Jerusha, the East Indian coolie, sat at the door of her hut, nursing
her baby on her knee, and with a very sullen expression on her
countenance. Indeed, all the hands on Beauregard had borne more or
less of a rebellious look of late. They had no particular grudge
against Mr Courtney, who was a kind, if rather an indolent master,
delegating all his duties to his overseer; but they detested Henri
de Courcelles, and the accounts of his cruelty, and selfishness, and
dishonesty, formed the staple portion of their conversation. His very
beauty, and evident self-consciousness of it, the vast superiority
which he assumed over them, and the rigour with which he carried out
the rules of the plantation, all combined to set the coolies against
him, and they thirsted to find out something which might degrade him
from his office. The reports from the Fort, too, the constant attempts
at rising which had to be quelled, had incited them on to imitation,
and altogether the plantation workers were seething under a sense of
wrong, and ripe for rebellion. Poor little Jerusha, with her handsome
half-caste baby in her arms, might have furnished them with a pretext
for denouncing the overseer, had not her case been too common a one
amongst them. But to the girl it meant the devastation of her life.
She had not courted her destiny. She had been landed in San Diego, a
poor trembling Indian coolie amongst a herd of fellow-sufferers, who
had been persuaded to leave Calcutta under a promise of good wages,
and plenty of food, and very little work, and after a voyage of four
months (during which they had been herded between decks like so many
swine), had been marched ashore at San Diego, too weak and frightened
and disappointed to have any hope left in them, unless it were that
they might die. They had been all standing together for hire, when
De Courcelles had sauntered by and picked out the likely ones for Mr
Courtney’s plantation. Jerusha well remembered how he came like a
prince amongst them, and how handsome he had looked in his white linen
suit and broad-brimmed hat, with the blue silk handkerchief knotted at
his throat, and the crimson rose blooming in his button-hole,--and
when he had stopped beside her and spoken to her in his low soft tone,
she had thought him more glorious still. She had not sought him out,
this poor little Indian girl, but he had pertinaciously come after her.
He had asked for her the very day after she had entered the plantation,
and put so many questions as to whether her hut was comfortable, and
her food sufficient, that Jerusha was quite bewildered. And then he
had given her new clothes, smart dresses--such as the natives love
to deck themselves in--and gold earrings for her ears; and the usual
consequence followed. She fell to the tempter’s seductive arts. It was
a sort of heaven to the poor untaught coolie to be selected from all
the other girls to be the favourite of the handsome young overseer. She
never troubled her head to think how long his preference would last.
She knew that he would never marry her--she would have laughed at so
ludicrous an idea--and yet she fancied somehow that her happiness would
never end, and was terribly disappointed and bitterly incensed when the
day came that De Courcelles ordered her back to her quarters with the
other coolies, and refused to make any difference between them. She had
reproached him with his conduct on the occasion which has been related,
but, if anything, it had had the effect of making him more severe with
her, and Jerusha realised at last that all was over between them,
and that she had been only a tool and a plaything to minister to his
short-lived pleasure. She was pondering resentfully on his neglect as
she sat on the ground, with both her hands clasped round her knees to
make a cradle for her little Henri, as she would persist in calling the
child, greatly to the annoyance of the overseer. Henri was a beautiful
infant, large and round and buoyant, with much more of the father than
the mother in his appearance. He was gaily dressed in a short calico
shirt of red and white striped cotton, with bangles on his fat brown
arms, and a string of blue beads round his neck, and as Jerusha rocked
him to and fro, and heard him crow with delight at the exercise, the
gloom on her face would suddenly disappear, and she would seize the boy
in her arms and kiss him vehemently. As she was thus amusing herself, a
shadow fell between her and the setting sun, and old Jessica from the
White House stood before her. Jessica had been much put out by her
young mistress leaving her behind when she started for the hill range.
It was the first time such a thing had occurred, and the old nurse felt
it accordingly. Had she not waited on Missy Quita, hand and foot, ever
since she was a baby? and if she _had_ been sharp enough to discover
her secret, had she not kept it as faithfully as Missy would have done
herself? And why should Missy Quita leave her behind just as she had
obtained her wish and was on the road to make the great marriage that
Jessica had always foretold for her? The faithful old negress felt
aggrieved; and when sunset came, and Mr Courtney had gone out for his
evening drive, and the White House seemed deserted, her heart turned to
her old friends in the negro quarters, and she walked down to have a
chat with them, and unburden herself of her troubles.
‘Eh, Jerusha, gal!’ she exclaimed, as she caught sight of the young
East Indian, ‘and how’s de baby? He berry fine boy, Jerusha. He make
big strong coolie, bime-by.’
‘Coolie,’ repeated Jerusha scornfully. ‘My little Henri never make
coolie boy. I tell you dat, Aunty Jess. Henri’s a lord’s son, and he’ll
be gennelman, bime-by.’
‘You go ways, Jerusha; you talking nonsense! Lords is only for great
ladies like my Missy Quita.’
‘Missy Quita going to marry a lord?’ said Jerusha inquisitively, as
Jessica took a seat beside her.
‘Wall, he’s not quite a lord yet, but I ’spect he will be bime-by. But
he’s a great rich gennelman, and the Governor of San Diego, and that’s
next to being a king--jes’ so! But I wish my missy take me up to hills
with her. I never been lef’ behind before. I can’t tell why my missy
think to go widout me.’
‘Praps she want de lord all to herself--’
‘I not interferin’ wid her little games! All her life I let her do jes’
as she like; and she don’t mind ole Jessica! Ah, I know more dan one
secret ob my missy’s--you bet, Jerusha!’
‘I dessay! All gals hab dere secrets, and dere lovers too. Dis lord not
Missy Quita’s first lover, _I_ know.’
‘Why, o’ course not--handsome young lady like dat. But de good looks
not allays de good heart. Missy not grateful, ’pears to me,’ grumbled
Jessica. ‘She not want me any longer now she got Sir Russell to wait on
her.’
‘De good looks not allays de good heart,’ echoed Jerusha; ‘you may
well say _dat_, Aunty Jess. De good looks sometimes cover de debbil’s
heart--like Massa Courcelles’!’
‘Sakes! what you know ’bout _him_, Jerusha?’
‘I don’t know no _good_ of him, Aunty.’
‘Jes’ like all de rest ob de world. I nebber could bear dat oberseer;
he berry bad fellow; and dis morning he ’sulted me dreffully. Jes’
hear, Jerusha. I comin’ from White House, quiet as could be, wid
nothin’ to do, now my missy gone, when I meet dat Courcelles walkin’
along and swearin’ to himself. He came straight up to me and he say,
“Out ob my way, you d--d old hag! If it hadn’t been for your peepin’
and listenin’, I believe I should have had my own way. Wait till I get
you down to de cotton fields agen, and I’ll serve you out for dis.”’
‘Laws, Aunty Jess, and what _you_ say?’
‘_I_ say “You jes’ stop dat, you bad man. I knows all about you; and
you’ll nebber get me down to cotton fields agen, for if you tries it,
I’ll blow de roof ob de Oleander Bungalow off your head, and tell de
ole master eberyting!”’
‘An’ what is der to tell?’ cried Jerusha, with sudden interest.
‘Sakes, gal, more than _you_ guess! But I don’t see why I shouldn’t
tell you, now my missy safe, and goin’ to marry de Governor. ’Sides, my
missy not behave berry grateful to me. ’Tis de way wid de white folk.
Why, Jerusha, dat oberseer Missy Quita’s lover for ober a year, and she
go out night after night to meet him in de bungalow, as I’m a livin’
woman--’
‘She--go--meet--Massa Courcelles?’ gasped Jerusha.
‘Sure! And more, dat baby down at Doctor’s bungalow no more Miss
Lizzie’s child than it is yours. Dat baby ’long to Missy Quita and
Massa Courcelles. _I_ knows! but I never tell till my missy so
ungrateful as to leave me behind, and dat man swear and call me “d--d
hag!” But you nebber tell nobody else, Jerusha! You keep dat secret
like your life, till de wedding’s ober--and then, what matter?’
‘Dat baby is _his_? Oh, de false man!’ cried the coolie, with flashing
eyes, as she sprang to her feet, and held little Henri at arm’s length.
‘And dis chile ob mine, dis white-skinned boy, who you think _he_
’long to, Aunty Jessica? Why, to that villain too! Dat’s his fader!
Your fine Massa Courcelles, what ruin your missy and me same time!’
‘What you say, Jerusha? Your baby’s fader de oberseer?’
‘Sure! Didn’t he favour me ober all de other coolie girls on de
plantation? Didn’t he give me my earrings and bangles and my Sunday
shawl, and tell me I de prettiest girl he ebber see? And I fool enough
to believe him, Aunty; I thinkin’ he lub me allays, and be good to me,
for little Henri’s sake. But when he found I should hab a baby, he
sent me back to de fields, and I work dere till I nearly drop. And he
beat me--yes, Aunty!’ shrieked Jerusha in her rage, as she turned her
flaming eyes up to the skies; ‘he whipped me and my poor baby, and
laughed when I dared him to strike us! And I vowed to hab my revenge
on him, and I will hab it yet. Massa Courcelles shall live to wish he
nebber deceived a poor coolie girl, or struck her baby! That’s so!’
‘And _I’ll_ help you, Jerusha, for I hate dat man, and I swore once to
give him obeah water for deceiving my poor missy. And now he serve you
de same--dat’s twice bad; and I know anudder heart what he’s broken,
though she as good and pure as de white May lilies in de garden--and
dat’s Miss Lizzie.’
‘Nebber _Miss Lizzie_!’ cried Jerusha incredulously. ‘Miss Lizzie do
wicked ting? Why, she’s de best woman I ebber see!’
‘No, no, Jerusha! I not mean dat. Only dis villain make lub to de
poor gal, and promise to marry her, and now she breakin’ her heart
because he so false. Rosa tell me eberyting. She pretend to be asleep
in verandah dis morning, and hear all they say. Miss Lizzie ’clare she
nebber, nebber marry him now.’
‘She miserable woman if she do,’ said Jerusha. ‘But hush, Aunty Jess,
here come Miss Lizzie. Don’t say nuffin ’bout little Henri ’fore her.
She too good and sweet! She not like us! I never dare tell her who was
his fader.’
As the coolie spoke, Lizzie came up to them, pale but smiling. She
carried her basket as usual on her arm, and as soon as she saw little
Henri, she drew a small sponge-cake from a selection of such dainties
which she carried for the sick, and held it out to him.
‘What a beauty he grows, Jerusha! He will soon be out of arms now, and
toddling after you everywhere.’
‘Yes, Missy Liz, he bery fine boy,’ replied the young mother, in a
subdued tone.
‘Is anything the matter?’ said Lizzie, quickly glancing from Jerusha to
the old nurse. ‘No bad news of Miss Maraquita, I hope, Jessica?’
‘Oh, no, Missy Liz. Missy quite well enough, I guess. ’Tis them she
leave behind what feel bad.’
‘You miss her, I daresay, and the White House seems dull without her.
Well, you will soon be gay enough when the wedding takes place.’
‘I s’pose so, Missy Liz. Is dat baby at your bungalow all right,
missy?’ continued Jessica inquisitively.
Lizzie flushed to the roots of her hair. She had encountered some
impertinence on this subject before, and she feared a repetition of it.
‘It is quite well, Jessica, although it is very weakly, and I am not at
all sure of rearing it.’
‘A good ting if it die,’ said the nurse; ‘and if all such babies died,
Missy Liz--we’ve no room for them here.’
‘You shouldn’t say that, Jessica,’ returned Lizzie mildly; ‘for it may
be God’s will that it should live.’
‘Better say good ting if its _fader_ died!’ exclaimed Jerusha. ‘That’s
the sort we’ve no room for. Ah, Missy Liz, no use you opening your eyes
like dat. We know plenty on dis plantation, we do!--and we know de good
from de bad too, and may de Lord help us to root ’em out.’
‘Have you any special enemy here then, Jerusha?’ demanded Lizzie.
‘Yes, I have,’ replied the coolie, with dogged determination. ‘Massa
Courcelles is my special enemy, and I hate him!’
‘Monsieur de Courcelles, Jerusha? Has he been unkind to you, or done
you any wrong?’
‘He has done me _dis_ wrong!’ cried Jerusha, holding out her baby. ‘He
has given me dis chile, and blows on the top of it!’
She would have said more, but Lizzie put her hand to her head, and,
with a low cry, passed swiftly from them. The women gazed after her in
astonishment. They could not understand a nature without any feeling
of revenge in it,--with only the deepest pain for the sins of one it
loved, and a horror of hearing them mentioned by others. They thought
that Lizzie had misunderstood them, or had not heard aright.
‘Dat’s funny!’ exclaimed Jerusha. ‘’Pears I didn’t put things right, or
she would have smacked little Henri on the head, or killed him dead, as
I’d like to kill dat baby at de bungalow.’
‘Missy Liz not one of _our_ sort,’ said Jessica. ‘She allays berry
quiet and gentle, but I guess she _feel_ same as rest.’
‘Does she _know_ about dat baby at de bungalow?’
‘I ’spect she knows eberyting, and dat dese low niggers say it is _her_
chile: same as Massa Courcelles did! Poor Miss Lizzie, she’s too good
for us. She oughter run a knife into him and the chile too.’
‘That’s so,’ cried Jerusha; ‘and dat’s what _I_ will do for her! I full
of revenge, Jessica. I like to get up some night and fire de Oleander
Bungalow, and burn dat man in his bed! I like to stick him wid knife,
same as pig--an’ to make him drink poison water till he die.’
‘Better give him de obeah water--dat safe and silent,’ replied the
nurse; ‘but you must do it secret, Jerusha. You mustn’t tell anybody
but me.’
‘I telling no one; but I watch and wait, and I hab my revenge. I swear
it on my little Henri’s head!’ said Jerusha solemnly.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]