"Impossible! incredible! Gallifet's force risen! Not they? They would
be firm if the world were crushed flat. Why, they love me as if I were
their father!"
"Nevertheless, sir, you owe your safety to being my guest," said the
landlord, with a bow as polite as on the most festive occasion. "I am
happy that my roof should--"
"Who brought this report?" cried Odeluc. "Who can give news of
Gallifet's negroes?" And he looked among the black faces which were
clustered behind the landlord. No one spoke thence; but a voice from
the piazza said--
"Gallifet's force has risen. The canes are all on fire."
"I will bring them to their senses," said Odeluc, with sudden quietness.
"I have power over them. The Governor will give me a handful of men
from the town guard, and we shall set things straight before morning.
The poor fellows have been carried away, while I was not there to stand
by them--but making speeches here, like a holiday fool! I will bring
them to their senses presently. Make way, friends--make way."
And Odeluc stepped out among the blacks on the piazza, that being the
shortest way to Government-House.
"I hope he is not too confident," whispered a town deputy to a friend
from the south. "But this is bad news. Gallifet's plantation is the
largest in the plain, and only eight miles off."
A sort of scream, a cry of horror, from one who stood close by, stopped
the deputy.
"Boirien! what is the matter?" cried a deputy, as Boirien hid his face
with his arms upon the table, and a strong shudder shook his whole
frame.
"Do not speak to him! I will tell you," said another. "Oh, this is
horrible! They have murdered his brother-in-law on Flaville's estate,
and carried off his sister and her three daughters into the woods.
Something must be done directly. Boirien, my poor fellow, I am going to
the Governor. Soldiers shall be sent to bring your sister into the
town. We shall have her here before morning; and you must bring her and
her family to my house."
No one could endure to stay and hear more. Some went to learn elsewhere
the fate of those in whom they were interested. Some went to offer
their services to the Governor; some to barricade their own houses in
the town; some to see whether it was yet possible to entrench their
plantations. Some declared their intention of conveying the ladies of
their families to the convent; the place always hitherto esteemed safe,
amidst all commotions. It soon appeared, however, that this was not the
opinion of the sisters themselves, on the present occasion, nor of the
authorities of the town; for the muffled nuns were seen hurrying down to
the quay, under the protection of soldiers, in order to take refuge on
board the vessels in the bay. All night long, boats were plying in the
harbour, conveying women, children, plate, and money, on board the ships
which happened to be in the roads.
The landlord would have been glad of the help of any of his guests, in
clearing his house; but they had no sympathy to spare--no time to think
of his plate and wines. As the whites disappeared from the room, the
blacks poured in. They allowed the landlord to sweep away his plate,
but they laid hands on the wines; and many a smart speech, and many a
light laugh, resounded within those walls till morning, while
consternation reigned without. When these thoughtless creatures
sauntered to their several homes in the sunrise, they found that such of
their fellow-servants as they had been accustomed to look up to, as
abler and more trusted than themselves, had disappeared, and no one
would tell whither they were gone--only that they were quite safe.
When Monsieur Papalier returned to the hotel, from his cruise for
information, he found his neighbour Bayou impatiently waiting on
horseback, while Henri, still in his white apron, was holding the other
horse.
"Here, sir--mount, and let us be off," cried Bayou. "We owe it to my
friend Henri, here, that we have our horses. The gentlemen from the
country very naturally took the first that came to hand to get home
upon. They say Leroy is gone home on a dray-mule. I rather expect to
meet Toussaint on the road. If he sees the fires, he will be coming to
look after me."
"He cannot well help seeing the fires," replied Papalier. "They are
climbing up the mountain-side, all the way along the Haut du Cap. We
shall be singed like two porkers, if we do not ride like two devils; and
then we shall be lucky if we do not meet two thousand devils by the
way."
"Do you suppose the road is safe, Henri?" asked Bayou. "I know you will
tell me truth."
"Indeed, master, I know nothing," replied Henri. "You say you shall
meet Toussaint. I will ride with you till you meet him, if you will.
Our people all know him and me."
"Do so, Henri. Do not wait to look for another horse. Jump up behind
me. Mine is a strong beast, and will make no difficulty, even of your
weight. Never mind your apron. Keep it for a flag of truce, in case we
meet the enemy."
They were off, and presently emerged from the comparative darkness of
the streets into the light of the fires. None of the three spoke,
except to urge on the horses up the steep, sandy road, which first
presented an ascent from the town, and then a descent to the plain,
before it assumed the level which it then preserved to the foot of the
opposite mountains, nearly fifty miles off. No one appeared on the
road; and the horsemen had, therefore, leisure to cast glances behind
them, as they were slowly carried up the ascent. The alarm-bell was now
sending its sullen sounds of dismay far and wide in the air, whose
stillness was becoming more and more disturbed by the draughts of the
spreading fires, as the canes caught, like torches, up the slopes to the
right. Pale twinkling lights, sprinkled over the cape and the
harbour-lights which looked like glow-worm tapers amidst the fiery
atmosphere, showed that every one was awake and stirring in the town,
and on board the ships; while an occasional rocket, mounting in the
smoky air, from either the Barracks or Government-House, showed that it
was the intention of the authorities to intimate to the inhabitants of
the remoter districts of the plain that the Government was on the alert,
and providing for the public safety.
On surmounting the ridge, Henri stretched out his hand, and pulled the
bridle of Monsieur Bayou's horse to the left, so as to turn it into a
narrow, green track which here parted from the road.
"What now, sir?" cried Papalier, in a tone of suspicion, checking his
horse, instead of following.
"You may, perhaps, meet two thousand devils, if you keep the high road
to the plain," answered Henri, quietly. To Monsieur Bayou he explained
that Toussaint would probably choose this road, through Madame Oge's
plantation.
"Come on, Papalier; do not lose time. All is right enough," said Bayou.
"The grass-tracks are the safest to-night, depend upon it."
Papalier followed, in discontented silence. In a few moments, Henri
again pulled the bridle--a decided check this time--stopping the horse.
"Voices," he whispered. Bayou could hear none. In a moment, Henri
continued.
"It is Toussaint, I thought we should meet him hereabouts."
The next turn of the path brought them upon Toussaint, who was advancing
with the led horse from Breda. Not far behind him was Madame Oge's
house, the door standing wide, and, seen by the light within, a woman in
the doorway. Toussaint pulled up, Henri leaped down, and ran to shake
hands with his friend. Papalier took the opportunity to say, in a low
voice, to Bayou--
"You must send your fellow there on board ship. You must, there is no
doubt of it. The Governor, and all the householders in Cap, are doing
so with their cleverest negroes; and if there is a clever one in the
colony, it is Toussaint."
"I shall do no such thing," said Bayou. "I have trusted Toussaint for
these thirty years; and I shall not distrust him now--now when we most
need those we can best confide in."
"That is exactly what Monsieur Clement said of his postillion; and it
was his postillion that struck him to the heart. You must send
Toussaint on board ship; and I will tell you how--"
Papalier stopped, perceiving that the two negroes were not talking, but
had their eyes fixed on him.
"What is that?" said Henri. "Is Toussaint to go on board ship?"
"No, no; nonsense," said Bayou; "I am not going to send anybody on board
ship. All quiet at Breda, I suppose, Toussaint?"
"All quiet, sir, at present. Monsieur Papalier--on board ship I will
not go."
"As your master pleases. It is no concern of mine, Toussaint," said
Papalier.
"So I think," replied Toussaint.
"You see your faithful hands, your very obedient friends, have got a
will of their own already," whispered Papalier to Bayou, as they set
their horses forward again: Henri turning homewards on the tired horse
which had carried double, and Bayou mounting that which Toussaint had
brought.
"Will you go round, or pass the house?" Toussaint asked of his master.
"Madame Oge is standing in the doorway."
Bayou was about to turn his horse's head, but the person in the doorway
came out into the darkness, and called him by his name. He was obliged
to go forward.
"Madame," said he, "I hope you have no trouble with your people. I hope
your people are all steady."
"Never mind me and my people," replied a tremulous voice. "What I want
to know is, what has happened at Cap. Who have risen? Whose are these
fires?"
"The negroes have risen on a few plantations: that is all. We shall
soon--"
"The negroes!" echoed the voice. "You are sure it is only the negroes?"
"Only the negroes, madame. Can I be of service to you? If you have any
reason to fear that your force--"
"I have no reason to fear anything. I will not detain you. No doubt
you are wanted at home, Monsieur Bayou."
And she re-entered her house, and closed the doors.
"How you have disappointed her!" said Papalier. "She hoped to hear that
her race had risen, and were avenging her sons on us. I am thankful
to-night," he continued, after a pause, "that my little girls are at
Paris. How glad might that poor woman have been, if her sons had stayed
there! Strange enough, Paris is called the very centre of disorder, and
yet it seems the only place for our sons and daughters in these days."
"And strangely enough," said Bayou, "I am glad that I have neither wife,
son, nor daughter. I felt that, even while Odeluc, was holding forth
about the age of security which we were now entering upon--I felt at the
moment that there must be something wrong; that all could not be right,
when a man feels glad that he has only himself to take care of. Our
negroes are better off than we, so far. Hey, Toussaint?"
"I think so, sir."
"How many wives and children have you, Toussaint?" asked Papalier.
"I have five children, sir."
"And how many wives in your time?"