Н. Самуэльян - Лучшие романы Томаса Майна Рида / The Best of Thomas Mayne Reid

“Indeed!” sneeringly responded the yellow hunter.

“I make the demand,” continued the other, without noticing the sneer, “in the name of Jacob Jessuron – whose overseer I’ve told you I am.”

“Perhaps, were you Jacob Jessuron himself, I might resist your demand,” rejoined the hunter, coolly, and without any appearance of braggadocio [495] .

“You refuse to surrender him, then?” said the overseer, as if making his final overture.

“I do,” was the firm reply.

“Enough – you shall repent this; and you, sir,” continued the deputy of Jessuron, turning 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 island 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 Herbert; “for, certainly,” continued he, with provoking jocularity, “an uglier-looking face than yours I have never set eyes upon; and it could be no pleasure to me to look upon it again.”

“Confusion!” cried the overseer. “You’ll repent that insult before you’re a month older – curse me if you don’t!”

And with this characteristic menace, the ruffian turned and walked sullenly away.

“ Caspita [496] !” cried one of the Spaniards, as the two hastened to follow their leader. “My brave dogs! Ah, demonio ! you shall pay dearly for them. Two hundred pesos each – not a cuartito [497] less!”

“Not a cuartito for either!” responded the yellow hunter, with a mocking laugh. “Haven’t I proved that they are not worth it? With all your boasting of what your bloodhounds could do, look at them now. Vaya ! my fine fellows! Go back to your own country, and hunt runaway negroes there. Here you must leave that game to those who know how to manage it – the Maroons !”

Herbert observed that the hunter, on pronouncing these last words, drew himself up with an air of majestic pride – as he did so, glancing scornfully towards the crestfallen caçadores [498] .

An angry “ Carrai !” simultaneously hissed from the lips of both, was the only reply made by the two Spaniards; who, at the same instant, turned their backs upon the ceiba , and followed their leader across the glade.

Chapter 27

The Maroons

As soon as they were gone out of sight, the hunter turned towards Herbert, his eyes sparkling with gratitude.

“Master!” said he, making a low obeisance as he spoke, “after that, words are but a poor way of offering thanks. If the brave white gentleman who has risked his life for a coloured outcast will let me know his name, it will not be forgotten by Cubina, the Maroon .”

“Cubina, the Maroon!” Struck by the oddness of the name and title – as he had already been by the appearance and behaviour of him who bore them – Herbert repeated the phrase mechanically, rather than otherwise.

“Yes, that is my name, master.” The young Englishman, though not yet enlightened as to the odd appellation, was too well-bred to press for an explanation.

“Pardon me,” said he, “for not directly replying to your request. I am an Englishman; my name Vaughan – Herbert Vaughan.”

“By that name, master, I take it you have relatives in the island. The owner of Mount Welcome estate – ”

“Is my uncle.”

“Ah! then, sir, anything a poor Maroon hunter could do for you would not be much. All the same, you have my thanks; and if – ; but, master,” continued the speaker, suddenly changing his tone, as if in obedience to some instinct of curiosity, “may I make bold to ask why you are afoot so early? The sun is not yet ten minutes above the trees, and Mount Welcome is three miles distant. You must have tracked it here in the dark – no easy matter, through these tangled woods?”

“I passed the night here,” replied the Englishman, smiling; “that was my bed, where the boar is now sleeping.”

“Then the gun is yours, not his?”

The hunter nodded interrogatively towards the runaway, who, standing some paces off, was regarding both the speakers with glances of gratitude, not, however, unmingled with some signs of uneasiness.

“Yes, it is my gun. I am very glad the piece was not empty: since it enabled him to destroy the fierce brute that would otherwise have had him by the throat. Wretched as the poor fellow appears, he handled his weapon well. What is he, and what have they been doing to him?”

“Ah, Master Vaughan; by those two questions, it is easy to tell you are a stranger to the island. I think I can answer both – though I never saw the young man before. Poor wretch! The answers are written out upon his skin, in letters that don’t require much scholarship to read. Those upon his breast tell that he’s a slave – the slave of J.J.: Jacob Jessuron. You’ll excuse me from giving my opinion of him .”

“What have they done to you, my poor fellow?” asked Herbert of the runaway – his compassion hindering him from waiting for the more roundabout explanation of the Maroon.

The blood-bedaubed creature, perceiving that the speech was addressed to him, made a long rejoinder; but in a tongue unknown both to the hunter and Herbert. The latter could distinguish two words that he had heard before – “Foolah” and “Allah” – both of which occurred repeatedly in the speech.

“It’s no use asking 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. As for the marks upon his back – those have been made by a plaything, the white planters and their overseers in these parts are rather too fond of using – the cart-whip! They’ve been flogging the poor devil; and, Crambo ! they’ve given it to him thick and sharp.”

As the Maroon made this remark, he raised the blood-stained shirt, exposing to view that back so terribly reticulated. The sight was sickening. Herbert could not bear to gaze upon it; but averted his eyes on the instant.

“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 his that he is a Foolah. I hear him use the word as he talks.”

“Yoy – Foolah! Foolah!” cried the runaway on hearing pronounced the name of his people; and then he continued in a strain of the same language, accompanied by much gesticulation.

“I 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 speech.

“ Crambo ! very little would tempt me not to restore him to his master.”

“And must you?”

“I must. We Maroons are bound by a treaty to deliver up all runaways we may take; and if we fail to do so – that is, when it is known ; but these villains of old Jessuron know I have him – ”

“You will receive a bounty, you say?”

“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 her! – ay, as if he were her brother.”

This last speech was delivered in soliloquy.

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