AT length an escort of negro soldiers very fairly equipped arrived. The
negro whose property I appeared to be, unfastened me from the oak to
which I was bound, and handed me over to the escort, receiving in
exchange a bag full of piastres. As he lay upon the grass counting them
with every appearance of delight, I was led away by the soldiers. My
escort wore a uniform of coarse cloth, of a reddish-brown colour, with
yellow facings; their head-dress was a Spanish cap called a _montera_,
ornamented with a large red cockade. Instead of a cartouche case, they
had a species of game-bag slung at their sides. Their arms were a heavy
musket, a sabre, and a dagger. I afterwards learned that these men
formed the body-guard of Biassou.
After a circuitous route through the rows of _ajoupas_, which were
scattered all over the place, I came to a cave which nature had hollowed
out in one of those masses of rock with which the meadow was full. A
large curtain of some material from the looms of Thibet, which the
negroes called _Katchmir_, and which is remarkable less for the
brilliancy of its colouring than for the softness of its material,
concealed the interior of the cavern from the vulgar gaze. The entrance
was guarded by a double line of negroes, dressed like those who had
escorted me thither.
After the countersign had been exchanged with the sentries who marched
backwards and forwards before the cave, the commander of the escort
raised the curtain sufficiently for me to enter, and then let it drop
behind me. A copper lamp with six lights hung by a chain from the roof
of the grotto, casting a flickering light upon the damp walls. Between
the ranks of mulatto soldiers I perceived a coloured man sitting upon a
large block of mahogany, which was partially covered with a carpet made
of parrots’ feathers. His dress was of the most absurd kind. A splendid
silk girdle, from which hung a cross of Saint Louis, held up a pair of
common blue trousers, whilst a waistcoat of white linen which did not
meet the waistband of the trousers completed the strange costume. He
wore high boots, and a round hat with a red cockade, and epaulets, one
of gold with silver stars like those worn by brigadiers, whilst the
other was of red worsted with two copper stars, which seemed to have
been taken from a pair of spurs, fixed upon it, evidently to render it
more worthy of its resplendent neighbour. A sabre and a pair of richly
chased pistols lay by his side.
Behind the throne were two white children dressed in the costume of
slaves, bearing large fans of peacock feathers.
Two squares of crimson velvet, which seemed to have been stolen from
some church, were placed on either side of the mahogany block. One of
these was occupied by the Obi who had rescued me from the frenzy of the
_griotes_. He was seated with his legs crossed under him, holding in his
hand his white wand; and not moving a muscle, he looked like a porcelain
idol in a Chinese pagoda, but through the holes in his veil I could see
his flashing eyes fixed steadfastly upon mine.
Upon each side of the general were trophies of flags, banners, and
pennons of all kinds; among them I noticed the white flag with the
lilies, the tricolour, and the banner of Spain. The others were covered
with fancy devices. I also perceived a large standard entirely black.
At the end of the grotto, I saw a portrait of the mulatto Ogé who,
together with his lieutenant Jean Charanne, had been broken on the wheel
the year previous, for the crime of rebellion. Twenty of his
accomplices, blacks and mulattoes, suffered with him.
In this painting Ogé, the son of a butcher at Cap, was represented in
the uniform of a lieutenant-colonel, and decorated with the star of St.
Louis, and the Order of Merit of the Lion, which last he had purchased
from the Prince of Limburg.
The negro general into whose presence I had been introduced was short
and of vulgar aspect, whilst his face showed a strange mixture of
cunning and cruelty. After looking at me for some time in silence, with
a bitter omen on his face, he said—
“I am Biassou.”
I expected this, but I could not hear it from his mouth, distorted as it
was by a cruel smile, without an inward trembling; but my face remained
unchanged, and I made no reply.
“Well,” continued he, in his bad French, “have they already impaled you,
that you are unable to bend before Biassou, generalissimo of this
conquered land, and brigadier of His Most Catholic Majesty?” (The rebel
chiefs sometimes affected to be acting for the King of France, sometimes
for the Republic, and at others for the King of Spain.)
I crossed my arms upon my chest, and looked him firmly in the face.
He again sneered. “Ho, ho,” said he, “_me pareces hombre de buen
corazon_ (“You seem a courageous man”); well, listen to my questions.
Were you born in the island?”
“No, I am a Frenchman.”
My calmness irritated him.
“All the better; I see by your uniform that you are an officer. How old
are you?”
“Twenty.”
“When were you twenty?”
To this question, which aroused in me all the recollection of my misery,
I could not at first find words to reply. He repeated it imperiously.
“The day upon which Leogri was hung,” answered I.
An expression of rage passed over his face as he answered,
“It is twenty-three days since Leogri was executed. Frenchman, when you
meet him this evening you may tell him from me that you lived
twenty-four days longer than he did. I will spare you for to-day, I wish
you to tell him of the liberty that his brethren have gained, and what
you have seen at the headquarters of General Jean Biassou.”
Then he ordered me to sit down in one corner between two of his guards,
and with a motion of his hand to some of his men, who wore the uniform
of aide-de-camps, he said,
“Let the assembly be sounded, that we may inspect the whole of our
troops; and you, your Reverence,” he added, turning to the Obi, “put on
your priestly vestments, and perform for our army the holy sacrament of
the Mass.”
The Obi rose, bowed profoundly, and whispered a word or two in the
general’s ear.
“What,” cried the latter, “no altar! but never mind, the good Giu has no
need of a magnificent temple for His worship. Gideon and Joshua adored
Him before masses of rock, let us do as they did; all that is required
is that the hearts should be true. No altar, you say—why not make one
of that great chest of sugar which we took yesterday from Dubussion’s
house?”
This suggestion of Biassou was promptly carried into execution. In an
instant the interior of the cave was arranged for a burlesque of the
divine ceremony. A pyx and a monstrance stolen from the parish church of
Acul were promptly produced (the very church in which my nuptials with
Marie had been celebrated, and where we had received heaven’s blessing
which had so soon changed to a curse).
The stolen chest of sugar was speedily made into an altar and covered
with a white cloth, through which, however, the words Dubussion and
Company for Nantes could be plainly perceived.
When the sacred vessels had been placed on the altar, the Obi perceived
that the crucifix was wanting. He drew his dagger which had a cross
handle, and stuck it into the wood of the case in front of the pyx. Then
without removing his cap or veil, he threw the cope which had been
stolen from the priest of Acul over his shoulders and bare chest, opened
the missal with its silver clasps from which the prayers had been read
on my ill-fated marriage day; and turning towards Biassou, whose seat
was a few paces from the altar, announced to him that all was ready.
On a sign from the general the Katchmir curtains were drawn aside, and
the insurgent army was seen drawn up in close column before the entrance
to the grotto.
Biassou removed his hat and knelt before the altar.
“On your knees,” he cried, in a loud voice.
“On your knees!” repeated the commander of the battalions.
The drums were beaten, and all the insurgents fell upon their knees.
I alone refused to move, disgusted at this vile profanation about to be
enacted under my very eyes; but the two powerful mulattoes who guarded
me pulled my seat from under me, and pressed heavily upon my shoulders
so that I fell on my knees, compelled to pay a semblance of respect to
this parody of a religious ceremony. The Obi performed his duties with
affected solemnity, whilst the two white pages of Biassou officiated as
deacon and sub-deacon. The insurgents, prostrated before the altar,
assisted at the ceremony with the greatest enthusiasm, the general
setting the example.
At the moment of the exaltation of the host, the Obi, raising in his
hands the consecrated vessel, exclaimed in his Creole jargon,
“Zoté coné bon Giu; ce li mo fé zoté voer. Blan touyé li, touyé blan yo
toute!” (“You see your good God; I am showing Him to you. The white men
killed Him; kill all the whites!”)
At these words, pronounced in a loud voice, the tones of which had
something in them familiar to my ear, all the rebels uttered a loud
shout, and clashed their weapons together. Had it not been for Biassou’s
influence that hour would have been my last. To such atrocities may men
be driven who use the dagger for a cross, and upon whose mind the most
trivial event makes a deep and profound impression.