erce, of civil judicature, industry, and
prosperity." Hundreds of the militia had died of fatigue, large numbers
had been shot down, the most daring of the British officers had fallen,
while the insurgents had been invariably successful, and not one of them
was known to have been killed. Captain Craskell, the banished
superintendent, gave it to the Assembly as his opinion, that the whole
slave population of the island was in sympathy with the Maroons, and
would soon be beyond control. More alarming still, there were rumors of
French emissaries behind the scenes; and though these were explained
away, the vague terror remained. Indeed, the Lieutenant-Governor
announced in his message that he had satisfactory evidence that the
French Convention was concerned in the revolt. A French prisoner named
Murenson had testified that the French agent at Philadelphia (Fauchet)
had secretly sent a hundred and fifty emissaries to the island, and
threatened to land fifteen hundred negroes. And though Murenson took it
all back at last, yet the Assembly was moved to make a new offer of
three hundred dollars for killing or taking a Trelawney Maroon, and a
hundred and fifty dollars for killing or taking any fugitive slave who
had joined them. They also voted five hundred pounds as a gratuity to
the Accompong tribe of Maroons, who had thus far kept out of the
insurrection; and various prizes and gratuities were also offered by the
different parishes, with the same object of self-protection.

The commander-in-chief being among the killed, Colonel Walpole was
promoted in his stead, and brevetted as General, by way of incentive. He
found a people in despair, a soldiery thoroughly intimidated, and a
treasury, not empty, but useless. But the new general had not served
against the Maroons for nothing, and was not ashamed to go to school to
his opponents. First, he waited for the dry season; then he directed all
his efforts towards cutting off his opponents from water; and, most
effectual move of all, he attacked each successive cockpit by dragging
up a howitzer, with immense labor, and throwing in shells. Shells were a
visitation not dreamed of in Maroon philosophy, and their quaint
compliments to their new opponent remain on record. "Damn dat little
buckra!" they said; "he cunning more dan dem toder. Dis here da new
fashion for fight: him fire big ball arter you, and when big ball 'top,
de damn sunting (something) fire arter you again." With which