Margot doubted much, at the end of the first week, and at the end of
every following week, whether she liked freedom. Margot had had few
cares during the many years that she had lived under the mild rule of
Monsieur Bayou--her husband faithful and kind, and her children provided
for without present anxiety on her part. Thoughts of the future would,
it is true, occasionally trouble her, as she knew they weighed heavily
on her husband's mind. When she saw Genifrede growing up, handsome in
her parents' eyes, and so timid and reserved that her father sometimes
said he wondered whether any one would ever know her mind better than
her own family did--when Margot looked upon Genifrede, and considered
that her lot in life depended on the will of Monsieur Bayou, she
shuddered to think what it might be. When Monsieur Bayou told Genifrede
that she was well coiffee, or that he wished she would show the other
girls among the house-negroes how to make their Sunday gowns sit like
hers, Genifrede invariably appeared not to hear, and often walked away
in the midst of the speech; and then her mother could not but wonder how
she would conduct herself, whenever the day should come that must come,
when (as there was no one on the Breda estate whom Genifrede liked, or
would associate with) Monsieur Bayou should bring some one to their
cottage, and desire Genifrede to marry him. When Margot looked upon her
sons, and upon Aimee, now so inseparable from Isaac, and considered that
their remaining together depended not only on Monsieur Bayou's will, but
on his life, she trembled lest the day should be at hand when Placide
might be carried away northward, and Isaac eastward, and poor Aimee left
desolate. Such had been the mother's passing cares in the situation in
which nothing had been wanting to her immediate comfort. Now, amidst
the perplexities of her new settlement, she was apt to forget that she
had formerly had any cares.
Where to house the party had been the first difficulty. But for old
Dessalines, who, being no soldier, had chosen to hide himself in the
same retreat with them, they would hardly have had good shelter before
the rains. Paul had received them kindly; but Paul's kindness was of a
somewhat indolent sort; and it was doubtful whether he would have
proceeded beyond looking round his hut, and lamenting that it was no
bigger, if his spirited son Moyse, a fine lad of sixteen, had not been
there to do something more effectual, in finding the place and the
materials for the old tiler to begin his work. It was Moyse who
convinced the whole party from the plain that a hut of bamboo and
palm-leaves would fall in an hour before one of the hail-storms of this
rocky coast; and that it would not do to build on the sands, lest some
high tide should wash them all away in the night. It was Moyse who led
his cousins to the part of the beach where portions of wrecks were most
likely to be found, and who lent the strongest hand to remove such beams
and planks as Dessalines wanted for his work. A house large enough to
hold the family was soon covered in. It looked well, perched on a
platform of rock, and seeming to nestle in a recess of the huge
precipices which rose behind it. It looked well, as Dessalines could
obtain neither of his favourite paints to smear it with. It stood,
neither red nor blue, but nearly the colour of the rocks, against which
it leaned, and thatched with palm-leaves, which projected so far as to
throw off the rains, even to a depth below.
Paul provided fish--as much as his relations chose to have; but the
young people chose to have many other things, under the guidance of
Moyse; and here lay their mother's daily care. She believed that both
boys and girls ran into a thousand dangers, and no one would help her to
restrain them. Paul had always let Moyse have his own way; and
Dessalines, when he had brought in drift-wood for her fires, which he
daily chose to do, lay down in the sun when the sun shone, and before
the fire when the clouds gathered, and slept away the hours. Paul
wanted help in his fishing; and it was commonly Isaac who went with him;
for Isaac was more fond of boating than rambling. Where Isaac was,
there was Aimee. She gave no contemptible help in drawing in the nets;
and when the fish was landed, she and Isaac sat for hours among the
mangroves which bordered the neighbouring cove, under pretence of
cleaning the fish, or of mending the nets, or of watching the cranes
which stalked about the sands. Sometimes, in order to be yet more
secure from disturbance, the brother and sister would put off again,
when they had landed Paul with his prize, and get upon the coral reef,
half a mile off--in calm weather collecting the shell-fish which were
strewed there in multitudes, and watching the while the freaks and
sports of the dolphins in the clear depths around; and in windy weather
sitting in the midst of the spray, which was dashed over them from the
heavy seas outside. Many times in a morning or evening did Margot look
out from her doorway, and see their dusky forms upon the reef, now
sitting motionless in talk, now stooping for mussels and crabs, and
never till the last moment in the boat, on their way home. Sometimes
Denis was with them--sometimes with her--but oftenest with the party led
by Moyse.
Moyse had first enticed Genifrede up the rocks behind their dwelling, to
get grass for hammocks, and to make matting for the floors. Almost from
the first day, it appeared as if Genifrede's fears all melted away in
the presence of Moyse; and her mother became sure of this when, after
grass enough had been procured, Genifrede continued to accompany Placide
and Moyse in their almost daily expeditions for sporting and pleasure.
They brought guanas, tender young monkeys, and cocoa-nuts from the wood,
wild kids from the rock, delicate ducks from the mountain-ponds, and
sometimes a hog or a calf from the droves and herds which flourished in
the rich savannahs on the southern side, on which they looked down from
their ridge. In the joy of seeing her children home again, gladsome as
they were, and feeling that they brought plenty and luxury into her
cottage, Margot kept her cares to herself, from day-to-day, and did not
interfere with their proceedings. She sometimes thought she was
foolish, and always was glad to see them enjoying their freedom; but
still, she felt doubtful whether she herself had not been happier at
Breda. The only time when her heart was completely at ease and exulting
was when Toussaint came to see his family, to open his heart to his
wife, and to smile away her troubles. Her heart exulted when she saw
him cross the ridge, with a mounted private behind him, urge his horse
down the ascent, gallop along the sands to the foot of the rocks, throw
the bridle to his attendant, and mount to the platform, looking up as he
approached, to see whether she was on the watch. She was always on the
watch. She liked to admire his uniform, and to hear his sword clatter
as he walked. She liked to see him looking more important, more
dignified, than Bayou or Papalier had ever appeared in her eyes. Then,
her heart was always full of thoughts about their children, which he was
as anxious to hear as she to tell; and he was the only one from whom she
could learn anything of what was going on in the world, or of what
prospects lay before themselves. He brought news from France, from Cap
and the plain, and, after a while, from America--that Monsieur Bayou was
settled at Baltimore, where he intended to remain till, as he said, the
pacification of the colony should enable him to return to Breda. There
was no fear, as Toussaint always found, but that Margot would be looking
out for him.
The tidings he brought were never very joyous, and often sad enough. He
said little of his personal cares; but Margot gathered that he found it
difficult to keep on good terms with Jean. Once he had resigned his
rank of colonel, and had assumed an office of which Jean could not be
jealous--that of physician to the forces--an office for which he was
qualified by an early and extensive acquaintance with the common
diseases of the country, and the natural remedies provided by its soil.
When the Marquis d'Hermona had insisted upon his resuming his command,
as the best officer the negro forces could boast, Jean had purposed to
arrest him on some frivolous charge, and the foolish act had only been
prevented by a frank and strong remonstrance from his old friend. All
this time, Toussaint's military successes had been great; and his name
now struck such awe into the lawless forces of the insurgent blacks,
that it was unnecessary for him to shed their blood. He held the post
of Marmalade, and from thence was present with such unheard-of rapidity
of march, wherever violence was expected, that the spirit of outrage
throughout the colony was, at length, kept in check. This peaceful mode
of standing by the rights of the king was more acceptable to the gentle
Toussaint than the warfare by which he had gained his power over his own
race; but he knew well that things could not go on as they were--that
order of some kind must be established--order which could be reached
only through a fierce final struggle; and of what nature this order was
to be, depended wholly upon the turn which affairs took in Europe.
He rarely brought good news from abroad. His countenance always grew
sad when Margot asked what ships had arrived from France since his last
visit. First he had to tell her that the people of Paris had met in the
Champ de Mars, and demanded the dethronement of the king; then, that
Danton had audaciously informed the representatives of France that their
refusal to declare the throne vacant would be the signal for a general
insurrection. After this, no national calamity could surprise the loyal
colonists, Toussaint said; for the fate of Louis as a king, if not as a
man, was decided. Accordingly, there followed humiliations, deposition,
imprisonment, during which little could be known of the mind, and even
of the condition of the king: and those who would have served him
remained in anxious suspense. It happened, one warm day in the spring,
when every trace of the winter hail-storms had passed away, that the
whole party were amusing themselves in trying to collect enough of the
ripening sea-side grape for a feast. The bright round leaves were broad
and abundant; but the clusters of the fruit were yet only of a pale
yellow, and a berry here and there was all that was fit for gathering.
The grape-gathering was little more than a pretence for basking in the
sun, or for lounging in the shade of the abundant verdure, which seemed
to have been sown by the hurricane, and watered by the wintry surf, so
luxuriantly did it spring from the sands and the salt waves. The
stately manchineel overhung the tide; the mangroves sprang out of the
waters; the sea-side grape overspread the sands with a thick green
carpet, and kept them cool, so that as the human foot sought the spot,
the glittering lizards forsook it, and darted away to seek the hot face
of the rock. For full half a mile this patch of verdure spread; and
over this space were dispersed Margot and her household, when Toussaint
crossed the ridge, on one of his frequent visits. As he descended, he
heard laughter and singing; and among the singing voices, the cracked
pipe of old Dessalines. Toussaint grieved to interrupt this mirth, and
to think that he must leave dull and sad those whom he found so gay.
But he came with bad news, and on a mournful errand, and there was no
help for it. As he pricked on his horse towards the party, the young
people set up a shout and began to run towards him, but stopped short on
seeing how unusually large a train he brought. Five or six mounted
soldiers, instead of one, followed him this time, and they led several
horses.
"Oh, you are come to take us home!" cried Margot, joyfully, as she met
him.
He shook his head as he replied--"_No_, Margot, not yet. But the time
may come."
"I wish you could tell us when it would come," said Dessalines. "It is
all very well gathering these things, and calling them grapes, for want
of better; but give me the grapes that yield one wine. I wonder who has
been gathering the grapes from my trellis all this time, while, the
whole rainy season through, not a drop did I taste? I wish you had left
your revolutions and nonsense till after my time, that I might have sat
under my own vine and my own fig-tree, as the priest says, till the end
of my days."
"Indeed I wish so too, Dessalines. But you shall have some wine."
"Ay, send us some. Jacques will tell you what I like. Don't forget,
Toussaint Breda. They talk of palm wine in the season; but I do not
believe we shall get any worth drinking from the palms hereabouts."
"What is the matter with our palms?" cried Moyse, firing up for the
honour of the northern coast. "I will get you a cabbage for dinner
every day for a month to come," he added, moderating his tone under his
uncle's eye--"every day, till you say that our palms, too, are as good
as any you have in the plain; and as for palm wine, when the season
comes--"
"No, let me--let me cut the cabbage!" cried Denis. "I can climb as
quick as a monkey now--a hundred feet in two minutes. Let me climb the
palmetto, Moyse."
"First take back my horse to those soldiers, my boy," said his father,
setting Denis upon his horse, "and then let us all sit down here in the
shade."
"All those horses," said Margot, anxiously: "what is to be done with
them to-day? There are so many!"
"They will return presently," replied her husband. "I am not going to
stay with you to-day. And, Margot, I shall take the lads with me, if
they are disposed to go."
"The lads! my boys!"
"Yes," said Toussaint, throwing himself down in the shade. "Our country
and its people are orphaned; and the youngest of us must now make
himself a soldier, that he may be ready for any turn of affairs which
Providences may appoint. Do you hear, my boys?"
"Yes, father," answered Placide in an earnest tone.
"They have then murdered the king?" asked Margot; "or did he die of his
imprisonment?"
"They brought him to trial, and executed him. The apes plucked down the
evening star, and quenched it. We have no king. We and our country are
orphaned."