The Maroon. Reid Mayne

to have himself appointed a justice of the peace – an office that in Jamaica, as elsewhere, is more distinctive of wealth than respectability.

      In addition to penn-keeper, the Jew was also an extensive spice-cultivator, or rather spice-gatherer: for the indigenous pimento forests that covered the hills upon his estate required no cultivation – nothing further than to collect the aromatic berries, and cure them on the barbacoa.

      Though changed from a plantation to a penn, the estate of Jacob Jessuron was not less a scene of active industrial life.

      In the fields adjacent to the house, and through the glades of Guinea grass, horses and half wild cattle might be seen in turns neighing and bellowing, pursued by mounted herdsmen, black and half-naked.

      Among the groves of pimento on the hills, gangs of negro wenches could be heard screaming and chattering continually, as they picked the allspice berries from the branches; or, with the filled baskets poised on their heads, marched in long, chanting files towards the barbacoa.

      Outside the gate-entrance, upon the broad avenue leading to the main road, negro horse-tamers might every day be seen, giving their first lessons to rough colts fresh caught from the pastures; while inside the grand enclosure, fat oxen were being slaughtered to supply the markets of the Bay – huge, gaunt dogs holding carnival over the offal – while black butchers, naked to the waist, their brown arms reeking with red gore, stalked over the ground, brandishing blood-stained blades, and other instruments of their sanguinary calling.

      Such scenes might be witnessed diurnally on the estate of Jacob Jessuron; but on the day succeeding that on which the slave-merchant had made his unsuccessful errand to Mount Welcome, a spectacle of a somewhat rarer kind was about to be exhibited at the penn.

      The scene chosen for this exhibition was an inner inclosure, or courtyard, contiguous to the dwelling – the great house itself forming one side of this court, and opening upon it by a broad verandah, of a dingy, dilapidated appearance.

      Vis-à-vis with the dwelling was another large building which shut in the opposite side of the court – the two being connected by high massive walls, that completed the quadrangle. A strong double gate, opening near the centre of one of these walls, was the way out – that is, to the larger enclosure of the cattle-penn.

      From the absence of chimneys and windows, as well as from its plain style of architecture, the building that stood opposite the dwelling-house might have been taken for some large granary or barn. But a peep into its interior at once controverted this idea. Inside could be seen groups of human beings, of all colours, from ebony black to jaundice yellow, in all attitudes – seated, standing, or lying upon the floor – and not a few of them, in pairs, manacled to one another. Their attitudes were not more various than the expressions upon their faces. Some looked sad and sullen; some glanced fearfully around, as if waking from horrid dreams, and under the belief that they were realities; others wore the vacant stare of idiotcy; while here and there a group – apparently regardless of past, present, or future – chattered in their barbaric language with an air of gaiety that bespoke the most philosophic insouciance.

      The building that contained them was the baracoon – the storehouse of the slave-merchant. Its occupants were his stores!

      The “stock” had been just replenished by the cargo of the slave-ship, though there were also some old “bales” on hand; and these were in the act of entertaining the new comers, and initiating them into the ways of the place. Their means, of showing hospitality had been limited – as testified by the empty calabashes and clean-scraped wooden platters that lay scattered over the floor. Not a grain of rice, not a spoonful of the pepper-pot, not a slice of plantain, was left. The emptiness of the vessels showed that the rations had been as short as the viands were coarse and common.

      Outside, in the yard, were many groups, happier to escape from the stifled atmosphere of their crowded quarters; though that was freedom when compared with the ’tween-decks of the middle passage.

      Each group was gathered around some old hand – some compatriot who had preceded them across the great sea – and who, himself initiated into slavery under a western sky, was giving them some notions of what they had to expect. Eager looks of all, from time to time, directed towards the verandah, told that they were awaiting some event of more than ordinary interest.

      There were white men in the courtyard – three of them. Two were of dark complexion – so swarth that many of the coloured slaves were as fair-skinned as they. These two men were lounging by the stairway of the verandah – one of them seated upon the steps. Both were sparely clad in check shirts and trousers, having broad-brimmed palmetto hats on their heads, and rough buskins on their feet and ankles.

      Each carried a long, rapier-like blade – a macheté– hanging over his hip in its leathern sheath; while a brace of fierce dogs – looped in cotton-rope leashes, attached to belts worn around their waists – crouched upon the ground at their feet.

      The faces of these men were clean-shaven – a pointed chin-tuft, or “bigote,” alone being left; and the hair on the heads of both was close-cropped. Their sharp, angular features were thus fully displayed, denoting a high order of intelligence; which might have produced a pleasing effect, but for the pronounced expression of cruelty which accompanied it.

      The exclamations that from time to time escaped from their lips, with the few words of conversation that passed between them, bespoke them of Spanish race. Their costume – their arms and accoutrements – their comrades, the fierce dogs – plainly proclaimed, their calling, as well as the country from whence they came. They were caçadores de negros– negro-hunters from the Island of Cuba.

      The third white man who appeared in the courtyard differed essentially from these – not so much in colour, for he was also of swarth complexion – but in size, costume, and calling. A pair of horse-skin riding-boots reached up to his thighs, on the heels of which appeared heavy spurs, with rowels three inches in diameter. A sort of monkey-jacket of thick cloth – notwithstanding its unsuitableness to the climate – hung down to his hips; under which appeared a waistcoat of scarlet plush, with tarnished metal buttons, and a wool comforter of the same flaming colour. Crowning all was a felt hat; which, like the other articles of his dress, gave evidence of exposure to all weathers – sun and rain, storm and tornado.

      A thick shock of curling hair, so dark in colour as to pass for black; a heavy beard, jet-black, and running most of the way around his mouth; amber-coloured eyes, with a sinister, shining light that never seemed to pale; lips of an unnatural redness gleaming through the black beard; and a nose of aquiline oblique, were the points in the personal appearance of this man that most prominently presented themselves.

      The effect of this combination was to impress you with the conviction, that the individual in question belonged to the same nationality as the proprietor of the penn. Such was in reality the case: for the bearded man was another of the race of Abraham, and one of its least amiable specimens. His name was Ravener, his calling that of overseer: he was the overseer of Jessuron. The symbol of his profession he carried under his arm – a huge cart-whip. He had it by him at all hours – by night, as by day – for by night, as by day, was he accustomed to make use of it. And the victims of his long lash were neither oxen nor horses – they were men and women!

      No sparing use made he of this hideous implement. “Crack, crack!” was it heard from morn to eve; “crack, crack!” from eve to midnight; if need be, from midnight to morning again: for some said that the overseer of Jessuron never slept. “Crack, crack!” did he go through the courtyard, apparently proud of exhibiting his power before the newly-arrived negroes – here and there swinging his long bitter lash among the groups, as if to break up and scatter them in sheer wantonness.

      Volume One – Chapter Twenty One

      A Fiery Baptism

      It was about twelve o’clock in the day. Jessuron and his daughter had just stepped forth into the verandah, and taken their stand by the balustrade looking down into the court. The countenance of both betrayed a certain degree of solicitude, as if they had come out to be witnesses to some spectacle of more than common interest.

      The