Toussaint was well aware that Monsieur Revel might not like, would not wish, to see him, or any black. Among all the hatreds which had deformed the colony, none more fierce had existed than that between Monsieur Revel and the negro race. He had been a cruel master; hence his incessant terrors now. He had been marked out for vengeance at the time of the revolution, and his family had perished for his crimes; and hence the detestation in which, as the survivor of these victims, he was regarded by most who knew the story. Euphrosyne knew nothing of it; nor did her young companion. There was no one to tell them uselessly so painful a tale; and there was nothing in Monsieur Revel's present conduct to awaken a suspicion of the truth. He rarely saw a black: and the tenderness which lies in some corner of the hardest hearts was by him lavished upon his only remaining descendant. Little did she suppose now, how much better her grandfather was known by Toussaint than by herself.
"Trust me!" said Toussaint, smiling. "I will not annoy Monsieur Revel.
I will merely reassure him, and tell him a little good news; and then leave him to his repose."
"Yes, Afra," interposed Euphrosyne. "Oh yes, please your Excellency, do go! I will tell him you are coming."
She flew along the corridor, and, with joyous smiles, prepared Monsieur Revel for some great honour and pleasure, when Toussaint entered, and bowed low, as it had ever been his custom to do before grey hairs.
"I come," said he to the old man, who seemed at a loss whether to rise or not, but who would not ask his visitor to sit down, "I come to encourage you to dismiss all fears. By the resolution of the Commissary to sail for France this day all further disputes are obviated. We have strong hopes that peace will not be disturbed."
"The Commissary going home. Who, then, is to govern us? What is to become of the whites in the colony?"
"I will take care of them. Those who are unwilling to remain, in the absence of the Commissary, can depart with him. There is shipping enough for more than will wish to go."
Euphrosyne glanced apprehensively at her grandfather, and then said, "Grandpapa is too old to go upon the sea any more; and I am not afraid of anything here. I do not believe there is anything to be afraid of here; is there?"
"Indeed, I believe not."
"Besides," said Afra, "my father will not allow any harm to happen to his best friends. My father--" "Your father, my dear, will not be here," said Toussaint. "He is appointed to the legislature, in the interior. I protect this town till a new governor is appointed. I told you we hoped to see you at Pongaudin. You will pass your time there, with my family, while Monsieur Raymond attends his duties in the legislature. I go, sir, to provide for the peace of the town. If I can be of service to you, you have only to send to me. I entreat you to rely upon my protection."
And he went out.
"Oh, grandpapa!" exclaimed Euphrosyne, sighing.
"My dears, I hope I was not rude to him. I know that he meant kindly by coming: and I would not be otherwise than civil. I hope I was not rude to the Commander-in-chief."
Neither of his companions spoke, to give him comfort on this head. He grew angry. He declared that he did not understand all these changes and troubles, and he would go out of the way of them. He would sail with Hedouville; and so should Euphrosyne, and so should Pierre. He knew he should die before they had been a week at sea; but he would not stay to see everything turned topsy-turvy by the blacks.
Afra gently said that she understood it was Hedouville who had endeavoured to turn everything topsy-turvy, and those who understood the affairs of the colony better, who hoped to keep them straight.
Euphrosyne protested that it was impossible to get home, to pack up their goods: and even if they were at home, there was no time to do it properly. When she found all her objections of this class unavailing, she gravely said that she fully believed what her grandfather had just declared--that he would die before they had been a week at sea; and nothing, therefore, should make her consent to go. A compromise was at length agreed upon. Euphrosyne promised to enter the convent, if her grandfather should desire it: and on this promise, he consented to say no more about going to sea.
As Toussaint went forth from Monsieur Revel's apartment, he met Monsieur Pascal, with his portfolio in his hand.
"Monsieur Pascal here already! I am gratified--I am grateful!" said Toussaint, grasping his hand. "You are weary--you must be very weary; but can you work a little before going to rest?"
"Willingly. No doubt. Most willingly."
Toussaint desired that fruit and wine should be sent to the governor's private room, and that the reports of messengers from the city should be brought instantly to him there. Monsieur Pascal and he then sat down beside a table, with pen, ink, and paper before them.
"Monsieur Pascal," Toussaint began, "the Commissary sails for France this day, with as many as desire to accompany him. You know the reasons which compel me to advise his departure. You came out as his secretary.
Do you desire to return with him?"
"I do not. With your permission, I will remain with you."
"With what view?"
"My own satisfaction, and the wish to serve the colony. My attachment to yourself is strong. I also perceive that you govern wisely and well; and I desire to aid in so important a work."
"Good. But you are not aware of the danger of attaching yourself thus exclusively to me. Till to-day, if I fell, your way to France, your way in France, was open. After to-day, it will no longer be so. I am so surrounded with dangers, that I can scarcely escape ruin or death. The mulattoes conspire against my power and my life. The blacks, for whom I have made myself responsible, are yet full of passion, and not to be relied on in the present infancy of their education. The French officials are so many malignant spies--excepting yourself, indeed," he added, with a smile. "Bonaparte, who rules everywhere, is surrounded by our emigrants, who attribute their sufferings to the blacks; and he is jealous of me. I would rather say he distrusts me. Now you see my position. I ask no white to share its perils. If you go with Hedouville, you shall carry with you my friendly farewell."
"I will stay with you."
"Thank God! Then we are friends indeed! Now to business. In the pressing affairs of to-day, we must not overlook the future security of the colony. The story which Hedouville will tell at home must be met and illustrated by our statement. Write so fully to the First Consul as that he may clearly see that it is to Hedouville's ignorance and presumption that the present disturbances are owing."
"It is a clear case."
"It is to us. Make it so to him. One word first. Will you undertake the office of governor of this town?"
"Instead of Raymond?"
"Instead of Raymond. He is a good man; but I erred in appointing him.
He is fit for deliberation, but not for action. But for my early arrival, this town would have been burned to-day, for want of even a show of defence. He is setting out now for the legislature, to which I have appointed him, and where he will be valuable. Will you assume his office?"
"By no means. I desire to remain beside you, and study your mode of government, before I attempt myself to govern."
"I have no fixed mode of governing. I merely act as seems to me good at the time."
"Inspired by a generous love, ever," said Pascal.
"Enough of this. It would be an advantage to me, and to the colony, that you should undertake this office. There is no other white, there is no mulatto fit for it! and the mulattoes need conciliation. If they see the office bestowed on a black, or occupied by me, in the interim they will feel themselves injured by Raymond's removal. You see the advantages of your filling the office."
"I see yet more plainly the disadvantages, unfit as I am. I cannot accept it."
"Very well. While you are writing, I will ascertain how the provisioning of the ships goes on, and will give you as much time as possible. But there is not a moment to lose. I will return presently to sign."
Toussaint walked up and down the corridor, receiving reports, and issuing orders every moment. He found that the harbour was covered with boats carrying out hogs, fowls, vegetables, and water, according to his orders: but no baggage had been sent down from the quarters of the French officials, though porters had been waiting for two hours past.
Scouts had come in, with news of the approach of the insurgents. This information was communicated to Hedouville, with a hint that the ships were nearly provisioned; but no answer was returned. Moyse sent word that the preparations in the town were nearly complete, and the spirit of the inhabitants improving every hour, if only the Commissary would make haste and be gone. Toussaint found the moment was coming for him to give the word to fire the alarm gun.
"Are the despatches nearly ready?" he asked of Pascal, entering the secretary's apartment.
"Quite ready for signature," replied Pascal, drying the ink of the last sheet.
"Excellent!" cried Toussaint, when he had read them. "True and clear!"
He signed and sealed them, and introduced the officer who was to be responsible for their delivery, assuring him that he would be welcome back to the honours which would follow the faithful discharge of his trust. He did not forget to request Monsieur Pascal to go to rest.
There might be no rest for either of them this night.
As Euphrosyne sat beside Monsieur Revel, who was sleeping on a couch, after the fatigues of the morning, old Pierre beckoned her softly out, sending in Euphrosyne's maid, and saying, as he shut the door, "She will stay with my master fill he wakes. Mademoiselle Afra has sent for you, mademoiselle, to see from the upper gallery what is going on. The harbour is so crowded with boats, that they can hardly move; and it is time they were moving pretty fast; for the battle is beginning at the other end of the town; and the Commissary is not off yet, though the gun was fired half-an-hour since. You heard the gun, mademoiselle?"
"Yes. I am glad it was only a signal. You are sure it was only a signal?"
"So they say everywhere. This is the way, mademoiselle. Monsieur Pascal is up here--the secretary, you know--and Mademoiselle Raymond, and her gouvernante, and several more, who have nothing to do with the fighting."
"But I do not want to see any fighting," said Euphrosyne, turning upon the stairs to descend. "Tell Mademoiselle Raymond that I cannot bear to see fighting."
"There is no fighting yet, mademoiselle, indeed: and many say there will not be any. Indeed you must see such a fine sight as this. You can see the Commander-in-chief galloping about the square, with his two trompettes at his heels."
Euphrosyne turned again, and ran up to the top, without once stopping.
There she was hastily introduced to Monsieur Pascal, and placed by the gouvernante where she could see everything.
By this time it had become a question whether the Commissary and his suite could get away. They were making every effort to do so; but it was clear that their road would have been blockaded if the Commander-in-chief and his trompettes had not ridden round and round the party of soldiers which escorted them, clearing a passage by the power of a voice and a presence which always prevailed. Meantime, a huge body of people, which filled all the streets in the northern quarter, was gaining ground, pressing forwards against the peaceable opposition of the town's-people, and the soldiers, commanded by Moyse. The clamour of voices from that quarter was prodigious, but there were no shots. The wharves were covered with gentlemen, ladies, children, servants, and baggage, all being precipitated by degrees into boats, and rowed away, while more were perpetually arriving.
"Is not this admirable?" said Monsieur Pascal. "The secret has actually been kept that the Commissary is on his way to the water side. See! the cultivators are pressing on in this direction. They think he is here.
If they knew where he was, they might catch him. As it is, I believe he will escape."
"Oh! are they coming here? Oh, my poor grandfather!" cried Euphrosyne, turning very pale.
"Fear nothing," said Afra. "They will presently learn that there is nothing to come here for. Will they not, Monsieur Pascal?"
"No doubt: and if not, there is nothing to fear, I believe. Not a shot has been fired yet, but from the alarm gun."
"Oh, how it echoed from the Haut-du-Cap!" cried Afra. "I wonder what the cultivators understood by it. See! my father's barge! There is fighting there, surely."
As Hedouville and his suite approached the wharf, the Governor's barge, which had lain at a little distance from the shore, began to press in, among the crowd of other boats, at a signal from one of the trompettes.
The other boats, which were taking in terrified women and children, resisted this movement, and refused, at such a moment, its usual precedence to the Governor's barge. There was a hustling, a struggling, a shrieking, an uproar, so loud as to reach the ears and understandings of the insurgents. The word spread that the Commissary was escaping them. They broke through their opponents, and began a rush to the wharves. Not a few shots were now fired; but the young ladies scarcely heeded them in the excitement of this decisive moment.
"Oh, they will seize him! They will tear him in pieces!" cried Afra.
"He cannot--no, he never can get away!" exclaimed Euphrosyne.
"And he gave me the sweetest smile as he was going out!" said the weeping gouvernante.
"There! Bravo! Bravo!" cried Monsieur Pascal; and Pierre echoed "Bravo!"
"What is it? What is it?" cried the girls.
"He is safe! He and his party--they are all safe! Not in the barge-- that is upset. You see those two green boats, now pulling off. They are there. They leaped into those boats just in time."
"Oh, look, look! what dreadful confusion!" cried Euphrosyne, covering her eyes with her hands.
"It is not so sure that they are safe yet," observed Pierre. "See how the blacks are pouring into the water!"
"And carrying the ladies and children with them, I fear," said Monsieur Pascal, gazing anxiously through his glass.
In fact, the negroes had no idea of giving up the pursuit because they had reached the water. Hundreds plunged in; and their heads were seen bobbing about all the surface of the bay. The rowers, however, pulled well, and presently left the greater number behind, to find satisfaction in the coolness of the element.
"There is no great harm done," said Monsieur Pascal, still gazing through his glass. "They have picked up two ladies and three children; and none seem to be missing."
"It is well that you and Monsieur were not there, Euphrosyne," observed Afra.
Euphrosyne shuddered, and Pierre looked all amazement at the absurdity of such an idea.
"No fear for us, Mademoiselle," said he. "See how empty the streets are, down below. None but the guard left, within half a mile."
It did indeed appear as if the whole population of the town and plain was collected on the shores of the bay. Those who had thrown themselves into the sea had to wait for a footing on land, unless they chose to swim round the point--which some of them did. When at length the crowd began to move up into the town, it was because the Commander-in-chief was riding away, after having addressed the people.
"What have you been about, child?" exclaimed Monsieur Revel, an hour after. "You are never beside me when I wake."
Euphrosyne did not point out that this was the first time she had failed to watch his siesta. She said that she had been seeing the Commissary set sail.
"What, already! He is in a great hurry, I think."
"The wind is quite fair, grandpapa. I suppose that is the reason why he made all the ships in the harbour sail the same way. He has carried off three frigates, and all the shipping in the roads. The sea is quite clear, grandpapa. There is not a single sail in sight, all along, as far as you can see. They are all off for France."
"What in the world made him do that?"
"Perhaps we shall hear, some day. To be sure, he had to carry a good many people away with him."
"Did many whites go with him?"
"I do not know how many whites. They say fifteen hundred went altogether; but many of these were mulattoes; and some few blacks, who went for a frolic, and will come back again when they have seen France."
"Strange doings! Strange doings!" sighed the old man.
"And we shall have some glorious doings to-morrow, grandpapa. There was a little bustle and struggle when the Commissary went away--I am glad you were asleep, and did not hear it. There will be no more--there will be no riot now, everybody says--the Commander-in-chief has behaved so finely, and the people are so fond of him. The danger is all over; and the town's-people have begged him--the Deliverer, as they call him--to attend the great church to-morrow, in state. Te Deum will be sung in all the churches, and it is to be a great fete-day. Are you not pleased?"
"Not at all pleased that Hedouville is gone, and fifteen hundred of his friends, and all the shipping."
"Well, but we are all at peace now, and everybody satisfied."
"Why are we here, then? Why am I not at home?"
"We will go home in a day or two. The streets will be noisy to-night; and besides, one removal is enough for one day. Afra will follow her father after to-morrow--he is gone, you know, this morning--" "Whose guest am I, then? If I am the guest of the negro Toussaint--" "You are the guest of Monsieur Raymond while Afra is here. When she sets out, we will go home."
"And shall I have to be swung up to the balcony, and have my brains dashed out, while all the nuns are staring at me?"
"Oh, no," replied Euphrosyne, laughing. "There will be nothing then to prevent your going in your own carriage to your own door. I am afraid we shall not find my pretty little humming-birds there. They will think I have forgotten them."
"Ay, those humming-birds," said Monsieur Revel, appearing to forget all his troubles.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
DREAMING AWAKE.
Though the peace of the town was now considered secure, there was little less bustle throughout the day and night than there had been in the morning. The cultivators were all gone home. They poured out of the town almost as fast as they had poured into it, happy to have attained their object, in the defeat of the French authorities, and to be returning without the loss or punishment of a man. As they attained the height behind which they would lose sight of the sea, they turned for one more view of the empty bay, and of the fleet, now disappearing on the horizon. They gave three cheers; and this was the last that was heard of them, except by such as met them in the plain, where they sang, as they walked, the words of their chief's proclamation. In negro fashion, they had set it to music; and very well it sounded, when sung from the heart.
In the town, the soldiers were busy removing the guns, and all signs of warfare, and the inhabitants in preparing for the fete of to-morrow.
During the night, the hurry of footsteps never ceased--so many of the citizens were going out into the country, and returning with blossoming shrubs to adorn the churches, and flowers with which to strew the path of the Deliverer. Under cover of these zealous preparations did discontent, like a serpent under the blossoms of the meadow, prepare to fix its poisonous tooth. There were men abroad in the streets who looked upon these preparations for rejoicing with a determination that the rejoicings should never take place.
The business of this arduous day being finished, Toussaint had retired early to rest, in a chamber in the south wing of Government-house--the part which had been inhabited by the French functionaries. He would allow no one to occupy any apartments of the north wing (that which was appropriated to the governor of the town), while the daughter of the late governor and her guests remained there. His secretary, who had taken some hours' rest before, was busy writing, after midnight, in an apartment in the same wing. He was preparing dispatches for the Central Assembly, now sitting in the interior.
Monsieur Pascal was far from being on good terms with himself this night. If, in the morning, he had doubted his capacity for being governor of the town, he this night doubted his qualifications for the office of secretary, which he had thus far filled to his own satisfaction. To-night he could not command his ideas--he could not fix his attention. He wrote a paragraph, and then he dreamed; he planned a proposition, and then he forgot it again; and, in despair, started up to pace the floor, and disperse intrusive thoughts by exercise. These thoughts would intrude again, however; and he found himself listlessly watching through the window a waving treetop, or a sinking star, while his pen dried in his hand.
These intrusive ideas were of Afra. He had never thought of love, in regard to himself, even enough to despise it, or to resolve against it: and the time was apparently come when love was to revenge himself for this neglect. Perhaps it was this idea, as much as the attractions of Afra herself, that haunted him to-night. He felt that his hour was come; that he was henceforth, like other men, to be divided between two pursuits, to be dependent upon another for his tranquillity. He felt already that he could never again see Mademoiselle Raymond, or hear of her, without emotion. He had never understood love at first sight, and had hardly believed in it:--he now did not understand it; but he could not but believe in it. He felt actually haunted. Every breath of air that whispered in the window brought her voice. Everything that moved in the night breeze made him start as if it was herself. At last, in despair about his task, which must be finished before dawn, he covered his eyes with his hands, as he leaned back in his chair, resolving not to move till he had ascertained what it was that he wanted to write next.
A slight noise in the direction of the door, however, made him look up; and he saw, advancing towards the light, no other than Afra herself. It was no wonder that he sat upright in his chair, his pale face paler than usual. In another moment, however, he blushed to the temples on hearing a suppressed laugh from some one who stood behind Afra, and who said, after some vain attempts to speak for laughing-- "M. Pascal takes us for ghosts."
"By no means, Mademoiselle Revel. Ghosts do not wrap themselves in shawls from the night air, I believe; nor come in at the door when the shorter way is through the wall; or take a seat when asked, as I hope you will do." And he placed chairs as he spoke.
"We might have frightened you delightfully if we could have looked half as ghost-like as you did, the first moment you saw us. Perhaps it was the lamp--" "Hush! Euphrosyne," said Afra. "You speak too loud, and waste time.
Remember what we came for. Monsieur Pascal," she said, in a low voice, leaning towards him over the table, and refusing to sit down, "how is L'Ouverture guarded?"
"Not at all, I believe. Why?"
The girls made a gesture of terror. Both said eagerly-- "He is in great danger; indeed, indeed he is."
"Where are the soldiers?" asked Euphrosyne. "Do send for them directly: and ask him to lock himself up in the safest place till they come."
"Tell me what you mean, and then--" "I think he is in danger, now the white rulers are gone, from the people of my colour," said Afra: "and I fear, this very night."
"Do you mean that they intend to murder him?"
"Perhaps so. Perhaps to seize him, and send him to Rigaud;--and that will be only a slower murder."
"But how--" "I will tell you. Euphrosyne and I sat rather late behind the jalousies, in the dark, to see the people bring in flowers and fruit from the country for the morning. I saw many mulattoes in the walk; but none of them had fruit or flowers. I watched them. I know their ways, their countenances, and their gestures. I saw they were gloomy and angry; and I found out that it is with L'Ouverture. They were plotting mischief, I am certain."
"But why so suddenly?--why to-night?"
"So we thought at first; and we went to rest, intending to tell L'Ouverture to-morrow. But the more we thought and talked about it, the more uneasy we grew. We were afraid to go to sleep without telling some one in this wing; so we stole along the corridors in the dark, and saw that there was a light in this library, and ventured to look in, hoping it might be L'Ouverture himself."
"He is asleep in a room near. I will waken him. You are not afraid to stay here a few moments, while I am gone?"
"Oh, no."
"He may wish to question you himself."
"Tell him," said Afra, speaking rapidly, "that the mulattoes are jealous of him, because they think he wants to have all the power in his own hands. They say--`There go the ships! There are no whites in power now. So much the better! But here is Raymond displaced, and L'Ouverture is all in all. We shall have every office filled with blacks; and the only chance for our degraded colour is in the fields or in the removal of this black.' Tell him this: but oh! be sure you tell him my father and I do not agree in one word of it."
"She would do anything in the world to save him," said Euphrosyne.
"You are dear as a daughter to him," said Monsieur Pascal, with eyes of love, as he left them.
"I wish I was sure of that," said Afra. "But what can be done, Euphrosyne? He has no guard! And my father is not here, nor any one to help us! I fancy every moment I hear them coming."
"I am not much afraid," said Euphrosyne, her teeth chattering all the while. "He is so powerful! He never seems to want anybody to protect-- scarcely to help him."
"But asleep! After midnight! Think of it! If they should seize him and bind him before he is awake!"
This fear was removed by his appearance, dressed, and like himself. He smiled at the girls, offered them each an arm, and said he had a sight to show them, if they would look at it without speaking. He led them in the dark to a window, whence they looked down upon a courtyard, which was full of soldiers, awake and armed. In another moment, Toussaint was conducting them along the corridors, towards their own apartments, "You knew!" whispered Afra. "We need not have come. I believe you always know everything."
"I suspected a plan to prevent the publishing of the amnesty to-morrow, and the filling up the offices of the colony with blacks. I suspected, but was not certain. Your intelligence has confirmed me."
"What will happen?" asked Euphrosyne, trembling. "Will anybody be killed?"
"Not to-night, I trust. You may go to rest secure that no blood will be spilled to-night; and to-morrow, you know, is a holy-day. If you hear a step in the corridor of this your wing, do not be alarmed. I am going to send one of my own guard."
He left them at their door, after standing to hear them fasten it inside.
The girls kept awake as long as they could, calling each other's attention to every fancied noise. They could be sure of nothing, however, but of the march of the sentinel along the corridor. They both slept at last, and were wakened in broad daylight by the gouvernante, who entered in great trepidation, to say that there had been a plot against the Commander-in-chief;--that the window of his chamber had been entered at two o'clock by a party of mulattoes, who had all been seized by L'Ouverture's soldiers. How it came to end so--how soldiers enough happened to be at hand at the right moment--how it was all done without fighting, without noise enough even to break her rest (and she always know if anybody stirred)--the gouvernante could not tell. All she knew was, that L'Ouverture was the most considerate creature in the world.
As soon as the eleven mulattoes who had been taken were put into confinement, L'Ouverture had sent one of his own guards into her corridor to prevent her being alarmed for herself and her young charge.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
THE GIFT AT THE ALTAR.
Poor Euphrosyne! She was not allowed by her grandfather to go to church this day. Monsieur Revel insisted upon it that it would be an act of treason for one of the French race to attend a thanksgiving for having got rid of the French authorities. In vain did Euphrosyne represent that the thanksgiving was for something very different--for the deliverance of the town and district from war--for the security of white and black inhabitants alike.--Neither Monsieur Revel nor Pierre would hear a word of this. They were quite sure that the faster the dark people thronged to the churches to rejoice, the more fervently should the whites mourn and pray for mercy at home. Her grandfather said Pierre should escort her to the chapel of the convent, where she might go without being seen. That service was a fitting one for her to attend; and he would spare her for a couple of hours, to be so spent, under the eye of the abbess. This, however, Euphrosyne declined. She preferred remaining to see from behind the blind what went on in the Jesuits' Walk--to see Afra and her gouvernante dressed for church--to see L'Ouverture set forth--to see the soldiers follow, marching in a compact body, each man carrying a green bough, in token of rejoicing.
She did not know, any more than the crowd that lined the way, that in the centre of this body of military, and concealed by the green boughs, were the eleven mulatto prisoners.
Afra entered quickly to say farewell; and, lifting her veil hastily, she said, "Kiss me, and let me go. L'Ouverture says he shall take us into church himself, as my father is not here. Mademoiselle and I are going with Madame Ducie and her daughters; and L'Ouverture will wait for us at the church, and lead us in. Poor Euphrosyne! I wish you were going!"
"I never cared for anything half so much. Will you really walk all through the church to your seat on his arm? And I should have been on the other side, if grandpapa would have let me go! Do not stay, dear.
Tell me all about it when you come back."
"I must be gone. There will not be standing-room for one person to spare. You know every one of my colour in Cap is ordered to be in the church as the hour strikes. Farewell."
Euphrosyne had thought she had heard the crier publish this order; and presently Pierre brought her the handbill to the same effect, which was passing from hand to hand. If Euphrosyne and Pierre speculated curiously on what this order might mean, what must have been the anxiety of the mulattoes! Most of them had known of the conspiracy of the day before: all had now heard of its failure. All were anxious to attend the church, as staying away would amount to a confession of disloyalty; but there was not one of them who did not go with fear and trembling, wishing that the day was over, though dreading what it might bring forth.
As Afra, and the ladies who attended her, drew near the great church, they found the streets absolutely empty. Loyalty, and the desire to appear loyal, had carried the entire population to the churches; and the houses appeared deserted by all but an aged or sick person, here and there, who looked forth upon the activity he could not share. In the centre of the area before the church were piled the arms of the garrison and of Toussaint's troops; and on the top of the pile of arms lay the fetters which had just been removed from the mulatto conspirators.
L'Ouverture, in giving his orders to this effect, had said that arms should be laid aside in the act of thanksgiving for peace; and bonds, while giving thanks for liberty. When, at length, he gave the signal for the military to enter the church after him, some of the officers looked earnestly to him for orders that a guard might be left with the arms. He understood their thoughts, and replied, with a smile:-- "Let every one enter to worship: the arms are safe. There is no one near who would employ them against us."
Afra's heart beat, and she did not forget Euphrosyne, as she was led to her seat by L'Ouverture, at whose entrance there was a half-suppressed murmur throughout the vast congregation--a murmur which sank into silence at the first breathing of solemn music from the choir. The signs of gratulation for the escape of the Deliverer, first heard in the streets, and now witnessed amidst the worshipping crowd, were too much for the self-command of the conspirators. Their attitude became every moment more downcast--their countenances more sullen and wretched. They had a strong impression that their execution was to seal the thanksgivings of this day; and in every allusion to deliverance from danger, privy conspiracy, and rebellion, they believed that they read their own doom. A tempting idea of escape now and then crossed the imagination of one or other of them. As they sat with their heads upon their breasts, the thought that they were unfettered, and their guards unarmed, made them eager to glance around, and see if there was hope; but whenever they raised their eyes, and whichever way they looked, they encountered eyes seemingly as numerous as the stars of heaven--as many, as penetrating, but not so calm. Eyes which shone with love of L'Ouverture could not look benignly on those who would have kidnapped or murdered him. Nor did the eleven meet with any visible sympathy from the multitude of their own colour who were present. The greater number looked studiously another way, in order to appear to have no connection with them; and the countenances which were turned towards them wore a strong expression of displeasure, as towards men who had ruined the last hopes of a cause. The wretched men gave themselves up, at length, to counting the minutes till the service should be over, and they should be once more retired from this myriad of eyes, when they were roused by a singular suspension of the service.
After the prayer for divine pardon, ensuing upon mutual forgiveness, L'Ouverture arose from his knees, stepped from his place, and stood before the altar. He spoke, while all rose to hear.
"In this place," said he, "brethren should be reconciled, or their offering of thanksgiving will not be pure. Will all who feel enmity towards me come to this holy spot, and exchange forgiveness?"
He looked towards the conspirators, who gazed upon him with eager eyes, but did not move. They could not believe that tills appeal was intended for them, till he beckoned to them. They advanced with hesitating steps--first one or two--then several--then all; and as they drew nearer