CHAPTER LV
CAUGHT
The fig-tree, in Louisiana, sometimes sheds its leaves while it is yetsummer. In the rear of the Grandissme mansion, about two hundred yardsnorthwest of it and fifty northeast of the cottage in which Agricola hadmade his new abode, on the edge of the grove of which we have spoken,stood one of these trees, whose leaves were beginning to lie thicklyupon the ground beneath it. An ancient and luxuriant hedge ofCherokee-rose started from this tree and stretched toward the northwestacross the level country, until it merged into the green confusion ofgardened homes in the vicinity of Bayou St. Jean, or, by night, into thecommon obscurity of a starlit perspective. When an unclouded moon shoneupon it, it cast a shadow as black as velvet.
Under this fig-tree, some three hours later than that at which Honorebade Joseph good-night, a man was stooping down and covering somethingwith the broad, fallen leaves.
"The moon will rise about three o'clock," thought he. "That, the hour ofuniversal slumber, will be, by all odds, the time most likely to bringdevelopments."
He was the same person who had spent the most of the day in ablacksmith's shop in St. Louis street, superintending a piece ofsmithing. Now that he seemed to have got the thing well hid, he turnedto the base of the tree and tried the security of some attachment. Yes,it was firmly chained. He was not a robber; he was not an assassin; hewas not an officer of police; and what is more notable, seeing he was aLouisianian, he was not a soldier nor even an ex-soldier; and thisalthough, under his clothing, he was encased from head to foot in acomplete suit of mail. Of steel? No. Of brass? No. It was all onepiece--_a white skin_; and on his head he wore an invisible helmet--thename of Grandissime. As he straightened up and withdrew into the grove,you would have recognized at once--by his thick-set, powerful frame,clothed seemingly in black, but really, as you might guess, in bluecottonade, by his black beard and the general look of a seafarer--afrequent visitor at the Grandissime mansion, a country member of thatgreat family, one whom we saw at the _fete de grandpere_.
Capitain Jean-Baptiste Grandissime was a man of few words, nosentiments, short methods; materialistic, we might say; quietlyferocious; indifferent as to means, positive as to ends, quick ofperception, sure in matters of saltpetre, a stranger at thecustom-house, and altogether--_take him right_--very much of agentleman. He had been, for a whole day, beset with the idea that theway to catch a voudou was--to catch him; and as he had caught numbers ofthem on both sides of the tropical and semi-tropical Atlantic, hedecided to try his skill privately on the one who--his experience toldhim--was likely to visit Agricola's doorstep to-night. All things beingnow prepared, he sat down at the root of a tree in the grove, where theshadow was very dark, and seemed quite comfortable. He did not strike atthe mosquitoes; they appeared to understand that he did not wish totrifle. Neither did his thoughts or feelings trouble him; he sat andsharpened a small penknife on his boot.
His mind--his occasional transient meditation--was the more comfortablebecause he was one of those few who had coolly and unsentimentallyallowed Honore Grandissime to sell their lands. It continued to growplainer every day that the grants with which theirs were classed--grantsof old French or Spanish under-officials--were bad. Their sagaciouscousin seemed to have struck the right standard, and while those titleswhich he still held on to remained unimpeached, those that he hadparted with to purchasers--as, for instance, the grant held by thisCapitain Jean-Baptiste Grandissime--could be bought back now for halfwhat he had got for it. Certainly, as to that, the Capitain might wellhave that quietude of mind which enabled him to find occupation inperfecting the edge of his penknife and trimming his nails in the dark.
By and by he put up the little tool and sat looking out upon theprospect. The time of greatest probability had not come, but the voudoumight choose not to wait for that; and so he kept watch. There was agreat stillness. The cocks had finished a round and were silent. No dogbarked. A few tiny crickets made the quiet land seem the more deserted.Its beauties were not entirely overlooked--the innumerable host of starsabove, the twinkle of myriad fireflies on the dark earth below. Betweena quarter and a half-mile away, almost in a line with the Cherokeehedge, was a faint rise of ground, and on it a wide-spreading live-oak.There the keen, seaman's eye of the Capitain came to a stop, fixed upona spot which he had not noticed before. He kept his eye on it, andwaited for the stronger light of the moon.
Presently behind the grove at his back she rose; and almost the firstbeam that passed over the tops of the trees, and stretched across theplain, struck the object of his scrutiny. What was it? The ground, heknew; the tree, he knew; he knew there ought to be a white palingenclosure about the trunk of the tree: for there were buried--ah!--hecame as near laughing at himself as ever he did in his life; theapothecary of the rue Royale had lately erected some marble headstonesthere, and--
"Oh! my God!"
While Capitain Jean-Baptiste had been trying to guess what thetombstones were, a woman had been coming toward him in the shadow of thehedge. She was not expecting to meet him; she did not know that he wasthere; she knew she had risks to run, but was ignorant of what theywere; she did not know there was anything under the fig-tree which sheso nearly and noiselessly approached. One moment her foot was liftedabove the spot where the unknown object lay with wide-stretched jawsunder the leaves, and the next, she uttered that cry of agony andconsternation which interrupted the watcher's meditation. She was caughtin a huge steel-trap.
Capitain Jean-Baptiste Grandissime remained perfectly still. She fell, asnarling, struggling, groaning heap, to the ground, wild with pain andfright, and began the hopeless effort to draw the jaws of the trap apartwith her fingers.
"_Ah! bon Dieu, bon Dieu!_ Quit a-_bi-i-i-i-tin' me_! Oh! Lawd 'a'mussy! Ow-ow-ow! lemme go! Dey go'n' to kyetch an' hang me! Oh! an' Ihain' done nutt'n' 'gainst _no_body! Ah! _bon Dieu! ein pov' vienegresse_! Oh! Jemimy! I cyan' gid dis yeh t'ing loose--oh! m-m-m-m! An'dey'll tra to mek out't I voudou' Mich-Agricole! An' I did n' hadnutt'n' do wid it! Oh Lawd, oh _Lawd_, you'll be mighty good ef youlemme loose! I'm a po' nigga! Oh! dey had n' ought to mek it so_pow_'ful!"
Hands, teeth, the free foot, the writhing body, every combination ofavailable forces failed to spread the savage jaws, though she stroveuntil hands and mouth were bleeding.
Suddenly she became silent; a thought of precaution came to her; shelifted from the earth a burden she had dropped there, struggled to ahalf-standing posture, and, with her foot still in the trap, wasendeavoring to approach the end of the hedge near by, to thrust thisburden under it, when she opened her throat in a speechless ecstasy offright on feeling her arm grasped by her captor.
"O-o-o-h! Lawd! o-o-oh! Lawd!" she cried, in a frantic, husky whisper,going down upon her knees, "_Oh, Miche! pou' l'amou' du bon Dieu! Pou'l'amou du bon Dieu ayez pitie d'ein pov' negresse! Pov' negresse,Miche_, w'at nevva done nutt'n' to nobody on'y jis sell _calas_! I isscomin' 'long an' step inteh dis-yeh bah-trap by acci_dent_! Ah! _Miche,Miche_, ple-e-ease be good! _Ah! mon Dieu_!--an' de Lawd'll rewardyou--'deed 'E will, _Miche_!"
"_Qui ci ca?_" asked the Capitain, sternly, stooping and grasping herburden, which she had been trying to conceal under herself.
"Oh, Miche, don' trouble dat! Please jes tek dis yeh trap offen me--da'sall! Oh, don't, mawstah, ple-e-ease don' spill all my wash'n' t'ings!'Tain't nutt'n' but my old dress roll' up into a ball. Oh, please--now,you see? nutt'n' but a po' nigga's dr--_oh! fo' de love o' God, MicheJean-Baptiste, don' open dat ah box! Y'en a rien du tout la-dans, MicheJean-Baptiste; du tout, du tout_! Oh, my God! _Miche_, on'y jis teckdis-yeh t'ing off'n my laig, ef yo' _please_, it's bit'n' me lak a_dawg_!--if you _please, Miche_! Oh! you git kill' if you open dat ahbox, Mawse Jean-Baptiste! _Mo' parole d'honneur le plus sacre_--I'llkiss de cross! Oh, _sweet Miche Jean, laisse moi aller_! Nutt'n' butsome dutty close _la-dans_." She repeated this again and again, evenafter Capitain Jean-Baptiste had disengaged a small black coffin fromthe old dress in which it was wrapped. "_Rien du tout, Miche_; nutt
'n'but some wash'n' fo' one o' de boys."
He removed the lid and saw within, resting on the cushioned bottom, theimage, in myrtle-wax, moulded and painted with some rude skill, of anegro's bloody arm cut off near the shoulder--a _bras coupe_--with adirk grasped in its hand.
The old woman lifted her eyes to heaven; her teeth chattered; she gaspedtwice before she could recover utterance. "_Oh, Miche_ Jean-Baptiste, Idi' n' mek dat ah! _Mo' te pas fe ca_! I swea' befo' God! Oh, no, no,no! 'Tain' nutt'n' nohow but a lill play-toy, _Miche_. Oh, sweet _MicheJean_, you not gwan to kill me? I di' n' mek it! It was--ef you lemmego, I tell you who mek it! Sho's I live I tell you, _Miche Jean_--ef youlemme go! Sho's God's good to me--ef you lemme go! Oh, God A'mighty,_Miche Jean_, sho's God's good to me."
She was becoming incoherent.
Then Capitain Jean-Baptiste Grandissime for the first time spoke atlength:
"Do you see this?" he spoke the French of the Atchafalaya. He put hislong flintlock pistol close to her face. "I shall take the trap off; youwill walk three feet in front of me; if you make it four I blow yourbrains out; we shall go to Agricole. But right here, just now, before Icount ten, you will tell me who sent you here; at the word ten, if Ireach it, I pull the trigger. One--two--three--"
"Oh, _Miche_, she gwan to gib me to de devil wid _houdou_ ef I tellyou--Oh, good _Lawdy_!"
But he did not pause.
"Four--five--six--seven--eight--"
"Palmyre!" gasped the negress, and grovelled on the ground.
The trap was loosened from her bleeding leg, the burden placed in herarms, and they disappeared in the direction of the mansion.
* * * * *
A black shape, a boy, the lad who had carried the basil to Frowenfeld,rose up from where he had all this time lain, close against the hedge,and glided off down its black shadow to warn the philosophe.
When Clemence was searched, there was found on her person an oldtable-knife with its end ground to a point.
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