After a pause, Paul said--

"It is enough to make one leave one's fishing, and take up a gun."

"I rejoice to hear you say so, brother," said Toussaint.

"Then, father, you will let me go," cried Moyse. "You will give me your

gun, and let me go to the camp."

"Yes, Moyse: rather you than I. You are a stout lad now, and I know

nothing of camps. You shall take the gun, and I will stay and fish."

"Leave your father his gun, if he chooses to remain, Moyse. We will

find arms for you. Placide! Isaac!" he continued, looking from one to

the other of his sons.

"And Denis," cried the boy, placing himself directly in his father's

eye, as he returned breathless from the discharge of his errand.

"Yes, my boy, by-and-bye, when you are as strong as Placide. You shall

come to the camp when we want you."

"I will go to-day, father," said Placide.

"What to do?" said Isaac. "I do not understand."

Other eyes besides Aimee's were fixed on Toussaint's face, in anxiety

for his reply.

"I do not know, my son, what we are to do next. When the parent of a

nation dies, it may take some time to decide what is the duty of those

who feel themselves bereaved. All I now am sure of is, that it cannot

but be right for my children to be fitted to serve their country in any

way that they may find to be appointed. I wish to train you to arms,

and the time has come. Do not you think so?"

Isaac made no direct reply, and Aimee had strong hopes that he was

prepared with some wise, unanswerable reason for remaining where he was.

Meanwhile, his father proceeded--

"In all that I have done, in all that I now say, I have the sanction of

Father Laxabon."

"Then all is right, we may be sure," said Margot. "I have no doubt you

would be right, if you had not Father Laxabon to consult; but if he

thinks you right, everything must be done as you wish. My boys,"

pursued the tearful mother, "you must go with your father: you hear

Father Laxabon thinks so."

"Do you think so?" whispered Aimee to Isaac.

He pressed her arm, which was within his, in token of silence, while his

father went on:

"You heard the proclamation I sent out among our people a few weeks

ago."

"Yes," said Placide; "that in which you tell them that you prefer

serving with Spaniards who own a king, than with French who own none."

"Yes. I have had to make the same declaration to the two commissaries

who have arrived at Cap under orders from the regicides at Paris. These

commissaries have to-day invited me to their standard by promises of

favour and consideration."

"What do they promise us?" asked Margot eagerly.

"Nothing that we can accept. I have written a letter in reply, saying

that I cannot yield myself to the will of any member of the nation,

seeing that, since nations began, obedience has been due only to kings.

We have lost the king of France; but we are beloved by the monarch of

Spain, who faithfully rewards our services, and never intermits his

protection and indulgence. Thus, I cannot acknowledge the authority of

these commissaries till they shall have enthroned a king. Such is the

letter which, guided by Father Laxabon, I have written."

"It is a beautiful letter, I am sure," said Margot. "Is it not, Paul."

"I don't doubt Father Laxabon is right," said Dessalines; "only I do not

see the use of having a king, if people are turned out of house and home

for being loyal--as we all are. If we had not cared anything about the

king's quarrel, we might have been under our vines at home, as I have

often said before."

"And how would it have been with us here?" said Toussaint, laying his

hand on his breast.

"Put your hand a little lower, and I say it would have been all the

better for us," said the old negro, laughing, "for we should not have

gone without wine all this time."

"What do you think?" Aimee, as usual, asked Isaac.

"I think it was good for my father to be loyal to the king, as long as

the king lived. I think it was good for us to be living here free, with

time to consider what we should do next. And I think it has happened

very well that my father has shown what a soldier he is, which he could

not so well have done if we had stayed at Breda. As for Dessalines, he

is best where the vines grow thickest, or where the cellars are deepest.

It is a pity he should have taken upon him to be loyal."

"And what do you think of going to the camp with my father? Look at

Moyse--how delighted he is!"

Moyse certainly did look possessed with joy. He was rapidly telling all

his warlike intentions to Genifrede, who was looking in his face with a

countenance of fear and grief.

"You think nothing of us," she cried at length, giving way to a passion

of tears. "We have been so happy here, all together; and now you are

glad to go, and leave us behind! You will go and fight, without caring

for us--you will be killed in this horrid war, and we shall never see

you again--we shall never know what has become of you."

Moyse's military fire was instantly quenched. It immediately appeared

to him the greatest of miseries to have to leave his cousins. He

assured Genifrede he could not really intend to go. He had only been

fancying what a war with the white masters would be. He hated the

whites heartily; but he loved this place much more. Placide and Isaac

might go, but he should stay. Nothing should part him from those he

loved best.

Toussaint was not unmindful of what was passing. Genifrede's tones of

distress, and Moyse's protestations, all reached his ear. He turned,

and gently drew his daughter towards him.

"My child," said he, "we are no longer what we have been--slaves, whose

strength is in the will of their masters. We are free; and to be free

requires a strong heart, in women as well as in men. When Monsieur

Bayou was our master, we rose and slept every day alike, and went out to

our work, and came in to our food, without having to think of anything

beyond. Now we are free, and God has raised us to the difficult duties

which we have always reverenced in the whites. We men must leave our

homes to live in camps, and, if necessary, to fight; and you, women and

girls, must make it easy for us to do our duty. You must be willing to

see us go--glad to spare us--and you must pray to God that we may not

return till our duty is done."

"I cannot--I shall not," Genifrede muttered to herself, as she cast down

her eyes under her father's compassionate gaze. He looked towards

Aimee, who answered, with tearful eyes--

"Yes, father. They must go; and we will not hinder them; but they will

soon be back, will not they?"

"That depends on how soon we can make good soldiers of them," said he,

cheerfully. "Come, Moyse, have you changed your mind again? Or will

you stay and plait hammocks, while my boys are trained to arms?"

"I shall not stay behind, if the others go. But why should not we all

go together? I am sure there is room enough in yonder valley for all

the people on this coast."

"Room enough, but my family are better beside your father than among

soldiers and the hunters of the mountains. Stay with them, or go with

me. Shoot ducks, and pick up shell-fish here; or go with me, and

prepare to be General Moyse some day."

Moyse looked as if he would have knocked his uncle down at the

supposition that he would stay to pick up shell-fish. He could not but

laugh, however, at hearing himself greeted as General Moyse by all the

boys; and even Genifrede smiled.

Margot moved, sighing, towards the rocks, to put up for her boys such

comforts as she could muster, and to prepare the meal which they must

have before they went. Her girls went with her; and Denis shouted after

them, that he was to get the cabbage from the palmetto, adding, that if

they gave him a good knife, he would take it off as neatly as the Paris

people took off the king. His father grasped his arm, and said--

"Never name the king, my boy, till you feel grieved that you have lost

him. You do not know what you say. Remember--never mention the king

unless we ask you."

Denis was glad to run after his cabbage. His father remembered to

praise it at dinner. No one else praised or liked anything. Margot and

Aimee were tearful; Genifrede was gloomy. The lads could think of

nothing but the new life before them, which yet they did not like to

question their father about, till they should have left the tears

behind. No sooner were they past the first turn up the ridge, than they

poured out their inquiries as to life in the camp, and the prospects of

the war. Their eager gestures were watched by those they left behind;

and there was a feeling of mortification in each woman's heart, on

seeing this evidence that home was already forgotten for busier scenes.

They persuaded themselves, and believed of each other, that their grief

was for the fearful death of the king; and they spoke as if this had

been really the case.

"We have no one to look up to, now," said Margot, sobbing; "no one to

protect us. Who would have thought, when I married, how desolate we

should be one day on the sea-shore--with our master at Baltimore, and

the king dead, and no king likely to come after him! What will become

of us?"

"But Margot," interposed Dessalines, "how should we be better off at

this moment, if the king were alive and flourishing at Paris?"

"How?" repeated Margot, indignantly. "Why, he would have been our

protector, to be sure. He would have done some fine thing for my

husband, considering what my husband has done for him. If our beloved

king (on his throne) knew of my husband's victory at Plaisance, and of

his expedition to Saint Marc, and of his keeping quiet all these

plantations near Marmalade, and of the thousands that he had brought

over from the rebels, do you think a good master like the king would

have left us to pine here among the rocks, while Jean Francais is

boasting all day long, as if he had done everything with his own hand?

No, our good king would never have let Jean Francais' wife dress herself

in the best jewels the white ladies left behind, while the wife and

daughters of his very best officer are living here in a hut, on a rock,

with no other clothes to wear than they brought away from Breda. No,

no; as my husband says, in losing the king we are orphans."

"I can get you as good clothes as ever Jean's wife wore, Margot," said

Paul, whose soft heart was touched by her grief. "I can run my boat

along to a place I know of, where there are silks and trinkets to be

had, as well as brandy. I will bring you and the girls some pretty

dresses, Margot."

"No, Paul, not here. We cannot wear them here. And we shall have no

pleasure in anything, now we have lost the only one who could take care

of us. And who knows whether we shall ever see our boys again?"

"Curse the war!" muttered Paul, wiping his brows.

"Mother," said Aimee in a low voice, "have we not God to protect us

still? One master may desert us, and another may die; but there is

still God above all. Will not he protect us?"

"Yes, my dear. God takes care of the world; but then He takes care of

our enemies as well as of us."

"Does he?" exclaimed Denis, in a tone of surprise.

"Yes; ask your father if Father Laxabon does not say so. The name of

God is for ever in the mouths of the whites at Cap; but they reviled the

king; and, true enough, the king was altogether on our side,--we had all

his protection."

"All that is a good deal changed now, I hear," said Paul. "The whites

at Cap are following the example of the rebels at Paris, and do not rely

upon God, as on their side, as they used to do."

"Will God leave off taking care of them, then?" asked Denis, "and take

care only of us?"

"No," said Aimee. "God is willing, Isaac says, to take care of all men,

whether they serve him or not."

Denis shook his head, as if he did not quite approve this.

"Our priest told Isaac," continued Aimee, "that God sends his rain on

the just and on the unjust. And do not you know that he does? When the

rains come next month, will they not fall on all the plantations of the

plain, as well as in the valley where the camp is? Our waterfalls will

be all the fresher and brighter for the rains, and so will the springs

in Cap."

"But if he is everybody's master, and takes care of everybody," said

Denis, "what is all this fighting about? We are not fighting for Him,

are we?"

"Your father is," said Margot; "for God is always on the side of kings.

Father Laxabon says so."

The Hour and the Man, An Historical Romance · 第 14 / 105 题