JESSE’S FINGER-NAIL
For an hour Jesse Hagan, Jabez Ford and Daniel Sweetland spoke in secret
together. Then the overseer mounted his horse and departed, while Daniel
and the Obi Man remained.
The result of this curious conference will appear. Suffice it that for
many a long month no man ever saw Daniel’s face again. Meantime Mr Ford
resumed his attendance on Sir Reginald Vivian’s son, who continued
to enjoy the generous hospitality of Tobago. Hue and cry for Daniel
Sweetland quite failed to find him, or any sign of him. No trace of the
sailor rewarded a close and systematic search. It was supposed that he
had eluded all eyes, risked the sharks, and either perished or succeeded
in swimming back to his ship on the night before she sailed. But the crew
knew differently. To the deep regret of James Bradley and the rest of his
mates, Daniel returned to the _Peabody_ no more. To wait for him could
not be thought of. A black man was, therefore, shipped in Sweetland’s
stead, and the old steamer, with a small cargo of cocoanuts and turtle,
sailed to Barbados. Dan from his hiding-place saw her depart unmoved, for
he knew not the awful fate that would soon overtake his friends. Great
issues had now opened in his own life, and extreme hazards awaited him.
A fortnight passed, and the afternoon of Henry Vivian’s visit to the Obi
Man arrived. This event had been reserved for his last holiday in Tobago.
In two days’ time a Royal Mail Packet would leave the island, and by it
the visitor designed to return to Barbados, that he might pick up the
next vessel that sailed for home.
While he packed his cabin trunks young Vivian reviewed the events of
recent weeks, and thought, not without regret, of much that had happened.
The pursuit of Sweetland had caused him deep sorrow. He forgave Dan
his ducking, and only mourned that his own sense of duty had made it
necessary to try and secure the escaped prisoner. He would have given
much to know what had become of the fugitive, and hoped against his
conscience that Daniel was safe in the _Peabody_. But the young man did
not doubt that Sweetland had been guilty, for evidence of his crime
seemed overwhelming, and the final fact that he had escaped from justice
showed too certainly how the poacher had feared it. The circumstance of
Jabez Ford’s dishonesty was also material for unquiet reflections. Mr
Ford acquitted himself as an ideal host, and every instinct of the guest
rebelled and hurt him for the part that he must play. Vivian felt himself
guilty of treachery, and it was only by keeping the truth concerning
Jabez Ford resolutely in sight that he could view his courtesy, good
nature, and hospitality with an easy mind. That Ford had robbed his
father Henry Vivian could not question; yet he blamed himself for being
so silent. He felt that he had done better and more bravely to declare
his doubts and charge the other openly. Then he reminded himself that
he had actually done so, that he had expressed frank dissatisfaction on
many occasions, and that Jabez Ford, with imperturbable good humour,
had listened to his strictures, regretted his opinions, and assured him
of his mistakes. At least Vivian determined that he would not leave the
overseer in any uncertainty. He had failed to find a trustworthy and
experienced man to take Ford’s place in Tobago; but he doubted not that
such a man might be forthcoming at Barbados. Letters would reach him
there from his father, and those letters Henry believed would grant him
powers to dismiss Jabez Ford and appoint another overseer. He might,
indeed, have to return to Tobago before leaving the West Indies. At
anyrate, on the following day Ford was to lunch with Vivian on shipboard
before the steamer sailed, and then Henry determined that the overseer
should hear the truth, in order that he might make preparations for his
departure from the Pelican Estate.
While the traveller thus decided, Jabez Ford was engaged upon a
communication to Sir Reginald; and it was this letter, and not his
employer’s son, that the overseer intended should travel homeward in two
days’ time.
The fireflies danced across the velvet darkness of night; strange sounds
of frogs echoed in the marshes, and sheet lightning sometimes outlined
the dark heads of the palms as Jabez wrote. Now he sipped his grog; now
he turned his cigar in his mouth; now he listened to the footfall of his
guest on the floor above. Vivian was whistling “Widecombe Fair.” Already
he wearied of the tropics and began to yearn for a sight of home.
Mr Jabez Ford tapped away at his typewriter and described with many an
artistic and graphic touch events that had not yet happened. He told how
Henry Vivian accompanied him to the abode of the old negro, Jesse Hagan;
how, after inspecting the Obi Man’s mysteries, the visitor had ridden off
alone to return to the Pelican Sugar Estate; how he had not come back,
and how, protracted search being made, his clothes were discovered upon
the seashore, while a single row of naked footprints were also observed
leading from them to the sea. He added that young Vivian’s custom was
to bathe twice daily, and that on more than one occasion, disregarding
warnings, he had swum in the open water instead of behind the protections
of the regular bathing-place. Mr Ford left it to the sorrowing father to
guess what must have happened in those shark-haunted waters. He concluded
with haste to catch the mail. He promised to write again as soon as
possible, and to send a message by cable if any hopeful news might be
despatched.
Then, well pleased with the effort, he slept, and presently woke again
refreshed to make his story good.
Soon after noon Vivian and the overseer rode together by the steep forest
path to Jesse’s lofty haunt, and the Obi Man in expectation prepared
himself. Daniel Sweetland had vanished. Only an attendant negro waited on
the master of the mysteries. All being arranged to Jesse’s satisfaction,
the ancient man disappeared into an inner sanctum behind a curtain, and
there completed his own horrible toilet. Upon his head he placed a fur
cap with long black horns sprouting out of it, and over his lean carcase
he drew hairy garments daubed with white and scarlet paint. These things
were girt about his waist with a belt of feathers of the king-bird--a
tropic fowl of gorgeous plumage. His arms remained bare, but to his
wrists and ankles he fastened strips of lizard skin and hung bracelets of
rattling seeds. About his neck he placed a chain of human teeth, and upon
his breast for a loathsome amulet, the shrivelled-up mummy of a monkey
hung. He next painted sundry blue hieroglyphics over his wrinkled face,
and then gazed with unqualified pleasure at the general effect seen in a
scrap of looking-glass.
“Obi somebody dis day!” said Jesse as he marched out into the daylight;
and if he looked unearthly in the gloom of his own den, the display in
full blaze of sunshine was still more terrific. He pranced hither and
thither for his servant’s benefit. He jingled and clashed and flamed. His
fantastic adornments glittered in the light; strange treasures, unseen
until now, appeared amongst his accoutrements. A brass-bound Bible hung
round his neck with a big jack-knife; upon his knees a pair of old naval
epaulettes were fastened. The ghastly thing on his breast had yellow
beads stuck into its head for eyes, and now they flashed with a sort of
life, whilst its little mummied arms clung about Jesse and seemed to hug
him.
The attendant eyed him without awe or admiration. Jacky, as he was
called, lacked some of his senses and never spoke. Then, while Jesse
capered about like a monkey, down in the hot haze of the distance amid
trees and rocks, the old monster suddenly saw a cavalcade struggling up
the hill. Two horsemen were approaching.
Now the Obi Man retired again to complete very special and secret
preparations for the hope of the house of Vivian. He withdrew behind the
curtain, stooped low in his secret corner, and drew forth a box from
beneath much rubbish that covered it. Next he lighted a candle, opened
the box and from it took a smaller one. This contained a grey, sticky
matter, like bird-lime. Digging out some of the stuff upon the point of a
wooden skewer, Jesse, with his thumb, held back the flesh of his middle
right-hand finger, and, under the nail, deposited the compound from
the box. He plastered it there, and since all his nails were long and
dirty, the presence of this strange ointment was not likely to attract
attention. He hid the box again, blew out his candle, and, returning to
the air, went forward to meet his company.
The horsemen arrived and drew up before Jesse’s gate as he leapt forward
and bowed low, while his finery made savage music.
“By Jove! we’re lucky!” exclaimed Jabez. “I told you that you should see
an Obi doctor, but I never thought he would have all his war-paint on!”
“Tell him to get further off,” answered Vivian. “My horse is growing
restive.”
“Gib you berry good day, Massa Ford; and you too, sar!” cried Jesse,
bowing again and again. “Poor ole man Hagan, he berry pleased to see
gem’men.”
“This is Mr Vivian, Jesse,” explained the overseer. “His father is Sir
Reginald Vivian--the great man who owns the Pelican Estate.”
Jesse saluted respectfully.
“I proud nigger dis day. Wonderful esteats--wonderful sugar esteats,
massa. No canes like de canes on Pelican land. Come in, gem’men. Jacky
hold your hosses and make dem fast. I’se proud to see two such gem’men in
dis place.”
Ford made signs to the negro, but did not speak. Then he turned to Henry
Vivian.
“That’s old Jesse’s son,” he explained. “A rare fine nigger--full-blooded
and strong as a horse. But he’s deaf and dumb--poor devil!--though he’s
got all his other wits about him.”
Jacky made fast the horses and brought them a pail of water. Then Ford
and the guest entered Mr Hagan’s hut, and Jesse followed them. He bustled
about and fetched a basket of fruit from the garden. Next he produced a
bottle of rum and drew the cork with his teeth.
Henry Vivian stared and showed a very genuine interest in the strange
scene around him. Mr Ford sat on a barrel in a corner and smoked his
cigar.
“You’ve got to thank old Jesse here for more than you know,” he declared.
“He’s been worth pounds and pounds to the Pelican; and though I can’t
show the profits that I’d like to show you, and hope to show you soon,
yet but for this old wonder here, the figures would be far worse than
they are. Two years ago a tremendous lot of sugar-cane was stolen from
our plantation. The black thieves came by night--”
“He-he-he! Black tiefs come by night!” echoed Jesse.
“And took tons of the stuff. I placed the matter in the hands of the
police; but it’s not much good setting a nigger to catch a nigger as
a rule. The officers did no good; then I tried the parson. But he was
powerless too. So I came to Jesse, and he stopped the rascals in no time.”
“Jesse stop de rascals in no time,” said the old negro.
“He put your father’s lands under Obeah, Mr Vivian. That doesn’t mean
much to you; but we West Indians understand. All rubbish and nonsense
really, perhaps, though I won’t allow that myself. At anyrate, Obeah is
a terrible thing to Ethiopian ears. Some survival and fragment of their
ancient, infernal religion of witchcraft and unimaginable devilries.
There’s something in it, I believe--what, I cannot say. Our friend here
is one of the last of the Obi Men, and he threw his spell over the
sugar canes--hung up red rags and empty bottles on the skirts of the
plantation--uttered some mumbo-jumbo spell in the ears of the frightened
people and departed. It was enough. Devil another stick went.”
“Debble anudder stick go! He-he!” sniggered Jesse.
“We ought to be greatly obliged,” confessed Henry Vivian. “This has
been a most interesting experience, and I hope you’ll accept an English
sovereign from me in the name of my father, old man. Be sure I’ll tell
him of your exploits and all that he owes to you.”
“Gold--me like gold berry much,” declared Jesse. He took the money
greedily and slipped it into a pocket at his belt. “Massa King ob England
on it--good!” he said.
“And now I’ll depart, if you please, Ford,” continued young Vivian. “I’m
glad to have had this most interesting experience, but I can’t stand the
place any longer. The uncanny odours are choking me.”
“Smoke then. We can’t go immediately. The old boy would never forgive us.
I’ll be off as soon as I dare.”
He turned to Jesse.
“Seen any turtle lately?”
“Plenty turtle, sar. I take my walks on moony nights and see de great
cock turtle making a fuss and de ladies laying dar eggs in de sand. Berry
good soup--but Jesse like rum better. It work quicker. You gem’men shall
taste Jesse’s rum punch. Nobody make rum punch like me, massa.”
He made signs to Jacky, and the silent negro, who stood at the door, drew
three calabash shells from a corner and took them out to wash them.
“He my son, massa,” explained old Hagan. “Him no speak or hear. Him
tongue tied by de Lord. But him understand berry quick. Him understand
like a dog, sar. Him know tings dat we no know, for all dat we have ears
and tongues.”
Vivian nodded dreamily and puffed his cigar. The vile atmosphere of the
hut and Jesse’s voice that ran on ceaselessly began together to hypnotise
him. He felt sleepy.
“How much more of it?” he asked Ford, and the other answered--
“Not five minutes. The drink is ready. We will wish him good luck
and long life. Then we will clear out. His rum punch is really worth
drinking. I know nothing like it.”
Meantime Jacky had rinsed out his three split calabash bowls and now
placed them on the table in a row.
“Dis Obi punch I make for you, sar. Nobody make him but Jesse!” declared
the host. Then he poured his concoction into the three bowls and, when
he had emptied a large open pan, about half a pint of liquor filled each
calabash.
“Drink and remember de poor old Obi Man, sars! Dar’s yours, Massa Ford,
and dar’s yours, Massa Vivian; and dis am mine. Jacky and me will share
and share togedder.”
He handed the calabashes to his son and a close observer might have
noted that into one bowl of refreshment--that intended for Henry
Vivian--Jesse dipped the long, bony middle finger of his right hand.
A moment later Jabez Ford lifted his drink and pledged the giver.
“Here’s to you, old fellow, and may your shadow never grow less. Good
luck and long life to all of us!”
He drank heartily, smacked his lips, and set his empty bowl upon the
table, while Vivian followed his example and drained his drink also.
“Splendid--splendid!” he said. “I’ll give you another sovereign for the
secret of that!”
Jesse looked at the doomed man with his toad’s eyes.
“I fraid de secret no good whar you gwaine, massa. You dead gem’man, sar.
Nuffing on God earf save you now. Five minutes more and we take off your
tings and put you under Jesse’s snake-gourd, sar.”
“What the deuce is he talking about?” began Vivian. Then his jaw fell
and he stared at the face of Jabez Ford. Behind them stood Jacky, and in
front, on the other side of the table, the Obi Man quietly sipped his rum
punch and waited.
But now a thing unforeseen occurred, and the awful, inevitable death
that had been mixed with Henry Vivian’s cup fell upon another.
Jabez Ford it was who leapt to his feet, cried a hoarse oath and turned
upon the negro behind him.
“Treachery--you--you--!” he began. Then he fell in a heap on the floor,
twisted horribly like a snake, while his hands and feet beat the earth.
“Air--air--my God--life!” he cried, and at the same moment with a wild
yell the Obi Man leapt forward and hurled himself at his son’s throat.
But the younger negro was ready, and in his grasp the old man’s strength
availed nothing. In a moment Mr Hagan was forced to the earth and Jacky,
with a rope in readiness, had bound him hand and foot. His finery fell
from Jesse while he shrieked and struggled and cursed. Then he sank into
silence and watched Jabez Ford die.
Vivian, believing himself in some appalling nightmare, glared upon this
scene; and its unreality and horror seemed increased to a climax worse
than the sudden death of the overseer when the dumb negro turned upon him
and spoke.
“Come!” said the man. “Come out of this! The horses are waiting. I’ll
tell you what’s to tell, but not here with that mad old devil screeching
in our ears and t’other glaring there with death gripping his throat.
Come, Henry Vivian, an’ give heed to the man who has saved your life at
the cost of this twisted clay here. Like him would you have been this
minute but for me. ’Tis now your turn to be merciful.”
“Dan! Dan Sweetland!”
“So I be then--at your service. Come. No more till we’m out o’ sight of
this gashly jakes. Let that old rip bide where he be for the present. Us
can come backalong for him after dark, or to-morrow.”
A few moments later Sweetland, still disguised as a negro, mounted the
dead man’s horse, and he and his old companion rode away together.