Quaco Turned Myal-Man.
To Herbert Vaughan it was a moment of tumultuous emotions—joy springing up in the midst of utter woe. That his cousin still breathed he could not doubt; that she lived he was only too ready to believe. Though mystified beyond measure by what appeared the perfect semblance of death, the words of Quaco had given him some clue to a remarkable mystery—at the same time inspiring him with the belief that in that motionless form the soul was yet present. Her breathing upon the mirror had made him sure of it.
The mystery to which Quaco’s speeches had introduced him was that of myalism. In this the Maroon lieutenant claimed to have skill almost equalling the regular professors of the art. In addition to being Cubina’s deputy on all important occasions, Quaco was the doctor of the band; and in his medical experience he had picked up some knowledge of the system of Obeah—more especially of the trick by which, in the belief of the ignorant, a dead body can be brought to life again—that dread secret of the Coromantee charlatan, known in the West Indies as myalism.
“Only a sleep-spell,” said Quaco, still continuing his search; “nothin’ more than that—a draught given her by the myal-doctor. I know it well enough; and I knows what’ll make all right again; though ’ithout that she’d come to of herself. A-ha! hyar it is! hyar’s the anecdote!”
A small bottle glistened between his fingers; which in another instant was uncorked and brought in contact with his nostrils.
“Yes, dis is the stuff that’s a-goin’ to countrack that spell. In ’less ’n ten minutes’ time you see her wake up, brisk as ebber she been in her life. Now, young master, if you jess hold up the young lady’s head while I spill a drop or two down her throat—It must go down to do her good.”
Herbert, with joyful willingness, obeyed the request; and the beautiful head once more received the support of his arm.
Quaco, with all the gentleness of which his huge, coarse fingers were capable, parted the pale lips; and, inserting the neck of the phial, poured out a portion of its contents into the mouth of the sleeper. This done, he held the bottle for some minutes to her nostrils; and then, laying it aside, he commenced chafing her hands between his own broad, corrugated palms.
With heart wildly beating, and eyes alternately scanning the face of Quaco and the countenance of the silent sleeper, Herbert made no effort to conceal his terrible solicitude.
It would have been far more terrible, but for the confident manner of the negro, and the triumphant tone in which he predicted the result.