To sleep under a tree, or on one, was no new thing for Cubina. It would never occur to him to consider such a couch as inconvenient. In his hog-hunting excursions—often continuing for days and even weeks—he was accustomed to repose upon the cold ground—upon the swirl of withered leaves—upon the naked rock—anywhere. Not much did it matter to a Maroon to be sheltered by a roof—not much, whether a tree shadowed his slumbers, or whether on his grassy couch she saw shining over him the starry canopy of the sky. These were but the circumstances of his every-day life.
Having come to the conclusion that his best plan would be to pass the remaining hours of the night under the ceiba, he made no further delay by the Duppy’s Hole; but turning into the path that led down the slope he proceeded back towards the glade.
He moved down the mountain road, slowly, and with some degree of circumspection. He went slowly, because there was no need for haste. It would be several hours before the young Englishman should be abroad. As already stated, a little after sunrise was the time agreed upon, through the messenger Quaco. There was no particular reason for Cubina’s being in a hurry to get to the glade—unless he wished to have more time for his nap under the tree.
For sleep, however, he had but little relish just then. Wild thoughts, consequent on the strange disclosures he had listened to, were passing through his mind; and these were sufficient to deprive him even of the power of sleep.
He moved onward with circumspection from a different motive. He knew that Jessuron, in returning to his penn, must have taken the same path. Should the latter be loitering—since he had only started but a few minutes before—Cubina might overtake him; and he had no wish to see any more of the Jew for that night—or, at all events, to be himself seen by the latter. To avoid all chance of an encounter, he stopped at intervals, and reconnoitred the wood ahead of him.
He arrived in the glade without seeing either Jew, Christian, or living being of any kind. The penn-keeper had passed through a good while before. Cubina could tell this by an observation which he made on coming out into the open ground. A mock-bird, perched on a low tree that stood directly by the path, was singing with all its might. The Maroon had heard its melody long before entering the glade. Had any one passed recently, the bird would have forsaken its perch—as it did on the approach of Cubina himself.
On reaching the rendezvous, his first concern was to kindle a fire. Sleep in a wet shirt was not to be thought of; and every stitch upon his body had been soaked in swimming the lagoon. Otherwise, it would not have mattered about a fire. He had nothing to cook upon it; nor was he hungry—having already eaten his supper.
Kindled by a woodman’s skill, a fire soon blazed up; and the hunter stood erect beside it, turning himself at intervals to dry his garments, still dripping with water.
He was soon smoking all over, like freshly-slaked lime; and, in order to pass the time more pleasantly, he commenced smoking in another sense—the nicotian—his pipe and tobacco-pouch affording him an opportunity for this indulgence.
Possibly the nicotine may have stimulated his reflective powers: for he had not taken more than a dozen puffs at his pipe, when a sudden and somewhat uneasy movement seemed to say that some new reflection had occurred to him. Simultaneous with the movement, a muttered soliloquy escaped from his lips.