I HAD thought that nothing that related to this extraordinary man could
have surprised me. I had experienced some feelings of astonishment in
finding the slave Pierrot transformed into an African King, but my
admiration reached its height, when from his own confession I learned
that he was the courageous, and magnanimous Bug-Jargal, the chief of the
insurgents of Morne-Rouge; and I understood the respectful demeanour
shown by all the rebels, even by Biassou, to Bug-Jargal, the King of
Kakongo. He did not notice the impression that his last words had made
upon me.
“They told me,” continued he, “that you were a prisoner in Biassou’s
camp, and I hastened to deliver you.”
“But you told me just now that you too were a prisoner.”
He glanced inquisitively at me, as though seeking my reason for putting
this natural question.
“Listen,” answered he. “This morning I was a prisoner in the hands of
your friends, but I heard a report that Biassou had announced his
intention of executing, before sunset to-day, a young prisoner named
Leopold d’Auverney. They doubled my guards, and I was informed that my
execution would immediately follow yours, and that in the event of
escape, ten of my comrades would suffer in my stead. So you see that I
have no time to lose.”
I still detained him.
“You made your escape then?” asked I.
“How else could I have been here? it was necessary to save you. Did I
not owe you my life? Come, let us set out, we are an hour’s march from
the camp of the whites, and about the same distance from that of
Biassou. See the shadow of the cocoa-nut trees are lengthening, and
their round tops look on the pass like the egg of the giant condor. In
three hours the sun will have set. Come, brother, time waits for no
man.”
_In three hours the sun will have set!_ These words froze my blood, like
an apparition from the tomb. They recalled to my mind the fatal promise
which bound me to Biassou. Alas! in the rapture of seeing Marie again, I
had not thought of our approaching eternal separation. I had been
overwhelmed with my happiness, a flood of joyful emotions had swept away
my memory, and in the midst of my delight I had forgotten that the
inexorable finger of death was beckoning to me. But the words of my
friend recalled everything to my mind. _In three hours the sun will have
set!_ It would take an hour to reach Biassou’s camp. There could be no
faltering with my duty. The villain had my word, and it would never do
to give him the chance of despising what he seemed still to put trust
in—the word of a Frenchman; better far to die. The alternative was a
terrible one, and I confess that I hesitated for a moment before I chose
the right course. Can you blame me, gentlemen?