I owe it--as I do many curious facts--to the kindness of Mr.Lionel Fraser, chief of police of the Port of Spain, to whom it was told, as it here stands, by the late Mr.R---, stipendiary magistrate; himself a Creole and a man of colour:-- 'When I was a lad of about seventeen years of age, I was very frequently on a sugar-estate belonging to a relation of mine; and during crop-time particularly I took good care to be there.
'Owing to my connection with the owner of the estate, I naturally had some authority with the people; and I did my best to preserve order amongst them, particularly in the boiling-house, where there used to be a good deal of petty theft, especially at night; for we had not then the powerful machinery which enables the planter to commence his grinding late and finish it early.
'There was one African on the estate who was the terror of the Negroes, owing to his reputed supernatural powers as an Obeah-man.
'This man, whom I will call Martin, was a tall, powerful Negro, who, even apart from the mysterious powers with which he was supposed to be invested, was a formidable opponent from his mere size and strength.
'I very soon found that Martin was determined to try his authority and influence against mine; and I resolved to give him the earliest possible opportunity for doing so.
'I remember the occasion when we first came into contact perfectly well.

It was a Saturday night, and we were boiling off.

The boiling-house was but very dimly lighted by two murky oil-lamps, the rays from which could scarcely penetrate through the dense atmosphere of steam which rose from the seething coppers.

Occasionally a bright glow from the furnace-mouths lighted up the scene for a single instant, only to leave it the next moment darker than ever.
'It was during one of these flashes of light that I distinctly saw Martin deliberately filling a large tin pan with sugar from one of the coolers.
'I called out to him to desist; but he never deigned to take the slightest notice of me.

I repeated my order in a louder and more angry tone; whereupon he turned his eyes upon me, and said, in a most contemptuous tone, "Chut, ti beque: quitte moue tranquille, ou tende sinon malheur ka rive ou." (Pshaw, little white boy: leave me alone, or worse will happen to you.) 'It was the tone more than the words themselves that enraged me; and without for one moment reflecting on the great disparity between us, I made a spring from the sort of raised platform on which I stood, and snatching the panful of sugar from his hand, I flung it, sugar and all, into the tache, from which I knew nothing short of a miracle could recover it.
'For a moment only did Martin hesitate; and then, after fumbling for one instant with his right hand in his girdle, he made a rush at me.