Pongaudin was indeed no longer safe. Immediately on the return of
Coasson to the fleet, under the date of the 17th of February, the
Captain-General issued a proclamation of outlawry against L'Ouverture
and Christophe, pronouncing it the imperative duty of every one who had
the power to seize and deliver up the traitors. As Toussaint said to
his family, Pongaudin was a residence for a citizen; outlaws must go to
the mountains.
To the mountain they went--not weeping and trembling, but in a temper of
high courage and hope. The rocks rang with the military music which
accompanied them. Their very horses seemed to feel the spirit of their
cause; much more were the humblest of the soldiery animated with the
hope of success in the struggle, which was now to be carried on in a
mode which they much preferred to keeping watch in the plains. They
found the pass well fortified; they found the morne above it still and
undisturbed; untrod, as it seemed now likely to remain, by the foot of
an invader. They found the mansion at Le Zephyr, spacious as it was,
much enlarged by temporary erections, and prepared for the abode of more
than the number that had come. Madame Pascal looked at her husband with
a sigh, when the alterations met her eye; and Raymond himself did not
much relish seeing sentinels posted at all his gates. Euphrosyne,
however, was still quite happy. Here was her beloved Le Zephyr, with
its blossoming cacao-groves. Here were space, freedom, and friends; and
neither convent rules nor nuns.
A perpetual line of communication was established between the pass and
this mansion. Vincent, with a troop, was appointed to guard the estate
and the persons on it--including the two French prisoners. Placide was
to join his father below, to receive the forces which flocked to the
rendezvous. Before he went, he pointed out to Vincent, and his own
family, a station, on a steep at some distance in the rear of the house,
whence they might discern, with a good glass, the road which wound
through the plain of the Artibonite, within two miles of the Plateaux,
and up towards Plaisance to the north. Many and wonderful were the
objects seen from this lofty station; but not one of them--not even the
green knolls and hollows of the morne, stretched out from Le Zephyr to
the pass--not the brimming river of the plain--not the distant azure
sea, with its tufted isles--was so interesting, under present
circumstances, as this yellow winding road--the way of approach of
either friend or foe.
But for the apprehensions belonging to a state of warfare--apprehensions
which embitter life in all its hours to women--and, possibly, more than
is generally acknowledged, to men--but for the speculations as to who
was destined to die, who to fall into the most cruel hands that ever
abused their power over a helpless foe (for the French of former wars
were not forgotten), and what was to be the lot of those who escaped
death and capture--but for these speculations, which were stirring in
every woman's heart in all that household, the way of life at Le Zephyr
was pleasant enough.
Even poor Genifrede appeared to revive here. She showed more interest
in nursing Dessalines than in any previous occupation since the death of
her lover. Therese was delighted to afford her the opportunity of
feeling herself useful, and permitted herself many a walk in the groves,
many an hour of relaxation in the salon, which she would have despised,
but for their affording an interest to Genifrede. The three were more
than ever drawn together by their new experience of the conduct of the
French. Never was sick man more impatient to be strong than Dessalines.
Genifrede regarded him as the pillar of the cause, on account of his
uncompromising passion for vengeance; and his wife herself counted the
days till he could be again abroad at the head of his forces.
When not in attendance upon him, Genifrede spent the hours of daylight
at the station on the height. She cared neither for heat nor chill
while there, and forgot food and rest; and there was sometimes that in
her countenance when she returned, and in the tone of her prophesying
about the destruction of the enemy, which caused the whisper to go round
that she met her lover there, just under the clouds. Monsieur Pascal--
the rational, sagacious Monsieur Pascal--was of opinion that she
believed this herself.
On this station, and other heights which surrounded the mansion, there
were other objects of interest than the visitations of the clouds, and
the whisperings of the breezes from the depths of the woods. For many
days, a constant excitement was caused by the accession of troops. Not
only Toussaint's own bands followed him to the post, but three thousand
more, on whom he could rely, were spared from his other strong posts in
the mountains. Soon after these three thousand, Christophe appeared
with such force as could be spared from the garrisons in the north. The
officers under Dessalines also, aware that the main struggle, whenever
the French would come to an engagement, must be in the Plateaux de la
Ravine, drew thither, with the remnants of the force which had suffered
defeat in the south-west. Hither, too, came Bellair, with his family,
and the little garrison which had fortified and held L'Etoile, till it
became necessary to burn and leave it.
Messenger arrived after messenger, to announce these accessions of
force; and the whole household poured out upon the heights to see and
hear. If it was at noon, the clear music of the wind-instruments
floated faintly in the still air; if the morning or evening breezes were
abroad the harmony came in gushes; and the shouts of greeting and
reception were plainly distinguishable, and were responded to
involuntarily by all at Le Zephyr but the two prisoners. Under the
impulse of the moment, no voice was louder or more joyous than
Vincent's. It now only remained for Maurepas to bring his numerous
troops up to the point of junction. He must presently arrive; and then,
as Placide and other sanguine young soldiers thought, and as Sabes and
his companion began seriously to fear, the negro force under L'Ouverture
might defy all Europe.
News, stirring news, came from all corners of the colony with every
fresh arrival. Deesha, especially, could tell all that had been done,
not only at L'Etoile, and in all the plain of Cul-de-Sac, but within the
districts of the unfaithful generals, Clerveaux and La Plume. Her boy
Juste, though too young to take a practical part in the war, carried the
passion and energy of a man into the cause, and was versed in all the
details of the events which had taken place since the landing of the
French. It was a sore mortification to Juste that he was not permitted
to remain by his father's side at the Plateaux; but he consoled himself
with teaching his little brother Tobie the military exercise, and with
sport. Juste was as fond of sport as on the day when he floated under
calabashes, to catch wild ducks; and this was well; for at Le Zephyr,
under present circumstances, the sportsman was one of the most useful
members of the establishment. The air of the mornes was celebrated for
its power of creating an appetite; and there were many mouths to feed:
so that Juste was assured, on all hands, that he had as important a
function to fulfil as if he had been a soldier. As it was believed
impossible for human foot to stray beyond the morne by any other passage
than that of the Plateaux, the boys were permitted to be out early and
late, in the woods and upon the hill-sides; and often did Genifrede and
the sentries hear the far-off shouts of the little sportsmen, or see the
puff of smoke from Juste's rifle in the valley, or under the verge of
the groves. Many a nest of young orioles did Tobie abstract from the
last fork of a branch, when the peculiar note of the parent-bird led him
on into the midst of the thicket where these delicate creatures hide
themselves. The ring-tail dove, one of the most exquisite of table
luxuries, he was very successful in liming; and he would bring home a
dozen in a morning. He could catch turkeys with a noose, and young pigs
to barbecue. He filled baskets with plover's eggs from the high lands;
and of the wild-fowl he brought in, there was no end. In the midst of
these feats, he engaged for far greater things in a little while--when
the soldier-crabs should make their annual march down the mountains, on
their way to the sea. In those days, Tobie promised the tables at Le
Zephyr should groan under the profusion of savoury soups, which should
banish for the season the salt beef and salt-fish which, meantime,
formed part of the daily diet of the household.
While his little brother was thus busy with smaller game, Juste was
indulging a higher ambition. When nothing better was to be had, he
could condescend to plovers and pigeons; but he liked better to bring
down a dainty young heifer among the herds of wild cattle, or several
head of deer in a day. It was his triumph to return heavily laden, and
to go forth again with three or four soldiers, or half-a-dozen servants
(whichever could best be spared), to gather up from the hill-sides the
fallen game, which he had covered with branches of trees, to keep off
hawk and vulture. It was triumph to point out to his aides spot after
spot where the bird of prey hovered, seeking in vain for a space on
which to pounce. Amidst these triumphs, Juste was almost satisfied not
to be at the Plateau.
Perhaps the heaviest heart among all that household, scarcely excepting
Genifrede's, was Madame L'Ouverture's; and yet her chief companionship,
strangely enough, was with the one who carried the lightest--Euphrosyne.
It was not exactly settled whether Madame L'Ouverture or Madame Pascal
was hostess; and they therefore divided the onerous duties of the
office; and Euphrosyne was their handmaid, charmed to be with those she
loved best--charmed to be busy in new ways--charmed to hear, from time
to time, that she was useful. She useful to the Ouvertures! It was an
honour--it was an exquisite pleasure. She was perhaps the first white
lady in the island, out of the convent, who had gathered fruits,
prepared vegetables, and made sweet dishes with her own hands. Morning
after morning the three ladies spent together in domestic occupations,
finding that the servants, numerous as they were, could not get through
the whole work of hospitality to such a household. Morning after
morning they spent in the shaded store-room, amidst the fragrance of
fruits and spices. Here the unhappy mother, the anxious wife, opened
her heart to the young people; and they consoled and ministered to her
as daughters.
"If you are not my daughters," said she, on one of these mornings, "I
have none."
"But you will have: they will return to you," said Afra. "Think of them
as you did of your sons, when they were at Paris--as absent for a while
to gain experience, and sure to return. You will find one of them,
perhaps both, as happy on your bosom hereafter as we see your Placide by
his father's side."
"How can you say so, Afra? Which of my girls will ever come to me
again, as they did at Breda?"
"Genifrede is better," said Euphrosyne; "better since we came here--
better every day: and I should wonder if she were not. No one can long
be sullen here."
"Do not be hard, Euphrosyne, my love--`Sullen' is a hard word for my
poor, unhappy child."
"Nay, madam; no one can be more sorry for her than I am; as you will
find, if you ask Father Gabriel. He will tell you how angry I was with
L'Ouverture, how cruel I thought him on that dreadful day. But now, in
these stirring times, when our whole world, our little world in the
middle of the sea, is to be destroyed, or made free and glorious for
ever, I do think it is being sullen to mope on the mountain as she does,
and speak to nobody, care for nobody, but the Dessalines. However, I
would not say a word about it, if I were not sure that she is getting
better. And if she were growing worse, instead of better, there is
nothing that I would not do to help or console her, though I must still
think her sullen--not only towards her father here, but--"
And Euphrosyne crossed herself.
"It is hard," sighed Madame L'Ouverture; "it is hard to do all one
ought, even in the serious hours of one's prayers. I do try, with my
husband's help, when he is here, and from the thought of him when he is
absent, to pray, as he desires, for our enemies. But it generally ends
(God forgive me!) in my praying that Bonaparte may be held back from the
work of estranging our children from us."
"It can only be for a time," said Afra, again. She could think of no
other consolation.
"Those who know best say that everything is for good," continued Margot.
"If so, I wonder whether anyone can foretell what can be the good of a
stranger, a man that we have never seen, and who has everything about
him to make him great, thrusting himself between us and our children, to
take their hearts from us. I asked L'Ouverture to foretell to me how
this would be explained; and he put his hand upon my month, and asked me
to kneel down, and pray with him that we might have patience to wait
God's own time."
"And could you do so?" asked Euphrosyne, with brimming eyes.
"I did: but I added a prayer that Bonaparte might be moved to leave us
the glory and dominion which we value--the duty and the hearts of our
children--and that he might be contented with gaining the homage of the
French nation, and grasping the kingdoms of Europe."
"I think God will hear that prayer," said Afra, cheerfully.
"And I am sure Bonaparte will thank you for it," said Euphrosyne, "in
that day when hearts will be known, and things seen as they are."
"One might expect," sighed Madame L'Ouverture, "as one's children grow
up, that they should go mad for love; but I never thought of such a
thing as their going mad for loyalty."
"Do you think it is for loyalty?" asked Euphrosyne. "I should call
Placide the most loyal of your children; and, next to him, Denis."
"They think they are loyal and patriotic, my dear. I am sure I hope
they will go on to think so; for it is the best excuse for them."
"I wish I had a magic glass," said Euphrosyne--
"My dear, do not wish any such thing. It is very dangerous and wicked
to have anything to do with that kind of people. I could tell you such
a story of poor Moyse (and of many other unhappy persons, too) as would
show you the mischief of meddling with charms, Euphrosyne."
"Do not be afraid, dear madam. I was not thinking of any witchcraft;
but only wishing your children the bright mirror of a clear and settled
mind. I think such a mirror would show them that what they take for
loyalty and patriotism in their own feelings and conduct, is no more
loyalty and patriotism than the dancing lights in our rice-grounds are
stars."
"What is it, my dear, do you think?"
"I think it is weakness, remaining from their former condition. When
people are reared in humiliation, there will be weakness left behind.
Loyal minds must call Bonaparte's conduct to L'Ouverture vulgar. Those
who admire it, it seems to me, either have been, or are ready to be,
slaves."
"One may pity rather than blame the first," said Afra; "but I do not
pretend to have any patience with the last. I pity our poor faithless
generals here, and dear Aimee, with her mind so perplexed, and her
struggling heart; but I have no toleration for Leclerc and Rochambeau,
and the whole train of Bonaparte's worshippers in France."
"They are not like your husband, indeed, Afra."
"And they might all have been as right as he. They might all have known
as well as he, what L'Ouverture is, and what he has done. Why do they
not know that he might long ago have been a king? Why do they not tell
one another that his throne might, at this day, have been visited by
ambassadors from all the nations, but for his loyalty to France? Why do
they not see, as my husband does, that it is for want of personal
ambition that L'Ouverture is now an outlaw in the mornes, instead of
being hand-in-hand, as a brother king, with George of England? They
might have known whom to honour and whom to restrain, as my husband
does, if they had had his clearness of soul, and his love of freedom."
"And because they have not," said Euphrosyne, "they are lost in
amazement at his devotion to a negro outlaw. Do not shrink, dear madam,
from those words. If they were meant in anything but honour they would
not be spoken before you. Afra and I feel that to be the First of the
Blacks is now to be the greatest man in the world; and that to be an
outlaw in the mornes, in the cause of a redeemed race, is a higher glory
than to be the conqueror of Europe. Do we not, Afra?"
"Assuredly we do."
"They will soon learn whom they have to deal with in this outlaw," said
Madame. "I can tell you, my dears, that Rochambeau is drawing near us,
and that there is likely soon to be a battle. Heigho!"
"Is that bad news or good?" asked Euphrosyne.
"My husband means it for good news, my dear--at least, if Maurepas
arrives from the south as soon as Rochambeau from the north."
"I wish Maurepas would come!" sighed Afra. Madame L'Ouverture went on--
"It has been a great mortification to my husband that there has been no
fair battle yet. His people--those who are faithful--have had no
opportunity of showing how they feel, and what they can do. The French
have been busy spying, and bribing, and cajoling, and pretending to
negotiate; and the one thing they will not do is fighting. But I tell
you, my dears, the battle-day is coming on now. Heigho!"