As the
Custos told his news the governor's eyes were running along the line of
busts of ancient and modern philosophers on the gilt brackets between the
Doric pilasters. They were all in bronze, and his mind had the doleful
imagination of brown slave heroes placed there in honour for services
given to the country. The doors at the south end of the great salon
opened now and then into the council chambers beyond, and he could see
the surgeons operating on the cases returned from the plantations.
"Your honour," said the Custos, "things have suddenly improved. The
hounds have come from Cuba and in the charge of ten men--ten men with
sixty hounds. That is the situation at the moment. All the people at
Kingston are overjoyed. They see the end of the revolt."
"The hounds!" exclaimed the governor. "What hounds?"
"The hounds sent for by Dyck Calhoun--surely your honour remembers!"
Surely his honour did, and recalled also that he forbade the importation
of the hounds; but he could not press that prohibition now. "The
mutineer and murderer, Dyck Calhoun!" he exclaimed. "And they have
come!"
"Yes, your honour, and gone with Calhoun's man, Michael Clones, to
Salem.
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