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Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
seeds, and dried pumpkins were stretched across the ceiling; skins
of animals and birds littered the floor. Unseen things squeaked in
cages; there was a piece of red glass in the roof and through it, on
to a wooden table, there fell a round, flaming eye of light which
luridly illuminated the assembled horrors. Uncanny and malodorous
fragments filled the corners; filth, mystery and darkness blended
here; and across one corner of the hut hung a curtain which hid
Arcanum, the Holy of Obeah Holies.
Jabez Ford sat down on a three-legged stool by the table, and the
red light shone like a sulky fire upon his dark locks. He sniffed the
infamous air, then took a cigar from his case and lighted it.
Meantime, with more pluck than wisdom, and only thinking of the
things that he had heard and seen, Daniel Sweetland followed close
upon the heels of the strange pair. Now he stood outside the hut
near the open door, and, crouching here, listened clearly to the
conversation within. Beside him the tethered goat still browsed, and
Ford’s horse sniffed the ground for something to eat. But only the
lush foliage of the snake-gourd spread within his reach, and that the
beast declined. It dragged its bridle as far as possible, stamped the
earth, and with unceasing swish, swish, swish of tail kept the flies
from its sweating flanks.
“I’ll tell you what’s happened since we met,” said Ford to his
creature. “Last night the youngster wrote his letters home and left
them with mine to be taken to the post office to catch the mail. The
Solent sailed this morning, but she didn’t take Henry Vivian’s letter
to his father. She took one from me instead, signed in his name. I’ve
got his in my pocket, and it contained exactly what I expected. He
makes no definite charge, because it is impossible to prove anything
against me; but he states in detail that more money is being made
than appears, and advises Sir Reginald to be rid of me at once.
Meantime he is going to look round the island and find a new
overseer. But this little plan won’t suit me. I must stop at the Pelican
for another year at least. So, having unsealed and read our young
friend’s letter after he retired to bed, I wrote another—on my
typewriter—and gave myself a better character, you may be sure. His
signature was very easy to imitate, and now my letter, not his, has
set sail for home. There it goes now.”
He pointed below where a steamer slipped away from Tobago and
the station ship, Solent, proceeded on her course to Trinidad and
Barbados.
“My letter went in his envelope,” continued Ford. “And when Sir
Reginald reads it, he will be favourably impressed because I gave
myself a better character than Vivian did. Of course a letter from me
will reach him by the next mail.”
“You write, too, massa?”
“Yes—I shall write—all about what is going to happen.”
“I see. You tell de great man at home how his son meet wid dam
sad accident and lose him life in Tobago?”
“Exactly. The boy’s as good as dead. I rather wish it had been
possible to avoid this; but it is not. He mustn’t go home.”
“He trust you?”
“Absolutely. He has no idea that I have seen through him and
know that he is not satisfied. Therefore, from his standpoint, I have
no reason to hate him. We are the best of friends. I am showing him
all the sights and taking him all over the island. He is anxious to see
everything and everybody. Of course he is on the look-out for a new
overseer, but I’m not supposed to know that. Now he’s excited, too,
about that sailor who knocked him down yesterday. A wretched
fellow off a tramp steamer. We were on the wharf watching them
load turtles, when he spotted the man. Then there was a row, and
my gentleman got knocked into the water. I hoped there might have
been a shark cruising round! It would have saved us a deal of
trouble.”
“I will do all Marse shark could do, sar. A berry nice hole dug
under the snake-gourd. When he come?”
 “Soon. I’ve told him that Jesse Hagan, the Obi Man, is the first
wonder of the island; so he’ll be here with me to see you. Have all
your war-paint on. Afterwards, I’ll take his horse away—and his
boots and clothes. The rest is simple enough. They’ll find the horse
loose on the beach, and his garments together, and prints of feet
going to the bathing-place, but none returning.”
“Dar’s nobody like Massa Ford!”
“We must be short and sharp. He’s resolute and quick. But he’s
small—what’s that? There’s somebody moving out there!”
“My goat, sar.”
But Ford had leapt to his feet and left the hut. A moment later and
he stood face to face with Daniel Sweetland. The sailor was some
distance from the cottage when Jabez accosted him. His back was
turned and he stood on a stone and pulled down green bananas
from one of the Obi Man’s trees.
“Who are you and what do you do here?” asked the overseer. “You
must be mad or a desperate man to run your head into this place.”
The other looked innocently round. Mere temporary fear seemed
to leap into his eyes at this threat. He showed by no deed or look
that the truth was known to him. But Daniel had heard the course of
conversation very clearly, and the necessity for swift action had
forced itself upon his mind. His first idea was to leap upon Ford’s
horse, hasten to the Pelican Estate, and give an alarm; then he
remembered his own position as a hunted fugitive. A plan worthy of
the ingenious brain that had freed him from the handcuffs of Mr
Corder swiftly dawned in the man’s head. He saw the dangers
waiting for Henry Vivian and for himself. In a few moments he
decided upon action, and his words indicated that Daniel evidently
held self-preservation the first law of nature. He left the heir of
Middlecott to his fate, and played for his own hand only.
“Please, sir, listen afore you give me up,” said Daniel. “Afore God
I’m innocent of what this man says against me. He’s a hard, cruel
young devil, and many’s the poor chap at home he’s driven
desperate. Not a spark of pity has he got, an’ now I be desperate—
as any hunted man would be—an’ so I’ve climbed up here with my
life in my hand to this terrible old chap they tell me about. An’ I was
going to ax him to help me; but hearing voices, I just waited here till
he was free. I’ll pay him well for his bananas, and I’ll pay him better
for something else, which is to help me against that young
bloodhound, Henry Vivian. I don’t care what I do against him, for
he’ll ruin me if he can; and if I was guilty I’d say nought, but I’m
innocent. An’ if I’ve got to swing, I’ll swing for him! That’s why I
comed with a present to this here mystery man, to ax him to hide
me an’ help me against my enemy. An’ I’ll tell you something too, if
you’ll listen, an’ that is that Mister Henry Vivian ban’t no friend to
you. I come from the same place he does, and I heard about it afore
my own trouble at home. He’m here as a spy, an’ I lay after he’s
gone, you’ll find your goose be cooked.”
This speech interested Mr Ford not a little.
“’Twas you that shot his father’s gamekeeper then?” he asked; but
Daniel denied it.
“It looked bad against me—so bad that I didn’t stop to talk about
it, but got clear off. Time will show ’twas no work of mine, however;
an’ this man, as have knowed me from my youth up, ought to be my
friend—not my enemy. But since he’m against me, I’m against him,
an’ I’d cut his throat to-morrow if I got the chance.”
The overseer nodded and turned to Jesse Hagan. Jesse had
brought a gun out of his dwelling, and now deliberately pointed it at
Daniel.
“Shall I shoot dis gem’man?” he inquired with his finger on the
trigger. “Him berry rude young man walk in my garden widdout
saying ‘please,’ an’ eat my bananas.”
“Stop!” answered Ford. “This sailor is a friend. At least I think so.
No, don’t shoot him. Let him come in and give him something to eat.
He’s hungry.”
 “Lucky Massa Ford speak for you, Marse sailor-man—else you food
for de ‘John Crows’ dis minute. But he say ‘eat’; so you eat instead
ob being eaten, sar.”
Then Daniel entered the Obi Man’s hut with Jabez Ford and old
Jesse.
 CHAPTER XIV
JESSE’S FINGER-NAIL

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

“Afore you think about what all this means, you’d best to hear
me,” began Daniel. “I’m very sorry I throwed you in the water, Mister
Henry, but ’twas ‘which he should,’ as we say to home; an’ if I hadn’t
done it, you’d have had me locked up. You thought you was right to
go for me; an’ I reckoned I was right to go for you. An’ I should
again, for I’m innocent afore Almighty God. May He strike me dead
on this here dead man’s horse if I ban’t!”
“We’ll leave your affairs for the present,” replied Vivian. “What
you’ve got to do is to tell me what all this means. Then I shall know
how to act.”
“That’s all right,” answered the other; “but you’m rather too
disposed to be one-sided, if I may say so without rudeness. A man
like me don’t care to blow his own trumpet, but I must just remind
you that I’ve saved you from a terrible ugly death during the last five
minutes; and I’ll confess ’twas a very difficult job and took me all my
time to do it. I’ve been a better friend to you than ever you was to
me, though I know you was all for justice an’ that you meant to do
your duty. But you was cruel quick against me. Well, thus it stands:
the world thinks I’m a murderer, an’ my work in life is to prove I am
not. An’ that I shall do, with or without your help, sir. But if you
believe the lie, say so, an’ I’ll know where I be. If you’re my enemy
still, declare it. Then if there’s got to be fighting the sooner the
better. But think afore you throw me over. ’Twas because I loved
you, when we were boys, an’ because I thought that, when you
heard my story calmly, you’d come to believe in me, that I let the
past go an’ saved your life. So now say how we stand, please, Mister
Henry. If you’m against me still, be honest and declare it. But I know
you can’t be. Ban’t human nature after what I’ve just done for you.”
 Vivian stopped his horse.
“It’s not a time for reserve, Dan. You’re right and I’m wrong.
You’ve taught me to be larger-hearted. I’ll take your word, and
henceforth I’m on your side before a wilderness of proofs. From this
hour I will believe that you’re an innocent man, and I thank you,
under God, for saving my life.”
He held out his hand, and Sweetland shook it as if he could never
let go.
“The Lord will bless you for that! I knowed well how ’twould be
when you understood. An’ I hope you’ll forgive me for speaking so
plain; but ’twas gall to me to know you thought me so bad. If you’m
on my side, an’ my own Minnie at home, an’ my own friend, Titus
Sim—you three—then I’m not feared for anything else. I’ll face the
world an’ laugh at it now. But first I must tell you the meaning of all
that’s happened to-day.”
“Here’s the Pelican,” interrupted Vivian. “You’ll do well to come in
and have a wash while I send for the police.”
“Washing won’t get it off. I’ll be so black as the ace of oaks for
many a long day yet; an’ maybe it’s best so. ’Twas that dead man’s
idea that I should bide along with Jesse Hagan an’ pretend to be a
deaf an’ dumb nigger, an’ lend Jesse a hand when you arrived. A
very good idea too. So long as Dan Sweetland’s thought to be a
murderer, he’ll be better out of the way.”
They entered the dwelling of Jabez Ford, while a negro took their
horses.
Then Sweetland told his story from the beginning. He started with
the night before his wedding, and gave every particular of his last
poaching enterprise. He related how he actually heard the shot that
must have slain Adam Thorpe, and explained how he returned to
Hangman’s Hut, put his gun into its case, and then went home to his
father’s house. His wedding, arrest, and subsequent escape
followed. He mentioned his ruse at the King’s Oven, his visit to his
wife, and his escape from Plymouth in the Peabody. He resumed the
narrative at Scarborough, Tobago, and then related what had
happened to him after flying from the wharf.
“I overheard Jesse and Jabez Ford talking, an’ very quickly
tumbled to it that you was a deader if you comed to see the Obi
Man. I’d watched the old, grey-haired devil dig your grave already.
Then I set to work to save you. Maybe ’twas a fool’s trick, but I
hadn’t much time to think about it, so I bluffed, an’ went in so bold
as brass, an’ said as I wanted to take your life. Well, you may guess
what Ford thought of that. A desperate, half-naked, savage sailor-
man was just the tool for him. They let me help Jesse, an’ I make no
doubt that Ford meant to turn on me afterwards, if ever he had to
clear himself. He never smelt a rat—he never saw I was playing a
part—I was that bitter against you. I axed the man an’ begged him
to let me kill you myself, an’ I think he would have agreed to it; but
Jesse said that ’twas his job, an’ he told us he wasn’t going to have
no pig-killing in his house, but ordered us to leave it to him. To the
last he wouldn’t tell me how he was going to do it. So I had an
anxious time, I promise you. Then ’twas planned that I should be a
black man, an’ the old chap gived me some stuff for my face an’
hands an’ neck—just the colour as you see. I’ve got the rest up there
in a bottle. Well, Ford he went off, an’ Jesse told me what my part
was to be. Simple enough—only to hand you your rum punch when
the time came—nothing more. ’Twas all in that drop of drink. But he
swore ’twasn’t when I axed him afore you come. And what he put
in, or how he put it in, I can’t tell you. I only guessed when he
handed me the drink that death was in your bowl, because he was
so partickler about which was yours an’ which was Ford’s. So I said
to myself, ‘I’ll change these here calabashes behind their backs, an’
if one’s a wrong ’un, let that crafty chap have it; an’ if both be
honest, no harm’s done.’ You see how right I was. When I seed Ford
screech an’ topple over, I knowed what I’d saved you from.”
“But why—what did the man want to poison me for?”
“Because he’d seed through you an’ knowed you’d seen through
him. Because he found out you wasn’t satisfied and meant to have
him turned off. I heard him tell the Obi Man the whole yarn. He read
the letters you’d written your father after you’d gone to bed; an’
then he took yours out an’ put in others into your envelopes, an’
forged your signatures to ’em. Then, when they’d got you settled,
they was going to pretend you’d gone bathing an’ been eaten by
sharks. The story all hung together very suent an’ vitty, I lay. But
now he’s dust himself, an’, if you take my advice, you’ll do what he’s
done afore you, an’ make Jesse Hagan keep his mouth shut. No
harm can come of that; then you’re free to go home. Whereas, if
you have the whole thing turned over to the police, there’ll be the
devil to pay, an’ a case at Trinidad, an’ lawyers, an’ trouble, an’ Jesse
Hagan hanged, an’ Lord knows what else.”
“Let things go!” gasped Henry Vivian.
“Why not? Just consider. There’ll be oceans of bother for you if
you stir this up. Nothing better could have happened. This wicked
scoundrel’s taken off in the nick of time.”
“Hoist with his own petard, indeed!”
“Well, he’s gone—vanished like smoke—an’ nobody will mourn him
neither. What could suit you so well? Forget you know anything
about it. Why not? All you can do is to hang Jesse Hagan for his
share. But, if you arrest him, so like as not he’ll turn round on me
an’ say I done it. Then my name comes in, an’ I’d very much rather
it didn’t just at present.”
They argued long upon this theme, but Vivian would not give way.
His sense of justice and honour made him refuse to let the matter
drift, and Daniel’s worldly-wise advice fell on deaf ears. They made a
meal, and the negroes who served it looked curiously at the silent
coloured man, who ate with their master’s guest; for while others
were present Daniel kept dumb. Then, as the day advanced, the
horses were again saddled, and Vivian, with Sweetland, rode off to
the hut of Obeah.
While the attendants stared to see a ragged negro galloping off on
Jabez Ford’s horse, Dan attempted again to convince Henry Vivian
that a cynical silence would for the present best meet the case. It
was only the thought of Sweetland’s own position, if all came to be
laid bare, that made the other hesitate. Vivian, indeed, found himself
still in doubt when they returned to the summit of the hill, tied their
horses to the opuntia hedge, and returned to Jesse’s dim dwelling.
Profound silence reigned there, and the hut was empty. Neither
the distorted corpse of Jabez Ford nor any sign of the Obi Man
himself appeared. Hunting in a corner, Daniel found the bottle of dye
which had served so effectually to disguise him; and at the same
moment Henry Vivian discovered a scrap of paper on the table under
the red eye of light that fell from the roof upon it.
“Jesse larf at ropes and bars, but Jesse no larf at Massa Judge at
Trinidad who hang him. Jesse tired, so him go to bed along with
other gem’men and Marse Ford under the snake-gourd in him
garden.”
Daniel rushed out to find this statement true. The Obi Man had
flung Ford into the grave prepared for Henry Vivian. He had then
jumped in himself and, with a long knife that lay beside him, had
severed the arteries of his thighs. A storm of insects rose up and
whirled away from the ghastly grave.
“Where’s his spade?” cried Daniel. “Even you will grant there’s but
one thing to do for ’em now.”
“My duty’s hard to know,” declared Vivian.
“Then leave it,” answered the other. “Here’s Fate busy working for
you. Why for keep so glum about it? Let me advise, for I know I’m
right. Take the next ship home an’ set out all afore your faither. He’ll
say what’s proper to do. I’ll bury these sinners, an’ you can bear the
tale home along; an’ when he’s heard all, Sir Reginald will know very
well how to act. Trust him!”
“And you, Sweetland?”
“I’ll tell you what I think about myself so soon as I be through
with this job. One thing’s clear as mud: the sooner we’re out of
Tobago the better. If you can only trust the second in command at
the Pelican works to carry on for the present, I say ‘be off.’ Then this
scarey business will right itself. The bad man fades away from
memory. His sins are forgotten. Never was a case where silence
seemed like to suit everybody best an’ do the least harm.”
In his heart Henry Vivian felt somewhat nettled to find an
untutored man rising to strength of character and practical force
greater than his own at this crisis. But he could not fail to feel the
sense of Dan’s advice. Moreover, he was awake to the immense debt
he owed to Sweetland.
That night, while fireflies danced over the raw earth of the grave
under the snake-gourd, Henry Vivian and the sailor held solemn
speech together. They talked for hours; then Daniel had his way.
It was at length determined that Sir Reginald’s son should return
home at once. Having yielded slowly to Dan’s strong entreaties in
this matter, Vivian asked a question.
“And what do you do, Sweetland? Or, I should ask, what can I do
for you? Your welfare is mine henceforth. This tragedy has merely
obscured the problem with respect to you. I return home and
convince my father that what has happened was really for the best.
We will take it that he agrees, presently appoints a new overseer,
and leaves this scoundrel in his unknown grave. So much for me and
the issue of my affairs; but now what happens to you, my lad? One
thing is to the good: you’ll have the governor on your side when he
hears you saved my life.”
“Well,” answered Dan, “I was waiting for us to come to my
business. To tell you the truth, I’ve thought of myself so well as you,
Mister Henry. An’ this is what I’ve got to say. You’ll think I’ve gone
cracked, I reckon, yet I beg you’ll hear me out, for I’ve given a lot of
thought to the matter, you may be sartain; an’ mad though it do
sound, if you think of it, you’ll see that ’tis about the only way. If you
count that you owe me ought, I beg you’ll fall in with my plan; then
I shall be in your debt for everlasting.”
 “I owe you everything, Dan. I owe it to you that I’m not dead and
buried in that old fiend’s garden, where he lies himself. Tell me
what’s best to be done for you, and be sure if it’s in my power that
I’ll do it.”
“Well, ’tis this way; you believe in me; you take my oath I’m
honest. But the world don’t. I can’t go back to England and stand up
an’ say ‘I didn’t do it, neighbours,’ because the Law’s up against me
an’ there’s nought but short shrift an’ long drop waiting for me as
things are. But—”
“Stop here, then, for the present.”
“That won’t do neither. I’ve gotten a feeling pulling at me like
horses, to get home. I’m wanted there. My girl wants me. I know it.”
“How’s that to be done? Show your nose on the countryside and
you’ll be arrested.”
“So I should be—such a nose as mine, for there’s no mistaking it;
but how if I bide the colour I be now?”
“Go home black!”
“Why for not? ’Tis that I ax of you, sir, as payment for saving your
life. You take me back as your black servant. I’m dumb, but I’m such
a treasure that you can’t get on without me. Do it! Do it for love of a
hardly-used man! I’ll ax it on my knees, if you say so. Let me go
back with you as your nigger sarvant, an’ if I don’t clear myself in six
months from the day I set foot in England, then I’ll clear out
altogether and trouble you no more. The man’s living that killed
Adam Thorpe, and who more likely to worm out the truth than I be,
with such a motive to find it as I’ve got? There I’ll bide patient an’
quiet an’ dumb as a newt, an’ I’ll work for you as never man yet
worked. I beg you let me do this—by my faither’s good name an’ for
love of my mother an’ my little lonely wife, I beg you. You’ll never
regret it—never. ’Tis a good deed and will stand to your credit in this
world so well as t’other.”
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