THE DEVIL'S GULLY.
I was certainly extremely puzzled myself to conjecture what could have
become of the brig--that she had vanished was certain--and as for poor
Captain Hause, he was in a truly pitiable state; quite stunned with the
suddenness and severity of the blow, so as to be altogether unable to
think or act for himself--"Come, Hause, my lad," said I, encouragingly,
"this won't do; rouse yourself, man, and let us see what's to be done."
At this he slowly rose up in the canoe, rubbing his eyes, and pressing
his forehead, as if he had awakened out of some horrid dream, the
effects of which he was endeavouring to shake off; but the instant he
was no longer in doubt as to the reality of his misfortune, he cast the
slough of his despondency, and with terrific energy tore off his jacket
and neckerchief, and dashing both into the water, along with his hat,
threw himself headlong after them; being only prevented from
accomplishing his purpose of self-destruction by my dragging him on
board again by the leg, and then holding him in the canoe by main force.
"I say, my men,"--to the black canoemen--"pull to that big timber-ship,
will ye?"
"Ay, ay, massa," rejoined the poor fellows; "only hold dat poor mad
buccra hand--take care him don't get at we, please, massa--white
somarry when him blod up, bad enough--but when buccra beside himself,
for true and true--heigh, de devil, massa."
We soon got alongside of the Quebec ship. Several of the crew, in
their dirty canvass trowsers, red flannel shirts, and night-caps, were
standing at the gangway, apparently observing us.
"You are the mate of this ship?" said I to a good-looking young man,
who was leaning over the side, neatly dressed in a blue jacket, check
shirt, duck trowsers, and straw hat.
"I am, sir--can I be of any service to you?"
"I wish you would lend a hand to get this poor fellow up the side. He
is very ill, you see; and if I try to take him ashore I am persuaded he
will jump overboard. He has endeavoured to do so already."
"You need not be afraid of me, Mr Brail," here chimed in the poor
skipper himself, as he seated himself in the stern sheets with forced
composure. "It is over now, sir, and I am quite cool; but get up if
you please, and I will follow you--you are quite right, sir, the people
of this ship _may_ be able to give us some information."
I clambered up the high side of the vessel, and was immediately
followed by Hause and three of the negroes belonging to the canoe.
"I am sorry Captain Batten is not on board, gentlemen," quoth the mate;
"but is there any thing I can do for you?"
My companion was still unable to speak for himself. He had sitten down
on a carronade, resting his head on his hand, the very picture of
despondency.
"Why, it is a strange story altogether," said I; "but did you notice
when the brig, that anchored close to you yesterday afternoon, got
under weigh this morning?"
"I did, sir. I was on deck at the time."
The captain lifted up his head at this for a moment, but presently fell
back into his former state of apparent stupor.
"I noticed two boats," continued the mate, "I suppose from the shore,
full of people, go to her from the other side of the bay, and smart
chaps they were apparently--they loosed sails, and set them in regular
man-of-war fashion, and all the time you could have heard a pin drop.
I will do them or the crew the credit to say that I never saw a brig
got under weigh more handsomely in my life. I had no conception they
could have got the anchor up so speedily."
"Anchor up!" groaned Hause; "why, _there--there_ is the anchor, cable
and all," pointing to the buoy. "The brig is run away with by some
piratical rascals, sir," cried he, increasing his exclamation to a
roar--"the cable has been slipped--oh, I am ruined, I am ruined--for
ever ruined--the sweet little Ballahoo has been cut out by pirates--as
sure as fate, the bloody pirates are off with her," and he burst into a
passion of tears, and wept like the veriest child.
"I really cannot say," rejoined the mate of the timber-ship, most
distressingly cool and composed; "but she was in sight within this half
hour from the deck. Here, steward, hand me the captain's glass--I
think I shall be able to make her out from the maintop still."
This seemed to rouse poor Hause, who had relapsed into his mute fit;
and he was in the top in an instant. "Hand me up the glass, my good
fellow," cried he impatiently to the mate, who was ascending the
rigging leisurely, with the glass slung at his back by a leather
strap--"the glass, if you please, the glass--here I see her down to
leeward there--there, see--just over the Point." And the poor fellow
took a long, anxious look towards the offing, steadying the telescope
against one of the topmast shrouds, and speaking very quickly all the
time, as I have seen one do in a fever, to the mate, who stood by him
in the top.
"Well, captain," I sung out, "what do you see?"
He did not answer me; but the mate of the ship did. "He says he sees
the brig, sir, standing under a crowd of sail to the northward and
westward--two small craft, like coasters, in company."
"Ask him to take a good look at these last, will ye?"
A pause. "One is a schooner, he says, sir."
"And the other?"
"A felucca, sir."
"I thought so, by all that is unfortunate." And I turned away, walking
aft very fast, when the mate's voice from the top, hailing the deck,
evidently in great alarm, arrested me, and glued me to the planks.
"Johnstone, Johnstone!"--This was to one of the ship's people,--"come
up here; come up into the top--quick, or he will be over!" And the next
moment the telescope fell smash at my feet. I could see that Hause had
cast himself down on the grating, and was grovelling convulsively on
his face. At length, in his struggles, one of his legs hung over; and
I thought he would have slipped through the mate's fingers, and been
dashed to pieces by the fall. I looked up enquiringly.
"He's in a fit, sir," cried the mate.
"Well, well, seize him in the top, then--seize him in the top."
But it was unnecessary; the poor fellow got over this paroxysm also, to
which the calmness of despair now finally succeeded, and presently he
came down on deck.
"I will now give you no more trouble, Mr Brail, you may depend on it; I
am in my right senses again, although ruined for ever; and all owing to
my infernal folly in not sleeping on board."
"Well, my good fellow," said I, "I question very strongly if your
_sleeping_ on board would have made the smallest difference, at least
in your favour. _If_ she has been forcibly carried off,--and I am
sorry to say it looks very like it,--the party must have been too
strong to have allowed _your_ resistance to have been of any avail. In
fact, the first thing they naturally would have done must have been
either to have secured you below, or given you a more effectual
_quietus_--you understand me. So nothing here is so bad, but it might
have been worse. You are better as you are surely, than a prisoner;
or, worse still, amongst the fishes in the bay?"
But I was cramming his ear against the stomach of his sense.
"Those on deck would not have been caught in this way had I been on
board, take my word for it, sir."
"Probably not, probably not. But who does the brig belong to?"
"To myself, sir--entirely."
"And she was ensured?"
"Yes, fully; but since she had arrived, of course the underwriters are
not liable for her having been cut out. Besides, sir, it will be made
out a deviation, as we were bound for Kingston, and had no right to
touch at Montego bay; although, God knows, we did all for the best."
"These are questions that I cannot well answer. As to the deviation, I
fear you are right, although, as you say, you did it for the best; and
if the underwriters be liberal-minded men, this should weigh with them,
and I do hope they will settle. However, cheer up, man, and let us go
and make our depositions before the authorities, and send off
information of the event to the admiral at Kingston, and to your agent
there, as well as to the outports; let us take all the chances of
informing some of the squadron of the transaction. You are bound to
take every measure likely to afford a chance of the recovery of the
brig and property. But the poor Dons, have they been kidnapped as well
as the crew?"
"All on dem--ebery one on dem carry go along wid dat terrible pirate
willain," quoth one of the negro canoemen.
"Aye, Quashie," said I, for I had forgotten the blackies altogether,
"what do _you_ know about it?"
"I knows dis, massa--dat Jack, and Aby, and Pico dere, was all out fis
wid me in de canoe dis wery marning, jost as de moon was setting, when
one buccra hail we fram de beach--'Canoe, ahoy,' him say.--'Hillo,' say
we."
"Very well, my good man, get on, get on."
"So me shall, massa; so him hail again, 'Canoe, ahoy,' him say--and
'Hillo,' say me, Bill, once more."
"So, and you took him on board?" said I.
"You had better give him his own way, sir, or you will never get to the
end of his yarn," chimed in the mate of the timber ship. I saw he had
a better knowledge of the negro character than I had, so I resolutely
held my tongue. "Go on, then, Bill, since that is your name, get along
your own way."
"So him hail, we de tird time--'Canoe, ahoy,' him say. I hope massa
notice dat him sing out 'Canoe, ahoy,' for de _tird_ time--'Hillo,' say
I for de tird time too--massa will mark I say 'Hillo,' for de tird time
too."
"Yes, yes."
"Wery good. 'I wants a shove out to one wessel in de offing,' say de
woice, for by dis time one cloud come over de moon, and we couldn't see
nobody none at all--'We is fissing, and can't come,' say Pico."
"'Never mind your fissing--here is one golden hook for you--here is
eight dollar for de put on board.'
"Ho, ho, now we understan, taught I,--'He, he, better more as fis whole
night dis is,' say Jack. So we leave de lines, at one buoy, and pull
for de beach, where we find one buccra tan up dere wid portmanteau on
him shoulder, and all fine dress as if for one ball. He toss in de
portmanteau widout any more palaver--wery heavy him was, for de same
was break Pico shin."
"To be sure him do," said Pico, here showing where the black cuticle
was flayed off the cucumber shank.
"'Now you see one wessel, wid white sail out yonder?' him say when him
sit down in de starn sheet--'No,' say all we, 'we see noting,' and no
more we did, massa.
"'Bery well--pull right out of de bay den--_one doubloon if you pulls
to please me,_' say he."
I here looked at poor Hause--forgetting he had been helplessly drunk
when the canoe passed us, as we sat below the orange-tree.
"Well, massa," continued the negro, "when we reach de offing de trange
buccra tood up in de starn, take off him hat, and look all
about--'dere,' say he, pointing wid him tretch out hand, 'dere dey are,
you see dem now, pull for dat nearest wessel.'
"'Where, where, where?' Pico poke him head out into de dark night, and
so do Jack, and so do Aby, and so do me--all tan up wid neck tretch
over de gonwale like so much goose looking for de picaniny coming wid
de Guinea corn. So, tink I, what good yeye dat buccra mos hab, for
none of us yet no see noting; but, ha, ha, presently de moon give us
one leetle shine, and, I see, I see."
"What the deuce did you see?" said I, losing all patience, and raising
my hand threateningly--Quashie, thinking I was going to strike him, now
tumbled out his words fast enough.
"I see one larsh ship well out in de offing--one leetle rogueish
looking felucca close to, and one big topsail schooner between dis one
and de larsh ship." Here, seeing it was a false alarm on my part, he
relapsed into his former drawling verbosity. "Well, we pull for de
smallest of de tree--see no one on deck but de man steering and two
boy--de trange buccra shomp on board--'Now tank you, my lad,' him say
quite shivel--'dere is de doubloon I promise--here, boy, give dem poor
fellow a horn of grog a-piece.'--'Si Señor,' say de boy--fonny ting, I
taught, for de boy to hanswer him in Panish--we drink de grog--'now
shove off--good by--go home, and sleep,' said de trange buccra--but
instead we come back to our nets, massa--before daybreak we come
ashore, and when de captain dere engage de canoe, we taught it was for
join de brig in de offing (for after we came back from sell our fis we
hear she was gone), until we see she was too far out, and instead of
being heave too, was bowl along six knots wid de first of de sea
breeze."
"How came you to know Captain Hause was the master of the brig?" said I.
"Because I was in de pilot canoe dat was come aff to you yesterday--and
it make me wery mosh surprise to see de captain expect to find de brig
at anchor dis forenoon, for I never dream she could be go widout his
leave. I was tink for true it was him send him off at gone-fire,
becase I see, just before day broke, what I tink was two sore boat wid
peoples, as if he had sent help to up de hanker cleverly--dat all I
knows, massa--will buss de book pan dat." And I believe the poor
fellow spoke the truth.
It was now evident beyond all shadow of doubt that the Ballahoo had
been run away with by pirates, and it was equally clear that nothing
could be done with any chance of success in the way of venturing to
follow her in an unarmed craft.
As for poor Hause, it would have been downright cruelty if I had left
him that forenoon. So I told Cousin Teemoty to put up the gig, as I
found I should be unable to leave Montego bay that day at any rate; and
I hurried to Sally Frenche's in order to write to the admiral an
account of the transaction.
When I got there I found Mr Twig and his friend Mr Flamingo seated at a
sumptuous breakfast. "Good morning, gentlemen--melancholy news for you
this morning. This poor man's brig--the vessel I came in--has been run
away with in the night by pirates."
"By pirates!" said Flamingo; "impossible, Mr Brail, you are joking
surely. I would as soon believe that Jacob Twig there had been stolen
in the night."
"And do you mean to say I should not have been worth the stealing,
Felix?"
I assured them that it was a melancholy fact, and no jest, but neither
would believe that there was any piracy in the affair--"Piracy--poo,
poo, impossible--barratry of the crew--barratry to a certainty."
"No," quoth Hause; "I would trust the poor fellows with all that I am
worth--Heaven knows that's little enough now. The mate is my own
brother-in-law, and the second mate is my nephew, my own sister's son.
No barratry, sir; no, no."
"Well, well," said I, "you have shown, gentlemen, a desire to oblige me
already. I now will put you to the proof."
Here they laid down their coffee-cups and rose, wiping their muzzles
with their napkins most resolutely.
"Say the word, Mr Brail," quoth both in a breath, with their mouths
full, and munching away all the time--"how can we be of service?--with
our persons or purses? We West Indians have such a slippery tenure in
this country, that one does not much grudge perilling either,"
continued Jacob Twig.
"Thank you. All I want at present is, that you should have the
goodness to put Mr Hause and me in the way of making our depositions
before your chief magistrate."
"The custos of the parish?" quoth Twig. "Certainly--and fortunately he
is here in Montego bay at this moment. He was at Roseapple's last
night."
"I know where to find him," said Mr Flamingo, "He is always at old
Jacob Munroe's store about this time, when at the bay. So, _allons_."
And in a twinkling we were on our way to lay our troubles before the
great functionary, an extensive planter in the neighbourhood."
"Pray, where is Mr Turner, the gentleman from Falmouth, who brought
that ominous Mr Wilson to the ball, to be found?" said I, as we stumped
along, larding the lean earth, for it was cruelly hot.
"Well thought of," said Don Felix. "He lodges usually at Judy Wade's.
Why, there he is in _propria persona_, standing in the front piazza."
"How do you do, Turner? You will have heard the row on the bay?"
"Oh yes; but the Tom Bowline has been given up; she has not even been
plundered, and is now working into the bay."
"No--no--not the Tom Bowline"----
"What, about the brig having been cut out? Oh yes; it has flown like
wild-fire."
"Pray, is Mr Wilson still with you?"
"No, to my surprise (I will confess), he is not. It seems he came home
before me from Roseapple's, packed his portmanteau, paid half of our
joint bills, and bolted"----
"Honour amongst thieves," whispered Twig to me--
"But where he is gone I can't tell. He _did_ intend to have started
for Kingston to-day at one time, but last night he said he would put it
off until to-morrow."
"There again," said I, looking at Jacob, who seemed to think it was his
cue.
"He must be a bit of a rogue that same Wilson; so I hope he is no
friend of yours, Turner, _my dear fellow_," quoth Twig--and here he
told him of all that had occurred, and what we suspected.
Mr Turner, a most respectable man, was highly incensed at having been
so grossly duped, and willingly accompanied us to the place where we
expected to find the custos.
We were on our way, when the mate of the timber ship overtook us,
running very fast.
"Gentlemen, piracy is not the worst of it--piracy is not the worst of
it. _There has been murder committed_."
"Murder!" quoth Jacob Twig--"the deuce there has!"
"Murder!" quoth Don Felix--"worse, and more of it."
And, "murder!" quoth I Benjie. "Where, my good man?--and what proof?"
"Come with me, gentlemen," said the still breathless seaman. "The
ship's boat, with Captain Batten himself in it, is lying at the wharf.
Come with me, and you shall see yourselves that it is as I say."
We reached the wharf, and immediately pulled straight for the brig's
buoy.
As we got between it and the sun, which was now declining in the west,
we witnessed a very uncommon appearance.
The Ballahoo had let go her anchor in five fathoms water, so clear, and
the sand at the bottom so white and free of weeds or rocks, that when
we were about & cable's length distant from the anchor, it appeared
from the refraction of the sun's rays, to be buoyed up, and to float on
the surface of the gentle swell that rolled in from the offing--the
shank, flukes, and stock twisting and twining, and the cable waving in
its whole length, as if the solid anchor had been a living thing in the
fangs of a gigantic watersnake. When we got right over the anchor, we
saw a dark object, at about three fathoms to windward of it, of the
size of a man's body, glimmering and changing its shape, from the
jaugle of the water. At the request of the mate I shaded my eyes with
my hands, and held my face close to the surface, when the indistinct
appearance, as I looked steadily, settled itself into the figure of a
sailor, floating, as near as I could judge, midway between the bottom
and the surface; suspended in the water, as the fable alleges Mahomet's
coffin to be in air.
"It has drifted," said the mate, "since I was here before, and is now
much nearer the surface--see, see!"--and presently the dead corpse, as
if some sudden chemical decomposition had taken place, sent up a number
of bubbles, and then rose rapidly to the surface with a bob (if in so
serious a matter one may use such an expression), where it floated with
the breast bone and face flush with the surface of the swell, dip
dipping, and driving out small concentric circles, that sparkled in the
sun all round. _The throat was cut from ear to ear_.
"Great God," cried poor Hause, as he passed his arm round the neck of
the dead body, and raised it out of the water--"my poor mate--my poor
mate! Ay, ay--he would have the morning watch sure enough. A fearful
watch has it been to him."
We carried the body to the wharf, and left it there, covered with a
boatsail, and once more proceeded to wait on the custos.
The place we expected to meet him at was a sort of vendue store, the
small open piazza of which, fronting the street, was lumbered with
bales of Osnaburgs, open boxes of handkerchiefs, pieces of Irish
linens, and several open barrels of mess beef, pork, pickled mackerel,
herrings, and shads. We navigated through these shoals with some
difficulty, and considerable danger to the integrity and purity of our
coat skirts. At length we reached the interior.
There was a passage fronting us, that ran right through the house from
front to rear, on each side of which were sparred partitions of
unpainted pine boards, covered with flour and weevils, and hung with
saddlery, mule harness, cattle chains, hoes, and a vast variety of
other miscellaneous articles of common use on an estate.
Through the spars on the left hand side, I saw a person in a
light-coloured jacket and trowsers, perched on the top of a tall
mahogany tripod, at a small, dirty, hacked-and-hewn mahogany desk, with
a pen behind his ear, his hands full of papers, and busy apparently
with some accounts.
But there seemed to be a dark _sanctum-sanctorum_ beyond him, of some
kind or another, railed in separately, the partition festooned with
dusty spider-webs, and raised several steps above the level of the
floor. Here, in the obscurity, I could barely discern a little
decrepit figure of a man, like a big parrot in a cage, dressed in a
sort of dark-coloured night-gown and red night-cap.
We all sat down unconcernedly to wait for his honour, as if this had
been some common lounge, or a sort of public coffee-house,--some on
tops of barrels, others on bales or boxes; but neither of the two
persons at the desks moved or took the smallest notice of us, as if
they had been accustomed to people constantly going and coming.
"Where is your master?" said Twig at length to a negro that was
tumbling goods about in the piazza.
"Dere him is," quoth Snowball--"dere in de contin hose;" indicating the
direction by sticking out his chin, both paws being occupied at the
time in rolling a tierce of beef.
"I say, Jacob Munroe," sung out Twig--"how are you, old boy? Nuzzling
away in the old corner, I see."
"Hoo are ye? Hoo are ye the day, Mr Twig?" said a small husky voice
from the sanctum.
I happened to sit a good deal farther back in the passage than the
others of the party (farther _ben_ I believe they would call it in
Scotland), and thus could hear the two quill drivers, who were
evidently unaware of my being within earshot, communing with each
other, while my companions did not.
"Saunders," quoth the oldest man from the sanctum, "hae ye coonted the
saydels?"
"Yes, uncle, twice over, and there is still one amissing."
"Vara extraordinar," rejoined the small husky voice from the dark
corner--"Vara extraordinar."--Then after a pause--"Hae ye closed aw the
accoonts, Saunders?"
"No, sir."
"Whilk o' them are open yet?"
"Mr Wanderson's."
"Ane," said the voice.
"Jolliffe and Backhouse."
"Twa."
"Skinflint and Peasemeal."
"Three."
"His honour the custos."
"Four."
"And Gabriel Juniper."
"Ay, there's five o' them. Weel-a-weel, Saunders, we maunna lose the
value of the saydel at no rate--sae just clap in, 'item, _one_ saydel'
to ilk ane o' the five ye hae read aff the noo seriawtim--they'll no aw
objeck--ane will surely stick--maybe mair."
I was a good deal amused with this, and while the others were
inspecting some sets of harness, and the quality of several open boxes
of soap, I could not resist drawing nearer, under the lee of the
partition, to enjoy the fun of the thing. Presently Twig joined me.
The conscience of the younger of the two invisibles seemed to rebel
somewhat at this national and characteristic method of balancing an
account, and making gain of the loss of a saddle.
"Really, uncle, _none_ of these parties got the saddle, I am positively
certain of _that_."
"It's no my fawt if they didna--we canna lose the saydel, Saunders; by
no mainer of means."
"Oh, but, sir," persisted the other, "Mr Wanderson, for instance, a
person you always speak so highly of!"
"Haud yere tongue, sir, and do as I bid ye--it'll no be charged again
_yere_ conscience, and yere no the keeper o' mine."
I was amazingly tickled at this.--After a pause, "Hae ye charged the
saydels yet, Saunders?"
"Yes, sir," said the clerk, doggedly; "yes, all charged, and I'm just
closing the accounts."
"Close nane o' the accounts--the devil's in the lad wi' his
hurry--close nane o' the accounts, sir--so noo charge twa three odd
things till each o' the five, just, to smoor the saydel, ye ken--what
are ye glowering at?--do ye no understaun yere mither tongue?--to mak
the charge less noticeable, ye gawmarel."
"Really, sir," said the younger of the two, "I have not the courage to
do so unjust an action of myself."
"Haud yere tongue, and write what I dictate, then, sir--wha's first?
Ay, Mr Wanderson. Let me see--an IHL hinge, a negro lock, and a bottle
of blister flies, to Mr Wanderson. He's always giving poor people help
and medicine, and he'll ne'er notice them. Wha's neist?"
"The custos, sir."
"Ay, the custos," said the voice; "a jovial chiel is his honour--so,
so--just clap doon, item, twa _pawtent_ corkscrews. He's no very
muckle gien to payin', but ne'er mind--I'll _screw_ it out o' him in
rum and plantains." And here the creature laughed an "eldritch laugh,"
sounding more like _keck, keck, keck_, than any common cachinnation.
"Wha's neist?"
"Jolliffe and Backhouse."
"Ay, braw English lads are they baith; leeberal chiels, and fond o'
guid eating--clap a round o' Jew beef on the tap o' _their_
saydel.--Keck, keck, keck. Wha's neist?"
"Skinflint and Peasemeal, sir."
"Bah--nasty Scotch bodies" (and what may you be, thought I); "and weel
I wot I would be glad to saydel them--keck, keck--but they'll no be
fitted that gate, I trow--they are owre gleg; sell them a loose, and if
he wanted a leg or the fud--my certie, let abee findin' it oot, they
wad plea it afore they payed it--sae pass them ower. But wait awee--I
am loath to let Skinflint escape after aw. Hoo mony grunstanes did
their cart ca' for the other day?"
"Two dozen, sir."
"Twa dizzen--twa dizzen grunstanes, did ye say?--herd ony mortal the
like o' that--four-and-twenty grunstanes! What can they do wi' sae
mony? they maun surely mack soup o' them, or feed their negers wi'
them, or maybe they grind their noses on them, ay, that'll be it--keck,
keck--Did you send an invoice wi' the cart, Saunders?"
"No, sir; the man went away without it."
"Vera weel."
"The cart upset on the way home, sir, and broke several of the stones,
I hear."
"Better and better--mak the _twa dizzen three_, Saunders; surely
they'll no piece the broken anes thegither to check the tally--the
extra dizzen will aboot balance a saydel, Saunders. So, if we canna
fit them wi' a saydel, we'll tak a ride aff them bare-backed.--Keck,
keck, keck. Wha's neist?"
"Gabriel Juniper, sir."
"Fashious, drucken neerdoweel--wash his saydel down wi' a gallon o' gin
and twa o' brandy. He'll no be able to threep wi' me, for he's amaist
aye drunk noo--sin' he couldna keep his ain saydel the last time I saw
him on horseback, it's but richt he should pay for the lost ane--Keck,
keck, keck. Noo, Saunders, ye're a decent lad, sae satisfy yere
conscience, and mind ye gie up, in shape o' discoont, at the
settlement, the amount o' aw the _fictitious_ items, _barring_ the
saydels and the grunstanes, though--mind that--barring the saydels and
the grunstanes. Noo, soom up and close, ye deevil--soom up and close."
"Ah, custos," said Mr Turner, as the gentleman we were waiting for
entered, "glad to see you, glad to see you." Here, having explained
how matters stood, his honour retired with us into Jacob Munroe's back
store.
"Well, namesake, how are you?" said Twig to the old man who owned the
small voice, and who now emerged and became visible, as he crept before
us and opened the door.
"Oo, fine, Maister Twig, fine--did ye fin' the accoonts against Roaring
River and Hector's Folly estates aw correct, Mr Twig?"
"Yes, all correct, all correct; only you have charged me a saddle too
many."
The old withered anatomy looked with a quizzical leer of his eye at
him, as much as to say, "have you overheard me, master Twig?--but I am
rich and don't care."
"Saunders," cried the old man, "I say, Saunders, bring the ink and _ae_
chair for the custos and the gentlemen," as if we all could have sat
upon _one_; "and, Abr_a_h_aa_m," to one of the store negroes, "shool
away that shell into a corner, and gie them room."
"Shell," said I, in some surprise; "why, is that great mass all
tortoise-shell?"
"Atweel is it, young gentleman; at least it is the shell of the
hawk's-bill turtle, which is the same thing. That's the last cargo of
the Jenny Nettles, frae the Indian coast--she sould be up again aboot
this time, if she be na _cacht_ by they incarnate deevils o'
peerates--but she's weel assured, she's weel assured. Why,
Saunders!--whar the deevil are ye, Saunders?"
"Here, sir," said the young man whom I had seen at the desk, as he
entered with writing materials in one hand, a chair for his _Honour_ in
the other, and a Bible (as he naturally concluded that some depositions
on oath were to be taken) _in his teeth_. I paid no particular
attention to him until he startled me by suddenly dropping the chair on
Twig's toes, exclaiming, as he caught the Bible in his hand, "Gude hae
a care o' us, Mr Brail, is this you yeersell?"--And lo, who should
stand before me, but our old friend Lennox.
"Why, old shipmate, how are you?--I am glad to see you; but I thought
you had turned coffee-planter by this time?"
"And so I have, sir. My uncle there sends me up the end of every week
to superintend his plantation in the mountains; but I am here for the
most part of my time in the store, helping him. But where are you
lodging, Mr Brail? I hope you will permit me to call on you; for I see
you are likely to be engaged at present."
I told him where I staid, and in few words what the reader knows
already regarding my Jamaica expectations and the cause of my visit;
farther, that I was about leaving town, but that I would not fail
having a chat with him soon, as I should no doubt be often at the bay.
The custos, after taking our depositions, wrote to the admiral at
Port-Royal, and to correspondents of his at all the outports, with an
outline of the circumstances, in case any of His Majesty's ships should
be there; and in the mean time it was determined that poor Hause, after
giving his underwriters in Kingston notice of his calamity, should
remain at Montego bay until it was seen what should turn up. Here I
must do old Jacob Munroe justice. Before the meeting broke up, he in
our presence invited him to stay in his house as long as it suited him.
Lennox, seeing I was surprised at this, whispered in my ear, that,
"Snell as his uncle was in business matters, the auld-farrant body had
a warm heart still to a fellow-creature in distress."
"Come along, Mr Brail," said Flamingo--"as we cannot make a start of it
this evening now, let us adjourn to our friend Sally's, and see what
entertainment she can provide for us; and then hey for Ballywindle at
daybreak to-morrow."
However, our troubles were not over for that day; for we had not
proceeded fifty yards on our way to our lodgings, when an ugly bloated
drunken-looking white man, with great flabby yellow cheeks, that shook
as he walked like flannel-bags full of jelly, and in a most profuse
perspiration, driven forth, I make no doubt, by a glorious rummer of
grog, came up to us, and touched both of us on the shoulder--most
people are rather sensitive regarding a touch thereabouts, so we faced
suddenly round.
"I warn you bote, gentlemen, to attend one coroner's inquest at Jacob
Munroe's wharf."
"The deuce you do?" said I. "Pray, what authority have you for this,
my fine fellow?"
"De coroner's warrant, sir," producing it.
"Oh, we are nailed, Mr Brail," quoth Don Felix. "Crowner's Quest law
is not to be disputed--no use in kicking. So pray, my good man, do you
want any more jurors?"
"Indeed I do, sare. You are de first I have warn as yet."
"Oh, then, do you see that red-faced gentleman coming round the corner
there?"
"Yesh, I do," said the man.
"Then bone him _instanter_, or he will bolt." This was no less a
personage than Jacob Twig again. The man on this made a detour, and
took our friend in flank, but the moment Jacob saw him he seemed to
suspect his object, and began to walk down the street very fast,
followed by the constable. There was a narrow turning to the right,
near to where we stood, that led amongst a nest of _nanny_ houses, as
they are called, inhabited by brown free people, which was quite closed
up by a party washing clothes and a girl milking a cow beyond them.
How Jacob was to escape, if his evil genius should prompt him to try
this channel, I could not conceive. As yet his sense of propriety had
only allowed him to get into a very fast walk. Shamming deafness,
however, all the while, to the reiterated shouts of the constable, to
"stand in de Kin's name;" but the moment he opened the lane, off he
started, with the long skirts of his frogged coat streaming in the
wind, and his little glazed hat blazing in the sun like a meteor, or
the steel headpiece of one of Bonaparte's cuirassiers.
There was an old woman stooping down over her tub, right fronting him,
that is, facing him in an Irish fashion, for she looked t'other way
from him, and two younger ones, similarly employed on each side of her.
How he was to clear them and their tubs, and the cow beyond, was the
puzzle, as the projecting eaves of the two lines of small houses, whose
inmates were thus employed, nearly met overhead. However, we were not
left long in suspense. Massa Twig now quickened his pace, and clapping
his hands on the old lady's shoulders, cleared her and her tub cleverly
by a regular leap-frog, _tipping_ the heads of the two young women on
each flank with his toes, and alighted at the feet of the girl who was
milking the cow, which had not time to start before he followed up the
fun by vaulting on her back; and then charged down the lane through the
tubs and over the prostrate constable, passing us like a whirlwind, the
quadruped funking up her heels, and tossing the dry sand with her
horns, as if _startled_ by a myriad of gad-flies. Both Flamingo and I
strained our eyes to follow him, as he flew along like smoke, careering
down the lane that ended in the sea.
"Why don't he throw himself off?" said I; "the frantic brute is making
straight for the water--it will drown him if he don't."
"Jump off, man--jump off," roared Don Felix. But in vain; for the next
moment there was Jacob Twig of the Dream, in St Thomas in the East,
flashing and splashing in the sea, cow and all, an Irish illustration
of the fable of Europa. Presently both biped and quadruped were in
deep water, when they parted company, and all that we could see was a
glazed hat and a red face, and a redder face and a pair of horns,
making for the shore again as fast as they could.
"Now, Twig is cheap of that," quoth Flamingo. "He is always aiming at
something out of the way, and certainly he has accomplished it this
time; but, see, there are people about him, so he is safe."
However, we were boned, and could not escape, so having lost sight of
him, we waited until the poor constable, a German, had gathered himself
up and joined us.--"And now, Master Constable, lead the way, if you
please."
"Who is dat mans, as is mad?" quoth he, as soon as he could speak.
"Mr Purvis of Tantallon, near Lacovia," said Flamingo, as grave as a
judge.
"What a thumper," thought I Benjie.
We arrived at the wharf, when the coroner immediately impanelled the
jury, and we proceeded to view the body of the poor fellow who had been
murdered. It was lying on the wharf, covered with the sail as we had
left it; from under which, notwithstanding the short time it had been
exposed, thick fetid decomposed matter crept in several horrible
streams, and dripped into the clear green sea beneath, through the
seams of the planking, where the curdling blue drops were eagerly
gobbled up by a shoal of small fish; while a myriad of large
blue-bottles rose with a loud hum from the cloth, as it was removed on
our approach, but only to settle down the next moment more thickly than
before, on the ghastly spectacle.--Bah.--Even in the short period that
the body had been in the water, the features were nearly obliterated,
and the hands much gnawed; three of the fingers were gone entirely from
the left. The windpipe and gullet were both severed with a horrible
gash, and there was a deep bruised indentation across the forehead, as
if from the heavy blow of a crowbar, or some other blunt weapon. There
was no doubt on earth but that the poor fellow had been surprised and
met his death by violence, and so suddenly that he could not give the
alarm; so a verdict was accordingly returned of "wilful murder, against
a person or persons unknown."
By the time we returned to our lodgings we found Massa Twig fresh
rigged after his exertions, and as full of frolic and oddity as ever.
"Did you ever see a female bull so well actioned before, Felix?" said
he.
"Never," replied his friend,--"took the water like a spaniel too--must
be accustomed to the sea--an Alderney cow, I suppose, Twig, eh?"
This evening passed on without any thing further occurring worth
recording.
Next morning, Lennox came to see me off, and gave me all his news. I
was exceedingly glad to learn that the poor fellow was so happily
situated, and promised to call on him the first time I came to the bay.
While lounging about the piazza before breakfast, I noticed our friend
Quacco busily employed cleaning a fowling-piece.
"Whose gun is that, Quacco?"
"Massa Flamingo's, sir."
"Let me see it--a nice handy affair--Purdy, I perceive--comes to my
shoulder very readily, beautifully."
"Wery clever leetle gone, for sartain, massa; but all de caps dem
spoil, sir. See de powder--percossion dem call--quite moist, and
useless." By this time he had fitted on one of the copper caps, and
snapped the piece, but it was dumb. "I am going to fill de caps wid
fresh powder, massa; but really dis percossion powder too lively,
massa--only see"--and he gave a few grains of it a small tip with the
shank of the bullet mould, when it instantly flashed up.
"Master Quacco," said I, "mind your hand; that is dangerous stuff.
Tell Mr Flamingo to be wary also, or he will be shooting people, for it
is wrong mixed, I am certain."
"Wery trang, wery trang for sartain, massa--but no fear in my hand--for
I is armourer, as well as waiting gentleman--oh, ebery ting is I
Quacco."
"Confound your self-conceit."
Here Flamingo and Twig came in.
"Good morning, Mr Brail."
"Good morning."
"All ready for the start, I see," said Twig. "Why, Felix, what is Mr
Brail's man doing with your gun?"
"Cleaning it, and filling these caps anew with fresh percussion powder:
the old has mildewed, or got damp, he tells me. Indeed, the last time
I shot, it was not one in three that exploded."
"Mind how you play with those caps," said I; but before I could
proceed----
"Sally, make haste and get breakfast," bawled Twig. "_Do you hear?_"
"Yes, massa," squeaked Sal from the profundities of the back premises.
"Why, Felix," continued our friend, "there has been another burglary
last night: My _spleuchan_, as Rory Macgregor calls it, has been
ravished of its treasures."
"How poetical you are this morning!--mounted on your Pegasus, I see,"
rejoined Felix.
"Better that than the horned animal that led me such a dance
yesterday," quoth his friend, laughing. "But, joking apart, your man
Twister must have mistaken my tobacco for his own: He has emptied my
tobacco-pouch, as sure as fate, for none of my own people _eat_ it; and
the fellow has always that capacious hole in his ugly phiz filled with
it--with my prime patent chewing tobacco, as I am a gentleman."
"Really," said Felix, who detested tobacco in all shapes, as I learned
afterwards, with an accent conveying as clearly as if he had said
it--"I am deuced glad to hear it." Then, "Confound it, are we never to
get breakfast? But when did you miss it, Jacob?"
"Why, when we got out to ride over Mount Diablo, at the time the boys
were leading the gig-horses;--don't you recollect that I had to borrow
Twister's spurs, as Dare-devil always requires a persuader when a
donkey is in the path, and there were half-a-dozen, you know? So,
stooping to adjust them, out tumbled my spleuchan, it appears. I did
not know it at the time, indeed not until we were getting into the gig
again, when Twister handed the pouch, that was so well filled when it
dropped, as lank and empty as your own carcass, Flam."
"Poo, poo! what does it signify?" said his ally. "A fair exchange,
Twig--tobacco for spurs, you know--a simple _quid pro quo_."
"Shame!" said Jacob; "I thought you were above picking up such crumbs,
Felix. But here is breakfast--so, come."
We finished it; and as we were getting ready, I noticed Quacco and
Massa Twig in earnest confabulation, both apparently like to split with
suppressed laughter. At some of the latter's suggestions, our sable
ally absolutely doubled himself up, while the tears were running over
his cheeks. Immediately afterwards, Quacco began to busy himself,
boring some of the small hard seeds of the sand-box tree with his
pricker, and filling them with something; and then to poke and pare
some pieces of Jacob's patent flake tobacco with a knife, stuffing it
into the latter's tobacco-pouch. However, I paid no more attention to
them, and we started; my cousin Teemoty driving me in a chartered gig.
We shoved along at a brisk rate, close in the wake of Mr Twig's
voiture, and followed by a _plump_ of black cavaliers--a beautiful
little sumpter-mule, loaded with two portmanteaus, leading the
cavalcade; while Mr Flamingo's servant Twister pricked a-head, for the
twofold purpose of driving the mule and clearing the road of
impediments, such as a few stray jackasses, or a group of negroes going
to market, neither of whom ever get out of one's way.
After proceeding about ten miles, the road wound into a cocoa-nut grove
close to the beach; indeed, the beach _became_ the road for a good
mile, with the white surf rolling in and frothing over the beautiful
hard sand, quickly obliterating all traces of the wheels. Macadam was
at a discount here. One fine peculiarity of the West India seas is,
independent of their crystal clearness, they are always brimfull--no
steamy wastes of slush and slime, no muddy tideways. And overhead the
sea-breeze was whistling through the tall trees, making their long
feather-like leaves rustle and _rattle_ like a thousand watchmen's
alarms sprung in the midst of a torrent of rain, or a fall of _peas_.
"Hillo! what is that?" as a cocoa-nut fell bang into the bottom of my
gig, and bounded out again like a foot-ball.
"Oh, only a cocoa-nut," said Twig, looking over his shoulder with the
usual knowing twist of his mouth, but without pulling up.
"Only a cocoa-nut! But it would have fractured a man's skull, I
presume, if it had struck him."
"A white man's certainly," quoth Flamingo, with all the coolness in
life, as if it had fallen a hundred miles from me, in place of barely
shaving the point of my nose: "But it _has not_ hit you--a miss is as
good as a mile, you know; so suppose we go and bathe until they get
dinner ready yonder. Let us send the boys on to the tavern to order
dinner. We are within two miles of it, Jacob--eh?"
"No, no," quoth Twig; "come along a quarter of a mile further, and I
will show you a nook within the reef where we shall be safe from John
Shark, or rather the sharks will be safe from Flamingo's bones there.
He would be like a sackful of wooden ladles tossed to them. The fish
would find him as digestible as a bag of nutcrackers, seasoned with
cocoa-nut shells--ah!--but come along, come along. Oh such a bath, Mr
Brail, as I will show you!"
We left the cocoa-nut grove, and when we arrived at the spot indicated
we got out to reconnoitre. There was a long reef, about musket-shot
from the beach at the widest, on the outside of which the swell broke
in thunder, the strong breeze blowing the spray and flakes of frothy
brine back in our faces, even where we stood.
The reef, like a bow, hemmed in a most beautiful semicircular pool of
green sea water, clear as crystal; its surface darkened and crisped by
tiny blue sparkling wavelets, which formed a glorious and pellucid
covering to the forest, if I may so speak, of coral branches and
seaferns that covered the bottom, and which, even where deepest, were
seen distinctly in every fibre. When you held your face close to the
water, and looked steadily into its pure depths, you saw the bottom at
three fathoms perfectly alive, and sparkling with shoals of fishes of
the most glowing colours, gamboling in the sun, birdlike amongst the
boughs, as if conscious of their safety from their ravenous comrades
outside; while nothing could be more beautiful than the smooth
sparkling silver sand as the water shoaled towards the beach. The last
was composed of a belt of small transparent pebbles, about ten yards
wide, overhung by a rotten bank of turf of the greenest and most
fragrant description, that had been only sufficiently undermined by the
lap lapping of the water at tempestuous spring-tides (at no time rising
here above three feet), to form a continuous although rugged bench the
whole way along the shore.
"Now, if one were riding incautiously here, he might break his horse's
leg without much trouble," quoth Don Felix.
"Why, Jacob, speaking of horsemanship, how did you like your style of
immersion yesterday?--a novel sort of bathing-machine, to be sure."
"You be hanged, Felix," quoth his ally, with a most quizzical grin, as
he continued his peeling.
"Do you know I've a great mind to try an equestrian dip myself,"
persisted his friend. "Here, Twister--take off Monkey's saddle, and
bring him here."
"Oh, I see what you would be at," said Jacob. "Romulus, bring me
Dare-devil--so"--and thereupon, to my great surprise and amazement, it
pleased my friends to undress under a neighbouring clump of trees, and
to send the equipages and servants on to the tavern, about half a mile
distant. They then mounted two led horses, bare-backed, with watering
bits, and, naked as the day they were born, with the exception of a red
handkerchief tied round Mr Twig's head and down his redder cheeks, they
dashed right into the sea.
As cavalry was an arm I had never seen used with much effect at sea, I
swam out to the reef, and there _plowtering_ about in the dead water,
under the lee of it, enjoyed the most glorious shower-bath from the
descending spray, that flew up and curled far overhead, like a snow
storm, mingled with ten thousand miniature rainbows. I had cooled
myself sufficiently, and was leisurely swimming for the shore.
"Now this is what I call bathing," quoth Twig, as he kept meandering
about on the snorting Dare-devil, who seemed to enjoy the dip as much
as his master--"I would back this horse against Bucephalus at swimming."
Here Flamingo's steed threw him, by rearing and pawing the water with
his fore legs and sinking his croup, so that his master, after an
unavailing attempt to mount him again, had to strike out for the beach,
the animal following, and splashing him, as if he wanted to get on
_his_ back by way of a change.
"And that's what I call swimming," roared Don Felix. But he scarcely
had uttered the words when the horse made at him in earnest, and I
thought he had struck him with the near fore-foot.
"And that's what I call drowning," thought I, "or something deuced like
it."
However, he was really a good swimmer, and got to shore safe.
Master Twister had been all this time enacting groom of the stole to
the two equestrian bathers, and so soon as he had arrayed them, we
proceeded to the tavern, dined, and after enjoying a cool bottle of
wine, continued our journey to Ballywindle, which we hoped to reach
shortly after nightfall.
The sun was now fast declining; I had shot ahead of my two cronies and
their outriders, I cannot now recollect why, and we were just entering
a grove of magnificent trees, with their hoary trunks gilded by his
setting effulgence, when Twister's head (he had changed places with
Cousin Teemoty, and was driving me) suddenly, to my great alarm, gave a
sharp crack, as if it had split open, and a tiny jet of smoke puffed
out of his mouth--I was all wonder and amazement, but before I could
gather my wits about me, he jumped from the voiture into the dirty
ditch by the side of the road, and popped his head, ears and all, below
the stagnant green scum, while his limbs, and all that was seen of him
above water, quivered in the utmost extremity of fear.
As soon as Twig and Flamingo came up, I saw that neither they nor
Serjeant Quacco could contain themselves for laughter. The latter was
scarcely able to sit his mule--at length he jumped, or rather tumbled,
oft, and pulled Twister out by the legs; who, the instant he could
stand, and long before he could see for the mud that filled his eyes,
started up the road like a demoniac, shouting, "Obeah, Obeah!" which so
frightened the sumpter-mule, that he was by this time alongside of,
that she turned and came down, rattling past us like a whirlwind, until
she jammed between the stems of two of the cocoa-nut trees with a most
furious shock, when lo! the starboard portmanteau she carried burst and
blew up like a shell, and shirts, trowsers, nightcaps, and
handkerchiefs, of all colours, shapes, and sizes, were shot hither and
thither, upwards and downwards, this side and that, until the
neighbouring trees and bushes were hung with all manner of garments and
streamers, like a pawnbroker's shop.
Twig shouted, "There--that's your share of the joke, Felix--there goes
your patent portmanteau with the Bramah lock--see if the very
brimstones in which you gloried be not streaming like a commodore's
broad pennant from the top of the orange tree. The green silk
night-cap on the prickly pear--and the shirts and the vests, and the
real bandanas--ha, ha, ha!"
"Ay, ay," shouted Flamingo, who had dismounted and was endeavouring to
catch the mule as she careered through the wood towards the sea,
kicking and flinging in a vain attempt to disentangle herself from the
other portmanteau, which had now turned under her belly, and the
sumpter-saddle that hung at her side; "and there goes your kit, Jacob,
an offering to Neptune bodily, mule and all"--as the poor beast dashed
into the surf, after having threaded through the stems of the trees
without farther damage.
The cause of all this was no longer a mystery, for I had made my guess
already; but presently I was enlightened, if need had been, by friend
Quacco. He had, it appeared, with Mr Twig's sanction, charged certain
of the pieces of patent tobacco in the _spleuchan_ with several small
quantities of detonating powder, enclosed in the glass-brittle seeds of
the sand-box, as a trap for Master Twister, who was suspected of making
free with it--the issue, so far as he was concerned, has been seen; but
in the hurry of coming away and packing up, instead of placing the
bottle containing the powder in Mr Flamingo's gun-case, where it should
have been, he hurriedly dropped it into his portmanteau, as Twister was
packing it; so that when the sumpter mule jambed between the trunks of
the trees after it took fright it exploded and blew up.
"I say, Massa Twister, you never make free with my patent tobacco?"
"Oh, oh, oh!" roared poor Twister, holding his jaws with both
hands--"Oh, massa, my tongue blow out--my palate blow down--de roof of
my mouse blow up--and all my teets blow clean gan--Oh no, massa, never,
never will touch him no more, massa--never, never no more."
"I'll answer for it you don't, my boy," quoth Jacob.
After picking up the fugitive and clambered garments as well as we
could, we travelled onwards for about two miles, when we struck inland,
and as the night fell entered a dark tree-shaded ravine, with a
brawling brook rushing through the bottom, up which we threaded our way
by a narrow road scarped out of the red earth of the hill side.
"Now, Mr Brail, give your horse the rein--let him pick his own steps,
if you please; for the road is cruelly cut up by the weather and
waggons hereabouts, and none of the widest either, as you may _feel_,
for you can't see it."
I took his advice, and soon found the advantage of it, as we came to
several groups of negroes sitting invariably on the inner side of the
road, which I would certainly have been tempted to avoid at my own
peril; but my horse was not so scrupulous, for he always poked his nose
between them and the bank, and snorted and nuzzled until they rose and
shuffled out of our way, either by creeping to the side next the
ravine, or up on the bank; presently the road widened, and we got along
more comfortably.
I could not but admire the thousands and tens of thousands of
fire-flies that spangled the gulf below us, in a tiny galaxy; they did
not twinkle promiscuously, but seemed to emit their small green lights
by signal, beginning at the head of the ravine, and glancing all the
way down in a wavy continuous lambent flash, every individual fly, as
it were, taking the time from his neighbour ahead. Then for a moment
all would be dark again, until the stream of sparkles flowed down once
more from the head of the valley, and again disappeared astern of us;
while the usual West India concert of lizards, beetles, crickets, and
tree toads, filled the dull ear of night with their sleepy monotony.
The night soon began to be heavily overcast, and as we entered below
some high wood the darkness would have become palpable, had it not been
for the fire-flies,--even darkness which might have been felt.
"I must heave to until I get my bat's eyes shipped, Mr Twig," said
I--"I can't see an inch before my nose."
"Then send Flamingo ahead, my dear fellow, for if he sees the _length_
of _his_ we shall do--his proboscis is long enough to give us warning
of any impediment."
"What a clear glowworm-coloured light some of these insects do give,"
quoth I: "See that one creeping up the handle of my whip--it comes
along with its two tiny burners, like the lights in a distant carriage
rolling towards you."
"Come, you must get on, though, since we have not room to pass--no time
to study natural philosophy," said Twig; and I once more fanned my
horse into a gentle trot, with very much the sensation of one running
through an unknown sound in the night, without either chart or pilot.
After a little, I saw a cluster of _red_ fire-flies, as I thought,
before us. "Oh, come along, I see now famously."
"Oh massa, massa!"--Crack!--I had got entangled with a string of mules
going to fetch a last turn of canes from the field; the red sparks that
I had seen ahead having proceeded from the pipes in the mouths of the
drivers. However there was no great damage done.
The rain now began to descend in torrents, with a roar like a
cataract.--"What uncommonly pleasant weather," thought I. "Why, Mr
Twig, you see I am a bad pilot--so, do you think you have room to pass
me now? for, to say the truth, I don't think I can see a yard of the
road, and you know I am an utter stranger here."
He could not pass, however, and at length I had to set Master Teemoty
to lead the horse. Presently I heard a splash.
"Hilloa, cousin Teemoty! where have you got to?"
"De Fairywell no tell lie, massa--De Devil's Golly,[1] dat has been dry
like one bone for tree mont, hab _come down_, massa--dat all."
[1] Gully--ravine or river course.
"Come _down_," said I; "I wish it had stayed _up_!"
"Ah!" said Twig,--"and we are to sleep here in the cold and damp, I
suppose--the fellow's a fool, and must have got off the path into some
puddle. We are a mile from the gully--let me see"--and before you
could have turned, Massa Jacob was splashing up to the knees alongside
of Massa Teemoty. However, he was right--it was only a streamlet--and
we got across without much difficulty; but in ten minutes the roar of a
large torrent, heard hoarse and loud above the sound of the rain, gave
convincing proof that we were at length approaching the
gully--moreover, that it was down, and that with a vengeance. We now
found ourselves amongst a group of negroes, who had also been stopped
by the swollen stream. There was a loud thundering noise above us on
the left hand, which (we had now all alighted) absolutely shook the
solid earth under our feet, as if in that direction the waters had been
pitched from the mountain side headlong over a precipice. From the
same quarter, although quite calm otherwise, a strong cold wind gushed
in eddies and sudden gusts, as if from a nook or valley in the
hill-side, charged with a thick, wetting spray, that we could feel
curling and boiling about us, sometimes stronger and sometimes weaker,
like the undulations of a London fog. Close to our feet we could hear
the river tearing past us, with a great rushing and gurgling,
occasionally intermingled with the rasping and crashing of trees and
floating spars, as they were dashed along on the gushes and swirls of
the stream; while every now and then the _warm_ water (for so it felt
in contrast with the cold damp night-breeze) surged a foot or two
beyond its usual level, so as to cover us to the ankle, and make us
start back; and immediately ebb again. It was some time, amidst this
"groan of rock and roar of stream" before we could make out any thing
that the negroes about us said.
"Hillo," cried Twig--to be heard by each other we had to shout as loud
as we could--"hillo, friend Felix, here's a coil--what shall we
do--sleep here, eh?"
"We shall sleep soft, then," roared his friend in reply.
"As how, my lord?"
"Why, you may have mud of all consistencies, and of any depth."
"True, _water_ beds are all the fashion now, and possibly _mud_ ones
might be an improvement; but had we not better try back," I continued,
as I really began to think it no joke remaining where we were all night.
"A good idea," said Twig.
"About ship, then," quoth Flamingo.
"Wery good plan, wery good plan," shouted Cousin Teemoty; "but"----
"But, but, but--oh, confound your _buts_," roared Twig; "_but what_,
sir?"
"Oh," said Tim, whose dignity was a little hurt, "noting, noting--no
reason why massa should not return--only Carrion-crow gully dat we lef
behind, will, by dis time, be twenty time more _down_ as dis, _dat
all_."
"And so it will--the boy is right," rejoined Jacob; "What is to be
done? Stop--I see, I see."
"The deuce you do! then you have good eyes," quoth Felix.
"I say, Flamingo, pick me up a stone that I can sling, and hold your
tongue; do, that's a good fellow."
"Sling? where is the Goliah you mean to attack?"
"Never you mind, Flam, but pick me up a stone that I can tie a string
to, will ye?--There, you absurd creature, you have given me one as
round and smooth as a cricket ball; how can I fasten a string round
_it_?--give me a longish one, man--one shaped like a kidney-potato or
your own nose, you blundering good-for-nothing--ah, that will do. Now,
some string, boys--string."
Every negro carries a string of one kind or another with him in the
crown of his hat, and three or four black paws were in an instant
groping for Jacob Twig's hand in the dark with pieces of twine.
"Hillo, what is that?" as an auxiliary-current, more than ankle deep,
began to flow down the road with a loud ripple from behind us, thus
threatening to cut off our retreat--"Mind we are not in a scrape here!"
cried I.
"If we be, we can't better it," shouted Twig--"Here, gentlemen, give me
your cards, will ye?'
"Cards--cards!" ejaculated Flamingo and I in a breath.
"Yes--your calling-cards; do grope for them--make haste."
He got the cards, and all was silent except the turmoil of the elements
for a few seconds. At length, in a temporary lull of the rain, I
thought I heard the shout of a human voice from the opposite bank,
blending with the roar of the stream.
"Ay, ay," cried Jacob--"there, don't you hear people on the other
side?--so here goes."
"Hillo, who the deuce has knocked off my hat?" cried Flamingo.
"Why don't you stand on one side then, or get yourself shortened by the
knees? such a steeple is always in the way," bawled Twig. "Leave me
scope to make my cast now, will ye--don't you _see_ I want to throw the
stone with the cards across amongst the people on the opposite
bank--There," and he made another cast--"ah, I have caught a fish this
time--more string, Teemoty--more string--or they will drag it out of my
hand. Now some one has got a precious pelt on the skull with the
kidney potato, Felix, as I am a gentleman; but he understands us,
whoever he may be that has got hold of it--feel here--how he jerks the
string without hauling on it--wait--wait!"
Presently the line was let go at the opposite side, and our friend
hauled it in--it had been cut short off, and instead of the stone and
cards, a negro clasp knife was now attached to it.
"There--didn't I tell you--there's a barbarian telegraph for
you--there's a new invented code of signals--now you shall see how my
scheme will work," cried Jacob. However, near a quarter of an hour
elapsed without any thing particular occurring, during which time, we
distinctly heard shouting on the other side, as if to attract our
attention, but we could not make out what was said.
At length we observed a red spark, glancing and disappearing like a
will-o'-the-wisp as it zigzagged amongst the dark bushes, down the hill
side above. Presently we lost sight of it and all was dark again.
However, just as I began to lose all hope of the success of Massa
Twig's device, the light again appeared coming steadily down the road
opposite us. It approached the impassable ford, and we now saw that it
was a lantern carried by a negro, who was lighting the steps of a short
squat figure of a man, dressed in a fustian coatee and nankeen
trowsers, with an umbrella over his head. "I've caught my fish--I've
caught my fish--Rory Macgregor himself, or I am a baboon," shouted
Twig, as the party he spoke of came down to the water's edge, and,
holding up the lantern above his head, peered across the gully with
outstretched neck, apparently in a vain attempt to make us out.
By the light we saw a whole crowd of poor, drenched, stormstaid devils,
in their blue pennistone greatcoats, shivering on the opposite bank.
The white man appeared to be giving them instructions, as two of them
immediately disappeared up the hill-side, whence he had descended;
while several of the others entered a watchman's hut that we could
observe close to the waterside, and fetched some wood and dry branches
from it, with which they began to kindle a fire under a projecting
cliff, which soon burned up brightly, and showed us whereabouts we were.
The scene was striking enough. A quantity of dry splinters of some
kind of resinous wood being heaped on the fire, it now blazed up
brilliantly in massive tongues of flame, that glanced as they twined up
the fissures, scorching the lichens into sudden blackness, and licking,
like fiery serpents, the tortuous fretwork of naked roots depending
from the trees that grew on the verge of the bank above, which spread
like a net over the face of the bald grey rock; and lighting up the
fringe of dry fibres depending from the narrow eave of red earth that
projected over the brink of the precipice, under which the bank
appeared white and dusty, but lower down, where wet by the beating of
the rain, it was red, and glittering with pebbles, as if it had been
the wall of a salt mine in Cheshire.
The bright glare, and luminous smoke of the fire, in which a number of
birds, frightened from their perches, glanced about like sparks,
blasted the figures of such of the negroes as stood beyond it into the
appearance of demons--little Rory Macgregor looking, to use his own
phrase, like _the deil himsell_, while those of them who intervened
between us and the fire seemed magnified into giants--their dark bodies
edged with red flame; while every tree, and stock, and stone appeared
as if half bronze and half red-hot iron--a shadock growing close by,
looked as if hung with clusters of red-hot cannon balls.
Our own party was very noticeable. I was leaning on the neck of my
gig-horse, with his eyes glancing, and the brazen ornaments of his
harness flashing like burnished gold. Abreast of me were Massas Twig,
Flamingo, and Cosin Teemoty, wet as _muck_, and quite as steamy, to use
a genteel phrase, with our cold drenched physiognomies thrust into the
light, and the sparkling rain-drops hanging at our noses; Jacob's
glazed hat glancing as if his caput had been covered with a glass
porringer; while the group of mounted negroes and led horses in the
background, with the animals pawing and splashing in the red stream
that ran rippling and twinkling down the road, and the steam of our
rapid travelling rising up like smoke above them, gave one a very
lively idea of a cavalry picquet on the _qui vive_.
On our larboard hand the mountain ascended precipitously, in all the
glory of magnificent trees, sparkling with diamond water-drops,
stupendous rocks, and all that sort of thing; with the swollen waters
thundering and chafing, and foaming down a dark deep cleft over a ledge
of stone about thirty feet high, in a solid mass, which in the descent
took a spiral turn, as if it had been ejected from a tortuous channel
above, and then sending up a thick mist, that rose boiling amongst the
dark trees. From the foot of this fall the torrent roared along its
overflowing channel in whirling eddies that sparkled in the firelight,
towards where we stood; the red stream appearing, by some deception of
the sight, to be convex, or higher in the middle than the sides, and
semifluid, as if composed of earth and water; while trees, and
branches, and rolling stones were launched and trundled along as if
borne on a lava stream.
As we looked, the bodies of two bullocks and a mule came past, rolling
over and over, legs, tails, and heads, in much admired confusion.
On the starboard hand the ravine sunk down as dark as Erebus; and now
the weather clearing, disclosed in that direction, through storm-rents
of the heavy clouds, shreds of translucent blue sky, sparkling with
bright stars; and lo! the fair moon once more!--her cold, pale-green
light struggling with the hot red glare of the fire, as she reposed on
the fleecy edge of that dark----
"Confound it, what's that--what's that, Mr Twig?"
"An owl, Master Brail--an owl which the light has dazzled, and that has
flown against your head by mistake--but catch, man--catch"--as he
sprang into the water up to the knees to secure my hat, that the bird
of Minerva had knocked off--and be hanged to it. "An owl may be a wise
bird, but it is a deuced blind one to bounce against your head as
unceremoniously as if it had been a pumpkin or a calabash."
Little Rory Macgregor had all this time remained at the edge of the
stream, squatted on his hams like a large bull-frog, and apparently, if
we could judge from his action, shouting at the top of his voice; but
it was all dumb show to us, or very nearly so, as we could not make out
one word that he said.
Flamingo confronted him, assuming the same attitude. "See how he has
doubled up his long legs--there, now--said the grasshopper to the
frog," quoth Twig to me. Here friend Felix made most energetic signs,
a-la Grimaldi, that he wanted some food and drink.
Rory nodded promptly, as much as to say, "I understand you;" indeed it
appeared that he had taken the hint before, for the two men that we had
seen ascend the mountain-road, now returned; one carrying a joint of
roast meat and a roast fowl, and the other with a bottle in each hand.
The puzzle now was, "how were the good things to be had across?" but my
friends seemed up to every emergency. In a moment Flamingo had
ascended a scathed stump that projected a good way over the gully, with
Twig's string and stone in his hand; the latter enabling him to pitch
the line at Rory's feet, who immediately made the joint of meat fast,
which Don Felix swung across, and untying it, chucked it down to us who
stood below; the fowl, and the rum, and the bottle of lemonade, or
beverage, as it is called in Jamaica, were secured in like manner.
"So," said our ally, "we shan't starve for want of food, anyhow,
whatever we may do of cold." But we were nearer being released than we
thought; for suddenly, as if from the giving way of some obstruction
below that had dammed up the water in the gully, it ebbed nearly two
feet, of which we promptly availed ourselves to pass over to the other
side of the Devil's Gully. But, notwithstanding, this was a work of no
small difficulty, and even considerable danger. Being safely landed,
and having thanked Mr Macgregor, who owned a very fine coffee property
in the neighbourhood, for his kindness, we mounted our vehicles once
more, and drove rapidly out of the defile, now lit by the moon, and in
a quarter of an hour found ourselves amongst the _Works_; that is, in
the very centre of the mill-yard of Ballywindle.