The Maroon

Some Coromantees there were among the number, who looked on with reckless indifference, chatting as gaily – and, at intervals, laughing as loudly – as if they awaited the beginning of some merry game. Little cared these courageous sons of Ethiopia – whose sable skins bore scars of many a native fray – little cared they for the scorching of that simple brand.

It was not long before the inhuman spectacle commenced. The entrance of Jessuron and his daughter was the cue to begin; and the bearded overseer, who was master of the ceremonies, had only been waiting till these should make their appearance. The man, from experience, knew that his master always gave his personal superintendence when such a scene was to be enacted. He knew, moreover, that his master’s daughter was equally accustomed to assist at these interesting ceremonies!

“Go on, Mishter Ravener!” cried the Jew, on reaching the front of the verandah. “Theesh first,” he added, pointing towards a group of Eboes – who stood trembling with apprehension in one corner of the yard.

At a sign from the overseer, who was one of the taciturn sort, a number of old negroes – evidently used to the business – laid hands upon the Eboes, and led them up to the furnace.

As the victims were brought near to the fire, and saw the red iron glowing amid the coals, fear became strongly depicted upon their faces, and their frames shook with a convulsive terror. Some of them, the younger ones, screamed aloud, and would have rushed away from the spot, had they not been held in the grasp of the attendants.

Their appeals, made by the most pitiful looks and gestures, were answered only by unfeeling jeers and shouts of laughter, in which the old Jew himself joined – in which, incredible to relate, joined his beautiful daughter! Nor was it a mere smile which appeared on the face of the fair Judith; clear laughter rang from her lips, exhibiting her regular rows of ivory-like teeth – as if some fiend had assumed the form of an angel!

The Eboes were led forward, and held firmly by the assistants, while their breasts were presented to receive the brand. The red-hot iron flashed for a moment in the eyes of each; and then fell with a dull clap upon the clammy skin. Smoke ascended with a hiss, till the court became filled with a smell of roasting flesh! A struggle, some wild cries, and the operation was over. The slave was marked with those indelible initials, to be carried with him to his grave.

One by one, the poor beings received this terrible baptism, and were led away from the ground.

A batch of Pawpaws – from the Whidaw country – came next. They were brought up one by one, like the Eboes; but altogether unlike these was their behaviour. They neither gave way to extreme fear, nor yet displayed extraordinary courage. They appeared to submit with a sort of docile resignation: as though they regarded it in the light of a destiny or duty.

The operation of branding them was a short work, and afforded no mirth to the bystanders: since there was no ludicrous display of terror to laugh at. This facile disposition renders the Whidaw the most valuable of slaves.

A group of Coromantees were now to undergo the fiery ordeal. These bold and warlike indigenes of Africa evinced, by their attitudes and actions, the possession of a moral nature altogether different from that either of Pawpaw or Eboe. Instead of waiting to be led forward, each stepped boldly up, as he did so baring his breast to receive the red brand, at which he glanced with an air of lordly contempt!

One young fellow even seized the iron from the grasp of the operator; and, turning it in his hand, struck the stamp firmly against his breast, where he held it until the seething flesh told that a deep imprint had been made! Then, flinging the instrument back into the furnace, he strode away from the spot with the air of a triumphant gladiator!

At this moment there occurred a pause in the proceedings – not as if the drama was ended, but only an act. Another was yet to come.

Ravener stepped up to the verandah, in front of the place where Jessuron and his daughter stood. With the former, or indeed with both, he communicated in a voice just audible, – not as if with any design of concealing what he said – but because there was no necessity for loud talking.

The two man-hunters were the only persons there he might have had any care to be cautious about; but these were at that moment busy with their dogs, and not heeding aught that was going on. Branding a batch of negroes was no new sight to them; and they were spectators, merely from having, at the moment, nothing better to do.

“Which next?” was the question put by Ravener to the Jew; “the Mandingoes?”

“Either them or the prinshe,” replied Jessuron; “it don’t matter which ish marked first.”

“Oh, the prince first, by all means!” suggested the amiable Judith, with a smile of satisfaction. “Bring him out first, Mr Ravener; I’m curious to see how his royal highness will stand fire.”

The overseer made no reply; but, taking the wish of the young lady as a command, proceeded to obey it.

Stepping across the court he opened a door that led into a room, separate from that in which the slaves had been lodged.

The overseer entered the room; and in a few minutes came out again, bringing with him an individual who, by his dress, it might have been difficult to recognise as the young Fellatta seen on board the slaver, but whose noble mien still rendered it possible to identify him: for it was he.

Changed, indeed, was his costume. The turban was gone, the rich silken tunic, the sandals and scimitar – all his finery had been stripped off; and in its place appeared a coarse Osnaburg shirt and trousers – the dress of a plantation negro.

He looked wretched, but not crestfallen.

No doubt he had by this time learnt, or suspected, the fate that was in store for him; but, for all that, his features exhibited the proud air of a prince; and the glances which he cast upon the overseer by his side, but oftener upon Jessuron – whose instrument he knew the other to be – were those of concentrated anger and defiance.

Not a word escaped his lips, either of protest or reproach. This had all passed before – when the first rude assault had been made upon him, to deprive him of his garments and the adornments of his person. The hour of recrimination was past. He knew he had no alternative but submission, and he was submitting – though in angry and sullen silence.

He had no idea of what was now designed for him. He had been shut up in a windowless room, and saw nothing of the spectacle that had just passed. Some new outrage he anticipated; but of what nature he could not guess.

He was not allowed to remain long in ignorance. Ravener, roughly grasping him by the wrist, led him up to the furnace.

The iron by this time was ready – glowing red-hot among the coals. The operator stood watching for the signal to use it; and on its being given, he seized the instrument in his grasp, and poised it aloft.

The prince now perceived the intention, but shrank not at the sight. His eyes were not upon the iron, but, gleaming with a fire like that of the furnace itself, were directed upon the face of the old Jew – at intervals upon that of the angel-like demon at his side.

The Jew alone shrank from the glance; his daughter returned it with a mocking imperturbability!

In another instant the red brand hissed as it burnt into the flesh of the Fellattas bosom. Prince Cingües was the slave of Jacob Jessuron!

As if the terrible reality had now for the first time burst upon him, the young man sprang forward with a cry; and before anyone could oppose his progress, he had bounded up the steps and entered the verandah.

Then, gliding along the gallery, to the spot occupied by Jessuron and his daughter, he launched himself forward upon the Jew. As he clutched the latter by the throat, both came together to the ground, and rolled over and over in the writhings of a desperate struggle.

Fortunate it was for the slave-merchant that his victim had been disarmed: else that moment would have been fatal to him. As it was, he came very near being strangled; and had it not been for Ravener and the two Spaniards, who hastened to his rescue, the betrayal of the Foolah prince would have been the last treason of his life.

Overpowered by numbers, Cingües was at length secured; and the throat of the slave-merchant was extricated from his death-like clutch.

“Kill him!” cried the Jew, as soon as he found breath to speak. “No, don’t kill him yet,” added he, correcting himself, “not joosh yet, till I punish him for it! an’ if I don’t punish him – ach!”

“Flog the savage!” shouted the beautiful Judith; “make an example of him, Mr Ravener: else those others will be rising upon us in the same style.”

“Yesh, flog him! that’ll do to begin with. Flog him now, goot Ravener. Give him a hundred lashes thish minute!”

“Ay, ay!” responded the overseer, dragging the victim down the steps; “I’ll give him his full dose – never fear you!”

Ravener was as good as his word. The spectacle that followed was even more horrible to behold than that which has been described: for the punishment of the lash is among the most fearful of exhibitions.

The young Foolah was tied to a post – one that stood there for the purpose. A strong headman wielded the cruel quirt; and as the last stripe was administered, completing that horrid hundred, the poor victim sank fainting against the blood-stained stake.

The occupants of the verandah showed not the slightest signs of having been moved to pity by this horrid spectacle. On the contrary, both father and daughter seemed to draw delight from it; and, instead of retiring when the fearful scene was over, both, seemingly with perfect unconcern, remained to witness the finale of the day’s work – the marking of the Mandingoes!

Volume One – Chapter Twenty Two

A Couch of Silk-Cotton

On parting from the presence of his fair cousin, and, at the same time, from the house of his inhospitable relative, Herbert Vaughan struck off through the shrubbery that stretched towards the ridge on the right.

Notwithstanding the storm that was raging in his breast, a reflection had occurred to him, which hindered him from going by the main avenue. Suffering from a keen sense of humiliation, he had no desire to meet with any of his uncle’s people: since the very slaves seemed to be privy to his false position. Still less desirous was he of being observed, while making the long traverse of the avenue, by eyes that might be directed upon him from the windows of the great house.

On reaching the limits of the level platform, he leaped a low wall, that separated the shrubbery from the outer fields; and then, under cover of the pimento groves, commenced ascending the slope of the ridge.

For some time the conflicting emotions that were stirring in his soul hindered him from anything like tranquil reflection. Conflicting, I say: for two very opposite sentiments had been aroused by the two individuals with whom he had just held interview; opposite as darkness from light – as sorrow from joy – perhaps, as hate from love.

The conflict might have lasted longer, had there been an opportunity to give way to idle emotions. But there was not. The young man felt too forlorn and friendless to indulge in the luxury of passionate thought; and, on this account, the sooner did the storm subside.

On reaching the crest of the ridge, and before plunging into the deep forest that stretched away on the other side, he endeavoured, through an opening in the trees, to catch a view of those white walls and green jalousies. In that glance there was more of regretfulness than anger – an expression of despair, such as may have appeared on the face of the fallen angel when gazing back over the golden palings of Paradise.