Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson (Illustrated) (406 page)

I could not restrain a cry of admiration.

‘Even in your ignorant eyes,’ pursued my father, ‘they command respect.  Yet what are they but pebbles, passive to the tool, cold as death?  Ingrate!’ he cried.  ‘Each one of these — miracles of nature’s patience, conceived out of the dust in centuries of microscopical activity, each one is, for you and me, a year of life, liberty, and mutual affection.  How, then, should I cherish them! and why do I delay to place them beyond reach!  Teresa, follow me.’

He rose to his feet, and led me to the borders of the great jungle, where they overhung, in a wall of poisonous and dusky foliage, the declivity of the hill on which my father’s house stood planted.  For some while he skirted, with attentive eyes, the margin of the thicket.  Then, seeming to recognise some mark, for his countenance became immediately lightened of a load of thought, he paused and addressed me.  ‘Here,’ said he, ‘is the entrance of the secret path that I have mentioned, and here you shall await me.  I but pass some hundreds of yards into the swamp to bury my poor treasure; as soon as that is safe, I will return.’  It was in vain that I sought to dissuade him, urging the dangers of the place; in vain that I begged to be allowed to follow, pleading the black blood that I now knew to circulate in my veins: to all my appeals he turned a deaf ear, and, bending back a portion of the screen of bushes, disappeared into the pestilential silence of the swamp.

At the end of a full hour, the bushes were once more thrust aside; and my father stepped from out the thicket, and paused and almost staggered in the first shock of the blinding sunlight.  His face was of a singular dusky red; and yet for all the heat of the tropical noon, he did not seem to sweat.

‘You are tired,’ I cried, springing to meet him.  ‘You are ill.’

‘I am tired,’ he replied; ‘the air in that jungle stifles one; my eyes, besides, have grown accustomed to its gloom, and the strong sunshine pierces them like knives.  A moment, Teresa, give me but a moment.  All shall yet be well.  I have buried the hoard under a cypress, immediately beyond the bayou, on the left-hand margin of the path; beautiful, bright things, they now lie whelmed in slime; you shall find them there, if needful.  But come, let us to the house; it is time to eat against our journey of the night: to eat and then to sleep, my poor Teresa: then to sleep.’  And he looked upon me out of bloodshot eyes, shaking his head as if in pity.

We went hurriedly, for he kept murmuring that he had been gone too long, and that the servants might suspect; passed through the airy stretch of the verandah; and came at length into the grateful twilight of the shuttered house.  The meal was spread; the house servants, already informed by the boatmen of the master’s return, were all back at their posts, and terrified, as I could see, to face me.  My father still murmuring of haste with weary and feverish pertinacity, I hurried at once to take my place at table; but I had no sooner left his arm than he paused and thrust forth both his hands with a strange gesture of groping.  ‘How is this?’ he cried, in a sharp, unhuman voice.  ‘Am I blind?’  I ran to him and tried to lead him to the table; but he resisted and stood stiffly where he was, opening and shutting his jaws, as if in a painful effort after breath.  Then suddenly he raised both hands to his temples, cried out, ‘My head, my head!’ and reeled and fell against the wall.

I knew too well what it must be.  I turned and begged the servants to relieve him.  But they, with one accord, denied the possibility of hope; the master had gone into the swamp, they said, the master must die; all help was idle.  Why should I dwell upon his sufferings?  I had him carried to a bed, and watched beside him.  He lay still, and at times ground his teeth, and talked at times unintelligibly, only that one word of hurry, hurry, coming distinctly to my ears, and telling me that, even in the last struggle with the powers of death, his mind was still tortured by his daughter’s peril.  The sun had gone down, the darkness had fallen, when I perceived that I was alone on this unhappy earth.  What thought had I of flight, of safety, of the impending dangers of my situation?  Beside the body of my last friend, I had forgotten all except the natural pangs of my bereavement.

The sun was some four hours above the eastern line, when I was recalled to a knowledge of the things of earth, by the entrance of the slave-girl to whom I have already referred.  The poor soul was indeed devotedly attached to me; and it was with streaming tears that she broke to me the import of her coming.  With the first light of dawn a boat had reached our landing-place, and set on shore upon our isle (till now so fortunate) a party of officers bearing a warrant to arrest my father’s person, and a man of a gross body and low manners, who declared the island, the plantation, and all its human chattels, to be now his own.  ‘I think,’ said my slave-girl, ‘he must be a politician or some very powerful sorcerer; for Madam Mendizabal had no sooner seen them coming, than she took to the woods.’

‘Fool,’ said I, ‘it was the officers she feared; and at any rate why does that beldam still dare to pollute the island with her presence?  And O Cora,’ I exclaimed, remembering my grief, ‘what matter all these troubles to an orphan?’

‘Mistress,’ said she, ‘I must remind you of two things.  Never speak as you do now of Madam Mendizabal; or never to a person of colour; for she is the most powerful woman in this world, and her real name even, if one durst pronounce it, were a spell to raise the dead.  And whatever you do, speak no more of her to your unhappy Cora; for though it is possible she may be afraid of the police (and indeed I think that I have heard she is in hiding), and though I know that you will laugh and not believe, yet it is true, and proved, and known that she hears every word that people utter in this whole vast world; and your poor Cora is already deep enough in her black books.  She looks at me, mistress, till my blood turns ice.  That is the first I had to say; and now for the second: do, pray, for Heaven’s sake, bear in mind that you are no longer the poor Señor’s daughter.  He is gone, dear gentleman; and now you are no more than a common slave-girl like myself.  The man to whom you belong calls for you; oh, my dear mistress, go at once!  With your youth and beauty, you may still, if you are winning and obedient, secure yourself an easy life.’

For a moment I looked on the creature with the indignation you may conceive; the next, it was gone: she did but speak after her kind, as the bird sings or cattle bellow.  ‘Go,’ said I.  ‘Go, Cora.  I thank you for your kind intentions.  Leave me alone one moment with my dead father; and tell this man that I will come at once.’

She went: and I, turning to the bed of death, addressed to those deaf ears the last appeal and defence of my beleaguered innocence.  ‘Father,’ I said, ‘it was your last thought, even in the pangs of dissolution, that your daughter should escape disgrace.  Here, at your side, I swear to you that purpose shall be carried out; by what means, I know not; by crime, if need be; and Heaven forgive both you and me and our oppressors, and Heaven help my helplessness!’  Thereupon I felt strengthened as by long repose; stepped to the mirror, ay, even in that chamber of the dead; hastily arranged my hair, refreshed my tear-worn eyes, breathed a dumb farewell to the originator of my days and sorrows; and composing my features to a smile, went forth to meet my master.

He was in a great, hot bustle, reviewing that house, once ours, to which he had but now succeeded; a corpulent, sanguine man of middle age, sensual, vulgar, humorous, and, if I judged rightly, not ill-disposed by nature.  But the sparkle that came into his eye as he observed me enter, warned me to expect the worst.

‘Is this your late mistress?’ he inquired of the slaves; and when he had learnt it was so, instantly dismissed them.  ‘Now, my dear,’ said he, ‘I am a plain man: none of your damned Spaniards, but a true blue, hard-working, honest Englishman.  My name is Caulder.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said I, and curtsied very smartly as I had seen the servants.

‘Come,’ said he, ‘this is better than I had expected; and if you choose to be dutiful in the station to which it has pleased God to call you, you will find me a very kind old fellow.  I like your looks,’ he added, calling me by my name, which he scandalously mispronounced.  ‘Is your hair all your own?’ he then inquired with a certain sharpness, and coming up to me, as though I were a horse, he grossly satisfied his doubts.  I was all one flame from head to foot, but I contained my righteous anger and submitted.  ‘That is very well,’ he continued, chucking me good humouredly under the chin.  ‘You will have no cause to regret coming to old Caulder, eh?  But that is by the way.  What is more to the point is this: your late master was a most dishonest rogue, and levanted with some valuable property that belonged of rights to me.  Now, considering your relation to him, I regard you as the likeliest person to know what has become of it; and I warn you, before you answer, that my whole future kindness will depend upon your honesty.  I am an honest man myself, and expect the same in my servants.’

‘Do you mean the jewels?’ said I, sinking my voice into a whisper.

‘That is just precisely what I do,’ said he, and chuckled.

‘Hush!’ said I.

‘Hush?’ he repeated.  ‘And why hush?  I am on my own place, I would have you to know, and surrounded by my own lawful servants.’

‘Are the officers gone?’ I asked; and oh! how my hopes hung upon the answer!

‘They are,’ said he, looking somewhat disconcerted.  ‘Why do you ask?’

‘I wish you had kept them,’ I answered, solemnly enough, although my heart at that same moment leaped with exultation.  ‘Master, I must not conceal from you the truth.  The servants on this estate are in a dangerous condition, and mutiny has long been brewing.’

‘Why,’ he cried, ‘I never saw a milder-looking lot of niggers in my life.’  But for all that he turned somewhat pale.

‘Did they tell you,’ I continued, ‘that Madam Mendizabal is on the island? that, since her coming, they obey none but her? that if, this morning, they have received you with even decent civility, it was only by her orders — issued with what after-thought I leave you to consider?’

‘Madam Jezebel?’ said he.  ‘Well, she is a dangerous devil; the police are after her, besides, for a whole series of murders; but after all, what then?  To be sure, she has a great influence with you coloured folk.  But what in fortune’s name can be her errand here?’

‘The jewels,’ I replied.  ‘Ah, sir, had you seen that treasure, sapphire and emerald and opal, and the golden topaz, and rubies red as the sunset — of what incalculable worth, of what unequalled beauty to the eye! — had you seen it, as I have, and alas! as
she
has — you would understand and tremble at your danger.’

‘She has seen them!’ he cried, and I could see by his face, that my audacity was justified by its success.

I caught his hand in mine.  ‘My master,’ said I, ‘I am now yours; it is my duty, it should be my pleasure, to defend your interests and life.  Hear my advice, then; and, I conjure you, be guided by my prudence.  Follow me privily; let none see where we are going; I will lead you to the place where the treasure has been buried; that once disinterred, let us make straight for the boat, escape to the mainland, and not return to this dangerous isle without the countenance of soldiers.’

What free man in a free land would have credited so sudden a devotion?  But this oppressor, through the very arts and sophistries he had abused, to quiet the rebellion of his conscience and to convince himself that slavery was natural, fell like a child into the trap I laid for him.  He praised and thanked me; told me I had all the qualities he valued in a servant; and when he had questioned me further as to the nature and value of the treasure, and I had once more artfully inflamed his greed, bade me without delay proceed to carry out my plan of action.

From a shed in the garden, I took a pick and shovel; and thence, by devious paths among the magnolias, led my master to the entrance of the swamp.  I walked first, carrying, as I was now in duty bound, the tools, and glancing continually behind me, lest we should be spied upon and followed.  When we were come as far as the beginning of the path, it flashed into my mind I had forgotten meat; and leaving Mr. Caulder in the shadow of a tree, I returned alone to the house for a basket of provisions.  Were they for him?  I asked myself.  And a voice within me answered, No. While we were face to face, while I still saw before my eyes the man to whom I belonged as the hand belongs to the body, my indignation held me bravely up.  But now that I was alone, I conceived a sickness at myself and my designs that I could scarce endure; I longed to throw myself at his feet, avow my intended treachery, and warn him from that pestilential swamp, to which I was decoying him to die; but my vow to my dead father, my duty to my innocent youth, prevailed upon these scruples; and though my face was pale and must have reflected the horror that oppressed my spirits, it was with a firm step that I returned to the borders of the swamp, and with smiling lips that I bade him rise and follow me.

The path on which we now entered was cut, like a tunnel, through the living jungle.  On either hand and overhead, the mass of foliage was continuously joined; the day sparingly filtered through the depth of super-impending wood; and the air was hot like steam, and heady with vegetable odours, and lay like a load upon the lungs and brain.  Underfoot, a great depth of mould received our silent footprints; on each side, mimosas, as tall as a man, shrank from my passing skirts with a continuous hissing rustle; and but for these sentient vegetables, all in that den of pestilence was motionless and noiseless.

We had gone but a little way in, when Mr. Caulder was seized with sudden nausea, and must sit down a moment on the path.  My heart yearned, as I beheld him; and I seriously begged the doomed mortal to return upon his steps.  What were a few jewels in the scales with life? I asked.  But no, he said; that witch Madam Jezebel would find them out; he was an honest man, and would not stand to be defrauded, and so forth, panting the while, like a sick dog.  Presently he got to his feet again, protesting he had conquered his uneasiness; but as we again began to go forward, I saw in his changed countenance, the first approaches of death.