The Poacher's Wife

by Eden Phillpotts

For an hour Jesse Hagan, Jabez Ford and Daniel Sweetland spoke in secret together. Then the overseer mounted his horse and departed, while Daniel and the Obi Man remained.

The result of this curious conference will appear. Suffice it that for many a long month no man ever saw Daniel’s face again. Meantime Mr Ford resumed his attendance on Sir Reginald Vivian’s son, who continued to enjoy the generous hospitality of Tobago. Hue and cry for Daniel Sweetland quite failed to find him, or any sign of him. No trace of the sailor rewarded a close and systematic search. It was supposed that he had eluded all eyes, risked the sharks, and either perished or succeeded in swimming back to his ship on the night before she sailed. But the crew knew differently. To the deep regret of James Bradley and the rest of his mates, Daniel returned to the Peabody no more. To wait for him could not be thought of. A black man was, therefore, shipped in Sweetland’s stead, and the old steamer, with a small cargo of cocoanuts and turtle, sailed to Barbados. Dan from his hiding-place saw her depart unmoved, for he knew not the awful fate that would soon overtake his friends. Great issues had now opened in his own life, and extreme hazards awaited him.

A fortnight passed, and the afternoon of Henry Vivian’s visit to the Obi Man arrived. This event had been reserved for his last holiday in Tobago. In two days’ time a Royal Mail Packet would leave the island, and by it the visitor designed to return to Barbados, that he might pick up the next vessel that sailed for home.

While he packed his cabin trunks young Vivian reviewed the events of recent weeks, and thought, not without regret, of much that had happened. The pursuit of Sweetland had caused him deep sorrow. He forgave Dan his ducking, and only mourned that his own sense of duty had made it necessary to try and secure the escaped prisoner. He would have given much to know what had become of the fugitive, and hoped against his conscience that Daniel was safe in the Peabody. But the young man did not doubt that Sweetland had been guilty, for evidence of his crime seemed overwhelming, and the final fact that he had escaped from justice showed too certainly how the poacher had feared it. The circumstance of Jabez Ford’s dishonesty was also material for unquiet reflections. Mr Ford acquitted himself as an ideal host, and every instinct of the guest rebelled and hurt him for the part that he must play. Vivian felt himself guilty of treachery, and it was only by keeping the truth concerning Jabez Ford resolutely in sight that he could view his courtesy, good nature, and hospitality with an easy mind. That Ford had robbed his father Henry Vivian could not question; yet he blamed himself for being so silent. He felt that he had done better and more bravely to declare his doubts and charge the other openly. Then he reminded himself that he had actually done so, that he had expressed frank dissatisfaction on many occasions, and that Jabez Ford, with imperturbable good humour, had listened to his strictures, regretted his opinions, and assured him of his mistakes. At least Vivian determined that he would not leave the overseer in any uncertainty. He had failed to find a trustworthy and experienced man to take Ford’s place in Tobago; but he doubted not that such a man might be forthcoming at Barbados. Letters would reach him there from his father, and those letters Henry believed would grant him powers to dismiss Jabez Ford and appoint another overseer. He might, indeed, have to return to Tobago before leaving the West Indies. At anyrate, on the following day Ford was to lunch with Vivian on shipboard before the steamer sailed, and then Henry determined that the overseer should hear the truth, in order that he might make preparations for his departure from the Pelican Estate.

While the traveller thus decided, Jabez Ford was engaged upon a communication to Sir Reginald; and it was this letter, and not his employer’s son, that the overseer intended should travel homeward in two days’ time.

The fireflies danced across the velvet darkness of night; strange sounds of frogs echoed in the marshes, and sheet lightning sometimes outlined the dark heads of the palms as Jabez wrote. Now he sipped his grog; now he turned his cigar in his mouth; now he listened to the footfall of his guest on the floor above. Vivian was whistling “Widecombe Fair.” Already he wearied of the tropics and began to yearn for a sight of home.

Mr Jabez Ford tapped away at his typewriter and described with many an artistic and graphic touch events that had not yet happened. He told how Henry Vivian accompanied him to the abode of the old negro, Jesse Hagan; how, after inspecting the Obi Man’s mysteries, the visitor had ridden off alone to return to the Pelican Sugar Estate; how he had not come back, and how, protracted search being made, his clothes were discovered upon the seashore, while a single row of naked footprints were also observed leading from them to the sea. He added that young Vivian’s custom was to bathe twice daily, and that on more than one occasion, disregarding warnings, he had swum in the open water instead of behind the protections of the regular bathing-place. Mr Ford left it to the sorrowing father to guess what must have happened in those shark-haunted waters. He concluded with haste to catch the mail. He promised to write again as soon as possible, and to send a message by cable if any hopeful news might be despatched.

Then, well pleased with the effort, he slept, and presently woke again refreshed to make his story good.

Soon after noon Vivian and the overseer rode together by the steep forest path to Jesse’s lofty haunt, and the Obi Man in expectation prepared himself. Daniel Sweetland had vanished. Only an attendant negro waited on the master of the mysteries. All being arranged to Jesse’s satisfaction, the ancient man disappeared into an inner sanctum behind a curtain, and there completed his own horrible toilet. Upon his head he placed a fur cap with long black horns sprouting out of it, and over his lean carcase he drew hairy garments daubed with white and scarlet paint. These things were girt about his waist with a belt of feathers of the king-bird—a tropic fowl of gorgeous plumage. His arms remained bare, but to his wrists and ankles he fastened strips of lizard skin and hung bracelets of rattling seeds. About his neck he placed a chain of human teeth, and upon his breast for a loathsome amulet, the shrivelled-up mummy of a monkey hung. He next painted sundry blue hieroglyphics over his wrinkled face, and then gazed with unqualified pleasure at the general effect seen in a scrap of looking-glass.

“Obi somebody dis day!” said Jesse as he marched out into the daylight; and if he looked unearthly in the gloom of his own den, the display in full blaze of sunshine was still more terrific. He pranced hither and thither for his servant’s benefit. He jingled and clashed and flamed. His fantastic adornments glittered in the light; strange treasures, unseen until now, appeared amongst his accoutrements. A brass-bound Bible hung round his neck with a big jack-knife; upon his knees a pair of old naval epaulettes were fastened. The ghastly thing on his breast had yellow beads stuck into its head for eyes, and now they flashed with a sort of life, whilst its little mummied arms clung about Jesse and seemed to hug him.