To HARRY DANIELS, Esq.,

4, ESSEX COURT, TEMPLE.

Dear Friend,

I dedicate to you the first-born of my brains. Receive this trifling mark of esteem in the spirit in which it is made, and accept the willing homage that I render to—oh, most rare possession!—a good and true heart.

MAXWELL PHILIP.

[iv]

[v]

PREFACE.

This work has been written at a moment when the feelings of the Author are roused up to a high pitch of indignant excitement, by a statement of the cruel manner in which the slave-holders of America deal with their slave-children. Not being able to imagine that even that dissolver of natural bonds—slavery—can shade over the hideousness of begetting children for the purpose of turning them out into the fields to labour at the lash’s sting, he has ventured to sketch out the line of conduct, which a high-spirited and sensitive person would probably follow, if he found himself picking cotton under the spurring encouragement of “Jimboes” or “Quimboes” on his own father’s plantation.

[vi]

The machinery, or ground-work of the story is based on truth—the known history of the Boucaneers. It is scarcely necessary to tell the reader that the other parts are fiction.

The scenes are laid principally in the Island of Trinidad. This is done entirely from natural predilection, for Trinidad is the Author’s native isle, whose green woods, smiling sky, beautiful flowers, and romantic gulf, together with a thousand sweet and melting associations, eternally play on his willing memory, and make him cherish ever the fond hope, that when the spark of life shall have been extinguished, his bones may be deposited on the rising ground that looks over the sea, and that already contains the being who, in death, as well as she was in life, was the object of his deep love and high veneration.

4, Elm Court, Temple.

February, 1854.

[1]

CHAPTER I.

Between the north-west coast of Venezuela and the island of Trinidad there lies an extensive expanse of water, known as the Gulf of Paria:—a name which it has derived from the neighbouring Spanish coast.

At first sight this gulf presents to the eye the appearance of a vast lake. On the north, east, and south, it is bordered by the dark mountains of Trinidad: while, on the opposite side the cloud-capt Andes, which terminate in that direction, rear their towering heads, and present a lofty western boundary.

The gulf, thus narrowly surrounded on all sides, communicates with the great Atlantic ocean only by two narrow outlets, which are situated at its northern and[2] southern extremities, and are respectively named “the Dragon’s, and the Serpent’s Mouth.” It is by these narrow straits, as the reader will have already gathered, that Trinidad is separated from the mainland of South America. Shielded as they are by these elevated boundaries, the waters of the gulf are ever calm and placid. The hurricanes which periodically ravage the adjacent regions, never sweep their quiet surface: and ships from the ports of the neighbouring colonies usually avail themselves of the protection afforded by this sheltered haven, and safely ride away the tempestuous months on its smooth expanse.

The scenery around this gulf is extremely picturesque and beautiful. Small green islands are dispersed here and there, and seem to float gaily on the bosom of the slumbering waters; the forest-clothed mountains that beetle from above, cast their lengthy shadows far and wide, and the diving birds that continually ply the wing over the reflecting surface, throw into the scene some of the choicest features of romantic beauty.

It was here, that, on a lovely morning in the month of March, two skiffs might barely be seen floating quietly far, far away at sea.

It was as yet early: the gray mist of the tropical morning was just melting away before the rays of the[3] rising sun, that was fast ascending from behind the mountains in the east; a thin haze, nevertheless, was still left surrounding every object. Scarcely a ripple as yet marked the gulf, and in the quiet of the hour might be heard the waking haloos of the mariners on board their ships in the harbour of Port of Spain, as they summoned each other to the labours of the day.

The two skiffs were at a great distance from land. In the haze it was difficult on a hasty glance to distinguish them from the sea; but, on closer observation, they might be discovered to be a small fishing-boat, such as those which are generally seen on the gulf, and a curial, or Indian canoe.

There were three men in the fishing-boat: two who were rowers, and one that was sitting at its stern, and was apparently the master. He was of mixed blood: of that degree known as that of mulatto, and seemingly of Spanish extraction, but his two men were blacks. The men were resting on their oars, the master was occupied in deep sea-fishing, and the boat floated passively on the water. In the Indian canoe there seemed also but three men: one sat at the stern, the other two crouched in the centre, their paddles were carelessly rested on the sides of the light vessel, and the canoe, like the fishing-boat, was permitted to float unsteered on the gulf.

[4]

The two skiffs were not far from each other, and as the haze cleared away, the master of the fishing-boat, in the musing calm attendant on quiet fishing, observed to his men, as he dreamingly looked on the canoe—

“Those fellows are Guaragons; I dare say they paddled from the canoe the whole of last night, and they are now taking their breakfast to get up to town before the breeze rises.”

“Yes, sa,” briskly rejoined one of the boatmen; “dey wok all night, all nakid as dey be dey; dey no ’fraid rain, dey no ’fraid sun, but wen dey begin dey wok—wok so—night and day, you see paddle go phshah—phshah—phshah,” here the speaker screwed up his little features to the utmost, in order to express the energy with which the Indians are supposed to paddle, while, at the same time, he endeavoured to imitate the sound of the paddle itself, as it dashes the water.

“Awh!” he exclaimed, with emphasis, after this display, “dey no get dis Jack Jimmy,” pointing to himself, “foo do dat—no:—oohn—oohn,” and he shook his head energetically.

The master smiled both at the humour of his man, and the horror which he appeared to entertain for the work and exposure of the Indians.

“And den wha dey eat,” he continued, “ripe plantin![5] dey eat ripe plantin fo brofost, ripe plantin fo dinna—awh! me no know how dey get fat, but dey always berry fat.”

The strange little man continued in this vein to make his remarks about the Indians, and the master attended to his line until the morning was considerably advanced, and the sun had already risen to a great height.

“Now, my boys,” said the last mentioned individual, “I think it is time for us to go, we have not had much luck to-day.” With this he began leisurely to draw in his line, gazing listlessly on the Indian canoe, while he did so,—“but these fellows are taking a long time to eat their ripe plantains this morning, Jack Jimmy,” he observed.

“Me tink so foo true, sa,” replied the individual answering to that name.

“An da big Injan in de tern a de canoe da look pan awee berry hard—berry hard—he bin da look pan awee all de manin so,” and then looking anxiously on the canoe, he continued, “an me no da see parrat, me no da see monkey, me no da see notting pan de side a de canoe, an you neber see Injan ya widout parrat an monkey.”

Having delivered himself of this sage opinion, he looked at the canoe again, long and anxiously, shook his head, and moved restlessly on his thwart.

“What is the matter with you, Jack Jimmy,” inquired[6] the master, “you seem to be displeased with these Indians?”

Jack Jimmy made no answer, but gave expression to a sound like “hom!” Then began to look into the bottom of the boat, while he beat time apparently to his own ruminations with his chubby great toe.

“But what is the matter with you, man?” again inquired the master.

“Massa—massa—me—me-me-me no like close, close so to Injans pan big salt water, so, no.”

The first part of the sentence Jack Jimmy pronounced moodily, but he shot out the latter part with such rapidity and earnestness, that the gravity of the master could hold out no longer, and he laughed heartily at his man.

“Bah! you fool,” said he, when the fit was over: “what do you expect these Indians will do to us?”

Jack Jimmy, much piqued at being laughed at, raised his shoulders, and answered stoically—“Me no know; but me tink we better go.”

“Yes: we are not doing anything here, and there does not seem much prospect of having better luck,” said the master, “let us go.”

He then took up his paddle from the bottom of the boat, and put it over the stern to steer it.

[7]

The men began to row, and the little boat began to move through the water.

The Indian canoe, which had remained all the time as passive on the water as the fishing-boat, was now also put in motion, by two paddles, and seemed to be steered in the same direction as the fishing-boat. Jack Jimmy saw this, opened his eyes, and cried, in a voice that began to tremble,—“Dey da come, too.” The master looked round, and saw in truth that the canoe was following in their wake.

The three persons now became somewhat uneasy, and anxious, about the intentions of their mysterious follower. After a time, however, when they saw it was not gaining ground upon them, nor seemed to be propelled with any intention of coming up to them, these feelings were considerably diminished, and they pulled calmly along, while the canoe followed at the same distance from the little boat.

When the fishing-boat had reached to within a mile of the ships which lay in the harbour of Port of Spain, the master was challenged by a brisk “Haloo” from the man at the stern of the canoe.

“Haloo, there!” cried the man in a commanding voice, “haloo, there—stop!”

The master paid no attention to this order, but pretended[8] that he did not hear it, or did not consider it addressed to him, and he remained silent; but Jack Jimmy had not so much command over himself.

“Wha,” cried he, “wha eber yierry Injan peak plain—plain so? hen!” and he shook his head mysteriously. “But wha,” following out his reflections, “dey want we fo tap foo—tell dem we no da sell fish, ya; let dem come sho.”

“Will you stop, there—ho?” again cried the man from the stern of the pursuing canoe.

“We cannot stop,” replied the master, “if you wish to buy fish, come ashore. Pull boys,” addressing himself to his men; “those seem to be strange customers.” Jack Jimmy and the other boatman bent on their oars.

As soon as the little fishing-boat was put in a more rapid movement, ten Indians simultaneously sprung as if it were by magic from the bottom of the canoe, and ranged themselves at its sides, paddle in hand.

“Wha, look dey!” cried Jack Jimmy, pointing tremblingly to the canoe, “pull,” addressing himself to his companion, “pull, me tell you:” and he himself drew his oar with all the energy and vigour which fear alone can impart. “Pull, me tell you,” continued he, every moment, to exhort his companion; “pull, me tell you.” Under these efforts the little shell boat skipped like a[9] feather over the water: but it was no match for the canoe, propelled as it was by the vigorous paddles of twelve stout men.

Like an arrow from an Indian bow, or like the noiseless course of a serpent, through the lake it drew on the little fishing boat. Jack Jimmy and his companion exerted themselves to the utmost; the master too, plied his paddle strongly and continuously, but nearer and nearer the canoe approached. When at last it came opposite the pursued, the man at the stern dexterously threw his paddle on the other side, a rapid movement was made through the water, and the head of the canoe was at once athwart the little fishing boat.

Jack Jimmy could bear it no longer; as soon as the boat was boarded, with a convulsive spring, he plunged into the gulf; while the syllables of his interjected “Garamighty” bubbled up after him as he disappeared. But the first impulse of the master was to draw his knife from the side of the boat, where it was stuck in a chink of the boards, and with a deep-mouthed “carajo” was going to plunge it into the nearest Indian, but his arm was no sooner raised than it was paralized by a blow dealt him with his paddle by a man at the stern, and the knife fell from his grasp into the water.

“Fool,” cried the man who had thus struck him,[10] “what is the use of your resistance: do you not see we number more than you? Get into this canoe immediately, you and your man, and see if you can save that strange creature that is capering on the water there;” and he pointed to Jack Jimmy, who had now come again to the surface, and in the extremity of his fear, with his mouth wide open, and his white eye-balls glaring, was swimming most furiously out to sea. The sight was too ridiculous even for the occasion; the whole of the Indians burst into a fit of laughter at poor Jack Jimmy, who was fatiguing himself at such a rate that his strength would probably not have lasted more than two minutes.

“Paddle to that poor fellow,” said the man at the stern, and the order was obeyed. But Jack Jimmy would not be taken; he dived several times to escape, to the no small amusement of the Indians: his strength however began to fail, and he was at last captured.

They took him into the canoe, when he was almost exhausted, and he was laid at the bottom of it, where he kept his eyes closed and stretched himself stiffly out, to pretend that he was dead. The Indians seemed highly amused by him. At last, however, he ventured to open his eyes, when, seeing some cutlasses and pikes that lay[11] by his side at the bottom of the canoe, he closed them abruptly again and cried, “Oh La-a-r-rd, me dead!”

When Jack Jimmy had been saved from drowning, the master and the other rower were transhipped into the canoe. The master, shrewder than his men, thought he observed, in addition to the circumstance of speaking English, other marks in the Indians which resembled disguise. They seemed more assured and less savage than Indians generally are; besides, they had thick beards and mustachios which the savages never wear; and, above all, their arms, instead of being rude bows and arrows, or at best rusty fowling pieces, were beautiful rifles, cutlasses and pikes.

“But who are you?” he inquired after he had detected these appearances, and become justly alarmed by them. “Who are you, and what do you intend to do with us?”

“With regard to the first question,” answered the man at the stern with stoical coolness, “That is not any business of yours;—in answer to the second, be assured that we mean you no harm. I hope you are satisfied. Now, my order to you is, that you ask no further questions.”

“But, sir,—” the master was about to inquire again.

“Silence!” cried the man in a voice that carried authority.

[12]

He then took a small telescope that was concealed in a locker formed in the thwart on which he sat, and began to examine the ships and the harbour with seemingly great care and minuteness.

This examination continued for the best part of an hour, after which the man at the stern handed the telescope to the master fisherman and requested him to look also at the ships: “for,” added he, “you will have to answer questions about them.”

“I know them already,” answered the master and returned the telescope.

The latter instrument was carefully replaced, and a small marine compass was taken out of the same locker and placed before the man at the stern.

“To your paddles, it is now two o’clock and will be late before we arrive.”

The head of the canoe was immediately turned out to sea. The men plied their paddles, and the wind, which had just risen, wafted the light bark rapidly before it. Its destination, however, was incomprehensible to the fishermen, for they could not possibly conceive to what place a canoe that was thus turned out to open sea could be bound.

But whatever alarm they felt, they were obliged to conceal; for it would have been dangerous, they thought,[13] to break the strict command of the man at the stern; and whatever they could have said or done, would have had no effect on men who seemed to be little accustomed to be crossed, and who, undoubtedly, had the power of enforcing their will.

They resigned themselves, therefore, passively to their fate: and did so with the greater readiness, as they had not, as yet, experienced, from those among whom they were so strangely thrown, any treatment which could lead them to apprehend anything horrible or atrocious.

[14]

CHAPTER II.

The canoe held a direct course out to sea the remaining part of the day. This was drawing fast to a close, when there might be perceived, straight over the bows of the canoe, and far, far away, a small dark object that seemed to rest lightly on the horizon, which was, at that moment, illumined by the red rays of the large round sun that was fast sinking behind it.

The head of the canoe was kept direct upon that speck, and the man at the stern seemed to make no more use of his compass.

Such was the rapidity with which the canoe went, borne away, as it was, by the breeze, as well as propelled by the paddles of twelve strong men, that within three hours after sunset, they were close to that which, a short time before, had appeared so small, so shadowy, and so distant.

[15]

The object proved to be a low, black, balahoo schooner, whose model, as far as it could be observed by the starlight, was most beautiful. She was built as sharply as a sword, with her bows terminating in the shape of a Gar’s lance, while her stern slanted off in the most graceful proportions.

But the most remarkable part in her build, was her immense and almost disproportioned length, which, combined with her perfectly straight lines, low hull, and the slenderness of her make, gave her the appearance of a large serpent.

Her rigging was of the lightest fashion as two simple shrouds, which supported each mast, and the bowsprit and jibboom stays formed her principal cordage.

There was not a yard, a gaff, or piece of canvass aloft, so that the tall masts remained bare and graceful, shining under their polish. On these accounts, they could not be perceived at any distance, and a boat, discovering the vessel for the first time, would be at a loss to make out what floating object it was.

Her position also, and the manner in which she seemed moored—mastless, as it would appear—was strange and peculiar. She was not swinging to the wind or current, but she rode under a bow and stern anchor, which kept her head directly towards the[16] Dragon’s Mouth, while the rippling waves, that still curled before the gentle night breeze, broke playfully on her side.

“What word?” sounded the hoarse and echoing voice of some one on the deck, as the canoe approached the schooner.

“Scorpion,” the man replied in as sounding a voice, and the canoe boarded the vessel.

The ladders were thrown out over the sides, and the man at the stern jumped nimbly on deck.

A sentinel stationed at the gangway lowered his weapon, and the man at the stern, for so we must still call him, passed.

The sentinel was a tall muscular man of a dark complexion; his face was almost entirely covered with hair, on his head he wore a red cap, he had on a red woollen shirt, his trowsers were black, and were secured round his waste by a thick red sash, in which were stuck a brace of pistols and a long poniard.

These and a cutlass, which he held in his hand, were his only weapons.