I OFFEND THE KING'S FOSTER BROTHER, AND AM FORCED TO TAKE THE
CONSEQUENCES.
When the door was closed upon me the first thing that I did was to feel
for my precious ring. It was safe. I took it out and looked at it long
and curiously. It had never seemed so hideous, so wonderful, so
fascinating, or so absorbing to me as it did at that moment. I
apostrophised it. I almost worshipped it.
"You are some good, after all," said I. "There you lie in my hand, too
big for anything but the thumb of a giant, looking at me with those
great shining devil's eyes of yours, and hoping to get me into trouble;
but I'll get you into trouble while you get me out of it, for I'll leave
you with the greatest rapscallion of modern times."
The red and glowing pupils gleamed with a long-reaching ray of light,
thrown right into the centre of my blinking eyes, and, was I mistaken,
or did I see one of them wink at me? I put the ring back under the
breast of my shirt and got up and tried the door. It was, as I supposed,
fastened. There was a couch in the room, and in the space outside I saw
a hammock. It swung from corner to corner of the short veranda.
"Ah!" you may say, "why didn't you just go out on that veranda, and if
it was on the first floor step out into the garden and so escape?"
In the first place, if I could have escaped from this place, what had I
to gain? I should leave Cynthia behind. In the second place, I was not
on the ground floor, but two flights from the ground, which is an
unusual thing in a tropic-built house. From the picture which I made of
the palace as it looked in those days, you can see that above the
terrace itself there were two other stories. This brought my room on the
third floor. I suppose you think that I might have risked dropping down
into the garden, but of what use? However, there was no question as to
that. I could not get out if I would. The veranda was surrounded by a
lattice work of iron. I was inclosed in a cage, and, though not as
confining a one as that in which the pirates had placed me, it was a
cage all the same.
I entered the veranda from the long French window of the room and lay
down in the hammock. I had nothing with which to while away my time, and
I lay thinking what the upshot of all this business was to be. As I
reclined I heard voices. They came from the garden below me. I peered
downward as well as I could through my wire lattice, and there I saw
Cynthia with the two dusky maidens hovering near. They overwhelmed her
with their attentions, each one seeming to vie with the other in
striving to show how much affection she could lavish on the white girl.
As I watched them, they seemed to get angry with each other. I saw that
it was jealousy, and I also saw that if Cynthia was clever she could do
more for herself than I could do for her. So I called as if I were
singing. I sang an old-fashioned tune which my mother used to play on
the ancient spinnet in summer evenings at home when the farm work was
done. I sang these words, or words to this effect:
"Be careful what you do, dear one. You can work on their feelings. Do
not make one jealous of the other. Find out who is the King's favourite,
and, if you must anger either, let it be the other. I am here just above
you. Where are you lodged? Can you send Solomon with a line under his
wing, or can you, in passing, tie a note to the thread which I shall
lower close to the jasmine vine? Do not answer, but do what you can to
tell me where you are lodged."
I saw Cynthia start and look all around and above her at the rooms of
the palace. The two princesses were quarrelling, and nearly coming to
blows, so that Cynthia could raise her eyes to my place of detention
without being observed. I repeated my words. I added to them. I went
further. I told her how much I loved her, and assured her that nothing
but the most insuperable difficulties should part us. I saw that she
understood me. She waited until I had finished, and then she walked to
where one of the black belles had pushed the other into a flowering
bank, and, approaching them with gentle step, she held out a hand to
each, speaking sweetly and softly, as I knew that Cynthia could do,
though I had had little experience of it myself. Her manner and words
seemed to subdue them, and finally they were reconciled with each other
and with her. As I lounged in my hammock after they had left the garden,
the door of my room softly opened, and I found that a boy had entered.
He had in his hand a tray, and on it were some sweets and a glass of a
pale-coloured decoction, also a glass of water. He looked strangely
familiar to me, and when he raised his liquid eyes to me I recognised
Lacelle. I found later that the torch bearer was an old friend of
Lacelle's and Zalee's. That his mother was one of the women employed
about the kitchens, and that he had taken the girl directly to her, and
that she had disguised her in the clothes of one of the serving lads.
Christophe cared nothing about making a prisoner of the Haitienne; all
that he wanted was the party of white people, whom he thought might be
fomenting a revolution, or might be connected with the pirates who
infested the Isle of Pines, and made those terrible dashes upon the
unprotected coast. I often wonder what he would have thought had he
known that his favourite Mauresco had deserted him for the buccaneers
themselves. But it was not within my province to tell of this, or, in
fact, to talk of Mauresco at all. So long as I was to reproduce the ring
and thus get our freedom, it would be well for me to remain silent about
Mauresco, whose ring would be recognised at once should I own that I had
ever even seen him. For Christophe to know that Mauresco had been killed
by any of our party, would insure instant death for every one of us.
I sat looking at Lacelle while these thoughts ran through my mind. She
was in no hurry to leave me, and seemed puzzling her brains as to how
she should communicate with me. Finally she stretched her hand toward
the glass of yellow liquid, and, pointing to her mouth, she shook her
head. I stretched my hand toward the glass with the pretended intention
of drinking the liquid, when she bounded to the table and, with a look
of horror, seized the glass and carried it out to the veranda. I watched
her as she poured it down the stem of the vine which grew from the
ground below.
"A-ha!" I thought, "trying to poison or drug me. Now, what for, I
wonder? If Lacelle can always bring my food, I shall feel safe," Lacelle
now handed me the dulces and the glass of water, and bade me eat and
drink. This I did gratefully. Then she pointed to the empty glass. There
were two dead flies in the bottom of the glass and another one was just
tumbling in, and several were strewn around upon the table. I nodded
comprehendingly. She then, by signs, made me understand that I should
eat nothing but what she brought me. I responded understandingly, and
she took her tray and departed. After she had left the room, I found a
piece of paper on the table. I opened it. A few lines from Cynthia were
there, written hurriedly, as if she had snatched a moment in secret.
They ran thus:
"Do meet me in the garden, under the mahogany tree, at ten this
evening. I have some thing to tell you."
Truth to tell, I had never seen Cynthia's handwriting, but I was sure
that it was a lady's hand, and that neither of my friends could form the
letters so well or so delicately. Also I flattered myself that Cynthia
really wanted to see me at last. I put the paper in my mouth and reduced
it to pulp. Not a very romantic thing to do with one's first approach to
a love letter, but all things are fair in love or war, and this was a
combination of both, I feared.
I now went out into the veranda and lay down in the hammock, preparatory
to taking a short sleep. The breeze blew softly through the vines, and
soon I became drowsy, but not so soon as my captors had imagined that I
should. I was still quite wide awake, though in a few moments I should
have succumbed to the soothing nature of my surroundings, when I heard a
faint click. It was at my door; of that I was certain. I watched the
door through my almost closed eyelids, but to no end. No one approached
me from my room. I feigned sleep and began to breathe regularly, and had
almost begun to think my idea but fancy. Still, my eyes were opened a
tiny crack, and they happened, from my position, to rest upon the wire
screen which separated mine from the veranda beyond. And as I looked,
the netting separated, a square of it the size of a small door was
pushed toward me, and through the opening thus made a short person
entered. I had thought that a solid wall of wire inclosed and shut me
in.
It was a boy who approached the hammock where I lay. He was darker than
Lacelle, and was clothed as boys of the palace dressed, except that the
body was much more covered than I remember to have noticed in the dress
of the pages. The feet of the boy were covered with some sort of light
shoe; the legs and arms were hidden from view, and only the head and the
very woolly hair were visible. I caught a glimpse of this as he was
turning to close the door as softly as might be. When he turned again,
I was breathing as regularly as a little child. My hands were crossed
upon my breast. I was at peace apparently with the world. The boy came
near me and stood still and listened. Nothing but my regular breathing
broke the silence, except now and then the note of a mocking bird, than
which no music on earth is sweeter, always excepting your mother's
voice, Adoniah. For a moment all was quiet, and then the boy stooped
toward me. He took one of my hands in his and, removing it from my
breast, laid it by my side. I suffered the hand to hang listless in his.
Then he took the other hand and as slowly and quietly laid that also by
my side. He then laid his hand on my chest, feeling here and there. Then
I felt the button which closed my loose garment pulled gently, as if to
detach it from the buttonhole, and--quick as thought I was out of my
hammock and upon him! I seized him in my arms, and together we rolled
over and over upon the floor. He was no match for me, and in a moment I
had him between my knees. As I sat astride his helpless young body, I
gazed and gazed, and then I began to laugh. I laughed long and heartily,
for the black was rubbed off in streaks, and there was enough of the
original colour showing forth for me to recognise the Minion. As I tore
the mat of wool from his head, the Minion's well-shaved poll stood out
red and shining.
"So it is you!" said I. "I thought you had been eaten cold long ago."
The Minion grinned, but did not speak.
"I've a great mind to throttle you," said I. "On second thoughts, I
will, unless you tell me the truth about how you came here and what you
want of me." By way of emphasizing my words, I gave the Minion's thorax
a vicious squeeze. He gagged and choked and struggled to get free.
"Not until you tell me how you came here and who sent you," said I
threateningly. The Minion made me understand, in his laconic speech,
that if I would allow him to rise he would explain his actions. I got up
and stood, as a precautionary measure, against the door through which he
had entered my part of the veranda. I did not trust the young villain in
the very slightest degree, but he was helpless, and so I waited until he
spoke. By urging and prodding and threatening to choke him, and partly
succeeding, I discovered that he had escaped from the vaudoux sect on
the night of the fight. That he, unlike the rest of us, had sought the
court. That Christophe was so pleased with this that he took him into
his service. That he had told Christophe's spies that he hated the
Bo's'n and myself, and only wanted to get rid of us, and that he would
aid our double taking off in any way most agreeable to the King. That he
had always suspected the Bo's'n and myself of having some of his jewels
about our persons, and that the King had told him that if he found that
we had some of them he would believe his story of his discovery in the
cave, and that he would send a platoon of soldiers down to the coast to
find the jewels and restore them to him.
"I suppose you think he would give them to you," said I. "But your
jewels are gone." And then I told him how the Bo's'n had hidden them,
and how the Skipper and I had buried them in the sea. "And you will
never see them again," said I. "But what enrages me against you is that
you were willing to try to come upon me unawares. Did the King order
that drink for me?" The Minion, by short and jerky sentences, conveyed
to me the idea that he did not know that I had had a drink of anything,
but that a grand officer had taken him aside and told him he would find
me in a sound sleep, and that he could get the jewels that I wore
concealed about me if he came in at once. The Minion also told me that
the liquor had probably been given to me that I might be taken to
another place, away from all my friends, and that he had heard the King
say that unless I completed the ring within four or five days I was to
be thrown from the Grand Boucan, that my bones might bleach with those
of the other unfortunates who lay by the thousands in that valley of
horror. Then I took the Minion in my two hands and I shook him. I shook
him until I thought that I should shake the teeth out of his head.
"Do you feel that, and that, and that?" asked I, as I gave him an extra
shake. "Now, the very first time that I catch you meddling with my
affairs I shall not only shake the breath out of your lungs, but I'll
beat the wind out of your spying little carcass. Now go!" I opened the
wire door and kicked the Minion through into the next section of the
veranda. He put up his black fists and began to cry, smearing the
colouring matter all over his face until he looked so absurd that I
could not refrain from laughing, angry as I was. While I stood there
laughing at him, the farther door of the next compartment was opened and
an arm in uniformed sleeve drew the lad in and closed the door and
locked it. I returned to my own veranda, and soon I heard the wire door
fasten with a click. I tried it, and found that I could not again open
it. Then upon my ear broke the sound of wails. Sobs, groans, shrieks,
and howls rent the air, and I laughed with fiendish glee.
"You see what a nice time you'll have between them and me," I called as
loudly as I could. "Don't try it again, for there will be nothing to
beat when I have got through with you."
And now I turned over in my hammock and went to sleep. I argued, that if
they really intended to kill me I had better get some sleep when and how
I could, to be ready for--I knew not what.
I awoke much refreshed. I saw from the long shadows in the garden below
me that it must be later than I thought. I sprang from my hammock,
determined to show some interest in the making of the ring, and thus
deceive those who came to my chamber. I knew less than nothing about
work such as this that I had offered to perform, but I decided to set
about my fraudulent exhibit at once. I went to the door and tried to
open it; as I had suspected, it was fastened on the outside. I then
began to pound upon it. After making a tremendous noise, I heard the
shuffling of feet, and an undersized negro turned the key and opened the
door a crack. I jumped upon him and hurled him from the door, pushing it
wide, whereupon I confronted three of Christophe's famed body guard. So
this was the way that they proceeded! I saw that they simply wanted to
discover if I was one of the docile kind. I proved the contrary very
quickly. I began to storm and rage. I pointed to the table within my
room, and asked how I could follow the commands of the King if I were
not allowed fire to ignite the wick of my lamp. I said that I had been
pounding on the door for hours. What was the matter with their ears that
they could not hear me? The men looked at me with astonishment. Then
they gave an order to the old negro, who quickly disappeared. While he
was gone I worked myself into such a state of rage that my guard stood
gazing open-mouthed. It was very exhausting, as when the person whom the
old negro had been despatched to bring returned with him I was forced to
repeat the entire performance, for this was the interpreter.
After my rage was quite exhausted, and my arms ached painfully from my
having thrashed them round my head like the arms of a windmill, the
interpreter turned to the guard and told them what I desired. The old
negro was sent for a light, and I closed my door with a bang in the face
of the guard, and settled down to my work. I felt confident that I
should be able to produce nothing, but I held the metal before the
flame, put the pipe in my mouth, and began to blow. I did not dare take
my ring from beneath my clothes, for I feared that in the corner of some
adjacent room there was a spy set to watch me, and it was not part of
my plan that Christophe should know that I carried a ready-made symbol
about with me. I found that the metal melted easily under the pipe. I
allowed it to get partly cool, and then began to fashion it with my
pincers into somewhat near the size and shape of the ring. I was much
pleased with myself, and, after about an hour's work, I came to the
conclusion that I had done pretty well for a novice. However creditable
it was, I knew that that was not the sort of work that Christophe
wanted. He required the smooth polish, the delicate arabesque, the
exquisite symmetry, the perfect setting of those wonderful eyes, the
expression of the face half human, half grotesque, and with a
beastliness of vision that I can not describe, but which seemed to
permeate the whole. Remembering Lacelle's horror of the ring as a
symbol, I covered it with my handkerchief, thinking that if she saw it
when she came to serve me she would be so terrified that she might never
come to my aid again. I wondered why Christophe should care so much for
the original ring--whether it was that blind devotion which every one
who had ever come in contact with Mauresco had shared for that hypnotic
personality, or whether Christophe himself was tainted with the love of
fetish worship. This latter idea, however, was contradicted by the fact
of his having built within his palace an Anglican church. This much I
surmised: The King evidently thought that the ring held some occult
power, and I could account for his anxiety to possess one, the
counterpart of Mauresco's own, only on the supposition that he felt
assured of its supernatural qualities.
My stay in this delightful spot would have been satisfactory enough had
I not been anxious about our future, and had I been able to see Cynthia.
Each day when my guard came into my room he cast a scrutinizing glance
at the table where the lamp and the metal lay, but I had always the
handkerchief thrown over them, so that his curiosity was never
rewarded. Four days had now passed, and I had done little more than heat
the metal and try to bend it into the shape of a circle, which bore no
more resemblance to the original design than would any bit of carelessly
twisted iron.
This, as I have said, was the fourth day. I did not wish the task to
seem too easily accomplished, as I might be suspected of producing a
ring that I had stolen and not made. Each morning when the old servant
came in to bring me my breakfast I arose from the table, hurriedly blew
out the lamp, threw my handkerchief over the awkward attempt at ring
making, and seated myself on the balcony to sip my coffee and eat my
bread. On this last morning I had grown a little careless, and had lost
myself in speculations as to what a pleasure it would be to return once
more to God's country, when I heard a chuckle. I jumped to my feet, but
it was too late. The old man had twitched the handkerchief from the
materials which I was pretending to use toward gaining my liberty. He
held the ring in his grimy paw, and examined it as if he had every right
in the world to do so. I sprang upon him and kicked him all across the
chamber, and out into the passage, down which he ran howling with pain.
The interpreter came to see me later, and explained to me in low tones
that he was sorry that I had used such harsh measures, for the old man
was a favourite with Christophe--his half brother, in fact--and he
feared for the result.
"Very well, then," said I. "Let the result be what it will. I do not
intend to be spied upon any longer. It is quite easy to make such a ring
as the King wants, and that I will show you to-morrow morning if I may
be taken before him."
"If he lets you remain so long," said the good interpreter, sighing. In
that sigh I thought that I read my doom.
He looked with curiosity at my work, but shook his head.
"They have all of them got as far as that," he said. "Many much further.
As an evidence, recall the ring which Christophe wears upon his thumb.
There has never been so good a one made, and yet it is as far from being
the strange, mysterious thing that Mauresco gave the King, as sunlight
is different from starlight. That symbol which Mauresco gave to the
great Christophe contained eyes of jewels, the like of which I believe
have never been seen in this world. The symbol is said to have come from
the far East, and to possess the power of magic. I hear that the King
can not understand its failure to protect him since his favourite
Mauresco left him. I remember the day that Mauresco took it from his
finger and gave it to the King. Mauresco's fingers were thin and bony.
The ring was a mile too large. He wore it on his thumb, with a smaller
and thicker ring to keep the symbol in place. He told the King that it
would preserve him from all harm. That he would be successful so long as
he should wear it or keep it near his person. Mauresco had free entrance
to the King's chambers at all times. Sometimes he slept in the room
adjoining that of the King. He often talked mysteriously of his being
called hence at some near day, but he impressed Christophe with the fact
of the power of protection, even if he was forced to leave him, which
the ring would possess for him. And there is undoubtedly that power in
the ring of Mauresco, wherever it may be at this day. After Mauresco
presented the King with the ring his successes began to be phenomenal.
He was the victor in every battle that he fought, but since he awoke one
morning to find Mauresco gone, and to discover later, in looking at it
closely, that his ring was not the symbol which Mauresco had given him,
he has been less successful. Its effect upon his character has shown
itself in a hundred different ways. He is more irritable. Where
formerly he threw one or two men from the Grand Boucan in the week, now
there is rarely a day when some life does not pay the penalty."
"Irritable" I thought a rather modest word for the temper which induced
this wholesale slaughter.
I wondered why the interpreter should talk so familiarly with me, but I
argued that he was glad to speak his native tongue once more. I
discovered that he had been born in America of African parents. That in
going to sea with his master, an old sea captain, the ship had been set
upon by one of Dessalines' vessels of war and sunk, the whites being
drowned and killed. This one man swam ashore and had drifted into the
army, and then, after various vicissitudes which it would require too
long a time to recount, to Christophe's palace. Here he had been for ten
years or more. His value as an interpreter was fully recognised, and he
had been kept by Christophe for this purpose.
I had not seen anything of the Queen in the short time that I was
honoured by the King's hospitality. She was away, I heard from the
interpreter, at a place called the "Queen's Delight." The King had many
beautiful places among his possessions. They were cotton plantations,
sugar estates, and the like. Sometimes the black Queen longed to escape
from the magnificence which must have overwhelmed her, not to mention
the presence of certain ladies whose neighbourhood made her life
uncomfortable, if not unendurable. At such times she would go to "The
Victory," "The Glory," "The King's Beautiful View," "The Queen's
Delight," or "The Conquest." These places were at some distance from
Sans Souci, but they were all situated in the "Artibonite," one of the
most beautiful and fertile valleys in the world. Here the poor woman,
whose devotion to the famous, as well as infamous, King was phenomenal
(I judge from what I saw later), could live in peace, and, if she were
alone, her solitude was at least undisturbed by jealousies, friction,
or the sounds of misery which the black King caused each day by
imperative orders, whose right was never questioned.
The interpreter told me that the people were growing restless, that
already there had been some revolutions about "Le Cap," and there was
news of uprisings to the south of us. I looked to this as a means of
rescue, but then, I argued, we may fall into hands as bad as, if not
worse than, Christophe's, and I dared not pray for a change.
"I wonder why they allow you to talk so freely with me!" said I. "I seem
to be a prisoner, and I can not understand why they should let you come
in and talk with me in a language which they do not speak themselves."
The interpreter shook his head.
"I do not know," said he, "unless they want you to feel secure, and that
they are friendly to you."
It was growing dusk now, and the room and veranda were dark, but I could
not help seeing that there was a slight movement on the porch outside. I
found that it was a black servant who was engaged in raising the
jalousies. His back was toward me, but I paid some attention to him.
"Do you think he intends to let me go," asked I, "or is the ring making
only a pretense to kill me?"
"I think----"
But I had risen and had sprung out upon the balcony. Not because I cared
what I said myself, but because I did not want this poor fellow to get
into trouble through me. The attitude of the servant was that of a
listener, and I was upon him before he could turn round.
"This place is like a box of surprises," said I, as I seized the
listener. I dragged him into the room, and, striking a light, I found
that I had the Minion again within my grasp.
I lighted the lamp and held it under his chin for want of a better mode
of torture.
"You young devil!" said I, "so it's you again, set to spy upon me, of
course! They seem to have stained you for good this time. That dye will
never rub off." At this the Minion lifted up his voice and howled.
"Tell me where the Captain is," said I, holding the lamp close under his
snub nose.
"Dead!" roared the Minion, drawing suddenly away from the flame.
"Of course, I know you are lying," said I. "I suppose the Bo's'n and the
Smith, too, are dead."
The Minion nodded his head and added, "Lady, too."
I gave his nose a final scorch and ran him through the open door, took
him out, and dropped him off the veranda next to mine. I did not care if
I killed him. Unfortunately for those whom the Minion lived to plague, I
heard him catch among the vines as he descended, and, after a rather
rough fall, get up and limp off.
"Tell your master," I called after him, with fury in my tones, "that if
he comes here I will serve him in the same way. Do you think there is
any truth in that young liar's words?" said I to the interpreter when I
came back into the room.
"Oh, no," said he, "for I saw the rest of your party just before I came
in here--I mean the m'sieus."
"Where were they?" I asked anxiously.
The interpreter shook his head.
"I hardly like to tell you," said he. "But you may as well know the
truth first as last. They were tied on the backs of mules and were going
up the mountain path."
"What do you mean?" I breathlessly asked.
"To the citadel," answered the interpreter, and added, "I wish, I do
wish you had not said what you did just now."
When the interpreter left me I was a prey to the saddest thoughts. Could
it really be that this black brute had taken my dear old Skipper, the
Bo's'n, and the Smith up to the citadel to dispose of them in his usual
brutal way? I arose and walked to the veranda and looked out. The door
opening into the next veranda was still flung wide, and I saw that I
should have no trouble in climbing down where I had dropped the Minion,
so I walked to the rail and vaulted it. There was no one to bar my
progress, and I got to the bottom very comfortably. I could only surmise
that the door had been intrusted to the Minion to open at will, and that
he had been chosen to inform upon me as to my confidences with the
interpreter. Probably those who sent him thought that he was still
spying upon me, and that when he returned it would be with a large
budget of news. I walked softly to the back of the garden. I had no idea
where the large mahogany tree might be situated, but made straight for
the largest trunk that I could find, and, going round behind it, I
discovered Cynthia. She took my hand in hers and pressed it warmly, but
she did not allow me to kiss her cheek, as I should like to have done.
"I have been here every evening since I sent you that note," said she.
"Did you get it?"
"Yes," said I.
"Then why have you been so long in coming?" Her tone was one of
reproach.
"You know that I would have come if it were possible," answered I. "Do
not waste the time in reproaches, Cynthia. We may have but a moment. Are
they kind to you?"
"Yes; no one could be more devoted than the two daughters of the King.
But, Mr. Jones----" She cast down her head and whispered hurriedly:
"What do you think? The King wants me to marry his nephew."
"Who, that black brute?"
"Yes, the King."
"Thank God, he does not want you himself!" I blurted out. I was sorry
and ashamed the moment that I said this, but to the Cynthias of this
world all things are pure.
"Why, he couldn't marry me!" said Cynthia, raising those great innocent
eyes to mine. "He has a wife already. That beautiful Queen, the mother
of those girls you saw me with. I have not seen her; she is away just
now at one of the other palaces, but I hear on all sides of her
loveliness and dignity. They tell me that she is more beautiful than
ever Cleopatra was, and that her colour is not much darker than that of
the Oriental Queen. But I have very little time to speak with you. My
friend is waiting for me over there beneath the acacia tree. She is
keeping watch. She tells me that the King's plan is this: He wants a
white princess here to show the world that he is the equal of any power.
You know how the French have intermarried with these people, and
Christophe can not understand, I suppose, why we of the North should not
fall at once into his plans. His daughter, the youngest, is really in
love with her cousin. She hardly knows what to counsel me to do.
Christophe purposes to break up these family arrangements and marry me
to the nephew and you to the daughter."
"Well," said I dejectedly, "you have the dagger, I suppose? But marry me
to the daughter!" I shook with laughter. The whole thing seemed so
perfectly ridiculous.
"I don't see anything so very amusing in that," said Cynthia in an
offended tone.
Although I knew that Christophe had a very beautiful Queen, and also
numerous attractive ladies about his court, I was very much afraid that
he would take a fancy to Cynthia himself; but happily this danger seemed
not to have been thought of.
"The girls have been very kind to me. The youngest one came to me in
tears, and with Lacelle's help--Do you know that Lacelle is here?" I
nodded. "She told me this plan of her father's. She it was who brought
me here this evening, and she says that she will do all in her power to
aid me. She knows of a place where she can hide me, she says, but how to
get me away later she does not know. She thinks that her cousin Geffroy
will aid her. She says when things get to the worst that she will take
me to this hiding place. I have given her Solomon for her kindness to
me."
"Where is it?" I asked--"the hiding place that you speak of?"
"I do not know," said Cynthia mournfully.
I was furious at the idea of that old wretch having made these plans for
Cynthia, but his plan for me struck me as most ludicrous, so that at one
moment I was laughing convulsively and the next foaming at the mouth
with rage.
"Dearest," I said, "whatever you do, keep friends with this girl, this
daughter of Christophe's. She will help you, I am sure. Have you your
dagger still?"
She drew it from the folds of her dress.
"If the worst comes to the worst," said I, "be sure and use it. Unless
they kill me, you must know that I am always trying to devise some
scheme to rescue you." I felt for her hand. "Do you wear our wedding
ring, Cynthia?"
I heard a faint "Yes." I pressed her fingers in mine, and found the
little band that I had taken from the pirates' cave still there. I drew
nearer. For one delicious moment she allowed her head to rest upon my
shoulder. I pressed a kiss upon her cheek, the first that I had been
allowed to give my own wife, and I arose as strong as Hercules.
"I can do anything now," said I. "I must tell you my secret hurriedly. I
have told the King that I can make a ring like the one he wears, only
it will be a ring of much more power. The ring that I have--the one you
found on the beach--is, I am certain, the one which was lost by
Mauresco, his favourite, who gave it to Christophe, and then stole it
away again."
"What! that handsome pirate?" asked Cynthia.
"Yes, damn him!" said I, "and without apology, Cynthia. Now I am sure
that you found that very ring--what they call the magic symbol.
Sometimes I think that there is something in their superstition about
it. Such eyes were never seen in human head! I thought of giving
Christophe that ring, and pretending that I had made it. If he believes
that I can do so much, he may think that I can do still more. He may
even take a fancy to me and make me his favourite."
"Yes, and marry you to one of those girls. No, Hiram, I should not like
that at all."
To say that these words delighted me is superfluous.
"Then what shall I do with it, Cynthia? Shall I give it to you?"
"N--n--no," said Cynthia hesitatingly. "I suppose your plan is best,
after all. Where do you carry it?"
"Tied to a cord around my neck," said I.
"They may come at night while you are asleep and take it. I have a
needle stuck in my dress now, with a needleful of thread. I stuck it
there on purpose, thinking that you might want a little sewing done. I
have brought it every evening. Do you know that I have been here every
evening since I wrote to you? I took it out of Aunt Mary 'Zekel's bag
before I came out--the needle and thread, I mean."
"Bless you, dear!" said I. "My clothes are new, and I have no pockets.
They saw to that. Perhaps it would be as well to let you secure it
somewhere, that I may not lose it, until the proper time comes to
surprise the King."
"When will that be?" asked Cynthia.
"To-morrow, I think. I have had time enough. The time was up
yesterday." As I spoke I took the ring from beneath my shirt front and,
breaking the cord, handed it to Cynthia. It lay like a heavy weight in
her hand, and, even though there was hardly a ray of light, the eyes
shone with a glow almost luminous.
"I can't think of any better place than the hem of your trouser leg,"
said she. "A very unromantic hiding place, but it is better to be safe
than romantic."
"I wish we could be both," said I.
I agreed with Cynthia in her view of the case. I stood up and rested my
foot on the seat at the back of the tree. She took her needle and
thread, and, almost entirely by feeling, she sewed the barbaric symbol
into the hem. I thanked her, and told her that she must return now, so
that no one need know where she had been.
"Before you go, Cynthia, I must give you something of yours."
"Of mine?" asked Cynthia in apparent amazement, but I could detect a
tremor in her voice.
"Yes, I found it in the cave the morning that we returned from our dove
hunt, and saw that the house was burned. It was on the floor, just where
you lost your handkerchief."
I took her palm in mine and slid the locket into it.
"Strange that I should have found it in the cave when I saw you throw it
into the stream."
"Yes, it was strange," answered Cynthia, with perfect calmness of tone;
"but very curious things happen in this island I have discovered."
Just here I heard a sort of warning cry. Cynthia arose hurriedly.
"They are calling me," she whispered. "I must go at once."
She pressed my hand affectionately, and I saw her glide away a little to
where another figure joined her, and together they melted into the
gloom. I sat down again to think over my last few moments with Cynthia.
I will not weary you with a lover's rhapsodies, but from what I have
seen in your courting days, son Adoniah, I know that you will understand
how I felt, or something of it. No one can possibly understand exactly
the feelings that come over a man placed as I was unless he has
experienced a similar fate. Here was I, meeting my dear girl by stealth
in the gardens of a cruel and bloodthirsty monarch, no less a monarch
because he was a black monarch, who had soldiers and slaves at his
command against whom our little strength was as but an insect's. Cynthia
had left me to go I knew not where. She had told me in our short talk
that the daughters of Christophe would have loaded her with ornaments
had she been willing. He might show her mercy because of these black
princesses, but what if they should change toward her? The blacks are
capricious at times. What if he should insist upon this hated marriage,
and either bind her to his nephew or, angry at her refusal, hand her
over to a worse fate, if anything could be worse? I hoped that if such
were the alternative he would throw her from the great wall, and thus
end all our misery. I began to think it time to return to my room, and
was wondering if I could regain it in the same way that I came, when a
hand was laid upon my shoulder, a heavy hand. There was a flash of
light, and I saw a great griffe standing there, looking at me curiously.
This man had a red turban round his head. Around his loins he had
another cloth of the same colour. The rest of his body was bare. I
caught the flash of a weapon upraised to strike. I jerked myself away
from the man, but he had me again in a moment. I struggled, I kicked, I
vituperated. He did not strike with the weapon, and I judged at once
that he had threatened me only to intimidate me. It was a rude awakening
from the bliss of Cynthia's kiss to the rough grasp of a man set to trap
me. When I saw several more surrounding me, I gave up the unequal
struggle and sank down on the seat under the mahogany tree. But the
griffe rudely jerked me to my feet again, and told me, I suppose, that I
was to accompany him. He pointed along a lovely alley, which was just
beginning to show in the light of the newly risen moon. It was a
beautiful path, and I could not help wondering if murder and death
lurked at the end of it. I walked amid my captors, thinking that my road
lay toward a stronger, more secure chamber, where I was to finish my
self-imposed task. Fool that I had been, to think that I could deceive
such an astute savage as the great conqueror Christophe! The odours of
the night were sweet. The flowers nodded and swayed on every side. The
green boughs drooped overhead and shaded the seats about the tree
trunks, fit refuge for lovers, and I walked in the midst of six tall
savages, each watching me with a wary eye, and each with a great knife
drawn to cut me down should I attempt to flee.
At the end of the alley we came to a halt. Here were several mules ready
bridled and saddled for mounting. Three of the men mounted. Then the
three who remained standing on the ground placed me upon a fourth
animal, and fastened me securely to the saddle. My hands, however, were
left free.
"Wait a moment!" I cried, with desperate energy. "I have made the ring
which the King ordered. I have it here. I can give it to his Majesty at
once. Only let me see him. Let me see the King. I must see King
Christophe! Let me see him for a moment, or bring the interpreter. Let
me speak with the interpreter; he will tell the King." But I might as
well have talked to the grim mountain above me. The men half laughed,
half scowled, shook their heads, and prodded the beast on which I sat.
The mule was started along a narrow causeway, where the slightest step
to the right or left would have dashed us both into a dark and swiftly
flowing stream. When we had crossed, I turned to look behind me. I found
the three mounted men were following me. I tried to turn the mule, but
I soon saw the utter futility of such an attempt. The path was extremely
narrow, and I perceived that turning the mule about would be a most
difficult manoeuvre, even were the animal willing, and my experience
with the genus mule had led me to believe that he is never of his
rider's mind. Then of what avail to turn! I might dash one, even two, of
the men off the steep fall in my own company, but I could not see what
recompense that would be to me, and then I remembered the old Skipper's
words, "I've been in tighter places than this, my boy," and I resigned
myself to the inevitable. Up, up, up, we went, now winding through
narrow defiles, again coming out on the sheer side of the mountain.
There is a way of approach to the mountain top which is not so dangerous
as the one which we pursued, and I know that it was in existence at that
time, but I was conducted along a path which would have caused my eyes
to start in terror from my head had I not felt certain that there was
much worse to come.
We are going to the citadel, I thought--that citadel about which Cynthia
and I jested one day not so long ago. I am to be thrown from the Boucan,
and shall either die going through the air or lie a mangled heap among
those whitening bones. The vultures of the air will hover over me, they
will swoop down upon me, they will try to peck out my eyes. I shall
fight them as long as I can, if I am alive, if I have an arm that is not
broken, and if I can draw my knife! I felt for my knife. It was gone! I
knew not when I had lost it, whether when I had bathed and changed my
clothes or whether it had fallen from its sheath since. I looked abroad
on the wonderful night. No one was moving in that vast exterior but we
four. It seemed as if I were alone, for I rode ahead of this singular
cavalcade, and saw nothing but the wonderful panorama of the
verdure-covered steeps, the wide-spreading ocean below, and the stars
and moon above me. I trembled and shook so that I could hardly hold to
my animal, for I discerned some few dark shapes still wheeling down
below there whose cravings had not yet been satiated.
"I shall be their next morsel," said I to myself. And as these thoughts
passed through my brain I entered between two high walls, which spread
as I advanced, and I found myself in an open courtyard. The gates had
been flung wide at our approach, but as soon as we were within them they
closed with a loud and ominous clang, and I was a prisoner within the
frowning, stupendous walls of Christophe's citadel, the terrible La
Ferriere.
I remember little that followed. I tumbled rather than slid from the
mule. I could hardly walk upon my stiffened legs, but I found that they
must be put to use. We crossed the courtyard and entered a heavy door,
which clanged to behind us, captive and captors alike. We traversed long
halls, we passed dark interiors. We came out into open spaces, where in
the brilliant light of the moon I saw again the open ocean, on which I
imagined that white sails flecked the open, free waters. Nearer were
esplanades, where great cannon frowned and balls for their consumption
were piled to the top of the different compartments. Then into the dark
interior again, again emerging into light, mounting stairs, descending
them, and so on until we came at last to a door. It was hastily unlocked
and I was pushed inside, my guards, following. For a moment I could see
nothing, and then, as my eyes gathered strength, I perceived that I was
not alone. A figure was crouching in the corner of the room. It arose
with a sort of growl and stood upon its feet. It recalled to me at the
moment the snarl of a dog whose bone is to be taken away from him. Its
back was to the little ray of moonlight that came through the open port.
This being made a dash at us, all four, with an open knife. We started
back. The guards laughed as they all three ran out, pulling the door to
after them. I had seized upon the edge of the door, but it had slipped
through my fingers. Its closing click was like the answer of fate. I
flung my back against it and faced the figure who stood in the middle of
the room with his hand upraised, and in that hand a knife.