by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
THE DEVIL'S DOUCHE.
In a few seconds I entered the wide avenue between the cabins, anddrawing bridle, sat glancing around me.
My patriarchal dreams vanished at the sight that met my eyes. Before mewas a scene of tyranny, of torture--a scene from the tragedy ofslave-life!
At the upper end of the quarter, and on one side of the overseer'shouse, was an enclosure. It was the enclosure of the sugar-mill--alarge building which stood a little further back. Inside the fence wasa tall pump, rising full ten feet in height, with the spout near itstop. The purpose of this pump was to yield a stream of water, which wasconducted to the sugar-house by means of a slender trough, that servedas an aqueduct.
A platform was raised a few feet above the ground, so as to enable theperson working the pump to reach its handle.
To this spot my attention was directed by seeing that the negroes of thequarter were grouped around it, while the women and children, clingingalong the fence, had their eyes bent in the same direction.
The faces of all--men, women, and children--wore an ominous and gloomyexpression; and the attitudes in which they stood betokened terror andalarm. Murmurs I could hear--now and then ejaculations--and sobs thatbespoke sympathy with some one who suffered. I saw scowling brows, asif knit by thoughts of vengeance. But these last were few--the moregeneral expression was one of terror and submission.
It was not difficult to tell that the cry I had heard proceeded from theneighbourhood of the pump, and a glance unfolded the cause. Some poorslave was undergoing punishment!
A group of negroes hid the unfortunate from my view, but over theirheads I could see the slave Gabriel, his body naked to the breech,mounted upon the platform and working the pump with all his might.
This Gabriel was a Bambarra negro, of huge size and strength, branded onboth shoulders with the _fleur-de-lis_. He was a man of fierce aspect,and, as I had heard, of fierce and brutal habit--feared not only by theother negroes, but by the whites with whom he came in contact. It wasnot he that was undergoing punishment. On the contrary, he was theinstrument of torture.
And torture it was--I knew the punishment well.
The trough or aqueduct had been removed; and the victim was placed atthe bottom of the pump, directly under the spout. He was fast bound ina species of stocks; and in such a position that he could not move hishead, which _received the continuous jet in the very centre of thecrown_!
Torture? No doubt, you are incredulous? You fancy there can be nogreat torture in that. A simple shock--a shower-bath--nothing more!
You are right. For the first half-minute or so it is but a shock, ashower-bath, but then--
Believe me when I declare to you--that a stream of molten lead--an axecontinually crashing through the skull--would not be more painful thanthe falling of this cold-water jet! It is torture beyond endurance--agony indescribable. Well may it be called the "devil's douche."
Again the agonised cry came from the pump, almost curdling my blood.
As I have said, I could not see the sufferer at first. A row of bodieswas interposed between him and me. The negroes, however, seeing me rideup, eagerly opened their ranks and fell back a pace, as if desiring Ishould be a witness to what was going forward. They all knew me, andall had some impression that I _sympathised_ with their unfortunaterace.
This opening gave me a full view of the horrid spectacle, disclosing agroup that made me start in the saddle. Under the torture was thevictim--a man of sable hue. Close by him, a large mulatto woman and ayoung girl of the same complexion--mother and daughter--stood folded ineach other's arms, both weeping bitterly. I could hear their sobs andejaculations, even at the distance of a score of yards, and above theplashing sound of the falling water. I recognised at a glance who thesewere--they were the little Chloe and her mother!
Quick as lightning my eyes were directed towards the sufferer. Thewater, as it bounded from his crown, spread into a glassy sheet, thatcompletely concealed his head, but the huge, fin-like, projecting earstold me who was the victim. It was Scipio!
Again his cry of agony pealed upon my ears, deep and prolonged, asthough it issued from the innermost recesses of his soul!
I did not wait till that cry was ended. A fence of six rails separatedme from the sufferer; but what of that? I did not hesitate a moment,but winding my horse round to give him the run, I headed him at theleap, and with a touch of the spur lifted him into the inclosure. I didnot even stay to dismount, but galloping up to the platform, laid mywhip across the naked shoulders of the Bambarra with all the force thatlay in my arm. The astonished savage dropped the pump-handle as if ithad been iron at a white heat; and leaping from the platform, ran offhowling to his cabin!
Exclamations and loud murmurings of applause followed; but my horse,brought so suddenly to this exciting work, snorted and plunged, and itwas some time before I could quiet him. While thus engaged, I observedthat the exclamations were suddenly discontinued; and the murmurs ofapplause were succeeded by a dead, ominous silence! I could hearseveral of the negroes nearest me muttering some words of caution, asthough meant for me; among others the cry of--
"De oberseer! de oberseer! Look out, mass'r! Dar he kum!"
At that moment an abominable oath, uttered in a loud voice, reached myears. I looked in the direction whence it came. As I anticipated, itwas the overseer.
He was just issuing from the back-door of his house, from a window ofwhich he had been all the while a spectator of Scipio's torture!
I had not come in contact with this person before; and I now sawapproaching a man of fierce and brutal aspect, somewhat flashilydressed, and carrying in his hand a thick waggon-whip. I could see thathis face was livid with rage, and that he was directing himself toattack me. I had no weapon but my riding-whip, and with this I preparedto receive his assault.
He came on at a run, all the while venting the most diabolical curses.
When he had got nearly up to my horse's head, he stopped a moment, andthundered out--
"Who the Hell are you, meddling with my affairs? Who the damn are--"
He suddenly paused in his speech, and stood staring in astonishment. Ireciprocated that astonishment, for I had now recognised in the brutaloverseer my antagonist of the boat! the hero of the bowie-knife! At thesame instant he recognised me.
The pause which was the result of our mutual surprise, lasted but amoment.
"Hell and furies!" cried the ruffian, changing his former tone only intoone more horribly furious--
"It's _you_, is it? Whip be damned! I've something else for _you_."
And as he said this he drew a pistol from his coat, and hastily cockingit, aimed it at my breast.
I was still on horseback and in motion, else he would no doubt havedelivered his fire at once; but my horse reared up at the gleam of thepistol, and his body was thus interposed between mine and its muzzle.
As I have said, I had no weapon but the whip. Fortunately it was astout hunting-whip, with loaded butt. I hastily turned it in my hand,and just as the hoofs of my horse came back to the earth, I drove thespur so deeply into his ribs that he sprang forward more than his ownlength. This placed me in the very spot I wanted to be--alongside myruffian antagonist, who, taken aback by my sudden change of position,hesitated a moment before taking fresh aim. Before he could pulltrigger, the butt of my whip descended upon his skull, and doubled himup in the dust! His pistol went off as he fell, and the bullet ploughedup the ground between my horse's hoofs, but fortunately hit no one. Theweapon itself new out of his hand, and lay beside him where he hadfallen.
It was a mere lucky hit--all owing to the spur being touched, and myhorse having sprung forward in good time. Had I missed the blow, Ishould not likely have had a second chance. The pistol wasdouble-barrelled, and on examination I found he carried another of asimilar kind.
He was now lying as still as if asleep, and I began to fear I had killedhim. This
would have been a serious matter. Although perfectlyjustifiable in me to have done so, who was to show that? The evidenceof those around me--the whole of them together--was not worth theasseveration of one white man; and under the circumstances not worth astraw. Indeed, considering what had immediately led to the rencontre,such testimony would have been more likely to _damage_ my case thanotherwise! I felt myself in an awkward situation.
I now dismounted, and approached the prostrate form, around which theblacks were congregating. They made way for me.
I knelt down and examined the head. It was cut and bleeding, but theskull was still sound!
The knowledge of this fact set my mind at rest, and before I rose to myfeet I had the satisfaction to see that the fellow was coming to hissenses, under the influence of a douche of cold-water. The butt of thesecond pistol came under my eye, as it stuck out from the breast of hiscoat. I drew it forth, and along with its fellow took them into my ownkeeping.
"Tell him," said I, "as soon as he comes to himself, that when he nextattacks me, I shall have pistols as well as he!"
Having ordered him to be carried into the house, I now turned myattention to his victim. Poor Scipio! he had been most cruellytortured, and it was some time before he recovered his faculties, so asto be able to tell me why he had been thus punished.
The relation he at length gave, and it made the blood boil afresh withinmy veins. He had surprised the overseer in some of the outbuildingswith little Chloe in his arms, the child crying out and struggling toget free. Natural indignation on the part of the father led to a blow--an offence for which Scipio might have lost an arm; but the whitewretch, knowing that he dare not, for his own sake, expose the motive,had commuted Scipio's legal punishment to a little private torture underthe pump!
My first impulse on hearing this sad story was to return to the house,report what had occurred to Mademoiselle, and urge upon her thenecessity of getting rid of this savage overseer at all risk.
After a little reflection I changed my mind. I purposed to return uponthe morrow, on business of--to me--much greater importance. To-morrowit was my intention to _bid for Aurore_!
"I can then," thought I, "introduce the case of poor Scipio. Perhaps itmay be an introduction to the `graver theme?'"
Having promised this much to my old attendant, I mounted my horse, androde off, amidst a shower of blessings.
As I passed through the avenue at a walk, women and half-grown girlshurried from their doors, and kissed my feet as they hung in thestirrups!
The burning love which so late filled my heart was for a moment unfelt.Its place was occupied by a calm, sweet happiness--the happiness thatsprings from benefaction!