Tracks Of A Rolling Stone by Henry J. Coke (free e reader txt) 📖

Chapter 16 Pg 89

At Once Tragic And Comic.  His Medicine Had To Be

Administered Every,  Two Hours.  Each Time,  He Begged And

Prayed In Lacrymose Tones To Be Let Off.  It Was Doing Him No

Good.  He Might As Well Be Allowed To Die In Peace.  If We

Would Only Spare Him The Beastliness This Once,  On His Honour

He Would Take It Next Time 'Like A Man.'  We Were Inexorable, 

Of Course,  And Treated Him Exactly As One Treats A Child.

 

At Last The Crisis Was Over.  Wonderful To Relate,  All Three

Began To Recover.  During Their Convalescence,  I Amused

Myself By Shooting Alligators In The Mangrove Swamps At

Holland Bay,  Which Was Within Half An Hour's Ride Of The

Bungalow.  It Was Curious Sport.  The Great Saurians Would

Lie Motionless In The Pools Amidst The Snake-Like Tangle Of

Mangrove Roots.  They Would Float With Just Their Eyes And

Noses Out Of Water,  But So Still That,  Without A Glass, 

(Which I Had Not,) It Was Difficult To Distinguish Their

Heads From The Countless Roots And Rotten Logs Around Them. 

If One Fired By Mistake,  The Sport Was Spoiled For An Hour To

Come.

 

I Used To Sit Watching Patiently For One Of Them To Show

Itself,  Or For Something To Disturb The Glassy Surface Of The

Dark Waters.  Overhead The Foliage Was So Dense That The Heat

Was Not Oppressive.  All Nature Seemed Asleep.  The Deathlike

Stillness Was Rarely Broken By The Faintest Sound,  - Though

Unseen Life,  Amidst The Heat And Moisture,  Was Teeming

Everywhere; Life Feeding Upon Life.  For What Purpose?  To

What End?  Is This A Primary Law Of Nature?  Does Cannibalism

Prevail In Mars?  Sometimes A Mocking-Bird Would Pipe Its

Weird Notes,  Deepening Silence By The Contrast.  But Besides

Pestilent Mosquitos,  The Only Living Things In Sight Were

Humming-Birds Of Every Hue,  Some No Bigger Than A Butterfly, 

Fluttering Over The Blossoms Of The Orchids,  Or Darting From

Flower To Flower Like Flashes Of Prismatic Rays.

 

I Killed Several Alligators; But One Day,  While Stalking What

Seemed To Be An Unusual Monster,  Narrowly Escaped An

Accident.  Under The Excitement,  My Eye Was So Intently Fixed

Upon The Object,  That I Rather Felt Than Saw My Way. 

Presently Over I Went,  Just Managed To Save My Rifle,  And,  To

My Amazement,  Found I Had Set My Foot On A Sleeping Reptile. 

Fortunately The Brute Was As Much Astonished As I Was,  And

Plunged With A Splash Into The Adjacent Pool.

 

A Cambridge Friend,  Mr. Walter Shirley,  Owned An Estate At

Trelawny,  On The Other Side Of Jamaica; While The Invalids

Were Recovering,  I Paid Him A Visit; And Was Initiated Into

The Mysteries Of Cane-Growing And Sugar-Making.  As The Great

Split Between The Northern And Southern States On The

Question Of Slavery Was Pending,  The Life,  Condition,  And

Treatment Of The Negro Was Of The Greatest Interest.  Mr.

Shirley Was A Gentleman Of Exceptional Ability,  And Full Of

Valuable Information On These Subjects.  He Passed Me On To 

Chapter 16 Pg 90

Other Plantations; And I Made The Complete Round Of The

Island Before Returning To My Comrades At Golden Grove.  A

Few Weeks Afterwards I Stayed With A Spanish Gentleman,  The

Marquis D'iznaga,  Who Owned Six Large Sugar Plantations In

Cuba; And Rode With His Son From Casilda To Cienfuegos,  From

Which Port I Got A Steamer To The Havana.  The Ride Afforded

Abundant Opportunities Of Comparing The Slave With The Free

Negro.  But,  As I Have Written On The Subject Elsewhere,  I

Will Pass To Matters More Entertaining.

 

 

 

Chapter 17 Pg 91

 

On My Arrival At The Havana I Found That Durham,  Who Was

Still An Invalid,  Had Taken Up His Quarters At Mr.

Crauford's,  The Consul-General.  Phoca,  Who Was Nearly Well

Again,  Was At The Hotel,  The Only One In The Town.  And Who

Should I Meet There But My Old Cambridge Ally,  Fred,  The Last

Lord Calthorpe.  This Event Was A Fruitful One,  - It

Determined The Plans Of Both Of Us For A Year Or More To

Come.

 

Fred - As I Shall Henceforth Call Him - Had Just Returned

From A Hunting Expedition In Texas,  With Another Sportsman

Whom He Had Accidentally Met There.  This Gentleman

Ultimately Became Of Even More Importance To Me Than My Old

Friend.  I Purposely Abstain From Giving Either His Name Or

His Profession,  For Reasons Which Will Become Obvious Enough

By-And-By; The Outward Man May Be Described.  He Stood Well

Over Six  Feet In His Socks; His Frame And Limbs Were Those

Of A Gladiator; He Could Crush A Horseshoe In One Hand; He

Had A Small Head With A Bull-Neck,  Purely Grecian Features, 

Thick Curly Hair With Crisp Beard And Silky Moustache.  He So

Closely Resembled A Marble Hercules That (As He Must Have A

Name) We Will Call Him Samson.

 

Before Fred Stumbled Upon Him,  He Had Spent A Winter Camping

Out In The Snows Of Canada,  Bear And Elk Shooting.  He Was

Six Years Or So Older Than Either Of Us - I.E. About Eight-

And-Twenty.

 

As To Fred Calthorpe,  It Would Be Difficult To Find A More

'Manly' Man.  He Was Unacquainted With Fear.  Yet His

Courage,  Though Sometimes Reckless,  Was By No Means Of The

Brute Kind.  He Did Not Run Risks Unless He Thought The Gain 

Chapter 17 Pg 92

Would Compensate Them; And No One Was More Capable Of

Weighing Consequences Than He.  His Temper Was Admirable,  His

Spirits Excellent; And For Any Enterprise Where Danger And

Hardship Were To Be Encountered Few Men Could Have Been

Better Qualified.  By The End Of A Week These Two Had Agreed

To Accompany Me Across The Rocky Mountains.

 

Before Leaving The Havana,  I Witnessed An Event Which,  Though

Disgusting In Itself,  Gives Rise To Serious Reflections. 

Every Thoughtful Reader Is Conversant Enough With Them; If, 

Therefore,  He Should Find Them Out Of Place Or Trite,  Apology

Is Needless,  As He Will Pass Them By Without The Asking.

 

The Circumstance Referred To Is A Public Execution.  Mr.

Sydney Smith,  The Vice-Consul,  Informed Me That A Criminal

Was To Be Garrotted On The Following Morning; And Asked Me

Whether I Cared To Look Over The Prison And See The Man In

His Cell That Afternoon.  We Went Together.  The Poor Wretch

Bore The Stamp Of Innate Brutality.  His Crime Was The Most

Revolting That A Human Being Is Capable Of - The Violation

And Murder Of A Mere Child.  When We Were First Admitted He

Was Sullen,  Merely Glaring At Us; But,  Hearing The Warder

Describe His Crime,  He Became Furiously Abusive,  And Worked

Himself Into Such A Passion That,  Had He Not Been Chained To

The Wall,  He Would Certainly Have Attacked Us.

 

At Half-Past Six Next Morning I Went With Mr. Smith To The

Campo Del Marte,  The Principal Square.  The Crowd Had Already

Assembled,  And The Tops Of The Houses Were Thronged With

Spectators.  The Women,  Dressed As If For A Bull-Fight Or A

Ball,  Occupied The Front Seats.  By Squeezing And Pushing We

Contrived To Get Within Eight Or Nine Yards Of The Machine, 

Where I Had Not Long Been Before The Procession Was Seen

Moving Up The Passeo.  A Few Mounted Troops Were In Front To

Clear The Road; Behind Them Came The Host,  With A Number Of

Priests And The Prisoner On Foot,  Dressed In White; A Large

Guard Brought Up The Rear.  The Soldiers Formed An Open

Square.  The Executioner,  The Culprit,  And One Priest

Ascended The Steps Of The Platform.

 

The Garrotte Is A Short Stout Post,  At The Top Of Which Is An

Iron Crook,  Just Wide Enough To Admit The Neck Of A Man

Seated In A Chair Beneath It.  Through The Post,  Parallel

With The Crook,  Is The Loop Of A Rope,  Whose Ends Are

Fastened To A Bar Held By The Executioner.  The Loop,  Being

Round The Throat Of The Victim,  Is So Powerfully Tightened

From Behind By Half A Turn Of The Bar,  That An Extra Twist

Would Sever A Man's Head From His Body.

 

The Murderer Showed No Signs Of Fear; He Quietly Seated

Himself,  But Got Up Again To Adjust The Chair And Make

Himself Comfortable!  The Executioner Then Arranged The Rope

Round His Neck,  Tied His Legs And His Arms,  And Retired

Behind The Post.  At A Word Or A Look From The Priest The 

Chapter 17 Pg 93

Wrench Was Turned.  For A Single Instant The Limbs Of The

Victim Were Convulsed,  And All Was Over.

 

No Exclamation,  No Whisper Of Horror Escaped From The Lookers

On.  Such A Scene Was Too Familiar To Excite Any Feeling But

Morbid Curiosity; And,  Had The Execution Taken Place At The

Usual Spot Instead Of In The Town,  Few Would Have Given

Themselves The Trouble To Attend It.

 

It Is Impossible To See Or Even To Think Of What Is Here

Described Without Gravely Meditating On Its Suggestions.  Is

Capital Punishment Justifiable?  This Is The Question I

Purpose To Consider In The Following Chapter.