THE OBI MAN
When Daniel awoke the sun was climbing swiftly to the zenith, and the
full blaze of it burnt upon a tropical tangle of palmetto and mango,
plantain and palm. He found himself hidden in a brake of luxuriant
vegetation almost at the apex of a lofty hill that overlooked the
Caribbean Sea. Strange sounds fell upon his ears, and he perceived that
his resting-place was beneath a prickly-pear fence, on the other side
of which stood a thatched cottage and extended an acre of cleared land.
Beneath stretched the dark green and orange-tawny of the forests; strips
of thorny cactus hedge ensured privacy for the clearing, and here a
tamarind tree reared its delicate foliage, and here the broad leaves of
bananas rustled, with foliage all tattered by the breezes. A goat was
tethered to a little pomegranate tree in the garden, and over the cleared
soil grew vines of the sweet potato.
A second glance at the hut revealed to Daniel its exceptional character
and significance. Before he saw the strange and solitary human being
who inhabited it, the sailor guessed that he stood upon the threshold of
mystery. As a matter of fact he had intruded into the secret stronghold
of Jesse Hagan, the Obi Man. The situation was silent and mysterious; the
place was adorned, or made horrible, with fragments of things dead. Two
bullocks’ skulls stood at the entrance of Mr Hagan’s dwelling, and round
his land bobbed a fantastic ribbon whereon hung empty bottles, bright
feathers, and fragments of gaudy rag. Within this zone none dared to
enter uninvited, for Obeah is still alive--a creed beyond the power of
missionary to shatter or destroy. Fools fear Obi, and wise men find him
useful; hence the high priests of that Satanic cult still thrive. A negro
would no more speak disrespectfully of them than he would of his own
grand-parents.
Suddenly, as Daniel stared and felt a growing inclination to be gone,
the mystic himself appeared and stood in the morning light. He appeared
profoundly ancient, and his ribs made a gridiron of his lean breast. His
limbs were skin and bone; his scanty wool was grey; a tangled network of
furrows and deep lines scarred and seamed his face in every direction;
and, curiously wide apart, on either side of a huge, flat, Ethiopian
nose, the man’s eyes gleamed from his withered headpiece, like the eyes
of a toad. Jesse was in extreme undress. Only the ruins of a pair of
trousers covered his loins and a band of red cloth circled his throat.
Despite his advanced age, no little physical strength remained to him,
and now, as Daniel watched, the negro displayed it. Taking an iron spade
and seeking a corner of the garden near his unseen visitor, Jesse turned
aside the long, creeping fingers of a snake gourd that trailed there
under the shade of a citron tree, and began to dig in soft earth. As the
old creature worked and sank swiftly downward into the soil, he sang to
himself in a piping treble with the usual West Indian whine. The voice
was feeble; but the words were sinister and told of evil. A blue bird
sat on a thorn and put his head on one side to hear the song; a green
lizard, with eyes like Jesse’s own, rustled out from the cactus fence and
stopped, with palpitating, tremulous motion of its front paws, to listen
also. Then the bird flew and the reptile fled, and Daniel Sweetland was
sole, secret audience of the song.
“Low dem lie, low dem lie--
Dey come, dey come, but dey never go by;
And de roots ob de creeping snake-gard know,
Where dey sleep so still in de hole so low--
Obeah-die!
Obeah-do!
Low dem lie, low dem lie--
Hark de buzz ob de carrion fly!
But nobody guess what the snake-gard know,
Twining him root far down below--
Obeah-die!
Obeah-do!
Low dem lie, low dem lie--
De worms dey crawl in de dead men’s eye,
And de snake-gard he suck, and Jesse he know
What lie so still in de hole so low--
Obeah-die!
Obeah-do!”
The song rose and sank and seemed to hang in the trees and creep about
like an evil presence. The refrain rose into a wail, and its last
penetrating note was answered by crisp stridulation of great winged
grasshoppers. Jesse’s uncanny melody fitted the place, the man, and the
task.
“I never did!” thought Daniel, as his eyes grew round. “If the old devil
ban’t digging a grave! And singing rhymes to his beastly self over it
too! To think that Johnny Beer ban’t the only verse-maker as I’ve met
with in my travels! But Johnny never in all his born days let off such
a rhyme as that. I’m sure us never would have stood it. A grave, sure
enough--an’ more’n one poor wretch has been buried there seemingly.”
The remark was called forth by an incident, for Mr Hagan suddenly exhumed
a skull. It was low and flat-browed. Jesse set it very gravely upon the
edge of the pit and then addressed it.
“Who was you, sar?” he asked. “You no answer me, sar? Den you berry rude,
imperent young fellow!”
Whereupon he smacked the empty brain-pan with a spade, so that some of
the teeth fell out. The man and the skull grinned at each other, then
Jesse grew serious and spoke again.
“You larf--eh? _You_ larf! Me Gard, I dunno what you got to larf about!
You’s Jephson--dat’s you. I ’member Jephson. Massa Ford, he want Jephson
‘rub out,’ and send him wid a message to ole Jesse. Den ole Jesse ‘rub
you out.’ To kill a nigger is only to rub out a black mark. Dey soon
gone. And some white folk too. Dey all berry quiet when dey eat and drink
poor ole Jesse’s rum and cakes. He, he! Obi Man berry good fren to Massa
Ford!”
He laboured in silence and dug on until he had sunk a hole five feet
deep. Next he concealed all trace of the work very carefully. He buried
the pile of damp earth under dead palm leaves and brushwood, while the
hole itself he covered with twigs and trailed over them long shoots and
sprays of the luxuriant snake-gourd.
Now, having made an end of this business, Jesse sought his outer gate
and, posting himself there, screened his face from the glare of the risen
sun and looked out with his bright, lizard eyes down the tremendous
escarpments of the hill beneath him. An amazing panorama of forest, shore
and sea spread below; and winding through the woods, struggling as it
were with difficulty through dense undergrowth and narrow places full of
cactus and thorns, there ascended a bridle-path flanked by bewildering
tangles of foliage, by volcanic boulders and huge trees. Here and there
through the forest flamed like fire the flowers of the _bois immortelle_;
at other points, all festooned and linked together with twining and
climbing parasites, or grey curtains of lace-like lichens and wind pines,
arose notable forest giants, some gleaming with blossoms, some bending
under wealth of fruits. And through the mingled leafy draperies of green
and brown, olive and gold, under the feathery crown of the bamboo,
amongst the green inflorescence of the mango, like liquid gems in the
sunlight, did little humming-birds with breasts of emerald and ruby,
flash and glitter. Every step or terrace in the steep acclivities of
the hills was crowned with cabbage palms or other lofty trees, and from
point to point the gaunt, bleached limbs of some forest corpse stared out
lightning-stricken, where the dead thing waited for the next hurricane to
bring its bones to earth. Far below glimmered a white beech, and, through
the woods, all silent in the growing heat, there rose a sigh of surf
breaking--surf that even from this elevation could be seen lying like a
band of silver between the many-tinted sea and the pale shore.
Away on the western side of the hills extended long and undulating
fields of green vegetation, and in their midst arose buildings with
tall chimneys and metal roofs that flashed like liquid silver under
the sunshine. There extended the Pelican Sugar Estate, and indications
of prosperity surrounded them; but elsewhere companion enterprises had
clearly been less fortunate. In other parts of the island stagnation
marked similar concerns. The plantations were deserted; the land was
returning to the wilderness; the works fell into ruins.
But Jabez Ford still held the key of success, if it was possible to judge
by visible signs. Tobago felt proud of him and of the Pelican Estates.
Wide interest was taken in the visit of the owner’s son, and none doubted
but that Ford would benefit by the circumstance and win a reward worthy
of his long and honourable stewardship.
Two people understood otherwise, however, and one was Jabez Ford himself.
The overseer had failed to satisfy Henry Vivian, and he knew it. The
accounts were scrupulously rendered; the staff of coolies from Bombay
was happy and contented; the sugar commanded high praise and ready sale;
but there was a disparity between the apparent prosperity and the real
output. Other puzzling circumstances also much tended to increase young
Vivian’s doubt. Ford was an easy and convincing talker. He had an answer
for every question, an explanation of every difficulty. But the fact
remained: Henry Vivian disliked and distrusted him; and Jabez knew it
and did not conceal the truth from himself. An implicit duel rapidly
developed between them and the elder man seemed likely to win it, for
he was the stronger every way. He stood on his own dunghill and, for
the present, had no intention of being removed therefrom. His private
plans demanded another year for their fulfilment. Then, the richer by a
sustained and skilful system of peculation, he proposed to leave Tobago
and take himself and his hoard to some secret place in South America, far
beyond the reach of all former acquaintance. The sudden and unexpected
advent of Henry Vivian had taxed this rascal’s ingenuity severely,
and the visitor’s own reserve made the matter more difficult, for Sir
Reginald’s son investigated everything without comment and found fault
with nothing. But Ford was a student of human nature and wanted no words
to know that he stood in danger.
Now, as Jesse Hagan looked down from his mountain-top and waited, there
rode through the deep glen below the overseer. His plans were already
made. It needed only a further conference with his ancient ally to mature
them. Jabez himself had black blood in his veins. His great-grandfather
had been a negro, and he himself had married a Creole. This woman shared
the man’s life for twenty years; then death fell upon her, and it was to
keep Jumbies from the body that negresses had sung all night as Daniel
described to Minnie.
A glimmer of white caught Jesse’s eyes far below. He heard the tramp of a
horse and knew that his man was coming. Daniel still lay concealed beside
the cactus fence, and through the flat and thorny leaves of opuntia, he
saw Jabez Ford ride up. Jesse had disappeared for a moment into his hut,
but now he came forward with a bottle and a calabash.
“Marning, massa--rum punch for massa--what Jesse get ready.”
The man drank before answering, then he threw the calabash on the ground.
“I want another sort of brew to-morrow. It’s got to be. I’m sorry for the
young devil, for I’ve no quarrel with him; but he’s too cute. It don’t do
to be too cute with Jabez Ford.”
“Him rub out, sar?”
“No choice. Let me come in. I’ll tell you what happened last night. He’s
booked.”
“Dar’s a nice, cool, quiet hole under de snake-gourd waitin’ for Massa
Vivian. He’ll be berry comfable dar wid de udder gem’men.”
“You talk too much,” said Ford. “Come in and don’t make jokes at your
time of life. Think of the Devil, your master, and how precious soon
you’ll go back to him, Jesse.”
“You my massa, sar; Jesse dun want no udder massa dan Massa Ford. Marse
Debbil, he no pay such good wages as you.”
Ford laughed and dismounted from his horse. He was a big, hard man,
roasted and shrivelled somewhat by a life in the tropics. He always wore
white ducks and a felt hat that sloped well back over the nape of his
neck. His hair was black, his eyes were also black, and his face might
have been considered handsome. His clean-shorn mouth showed unusual
strength of character and spoke of greed and craft as well. Tobago
admired Jabez without liking him; the little island was proud of his
prosperity, but it did not trust him. His downfall would have brought
sorrow to few, for many secretly suspected him of dark things. But he was
strong, and not a man among his neighbours would have cared or dared to
fall foul of him.
Now Ford followed the priest of Obi into his secret dwelling, where
monstrous matters were hidden in the gloom and evil smells stole out of
the darkness. Three dried mummies first appeared. One was a crocodile and
hung from the roof; the other two had been human beings. They sat propped
in corners with a loathsome semblance of living and listening about them.
Festoons of bird’s eggs, curious seeds, and dried pumpkins were stretched
across the ceiling; skins of animals and birds littered the floor. Unseen
things squeaked in cages; there was a piece of red glass in the roof
and through it, on to a wooden table, there fell a round, flaming eye
of light which luridly illuminated the assembled horrors. Uncanny and
malodorous fragments filled the corners; filth, mystery and darkness
blended here; and across one corner of the hut hung a curtain which hid
Arcanum, the Holy of Obeah Holies.
Jabez Ford sat down on a three-legged stool by the table, and the
red light shone like a sulky fire upon his dark locks. He sniffed the
infamous air, then took a cigar from his case and lighted it.
Meantime, with more pluck than wisdom, and only thinking of the things
that he had heard and seen, Daniel Sweetland followed close upon the
heels of the strange pair. Now he stood outside the hut near the open
door, and, crouching here, listened clearly to the conversation within.
Beside him the tethered goat still browsed, and Ford’s horse sniffed the
ground for something to eat. But only the lush foliage of the snake-gourd
spread within his reach, and that the beast declined. It dragged its
bridle as far as possible, stamped the earth, and with unceasing swish,
swish, swish of tail kept the flies from its sweating flanks.
“I’ll tell you what’s happened since we met,” said Ford to his creature.
“Last night the youngster wrote his letters home and left them with mine
to be taken to the post office to catch the mail. The _Solent_ sailed
this morning, but she didn’t take Henry Vivian’s letter to his father.
She took one from me instead, signed in his name. I’ve got his in my
pocket, and it contained exactly what I expected. He makes no definite
charge, because it is impossible to prove anything against me; but he
states in detail that more money is being made than appears, and advises
Sir Reginald to be rid of me at once. Meantime he is going to look round
the island and find a new overseer. But this little plan won’t suit me. I
must stop at the Pelican for another year at least. So, having unsealed
and read our young friend’s letter after he retired to bed, I wrote
another--on my typewriter--and gave myself a better character, you may be
sure. His signature was very easy to imitate, and now my letter, not his,
has set sail for home. There it goes now.”
He pointed below where a steamer slipped away from Tobago and the station
ship, _Solent_, proceeded on her course to Trinidad and Barbados.
“My letter went in his envelope,” continued Ford. “And when Sir Reginald
reads it, he will be favourably impressed because I gave myself a better
character than Vivian did. Of course a letter from me will reach him by
the _next_ mail.”
“You write, too, massa?”
“Yes--I shall write--all about what is going to happen.”
“I see. You tell de great man at home how his son meet wid dam sad
accident and lose him life in Tobago?”
“Exactly. The boy’s as good as dead. I rather wish it had been possible
to avoid this; but it is not. He mustn’t go home.”
“He trust you?”
“Absolutely. He has no idea that I have seen through him and know that
he is not satisfied. Therefore, from his standpoint, I have no reason to
hate him. We are the best of friends. I am showing him all the sights
and taking him all over the island. He is anxious to see everything and
everybody. Of course he is on the look-out for a new overseer, but I’m
not supposed to know that. Now he’s excited, too, about that sailor who
knocked him down yesterday. A wretched fellow off a tramp steamer. We
were on the wharf watching them load turtles, when he spotted the man.
Then there was a row, and my gentleman got knocked into the water. I
hoped there might have been a shark cruising round! It would have saved
us a deal of trouble.”
“I will do all Marse shark could do, sar. A berry nice hole dug under the
snake-gourd. When he come?”
“Soon. I’ve told him that Jesse Hagan, the Obi Man, is the first wonder
of the island; so he’ll be here with me to see you. Have all your
war-paint on. Afterwards, I’ll take his horse away--and his boots and
clothes. The rest is simple enough. They’ll find the horse loose on
the beach, and his garments together, and prints of feet going to the
bathing-place, but none returning.”
“Dar’s nobody like Massa Ford!”
“We must be short and sharp. He’s resolute and quick. But he’s
small--what’s that? There’s somebody moving out there!”
“My goat, sar.”
But Ford had leapt to his feet and left the hut. A moment later and he
stood face to face with Daniel Sweetland. The sailor was some distance
from the cottage when Jabez accosted him. His back was turned and he
stood on a stone and pulled down green bananas from one of the Obi Man’s
trees.
“Who are you and what do you do here?” asked the overseer. “You must be
mad or a desperate man to run your head into this place.”
The other looked innocently round. Mere temporary fear seemed to leap
into his eyes at this threat. He showed by no deed or look that the
truth was known to him. But Daniel had heard the course of conversation
very clearly, and the necessity for swift action had forced itself upon
his mind. His first idea was to leap upon Ford’s horse, hasten to the
Pelican Estate, and give an alarm; then he remembered his own position
as a hunted fugitive. A plan worthy of the ingenious brain that had
freed him from the handcuffs of Mr Corder swiftly dawned in the man’s
head. He saw the dangers waiting for Henry Vivian and for himself. In a
few moments he decided upon action, and his words indicated that Daniel
evidently held self-preservation the first law of nature. He left the
heir of Middlecott to his fate, and played for his own hand only.
“Please, sir, listen afore you give me up,” said Daniel. “Afore God I’m
innocent of what this man says against me. He’s a hard, cruel young
devil, and many’s the poor chap at home he’s driven desperate. Not a
spark of pity has he got, an’ now I be desperate--as any hunted man would
be--an’ so I’ve climbed up here with my life in my hand to this terrible
old chap they tell me about. An’ I was going to ax him to help me; but
hearing voices, I just waited here till he was free. I’ll pay him well
for his bananas, and I’ll pay him better for something else, which is to
help me against that young bloodhound, Henry Vivian. I don’t care what I
do against him, for he’ll ruin me if he can; and if I was guilty I’d say
nought, but I’m innocent. An’ if I’ve got to swing, I’ll swing for him!
That’s why I comed with a present to this here mystery man, to ax him to
hide me an’ help me against my enemy. An’ I’ll tell you something too,
if you’ll listen, an’ that is that Mister Henry Vivian ban’t no friend
to you. I come from the same place he does, and I heard about it afore
my own trouble at home. He’m here as a spy, an’ I lay after he’s gone,
you’ll find your goose be cooked.”
This speech interested Mr Ford not a little.
“’Twas you that shot his father’s gamekeeper then?” he asked; but Daniel
denied it.
“It looked bad against me--so bad that I didn’t stop to talk about it,
but got clear off. Time will show ’twas no work of mine, however; an’
this man, as have knowed me from my youth up, ought to be my friend--not
my enemy. But since he’m against me, I’m against him, an’ I’d cut his
throat to-morrow if I got the chance.”
The overseer nodded and turned to Jesse Hagan. Jesse had brought a gun
out of his dwelling, and now deliberately pointed it at Daniel.
“Shall I shoot dis gem’man?” he inquired with his finger on the trigger.
“Him berry rude young man walk in my garden widdout saying ‘please,’ an’
eat my bananas.”
“Stop!” answered Ford. “This sailor is a friend. At least I think so. No,
don’t shoot him. Let him come in and give him something to eat. He’s
hungry.”
“Lucky Massa Ford speak for you, Marse sailor-man--else you food for de
‘John Crows’ dis minute. But he say ‘eat’; so you eat instead ob being
eaten, sar.”
Then Daniel entered the Obi Man’s hut with Jabez Ford and old Jesse.