was caught by the motion of a young fawn in the high grass of a lawny slope, on one side of the valley. He snatched the loaded rifle which one of the soldiers had exchanged for a spade and fired. The passion for sport was instantly roused by the act. Kids were seen here and there on the rocks. Marks were not wanting: and first Vincent, and then one and another, followed Placide's example; and there were several shots at the same instant, whose echoes reverberated to the delighted ear of Placide, who was sorry when the last had died away among the mountain-tops.
"Your first and last sport for to-day," observed Toussaint. "You have given the game a sufficient alarm for the present."
"We must find our game, as we have shot it," exclaimed Vincent. "My kid is not far-off."
"After it, then! You will find me under the large cotton-tree yonder.
The heat is too great here, Placide, between these walls of rock."
Every man of the party was off in pursuit of his game, except Placide, who remained to ask his father, now they were alone, what was to happen at the season of the second indigo-cutting. They threw themselves down beneath the cotton-tree, which with its own broad shades, deepened by the masses of creepers which twined and clustered about it, and weighed it down on every side, afforded as complete a shelter from the shower of sun-rays as any artificial roof could have done.
"The second indigo-cutting is in August, you know," said Toussaint.
"August will decide our freedom, if it is not decided before. August is the season when Nature comes in as our ally--comes in with her army of horrors, which we should not have the heart to invoke, but which will arrive, with or without our will; and which it will be the fault of the French themselves if they brave."
"Foul airs and pestilence, you mean!" said Placide.
"I mean foul airs and pestilence. All our plans, my son--(it is a comfort to make a counsellor of my own son!)--all the plans of my generals and myself are directed to provide for our defence till August, certain that then the French will be occupied in grappling with a deadlier foe than even men fighting for their liberties."
"Till August!" repeated Placide. "Nearly six months! I scarcely think the French could hold their footing so long, if--but that--" "If what? Except for what?"
"If it were not for the tremendous reinforcements which I fear will be sent."
"I thought so," said his father.
"All France is eager to come," continued Placide. "The thousands who are here (about twelve thousand, I fancy; but they did what they could to prevent our knowing the numbers exactly)--the thousands who are here are looked upon with envy by those who are left behind. The jealousy was incredible--the clamour to gain appointments to the Saint Domingo expedition."
"To be appointed to pestilence in the hospitals, and a grave in the sands!" exclaimed Toussaint. "It is strange! Frenchmen enough have died here, in seasons of trouble, to convince all France that only in times of peace, leisure, stillness, and choice of residence, have Europeans a fair chance of life here, for a single year. It is strange that they do not foresee their own death-angels clustering on our shores."
"The delusion is so strong," said Placide, "that I verily believe that if these twelve thousand were all dead to-day, twenty thousand more would be ready to come to-morrow. If every officer was buried here, the choicest commanders there would press forward over their graves. If even the Leclercs should perish, I believe that other relatives of the First Consul, and perhaps some other of his sisters, would kneel to him, as these have done, to implore him to appoint them to the new expedition to Saint Domingo."
"The madness of numbers is never without an open cause," said Toussaint.
"What is the cause here?"
"Clear and plain enough. The representations of the emigrants coming in aid of the secret wishes of Bonaparte, have, under his encouragement, turned the heads of his family, his court, and after them, of his people."
"The emigrants sigh for their country (and it is a country to sigh after), and they look back on their estates and their power, I suppose; while the interval of ten years dims in their memories all inconveniences from the climate, and from the degradation of their order."
"They appear to forget that any form of evil but Oge and you, father, ever entered their paradise. They say that, but for you, they might have been all this while in paradise. They have boasted of its wealth and its pleasures, till there is not a lady in the court of France who does not long to come and dwell in palaces of perfumed woods, marbles, and gold and silver. They dream of passing the day in breezy shades, and of sipping the nectar of tropical fruits, from hour to hour. They think a good deal, too, of the plate and wines, and equipages, and trains of attendants, of which they have heard so much; and at the same time, of martial glory and laurel crowns."
"So these are the ideas with which they have come to languish on Tortuga, and be buried in its sands! These emigrants have much to answer for."
"So Isaac and I perpetually told them; but they would not listen to anything said by an Ouverture. Nor could we wonder at this, when persons of every colour were given to the same boastings; so that Isaac and I found ourselves tempted into a like strain upon occasion."
"It appears as if the old days had returned," said Toussaint; "the days of Columbus and his crows. We are as the unhappy Indians to the rapacity of Europe. No wonder, if mulattoes and blacks speak of the colony as if it were the old Hayti."
"They do, from Lanville, the coffee-planter, to our Mars Plaisir. Mars Plaisir has brought orders for I do not know how many parrots; and for pearls, and perfumes, and spices, and variegated woods."
"Is it possible?" said Toussaint, smiling. "Does he really believe his own stories? If so, that accounts for his staying with you, instead of going with Isaac; which I wondered at. I thought he could not have condescended to us, after having lived in France."
"He condescends to be wherever he finds most scope for boasting. On Tortuga, or among the ashes of Cap, he can boast no more. With us he can extol France, as there he extolled Saint Domingo. If August brings the destruction we look for, the poor fellow ought to die of remorse; but he has not head enough to suffer for the past. You can hold out till August, father?"
"If Maurepas joins us here with his force, I have no doubt of holding out till August. In these mornes, as many as will not yield might resist for life; but my own forces, aided by those of Maurepas, may effectually keep off the grasp of the French from all places but those in which they are actually quartered. A few actions may be needful,-- morally needful,--to show them that the blacks can fight. If this lesson will not suffice, August, alas! will exterminate the foe. What do I see stirring among the ferns there? Is it more game?"
Placide started up.
"Too near us for game," he whispered; and then added aloud, "Shall we carry home another deer? Shall I fire?"
At these words, some good French was heard out of the tall, tree-like ferns,--voices of men intreating that no one would fire; and two Frenchman presently appeared, an army and a navy officer.
"How came you here, gentlemen? Are you residents in the colony?"
"If we had been, we should not have lost ourselves, as you perceive we have done. We are sent by the Captain-General to parley, as a last hope of avoiding the collision which the Captain-General deprecates. Here are our credentials, by which you will discover our names,--Lieutenant Martin," pointing to his companion, "and Captain Sabes," bowing for himself.
"It is too late for negotiation, gentlemen," said L'Ouverture, "as the news from the south will already have informed the Captain-General. I regret the accident of your having lost your way, as it will deprive you for a time of your liberty. You must be aware that, voluntarily or involuntarily, you have fulfilled the office of spies; and for the present, therefore, I cannot part with you. Placide, summon our attendants, and, with them, escort these gentlemen to Le Zephyr. I shall soon join you there, and hear anything that your charge may have to say."
The officers protested, but in vain.
"It is too late, gentlemen. You may thank your own commanders for compelling me to run no more risks--for having made trust in a French officer's honour a crime to my own people. You may have heard and seen so much that I am compelled to hold you prisoners. As I have no proof, however, that you are spies, your lives are safe."
In answer to Placide's shout--the well-known mountain-cry which he was delighted to revive--their followers appeared on all sides, some bringing in their game, some empty-handed. The French officers saw that escape was impossible. Neither had they any thought, but for a passing moment, of fighting for their liberty. The Ouvertures were completely armed; and there never was an occasion when a man would lightly engage, hand-to-hand, with Toussaint or his son.
Half the collected party, including Vincent, accompanied Toussaint to Pongaudin. The other half escorted Placide and his prisoners up the morne to Le Zephyr; these carried all the game for a present provision.
Placide observed an interchange of glances between his prisoners as they passed the spades, pick-axes, and fresh-dug earth in the plateaus. He had little idea how that glance was connected with the romancing he had just been describing; nor how much of insult and weary suffering it boded to his father.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.
RETREAT.
Pongaudin was indeed no longer safe. Immediately on the return of Coasson to the fleet, under the date of the 17th of February, the Captain-General issued a proclamation of outlawry against L'Ouverture and Christophe, pronouncing it the imperative duty of every one who had the power to seize and deliver up the traitors. As Toussaint said to his family, Pongaudin was a residence for a citizen; outlaws must go to the mountains.
To the mountain they went--not weeping and trembling, but in a temper of high courage and hope. The rocks rang with the military music which accompanied them. Their very horses seemed to feel the spirit of their cause; much more were the humblest of the soldiery animated with the hope of success in the struggle, which was now to be carried on in a mode which they much preferred to keeping watch in the plains. They found the pass well fortified; they found the morne above it still and undisturbed; untrod, as it seemed now likely to remain, by the foot of an invader. They found the mansion at Le Zephyr, spacious as it was, much enlarged by temporary erections, and prepared for the abode of more than the number that had come. Madame Pascal looked at her husband with a sigh, when the alterations met her eye; and Raymond himself did not much relish seeing sentinels posted at all his gates. Euphrosyne, however, was still quite happy. Here was her beloved Le Zephyr, with its blossoming cacao-groves. Here were space, freedom, and friends; and neither convent rules nor nuns.
A perpetual line of communication was established between the pass and this mansion. Vincent, with a troop, was appointed to guard the estate and the persons on it--including the two French prisoners. Placide was to join his father below, to receive the forces which flocked to the rendezvous. Before he went, he pointed out to Vincent, and his own family, a station, on a steep at some distance in the rear of the house, whence they might discern, with a good glass, the road which wound through the plain of the Artibonite, within two miles of the Plateaux, and up towards Plaisance to the north. Many and wonderful were the objects seen from this lofty station; but not one of them--not even the green knolls and hollows of the morne, stretched out from Le Zephyr to the pass--not the brimming river of the plain--not the distant azure sea, with its tufted isles--was so interesting, under present circumstances, as this yellow winding road--the way of approach of either friend or foe.
But for the apprehensions belonging to a state of warfare--apprehensions which embitter life in all its hours to women--and, possibly, more than is generally acknowledged, to men--but for the speculations as to who was destined to die, who to fall into the most cruel hands that ever abused their power over a helpless foe (for the French of former wars were not forgotten), and what was to be the lot of those who escaped death and capture--but for these speculations, which were stirring in every woman's heart in all that household, the way of life at Le Zephyr was pleasant enough.
Even poor Genifrede appeared to revive here. She showed more interest in nursing Dessalines than in any previous occupation since the death of her lover. Therese was delighted to afford her the opportunity of feeling herself useful, and permitted herself many a walk in the groves, many an hour of relaxation in the salon, which she would have despised, but for their affording an interest to Genifrede. The three were more than ever drawn together by their new experience of the conduct of the French. Never was sick man more impatient to be strong than Dessalines.
Genifrede regarded him as the pillar of the cause, on account of his uncompromising passion for vengeance; and his wife herself counted the days till he could be again abroad at the head of his forces.
When not in attendance upon him, Genifrede spent the hours of daylight at the station on the height. She cared neither for heat nor chill while there, and forgot food and rest; and there was sometimes that in her countenance when she returned, and in the tone of her prophesying about the destruction of the enemy, which caused the whisper to go round that she met her lover there, just under the clouds. Monsieur Pascal-- the rational, sagacious Monsieur Pascal--was of opinion that she believed this herself.
On this station, and other heights which surrounded the mansion, there were other objects of interest than the visitations of the clouds, and the whisperings of the breezes from the depths of the woods. For many days, a constant excitement was caused by the accession of troops. Not only Toussaint's own bands followed him to the post, but three thousand more, on whom he could rely, were spared from his other strong posts in the mountains. Soon after these three thousand, Christophe appeared with such force as could be spared from the garrisons in the north. The officers under Dessalines also, aware that the main struggle, whenever the French would come to an engagement, must be in the Plateaux de la Ravine, drew thither, with the remnants of the force which had suffered defeat in the south-west. Hither, too, came Bellair, with his family, and the little garrison which had fortified and held L'Etoile, till it became necessary to burn and leave it.
Messenger arrived after messenger, to announce these accessions of force; and the whole household poured out upon the heights to see and hear. If it was at noon, the clear music of the wind-instruments floated faintly in the still air; if the morning or evening breezes were abroad the harmony came in gushes; and the shouts of greeting and reception were plainly distinguishable, and were responded to involuntarily by all at Le Zephyr but the two prisoners. Under the impulse of the moment, no voice was louder or more joyous than Vincent's. It now only remained for Maurepas to bring his numerous troops up to the point of junction. He must presently arrive; and then, as Placide and other sanguine young soldiers thought, and as Sabes and his companion began seriously to fear, the negro force under L'Ouverture might defy all Europe.
News, stirring news, came from all corners of the colony with every fresh arrival. Deesha, especially, could tell all that had been done, not only at L'Etoile, and in all the plain of Cul-de-Sac, but within the districts of the unfaithful generals, Clerveaux and La Plume. Her boy Juste, though too young to take a practical part in the war, carried the passion and energy of a man into the cause, and was versed in all the details of the events which had taken place since the landing of the French. It was a sore mortification to Juste that he was not permitted to remain by his father's side at the Plateaux; but he consoled himself with teaching his little brother Tobie the military exercise, and with sport. Juste was as fond of sport as on the day when he floated under calabashes, to catch wild ducks; and this was well; for at Le Zephyr, under present circumstances, the sportsman was one of the most useful members of the establishment. The air of the mornes was celebrated for its power of creating an appetite; and there were many mouths to feed: so that Juste was assured, on all hands, that he had as important a function to fulfil as if he had been a soldier. As it was believed impossible for human foot to stray beyond the morne by any other passage than that of the Plateaux, the boys were permitted to be out early and late, in the woods and upon the hill-sides; and often did Genifrede and the sentries hear the far-off shouts of the little sportsmen, or see the puff of smoke from Juste's rifle in the valley, or under the verge of the groves. Many a nest of young orioles did Tobie abstract from the last fork of a branch, when the peculiar note of the parent-bird led him on into the midst of the thicket where these delicate creatures hide themselves. The ring-tail dove, one of the most exquisite of table luxuries, he was very successful in liming; and he would bring home a dozen in a morning. He could catch turkeys with a noose, and young pigs to barbecue. He filled baskets with plover's eggs from the high lands; and of the wild-fowl he brought in, there was no end. In the midst of these feats, he engaged for far greater things in a little while--when the soldier-crabs should make their annual march down the mountains, on their way to the sea. In those days, Tobie promised the tables at Le Zephyr should groan under the profusion of savoury soups, which should banish for the season the salt beef and salt-fish which, meantime, formed part of the daily diet of the household.
While his little brother was thus busy with smaller game, Juste was indulging a higher ambition. When nothing better was to be had, he could condescend to plovers and pigeons; but he liked better to bring down a dainty young heifer among the herds of wild cattle, or several head of deer in a day. It was his triumph to return heavily laden, and to go forth again with three or four soldiers, or half-a-dozen servants (whichever could best be spared), to gather up from the hill-sides the fallen game, which he had covered with branches of trees, to keep off hawk and vulture. It was triumph to point out to his aides spot after spot where the bird of prey hovered, seeking in vain for a space on which to pounce. Amidst these triumphs, Juste was almost satisfied not to be at the Plateau.
Perhaps the heaviest heart among all that household, scarcely excepting Genifrede's, was Madame L'Ouverture's; and yet her chief companionship, strangely enough, was with the one who carried the lightest--Euphrosyne.
It was not exactly settled whether Madame L'Ouverture or Madame Pascal was hostess; and they therefore divided the onerous duties of the office; and Euphrosyne was their handmaid, charmed to be with those she loved best--charmed to be busy in new ways--charmed to hear, from time to time, that she was useful. She useful to the Ouvertures! It was an honour--it was an exquisite pleasure. She was perhaps the first white lady in the island, out of the convent, who had gathered fruits, prepared vegetables, and made sweet dishes with her own hands. Morning after morning the three ladies spent together in domestic occupations, finding that the servants, numerous as they were, could not get through the whole work of hospitality to such a household. Morning after morning they spent in the shaded store-room, amidst the fragrance of fruits and spices. Here the unhappy mother, the anxious wife, opened her heart to the young people; and they consoled and ministered to her as daughters.
"If you are not my daughters," said she, on one of these mornings, "I have none."
"But you will have: they will return to you," said Afra. "Think of them as you did of your sons, when they were at Paris--as absent for a while to gain experience, and sure to return. You will find one of them, perhaps both, as happy on your bosom hereafter as we see your Placide by his father's side."
"How can you say so, Afra? Which of my girls will ever come to me again, as they did at Breda?"
"Genifrede is better," said Euphrosyne; "better since we came here-- better every day: and I should wonder if she were not. No one can long be sullen here."
"Do not be hard, Euphrosyne, my love--`Sullen' is a hard word for my poor, unhappy child."
"Nay, madam; no one can be more sorry for her than I am; as you will find, if you ask Father Gabriel. He will tell you how angry I was with L'Ouverture, how cruel I thought him on that dreadful day. But now, in these stirring times, when our whole world, our little world in the middle of the sea, is to be destroyed, or made free and glorious for ever, I do think it is being sullen to mope on the mountain as she does, and speak to nobody, care for nobody, but the Dessalines. However, I would not say a word about it, if I were not sure that she is getting better. And if she were growing worse, instead of better, there is nothing that I would not do to help or console her, though I must still think her sullen--not only towards her father here, but--" And Euphrosyne crossed herself.
"It is hard," sighed Madame L'Ouverture; "it is hard to do all one ought, even in the serious hours of one's prayers. I do try, with my husband's help, when he is here, and from the thought of him when he is absent, to pray, as he desires, for our enemies. But it generally ends (God forgive me!) in my praying that Bonaparte may be held back from the work of estranging our children from us."
"It can only be for a time," said Afra, again. She could think of no other consolation.
"Those who know best say that everything is for good," continued Margot.
"If so, I wonder whether anyone can foretell what can be the good of a stranger, a man that we have never seen, and who has everything about him to make him great, thrusting himself between us and our children, to take their hearts from us. I asked L'Ouverture to foretell to me how this would be explained; and he put his hand upon my month, and asked me to kneel down, and pray with him that we might have patience to wait God's own time."
"And could you do so?" asked Euphrosyne, with brimming eyes.
"I did: but I added a prayer that Bonaparte might be moved to leave us the glory and dominion which we value--the duty and the hearts of our children--and that he might be contented with gaining the homage of the French nation, and grasping the kingdoms of Europe."
"I think God will hear that prayer," said Afra, cheerfully.
"And I am sure Bonaparte will thank you for it," said Euphrosyne, "in that day when hearts will be known, and things seen as they are."
"One might expect," sighed Madame L'Ouverture, "as one's children grow up, that they should go mad for love; but I never thought of such a thing as their going mad for loyalty."
"Do you think it is for loyalty?" asked Euphrosyne. "I should call Placide the most loyal of your children; and, next to him, Denis."
"They think they are loyal and patriotic, my dear. I am sure I hope they will go on to think so; for it is the best excuse for them."
"I wish I had a magic glass," said Euphrosyne-- "My dear, do not wish any such thing. It is very dangerous and wicked to have anything to do with that kind of people. I could tell you such a story of poor Moyse (and of many other unhappy persons, too) as would show you the mischief of meddling with charms, Euphrosyne."
"Do not be afraid, dear madam. I was not thinking of any witchcraft; but only wishing your children the bright mirror of a clear and settled mind. I think such a mirror would show them that what they take for loyalty and patriotism in their own feelings and conduct, is no more loyalty and patriotism than the dancing lights in our rice-grounds are stars."
"What is it, my dear, do you think?"
"I think it is weakness, remaining from their former condition. When people are reared in humiliation, there will be weakness left behind.
Loyal minds must call Bonaparte's conduct to L'Ouverture vulgar. Those who admire it, it seems to me, either have been, or are ready to be, slaves."
"One may pity rather than blame the first," said Afra; "but I do not pretend to have any patience with the last. I pity our poor faithless generals here, and dear Aimee, with her mind so perplexed, and her struggling heart; but I have no toleration for Leclerc and Rochambeau, and the whole train of Bonaparte's worshippers in France."
"They are not like your husband, indeed, Afra."
"And they might all have been as right as he. They might all have known as well as he, what L'Ouverture is, and what he has done. Why do they not know that he might long ago have been a king? Why do they not tell one another that his throne might, at this day, have been visited by ambassadors from all the nations, but for his loyalty to France? Why do they not see, as my husband does, that it is for want of personal ambition that L'Ouverture is now an outlaw in the mornes, instead of being hand-in-hand, as a brother king, with George of England? They might have known whom to honour and whom to restrain, as my husband does, if they had had his clearness of soul, and his love of freedom."
"And because they have not," said Euphrosyne, "they are lost in amazement at his devotion to a negro outlaw. Do not shrink, dear madam, from those words. If they were meant in anything but honour they would not be spoken before you. Afra and I feel that to be the First of the Blacks is now to be the greatest man in the world; and that to be an outlaw in the mornes, in the cause of a redeemed race, is a higher glory than to be the conqueror of Europe. Do we not, Afra?"
"Assuredly we do."
"They will soon learn whom they have to deal with in this outlaw," said Madame. "I can tell you, my dears, that Rochambeau is drawing near us, and that there is likely soon to be a battle. Heigho!"
"Is that bad news or good?" asked Euphrosyne.
"My husband means it for good news, my dear--at least, if Maurepas arrives from the south as soon as Rochambeau from the north."
"I wish Maurepas would come!" sighed Afra. Madame L'Ouverture went on-- "It has been a great mortification to my husband that there has been no fair battle yet. His people--those who are faithful--have had no opportunity of showing how they feel, and what they can do. The French have been busy spying, and bribing, and cajoling, and pretending to negotiate; and the one thing they will not do is fighting. But I tell you, my dears, the battle-day is coming on now. Heigho!"
There was a pause; after which Euphrosyne said-- "I suppose we shall hear the battle."
There was another pause, during which Madame's tears were dropping into her lap. Afra wondered how General Dessalines would bear to hear the firing from his chamber, so near, and be unable to help.
"That puts me in mind," said Madame, rising hurriedly--"how could I forget? It was the very reason why my husband told me that Rochambeau was so near. We must prepare for the wounded, my dears. They will be sent up here--as many as the house will hold, and the tents which my husband is sending up. We must be making lint, my dears, and preparing bandages. My husband has provided simples, and Madame Dessalines will tell us--Oh dear! what was I about to forget all this!"
"Do not hurry yourself, dear madam," said Afra. "We will take care that everything is done. With Madame Dessalines to direct us, we shall be quite prepared. Do not hurry yourself so, I dare say Rochambeau is not at hand at this moment."
At the very next moment, however, Euphrosyne's countenance showed that she was by no means certain of this. Madame L'Ouverture stood still to listen, in her agitated walk about the room. There were distant shouts heard, and a bustle and buzz of voices, within and about the house, which made Euphrosyne empty her lap of the shaddocks she was peeling, and run out for news.
"Joy! Joy!" she cried, returning. "Maurepas is coming. We can see his march from the station. His army has crossed the river. Make haste, Afra. Dear madam, will you go with me to the station?"
"No, my love," said Madame, sitting down, trembling.
"We can go as slowly as you like. There is plenty of time. You need not hurry; and it will be a glorious sight."
"No, my dear. Do you young people go. But, Euphrosyne, are you quite sure it is not Rochambeau?"
"Oh, dear, yes! quite certain. They come from the south, and have crossed the Artibonite; they come from the very point they ought to come from. It is good news, you may rely upon it; the best possible news."
"I am thankful," said Madame, in a low, sad voice. "Go, my dears. Go, and see what you can."
All who could leave the house, or the post of duty--that is, all but the two prisoners, the sentries, and Madame--were at the station, or on their way to it. The first notice had been given, it appeared, by some huntsmen who had brought in game.
"My boys!" said Madame Bellair, "what a pity they should miss this sight! only that, I suppose, we could not keep Juste within bounds. He would be off to the camp before we could stop him. It may be a fortunate chance that he is on the northern hills instead of the southern, to-day; but I am sorry for my little Tobie. Whereabouts are they, I wonder. Has any one seen them within these two hours?"
The hunters had parted with the boys in the valley, at sunrise, when they said they should seek fish and fowl to-day, in the logwood grove and the pond above it, as there were hunters enough out upon the hills.
"If they are really no farther off than that," said their mother, "they may hear us, and come for their share of the sight. You walk well, General Dessalines."
Dessalines declared himself well. The rumour of war was the tonic he needed. Even at this distance, it had done more for him than all Therese's medicines in a month. Therese saw that it was indeed so; and that he would lie at the Plateaux now before the enemy.
"Look at General Vincent," whispered Madame Pascal to her husband, on whose arm she was leaning, as all stood on the height, anxiously gazing at the road, which wound like a yellow thread across the plain, and round the base of the hills. The troops were now hidden by a hanging wood; so that Afra rested her strained eyes for a moment, and happened to notice Vincent's countenance. "Look, do look, at General Vincent!"
Her husband shook his head, and said that was what he was then thinking of. Dessalines and his wife were similarly occupied; and they and the Pascals communicated with each other by glances.
"What is the matter, Vincent," asked Dessalines, outright. "Here are the long-expected come at last; and you look as gloomily upon them as if they were all France."
"I am not such a man of blood as you, Dessalines. I have never given up the hope of accommodation and peace. It is strange, when the great men on both sides profess such a desire for peace, that we must see this breach made, nobody can tell why."
"Why, my good fellow!" exclaimed Dessalines, staring into his face, "surely you are talking in your sleep! The heats put you to sleep last summer, and you are not awake yet. You know nothing that has been done since December, I do believe. Come! let me tell you, as little Tobie is not here to do it."
"Don't, love," said Therese, pressing her husband's arm. "No disputes to-day, Jacques! The times are too serious."
"At another time, General," said Vincent, "I will instruct you a little in my opinions, formed when my eyes were wide open in France; which yours have never been."
"There they are! There they come from behind the wood, if we could but see them for the dust!" exclaimed some.
"Oh, this dust! we can see nothing!" cried others. "Who can give a guess how many they are?"
"It is impossible," said Bellair. "Without previous knowledge, one could not tell them from droves of bullocks and goats going to market at Saint Marc."
"Except for their caps," said Euphrosyne. "I see a dozen or two of feathers through the crowd. Do not you, Afra?"
"Yes, but where is their music? We should hear something of it here, surely."
"Yes, it is a dumb march," said Dessalines, "at present. They will strike up when they have turned the shoulder of that hill, no doubt.
There! now listen!"
All listened, so that the brook, half a mile behind, made its babbling heard, but there was not a breath of music.
"Is it possible that Rochambeau should be in the way," asked Therese.
"He cannot be in the way," said her husband, "for where I stand, I command every foot of the road, up to our posts; but he may be nearer than we thought. I conclude that he is."
"Look! See!" cried several. "They are taking another road. Where are they going! General Dessalines, what does it mean?"
"I would thank anyone to tell me that it is not as I fear," replied Dessalines. "I fear Maurepas is effecting a junction, not with us, but with some one else."
"With Rochambeau!"
"Traitor!"
"The traitor Maurepas!"
"His head!"
"Our all for his head!" cried the enraged gazers, as they saw Maurepas indeed diverging from the road to the post, and a large body of French troops turning a reach of the same road, from behind a hill. The two clouds of dust met. And now there was no more silence, but sound enough from below and afar. There was evidently clamour and rage among the troops in the Plateaux; and bursts of music from the army of their foes, triumphant and insulting, swelled the breeze.
"Our all for the head of Maurepas!" cried the group again.
"Nay," said Vincent, "leave Maurepas his head. Who knows but that peace may come out of it? If all had done as he has now done, there could be no war."
"In the same way," exclaimed Pascal, "as if all of your colour thought as you do, there would then be no war, because there would be no men to fight; but only slaves to walk quietly under the yoke."
"Be as angry as you will," said Vincent, in a low voice to Pascal. "No one's anger can alter the truth. It is impious and vain, here as elsewhere, to oppose Bonaparte. L'Ouverture will have to yield; you know that as well as I do, Monsieur Pascal; and those are the best friends of the blacks who help to render war impossible, and who bring the affair to a close while the First Consul may yet be placable."