It was a very stout and very short man—a species of dwarf—whose face was entirely concealed by a white veil, pierced with three holes for the eyes and mouth. The veil hung down to his shoulders, and displayed a hairy, copper-hued breast, upon which was hung by a golden chain the mutilated sun of a monstrance.
The cross-hilt of a heavy dagger peeped from a scarlet belt, which also supported a kind of petticoat striped with green, yellow, and black, the hem of which hung down to his large and ill-shaped feet.
His arms, like his breast, were bare; he carried a white staff, and a rosary of amber beads was suspended from his belt, in close proximity to the handle of his dagger. His head was surmounted by a pointed cap adorned with bells, and when he came close I was not surprised in recognizing in it the gorra of Habibrah; and amongst the hieroglyphics with which it was covered, I could see many spots of gore: without doubt, it was the blood of the faithful fool. These bloodstains gave me fresh proofs of his death, and awakened in me once again a fresh feeling of regret for his loss.
Directly the griotes recognized the wearer of Habibrah’s cap, they cried out all at once, “The Obi,” and prostrated themselves before him. I guessed at once that this was a sorcerer attached to Biassou’s force.
“Basta, basta” (“enough”), said he, in a grave and solemn voice, as he came close up to them. “Devais el prisonero de Biassou” (“Let the prisoner be taken to Biassou”).
All the negresses leapt to their feet and cast their implements of torture on one side, put on their aprons, and, at a gesture of the Obi, fled like a cloud of grasshoppers.
At this instant the glance of the Obi fell upon me. He started back a pace, and half waved his white staff in the direction of the retiring griotes, as if he wished to recall them; then, muttering between his teeth the word “Maldicho” (“accursed”), he whispered a few words in the ear of the negro, and, crossing his arms, retired slowly, apparently buried in deep thought.
CHAPTER XXIV.
My captor informed me that Biassou had asked to see me, and that in an hour I should be brought before him. This, I calculated, gave me another hour in which to live. Until that time had elapsed, I allowed my glances to wander over the rebel camp, the singular appearance of which the daylight permitted me to observe. Had I been in any other position, I should have laughed heartily at the ostentatious vanity of the negroes, who were nearly all decked out in fragments of clerical and military dress, the spoils of their victims. The greater portion of these ornaments were not new, consisting of torn and blood-stained rags. A gorget could often be seen shining over a stole, whilst an epaulet looked strange when contrasted with a chasuble.
To make amends for former years of toil, the negroes remained in a state of utter inaction: some of them slept exposed to the rays of the sun, their heads close to a burning fire; others, with eyes that were sometimes full of listlessness, and at others blazed with fury, sat chanting a monotonous air at the doors of their ajoupas—a species of hut with conical roofs somewhat resembling our artillery tents, but thatched with palm or banana leaves.