Antigua and the Antiguans (Vol. 1&2). Mrs. Lanaghan
for a trifling offence, and Count ran away; but he afterwards came back, and all was forgiven, although his master might have had him hung for it, without any loss to himself. There is a law of the island, which punishes with death any negro who runs away for longer than three months, and the country pays their value to their owners. I heard a flying report of an intended insurrection of the negroes while we were in town to-day; but for my part, I give no credit to it. They have not forgotten the rebellion of Crump’s negroes yet, and the punishment awarded to the offenders, which will keep them quiet, at least for a little time. I have heard, that Count was concerned in that affair; but none of the culprits mentioned his name; and although, from the character of the man, I should not think it unlikely, for the sake of poor Juno, I would not accuse him. But to return to Julio. His mother died immediately after his birth, and no one but ourselves, and his mother’s brother, a slave named Cuffee, know who is his father. Upon finding the poor child was deaf and dumb, our hearts have been drawn the closer to him; and as soon as my affairs are arranged in this island, I shall return to England, and intend carrying Julio with me.”
By this time, the travellers had gained an ascent, and before them was spread a cluster of negro-huts, various out-buildings, and works of a flourishing estate; while on the top of another eminence stood the hospitable mansion of the owner. In a moment, all was bustle. “Massa come home!” was shouted from one to another, as a party of black boys and men started from their slumbers upon the dry trash, and ran to take the horses. After seeing Logo properly attended to, the travellers walked to the house, where, at an open jalousie, a slight figure, whose graceful outline bespoke it Marien’s, was seen watching their progress. The family party having once more met, and a thousand inquiries as to their ride &c. having been made, Marien touched a silver bell, and a domestic entering, orders were given to send in Julio. “By-the-bye,” exclaimed the elder gentleman, “didst thou send forth Julio in search of your absentees to-night, Marien?”—“No, dearest father; Julio has not left the anteroom since dinner, that I am aware of. Anxious as I was to gain tidings of you, the night was too inclement to send the poor child abroad. But why do you ask that question?”—“Oh! nothing; only that our bright-eyed Edward thought he saw him cross the road at the ravine down yonder; but I think it must have been a dog, or something of the kind. However, to be certain, I mentioned it to you.” At this moment the door opened, and Julio entered. He had, perhaps, attained his eighth year; but from his diminutive form, a stranger would have thought him even younger. His dress was a kind of white tunic embroidered with crimson, and a broad belt of gilded leather, with tassels of bullion, gathered it in folds around his slender waist. Smart silk stockings encased his legs, and white leather shoes, ornamented with gold, graced his little feet. When abroad, a small crimson cap, in which was placed a single ostrich feather, reposed upon his head: its snowy plume strangely contrasting with his ebon complexion. It was Marien’s whim to dress her page in this fantastic manner, and her indulgent parent never thwarted her in any of her little pleasures.
The deficiencies of poor Julio’s external faculties did not extend to his intellects. The slightest action of Marien’s was noticed by him, and her every wish gratified, if possible. Did a shade pass over her brow, he flew for her lute, or arranged her books at the spinet; did a smile illuminate her face, Julio jumped for joy. It was his task to gather for her the sweetest fruits, and range the tangled copse and dell to cull the fairest flowers; and when she walked abroad, he attended the steps of his young mistress, and swept from her path every noisome insect. Bright were the eyes of Julio, and joyous was the look expressed in his dark round face; but on this evening, when, at the summons of his mistress, he stood before her, every one was struck with the alteration in his appearance. His cheek was blanched to an unearthly hue—his eyes, bloodshot and dim, sought the floor; while a shudder seemed to run through his frame, as if he saw some dreaded form. To the anxious inquiries of the party, expressed by significant gestures, the boy only shook his head, while a darker shade of sadness passed over his brow. Thinking that a slight degree of illness was the cause, Marien kindly dismissed him to his repose, in hopes the morrow’s dawn would restore him to his usual gaiety, and rising from her seat, placed in her father’s hand a small billet. “A grand ball at Government House, eh! to be given in honour of our good king’s coronation. What say you to that, young people? Wilt thou pay thy devotions at the shrine of the laughter-loving muse? No doubt, all the beauty and fashion of Antigua will be there. But come, the hour is past midnight; and if I keep our Marien up so late, she will lose the last of her roses she brought from Old England.” So saying, the party separated for the night; and the scene changes to another spot, at an earlier hour.
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In one of the deepest parts of a ravine grew a variety of tangled bushes, which clothed it to its very bottom with their verdant foliage. Disrupted rocks were thickly scattered about, over which glided the speckled snake, while cricket and frog kept up an incessant chirping. About the commencement of the storm already described, a dark figure was seen slowly, but firmly descending the steep bank of the ravine, whose nearer approach bespoke him a son of Ham, one who wore the chain of bondage. In height he measured about six feet, while his broad chest and muscular arms shewed his Herculean strength. His complexion was of the deepest jet, and his large black eye shone with the fierceness of a firebrand. A mantle of dark blue cloth was wrapt around his form, leaving his arms and legs bare; and his head was bound round with a scarlet handkerchief, the ends of which floated in the breeze with graceful negligence. In one hand he bore a massive club, which assisted his steps in his descent; while the other rested upon a horse-pistol, which, heavily loaded, lay hid in the folds of his garment. Upon gaining the bottom of the ravine, he looked cautiously around; and then, as if satisfied all was right, he raised a conch-shell to his lips, and blew a low but clear blast. This repeated thrice, he seated himself upon one of the rocks; and burying his face in his hands, mused in silence, unmindful of the threatening appearance of the heavens. But a few minutes passed, when he again started to his feet, and blew a louder blast, which at a short interval was answered by a low whistle; and the crackling of dry leaves (as if trodden under foot) proclaimed the approach of other visitants. Drawing the pistol from its confinement, the first occupant of the ravine stepped a few paces forward, and, in a voice rendered thick by contending passions, demanded the word. “Death to our foes!” was the answer; and in another moment, about forty negroes stood around their king. “Welcome, brave friends, to this lone spot; for here at least we can feel we are free, and bid defiance to the hated whites. But where is Morah? Surely she will not desert us, Tomboy?” And he directed his looks to a short stout man, who ranked as his general, and answered to that name, and who had taken up his post at the right shoulder of his sable majesty. “Oh, no; Morah knows too well to desert Klaas at his need. Believe not that,” returned the man. “We should have been here long before, but she was knocked up with her walk, and we were obliged to wait her will. But see!”—and touching the arm of Klaas, he pointed to two lusty youths who were coming down the bank, bearing between them some object, which could scarcely be pronounced human. Placing their burden safely at the feet of Klaas, the young men drew back, while he, giving her his hand, raised and placed her upon a rocky seat near himself. The woman, (for so she proved,) although looking more like the habitant of another world, must have numbered her hundredth year. Her face, which had lost its naturally black hue from age and sickness, was puckered up in a thousand wrinkles; while her toothless gums were seen through her thick open lips. The few hairs which time had left her were bleached to a snowy white; but her black eyes had lost none of their brightness: they gleamed from beneath her overhanging brow with a supernatural ray. Her form was bent almost double, and the skin hung about her hands and arms like black and shrivelled parchment. An old blanket partly covered her attenuated person, which she firmly grasped with her long bony fingers; but it afforded her no defence against the inclemency of the evening; for she shivered and trembled at every blast. Such was Morah, the old Obeah woman,46 who was hated, yet dreaded, by nearly all her tribe.
“Morah,” said the leader of the band, after she had rested for a few minutes, “Morah, dost thou not know me? hast thou forgot the purpose for which we have met? The time is short, remember.”
“Oh, no, no! me no forget,” said the old crone; “me know you very well; you’re ‘Count,’ the negro king, as you call yourself, but your massa call you ‘Count the Runaway,’ ” and she