“There is a member of your suite here, your honour, asking for you. It is of most grave importance. It is urgent. What shall I say?”
“Say nothing. I am coming,” said the governor. “I am coming now.”
CHAPTER XX. OUT OF THE HANDS OF THE PHILISTINES
That night the Maroons broke loose upon Jamaica, and began murder and depredation against which the governor’s activities were no check. Estates were invaded, and men, women and children killed, or carried into the mountains and held as hostages. In the middle and western part of the island the ruinous movements went on without being stayed; planters and people generally railed at the governor, and said that through his neglect these dark things were happening. It was said he had failed to punish offences by the Maroons, and this had given them confidence, filling them with defiance. They had one advantage not possessed by the government troops and militia—they were masters of every square rod of land in the middle and west of the island. Their plan was to raid, to ambush, to kill and to excite the slaves to rebel.
The first assault and repulse took place not far from Enniskillen, Dyck Calhoun’s plantation, and Michael Clones captured a Maroon who was slightly wounded.
Michael challenged him thus: “Come now, my blitherin’ friend, tell us your trouble—why are you risin’? You don’t do this without cause—what’s the cause?”
The black man, naked except for a cloth about his loins, and with a small bag at his hip, slung from a cord over his shoulder, showed his teeth in a stark grimace.
“You’re a newcomer here, massa, or you’d know we’re treated bad,” he answered. “We’re robbed and trod on and there’s no word kept with us. We asked the governor for more land and he moved us off. We warned him against having one of our head young men flogged by a slave in the presence of slaves—for we are free men, and he laughs. So, knowing a few strong men can bring many weak men to their knees, we rose. I say this—there’s plenty weak men in Jamaica, men who don’t know right when they see it. So we rose, massa, and we’ll make Jamaica sick before we’ve done. They can’t beat us, for we can ambush here, and shoot those that come after us. We hide, one behind this rock and one behind that, two or three together, and we’re safe. But the white soldiers come all together and beat drums and blow horns, and we know where they are, and so we catch ‘em and kill ‘em. You’ll see, we’ll capture captains and generals, and we’ll cut their heads off and bury them in their own guts.”
He made an ugly grimace, and a loathsome gesture, and Michael Clones felt the man ought to die. He half drew his sword, but, thinking better of it, he took the Maroon to the Castle and locked him up in a slave’s hut, having first bound him and put him in the charge of one he could trust. But as he put the man away, he said: