The White Squall. John C. Hutcheson
bay from the Spanish main; and “Dandy,” a sturdy dapple-grey Canadian roadster, that in appearance was quite the reverse of what his name would imply. The old horse, however, was as sound and steady as a veteran drum-major and thoroughly reliable; and my father prized him highly, always riding him from choice and not minding any chaff about his charger’s looks.
On advancing to mount Prince, our darkey groom seemed put out about something, I noticed; but, before I could put any question to him or ask the reason of his being so tardy in bringing out the horses, he burst out full of his grievance.
“I tole um so, Mass’ Tom, tole um so!” he exclaimed.
“Why, what is the matter?” I inquired, rather surprised.
“Golly, matter ’nuff for dis chile,” grumbled Jake.
“You savvy I tell you, Mass’ Tom, I’se come back from de hill ’fore Pomp get him cutlash to cut um guinea-grass, hey?”
“Yes, so you did, Jake,” I said sympathisingly, remembering his boast when setting out.
“I’se right den, massa!”
“Indeed?” I responded.
“Iss, Mass’ Tom. Belieb me, dat lazy ole niggah not cut guinea-grass, not do nuffin’!” said Jake indignantly, thinking and hoping that Pompey would receive a rating.
“Oh, he caught a ’guana before the rain came on, and that prevented him from going to cut the grass,” I explained.
Jake looked astounded.
“Hey, Pomp catch him ’guana?” he asked.
“Yes,” said I. “He killed it in the stable-yard, and has gone to cook it.”
This immediately fired Jake’s jealousy. It was, to him, just like adding insult to injury on his rival’s park. It seemed like poaching on his special domain.
“What, Mass’ Tom, he catchee ’guana, for suah?”
“Yes, in the corner there,” I answered, pointing out the exact place with the twisted rattan, or “supple Jack,” which I used for a riding-whip and held loosely in my hand.
“Dat for true, right on de mush heap dar?” repeated Jake, apparently unable to realise the fact of the other’s success in the chase.
“He did,” I said briefly; and then, wishing to end the colloquy, I jumped on Prince’s back, whereupon my skittish pony, as I had trained him to do on my once mounting, immediately started off at a brisk canter down the carriage drive. So Jake had perforce to bestride Dandy and follow after me, without having the pleasure of calling Pompey to account for his misdeeds before we started—as he evidently expected and most decidedly wished to have done I’ve no doubt.
Jake was very angry.
This was not so much because the other darkey had omitted cutting the guinea-grass, which, of course, the horses would not now require until we returned from town, as from the circumstance of Pompey having had the chance of exhibiting his prowess in respect of the iguana. Jake was evidently much dissatisfied with the whole proceeding; and I could hear him muttering anathemas against his rival as he trotted behind me through the grounds, and out at the entrance-gate into the main-road beyond.
“Golly, dat most mystiferous, nohow!” I heard him ejaculate after a bit as he got nearer up to me. “I’se spec dat ’guana one big fool let Pomp grab him. Nebber mine! Me catchee big manacou byme-bye; an’ dat heap betterer dan nasty fat-face ’guana. Say, Mass’ Tom, um like manacou?”
“I can’t tell you, Jake,” I replied. “I have never yet tasted one.”
“Den you jest wait an’ see. Dey is splendiferous, Mass’ Tom, an’ beat cock-fightin’. Golly, I get you one, two, tree, five manacou to-morrer, dat ebber so nicer dan dat poor trash ob ’guana dat hangman tief Pomp catchee, you jest wait an’ see!”
“All right, Jake,” I said kindly, to appease his jealous feelings; for, he was very fond of me and thought that his rival had eclipsed him in my estimation. “I will come with you to-morrow, if my father doesn’t want me, and then we’ll hunt for manacous up the mountain.”
This promise delighted him, and very soon Jake regained his customary good-humour, satisfied with having prospectively outshone Pompey; for, he presently broke out with one of his happy African laughs, which told me as plainly as words the little unpleasantness of the past was now dismissed from his thoughts.
As we rode on, at first downwards and then up a steep hillside again, the path winding by the edge of a precipice most of the way, we came across further traces of the force of the recent storm. Large trees were at one place stretched across the road, their massive trunks having been rended by the lightning; while the sudden deluge of rain had channelled little streams through the red clay. These coursed along like so many independent rivulets, right under our horses’ hoofs, rippling onward light-heartedly, until they came to one of the many broad ditches or gullies, that intersected our track at intervals, the contents of which they swelled to such an extent that we frequently had great difficulty in fording them, the water reaching quite up to Prince’s girths, and the current being so strong as to almost sweep him off his legs.
The scenery on either hand was grand.
On the right, plantations of cocoa and nutmeg trees stretched up the slopes of hills, which all converged towards a central mountain peak that overtopped all the rest by many hundred feet. This was crowned by the extinct crater of a volcano, now filled with water and known as Le Grand Etang. On the left, were valleys and gorges of the richest green, with here and there a tall silk-cotton tree or graceful palm elevating itself above the other wood-nymphs, the smoke of charcoal burners dotting the landscape from amid the thickest part of the forest growth of green with curling wreaths of grey.
We soon reached a wide plateau just above Government House, where the best view in the whole island was to be obtained, above which towered the old battery on Richmond Hill, armed with obsolete and worm-eaten thirty-two pounders, once deemed sufficient protection for the Carenage or harbour below, which it commanded. Fort George, another fortification equally powerless nowadays either for attack or defence, lay on the right; and looking beyond, over a series of terraces of villas and gardens, and negro provision grounds, the open sea could be seen stretching away to the Boccas of the Gulf of Paria and the Serpent Passage which divides the island of Trinidad from the main coast of British Guiana.
I could see, on arriving at this point, the English mail steamer coaling at the jetty below, with gangs of negroes and negresses busily engaged going to and fro along the wharf, carrying baskets of fuel on their heads; so, setting spurs to Master Prince, I made him race down the road as if a drove of wild bulls were after him, heedless of every obstacle in my path and only intent on reaching the quay.
“Top, Mass’ Tom, ’top!” shouted out Jake behind me, putting Dandy into a heavy trot. “De road am berry slippy, an’ you go one big fall soon!”
But, Jake’s caution was all in vain, for the steamer was there, and the passengers had probably already landed with my father amongst them, so there was every reason for my hastening on quickly.
I did not waste time, I can assure you!
Cantering past groups of coloured people of every hue, from the palest copper tint up to the jettiest black, all returning to their huts in the hills after disposing of their market produce for the day and each giving me the customary patois greeting, “Bon j’u’, massa, ken nou’?” as I raced by them; past cottage doors and overseers’ houses I went on at full speed, until I came to a long street that sloped down with a gradient like that of one of those sharp-pointed, heavy-gabled roofs of Queen Anne’s time.
Even this, however, did not arrest my headlong course.
I was much too anxious to get below to the harbour side before the coaling of the steamer should be completed and the vessel start off again on her intercolonial trip amongst the islands