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

“An expedition after some poor slave!” muttered Cubina to himself. “I hope the scoundrels won’t catch him, anyhow, and I pity him if they do. After all, they’re no great hands at the business, spite of their braggadocio.”

With this professional reflection, the Maroon once more bent his eyes upon the form that remained in the shadow of the verandah.

“Surely,” conjectured he, “the old John Crow will now go to his roost? Or has he more of the like business on hand? Till he’s out of that I can’t make a move. I durstn’t stir, not for the life of me!”

To the joy of Cubina, the Jew at that moment stepped back into his chamber – the door of which had been left standing 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 !”

As the exclamation indicated, the congratulatory speech was cut short by the re-appearance 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 hat had been removed – though the skull-cap, of dirty whitish hue, still clung around his temples; for it was never doffed.

To the consternation of Cubina he came out, dragging a chair after him: as if he meant to place it in the verandah and take a seat upon it.

And this was precisely his intention, for, after drawing the chair – a high-backed one – out into the middle of the gallery, he planted it firmly upon the floor, and then dropped down into it.

The moment after, Cubina saw sparks, accompanied by a sound that indicated the concussion of flint and steel. The Jew was striking a light!

For what purpose?

The smell of burning tobacco borne along the gallery, and ascending to Cubina’s nostrils upon the summit of the palm, answered that question. A red coal could be seen gleaming between the nose and chin of the Israelite. He was smoking a cigar!

Cubina saw this with chagrin. How long would the operation last? Half-an-hour – an hour, perhaps? Ay, maybe till daybreak – now not very distant.

The situation had changed for the worse. The Maroon could not make the slightest move towards the awakening of Herbert. He dared not shift his own position, lest his presence should be betrayed to the Jew. He dared not stir upon the tree, much less come down from it!

He saw that he was in a fix; but there was no help for it. He must wait till the Jew had finished his cigar: though there was no certainty that even that would bring the séance to a termination.

Summoning all the patience he could command, he kept his perch, silent and motionless, though anxious, and suffering from chagrin.

For a long hour, at least, did he continue in this desperate dilemma – until his limbs ached underneath him, and his composure was well-nigh exhausted. Still the Jew stuck to his chair, as if glued to the seat – silent and motionless as Cubina himself.

The latter fancied that not only a first cigar, but a second, and, perhaps, a third, had been lighted and smoked; but in the sombre shadow, in which the smoker sat, he could not be certain how many. More than one, however, from the time spent in the operation; for during the full period of an hour a red coal could be seen glowing at the tip of that aquiline proboscis.

Cubina now perceived what troubled him exceedingly – the blue dawn breaking over the tops of the trees! By slightly turning his head he could see the golden gleam of sunlight tinting the summit of the Jumbé Rock!

“ Crambo ! what was to be done?” so ran his reflections.

If he stayed there much longer he might be sure of being discovered. The slaves would soon be starting to their work – the overseer and drivers would soon be out and about. One or other could not fail to see him upon the tree! He would be lucky now to escape himself, without thinking any longer of the hammock or him who slept within its tight-drawn meshes.

While considering how he might slip unperceived from the tree he glanced once more towards the occupant of the chair. The gradually brightening dawn, which had been filling him with apprehension, now favoured him. It enabled him to perceive that the Jew was asleep!

With his head thrown back against the sloping upholstery, Jessuron had at last surrendered to the powerful divinity of dreams. His goggles were off; and Cubina could see that the wrinkled lids were closed over his sunken orbs.

Undoubtedly he was asleep. His whole attitude confirmed it. His 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 somnolency was not even counterbalanced by the stump of a cigar, burnt close, and still sticking between his teeth!

End of Volume Two.

Chapter 1

A Startling Summons

On the part of Cubina it was now a struggle between prudence and a desire to carry out his original programme – whether he should not go off alone, or still try to communicate with the sleeper in the hammock.

In the former case he could return to the glade, and there await the coming of Herbert Vaughan as at first fixed. But, by so doing, at least two hours would be lost; and even then, would the young Englishman be punctual to his appointment?

Even against his inclination something might occur to cause delay – a thing all the more probable, considering the circumstances that surrounded him; considering the irregularity of events in the domicile where he dwelt.

But even a delay of two hours! In that interval, Loftus Vaughan might have ceased to live!

These thoughts coursed quickly through the mind of the Maroon – accustomed as it was to perceptions almost intuitive. He saw that he must either go by himself to Mount Welcome, or awake the sleeper at once.

Perhaps he would have decided on the former course, but that he had other motives for an interview with Herbert Vaughan, almost as immediate in their necessity as that which related to the safety of the Custos. He had as yet no reason to believe that the peril in which the planter stood was so proximate as it really was: for it never occurred to him that the departure of the two Spaniards had any other object than that which related to their calling – the capture of some runaway slave.

Had he suspected the design of the two ruffians – had he known the mission of murder on which the slave-merchant had dispatched them – he would scarce have stayed for aught else than to have provided the means of intercepting their design.

In the dark about all this, he did not believe there was such necessity for extreme haste; though he knew something was on foot against the Custos which would not allow of much loss of time.

At that moment the occupant of the hammock 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 speaker again became relaxed; and he returned to a slumber profound as before.

“What a pity!” murmured the Maroon; “if I could only speak a word. But no. Yonder John Crow is more like to hear it than he. I shall throw something down into the hammock. Maybe that will awake him?”

Cubina drew out his tobacco-pipe. 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 breast of the sleeper. It was too light. It awoke him not.

“ Crambo ! he sleeps like an owl at noontide! What can I do to make him feel me? If I throw down my machete , I shall lose the weapon; and who knows I may not need it before I’m out of this scrape? Ha! one of these cocoa-nuts will do. That, I dare say, will be heavy enough to startle him.”