and Missy Liz comes ’long and touches it, and it’s as well as
ever in half an hour. Missy Liz, you _too_ clever! You like de Lord,
Who touches with little finger, and ebberybody well again. You jes’
white angel, Missy Liz--no mistake about dat.’
‘My dear friends, you make too much of my poor services for you. You
could all do nearly as much for yourselves, if you would only let me
teach you. Mammy Chloe made her baby sick. She says she gave it some
sweet potato yesterday.’
‘Only tiny leetel bit, Missy Liz, out ob my own mouth!’ cried the
mother.
‘However little it was, Chloe, it was too much for a baby of three days
old. How often must I tell you to give your little infants nothing
but the breast? Your baby is safe again now, but if you feed her with
potatoes, and rice, and bread, she will have another fit, and next time
I may be able to do nothing for her.’
Hereupon rose a chorus of dissentient voices.
‘Oh, Missy Liz, how you saying dat? You can cure ebberyting, Missy Liz.
You mended Dicky’s arm, and cured old Jake’s rheumatiz, and bringed de
life back to Clairey, when she fell into de water, and was dead.’
‘No, no!’ disclaimed Lizzie, laughing, ‘she wasn’t _dead_, Betsy. I
can’t go as far as to bring the dead to life again.’
‘B’lieve you could, Missy Liz, if you tried, for you’se jes’ wonderful
all round; and de niggers nebber had a better friend--dat’s so.’
‘Ay, Massa Courcelles say dat last night, Auntie Bell. He say Massa
Courtney and de other planters dam bad trash, and better out ob de way;
but nobody must hurt Missy Liz, because she’s de niggers’ friend, and
lub ’em jes’ like herself.’
‘_Monsieur de Courcelles!_’ echoed Lizzie, thinking the negress had
made some mistake. ‘How could he have said that last night? He is not
in San Diego.’
‘Massa Courcelles not in San Diego?’ repeated the shrill voice of
Betsy. ‘Oh, Missy Liz, who tell you dat ar lie? Massa Courcelles nebber
leave de plantation yet. He’s living up at old Josh’s shanty, t’other
side of de avenue, and he comes along of evenings, and talks to us all
of our troubles.’
Lizzie’s brow flushed darkly. What could be the meaning of Henri de
Courcelles hiding himself on Beauregard? For what reason was he hanging
about the plantation, and mixing familiarly with the people whom he
professed to abhor?
‘And what troubles have you that you can confide to a gentleman’s ears,
Betsy?’ she demanded reprovingly. ‘Monsieur de Courcelles was not so
kind to you whilst he was your overseer, that you should expect to
find a friend in him now. There is some deeper meaning, I am afraid,
in his pretended interest in you, than that of making your life more
comfortable.’
‘You may well say that, Miss Lizzie!’ cried Jerusha, who was standing
in the crowd, with her baby in her arms. ‘Dat man nebber sorry for
nobody but himself. What he care if our work is hard, or our backs ache
wid de sun, or our huts is dark, or de food common? Did he care when
_my_ back was bowed wid pain, and my head wid shame, and I couldn’t
hardly stand upon my legs? Didn’t he strike me and my poor leetle boy,
and say, “D--n you! Go hell! I make you work like a dog”?’
‘Hush, hush, Jerusha!’ exclaimed Lizzie, as she rose and placed her
hand kindly on the shoulder of the excited coolie. ‘I know you have had
your troubles, my poor girl. I know Monsieur de Courcelles has wronged
you terribly, but you must try to be patient, and forgive, as--as--we
all have to do sometimes.’
But Jerusha shook the compassionating touch off her.
‘No, Missy Liz,’ she said loudly, ‘I _can’t_ forgive. If he had given
me one kind word, I’se have worked for him to my last day, and been
glad only to see him well and happy; but he’s bad all through, to de
very core. He wrong more dan me. Ah, I know plenty tings people not
thinking! and now he come and ’cite dese niggers to revenge demselves,
and send all de planters out of de island, and keep de fields for dere
own use. Dat his way of “paying out” somebody, Missy Liz. But _I_ know
him and his dark ways, and if dese people rise ’gainst de planters,
Massa Courcelles shall be de first to go, if I kill him with my own
hand.’
‘_Rise!_’ cried Lizzie indignantly. ‘Surely, after all the kindness
they have experienced from Mr and Mrs Courtney, there is no one on this
plantation so wicked as to dream of rising. What should they do it
for? What more can they desire than they already possess? There are
no hands on the island more looked after and cared for than those on
Beauregard.’
‘I dunno dat,’ chimed in a discontented voice. ‘San Souci niggers gets
a tot of rum ebery night, and a quarter of a pound more meat than _we_
do.’
‘Who said that?’ exclaimed Lizzie quickly, turning round. ‘Ah, it was
_you_, Aunt Sally! That’s a nice grateful thing to say, when you were
down with fever three weeks this year, and received your wages all the
same, though you couldn’t do a stroke of work. That’s the best return
you can make, is it? And you know why the San Souci hands get extra
rations well enough,--because the plantation is so near the swamp, and
so unhealthy in consequence, that they are half their time down with
fever and ague. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, to set such a bad
example to the others.’
‘I only repeating what Massa Courcelles say,’ replied Aunt Sally
sulkily.
‘Then Monsieur de Courcelles should be ashamed of himself. I have no
hesitation in saying it,’ continued Lizzie warmly. ‘I have been brought
up amongst you all since I was a little child, and I am a witness to
the kind and indulgent treatment you have received from your employers.
Mr Courtney has never spared money or trouble to make his hands
comfortable and happy, and if you have ever had any cause of complaint,
it has been against this very man who is inciting you now to feel
rebellious and ungrateful!’
‘De oberseer only act on de Massa’s orders,’ grumbled Aunt Sally again.
‘It is not true!’ cried Lizzie indignantly. ‘Mr Courtney never ordered
Monsieur de Courcelles to do anything that was cruel or unjust. He left
a great deal of power in his hands, because he believed him to be a
good man, and worthy of his trust; but he found out his mistake, and
that is why he has been sent away.’
‘Missy Liz speaks God’s truth,’ exclaimed Jerusha, ‘and you niggers
know she do! What hasn’t dat man done to us? Didn’t he starve old Jakes
for three days ’cause he not clean horse proper? and didn’t he strike
Aunt Hannah ’cross de face with his whip, and make de ’sypelas come
out? Didn’t he take me up to his bungalow, and tell me I lib dere all
my life, and den kick me out like a dog ’cause I got a poor leetel
baby? Haven’t you niggers said, times out of mind, you’d like to kill
him for all he done, and that it was only ’cause Missy Liz like him
dat he wasn’t dead long ago? If you says “No” now, den you’se all
liars, and a lot of trash dat is afraid to stick to your own words.’
‘Jerusha is right,’ said Lizzie. ‘You were all afraid of Monsieur de
Courcelles, and spoke against him, whilst he was your overseer; but now
that he has no authority over you, you allow his specious tongue to
lead your minds astray. My dear friends, be warned in time. Monsieur de
Courcelles has no right to be on this plantation at all, and he only
comes here for a bad purpose. You mustn’t listen to him. I am sorry
to say it before you, but he is not a good man. I loved him once very
dearly,’ continued Lizzie, with a great effort, and her cheeks dyed
crimson, ‘and believed him to be all that was upright and honourable,
but I found out I was wrong, as you will find out you are wrong, when
it may be too late. Do you know that I have but to go to Mr Courtney,
and inform him of the mutinous ideas you are openly expressing, to have
you put into prison? And the new Governor is very strict, as you may
have heard, and makes an example of all rebels. He is determined to
crush the feeling of mutiny out of San Diego, whatever it may cost.’
‘Perhaps Gubnor get crushed hisself,’ suggested Betsy sullenly.
‘Don’t talk nonsense!’ cried Lizzie sharply. ‘What could a handful of
coloured people do against the military forces? You would all be shot
down and killed, before you knew where you were.’
She spoke boldly and decisively, but her heart was sinking all the
while. If the negro population of the island rose _en masse_, the
slaughter might be terrible before peace could be restored amongst
them. She thought of her benefactors the Courtneys, of poor heedless
Maraquita and the kind-hearted Governor,--a little too of herself, and
shuddered. And Henri de Courcelles also. Would he not be overwhelmed
by the storm he was taking such pains to raise? At all risks, she said
to herself, she would see him, and warn him of the danger he ran in
turning against his late employers.
‘Which of you has been listening to Monsieur de Courcelles’
inflammatory talk?’ she asked presently, as she looked round upon the
women.
‘All of us,’ answered Aunt Sally. ‘He come down to our huts of
evenings, and sit dere, and tell us how Massa Courtney treat him wuss
den nigger, and how we’se free coloured people, and should stan’ no
nonsense.’
‘He is worse than I thought him,’ said Lizzie. ‘He must stop it at
once, or I shall inform Mr Courtney, and have him turned off the
premises.’
‘_Kill him_, Missy Liz, _kill him_!’ hissed Jerusha, between her
clenched teeth; ‘dat is de only way to crush de rattlesnake.’
‘Don’t speak like that, Jerusha. It is wicked, and you do not mean it.’
But the Indian girl _did_ mean it all the same.
‘Where did you say that Monsieur de Courcelles was staying, Betsy?’
inquired Lizzie, a few moments after.
‘At Uncle Josh’s shanty, t’other side of avenue. He mayn’t be dere now,
Missy Liz, but he sleeps dere ob nights.’
‘If de door would fasten, I’d set fire to dat rotten shanty, before
anoder moon,’ remarked Jerusha.
‘Well, I must leave you now,’ said the Doctor’s daughter, with a deep
sigh; ‘but remember what I say. The next time I hear any talk like this
of to-day, I shall go straight to Mr Courtney, and ask him to dismiss
the whole lot of you. Then you will starve without any work to do, and
will be sorry you left your comfortable huts, and kind employers, at
the instigation of a villain.’
‘Massa Courtney starve too when he got no coolies to pick cotton and
rice for him,’ muttered some one in the crowd.
Lizzie saw plainly that the disaffection had spread too effectually
to be quenched by her single arguments, and so she left them, and,
wrapped in thought, walked leisurely away from the coolie quarters.
Her first step, she felt, must be to see Henri de Courcelles, and with
that intention she directed her feet towards Uncle Josh’s shanty,
which stood somewhat apart from the rest. The sun was now high in the
heavens, and no European was abroad who could rest at home. Lizzie’s
broad-brimmed hat and white umbrella sheltered her sufficiently in the
shady plantation, but she would not have ventured out, except at the
call of duty, at so late an hour in the morning, and so she firmly
calculated on finding Monsieur de Courcelles within the hut. She was
not disappointed. Old Uncle Josh, who was an aged negro almost past
work, and only kept to do light jobs about the garden and stables,
came to the door with much caution to answer Lizzie’s knock for
admittance, and was about to declare that he knew nothing of Monsieur
de Courcelles, when a voice from within called out to him to admit
the lady, and not make a d--d fool of himself. So Lizzie passed in,
and found herself face to face with the man she had believed to be
hundreds of miles away.
‘Monsieur,’ she commenced hurriedly, ‘I should not be here, except that
I have something of the utmost importance to say to you. You must send
this man away, so that he may not hear us.’
‘Go up to the plantation, Uncle Josh, or anywhere you like, and don’t
come back for an hour,’ said De Courcelles, in a voice of authority;
and the old negro nodded in acquiescence, and shambled off.
‘Are you sure he is safe?’ demanded Lizzie, as the man disappeared.
‘Safe as death! I have him under my thumb,’ was the confident reply.
‘And now, what can you have to say to me, Lizzie? After our last
parting, I hardly expected you would seek me out of your own accord.’
‘Neither should I have done so, except that the welfare of those I
love more than myself is at stake. Monsieur, why are you still on the
plantation of Beauregard?’
‘I think that is _my_ business sooner than yours.’
‘Indeed it is my business,--the business of every one who regards
the Courtneys as benefactors. Your presence here can be for no good
purpose. It spells ruin and devastation for them. By your false
arguments you are inciting these ignorant coloured people to rebel; you
are making them discontented--not to say bloodthirsty; and the upshot
of your evil counsel will be a mutiny, that will involve their own
downfall with those of their employers, and, perhaps, lead to murder
and rapine.’
‘And what do I care if it does? It will be no more than they deserve.’
‘Oh, Henri, you cannot think what you are saying! Surely you would
never be so wicked! What have the Courtneys done to make you so
revengeful? They were always the kindest of patrons to you, until this
unhappy business occurred with Maraquita. And even to the last they
were both just and generous. How can you find it in your heart to
injure them?’
‘They are Maraquita’s parents,’ he answered gloomily.
‘And would you avenge her falsehood--her broken faith--upon them?
Monsieur, that is not like yourself! It is unworthy of any one calling
himself a man.’
‘What right had they to turn me off Beauregard, then? It was only done
to shield _her_, because they suspect the truth, and are afraid I might
prove a dangerous rival. _She_ marries the Governor of San Diego,
and is lapped in luxury and comfort, whilst _I_ (who am morally her
husband) am sent adrift, like a rudderless boat, to toss anywhere on
the sea of life. But I’ll be even with her yet, and her bald-headed old
ape of a partner too.’
‘Henri, you must not speak like that,’ said Lizzie firmly. ‘I feel
for your disappointment--indeed I do; it must be a bitterly hard
one; but to try and revenge yourself in this manner is a cowardly
and wicked thing. The feeling of disaffection is rife enough in the
island, without your adding to it. I beg--I pray of you to leave the
plantation, and not return. You have no right here, and if you remain,
I shall consider it my duty to inform Mr Courtney; and you know how
painful it would be for me to say anything to him against you. Henri,
for the sake of old times, do as I ask you.’
‘You are a good woman, Lizzie--I have always maintained that--and, if
you wish it, I will go. But, mind you, my departure will not stop the
rising mutiny, any more than my remaining here hatched it into life.
The native population is ripe for rebellion, and it is only now a
question of weeks--perhaps days--before they burst into open revolt. I
am glad I have seen you, to warn you against it. The coolies will not
harm you, I am sure--they love and reverence you too much--but they may
frighten you, and I should wish to prevent even that. But as for the
rest--well! I shall not be satisfied till I see the White House and
Government House in ashes, and their owners weltering in their blood!’
The expression of his face was so murderous as he spoke, that Lizzie
fairly screamed,--
‘Oh, Henri, Henri, surely you are _not_ in earnest! You would never
countenance nor encourage so horrible an idea! You would save those who
have been good to you--whom you once believed you loved--at the risk of
your own life! Tell me it is the truth, for I will never leave you till
you acknowledge it.’
Henri de Courcelles seized her two hands in a grip of iron, and drew
her towards him, until their faces nearly touched each other.
‘Lizzie Fellows,’ he exclaimed roughly, to hide his emotion, ‘if I
could have gone on loving you, if that heartless jade had not come
between us with her mock innocence and her fatal beauty and blinded my
eyes to your superior virtues, I should have been a happier and better
man to-day. But now, I know it is too late. You have ceased to love me,
and I shall never again be able to lay any claim to your hand.’
‘But I have not ceased to care if you are a good man or a bad one,
Henri,’ she answered, through her tears; ‘and I entreat you now, by
your memory of the past, to do what I ask you, and leave Beauregard.’
‘I _will_, because you ask me; but, as I have already told you, it
will not make the difference you imagine. I could no more stay the
progress of this mutiny now, than I could single-handed quench the fire
of a burning city. It has gone too far for that. Besides, I have no
desire to do so. My heart thirsts for revenge, and I shall only quit
Beauregard to join another set of rebels, and perhaps a more dangerous
one.’
‘Henri, cannot I persuade you to give up that madness also?’
‘No, Lizzie, the time is past. Maraquita’s falsehood has made me
reckless, and I only live now to one end,--to see her punished as she
deserves.’
‘Leave her to Heaven, Henri. Do you think her infidelity will not be
its own punishment? How many nights will she lie awake, poor child,
wanting your love, wanting _mine_, which used, at one time, to make
all her happiness? How often will her heart yearn--for Quita _has_ a
heart, Henri, though it is choked up with vanity and love of self--for
the days she spent with us,--for the poor little innocent she has left
behind her? Ah, neither you nor I can measure the pain which remorse
will bring her!’
‘Don’t you believe it. You judge her by yourself, and your sex is the
only likeness between you. She is all bad, Lizzie, false from head to
foot, and the sooner the world is rid of her, the better.’
‘And are _you_ the one who should be her judge?’ replied Lizzie
mournfully; ‘can you bring clean hands into court, Henri, with which to
condemn her? No, I am not alluding to myself. It was not your fault,
perhaps, if you found upon a closer acquaintance that you could not
love me as you once imagined; but what of Jerusha--the poor little
coolie girl with whom you were carrying on a pretension of affection
at the same time that you were deceiving Maraquita? How can you find it
in your heart to contemplate revenge on her for an error of which you
were guilty yourself?’
‘You women don’t understand these things, Lizzie. No one but a little
fool like Jerusha would have believed for a moment that I was in
earnest, or that such an irregular business could possibly last more
than a few months.’
‘Yet Jerusha vows to have her revenge on you, as warmly as you do to
have yours on Maraquita.’
At this piece of intelligence, Henri de Courcelles changed colour.
‘If that is the case, your advice has not come too soon. These coolies
are the very devil to stick to an idea if they once get it in their
head, and I shall wake up some night, perhaps, to find Miss Jerusha’s
fingers at my throat, if I don’t clear out. Curse the little jade!
She’s been more trouble to me than she’s worth.’
‘And may be the occasion of more yet,’ replied Lizzie, who saw the way,
by taking advantage of his fear, to make him hold to his purpose. ‘She
is dead set against you, Henri--I am witness to that--and constantly
speaking of her wrongs to the rest. She swears she will have your life
some way or other; and for that reason only, I think it would be much
wiser of you to leave the plantation. She is quite capable indeed of
betraying you to Mr Courtney; and such a proceeding might lead to your
arrest, on a suspicion of felonious purposes. Now, do you see the
danger you are in?’
‘Indeed I do, and I shall not sleep another night on Beauregard: you
may take my word for that. Indeed, when I come to think of it, I cannot
imagine how I can have been such a fool as to run the risk for so long.
There are plenty of places in San Diego where I can be safer, and bide
my time for my revenge.’
‘Do more, whilst you are about it, Henri. Leave San Diego altogether,
and your idea of revenge behind you. It will never make you any
happier, and it may cast a haunting regret over all your future. And
you are still young. There is perhaps a happy life looming for you in
the distance, if you will try and forget the failure of your youth.’
‘No, Lizzie; you speak to deaf ears. I will fulfil your wish, and leave
this place. Be satisfied with that, and when I am gone, forget all
about me. I was never worthy to kiss even the hem of your garment, and
my darkest shame will ever be that I permitted you to waste a single
thought upon me. Goodbye, my dear. Don’t stay here any longer, for your
presence, and the memories it brings with it, unman and make a coward
of me. By this time to-morrow I shall have left Beauregard for ever.’
‘Thank Heaven for that,’ replied Lizzie, as she obeyed his request, and
left the hut.
Her mind was not wholly at ease concerning him, because she saw that he
was doggedly bent upon having his own way; but she had, at all events,
succeeded in scaring him off the property of her benefactors, and
trusted that when his evil influence was removed from them, the hands
of Beauregard would return to their former condition of obedience and
contentment.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]