"He has such a good wife that he never wanted more. He married her when
he was five-and-twenty--did not you, Toussaint?"
Toussaint had dropped into the rear. His master observed that Toussaint
was rather romantic, and did not like jesting on domestic affairs. He
was more prudish about such matters than whites fresh from the
mother-country. Whether he had got it out of his books, or whether it
really was a romantic attachment to his wife, there was no knowing; but
he was quite unlike his race generally in family matters.
"Does he take upon himself to be scandalised at us?" asked Papalier.
"I do not ask him. But if you like to consult him about your Therese, I
do not doubt he will tell you his mind."
"Come, cannot we go on faster? This is a horrid road, to be sure; but
poor Therese will think it is all over with me, if she looks at the red
sky towards Cap."
There were reasons enough for alarm about Monsieur Papalier's safety,
without looking over towards Cap. When the gentlemen arrived at Arabie,
his plantation, they found the iron gates down, and lying on the grass--
young trees hewn down, as if for bludgeons--the cattle couched in the
cane-fields, lapped in the luxury of the sweet tops and sprouts--the
doors of the sugar-house and mansion removed, the windows standing wide,
and no one to answer call. The slave-quarter also was evidently
deserted.
Papalier clapped spurs to his horse, and rode round, faster than his
companions could follow him. At length Bayou intercepted his path at a
sharp turn, caught his bridle, and said--
"My dear fellow, come with me. There is nothing to be done here. Your
people are all gone; and if they come back, they will only cut your
throat. You must come with me; and under the circumstances, I cannot
stay longer. I ought to be at home."
"True, true. Go, and I will follow. I must find out whether they have
carried off Therese. I must, and I will."
Toussaint pricked his horse into the courtyard, and after a searching
look around dragged out from behind the well a young negress who had
been crouching there, with an infant in her arms. She shrieked and
struggled till she saw Papalier, when she rushed towards him.
"Poor Therese!" cried he, patting her shoulder. "How we have frightened
you! There is nobody here but friends. At least, so it seems. Where
are all the people? And who did this mischief?"
The young creature trembled excessively; and her terror marred for the
time a beauty which was celebrated all over the district--a beauty which
was admitted as fully by the whites as by people of her own race. Her
features were now convulsed by fear, as she told what had happened--that
a body of negroes had come, three hours since, and had summoned
Papalier's people to meet at Latour's estate, where all the force of the
plain was to unite before morning--that Papalier's people made no
difficulty about going, only stopping to search the house for what arms
and ammunition might be there, and to do the mischief which now
appeared--that she believed the whites at the sugar-house must have
escaped, as she had seen and heard nothing of bloodshed--and that this
was all she knew, as she had hidden herself and her infant, first in one
place, and then in another, as she fancied safest, hoping that nobody
would remember her, which seemed to have been the case, as no one
molested her till Toussaint saw her, and terrified her as they
perceived. She had not looked in his face, but supposed that some of
Latour's people had come back for her.
"Now you will come with me," said Bayou to Papalier, impatiently.
"I will, thank you. Toussaint, help her up behind me, and carry the
child, will you? Hold fast, Therese, and leave off trembling as soon as
you can."
Therese would let no one carry the infant but herself. She kept her
seat well behind her master, though still trembling when she alighted at
the stables at Breda.
Placide and Denis were on the watch at the stables.
"Run, Denis!" said his brother. And Denis was off to tell his mother
that Toussaint and Monsieur Bayou were safe home.
"Anything happened, Placide?" asked Bayou.
"Yes, sir. The people were sent for to Latour's, and most of them are
gone. Not all, sir. Saxe would not go till he saw father; nor Cassius,
nor Antoine, nor--"
"Is there any mischief done? Anybody hurt?"
"No, sir. They went off very quietly."
"Quietly, indeed! They take quietly enough all the kindness I have
shown them these thirty years. They quietly take the opportunity of
leaving me alone to-night, of all nights, when the devils from hell are
abroad, scattering their fire as they go."
"If you will enter, Monsieur Bayou," said Toussaint, "my wife will get
you supper; and the boys and I will collect the people that are left,
and bring them up to the house. They have not touched your arms, sir.
If you will have them ready for us--"
"Good, good! Papalier, we cannot do better. Come in. Toussaint, take
home this young woman. Your girls will take care of her. Eh! what's
the matter? Well, put her where you will--only let her be taken care
of--that is all."
"I will speak to Jeannette, sir."
"Ay, do. Jeannette will let Therese come to no harm, Papalier. Come
in, till Toussaint brings a report of how matters stand with us poor
masters."