sun had set that afternoon he
was securely lodged in the prison at Guayave, heavily ironed, and the
prison was guarded by a detachment of soldiers.

The trial of Jack Shadow soon came on before a bench of magistrates.
His identity was proved; also the conspicuous part he had taken in the
insurrection, and the bloody acts which he had committed. The outlaw was
condemned to death. His deportment was sullen and dogged to the last. He
refused to see his wife, who, when too late, regretted the steps which,
prompted by anger and a short-lived desire for revenge, she had taken
for his arrest. He was hanged on a gallows, about a quarter of a mile
outside the village of Guayave.

Chapter XXX. WEST INDIA LIFE

I remained on the Upper Pearl estate, and found much to interest an
inquiring mind. Murray, although there were some good points about him,
was not considered trustworthy. In his cups he was quarrelsome and as
choleric as a Welshman; and a fondness for liquor was his besetting sin.
He was an excellent accountant and an efficient clerk, but could hardly
be relied on when a clear head and cool judgment were required.

A short time before I became acquainted with Murray, he had quarreled at
a dinner party with a Mr. Reed, the manager of a coffee plantation. The
lie was exchanged, a blow was struck; a challenge was given and accepted
on the spot. The next morning the parties met, with their seconds,
firmly bent upon shooting each other. There was no flinching on the part
of the principals; no desire evinced to give or receive an apology. The
seconds, however, were made of milder stuff; and neither of them being
Irishmen, thought they would be justified in rendering the duel a
bloodless one, and transforming a grave matter into a harmless joke.
They accordingly loaded the pistols with powder only, keeping
the bullets in their pockets; probably taking the hint from the
well-blazoned proceedings in the duel fought at Chalk farm, a few years
before, between Jeffries and Moore,

"When Little's leadless pistol met the eye,
While Bow Street myrmidons stood laughing by."

The word was given, and both parties fired. No harm was done; but
apologies were out of the question, and "another shot" was loudly and
peremptorily called for, and the distance, eight paces was shortened
to six. The farce was again repeated, when Murray, wondering at the
bloodless result, espied a smile on the features of his second, which
did