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Planters' Punch

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Material Information

Title:
Planters' Punch
Physical Description:
Serial
Language:
English
Creator:
Herbert G. deLisser
Publisher:
Planters' Punch
Place of Publication:
Kingston: Jamaica
Creation Date:
1933

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre:
serial   ( sobekcm )
Spatial Coverage:
Jamaica

Record Information

Source Institution:
National Library of Jamaica ( SOBEK page | external link )
Holding Location:
National Library of Jamaica ( SOBEK page | external link )
Rights Management:
All rights reserved by the source institution.
Resource Identifier:
nlj - P57
System ID:
AA00004645:00013


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Full Text












Vol. III. No. 3.






CA


LADY DAVSON has
paid no fewer than
live visits to the West
Indies, but only on the
last occasion did she
come to Jamaica. And
at ouce she captivated
everyone who met her,
Men and women alike,
they fell under the fas.
citation of her charm:
no one who had but even
a few moments' conversa-
tion with her, or who
even lht merely saw her,
but has been loud in
applireiation of her.
This may seem an
exaggeration. It is never-
thele-s ~sober truth.
There are people like
that, lir rsnns endowed by
nature with a charm of
manner which is irresist-
ible, amn when to charm
is added beauty there is
a willingness of surren-
detr on the part of those
coming under the in-
Hlut-nce of these qualities.

THEI'E is something
almost hlildlike in
Laldy Davson's express.
riuLn. jinst as though a
beau t iful child had
g'row\vn into a beautiful
nwomnin while retaining
tlie fianikness and fresh-
iie.-: and simplicity of
chilliood. There is a
look of trustfulness in
her eyes, a sort of win- .
someness in her smile,
suggc stin an utter lack
of siplhistication and
extremely taking; and
one leels on meeting her
that .even in extreme old age she will retain
hern undeniable power of appeal. But charm
1hat endilures is informed by intelligence; it is
not .1 temperamental quality only. There has
iev\r I.ecn anyone with much charm of man-
ier whoi can possibly have been unintelligent;
rather si-rh a one must usually be above the
avera-.ie in intellectual qualities. So in Lady
Damv-on iiyu will shortly come to perceive, how-
ever little observant you may happen to be,
that she possesses a very keen intelligence; and
ihis has been developed by education and ex-
tensive travel, and fortified by a habit of syste-
matic and useful work.
Margot Davson, daughter of Elinor Glynn,
the novelist, was born in London but brought
up mainly in the country, at her father's place
in Essex. As a girl, while being educated, she


PLANTERS'


MIXED BY
HERBERT G. DE LISSER. C.M,G.





Tribute D


LAD' DAVSON, O.B.E.


frequently visited France, Italy and Germany,
and French at least she must have learnt in
the country of its origin to have acquired the
accent and the fluency of expression in that
language that she possesses. But even as a
girl she went farther afield than the countries
just mentioned. She travelled in Russia, in
Japan, in Egypt and Ceylon; she had been in
many lands and met many people before her
marriage to Sir Edward Davson; and, of
course, after her marriage, her travelling con-
tinued. She has been with him to West Africa,
South Africa, and to all of the East African
colonies "from Cape to Cairo," as well as,
of course, to these West Indies; and all this
time she has been a worker. First of all, as
the wife of a man engaged in so many import-
ant and sometimes difficult investigations as is


PUNCH


For the Year 1934-1935


served


Sir Edward Davson, she
has by merely being
pleasant helped to win
him friends. But she
has had her own work
also. And this has been
of a varied and highly
useful description.

S HE engaged in hos-
pital work during
the war, organising its
commissariat side. This
lasted for two years,
then she was in the War
Office iab.l the Air Min-
istry for another two
years, subsequently be-
coming Assistant to
Lad y Londonderry in
the part which the
Women's Legion played
in the demobilisation
and re-settlement of sol-
diers. For this she was
awarded the O.B.E., and
when demobilisation an111
re-settlement had been
practically c o m p 1 e t e d
Lady Davson still con-
tinued her Empire acti-
vities, which are too
numerous to be mention-
ed here in detail. She
was the first woman
member of the Council of
the Royal Empire So-
ciety, which has several
members in Jamaica.
She was actively engag-
ed this year (1934) in
!,. helping to organise the
Empire Summer School
of Oxford under the
auspices of the Royal
--- Empire Society. One
cannot picture her as
content merely with the
social functions that fall to a woman in
her position in London society. She fulfils
those functions admirably; but always there
is something else, much else, for her to do.
She is one of the women workers of Great
Britain.

A ND withal retaining always that charm
and simplicity of manner Awhilih form so
irresistible an attraction to men and women
alike. Always the gracious lady, conscious
perhaps of her influence, inevitably conscious
of the beauty with which nature has endowed
her, but never spoilt, never taking admiration
for granted, and therefore receiving it all the
more, therefore seeing it poured forth as a
willing tribute to her from those who know
her and rejoice in that acquaintanceship.






PLANTERS' PUNCH


Photograph by Tunbridge Ltd., London


LADY ASPINALL


O NLY once has Lady Aspinall been to Jamaica, and that for but
about three days; but she has made up her mind to accompany
her husband, Sir Algernon, when next he visits this island, for she is
delighted with what she has seen of it.
And her friends in Jamaica are delighted with her. Lady
Aspinall (Kitty to her friends) is one of those women whom it-is such
a pleasure to meet, and to part from whom inspires such regret. She
is a charming hostess, a sympathetic, interesting companion, a beauti-
ful woman also, as her pirttnltron this page so fully testifies. It had
been the intention of the Editor of "Planter's Punch" to write a sketch
of Lady Aspinall. But when her picture came to him he decided to
print it (as Lady Davsoni's is printed) exactly thie size that it was
made by the photograllper--1iaily a whole page. It is more eloquent


than any words of ours could be. It will be kept as a 'oiiuvenir by thous-
ands of people in Jamaica, by those who love to have beautiful pictures
as well as by those who know of and appreciate Lady Aspinall for her-
self and also for her identification with the West Indies through the
long years of useful work which her husband has done for them as
Secretary of the West India Committee and Chairman of the West
Indian Club in London.
No one meeting Lady Aspinall today would believe that she is a
grandmother. She looks far too young, far too bright, for that. Yet
such is the fact, and if the children of her daughter have inherited a
fair share of her looks and her vivacity they will not find the world a
difficult place to live in. For vivacity and a charming appearance are
keys with which to open many of the closed doors of this world.


1934-35







PLANTERS'... PUNCH


PANAMAA


CHAPTER ONE

THE ROAD TO PANAMA

ORGAN marched at their head. Even
in that stupefyning. heat he wore his
heavy brocaded blue i:,atl 'lth the silver
lace. His great ElouLh hat naas pushed far
back on his matted turls, his beard was
twisted and his lips cracked. But the grey
eyes never flinched, in the sunlight. He
marched steadily, never lost his temper,
never wrene'hed down the leaves tapping
against his eyes or uprooted a bush that
scratched its thorns against him He walk-
ed steadily, quietly. with icarrely a gasp.
And behind him, hi- f-e hundred scare-
crows shouldered their guns. wilted, stagger-
ed against trees and muttered angry little
curses. He never looked ha, k at them. He
immediately behind the guides. upheld by a
that nothing human could depress for a
led on by a dream gr:n ing m,,re tangible ev
-by a bright mirage in the villainous sui
mirage of turrets and steeples. of gay pavei
and narrow streets. and of gigantic coffers
moidores, dubloons and pileee-..,t-eight. the
Panama, of Panama, Panama. Queen of t
World, capital of the Spanish Americas, ah,
. It beat a rhythm in his blood. When h
age gave signs of faltering. when the sun
his eyeballs almost blind. lie had but to wh
himself that one word-Panama-to feel th
blood stir again like a sluggish beast in h
and bring new strength to his tired limbs.
... Panama There was magic in the w
warm bright magic of gold ....
For a week now that word had led him
a week of starvation, orf hell. The trip had
so easy when they set out from Chagres in t
canoas weighed down with laughing men wh
ed guns and talked of what they'd do after
sailed up, picnicking, on the river, and ha
over the rich earth on to Panama. They si
leagues that first day. and when at night the
led out on to the land their legs crumpled u
them like rotten woud and they fell on the
they were so stiff. Even then they felt the
hunger, for they had foolishly brought lit
them. relying on what they could find. A
found nothing, nothing but mushy earth, mo
lice, dying grass and poisonous prickly leavi
On the second day the river seemed to
under their canoas: half the time they padd
mud or lifted their boats above the fallen tr
spanned the water every few hundred yard
tramped farther than they paddled,
amongst sharp boulders and fetid muck,
their arms in sudden frenzies as the nm
clouded around them like dust in a whirlw
land the track was as vile as on water-mu
waist, mosquitoes everywhere, plants jabbing
cracked flesh, thorns on the earth and hu
their bellies. Ay. they felt hunger then, d
hunger that made them grit their teeth an
their fists. It seemed as it the stomach tur
nibal and ate itself: it seemed like a separ
beast clinging inside them. Even the spitt
in their mouths and they couldn't swallow
talked in whispers and vainly strove to hi
the unslacking sunlight. And that was b
second day. They had travelled so little,
now they wanted to turn hack. Not Mor
scarcely heard their mutterings: nothing co
him back.
To lighten the canoas so that they cc
easier over the shallows, some of the men
and waited on shore while their mates sa
ahead, then came back for them. But the n
after a desperate night on the hard earth-
of deep sleep and wild awakenings in whi
rolled on the ground in nets of nmlsquito
marched mainly on land, a few paddling o
muddy water. Above them. the monkeys fluid
selves from tree to tree. swirling like gigantic
amongst the leaves, jahbering and throwing
at the starved buccaneers who eyed them 1
But they were difficult to hit and still more
to kill. A buccaneer gt one of the beasts
the belly once. It stopped in the middle of
seized a branch. and remained in pained
fingering the blood. while its mates darted
tore up moss and stuck it on the wound,
spitting on their enemies below.
Birds, bright shrieking macaws, a touch
its beak almost tumbling it over in its fligh
ous butterflies, and of course, mosquitoes
through all this rich greenery. this chaos of
creepers, smudged leaves and brutal sunli
men staggered on. thin, exhausted. barely
hold up their own g'lns. too tired even to cu
On and on through the day they went,


IS


B TURNING


By PHILIP LINDSAY 'Dust whirled up, the mosquitoes whined
around their heads: the men's faces were
caked with the insects' blood--their own
blood pulped out of smashed mosquitoes.
I HE novel in this issue of "Planters' Punch," "Panama Yet they stumbled on, leaning against trees,
wiping away the sweat with thick green
S is Burning" is not only a thrilling story but is one.in wpin away the sweat with thick green
leaves and fronds of palms. They sucked
which all Jamaica readers will find a particular interest. broken boughs, tirn-up roots, chewed a live
For it was from Jamaica that Morgan led his expedition butter-fly and even tried to feed on ants.
But evelythiuie only aggravated their bellies, '
against the ancient city of Panama, and again and again and some were struck t ith a bloody flux;
we find reference to this island in the story. The author their noses dribbled and their eyelids could'
of "Panama is Burning", Mr. Philip Lindsay, is consider- scarcely keep apart. But, upheld by some
ed to be one of the cleverest of the younger school of indomitable force that was n it courage, that
was more despair than courage, they kept
historical novelists in England. doggedly on, lurched ron without hope, into
i a future that seemed made up entirely of
.. ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, .......... ... ............... .......... ..... ..... harsh sunlight, mosquitoes, dust, slush and
starvation.
kept on, tons led on by the set purpose of that fierce little Then they found the barn of maize. They could
courage man striding ahead, that man with the brown hair not believe it at first when they saw the locked doors
moment, curling to his -Iihouldi-rs, the bright grey eyes and of that tall barn; then they flung themselves at it in
ery step the sweat caking his blue brocaded coat. Morgan a body, panting, their raw, blistered, naked feet-
nlight, a marched on behind the puide,. trampling the vegeta- for they had eaten their boots-kicking against the
d plazas, tion under his heavy boots, stooping beneath the dried wooden slabs, until suddenly they were flung
spilling glare of the sun that spangled the dust on his hat into a cool mauve paradise piled with maize. Would
gold of and clothes. Nothing could deter him. He hung you believe it! Maize! Real maize! Ah, my God,
;he New dead leaves around the brim of his hat to keep away how good it was to eat again! To guzzle this dry
Panama flies and mosquitoes, and they rustled against each raw maize that stuck in your throat, yet was food,
is cour- other as he walked, like little leaden bells, was edible, was maize, maize, maize ....
scorched Noon; and the three guides from Santa Katalina Now, after that, they even sang as they tramped,
Lisper to suddenly stopped, the line of tired men stopped, rais- some jested, still greedily scooping the maize from;
ie warm ed their heads, a faint hope stirring life into their their caps and woollen bags, shoving it into their
lis veins eyes. In the silence they could hear clearly the water mouths, loving to hear it crunch between sharp
Panama purring under the canoas, the pattering of animals, teeth. Such a little food, gulped raw, yet it brought
'ord, the the fierce exultant singing of mosquitoes and the life and happiness, it brought hope, and in one sweep
rustle of leaves. All the sounds seemed to emanate 1.illtd the foul despair about their hearts.
Son, for from that splash of molten silver in the centre of a They tramped, laughing, into an ambush; and
seemed grey sky, from that damnable sun not masked by the they laughed to meet it, for this would mean more
he great tiniest cloud, food probably. They flung the rest of the maize
o finger- "What is it?" asked Morgan, surprised to find away and rushed exultantly into the jungle, into the
r they'd that words could crawl through his dry throat. He heart of the firing. But the jungle was empty. They
d strode peered through the tangle of leaves and branches, paused, panting, on the edge of the dirty, smelling,
ailed six lifted aside some scarlet creeper and saw a grey wall. sluggish river, thick with rotting mangroves like
ey tumb- A town. The sight brought relief almost unbearably some evil soup. On the opposite bank. they saw a
ip under joyous. Ah! now there would be no more grumbling! dark wall, and puzzled their eyes to make it out, for
ir faces, Food at last! they were dazzled by the sudden glare after the dim

tle with Foolish hopes. They searched the deserted town jungle.
.nd they from end to end, and found nothing. In their exas- The wall moved, jabbered. It was an army of
squitoes, operation, they tore the walls to pieces, their rage gave Indians. The buccaneers trooped out along the
es. them sudden fierce, mad, superhuman strength, so river-bank and grinned at the enemy.
Sdry up that they forget their weariness, and ran up and "Wonder what they'd taste like," grinned a little
led over down the empty streets, flinging bricks and straw fellow. "I ain't tasted meat so long, it makes me
ees that aside. Then they struck flint and steel and watched mouth water jest to see 'em."
s. They the houses rattle up in a roaring of red flames. But "Too stringy," said another. "I'm dieting, get-
tumbling they found some crumbs, and licked them out of the ting ready for them sen-whoritas in God-damn Pana-
waving dry grass-crumbs and a few leather bags. The bags ma, be Gord, I am Oh, hell. don't let's talk of
osquitoes were better than nothing. They cut the leather into wimmin, let's at 'em!"
ind. On small strips, beat them against stones, rubbed them, They leaped into the water, holding their guns
d to the trampled on them, constantly wetted them, scraped and powder above their heads, excited at their dreams
at their off the hair, then carefully boiled them, or roasted of women and drink at Panama. The maize had
hunger in some. They had to drink almost gallons of water to taken from them the lust for food, and other lusts
desperate get the chunks down, but at any rate it stopped their had come. They lifted their legs high in the shal-
d clench bellies feeding on themselves. lows, banging their naked toes against sharp stones
ned can- They slept and walked and slept. They came' and lumps of wood, tripping over mangrove-roots.
ate wild across plantations, deserted. nothing to eat anywhere, The mud eddied up, blackened the surface as if they
le dried but they kept on, too tired to turn back, too tired trampled on an octopus.
w. They to stop, too tired to think, too tired to do anything The Indians had fled .by the time they reached
de from except walk, to put one weary leg before the other the other bank, and they raced after them for a
ut their weary leg, and walk. while until some fell with nasty arrows sticking out
yet even At last they found something. In a small grotto of them. They carried back the wounded and left
gan; he but recently hewn out of a white wall of rock, they the dead for the ants and vultures, (uriing their
uld turn came upon two sacks of meal, some wheat, flour and luck. And they had thrown away all their maize,
two great jars of wine. The men made a rush for it thinking they would soon find other foods! Asses,
uld sail like schoolboys at a race, but Morgan was before dolts! They almost hurt each other in their rage,
got out them. He stood in the cool violet-shadowed mouth tearing the sweat from their faces so fiercely that
ailed on of the grotto, his face bright in the sun, one hand they scratched the skin, and it stung with the salt.
Lext day, on the pistol hanging from the green sash. He did They cursed all through the black tropic. night,
-a night not move, he did not speak or smile, or even frown. and searched their lean bodies for ticks, scraping off
ich they He just stood there in front of the shadowed food, the foul grass-lice. They found some animal-dung
es-theye calmly. and set it alight at some shrewd old hunter's sug-
over the He divided it up for the weakest, and himself gestion, so as to keep away the mosquitoes; it kept
ng them- went hungry. The famished men stood around, the mosquitoes away all right, but it almost stifled
c spiders gaping at him as if they saw him for the first time, the men around it. They glared up under their red-
g things but none dared make a threatening move. rimmed eyes at Morgan as he sat on the dry ground,
hungrily. Then once again the march; the accursed march keeping away from the fires that some fools had
difficult under an accursed sun. Would it never shut off its lighted for the sake of company. Surely it was hot
clean in vile furnace? Would it never cease until it had enough without them making heat of their own! He
a swing, sucked them up like every particle of water crouch- drowsed in the still dark night, with the great black
surprise, ing between brown grass? The air moved, quivered trees mingling their leafage like whispering devils
around, as if they walked under a crystal sea, a boiling sea above him, monkeys jabbering inside. Birds scream-
angrily upon the fringe of hell. ed in sudden venomous anger when awakened;
Desperate, they ate the leaves from trees aid and in the undergrowth, there was only the sneaking
can with bushes, then waited to be poisoned, half hoping that rustle of a snake, the sly padding of a jaguar or
t, gorge- they would be poisoned. Somebody saw a lizard puma. And all about him the ubiquitous mosquitoes
s. And with palpitating leaden eyes and bright blue ribs sang thrillingly, the great curse that God had set
coloured that shook its comb at them and spat out a long upon this lovely country.
ght, the mauve-tongue; he darted at it, swung his musket, The cackling bird-song of morning burst through
able to but was too late. The reptile shot off as it from a the buccaneers' restless slumber; and the villainous
rse. catapult, and the buccaneer's gun shivered on the sun rose out of the east, blinding the pale opal moon,
automa- ground and almost cracked his shoulders. dissolving the frail w is p' of, frightened .clouds; it


1934-35








PLANTERS' PUNCH


came in a burst of splendour, of gaudy greens and
purples, flaming through a haze of gold and delicate
greys. Its great amorphous bulk like a melting mir-
ror dribbled and spread over the vast creamy sky,
flooding off the darkness, and striving, it seemed, to
set the exhausted men alight.
They groaned and rolled on the yellow and
brown grass, rubbed their stiff elbows and hips,
stretched themselves, yawned and cursed the sun-
light. Another morning, another day of starvation,
of tramping, tramping; all their lives, they supposed,
they would be tramping, tramping.
But to-day there was a welcome change, and
they cheered up a little when Morgan gave the com-
mand to look to their guns. They cleaned and pol-
ished them carefully, discharged them without shot
to see if they were still unrusted and ready for
emergency, the match dry and the trigger firm.
Then they crossed the river in the canoas as it
was deep just there, and the water ran swiftly; it
splashed up over the gunwales and cooled their legs.
Under the boat-covers propped on oars for a roof,
they dipped their heads into the river's refreshing
peace, although it stank suspiciously of yellow-jack
and shaking-fevers, and gazed down
through the grey-brown depths that ended
in a black world of hungry mud. A few
fish darted about, and they strove vainly
to catch them in their hats, but they
caught only spiders, dirt, shreds of wood
and their own spittle.
When at last they stood on firm earth
again, they took their last look at the
dirty river, for now they were on the old
Gold Road, and the very name cheered
them. Two hundred men remained un-
der Captain Bob Delander to guard the
boats, and they shouted encouragement
after their mates."
Again the weary march over an earth
growing hotter every minute, under a sun
that bored relentlessly through cloth, felt
or wool. The flies rode on them in heavy
bunches as if their backs were splashed -
with black-currant jam. The mosquitoes
sang their everlasting threnody, and the ..
men's bodies swelled up with little white
and red lumps. It was worse than any
hell conceivable, this lurching through
sunlight, and they lifted their burning
faces to bathe them in occasional shadows, -.:T"
their bloodshot eyes staring with blind
rage at the blinding sky.
Hotter and hotter the sun flogged the
earth, and the exhausted earth breathed
back the suffocating fumes until it seemed
that these staggering men lurched be-
tween two furnaces. Hotter and hotter it .
grew, until they felt that it could get no
worse, could not possibly get worse. Yet
still the heat increased, still that bubble
of molten quicksilver, the sun, burned the
sky to fuzzy grey and baked the tired
tropic earth.
Panama, were you only the name of
a dream? Were you only a madman's
dream of heaven? An Eldorado that led -
men hungrily on into the very depths of
hell's vast ovens, slowly into the ovens,
then burned them up, together with their
crazy dreams and their bright guns and
brighter lusts? A dream! What else
could keep these tired, hungry men stub-
bornly marching on into the ovens of hell?
Panama, Panama, were you real, or were
you but a dream of Captain Harry
Morgan's?
The breathless heat of noon, the ter-
rible awesome hush of nature struggling
to gasp in the face of that father and
murderer, the sun; and in that luxuriant From an o
tangle of vivid life and rotten death, the CAPTA:
line of men tramped on, tramped on be-
hind that stocky figure of Captain Harry
Morgan, sweating in his brocaded coat as if he had
just left some dandy stew in Port Royal or Port St.
Anthony.
Over the tips of the trees, next day they saw
suddenly a quiver of smoke fading into a haze of
heat. Then the noise of firing. It gave them instant
life, and they cut quickly through the undergrowth,
cocking their guns and clenching their fists on
swords and knives. They stumbled and fell in their
haste to reach the usual disillusion. A plantation,
almost a village, roaring and coloured with flames.
The forlorn hope was still shooting wildly into
the masses of flowers and greenery after the hidden
Spaniards, and trying desperately to put out the
flames; their leader, Captain Tom Rogers, was leap-
ing with rage in front of a great building that roared
and bounced with flames, looking as if they were
both performing some fantastic dance.
The buccaneers rushed frantically over to help
put it out, but it was a hopeless task. They merely
burnt themselves. And this was Venta Cruz, the
last stopping-place on the river. To here, along the
Gold Road, the belled mules carried the treasure
from Panama to be shipped to the Western World,
here it was stored, then sent on boats along the


Rio Chagres to Porto Bello as once, in the days of
Drake and Hawkins, it had gone to Nombre de
Dios.
It was the buccaneer's last real hope of food be-
fore they reached the city; and the Spaniards had
burned it, yes, burned it up full of foods and trea-
sure and God-alone-knew-what-God and those
devils.
But there was one large adobe house left stand-
ing, the king's stables and stores. This they hadn't
dared to put a fuse to, being royalists. And within
it, the buccaneers found fifteen or sixteen big-lipped
jars of Peruvian wine and a leather sack stuffed
with bread. This, spiced with a, few captured dogs
and cats, gave them their first hearty meal since
they had left Chagres-a full week ago that day.
Garrulous, drunken, they rolled over the ashes,
wrestling and laughing, merry and hopeful again
with the strong wine inside them heating their blood
and emptying their thick heads. Ah, now indeed
was the game good, Panama was nearer, it was in
their grip, they could leap over the trees and clutch
the senoritas in their arms-at once, if they wished.
Still there were past girls to boast about, other tales


ld print. Photograph by George Pearson, Kinl
IN HENRY MORGAN BEFORE PANAMA WHICH HE TOOK
THE SPANIARDS

to tell, they slapped their gorilla-chests and showed
ghastly scars and bizarre tattooings; there were
other things to do to-day, to-night. Panama could
wait.
Morgan himself did little more than wet his lips
with the wine. He knew that it was futile to try to
stop the men, although his cousin Bledry suggested
it. They must have their fun. He could but pray
that the Spaniards didn't attack. He lay in the shade
with Bledry and one or two other officers, and
dozed.
But then, the reaction, the damnable reaction,
gripped them. Their stomachs threw the wine back,
hammered inside them with rage at such a diet.
The men groaned and held their bellies and rubbed
their heads against the leaves and the fiery earth,
screaming that they were poisoned, that the Dons
had poisoned them, expecting any minute to see
their own insides burst from their mouths. They
collapsed, groaning, moaning, beating their skulls,
their bellies twitching and wambling in agony.
All that day and night they lay exhausted, food
for mosquitoes, lice and ticks. But in the morning,
Morgan had no further pity for their sufferings. He
had his trumpets blown to rouse them, and they


crawled somehow to their feet, wiped their dirty
lips, and glared under hooded eyes at Morgan as he
stretched himself in the shade.
They felt better once the march began. They
were now really on the road to Panama, on the nar-
row, ill-paved track, that meandered up and down
gullies, hills and swamps; the Gold Road to Panama,
beside which, Francis Drake a hundred-odd years
ago had waited; along which many a precious load
had been lugged by slaves and mules, the Dons boil-
ing and itching in their armour as they rode ahead,
swords and firelocks ready for an ambush, their
dark faces drawn with terror and twitching at the
tiniest sound.
Yes, the buccaneers were nearing Panama.
Sometimes they glimpsed a Spaniard through a rift
in the bushes, or saw an Indian like a hairless
painted monkey clattering through the-trees. Mor-
gan commanded his men to stay closely together, but
one fool wandered off after a fowl that looked like
a turkey-cock, except that it had a small feathered
comb on its head and fierce yellow about the eyes.
They didn't see him again. And the Spaniards be-
gan to show their teeth. It was now no longer mere
walking, they had to fight their way.
It seemed to Morgan as he lay down
on the hard earth that night, that the
first fytte was over. Tomorrow he would
Begin the true march; so far it had been
but a preliminary, a test. The gods had
i---;- .- tested them for the taste of gold.
STo-morrow, the eighth day, dawned at
last, and he sent two hundred picked men
ahead to scout for ambuscades, and him-
self continued to keep an eye on the riff-
raff. The jungle grew tighter around
them like a gigantic evil boa-constrictor;
the path grew so narrow that ten men
couldn't pass abreast; sometimes they had
to cut their way through. One of the men
almost stood on a plump snake, and in his
terror was fool enough to let it escape. It
was a big snake too, nice and fat .
Then suddenly, after ten hours' hard
S work, they were out of the jungle, in the
--- deserted foodless town of Quebrada
Obscura. They stood, breathing in their
relief, when a flood of arrows whirled in
amongst them. It came without warning,
from the very sky, it seemed, as if that
villainous sun, angry at not having melted
them down like candles, now sent his
Apollo-rage in a more tangible form.
Arrows, thou-ands of arrows, winged
death, slashed the men's clothes and
quivered in their bodies; arrows, suddenly
S out of the sky.
Morgan stood amongst his scared men,
taking note of the situation. Obviously
the enemy was on that rock ahead, and
it was impossible for him to pass through
the tunnel beneath, to which the narrow
path led. To his right was the jungle,
and he gave the order to retreat there.
They were met by a troop of Indians,
but it didn't take these experienced kill-
ers long to dissipate such trash. Then
they came upon meadows-savannahs-
and beyond the meadows, hundreds of
Indians perched on the summit of a high
mountain like a black fungus on a loaf of
bread turned green with decay.
Morgan sent fifty men off to get them,
then with the rest climbed up a high
mountain directly opposite the enemy. He
had hopes of perhaps seeing Panama
ahead, but he saw nothing but more moun-
tains, plains and jungle.
Darkness brought a quiver of rain in
the air; they snuffled it coming before
gston, Ja. even the first webs floated down from the
SFROM orange clouds. Their guns were the buc-
caneers' first thought; they ripped off
their clothes and wrapped the cloth around
the powder and firelocks, just in time before the sky
emptied its buckets. It was not rain like you get in
England, not the rain that falls peaceably in delicate
strands; this rain fell as if a cistern had burst, as
if an enormous water-fall hurtled over a cliff of
clouds. It drenched them to the skin in a minute, it
blinded them.
Luckily, there were a few shepherd-huts handy,
and in these they put all their weapons and ammuni-
tion, then themselves stood in the fierce downpour,
as a man might hide a delicate woman away from a
storm and himself bear the brunt. They lounged
about and talked above the noise, drenched, their
greasy hair sticking to their faces, their eyes smart-
ing with the mingled sweat and dirt that washed in-
to them. The ground, so dry a minute ago that it
scorched their feet, turned all of a sudden into a
quagmire and gurgled lustfully under their steps,
clinging with great clayey mouths at their heels and
toes. It was not in the least cold, it was almost re-
freshingly cool; they luxuriated in it at first, hold-
ing up their faces and opening their mouths like
chickens. But soon it soaked into their bones, hard-
ened them so that they seemed to creak at the least
movement. Their heads ached with the constant


1934-35








P L A N T E R S'


hammering, their backs pained as if they carried
mighty loads. Yet in all thi. muck and wvet. -u
tired were they, that they lay down and even slept.
Morning brought relief, almost an English morn-
ing it was-a soft breeze dried their clothing under
a sunless sky tinted with pearl-like clouds. They
breathed relief, took out their guns. fired them.
greased the fire-locks. and were happy ti, find them
all in order.
Then. on with the march Two hour- of it be
fore they saw a few stray Spaniard'. arid saill sh.r
at them. Then up a tall moruntaiu. panting. curs.in.
sweating again as the demoniaLal sun started to
slide out from behind the scum of cloud-. Up. up.
jagging their feet on sharp stones. pricked by the
cactus; up. until at last. they breathed evenly on the
summit, and saw-my God. was it true! Was it
really true! Had they marched the whole way, the
whole long stretch across the Isthmus? Or had
they turned like dogs on their tracks and now stared
down at their own damned vomit, the Western
Ocean? Surely that couldn't he the South Sea. that
fierce blue water ruffled with une tail galleon, sails
set, and half a dozen boats? Could God really be so
kind-or so cruel?
"Hell, mates." grinned a lean creen-toothed
rogue. "if it ain't the South Sea' Clap yer eyes on it
and give it a cheer!"
Yes. yes, the South Sea' At last. the South Sea'
Yet the trip was not quite over even no'w. They had
tramped across the Isthmus. and the tramp hail
taken its toll. The men staggered. weak. exhausted.
famished. They were starved anti reil. and there
was much fighting to come. Could the hear up
against it?
Morgan glanced at their wolfish ita:es, bitten al
most black by the sun. their ihee:k empty of fl.sh
like mummie.t from Ecypt. their eyes s.i deeply
sunken that. sideways. you could s arcely see them:
their arms like twisted word. their less the lege f i
sheep, sticking out of loose pantaloons.
He .ighed and gave the order to milar>h. They
followed. still looking over their -hmloulers at the
blue width of water, dreaming .;s tihe wvat(hed the
ships ...
Down the mountain and into thie Landi of
Promise. into a ereat green valley. -,ft trinderfo. t.
and thick with cattle. Cattle. cattle .
They flung their gun; awa.. pulled ..ut knive;
and darted amtonest the herd--iilent. rangee little
automatons running jerkily like marionettes. they
sprang suddenly at the trartled hea.-it. knives an.
wrestling the fierce born. dra'eine the maddened
animals down under the knife. ,ir in their e.sernes.
wasting precious shot by pistolline tlhem
What were bulls to these bui caiier sx whi had
lived by tanning the hide. and bri, annin- the fle..h
on the Tortugas. at Hispaniola' It "a- fuin ti, them.
that was all: just good fun
They couldn't wait until the meat ..-- .ooked.
but dragged it half raw out of the flame,: and the
blood ran down their chins as they swallowed ei
gantic gobbet-, enough to choke an ordinary man.
Some of the more fastidious fellow,-. after their flrst
ecstatic hunger was sated, carbonad.,e.Ied theirs. r.oast-
ing it on hot stone. under strips of bark


But soon the trump,-ts roused them. and gruin
bling healthily, they formed into line and marched
singing Ftongs: Hey. boys, up go We' and The Maid
',f .A tteriapi. kissing each other in mockery, pre-
tending rii be Panama women. and hitting eaih
other-but all in good sport.
Fifty of them ran ahead to seek out ambuscade..
inrd in the distance they saw hundreds of Spaniard'
racing about and prancing beautifully on horses.
hallooing mysteriou-ly. They shouted ba k insult;
and made indecent gestures at them. skipped and
ai.iahed
Then suddenly they stopped their sport, almost
awed for the moment. Morgan lifted his hand and
shaded his eyes. F.,r dimly in the sky. over tile
hills and trees. something burned opalescently-a
,.ros'. a copper cross on a steeple, a steeple in
Panama.
"Gord strike me." whispered a lean ruffian. "I
almost thought I was in London again. And that
that there was St. Paul's steeple. be Gord, and nie
waking up by the river "

CHAPTER II

BATTLE

A STEEPLE of Panama. tipped with a :cpper
cross The copper was a delicate green, and it
glowed through the pellucid air with a curious.
almost unholy light as if it r:ame straight out of
heaven, dimly coloured like coral under a skin of
water. It half-melted into the sky. half-burned out
f tile sky. It eeenied a kind of miracle. almost
terrifying in its rarefied clarity and beauty. It
tluck at Morgan's heart. so that never in all his
life afterwards could he quite forget it.
As he amnped with his men not far fr.,m the
.ity. with the cool blue night dripping out of the'
Clouds., he could I till vividly remember the thrill
whiihb that first vision had given him He was like
a wanderer taking the memory of a woman from hi-
heart :ind brooding happily over it. That cross in
the clear still air. s' hot that there \as no colour
left in the .ky. had shone like a -r'n from Gid. -I
-ymniol of victory.
The men loiinged about the tire. jeering at thli
Spaniards awhn charemd futilely around on horses.
waveil sword;, and shouted, almost within rnu.ker
.hut
"**Prros."' they shouted. "*nov rfroimo.'"
**What's that mean in linio?' a-ked -kina.n Nat
.f bi< mate. little Andy.
"It means: "Ponc'no. youi vernin'." rinned little
Anrjy. "'r somnthink else horrible. They ain't no
gentlemen, them Spani'liers"
Pnanama was fiery with Isihts and noisy wi~th
2i'zanti: drums and trumpets, all its bia and little
hells screanmed at the buccancer-. It fired its
miehties.t euu., and the uproar terrified e\er\ hird
and beast f-r miles around. But the buccaneer' did
not stir. they lay and talked under the cool. thlou ll
n.is'v twilight.
The Spanish hnrsemen had shouted their la.-t
ini.mprehensible insult and had veered rounil and
ra ed back to the city. leaving seven or eight behind


on guard; while a few hundred men made a wide
detour around the ,amp. beating drums and waving
flags, to cut off the buccaneers' retreat.
They didn't even think of retreating. They post-
ed pickets, then slept or yarned, slapped at the
singing mosquitoes. compared blisters on their feet
with virulence, and searched each other's bodies for
ticks or lih.e.
The night shrouded them. and the -tars came
out. the pale mooln rode high and shed her film of
i louds as if she dribbled them frojim her rheumy eye
in sorrow tfor poor Panama. And all night long
while the buccaneers slept, Panama heat its drums
and shot off gun; and waved flags, and the Spanish
soldiers crawled around the little .:amp of eight
hundred sleeping men. sleeping so peacefully on the
hard ground.
The tenth, the last morning The buccaneers
were up early in the fresh da\ciu, stretched them-
selves. yawned, polished their guns and swords,
blinked at the sun. stared at the enemy around them,
and grumbled at having to leave so soon their sweet
dreams of Janaican stew'.
Morean and Ili offriers talked with the guides.
This was a. time for strategy. They must come some-
how from an unexpected direction, because undoubt-
edly the Spaniards had pai:ked tile Gold Road with
cannon and redulits The only alternative route
was to cut through tie woods. It w.:,uld be slow
work. and if by any :hance the Spaniards had
thought of such a po-ibility, they .vould be wiped
out in a moment. The rald. however, must be alive
will guns. The woods would be a risk. yet were
safer than the sure death of the roadway.
So Morgan liik rio: tehe won:ds and paralysed the
simple Spaniard-; ah... had almost fallen asleep over
their batteries and ried:obtt thrown ip the length
1.f the road They .-.ildn't believe it when they
lharni the netws. Thi.-r- ac ur-ed English with their
illeical asinin.- mind; they never didi the natural
thine! Fuming. the Spaniard' callrped back to
Panama. made hurried plans, then galloped out
again, followed by the f-at--.ldlier--three battalions
of them
Panting. Eweatinz. lIth biuianeer- tippedd a small
I1ll and -ati suddenly th. Iiiishlty army underneath.
The plain -.eemed tio sarm' with Imen in multi-
iol.l'ired uinifirmns. and behind the mi-n. Panama.
M.I'ean did not 'ee tile soldiers. his eyes were
rieidl in those stone wall'. .n the .pire." and steeples
with the huge lazy il-eI-. Tlhat wat-l hil dream, his
iie.tiny. Pananma
Put hii nien'-: hearts sickened in their chests.
Their faces whitened. and they g'-rippd the guns so
tightly that their fingers Inst all feeling For a mo-
ment. panic seized them They were so few, a mere
hanilfril: they were tired. ragged. undisciplined:
what coiul they do against that enormous army wav-
ino its mhbroidered banner'. dragging up monstrous
,annon. Ijaneine heavy drums and hlowing bright
nirlii. oult of -liinina trumpets. cornets and bugles?
They lir'kel at their own wret lied nlmsicians-a few
drulm. life hauthr.oys and trumpets: at their own
rr.ivel.-tain d '.,lojur-. damrp faded Fear gripped


1934-35


PUNCH


I;.",, ,11 ...#I I Ph,,it,.grlph bit ri .r I',, rir n... ... K ,,, ,t. ..I. F








PLANTERS'


their bellies; and with a dazed look in their sunken
eyes, they turned to Morgan.
His imperturbability restored a little of their
courage. He smiled in his beard, his'pistols cocked,
his long sword clean and bright and dripping with
sunlight. Next to him, his second-in-command, Ted
Collier-familiarly known as the Tarantula-grinned
and twisted his face, as Bledry Mor'gar smiled at
Jake Morris's jokes behind him.
Then Morgan saw the fear in his men's eyes,
and was startled, shocked. He gazed incredulously at
their faces, from scared face to face, and their eyes
shifted and dropped before the intense contempt in
his grey eyes.
Suddenly he spoke, his voice crisp and clear as
a leaden bell.
"We're going to fight," he said coldly, without
anger, "and I don't want to fight my own men as
well as the Spanish dogs. You know me, you fel-
lows. So don't expect any mercy. Now,
come on."
He gave his orders curtly, gave
Bledry Morgan the rear-guard, and
sent the vanguard ahead-two hundred
men under Larry Prince and Jake Mor-
ris, himself taking the right wing and
the Tarantula the left.
The Spaniards saw them coming,
and under Francisco de Harro-a be-
curled, perfumed gallant-charged on
horses, shouting, "Viva el Rey!" and
waving their long swords that dangled
coloured ribbons of no use, it seemed,
except to trip the wrist.
The ground, rotten with recent
rains, squashed under the hooves, suck-
ed at them, spilling man and beast, up-
setting delicate manoeuvres, making the
excited animals slip and slither as the
buccaneers came shouting down the
hill.
Less than a quarter of a cable's
length away from the charging, flound-
ering cavalry, Morgan's front rank put
knee to earth; raised their guns, aimed
carefully and sent out a volley that un-
saddled a good few dozen horses, Fran-
cisco de Harro being the first to get a
ball in his belly. Trying to catch up
with the horse, the foot-soldiers were
kicked and fell back, tripping over
themselves; they ran, confused, about
the field and became widely separated
from the cavalry, while the buccaneers
picked them off one by one.
It was a fiasco.
In a desperate effort to smash those
stolid ranks, the Spaniards loosed bulls
on to them from the rear, but the buc-
caneers were used to bulls (they had
got their living by them once), and all
the damage they did was to tear the
colours and then to go flying back in
a maddened herd on to the wretched
Spaniards themselves.
Now they were at it hand to hand,
man to man, sword to sword. What
chance had the Spaniards against these
devils! For it seemed, that -the. buc-
caneers had turned to devils. They had
waited long for this scrap, they had
dreamed hungrily of it for many weary
days, and now they welcomed it as
never a lover welcomed his bride. It
was ecstatic for them to feel bodies A ISS
crumple up against their swords, to feel -Andr
the jerk of blood fountaining from a popular a
severed artery and bursting warm upon When
them. All personal humanity was lost, stepped in
each man became an automaton of and petite
lust. to become
It was this automatic fury that looking as
beat the Spaniards back. They flung Barbara i
themselves upon the small group of receives, M
buccaneers and were astounded, de- There
moralized, to find themselves falling, make-up.
trampled on. It was like fighting an tinction,
adobe wall: you hurt only yourself. tremely ai
Morgan was not behind his men, whom Jam
he was right in the midst of every-
thing. Wherever the fight was thickest, wherever
the ragged group of buccaneers was thinnest, Mor-
gan was suddenly there, shouting encouragement,
grinning as he whirled his sword. His sword was
like a magic weapon, a flashing root of quicksilver.
It was everywhere. The blood glided up and down
its greased side like oil on water. It was bloody
to the hilt, darkly slimy every minute with fresh
blood. It seemed as if it were itself that bled, like
a snake glutted with killing. In his left hand, he
gripped a small knife, and when the Spaniards
pressed too close, that knife darted like a bobbin.
Knife and sword. asp and snake, those two weapons
in the hands of Harry Morgan did the deadliest
work that day. He was like a man possessed, drunk
with blood. He grinned, showing all his sharp white
teeth, his eyes were wet with ecstasy. He tripped
like a dancer, now and then gave little crowing
shouts of en'couragenient. He was with one group a


moment, then suddenly off to another that was more
sorely pressed.
The giant Dan was usually near him; he too grin-
ned, a grin that never twitched or moved but stayed
fixed as if the lips were glued back, his dirty teeth
shining through the tangle of reddish beard. Beside
him, his small miate Andy was like a tennis-ball,
bouncing and r,-bi.:oundin against the wall of
Spaniards, a porcupine that flung itself against the
Spaniards and left a quill quivering in their flesh.
Now and then he smiled knowingly at Dan, and
once Dan shouted at him:
"I'm thinking of the Governor's darter. Gord,
Andy, I bet she's worried' She dil.n' know that
old Ilani'- here ter look carter her!"
The SpaniarilN rallied, aid no more words were
spoken, i..nly cuisinsz and trerrik. tlhr-.at as Dan's
mighty bulk lheae1 above the sea of men like a


coloured calleon inl a ri


MISS BARB
BARBARA SAMUEL, is o0
rew society, therefore one o
little lady as can be found
she came back to Jamaic
ito high personal favour w
i, absolutely natural, genu
Sa favourite. "Are all yo
s this one?" asked an Eng
was in England last year.
Miss Samuel's head has nev
is nothing flighty about h
One has heard her talkir
and these she has pleased
attractive appearance. She
naica is very proud.

sword needed no effort t
wrist, and it fell with
lugged it out with one gi
lard's skull, lifted it, dr
When he swept it circul
then when some slight
was like a sickle in a cox
Near him was always
r.ut like a lizard, grinn
clubbing with the useless
with the other swiping
big as himself.
Under the terrific
aaged. Impartially, the
buccaneers and Spaniar
walls of Panama, glinted
ing sefioritas and sefiqras
held their little hearts, n
In one window, Dufia M


the Governor's daughter, watched through her
father's spy-glass impassively; and her frightened
women watched her face. None dared speak.
The spy-glass must have seemed a kaleidoscope
-the fight was such a muddle of colour. But the
real horror no spy-glass could ever give. And that
was the crying and the screaming, the screams of
wounded and dying, man and beast, of struggling
men pashed flat beneath a maddened horse, of men
crazily tearing at their own wounds to end the
agony or striving to bind them in a press of stum-
bling legs, while the wounded crawled with daggers
in their teeth to cut men's tendons. No spy-glass
could tell that horror, repeat the jumble of shouts,
exultant and horrific; the sudden scream split with
silence as the sword touched b.-.trom; the whimper-
ing, the praying, the cursing, the shouts of Viva el
Rey! and San Jago! amidst the neialing of horses,


eet -f sloops. His heavy grunts of victory, and the muttered curse when a
swiping blow missed its goal and the
-- .victim clubbed as the other fell.
That was the true horror: the cry.
ing and the wailing. The Spaniards
were the kind of men who cannot fight
without noise; th-ey liked to have their
hl ,d i warmed by drums and trumpets;
they tne*ded a catch-cry like Viva el
RIey; the). cr-luldn't. understand these
srriante Engliehmen who called on no
kina or saint, but killed in silence, who
did not get e xcitpd, but parried, thrust
and clubbed as if they played at kill-
Ing. It was the silence, the relentless
silence of these skeletons that struck
fear into the Spaniards' hearts; these
men weren't human; they hadn't eaten
since God-knew-when save for yester-
day's dinner, they had marched for
over a %eek. and now they were active,
determined, sane. Their inhumanity
S terrified the Spaniards as no amount
.of drums, flag-flying and trumpeting
could have done.
t The Spanish horse were half down,
the remainder floundered in the mud,
.. drew back to load their pistols, then
7 galloped up and drew back again to re-,
'- load. It wasn't a fight, it was slaughter.
Like a man trampling on ants. The
wretched Spaniards went raving mad,
screamed and hit wildly before their
Quiet murderous enemy who fought by
occasional curses only.
There were two hours of it. Then
the horse gave in; they fired their last
pistols, and turned and galloped back
to the city, waving their arms and al-
most weeping with despair. Half-stupe-
-* .' fled, the foot watched them go, then
with a squeal of terror at the thought'
of being left behind, they discharged
whatever shot was in their muskets and
pistols, then, like petulant children,
"' flung them away and ran.
.. But the buccaneers did not follow.
- r .. ij They were tired, and they sat where
"- '-in-,- ~ i they were on the earth and on the
."."... corpses, wiped sweat and blood from
7 their grinning faces, pulled meat from
their satchels and started greedily eat-
ing and talking.
Photo by Cleary and Elliott "Great work, Dan," said little:
ARA SAMUEL Andy to the giant. "It's like hitting
mushrooms, ain't it?"
ne of the belles of Kingston and St. "Mushrooms ain't in it. It's the
f the belles of Jamaica society, and as easiest go I've ever had, barring Gib-
d anywhere. raltar. Did you hear 'em squeal? Like
a from school in England she at once a blooming tortoise."
ith every one who knew her. Piquant "Ain't as tough as a tortoise," said
inely lively, it was easy for Barbara Andy.
ur Jamaica girls as nice and as good They had captured two priests who
glish lady of another Jamaican when had been trying to sneak off into the
But in spite of the admiration she wood, and not wanting to waste time
rer been turned. with prisoners, the Tarantula pistolled
er; there is sound sense in her mental them both without argument; then he
ng in England to persons of real dis- sent men round to finish off the
by her conversation as well as by ex- wounded.
is one of the daughters of Jamaica of Morgan gave his men only a few
minutes' rest before he had. the trum-
pets blown to rouse them. They form-
o fall; he just loosened his ed up in line, grumbling.
its own weight; then he Tattered -carei.rows they lo:i.ked-lean. dirtied
great heave from some Span- by sunlight and ]-eaut and blood, the few remnants
dipping, and it fell again, of clothing almrnot all uniformly red and grown stiff
arwise, as he did now -and and black with the heat. They drew up into care-
wound made him angry, it less formation, pretending to yawn, to be bored.
infield; all fell before it. They leaned '.u each other's shoulders, put arms
l little Andy, darting in and around each other, talked, jested, spat, chewed their
ning and chuckling curses, quids and wrinkled up their eyelids at the sky.
ss pistol in one hand, and Morgan watched them unsmilingly, and walked
with a broadsword half as slowly through the files, the Tarantula, Bledry and
the other officers following.
sunlight, this battle was He looked at the men's guns, examined their
sun washed its honey over wounds and gave the worst over to the care of the
rds and cleaned the dirty Surgeon-General, Richard Browne, to be hurriedly
on the soft cheeks of pant- patched up. Now and then he spoke a few words to
Crushed in windows; they some old acquaintance, jested with them, and the
lot daring to speak a word. man thus chosen flushed with happy pride. Others
[arina Isabella de Guzman, (Continued on Page 22)


PUNCH


1934-35


k` i;
I
L:

~ :i

*.
,-I
r.
.~

.-~ 3r







PLANTERS'


Statistical


OSES. who led the Children of Israel out of the B
SLand of Egypt (an act for which, apparently,
he has never been forgiven by Mr. Hitler, Dictator either man. Fc
of Germany). is said to have been discovered one denomination, j
morning in a little crib, shaped like a boat and the lover of st
hidden among a mass of bulrushes. But when I persons who won
contended the other day, to a friend of mine, that and trust purel:
Sir Arthur Farquharson was born among the statis- 41T is related
tics. as NMoses was found among the bulrushes, he the age of
scoffed at the suggestion and then enquired: "the with a statement
statistic. of what?" have consumed,
I'O BV'IOUSLY of everything, or of anything," milk, which mea
R aas my rejoinder; "for during all my inter- in turn represei
course with him I have never known him happy un- upon which th<
less, when any subject was being discussed, either
he or yi:.u produced forthwith all the statistics bear-
ing--:r not-upon the subject; and almost invari-
ably it was le who produced these facts and figures,
set forth in columns, horizontally, in tabular form,
and sometimes even obliquely; and those that were
not put down on paper he brought out of some cell
..r iavern ,if his mind, where he kept them stored
for reference and also for the confusion of those who
loathe all dismal figures.
"This pas,-in for reducing everything, if possible,
to a statistical formula, this disposition to thinking /
in ligure-. talking in figures, proving or disproving
everything by figures, was certainly displayed at
birth by Sir A. \V.: he was born among the statistics.
That is metaphorically speaking. For, actually, he
u-as horn in a rectory. He comes of a theological
family; his father was a parson; and, say what you
like, A. W. even now has a sort of parsonic appear-
ante. a touch ..f the benignant but absolutely theo-
logical l confident prelate about him.
'ConsilfEr ii-i persuasive voice-when he wants
to be pcrsuasi\e. Nothing could be more in the way
of the nicest -ort of unction; you can almost fancy
you hear the -i:rds: 'And now, my dear children,
that \e are all agreed that the number of angels in
heaven i cx.ic-tly seventy billion, fifteen million, one
hundred and twenty-three thousand, seven hundred
and ninc-tv-two, we shall have no difficulty in further
agreeing that the quantity of honey necessary to
feed them aidekuately, the amount of milk they re-
quire i..r their daily sustenance, and the number of
,ele-tial truit--upplied by the Celestial Producers'
Associatin--is what has been calculated and set
down in tli-se statistics prepared at my desire by
the true and devoted deacons of this most blessed
orgni-ati.,n. Let us pray.'
B DUT the vr.i.e can be sharp and imperious, too,
L lien a flcit has to be fought to the finish: it
is then thnt we
get tile theoll:igi-
cu-ilati matic spirit
anid utteranTi in
their x.s athelra
manifs-tati...n I
milt alho add 3 -2 $
that when there 3'78 ol i 1
is t:ha itv to bhe /,o -a aa 3:N1,.
given, rial help ". 3 31.. ;
lie hundanll-. 31 3 33 q 3
pli-i/f2rth./we 37I
havi\' ol-.- nl -th- "
na.:, t ,:I tihe l-t Jej

ter I tur I assume /
that rC-I 13i.h,, pi /VL oP "

the full extent .f .tI
their nme:n, '. But
I nill nut dv.ell I I7
uplu ti,... ri.r LL /y ,4 *-
there ar' a, tual- 2~5 4. J
ly .-ine person 7~a r 3 o i '.
who feel abhamledil .n tha 2~
of ha\rin their l h: t
kind deFls bla-
zonI,- t,,rt h.
"He may nev- ST ARTHUI
or have l uspe tted
it but. a,. I have said, he was influenced by the natural precocit
theoloeical and parsonic atmosphere in which ten he presented
be aas nurtuied, and that influence has never showing that th
entirely disappeared. It is still perceptible in hours, minutes
his walk. in h talk, in his attitudes. I remem- utterly failed to
ber in on- 0. a-sion being struck with the physical opportunity of i
resen bian,.e between him and Sir John Simon, puri-l. Whereui
the eminent lawyer who subsequently took to precocity, but f
state-nanr.hip. Both Sir John and Sir Arthur had fulness, a trait
been trained t: the law, and I believe that Sir John by a boy. Havi
Simon in als-o. a whale at studying statistics. Both men tistical path. yc
walk alike. are tall alike, might actually pass for statistics one of
near relative". And, by Jove, did I not also find, the deciding also tl
other day. that Sir John Simon's father had been a tered upon his
parson! But I might have expected it. It is true stopping far sho
that Sir John Simon's father was a Congrepatiomalist ever since beet
minister, while Sir Arthur's was an Anglican rector, through this w
but I will not hold that little difference against weapon with th


Sir


y H. G. D.

ir a parson is a parson, whatever his
ust as a lawyer is a lawyer; while
atistics is ever a frightful terror to
uld much prefer to leave figures alone
y to endless rhetoric.
I of Sir Arthur Farquharson that at
five he presented his fond parents
at showing that up to then he must
on the average, so many quarts of
ant the yield of so many cows, which
ited so many acres or tons of grass;
ey spanked him soundly for an un-


-3~ -
RB GBOWS UP STATISTICALLY

ty. Nothing daunted, at the age of
d his schoolmaster With a statement
e latter had taught him for so many
and seconds, and in that period had
o make the best possible use of his
imparting knowledge to his youthful
por his tutor thrashed him, rot for
or an indulgence in offensive truth-
which no man likes to see exhibited
ing thus been encouraged in his sta-
oung Arthur determined to make of
the hobbies and passions of his life,
hat any further castigation adminis-
person would lead to a revolt not
ort of murder. And the tables have
n turned and he has since borne
rorld, to paraphra-e the poet, 'A
is strange de\ice-Statikiis'


PUNCH


1934-35


7





Arthur-


K6IN process of time these statistics or figures as-
sumed a cabalistic significance 'in his mind.
Just as the ancient Cabalists would take certain
words or figures, and divine from them portents of
things to come, so Sir Arthur Farquharson, by cal-
culating that each baby in the civilised world would
consume so many ounces of sugar, and that each
adult would consume so many pounds, came to the
conclusion that sugar must become an important ex-
port of Jamaica and so entered upon a career of
sugar planting. He was now a lawyer by profession,
a statistician by affection: he became a sugar planter
by conviction. Just as the man who 'gets religion'
does so he hardly knows how, and is not to be moved
from the rock of his faith by any adverse circum-
stance, so did 'A. W.,' as people had now already be-
gun to call him, become converted to sugar by sta-
tistics, and clung to it at times with the heroism of
a martyr at the stake. I remember the first con-
versation I ever had with him. He imagined that I
was an opponent of sugar-I who was destined to
become one of its staunchest supporters and Highest
Priests! But he was wrong in his surmise, and he
rather got me nettled by, in that our first interview,
hurling a mass of statistics at my head. I felt that
this suggested ignorance on my part, and in those
days I knew that I knew everything. So instead of
a conversation there was a dispute, and I marched
away feeling that a more arrogant man than Mr. A.
W. Farquharson it would be impossible to meet in
Jamaica, and that the sweetness of sugar had been
turned into sourness in me.
"Neither of us suspected at that moment that
for very many years we were to work together in
the closest possible harmony and with growing mu-
tual esteem and affection. For it is true that the
more you know him the greater becomes your regard
for him. And I believe that I too am of so good, ten-
der and beautiful a character that it is impossible not
to come to love me the more you know me. (Unfor-
tunately most persons seem to avoid the opportunity
of obtaining such knowledge.)

(1OR years he clung to what looked to be the
F sinking raft of sugar in Jamaica, and at last
he sold his properties in Vere, but not before he had
demonstrated that there were canes which, with
proper attention and in good soil, could revolutionise
cane cultivation in this country. Instead of a mis-
erable thirteen to twenty tons of cane to the acre, so
long our normal yield, he cultivated canes that gave
from fifty to seventy tons per acre in Vere, and
there they are growing to this day. He perceived
also the importance of irrigating from underground
water sources; he
dug wells and
proved that wat-
er could be
brought to the
( surface. But in
7 his time the cost
Sof pumping was
enormous, and
with sugar at
/li paralysingly low
prices the well
system of irriga-
-,p tion was not eco-
&C F nomical. After-
wards, when a
S. 'rt new pump had
been invented,
Mr. Cecil Lindo
utilised these
'7 wells and sunk
bc others, and to-day
'jo2o, the United Fruit
o'c q Company is using
them to splendid
advantage. So it
-- -might also be
said of the Vere
Estates that the
labourers planted,
A.W. watered, and the United Fruit Company
are getting the increase. But as a matter of
fact, when the Vere Estates were sold by Sir
Arthur (then Mr.) Farquharson they were a go-
ing concern with a future, and he was satisfied with
the price he obtained. After all, he had taken lands
that were doing very little at the time, had seen
with a statistical vision the potentiality and promise
of them, and in the end had realized himself some
part of that promise and could retire comfortably
from active sugar planting.
"But for a couple of years before this he had
had to live and work on his estates so strenuously
that Mr. Clarence Lopez said to me one day, 'Far-
quharson is killing himself: he will die very shortly
if he goes on.' Clarence Lopez said this with deep
concern, for he loved his friend. But Sir Arthur did
(Continued on Page 183







PLANTERS' PUNCH


Soul


SUPPOSE one, wandering a hundred years hence
about the site on which the United Fruit Com-
pany's offices are now located, in Kingston, were
suddenly to see a ghost of the Company's present
manager. We may assume that by 2034 Kingston
will have somewhat changed in appearance, and that
the buildings to the east of it will be different from
what they are today. The United Fruit Company it-
self may have changed its name, though in some form
or other it will probably still continue to
exist. There may be a much bigger block
of buildings where its offices now stand; or
there may be a great pier stretching out
from the shore into the sea; but whatever
the alterations and developments, the site


of


CzAfr,


By H. G. D.
discover behind the definite impression of a cigar a
vague and bulky outline, the adumbration of what
was once a tall, burly man, a big man; and as the
features delineated themselves more clearly, a placid
countenance would be perceived, a face calm and un-
disturbed; and then perhaps the discoverer would
take heart further, for this would seem not to be
the sort of ghost with an inclina-
tion to bite or even to express itself
in frightful grimaces. There then, at
last, would stand the image of Mr. J.
G. Kieffer, in his habit as he had
lived a hundred years ago, and then
perhaps the wraith would gradually
vanish, the glowing tip of the cigar
being the last to disappear, like the
grin of the Cheshire Cat in "Alice in
Wonderland."
If, too, the discoverer had plucked
up sufficient audacity to address the
apparition, he would have found it
quite ready to indulge in a few mo-
ments of placid conversation in which,


ZUhe


-(


itself will actually remain. And there the ghost of
Mr. Kieffer should wander, for ghosts revisit the
scenes with which they are most familiar. What
then would the startled observer notice first? The
answer leaps to the lips-a cigar. A long cigar with
the end glowing in the darkness. A cigar that will
at first seem to be floating unsupported in space.
That cigar will be Mr. Kieffer, although it would be
most indecorous to suggest that his spiritual self
was smoking in any place it might inhabit a century
hence as its incorporeal home.
F the frightened witness of this ghostly phenome-
non had sufficient presence of mind, or courage, to
force himself to look a little longer, he would soon


CALM, IN THE MIDST OF A STOBM

no matter what the subject, no trace of irritation rID he imagine then that he would become head
would be discernible in the spirit's voice.J of the United Fruit Company's business in Ja-
maica, a business that was to develop on a much
PRESULMABLY Mr. J. G. Kieffer has a temper. But larger scale than would then have been thought pro-
who has ever seen him lose his temper? Beyond able? Who knows? For you never do know Mr.
a slight quickening and deepening of his tones, which Kieffer's real mind unless he deliberately chooses to
indicate perhaps a trifle of heat, or a realisation of reveal it to you: he does not betray himself by quick
the necessity to emphasize a point, he hardly ever speech or anxious gestures: that placid exterior
goes. Calm and composure are part of his nature, affords very few clues even to the keenest reader of
a part of his nature which has been strengthen- the mind. I ask, who knows? and yet I am inclined
ed by habitual self-control. As a boy he must have to believe that he did look forward to exactly such
possessed this self-control, but as a boy he must also promotion. When it should come, he could not guess
have displayed the characteristics of his age. He of course; but that it would come he very likely was
must surely have had a fight or two; he may also calmly confident, and that he was fitting himself for
have fallen from the limb of a tree on which he had (Continued on Page 13)


Kieffer


no sort of business, and have then expressed his
feelings in language of a somewhat lurid descrip-
tion. In other words, he must sometimes have shown
temper as he never does today. But as he grew old-
er calmness became the most apparent trait of his
character, so that even in the midst of a storm he
preserves his calm, and in the midst of excitement
can placidly puff his cigar.
I REMEMBER the time when he was third in the
offices of the United Fruit Company. I think
Captain List was then second, and a German or a
Dutchman, naturalised as an American, was chief. I
never knew a more excitable personality than that
Dutch or German Manager. All days were to him
"The Day" and that day was one of wrath and strife.
He wrote fiery letters and made savage remarks, he
appeared to be full of the milk of human unkind-
ness, though I am sure he was not at all a bad fellow
at heart. He was simply irascible to an unprece-
dented degree, a fighter who took half a dozen con-
flicts an hour as all in the day's work, a man who
looked about for disagreements and saw them, yet,
personally, not at all a bad sort of fellow-for a fight-
er is not necessarily a personally unpleasant man.
Next to him stood Captain List, but Cap-
tain List's business did not seem to keep
him much in Kingston. Mr. Keiffer's busi-
ness, however, did; and he would sit in his
office transacting his work, smiling quietly,
getting rid of all remains of temper, as he
saw his chief cultivating irritation as
though it were a precious plant: meeting
and talking to any number of people as they
dropped in to see some responsible officer
of the United Fruit Company; genial, cour-
teous, obliging, an ideal sort of private
secretary, as one might say.


1934-35







1934-35


Primitive

A STRIKING CONTRAST-THE OLD
WAY AND THE NEW IN SUGAR
MANUFACTURE

By H. G. D.

T was in the afternoon of a Sunday, at which hour
I was sitting silently at lunch in the Myrtle Bank
Hotel. In the midst of this repast the silence in the
immediate vicinity was shattered by the voice of
Mr. J. G. Kieffer, who albeit spoke in his normal
quiet tones. But on this occasion there was a note
of excitement in those tones, a sort of restrained
vibrancy, and in Mr. Kieffer's hands was a largish
bag which he carried as though it contained gold or
the implements of obeah. This bag he placed with
a sort of ceremonial gesture on my table, saying:
"There it is: I have brought you a bag of sugar from
the Refinery at Vere. A part of the first quantity
manufactured." And he smiled with the pride of a
man who has discovered a new element.
This was somewhere in December, 1930. For
years and years there had been talk of making granu-
lated sugar in Jamaica, a sugar free from molasses,
capable of being used for preserving fruit without
fear of fermentation, able to take the place of im-
ported sugar. And now the thing itself had been
achieved, and there was Mr. Kieffer presenting me
with a bag of the product of the latest development
in sugar-making in Jamaica. Here was granulated
sugar produced in Jamaica at last; and produced on
the Vere Estates of the United Fruit Company.
MY mind went back eighty or ninety years, to the
time when Jamaica depended far more upon
sugar than she does today, when it was the prin-
cipal product of the island (as it will once again
become in the days to be), and when the idea of
making white sugar entirely free from molasses
would have seemed an incredible thing. What
changes in sugar-making had occurred in that in-
terval! Glancing at the series of pictures reproduced
on these pages and showing how sugar was planted,
manufactured and shipped, long after Emancipation,
when Jamaica was a free country and labourers
worked for wages (the smallest they could possibly
be induced to receive), one sees at once how primi-
tive were our practices and how small were our
estates. Do you know that in the year 1804 there
were as many as 859 sugar estates in Jamaica?
And do you know that although in 1818 it was esti-
mated that there were 639,000 acres of land in sugar
plantations, Jamaica did not produce at any time in
the past as much as 150,000 tons of sugar?
There were sugar estates of various sizes, but the
average estate appears to have been of about 500
acres of land, of which we are told-this relates to
the first years of the nineteenth century-"150 acres,



























From an old Print.
PLANTING TM

if the land be good, is sufficient for canes, the rest
being in grass and provisions." Such an estate would
produce about 200 hogsheads of sugar, averaging 16
cwt. per hogshead. It would employ about 200 work-
ers, with about 150 head of horned stock and 50
mules. Today we find estates varying in size, but
any cultivation less than 200 acres of land is looked
upon as a very tiny sort of an affair indeed, and the
inevitable development of the smaller ones is to-
wards amalgamation or enlargement.


PLANTERS' PUNCH





Practices




Modern

OU rose with the sun some eighty or a hundred
years ago on a Jamaica sugar estate; you also
rise with the sun to go about your work on a sugar
estate today. Sugar labour has always been ardu-
ous; the production of two of the sweetest commodi-


CAnd




Methods

same fields are planted out with new tops. The
roots of the old plants are usually left to send up
new shoots or "ratoons," which saves a considerable
amount in the way of cost of labour. But after two
or three ratoonings, the prudent planter replants his


From an old Print. Photograph by George Pcarson, Kingston, Ja.
JIOLEING A CANE PIECE


ties that we know, sugar and honey, has always been
associated with the incessant toil of human beings
and of bees. The first job of the sugar planter was,
of course, to prepare his land for planting. He did
this with a hoe and sometimes with a plough a hun-
dred years ago, he does it partly with a hoe, and
much more with a plough in these later days, and


Photograph by George Pearson, Kingston, Ja.
E SUGAR CANE

where there is flat land, as in Vere and in some
parts of Trelawny, one can also see a great tractor
at work. Under their headmen the labourers gath-
ered in the early morning to turn up the soil, which
was called "holeing" the land. This land was fer-
tilised with the manure of the animals on the estate,
but now a considerable quantity of artificial manure
and lime is used with great advantage. The tops of
the canes previously cut for grinding were and are
used for replanting; but it is not every year that the


lands, for then the yield of juice from the ratoons
begins to diminish.
When the fields are planted, or the ratoons have
begun to grow, the planter prays for a good rainfall,
and when the time for cutting the canes comes,
which is from December to about the end of May, he
prays that there may be a diminution of rainfall.
This is about the only thing that the average planter
ever does pray for; his supplications of Providence
are therefore severely limited. Sometimes his pray-
ers are not regarded, and then he secretly feels that
his exceptional piety has not been adequately re-
warded.
N our second illustration (referring to a period
nearly a hundred years ago) we see the canes
being planted in the cane holes already prepared,
although these holes were never as symmetrical as
is represented in the picture. Quite near at hand is
;aywindmill, for the wind or water was usually utilised
as the power to turn the mill which ground the
cane, before we adopted steam for that purpose.
On an eminence in the distance we see faintly the
sugar buildings looking like a feudal Baron's castle,
and indeed the old sugar planter did regard himself
as a sort of Baron. He was a landlord (albeit his
land was probably mortgaged); and, of course, a
landlord really means a "lord of the land." He usual-
ly lived in a state of rough opulence and debt, for
the old Jamaica sugar planter seems always to have
been in debt: he spent his money lavishly when
sugar prices were good, and he borrowed as lavishly
when he needed cash for the carrying on of his
estate's operations. Very often, he was an absentee
proprietor, and then his attorney robbed him; but
the average run of attorneys did not worry much
about their own future, should their peculations be
discovered. For as a rule they did not live long
enough to enjoy or to suffer in that future. The aver-
age length of life in Jamaica was short in the days
when "sugar was king." Now that we have made
sugar a subject and no longer a king we live more
temperately and the span of our life has increased
considerably.
W HEN the canes were ready for cutting about
December, or January, we were again very
busy in the fields. For a sugar estate, even up to
within the memory of men still living, was a self-
contained village or town in itself; it had little or
nothing to do with similar properties; it even sup-
plied its own labourers with the foodstuffs they need-








PLANTERS'


PUNCH


Photograph by George Pearson, Kingston, Ja.
CUTTING THE SUGAR CANE


ed; it supplied its own in-
adequate medical attention
to sufferers; and the lord
of the land or his attor-
ney meted out injustice
for offences committed by
the infliction of exorbit-
ant fines. But there was
another side to the story.
Many actual if minor
offences were always be-
ing committed. And some
of these could not be pun-
ished, for they were never
detected. For instance, an
honest-looking lady-worker
on the plantation would
(inadvertently of course)
cause her "cotta," or the. .. '
soft cloth pad she put on .
her head to protect her
skull from the impact of
the tray or basket she car- *
ried thereon, to fall into a
vat or puncheon of rum.
This "cotta" would be '
carefully retrieved, car-
ried away, and the liquor
squeezed out of it. The
rum thus obtained could
be sold cheap surrepti-
tiously or consumed as an
exhilarating poison by the
family. Or, again, the
workers would chew a From an old print
large quantity of the ripen-
ing cane as they cut it, and do what you might you
vere never able to prevent this practice entirely.
Even the slaves indulged in it. If rebuked, the
labourers would retort with that verse of scripture
saying, "Thou shalt not muzzle the ox which treadeth
out the corn." Thus while the attorney or overseer
robbed the free labourer by unmerciful fines, the
free labourer robbed the estate by unmerciful pilfer-
ing, and so, presumably, the two offences made up
one honest act. When the cane was cut it was tied up
in bundles and conveyed by cart to the mill. This
was either a windmill, or a mill operated by mules
or oxen gyrating slowly hour after hour: going round
and round, morning, noon and night; for during crop
time in the olden days the work never ceased for an
hour until the sugar crop was taken off.

T HE cane itself was fed to the mill by hand. Now
it is usually fed to the mill by constantly moving
machinery upon which it is placed and which lifts
the cane to the first pair of mill rollers where the
crushing commences. Formerly, when the. mill was
fed by, hand, the cane was thrust stalk by stalk be-
tween the rollers of the mill-usually a small affair
which extracted a very ii.irliIi:pai proportion of the
juice. And sometimes an unfortunate feeder's hand
got caught by the rollers, and the arm had to be
hastily hacked off if life was to be saved. No doubt,
when such cases occurred, the man in charge of the
sugai operations would say that the person injured
was wantonly careless,, or even 'perhaps purposely
malicious. The malice involved in losing one's arm,:
or even one's life, was no doubt most reprehensible;
but it is not quite apparent to the impartial outsider
how such an act'dan have been calculated to injure
anyone as much as the' elf-mitilator himself.


A MILL YARn


Fornm an old print


THE methods of boiling sugar were extraordinarily
primitive, yet they were in vogue all over Ja-
maica up to within the last fifty years or so. In
some places indeed these methods are still employed
for the making of what is known as Muscovado or
"Coolie Foot" sugar. Why "Coolie Foot"? I do not
know. I have seen the feet of many a coolie or East
Indian labourer, but their resemblance to any sort
of sugar has not been visible to my eyes. However,
there is the name and it sticks; and in our earlier
days of sugar-making we generally employed the
method now employed for the production of "Coolie
Foot." As a young man I saw this process at work
myself.
Huge cauldrons, built in a low brick structure,
with the furnace underneath and fed with the
dry cane trash and with wood, boiled and bubbled,
sending forth a thick sweet savour. Standing over
these cauldrons were men armed with huge ladles,
and constantly they stirred and skimmed the boil-
ing liquid. These cauldrons, or "coppers" as they
were called, communicated one with another by gut-
ters, and the impure stuff skimmed from the sur-
faces of them by the ladles rose to the top, the sugary
substance sinking below. From the first into the
second and then into the third copper the purer
fluid, which was afterwards to granulate into sugar,
was let through, for the gutters could be opened or
closed at will. The stuff skimmed off went to make
rum, but there was always a good deal of sweet fluid
matter mixed with the sugar, which was the molasses,
and which was drained off when the sugar was put
into the hogsheads.
But before the sugar was put into hogsheads
it had to be ladled out of the boiling coppers into
huge wooden receptacles to cool and dry. When cool-
ed and dried it was pack-
ed into the hogsheads,
which were then set in
rows on narrow shelves
of wood to drain: the
Ssyrup drained off was the
molasses. This molasses
was collected for rum mak-
ing; it was also collected
by little boys and girls
sent surreptitiously by
their parents with cala-
bashes and cans to steal
what they could, and as a
little boy in the town of
Falmouth I remember see-
ing several of these
urchins emerge from a
sugar wharf, quite openly,
with their clothes and
faces and hands all smear-
ed with molasses, but with
enough of the thick and
delicious syrup in their
cans and other utensils to
give them quite a glorious

All this of course was for-
bidden; but strict honesty
was looked upon by every-
body in Jamaica as a
policy of unnecessary
severity, and no one paid
much more than lip ser-
vice to it. To return, how-


Photograph by George Pearson, Kingston, Ja.


Photograph by George Pearson, Kingston, Ja.
INTERIOR OF A BOILING HOUSE


1934-35


From an old print








1934-35


ever, to the question of sugar-making in the previous
days.
WHEN the sugar was drained and packed, and
incorrect accounts of the contents of the hogs-
heads had been duly handed in by attorneys and own-
ers to the purchasers or selling agents (who in their
turn made dishonest calculations as to the amount
which they expected), the sugar had to be shipped.
If the estate was situated far from the seaport, the
shipping meant heavy additional cost to the estate.
If the seaport was very near, the estate owner or at-
torney rejoiced. Along the northern shore of Ja-
maica today one sees villages like Dry Harbour or
towns like Falmouth in a state of decay: a hundred
years ago they were very busy ports for the embarka-
tion of sugar. But any cove into which a drogher,
or small coast boat, could go, or even where a fairly
large-sized boat capable of carrying one or two
hogsheads of sugar could be accommodated, was uti-
lised for the shipping of sugar and rum, as is shown
in the sixth picture of our series illustrating sugar
making in former times. The drogher would lay out
half a mile or a mile from the shore. The stout,
heavy-tinibered boat would be brought up to the very
beach, and the receptacles containing sugar and rum
rolled into it, as it was held down on its side. Then
the boat would be rowed away to the drogher, which
would either take the sugar round to Falmouth or
Kingston, where the big sailing ship waited for cargo,
or the boat would row out to the ship itself in such
a port as Falmouth or Savanna-la-mar. Sometimes,
of course, a boat-load of sugar would be lost, and
the men conveying it would be drowned. The loss
of the sugar was considered lamentable. The drown-
ing of the men, if these were free citizens, would pro-
bably be regarded merely as an act of God. In slavery
times this drowning would probably be imputed to
baseness on the part of the slaves who were
drowned. It was another illustration of their desire
to deprive their master of valuable property.

THIS year, 1934, Jamaica is producing the largest
amount of sugar manufactured in the last
seventy or eighty years. This amount represents the
operations of thirty-four factories-the 859 estates
of 1804 have dwindled to a mere handful, yet the
production of these is at least one half of what it
was in the days when the whole country seemed to
be devoted to the planting of canes and the making
of sugar and rum.
One reads in the Handbook of Jamaica for 1882
a statement by Mr. W. Bancroft Espeut that "for
many years there was only one vacuum pan in Ja-
maica, at Albion Estate. There are now seven
pans at work-Albion, Spring Garden, Ewing's Cay-
manas, Belle Isle, Bushy Park, Bybrook and Hals


PLANTERS'


PUNCH


From an old print


HOW SUGAR WAS SHIPPED


Hall." These seven vacuum pans in 1882 must have
been regarded as a remarkable instance of develop-
ment and progress; but now we speak of Triple
and Quadruple Effect, of mills no longer merely of
three or four rollers, but of ten and twelve and
fourteen, and the talk is of new mills and of new
methods of extraction and boiling, of canes yield-
ing twice as much juice as the older canes did, of
an acre of land giving not merely a beggarly twelve
tons of canes per acre, but thirty, forty, and in
some places we hear of a yield of as much as 92
tons per acre! All this really means that Jamaica
is becoming "sugar-minded" once more, is steadily
becoming a sugar country once more. When it ex-
ported in pre-war days as much as 20,000 tons of
sugar in one year-the present century is the period
in mind-it was supposed to have done exceedingly
well. Today the country realises that it is still but


I Ass 1
Photograph
INTERIOR OF THE MILL ROOM SHOWING SUGAR MILL AND GEAR AT THE UNITED FRUIT COM
AT MONEYMUSK IN VERE


an infant in the matter of sugar production although
its exportation this year will be over 50,000 tons.

ET us glance for a little while at what the
largest sugar producer in Jamaica, the United
Fruit Company, is now doing and plans to do in
the immediate future. Only since 1930 has this com-
pany embarked on sugar cultivation, and then it
did so almost accidentally. The growing and ship-
ping of bananas are its job; but it purchased from
the Lindo Brothers their properties in Vere and St.
Catherine, and a part of those properties had been
given over to sugar cultivation. There was much
doubt at first as to whether this sugar business
would be carried on by the United Fruit Company;
at one time indeed it was reported that sugar would
be abandoned, and there was reason for this report.
But there are lands better suited to cane than to
bananas, and there is such
a thing as Panama Disease
in Jamaica; it has also
been more and more realis-
ed that a different attitude
towards British tropical
sugar is developing in
England. Canada, too, has
become a preferential mar-
ket for West Indian sugar.
Therefore, in spite of ter-
ribly depressed w o rld
prices, sugar manufactur-
ers in Jamaica have hoped
for a change in the sugar
situation later on, and the
United Fruit Company,
with larger sugar holdings
than any other company
or individual, has not only
kept on producing sugar
but has outlined" a pro-
gramme of expansion of
which a brief idea may be
given in these pages.

A T first it diminished
its cane plantings in
St. Catherine and increas-
ed them in Vere. The plan
was to abandon the Bern-
ard Lodge factory alto-
gether but to maintain on
a moderate scale that in
the south-central district
of the island. This plan
was changed. At the be-
ginning of 1934 it was de-
cided to plant out 900 new
acres of land in cane in
St. Catherine and another
900 in Vere, and 500 addi-
tional acres in each dis-
trict during the autumn
of 1935. This means
steady expansion. It also
means that the company
will depend less upon ra-
toons and more upon fresh
h b Diuperly'h Photo Studio plants, its idea being' to
IPANY'S FACTORY obtain the maximum quan
tity of sugar from its ex-








PLANTERS'


tended acreage. Then its :
cane-carriers or elevators
-the machinery that feeds
canes to the mills-have
been changed from wood
to steel, and instead of
the canes being fed in long
lengths to the mill, cane
knives mechanically oper-
ated are used to chop up
the cane as it comes from
the fields, a process which
increases the sugar extrac-
tion by anything from one
to one-and-a-half per cent.
New mill engines have
been installed, new boil-
ers. For instance, the
boiler capacity of the
sugar works at Vere two
years ago was a total of
1,100 horse power. Today
the total is 2,340 horse
power. A better system of
heating has been installed,
buildings have been erect-
ed for storing the bagasse
or cane trash, which is
used as fuel, a more mod-
ern system of steam
piping, resulting in econo-
mies, has been put in at
Vere, the clarification of
the cane juice has been
improved, and all evapo-
rators and vacuum pans
have been equipped with a
modern type of juice con-
denser, new to Jamaica,
but successfully used in
Cuba for a number of
years.
There have been many
other improvements, but
to mention these would
merely confuse the general
reader who is not acquaint-
ed with the technicalities
of present-day sugar pro- FOWLER TRACTOR TY]
duction. It must suffice to CH
say that electricity is be-
ing more and more utilised to create energy necessary
to operate the machinery (with the exception of mill
engines) in the Central Factory at Vere, while at
Bernard Lodge in St. Catherine a new fourteen roller
cane mill equipped with revolving cane knives will
have been put into operation by the end of the year
which equipment will increase the grinding rate at
Bernard Lodge to 1,200 tons of canes per day and will


Photograph by Duncan Keith Cormaldi
PE OF MACHINE USED BY THE UNITED FRUIT COMPANY AT BERNARD LODGE AND BY MR. EDWIN
ARLEY'S FACTORY AT INNS WOOD FOR BREAKING UP SOIL FOR CANE PLANTING


enable 95 per cent. of the sugar in the cane to be
extracted.

T is stated that the improvements at Bernard Lodge
bring that factory up to the required modern
standards and also render it independent of any
other fuel except "bagasse," the dried refuse of the
cane. And when we remember that the average


Photograph
THE UNITED FRUIT COMPANY'S BERNARD LODGE FACTORY BUILDING. THIS WAS RECONDITION


amount of juice extracted from the cane in Jamaica
in 1933 was under 80 per cent., and that wood for
fuel (apart from bagasse) is sometimes an appre-
ciable item in sugar producing costs, it will at once
be apparent what advantages the employment of im-
proved machinery and of more modern methods
will give to the Jamaica sugar planter. One other
result is the shorter time required, with modern
machinery and richer
canes, to take off the sugar
crop. Thus it took 79 days
less for the United Fruit
Company to finish the
same proportion of sugar
crop in 1934 than in 1930.
But, of course, it is
not the United Fruit Com-
pany alone that is engaged
in the work of intensive
improvement as well as of
expansion in cane cultiva-
tion and sugar manufac-
ture. Other companies and
individuals in Jamaica
have been pressing for-
ward in the same direc-
tion and are doing so still:
even though handicapped
by lack of capital, these
are seeking to arrange and
are arranging for develop-
ments which they know to
be vitally necessary and
which they desire to effect
with the least possible de-
lay. At their head stands
the United Fruit Company
with its high standard of
modernisation, with its
Imanificent organisation,
and with its very able and
efficient General Manager
in Jamaica, Mr. J. G. Kief-
fer.
And if there was any-
thing like division or an-
tagonism between this and
other sugar companies, or
between individual plant-
ers and companies in the
past, all that has now dis-
appeared with the identi-
fication of every sugar
manufacturer in the col-
ony with one organisation
h by Duperly's Phota Studio known as the Sugar Manu-
ED DURING 1934 f a c t urer s' Association.


PUNCH


1934-35


"':








'X

~-~



: Y-r~







PLANTERS'


They are associated also with the handling and dis-
tribution of our famous by-product of sugar, Ja-
maica rum, in a Pool known as Jamaica Sugar and
Rum Manufacturers, Limited. The Jamaica sugar
and rum industry today is conducted on practical co-
operative lines, and this would have been impossible
but for the association of the United Fruit Company
with the other sugar manufacturers.

AMAICA makes much less rum now than she did
four years ago. But owing to the agreement
amongst all the rum manufacturers-to their unifi-
cation-prices have improved, though the Jamaica
consumer is not called upon to pay more for his
drink than before. This restriction of rum output
strengthens the position of rum in the world's mar-
kets, upon which Jamaica rum was fast becoming "a
drug" and unsaleable at any decent price because of
the vast quantity in stock
and the constantly in-
creasing quantities being
manufactured. Naturally, -
it was of importance to the
other rum manufacturers
of the- inland that the
'Uited Fruit Company
should he.::ue a member
of the Rui Pool, since its IL l
exclusion mu.st have ren-
dered the proper function-
inpg of a nuni Pool im-
po-isible. It became a
merlmber aud will continue
one as lung as the Pool
shall endure.
Thi- fat t is that the
po.lii of former years, by
whi, l the United Fruit
C:'onpalty l V .ued a lone or
indepenudeut course as a
prdii.,tr in Jamaica, has
c:mitilLto-ely ijdiappeared in
s" tf.r l's :5 uar and rum
are iI.nt-rnelld; hence its
a.tivito- in rum andsugar
are ilturall regarded as
vern mulch a Jamaica in-
t.rc-tI Anil its sugar ex-
panj-..n is welcomed as
part ,f .Jamaica's develop-
ment in ugiir production.
O ': llu-.traLtions of mo-
e r n s i r cultivation
and imainuta.lture in these
page- .slhn the luxuriance
of thei i.anet now produced
in \'ere, and the ploughing
ani millinte methods em-
pl,:c-dl In that part of the
islaui. at iBrnard Lodge
anlt In111 .i.-td in St. Catli-
erine. and tllsewhere. They
den'.nttrate that what Ja-
maica needs for a really
contsiderible extension of
hei -.icar industry is cap- -
ital. thie investment of
ahiii in -uzar depends in LUXURIANT GROWTH


the first place on the prospects of a reasonable pro-
fit on sugar. This reasonable profit in its turn de-
pends upon arrangements made within the British
Empire, and especially in England, to prevent Em-
pire tropical sugar from being grievously injured
by the dumping of foreign sugar, more or less vari-
ously subsidized, in the British market. Efforts to
bring about such an improved situation in the mar-
keting of sugar have been actively put forward in
recent days; and these efforts have encouraged
sugar manufacturers of Jamaica like the United
Fruit Company, the Barnett Estates, Inns Wood Fac-
tory, Rosehall Estate and most others-indeed all
others-to bestir themselves to improve their in-
dustry and to plan out further improvements.

And the great pioneer and leader today in all
these developments is the United Fruit Company.


PUNCH


Photo by Cleary and Elliott
OF CANES ON ONE OF THE UNITED FRUIT COMPANY'S CANE FARMS AT MONEYMUSK IN VERE


THE SOUL OF MR. KIEFFER


(Continued from Page 8)
such apotheosis I have no doubt whatever. He cal-
culated tilat if the opportunity came it should find
him prepared: if it never came-he should still be
most efflcient in whatever job he held.

IT was during the war that Mr. Kieffer became the
Jamai.a Mianager of the United Fruit Company,
and it was remarked years afterwards by those who
knew him that his head remained of precisely the
same size as before. Positional development had not
brought about cerebro-elephantiasis. Doubtless he
felt a secret thrill, or a recurrent series of thrills, as
time went on and the United Fruit Company grew
bigger and Iigger in Jamaica, having become the
hugest liuI-iness organisation in the island. But you
did not see him visibly thrilling: he knew that that
would never do. Now and then one saw him express
visible sugar "as fir- made in Vere or when President-elect
Hardin i \v itid Jamaica as the guest of the United
Fruit Conimpany. On each occasion he must have felt
that thie Company had achieved something quite dis-
tinctile in Jamaica, with which he was identi-
lied Onu aich occasion he probably smoked a larger
number tf ,:i=ars, or perhaps it would be more cor-
rett to say that he destroyed a larger number of
cigar,. for his cigar-smoking seems chiefly to con-
sist of mastii.ating the end in his mouth, a pro-
cess which necessitates a frequent use of matches
at the other end, and the frequent application of a
small pair of -cissors (which he carries in his waist-
coat p1)cket I to the one at which he is supposed to
puff. .


IBELIEVE that his favourite hymn is "Peace, Per-
fect Peace, in this Dark World of Sin." I am sure
he would have made a good doctor with a "bedside
manner" worth a fortune to him. And his special
genius for geniality and for saying as little as the
circumstances warrant-or rather less-and for never
allowing you to know just what is in his mind, un-
less he deliberately intends that you shall, would
have helped to make him a very successful diploma-
tist. But, indeed, a Manager of the United Fruit
Company in Jamaica, especially in these days, has
got to be a diplomatist. Diplomacy is one of the
first requisites for the position. Also, it used to be
said in Jamaica that a banana man could never tell
the truth and that a sugar planter was one of the
most impossible beings ever created by God, and it
happens that Mr. Kieffer is now both a banana man
and a sugar man, and he has had to make a reputa-
tion for speaking the truth and of not being impos-
sible. But, of course, the banana and the sugar plant-
ers of today simply have to be different from their
predecessors. However reluctantly they have had to
improve. Mr. Kieffer is one of the newer generation.
UT what surprises strangers most in regard
to J. G. Kieffer is his essential energy. A man
of his size in a tropical country is not expected to be
supremely energetic; yet that is exactly what Mr.
Kieffer is. He goes to work early. He leaves his
office late. He still meets ships; he visits the out-
ports continually; you find him travelling at full
speed in different parts of the country; you see him
like a sort of Constant Presence at the Myrtle Bank
Hotel if .its resident manager is away:
But there is one thing I have wanted to see him


averages and in tons, gallons, increase of population,
decrease of church attendance, the height of people's
demands for assistance from the Treasury, and the
depth and expansion of the appetites of those whom
I invite to lunch.
" T is not within the province of this talk to speak
of Sir A. W. as a banana planter, for I am
now thinking of him in connection with sugar. In
that respect Sir Arthur has played a leading part.
Has it not been written that 'out of the strong came
forth sweetness'? Well, he is a strong man, and
has always been. He had to have strength of char-
acter and tenacity of purpose to stick to sugar as he
did in the days when its cause appeared all but hope-
less, and as he has grown older and he has mellowed,
there is discernible in his disposition a very marked
strain of sweetness which has more and more en-
deared him to his friends, to his acquaintances,
and to the people of Jamaica."
"All that you say about Sir A. W. I agree with,"
my friend here remarked quietly; "but you have said
nothing statistically."
"I have said it axiomatically," I replied.

do, but never have and never shall. I confess to a
passionate craving to see Mr. Kieffer dance a jazz. I
would like to witness a performance of that sort by
him in a public ballroom. I think he would go
through with it with marked efficiency, making the
steps according to all the rules, calmly, placidly,
showing no expression, smoking his cigar of course.
But when the ordeal was over he would pro-
bably retire to his home and die. That jazz would
be the one'thing too much for him; and then he
would become a ghost made manifest chiefly by a
glowing cigar. A ghost that would disdain to make
faces at you. A ghost that would not bite.


1934-35


13



Statistical Sir Arthur
(Continued from Page 7)
not die. He had statistically calculated that toiling
with his labourers in.the blazing sun would not act-
ually kill him. He had worked out the whole thing
in terms of amount of heat rays from the sun, calor-
ies in the body, vitamins in his food, and God alone
knows what else besides.
ST-'HE curious thing about this passion for statis-
1 tics, too, is that I also am strongly infected
with it. I now have my table littered with publica-
tions and figures, and with papers covered with fig-
ures, and I am uneasy when making the slightest
assertion if I have not backed it up by a perusal of
the latest statistics bearing upon it. I think now in








14 PL





PolterAeis t?


rANTERS' PUNCH


1934-35


C(he Last Phase


BY HERBERT G. DE LISSER,
author of
"THE WHITE WITCH OF ROSEHALL,"
"REVENGE," ETC.

CHAPTER ONE

MR. SHOTOVER DISCUSSED
MR. DAVID SHOTOVER was restless, ill at ease.
For some time now he had exhibited signs of
nervous irritability very foreign to his disposition
and wont, and this had been noticed by those about
him. These thought, looking back over a year, that
he had changed much in that interval, that he was
not the same man he once had been. Masterful
still, yes; and vain; and ostentatious; but a sort of
moodiness had been growing upon him, also a lessen-
ing of interest in his business. He reversed his de-
cisions more often now than he had been known to
do before. And though he was as keen as ever in
driving bargains and making money, his success in
these directions apparently had ceased to afford him
the old satisfaction.
"He seems to have become-what shall I call
it?-apprehensive-yes, that's it," said Olive Trede-
gar to her husband one night, as they sat together
in their house situated in the vicinity of the Con-
stant Spring Hotel.
Olive and Ernest had been married nearly a year
now, and James Seaton, Olive's brother, h11i1 been
the husband of May Flemming for the same time.
There had been a big double wedding, as Mr. Shot-
over had planned; he had surrendered his hopes of
marrying Olive Seaton with a grand gesture of ben-
evolence towards her and Ernest Tredegar; but that
had been, as Olive had long since realized, because
his ardent personal desire for her had faded and
been succeeded by a kind of paternal affection coupled
with a wish, inherent in him, to pose as a benefact-
or of those whom he chose to like, to assist or to
patronise, especially if they could be useful to him
in any way. He had loved, or thought he had loved,
Olive; then had come that striking coloured woman,
Mary Ransome, into his life, and there had been a
rapid change. Olive and her friend, May; Ernest, her
husband; and her brother Jim, saw it all plainly now.
But nothing was heard about Mary Ransome these
days and they doubted whether Mr. Shotover had
seen her for many months. She was as if dead so
far as they were concerned. He was very much alive,
and apparently active as usual; but those who were
nearest to him observed the change that had come
over him. He was no longer the same man.
"They say she was a witch, Ernest," remarked
Olive, "but that is all nonsense, of course. Do you
believe she was a witch, Ernest?"
"Your question suggests that you don't think
what 'they' say to be such nonsense after all, Olive,"
laughed Ernest. "But of course I don't believe any
such thing. I always found her a very decent sort.
She was direct, straightforward, honest in business
dealings. Yet from hints I have heard, I gather that
our friend Mr. Shotover hated her once, then grew
to be rather fond of her; those hints, in fact, 1 had
from himself. He was known to have visited her
once or twice in St. Ann, and when I have heard
him mention her since it has always been in kindly,
even affectionate, tones."
"He visited her; yes, I remember your telling
me of it. .."
"One of her servants saw them and overheard
part of what they said to one another one night. Ser-
vants talk. This boy told a strange story," continued
Ernest reminiscently;" he said our old friend David
wanted the woman to become his mistress, but stipu-
lated that she should give up her peculiar practices,
and she refused. That was the end, for David wish-
ed to have nothing to do with anything he didn't
'understand. I rather fancy that, for all his strong
common sense, he was afraid."
"Fancy a man like that being superstitious," ex-
claimed Olive scornfully; "I should prefer to believe
that he wished to have nothing to do with her
through a sense of decency."
"I don't think your reasons would appeal much
to Shotover," laughed Ernest; "he has a moral, or
immoral, code of his own. I really believe that in
his heart of hearts, though he is a plucky man, he
dreaded Mary Ransome's devotion to her researches
in the supernatural. That was the boy's opinion, at
any rate, the fellow who overheard their conversa-
tion and repeated it. He went about St. Ann's Bay
retailing what he had heard. Mary Ransome could
not have guessed that he was eavesdropping, or she
would have driven him out of his hiding place, where-
ever that was. He was old enough to know better,
too, he was over twenty. And she, from what I have
been told, had been very kind to him. He treated


her badly, giving her away like that. I heard the
whole story in St. Ann's Bay."
"You never mentioned it to me."
"It didn't seem to concern us, darling, and I was
too happy, with our wedding so near at hand, to
think much about it. And then, you remember, we
went off very shortly to the other islands to look
after Mr. Shotover's business interests there, and the
matter slipped out of my mind completely. What is
strange is that you should have mentioned Mary
Ransome to-night, and it was only to-day I was in
St. Ann's Bay and heard something about that boy
we are speaking of. Mr. Shotover, Mary, the boy:
three persons connected in a sort of way, by a sort
of coincidence. It is a little strange, but I don't see
anything weird or wonderful about it. And nothing
she has said or done justifies anyone in thiinkini
of her as a witch."
"What is it you heard, Ernest?" asked Olive
quietly, for she knew her husband very well by now,
and saw that there was something on his mind.
"Well, we both have noticed a change in Mr.
Shotover, a mental change chiefly, for physically he
seems to be as well as ever, though, of course, we
cannot be sure of that, and he may have some ail-
ment of which neither he nor we know a.nthing
"Yes; I understand."
"And, speaking of him and Mary Ransome, you
wonder whether this woman is a witch, as many peo-
ple have suggested."
"Yes?"
"Well, only to-day, in talking about pimento to
a man in St. Ann's Bay, I mentioned how we had
bought Mary Ransome's pimento property in that
parish about a year before, and how that deal had
helped us to get a hold on pimento generally, so that
now we control the greater part of the island's ex-
ports of it, and then he reminded me of how it
had been said by her servant that Mr. Shotover had
once proposed to Mary that he should become her
lover if she would never have anything more to do
with what is called 'obeah' in this country. It
was only the young fellow's story against any-
thing that Shotover or Mary Ransome might say to
the contrary, of course, and [hough the police believ-
ed the boy they weren't so foolish as to move a finger
in the matter. Both Mary and our friend would
simply have said that the lad was lying, and that
would have been emphatically that. But it put the
police on the qui vive once more so far as Mary
Ransome was concerned. They questioned the lad
closely-that came out afterwards. Mary managed
to hear of it, though no one knew quite how."
"And what did she do?"
"To all appearances, nothing. But that boy died
two months afterwards, and no doctor in the hospital
could diagnose the cause of his death."
"Good Lord, Ernest, you don't mean to say the
woman poisoned him?" cried Olive. "What a devil-
ish thing to do!"
"The doctors were certain he was not poisoned.
What apparently happened was this. He was still
in Mary Ransome's employment when one day she
called him to her, told him she had learnt what he
had been saying about her, taxed him with base in-
gratitude, and-so the story goes, and it is said that
it came from the boy himself-predicted that he
would never have the power to injure either her or
anyone else again. The man I talked with to-day-
Henry Jerringham-you don't know him-assures me
he saw the boy a few days after he had been turn-
ed out of Mary's premises. He was in a pitiable
state of funk. Miss Ransome seems to have put the
fear of God into him: certainly he believed he was
going to die and that nothing could save him. He
sickened rapidly, went to the hospital, simply faded
away, and no cause could be found for his sudden
decline and end. But now Mary Ransome is des-
perately feared in St. Ann, and is closely being watch-
ed. Not that that appears to trouble her. She has
the courage of-"
"The devil,' said Olive, completing Ernest's sen-
tence. "And who is to say that hers isn't literally
the courage of the devil!"
"And who is being superstitious now, darling?"
laughed Ernest. "You or Mr. Shotover, my very re-
spected boss? You are letting the peculiar, half-
formed ideas and beliefs of the peasants here get a
hold on you."
"Other people besides Jamaica peasants be-
lieve there is a devil, Ernest," said Oliver seriously,
her lovely face looking piquantly grave as she spoke.
"I do, I know: most people do. The belief is com-
mon enough."
"But this lad, dear, probably died of fear and
an evil conscience. He knew he had blabbed on a
woman who, whatever her faults may be, had been
good to him, and he feared her because of that. Fear
killed him."
"But if you or I were to say to our greatest
enemy, black or white, what this woman said to the
boy, what effect would that have? None whatever.


FINAL DRAMATIC DEVELOPMENT
OF THE UNUSUAL STORY TOLD IN
LAST YEAR'S "PL.-IA'TERS'
PUNCH"

There must be something terrible about Mary Ran-
some that a few words from her should have fright-
ened a young man to death. Surely you see that,
Ernest."
"I have always tlihught there was something
strangely terrible about Mary Ransuoe." returned
Ernest Tredegar slowly. "She is a -woman with a
tremendous personality, of a force of character not
at all common. She is, in a manner of speaking,
abnormal. That is why I have said that perhaps,
quite unknown to himself, Mr. Shotover is a little
afraid of her. But I don't think he has anything
whatever to do with her; I have been back here
these three months, and he has not been once out
of Kingston and St. Andrew all that time, while she
probably has remained in St. Ann. And no one seems
to accuse her of being actively malignant. She lives
by herself, a solitary, lonely woman."
"Perhaps Mr. Shotover is thinking of her; per-
haps he misses her-though he ought to be ashamed
of himself!" said Olive indignantly. "Fancy a man
of his age and his position having anything to do
with a woman like that, or even thinking about her!
It is scandalous."
"But we don't know that he is thinking about
her," Ernest pointed out; "we are only guessing.
Look at it this way, Olive. If he wanted to see her
he has only to get into his car and drive down to
her place. In less than three hours he could be with
her. But he remains up here with his sister, and
yet you go suspecting him of this and that, and say-
ing that he should be ashamed of himself. Perhaps
he is, but not for the reason you have in mind! And
don't ever let him suppose that you consider him
aged: he is only about forty-nine anyhow, and rather
fancies he looks younger. Remember, my dear, that
he is very vain."
"There's no fool like an old fool," returned Olive
positively, calling to mind how Mr. Shotover had, but
a year ago, endeavoured to induce her to marry him.
and feeling secretly indignant that he Lh.uld. after
professing to love her, be caught even for a day by
the fascination of a mina n lihke Mary Ransome. This
was, Olive felt, of the nature of an insult. Decidedly
Mr. Shotover should be ashamed 'f himself.
And, curiously enough, that is what Mr. Shr.t
over was himself thinking at that moment.
The night he had left M:iry Ransome. that dark
night among the trees -.hen he had asked her to
give up trafficking with sinister things, urging that
possibly something evil might come of her persist-
ence, it had been with the determination to remain
her friend but to have nothing intimate to do with
her in the future. For, he felt assured, she would
still continue her experiments in the supernormal or
supernatural-she herself had not been certain as to
quite what they should be called. She believed she
was a sort of scientific woman, yet mixed with her
talk about scientific discoveries was a marked lean-
ing to old African methods and formula, and that
frankly meant what everybody else regarded as a
dabbling in witchcraft, a practising of obeah, and it
might lead to the penitentiary in the end. He could
have nothing to do with that sort of ;!hiu She fas-
cinated him, but she must come to him on his terms,
not on hers, which were dangerous. He had his
name and his position to think of; besides, he was
secretly uneasy about these peculiar powers of hers,
this ability of hers to cause fires to appear that did
not burn, noises the origin of which no one could
trace: the awesome faculty she possessed of spread-
ing fear.
Not that she had put fear into him; he had
fought her and no one who was really afraid of her
would have done that. If in a way she had beaten
him, that had been because of circumstances and be-
cause of her intelligence. He admired her because
she had fought him with her intelligence and had
not come off second best: mentally she appealed to
him as well as physically. But he was a strong man,
and he would not give way to a woman. She would
not abandon her perilous pran:ticps, therefore he had
cut himself off from her. He had taken care never
to see her again after that nihlit. But he had thought
of her often and often. And in the la t few weeks
she had neyer been a moment out of his mind, her
fate had persistently haunted him. He waR now pos-
sessed with an irresistible longing to see her again.
And for that he was ashamed.
He had always been proud of his -trpncllt of
.character, actually proud also that he had rewarded
and treated women more as incidents than as any-
thing fundamental in his life. He had wished to
marry Olive Seaton; but he had let her go to his'







PLANTERS'


PUNCH


chief assistant, with his blessing as it were; there
had been other women, and of some of these he had
forgotten their very names by this. He had, he
plumed himself, been generous to them, he was al-
ways proud that no one could speak of him as a
stingy person. But to regard any particular woman
as something he could not do without-that was non-
sense It had not been true even when he was a lad
of twenty-one, at an age when youth believes that
love is all-important and that it would be sweet to
die for some beloved girl. That sort of romanticism
had never appealed to him, he had never understood
it. Power, wealth, dominance-these were objects
to strive after and achieve. And these he had achiev-
ed. But now, because this woman with her bronze
complexion, regular features, straight figure, master-
ful air, and a peculiar beauty of her own, had let
him leave her with but a few words of farewell,
though she had confessed to loving him, he had felt
increasingly miserable, had realized with startled
.surprise that nothing he had, nothing he
.did, seemed to matter much to him in these
days. Life had become flat, stale and un-
profitable to him. And he was not yet quite
fifty; consequently his ennui, his increas-
ing malaise, his disgust with and weariness
if everything, could hardly be attributed to
age. He knew they could not be; he ad-
mitted to himself that, though he had met
and even seen her on so few occasions, he
missed Mary Ransome as though she had
always been a vital part of his life. And
as time had passed his longing to see her
again, to have and hold her as his, had in-
creased instead of diminished. It had be-
come an obsession. He recognized with a
savage feeling of anger that it was steadily
mastering him.
And he was ashamed.



Not very far away from Elmsley Park,
where Mr. Shotover sat and brooded, Ernest
and his wife continued their conversation
about him.
"Let's take a run down to the Movies,"
Ernest suggested; "we'll be in time for the
second show. To-morrow I'll urge Mr.
Shotover to go for one of his annual trips
abroad; he hasn't an excuse for not going.
As a matter of fact, he should have gone
three months ago. As for Miss Ransome,
he'll not see her or worry about her again,
if he has been doing so-which I doubt,
You don't know how strong a man he is,
my dear. He's commonish, flashy; but he
has strong stuff in him. I have got to like
him really."
"I like him too, now," said Olive. "And
I am glad you don't think there is any
cham.e of his taking up with that dreadful
woman. Why, she isn't even white."
"Would she be less "dreadful' if she
were whitee" asked Ernest, with a sly
snile.
"I don't suppose so; but of course she
would be white, and he is white-isn't
he?"
"So far as my knowledge and belief go,
which, I think, is the legal formula," said
Ernest. "But I can't see that colour makes
any difference when it comes to infatuations, M M
and a v~hite witch or a black one-it seems
very much the same. In this instance, how- family,
ever, ue have not to do with witches, really, and m
but with a man who has never married and Ev
who has succeeded so much in making heroes
money that he-is suffering from boredom. good s
He has no interests outside of his business, lady of
he doesn't even read. He is too limited, there a
too self centred; he ought to have some pleasant
other outlet for his energy besides this ever- Mr
lasting business of his. He might get mar- the mo
ried .player,
Olive shook her head decisively. "He a good
would be bored with marriage in six great 1I
months." she declared: "I know him well of Engl
enough to know that. Try to persuade him
Ic go into politics."
"Local politics? He would not look at that.
And anywhere outside of the West Indies he would,
politically, be a nonentity; he wouldn't have the
ghost of a chance. He is that very unfortunate crea-
ture; a poor, rich, circumscribed man. His success
has ceasedl to give him the old satisfaction; he is fed
up. All lie can do now, so far as I can see, if he
doesn't marry, is to continue making money and go-
ing on visits to other countries, and entertaining
lavishly. His chief recreation will be work. When
he stop' he will die of sheer disgust with life."
"WVhat a horrible fate you predict for the man!"
exclaimed Olive. She laughed: "perhaps he will take
to religion and endow churches."
"That might do him good," said Ernest serious-
ly: "but it isn't his line. At this moment, no doubt,
he is sitting at Elmsley Park, sipping a whisky and
soda and wondering about his next 'deal.' In another
hour. hII mind made up, he will go to bed and to-


morrow morning he will put me to work out the
scheme he has decided on. Well, the car is ready:
shall we go?"
"Very good."
And just then Mr. Shotover himself went down-
stairs to his own chauffeur and ordered out his car.
He would drive it himself, he said; he might not be
back before morning.
He had made up his mind.
But it was not about a business deal.

CHAPTER TWO

THE MEETING

'SO you have come?"
It was midnight; the very hour was striking.
Mary Ransome, tall, dark, handsome, stood at the
threshold of her home among the thick gloomy trees
and greeted the man who descended from the car


she had done before; there was an air of greater as-
surance about her, she gave him an impression of
authority. Her eyes were gleaming; her white, even
teeth shone as her lips parted in a smile of unfeign-
ed delight. "Yes," she answered, "I knew you would
come; but while on the occasion you mention I could
not guess exactly the day or the hour you would, this
time I knew both. I knew you would come at mid-
night, David, and on Friday the 13th."
"Still posturing and pretending, Mary, I see," he
grinned, but not with any conviction. "Kiss me," he
said, and his words sounded like a command.
She placed her lips against his, and kissed him
long and passionately, her hands clinging to his
shoulders. "Let us sit down and talk," he said, re-
leasing himself, apd feeling, because of the unre-
strained emotion se displayed, that he was master
of the situation.
"I have kept away from you for a whole year,
Mary, because I wanted you to realise that you could
not have me and your own way at the
same time. Is that clear?"
-.."Very. But, my heart, you have come
to me tonight, not I to you, though I have
wanted you, O ever so much. You have
come to me, because, for months, you have
longed for m&_have been dreary and sad
without me: is it not so?"
"No," he lied calmly; "I came because
I believed that in the time that has pass-
ed since we last saw one another you would
have learnt sense, and, of course, it is for
the man to make advances in a matter of
this kind, not for the woman."
"But the women often do, David, in
spite of all their pretence, and you have al-
ways known that I am not like other wo-
men. It has been a fight of my will against
yours, of my powers against your strength.
You are the strongest man I have known;
.,, but I have proved even stronger than you
-because of resources which have become
'j greater since we last saw one another. So
I have drawn you to me, knowing that you
will remain with me now.


S'.

4.


Photograph by Gick


MRS. JOHN THOMSON

tS. THOMPSON, who at the beginning of this year w
iss Kathleen Laurence, a member of a well-known 1
is now the wife of the young headmaster of Manning's
mentions as her chief interests her husband and her hot
eryone who met Miss Kathleen Laurence, and who now
Mrs. John Thompson, is captivated both by her looks, ch
sense, and gracious manner; and one instinctively feels
her parts must find the world a pleasant place to live ii
,re so many who will find it a pleasure to make the i
t place for her.
s. Thompson excels in many things. She is said to be
st capable lady motor drivers in the island, is a sound
good at tennis, excellent at golf, a delightful dancing r
swimmer, and of artistic tastes, Jamaican, of course,
over of her native land. English in descent, and very
land.

which had been parked before the steps leading up
to the front door, in the opening of which her figure
stood framed, thrown into dark relief by the light
from the interior of the room.
"So you have come?"
She spoke as one who had expected this event,
yet was glad of it; both her hands were held out to
Mr. Shotover with a gesture of welcome, but also as
if they were taking possession of him, a thought that
occurred to himself as she drew him inside and smil-
ed her pleasure.
"Are you going to tell me, as you did on another
occasion, that you knew I would?" he asked her, not
yet sitting down but gazing with curiosity and ad-
miration on this woman whom he had deliberately
refrained from seeing for a year.
She was clothed in scarlet, which struck him as
being her favourite colour. The robe flowed, as
though it were the garment of a priestess; she held
herself more erect now, if that were possible, than


"I have grown stronger since we parted
a year ago. I thought, as you know, of go-
ing away, of studying, in England or in
France, spiritualism, thought transference-
all that sort of thing. But you remained in
Jamaica, and so long as you did that I did
not wish to leave. As long as you were in
the country it would be so easy to see you
if I wished, even though I might never
actually see you. The proximity was some-
thing, a great deal, and I loved you too
much to put thousands of miles of distance
between us. So I stayed.
"And you, David, weren't you used to
going away every few months? Yet you
haven't left this island for a day in the
whole of the past year. Was it not because
you wished to be very near to me?"
"I suppose it was," he admitted. "I
will gladly tell you the truth, Mary, I have
missed you terribly. I liked you greatly a
year ago; but I did not imagine that I loved
you. I did not suppose that I could; it is
not easy for a man of my temperament to
love any woman-love her, I mean, as some
men say they love women-"
"I know. I told you once, you may
remember, that you did not really love Olive
Seaton, Mrs: Tredegar as she now is. Per-
haps you cared for Prudence, my sister, as
much as, then, you could care for anyone;
yet you could give her up as you had given
up other women. She is happy now: we
will not talk of her any more: we will not
even ever mention her name again. Let
that he agreed between us."
"Certainly," he said, and she looked re-
lieved: it was plain that now she would
readily forget Prudence if she could, put
her entirely out of her mind.
"The past is past, David," Mary went
on; "it is divided from the present by a


whole long year. During that year we have come
to understand ourselves better than we' did be-
fore. You love me now; you merely liked me
very much before, a sort of infatuation. I loved
you before you began to think of me, but never so
strongly as since our last meeting, as the days went
by, and the weeks, and I remembered that you had
said what you meant to be final. I thought that
it was the end between us, too, but when a wo-
man loves a man she hardly ever believes, in her
heart of hearts, that all is over between them,
especially if both of them are free. You see, I hoped,
while probably you did not. You are accustomed to
making definite decisions, and you believed that you
could carry the same habit into affairs of the heart
and soul. You were wrong. For I kept on loving
you, and you had put yourself in my power by caring
for me. I had a hold on you which, later on, I could
use."
"You had a hold on me in a way,-I know that,"


1934-35








PLANTERS'


he replied; "are you suggesting that you have used
it ... in your own fashion?"
"Yes, David. I would not yield to your wish that
I should give up something that had done so much
to make life worth living to me, even for your care
and protection. I knew that I simply could not. And
you, had I obeyed you, might have tired of me in a
little while, as it is in your nature to do; whereas,
now, you never will. Think, darling. For months
you have been drawn towards me. For weeks that
feeling has grown stronger. In these last days it be-
came irresistible, and when I determined that at mid-
night to-night you should be with me, you were here
on the very stroke of the hour. I was certain that
you would be; but do you know what would have
happened if my certitude had proved a mere illusion?
I would have come to you. I would have left this
house to-night and driven over to Kingston; I would
have thrown myself at your very feet. Your wish
and will would have conquered."
"I am sorry, then, that I came to-
night," said Mr. Shotover bluntly; "I
believe that I have made a mistake which
both of us are going to regret?"
"Why do you say that, David?"
"Because I believe it. Because it has
come to me that you have been playing
a dangerous game, with me as a pawn
in it; and not only do I object to being
anyone's pawn, but something inside of
me tells me that you are handling a fire
that may consume us both."
"Don't say that," she implored, and
her voice had suddenly sunk to an agi-
tated whisper. "Don't think such dread-
ful things. Believe that because I love
you more strongly, more passionately,
than you love me, my passion moved you
even while you were miles away, and
that is why you came."
"How like a woman to contradict
herself," laughed Mr. Shotover, looking
with a queer mixture of affection and
derision at Mary. "At one moment you
tell me that you had fixed the very day
and date and hour of my appearance
here, and then you ask me to believe
that it was only the strength of your
passion that moved me! I want to be-
lieve that, though; yet nomehl o I can't.
I did not want to come to-ijight, Mary,
though I have always wanted to see you
again. Hard-headed practical man as I
am, I am afraid I have to believe that it
is something stronger than human will
that moved me to this adventure to-
night.
"Well, I am here, and what are we
going to do about it? What is the
sequel?"
"Come," she said.
She rose, her hand upon his arm.
She led him towards an inner room,
throwing open the door that led into it,
and pushing him forward. One lamp
burned in it, and from a table in a corn-
er, on which stood something like a tiny
censer, curled a faint whisp of smoke
giving forth an odour of incense. The
room was draped in scarlet. And a great
bed with its head to the southern wall
was spread with scarlet also, which, in
that dim light, looked almost like blood.
The bed was of mahogany, a huge AISS
thing, with towering posts that almost ll Nune
touched the roof. It had been built in once disce
far-off days, with rich carving and solid Her fr
wood-work, the kind of bed in which be many,
four or five persons might sleep in some affectionat
slave-holder's mansion a hundred and is she ext
fifty years before. It stood high from of her dis
the floor, and was ascended by a step of A fine
three short treads, and this contrivance the word
was now placed exactly in the centre of quality w
the foot of the bed, as might have been father. S
a series of steps leading up to an altar. finds expr
Red from the edge of the counter- its turn il
pane to the broad mahogany headpiece,
figured profusely and highly polished, was this bed;
and the woman clothed in red, and the room curtains
of the same rich hue, screamed aloud of melodrama
and of the fantastic. It was a stage setting, Mr. Shot-
over swiftly thought, and designed to impress him.
He felt a trifle contemptuous: surely Mary knew.him
sufficiently to be aware that all this sort of nonsense
could not affect him: that instead of seeming to him
impressive it would only appear grotesque! In an in-
stant she seemed to read his thought. "Don't sneer,
David," she begged: "order and ceremony, an appro-
priate setting and a fitting ritual are necessary to
me. When there is a marriage of any two ordinary
people the bride's room is beautifully decorated, and
there are flowers; and she herself is clothed in white,
and it is the greatest occasion of her life. I am cloth-
ed in scarlet and my room is draped in scarlet on
my wedding night. That is really all that this scene
means."
"Wedding night? But-"
"I know. And yet it is our wedding. You and


I are giving ourselves to one another to-night, and
we are free as the air and acting with our eyes wide
open. It is no mere wretched liaison between us,
nor is it a marriage of the ordinary kind. You could
not marry me like that; and yet I want to feel, to
know, that, in our own way, in my way, we are as
much married as though we had signed the register
before a Marriage Officer. Our pledge will not be bind-
ing in the eyes of the law-I know that. We have
no witnesses: there is not another living human be-
ing except you and me in these premises to-night.
Just you and me; but we will pledge ourselves to
one another, for better and worse, for good and for
evil, whatever may come, until death shall us part
-though I hope we may go together. Let us stand
before this bed, at the foot of it, and take one an-
other's hand, and repeat the words I have said. That
will be all. But it will be a ceremony to me, a mar-
riage which neither of us will forget nor choose to re-
gard as invalid. In a second it will be done."


MISS GERALDINE NUNES

GERALDINE NUNES, the youngest daughter of Mr.
es, possesses that quality usually described as poise, a
rnible and which easily marks out its possessor in a crc
friends familiarly know her as Tula, and these are and wi
for Miss Nunes is a young lady who appeals irresistib
,e regard of people with whom she comes into contact.
remely good-looking, she is also exceedingly nice. The
position is one of the most striking traits of her chara
Stype of the modern West Indian young lady, in the besi
"modern," is Miss Geraldine Nunes. Keenly intelligent
which she has inherited from the able businessman wl
Ihe wins admiration without exciting that form of en
session in detraction. Withal she is extremely modest,
increases the affection in which she is generally held.

She was awfully excited. Emotion overpowered
her. He had never seen her so passionate before,
not even when stirred to anger, and to hatred of
him, more than a year ago, when he had hurled a
contemptuous expression at her, calling her bastard
and half-nigger. He was aware also that he too was
in the grip of passion, that she was sweeping him off
his feet, that the repression he had imposed upon
himself these many months was now resulting in a
reaction that could hardly be controlled. And why,
he asked himself in one flashing second, should he
seek to control it? He wanted this woman, he had
come to her; why shrink back at a little mummery
which seemed to mean something to her, though why
she, an educated woman, should wish it, could only
be explained as a desire on the part of her sex to
regularise what they felt to be irregular and to jus-
tify their own acts to themselves by formulae and
ceremony of little or no practical meaning. Even
while thinking this-and it was a matter of seconds
-his right hand went out to hers, and he heard him-


*self repeating word by word the pledge for which
she asked him. "For better and worse, for good and for
evil, whatever may come, until death shall us part."
It was said, and she threw her arms round his neck
calling out: "we are wedded now, in our own way,
and I have the man I hated once more than I
hated anything else in this world. And I love you
as no woman has ever loved you before. You will
stay with me for a few hours, dearest, and then you
must be away, for I would not have you talked about.
Let us put out the lights."
At five o'clock in the morning, with the world
still dark, he was almost ready to set off to Kingston.
She had risen half an hour before and, with a spirit
lamp, had cooked him coffee and eggs and toast, mov-
ing about proudly as though proud to serve him:
which indeed she was. His mood was reckless and
happy: this was an adventure worth having, some-
thing so utterly different from the boring round of
the life he had been living for so many months. She
was superb. And she was his entirely.
He felt exalted; he was a conqueror,
things fell out eventually as he desired.
He hastily finished his breakfast and
rose to go.
"I shall be back the day after to-
morrow," he said.
"You will come late and leave early,"
she agreed, "and I will not be happy till
I see you again."
"And meantime," he added jokingly,
"you will consult your stars and read our
destiny: though I warn you to give up
that nonsense, Mary."
"It brought you to me, and it gave
me to you: but for this 'nonsense' of
mine we might never even have met.
Think of that, dear. And it Isn't non-
sense. You are the most powerful man
in this country, in these West Indies,
commercially, financially. I am the most
powerful woman, and no harm can come
to me now from any human source."
"You are more an adept in the super-
normal than you used to be, then?" he
laughed, as he got into his car.
"It is supernormal, but something
else also, David: I know. It is more than
supernormal. There are powers of good
and evil, of light and darkness, all about
us; I seek to know them better, and to
use those only that are good. You will
learn more of this later on. Go now,
dear."
"Take my advice, old girl," he
H chuckled, "and don't go monkeying too
much with your 'powers.' Sincere in-
vestigators of spiritualism, I have heard,
usually go off their nuts. They are never
normal. You are not quite normal even
now, yourself, you know. But you are
adorable."
"Good-bye, David."
"Till we meet again!"

CHAPTER THREE

ANOTHER STEP

M/ R. SHOTOVER felt like a boy. All
11 the buoyancy of his youthful days
had returned; there was a new zest in
life for him; he took an interest in every-
L. C. E. thing, whereas, but a short time before,
quality at he had been bored almost to extinction.
crowd. And great though his self-confidence
ill always always had been, it had increased dur-
bly to the ing the last few weeks. What he had
Not only to do was done with a boldness, an as-
sincerity surance that carried everything before
,cter. it; he interviewed high officials the Gov-
t sense of ernor himself, feeling that he must have
t, also, a his way, and he did. The world seemed
ho is her at his feet.
ivy which "Most men fail, or do not go far, be-
which in cause they lack courage," he said to
Mary Ransome one night, while he sat
with her in her cottage in St. Ann.
whither he had gone that evening. "It isn't intelli-
gence alone, or knowledge, that helps a man in this
world: these, if he hasn't courage, won't carry him
very far. He must be audacious to the very point
of-"
"Temerity is the word you are thinking of,
David, and of course you are right. But temerity
without intelligence and knowledge won't, on the
other hand, carry you very far either. A great gen-
eral needs all three. A woman needs them too if
she is to achieve any'thinp. Has it occurred to you,
my dear, that during these last few weeks I may
have been helping you?"
"Yes, in a way. You have rid me of the ennui
that was disgusting me with every effort. I have
realized that clearly enough."
"I have done more, David. I have rendered you
irresistible. I am with you wherever you are, in
whatever you do. I inspire you with certainty, my
strength is yours; and my strength is not of the
ordinary type."


PUNC H


1934-35







PLANTERS'


"*Still on the old topic, Mary," he laughed. "Next
you will be sending your black cat to accompany me
wherever I go. Then people will say that I am a
wizard. By the way, what has become of that animal?
1 recall now that I haven't seen it for some time."
"*It is dead; it died months ago. It was only an
animal, and it had lived its life. Or, perhaps, not
quite. I think it got worn out. I used it much, and
more and more as time went on. I was trying ex-
periments with it. Its brain functioned as I direct-
ed. but its body suddenly failed. Had it been hu-
man-
"Do you mean to say that you would practice
on human beings as you did on that cat? On me,
for instance?" he asked slowly.
"What harm would there be in that, David?" she
answered quietly, "What else do the doctors, when
they are studying some disease? Or the psycholo-
gists when they are analysing the human mind for
the purpose of making new discoveries? Or the
spiritualists when they employ a medium?"
"Let us i,,nfine our talk to ourselves."
'Then, yes. Don't you see that our
marriage is a real thing, real between you
and me. and that we are now more truly
one than any ordinary married couple can
claim to be' 'And they twain shall be one
flesh.' I meant it to be so; and by flesh is
meant mind. soul, purpose. I have given
myself to you and you to me, and during
these last three months I have felt myself
becoming more like you, and you have be-
come more like me. Later on you will join
me in my researches-"-
"Not a damn of that!" he interrupted
coarsely.
"But you will, my dear: I am certain
of it. And why not? What is there to
fear?"
--There is something to avoid. The
thing is unhealthy. Continue, and I will
come to believe that you are really an
obeahwoman, Mary, a sort of a witch."
'*Rubbish' The obeahwomen you speak
of are mere charlatans, frauds. Whatever
their ancestors may have known, they do
not know- they are quacks, liars; they are
fools and degenerates; they can do nothing
but pretend. Whereas I can endow your
spirit with power, can bend men's wills to
my will, and therefore to yours; I can
make the air alive with strange forms and
sounds, not of this earth, though the. pur-
pose of these I have not yet quite discover-
ed. But I know now that they exist and
can be controlled by specially gifted human
beings. Listen, dear!"
As she spoke it seemed to him as if
there were a myriad things moving about
him in the room, a sound as though soft
wings were flying through the still air, a
sudden changing of the atmosphere, which
had been cool. to a warmer temperature:
while she sat, rapt and tense, with a strange
far-ayay look in her eyes.
"Let us cet out of this, let us go out-
side," he ordered abruptly. "It is too close
In here."
She rose obediently, and they went out-
doors. Under a great mango tree, where it
was pitch dark, there was a garden bench
which she had had placed there some weeks
before They seated themselves upon it.
He wished to proceed with his conversa-
tion. hut something held his tongue. He ISS
noticed in the gloom that her face was turn- lif
ed towards the cottage. Suddenly he saw it Tryall,
leap into lurid distinctness as though bath- young I
ed in flames. He sprang up with an oath. is the i
Her hand caught and compelled him to re- persona
sume his seat. Mis
Darkness again descended; the light sical cu
had expired. consider
"You see ?" she said. "Before your very couple
eyes. And you have heard. But these are garden
but ordinary phenomena, a sort of trick festiviti
that one might use to startle or impress or- where s
dinary pepole. The power I have aimed
at. but have not acquired until now, is that of
compelling other men and women to do what I want
-what we will. That is different and infinitely hard-
er. Think. David. For some weeks now you have
been doing things on a bigger scale than ever before;
no one has been able to withstand you. The papers
are full tf your name; everybody is talking about
you You feel strong, unconquerable, happy-as you
ougtr tn he. Don't you think now, don't you realise,
that I have had a hand in all that? But don't mis-
understand ni-, dear, I should have been useless with-
out you. Your strength is my strength; I could not
work thronirh a weakling. That would be like a
great ar':hitect. and builder endeavouring to make a
beautiful inthedral out of hardened mud instead of
out of stne and marble. It would be like a painter
striving to paint a wonderful picture with water!
Those whl are to master and utilise the hidden
cpcrets iof nature must themselves be great. Small
men dr' n.-t accomplish marvellous things. I can


never forget that, in the past, when I strove to fight
you, you, unaided, were as strong as I."
"Thank you, Mary, but-"
"I haven't finished. I have inspired you these
last few months, David, literally inspired you.
You have become more than an ordinary man. But
you-and I-are only at the beginning. Consider.
If someone had discovered electricity and its uses,
and had been able to keep that secret entirely to him-
self and to but a small number of initiates vowed to
common action and associated in a kind of inviol-
able brotherhood, can you imagine what a power
they would have exercised in this world? They
could have made themselves the masters of the world.
If the secret of flying had been found by one man
only, and kept by him and the few he had chosen
as his helpers, these too would have been masters of
the world. From the air they would have reigned;
they could have imposed their terms on every nA-
tion: by merely dropping bombs containing poison


Phtlr.rlph l i by a,'ara Lt. L Londonri
MISS IDA BBOWNE


SIDA BROWNE, blessed with beauty, bright of spirits,
e, lives at Sandy Bay in the parish of Hanover, at th
which at present she is helping to manage. A big jo
ady, but she takes to it with pleasure and efficiency. TI
property of her father, hence she cannot but have a ve:
1 interest in her work.
is Browne is very keen on sport, on swimming, riding a
ilture; she loves dancing and tennis, in which she E
rably after leaving school in England, where she reside
of years before returning to Jamaica. She is a keen i
.r also, and is very often gardening. She is often seen
ies of Montego Bay, and sometimes in Kingston. And
ihe is welcomed for her unaffected gaiety and charm of n

gas on cities, striking suddenly, and out of the dark-
ness, they would have been able to impose their terms
on everyone. Now I have been discovering that by
the exercise of will, perhaps with the aid of
powers constantly about us and not wholly of this
earth, I can bend men and women to my way. I say
discovering, for my efforts are but at the inception,
the beginning. I am striving, successfully, to get
into contact with the soul of things, for everything
has a soul, or spirit, that can be released and used.
The ignorant savages, my African ancestors, guess-
ed this in their blind way; their belief that every-
thing had a spirit or soul was called animism by
learned men, and laughed at; yet they were right.
What was hidden from the great and wise, because
of their self-sufficiency or crass materialism, was
revealed to the simple Negro in some dim, uncertain
fashion. And now, in these days, renowned scientists
talk about breaking up the Atom and thus releasing
tremendous forces that shall revolutionise human


life!' Just as though the world were not spirit but
merely an atomic structure! You follow me, don't
you, David?"
"Not a step. You are talking a language I don't
understand, but I am becoming more and more con-
vinced, my dear, that you are disturbing the balance
of your mind by brooding over things you had better
leave alone. Your sanity is worth all the discoveries
you are talking about. I begin to understand now
why, in olden days, Governments and Churches made
it a capital offence for people to meddle with the
supernatural. That was a very healthy rule."
"And would have kept the world stagnant if it
could always have been enforced," she answered
scornfully. "You are of little faith, David, in spite
of what your own eyes have seen and your ears have
heard. Yet you are bound with me on the same mis-
sion, and have sworn to tread the same path with-
me,"
"The devil I have!"
"Oh, yes, dearest. We are wedded for
better and for worse, for good and for evil:
would you like us to separate now?"
"I don't quiite like the words as you
,put them, Mary," Mr. Shotover answered
seriously, "especially those about good and
evil. But they don't mean much anyhow.
But tell me: all this talk of yours is not
-imnpl conversation, I know. I understand
quite well that when people begin to harp
upon a certain string they have something
very definite in mind. What have you?
What are you driving at?"


"I have ben thinking that it can do
you no o,.ii to come down to me, at night,
like a thief in the dark, from Kingston. I
miss you xwhen you are away, and you miss
me also."
"True enough."
"And it is bound to be known, if it isn't
known already."
"Quite true; but what do I care-if you
dIni't."
"Oh, I don't care what people may say:
I, like you, am above that. It isn't that,
however. I want to be more with you, con-
stantly with you; and then you and I-"
"How can we be constantly together?
You mean I should take a house for you in
Kingston, as I did for Pru-"
"We agreed not to mention her again,"
said Mary sharply. "She is the only being
in the world who can make me feel asham-
ed of myself. What I mean is this," she
continued decisively: "I want to come. Elmsley Park to live."
"But, good God! don't you see-"
"Everything. I could come as your
housekeeper. The woman you now have is
old: pension her."
"My sister?"
"She does not always live with you,
does she? Besides, she herself will tell you
to-morrow that she wants to go back to her
own house. You will see."
"Somtething more of your devil-practice,
Mary?"
"Merely an exercise of will power,
darling; besides, I suspect that Miss Shot-
over has been wanting to go back home for
some time now. She has never lived with
you for long, has she?"
"No. You're right. Yes; what you sug-
gest could be arranged; but people are cer-
tain to talk: you are so good looking, and
you are not poor."
"They can talk; but everything will be
so open that they will not dare go too far.
They will know; but men of your position
can do things that others can only think of.
I will keep myself in the background when
you have visitors; I will be discretion it-
self. But I will be near to you, with you.
And with you and me working together-
David, don't you see? We may do remark-
able things! A little while in Jamaica,
and then we shall go farther afield. This
place is but a tiny spot: too small, too cir-


cumscribed for me. In another year, six months per-
haps, we shall be out of it. We shall go to France;
we shall explore strange secrets together; we shall
do what human beings have never done before.. I
shall call spirits from the vasty deep, and they will
come."
"Mary, my dear, are you sure you are quite
sane? I have warned you that you are fooling with
your sanity."
"And I have shown you what I can do. We are
surrounded at this moment with a cloud of invisible
witnesses. The very air we breathe is alive with
spiritualities and powers. I have learnt ever so
much; and if that is witchcraft, I am proud to be a
witch. The ghosts of the dead obey me-"
"Come," commanded Mr. Shotover; "that is about
enough. If I were a sensible man I should leave
you at this moment for good and all!"
"But you cannot, David. You love me. And, be-
(Continued on Page 34).


PU NCH


1934-35







PLANTERS' PUNCH


From Public Privacy To Private


THE wish of Mr. Justice Brown will be, at the
end of 1934, to "fold his tents like the Arabs,
and as silently steal away." For Mr. Henry Isaac
Close Brown has been the silentest man in Jamaica;
except when he had to speak at the Bar as a prac-
tising barrister, or as Acting Attorney General, there
has never been a man who through so long, success-
ful and honoured a career, has endeavoured more
successfully to divert from himself that publicity
which so many persons love, to shun society, and to
be almost a recluse, while still leading a very active
life.
He has carried this policy, which represents a
Strong trait of his character, even into dealing with
his debtors. I can hardly believe that Mr. Brown
has dunned any man in his life, and yet I am cer-
tain that a great many people have borrowed money
from him, for kindness is his middle name. I did
so before he became a Judge, and I never found it
so easy to borrow money as on that occasion. The
"facility with which I "clicked" was so astonishing
that it almost induced me to make my career that
of a professional borrower with no intention to re-
pay. But as the next man I tried read me a severs
lesson on the evil of raising loans, enjoyed himself
while doing so, and seemed disposed to touch me for
a few pounds himself, I concluded that on the whole
hard work would be easier than borrowing, and so
have continued upon a literary career. And just as
you could not induce Mr. Brown even to recover his
own property if that involved unavoidable publicity,
so the job undertaken by Samson of old, of pulling
down the Temple of the Philistines, has been child's
play compared to any effort made to induce His Hon-
our Mr. Justice Brown to attend any function of a
social character.

I THINK I have seen him just three times at such
a reunion. One was when a Royal Prince was
in Jamaica and then Mr. Brown dined as His Ma-


Pub licity


By H. G. D.

with a character that has never ceased to be ad-
mired.

THE Government soon made use of his services.
But he still remained free to practise as he wish-
ed. Then came the great earthquake of Kingston,
the refusal of the English Insurance Companies to
acknowledge liability for the destruction of our build-
ings by fire, the dismay of the policyholders, their
decision to see what could be effected by litigation,
and the readiness with which Mr. H. I. C. Brown


was being discussed. Suddenly Mr. Brown rose. "I
do not," he said, "propose to give a silent vote upon
this question"; and then he spoke for something like
a quarter of an hour strongly, clearly, decisively. He
pointed out that it was a most unusual thing to anti-
cipate a situation of which there was no real threat
existing and which at the very worst could be dealt
with easily if and when it did arise. He knew per-
fectly well that it might be thought that he was de-
fending a connection by marriage; and had there
been no grave principle involved that consideration
might have decided him to hold his peace. But he
felt that an injustice, or at any rate something not
really consistent with high standards of procedure,
was being advocated, and he resolved to strike a blow


Sjesty's Chief Justice. On another occasion a great
"'At Home" was given to welcome a new Governor,
'and the face and figure of Mr. Justice Brown were
discernible amongst those of other local luminaries.
The third occasion was when he dined with me,'and
:then I had to resort to a subterfuge. The dinner
-was in honour of the late Lord Burnham, and.Mr.
Brown was Acting Chief Justice. I pointed out to
him that so great a friend of Jamaica as Lord Burn-
'ham must be welcomed' by the Chief Justice besides
others, and that I personally resented his aloofness
from so distinguished a literary man as myself. "Be-
.sides,"I added, "there will only be a few persons
present." He came, and his first remark to me was,
"Is this what you call a few persons?" "Perjury,"
.I replied, "has been one of the pursuits of my life;
and think of the pleasure I derive from deceiving a
-Chief Justice!" And really it is a matter for pride
.to be able to trick a Judge of our Supreme Court.
Some day I shall try it when in the witness box. I
-have already made enquiries as to the accommoda-
tion and the quality of food supplied at the General
Penitentiary.
THERE are some men whose careers are chequer-
ed. They rise and fall, they are down as well
as up, life with them is a perpetual struggle. It has
never been so with Mr. Justice Brown. For though I
know that, like the surface of the moon, only a part
of a man's life is ever visible to us-that at best
we can but know about him what is on the sur
face for most of us to see, and but little of his inti-
mate thoughts and feelings, yet the progress of His
Honour has seemed to me to represent one steady
upward curve. Decidedly, he has never gone back-
wards. At his school and college he was an earnest
student, studying honestly,. winning the Jamaica
Scholarship of his year, going to Oxford, taking his
degree in the prescribed period of three years, and
returning to Jamaica to become recognized at once
as a barrister of outstanding merit and as a man


placed his talents at their disposal. No one imagin-
ed that he was thinking of money when he did so:
indeed, the Insurance Companies would have been
only too glad of his services. He simply wished to
serve his countrymen, whether he should be paid for
it or not; he threw himself into the work to be done
with a wholeheartedness of which the solicitors spoke
in terms of deep respect; and when the case was
won it was felt that amongst the men who had fought
for Jamaica's interests Brown stood in the foremost
rank.
Yet I do not think that he cared very much for
private work; he certainly gave up a lucrative
practice to become the Government's Solicitor-Gen-
eral and afterwards Acting Attorney General and a
Judge of the Kingston Court. His one diversion
was Masonry; and from a simple Mason he rose to
be District Grand Master of the Jamaica Lodges,
the highest position that can be held in Jamaica.
From that position he has now retired. For Mr.
Brown is always willing to give place to other men.
HE served the Government faithfully, but never
with anything like servility. On one occasion,
indeed, when sitting in the Legislative Council as
Acting Attorney General, he showed independence of
a peculiarly startling kind. His brother-in-law, the
late Mr. S. A. G. Cox, was an elected member, radical,
turbulent, with policies and certainly with a habit
of expressing himself of which Mr. Brown entirely
disapproved. But there came a proposal of some law
that would deal with a situation which it was be-
lieved might be created by Mr. Cox, but which had
not and never has made any concrete appearance.
The Government made this measure an open or
optional one: that is to say, all members of the
House were free to vote upon it as they wished. But
the Government's desire and inclination were gen-
erally well known: they wanted this law. I forget
now what it was exactly that was proposed, but I
was In the Council Chamber on the day the matter


at it. When he sat down, everyone
knew that the matter was decided.
He had settled the fate of the pro-
Sposal. That was an act of high
courage, but consistent with the
character of the man as we all
know him. Sometime afterwards he was appointed a
Judge of the Supreme Court of Judicature in Jamaica.

IT was before he became Judge that I published that
most excellent and admirable work, "Twentieth
Century Jamaica," a book of such classic merit that
no one seems to read it in these days. I dedicated
it to two of the finest men that I knew intimately
at that time, and I reproduce the dedication here.
Milholland is dead, but Brown most happily is still
with us and very much alive, and what I said of
them both some twenty years ago is as true to-day
as when it was written:
To
J. F. MILHOLLAND
Crown Solicitor of Jamaica
and
HENRY ISAAC CLOSE BROWN
Registrar of the Supreme Court
I dedicate this Book
Not only because they are men of whom
Their country is rightly proud
But also because they are men whom
To know well
Is to think well of human nature.

BUT now that Mr. Brown is retiring, may I sug-
gest that he should retire from the obscurity of
judicial life into the full glory of private publicity?
I want to hope that when he has ceased to be a judge
he will become a social man, will be more seen
amongst his friends and lovers and admirers, as our
clever cartoonist, Cliff Tyrell, depicts him on this
page. I want to hope this; but somewhere in my
heart there is a gnawing fear. If the leopard can-
not change his spots, can Mr. Brown change the ha-
bits of a lifetime? There is one faint possibility: it
is based upon the fact that there are some leopards
without.spots. Hence when the man who has firmly
held that no judge must seek popularity, ceases to
be a judge, he may sit with his fellow creatures, not
in the capacity of one endeavouring to disentangle
a grain of truth from a bushel of lies, but as a parti-
cipant in ordinary social life and frivolity. Whether
he does so or not, however, he will still retain our
affection. Meanwhile he has fulfilled his ambition,
which was to do justice, to love mercy, to be abso-
lutely upright in character, to be an example to his
fellow countrymen, to be one to whom they could
always point with pride.


M JUSTICE BRON RETRE INTO SOCIAL PUBLICITY
MR. JUSTICE BROWN RETIRES INTO SOCIAL PUBLICITY


f


1934-35







PLANTER S' PUNCH


THERE


M ISS BELINDA FITZ-BOODLE, now a spinster
lady of sixty-five, can look back to the time
when, as a girl, her father used only great wax and
sperm candles for the illumination of his drawing
room. She was then a tiny tot, but she remembers
the circumstance distinctly. It was one of the circum-
stances % which, like certain striking incidents, made
a deep impression upon her. There were candles in
other rooms of the house also, and she understood
afterwards that had her father been a man of less
opulence he might have had to resort to kerosene
lamps for the lighting of his habitation, as was
the habit of those whom Miss Belinda was accustom-
ed to regard as the lower orders.
Between the higher and the lower orders of Ja-
maica there was then a great gulf fixed. The limits
of that gulf were delineated in fiery lines. At the
uppermost side of the chasm was the soft effulgent
glow of the candles, at its other side the inferior
brilliance given forth by multitudes of kerosene
lamps. Amongst the candles of the better classes
were some manufactured out of pure wax, just as
anionpst the kerosene lamps of the other classes you
had laree glassware receptacles upon the ample globes
of which were sometimes painted flying birds and
gorgeous flowers: and these you will find to this
day in thousands of houses in Jamaica, in the rural
district. particularly. Meantime the candle has gone
the way of the old horse carriage, and the gulf of
light between rich and poor, high and low, in our
city and towns, diminishes daily in width. Demo-
cracy has achieved another triumph in the gradual
cursing of one particular division between the classes.
For mn-st classes now in.our capital city, and in some
of our t..wns, utilise the same form of illuminant.
Electricity is within the reach of all.
MISS BELINDA, mellowed by the years, but still
remembering the aristocratic prejudices of her
youth, sometimes exclaims that she does not know
what the world is coming to. Neither does anybody
else for the matter of that, but Miss Belinda's won-
der is chiefly evoked when she passes some quite
humble dwelling in the suburbs of Kingston and
observe that it is lighted with electric lamps. Such


BE


Electricity's Democratising

And Other Aspects


By H. G. D.

a house, she is certain, would never have used
candles in the days of yore. Now it employs elec-
tricity. So does the greatest mansion in Kingston.
So does the Governor's palace in St. Andrew. So
does the house on the hill as well as the shop by the
seashore in Montego Bay. Year by year, more and
more, it is electricity everywhere. Miss Belinda feels
that this is as great a revolution as any political up-
heaval in Europe, and from certain points of view she
is not wrong. In a certain sense this modernisation
of lighting, this general and democratic use of elec-
tricity, is a great social revolution. Miss Belinda is
therefore a profounder philosopher than she herself
knows. She realises the great change that has been
wrought in all our lives by the introduction of elec-
tricity into so many of our homes, and she regards
it as a sign of fundamental social change, which in
a way it is.
Thus King's House or Myrtle Bank Hotel gives
a Ball, and the gardens and the buildings blaze with
lights, all turned on by the manipulation of a few
little switches. Miss Jemima Jones, expecting her
boy friend this evening, turns her own little switch
and her verandah or sitting room is instantly as
bright as is Myrtle Bank or King's House. Vncon-
sciously this flood of clear radiance exalts Jemima's
spirit; she would not feel so lively and so bright
were it but a kerosene lamp that she possessed.
Ask Miss Jemima Jones if she would prefer to go
back to kerosene lamps-or rather to introduce kero-
sene lamps, for probably she has never known any
other home-illuminant than electricity-and she
would wonder at the impertinence of your question.
Seriously to suggest to her that she should not have
electricity would be regarded by her as a reflection
on her social status. Why, she would ask, should


LET


MISS BELINDA KNOWS THE DOMESTIC LIGHTING OF TWO GENERATIONS


LIGHT


she not have electricity if you have it, and what dif-
ference is there between you and her that your home
should be electrically lighted and hers not? A query
which, would arouse the instant approval both
of Mr. Russell Bell and Mr. A. S. Nichols, who, as
the Chief Purveyors and High Priests of electricity
in Jamaica, desire as large a body of adherents as
possible. With them the words of Scripture, "Lighten
our darkness," refer not only to a spiritual illumin-
ing but to a physical one; and instinctively when
they hear such, words they think of the overhead
wires of their Company conveying electric current
east, west, north and south, of their Power Houses
in Kingston, at Bog Walk, at Montego Bay and else-
where humming to the revolution of great wheels
and generating that mysterious agent which we call
electricity, but of the actual nature of which no one
as yet possesses knowledge.
IT was on Easter Monday last that I visited the
Power Houses at Gold Street and at Bog Walk. I
had been inside the former once before, many years
ago, when some new machinery was being therein in-
stalled; into the Bog Walk Power House I had never
previously even peeped. Now, with Mr. Harry Camp-
bell, and Mr. A. H. Young, electricians in general
charge of the Company's lighting operations, and ac-
companied by Mr. Cliff Tyrell, the caricaturist-in-
chief of "Planters' Punch"-for as he is the only
caricaturist of "Planters' Punch" he must be cari-
caturist-in-chief-I visited on April 2nd, 1933, the
power station at Gold Street, from the interior of
which there issued a steady incessant roar, the noise
of machinery constantly in operation.
"Step inside," said Mr. Campbell and Mr. Young
simultaneously, making a sweeping gesture with
their hands, and treating me as a guest of the high-.
est honour.
"After you," said I firmly, for nothing on earth
would have persuaded me to be the first to enter a
place where peril possibly lurked and with the ar,
rangements of which I was entirely unacquainted,
Doesn't the Public Service Company proclaim on
every street car the wisdom of "Safety First?".
Should I now, at one of the supreme conjunctures of,


1934-35








PLANTERS'


my existence, ignore that salutary warn-
ing? If any risk was to be taken, let
Master Harry and Master Young be the
ones to take it. "After you," I repeated
emphatically, with Cliff Tyrell thirty
yards away.
And the first thing that caught my
eyes as I looked about me within the
Power House was a notice bearing the
legend "Danger, 14,000 Volts." I do not
know what a volt is but am well
acquaint with danger. And that notice
communicated to me clearly that there
were 14,000 dangers at that spot. I look-
ed about, other warnings leapt to the
eye: there was danger everywhere. But
Mr. C. W. Humphris, who is in charge
of that Power House, and Mr. J. C.
McPherson, his assistant, seemed oblivi-
ous to it. They moved amongst those
turbines and other paraphernalia as a
cat will amongst her kittens, while I
walked among them as carefully as the
proverbial cat stepping on hot bricks.

COME and see these turbines," said Mr.
Young, and I mounted a short flight
of iron steps and stood facing a polished
cylindrical mass of metal which emitted
intense heat a nd a great volume of sound.
And then it wMs that on one side Mr.
Harry Oampbell lifted up his voice in
explanilion. while on the other side Mr.
Young immediately followed suit. And
it seemed to me that this was what both
gentlemen were saying in a major key
while the machinery roared defiance at
their efforts at audibility:-
"The voltage of loads is a transmis-
sion generated by excitation and controll-
ed by the Governor. The Governor is
downstairs, and according to the pres-
sure of current is the excitation which
is governed by the Governor.
"The current is generated at a pres-
sure of 2,300 volts, 3 phases 40 cycles.
The city distribution is made at that
voltage while a portion of the current
is transformed to 13,200 volts for transmission to
the Orange Street Sub-Station, where it is joined
with the Bog Walk incoming line forming one com-
mon system. The Governor"-I looked wildly about
for the Governor. I couldn't see a human being, much
less the Governor, who, under pressure, was said to
show the excitation which seemed to be exciting Mr.
Harry Campbell and Mr. Young. It was only later I
discovered that the governor is a sort of switch or
something, a lever or instrument or machine; and
as the lecture in highly technical terms proceeded,
with Harry Campbell roaring out part of it and A. H.
Young another, and with loads, transformers, step-
downs, step-ups, and other things being flung indis-
criminately at my head, I gave up the attempt to
understand. Meantime I noticed that Cliff Tyrell's
face looked green. He was suffering from electrical


ELECTRICAL EMANATIONS OF MR. RUSSELL D. BELL


fright. What my face looked like I could not te
but at the moment I wished I had a mirror. He
ever, I controlled my legs to prevent them from b(
ing off with me.
"This," I heard the voice of Mr. Harry Campb
saying presently, when I had descended to the group
floor, "this is the Master Clock which regulates
the electrically controlled clocks in this city." I gas
at the clock, a simple-looking instrument enough
and it seemed to me as though from its dial appeal
ed the face of Mr. A. S. Nichols. I learnt that cloc
in Kingston and St. Andrew are operated by tl
single instrument at the Gold Street Station, whi
is absolutely timed; and when I asked what woi
happe, to these clocks if the power at the Gold Stre
Station should fail, Mr. Young, with a scandals
expression, exclaimed "This station never fails
"The machinery, here," chimed in Mr. Hai
Campbell loudly, "is operated by oil fuel;
is in no way dependent on the water pov
of the Bog Walk Station. Once we used co:
we have found oil cheaper
and cleaner. The oil is
landed at the little pier by
the sea-shore down yonder
o and every minute of the
S day and night, in storm
and in calm, these works
continue in operation, and
the clock goes on accu-
rately for ever. Endless
motion as you know"-I
assured Harry that I did
not know but would take
his word for anything he
might choose to say. Then
they led me by another
piece of machinery which
warned me that there was
"Danger, 14,000 volts," and
into a spacious room in
S which there was a glow-
ing furnace, and from the
floor of which, through
certain apertures, steam
came welling up into the
air. They looked about
them with pride. Mr.
Humphris and Mr. Mac-
pherson placed themselves
firmly on either side of
me.
This concrete room
seemed like a part of the
infernal regions; but I
must say that Mr. Young,
Mr. Humphris, Mr. Camp-
bell and Mr. Macpherson
nsIaT appeared to be at home


right there. Their appearance was that
of men in their natural habitation. Here
it was quieter than the room in which
the turbines are situated, and I could
hear more clearly the figures that fell
from the lips of Mr. Young and Mr.
Campbell who apparently revelled in
such matters. I learnt for instance that
in the Gold Street Power House about
three-fourths of the electricity supplied
to Kingston and St. Andrew is generated.
Thus when in times of flood the Bog
Walk Station might be flooded, Kingston
and St. Andrew would still enjoy their
lighting and their tramway service.

E went on to Bog Walk. The Power
House there supplies Kingston with
a certain amount of current. But its
current is used chiefly for the illumina-
tion of Spanish Town and Linstead, and
also to supply power to the pumps now
busy raising water from under the sur-
face of the lands in St. Catherine. But
suppose the Bog Walk Station should go
out of action sometime, would all the
works to which it supplies current be
closed down in consequence? Not a bit
of it. For the lines from Kingston carry
current to the country, just as the lines
from Bog Walk bring current to King-
ston. The electric wires from Gold
Street can convey electricity to Lin-
stead for the lighting of the houses
there if necessity demands; and in order
to prevent any future interruption of
this service the poles to which these lines
are attached have been removed from
the surface of the road in the Bog Walk
gorge and placed high up on the hillside
to the right as you travel towards Bog
Walk. They are now situated higher
than the water has ever been known to
reach in time of floods. The catastrophe
of August 1933 gave a hint to the Pub-
lic Service Company upon which they
acted at once.
What a scene that must have been
in the gorge of Rio Cobre when the
river came so furiously down in August 1933!
I stood within the Power House looking north
and south, and tried to visualise that scene. For
days it had been raining all over the east of Ja-
maica and swiftly the river had risen. The water-
shed to the north had sent a vast volume of water
rushing towards the gorge, the river was in flood, in
spate: rapidly it became a roaring torrent. The men
at the machinery in the Bog Walk Station watched
it with apprehension as it rose and rose, covering the
machines, thundering against the solid concrete
foundations of the building, rising higher and high-
er until they were compelled to take refuge among
the rafters in the roof. The tawny waters rushed on
with irresistible sweep and triumphant roar. The
velocity was overpowering. The Dam was broken,
the road was swept away, the machinery in the Pow-
er House stood motionless. Yet when night came
on in Kingston the streets and other houses in the
city glowed with light as usual, for at the Gold Street
Station in Kingston the turbines whirled as of wont,


PUNCH


MR. YOUNG DOES THE BOG. WALK TROT


MR. NICHOLS SYMBOLISES FULL ELECTRICAL EQL IP!


1934-35







PLANTERS' PUNCH


the lines functioned; where water power had failed
through the action of water, machinery driven by
oil bad stood the test of a great catastrophe. Here
and there in Lower St. Andrew, of course, there was
a failure of light at about mid-night. This was be-
cause the lines carrying the current were affected
and not on account of any cessation of operations in
the Gold Street Power House itself.

W ATER POWER, where available in sufficient
quantity, is still the cheapest agent for gener-
aling electricity. But the development of electrical
machinery has been such that within the last fifteen
or twenty years electricity can be supplied by oil-fired
machines at a very reasonable rate. Much depends,
naturally, on the amount of power demanded and
consumed. The greater the demand, the more con-
tinuoully can the very expensive turbines and other
mechanical accessories be kept at work, which means
a greater economy in overhead and other expenses;
consequently the
more the electricity
used the cheaper
will the cost of it
become to the con-
sumer. In King-
ston and Lower St.
Andrew, in Mon-
tegu Bay, Port An-
tonio also, electri-
city is now a neces-
sity. It will be-
come a necessity
in nany other
part of the coun-
try as time goes
on, for electrical
plants will be
established in pop-
ulous centres for
raising water for
irrigation purposes
as well as for or-
dinar y illumina-
tion. and the time
may even come L
when little towns -l I
and villages in Ja-
maica will be light-
ed with electricity
as little towns and
villages are in (
Cuba and Central
America today.
Kerosene is THE
still a king. even
though wearing but a diminished crown. Kerosene is
an oil; itn throne everywhere has been threatened
and in many places entirely overthrown by the effec-
tive rivalry of another oil, the sort that is used as the
fuel for the generating of electricity. In future times
we may draw power from the sun's rays for the work-
ing of electrical machinery; that is probably the next
development we shall witness. This power will be
stored for use at night as well as by day. Then in-
deed the smallest cottage in our rural districts may
be electrically lighted. It is all a question of ulti-
mate cost
At present, I am informed, the Public Service
Company supplies electricity for ordinary and for
commercial purposes to 7,609 companies and pri-
vate persons in Kingston and St. Andrew. The
Gleaner Cumpany, the Jamaica Match Factory, Rail-
way Work Shops, and 170 other business organisa-
tions operate their machines with electricity. 4,894
houses are lighted in Kingston and St. Andrew, 361
in Monrego Bay, 200 in Portland. In
Montego Bay, of course, there is an
electric system quite separate from
that of Kingston or Bog Walk. Not
that electric current could not be sup-
plied from Kingston to Montego Bay:
it could. From one central station cur-
rent c,,uld he sent to every part of the
island. But the farther the distance
the greater the cost of transmission.
Hence it is more economical, at the pre-
sent stage of electrical development, to
have a fe- stations here and there in-
stead of one only in Kingston.
But the dlay will probably come, as
I have said. when our countryside will
see long lines and pylons or poles con-
veying current from one great Central -
Station to every part of the island,
though perhaps not during the lifetime
of the present generation;

W HEN we. speak of a man as
'"electric" we mean that his tem-
perament is prone to intense excite-
ment: a dynamic sort of individual
we call him, taking the word dyna-
mic from dynamo, which is a machine
used to produce power by means of
electricity. Therefore one might ima-
gine those persons intimately connected
with the production of electricity in I


Jamaica to be intensely high-strung individuals,
whereas the truth is that they strike me as excell-
ing in calmness and composure. Take Mr. Rus-
sell Bell, for example. A calmer, a quieter man it
would be difficult to meet. Mr. A. S. Nichols special-
ises in the control of his emo-
tions; certainly I have never seen
him either angry or hurried in
my life. Mr. Young is emphatic
but is the reverse of excitable;
Mr. Humphris is likely to be
smiling even in the midst of an
explosion, while Mr. E. J. Wilson,
who has been in charge of the
Bog Walk Station for years and
years, has never lost his head or
become flurried even when a flood
seemed to be threatening his life.
So I guess there must be some-
thing about the production and


ESCENT INTO THE PUBLIC SERVICE'S ELECTRICAL IN

handling of electricity which imposes calm upon
the character, or perhaps it is that only men of
a well-balanced temperament can succeed in deal-
ing with electricity. As for Mr. Campbell, he is
not excitable but voluble. Get him once started on
the subject of electricity and it is difficult to turn
off the switch. But in an emergency he knows how
to keep his head.
We of the laity pass a Power House without
giving it a glance; never thinking of the mysteries
which lie behind the running of the trams, the illu-
mination of our houses, the operation of our fac-
tories. But we of the laity at least understand this
about electricity: that it is an increasing factor in
our lives and that we want more and not less of
it. And we feel something like wonder when
we realise that from one station to the south-east of
this city proceeds most of the current that sets the
windows of the mansions in Lower St. Andrew-
ablaze, brightens up our smaller suburbs, sheds light


IR. WILSON SURMOUNTS HYDRODYNAMIC DIFFICULT


along our northern roads, propels our street cars,
turns the machinery that produces our daily paper,
helps to make our matches, and has become so much
a part of our lives that we take it as a matter of
course. Few of us remember the days of darkness
when our main
means of lighting
Were candles in
the houses of the
wealthier men, and
Ssmal kerosene
lamps almost
everywhere else.
Few can remember
when darkness
after nightfall was
regarded as the
normal life of a
city which is now
beginning to shine
forth with electric
signs.

IHAVE mention-
ed by name the
men whom I met
on my Easter Mon-
day's visit to the
Po w er Stations.
From Mr. Harry
Campbell I have
obtained a thumb-
nail sketch of each
of them. Harry
himself is well-
known to the read-
ers of "Planters'
Punch," as the
man who talks in
terms of electricity
and is firmly con-
vinced that every-
one must love to
listen to a mono-
logue upon it. He

me that Mr. Nich-
ols, the General
1 Manager, has an
Lungodly habit of
visiting the Power
Houses at unseem-
ly hours of the
night; hence it is
FERNO no unusual thing
for an attendant to
find Mr. Nichols by his side at two o'clock in the
morning when he should be in bed. The layout
and decorative scheme of the Gold Street estab-
lishment are also Mr. Nichols' particular care.
Mr. Campbell tells me, too, that Mr. Young is popu-
larly known as "Archie," is the Superintendent of
Light and Power, and so zealous that he once walked
part of the way in the Bog Walk gorge without his
boots. I don't know what effect that had upon the
road.
Mr. C. W. Humphris, Chief Engineer of the
Gold Street Station, has been with the Jamaica Pub-
lic Service Company for the past ten years. He
came to Jamaica to erect the triple expansion en-
gine at Gold Street Station for Bellis and Morcom
of Birmingham, and Mr. Nichols, knowing a good
thing when he sees it, did not allow him to return.
Mr. Humphris is known as "Bill" among his com-
patriots. He takes his work .seriously and during
the flood in August, 1933, walked knee deep in water
to reach the plant at two o'clock in the
morning. Mr. McPherson, his assistant,
is a Jamaican with a Scotch name. He
glories in pulling apart each of the com-
plicated turbines and putting it to-
gether again.
Mr. E. J. Wilson, Engineer at the
Bog Walk Power House for over thirty
years, has passed through more troubles
from floods, landslides and other cala-
mities than any man living. He has
had to take refuge on the roof of the
Power House in total darkness on more
than one occasion while raging torrents
surrounded the building, making his
escape at daylight by means of a rope
thrown across the stream to the hill
opposite. By all the laws of nature he
should be a gray-headed man by now,
but he does not show a gray hair. It is
not suggested that he is using a hair
dye of that special brand sold by our
chemists. Mr. Wilson witnessed the
drowning of some thirty-three men in
the pipe at Bog Walk nearly thirty
years ago, and can tell a thrilling tale
about the incident. But I won't say he
is hoping for a repetition of that inci-
dent. There will be no repetition. They
take better precautions against that
ES sort of thing in these days.


1934-35








PLAN T-E RS'- P UN7 C HI


Panama Is Burning

(Continued from Page 6)
he railed at, abused in one of his sudden bursts of
terrific rage, because they had not been constantly
in the forefront of the battle, or because they hadn't
troubled to take a new gun or sword when their own
was smashed. Some of the men had captured pre-
cious Spanish weapons, and he discussed the guns
minutely with them, running his clumsy finger over
the beautiful chased designs. One of the men had
an Indian musket, and he jested with him about the
obscene carvings of birds and weird monsters that
the savage had hewed out on the butt.
Dan had covered himself with weapons, his sash
bristled with every conceivable kind of knife and
sword, six pistols hung down from coloured ribbons
as if he were a Christmas tree, three muskets were
crossed on his back, and he held two in each hand.
Morgan stopped in front of him.
"What's the game, Dan?" he asked. "You seem
to grow a bigger fool after every fight we have.
Come on, now, throw 'em away; you'll only cut your-
self. How do you think you're going to run when
they start chasing you?"
"No harm, cap'n," grinned Dan. "I jest wanted
ter know what you'd say. No harm in me, cap'n;
you know that."
"Yes, Dan; I know it." And he rested his hand
gently on the giant's shoulder before he passed to the
next man.
"Told yer so!" whispered Dan hoarsely to his
mate Andy. "Arter every bloomin' fight we have our
little joke together. He knows me, does Morg."
"Hell, if he knew yer as well as I do he'd shove
a bullet inter yer. You big lump of maggots, get
offer me toe ... "
"No harm, Andy, no harm .. ."
Morgan passed down the line. The men smiled
at him friendlily, for now all the old resentment was
gone. He was no longer Captain Morgan, Admiral-
in-Chief, their Master; he was their comrade, Morg.
They loved him and straightened up as he came
near.
At last, inspection over, he spoke a few words
to them, not exhorting them to be brave, for that he
knew was unnecessary, but telling them that the
minute they had captured the city, they must all
assemble in the largest plaza when they heard his
trumpets.
"And now," he said, stepping back, "we must
start. Come, take it easy. We've plenty of time."
And casually, talking and chewing their-quids,
the buccaneers strolled towards the doomed city of
Panama.

CHAPTER III

WITHIN THE WALLS
THE savannah over which they strode ran parallel
to the ocean and was full of sudden little gullies,
unexpected hillocks, stray ditches. It seemed to
undulate like the sea, and what looked at first a
smooth plateau would be a mound from behind
which the Spanish sharpshooters picked them off,
one by one. But they marched on slowly, falling,
catching their feet in hidden burrows and weeds, but
scrambling quietly up again behind the unfaltering
figure of Henry Morgan.
They slid suddenly into a long dry ditch as the
Spaniards charged, and waited calmly there without
firing a shot until the men and horses were almost
on top of them; then they let loose a volley that un-
saddled men and sent horses crashing, whinnying to
the ground in a muddle of hoofs. While the Dons
were still demoralised and shouting at each other
to recover their courage and their swords, the buc-
caneers leaped from the trench and charged with
sabre and pike.
That soon sent them back in terror, and the
buccaneers stolidly continued their march. A long
arm of the sea curved around the city as if to nestle
it close against the huge breast of ocean; it curved
round, then spread out like an open fist into a wide
lagoon. Across this arm was an arched stone bridge
guarded by a solid adobe wall and stone houses. Be-
hind that were the gates of Panama.
Towards the bridge, over the wide savannah,
strolled the buccaneers. Under a hail of shot and
ball, they rattled over the bridge, were caught there
a moment against the barricades like a flood against
a dam, then they pushed the Spaniards over, killed
them where they stood or flung them into the lagoon,
and were at the gates. These were of heavy wood
and iron and at first gave no opening to their kick-
ing and hitting. But they fired them with powder-
kegs, then rushed with battering-rams, using trees
that had stood for barricades, and at last the great
gates groaned, screamed and fell before them.
Every street was barricaded; heavy brass guns
pointed their shining mouths at the attackers and
vomited huge storms of grape, iron and musket-
balls. Chairs, tables, beds, chests, boxes, all were
piled across the streets from wall to wall, and hid
the Spaniards who lay or knelt on the cobbles with
half a dozen loaded muskets beside each man ready
for firing.


For a moment, the sudden fusillade stopped the,
buccaneers in full charge. Some fell sprawling, but
the others leaped their bodies and hurled themselves
at the barricades, lugged themselves over and tum-
bled in amongst the enemy.
Dan was the first over. He fell straight on to a
wretched Spaniard and crushed his ribs; in falling,
he wrenched a fusee from another's hand. Then he
was up, blind with fury because he had torn open
his leg on a nail sticking from a bedpost; his terri-
fic rage almost paralysed the Spaniards. They fell
back like small boys in fear of a whipping.
Barricade after barricade was swept aside before
the charging buccaneers who seemed suddenly every-
where. Nothing could stop them, not wood, nor
stone, nor man. They seemed protected by their own
fury as if with armour. The mere sight of these
ragged scarecrows, eyes staring, mouths open as they
gulped the air, blood-stained, beards twisted, was
enough to turn the Spaniards' hearts to ice. They
shrieked like women and rushed into the houses to
shoot from windows where already dozens of old
men and women fired into the melee with swivel and
musket. Even the roof-tops were crowded as if there
were a fete in the city; even girls and boys flung
stones and hammered at their own chimney-pots for
missiles.
But nothing could check the buccaneers. They
made first for the garrison and slit every throat
inside it. Then up and down the streets they went,
falling suddenly on one knee to shoot, stabbing the
wounded, tearing down wooden walls as if they were
paper.
No wonder the women skulked in churches and
thought that hell was unloosed as they listened to
the shrieks outside, to the pattering of feet, some-
body beating on the door and calling on God, bang-
ing of muskets and pistols, barbaric oaths shouted
in a strange tongue; no wonder the women huddled
together against the altars, like dogs against a hu-
man being for warmth and turned their eyes up to
the painted saints .
It was hell outside. Men choked in the powder-
fumes, struggled through whorls of smoke, hurled
the barricades after fleeing Spaniards, stabbed and
kicked living and dead. Blind with passionate ec-
stasy, they were like drunken men reeling in a fog.
They howled meaningless old ballads and chanties
while the wounded crawled over the cobbles and
flagstones to safety.
They were ecstatic with blood, these buccaneers,
like saints crazed with flagellation. They made in-
articulate cries, primeval memories bursting through
dry lips, the meaningless shouts of ecstasy. They
loved to feel the muscles tight in their forearms,
hard in the biceps, almost cracking over the huge
shoulders. They liked to feel sweat burning their
eyeballs, those eyeballs that were almost white with
raging joy.
Dan and Andy with their .lanky comrade Nat,
found themselves suddenly alone in a deserted
street, a street unnaturally quiet that thudded only
with the echoes of their own steps. They gazed at
the smooth facade of the buildings, peeped over.a
wall into a cool shadowed patio, stared at shuttered
windows and verandas, and rested for a while in
the shade of a piazza, taking lusty bites from a mon-
strous quid filched from a corpse's pocket, and
breathing heavily.
Dan heaved a satisfied grunt and spat on to a
cobble that shone like a toad in the sunlight.
"You don't know how I've longed fer a taste!"
cried Andy, stretching his arms. "Baccy! gimme a
long bottle of.beer now and I'd be happy!"
"And a doxy," said. Nat, rubbing his long red
nose that was blistered to twice its size with mos-
quito bites. "A nice fat 'un!" He made a volup-
tuous curve with both arms through the air, and
sighed.
"Aw," snarled Dan, "you make me sick! You
done nothing but talk of wimmin, wimmin, wimmin.
We're goin' ter clean up this town, then listen ter
what Morg says; arter that yous can have yer wim-
min and lushy. But till then .. ." and he wiped
the blunt edge of his sword across his bull-neck,
leaving a trail of blood so that it looked ghastly
realistic.
"What about the Governor's darter?" said Andy
with a sly chuckle.
"Keep yer tongue off her. She's straight, she is.
Hell, p'raps some rat's with her now!"
"I hear firing!" cried Andy suddenly.
They listened and, sure enough, somebody was
firing near by; they heard the noise distinctly
against the background of dim muddled uproar in
the far reaches of the city.
They ran down a few turnings, then turned a
corner, and stopped.
Dan looked at his mates with a grin of pleased
surprise, like a child who has been unexpectedly
given a cake. Down the street there was a barri-
cade. A dozen Spaniards lay on the ground behind
it, some of them writhing in anguish in pools of
their own blood, but the others leaned intently over
the wall of furniture and fired muskets into the dis-
tance.
And Dan and his mates were behind the barri-
cade! Surely a gift from the good God!
They cocked their guns and crept along the


cobbles towards the oblivious Spaniards, But a few
yards off, one of the wounded, twisting suddenly
around, saw them and gave a scream. He was just
too late. Andy's pistol at close range blew his squeal-
ing head to pieces, and Dan was amongst them with
a mighty cleaver that he had picked up from an
empty butcher-stall around the corner.
Nat swung his long sword, and brought it down
on a boy's head,, and long woman's hair flooded out
from under the cap. The shock caught Nat by the
throat. It was a woman! She screamed at him and
rubbed her hand across her face; pulling it away,
she looked at it and. saw that it was bloody, then
she leaped up and ran down the street screaming
like a pig. Nat gazed a moment after her, saw her
lurch and fall against the wall, then licked his lips,
and joined in the assault.
There were no other women, even amongst the
dead.
"Come on, boys!" bellowed Dan; "It's us! we'vP
cleared out the rats. Come on! don't be lazy, yer
louts!"
The buccaneers, thirty to forty of them, scram-
bled over the barricade and gathered round Dan.
He was always a favourite. They banged him on
the chest, shook his great hand, called him insulting-




.:'


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1934-35







1934-35


ly Inving names, and he stood in their midst
grinning .ith delight.
"Cumo- on, boys," he said, "let's see who we
can meet I'm looking for somebody, and yous
may as well look with me. Where's Nat?
Whiere'- the lousy stinkard gorn? Hey, Nat, you
dog' Any of yous seen any wimmin round
here.'"
They shook their heads.
*"Then it's liquor," said Dan. "I'll fix the
Sur. There's goin' ter be no damned drinking'
lill the place's cleared. Hear me, yous? Plenty
i' time f-r fun afterwards. I'll crack the first
.,park I Fees with a bottle!"
"That there looks like a wine-shop," said
Andy.
They trooped over, entered the shop, rattled
do wni the cellar-steps and banged on the door
at the bottom.
"You there, Nat?" shouted Dan. "Come out
or I'll HI.g the tripes outer yer!"
"C,.. away!" came Nat's voice, blurred by a
Ibotle-ineck. "don't disturb a man at his pleas-
ure-. I gotta woman in here. Call fer me in
a icouile o' hours' time, or to-morrer if yer like
--r next week-any time. I'm bandagin' up a
p.ir little mort and washin' her wounds with
branily. Some whoreson cur's banged her a
tuiigh 'un "
"C'llle out and be murdered, yer coward!"
shouted [Dan, beating on the door. "I says ter
Mlirrg. I says: "I'll see there's no drinking Morg,
till yo:u says the word.' Fer the last time, Nat
-are y.er omin' out?"
**No.'" cried Nat, "you're a nuisance, you
are Tilir-'s a flamin' crowd, you're interrup-
tin' me. I got a pistol here, Dan right primed
and loaded, and the first feller through that
door gets it. So clear out, snick-up when you've
got the .hance."
**Ily Gord!" cried Dan, the veins almost
btrirtine ,n his neck and forehead. He drew
hai k ffr leap, but Andy caught him by the
shulder-. the other grabbed him and lifted him
struggling on high. He kicked and writhed like
a captured gorilla, but somehow they lugged him
up the narrow steps and out into the sunlight.
He was cursing and threatening death.
"Have a bit o' sense," said Andy. "Nat's y
mate. Y,.,a can't kill him, yer overfed lump
nuck!"
**Can't I! I'll kill you too, you cur, Andy.
promnisedl Morg I'd see there was no drinking' t
arterwardh "
"'You didn't promise nothing."
"Not personal, p'raps. But he don't want
drinking And I said I wouldn't drink. I'll lea
him fer the time, but I'm warning yer-I'll get hi
later, the dirty little swillin' hog."
They -trode across the corner and were met
a sudden volley that dropped three of them.
They were back behind that corner in a secoi
and lhad dragged the three men with them. One
them was dead and the other two badly wounded.
"W'here'd that come from?" cried Dan. "I se
on barricade."
"It weren't from no barricade," said one of t
men "I seen where it come from, all right. C
of a winder on the other side."
SA winder!" said Dan. "How we going ter g
at 'em. I won't be scared off by a pack o' dii
Roman rats. Not me! Come on, who'll follow?"
There was silence. The men looked bashfu
at eaeh other and scraped their feet on the ground.
"ell. of all the whoreson cowards!" snarl
Dan. "I'll go on me flamin' own!"
"He'y!" said Andy. "I've got an idea. See tl
house here? Well, if we get up on ter the roof, m
can jest pick 'em off!"
Dan stared uncomprehendingly at him for a n
nent. assimilating the idea gradually; then he ga
a shout. lapped Andy on the back and led the wa:
It wa- a strong cedar door, and they had
fling themselves at it a good few times and shoot
the lock before, the bolt quivered and the hing
lost their grip.
A decrepit old gentleman with long white hi
sti.od at the bottom of the steps, waving a rusty c
pist..il that looked as if it might have come over wi
Corte.
"A-cri.'s my dead body!" he piped.
'Anythink ter oblige," said Dan, then tripp
him up and walked over him, the others following.
Up the staircase, then on the next floor they si
another sweating old gentleman pushing a protest
inog woman into a room. He shut the door on hi
sltod against it, and proudly awaited his fate.
They pushed by him, up the stairs again un
they reached the roof. One blow of Dan's cleav
and the class skylight shivered to fragments.
They were on the roof, on top of Panama. U
der them. they saw roofs. golden with sunlight,
gargoyle at the corner licked its stone chops ov
.the dead. steeples shimmered in the hot air, and th
few rnof gardens were dry-for they were in th
best. nil. t fashionable quarter-the poor flowe
struggling gamely to burst into colour. They cou
'see downn into the streets-men fighting, barricade


PLANTERS' PUNCH


~L~S1*L~- "Ic~4;-Lassslsl
L:
I II
.;. i::.,c;:.. :?: .:
~:!. .~ : ..,.
~:~. 1:- .rf: ~ cr ::~
.:. :1
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.. ;:.. ;,' ~ .:
-~~':' ~I
'' ~~ ~:' ~...r ; .:I .. ......


From Photograph by George Pea
"The Buccaneers." A FEMALE CAPTURE


irson, Kingston,


and a great army of buccaneers filling the street
from wall to wall as it followed Morgan.
"There's Morg!" cried Dan excitedly. "See
him! Over there! Hey, Morg! He don't hear me."
'Shut up, you mome!" snarled Andy, "he.mayn't
have heard yer but them damned Romanys in the
winder did. Look!"
They looked along the blank wall. Not a head
or face showed.
"Aw, them can wait a while," said Dan: "keep
yer muskets primed."
He stared down at Morgan, at this comrade-
god in front of his ragged army marching along
the deserted street. He looked so tiny, watched
from above.
Through the streets went Morgan in his triumph,
the colours waving above his curls, for he carried
his big hat in his hand to let what little wind there
was cool the sweat from his forehead.
Behind hil came the steadyglorious tramping
of his men. He heard their laughter, their talk of


23


what they'd do in a few hours' time, boozing
and wenching. Always boozing and wenching.
They never seemed to have another thought,
save of killing. Not that Morgan himself didn't
enjoy the simple fleshly pleasures. He cold
drink as well as any man, better than most, but
he believed in there being a time and place for
everything, even for drink; but gold came first.
Gold came before everything.
The reaction after the fighting was begin-
ning to get him. He felt weary, yet the exalta-
tion kept him on his feet. It was like being
drunk, to walk this city that was now his. Yes,
he was conqueror, this city was all his ... Sure-
ly that thought was enough to keep him on his
feet? He almost touched the walls just to de-
light his senses with the feeling of their tangi-
bility. They were something tangible in this
sea of phantoms, this earth. They were some-
thing to hold on to.
He looked at the bodies on the ground, join-
ed in any scraps he encountered, gazed at the
walls, the windows. He paused outside a cathe-
dral and rapped on the gate.
"That's where the money is," he grinned to
Bledry, "stocked with gold and silver."
"And women," said Bledry.
Morgan gave him a quick look, glanced be-
hind at his men, and said:
"Yes, yes, women. We'll let them be till
after the fighting."
At last he paused before a great white build-
ing with wide portico that had been the Military
Commandant's home. It was in the largest of
the city's three plazas. Next to it stood the
cabildo-the city hall-and near by were the
court-house, jail, hospital, various other public
buildings and the large church of San Jose.
"I'll make this my head-quarters," he said.
"Come, Bledry, and you, Peke."
Then he turned to his men.
"Bring all the plunder here," he said.
"There must be no cheating. We must share
everything, man to man. Don't go too far away
J for I'll be calling you all back here soon. We
meet here. In this plaza. Musicians, stand by.
Put the colours up here, by the door. That'll do,
men. Good luck ."
"Lookee here," said Dan on the roof-top, "this
is biting me. I hate doin' nothing. Its worser than
doin' what yer don't want ter do."
"I wish I had a bottle o' Nat's charnico," grum-
bled one of the men. "I could jest do with a drop
meself. This sun's hot."
"I got some bones," said a little fellow, produc-
ing a pair of dice. "They're good 'uns, ain't horned.
Roll 'em and see."
"Aw," growled Dan, "we'll be here all day at
this rate. I'm fer rushin' 'em. Now, lookee here.
They ain't seen all of us up here. All they've seen
is me and Andy. Yous others might have all run
fer what they knows about it. So me and Andy is
goin' ter walk along that there street, now you keep
yer guns primed and let fire at 'em afore they lets
fire at us. Unnerstand?"
"I'm damned if I do," said Andy. "You think
I'm goin' ter walk along that there street and have
(Continued on Page 25).


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PLANTERS' PUNCH


The Jamaica Mutual Life


Assurance Society

79, 81, & 83 Barry Street,
Kingston, Jamaica, B.W.I.

ESTABLISHED 1844.


Accumulated


Funds


B,0:


675,582.


DIRECTORS.


Hon. Alfred H. DaCosta, J.P.
L. P. Downer Esq., J.P.


T. N. Aguilar,


Esq., J.P.


Hon. Sir Wm. Morrison
Hon. F. M. Kerr Jarrett, J.P.


Chairman.
Deputy Chairman.
Percy Lindo, Esq.
Hon. G. Seymour Seymour, J.P.
H. G. DeLisser, Esq., C.M.G.


0. K. Henriques, Esq., J.P.


ACTUAR Y

Alexander Fraser, Esq., F.F.A., F.I.A.


SECRETARY Y


Ernest B.


TRAVELLING AGENT,


Spencer


Thomson


Nethersole, J.P.

ASST. TRAVELLING AGENT,
Wm. D. Soutar.


& Bourke.


Absolute Security, Protection, and Investment provided for its Policyholders.


I ____


-I


SOLICITORS.


Messrs.


Harvey


1934-35








1934-35


PL AN T E R S'


Panama Is Burning

Sf'ontiiueid from Page ?3 1
me sweet life finished? Nut fer me. boys!" Dan
stared closely at him, then shrugged his shoulders
and stood up.
"Don't be a maggot!" cried Andv. "Come here,
you big overgrown stoopid. you! Gord. that man'll
be the death o' me! Oh. hell!"
He leaped up and raced after Dan, a\ho was
about to leap through the smashed skylight.
"Good fer you!" said Dan. grinning huSely. "'I
know I could trust Andy."
"'Aw. get off with yer." said Andy. "I ain't here
ter talk."
They went lovingly down the stairs. each over-
%helmed with his love for the other.
Curiously enough. the plan did work. Dan and
Andy walked round the corner with muskets primed,
the fool Spaniards flung up the windows, and every-
body seemed to fire at once. The street was choked
with powder and smoke, and after it had cleared,
Dan was feeling himself all over. and Andy was do-
ing the same, neither believing that they were ac-
tually unhurt.
"Huzzah! shouted Dan, having his cleaver t.o
his mates on the rooff "Come on. lads. be quick
about it!"
He and Andy raced over to the door and flung
themselves against it, but it merely bounced them
off and hurt their shoulders. But when the others
had joined them, the holts and lhcks and hinges all
went with a crash like a cannon going off and sent
the first rank of buccaneers clean on to their faces
into the ball.
That was wbat saved them. The volley from the
three men on top of the stairs caught those behind,
and when Dan and Andy heaved themselves to their
feel they were amazed to find thenimelves again still
whole, and then charged up the stairs before the
Spaniards had a chance to reload. Dan's cleaver
finished twu of them. and a lucky shot from some-
body settled the other.
"'Well," said Dan, wiping his forehead, "what's
all the row about? There must be something good
here, mates, for them to guard it like this. And
jest look! Ain't it ri> h!"
The dirty powder-blackened rutfians. spattered
with blood. stood on top of the wide staircase with
the cnrpses at their feet. and gazed around at the
splendid hangings. the intricate delicate tapestries,
the immen-e-framed paintings. the Eastern carpets
like warm woolly gra-s. the statues, urns, the paint-
ed ceiling. Dan's cleaver dripped its red over a
delicate Indian mat of soft pinks and grevy and
greens, above his head the chandelier was a great
crystal rose.
"This is grand." repeated Dan a little aistfiilly.
He shouldered his cleaver and trod very softly along
the upper hall. opening doors and gailing into the
sumptuously furnished roms. His comrades too lost
their awe and began openingn g doors;. Some of them
raced upstairs, for this was indeed a palatial home
-unlike nmlit if the other Panama house-, it boast-
ed atticr. Dan heard a scuffle ahovyi' him. a shot,
then the body of a ilhriekinc neprn in scarlet livery
fame whirling downi the well of the .tairea-e. His





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shriek ended abruptly on a top ncte as his head
smashed on the ground floor and they heard his
body squelch with a dull thud.
Dan and Andy raced up the stairs. They heard
the crackling of wood, then a shriek of intense
agony.
At the end of the narrow hallway, a group of
buccaneers stood around a smashed door. One of
them was dancing and holding up the bloody stump
of his left arm, his face writhing with the pain.
"Where's some tar?" cried Dan. "Get him inter
the kitchen and shove yer red-hot sword on it if
there ain't no tar. Be yare about it, you fools. Come
on here, yous, how did this happen?"
They all shouted at him, but he held up his
hand.
"You tell me, Bruin," he said, pointing to a
heavy solemn man who was rolling his eyes in hor-
ror and rage. Bruin was Jimmy's best mate, and
Jimmy was the man with the severed arm.
"Gor' strike me," said Bruin, panting and speak-
ing only with an effort, "here's me and me mates,
Jimmy and all o' us, we comes up the stairs, and
Crapper here, didn't you Crap? pings a flamin' black
'un, kicks him over the stairs, then we jest looks
round, like you was doin' downstairs, and Jimmy he
says: 'Hey, Bruin, here, come here, Bruin, flamin'
door won't open!' So he kicks the flamin' door, and


25


Gor' strike me, Jimmy shoves his arm through ter
pull the bolt when we'd made a hole big enough, you
know, then he squeals, Gor' strike me, he squeals:
'Here, Bruin,' he squeals, 'Gor' strike me, something's
stung me,' he squeals., And he pulls out his arm or
what's left of it, and when he sees he ain't got no
hand at all, well, he sorter screams like holy hell;
you heard him, Gor' strike me, poor bastard. I'll
pull his flamin' ear off, whoever done it, by Gord,
jest give me the chance."
"You'll get yer chance," said Dan, "gimme
room."
They widened out, and he swung his great cleav-
er. The door splintered around the bolt, sagged;
one kick flung it off its hinges, and the buccaneers
swarmed in.
There were three women in the room. One stood
facing the door with an idiot, terrified look on her
face, and in her hand was a long rusty sword, black
with blood. Another woman knelt against the
window-ledge, her long black hair twining in and
out of her two hands that were clapped to her ears.
Her face was puffy with tears and her mouth gaped
as if she were dumb yet trying to shout. But the
third woman sat quietly in a chair, bent a little for-
ward, witf hands clasped and a dull, hopeless look
on her brown face, the wide slanting eyes half-shut;
a white orchid drooped out of her black hair that


*4- 1







PLANTERS' PUNCH


was parted in the centre and bunched up into a
kind of spray at the back, fixed straight with a huge
fan-like comb. Her white gown reached to below
her knees, and the lace hem poured down to her
little feet encased in embroidered silver tissue slip-
pers.
"Gor' strike me!" cried Bruin, "a flamin' mort
done it, be Gord, be Gord! Take that, you slut!"
His pistol roared through the room, and the
woman's head seemed to burst and spatter the mir-
ror behind her.
But Dan had not noticed. His huge hairy hand
clenched on Andy's arm so tightly that Andy had
to hit it hard on the knuckles to break loose.
"Mind what yer doin'!" he snarled. "Yer near-
ly broke me arm, bust yer!"
"That's her," said Dan, like a small child.
S "Aw, have her!"
"Mind what yer sayin', Andy. That's her, I tell
yer. The Governor's darter that I've been speaking'
of. Now, bow nicely or you won't have nothing ter
bow with. Bow like as if you was a gintleman."
Grudgingly, with a grin, Andy bowed, and the
woman watched them, dazed, without curiosity. She
seemed even bored and terribly tired.


54 King


Manufacturers'


Jamaica


CHAPTER IV
THE GOVERNOR'S DAUGHTER
SO this was the Governor's daughter! Andy
grinned as he gazed at her, for indeed she was
beautiful. Very beautiful. Her cambric dress,
chemise or chemisette, reached to below her plump
knees, then flooded out into lace like a sluggish river
foaming over a cataract. It was fine lace, Andy
noticed, for he had an eye for such things; thirty
guineas a yard if it was worth a farthing. Over the
dress she wore a vest of silver tissue, brought in
tight at the waist and buttoned with pearls. Her
arms and throat were naked except for the foam of
her mantilla, and lace dripped from her shoulders
down to her wrists. Her high-heeled slippers were
of silver tissue embroidered with red rosebuds and
bound up her instep on to the ankle, in the Indian
manner, showing off each curve of her small plump
foot. These bindings were woven with dull gems
interworked-emeralds, rubles and pearls. Funny,
thought Andy, that she never hid her jewels, very
queer. Probably they were flawed.
No, they weren't flawed. There was nothing
flawed about Dofia Isabella de Guzman. She kept
her jewels for the simple reason that they were on


I ---Ii


Street.


Representatives


Sugar & Rum Manufacturers'

Boards.


I 'I


her; the others were all hidden. Her father had
taken the best away a week ago and hidden them
somewhere in-the woods. She didn't trouble to ask
him where, not thinking he could die. He had been
very ill, with erysipelas, and this very morning had
been blooded before going out with the army. She
had not seen him since. A lot of men had fled in
the ships, but she couldn't believe her father would
do that and leave her behind to these savages. No,
he was dead. So it was time for her, too, to die.
Coldly she watched these strange creatures bow-
ing before her, like moon-people trying to ape man-
kind, wild beasts standing on their hind legs. It
was just a show. It almost made her smile.
"Do yer know any Spanish?" asked Dan in a
hoarse whisper.' "What I knows can't be spoken,
'cept amongst us."
"Eeet ees not a-tall necessary," said Dofia Marina
Isabella de Guzman languidly' "I spik your lang-
wich."
If a curious wild animal had suddenly talked
English, Dan could not have shown more surprise.
He had clean forgotten that she knew English, which
was strange, as she had once before spoken to him
in it. He cursed himself for a fool for not remem-
bering.
Andy elbowed him in the ribs.
"Don't be bashful," he said, "speak up."
"Shut up!" shouted Dan, and immediately blush-
ed at his own noise. Now that he was face to face
with his dream, for the first time in his life his
nerve completely went. But this woman had always
been a dream to him, something hopelessly beauti-
ful, and millions of miles beyond the reach of his
hairy paw. Yet she had once spoken to him in a
dark garden at Panama while the hounds of justice
clamoured for him in the street outside. She had
spoken kindlily to him, had even touched him with
her white hand. Like an angel she had seemed in
the gloom-his saviour. The memory was so un-
real that he had almost come to look upon it as some
fantastic dream.
"How do yer do?" he said at last, resurrecting
a rusty relic of his old lubberly days, his childhood.
He was the child now, and she was a grown woman.
"How do you?" she said with a slight nod. "I
do very well, but"-she shrugged her chubby shoul-
ders-"I am now ze pris'ner, si?"
"Na, na," said Dan, with a vague idea of con-
ciliating her by talking broken English. "You no
prisoner. Nong, nong. You stay with me. Plenty
all right. I'll see you ain't hurt."
"I thank-a you," said she.
An uncomfortable silence settled on the party,
who all looked solemnly at each other-she at Dan,
and Dan and his mates at her and each other. The
girl at the window-ledge shut her mouth, but not
her eyes.
"Weel," said Dofa Marina at last, "what ees eet
that I do now?"
The trumpets saved Dan. They suddenly blared
out over the quiet city, burst through the heat of the
afternoon like a sudden irruption of the earth.
"What ees eet?" said Dofia Marina. "You go
from me now? Leaf me, si?"
"Leave yer! Hell, no! Gord, damn it, they'd
all be running' round you like a flock of crows afore
you could say Heave-o! No, lovely, stick near me




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1934-35







PLANTERS' PUfCH


like hot pitch, and you'll be all right Don't trust
none o' these fellers but. me. They don't know how
ter treat a lady. Yer remember me. don't yer? The
heretic you saved from the Inquisition that night?
Well, it's my turn now. I'm savin' you. But we'll
talk 'bout that later. Now. we've got ter see Morg,
our cap'n. my mate, Henry Morgan. You jest come
with me. You ain't got nothing ter fear.'
He went and took her little hand in his gigantic
paw. She looked up questioningly at him. then
slowly stood to her feet, obeying as if she were a
child. A child! Of course she was the child not
he. It warmed Dan's heart.
The buccaneers chuckled and winked and poked
each other's ribs as they followed Dan and his lady
down the stairs: they parodied hi' swinging gait.
put their hands to their cheeks and minced along
as if they too walked with ladies. Dan saw and
heard nothing. He walked in a dream. a very hap-
py. foolish dream.
In the wide plaza, before the Military Com-
mandant's house that Morgan had chosen fr.r hi'
head-quarters, all the buccaneers had gathered, and
talked restlessly together so that their many voices
merged into one wave of sound, like the whispering
of the ocean before a storm. They were impatient
to break away and start drinking and wenching.
The heat had burned up their throats and they ached
for wine.
"*Ah. liquor!" moaned a tall fellow. "I'd give
me bowels fer a good strong drink ."
"Outer one oft them long thin-shanked glasses
that look like a woman in her stays ."
"Outer the bottle, the bung. the barrel a
pipe of wine ."
"Ah, wimmin! I seen the sweetest slut a man"'
ever been blinded by ."
"Ah. yer should have piped the neat little brig
that hailed me half an hour agone She had eyes
S. er seen goats' yaller eyes ..."
"The Arabs ain't got nothing .in the Spani-.hers
when it comes ter 'ips ."
"Big. plump and nood ."
"Ah, fer a barrel and a greasy bhl.ze ."
So they talked in the beat. leaning against the
wall. sitting and lounging on the iobbles They had
packed the Cathedral with captives and booty. When
a man sweated up with a rich casket. a vase. some
jewels or a woman, he was made to fling whatever
he carried into the church of San Jo'. They put arm-
ed guards upon it all.
Then suddenly the niurmuriing stopped Morgan
had come from the house with his officer-. Simul-
tan.-ilusly. Dan and Andy appeare-d. kicking a way


through the crush to lead their beautiful captive to
a front seat, exactly like men in London taking their
girls to see the Lord Mayor's Show or a hang-
ing.
*"She ain't goin' inter no damn church," growl-
ed Dan. when he was told to put Dofia Marina
amongst the other prisoners. "She's a spectaclee gal,
this is. The fust man as touches her feels my gun.
Unnerstand. You better understand."
Nobody tried to misunderstand; they let him
pass.
Morgan had heaved himself on to a table that
nas the remains of a barricade, Bledry with him,
his other officers grouping around on the cobbles
like caryatids around a statue. He stood upright
in the ocean of faces, above them. He was not very
tall. about five feet seven. but he seemed immense in
his blue coat, his brown curls tumbling to his broad
shoulders. for he was very broadly built.
Bledry stood beside him, the faint sneering smile
edging his lips that seemed always there. He was
thinner and taller than his cousin Henry.
At last. when Dan's noisy advent had thrilled
to silence, Morgan cleared his throat-very distinct
it sounded in the hush-and spoke.
""Men." he said. "I cannot tell you what plea-
sure your bravery has given me. When we started
out, noue of us realized quite what we were going
to get. But we got It all right. It's something for
all of us to be proud of. The memory of this ad-
venture will live as long as there are history books.
Julius Caesar never did anything like it. Even our
own Sir Francis Drake never equalled it. We'll al-
ways he remembered. They'll make songs about us.
AS long as England lives, we'll live. And that of
course will be for ever."
He paused amid the huzzaing, and Esquemeling
-the doctor-took advantage of the noise to cover
a fierce whisper into a Frenchman's large ear. Not
knowing Dutch. the Frenchman didn't understand a
word. but he guessed the import.
'"Who ees that?" asked Dofia Marina, drawing
away from the fierce-looking men ogling her on all
side-.
"Him!" cried Dan with boastful pride. "That's
Morg. that is. Our Admiral, Henry Morgan. Par-
tickler mate o' mine. One of the best. You'll like
him. Take my word."
'*Enriue Mor-gan. ah!"
"Yair. Enrique Morgan. That's him ..."
Morgan was speaking again. He told them of
the division of spoils. He had set aside the church
opposite, and everything must be stacked in there.
When they got back to Chagres there would be a di-


vision according to the articles they had signed be-
-fore setting out. -Anybody of importance;',-ell-dress-
ed or rich-looking-man, woman or child-must be
brought instantly to his Secretary, John Peke, who
would look after him or her so that they could be
held for ransom. With the common people, particu-
larly with all Indians and negroes, who made up
about three-quarters of the population of Panama,
they could do what they liked. And here he made
a jest that brought a laugh.
When the laughing had finished, he held up his
hand.
"And now, men," he said solemnly, "I've just
heard of a truly diabolical plot. A most diabolical
plot indeed. The liquor's all poisoned. All poisoned.
It was the Spaniards' last act."
Silence greeted this statement, an appalled hush,
that exploded with a burst of catcalls, howls, whis-
tles, curses, shrieks and insults. The men went mad
for a moment and some made a rush for the cathe-
dral to finish off whatever Spaniards were there;
but the guards under the Tarantula raised their
guns and kept the mob at bay.
"I told you, Harry," said Bledry over his shoul-
der. "You're mad. They'll never believe it. You
might as well stop a baby from groping for the breast
as that scum from driving on a barrel. They'll turn
on you in the end. You see."
"All right," snapped Morgan, "We'll see."
He turned to go, then caught sight of Dofia
Marina. She shone out of that crowd of tattered
ruffians like a jewel set in mud. Her face struck at
him poignantly, as if she were a beautiful miniature
lying in a sewer.
"Look!'" he said to Bledry, "Who's that?"
"I don't know," said Bledry, "and I don't care.
You've meddled enough in the men's pleasures al-
ready. I think it's time you stopped."
But Morgan did not heed him. He leaned for-
ward and called amidst the uproar:
"Dan! Dan! Hey, Dan, who've you got there?"
Dan shoved forward, proud of being singled out
amongst that multitude, but he still kept a firm
grip on Dofia Marina's wrist, 'and she was forced to
follow, to edge through that shouting, angry mob.
She tried to push away from them and was only
pushed into them on the other side. Bearded faces
were all around her brown loveliness, faces splashed
with dry black blood, faces shouting words that
fortunately she couldn't understand, faces of men
almost blind with fury at losing their rightful heri-
tage of rum and wine. They scarcely noticed her,
except to try to push her down. Women were for-
(Continued on Page 29)


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1934-35


II


Ii


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PLANTERS' PUNCH


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II '-------------


1934-35







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Panama Is Burning

(Continued from Page 27)
gotten in the loss of liquor. Only now and then, a
face that looked idiot with lust glared at her and
plucked at her gown.
Da reached the table-edge, lugged up his mighty
fist. which Morgan grabbed and shook. He shouted
above the uproar:
'Hullo, cap'n!"
"Hullo, Dan!" Where did you pick her up?"
"Her!" Oh, jest accidental, like cap'n. She's the
G...vernor's darter. Did me a good turn once."
"The Governor's daughter, Dan! She'll be good
for ransom. But you'd better pass her over here to
me. "I'll keep my eye on her. Some of your friends
are pretty tough, Dan."
Dan looked up with pained surprise, and his
armni went around Dofia Marina's shoulders protec-
tilel.y
"'A'", cap'n," he cried," you can trust Dan.
There ain't nothing wrong with him."
"I know that, Dan. I trust you more than any-
body. You're one of the finest. It's your mates.
YI'u'V, got to sleep sometimes, Dan."
"Yes, but ."
"And some of those mates of your's 'd think no-
thing of cutting your throat to get at her. You
wouldn't. like that to happen, would you, Dan?"
"That's so, cap'n." He gazed away over his
shoulder at the surging mass of fierce faces; he
looked frightened, puzzled, in an agony of indeci-
sioun.
"Aw, but Cap'n ."
I can look after her best. Manage the ransom
and things. It'll be a mighty big ransom. Come on,
rDan. You can trust me."
"Yes, cap'n, don't I know that, but ." He
gulped. "Aw, take her!" he cried. "Take her afore
I changes me mind. Take her yare, hurry up!"
He rushed suddenly blindly off amongst the mob.
Difia Marina gazed after him, horror-struck.
"Darn, Darn!" she cried. "Come back, ple-ase,
ple-a-e'"
But he was gone.
"Dun't be frightened, little lady," said Morgan,
lifting her up on to the table. "I'll see that you're
looked after all right."
She struggled for a moment, then lapsed into
her t'atalistic acquiescence.
"There's nothing to be frightened of, lady," said
Morgan. with a smile. "You come with me like a
g'od girl, and I'll see that you're fixed ship-shape."
She followed him over the table. He jumped
din i hle other side, then easily lifted her after him
on r, the ground. The buccaneers made way for
them iand Bledry; they were angry, but their awe of
Morgan was stronger than their anger.
At last Morgan was inside his head-quarters, in
coul wells of shadow. He led his captive down the
wide hall and out of a side-door heavily curtained
that -led into thq patio.
It was a wide patio; in the centre of its lawn
a large fountain dribbled from a dolphin's mouth
and gape colour to the faded grass.. Great canvas
hanLings were drawn over the open roof to keep
away the sun, and they shook in whatever little
breeze there was, sending sudden puffs of dry cool-
uess down below. All around the sides a piazza was
f:.rmed with a sloping roof, the bedrooms overhang-
ing .one end, and great square pillars supporting it
and iirving in an arc between each pillar.
Between two of these pillars a hammock was
slunv. Beside it was a small round table on which
was a bottle of wine and glasses. There were three
other .hairs scattered around in the shade.
-"You're a fool," said Bledry, dispassionately
"Dan aas your best friend in that mob, and he had
more power over them than ever you had. Now


you've chucked all that aside for a woman. Well,
well!"
"This is the Governor's daughter," answered
Morgan, flinging himself into the hammock and
pouring out a glass of wine. "She'll have a mighty
big ransom. Besides, Dan'll be all right. He'd die
for me. You don't know men like I do."
"Still thinking of money!" Bledry slid into the
cane chair. Dofia Marina remained patiently stand-
ing awaiting the worst.
"You're a fool, Harry!" Bledry sighed. "First
of all you infuriate the men by telling them stupid
lies about the wine being poisoned. Then you steal
Dan's beloved."
"I had to stop 'em drinking, didn't I? You know
what they're like. Why, the Dons could creep back
and wipe out every one of us while they lay in a
drunken stupor and didn't know the butt-end from
a musket-barrel!"
"They'll do that anyhow," said Bledry, "no mat-
ter what lies you try to tell them."
Morgan stared quietly at him for a moment,
then he drank his wine and set the empty glass back
on the table with a little rattle.
"You're a splenetic hound, Bledry," he said with
a faint smile. "If I'd taken your advice I'd never
have come here."
He filled both glasses.
"Poison!" said Bledry with a sly chuckle. "Rare
good poison! And I think your men'll find it out
pretty soon. By the way, my dear fellow, you've
forgotten your manners," he added suddenly. "Did
you notice that your pretty captive's still standing?"
"Eh?" cried Morgan, turning in his chair.
Dofia Marina stood like a statue near the door-
way, the torn lace spilling about her feet, her head
lowered, looking down at her clasped hands.
"Good heavens, so I have!" cried Morgan. "But
.. but ... do you know any Spanish, Bledry?"
"Not for mixed company, I'm afraid," smiled
Bledry, "nevertheless, I'll try." He turned inso-
lently to Dofia Marina. "Sientes," he began with a
vile West Indian accent, then paused to think, wrink-
ling his brows, ". ah! er er haga el favor?"
She looked up quickly, surprised to hear again
her own tongue. It sounded unfamiliar in its sweet
familiarity. She had almost felt that she would
never hear it again.
There was a seat-a high-backed wooden chair-
not far away, and she slid gracefully into it, cat-
like crossed her legs, and leaning her chin on her
shut hand and the elbow on the chair-arm, gazed va-
cantly at the two Morgans.
They remained uncomfortably under that stare
for a few minutes, then Morgan tapped his fingers
on his knee, and turned away from her to look at
Bledry.
"As I was saying," he said, and paused.
"Go on," smiled Bledry, "as you were saying?"
"As I was saying," said Morgan with an effort,
"her ransom'll be pretty high."
And he looked surprised when Bledry roared
with laughter. But they didn't speak of her again.
Morgan's secretary arrived, a thin, dried-up young
man called John Peke, with a mincing voice, and
they were soon all three deep in discussions about
how best to guard the city, how to collect and cata-
logue the plunder, how to distribute it, how to steal
the lion's rightful share. And soon in their obses-
sion over money, they forgot all about Dofia Marina.
She sat quietly tranced in her chair, gazing unsee-
ingly ahead.
All this while, Dan had been pushing around in
the crowd in the plaza, dazed like a swimmer who
has been beaten to exhaustion, yet still rolls amongst
the combers. He sought freedom, he felt suffocat-
ing. A sense of impotent rage had him by the
throat. The memory of Dofia Marina was like a
red mist before his eyes. His dream had come true
for a breathing-space of happiness; now it was sud-


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denly wrenched from him. Probably, Morg was
quite right. She would have a huge ransom, being
the Governor's only daughter, and she was safer
there than she would have been with him. But ah!
he knew that he could protect her. She had been
for so long a dream in his blood that now she had
become a part of his blood, and he must die to be
able to forget her. Ever since first he glimpsed her
in this very plaza -long before she had saved his
life-seated on high under heavy flags and brocaded
canopies, her tall grey-bearded father behind her and
other lords and ladies grouped around to hear the
Lutheran heretics condemned, she had been a dream
to him. Her beauty had somehow shone out at
him that hot morning. Then later she had seemed
an angel when she saved his life. He had escaped
from the monastery to which he had been sentenced
for ten years, but a scurvy monk had recognized
him as he skulked down side-lanes and had set the
hue and cry after him. Then rushing wildly
through the street he had seen a door ajar, had
pushed it open, bolted it behind him, and turned to
see a grave-eyed angel watching him without fear
or wonderment. And the grave angel, known on
earth as Dofia Marina Isabella de Guzman, had
quietly hidden him in an outhouse where a servant
had fed him and, when the way was clear, rigged


him out with an old cloak and wide hat, then shown
him a safe path out to the jungle. Ever since then
her remembered image had kept him going with a
faint hope of repayment. He never imagined him-
self so much as kissing her hand, so much as touch-
ing her. But sometimes he had dreamed of rescuing
her from a burning city, from the grip of impious
lustful wags, or lifting his throat to die for her sake.
For a moment those dreams were realized, he had
saved her for a brief fleeting moment. Now he was
alone again.
So he sought escape, solitude. He wanted to be
alone in his self-pity and rage and despair.
At last he fought his way free from the crowd
and lurched along an empty narrow street, hands
gripped, walking mechanically like a man asleep.
Andy rushed after him, clapped him on the back;
but Dan did not turn, did not speak.
Andy chuckled. "Don't mope, me lad," he said.
"Plenty other fish in the ocean. Morg allus takes
the plums. I told yer that. But yer never would
listen ter me."
Still, Dan would not speak. He strode on hop-
ing to shake off this little incubus who kept at run-
ning pace beside him to keep up with his giant
strides.
"What's the bloomin' hurry?" panted Andy.


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"Cant' yer lose a blasted gal without havin' ter bust
yer liver trying' ter run away from her? Ease up,
curse yer Ah, Morg's cute 'un,' ain't he? That yarn
about the liquor ."
Dan stopped suddenly in his stride and turned
on him.
"Come here, you rat!" His huge hand caught
Andy by his thin throat, lifted him up and jammed
him against a wall. "Say that again," he said.
"Come on-say that again."
"Don't be stoopid!" stuttered Andy. "I'm yer best
mate, I allus has been. Yer can't kill yer best friend,
dammit. Leave me go; you're hurting."
"What was that about the liquor?" repeated Dan
menacingly.
"Nothink," said Andy in desperation. "I was
only jokin'. I don't mean half what I says. It's
jest me way of talking I'm allus like that."
"You think it was a tale o' Morg's, do yer?" said
Dan. "It's rats like you that they string up to the
yard-arm, you mutinous scum, you! Ah-h-, yer make
me sick! You never believe a flamin' thing what a
man says. You're rotten, rotten ter the navel ....
A man ought ter swipe yer one!"
He loosed his hand and Andy fell to the ground,
almost crying in his rage.
"Why the Gord's hell am I so small!" he whim-
pered, and brought his hand down fiercely on to the
cobbles. When he raised it, the knuckles were
bared and bloody. "What hope have I got against
louts like you! I'll bloomin' well knife yer, you big
bullyin' lizard. 0' course the wine ain't poisoned!
No one'd believe it except a mome like you! But
Morg can't fool me, damn him!"'
Dan stared down at his friend, a little ashamed
of his rage yet still in a passion. "I think you're a
liar," he said at last, stirring Andy with his toe.
"But I'll give yer a chance. There's Nick who's been
boozin' himself blind as a puppy all this time. If
he's all right I give yer fair leave to wallop me. If
he's dead, as Morg says he oughter be-well, you
look out, you rat!"
"All right," said Andy, "we'll jest see."
He picked himself up, sucked his bleeding
knuckles, and followed Dan, who stepped out firmly.
They walked silently along the deserted street.
Once as they turned the corner, they heard a shut-
ter hang, but they didn't trouble to investigate.
Dead and wounded were scattered everywhere; some
of the streets looked like an abattoir, blood and
muck sliding under their boots. But they kept on,
over an empty plaza; through a lane so narrow that
the over-freighted tops of houses almost touched
one another on each side and made the lane a kind
of tunnel. Then at last they were back at the bar-
ricade they had captured from behind.
Dan still did not speak. He strode over to the
shop that bore the bold letters PULPERIA, rattled down
the stairs and thumped on the cellar door.
At first there was no answer, and he turned his
face, wrinkled with triumphant malice, to Andy's,
who gazed at him with large, scared blue eyes. But
then they heard something or somebody fall over,
an indistinct curse, a hiccup, and then Nat's voice
thickened with wine.
"Oo's there?" he called. "Go 'way or I fire. Give
yer three, One .
"You fool! It's Dan-I ain't going' ter hurt yer!"




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PLANTERS'


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"Yer won't get no chance. Two. I'm saying'
Three in a minute. Mind yer hat!"
"J give yer me honour. Open the door. The
wine's poisoned."
"Blurry good poison. Best I ever tasted. I don't
want ter kill yer, Dan, so get off. Yare."
"I'll bust the door in."
'Don't do that, Dan. This is secret. I don't
want nobody ter know 'bout this place. Don't make
no noise, fer hell's sake."
"I'll make the devil's own noise if yer don't
open!"
"Sh-h! shb--h!" They heard Nat stumbling
about in the dark, then rusty bolts were withdrawn
and they blinked into the dim vault.
"Darkish." said Nat. "don't want a light. I
dreamed o' this all me life. A inn ter myself.
Sh-h-h!"
Dan and Andy walked in and glanced around.
They could see nothing but barrels and bottles and
somebody lying against the wall. Andy leaned over
and saw that it was a woman dressed in man's
clothes. breeches and all: her long hair was thick
with dried blood and her face was almost black. She
was dead.
"''ho done that?" he asked.
"Me," said Nat. "Mosh unfortunate accident.
Thought she was a feller. Dressed like that. Hit
Ler on the barricade. Dragged her here fer a bit o'
fun. Hellish. Didn't mean ter. Accident."
"Are you sick?" asked Dan.
"Who? Me? Sick No more' usual. Once, but
I done it meself. More capacity. Ain't eaten fer so
lone." And he slapped himself so lustily on the
chest that he knocked himself over. "Perfickly all
right," he said from the foor. "Right as an alliga-
tor."
Dan -at 'lowly down on an up-ended cask, star-
ing straight ahead. He couldn't believe it. Perhaps
this cellar had escaped. perhaps they'd only poisoned
one cask. perhaps somebody'd told Morg a yarn: oh.
hell'
""Hell." he snarled, "gimme a pipe. What yer
got' Any rum'? AX,. yuss. wine'll do. Any kind.
Charnico, aunthink. it don't matter."

CHAPTER V

THE RED DEVIL
PEARL of the South Seas. Golden Cup of the West.
that Glurious, very Noble and very Loyal city
of Panama stood on the rinm of the sea on the edge
of the Isthmus. ,with a stone wall raised on its
weakest most crumbling corners to keep the mon-
str.ius ocean at hay. the ocean that flung its great
fc.am-hristling slabs of water against the sand and
dragged it. gurgling. chuckling, back into its abys-
mal mani. It ro ,e at times to fourteen feet, that
Southern Sea. and lifted up mighty galleons and
ships as if they were but paper boats. But at low
tide. when the water grumblingly sank back. ebbed
to leave tracks of grey sand and yellow-black mud,
the ships caught their bottoms in the filth and could
not be moved save by an earthquake or until next
high tide. Then were the shipmen busy careening.
painting, unloading: the cargoes were carried to the
beach in trucks and on nmule-back and on tile un-
breakable heads of negro slaves.


The city itself ran along the edge of a great bay
that was sliced by a long spit of rock over which the
waves crumbled into foam and flung huge tentacles
to catch the fishermen and pelicans by the ankles.
West of this spit the land gave itself up to the sea,
with but here and there feeble efforts at defiance-
banks of grey stone blotched green with slime and
weed, the troglodyte home of lean carnivorous rats.
But to the east of the spit, the great ships came in
under masses of sail as if they dragged clouds in
with them from the sky: here they lay. trapped in
the mud and slime at low tide and showed their
bellies to the sun. great bellies of polished wood
studded with barnacles and dribbling green weeds
and fungus as if they bled their sap.
At the landward side of the city. the great
square tower of San Anastasius stood out -.tark
against the quivering blue sky. It was this cathe-
dral's copper cross that first gave Morgan warning
":f the pearl bidden at his feet. And near by on
a rocky knoll, the stout building of th Genoese slave-
market squatted with high. thick walls.
Along the edges of this vast mysterious ocean
of the South. the lovely city of Panama flaunted its
co:lours and stones. Houses and cathedrals poked
their impudent roofs at the sky, compared to many
Old World cities it was perhaps not so gigantic, hav-
ins a population of around ten thousand, about a
quarter of that being white, the rest. Indians and
negroes and the myriad offshoots-mulattoes. octo-
roons, samboes. But it. possessed three cathedrals
and had monasteries and nunneries and an Inquisi-
tion of its own. Discounting lanes and alleys, it
had seven streets running in from the sea. bisected
by four others, and boasted three fine plazas. To
the south, the sea protected it with a broad girdle
of quick'ands at low tide. and at the west. a marshy
creek -evered it from sound earth and was crossed
by a narrow stone-arched bridge. To the north on
the landward side. there was a huge swamp spanned
by another stone bridge-this was the one the bue-
.:Lneers had crossed-but nature drained the swamp
with a little stream that flowed into the harbour on
the east. And so. on all -ides. the city was held in
as if God had plucked up a little firam earth especial-
13 tor the Spaniards to nest on Its whole size was
r.nly fourteen hundred and twelve cirao. or yard-'.
from ea-t to west. by four hundred and eighty-seven
can'ic from north to south. A handful of land. a
mere pinch on this colossal continent, and for this
had Harry Morgan led his wolves across the Isth-
mus. for this had he starved and fought. for this
tiny spot of earth! Long streets ran right through
the city. shaded with piazzas that dropped from
al.\o.e as if the houses wilted like candles in the
glare: lanes above which the piazzas almost met and
cooled the burning cobbles, so cloiie they were that
lover-. could kiss from house to house. But only few
ot the houses were large enough to posse's piazzas:
niort of them were but one-floored dwellings without
floors. with thatched roofs and holes for chimneys.
But in some of the finer houses, the walls hid beau-
tiful paios luxuriant with powers, the gardens
.-preading Ike gigantic peacock-feathers on the earth.
Ah. that merry Babylonian city of Panama. the
king's treasure house! Surely it was right to call it
the Pearl of the South. even though it stood a few
degree- above the broiling equator?
Then. as if the sun in rage against Morgan'- dese-


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SMORIISON & MORRISON,
'ATTORNEYS & AGENT'.

85 Hnrbour Stree Kingston.

IIlu IIIIIlIIIIIIIlu IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIlIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII


creation of its favourite gridiron had sent a lick of
fire upon it, houses burst suddenly into flame. Sud-
denly the drunkards found themselves ringed with
fire, the roofs exploded and fell, the walls flared up
like tapers,
Morgan was talking to Bledry in the patio when
they brought the news. But he had not been idle.
Already he had posted guards on all the largest
warehouses, churches and mansions, and his secre-
tary was cataloguing everything; the captives were
locked into the Cathedral opposite; twenty-five of his
best sailors had been sent to capture a galleon stuck
in the mud and to launch her somehow to Tavoga
and Tavogilla in search of a ship that he'd had
news of. She held almost all the richest things in
Panama, together with a horde of nuns, and was
guarded by only seven guns and ten or twelve mus-
kets; she had only uppermast sails on the main-
mast, so should be easy capture.
A picket under Johnny Hormonson came rush-
ing in to him with the news of the sudden fire, and
it seemed:that fate was for the first time working
against him. God knew how much plunder might
be burnt!
He jumped to his feet, cursing. Even Bledry
showed a vague interest.
(Continued on Page 33)







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London Agents: Head Offices:
MESSRs. KAYE SON & GsACE BUILDING,
Co., LTD. 64 Harbour Street,
Fenton House, Kingston, Jamaica,
112-113 Fenchurch St., B.W.I.
London, E.C., 3, Eng.
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1934-35






PLANTERS' PUNCH


f (irar, rnUn ri & (fti., stat


64 Harbour


Street,


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DISTRIBUTORS: Standard


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1934-35


LIFE & FIRE INSURANCE AGENTS.






P LA N T E RS S'


Panama Is Burning
I Contintir(d froii Page' .11)
Two of his officers he left in command, then on
horseback he galloped off with Bledry and half a
dozen men.
In the distance they could see the fire like a
red dust-storm. It blazed up intu the sky. a dirty-
smudge, unfolding. rearing. spangled with starry
sparks, and lit here and there by flashes of red and
scarlet like bloody lightning. It as. in fact, like a
huge cloak rising from the earth, slowly unwinding
and drifting up.
It was a long ride, for the tire wa d,-wn near
the harbour side. but Morgan ioovered thie oi-tance
in seconds of time. careless of whom he \sver-rolle.
turning corners without a shout of warning. leaping
barricades and riskinE death in blind alley-.
At la-st hb was there, and lie leapt fr...m hi-
horse that reared and snuffled at the flames. The
heat was so intense that he coill not approau:ch near.
er. Croiwds stood in bunches here and there. talk-
ing in subdued murmurs,. truik apathetic. bef.ret':
this red devil that roared and vp.it anm.ntst the
house., his scarlet cluak licking .tut and iracklin-
like v hips as be kicked up hailstorrms of spark-. .\l
ready half a street was a nmass tof whirling r lames.
red and blue. streaked with sudden flares 'of brigiht
yellow. \thile armies .of rats ran eliriekinig from tile
heat. fleeine int, thle forest and into a- .et tilit
houses like ant, -nioked from a cartsass.
The suii abrve and the fire ion the carth. It
almost i/zzled yoiu up just trj liu.k at it. Yiou 11;t
into sweat at [tlie mierest puff of its tflanms.
Morcan stood biting his lip. hi.iing iii-. lir.!.s
in hv the bridle: a few yard- i'-f. Blelr.y ilnilmlv -at
in his saddle. io:nibing hi- ringers in his beard
The nlmn rain veer tol Morgla, n -'lad toi final --mni.
body with a will -trou' enough t-, deal wiith thii
fury.
The ideal .4 trying t,:, put it out with watePr l \a
iabhurd SI.nmbi-edy 1had attempted it. and a few
buckets lay about in pooI of rapidly drying I!luitd.
It seemed tliey would have to let it take its ,o-!rsc:
but the idea of buckling do ,n, even to this element-
al force. smote at liorgan's heart. He hali never
given in ti1 all hii life Never. Must lie -tart h,.,a w
before this damnable rire?
The men w iatchebl hui. They la.il all tiirnedl r(ed
in the glare. t[leir fae.. their cl.iothes a- red ai if
dipped in ociare. redder than the tO.liieni-'n thhltinrg
their aaie; in ',Id Enelarid. Atnd the-e men all ni-zeD


hopefully at the figure of Harry Morgan. as. red be
looked as themselves, gripping his horse's bridle.
Morgan gazed at the flames trom under the
shadow of his hat: the plume swung round from
behind and tickled his face. like a familiar pet striv-
ing to read its master's eyes. His face looked livid
in the red glare. Then he sighed. and said abruptly:
"Who started it?"
Nobody appeared to know who, started it. It
had suddenly -prung up like a demon.
E-qutemeling was there with a body of foreign-
eis; they all gabbled at Morgan. but hb waved them
aside.
"Get some powder!" he cried. "and some fuses!
We'll stop it yet. Blow up the hi:iuses in front of it.
That ought to keep it back."
So the pioneers heaped up po.nder-kecs against
the stine and the fusemen laid yards and yards of
fu.e. They blew up the houses in front of the tire
anti to the sides of it. after fir-t ranarikinu them
and piling all the contents in the street But now
that the deton had got a grip, he would not be
restrained. Blowt up the houses in front-and it
licked its long tongue over the street. starting ion
[lie other side. Blow up there-and the very explo-
-ii.in itself started another demon.
Within halt an hour a whole -treet was embers
and charredd wood. Morgan directed his men. He
,uld iilnt c.(onfe'sS himself beaten. His hair was.
lurnt anud singed. .:. lie tied it up in a handkerchief,
fi lie was very proud of hi- curl-. which were all
Lis Ion l Hi- fai.e was black. the yela-hes and
bhi,,\, alniust burned ,if. his lips hui-.t in the heat
ail his" hand.- were bli-tered raw. But he would
ni...t ive in. His enthusia-m fired even Bledry. al-
thl.u:h lie w'.ul'd unt let himrn elf shl.,w it.
The houses in this tiuarter were mainly poorir
little huts built of battled cane. v.niid.i o.'asionally
,of adcihe. and i.-1ally thatcher' d with dried palms
that were good a- ttin.ler. Even the better b,:ulses
lhad inly -t.one hba e-t: then above, they deceneratedl
into edar that had dried. ready fir a park. under
alLt unIlakimw u, n that sucked ev-ry particle ..f up
f'lion tht wiou,l. They seemed to want to burn. They
--i-ii tedl almt.-t to pillh themselves under a. tongue iof
flLah, a-1 if the, lhoned to roar up with a, comb f it
famne- like mad r.stcrs shaking their winc-. alnd
tcil.' ing at the -un.
It wa- a h.,peless task to try ti. lt.p it. Biit
MAlri:i n woiiuld nm t a ive in. He I- a- detrmrinedi. .\ll
the I...ng afteriioon he was in thbe- fret'iont. rlnlmnand.
iii,; inm-eif soiiietimes iimpatientiv laymin tlhe
:nar2- and s..ra. thing flint ol steel to ti '- 'iise.
ThEu they -t.:ld f.tr off anti watched this little rfre


of their own making. this friendly tire that darted
like a mad imp river the i.bibles. right along the
street. children on holiday. tumbling along over the
coIbbles. and in through a dark doorway. Silence.
Then a terrific, r,'aring Ibur;t out and eclipsed even
the fire; roof and ralls exploded in one red tumult;
and subsided. Another charge. Again the waiting,
again the roaring. Then another charge I
was hot work. Mlorean's back ached. his arms ached,
his legs ached. He wa- exhausted. There was a
sharp pain in his chest, his eyelids were raw. But
he would not give in.
All the afternoon under a blazing sun he fought
that fire. and when the ci,.,i evening t.ame he stood
hack. It was miture in hand now .but by no means
conuquered. Yet he was too tired to keep ion; he
(I.,uld barely stand. He sat on a .tep and rubbed his
raw hand acr.,ss hi- wet forehead. It ,tung like
ne-ttles against cuts and scratcbes.
S,-me samaritan -ffered himn a hottle of wine.
He clutched at it. then waved it away. glaring at
the man.
SIt's poisi.ned'" he -narled. "I told you! It's
all poi..oned'"
The man drew back and ran int., the .-hadows.
I-aving Morgan breathing jerkily a hle leaned back
o.n tile stes', bathed from head to: foot in the red
clare.
Dan didn't find that the wine was poison. He
sat in a corner of Nat's palpror and gulped down
\ whatever was passed hinm D epite Nat's drunken pro-
tc-t-. they had lit cjndl-e and stut k them in empty
i...ttle-. ...n .:asks. in ni lihs- The place was crowded.
many other~. had found it rout and it had suddenly
ii c:riome the nmoit popular iulpeirra in Panama. They
all -ettled d,'wn the mintnte th.-y entered and started
t.n the -erihlu occupati.'ii of zrettinll as drunk as
they .,..uld in as ,sl.rt a timp as possible. Some
Iri.n, hit w...mnin with them and they too drank
,-aderly.. in a eff,'rt )pe-rapsi t1: forget their capti-
vity. Biut thle-e \ert-e nujnien oif the lowest classes.
u:e-i t'' all kinds of, life's up- and downs, pro.ti-
tiite i mainly. '.ir sl.vee irl--nei''res.ses, miulatresses.
Iildian'. The Iuia.ceaneril didn't bother much about
the ueepy n.l-mni. They weren't worth the trouble
,then j-.llil-r doxies were around.
The \v..umen dlanred a little before the room was
tr.. packed: Spani-h dances with broken castanets
that isome-lnly hail -.alvaedf. and the men joined in,
lI-tapin'- anyhow a ani anywhere. imitating the nio-
Iujn'-. tw istinle and niicSulin'g
lan -ar clumly in a corner. swelling oit his
bllly Rital ine. but hii head -tayed as clear a-s over.
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IV


19"34-35


P UN C H







PLANTERS' PUNCH


Poltergeist? The Last


Phase
(Continued from Page 17)
sides, you swore yourself to me on the night of our
marriage. And we are now flesh of one flesh until
death shall part us-if indeed we ever die!"
When Mr. Shotover drove back to Kingston early
the next morning his brain was busy with thoughts
of an uncomforting character. What he had feared,
he told himself, was actually coming to pass. Mary's
brain was being unhinged by her dwelling upon im-
possible things, and practising extraordinary things.
She was no longer perfectly sane. Her solitary life
had not been good for her. It would be better, from
every point of view, that she should come to Elms-
ley Park, though that might mean a quarrel with his
sister. Her talk about their marriage was nonsense,
of course; there was no marriage. But he did not
want to leave her: that was the one way of escape
from a situation he did not like which he would
never consent to take. He knew it. His will was
not equal to it; his inclination was to the contrary.
But he realized also that he would not be able to


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prevent her from doing what she wished; his re-
monstrances and protests had been growing feebler:
he knew that. What was more-he forced himself
to face the fact-he was secretly intrigued by
these claims, these boasts of hers. Could she in-
deed discover a way to make them both-him prin-
cipally-so powerful that everyone and everything
would be at his feet? That would be something
worthwhile: even what was called witchcraft-for
of course it wouldn't be witchcraft-would be well
worth pursuing with such an end in view. What
an extraordinary woman she was! How. fortunate
for him that he had come to know her. It was the
greatest good fortune in his life: it had made him
happier than he had ever been before. He would
stick to her to the end, no matter what anyone might
hint or say. In that respect, at any rate, they would
be really married.
And then he remembered the words she had
made him repeat after her: "For better and for worse,
for good and for evil!"

CHAPTER FOUR

CHANGE AND DECAY
IT was with something like a gasp of surprise that
Mr. Shotover's closest associates heard that he had


taken Mary Ransome to stay at Elmsley Park as
housekeeper. These could not pretend to believe
that this was simply a domestic business arrange-
ment; the woman, they said, had no need of em-
ployment and was distinctly too goodlooking and too
fascinating a personality. But people like Ernest
Tredegar and his wife did not blab about the affair
to strangers; they appeared to take it as quite an
ordinary procedure. And so did Miss Shotover.
She, indeed, was rather glad-as Mary had pre-
dicted she would be-to leave Elmsley Park. She
preferred to live in her own house. But Mary's sis-
ter, Prudence, remembering how bitterly Mary had
once hated Mr. Shotover, and how both of them had
had a grievance against him, was thunderstruck at
Mary's consenting, not only to have anything to do
with him, but actually to enter his home as an em-
ployee. That is, as an employee in appearance, for
Prudence knew (none better) that Mary would never
be the servant of anyone; consequently there could
be but a single explanation of her act.
It was startling, that act, scandalous: it was
altogether unexpected.
Prudence remembered that during the past year
she had had but one letter from Mary, although she
had written several times to her. In spite of that
she was stirred strongly to epistolary remonstrance;
she wrote to her half-sister asking if she quite re-
alised what she had done and if she had not better
immediately sever her connection with Mr. Shotover.
Mary read this letter sadly; but would not reply to
it. She had lost, she realized, the good opinion of
Prudence, even perhaps something of her affection.
But there was nothing to be done about it. "She
works her work, I mine," murmured Mary to her-
self, slightly paraphrasing a line of one of her fav-
ourite poets.
Society talked, as it hardly could refrain from
doing; but Society, outwardly, affected to know no-
thing of Mr. Shotover's domestic arrangements. So-
ciety was certain it would never meet his housekeep-
er, and a man, after all, must have someone com-
petent to look after his house. It was bold, it was
daring of him to employ a young woman with such
looks to be in the same place with him, an unmar-
ried man; but he was a bold and even original char-
acter; people had lately begun to speak of him even
as a great man. And great men, presumably, must
be allowed their little peculiarities.
As for Mr. Shotover, having made up his mind
he did not care what might be said about his ac-
tion. After all, what did it really matter to anyone
whether a housekeeper were old or young? Surely
the latter was likely to be more energetic and effi-
cient!
So three months passed.
But in those months a further change was noted
in Mr. Shotover, not only by those who were closest
to him but by everybody else. He had not given a
single entertainment at Elmsley Park He found
excuses for not accepting invitations. He was never
seen in public with Mary Ransome, but. it was obvi-
ous to Ernest and Olive Tredegar that he spent more
of his time with her than he probably had ever
thought it worth his while to devote to any other
woman. There was something, too, about his ap-
pearance that was puzzling.. He went about as
though his eyes were fixed on vacancy and his
thoughts on distant things.
"It is the most extraordinary case of blind in-
fatuation I have ever heard of," said Olive indig-
nantly; "you might excuse it in a man of seventy,
you might then call it senile decay. But he is only
fifty or so. What a downfall for the great Mr. Shot-
over!"
"Do you know that he is making his business
into a limited liability company?" asked Ernest.
"No. How should I? When did he decide upon
this?"
"He was talking about it only to-day. I can
tell you, for you are concerned. You are to be a
shareholder. I and James and May are also share-
holders-we shall be quite well off."
"Extraordinary! But that will make you and
James independent of him, won't it? What is he
doing it for?"
"To make us independent, I suppose. He is really
giving us the shares, and there are some others.
Rupert Simmondes, a man I thought he disliked, is
included, And some of his older employees. He is
only keeping a half of the business for himself, and
that, I imagine, goes to his sister if anything should
happen to him. Do you know, dear, that, apart
from himself, you are to be the largest sharehold-
er?"
"What a dear, good man!" cried Olive enthu-
siastically. "It was certainly my lucky day When
he came into that flower shop in London and saw
me. But tell me, Ernest, is that woman, Mary Ran-
some, included?"
"No. But the business represents but a part
of Mr. Shotover's fortune, you know, and it has to
be carried on if it is to make money. He knows I
can carry it on: he has said so again and again.
"I fancy that he is going to retire from the ac-
tive management and handling of it. He has been
having less and less to do with it these last two
months; in fact he sometimes is in the office now
but for an hour a day, and there are days when we
don't see him at all. He has plenty of money,


A Service to Modern




Civilization!


I


1934-35







1934-35


oi eaus of it, and I suspect that if he died before any
of us we should find that all his possessions out-
side >f the business had been left to Mary Ran-
somne.
""What a shame," commented Olive. "And who
has she to leave all this wealth to?"
"There is her half-sister, Prudence. Prudence
Sinimoudes will some day be a rich woman."
"Th:at is, if Mary Ransome dies before her."
SOtf course. But you and I are being very hand-
somely treated by Mr. Shotover also."
"True. dear; but while I am grateful, don't
forget how you work for him. What would he do
withoiit you?"
What did he do before? It's awfully sweet of
you. Olive, to think that Mr. Shotover couldn't get
on without me; but he is the sort of man who can
rind fittine instruments when he wants them. Don't
deprc, late him, even if he does seem to be acting
pe uliarl y these days. Something is the matter
with hinm, but I aren't even ask him a ques-
til-n about it."
S., Mr. Shotover's business was transformed
oit.. a limited liability company, and the sums to
be paid ftnr the shares by each of the shareholders
was foeind by himself, and though Rupert Sim-
monids could not understand why Mr. Shotover
sliiuld want him as a shareholder and desire to
make him a present, his wife very tactfully assur-
ed him that Mr. Shotover was a man of vision and
wished to have people like Rupert Simmondes iden-
tified a ith his business instead of remaining out-
side a- possible formidable competitors. An explana-
tion which Rupert accepted, as he himself could
think i-.f nothing better and did not in his heart of
hcart- d:,ire to refuse a small fortune.
A? for Mr. Shotover, he knew very well what
he was doing. As a business man, he recognized
that it would be excellent business to give to a num-
ber of c'ormpetent persons a substantial interest in
a grear commercial organisation to which he was
not prepared to devote any more of his time; be-
sides. lie liked these people or those connected with
them, and would have remembered them in his will
hadi he not adopted this more immediate method
of rewarding their services or conferring benefits
upon them. His affairs would prosper under the
direction of Ernest Tredegar; and in any event he
had money enough to put him beyond a thought of
care. He would no longer give his time to accu-
mulating unore money: there were other ends worth
striving for. Mary had shown him that. He had
beie a epictc at first, then a sort of half believer;
since she had come to live under his roof he had
been % holly converted. He could not doubt the de-
monstration- she constantly gave of her ability to
dr. strange. wonderful things, even to put herself
in communication with what must surely be the
denizen.i of a world of which this material earth
knew as yet little or nothing. More, she was teach-
ing him to do likewise. And, to his astonishment,
he fund the occupation of a fascination, an allure-
ment. that he could not have imagined, without
experience. to be possible. He would have scoffed
at it a y.-r ago. Now it was as though a new life
hari .pw.-ed up before him, and he wished to live it
ti:. the. tuli.
He liad. like Mary, become an enthusiast in
the .-tudy of the occult: that was the chief reason
,of the ry apparent change in him. In a very few
we.k-. sh- had achieved over his mind the con-
'iue-t fir nhich she had hoped and of which she
liah dlreamntd. Had he been told that she had ac-
,..niplished this at first, not chiefly by argument
antl per.uaiion, or even by demonstration of strange
,itts, Iut mainly because she had made him desire
her pas-iionately, had used upon him the weapon of
sex as well as her intellectual powers, he would
have laughed. He felt too certain of his poise and
hi- strength of will to believe that any woman
c-..ul -ubdie his mind through passion and the
fle-h. especially such a man as he who (as he boast-
e.l had little now to learn about women. And, un-
do.ubtedly. had she not something new to tempt him
with. and flattery for him also, and a worship about
while h theri- was nothing ungenuine, she could -not
have sut needed. But she did accomplish things
ahich. in his view, were extraordinary, and speed-
il. he had forgotten his own admonitions to her
and had become curiously eager to share in her ex-
periments. They could achieve wonders together,
she ild. and he believed her. That part of his na-
ture derived from ancestors who had seen God in
the liahtnings of Sinai and were convinced that pro-
phets :could be summoned from their tombs to give
wdarnines to kings-that part of his nature, though
long -uhmerged, was coming to the surface now.
The practical man of business, imperious, grasping,
o.tentatuius, snobbish, was repeating in these days
in .antatinns of whose meaning he knew nothing,
andi li-tening eagerly for responses which seemed
to iomn from another world.
F',r hoirrs at a time, when night had fallen, he
r.ullil wat.-h Mary crouching on knees and elbows,
alinst naked, in a kind of trance, while the closed
rrom filled with the smoke of incense, and his brain
,,culd randually fall into a passive receptivity in
which he would catch the sound of thin far-away
vniires. hear the whirring of mysterious wings, and


PLANTERS' PUNCH 35


OF MANY INTERESTS


Photograph by Duncan Keith Oorinaldi
MR. ROBERT B. BARKER, M.A.


MR. ROBERT BARKER, M.A., came to Jamaica,
on the first occasion, in January of 1915 as a
temporary Second Lieutenant in the Royal Garrison
Artillery entrusted with coast defence work in con-
nection with the war then raging. He remained here
for some little time, went back to England, and, after
serving on the western front and in the Army of Oc-
cupation in Germany, he returned to this island upon
his demobilisation, having, to use his own expres-
sion, "fallen in love with it."
He was appointed an Inspector of Schools in Ja-
maica in September of 1919, having graduated from
the University of Manchester in 1910, taking his M.A.
degree in 1912. He was not long an Inspector of
Schools. He discovered an aptitude for business; so
he left the Government service at the end of 1919
and became associated with the late Mr. M. M. Alex-
ander in the latter's hardware and furniture store.
He married Miss Nina Alexander, one of the most
popular and charming of our young society ladies,
and he settled down to the business with which he
was identified with the same energy and gusto he
had displayed in soldiering. When the Alexander
Store was transformed into a Limited Liability Com-
pany at the beginning of 1924, Mr. Barker became
Assistant Managing Director, and on the death of
Mr. Alexander early in 1934 he was made Managing
Director.
Mr. Barker is a man of quiet force of character,
real application, and deeply interested in other mat-
ters besides the business to which he devotes the
major part of his attention and time. Educational
affairs are a sort of hobby with him, thus it is na-
tural that he should be Chairman of the Board of
Governors of the Mico Training College, Chairman
of the Advisory Committee of the Kingston Technical
School, a member of the Government's Board of Edu-
cation, and a member of the Vocational Training
Committee. He holds other offices. He is a member
of the Board of Governors of the Institute of Ja-
maica, a Director of the Victoria Mutual Building
Society, and a Director of the Kingston Charity Or-
ganisation Society. Obviously a very busy and ener-
getic man.
Mr. Barker loves the business of which he is
Managing Director, and is bent upon making a con-
tinued success of it. He studies it as though it were
a profession, knowing how methods change and how
necessary it is that a businessman should move with
the times. There is no aspect of it, however trivial,
to which he does not give personal attention and
with which he does not familiarise himself.
As a member of a Public Board, his colleagues
find him always ready to co-operate with them, while
at the same time remaining frank and independent
in the expression of his views. He is a sound work-
er. He is still a young man. He has hitherto made
a success of his life. It is an easy prophecy that fur-
ther success will come to him.



see strange forms appear and dissolve, some of
them beautiful, all curious and filling their behold-
er with a queer indescribable thrill of ecstasy.
What did it all mean? To what was it all lead-
ing? Mary herself confessed ignorance of the posi-
tive result; but she was certain, she assured him,
that they were on the brink of great discoveries,
as perhaps others like them were in different parts
(Continued on Page 37)





PLANTERS' PUNCH


I1 Ia


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Poltergeist? The Last

Phase
(Contifried frowm Page 3'.,)
of the world; in the meantime there could be no
doubt of the developing strength of their will. for
what they desired came easily to: pa:. and this power
of theirs grew stronger every day.
They were everything tu one another now,.
steadily every extraneous interest w as being exelud.
ed. As Mary said one day, they were in the world.
but becoming less of it: they were being more
and more identilfed with the un-een %wonld with
every hour that passed. She had heartily agreed
with his proposition to cut himself off' from
his West Indian business; shie had made her
will in her sister's favour, for she shortly intend-
ed leaving Jamaica with David Shoiover. and
she doubted they would ever return. There weas
a society in Paris, she tuld him. of with ii he had
heard: indeed, of which shIe knew a good deal. and
it devoted itself to researches in the occult. They
would become not merely member- of that society
or cult, they would be adepts of it. later on. most
probably its chiefs. They would rea i out their
hands to the unknown, and grasp rt
One night he was moved to ask her:
"Suppose we find that, beiund everything that
we are seeking, there is the Devil?"
'"Who. what is the Devil?" she answered dream-
ily. "A fallen angel of great power. the Hebrew
Scriptures tell us; but there may be more to him
than that. Perhaps, as even sime Christian sects
have believed, be does divide the jurisdictioin if
the universe with the Almighty, is himself a god. So
what if we find him? What if we see him, can hold
direct communication with him? Will not that be
well worth while? I have sometimes felt that I
am in close touch with him, and shall see him as
be is some day. But not as theological writers have
depicted him: rather as a force manifesting itself
in light and brightness. The so-called Devil. David,
may be only another aspect of God."
"I suppose that is blasphemy?" he suggesteii
in uneasy tones.
"But it is men who have defined blasphemy."
she laughed. "and what is blasphemy today may be
faith tomorrow." Thus she dismissed the subject.
Another two months passed. But they did nut


leave Elmeley Park, though they talked coiistantll
about their migration to Paris. Presently it began
to dawn upon both of them that it nas as though
something were keeping them pinned to the place.
Strong in other directions, they seemed very ,weak
in this. They talked about going. but felt strangely
unable to act.
Mr. Shotover also realized sioutlihing else.
Men whom he knew. and women alsi. were now,
beginning to look at hin in a peculiar. search-
ing fashion when he met them. They asked him
solicitously about his health, there %waN something
like commiseration in their voice, and eyes; he
understood well that they believed lie %waF no
longer sane! He smiled at this, though it hurt
him. He recalled that he had once thought the
same about Mary and had mentioned to her
his thought: but. while she had nit in i nd thii
frout him. it hurt his vanity that person:us a ho were
once afraid of him, or at any rate wito held him in
high respect because of his talent?. .holild now lie
pitying him. And he suspected that rumniurs about
him were in circulation. He was tcoo well ac:ustom
ed to facing facts to be blind to the iirunimstan.ie
that Mary's old reputation foir soriery could not
possibly have been forgotten, was still as living a-
it had ever been. And ac he hardly nent anywhere
in these days. or she either, and the', lived together
in the great house away from neighbour., and he
had practically abandoned his butiness--lwhy, what
then should people think but that shi' had bewit'ch
-d him?
Folly. of course. but hon *:nuld hr explain? TIh
nnly thing to do was to leave the country, ti.i break
the inhibition which seemed to paralyg e his will
in that particular respect: to assert himself as iif
old. The desire to do this became overpowering at
last. It was the result of more than usual coninis-
eratory treatment which he experienced at his Cluh.
into which, the first time for months, he bad wander.
ed one day for a bite of lunch. When he rose from
the lunch table, he had spoken with all his old ar-
rogance.
"I am going from here down to the ship
ping office," he said to one of the men he knew.
but loudly enough for others to hear, "to book my
passage for England. I am sick of this on-hors.?
country: I have made all the money there is to lh
made out of it. and it would be a sin to drive soine
:i the rest of you o:ut of business. That's why I
haven't been active lately. That's why I have left
everything to Tredegar. There is nothing here nvw
big enough for me, so I am clearing off. I guess


ihat tmo.t of the folk here nill I)e glad %ahen I go,
for good."
The inirolence of his tone and niainner nettled
the men who heard him; buit none answered him.
This. they all agreed to themnielves. this was the
authentic David Shotover, and he was better this
v.ay than wandering around with at nabtracted look
in his eyes, and s~omelinme muttering to himselt,
.a lie had been seen doing at time *t late. It was
pitiable ~o see a strung mlan a ting like a half-wit
Ilter far that lie should talk like a hully. Thai
,.as more natural.
And to the report rapidlly qr'ead that Mr. Shot




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PUNCH


_


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PLANTERS' PUNCH


over was going away within a week or two, and
that he had actually booked his passage.
"I wonder if Mary Ransome is going too?" Olive
Tredegar asked her husband.
"I rather fancy she is," he said. "Mr. Shot-
over has given me orders to sell Elmsley Park."

CHAPTER FIVE

GOING, GOING-GONE!
MARY RANSOME and Mr. Shotover sat at a win-
dow looking north, towards the dark line of hills
that rose on Elmsley Park, forming a sombre back-
ground in the moonless night.
Two days hence they were to sail for England,
thence to Paris, where they would establish contact
with that secret society of occultists who made a cult
of spiritualism, crystal gazing, the exploration of
places reputed to be haunted, and who, as rumour
had it, indulged also in stranger practices, for it
was said of some of them that they were avowed
devil worshippers.
Mary calculated that, with David Shotover's
wealth and masterful character, and her own domin-
ant personality and acquired powers, it would be
easy for the two of them to win a high position
amongst this group. David did not know French,
but she did; and she believed that she knew things
in regard to which the others would be novices. Her
African blood would be no drawback to her in such
a society; her knowledge,'derived from African an-
cestors, would give her a commanding place amongst
them.
Outside it was pitch dark. The adjacent hills
and woods accentuated a gloom which not even the
bright tropic stars could diminish. They had sent
off the servants-those who were still employed. For
some had already been dismissed, decently provided
for; and the three who had been retained could be
depended upon to be on time the next morning.
The servants were used to being sent away after
dinner in these days; they no longer lived on the
premises. It suited neither Mary nor Mr. Shotover
that there should be any spies about in the night
when Mary would begin her experiments and invo-
cations, which had now become a constant practice
as they had formerly been a passion with her. Ser-
vants talk, and they see more than you can guess
or they pretend to see. So after dinner they were
always told they could go home. There was no
longer any accommodation for them in the outbuild-
ings at Elmsley Park: another new circumstance


that had given rise to comment among them and
to curious speculations.
The two were all alone in the great house. So
far as they knew, the nearest person was one of
the men who looked after the gardens, and he was
at least a half a mile away. If they should need
anything at night, Mary could get it: she was ac-
customed to looking after herself. And, of course,
she had always carefully avoided joining Mr. Shot-
over whenever there was any menial in the house
or in the yard. She paid as much respect as pos-
sible to appearances.
They sat together now, and talked.
"Tredegar will sell this property after we are
gone," Mr. Shotover observed; "I told him not to
stick out for too high a price."
She nodded.
"Elmsley Park has witnessed some extraordin-
ary scenes since you have been here, Mary. The
next owner would be astonished if he could even
guess at one half of them."
"I suppose there would be no next owner if any-
one knew what we had done and seen here," she re-
plied. "I am wondering."
"What?"
"Whether it is true, as I have heard it said, that
a place acquires a sort of personality, that what has
happened in it leaves an impression on its very
walls, affects its atmosphere, becomes a part of it.
The idea is fantastic; yet, who knows, it may be
true. And that may be a reason why some houses
persistently retain the reputation of being haunted.
The strong spirit of someone who may once have
lived, perhaps have suffered and died in it, may be-
come a part of it forever. If that is so, you and
I shall still be here, in a manner of speaking, even
when we are thousands of miles away and even
when we are dead."
This line of talk was a little beyond him. He
did not attempt to pursue it. Instead, he looked out
of the window. "How black it is," he said.
"Depressingly so. You see, the house itself is
in darkness: Elmsley Park isn't lighted up bril-
liantly as it used to be before I came, David, when
you used to entertain the biggest people in Ja-
maica."
"I don't miss them; but we have lived in a sort
of semi-darkness for many months, haven't we?"
"There has been darkness without, but light,
illumination within," she answered; "and we can see
in the dark."
"I remember a verse .which I read again and
"I remember a verse which I read again and


again in the Bible long ago, but never understood.
I don't know that I understand it now. Do you know
it? It-runs like this:
"'A land of darkness, as darkness itself; and of
the shadow of death, without any order, and where
the light is as darkness.'"
"I can't say I understand it;" confessed Mr. Shot-
over, "for how can light be as darkness, and what is
the meaning of the words about the shadow of
death?"
"I don't know, and it doesn't matter: the verse
just came into my mind. Let us talk about our go-
ing. On Tuesday-"
"Someone is rapping!" exclaimed Mr. Shotover.
They listened. Distinctly a noise like that of
rapping came to their ears, but not from any door.
It seemed to come from the roof.
And as they listened it increased in volume until
it became thunderous, as though huge boulders were
being thrown by some gigantic piece of machinery
at the residence of Elmsley Park.
"This isn't human, Mary," cried Mr. Shotover,
startled.
"Have you never heard anything like it before?"
she whispered.
"Not the same thing, but something a little like
it. That was when you sought, long ago now, it
seems, to attract my attention though you were miles
away. You explained it as the effect of your will
that I should hear you in that way. You said it
was the sound made usually by a poltergeist-"
"I know," broke in Mary tensely. "But never
have I caused anything like this awful noise: I
could not. It is as though something were trying
to break down the place."
Suddenly silence fell. The dreadful, uncanny
sound had ceased. Both breathed a sigh of relief,
and resumed their seats.
"I wonder if there can really be any polter-
geists?" said Mr. Shotover; "spirits that-"
The darkness before his eyes miraculously dis-
appeared. Immediately outside a sheet of flame
had sprung up, but it did not touch the side of the
house. He pushed his head out of the window swift-
ly; to right and to left he saw the same thin, rising
flames which formed, as it were, a curtain between
the house and the rest of the property, a curtain
through which his gaze could not penetrate, and the
fire rose from the bare earth and shot high up into
the air above the roof of the building.
Mary gazed at it for two full seconds in silence;
then she spoke.
(Continued on Page 41)


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Poltergeist ? The Last


Phase
(Continued from Page 88)
"Something I can't explain is happening here
to-night, David; something of which I have had no
previous experience. When you have heard strange
sounds and seen weird fires which blazed but de-
stroyed nothing, which came in an instant and died
away as swiftly, that was my work. I willed it:
the true poltergeist was my brain. You know that.
But now--"
"Now"-his practical mind leaped to the conclu-
sion-"now something independent of you is acting.
Or maybe what I more than once said in jest has
come true: you have been playing with a fire you
cannot always control."
"Perhaps," she answered quickly; "but there is
no danger. This sort of fire does not consume."
"But the sight of it, and these noises-can't you
hear them beginning again?-are enough to drive
one crazy. "I don't like it, Mary. Let us get out of
here."
"Come," she agreed. "It is more distracting
than anything of the sort that I have ever seen."
They ran downstairs, and made for the nearest
door But as they neared it a strong, rather pleas-
ant. but utterly overpowering odour came to their
n.,strils; it was all they could do to stagger back-
ward,: had they pressed on they must have been
,oer,:uome as by poison gas of an irresistible potency.
They drew back and back, and the farther they re-
treaild into the house the less perceptible became
the oidour. They ran upstairs again, and though
the:, had left the windows open the smell there was
fainter than it was below. Nevertheless it had be-
gun I., penetrate into the interior of the building.
And wh en they resolutely walked up to the window
at whil-h they had been sitting and put their heads
out. wondering as to how they might get out-
side without facing the menace of the paralysing
smell which was pervading the lower storey, they
weie obliged to hold their breath. Instinctively they
reall-ed that to breathe those impalpable fumes
meant stupefaction. Then Mr. Shotover remember-
ed tle i front porch, from which it would be easy
enoi-hrl even for a man of his size to clamber to the
ground. and easier for Mary.
But here the flames were fiercer, though they
called n- heat. And the odour was stronger. They
were sheathed in fire that had no smoke, bathed in
light but the light was as darkness, for they could
see nothing through it or beyond it. They rushed
to another side of the house. It was the same. And
the thunder of sound upon the roof continued.
"Trapped!" cried Mr. Shotover raspingly. "We
have raised hell upon ourselves. We have been tam-
pering with something we cannot master."
"There is only one thing to do," decided Mary
witl a catch in her voice. "We shall be stifled to
death if we remain in here much longer; but may-
be a real fire-come with me, David!"
She sped to her own room; entering it she dash-
ed to a i cupboard where she kept some of her belong-
ing- andl took out a bottle almost filled with fluid.
"Petrol." she explained; "I got it to clean some
things of mine that were stained. Gather some
sheet- and other combustible articles; something
that nill blaze quickly."
"What are you going to do?"
"Set the house on fire. Fight this heatless
flame n itI real fire and so burn a way out: perhaps
onierpiver with real fire the unreal flame-though
in it-elf it is something real enough. There has
been no rain for three months, and the house is old.
The woi.den parts of it will burn like tinder. Help
me
W'hen there was something practical to be done
Mr. Shotover was his own man once more. He
cath'-_red all the cloth and paper he could find about,
anid a few light straw-bottomed wooden chairs and,
follnrwine her directions, threw them against the
fr.,nt pnrih which opened from the old wooden ver-
andah Stopping their breath, both Mary and he
stooped ,,ver the heap of inflammable material: she
[piiured upon it the petrol in the bottle; he applied
lighted matches; in an instant a fire leaped up,
and they drew back gasping into an inner room.
S"'.in the old cane-seated chairs were ablaze, and
the hia rd walls of the verandah, over a hundred
,yar-. ..Id. blackened, warped, and then sprang into
famne. The conflagration, they calculated, would
spread. hat the house was so large that by the time
the flames had reached the nether part of it they
would have died down in front. And the walls of
the low.-r storey of the building were of stone, so
c(uld ivnot burn; the flooring of the house, too, was
if t,,u-h mahogany and not easily consumable. Mr.
Shinver had grasped Mary's idea. A real fire
ntmiht conquer these eerie, supernatural flames, era-
dinatinz the influence of the peculiar odour that,
like poison gas, was paralysing. So, unless the
fire they had set should completely block their
eures.- they could make a dash through some aper-
ture whi.h it would make in the walls and leap to
the ar'tiind-the distance was not much and in any


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case it was the only chance that offered. A desper-
ate plan, a forlorn hope, but it might succeed. The
only other alternative was to linger within and die.
"There will be people here soon," said Mary,
striving to take into her lungs as little of the in-
sidious scent as possible, the thing which was more
like an exotic perfume than anything else, not at
all disagreeable to the senses, but, she guessed,
deadly if slow in its effect.
"They cannot help us," answered Mr. Shotover
calmly enough. "There are no arrangements on
this property for fighting fire: even a fire brigade,
if it comes, can do nothing. Thet firemen might
fight their way through a real fire; but could not
face this awful thing we seemed to have raised our-
selves."
And now they noticed that there was a breeze
springing up, and it was driving the fire they had
set inwards. There was real heat now, a cruelly
increasing volume of it, and perforce they must re-
treat further in. And the unearthly smell mingled
with the nidor of burning wood and drifted towards
them, surrounded them, filling their lungs as they
drew breath. Their limbs began to feel like lead.
Mary Ransome laid her hand upon David Shot-
over's shoulder, lifting it with an effort to make
this last gesture.
"It is the end, dear," she said. "I could not
move now even if there were a way of escape open."
He braced himself. "We are not to be parted
in death, it seems," he said, "nor shall we burn to
death. I feel that I am going to sleep, Mary. We
shall die so."
They sank heavily to the floor together; she
rallied her failing senses for a moment. "Maybe,"
she whispered, "we shall learn everything in a few
minutes; I have no fear."
"Nor I ... it is, though, as I have always secret-
ly believed. We had no right .."
"We had every right, darling, and where we
fail to-day, others will succeed to-morrow ."

Outside a crowd was gathering. From every
part of the city and the residential suburbs of St.
Andrew people were hastening to Elmsley Park in
motor cars, while others were rushing up on foot-
a vast concourse. For the whole building was blaz-
ing and the light from it could be seen like an angry
beacon for miles. Nothing could be done. The fire
engines stood helpless: there were no mains from
which water could be pumped upon the house.
Ernest Tredegar and Olive were on the grounds, half
frantic; Rupert Simmondes and Prudence also, who
had been staying in Kingston for some days; and


Prudence had a dreadful feeling that somewhere in-
side her sister was being burnt to death.
As soon as the firemen could break their way
inside they did so, and in one of the inner rooms,
not touched by the fire, they found two bodies lying
side by side, not even singed; they carried these into
the open: nothing could be done for them. There
were two or three doctors in the crowd who examin-
ed the corpses and were puzzled. "They have not
been suffocated," said one of these hesitatingly; "one
might almost say that they died of heart failure ..
I can't see .. ."
Prudence alone suspected the truth.
The End.
-

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1934-35


C
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I ---------~----~
I







PLANTERS' PUNCH


Panama Is Burning

(Continued from Page 33) -
The noise bored him, his stomach revolted. He was
sickened by the stink of sweet wines, powerful per-
fumes and sweat, and at last he crawled out, lurched
up the stairs, and groped his way into the darkness
outside. He stood dazed a moment, staring around
him.
At first it seemed that there were two sunsets:
one in the east and one in the west. Then the east-
ern sunset was shot with yellow sparks and he rea-
lised that he was not so very drunk but that there
was something alight over there.
He stood breathing in the clean air, shaking
himself like a dog. Then with sudden purpose he
turned to his right and strode off down the narrow
street.
He would see Dofia Marina.
That was essential. He must see D fia Marina.
He would speak to Morg too, have everything out
with him, get to the truth about this poison busi-
ness, see how Dofia Marina was treated. He felt
that he was her protector, her elder brother shield-
ing her from all dangers. He'd ask Morg for a


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position on his guard so that he could be near her
day and night. This mob was no damned good.
Andy, Nat; boozing, wenching; decent enough fel-
lows but with no steady purpose in life, no ambi-
tions, nothing. No, he'd cut them all clean out of
his life and start afresh with Morg and Dofia
Marina.
The idea gave him a warm feeling of happiness.
He strode on through the gathering twilight that in
the tropics is but the harbinger of night, not a beau-
tiful thing in itself, but the faint tremulous cock-
crow that brings darkness almost straight on top
of it.
Dan walked the empty streets with here and
there a house lit up with shining windows like pol-
ished brass shields against a body of stone. There
was laughter inside, music, the sound of dancing.
But he passed on. At corners fires were lit, and
men had gathered around them to examine their
booty, to quarrel, cook meats, sing songs and to
drink. Everybody seemed to drink, yet nobody suf-
fered. Morgan's pronouncement was evidently held
in the contempt it deserved. That hurt Dan, and
he almost tore the bottle from a man's hand when
he lurched up against him, offering him a swill.
Yes, everybody drank. The captive women
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ren lapped the dregs from discarded bottles. In a
dark nook, lit by a single half-burnt-out torch, Dan
saw three men woolding an old gentleman to dis-
cover where he had hidden his treasure. They had
knotted a string around his forehead and were
tightening it to make his eyes bulge out like pigeon-
eggs.
But there was really not much torturing going
on. Occasionally Dan bumped against a man or wo-
man hanging by the neck from a pole or window,
but that was rare. Sometimes he tripped over dead
women, or women wailing softly to themselves, strad-
dled on the ground, half-naked, exhausted, too sick
to do anything but to moan softly to themselves.
Guards stood outside some of the bigger houses and
churches, smoking and drinking. Three men shot
quietly through the smashed window of a monas-
tery, laughing as they reloaded their guns. There
was much noise too, in a nunnery, but the doors
were barred.
Dan never paused a moment. He kept on his
way, until at last he reached the great plaza before
Morgan's house.
There he stopped, leaned against a wall, and
gazed around him through the dusk, for here it was
that, three years ago, he had first seen Dofia Marina.
It was about eight o'clock on a fierce sunlit
morning. He and his twelve mates from the
wrecked ship were garbed in the yellow sanbenitos,
with a red cross in front and behind, ropes around
their necks, and tall unlit green wax candles in their
hands. An armed soldier stood each side of them,
and they marched from the prison into the blinding
glare of this plaza. It was packed with people. They
could see nothing but brown human faces gazing at
them, hear nothing but fierce human voices roaring
like the wind amongst the yards at sea. Soldiers
on horseback kicked a passage through the mob,
and Dan and his twelve mates marched carelessly
through, assuming'a contemptuous nonchalance, even
spitting and jesting, trying to force a laugh.
Through the mob; then they were marched up some
stairs on to a wide wooden scaffolding, and made to
sit down. Then up some stairs opposite came the
Inquisitors, followed by hundreds of friars-white,
black and grey-until all the scaffolding was as full
of people as the plaza itself.
Then Dan saw Dofia Marina. She was at a win-
dow opposite that was covered with flags and col-
oured cloths. Behind her stood her father, and
other lovely women crowded about her. She looked
tired, gazed often at the sky, at her ivory fan, at
the people beneath. Dan saw nothing but her. He
scarcely heard the Spanish words that condemned
his mates to burning, to being flogged naked on a
horse's back and sent to the galleys until it came
to his turn, and he was prodded to his feet by the
friar beside him, sentenced to ten years in a monas-
tery until he learned the hell-fire of his Lutheran
faith. He heard nothing but a vague sound like
the murmuring of a quiet sea, and saw nothing but
the brown bored face of Doia Marina opposite.
As he stood there now in the twilight, he seemed
to be back in that hot morning; he heard the crowd
at his feet, saw the face of Dofia Marina in the
window. Three years ago! It seemed not yesterday.
Then he stood upright and the ghosts of three,
years ago faded. He was in the still plaza of to-day,




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1934-35






PLANTER S. PUNCH


the empty plaza, black except for the bright glare
from the door of Morgan's headquarters.
A sentry sat on the steps, whistling as he
cleaned his musket. He was one of Morgan's offic-
ers, Clem Simmons; for his officers were more a
bodyguard than a staff, and he trusted no one else.
They had to do the guarding of his house as well
as the officering.
"Hullo, Clem," said Dan, stopping and looking
down at him.
Clem continued placidly cleaning his gun with-
out answering, poking down the barrel with a piece
of oilrag tied on the end of a stick. He was a thin,
scarred fellow with a mop of fuzzy grey hair; it
was grey clean through, although he was not forty
years of age, but he'd spent ten of those years in
an Algerian bagnio.
"Morg in?" asked Dan as the other did not
speak.


"Naw. He's gorn ter see about this flamin"fire.
Been gorn since about twelve."
"Is the Governor's daughter in there?"
"What Governor's daughter? Ain't seen no
Governor's daughter that I knows of. Give us a bit
o' yer shirt, Dan. This gun's damn dirty."
Dan tore off a piece of his tattered shirt and
gave it to him.
"I mean the mort I give ter Morg ter look
arter," he said. "Yer seen her this morning' with
me, didn't yer?"
"Aw, her! She's out there in the backyard,
the what-yer-call-it. But you can't see her. The
cap'n says I'm not ter let nobody by. He mentions
no names in partikler. He jest says Nobody. That's
what he says. I can't let nobody pass."
"Well, yer ain't stopping' me," said Dan, and
walked by. "Where's the flamin' backyard?"
"Keep on down the left there. It's the only
door. Yer can't miss it unless yer blind."


"Thanks, Clem. I won't fergit this."
"Neither will I," said Clem, tying the piece of
Dan's shirt on to the stick in place of the old dirty
rag.
Dan continued down to the left and pushed open
the door behind the curtains. The patio was very
dark. Now that night had come they had drawn
back the canvas roofing and the stars shone brightly
in through a mist of red.
As he stood indecisively in the darkness some-
body spoke beside him.
"Eet ees my heretic," said the voice shrilly.
"Eet ees Darn, si?
He swung round towards her. She was next
to him, he could see her firmly moulded in the dim
moonlight. Her teeth were like sea-foam as her
lips parted, the whites of her brown eyes burned
like phosphorous.
"You half keeled heem, si?" she asked. Her
voi:e came to him magically. It had the lilting


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1934-35






PLANTERS' PUNCH


monotony of the Spanish tongue, the faint lisp, but
through her mouth it sounded to Dan like the soft
voice of an angel. "You half keeled that Enrique
Mor-gan, si? An' now you come for me, to look for
me, Marina de Guzman, si?"
Dan gasped. "Hardly!" he said. "I jest came
ter see you, ter see if you was all right, if you
wanted nothing."
"Then you haf no' keeled heem?" she sighed.
"Aw, now, stow that," said Dan, embarrassed.
"He's my cap'n. I can't kill Morg. Why, what's
he been doing? "
She sighed again and turned away. He saw
her little white hands tearing the white lace of her
mantilla. "What do all mens do?" she murmured.
"He ees bard, that Enrique Mor-gan. Wickit. I am
fearful of heem."
"What's he done?" persisted Dan uneasily. "Aw,
you don't know him like I do. He's one of the
best."
"Ah," said she with fatalistic sorrow. "There
is notheeng else for me to do. I keel heem myself."
"Naw, you can't do that. You mustn't. You
can't. Don't talk that way. I won't 'ave it, I tell
yer!"
"Ah," she murmured, "then I haf to keel my-
self. Like thees. I stab, queeck. And then I die.
He is wickit."
"You've got him all wrong," scoffed Dan. "Why
he'd do anything fer you. I know him, I tell yer
I wouldn't have let him take yer if I didn't know
him."
"You theenk I tell you the lie, si? Oh, leaf me.
I hate you Inglesitos, heretics, all of you. Dreenk
and keel. You keel my padre, you break my house,
and then you spik wickit theengs. Oh, you must
understand!"
"Oh, I understand all right," grumbled Dan.
"Now, look 'ere, precious. Listen ter me. I'll be
jest outside yer winder, all night I'll be there. If
I hear yer scream jest once I'll rush in with me
knife in me teeth and kill anybody who so much as
touches yer. There!"
"No, p'raps he keel me first! That ees no good.
That ees seeley plan. Oh, you Inglesitos, fools, all
o' you!"
"Then what the 'ell do you want me ter do?"
demanded' Dan.
"Keel heem."
"No," said Dan. "You bloodthirsty little dar-
lin', get that out of your pretty head. But I promise
yer this. If he does anything ter you, I'll get him.
See?"


"You go to all the mens that you know, all the
Inglesitos, and you speaks to them about what
wickit man heem is. And then they all come, keel
him, si?"
"Kill me, more like it," said Dan with a laugh.
"No, precious, that ain't the way. Nobody's ever
called Dan a traitor. I fight with me fists. No,
I'll jest keep me eye skinned and if I pipe anything
wrong I'll deal with it. Till then you jest wait.
You're all right, I tell yer."
She turned away and he stared at her back
through the gloom, torn between the desire to com-
fort her, to placate her foreign childish Spanish
ideas, and to explain his own helplessness, the great-
ness and goodness of Henry Morgan. What could
he do?
He made another effort. He caught her by the
shoulders and was about to turn her towards him,
when suddenly he saw Clem standing at the door,
still cleaning is musket. The sight of his calm
figure gave Dan a shock. He might have been there
all the time, for all he knew.
"Time's up, Dan old boy," said Clem. "Scat!
The cap'n's commin'."
"Oh, hell!" said Dan.
"You ain't got much time left," grinned Clem.
"Go straight down past them pillars, there's a side
gate down there. So long!"
"But I can't go!" cried Dan. "Lookee 'ere,
precious, don't you worry. That's all I gotter say."
"You mus' no' leaf me!" she cried petulantly.
"I'll be straight outside," said Dan. "Jest give
a whistle, and I'll be in."
"Do no' go, do no' go!" she cried. But Dan
was already running off into the gloom.
"What does wheestle mean?" she cried. "Whees-
tie? What ees wheestle?"
But Dan was gone, and she was alone in the
patio, so terribly alone. It seemed to her that she
had lost touch with her own people and was doomed
for ever to stay amongst these strange heretics,
these Inglesitos. Now, Dan was gone, and she trust-
ed Dan with a woman's instinct because she knew
he was wet clay in her hands, she trusted him in
the way that one would trust a dog. Yes, he was
a dog to her, some great mastiff with kindly paws
and teeth sharp only for her protection. A protect-
or, but of a different species, not a human being.
Besides, once she had saved his life, and there-
fore that life naturally belonged to her. He had
come to her suddenly in the darkness, a trapped ani-
mal, and she had saved him. Dofia Marina was al-
ways a creature of impulse. She never considered


her actions, she just did them, and very rarely even
knew why she did them. The act of saving the
heretic came like that. For weeks, months, how-
ever, she had been listening to her father's views on
the Inquisition, although she never consciously
agreed or disagreed with them. He had been much
against the setting up of the auto-da-fd, and strug-
gled as hard as he dared against the grim old Fray
Fernando de Merlo. Dofia Marina had often heard
their arguments, and hatred of the Fray burned in
her young breast. He was the only man her father
feared and therefore the only man whom she hated.
When the heretic had burst suddenly into her quiet
patio she had succoured him instantly, not because
she cared an onza for him, but because it seemed a
chance for her to thwart the accursed Fray.
She had hidden him, had bidden her servant
Diego to feed and clothe him, then sent him off when
the hubbub subsided. After that she forgot all about
him until he burst this day into her room. He was
like an old friend to her in her misery. Now, even
he was gone and she was in the hands of Antichrist,
of Henry Morgan.
Antichrist was at that moment just outside the
door, in the hall. She heard his heavy breathing;
then he had entered the patio.
He didn't see her, but walked straight past and
fell with a huge sigh of relief into the hammock,
stretched out his hand, poured out a glassful of
wine from the bottle still on the table, sipped its re-
freshing sweetness and lolled back, sighing again.
There was silence in the patio.
Morgan shut his eyes to soften them, for they
were burnt; but even with the lids closed he could
still see the red combers of smoke and flame rising
up, puffing, falling over themselves, and bursting in
a scarlet tumult of sparks. He was unutterably
weary; his legs, his arms, his chest, his shoulders,
his whole body ached as if he had been fighting and
running all day, as in fact, he had been doing. The
fire still raged in Panama.
He dozed a little.
Dofia Marina stood fast against a pillar, hoping
he would not notice her, hoping that he might mis-
take her for a caryatid, something in stone. In her
terror, she dared not breathe through her nose, but
stored the air in her lungs, then let it filter slowly
out of her open mouth. It did not come quite so
noisily that way.
She had no plans. She had almost no thoughts,
nothing save an overwhelming terror of Morgan.
His name had been whispered to her for many years;
(Continued on Page 47)


I i- I


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1934-35





PLANTERS' PUNCH


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1934-35





PLANTERS' PUNCH


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PLANTERS' PUNCH


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Panama Is Burning

(Continued from Page 44)
after Mlansfield died, the word Morgan slowly form-
ed like a black Phoenix over the buccaneer's ashes.
Black Morgan, they called him, the Scourge of God,
the Heretic, Antichrist, the Lutheran Inglesito. A
few years back, the news of Puerto Principe's fall
came to Panama. She could remember it well, and
had been puzzled over the agitation it evoked. The
city had just been so gay on hearing of Mansfield's
end. Then sudden gloom had fallen with the words
-Morgan and Puerto Principe. The terror grew
stronger. coupled with the name of Porto Bello. The
Scourge was drawing nearer. At Porto Bello, Black
Morgan had thrown all the soldiers into the castle
and blown them up after they had surrendered. The
devil was loose. Then Maracaibo and Gibraltar.
Black Morgan had torn them both up in his huge
fist.
The name Morgan began at last to mean some-
thing to her. At night, lonely in bed, she would
picture him, and would people the darkness with his
followers until terror caught her by the throat and
pushed her beneath the sheets. He was ten feet
high at least; when he laughed you looked down a
black cavern guarded by sharp green teeth; his
beard fell to his knees and could never be combed
because of the masses of blood spilt on it; and his
eyes. ay Dios mio! his eyes were two little red
flames that burned holes right through you!
Then suddenly the bogy was gone. Peace was
made between Spain and England. Ah, how the
bells or' Panama sang that day, they rattled and
hlleezed and chimed and bombinated as if they
shooed the buccaneer devils off the seas. The wrink-
led fear washed from men's brows, they could laugh
again: and they played their guitars and sang, and
the ,women smiled through the dance. Peace. Peace
at last. Peace for a breathing-space; then scouts
reeled into Panama; they spoke alone with her
father, and he came from his council-chamber with
face twisted and hands clenched. The word Chagres
passed from mouth to mouth, Chagres coupled with
Mllregan. The bogy was back, fiercer than ever, de-
fiant if all Peace; the bogy was back, closer, more
d mon ia'al.
So the name of Morgan blossomed like a black
deadly orchid in Dofia Marina's heart. Morgan was
the devil. Antichrist.
Antichrist shook himself, groaned, then sudden-


ly flung himself to his feet and charged blindly past
her and out of the door.
Dofia Marina dared to breathe again.
But Clem Simmons stopped Morgan outside the
door.
"What about the mort?" he asked.
"Mort?" repeated Morgan, still dazed with sleep.
"Mort of what? Oh, you mean the wench! I'm too
tired, Clem, to bother about her; see that she's put
in a room somewhere and have her guarded well.
No tricks, mind. She's the Governor's daughter and
is worth a heap of money. Mustn't have her touch-
ed. Squeezed fruits bring less. And I've got my eye
on you, Clem."
"That's all right," grinned Clem. "I never was
a lady's feller meself, cap'n, rum's my downfall."
"And a damned long downfall it is," said
Morgan.
Clem watched him stumble up .the wide stair-
case, scratching his head and chuckling Jaintly to
himself.
Then he turned and went for Dofia Marina who
was prepared meekly to bare her neck to the knife
and was most puzzled to be led up stairs by an
agreeable little man who gabbled a lot of obscure
jokes and locked her all by herself into a beautiful
bedroom.
Dofia Marina stood in that beautiful bedroom,
her little heart palpitating as if it had gone crazy
and was trying to knock its way out of the casing
of her body. She clutched at it, and listened; her
large eyes roving around the room in the dim light,
for Clem had forgotten to provide her with a candle.
She crept to the window, unhooked the lattice,
and gazed out. It overlooked the patio. Then she
shut it, and slowly, with many starts and gulps of
terror, examined every chest, box and cupboard in
the room.
All were empty.
After looking under the bed and poking there
with a curtain-rod she took down for the purpose,
she climbed into the bed itself, swung up the mos-
quito-net so that she could see on every side and
not be taken by surprise, then lay down fully dress-
ed, swearing not to sleep a wink all night.
Five minutes later she was fast asleep, and in
unconscious bravado, actually breathing through her
nose.
Dan, however, did not sleep. He sat against a
wall, watching Morgan's lighted window under the
delusion that it was probably Dofia Marina's. For
Dan was a man of his word.


CHAPTER VI

WHEN FIGHTING'S DONE
DAYLIGHT found Dan still sitting in the narrow
street. He was so tired that he felt even no
desire to stand up. After the long walk from Chag-
res, the starvation, and yesterday's fighting, he
proudly complimented himself for not having slept
a wink all night. It was only comparatively true.
His eyes had not shut, but his brains had given up
rebelling against the treacherous flesh and quietly
died, as the heart of a flower might close yet leave


Island.


'"Planter's Punch""

Entertains,
WHILE


"PLAZA"

Satisfies,

Come to PLAZA and Satisfy Yourself
knowing that You will get Your
Money's Worth in High Quality,
Low Prices, and Courteous Service
For Every Purchase.



The Plaza Co., Ltd.


oo t


ii-iiaiii iraw iiF~i iaia ......... ... ......... .. ... ... ..... -i...1......... ... ......~ lim~ B~."....'..*'' "'~n lllll -..l~OI~


~fi~;i~iiiiiii~-n~-.iiii;*=~ nll.ll.llrmlslllllll1lil1~nr"liin~i1


7-7 7


1934-35


-////i////////
~
" "''


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PLANTERS'


the outer petals as wide as ever. He had sat like a
carved idol, eyes staring blindly ahead as if he gazed
at a basilisk and its poisonous breath had struck
him paralytic. But the hot sun slowly thawed him
as it flung its mauve and green up the eastern sky
and set the parrots screaming and the birds in the
jungle chiming and squawking.
Morning over the still, doomed city.
It brought small comfort to many. The church-
es and monasteries were stuffed with people, and
they had not all yet been raided. Guards had been
set to keep marauders off until the contents could
be faithfully catalogued by Mr. John Peke, secretary
to Henry Morgan, Admiral-in-Chief of his Britannic
Majesty's Army and Navy in the New World.
As the packed humanity awoke that morning in
the pale dawn and the silence, many were gripped
with a sudden mad hope that they were saved, that
the buccaneers had forgotten them and had gone.
They were mostly women who lay cooped up, resting
their innocent heads at the cold feet of painted an-
gels and saints; fully dressed, they lay on the marble
floor, moaning a little in their sleep. Some were
nuns, but most of those had managed to sneak off
in ships with the priests while the fighting was for-
ward. No, they were nearly all wives and daughters
who had taken refuge here until their menfolk
should send the accursed Inglesitos skulking back
into the forest. They had taken the adventure as
a jest, had laughed and brought suckets and candied
fruits with them; never had they conceived such an
awakening as this.
In the church of San Jos6 opposite Morgan's
headquarters, the prisoners awoke with horror on
their chests. They had no doubts about their doom.
They had been locked in here with threats too terri-
ble to recall. As they passed into the building, a
crowd of men stood about the door and if a woman
caught their eye who was obviously not valuable,
they would seize her by the arm and drag her to
them. And so, many foolish women who hoped to
elude notice by donning their servants' and slaves'
garb were mauled about, and the servants who had
stolen their masters' and mistresses' wardrobe were
ushered courteously into the church. It was terrible
to remember. Some husbands, fathers, lovers and
sons, cursed the daylight when it brought memory
back.
Ah, to see the sky above, God's own blue sky,
the painted floor of heaven, and to have such mem-
ories rotting in your mind! Life could never be the
same again. They were doomed to stay for ever
with yesterday clamouring in their thoughts, yester-
day with its terror and horror. An awakening it
was for many far worse than death could be. Flung
into slumber, bruised and wept to sleep, they c.uld
remember nothing between the hell of one day and
the hell of this morning.
Mothers without children, girls with their girl-
hood torn from them violently in an hour, wives
without husbands, children without fathers, and men
with only cankerous shame in their hearts! What
an awakening for proud Panama!
What an awakening for the buccaneers, for these
few hundred men-they were less than a thousand--
who had captured the proudest city of the Spanish
Americas and who had now all its rich storehouses
to suck the honey from, all its women for lemans,
its wines and its foods to guzzle, its gold to pocket!
Ah, what an awakening was that!
Cling to your musket even in your sleep, you
drunken scoundrel dozing in front of San Anasta-
sius Cathedral! Look at him there, with the blood
coating his face as if he were an Indian painted for
a dance or a murder; with the mighty green bro-
caded coat, faced with silver, six times too big for
him and yanked from a grandee's wardrobe; look at
the unwashed hands, the nails beaded black with
dirt and blood, see the lace pouring over them like
a creamy sea over muddy rocks; the drawers, frilled
with pink ribbons, grey velvet inside and out,
brought all the way probably from Spain in a Mar-
quess's, chest; the boots buckled with silver, ay! sil-
ver buckles glistering with diamonds, pumps for
dancing; on his head a'riCh lace scarf, a woman's
scarf-heaven knows what happiness it brought some
wretched girl when first she tried it on before the
mirror, and patted her soft black hair and smiled
through eager lips at her own loveliness .... pray
God that she be dead now! And that sword! Where
could such a dirty ruffian have got such a sword,
gold-hilted and crusted with jewels! What a dandy!
How the Cyprians at Covent Garden would have
toppled over their toes and tripped each other up to
drag him into a gambling-drinking hell! Look,
Panama! Look at your master, at this peacock
tossing his bright plumage in the sunlight as he
drowses over his musket, and a rum-bottle drags the
inside out of a wide silk-lined pocket!
The sun 'came up over Panama, the same old
sun that had watched its bright streets at festas,
had seen girls serenaded and courted under windows,
had heard the great bells merrily tolling the Sab-
bath and watched the Holy Inquisition sending the
charred souls of heretics to God. The same sun
rolled up, careless of what men did and what men
killed; it shone its flaming breath upon the charred
city. From the east, flames darted up where houses
(Contihued on Page 49)


A RAPID RISE


: :





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Photograph by Valdes
MR. A. C. CAMPBELL


ARTHUR CAMPBELL, who is the proprietor of
S one of the most progressive and profitable hard-
ware businesses in Kingston, began his career as a
clerk with Messrs. Branday, Edwards and Company,
wholesale merchants of Kingston, some little time
before the Kingston earthquake. Then came that
changing event in the city's life, and Arthur, shaken
out of a job so to speak, promptly migrated to Pa-
nama, where he became connected with the Panama
Railroad as a member of the office staff in Cristobal,
worked there for some time, then returned to Ja-
maica.
Of an ambitious mind and energetic tempera-
ment, Mr. Campbell was constantly turning over in
his mind what he might do to make himself inde-
pendent and to explore the opportunities which he
perceived. He saw chances where many another man
might see nothing, for the test of the eminently suc-
cessful businessman is that he sees farther than
others and perceives how new lines may be created.
So in 1917, when motor vehicles gave some pro-
mise of becoming popular in Jamaica-though this
was not the time when there were very many of
them in the island, the war not yet being over-Mr.
Campbell established the Rapid Vulcanising Company
at li Duke Street, with modern machinery to vul-
canise motor car tyres and tubes. This was a small
beginning, but Arthur believed in its development.
Later on he started to sell motor car tyres, motor
car accessories, gas and oil; this business developed
so rapidly that he added to it electrical supplies,
bicycles and bicycle accessories, and though his
establishment retained and still retains the name of
the Rapid Vulcanising Company, it has expanded into
something very much more.
In 1929 he opened a hardware department at 84
Harbour- Street This at once attracted a consider-
able custom, and grew so rapidly that three years
afterwards he was obliged to put up new buildings
running from Harbour to Port Royal Street for the
housing of his hardware business. This now enjoys
an extensive wholesale, and retail trade.
Arthur Campbell's success has been phenomenal.
The Rapid Vulcanising Company, Limited, now oc-
cupies li Duke Street, 82, 84 and 86 Harbour Street
and 9 and 11 Port Royal Street. Arthur's whole soul
is in his business, and as he is personally liked for
his hearty downright manner and unshakeable in-
tegrity, hundreds of people find a pleasure in giving
him their custom. His personality as well as his
commercial acumen has created this success of his.
Right through the depression of the last few years
the Rapid Vulcanising Company has continued to ex-
pand. It is so firmly established now that it could
not be seriously affected by the usual setbacks to
which this country is subject.
hIt was characteristic of Mr. A. C. Campbell that
he should be the first man to introduce taxi cabs
into Jamaica. As henexplained to this writer at the
time, he had no intention of running a fleet of these
taxis, but he wanted to introduce them so as to in-
duce other persons to run taxis, as that would be
good for the tyre and vulcanising and motor car
accessory business with which he was identified.
When the taxis began to multiply he came out of
that line altogether; but on the other hand he de-
veloped the large trade which he now enjoys in gaso-
line and oils in Harbour Street.
Arthur is the sort of man who knows what to
do and when to do it. Hence his success.


GEORGE & BRANDAY

FST'ABLISHED 1879.



COMMISSION MERCHANTS

AND

STEAMSHIP AGENTS.





-DEALERS IN-


Coffee, Cocoa, Pimento, Ginger,

Hides, Skins, [Honey, Dyewoods,

Hardwoods and every description

of Exports.

Extensive Warehouse and

Wharf Accommodation for

Steamers.













Steamship Agents for:

CANADIAN PACIFIC S.S. LTD.
CANADIAN PACIFIC RAILWAY LTD.
MUNSON STEAMSHIP LINE.
HORN LINE.
EASTERN S.S. LINE, BOSTON.






Insurance Agents for:

PROVINCIAL INSURANCE Co., LTD.
COMITE DES ASSUREURS MARITIME
PARIS, HAVRE, BORDEAUX.
COMITATO DELLE COMPAGNIE.
L'ASSICURAZIONI MORITTIMI, GENOA.





Also Agents for:

A. M. SMITH Co., LTD., HALIFAX.

A. E. HICKMAN, CO., LTD., ST. JOHN'S
Fish Stuffs.

SMITH & PROCTOR, LTD., HALIFAX.
Butter & Cheese.

PARKER WEBB & CO., DETROIT-Pork.


HUNTER BENN & CO., MOBILE, Lumber

PENSACOLA LUMBER & TIMBER CO.,

TAMPA, FLORIDA.


I


P ___ I_


PUNCH


1934-35







PLANTERS'


Panama Is Burning
(Continued from Page 48)
still burned; wounded and sick were burned up in
It, houses fell roaring like broadsides under the
darting tongue of fire.
Yesterday had seen the Spanish soldiers march-
ing in a gale of flowers, .had seen the great guns
cleaned and primed, matchlocks oiled, old swords
greased and sharpened. The girls had laughed from
piazzas as the army marched through the streets
behind the musicians. Later in the day, those same
girls whimpered in churches, and some braver ones
had fought with the men or climbed on roofs and
fired from there.
The same accursed sun. It slanted through the
coloured church windows, made sallow faces rosy
and woke poor wretches up out of oblivion into liv-
ing hell. It poured down on the necks of the sen-
tries, burnt them to activity, and knocked Dan out
of his trance. He sat up, stretched himself, yawned.
Then, having satisfactorily fulfilled his promise, he
calmly turned round, lay on his back and fell fast
asleep. He was asleep in a moment and snored
lustily, disdainful of the fierce sunlight.
The sun climbed higher in the east and slid in
through the window on top of the man who owned
Panama, slid in on Henry Morgan, and heaved him
out of his dreams of gold. It brought Bledry from
a calm sleep, so that he damned it, got up, pulled
down the blind, and went to bed again. It beat
against the shutters of Dofia Marina's window but
could only crawl in fitfully through the cracks, and
she slept happily on.
Morgan was up immediately and he threw him-
self into Iris clothes, eager to be out and doing. He
clattered downstairs, kicked a negro slave awake
and ordered him to make breakfast. Then whistling
so01 i like a bird, he sat out in the patio and con-
sidered his day's work.
First he must stop this accursed fire, then sort
out the prisoners, see who was valuable, who was
strong enough for a slave and who could bring a
derent ransom. He hoped Peke had his list made
out carefully. Then he must send some men back
to Chagres to tell Joe Bradley the good news, order
out scouts to seek for fugitives and find out if the
Dons thought of retaliating. Yes, he had a big day
ahead of him. First, breakfast. Ah, he was
hungry.
Bledry lounged into the patio just as Morgan
finished his last chunk of toast and was lighting a
huge cigar.
"Well," he said, sitting down in the cane chair,
"and what's the programme for to-day?"
Morgan blew hard on the tinder until the sparks
bad caught. Then drawing a deep breath from his
cigar be answered in a heavy mist of blue smoke,
like Jove on Olympus.
"First, the fire. We must have a good look at
that. You might take Peke and some of the boys
and glance through the prisoners while I see what
can be done to save this damned town. If we lose
it we lose the ransom, damn. Sort out some of the
prisoners that haven't been gone through, like a good
fellow. And keep any apart that look as if they
might have buried treasure. We'll deal with those
later."
Slowly, he stood to his feet.
"Eh." said Bledry, "what about the lady?"
"Good Lord, yes!" cried Morgan. "I'd clean for-
gotten her. Aw, she'll be asleep this morning. Ever
kno n a woman to get up before siesta, when they've
got to lie down again? You might get some doxy to
look after her. Pick out something when you're go-
ing through the prisoners."
".All right," said Bledry, "I'll see to it," and sat
and watched him go, He sighed then, crossed his
legs. and fingered the cigars to hear if they crackled
nice and freshly. Bored? Yes. That was it.
Damnably bored. He was sick of this monotonous
life of killing and robbing. Dead sick of it. And
in his heart, was a curious yet strong resentment
against his cousin; he was barely conscious of it
himself. save in quick sudden moments when Har-
ry's blind complacence, his unthinking optimism or
eareles r brutality brought an abrupt burst of rage
int ) his throat like heartburn. He loathed this crass
life and wanted to escape, to be amongst refinements,
in Lioudon.
Bledry had never seen London. He had read of
it. dreamed of it, heard of it. There his knowledge
ended. Occasional broadsheets had fluttered out to
his home in Jamaica, and during the Civil Wars he
had. of course, been a staunch Royalist and after-
wards listened lovingly to the braggadocio of Cava-
lier,- sent out by Cromwell to drink themselves into
a quick grave in the Indies. These tales had burnt
into his blood. He dreamed of the court, of the
king withi the soft white delicate face and stuttering
voice hose hand could cure sickness, and a tap of
whose sword could bring you wealth and a great
name. He knew many Cavalier ditties and hummed
them to himself when lonely, and they brought ex-
altation. a great happiness. London! There was
magic in the name, the magic of wide streets, count-
eSses and a colourful court of loves and fighting.


Seamen and others had told him countless lies,
and he believed them. Even Harry lied to him, for
Harry had seen no more of England than Bristol;
but he had told grandiloquent lies of Drury Lane and
the Strand, a mixture of Bristol stews and Llanrhym-
ni barn-dances. Bledry believed him. He believed
anything about London. Its playhouses, orange-
girls, thieves, luxurious bordels, gambling and drink-


ing palaces, the court-life of delicate women and
gallant gentleman grouped around a witty king
somewhat in the manner of a pageant he had once
seen crudely cut above a broadsheet-all these
merged into a curious muddle, into a dream-Lon-
don.
Bledry adored Eni2land as only a colonial born
and bred can adore Enel-ind. He acted the part of


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PU N CH


1934-35







PLANTERS' PUNCH


Massive implements for cane growers
--7


In sugar cane cultivation, abnormally severe conditions are met with and
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RANSOMES. SIMS &


a Cavalier, for he had once seen Prince Rupert, and
the gay courageous figure of that soldier had stamped
itself upon his memory like hot iron. Besides, he
had read so many books about court life and eti-
quette and various counter-blasts from frenzied
Puritans, that he knew more about Charles I and
his ways of life than any man this side of the globe.
It was a part he loved to play. Every gesture saw
him strolling along, the London streets; he never
killed a man but he was fighting Roundheads for his
king; when he gazed into the strong blue tropic
ocean he tried to believe that his own face stared
back at him from the soft waters of the Thames.
And with these dreams he was doomed to live
in the barbaric colonies next to his fierce brainless
passionate cousin, Henry Morgan, who had been
born in Wales and said he had seen London. It
wasn't fair; it wasn't fair! he cried against his
gods.
But his impassive, rather equine face showed no
signs of the rage within him as the negro brought
his breakfast-chocolate, piping hot; rusks; honey;
cheese-cakes; a pat of butter. He always drank
chocolate in the mornings because he had once read
of a grand lady who sipped her chocolate in bed.
After this meagre breakfast, he strode out into
the sunlight, and told the guard to call out Peke
and some men. Jake Morris appeared, wiping food
and drink off his grinning mouth, and brought a
dozen ruffians with him, including John Peke, who
had rigged himself out in an exquisite green velvet
suit and wore a long black wig that reached almost


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to his waist, the property of a gentleman twice his
size, lately deceased.
Bledry explained his mission, and Peke ran off
to get his great goatskin-covered book and his ink-
horn.
"You can foller,'" shouted Jake Morris. "We'll
get ter the big church down by the harbour lest the
fire gets it."
Feeling lonely in his grandeur, Bledry walked
with Jake ahead of the dirty scoundrels draped in
rich clothing. Very lonely indeed, he was, and
thoroughly enjoying it.
Panama was quiet to-day. All the wounded had
either died or recovered under the rather rusty
surgeonship of Richard Browne, Esquemeling and
their staff of barbers. At least, so it seemed, for
there were only living men or corpses in the street,
none in the intermediate stages of dying or recover-
ing; sometimes they came across whole piles of
bodies like heaps of white-bait. Sometimes they met
a drunkard or two, or men quarrelling over booty.
Bledry would stop and catch and shake them.
"Nothing here's yours!" he'd cry. "You scum!
Take it along at once and put it with the rest of the
common stock. If I find any of you sneaking off
with anything, I'll skin him alive. D'ye under-
stand ?"
He was the loneliest man in Panama because not
gold, women or drink could satisfy his dream.
"Here's the church, cap," said Jake.
Bledry gazed at the tall, square cathedral tower
of San Anastasius. Solid brick faced with grey-


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green stone, it seemed to split the blue sky. Here
was the copper cross that had first warned them of
Panama. Over the arched doorway the saint stood
with praying hands, cut out beautifully in the stone.
The tower was ringed with square stained-glass
windows barred with iron; the upper windows were
arched and surmounted with stone crosses. It
seemed all so quiet, yet from where they stood, they
could hear plainly the ocean bursting on the sandy
beach and stone pit, for the cathedral stood close to
the sea, against the sloping stone wall leading to the
ragged spit which cleft through the water that
gnashed against it, fuming and frothing with rage
at this temerarious slip of earth. Bledry and his
men could hear it plainly like a giant slapping his
belly and champing himself into a rage at this mid-
get Odysseos, man.
Jake turned to the sentry.
"None of 'em's got out, Micky?" he asked.
"Naw, sir," said Micky, who was drunk, "I ain't
heardd a sound. Strike me, it's a true church, be
Gord. I never did like churches. They gives me
the creeps, they do. Makes me feel like a ant under
a cow's instep."
Bledry listened against the door. Within, the
heard a faint murmuring like the whispering inside
a sea-shell-voices pitched their lowest, feet tip-
toeing.
He knocked, and there was instant silence.
"Who knocks?" cried a man's voice at last,
speaking in Spanish. A harsh voice it was that
strove to kill the quaver of fear. "Are you friend?"
"Friend enough," replied Bledry in Spanish.
"Open the door, or we'll smash it in."
"Would you smash in the door of God's house?"
Bledry stood down and nodded to Jake. The
men rushed the door. They had brought a great
iron bar with them and it soon crackled the wood
and tore the locks off.
Bledry strode in through the splinters, stoop-
ing; then he stood in the dim light while his men
followed.
Under the great arched roof, men and women-
mainly women-lay on the red, blue and white mar-
ble flags, and gazed dumbly at him. There was no
light save from the seven candles on the High Altar
under the mighty wooden retablo. Through the im-
mense wheel-window at the back, the sun squeezed
its light into the gloom, falling here and there in
bars like solid gold upon the body of some wretch.
A woman's dark head was picked out by this light
as if she were a saint aureoled in some Venetian
painting, very white the skin, very dark the hair


1934-35







PLANTERS' PUNCH


and bursting into flaming light. Light glared too
around a white-bearded man with the blood clotting
against his head as if he had a dark rose pinned
there. Figures stood awesomely vivid in these bars
of sunlight. Bledry saw a child sleeping against her
mother; he saw old women, girls, children and babies
lit out by these skyey searchlights.
They all stared at him.
They lay or sat or stood, penned up like cattle
for slaughter, hundreds of them, young and old, all
staring at him. It frightened him almost-the sight
of those eyes on every side fixed on him as if he
were fate-God himself.
Bledry shook himself and turned to a lean old
man who stood near by. "Is anybody of authority
here?" he asked in Spanish.
The old man gazed at him and writhed his
mouth, then he cried hoarsely: "You have broken in
God's door!"
"I asked you if there was anybody in authority
here." repeated Bledry. turning impatiently away.
The man screamed at him. foam splashed his
lips. and he flung curse after curse on Bledry. calling
on God and the Virgin and a whole calendar of
saints, howling that he had broken in God's door.
Bledry stood silent under the torrent. he o:)uld
scarcely speak for rage but his long disdainful face
looked as blank as ever. Suddenly he turned to
Jake. and managed to say smoothly'
'Take him out and get rid oft him."
The thin voice scree'hed back to Bledry as they
dragged him out: then it suddenly stopped as he was
lung head-first down the steps.
"Boot him down the street!" came Jake'-: cherryy
shout. "Get some mates and kick the Roman rat
till yer lose 'im!"
Bledry stood .tockstill until he returned. Ji, k
Peke had just arrived and came in with him. Iie.
going his great book with the ink-horn slun: r.-und
to his back and a quill between his teeth.
"Couple o' days work here. Oh. Lordee'" he
gioane'l. 'Kill a few of them. comrade. and make
m.\ task easier!" he laughed in a high wheIezy fabh.
ion, then burst into coughing. But Bledry did not
hear him. The old man's curses had stung, for.
ultra-Englishl gentleman that he was. Bledryv had a
tinge of Catholicism in his heart. His hatred for
the Puritans was so intense that he could not speak
to the little rasial John Peke as lie gloated over his
plump offering of Papists.


With Jake again at his
shook away all superstition.


'ide. however. Bleidry
He was ashamed nf


himself, and that made him almost crazily reckless.
It flung him to the other extreme.
He ran through the people, kicking them over,
walking on them with his heavy boots, until he
reached the High Altar.
Everybody, except the buccaneers, shuddered, as
if they fully expected a thunderbolt to follow, when
these heretics tore down the rich curtains; one of
them even ripped the red velvet from the Throne and
wound it about his fat belly for a sash; stones were
picked out of the Altar and the silver hacked off.
They found some vestments and donned them, pok-
ing each other in the ribs and going into fits of
laughter to see their own dirty faces under coloured
mitres. Little Johnny Peke was everywhere like an
excited rat, coughing and scratching his great quill
over pages o[ parchment. he gurgled, "Oh, the Devil's
brats, the Devil's brats, we'll clip the foul fiend's
claws. he won't scratch any more, for the Lord's
anointed are here. Oh, Lordee, Lordee!"
Bledry wvas almost mad. The excitement went
to his head like wine. He lost his poise, forgot him-
self to be the English gentleman, and with a com-
plete swing ,,[ the pendulum went about like the
worst rascal in the place: he even put on a chasuble
and helped to kirk one. Jonathan Crane, down the
steps from the Hich Altar after he had posed as the
Virgin Mary.
Then -uddenly amongst these silent watchers
-tru'Lk \ith terror at such blasphemy, a girl stood
up. She ran to the High Altar, her eyes afire, her
Ilngb, lai:k hair tumbling down and coiling around
h-r shoulder- and throat like living snakes, her pale
m,,uth parted, and foIam scumming the white teeth.
Shle ru-hed to the bottom of the black and white
,tel.. b:th hands on her heart, and shrieked in
Spanish. "*Hereti'.s! heretics! Why doesn't God
-trike you where you -rand? Ah, that I were a man
that I could beat you like San Joanna of France!
Pigs of Lutherans!'"
SNi,.e lump o[ meat, cap," said Jake, digging
hitm with his elbow.
Bledry looked down at her. She stared up cra-
zily. her eye seemed to be ready to burst from the
lid. hei' parted mouth was twisted ghastlily, her
hand- ,.ovcred her breast, and she panted as if she
had heen running for miles and miles.
"Hereti.s!" she breathed as if she could exor-
Sise them with the word. "Heretics! Why does He
send this plague *on us who love Him! Ah, if I
iiuld only blot ou out like the Egyptians! Mam-
mon anid unrighte-.,uisness have conquered, and


Antichrist's abroad! Avaunt before the sign of the
Holy Cross!"
Bledry felt suddenly terribly ashamed of him-
self. It was as if he dived into icy water, and he
shivered. What devil had gripped him and made
him act like a common lout? He went cold and
hard and cruel with hatred of himself. He stiffened,
and a fierce anger made him stride slowly down the
steps and grip the girl hard by the elbows.
She stared at him transfixed, her eyes widen-
ing. He heard her gulp with horror and felt a tre-
mor shake through her body.
"Yes!" he whispered. "I am Antichrist! I am
the Scouree of God, come because of the Moors and
the Jews. I am the Phoenix of Granada. I am to-
day's Barbarossa. Fear me."
Somehow she found her voice and stuttered at
him: "I don't fear you. God's almighty arm is
around me. His strength is in my heart. Lord
Jesus guides my. puny arm. Avaunt, fiend!"
"Yes, Jake," said Bledry, "she pleases me. Put
her aside for my share."
Jake laughed and seized hold of her, but she
fought wildly, screaming in a high-pitched voice
sharp with terror, calling on saints to exorcise
these heretics.
"Gag her," said Bledry.
So they gagged her, tied her wrists and put her
carefully against the altar.
"Don't like yer taste, cap," grinned Jake, rub-
bing the sweat from his neck. "Pretty and all that,
but she's got the temper of a spiked bluenose and
the mind o' a stingaree. I like 'em soft. Gurgly
sea-cows ready fer milkin'. You can have yer devil-
fish. Not fer me, I can tell yer."
"I'll tame her," said Bledry through his teeth.
"It's not her, it's what she represents. I'll knock
that Antichrist stuff out of her."
"You'll need a axe," grinned Jake.
Johnny Peke struck in, snuffling and coughing,
"Godly work, godly work," he cried; "one brand
snatched from the Evil One and cooled in Zion is
sweet to the Lord. Godly work, sir. It is noted in
another book than mine."
Bledry turned sharply from him. "Come," he
said to Jake, "let's sort them out. By the way, the
Admiral told me to choose a girl to wait on the
Governor's daughter. I wonder if there are any
Enulikh abigails here? It'd be best to get someone
she couldn't talk to too much. Somebody on our
side."
"No, no!" cried Johnny Peke, "any English girl
(Continued on Page 53)


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PLANTERS'


Panama Is Burning

(C'onti nued from Page 51)
amongst these heathens must be the devil himself
Better heathen to heathen than moth to candle."
Bledry ignored him. He stoi"d on the altar.
made a funnel of his two hands and shouted:
"Are there any English girls here?"
Complete silence followed il his word.. The
crouching figures in all sides stayed -ilcnt. wonder-
ing what menace (could be in thIi e unknown words.
for they were spoken in English. Then stlddenly a
fat fair girl under a windl.w in one rf the aia!e-.
piped, up:
"I'm ()iribh. if that's any g.,idd ter .\er."
She came thronilgh the luo rlthat rec.iled iin all
sides. Sie was fat and looked ood-niijorined. A.\nl.'ngc-
all these dark women she shone a- .a1 alii. a crei-
lure front anot.thr planet. Young she wa.. -.iar..ely oUtU
of her t-wenties. with happ.-g.-nlui ky bluei eye'. a
freckled snaib nose and a viide iuith. -. she had the
flat far e if thle Irish. and the sa- nie insidiit s vol.-e
althi:ilgh not -tri.uely a,:ccented. I.'.r she wa4 hali-
Engli-h. as -he explained to Bi edry- w. iheil e -.ttri'd
before him beside the altar.
"Mle rale man was English, or'." she a.iid. -utl
me itither w.as Oirish. The rotten-bellied Croinv:,'e !!
scat me out with a thb.iusadi other mate- lie a.ill-
virgin- ter the Barbad.je- after he Ee- ranipaein'
like the devil and .ll that he was i ver ruie vr i
country. \e was ter be wive- ter the i-ettlel-. '-
eays. but I call. it more like hiing allure-. if yi'il
pardon me taon-gue. -_.r. and I ships- with tie nman on
the Bliu Kin't sloop from Port Royal, For, and wcF
gits wicked somewhere along here. sor. andi these
here RPoman.-, gratbs me fer their little playrnate. a-s
they can't git uo Spani-hers ter work fer em. liein'-
too proiid., or. and little wonder say I, the way ltie:.
treats er, pigs is better uff l .
"Enough! enougjuli" (ried Bledr!i;. ilappin hli-
hand over her mouth. "I can't stand here all dna
listening to your history. Stand over the-re. I v\
got a task for you."
"And tasks I've allies done. -.:r. ivir since I wtas
that high .
'Gag her, for God's sake'" cried Bledry. for hi'
nerves were or n e-de with shame at his own beha-
viour. "There's a lot of work ahead of us Come
and -.ort them o!!t."
But not until he had kis-ed and pinlied tihe
Irish dell did Jake follow Bledry. Then th-oe twoi
Englishmen. attended by Peke and a d.'zen griinin
s'-'oundrels. stride down irtirno the High Altar '-f
San Anastasius and looked carefully iamongst the
Spanish women. pulling up their heads bh the Ionz
hair, peering at them, ylueFtioninc theiu. picking
them. jabbing them. pinching them-exactly as if
they -were buying horses at a country fair

CHAPTER VII

BUCCANEER ETIQUETTE
SPANISH women, ladies of Panama. all huddled
in a h'iurch. were yoii horn for this Yoi child-
ren of Castile and Aragon. with the bl,,:od of Gran-
dees stiffening in your thruat.l and making the heavy


lids of your eyes lift haughtily. you surely were not
born for this? All those years from the carved cra-
tile to the canopied hed of marriage, were they but
a prelude to this? Those years of fluttering hearts
and dreams of a modern Cortis or Pizarro. of read-
ing gay books of :hivalry and singing lilting songs
t1 gay and .uiurteous knights?
No. no, no, it was a dream! Surely it was a
dream! God in His heaven and His goodness could
not let such a thing happen' Soon they would
awake, the -ervant would be knokinie at the door
with a dish of chool'"ate and a plate oft ruiks, they
would turn drowsily in their beds. pecpin tiom the
ihi-vets like olive dolphins in a sea of milk: they
would be pullin- bar'K the emUllro.idered curtains anii
Io.okins ron:e more upcau familiar thin's--up,'n thei
little -il\er crucifix that knew all tlieir girli-lh sf.
i:ei ts. .iu the chest- hollding their si:ent-d gov: n-.
the ri-h carpet on the ltier. tapeotrie- orn tue walls.
telling of knights and loviin goidde-se-. paintin-.
anid the taded flower given by -.i.me lorve. loIn iml ,ii1,1,
who had sigheid beneath their windows a's iliny a .arin
niiht .. This surely \.ja bhut a dream .
It was t trse than any ileani Tihe.e ti.r-
lau-hirig ruifians, the pr-i- to Enli-h prosrititute at
.aiiaii .a. h,,-.e proudest h'-a -t nva ..,f hiw many
It, kei- UtL liquor they could sinku. we-r, devils to the
e.e- .,f these poor ladies of Paianama. They Had
liard so: many stories of the ihuc..auin<-r--they wer
cani.iililns. and worse. why, tile vilry hea-ts ibhni-
,:i-red fr-,mi them, the birds shi.,'. k in their t'father'.
andi monkey3- lore- out their own hearts rather thian
tall iunt.l their hauds. All thine' that v re terrihl-.
;vE-r.tiihing ugly. revolting, villain.-ius. iimpious. "as
withinn that dreaded w ordl-Buc-aini-er. Blind here-
ti' shut ..iff from the light of Truth. th,.-y could re-
\,Ilve itli within the dim liaht ..,f their own vile
lij t- They itust be burt the iniltani they aere
,.iwiht. for it was n- sin to kill thi husk tof body
i. hen the li\inre soul was dead.
The reality ,'o their situation wae- "i i!iimere i
that they re.illy coiulln't believe it The-e Spanish
adi'-s lyins in heaps inside the dimly-.lr iatlletlral
v.at,:hed Bledlry, Jake and Pcke and their men ar-
-lite with fireigtn words. consented meekly to be kick-
ed about. turned, oer, and nlechanliic11ay aiiswt rEd
Iu-ustion-. but they never fully understood what
they n\ere ablut. Every ninulte they quite seriou'lv
expe'Etl to awake That was why %o, very te-w of
tliem n neut mad.
Even Doia ilMarina wa- onlyv hal Cout :of thlis
state of total diibeiief. The thin- wa: incredille:
hrerefi.re. why credit it? But it is very difficult it.
(ii'lclieve the truth heb n it i- flun" ferrnil.y ilnt-
yi.ur tfi-e. It had taken her a see.cnd or sj t-o fall
ti-l-ep. blu it took her hours ti awake. The morirniie
was alnin-c over \when at last -he opened her eye-:
in--tantly she -hut them with a gasp of terrifi-d hor-
Irr a- the truth hurled itself upon her like s':omie
wild be.ist that had been impatiently naaitine it.
rhanr.ce. She 'trove frantically to sihut herself- in
aeain with her dreams, but was too late. She had
let tie enemy in. now it wa- omnnipre-ent
Slie was a prisoner! ny ,Fos Mlo!
The thought pricked inside her -kull like a ca
tis She was in the grip of buotaneers. ocres- with
hands itching to, rab innocent young girls. Like
the lier.,ines of 'old tales, she was in the giaut-'


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Amadis or Rinaldo. She was desperately alone.
She crawled from her bed in the strange room
and went to the window to peep through the shut-
ters; and the sun blinded her. It was late.
She was very hungry. Did they intend her to
starve?
Rage welled up from her heart, and she ran to
the bell-rope by the bedside. She caught it in her
little hands, clenched her teeth, and tugged at it un-
til she was tired.
Its rattling and tankling awoke the negro cook,
Quaco, downstairs in the kitchen. He jumped up
and caught the bell in his hand, striving to smother
it; but it was a sturdy brass bell and shook him as
if he gripped some wild little beast.
So he grabbed his hanger and ran up the stairs
as fast as he could, which wasn't very fast because
his left leg had been badly gashed in yesterday's
fight and as badly doctored by his own hands, for no
white surgeon would dirty himself by messing with
a negro.
Dofia Marina heard him clumping along the
passage and blowing mightily, so she let go of the
bell-rope and listened.
"Oh, my Gahd," moaned the negro fiercely,
"what for mus' yo' fuss wid dat bell, eh?"











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"I want someteeng to eat," said Dofia Marina,
softly. "I am hungaree."
"By Gahd, I eat yo' if you fuss wid dat bell
agin, by Gahd, ebbery time yo' pull dat bell I'm
gwine- ter sharpen de knife, and I cut ebbery bit
offer yo'-dere!"
"But I am so very hungaree."
"So'm I! Jus' tink ob dat nex' time. Me damned
big feller, and yo' small gal. Debbil take me if I
don' eat yo' all up."
She heard him go hobbling off, still muttering
and threatening. She leaned against the door, slid
to her knees, and burst into tears.
She was on the edge of hysteria. Yesterday had
been a dream, to-day the reality of it was forcing
itself on her with all its terrors. Then, everything
had been nightmarishly unreal; now, she could not
evade the truth. And from her memory, one figure
stood out clear against the shadows-the figure of
Dan.
There was something solid, trustworthy about
Dan. The rest were evil, mere phantoms. She
sensed his adoration and knew that he alone was
her friend. But now he was gone. Probably
she would never see him again. He had left her in
the hands of Antichrist, of Enrique Morgan. This
seemed, to her, treachery of the blackest kind, parti-
cularly after her saving his life. Having had a good
thorough religious training and a secluded youth,
she could conceive of only one purpose for Morgan's
having taken her. A man-an evil man, that is-
took a woman for one thing only. Then he left her
to die. She was in the Antichrist's hands, what
could he do but take from her that one treasure of
girlhood. She had no other value; she could con-
ceive no other.
Meanwhile, Antichrist himself was extremely
hard at work. The fire was almost out of hand,
fiercer than the seven-times heated furnace of Nebu-
chadnezzar, it flung itself upwards at the sky as if
to escape to the sun, the Father of fire. What could
Morgan do against such an inferno? Blow up one
house, and the explosion set fire to the house next
door, and that had to be blown up, then the next,
and the next .It seemed that eventually all
Panama would have to go, then there would be no-
thing worth ransoming. Some of the finest build-
ings were already heaps of charred wood. The
splendid immense Genoese barracks for negro-trade
was roaring like ten thousand devils feasting over
a goodly fat soul. All the ghosts of dead negroes
seemed to have returned with flambeaux to wreck
their spite upon this place of torture. Rich homes,
public buildings, hovels, stables, storehouses-all
went, one after the other; placidly they awaited the
spark, then suddenly they flung themselves into the
air with a show of turbulent flames and smoke like
giants suddenly bitten into terrific rage.
Morgan fought desperately, but even he could
not stem that riot. It must run its course. If he
could but keep it away from the wealthier quarters,
that was the best he could do.
And so at last as midday approached, he left the
fire to Harry Wills to look after, and with many a
backward glance, rode off through the streets to see
what Bledry and the others had done, and to eat,
for he was agonizingly hungry and parched for
wine.
As they rode through the streets, Morgan bit
his moustaches to see drunkards reeling about and
clinging to walls, arguing and dragging women in
their wake. It hurt him to find that, after all.
Bledry was right. Nothing could stop these men
drinking. They hadn't believed his lie. It would
serve them damned well right if they were poisoned.
But he didn't stop to speak to them; he went quietly
on as if he had not seen the insolent drunkards.
Outside his quarters, he -flung his bridle to
Johnny Galoone, a scar-faced scoundrel who stood
laxly on guard, and leaped from his horse.


"Hey, Johnny," he said, "where's Clem?"
"Clem, cap'n?" said Johnny, "I ain't seen Clem.
He was relieved at midnight by Tom Harrison."
Miru-an strode to the door on the right that led in.
to the dining-room, opened it and gazed in. The room
was heavy with tobacco-smoke and noisy with argu-
ment and the sounds of eating and drinking. About
a dozen men were grouped around; four sat at a
table playing cards with great solemnity, two others
played at cockal on the floor with knuckle-bones;
six women crouched in one corner, their faces puffy
with crying and drinking, and two men were boast-
ing to them and trying to make them agreeable by
singing comic songs. Other men stood or lay about
the room, arguing, swearing and telling lies. They
all gazed up at Morgan with a kind of slinking
bravado.
"Is Clem there?" said Morgan. "I just wanted
the key to that girl's room."
"Aw, the key!" said Clem, rolling off his couch.
"It's in me boot. I knew something was hurtin' me
when I walked. I shoved it in there so's I'd feel it
and know where it was."
He fell back on to the couch, pulled the heavy
seaboot from his filthy right foot, and triumphantly
produced a large key.
Morgan snatched it from him, and without an-
other word, strode out. Clem, who was very drunk,
winked at his mates, rolled over on his back, and
screamed because the cigar slid out of his mouth and
burnt his already fiery nose.
Up the stairs went Morgan, then he suddenly
remembered that he-had forgotten to ask which room
she had. He stood indecisively. Should he leave
her alone and give Bledry the key when he came
along with an abigail for her? Or should he suffer
the indignity of shouting out for her? But he didn't
know her name; he didn't even know any Spanish.
What the hell was he going to her for, any way?
He was an ass. And with that, he turned on his
heel and was about to retreat downstairs when he
heard somebody weeping quite close to him.
The sound came from a door on his left. That
must be her, and since Providence had guided him
straight to her, he walked over to the door, having
a natural reverence for providence, and putting the
key in the brass lock, turned it, and swung the door
open.
Dofa Marina, who at the sound of the key turn-
ing had started up with a vague yet wild hope, gave
a little scream when she saw who stood there, and
ran to the window, panting and staring.
Morgan watched her a moment, then enter-
ing the room, he shut the door-which confirmed all
her worst suspicions. Now, at last, her fate had
come. That thought almost stopped her heart, and
she shuddered, while sweat greased her face.
Fumbling with a few scattered Spanish phrases
and words, Morgan tried to choose something that
would not shock her. He wanted to put her at her
ease. He wanted to find out where her father was,
'where he had buried his treasure; quite a lot of
important things.
"You speak Eeengleesh?" he asked idiotically.
She was too terrified to answer. She held her
throat because her breathing hurt her; her heart
palpitated, shook like a living creature.
"No," muttered Morgan, "damn!" He knew no
Spanish.
"Lookee here," he said suddenly, "here's the key,
but you mustn't leave the house. Do you under-
stand? Oh, of course you don't understand!' '
He flung the key on to the bed and turned on his
heel, cursing himself for a fool ever to have bothered
with her without Peke's aid. Then he heard her
say so softly that he scarcely knew she spoke:
"I understand."
"Hey, what's that!" He spun round. "Then
you do speak English! Why the devil didn't you say
(Continued on Page 57)


1934-35


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Panama Is Burning

(Continued from Page 54)
so?" He turned back and went towards her. "Look-
ee here, lady," he said in his most ingratiating man-
ner, "nobody's going to hurt you. Get that into your
head. You're all right. I just want you to answer
one or two easy questions. You understand?"
With a great effort, she said: "Si, I understand."
This was not in the least what she expected. It
was almost exactly the reverse; and her confidence
grew, together with a certain feeling of angry con-
tempt against this man. She even dared to glance
up at him from under her eyelids, and was surprised
to note that he was really not so terrible-looking-in
fact, almost human.
"First," said Morgan, "where's your father?"
At which she instantly burst into tears.
"Wha-why," cried Morgan with a clutch of fear,
"he's not dead, is he?"
"I do no' know," said Dofia Marina through her
sobs. "I haf no' seen heem. He go out to fight, but
he never come back. I do no' know where he ees."
Morgan breathed again. Probably he'd escaped
into the woods or off in some ship; his men'd catch
him soon enough, then they could discuss her
ransom.
"Did he hide anything before he went?" he
asked.
"8i," she answered, her strength growing with
her anger and the realisation of her safety. "He
bury much gold and jewels. I do no' know where.
But he come to me and he say to me, 'My child,' he
say, 'giff me your jew-els,' and I giff them."
Morgan flushed with excitement. "What did he
do with them?" he asked. "Where did he put
them?"
"That I do no' know."
"You don't know!" Morgan almost laughed at
her. "Come, lady," he said mockingly, "stow thait.
You might as well tell me. It'll all come easier if
you do. If you don't tell me-well, look out, that's
all!"
She drew away, disgusted, angry. She couldn't
bear to look at him. He was not Antichrist. He
was just an ordinary thief, like the thieves they
garrotted. He was not worthy of her hate. His
plumpish red face, the heavy eyebrows, the bright
grey eyes, the scraggly beard and masses of brown
hair tangled like wool-it was the face of a thief.
Morgan went closer to her. She felt his breath,
sickly sweet with wine and retchy with tobacco. It


made her ill. His great hand caught her fat little
forearm.
"Don't be afeard," he said, "I wouldn't hurt a
hair of you. Look here, you understand me, don't
you? Just give me all those jewels and I'll let you
go wherever you like. To Tavogilla, anywhere, Li-
ma, back to Spain if you want to. Mexico. I'll put
you in a boat myself. Otherwise, my dear, you're
staying here, you're coming back with me, all the
way to Jamaica, and you're going to the highest bid-
der, a slave "
She shuddered; he felt the tremor shake down
her body and tingle on his hand.
"But I don't want to do that," he continued after
a long pause. "I want you to get away. I'm a kind
man, deep down. Just you tell me about those jew-
els, now, like a good girl, just a hint, that's all I
need, and, on my honour, on the honour of Admiral
Henry Morgan, you're free, free as a bird."
In the silence that followed he was pleasantly
startled. to hear a faint sob, a gulp of tears. Her
face was turned from him, he could see only its
brown curve behind the heavy -black hair that was
screwed up loosely and pinned with the comb.
"Now, now," he said in what he thought was a
reassuring voice, "I don't want to hurt you. Get
that into your pretty head. All I want's those jew-
els. What's jewels and gold compared to life, to
freedom? A pretty girl like you can easily get more.
Why, you've only got to smile at some fellow to get
more jewels than you can wear in a year. Just give
me a word. Say if they're here in Panama, if they're
in the woods, the fields. Come on now. Where are
they?"
"I do no' know where they are!" she cried, sud-
denly turning on him angrily. "He take them, I
tell you, my padre, my father, he take them. I do
no' know where. I do no' ask heem."
Morgan bit the side of his finger, ruminatively.
It was scarcely possible, yet she might be telling the
truth. She might be as big a fool as she pretended.
Women were strange beggars. Their motives were
always so different from men's. Yet usually he had
found gold, too, was their motive. Mary Elizabeth,
though she hadn't married him for his money.
Her motive? What could that have been? Just him,
evidently, and a jolly good motive too. Perhaps .
Oh, hell, no, not even a woman could be as stupid
as this creature here made herself out to be. She
knew where the money was. Cunning ....
"Do you mean to say," he said, "that you let
your father take your jewels, all the stuff you value
most, and you never even asked him what he was
going to do with it?"


She turned on him in sudden rage, she almost
spat at him. Fear was driven out by this fury that
seemed to tear at her heart; her eyes widened and
shone with tears, her mouth opened on a glare of
teeth.
"Why should I assk my padre?" she cried. "You
do no' know what louve ees! You Lutheran, Anti-
christ! I hate you! Go 'way fro' me. Go 'way.
Why worree me like thees? I tell-a you I do no'
know. He take them and I do no' ask heem. I
trust. He ees my padre, my father! All you theenk
of ees jew-els, jew-els, notheeng but jew-els. I do
no' know where they put it, I do no' care. I do no'
care a leetle piece."



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Morgan stared closely at her, wrinkling his
brows. It seemed scarcely possible, yet of course,
it might be true. He shrugged his shoulders.
"All right, then," he said, "you'll have to stay
here until your father comes and pays your ransom."
"And eef he do no' come?"
"Then you'll be sold," said Morgan brutally.
She clutched her long throat. "I a slave," she
muttered. "You do no' mean that, you can no' mean
that, you, can no', God would no' allow eet."
"I'm God here," said Morgan, then felt rather
a fool. He was religious in his own way-religious
in every way except when it interfered with plun-
dering. He hoped that God hadn't heard, and hur-
riedly changed the subject, burst out blustering:
"Lookee, lady, I'm not here for pleasure. I came
for money, and I'm going to get what I came for.
I've sent a ship off to Tavoga to see if your dad's
there; at any rate, I've bruited it about that you're
open for ransom. If your dad hears of it he'll have
to come and collect you. If he don't-well, you're
coming back with me. I'll give you all the way till
we get to Chagres; then, if no money's coming,
straight you go to the block to whoever thinks you're
worth paying for."
"You would do eet?" she cried with a little
whimper. "What haf I done that you should do
eet?"


"It's not what you've done, it's what you haven't
done," said Morgan earnestly, then stopped, not quite
sure if he had expressed himself clearly or not.
"You're the spoils of war," he said. "Now I've got
to get paid for all my trouble of coming here. That's
only right and natural. Well, you've got to pay me."
His crudity sickened her. Money, money, money.
Nothing but money. She had never realized that
such creatures lived. The power of gold seemed to
her innocence and gold-begotten youth in which she
iad known no want, to be entirely disproportionate
to the tawdry thing itself. He, this creature, had
come all the way for gold; had risked his life, his
men's lives, just for gold.
"If that ees what you want!" she cried suddenly
with a little snarl, "tak' thees!" And she tore the
emerald-studded comb from her hair so that the long
black curls fell almost to her feet. "An' thees!" She
wrenched the amethysts from her neck and the many
rings from her fingers. In her rage, she almost for-
got herself enough to lift her skirt and tear the pearl
garters from above her knees. But she did not do
so. Instead, she tore the buckles from her shoes.
"Tak'!" she cried. "Tak' them all!"
She held them out in shaking white hands;
gaily coloured stones in a web of gold and silver,
she held them out as if they were a bright living
beast in her cupped hands, her eyes glaring-all


white they seemed-her mouth tight set, the long
hair moaning as if disturbed from sleep as it folded
about her body. She held the jewels out in her two
shaking hands, and with his fat fingers Morgan
scooped them all out and put them in a monstrous
pocket.
"Thanks," he said, realising that something
should be said. "That'll do on account I'll have
my secretary value them for you and it can go off
the ransom. That's honest, isn't it? But even you
know that you're worth much .more than that. I'm
too much of a gentleman to put you at a low figure."
She gazed at her empty palms, astounded. Then
suddenly she shut the fingers.
"You tak' themm" she cried. "You truly tak'
them from mee! You, you, beast!"
"Eh?" said Morgan. "Didn't you mean me to
take them?" For the first time he looked squarely
at her and was surprised at the rage on her face.
Then he noticed her long unbounded hair. Some-
how, it made her look quite naked.
"Here," he said gruffly, "you'll need this."
Reluctantly he dragged the comb from his pock-
et. When he saw the bright green stones, his own
generosity made him angry. What the hell was he
giving it to her for? But having carried the gesture
so far, he must finish it. With a sigh, he held out
the comb.






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PLANTERS' PUNCH


She glared at it, then suddenly she darted her
head up as if it were a snake about to strike, and
stared so intently at him with wide eyes that the
look went through even Harry Morgan's thick skin
and achieved the wellnigh impossible-it made him
feel a trifle embarrassed.
"Here," he said, jerking the comb towards her,
"yare! take it afore I change my mind."
Still she stared at him and edged away, gather-
ing up the folds of heavy black hair as if they were
a garment, and winding them over her breast. She
did not speak, but there was blank hatred on her
eyes.
"Hurry up," said Morgan gruffly. "I never offer
a thing twice. I think, by God, that this is the first
time I've ever offered a thing once!"
But she did not speak. Her silence worried
him, exasperated him.
"Take the damn thing!" he cried. "Hurry up,
you little fool!"
No sound, only a faint rasping noise in her
throat as if she tried to but could not speak, the
words being dry and heavy.
"Take it!" cried Morgan. "Are you dumb?"
At that moment, Bledry came. Morgan heard
Jake laughing up the staircase, laughing about some
girl. Then he heard Bledry's door open-it was al-
most opposite Dofia Marina's-heard something flung
heavily inside, heard the door shut again and foot-
steps come over.
"We aren't disturbing you, are we, Harry?" asked
Bledry from outside. "Clem told us you were here.
If you don't want us, just say so."
"Why shouldn't I want you," cried Morgan with
a rush of stupid anger. "Come in, you fool!"
Bledry swung open the door. There was a wo-
man with him, a fat fair girl with a freckled face
and wide blue eyes. Jake stood behind them.
"I've brought the abigail," said Bledry.
"What abigail?"
"The one you wanted, of course. To dress my
lady there."
"Of course, of course," said Morgan. "Who is she?
She looks English."
"If ye'll pardon me, sor, Oirish. Oirish half-
way up and English half-way down. One of them
bastards, I thinks ye call 'em. Me ole man was
British, but me mither had good ole bog-water in
her blood. And the rotten-gutted Cromwell sends
me out here ter this hell ter be wife ter the settlers,
and a lot o' settling I've had too, sor, not ter talk o'
the wife part of it, until Gord wrecks me and me
man upon this divil's own heathenish country and
lets them Romanys grab me fer ter be a servant


which is no work fer one as was sent out ter be a
wife and 'as ter combine both .."
Morgan stared at her, half-listening to the gab-
ble, but thinking more of Dofia Marina, thinking of
her angrily, angry at her dumb antagonism.
"Here, you slut," he said, "you can keep your
box shut and look after this lady. And no monkey-
tricks!"
"Monkey-tricks!" said she. "What you talking
about, I'd like ter know! It's youa men as doesthe
monkey-tricks."
"Shut up!" snarled Morgan. "There's your
mistress. Look after her."
"And I'd rather look arter her, sor, than fifty o'
yous men," said she, tossing her yellow curls with
a sly wink.
"What's this!" cried Bledry. "A pretty gew-
gaw!"
"What's what? Oh, this!" Morgan stared at
the comb in his hand. "Here, you What's your
name?"
"Sarah, sor, Sarah Flaxman, sor, and a better
name there never was."
"Well, Sarah, do up your mistress's hair. Take
this."
Sarah took the comb and gasped at the emeralds.
She fingered it almost gingerly and gloated on it.
"Well," she said with a grunt of approval,
"you're a gint, you are, sor, if ye'll excuse me saying
it. I've met open-fisted fellers in me time but ye
beat the lot."
She took the comb to Dofia Marina who leaned
against the wall, staring at the group as if paralysed.
"You poor little darling," said Sarah, clucking,
"and what have the big brutes been a-doing ter the
little one? When ye gets ter my age, dearie, although
I was only twenty-two last September, please Gord!
I've seen a leetle more o' life than you has, honey.
Come, let mither comb yer lovely hair."
Dofa Marina stared at her, then feeling her soft
woman-hands on her forehead, lost her tense pose,
slid against Sarah and burst into tears.
"I am hungaree," she moaned. "They giff me
notheeng to eat."
"What's that!" cried Morgan, turning on his
heel. "Who says we starve you? There's plenty of
food. Why didn't you call for some?"
Marina gulped, sobbing. "I do," she moaned.
"I reeng the bell, and the blackmans, heem come
and he say he keel me, he eat me eef I reeng again."
"By God!" cried Morgan, "I won't have that.
Where's the bell?" He glanced hurriedly around,
saw the bell-rope, sprang on to the bed and pulled


the rope so hard that he almost snapped it, although
it was corded with gold thread.
"I'll teach the rat!" he cried.
"He's the best cook I've struck for months,"
said Bledry. "If you kill him you'll starve me."
"All right," snapped Morgan. "I won't kill him,
even at the risk of being poisoned."
They waited in silence; then they heard the
negro clumping up the stairs on his wounded leg,
and mumbling to himself:
"Where's dat knife, dat great beeg knife what I
cuts up de karkasses wid? Cut up beeg fat lady,
cut up fine, berry fine, all little pieces. I cut yo' all
up till de blood drop out ob yo' eyes, by Gahd, by
Gahd, damme. I tell yo' not to pull dat rope. Now,
I'll skeer you, huzzy, I'll skeer yo' out ob yo' foot-
soles, by Gahd .... !"
Morgan held up his hands to stop Bledry's snig-
gers, and waited quietly until the negro reached the
door; and if ever a black man's face paled, that ne-
gro's paled when he saw his frowning master.
"Gahd crack me, cap'n," he cried, "I nebber
meaned no harm. I only wanted ter skeer her a
leetle. By Gahd I wouldn't ebber touch a toe-nail ob
sich a pretty gal .. "
Morgan caught him suddenly by the throat,
dragged him nearer and stared into his bloodshot
eyes.
"I'm not going to kill you," he said, "this once,
because Captain Bledry Morgan says you're a good
cook. I'll just teach you that I'm a better cook when
it comes to negres. I'll roast you in your own black
fat if you ever behave like this again. Now get
downstairs, yare, and cook the best you can for this
lady."
He flung the negro out of the door, and the ac-
tion relieved him. He felt himself again.
"Come on," he said to Bledry, "let's also eat.
There's lots of work ahead. Peke downstairs? I
want to see Peke. He can run through some jew-
els "
Before he left, Bledry turned and bowed, sweep-
ing his hat to the floor.
"Adieu," he said.
Neither of the women spoke; and cursing him-
self for a fool, he strode out after Morgan, abashed
and angry.
Sarah entered at once on her duties. She
combed and bound up Dofia Marina's hair and chat-
tered all the while.
"You could be worser off," she said, "much
worser. Henry Morgan's a gintilman. I say it
straight. Look how he give ye them jewels."
(Continued on Page 62)


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PLANTERS' PUNCH


Panama Is Burning
(Continued from Page 59)
Dofia Marina turned angrily on her.
"My jew-els!" she cried. "Mine! He tak' them
from me first."
"Well, he gives 'em back again," said Sarah, "and
I can tell ye, there ain't many men'd do that fer a
lady."

CHAPTER VIII

THE SPOILS OF VICTORY
DAN awoke with the sick exhaustion of one who
sleeps in hot sunlight. His head felt light as
if he had been drinking heavily. The taste in his
mouth was like aloes, his stomach sent up heavy
fumes that made him almost want to retch, and his
head expanded like an air-filled bladder. He groan-
ed, rolled over, groaned again and sat up, then he
tenderly rubbed elbows and hips. The fierce light
almost blinded him, it seemed to him that he stared
through red gauze, through an unfocused spy-glass,
and he tried to bring things into their true clarity
by shaking his head and screwing up his eyes.
The figure sitting on the steps opposite slowly
merged into recognizable proportions. It was Clem
Simmons.
"Sleepin' it orf?" called Clem, grinning. "Morg
was right, weren't he? Flamin' poison. Have a
taste." He heaved an enormous stone bottle out
from inside his shirt as Dan staggered over. "Upse
freeze, me boy."
Dan took the bottle, swallowed a goodly portion,
and handed it back. He wiped his mouth and fell,
rather than sat, on the step beside Clem.
"Aw, hell," he said, rubbing his temples, "I feel
better now. But I weren't boozed, I was jest sleep-
in'." He paused. "I'm takin' a walk inside, Clem,"
he said.
"By hell, you ain't. Lookee, Dan, you can't
take yer blowze fer a stroll next door ter Morg.
Leave her be. I'll tell yer what. I've got eyes,
flamin' good 'uns too. I can see a louse a yard off.
Now, I'll keep me eyes fixed on that mort. If any-
think happens to her I'll tell yer within three secs.
Trust me. She's all right with me around."
Dan stared at him. "I wouldn't trust yer, Clem,
further than I can kick yer," he said slowly. "Any-
way, how'd yer know that I was keeping' me eye on
her?"


Clem shifted his gaze to the sky, blinked and
grinned. "I know more'n yer think," he said. "Didn't
I hear yer sayin' good night ter her yesterday?"
"Yes was listening? "
"Only then, when yer saw me. Aw, now, be
sensible, Dan. Cut all the flamin' rot. Ye're me
mate, you can trust me. I don't want ter see yer
git inter no trouble. Besides, if ye're going' ter go
wanderin' around with the mort someone's getting'
the blame when she wants a new pair o' stays. And
I ain't goin' ter suffer fer yer, I'm tellin' yer. Go
and see the mort and I'll shoot yer in the back.
Otherwise, ye jest leave everything ter me."
"If ye try any bobbin' with me, Clem, I'll skin
yer alive. I'll tear yer inter fritters. You know
me. I ain't afeared of nothing. Let alone a rat like
you ."
"Stow the names!"
"I'm jest tellin' ye what I think of yer. I could
crack yer skull in me forearm, jest by squeezin'."
"Aw. ."
"I mean it. She ain't no ordinary doxy, she's
a lady. I wouldn't dare ter kiss her hand, meself.
Ever since I first seen her I've thought o' her; yaw,
all them times when I was fighting' I was thinking ;
What if we was ter come across her now! When I
was log-cuttin' at Campeachy and yous was all booz-
in' and brawlin', I was thinking' of her, what I
wouldn't do fer her. And now I've got me chance."
He paused and sighed, swelling out his great chest.
"Ef you was one o' them praying'-sort," he-went-on,
"and you was prayin' ter a statue and that there
statue was ter come alive ."
"Well," said Clem, as Dan paused, "I'd run, I
would, and I'd smash every bottle I came across.
Butt then, I never was no prayin'-feller."
"You don't understand," growled Dan. "That's
how I feel. As ef the statue was come alive."
He was silent, and Clem took a swig from the
bottle, then set it in the dust beside him.
They sat under the sunlight that seemed heavy,
that seemed to weigh them down.
"Well," said Clem at last, with a sly glance at
his companion, "say ef Morg was ter, jest in a man-
ner o' speaking ef Morg was ter. ..."
Dan slowly turned and glared at him. "Morg
or anybody," he said, "I don't care ef it was Gord
Almighty Hisself, I'd be arter him with a axe."
Clem kicked the dust with his heel. "Aw, don't
be stoopid, Dan," he said, "you take wimmin too
seriously. Nobody wants ter look at her."
"They'd better not, I think you know me pretty
well, Clem. I ain't a lady's man, but she's differ-


ent. I seen her first when I thought me last mo-
ment had come. I was over there by the palm trees.
I was jest thinking' what a rotten way it was ter
die, when I looks up and sees her. And I thinks,
well, it ain't .sich a bad way, after all, 'cause there's
an angel near by ter watch us go. Aw, I dunno why
I tell yer. You wouldn't understand. But jest you
touch her !"
"I wouldn't spit at her!"
"I'd make yer flamin' well lick it off ef yer did.
Keep yer eye skinned and tell me ef anything hap-
pens to her."
"Right, Dan. I'll tell yer."



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1934-35


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in II
III







PLANTERS' PUNCH


Heat and dust and flies and mosquitoes. What
was there for a man to do but drink? There was
nobody left to fight, there was nothing to do. No-
thing to do but drink. So they drank. And Dan
drank with them.
In a narrow lane he met three roaring scoun-
drels with a drunken young girl. They had held
her mouth open as if she were a sick fowl, and pour-
ed the brandy in last night, and she was not yet
sober. She beat her breasts and wailed over her
lost purity, while the men tried to cajole and force
her into dancing. They gave Dan their keg of rich
old brandy to drink from, and he let a mouthful
trickle down his throat, then joined in the sport.
Poor sport, it was! The victors made merry. The
conquerors enjoyed the spoils. Dreams had come
true. Yes, all that! They got a poor wench
drunk, a girl of fourteen, and tried to make her
dance. There, that was the spoils of victory. There
was more fun to be had at Port Royal, dirty sandy
old Port Royal, with seamen fighting and yarning
on the Point, the girl dancing merrily in the stews
and the fat old landlord of the Black Joke chalking
the score on his dirty slate. More, fun at Campeachy,
in the Lagoon of Tides, when a ship came in and
they fired off her guns and gambled and boozed
aboard her, hard work, though it was, chopping the
thick trees into small logs, tugging up the big red
roots; hard work, but there was roaring fun at night
along the beach, dancing with the Indian wenches,
crowning them with rum and the yellow blossoms.
Good fun, indeed!
Better fun, by God, than at Panama! They talk-
ed of what they'd do when they got back with the
spoils to Jamaica. Already this dream was over,
the dream of Port Royal came instead. Port Royal
at night, inns at the Point, and sand everywhere,
sand sticking in your throat and your beard and
making liquor a necessity. Port Royal with laugh-
ing girls who did not whimper like these Romanys
who watched you with great scared eyes, dumb, sus-
picious. Aw, hell, this plundering game wasn't so
good as you'd think.
And the damnable sun bit through the matted
hair and mixed their sweat with the wine. Drink,
you dirty ruffian, drink! Polish your gun when
you're sober enough, clean it, tighten the trigger,
trim your match, stare for hours down the sight;
what else can you do? Then drink, you ruffian,
drink! Ruin that pretty coat you've just stolen,
wipe your greasy mouth on a woman's lovely dam-
ask shawl. Spit on our shining boots, split the danc-
ing-pumps and give your corns a holiday. Then
drink, drink, drink-drink and be damned, you dirty
ruffian drink!
Dan drank. He wandered into Nat's pulperia,
Nat's secret pulperia, the most popular drinking-
house in Panama. Poor Nat had found his dream
-a cellar all to himself. But the others found it
too; and they stayed there in the dirt and dark and
heat under candles spluttering in the fetid air. They
lounged on the wet, sticky floor, fondled the wo-
men, chewed quids, pipes or gigantic cigars, and
talked or sang:
"Oh, Captain Lollolonais, a Froggie bold and
free,
Chased the Spanishers up and down the sea,
Eat their hearts alive-O,


Made their women wise-O,
And gave et all away ter you and me!"
Singing and arguing and dancing. The spoils
of victory! Hail to the conquerors! Look at them
singing and dancing in Nat's secret pulperia, spit-
ting out chunks of good rum-sodden tobacco, beat-
ing time to the song with a tambourine embroider-
ed with a pierced heart and a laughing cupid, while
a drunken negress writhed her plump nakedness as
if she were shaking crumbs from the folds of flesh.
Free drinks. Free poison. Take your choice mates.
And, ah, the dream of Jamaica with pockets full of
ruddocks, of little yellow-boys to brighten the eyes
of the merry laughing painted girls around the
Point. Putting in time, drinking, until they got to
Port Royal when they could really enjoy themselves,
drinking. ...
Dan lumbered in and blinked through the gloom.
They welcomed him with a shout, up-ended a barrel
for him to straddle over and passed him a pipe of
somebody's special punch.
Andy sidled up towards him.
"Where you been?" he asked. "We aih't poison-
ed yet."
"Not yet," said Dan with a forced grin. "Some-
body must 'ave been tellin' Morg a tale."
Andy stared at him. "What's the matter with
yer?" he cried. "I never seen you so quiet afore
in all me born days. What's wrong?"
"Nothink," said Dan.
"I'll hit yer if ye don't say something more than
jest nothing!" snarled Andy. "What's wrong? Can't
I even make yer angry!"
"Nothink's wrong. Yet. I'm jest waiting Know
any nice gals round here, Andy?"
"Gals! Hell, there ain't nothing else, 'cept drink.
Tell us what yer waiting' fer?"
"Yer'll know soon enough. Bring in some gals.
I tell yer I'm jest waiting Can't yer understand
English? Now, where's them gals?"

CHAPTER IX

THE PLUMP SKELETON
BLEDRY MORGAN had a skeleton in his cup-
board. It was a skeleton well covered with firm
round flesh, a plumply-built young female skeleton
that was very far from being dead. It was, in fact,
so very much alive that he had to keep it gagged
and bound. He was afraid of it, ashamed of it. And
its name was the Sefiorita Dofia Bella de Valdivieso.
A pretty big-boned skeleton, a skeleton that a great
many men would have offered much and done much
to entice inside their cupboards. Young, seventeen
years of age, with hair so black that it turned blue
when the light slid over it; brown, large slanting
eyes; nose a trifle hooked; mouth a trifle thin, yet
fleshy enough; broad across the eyes and narrow-
ing down the cheeks to a dab of a chin; body well-
filled over that strong skeleton; arms firm and
round; legs under the skirts a delight to dream
about. Oh, yes, a very pretty skeleton for Bledry's
cupboard, was Dofia Bella de Valdivieso.
He was intensely afraid of her, afraid of the
impulse in himself that had made him drag her
back here from San Anastasius's after she had at-
tacked him, insulted him. Looking back over the


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episode now as he stood near his cousin Harry, di-
recting the men about the fire, he couldn't under-
stand that impulse in himself. Because he didn't
desire the girl. Far from it. His one real desire
was never to see her again. He never had desired
her, even when he commanded Jake to pinion her.
It had been done in a fit of inexplicable anger
against himself more than against her. One of those
curious impulses that he loathed in himself had sud-
denly swept up from his heart, shoved the words into
his mouth, and now, here he was, shackled with a
girl he didn't care a farthing about-a girl, in fact,
whom he hated. It was absurd. He scarcely dared
to think about it. What would Harry say? He
could bear anything other than Harry's good-hum-
oured, sly scoffing, his affectionate pokings in the
ribs, his idiot chucklings and winks. If Harry heard
about the wench, he'd never stop talking about it.
Oh, hell, damn ....
"Hot work!" said Harry Morgan with a grunt,
as he staggered up beside Bledry, and wiped the
sweat from his face with the lace of his cuff. "This
is the nearest side to hell I've come across. I'd give
half my life for a drink. There's a tavern over
there, isn't there? Come on over."
"Don't be a fool," said Bledry. "You told them
(Continued on Page 65)



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1934-35





PLANTERS' PUNCH


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Panama Is Burning
(Continued from Page 63)
it was poisoned, and you can't go back on your
word."
"Can't I? You just watch. They're all drink-
ing, no matter what I say. Are you coming, or am
I going alone?"
"Oh, I'll go with you..."
Drink, that was all. There was nothing else
to do on a day like this. The sun was bad enough
on its own, but with this accursed fire to make
things worse, the man who hadn't wine inside him
to sweat through his skin would sweat his own heart
out like a candle.
Even Dofia Marina drank-just a little sip of
sweet Peruvian wine, with Sarah Flaxman sitting
opposite, sewing up a torn mantilla and gulping in
the liquor, blowing down her corset to cool her fat-
ness blowing up her nose to cool her eyes; and talk-
ing, talking.
How the girl could talk! The words flowed
around Dofia Marina like a soft coal stream, a lul-
laby. She shut her eyes and let the words flow soft-
ly around her in the peaceful afternoon. The win-
dows were wide open, showing a rectangle of fierce
blue sky unflecked by the tiniest cloud. She heard
a bird singing somewhere in jerky notes, little spas-
modic yelps of happiness; and down in the patio
the fountain murmured faintly to itself, half-asleep,
like a drowsy child mumbling to its dream. It was
so quiet otherwise that these sounds were very dis-
tinct, were a part it seemed of Sarah's endless mon-
ologue.
Dofia Marina didn't listen to Sarah's words, for
she knew exactly what she said without hearing it,
having heard Sarah say nothing else with infinite
variations for the four or five hours they had bMen
together.
What a good man, what a kind brave man, this
Henry Morgan was ... So went the refrain. Dofia
Marina let the words lap around her. She no longer
troubled to interrupt, as she had done at first. In-
terruptidns, she "soon discovered, were fiel to Sa-
rah's adamantine paean; they were absorbed, served
for a new thesis, expanded, glorified, demolished,
and spread to a vast extent with incalculable by-
ways and shoots. Dofia Marina gave it up, and
smiled.
The sun dipped and sank, and with a delicate
wind night swooped up from the east, inking the
sky, tossing the pale bright moon aloft in dark trail-
ing nets of black hair. Night, like a woman stir-
ring on her couch, clutched at the curtains and drew
them slowly over the lamp, tangling her hair and
splashing the orris of the stars upon their sable.
Sarah's voice was a part of the twilight. All
about Captain Harry Morgan, she talked, all about
his greatness, his goodness, his kindness. Why?
"Why?" asked Dofia Marina suddenly. "Why
ees eet that you like thees capitan so? You luff
heem, si??'
Sarah almost dropped her sewing, sal-up and
stared higl at the ceiling: Why?
"No, no, I don't love him," she said, and stop-
ped and wondered.
No, she didn't love him, she didn't dare to love
him. How could a humble servant love a king? 'She
might dream perhaps; but dreams were made
to be broken. And she had dreamed. Who wouldn't?
She had dreamed as she lay on her bed in her nar-


row room at the top of the narrow house. A slave
to a Romany. No American-Spaniard would de-
mean herself (or himself) by working for a fellow
Spaniard. And so the Panama merchants and gran-
dees were forced to put up with slave-labour, with
negroes mainly, or Indians. Poor Sarah had been
bought for a high price, but her buyers got their
money's worth. They were so proud of having such
a pretty white toy that they kept her always on
view. She had even to act the majordomo, had to
open the front door, to wait at table, to help her
mistress do her hair and powder her pinched lizard-
skin, had to go abroad with her whenever she went
abroad and to carry her fan behind her, had to
submit to her lewd old grumbling master in what-
ever he demanded. It was not like being an ordin-
ary servant. There was a whipping-post for her
and negroes itching to flog her whiteness. Above
all, omnipresent, fearful, waited the fierce green cross
between the olive branch and naked sword-the Holy
Inquisition with its tubs of water, its rack and its
rope. She had seen too many heretics, men and wo-
men, with useless limbs dragged through the streets
behind the shrouded green cross, with ropes tied
from their necks to their hands, St. Andrew's cross
uron their yellow shirts.
Then in the desert of her despair, a name sprang
up. It was like a red rose in all the sands of her
serfdom. It was something beautiful, something to
love. In her garret she would stare out through her
latticed window over the roofs of Panama, stare into
the sun's fierce silver eye until it almost blinded her,
pressing her young breasts against the woodwork,


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her hot cheek upon the stone, dreaming, hoping that
somewhere over that skyline the fairy prince was
coming. Ah, it was a name for a poor white girl-
slave to dream about! Its very whisper dragged
the blood from her master's face. She would see
sometimes the wrinkles tightening around his eyes,
his hands clenching until the knuckles showed white
like a row of wafers; and joy would burn in her
heart for Morgan was coming, Captain Harry
Morgan. .
The fairy prince, Captain Harry Morgan ...
him she adored. But she loved him as if he were
a. god, and would not dare offer the unworthy gift
of her humble body to such a majestic creature.
But Dofia Marina .. that was different. She glanc-
ed slyly at her. Here was a lovely woman, a gran-
dee's daughter, almost a queen; that was a gift
worthy of laying at the feet of the god. It was Sa-
rah's trusting little heart, her heart overfilling with
love and gratitude, with joy and reverence, that
wanted to worship this god, this deliverer, this
Henry Morgan, and to offer him something befitting
his godhead. And women's minds revolve around
the flesh; it was natural then for Sarah in her
search for a gift to the god to conceive nothing
worthy of him except a woman. What else can a
woman offer a man-even though he be a god-ex-
cept a woman: herself, but if she be unworthy, at
least another woman?
"I couldn't love him," she said. "You don't un-
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a girl, a wench, a doxy. Men have my sort in keep-
in', but they don't marry 'em. Leastways, not men


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1934-35







PLANTERS' PUNCH


like him. You can't eggspect 'em to. He wants
somebody as great as him."
"Me?" said Dofia Marina with a little snarl be-
tween incredulity and rage, as the full truth of Sa-
rah's arguments struck her.
"Yes," said Sarah calmly, "you!"
Then Dofia Marina went almost mad. She didn't
hit Sarah, because that would have been beneath
her, but half in Spanish, half in English, she cursed
the girl for even daring to think of such a thing.
She leaped to her feet and stamped them, she hit
the little round table and nearly knocked the bottle
over, she called Sarah the lowest of wretches, she
called her a devil, a monster, a snake, a reptile, a
hawk, a slave, a golf, a cocotte, a giglot, a beast,
a pig, a hog, a heretic. She called her everything
she could think of that was in the least nasty, and
having had a good Catholic education her repertoire
was sadly limited in one direction, but very wide in
another. She knew very few words, except perhaps
golf, that Sarah could consider insulting; but she
excommunicated her in a manner to please a godly
Dominican. She called her all the names of devils
she could remember and. sentenced her to the bot-
tommost pit.
All her fury burst out in one thunderclap, her
hatred of the English, her fears for her father, her
sorrow for her lost home. She looked deathly white,
her eyes burned, her mouth parted on the little
'white teeth. Tears caught in her eyelashes-one
little drop ran right to the tip of her nose, and Sa-
rah watched it fall. with a kind of bemused excite:
ment. She could scarcely breathe, panted as if she
had swum and run for miles; her breasts seemed
to be alive under the corsage as they swelled, sub-
sided and swelled again against the lace; her nos-
trils widened, paled; her little fingers twitched. Ah,
she was in a rage; she choked with it.
"Now, now, now," said Sarah soothingly, "don't
be mad, precious. Tut, tut, ye'll make herself quite
ill."
At that, Dofia Marina lost complete control. She
sprang at Sarah, but Sarah caught her deftly around
the waist and hugged her as if she loved her. Their
faces touched, and Sarah kept clucking all the
while into her ear, trying to calm her.
Then suddenly Dofia Marina's body seemed to
loosen, to crumple up. She sobbed on Sarah's shoul-
der, racking her body with sobs, moaning.
The stars swept up into the sky outside the open
window; the placid, rather melancholy moon watch-
ed over the earth, and seemed weary of her eternal


station, hiding herself in a mist of clouds and turn-
ing a little green, a sickly green.
Then suddenly the quiet night was smashed by
a bellow of laughter from the patio. Sarah lifted
her head like a faithful dog at the call of its mas-
ter, and murmured:
"That's him, that's the captain!"
But Dofia Marina did not stir.
Yes, it was the captain. It was Morgan with
Bledry. They had been drinking all afternoon, and
Morgan was in an hilarious madcap state. Not drunk
exactly, but on the verge. Another bottle or so
would topple him over the edge, and that was what
Bledry feared. He knew Harry's utter lack of con-
trol once the rum or wine-bottle was on the table.
He would go for weeks, months, without sipping a
drop; but once he started, the devil himself with
an army to help him, could not have held Harry
Morgan back from raiding every cellar in the neigh-
bourhood, knocking down every man in sight and
tickling every woman.
He was a noisy amiable drunk, riotous, mad
perhaps, but quite friendly. He laughed, did the
most uproarious disgraceful things, and again laugh-
ed afterwards. Bledry literally detested him in this
state. It made him sick to see these foolish antics,
it made him writhe to hear his cousin bellowing out
some bawdy song. He would tremble and hold his
breath with rage. Himself, he scarcely ever lost his
head. Drink only reddened his long sharp nose and
made him more and more morose. Sometimes he
grew fightable, but usually it just kicked him off to
sleep. Next day he suffered the agonies of remorse.
Harry Morgan suffered no remorse. As he writhed,
Bledry would become physically ill to see Morgan
up-ending some bottle of fiery aguardiente before
breakfast.
"I'm going to make a night of it!" roared Mor-
gan, flinging himself into the hammock and almost
bursting it. "Come on, Bledry, you old ruffian,
bring out the liquor."
"I'm going upstairs," said Bledry scowling. "I'm
going to get clean. My clothes are filthy."
"You're a funny fellow. All right, get chang-
ed."
Bledry didn't trouble to reply. He stalked out
and up the wide marble staircase. He went very
slowly because he dreaded reaching the top. That
girl was in his room, and he didn't for the life of
him know what to do with her. He couldn't even
bear the thought of her. Yet it must be gone
through. She would be well-nigh dead by now, but


he must calm her somehow, must see that she was
looked after all right.
He stopped half-way up the stairs, suddenly,
and clutched the balustrade. Damn. Harry'd think
he was imitating him, keeping a live girl for a kind
of pet. He hadn't thought of that. But what else
was there for him to do? He couldn't murder her.
That would be absurd. To kill a girl in cold blood
just because he didn't know what to do with her.
Absurdly cruel. He might throw her out of the
window. But then somebody would be sure to be
underneath or somewhere near by.
He started slowly walking again, frowning
over the problem. Whatever he did he'd be found
out eventually, and Harry'd make a joke of it, would
carry the joke back to Jamaica and make a fool of
him. Hell. He clenched his fists with rage. What
the devil did he ever take her for? Why didn't he
leave her alone? Jake and his men knew all about
it, but Jake had promised not to speak a word. And
that rat Peke-he might forget. At any rate, as
they'd left him in the cathedral, he didn't know the
outcome, and Bledry could deny having brought her
all the way back. Why did he, why did he do it?
Even at the time he knew he was making an absolute
jackass of himself but he just couldn't stop, he
couldn't help himself. Somehow she had enraged
him, got him on the raw. He couldn't explain why, he
couldn't understand it. A silly sudden cold rage had
gripped him and made him bind her and bring her
home. Senseless, mad! Yes, he could hit himself
for it. What did he want with a wretched girl like
that? A religious maniac, into the bargain. She was
pretty, but mere prettiness alone had no appeal to
him. He wanted something more. His austere, al-
most puritanical exterior, hid a Cavalier, a witty
gentleman, a fop. He dreamed of coronets, of duch-
esses, of lovely titled ladies in London who would
titter with him in a box at the playhouse, in the gal-
lery at St. Paul's, ride in a hackney coach and let
him whisper through the gilded window as he paced
his horse beside her, would lie in bed of a morning
playing with the silver chocolate-spoon while poets,
politicians, dukes and courtiers flocked around her
boudoir, and he, the chosen one, wittiest, gayest of
all, her lover of last night, smirked beside her and
sometimes stroked her hand as the hair-dresser
moulded her curls into shape. Dreams, dreams!
They existed only to make a mock of truth. Would
he ever reach to that dream, that dream of a duchess
in a milky bed? Must he be given in place of her some
raving Spanish nun, or some fierce little harlot? What
did he know of women, real women? He was almost


Oh, I know,


It's her teeth


What constitutes the loveliness
of women?
I have before me a page of
lovely women of all nations.
Some are pictured in full pro-
file, some in half profile and
some in full face. The eyes of
some are almost closed, some
half closed and some fully
opened. They are all beauti-
ful yet the features of all are
different except in one particu-
lar. They all show
beautiful teeth.
Then, what consti-
tutes the loveliness of
women? Undoubtedly


B Sl1


"'r:


one essential is beautiful teeth.
Every woman who wishes
to be lovely, who aims to be
admired, should strive for
beautiful teeth-should give
her teeth every possible care.
Experience has proved that
free, regular brushing with
FORHAN'S will keep teeth
clean and bright,-help to
preserve both teeth and gums,
strong and healthy.
Porhban's fr the Gums is the/ormul
rofs haP D.D.S., specialist i
mouth diseases. It comtaits Porhn's
P orhes Astrigent developed h
Dr. Forehand used by dentir
troushghet the world in the tre.
mentof prrhea.


For T ns

FOR G U M S
o,, F-11


12


1934-35


SOLE AGENT & DISTRIBUTOR


LESLIE R. MORDECAI

158-160 HARBOUR STREET

KINGSTON, JAMAICA.


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I







PLANTERS' PUNCH


a monk. He knew only the Madames in Jamaica with
tanned skins and eyes wrinkled from looking at the
sun; he knew only the refuse of England, the liars
who talked of old-time routs and garden-parties. He
wanted the real things, and was given this!
He drew the key from his pocket and stood be-
side the door. There were three candles in silver
sconces on a table in the hall, and he went over and
took one, trimmed the wick with his long nails, and
returned to the door.
The door opposite opened a little and a pale blue
eye looked at him, gave him a shock as if he were
being spied on, as if he had been discovered doing
some discredible act.
"Well?" he said with an effort, making his voice
and manner as casual as he could, "what is it?"
The door instantly shut again, and he smiled
wryly, and shrugged his shoulders.
Was Harry carrying on an intrigue with the
wench? he wondered, or with ? But he dis-
missed the idea at once. Harry was not the type
to carry on what was called an affair with anybody,
particularly a secret affair; he was too noisy, too
obvious. Besides, he didn't think that disdainful
Spanish lady looked the kind to carry on an affair
with a pirate, she was too proud. Yet one never
knew. He remembered so many virtuous ladies in
Jamaica W ho behaved most astonishingly behind
a locked door. He remembered his own rather de-
grading experience with a certain planter's wife who
was quite a different woman in the drawing-rooms
of Spanish Town or Port Royal from the woman
who, one thirsty burning siesta-hour in January,
had met him in her shift when he stopped for a
cool drink on his way home. She smelled of brandy
and had a musty decaying look about her as if she
had been locked up for years and had only escaped
that minute. She reeled against the verandah post
and he was struck with sudden shuddering disgust
as that shift blew open in the windless air and he
glimpsed the mottled brawn-like flesh, and saw the
drunken ogle from her half-shut eyes as she fanned
herself with a great feathered ballroom fan. It
had seemed incongruous in that fiendishly hot day,
loathsomely musty she had seemed, and haggard in
the fierce light. It was horrible. An almost naked
woman, shrivelled and brown, fanning away the
sweat with a great ballroom fan. He had dug spurs
into his horse and galloped back with a feeling of
terror at his throat. He had been very young;
sixteen, wasn't it? But surely Jamaican grand
ladies were not like the grand ladies of London who,
he knew, had milkmaid skins and languid ways?
No, no, no! That illusion he kept intact. All his
life was a fight to keep that illusion intact.
Perhaps this Spanish lady, this Governor's
daughter, was like that Jamaican planter's wife?
One never knew. She was very beautiful. He re-
membered her full slanting eyes, her wide nostrils,
the curved nose, the little chin; he remembered her
with sudden choking desire, but swept it from him,
and darted at his own door, turned the key and
rushed in.
He stood, panting, in the middle of the room,
and with a shaking hand set the candle on the
small, round marble table. Then he strode over to
the recess, opened it and pulled out his captive.
She was bound strongly, both by wrists and


ankles, and her pretty mouth was twisted grotesque-
ly with a wooden gag. She was unconscious, and
he laid her carefully on the bed; then he stood back
to look at her.
She breathed heavily in little jerks as if she
were dying; there was a slight foam on her mouth
and her lips were rimmed with black where the
sweat and saliva had gathered and dried; her face
was wet, seemed sodden, with perspiration and
tears. But his rage would not let him pity her, he
was too angry with himself to pity her. Yet he
had enough compassion in him to unbind her, take
off the cruel gag and chafe her cold hands. They
were like ice, dead hands. Her body shuddered;
from her feet to her breast she shuddered as if he
had pricked her with his nail; shuddered twice,
then was perfectly still again.
Mechanically he continued chafing her wrists.
They were swollen around the twisted red furrows
where the cords had bitten into her flesh. He looked
at that raw skin with no thought of compassion,
only with a faint anger ringing in his heart, an
anger at himself and at the necessity of bringing
her to, of trying to calm her terrors and to make
her sensible. The fingers twitched a little under
his warm rubbing, they moved as if groping for
the strings of some invisible instrument. She
moaned, shuddered, and rolled over on the bed.
Then he looked down at her feet, and knelt on
the floor to chafe her ankles. They were hidden
under the skirt, anI he softly lifted the satin.
Instantly, Dofia Bella sat up. It seemed that
some magnetism in his touch had vibrated along her
legs into her brain. She sat up stiffly like a marion-
ette, straight from the hips, and stared down at
Bledry, her eyes open and seeming to swell like
little bladders. Stupefied, he gazed back at her.
Suddenly she shrieked. Her shrieks hit him hard
on the ear-drums and almost deafened him. He
stayed transfixed, horror-struck, dumb, statuesque.
He could only gaze back at her in sick despair, with
a hopeless feeling of terrible despair as if his
whole world had fallen around him and left him
shamefully naked before a thousand scoffers.
Harry's gloating face seemed to strike at him.
Again she shrieked, and leaped to her feet. It
was extraordinary, it was terrifying, to see this
sudden leap, as if a corpse had suddenly leaped from
its bier. She must have been physically crippled,
yet her terror gave her nervous strength enough to
leap from the bed and to stand on her feet. This
was not a living woman, it was some devil inside a
woman that forced the dead limbs to work, forced
the tongue to clack against the roof of the mouth.
Horror and despair paralysed Bledry. He could
only gape, stretch out an arm tentatively in a feeble
effort to quieten her. He couldn't speak, he couldn't
move, he could only stare at her.
She ran around him like a desperate bird with
clipped wings, gasping, letting out occasional shrieks.
It was horrible, a danse macabre, a nightmare. It
was a corpse on holiday.
Suddenly she lunged at the door, flung it open
and darted into the hall.
The act awoke Bledry. He leaped to his feet
and made after her. He was blind with rage, mad
at the wreck of his plans. Harry'd be up any mo-
ment, Harry'd see her, he'd tell the yarn, Spanish


Town would burst its sides, they'd laugh, a merry
jest, did you hear? Oh, Lordee, ha, ha, ha ... Oh,
my God, my God, what could he do?
He wanted to kill her. His rage was so enor-
mous that only blood could satisfy it. He -detested
that girl as never before in all his life had he de-
tested anyone; his hands writhed with the lust to
kill.
She fluttered up and down the passage, moan-
ing; but when she saw him she screamed again, and
ran straight at the door opposite that Sarah had in-
cautiously opened to see what the trouble was. She
flung Sarah aside and darted in, Bledry behind her.
"Hey!" cried Sarah. "What a house this is!"
Dofia Bella, the moment she was inside that
room, seemed to die once more. The devil within
her body left her suddenly, like a pilot who, having
steered his ship safely through the dangers, drops
over the side and leaves her becalmed and honie.
She flopped on the floor and became again, presum-
ably, a corpse, without sound or movement.
"Madre de Dios!" cried Dofia Marina. "Bella!
Que le han hecho?"
Her cry stopped Bledry as if a hand had been
pushed into his face. He staggered and went deathly
white, a fearful sense of shame swamped him; he
felt eternally disgraced before the world; he felt


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PLANTERS' PUNCH


that he could never again look a lovely woman in
the-eyes; that that sweet duchess lolling like a pink
cloud over the horizon would shudder when he came
to her, would wrinkle her little nose and pout, cry-
ing: "For shame, remember Bella!"
"Eet ees my frien'!" cried Dofia Marina with a
little sob, leaning beside the quiet figure on the
floor. "Ay de mi! Bella amigo mio! He has
keeled her, por Dios! He has keeled her!"
She started up furiously and turned on the
wretched Bledry.
"Fiend!" she cried. "Oh, oh, you Inglez! you
have keeled Bella mine!"
"She's all right, she's not dead .. ."
"Fiend!" In sudden rage, she leaped at Bledry
and struck him again and again with her little
fists. He stood very white under the blows, his
hands clenched until the nails cut his palms. With
a mighty, almost heroic effort, he held his temper in
leash. He could feel her hot breath on his face,
she was so close; her great brown eyes, golden-
brown, not dog-brown, were enormous to him.
"Don't!" he gasped through his teeth. "Don't,
you fool, don't!"
Then his temper burst the leash. He caught
her savagely by both wrists, twisted them until she
screamed and writhed to escape, gasping and stut-
tering at him.
"You fool," he said, "you fool! I won't stand
this nonsense. You stupid little fool. I'll teach you,
by God! Come here!"
He dragged her to him, fierce with a cold hard
rage; he dragged her tq him and exultantly kissed
her upon the mouth as the only possible way to
degrade her. The warm touch set him on fire. He
held her with trembling hands while she struggled
futilely; like an enormous bear, he seemed to enfold
her, wrap her to him. She shut her eyes, unable to
bear the sight of his brown bearded face.
Then a great hand fell on his shoulder, swung
him round, picked him up and hurled him out of the
door into the passage.
"That'll teach you," said Harry Morgan, grinning
amiably. "No, not even from you will I have it.
Hang it all, her screams were enough to pull the
house down. I thought I'd the horrors."
Then Morgan saw the body of Dofia Bella, Dofia
Marina kneeling beside it, crooning over it. He
strode over and bent down, turned her round to
face him, and smiled. Then he chuckled and burst
into loud laughter.
"Hey, Bledry!" he cried, "you sly 'un!" He ran
to the door, but Bledry was gone. "Oh, who'd have
thought it!" he cried. He strolled back into the
noom and lifted up the unconscious girl, but Dofia
Marina caught his great hairy hand in her tiny paw.
"No, no," she said, "pliz. She ees my frien'.
Do no' let heem tak' her."
"She won't get hurt," said Morgan, grinning.
"He'll treat her like a lady. She'll be as well treat-
ed as you, and what have you got to complain
ot?"
"No-theeng. Me, I am no' hurt. But she with
heem-he keel her, el demenio. Pliz, do no' tak'
her."
"I'm a man of my word," said Morgan, patting
her on the head. "And I give you my word that
she'll be all right. Don't you worry your pretty
head about her."


He kicked at Bledry's door and demanded his
opening it. At last trying the handle, he was sur-
prised to find it neither locked nor bolted. He kick-
ed it open and went inside.
Bledry sat on the bed, his hands clasped in his
lap, a look of the most intense misery on his equine
face. He didn't stir at Harry's entrance, didn't even
move to look at him.
"You forgot something," said Harry Morgan,
and carefully deposited Dofia Bella on the carpet.
"And a pretty little cit, she is too!" he said. "Looks
like a babe, that innocent, with her lovely eyes shut
and her nice long hair trying to strangle her. Come
on, old man!" He swung round on Bledry. "Don't
bear any malice. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I didn't
mean to."
"You didn't hurt me," said Bledry quietly. "I'm
not malicious. I just want to be left alone."
"Oh, now, come and have a drink."
"Later," he said wearily. "Afterwards. Just
leave me alone for a while."
Morgan looked at him suspiciously. Then he
glanced down at the girl at his feet, and grinned.
"Oh, all right!" he chuckled "But you'll come
down after, won't you?"
"After what?" snarled Bledry, suddenly fierce.
"I don't know. You said 'afterwards' yourself,
didn't you? At any rate, lock the door next time. I
promised her I'd see the wench wasn't hurt. I don't
want to see her get scared. These Spanishers hang
themselves as soon as look at you. I know their
tricks."
And that is exactly what Dofia Bella did do, as
soon as she was left alone.
Still grinning, with a monstrous wink, Morgan
went, carefully shutting the door behind him. Bledry
went later, to find him comfortably twisted in a
hammock, a tall glass of brandy in one hand, a huge
cigar in the other. Six other men lounged about the
table, smoking and drinking. Clem Simmons was
there, his white head leaning forward as if the
scraggy neck was too weak to hold it upright. Next
to him sat a fat jovial scoundrel with a livid scar
that ran from under his scalp to his chin, cutting
across one eye that was hidden under a black patch
held in place by yellow ribbon. He seemed to be all
teeth, paunch and scar, and was named Larry Prince.
Dicky Ludbury, a tall, upright, amiable man was
next to him drinking at a terrifying rate; then there
was Jake Morris and Tommy Rogers (a dumpy sour-
faced fellow) then Ted Collier a lean six-foot ruffian
with weak eyes that were always blinking, as if he
had dirt under the lids and was trying to blink it
out, sometimes he jerked his head suddenly and
sniffled: it was because of this nervous peculiarity
that he was called the "Tarantula", for people bitten
by the tarantula were supposed to dance in a curious
nervous fashion.
These were a few of Morgan's officers, his body-
guard, his council-his House of Lords, as he called
them and as they often called themselves.

CHAPTER X

BEHIND THE CURTAIN
THEY drank almost until dawn. Clem Simmons
was the first to sneak off. He crawled out into
the kitchen, and found the negro cook, Quaco, lying
on the floor, groaning in the sick monotonous whine


of the negro, endlessly, in a kind of whimper. He
showed Clem his sore leg. It had broken out again
and was turning green. Morgan had kicked him
that afternoon because there was not enough food
in the place.. He besought Clem to look at it, which
Clem grudgingly consented to do, even though it
was a black leg; after that they talked earnestly.
The others remained arguing in the patio,
laughing and singing, until Morgan himself broke
up the gathering.
"Bed, my lads!" he cried. "We've got work to-
morrow. You can fight it out then."
So off to bed they went, after drinking one last
half-pint and vowing eternal friendship to each
other and everlasting fidelity to Henry Morgan.
After that there was silence in the patio litter-
ed with boots and bottles, stained with wine and
Jake's blood, with tobacco and spittle. The deep
tropic night blocked up the patio from wall to wall
as the candles guttered out, coated the palms with
blue-black shadows and shivered around the fount-
ain.
Night over Panama, with the stars like phos-
phorescent buttons on the sky, and the insects bur-
ring faintly amongst bushes and flowers. Night in
the jungle, masses of darkness, slabs of it between
(Continued on Page 70)

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E THE VALUE OF EACH SHARE on maturity
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SReceipts for Total Assets at
S 1932.33 80th November 1983

207,909 7. 8. 619,988. 2. 6.
Permanent Guarantee Fund represented
by Liquid Assets at 30th
November 1933 -


30,777. 11. 9.

T. N. AGUILAR, ESQ., J.P., |
Chairman.

SIDNEY C. MCCUTCHIN, ESQ., M.B.E., J.P.,
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Office:
S No. 6 DUKE STREET,
S KINGSTON, JAMAICA, B.W.I.


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B. G. -ST.AULBYN -- -do-


Panama Is Burning
(Continued from Page 68)
trees lit only with the bright eyes of jaguar and
puma. Night; and that worst, most terrible hour
of night, before the dawn, when earth seems to
pause its spin a moment and hang pendulous in
space, sickeningly still. The silence of death. And
in the jungle there were, at night, places that reek-
ed of death, decaying undergrowth and rotting life,
with the buzzards peering over their high shoulders
like little old women in the theatre.
Only a faint cool wind came to break that awe-
some silence, and to shiver over the tree-tops as if
a small hand had brushed against them, like the
ruffling of a cat's fur. It whispered to the hot
earth on the savannahs, shook gently lovely orchids,
those images of death, odourless, waxen. It un-
folded the petals of that miraculous orchid, that
seal of the divine, el Espiritu Santo, Flower of the
Holy Ghost, that bears in its petals like a child's
cradle amidst white lilies, a little dove.
In cleared spaces in the jungle, refugees lay on
bracken with weary sentries posted; some slept
amongst the branches like monkeys and ate what food
they could get raw, not daring to light a fire or shoot
a gun. They dared not even sleep, although they were
incredibly'tired. They would shut their eyes, doze
a moment, then wake up trembling at the slightest
sound. They were beyond weeping; they could only
lie and shiver in the darkness, with no covering
but the darkness, their bodies stiff and swollen with
mosquito and ant bites.
Dawn brought no hopes, only greater terrors.
They saw it cracking the eastern sky in rods of
pink and silver with flashes of mauve and green;
they saw it ribbing the sky like coloured prison-
bars, holding them fast on earth. They could only
gaze palely at the light, look into each other's pinch-
ed faces and at their starved limbs; they had noth-
ing to say. Around them, the jungle awoke to
life. Monkeys started their babbling parliaments;
birds screamed with the sheer delight of living,
bright jolly parrots babbled at the sky and drank
in the sunlight as if it were syrup. Only the poor
human beings, homeless, starving, desperate, stayed
silent, wrapped in terrors amongst the trees and
bushes, or crept to the edge of the savannahs in
dread of seeing the buccaneers come searching for
them. Every day, troops came out and dragged
back wretched prisoners.
Yes, every day the buccaneers strode out behind
their musicians and dispersed to forage for cap-
tives or buried treasure; and every day they brought
back booty to the common storehouse.
There was work for everyone to do, but a great
many of the buccaneers idled away from the busy
trumpets and drank and wenched. They had been
divided into companies under separate commanders
-Morgan had arranged all that at Cape Tiburon
before starting-but most of the commanders were
too afraid of their own men to force them to work
hard. That was why Dan had been left alone. He
had done no work since the taking of the city, and
last night he had been out on the rampage with
Andy, two wenches and a cask of wine. And now
a shaft of sunlight fell straight on his eyelids and
awoke him. It came through a chink in the wall
and seemed to be directed on to his lids particular-
ly to burn him out of slumber, as if heaven had
sent his messenger. He turned, groaned, then open-
ed his eyes upon that bar of light which was thick
with millions of curving motes like tiny insects in
a bar of gold.
Morning! Oh, hell! Another morning. Then he
remembered Dofia Marina. She came to him sud-
denly. As if she had been impatiently waiting for
him to awake, she burst upon his consciousness.
How was she? Was she all right? Could he trust
Clem? He should have gone last night to see her.
He flung himself to his feet, stumbled over the
fat body of the octoroon breathing through her nose
as if it were a trumpet; her thick lips curled back
like red caterpillars from the brilliant white teeth.
He grabbed a bottle of sweet wine, took a gulp
tossed it around his palate and spat it out again.
After that he shuddered and felt better.
Andy opened one eye and watched him, his
small body hidden between the octoroon and the
Spanish matron. He saw Dan stagger around the
room for a moment, pick up his shirt, pull it over
his ears and go blindly out of the door, for they
were in one of the common hutches with wooden
walls, dried palm roof and one floor that had no
flooring.
Andy was on his feet in a minute and after
him.
There was no need for him to hide or skulk,
as Dan never once looked back. After he had pull-
ed his bright blue shirt tightly down and tucked
it in under his belt, he walked straight ahead with-
out a hat beneath that fearful morning sun, through
narrow streets, tripping over dislodged flagstones,
he went; in the middle of a plaza he stopped and
went to the fountain. He dipped his head and open-
ed his mouth under the cool water without swallow-
ing any of it. Then he continued his walk, going


~ I


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,.P L. AN3,T EL,.RS' PUNCH


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a little faster as if refreshed, until he reached the
principal plaza and walked over to Morgan's head-
quarters.
S Dickie Ludbury was on guard, still a little
drunk and very stupid after last night's debauch,,
ihalf-asleep and humming under his breath.
"Hullo!" said Dan. "What's the news?"
Ludbury looked up, quizzed at him with one eye
shut then said: "Mornin', Dan. What news? Ain't
:heard nothing, 'cept about the mort."
"What mort?" Sudden fear gripped Dan's heart.
lHe leaned forward. 'Which mort's that?" he ask-
ed.
"What's all the trouble?" said Ludbury. "What's
a damn jade here or there? They can dance all
flamin' day ef they likes, with or without music."
S A great relief flooded over Dan. "Oh,.some
mort'ss been dancin'? That aint' news!" he laugh-
ed.
"Without music!'' chuckled Ludbury. "No, it
ain't news. But the funny part is-Morg was only
saying larst night that these Spanish cits'd hang
theirselves jest ter spite yer like. He's a clever 'un,
Morg. He knows more'n you'd think. Yaw, osir! as
clean a hangin' as was ever done at Tyburn. And
she done it all by her little self."
Dan felt very sick. He lurched as if drunk. It
was like a physical blow under the heart and almost
paralysed him for the moment. He couldn't. speak.
He felt fearfully sick and alone. It had been his
fault. He should have come last night and seen her
and not got drunk like a pig, trusting to Clem's lies.
All his life he would bear the shame of this in his
heart, he had been unfaithful to the only creature
he loved.
And as the shame ebbed, rage flooded in. A
terrible blind rage caught him in its grip and shook
him, physically and mentally. Ludbury looked up
at him curiously, unsure if the vision was Dan or
his own liver. For Dan was deathly white and his
arms quivered, his fists clenched, his mouth opened
as if he gaped for air; he was consumed with rage,
his brain swung around the image of Morgan with
terrible hatred.
He staggered in through the door as if drunk.
Ludbury put out a hand to stop him, then shrugged
his shoulders and shut his tired eyes. He was too
weary to make a fuss.
Dan walked on, then paused in the hall at the
foot of the stairs and gazed abstractedly around in
bewilderment. The tapestries looked down at him
-tapestries of the inevitable Moorish wars, Gran-
ada being sacked with beautiful Spaniards in full
armour waving banners and sitting very upright on
prancing horses while Moors, fifty times too big for
their city-walls, flung down boiling lead and great
stones. Dan gazed with blind eyes at the coloured
cloths, shifted, and Isabella stared down at him with
the holy Torquemada at her side and Ferdinand be-
hind her.
He was thinking in a blind animal fashion, by
a kind of instinct, like an animal pausing to catch
the wind and smell out of its victim. He rested his
hand on the marble balustrading, walked slowly up
a step, then walked slowly down again.
He touched his back and felt the long knife to
be in its sheath. Ludbury watched him as he mov-
ed in the gloom, and he wondered what the devil he
was up to as he tried to gather enough energy to-
gether to get up and go to him.
Dan waited for a sign, for God to give him a
lead. He stood, a big dirty figure, amongst the


luxuries of this hallway. His head was bare and his
straggling fair hair was plastered to his cheeks with
sweat and the water from the fountain, his beard
was tangled and splayed in the centre; he wore only
a filthy blue shirt tucked into grey velvet drawers,
bound round with a heavy leather sword-belt with-
out the sword. His drawers were untied at the calf,
and the coloured ribbons dangled to his ankles. He
wore neither boots nor hose.
And around him were all the luxuries of old
Spain. The bright tapestries; the heavy brocaded
curtains looped up over the door leading into the
patio; on the wall, a Moorish shield of beaten silver,
showing a gigantic screaming head; and a Moorish
helmet with curved noseguard and long soft chain-
mail dripping from the edges, like a woman's veil;
and behind the helm, a curved scimitar with jewel-
led hilt was crossed behind a polished Spanish blade.
Statues-a fat Madonna, and a San Domingo in his
robes showing his long beard and narrow hands be-
fore a Pope with his face concealed under a terrific
mitre.
Dan swayed amidst all this; then as if sudden-
ly making up his mind, he turned towards the cur-
tained door to his left. But as he turned he heard
his name spoken, and stood transfixed.
"Dan! Dan! what are ye doin' here?"
He swung round to find Clem staring at him.
"What are ye up ter?" asked Clem. "Ye looks
as if ye'd seen a ghost or a miracle."
"I'm looking' fer you, Clem, 'mongst others."
Dan found his voice suddenly and was astonished


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to discover that it sounded quite normal. "Ye're the
flamin' little rat that was goin' ter tell me ef any-
think happened But I'm getting' Morg first. Your
turn comes arter."
"Why, what have I done? What's Morg done?
There ain't nothing wrong."
Dan looked at him, puzzled; he scanned his face
closely as if it were a chart and he was searching
it for soundings in an unknown sea. And sudden
hope flamed inside him. He caught Clem by the
arm, caught it so tightly that he almost broke it.
"What ye mean, Clem? Has Ludbury been fool-
in' me? Ain't she dead? I heard she'd hung her-
self."
"Aw, that! That weren't her! That was Bled-
ry's jade. You've got 'em mixed, me boy- Come
along here, I've got something I want ter say ter
you."
"You ain't lying', Clem? 'Cause ef you are ."
"Course I ain't lyin'. You jest come along 'ere."
With Dan's relief there was mixed not a little
anger. Curiously, he felt cheated, as if his rightful
due had been sneaked from him. And yet, he should
have known better. Morg wouldn't touch her....
Clem led him along to the back amongst the kit-
chens, into a tiny room like a ship's cuddy that had
nothing in it but cupboards, a small square wooden
table, a wooden chair and innumerable tiny red
ants.
"Sit down," said Clem, after carefully locking
the door.
(Continued on Page 73)


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PLANTERS' PUNCH


Panama Is Burning
(Continued from Page 71)
Suspiciously, Dan lowered himself into the chair
while Clem swung himself on to the table and crush-
ed an army of ants with his bulk.
"Now, Dan," he said, "you jest listen to me. I
been talking' ter that gal of o' yours," said Clem soft-
ly. "Now, don't get excited. If ye're goin' ter go
mad et's no good me tellin' yer 'cause ye'll bust
everything."
"I won't go mad," said Dan in a stifled voice,
sitting up very straight and staring full at Clem.
He was suspicious, yet excited. He had never really
liked Clem although in an entirely negative way,
for Dan actually hated nobody; but he respected
Clem as a cunning fellow with a sharp tongue, and
as one of Morgan's House of Lords. Yet that thin
face, a young monkey's face, under the shock of
snow-white hair somehow made you suspicious of
Clem. It didn't look natural. "Go on," said Dan,
"I'm listening I tell yer I won't go mad!"
"That's the spirit, me boy." Clem cocked his
head on one side. "As I was tellin' ye," he said, "I
had a yarn ter yer gal yesterday. Jest a few words,
and she says-she says-that she can't bear this no
longer."
"Bear what no longer?"
"What ye think she meant? Lookee here, Dan,
ye're too trustin'. That's your trouble. Ye think
Morg's a flamin' gord, don't yer? Ye think he's a
bloody gintilman, don't yer? Yer think he can't do
nothing wrong and that he wouldn't tell no lie, don't
ye, ye poor little cully of a ass! Ye're too tony ter
live, that's the trouble with you!"
Very white, yet holding in his temper, Dan said
quietly: "What's Morg done?"
"What's he done! Now, here's the truth com-
in' out." Clem watched him narrowly. "He's keep-
in' her on bread and water!"
"What's that?"
"Bread and water, I'm tellin' yer. He's starvin'
her, that's what he's doing. She ain't hanged her-
self. No-not yet!"
"My Gord!" cried Dan, springing to his feet and
making for the door.
"Come 'ere, yer fool!" cried Clem. "You can't
do nothing. Jest listen ter me. I got a plan."
"Ter hell with yer plans! I'm goin' ter see her.
Open this door or I'll bust yer head in! Where's
the key? I'm goin' ter take her off! Right now!"
"And where to?"
"Anywhere! I'll get him first though! Gimme
that key!"
"Sit down, Dan, and listen quiet. You wouldn't
git five yards outer this place without bein' shot
down like a dorg. Have some sense. Now jest you
listen ter me and I'll fix everything."
"And her starving' ."
"She ain't starvin'. I told ye what Morg was
givin' her, but I never told ye what I was givin'
her!"
"Ye're feedin' her on the sly? My Gord, Clem,
I can never thank yer!" Dan caught him in a tight
embrace, he almost kissed him. "Ye're a true friend
ye are!" he said.
"No, no, it ain't nothing!" said Clem bashfully.




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"I wouldn't see the poor cit starve. But don't tell
nobody. I know I can trust yer, Dan. Now, ye jest
listen quiet a moment. Now, she says ter me, she
says: 'Clem,' she says, 'Clem, I can't hold out no
longer. If Dan don't think of something I'll hang
meself like the other 'un'."
"I'll do anything" cried Dan. "I'll slit Morgan's
bloody throat! I'll get him! What the 'ell's he
starvin' her fer, the 'ound!"
"What the hell do ye think he's starvin' her fer!
Fun? So's he can play with her bones? What's any







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man starve a pretty-looking' jade fer? He's trying'
ter break her spirit, like you would a hoss. And he's
threatened ter lock her inter a black cell full o'
beetles ef she don't like him mighty soon."
"Why don't he take her?"
"You allus was a mome, Dan. He ain't the
kind ter take a woman. He wants her to come ter
him."
"My Gord!" cried Dan.
"We'll beat him!" said Clem. "Yer know that
ship stuck on the mud? Jest wait till high tide comes,

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we'll float her off, and we'll take the mort down to
Tavoga, find her dad, and mayhap she'll marry ye,
mayhap she'll make ye her coachman or her butler.
That's fer ye ter work out atween yer. She ain't
said nothing ter me about et. Don't you tell Andy,
or Nat, or nobody. Last night while they was all
boozin' I had a yarn with the cook, Quaco, he's a
black 'un, but he's white inside. He tells me last
night that there's a plot working' agin Morg."
"I wouldn't work with no negres."
"It ain't all negres. Esquemeling's at the head
of et and the rest are all white, mostly Frogs and
Eyetalans, but we can lose them oncet we get ter
Tavoga."
"I wouldn't work with scum like them against
me own countrymen!"
"Ye're mad! Anythink's worth takin' ter git
yer end with. Lookee here, it's yer only chance.
I'll fix et with the mort. We'll clear out with her,
and ye can have yer smack at Morg. Then yo! ho!
for Tavoga and a merry life! Et's the only way. Ye
jest wait here and I'll git Quaco in ter have a talk
with yer. Now, don't go till I come back."
"All right," said Dan.
He heard Clem open the door softly and lock it
on the outside, but he didn't move. He sat as if
struck rigid in the pose, as if dead. Inside, how-
ever, he was very much alive. His brain was crowd-
ed with a muddle of fears, hopes and despairs. He
thought of Dofia Marina in her room with Morgan
pounding on the door; and he thought of a gather-
ing of greasy Romanys. It seemed like renouncing


his country, his manhood, to work with such scum.
"No!" he cried. "I can't do et!"
The words sounded tremendous in that tiny
room. A giant, not Dan, had spoken them. His
own words flung themselves back on him and made
him afraid, ashamed. He sank back in his chair and
gazed blankly at the wall that was moving with red
ants, trying to round up that brain of his to think
coherently.
He could kill Morg, but then he himself would
get killed. There was no doubt of that. The Taran-
tula, or Jake Morris, or Ludbury or one of them'd
get him before he'd gone half-down the street. Then
things would be much worse for Dofia Marina in the
hands of the infuriated kingless House of Lords. He
must think. There must be a way. Then the ship
stuck in the mud. He hadn't taken much stock of
her, but she looked a trim frigate. He must go over
her and see if she wasn't rotten and had her full
complement of sails below. Why not sail off in her
to Tavoga? The more he thought of it, the sweeter it
seemed to Dan, for he was a sailor, and ships were
like a mistress to him. It would be grand. He and
Dofia Marina with the clean ocean all around, and
ahead the green hills of Tavoga with her dad on
the wharf waiting with arms outspread to grapple
them both to his bosom. Indeed it was a pretty pic-
ture. The sharp cutting of salt on his face, the good
ship shuddering in the combers and the wind lifting
Dofia Marina's long black hair and slapping it back
on her face. Then carpets under his feet, bells ring-
ing and hordes of Spaniards wrenching at his hand


and clapping on his back; and Dofia Marina smiling
on.
The pictures so enraptured Dan-and he was
easily swayed by dreams-that he was really annoy-
ed when Clem returned with the negro. Dan gazed
at them as Clem carefully locked the door behind
them and turned his rat-face with the wrinkled-up
negro at his side grinning with all his teeth except
for the black square in the centre where Morgan had
punched him.
"Here he is," said Clem. "This is our black-shot
Quaco, the cook and giniral poor devil. He's in the
conspiracy I was speaking' of."
"Aw, he is, is he?" said Dan. "Then I ain't."
Clem drew a deep breath and hissed it out
through his teeth. "Ain't we been over all that a-
fore?" he cried, "Quaco's the only black-shot en et,
ain't ye, Quaco?"
Quaco ducked his woolly head, grinning tremend-
ously.
"And he's in et 'cause he's the only good cook
we've got and we ain't leaving' him behind."
"Oh," said Dan, impressed. "Git on with et."
"That's right. Now, Quaco, ye tell him all about
it, same as ye told me."
Clem seated himself on the table and ants, cross-
ed his legs, and hauled a cigar out of an inside-poc-
ket like a fisherman hauling an eel out of his net.
It took him fully a minute to disentangle it from
the cloth, then he bit a chunk off and slowly chewed
it with great satisfaction.
Quaco, who had watched him narrowly through
the whole operation, now licked his brown lips,
cleared his throat and began hurriedly as if he gave
a before-dinner speech.
"Morg, he's kick me on de leg and it pison, pi-
son bad, all of de green like to de grass, so I get
ter sharpening me knife ter git Morg, but one day
a Frencyman's say ter me, 'Quaco,' he's say to me,
'how' 'bout doing de snaky on his Morg? Yo' kum
wid me.' So I goes wid him. And dere be lots and
lots of white men sitting' at de table and dey say, 'We
get out, we take de boat and we get, yo' understand?'
and poor Quaco, he's say, 'By Gahd, yaw, we go!'
and dat's all. I go now, eh?"
"No," said Clem. "Tell Dan where this place is
where ye saw the crowd."
Quaco scratched his head, looked sheepish, grin-
ned even more enormously, gazed at his large flat
feet, shuffled his feet, then said with an air of ex-
treme candour: "Now, dat's where yo' git de poor
black-shot all bemubbled. Gahd strike me but I dun-
no. I jest goes dere."


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1


1934-35






PLANTERS' PUNCH


"You can take Dan there?"
"No!" snarled Dan indignantly, glaring at Qua-
co. "I won't be seen with no negres-with no man-
negres, anyhow!"
Clem sighed and tapped his fingers on the table.
"Aw, then, jest give him the countersign," he said.
"Er?" said Quaco.
"You know. The sign. Give it ter him."
"Aw, dat!" cried Quaco, breaking into grins and
wrinkles and ducking his round head. "You jest say
Mer est grand, den he say, Mer est sud, den yo' say,
Mercy, den he talk."
"Now, Dan," said Clem, "that's simple enough,
ain't it? When you meet Esskay you says, Mer est
grand, and he'll say Mer est sud, and you say Mercy,
and then the trick's done."
Dan glared at him. "Oh, all right," he said,
"'ave et yer own way."
"I'm 'avin' et your way, ye mome. I'm trying'
ter help yer."
"Yaw, that's what makes me suspicious. Ye're
a bit too eager ter 'elp."
"Well, ef ye think that, I chuck the whole
thing!"
He leaped off the table, spat out a glob of tobacco-
leaf and glared at Dan.
"Hey." said Dan, "don't go! I'll do et, I tell
yer, Clem. What've I gotter say?"
"Now, ye jest say et arter me. Mer est grand. ..
"Mer est grand," said Dan sullenly.
"Then he says, Mer est sud, and what do ye
say?"
"I says: Go ter 'ell!"
"Ye don't. Ye says Mercy. Now. what do ye
say?"
Dan swallowed, then, "Mercy!" he said, glaring
up, one hand automatically rubbing his thigh.
"Mercy, blast yer!"

CHAPTER XI

THE CONSPIRATORS
1F chance hadn't interfered, very probably Dan
would never have gone through with it. The
whole idea was distasteful to him. He had the
fierce English contempt for foreigners, particularly
for Southerners; as for negroes, they were even be-
low despising. If Esquemeling had had only a
gathering of his own countrymen-in which, under
the vague term Dutchy, Dan included all Scandina-
vians and Germans-the thing might have been
feasible. But to plot against Morgan with Romanys
turned Dan's stomach. Besides, he loved Morgan.
But against everything was Dofia Marina.
Dofa Marina! Why did he adore her so? She had
been the last thing he saw when he thought he was
going to lose his life; later, she had given his life
back again. He felt it was her presence that had
saved him from the fire during the trial or what-
ever they called it. As he looked at her in the sun-
light, with the priests crowding around him, she
had seemed a vision of all that he was losing; then
he found himself back on earth and she as remote
as ever, until that dark night in the patio when he
had stood at bay against the shut door and seen her
lovely eyes in the darkness. God had sent her, this
angel. She symbolized all life to him after that.


Kingston.


He felt that he was destined to die for her in some
way, that God had chosen him and kept him living
only to protect her. He had come on this expedition
because of her. At the time when Morgan first an-
nounced the idea, he was thinking of slipping off
and marrying the fat widow of the Loyal Charles
Tavern at Port Royal, who pinched him lovingly
across the bar and kept no slate for his drinks.
Then had come the talk of Morgan's attack on Pan-
ama. Being one of Morgan's old men he had
learned of it quickly, and rejected it; then remem-
bering Dafia Marina he had rushed to enrol under
the colours. "I'm glad to see you, Dan, you old
ruffian," said Morgan, lounging in his hammock
under the brightly striped awning at Tiburon.
"So'll them Dons be," said Dan with a wink.
Now he was thinking of killing Morgan! Ah,
my God, life had turned suddenly so complex. And
now this Romany plotting. No. He wouldn't have
anything to do with it. He couldn't.
Then chance intervened.
Dan had flung himself on a dusty green patch
in the centre of a small plaza. He leaned against
the pump and picked his teeth with his fingernail.
Esquemeling came suddenly out of a house opposite,
came quietly down the narrow steps, turned and
spoke to somebody within, nodded his thin head,
and turned abruptly about.
Dan gaped at him, and Andy, who had en-
trenched himself in a wide doorway down the street,
saw him rise up and stagger over.
He wished that he could hear what he said, for
Dan caught the Dutchman by the arm and stopped
him.
But all that Dan was saying was: "Mer est
grand."
The whole thing happened just like that. It
was taken completely out of his hands and managed
for him. He did nothing whatever. It merely hap-
pened. He saw Esquemeling come out of a door and
all of a sudden he went over and said: "Mer est
grand," without really knowing what he did. It
was an automaton that did it, not Dan.
Esquemeling was startled. He was a lizard-like
kind of man, scaly, with no wet humanity about him,
all parched and skinny, with pale blue eyes and a
colourless mouth. He seemed ill, and coughed every
now and then, shivering and blinking his rather
protruding eyes.
"Vot's zat?" he cried. "Vot you say?"
"Never mind," said Dan angrily. "Ef you don't
understand, you don't."
Esquemeling held him hard and breathed fierce-
ly through his nose. He was terribly excited. How
Dan could have got the password was a complete
mystery, but that didn't trouble him. If they could
win such a man over to their side, it would strength-
en it enormously. Dan with his prestige and great
strength was an asset not to be easily lost.
"Ja, wot a fool me am! Me not say de right
ting. Mer est sud! Vot you say?"
"Mercy," said Dan ungraciously.
Sweat bubbled out on Esquemeling's forehead.
He slmost shouted with delight.
"You are vun of us, nie' waar? Ah, you are
de great Engeleschman, jaF Ve drinken, eh, and
talk dis over, eh? Come vid me. Ve half de pipe


Jamaica, B.W.I.


11 1111 11..n...n....a.......nsnsa .of .........i...a. .ae n t .I I I .I.. t. i..t


of wyn togedder, you meet the odders and ve talk,
ve talk, eh?"
"Aw, hell," said Dan, seeing that fate was too
much for him; "all right. Take me off before I
changes me mind."
And so Dan turned conspirator. He hated it,
it was against every impulse in his English heart,
but fate was too much for him. He let Esquemeling
lead him jubilantly off into a narrow room in a nar-
row house crammed with Romanys who talked what
he couldn't understand and what was translated to
him by an over-amiable Frenchman with a slippery
accent that slurred verbs and misplaced nouns.
It was all very strange and it made him angry.
They filled him up with wine, and that calmed him
a little. He could see no reason to talk. All that
they had to do was to wait until high tide and then
sail off. It was simple enough, surely, even for
their stupid Romany minds? Why complicate it
with talk?
At the head of the table Esquemeling was gab-
bling in a mixture of Dutch and French.
"What's he sayin'?" asked Dan, nudging his
Frenchman almost off the bench.
"Him zay," said the Frenchman with gushing
Continued on Page (78)







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Panama Is Burning
(Continued from Page 75)
amiability, "him zay zat ve must keel Morg-an and
zat zen ze boat ve take. Not take boat, not' keel.
De both, both."
"Aw, I see," said Dan, "and where does the lady
come in?"
"I do no' comprendre. Lady? What lady?"
"I'll bust yer face in," growled Dan.
The Frenchman glared owlishly at him, then
flared into little chuckles that shook him like an


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ague. Dan glared at him and remained silent.
Then a Frenchman arose at the other end of the
table and talked fiercely to Esquemeling, who lis-
tened gravely. What he said was greeted with
cheering by all the Romanys.
Opposite Dan sat a jovial Swede, a square little
man with long, straight yellow hair and blue eyes
and a constant grin. Every now and then he winked
at Dan and toasted him in his great copper vase
into which he poured whole bottles of wine. They
liked each other hugely on sight, although the
Swede, whose name was Pete, knew only two
words of English-Drink and Death-and Dan


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knew not one word of Swedish. But they were one
in that neither knew any French, neither cared a
damn about the conspiracy and both thoroughly
detested all Romanys. Pete had been cajoled into
the affair by the huge Norwegian at his side, who
was squint-eyed and spat every few minutes, and
was obsessed by a passionate hatred of Morgan be-
cause Morgan had once kicked him before the full
army when he upset a canoa on the Chagres.
Dan and Pete drank to each other, winked and
leered, and before every drink Dan said: "Here's
ter yer bright eyes!" and the Swede said: "Skal,"
very earnestly. This sudden dumb companionship
cheered Dan; it was the kind of companionship one
would get from a friendly dog, and he felt a great
love for the Swede and an almost uncontrollable
contempt for the noisy Romanys. It was really this
contempt that kept him there, it gave him such a
feeling of tolerant superiority, in the way that a
mastiff tolerated a cat because it was too feeble for
him to kill. He almost enjoyed himself, lit the
cigar the interpreter gave him and blew the smoke
into as many dark Romany eyes as he could.
The Romanys babbled, gesticulated, almost wept
to be heard. Children, noisy little children. Dan
blew smoke over them.
Outside in the street, Andy wandered up and
down, very worried. What the devil could Dan be
up to, he wondered. He didn't like it because he
couldn't understand it. Esquemeling was a mystery,
one of the most disliked men in the army. He kept
himself aloof, and as a surgeon was dreaded more
than the bullets of the enemy were dreaded. Andy,
like all the others, had scoffed at him but never
troubled much to think about him. And now, here
was Dan, big, smiling honest Dan, his mate, talking
openly with the Dutchy, talking to him in the street,
then actually going off with him into a house that,
according to all the visitors Andy saw enter, was
entirely populated by Romanys. It couldn't be wo-
men. Dan was not particularly a woman's man by
any means, and he would have gone to Nat's for
them or for drink. No, it was inexplicable and it
worried Andy. It more than worried him; it tor-
mented him, and tormented him so that he almost
went into the house to investigate. But caution
stopped him even with his hand on the door. He
knew Dan's strength and feared it. It was safer to
watch and wait.
So he curled himself up in the narrow archway,
shadowed from the unblinking sunlight, and waited.
Even In the shadow there was no escape from
the heat, for the wind was heavy with it; the rich


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1







PLANTERS' PUNCH


flowers seemed to exhale warmth instead of perfume,
it arose stickily from the earth-you could actually
see it rising like water. It made him sleepy and
sick and painfully tired, but Andy refused to sur-
render to it; He shifted on the hard ground, crushed
some large blue-black ants under his heel, and
gasped in the purple shadow, dreaming of a long
cold glass of sweet wine in a ship's lazaret up north,
of lying around on deck and counting the icebergs
flounder by, and of drinking icy drinks and singing
songs.
He dreamed and wiped the sweat from his
throat.
Dreams, torment of mankind, why do you never
come true? Panama, this was a dream once, this
city with its towers and steeples, its gaudily-flowered
gardens, its white walls and coffers of jewels and
gold. It had been a dream at Cape Tiburon when
the men came trooping around Captain Harry Mor-
gan's flag-ah, what a dream! And when they had
caught at last this dream in their hands, it burst
like a bubble and showed white walls and gaudily-
flowered gardens-yes, all that they'd thought, all
save the indefinite beauty of the dream. It was
merely earth that now they held in their hands.
And so, the sly dream shifted and rushed to dirty,
sandy old Port Royal, or to London.
"Leave a feller alone, can't yer! We've done
our work, ain't we! We want a bit o' rest, Gord
save us. Give us a drink, Jack, and get offer me
foot, you mountain on a molehill!"
But they had to work. It was like rounding up
bulls on Hispaniola to make these dreamers work.
Morgan sent out officers to round up the rabble, then
gave them each tasks to do, sent out detachments to
search the jungle, the hills, the savannahs. It was
harder work getting them to work than was the
actual work itself.
In the patio, Morgan was stretched out on his
hammock, his House of Lords lounging on the floor
in front of him, and Bledry sitting in a cane chair
at his elbow.
He looked at the dirty group. Most of them had
doffed their finery and were naked to the waist in
war-trim. Morgan gave them definite instructions,
each had some work to do. The Tarantula was to
go north to a monastery he'd just got news of, Lud-
bury, Rogers and Charlie Swan could ransack the
jungle, others could look at the savannahs, keep
guard at the gates, torture prisoners, help John
Peke sort out the gold and catalogue it, Clem (of
whom he was growing mistrustful) was to stay in
the house with Jake Morris on guard (for a great
deal of the booty had been shifted into Morgan's own
room), Larry Prince and Dego Moleene were to
guard the remailider of the treasure in the jail over
on the other side of the plaza. He and Bledry would
finish stamping out the fire.
"And now, get to it!"
They strolled out languidly in the heat, and
Morgan did not speak until the last had gone; then
he heaved himself out of his hammock and said:
"Are you coming with me, Bledry, or have you
something else to do?"
Bledry stirred in his chair, wiped the great
sweat away from around his eyes with a lace hand-
kerchief, and gazed up at his cousin. He resented
Harry's strength, his incapacity to idle except over
the punch-bowl. Himself was lazy. He detested the
sunlight, and the thought of going near that ac-
cursed fire again almost turned his bones to jelly.
"No," he said, "I'm not going with you."
"Oh, well, if you won't said Morgadn. He
stood irresolutely, hurt by Bledry's refusal. For in
his way, he loved Bledry, he loved him mainly be-
cause he was also a Morgan, and a Welshman usual-
ly loves his kindred with a blind, almost stupid ado-
ration. He wanted Bledry to be with him in every-
thing, to share everything with him. The two
Morgans, like brothers, always together.
"Oh, come on!" he cried suddenly. "It'll do you
good! The best thing in the world is to get out,
especially after a night like last night. Let's show
'em what the Morgans can do with that fire!"
"It's almost finished with. You don't need me."
He paused, shifted in his chair, then said bitterly:
"I'm not much damned use,, anyway. I only get in
your road. And you.know it, Harry. I'm only in
this expedition because I'm your coz. The devil!
Tommy Rogers or Dick Ludbury are far more use
than I. Even the negro cook. Think I don't know
it!"
"Shut up!" cried Morgan. "You're crazy. By
God, I wouldn't have had you out of this for the
world. Don't talk like that again or I'll lose my
temper. Hell, Bledry, you know what I feel about
you! You ought to know. You're like a brother to
me."
Bledry smiled at him with almost a sneer, yet
there was tenderness in it. "That doesn't do away
with my uselessness," he said. "I'm all right when
it comes to fighting, I suppose .. "
"By God, you are! The best!"
"But not for this kind of fighting. I should re-
main a King's officer, looking after routine and
leading a disciplined army. I'm not in sympathy
(Continued on Page 81)


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1934-35






PLANTERS' PUNCH


Panama Is Burning i
(Continued from Page 79)
with a rabble. I don't understand them, I don't
like them."
"If any other man said that I'd kill him."
And Harry Morgan meant it. Bledr.v's words
genuinely hurt him, as if it were himself being
scoffed at. It embarrassed him, angered him. He
couldn't bear it. He strode over to Bledry caught
him by the shoulder and shook him with bearish
affection.
"You old fool!" he cried, "pulling my poor damn
leg! Come on, Bledry, and poke your tongue at this
fire."
"No," said Bledry, "I'm not going."
Morgan stared at him, shuffled his feet and bit
his nails.
"I never know if you're joking or serious," he
said at last.
"I'm deadly serious now," said Bledry, in his
dry humourless voice, faintly smiling. "I hate the
whole business. I didn't want to come in the first
place. And I wouldn't have come except that it was
something to do with these vile God-forsaken col-
onies. When it's over I'm going to Europe. I'm going
to see London! We'll both go! They might knight
us for it! Think of that, Harry!"
"More likely they'll hang us," said Harry. "You
forget that peace has been signed with Spain."
The excitement faded from Bledry's cold blue
eyes; he seemed to sink inside himself, sag bodily;
his hands loosened their grip.
"Yes," he said, "I'd forgotten that."
"Come on, now, out to the fire."
"I'm not going," said Bledry, "I told you I
wasn't."
For a moment, Morgan considered dragging him
out of his chair and taking him forcibly to the fire.
Then with a shrug, he dismissed the idea. He pulled
his wide-brimmed hat down far on his head, bit his
lip, then abruptly strode out of the patio.
Bledry heard him cufrsing outside and kicking
some poor devil out of the way; and he lounged back
in his chair, sighing.
His own degradation gave him a kind of cruel
pleasure. He bathed in it luxuriously; lay back,
sighing and thinking what a thoroughly useless fel-
low he was.
Around him in the blazing sunlight, men toiled,
killed the fire that threatened to destroy the price
of their own blood, to eat up this city that was to
be held for ransom. And he lazed in a chair! He
lay back in his chair, lit a cigar and puffed the
smoke into the heavy air that pressed around him
like a jellied weight that melted on his face in
rivers of sweat. He, the one drone in the hive, the
one lazy man in all this turmoil! Useless, utterly
useless, a drone.
Yes, of what use was he? He was one of those
men who just couldn't do the right thing. All his
gestures became crooked even as he made them.
Look at last night! And a little shudder ran down
his spine at the thought, made him turn in his chair
and blink his eyes, his teeth biting through the
cigar. He couldn't bear to think of it. All his life
now he would be dogged by that memory of a girl

,\nlelll Ielll ullll Ihill ..llllln lllli i .i.i..iill.ii..llllllnIli aI I l a II


standing in mid-air, swaying a little, her tongue out
and her eyes staring. Just his damnable luck! Why
couldn't she hang herself outside? In his room, over
his bed, for all the world to laugh at! That mem-
ory was under his skin and would stay there until
his death.
He had cut her down, hoping timidly that no-
body would find out. Then he had gone to bed to
wait for the morning in drunken optimism. And in
the morning, Harry had burst in. His roar had
brought a dozen men to see.
Ah, the shame, the shame! Would he ever for-
get it! It was the worst awakening in his life. He
would never forget it, never!
In his rage and horror at the memory, the sweat
burst out of every pore like blood from a crushed
mosquito. He flung away the cigar, bit at his curls,
then leaping to his feet, walked furiously up and
down the patio, kicking at the turf.
"Damn this vile heat!" he cried.
Yes, it was a fearsomely hot day, even worse
than usual. Dan particularly felt oppressed by it
in the stuffy narrow room crammed with noisy ar-
guing Romanys. Besides, Clem had lied. There
were four negroes present, and their peculiar Afri-
can smell, like sour hides decaying in sunlight, did
not help to sweeten things. The place stank like a


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81

coffin. The sweat and smoke and bad breath and
negro-odour made breathing painful even to him,
who was used to forecastles in the tropics and had
worked in the lower gun-decks during sea-fights
amidst the stink of sweat, blood, powder and fire.
At the head of the table, Esquemeling was stut-
tering his bad French, and the Romanys still inter-
rupted him, still leaped to their feet and shouted in-
comprehensible things, even knocking the liquor
over in their excitement. Dan stood it for a long-
time. He had given up asking questions because the
answers were usually as inexplicable as the uproar
itself; but now and then his interpreter during a
momentary lull became conscience-stricken and
would start to gabble at Dan. He stood this, also,
for quite a long time.
"Heem!" he cried, "him say, 'Non, non! we tak'
ze sheep and we goes right down sud, right don,
then oup to Katalina. No keel Morg-an, no time
waste. Jus' go!"
"Hey, there!" shouted Dan, "keep yer face outer
my drink! Didn't I tell ye afore! Now, lick that
wine off yer whiskers afore I tear 'em off!"
He muttered furiously to himself and flung half
the wine on the floor and half over the interpreter.
He then refilled his mug, took a drink, spat it out







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again, and after glaring around at the company,
finished it with a hearty swig.
Everybody was quiet for a second after that,
then a small Italian who had been awaiting his
chance for hours leaped to his feet, knocked over his
chair, and knowing no French, started to gabble in
broken English.
"I tell all o' yo," he cried, "that you are the
cowa, the crava, I tell you yo' talk too much
much, talka too much altogedder. We must tink
hard, non 4 vero! And how can we think when you
all noise, noise, noise! You just keepa quiet for one
mome and listen ter me, by Jesu, and see whatta I
gotta say, by Jesu .."
As nobody except Dan seemed to understand a
word of it, he was quietly pushed over and a tall
Frenchman started babbling. Dan, who had listened
gravely to the Italian's speech, now leaped to his
feet, deeply insulted.
"My Gord," he cried, "here's the fust feller ter
talk straight ever since I've been here and he was
crooked enough, blast it, and you kick him out!"
Esquemeling got up as peace-maker, but the lit-
tle Italian threw a loaf of bread at him and he
went down with a shout of "God verdomme!"
"God verdomme!" shouted Dan, taking up the
cry. He flung his mug of wine at a Frenchman
whose face he never had liked. Instantly, there was
a general fight. The Frenchman went straight back
over his chair, and screamed. Dan and the Swede
and the little Italian fought against the rest. They
put their backs against the wall and fought side by
side, muttering with ecstatic rage.
About ten of them clung to Dan like leeches;
he swung them around, banged them against the
wall, trampled on somebody's head, kicked the
teeth out of a fat Italian who was scrambling for
the door, and hurled another out of the window.
Andy saw him fall and jumped to his feet at
once. The mal lay on the ground with a broken
neck, twisted horribly, a trickle of blood to his chin
as if his mouth were stuffed with raspberry jam.
"Dan!" shouted Andy. "I'm coming, Dan!"
Dan heard the cry and it struck him to the
heart with sudden happiness.
There were four of them together now against
the Romanys. Dan saw the cross-eyed Norwegian
and made a leap at him. His hands gripped him by
the shoulders and crushed him against the stone
wall. But he was a big man and although badly
rattled by the fall, managed to bear up and catch
Dan a hearty clip under the jaw. It hurt. One
swipe-Dan used all his giant strength-and the
Norwegian was spitting blood and teeth, out of it.
Ah, the exultation of a good fight! It tingled
all along Dan's huge body. He shouted to see Andy
leap into the mob. He felt enormous strength in
every limb. He was a Titan, nothing could over-
come him. He felt it, he knew it.
The square-built Swede next to him was as mad
as he with the joy of battle. Together, the pair
were impregnable. They cleared the Romanys out
as if they cleared rats out of the room, and in their
excitement they even hurled their own ally, the
Italian, out of the window. Then, alone in the
midst of blood and wounded, Dan, Andy and Pete
shook hands.
"Ye're a boy!" said Dan. "You're a fine bully
young feller, Dutchy!"
The Swede said something in Swedish that
sounded friendly enough, so the three settled down
to the bottle and to singing songs, as that was the
only means of communication between them. They
had a good time of it, you may be sure, for they
were hot, thirsty, and felt very satisfied with the
afternoon's work.
When at last they rolled down the stairs-and
they literally did roll, shouting "Aheavo" as they
tumbled on to the pavement-they had finished every
bottle in the place and were out for more. It was
twilight. The sun was setting in a hubbub of gold
and red, a terrific red rose in the sky with petals
fading to dun at the edges.
Dan heaved himself up against the wall, and
spat accurately on to a mossy stone three feet off-
just to prove that he wasn't drunk.
After that he fell over, dragged himself to his
feet and made off down the street at a wild lollopy
rate that carried him over a hundred yards before
it tripped him up over a terrific yellow mongrel.
Andy, who was the soberest, helped him to his feet.
It was at this stage that they lost the Swede, who
evidently couldn't keep pace with them. At any
rate, they saw him no more.
"Ter 'ell with yer!" shouted Dan suddenly and
made off at a steady zig-zag pace, his own speed
keeping him upright. He ran twisted almost into a
right-angle, his head forward like a bird of prey
about to strike.
Andy followed as quickly as he could, calling
plaintively to him to stop.
Down narrow streets with never a pause went
Dan, shouldering and kicking people aside, now and
then lurching against a wall and ricochetting off,
but always running forward, urged on by his secret
purpose.
He reached the main plaza in which was Mor-
gan's head-quarters, and thudded heavily against the


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fountain topped with a saint walking on the backs
of dolphins. He breathed heavily, with great la-
bour, and stared down into the clean, clear water.
Then suddenly he doused his head with such force
that he struck his forehead and nose on the stone
basin and almost stunned himself.
He lay with his head under the cold water, let-
ting it run over his "open eyes, gurgle in and out of
his mouth and slide up his nostrils. It refreshed
him, washed a few of the drunken cobwebs away.
He wanted to get sober. He had a big job ahead of
him and must be clear-headed to meet it. He had
to kill Morgan and take Dofia Marina off. It was a
very big job, and he must be sober to do it. He
repeated that over and over to himself as the water
gushed around his sweaty face and soaked his thick
beard. Sober. He must be sober. Morg would be
sober and he must kill him. Curse the wine! Why
did he drink it? But he'd fix those Romanys, by
God! As he remembered the Romanys and heard
again in memory their squeals and saw their terror-
stricken faces, he bellowed with laughter as the
water fountained up about him as if he were a
whale. Hell, though, it had been good!
Andy stumbled up behind him, fell against him,
panting and groaning.
Dan lifted his wet scowling face and glared at
him, showing his teeth through the beard.
"Can't I ever get rid of yer?" he growled.
"Awwwsh!" He hawked loudly and spat into the
water. "You're worser than the itch, worser than
fleas. Won't ye ever leave me alone?" He fell back
into the plaza, steadying himself with almost terri-
fying abruptness.
"Worser than the itch!" he shouted, turning on
his heel and ran quickly over to Morgan's head-
quarters, bringing himself up to within an inch of
the wall.
"Oo's that?" He leered up at Jake Morris who
lounged against a pillar on guard, sucking his pistol-
barrel. "Aw, Jake, eh? Tha's all right. Leave et
ter me, Jake." He fell towards him, caught the pil-
lar with one great hand and swayed there. "Morg
in?" he asked.
"No," said Jake, "he ain't."
"Don't lie ter me," said Dan. "I ain't bobbed
so easy. I know ye all think I'm a mome, that ye
all laugh at me be'ind me back. Think I don't know
et! Go on with yer, yer bleedin' cullies. I know
all about et. But I'll show ye. I'll show ye, by
Gord!"
"Now, now, Dan, no more of this," said Jake,


lowering his pistol and half-cocking it. "Ye're
drunk."
"What ef I am drunk, eh? What's that gotter
do with et? Ye won't slip outer et that way. Is
Morg in?"
"I told yer he ain't in."
"And I tole ye yer was a liar."
He made a sudden spring at Jake and sent him
flying out on to the cobbles. Then he ran-he
ran-he couldn't walk-down to the curtained door
to his left that led into the patio. He swung through
and fell against one of the square pillars.
A glass lanthorn shone through the gloom above
Bledry's head. For a moment Dan thought him
Henry Morgan, and leaped up, shouting:
"I've got yer, have I! Got yer at last, ye ram-
pagin' bastard!"
"What the devil do you mean!" cried Bledry,
flushing with anger. "Get out of here!"
"Aw, et's you, is et!" jeered Dan. "I don'f want
you. Don't ye skeer yer little 'ead about it! It ain't
you. It's Morg!"


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He leered through the dark, gripping the pillar
under the arched gallery, seeking Harry Morgan;
then he looked behind and saw Clem who had run
out at the noise.
"Dan!" cried Clem. "What are you doin'?" He
was deathly white with rage and terror. "Come
here!" he cried.
"Clem, ye're the feller!" Dan grinned to see
him. "The very feller I want ter see. I tole yer
I'd come and git him. We'll have no more o' them
tricks, Clem. No good yer talking Them Romanys
o' yours ain't no good ter me. I'm doing it on me
own. Where's Morg?"
"He's not here. Get out!"
Bledry noticed that Clem's teeth were chatter-
ing, he saw the shaking fists and doughy whiteness
of his face.
"What do you know about this?" he asked
sternly.
Then Jake arrived, .red with fury, his pistol in
his hand. He leaped at Dan and brought the brass-
(Continued on Page 85)


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Panama Is Burning
(Continued from Page 83)
covered butt down with all his force. It made noise
enough to sound as if it had exploded. Dan turned
with a stupid look on his face, grunted, and fell flat
on to the marble floor.
"You haven't killed him?" asked Bledry.
"I hope so," said Jake, but even as he spoke he
was sorry. "Naw," he said, "he ain't hurt. It'd
take a axe ter kill Dan, he's got a skull like oak."
Bledry took the lanthorn down from the ceiling
and bent over the still figure. Andy, who until now
had kept in the shadows, crept forward, and the two
turned Dan over. He gazed up with open eyes, but
his breathing, although rasping and difficult, was
clear enough.
"No," said Bledry, "he's not badly hurt- The
fool. What's wrong with him? Does anybody
know?"
They were silent until Jake said: "I dunno. He
jest went daft all of a sudden and slung me into the
street. Knocked me flat fer a while till Andy here
bathed me face in the fountain. He came howlin'
along fer the captain. Andy oughter know, he was
with him."
"I know nothing," said Andy. "He was drinking'
all day with that Dutchy, Esskermailing, or what-
ever his name is, and a mob o' greasy Romanys.
And then he gits inter a fight with them. Arter that
he jest went daft as ef the moon had got him, and
made fer here. I know nothing more'n ye do."
"Is that true, Andy?" said Bledry slowly, lifting
the lanthorn and gazing into his face.
"On me 'onour!" said Andy earnestly, gazing
back at him. "Ye can eat me liver ef I'm lyin'."
"There's no need to do that," said Bledry with
a faint smile. "I believe you, my man. But, Clem,
you're the fellow who seems to know the most."
"Me!" cried Clem with a great air of injured in-
nocence. "I know nothing. What the 'ell could I
know?"
Bledry stared at him, smiling. He knew per-
fectly well that Clem was mixed up in it somehow,
had probably sent Dan here, but he was too bored
to press the question.
"You're a damned bad liar, Clem," he said at
last. "Never mind. I'll settle with you some day.
The thing we've got to decide now is what to do
with Dan. If Harry catches him he's settled. And
somehow I don't really think that Dan's to blame
for this. What do you say, Jake?"


"Me?" said Jake. "I say let
over it. He's drunk."
"Good. Now, what are we
him?"


the poor lizard git

going to do with


They were silent, thinking deeply and gazing at
the unconscious Dan. A faint trickle of dark blood
ran from his matted hair on to the flags.
"I got it!" cried Jake suddenly. "The Taran-
tula's off ter-night to that damn monastery the cap
got wind of. Let him take Dan with him! They'll
be gorn fer about a week and that ought ter give
him time ter git over whatever's bitin' him."
"The very thing," agreed Bledry. "You and
Andy carry him off. Not you, Clem. You'd better
stay here. Send that black-shot out to clean up the
mess before Harry sees it."
"I don't think ye like me, cap," said Clem.
"I don't even think about you," said Bledry.
Clem leaned against a pillar and stared hard at
him as Jake anl Andy carried out Dan.
He waited until their steps had faded into si-
lence, smiling and rubbing his chin through his stub-
ble, then he said:
"You're a deep 'un, Cap'n Bledry, but yer
'eart's in the right spot. Rot me, ef it ain't! I'd
shake ye by the 'and ef ye'd let me. But I don't
eggspect yer to. Not the likes-of me, be Gord. But
I won't firgit this. You've done something fer me.
Wait till my. turn comes."
"I wish you'd get that negro," said Bledry,
slowly sitting back in his chair and yawning deli-
cately. "I want that blood off before the admiral
returns. Otherwise, there'll be trouble."
"Ye're right!" said Clem. "I'll have et cleaned
up in two shakes. Don't you worry, cap'n. He won't
be in the least suspicious."
"I'm not worrying," said Bledry meaningly.
But Clem was gone. Bledry heard him outside
shouting for Quaco, and sighed. His one feeling was
of intense relief that Harry wasn't home. Harry
was so bombinating, he would have undoubtedly
killed that poor drunken wretch of a Dan and prob-
ably would have skinned that rascal Clem. Not-
that Clem didn't deserve it. There wasn't the least
doubt in Bledry's mind that Clem was fermenting a
mutiny of some kind and had managed to destroy
Dan's loyalty. His obvious terror, white face and
twitching hands, was too clear a sign, besides the
stray mysterious remarks Dan had made to him.
Bledry, however, preferred to ignore it. He didn't
want any fuss. He knew that Harry was capable of
dealing with any situation when it arose. Let him
deal with it. Bledry had infinite faith in Harry; all


he wanted himself was a quiet life.
He wanted a quiet life so badly that he was
even very annoyed when Quaco came to wash out
the blood. He got up petulantly and walked to the
fountain to bathe his wrists-the surest method of
staying cool-and scowled at the cringing negro.

CHAPTER XII

INTO THE NIGHT
IN a small plaza to the east of the city, near to the
great church of San Anastasius and within sound
of an angry sea, the Tarantula was gathering his




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men. Half a dozen of them held up torches that
roared like miniature whirlwinds and seemed striv-
ing to tear themselves out of the men's grip. The
red glare splashed over half-naked bodies lying or
lounging around, quarrelling and grumbling. The
Tarantula sat on a bony horse in the centre, next
to the iron pump, and leaned forward to talk to his
lieutenant, a tall broken-nosed ruffian called Tom-
my Cowles, who had a mighty sword hanging down
one side and a silver-mounted pistol the other.
Cowles was in a fierce mood, angry at having been
dragged from the brandy-bottle and a jolly negress.


He scowled and spat and dug his hands into his
sash, eager for a quarrel.
"What I don't see," he growled between spits,
"is what the flamin' ruddy 'ell we're going out at
night fer. There's cats round here as big as a man
and there's snakes thicker, be Gord, than a oak.
I've seen 'em. And I weren't drunk neither."
"Shut yer grumblin'!" snarled the Tarantula,
rapping him on the skull with his iron-hilted whip.
"I'm cap'n here and don't ye make no mistake about
et. I'm a night-bird, I am, I'm a owl. I can see
inter the dark. I learned et from wimmin. We're


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going in the night, Tommy, 'cause the more time
we waste the more time they've got ter carry their
gold ter the coast."
"We'll never get a inch beyond the town,"
growled Tommy.
"You won't," said the Tarantula, "if ye don't
shut up. Hullo, hullo! 'Oo comes here? 'Oo's
funeral? Hats off everybody."
It was nobody's funeral. It was Jake and Andy
carrying Dan. They were very tired and sweated
as if they'd swum a mile. With great sighs of re-
lief they slung the still unconscious figure on to the
flags and wiped their faces.
"This ain't no buryin'-ground!" shouted the
Tarantula, bouncing up and down on his horse.
"What a omen ter bring to a expedition what's go-
ing out ter them cats bigger'n a man! What ye
mean by et, Jake, ye lizard!"
"Here's a feller I want ye to carry off with yer,"
said Jake, stepping over to him. "Get rid o' thar
flat-nosed sausage. I got something private ter say
to yer."
"'Oo's a flat-nosed sausage?" shouted Cowles,
delighted at the prospect of a row.
"You are!" said the Tarantula, kicking at him.
"Move off when ye're told, yer scum! Jake and
me's got a secret."
Growling like a thwarted beast, Cowles moved
off to kick his men about and to punch the heads
of the mules and pack-horses.
"I want yer ter take this man with yer," said
Jake, as the Tarantula leaned a great ear like a
mouldy fungus down towards him. "It's Dan. He's
a friend o' yours, ain't he? Ye wouldn't like ter
see him getting' murdered, now, would yer?"
But the Tarantula wasn't too sure. He sucked
his teeth; and the tic rolled up the skin of his face
then kicked it flat. 'Ooo's doing the killing? he
asked. "I don't like interferin' with another fell-
er's pleasures."
"Morg."
"Why, what's he done ter Morg? I thought he
was one of his pets."
"So did I. But all I knows is this-this fla-
min' fool here, he comes along ter-night thirsin' fer
Morg's blood. So I smacked him on the costard. I
don't want Morg ter kill him. Dan's allus been a
good feller. So I jest thought ye might take him
off with yer ter cool him down like."
"Well, I'll take him," said the Tarantula grudg-
ingly. "If there's goin' ter be any killing' around I
allus like ter be one o' the crowd. I'll keep him
quiet till we gets back; then I'll be in with the fun.


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Sling him onter one of them mules over there. Tom-
my. git the men inter line. We're off, boys!".
Grumbling under his breath, Tommy Cowles
ordered the men into line, kicked some of the more
drunken to keep them quiet, and generally made
himself objectionable and an obstruction to the
whole party, while Dan was heaved up on to a
mule.
"I'm goin with him," said Andy.
Jake put his hand on his shoulder, almost tend-
erly. "No," he said, "don't. The Tarantula's a bit
mad, ye know, and likes ter give his men the devil's
own time."
"I don't care," said Andy. "Dan's my mate."
"Better leave him alone," said Jake. "He'll git
over et quicker without you bein' there ter remind
him of what a blamed fool he's been. Leave a man
alone among new faces and he takes on a new face
hisself."
So Andy did not go with Dan. He stood in the
plaza until it was deserted, until the last of the ex-
pedition had disappeared into the night, the mules'
hoofs had rattled to silence and the cries of the men
become one with the soughing of the wind and the
booming of the sea.
He felt very lonely, stood by himself a moment
or two, then strolled off down the narrow streets
until he reached the big square tower of San Anas-
tasius with the copper cross. He paused and gazed
up at its dizzy height-a solid block of ebony, it
seemed, with the stars clustered around it like a
jewelled crown.
Then he passed it and went out on to the beach,
near the great stone spit, where the city met the
sea. And there he sat, on the sand, drew his legs
under him and gazed out gloomily over the water.
It was crinkled with moonlight and gashed with
streaks of foam where it tumbled over the sunken
reef. To his right the lights of Panama bubbled
like a nest of fireflies, and before him the vast un-
known Southern Sea tumbled playfully up the green-
grey sands in the moonlight and cooled his feet.
Small crabs came from their holes that were set in
little pyramids of sand as if blown up out of the
earth, and they scurried along the beach on all
legs, adroitly avoiding nets of seaweed. Andy
caught a clump of the weed and crushed the green
berries-like gooseberries, they seemed-and found
pleasure in the sudden pops they made when they
burst and squelched cold water on his fingers. He
was terribly lonely.
And far away in the jungle, Dan groaned on
his mule, wondering what the hell had happened to
him. He saw men's faces, heard their laboured
breathing, their moans and curses. And around him
on all sides stretched the jungle with its stagnant
smell, its curious night-noises-sudden wailing of
a bird and the screams of a wounded beast under
the claws of puma or jaguar. But that was very
rare. It was the enormous silence of the jungle
that engulfed him.
t He sat up suddenly, lurched and swayed on the
mule.
What had happened? Where were they going?
Was the whole dream over, was Panama finished
with and were they gong back to Jamaica? What
had happened? Where was Dofia Marina? Where
wgs Morg?


He tumbled off his mule and fell against some
man who shouted angrily at him.
"No 'arm, mate," said Dan. "Didn't mean ter
'urt ye."
"But ye did. Why, it's Dan! What the 'ell are
you doin' here? I'm Jim, Jim Crane."
In the darkness the men gripped hands and
laughed.
"What are we doin'?" asked Dan. "Where we
goin'?"
"How the 'ell do I know? Jest one of the Ta-
rantula's games. There's some ruddocks hidden in
some damned monastery somewhere. And we've
gotter get 'em. That's all I know."
"How did I come ter join?" asked Dan. "I
don't remember nothing."
"I don't remember much," chuckled Jim. "I
was pretty blind."
"I must have been bloody blind," said Dan.
He remembered being with the Romanys and
fighting the Romanys. Yes, up to that, everything
was comparatively clear. There was a Dutchy mix-
ed up in it, too. Fine fellow, he was. What did
he have to do with it? There was a fight. And
Andy was in it, too. But what happened afterwards?
It was black, as black as this night. Somebody must
have knocked him on the head and brought him
here. He felt his head, the clotted blood, the mat-
ted hair. It ached like hell. Who could have done
it? Morg? Of course! Wanted to get him out of
the road, did he? Frightened, was he? Wanted
the girl to himself, eh? Well, we'd see about that.
We'd just see.
At the moment he could do nothing. It was so
confoundedly dark that all he could do was to fol-
low the rump of the man ahead of him, and when
he lost that, to keep as close as he could to the walk-
ing-noises. Wait until they stopped for a rest. He'd
tell the Tarantula he was leaving, he'd go straight
back, get Morg alone and see exactly what he was
up to. You couldn't bob Dan aside that way. By
God, you couldn't! He'd show 'em!
Curse this head! It felt as if it were going to
explode. If only the dull aching would stop he
might remember what had happened, but every
time he tried to think his brain smacked him on
the forehead from inside. At least, it felt like that
-as if a gun went off inside every time he tried to
think. Now what had he done ? bang! After
the fight ? bang! Had Morg ? bang! How
could a man remember with that going on all the
time?
So he gave it up and just plodded along beside
Jim and behind the rump of the man ahead.
The jungle rustled around them like a beast
bracing itself to spring. Creepers, bunches of faded
colour, tapped against Dan's face; he stumbled over
roots and against big trees whose tops he couldn't
see in the mist of blackness; he heard the monkeys
talking, and once caught the blur of a capuchin's
white scared face as he glibbered and smacked his
belly in a hive of leaves.
Jim had a bottle of wine slung over one shoul-
der, and Dan drank a good pint of it. It made him
feel much better, gave him strength and optimism.
He kicked aside the weeds and bushes that tried
to trip him up and almost laughed aloud at the
(Continued on Page 89)


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CANADA -JAMAICA


To Our Mutual Prosperity!

Canada produces many commodities and manufactures many
articles which for quality are unexcelled.

Jamaica, on the other hand, produces many products which are
not indigenous to Canada and which find a ready market among the
Canadian people.

Trade between these two countries is mutually beneficial and
practically non-competitive.


It can be further stimulated and increased.


Canada's interest in maintaining mutually advantageous trade with
Jamaica has been practically demonstrated through the establishment of
regular steamship service, both from Atlantic and Pacific ports.

The holds of these vessels should be full both ways.


Canadian Trade Commissioner at Jamaica:
F. W. FRASER, Kingston


DEPARTMENT OF TRADE & COMMERCE
OTTAWA, CANADA


Hon. H. H. STEVENS
Minister


JAMES G. PARMELEE, O.B.E.
Deputy Minister


Unloadies a Carso of n







1934-35


Panama Is Burning
(Continued from Page 87)
thought of what he'd do when he got back. When
he got back. ...
Travelling at night in such Jungle was like
walking through a solid block of black marble vein-
ed with mauve and green where the moonlight drip-
ped through the leaves. The big cats that Tommy
Cowles was so terrified of, the pumas and jaguars,
fled at their noisy approach, for they were timid
creatures. They clawed the trees and gazed, well
hidden, at these strange two-legged beats cutting
their way through lianas and bushes; they slid
through the high saw-grass and waited, head for-
ward over the touching paws as if they prayed. But
nothing dared attack. Nature drew back in terror
fnom these human beasts. Snakes slid through the
brushwood or curled themselves in boles of trees
amongst a muddle of vines. Only fierce little black
ants showed fight and sometimes attacked; they and
the mosquitoes. Parrots, awakening suddenly,
screamed and bristled their bright green, red and
yellow combs, and sharpened their claws upon the
branches; monkeys, cowed and huddled together,
gave sudden howls and chattered. And alligators
in the pools wafted themselves towards the banks,
lifted their snouts, coughed, and waited for game.
The jungle waited for a sign. These strange
two-legged beasts could have been crushed in a se-
cond, but they were alien, suspect. The jungle held
off.
"Hey, curse yer!" shouted Dan, recoiling from
a mushy fungus on the white bole of a tall tree.
"Hey, when we goin' ter rest, eh? When we goin'
ter stop?"
"When them big cats get yer," groaned Tommy
Cowles.
"When I tell ye to," said the Tarantula, "and
that ain't yet."
So on they went, piercing through what seemed
endless slabs of night, without moon or even sky
above them, trapped it seemed in this vast terrible
jungle.
Dawn at last burst through the east, flared its
mauves and pinks and delicate greens, like a lump
of coral hurled through a black paper-hoop. And
sunlight slid its grease over the great trees and fell
in rods of gold into the depths of the jungle.
The jungle awoke with a tumultuous upheaval
of delight. All the birds and parrots screamed to-
gether, the monkeys howled, and the big cats crept
away, scared, to their dens. The jungle awoke to
welcome the dawn, and the buccaneers glowered at
the noise and snarled because they were tired.
The Tarantula held up his skinny arm, and at
last they stopped and glared at him.
"Yaws," said the Tarantula, "pitch yer tents in
this nice clean clearing. We're going ter have a
couple o' hours asleep."
"A couple o' hours!" growled a leather-faced
ruffian. "I want a week's."
"Ye'll have a lifetime's ef ye don't shut up!"
said the Tarantula and lit his cigar.
He sat on a tree-stump, pulled at his long nose,
and spat. He was one of those men who know
nothing of fatigue. He was not particularly mus-
cular; he was, in fact, thin, but there were extra-
ordinary reserves of strength in his lean hide.
A spider monkey tossed its long limbs and peer-
ed through the leaves at him; then a contemptuous
macaw fluttered down, grumbling away, and ruffled
its gorgeous plumage straight above the Tarantula's
head. He leered up at it, his face screwing in that
funny tic, then bursting into wrinkles like a releas-
ed spring.
"Ye shut up!" he said softly to the macaw, "or
I'll eat yer."
But the macaw still grumbled and talked to
itself.
With the dawn came colour. Trees and creepers
flamed into masses of scarlet and yellow, white and
lilac. Birds and animals woke up, yawned, and
went about their business. Even the eagles and
vultures opened one eye, then ducked their heads
down azain between the enfolding wings. In all
that wild life, only the buccaneers prepared for
sleep, taking blankets off the mules and spreading
them on the hard ground and the ants, collecting
dry bracken for beds and pillows.
Dan lounged up to the Tarantula, leaned on a
decaying dwarf-palm, picked off a dusty frond and
slowly broke it and crushed it into powder between
his thick fingers.
"How long's this trip going ter last?" he asked
idly, giving the Tarantula a quick look from under
his brows.
"Until we git there," said the Tarantula, grin-
ning, his face wriggling with the tic. "Homesick,
Dan? And we've jest started! Ye've got a long
way yet ter go. If we ain't lorst and don't waste
no time we oughter be back within a week."
"Aw, 'ell," said Dan, and kicked the palm,
watching the ants scurry out. "I hate this jungle!"
he snarled suddenly. "I like people, I do! I never
wanted ter come on this damned expetishon."


PLANTER S' PUNCH



FORGING AHEAD


MR. A. C. SAWARD


MR. A. C. SAWARD, A.M.I.A.E. (Associate of the
Institute of Automobile Engineers), is still
quite a young man having been born in 1900, but his
success as a businessman shows what energy and
ability can achieve even though one has not yet
reached what is known as middle age.
Mr. Saward resolved to become an engineer, and
in 1919 decided that the best method of achieving
his ambition was to begin from the bottom. So he
worked for several years at Luton (England) in
automobile works, while at the same time devoting
himself to the theoretical part of his life's work by
taking a London Degree in engineering. He was
subsequently elected an Associate of the Institute of
Automobile Engineers of England.
In 1925 Mr. Saward accepted the post which he
now holds with the Birmingham Small Arms Com-
pany, Limited, as their delegate for the northern
part of South America and the West Indies, and in
the following year (1926) came to Jamaica in the
interest of his firm. Seeing that there was scope for
popularising the products of the Birmingham Small
Arms Company in Jamaica he, along with some
local people, floated the Company of which he is
now the head, namely, the B.S.A. Agency, Limited.
In 1931 he acquired the interests of the other share-
holders, and due to his energy and ability, the busi-
ness has developed under his management until at
the present time it is supplying the island's require-
ments with a large percentage of the automobile
accessories, bicycles and tyres used here.
Mr. Saward has also introduced into the island
Mutual Insurance for motorists, which has proved of
great benefit to the motor using public. He is attor-
ney for the National Employers' Mutual General
Insurance Association, Limited, a company which
was formed in London in 1913 by a group of indus-
trialists to cover themselves against claims under
the Workman's Compensation Act. As this is a
Mutual concern there are no shareholders' dividends
to be paid and all the profits are divided amongst
the policyholders. From 490 received as income by
the Company in 1914, the revenue received last year
amounted to 817,569, a most remarkable growth.
Mr. Saward is of the type of Englishman whom
Jamaica wishes to see here. He has already made
a name for himself in Jamaica and will make a
bigger name as the years go by.


"Why! ye begged o' me ter take yer last night!
Ye was crying fer et!"
Dan walked up and down a few paces, digging
his toes into the ants and frowning to stop the clat-
tering inside his head. A butterfly with wide black-
and-yellow wings clumsily piloted its fat black body
into his face. He miade a grab at it, but missed.
"Lookee!" he cried suddenly. "I'm getting' out-
er this. I ain't stayin' another minute. I'm goin'
back ter Panama.
"All right," said the Tarantula with a heavy
smile. "Git! First turning to the right, once ter
the left, then keep plumb on. Yer can't miss et ef
the big cats miss you."
Dan gaped at him. "I'd get lorst," he said.
"Of course ye'd get lorst," said the Tarantula
with relish. "Getting lorst is nice in this hyar
jungle. You jest ask Tommy Cowles about them
(Continued on Page 90)


Samuel & Co.

WHOLESALE

Dry Goods Merchants
13T HARBOUR STREET.




"Reliability" is the slogan of this

Old and reputable House,

and which has gained for it

the confidence of the Public

and that measure of success it

enjoys.


Our Customers can RELY on a

square deal.


They can RELY on being able

to obtain the latest goods of

every description from our ex-

tensive stock of Merchandize

and Footwear.


They can RELY on our goods

being priced at the lowest pos-

sible margin of profit.


They can RELY on getting the

very freshest goods.


They can RELY on the greatest

care in filling orders and in

despatch.


They can RELY on the most

courteous attention.


They can RELY on our appre-

ciation and thanks for past

patronage and we RELY on a

continuance of same.





SAMUEL & CO.

131 HARBOUR STREET.







PLANTERS' PUNCH


Panama Is Burning
(Continued from Page 89)
big cats. He's like a walking' almanac about 'em.
He's frightened o' getting scratched, the poor little
feller."
Dan gazed around at the menacing wall of
jungle, at the trees bursting into foliage overhead;
this jungle was between him and Panama, noisy
with monkeys and parakeets, with snorting toads
and helping toucans, with the silent big-eyed pumas
and lean, gold-flushed jaguars. He thought of

l1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111
_


-ALEXANDER DOLPHY


S& SONS,

S ORANGE & TOWER STS.

SKINGSTON, JAMAICA, B.W.I.



COMMISSION MERCHANTS
S MANUFACTURERS' REPRESENTATIVES
IMPORTERS & SUPPLIERS |

OF -

SPROVISIONS

GROCERIES

SSPIRITS

I STOCK-FEED -



CABLE ADDRESS "ALICK" JAMAICA.

1111111111111111111111iIi ii11111111111111111111111111111111111111


swamps moving with starved leeches and quivering
above the alligator; of snakes writhing through
brushwood or hanging like warm, slimy bell-ropes
from the trees, flat heads like lanthorns burning
through jewelled eyes. Starvation. And hostile In-
dians leaping like monkeys in the trees, creeping
through the undergrowth. .
"Ye can't let me die like that!" he cried.
"I don't care twopence how we die!" said the
Tarantula. "Now, leave me alone. I'm going ter
sleep. Goo' night!"
"Ter 'ell with yer!" snarled Dan, and flung him-
self on the hard earth, grinding his teeth with rage.
He almost wept, he was so angry. But he was also
exhausted. Even his anger could not keep him
awake, and soon he slept.
Tommy Cowles had lit a huge fire in the centre
of the clearing, and that perhaps kept the big cats
at bay. But not the monkeys. They swung through
the trees, hundreds of them, and roosted above the
sleeping buccaneers, most excited about these
strange visitors who slept in daylight and walked
at night.

CHAPTER XIII

A LITTLE WALK, A LITTLE TALK .
TH ERE was something about Bledry's manner
that worried Morgan. He had a curious kind
of knowing smile, and a nasty habit of looking at
him from the corners of his eyes at unexpected mo-
ments. It was disquieting, as if the fellow knew
all about you, had found out some dirty secret. But
always there had been a barrier between them. The
bond of blood could not wipe out that barrier, and
often Morgan regretted that he had not brought
Charlie Morgan with him instead. Charlie was a
boisterous, rum-guzzling, fightable, laughing ruffian
after Morgan's own heart. He was completely dif-
ferent from Bledry, but Bledry was utterly unlike
a Morgan. He was reserved, quietly spoken, had in-
explicable moods and even did not seem particularly
to enjoy drinking. He was the black sheep of the
family, a suspiciously cuckoo-egg in the otherwise
healthy, roaring, drinking, fighting nest. Morgan
was rather proud of his reputation, proud of being
Morgan. He knew that he was called Devil Morgan,
Black Morgan, and gloried in it. But, underneath,
he was a good man. He believed in God, in having
only one wife and in going to church on Sundays,
.which is far more than most West Indian Britishers
believed.
But Bledry, now ... it -waZ queer. It was almost


frightening. As they sat at breakfast, Morgan
watched him. Even their breakfasts showed the
gulf between them. Here, himself had a large chunk
of pork, three eggs, two chops and a glass of lamb's-
wool-ale mixed with the pulp of roasted crab-apples
-with bread and marmalade to follow. Bledry, like
a woman, pecked at three rusks fried in honey and
sipped a dish of chocolate. It wasn't right. Even
his breakfast was all wrong.
"What are you smiling for?" he asked sudden-
ly, pouncing on him like one of Tommy Cowles's,
big cats, leaning over the breakfast-table in the pa-
tio and pointing with his yellow-stained knife, while
the servant, Evan Davis, cleared the used plates
away. "You were grinning all last night, and here
you are at it again!"
Bledry started back, put down his cup with a
clatter and stared at his cousin.
"Why, what do you mean?" he cried. "You're
smiling yourself!"
"Am I?" said Morgan, a trifle disconcerted, and
the smile disappeared. "You're a funny beggar," he
said at last. "Damme if I can make you out."
"I'm simple enough, Harry. I was merely smil-
ing. I didn't even know I did it. As a matter of
fact, I was thinking about Jamaica, wondering what
Modyford'll do when we turn out."
"Modyford! Hm! He'll do what I tell him."
"Even though peace is declared?"
"Yes, even though peace is declared."
After that there was no more talking. Morgan
did not like being reminded of the one midge in his
rum, the fact that he was privateering against His
Britannic Majesty's friend, the Romany. Governor
Modyford had sent a letter to recall him, but he
could always say he never received it. That saved
both their faces. But there were many legal rats
who hated him in Jamaica, they'd all snap their
quills in making an infernal fuss, writing home to
England. Wellin, for example, the fat-headed lump
of a catfish, with the snivelling, grumbling, gossip-
ing wife. And that damned Lynch who was after
the plum, the Governorship in Modyford's place.
Harry Morgan had many enemies in Jamaica, and
although he was by no means afraid of them, he
preferred to leave trouble alone until he came to
it. When he got back to Port Royal there'd be the
Lord's own hell of an uproar. He knew it. Certain-
ly, he knew it. Well, then-keep quiet! Don't talk
about it! Wait till he got to Port Royal and saw
Modyford and the Assembly at Spanish Town, then
see what happened .
Bledry's smile pursued him wherever he went.


1934-35







1934-35 PLANTERS' PUNCH 91


It had nothing to do with Governor Modyford, he
felt sure; yet Bledry had such a peculiar sense of ETHELHART HOTEL
humour that he might even think it laughable to be ETHELHART HOTEL
strung up as a pirate on the swamps at Gallows
Point. But that smile betokened something else. MONTEGO BAY.
What? He had something up his sleeve, he knew
something, some secret. And again, what?
Oh, to the devil with it! Harry Morgan work- One of the best
ed hard, kicked his men about, tortured SpaniartId
until they talked, and fought the Great Fire. The Hotels to stay at
Great Fire was now not so great; it had gorged it-
self and seemed satiated. But it had done incal- in Jamaica.
culable damage. Over three-quarters of the city was
ashes, and what remained would fetch almost noth-
ing. The cathedral by the sea had withstood much Ra s per Day
damage, mainly because of its own strong walls, but
the Genoese house near by was no longer there. The Eo withPrate Bath
fire had eaten up whole streets. Morgan had man- 25/-
aged to keep it from the main plaza where his own
headquarters were, but that was about the only ETHEL M. HART
valuable spot saved. He rode one afternoon through Proprietress,
the smouldering streets with his secretary, Peke, toProp
assess the damage, and it smote his heart to see the THE LOUNGE.
black husks of houses, the heaps of dirty debris
where priceless furniture and paintings had once
been, the stretches of stinking wood and stone as if
a giant had trampled the place to powder. It was
terrible.
He was drunk all that day.
It was the next day that he saw Dofia Marina
again for the first time since he had kicked Bledry
out of her room. She came suddenly into the pa-
tio in the early afternoon, escorted by the grinning
Sarah. She walked with head in air, completely ,
ignoring Morgan who sat up in his hammock and
rubbed his eyes for he had been dozing. *
She walked all the way around under the shelter
of the roofing, head in air, her white mantilla shiv-
ering like a huge moth on her head as the cool even-
ing wind came softly through the open roof. Mor-
gan watched her pass, concealed a moment by one 9,
wide square white pillar, then moving grandly in ,
the curved space under the arch, until another B. -,
square white pillar had hid her again. She com- a 9
pletely ignored him, fanned herself with a painted .1'C
parchment fan, and gazed slightly upwards. He
heard her panting in the heat when she passed his ,
hammock. Sarah, walking a little behind with her
needlework, gave him a libidinous glance from the .
corners of her fair eyes and smiled on one side of
her face. wr
"Hey!" said Morgan, startled.
But they were gone, had swept past him on '
their curious promenade. It had been a sudden
whim of Dofia Marina's, suggested by countless for- tE
gotten remarks of Sarah's. She had suddenly leap- IS
ed up off the bed, spilling a large box of avocat .0
pears, and crying: "Thees ees keeling me. I can
no' breathe. We must walk, Sarah mio." And so, Jamaica S N E F oured
here they were, walking, taking a little exercise ,ure
and trying to get cool. When Dofia Marina first
saw Morgan in his hammock, her little heart al- E, WTmi 9B
most stopped beating; then seeing that he made no ,w'
effort to touch or to speak to her, she felt contempt.e ,}
for him, murmured some slighting phrase under

she drew near to him, however, her heart seemed 9..
to thud like an anvil, she felt the breath catch in ,
her throat and almost stifle her. She feared that REAM PUNCH" SODA
she was as red as an apple. Then she was pastM PH CREAM O
him, fanning herself fiercely, with the cool night GINGER ALE CRUSHES, Etc.
wind whispering in her hair-for it was dusk, that GINGER ALE, CRUSHES, Etc.
momentary pause of tropical twilight before night
swoops up over the skyline with its retinue of stars. "
Morgan waited until she drew near again. He
felt tired and in need of company. Bledry was
away--God knew where. He felt very lonely. F ee IoB
She came nearer, like a great white peacock, for Df
her gown was of white satin-Sarah having brought, Manufactured by
her boxes over with Jake's help. War
"Hey," said Morgan, shifting in his hammock. E. Id Mn era terCo., .L
"Don't go running off. Sit down and have a chat."
She stopped a foot away, the fan up to her
mouth.
"You spik to me?" she asked softly, with a cer- .
Lain haughtiness. ,r*'
"Yes, of course," said Morgan, "sit down;" and
Jumped out of his hammock very politely. .
"I thank you," said she, "but, no, I weel seet ,
here, ef I may." lo 5'
"Sit where you like;" said Morgan, jumping PHONE 2251
back into his hammock that rocked and creaked PHONE
painfully under his weight. "And tell me all about *("
yourself. Have a drink?" He pulled up the Wine .,,
bottle from the table, together with a long thin ,
glass.
"I thank you, no," she said, and sat down slow-
ly in Bledry's cane chair, her satin dress rustling
and frothing around her as if, like Venus, she rose 1
up from a milky sea, for her shoulders were naked
under the mantilla, and gave no presumable sup-
port to her gown that was tight-fitting under the
armpits and showed off every curve of her firm
young figure.
"Mind if I smoke?" said Morgan, taking a cigar
from the table.
"I thank you, I do no' mind," she said primly.
Sarah edged up behind her and quietly lowered
(Continued on Page 938) M





PLANTERS' PUNCH


Headquarters, Kingston,

Ford Jamaica,


Car. B.W.I.



7 HIS December sees the completion of Our Twenty-five years
service to the Public as Dealers in Jamaica for the Famous
Ford Car. Last year we kept the Twenty-fifth Anniversary
of Our Appointment, when His Worship the Mayor of Kingston
and many other prominent gentlemen honoured us by their pre-
sence at a Small Social Function held as the Silver Jubilee of the
Ford Car in Jamaica.

"'E were also honoured by Mr. Henry Ford who sent to Mr.
0. K. Henriques an autograph letter of congratulation on
the auspicious occasion. The Ford Company also prepared
for us a Special Silver Car which His Worship the Mayor of
Kingston was good enough to unveil.

,"- I E desire to present our compliments
SHII to the Motoring Public of Jamaica
and to return to them our hearty
thanks for their unfailing support during a
quarter of a century.
%x 0 F. Searl.;aa
Ki[ t-c 4" uzitrial ".'.:-

... .UR business has been built up by con-
ooi... .: rt. 'stant personal attention to every de
ti' a "i ... .. '- f r ...... s a
: tail and we are glad to think that we
-u,.. ...... have advanced in our small way as the
r ..r whole Motor Car Business has advanced. It
-is interesting to note that the year we were
appointed Ford Agents the records show that
the total Motor Car imports into Jamaica amounted to less than
8,000, while in the last year for which figures are available, the total is
shown at over 80,000. We shall use our best endeavours in the
future, as in the past, to please our patrons and to give that ade-
quate service which alone spells success.


I


1934-35







PLANTERS' PUNCH


Good Merchandise #Good PricesoGood Service

form the basis of our island wide reputation.

CANADIAN NEWFOUNDLAND


FLOUR (BAKING & NO. 2 GRADES)
BRAN
SPLIT PEAS


DEMERARA
RICE


ENGLISH
MARGARINE
LARD COMPOUND
"PASTRO" COOKING FAT

**ROSE" BRAND
PICKLES
OLIVES

"DEL MAIZ"
NIBLETS
CORN (FANCY CREAM STYLE)
PEAS (GREEN GIANT)


We are fully equipped to satisfy

your requirements in the

commodities listed here.

We solicit your enquiries

WE ARE EAGER TO SERVE YOU.


Panama Is Burning

(Continued from Page 91)
herself on to a wooden stool. She winked at Mor-
gan suddenly, disconcertingly, so that he spilled
some of his wine.
"Pretty dull here for you," said Morgan after
a long pause. "Nothing much to do, is there? No
dances, no ruts, no gallants. Don't dance myself,
never cared for it somehow. There wasn't much
dancing where I came from. Too much work to be
done for young folk to go courting or such. I come
from Wales. Do you know it?"
"No," said she, "I haf nevah heard of et. Ees
eet a long way from here?"
Morgan started to laugh and his laughter got
mixed with the tobacco-smoke, so that he coughed
and choked.
"Long way from here!" he wheezed at last. "I
should say it was. It's next door to England."
"Oh," she said, "ees eet? I haf nevah seen your
countree."
"That's a pity. It's the grandest little spot on
God's earth-not that I don't suppose your Spain
isn't a grand country too. Been there, I suppose?"
She flushed, and for the first time a little ani-
mation came into her large dark eyes; her red lips
parted and opened as if heavy with blood, and show-
ed the small, brilliantly white teeth. Her hands
nestled together and she leaned a little forward.
"Ah!" she murmured ecstatically. "I hat ne-
vah seen et, not now. I hat alwiz lived here, in
Panama. Eet ees my home. My padre, fath-er, he
breeng me from there so young I do no' remember
noteeng, noteeng at all. But I luf eet, although
I remember noteeng. Castile and Aracon! Ah, I
haf heard often padre mio tell me of eet, he tell
me about eet, eet's mountains, its lofty houses, what-
you-say? catedrals? and the-you-know, the gardins.
Eet ees all so gay, so happee. Panama, eet ees pret-
tee, but et ees so very quiet. Oh, noteeng, noteeng,
evah happen here."
"Something's happened now!" said Morgan with
a laborious chuckle.
She stiffened. "Si," she said, "someteeng has
happened now," and was quiet.
She was thinking of her father, of that tall,
grey-bearded man with the stern mouth and narrow,
dark eyes who could be so cruel yet so tender. She
remembered him on that last day. He had been
very ill with erysipelas, and had been bled in the
morning. His face 'was scarlet almost, his long
hands shaking and his eyes shining like glass. He
came to her with the steel cuirass gleaming like a
mirror on his chest, helmet on, tossing with long
coloured plumes; behind him stood a soldier very
stiff, fondling the flag, the blood and gold of Spain,
with the long yellow and red tassels twining about
his wrist. "Do not be afraid," her father said to
her, "you are safe, amigo mio, this rabble will not
keep us long." He had kissed her then, softly on
the forehead-she could remember the hard grey
beard tickling her nose-he had taken both her little
hands in his shaking hands and had pressed them
lovingly together. Ah, Dios mio, was this the end?
Morgan shuffled in his hammock, puffed himself
into a blue cloud of tobacco-smoke that caught inside
him and sent him into a fury of coughing, while he
hammered on his chest, and spluttered..
"Damn," he said, "curse this cough. Had it for


years now. Hell, why are you so quiet? Dreaming
of Spain, Princess?"
"You talk to me?" she :asked, jarred out of her
dreams.
"Yes, you," said Morgan.
"I am no princesss" she said, "you mak' mee-
stake. I am noteeng like that. I am just the child
of a grandee. That ees all. You mak' meestake."
"Well," said Morgan, trying to be gallant, "it's
the kind of mistake any man might make. You look
like a princess, sitting there so grand and making
me feel all out of it. No, I'll call you princess whether
you are or not. You don't mind, do you?"
"I do no' mind, but eet eees wrong." Yet it
pleased her. This steel barbarian had some gallan-
try in him. He was not completely soulless. "You
must no' theenk such theengs of me. Eet ees varah
wrong," she said solemnly,
"No, no," said Morgan, beginning to enjoy him-
self. He'd show Bledry that he wasn't the only
gentleman in the family.
"You look just like a princess," he said. "I've
never seen one, but you're like the pictures I've seen
of them. I bet you are a princess really."
She even giggled a little at that-so did Sarah.
"You mak' beeger meestake," said Dofia Marina,
with a twitch of a smile on her full lips. "No, I am
what you see, noteeng else. You are all wrong."
"Shrew me," said Morgan, tossing in his ham-
mock, chuckling and feeling mighty proud of him-
self. "If I believe you. You're cozening me, that's


BLAKE HOUSE


I' 1


what you're doing. If you aren't a princess you're
going to be one."
"How can that be?" she asked softly.
"You can marry a prince!" he said archly, with
deep chuckles.
Dofia Marina flushed. "I can no' tell," said she,
"what the good God hold for me. But I do no' tink
that ees so."
"It is!" said Morgan. "I'm telling you now!"
"Have you got a pack of cards?" cried Sarah,
rising up suddenly and startling both of them. "I
can tell fortunes."
"That's the stuff, girl!" cried Morgan, sitting up.
"I want to know if King Charlie's going to hang me
or knight me. Just go outside and kick that big-
footed soot-faced negre. He's sure to have some."
Sarah rustled excitedly away, chirping like a
bird. And now that they were alone, an embarrassed
silence settled on Dofia Marina and Morgan. They
flushed and sighed and looked away. Morgan hum-
med a tune right down the back of his throat and
poured himself a glass of wine. He was actually
bashful, he was delighted to find. It excited him, to
find a new emotion of this sort. He was really en-
joying himself, and when at last Sarah returned with
Jake Morris he hailed them with a great shout of de-
light and quickly pulled the bottle and glass from the
table to make room for the game.
"Come on!" he shouted. "The lass's going to tell
us what is going to happen when we get back to Jam-
my. Sit down, Jake."


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1934-35


Grinning, Jake sat down on the tall wooden
chair, while Sarah drew up her stool to be in the cen-
tre of the group. With a face so solemn that it set
Morgan off laughing, she carefully ran her fingers up
and down the sides of the pack and shuffled the cards.
Then she set them carefully on the table, backs up,
and turned to Dofia Marina.
"Cut," she said.
"Er?" said Dofia Marina. "What you mean?
What ees cut? I haf no knife."
And when they laughed at her, she blushed and
smiled with embarrassment, while Sarah explained
what she meant.


"Oh, you meaned break them?" said Dofia Marina,
and broke them.
"Now, take three cards," said Sarah briskly, "and
give them ter me. No, take 'em off the top. Oh,
Lord love me! Look at what ye've got! Here, now's
the ace of diamonds. Tut, tut, money! And here,
right next ter it, is you, the Queen of Picks. Yer're
dark, see?"
"A queen!" cried Morgan, slapping his thigh. "I
thought she was only a princess!"
Dofia Marina flushed happily and Sarah gave him
a reproving glance to keep him quiet.
"And here," she said, "is the Ten of Hearts.


There's love one side, and money the other. That's
all yours."
"Money!" cried Morgan, rubbing his hands, "she's
rolling in it! She's got more treasure than you could
eat, my girl. Jewels, ruddocks. Her papa's hid a
chestful."
Sarah ignored him, and went on, "See the Dia-
mond's the money, and the Queen's you. There's
money behind yer and all the love in the pack ahead
of you! Now, gimme three more!"
"Seeley cards," murmured Dofia Marina, but her
hands trembled as she passed three more.
"Ah!" cried Sarah, rolling her eyes and licking
her full lips. "Look at what ye've got!" And slowly
she put a King of Diamonds on the table, and smiled
up into their faces, purring like a cat. "A big fair
man, a king in his own way! Oh, ho, me lady! That's
the pair ter yer Queen! And now, here's the Ace o'
Hearts right next ter him! Love! Ooo, ye're going
ter be so happy! And now, this is the Three of
Spades. Ye're not going to be altogether so happy.
There's a death here, but it ain't yours."
"What does eet all mean?" asked Dofia Marina.
"I can no' understand eet."
"Wait a minute. Give me the pack while I
shuffle 'em all together agin. No, this is the final
go. This is yer real fortune. Gimme three. That's
right. Ooo!" she cried and clapped her hands. "Look
at this!" And slowly, one by one, she set on the
table the Queen of Clubs, the Ace of Hearts and the
King of Diamonds. "What do ye think of that,
now?"
Dofia Marina stared at them, flushing deeply.
She was terrified of them. Herself and a big fair
king-they had come together twice!
"I can guess who the big man is!" said Sarah
roguishly, and she smiled from Dofia Marina to Mor-
gan.
Dofia Marina saw that smile and it stabbed her
heart. A feeling of terror came over her as if she
were trapped. She couldn't understand it. Those
cards, those terrible cards, seemed to threaten some-
thing incredibly vile.
She stood to her feet, almost choking.
"Hey!" said Morgan. "Don't go!"
But she was already gone. She walked quickly
past him before he even realized that she had stood
up.
Sarah rose and swept the cards into a heap. She
leaned over close to Morgan and smiled into his face.
She was so close that he could smell her breath, tart
yet pleasant, on his nostrils; her eyes were blurred
blue velvet, and- her teeth between the pale lips
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ed. Her little tongue suddenly showed its pink curl-
ed-up tip between the rows of white teeth like some
impish, wet little animal.
"It's your fortune too, as much as hers!" she
said, and with a jolly tremolo laugh ran from the
patio, gathering up her skirts so as not to trip on
them.
"What do you think of that now?" cried Morgan,
amazed.
"I'm surprised," said Jake, "and horrified. I like
that gal. I never thought she had it in her. I won-
der 'oo could have learned her? She can troke bet-
ter'n me."
"She wasn't troking, you disbelieving hound!
And to prove it, I'll play a hand with you."
"Right! what'll we play? Trump, sant or Span-
ish Triumph?"
"None of 'em. We'll play primero."
And primero they did play, whilst upstairs,
Dofia Marina was pacing her chamber and talking
fiercely to a defiant Sarah.
"I tell yer," said Sarah, "how can yer blame me
fer what the cards said? It weren't my fault. You
shouldn't have chosen those 'uns."
"I nevah knewed what they meaned! I would
nevah haf peecked them! Oh, I could keel myself.
What will he theenk? Oh, those wickit cards! I
could tear all of them up into leetle pieces!"
"Why, what's wrong?" said Sarah, "don't yer
like ter knew yer fate?"
"Eet ees not my fate!" almost screamed Dofia
Marina. "Nevah you say that once more to me! I
will no' haf eet. You are a wickit girl!"
She flung herself on to the bed and burst into
tears.
Sarah shrugged her shoulders, then stole to the
window to breathe in the fresh air and to try to hear
what Morgan and Jake said below.
They were squabbling over the cards.
"Hell!" Morgan was shouting. "You're troking,
you hound! These cards are cornifiered sharper than
nettles. Feel the edge. And look at this 'un. Sticks
out half a mile. Somebody's used it for a bung so
that he could get his nippers on it like you were do-
ing."
"What did I tell yer!" cried Jake. "They're corni-
flered so much that they cut yer finger. What's the
bung?"
"There are two bungs."
"What are they?"
"Queen of Picks and King of Hearts!"
Sarah quietly shut the window on Jake's roar of
laughter. She chuckled at her secret, they had taken


her a whole day, those cards, scraping down the
edges ready for an occasion like this. But it had
made good sport. She smiled at the figure of her
mistress, Dofia Marina, stretched full-length on the
bed, sobbing in a dull way like an animal, with occa-
sional little yelps.
She took up her sewing and sat in a large com-
fortable chair. She hummed and sang to herself over
her work, now and then chuckling at some quiet little
joke of her own, until suddenly she heard a faint
tapping on the door.
She stopped and listened.
Then she heard it again, louder this time, so
she put down her needlework and tiptoed over, for
Dofia Marina had sobbed herself to sleep.
It was Jake, grining placatingly, his head on one
side.
"Well, horse-face?" said she. "What's the game?"
"You," said Jake simply, "and nice plump tasty
game it is!"
She watched him with a contemptuous cat-like
grin; then suddenly she stepped towards him and
shut the door behind her.
"Hands off!" she cried. "I'm not fer sale!" Then
she added suddenly: "There's something ye can do
fer me."
"There's something ye can do fer me too," said
Jake, gloating on her, "and that right now."
"Yer do what I want fust and yer turn might
come arter. I've gotter plan. I know, let's go on
the roof! No one'll overhear us there."
"Nor see us ."
"There won't be nothing ter see," said Sarah,
"'cept p'raps me kickin' yer over the side. I'm
tellin' ye that plain from the fust. So don't git no
wrong notions. It's talking' I'm going ter do."
"And me .?"
"Ye're goin' ter listen," said Sarah finally.
"Come on, funny-face!"

CHAPTER XIV

HIGH TIDE
A NDY was so interested watching the ship that
he didn't notice Esquemeling beside him until
he spoke. The ship was a small frigate, pierced for
about twenty guns, and was in the throes of a fight
with mud and water; the high tide had come and
lifted her a little, just as if she had been quietly but
firmly smacked up out of bed. And she didn't seem
to like it. She lurched, spat up gases and heavy
films of dirty mud; her great beam slapped the


water and she lolled on her side, like a drunkard.
When a mighty comber caught her and burst like
a bomb in a tumult of green and froth, her masts
swung round as if they hoped to revenge themselves
by poking the water from the other side when it
wasn't looking. It had all happened so unexpected-
ly, nobody knew when high tide was coming, no-
body had troubled to find out. The ship was sud-
denly caught in it and tossed around like a bob-
bin.
She was a lovely creature with high after-works
showing glorious carvings rich with gold-leaf and
blue paint, and with stern-lanthorns on her large
enough to hold a woman, hoops and all. Her great
masts stood up firm, yet with an elasticity in them
that made a sailorman's heart glad to watch. She
was ready for sailing, her gun-decks well shut and
all sail clewed up, furled and eager to burst out at
the pull of a rope. Ah, she was a lovely sigft. An-
dy felt rosy with joy as he watched her there tug-
ging and rolling against her cables, with the great
seas sliding in to lift her swaying like a lovely
flower.
Ah, my God, to be aboard her, sailing off in her
to the mysterious lands of the South; he might sail
right down to the toe of the continent and up again
to Jammy! Would't it surprise them at Port Roy-
al to see him scudding in after such a trip! If she
was his, he'd do it!
But she wasn't his. She was nobody's. She
was just an idle plaything for the waves, a toy to
be flung around until her cables snapped and she
scraped her bottom bare on the stone spit.
It was an evil-looking spit. Andy had all the
sailorman's horror of reefs that ran out into the
sea; it might have all sorts of tentacles spreading
out under the water to trip up some bonny ship's
heel as she came proudly in, disdainfully sailing
on the calm waters until the crunch of stone against
good honest wood brought the water gushing into
her hold. No, Andy didn't like that spit.
He swung round to watch it. Three negroes
tramped along it with baskets of fish on their heads
and carrying a long net between them. The city
was behind and around him in a semicircle, like a
fungus, a parasite, beside the clear blue of the sea.
All its roads, its lanes, its streets, led eventually to
these beaches, down to the sea. Then plazas, those
centres of the town, were like the open sores of this
clean clear sea; the great slave-market, now but
ashes, had been perhaps its festering heart. And
the sea lapped the sand, washed even to the great
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Panama Is Burning
(Continued from Page 95)
stone causeway on which Andy stood, washed over
the spit behind him with the square tubby fort at
its end, and towards the tower of San Anastasius
almost directly at his back. Behind that was the
lagoon that opened' out beyond the city and was
spanned by the curved stone bridge over which they
had attacked and stormed the gatehouse. When he
turned to look at the spit he could see the three
little pyramid-like islands, Flamenco, Perico and
Naos, shoving their noses out of the sea.
But his eyes were mainly for the ship tossing
in the grip of the waves like some lazy animal slow-
ly being irritated into madness. Any minute she
might snap her cables, swing her beautiful figure-
head of a praying saint up to the sky as if she held
the bowsprit for a spear, and hurl herself grind-
ingly upon the spit. Some sea-birds settled on her
and seemed to enjoy the sport, for they made a
great fuss and jumped about her yards like children
on a see-saw.
"Yolly schip, wat zeg' jeT How vould you like
to be kapitein of she, eh?" Esquemeling suddenly
said.
Andy swung round on him, surprised. "Her!"
he cried with a deep sigh. "I'd give me boots!"
"Ja, you Engelsch, you are ze biggest sailors in
ze world, ja? Vot say if I say, schip yours?"
"I'd say you were a liar," scoffed Andy.
Esquemeling looked closely at him, bit his lip,
then obligingly burst into laughter, thinking Andy
had made a joke. "Vell, veil," he said, rubbing his
lean shaven jaw. "We yust yoking, ja?" He dug
his toe into the bleached sand and kicked up an
angry little crab that clicked its claws and showed
fight. Esquemeling slowly and methodically crush-
ed it, a difficult task, as the beast gave with the sand
and had to be scooped up again and again.
"Vot happen to your frien'?" he asked sudden-
ly. "Dat beeg man, Dan?"
"Dan!" cried Andy. "Oh, he's gorn off fer a
wbile."
"Ven do he kum back?" Still Esquemeling
fought with the crab and did not look at Andy. He
seemed intent on killing the beast and spoke care-
lessly. "Him gone long vile?"
"Yes," said Andy, "quite a long while."
He glanced at Esquemeling and did not like
the look of him. He seemed so unlike the usual
Dutchmen Andy had met on the Essequebq, who


were open-hearted, open-faced merry fat men, drink-
ing and smoking and laughing all the time. This
lean doctor with eyes hidden in crannies under al-
most naked brows, with the straight sandy hair,
white lips and neck like a skinned rabbit, had the
look somehow of a reptile, a lizard. Yet he knew
the secret of Dan's madness, and Andy was curi-
ous.
He tried to appear friendly. "He's gorn on a
long trip with the Tarantula," he said.
Esquemeling bit his lip. "I am angry vid them,"
he said coldly, "yolly angry. He did not keep his
vord."
"Oh, he didn't mean ter go," said Andy. "He
was knocked on the costard and dragged off."
"Ah, I see," said Esquemeling, and gave a last
kick at the crab. Then he straightened and frown-
ed at the ship tugging at her cables. Andy too gaz-
ed at her, and they were both silent.
Esquemeling was very worried- about Dan. In
the first place, he knew too much; in the second,
he would have been extremely useful. The conspi-
racy was made up of men with entirely no influence
with the buccaneers, men who were actually more
or less disliked, Italians and Frenchmen outraged
by the Englishman's cool blasphemies, his desecra-
tion of what he scoffed at as idols, statues of saints
and the Virgin. Alab, none of them could navigate
in the simplest sense of the word. Dan was a sail-
or, but Andy was even more important, he actually
could navigate. Everything was ripe. Here was
the ship ready to sail. and there was-no Dan to sail
her. Would Andy take his place? He was Dan's
greatest friend, and undoubtedly shared his confi-
dence. But Esquemeling's caution held him back.
He waited for a lead, and that, of course, Andy
couldn't give.
"Nice schip," said Esquemeling, "she vait for
kapitein, she cry for vun. Look! She vonts to go
free."
"What could I do with her?" said Andy, play-
ing with the idea. "Who'd sail her?"
"You get men queeck enough," said Esquemel-
ing. "I know plenty men vot'd die to go vid you.
Me."
"You?" said Andy. "And where would you
go?"
"I vould get away from here, and dat's vun ting,
God damn, I vould sail and sail down zud and take
vid me some gold and some wyn and a vench or two,
ja?"
"It's a dream," scoffed Andy.
"Nee, nee, vy is it a dream? It is true. God


verdomme, vy nod! You Engelsch, you yolly brave
men, vy nod sail away zud and take gold and vim-
men vid you and laff all day!"
"Yaw, and what'd Morg say?"
"Him! Aw, him say noting. Vot can he say?
Besides, vot if you haf frien' very close to him, in
same house wid him, ready to help, vot can he do
den?"
"You've got somebody on your side in the same
house with him? One of the House of Lords?"
"Aw, bigger dan dat!"
"Who is it?" asked Andy.
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Andy's eager, angry face. He saw all too late that
he had chosen the wrong man.
"Dere's nobody," he said with a high-pitched
laughter. "I vos only yoking, ha, ba, ha!"
"Aw, ye was only jokin'?"
"Ja, ja, yust yoking, noting else."
"Oh," said Andy and, pulling his scanty flaxen
beard, he gazed out at the ship.
Esquemeling looked sadly at him, then sighed
and turned away.
"Go now," he said, "goot-bye. We had yolly
goot little yoke, ja?"
"Yes," said Andy, "jolly good joke," and under
his breath he added, "you bastard!"
He waited until Esquemeling's lean back grew
smaller in the distance and at last was gone behind
some bushes sprouting beneath a mighty cabbage-
palm. Then he, too, turned and made off, but in
the opposite direction, round beside San Anasta-
sius', and over the plaza before it, down the wide
street that led into the heart of the town. He was
making for Morgan's head-quarters. He was on
fire with patriotic zeal, with loyalty to the great
captain. To think that Dan had been mixed up in
treachery of that sort made Andy sick. He wouldn't
believe it. He refused to believe it, and detested
Esquemeling as in all his simple life he had detest-
ed nobody before.


PLANTERS' PUNCH


Morgan was fortunately alone when he reached
him. He was lolling in his hammock, playing with
the cards and waiting for Jake to come back after
he'd spanked the little Irish slut as he'd sworn to
do. Now and then, Morgan chuckled, tossed a card
in the air and winked at the ceiling that was the
floor of Dofia Marina's room. He was thinking things
that would have made Dofia Marina smack his
face.
Then Andy burst in, sweating and stuttering
with eagerness.
He rushed in and stood before Morgan, while
Clem, who had been on guard, lounged in after him,
spitting and chewing.
"I want ter see ye alone," said Andy, "tell Clem
ter git!"
"Clem," said Morgan, looking up from the cards,
"get!" and he compared the size of the King of Dia-
monds with another card for the hundredth time.
Its edges came far over the other.
Clem glowered at Andy, but lounged to his feet
and strolled out, dragging his gun along the ground
after him.
Andy watched him go, then turned to Morgan.
"There's treachery in this 'ere camp!" he said
excitedly.
"Is there?" said Morgan. "I suppose it's that
scab, Clem? I've been waiting for it." He folded


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the cards, loosened them, then set them on the table
in a neat pile. "I suppose I'll have to shoot him,"
he said wearily.
"It ain't Clem," said Andy. "Leastways, I don't
know about him. 'It's Esquemeling."
"Oh, curse it, I knew all about that," said Mor-
gan, lying back again. "You've got to expect it from
foreigners. I'd be more surprised if he wasn't plot-
ting. The best thing's to leave them alone and let
them talk about it till they'd blind. It makes
trouble all round if you start interfering."
"But it ain't only him," said Andy, "it's some-
body high up, somebody close ter you, in this very
house. "
Morgan straightened and his face went very
white.
"That means Clem?" he said slowly.
"No, it ain't Clem. It's somebody even higher
than the House of Lords."
That made Morgan spring up. He leaped to
his feet, smacked his hands together and strode up
to Andy.
"It can't be!" he cried. "Who told you this?"
"I got et from Esskay hisself. He was jest
testing' me. I was looking' at that there ship in the
tides down at the bay when he asks me if I wouldn't
like ter sail away in her, and suggests I grab her
and get out with his pack, he said I had nothing
ter worry about 'cause he had a friend who was a
friend of yours and was higherr than the House of
Lords."
"He was a liar!" cried Morgan.
"That's jest what I thought," said Andy.
Morgan sat back on his hammock, ashamed of
having let himself go and fearful lest Andy should
guess his thoughts. For Bledry had sprung at once
into his mind. But; he was ashamed of that thought,
deadly ashamed of it. He wanted to wipe it away
completely, never to remember it.
"What ye going ter do?" asked Andy. "Shoot
the lot of 'em? Let me have a gun ready ef ye're
going ter. I'd like ter have a snipe at that rat,
Esskay. I oughter have kicked his guts out and
eaten his callibisters, be gogs!"
"No," said Morgan, "let them have their fun.
I don't want any civil wars in my camp. I'll deal
with them when we get to Chagres and the trip's
all over." He was silent a moment. Then: "They
were going to sail off in that ship, were they?" he
murmured. "I'll fix that at any rate! I'll scuttle
her!"
"No!" cried Andy as if in pain. "She's too
lovely!"
Morgan smiled kindlily at him. "Don't take it
so to heart," he said. "When we get home I'll make
you captain iof the finest ship afloat. There, that's
a promise. I'll get Modyford to fit you out. Now,
you just run off and see Jake-if you can find him
-or Ludbury if you can't, and tell him to step in
here. But not Clem."
Andy watched them scuttle her and felt that
his own heart sank as Ludbury leaped on board with
a great axe, and half a dozen drunken scoundrels
clambered over the bulwarks at his heels. Then
Ludbury-who was no sailorman-smashed in the
great curved saloon window son the poop and made
faces at the people on the beach. As these were
mainly sailors,, they greeted his act of vandalism
with howls of fury, and some even threw stones.
Andy picked up a big crab before it could nip him
and hurled it with all his force. It caught Lud-
bury fair between the eyes and he screamed like a
woman.
"Serve. him right,"' said a big tattooed sailor
next to Andy. "I wish I had a gun on me. Don't
he like ships? Is there treasure aboard?"
"It's Morg's orders," said Andy sorrowfully.
"Some Romany mutineers was going ter steal off
in her. So he's scuttlin' her ter stop 'em."
"Hell!" said the sailor rumbling away inside
as if he carried half his beloved sea there. "I'd
rather give her to 'em, than kill her, be gogs!"
Under the cabbage-palm a crowd of Romanys
had gathered. Andy was too intent watching his
beloved ship go under to notice them. But they no-
Sticed him. They stood against the smooth straight
tree that frothed out into fronds of dusty green top-
ped with an upright spear like the topmast of a
ship shivering before the waves sucked her down.
They stood in a bunch, watching with hollow de-
spairing eyes the scoundrels chopping lustily at the
heavy mainmast that spat out splinters and rocked
as if in agony.
Esquemeling talked excitedly and pointed Andy
out to them. They looked at him like crows about
a corpse.
But he did not notice them. His heart bled to
see that beautiful craft heeling in the waves. He
was a sailor bred, son of a sailor. His grandfather
had been with Hawkins. Salt water was not only
in his blood, it was his blood. Even his mother
loved the sea, and that was rare with sailor-wives.
She was a bumboat woman at Falmouth and used
to deck out her little boat with all the prettiest-col-
toured ribbons she could find when her husband's,
her brother's, or her son's ship came into harbour,
with sails clewed up and colours dipped to the flag
of home. ''


k ....... n... .................... .......... I.......................m .. ... ... In. ............m...


1934-35







PLANTERS' PUNCH


The sea was his first, his only love. Not so
much the sea, as ships. He pretended to hate the
sea, it was his enemy, the killer of ships. Yet he
loved it really, as only a brave man can love an
enemy.
He sat now on the white burning sands, long
after Ludbury and his ruffians had waded back and
been chased off the beach. He sat there while the
moon came up and split her violet on the water and
nestled in about the still rigging of that goodly ship
held fast for ever in the mud, with the damned
water licking up through the holes they'd made in
her bottom, and chaining her down as never an an-
chor had chained her. And she would rot there.
The barnacles would eat through the wood, the
crabs would come, and the fish would swim amongst
the stones that had been laid for ballast. She
would stay there until her ribs showed bleached to
the brutal sunlight. It broke a sailor's heart to
watch her. It broke Andy's heart as he crouched
on the sands, while the shadows of the wall behind
reached out as if to seize him.
He was still there when dawn broke its leash
and flooded the earth. He was there, spread-eagled,
as if he had fallen asleep, his face deep in the white
sands, his fists clenched on nothing, and the bone-
handle of a long Romany knife sticking six inches
out of his back.

CHAPTER XV
OF SUCH IS LOVE
MORGAN viewed his dream. He looked on Pan-
ama. He did not go on a roof to look at it, he
did, not even walk or ride its streets. He lay on his
hammock and thought of it. And in his mind, it
became so small a thing, it could have fitted into
the palm of his hand. For such are dreams; for
such, a man will kill and risk being killed, will live
a life he hates or throw away the life he loves; for
the sake of a dream that would go into the palm
of your hand. This was his dream. He held it
now; he had attained all that he had lived to at-
tain; but one thing brought a dirty taste into his
mouth, one fear that tremblingly poised itself on
the brink of his thoughts but never quite fell, be-
cause he did not dare to let it fall, did not dare even
to think of it.
Who was the person higher than the House of
Lords mixed up in this conspiracy? Or had Esque-
meling lied?
He dared not seek Esquemeling to ask him, lest


he should answer. He could only lie in his ham-
mock and brood.
As he lay there, hidden in blue folds of tobac-
co-smoke, Bledry came suddenly to him as if mould-
ed out of his thoughts. Bledry always walked very
quietly, sometimes you never heard him coming, and
now he startled Morgan.
"Well," said Bledry, "when are we clearing
out?"
"Eh?" said Morgan, starting up in his ham-
mock. "What do you mean? There's more gold
hidden than we've got yet. They're catching the
rats one by one. Tommy's been looking after the
torturing. He's got the Inquisition's set and is giv-
ing them a taste of what they've been giving poor
Christians. Why! Larry brought in almost a hun-
dred men last night, not to speak of women! And
Charley Swan's been digging up chestfuls of gold."
"I know," said Bledry, sliding into the cane
chair, "but aren't you sick of it?"
"Sick of it! What do you think I came for?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Bledry; then he stood
again to his feet. "I'm going out," he said.
"Where?" asked Morgan.
"Do you always have to know?" snarled Bledry.
This place was getting on his nerves. He de-
tested it. There was nothing to see, nobody to see
him. He would walk from one end of the city to
the other, along piazzas that threatened to fall on
top of him, he walked down broad streets, through
narrow lanes, and through ruins upon ruins, and
the only signs of life were lizards, ants, birds, dogs
and drunken Englishmen. He would gape up at
the verandahs as if he were thirsty, and think of
how beautiful it must have been before his blunder-
ing kinsman came with sword and fire and rapine.
Up there, amongst flowers and creepers, lovely wo-
men had sat, smiling, with gaudy parrots and ob-
scene monkeys on their plump shoulders, and had
dropped down roses to the guitar-strumming lovers.
And this was gone. To him, Panama reeked with
dead dreams like old perfume in a cast-off glove.
"Can't I do anything," he cried, "without hav-
ing to tell you?"
"Don't be silly," said Morgan, "you know that
you can do whatever you like."
Bledry knew it, and was softened. "I'm sorry,
Harry," he said. "But this place sickens me. I'd
like to clear out."
"We won't be here much longer." Morgan got
up and went to him, put his hand tenderly on his
shoulder and gazed into his face with a sad, almost


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pleading smile. "You haven't got anything on your
mind, have you, old man?" he asked.
Bledry was startled. "What do you mean?" he
cried. "Only this beastly place. Ecod! What else
could I have on my mind?"
"Nothing," said Morgan softly. "No. You aren't
worried about anything, are you? You haven't got
anything against me, have you? You aren't annoy-
ed with me?"
"Annoyed with you? Why should I be? I'm
merely irritable. It's this inaction and this damn-
(Continued on Page 101)


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1934-35




Full Text


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