The Saint on the Spanish Main (15 page)

“You must have made an impression very
quickly,”
Farnham remarked. “You haven’t been here long, have
you?”

“I was born here. And in case you don’t
recognize my
name, I happen to be a direct descendant of one of the
first Maroon leaders, Captain
Cuffee. His name is on the Treaty which still protects us.”

“I know. But you’re really almost a
Londoner.”

“It may have taken me a long time to see
my duty,
Farnham.
But I know it now. Whatever talents I have, I inherited from my people. And the
education I’ve
gained should be used in
their service.”

“That’s very commendable, of course.”

“It’s going to make a great difference I
assure you.
Your
Government has had everything its own way for too long. I know the policy. Keep
what your Empire
poet called the ‘lesser
breeds’ in their place. Keep them
downtrodden
and half starved, so that they can be ex
ploited. Keep them ignorant, so that they can be bam
boozled and put upon. But you couldn’t get away
with
it for ever. You’re going to
find that this is just one more
place
where they’ve got a leader at last who knows all
the tricks and all the rules too. I’m going to see that
every right and privilege of the Maroons is
respected, in
court and out of
it.”

Farnham nodded, pursing his lips.

“Now, about this election,” he
said imperturbably.
“Just
how was it conducted?”

“In the normal way.”

“A secret ballot? With all the Maroons
notified in
plenty of time to assemble, and all of them casting their
votes?”

Cuffee’s face turned ugly and thunderous.

“That’s an insulting suggestion. But I
don’t have to
answer it, because as you’re quite well aware it isn’t
even
any of your
business.”

“Nevertheless, I have to ask it,”
Farnham persisted
quietly. “And I could only put one interpretation on
your refusal to answer.”

Cuffee’s big fist clenched and lifted a
little from his
side, and the Saint balanced himself imperceptibly on
the balls
of his feet and triggered his muscles for light
ning movement: but
Farnham stared up at the Colonel
unblinkingly. The fist slowly lowered again,
but the con
gestion remained in Cuffee’s contorted features.

“You go too far,” he said harshly.
“This is exactly the
kind of meddling I intend to put a stop to. I
am obliged to declare you
persona non grata.
Do you know what
that means?”

“In diplomatic circles, it would mean I
was to be kicked out of the country.”

“Precisely.”
  

“Do you mean immediately?”

Cuffee hesitated for a second, and it was as
if a mask
slid over his face, smoothing out the grimace of fury
and
leaving only a glint of cunning in his eyes.

“No. It’s late now for you to be
starting back. Stay
the night, if you can find a place to sleep. Let your
friend
look around, and make the most of it. He’s the last vis
itor we
shall admit for a long time. Since you’re here, I shall give you a formal reply
to take back to your Governor tomorrow. And I may also give you proof that the
Maroons are behind me.”

He turned on his heel and strode back towards his
elite guard, his adjutant following him, leaving
the Saint
and David Farnham standing
alone under the darkening
sky.

4

“Well,” Farnham said stoically,
“at least I think I know
where we can get a bed.”

The house that he led them to was one of the
better
ones, as
evidenced by the white paint that gleamed
through
the dusk as they approached. Yellow lights
glowed behind the windows,
but the porch was dark, and on it the figure of a black man in dark clothes,
standing motionless, was almost invisible until
they were
within speaking distance.

Farnham said affably: “Good evening, Robertson.”

The man said, without moving: “Good
evenin’, sah.”

“Aren’t you going to invite us in?”

The man’s shoes creaked as he shifted his
weight. He
said, after a pause: “No, sah. Better you go back
dung
de hill, sah. I’ gettin’ late.”

“That’s all right, we’re not going back
till tomorrow.”

“Better you go tonight, sah. De Colonel
don’t wan
nobody from outside comin’ ‘ere.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Farnham
said impatiently.
“You were Colonel yourself once, the first time I
came
here. You know the Colonel can’t stop anyone seeing his
friends.
And I want you to meet a friend of mine—Mr.
Templar.”

“Yes, sah. How you do, Mr. Templar,
sah. But is bes’
you go dung de hill——
”

The door behind him was flung open, and the
shape
of another man was framed in it.

“Did someone say ‘Mr Templar’? Is that
you, sah—
the
Saint?”

“Yes, Johnny,” Simon said.

The man who had stood on the porch was
almost
bowled over in the rush as Johnny plunged past him,
grabbed
Simon’s hand, and hustled him and Farnham
into the house.
Robertson followed them rather quickly,
shutting the door behind them. As the
lamplight re
vealed him, he was a very old
man, and he twisted his
thin gnarled
fingers together feverishly.

“I don’t wan’ no trouble here,” he
mumbled.

“I don’t want to make any,” said
the Saint. “But
Johnny’s the lad from New York I was telling
you
about, Dave.”

“Pleased to meet you, Johnny,”
Farnham said, put
ting out his hand. “I’ve heard a lot of nice things
about
you.”

“Colonel Robertson is a great-uncle of
mine,” Johnny
explained. He turned to another white-haired old negro
who sat in
a rocking chair in the corner. “And this is a
sort of older cousin, Commander
Reid.”

“I’ve met the Commander,” Farnham
said, with an
other
cordial handshake.

He sat down at the bare oilcloth-covered
table and
tapped the dottle from his burned-out pipe into a saucer
which served as ashtray.

“And now, for heaven’s sake,” he
said, “will one of
you tell me what’s got into everybody around here?”

“We don’ wan’ no trouble,” Robertson
repeated,
wringing his hands mechanically.

“Goin’ be lotsa change roun’ here,”
said the Com
mander.

“Things are real bad, Mr. Templar,”
Johnny said. “I
found that out already. And ever since I
found out, I’ve been wondering whether I could find you on the island, or if
you’d really come here like you said you might on
the plane.”

“Dis Missah Templar is a fren’ o’
yours, Johnny?” asked the Commander, rocking busily.

Johnny looked at both the two older negroes.

“He’s a wonderful guy. In America,
almost everyone
knows him. He does things about people like Cuffee. If
anyone can help us, he
can.”

“I’m just a visitor,” Simon said
tactfully. “Mr. Farnham’s the Government man.”

A stout elderly woman came out of the partly
screened-off
kitchen and began to distribute plates laden with steaming rice and what looked
like a sort of brown
stew around the table. Farnham greeted her
cordially as Mrs. Robertson, and she smiled politely and went back
for more
plates, without speaking, for in the councils of
the older Maroons a woman’s views are not
asked for.

“Please, you must both eat with us,” Johnny said.
“And we’d be honored to have you sleep
here.”

Robertson shuffled to the table and sat
down, looking
helpless and lonely, but the Commander pushed back his
rocker and stepped across with decisive vigor.

“Okay, Johnny,” he said heartily.
“You’ fren’, and
Missah Farnham is my fren’. All o’ we is
fren’ly here.
Dem help us, all okay.”

The dollop of stew on the rice was made from
goat, Simon decided, strongly seasoned and flavored in part with curry. There
were tough elements in it, but it was very tasty, and he discovered that his
appetite had developed uncritical proportions while his mind was oc
cupied
with other things.

“You’re an intelligent young man,
Johnny,”
Farnham said across the table. “What’s your version
of
all this nonsense?”

“It isn’t nonsense, Mr. Farnham, sah.
This fellow
Cuffee’s a Communist organizer. I know. I’ve heard fel
lows up in the States who
talked just like him. From
what I could
find out, he got himself a following pretty quick. It seems there’s been some
others like him here
before, only
white people, but talkin’ the same way, so
he didn’t have to start out cold. But being a Maroon
himself, he got a lot more attention. He had
plenty of
material to work with. I
don’t want to say anything
against
the Government myself, sah, I’m sure they’ve
tried to do what they can for us, but it’s a pretty hard life
up here, just for a man to scratch enough from the
ground to feed himself and his family. The people
go
down to the market an’ talk to
other people workin’
outside, an’
the young men go to Kingston an’ see how
there are other people no
different, colored people I
mean, who are
livin’ so much better, an’ they talk to
ones who have joined the unions; an’ they all come back
an’ talk.”

“The wave of the future,” Farnham
said heavily. “And they want it all at once.”

“Yes, sah. It takes education to be patient, an’ pa
tience to get education. An’ it takes a lot of both
to
know why Cuffee’s way won’t
really solve anything.”

Cuffee, they learned, had organized the cadre
of
malcontents with swift efficiency. The disappearance of the most
recently installed Colonel had provided such a
fortunate vacancy
that it was obviously suspect, but Johnny could only quote some of the dark
rumors that
had been muttered around the village of Accompong. About
the handling of the latest election, however, his
account was confirmed
by Robertson and the Commander. Cuffee had made an inflammatory speech
proposing
his own leadership, while his bravos shouted
down the arguments
of the older conservative group.
Two of the most stubborn skeptics had been
beaten up.
Cuffee’s young bullies operated the polls and announced
the
result.

“But they aren’t an army,” Farnham
said. “At least,
not what I saw. Can those two dozen ruffians
really ter
rorize the whole community?”

“Hasn’t the same thing happened in
bigger countries,
but in a not very different proportion?” Simon
reminded
him.

“Besides,” Johnny said,
“there’s more than what you saw. Cuffee’s got them out now, roundin’ up
Maroons
from all over for a big meeting tomorrow, where he’s
goin’ to
tell ‘em what the new system’s goin’ to be.”

There was evidently some connection between
this
and Cuffee’s sudden decision to let them stay overnight;
and Farnham and the Saint
exchanged glances.

“Just what is his platform?”
Farnham asked.

“I dunno, sah. But from what I hear, I
think it’s some
thing about how all the colored people in Jamaica
should have
the same right as the Maroons, an’ we
should let all of ‘em join us who want to, and enlarge
our boundaries till there’s room for all of
‘em.”

“And eventually they end up with the
whole island,”
Farnham said grimly. “Yes, that’s clear
enough.” He looked suddenly very tired. “I’m afraid this turns out to
be a bit out of my department. I suppose I’ll just have to report it
all to the Governor, and let Government decide
what to do.”