I observed that the negro listened to his mistress with downcast eyes, and an air of stolid indifference, also that, as he waited, he held one hand against his back; grasped in that hand—invisible to the woman—was a shining blade about two feet long, which I recognised as the knife used for cane-cutting, and called a “machite.”
As the two figures stood, one on the verandah, the other immediately beneath, I became aware that an enormous crowd had assembled outside the quarters, hundreds of coloured people—and a sudden hoarse hum arose, resembling the buzzing of angry bees. Finally the lady raised her clenched fist with a fierce, threatening gesture, and turned away.
As she did so, the negro gave a deep guttural laugh, reached out his arm, caught her violently by the hair, and dragged her head backwards over the edge of the railing. I saw her long thin throat, fully exposed, and it was with a shock of unexampled horror that I beheld the descent of a gleaming blade. With one swift stroke the wretched woman’s head was severed from her body, and I heard the previous gurgling and choking sound, as it fell with a heavy thud upon the lawn, while the trunk collapsed in a hideous heap upon the boards of the verandah—which were instantly deluged with blood. The dreadful tide was flowing towards me, but I was unable to stir hand or foot—I felt as if I were paralysed.
As the murderer, stooping, lifted the head by its hair, I had a view of the blanched and ghastly face, and the wide-open eyes fixed in wild astonishment. He held it up towards the lines, and in response there rose strange, fierce, and prolonged yells of jubilation—such, I imagine, as are uttered by savages, when exulting over some fallen enemy. Then with his horrible trophy in one hand and a dripping knife in the other, the negro turned, and looked straight at me. Instantly everything became blurred, black darkness descended, and I remember no more!
When I came to myself, the clear imperative voice of Cousin Carolina was saying:
“My dear Marion, do you know that it is very imprudent to sleep out of doors at sundown—even in our exquisite climate?”
“Sleep!” I repeated, with an involuntary shudder; “I’ve not been sleeping,” and with a painful effort I rose and tottered into a lighted sitting-room.
“What has happened to you, Marion?” cried my sister; “you look simply awful. Are you ill?—or have you seen a ghost?”
“Yes,” I answered, looking round at six expectant faces, “I have seen two in the verandah!”
I noticed that Miss Boone gave me a quick, sharp look, but the rest of the company wore indulgent smiles, and Cousin Carolina said: