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The Maroon.
A TALE OF V OODOO ANID OBEAH.
BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID. '
man or “rat muss HOMEMAN," “mm DEATH-SHOT," “THE scum HUNmm-x," 270.. m . 3
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The Maroon.

A Tale of Voodoo and Obeah.

BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID,

Amos. or “ran: mm RANGERS." “ THE
BCALP surname,” “run warm cums,”
“m WAR TRAIL ” “THE WILD
HUNTRESS, ’ arc.

CHAPTER I.
A Jamcs suesn ESTATE.

A SUGAR estate. and one of the finest in the
“ land of sprin s,” is that of “ Mount Welcome."

The “great ouse ” or “ half” of the cstate
stands under the foot of the mountain, just at
the point of union between two ridges—~where a
natural table or platform, elevated seVeral feet
above the level of the valley, had ttfered a.
temptin site to the builder.

In arc itectural style it is not very different
from other houses of its kind, the Well-known
planter’s dwelling of the West Indies. One
story—the lower one, of course—is of strong
stone mason-work, the second and only other
bein simply a. wooden “frame” roofed with
“ h ngles."

he s.de and end walls of this second story
cannot with propriety be termed walls. sirce
most part of them are occupied by a continuous
line of Venetian shutters—the “ jalousies”of
Jamaica. 1

Toese impart a singular cagelike appearance
to the house, at the suns! time contributing to
its coolness—a quality of primary inportance in
a trepical climate.

In Mount “Welcome Home, as in all other
country mansions of Jamaica, a stranger would
remaik a want of correspondence between the
dwelling itself and the furniture which it con-
tains. The former might be regarded as slight,

and even flimsy. But it is this very character .

which renders it appropriate to the climate, and
hence the absence of siihstantiality or costliness
in the style and materials of the building.

The furniture, on the other hand—the solid
tables of mahogany, and other ornamental

woods—the shining carved side-boards—the pro- ,

fuse show of silver and cut glass that rests upon
them—the elegant couches and chairs—the glit-
tering lamps and candelabras—all combine to
prove that tne quasi meanness of the Jamaica
planter’s establishment extends no further than
to the walls of his house. If the case be a cheap
onea the jewels contained in it are of the costliest
kin .

The n untain is a conspicuous feature of the
landscape. Not so much from its hight, for
there are others of ual elevation near toit,
and further ofl’. thou still within sight, many
still higher. Even t. e famed “Blue Peak ” is
visible, towering hundreds of feet above the
surrounding summits.

Nor is it conspicuous from being isolated.
On the contrary, it is only a spur of that vast
elevated chain of hills, that, separated by deep
gorge-like valleys, and soaring thousands of feet
above the lava] of the Caribbean Sea, are known
as the “ Blue Mountains of Jamaica.”

Alone at its to is it treeless-bare and held
as the crown o a Franciscan friar. There
stands the square coffer like summit, a mass of
solid rock, which repels the approach of the
vegetable giants that crowd. closely around its
base. some of them stretching out their huge
arms as if to stran is or embrace it.

One tree alone as succeeded in scaling its
steep rampart—like wall. A noble palm—the
areca—has accomplished this feat, and stands
conspicuously upon the table-top, its plumed
leavesvwaving haughtily aloft, like a triumphal
banner planted upon the parapet of some con-
quered castle.

This summit rock presents a singular appear-
ance. Its seamed and scarred surface is mot-
tled with a dark glaze, which during the sun-
light, and even under the mellower beams of the
moon, gives forth a coruscation, as if the light
we reflected from scale armor.

o the denizens of the valley below it is
known as the Jumbo Rock—a name character-
istic of the superstitious ideas attached to it.
Thou h constantly before their eyes, and ac-
eessibe by an hour’s climbing up the forest
gth, there is not a negro on the estate of Mount

elcome, nor on any other for miles around,
that would venture alone to visit the Jumbo
Beck; and to most, if not all of them, the top of
this mountain isas much of a terra incognita
as the summit of Chimborazol

I am speaking of a period more than half a
century ago. At that time the terror that was
attached to the Jumbo Rock did not altogether
owe its origin to mere superstition. It had been
partly inspired by the remembrance of abor-
rid history. The rock had been the scene of an
execution, which for cruel and cold-blooded bar-
barity rather d serves to be called. a crime.

That table summit, like the blood-stained

loam—Used permission ‘of Geo. W. Carleton
C 00.. owners of a American copyright. .

 

» mas, had been used as

  
 

templ

 

 
    
    
   
  
   

an alt: h a human sacrifice had
been Q
The v1 ‘ n aCoromantee myalrman

ame of Chakra-—a slave of
an, master of Mount Wel-
l come. H .- accused of the practice of
; oheuh, in on to-day better known as voo—
1doo or neg . itcbcratt, and had been con-
; damned to death b his master as a justice of
‘ the peaCe, sitting With two other justices in full
bench. The mode of his execution was one of
great cruelty. He was chained to the palm tree
on the top of the Jumbo Rock and left there to
starve to death. His skeleton remained chained
to the tree as had been the body in life, and not
.a negro on the plantation dared ascend the
i Jumbo Rock after nightfall, for fear of seeizg
‘ the “duppy,” or ghost of Chakra, the my -
. man. '

0r wizar

l Mr. Loft

On a tranquil morning in the fair month of
': May—fair in Jamaica, as elsewhere on the
l earth—a large bell ringing in the great hall of
j lilouut Welcome announced the hour of break—
ast.

As ye _ ere were no guests around the table,
nor int ' lhall—only the black and colored doe
mestics‘. who, to the number of half a dozen,
bad just come up from the kitchen with trays
and dishes containing the viands that were to
compose the meal.

Soon after the tones of the bell had ceased to
vibrate through the hall, they for whom the
summons was intended made their appearance,
entering from o posite sides, not together, but
one coming in a ittle before the other.

The first was a gentleman of somewhat over
middle age, of a hale complexion, and full,
I portly form.

He was dressed in a suit of nankeens—jacket
and tr0wsers, both of ample make—the former
open in front, and displaying a shirt bosom of
finest white linen, the broad plaits of which

| were uncovered by any vest. A wide turn-
‘ down collar was folded back, exhibiting a full
development of throat, which, with the broad
t jaws of ruddy hue, appeared clean and freshly
shavcn.

Loftus Vaughan, Esq.. proprietor of Mount
Wclconie, Justice of the Peace, and Custos Ro-
tulorum, cast a scrutinizing gla ce at the dis-
t play of viands, and apparently satisfied with
what he saw, seated himself before the table,
his face beaming with a smile of pleasant anti-
ci )ation.

e had scarce taken his seat when a fair ap-
parition ap cared, entering from the further
end of the all-a young, virgin-like creature,
looking as fresh and roseate as the first rays of
the Ann ra.

It would have required an experienced eye-
one well acquainted with the hysiologicalchar-
acterisiics of race—to have to d that that oung

irl was not of the purest Caucasian blood.

nd yet, the slight undulation of the hair; a
rotund rather than an oval face; eyes of dark‘
est umber, with a slight gleam perpetually in
the pa ils; a singular, picture-like expression in
the co oriug of the cheeks, were all character-
istigs that proclaimed the presenca of the song-

me .e.

Slight indeed was the taint ,' and it seems like
profanation to employ the phrase. when speak—
ing of a creature so beautifull fair, for beauti-
fully fair was the daughter 0 Loftus Vaughan.
She was his only daughter, the only member of
his family—for the proprietor of Mount Wel-
come was a widower.

On entering the hall, the young girl did not
proceed directly to seat herself; but, gliding he-

ind the chair occupied by her father, she flung
her arms around his neck, and imprinted a kiss
upon his forehead.

After saluting her father, the young girl took
her seat in front of the coffee urn, and com-
menced performing the duties of the table.

In this she was assisted h a girl apparently
of her own age, but of wide y different appear-
ance. Her waiting-maid it was. who, having
entered at the same time, had taken her station
behind the chair of her mistress.

The girl was far from ill-looking; and, to an
eye accostomed to her “style,” she may have
appeared even hand-ome. Her elegant shape,
exposed by the extreme scantiness of her cos-
tume, a sleeveless robe, with a Madras kerchief
worn a la to e upon her head; her graceful
attitudes, wh ch seemed natural to her, either
when in motion or standing poised behind the
chair of her mistress; the quick glance of her
fine, fiery eyes, and the arl-like whiteness of
her teeth; all contributorto make up a picture
that was far from commonplace.

This young girl was a slave—the slave Yola.

CHAPTER H.
'r w o L i: r 'r n R s .

INSTEAD of standing in the middle of the floor,
the breakfast table had been placed clcse to the
front window. in Order that. with the jalousies
thrown open, the fresh air might bemore freely
felt. while at the same time a view could be ob-
tained of the landscape outside. A splendid
view it was, comprising the valle with its long
palm-shaded avenue, a reach 0 the Mon 0
river, the roof- and spires of the town. the III

/

 

 

 

 

 

ping in the bay and roadstead, the bay itsalf;
and the blue Caribbean beyond.

Striking as was this landscape, Mr. Vaughan
'ust then showed no inclinatiOn to look upon it.

e was too busily occupied with the rich viands

upon the tube; and when he at length found
time to glance over the window-sill, his glarce
extended no further than to the negro “ gang "
at work among the canes, to see if his mm”
were doing their dutv.

The eyes of Miss aughan were oftener di-
rected to the outside view. It was at this hour
that one of the servants usually returned from
Monte Bay, bringing the letters from the
post—o ce. There was nothing in her manner
that betrayed any particular anxiety about his
arrival; but simply that lively interest which
young ladies in all c<untries feel when (—x t-
ing t e postman, hoping for one of those ittle
letters of twelve sheets with closely-written and
crossed lines, most oifiicult to decipher, and yet
to them more interesting than even the pages of
the newest novel.

Very soon a dark object, of rudely Centanrean
form appeared coming along the avenue; and,
shortly after, ,an impolike negro laid upon the
back ofa rough pony gallo d up to the front.
entrance. This was Quas ie, the post-boy of
Mount Welcome.

If Miss Vaughan expected a billet, she was
doomed to disappointment. There were. only
two letters in the tag. with a newspaper; and
all three were for the Custos himself.

All bore the English post-mark; and the su—
perscription of one of the letters was by him at
once recognized, a pleasant smile stealing over
his features as h ‘ brt ke open the seal.

A few moments sufficed to make him master
of its contents, when the smile increased to _a
look of vivid gratification, and, "Bit-g fmm his
chair, he paced for some time back and for“
ward, snapping his fingers, and ejaculating,
“ Good—good! I thought so!" I

His daughter regarded his behavior Withuur—
prise. Gravity was her fathir’s habit at'tiues
amounting to austerity. Such an exhibition of
gayety was rare with Loftm Vaughan.

‘ Some pleasing news, papa?"

“ Yes, ‘ou little rogue, very."

“May I not bear it!”

“ Yes—no—no—not yet awhile.”

“ Papal It is cruel of you to keep it from
I promise I shall share your joy.”

“ Ahl you will when you hear the news-

is, if you’re not a little sim leton, Kate.”
‘,"Ia simpleton, papa? shall not be called
so.
“Why, ou’ll be a simpleton if on don‘t be
joyful—w en ou—never mind, c ild—l'll tell
you all about it by-and~hy. Good, good i” cen-
tiuued he, in a state of ecstatic frenzy. "I
thou ht so, I knew he would come.”

“ hen you expect some one, papa?"

“I do. Guess who it is l”

“ How could I! You know I am unacquaint—
ed with your English friends.”

“Not with their names! You have heard
their names, and scen letters from some of
them?”

“ Oh, yes, I often hear you speak of one—Mr.
Smythje. A Very cdd name it isl I wouldn’t
be called Smythje for the world.“

“Ta, ta, child! Smytl 'e is a very pretty
name, cepecially with ontagu before it.
Montagu is magnificent. Bet-ides, Mr. Smy thje
is the owner of Montoya“ Castle.”

“Oh, papa! how can that make his name
sound any better! Is it he whom you expect?"

“Yes, dear. He writes to say that he will
come by the next ship—the Sea Nymph she is
called. She was to sail a week after the letter
was written, so that we may look Ol‘t for his
arrival in a few days. Gadl I must prepare for
him. You know Montagu Castle is out of re—

air. He is to be my guest; and, bark yvu,

atherinel” continued the planter, ores mrre
seating himself at the table. and lendiig to
ward his daughter, so that his solto ooce might
not be overheard by the domestics. “ you must
do your best to entrrtain this youn stranger.
He is said to be an accomplished gent eman, and
I know he is a rich one. It is to try inlercat to
be friendly to him," added Mr. Van ban, in a
still lower tone of voice. as if in soli o uy, but.
loud enough for his daughter to hear w an. was
said.
“ Dear papa l” was the reply, “how could I
be otherwise than polite to him! If only for
your sake-"

“ If only for your own.” said the father, in-
terrupting her. and so] on pouring the remark
with a sly look and laugh. “But, dear (jam-
erine,”continued he. “ We shall find time to run;
of this again. Imust read the other letter.
Who on earth can it he-froml Egad! I never
saw the writing before. ”

“ Never saw the handwriting before,” said he,
in repetition, as he broke open the seal of the
second epistle.

If the contents of the first had filled him with
joy, those of the second produced an eflect
directl the opposite. \

“ ’ eath f” exclaimed he, crushing the letter,
as he finished reading it, and once more nervous-
l springin tohis feet. “Dead or living, thr-
ifi-ltarred er of mine seems as if m.

 

 

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to be a curse to me! While alive, always want- I
ing money; and now that he is dead sending ,

son—a never do-well, like himself—to trouble J

and rha . disgrace me.” ,

“Bier dither,” said the young girl, startled l
more by his wild demeanor than what he was
so lug—for the words were muttered in a low
v0 , and rather in soliloquy—“has the other
letter brought unpleasant news?”

“Ah! that it has. You may read for your-
self.”

And once more seating himself, he tossed the
unwelcome epistle across the table, and recom~
menced eating with up rent voracity—as if by
that means to tranqui ize his perturbed spirit,

Kate took up the rejected letter; and, smooth-
ing out the paper, ran her eyes over the con—
tents.

The perusal did not require much time; for
cousidering that the letter had made such a
long journey, its contents were of the shortest:

“ LONDON, June 10, 18—.

“Drum UNCLEt—J have to announce to you the ;
melancholy intelligence. that your brother. my dear 3
father, is no more. His last words were that I should
go over to you; and acting in accordance with his
wish, I have taken passage for Jamaica. The ship
is the 8‘3. Nymph. and is to sail upon the 18th in-
stant. mot know how long we shall he at sea,
but I hope it will prove a short voyage as )OOI'
father‘s effects were all t iken by the sheriff‘s 0 nor
and I am compelled, for want of money, to take

6 in the steera e, which I have been told is
anything but a luxurious mode of traveling. But I
am young and strong, and no doubt shall be able to
endure it, Yours affectionately,

“Hisaesnr VAUGHAN."

Whatever effect the reading of the letter may
have had upon Kate Vaughan, it certainly did
not produce indignation. On the contrary, an
expression of sympathy stole over her face as
she mastered the contents of the epistle: and on
finishing it, the phrase, “ r fel‘ow!" dropped
as if involuntarily, and just audibly, from er

pa.

 

 

CHAPTER III.
THE SLAVER.

A non West Indian sun was ra idly declining
toward the Caribbean Sea, as i hastening to
cool his fiery orb in th blue water, when a
slayer, that had rounded Pedro Point, in the
Island of Jamaica, was seen standing eastward
for Montego Bay.

As she was ranning under one of the gentlest
of breeses, all her canvas was spread; and the
weather worn appearance of her sails denoted
that she was ma ing land at the termination of
along ocean v0 age. This was further mani-
fest by the fad paint upon her sides, and the
dark, dirt-colored blotches that marked the po-
sition of her hawse-holes and scuppers.

After getting fairly inside the bay. but still at
a long distance fromithe iowu, she was observed :
suddenly to tack; and, instead of continuing ,
on toward the harbor, head for a point on the
southern side, where the shore was uninhabited
and solitary. .

On arriving within a mile of the land she took .
in sail, until every inch of canvas was furled
upon her yards. Then the sharp rattling of
the chain, as it dragged throu :h the iron ring of
the house-hole, announced the dropping of an
anchor.

In a few moments after the sbi swung round,
and, drifting till the chain-cab e became taut,
by motionless upon the water.

Almost on the same instant that the slave!
barque had dropped anchor, a small boat
shot out from the silent shore; which, as soon as
it had got fairly clear of the land, could be seen
to he steering in the direction of the newly-
anchored Vessel.

There were three men in the boat. two of ‘
whom were pl ing the cars. These were both .
black men; as ed, with the exception of dirty
white trowsers covering their limbs, and coarse
palm-leaf hats upon their heads.

The third occupant of the skiff was a white, ‘
or more properly, a whitish man. He appeared
to be about sixty years old and had once been ,
white; but long exposur~ to a West Indian sun,
combined with the numerous dirt-bedaubed ‘
creases and furrows in his skin, had darkened
“complexion to the hue of leaf tobacco.

His features, naturally of an angular shape,
had become so narrowed and sharpened by age
astoleave scarce anything in front, and to get
a view of his face it was necessary to step to one
side and scan it on profit. ‘

Thus viewed, there was breadth enough and I
features of the most prominent character—in- i
eluding a nose like the claw of a lobster—cl
sharp, projecting chin—with a deep embayment 1
between, marking the locality of the lips; the ,
outlines of all suggesting a great resemblance .

l
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l

to the profile of a parrot.

The natural blackness of his eyes was ren-
hred deeper by contrast with long white eye-
brows running more than half-way around
then, and meeting over the narrow ridge of
“.3009. Hair upon the head there was none—-
that is, none that was visible; 0. skull-cap of
whitish cotton otufl covering the whole crown
down over both

i -..~

A pair of large green goggles resting on the
humped bridge of his nose protected his eyes
from the sun, though they might perhaps have
been worn for anorher purpOse—to conceal the
villainous expression of the orbs that sparkled
beneath them.

A sky—blue cloth coat, whitened by long wear,
with metal butlons, once hri ht, now cnanged
to the hue of bronze; small-c ethos of kereey-
more, glistening with grease; long stockings and
tarnished top-boots made up the costume of this
unique individual. A large blue cotton umbrel-
la re~ted across his knees, as both hands were
Occupied in steering the skiff.

The portrait here given. or perhaps it should
be styled profile, is that of Jacob Jessuron, the
slave-merchant.

The two oarsmen were simply his slaves.

The little craft had put out from the shore
from a secluded spot at a distance from the
town, but still within View of it. It was evi-
dently making for the newly-anchored bark,
and evidently rowed at its best speed. Indeed,
the steersman appeared to be urging his blacks

3 to the exert'on of their utmost strength. From
2 time to time he was seen to twist his body half

around and look toward the town, as though he
expected or dreaded to see a rival boat coming
from that quarter, and was desirous to reach
the bark ahead of her.

If such was his design it proved successful.
Although his little skiff was a considerable time
in traversin the distance from shore to ship-—

v a distance 0 a mile—he arrived at the pomt of

his destination without any other boat making
its appearance.

“Sheep nhoy!” shouted he, as the skiff was
pulled up under the larboard quarter of the
barque.

“ Ay, ay!" responded a voice from above.

“ Ish that Cap ain Showler I hearsh i”

“ Hilloo! who‘s there ?” interrogated some one
On the quarter-deck; and the moment after, the
sallow face of Captain Aminadab Jowler pre-
sented himself at the gangway.

“ Ah! Mister Jessuron, that on eh? Deter-
mined to have fust peep at my lackeys? Well,
fust kim fust served. that’s my rule. Glad to
see you, old fellow. How ’d deoi”

“ Fusht-ratel fusht-rate! l hopsh you’re the
same yourshelf, Captain Showler. How ish you
for ca rgo'f”

“Fine, old boy! Got a prime lot this time.
All sizes, colors, and sexes too, hal ha! You can
pick and choose to suit yourself, I reckin. Come,
climb aboard and squint your eye over ’em 2”

The slave-merchant, thus invited, caught hold
of the rope ladder let down for his accommoda-
tion, and scrambling up the ship’s side with the
agility of an old ape, stepped upon the deck of
the slaver.

After some moments spent in hand-shaking
and other forms of gratulation provin that
the trader and merchant Were o d frien s, and
as thick as two thieves could possibly be, the
latter fixed the goggles more flrml y on the ridge
of his nose and commenced the inspection of
the “ cargo.” - '

 

CHAPTER IV.
run roonan PRINCE.

ON the quarterdeck of the slayer, and near
the “companion,” stood a man of unique ap-
pearance, difl’ering not only from the whites
who composed the crew, but also from the
blacks and browns who constituted the cargo.

His costume, attitude, and some other trivial
circumstances, proclaimed him as belonging
neither to one nor the other.

He had just stepped up from the cabin and was
lingering upon the quarter deck.

Having the entree of the first, and the rivi-
lege of remaining upon the second, be con (1 not
be one of the “ bales ” of this human merchan-

. disc, and yet both costume and complexion for-

bade the supposition that he was of the slaver's
crew. Both denoted an African origin, though
his features were not of a marked African type.

i Rather were they Asiatic, or more correctly,

Arabian. but in some respects differing also
from Arab features. In truth, they were al-
most European; but the complexion again neg-
atived the idea that the individual in uestion
belonged to any of the nationalities of urope.
His hue was that of a light Florentine bronze,
with a tinge of chestnut.

He appeared to be about eighteen or nineteen
years of age, with a rson well proportioned,
and possessing the fol owing character stics: A
fine arched eyebrow, s uning an eye full and
rotund: a nose slighty equiline; thin, well-
modeled lips; white teeth—whiter from con-
trast with the dark shading on the u r lip—-
and over all an ample ohenrlurc of et-black
hair, sli htly curling. but not at all woolly.

In not ing did he differ more from the dark-
skinned helots of the hold then in his costume.
While none of these had any clothing upon their
bodies, or next to none. he, on the contrary,
was splendidly a paroled—his face. throat,
arms and limbs, in the knee to the ankle,

. can. Over this ' being the only parts not covered by a gan
- was a white beaver hat, whose worn nap and neat.

A sort of sleeveless tunic of yellow satin,

 

 

 

with a skirt that just reached below his knees,
was bound around his waist b a scarf of crim‘
son China crepe, the ends 0 which, ban '
still lower, were adorned with a fringe-worfiutfi
gold. OVer the left shoulder rested loosely an-
other scarf of blue burnous cloth, concealing
the arm over which it hung; while, half hidden
beneath its draping, could be perceived acim—
eter in its richly—chased scabhard, with a hilt of
carved ivory. A turban upon the head, and
sandals of Kardot‘an leather upon the feet, com-
pleted his costume.

Notwithstanding the Asiatic character of the
dress, and the resemblance of the wearer to
those East Indians known as Lascars, he. was a
true African, though not of that t) pe which we
usually associate with the word, and which
suggests a certain mgrm'sm of features. He
was one of a people entirely distinct from the
negro—the great nation of the Foolahs (Fellat-
tad—that race of shepherd warriors whose
Country extends from the confines of Darfnr to
the shores of the Atlantic-the lords of Socks-
too and Timbuctoo—those fanatic follmners of
the false prophet who Conspired the death of
Laing, and murdered Mungo Park upon the
Quorra. Of such race was the individual who
sLOod on the quarter—deck cf the slayer.

He was not alone. Three or four others were
around him, who also differed from the wretch-
ed creatures in the hold. But their dresses of
more common material, as well as other circum-
stances, told that they were his interiors in
rank—in short, his attendants.

The humble mien with which they regarded
him, and the watchful attention to his ev
look and gesture, proclaimed thchabitnal obed
ence to which they were secustomed; while the
turbans which they wore, and their mode of
salutaticn-the xalaam—told of an obeisaace
Oriental and slavish.

To the richness of the young man’s attire was
added acertain haughtl'ness of mien that pr0<
claimed him a person of rank, perhaps the
Chieftain of some African tribe.

And such, in reality. he was—a Foolah prince.
from the banks of the Senegal.

There, neither his presence nor appearance
would have attracted more than passing obser-
vation; but here, on the western side of the
Atlantic, on board a slave-ship, both required
e lanation. ,

t was evident that he was not the some cate»
gory with. his unfortunate countr men “be-
tween decks,” doomed to perpetual captivity.
There were no signs that be ad been treated
as a captive, but the contrary.

How, then, was his presence on board the
Sl‘tVS barque to be accounted tori Was hea
passenger? In what relationship did he stand
to the people,who surrounded him?

Such, though differently worded, were the in-
ierrogatories put by the slave-merchant, as re-
turning from the fore-deck. after completing
his inspection of the cargo, his eyes for the first
time fell upon the young Fellatta.

“Blesh my shtars, Captain Bhowlerl” cried
be, holding up both hands, and looking with as-
tonishment at the turbaned individuals on the
quarter,deck. I “ Blesh my shtars!” be repeated;
“ what ish all thish? S’hel my Gottl thesh
fellows are not shlaves, are t ey?”

“No, Mister Jessuron, no. They ain’t slaves,
not all on ’em ain’t. That ere fine fellow, in
silk and satin, air a owner 0’ slaves hisself. He
air a prince.”

“What dosh you say, Captain Showleri a
prinshe?”

“ Ye ain’t astonished at that, air ye. ’Tain‘t
the fast time I‘ve had an African rince fora
passenger. This yeer’s his Royal ighness the
Priv ce Clngnes, son 0’ the Grand Sultan of
Foota-toro. The. other fellows you see thar by
him are his attendants—courteers as waits on
him. That with the yellow turban‘s ‘gold
stick;‘bim in blue’s ‘silver stickz’ an’ t’otber
fe110w’s figmom o’ the chamber! I s‘ .”

“ Sultan of Feats-tom!” exclaimed the slave-
merchant, still holding u the blue umbrella in
surprise; “King of the annibalIslandshi Abs,
9. good shake, Captain Showlerl But, serious,
mine friend, what for hash you tricked them
out in this way? They won’t felch a joey more
in the market for all theesh flue feathers.”

“ Seems, Mister J essuron. they’re not for the

market. 1 sw’arto ye the fellur’s a real Afrikin
prince.”
“ frican ~ flddlcshtick!” echoed the slave-
merchant with an incredulous shrug. “ Come,
worthy captain, what’sh the mashquendo
about?”

“Not abit of that, ole fellurl ’Sure ye the
nigger’s a prince, and my passenger—nothing
more or less."

“ S'help you Gott, ish it so!”

“ 8) help me that!” emphatically replied the
skippeg. ‘ It’s just as I’ve told ye, Mister Jes-
su

rou.

“ Blesh m soull—a passenger, you shay?” 2"

“ Yes; an be paid his passage, too, like a
prince, as he is.”

“ But what hish business here in Shamaicfl’

“ Ah! that’s altogether a kewrious story, Ith- ,
tor J You’ll hardly goes his hm ll

essuron.
reckon? .
“ Leah hear it, friend Showler." .

l

 

 

 

    
 

   

4

The Maroon.

 

 

“ Well. then, the story air this:

“ ’Bout twelve months ago an arm 0’ Man-
dingoes attacked the town of Old oota-toro,
and ’mong other plunder, carried ofl one 0’ his
daughters—own sister to the young fellur you
see there. They sold her to a est Indian
trader; who, in course, brought the girl ovar
here to some 0’ the islands. which ain’t known.
Old Foota-toro, like the rest 0’ ’em, thinks the
slaves are all fetcsed to one place, and he’s half
beside himself ’bout the loss of this gurl—siie
war his favorite, and a sort of a court belle
among ’em—he’s sent the brother to search her
out, and get her back from whoever hez pur-
chased heron this side. That’s the hul story
for you.”

The expression that had been gathering on the
countenance of the Jew, while this relation was
being made to him, indicated something more
than a c immon interest in the tale —- something
beyon mere curiosity.

At the same time he seemed as if trying to
conceal any outward sign of emotion, by re-
serving, as much as possible, the rigidity 0 his
features.

“Blesh my soul!” he exclaimed, as the skip-
per had concluded. “Ash I livn,a wonderful
shtory? But how ish he ever to find hish sister?
He might ash well look for a needle in a hay-
shtack.”

“ Wall, that‘s true enough,” replied the slave
skipper. “ As for that,” he added, with an air
of stoical indifference, “ ’tain’t no business 0’
mine. My affair hez been to carry the young
fellur acrcst the Atlantic, an’ I’m willin’ totake
him back on the same terms, and at the same
price. if he kin pay it.”

“Did he pay you a giodsh price?” inquired
the Jew, with evident interest in the answer.

“ He paid like a prince, as [’ve told you. D’ve
see that batch 0’ yellow Mundingrws by the
windlass youndr?"

“Yesh, yeshi"

“ Forty there air, all told."

“ Well?”

“Twenty on ’em I’m to have fer fetchin’ hin
acmst. Cheap enough. ain’t it?"

“ Dirt sheep, friend Showler.
twenty?”

“ They are his’n. He’s brought ’em with
him to swop for the sister—when he finds her.”

“ Ah, yeshl if he finds the girl.”

“ In coorse, if he finds her.”

“At-hi” exclaimed the J ew, with a significant
shrug of his shoulders, “that will not be an easy
‘ lat-hues. Captain Showler.”

“ By Christopher Columbus, old fellow i” said
the trader, apparently struck with an idea;
“now I think of it, you might gi‘e him some

'help in the flndin’ 0’ her. I know n )man more
likely than yourself to be able to pilot him.
You know eyeryhody in the island, I reckon.
No doubt he will pay you well for your troblue.
I’m rayther anxious he should succeed. King
Fmta-toro is one of my best sources of supply:
and if the gurl could be found and took back, I
know the old nigger would do the handsome to
me on my next trip to the coast.”

“ Well, worthy capt’in, I don’t know that
there’sany hope, and won't hold out any to his
royal liighnesh the prince. I’m not as able to

at about ash I ushed to was; but I’ll try my
gesht for you. As you shay, I might do some-
thing towardsh putting him in the way. Well,
we’ll talk it over: but let ush first settle our
other bishness, or all the world will be aboard.
Twenty, you shay, are his?”

“ Twenty of them ’ere Mandingoes?”

“Hash be anything besides?”

“ In cash? No, not a red cent. Men and wo-
men are the dollars of his country. He hez the
four attendants, you see. They air his slaves
like the others.”

“Twenty four, then. in all. Blesh my soul!
Whatalucky fellow ish this prinsh. Maybe I
can do something for him; but we can talk it
over in the cabin, and I’m ready for something
to drink, worthy Showier.”

Smacking his lips, and snapping his fingers as
he talked, the old reprobate descended the com‘

anion stairway, the captain of the slayer fol-
lbwing close behind him. .

We know not, except by implication, the de~
tails of the bargaining that took place below.
The negotiation was a secret one, as became the
nature of any transaction between two such
characters as a slave dealer and a slave-stealer.

It resulted. however, in the purchase of the
whole cargo; and in so short a time, that just
as the sun sunk into the sea, the gig, cutter, and
long-boat of the slaver were lowered into the
water; and. under the darkness of night, the
" bales ” were transported to the shore, and
landed in the little cove whence the skiff of the
slave-merchant had put out.

Among them were the twenty Mandingoes,
the attendants of he prince. ,

The skiff was n returning to the shore, a

The other

' cable's length in the wake of the other boats..

Now, however, a fourth rsonage appeared in
it, seated in the stern, ace to face with the

zowner. The gany colored costume, even in the
' darkness, shining over the calm .shadowysur‘
' face bf the sea, rendered it easy to recognize
,rhis individual as the Foolah rince.
‘ and the lamb were sailing in t e same boat. ,,

l’.

  

 

The wolf ‘

l

 

   

‘king‘s daughter in her own country; and I am

 

CHAPTER V.
A HANDSOME OFFER.

ON the day after the slave shi had landed her
cargo, and at an early hour in t 6 morning, Mr.
Vaughan, looking from the front window of his
house, perceived a solitary horseman approach-
ing by the long avenue.

As the stranger drew nearer, the animal he '
begirode appeared gradually to transform it- ,
self into a mule; and the rider was seen to be .
an old gentleman in a blue coat, with metal é
buttons, and ample outside pockets, under which
were breeches and top boots, both sullied by
long wear. A damaged brown beaver hat upon
his head with the ed.:e of a white cotton skull-
cap showing beneath it, green oggles upon the
nose, and a large blue umbrel a, instead of a
whip, grasped in his right hand, enabled Mr.
Vaughan to identin out? of his nearest neigh-
bors; the pen keeper, Jacob Jessuron, who,
among other live stock, was also known as an
extensive speculutor in slave 

“Well, Mishter Vochan,” began the Jew, “I
hash come over to see you on a slimall bishness,
a Very shmall bishncss it is, shcai-cely worth
troubling you about.”

Here the speaker hesitated as if to put some
proposition into shape.

“ Some black stoc for sale, eh? I think I’ve
heard that a cargo came in yesterday. You
got art, Isuppose?”

“ esh, yesh, I bought a shmnll lot, a very
shmall lot. I hadn’t the monish to buy more.
S’help me Gott! the shlaves ish getting so dear
ash I can’t afford to buy. Posshible, I may
have a shmall lotto dishpose of in aday or two;
but joost now, I haven’t a shingle head ready
for the market. Thish morning I want to buy, ‘
instead of shell.”

“ To buy? From me, do you mean?”

“ Well. the truth ish, Mishter Vochan, l hash
a cushtomer, who wants a likely wench for
waiting at hish table. Theresh none among my
shtock he thinks good enough for hish purposh.
I wash thinking you has got one. if on could
shpare her, that would suit him nishe y.”

“ Which do you mean?”

“ I mean that young Foolah wench ash I sold
you lasht year, joosh after crop time.”

“Oh! the girl Yola?"

“Yesh, I think that wosh her name. Ash
you had her dirt shee , 1 don’t mind giving you '
shomething on your rgsin—shay ten pounds
currenshy?”

“ Poh, poh, pohl” replied the planter with a
deprecating shrug. “That would never do,
even if meant to sell the girl. But I have no
wish to part with her.”

“Shay twenty, then?”

“Nor twice twenty, neighbor. I woJldn’t
under any circumstances take less than two
hundred pounds for that girl. She has turned
out a most valuable servant—”

“ Two hunderpoundsh l" interrupted the Jew,
starting up in his chair. “ Och! Mishter Vochan,
thereshnot a black wench in the island worth
half the monish. Two hunder poundsh! Blesh
my soul, that ish a prishe! I’d be glad to give
any two 1 bash for two hunder poundsh.”

“Why, Mr. Jessnronl I thought you said just
n0w slaves were getting very dear ’

“ Dear, yesh; but thatis doublish dear. S‘help
me Gottl You don’t mean it. Mlshter Vochan?"

“But I do mean it; and even if you were to
offer me two hundred—”

“Don’t shay more about it,” said the slave-
merchant. hurriedly interrupting the hypothe-
tical speech; “don’t shay more; I agreesh to

've it. Two hunder poundsh! blesh my shtarsi
it’ll make a bankru ’ of me.”

“No, it will not 0 that; since I cannot agree
to take it.”

“Not take ‘two hunder poundsh?”

“ No—nor twice that sum.”

“Gott help ushl Mishter Vochan; you ish
shurely shokin? Why will you not take two
hunder? I hash the moni‘h in my pocket.”

“ I am sorry to disappoint you, nei hbor: but
the fact is, I could not sell the girl ola at any
price, without the consent of my daughter, to
whom I ha ve given her.”

“ Miss Vochan?"

“ Yes, she is her maid: and I know that. my
daughter is very fond of her. It is not likely I
she would consent to the girl‘s being sold.” ;

“ But, Mishter Vochanl you shurely don’t let
your daughter shtand between you'and a good
bargain? Two hunder poundsh is big monish—
hig monish. Cushtos. The Wench is not worth
half ash much, and, for myshelf, I wouldn’t
give half; but I dOn’t want to disbappoint a
good cuihtomer, who’sh not so particular ash to
prishe.”

. “ Well,” replied the planter. after a moment’s
reflection, and apparently tempted by the hand-
scme offer, “since you seem so determined upon
buying the wench.‘ I’ll consult my daughter
about it. But I can hold out very little hOpe of
success. I know that she likes this young
Foolah. I have heard that the girl was some

as good as certain Kate won’t consent to her be-
ing sold." .
‘ Not ifxpou ,wished it, Mishter Vochanl’"
f‘ Oh, if I insisted upon it, of course: but I

 

 
 

gaveme daughters promise not to pprt with

I ‘.)- .' I

 

 

 
 

*w

the girl against her wish, and I never break I)
wor , Mr. J essuron—not to my own child."

With this rather affected profession, the plant~
er walked out of the room, leaving the slave-
merchant to his reflections.

“ May the defl’el strike me dead if that man
ishn’tomadl” soliloquized the Jew, when left to
him-elf: “ shtark sntarin madi refuse two hun-
der poundsh for a she wench ash brown as a
cocoanutl Bless my shtars?"

“ As I told you, Mr. Jessuron,” said the plant-

‘ cr, re entering the hall, “my daughter is inex-

orahle. Yola cannot be sold.”

“ Good-morning, Misliter Vochan,” said the
slave-merchant, taking up his hat and umbrella,
and making for the door, “ Good morning, shir:
1 bush no other bishnei-s to—day.”

Then, putting on his hat and grasping his um-
brella‘ with an air of s )ite fulness he was unable
to conceal, he hurrie down the stone steps,
scrambled upon the back of his mule, and rode
away in sullen silence.

“Unusually free with his money this morn-
ing,” said the planter, looking 1 fter him. “Some
shabby scheme. I have no doubt. Well, I sup-
pose I have thwarted it; besides, I am glad of
an opportunity of disobliging the old cumud’
geolp; many's the time he has done as much for
me

 

CHAPTER VI.
JUDITH JESSURON.

IN the most unamiahle of tempers did the
slave-speculator ride back down the avenue.
So out of sorts was he at the result of his inter-
view, that he did not think of unfoldin his blue
umbrella to protect himSelf' from the. ot rays
of the sun, now striking vertically downward.
On the contrary. he u-ed the parapluie fora
very different ur , every now and then be-
laboring the ri . of his mule with it, as if to rid
himself of his spleen by venting it on the inno-
cent mongrel. ,

“ The dusht 03 m shoosh to both of yoush i”
he said. as he cleare the gate entrance. " I‘sh
off your grounds now; and. if i hash you here,
I shay you something of my mind, something
ash make you sell your Wench for lesh ash two
‘l‘i‘under poundshl I dososome time, pleash Gottl

ch l’

Uttering this last exclamation with a pro-
longed aspirate, be raised himself erect in his
stiriups; and, half-turning his mule, shook his
umbrella in threato ning manner toward Mount
Welcome. his eye scoompanying the action with
a glance that expressed some secret but vindic-
tive determination.

As he faced back into the road. another per-
sonage appeared u n the set ne-a female eques-
trian, who. trott ng briskly up, turned her
horse, and rode along by his side. ’

She was a young girl, or rather a oung
woman—o. bright, beautiful creature—w o a
peered an angel by the side of that demon-Hg
old man.

A singular contrast did they present as they
rode together, this fair mai and that harsh-
featured. ugly old man, unlike as the rose to its
parent thorn.

Sad are we to say that the contrast was only
physical: morally, it was “like father like
daughter.” In external form, Judith Jemron
was an angel; in spirit—and we as it with re-
pret—she was the child of her fat er—devilish

as he.

"‘ A failure?" said this fair she, taking the in-
itiative. “Pahl lneedn’t have asked you: it‘s
clear enough from your looks; though, cerfea,
that bmutiful countenance of yours isnotavery
legible index to your thou hts. What says
Vanity Vaughan? Will he se i the girl?"

H No.”

“ As I expected.”

“ S’help me, he won’t!”

“ How much did you bid for her?”

“Och! I‘sh ashamed to tell on, Shoodith.”

“ Come. Old rabbi. you nee n’t be backward
before me. How much?”

" Two hunder poundsh.”

“ But tell me: why would the Custos not sell!
He likes money almost as well as yourself.
Two hundred pounds is a large price for this
copper-colored wench—quite double what shes
worth ”

“Ach! Shoodith, dear, it wash not Vochan
hislielf that refused it.”

“ Who then?”

“ Hish daughter.” .

“ She!" exclaimed the young Jeweas. With 6
curl of the lip and a contemptuous twist of her
beautiful n'stril. “She, you say? I wonder
what next? The conceited mustre, herself no
better than a slave!” _

“ Shtop, shtop, Shocdith.” interrupted the
Jew, with a look of uneasiness. “ Keep that to
yourshelf, my shild. Shay no more about it—
at ieasht, not now, not now. The trees may
have earsb.” ,

The burst of angry passion hindered the
fair “Shoodith ” from making re cinder, and
for some moments father and daug ter rode on
in silence.

The latter was the first to recommence the
conversation.

." You are,foolish, good father.” she said:." 

.“hbaurdlyI foolish.”

 

.....-.—.‘

 

 

-« ~‘m‘“Pw- a-“  *m

».—z-—: w- . as”...

—W~—‘_M( * -Aa. . ..

 

4’2". ‘ ..

', Jud-er

 

 

 

 

 
 
    
 
   

 

 

 

JNA

 

“ Why, Shoodith 1‘”
“ Why! In offering to buy this girl at all.” !
“Ay, what would you shay?” in uired the
old Jew, as if the interrogator ha been an
echo to his own thoughts. “ hat would you

“I would say that you are
Jacob; and that’s what I do say. ’

“Blesh my shoull What osh you mean,
Shoodithi”

“Why, dear and worthy papa, you're not
always so dull of com prehensmu. Answer me:
what do you want the Fonlah for!"

“Ochl you know what I wants her for. Thish
prinshe will give hish twenty Mandingoes for
her. There ish no doubt but that she’s his sis-
ter. Twenty good shtrong Mandingoes, worth
twenty hunder poundsh. Blesh my soul! it’sh
a fortune!”

“Ay, and you’ve gone about it in such a
foolish fashion that you run a great risk of los-
ing it.”

“ And how would you have me go about it,
mine Shoodith I”

“ By taking it!”

The slaVe~merchant suddenly jerked upon the
bridle, and pulled his mule to a stand: as he did
so darting toward his daughter a look half-
punled, half— netrating.

“Good fat er Jacob,” continued she, halting
at the same time, “you are not wont to be so
dull-witted.”

“Speak out, Shoodith. I don’t understand

u

silly, old rabbi

“You will presently. Didn’t you sa , just
now2 that Captain Jowler has reasons or not
coming ashore?”

‘f Showler daren’t show his face in the Bay—
that’sh why he landed his cargo on the coast.
Besides, there wash an understanding between
him and me. He doeshn’t care what ish done
with the prinshe—not he. Anyhow, he’ll be
gone awa in twenty-four hours.”

“Then n twenty-four hours the Mandingoes
may be yours—prince, attendants, and all. But
time is precious, papa. We had better hasten
home at once, and strip his royal highness of
those fine feathers before some of our curious
neighbors come in and see them. People will
talk scandal, you know. As for our worthy
overseer—”

“Ah RaVener! he knowsh all about it. I
was obliged to tell him ash he landed.”

“ Of course you were; and it will cost you a
- Mandin oor two to keep his tongue tied, that
it will. or the rest, there need be no difficulty.
It won’t matter what these savages may say for
themselves. Fortunately, there’s no scandal in
a black man’s tongue.”

" Wonderful Shoodith !” exclaimed the admir-
ing parent. “ My precious daughter, on are
worth your weight in golden guinish! wenty-
four shlaves for nothing, and one of them a
horn prinshe! Two thousand currenshy! Blesh
my soul! It ish a sh lendid profit—worth a
w ole year’s buyin’ an shellin’.”

And with this honest reflection, the slave-
merchant hammered his mule into a trot, and
followed his “precious Shoodith,” who had al-
ready given the whip to her horse, and was rid—
ing rapidly homeward.

CHAPTER VII.
THE SEA NYMPH.

ON the third day after the slaver had cast an-
chor in the Bay of Montego. a large, square-
rigged vessel made her appearance in the offing:
an heading shoreward, with all sail set, stood ‘
beldly in for the harbor. The lettering upon
her stern told that she was the " SeaNymph, of
Liver 1.”

Though freighted with a cargo of merchan—
dise, and in realitya merchantman, the pres—
ence on board of several individuals in the cos-
tume of landsmen. denoted that the Sea Nymph
also accommodated passengers.

Among these was one of peculiarities sutii- '
ciently distinctive to attract attention. A single
glance at this personage satisfied you that you
looked u n a London cockney, at the same
time a est-end exquisite of the very purest
water.

The features of this individual were regular
enough, though without anystrlking character;
and of a cast rather eifennnate than vulgar.
Their prevailing expression was thatpf a certain
superciliousness, at _ times extending to an
affectation of sardomsm. . _

Notwithstanding a certain ill-disguised con-
tempt with which he was regarded by some of
his fellow-voyagers, not a few treated him with
marked deference; and the obeisanoe paid him
I)? the steward and cabin-boys of the Sea.

,ymph gave evidence of his capability to
. bestow a liberal largess. And such capability
did he possess: for Mr. Montagu Smyth , the
individual in question, was a youth 0 good
family and fortune, the latter consisting of a
magnificent sugar estate in Jamaica, le t him
By a deceased relative, to visit which was the

ect of his voyage.
, r. Sm thje had not come over the water
with any ntention of settling upon his Jamaica
estate. .

,"Suoh an ideaw,” to use his own phi-asco-
logy, “nevwaw entawad ma bwain. To ex-

 

 

 

 

..The 

3 change London and its pwesyaws for a Wesi-

dence among those haw-ed; iggaws—deaw, no!

§ 1 could nevwaw think of such a voluntawy
. panishment; that would be a baW, a decided
‘ )an

A meaw twip to seesomething of the

twopics, of which I’ve heard such extwaor’nary

st0wies. have a look at my sugaw plantation

and the dem’d niggaws; besides, I have a stwong

desire to ake asquint at these Queeole ueet-
aws,’who are said to be dooc-ed pwetty. wl
aw!

After such fashion did Mr. Montagu Smythje
explain the purpose of his voya e tosuch of
his fellow-passengers as chanc to take an
interest in it.

There were but few travelers in the steerage
of the Sea Nymph. They who are compelled to
adopt that irksome mode of voyaging acress
the Atlantic haVe but little errand to the lVest
Indies, or elsewhere to tropical lands, where
labor is monopolizod by the thews and sinews
of the slave. Only three or four of this class
had found accommodation on board the Sea
Nymph; and yet among these humble voyagers
was one destined to play a conspicuous part in
our story.

The individual in question was a young man,
in appearance of the same age as Mr. Montagu
Smythje, though differing from the latter in
almost everything else. In stature he was what
is termed “ middle hight,” with limbs well set
and rounded. denoting activity and strength.
His complexion, though not what is termed
brunette, was dark for a native of Britain,
though such was he.

The garments he wore were his best, put on
for the first time durin the voyage, and for the
grand occasion of lam ing. A dark blue tunic
frock, faced with black braid, skirting down over
a pair of close-fitting tights. and Hessian boots,
gave him rather a distinng air, notwithstand-
ing a. little threadbarishness apparent along the
seams.

The occupation in which the young man was
engaged betrayed a certain degree of rufine-
ment. Standing near the Windlass, in the blank
leaf of a book, which appeared to be his jour-
nal, he was sketching t e harbor into which
the ship was about to enter; and the drawing
elflliibited no inconsiderable degree of artistic
s i I.

As the ship drew near to the shore, he closed
the book. and stood scanning the gorgeous pic-
ture of tropical scenery, now, for the first time,
disclosed to his eyes.

Despite the pleasant emotions which so fair a
scene was calculated to call forth, his counte-
nance betrayed anxiety, perhaps a doubt as to
whether a welcome awaited him in that lovely
land upon which he was looking.

Only a few moments had he been thus occu-
pied. when a strange voic’e falling upon his ear
caused him to turn toward the s aker. in
whom he reco 'nizsd the distinguis ed cabin
passenger, Mr. ontag‘u Smythje.

As this gentlemen ad voyaged all the way
from Liverpool to Jamaica without once ven’
turing to set his foot across the line which sep«
arates the sacred precincts of the quarter from
the more lebeian for’ard deck, his presence by
the win ass might have been matter of sur-
prise.

A circumstance, however, explained it.‘ It
was the last hour of the voyage. The Sea
Nymph was just heading into the harbor; and
the ssengers of all degrees had rushed for-
war , in order to obtain a better view of the
glorious landscape unfolding itself before their
e es. Notwithstanding his often-expressed an-
tipathy to the “abom'nable smell of taw,” it
was but natural that Mr. Smyth '9 should yield
to the general curiosity, and go orward among
the rest. '

Having gained an elevated stand int upon
the top 0 the Windlass he had a justed the
glass to his eye, and commenced oglz'ng the
landscup ‘ now near enough for its details to be
distinguished.

Not for long, however. did Mr. Smythje re-
main silent. He was not one of a satnrnine
habit. The fair scene was inspiring him with a
poetical fervor, which soon found expression in
characteristic speech. -

“ Dooc—ed pwetty, ’pon honaw!” he exclaimed;
“would make a spWendid dwopscene fawa
theatawl Dawn’t yaw think so. ma good
fwend?”

The person thus appealed to chanced to be the
young steerage passenger, who, during the long
voyage, had abstained from going abaft of the
mainmast with as much scrupulousness as Mr.

Smythje had observed about venturing forward. -

Hence it was that the voice of the exquisite
was as strange to him as if he had nevar set
eyes on that illustrious personage.

0n srceiving that the speech was meant for
himse f, be was at first a little nettled at its
patronizing tone; but the feeling of irritation
soon passe away, and be fixed his eyes upon
the speaker, with a good-humored, though some-
what contemptuous expression.

“Aw—haw-r—it is yaw, my young fellaw,”
continued the exquisite, now for the first time

rceiving to whom he had made his ap al.
‘Aw, indeed! I’ve often observed yaw row

the quarter-deck. Ba Jawvel yes; a vewy

 

 

 

stran eindividwal! incompwehensibly stwange f! -
May ask—pawdon the liberty—what is bwingr
ing yaw out heaw—to Jamaica, I mean?”

“ That,” replied the steerage passenger, again
somewhat nettled at the rather free style of
interrogation, “ which is bringing yourself, the
good ship Sea Nymph.”

“ Aw, haw! indeed! Good. veway good!
But, my, deaw sir, that is not what 1 meant.”

“No, I ashaw yaw. I meant what b’isness
bwings yaw heaw. P’waps you have some
pwofession 1”

“No, not any,” replied the young man,
checking his inclination to retaliate the imperti-
nent style of his interrogator._

“ A twade, then?”

“ I am sorry to say I have not even a trade.”

“No pwofession! no twade! what the dooce
daw yaw intend dawing in Jamaica? P’waps
yaw expect the situation of book keepaw on a
pwantation, or niggar-dwivaw. Neithaw, I
believe, requiaws much expewience, as I am
told the book-keepaw has pwositively no books
to keep—haw! haw! and shawly any fellaw,
howevaw ignowant, may dwive a niggaw. Is
that yaw expectation, my worthy fwend?”

“ I have no expectation, one way or another,”
replied the young man, in a tone of careless
indifference. “ As to the business I may follow
out here in Jamaica, that, I suppose, will depend
on the will of another.”

“ Anothaw! aw !—who, pway l”

“ My uncle.”

“ Aw, indeed! yaw have an uncle in Jamaica,
then?”

“ I have. if he be still alive.”

“Aw, haw! yaw are not shaw of that in-
tewesting tact? P’waps yaw’\'e not heard from
him wately?”

“ Not for years," replied the young steerage
passenger, his poor prospects n0w having caused
him to relinquish the satirical tone which he
had assumed. “Not for years,” repeated he.
“ though I've. written to him to say that I should
com by this ship.” ‘

“Veway stwange! And pwey, may I ask
what b’isness yaw uncfe follows?’

“ He is a planter, I believe.”

“A sugaw plantaw?" ‘

b “ges; he was so when we last heard from
1m.

“ Aw, then, p’waps be is wich—a pwo wietorf
In that caSe he may find something aw aw
to (law, bettaw than niggaw-dwiving. ke
yaw his ovaw—seeaw. May I know aw name?”

“ Quite welcome to it. Vang an is my
name.”

“ Vawn l” repeated the exquisite, in a tone that
betrayed some newly awakened interest;
“ Va wn did I understand yaw to say?”

“ Herbert Vaughan,”.replied the young man,
with firmer emphasis.

” And yaw uncle’s name?”

“ He isalso called Vaughan. He is m father’s
brother-or rather was—my father is ead.”

“Not Woftus Vawn, Esq., of Mount Wel-
come?”

“ Yes, Loftus Vaughan; my uncle is so called,
and Mount Welcome is, I believe, the name of
his estate.”

“ Veway stwangel incom wehensihly stwange
-—d’yaw know, my young ellaw, that yaw and
I appeawto be making few the same pawt.
Wottus Vawn, of Mount Welcome, is the
twuatee of my own pwuperty, the vewy person
to whom I am consigned. Deaw me! he
dooc-ed stwan e if yaw and I should yet be
guests undaw t e same woof l"

The remark was accompanied by a super~
cilious glance, that did not escape the observa-
tion of the young steerage passenger. It was
this glance that gave the true signification to
the words which Herbert Vaughan interpreted
as an insult. .

He was on the point of making an angry re-
joinder, when the exquisite turned abru tly
away, as he parted drawling out some wor s of
leave-taking. with the presumptive conjecture
that they might meet again.

In less than half an hour after the brief con-
versation between Mr. Montagu Smyth'e and
the young steerage passenger, the Sea vmph
had got warped into‘port, and was lying along-
side the wharf.

A gangway plank was stretched from the
shore; and over this, men and women, of all
shades of color, from blonds to ebony black,
and of as many different callings, came crowd-
ing aboard: while the passengers sick of the
ship and everything belonging to her, hastened
to get on shore. '

Among the different Carriages ranged along
the wharf, a handsome barouche appeared con-
spicuous. It was attached to a pair of cream-
colored horses, splendidly caparisoned. A mu--
latto coachman sat upon the box, shining in
a livery of lightest green, With yellow facinga;
while a footman, in garments of like hue, at-
tended at the carriage-step, holding the door
for 8 me one to get in. ,

Herbert Vaughan standing on the fore-deck
of the Sea Nymp . as yet undecided as to
whether he should then go ashore, had noticed
this magnificent equipage. He was still gosh: r
upon it, when his attention was attracted to

 

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two gentlemen, who, having walked directly
from the vessel. had just arrived by the side of
~dihe carriage. A white servant fOIIOWed El em,
and behind were two negro attendants, carry-
ing a number of parcels of li ht luggage. One

'of the gentlemen and the w ite servant Were
easily recognized by Herbert; they were Mr.

Montagu Smythje and his valet.

Herbert now recalled the odd expression made

"-Ise of, but the moment before, by his fe110w-
nger—that he was “ consigned ” to the
proprietor of Mount Welcome.

The carriage having received Mr. Montagu
Smythje, and the footman havin mounted the
boxfileaving the rumble to the nglish valet—
was driven 03 at full speed; the second entle—
man, who a peared to be an overseer, fol owing
on horsebac as an escort.

Herbert watched the receding vehicle, until a
turn in the road hid it from his view; and then
dropping his eyes toward the deck, he stood for
some moments in a reflective attitude. revolving
in his mind some thoughts that were far from
agreeable.

No one there to meet him and bid him wel-
come!

The countenance of the young adventurer be-
came cloudy under the influence of this thought;
and he stood silently gazing upon the deck with
eyes that saw not.

“Sal” said a negro boy, at this moment step-
pin up and interru ting his reflections.

‘gHal” rejoined erbert, looking up and per«
ceiving, with some surprise, that the darky
was regarding him with a fixed stare. “ What
might you want, my lad? If it be money, I
have none to give you.”

“ Hone ,,- sal wharra fo’
money? £0 do wha‘ mass‘r bid.
readv go now?”

b " Brady to go! where? What mean you,
0 l

XGO fo’ da great house.”

“ Great house! of what great house are you
speaking?”

“Houn’ Welc‘m’, sa—Mass’r Va’n. You fo’
Mass’r Va’n, sa?"

"What!" exclaimed Herbert, in surprise, at
the same time scanning the darky from head
to foot; “ how do you know that, my boy?”

“Quashie know dat well ’nuf. Cappen ob da
big snip, obeseeah say so. Obaseeah point out
young buckra from dc waif; be send Quashie
fetch young buckra to Mouu’ Welc’m’. Ready
to go u0w, sal”

“ You are from Mount lVelcome, then?”

“Ya, sa—me boss- boy da, an’ pose-boy; fetch

any for young Englis’ hnokra. Ohaseeab he
Bring b’rouche for grand Englis’ buckra. Bag-
gage dev go in de ox-wagon.”

“ Where is your pony 1"

“Up yonna, sa; on de waif, sa.
5a?”

” All ri ht,” said Herbert, n0w com rehend
ing the situation of affairs. " Shoul er that
portmanteau. and toss it. into the wagon.
Which road am I to take?”

uashie want
ouug buckra

Ready go,

“ Can’t miss um road, 58; straight up do rib- 1
Dar you take '

ber till you come to de crOSsin’.
de road dat don’t lead to da left, you soon see
'Mouu’ Welc'm’,sa.”

“ How far is it!”

“’Bout sebben or eight mile, sa; reach dar
long ’fore sundOWn ; pony go like do berry light-
nin‘. Sure you no keep to da left by da
crossin’.”

Thus instructed, the young steerage-passenger
took his departure from the ship, after bidding
adieu to the friendly tars who had treated him
so handsomely during his irksorne voyage.

With his gun, a f0wlingpieca, on his shoulder,
he strode over the platform, and up the wooden
wharf. Then detaching the my from the
wheel of the ox-wagon, to which it had been
tied, he threw himSelf into the saddle, and
trotted off along the road pointed out as the
one that would conduct him to Mount We!-
come. I

 

CHAPTER VIII.
A LITTLE CLOUD.

worthy of Apicius; and the wines—instead of
those dull twm oisous, port and sherry—were
south-side Ma eira, champagne, claret, and
sparkling hock—all quaffed in copious flagons,
pleuteoua as small beer.

A dinner of this good old-fashioned style had
Lot'tus Vaughan prepared for his Englist guest
Behind the chairs appeared troops of colored
attendants. gliding si.ently over the smooth
floor. A constant stream of domestics pOur d
in and out of the hall, fetching and removing
the dishes and plates, or carrying the wine de—
canters in silver coolers. Young girls of vari-
ous shades of complexion—some nearly white—
stood at intervals around the table. fanning the
guests with 10m; peacock plumes, and filling the
great hall with an artificial current of delicious
coolness.

The cloth havin been removed from the
highly-polished tab e, the sparkling decanters
were once more passed round. In honor of his
guest, the planter had already made free with
his own wines, all of which were of most excel-
lent ualitv.

Lo tus Vaughan was at that moment at a
maximum of enjoyment.

Just at that very moment, however, a cloud
was making its appearance on the edge of the

alt .

It was a very little cloud, and still very far
off; but, for all that, a careful observer could
have seen that its shadow became reflected on
the brow of the planter.

Literally speaking. this cloud was an object
on the earth, of shape half-human, half-equine,
that appeared near the ext: eme end of the long
avenue, moving t0ward the house.

When first seen by Loftus Vaughan it was
still distant, though not so far off but that, with
the raked eye, he could distinguish a man on
horseback.

From that moment he might have been ob-
served to turn about in his chair, at short inter-
vals casting uneasy glances upon the ccntaurean
form than was gradually growing bigger as it
advanced.

For a time the expression on the face of Mr.
Vaughan was far from being a marked one.
The looks that conveyed it were furtive. and
might have passed unnoticed by the superficial
observer.

They had, in fact, escaped the notice both of
his dau hter and his guest; and it was not
until a ter the horseman had made halt at
the entrance of the by-path, and was seen
coming on for the house, that the attention of
either was drawn to the singular behavior of
Mr. Vaughan.

Then, however, his nervous anxiety had be-
come so undisguisedly patent as to elicit from
Miss Vaughan an ejac lation of alarm; while
the Cockney involunrar y exclaimed:

“ Bless ma soul!" adding the interrogatory—
“ Anything wrong, sir!”

“ Oh, nothing!” stammered the lanter; “only
-0n1v—a little surprise—that’s a I.”

“Surprise, papa! what has caused it? Oh,

 

Tamcarriageconveying Mr. Montagu Smytbje ‘

from Mowtego Bay to Mount Welcome passed
up the .zvcnue and arrived at the great house
just one hour before Herbert Vaughan made

‘ his appearance at the entrance gate of the plan--

tation.
Mr. Smythje had arrived at half-past three,
. x. Four was the regular dining hour at.

P
Mount Welcome; so that there was just neat ,

time for the valet to unpack the ample valises
and pormanteaus, and dress his master for the
table.

Though the LOndoner had been all his life ac-
customed to dining well, he could not help in-
dulging in. some surprise at the plentiful and
luxurious repast that was placed before him.

Perhaps in no part of the world does the table
groan under a greater load of rich viands than
in the West Indian Islands. In the tprosperous
times of sugar-planting. a Jamaican inner was
deserving the name of feast. Tur=le was the
common soup; and the most sumptuous dishes
were arranged thickly over the board. Even

the ordinary everyday desert was a spread. landing.

 

see! yonder is some one on horseback—a man—
a young man. I declare, it is our own pony he
is ridimz: and that is Qnashie running behind
him! How very amusing! Papa, what is it all
about?”

“Tut! sit down, child!" commanded the
father, in a tone of nervous perplexity. “Sit
down,l say! Whoever it be, it will be time.
enough to know when he arrives. Kate!
Kate! ’tis not well-bred of you to interrupt our
dessert. Mr. Smythje, glass of Madeira with
you. sir?”

“Plesyaw!” answered the exquisite, turning
once more to the table, and occupying himself
with the decanter.

Kate obeyed the command with a look that
expressed both reluctance and surprise. She
was sligh‘l awed, too: not so much by the
words, as the severe glance that accompanied
them.

She made no reply, but sat gazing with a
mystified air in the face of her father, who,
hob-nobblng with his guest, affected not to no-
tice her.

The pony and his rider were no longer visible,
as they were now too close to the house to be

i Seen over the sill of the window; but the clat-

tering hoofs could be heard, the sounds coming
nearer and nearer.

Mr. Vaughan was endeavoring to appear col-
lected, and to say something. but his sangfrm'd
‘ was assumed and unnatural: and being unable
to keep a the conversation, an ominous silence
succeeded:

The sound of the hoofs ceased to be heard.
The pony, having arrived under the windows,
had been brought to a halt.

Then there were voices. «Guest and rather
loud. They were succeeded by the noise of foot-

steps on the stone stairway. Some one was
I coming up the steps
Mr. Vaughan looked aghast. All his fine
l plans were about to be frustrated. There' was
l a bitch in the programme—Quashie had failed
in the performance of his part.

“Aha!”~j-iculated the planter, with return—
ing delight, as the smooth, trim countenance of
1 his overseer made its app-amnce above the
"Mr. Trusty w shes to speak with

 

 

me. Your pardon, Mr. Smythje—only for one
moment.”

Mr. Vaughan rose from his seat and hastened,
as if wishing to meet the overseer before the
latter could enter the mim.

Trusty, hOWever, had already stepped inside
the doorway; and, not being much of a diplo-
matist, had bluritly declared his errand ~in souo
race, it is true, but still not low enough to hm-
der a. part of his communication from being
heard. Among other words the phrase “ your
nephew ” reached the ears of Kate, at that mo-
ment keenly bent to catch every sound.

The reply was also partially heard, though
delivered in a low and apparently tremuluus
vorce:

“ Show him—summer-house—gardeu—tel! him
to wait—there presently.”

Mr. Vaughan turned back to the table with a
half-satisfied air. He was fancy ing that. be bad
eSCaped from his dilemma, at least for the time;
but the expression which he perceiVed on the
countenance of his daughter restored his sus-
picions that all was not right.

Scarce a second was he left in doubt, for al-
most on the instant Kate cried out in a tone of
pleased surprise:

“ Oh, papa, what do I hear? Did not Mr.
Trusty as. something about ‘ your nephew?
After all, as cousin come-l Is it he wl:o—"

“Kate, my child," quickly interrupted her
father, and appearing not to have understood
her interrogatory, " you may retire to your
room. Mr. Smythje and 1 would like to have
our cigar, and the smoke of tobacco don’t agree
with you. Go, child, go!" '

The young girl instantly rose from her chair,
and hastened to obey the command, notwith-
standing the protestations of Mr. Smytl jc, who
looked as if he would have much prefer red her
company to the cigar.

But her father hurriedly repeated the “ Go,
child, go!” accompanying the words with an-
other of those severe glances which had already
awed and mystified ber.

Before she had passed fairly out of the great
hall, however, her thoughts reverted to the un-
answered iritcrrogatory; and as she crossed the
threshold of her chamber she was heard mutter-
ing to herself:

‘ I wonder if cousin be come.”

CHAP'I ER IX.
A BOLD RESOLVE.

FAR better would it have been for Mr.
Vaughan, at least tor the success of his schemes,
had he adepted an honorable course with his
nephew, and at once introduced him openly
and aboveboard to his table, his daughter, and
his, aristocratic guest.

By his shabby treatment of his nephew, be
was ll vesting that young man with a romantic
interest in the eyes of his daughter, that per-
haps might never have been felt, or, at all
events, not so readily. Mislortune, especially
that which springs from persecution, is a grand
sug ester of sympathy—that is, when the ap-

ua is made to noble hearts; and the heart of
Eats Vau ban was of this quality.

In the rief undertone that had passed be-
tween her father and the overseer She had heard
the command, “Sh0w him to the warmer-
house.” She knew that the summer-house was
within view of her chamber window. She was
curious to see what in all her life :he had never
beheld—a cousin. H: r curiosity was not balked.
On looking through the lattice her cousin was
before her eyes.

With his braided frock buttoned tightly over
his breast, glittering Hessian boots on his well-
turned limt-s. his mat three cornered hat set
lightly over his brown curls, he was not a sight
to terrify a young girl, least of all a cousin.
Even the bold, somewhat fierce expression upon
his countenance, at that moment reflecting the
angry emotions that were stirring within him,
did not, in the eyes of the young creole, de-
tract from the beauty of the face she saw be-
fore her.

For some moments she remained in the same
attitude, gazing steadfastly and silent. Then,
without turning, there escaped from her lips,
low murmured, and as if by an involuntary ef-
fort, the interrogatory: ’

“Yola. is he not beautiful?"

“Beautiful, missa,” repeated the maid, who
had not yet behold the object for a bum this ad-
miration Was meant: “ who beautiful?”

" Who? My cousin, Yola.”

“What am cousin, iniSsal”

“ Why, cousin is—is——something like abrother
—only not exactly; that is, it’s not quite the

same thing ”
0h, missa, if he Yola brudder

 

“ Brudder!
she him speak, she ca re not who be angry.”

“True, Yola; and if he were my brother-..
alas! I have none—I should do the same with:
out. hesitation. But with a cousin, that's
different. Besides, papa don’t like this cousin
of mine, for some reason or another. I wonder
what he can have against him. I can't tee;
and surely it can be To reason for my um lilting
him? And, surely his being my cousin is just
why I should go down and talk to him.

‘ Besides.” continued the young rl, sptnk— .
ing to herself rather than to the ma 6, " be ap-

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘fi-x 12x71 ,2 _.

 

i

in waiting, who knows how long? since he is
so taken u with this Mr. Montagu What’s-
his—uamel ell, I may be doing wrong: per-
haps papa 'will be angry: rhaps he won’t
know anything about it! Right or wrong, I‘ll
go! I shall go!”

Sosaying, the oung creole matched a scarf
from the fauteuil}: flung it over her shoulders,
and, gliding from the chamber, entered the
summer-house. 1

Herbert had not quite recovered from sur-
prise at the unexpected apparition, when he
was saluted by the endearing interrogatory—

“Are you my cousin?" _

The question, so naively put, remained for a
moment unansWered: for the tone of kindness
in which it was spoken had caused him a fresh
surprise, and he was toomuch confused to make
answer.

He soon found speech, hOwever, for the hy-
pothetical reply:

“If you are the daughter of Mr. Loftus
‘Vau ban-J

n um."

"Then I am proud of calling myself your

cumin. I am Herbert Vaughan, from Eng
land."
Still under the influence of the slight which
he believed had been put upon him, Herbert
made this announcement with a certain stiffness
of manner, which the young girl could not fail
to notice. It produced a momentary incon.
geniality, that was in danger of degenerating
into a positive coolness; and Kate, who had
come forth under the romptings of an affec-
tionate instinct, tremb ed under a repulse, the
cause of which she could not comprehend.

It did not, however, hinder her from court-
eelslv rejoining:

“We were expecting you, as father had re-
ceived your letter, but not to—day. Papa said,
not before to-niorrow. Permit me, cousin, to
welcome you to Jamaic u"

Herbert bowed profoundly.

Again the ‘young Creole felt her warm im-
pulses painfu ly checked; and, blushing with
embarrassment, she stood in an attitude of in-
decision.

Herbert, whose heart had been melting like
Shaw under a. tropic sun. now me sensible
'that he was committing a rudeness, which so
«far from being natural to him, was costing him

. a struggle to counterfeit.

Why should the sins of the father be visited
on the child. and such a child?

Witha reflection kindred to this, the young
man hastened to change his attitude of cold re-
serve.

“Thanks for your kind welcome!” said he,
now speaking in a tone of affectionate frank-
ness: “but, fair cousin, you have not told me
your name."

"Catherine; though I am usually addressed
by the shorter synonym, Kate.”

“Catherine! that isa family name with us.
My father‘s mother, and your father's, too—our
gnmdmammu—was a Catherine. Was it also
your mother’s name!"

“ No: my mother was called Quasheba.”

“ ggashebal that is a very singular name.”

" you think so, cousin? I am sometimes
called Quasheba myself, only by the old people
of the plantation, who knew my mother. Lilly
Quasheba they call me. Papa dees not like it,
and forbids them.”

“ Was your mother an Englishwoman I”

“ Oh, no! she was born in Jamaica, and died
While I was very young, too young to remem-
her her. Indeed, cousin, I may say I never
knew what it was to have a mother!”

“Nor I much. cousin Kate. My mother also
died early. But are you my only cousinl—No
sisters nor brothers!”

“ Not one. Ah! I wish I had sisters and
brewers!”

“ Why do you wish that?”

“ Oh, how can you ask such a question? For
companions, of course."

“ Fair cousin! I should think you would find
companions enough in this beautiful island."

“ Ah! enough, perhaps: but none whom I
like, at least, not as I think I should like a sis-
ter or brother. Indeed ” added the young girl,
in a reflective tone, “I sometimes feel lonely
enough i”

u  I"

“ Perhaps, now that we are to have guests, it
_wil1”be different. Mr. Smythje is very amus-

zn .

“Mr. Bmythje! _Who is be?”

“What! you do not know Mr. Smythje? I
thought that you and he came over in the same
ship! Papa said so; and that you were not to
be here until to-morrow I think you have
taken him by surprise in coming to-day. But
why did you not ride out with Mr. Smythjei
He arrived here only one hour before on, and
has just dined with us. I have left t e table
this moment, for papa and him to have their
a . But, bless me, cousin! Pardon me for
not asking—perhaps you have not dined yet!”

“ No,” replied Herbert, in a tone that express-
;d ch'agriu, “nor am I likely to dine here to-

av.

This storm of queries with which, in the sim-

l
l

, u... ;. .7 3 _m_,,..,..,,._, . .. .4... "-.

'7

 

The Maroon.

very, very impatient. Papa may keep  plicit y 01’ her heart, the young creole thus as-

sailed him, once more brought back tnat train
of bitterreflections from which l.cr fair pres-
ence and sweet converse had for the moment
rescued him. Hence the character of his reply.

“And why, Cousin Herbert?" asked she, wi h
a marked air of surprise. “If you have not
dined, it is not too late. Why not here?”

“ Because "—Iuid the young man drew him-

‘ s‘lf proudly up—“ i prefer going without din-

i
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l

 

Der to dining whereI am not welcome. In
Mount Welcome, it seems, I am not welcome.”
“ 0h, cousin—l’
The words and the appealing accent were
alike interrupted. The door upon the landing
turned upon its hinge, and Loftus Vaughan ap-

‘r peared in the doorway.

“ Your father?"

" My father!”

“ Kate!” cried the lanter, in a tone that he-
spoke displeasure, “ r. Smythje would like to
hear you play upon the harp. l have been look-
ing for you in your room, and all over the house.
What are you doing out there?”

The language was coarse and common—the
manner that of a vulgar man flushed with wine.

“ Oh, papa! cousin Herbert is here. He is
waiting to see you.”

“ Come you here, then! Come at once. Mr.
Smytbje is waiting for you " And with this
imperious rejoinder Mr. Vaughan re-entered
the house.

“ Cousin! I must leave you."

“ Yes, I perceive it. One more worthy than
I claims Zyour company. Go! Mr. Smythje is
impatient.”

“ It is pulpit.”

“Kate! ate! are you coming? Haste, girl!
haste, I so i”

“Go. Miss Vaughan! Farewell!”

“ Miss Vaughan? Farewell?"

Mystifled and distressed by those strange-
sounding words, the young girl stood for some
seconds undecided, but the voice of her f ther
came again ringing along the corridor. now in
tones irate and commandin . Obedience could
no longer b delayed; and with a half-pushled,
bull-reproachful glance at her cousin, she reluc-
tantly parted from his prescnce.

CHAPTER X.
a SURLY “cannon.

AFTER the young creole had disappeared
within the entrance, Herbert remained in a
state of indecision as to how he should act.

He no longer needed an interview with his
uncle, for the sake of having an explanation.
This new slight had crowned Lis convictions
that be mm there an unwelcome guest, and no
possible apology could now retrieve the ill-
treatment he had experienced.

He would have walked off on the instant with.
out a word; but, stung to the quick by the
series of insults he had received, the instinctive
retaliation had sprung up within him, and de-
termined him to stay—at all events, until he
could meet his relative face to face, and reproach
him with his unnatural conduct. He was reck-
lessly indifferent as to the result. .

With this object he continued in the kiosk, his
patience being new baited with the prospect of
that sli ht satisfaction.

Short v after a heavy footstep echoed along
the passage. The door opened, and Herbert

rceived it was his uncle, who had at length

Ound time to honor him with an interview.

Though so joyous but the moment before, all
traces of mirth had disappeared from the coun-
tenance of Loftus Vaughan when he presented
himself before the eyes of his nephew. His face
habitually red, was fired with the wine he had
been drinking to the hue of scarlet. Neverthe-
less an ominous mottling of a darker color upon
his road, massive brow. foretold the ungracnous
rec-e tion his relative was likely to have at his
ban 8.

His first words were uttered in a tone of inso-
lent coolness:

“ So you are my brother’s sen, are you?”

There was no extending of the hand, no ges-
ture; not even a smile of Welcome. '

Herbert checked his anger, and simply an-
awered:

“ I believe so.”

“ And pray, sir, what errand has brought you
out to Jamaica?"

“ If you have received my letter, as I presume
you have, it will have answered that question.”

“Oh, indeed !” exclaimed Mr. Vaughan, with
an attempt at cynicism, but evidently taken
down by the unexpected style of the reply.
“And what, may I ask, do you purpose doing
here?" .

“ Have not the slightest idea,” answered Her-
bert. with a provoking air of independence.

"Have you any profession?" .

“ Unfortunately, not any.”

“ Any tradel—I suppose not.”

“ Your suppositions are perfectly correct.”

“Then, sir, how do you expect to get your
bread!” ‘

"Earn it the best way I can."

“Beg it. “ore likely, as your father before
you- all his life begging it, and from me.”

“ n that respect I shall not resemble him.

 

fl

You would be the last man I should think of
brgging from ”

“’rldeatn! sirrah, you are imperfinent. This
is fine language to me, after the disgrace you
have already brought upon me!”

“ DisgraCe?”

“Yes, sir, disgrace. Coming out here as a
pauper, in the steerage of a ship! And you
must needs boast of relatlllllsllIIF—lettlllg all the
world know that you are my iwphew.’

“ Boast of the relationship!” re ealed Her-
bert, with a smile of contempt “ 3! ha! ha! I
suppose you refer to my having answered a
question asked me by this pretty jurk—a-box you
are playing with. Boast of it, indeed! had I
known you then as well as I do now, I should
have been ashamed to acknowledile it.”

“ After that, sir,” shouted Mr. Vaughan, tari-
ing purple with rage—“ after that, sir, no more
words. You shall leave my house this minute.”

“ I had intended to have left it some minutes
sooner. I Only stayed to have an opportunity
of telling you what I thirk of you.”

“What is that, sir! what is that?"

The angry youth had summoned to 1he top of
his tongue a few of the strongest epithets he
could think of, and was about to hurl them into
his uncle’s teeth, when on glancing up he Caught
sight of an object that caused him to change his
intention. It was the beautiful face of the
young creole, that appeared through the half-
open lattice of the window opposite. She was

axing down upon him and his uncle, and listen-

ng to the dialogue with an anguished expression
of countenance.

“ He is her father,” muttered Herbert to him-
self; “ for her sakeI shall not say the v ords;”
and without making any reply to the last inter~
rogatory of his uncle, he strode out of the kiosk,
and was walking away.

“ Stay, sir!" cried the planter, somewhat taken
aback by the turn things had taken. “A word
before you go—if you are going. "

Herbert turned upon his heel and listened.

“Your letter informs me that you are with-
out funds. It shall not be said that a relative
of Loftus Van ban left his house penniless and
unprovided. n this purse there are twenty
pounds currency of the island. Take it; but on
the condition that you say nothing of what has
occurred here; and. furthermore. that you keep
to yourself that you are the nephew of Loftus

Vaughan.”
Without sayin a word, Herbert look the
proffered urse: :ut, in the next moment, the

chink of t e gold pieces was heard upon the
gravel walk as he dashed the bag at the feet of
his uncle.

Then. turning to the astonished planter and
measuring him with a look that scomed all pu-
tronage, he faced once more to the path, and
walked proudly away.

The angry “Begone, sir!” vociferated after
him was only addressed to his back, and v as 1+
together unbeeded. Perhaps it was (-Von un-
heard, for the expression in the eyes of t! n _\ l mu:
man told that at that moment his attenlioi: was
occupied elsewhere.

As he walked toward the house. with the Hr-
sign of going round it to get upon the fin: t
avenue, his glance was directed upward to llle
window “here. that beautiful face had In on just
seen. The lattice was now Cltscd. and be en-
deavored. to pierce the somber simdou s behind
ihh The face was no longer there. No eyes met

is.

He glanced back toward the kiosk to sm if he
might linger a moment. His uncie “as in a
bent attitrde, gathering the scattered pieces of
gold. in this position, the shrubber y concealed

1m.

Herbert was about to glide nearer to the win-
dow. and summon his cousin by name, u hen be
heard his own renounced, in a soft whisper,
and with the en caring reflx “cousin.”

Distinctly he heard “ ousin Herr-er! !" and as
if s nken around the angle of the building.

e hastened thither, for that was his proper
path by which to arrive at the front of the
house.

On turning the wall, he looked up. He mw
that another window opened from the same
chamber. Thence came the swaet summons,
and there appeared the fair face for which he
was searching.

“Oh, cousin Herbert, do not go in anger!
Papa has done wrong, very wrong. I know: but
be has been taking much wire; be is not—Good
cousin, you will pardon him?" '

Herbert was about to make reply, when the
youn creole continued:

“ on said in your letter you had no money.
You have refused father’s. you will not refuse
Epipe? It is Very little. Itisall I have. Take
1 .

A bright object glistened before his e es, and
fell with a metallic chink at his feet. e looked
down. A small silk purse, containing coin,
with a blue ribbon attached, was seen lying
upon the ground.

The young man raised it. and, holding it in
one hand, hesitated for a moment, as if he had
thoughts of accepting if. It was not that, ho».-
ever, but another thought that was passing in
his mind.

His resolve was soon taken. _ ‘

I I

.»V.. V,”— - ._,

   

. 33...... -

  

. s

 

“Thanks!” said be. “Thanks, cousin Kate 1”
he added, with increasing warmth. “You have
meant kindly, and though We may never meet
again—”

“Oh, say not so!” interrupted the young girl,
with an appealing look.

“Yes "continued be, “it is probable we never
shall. ere there is no home for me. I must
go hence: but, wherlver I may go, I shall not
soon forget this kindness. I maV never have
an opportunity of repaying it—you are beyond
the necessity of aught that a humble relative
could do for you; but remember, Kate Vaughan,
should you ever stand in need of a strong arm
and a stout heart, there is one of your name
who will not fail you.

“ Thanks!“ be repeated. detaching the ribbon
from the bag, and flinging the latter, with its
contents, back through the open window.
Then, fastening the ribbon to the breast-button
of his coat, he added: “ I shall feel richer with
the possession of this token than with all the
wealth of your father's estate. Farewelll and
God bless you, my generous cousin!"

Before the young,r crerle could repeat her
offer, or add another word of counsel or conso-
lation, he had turned the angle of the building,
and passed out of sight.

CHAPTER Xi.
THE JEW’S PENN.

WHILE these scenes were -ranspiring upon
the plantation of Mount W'clclume, others of '1
still more exciting nature were beins,r enacted
on that which adjoined it, the property of
Jacob Jessuron, slave merchant and penn-
keeper.

In the olden time, this plantation had borne
the name of “Happy Valley,” but, during the
ownership of Jessuron this designation-per-
haps deemed inappropriate—had been generally
dropped, and the place was never spoken of by
an other name than that of the “ Jew’s Penn. ’

Kito a “ penn ” (grazinig farm) J essuron had
changed it. and it serve well enough for the
purpose many of the old sugar fields, now over—
grown by the valuable Guinea grass, affording
excellent pasturage for horses and cattle.

In addition to penn‘keeper, the Jew was also
an extensive spice cultivator, or rather spice-
gatherer: for the indigenous piniunto forests
that covered the hills upon his estate required
no cultivation—nothing further than to collect
the aromatic berries, and cure them on the bar-

 

Outside the gate-entrance, upon the broad
avenue leading to the main road, negro horse—
tamers might every day be seen, giving their
first lessons to rough colts fresh can ht from
the pastures: while inside the grand nclOsure,

at oxen were being slaughtered to suppl. the

markets of the Bay—huge. gaunt dog»: ho ding
carnival over the 01111, while black butchers,
naked to the waist, their brown arms reeking
with red gore, stalked over the ground. bran-
dishing blood-stained blades and other instru-
ments of their sanguinary calling.

Such scenes might be witnessed diurnally on
the estate of Jacob Jessuron; but on the day
succeeding that on which the slave-merchant
had made his unsuccessful errand to Mount
Welcome, a spectacle of a somewhat rarer kind
was about to be exhibited at the palm.

The scene chosen for this exhibition was an
inner inclosure, or court-yard, contiguous to the
dwelling—the great house itself forming one
side of this court, and opening upon it bya
broad veranda, of a dingy, dilapidated appear~
once.

There were white men in the Court-yard—
three of them. Two were of dark complexion,
so swarth that many of the colored slaves were
as fair-skinned as they. These two men were
Ioun ing bv the stairway of' the veranda, one
of em seated upon the Ste 5. Both were
sparely clad in check shirts an trowsers, hav-
ing broad-brimmell palmetto hats on their
heads, and rough buskins on their feet and
ankles.

Each carried along rapier-like blade—a ma-
chete—hanging over his hip in its leather-n
sheath: while a brace of fierce do.-s, looped in
cotton rope leashes, attached to belts worn
around their waists, crouched upon the ground
at their feet.

The exclamations that from time to time es-
caped from. their lips, with the few words of
cooversation that passed between them, bespoke
them of Spanish race. Their costume, their
arms and accouternients, their comrades, the
flora; do 3, plainly proclaimed their calling, as
well as t e country from whence they came.
They" were cacadnres dc negros-negro hunters
from the Island of Cuba.

The third White man who a peered in the
court-yard differed essentially rom these; not
enamel: in color, for he was also of swarth
complexion, but in size, costume and calling.
A pair of horse-skin riding boots reached up to
his thighs, on the heels of which appeared heavy

s urn, with rowel: three inches in diameter. -

sort of monkey- acket of thick cloth, not-
withstanding its 11 suitablean to the climate,
hung down’to his hips: under which appeared
a waistcoat of scarlet plush, with tarnished

’ metal bottom, and ‘a wool comforter of'tho

l

  

 

 

The Maroon.

same flaming color. Crowning all was a felt
hat; which, like the other articles of his dress,
gave ev1denoe of exposure to all weathers, sun
and rain, storm and tornado.

A thick b.1001! of curling hair, so dark in
color as to pass for black; 8 heavy beard. jet-
black, and runnin most of the way around his
mouth: amber-co ored eyes, with a sinister,
shining light that neVer seemed to pale; lips of
an unnatural redness gleaming through the black
beard; and a nose of aquiline oblique, were the
points in the personal appearance of this man
that most prominently presented themselves.

The effect of this combination was to impress
you with the conviction that the individual in
question belonged to the same nationality as the
proprt'etor of the penn. Such was in reality
the case; for the bearded man was another of
the rats» of Abraham, and one of its least amia-
ble specimens. His name was Ravener, his call-
ing that of overseer: he was the overseer of
Jesmron. The symbol of his profession he car-
ried under his arm—a huge cart~whip. He had
it by him at all hours, y night, as by day;
for by night, as by day, was he accustomed to
make use of it. And the victims of his long
lash were neither oxan nor horses-thcy were
men and women I

It was about twelve o’clock in the day.
Jessuron and his daughter had just stepped
forth into the veranda, and taken their stand
by the ballintrade looking down into the court.

A small iron furnace, filed with live coals,
had been placed i.. the courtyard, near two bot-
tom of the stops. Three or four sullen-looking

men—blacks and multittoesw—stood around it in ‘

lounging: attitudes. One of 'liese stoop: d over
the furnace. turning in the the what appeared
to be a soldering-iron, or some other instrument
of a braver.

“Go on, Mishter Ravener!” cried the Jew,
on reaching the front of the veranda. “ Theesh
first,” he add«d, pointing toward a :31th of
EbOes, who stood trembling with apprehension
in one corner of the yard.

The Ehoes Were led forward, and held firmly
by the assistants, while their breasts Were re-
sented to receive the brand. The red-hot iron
flashed fora moment. in the eyes of each, and
then fell with a dull clap upon the clammy

 

skin. Smoke ascended with u hiss, till the court ,
became filled with a smell of roas ing flesh! A ‘
struggle, some wild cries, and the operation was ‘

over. The slave was marked with those in-
delible initials, to be carried with him to his
grave

A batch of Pawpaws, from the Whidaw
country, came next. They were brought up
one by one, like the Eboe.", but altogether un-
like these was their behavior. They neither
gave way to (xtreme fear, nor yet displayed
extraordinary courage. They appeared to sub-
mit with a sort of docile resignation, as though
Ehey regarded it in the light of a destiny or

uty. .

A group of Coromantees were now to under—
go the fiery ordeal. These bold and warlike
indigenes of Africa evinced, by their attitudes
an. actions, the possession of a moral nature
altogether different from that either of Paw-
paw or Eboe. Instead of waiting to be led for-
ward, each stepped ht ldly up, as he did so bar-
ing his breast to receive the red brand, at which
he glanced with an air of lordly contempt.

One young fellow even seized the iron from

the map of the operator, and. turning it. in his ;

bun , struck the stamp firmly against his breast.
where he held it until the soothing flesh told

that a deep imprint had been made. Then, 3

flinging the instrument back into the furnace.
he strode away from the spot with the air of a
triumphant gladiator.

At this moment there occurred a pause in the
proceedings—not as if the drama was ended, but
only an act. Another was yet to come.

Ravener stepped in) to the veranda, in front
of the place where Jessuron and his daughter
stood.

“ Which next?” was the question put by Rave-
ner to the Jew; “ the Mandingoes‘l’

“Either them or,the prinshe,” replied Jes-
suron; “ it don‘t matter which ish marked first.”

“ Oh! the prince first, by all means,” sug-

ested the amiable Judith, with a smilepf sat-
isfaction. “ Bring him cut first, Mr. Ravener;
I’m curious to see how his royal highness will
stand fire.”

 

He looked wretched, but not crestfallcn.

He had no idea of what was now designed for'
him. He had been shut up in a windowless
room, and saw nothing of the spectacle that
had just passed. Some new outrage he antici-
pated, but of what nature he could not guess.

He was not allowed toremain long in igno-
rance. Ravener, roughly grasping him by the
wrist, led him up to the furnace.

The iron by this time was ready, glowing red-
hot among the coals. The operator stood watch—
ing for the signal to use it, and on its being giv-
en he Seized the instrument in his grasp and
poised it aloft.

The prince now perceived the intention, but
shrunk not at the sight. His eyes were not upon
the iron, but, gleaming with a fire like that of
the furnace itself, were directed upon the face
of the old Jew—at intervals upon that of the
angel—like. demon at his side.

The Jew alone shrunk from the glance; his.
daughter returned it with a mocking imper-
turbability.

In another instant the red brand hissed as it
burnt into the flesh of tho F—llata’s bosom.
Prince Cingues was the slave of Jacob Jessa-

ronl

As if the terrible reality had now for the first
time burst upon him, the young man spru
forward with a cry, and before any one cool
oppose his progress he had bounded up the
steps and entered the Veranda.

Then gliding along the gallery to the spot oc~
copied bv Josruron and his dau hter, be
lanched binwsult' forward upon the ew. As
hr clutched thr- lattcr by the throat. both came
ttflf‘lhf’r to the ground, and rolled ovor and
Over in the writhings of a desperate struggle.

ForLunate it was for the slave-metcliant that.
his victim had been disarmed, else that mument
would have been fatal to him. As it was, be
came Very near being strangled, and had it not
been for Ravoner an the two Spaniards, who
hastened to his rescue, the betrayal of the Foo-
lah rince would have been the last treason of
his ife.

Overpowercd by numbers, Cingues was at
length secured, and the throat of the slave-mar-
chm! “as extricated from his death-likeclutch.

“Kill him!” cried the Jew, as soon as be
found l-reath to speak. “No, don’t kill him
yet,” added he, correcting himself; “not joosh
'et, till I punish him for it. An’ it I don’t pun~
ish him—sch!”

“ Flog the savage!” shouted the beautiful Ju-
dith; “make an exam le of him, Mr. Ravener,
elso those others will rising upon us in the
same style.”

“Yesh, flog himl That’ll do to begin with..
Flog him now, goat Ravener. Give him a bun--
dred lashes t’hish [niggefi‘ d

“A , a .’ res n e overseer, ra 'n
the viZtimydownptlie s cps; “ I’ll give him
done—never fear you i”

Ravener w s as good as his word. The
tacle that followed was even more horrible to
behold than that which has been described, for
the punishment of the lash is among the most
fearful of exhibitions.

The young Foolah was tied to a posh—one.
that stood there for the urpo‘e. A strong
headman wielded the cru+ quirt; and as the
last stripe was administered, completing that
horrid hundred, the poor victim sunk fainting
against the blood-stained stake.

CHAPTER XII.
A COUCH or smx comm.

ON parting from the presence of his fair
cousin, and at the same time from the house of
his inhospitable relative, Herbert Vaughn struck
off through the shrubbory that stretched to-
Word the ridge on the right.

Or) reaching the limits of the level platform
he leaped a low wall that separated the shrub-
bery from the outer fields, and then, under
cover of the pimente groves, commenced as-
cending the slope of the ridge. ‘

0n reaching the crest o the ridge, and be-
fore plunging into the deep forest that stretched
away on the other side, he sndeavored through
an openin in the trees to catch a view of those
white we. 8 and green jalousies. In that glance
there was more of regretfulness than anger—-
an expression of despair, such as may have ap-
peared on the face of the fallen angel when.

 

: gazing back OVer the golden palings of Para-

The overseer made no reply; but, taking the 

Wish of the young lady as a command. proceeded '

to obey it.

Step ing across the court, he opened a door
that let into a room, separate from thatin which
the alarms had been lodged. .

The ovorseer entered the room; and in a few ;
minutes came out again, bringing With him an ;

individual who by his dress it might have been
difficult to recognize as the young Fella tta seen
on board the slaver, but wlmse noble mien
still rendered it possible to identify him: for it
was he.

Changed, indeed, was his costume. The tur-
ban was gone, the rich silken tunic, the sandals
and ,cimeter—all his finery had been stripde
on; end in its place appeared a coarse Olliaburg
shirt and women—tho dress of a plantation
negro. . '

.. 1 ,

 

disc.

As the youngeman turned away and entered
under the som r shadows of the forest, the ex-
pression of despair seemed to become deeper
and darker. '

He walked on through the woods without
taking much heed as to the direction in which:
he was going. Any one who could have seen
him just then might have sup sad that he'bad
lost his way, and was wanderiglg. .

The trees hindered him from seeing the sun,
now low down. But own if a view of the
golden orb had been afforded him it would have
served no purpose, since on riding out to Mount
Welcome ho had taken no note oftbe relative.
directions between it and the boy.

He was not much disconcerted b the discov—-
cry that he had lost himself.

 

 

 

 

e reflection ,
that in Mantego Bay he would be no bettcromi
l 7/ . r, , I  . n »,

   

 

3
r

 

 

 

 

 

The Maroon.

 

_.

hindered him from greatly regretting the cir-
cumstance. He had not the means to command
the shelter of a roof, even in the midst of a
whole city in“, and the chances were he might
find none better than that which was above. him
at the moment—the spreading fronds of a gigan-
tic cotton-tree.

Now that he had come to a bait, and having
nothing better to do, he took his stand, watch-
ing the open glade. Perhaps some bird might
yet show itself passing from tree to tree, or fiv-
ing about in pursuit of prey. It was the hour
for owls. He felt hun ry enough to eat one.

Neither owl nor nig t jar came in sight; but
his attention was attracted by an object edible as
either, and which promised to relieve him from
the pan he was sufl'ering.

ClOse y the cotton-tree stood another giant
of the forest, rivaling the former in hight, but
differing from it as an arrow from its bow.
Straight as a lance, it rose to the hight of an
hundred feet. It was branchless as a column of
polished malachite or marble, up to its high
summit. where its long reen fronds, radiating
outward, drooped grace ully over, like a circlet
of refiexed ostrich plumes.

A child could have told it to be a palm; but
Herbert knew more. He had heard of the
noble “ mountain-cabbage” of Jamaica, the
kingly areca oredoa'i'a. He knew that in the
center of that circlet of far-stretching fronds, in
that crown, there was a jewel that had often

roved more precious than gems or gold, for
oliten had it been the means of saving human
1‘ c.

How was this {ewel to be obtained? Like all

crowns, it was p aced high—far above the reach

of ordinary mortals. Young and active though
he was, and a climber at school, he could never
“swarm up)" that tall, smooth shaft. Without
a ladder a undred feet in length, it Wmlld not
be ible to reach its summit.

ut, see! the palm-tree stands not alone. A
great black lliana stretches tortuously from the
earth up to the crown, where its head is buried
among the tufted leaves, as if it were some huge
won in the act of devouring its vic‘im.

erbert stood for a moment reconncitering
the grand stay-cable, that, trailing from the
summit of the palm, offered, as it were, a natu-
ral ladder for ascending it. Hunger stimulated
him to the attempt; and, resting his gun against
the trlnduk of the ceiba, he commenced climbing

wa .

upWithout much difficulty he succeeded in
reaching the top, and making his way among
the huge piano of the leaves, each in itself a
leaf of many feet in len th. He arrived at the
youngest of them all, t at still infolded in the
envelope of the bud, and which was the object
for which be had climbed.

With his knife he separated the summit leaf
from the stem, flung it to the earth, and then
descending to the bottom of the tree, mado his
supper upon the raw but sweet and succulent
shoots of the mountain cabbage.

Supper over, he collected a quantitfi of the
strewn fleece of the silk-cotton. and p g it
between two of the great buttress-ike root-
spurs of the tree, constructed for himself a
coach on which, but for some hard tho hts
within, he might have ales: as softly a as
soundlyas nabedofei r.

That he mt sleep soundl may be at-
h-ibuted solely to hh anxieties a t the mor-
row, for the night was mild throughout, and
the comm of his im revised couch kept
him iently warm. is cares however,
had rendered his spirit restless. e were
vivid enough to act even upon his ms,
which several times during the night awoke
him, and again, finally, just after the break of

da .

He felt hunger even more than on the pre-
ceding night;an , althou h the raw mountain-
cabhage oflered no very ging dejruncr, he
determined before starting make another
meal upon ianremembering and very wiser
mg upon, adage of “a bird in the hand. '

But another a petite, far more unpleasant to
but, now ed him. In truth, it had as—
sailed him long before, but had been lly

growipg I:tr-onger', until it was now est un—

U the previous evening, while upon the
«03:0: the cabbage-palm, he had glanced
alanng am'caa among the branches of the
ceiba. is, as with all great trees in the tropi~
cal forest, was loaded with parasites—Mas,
long ragged-looking cacti, brpmclias, epiphyti.
cal orcb ds. and the like. Tillaadsias, too, of
the kind known as “ wild pines,” grew in the
forks, or on the upper surface of the great limbs,
flourishing as luxuriantly as if their roots rested
in the richest soil. Among them was conspicu-
ous the mOst ificent of the genu‘, the noble
Mada“! (Museum, with its spike of rgeous
crimson newers projectin from the ml at of its
broad sheathing leaves. t was in the concavi-
tiea of these huge leaves that Herbert had ob-
served something which did not belong to the
plant—something he believed to be water.

Ere long, he had succeeded in reaching a main
fork of the eeiba where nestled one of the largest
of the wild pines.

He had not been deceived. In a hollow form~

h.

«Hemp, ‘ .‘Nj’ _' \
is - isms- 
w... l ,i"

.V'r‘

._

 

ed by one of its huge ventrlcose leaves was the I
natural reservoir he had noticed—the gathering E
of dew and rain, which the rays of the-sun could '
never reach.

At his approach the green hyla sprung out
from this aerial pool, and leaping, frog-like,
from leaf to leaf—guarded against falling by the ‘
clammy sponge-disks of its feet—soon disap-
peared amid the folia c. It was this singular
creature whose voice erbert had been hearing
throughout the livelong night; and which, in
constant chorus with others of its kind, had re-
called to his memory the groaning and working
of the Sea Nymph in a storm.

The presence of the tree toad in this, its nat-
ural haunt did not deter the young man from ,
drinking. ging thirst has no mrup'es, and,
bending over one of the leaves of the Tillandsia,
he placed his lips to the cool water and freely
quail'ed it.

The labor of scrambling had taken away his
breath, and to some extent fatigued him. In-
stead, therefore, of descendin at once—which
he knew would cost him an e ort equal to that
of the ascent—he determined to rest for a. few
minutes upon the large limb of the ceiba on
which he had seated himself.

“ Well!" muttered he, in satisfied soliloquy,
“if the people of this island have proved in-
hospitable, I can’t say the same of its trees. Here
are two of them—almost the first I have encoun-
tered; they have yielded me the three necessaries
of life—meat, drink and lodging—lodging, too,
with an excellent bed—a thing not so common
in many a human hostelry. What more is
wanted? Under such a sky as this, who need
care to have walls around or a roof over him?
Veril , to sleep here, sub Jove, is rather a lux-
ury t nan inconvenience! And, veril ,"con-
tinued he, “were it not that I should fee rather
lonely and that man is designed to be a social
animal, I mi ht as my whole life in these
glorious w s, w thout work or care of any
kind. No doubt there is game, and l was told
at home there are no game laws. so I might
poach at leasure. Ha! game? What do I see?
A deer? 0! a hog! Yes, hog it is; but such a
singular fellow— rick-ears, red bristles, long
legs, and tusks. wild boar!”

CHAPTER XIII.
m HOG-HUNTER AND m nunswa‘r.

Tm: boar had stepped over the debris of Her-
bert’s breakfast—some fragments of the moun-
tain cabbage which had been left upon the
ground. Switching his feathered tail, and ut-

ring a short grunt, expressive of satisfaction.
the animal proceeded to snap up the scattered
pieces, crunching them between his formidable
grinders.

All of a sudden the tranquil tableau became
transformed into a scene of a more exciting na-
ture. As Herbert continued to gaze, he saw the
boar suddenly make a start, jerk his muzzle high
in the air, at the same instant utterin a pecu-
liar cry. It was a cry of alarm, ming ed with
angry menace, as testified By the bristles upon
his back, which had sudde y shot up into an
erect spincus mane.

Just then a loud re rt reverberated through
the glade, a bullet h seed through the air, and
the animal with a shrill scream turned over
upon its back, the blood spouting from a wound
in its thigh. ' '

In an instant it was on its feet again, but rage
appeared to hinder it from attempting flight!
It retreated only a few pacesgiaking i a stand
between two of the buttresses of the Milan, on the
very spot where the young Englishman had
Screed the night. There, protected on both

nks and in the rear, and uttering fierce grunts
of defiance, it stood, as if awaiting an enemy.

Soon after a man emerged from the under-
wood, armed with what 'appeared to be a
straight sword or cutlase.

In a dozen quick strides he crossed the glade,
and, having reached the roots of the cotton-tree,
became engaged in a deadly struggle with the
wounded boar.

After a while the struggle between biped and

adruped was brought to a termination. The
ormer who appeared to possess all the craft of
his calling, at in praciim a ruse that enabled
him to give is antagonist the coup de grace.

Thus was the feat accomplished. ln charg-
ing forward upon his human adversary, the
boar had incautiously ventured beyond the
flanking buttresses of the tree. In fact, the
hunter had enticed the animal outward, by
making a faint of retreating from the contest.

Just then, and before the brute could divine
his intention, the hunter rushed forward, and
throwing all his strength into the efi'r rt, sprung
high into the air. Quite clearing the uadru-
ped, he .alighted in the angle formed y the
cpnver ng s urs of the tree.

The our ad now lost his position of de-
fense, though that of the‘ hunter for the mo-
ment appeared desperate. He had cal sulated
hlll. chances, however, for, before the enraged
animal. hindered by its hangin limb, could
face round to assail him, he had fun ed out his
long blade, and buried it up to tie hi t between
the creature’s ribs. I

 

 

 

With a shrill scream the boar fell rostrate to
the earth. the red stream from his a e spurting

over and spoiling the improvised mattre- of
cotton-tree flock upon which the young Eng-
lishman had passed the night.

Up to this moment the latter had done no-
thing, either by word or gesture, to make
known his presence. He was about to descend
and congratulate the hunter for the perform
ance of a feat that had filled him with admira-
tion. A fancy passing through his mind at the
moment determined him to remain where he
was a little longer; and, in obedience to this
fancy, he sat gazing down upon the successful
sportsman at the bottom of the tree.

The complexion of the hunter betokened a
sang-mole, between African and Caucasian,
which was further confirmed by the slight crisp-
ing that appeared amon the et-black curls of

. hairthickly covering his cad. .eluxurianceof

these curls was peerilv kept in check by a head-
dress that Her rt Vaughan would have been
less surprised to see in some country of the
East; for at the first glance he had mistaken it
for a turban; on closer examination, however,
it proved to be a brilliant kcrchief—the Madras

check—ingeniously folded around the forehead, \

so as to sit coquettishly over the crown, with
the knot a little to one side. It was a toque,
not a turban.

The other articles of dress worn by the young
hunter were an outer coat, or shirt, of skyrblue
cottcnade, cut somewhat blouse-fashion; an
under-shirt of fine white linen, ruffled and open
at the breast; trowsers of the same material as
the coat, and buflmlomd boots of roughly.
cleaned cowskin. There were straps and strings
over both shoulders, all crossing each other on
the breast.

From the two that hung to the right side
were suspended a pcwder-horn and skin shot-
pouch; on the same side hung a large calabash
canteen, covered with .a strong network of
some forest withe to protect it from injury.
Under the left arm was a carved and curving
cow’s horn, evidently not for holding powder,
since it was open at both ends; below this,
against his hip, rested a black leathern sheath
—the rece tacle of that long blade still racking
with the b cod of the boar.

This weapon was the machete—half sword,
half hunting-knife—which, with its straight,
short blade and haftlike hilt of grayish horn,
is to be found in every cottage 0 Spanish
America. from California to the “ Land of
Fire.” Even where the Spaniards have been
but are no longer—as in Jamaica—the universal
machete may be seen in the bands of hunter
and pegsant—a relic of the conqueror colonists.

Up to the moment that the boar was laid
prostrate upon the firound, he in the toque had

on kept too we employed with his fierce

ame to find time for looking at anything else.

t was only after dealing the death-blow to his
adversary that he was able to stand erect and
take a survey around him.

In an instant his eye fell upon the gun cf the
youn _ Englishman: and then the. white pieces
of pa m-caobage upon which the boar had been
browsin .

“ Hob !" exclaimed he, still gasping for brea
but with a look that betrayed surprise, “a gun
Whose? Some runaway slave who has stolen
his master’s fowling-piece? Nothing more
likely. But why has he left the piece behind
him? and what has started him away from here?
Surely not the bar? He must have been gone
before the animal got up? Crambo! a richer
price than the rker, if could only have set
eyes on him! wonder in which direction he
has tracked it? Hish! what do I see? The run-
awa ! es—ves, it is he! Coming back for his
gun ambo! This is unexpected luck. so
early in the morning—a slave capture—a
bounty!”

As the hunter hurriedly muttered these con-
cluding phrases, be glided with stealthy tread
between the two buttresses, and, having placed
himself in the extnme angle of their converg-
ence, remained perfecin still, as if to await the
aiprcach of some one who was advancing to-
ward the tree.

Herbert, from his perch, had a full view of
the new comer tl us announced.

A young man of a copper-red color, with
straight black hair, shaggin tossed and pulled
over his forehead, as if scme one had been tear-
ing it from his head! His face, too, a fine one
notwithstanding its mahogany color, appeared
freshly lacerated, and his whole body bore the
marks of inhuman abuse. The coarse cotton
shirt that covered his shoulders was blotehed
with blood; and long, crimson-colored stripes
running across his back looked like the imprints
of an ensenguined lash!

The attitude in which he was advancing was
as peculiar as his costume. When Herbert first
set eyes on him be was crawling upon his hands
and knees, yet going with considerable speed.
This led to the belief that his bent position was
assumed rather with a view toward conceal-
ment, than from inability to walk erect.

The belief was soon after confirmed, for on
enters: the glade the young man rose to his
feet trotted on, but still with body bent, to-
ward the cer'ba.

What could he want there?

Was be making for the huge tree as a haven

 

  

I :‘w d“.

  

 
 

’ 10~ _

 

; i , _ x the pally. attimde he had hitherto ho)

 
  

of safety from some deadly pursuers? Herbert
fancied so.

The hunter believed he was coming back for
his u, having no suspicion that the real owner
of t e piece was 'ust over his head.

Both remain
having no similitude to each at er.

In a few seconds’ time, the fugitive—for his “
roved him one—had reached the bot- ,

actions
tom of t e tree.

“Halt!” cried the hunter, showing himself
round the buttress, and stepping in front of the
new-comer.
prisoner!”

The fugitive dropped upon his knees, crossed
his arms over his breast, and uttered some

hrases in an unknown tongue, among which

erbert could distinguish the word " A! ab 2"

His captor ap ared equally at fault about
the meaning of t 6 words, but neither the atti-

silent, thou h from motives T

“You are a runaway, and my '

The Maroon.

i Scarce had he come to this determination,
when three new actors appeared upon the
! WDB.

One, the foremost, and apparently the leader,
was a tall, black-bearded man in a red plush
waistcoat and high-topped horse-skin boots.
i The other two were lean, lithe-looking fellows,
in striped shirt and trowsers, each wearin
Y broad-brimmed palm-leaf hats that shadow
1 their sharp Spanish pbysiognomies.

! The bearded man, who appeared to be the
1 leader, was the first to give speech to the senti-
' ment that animated all three.

“ What game’s this!” he cried, his face turn-
ing purple with rage. “ Who are you that has
dared to interfere with our pursuit "

“Uarajo! he’s killed our dogs!” vociferated
one of the Spaniards.

“Demonius! you’ll pay for this with your
‘ lives!" added the other, raising his machete .n

tude of the speaker, nor the expression of his ‘ menace.

countenance, could be mistaken; it was an ap-
peal for mercy.

“Orambo!” exclaimed the hunter, bending
forward, and gazing for a moment at the breast
of the runaway. on which the letters “J. J.”
were conspicuously branded: “with that tat-
too on your skin, I don’t wonder you’ve given
leg-bail to your master. Poor devil! they’ve
tattooed you still more brutally upon the back.”

As he said this, s aking rather to himself
than to the wretche creature that knelt before
him, the hunter stretched forth his hand, raised
the shirt from the shoulders of the runaway,
and gazed for awhile upon his naked back. The
skin was covered with purple wales, crossing
each other like the arteries in an anatomic plate!

". God of the Christian!” exclamed the yellow
hunter, with evident indignation at th~ sight;
“if this be your decree, then give me the fetish
of my African ancestors. But no,” added be,
after a pause, “J. J. is not a Christian; he
cares for no God.”

The soliloquy of the hunter was here inter-
rupted by a second speech from the supplimt,

spectator. “What if 1 have? if I had not
killed them, they would have killed me.”

would not have touched you. Carrambo! they

him. \Vhy did you put yourself in the way to

’ protect him? It’s no business of yours.”

“ There, my worthy friend, you are mis-
taken,” replied he in the toque, with a si niii-
cant sneer. “ It is my business to protect h m—
my interest, too, since he is my captive.”

“ Your captive!” exclaimed one of the men,
with a glance of concern.

“Certainly, he is my captive: and it was my
interest not to let the dogs destroy him. Dead,
I should only have got two pounds currency on
his head; living, he is worth twice that, and
mileage money to boot: though I’m sorry to see
by the ‘ J J.’ on his breast that the mileage
money won‘t amount to much. Now, what have
you to say in worthy gentlemen i”

 

spoken in the same unknown tongue.

This time the gesture signified that it was an ,
appeal for protection against some enemy in the ‘
rear, for the sympathetic looks of his captor had
evidently won the confidence of the fugitive.

“They are after you, no doubt of it,” said
the hunter. “ Well, let them come, whoever
are your pursuers. This time they have lost
their chance: and the bounty is mine, not theirs.
Poor devil! it goes agwinst my grain todeliver !
you up; nnd were it not fort a law that binds !
me, I should scorn their paltry reward. Hark! “
yonder they come! Dogs! as I’m a man! Yes, 
it’s the bay of a bloodhound! Those villainous
man-hunters of Batabauo; I knew old Jessurou
had them in his pay.

Here, my poor fellow, in here!” and the hun-
ter half-led, half-d ragged the fugitive over the
carcass of the wild boar, placing him between
the buttresses of the oeiba. “ Stand close in to
the angle,” he continued; “leave me to guard
the front; here’s your gun; I see it’s loaded; I
hope you knew how to use it? Don’t fire till
you’re sure of hitting! We‘ll need both blade
and shot to save ourselves from thes: Spanish
dogs, that will make no distinction between
you and me; not they! Crambo.’ there they
come!”

The words had scarce issued from the speak-
er’s lips, when two large dogs broke, With a
swishing noise, out of the bushes on the opposite
side of the Jade, evidently running on the trail
of the fugit vs.

The crimson color of their muzzies showed
that trey had been baited with blood, which,
darkening as it dried, rendered more conspicu-
ous the white fang-like teeth within their Jaws.

They were half hound, half-mastifl', but ran
as true-bred bounds on a fresh trail.

No trail could have been fresher than that of
the flogged fugitive, and, in a few seconds after
entering the glade, the bounds had got up to
the ceiba, in front of the trian lar chamber in
which stood the runaway and is protector.

These dogs have no instinct of self- reserva-
tion—only an instinct to discover an destroy.
Without stopping to bark or bay—without even
slackening t eir pace—both dashed onward,
bounding into the air as they iauched them-
selves upon the supposed objects of their pur-
so

it.
The first only impaled himself upon the out-
stretched machete of the yellow hunter: and as
the animal came down to the earth, it was to
utter the last haw] of his existence.

The other, ringing toward the naked fugi-
tive. received?“ contents of the fowliug-piece,
and, like the first, rolled lifeless upon the earth.

CHAPTER XIV.
a minus pm.

Tn: spectator in the tree began to fancy that
hewas dreaming; Within the short space 'of
twenty minutes a had been the witness of a
greater number of exciting events than‘ he
might have seen, in his own land, during the
same number of years!

Nothing, however, had yet transpired to
‘tempt him from a strict neutrality; and, until

“Only t is, ‘ cried the man with the black
heard, “that we listen to no such nonsense as
that there. Whoever you may be, I don't care.
I suspect who you are; but that don’t hinder me
from telling you you‘ve no business to meddle

i in this affair. This runaway slave belon s to
i Jacob Jessuron.

I’m his eyerseer. He’s n
taken on Jessuron’s own ground; therefore you
can’t claim the captive. nor yet the bounty. So
you’ll have to give him up to us!”

“ Carrambo, si 1” vociferated both the Span-
iards in a breath, at the same time that the
three advanced toward the runaway; the
bearded overseer istol in hand, and his two
comrades with the r machete: drawn, and ready
to be used.

“ Come on, then i" cried the hunter, in a taunt-
ing tone. as he spoke making signs to the run~
away to stand to his defense “Come on, but
remember the first that lays hand upon him is a
dead man! There are three of on, and we are
but two—one already half-den with your in-
human cruelty.”

“Three against two! that’s not a fair ht!”
cried the young Englishman, dropping own
from the tree, and ranging himself on the weak-
er side. “ Perhaps it’ll be a better match now,"
added be, taking a pistol from under the breast
of his coat, and cocking i I as he did so, evidently
with the intention of using it should the afliir
be carried further.

“ And who are you. sir!" demanded the over-
seer, with as much arrogance as he could throw
into his manner. “ Who, air, may I inquire, is
the white man who thus laces himself in
opposition to the laws of the island! You know
the galty, sir; and by my word, you shall
Pay U

“ if I have committed a breach of the laws,”
replied Herbert. “ i presume I shall have to an-
swer for it. But I have yet to learn what law
I have broken. and I don’t choose that you shall
be my judge.” ‘

“ You are aiding in the escape of a slave.”

“ That’s not true,” interrupted the yellow
hunter. “ The slave is already captured—he
could not have escaped: and this young gentle-
man—who is as much'a stranger to me as to
you—I am sure had no intention of assisting him
to escape.”

"Bani" exclaimed the overseer; “ we care not
for your talk; we deny your right to capture
him, and you had no business to interfere. We
had already tracked him down with the dogs,
and should havo had him withoutany help from
you. He is our prize, therefore,‘and I again
demand of you to ye him up.”

“ I ndeed! ’ sneer ugly responded the yellow
hunter.

“ I make the demand,” continued the other
without noticing the sneer, “ in the name 0
J aco,b Jessuron, whose overseer I’ve told you I
am. .

" Perhaps were on Jacob Jessurou himself I
might resist your emaud.” rejoined the hunter
geolly, and without any appearance of hragga-

ocxo.

9‘ You refuse to surrender him, theur’mid the
overseer an if making his final overture.

 

something should. be determined to reserve

“ I doi” was the firm reply.
“ Eamgh—youshallropentthis; and you, sir,”

 

“ And what if I have killed your dogs?” re- .
joined the yellow hunter, with an air of sang ;
from, which won the silent applause of the=

“No,” said one of the Spaniards; “they:

were too well trained for that; they were after '

 

“w

continued the deputy of Jessuron, taming a
fierce look upon Herbert, “you shall answer
before a magistrate for the part it has pleased
you to play in this transaction. A pretty white
man you for the islani of Jamaica! A few more
of your sort, and we’d have a nice time with
our niggers. Don’t fear, mister; you’ll see me
again ’

“ I have no particular desire,” rejoined Her-
bert; “for certainly,” continued he, with pro-
voking jocularity, “ an uglier-looking face
than ours I have never set eyes u n; and.
it con (1 be no pleasure to me to 100 upon it
again.”

" Confusion!” cried the overseer. “ You‘ll
repent that insult before you’re a month older—-
curse me if you don’i 1"

And with this characteris'ic menace, the ruf-
fian turned and walked sullenly away.

“ Gas-pita !” cried one of the Spaniards, as
the two hastened to follow their leader. “ My
brave dogs! Ah demoniol you shall pay dearly
for them. Two hundred pesos each; not a war
tito less!”

" Not a cuarti'to for either!” responded the
yellow hunter, with a mocking laugh. “ Haven’t

proved that they are not worth it? With all
your boastng of what your bloodhounds could
do, look at them now. Vata! my line fellows!
Go back to your own country, and hunt run--
away negroes there. Here you must leave that.
flime to those who know how tomanage it—tbc

nroons!”

Herbert observed that the hut ter. on pro-
nouncing these last words, (rew himself up
with an air of majestic pride, as he did so-
glancing scorniuiy toward the crestfalien caca-
dares.

An angry “ Cantu-1'!” simultaneously hissed
fromthe lips of both was the only rep y made
by the two S aniards, who at the same instant
turned their cks upon the ceiba and followed.
their leader across the glade.

CHAPTER XV.
'rml: mucous.

As soon as they were gt no out of sight the
hunter turned toward Herbert, his eyes spark-
ling with gratitude.

" Master," said be, making a low obeisance as
he spoke, “ after that words are but a poor way
of (.flerin thanks if the brave white gentle-
man who as risked his life for a colored outcast
will let me know his name it will non be forgotr
ten by Cubina, the Maroon."

“Cabins, the Maroon!”

Struck by the oddness of the name and title,
as he had been by the appearance and be-
havior of him who bore then», Herbert repeat—
ed the phrase mechanically rather than other--

 

182:.

“ Yes, that is my name, master.”

The young En lishmau, though not yet en-
lightened as to t 6 odd appellation,vwaa too
well bred to press for an explanation.

“ Pardon me,” said he “ ior not directly re-
plying to your request. am an Englishman;
my name is Vaughan—Herbert Vaughan.”

"By that name, master. 1 take it you have

relatives in the island. The owner of Mount
Welcome estate—-”

“ Is in uncle.” ‘

“ Ah, t en, sir, anything a poor Maroon hunt-
er could do for you would not be much. All
the same, you have my thanks, and if—‘ but,
master,”continued the speaker, suddenly chang-
ing his tone, as if in obedience to some instinct
of curiosity, “ me I make hold to ask why you
are afoot so early The sun is not yet ten min-
utes above. the trees. and Mount Welcome is
three miles distant. You must have tracked it
here in the dark; no easy matter through these
tan led woods.” w,

“ passed the night here,” replied the un-
glishman smiling: “that was my bed, where
the boar now s eeping.”

"Then the gun is ours, not his!”

The hunter nodde interrogatively toward the
runaway, who standing some paces (if, was re-
garding both the speakers with glances of grat—
itude, not. however, unmiugled with some signs
of uneasiness. ‘

“Yes, it is my gun. I am ve glad the piece
was not empty, since it enabled im to destroy
the fierce brute that would otherwise have had
him by the throat. Wretched as the poor fel-
low appears, he handled his weapon well.
3mg: is he, and what have they been doing to

m
“ h. Master Vaughan, by those two ques-
tions it is easy to tell you are a stranger to the
island. I tb uk I can answer both, though I
never saw the young man before. Poor wretch!
The answers are written out upon his ski: in
letters that don’t require much scholarship to
read. Those upon his breast tell that hes
slave—the slave of J. J.. Jacob. Jessuron.
gong] excuse me from giving my opinion of

in.

“ What have they done to you. in poor fol-
low!” asked Herbert of the runaway’, his com-
passion hindgiuug him from waitiu for the
more rouuda t explanation of the .

The blood~bedaubed creature, perceiving that
the speech was addressed to him, made a long
rejoinder, but in a tongue unknown both to the

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

“V; ‘ .V.

":37. :5 - -

,< 3" 

Ire'fi.

 

  

The Maroon.

11

 

 

hunter and Herbert. The latter could distin-

li two words that he had heard before,
“ Foolah” and “ Allah,” both of which occurred
re tedl in thes .ech.

Raffle njcr) use melting him, Master Vaughan.
like yourself, he’s a stranger to the island,
though, as you see, they’ve already initiated
him into some of its ways. Those brands upon
his breast are nearly fresh, as you may tell by
the red skin around the letters. He’s just been
landed from Africa, it appears.”

“From Africa, you say? He has not got
negro features.” _ _

“ As to his features, that don’t Signify. There
are many African tribes who.are not negro-
featured. I can tell from this that he is a
Foolah. I hear him use the word as he talks.”

“Yoy-Foolahl Foolahl” cried the runaway
on hearing pronounced the name of his people;
and then he continued in a strain of the same
lan ge accompanied by much gesticulation.

" wish I knew his lingo,” said the hunter.
I know he’s a Foolah. It is some reason why I
should take an interest in him; and may be, if
only for that, I might—”

The speaker paused, as if he had been talking
to himself; and then continued the soliloquy
only in thought. After a pause he resumed
s c .

“ C‘rambol very little would tempt me not
to restore him to his master.”

“ And must you?"

“ I must. We Maroons are bound by a treaty
fodeliver up all runawa s we may take; and
if we fail to do so—that is, when it is known,
2knit th’ese villains of old Jessurou know I have

m...

“ You will receive a bounty, you say 1”

“Yes. They will try to deprive me of that:
but it isn‘t the bounty would tempt me in this
case. There is something about this young
fellow—My word, he is like herl—ay, as if he
were her brother.”

This last speech was delivered in solil uy.

“ Like her! Like whom ?” demanded erbert
with a puzzled look.

“Your pardon,” replied the hunter. “I wcs
struck with a resemblance between this poor
fellow and one whom I know; but, Master
Vaughan,” he continued, asif wishing to change
the subject, “you have not said how you came
to be all night in the woods? You Were hunt-
ing yesterday and lost your way i”

‘TruehI lost my way, but not exactly while
hunting.

“ Perh that is all the sort of breakfast you
luv-i had ’ and the Maroon pointed to some

'pieces of the palm cabbage that still lay on the

turf. ,

“Ihave both supped and breakfasted upon
it,” replied Herbert. “ I had climbed the tree
for water, when the boar came up to break his
fast upon what remained of it.”

The Maroon smiled at this explanation of
some circumstances by which even he had been
mystified.

‘Well," said be, “if you are not anxious to
return at once to Mount Welcome, and will
give me five minutes’ time, I think I can pro-
vide you something better than raw c-bbage.”

As he said this, the hunter raised his curved
lhorn to his lips and blew a long, tremulous

last.

“ That should procure us company and some-
thing to eat. master,” said he, allowing the horn
to drop back to its place.

“ Hark!” he continued, the instant after,
“ there are some of my follows. I thought they
could not be far off.”

As he spoke, the sound of a horn was heard
reverberatiug through the woods, and then
another, and another, until nearly a dozen couli
be distinguished, yet all in different directioas.
They ware evidently answers to the signal he
had sounded.

“ 80. Master Vaughan,” he resumed, with an
air expressive of triumph, though in a restrained
and modest way, “ you see these vultures'would
not have had it all their own ay? My hawks
were toonear for that. Not the less am I be-
holden to you, Master Vaughan. I did not
think it worth while tocall my people. I knew
the poltroons would not venture beyond a little
aw ring talk. See! they come!

“ $ hof"

“ The Maroons!”
Herbert heard a rustlin among the bushes on
the opposite side of the g ads; and at the same

' time, about a dosen armed men emerged from
the underwood, and advanced rapidly toward
~ theoeiba.

The young English ntlernau gazed u n the
“handing troop wi keen curiosity. “There
were about a doaen of them. all black men, or
nearly all, only one or two of them showing an
admixture of color. There was not a dwarfis
or deformed figure in the party. On the con-
trag, every man of them pomessed a tall stal-
wa form, strong muscular limbs. a skin shining
with health, and eyes sparkling with a vigorous
brilliance that betokened an innate sense of free-
dom and independence.

Their erect, upright carriage, and free, fora
ward step confirmed the belief, which Herbert
3 already formed, that these black men were

boodlmen. There

was nothing of the slave

 

either in their looks or gestures. But for the

‘ whom they ap ared to treat with submissive

color of their skins, he would never have thought [ deference, ha moved some distance away.
of associating such men with the idea of slavery. } leaving Captain Cubina alone with his English

Armed as they were with long knives and guns, 5
some of them with stout spears, they could not i
be slaves. Besides, their equipments (old that '
they were hunters, and warriors, if need be. ,
All of them had horns, with pouches s. spended I
over their shoulders; and each was provided
with a netted calabash for water, like that of
the yellow hunter, already described.

A few carried an equipment altogether differ—
ent, consisting of a small pannier of withe-Work.
or palm fibre neatly woven. It rested upon the
back, where it was held in its place by a band
of palm-sinnet. crossing the breast, and another
brought over the forehead, which thus sustained
a portion of the wright. This pannier was the
cutacoo, the depo itory of their rovisions, and
of such articles as were requir in their wild
forest rambles.

With regard to their costume, that was bi-
zarre, though not unpicturesque. No two were
dressed alike, though there was a certain idio-
sy ncrasy in their attire. which proclaimed them
all of one following. The toqued “ bandauna ”
was the most common head-dress, a few having
palm~leaf hats. Only some of them had a shirt
with sleeves: others wanted a complete pair of
trowsers; and one or two were naked from the
waist upward, and from the thighs down-ard
-—the white cotton loiucloth being the urique
and only garment! All of them had their feet
and ankles covered: as the stony and thorny
paths they were accustomed to tread rendered
necessary The r-haussure was the same with
all; and appeared to be a tight-fitting jack-boot,
of some species of raw hide, without seam or
stitchin of any kind; the reddish bristles stand-
ing thin y over its surface, proclaimed the char-
acter of the material. It was the skin of the
wild hog, the hind leg of a boar, drawn upon
the foot while fresh and warm, as it dries tight-
ening over the instep and ankle like an elastic
stocking. A little trimming with the knife is
all that is necessary for this ready-made mocca-
sin; and once on, it is never taken off till the
wearing of the sole renders necessary a refit.
Drawing on his boots, therefare, is no part of
the diurnal duties of a Jamaica hog-hunter.

“ This white gentleman has not eaten break-
fast,” said Cubina to his followers as the came
up. “ Well, Quacol what have you got your
cutacoosi’

The individual thus appealed to was a jet-
black negro of large dimensions, with a grave
yet quizzical cast of countenance. He appeared
to be a sort of lieutenant.

“Well, worthy capten,” answered he, salut-
ing the yellow hunter with a somewhat awk-
ward grace; “ I believe there’s enough. One
thing with another—that be, if the gen’lman
has Rut a good appetite, and ’s not too mee- about
what he eat."

” A fire, and be quick!” commanded Cuhina.

At the word gIVen a tinder was struck, dry
leaves and branches quickly collected, and a
sparkling, crackling fire sOon blazed upon the
ground. Over this was erected a crane, resting
horizontally on two forked sticks. which soon
giarried a brace of iron pots suspended in the

are.

A strong fire of dried fagots soon brought
the pot to a furious boil; and the lieutenant
Quaco—who appeared also to act as chef dc
cuisine—after repeatedly testing the contents,
at length declared that the pepper-pot was
ready or serving up.

Dishes, bowls. cups, and platters made their
appearance, all being shells of the calabash, of
diflerent shapes; and as soon as Herbert and
the captain were helped to the choicest portions
of the savory stew, the remainder was dis-
tributed among the men; who seating them~
selves in groups over the ground, roceeded to
discuss the well-known viand wit an avidity
that showed that it was also their breakfast.

The pepper-pot was not the sole dish of the
drjcumr. Pork steaks, cut from the carcass of
the freshly-slain boar. were added; while plan-
tains and “ cocoa-fingers.” roasted in the rshes,
contributed a substitute for bread not to be de-
spisingly spoken of.

The second pot boiling over the fire contained
cofiee; which, uafl'ed from the calabashes,
tasted as fine as f snipped out of cups of the
purest Sevres porcelain.

In this “ al-fresco ” feast the poor captive was
not forgotten. but Was supplied amon the rest.
the colossal Quaco administering to is wants
with an air of quizzical compassion.

Breakfast over, the Maroons gathered up
their traps, and prepared to depart from the
spo . '
Already the wild boar had been butchered,
cut up into portable ditches, and packed away
in the cutacoos.

The wales upon the back of the runaway had
been anointed by the hand of Quaco with some
balsamic cerate; and by gestures the unfortu-
nate youth was made to understand that he
wasto accompany the party. Instead of ob-

ectin to this his eyes Sparkled with a vivid
om e Cour-tray he had already ro-

 

celiied at their hands, he could not sugar evil.
The Maroons, out of respect.“ their chief,

guest. The latter, with his gun shouldered,
stood ready to depart.

“You are a stranger in the island?” said the
Maroon. half inlerrogatively. “I fancy you
have not been living long with your uncle?"

“ No,” answered Herbert. “ I never saw my
uncle before yesterday afternoon.”

” Crambo .' ” exclaimed the hunter captain in
some surprise; “you have just arrived, then?
In that case. Master Vaughan, and that is why
I have made hold to ask ou——you will scarce
be able to find your way ack to Mount Wel-
come. One of my people will go with you!”

“No, thank you. I think I can manage it
alone.”

Herbert hesitated to say that he was not
going to Mount Welcome.

“It is a crooked path urged the Maroon;
“though straight enough to one who knows it.
You need not take the guide so far as the great
house; though Mr. Vaughan, I believe, does not
object to our people oing on his grounds, as
some other planters 0. You can leave the
man when you get within sight of the place.
Without a gluide, I fear you will not be able to
find the pat ."

“In truth, Captain Cubina,” said Herbert,
no longer caring what idea his words might
communicate to his Maroon acquaintance, “ I
don‘t wish to find the path you speak of. I‘m
not going that way.”

“ Not to Mount Welcome?”
0‘ No.” \

“If you are going elsewhere you will need a

guide, all the same. This gla e is surrounded
y a vide stretch of tangled woods. There is
no god path leading anywhere.”

“ on are very kin ,” answered Herbert,
touched by the delicate solic:tude of this man
with a colored skin. “ I wish to reach Montego
Bay; and if one of your men would see me on
the main road, I should certainly feel under
great obligations. As to rewarding him for his
trouble, beyond thankzng him, I am sorry to
say that circumstances just now have placed it
out of my power."

“ Master Vaughan!” said the Maroon, smiling
courttously as he spoke, " were you not a stran-
ger to us and our customs, I should feel off» nded.
You speak as if you expected me to present you
with a bill for your breakfast. Yriu sum to
forget that. scarce an ura 0, you threw your-
self before the muzzle or a p stol to rotect the
life of a Maroon, a poor outcast mu atto of the
mountains! And now—but I forgive you. You
know me not—”

“ Pardon me, Captain Cabins; I am"
you-

“ Say no more! I know your English h
master—still uncorrupted by vile prejudices
caste and color. Long may it remain so; and
whether Captain 0mm may ever see on
a sin, remember! that up yonder in the glue

ountain.” the Maroon pointed as he spoketo
the purple outline of a mountain ridge, just
visib e ovrr the tops of the trees, “ up yonder
dwells a man— a colored man, it is true, but one
whose heart beats with gratitude perhaps as
truly as that of the whitest; and should you
eVer feel the farcy to honor that man with a
visit, under his humble roof you will find both
a friend and a welcome.” '

“Thanks!” cried the young Englishman.
stirred to enthusiasm by the free friendship of
the yellow hunter. “ I may some day avail my-
self of your hospitable offer. Farewell!"

“Farewell!” responded the Maroon, eagerly
grasping the hand which Herbert had held out
to him. “Quacol” he cried, calling to his lieu-
tenant, “ conduct this gentleman to the main
road that leads to the bay. Farewell. Master
Vaughan, and may fortune favor you!”

CHAPTER XVI.

quaco.

11' was not without regret that Herbert par.
ted with this new friend: and long time was be
following u n the heels of Quaco, before he
ceased to re ect on the circumstances that had
led to his making so singular an acquaintance.

Quaco, being one of the taciturn sort. made
no attempt to interrupt Herbert’s meditations
until the two had walked together for more than
a mile. Then, however, some matter upon his
mind brought the guide to a halt, and the com-
mencement of a conversation.

“ Two tracks from here, buckra. Wecanfol-
low either; but dis to the right am the shortest
--the best road, too."

“ Why not take it, than!"

“ O—a, master; there ma be reasons.”

“What! for avoidin it

“Ya—a!” replied uaco, in a thoughtful.
drawling tone.

“ What reasons, friend?”

“ Don’t on see the roof of a house, just our
theto 0 them pawpawsl”

“ es; what of that!”

“That’s the bartcoon.”

“ Thebaracoonf”

“ Ya-the pen of de Jew Jees‘ron."

“ And what if it be!”

“Ah, buckra, whatifit be! If we tab to

 

. €-
. .

 

  

 

 

 

 

The Maroon.

 

d_2

path to the ri ht we must pass the Jew’s house.
and some of h 3 people are sure to see us. That
John Crow’s a justice of the peace, and we may
get into trouble.”

“Ohl about the affair ofrthe runaway, ou
mean? Your captain said he belonged to a fir.
Jeasuron.”

“As much ’bout the dogs as the man. Cap-
tain had aright to claim the runawayas his
mtoh; but these S anish cusses ’11 make a muss
’bout thar dogs. hey’ll say our captain killed

' them out 0’ spite; that they’ll sw'ar to; since it‘s

well known we mountainee men don’t like such
interlopers here, meddlin’ with our business.”

“ But neither you nor I killed the dogs?”

“ Ah, buckra, all the same—you helped—-
your gun helped kill them. Besides you hin-
dered the John Crows from pecking t e hawk."

“For what I have done I am not afraid to
answer before a justice,—be it this Mr. J essuron,
or any other,” said the young Englishman, con-
scious of having acted rightly in the part he had
taken in the quarrel.

“ Not much justice to be expected from
Justice Jess’ron, master. My advice be to keep
out of the hands of justice as long ’s we can;
and that we can only do by taking the road to
the left."

“ Will it be much out of the way?” asked Her-
bert; not caring to greatly inconvenience him-
selfd for -the reasons set forth by his sable

i e.

“ othing to signify,” answered Quaco,
though not speaking very truthfully; for the
path he intended to take was really much longer
than the one leading by JessurOn s house.

“ In that case,” assented Herbert, “take
which way you please!"

Without further parley, Quaco strode for-
ward on the path branching to the left—as be—
fore, silently followed by him whom he was
guiding.

The track they had taken ran entirely through
woods—in some places very difficult to traVerse
on account of the thorny thickets as well as
the unevenness of the ground, which caused the
pith to be constantly ascending or trending
rapidly downward. At length, however, they
arrived at the summit of a high ridge, and were
moving onward amidst groves of pimento,
more open than the forest from which they
had emerged.

From the top of the ridge Herbert saw a large
house shining against the verdant background of

 

 

 

the landscape. which he at once recognized as i

the mansion of Mount Welcome.

They were not going toward the house, but in
a diagonal direction. which would bring them
out on the avenue near the entrance-gate.

Herbert called out to his. guide to make halt.

e young man did not like the idea of entering
u n the avenue, lest he might encounter some
0 his uncle’s people—a. circumstance which he
should not wish to have reported at the great
house.

He therefore requested Quaco to conduct him
by some way lying more to the ri lit, so that
he might reach the main road wit out being
Seen from Mount Welcome.

The guide yielded compliance, though not
without a little grumbling reluctance—as he
turned off, muttering some words about giving
“as wide a berth as possible to the ole Jew
penn.”

He obliqued, however, into a new direction;
and. after another traverse through the woods,
Herbert had the satisfaction of finding himself
on the main road leading to Montego ay.

The young Englishman had no further need
of a guide, and Queen was just on the point of
taking leave of him, when at that moment a
party of horsemen suddenly made their appear
ance round a bend in the road. There were six
or seven in all, and they were riding forward at
a rapid pace, as if bent upon some serious busi-
u

953.

At the first sight of these strangers, Quaco
shot like an arrow into the underwood, calling
upon the buckra to follow his exam le.

Herbert, hoWever, disdainin to hide himself,
remained standing in the midd e of the road.

Seeing his determination. Quaco returned to
his side; as he did so, clamorously proiesting
against the imprudence of his protege.

“Don’t like their looks," muttered the Ma-
roon, as he glanced apprehensively toward the

orsemen. “It might be—by the Great Ace

mpong, it isl—tbat harpy Ravener, the over-

seer ot' Jess’ron. Golly! buckra, we’s in for itl
No use tryin’ to ‘scape ’em now.”

As Quaco finished speaking, the horsemen
rode forWard on the ground, one and all halting
as they came to the spot where the pedestrians
were standing. '

“Here’s our fellow!" cried the bearded man
at their head, whorn Herbert easily identified.
“Just dropped upon him. like a duct: upon a
June bug. Now, Mr. Tharpey, do your duty!
We’ll hear what this young gentleman’s got to
say before the jus'ice.”

‘I arrest vou, sir,” said the person appealed
to as Mr. Tharpey. “I am bead constable
if the parish—l arrest you in the name of the

w.
“On what charge?” demanded Herbert, in-
dignantly. « ,

 

“MFUR'iVPDBI‘ herewill bring the charge.
I’ve got nothing to do with that part of i‘.=. You
must come before the nearest justice. I reckon
the highest justice from here is the Custos
Vaughan.”

This half interrogatory of the constable was
addressed, not to Herbert, but to his own fol~
lowers. Though it was sgoken in rather an un-
dertone, the young man card it with sufficient
distinctness, and with very little complaccncy.
To be carried back into the presence of his un-
cle, whom he had so lately defied, and in the
character of a felon—to be brought, under such
humiliating circumstance, before the eyes of
his fair cousin—before the eye-glass of his late
fellow-passenger, was a prospect that could not
fail to be unpleasant. .

it was a sort of relief, therefore, when Rav-
ener—who appeared to use some guiding influ-
ence over the constable and his passe co’mitu tus
——overruled the suggestion that Mr. Vaughan
was the nearest magistrate, and claimed that
honor for Jacob Jessuron, Esq., of the Happy
Valley.

After some discussion between the parties
upon this mo t legal int, the overseer s opin-
ion was adopted, art it was determined that

i the case should be carried before Justice J essu-

ron.

Both Herbert and his guide were then form-
ally arrested in the name of the king, and
marched of! in custody—not without some very
vociferous protestations on the part of Quaco,
with a long string of threats that he would

’ some day make both constable and overseer

pay for this outrage on the person of a free
Marcia.

 

CHAPTER XVII.
A SUDDEN CHANGE.

J ESSURON, Esquire, held Court in the veranda
of his dingy dVVGiIIUK-hUUrse, where we have al-
ready seen him assisting at a different s ctacle.

He was now seated, with a small tab e before
him, covered with a piece of green baize, and
carrying a gold snuifbox, an inkstand, pen,and
some sheets of paper.

A book or two lay upon the table, one of
which, by the lettering upon the cover, pro—
claimed its title and character—The Jamaica
Justice. It was bound in black leather—a color
sufficiently emblematic of the chief subject on
which it treated, for more than four-fifths of the
laws and regulations it contained related to
creatures w th black skins.

The justice was in full costume, as the occa-
sion required—that is, be Wore his best blue
body-coat with gilt buttons. his drab small-
clothes and top-boots. The brown beaver had
been laid aside, as the sanctity of justice requires
even the judge’s head to be uncovered, but the
white cotton skull-cap still remained upon his
cranium, justice in Jamaica not being so rigor-
ous as to exmct its removal.

Herbert had been brought up in front of the
table, his captor, the constable, and one or two
of the posse, standing behind him. On the right
side a peered Rivener, batkyl by two Spanish
caca area. the last mentioned worthies no
longer—as had formerly been their (amateur
custom—attended b their canine companiOns.

Quaco had been eft in the yard below, un-
guarded, since there was, in reality, no charge
against him.

There was one other witness to this magisterial
trial —the daughter of the justice himself. Yes,
the fair Judith was present, as on all important
occasions, but this time not conspicuously so.
On the contrary she was seated in a window
that opens-l on the veranda, her beautiful face
half-concealed behind the nctied fringe-work of
the curtains. The posi.,ion enabled her to ob-
serVe what was passing, without formally ex
posing her own person to view.

Her face was not altogether hidden, and her
white shining forehead and dark lustrous eyes.
gleamin through the gauzy muslin that veiled
them, on y ap eared more piquantly attracrive.

The young Englishman, though little disposed
at that moment to the contemplation of aught
be 0nd his own unpleasant position, could not
be p observing the beautiful face directly Oppo-
site. to where he stood.

Some time had been occupied by the OVPI‘SPGl'
in telling his story, to substantiate the charge
he had made. That done, the prisoner was put
upon his defense.

“Young man!” said the 'ustics, “you have
heard what thish witness a leges against you.
What hash you to say in your defense? And
first tell usli What's your name?”

“Herbert Vaughan.” . ,

“ Herbert Vochan?” repeated I the 1'Ist'ce.
“ Mi htyou be any kinshman of Mishter Vocaau
of ount Welcome?”

“His ne hew," was the laconic reply.

“ Ali! lush nephew! Bless mel ishtbat true?”

This announcement, as testified by his speech,
produced a sudden commotion in the mind of
the Jew justice. From some little that was
known of his secret hostility toward his neigh-
bor' of Mount Welcome—Ravener knew more
than a. little-it might haVe been ex iected that
the d scovery of the relationship of t e prisoner
woul have put him in high glee. To be sitting
in judgment upon the near kinsman of the Cus-

 

 

fl

tbs—accused of a serious crime, tooé-waa a
proud position for Jacob Jesauron, who could
remember many a s ht be had mceived from
the haughty lord of cunt Welcome.

Certainly the manner of the justice on learn—
ing who was before him seemed to indicate that
such were his reflections. He rubbed his skin-
ny hands together, helped himself from his gold
snuff box, g eefully smiled from behind his
glasses, which were once more shifted upon the
sharp ridge of his nose, and then. bending his
face forward over the table, he remained for
some moments smiliLg, but silent and thought-
ful, as if considering how he should proceed.

After a time he raised his e es and freshly
scrutinized the prisoner, who ad already re-
turned an affirmative answer to his last uery.

“Blesh my soul! I nchr knew that ishter
Vochan had a nepher You are from England,
young man? Hash your uncle any more Bing-

ish nephews?”

“Not that I am aware of,” replied Herbert,
frankly. “ I believe I am his only relative of
that kind—in England, at least.”

The roviso in his reply betrayed a significant

fact—t at the young man was not very well ao- r

quainted with the family affairs of his colonial
kinsman.

The astute justice did not fail to notice this
deficiency in the nephew's knowledge.

“ How long hash you been in Shamaim 9”
asked he, as if endeavoring to arrive at an ex—
planation of some point that was puzzling him.

“ A night and part of two days: in all, about
twenty-four hours,” replied Herbert, with scru-
pulous exactness.

" Blesh my soul l” again exclaimed the justice;
“ only twenty-four hours! it’in a wonder you’re
not at your uncle’s house? You hash been
there?”

“Oh, yes!” answered Herbert. carelessly.

“ You come to shta y at Mount Welcome, I
s“ posting?” d l thi i

or ert me. e no rep y to s nterrogatery.

“ You shleep there lash right? Excusbe me,
young man, for asbking the question, but ash a
magistratev”

“ You are erfectly Welcome to the answer,
your umrship, ’ said Heibert, laying a satirical
emphasis on the titular phrase; “ l didnot sleep
there last night.“

‘1 Where did you shieo p. then?"

“ In the woods.” answered Herbert.

“ Moshcshl” exclaimed the Jew-justice, rais-
ing his spectacles in surprise. "‘ In the woods,
ycu stay l"

“ In the woods,” reaffirmed the young man;
“ under a tree: and a very good bed I found it,”
he added, jocoaely.

“ Ard did your uncle know of thisb ?"

“ i suppose my uncle knew rothing al-out it,
and as little did he care,” replied Herbert, with
a n ckless indifference as to what answer he

go ve. .
The little emphasis on the last words, with the
tone in which they were delivered, did not es-

, cspe tie observation of Jessuron. A suspicion

bad arisen in his mind that there was somethii g
amiss in the relationship between the can

man and his uncle: to the comprehen on 0
which the answer of the former. aided by a
knowledge of the character and affairs of the
latter, was gradually giving him a clew. A
seciet joy sparkled in his sunken eyes, as he
listened to the last answer given.

All at once be discontinued the direct ex~ '

emination of the prisoner: and, signing to
thener and the constable to come near, he be-
can e engaged With these two worthiee in a
whi: ring conversation.

W at passed between the trio the young
Ergli-hnzan could not tell; nor indeed any one
else wi.0 chanced to be present. The result,
lrmcver, was to Herbert as pleasant as unex-

ccted.
} When Jessuron again returned to address
lzim, a complete change ep cared to have taken
ilace in his manner; and, nstead of the frown-
ing justice, Herbert now saw before him-a man
v» he appeared more in the character of a friend-
ly protector—bland, snnling, almost obse-
quious.

“Mashter Vochan.” said be, rising from his
magisterial seat, and extending his hand to the
prisoner, “ you will cxcush the rough treatment

‘ you hash led from then-h peo le. It ish a great

crime in Ihish country, he Bing a runawa
siilave to sshctpe; but as you ash joosh land ,
and cannot be ekshpected to know our sbtatutes,
the law deals mcrshifnlly with a firsht ofiense.
Besides, in thish instance, the runaway, who ish
one of my own shlaves, did not eshcape. He ish
in the hands of the Maroons, and will soon be
brought in. The punishment I inflict upon you
——and I shall insbist upon its being carried out-—
i~h, that you cuts your dinner with me. and I
think that ish unishment eno h. Mishter
Ravener,” adds be, calling to us overseer,
and at the same time pointing to Quaco, " take
that good fellow and see that be ish cared for.
Now, Mashtcr Vochan pleashe to step inside,
and allow me to introsliuce you to my daughter
Shoodith." 

It would have been contrary to all human
nature had Herbert Vaughan not felt gratified
at the pleasant ,tura which this disang

 

 

 

 

 

 

"""" r ~ L.‘ i' ‘

The I Maroon.

.13

 

 

alair had taken; and perhaps this gratifica-
tion was enhanced at the prospect of the pro-
posed introduction. Indeed, no man, however
cold his nature, could have looked u n those
lovely eyes, so long wistfully watc ing him
from the window, without wishing a nearer
a uainta'ice with their owner.

us had the chapter of accidents that con-
ducted Herbert Vaughan to the perm of Jacob
Jessumn been brought to a very unexpected
termination.

But the end was not yet. There was more to
come—much more.

Herbert was surprised at the turn things had
taken. The only explanation he could think of
was, that it was to his uncle’s name he was in-
debted for the honors that were being done to
him—a mere neighborly feeling of the penn-
keeper for the great sugar-planter.

“They are friends,” thought Herbert, “and
this_kindness to me is the offspring of that
friendship”

The re ection did not give him pleasure, but
the contrary. He felt himself in an awkward
position—the recipient of a hospitalit not meant
for himself but rather for one who ad injured
him, and who. although his own relative, he now

rded us his enemy.
nfluenced by these considerations he re
solved to throw oil' the mask with which cir-
cumstances had momentarily invested him, and
declare the true position in which he stood to
his haughty relative.

It was not until the conclusion of the dinner,
after the daughter of his host had retired smil-
ingly from the table, that the young English-
man unburdened himself. Then—perhaps a
little prompted by the wine—he made a full
confession of the dies reeable circumstances ex-
isting between himsel and the master of Mount
Welcome.

Was it the wine, somewhat freelv pressed
upon him, that hindered him from perceiving
the displeasure which his Communication had
produced upon his nearer! Was there any show
of displeasure?

If there was, Herbert did not perceive it.

On the contrary, had the young man been
closely observant, he might have noticed an
eflect of- altogether an opposite character. Be-
hind the green goggles he might have seen those
deep, dark Israeliti>h eyes sparkling with joy at
the revelation he had made.

“I’m exsheedingly sorry, young Mashter
Voehan,” said the Jew. after his surprise at
Herbert’s revelations had apparently subsided:
“ exsheediugly sorry I ish, to hear that you and
your uncle are not on good terms. Ah! Well,
we mush hope for the besht; and ash I am one
of Mishter Vochan's humble friendsh, possibly 1
might do eomethinsh to reconshile your little

uarrel. Doosh you not intend going back to
ount Welcome?"

“ Never! After what has passed, never!”

“Achlvyoush musht not be too revengoful.
Mishter ochau ish a proud man; and I musht
say he hash behaved badly, very badly; but
still he ish your uncle.”

“ He has not acted as such."

“ That ish true—very true—thish fine ge tle-
man vou shpeak of: shtill, that ish no reason
why ishter Vochan should treat hish own
nephew so shappy. Well, well; I am sorr , ex-
sheeding sorry. But, Msshtei' Herbert,’ con-
tinued, the penn keeper, interrogating his guest
with evident interest, “what dosh you intend
to do! I suppose you hash mouish of your
own?"

“I am sorry to say, Mr. Jessuron, I have
not.”

“ No monish at all!”

“Not a shilling,” aflirnied Herbert, with a
careless lau b.

“That ts bad. Where dosh you think of
going, since you shay you will not return to
Mount Welcome?”

‘tWell,” said Herbert, still preserving his air
of Jocularity, " 1 was making for the port again,
when your worthy overseer: and his friends in-
wycepted me, luckily, I may say, since, but for
their intervention,  should, in all likelihood,
have no Without dinner to-day; at all eve..ts,
I shou d not have dined so sumptuous! .”

H A wretched dinner, Mashter ochan—a
misherable dinner to what your uncle could
have given you. I’m but a poor humble man
compared with.the Cushtosé but what I hash
ish at your serv1ce any time. ’

"Thanks!" said Herbert. “I know not. Mr.
Jessuron, how I shall ever repay you for our
hospitality. I must not tax it any lon r, ow-
ever. I see, by the sun, it is time I s ould be
making for the ba .”

As Herbert spo 9, he was rising to take his
departure.

"Shtop, shtopl” cried his host, ushing him
back into his chair; “not to-nig t, Mashter
Vocban, not thish night. I can’t promish you
ash fine a as yoush might not at Mount
Welcome but 1 think I can give you a better
ash you slileep in last night-ha, ha! You musht
sta with ash thish night: and Shondith will
ma e you some music. Don’t shay a word; I
takesh no refushal.”

The offer was a tem ting one; and, after
some further pressure, erbert acquiesced init.

 

He was partly influenced to stay where he was
by the poor prospect of a lodging which the Bay
afforded him; and. perhaps, a little from a de-
sire to hear the promised music.

The conversation was continued by his host
plotting some further interrogatories:—How dld

erbert intend to employ himself in the Bay!
What prospect had he of employment? and in
what line?

“I fear not much in any line,” replied the
young man, answering both‘ questions in one,
and in a tone of sarcastic despondence. '

“ Hash you no profeshionl'

“Alas, no !" replied Herbert. “ It was in—
tended by my father I should have one, but he
died before my education was completed; and
my college—as is too often the case—hos taught
me little more than a knowledge of dead lang-
uages.”

“No ushe—ho ushe whatever,” rejoined the
intelligent Israelite.

“ I can draw a landscape,” pursued the young
man, modestly, "or aint a rtrait tolerably
well, I believe; my other himself taught me
these accomplishments.”

“ Ah, Mashter Vochan, neither ish of the
shlightisht ushe here in Shamaira. If on could
paint a house, ora wagon, or a she eeper’sh
sign, it would bring you more mon sh than to
make the likeneshes of every face in the island.
What saysh you to the situation of book-
keeper?”

“ Unfortunately, I know nothing of accounts.
The very useful science of book-keeping I have
not been taught.”

“Hal ha! ha!" replied Jessuron, with an en-
couraging chuckle, “you ish what we in Sham-
aica call green, Mashter Vochan. You musht
know that a book-keeper here hash no books to
keep. He dm sh not even put a pen to paper.”

“How is that, Mr. Jessuron! I have heard
the statement before, though I did not compre-
hend what was meant by it.”

“Then I musht explain, Mashter Vochan. 1
roprie- ‘

There ish a law here which makes all
tors of shlavcs keep a white man on hi estate
for ever fifty blacksh. Avery chilly law it
ish, but it ish a law. Theesh white supernu.
meries are called book-keepers: though, ash I’ve
told you, they keepsh 1.0 books. Nowyou un-
derstand what it meansh.”

“ Then, what duties do they perform?”

“ Oh. that depends on circumshtances. Some
look after the shlaVes, and st me do thish and
some that. But, egad! now I think of it, Mash-
ter Vochan, I am myshelf in need of a book~
keeper. I have joosh bought a new lot of
blacksh, and I musht not break the law. I am
ushed to give my book keepers fifty poundsh a
year, currenshy; but if you would be content to
accept such a berth, I would make the salary—
on account of your uncle—a hundred poundsh a
year. You would also be found in everything;
elshe. What dosh you shay, Mashter Vochan?’

This unexpected proposal on the part of the
perm-keeper causal his guest to hesitate and
reflect.

Not long, however. His forlorn, homeless
situation presented itself too forcibly to his
mind to keep him long in doubt as to what an-
swer he should make.

Suffice it to say that the offer, which to the
young Englishman appeared only too generous,
was accepted; and from that hour the Happy
Valley became his home.

CHAPTER XVIII.
A DUSKY swurrman'r.

Tan departure of the young Englishman, un-
der the conduct of Quacohwas a signal for the
black hand to disperse.

At a word from their chief they broke up into
knots of two or three individuals each, and Went
of! in different directions, disappearing amid the
underwood. as silently as they had emerged
from it.

Cubina alone remained in the glade, the cap-
tured runaway cowering noon a 0g beside him.

For some minutes the Maroon captain stood
resting upon his gun, which one of his followers
had brought up, his eyes fixed upon the captIVe.
He a ared to be meditating what course he
shouldpepursue in relation to the unfortunate
slave, and the shadow upon his countenance told
that some thought was troubling him.

The Maroon captain felt himself in a dilemma.
His duty was in conflict with his desires. From
the first the face of the captivs had interest/ed
him, and now that he had time to scan it more
narrowly. and observe its noble features, the
idea of delivering him up to such a cruel mas-
tar as he whoae initials he bore upon his breast
became all the more repugnant.

Duty demanded him todo so. It was the law
of the laud—one of the terms of the treato
which the Maroons were hound—and disc i-
ence to that law would be sure to certain with
punishment stringent and severe.

True, there was a time when a Maroon cap-
tain would have held obedience to this law more
lightly, but that: was before the conquest of
Trelawny town—or rather its traitorous be-
trayal—followed by the basest banishment re-
corded among men.

That betrayal had brought about a chan e.
The Maroons, who had avoided the forced e,

 

 

and‘still remained in" the mountain 'fastnesses,
though preserving their independence. were no-
longer arpOWerful people—only a mere remnant,
whose weakness rendered them amenable. not
only to the laws of the island, but to the tyranny
an caprice of such planter-justices as might
choose to persecute them.

Such was the position of Cubina and his little
band, who had established themselves in the
mountains of Trelawny.

With the Maroon captain, therefore, it was a
necessity as well as a duty to deliver up the
runaway captive. F: iling to do so, he would
place his own liberty in peril. He knew this,
without the threat which Ravener had fulmin-
ated in such positive terms.

His interest also lay in the line of his duty.
This also he could understand. The captive was
a prize for which he would be entitled to claim a
reward—the bounty!

Not for a moment was he detained by this
last consideration. The respect of the reward
would have had no weig t with him whatever;
it would not even have cost him a reflection.
but that, just then, and for a very singular pur'
pose, Cubiua rrquired mone .

This purpose was revealedy in a soliloquy that
at that moment escaped from his lips.

“ Orambo!” he muttered,using an exclamation
of the Spanish ton e, still found in a co
form among the roons; “if it wasn’t that I
have to make up the purchase money of Yola—
Por Dina! he is as like to Yola as if he was her
brother! I warrant he is of the same nation,
perhaps of her tribe. Two or three times he has

ronounced the V'Old Foolah. Besides, his color,
is shape, his hair—all are like here. No doubt
of it, he’s a Foolah.”

The last word was uttered so loud as to reach
the ear of the runau av.

“Yah! Foolah. Foolah!" he exclaimed, turn-
ing his eyes appealineg upon his captor. “No
s2 vs—no slave!” added he, siriliing his hand
upon his breast as he repeated the words.

" Slave! no slave!” echoed the Maroon, with a
start of surprise; “ that’s En lish enough.
Thev’ve taught him the ugly wor .”

“Foolah rue—no slew!” again exclaimed the
youth, with a similar gesture to that he had al-
ready made.

“ Something curious in this,” muttered the
Marten, musingly. “ What can he mean
saying he is no slave—For that is certainly what
l e is trying to say? Slave he must be, else how
did he get here? I’ve heard that a cargo has
been just landed, and that the old Jew got most
or all of them. This young fellow must be one
of that lot. Very likely he’s picked up the word
aboard ship. Perhaps he is speaking of what he
was in his own country. Ah, poor devil! he’ll
soon find the difference here.

“ Santos Dies!” continued the Maroon, after
a pause, in which he had been silently regarding
tlecountenance of the newly-arrived African.
“ It‘s a shame to make a slave of such as he-a
hundred times more like a freeman than his
master. Poor fellow! it’s a hard row he’ll have
10 hoe. I feel more than half-tempted to risk
it, and save him from such a fate.”

As this half-determination passed through the
mind of the Maroon, a noble and proud expres-
sion 02 me over his features.

" If they had not seen him in my possession)
he continued to reflect; “but the overseer and
those Spanish poltroons know all. and will—
Well, let them l—at all events, I shall not take
him back till i’ve seen Yola. No doubt she can
talk to him. If he’s a FOolah she can. We’ll hear
what he’s got to say. and what this ‘ no slave’
means.”

0n saying this the speaker turned his eyes up-
ward, and appeared for some moments to scan
the sun.

“ Good,” he exclaimed. “ It is near the hour.
I may expect her at any moment. Oh! I must
have him out of sight, and these dead do s, too.
or my timid pet will be frayed. There’s nso
mu: h doing about here—blood and fire-she will
scarcely know the old trysting-plare. Hark lyou,
Foolah! Come this way and squat yourse f in
here till I call you out again."

To the runaway the gestures of his captor
were more intelligible than his words. He un-
derstood by them that he was required to con-
ceal himself between the buttresses of the oeiba;
and, rising from the log, be readily obeyed the
re uisition.

9 Maroon captain seized the tail of one of
the dead hloodhounds: and, after trailing the
carcass for some distance across the glade, flung
it into a covert of bushes.

Returning to the ceiba, in a similar manner-ho
removed the other; and then, once more cautiou-
ing the runaway to remain silent in his conceal-
ment, he awaited the approach of her who had
given him asaignation.

The lover who is beloved need never fear dis-
appointment. True to her tryst, and punctual
to the time, did the expected sweetheart make
her appearance within the glade.

The girl spoke first.

“ Oh, Cubinal news I have tell.”

“Come, my love what news! Ah! you are
lookin grave, Yola; your news is not veryjoyr
ful, I ear."

“No, not joyful; bad news.”

 

5r.
.

   

 

 

:14

The Maroon.

 

 

“Let me hear them, love. Something Cyn-
"thy has been saying to you? You shouldn’t
‘ heed what that girl says.”

“No, Cubina, I no care what her me tell.

I her know, wicked, bad girl. Not Cynthy say
that,tbing me trouble now. Missa Kate me
tell.’
_ “Ah! something Miss Vaughan has told you?
I wouldn’t look for bad news from her. But
what is it, dear Yola? Maybe, after all, it‘s
nothing.”

“Ah! yes, Cubina, something.
keep from you long, long time.”

“Keep you from me! Surely Miss Vaughan
don’t object to your meeting me?” .

“No. not that. Something I fear me hinder
from be—”

“Be what!” inquired the lover, seeing that
his sweetheart hesitated to pronounce some
word, the thought of which was causing her to
blush. Come. dear Yola, don’t fear to tell me.
You know we’re enga ed; there should be no
secret between us. hat were you going to

I fear me

so

In a low, murmured voice, and lookin lov-
ingly in his eyes as she spoke, the gir pro-
nounced the word “marry. ’

“Ho, ho!” exclaimed the lover, in a confi-
dent tone. “ I think nothin can occur to hin-
der that, at least for a very ong time. I have
now nearly a hundred pounds laid by, and a
lucky capture I’ve just made this mornin will
help still further to make up that sum. urely
the Custos will not require more than a bun lred
pounds; though if you were once mine,” con-
tinued the speaker, casting a look of smiling
fondness upon his sweetheart’s face, “ all the
money in the world wouldn’t tempt me to part
with you ”

“Ah, Cubinal” replied his slave—love. with a
sigh, " that the bad news 1 you bring. Hundred

unds no more enough. Only two days ago,

0 have him ofl'er twice so much for p .or slave
Yola.”

" Two hundred pounds offered for you I” ex-
claimed the Maroon, with a start of surprise,
his brow becoming suddenly clouded. “ Is that
what on mean, Yola!”

“ A .' yesl” answered the slave, repeating her
lad sigh.

“And who—who is he!" demanded the lover,
in a quick, earnest tone. at the same time that
u gleam of jealous thought fiishe‘l from his
(sitark eyes, like forked lightning across a clouded

‘ A white man?” continued be, without wait‘
ing for the reply to his first question. " I need
not ask that. at tell me, Yoia, who is he that’s
so desirous of becoming your owner. You know,
I sup veer”

“ issa Kate me tell all. He Jew—wicked
white maul Sime who me take from big ship;
and me first sell M-isia Vaughan.”

“Ha!” sharply e ncnlatcil the lover, “that
old wretch it isl icked white man you may
well call him. I know the old villain well.
Orambo.’ what can he want with her!” mut-
tered the Maroon. musingly, but with a IPA)“-
bled mien. “ Some vile purpose, to a certainty!
Oh, sure 1" Then, once more addressin; himself
lo his slave sweetheart:

“ You are certain, Yola, the old Jew made
this offer?"

“ 80 me say yoving missa.”

“Two hundred pounds! And Mr. Vaughan
refused it?"

“Missa Kate no al’ow qusa Vaughan me
sell. She say ‘Never!’ Ahl young missal she
good for say so! No mater what money he
give, she never let wicked white man buy Yola.

he say so many time.”

“ That is well: she means, she would not part
with you against your will. But if I offer to
buy you. it would be a diff-rent thing. Perhaps
you might let her know all. after awhile. But

have something to learn first. and I don’t wish
you to tell her till then. So keep our secret.
dear Yola. for a little longer.

” And now," continiied the Maroon. changing
his: tone and turning toward the cribct as he
spoke, “I’ve go something to show you. Did
you ever see a runawavi”

“ Runaway i" said the girl; “ no, Cubina,
never."

“ Well, my love. there’s one not far off; he
that I said I had capturei this morning. only a
little while ago. Ami I‘ll tell you why I'va ke 1;
him here—bemuse I fancied that he was ii 0
yourself. Yola.” -

“Like me?”

“ Yes: and that is why I felt for the pmr fol-
low something like pitv, since it. is to this Cruel
old Jew he belongs. From what I can make
out, he must be one of your people; and I’m cu-
riop?’ to know what account he will give of him

“He Foolah, you think?" inquired the Afri-
can maiden, her eyes sparkling with pleasure at
the antici tion of seeing one of her own race.

"Yes. am as good as sure of that: in fact,
he has called himself a Foolah several times,
though I can’t make out what he savs. If he is
one of our tribe. you will be able to talk to
him. ere heisl" -

Ouhina had by this time dondiicted his sweet-

 

 

runaway was concealed betwaen the two
8 urs.
p’l‘he young man was still crouching within the
angle, close up to the trunk of the cm'ba. The
moment the two figures came in front of him,
and his eyes fell upon the face of the girl, he
s rung to his feet, uttering a cry of wild joy.
ike an echo, Yola repeated the cry; and then,
both pronouncing some hurried phrases in an
unknown tongue, rushed together, and became
folded in a mutual embrace.

Cuhina stood transfixed to the spot. Surprise
—something more—held him speechless. He
could only think:—

“She knows himl Perhaps her lover in her
owu land.” .

A keen pang of jealousy accompanied the
thought.

Rankliug it remained in the breast of the Ma-
roon, till Yola, untwining her arms from the
fond embrace, and pointing to hi u who had re-
ceived it. renounced the tranquilizmg words:
“ My brotIFer! ”

 

CHAPTER. XlX.
CARD IAC ANALYSIS.

INAPPROPRIATE as Jacob J essuron’s neighbors
may have deemed the title of his estate—the
Happy Valley—Herbert had no reason to regard
it as a misnomer. From the hour in which he
entered upon his situation of book-keeper, it
was a round of pleasures, rather than duties,
that he found himself called u on to fulfill; and
his new life, so far from being aboriously spent,
was one continued scene, or series of scenes, of
positive (pastime.

instea of keeping books, or looking after
slows—or, in short, oing anything that might
be déemed useful—mat of his time was spent
in excursions, that had no other object than
recreation or amusement. Drives to the Bay,
in which he was accompanied by Jessuron him-
self, and introduced to his mercantile acquaint-
ances; visits to neighboring penns and planta-
tions with the beautiful Judith, in which he
was made acquainted with her circle; fishing
parties upon the Water. and picnics in the woods;
all these were afforded him without stint.

He was furnished with a fine horse to ride,
dogs and e uipments for the chase—eyery thing,
in short, on culated to afford him the life of a
gentleman of elegant leisure. A half-year's
salary had b en advanced to him unasked, thus
delicately giving him the means of replenishing
his wardrobe and enabling l~im to appear in
proper costume for every occasion.

Certainly, the Cprospects of the pom steerage-
passenger sceme to have undergone a change
for the better. Through the generosity of his
unexpected patron he was pla) ing a role at the
Jew’s penn not unlike that which his fellow voy-
ager was, at that very time, performing at
Mount Welcome: and as there was r.ot much
difference in the social rank of the respective
circles in which they were each revolving, it
was by no means improbable that the two might
meet again, and upon a more equal footing than
formerly;

To do Herbert Vaughan justice, it should be
stated that he was more surprised than gratified
by the luxurious life he was leading. There
was something rather extraordinary in the gen-
erous patronage of the Jew—somrthing that
puzzled him not a little. HOW was he to ac-
count for such kind hospitality?

Thus for days after Herbert Vaughan had
made the Happy Valley his home matters moved
on smoothly enough to the superficial observer.
Slight incongrnities that did occur from time to
time were ingeniously explainedzand the young
En lishman, unsuspicious of any evil esign,
witfli the exception of the unwanted hos itallty
that was being bestowed upon himse f, saw
nothing extraordinary in the circumstances that
surrounded him.

Had he been less the honored guest of his Is-
raelitish host perhaps his perceptions might
have been more scrupulous and discriminative.
But the Arabs have a proverb. “ It is not in hu-
man nature to speak ill of the horse that has
borne one out of danger,” and human nature in
the East is but a counterpart of its homonym in
the West. Noble as was the nature of the

oung En lishman, still it was human; and to

ave “ spofimn ill of the bridge that had carried
him safely Over,” and from that desolate shore
on which he had late been stranded, would have
argued a nature something more than human.
if be entertained any suspicion of his at-
ron’s integrity he zealously kept it to himsc f—
not with any idea of surrendering either his in-
de ndence or self-respect. but to await the de-
ve opment of the somewhat inexplicable cour-
tesy of which he was the rec‘pient.
his courtesy was not confined to his Hebrew
host. As Herbert had long been aware, his
daughter exercised it in an equal degree. and far
more gracefully. Indeed, among Other trans-

formations that had been remarked as occur- -

ring in the Happy Valley. the spirit of the fair
Jewess seemed also to have sustained a remark-
able change. Though upon occasions the proud,
imperious temper would manifest itself, more
generally now was Judith in a sentimental vein
——at times approaching to sadness. .There were

 

show itself. Then the spiral nostrils would curl
with contempt, and the dark Israelitish eyes
flash with malignant fire.

Ha pily, these rather ungraceful exhibitions,
like t e tornadoes of her native land, were rare,
for a certain name—the cause that called them
forth-was but rarely pronounced in her hear-
ing. Kate Vaughan was the name.

Herbert Vaughan had passed scarce a week
under the roof of the Jew’s mansio when its
mistress was in love with him, to the ends of her
fingers, to the very extreme of jealousy!

As for the object of this fervent passion, the
young man was at this time altogether unable
to analyze his own feelings.

It is true that the im rious spirit of the
Jewess, aided by her end ess wiles, had gained
a certain ascendancy over him; but not so as to
obliterate the image that had recently become
im ressed upon his heart.

n the short interview which he had had with
his cousin Kate. Herbert Vaughan had looked,
for the first time in his life, on one whom to look
at was to love.

Thou h sensible that he had no claim upon his
cousin yond that of kinship—though not a
word had been spoken by her to show that she
felt for him any other kind of regard, Herbert,
strange enough, had conceived a hope that some
day or other a more endearing relationship
might exist betwaen them.

Not for long was he cheered by this sweet ex-
pectancy. It was too transitory to stand the
test of time. As day succeeded day, rumors
reached him of the gay scenes that were trans-

iring at Mount Welcome. Especially was he
informed of the conientedness of his cousin
Kate in the society of the new companion which
her father had provided for her.

The effect of this information was a gradual
but grievous extinction of the slight hope which
Herbert had conceived.

The circumstances with which chance had
now surrounded him may have rendered these
regrets less sinful. Though his cousin cared
not for him, e had no reason to feel forsaken or
forlorn. By his side—and almost constantly by
his side—was beauty of no common brilliance,
showering smiles upon him of no ordinary at-
tractiveness.

In such a dilemma was the heart of Herbert
Vaughan. No wonder he found a difficulty in
effecting its analysisi

In a condition somewhat similar to Hirhert's
was the heart of his crusin: though hers was
easier to analyze. It was simply trembling un-
der the influence of a first and virgin low. Two
forms had been presented toit in the same tour,
both in the blush of youthful manhood—one a
distinguished gentleman, the other an humble
adventurer.

The former had the additional advantage in

riority of inii'oduction;the latter was not even
introduced. But the favorite does not always
win. The earliest on the courSe may be the
latest in the race: and though the heart of the
young creole, on its ure virgin page, had re-
ceived love’s image at rst sight, it was not that
of him who first presented himself to make the
impresswn.

Nor was she kept in igntrance of outward
events. Her maid Yola was the medium by
which she was acquainted with them. ’i‘hrr ugh
this medium she had brand of Herbert’s irnx~
imity, of his happii css and prosperity. The
news would have giVen her jov lut that she had
heard he was too hm i-y. Strange that this
should be a cause of hiricrnessl

As for the distinguis- ed Smythje, he was not
always in one mind. He, too, was troubled
with ‘l an alternation of hopes and fears. The
former, however, generally predominated, and
for the most part, he felt in is spirit the road
confidence of a conqueror. Often, with homs
as lis audience, might- Smythje be heard exult-
ineg repeating the dispatch of Caesar—“ Veni,
m'di, vici.”

 

CHAPTER XX.
» 'rmi: SMYTHJE BALL.

AS a climax to the round of fries got up for
the express amusement of Mr. Smythje, an-
other was inaugurated—a compliments y ball—-
Mr. Smythjr the recipient of the comp imenit

No doubt, Mr. Vaughan would have looked for-
ward to the vathje ball with pleasant anticio

ntion, as likely to afford him a social triumph,
rut‘for the fact that he knew his nephew would
be there. ,

In Mount Welcome the name of Herbert
Vaughan was no ion or heard. Even Kate-—
whether it was that s e had grown more sane,
for she had been chided more than once for
introducing it into the conversation, or whether
she had ceased to think of him—even she never
pronounced his mum.

For all that, Mr. Vaughan was still vexed
with some lingering suspicion that in that
direction lurked danger; and this determined
him to prevent, as far as lble, any interview
between his daughter on nephew.

He had taken his daughter to task upon flail
sub ect; and, using the all stretch of parental
ant ority, compelled her to a solemn promise,
that she was not again to speak to her cousin,
nor even acknowledge his presence!

 

 

 

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It was a hard promise for the poor girl to
make. Perhaps it would haw iren ~iill harder,
had she knewn Herbert‘s di.- .tion toward
her.

The night of the Smythjo ball came round in
due course. The grand ball-room of the Bay
was decorated as became the occasion. Flags,
testoons, and devices hung around the walls;
and over the doorwa a urge tian~parency,
su rted by the loy emblems or the Union
Jggoand banner of St. George, and sur-
mounted hy the colonial colors, proclaimed in
letters of eighteen inches diameter:

“ WELCOME TO SMYTHJE!”

The hour arrived; the band shortly after;
close followed by strings of carriages of every
kind current in the island. containing scores, ay,
hundreds of dancers. Twenty miles was nothing
to to a Jamaica hell.

he band struck up, and the dancing began.

It need scarce be said who was Symth e’s
first partner—Kate Vaughan, of course. he
Custos had taken care of that.

The partner of Judith Jessuron was Herbert
Vaughan.

From the gossip of a crowded hall-room many
a secret may be learnt. In those late hours,
when the su per champagne has untied the
tongue, and ancers begin to fancy each other
doe , he who silently threads his way or stands
still among the crowd may catch many a sen-
tence not intended to be overheard, and often
least of all by himself. Many an involuntary
eavesdropper has fallen into this catastrophe.
.At least two instances occurred at the Smythje
hall; and the two individuals in whom, per-

we are most interested—Herbert and
Kate Vaughan.

Herbert was standing alone in the crowd.
Two young planters were near him, engaged in
convorsation. They had mixed their liquor,
and therefore talked loud.

“When is it to come off?" inquired the least
knowing of the planters, from him who was
im rting the information.

‘ No time fixed yet,” was the reply; “at
least,” none has been mentioned. Soon, I sup-

“There will be a rand spread upon the
motion—breakfast, ner, supper, and hell,
no doubt!"

“Sure to be all that. The Custos is not the
man to let the ceremony pass without all the
mint.”

“ Honeymoon tour afterwards?”

“Of course. He takes her to London. I
believe they are to reside there. Mr. Smythje
don't much relish our colonial life; he misses
the opera. A pity; sinco it’ll make one beauti-
ful woman less in the island l”

Almost at that same moment Kate, too. was
listening to a dialogue painfully analogous.
Smythje could not dance all the night with her.
“Too many claimed the honor of his partnership,
and for a set or two she had been forsaken by
him-left under the guardianship of the watch-
ful Cantos.

“ Who can he be?” inquired one of two gentle
 within earshot of Kate.

“ _ young Englishman, I have heard, a rela-
tive of Vaughan’s of Mount Welcome, though,
for some reason. not acknowledged by the Cus-

" That bold girl a pears willing enough to ac-
knowledge him. ho is she?”

“ A Miss Jenni-on. She is the daughter of the
old Jew peuu-keeper, who used to deal largely
in blacks.”

“ Faughl she is beliavin as if--”

“True enough!" asser the other: “ but, as
they are engaged. that, i take it, is nobody’s
business but their own. He‘s a stranger in the
island, and don’t know much about certain peo-
ple’s poaition. I suppose. A pity! He seems a
nice sort of a young fellow; but as he makes his
bed, so let him lie. Ha! ha! If report speaks
true of Miss Judith Jesseron, he'll find no bed of
rows there. Hal hal be!”

What causes merriment to one may make an-
other miserable. This was true of the words
last spoken. From the speaker and her com-
vnion they elicited a laugh — from Kate

aughan they drew a sigh, deep and sad.

She left- the ball with a bleeding heart.

f‘Imtl lost foret er!” murmured she, as she
laid her cheek upon a sleepless illow.

“ Won i" triumphantly excla med Judith Jes-
suron, flinging her majestic form on a couch.

“ Herbert Vaughan is mine!”

“Lost! lost forever!" soliloquised Herbert, as
be closed the door of his solitary sleeping-room.

“ Won!" cried the victorious Bmyth 9, enter-
in his elegant bedchamber, and, in e fervor
of his cotbusi sm. dropping his metropolitan
Mu. “ Kate Vaughan is mine i”

 

CHAPTER XXI.
- I ma Dum’s HOLE.

On the flank of the “ Mountain ” that frowned
toward the Happy Valley, and not far from the
Jumbo Rock a ring gushed forth. 80 ions
was it as to t the name 0' fountain. n its

, «ascent down the slope it was joined by others,
and soon hemme- torrent, leaping from ledge

to ledge, and foaming as it followed its onward
' course.

About half-way between the summit and
base of the mountain a doe longitudinal hol-
10w lay in its track, into which the stream was
preci itated. in a clear, curving caseide.

This singular hollow rt'Sembied the crater of
an extinct volcano, in the circumstance that on
all sides it was surrounded by a preci ice facing
inward, and rising two hundred eet SheoI‘
from the level below. It was not of circular
shape, howcvor, as craters generally are, but of
the form of a ship. the stream falling in over
the poop, and afterward escaping through a
narrow cleft at the bow.

Preserving the simile of a ship, it may be
stated that the channel ran directly fore and
\aft, bisecting the bottom of the valley, an area
Vof several acres, into two equal parts; but in
consequence of an obstruction at its (lit, the
stream formed a la oon, or dam, flooding the
whole of the to eck, while the main and
quarter-decks were covered with a growth of
indigenous timber-trees, of appearance prime-
val.

The water, on leaving the lagoon, made its
escape below, through a gorge black and nar-
rOW, bounded on each side by the same beetling
clifls that surrounded the valley. At the lower
end of this gorge was a second waterfall, where
the stream again pitched over a precipice of
several hundred feet in hight; and thence tra-
versing the slope of the mountain, ended in be-
coming a tributary of the Montego River.

The upper cascade precipitated itself upon a
bed of grim black bowlders: through the midst
of which the froth-crested water seethed swiftly
onward to the lagoon below.

Abhve these bowlders hung continuously a
cloud of white vapor, like steam ascending out
of some gigantic caldron.

When the sun was upon that side of the
mountain, an iris might be seen shining amid
the fleece-like vapor. But rare was the eye that
beheld this beautiful phenomenon: for the
Duppy’s Hole—in negro parlance, the appella-
tiOa of the place—shared the re utation of the
,Jumbe Rock; and few were t e negroes who
I would have ventured to approach, even to the
edge of this cavernous abysm; fewer those who
would have dared to descend into it.

Indeed, somethingJ more than superstitions
terror might have indered the eXe-cution of
; this last project; since a descent into the

Dupgy’s Hole ap‘peared an impossibility. Down
,the eetling all s that encompassed it, there
2 was neither path or pass—not a ledge on which
the foot mig t have rested with safety. Only
at one point—and that where the precipice rose
over the lagoon—might a descent have been
made; by means of some stunted trees that,
rooting in the clefts of the rook, formed a strag-
gling screen up the face of the clifi. At this
point an a lie individual might possibly have
scrambled finwu; but the dammed water—dark
and deep—Would have hindered him from
reaching the quarter-«deck of this ship-shaped
ravine, unless by swimming; and this, the suck
of the current tows-rd the gorge below would
have rendered a most perilous performance.

It was evident that some one had tempted
this peril: for on scrutinizing the straggling
trees upon the clifl, a sort of stairway could be
distinguished, the outstanding stems serving as
steps, with the parasitical creepers connecting
them together.

Moreover, at certain times a tiny string of
smoke might have been seen ascending out of
the Dugpy’s Hole; which. aftercurling diffusely
over t e tops of the tall trees, would dissolve
itsle and become invisible. Only one standing
upon the cliff above, and rting the foliage that
screened it to its ve rink. could have seen
this smoke: and, if on y superflciall y obserVed,
it might easily have been mistaken for a stray
waif of the fog that floated above the waterfall
near which it rose. Closely scrutinized, how-
ever, its blue color and soft filmv haze rendered
it recognizable as the smoke of a wood fire,
and one that must have been made by human
hands

Any day might it have been seen. and three
times a day-at morning. noon, and evening—
as if the fire had been kindled for the purposes
of cooking the three regular meals of breakfast,
dinner, and supper.

TheI diurnal appearance of this smoke proVed
the presence of a human being within the Dup-
py’s Hole. One, at least. disregarding the super-
stitious terror attached to the place, had made
it his home.

By exploring the valley, other evidences of
human presence might havo been found. Under
the branches of a la a tree, standing by the
edge of the la oon, an from which the silvery
tillandsia fell n festoons to the surface of the
water, a small canoe of rude construction could
be seen, a foot or two of its stem protruding
from the moss.

A piece of twisted withe, attaching it to the
tree, told that it had not drifted there by acci-
dent. but was moored by some one who meant
to return to it. '

CIOse under the cliff and near where the no
code came tumbling down from the rocks. stood
a tree that deserves particular mention. It was

 

 

 

a ceiba of enormous dimensions. with a b' a.
tressed trunk, that covered a surface of mu.
than fifty feet in diameter. Its vast b0] , rial.)
nearly to the brow ‘ f the (-llfi‘. extended hon-
zonta ly over an area on which live hundred
men could have conveniently encnmped: while
the profuse growth of Spanish moss clustering
upon its branches, rather than its own sparse
frliage, would have shaded them from the
izlun,d completely shutting out the view over-

eh .

Not from any of these circumstances was the
tree distinguished from others of its kind fre
quently met with in the mountain forests of
Jamaica. What rendered it distinct from thee
around was that between two of ihe great
spurs exien ing outward from its trunk. an ob-
ject appeared which indicated the presence of
man.

This object was a hut constructed in the most
simple fashion, having for its side walls the

late~like buttresses already mentioned, while in

rout a stockade of bamboo stems completed the
inclmure.

In the center of the stockade a narrow space
had been left open for the entrance, which could
be closed, when occasion requiri d, by a door of
split bamboos that hung lightly upon its hinges
of withe.

The sun was just going down to his bed in the
blue Caribbean, and tinting with a carmine—
colored light the glistening surface of the Jumbe
Rock, when a human figure was seen ascending
the mountain path that led to that no.ed sum-
mit.

Notwithstanding the gloom of the indigenous
forest—every moment becoming more obscure
under the fast-deepening twilight—it could be
easily seen that the figure was that of a woman'
while the buff complexion of her face and naked
throat, of her gioveless hands, and shoelem
and stockingless feet and ankles, proclaimed her
a man of color—e mulatta.

Her costume was in keeping with her caste.
A frock of cotton print of flauntin pattern,
half open at the breast: a toque of adras ker-
chief of gaudy huess-these were all she won,
excepting the chemise of scarcely White calico,
whose embroidered border showed through the
opening of her dress.

Though it was evident that her errand was
not one of ordinary business, there was nothing
about her to betray its exact urpose. A basket
of palm wickerwork, sus ni ed Over her wrist,
a peared to be filled wit provisions: the half-
0 osed lid permit-ting to be seen inside a cougar.
ics of yams, plantains, tomatoes, and capsi-
cums; while the legs of a guinea-fowl protruded
from the opening.

This might haves ed a certain purpose—-
an errand to market; at the unusual hour, the
direction taken, and, above all, the air and
bearing of .the mulatta, as she strode up the
mountain path, forbade the supposition that she
was going to a market. The Jumbe Rock was
not a likely place to find sale for a basket of
provisions.

After all, she was not bound thither. On ar-
riving within sight of the summit. she paused
upon the path; and, after looking aiound for a
minute or two, as if making a reconnoissnnce,
she faced to the left, and advanced diagonally
across the flank of the mountain.

Her turning aside from the Juvrbe Rock
could not have been from fear: for the direction
she was now following would carry her to a.
place cquslly dreaded by the superstitious—the
Du py'sHo 3.

but she was proceeding to this place was
evident. There was no distinct path leading
thither, but the directness of her course. and
the confidence with which she kept it. told that
she must have gone over the ground before.

Forcing her way through the tangle of vines
and branches, she strode courageously onward,
until at lengths-the arrived on the edge of the
clifi that hemmed in the cavernous hollow.

The point where she reached it was just above
the gorge, the place where the stairway led
down to the lagoon.

From her actions it was evident that the way
was known to her, and that she meditated a de-
scent into the bottom of the valley.

That she knew she could accomplish this feat
of herself, and expected some one to come to
her assistance was also evident, from her pm-
ceedin tomake a signal as soon as she arrived
upon t e edge of the cliff.

Drawing from the bottom of her dress a small
white kerchief, sh‘e spread it open upon the
branch of a tree that .w conspicuously over
the precipice; and t . resting her hand
against the trunk, she stood gnang with a fixed
and earnest look upon the water below.

In the twilight, now fast darkening dowe-
even the white kerchief might have remained
unnoticed. The woman, however, appeared to
have no apprehension upon this head. Ber gap
was expectant and full of confidence: as if the
signal had been a preconcerted one, and she was
conscious that the individual for whom it was
intended would he on the look out.

Forewamed or not, she was not dissppointai.
Scarce five minutes had transpired from tho
hanging out of the handkerchief, when a cane.
was seen shooting out from under the moss-gar-

 

 
   

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nlahed trees that fril
lagoon and making or the bottomo
beneat the spot where she stood.

A single individual occupied the canoe; who,
even under the somber shadow of the twilight,
up red to be a man of dread aspect.

e was a negro of gigantic Size; though that
might not have appeared as he sat squatted in
the canoe but for the extreme breadth of his
shoulders, betwe'n which was set a huge head,
almost neckless. His back was bent like a bow,
presenting an enormous hunch, partly the eflect
of advaiiCed age, and partly from natural mal-
formation. His attitu ie in the canoe gave him
a double stoop: so that. as he. leant forward to
the paddle, his face was turned downward, as
if he was iegarding some object in the bottom
of the craft. His long, npe like arms enabled
him to reach ovar the gunwale without bending
much to either Side: and only with these did he
appear to make any exertion, his body remain-
in perfectly immobile.

The dress of this individual was at the same
time grotesque and sav . The only part of
it which belonged to civil fashion was a pair
of white trowaera or drawers. of coarse Osua-
burg linen, such as are worn by the field hands
on a sugar lam-idol.
hue told tli they had long been strangers to
the laundry; while seVeral crimson colored
blowhes upon them proclaimed that their last
wettinghad been with blood, not water.

A sort of karma, or cloak, made out of the
skins of the utia, and hung over his shoulders,
was the only other garment he Wore. This,
fastened round his thick, short neck by a piece
of leathern thong. covered the whole of his
body down to the ham-i, the Osnabiii-g drawers
continuing the costume thence to his ankles.

His feet were bare. Nor needed they any
protection from shoes. the soles being thickly
covered with a horn-like callosity, which ex-
tended from the ball of the eat toe to the
broad heel far protruding bac ward.

The head-dress was ually bizarre. it was
aaort of cap, constructifdl out of the skin of some
wild animal; and fitting closely, exhibited, in
all its phrenological In! new the huge negro
cranium which it covered.
but, in its place, the dried and stufled skin of
the great yellow snake was wreathed around
the temples, with the head of the reptile in
front, and two sparkling pebbles set in the
fickets of its eyes to give it the appearance of

i el

Thecountenanoe of the negro did not need

this terrific adornment to inspire those who be-

 W “are 

Their dirty yellowish v

here was no brim: ‘

held it with fear. The sullen glare of his deep. 1

set eye-balls: the broad, gaping
teeth, flied to 8. int, and gleaming, shark-like,
behind bk purp a li ; the red tattooing upon
his cheeks and broa breast—the latter exposed

nostrils; the .

by the action of his arms—all combined in mak- '

ing a picture that needed no reptiliform addition
to render it hideous enough for the most horrid
of purposes. It seemed to terrify evan the Wi't‘.
denizens of the Duppy’s Hole. The heron,

coaching in the sedge. flipped up with an;
aflrighted cry; and the flamingo, spreading her ,

scarlet wings. rose screaming over the clifl's,
and flew far away.

Even the woman who awaited him—bold as
she may have been, and voluntary as her ren-
dezvous appeared to be—could not help shudder»
ing as the canoo drew near; and for u moment
she appeared irresolute, as to whether she should
trust herself in such uncanny company.

Her resolution, however, stimulated by some
strong passion, soon returned; and as the canoe
swept in among the bushes at the bottom of
the olifl, and she heard the voice of its occupant
summoning her to descend, she lucked t' \ sig-
nal from the tree, fixed the has et firmly over
her arm, and commenced letting herself down
through the tangle of branches

The canoe reappeared upon the open water,
returning across the lagoon. The mulatto wo-
man was seated in the stern, the man, as before,
plying the paddle, but now exerting all his
strength to prevent the light craft from being
carried down by the current, that could be
{Laird hissing and groaning through the gorge

ow.

0n getting back under the tree from which he
had started, the negro corded the canoe to one
of the branches; and then scramblin upon
shore, fol10wed b the woman, he w ed on
toward the temp e of Obi—of which he was
himself both oracle and priest.

CHAPTER XXII.
rm: RESURRECTION.

ARRIVED at the cotton-tree but. the myal-
man—for such was the negro—dived at once
into the open door, his broad and hunched
shoulders scarce clearing the aperture.

In a tone rather of command than request, he
directed the woman to enter.

The mulatta ap to hesitate. Inside the
place was dark as bus; thouch without it was

 

not very diflerent. The shadow of the ceiba
r with its dense ahrouding of moss, interrupted
every ray of the moonlight now glistening
Among the tops of the trees.
The negro noticed her hesitation. ‘
n , repeating his command

“0‘01 P‘criedha

l

‘ ard and de glass snake. ydid try kill’im,

 

in the same gruff voice. “ You me satby—
what fo’ you fear!" l

“ I’se not afraid. Chakra,” replied the woman, i
though the trembling of her Voice contradicted I
the assertion; “only,” she added, still hesita-
ting, “ it’s so dark in fhere."

‘ Well. den——you ‘iay outside,” said the other, i
relentin ; “you 'tay dar who you is; a soon I
’trike a ight.” i

A fumbling was heard, and then the chink of .
steel against flint followed by fiery sparks. i

A piece of punk was set ablaze, and from this I
the flame wuscommun‘cated to a sort of lamp.
composed of the carapace of a turtle, filled
with wild-hog’s lard, and having the wick
twisted out of the down of the cotton-tree.

“ Now you co:ne in Cynthy,” resumed the
negro, placing the lamp upon the floor. " Whal
you ‘till ai'eard! You de dunter ob Juno Vagh’n
——you modder no fear ole Chakra. Whughl she
no fear de Debbil!”

Cynthia, thus addressed, might have thought
that between t. e dread of these two personages
there was not much to choose: for the Devil
himself could hardly have appeared in more
hideous guise than the human being who stood
before her.

" Oli Cliakrnl” said she. as she stepped inside
the door. and caught sight of the wdrd-lmking
Furniture of the walls; “ woman may well be
fraid. Dis am a feeifiil lace!”

“ Not so fearful. as de unibe Rock," Was the
reply of the myal-mun, accompanied by a signi-
liennt glance, and something between A. smile
and a grin.

“ True,” said the mulatto, graduallv remver
ing her self-imsessiion; “true: you hab cause
say so, Chakra.”

“ Des a fnc’. Cynthg.”

“But tell me. goo Chakra,” continued the
mulatta, giving way to a woman’s feeling—
curiosit . “ how did you ebber acape from the
J umbe k? The folks said it was your skele
ton dat was there—chain to de palm-tree!"

“ De folk ’peek da troof. M y 'keleton it was,
jesa as dey say.”

The woman turned upon the speaker a glance
in which astonishment was mingled with fear,
the latter predominating.

“ lYour skeletoni” she muttered, interroga-
tive . '

“ em same old bones—dc ‘kull, de ribs, de
jeinte, Arum-ticks, an’ all. Golly, gal Cynthy!
dat ere ’ ars ’stonish you. Wha fo’? Nuflin in
daat. ou sabby old Cviakral You know he
myal-man? Doan care who know now—so long
dey b’lieve um dead. Wba for myal man ef he
no bring de dead to life ’ in? Be shoe Chakra
no die hisself. so long he news how bring dead
body to de life. Ole Chakra know all dat. Dey
no kill him nebberl Neider de white frlk nor
do brack folk. Dey may shoot ’im wid gun:
dey may hang ’im by de neck; day may cut of!
’im head; he come to life ’ ain, like do blue liz-

you know. Dey ’tarva him til be dis ob hunger

and those. De John Crow pick out him eve=.

and tear de flesh from de old nigga’s body; leab

niiflin but de bare bones! Hal hakra ’lih yet;

he hab new bones, new flesh! Gollyl you him

rel, he ’trong, he fat as ehber he wa’l Hal ha!
a!

And as the hideous negro uttered his exciting
laugh, he threw up his arms and turned his eyes
toward his own person, as if appealing to it for
proof of the resurrection he professed to have
accomplished l

The woman looked as if petrified by the reci-
tal; every word of which she appeared im licit-
ly to believe. She was too much terri ed to
speak. and remained silent. apparently cower-
ing under the influence of a supernatural awe.

The myal~man perceived the advantage he
had gained; and seeing that the curiosity of his
listener was satisfied—for she had not the slight-
est desireto hear more about that matter—he
adroitly changed the subject to one of a more
natural character.
th“;cu‘ve brought do basket ob wittle, Cyn-

.Y
“ Yes, Chakra—there.”

" Golly! um‘s bery good—guinea-hen an‘
plenty nh vegetable fo de pepperpot. Anything
fn’ drink, gall Habeii‘t for at daat, a hope!
Di drink am da inose partick a ob all.”

“ I have not forgotten it. Chakrn. There’s a
bottle of rum. You’l find it in the bottom of
the basket. 1 had a deal trouble steal it.”

“ Who you ’teal ’im from?"

“ Why, master: who else? He have grown
berry partickler of late: carries all do keys him-
self; and won’t let us colored folk go near do
storeroom, as if we‘re all ’tcevin’ cats!”

“ Neboa mind—uebba you mind, Cynthv—
may be Chakra watch him by’m-bv. Wa,
new 2” ad-ied be, drawing the bottle of rum
out of the basket, and holding it up to the light.
" De buckra preacher he say dat ’tolen water
am sweet. A 'pose dat ’tolen rum fella de same
excepahun. A see ef um do.”

So so ing, ti a negro drew out the stopper.
raised t e bottle to his ll , and buried the neck
up to the swell between is ca acious jaws.

A series of “clocks” procla med the pass

 

 

of the li uor our his palate, and not until a
had, wed halfa pint ofthe sci-y fluid,

~____a

did he withdraw the neckof the bottle from be-
tWeen his teeth.

“ Whugh l” he exclaimed, with an aspirate»
that resembled the snort of a startled hog.
"Whughl” be repeated. stroking his abdomen
with his huge paw. “ De buckra reacher may
talk ’bout him ’tolen water, but gig me do ‘tole'n
rum. You good gal. Cynthy—ycu berry good
gal, fo’ fetch ole Chakra dis nice basket 0' wittle.
He sometimes berry hungry—he need um all."

"I promise to bring more, whenebber I can.
get away from the Buff."

” Das right, my picaninnyl An’ now. gal."
continued e, char. in his tone, and regarding
the mulatta with a 00 of interrogation, " wha"
fo’ you want see me dis night? You hab some
punpos particklai Dat so—eh, gall”

The mulatm stood hesitating. There are oer~
thin secrets which woman avows with relnet--
ance—often with repugnance. Ber low is one;
and of this she cares io make confession (ml to
him who has the right to hear it. Hence yn-
thiu‘s silcnt and hesitatlng attitude.

“Wha’ fo’ you no ’peaki” asked the grim con-—
fessor. “ Bhoo’ you no hab fear ob ole Chakra?
You no need fo’ tell ’im—he know you secret
n’ready-—yon lub Cubiiia, de cap’n ob Marconi
Dat troof, eh i"

“ It is true, Chakra. I shall conceal nothing
from you ”

“ Better not. ’cause you can’t ‘ceal nnffin from
ole Chakru. He know ebbery ting—little bird
tell um. We now, wha' nex’i You tink Cubina
no li:b you?”

“Ali! 1 am sure of it!” replied the mulatto...
her bold Counlenauce relaxing into an anv
guishw' ex ression. “ I once thought he love
me. New no think so.”

“ Yi ii link him lub some odder gall”

“I am sure of it! Oh! I have reason!"

“ Who -r in dis odderl”

H Y0] a”

“ Yols? Dat ere name sound new to no.
thr d’s she ’long to?”

" She belongs to Mount Welcome. She ha
Kate’s maid.

“ Lii] Quasheba I call dat young lady.” nut--
terad t e myal-man, with a knowing grin.
“But dis Yolai” he added; “whar the come-
fromf A nebber bear de name afo’.”

" Oh. true, Chakral I did not think of tellin’
you. She was bought from the Jew and fetched
home s’inCe you—that is, after you left the plant-
aticn.’

“ Arter I lef’ do lantaiion, to die on da Jam.
be Rock—ha, ha, al Dat’s wha’ you mean,
Cynthyf"

“ Yes; she came soon after.”

“ So do t’ink Cubina lub her!”

it] do.”

“ An’ she ’ciprocate de fekshunf”

” Ah. surely : How could she help do that!”

The interrogatory betrayed the speaker’s ba—
lief that the Maroon captain was irresistible.

“ We, then, wha’ you want me do. gall You
want rebhenge on Cubina, ’cause he hab ’trayed
you'.‘ You want me put de death-’pell on him!"

“ Oh, no, no l—not that, Chakra, for the love
of Heavenj—not that!”

“ Den you want do lub- f”

“ Ah! if he could he ma (4 love me ‘gainl Ba
did once. Tth is, I thought he did. ls 

 

sible nod Chakra, to make him love mea f”
“ A I t’ing possible to old Chakra; an' to prove
dat,” continued he, with a determined air, “he
promise to put de lab-spell on Cubina.”

 

CHAPTER XXIII.
rim LOVE-SPELL.

Tm: countenance of the myal man had as-
sumed an air of sclemnity that betokened seri-
ous determination: and the mnlatta felt a pre-
sentiment that, in return for his services, some-
thing was about to he demanded of her—somek
thing more than a payment in meat and drink.

His mysterious behavior as he passed around
the hut—now stopping before one of the gro-
tesque objects that adorned the wall, now fum-
bling among the little bags and baskets, as if
in search of some iicular charm; his move-
ments made in so emu silence only broken by
the melancholy sighing of the cataract without
——all this was producingon the mind of the ma-
latta an unpleasant impression; and, despite
her natural courage. sustained as it was by the
burning passion that devoured her, she was fast
giving way 'to an indi flnable fear. '

The priest of Obi. after appearing to have
worshi' each fetim‘h in turn, at 10'th trans-
ferred is devotions to the rum-bottle. perhaps
the most potent god in his whole Pantheon.
Taking another long-protracted tation. fol-
lowed by the customary " Whugh " be restored
the bottle to its place; and then, seating himself
upon a huge turtle-shell. that formed part of
the plenishing of his temple be commenced giv-
ing is devotee her lemon 0 instructions.

“ Fuss, den.” said he, “ to put de inn-spell on
anybody—elder a man or a woman—it am nea—
sary, at de same'time, to hah do obeabspell
go ’lon wi’ it.”

“ What!" exclaimed his lbtoner, exhibiting.-
a degree of alarm—“the obeah-spelli on ‘0').
bins. do you meant”

"No,noton him; doth notions-aneur-

.--

 

x-‘na

 

 

 r .
,.‘;~;,.' 4' ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Maroon.

— "F443": _ vi- 'r t  ,. {‘fig,-.>._’ff;.a."

. _. . . i.....~'.a.w._— M. F». v... .
r.» firm...»-,a,p.a .,W;:,.,..:mt. , V‘. . .‘4

1'7.

 

earqnence. But 'fore Cuhina he made lub you,
.meb’dy else muss: be made sick.”

“ Who 1" quickly inquired the mnlatta, her
mind at the moment reverting to one whom she
might haVe wished to be the invalid

‘ Who you t‘ink fo’? who you greatest enemy
you wish make sick?”

“ Yola,” answered the woman, in a low, mut—
mred voice, and; with only a moment of hesita-

“Woan do—woman woan do: must be man.
An’ more dan dat, mUs-s be free man. Nigga
slave woan do. Obi god tell me so jess now.
Buckra man, too, it muss be. If buckra man
kab do obeah-‘pell, Cubina he take (16 liib-spell
strong—he lub you hard as a ole mule can
kick.”

“ Oh, if he would I” exclaimed the essionate
mulatta. in an costasy of delightfu expecta-
tion; “ I shall do anything for that—anything!”

“Den you muss help ut de obeah spell on
some oh de white fok. ou hab buckra enemy
-Ciiakra hob de same.”

“ Who!" inquired the woman, reflectively.

"Who! No need tell who Cliaki'a enemy—-
you enemy, too. Who fooled you long time ’goi
who ’hused you when you wa’ young gal? No
need tell you dat, Cynt v Vagh’nl"

The mulatta turned her eyes upon the speaker
with a significant expression. Some old mem-
ory seemed resuscitated by his words, evidently
anything but a pleasant one.

' Massa Inftus?” she said, in a half— whisper.

“Barrio shoo, Massa Loftus, dat ere buckra
you enemy an' mine boat."

“ And you would———”

" 8% de obeah fo’ him." said the negro, finish-
ing the interrogatory, which the other had hesi-
tated to pronounce.

The woman remained without making an-
swer, and as if buried in reflection. The ex-
pression upon her features was not one of re—
pentance.

“ Muss be him 2" continued the tem ter, as if
to win her more oomph-t.er to his dar project;
“no older do so well. Obi god say sic—muss be
de planter ob Moun’ Welc‘in.”

" If Cuhina will but love me, I care not who,”
rejoinei the iuulatta, with an air of reckless de-
termination.

“’Nui! sod,” resumed the myai-man. “ De
obeah-snell sha’ be set on de proud buckra.
Lolus Vagh’n; nn’ you, Cynthy, muss ’Sist in
do workin’ oh ile charm.”

“ Hovcan I assist?” inquired the woman. in
a voice whose trembling told of a slight irreso-
htion. “ How, Chakra‘?"

“But you be tole bv’m-by, not dis night. De
'pea take time. God Obi he no act all at once,
not eben fo’ ole Chilkl‘lt. You come ’gain when
I leab de signal fo‘ you on de trumpet-tree.
Till den you kee dark’bout all dese t’ing. You
one ob de few at know ole Chakra still ’liva.
Odders know oh de. ole myal-man in de mask,
but berry few ebber see um face, an’ nebba sus-
peck who urn be. Das all right. You tell who
(b mval-man am, den—~”

. "0h. never Chakra," interrupted his listener,
‘neverl”

“No, berra not. You tell def. Cynthy, you
soon feel de obeah-s ll on yousefl.

“ NOW. gal.” continued the negro, rising from
his seat, and motioning the mulatta to do the
same. “time fo’ you go. I s’pecks one odder
soon: no do fo‘ j on to be cotch hya when dat
adder come. Take you basket, an’ folla me."

So saying. be emptied the basket of its hetero-
8000‘13 conlentS. and. handing it to its owner,
conducted her out of the hut.

CHAPTER XXIV.
m: BARGAIN or oaaaa.

m a while after the de—parture of Cynthia,
the temple 0' 0')I_ remained untenanted, except
by its dumb deities: its priest having gone to
ferry his neophyte across the lagoon.

In a few minutes he returned alone, havirtirg
left the mulatta to make her way up the cli ,
and h()r:lewal'd to Mount Welcome, where she
U‘ I \ii '6 .

"It isms “Went “"1? the visit of the mulatte
had given him gratlflcition. Even in the dim
light of his 18111)!)an a!) expression of demoniac
joy could be distinguished upon his ferocious
visage, as he re—entered the but,

“one dead 1" cried he, in an exulting tOlm;

' anoiider "90“ "m deaf'h'bf‘d; and now do

third. de ias' an’ wuss 0b em all—ha! ha! hal—
he soon feel no Vengeance ob om“, do my“-
man!" . .
Tin-ice did the Wild, maniac~hke laugh peel
from under th? §PMdmil “mbsof the ceiba, re-
verberating wun an unearthly echo against the
clifls that hemmed in the Due y’s Hole. It
startled the denizens of the dar lagoon; and,
like echoes, came rinsing up the ravine the
scream of the crane, and the piercing cry of
the wood ibii. ,

These sounds bad 9081'“ died “my, when one
of a somewhat different intonatiOn w“ hard
from above. it W'l‘mad a “min 01' rather
a, u some 0.1.: had whistled through his gun".
whoever gum utterance to the sound w" upon
the top of the cliff—just over the hut.

Chakra was not startled. Helknew it w" .

 

 

signal: and that it was given by the guesthe
was expecting.

“Da‘s de ole Jew!” muttered he, taking the
rum-bottle and concealing it under the bed-
stead. “You sta dar till I wants ye ’gain,”
added he, addressi’ng himself in a confidential
tone to this, the object of his greatest adoration.
“Now for de ni a-dealerl I’se hab news fo’
him ’1] tickle ’im 11 de ribs like a ole guano. liz-
Z'ird. Not dat Chakra care fo’ him. No—only,
on dis voyage. boaf am sailiii’ in de same boat.
Da he go ’gainl”

This last exclamation referred to a repetition
of the signal heard further down, as if he who
was sounding it was advancing along the clifl,
toward the gorge at the lower end.

A third call proceeded from that point where
the iree stairway scaled the precipice, indicat-
ing to Chakra that his visitor was there await-
ing him.

Without further delay, the ferryman—grim
as Charon himself—returned to his canoe; and
once more paddled it across the lagoon.

Whi e Chukra was thus occupied. a man could
be seen descending the clifl’, through the tangle
of climbing plants, who, on the arrival of the
canoe at the bottom, was standing, half con-
cealed among the bushes, ready to step into it.

'-'I'be moon shone upon a blue body-coat, with

bright buttons; upon a brown beaver hat and

white skull-cap; upon tarnished top—boots, green .
T oba her, dat make her do moee anythinL—ah!

goggles, and an enormous umbrella.
C

akra did not need to scan the sharp Israel- !

 

itish features of the man to ascertain who he 3

W88.

Jacob Jessuron was there by appointment; ‘
‘ doubtingly, “ you hash a drink, goot Shakra—I
; know you hash a drink ash potent asObi or any

and the inyal-man knew both his presence and
his urpose.

ot a word of recognition passed between the 1

two, nor sign. Only a caution from Chakra, as
the Jew, swinging by a branch, let himself
down into the canoe.

“’Tep in lightly. Maser! Jake, an' doan’ push
da canoe down ’tream. ’T am jess’ as much as
I kin do to keep de ole craft out ob de eddy.
Ef she get down da, den it ’ud. be all up Wifh
boat 0’ us.”

“Blesh my soul! D’ you shay so?" rejoined

the Jew, glancing toward the gorge, and shiver- :

ing as he listened to the hoarse greening of
the water among the grim rocks. ‘ S‘help me,
I didn’t know it was d-~ngerous.
Shakrai I shtep in ash light ash a feather."

So saying, the Jew dropped his umhri Ila into
the bottom of the boat: and then let himself

down upon the top of it, with as much gentle- ,

ness as if he was descending upon a basket of
08

e ferryman, seeing his frei ht safely aboard,
paddled back to the mooring-p ace; and, having
secured his craft as before2 conducted his visitor
up the valley in the direction of the but.

On entering the temple of Obi, Jessuron—un-
like the devotee who had just left it—showed no
signs either of surprise or fear at its fantastic
adornments. Is was evident he had worshiped
there before.

Nor did he evince a special vendration for the
shrine; bu. seating himself familiarly on the
bamboo bedstead. uttered as he did so a sonor-
ous “Aclil” which appeared as if intended to
ex ress satisfaction.

t the same time he drew from the ample
pocket of his coat a shining object, which, when
eld before the lamp,~eppeared to bee bottle.
The label seen upon its side, with the symbolical
bunch of grapes. proved it to be a bottle of

ac.

Elbe exclamation of the myal-man, which the
sight of the label had instantaneously elicited
proved that on his side equal satisfaction axis
at this mode of initiating an interview.

“ Hash you a glass among your beionginsh?”
inquired the Jew, lookin around the hovel.

‘ No; dis eer do?” as ed his host, presenting
a small cala ash with a handle.

“ Fush rate. Thish liquor drinksh out of
anything. I had it from Capten howler on
hish lasht voyage. Jesh taste it, good Shekra,
before we begins bisbnees.”

A grunt from the negro announced his willing
assent to the pro 9.].

“ Whughl” he ejaculated, after swallowing
me hallowance poured out for him into the cala-

S .

“ Achl gcot it ish!” said his guest on quaflin
of! a like quantity, and then the bottle an
gourd being set on one side, the two queer char-
:icters entered into the field of free conversa-

on.

In this the Jew took the initiative.

“ I hash news for you,” said he, “ very
shtrange news, if you hashn’t already heard it,
Shakrai Who dosh ou think ish dead?"

“ Hal” exclaimed the myal-man, his eye ud-
denly lighting up with a gleam of ferocious joy,
“ he gone dead, am he?”

“ Who? I hashen’t told you,” rejoined the

Don’t fear, ‘ _
‘ Obi work—’im look berry like p‘isen.”

 

i
i

l
I

 

Jew, his features assuming an expression of;‘

mock surprise.
ter a pa

knew Justish Bsile was sick, an' not likely to

get over it. Well— e hashen‘t, poor maul—he’s '

dead and in hish coflin by thish time; he breath-
ed hish lasht eeterday.”
A load an highly-aspirated “Whngh” was

“But true,” he motioned, af- v
Use: “ true. you knew he wash sick—you i

I
i
l
I

‘ things?

the only answer made by the inst-man. m-
utterance was not mean! to convey any melan-
choly impression. On the contrary, by it.
peculiar intonation, it indicated as n uch seas--
action as any amount of words could have ex-
proceed.

“ It ish very shtrange,” continued the penn—
keeper in the same tone of aflected simplicity;
“ so short a time shince Misht'er Burr h y died.
Two of the three shustices that sat on your trial,
goot Shakra. It looksh ash if Provide-nah had a
hand in it—it dosh l”

‘ 0r de Dihbil, mo’ like, maybe!" rejo'ned
Chakra with a significant leer.

“ Yesh. Gott or the Devil, one or t’other.
Well, Shakra, 'ou hash had your refenge,
whichever hash elped you to it. Two of your
enemies ish not likely to trouble you again; and
ash for the third—”

“ Nor he berry long. We speck,” interrupted
the i-egro With a significant grin.

“What you shay?” exclaimed the Jew in an
earnest undertone. “ Hush you heard any-
Hnsli the wean been to see you?"

“All right ’hout her, Massr Jake.”

“ Goot, she hash been?”

, “gees leab dis place 'bout qnar’rob an hour
0.

“ And she saysh she will help you to set the
obeah shpell for him!”

“ Heb no fear—she do all dat. Obi had spell

anythin’ in de worl’-—satin shoo. Oh all power
ful wi’ dat gal.”

“ Yeah, yeah,” assented the Jew; “ I knowsh
And if Obi wash to fail,” added be

other of your gotsh.”

A glance of mutual intelligence passed be-

tween the two.
. “ How long dosh it take your shpell to work?”
inquired the perm-keeper after an interval of si-
lence, in which he seemed to be making some;
calcul tion.

“D t,” replied the negro, “dat depend alto-
gedder on de sacconistance oh how ion de ll
am wanted to work. Ef ’im wanted, Che
make ’im in tree day fetch de ’trongest indiwid-
dihle cla out 0’ ’im boots. or in tree hour he do
same; but oh coarse dat ’ud be too soon fo’ be
safe. A spell of tree hours too ’trong. But not

“ Poison—yesh, yeah, it would.”

“Tree da too short—tree week am decor-
rect time. 11 de spell work ’zactly like fever
ob de typos. Nobody had s’ icion ’bout’um."

“ Three weeks you shay! nd no symptoms.
to make schandal? You’re shure that ish sufli-
cienl? Remember, Shakra, theagnshtos let a
stron man, strong ash a bull.” - -

“ _o mar’r ’bout dat. Ef he ’tron as do
bull, in dat period ob time he grow wee as de
dew-drop calf—I’se be bonn’ he ’taggering Bob
lon ’fore dat. You say do word, Maser Jake.
Obi no likewnig . Nigga only brack man;
he no get pay fo’ ’im work. Obi zemble buckn
man. He no work ’less him pay.” .

“Yeah, yesh; dat ish on y shust and fair.

Obi should be paid; but shay, 00d Shakra,
Eczwmuch ish is prishe for a s pell of thish
in .

“Ef he hub no interest hisself in de workin’
ob de ’pell, he want a huader un’. When he
bah interest, das diff’rent, den e take fifti'.”

“Fifty undshl That ish big monish, good
Shakral n thish case Obi hash an interen.
more ash anybody elshe. He hash an enemy,
and wants refenge. Ish that not true, good

i Shakra l”

“ Dash da troof. Cbakra no go fo’ deny ’lm.
But das jess why Obi ’Sent do dat leetle chore fo’
fifty goun’: Obi enemy big buckra—‘trong as
you ad Jess sa —berry difl’cult fo”pell lm.
Any odder mya -man charge de full hnnder
Bonn Fuck, no odder able 0 de job-no odder

ut ole Chakra. hab dat power.”

“ Shay no more about the prishe. Fifty
poundsh be it. Here’sh half down.” The tempter
tossed a purse containing coin into the out»
stretched palm of the obeah-man. “ All I stipu—
late for ish, that in three weeks you earn the-
other half; and we shall both be shquare with
the C'usbtos Vochan, for I hash my refenge to
shatis‘y ash well ash ou, Shnkra."

“’Nufl sed, Maser ake. ’Fore tree day do
’pell sha’ be put on. You back come to de Duppy

Hole tree night from dis, you hear how ’im work- '

W’i‘hlgb?’ d h 11 b h i reqn
gour s e wasagain roug t nto io
sition: and after a parting “ kiss ” at the cognac,
the “ heel-tap” of which remained in the hat,
the ions pair emerged int-o ti 0 o n air.

0 priest of Obi having conduc his fellow—
conspirator across the lagoon returned to his
temple, and set himself assiduously to finish
what was left of the if nor. '

“ Whughl” ejacula he, in bne of the pauses‘
that occurred between two vigorous pulls at the
bottle; “ ole villum J ew wuss den Chakra—wm
don the debbil hissefl l Donn know why he
went rebbenge. Des nuffin‘ to me. I want reb-
benge, an', by do great Accompongl I‘ee a-gwine-
to hab it! Ef dis gal proob tits u do adders
did—she mm proob true—in t’ree week do.
proud, fat buckra 1min datcondemn new”

. O

. .~.  .1 ' _
~F’ . my: full. .1 "mg; 1.1.: n.3,, warm”, .
.. 3 . _,(.,._, , I . .., r  _

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The Maroon.

 

El8

Jumbo Rock, ‘ Oussos rodelorum.’as dey call ’im,
--won’t hab no more flesh on ’im bones dan de
‘keleton he t’ink wa’ myen. And den, when ’im
die—ah! den, aiIer ’im die. do daughter ob dat
Quasheba dat twenty year ‘go ’corn de lub ob
do Coromantee for dat ob de yellow Maroon—-
maybe her dau’ter, do Lilly Quasheba, sleep in
do arms ob Chskra de myal-manl Whughl”

As the minister of Obi gave utterance to this
in pothetical threat, a lurid light glared up in
ha sunken eyes, while his white, shark-like teeth
were displayed in an exulting grin, hideous asif
the demon himself were smiling oversome mon~
strous menace!

Both cognac and rum-bottle were repeatedly
tasted, until the strong frame of the Coroman~
tee gave way to the stronger s irit of the
alcohol: and, muttering fearful t rests in his
gumbo jargon, he at length sunk unconscious on
the floor.

Tnere, under the light of the lard lamp—now
flickerin feebly—he lay like some hideous
sat r, W cm Bacchus, by an angry blow, had
1 prostrate to the earth!

CHAPTER XXV.
'rna xrsrsluovs lonvn.

Tar: original motive or the Inval man, in con-
spiring the death of the Cantos Vaughan, would
have been strong enough to urge him on with-
out this new instigation. As we have seen, it
was one of deadly revenge—simple, and easily
understood.

Not so easily understood was that which actu-
ated the Jew. On the contrary, so Secretlv had
be conceived his purpos ~s, that no livin man-
not even Uhakra himself—had been mat e privy
to them.

Up to this moment they may have appeared
mysterious; and the time has arrived when it
becomes necessary to reveal them. The explana~
tion will show them to be only natural—only in
(keepin with the character of this crooked and
cruel o d man.

In the first place, he was well acquain d with

 

 

i you any reason?"
I H

5 near the mid-hour of the ni ht. The Foolah had
i dared the dangers of the orest to meet her be-
loud Cubina.
; It was a happy meeting—one of the happiest
[ they had yet enjoyed. bach had brought good
I news to the other. Cubina, that the brother of
l his beloved was still safe under his protection.
safe and well; Yola, that her young mistress
l had romised to bestow upon her her freedom.
1 “ hl” said Cubina, turning with a mud look
toward his swwrheart, “ it will bea Ea py day
:for all. No, not for all,” adde he, fits face
suddenly assuming an expression of sadness:
“ not for all. There is one, 1 fear, to whom that
day will not bring happiness!”
“ I know one, too, Lubioa," rejoined the girl,
' her countenance appearing to reflet the ex-
, pression that had come over his.
! i50h, you luliow it. tool Ihgiss Vzughan has
'1 to on then su pose? o s a does not
: boastyof m" ’ p W
I “What she boast of, Cubina?"
: “ Why, of breaking his heart, as you would
i do mine, if you weie to marry somebody else.
I Poor young fellow: Crambo.’ If I’m not mis-
' taken, it wi l he a sad day for him I"
I The girl looked up, in )uzzled surprise.
“Bad day for lnm! o, Cubina, he verry
! happy. For her—poor mixes—that day be
. sa

‘ “ Voyate! that do vou mean. Yolaf”

I “ No more dan I say, Cubina. Missn Kate be

i Very unhappy that day she marry Mr. Mongew;
she very so nonr.”

F “Can you tell me, Yola, why your mistress

' not like this grand gentleman! Has she told

Very good reason, Cubina. She another

love: that why she Mongew not like.”
“ Ah! she’s in love with somebody else! Have

you heard who itls, Yolal"
[ “On, yes; you know him yourself. He missa
I Kate’s cousin; she him love."

“ Her cousin, Herbert Vaughan ?”

“ Yes, he name Herber‘; he come once—never

 

the domestic history of the planter—a- least, ; more come. No matter. sue love him first time

with that portion of it that had transpired sub- , --she ove him ever more!

sequent to the latter’s coming into possession
of Mount Welcome. He knew something of
Mr. Vaughan previously—while the latter was
manager of the Montagu Castle estate—but it
was Only after the Custos had become his nearer
neighbor. by removal to his Present I‘esiience,
that the Jew's knowledge of h m and his private
ixflairs had become intimate and accurate.

The J ew‘s knowledge of the aflairs of Loftus
Vaughan extended to many faces unknown to
Chakra. One of these was. that his neighbor
was blessed with an English brother, who had
.an Only son.

An artist was the English brother, without
fortune—almost without name.
circumstances relating to him had c'me to the
knowledge of Jessuron; among the rest, that
the proud (Justus kwe ' little about his Enor
English relatives, cared low, and scarcely apt
up correspondence with them.

In what way could this kliOWIedge interest
Jacob Jessuronl—for it did.

Thus, then; it was known to him that Loftus
Vaughan had never been married to the quad-
roon Quasheba.

Kate Vaughan was herself only a musta—
:stiil wantin one step further from slaverv to
bring her w thin the protecting pain of freedom
and the enjoyment 0 its favors.

No will that Loftus Vaughan could decree, no
testamentary disposition he might make, could
render his daughter his devisee—his heiress.

He might will his property to anybody he
pleased; so long as that anybody was a so-called
white; but. failinc to make such testament, his
estate of Mount Welcome, with all he possessed
besides. must fall to the next of his own kin—in
.hort, to his nephew Herbert.

Was there no remedy for this unspeakable di-
lem'nal No means by which his own daughter
:might be saved from disinheritancef

There was. A spccial act might be obtained
:frmn the Assembly of the Island.

L »ftus Vaughan knew the remedy, and fully
intended to adopt it. Every day was be de-
signing to set out for Spanish Town—the capital
——-to obtain the special act; and ovary day was
the journey put off.

It was tie execution of this design that the
Jew Jessuron of all things dreaded most, and to
prevent it was the object of his visit to the
tern is of Obi.

by he dreaded it scarce needs explanation.

Should Loftus Vaughan fail in his intent,
Herbert Vaughan would be the heir of Mount
Welcome; and Herbert’s heart was in the keep-
ing of Judith Jessuron.

Bo fondly believed the Jewess: and, with her
:amnrance of the fact. so also the- Jew.

The love-spell woven by J odith had been the
first ste toward securing the rand inherit-
.ance. be second was to be the oath-spoil. ad-
ministered hy.Chakra and his acolyte. ‘

CHAPTER XXVI.
IIDNIGET WANDEEIRS.

0N0! mare under th° cciba. that gigantic
' Mating tree. am the Maroon and his mistms.

lot, as before, in the bright. noonday sun, but

 

Many other ’

Same] you, Cubina;
I you love first time, all the same forever."

“ You are sure of all this?” inquired Cubina.
in his anxiety to know more, resisting the. temp-
tation to rec'proc Ito the endearing speech; “ you
are sure Miss Vaughan loves her cousin Her-
bertl”

: “Sure, Cubina: mism say so many. many
time. She tho vorv much grief for him. She

‘ hear he marry one fine, bad lady. You know

‘ old” Jew Jess’ron—his daughter he go mar-
rv.

“ I have heard so,” rejoined Cubina, evident-

I l keeping back from his sweetheart a more
: (Ieflnite knowledge of the subject which be him-
' self possessed; “ I have heard so. After all.” he
continued, speaking n'flectingly, “ it. might
nOt happen—neither of these marriages. There’s
a proverb, Yola, I‘ve heard among the white
folks—‘ Many a slip between the cup and the lip.’
"I hope it won’t be true of you and m»: butit
might come to pass between oung Master
Vaughan and Miss Jessuron. he knows? I
know sometvhin . Pm‘dios! you’va given me
good news, 1 th nk. for somebody. But tell me
Yola; have you heard them say when your
mistress and this great gentleman are to be
married?”

“ Massa he say soon. - He tell Missa Kate he
go great journey. When he come back they
get marry; he Mlssa Kate say so yesterday."

“The Custos going a journey? Have you
heard where!”

“Spanish Town, missa tell me—a great big
ci'y far away.”

“ I wonder what thatcsnbefor.” said Cubina
to himself. in a conjectural way. “ Well, Yola.”
he added, after a pause, and speaking more
earnestly, “ listen to me. As soon as Mr.
Vaughan has set out on his journey, you come to
me. PerhepeI may have a message or your mis-
tress. Have you heard when he intends to take
the mad?"

“ He go morrow morning.”

“ Ha! so soon! Well, so much the better for
us, and maybe for somebod else. You must
meet me here to-morrow nig t. Tell vour mis-
tress it cencerns herself. No. don’t tell her,” he
added, correcting himself, “ she will let you
came without that excuse: besides, it might be
t at—

Voices fell upon their ears. and two forms
emerging into the moonlight at the lower end
of the glade, rapidly advanced in the direction
of the ceiba.

As if by a common instinct, Cubina and his
mistress stopped silentlv and simultaneou-l y
back, retiring together between the buttresses
of the tree. There it was dark enough for con-
cealment. Only an eye bent on purposed scru-
tinv could have detected their presence.

The forms dr w near. They were these of a
man and a woman. The moonlight shining full
upon them. rendered them easy of recognition;
but their voices had already declared their iden-
tity. Both the intruders were known to both
the lovers. They were the Jew Jessuron and
the slave Cynthia

“ C‘rambo !” muttered the Human, as he saw
who they were. “ What on earth can they be

 

 

doing together. at this time of the night, and
here, so far away from any house? Maldito.’
some wicked business, I warrant.”

By this time the brace of midnight strollers
had got Opposite to the tree, and the Jew was
delivering himself of a speech, which was plain-
ly heard by those who stood concealed in its
shadow.

“Now, Cynthy, goot wenchl you hashn’t
said yet why he hash sent for me! Do you
know what it ish for?”

“I don’t, Mass Jess’ron, unless it be—”

“Unlesh what, wenchl"

“ Somethin’ ’bout the news I took him afore I
come to you,~‘when lwent with his basket of
provisions—”

“Ah-ha! you took him some newsh—what
newsh, girl ’

“ Only that Maser Vagh'n am a-goih'away in
the mornin’.”

“Blesh my soul!" exolaimed the Jew. suds
denly stopping in his tracks, and turning to-
ward the mulatta with a look of troubled sur-
prise. “Blesh my soul! You don’t shay that,
dosh you?" .

“De say so at the Buff, Massr J ess’ron. Be-
sides. know m'self he‘s a—goin‘. I help pack
up him shirts in de trabbelin' valise. He's a-
goin’ a horseback."

- “ But where, wench, where!" gasped the Jew,

in hurried and anxious apeech.
own, odder side eh do

“ Dey say to ’Panish
“"2?” ih 'r ' ried h keepe

“ pans own! ach!’ c t e nn- r
in' a tone betokening that the words had con:
veved some veg unwelcome intelligence.
“Spanish Town! 'help me, it lab! I knew it!
I knew it! ach!"

And. as be repeated the aspirated ejaculation,
he struck his umbrella flerCer into the ground,
as if to render more emphatic the chagrin that
had been communicated by the answer.

Only for a few seconds did he make pause
upon the spot.

“ Come on i” cried he to his companion, hur-
riedly moving off from the tree; “come on,
wench! If that’sh the case, ash you shay,
thefie’sh no time to be loshte—nota minute, s’help
on

And with. this elegant reflection, he ended the
brief dialogue, and strode swittly and silently
onward across the glade, the woman following
close upon his heels.

‘ I) nwm‘os!" muthmd the Maroon as they
went off. “That John Crow and his pretty
partner are on Sin]? ugly errand, I her! It
appears to to the Custos they’re conspiring
against. Crumboll wonder what they are
after with him! What can the old Jew have to
do with his going to S nish Town? I must
follow them. and see if can discover. There
appears to be some scheme brewing, that bodes
no good to Mr. Vaughan. Where can they be
§adding to at this time of night! From the

ew's penn, instead of toward itl”

These interrogative reflecfions the Maroon
made to himself. Then, turning once more to
his sweetheart, with a gesture that declared his
intention to be gone, he said—

“We must part, Yola. and this instant,
love, else I may lose their trail. Adieu!
adieu!"

And, with a quick him and e ually hurried
embrace, the lovers separated— ola returning
to Mount Welmme by a th well known to
her; while the Maroon gl ded of! on the track
taken by the penn-keeper and his female com- .
panion.

The Maroon was but a few moments in re-
covering the “spoor” of the two nocturnal strol-

lers.

At the point where the had gone out of the
glade. there was a th t at led up the hills in
the direction of t e Jun'be Rock. It was a
mere cattle track. used only very occasionally
by bipeds. Being the only path tint went that
way, and ud ing, moreovor, that neither the
Jew nor h to lower would be likely to traverse
the thicket at random, Cubina concluded that
they had gone by this path.

‘ They appear to be makin for the Jumbo
Rock,” mentally soliloqumed uhina, as they
commenced ascending the slope of the moun-
tain. “C‘rambe! Tnat is odd enough! Volga
me Dina! what’s up now! They‘ve sto pedl’

Thu Jew and his companion, about a undred
yards abrad, had suddenly eo-e toga stand.
They appeared to be scrutininfithe path.

Cubina, crouching in the adow of the
bushes, stopped likewise; and waited for the
others to advance.

They did so after a short interval—hastening
on as before; but in a slightly divergent di-
rection.

“ Ho, ho!” muttered the Eamon: " not for the
Jumbo Bock, but the Dup y’s Hole! I re
member now. The path orks up yonder.
The ‘ve taken that which goes to the Hole.
Wei , it don’t help me to comprehend their -

e a bit clearer. Oarrai I t at Duppy's olel
idn‘t some of my fellows tell me they‘ve
heard strange noises there lately! Quaco is
read to swear he saw .the ghost of the old
mye -man. (Yhakrs, standing upon the edge of
the cliil'. They’re coins were. as sure “my _
name’s Cubinal” ‘

  

 

 

 

 

I .4an

 

 

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4.
p

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u; k.- 4“. 4+

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flug'rf » «1,:  .

 

man.

' ; ,'. «a; ' 'Cf/Wflivk . V,  _-.

r... u 1 .-»\..‘vb, , l, -r

T‘ "".‘.‘ .
' V \ - w
' . kJ-hnl", > h.

The Maroon.

,19

 

 

 

 

 

I
And with this conjecture] reflection the Ma-

roon forsook the shadow under which he had
been sheltering, and flitted forward along the
th

pa .
Another five hundred yards further on, his

gontecture was confirmed. The parties dogged .
y

im had reached the ed e of the
uppy’s

recipice
that frowned down upon the ole, and

there halted.

Otbhia also made stop—as before, concealing :

himefl within the black shadow of the bushes.

He had scarcely crouched down when his ears
were saluted by a shrill whistle-not made by
the lips, but proceeding from some instrument,
as a reed or common dog-call. It was plainly a
signal, sounded either by Cynthia or the Jew;
CMWO could not tell which.

After about a minute’s time, he saw them
once more in motion. and then both appeared
to vanish from his view, not wastin into the
air, but sinking into the ground, as i a trap-
door had admitted them to the interior of the
earth.

He saw this without much surprise. He knew
they must have gone down the precipice, but
how t ey had performed this feat was some—
thing at did surprise him a little.

It was but a short spell of astonishment. In
a score of seconds he stood upon the edge of the
precipiice, at the spot where they had disap-
peare .

He looked down. He could trace, though
diml , a means of descent among the wattle of
bought and corrugated creepers that clasped
the facade of the cliff. Even under the fan-
tastic gleam of th - moon he cool-l see' that hu-
man hands had helped the construction of this
nature] ladder.

He stayed not to scrutinize it. An ob ect of
greater interest challenged his glance. n the
disk of the lagoon. in the moon ight, a sheet of
silver, like a mirror in its frame of dark ma-
hogany, moved a thing of sharp, elliptical shape
—-n canoe.

Midships of the craft, a form was crouching.
Was it human or demon!

The aspect was dcfllOH—t‘le shape sca'ce hu-
Loug, apelike arms; a hunched back:
teeth gleaming iii the moonlight like the incisors
of ashark: features everything but human to
one who had not seen them before.

Cuhina had seenNthl-m before. To him. ihough
no‘ familiar, they were knwwn. If not the
ghOat of Chakra, he saw Chakra himself.

CHAPTER XXVII.
CYNTHIA IN THE WAY.

SATISFIED that he saw Chakra himself. the
Maroon placed him-elf in apos1tion to watch
the movements both of the man in the canoe
and those who had summoned him across the

l oon.

“In another moment the canoe was lost sight
of. It had passed under the bushes at the
bottom of the cliff,,where it was not VlSlble
from above.

Voices now ascended, which could be heard,
but not distinctly. .

Cuhina could distinguish three voices taking
part in the conversation—Chalir-i’s. the Jew’s.
and, at longer intervals, the shrill treble of the
slave Cynthia.

He bent his ear, and listened with keen atteu-
tion, in hopes of hearing what they said. He
could only catch an occasional word. The roar
of the cascade rising along with the voices hin-
dered him from hearing them distinctly; and,
noth'withstandlng his earnest desire to do so, he
was unable to make out the matter of the con-
versation.

Only for a short while was he kept waiting.
The Malogue came to a close, followed by a
brief interval of silence; at the end of which
the canoe once mom made its appearance upon
the open water of the lagoon.

Two rsons on! were in it. Chakra and the
Jew. ynthia he stayed by the bortom of the

clifi'.

To follow the conspirators further was out of
the question. His chance is cur on by the
interposition of. the niulatta. He could only
remain on the cliff and await their return.

He was reflecting upon what course to “r-
see, when a rustling sound reached him from
belom It was made by some one movin
among the bushes that grew against the face 0
the roci ice.

Hg caught one of the branches; and. mppflfl_
ing hiimelf by it, craned his neck over the clifl.
His eye fell upon the brilliant chequer of a band.
anon, visible among the leaves. It was the
toqu» noon the head of Cynthia. It was in
snotionpuud he could see that she was ascend-
ing b the tree stairway he had already ob.
served:

Without staying to witness the ascent, he
turned back into the underwood by the side of
tin-path: and. crouching down. he waited to
see what the woman intended doing. Perhaps
her part in the performance had been played

out—at least, for that night—and she was on
her way hornewardi
That was what Cuhina conjectured, as well as

' what h would have wished. _
 conjeztun proved correct. - The mulatta,
on

mounting to the crest of the clla, stopped

 

only for a moment, to adjust upon her arm a
basket she had brought up—from the half-open
lid of which rotruded the neck of a bottle.
Then, casting or eyes forward, she struck of!
info the sziudowy forest path, and was soon out
o sight.

The moment after she had passed him, the
Maroon glided silently f~ I'W‘il'd to the edge of
the cliff, and commenced deeceudin the stairs.
Such feet was nothing to aim; an in a few
seconds he had reached the edge of the lagoon.

Here he paused to make sure that the canoe
had arrived at its destination, and that its late
occupants had disembarked from it.

Atter a moment .ut in this reconnaissance,
100kan sharply, an listening With all his care.
he became satisfied that the coast was clear;
and, letting himself stealthin into the water, he
swum from the opposite shore of the lagoon.

Cuhina conjectured, and correctly, that there
was a path leading from the anchorage of the
canoe; and to find this was his first purpose.

Keeping around the edge of the lagoon. he
soon came upon the craft—empty, and anchored
under a tree.

The moonli ht, entering here from the open
water, show him the embouchre of the path.
where it entered the underwood: and, without
losing a moment’s time, he commenced moving
along it.

Silently as a cat he stole onward, at in‘ervals

using to listen; but he could only hear the

issing sound of the upper cascade, to which he
was now making approach.

There was a space in front of the waterfall,
where the trees stood thinly, and this opening
was soon reached.

On arriving at its edge the Maroon again
stopped to reconnoiter.

Scarcel a second of time did he need to pause.
Light fi'is ed in his eyes through the interstices
of what appeared to be a sort of gratin . It
was the bamboo door of the obeah but. oices,
too. reverberated through the bars.

Within were the men upon whom it was his
purpose to play eavesdro per.

In another instant (gubina was cowering
under the cotton-tree, close up to the door-post.

CHAPTER XXVI".
STRANGE DISCLOSURES.

Tm: two plotters were pnlavering loud
enough. In t at place there was no need. at
least, so thought they, for restrained speech;
and the listener could have. heard every Word,
but for the hoarse hissing of the cataract. This,
at times, hindered him from distinguishing what
was said; and only in detached portions cou'd
he pick up the thread of the discourse. Enough,
however, heard he to cause him astonishment—-
the greatest of all, that in the island of Jamaica
or upon the earth, existed two such villains as
Chakra, the Coromantee,. and Jessuron, the

cw!

The Jew, when Cuhina first got eyes on him.
appeared as if he had just given utterance to
some angry speech. His dark weasel-like orbs
were rkling in their sunken sockets. with a
fiendiSi light. The goggles were 01!. and the
eyes could be seen. In his right hand the eter-
nal umbrella was grasped, with a firm clutch,
as if h id in menace.

Chakra. on the other hand, appeared cowed
and pleading. Though almost twice the sine,
and apparently twice the strength of the old
Israelite, he looked at that mement as if in fear
of him.

"Gerry, Maser Jake !” said he. in an apcaling
tone: “how ebber wa’ I to know do Cussus
warn a gwine so soonl A nebber speered ob
dat; an’ you nebber tole me you wanted de
obeah-spell to work fasser dan war safe. Ef a‘d
’a' know’d dat, a kud a fetch de dam Cussus out
0’ him boots in de shake obacat‘s tail—dat c’u‘d
a a’did l”

“ Ach!” exclaimed the Jew, with an air of
unmistikable cha rin: “he‘s goin to shlip us.
S’help me, he will And now, w on I wants
more ash ever the shpell upon him. I’sh heard
something from thish girl Cynthy of a «ton
shpiracy against myshelf. Sheeeh heard them
plotting in the summer-house in the Cushtos’s
garden."

“Wha’ dey plot ’gain’ you, Maser J aka! Who
am dey (let 0 plottin’?”

“ The Cusfitos is one, the other ish that scamp
son of Cuhina. the Maroon, the young Cuhina.
You'knowsh him?"

“Dat some a know well ‘nuf.”

" Ah! the proud Cushtos don’t knowmthou
he hush his sushpicions—thethish wife Quashe
wash the mishtress of a Maroon. Hal ha! ha!
And she luffed the mulatto better as ever she
luifed Vanities Vochan! Ha! he! he!"

" Dat am berry near de troof,” observed the
negro. with a thoughtful air.

“Little dosh the Cushtos think.” continued
Jenuron, without heedlng the inte latiou.
“ that thish young fellow, whoeh a-he pin’ him
to conehplre a ainsht me. is a sort of a son to
high conshei worship. Ha! he! he!”

“ You musht put the shpell on him, too." said
the Jew: “ for h-esh the principal in thiah plot
againsht me. Even if the Cushtos wash out of
the way. thish Captain Cuhina will goth some
other magistrate to carry out huh design.

I

 

There will be plenty to help him. You must
sh ll him, and soon ash you can. Shakra.
Thege’sh no time to lose—note minnit,s’help
mel

“ A do wha a can, Maser Jake: but a mout's
well tell ye, that it a’nt so easy to put de spell
on a Maroon. It coss me more‘n twenty year
toput de obeah on him ole fadder, and Pan a
been tryin’ um on dis young Cuhina. fo’ some
timo—ebbor since him fadder die. A hate do
young un, same a hated de ole uu. You knows
why a hate boaf."

“ l knowsh all that—I knowsh all that.”

“ We, denl a do ma bess. Dat sr m'lattz. gib
me no hope. She soon ’dminster de spell of she
hab chance—knee she think um de luh drink.
She no hab chance. fo' Cuhina he no let her
come nigh 0’ him. Nebba mind: Cheki-a he find
oppotunity some day; ’fore long he put do
death-spell on de son ob dat quaderoom.‘

“Perhaps not so soon 2" was the mental re-
joinder of him who listened to this confident de-
claratiou.

“ It’sh less matter about him than the other!”
cried the JeW, giving way to a fresh burst of
re . “S'help me! the Cushtos is going to
shlip out of my fin rs—the eshtate—all! Act!"
he ejaculated, as h disappointment came more
palpably before him. “ you hash played no
relsewshakral I. be’lief you’ve been playin’ me

a so!

As the Jew gave utterance to this conjecturll
speech, he staer to his feet, taking a tighter
hold upon his umbrella, and standing before his
vie-a 11's in a threatening attitude.

“ I tell you," resumed Jessuron. still in threat-
ening speech, “1 believe you hash been fooling
me. Shakra! You hash some interest of your
own—perhaps with this Lilly Quasheba. He!
never mind. I tell on thish time—I tell you,
Shakra, if the shpell does fail—yeah, if it fail,
and the Cushtos reach the capital, where he ish
going, I tell you. Shakra, you may look out for
shqualls! You loosh your monish I promised
vou. Ay. you may loosh your life ash well. I
hash only to shay a word, and the Duppy's
Hole will be searched by the houndsh o the
law. Now will you do your besht to keep the
{Jusgitos from reaching the capital of the lap

an i’

“ A promise, Massr Jake,”said the myal man,
leadinzly; “by do great Accompoug. a do ma
s. E! de Cussus ’trive ’scape den you do said
ole Chakra whasomediver you hab mind to.
’LiVer him up. ef you like! Hal de Cnssu's no
’scape. Dis night Cynthy hab take bottle in her
basket of de ’trongeht kind. It do do bizntss in
’bout twenty-fo’ hour. Daat am de true ocath-

spell. Whugh!”

“In twenty-four hours?
Shskra? you ish share?"
“Shoo’ as a’m now in Dugpy Hole, Maser
Jake. Doan’ you hab no nio’ onbt ob ole Cl'a-
kra. He l‘rab no liib fo’ Cussus Va’ han mo‘ d n
yousefi'. P‘raps he liib do Cussus dau‘ter, lnt
dst am very difl‘rent sort ob fecshun. Whugh!"

'With this smech of fiendish gratification the
dial he ended, and the Jew was seen stepping
outsi 9, followed by his confederate.

Both walked away from the s t, Chakra
taking the lead, the Maroon close y watching
their movements. '

On reaching the canoe the con raters step-

d aboard, and the craft was pad led over the
agoon.

Cuhina waited for its return: and then, see-
ing Cbakra safe within his hut, he hastened
back to the enter; and, as before, swimmin
under the shadow of the rock, he re-asCend
the tree stairway and stood once more on the
summit of the c i1.

You ish share,

 

CHAPTER XXIX.
wanna start?

Tn! Maroon. after mounting to the summit of
the cliff, paused for some moments to reflect
upon a course of action.

Having come to the conclusion that his best
plan would be to pass the remaining hours of
the night under the eeiba, be made no further
delay by the Duppy’s Hole; but turning into the
path that led down the slope, he proceeded back
toward the glade.

On reaching the rendezvous. his first con-
cern was to kindle a fire. Sleep in a wet shirt
was no to be thought of: and every stitch upon
his body had been soaked in swimming the la-
goon. Otherwise it would not have mattered
about a fire. He had nothing to cook upon it;
nor was he bun ry—having already eaten his
supper. Kindl h a woodman’s skill, a fire
soon biased up; an the hunter stood erect be-
side it, turning himself at intervals to dry his
garments, still dripping with. water.

He was soon smoking all over, like nudity-
slaked lime: and. in order to pass the time more
pleasantly, be commenced smokin in "nother
sense—the nicotian—his pipe and to sun pouch
aflording him an rpportunify for this indul-
gence.

Possibly the nice-tine may have stimulated his
reflective powers: for be had not taken more
thana doaen puffs at his pipe, when a sudden
and somewhat uneasy movement seemed to say
that some new ' had occurred to him.

 

 

 

20

The M33999;

 

 

Simultaneous with the movement, a muttered
soliloqny esca from his lips.

“Orambo! ixclaimed he, giving utterance
to his favorite shibboleth; "say he should come
an hour after sunrise. at least another we should
be in getting to Mount Welcome. Por Div 8 I it
may he too late then! Who knows what time
the Custos may fancy to set out!” he added,

after a pause; “ I did not think of that. How ;

stupid of me not to have asked Yola!
“Orambo!” he again eXclaimed, after an-
other interval passed in silent reflection. “It
won’t do to leave things to chance,wherea man’s
life is 'm danger. Who knovvs what scheme these
John Crows have contrived? I couldn’t hear
the mole of their palawr. If Master Vau ban
was only here, we might go to Mount ei-

eome at once. Whatever quarrel he may hava 3-

with the uncle, he won’t wish to let him be mur-
dered—no likelihood of that. Besides, the young
feliow‘s interference in this matter, if I mistake
not, would be likely to make all right between
them—I’d like that, both for his sake and hers-—
ah! hers especially, after what Yola’s told Inc.
Santa. Virgen! wouldn’t that be a disappoint-
ment to the old dog of a Jew. NeVer mind; I‘ll
put a spark in his powder before he’s many days
older! The young Englishman mUst know all.
I’ll tell him all: and after that, if he consents
to become the son—in-law of Jac )b Jessuron, he
would deserve a dog‘s—. Bahl it cannot bel I
won’t believe it till he tells me so himself ; and
then—

“ Por Dias!" exclaimed he, suddenly inter-
rupting the above train of reflections and pass-
ing to another, “it won’t do for me to stay

here till he comes. TWo hours after sunrise, .

and the Cust might be Cold. I’ll go down to
the Jew’s penn at once. and hang nbouttill I see
lyioung Vaughan. He’ll be stirring about day-

rank, and that’ll save an hour, anyhow. A
word with him. and we can soon cross to
Mount Welcome.”

In obedience to the thought, and without
staying to Complete the drying of his habili-
ments, the Maroon stepped out from the glade;
and turning into the track—little used—that

led toward the Happy Valley, proceeded in:

that direction.

CHAPTER XXX.
STALIUNG THE SLEEPER.

CUBINA. on arriving near the precinc‘s of the

on, moved forwar with increased caution.

e knew that the penn keeper was accustomed
to keep dogs and night w_.tchers around his in-
closure, not only to prevent the cattle and other
quadrupeds from straying, but also the black
bipeds that filled hi 3 barracoons.

t was toward the back of the house that he
was advancing from the fields-or rather, the
side of it, opposite to that on which lay the cat-
tle and slave inclosures.

He had made a short circuit to approach by
this side, conjecturing that the others would be
more iik i y to be guarded by the slave and cat-
tle watchers.

On getting within about a hundred yards of
the house, Cubina formed the intention not to
go any nearer just then. The. plan he had traced
out was to station himself in srme tion

where he could command a view of the ve anda Q

-or as much of it as it was possible to see from

one lace. There he would remain until day- ?

rea .

A slight elev tion of the ground, caused by
the crumbling ruins of an old wall, furnished
the vidette station desired; and the Maroon
mounting upor this, took his stand to watch the
veranda. v

He could see the long gallery from end to end
on two sides of the dwelling, and he knew that
it extended no further.

The Maroon had not been many minutes upon
the stand he had taken, when an ob eat in the
veranda arrested his attention. As is eye be-
came more accustomed to the shadowy dark-
ness inside, he was able to make out something
that resembled a hammock, suspended cross-
wise, and at some higbt above the balustrade
of the veranda. It was near that end where the
moonlight fell u n the floor.

“ II' it should the young Englishman him-
self 2” was the conjectural reflection of Cubina.

He scanned the ground with a quick glance.
Acocoa-nut palm stood near the wall whose
crest of radiating fronds overlooked t e ver-
anda. drooping t0ward it. Could be but reach
this tree unobserved, and climb up to its crown,
hemight. command a close view of him who
sle t in the swingigg couch.

X second on to determine him: and,
crawling silently forward. he clasped the stem
of the cocoa-tree, and “swarmed” upward.
The feat was nothing to Cubina, who could
climb like a squirrel.

0n reaching the summit of the palm, he
placed himself in the center of its leafy crow",

where he had the veranda directly underghis .

eyes, and so near that he could almost have
sprung into it.

The hammock was within ten feet of him, in
a downward direction. He could have pitched
his tobacco-pipe upon the face ofthe sleeper.
The moonlight was now full upon it. It was
the face of Herbert Vaughan.

 

i Cubina recognized it at the first glance: and
he was reflecting how he could awake the young
Englishman without causing an alarm, when

.he heard a door turn upon its hinges. The
sound came up from the court yard: and in
looking in that direction. Cubina saw that the
gate leading out to the cultle inclosure was in
the act of being opened. Presently a man
passed through, entering flom the outside; and

i the gate, by some other person unseen, was

,3 clused behind him.

He who had entered walked directly toward

‘ the dwelling; and, mounting the steps, made
his way into the veranda.

While crossing the court yard, the moonlight,
for a moment. fell upon his face, discovrring to
Cubina the sinister countenance of the JuW.

“I must have passed him on the path!” rc—
fltcted the Maroon. “But no. that couldn’t
be," he added, correcting himself; “I saw his
return track in the mud-hole just by. He must
have got here befole me. szc enough he’s
been back, and out again I n mule other dark
business. Orambo! it’s true en ugh what I’ve
heard sav of him; that he hardly ever goes to
slee . Our people have met him in the woods
at a l hours of the night. 1 can understand it
now that I know the partner he’s got up there.
For Dine ! to think 01 Clinkra being still aliv a.”

The Maroon paused in his r: flections; and kept
his eye sharply bent upon the shadowy form
that, like a spirit of darkness. was silently flu-
. ting through the corrilor. lie was in Opes

that the Jew would soc" retire to his chamber.

' CHAPTER XXXI.

A MISSION run 7m: MAN HUNTERS.

! CUBINA [or some time preseivcd his con-
strained position. Hc dared not derangc it;
since the Jew still stayed in the shadowy corri-

;' dor, sometimes moving about; but more

‘ generally standing at the head of the wooden

fstairway, and looking across the court-yard,

1 toward the gate through which he had come in.

‘ It seemed as if he was expecting some ,one to
enter after him.

i This conjicture of Cubina’s proved correct.

The great gate was heard once more turning on

; its hinges; and, aftera word or two spoken by

ithc black lrter outside, and answered by a

ivoice ol’ (ifl'erent tone, two men were seen

, stepping inside the court.

 

i As they passed under the moonlight, Cubina-

.‘ recognized them. Their lithe, supple forms,

and swarthy angular lineaments, enabled him to
‘ identify the Cuban cat-adores.
I They walked straight up to the stairway, at
' the bottom of which both stopped.

The Jew, on Seeing them inside the gate, had
. gone back into ‘a room that opened upJn the
l veranda.

He was gone but for an instant; and, coming
out again, he returned to the top of the stair-

 

 

out, and r ceived something from his band.
What it was Cubina could not have told but
5 for the words of the Jew that accompanied the
l action.

“There’sh the flashk,” said be; “it ish the
besht brandy in Shamaica. And now,” be con-
tinued in an accent of earnest appeal “my
: goot ellishl you hashn’t a minute to a para.
Remember the big monish you’re to gain; and
don’t let thisb runaway eshcapel”

“ No fear about that, Senor Don Jacob ” re-
plied he who received the flask. “ Carrai. he’ll
have long legs to get out of our way—once we’re
well on the trail of him.”

.Aud without further dialogue or delay, the
caoador descended the stair, rejoined his com-
rade, and both hurriedly recrossing the court-
yard, disappeared through the door by which
they had entered.

“ An expedition after some )or slave!” mut-
tered Cubina to himself. “ hope the scoun—
' drels won’t catch him, anyhow, and I pity him

if they do. After all, they’re no great ends at
the business. spite of their braggadocio.”

To the joy of Cubina, the Jew at that
moment step back into his chamber, the door
of which he been leftstanding open.

“Good!” mentally ejaculated the Maroon.
“I hope he’ll stay in his hole, now that he‘s in
it. I don‘t want. to see any more of him this
night. Crambo I”

As the exclamation indicated, the congratu-
latory speech w 8 cut short by the reappearance
of the Jew; not in his blue body-coat, as before,
but wrapped in a sort of gabardine. or ample
dressing-gown, the skirts of which fell down to
his feet. His but had been removed. though
the skull-cap of dirty whitish has still clung
around his temples; for it was never (loffed.

To the consternation of Cubina he came out,
dragging a chair after him; as if he meant to
place it in the veranda and take a seat upon it.

And this was preciselv his intention, for. after
drawin his chair—a high-backed one—out into
the mi die oi the gallery. be planted it firmly
upon the floor, and then dropped dawn into it.

The moment after Cubina saw sparks, accom-
panied by a sound that indicated the concussion
of flint and steel. The Jew was striking a

li ht.
grim, smell of burning tobacco was borne

, mg.
no of the Spaniards, stepping up, reached
i

 

 

along the gallery. ascending to Cubina’s nutrils

upon the summit of the palm. The Jew was

smoking a cigar!

Cubina fancied that not only a first cigar, but
a second, and, perhaps, a third, had been
lighted and smoked; but in the somber shadow
in which the smoker sat he could not be cer—
tam how many. More than one, however,
from the time spent in the operation; for dur-
ing the full period of an hour a red coal could
be seen glowing at the tip of that aquiline. pro»
bosms.

Cubina now perceived what troubled him ex—
ceedingly—the blue dawn breaking over the
tops of the trees! By slightly turnin his head
he Could see the golden gleam of sun ight tint-
ing the summit of the Jumbo Rock!

" Urambol what was to be douel” so ran his V

reflections.

While considering how he mi ht slip unper—
ceived from the tree, he glanced once more to»
ward the occupant of the chair. The gradually
brightening dawn, which had been filliu him
with apprehension, now favored him. It cn--
abled him to perceive that the Jew \n as asleep.

With his head thr0wn back against the slop--
ing Upholstery, Jessuron had at last surren-
uered to the pewerlul divinity of dreams. His
goggles Were 01!: and Cubina con d see that the
wrinkled lids were closed over his sunken orbs.

Undoubtedly he was asleep. His whole atti—
tude confirmed it. Bis legs lay loosely over the
front of the chair his arms hung down at the
sides; and the blue umbrella rested upon the
floor at his feet. This last evidence of somno»
lency was not even counterbalanced b the
stump of a cigar, burnt close, and still stating
between his teeth.

At that moment the occupant of the ham
mock turned over with a yawn.

"He is going to awake!” thought Cubina;
“ now is my time.”

To the disappointment of the Maroon, the
limbs of the sleeper a sin became relaxed: and
he returned to a slum er profound as before.

Chibina drew out his tobacco-pi c. It was
the only thing he could think of at the moment;
and, guiding his arm with a good aim, he
pitched it into the hammock.

It fell upon the brrast of the sleeper. It was
too light. 1t akae him not.-

“ Crambo! he sleeps like an owl at noontlde!
What can I do to make him feel me? If I
throw down my machete, I shall lose the wea~

n; and who knous I may not need it before
’m out of this scrapcl Ha! one of these cocoa-
nuts will do. That. I dare say, will be heavy
enough to startle him.”

Saying this, the Maroon bent downward; and

extending his arm through the fronds beneath
him, detached one of the gigantic nuts from the
tree. -
Poising it for a moment to secure the proper
direction, he flung the ponderous fruit upon the
breast of Herbert. Fortunath the sides of the
hammock hindered it from ailing upon the
floor, else the concussion might also have
awakened the sleeper in the chair. ,

With a start, the young Englishman awoke,
at the same time raising himself upon his elbow.
Herbert Vaughan was not one of the exclama-
tory kind, or he might have cried out He did
not, however; though the sight of the huge
brown pericarp lying between his legs caused
him considerable surprise.

“ Where in the name of Ceres and Pomona,
did you rain down from?” muttered he, at the
same time taming his eyes up for an answer to
his classical interrogatory.

In the gray light be perceived the palm, its
tail column rising majestically above him. He
knew the tree well, every inch of its outlines;
but the dark silhouette on its top—the form of
a human being cone/rant, and crouching—that.
was strange to him. '

The light, however, was now sufficienin
strong to enable him to distinguish, not only
the form, but the face and features of his
(vi-divunt entertainer under the greenwood
tree——tbe Maroon Captain, Cubina.

Before he could say a word to express his as»
tonishment, a gesture, follows] by n muttered
fpeech from the Maroon, enjoined him to si-
ence.

“ Hush! not a word, Master Vaughan 3” spoke
the latter, in a half whisper, at the same time
be glanced slgniflcuntJy along the corridor.
“ Slip out. of your hammock. get your hat, and
follow me into the forest. I have news for you
-——importantl Life and death! Steal out; and,
for your life, don’t let him see on.”

“ W ho?” inquired Herbert, a so speaking in a
whisper. '

“ Look yonder!" said the Maroon, pointing to
the sleeper in the chair.

“ All right! Well?”

“Meet me in the glade. Come at once—rot.
a minute to be lost! ’lhose who should be dear
to you are in danger!”

“I shall come,” said Herbert, making a mo»
tion to extricate himself from the hammock.

“Enough! I must be gone. You will find:
me under the cotton-trca,’

As he said this, the Maroon forsook his seat,
so long and irksomely preserved, and, sliding
down the slander trunk of the palm, like a

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

- in.

 

 

sailor descending the mainsta of his ship, he
struck off at a trot, and soon isappeared amid
the second growth of the old sugar plantation.

 

CHAPTER XXXII.
ran srxaaumcur.

Tn]: sun was just beginning to re—gild the
glittering flanks of the Jumbe Rock, his rays not
vet ha ng reached toe Vallev below, when
ights streaming through the jalousied windows
of. Mount Welcome proclaimed that the inmates
of the mansion were already astir.

Though a light still burned in the sleeping
anartment of the Custos, and also in that of
Kate, neither father nor daughter were in their
own rooms. Both were in the great hall, seated
hyatabl on which, even at this early hour,
breakfast ad been spread.

The costume in which the Custos appeared
differed from his every-dag wear. It was that
of a man about to set fort upon a journey; in
short, a trawling costume.

The Custos h found his health giving way.
He had lost appetite, and was rapidly losin
flesh. A constant and burning thirst had seize
upon him. which, from morning to night, he
was continually trying lo quench.

The plantation doctor was puzzled with the
symptoms, and his prescri tions had failed in

ving relief. Indeed,so o .tinate and death-

’Ice was the disease becoming that the sufferer
would have given up his intention of going to
Spanish Town—at least, to a more fitting time
~-but. for the hope that, in the capital, some ex-
perienced physician might be found who would
comprehend his malady and cure it.

lndulving in this hope, he was determined to
set forth at all hazards.

If Loftus Vaughan was in low spirits. not
more joyful seemed his daughter, as she assist-
ed at that early dejeuner.

On the contrary, a certain sadness oversnread
the countenance of the young creole, as it re-
flected from the spirit of her father.

purpose of her father’s journey may, in
part, explain the melancholy that marked the
manner of the young creo e. She knew that
. She had learned it from her father’s

Ii , though only on the evening before.

Effie intended traveler had no appetite for the
solids with which the table was spread, and
seemed tocare onl for drink. After quafling
oil’ several cups 0 codes, solely from a desire
to quench thirst, and without eating bread or
any—thin else along with it, he rose from the
table an prepared to take his departure.

Mr. Trusty entering, announced that the
horses and the attendant groom were ready and
waiting outside. .

The Custos donned his traveling hat, and With
the assistance of Kate and her maid Yola put
on his sleeved coat, as the air of the early morn-
ing was raw and cold.

The "‘twinle” b0w1 stood on the sideboard.
While breakfast was bein placed on the table
Cynthia had been seen re llin the bowl with
this delicious drink. which she ad mixed in an
outside chamber. Some one asked her why she
was performing that, her diurnal duty, at so
early an hour—especially as master would be
gone before the time of swizzle-drinking should
‘arri've—usually during the hotter hours of the
da - .

‘y‘P‘raps massr like drink ob swizzle ’fore he
50,” was the explanatory reply vouchsafed by
yntliia.

The r! made a successful conjecture. Just
as the toe was about to step outside for the
purpose of descending the stairwa a fit of
choking thirst once more came upon him, and he
called for drink.

“Massr like glass ob swlzzle?” inquired Cyn-
thia, steppin up to his side. “ I’ve mixed for
massa some rry good," added she, with im-
pressive earnestness.

“Yes, girl," replied her master. “That's
the best thing I can take. Bring me a large
goblet of it.” _

He had scarce time to turn round before the

blot was presented to him, full to the brim.

said not See that the slave’s hand trembled as
she held it u . 1101' yet that Mr eyes were avert—
ed, as if toginder them from beholding some
fearful sight. , _

His thirst prevented him from seeing any-
thing but that which promised to assuage it.

He caught hold 0 the goblet and gulped
down the whole of its contents without once
removing it from his lips. I .

“You‘ve overrated its quality. girl.” said be,
returning her the lass. “ It doesn’t seem at all
good. There’s a b tterish tasie about it; but I
suppose it’s my palate that’s out of order, and
one shouldn’t be particular about the stirrup-

c'i .” .

gith this melancholy attempt at appearing
gay, Loftus Vaughan bade adieu to his designs
ter, and climbing into the saddle rode ofl.’ upon
his ourney.

A , Custos Vaughan! That stirrup-cup was
the last on Were ever destined to drink! In
the spargling “ swizzle” was an infusion of the
banefulSacanmh men In that deep draught
you had introduc into your veins one of the
deadliest of the vegetable poisons!

 

 

"Elie VMMQQE

,. -_ »..,«._-..7_._.-...m, . _ . .. .c

21

 

Chakra’s pro hecy will soon be fulfilled. The
death-spell wil novv quickly do its work. In
twenty-four hours you will be a corpse!

CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE HORN SIGNAL.

CUBINA, on getting clear of the penn keeper’s
precinc 3, lost little time in returning to the
glade and having once more reached the ceiba.
seats himself on a log to await the arrival of
the young Englishman.

For some minutes he remained in this atti-
tude, though every moment becoming more
fldgety, as he perceived that time was passing,
and no one came. He had not even a pipe to
soothe his impatience, for it had been left in the

hammock, into which he had cast it from the 1

Cocoa. Before many minutes had ssed, how-
ever, a pipe would have been to ittle purpose

in restraining his nervous excitement, for the .

non-appearance of the young Englishman began
tocause him serious uneasiness.

The Maroon at last raised the born to his lips '

and blew along, loud blast, and then another.
and another.

There was a response to that signal, but not
such as the youn Englishman might have been

expected to ma 9. Three shrill bugloblasts, i

borne back upon the breeze, seemed the echocs
of his own.

But the Maroon knew they were not. On
hearing them he let the horn drop to his side,
and stOod in an attitude to listen.

Another—this time a single wind—came from
the direction of the former.

“ Three and one,” muttered the Maroon; “ it's
Quaco. He needn’t have sounded the last. for
I could tell his tongue from a thousand. He’s
on his way back from Savanna-la-Mer. though
I didn’t expect him to return so soon. So much
the better; I may want him.”

Shortly after, Quaco came into the glade. car-
rying a large bundle upon his back, under
which he had trudged all the way from Savan-
na-la-Mer.

The skin of the colossus was ('0st with a
white sweat that appeared to be oozing from
every pore of his dark epidermis. This might
have been occasioned b his long walk, the last
hour of it under a bro ling sun, and carryin
weight, as he was, for the bag upon his bac
appeared a flfty~pounder. at least, to say noth-
12g of a large musket balanced upon the top of

None of these circumstances, however, would
account for that inexplicable expression u n
his countenance—the wild rolling of his yelfgw
eyeballs, the quick, hurried step, and uncouth
gesticulations by which he was signalizing his
ap roach.

hough. as already stated, they had arrested

the ttention of his superior, the latter. accus- 2‘

tomed to a certain reserve in the presence of
his followers, pretended not to notice them.
As his lieutenant came up he simply said:

“ I am lad to have you come, Quaco.”

“ An’ a m glad, Cappin Cubina, I’ve foun' ye
har. War hurryin’ home fees as my legs c’u’d
carr me, ’5 tin’ to find ye thar.”

“ al" as d Cubina, “some news, I suppose.
Have you met any one in the woods—that
young Englishman from the Jew‘s pennl l’m
expecting him here. He appears to have missed
the way.”

“ Ha’n’t met no Englishman, cappin. Cussos
Vaughan am dat—l‘se a met him.’

“ Crambo!" cried Cuhiua, starting as he ut-
tered the exalamation. “ You’ve met Custos
Vaughan? When and where?”

“ When—dis mornin’. Where—’bout fo’ mile
b‘yond the crossin’ on the Carrion Crow road.
That‘s where I met him.”

The emphasis upon the last word struck u n
the ear of Cubina. It seemed to imply t t
Quaco, on his route, had encountered others.

“An body else did you meet?” he inquired
hurrie ly, and with evident anxiety as to the
answer.

“Ya as, cappin.” di'awled out the lieutenant,
with a coolness strongly in contrast with his ex-
cited manner on entering the glade. But Quaco
saw that his superior was waitin for the com-

ing of the young Englishman, an that he need .
not hurry the communication he was about to'

make. “ Ya-as, I met. ole Flute. the head-driver
at Moun’ Welcome. He was ridin’ ’longside the
Cussos, bv way 0‘ his escort.”

“ Nobody else ?”

“Not jess then,” answered Qnsco. evidently
holding back the most interesting item of news
he had to communicate. “ Not jess then, Cap-
pin Cubina.”

“ But afterward? Speak out, Quaco. Did
you meet any one going on the same mad?”

he command, with the impatient gesture
that accompanied it, brought Quaco to a quick-
er confession than he might have volunteered.

“ I met. Cappin Cubina.” said be, his cheeks
bulging with the importance of the communica-
tion he was about to make, while his eyes rolled
like ‘ twin jelly balls " in their sockets; “ I met
next, not a man. but. a ghost!”

“ A ghost?” said Cubinn,”,incredulousl .

“ A , duppy, I sw’ar bv the great ccom-
pong~same as I saw before—the ghost of old
Clmkra!" .

l The Maroon captain a 'nmade a start, which

1‘ his lieutenant attribu . to surprise at the an"

; nouncement he had made.

i “ Stop, cappinl" said Quaco, inter‘upting

g with a gesture that shOweu he had‘somethin

3 more to communicate; “you ha’n‘t heard a! .

1 I met more of ’em.”

“ More of whom ?"

“ That same queer sort. But two mile atfcr

‘ I’d passed the place where I see’d the duppy o’

the ole myal man, who d‘ye think I met nex‘?”
“ Who!" inquired Cubina, half-guessing at the

answer.

, “Them debbil‘s kind: like enough com y

Efor the duppy; them Spaniards of de Jews

nn

“Ah! maldito I" cried the Maroon captain, in
i a voice of alarm, at the some time makiaga
gesture as if a light had suddenly broken upon

im. The Spaniards, you say! They. too, af-
1 ter him! Come, Qusco, down with that bundle!
i throw it in the bush, anywhere! there's not a
moment to be lost. I understand the svries of
' encounters you have had upon the road. Lucle-
e ily, I’ve brought my 11, and on yrurs. We
l may need them both Sfore nig t. Down with
5 the bundle, and follow mel"

“ Stop and take me with you,” cried a voice
from the. edge of the glade; “l have a gun, too.”
i And at the same mrment the young English-
. man, vith his gun upon his shoulder, was seen
t emerging from the underwood and making to-
: ward the criba.

i Herbert Vaughan, ap rised of the peril in

l which his uncle stood, or the time forgot all

t elisde, and only thought of pressing onward to his
a

 

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE SICK TRAVELER.

Arum passing beyord the precincts of his
own plantation, and traversing for aome dis-
tance a by-road known as the Carrion Crow,
Mr. Vaughan at length reached the main high-
way. which runs between Montego Bay on the
north and Savanna-la-Mer on the southern side
of the Island.

The day turned out to be one of the hottest,
especially after the hour of noon: and the con-
centrated rays of the sun glaring down upon
i the white chalky road over which the traveler
i was compelled to pass, rendered the journey not

only disagreeable but irksome.
‘ Added to this, the Custos, not very well on
5 Leaving home, had been getting worse every
our.
It was late in the afternoon that the symp-
1 toms of his disease became especially alarming;
I and then he was passing through an uninhabi-
| ted portion of the country, a wild corner of
Westmoreland parish, where not a house was to
be met with for miles along the hi hway.
Beyond this tract, and a few mi es further on
the road, he would reach the grand sugar estate
of Content.
It had been the design of the travsler, before
starting out. to make Content the half-way
house of his journey, b stopping there for the
night. Still desirous o carrying out this design
be pushed on, notwithstanding the extreme de'
biiity that had seide upon his frame, and
which rendered riding upon horseback an ex-
ceedingly painful operation. ,
“It was sunset when he came in sight of Cou-
nt.
I The Custos gazed upon the sight with dizzv

glance. The sounds fell confusedly on his ear.

is the shipwrecked sailor, who sees land with-
out the hope of ever reaching it, so looked Loftus
Vaughan upon the valley of Content. For any
chance of his reaching it that night, without
being carried thither, there was i one- no more
than if it had been a hundred miles distant, at
the ,extreme end of the island. He could ride
' no further. He could no longer keep the sad-
dle; and slipping out of it, he tattered into the
arms of his attendant!

Close by the mad-side, and half-hidden by
the trees, appeared a hut, surrounded by a kind
of rude inclosnre, that had once been the gar-
, den or “provision ground ” of a negro. Both
but and garden Were ruinate—the former de~
. serted, the latter overgrown with that luxuri-
: ant vegetation which. in tropic soil, asingle sea-
son sufl'ices to bring forth.

Into this hovel the Custos was conducted, or
ratlh‘fr carried, for he was n0w unable even to
we .

A sort of platform. or banquette. of bamboos
-—the usual couch of the negro cabin—stood in
one corner: a fixture seldom or ‘never removed
on the abandonment of such a dwelling. Upon
this the Custos was laid, with a horse-blanket
spread beneath, and his calmet cloak thrown
over him.

More drink was administered; and then the
attendant, h command of the individual him-
self. mount one of the horses, and galloped oi!
to Content.

Loftus Vaughan was alone!

The black groom had galloped 06 for help.
and ere the sound of. his horse’s hoofs had ceased
to reverberate through the unclayed chinks of
the cabin, the shadow of a human form, pro-

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 tbspuatosissiek

22

jected through the open doorway, was flung
darkly noon the floor.

The shadow was defined and distinct. The
hut faced westward. There were no trees be-
fore the door—nothing to intercept the rays of
the n0w sinking sun, that cowred the ground
with a reddish glare; nothing save that sinister
silhouette. Only the upper half of a body was
seen—a hwad, shoulders, and arms. In the sha-
dow, the head was of gigantic size: the mouth
open, displayin a serrature of formidable
teeth; the shoul ers surmounted by the hideous
hump; the arms long and ape-like! Beyond
doubt it was either the shadOW of Chakra, or a
do lication of his ghost—of late so often seen.

he sick man was too terrified tos ak; too
horrified to think. It scarce added to is agony
when, instead of his shadow the myal~man
himself, in his own pro r and hideous aspect,
appeared within the oorway. and without
pause stepped forward upon the floor!

The scream that escaped from the lips of
Loftus Vaughan announced the climax of his
horror. On utterin it. he made an eifort to
rise to h 8 feet, as i with the intention of es-
caping from the but; but finally, overpowered
by his own feebleness, and rtly yielding to a
gesture of menace made y the myai-man—
and which told him that his retieat w as inter-
cepted—he sunk back upon the banquette in a
paral sis of despair.

“ a!” shouted Chakra, as he placed himself
between the dying man and the door. “No
use fo’ try ’scape—no use wha‘somdever! Bi

9 wa’ able get way from hya, you no go fur.
'Fore you walk hunder yards you fall down in
you trucklike new-drop calf. No use, you ole
fool. Whugh!”

Another shriek was the only reply which the
enfeebled man could make.

"Ha, ha, ha!” vociferated Chakra, showing
his shark-like teeth in a fiendish laugh. “ Ha,
ha ha! Skreek away. Cussus Va’ghani Skreek
tili you bu’st our wind-pipe. Chakra tell you
it no use. De eath-’pell am ’pon you—it am in
you—an’ 'ess when dat ar sun hab cease shine
upon de car, you go join you two brodder jus-
suses in de oder world, wha’ you no fine buckra
no better dan brack man. Dey gone afore.
Boat go by de death’pell. Cbakra send you
'ess the same; only be you kee fo’de lass,

use you de grann Cussus, an' he eep him boss
victim fo’ de lass. De debbil him better like
dat way.”

“Mercy! mercy!" shrieked the dying man.

it was the last utterance of his “l0. On giv-
ing tongue to it, he had fallen back upon the
bamboo bedstead, mechanically drawmg the
cloak over his face, as if to shut out some horrid
sight; and while the myal-man, gloating over
him, was endeavoring wrocrustinate his pangs,
the poison had comp or its purposq

Chakri, extending one of his long arms, raised
the fold from off his face; and holding it up.
gazed for a moment upon the features of his
hated fee, now rigid, blanched, and bloodless.

Then, as if himself becoming frightened at
the form and presence of death, the savage miso
creant dropped the cover quickly to its place,
rose from his stooping position, and stole stealth-
ily from the hut.

CHAPTER XXXV.
'rwo SPECULATIVI TRAVELERS.

HAD Chakra, on leaving the but, only taken
the main road back to Montego Bay—and that
was the direction in which he interded going——
he would have met two strange men. Not so
strange but that they were known to him; but
strange enough to arrest the attention of an or-
dinary traveler.

The brace of worthies thus described are al-
read known. They were the manohunters of
Jaco J «issuron, Manuel and Andres—cacadores
de cimmaronrs from the island of Cuba.

The sun had already hidden his red disk under
the sea horizon. when the man hunters mounted
the hill, and approached the but where Custos
Vaughan had been com lied to make halt, and
in which he was now i ng lifv-less.

“Mira. Manuel l” as d Andres, as they came
within sight of the hovel. and at the same in-
stant saw the horse standing tied to the tree;
“ an cavallol saddled, bridled, and with alfor-

jasl ”

“A traveler’s horse!” rejoined Manuel, “and
that very traveler we’ve been tracking. Yes!
it’s the horse of the great alcalde of Mount Wel-
come! Don‘t you remember when we saw them
before us at mid-day, that one of the horses was
a hay, and the other a gray! There’s the gray,
gar: it gives on that very animal the Custoa was

he _

“ Cowl! you’re right; I wonder whether
they‘re hoih inside! t’s very odd we don’t see
the negro’s horse!”

“ Ea!" rejoined Andres, apparently struck
wlith at: idea. “What if he ssgoue on to this
p nuts on or some urposei uppose an ace -
dent has happened topthe Custos’s steed, or, car-
rai! sup e he’s himself taken' sick?”

“ Per ins! If Blackskin's out of the way
now’s‘our time; for there is more to be feared
from that big buck nigger than his master, when
it comes tea «agile. If it should prove that

-- hope it into-rho won’t be in

 

 

The Maroon.

a condition to make-much use of his weapons;  Spaniard’s breast: “lest ye mout he wantin’ to
and mrrambo ! we must get hold of them be- ; gi‘e us leg-bail, you muss submit to be trussed a

fore he knows what we‘re after i”

I

trifle. Dowu upon yer behinds, both 0’ ya; and

Creeping cautiously up to the wall, the cor-a» 3 keep that way till I get the cords and skewers,

dares peeped through the unclayed‘chinksoi‘ the
cabin.

At first the darkness inside hindered them
from distinguishing any object in particular.
Presently, as their eyes grew more accustomed
to the obscurity, they succeeded in making out
the bamboo bedstead in the corner, with some-
thing that resembled th’e figure of a man
stretched lengthwise upon it.

He appeared to be sound asleep: there was no
motion perceptible—not even as much as would
indicate that he breathed!

The assassins looked toward one another with
a significant glance. The Fates appeared to
favor their attempt: and as both on the instant
were actuated by the same sanguinary instinct,
they leaped simultaneously to their feet, drew
their sharp machrfes, and rushed together
throu h the doorway.

“ utelo! matelo I” (kill him!) cried both, in
the same voice, each with a view of encourag-
ing the other:.and, as they uttered the cruel
cry, they buried the blades in the body of the
unresisting traveler—stabbing it repeatedly
through the cloak.

Convinced that they had finished their bloody
work. the murderers were about to rush out
again—probably with an eye to the saddle—bags
outside, when it occurred to them as stran e
that the victim of their hired villany shou d
have ke t so quiet In their frenzied excite-
ment, w ile dealing what they suppOSed to be
his death—blows, they had not stopped to notice
anything odd in the behavior of the man whom
they were murdering. Now that the deed was
done, and they could rcfi-‘ct more coolly, a sud-
den surprise seized upon them, springing from
the circumstance that the wretched man had
made not the slightest motion, had neither
stirred nor cried out! Perhaps the first stab
had gone right through his heart; for it was so
intended by Andres, who had given it. But
even that does not produce instantaneous death,
and the man~hunters knew it. BPS‘ldt ii, on the
blade of Andres’ machete, as well as that of his
comrade, there was no ‘bl -od I _

It was Very strange. Could the cloak or un-
der-garments have wiped it ofll Partially,
they might, but not altogether! Their blades
were wet, but not with blood—of that they
showed scarce a stain.

“It’s a queer thing, comrade,” exclaimed
Manuel. “ could almost fancy—Vayril Lift
the cloak, and let’s have a look at him.”

The other, stepped closer to the couch, stooped
toward, and raised the fold of the camlet, from
the face of the murdered man.

As he did so, his hand came in contact with
the cold skin, while his glance fell upon the
stiffened features of a corpse—u on eyes whose
dull, blank film showed that the ight had long
since forsaken them. '

The assassin stayed not for a second look.
With a cry of terror, he let go the garment,
and rushed toward the door, followed by his
eqiially terrified companion.

a another moment both would have escaped

 

outside, a d perhaps have. taken the back track, ;
‘ insect-net; and after a few strokes, succeeded in

without thinking any more about the saddie-

bags; but just as Andres had set foot upon the ‘

door-sill, he saw before him something that:

caused him to pull up, and with a precipitancy
that brought his comrade with a violent con-
cussion against his back.

That something which had led to this sudden
interruption was the presence of three men,

standing in a triangular row, scarce five paces ‘

from the door. Each was holding a gun in
such position that its dark. hollow tube was

visible to the eyes of the assassin—pointing di» ,
; exposed that oval disk of orange light, only seen

rectly upon himself.
The three men were of three distinct colors—

white, yellow, and black; all three known tof

the man-hunter and his Companion. They were

Herbert Vaughan, Cubina, captain of the Ma- .

roons, and Quaco, his lieutenant.

 

CHAPTER XXXVI.
run canvas or ran cacanoms.

THE black, though resumedly the lowest in
rank. was the first to Break speech.

“ No,(ye don’t!” cried be. moving his musket
up and r
the foremost of the vacations. “ No, Mister
Jack Spaniard, not a foot do you set outside that
door till we see what you’ve been a—doin’ ’ithin
there. Stead , n0w, or thar’s an ounce of lead
inter yer gar icky inside! Steady !"

“Surrender!” commanded Cubina, in a firm,

authoritative voice, and with a threatening ;
gesture. which, though less demonstrative than ‘
that of his lieutenant, was equally indicative of .

determination. “Drop your ‘mrwhetes, and
yield at once! Resistance will only cost you
your lives.”

Thus threatened, Andres sulkily let fall his
machete upon the finer—an action that was
instantly imitated by his senior and superior.

“ Now. my braves,” proceeded the black
lieutenant, 3 ill holding his huge gun to the

iwn, while still keeping it leveled upon .

ready.”

The ctwadores perfectly understood the order
and perceiving that there was no chanco for
disobedience, squatted down upon the floor,
each on the spot where he had been standing.

Quaco now picked up the two machetes plac-
ing them beyond the reach of their at daunt
owners.

Then, handing his great gun over to the care
of Cubina, who with Herbert was left to guard
the prisoners, he walked ofi’ to a short distance»
among the trees.

Presently he returned, trailing after him a
long creeping plant that resembled a piece'of'
cord, and carryi two short sticks, each about.
three feet in length.

Qunco, habile in handling oordage of all kinds,

more especially the many sorts of supple wiihes
with which the trees of a Jamaica forest are
laced together, soon tied the two Spaniards
wrist to wrist. and ankle to ankle. as tightly as
could have been done by the most accomplished
'uiler.
J A long practice in binding runaway blacks
had make Quaco an expert in that de; artmcnt,
which, indeed, consliiutes part of the profes—
sional training of a Maroon.

The captors had already entered within the
cabin, now dark as death itself. For some mo-
ments they stood u n the floor, their eyes en-
deavoring to re the gloom around them.
Silent the stood—so still that they could hear
their own real hing, with that of the two pris-
oners upon the floor. At length, in the corner,
they could dimly make out something like the
form of a man lying stretched upon a low bed—
stead.

Quaco, though not without some trepidation,
approached it. Stooping down, he applied his
hand to it with cautious touch.

d “dA man I” muttered he; “eyther asleep or
ea .

" Deadi” he ejaculatod the instant after. as,.,

in gro in about, his fingers chanced to fall awn-

thc ch ll orehead—“dead and cold 2”

Cubina and Herbert, steppigg forward and
stfmping over the corpse, v ' the assertion.
0 sec.

hose body was it? It might not be that of"

Loftus Vaughan! It might be the black attend--
ant. Pluto! ‘

No! it was not a black man. It needed no
light to show that. The tone: of the hair was
sufficient to tell that a white man lay dead upon
the couch.

“Catch me one of those cocuyos!” said the
Maroon captain, speaking to his liturenant.

Quuco stepped outside the but. Low dewn
along the verge of the forest were flittin little
sparks, that appeared to be a galaxy 0 stars
in motion. These were the lumpyri'dm, or small
firei-fiies. It was not with these Quaco had:
to 0.

Here and there, at longer intervals, could be
seen much larger sparks of a golden—green color.
It was the great winged beetle—the compo-—
that cmitte i this lovely light.

Dofiing his old hat crown, Quaco used it as an

ca during a cocuyo.
ih this he returned into the hat, and,
crossing over, held it near the head of tie!
corpse. .
He did not content himself with the gold-
green light which the insect emits from the. two
eye-like tubercles on its thorax. The forest-

craft oftguaco enabled him to produce a brighter

and bet r.
Holding 0

n the elytra with his fin ers and
bending backe g

the abdomen with his thumb, he

when the insect is on the Wing.

A circle of a yard in diameter was illuminated
by the phosphoric glow. In that circle was the
face of a dead man, and sufficiently bright was
the lamp of rhe co um) to enable the spectators
to identify the ghastly lineameuts as those of
the Custos Vaughan.

None of the three started or felt surprise.
That had been gradually pessing- for before
this their preaentiment had become almost a
conviction.

Quaco simply uttered one of those exclama-
tions that proclaim a climax; Cubina felt cha-

T grined—disappointed in more we 3 than one:

 

while Herbert gave way to Pris , though less

' than be mi ht have done had his relative more

deserved h sorrow.

At that instant the hoof-strokes of horses
were heard in front of the hut; and the shad-
owy forms of two horsemcn could be distin-
guished just outside the doorway.

It was the black groom. who had returned
from Content, accompanied by the overseer of
the estate. ’

Shortly after a number of negroes appeared
on foot, carrying a stretcher.

Their purpose was to convey the sidk min to
Content.

Cir-commonest had occured to make a clay.

in the character of their duty.

 
 

 

‘3 .-.. VI‘ sang-"a: a,

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.x

 

 

 

 

 

5 ~., '.:_. .,
,“3 ~

1 .-.; .r “3.5;:

.. 'r and.

"..(e.-

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXXVII.
ran won. or nova AND ran vxan. or man-

OUBY.

Yuma, true to her tryst, set forth to meet her
beloved Maroon. The hour of midnight was
the time that had been appointed; but in order
to secure punctuality, she took her departure
from Mount Welcome before that hour with
great secrecy.

From wnatever motive sprung her cautious
behavior, it was not sufficient to prevent her
de rture from being observed; nor did it en-
abfeaher to perceive that thing of woman’s shape
that, like an evil shadow, flitted after her across
the fields, and went following her along the
forestpath.

On reaching the glade the young girl ad-
vanced toward the ceiba, and took her stand
within its shadow.

Allowing her eyes to drop to the ground at
her feet, she stood for some minutes buried in a
reverie of reflection, a sweet reverie, as befitted
her situation of pleasant expectancy.

She was startled from this abstraction by the
behavior of a bird—a scarlet tanager—that rose.
fluttering and frightened. out of a small clump
of bushes about ten paces from the ceibu, and in
which it had been reposing.

The bird. uttering a cry of alarm, forsook the
shelter and flew ofl into the forest.

Yola could see nothing that should have
calmed the creature to_ make so abrupt a de-
parture from its roosting lace. Some of its
natural enemies had {my the bird? Perhaps
a rat, an owl or a serpent? Thus reasoned she;
and was so satisfied.

If, instead of contenting herself with this con-
jecture, she had stepped ten aces forward, and
looked into the little co , s 6 would have seen
there something vsr diflerent from any of the
three cream her ancy had conjured up. She
would have seen the form of a woman crouch-
ing within the shadow, with features set in su
pressed rage and eyes glowing indignant y
upon herself. Easily, too. would she have
recognized the face as that of her fellow-slave,
Cynthia

r long hours did the Foolah maid wait for
the coming of her beloved Cubina. her ear keen-
ly bent to Catch any sound that might announce
his approach; her bosom every moment be-
coming more and more a prey to painful im-
patience. .

Equally long ata ed the spy in her place of
concealment, equa ly sufleriug torture from
jealous imagininga

To both it was a relief when a footste upon
the path, and a rustling of branches, proc aimed
the apnroach of some one toward the spot. It
was but a momentary relief, mocking the an-
ticipatious of both, thwarting the joy of the one,
and the vengeful de>ign of the other.

Instead of the upectedlover, a very diflerent
personage made his appearance; and almost at
the same instant another, coming from the op-

‘te side.

Beth at the same time advanced toward the
middle of the glade: and without exchanging a
word. stopped face to face near the ceiba, as if
they had met by appointment.

They were out in the open ground, and under
the full light of the moon. Both were men, and
the faces of bOth could be distinct! seen.

Yola know only one of them, and the sight of
him hindered her from staying to look upon the
other. She merely glanced at a countenance
that was fearful“, tnbouégh {Manors fearful who;
than the one s e a are yrecognizsd, an
which had at once determined her to get away
from the ground.

Keeping the great trunk between herself and
the new comers, and retreating silentl under
its shadow, she glided back into the un rwood
of the forest, and was soon far from the pre-
sence of the two intruders. who had bron ht her
long and vain vigil to such an unsat' actory
termination.

Cynthia could not hava followed her exam-
ple, even had she been so inclined. The two
men had stopped within six guess of the spot in
which she 'lay concealed.
the ground was clear of cover, with the moon
shining full upon it. A cat could not have crept
out of the copse without attracting the atten-
tion of one or the other.

The two men who had thus interrupted the
silent tableau by the cciba tree were Jacob J es-
suron and Chakra the Coromantee.

They met near the middle of the glade, just
outside the shadow of the great tree, stopping
face to face when within a pace or two 0 each
other. Not the slightest salutation was ex-
changed between the two men. any more than
if they .had been two tigers who had just come
together in the jungle. The secret com ct be-
tween them precluded the necessity or com-
plimont or palaver. Each understood the other,
and not a word was spoken to introduce the
dialogue except that which was pertinent to the

'ness between them.

“ Well, goot Shakra! you hash news for me!”
interrogated the Jew taking the initiative in
theconversation. “ on hash been in the di-
rection of Savanna! .lsh all right on the road!"

“ What)” voolfsratod the nyal~man, throw-
ing ont' breast and

:1 every side of it,

 

l

l

 

 

The Maroon.

with an air of triumphant importance. “All
right, eh? Well, not auackly on de road, but
by de side ob daat same, dar lie a corp’, w’ich
by dis time oughter be as cold as de heart ob a
watermillyum, an’ ’tifl as—’til‘f as—as de ’kelton
ob ole Chakra. Ha! ha! ha!”

And the speaker uttered a peal of fierce laugh-
ter at the simile he had had so much difliculty
in Conceiving; but which, when found, recalled
the Sweet triumph of his Vengeance.

“ Blesh m soul! Then it ish all over?”

“Daat’s a l ober——I’s« be boun’.”

“ And the shpell did it? The wench Cynthy
thought ash how you had followed the Cushtos.”

“Whugh! dat ere al talk too much. She
hah her tongue ’toppe ’fore long. She muss
hah her tongue ’topp, else she goes boaf 0’ us in
trouble. Nehba mind! A make dat all ri ht
too—by-‘m-by. Now, Maser Jake, a Watt at
odder twenty-five pound. De job am finish, an’
de work am done. NoW’s de time fo’ do pay.”

“That ish ri ht, Shakra. I hash the monish
here in red gol . There it ish.”

As the Jew said this, he assed a bag contain-
ing old into the hands of hakra.

“ ou’ll find it ish all counted correct.
Twenty-five poundsh currenshy. Fifty poundsh
altogether, ash agreed. A deal of monish, a
deal of monlsh, 8’ help me!”

Chakra made no rep! to this significant in-
sinuation; but takin t 0 bag, deposited it in
the lining of his skin ross, as he did so giving
utterance to his favorite ejaculation, “ Whugh l”
the meaning of which varied according to the
accenlnation given to it.

“And now, goot Shakral” continued the
Jew; “I hash more work for on. There ish
another sh ll Wanted, for whic you shall have
another fi ty poundsh; but firsht, tell me hash
you seen any one today on your travels?"

“ See’d any one, eh? Well, dat am a quessin,
Massr Jake. A see’d a good wheen on my trab-
bels' more’n see’d me, 1’se be bonn’.”

“ lint ash you seen any one ash you know I"

“ Sartin a did—de Cussns fo’ one, tho’, by de

llies! a hardly w’u’d a know’d him, be war so
nr gone ‘ moas to de bone! He am almos’ as
{inch a ’keleton as ole Chakra hisse' lf. Hal ha!

al
f}; Anybody elsho that you hash a knowledge
0

“ No—nob‘dy—neery one as a know anythin‘
’bont, ’oeppin’ de Cussus’ ’tendant. A see'd
odder men on de road, but dey wur fur off, and
a keep dam fur of! as a» kud. 0a! yes, da wa’
one who comed near—moss too near—him I
know’d. Dat wa’ one oh dem ’ere Trelawney
Maroon uaco dey call uni.”

“ Only uaco, you shay? You hash seen
nothing of hish capt’in, Cubina, nor of a young
white gentlemansh alon with him?”

“Neider do one nor e todder ob dem two

ple. Wha fo’ you ask dat, Mass’r Jake?”

“ I hash a 00d reason, Shakra. The young
fel10w I spea sh of ish a book-keeper of mine.
He hash left the penn thish very morning. I
don’t know for why, or whither he ish gone;
but I hash a reason to think he ish in company
with Ca t’in Cubina. Maybe not, and maybe
he’ll be ck again: but it looksh suspicious. If
he’sh' gone for goot, the shpell will be all for
nothlnash. S'hcl me, for nothin sh!”

“ Dat’s a pity!p I’m sorry [0 dat, Mass’r
Jake. A hope he no gone.” .

“Whether or not, I mushn‘t go to shleep
about it. There ish another shpell that will be
more needed now ash ever."

“ De Obi am ready. Who d’ye want ’sm set
to, liex’?”

“ For this rashcal Cubina.” -

“Ah, dat era in welkum. De god do him
boss to ’pell him.”

“ He hash trouble for me. It ish not like to
comeso soon now, ash the Cushtos ish out of
the way. But who knowsh how soon? And
better ash the shpell should he set at once. 80,
good Shakra, if you can manish to do for Cu-
bina in as short a time ash you hash done the
Fushtos."there ish another fifty pounds ready

or you.

“A'll do ma bees, Mass’r Jake, to earn you
money. A’ll do ma bess—de bess can do no
mo; .

“ That ish true. goot Shakra! Don’t you think
this wench. Cynthy, can help you?”

“ Not a bit ob help from dat quar'r: not worth
a ’traw for ’pelling Cubina. He no let de
m'latta come nigh 0’ ’im fo’ no considerashun.
He sick ob de si ht 0‘ her. ‘ Besides, dat gal, she
knows too muc now. She one ob dose days
fetch de white folk to de Duppg Bole. Dat
nebha do. No furrer use now. he hab serb
her turn, an’ muss be got rid ob—muss go ‘long
wi’ de odders—long wi’ de Cussus. Da’s my
wgg—de only way to keep a woman ton a
ti . am to ’top ’um waggin’ altoged er.
Whugh!”

After uttering theimplied threat. the monster
stood silent a moment. as if reflecting upon
some mode by which he could make away with
the life of the mu‘atta.

“You think, Shakra, you ish likely to find
somebody slabs to assist you!”

“Nebber fear, Mass'r Jake. Leah dat to ole
Chakra; ole Chakrsmn’ ole Obi. Day do do

jerking up his shoulders ' bimaaa widout help from any adder.”

 

23

“Fifty poundsh, then, Shakra. Ach! Pd
give twice the monish—yes, s’help me! ten
times the monish—if i knew it wash all right
with young Vochan. Ach! where ish be gone?"

The expression of bitter chagrin, almost
an uish, with which the villainous old Jew, for
at east the tenth time on that day, repeated
this interrogative formula, told that, of all
the matters upon his mind, the absence of his
book kw per was the one uppermost, and deemed
by him of most importance.

"Bl so my soul!” continued he, lifting his
umbrella high in the air, and continuing to hold
it up. “Bless my soul! if he ish gone for gcot.
I shall have all thish trouble for nothing—all
the cr r—inoonvenience!"

It was “crime” he was about to have said;
but he changed the word—not from any deli-
cac in the presence of Chakra,but rather to
stil a shuddering within himself, to which the
thought had given rise.

“Nebha mind, Massr Jake,” said his confed-
erate, encouragingly; “you hab got iid ( ban
enemy—same’s massed. Dat am somet‘ing.
anyhow: an’ a promise you soon get shot Oh one
odder. A go at once ’bout dat berry bigness.”

“Yeshl yesh! soon, goot Shakra, soon ash
you can! I won’t keep yoush an longer. It
ish near daylight. I mnsht go DBCk, and get
some shleep. S’help me! I hash not had a wink
thish night. Ach! I can‘t ableep so long ash
he’sh not found. I musht go home, and see if'
there ish any newsh of him.

So say ing, and turning on his heel, without
“good-night,” or any at er parting salutation,
the Jew strode abstractedly off, leaving Chakra
where he stood.

“Whngh!” ejaculated the Coromantee, as
soon as his c;nfederate was out of hearing:
“ dar’s something heavy on de mind ob dat ’ere
ole Jew. somet’in wuss dan de death ob de
Cussns Va’gh’n. onder now wha”em be all
’bouif ’Bout dis yar book-keen r a knows it
am. But wha”bout him? A’l find out ’fone
a‘m' many hour older. Daat a'll do. Golliest'.
A muss go an’ git some sleep too. A’m jess like
do Jew masseff—ha’n’t had ne’er a wink dis
night, nor do night afore neider; nor doan ex-
peck get de half of a wink morrer night! Dat
will be night ob all adder? Morrer n' ht, if all
t’ing go well, Chakra be no slee him lone-he
sleep no more by hisseff—he ha for him bed-
fellow de beauty oh all-do Island of Jamaica.
He sleep wi’ de Lilly—”

“ Ere the full name of the victim threatened
with this horrid fate had pained from his lip»-
the menace of the myal-man was interrupted.

The interruption was caused b a sound pm
ceeding from the little clump of ashes close to
where Chakra st

It sounded exactly as if some one had sneezed.
for it was that in reality. Cynthia had sneezed.

She had not done so intenIionally; far from
it. After what she heard, it was not likely she
should have uttered any sound to proclaim her
presence.

At that instant she would have given all she
pomessed in the world,all she ever hoped to
possess. eVen the love of Cubina, to have been
miles from the spot, within the safe kitchen of
Mount Welcome; anywhere but where she then
was.

Long before the conversation between the
Jew and Chakra had come to a closc, she had
made up her mind never to see the myal man
again; never willin ly. Now an enoriunter ap-
peared inevitable; a must have heard the
sheets! '

The wretched woman reasoned aright; he had
heard it.

A fierce “whngh” was the ejaculation it
called forth in response; and then the myal-
man, turning suddenly in the direction whence
it appeared to have proceeded, stood for a short
time silent, and listening.

“By gollyl’said be, speaking aloud; “dat
’ere soun’ berry like a ’neene! Some oh den
‘ere trees ha’ been aotakin’ snuff. A‘d jess like
know wha’ sort ob varmint made dat- obstro-
polus noise. It wa’n’t a bush—dat‘s sartin’. Nor
yet wa’ it a bird. What den! It wa’n’t ’t
all onlike do ’neeae ob a nig wench! But
what w’u’d a wench be a—do ’in that Da’s
what puules me. Lookee hya!” added be,
raising his voice and addressing himself to who‘-
ever or whatever might have produced the
noise: “les‘s hear dat ag’in whosomebher you
he! Take anodder pines ab 0 snuff—louder dis.
time, so a can tell whedder you am aman or
whedder you be fommynins.”

He waited for awhile, to see if his sweet:
would elicit a response; but none came. tth-
in the copes all remained silent, as' if no living
thin was sheltered under its somber shadows.

“, on won‘t ’nasaa ag’in,” continued he, see-
ing there was no reply; ‘ den by golly, a make
vou, of you am what a ’speck you is! some’dy
hid in dar to linen. No snake can’t a 'neeae dat
way, no’ yeta Iinart. You muaahe eyder man,
wgman, or chilaganéef you‘ Ra, an’ habheerd
w a‘s been , s grea wompong you
life no he wax—Ea! ha!”

As he entand a n this harnmph of his
Who common movln toward

copes, which was onlyaix paces tom the
starting-point. Before the speech was can-

a

2m . Ki: ' ','

 


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ii
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The Maroon.

 

plated he had passed in among the bushes; and
bending them over with his lon , ape-like arms,
was scrutinizi the ground un erneath.

The exclama on-was called forth by his per-
ceiviu the form of a woman in a crouching
attitu 0 within the shadow.

In another moment he had seized the woman
by theshoulder, and with a quick wrench jerked
her into an erect position.

“ Wnthy l” he exclaimed, as the light fell upon
the countenance of the mulatta.

“Yes, Chakral" cried the woman, screaming
ere she spoke; “it’s me, it’s me!”

“ Whughi Wha’ you do hyal Youb been
lbenin’. Wha’ fo’ you lissen

“ Oh. Cliakral I did not intend it. I came
here—J

“How long you been hyai Tell dat quick !"

“ Oh. Chakra—I came—"

" You hva ’forc we came in’ de glade. Need n’t

ax dat. You no k'ud git hya stterwa’d. You
beer all been said? You mus’ hab beer it.”
“Oh, Cnakra, I couldn't help it. I would
have e—"
“Den you nebba hear nodder word more.
Won’t do let vou go now. You come bya: you
stay hya. You nebba go out ch dis ‘pot.
Whugh'.”

And giving tothe monosyllable an aspirate
of fierceness that caused it to sound more like
utterance of a wild beast than a human being,
the monster threw out his long, dark arms, and
rushed toward his intended victim.

In another instant his long muscular fingers
wereclutched round the throat of the mnlatta,
clamping it with the tightness and tenacity of
an iron garrote.

The wretched creature could make no resis-
tance against such a formidable and ferocious
antagonist. She tried to speak; she could not
even scream.

“Chak-—-r——-a, de—ar, Chak—r—a!” came
forth in a prolonged thoracic utterance, and
this was the last articulation of her life.

After that there was a gurgling in her throat
-—the death-rattle. as the fingers relaxed their
long-continued clutch—and the body, with a
sudden sound, fell back among the bushes.

“You lie dat” said the murderer, on seeing
that his horrid work was complete. “ Dar you
tell no tale. Now for de Duppiy Hole; an’ a
good long sleep to ’fresh me fo’ e work of de

' morrer night. Whughl"

And turnin away from the ima e of death
he had just nished fashioning t e fearful
Coromantee pulled the skirts of h s skin mantle
around him, and strode out of the gladc, with as
much composure as if meditating upon some
ahetruse chapter in the ethics of Obi.

 

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
sauna rmumo ms LAXP.

DAY was dawning when the ti er Chakra
returned to his lair in the Dup y’s ole. With
him the night was day, and he dawn of the
mom the twilight of evening.

Bis sleep was far from being silent. From his
broad, compressed nostrils came a sonorous
snoring. causing the cartilage to heave outward,
accompanied by a gurgling emission through
his throat that resemb ed the breathing of a
hippopotamus.

hus slumbered Chakra throughout the live‘
long da , dreaming of many crimes committed,
or. per age. only of that, the sweetest crime of
all whic was yet in abeyance.

It was near night when he awoke. The sun
had one down; at least, be was no longer visi-
ble rom the bottom of the Duppy’s Hole;
though some red rays. tintin the tops of the
trees upon the summit of the c in, told that the
orb of the day was still above the horizon.

His first thought was about something to eat,
and his eyes fell upon the skillet, standing where
he had left it, near the middle of the floor. It
still contained a quantity of the miscellaneous
stew—enou h for a meal.

The kinl ing of the fire, the warming 11 of
the pepper pot, and its subsequent consumpt on,
were three operations that did not take Chakra
any very great amount of time. They wore all
over just as the darkness of night descended
over the earth.

“Now fo' is: ready de signal,” soliloquized
be, moving a ut over the floor of his hut, and
looking into crannies and corners, as if in search
of some object.

As he said this, he drew from under the ham
boo bedstead a gourd Shell. of nearlv egg-shape.
but of the dimensions of a large melon. It had
a long, tapering shank—part of the fruit itsel ,
where the (parlour-p narr0wed toward its pe-
dunclHn through this a string had been
pissed, by which the gourd could be suspended

upon a peg.
Holding it by the handle, he raised the shell
to the light of his lard lamp already kindled,
and stood for some time silently inspecting it.
The gourd was not perfect—that is, it was no
ion or a mere empty shell, but a manufactured
on cle. containing within a most singular ap-
paratus. On one side appeared a hole, several
nehes in diameter, and cut in a shape nearly

pyramidal, the in.» being above the thick end

 

of the oval, and the apex, somewhat blunt, or
truncated, extending tomird the shank.

U to the level of the openin the shell was
fllleg with lard, in the middle of w ich appeared
a wick of silk cotton staple; and behind this
were two bits of broken lookingglass, set slant-
ing to each other.

The whole apparatus bore some resemblance
to a reflecting-lamp; and that was in reality
the purpose for wh ch the rude contrivance had
been constructed.

Another weapon appeared to be wanting, in
the she of a large black bottle, containing
rum. ith this the Coromantee soon su plie
himself, drawing one out from its secret h ding~
place and holding it before the light, to make
sure that it was full.

“Dis bottle,” said he, as he thrust it into a
pouch in his kaross. “I hab kep io’ dis ‘snecial
cnsion; it am de bess weapon fo’ my puppos.
When dem fellas get dar dose ob de rum, lar’il
be no back out in ’em den. Golly l" he a lded,

lancing out, and seeing that it was now quite
gark, “a muss be gone fro’ hya. By de time
ole Adam sees de tellemgrafl. an‘ gets ’cross
dem ’ere mountains, it be late ’nulf for de biz-
ness to begin.”

Finishing with this reflection the sable con-
jurer took up his “ telegraphic apparatus," and
stepping over the threshol , hurried away from
the but to the Jumbe Rock.

On setting foot upon the summit. be undid
the knot that fastened the skin mantle over his
shoulders; and then taking of! the garment, he
spread it out upon the mo .

The stick he had brought up with him he
placed along one edge, and there made it fast
with some pieCes of strin . When this was ac-
complished. he lifted bot 1 stick and cloak from
the rock, and proceeding to the palm, he laid
the stick transversely across the stem, at about
the hight of his own hand, and then lashed it
fast to the tree.

The kaross now hung down the stem, in a
spread position, the transverse stick keeping it
extended to its full width.

Satisfied that the skin cloak was extended in
the roper direction, the Coromantee next took
up is reflector-lamp: and having attached it
against that side of the kaross facing toward
the mountains, he took out his flint, steel, and
tinder and, after striking a light, set the wick
on fire.

In an instant the lamp burned brightly, and
the light, reflected from the bits of looking-glass
might have been seen from the back country to
the distance of many miles; while, at the same
time. it was completely screened from any eye
looking from the side of the plantations. The
projecting edges of the calabash hindered the
rays from passing to either side; while the in-
terposed disk of the spread kaross further pre-
vented the “sheen” that otherwise might have
betrayed the presence of the signal.

It was not meant for the eyes of honest men
in the direction of Montego Bay, but for those
of the robbers among the far hil s of Trelawney.

“Whugh!” exclaimed Chakra, dropping his
arms out of their fold, as if to set about some
action. “1 know’d dey wud soon see um. Yon-
ner go’ de answer 1"

As he spoke a bright light was seen suddenly
blazing up on the top of a distant eminence,
which was suddenly extinguished.

After a short interval another, exactly simi-
lar, appeared in the same place, and in a similar
manner went out again; and then, when an
equal interval had elapsed, a third.

All three resembled flushes produced by pow-
der ignited in a loose heap.

The moment the third response had been given
to his signal, the Coromantee stepped up to his
reflector and blew out the light.

“ Dar’s no use fo’ you any mo’,” said he,
ap‘strophizing the lamp; “dar am some dan-
ger keepin’ you dar. B‘side, it am a gettin’
cold up hya. A want my ole cloak.”

So saying, he took down the reflector and
after it the kaross; and separating the latter
from the piece of stick, he once more suspended
the garment around his shouliers. This done,
he moved forward to the front of the platform;
and dro ping his legs over, sat down upon the
edge 0 the rock, as if to think over what he
was going to do.

From the spot where he had seated himself,
the mansion of Mount Vv'elcO‘ e was in view-—
that is, it would have been had it been daytime,
or even a moonlight night. As it was, how-
ever, darkness vailed the whole valley under its
opa ne shadows, and the situation of the house
coul only have been guessed at had it not been
for the light streaming through the jalousied
windows. These revealed its position to the
eyes of the Coroman'ee.

More than one window showed light—several
that were side by side, givin out a strong
glare. These Chakra knew to the side win-
dows of the great hall, or drawing-room. Its
front windows could not be seen from the
J umbe Rock, since they faced toward the val-
leyi: and not to the mountain.

he reflections of the Coromantce were inter-

rupted by a sound that caused him to draw his,

legs up on the rock, and assume an attitude as
if about to spring to his feet. .

/ .. .
'i-r r.“:; h, 'vr'
H u». all, .

i. ' 1%;

N . - ,'.,,_‘:
' ' ' armor-‘3'”

~.,.
* L -. .1

 

At the repetition of the sound he. started
and rapidly re-c to the opposite side.

At the point where the upward path de-
lébzl‘lmched upon the platform, he stopped to
' ten

For the third time the sound was repeated.

There was nothin strange in it—at least to
ears familiar with t e voices of a Jamaica for-
est. It was the call of a common yet peculiar
bird—the solitaire. I

Chakra’s private slogan was different-lore
mournful and less musical. It was an imitation
of that melancholy utterance heard at night
from the sedgy shores of the dark lagoon—the
cry of the wailing bittern.

‘With a small reed applied to his lips, the
Coromantee produced an exact imitation of
this 1cry, and then remained silent, awaiting the
resu t.

At the bottom of the ravine could be heard a.
murmur of V( ices, as if several men were to-
gether, talking in guarded tones. Following
this came a sound of scratching against the
stones, and a rustling of branches, each moment
becoming more distinct. Shortly after, the
form of a man emerged out of the shadowy
cleft, stepping cautiously upon the platform.
Another followed, and another, until six in all
stood upon the summit of the rock.

“Dat ou, brodder Adam?" said Ohakra,
stepping orwai'd to receive the first who pre-
senth himself at the head of the sloping path.

“Ya, ya! Am it Chakra!”

“ Dat same ole nigga.”

“ All right, kommarade. We’ve see yar sig-
nal as soon as it war hoisted. We wa’n’t long
a-oomin’, war we!"

“ Berry quick. A didn‘t ’speck ye fo’ half an
hour mo .”

“ Well, now we’re hya, what’s the me! I
hope dar’s a good big stake to play or! Our
stock of stuff wants remplenishin’ berry badly.
We haven’t had de chance of a job fo' more
dan a month. We’re a’most in want 0' wit-
ties!”

“ Wittles l" exclaimed the myal-man, laying
a scornful emphasis on the word. “Dar’s a
t’ing for ye do dis night dat’ll gib ye Ino’ dan
wittle—it gib you wealth—chery one oh ye.
Whu hi" .

“ l” ejar-ulated Adam, simultaneously '
with a chorus of like exclamations; “glad to
hear dat ’ere bit 0’ intelligence. Am it dat ’ere
little ob ou speak me ’bout last time I see
you? at t,ole um y?”

“Dat same,” laco cally answered Chakra—
“ only wi’ dis diffurence.’ added he, “ dat a call
um de big job in’tead of de little un.”

“ Big or little," rejoined the other, “we've
come ready to do it—you see we habf"

The speaker, who appeared to be the leader
of the party who accompanied him, pointed to
the others as he made this remark.

The hint was scarce regarded by Chakra.
Notwithstanding the murky loom that envel-
oped the forms of Adam an his companions.
t e myal-man could see that they were all
armed and equipped, though in the most varied
and uncouth fashions.

Eagerly willing were they for the extremcat
action; but, in order to make more certain of
their compliance, Chakra thought it prudent to
ply them with a little rum.

‘ Ma frien’s,” said he, in an affectionate
tone, “you hab had de fatigue ob a long walk
troo dc darkness ob de night. A hab got hya a
leetle drop ob somet’ing dat's berry ood fo’
keep de cold out oh you. ’Pose we a take a
wet from dis bottle?”

To this proposition there was a general assent,
expressed in varied phrnscology. There II-
no tretotaler in that crowd of worthies.

Chakra had not thought of providing himself
with either drinking-cup or calabash; but the
want was scarcely felt. The robbers each in
turn refreshed him .lf directly from the neck
of the bottle. until i e rum ran out.

“ V. ell, ole bumpy,” said Adam, dnwing
Chakia aside. and speaking in that familiar

hrase that betokened a thickness of thieves

tween them, " I suppose the chance you
spoke ’bout bah come round at las’l”

“Dnat’s a fack, brother Adam. It bah come
now.

“ Es great huckra gone from home!
“ e gone from home; and gone to heme.
Ha, Hal’

" Come, dat’s a riddle. What you mean by
gene to home?”

“ To ’im long home. Da’s wha’ I mean."

“Ha!” exclaimed Adam, “ you don’t say fie
Cussos—J’

“ Nebber mind ’bout the Cussns now, builder
Adam. But you know all ’bout atterward. It
am the Cussus’ silber plate dat concern you
now; and dar’s no time to wake in p’laverin’.
By (is time we gets down da, an' . tscn do ‘
masks, dey’ll be' a-gwine to bed. etter dc
wa’ gone to bed; but by dat time, you see, a
moon ’ud be up, an’ fo’ all dese clouds mcu’t
shine out. Dat, as you know, won’t nshba do. ,
We must ’Lici ate” de risin’ ob de moon." g

“True enu . All right. I’m ready. and so
are de rest." \

“Den foller me, all ob on. We can phu do

mode ob ’taok as we tra ble ’long. Plant, ob ' . ,

 

 

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" "en-aggro . ,

The Manse-

 

 

tilne fo’ dat, when we find out how de land lie

down below. Foller mel"

And with this injunction, the Coromantee
commenced descending the ravine, followed by
Adam and his band of burglars.

CHAPTER XXXIX.
Tm; ABDUCTION.

To Cbakra. Viewing them from the summit of
the Jumbo Rock, the well-lighted windows of
Mount Welcome had proclaimed the presence of
company within the mansion. In this, however,
the Coromantee was mistaken. in the past such
an appearance might have had that significance,
or up to a very late period—that IS, up to the
date of the arrival of the distinguished Smythje.
Since the latter had become the guest of Mount
Welcome, however, the illumination of the
mansion with chandelier and candelabra was
not only not unusual, but had been the nightly

two.

The only individuals occupying the splendid
apartments were. Smytbje and the young mis-
tress of Mount Welcome; both et ignorant of
what had occurred upon the avanna Road—-
that fearful event which had left Kate Vaughan
a fatherless orphan, at the same time deprivin
her of the proud title we have just bestows
u n her.

Little did Kite Vaughan sus ect that the
corpse of her father—lying col and lifeless
upon a stretcher, and surrounded by strange
mourners—was at that moment scarce five
miles distant from where she sat, and slowly ap~

roching the now masterless mansion of Mount

elcomel

Little did she suspect, while making music for
Smythje, that from another direction monsters
in human form were moving toward that man—
sion, their dark shadows projecde acrOss the
glare of the window ligli's—-now stationary,
now flitting si'ealthily on word. at each progress-
ive movement drawing nearer and nearer to the
wall l

Not a word of warning, a sign orgesture, was
given to the occupants of the apartment, until,
with wild, unearthly yells, ha fa»dozen flend<
like forms—men of horrid aspect—some with
black masks, others with naked visage even
more hideous to heho'd—burst into the grand
hall, and commench the work of pillage.

One, of gigantic size, masked from crown to
throat, ani Wrapped in an ample covering of
skin, though not sufiil-ient to conceal the deform—
ity of a hunched back, rushed directly up to
where the fair musician was seated. and dash-
ing the harp to one side, commenced dragging
his shrieking victim across the room toward the
stair entrance, knocking Smy thje out of the way
like a baby. _

In less than a sr-o e of seconds Adam and his
confederates had the mansion to themselves. -

It was but the work of a few minutesto fling
open the buffets and sideboards and plunder
them of their most valuable contents In less
than a quarter of an hour the black burglars
had finished their “ job,” and were ready to de-

rt.
p“In an incredibly short space of time the harp,
the chairs. the ottomans, and other articles of
light furniture, were piled up in the middle of
the. floor, the j-ilousies were wrenched from
their fastenings, flung upon the heap, and then
set on fire.

Quick as tinder the dry wood blazed u . and
in five minutes the noble mansion of ouut
Welcome was in flames.

in five minutes more, under the red glare,
flung far out into the distant fields, the robbers
were seen, slowly and laboriously seeking con—
cealment within the shadows beyond—six of
them burdened with shining utensils that gave
back the gleam of the blazing mansion, while
the seventh, the most formidable figure of all,
carried in his arms an object of far different
kind, the body of a beautiful woman—the faint-
ing form of Lilly Quasheba!

 

ln solemn pace the rocession which accompa-
nied the corpse of ustoe Vaughan moved si-
lently on along the lonely road. The Jumbe
Rock was now in sight, eucarmined by the last
re s of the sinking sun. Beyond lav Mount,
Wyelcome, a house to which the sad rortege was
about to carry the cue for wailing and desola-

tion.

They stopped to consider what was beet to be
done. _

A plan soon suggested itselh A messenger
could be sent forward upon one of the horses to
communicate the sad tidings to Trusty, the
overseer. and through him the melancholy news
might be more gradually made known to her
whom it most concerned.

The man received his instructions, and hav-

. ing mounted his own horse rode of! at such speed

as the darkness, now down upon the earth,
would permit. . .
- For another hour the party remained. in the
place where they had halted, to give timeofor
the messenger to execute his commmion.
Then once more taking the road, they .moved
forward at a slow pace Herbert alongside Cu-
bina—now a-foot, and leading the horse upon
which he had hitherto ridden.

In this way the cartoon had proceeded for

 

some half mile or so beyond its last resting-
place, when it was again brought to a halt by
the orders of those in the lead.

The cause of this interruption was declared
to all of the party at once. All heard the hoof-
strokes of a horse coming rapidly along the
road, and from the opposite direction to that in
which they were moving.

It was not without a. feeling of surprise, as the
horseman dashed forward upon the ground and

ulled up in front of the procession, that Her-
llert and Cubina recognized the returned attend-
ant

He left them no time to speculate on the mys-
tery of his reap arance. The white froth upon
the flanks of is steed, shining through the.
gloom, told of fast riding, while the stem: er—
ing and terrified accents n which the man pro-
claimed the pa of his relurn, rendered
more startling the news he had to communi—
cate. '

Mount Welcome was at that n ommt at-
tacked by a band of burglars, robbers and mur-
derersl

There were men in masks and men without
them—equally terrible to look upon. They
were plundering the great hall, had murdered
Mr. Smytbje, were ill-treating the young mis-
tress of the mansion, and firing guns and pis-
tols at every one who came in their way i

“ Quacol’ cried the Maroon ca tain, rushing
to the rear, and addressing himse f to his lieu-
tenant, “think you our men can hear us from
here? Sound your horn on the instant: your
blast is stronger than mine. There is trouble at
Mount Welcome. lVe may need every man of
them. Quick—quick!”

“ The devil 1” mi id Quaco, dropping his hold
of the halter, and raising the born to his mouth:
“ I‘ll make them hear if they’re in the Hand of
Jamaica. You keep your ground, ye pair of
John Crows!” he added, as he held the horn an
inch or two from his lips. “If either of you
budge a foot out of your places I’ll send a brace
of bullets through your stinkin’ carcadges, and
etc you that way. See if I don’t!”

or! wi h this emphatic admonition, the col‘
lossus applied the born to his mouth, and blew
a blast that might have been heard for miles.

In echoes it rung from the sides of the Jumbe
Rock, and from many a peak lying far beyond.
So loud and shrill rung it. that one might al—
most have believed in Quaco’s affirmation—that
it (gould be heard to the extremity of the Isl-
au .

At all events, it was heard by some not so far
off; for scarce had its echoes ceased to reverber-
ate,when half—a-dozen similar sounds.prCCeediog
from different directions. and apparently from
different distances, came back in response.

Cubina waited not to hear their repetition.

“Enough,” cried he, “there are half- omen
of them anyhow. That willno doubt bee ough.
You, Quaco, stay here till they come up. and
then follow to Mount Welcome. Sound again,
to direct them; and see that these two murder-
011s villains don’t escape ou.”

“ Hadn’t I better put alirace of bullets through
them?” naively inquired Quaco. " it‘ll save
trouble if I do that. What say you, Capeu Cu-
bins?”

f‘No no, Quaco; ustice will seltle accounts
With them. Bring t em on along with you; and
follow as soon as our men get upl" '

Before Quaco could ofler any further sugges—
tions, the Maroon captain had mounted the
messenger’s horse—Herbert having already
leaped into the saddle of the other, and both,
without further speech, rode forward as fast as
their ,steeds could carry them.

In a few minutes they had attained the sum-
mit of the ridge, whence they could command
a full view of the valley of Mount Welcome.

The mansion was in flames.

“ Too late! too late!” muttered both the horse-
men in the same breath; and then, With despair
on their faces and black fear in their hearts,
they once more gave rein to their steeds: and
riding recklessly down the slope, galloped on
t0ward the conflagration.

It was evident the confla ration had been
going on for some time. he upper story—
wbich was but a frame“ ork of light timber—
was now nearl consumed, and only the stone-
work below le t standing. OVer th s the larger
beams had fallen, no longer emitting flame, but
lying transversely upon each other, charred,
red, and smoldering.

As the two men turned in the direction of the
negro village, a figure started up in the path,
having just emerged out of the bushes. In that
semblance to the imp of darkness, seen under
the distant glare of the conflagration, Herbert
recognized his old acquaintance Quashie.

Qunshie had already identified him.

"Oh, young massr!” cried the dark , as he
rose to his feet; “do But! am a-blazinl It be
all burn up!"

“ Crambo .' tell us something we don’t know !”
impatiently demanded Cubina. “ Who has set
it on fire? Do you know that?"

“ Did you see the incendiarieai” hurriedly
added Herbert. ‘

“ See who, massr?” . .

“Those ’who set the house on firer’inquired
Herbert, still speaking with anxious haste.

 

“ See yonnerl” exclaimed Quashie, emphati—
cally, pointing toward the burning pile, and
speaking in an accent of alarm. “Golly! day
a n’t gone ’way yet—dc robbers! de robbers!”

Herbert and Cubina “feed suddenly round.
As they did so, they perceiVed several dark
forms moving between them and the brigfl
background of the flames: their shadows ro—
jected in gigantic outlines up to the spot w re
the spectators stood.

Both sprung forward, re ardless of conse—
quences, resolved upon knowmg the worst; and
if their apprehensions should pr0ve true, deter~
mined upon death or vengeance.

With their pieces cocked, and ready for in—
stant execution, Cubina and Herbert were pres—
ing to get within range, when the notes of a.
horn, sounded by one of the men before the fire,.
came swelling upon their ears.

The sounds Were reassuring. Cubina knew
the signal of his lieutenant, and they were now
near enough to recognize the colossal Quaco
standin in the glare of red light, surrounded by
some ha f4iozen of his comrades.

Quaco had left the co ..e upon the road, and
the prisoners well guar ed by a" couple of his
followers: and thinking he might he wanted at
Mount Welcome, had hurried forward close
upon the heels of the horsemen.

This accession of strength might have proved
useful had the enemy been upon the ground.
Where were the robbers—the incendiaries—per-
haps the murderers? Where was Miss Vaughan!
W'here the maid Yola?

Had they esca among the domestics, or
had thcyperisho in fhrflamrs ?

Fearful as was the thought, it could not fail
to be entertained; and in the solemn silence
which the reflection prodUCed, all stood hope»
lessly gazing upon the ruthless fire that was
fast reducing the noble mansion toa shapeless
and smoldering ruin.

At tht moment the stillness was interrupted
by a voic- proceeding from an unexpected quar-
ter. It appeared to come from out the great
arched vault under the store stair“ ay, from a
corner shrouded in comparative darkness. It
was partly an exclamation, partly a groan.

Quaco was the first to seek an explanation-
Seizing a fagot still flared, he rusth under
the archway, re rdless of the scorching heat.

Herbert and ubina quickly followed, and all
three stood within the vault.

Quaco waved the torch in front of his bod} .
to ll uminate the lace.

The eyes of al three simultaneously rested
upon an object that. at any other time, miglt
have elicited from them pealsof laughter.

In the corner of the vault stood a half-bogs
head, or large tub, its head covered with a
heavy lid. Near the upper edge a square bole
had been sawed out; so that a hand containin a
quart measure might be inserted, without e
necessity of raising the lid. Inside, and di-
rectly opposite this openin , appeared the face
of a man, with ample whis ers and mustaches;
which face, des ite the bedaubment of some-
thing that resem led treacle or tar, was at once
identified as that of the aristocratic Smytbjel

“Mr. ’Mythjel” cried Quashie, who had fol—
lowed the others under the archway. “ I see’d
um

“ Fact, ma fwends. it’s nawbody else but ma-
self,” interrupted the ludicrous image within.-
the hogshead, as soon he recognized his ancient
deliverer, Quaco. “ Aw took wefuge here
fwom those bowid wobbers. Be so good as
to waise the wid, and pawmit me to get out
of this queeaw situation. Aw was afwaid aw
should be dwowned. Ba Jawvel aw bwieve its
tweaklel”

Quaco endeavorin to sup rcss his lauzhter,
lost no time in throw ng up t e lid, and extract-
ing the sufferer from his sweet, though un-
pleasant position—for it was, in reality, a bogs-

end of molasses into which the terrified
Smythje had soused himself, in which, during
the continuance of the traged enacted over his
head, he had remained buri up to the neck!

Placed upright upon his legs on the flagged
floor of the vault, glistening from neck to heel
with a thick coat of the. slimy treacle, the proud
proprietor of Montagu Castle presented even a
more ludicrous appearance than when Quaco
had last seen him upon the summit of the bol--
low stump.

The latter, recalling this scene to memory,

and unrestrained by other sentiments, could ho»

longer restrain himself from givin way to loud.
laughter, in which Quashie, equal y free from;
sorrow, took part. '

With Herbert and Cubina it was not the mo~

ment for mirth: and as soon as 8m thje had .

been fairly deposited on his feet, bot eagerly
questioned him as to the circumstancesthat had
transpired. ’

Smyth' admitted having fled-at the some
time ma ing an'awkward attempt to justify
himself. According to his own account, and
the statement was perfectly true. it was not till
after he had been overpowered and struck.
down, that he betook himself to night How
could he do otherwise? His ants onist was a.
giant/a man of vast magnitude an strength.

“A bowid queetyaw,” continued Bmyth’e;
“ aqneetyaw with long arms, and a detawmity

‘\\'»,

, the robbers entered the great hull. Regardless

,but fOr all this she could tell that it was the

 

26

The Maroon. '

 

 

—-—a pwotnbewance upon his shawders, like the I
haunch of a dwomcdawy l” '

“And what of Kite, my cousin?” cried Her-
bert, interrupting the exquisite, with con- 
teviiptuous impatience. ;

“Aw—aw—yesl yaw cousin—ma paw Kate!
A feaw the wobbers have been her off. A
know she was bwought outside. Aw heard haw i
sowenm out as they were dwagging haw down
the staiw—aw-—-aw—”

“Thank Heaven, then!” exclaimed Herbert;
“thank Heaven, she still lives!” [

Cuhina had not waited for the whole of
Smythje‘s explanation. The description of the
robber had given him his one! and rushing out- 3
side, he olew a single blast upon his horn—the
“assembly” of his band. I

The Maroons, who had scattered around the I
ruin, instantly ooeyed the signal, and soon
ministered 0n the spot. 1

“Upon the scent, comrades!” cried Cubinn. i
“ I know the wild boar that has been making '
this havoc. lknow where the monster makes .
his den. Orarnbt.’ Ire an hour passes over ,
his head, he shall answer for this villainy with 1
his accursed life. Follow me!” '

As Cubina pronounced this command, he i
faced townrd the mountain, and was hastening
to gain the wicket in the garden-wall, when an
object came before his eyes that caused him to ,
halt. Amid the gloom, it was a sight thatgave ;
him joy. .

He was not the only One to whom it brought "
gladness. Among the Maro'ms that had come
with Qmm was one who had been suffering
anguish equally with Herbert and Cubina—one .
who had equal cause furgrief—if not for the i
lost of sweetheart or cousin, for that which
should be dear as either—a sister.

A sister for whom sake he had crossed the
wide ocean, had been sold into slavery, robbed
by ruthless men, branded as a felon. chastised
by the cruel scourge. had suffered every indig-
n t which man could at on man. In thli '
in ividuel may be identi ad the young Foolah
prince—the unfortuna e Cingues

What was it that gave Cubina joy, shared
this by Cingues?

It may be easily gut-seed. It was the sight of
a female form, recogniZed by both—the sweet-
heart of the one, the sister of the other—Yola!

The girl was at that moment seen coming
through the wicket-gate. Once inside, she
made no stop. but hastened across the garden
toward the group of men.

In another instant she was standing between
herblover and brother, sharing the embrace of ,
oo’ .

Her stor was soon told, and by all listened i
to with reathles-t attention; by Herbert 5
Vaughan with emotions that wrung blood-
virops from his heart. It was short. but far too
.long for the impatience of apprehension and
revenge.

The girl had been in one of the chambers as

 

of consecwvicas, she had rushed out among
"them. Ltke Smythje, she had been struck .
down. and lav for some minutes insensible, un‘
conscious of what was transpiring.

When her senScs returned, and she could look
«around her. she purceived that her young mis-
tress was no longer in the room The monsters
wvre at that moment in the act of setting fire
to the mansion.

A scream outside directed her. She recog-
nized the voice of her mistress

Springing to her feet, she glided through the
open door, and down the stairway. The rob-
bers were too much occupied—some with their
‘blmty, others with their scheme of incendinrism;
they either did not observo or did not think it
worth while—further to molest her.

On ggtting outside, she saw her oung mis-
tr as me off in the arms of a uge, mis-
shapen man. He wore a mask over his face;

 

same individual she had seen upon the re-
ceding night in comp ny with the Jew. be
ranked man, whose attention seemed wholly
engrossed by his precious prize, went off alone,
leaving the others to continue their work of
plunder and devastation.

The African maid, in her native land habitu-
ated to similar scenes, with a quick instinct
wrceived the impossibility of rescuing her mis-
tress at that moment; and abandoning the idea
of making an idle attempt, she determined to
follow and ascertain to what place the robber
was taking her. She might then return to
Mount Welcome, and guide those who would
be scnt upon the pursuit.

Gliding silently along the path, and taking
'care’ not to show herself. she had kept the robber
in view, without losing sight of him for a
moment. The darkness was in her favor, as
also the sloping path, enabling her to see from
below, while she was herself in little danger of
being seen. '

in this way had she followed the robber no
the declivity of the mov‘ntain. and in. an 0in us
direc'ion across it, still keeping close beh ml
min); when all at once. and to her astonish-
rment, she saw him suddenly disappear into the
earth, hearing her young mistress upon his
arm, like some monstrous fiend oi the other

 

, some degree modified when she looked over a l

j a means of descent down the face of the‘clifi',
.aud this at once dispelled all idea of the

t path, she hastened down the declivity of the

x phrase to Cubina and his comrades, who, with-

i road.
‘ around the great fire, looking like spectres in

‘ Forewarned by that wild conversation he had

' where they hoped to find the spoiler an his

‘ bottom of the cliff did an exclamation escape

world, who had stolen a sweet image of this,

. and was carrying her to his dread home in the

regions of darkness.

Notwithstanding the supernatural fear with
which the sudden disappearance had inspired
her, the bold maiden was not deterred from

. proceeding to the spot.

Both her terror and astonishment were in!

cliff, and saw the sheen of water at the bottom ;
of a dark abysm yawning beneath her feet. 
In the dim light she could trace something like

sugernatural.

he made no attempt to follow further. She
had seen enough to enable her to guide the pur-
suit; and instantly turning back upon the

mountain.

She was thinking of Cubina and his Maroons
-—how soon her courageous sweetheart with his
brave band would have rescued her unfortunate
mistress—when at that moment, in the light of
the flickering fire, she recognized the very image
that was occupying her thoughts.

Her story was communicated in hurried

out losing a moment of time, passed through
the wicket gate, and with all the speed in their
power commenced ascending the mountain

Yola remained behind with the Quashie and
the other domestics, who were now flocking

the flickering light.
Cubina required no guide to conduct him.

overheard, as well ash the events of the preced-
ing day he had alrea y surmised the author of
that hellish deed. More than surmised it: he
was satisfied that, whatever head had planned,
the hand that had perpetrated it was that of
Chakra the Coromantee.

CHAPTER XL.
THE TRAIL.

EAGER as hounds upon a fresh trail—quick I
as young. strong lim ’8 could carry themm'
pressed the pun-11ers up the steep path that led
to the Duppy’s Hole. l

The horses had been left behind. On the
steep and tangled path they would have been
only an incunibrance.

Perhaps never before. by man on foot, had
that path been traversed in so short a space of
time. No sto was made anywhere, till the
pursuers st upon the edge of the Duppy
cliff, and looked down into that dark ab sm,

victim.

Scarce a moment there, either. One after
another they descended the tree stairway, Cu-
bina going first, Herbert next, the others fol-
lowing, with like rapidity.

With the instinct of trained hunters, all made
the descent in silence Only on arriving at the

from the lips of their chief- Cubine.

The sight of a. canoe, drawn up under the
bushes. had elicited this exclamation, which ex-
pressed surprise mingled with disappointment.

Herbert saw the canoe almost at the same
instant of time, but without drawing the
inferenca that had caused Cubina to utter
that cry. He turned to the latter for an ex-
planation. '

“ The canoe!” whispered Cubina. pointing
down to the little craft half-hidden under the
leaf branches.

“ see it,” said Herbert, also speaking in a
whisper. “ What does it signify l”

“They have gone out again. Peihaps it is
only Chakrn himself: or maybe some one of the
robbers who have been helping him, and who
may be emitted to return again. In any case
we must search the valley and make sure. Step
into the canoe! You can’t swim in your clothes,
while my fellows are not embarrassed in that
way. Here, Quaco! get your one aboard this
cookie-shell, and all of you in 'e to the water.
Swim silently. No splashing. do you hear?
Kee close under the cliff! Swim within the
ab» ow, and straight for the other side.”

Without more delay the guns were passfd
from hand to hand until all Were deposited in
the canoe.

Cabins and Herbert had already stepped into
the frail craft, the former taking possession of
the paddle.

In another instant the little vessel shot out
from the bushes, and glided silently under the
shadow of the cliff.

Some half-dozen human forms, their heads
inst appearing above the surface of the water,

ollowed in its wake —— swimming with as
little noise as if they had been a brood of
beavers.

There was no need to direct the canoe to its
old landing lace under the tree. Cubina knew
that this he been chosen for concealment. In-
stead'of oing thither, he made for the nearest

intof t e o posit» shore. _On touching land

- stepped'oui: making a sign to his fellowvvoy—
age:- to imitate his example.

 

The Maroons waded out the moment after;
and once more getting hold of their guns. fol-
lowed their captain and his companion—already
on their route to the uppzrr cascade.

As they advanced, the underwood became
easier to trawrse, and they Were enabled to pro-
ceed more rapidly.

They reached, at length. the edge of the open-
ing that extended for mme distance beyond the
branches of the cotton tree. The but was before
their eyes. A light was shining through the
open door.

Makin a sign to his followers to stay
among t e trees. the Maroon captain, with
Herbert by his side, crept up towaro the cotton-
tree.

Having got fairly under its shadow, they rose
to their feet, and with the silence of dis< Ill-
bodied spirits, glided close up to the entrant-e of
the but.

In another instant the silence was broken by
both. A simultaneous cry escaped them as they

‘ arrived in front of the open door and looked in.

It was a cry that expressed the extreme of dis-
ap intment. The hovel was empty!

0 ascertain this fact it was rot necessarv to
enter within the shrine of the Coromantee Pan-
theon. Nevertheless, Cubina and Herbert. as if
moved by a mechanical impulse, rushed inside
the door.

They looked around with inquiring glances.
There were signs of late occupation. The light.
ed lamp was of itself sufficient evidence of this.
Who save Chakra could have lit it? It was a
lamp of lard, burning in the carapace of a tor-
toise. It could not have been long alight, since
but little of the lard was consumed.

There was no doubt that Chakra had been
there with his captive. That added within to
the knowledge they post-eased already, s ace
Yc‘e had witnessed their descent into the Dup-
py‘s Hole.

But why had the robber so suddenly forsaken
this apparently safe relreutl That the lan p
was left turning beiokcned a hasty departure.
And whither could he have one?

“ Ob, wherei—oh, wherei’ distractedly inter-
rogated Herbert. '

Cubina could make no answer. He wesequally
astonished at not finding the Coromantee within
his but.

Had he once more gone out from the Duppy‘s
Hole’.” The position of the canoe gave color to
this conjcc’ure. But why should he have 6 a
50? Had he caught sight of that agile girl g id-
ing like a. shadow after him? and, becomingsue
picious that his rei reat might be discovered, bed
he forsaken it 101' some other at a greater dis-
tance from the scene of his crime?

In any case, why should he have left in such
haste, not staying to put out the light—much
less to carry with him his peculiar Pennies?

“After all," thought Cubina. “ he may still
be in the Duppy’s Hole. The canoe 11 av have
been had by some one else—some confederate.
Chakra might have seen his pursuersrrossirg
the lagoon, or heard them advancing thiougn
the thicket, and, taking his capiiv: along with
him, may haVe hastily retreated ihlu scmc dank
recess among the trees.”

His sudden abandonment of the hi vcl ren-
 this view of the case the more prob-
a e.

Quick as came the thought. Cubina once more
rushed out of the but, and summoning his men
around him, directed them to procure torchis
and search every corner of the wood. Quato
was dis etched back to the canoe, with ord rs
to stay y it. and prevent any chancc of escape
in that direction.

While the Maroons proceeded to procure the
torch-wood, their chief, accompanied by Her-
bert, commenced quartering the open ground in
189,8“![1 of any trace which Chakra might have
e t.

By the edge of the water, where the trees
stood thinly, the moon afforded ample light to
favor the investigation.

On advancing toward the cascade, an object
came under the eyes of Cubina that cause!" him
to utter a quick ejaculation. It was son. hing
white that lay by the side of the caldro . into
which the stream was precipitated. With the

l itself were broad akcs of white foam that-

mg upon the Water; but this was not in the ‘

water, but above it,on one of the bowlders; and
all the more conspicuous from the black colorof
the rock.

Herbert had seen the white object at thesame
instant of time, and both simultaneously ran
forward to examine it.

A scarf!

It bore evidence of ill usage. It was toast-d"

and torn, as if it had fallen from some one who
had been strugglin 1

Neither could i ntify the scarf, but neither
doubted to whom it had belonged. Its quality
declared it to have been the property of a lady.
Who else could have owned it but she for whom
they were in search?

Cubina appeared to pay less attention to
the scarf than to the place in which it\ lay.
It was close up to the cliff. on tha‘very edge
of the pool into which the stream was pro-~

jected. ,
Behind the pool, and under the curved sheets

 

 

 

 

 

 

u

 

 

 

‘ "-*-~m 1"1

The Maroon.

2?

 

 

of the falling water, a sort of ledge ran across,
by which one could pass under the cascade.

Olbina knew this; for while on his hunting
exoarsions he had gone under it. He knew,
moreover, that half way across there was a large
cave or grotto, in the cliff, several feet above
the water in the pool.

These reflection~ eost Cubina scarce two
seconds of time. Quick as the conjecturehad
shaped itself, he ran back to the but, and seiz-
ing a torch, which one of his men had prepared,
be hurried back toward the cascade.

Then, signing to Herbert and one or two
ofiers to follow him, he glided under the canopy
of falling waters. _

Ho proceeded not rashly, but With due caution.
There mi ht be others within the cave beSides
Ohoikra. His robber confederates might be there,
and these the Maroon knew to be desperate
characters—men of forfeit lives, who WOUld die
before suflering themselves to be captured.

With his drawn machete in one band, and the
torch in the other, Cabins advanced silently and
stealthily toward the entrance of the grotto.
Herbert was close behind, grasping his double-
barroled gun, in readiness to lire, in case re-
sistance should be offered from within.

Holding the torch in advance of him. Cubiua
entered first, though Herbert,anxious and eager,
was close upon his heels.

The glare of the torch was reflected back from
a thousand s rkling stalactites, and for a while
tho sight of th was bewildered.

Boon, however, their eyes became accustomei
to the dazzling coruscation; and then a white
object, lying along the floor of the cave, seen by
both at the same instant, caused them to utter a
simultaneous cry—as they did so, taming to
each o..ier with looks of the most painful de—
9 1r.

p“Between two largi masses of stalagmite was
the body of a woman, robed in white. It was
biog upon its back, stretched out to its full
leugth— motionlt-sa apparently dead, and the
face was that of Kate Vau :han.

_'l‘he Maroons, quietly crossing their arms un-
der the inanimate form. raised it from the rock;
and following him who had given them their
silent direction, they bore it to the but, there
placing it upon the cane couch. With instinctive
delicacy all retired upon the completion of their
task leaving Herbert and Cubiua alone with
the body.

An interval elapsed before either assayed to
speak. Both were under the influence of pro-
found grief that almost stifled reflwtion. Cuhina
was the first to have. other thoughts, and to give
exoression to them.

"Santa Vii-gen !” said he, in a voice husk
with emotion, "I knew not h0w she has die ,
unless the sight of Chakra has killed her. It was
enough to have done it.”

Herbert was hindered from making reply. A
dark form appearing in the dorir, distracted the
attention of both from the theme of their con-
versation.

Qliaco had heard the melancholy tidings, and
relieVPd from his duty by the canoe, had hurried
back to the hut.

Having stopped inside, the colossus stood for
some moments by the couch, gazing down upon
the sweet, silent face. Even on his features was
de icted an expression of sorrow.

radually this became more subdued,or rather
appeared to undergo a total change—slowlv
but surely altering to an expression of cheerful-

ness.

Slight at first. and imperceptible on account
ofthelarge scale upon which Quaco’s features
were formed, the expression was every moment
becomin more pronounced; until at length it
attracte the notice of the others. notwithstand-
ing tthe abstraction caused by their poignant
grin .

Both observed it at the same instant. and to
both it caused a feeling of annoyance, amount-
ing almost to indignation.

“Lieutenant,” said C'ihinn, addreming his
subaltern in a tone of reproach. “ it is not ex-
actly the time for being g-v. May I ask you
what is making you smil -. while others around
you are overWhelmed with sorrow I"

" Why, cappen," rejoined Quuco, “I can'teee
what yar all a-grievin’ ’bont. if you mean
“12101102 buckra lady, I‘d give all the barbe-
cu hog I ever owned nshher to be more dead
than she joss now. Dead, i’deed! nonsense dat;
she only a esp!”

Herbert and Cubiua s‘rrtod from theimato,
each uttering a cry of astonishment, in which
might be detected the accents of hope.

“Ho! ’ exclaimsd Qiam, suddenly. clutching
'hold of a vial that lay upon the floor—now for
the first time noticed.

“ What we got here?” continued be. drawing
the cork with his teeth and thrusting the’neck
up his wide nostril. “Sleepin’ draugh’! I
thought so. So this is the spell that’s put the
young buckra lady to rest. Well, there’s an-
other that’ll wako her, if I can only find it.
It’s boun‘ he bya, somewheres about; and if I
can git mv claws on it I’ll make this hya
young creatur' talk to ye in less than ten mm-
m"

Studying, the colossus commenced searching
around the hut, looking into the numerous

 

chinks and crannies with which both walls and
roof were provided.

“ Only a sleep-spell,” said Quaco, still continu-
ing his search; “ nothin’ more than that—a
drau ht given her by the myal doctor. I know
it wel enough, and I knows what’ll make all
right. again, though ’ithout that she'd come to
of herself. A—hu! hyar it is! hyar’s the anec-
dotel”

A small bottle glistened between his fingers.
which in another instant was uncorked and
brouzht in contact with his nostrils.

“ Yes, dis is the stuff that’s a-goin’ to coun-
track that spell. In less’u ten minutes’ time you
see b r wake up, brisk as ether she been in her
life. Now, young master, if you jess hold up
the young lady’s head while I spills. drop or two
down her throat. It must go down to do her
good."

Herbert, with joyful willingness, obeyed the
request, and the beautiful head received the sup-
port of his arm.

Quaeo, with all the gentleness of which his
huge, coarse fingers were capable, parted the
pale lips, and inserting the neck of the vial,
poured out a portion of the contents into the
mouth of the sleeper. This done, he held the
bottle for some minutes toher nostrils, and then
laying it aside. be commenced chafing her
hands between his own broad, corrugated palms.

Scarce five minutes had elapsed from the time
of administering the antidote—to Herbert they
appeared fifty—when the bosom of the sleeper
was seen to swell upward, at the same time
that a sigh, just audible, escaped from her lips.

Herbert could no lOnger restrain his emoions.
With a cry of supreme joy, he beat his face
nearer to that of the young girl, and pressed
his lips to hem, at the same time gently mur-
muring her name.

“ Be quiet, young master,” cautioned Qiiaco,
“ else you may keep her longer from wakin' up.
Huh patience. Leave the anecdote to do its
work. ’Ta’n’t goin’ to be very long.”

Herbert, thus counseled, resumed his former
attitude, and remained silently but earnestly
gazing upon the beautiful face, already showing
signs of reanimation.

As Quaco had predicted, the “anecdote” was
not long in manifesting its effects. The bosom
of the young girl began to rise and fall in quick
spasmodic motion, showin that respiration
was struggling to return, w ile at shorter in-
tervals sighs escaped her, an ible even amid the
sounds so similar heard from without.

“Herbert, cousin 1" she exclaimed as sonn as
speech was restored to her. “ It is you? Where
am If No matter. since you are by me. It is
your arm that is around me?"

“ Yes, dearest cousin—never more to part
from this sweet embrace. Oh, speak to me!
Tell me that you live !"

“ Live? Ah, you thought me dead? I thought
so myself. That horrid monster! He is gone?
I see him not here. Oh, I um saved! It is you,
Heri art, you who have delivered me from
worse. than death!"

“Mine is not the merit, cousin. This brave
man by my side—it is he to whom we are both
indebted for this deliverance.”

“Cubiua! and Yolal—poor Yola! She too,
has escaped? Oh. it is a. fearful thing. Ican-
not comprehend—"

“ Dearest cousin! think not of it now. In time
you shall understand all. Know that you are
safe—that ail danger is st.”

“ My poor fat-her! if e knew—Chakra alive
-—that fearful monster!" '

Herbert was silent. Cubiua at the same time

withdrawing from the but to give some orders
to his followers.
. “ Ah, cousin! what is that upon your breast?”
inquired the young girl, innocently touching the
object with her ngers. “Is it not. the rib-
bon you took from my purse! Have you been
wearing it all this time?”

“ Ever since that hour! Oh, Kate! no longer
can lconceal the truth. I love you! 1 love you!
I have heard— But tell me, dearest cousin!
with your own lips declare it, do you return my
love?’

“ I do! I do!"

Once more Herbert kissed the lips that had
given utterance. to the thrilling declaration.

In that kiss two loving souls were sealed for
ever.

The midnight hour had passed era the lovers
forsook the solitude of the Duppy’s Hole.

Slowly Herbert and his cons n moved down
the mountain. The moon, now shining sweeth
upon the perfumed path, favored their descent;
hut thcre was no need—no desire for haste.
Cubiua kept ahead to secure them from sur~
prise or danger. They had nothing to do but
talk love to each other.

CHAPTER XLI.
AN onrasn.

Tm: earnest utterances of love exchanged boo
tween the two cousins were sudden! inter-
rupted. Sounds of woe broke upon 1: 0 still-
new of the night.

They had arrived within view of what was
once the mansion of Mount Welcome.

Through the foliage that fringed the path
they could see glancing some remnants of red

 

REE: here and there flickering into a faint
b . Now and then, as they descended the

' slope, they had heard the crash of falling tim-

bers, as they gave way under the wasting fire.

A murmur of human voices, too, had reached
their ears; but onlyas of men engaged in an
ordinary conversation; or, at all events. not
exhibiting excitement beyond what might be
expected at the finale of such a soc—no as had
there transpired.

All at once abru tly breaking upon this con-
parative tranquillity—at the same time inter-
rupting the dialogue of the lovers—e ere heard
utterances of a far different import; the cries
of men, the screaming of women, shots, and
loud shouting.

All these sounds appeared to proceed from the
spot that but a few ouia before had echoed to
the clangor of a chorus equally diabolical in its
accents.

Cubiua. who had been moving some paces in
advance. sprun instantly back upon the path'
and, with tron led look, stopped in front o
the lovers.

“ What can it mean?” asked Herbert, equally
showing siuns of a prebension.

‘ ' The robbers! aster Vaughan! They have
returned; but for what purpose 1 cannot guess.
it must be they. I know that voice. louder
than the rest. Do you bear it! ’Tis the voice
of the brigand Adam! Crambo! l‘llsilence it
some day ere long—maybe, this very night.
Hark! there’s another, still louder and wilder
Ho! that, too. I can distinguish. It’s the heli-
ish shriek of Chakra!”

“But why should they have come again?
They took everything a robber would Cure for.
What can have brought them back? There is
nothing—”

“There is!” cried Cuhina, with a quick gee.
ture, as though the solution had just then .pre-
sented itself to his mind. “ There is YoIa .'

As he said this he faced around, as if about
to rush toward the my. still strepitant—its
noise rather on the increase.

For an instant he appeared to be undecided;
though not from any fear of going forward.

No, it was another thought that had caused
that indecision; which was soon made manifest
by his words.

“ Master Herbert Vaughan !" he exclaimed in
a tone of appeal, “1 have helped you to rescue
your sweetheart. Mine is in danger!”

The young Englishman stood in no need of
this appeal. Alr ady he had disengaged his
arm from that of his cousin, and stood ready
for action.

In a few seconds they ran down to the
garden-wall, and passed rapidly through the
wicket-gate. which they found standing open;
on through the garden. and straight toward the
place train which they imagined the sounds bad
proceeded.

Strange enough, these had ceased as abruptly
as they had risen—the cries of the men. the
screaming of the women, the shots, and the loud
shouting.

All, as if by a simultaneous signal, had be-
come silent, as though the earth had opened and
swallowed not only the noises, but those who
had been causing them!

Unheeding the change, Herbert and Cubiua
kept on: nor came to a stop until they had
passed the smoking remains of the mansion, and
stood upon the platform that fronted it.

There halth they.

There was still some fitful light from the
burning beams: but. the beams of the moon 'old
It truer tale. They illuminated a tableau signi-
ficant as terrible.

Near the spot was a stretcher, on which lay
the corpse of a white man, half uncovered,
ghastly as death could make it. Close to it
wore three others. corpses like itself, only that
they were those of men with a black epidermis.

Herbert easily identified the first. It had
been his companion on that day’s journey. It
was the corpse of his uncle.

As easily did Cubiua recognize the others.
Thev were, or had been. men of his own band-—
the Maroous—left by Quaco to guard the pris-
oners.

The prisoners! where were they? Escaped!

It took Cubiua but little time to resolve the
mystery. To the racticed eye of one who had
tied up many a h ack runaway. there was no
difiicu ty in interpreting the sign there present.
ed to his view.

A tangle of ropes and sticks bron lit to mind
the contrivances of Quaoo for your ng his oop-
tives. They lay upon the trodden ground, out
away, and forsaken.

The camdores had escaped. The affair had
been a rescue!

Rather relieved by this conjecture. which
snon assumed the form of a conviction, Herbert
and Cubiua were about returning to the place

Where they had left the young creole—whom _

they supposed to be still avvaiting hem.

But they had not calculated on the bravery
of love—much less upon its recklessness.

Love could no longer endure that anxious sno-
pense. The young creole had forsaken her shel-
ter to share the dan r of him she adored.

Before either con d interfere to reveal: tho
catastrophe, she had passed throng the wicket

’ ‘3‘.“3 .

 

 

 

28

The Maroon.

 

 

-—-a way better kn0wn to her than to them—and
came gliding across the garden, up to the spot
where they stood.

. An exclamation of joy announced her percep-
tion that her lover was still unharmed.

Quick as an echo, is second ext-lamation es-
caped from her lips-but one of a far diflerent
intonation, It was a cry of wildest despair—
the utterance of ore who suddenly knew herself
to be an orphan. Her eyes had fallen upon the
corpse of her father!

 

CHAPTER XLII.
CONCLUSION.

THERE is but little more to tell of the fortunes
of those personages, black, white and yellow,
whom our readers have so far followed.

Chakra, the MyaI-man. and his confederate,
Jessuron, had one one step too far when they
rescued the vi] ainous f'at'adflrt’J from their Ma-
roon guards at Mount Welcome. In the active
pursuit that followed, Chakra himself with Jes-
suron and the cacadores, were chased into their
retreat or‘ the Duppy‘s Hole and cornered there.

Attempting to escape by the lagoon they got 7

into the current of the cataract and were all
swept over and finally dashed to pieces. Turn
we then from them to pleasanter pictures.

On the morning that succeeded the occur-
rence of these tragic events, one enterin at the

at gate of MountWe‘come estate. antidirect-
mg his eye up the long, palm—shaded avenue.
would have beheld but a ma 8 of black smoking
nuns.

On any other morning. twelve months after,
the eye of a person looking in the same direc-
tion would have been gladrlened by a sight for
diflerent. Smilin in all its splendor, at the
end of that ve eta le vista. once more could be
seen the pron mansion of Mount Wi-lcome—
rmaisxant l.l every respect—its stone stairway
still standing—its white walls and green ja-
ouaied wind0ws looking as if they had sprung,
phmnixlike. from the flames—every item of the
architecture so closely in imitation of the for-
mer structure that even the eye of an old ac-
quaintance could have detected no trace of the
transformation.

Outside, everything appeared as before. It
was only upon entering the mansion that you
might perceive achange. and this chiefly relating
to its occu nncy and ownership. Instead of a
stout, red acei, and somewhat plebeian person-
age, of over forty years old. you would see in
the resent proprietor of Mount Welcome a

yout of noble mien, b age scarce claiming the .

privileges of manh , but in aspect and .de-
meanor ev1dently fit for the performance of its
duties-deserving to be the mast r of that aris-
tocratic mansion.

Near himvoh! certain to be near him—there
is one upon whom the eye rests with still greater
interest; one who had graced the old mansion—

et more gracing the new—the daughter of its

ormer proprietor, the wife of its present one.

She has not eVen changed her name—only ,
her condition. Lilly Quasheba is no longer Miss I

but Mrs. Vaughan.

Both these personages may be seen seated in
that great hall, with floor as smooth and furni-
ture as resplendent as ever.

It is the hour after breakfast, and also, as of
yore, the hour when the post ma be expected.

Not that either cared to look a road for that .

diurnal mensen er—more Welcome to those
around whom ymen has not yet wound his
golden chain.

Equally indifferent were these two happy in-
dividuals to the actions of the outside world;
neither cared for its news.
the fresh flush of its honeymoon, was world
enough for them: and what interests could
either feel in the arrival of the mail?

But the post has no respect either for indiffer-
ence or anxiety. It is transmitted alike to the

Va and the gay. It brings joy to the heart

eavv-laden, and sorr0w to that which the mo
ment before its arrival may bava been bound-
in with bliss.

n that great hall in the mansion of Mount
Welcome there were two
bliss, or a feeling near akin to it. Nay, why
should we say akin to it. since they were two

hearts in the enj iy ment of a mutual love? If that '

be not bliss, there is no other—either on earth
or in heaven.

Without any attem t at concealment. the
eyes of both betrays their mutual delight.
Gazing on each other. in sweet reciprocal admir—
ation, they saw not that dark form-rudely cen-
taurean—that approached up the king avenue.

Had they seen it, it would have created no sur-
prise. It was only the postboy Quashie, on his
shaggy cob, returning from the Bay.

After this speculative peroration, the reader
may be apmhensive of some dire development
:firinging n. the letter-bag sluag' over the

onlders of the darkj.

Nothing of the kin . There was a letter, but
not one that might be unwelcome. But for the
postmark it might have remained for hours un-

opened.

But the impress was uliar. 'It was African.
The letter was stam with the name of a (port
near the mouth of t Gambia. It was ad res-

l I

Their love. still in ;

bosoms brimful of .

sad to “Herbert Vaughan, Esq, Mount Wel- ‘

, come, Jamaica.”

! them, I propose somethin

The young planter broke the seal, and rapidly ,‘
1 house upon it: so that upon their arrival the

“ From your brother Cubina,”said be, though

he knew that he imparted no information by

r this. “ He writes to say that he is coming back
5 again to Jamaica."

| “Oh, I am so glad of that!

| never live contented among these wild people,

[I ran over the contents of the letter.
i

and his (in: k-skiuned bride. And to prove it to
more than '

them the piece oi land. t us build a

may have a roof to shelter them.”
“Oh, that Would be a pleasant surprise for-

. them 3”

I knew he would 

l notwithstanding he has been made a prince over ‘

them; but Yoln—”
“She comes with him, of courso. It is not
I likely he Would leaVe her behind. She longs for
l her islnnd~home again. i don’t wonder, dearest
j Kate! There is one spot on the earth hallou ed
‘ beyond all others—the spot where heart meets
i heart in the free confession of a mutual love.

. No wonder the African maiden should desire to .
Human nature is everywhere the f
To me this island is the elystum of.

return to it.
' same.
canh.”
“ Ah! to me also!”
On giving utterance to this mutual confession,

3 had never been married!

I After this fond embrace, Herbert continued 1

the reading of the letter.

“0h!” exclaimed be, when he had perused
another portion of the epistle; “your brother
wants to know whether he can either become

our tenant or purchase that piece of land that ,

lies be ond the Jumbo Rock. The old king has
given im a capital to start with, and he wants
to turn coffee-planter.”

“ I am glad he has such intentions. Then he
will settle down, and be near us."

We shall present it to him, since We haVe
enough without it. What say you, Kate“! It is
yours not mine, to give.”

“ A l" returned the young wife, in a tone «.f
playful reproach, “do not distress me with
those sad souvenirs. You know that 1 gave it
to you when I might have believed myself its
mistress; and—~”

“Stay, dearest! Do not you distress me by
such an appeal! You were its rightful owner,
and shou have been. Even had we not be-
come joint proprietors, I could neVer have
thought of dispossessing you. Say, then, that
the land shall be Cubina’sl”

A repetition of that sweet embrace pronounced
the consent of both to the proposal 'of Cubina.

Herbert resumed the reading of tho- letter.

“Good heavens!" cried he. on finishing its
perusal, “what a singular story! The captain
of the slayer who brought Yola’s brother over

the young husband and wile. bent toward each 5
other, and pressed lips as fervently as if they ’

" Then we shall bring it about.
ly morning! Don’t you think so, Kate?”

As Herbert put this interrogatory, he glanced
out through the o n jalousies.

There was nothing particularly fine about the
morning—at least for Jamaica, but Kate saw
wioi Herbert’s eyes; and just then, to the eyes
of both. everything appeared couleur tie-rose.

“ Indeed, a beautiful mornin l” answered
the young wife, glancinginquiring y toward her
husband.

“What say you, then, to a little excursion,
u pird ?"

" I should be delighted, Herbert. Where do
you think of going?”

" Guess now!"

“ Nowyou must tell me.”

“You forget. According to creole custom,
cur honeymoon is to last for twelve months.

1 Until that be terminated, you are to be mas—

“He must not be permitted to purchase it. .

ler, sweet Kate. Where would you most like
to goi‘

“ I have no choice, Herbert. Anywhere. In
your com ny it is all the same to me. You
must deci e.”

” Well, then, dearest, since you leave it to
me, I declare for the Jumbe Rock. Its summ t
overlooks the piece of land we intend present-
irg to our brother Cubina. While we are there
v e can select the site for his house. Is it agree-
able to you?’ ’

"Dearest Herbert,” replied the young wife,

' entwining her arms around that of her bus-

in Jamaica has been back again to the coast. ‘

‘ Vtht a terrible retaliation l”
“ What, dear Herbert!"
“ Only that they have eaten him!”
“Oh. merciful Father!”
. “ Sad and terrible though it be, it is true: else
‘ Cubina would not have written it. Hear what
he says:—
“ ‘Jowler’—‘hat was the name of the slaver’s
g captain—‘presented himself before old Fool —
; foota, in search of a fresh cargo of slaves. T e
I king. alread apprised of the skipper’s treason
2| to Cingues, nstantly ordered him to be seized;
g and, without trial or other formality, caused
him to be chopped to pieces upon the spot. He
was afterward cooked and eaten. at the grand
1 national feast which was held on the celebra-
ition of my nuptials with the Princess Yola.
| Crambo I it was a painful scene; and one might
; have felt sympathy for the unfortun ,te wretch,
‘, had he been anything else than a dealer in
human flesh' but under that reflection, I stood
l by without eeling any great desire to interfere
in his behalf. In fact, my Fellatah father-in-law
was so furious, I could not have saved the
i wretch from a fate which, after all, was per-

; haps not more than he deserved, and to which, -
‘ no doubt, the poor victims he had carried across '

. the Atlantic would have been only too glad to
‘ have seen him consigned.’ "’

“ It is well,” said Kate, with a thoughtful air,
I “ that Cubina has determined upon leaving a
land where, 1 fear, such scenes are too common.
I shall be so happy to see them borh once more
x in our dear, beautiful island! And you, Her-
bert I am sure, will rejoice at their return.”

“ ost certainly I shall. Ah, Kate! did it
ever occur to you how much we are indebted to
them?" '

“ Often, Herbert—often. And were it not
that lam a firm believer in destiny, I should
farm that but for them—"

“ onsense, Kate!” playfully interrupted the
young husband. “None of your creole super-
stitions. There is no such thing as destiny. It
was not that which ruled my heart to believe
you the fairest thin in creation—but because
you are so. Don’t ungenerous to Cubina
and Yola. Give them all the credit that is one
to them. Say frankly, love, that but for them
you, might have become Mrs. Smythje, and I—

“Oh,'Herbertl speak not of the past. Let

ever thin we can desire!”
. “ gree ! But for all that. dearest. do not
letus forget the gratitude we owe to Cubina

 

.,,..
1":

t 4 . . n
..   ,.,.,_.,,.b.

that be buried in oblivion, since our present is,

 

band’s and gazing fondly into his eyes—“ the
very place I was thinking of.”
ms: END.

 

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BY JOSEPH E. BADGER. JR.
92! Old Sobersldes the Detective of St. Louis.
08 White-Horse healer. the Revenue Detective.
915 The Double Edgel Detective.

' 907 Maverick Mark. the Man from Nowhere.

$8 Silky Steele, the Stay-in Sport.

081 Tue swtter‘s ort's Neck-Tie Part .

870 High. ater hfark; or. Silver-Tip d.

303 Riata Rob, the Run e Cham ion.

855 The C wbov Chiefs Sure- ‘ 0t.

848 The Rival Red-Hut Sports.
Curly Kid. the Cheyenne Sport.

&4 The Soft Hand Dett ctive.

815 The Soft Hand‘s Clutch.

an Dan Dunn the Soft-Hand Sport.

795 Tue Frisco lletectlve's Thug-Tangle.

.80 Sam Cary. the River 8 «rt.

‘ so The Dead Sport‘s Don ie.

‘71 Prince John. Detective. S lal.

783 Dandy Den, the Denver elective.

734 hhe Man (tom Texas; or. Dangerfield. the
Doctor Detective. .

I44 Swen takes Sam. the Silver Sport.

7m The ret Sir or, O.d Halcyon.

m The Man of sni.

'71! Bantam Bob. the Beaut from Butte.

«an Kent Kasaon. the Preacher Sport.

‘58:! Bob Breeze. the Rounder Detective.

'Wl‘: Steel Sun'y, the Sport frt m Bum-u

668 Solemn Saul's Luck Strtak

gt: Elbe Get-Téltere Sitllarp.k 8cm

' 'iventip vve, t e S y from Stsxiyou.

645 Gopher Gabe. the Unseen Dogfcthe.

61B Dandy Darling, Detective.

as: lie-aback Mose, the Monn'aineer.

617 The Gri Sack Sharp‘s Even u ).

597 Big Ba y. the Brigadier of B mstone Butte.

588 Sandy Sands. the Sharp from Snap City.

57! Sliver-Tongued Sid: or. Grip Sack Sharp‘s Sweep.

504 The GripSack Sharp; or. The Seraphs of Sodom.

555 Grip-Sack Sid. the Sample Sport.

5d The Buried Detective; or. So l‘s Six Sensations.

541 Major Magnet. the Man of Nerve.

1385 Dandy Dutch. the Decorator from Dead-Lift

1/337 Dandy Andy, the Diamond Detective.

$14 Gabe Gunrl. the Grizzlxlfrom Ginse .

504 Solemn Saul. the Sad an from San ba.

495 Rattlepate Rob; or. The Roundhead‘s Reprisal

{at TbeThwhbred Sport.

47! Dad -Eye. the bonnet of Dow Drop.

:8 0d ugh and Ready, the of Sundown
Dutch [Months Pii m from pitzenberz.

448 A Cool Hand: or. tel Johnny‘s Picnic.

“8 Oklahoma Nick.

on Lawhhinz Leo; or. Sam‘s Dandy Paid.

as The host Detective: or. The Secret Service Spy.

- 416 Home Jun. the Black Sheep of Bismarck.

‘W Rob Roy Ranch: or. The Imps of Pan Handle.
£03 The Nameless Sport.
8% Deadly Aim. the Duke of Derringers.
W D trk burg. the Ishmael of the Hills.
on fhptain Crisp. the Man with a Record.
87 A Royal Flush: or. Dan Brown's Big Guns,
369 Jumping Jerry. the Gamecock sundown,
3:25 Stormy Steve. the Mad Athlete.
as! Nor' W at Nick. un- Boruer Detective.
845 last . Mark. the Mounted Detective.
830 501...“! Earle Sam. the Hercules Hide Hunter.
on Chispa Charley. the Gold Nugget Sport.
817 Frank Lighti‘oot. the Miner Detective.
291 Moke Borner. the Boss Roustabout.
sat Patel Johnny; or. 0: 0 Man in a Thousand.
288 Sleek Sam. the Devil of the Mines.
8!? Death Trap Di inns: or. A Man 'Way Back
s19 Elephant Tom. 0 ‘Duranzo.
941 Spitfire Saul. King of the Bustiers.
an; The Old may of Tombstone.
am Pirate of the Pincers: or. do in's Death Hunt
180 Old '49; or. The Amazon of A us.
170 Sweet William, the Trapper Detective.
1&5 Joaquin. the Terrible
154 Joaquin, the Saddle King.
141 Equinox Tom. the Bui' ‘ of Red Rock.
119 Alabama Joe; or. The ‘azno Man~Hunters.
105 Dim-Brown of Denver: or. The Detective.
88 Biz George: Or. The Five Outlaw Brothers.
71 (.‘aptgtin Cool Blade: or. Mississippi Man Shark.
67 The Boy Jockey; or. Honesty vs. Crookednesa.
as Jack Rabbit. the Prairie Sport.

av WM. 0. PATTEN.

$10 Fire-E 6. th Thuz‘s Terror.

7% Old N ght— awk, the Crook Shadower.

7118 The Prin e of New Yor Crooks.

756 Old Burke. the Madison Square Detective.
76 Double-voice Dan 3 Double Disguise.

715 Double—Voice Dan on Deck.

'0: Double-Voter; Dan. the Always-on-Deck Detective
.196 Double-Voice Dan, tLe Go-it Alone Detective.
089 The Sparkler Sharp.

ti?ii Hurricane Hal. the Cowboy Hotspur.

Nil Oid True Blue. the Trusty.

$8 The Giant S art: or. Sold to Satan.

'55 Old Plus; U’Z'ly. the Rough and Ready.

1648 Gold Glove Gld mo Man of Grit.

“1 bloc Jack. the esert Nomad.

631 Colonel Cool. the Santa Fe Sharp.

602 Caxtain Nameless the Mountain Mystery.

 Ol Dismal. the RareM Detective.
Hustler Harry. the Cowboy Sport.

BY GEORGE C. JENKS.

010 The Arizona Detective.
N4 Silver Sam. the Shasta Sport.
$0 The Silver Sport's T) -nhle.
£38 The Cour-to Detective.
855 The 11de Detective.
m Caghin Garden. the. Twimcr Detective ,
755 W P te the Broncho-anter Detective.
M Fearless Sam. the Grand Combination Detecflve.
719 Boston Bob. the S’pon Detective.
Jauntv Joe. the orkey Detecuvo.

Sharp. the Rustler
be Rocket. the Tent Detective.
“ h-Grlp, the Tenderfoot Detective
5a The Drummer Detective.
4' 'file Giant Horseman
I m lye, the Phone Detective.

 

BY \VILLIAM R. EYSTER.

910 Two Dead—Square Sports.

902 Soft Velvet, tne Man trom Sandrock.

891 Genteel J itn. Sport—atrLarge.

881 The Clubman-Crook‘s Cat‘s-paw.

8.7 The Frisco Sport.

852 The Stranger S ort's Shake-up.

8% Kirk King. the inn from Kirby.

818 Gentleman Dave. the Dead Game Sport

783 The King-Pin Tramp.

767 The Sport of rilver Bend.

718 Unc‘e Bedrock‘s Big Bounce.

707 The Rival Rovers.

687 Double Cinch Dan, the Sport With a Charm.
077 Mr. Jackson. the Gent from Jaybirtl.

559 Gilt—Edge Johnny: or, Roldan and His Rovers.
650 Luck Lester‘s Lent.- Hand.

634 Old andcart‘s Big Dump.

622 The All Around Sports.

60‘; Deser. Alf. the Man With the Cougar.

590 Gentle Jacoc. the High Roller from Humbug.
578 Seven Shot Steve, the Sport with a Smile.
568 The Dude Detective.

558 Hurrah Harry. the Hi h Horse from Halcyon.
549 Belshazzar Brick, the flit! of Blue Blazes.
533 Oregon. the Sport Vi ithaScar.

501 The Dude from Denver.

478 Ptnnaoie Pete; or. The Fool from Way Back.
459 Maior Sunshine, the Man of Three Lives.

429 Ha r Triggr Tom of Red Bend.

40'2 Snapshot m: .or. The Anzels‘ Flat Racket.
890 The Piper Detective; or. The Gilt Edge Gang.
875 Royal Geo , the Three in One.

356 Thr e Ham some 8 rts; or, The Combination.
3‘13 Derringer Dick. the an with the Drop.

268 Magic Mike. ‘he Man of Frills.

229 Captain Cutstneve; or. The Little Sport.

214 The Two Cool Sports: or. Gertie of the Gulch.
182 Hands Up; or, The Knights of the Canyon.

:60 Soft Hand Sharp: or. The Man with the Sand.
145 Pistol Pards: or. The Silent Sport from Cinnabar

BY NED BUNTLINB.

657 Long Tom. the Privateer.
633 The Sea S y.
621 The Red rivateer; or. The Midshipman Rover.
581 Fire Feather. the Buccaneer King.
517 Buflaio Bill a First Trail.
801 Tombstone Dick. the Train Pilot.
122 Saul Sabberday. the idiot S 
111 The Smuzgier Captain: or. is Skipper‘s Crime.
18 The Sea Bandit; or. The On n of the Isle.
10 The White Wizard; or. The Seminole Prophet.

DY JACKSON KNOX—“Old Hawk.”

8118 Old Grips Still Hunt.

8‘27 Detective Waldt-n‘s Web.

778 The Butler Detective' or, Old Gv'ip's Grip

77') The Showman Date 1 ve.

m Old Grip. the Detective.

740 Captain Clew, the Fighting Detective.

739 The Hurricane Detertivv.

543 Castiemalne. the Silent Sifter.

616 Magnus. the Weird Detective.

000 The Drop Detective.

5% Wellbmn, the Upper Crust Detective.

582 J cram. the Detective Expert.

574 Old FalcOn‘s Double.

501 The Thug King- or, The Falcon Detective‘n Foe.
548 Falconbrid e. t e Sphinx Detective.

530 Old Falcon 6 Foe: or. The Detective‘s Swell Job.
515 Short-Stop Mn e. the Diamond Field Detective.
509 Old Fahon. t e Thunderbolt Detective.

501 S ringgteel Steve. the Retired Detective.

494 T e Dtrtective‘s S y.

485 Rowlock. the Bar r Detective.

4T7 Dead-arm Brandt.

407 Mainwaring. the Salamander.

462 The Circus Detective.

451 Grinlock. the Rocket l‘etective.

444 The Magic Detective; or, The Hidden Hand.

424 Hawk Heron's Degnty. ‘

880 Hawk Heron. the alcon Detective.

BY J. (l. CO‘VDRICK.

75-3 The Sus . t S ort of Daisy Drift.

0% Dncats ion, the Nabob Sport Detective.

612 Sheriff Stilln'ood. the Regulator of Raspberry.
593 The Dominie Detective. ‘

591 Duke Daniels. the Society Detective.

580 Shadowing a Shadow. .

505 Prince Paul. the Postman Detective.

557 The Mountain Graylx'ards: or. Riddles‘ Riddle.
519 Old Riddles. the Reality0 Ranger

499 Twilight Charlie, the ad Sport.

4‘73 Gilbert of: Gotham. the Stecl~arm Detective.
452 Rainbow Rob. the Tulip from Texas.

436 Kentucky Joan. the S rt from Yellow Pine.
42% 8|ch Grass Burt. the old Star Detective.

890 The Giant Cupid: or Cibuta John‘s Jubilee.

BY EDWARD WILLETT.

483 Flush Fred. the River Shn .

368 The Canyon King: or. a P1 cc on his Htad.

348 Dan Dillon. King of Crosscnt.

$37 Old Gabe. the Mountain Tram .

327 Terrapin Dick. the Wiltlwood Betective.

815 Flush Fred's Double: or, The Squatters‘ League
808 Hemlock Hank. Tough and True. '

298 L utter Lem; or. Lif ‘ in the Pine Woods.

W Flush Fred‘s Full Band.

274 Flush Fred, the Mississipnl Sport.

248 Montana Na t, the Lion of Last. Chance Camp.
2‘23 Bill the Blizzard: or. Red Jack‘s Crime.

209 Book Farley. the Bonanza Prince.

129 Mlmlssippi Mose: or. a Strong Man's Sacrifice.

BY (‘A P'I‘AIN MAYNE REID.

ll? The White Squaw.

834 The Hunter‘s Feast.

91 l The Wild Huntress; or. The Squatter.

[)0 The Rifle Rangers: or. Adventures in Mexico.
74 The Captain of the Rules: or, The Lake amen.
06 The Specter Barque. A Tale of the Pact .

55 The Scalp Hunters. A Romance‘of the Plains.

 

‘-

31! con. PBENTISS monanan. (

911 The Blue Biockader; or. The Coast Grayhould ’

906 The Cuban Cruiser.

854 The Ocean Gipsv. \

834 The Wild Steer Riders;0r, Texas Jack's Term ‘

819 The Rival Monte Cristos. }

805 The Last of the Pirates; or. Dorm Driven.

801 The Water Wolw—s‘ Detective; or.'1'rapoixz ‘3.
Grave Ghouls.

791 The Coast-Raider‘s Death Chase.

748 Arizona Charlie. illl‘ Crat k-stxot Detective.

704 [nvisiole Ivan. the Wizatd DeteCLive.

0‘15 The Red skin Sea Row-tr. .

679 Revello. the Pirate Cruiser; or. The Rival Rovers

672 The Red Rapier; or, The St a Rover‘s Bride.

662 The Jew l)--tet-iive: or, The Beautiful Coan

640 The Rev r‘s Ret ibntion.

635 The Ex Buccane. r: t r. The Stigma of Sin.

6‘25 Red Wings; or. The Gold Seekers of the Bahamas.

615 The Three nccaneers.

610 The Red Flag Rovrr; or.White Wing's cftheboapt

605 The Shadow Silver Ship.

600 The Silver Ship; or. The Sea Scouts of '78.

59:5 The Sea Rebel: or. Red Rovsrs of the Revolution.

59.7 Conrad. the Sailor. Spy; or. True Hearts of ‘l

581 The Outlawed Skipper; or, The Gantlet Bu...

500 The Man from Mexico.

553 Mink Monte. the Mutineer; or. The Branded Bab.

516 T?“ Doomed Whaler: or. The Life Wreck. -

5‘30 The Savalres of the Sea.

524 The Sea Chaser: or. The Pirate Noble.

510 El Moro; tn: Corsair CommOdOre.

498 The Scouts of the Sea.

457 The Sea Insurgent: or. The Conspirator Son.

446 Ocean Ogre. the Outcast Corsair.

435 The One-Armed Buccaneer.

430 The Fatal Frigate; or. Rivals in Love and W...

399 The New Monte Cristo.

893 The Convict Captian.

377 Afloat and Ashore: or. The Corsair Constitutes.

309 The Coast Corsair: or. The Siren of the Sea.

$4 The Sea Fugitive: or. The Queen of the Goal.

841 The Sea Desperado.

336 The Magic Ship' or. Sandy Hook Frecbootem

825 The Gentleman 'Pirate; or. The Casoo Hermit.

318 The Indian unconneer: or. 'ithed Rovers.

807 The Phantom mate; or. The Water Wolves.

255 The Pirate Priest; or. The Gambler‘s W.

240 ueen Helen, the Amazon of the Over .

235 Lightning the Man of Chance.

at Black Beard. the Buccaneer.

210 The Specter Yacht; or. A Brother's Crime.

210 Buccaneer Bess. the Lioness oi the Sea.

205 The Gambler Pirate; or. Lady of the Lam

198 The Skeleton Schooner: or. The Skimmer.

184 The Scarlet Schooner: or. The Sea ballads.

104 Montezuma. the Merciless.

103 Merle, the Mutineer; or. The Red Anchor“.

DY PHILIP 8. WARN”.

802 Dan Dirk King of No Man‘s Land.
533 Captain Adair. the Cattle King.
507 Captain Midnight. the Man of Craft.
544 The Back to Bank Pards.
522 The Cham ion Three.
502 Bareback iuck, the Centaur of the Plains.
472 Six Foot Si: or. The Man to “ Tie To."
431 California Kit. the Always on Band.
401 Silver Sid; or A “ Daisy “ Bluff.
380 Tiger Dick‘s Bled : or. The Golden Serpent.
359 Yellow Jack. the cstizo
338 Jack Sands. the Boss of the Town. '
299 Three of a Kind; or, Dicr. Despard and them
251 Tiger Dice vs. iron Dispani.
207 Old Hard Head: or. Whirlwind and his Inn.
171 Tiger Dick. the Man cf the iron Heart.
114 The Gentleman from Pike.
1!) A Man of Nerve; or. Caliban the Dwarf.
51 Always’on Hand; or. The Foot-Bids 
29 Tiger Dirk. Faro King: or. The Cashier's Cr!“
4 The Kidnapper; or. The Northwest Shanghai.

BY CAPTAIN MARK \VILTON.

323 Iiotspur Hugh; or. The Banded Brothers.
811 Heavy Hand: or, The Marked Men.

305 Silver-Plated Sol, the Montana Rover.

891 Horseshoe flank. the Man of Big Luck.

285 Lightning Bolt. the Canyon Terror.

276 Tent ' Chick the Southwest Detective.

271 Stonefist. of Big Nufiget Bend.

m6 Leopard Luke the in: of Horse-Thieves
233 iron-Armed Abe. the Hunchback Dem'oye
258 Bullet Head, the Colorado Bravo.

237 Long-Haired Max: or, The Black Le .
227 Buckshot Ben, the Man-Hunter of Ian 10.

223 Canyon Dave, the Man of the Mountain.

219 The Scorpion Brothers; or. Mad Tom‘s m
202 Cactus Jack. the Giant Guide.

194 Don Sombrero the California Road Gent.

176 Ladv Jaguar. the Robber Queen.

DY OLL COOMES.
619 Kit Bandy & Co , the Border Detectivu.
1-18 One-Armed Alf. the Giant Hunter. _
99 The Giant Rifleznnn: or. Wild Camp Info.
43 Dakota Dan. the Reckless Ranger.

BY con. THOMAS H. MONSTEBI‘.

$56 Chem ion Sam: or. The Monarchsot' the Sea
150 El Ru io Bravo. King of the Swordsmen.

BY DR. NOEL DUNIIAB.
919 The Sea Scout; or. The Patriot Privates:
8% The King of Crooks. ' ‘
858 Number One. the Dead-set Detective.
850 The Planter Detective.
730 Duke Despard. tht' Gambler Duelist.
604 The Detective in Rags; or. The Grim m
500 The True~fieart Pards.

~’ 4 new new new Wednesday
Deadle’s Dime Library is for sale

.
Uswadealers. ten cents per COPY. or sent by u
receipt of twelve cents on"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_, -———w BEADLE’S

JEEIIJL13411131113

 

 

LIBRARi

 

 

I Deadwood Dick. the Prim; at the Road.
I Yellow-tone Jack.

By Joaep'n It. Baulg‘l’ Jr.
8 Quinn Kllltr. J

liy lildalo Bill. (lion. “2 I'. Cod '

3-)
l he W lid-flora Huntara. By Captain liayna Bald and

'_ :.ptain Fredt-ricit Whittaker.

i ‘ Vngnbund Joe, the Young Wandering Jew. By Oil Coomn.

llouhlt: number lil rvuta.
1. Bill illddon, Trapper.

B Edward S. Ellil.
he I' lying 1 unkoe.

By ‘olnnel l’l’rntha Ingraham.

Beth Jonea; or, The Captive-t oi tit. Frontier. By E. S. Ellil.

Adventurea of Baron Munohauaen.

. Nlt Totitlbor, The Fate of the Sioux Capt"... By E. S. Ellll.

1 The 'l wo etootivaa. "\y Albert W. Aiken.
12 GniIIyer’a 'I‘ravela. A 'o
ltrutdluixuag. iiy Deon Swift.
The Dumb Spy. Dy Oll Coomea.
Aladdin 3 -r, 'I' re Wonderful Lamp.
'I he hen-Cut. By Captain Frederick “'hlttalter.
Robin-on Cruaoe. (91 llluatratlona) By Defoe.

Sin had t 0 Sailor. From the Arubiaangltta.
1 The Phantom lipy. By Bttfl'aio Bill.
80 The Double Daggers. By Edward L Wheeler.
81 The r rontler Angel. By Edward s. Ellie.
Mk 0' the

u
88
24 Diamond Dir '. Bv Colonel ’rentlu lnxrnltam.
2:3 The Do Ca tain. B Roger Starbm it.
.t'tl 100 , the Bill!“ 0 Demon. liv Edward L. “'healer.
I? Antelope Ah the Boy Guide. ByOll Com”...
’3 "I'll" lien: t e Prince of the Piatni. By E. L. Wheeler.
28 The Dumb I 9. By Cull-lull! i-‘rrdo-rlrk Whittakrr.
80 Roaring Iiulp Iloekwoud. By Harrv St. Gt‘OPXO.
8| Keeldallli'e, ‘riuve oi' the Prairiee. B ' t) l Ctromea.
:3 oh Woolf, the Berth-r Ruffian. By E. ward L. Wheeler.
'l‘he liceun Bloodhound. By S. W. Pierce.
84 0regon Bol. lly Captain J. F. C. Atlanta.
85 “'ild Iran the Boy Claude Dural. By E. L Wheeler.
86 'l he "03' own. By Frank S. Firm.
8? The III den Lodge. By T. C. llnrhaugh.
8“ Ned “111115 the Boy Stout. By Texaa Jae .
89 Death- ‘nou, the Detective. By Edward L. Wheeler.
‘0 Rovin lien. By J ihn J. Mar-hall.
41 LOW jack, the Yarn“ Murttanmrr. By Oil Coomaa.
The Pin-"torn Miner. liy Edward L. Wheeler.
48 DIt-k Darling, the Pony Expreaa thlrr.
"Main Rube. By Harry St. George.
4?) 01d Ava unche, tit, Great Annihilator. By E. L. Wheeler.
Gil-II Eye. the Great. Shot of the Welt. By J. I". C. Miama.
Nightingale Nat; or, t'he Foreat Captaina. Hy llarbaugh.
Int-k John. the Road-Agent. By prh E. Badger, Jr.
Omaha “II. the Marked ‘l'errur. By Edward L. Wheeler.
80 Iiurt Iiunke , the Trapper. By C. E. Laaalle.

‘ t. Ille-
The “’ By C. E. lualle.
Jim lilmlsoe Jr., the Boy l’henix. My EJ. Wh-aler.
Ned "alt-l, the Buy Trapper. By Capt. .l. l". C. Adatnl.
lflldwoflg, IDP Unknown Scout. liy liuflalo lllll.
Niels lII N' l’et. lh' Captain J. F. C. Anialua.
Deadwood Dlok‘a Eng ea. Hy Edward L. Wheeler.
The “order King; or, The Secret Foe. iiv till Comuu.

{E Ral la lie . the Buy Buccaneer. By Cui. l’rentiaa legraham.

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The \V hito n'llan. By Captain J. i-‘. C. Adm-1.
lint-khan: Bill: or, The Bed Rifle Team.
$he Nhntlow Ship. By Colonel I’reatlaa intrrahnn.

hr Rod Brotherhood. liy W. J. Hamilton.
Dnnd ' Jlt'la'. liy '1‘. C. llarbtrugh.
"Ilfracllle Dill. Bv Joaeph E. Badger, Jr.
Hingle iland or, A Life: for a Life. B W. J. Hamilton.

lfntent-Ixnt choe. ii Philip S. ame.
'I he Iiurtler Iiohin Iloo . iiv Intifan hill.
Goltl Iiille the Sim limiter. By Edward L. Wheeler.

3338333388£88§£322€2

Did Zin’n Cabin. §(7aptain J. I". (T. Adama.
Delaware Dick, Iht- ounyltanger Spy. By Oll Coomen

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udwood Dirk on Dealt. "3‘ Edward L. Wheeler.
hawk-eye- llar . By Oll Coma».
78 The Iiay Dnellz B Colonel i‘rcntiaa Innham.
re Abe Cult, tn.- Crnw-Kil .r. B" Albert w. Ailten.
7? Ctlrtlnroiohurlio, the Boy Bravo. By E. I... Wheeler.
‘88 In"? Dit- . ii_\' Captain Mayne RPifi.
79 Sol Ginger the Giant Trapper. liy Albert W. Aiken.
80 Ilonohlltl I 01). By Edward L. “Meier.
81 Litrhtnlng Jo. By Cnplain J. F. C. Adnrna.
Kit “overturn the Wood-Hawk. By 'l‘.,C. Harbaugh.
Rollo, the lioy Hunger. By Oli Caomea.
84 ldyl the Girl Miner. By Edward L. “'hoelar.
88 Duck Ilrtekram. By Captain J. P. C. Adnma.
148 Dandy Howl.- tlu- Man from Trxnl. By G. Waldo Brown.
87 The land I’ ratel. By Ca taiu Mavne R-id.
38 Pilot: raph I’hll. the Boy ."nith. \' E. L. Wheeler.
89 Ill-n Jim. By the author oi “Jacl Haritaway."
80 'l he Dread Rider. B George “I. .lo Browne.
91 The 0.01.1" oi'the C Ilh. By B acelwztige Hamvng.
92 Canada Flu-i, the Counterfuiter Chief. E. L. Wheel".
88 The "n Hint-re. B - Edwards. Ellie.
D4 Mitlni It gels, ihel rad-Agent. By T. C. Hurbaugh.
85 The R VII “Intern. By Lleut. Col. llaultlur.
96 ‘1'Iltt'1l‘l‘1ye, the Shadow. By Edward L. Wheeler.
97 The Dutth Brothers. liy Jnhn J. Marahnil.
88 Robin flood, the Outlawed Earl. Bv Prof. Gilderaleeva.
99 The Tiger ol'Tuon. By Geo-re Waldo Browne.
100 Deadwood Dick in Modvljle. By ii. L. “'hoelar.
101 Jnt-k Ilarltaway in hew \ ark. limoebrldge Heinan.
102 Dick Doutl- Eye. By Columl l’rreulire ingraiiam.
108 The Llon oi'the- 80;. By Colonel Delia Sara.
104 Dead» and DIt-k‘a Device. By Edward L. Wheeler.
.105 Did Rube. the limiter. By Captain ii. nllnu.
4106 "Id [‘rogty, the Guide. By T. C. liarhauzh.
107 "no-Eyed Shae. PW Jamea L. Bowen.
108 During Darv, tlir- Young Bear-Killer. By H. St. George.
Tt-k .- Detective. By I. 1. Wheeler.
he liIut-k Steed ol'tho Prairie-t. liy J. L. Bowa.
he 81-..I’evll. iiy Colonel Prentiaa lngrultam.
he Mad Hunter. By Burton 8a."
ark "Oyle the Yuung Speculatul'. B)‘ F. L. Wheel”-
he "le lit-homer. iiy Rt er Starbuck.
he Mill Miner. Hy imrxe ‘aldo Browne.
he Ilunanr C. tnin. By Col. Prentiaa I graham.
ll ~1'ldged Dlo . B Edward L. Wheeler.
Ill Southern, the Bar tective Br Charla Morria.
uatang llom or.The Kine of the Plalm. By J. E. Badger.
he Brandt-d land. Br Frank Dammit.
unarnon Chip, the Girl Sport. By it). 1.. Wheeler.
’Iall II-rdy, the il--aa Buy. By Charlea Morrla.
Klo'. Charley, the “'hlte Mil-ranger. By T. C. HAMgh.
ppy. the 'I‘exan. By George alt-filo".
185 Bonanza Dill. Miner. By I'xiward L. Wheeler.
8 We. one Pete. By Charlra Murrla
llzll‘lrg, the Boaa of the Road. By Frank burnout
128 The Young Privateer. By ii. Farendiah.
dwood Dlek‘a Double. By Edward L. Wheeler.
Deteotlve Dick. By Charla Mania.
The “which "and. By George Waldo Browna.
The Ila-ted Ilnnter. B Edward 3. Eilia.
“all "oh the King of the blacks. By I. 1.. M.
Burr Shot “01h. By Oil t‘o-maa.
'7."8ltil Paul. By C. Dunning Clark.
'lght-llawlt K“. By JOIIph 8. Badger, Jr.
0 lie] Icon "and. B Carin Mayne Raid.
. I-‘nde ill. B Mw L. healer.
nde Lynch 1'. By T. C. Harheogh.
law "in". By Frat-i Demeat.
1 Build Barn, the Boy Bee (A:an By M. L Wipelu.
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liver ‘0'. the high. & Oil Ceelnea. ‘

By E. L. Wheeler.

yage to Liliput, and a Voyage to

'{he 51*“ elven“ nr.Thr lioy Rnbluaon Cruaoe. By J. Lewia.
I i ht; or, The Bo Spy of’76. liy T. C. Ilarbaugh.

By Capt. “'hlttaher.

0r, 'l he Underground Camp. By A.C.lr0n.

01 II Chou"! 0'. Handy Ellia'a Scalp. By Harry St. George.
By E. 1.. Wheeler.

'I‘mn Western. the luau Ralvflrr. liy W.J. Hamilton. 20 To." 1“""0'5 SWIM"! "hi Scum-luau. By'Chaa. Monk.

147 Will Wildflre, the Thoroughbred. By Charles Morrll.

148 sharp Stun By J. Alexander Patient.

149 A Game of Gold. B ' Edward L. Wheeler.

150 Lance and Law. y Captain Frederick Whittaker.

161 I’anther Paul, th- Pruirie l'irnte. iii; Jon. E. Bulge-r, Jr.

162 IiIaL-k "can, Will Wildfire’a Racer. y Chariea Morria.

153 Engle Kit, the Pay Demon. By Oil Coolnea.

154 The liw-md “lantern. By Cu 4. Frederick “'hittaher.

166 Gold Trigger, lilo S . rt. liy . C. liarbaturh.

166 Deadwood Dick of Deadwood. By i; L. Wheeler.

15? Mike Merry, lhe llnrbnr l’ullce Boy. By Charlea hlorria.
‘ Frank of Colorado.

liy liuil'alo Bill.
59 The .OIt Cat taln. liy Cuptuin Frederick Whittaker.
160 The Black C out.

By Jtmrllh E. limlger, Jr.

61 New York Nell. Br Edward L. Win ler.
162 Will “'IIdBr-e In the “’ooda. By Charlea Merrie.
168 LII.th Texan. the Young Muetuuger. liy ()ll Comma.
164 Dandy Iiock’a Pied o. By George Waldo Browne.
165 Billy Ila age, the aiiroad Buy. By Chariea Mania.
166 lIlt-kory arr '. Hy Harry St. George.
16? Ana Econ. the bteauilnmt Buy. By Edward Willett.
168 Deadly Dal-h. ByiJnaeph E. Badger, Jr.
169 Tornado Torn. y T. C. Ilarhaugh.
170 A 'I‘rump Curd. lly Cliarlea Morril.
171 Ebony Dun. liv Frank 1) rtunut.
2 Thunderbolt Tom. By Harry St. Gvorga.
8 Dnnd Rock's Rival. By (image Waldo Browne.
Bob ockott. the BUY Mil". liy (Tharlel Merrie.
(‘aptnln Arizona. By Philip 5. Warm.
The Dov Iiunnwny. By Lieutenant ii. D Prrrv. U.S.N.
Nobby Nick of Nevada. By Edward l.. Wheeler.
(Md Holflury, the Hermit Trapper. By 0" Gumtree.
Bob Rocket the Bank Runm-r. Dy Charlea Morria.
The flea 'I‘r ler. By Lifiitranut ll. D. i‘errr. U.S.N.
“'Ild Frank of Montana. By Edward L. “'hoeler.

Ittic Ilnrrleane, th Boy Ca min. By Ull Coomea.

‘he Hidden "and. By Char ea Morril.
I The Roy Trailer-a. By Jo-epli E lladm-r. Jr.
185 Evil Eye, King ol‘ the Cattle Titian-a. By Frank Burnout
1”“ Cool Denmond. By Colonel Della Sara.
187 Fred Ilalyard. the Life Boat 80v.
188 Ned Temple. the Border Boy.
18” Iioh noekett. the (.‘rvu'luntnn. Hy Charla Mania.
190 "and Dorke.‘ By “'illlam R. Enter.
191 lluli'o o “lily. the llo linllwhnrlter. B Capt. A. B.Taylor.

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By' Charla Morris
By T. i‘ llarl-auzh.

 

19% Captain Kit, the “'l -o'-tlie-Winp. Br Lieut. Parry.
198 The Lad Road-Agent. By P illip 8. Warm.

19% Unifan ili‘a Dot. By Captain 'i‘aylur.

19 Iondwood DIt-k‘a Drrnrn. By Edward 1.. Wheeler.
19“ iihadowed. By Charira Morria.

197 thtie Grit. the Wild Ritlrr. Br Col. Prentiaa inrraham.
193 Arkanaaw, the Man with the Knife. By '1‘. C. Harhaogh.

199 Featherweight. By Edward Willett.
200 The Boy liedoulnl. By Cupt. Frrdrrlrlt Whittaker.
201 The “lack Illlia Jrzebel. By Edward L. Wheeler.
202 Proa cot Pot . of the Buy Brltradn. By Oil Coomea.
208 The to For a. By Joaeph it. Badgvi’. Jr.

204 Gold I' ume. the Dov Bandit. Bv Col. i‘rentlu lngrahllI.
208 Deadwood Dick'a Doom. By Edward L. Wheeler.
206 Dark Paul. the Tiger King. By Charlee Morria.

207 Nov 0 Nit-It. the Boy Gold Hunter. By T. C. Harhangh.
2 The of! ileroulea. By 0” Guam".

20 Fritz, t to Bound—Boy Detective. By Edward L. “'hr-elcr.
210 Faro Frank of "1 h Pine. By William R. Eyater.
211 (‘rookod Cale. Bv mph E. Badge, Jr.

2]? Dar-hing Dave. the Dandy Drtectivr. nv Charla Merrie.
313 Fr“! in the Front. Hv Edward L. “'hru'er.

14 Wolfgang. the Robber oi the Rhine. 11‘ Cu vi. Whittaker.
15 Captain Ilnilel. the Raider King. By 1'.  Harhangh.
16 Bllon "Ill. ti” Prime 0! the Reina. Ry Cnl. P. lngrnham.
17 Captain C' .- Joflhot By Edward I. When-lcr.

218 Tiger Tom thu Trxaa Terr-tr. Br Oil Crunntea.

:IB Deapnrd, t e Dnellat. Bv Philip S. “'arne.

221 Sugar-Coated Nam. By Edward L- Whoa r.
222 Grit. the Bravo ii ort. By Col Prentila lnmham.
228 Ozark AII'. King of: r- Mountain. By Edward Willetl.
224 Dnahlng Dick. “y Oil Co mu.
5 Barn Charcoal. the Premium Darlty. Bv Charla. Mama.

20 Shooter. the B -y Sharp. 3" Edward 1.. “'heein.
227 Du-ky Darrell. Trapper. By L Itueraon.
22“ Little “'ller-e. By Oll Coomea.
2 9 Grim-on Knt . Bv Colonel Prantiaa lnyraham.
as“ The Yankee fiugllh. By C. ihntnilut Clark.
“1 Pluekv Phil. nl ite hlmlntulu Trail. B ' T. C. HM.
282 Gold-Duet Dick. By Edward L. Wheeler.
288 Joe Buck ofAn ela. Bx- Albert W. Allen.
284 Did Rooky‘a “I o 'een.” l'iv Buckaltin Sam.
“85 Shadow Film, the Whiter Boy. By Charlea “ml...
288 Apollo Dill. By Edward L. “'lm-ler.
28? Lone Star. the Cowhoy Captain. By Col. km
288 'l he Par-on Detective. Bt- Oil Conmoa.
28h Thr- Gold-aeeker Guido. Br Captain Mayne Reid.
.40 0 alone KM. liv Edward i . “'lmeler.
M1 1! II lirnvo and Ilia Dom- I’art‘la. By T. C. Herb-ugh.
242 The Two “ Bloods.” By Charla Mama.
248 The Dlagulaed Guide. By ml Coomea.
.44 flierra Hum. liy Edward L. Wheeler.
2415 Merle, the Midtly. By Colonel Prentiu lngrahlm
246 Giant George. lh‘ Burltakln Syn.
247 Did Grizzly and "in Peta. By Capt.“ Bruin ” Atlanta.
24! Siorru Sum’n Been-1.. Bv Ethard L. Wheeler.
’49 Milo llornt-r, tho Auiutai King. B ' Capt. Fred.W'Janhn.
250 The Mlliahlpmun Mutlnoer. liv Col. l’. lnmhlln.
251 Ll ht-houae Lige. By i aptain J. F. C. Adaiua.
252 D ('1‘ I’ll-IIIIWR . By Clinriea Morris.
2158 Sierra flnn’a lizard. By Edward L. Wheeler.
2154 The Half-Blood. By Edward S. Ellie.
2158 Captain Apoll . B '  C. iiarhnug‘x.
26“ Young Kentut-k. y Ca taiu .\l>trh Wilton.
25‘! The Lot-t Ilunte-ra. By .a t. J. F. C. Adama.
268 Flerrn “ain‘t: i-‘a-ven. By ward L. Wheeler.
259 The Golden Harpoon. Bv Roger Staronrk.
280 Dire-Devil Dun. By 0“ Gunmen.
281 Ferglta Fearnnn ht. B)‘ Gimme l. Aiken.
202 The Yountr h‘lout a. . ily (Tharlr-a hlorrta
.88 Deadwood Dick’a Dlvlrle. By Edward L. Wheell.
284 The Floating Feather. By .oi. P. lnvraliam.
268 The Tiger Tumor. By Ca taln Fred. W'hlttnhar.
268 Klilh‘ar. the Guido. By .nuiyu Warn».
267 The Rut-kakln Detective. in 'l‘. C. iiarhantdt.
BBB Deadwood DIt-k'a Death Trail. By E. L. Wheah.
209 The Gold Ship. By (‘nL l’rrntlu ingraham.
270 liliuard on. By Ca tuin Mark \i‘lltna.
271 The III: e Itmter. v Edward S. Ellla.
278 Mlnkak it Mike. By Oil Coomea.

By Edward L. Wheeler.
By Charioa Norrie.
By lit-chitin Sam.

276 Merle Monte’a Crulae. liy Cv-lnnnl Prentiaa Inn-ham.

217 Denver Doll. By Edward L. “'ltonler.
fifth The Three Tran re. By hlainr Lewla W. Canon.

79 “Id “'Inoh. thr- R ti» Klnr. B\' T. C. iiarhauzh.

BBO Merle Monw’a Fate. By Col. Prentiu In halo-
881 Denver Doll‘a Victory. Bv Edward L. W color.
238 The Ty o Detective. Br Edward Willatt.
888 1ndl"n no. Bi- Majur Lewia W. Canon.
The Sea Marauder. By Colonel Preatiaa Ineraha. ‘
8'48 Denver DnII‘a Deco . By Edward l- Whoeler.
2B Joell. the lioy Ten orfnot. By Capt. Mark W“.
297 lillly BluerEyoo. By Colonel Prev-tin latrraha-
I“ By Captain J. F. C. Adamo.
J Bv Charla Morrie.
BIN) Little Foxfire. By 0" Comm.
291 Turk. the Ferret. By Edward L. Wheeler.
m Sancho Pedro. By laior I. L. St. \‘rala.

898 Red Claw. the One-Ind Trapper. By Captala Com

 

294 Dynamite Dan. By '1‘. C. Harhaugh.
295 Fearleaa PM]. By Edward Willa“.
296 Denver Doli'a Drlfl. By Edward L. M.
297 The Tarantula oI' Thou. By Buck-kin Sana.
298 The Water-Hound. By Charlea Morria._
299 A No. 1, the Dashing ToH-Taltar. By “word 1. M“
800 The Sky Demon. By Oil Coomea.
861 Land ville Nick . By Major E. L. St. Vrain.
802 The Mountain Detective. By ‘I'. C. Hafhangh.
808 ’Lizn Jane, the Girl Miner. By E. L. Wheeler.
804 The Dead Shot Dandy. By Colonel Prentiaa in”
805 Da-huway. of Dakota. By Charlrea Merrie.
808 Nook-TIC Ned. By Major H. B. Stoddard.
807 The Strange Pard. By Bucltaltin 8am.
808 Keno Kit. the Boy llugier'a Pard. By Col. 1’. Iagrlh“.
809 Deadwood Dick'a Big Deal. By I. 1.. Wheeler.
810 The Bart-anon Wolf. By Joacph E. Badger, Jr.
811 The Roving Sport. By Edward Willett.
812 Redtop Rube. the Vljzilnnte Prince. By Mai I. 1.9!."
818 Cimarron Jack. By Frederick Dewey.
814 The Myau-rioua Marauder. By Col. P. hp“.
815 Ned, the Cabin Boy. By Jack Farragut
818 Old Et-Ilpoe. Trump Curd of Arianna. By T. 8. KM
81? Pent-oak Pete. liy Lieutenant Alfred Thane.
818 Ker-whoop. Ker-whoa! By Bockaitinfiam.
819 The Blot-k Rider. By Joesph E Badprflr.
820 The Ben floroereao. By Jack Farragut.
821 Deadwood Die-Iva Dozen. By Edward L Whaler.
822 Nelle. the Detectlvo. By Edward Wilhtt.
888 Arkanaaw Jack. By Harry Haurd.
824 Ralph Ready, the Hotel Boy Detective. By Lae
825 lit-gem Hickey Jr Company, the Sleuth: or Ph
Y

ward L. “'lieeler.

828 The Ten Par-(la; or. The Tenor of Tale-Notice. '1 T. 5‘
ilarbaugh.

82? Creeping Cat. the Caddo. By Duchahin Sum.

828 The Bk! DetectIvea. By Major Mickey Free.

829 Red-Skin Tom. By Harry llaaard.

880 Little Quiek-flhot. By Edward L. Wheeler.

881 Black Nick, the Demon Rider. By Capt. Fred. W.
888 Frlo Fred. Br Buchlln Stain.

888 ilrllnatone Bob and Illa LI lat-h “on. “J
tette. By Major h. L. St. Vraln. ' ' .

884 Kangaroo Kit; or.Tha Myatarloua Miner. By E. I.“
885 Old Double Fiat. By Joaeph I. Badger. Jr.

888 Big Benaon. By T. C. Harbaul‘i.

887 Ben Bird. the Cave King. By W. J. Ha-llbl.

888 A Tough Boy. By Philip S. Wanna.

889 Kangaroo Klt’a Racket. By Edward L. Whaalc.
840 Clip, the Contortionlat. By Edward Willen. 4
841 Tony Thorne. the Vagabond Detedira. By 
842 The Mountain Devil. By Harry Harare.

848 Manhattan like. By Edward L Whoa“

844 The Fighting Trio. By Buckaltin Sun.

845 1’11"”. Matt. By T. C. Harbauxh.

848 Rapier Raphael. By Major H. B. Stoddard.

84? Deadwood Dlek‘a Dueata. By Edward 1.. M

mFlre-lleela; or, Old Skinhint the Death-Shadow. s.
Roger Starhuek.

849 “'lid Wolf. the Wm. By Bnclakla Sana.

850 Red Ralph. the River Rover. By Ned Bantu-a.
881 Deadwood Dick Sentenced. By Edward L. M
882 Tomb-tone Torn. By Maj. E. 1. 8t. Vraia.

888 The Reporter-Detective. By Chariea Lorrie.

884 Big Horn Ike the “III Trn-p. By Roger 8...“.

855 Thu Kim: ul‘the Wood” or, Daniel Boone’a Laat 'M‘
By Joseph E. Badger. Jr.

858 Cool Ram and Pard. By T. C. Harbaeeh.
857 The Ranch Raiders. By Bot-Italic Sam.
858 First-Clan Fred. .lie Gan: irom Gopher. By 8. I. Whpi.

359 Durnmgo Dave, the Y3qu Wreatiar Chant) h-a. Ily w. L
l.. M. Vrain. '

880 Filver-Maak. the Man of Myltery. By J. 6. Cum.
861 The Phantom Lighthouae. By Roger Starme

882 Deadwood Dick'a Claim. By Edward L. Whack.

808 Little Tornado. By Philip 8. Warm.

884 Snap-Shot, the Boy Ranger. By Bad-hi- Sara.

865 Baltimore Bea. By A. r. Morril.

868 Velvet Foot, the Indian Detective. By T. (3.1th
88'? W lde-Awake Joe. By Charles Dorrie.

808 Yrelm Jim. the Gold-Gatherer. By E. 1.. Winder.
889 Hhaflo, tho'GoId King. By J. C. Cowdrkli.

870 "rt-alter lien. ‘ho liner-Runner. By Roger Mel

871 Kingholt Chi-la. the You Hard-S W .
By Maj. E. L. St. Vrain. n‘ h“ '.

872 Yreka Jim‘a Prize. By Edward L Wheeler.

878 Little Jingox or, the Queer Paid. By Philip B. "-s
874 Gold-Duat Torn. By George H. Mona.

875 Chlota, the Creek. By Buchaitll Sam.

87“ Callfornla Joc’l First Trnii. By Capt I. mug.
877 Bonodel. the Boy Rover. By Col. Praatiea m
878 Kabob Nod. By Edward L. “'heeler.

8"! Larry. the Leveler. By Charlaa Harri.

880 Avalanche Alf. By Major K- L 81.. Vrah.

881 midtl'. Bill; or,i"rio Frank to the hoot. 8, H'

888 Cool Kit. the King of Kids. By 8dwardL “.01..
8B8 The Indian Pilot. By Col. Prentiaa banks.

884 Whip-King Joe. the Dev Rancher». By 011 Coo-v
885 Yrelta Ji-‘a Joker. By Edward 1. Who-1..

8‘8 Captain Cntlaaa, the Oeua Spider. By 'I‘. 0. 11-5..on
887 Warpath Will, the Boy Phantom. By Col. I W‘J
888 Little oh’. By Philip 3. Wine- ‘

A new lune Every 'l‘aeadq

The Ralf-Dine Llhra ia ior aala Mall ' ~
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. . - 'E'stDIMEa-EEBRARY.

Published Every Wednesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Ten Cents. No Double Numbers.

5.4 _,i "i. ,3 1; .f.

 

BUFFALO BILL NOVELS.
By Colonel Prentiss lnxraham.

994 Buflalo Bill‘s Lone Hand.
B-lfl'alo Lul’s Mal‘ki‘d Bullet.
Buffalo B1111; Life Raine,
979 Buffalo L‘ill‘s Relentless Trail.
964 Bull‘s. o Bi.l‘s Invincibles.
x960 Bulfal.) Bill’s illuo Belt Brigade.
956 B fl..lo Bill’s VollulteerVigilantes.
950 B lihlo Bill at Bav,
948 Buffalo Bill‘s Block Game.
931 Buflul 1 Bill s Black Part].
927 Buifalo Bill‘s Bluff; or, Duq Dick the Snort.
921 Buffalo Bill’s uandary: or. elvet Bill‘s Vow.
15 Buffalo Bill the Surgeon-Scout.
tlifaio Bill’s league; or. Red Butterfly.
Buffalo Bill‘s Tangled Trail.
Buffalo Bill‘s Rough Riders.
as Build.) Bill‘s Secret Ally.
890 Buffalo Bill‘s Life-Stake. .
889 The Three Bills: Bufialo l‘ill Wild Billand Band-
boz Bill; or, The Bravo in Broadcloth.
874 Buffalo ill‘s Buckskin Braves.
Bull‘an Bill‘s Road-Agent Round-up.
Buffalo Bill‘s Dea h Charm.
857 Duffel) Bill’s Royal Flush.
861 B'lflfllo Bill‘s Double Dilcmnn.
8‘15 Buflalo Bill's Redskin Ruse.
$10 Buffalo Bill‘s Bovs in Blue.
8% Buffalo Bill's Sha Shooters.
822 Buffalo Bill’s Best wer.
815 Buthio Bi 1‘s Red Trail.
812 Buffalo Bill’s Death-Knoll.
794 Bulfllo Bill‘s Winning Band
787 [211115.10 Bill‘s Dead Shot.
781 BulIalo Bills Brand.
777 Bull'alo Bill‘s S y Shadower.
769 Buffalo Bill‘s wee eke.
765 B flab Bill’s Di zen: or, Silk Ribbonfiem.
761 Budulo Bill’s Mascot.
757 Buffalo Bill‘s Double.
750 Buffalo Bill‘s Biz Four;or, Custer‘s Shadow.
748 Buffalo Bill‘s Flush Band.
739 Buffalo Bill‘s Blind: or. The Masked Driver.
735 Buflalo Bill and HlS Merry Men.
731 Bumllo Bill‘s Beagles: or. Silk LaseoSam.
7W Buffa’o ltill’s Body Guard.
7% Ruth 0 Bill on the Wet- th.
71! Buffalo Bill’s Scout She owers.
71o Bulrulo Bill Bailltd: or. The lieeerter Desperado.
697 Buffan 1 111‘s Buckskin Brotherhood.
691 nihio Bill‘s Mind Trail; or, Mustang Madge.
667 Bumllo Bill‘s Swoop;or. The King of the M nes.
658 The 01wa Clan; or. The Tigress of Texas.
653 Ines) King's League; or. Buck Taylor in Texas.
649 Bulfalo Bill‘s Chief of 00wa 's; or. Buck Taylor
.644 Buffalo Bill’s Bonanza; or. S ver (‘ircleKnighta
3633 Bulletin Bill‘s (1:3); or. (Jain Bound to Custer.
‘829 Buffalo Bill’s Pl go: or. The League of Three.
fig iill Billis Gold Trail; or. The Desperate Dozen.
.1 Wild Bill’s Trump Card: or. The Indian Heiress.
11$ Wild Bill. the Pistol Dead Shot.

By Bu fl‘alo Bill.

1 The Dread Shot Four
‘ Texas Jack, the Lasso Kins:
l839 The Rancn King: Dead-Shot.
'820 White ileaver‘s Still hunt.
877 “4! Bill, the Wild West Duelist.
3 Elm Bill. the giJSCI-{CIJGDWI‘ Shot.
1 ‘ offal ) Bill‘s '01 ng. .
(599 The Dead Sh ot Nine: or. My Pards of the Plains.
“4 301-1 Renard. the Indian Detective.
401 Onc-Arned Pam; or, Borderland Retribution
897 The Wizard Brothers: or, White Braver’s Trail.
39‘ Whit". Beaver. the Exile of the Platte.
.319 $11.0- Bill], the Whirlwinng ttllle West.
83’“ ack. the Prairie t er.
{’43 The Pilgrim Sharp; or. The Soldier‘s Sweetheart,
v 83 Gold Bullet Snort; or, Knights of the Overland.
59 ~Traiier. the Chiei of Scouts.

By Leon new“, Nod nuntllne, etc.
723 Buflalo B We Bar or. Codv to the Rescue-
loss sultth Bill’s Secr‘ t Service mm.
529 131112.110 Bill‘s Darin Role; 0-, Daredeath Dick.
517 BURN" Bi 1‘8 First ' rail; or. 1 he Express R‘der'
139 BMW“ Bl“. Chief ( f Scouts

. {117 Buffalo Bill s Strange para; 0,, Dashing Dandy.

“2 Bnflaio Bill. the Buckskin King,

Th M B: nfiROLD PAYNE.
w e an rom exico in New York.
972 The King-Pin .Shark: or. Thad Burr‘l Ten 89"“-
em The Tenderlom Big Four
353 The Qu hker Pity ergo];
344 Tracked to Chicago: '
333 The Policy Broke-1’s Blind
329 The Frisco shurben Cool Band
321 The TmmP‘SlIMOM-r‘s Backer .
m The \ha'n bPCtter'a Shrswd Scheme-
“ The Grand Sheet Gold~Dust Sharpen-
“ Detective Barr‘s Luna ic Witness

The War] Street Slmrrer’s Snap.

Thad Barr‘s Death Drop.
73 Dot-active Burr Among the New York T111183
% 33:37?) gurr‘s or, A \\ oman‘s BUMP

' 0 MT. '

715 Detective Burr's Saidtegggggnem sped“.

V_ v m DeWtive Burr’s Seven Clues.

m Thad l‘urr, the 1 . ‘
M The Matthias flfiiyelet or. The IL n Ohio.

0“ IX. the Fatal Clew: or."Buri-'s Mastu- Cl...

 

 

BY CAPTAIN “()‘VARD HOLMES.

929 Gentleman Geo 8. th» Showman Sport. 1
912 Grantee] Joe‘s Ifgne Hand. '

903 The Train Detective.
896 Kent Keen, the Crook-Crusher.
888 Nightshade in New York.
879 Falcon Flinn, the Flash Detective.
871 The Croo Cashier.
859 Clew~Hawk Keene‘s Right Bower.
847 Hiram Hawk, the Harlem Detective.
840 Major Bullion Boss of the Tigers.
831 Sh'ldowing the London Detective.
817 Plush Velvet, the Prince of Spotter!»
803 The Bogus Broker‘s Right Bower.
788 The Nicht—H lwk Do-tec'ive.
333 SW“? C” “'lf‘l‘m spot...
e Mve ach, tel wa .
751 The Dark Lantern Det- ctive. y
736 The Never-Fall'D tective.
7‘24 Captain Hercules, the Strong Arm Detecflve.
711 Dan Damon, the Gilt-Edits Detective.
701 Silver Stew. the Branded Sport.
994 Gideon Grip, the Sectet Shadower.
684 Vrlvet Van. Ihe Mystery Shadowur.
678 The Dude Desperado
671 Jason Claw the Silk-Banded Ferret.
664 Monk More , the Man-Huner.
654 801 S binx, the Ferret Detective.
612 Red ard and Yellow
608 Silent Sam the Shadow Sphinx.
592 Cs. tain Si , the Shasta Ferret.
579 01 Cormorant. tl e Bowery Shadow.
569 Captain Cobra, the flooded Mystery.
5'59 Danton. the Shadow Sharp.
550 Silk Hand, t e MOIIBVN Ferret.
543 The Magnate Detective.
5'32 Jack Javert. the independent Detective.
523 Reynard of Red Jack: or, The Lost Detective
512 Captain Velvet’s Biz Stake
505 Phil Fox. the Genteel Spotter.
496 Richard Redfire. the Two Worlds‘ Detective.
487 Sunshine Sam, a Chip of the Old Block.
480 Hawkspear. the Man with a Secret.
48 Coldgrip in Deadwood.
460 Captain Coldlrlflp. the Detective
45‘! Captain Coluglp‘s Loni: Trail.
447 Volcano. the i 'isco Spy.
441 The California Sharp.
434 Lucifer Lynx. the ‘U onder Detective.
4‘21 Father Ferret. the Frisco Shadow.
413 Captain Coldgrlp in New York.
407 Captain Coldg'rlp‘s Nerve; or. in on Nick.
400 Captain Coldizrip: or. The New ork Spotter.
392 The Lost I‘onanza; or. The Boot of Silent Hound.
382 The Bonanza Bano: or. Dread Don of Cool Clan.
874 Major Blister. the S rt of Two Cities.
865 Keen Kennard. the haste. Shadow.
852 The Des rate szi-n.
347 Denver uke. the Man with “ Sand."
840 Cool Conrad. the De kota Detective.
335 Flash Dan. the Nabob. or, Blades of Bowie Bar.
821 California Claude. the Lone Bandit.
294 Broadcloth Burt. the Denver Dandy.
941 The Shadow Sport from Frisco.

BY WILLIAM ll. MANNING.

948 The Red-Gloved D~tective.
931 Frisco Frank at Glory Gulch.
920 The Monmns. Mint-r in New York.
908 The Doomsday-Den Detective.
899 The Double-Quick Delective.
893 Yellow Gid of Dark Divide.
885 The Expert Dt-tective‘s Shakecup.
875 Traplp‘ng the Race—Track Judge.
864 The olice Special‘s Dilemma.
84¢ The Genteel Sharper's Combine
841 Graydon‘s Double Deal.
838 The Sport Detective‘s Gri '.
823 The Athluto Sport Abouv ll‘own.
81B 'I‘heCrook-Detective's Pull.
790 Plunger Pete, the Race Track Detecti. vo.
782 Rev Rock, the, Round-up Detective.
774 Steve Starr. the. Dock Detccrive.
764 The New York Sharp‘s Shadower.
738 Detective Claxton. t 9 Record Bmaker.
714 Cuba Gall, the Gambolier from Great Hump.
7m Spokane Saul. the Samaritan Sus ct
gg gland gigot Pgul, the Dfip-Rangegfx lorer.

. raw rry am. 1 is an with t e irthmark.
646 Dark John, the Glim Guaid. ‘
638 Murdock. the Dread Detective.
623 Dan erous Dave, the Never-Beaten Detective.
611 Altai Abe the Game Cl icken from Texas.
596 Rustler Ru : the Round-Up Detective.

L.

I ALBERT W. AIKEN'S NOVELS.

Dick Talbot Series.

991 Dick Talbot at the Mines: or, Kentuck. the Sport.
988 Rocky Mountain Bob
976 Overland Kit: or, The ldyl of White Pine.
741 Dick .uloot‘s Close Call.
737 D10 < Talbot in Apache lead.
7333 Dick Talbot. the Ranch King.
729 Dick Talbot‘s Clean—Out.
72.”) Dick Talbot in No Man‘s Camp.
854 Dick Talbot: 01, The Brand ot Crimson Cro-
36 Dick Talbot; or. The Death-Shot of Shasta.

Aiken’s Fresh of Frisco Series.

8‘25 Fresh, the Race-Track Sport.
660 The Fresh in Montana: or. Blake‘s Full Hand.
652 T e Fresh‘s Rustie at Painted City.
647 The Fresh at Santa Fe; or '1 b Stranger Sharp.
556 Fresh. the Sport: or. The Big Racket at Slide Out.
537 Fresh Against the Field: or. Blake. the Lion.
497 The Fresh in Texas; or. The Esoobedo Millions.
461 The Fresh of Frisco on the Rio Grande.

97 The Fresh in Big Walnut Camp; or Bronze Jack

Alken’e Joe Phenix Series.

965 Joe Phenix‘s Mascot.

959 Joe Phenix’s Double Deal.

954 Joe Plienlx in Chicago.

949 The Doctor from Texas; or, Joe Pbenix‘l Clue

944 Joe Phenix‘s R1 t Bower. ,

$15 The Female Bar Detectiw; or. Joe Phenixln 
Silver City.

790 Joe Phenix’s Great Blue Diamrnd Case; or. ml
New York Sport at Long Branch.

793 Joe Phenix’s Decofi or The Man «Three.

760 Joe Phenix‘s Lone and.

749 Joe Phr-nix‘s Big Bulge.

745 Joe Phenix‘s Mad 0899.

708 Joe Phenix’s Siren; or, The Woman Hawkshaw

700 Joe Phenix‘s Unknown; or l

681 Joe Phenix‘s S his or. The Actress Detective

637 Joe Pnenix in ‘razy Camp.

632 Joe l’henix’s Master Search. ‘

628 Joe Phenix‘s (‘ombin ;l r,the Dandy Consplrmr

620 Joe Phenix‘s Silent Six. l

601 Joe Phenix's Shadow ; or.the Detective‘s Monitor

419 Joe Phenix., the Kins of Detectives. {

161 Joe Phenix‘s Great Man Hunt. "

112 Joe Phenix, Private Detective; or. The Ins-gee.

79 Joe Phenix. the Police Spy.

Alken’e Misc ellaneoue Novels.

980 The All-Around Athlete.
940 Captain Jack, the Scalper
935 The hawks and \\ olves of New Yul
93*2 Detective Gordon‘s Grip.
9% Old SunflOWer, the Silent Smiter.
923 Old Sunflower. the Hayseed Detectiu.
901 The Hotel Swell-Sharp; or. The Siren W)
892 The Countryman Detective.
876 Gold Button 8 rt; or The MinerSharps.

842 Teton Tom. I e Half-lilood.
$35 The KingvPln Detective.
814 The New Yorker Anions Texas Sports.

775 King Dandy. the Silver Sport.
75‘! Gideon’s Gri at Babylon 1 ar.
717 Captain Pat cGowen, ti e Greencoat Detective.
674 Uncle Sun Up. the Born Detective.
670 The Lightw eight Detective. ‘
665 Tue Frisco Detective; or, The Golden Gm Ind.
613 Keen Billy, the Sport.
607 Old Benzine the “ Hard Case " Detective.
594 Fire Face, the Silver King‘s Foe.
586 The Silver Sh arp Detective.

577 Tom, of Calif arms; or, Detective‘s Shadow 
570 The Actress Detective: or. The Invisible Head
562 Lone Hand. the Shadow.
5% The. Lone Hand on the Csddot

490 The. Lone Hand in Texas.
475 Chin Chin, the Chinese Detective.
465 The Actor Detective.

440 The High Home of the Pacific.

425 The Lone Band; or. The Red River Remnants.
408 Doc Grip. the Vendetta of Death.

881 The Gygsy Gen tleman: (r. hick Fox. Detective
876 Black ards: 01. The Rio Grande Rich Be.
870 The Dusky Detective: or. Put-sued to the End.
363 Crowningshieid, the Detective
320 The Gena-e] Spo tter: or The N. Y. Night Hawk.
252 The Wall Street 1 lood; or. The Telekrsi h Girl.
an The Double Detective: cr.1 he Mu night My”.
196 La Marmoset. the Letecuve Queen.

101 The Man from New York.

91 The Winning Oar: or. The lnnkee r‘s Daughter.

 

585 Dan Dixon’s Double.
570 steady Hand. the Napoleon of Detectives -
568 Wyoming Zeke, t' e Hotspur of Honeysuckle. .
551 Garry Kean, the Man with Backbone.

539 Old Doubieylark. the Wily Detective.

531 Saddle-Chief Kit. the Prairie Centaur.

5521 Paradise Sam. the Nor'-West Pilot.

513 T‘xas Tartar. the Man With Nine Lives.

506 Uncle Honest. the Peacemaker of Hornets‘ Nest.
498 Cuntrai Pacific Paul the Mail Train Spy.

492 Border Bullet, the Prairie sharpshooter.

486 Kansas Kitten. th‘~ Northwest Detective.

479 Gladiator Gabe, the Samson of Sassajack.

470 The Duke. of Dakota.

468 Gold Gauntlet the Gulch Gladiator.

Osbon.
455 Yank Yellowhird. the Tall Hustler of the mm 1 1002 Silver City Sam. By Joe. E. Bed?

449 Blnfl' Burke. King of the Rockies.

442 Wild West Walt. the Mountain Veteran
487 Deep Duke: or, The Man of Two Lives.
497 The Rivals of Montana Mill

415 Hot Heart, the Detective S

84 Hunted Down: or. The Itagueo Three

81 The Human Tiger: or. A Bean of Fire.

75 Gentlemen George: or. Parlor. Prison and Street,
72 The Phantom Band: or. The 5th Avenue Belles.
56 The lndinn Mazeppa: or. Madman of the Plains.
w The Wolf Demon: or. The Kanawha een

42 The California Detective: or. The Vi i'c es of NJ.
81 The New York Sha : or. The Flash of Liz! tab.-
27 The Spotter Detect ve: or. Girls of New York.

NEW ISSUES. 3

11!!) Buffalo Bill‘s Grim Guard. By 001. Initial-- l.
1001 The Brand-Burners of Cimarron. By John W:

was Gvofld Dan; or, Dick Talbot in Uta 'By use:
. Ai en

1004 Buffalo Bill’s Death Deal. Bv Col. Ingrabem.

1005 Foot-Hills Frank. By Joe. E. Badger.

1006 The Sea Cadet. By 001. P. Imam.

 

V.
405 Old Baldy the Brlizadier ofp Buck Basin.

at; Colorado Rube. thu Strong Arm of Rom. l

979 The Gold Dragoon. or. California

BY NED BUNTLINE

in Long Tom. the Privateer.

638 The Sea Slpy,

sin The Red rivateer: or. The Midshipman Rover.

584 Fire Feather. the Buccaneer King.

517 Buffalo Bill‘s First Trail.

861 Tombstone Dick, the Train Pilot.

)9! Saul Sabberday. the Idiot  .

111 The Smuirzlm- Captain: or. , eSkipper‘s Mme.
m The See Bandit; or. The Queen of the Isle.
16 The White Wind - ‘l'he Runinole

 

JUST ISSUED.

996 1 Dick. the Shasta Dead Shot. B Aiken.
997 Hndtllrhur Hal. the Sport from Hard inch. By

Joe. E. Badlrt r. Jr.

i m Ceptai 1 Seawaif. Privateer. By Ned Buntiine.
no The Velvet Hand' or. The Iron Grip of. 1*.
Dick. By Albert w. Aiken. _

A now have every Wednesday.
“I'll! pill]! LIBRARY is for sale by a!
,Newsdeuers. :0- Mm‘m somth &
Mp6 of m. 1’55- t '
'6' "‘r‘ "we 9 were

 

 
    

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Each“. Number

 

 

Complete.

 

 

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973
964

960

956

950
043

036

927
021

915

909
90-5

900

863

857

85

v.4

845
839
830
826
822

 

Bill
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Ten Cents a
Copy.

 

DIME
liiiliiilj.

 

 

 

Buffalo Bill's Relentless Trail.

Prentiss Ingraham.

The Dread-Shot Four; or. My Part]: of the

Plains. l.y Col. \V. F. Cody.

Buffalo Bill's Invincibles; or, The Sable Shad—

ower's Sublime Sacrifice. By 001. P. Ingra-

ham.

Buffalo Bill's Blue Belt Brigade; or, Sun-

flower Sam of Shasta. By Col. P. Ingraham.

Buffalo Bill's Volunteer Vigilantea; or, The

Mysterious Man in Blue. By Col. P. 1ngra~

ham.

Buffalo Bill at Bay: or, The Gold Seeker's
om. By Col. 1’. lngraham.

Buffalo Bill's Block Game; or, The Mounted

Miners of the Overland. By Col. P. Ingra-

ham. I

Buffalo' Bill's Black Pard; or. The Gold

Boomers of the Big Horn. By Col. P. Ingra-

ham.

Buffalo Bill's Bluff: or. Dusky Dick, the

Sport. ‘By Col. P. lngraham.

Buffalo Bill's Quandary: or, Velvet Bill's

Vow. By Col. Prentiu lngraham.

Buffalo Bill and the Surgeon Scout: or, Go-

wan-go. the Redskin Rider. By Col. P. In-

graham.

Buffalo Bill's League; or, Red Butterfly. By

Col. Prentiss lngraham.

Buffalo Bili's Tangled Trail; or, Gentleman

Jack. the Man of Many Masks. By Col. P.

lngrnham.

Buffalo Bill's Rough Riders; or. Texas Jack's

Sharp-Shooters. By Col. Prentiss ingraham.

Buffalo Bill’s Secret Ally; or. The Texan's

Double. By Col. Prentiss ingraham.

Buffalo Bill’s Life-Stake: or, The Pledged

Three. By Col. P. Ingrabam.

The Three Bills; Buffalo Bill. Wild Bill and

Band-Box Bill: or, The Bravo in Broadcloth.

ByCol. P. Ingraham.

Buffalo Bill's Buckskin Braves: or. The Card

Queen's Last Ga no. lly Col. P. Ingraliam.

B ffalo Bill's Road Agent Round-Up; or, The
yaterious Masked Man in Black. By Col.

P. lngruham. ' '

Buffalo Bill's Death-Charm; or, The Man

“'lth the Scar. By Col. Prentiss lngraham.

Buffalo Bill's Royal Flush; or, The Pony Ri-

der's Death—Run. By L‘ol. Prentiss Ingra-

ham.

Buffalo Bill’s Double Dilemma; or, The Great

Scout's Big Three. By (.‘01. .i'. lngraham.

Buffalo Bill's Redskin Ruse: or. Texas Jack's

Death Shot. By Col. Prentiss lngrahani.

The Ranch Kingr Dead—Shot: or, Texas Jack's

Proxy. 15y Buffalo Bill. <

nut-mm mug; Boys in Blue: or. The Brimstone

Band's Blot-out. lly Col. l’. Ingram!“-

Buffalo Bill's Sharp-Shooters: or. The Surge”!

Scout to the Rescue. By (Jul. P. lam-ahamz

Buffalo Bill's Best Bower: or. Montebello the

Gold King. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

 

 

Marauder'a Deutli-Tiack. By Buffalo Bill.

810 Buffalo Bill’s Bed Trail: or. The Road.Rider 64!) Buck Taylor, the Saddle King. Buffalo Bill’s

Renegades Run Down. By Col. P. lngraham.

812 i‘.u.'.'ain llill's l)eath~l{nell; or, The Rmi Hand 644 Bufmlo Bill's Bonanza; or, The Knights of

ltiders of the Rockies. 13y Col. P. lngra‘nam.

07 “iii in 1, ti e Wild We. Duellw‘l: 4r. The Girl 639 The Gold King: or, Montebello, the Mac-in-

Mascot of" Moonlight mine. My llunalo Bill.

807 “’ild Bill. the “Mid \Vest Duelist: or. The Girl
Grande Ralph, the Cowboy Chief. By Buf-
falo Bill

794 Buffalo Bill’s Winning Hand; or. The Masked
\Voman of the Colorado Canyon. By Col. P.
Ingraham.

787 Buffalo Bill’s Dead Shot;or,'l'heSkeleton Scout
of the Colorado. ‘By (.‘01. Prentiss lngraham.

781 Buffalo Bill’s Brand: or, The Brimstone
Brotherhood. By Col. Prentiss lngraham.

777 Buffalo Bill's Spy-Shadower; or, The Masked
Men at Grand Canyon. By Col. 1’. lngraham.

773 Buffalo Bill's Ban; or. ('ody to the Rescue.
By Leon Lewis. ‘»

769 Buffalo Bill's Sweepstake; or, The Wipe-out
at Last Chance. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

765 Buffalo Bill‘s Dozen; or, Silk Ribbon Sam.
By (‘01. Prentiss Ingraham.

761'Buffalo Bill's Mascot: or, The Death Valley
Victim No. 13. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

757 Buffalo Bill's Double: or, The Desperado De-
tective. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

750 Buffalo Bill's Big Four; or, Custor's Shadow.
By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

743 Buffalo Bill's Flush Band; or, Texas Jack's
Bravos. By Col. Prentiss Ingruham.

739 Buffalo Bill's Blind; or. The Masked Driver
of Death's Canyon. By Col. Prentiss Ingra-
ham.

735 Buffalo Bill and His Merry Men; or. The
Robin Hood Rivals. By Col. Prentiss Ingra-
ham. '

731 Buffalo. Bill's Beagles: or. Silk Lasso Sam.
By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

727 Buffalo Bill’s Body Guard; or, The Still Hunt
of the Hills. By Col. Prentiss Ingraharn.
722 Buffalo Bill on the \Var Path; or, Silk Lasso
Sam. the W'iil-o'-tlie-\Visp. iiy Col. 1’. In-

graham.

716 Buffalo Bill's Scout Shndowers: or, Emor-
nid 19d of Devil's Acre. By Col. P. Ingraham.

710 Buffalo Bill Baffled; or, The Dosnrttar Des-

perado's Defiance. By Col. P. Ingraham.
697 Buffalo Bill's Buckskin Brotherhood; or.
Openingr Up .a Lost ’i‘rail. By Col. 1‘. In-

graham.

691 Buffalo Bill's Blind Trail; or, The Daughter
of the Regiment. By Col. Prentiss ingraham.

682 Buffalo Bill's Secret Service Trail. By Major
Dangerfield Burr. v

667 Buffalo Bill's Swoop: or. the King of the
Mines. By Col. Prentiss lngraham.

658 The Cowboy Clan: or. The Tigress of Texas.
ily Colonel Prentiss lngraham.

By Coioneil820 White Beavers Still Hunt: or, The Miner (:53 The Lasso King’s League: or, The Tigers of

 

Texas. By Colonel Prentiss Ingrahul.

Chief of Scouts. By Col. P. Ingraham.

the Silver Circle. By Col. P. Ingraham.
cent. By Buffalo Bill.

629 Buffalo Bill‘s Daring Role; or. Dandeath
Dick, King of the Cowboys. By Leon IAWln.

599 The- Dead Shot Nine; or, My Panic of the
Plains. By Buffalo Bill.

517 Buffalo Bill's First Trail; or, Will Cody. the
Pony Express Rider. By Ned Buntline.

414 Bed Renard. the Indian Detective; or. The
Gold Buzzards of Colorado. By Buffalo Bill.

401 The One-Armed Pard; or, Red Retribution in
Borderland. By Buffalo Bill.

397 The \Vizard Brothers: or, ‘White Beaver"!
Trail. BY Buffalo Bill.

304 \Vhite Beaver. the Exile of the Platte: or.‘
A I\‘Vronged Man's Red Trail. By Buflnlo
Bil .

362 Buffalo Bill's Grip; or, Oath~bound to Custer.
By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

829 Buffalo Bill's Pledge; or. The We 0‘
Three. By Col. P. Ingraham.

819 \Vild Bill, the “'hirlwind of the Welt. By
Buffalo Bill.

304 Texas Jack. the Prairie Rattler: or, The
Queen of the Wild Riders. By Buffalo Bill.

248 The Pilgrim Sharp: or. The Soldier's Sweet-
heart. By Buffalo Bill, Government Scout
and Guide.

189 Wild Bill's Gold Trail; or. The Desperate
Dozen. By Col. P. Ingraham.

175 “'ild Bill's Trump Card; or. The Indian
Heiress. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

168 vWild Bill. the Pistol Dead Shot; or. Dagger
Don's Double. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

158 Buffalo Bill, Chief of Scouts: or. The Doomed
Dozen. By Dr. Frank Powell.

117 Buffalo Bill's. Strange Pard: or, Dashing
Dandy. the Hotspur 0f the Hilh. By Major
1). Burr.

92 Buffalo Bill, the Buckskin King; or, The
fninzon ot the West. By Major Dangerfield
lurr.

83 Gold Bullet Sport; or. The Knights of' the
OthrlHnd. By Buffalo Bill. ,

52 Death Trailer, the Chief of Scouts; cr. Life
 Love in a Frontier Fort. By Buffalo

NEW ISSUES TO COME.

081 The Gold Lace Sport; or, The Texan sam-
son's Wide Swath. By Joe. E. Badger, Jr.

9820mm Crowley’s Winning Hand; or, The
Raacaliy ‘Jalet's Double Game. By A. P.
Morris.

083 Kid Glove Kris, the Sport. By J. C. Cow-
drick. Ready August 25.

984 Buffalo Bill's Life Raffle; or, The Doomed
Three. By Col. P. Ingraham. Ready Sept. 1.

 

- NMMA—&N\.~JNI\J\ /\. A../‘_.I\./\_

 

 

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