The party of deputies with whom Monsieur Bayou was dining were assembled
at the great hotel, at the corner of Place Mont Archer, at Cap Francais.
Languidly, though gladly, did the guests, especially those from the
country, enter the hotel, overpowering as was the heat of the roads and
the streets. In the roads, the sand lay so deep, that the progress of
horsemen was necessarily slow, while the sun seemed to shed down a
deluge of flame. In the streets, there was the shelter of the piazzas;
but their pillars, if accidentally touched, seemed to burn the hand; and
the hum of traffic, and the sound of feet, appeared to increase the
oppression caused by the weather. Within the hotel, all was
comparatively cool and quiet. The dining and drawing-rooms occupied by
the guests adjoined each other, and presented none but the most welcome
images. The jalousies were nearly closed; and through the small spaces
that were left open, there might be seen in one direction the fountain
playing in the middle of the Place, and in the other, diagonally across
the Rue Espagnole, the Jesuits' Walk, an oblong square laid down in
grass, and shaded in the midst by an avenue of palms. Immediately
opposite the hotel was the Convent of Religieuses, over whose garden
wall more trees were seen; so that the guests _might_ easily have
forgotten that they were in the midst of a town.
The rooms were so dark that those who entered from the glare of the
streets could at first see nothing. The floor was dark, being of native
mahogany, polished like a looking-glass. The walls were green, the
furniture green--everything ordered in counter-action of light and heat.
In the dining-room more was visible; there was the white cloth spread
over the long range of tables, and the plate and glass, glittering in
such light as was allowed to enter; and also the gilded balustrade of
the gallery, to be used to-day as an orchestra. This gallery was
canopied over, as was the seat of the chairman, with palm branches and
evergreens, intermixed with fragrant shrubs, and flowers of all hues. A
huge bunch of peacocks' feathers was suspended from the lofty ceiling,
and it was waved incessantly to and fro, by strings pulled by two little
negroes, at opposite corners of the room, causing a continual fanning of
the air, and circulation of the perfumes of the flowers. The black band
in the orchestra summoned the company to dinner, and entertained them
while at it by playing the popular revolutionary airs which were then
resounding through the colony like the hum of its insects, or the dash
of its waterfalls. As they took their seats to the air of the
"Marseillaise Hymn," more than one of the guests might be heard by his
next neighbour singing to himself:
"Allons, enfans de la patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrive."
Before politics, however, there was dinner to be attended to; and the
first-fruits of the eloquence of the meeting was bestowed on the
delicate turtle, the well-fattened land-crabs, and the rich pasties--on
the cold wines, the refreshing jellies, and the piles of oranges, figs,
and almonds, pomegranates, melons, and pine-apples. The first vote of
compliment was to Henri, the black cook from Saint Christophe, whence he
had been brought over by the discerning hotel-keeper, who detected his
culinary genius while Henri was yet but a lad. When the table was
cleared, a request was sent up to the chairman from various parties at
the table, that he would command Henri's attendance, to receive the
testimony of the company respecting the dinner he had sent up, and to
take a glass of wine from them.
Dr Proteau, the chairman, smilingly agreed, saying that such a tribute
was no more than Henri's professional excellence and high reputation
deserved; and Henri was accordingly summoned by a dozen of the grinning
black waiters, who ran over one another in their haste to carry to the
kitchen the message of these, the highest gentry of the land. The
waiters presently poured into the room again, and stood in two rows from
the door, where Henri appeared, not laughing like the rest, but
perfectly grave, as he stood, white apron on, and napkin over his arm,
his stout and tall figure erect, to receive the commands of his masters.
"Was your father a cook or a gourmand, Henri? Or are you all good cooks
at Saint Christophe?" asked a deputy.
"If it is the air of Saint Christophe that makes men such cooks as
Henri, the knights of Saint John of Malta had a goodly gift in it," said
another.
"Can one get such another as you for money, Henri?" asked a third.
"How many boys has your wife brought you, Henri? We shall bid high for
them, and make your master's fortune, if he trains them all to your
profession," said a fourth.
"Tell your master he had better not part with you for any sum, Henri.
We will make it worth his while to refuse more for you than was ever
offered yet."
"Your health, Henri! May you live out all the turtle now in Saint
Domingo, and the next generation after them."
Amidst all these questions and remarks, Henri escaped answering any. He
stood looking on the ground, till a glass of champagne was brought to
him, bowed to the company, drank it off, and was gone.
"How demure the fellow looks!" said Monsieur Papalier, a planter, to
Bayou, his neighbour in the plain, who now sat opposite to him; "what an
air of infinite modesty he put on! At this moment, I daresay he is
snapping his fingers, and telling the women that all the money in Saint
Domingo won't buy him."
"You are mistaken there," said Bayou. "He is a singular fellow, is
Henri, in more ways than his cookery. I believe he never snapped his
fingers in his life, nor told anybody what his master gave for him. I
happen to know Henri very well, from his being an acquaintance of my
overseer, who is something of the same sort, only superior even to
Henri."
"The fellow looked as if he would have given a great deal more than his
glass of wine to have stayed out of the room," observed Monsieur Leroy.
"He has nothing of the mulatto in him, has he? Pure African, I
suppose."
"Pure African--all safe," replied Bayou. "But observe! the music has
stopped, and we are going on to the business of the day. Silence,
there! Silence, all!"
Everybody said "Silence!" and Dr Proteau rose.
He declared himself to be in a most remarkable situation--one in which
he was sure every Frenchman present would sympathise with him. Here he
stood, chairman of a meeting of the most loyal, the most spirited, the
most patriotic citizens of the empire, chairman of an assemblage of
members of a colonial parliament, and of their guests and friends--here
he stood, in this capacity, and yet he was unable to propose any one of
the loyal toasts by which it had, till now, been customary to sanction
their social festivities. As for the toast, now never more to be heard
from their lips--the health of the king and royal family--the less that
was said about that the better. The times of oppression were passing
away; and he, for one, would not dim the brightness of the present
meeting by recalling from the horizon, where it was just disappearing,
the tempest cloud of tyranny, to overshadow the young sunshine of
freedom. There had been, however, another toast, to which they had been
wont to respond with more enthusiasm than was ever won by despotic
monarchy from its slaves. There had been a toast to which this lofty
roof had rung again, and to hail which every voice had been loud, and
every heart had beat high. Neither could he now propose that toast.
With grief which consumed his soul, he was compelled to bury in
silence--the silence of mortification, the silence of contempt, the
silence of detestation--the name of the National Assembly of France.
His language might appear strong; but it was mild, it was moderate; it
was, he might almost say, cringing, in comparison with what the National
Assembly had deserved. He need not occupy the time of his friends, nor
harrow their feelings, by a narrative of the injuries their colony had
sustained at the hands of the French National Assembly. Those around
him knew too well, that in return for their sympathy in the humbling of
a despot, for their zeal in behalf of the eternal principles of freedom,
the mother-country had, through the instrumentality of its National
Council, endeavoured to strip its faithful whites in this colony of the
power which they had always possessed, and which was essential to their
very existence in their ancient prosperity--the exclusive power of
making or enforcing laws for their own community. The attempt was now
made, as they too well knew, to wrest this sacred privilege from their
hands, by admitting to share it a degraded race, before whose inroads
would perish all that was most dear to his fellow-citizens and to
himself--the repose of their homes, the security of their property, the
honour of their colour, and the prosperity of the colony. He rejoiced
to see around him, and from his heart he bade them welcome, some
fellow-labourers with himself in the glorious work of resisting
oppression, and defending their ancient privileges, endeared to them by
as many ages as had passed since distinctions of colour were made by an
Almighty hand. He invited them to pledge themselves with him to
denounce and resist such profane, such blasphemous innovations, proposed
by shallow enthusiasts, seconded by designing knaves, and destined to be
wrought out by the agency of demons--demons in human form. He called
upon all patriots to join him in his pledge; and in token of their
faith, to drink deep to one now more deserving of their homage than was
ever king or National Assembly--he need not say that he alluded to the
noblest patriot in the colony--its guardian, its saviour--Governor
Blanchelande.
The gentleman who rose, amidst the cheers and jingling of glasses, to
say a few words to this toast, was a man of some importance in the
colony as a member of its Assembly, though he otherwise held no higher
rank than that of attorney to the estate of Monsieur Gallifet, a rich
absentee. Odeluc was an old resident, and (though zealous for the
privileges of the whites) a favourite with men of all colours, and
therefore entitled to be listened to by all with attention, when he
spoke on the conflicting interests of races. However his opinions might
please or displease, all liked to look upon his bright countenance, and
to hear his lively voice. Vincent Oge had said that Odeluc was a worse
foe to the mulattoes than many a worse man--he always so excited their
good-will as to make them forget their rights.
As he now rose, the air from the peacock-fan stirring the white hair
upon his forehead (for in the heats of Saint Domingo it was permitted to
lay wigs aside), and the good wine animating yet further the spirit of
his lively countenance, Odeluc was received with a murmur of welcome,
before he opened his lips to speak.
"I must acknowledge, my fellow-citizens," said he, "I never was more
satisfied with regard to the state of our colony than now. We have had
our troubles, to be sure, like the mother-country, and like all
countries where portions of the people struggle for power which they
ought not to have. But we have settled that matter for ourselves, by
the help of our good Governor, and I firmly believe that we are at the
commencement of a long age of peace."
Here some applauded, while two or three shook their head. Odeluc
continued--
"I see some of my friends do not altogether share my hopes. Yet are
these hopes not reasonable? The Governor has himself assured me that
nothing shall induce him to notice the obnoxious decree, till he has, in
the first place, received it under all the official forms--in the next
place, written his remonstrance to the government at home--and, in the
third place, received an answer. Now, all this will take some time. In
three days, we deputies shall begin our session; and never were the
members of any assembly more united in their will and in their views,
and therefore more powerful. We meet for the express purpose of
neutralising the effects of this ill-judged decree; we have the power--
we have the will--and who can doubt the results? The management of this
colony has always succeeded well in the hands of the whites; they have
made its laws, and enforced them--they have allowed the people of colour
liberty to pursue their own business, and acquire property if they
could, conscious of strength to restrain their excesses, if occasion
should arise: and, as for the negro population, where in the world were
affairs ever on a better footing between the masters and their force
than in the colony of Saint Domingo? If all has worked so well
hitherto, is it to be supposed that an ignorant shout in the National
Assembly, and a piece of paper sent over to us thence, can destroy the
harmony, and overthrow the prosperity which years have confirmed? I,
for one, will never believe it. I see before me in my colleagues men to
whom the tranquillity of the colony may be safely confided; and over
their heads, and beyond the wise laws they are about to pass for the
benefit of both the supreme and subordinate interests of our community.
I see, stretching beyond the reach of living eye, a scene of calm and
fruitful prosperity in which our children's children may enjoy their
lives, without a thought of fear or apprehension of change. Regarding
Governor Blanchelande as one of the chief securities of this our long
tenure of social prosperity, I beg to propose, not only that we shall
now drink his health, but that we shall meet annually in his honour on
this day. Yonder is Government-House. If we open our jalousies wide
enough, and give the honours loudly enough, perhaps our voices may reach
his ears, as the loyal greeting that he deserves."
"Do not you smell smoke?" asked Bayou of his neighbour, as the blinds
were thrown open.
"What a smell of burning!" observed the chairman to Odeluc at the same
moment.
"They are burning field-trash outside the town, no doubt," Odeluc
answered. "We choose the nights when there is little wind, you know,
for that work."
There was a small muster of soldiers round the gates of
Government-House, and several people in the streets, when the honours
were given to the Governor's name. But the first seemed not to hear,
and the others did not turn their heads. The air that came in was so
hot, that the blinds were immediately ordered to be closed again. The
waiters, however, seemed to have lost their obsequiousness, and many
orders and oaths were spent upon them before they did their duty.
While the other gentlemen sat down, a young man remained standing, his
eyes flashing, and his countenance heated, either by wine, or by the
thoughts with which he seemed big.
"My fellow-citizens," said Monsieur Brelle, beginning in a very loud
voice, "agreeing as I do in my hopes for this colony with Monsieur
Odeluc, and, like him, trusting in the protection and blessing of a just
Providence, which will preserve our rights, and chastise those who would
infringe them--feeling thus, and thus trusting, there is a duty for me
to perform. My friends, we must not permit the righteous chastisements
of Providence to pass by unheeded, and be forgotten. The finger of
Providence has been among us, to mark out and punish the guilty
disturber of our peace. But, though dead, that guilty traitor has not
ceased to disturb our peace. Do we not know that his groans have moved
our enemies in the National Assembly; that his ashes have been stirred
up there, to shed their poison over our names? It becomes us, in
gratitude to a preserving Providence, in fidelity to that which is
dearer to us than life--our fair fame--in regard to the welfare of our
posterity, it becomes us to mark our reprobation of treason and
rebellion, and to perpetuate in ignominy the name of the rebel and the
traitor. Fill your glasses, then, gentlemen, and drink--drink deep with
me--Our curse on the memory of Vincent Oge!"
Several members of the company eagerly filled their glasses; others
looked doubtfully towards the chair. Before Dr Protean seemed to have
made up his mind what to do, Monsieur Papalier had risen, saying, in a
rather low and conversational tone--
"My young friend will allow me to suggest to him the expediency of
withdrawing his toast, as one in which his fellow-citizens cannot all
cordially join. We all unite, doubtless, in reprobating treason and
rebellion in the person of Oge; but I, for one, cannot think it good,
either in taste or in policy, to curse the memory of the dead in the
hearing of those who desire mercy for their fallen enemies (as some here
present do), or of others who look upon Oge as no criminal, but a
martyr--which is, I fear, the case with too many outside." He pointed
to the windows as he spoke, where it now appeared that the jalousies had
been pushed a little open, so as to allow opportunity for some
observation from without. Monsieur Papalier lowered his tone, so as to
be heard, during the rest of his speech, only by those who made every
effort to catch his words. Not a syllable could be heard in the
orchestra outside, or even by the waiters ranged against the wall; and
the chairman and others at the extremities of the table were obliged to
lean forwards to catch the meaning of the speaker, who proceeded--
"No one more heartily admires the spirit and good-humour of our friend,
Monsieur Odeluc, than myself: no one more enjoys being animated by the
hilarity of his temper, and carried away by the hopeful enthusiasm which
makes him the dispenser of happiness that he is. But I cannot always
sympathise in his bright anticipations. I own I cannot to-day. He may
be right. God grant he be so! But I cannot take Monsieur Odeluc's word
for it, when words so different are spoken elsewhere. There are
observers at a distance--impartial lookers-on, who predict (and I fear
there are signs at home which indicate) that our position is far from
secure--our prospects far other than serene. There are those who
believe that we are in danger from other foes than the race of Oge; and
facts have arisen--but enough. This is not the time and place for
discussion of that point. Suffice it now that, as we all know,
observers at a distance can often see deeper and farther than those
involved in affairs; and that Mirabeau has said--and what Mirabeau says
is, at least, worth attention--Mirabeau has said of us, in connection
with the events of last October, `They are sleeping on the margin of
Vesuvius, and the first jets of the volcano are not sufficient to awaken
them.' In compliment to Mirabeau," he concluded, smiling, and bowing to
Monsieur Brelle, "if not in sympathy with what he may think my needless
caution, I hope my young friend will reserve his wine for the next
toast."
Monsieur Brelle bowed, rather sulkily. No one seemed ready at the
moment to start a new subject. Some attacked Monsieur Papalier in
whispers for what he had said; and he to defend himself, told, also in
whispers, facts of the murder of a bailiff on an estate near his own,
and of suspicious circumstances attending it, which made him and others
apprehend that all was not right among the negroes. His facts and
surmises went round. As, in the eagerness of conversation, a few words
were occasionally spoken aloud, some of the party glanced about to see
if the waiters were within earshot. They were not. There was not a
negro in the apartment. The band had gone out unnoticed; to refresh
themselves, no doubt.
Odeluc took the brief opportunity to state his confidence that all
doubts of the fidelity of the negroes were groundless. He agreed with
Monsieur Papalier that the present was not the time and place for
entering at large into the subject. He would only just say that he was
now an old man, that he had spent his life among the people alluded to,
and knew them well, if any man did. They were revengeful, certainly,
upon occasion, if harshly treated; but, otherwise, and if not corrupted
by ignorant demagogues and designing agents, they were the most
tractable and attached people on earth. He was confident that the
masters in Saint Domingo had nothing to fear.
He was proceeding; but he perceived that the band was re-entering the
orchestra, and he sat down abruptly.
The chairman now discovered that it had grown very dark, and called out
for lights. His orders were echoed by several of the party, who hoped
that the lights would revive some of the spirit of the evening, which
had become very flat.
While waiting for lights, the jalousies were once more opened, by orders
from the chair. The apartment was instantly pervaded by a dull,
changeful, red light, derived from the sky, which glowed above the trees
of the Jesuits' Walk with the reflection of extensive fires. The guests
were rather startled, too, by perceiving that the piazza was crowded
with heads; and that dusky faces, in countless number, were looking in
upon them, and had probably been watching them for some time past. With
the occasional puffs of wind, which brought the smell of burning, came a
confused murmur, from a distance, as of voices, the tramp of many horses
in the sand, and a multitude of feet in the streets. This was
immediately lost in louder sounds. The band struck up, unbidden, with
all its power, the Marseillaise Hymn; and every voice in the piazza,
and, by degrees, along the neighbouring streets and square, seemed to
join in singing the familiar words--
"Allons enfants de la patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrive."
The consternation of the deputies and their guests was extreme. Every
man showed his terror in his own way; but one act was universal. Each
one produced arms of one sort or another. Even Odeluc, it appeared, had
not come unarmed. While they were yet standing in groups about the
table, the door burst open, and a negro, covered with dust and panting
with haste, ran in and made for the head of the table, thrusting himself
freely through the parties of gentlemen. The chairman, at sight of the
man, turned pale, recoiled for a moment, and then, swearing a deep oath,
drew the short sword he wore, and ran the negro through the body.
"Oh, master!" cried the poor creature, as his life ebbed out in the
blood which inundated the floor.
The act was not seen by those outside, as there was a screen of persons
standing between the tables and the windows. To this accident it was
probably owing that the party survived that hour, and that any order was
preserved in the town.
"Shame, Proteau! shame!" said Odeluc, as he bent down, and saw that the
negro was dying. Papalier, Bayou, and a few more, cried "Shame!" also;
while others applauded.
"I will defend my deed," said Proteau, struggling with the hoarseness of
his voice, and pouring out a glass of wine to clear his throat. His
hand was none of the steadiest as he did so. "Hush that band! There is
no hearing oneself speak. Hush! I say; stop!" and swearing, he
passionately shook his fist at the musicians, who were still making the
air of the Marseillaise peal through the room. They instantly stopped,
and departed.
"There! you have sent them out to tell what you have done," observed a
deputy.
"I will defend my deed," Proteau repeated, when he had swallowed the
wine, "I am confident the negroes have risen. I am confident the fellow
came with bad intent."
"_No_ fear but the negroes will rise, anywhere in the world, where they
have such as you for masters," said Odeluc.
"What do you mean, sir?" cried Proteau, laying his hand on the hilt of
his dripping sword.
"I mean what I say. And I will tell you, too, what I do not mean. I do
not mean to fight to-night with any white: and least of all with one who
is standing in a pool of innocent blood, of his own shedding." And he
pointed to Proteau's feet, which were indeed soaked with the blood of
his slave.
"Hush! hush! gentlemen!" cried several voices. "Here is more news!"
"Hide the body!" said Bayou, and as he spoke he stooped to lift it.
Monsieur Brelle made shorter work. He rolled it over with his foot, and
kicked it under the table. It was out of sight before the master of the
hotel entered, followed by several negroes from the plain, to say that
the "force" had risen on several plantations, had dismantled the mills,
burned the sugar-houses, set fire to the crops, murdered the overseers,
and, he feared, in some cases, the proprietors.
"Where?" "Whose estates?" "What proprietors?" asked every voice
present.
"Where did it begin?" was the question the landlord applied himself
first to answer.
"It broke out on the Noe estate, sir. They murdered the refiner and his
apprentice, and carried off the surgeon. They left another young man
for dead; but he got away, and told the people on the next plantation;
but it was too late then. They had reached Monsieur Clement's by that
time, and raised his people. They say Monsieur Clement is killed; but
some of his family escaped. They are here in the town, I believe."
Some of the deputies now snatched their hats, and went out to learn
where the fugitives were, and thus to get information, if possible, at
first hand.
"All is safe in our quarter, at present, I trust," said Papalier to
Bayou; "but shall we be gone? Your horse is here, I suppose. We can
ride together."
"In a moment. Let us hear all we can first," replied Bayou.
"Do you stay for that purpose, then, and look to our horses. I will
learn what the Governor's orders are, and come here for you presently."
And Papalier was gone.