 | BOOK V. Lafitte |  |
1. BOOK V.
1. CHAPTER I.
“Formerly, the influence of Obeah priestesses was very great over
the negroes. Hundreds have died from the mere terror of being under
the ban of Obeah. This is evidently a practise of oriental origin. Its
influence over the negroes some twenty or thirty years ago, was almost
incredible. The fetish, is the African divinity, invoked by the negroes
in the practice of Obeah.”
Madden's West Indies.
BRIDAL PREPARATION—AN OBEAH SORCERESS—SCENE AT THE HUT.
The events connected with our romance, naturally
divide themselves into several distinct parts,
which we have denominated books. Pursuing this
division, we now open our fifth and last book, which,
like the last act of a drama, contains the key to unlock
all the mysteries of the preceding the sagacious
reader has not already anticipated, dissipating the
darkness, and shedding the sunshine of an unveiled
denouément over the whole.
The evening of the day on which Count D'Oyley
and the fair Castillian, with whom he had escaped
from the rendezvous of the buccaneer after a warm
pursuit on the part of Lafitte, were taken up by his
own frigate, Le Sultan, in the channel of St. Marc's
—a stately ship arrayed in the apparel of war,
sailed, with majestic motion, into the bay of Gonzaves.
The flag of France waved over her quarter deck,
and a long tier of guns bristled from each side.
Her course was directly for the narrow pass between
the two parallel ridges of rocks, which formed
a communication from the sea, with the pirate's
grotto. An hour after she hove in sight at the
southward, she had breasted the pass, and anchored
in deep water, within a few fathoms of the outermost
rock terminating the passage.
On gaining the deck of his frigate, the count, after
attending to the comfort of the wearied Constanza,
had hastily replied to the questions of his astonished
officer; and informing them of his separation
from the tender, which had not been heard of, he
briefly recounted his adventures, and then issued
orders for proceeding directly to the cavern, and
demolishing the rendezvous of the pirates, by spiking
their guns and otherwise rendering it untenable
as a fortified place. It was the frigate, Le Sultan,
we have seen drop her anchor the same evening,
abreast of the cavern.
The setting sun flung his red beams across the
level waters of the bay, and the winds were dying
away with the fading of the sun-light, as Constanza
—the crimson rays of the sun tinging her brow with
a rich glow—leaned from the cabin window, and
with a calm and thoughtful countenance, gazed upon
the evening sky, its purple palaces of clouds—
its winged creatures, and its mountains of gold and
emerald. Her dreams—for although her eyes were
fixed upon the gorgeous west, she was wrapped
in a dreamy reverie of the past—were of her
happy childhood—her paternal home near the imperial
city of Montezuma—her aged father—his death,
and the various scenes through which she had passed.
The character of Lafitte—his crimes and his
virtues, and the kindness and noble nature of Theodore;
her capture and escape, all floated through
“And am I at last happy?” she said, half inquiringly.
“Oh! that my poor father were here to
share my happiness! Can it be true that this is not
a dream? Am I indeed free, and is D'Oyley indeed
here?”
“Here! my sweet Constanza, and folding you in
his arms;” said the count, who had entered the
state room unperceived, “here! to make you happy,
and terminate your sufferings.” Constanza leaned
her cheek upon his shoulder, and with one arm encircling
his neck, looked up into his face with the
artless confidence of a child, while her features became
radiant with joy. But she spoke not—her
happiness was too great for utterance. For a few
moments he lingered in this pure embrace, and then
breathed into her ear:—
“When, dearest one, shall D'Oyley become your
protector? Tell me now, while I hold you thus!”
and he clasped her closer to his heart.
She replied not, and the rich blood mantled her
brow, rivaling the crimson sun-glow which delicately
suffused it. Her lips moved inaudibly, and
her lover felt the small hand he held, tremble like
an imprisoned dove within his own.
“Say, Constanza, my love! this evening shall it
be? shall the chaplain of the frigate unite us this
very hour? Refuse me not this request!” he continued
ardently.
She pressed his hand, and looked up into his face
with her large black eyes full of confidence and love,
whose eloquent expression spoke a deeper and more
befitting language than words could convey.
“Bless you, my sweet angel!” he exclaimed,
reading with a lover's skill the language of her
speaking eyes; and their lips were united in that
pure, first kiss of love, whose raptures to mortals
never known but once.
The count ascended to the deck to complete the
preparations for his expedition against the rock.
From his knowledge of the pass and mode of access
to the cave, he determined to conduct the expedition
himself.
It was his intention merely to proceed to the
cavern, and leaving his men under the command
of one of his lieutenants, return to the frigate and
be united to the fair maiden, whom from her childhood,
when he first saw her, the pride of her father's
eye, and the idol of his household, while on a diplomatic
mission to Mexico, he had admired, whilst
her image lived, fondly cherished, in his memory.
In after years, when the old Castilian became an
exile, he sought him out in his retired villa in Jamaica.
But a few weeks before it was attacked by
the pirates, he had renewed that admiration, which
a few days beneath the same roof with the fair girl,
ripened into love. For a few short weeks he left
her for the purpose of cruising in the neighborhood
of Carthagena, to return, and find the villa a scene
of desolation, the venerable parent lying a corpse in
his own house, which was filled with armed soldiery,
and the daughter, his beloved Constanza, carried
off, no one could tell whither, by the daring
buccaneer.
In one hour more, their scenes of danger and trial
passed, they hoped for ever, he was to fold her to
his heart, his wedded bride! This hope filled his
bosom with ecstacy, as with an elastic step and joyous
eye he ascended to the deck.
The boats were already along side and manned;
and delaying a moment, to repeat his instructions to
the chaplain in relation to the approaching ceremony,
and commending Constanza to the watchful attention
more, to embrace her and assure her of his speedy
return.
“Why must you go, dearest D'Oyley?” she inquired
pleadingly, “I cannot trust you in that fearful
cave again.”
“I shall not stay, my love; I alone can conduct
the expedition, which the safety of these seas renders
it necessary should be undertaken.”
“But you will quickly return?” she inquired, detaining
him.
“Before Venus hovering in the rosy west,” he
said, pointing to that lowly planet, shining low in the
western sky like a lesser moon, “shall wet her silver
slipper in the sea, will I return to you.”
The next moment, he was standing in the stern
of the boat, which, propelled by twelve oars, moved
steadily and swiftly up the rocky passage to the
cave.
About a quarter of a mile to the south of the grotto
occupied by the buccaneers, extended from the
cliff a narrow tongue of land, strewn with loose gigantic
rocks. This tongue, connected by rocks and
sand bars, with one of the parallel ridges confining
the passage from the sea to the cave, formed the
southern and eastern boundary of the basin, or lagoon,
often before alluded to. Near its junction
with the rocks of the pass, it spread out into a level
flat, covered with long grass. It was half buried
at noon day in shadow, cast by the rocks which
overhung it on every side, but that opening to the
water. In this direction the sea was visible through
a narrow gap, a few yards in width.
In the back part of this area, whose surface was
rather less than an acre and a half, hid by a projecting
rock, which formed its roof, stood a rude hut
made of cane branches and bamboo leaves interlaid.
A single door facing the sea, was the only
blue smoke curling up its face indicated it to be.
The sun just setting, reddened with his fiery beams
the hideous features of an old decrepid hag, with a
sunken eye full of malignity, toothless jaws, grizzly
wool, long and tangled, and squallid figure bent
nearly double with age and infirmity. It was Oula,
and the rude hut, her habitation.
She was an aged African sybil, a degenerate
priestess of the terrible deity, fetish or the Obeah.
Through her incantations, charms, amulets and prophecies,
besides her skill in foretelling evil tidings,
and her accuracy in giving the fortunes of her deluded
votaries, which were usually of her own hue,
her name was widely extended.
Occasionally there would be some of a paler
complexion from among the buccaneers, from time
to time resorting to the grotto, who sometimes
honoured her art by seeking of her knowledge of
their future destinies.
As she squatted in the door of her hut, her eye
was fixed upon the advancing frigate, though she
watched its approach with apparent indifference.
As the ship lessening her sail, finally dropped her
anchor within half a mile of her wild abode, her features
gave indication of interest.
“Quacha!” she called in a low harsh voice, as
the ship swung to her anchor.
At the sound of her voice, a little deformed negro,
whose size indicated extreme youth, but whose
large features, and the lines of sagacity and cunning
drawn in his face, showed that he had seen
many years, perhaps one-third of the number his
mother, for in this relation she stood to him, herself
counted, stood before her. His head was large,
and covered with long, strait, shaggy hair, which fell
in thick masses over his eyes. It was the head of an
child.
“Hoh, mummy!” he replied, as he emerged from
the hut where he had been lying, with his head
among the ashes, with which he was cooking their
evening meal.
“Did you sa' dat Spanis' Martinez, come down
in boat' day, Hugh?” she inquired, without turning
her head.
“'Es ol' mum.”
“Wat I tell'er 'bout nebber call me ol', you debbles'
brat,” she said, in a loud angry voice, and aiming
a blow at his head, with a long staff she held
in her hand, which he from much practice, dexterously
evaded, and improving his phraseology, replied—
“'Es, mummy.”
“Wat he come for, Quacha?”
“Quacha don't know, mummy. He sa' he come
see de ol' Obi.”
“Ol' Obi! he say dat?” she said, muttering; “I'll
ol' Obi him, wit his black Spannis fas.”
“Hoh! here he come hesef, mummy,” exclaimed
the hope and promise of the old beldame; and
the athletic, finely moulded figure of the young
Spaniard emerged from a path, which, winding
among the rocks, led to the main land, and stood
before them.
“Good even to you, Oula,” he said, with an air
in which superstitious reverence struggled with incredulity
and an inclination to jest with the mysterious
being, whose supernatural aid he sought.
“Oula is't, an' god een,” she growled. “Well,
that's better nor ol' Obi,” she said, without turning
her eyes from the frigate. “You needn't 'spose
any thing's hid from Oula. Wat for is she Obi, if
not to know ebery ting.”
“Now be at peace, Oula, and harm me not with
you. Listen! do you know the music of this
gold?” he asked, shaking several gold pieces in his
hand—“I have brought it to give you, Oula.”
The eyes of the negress sparkled as she stretched
forth her bony arm, to grasp the coin, which he
resigned to her greedy clutch.
“Wat want for dese, Martinez? Sall Oula Obi
you en'my, show you de prize-ship, or find de white
breast buckra missy for you,” she said, as slowly
and carefully she told the money from one hand into
the other.
The Spaniard approached her, and said, with
emphasis—“The last, Oula! Serve me, and you
shall have five times the coin you clasp so tightly
there.”
“Come in, come in, Martinez,” said she, rising
upon her staff, and hobbling into the hut. Obi can
do nothin' wid de fire-stars, looking down so bright.”
With a paler brow and flatering step, he entered
the gloomy hut, half filled with smoke, and hot
and filthy, from the fumes of tobacco, and nauseous
herbs, drying in the chimney, which was built of
loose stones.
Closing the door, after commanding Quacha to
stay without and watch against intrusion, she pointed
Martinez to a seat upon a fragment of rock, and
bidding him turn his back and preserve the strictest
silence till she spoke, she commenced her mysterious
preparations.
Baring her shrivelled arms and scraggy neck,
she passed her long fingers through her tangled
hair till it stood out from her head like the quills of
a porcupine. Then taking from a box by the fire-place,
a tiara, or head-dress, formed of innumerable
stuffed water-snakes, curiously interwoven, so that
their heads were all turned outward, forming in the
eye of her credulous devotee, a formidable and terrific
her dishrivelled locks—a second Medusa.
From the same repository which used to contain
her materials for practising Obeah, she drew
forth a necklace, strung with the claws and teeth
of cats, the fangs of serpents and the teeth of
hanged men, which, with great solemnity of manner,
she passed three times around her neck. To
this, she suspended a little red bag, filled with grave
dirt, and tied up with the hair of a murdered woman.
Bracelets, of similar materials of the necklace,
with the addition of the beak of a parrot, which
had been taught to speak the three magic names of
Fetish, ornamented her arms. Encircling her
waist with an enormous green and black serpent,
she tied it by the head and tail, leaving them to
dangle before her.
Then oiling her face, arms, neck, and breast, she
dipped her finger into a basin of water which stood
upon the box, muttering mean while, words unintelligible
to the Spaniard. Taking an iron pot,
she placed it, with great solemnity, in the back
part of the hut, leaving room to pass between it and
the wall.
These preparations completed with great show
of ceremony, she took from a branch upon which
it lay, a long slender human bone, and stirred the
fire with its charred end. Laying this aside, she
took from the same place, a skeleton hand, the
joints retained in their places by wires, with which
she took up a live coal, and placed it under the pot.
After several coals were transferred from the fire
place, in this manner, she got down upon her knees,
before the fire, she had thus kindled under the
pot, and began to blow it until it blazed.
Then rising and hobbling to the fire-place, she slipped
a slide which had once belonged to a binnacle
case, and reaching her hand into the cavity, drew
from long, and careful keeping.
This bird, held sacred in all Obeah rites, the old
sorceress placed over the coals, upon a roost which
she had constructed of three human bones, two placed
upright, and one laid on them horizontally.
These mysterious preparations completed, she
walked three times round the cauldron, working, as
she moved, her features into the most passionate
contortions, so that when she stopped on completing
her round, her face was more demoniac than
human in its aspect and expression. In a shrill,
startling voice she then addressed her votary.
“Rise, buckra, look; no speak!”
The Spaniard had witnessed with feelings of dismay
which he could not subdue, all the ominous
preparations we have described, reflected in a small
broken mirror which he was made purposely by her
to face, that by its imperfect representation the reality
might be exaggerated by her visiters, and their
fears acted upon, better to prepare them for her
purpose.
As she spoke, he stood up and turned with a wild
look, while his hand voluntarily grasped the hilt of
his cutlass. The distorted features of the beldam,
and her strange ornaments and appalling preparations
met his superstitious eye. She allowed him
to survey the scene before him for a moment, and
then commenced chanting in rude improvisatore:
Ax of Fetish for you do?
If you b'lieve dat Fetish know
Ebery ting abub, below—
Den you hab all dat you seek,
Walk dree times roun', den buckra speak.”
leaped with almost supernatural activity three times
around the pot, drawing him after her with reluctant
she paused, and taking an earthen vessel from the
box, she commenced dancing round the fire, commanding
him to follow, dropping as she whirled,
something she took from it into the iron vessel, the
while chanting in a rude measure;—
Fetish lub dis much!
Here de hair from off de cat
Dat knaw de nails,
Eat out de eyes,
Dat drink de blood
Ob dead man.
Here de poison for de friend!
Fetish lub dis too!
Here de trouble for de foe!
Here de egg ob poison snake—
Here de head ob speckle cock—
Here de blood, and here de dirt
From de coffin, from de grave
Of murdered 'ooman an' her babe.”
language unknown to the Spaniard, and still grasping
both of his hands, she whirled with him around
the cauldron. Suddenly stopping, after many rapid
revolutions during which her body writhed in convulsions,
while the astonished and paralyzed victim
of his own superstition, yielded passively to the
strange rites in which he was now an unwilling actor,
she again commenced her monotonous chant,
in the same wild and shrill tone of voice:
Perfect make de Obeah art;
Buckra's wish will den be grant,
An' Fetish gib him dat he want.”
“What mean you, Oula?” he inquired, as the
Obeah priestess drew a long knife from her girdle
and held the earthen vessel in the other hand. She
replied, while her eyes darkened with malignity and
her features grew more haggard and hideous:
Den his blood mus' fill dis dish;
Middle finger—middle vein,
Blood from dat will gib no pain—
In de kittle it shall mix,
Wid hangman's bones for stirring sticks!
Now buckra Spaniard, wat's dy will?
Speak! dy wis' to Oula, tell.”
his own quailed, full upon her votary.
The Spaniard, who had sought her in the full belief
of her supernatural powers, to solicit her aid in
the accomplishment of his object, was wholly unprepared
for the scenes—of magnitude, to one of
his tone of mind—which he had passed through.
It was several moments before he recovered his
self-possession, and then an impulse to withdraw his
application, rather than pursue his object, influenced
him. But after a moment's reflection, and recollection
of the object he sought in this visit to her,
he summoned resolution, and replied with a hoarse
voice, while he looked about him suspiciously, as if
fearful of being overheard,
“Oula, there is a maiden beautiful as the
moon! I love her—but she would scorn me if I
wooed her, and she is also betrothed to another.
He was my prisoner—I brought him to this
island and imprisoned him to await our captain's
arrival. The next day, before my vessel sailed
again, she was brought in a prisoner. I bribed my
captain, and lingered behind in disguise, that I
might see her, of whom I had heard so much. I
at length had a glimpse of her from the opening in
the top of the cave, and when I saw her—I loved
her.
“Loved her to marry, Martinez?” she said, with
an ironical grin.
“I said not so,” replied the Spaniard, quickly.
gain the part of the grotto she occupied, and arranged
my plan; but Lafitte returned, and the next day
I would have effected it, but they the last night escaped,
she and her lover, and I have all the day been
planning some way to obtain her. This evening as
I was sitting by the cave, cursing my fate and
thinking perhaps I should never see her more—
yonder frigate hove in sight. I took a glass and
watched her until she dropped her anchor—and
whom think you I saw upon her deck?”
“The buckra lady?”
“The same—I knew her by her form and air.
She leaned upon the arm of my late prisoner, who
is, no doubt, commander of the ship.”
“What you want done?” she inquired, as he abruptly
paused.
“I would possess her,” he replied warmly; “now
good Oula, fulfil your boasted promise,” he added
eagerly, as his dark eye flashed with hope and passion.
“It hard business—but Fetish he do ebery ting—
you 'bleive dat, buckra Martinez,” she added, fixing
her blood-shot and suspicious eye upon him.
“All, every thing, only give me power to accomplish
my desires,” he exclaimed, impatiently.
“Dat you sall hab,” she replied, seizing his arm;
“hol you lef arm—dat next de heart's blood,” she
cried, chanting,
Firs' mus' part,
'Fore Fetish
Grant you wish.”
With revolting gestures, and brandishing her
glistening knife, she danced around him, then fastening
her long fingers upon his hand, she continued,
Blood must flow, you' end to gain.”
When the Spaniard, after a struggle between apprehension
and fear of failing in his object, and of
danger to himself, made up his mind to go through
the ordeal, though resolved to watch her so that she
should inflict no severe wound upon his hand, the
voice of the old beldam's son was heard at the door
in altercation with some one in the possession of a
voice no less discordant than his own.
The Obeah surprised in the middle of her orgies
in a shrill angry voice, demanded the cause of this
interruption.
“It is Cudjoe, mummy—he want see ol' Obi, he
sa'.”
“Maldicho!” exclaimed the Spaniard, “it were
as much as my head is worth for Lafitte's slave to
find me here, when I should be at sea. “Is there
no outlet?” he inquired, hastily.
“No—but here be de deep hole,” she said, removing
some branches and old clothing—this will
hide you. He mus come in, or he brak in,” she
added, as Cudjoe's anxiety to enter grew more obvious
by his loud demand for admittance, and his
repeated heavy blows against the door.
The Spaniard, not in a situation to choose his
place of concealment, let himself down into the hole,
which formed her larder and store-room, and seating
himself upon a cask, was immediately covered over
with branches and blankets.
“What for such rackett, you Coromantee nigger
—break in lone 'oomans house af'er dark,” she
grumbled with much apparent displeasure, as taking
a lighted brand in her hand, she unbarred the frail
door.
At the sight of her strange attire and wild appearance,
increased by the flame of the burning
brand she held, alternately flashing redly upon her
back with an exclamation of terror. The old sorceress,
who with a strange but common delusion,
believed that she possessed the power for which
the credulous gave her credit—having deceived
others so long, that she ultimately deceived herself
—enjoyed his surprise, feeling it a compliment to
her art, and received character, as one of the terrible
priestesses of Fetish.
“Hugh! Coromantee,” she said, “if you start
dat away, at Oula, wat tinky you do, you see Fetish?
What you want dis time?” she inquired, abruptly.
“What for you no wid you massa Lafitte?”
“Him sail way af'er de prisoners dat get way
las night, and leave Cudjoe sleep in de cave like a
col' dead nigger, and know noffin.”
“Gi me! well what for you come 'sturb Oula—
you no 'fraid she obi you?”
“Oh Gar Armighty! good Oula, nigger! dont
put de finger on me. Cudjoe come for Obi,” exclaimed
the slave in alarm.
“Obi can do nottin without music ob de gold,”
she said, mechanically extending her hand.
“Cudjoe know dat true well 'nuff,” he replied,
taking several coins of copper, silver, and gold,
from the profound depth of his pocket, in which almost
every article of small size missing in the vessel
in which he sailed, always found a snug berth.
Giving her the money, which she counted with
an air somewhat less satisfied than that she wore
when telling the weightier coin of the Spaniard,
she invited him into her hut.
Casting his eyes around the gloomy apartment
with awe, he at last rested his gaze upon the white
cock which still reposed upon his roost of human
bones. Gradually, as he looked, and became more
familiar with the gloom of the interior, his eye dilated
with superstitious fear, and without removing it
on the other, the while rapidly repeating some heathenish
form of adjuration, and then fell prostrate,
with his face to the damp earth.
For a moment, he remained in this attitude of
worship, in which fear predominated over devotion,
when the voice of Oula aroused him.
“Dat good—Obeah like dat. Now what you
want Cudjoe? be quick wid your word, coz I hab
much bus'ness to do jus dis time.”
“Cudjoe want revenge ob hell!” replied the slave
rising to his knees, his features at once changing
to a fiendish expression, in faithful keeping with his
wish.
“Bon Gui! Who harm you now, Coromantee?”
she inquired in a tone of sympathy, gratified at
meeting a spirit and feelings kindred with her own.
“Debble! Who?” he said fiercely, “more dan
de fingers on dese two han'!”
“What dare name?” she inquired. “Obeah mus'
know de name.”
Here the slave, who never forgave an insult elicited
by his personal deformities, recapitulated the
injuries he imagined he had suffered from this cause,
while the old beldam gave a willing ear, forgetting
in her participation of his feelings, her first visiter,
who impatiently awaited the termination of this interview.
And as he heard his own name in the catalogue
of vengeance repeated by the slave, he muttered
within his teeth, that the slave should rue the
hour he sought the Obeah's skill.
“Gi me!” she exclaimed, as he ended. “All
dese you want hab me gib obi! Hugh! what nice
picking for de jonny crows dey make. But dare
mus' be more gold. Hough! hoh! hoh!” she
laughed, or rather croaked. “Gah me! what plenty
dead men! Well, you be de good cus'omer, if you
be de Coromantee nigger!”
“Will de obi be set for dem all?” he impatiently
inquired.
“Dare mus' be two tree tings done fus; you mus'
take de fetish in de fus place,” she said, going to
her box and taking from it an ebony idol carved into
many grotesque variations of the human form.
“Here is de great Fetish,” she continued; “now
put you right han' on de head ob dis white bird,
while I hol' dis fetish to you lips. Dare,” she continued,
as he tremblingly assumed the required position
and manner, “dare, now swear you b'leve
wat I speak—
Fetish he be black—debil he be white,
Sun he make for nigger,—for buckra is mak de night.
her the form of an Obeah oath, administered only to
those of her own race and religion. One or two
other similar ceremonies were performed, when
she suddenly exclaimed, “Dare I hab it—how de
debble, no tink sooner?”
“Coromantee,” she said abruptly—“dare is one
ting more mus' be done, or Fetish do noffin' and
Obeah no be good.”
The slave looked at her inquiringly, and she continued:
“Dare mus' be de blood from de heart ob a
white breas' lady, to dip de wing ob de white bird
in. You mus' get de lady; she mus' be young,
hab black eye, an' nebber hab de husban'. Do dis,
an' you sall hab you wish.”
The slave's countenance fell, as he heard the announcement
suggested by her practised subtlety.
“Dare was a white lady,” he replied, “in de
schooner, but she gone—oh gar! it take debble time
to do dis;” he said with an air of disappointment.
“Mus' de great Fetish hab one?” he inquired anxiously.
“He mus', he do noffin widout;” she replied determinedly.
The slave stood lamenting the loss of his anticipated
revenge, when she inquired if he saw the frigate
that dropped her anchor half an hour before, off
the pass. On his replying in the affirmative, she
said, “dare is a lady board dat ship, may serve de
purpose. As de ship was swung roun', I see her in
de window on de stern.”
The eyes of the slave lighted up at this intelligence.
“Wat frigate is dat Oula?”
“I don' know,” she replied; fearing if the slave
knew the lady to be the Castillian his master had
protected, he would decline the enterprise upon
which she was about sending him.
“No matter 'bout de ship,” she replied, “de lady
dare. De stern lie close to de rocks; you can go
out to de end ob de passage, and den swim under
de stern—climb up de rudder, or some way into de
window an' take her off before dey can catch you
in de dark. You hear dis—now wat you say?”
The slave, without replying, darted through the
door, and before the old woman could gain the outside,
to warn him to be cautious, his retreating form,
as he ran rapidly along the rocky ridge in the direction
of the frigate, was lost to her eye.
| BOOK V. Lafitte | |