CHAPTER I. 
WAITING STJPPEE. 
The nights of August are in St. Domingo the hottest of the 
year. The winds then cease to befriend the panting inhabitants; 
and whUe the thermometer stands at , there is no steady 
breeze, as diiring the preceding months of summer. Light puffs 
of wind now and then fan the brow of the negro, and relieve for 
an instant the oppression of the European settler ; but they are 
gone as soon as come, and seem only to have left the heat more 
intolerable than before. 
Of these sultry evenings, one of the sultriest was the nd of 
August, . This was one of five days appointed for rejoicings 
in the town of Cap Fraugais  festivities among the French and 
Creole inhabitants, who were as ready to rejoice on appointed 
occasions as the dulness of colonial life renders natural, but who 
would have been yet more lively than they were if the date of 
their festival had been in January or May. There was no choice 
as to the date, however. They were governed in regard to (Jieir 
celebrations by what happened at Paris ; and never had the pro- 
ceedings of the mother country been so important to the colony 
as now. 
During the preceding year, the white proprietors of St. 
Domingo, who had haikd with loud voices the revolutionary 
doctrines before which royalty had begun to succumb in Prance, 
were astonished to find their cries of Liberty and Equality 
adopted by some who had no business with such ideas and words. 
The mulatto proprietors and merchants of the island ianotently 
understood the words according to their commonly received 
meaning, and expected an equal share with the whites in the 
representation of the colony, in the distribution of its offices, and 
in the civil rights of its inhabitants generally. These rights 
having been denied by the whites to the freeborn mulattoes, with 
every possible manifestation of contemand dislike, an effort 
  
  
had been made to wring from the whites by force what they 
would not grant to reason ; and an ill-principled and ill-managed 
revolt had taken place, in the preceding October, headed by 
Vincent Oge and his brother, sons of the proprietress of a coffee 
plantation, a few miles from Cap Frangais. These young men 
were executed, under circumstances of great barbarity. Their 
sufferings were as seed sown in the warm bosoms of their com- 
panions and adherents, to spring uin due season, in a harvest 
of vigorous revenge. The whites suspected this ; and were as 
anxious as their dusky neighbours to obtain the friendship and 
sanction of the revolutionary government at home. That govern- 
ment was fluctuating in its principles and in its counsels ; it 
favoured now one paiMty, and now the other ; and on the arrival 
of its messengers at the ports of the colony, there ensued some- 
times the loud boastings of the whites, and sometimes quiet, 
knowing smiles and whispered congratulations among the 
depressed section of the inhabitants. 
The cruelties inflicted on Yincent Oge had interested many 
influential persons in Paris in the cause of the mulattoes. Great 
zeal was exercised in attempting to put them in a condition 
to protect themselves by equal laws, and thus to restrain the 
tyranny of the whites. The Abbe Gregoire pleaded for them in 
the National Assembly ; and on the th of March was passed 
the celebrated decree which gave the mulattoes the privileges of 
French citizens, even to the enjoyment of the suffrage, and to 
the possession of seats in the parochial and colonial assemblies. 
To Europeans there appears nothing extraordinary in the ad- 
mission to these civil functions of freebom persons, many of 
whom were wealthy, and many educated ; but to the whites of 
St. Domingo the decree was only less tremendous than the rush 
of the hurricane. 
It arrived at Cap Frangais on the th of June, and the tidings 
presently spread. At first, no one believed them but the mu- 
lattoes. When it was no longer possible to doubt  when the 
words of Robespierre passed from mouth to mouth, till even the 
nuns told them to one another in the convent garden  " Perish 
the colonies, rather than sacrifice one iota of our principles ! " 
the whites trampled the national cockade under their feet in the 
streets, countermanded their orders for the fete of the th of 
July (as they now declined taking the civic oath), and proposed 
to one another to offer their colony and their allegiance to 
England. 
They found means, however, to gratify their love of power, 
and then- class-hatred, by means short of treason. They tried 
disobedience first, as the milder method. The governor of the 
colony, Blanchelande, promised that when the decree should 
reach him officially, he would neglect it, and all applications 
  
IN St/SPBNSE.  
from any quarter to have it enforced. This set all straight. 
Blanchelande was pronounced a sensible and patriotic man. The 
gentlemen shook hands warmly with him at every turn; the 
ladies made deep and significant curtseys wherever they met 
him ; the boys taught their little negroes to huzza at the name 
of Blanchelande ; and the little girls called him a dear creature. 
In order to lose no time in showing that they meant to make 
laws for their own colony out of their own heads, and no others, 
the white gentry hastened on the election of deputies for a new 
General Colonial Assembly. The deputies were elected, and met, 
to the number of a hundred and seventy-six, at Leogane, in the 
southern region of the island, so early as the th of August. 
After exchanging greetings and vows of fidelity to their class- 
interests, under the name of patriotism, they adjourned their 
assembly to the th, when they were to meet at Cap Frangais. 
It was desirable to hold their very important session in the most 
important place in the colony, the centre of intelligence, the 
focus of news from Europe, and the spot where they had first 
sympathised with the ungrateful government at home, by 
hoisting, with their own white hands, the cap of liberty, and 
shouting, so that the world might hear, " Liberty and Equality ! " 
" Down with Tyranny ! " 
By the th, the deputies were congregated at Cap Pranf ais ; 
and daily till the great th were they seen to confer together in 
coteries in the shady piazzas, or in the Jesuits' Walk, in the 
morning, and to dme together in parties in the afternoon, 
admitting friends and well-wishers to these tavern dinners. 
Each day till the th was to be a fete-day in the town and 
neighbourhood ; and of these days the hot nd was one. 
Among these friends and well-wishers were the whites upon 
all the plantations in the neighbourhood of the town. There was 
scarcely an estate in the Plaine du Nord, or on the mountain 
steewhich overlooked the cape, town, and bay, on all sides 
but the north, which did not furnish guests to these dinners. 
The proprietors, their bailiffs, the clergy, the magistrates, might 
all be seen along the roads, in the cool of the morning ; and there 
was a holiday air about the estates they left behind. The negroes 
were left for this week to do their work pretty much as they 
liked, or to do none at all. There was little time to think of 
them, and of ordinary business, when there were the mulattoes 
to be ostentatiously insulted, and the mother country to be defied. 
So the negroes sleat noon, and danced at night, during these 
few August days, and even had leave to visit one another to as 
great an extent as was ever allowed. Perhathey also transacted 
other affairs of which their masters had little suspicion. 
All that ever was allowed was permitted to the slaves on the 
Breda estate, in the plain, a few miles from Cap rranaisi The 
  
  
attorney, or bailifE of the estate, M. Bayou de Libertas, was a 
kind-hearted man, who, while insisting very peremptorily on his 
political and social rights, and vehemently denouncing all 
abstract enmity to them, liked that people actually about him 
should have their own way. While ransacking his brain for terms 
of abuse to vent on Lafayette and Oondorcet, he rarely found 
anything harsh to utter when Caton got drunk, and spoUed his 
dinner; when Venus sent up his linen darker than it went down 
to the quarter, or when little Machabee picked his pocket of 
small coin. Such a man was, of course, particularly busy this 
week ; and of course, the slaves under his charge were particu- 
larly idle, and particularly likely to have friends from other 
plantations to visit them. 
Some such visitor seemed to be expected by a family of these 
Breda negroes, on the Monday evening, the nd. This family 
did not live in the slave-quarter. They had a cottage near the 
stables, as Toussaint Breda had been M. Bayou's postillion, 
and, when he was lately promoted to be overseer, it was found 
convenient to all parties that he should retain his dwelling, 
which had been enlarged and adorned so as to accord with the 
dignity of his new office. In the piazza of his dwelling sat 
Toussaint this evening, evidently waiting for some one to arrive ; 
for he frequently put down his book to listen for footsteps, and 
more than once walked round the house to look abroad. His 
wife, who was within, cooking supper, and his daughter and 
little boy, who were beside him in the piazza, observed his rest- , 
lessness ; for Toussaint was a great reader, and seldom looked 
off the page for a moment of any spare hour that he might have 
for reading either the books M. Bayou lent liim, or the three 
or four volumes which he had been permitted to purchase for 
himself. 
" Do you see Jean P " asked the wife from within. " Shall we 
wait supper for him ? " 
"Wait a little longer," said Toussaint. "It will be strange 
if he does not come." 
"Are any more of Latour's people coming ivith Jean, mother P " 
asked Gnifrede, from the piazza. 
"No; they have a supper at Latour's to-night; and we 
should not have thought of inviting Jean, but that he wants some 
I conversation with your father." 
" Lift me up," cried the little boy, who was trying in vain to 
scramble up one of the posts of the piazza, in order to reach a 
humming-bird's nest, which hung in the tendi-ils of a creeper 
overhead, and which a light puff of wind now set swinging, so 
as to attract the child's eye. What child ever saw a humming- 
bird thus rocking its bill sticking out like a long needle on 
one side, and its tail at the other, without longing to clutch it ? 
  
TOUSSAJNT'S HOME.   
So Denis cried out imperiously to be lifted uHis father set 
him on the shelf within the piazza, where the calabashes were 
ke a station whf'nce he could see into the nest, and watch the 
bird, without being able to touch it. This was not altogether 
satisfactory. The little fellow looked about him for a calabash 
to throw at the nest ; but his mother had carried in all her cu
for the service of the supper-table. As no more wind came at 
his caU, he could only blow with all his might, to swing the ten- 
dril again ; and he was amusing himself thus when his father 
laid down his book, and stepped out to see once more whether 
Jean was approaching. 
" Lift me down," said the boy to his sister, when his head 
was giddy with blowing. Geuifrede would fain have let him 
stay where he was, out of the way of mischief ; but she saw that 
he was really afraid of falling, and she offered her shoulders for 
him to descend upon. When down, she would not let him 
touch her work ; she took her scissors from his busy hands, and 
shook him off when he tried to pull the snowberries out of her 
hair ; so that there was nothing left for the child to play with 
but his father's book. He was turning it over, when Toussaint 
reappeared. 
" Ha ! boy, a book in your hands already ? I hoyou may 
have as much comfort out of that book as I have had, Denis." 
" What is it P what is it about P " said the boy, who had heard 
many a story out of books from his father. 
" What is it ? Let us see. I think you know letters enough 
to spell it out for yourself. Oome and try." 
The child knew the letter E, and, with a good deal of hel
made out, at last, Epictetus. 
" What is that ? " asked the boy. 
" Epictetus was a negro," said Genifrede, complacently. 
" Kot a negro," said her father, smiling. " He was a slave ; 
but he was a white." 
" Is that the reason you read that book so much more than 
any other ? " 
" Partly ; but partly because I like what is in it." 
" What is in it any stories ? " asked Denis. 
" It is all about bearing and forbearing. It has taught me 
many things which you wiU have to learn by-and-by. I shall 
teach you some of them out of this book." 
Denis made all haste away from the promised instruction, and 
his father was presently again absorbed in his book. Prom 
respect to him, Genifrede keDenis quiet by signs of admoni- 
tion ; and for some little time nothing was heard but the sounds 
that in the plains of St. Domingo never cease  the humming 
and buzzing of myriads of insects, the occasional chattering of 
monkeys in a neighbouring wood, and, with a passing gust, a 
  
 THE HOUR AND THB MAN. 
chorus of frogs from a distant swamUnconscious of this 
din, from being accustomed always to hear more or less of it, 
the boy amused himself with chasing the fireflies, whose light 
began to glance around as darkness descended. His sister was 
poring over her work, which she was just finishing, when a 
gleam of greenish light made both look uIt came from a 
Eirge meteor which sailed past towards the mountains, whither 
were tending also the huge masses of cloud which gather about 
the high peaks previous to the season of rain and hurricanes. 
There was nothing surprising in this meteor, for the sky was 
full of them in August nights ; but it was very beautif id. The 
globe of green light floated on tiU it burst above the mountains, 
illuminating the lower clouds, and revealing along the slopes of 
the uplands the cofCee-groves, waving and bowing their heads 
in the wandering winds of that high region. Genifrede shivered 
at the sight, and her brother threw himself upon her laBefore 
he had asked half his questions about the lights of the sky, the 
short twilight was gone, and the evening star cast a faint shadow 
from the tufted posts of the piazza upon the white waJl of the 
cottage. In a low tone, full of awe, Genifrede told the boy such 
stories as she had heard from her father of the mysteries of the 
heavens. He felt that she trembled as she told of the northern 
lights, which had been actually seen by some travelled persons 
now in Cap Franais. It took some time and argument to give 
him an idea of cold countries ; but his uncle Paul, the fisher, 
man, had seen hail on the coast, only thirty miles from hence ; 
and this was a great step in the evidence. Denis listened with 
aU due belief to his sister's description of those pale lights shoot- 
ing up over the sky, tiU he cried out vehemently, " There they 
are ! look ! " 
Genifrede screamed, and covered her face with her hands ; 
while the boy shouted to his father, and ran to call his mother 
to see the lights. 
What they saw, however, was little Kke the pale, cold rays of 
the aurora boreaJis. It was a fiery red, which, shining to some 
height in the air, was covered in by a canoof smoke. 
" Look uGenifrede," said her father, laying his hand upon 
her head. " It is a fire  a cane-field on fire." 
" And houses, too  the sugar-house, no doubt," said Margot, 
who had come out to look. " It bums too red to be canes only. 
Can it be at Latour's % That would keep Jean from coming.   
It was the best supper I ever got ready for him." 
" Latour's is over that way," said Toussaint, pointing some 
distance further to the south-east. " But see ! there is fire 
there, too ! God have mercy ! " 
He was silent, in mournful fear that he knew now too well the 
reason why Jean had not come, and the nature of the conversation 
  
REBELLION.   
Jean had desired to have with him. As he stood with folded arms 
looking from the one conflagration to the other, Genifrede clung 
to him trembling with terror, In a quarter of an hour another 
blaae appeared on the horizon ; and, soon after, a fourth. 
" The sky is on fire," cried Denis, la more delight than fear. 
"Look at the clouds!" And the clouds did indeed show, 
tliroughout their huge pile, some a mild flame colom-, and others 
a hard crimson edge, as during a stormy sunset. 
"Alas! alas! this is rebellion," said Toussaint; "rebellion 
against God and man. God have mercy! The whites have 
risen against their king ; and now the blacks rise against them, 
in turn. It is a great sin. God have mercy ! " 
Margot webitterly. " Oh, what shall we do ? " she cried. 
" What will become of us, if there is a rebellion .' " 
" Be cheerful, and fear nothing," replied her husband. " I 
have not rebelled, and I shall not. M. Bayou has taught mo 
to bear and forbear  yes, my boy, as this book says, and as the 
book of God says : We wiU be faithful, and fear nothing." 
" But they may burn this plantation," cried Margot. " They 
may come here, and take you away. They may ruin M. Bayou, 
and then we may be sold away; we may be parted " 
Her grief choked her words. 
"Fear nothing," said her husband, with calm authority. 
" We are in God's hand ; and it is a sin to fear His will. But 
see I there is another fire, over towards the town." 
And he called aloud the name of his eldest son, saying he 
should send the boy with a horse to meet his master. He him- 
self must "remain to watch at home. 
Placide did not come when called, nor was he at the stables. 
He was gone some way off, to cut fresh grass for the cattle  
a common night-labour on the plantation. 
" Gall Isaac, then," said Toussaint. 
" Run, Genifrede," said her mother. " Isaac and Aimfe are 
in the wood. Run, Genifrede." 
Genifrede did not obey. She was too much terrified to leave 
the piazza alone ; though her father gently asked when she, his 
eldest daughter, and almost a woman, would leave off being 
scared on all occasions like a child. Margot went herself ; so 
far infected with her daughter's fears as to be glad to take little 
Denis in her hand. She was not long gone. As soon as she 
entered the wood she heard the sound of her children's laughter 
above the noise the monkeys made ; and she was guided by it 
to the well. There, in the midst of the opening which let in the 
starlight, stood the well, surrounded by the only grass on the 
Breda estate that was always fresh and green ; and there were 
Isaac and his inseparable companion, Aimee, making the grass 
greener bv splashing each other with more than half the water 
  
   
tliey drew. Their bright eyes and teeth could be seen by the 
mild light, as they were too busy with their sport to heed their 
mother as she approached. She soon made them serious with 
her news. Isaac flew to help his father with the horses, while 
Aimee, a stout girl of twelve, assisted her mother in earnest to 
draw water, and carry it home. 
They found Geuifrede crouching alone in a corner of the 
piazza. In another minute Toussaint appeared on horseback, 
leading a saddled horse. 
" I am going for M. Bayou myself," said he ; adding, as he 
glanced round the lurid horizon, " it is not a night for boys to 
be abroad. I shall be back in an hour. If M. Bayou comes by 
the new road, tell him that I am gone by Madame Oge's. If 
fire breaks out here, go into the wood. If I meet Placide, I will 
send him home." 
He disappeared under the limes in the avenue ; and his family 
heard the pace of the horses quicken into a gallop before the 
sound died away upon the road. 
CHAPTER II. 
THK EXCLTJSITES. 
The party of deputies with whom M. Bayou was dining were 
assembled at the great hotel, at the comer of Place Mont 
Archer, at Cap rranais. Languidly, though gladly, did tlie 
guests, especially those from the country, enter the hotel, over- 
powering as was the heat of the roads and the streets. In the 
roads, the sand lay so deethat the progress of horsemen was 
necessarily slow, while the sun seemed to shed down a deluge of 
flame. In the streets, there was the shelter of the piazzas ; but 
their piUars, if accidentally touched, seemed to burn the hand ; 
and the hum of traffic, and the sound of feet, appeared to in- 
crease the oppression caused by the weather. Within the hotel, 
all was comparatively cool and quiet. The dining and drawing 
rooms occupied by the guests adjoined each other, and presented 
none but the most welcome images. The jalousies were nearly 
closed ; and through the small spaces that were left open, there 
might be seen in one direction the fountain playing in the 
middle of the Place, and iu the other, diagonally across the Rue 
Bspaguole, the Jesuits' Walk, an oblong square laid down iu 
frass, and shaded in the midst by an avenue of palms. Imme- 
iately opposite the hotel was the Convent of Religieuses, over 
whose garden wall more trees were seen; so that the guests 
  
AT DINNER.   
might easily have forgotten that they were in the midst of a 
town. 
The rooms were so dark that those who entered from the 
glare of the streets could at first see nothing. The floor was 
dark, being of native mahogany, polished like a looking-glass. 
The walls were green, the furniture green  everything ordered 
in counteraction of light and heat. In the dining-room more 
was visible ; there was the white cloth spread over the long 
range of tables, and the plate and glass, glittering in such light 
as was allowed to enter ; and also the gilded balustrade of the 
gallery, to be used to-day as an orchestra. This gallery was 
canopied over, as was the seat of the chairman, with palm 
branches and evergreens, intermixed with fragrant shrubs, and 
flowers of all hues. A huge bunch of peacocks' feathers was 
suspended from the lofty ceiling ; and it was waved incessantly 
to and fro, by strings pulled by two little negroes, at opposite 
comers of the room, causing a continual fanning of the air, and 
circulation of the perfumes of the flowers. The black band in 
the orchestra summoned the company to dinner, and entertained 
them while at it by playing the popular revolutionary airs which 
were then resounding through the colony like the hum of its 
insects, or the dash of its waterfalls. As they took their seats 
to the air of the "Marseillaise Hymn," more than one of the 
guests might be heard by his next neighbour singing to himself, 
" Allons, enfans de la patrie, 
Le jour de gloire est arrive." 
Before politics, however, there was dinner to be attended to ; 
and the first-fruits of the eloquence of the meeting was be- 
stowed on the delicate turtle, the well-fattened land- crabs, and 
the rich pasties  on the cold wines, the refreshing jellies, and 
the piles of oranges, figs, and almonds, pomegranates, melons, 
and pine-apples. The first vote of compliment was to Henri, the 
black cook from St. Christophe, whence he had been brought 
over by the discerning hotel-keeper, who detected his culinary 
genius while Henri was yet but a lad. When the table was 
cleared, a request was sent up to the chairman from various 
parties at the table, that he would command Henri's attendance, 
to receive the testimony of the company respecting the dinner 
he had sent uand to take a glass of wine from them. 
Dr. Protean, the chairman, smilingly agreed, saying that such 
a tribute was no more than Henri's professional excellence and 
high reputation deserved; and Henri was accordingly summoned 
by a dozen of the giinning black waiters, who ran over one 
another in their haste to carry to the kitchen the message of 
these, the highest gentry of the land. The waiters presently 
B 
  
   
poured into the room again, and stood in two rows from the 
door, where Henri appeared, not laaghing like the rest, but per- 
fectly grave, as he stood, white apron on, and napkin over his 
arm, his stout and taU figure erect, to receive the commands of 
his masters. 
" Was your father a cook or a gourmand, Henri P Or are yon 
all good cooks at St. Ohristophe P " asked a deputy. 
" If it is the air of St. Ohristophe that makes men such cooks 
as Henri, the knights of St. John of Malta had a goodly gift in 
it," said another. 
" Can one get such another as you for money, Henri P " asked 
a third. 
" How many hoys has your wife brought you, Henri P We 
shall bid high for them, and make your master's fortune, if he 
trains them aU. to your profession," said a fourth. 
" Tell your master he had better not part with you for any 
sum, Henri. We will make it worth his while to refuse more 
for yon than was ever offered yet." 
" Tour health, Henri ! May you live out all the turtle now 
in St. Domingo, and the next generation after them." 
Amidst all these questions and remarks, Henri escaped an- 
swering any. He stood looking on the ground, till a glass of 
champagne was brought to him, bowed to the company, drank it 
off, and was gone. 
" How demure the fellow looks ! " said M. Papalier, a planter, 
to Bayou, his neighbour in the plain, who now sat opposite to 
him ; " what an air of infinite modesty he put on ! At this 
moment, I daresay he is snapping his fingers, and telling the 
women that aU the money in St. Domingo won't buy him." 
" Tou are mistaken there," said Bayou. " He is a singular 
fellow, is Henri, in more ways than his cookery. I believe he 
never snapped his fingers in his life, nor told anybody what his 
master gave for him. I happen to know Henri very well, from 
his being an acquaintance of my overseer, who is something of 
the same sort, only superior even to Henri." 
" The fellow looked as if he would have given a great deal 
more than his glass of wine to have stayed out of the room," 
observed M. Leroy. " He has nothing of the mulatto in him, 
has he P Pure African, I suppose." 
"Pure African  all safe," replied Bayou. "But observe! 
the music has stopped, and we are going on to the business of 
the day. Silence, there ! Silence, aU ! " 
Everybody said " Silence ! " and Dr. Protean rose. 
He declared himself to be in a most remarkable situation  
one in which he was sure every Frenchman present would sym- 
pathise with him. Here he stood, chairman of a meeting of the 
most loyal, the most spirited, the most patriotic citizens of the 
  
DR. PROTEAU S SPEECH.   
empire, chairman of an assemblage of memljers of a colonial 
piii-liamcnt, and of their guests and friends  here he stood, in 
this capacity, and yet he was unable to propose any one of the 
loyal toasts by wliich it liad, till now, been customary to sanc- 
tion their social festiyities. As for the toast, now never more 
to be heard from their li the health of the king and royal 
family  the less that was said about that the better. The times 
of oppression were passing away; and he, for one, would not 
dim the brightness of the present meeting by recaUiug from 
the horizon, where it was just disappearing, the tempest cloud 
of tyranny, to overshadow the young sunshine of freedom. 
There had been, however, another toast, to which they had been 
wont to respond with more enthusiasm than was ever won by 
despotic monarchy from its slaves. ' There had been a toast to 
which this lofty roof had rung again, and to haU which every 
voice had been loud, and every heart had beat high. Nei- 
ther could he now propose that toast. With grief which 
consumed his soul, he was compelled to bury in silence  the 
silence of mortification, the silence of contempt, the silence of 
detestation  the name of the National Assembly of Prance. 
His language might appear strong; but it was mild, it was 
moderate ; it was, he might almost say, cringing, in comparison 
with what the National Assembly had deserved. He need not ' 
occuthe time of his friends, nor harrow their feelings, by a 
narrative of the injuries their colony had sustained at the hands 
of the French National Assembly. Those around him knew 
too well, that in return for their sympathy in the humbling of a 
despot, for their zeal in behalf of the eternal principles of free- 
dom, the mother country had, through the instrumentality of 
its National Council, endeavoured to strip its faithfid whites in 
this colony of the power which they had always possessed, and 
which was essential to their very existence in their ancient 
prosperity  the exclusive power of making or enforcing laws 
for their own community. The attemwas now made, as they 
too well knew, to wrest this sacred privilege from their hands, 
by admitting to share it a degraded race, before whose inroads 
would perish all that was most dear to his fellow-citizens and 
to himself  the repose of their homes, the security of theii 
property, the honour of their colour, and the prosperity of the 
colony. He rejoiced to see around him, and from his heart he. 
bade them welcome, some fellow-labourers with himself in the 
glorious work of resisting oppression, and defending their ancient 
privileges, endeared to them by as many ages as had passed 
since distinctions of colour were made by an Almighty hand. 
He invited them to pledge themselves with him to denounce and 
resist such profane, such blasphemous innovations, proposed by 
shallow enthusiasts, seconded by designing knaves, and destined 
B  
  
  
to be wrouglit out by the agency of demons  demons in human 
form. He called upon all patriots to join Mm in Ms pledge ; 
and in token of their faith, to drink deep to one now more de- 
serving of their homage than was ever king or National Assem- 
yy  lie need not say that he aUuded to the noblest patriot in the 
colony  its guardian, its saviour  Grovemor Blanchelande. 
The gentleman who rose, amidst the cheers and jingling of 
glasses, to say a few words to this toast, was a man of some im- 
portance in the colony as a member of its Assembly, though he 
otherwise held no higher rank than that of attorney to the estate 
of M. Gallifet, a rich absentee. Odeluc was an old resident, and 
(though zealous for the privileges of the whites) a favourite with 
men of aU colours, and therefore entitled to be listened to by all 
with attention, when he spoke on the conflicting interests of 
races. However Ms opinions might please or displease, all liked 
to look upon his bright countenance, and to hear his lively voice. 
Vincent Oge had said that Odeluc was a worse foe to the mulat- 
toes than many a worse man  he always so excited their good- 
will as to make them forget their rights. 
As he now rose, the air from the peacock-fan stirring the wMte 
hair upon his forehead (for in the heats of St. Domingo it was 
permitted to lay wigs aside), and the good wine animating yet 
further the spirit of his lively countenance, Odeluc was received 
with a murmur of welcome, before he opened his lito speak. 
" I must acknowledge, my fellow-citizens," said he, " I never 
was more satisfied with regard to the state of our colony than 
now. We have had our troubles, to be sure, like the mother 
country, and like aU countries where portions of the people 
struggle for power which they ought not to have. But we have 
settled that matter for ourselves, by the help of our good Gover- 
nor, and I firmly believe that we are at the commencement of a 
long age of peace." 
Here some applauded, while two or three shook their heads. 
Odeluc continued  
" I see some of my friends do not altogether share my hopes. 
Tet are these hopes not reasonable ? The Governor has himself 
assured me that nothing shall induce Mm to notice the obnoxious 
decree, till he has, in the first place, received it under all the 
ofBcial forms  in the next place, vrritten his remonstrance to 
the government at home  and, in the third place, received an 
answer. Now, all this will take some time. In three days, we 
deputies shall Isegin our session ; and never were the members 
of any assembly more united in their will and in their views, and 
therefore more powerful. We meet for the express purpose of 
neutralising the effects of this ill-judged decree ; we have the 
power  we have the will  and who can doubt the results .f The 
management of this colony has always succeeded well in the 
  
A FOOLS PARADISE.  
hands of the wliites; they have made its laws, and enforced 
them  they have allowed the people of colour liberty to pursue 
their own business, and acquire property if they could, conscious 
of strength to restrain their excesses, if occasion should arise : 
and, as for the negro population, where in the world were affairs 
ever on a better footing between the masters and their force than 
in the colony of St. Domingo p If all has worked so well hitherto, 
is it to be supposed that an ignorant shout ui the National As- 
sembly, and a piece of paper sent over to ns thence, can destroy 
the harmony, and overthrow the prosperity which years have 
confirmed ? I, for one, will never believe it. I see before me 
in my colleagues men to whom the tranquillity of the colony 
may be safely confided; and over their heads, and beyond the 
(vise laws they are about to pass for the benefit of both the 
supreme and subordinate interests of our community, I see, 
stretching beyond the reach of living eye, a scene of calm and 
fruitful prosperity in which our children's children may enjoy 
their lives, without a thought of fear or apprehension of change. 
Regarding Governor Blanchelande as one of the chief securities 
of this our long tenure of social prosperity, I beg to propose, not 
only that we shall now drink his health, but that we shall meet 
annually in his honour on this day.  Tender is Governmeni; 
House. If we open our jalousies wide enough, and give the 
honours loudly enough, perhaour voices may reach his ears, 
as the loyal greeting that he deserves." 
" Do not you smell smoke? " asked Bayou of his neighbour, 
as the blinds were thrown open. 
" What a smell of bui-ning ! " observed the chairman to Odeluc 
at the same moment. 
" They are burning field-trash outside the town, no doubt," 
Odeluc answered. " We choose the nights when there is little 
wind, you know, for that work." 
There was a small muster of soldiers round the gates of 
G-overnment House, and several people in the streets, when the 
honours were given to the Governor's name. But the first 
seemed not to hear, and the others did not turn their heads. 
The air that came in was so hot, that the blinds were imme- 
diately ordered to be closed again. The waiters, however, 
seemed to have lost their obsequiousness, and many orders and 
oaths were spent upon them before they did their duty. 
While the other gentlemen sat down, a young man remained 
standing, his eyes flashing, and his countenance heated, either 
by wine, or by the thoughts with which he seemed big. 
" My fellow-citizens," said M. Brelle, beginning in a very loud 
voice, " agreeing as I do in my hopes for this colony with M. 
Odeluc, and, like him, trusting in the protection and blessingof 
a just Providence, which wiU preserve our rights, and chastise 
  
  
those wlio would infringe them  feeling thus, and thus trust, 
ing, there is a duty for me to perform. My friends, we must not 
permit the righteous chastisements of Providence to pass by 
unheeded, and be forgotten. The finger of Providence has been 
among us, to mark out and punish the guilty disturber of our 
peace. But, though dead, that guilty traitor has not ceased to 
disturb our peace. Do we not know that his groans have moved 
our enemies in the National Assembly  that his ashes have been 
stirred up there, to shed their poison over our names ? It be- 
comes us, in gratitude to a preserving Providence, in fidelity to 
that which is dearer to us than life  our fair fame  in regard 
to the welfare of our posterity, it becomes us to mark our 
reprobation of treason and rebellion, and to perpetuate in 
ignominy the name of the rebel and the traitor. Fill your 
glasses, then, gentlemen, and drink  drink deep with me  
Our curse on the memory of Yinoent Oge ! " 
Several members of the company eagerly filled their glasses ; 
others looked doubtfully towards the chair. Before Dr. Proteau 
seemed to have made up his mind what to do, M. Papalier had 
risen, saying, in a rather low and conversational tone  
" My young friend will allow me to suggest to him the 
expediency of withdrawing his toast, as one in which his fellow- 
citizens cannot all cordially join. We all unite, doubtless, in 
reprobating treason and rebellion in the person of Oge ; but I, 
for one, cannot think it good, either in taste or in policy, to curse 
the memory of the dead in the hearing of those who desire mercy 
for their fallen enemies (as some here present do), or of others 
who look upon Oge as no criminal, but a martyr  which is, I 
fear, the case with too many outside." He pointed to the 
windows as he spoke, where it now appeared that the jalousies 
had been pushed a little open, so as to allow opportunity for 
some observation from without. M. Papalier lowered his tone, 
so as to be heard, during the rest of his speech, only by those 
who made every effort to catch his words. Not a syllable could 
be heard in the orchestra outside, or even by the waiters ranged 
against the wall; and the chairman and others at the extremities 
of the table were obliged to lean forwards to catch the meaning 
of the speaker, who proceeded  
" No one more heartily admires the spirit and good-humour of 
our friend, M. Odeluc, than myself : no one more enjoys being 
animated by the hilarity of his temper, and carried away by the 
hopeful enthusiasm which makes him the dispenser of happiness 
that he is. But I cannot always sympathise in Ms bright 
anticipations. I own I cannot to-day. He may be right. God 
grant he be so ! But I cannot take M. Odeluc's word for it, 
when words so different are spoken elsewhere. There are 
observers at a distance impartial lookers-on, who predict (and 
  
IMPENDING DANGER.  
I fear there are signs at home which indicate) that our position 
is far from secure  our prospects far other than serene. There 
are those who believe that we are in danger from other foes than 
the race of Oge ; and facts have arisen but enough. This is 
not the time and place for discussion of that point. Suffice it 
now that, as we all know, observers at a distance can often see 
deeper and farther than those involved in affairs ; and that 
Mirabeau has said  and what Mirabeau says is, at least, worth 
attention  Mirabeau has said of us, in connection with the events 
of last October, ' They are sleeping on the margin of Vesuvius, 
and the first jets of the volcano are not sufficient to awaken 
them.' In compliment to Mirabeau," he concluded, smiling, 
and bowing to M. Brelle, " if not in sympathy with what he 
may think my needless caution, I homy young friend will 
reserve his wine for the next toast." 
M. BreUe bowed, rather sulkily. No one seemed ready at the 
moment to start a new subject. Some attacked M. Papalier in 
whispers for what he had said ; and he to defend himself, told, 
also in whispers, facts of the murder of a bailiff on an estate 
near his own, and of suspicious cii'cumstances attending it, 
which made him and others apprehend that all was not right 
among the negroes. His facts and surmises weni round. As, 
in the eagerness of conversation, a few words were occasionally 
spoken aloud, some of the party glanced about to see if the 
waiters were within earshot. They were not. There was not a 
negro in the apartment. The band had gone out unnoticed ; to 
refresh themselves, no doubt. 
Odeluc took the brief opportunity to state his confidence that 
all doubts of the fidelity of the negroes were groundless. He 
agreed with M. Papalier that the present was not the time and 
place for entering at large into the subject. He would only just 
say that he was now an old man, that he had spent his fife 
among the people alluded to, and knew them well, if any man 
did. They were revengeful, certainly, upon occasion, if harshly 
treated ; but, otherwise, and if not corrupted by ignorant dema- 
gogues and designing agents, they were the most tractable and 
attached people on earth. He was confident that the masters in 
St. Domingo had nothing to fear. 
He was proceeding ; but he perceived that the band was re- 
entering the orchestra, and he sat down abruptly. 
The chairman now discovered that it had grown very dark, 
and called out for lights. His orders were echoed by several of 
the party, who hoped that the lights would revive some of the 
spirit of the evening, which had become very flat. 
While waiting for lights, the jalousies were once more opened, 
by orders from the chair. The apartment was instantly per- 
vaded by a duU, changeful, red light, derived from the sky, 
  
  
which glowed above the trees of the Jesuits' Walk with tlie 
l-eflection of extensive fires. The guests were rather startled, too, 
by perceiving that the piazza was crowded with heads ; and that 
dusky faces, in countless number, were looking in upon them, 
and had probably been watching them for some time past. 
"With the occasional pufEs of wind, which brought the smell of 
burning, came a confused murmur, from a distance, as of voices, 
the tramp of many horses in the sand, and a multitude of feet 
in the streets. This was immediately lost in louder souuds. 
The band struck uunbidden, with all its power, the Mar- 
seillaise Hymn; and every voice in the piazza, aud, by degrees, 
along the neighbouring streets and square, seemed to join in 
singing the familiar words  
" Aliens enfans de la patrie, 
Le jour de gloire est arrive." 
The consternation of the deputies and their guests was ex- 
treme. Every man showed his terror in his own way ; but one 
act was imiversal. Each one produced arms of one sort or 
another. Even Odeluc, it appeared, had not come unarmed. 
While they were yet standing in grouabout the table, the door 
burst open, and a negro, covered with dust and panting with 
haste, ran in and made for the head of the table, thrusting him- 
self freely through the parties of gentlemen. The chairman, at 
sight of the man, turned pale, recoiled for a moment, and then, 
swearing a deep oath, drew the short sword he wore, and ran 
the negro through the body. 
" Oh, master ! " cried the poor creature, as his life ebbed out in 
the blood which inundated the floor. 
The act was not seen by those outside, as there was a screen 
of persons standing between the tables and the windows. To 
this accident it was probably owing that the party survived that 
hour, and that any order was preserved in the town. 
" Shame, Protean ! shame ! " said Odeluc, as he bent down, 
and saw that the negro was dying. Papalier, Bayou, and a few 
more, cried " Shame ! " also ; while others applauded. 
'' I will defend my deed," said Protean, struggling with the 
hoarseness of his voice, and pouring out a glass of wine to clear 
his throat. His hand was none of the steadiest as he did so. 
" Hush that band ! There is no hearing oneself speak. Hush! 
I say; stop!" and swearing, he passionately shook his fist 
at the musicians, who were still making the air of the Mar- 
seillaise peal through the room. They instantly stopped, and 
departed. 
" There ! you have sent them out to tell what you have done," 
observed a deputy. 
" I will defend my deed," Protean repeated, when he had 
  
THE NEWS.  
swallowed the wine, "I am confident the negroes have risen. 
I am confident the fellow came with bad intent." 
" No fear but the negroes will rise, anywhere in the world, 
where they have such as you for masters," said Odeluo. 
" What do you mean, sir ? " cried Proteau, laying his hand on 
the hilt of his dripping sword. 
" I mean what I say. And I wiU tell you, too, what I do not 
mean. I do not mean to fight to-night with any white ; and 
least of all with one who is standing in a pool of innocent blood, 
of his own shedding." And he pointed to Proteau's feet, which 
were indeed soaked with the blood of his slave. 
" Hush ! hush ! gentlemen ! " cried several voices. " Here is 
more news ! " 
" Hide the body ! " said Bayou, and as he spoke he stooped 
to lift it. M. BreUe made shorter work. He rolled it over 
with his foot, and kicked it under the table. It was out of sight 
before the master of the hotel entered, followed by several 
negroes from the plain, to say that the " force " had risen on 
several plantations, had dismantled the mills, burned the sugar- 
houses, set fije to the crops, murdered the overseers, and, he 
feared, in some cases, the proprietors. 
" Where ? " " Whose estates ? " " What proprietors ? " asked 
eveiy voice present. 
" Where did it begin ? " was the question the landlord applied 
himself first to answer. 
" It broke out on the Noe estate, sir. They murdered the 
refiner and his apprentice, and carried off the surgeon. They 
left another young man for dead; but he got away, and told the 
people on the next plantation ; but it was too late then. They 
had reached M. Clement's by that time, and raised his people. 
They say M. Clement is killed ; but some of his fainily escaped. 
They are here in the town, I believe." 
Some of the deputies now snatched their hats, and went out 
to learn where the fugitives were, and thus to get information, 
if possible, at first hand. 
" All is safe in oar quarter, at present, I trust," said Papalier 
to Bayou ; " but shall we be gone ? Tour horse is here, I su
pose. We can ride together." 
" In a moment. Let us hear all we can first," replied Bayou. 
" Do you stay for that purpose, then, and look to our horses. 
I will learn what the Governor's orders are, and come here for 
you presently." And Papalier was gone. 
When Bayou turned to listen again, Odeluc was saying  
" Impossible ! incredible ! GaUifet's force risen ! Not they  
They would be fii-m 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 gueat," 
  
  
said the landlord, with a bow as polite as on the most festive 
occasion. " I am hapthat my roof should  " 
" Who brought this report P " cried Odelue. " 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 Odelue, 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 
maldng speeches here, like a holiday fool ! I wiU bring them to 
their senses presently. Make way, friends  make way." 
And Odelue stepped out among the blacks on the piazza, 
that being the shortest way to Government House. 
" I hohe 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 ofP." 
A sort of scream, a cry of horror, from one who stood close 
by, stopped the deputy. 
" Boirien ! what is the matter P " 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 ojBE 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 talve refuge on board the vessels in the bay. All night 
long, boats were plying in the harbour, conveying womou, 
children, plate, and money, on board the shiwhich happened 
to be in the roads. 
  
HENRI PROVES USEFUL. / 
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 land- 
lord 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, bad disappeared, and 
no one would teU whither they were gone  only that they were 
quite safe. 
When M. 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 
Hau.t du CaWe 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 P " asked Bayou. 
" I know you will tell me truth." 
" Indeed, master, I know nothing," replied Henri. " You 
say you shall meet Toussaint. I will I'ide 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, exceto urge on the horses up the steesandy 
I'oad, 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 caand 
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 pro- 
viding for the public safety. 
On surmounting the ridge, Henri stretched out his hand, and 
pulled the bridle of M. Bayou's horse to the left, so as to turr. 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 M 
Bayou he explained that Toussaint would probably choose this 
road, through Madame Og's plantation. 
" Oome 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 Ted horse from Breda. Not far behind 
him was Madame Og's house, the door standing wide, and, seen 
by the light within, a woman in the doorway. Toussaint pulled 
uHenri leaped down, and ran to shake hands with his 
friend. Papalier took the opportunity to say, in a low voice, 
to Bayou  
" Y"ou must send your fellow there on board shiToumust, 
there is no doubt of it. The Governor, and all the householders 
in Caare 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 M. Clement said of his postillion ; and 
it was his postillion that struck him to the heart. Tou must 
send Toussaint on board ship ; and I will tell you how " 
  
MADAME G&.  
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 
shipP" 
" No, no ; nonsense," said Bayou ; " I am not going to send 
anybody on board shiAll quiet at Breda, I suppose, 
Toussaint P " 
" All quiet, sir, at present. M. Papalier  on board ship I 
wiU not go." 
" As your master pleases. It is no concern of mine, Tons, 
saint," said Papalier. 
" So I think," replied Toussaint. 
" Tou 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 hoyou have no trouble with your 
people. I hoyour people are all steady." 
" Never mind me and my people," replied a tremulous voice. 
" What I want to know is, what has happened at OaWho 
have risen P Whose are these tires P " 
" The negroes have risen on a few plantations : that is all. 
We shall soon " 
" The negroes ! " echoed the voice. " Tou are sure it is only 
the negroes ? " 
" Only the negroes, madame. Can I be of service to you P 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, M. 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 
bettor off than we, so far. Hey, Toussaint ? " 
" I think so, sir.'' 
" JEow many wives and children have you, Toussaint ? " asked 
Papalier. 
" I have five children, sir." 
" And how many wives in your time P " 
Toussaint made no answer. Bayou said for him  
" 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 afeirs. 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." 
" Oome, 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 M. Papalier's 
safety, without looking over towards CaWhen the gentlemen 
arrived at Ai-abie, his ]plantatiou, they found tlie 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 toand 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 inter- 
cepted his path at a sharp turn, caught his bridle, and said  
" My dear fellow, come with me. There is nothing to be 
done here. Tour 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 
tbey have carried oH Th&ese. I must, and I will." 
Toussaint pricked his horse into the court-yard, and after a 
searching look around dragged out fi-om behind the well a 
  
BREDA REACHED   
yoimg' negress who had been crouching there, with an infant in 
her arms. She shrieked and struggled till she saw Papalicr, 
wlien 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 diificulty 
about going, only stopping to search the house for what arms 
and ammxmition 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 blood- 
shed  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, im- 
patiently. 
" I will, thank you. Toussaint, help her up behind me, and 
carry the child, will you ? Hold fast, Thdrese, and leave off 
trembling as soon as you can." 
Therese would let no one carry the infant but herself. She 
keher 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 M. Bayou were safe home 
" Anything happened, Placide p " asked Bayou. 
" Tes, 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 Oassius, nor Antoiue, nor  " 
" Is there any mischief done P Anybody hurt P ' 
" No, sir. They went off very quietly." 
" Quietly, indeed ! They take quietly enough all the kind- 
ness 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, M. Bayon," 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 wUl have them ready for 
us " 
" Grood, good ! Papalier, we cannot do better. Come in. 
Toussaint, take home this young woman. Tour girls will take 
care of her. Eh ! what's the matter ? Well, put her where you 
will  only let her be taken cai-e of  that is all." 
" I will speak to Jeannette, sir." 
"Ay, do. Jeannette will let Threse come to no harm, 
Papalier. Come in, till Toussaint brings a report of how matters 
stand with us poor masters." 
CHAPTEE, III. 
WHAT TO DO ! 
The report brought by Toussaint was astounding to his hearers, 
even after the preparation afforded by the events of the evening. 
It was clear that the negroes had everything in their own hands, 
and that the spirit roused in them was so fierce, so revengeful, 
as to leave no hothat they would use their power with 
moderation. The Breda estate, and every one near it, was to be 
ravaged when those on the north side of the plain were com- 
pletely destroyed. The force assembled at Latour's already 
amounted to four thousand ; and no assistance could be looked 
for from the towns at all adequate to meet such numbers, since 
the persons and property of the whites, hourly accumulating in 
the towns as the insurrection spread, required more than all the 
means of protection that the colony afforded. The two gentle- 
men agreed, as they sat at the table covered with supper, wine, 
and glittering arms, that to remain was to risk their lives with 
no good object. It was clear that they must fly. 
Toussaint suggested that a quantity of sugar from the Breda 
estate was now at Port Paix, lying ready for shipment. There 
was certainly one vessel, if not more, in that port, belonging to 
the United States. If the gentlemen would risk the ride to the 
coast with him, he thought he could put them on board, and 
they might take with them this sugar, intended for France, but 
now wanted for their subsistence in their exile. Bayou saw at 
once that this was the best plan he could adopt. Papalier was 
unwilling to turn his back so soon, and so completely, on his 
property. Bayou was only attorney to the Breda estate, and 
had no one but himself to care for. Papalier was a proprietor. 
  
POISON TO TOUSSAINT.  
and he could not give up at once, and for ever, the lands wMeh 
Ms daughters should inherit after him. He could not instantly 
decide upon this. He would wait some hours at least. He 
thought he could contrive to get into some town, or into the 
Spanish territory, though he might be compelled to leave the 
plain. He slefor this night with his arms at hand, and under 
the watch of Placide, who might be trusted to keep awake and 
listen, as his father vouched for him. Bayou was gone presently ; 
with such little money as he happened to have in the house; 
and in his pockets, the gold ornaments which Toussaint's wife 
insisted on his accepting, and which were not to be despised in 
this day of his adversity. He was sorry to take her necklace 
and ear-rings, which were really valuable ; but she said, truly, 
that he had been a kind master for many years, and ought to 
command what they had, now that they were all in trouble 
together. 
Before the next noon, M. Bayou was on board the American 
vessel in the harbour of Port Paix, weary and sad, but safe, with 
his sugar, and pocketsful of cash and gold trinkets. Before 
evening, Toussaint, who rode like the wind, and seemed in- 
capable of fatigue, was cooling himself under a tamarind-tree, 
in a nook of the Breda estate. 
He was not there to rest himself, while the world seemed to 
be falling into chaos around him. He was there for the duty of 
the hour  to meet by appointment the leader of the insurgents, 
Jean Pranpais, whom, till now, he had always supposed to be 
his friend, as far as their intercourse went, though Jean had 
never been so dear to him as Henri. He had not sat long, 
listening for sounds of approach amidst the clatter of the neigh- 
bouring palm-tree tops, whose stiff leaves struck one another 
as they waved in the wind, when Jean appeared from behind 
the mill. 
" Tou have stopped our wheel," said Toussaint, pointing to 
the reeking water-mill. " It will be cracked in the sun before 
you can set it going again." 
" Tes, we have stopped aU the miUs," replied Jean. " Every 
stream in the colony has a holiday to-day, and may frolic as it 
Ukes. I am afraid I made you wait supper last night P " 
" Tou gave me poison, Jean. Tou have poisoned my trust 
in my friends. I watched for you as for a friend ; and what 
were you doing the while ? Tou were rebeUrng, ravaging, and 
murdering ! " 
" Go on," said Jean. " Tell me how it appears to you ; and 
then I will tell you how it appears to me." 
"It appears to me, then, that if the whites are to blame 
towards those who are in their power  if they have been cruel 
to the Oges, and their party if they have oppressed their 
c 
  
  
negroes, as they too often have, our duty is clear  to bear and 
forbear, to do them good in return for their evil. To rise against 
them cunningly, to burn their plantations, and murder them  
to do this is to throw back the gospel in the face of Him who 
gave it ! " 
" But you do not understand this rising. It is not for revenge." 
" Why do I not understand it. Because you knew that I 
should disapprove it, and keme at home by a false appoint- 
ment, that I might be out of the way. Do you say all this is 
not for revenge? I look at the hell you have made of this 
colony between night and morning, and I say that if this be not 
from revenge, there must be something viler than revenge in the 
hearts of devils and of men." 
" And now, hear me," said Jean, " for I am wanted at Latour's, 
and my time is short. It was no false appointment last night. 
I was on my way to you, when I was stopped by some news 
which altered our plans in a moment, and made us rise sooner, 
by three days, than we expected. I was coming to teU you all, 
and engage you to be one of our chiefs. Have you heard that 
the Calypse has put into port at the other end of the island ? " 
"No." 
" Then you do not know the news she brought. She has a 
royalist master, who is in no hurry to tell his news to the revo- 
lutionary whites. The king and all his famUy tried to esca
from Prance in June. They were overtaken on the road, and 
brought back prisoners to Paris." 
Toussaiut, who always uncovered his head at the name of the 
king, now bent it low in genuine grief. 
" Is it not true," said Jean, " tliat our masters are traitors ? 
Do they not insult and defy the king ? "Would there not have 
been one shout of joy through all Cap last night, if this news 
had been brought to the deputies after dinner with their 
wine ? " 
" It is true. But they would stm have been less guilty than 
those who add ravage and murder to rebellion." 
" There was no stopping the people when the messengers from 
the Oalypse crossed the frontier, and sent the cry, ' Vive le Eoi ! 
et I'anoien regime,' through the negro quarters of every estate 
they reached. The people were up on the No plantation at the 
word. Upon my honour, the glare of the fire was the first I 
knew about it. Then the spirit spread among our people, like 
the flames among our masters' canes. I like murder no better 
than you, Toussaint; but when .once slaves are uwith knife 
and firebrand, those may keep revenge from ldndng who can 
I cannot." 
" At least, you need not join you can oppose yourself to it." 
" I have not joined. I have saved three or four whites this 
  
ODELUds FATE.  
day by giving them waraing. I have hidden a family in the 
woods, and I will die before I will tell where they are. I did 
what I could to persuade Gallifet's people to let Odeluc and his 
soldiers turn back to Cap : and I believe they would, but for 
Odeluc's obstinacy in coming among us. If he would have ke
his distance, he might have been alive now. As it is " 
" And is he dead ?  the good Odeluc % " 
" There he lies ; and half-a-dozen of the soldiers with him. 
I am sorry, for he always thought well of us ; but he thrust 
himself into the danger. One reason of my coming here now 
is to say that this plantation and Arable will be attacked 
to-night, and Bayou had better roost in a tree till morning." 
" My master is safe." 
"SafeP Where?" 
" On the sea." 
" Tou have saved him. Have you  I know your love of obe- 
dience is strong  have you pledged yourself to our masters, to 
oppose the rising  to fight on their side ? " 
" I give no pledges but to my conscience. And I have no 
party where both are wrong. The whites are revengeful, and 
rebel against their king; and the blacks are revengeful, and 
rebel against their masters." 
" Did you hear anything on the coast of the arrival of the 
Blonde frigate from Jamaica ? " 
" Yes ; there again is more treason. The whites at Cap have 
implored the English to take possession of the colony. First 
traitors to the king, they would now join the enemies of their 
country. Fear not, Jean, that I would defend the treason of 
such ; but I would not murder them." 
" What do you mean to do ? this very night your estate wiU 
be attacked. Your family is almost the only one remaining on 
it. ' Have you thought what you will do % " 
" I have ; and your news only confirms my thought." 
" You wlU not attemto defend the plantation ? " 
" What would my single arm do  It would provoke revenge 
which might otherwise sleep." 
" True. Let the estate be deserted, and the gates and doors 
left wide, and no mischief may be done. Will you join us then ? " 
" Join yoa ! no ! Not till your loyalty is free from stain. 
Not while you fight for your king with a cruelty from which 
your king would recoil." 
" You will wait," said Jean, sarcastically, " till we have con- 
quered the colony for the king. That done you vriU avow your 
loyalty." 
" Such is not my purpose, Jean," replied Toussaint, quietly. 
" You have called me your friend ; but you understand me no 
more than if I were your enemy. I will help to conquer the 
c  
  
  
colony for the king ; but it sTiall be to restore to him its knds 
as the King o kings gave them to him  not ravaged and soaked 
in blood, but redeemed with care, to be made fair and fruitful, 
as held in trust for him. I shall join the Spaniards, and fight 
for my king with my king's aUies." 
Jean was silent, evidently struck with the thought. If he 
had been troubled with speculations as to what he should do 
with his undisciplined, half -savage forces, after the whites should 
have been driven to entrench themselves in the towns, it is pos- 
sible that this idea of crossing the Spanish line, and putting him- 
self and his people under the command of these allies, might be 
a welcome relief to his perplexity. 
" And your family," said he : " will the Spaniards receive our 
women and children into their camp ? " 
"I shall not ask them. I have a refuge in view for my 
family." 
" When will you go ? " 
" When you leave me. You will find the estate deserted this 
night, as you wish. The few negroes who are here will doubt- 
less go with me ; and we shall have crossed the river before 
morning." 
" Tou would not object," said Jean, " to be joined on the road 
by some of our negro force ; on my pledge, you understand, that 
they will not ravage the country." 
" Some too good for your present command p " said Toussaint, 
smiling. " I mU. command them on one other condition  that 
they wiU treat well any white who may happen to be with me." 
" I said nothing about your commanding them," said Jean. 
" If I send men I shall send officers. But whites ! what whites ? 
Did you not say Bayou was on the sea ? " 
" I did ; but there may be other whites whom I choose to pro- 
tect, as you say you are doing. If, instead of hiding whites in 
the woods, I carry them across the frontier, what treatment may 
I expect for my party on the road ? " 
" I will go with you myself, and that is promising every- 
thing," said Jean, making a virtue of what was before a strong 
inclination. " Set out in two hours from this time. I wiU put 
the command of the plain into Biasson's hands, and makea camp 
near the Spanish lines. The posts in that direction are weak, 
and the whites panic-struck, if indeed they have not all fied to 
the fort. Well, well," he continued, "keep to your time, and 
I wiU join you at the cross of the four roads, three miles south 
of Fort Dauphin. All wUl be safe that far, at least." 
" If not, we have some strong arms among us," replied Tous- 
saint. " I believe my girls (or one of them at least) would bear 
arms where my honour is at stake. So our king is a prisoner ! 
and we are free ! Such are the changes which Heaven sends ! " 
  
NEGROES AND BOOKS. i 
" Aj. how do you feel, now you are free ? " saiJ Jean. " Did 
you not put your horse to a gallop when you turned your back 
on your old master ? " 
" Not a word of that, Jean. Let us not think of ourselves. 
There is work to do for our king. He is our task-master now." 
" You are in a hurry for another master," said Jean. " I am 
not tired of being my own master yet." 
" I wish you would make your people masters of themselves, 
Jean. They are not fit for power. Heaven take it from us, by 
putting all power into the hand of the king ! " 
" We meet by starlight," said Jean. " I have the business of 
five thousand men to arrange first ; so, more of the king another 
time." 
He leaped the nearest fence and was gone. Toussaint rose and 
walked away, with a countenance so serious, that Margot asked 
if there was bad news of M. Bayou. 
When the family understood that the Breda estate was to be 
attacked this night, there was no need to hasten their prepara- 
tions for departure. In the midst of the hurry, Aimee consulted 
Isaac about an enterprise which had occurred to her, on her 
father's behalf ; and the result was, that they ventured up to the 
house, and as far as M. Bayou's book-shelves, to bring away the 
volumes they had been accustomed- to see their father read. This 
thought entered Aimee's mind wheu she saw him, busy as he 
was, carefully pocket the Epictetus he had been reading the night 
before. M. Papalier was reading, while Therese was making 
packages of comforts for him. He observed the boy and girl, 
and when he found that the books they took were for their 
father, he muttered over the volume he held  
" Bayou was a fool to allow it. I always told him so. Wheu 
our negroes get to read like so many gentlemen, no wonder the 
world is turned upside down." 
" Do your negroes read, M. Papalier ? " asked Isaac. 
" No, indeed ! not one of them." 
" Where are they aU, then P " 
Aimee put in her word. 
"Why do they not take care of you, as father did of M. 
Bayou ? " 
  
 
CHAPTER IV. 
WHITHBK AWAY ? 
M. Papalibb did not much relish the idea of roosting in a tree 
for the night ; especially as, on coming down in the morning, 
there would be no friend or helper near, to care for or minister 
to him. Habitually and thoroughly as ho despised the negroes, 
he preferred travelling in their company to hiding among the 
monkeys ; and he therefore decided at once to do as Toussaint 
concluded he would  accompany him to the Spanish frontier. 
The river Massacre, the boundary at the north between the 
French and Spanish portions of the island, was about thirty 
miles distant from Breda. These thirty miles must be traversed 
between sunset and sunrise. Three or four horses, and two 
mules which were left on the plantation, were sufficient for the 
conveyance of the women, boys, and girls ; and Placide ran, of 
his own accord, to M. Papalier's deserted stables, and brought 
thence a saddled horse for the gentleman, who was less able 
than the women to walk thirty miles in the course of a tropical 
summer's night. 
" What will your Spanish friends think of our bringing so 
many women and children to their post ? " said Papalier to 
Toussaint, as soon as they were on their way. " They will not 
think you worth having, with all the incumbrances you carry." 
" I shaU carry none," said Toussaint. 
" What do you mean to do with your wife and children ? " 
" I shall put them in a safe place by the way.  For your own 
sake, M. Papalier, I must ask you what you mean to do in the 
Spanish post  republican as you are. Tou know the Spaniards 
are allies of the king of Prance." 
" They are allies of Prance, and will doubtless receive any 
honourable French gentleman," said Papalier confidently, though 
Tonssaint's question only echoed a doubt which he hatt already 
spokento himself. " Tou are acting so like a friend to me here 
Toussaint, that I cannot suppose you will do me mischief there| 
by any idle tales about the past." 
" I will not ; but I hear that the Marquis d'Hermona knows 
the politics of every gentleman in the colony. If there have been 
any tales abroad of speeches of yours against the king, or 
threats, or acts of rebellion, the Marquis d'Hermona knows them 
all." 
" I have taken less part in politics than most of my neighbours ; 
and Hermona knows that, if he knows the rest. But what shall 
  
THi-RESB. 
 
I do with Therese, if your women stop short on the way ? 
Could you make room for her with them ? " 
" Not with them, but " 
" My good fellow, this is no time for fancies. I am sorry to 
see you set your girls above their condition and their neighbours. 
There is no harm about poor Threse. Indeed, she is very well 
educated ; I have had her weU taught ; and they might learn 
many things from her, if you really wish them to be superior. 
She is not a bit the worse for being a favourite of mine ; and it 
will be their turn soon to be somebody's favourites, you know. 
And that before long.depend upon it," he continued, turning on 
his saddle to look for Gnifrde and Aimee. " They are fine 
girls,  very fine girls for their age." 
When he turned again, Toussaint was no longer beside his 
horse. He was at the head of the march. 
" What a sulky fellow he is ! " muttered the planter, with a 
smile. " The airs of these people are curious enough. They 
take upon them to despise Therese, who has more beauty than 
all his tribe, and almost as much education as the learned Tous- 
saint himself." 
He called to the sulky fellow, however, and the sulky fellow 
came. What Papalier wanted to say was  
" Ton seem to know more of these Spaniards than I. What 
wiU become of Therese, if I take her among them ; which, you 
see, you oblige me to do P " 
" I proposed to her," said Toussaint, " to leave her with some 
of our people near Port Dauphin." 
"Fort Egalite, you mean. That is its present name, you 
know. So you asked her ! Why did you not speak to me about 
it ? It is my affair, not hers." 
" I thought it her affair. She wiU not remain behind, how- 
ever. She begged me to say nothing to you about her leaving 
you." 
" Indeed ! I will soon settle that." And the planter imme- 
diately overtook the horse on which sat Therese, with her infant 
on her arm. Therese smiled as she saw him coming ; but the 
first few words he said to her covered her face with tears. 
Blinded by these tears, she guided her horse among the tough 
aloes which grew along the border of the bridle-path, and the 
animal stumbled, nearly jerking the infant from her arms. Her 
master let her get over the difiiculty as she might, while he rode 
on in the midst of the green track. 
Placide disdained to ride. He strode along, singing in a low 
voice, with a package on his shoulders, and his path marked by 
the fireflies, which flew round his head, or settled on his woollen 
caIsaac had made Aimee hapby getting on her mule. 
Geuifrede heard from the direction in which they were, some- 
  
  
times smothered laughter, but, for the most part, a never-ending, 
low murmur of voices, as if they were telling one another 
interminable stories. Genifrede never could make out what 
Isaac and Aimee could be for ever talking about. She wondered 
that they could talk now, when every monkey-voice from the 
wood, every cUok of a frog from the ponds, every buzz of insects 
from the citron-hedge, struck fear into her. She did not ask 
Placide to walk beside her horse; but she kenear that on 
which her mother rode, behind Denis, who held a cart-whi
wlyeh he was forbidden to crack  an accomplishment which he 
had learned from the driver of the plantation. 
It soon became clear that Jean had made active use of the 
hours since he parted from Toussaint. He must have sent 
messengers in many directions ; for, from beneath the shadow 
of every cacao grove, from under the branches of many a clump 
of bamboos, from the recess of a ravine here  from the mouii 
of a green road there, beside the brawling brook, or from their 
couch among the canes, appeared negroes, singly or in groups, 
ready to join the travelling party. Among aU these, there were 
no women and children. They had been safely bestowed some- 
where ; and these men now regarded themselves as soldiers, going 
to the camp of the allies, to serve against their old masters on 
behalf of the king. "Tive le Roi, et I'aucien regime!" was 
the word as each detachment joined  a word most irritating to 
Papalier, who thought to himself many times during this night, 
that he would have put all to hazard on his own estate, rather 
than have undertaken this march, if he had known that he was 
to be one of a company of negroes, gathering like the tempest 
in its progress, and uttering at every turning, as if in mockery 
of himself, "Vive le Roi, et I'ancien regime ! " He grew very 
cross, while quite sensible of the necessity of appearing in a good 
mood to every one  except, indeed, poor Therese. 
" We are free  this is freedom ! " said Toussaint more than 
once as he laid his hand on the bridle of his wife's horse, and 
seemed incapable of uttering any other words. He looked up at 
the towering trees, as if measuring with his eye the columnar 
palms, which appeared to those in their shade as if crowned with 
stars. He glanced into the forest with an eye which, to Margot, 
appeared as if it could pierce through darkness itseK. He 
raised his face in the direction of the central mountain-peaks, 
round which the white lightning was exploding from moment to 
moment ; and Margot saw that tears were streaming on his face 
the first tears she had known him shed for years. " We are 
free  this is freedom ! " he repeated, as he took off his cap ; 
" but, thank God ! we liave the king for our master now." 
" Tou wiU come and see us," said she. " We shall see you 
sometimes while you are serving the king." 
  
ON THE MARCH.   
" Tes." He was called away by another accession of numbers, 
a parly of four who ran down among them from a mountain 
path. Toussaint brushed away his unwonted tears, and went 
forward, hearing a well-known voice inquire for Toussaint Breda. 
" Here I am, Jacques ! " he exclaimed in some surprise, as he 
addressed himself to a short, stout-built young negro. " You 
are the first townsman among us, Jacques. Where is old 
Dessalines ? " 
" Here is my master," said Jacques. 
" Not the better for being a master," said the old tiler, who 
was himself a negro. " I found myself no safer than Jacques in 
the town ; so I came away with him, and we have been among 
the rocks all day, tired enough." 
" Have not you a horse for him ? " asked Jacques. Toussaint 
stepped back, to desire Aimee and Isaac to give up their mule to 
Dessalines ; but before it was done, Dessalines was mounted on 
Papalier's horse. Jacques had told Papalier, on finding that he 
had not been walking at aU, that his horse was wanted, and 
Papalier had felt aO the danger of refusing to yield it uHe 
was walking moodily by the side of Therese, when Toussaint 
offered him the mule, which he haughtily declined. 
When Dessalines was mounted, Jacques came running for- 
ward to Toussaint, to ask and to tell much concerning their 
singular circumstances. 
" Tour party is too noisy," said he. " The whole country is 
up ; and I saw, not far ofE, two hours ago, a party that were 
bringing ammunition from CaThere may be more ; and, if 
we fall in their way, with a white in company " 
" True, true." And Toussaint turned back to command silence. 
He told every one that the safety of all might depend on the ut- 
most possible degree of quietness being observed. He separated 
Isaac from Aimee, as the only way of obtaining silence from 
them, and warned the merry blacks in the rear that they must 
be still as death. He and Jacques, however, exchanged a few 
more words in a low whisper, as they kein advance of the party. 
" How do they get ammunition from Cap ? " asked Toussaint. 
" Have they a party in the town ? I thought the town negroes 
had been sent on board ship." 
" The suspected ones are. They are the siUy and the hax*m- 
less who have still wit and mischief enough to give out powder 
and ball slyly for the plantation negroes. Once over the river, 
what will you do with your party ? " 
"My wife and children wiU be safe with my brother Paul  
you know he fishes on the coast, opposite the Seven Brothers. 
I shall enter the Spanish ranks ; and every one else here will do 
as he thinks proper." 
" Do not you call yourself a commander, then ! Why do you 
  
 THE HOUR AND THE MAM. 
not call us your regiment, and take the command as a matter of 
course, as Jean has done P " 
" If it is desired, I am ready. Hart ! " 
There was evidently a party at some distance, numerous and 
somewhat noisy, and on the approach from behind. Toussaint 
halted his party, quickly whispered his directions, and withdrew 
them with all speed and quietness within the black shade of a 
cacao plantation, on the left of the road. They had to climb an 
ascent ; but there they found a reen recess, so canopied with 
interwoven branches that no light could enter from the stars, 
and so hedged in by the cacao plants, growing twelve feet high 
among the trees, that the party could hardly have been seen from 
the road in broad daylight. There they stood crowded together 
in utter darkness and stillness, unless, as Genifrede feared, the 
beating of her heart might be heard above the hum of the mos- 
quito, or the occasional rustle of the foliage. 
The approaching troop came on, tramping, and sometimes 
singing and shouting. Those in the covert knew not whether 
most to dread a shouting which should agitate their horses, or a 
silence which might betray a movement on their part. This last 
seemed the most probable. The noise subsided ; and when the 
troop was close at hand, only a stray voice or two was singing. 
They had with them two or three trucks, drawn by men, on 
which were piled barrels of ammunition. They were now very 
near. Whether it was that Threse, in fear of her infant cry- 
ing, pressed it so close to her bosom as to awaken it, or whether 
the rumbUng and tramping along the road roused its sleeping 
ear  the child stirred, and began what promised to be a long 
shrill wawl, if it had not been stopped. How it was stopped, 
the trembling, sickening mother herself did not know. She only 
knew that a strong hand wrenched the child from her grasp in 
the black darkness, and that all was stUl, unless, as she men and 
ever after had a shuddering apprehension, there was something 
of a slight gurgle which reached her strained ear. Her own 
involuntary moan was stopped almost before it became a sound 
stopped by a tap on the shoulder, whose authoritative touch 
she well knew. 
No one else stirred for long after the troop had passed. Then 
Toussaint led his wife's horse down into the road again, and the 
party resumed their march as if nothing had happened. 
" My chOd ! " said Therese, f eai-f ulLy. " Give me my child ! " 
She looked about, and saw that no one seemed to have the infant. 
" I will not let it cry," she said. " Give me back my child ! " 
" What is it P " asked Papaiier, coming beside her horse. She 
told her grief, as she prepared to spring down. 
" No, keep your seat ! Don't get dovra," said he, in a tone 
she dared not disobey. " I will inquire for the child." 
  
THERkSE's GRIEF.  
He went away, and returned  without it. 
" Tliis is a sad thing," said he, leading her horse forward with 
the rest. " No one knows anything about the poor thing. Why 
did yon let it go? " 
" Have you asked them all ? Who snatched it from me ? Oh, 
ask who took it ! Let me look for it. I wiU  I wiU " 
" It is too late now. We cannot stop or turn hack. These 
sad accidents will happen at such times." 
"Leave me behind  oh, leave me in the wood ! I can follow 
when I have found it. Leave me behind ! " 
" I cannot spare you, my dear. I should never see you again; 
and I cannot spai-e you. It is sad enough to have lost the child." 
" It was your child," said she, pleadingly. 
" And you are mine too, my dear. I cannot spare you both." 
Therese had never felt before. All that had moved her during 
her yet short life  all emotions in one were nothing to the passion 
of this moment  the conditional hatred that swelled her soul ; 
conditional  for, from moment to moment, she believed and 
disbelieved that Papalier had destroyed her child. The thought 
sometimes occurred that he was not the only cruel one. No one 
seemed to pity or care for her  not even Margot or the girls 
came near her. She more than once was about to seek and 
appeal to them ; but her master held her bridle, and would not 
permit her to stop or turn, saying occasionally that the lives of 
all depended on perfect quiet and order in the march. When 
they arrived at the cross, at the junction of the four roads, they 
halted, and there she told her story, and was convinced that the 
grieved women knew nothing of her loss till that moment. It 
was too late now for anything but compassion. 
Jean Franais soon appeared with a troop so numerous, that 
all necessity for caution and quiet was over. They could hardly 
meet an equal force during the remainder of the march, and 
might safely make the forests and ravines echo to their progress. 
Jean took ofE his cocked hat in saluting Toussaint, and com- 
mended his punctuality and his arrangements. 
"Jean always admires what my husband does," observed 
Margot to her acquaintance Jacques. " Ton hear how he is 
praising him for what he has done to-night." 
" To be sure. Everybody praises Toussaint Breda," replied 
Jacques. 
The wife laughed with delight. 
" Everybody praises him but me," pursued Jacques. " I find 
fault with him sometimes ; and to-night particularly." 
" Then you are wrong, Jacques. Ton know you have every- 
body against you." 
" Time will show that I am right. Time will show the mischief 
of sending away any whites to do us harm in far countries." 
  
  
" Oh, you do not blame Mm for helping away M. Bayou ! " 
" Yes, I do." 
" Why, we have been under him ever since we were children 
and a kind youth he was then. And ho taught my husband to 
read, and made him his coachman ; and then he made him 
overseer ; and he has always indulged the children, and always 
bought my young guinea-fowl, and " 
" I know that. All that will not prevent the mischief of 
helping him away. Toussaint ought to have seen that if we send 
our masters to all the four sides of the world, they will bring the 
world down upon us." 
" PerhaToussaint did see it," said the man himself, from 
the other side of his wife's horse. " But he saw another thing, 
too  that any whites who stayed would be murdered." 
" That is true enough ; and murdered they ought to be. They 
are a race of tyrants and rebels that our warm island hates." 
" Nobody hated M. Bayou," said Margot. 
'Tes, I did. Every one who loves the blacks hates the 
whites." 
" I think not," said Toussaint. " At least, it is not so with 
Him who made them both. He is pleased with mercy, Jacques, 
and not with murder." 
Jacques laughed, and muttered something about the priests 
having been brought in by the whites for a convenience ; to 
which Toussaint merely replied that it was not a priest, nor an 
ally of white masters, who forgave His enemies on the cross. 
" Father," said Placide, joining the grou" why is Jean com- 
manding your march ? He speaks to you as if you were under 
him." 
" Because he considers it his march." 
"He praised your father  very much, Placide," said his 
mother. 
" Tes  just as if my father were under him  as if the march 
wore not ours. We began it." 
" I command those who began it  that is, my own family, 
Placide. I command you to obey Jean, while you are with him. 
On the other side the river, you shall be commander, all the way 
to your uncle's house. Tou wiU foUow his lead, Margot ? " 
" Oh, yes, if he leads straight. Jean is a commander, Placide. 
Look at ms cocked hat." 
" And he calls himself commander-in-chief of the armies of 
France." 
" In St. Domingo. Well, so he is," said Toussaint, smiling, 
and pointing to the troo" Here are the armies of the King 
of Prance in St. Domingo ; and here Jean commands." 
At this moment, Jean made proclamation for Toussaint Breda , 
and Toussaint joined him, leaving his wife saying, " Tou see lie 
  
DA YLIGHT.  
wants my husband at euery turn. I am sure he thinks a great 
deal of my husband." 
" Toussaint," said Jean, " I shall introduce you to the Marqnis 
d'Hermona; and I have no doubt he will give you a command." 
'' I shall introduce myself to him, Jean." 
" But he win be expecting you. He will receive you according 
to my report  as a man of ability, and a most valuable officer. 
 sent messengers forward to tell him of my approach with 
reinforcements ; and I gave a prodigious report of you." 
" Still I shall speak for myself, Jean." 
" What I now have to ask of you is, that you will dress like 
an officer  like me. The uniform is, on the whole, of no great 
consequence at this season, when the whites wear aU the linen, 
and as little cloth as they can. But the hat, Toussaint  the 
hat ! Tou will not show yourself to the Marquis d'Hermona in 
a cap ! For my sake, do not show yourself tUl you have pro- 
cured a cocked hat." 
" Where did you get yours, Jean P " 
Jean could only say that it was from one who would never 
want it again. 
" We wUl go as we are," said Toussaint. " Tou look Uke a 
commander, as you are  and I look what I- am, Toussaint 
Breda." 
" But he will not believe what I shaJl say of you, if he sees a 
mere common negro." 
" Then let him disbelieve, till I have shown what I am. We 
shall find daylight on the other side this ridge." 
They had been for some time ascending the ridge which lies 
north and south between Fort Dauphin and the river Massacre, 
the Spanish boundary. In the covert of the woods which clothed 
the sloall was yet darkness ; but when the travellers could 
catch a glimpse upwards through the interwoven branches, they 
saw that the stars were growing pale, and that the heavens were 
filling with a yellower light. On emerging from the woods on 
the summit of the ridge, they found that morning was indeed 
come, though the sun was not yet visible. There was a halt, as 
if the troonow facing the east would wait for his appearance. 
To the left, where the ridge sank down into the sea, lay Mance- 
nUle Bay, whose dark grey waters, smooth as glass, as they 
rolled in upon the shore, began to show lines of light along their 
swell. A dim sail or two, small and motionless, told that the 
fishermen were abroad. From this bay, the river Massacre led 
the eye along the plain which lay under the feet of the troops, 
and between this ridge and another, darkly wooded, which 
bounded the valley to the east ; while to the south-east, the view 
was closed in by the mass of peaks of the Cibao group of moun- 
tains. At the first moment, these peaks, rising eight thousand 
  
  
feet from tlie plain, appeared hard, cold, and grey, between the 
white clouds that encumbered their middle height and the 
kindling sky. But from moment to moment their aspect 
softened. The grey melted into lilac, yellow, and a faint blush- 
ing red, till the stark, barren crags appeared bathed in the hues 
of the soft yielding clouds which opened to let forth the sun. 
The mists were then seen to be stirring,  rising, curling, sailing, 
rolling, as if the breezes were imprisoned among them, and 
struggling to come forth. The breezes came, and, as it seemed, 
from those peaks. The woods bent before them at one swee
The banyan-treo, a grove in itself, trembled through all its leafy 
columns, and shook off its dews in a wide circle, like the return 
shower of a playing fountain. Myriads of palms which covered 
the uplands, till now still as a sleeping host beneath the stars, 
bowed their plumed heads as the winds went forth, and shook 
ofE dews and slumber from the gorgeous parasitic beauties which 
they sustained. "With the &st ray that the sun levelled among 
the woods, these matted creepers shook their flowery festoons, 
their twined, green ropes, studded with opening blossoms and 
bells, more gay than the burnished insects and gorgeous birds 
which flitted among their tangles. In the plain, the river no 
longer glimmered grey through the mists, but glittered golden 
among the meadows, upon which the wild cattle were descend- 
ing from the clefts of the hills. Back to the north the river led 
the eye, past the cluster of hunters' huts on the margin,  past 
the post where the Spanish flag was flying, and whence the early 
drum was sounding  past a sloof arrowy ferns here, a grove 
of lofty cocoa-nut trees there, once more to the bay, now 
diamond-strewn, and rocking on its bosom the boats, whose sails 
were now specks of light in contrast with the black islets of 
the Seven Brothers, which caught the eye as if just risen from 
the sea. 
" No windmills here ! No cattle-miUs ! " the negroes were 
heard saying to one another. " No canes, no sugar- houses, no 
teams, no overseers' houses, no overseers ! By God, it is a fine 
place, this ! So we are going down there to be soldiers to the 
king ! those cattle are wild, and yonder are the hunters going 
out ! By God, it is a fine place ! " 
In somewhat different ways, every one present, but Papalier 
and Thdrese, was indulging the same mood of thought. There 
was a wildness in the scene which made the heart beat high 
with the sense of freedom. For some the emotion seemed too 
strong. Toussaint pointed out to his boys the path on the other 
side of the river which would lead them to the point of the 
shore nearest to Paul's hut, instructed them how to find or make 
a habitation for their mother and sisters till he could visit them 
gave his wife a letter to his brother, and, exceto bid his family 
  
MARQUIS D HERMONA.  
a brief farewell for a brief time, spoke no more till he reached, 
the Spanish post, and inquired for the general. 
Jean stepped before him into the general's presence, taking 
possession of the centre of the green space before the tent, where 
the Marquis d'Hermona was enjoying the coolness of the 
morning. After having duly declared his own importance, and 
announced the accession of numbers he was likely to bring, Jean 
proceeded to extol Toussaint as one of the valuables he had 
brought. After apologising for his friend's want of a cocked 
hat, he proceeded, to exhibit his learning, declaring that he had 
studied " Plutarch," " Osesar's Commentaries," " Epictetus," 
"Marshal Saxe's Military Reveries" 
Here he was stopped by the grasp of Toussaint's hand upon 
his arm. Toussaint told the general that he came alone, with- 
out chief and without followers : the few men who had left 
Breda with him having ranged themselves with the force of 
Jean Frangais. He came alone to offer the strength of his arm, 
on behalf of his king, to the allies of royalist Prance. 
The Spanish soldiers, who glittered all around in their arms 
and bright uniform, looked upon the somewhat gaunt negro 
in his plantation dress, dusty with travel, and his woollen cap 
in hand, and thought, probably, that the king of Prance would 
not be much aided by such an ally. It is probable ; for a 
smUe went round, in which Jean joined. It is probable that 
the Marquis d'Hermona thought differently, for he said  
" The strength of your arm ! Good ! And the strength of 
your head, too, I hope. We get more arms than heads from 
your side of the frontier. Is it true, that you have studied the 
art of war ? " 
" I have studied it in books." 
" Very well. We want officers for our black troo all we 
can raise in the present crisis. You will have the rank of colonel 
in a regiment to be immediately organised. Are you content ? " 
Toussaint signified his assent, and orders were given for a tent 
to be prepared for his present repose. He looked around, as if 
for some one whom he did not see. On being asked, he said that 
if there was at the post a priest who spoke Prench, he could 
wish to converse with him. 
" Laxabon understands Prench, I think," said the marquis to 
a gentleman of his staff. The aide assented. 
" Tour excellent desire shall be gratified," said the general. " I 
doubt not Father Laxabon will presently visit you in your tent." 
Father Laxabon had heard rumours of the horrors perpetrated 
in the Prench colony within the last two nights. On being told 
that his attendance was equally desired by a" fugitive negro, he 
recoiled for a moment from what he might have to hear. 
When he entered the tent, he found Toussaint alone, on 
  
  
the ground, Ms bosom bursting with deep and thick-coming 
" How is this, my son ? " said the priest. " Is this grief, or is 
it penitence?" 
"I am free," said Toussaint, "and I am an oppression to 
myself. I did not seek freedom. I was at ease, and did not 
desire it, seeing how men abuse their freedom." 
" Ton must not, then, abuse your freedom, my son," said the 
priest, wholly relieved. 
"How shall I appear before God  I who have ever been 
guided, and who know not whether I can guide myself  my 
master gone  my employment gone  and I, by his will, a free 
man, but unprepared, unfit ?  Receive my confession, father, 
and guide me from this time." 
" Willingly, my sou. He who has appointed a new lot to you 
will enable me to guide you in it." 
The tent was closed ; and Toussaint kneeled to relieve his 
full heart from its new sense of freedom, by subjecting himself 
to a task-master of the soul. 
CHAPTER Y. 
GKIBFS or THE LOYAL. 
Maegot 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 duriug the many years that she had 
lived under the mild rule of M. 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, occa- 
sionally trouble her, as she knew they weighed heavily on her 
husband's mind. When she saw Genifrede growing uhand." 
some 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 de- 
pended on the wiU of M. Bayou, she shuddered to think what it 
might be. When M. Bayou told Genifrede that she was well 
coifEee, 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) 
  
M argot's cares.  
M. Bayou should bring some one to their cottage, and desire 
tremfrede to marry him. When Margot looked upon her sons, 
and upon Aimee, uow so inseparable from Isaac, and considered 
that their remaining together depended not only on M. 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 east- 
ward, and poor Aimee left desolate. Such had been the mother's 
passing cares in the situation in which nothing had been want- 
ing to her immediate comfort. Now, amidst the perplexities of 
her new settlement, she was ato 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 hare 
had good shelter before the rains. Paul had received thera 
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 fon 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 
haU-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 of 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 beKeved 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 sleaway the hours. Paul 
wanted help in his fishing ; and it was commonly Isaac who went 
D 
  
  
witli 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 mangrores 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 ofE again, when 
they had landed Paul with his prize, and get upon the coral reef, 
half a mUe off  in calm weather collecting the sheU-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 Gnifrede 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 Geni- 
frede'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 
mountaiu-pouds, 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 keher 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 plotform, 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 
  
ToussAmfs SUCCESSES  
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 hoar as she to toll ; 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 themselyes. He brought 
news from France, from Cap and the plain, and, after a while, 
from America  that M. 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 difiicult 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 i-apidity of march, wherever 
violence was expected, that the spirit of outrage throughout the 
colony was, at length, kein 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 estab- 
lished  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 shihad arrived 
from Prance 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 auda- 
ciously 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 
b 
  
  
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 Hng : 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 grafor a feast. The bright round leaves 
were broad and abundant ; but the clusters of the fruit were 
yet only of a paJe 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 graoverspread the 
sands with a thick green carpet, and kethem cool, so that 
as the human foot sought the spot, the glittering lizards for- 
sook it, and darted away to seek the hot face of the rock. For 
full half a mile this patch of verdure sprestd; and over this 
space were dispersed Margot and her household, when Tous- 
saint crossed the ridge, on one of his frequent visits. As he 
descended, he heard laughter and singing; and among the 
singing voices, the cracked piof old Dessalines. Toussaint 
grieved to interruthis 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, yon are come to take us home ! " cried Margot, joyfully, 
as she met him. 
He shook his head as he replied  
" iiro,Margot, not yet. But the time may come." 
" I wish you could teU us when it would come," said Dessa- 
lines. '"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 revo- 
lutions 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." 
  
YOUNG RECRUITS. S 
" Indeed I wish so too, Dessalines. But you shall have some 
vrine." 
" 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 P " 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 ! " 
" Tes," 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 Providence may appoint. Do you 
hear, my boys ? " 
" Tes, 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 coimtry are orphaned." 
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. " Ton will 
give me your gun, and let me go to the camp." 
" Tes, Moyse : rather you than I. Ton are a stout lad now, 
and I know nothing of camps. Tou shall take the gun, and I 
will stay and fish." 
" Leave your father his gun, if he chooses to remain, Moyse. 
We will find ai"ms 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 
  
 THE, aOUR AND THE MAN. 
father's eye, as he returned breathless from the discharge of his 
errand. 
"Yes, my boy, by-and-by, when yon are as strong as 
Placide. Ton shaU 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 Aime's were feed 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 re- 
maining where he was. Meanwhile, his father proceeded  
" In aU 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 Aim& to Isaac. 
He pressed her arm, which was within his, in token of silence, 
while his father went on : 
" Tou heard the proclamation I sent out among our people a 
few weeks ago." 
" Tes," said Placide ; " that in which you teU them that you 
prefer serving with Spaniards who own a king, than with French 
who own none." 
" Tes. 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 vn:itten a letter in reply, 
saying that I cannot yield myself to the wiU 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." 
  
FREEDOM S REQUIREMENTS.  
" It is a beautiful letter, I am sure," said Marsfbt. " Is it not, 
Paul." 
" I don't doubt Father Laxabon is right," aid 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 P " 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 ? " Aime, as usual, asked Isaac. 
" I think it was good for my father to be loyal to the king, as 
fong 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. 
" Tou think nothing of us," she cried at length, giving way to 
a passion of tears. " We have been so haphere, all together ; 
and now you are glad to go, and leave us behind ! Tou 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. Geui- 
frede'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 M. Bayou was our master, we rose and sle
every day alike, and went out to our work, and came in to our 
  
  
food, without having to think of anjihinff 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. Tou 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," Gnifrfede muttered to herself, as she 
cast down her eyes under her father's compassionate gane. He 
looked towards Aimee, who answered, with tearful eyes  
" Tes, father. They must go ; and we will not hinder them; 
but they will soon be back, will not they P " 
" 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 p I am sure there is room enough in 
yonder valley for all the people on this coast." 
" Boom 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 Geuei-al 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 himseM greeted as 
General Moyse by all the boys ; and even Gnif rede 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 cab- 
bage from the palmetto, adding, that if they gave him a good 
knife, he would take it ofE 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. Tou 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 remem- 
bered 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 camand the prospects of 
the war. Their eager gestures were watched by those they left 
  
THE NAME OF GOD.  
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 mar. 
ried, how desolate we should be one day on the sea-shore  with 
our master at Baltimore, and the king dead, and no Mag likely 
to come after him ! What will become of us P " 
"But Margot," interposed Dessalines, "how should we be 
better off' at this moment, if the king were alive and flourishing 
at Paris P " 
" How ? " repeated Margot, indignantly. " Why, he would 
have been our protector, to be sure. He would have done some 
fine thing for my hushaud, 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 St. 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 rooks, while Jean Prangais is boasting all 
day long, as if he had done everything' with his own hand ? 
No, our good king would never have let Jean Prangais' wife 
dress herself in the best jewels the white ladies left behind, while 
the wife and daughters of his very best ofiicer 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, Mar- 
got," 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. Ajid who knows whether we 
shall ever see our boys again P " 
" Curse the war ! " muttered Paul, wiping his brows. 
" Mother," said Aimee in a low voice, " have we not God to 
protect us still P One master may desert us, and another may 
die ; but there is still God above ajl. Will not he protect us P " 
" Tes, my dear. God takes care of the world; but then He 
takes care of our enemies as well as of us." 
"Does heexclaimed Denis, in a tone of surprise. 
" Tes ; ask your father if Father Laxabon does not say so 
The name of God is for ever in the mouths of the whites at 
  
S  
Cap ; but they reviled the ting ; 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 ofl taking care of them, then P " asked 
Denis, " and take care only of us P " 
" 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, vrill 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 every- 
body," said Denis, " what is all this fighting about p We are not 
fighting for Him, are we P " 
" Tour father is," said Margot ; " for God is always on the 
side of kings. Father Laxabon says so." 
The boy looked puzzled, till Aimee said  
" I think there would be none of this fighting if everybody 
tried to please God and serve Him, as is due to a master  as 
father did for the king. God does not wish that men should 
fight. So our priest at Breda told Isaac." 
"Unless wicked rebels force them to it, as your father is 
forced," said Margot. 
" I suppose so,* said Aimee, "by Isaac's choosing to go." 
CHAPTER VI. 
THE HOTJE. 
The lads found some of the details of military training less 
heroic and less agreeable than they had imagined  scarcely to be 
compared, indeed, under either aspect, to the chase of the wild 
goats, and search for young turtle, to which they had been of late 
accustomed. They had their pleasures, however, amidst the 
heats, toils, and laborious oifices of the camThey felt them- 
selves men, living among men : they were young enough to throw 
off, and almost to forget, the habits of thought which belong to 
slavery ; and they became conscious of a spirit growing np within 
  
toussaint's philosophy.  
them, by which they could look before and after, perceive that 
the future of their lives was in their own hands, and therefore 
understand the importance of the present time. Their father 
looked upon them with mixed feelings of tender pride in them, 
and regret for his own lost youth. The strong and busy years 
on which they were entering had been all spent by him in ac- 
quiring one habit of mind, to which his temperament and his 
training aKke conduced  a habit of endurance. It was at this 
time that he had acquired the power of reading enough to seek 
for books ; and the books that he had got hold of 'were Epictetus, 
and some fragments of Fenelon. With all the force of youth, 
he had been by turns the stoic and the quietist ; and, while 
busied in submitting himself to the pressure of the present, he 
had turned from the past, and scarcely dreamed of the future. 
If his imagination glanced back to the court of his royal grand- 
father, held under the palm shades, or pursuing the hon-huut 
amidst the jungles of Africa, he had hastily withdrawn his mind's 
eye from scenes which might create impatience of his lot ; and 
if he ever wondered whether a long succession of ignorant and 
sensual blacks were to be driven into the field by the whip every 
day in St. Domingo, for evermore, he had cut short the specula- 
tion as inconsistent with his stoical habit of endurance, and his 
Christian principle of trust. It was not till his youth was past 
that he had learned anything of the revolutions of the world  
too late to bring them into his speculations and his hopes. He 
had read, from year to year, of the conquests of Alexander and 
of Caesar ; he had studied the wars of France, and drawn the 
plans of campaigns in the sand before his door till he knew them 
by heart ; but it had not occurred to him, that while empires 
were overthrown in Asia, and Eurowas traversed by powers 
which gave and took its territories, as he saw the negroes barter 
their cocoa-nuts and plantains on Saturday nights  while such 
things had happened in another hemisphere, it had not occurred 
to him that change woidd ever happen in St. Domingo. He had 
heard of earthquakes taking place at intervals of hundreds of 
years, and he knew that the times of the hurricane were not 
calculable ; but, patient and still as was his own existence, he 
had never thought whether there might not be a convulsion of 
human affections, a whirlwind of human passion, preparing under 
the grim order of society in the colony. If a master died, his 
heir succeeded him; if the "force" of any plantation was by 
any conjuncture of circumstances dispersed or removed, another 
negro company was on the shore, ready to re-people the slave 
quarter. The mutabilities of human life had seemed to him to 
be appointed to whites  to be their privilege and their discipline ; 
while he doubted not that the eternal command to blacks was to 
bear and forbear. When he now looked upon his boys, and 
  
  
remembered that for them this ordei was broken uand in time 
for them to grasp a future, and prepare for it  that theirs was 
the lot of whites, in being .involyed in social changes, he regarded 
them with a far deeper solicitude and tenderness than in the 
darkest midnight hours of their childish illnesses, or during the 
sweetest prattle of their Sabbath afternoons, and with a far 
stronger hopefulness than can ever enter the heart or home of a 
slave. They had not his habitual patience ; and he saw that they 
were little likely to attain it ; but they daily manifested qualities 
and powers  enterprise, forecast, and aspiration of various kinds, 
adorning their youth with a promise which made their father 
sigh at the retrospect of his own. He was amused, at the same 
time, to see in them symptoms of a boyish vanity, to which he 
had either not been prone, or which he had early extinguished. 
He detected in each the secret eagerness with which they looked 
forward to displaying their military accomplishments to those 
with whom they were always exchanging thoughts over the 
ridge. He foresaw that when they shonid have improved a little 
in certain exercises, he should be receiving hints about a visit to 
the shore, and that there would then be such a display upon the 
sands as should excite prodigious admiration, and make Denis 
break his heart that he must not go to the cam
Meantime, he amused them in the evenings, with as many of 
his ofBcers as chose to look on, by giving them the history of the 
wars of Asia and Europe, as he had learned it from books, and 
thoroughly mastered it by reflection. Night after night was the 
map of Greece traced with his sword's point on the sand behind 
his tent, while he related the succession of the conflicts with 
Persia, with a spirit derived from old Herodotus himself. Night 
after night did the interest of his hearers arouse more and more 
spirit in himself, till he became aware that his sympathies with 
the Greeks in their struggles for liberty had hitherto been like 
those of the poet born blind, who delights in describing natural 
scenery  thus unconsciously enjoying the stir within him of 
powers whose appropriate exercise is forbidden. Amidst this 
survey of the regions of history, he felt, with humble wonder, 
that while his boys were like bright-eyed children sporting fear- 
lessly in the fields, he was like one lately couched, by whom the 
order of things was gradually becoming recognised, but who was 
oppressed by the unwonted light, and inwardly ashamed of the 
hesitation and uncertainty of his tread. While sons, nephew, 
and a throng of his officers, were listening to him as to an oracle, 
and following the tracings of his sword, as he showed how this 
advance and that retreat had been made above two thousand 
years ago, he was full of consciousness that the spirit of the 
history of freedom was received more truly by the youngest of 
his audience than by himself that he was learning from their 
  
IN DANGER.   
natural ardour sometMng of higher value than all that he had to 
impart. 
As he was thus engaged, late one spring evening  late, 
because the rains would soon come on, and suspend all out-door 
meetings  he was stopped in the midst of explaining a diagram 
by an authoritative tap on the shoulder. Roused by an appeal 
to his attention now so xmusual, he turned quickly, and saw a 
black, who beckoned him away. 
" Why cannot you speak P  Or do you take me for some one 
else ? Speak your business." 
" I cannot," said the man, in a voice which, though too low 
to be heard by anyone else, Toussaint knew to be Papalier's. 
" I cannot speak here  I must not make myself known. Oome 
this way." 
Great was the surprise of the group at seeing Toussaint 
instantly follow this black, who appeared in the dusk to be 
meanly clothed. They entered the tent, and let down the cur- 
tain at the entrance. Some saw that a woman stood within the 
folds of the tent. 
" Close the tent," said PapaUer, in the same tone in which 
he had been wont to order his plate to be changed at home. 
" And now, give me some water to wash ofB this horrid daubing. 
Some water  quick ! Pah ! I have felt as if I were really a 
negro all this day." 
Toussaint said nothing ; nor did he summon any one. He 
saw it was a case of danger, led the way into the inner part of 
the tent, poured out water, pointed to it, and returned to the 
table, where he sat down, to await further explanation. 
Papalier at length reappeared, looking like himself, even as 
to his clothes, which Therese must have brought in the bundle 
which she carried. She now stood leaning against one of the 
tent-poles, looking grievously altered  worn and wearied. 
" Will you not sit down, Therese P " said Toussaint, pointing 
to a chair near his own, Papalier having seated himseM on the 
other side of the table. 
Therese threw herself on a couch at some distance, and hid 
her face. 
" I must owe my safety to yon again, Toussaint," said Papa- 
lier. " I understand General Hermona is here at present." 
"He is." 
" Ton have influence with him, and you must use it for me." 
" I am sorry you need it. I hoped you would have taken 
advantage of the reception he gave you to learn the best time 
and manner of going. to Europe.  hoped you had been at Paris 
long ago." 
" I ought to have been there. If I had properly valued my 
life, I should have been there. But it seemed so inconceivable 
  
  
that things shoTild have reached a worse pass than when J. 
crossed the frontier ! It seemed so incredible that I should not 
be able to preserve any wreck of my property for my children, 
that I have lingered on, staying month after month, till now I 
cannot get away. I have had a dreadful life of it. I had better 
have been anywhere else. "WTiy, even Therese," he continued, 
pointing over his shoulder towards the couch, " Therese, who 
would not be left behind at Fort EgaUte, the night we came 
from Breda  even Thdrese has not been using me as she should 
do. I believe she hates me." 
" Tou are in trouble, and therefore I will not speat with you 
to-night about Therese," said Toussaint. " Tou are in danger, 
from the determination of the Spaniards to deliver up the 
enemies of the late king to " 
"Bather say to deliver up the masters to their revolted 
slaves. They make politics the pretence ; but they would not be 
sorry to see us all cut to pieces, like poor Odeluo and Clement, 
and fifty more." 
'' However that may be, your immediate danger is from the 
Spaniards  is it ? " 
" Yes, I discovered that I was to be sent over the line to- 
morrow ; so I was obliged to get here to-day in any way I 
could ; and there was no other way than pah ! it was 
horrid ! " 
" No other way than by looking like a negro," said Tous- 
saint, calmly. " Well, now you are here, what do you mean to 
do next P " 
"I mean, by your influence with General Hermona, to 
obtain protection to a port, that I may proceed to Europe. I do 
not care whether I go from St. Domingo, or by St. lago, so as 
to sail from Port Plate. I could find a vessel from either port. 
You would have no difficulty in persuading General Hermona 
to this?" 
" I honot, as he voluntarily gave you permission to enter 
this territory. I wiU ask for his safe-conduct in the morning. 
To-night you are safe, if you remain here. I request that yoii 
will take possession of the inner apartment, and rely upon my 
protection." 
"Thank you. I knew my best way was to come here," said 
Papalier, rising. " Therese will bring me some refreshment ; 
and then I shall be glad of rest, for we travelled half last 
night." 
" For how many shall the safe-conduct be ? " asked Toussaint, 
who had also risen. " For yourself alone, or more 'i " 
"No one knows better than you," said Papalier, hastily, 
' that I have only one servant left," pointing again to the couch 
"And," lowering his voice, so that Therfese could not hear "she" 
  
LIBERTY DECREED THE NEGROES.  
poor thing, is dreadfully altered, you see  has never got over 
the loss of her child, that night." Then, raising his voice again, 
he pursued : " My daughters at Paris will be glad to see The- 
rdse, I know ; and she will like Paris, as everybody does. All 
my other people are irrecoverable, I fear ; but Therese goes 
with me." 
'' No," said Therese, from the couch, " I will go nowhere 
with you." 
" Hey-day ! what is that P " said Papalier, turning in the 
direction of the voice. " Yes, you will go, my dear. You are 
tired to-night, as you well may be. You feel as I do  as if you 
could not go anywhere, to-morrow or the next day. But we 
shall be rested and ready enough, when the time comes." 
" I am ready at this moment to go anywhere else  anywhere 
away from you," replied Therese. 
" What do you mean, Therese P " asked her master, sharply. 
" I mean what you said just now  that I hate you." 
" Oh ! silence ! " exclaimed Toussaint. He then added in a 
mild tone to Th&se, " This is my house, in which God is wor- 
shipped and Christ adored, and where therefore no words of 
hatred may be spoken." He then addressed himself to Papalier, 
saying, " You have then fully resolved that it is less dangerous 
to commit yourself to the Spaniards than to attemto reach 
Cap?" - 
'' To reach Cap ! "What ! after the decree P Upon my soul, 
Toussaint, I never doubted you yet ; but if " 
He looked Toussaint full in the face. 
" I betray no one," said Toussaint. " What decree do you 
speak of ? " 
" That of the Convention of the th of February last." 
"  have not heard of it." 
" Then it is as I hoped  that decree is not considered here 
as of any importance. I trusted it would be so. It is merely a 
decree of the Convention, confirming and proclaiming the liberty 
of the negroes, and declaring the colony henceforth an integrant 
part of Prance. It is a piece of folly and nonsense, as you wiU 
see at once ; for it can never be enforced. No one of any sense 
will regard it ; but just at present it has the effect, you see, of 
making it out of the question for me to cross the frontier." 
" True," said Toussaint, in a voice which made Papalier look 
in his face, which was working with some strong emotion. He 
turned away from the light, and desired Therese to follow him. 
He would commit her to the charge of one of the suttlers' wives 
for the night. 
Having put on the table such fruit, bread, and wine as re- 
mained from his own meal (Papalier forbidding further pre- 
paration, for fear of exciting observation without), Toussaint 
  
 THE , 
went ont witli Therese, committed her to safe hands, and then 
entered the tent next his own, inhabited by his sons, and gave 
them his accustomed blessing. On his return, he found that 
Papalier had retired. 
Toussaint was glad to be alone. Never had he more needed 
solitude ; for rarely, if ever, in the course of his life, had his 
calm soul been so disturbed. During the last words spoken by 
Papalier, a conviction had flashed across him, more vivid and 
more tremendous than any lightning which the skies of December 
had sent forth to startle the bodily eye ; and amidst the storm 
which those words had roused within him, that conviction con- 
tinued to glare forth at intervals, refusing to be quenched. It 
was this :  that if it were indeed true that the revolutionary 
government of Prance had decreed to the negroes the freedom 
and rights of citizenshito fight against the revolutionary 
government would be henceforth to fight against the freedom 
and rights of his race. The consequences of such a conviction 
were overpowering to Ms imagination. As one inference after 
another presented itself before him  as a long array of humili- 
ations and perplexities showed themselves in the future  he felt 
as if his heart were bursting. For hour after hour of that night 
he paced the floor of his tent ; and if he rested his limbs, so 
unused to tremble with fear or toil, it was while covering his 
face with his hands, as if even the light of the lamp disturbed 
the intensity of his meditation. A few hours may, at certaia 
crises of the human mind and lot, do the work of years; and 
this night carried on the education of the noble soul, long re- 
pressed by slavery, to a point of insight which multitudes do 
not reach in a Inetime. No doubt, the preparation had been 
making through years of forbearance and meditation, and 
through the latter months of enterprise and activity ; but yet, 
the change of views and purposes was so great as to make him 
feel, between night and morning, as if he were another man. 
The lamp burned out, and there was no light but from the 
brilliant flies, a few of which had found their way into the teut. 
Toussaint made his repeater strike : it was three o'clock. As 
his mind grew calm under the settlement of his purposes, he 
became aware of the thirst which his agitation had excited. By 
the Hht of the flitting tapers, he poured out water, refreshed 
himself with a deep draught, and then addressed himself to his 
duty. He could rarely endure delay in acting on his convictions. 
The present was a case in which delay was treachery ; and he 
would not lose an hour. He would call up Father Laxabon, and 
open his mind to him, that he might be ready for action when the 
camp should awake. 
As he drew aside the curtain of the tent, the air felt fresh to 
his heated brow, and, with the calm starlight, seemed to breathe 
  
CONSULTING FATHER LAXABON.  
strength and quietness into his soul. He stood for a moment 
listening to the dash and gurgle of the river, as it ran past the 
camthe Toice of waters, so loud to the listening ear, but so 
little heeded amidst the hum of the busy hours of day. It now 
rose above the chirpings and buzzings of reptiles and insects, 
and carried music to the ear and spirit of him who had so often 
listened at Breda to the fall of water in the night hours, with a 
mind unburdened and unperpleied with duties and with cai-es. 
The sentinel stopped before the tent with a start which made his 
arms ring at seeing the entrance open,and some one standing there. 
" Watch that no one enters ? " said Tou'ssaint to him. " Send 
for me to Father Laxabon's, if I am wanted." 
As he entered the tent of the priest  a tent so small as to 
contain only one apartment  aU seemed dark. Laxabon sleso 
soundly as not to awake till Toussaint had found the tinder-box, 
and was striking a light. 
" In the name of Christ, who is there P " cried Laxabon. 
" I, Toussaint Breda ; entreating your pardon, father." 
" Why are you here, my son P There is some misfortune, by 
your face. Tou look wearied and anxious. What is it ? " 
" No misfortune, father, and no crime. But my mind is 
anxious, and I have ventured to break your rest. Tou will 
pardon me ? " 
" Tou do right, my son. We are ready for service, in season 
and out of season." 
While saying this, the priest had risen, and thrown on his 
morning-gown. He now seated himself at the table, saying  
" Let us hear What is this affair of haste ? " 
" The cause of my haste is this  that I may probably not 
again have conversation virith you, father ; and I desire to con- 
fess, and be absolved by you once more." 
" Good. Some dangerous expedition is it not so ? " 
" No. The affair is personal altogether. Have you heard of 
any decree of the French Convention by which the negroes 
the slaves  of the colony of St. Domingo are freely accepted 
as fellow-citizens, and the colony declared an integrant part of 
Fi-ance ? " 
" Surely I have. The General was speaking of it last night ; 
and I brought away a coof the proclamation consequent 
upon it. Let me see," said he, rising, and taking up the lam
" where did I put that proclamation ? " 
" With your sacred books, perhaps, father ; for it is a gospel 
to me and my race," 
" Do you think it of so much importance ? " asked Laxabon, 
returning to the table with the newspaper containing the pro- 
clamation, officially given. " The General does not seem to 
think much of it, nor does Jean Frangais." 
"E 
  
  
" To a commander of our allies the affair may appear a trifle, 
fatlier; and such white planters as cannot refuse to hear the 
tidings may acoff at them ; hut Jean Francjais, a negro and a 
slave is it possible that he makes light of this P " 
" He does ; but he has read it, and you have not. Bead it, 
my son, and without prejudice." 
Tousaaint read it again and again. 
" Well ! " said the prieat, as Tousaaint put down the paper, 
no longer attempting to hide with it the streaming tears which 
covered his face. 
"Father," aaid he, commanding hia voice completely, "is 
there not hope, that if men, weakened and blinded by degrada- 
tion, miatake their duty when the time for duty comea, they will 
be forgiven P " 
" In what caae, my aon ? Explain youraelf ." 
"If I, hitherto a slave, and wanting, therefore, the wiadom of 
a free man, find myself engaged on the wrong aide  fighting 
againat the provi dence of God- ia there not hothat I may be 
forgiven on turning to the right P " 
" How the wrong side, my aon ? Are you not fighting for 
your king, and for the alliea of Prance P " 
" I have been so pledged and ao engaged ; .and I do not aay 
tha,t I was wrong when I so engaged and so pledged myself. 
But if  had been wise as a free man should be, I should have 
foreseen of late what has now happened, and not have been 
found, when last night's sun went down (and as to-morrow 
night's aun shall not find me), holding a command againat the 
highest intereats of my race  now, at length, about to be 
redeemed." 
" Tou  Tousaaint Breda  the loyal ! If Heaven haa put any 
of ita grace within you, it has shown itseH in your loyalty ; and 
do you speak of deserting the forces raised in the name of your 
king, and acting upon the decrees of his enemies P Explain to 
me, my aon, how this can be. It seema to me that I can scarcely 
be yet awake." 
" And to me, it seema, father, that never till now have I been 
awake. Tet it was in no vain dream that I served my king. 
If he is now where he can read the hearts of hia aervants, he 
knows that it was not for my command, or for any other dignity 
and reward, that I came hither, and have fought under the royal 
flag of France. It was from reverence and duty to him, under 
God. He is now in heaven ; we have no king ; and my loyalty 
is due elsewhere. I know not how it might have been if he had 
atiU lived ; for it seems to me now that God has established a 
higher royalty among men than even that of an anointed sove- 
reign over the fortunes of many millions of men. I think now 
that the rule which the free man lias over his own soul, over 
  
PERPLEXITY. y 
time and eternity  subject only to God's will  is a nobler 
authority than that of kings ; but, however I might have 
thought, our king no longer lives ; and, by God's mercy, as it 
seems to me now, while the hearts of the blacks feel orphaned 
and desolate, am object is held forth to us for the adoration of 
our loyalty  an object higher than throne and crown, and offered 
us by the hand of the King of kings." 
" Do yon mean freedom, my son ? Remember that it is in 
the name of freedom that the Fi-ench rebels have committed 
the crimes which  which it would consume the night to tell of, 
and which no one knows better, or abhors more, than yourself." 
" It is true ; but they struggled for this and that, and the 
other right and privilege existing in societies of those who are 
fully admitted to be men. In the struggle, crime has been 
victorious, and they have kiRed their king. The object of my 
devotion wiQ now be nothing that has to be wrenched from an 
anointed ruler, nothing which can be gained by violence  no- 
thing but that which, being already granted, requires only to be 
cherished, and may best be cherished in peace the manhood of 
my race. To this must I henceforth be loyal." 
" How can men be less slaves than the negroes of St. Do- 
mingo of late ? No real change has taken place ; and yet you, 
who wethat freedom as rebellion, are now proposing to add 
your force to it." 
" And was it not rebellion ? Some rose for the plunder of 
their masters  some from ambition  some from revenge  
many to escafrom a condition they had not patience to endure. 
All this was corru; and the corruption, though bred out of 
slavery, as the fever from the marshes, grieved my soul as if I 
had not known the cause. But now, knowing the cause, and 
others (knowing it also) having decreed that slavery is at an 
end, and given the sanction of law and national sympathy to our 
freedom  is not the case changed ? Is it now a folly or a sin to 
desire to realise and purify and elevate this freedom, that those 
who were first slaves and then savages may at length become 
men  not in decrees and proclamations only, but in their own 
souls P Tou do not answer, father. Is it not so ? " 
" Open yourself further, my son. Declare what you propose. 
I fear you are perplexing yourself." 
" If I am deceived, father, I look for light from heaven through 
you." 
" I fear  I fear, my son ! I do not find in you to-night the 
tone of humility and reliance upon religion in which you found 
comfort the first time you opened the conflicts of your heart to 
me. Tou remember that night, my son ? " 
" The first night of my freedom ? Never shall I forget its 
agonies." 
 
  
  
" I rejoice to hear it. Those agonies were safer, mdre accept- 
able to God, than the comforts of self-will." 
" My father, if my will ensnares me, lay open the snare I 
say not for the sake of my soul only but for far, far more for 
the sake of my children, for the sake of my race, for the sake of 
the glory of God in His dealings with men, bring me back if I 
stray." 
" Well. Explain  explain what you propose." 
" I cannot remain in an army opposed to what are now the 
legal rights of the blacks." 
" Ton will give up your command ? " 
"IshaU." 
" And your boys  what will you do with them ? " 
" Send them whence they came for the present. I shall dis- 
miss them by one road, while the resignation of my rank goes 
by another." 
" And you yourself by a third." 
" When I hiTe declared myself to General Hermona." 
" Have you thoughts of taking your soldiers with you ? '' 
"No." 
" But what is right for you is right for them." 
" If they so decide for themselves. My power over them is 
great. They would follow me vrith a word. I shall therefore 
avoid speaking that word, as it would be a false first step in a 
career of freedom, to make them enter upon it as slaves to my 
opinion and my will." 
" But you wOl at least address them, that they may under- 
stand the course yon pursue. The festival of this morning vrill 
afford an opportunity  after mass. Have you thought of this?  
I do not say that I am advising it, or sanctioning any part of 
your plan, but have you thought of this ? " 
"I have, and dismissed the thought. The proclamation 
will speak for itself. I act from no information which is not 
open to them all. They can act, thank God, for themselves ; 
and I will not seduce them into subservience, or haste, or 
passion." 
" But you will be giving up everything. What can make you 
think that the French at CaaU in the interest of the planters, 
will receive you P " 
" I do not think it ; and I shall not offer myself." 
" Then you will sink into nothing. Tou wUl no longer be an 
officer, nor even a soldier. Tou will be a mere negro, where 
negroes are wholly despised. After all that you have been, you 
will be nothing." 
" I shall be a true man." 
" Tou will sink to less than nothing. Tou will be worse than 
useless before God and man. Tou will be held a traitor." 
  
man's career.  
" I shall ; but it mil be for the sake of a higher fidelity." 
There was a long pause, alter which Laxabon said, in a tone 
half severe, and half doubting  
" So, here ends your career ! You wiU dig a piece of ground 
to grrow maize and plantains for your family; you will read 
history in your piazza, and see your daughters dance in tte 
shade, while your name will never be mentioned but as that of 
a traitor. So here ends your career ! " 
" Prom no one so often as you, father, have I heard that man's 
career never ends." 
The priest made no reply. 
" How lately was it," pursued Toussaint, " that you encou- 
raged my children, when they, who fear neither the wild buU 
nor the tornado, looked somewhat fearfully up to the eclipsed 
moon ? Who was it but you who told them, that though that 
blessed light seemed blotted out from the sky, it was not so ; 
but that behind the black shadow, God's hand was still leading 
her on, through the heaven, stiU pouring radiance into her lam
not the less bright because it was hidden from men ? A thick 
shadow is about to pass upon my name ; but is it not possible, 
father, that God may still be feeding my soul with Kght  still 
guiding me towards Himself P WiU you not once more tell me, 
that man's career never ends ? " 
" In a certain sense  in a certain sense, that is true, my son. 
But our career here is what God has put into our own hands : 
and it seems to me that you are throwing away His gift and His 
favour. How will you answer when He asks you, ' What hast 
thou done with the rank and the power I put into thy hand ? 
How hast thou used them ? ' What can you then answer, but 
' I flung them away, and made myself useless and a reproach.' 
Tou know what a station you hold in this camhow you are 
prized by the General for the excellence of the military disci- 
pline you have introduced; and by me, and all the wise and 
religious, for the sobriety of manners and purity of morals of 
which you are an example in yourself, and which you have 
cherished among your troops, so that your soldiers are the boast 
of the whole alliance. Tou know this  that you unite the 
influence of the priest with the power of the commander ; and 
yet you are going to cast off both, with aU the duties which 
belong to them.and sink yourself in infamy  and with yourself, the 
virtues you hae advocated. How will you answer this to God?" 
" Father, was there not One in whose path lay all the king- 
doms of the world and the glory of them, and who yet chose 
ignominy  to be despised by the world, instead of to lead it F 
And was God severe with Him ? Forgive me, father ; but have 
you not desired me to follow Him, though far off as the eastern 
moon from the setting sun ? " 
  
  
" That was a case, my son, unique in the world. The Saviour 
had a lot of His own. Common men have ralers appointed them 
whom they are to serve ; and, if in rank and honour, so much 
the greater the f avoui' of God. Tou entered this service with an 
upright mind and pure intent ; and here, therefore, can yon 
most safely I'emain, instead of casting yourself down from the 
pinnacle of the temple, which, you know, the Son of God refused 
to do. Remember His words, ' Thou shalt not temthe Lord 
thy God.' Be not tempted yourself, by pride of heart, to com- 
pare your lot with that of Christ, which was unique." 
"He devoted Himself for the whole race of man : He, and He 
alone. But it seems to me that there may be periods of time 
when changes are appointed to take place among men  among 
nations, and even among races ; and that a common man may 
then be called to devote himself for that nation, or for that race. 
Father, I feel that the hour may be come for the negro race to be 
redeemed ; and that I, a common man, may so far devote myself 
as not to stand in the way of their redemption. I feel that I 
must step out from among those who have never admitted the 
negroes' claims to manhood. If God should open to me a way to 
serve the blacks better, I shall be foimd ready. Meantime, not 
for another day wUl I stand in the light of their liberties. 
Father," he continued, with an eagerness which grew as he 
spoke, " you know something of the souls of slaves. Tou know 
how they are smothered in the lusts of the body, how they are 
debased by the fear of man, how blind they are to the providence 
of God ! Tou know how oppression has put out the eyes of 
their souls, and withered its sinews. If now, at length, a Saviour 
has once more for them stretched out His healing hand, and 
bidden them see, and arise and be strong, shall I resist the 
work ? And you, father, will you not aid it ? I would not pre- 
sume ; but if I might say all " 
" Say on, my son." 
" Having reproved and raised the souls of slaves, would it not 
henceforth be a noble work for you to guide their souls as men ? 
If you would come among us as a soldier of Christ, who is bound 
to no side in earthly quarrels  if you would come as to those 
who need you most, the lowest, the poorest, the most endangered, 
what a work may lie between this hour and your last ! What 
may your last hour be, if, day by day, you have trained our souls 
in the glorious liberty of the children of God ! The beginning 
must be lowly ; but the kind heart of the Christian priest is 
lowly : and you would humble yourself first to teach men thus, 
' you were wrong to steal '  ' you were wrong to drink '  ' you 
were vrrong to take more wives than one, and to strike your 
children in passion.' Thus humbly must you begin ; but among 
free men, how high may you not rise ? Before you die, you may 
  
TOUSSAINT IS FIRM. y\ 
have led tJiem to rule their own spirits, and, from the throne of 
that sovereignty, to look far into the depths of the heavens, and 
over the history of the world ; so that they may live in the light 
of God's countenance, and praise Him almost like the angefi  
for, you know, He has made us, even us, but a little lower than 
they." 
" This would be a noble work," said Laxabon, much moved : 
" and if God is really about to free your race, He will appoint a 
worthy servant for the office. My duty, however, lies here. I 
have here souls in charge, without being troubled with doubts as 
to the intentions of God and of men. As I told you, the General 
does not think so much as you do of this event ; nor even does 
Jean FrauQais. If you act rashly, you will repent for ever 
having quitted the path of loyalty and duty. I warn you to 
pause, and see what course events will take. I admonish you 
not hastily to desert the path of loyalty and duty." 
" If it had pleased God," said Toussaint, humbly, " to release 
me from the ignorance of slavery when He gave me freedom, I 
might now be able to lay open my heart as I desire to do ; I 
might declare the reasons which persuade me so strongly as I 
feel persuaded. But I am ignorant, and unskilful in reasoning 
with one like you, father." 
" It is therefor that we are appointed to guide and help you, 
my son. Tou now know my mind, and have received my admo- 
nition. Let us proceed to confession ; for the morning draws on 
towards the hour for mass." 
" Father, I cannot yield to your admonition. Reprove me as 
you will, I cannot. There is a voice within me stronger than yours." 
" I fear so, my son ; nor can I doubt what that voice is, nor 
whence it comes. I will pray for you, that you may have 
strength to struggle with the tempter." 
" Not so, father ; rather pray that I may have strength to 
obey this new voice of duty, alone as I am, discountenanced as I 
shaU be." 
" Impossible, my son. I dare not so pray for one self -wiUed 
and precipitate ; nor, tUl you bring a humble and obedient mind, 
can I receive your confession. There can be no absolution where 
there is reservation. Consider, my dear son ! I only desire you 
to pause." 
" Delay is treachery," said Toussaint. " This day the decree 
and proclamation will be made known through the forces ; and 
if  remain, this night's sun sets on my condemnation. I shall 
not dare to pray, clothed in my rank, this night." 
" Go now, my son. Tou see it is dawning. Tou have lost 
the present opportunity; and you must now leave me to my 
duties. When you can return hither to yours, you will be 
welcome." 
  
  
Touasaint paid him his wonted reverence, and left the tent. 
Arrived in his own, he threw himself on the couch like a 
heart-broken man. 
" No help ! no guidance ! " thought he. " I am desolate and 
alone. I never thought to have been left without a guide from 
God. He leaves me with my sins upon my soul, unconf essed, 
unabsolved ; and, thus burdened and rebuked, I must enter upon 
the course which I dare not refuse. But this voice within me 
which bids me go  whence and what is it ? Whence is it but 
from God? And how can I therefore say that I am alone? 
There is no man that I can rely on  not even one of Christ's 
anointed priests ; but is there not He who redeemed men P and 
will He reject me if, in my obedience, I come to Him ? I will 
try  I wiU dare. I am alone ; and He will hear and help me." 
Without priest, without voice, without form of words, he con- 
fessed and prayed, and no longer felt that he was alone. He 
arose, clear in mind and strong in heart : wrote and sealed up 
his resignation of his commission, stepped into the next tent to 
rouse the three boys, desiring them to dress for early mass, and 
prepare for their return to their homes immediately afterwards. 
He then entered his own inner apartment, where PapaUer was 
sleeping so soundly that it was probable the early movements of 
saint's-day festivities in the camp would not awafeen him. As 
he could not show himself abroad tiR the General's protection 
was secured, his host let him sleep on ; opening and shutting his 
clothes' chest, and going through the whole preparation for 
appearance on the parade in full uniform, without disturbing his 
wearied guest, who hardly moved even at the roll of the drum, 
and the stir of morning in the cam
CHAPTER VII. 
Papaliek was probably the only person in the valley who did 
not attend mass on this saint's-day morning. The Spanish 
general was early seen, surrounded by his staff, moving towards 
the rising ground, outside the camon which stood the church, 
erected for the use of the troowhen the encampment was 
formed. The soldiers, both Spanish and negro, had some time 
before filed out of their tents, and been formed for their short 
march; and they now came up in order, the whites approaching 
on the right, and the blacks on the left, tUl their forces joined 
before the church. The sun had not yet shone down into the 
  
AT MASS.  
valley, and the dew lay on the grass, and dropped like rain from 
the broad eaves of the church-roof  from the points of the palm- 
leaves with which it was thatched. 
This church was little more than a covered enclosure. It was 
well shaded from the heat of the sun by its broad and low roof ; 
but, between the corner posts, the sides could hardly be said to 
be filled in by the bamboos which stood like slender columns at 
intervals of several inches, so that all that passed within could 
be seen from without, excethat the vestry and the part behind 
the altar had their walls interwoven with withes, so as to be 
impervious to the eye. The ground was strewn thick with moss, 
cushioned throughout for the knees of the worshippers. The 
seats were rude wooden benches, excethe chair, covered with 
damask, which was reserved for the Marquis d'Hermona. 
Here the General took his place, his staff ranging themselves 
on the benches behind. Jean Pranais entered after him, and 
seated himself on the opposite range of benches. Next followed 
Toussaint Breda, alone, having left his sons outside with the 
soldiers. Some few more advanced towards the altar ; it being 
understood that those who did so wished to communicate. An 
interval of a few empty benches was then left, and the lower end 
of the church was thronged by such of the soldiery as could find 
room ; the rest closing in round the building, so as to hear the 
voice of the piiest, and join in the service. 
There was a gay air about the assemblage, scarcely subdued 
by the place, and the occasion which brought them to it. Almost 
every man carried a stem of the white amaryUis, plucked from 
among the high grass, with which it grew thickly intermixed all 
over the valley ; and beautiful to the eye were the snovfy, droo
ing blossoms, contrasted with the rich dark green of their 
leaves. Some few brought twigs of the orange and the lime ; 
and the sweet odour of the blossoms pervaded the place like a 
holy incense, as the first stirring airs of morning breathed 
around and through the building. There were smiles on almost 
every face ; and a hum of low but joyous greetings was heard 
without, tin the loud voice of the priest, reciting the Creed, 
hushed every other. The only countenance of great seriousness 
present was that of Toussaint, and his bore an expression of 
solemnity, if not of melancholy, which struck every one who 
looked upon him and he always was looked upon by every one. 
His personal qualities had strongly attracted the attention of the 
Spanish general. Jean Franais watched his every movement 
with the mingled triumand jealousy of a superior in rank, 
but a rival in fame ; and by the negro troohe was so beloved, 
that nothing but the strict discipline which he enforced could 
have prevented their following him in crowds wherever he went. 
Whenever he smiled, as he passed along, in conversation, they 
  
  
laughed without inquiring why; and now, this morning, on 
observing the gravity of his countenance, they glanced from one 
to another, as if to inquire the cause. 
The priest, having communicated, at length descended from 
before the altar, to administer the water to such as desired to 
receive it. Among these, Toussaint bent his head lowest  so 
low, that the first slanting sunbeam that entered beneath the 
thateh seemed to rest upon his head, while every other head 
remained in the shadow of the roof. In after days, the negroes 
then present recalled this appearance. Jean Franai, observing 
that General Hermona was making some remark about Toussaint 
to the ofiicers about him, endeavoured to assume an expression 
of deep devotion also ; but in vain. No one thought of saying 
of him what the General was at that moment saying of his 
brother in arms  " God could not visit a soul more pure." 
When the blessing had been given, and the few concluding 
verses of Scripture read, the General was the first to leave his 
place. It seemed as if he and Toussaint moved towards one 
another by the same impulse, for they met in the aisle between 
the benches. 
" I have a few words of business to speak with you. General 
a work of justice to ask you to perform without delay," said 
Toussaint. 
" Good ! " said the General. " In justice there should be no 
delay. I will therefore breakfast with you in your tent. Shall 
we proceed ? " 
He put his arm within that of Toussaint, who, however, 
gently withdrew his, and stepped back with a profound bow of 
respect. General Hermona looked as if he scarcely knew 
whether to take this as an act of humility, or to be offended ; 
but he smiled on Toussaint's saying  
" It is not without reasons that I decline honour in this place 
this morning  reasons which I will explain. Shall I conduct 
you to my tent ? And these gentlemen of your staff P " 
"As we have business, my friend, I wUl come alone. I shall 
be sorry if there is any quarrel between us, Toussaint. If you 
have to ask justice of me, I declare to you I know not the 
cause." 
"It is not for myself, General, that I ask justice. I have 
ever received from you more than justice." 
"Tou have attached your men to yourself with singular 
skill," said the General, on their way down the slofrom the 
church, as he closely observed the countenances of the black 
soldiers, which brightened, as if touched by the sunlight, on the 
approach of their commander. " Their attachment to you is 
singular. I no longer wonder at your achievements in the 
field." 
  
INDIFFERENT TO PROMOTION.  
" It is by no skill of mine," replied Toussaint ; " it is by the 
power of past tyranny. The hearts of negroes are made to love. 
Hitherto, all love in which the mind could share has been be- 
stowed upon those who degraded and despised them. In me 
they see one whom, while obeying, they may love as a brother." 
" The same might be said of Jean Frangais, as far as your 
reasons go; but Jean !Franais is not beloved like you. He 
looks gayer than you, my friend, notwithstanding. He is hap
in his new rank, probably. Ton have heard that he is ennobled 
by the court of Spain ? " 
" I had not heard it. It will please him." 
" It evidently does. He is made a noble ; and his militai-y 
rank is now that of lieutenant-general. Tour turn wUl come 
next, my friend ; and if promotion went strictly according to 
personal merit, no one would have been advanced sooner than 
you." 
" I do not desire promotion, and " 
"Ah! there your stoical philosophy comes in. But I will 
show you another way of applying it. Rank brings cares ; so 
that one who is not a stoic may have an excuse for shrinking 
from it ; but a stoic despises cares. Ha ! we have some young 
soldiers here," he said, as Moyse and his cousins stood beside 
the way, to make their obeisance ; " and very perfect soldiers 
they look, young as they are. They seem bom for military 
service." 
" They were born slaves, my lord ; but they have now the 
loyal hearts of freemen within them, amidst the ignorance and 
follies of their youth." 
" They are " 
" My nephew and my two sons, my lord." 
" And why mounted at this hour ? " 
"They are going to their homes, by my direction." 
'' If it were not that you have business with me, which I 
suppose you desire them not to overhear " 
" It is as you say, General." 
" If it had not been so, I would have requested that they 
might be at our table this morning. As it is, I wUl not delay 
their journey." 
And the General touched his hat to the lads, with a gracious- 
ness which made them bend low their uncovered heads, and 
report marvels at home of the deportment of the Marquis 
d'Hermona. Seeing how their father was occupied, they were 
satisfied with a grasp of his hand as he passed, received from 
him a letter for their mother, and waited only tiU he and his 
guest had disappeared within the tent, to gallop of. They 
wondered at being made the bearers of a letter, as they 
knew that his horse was ordered to be readv beside his tent 
  
y  
immediately after breakfast, aud had not a doubt of his arriving 
at the shore almost as soon as themselves. 
PapaJier was lounging on the couch beside the table where 
breakfast was spread, when General Hermona aud his host 
entered. He started ucasting a look of doubt upon Tous- 
saint. 
"Fear nothing, M. Papalier," said Toussaint; "General Her- 
mona has engaged to listen to my plea for justice. My lord, 
M. Papalier was amicably received by your lordship on crossing 
the frontier, and, on the strength of your welcome, has remained 
on the island tiU too late to escape, without your especial pro- 
tection, a fate he dreads." 
" Tou mean being delivered up as a republican P " 
" Into the hands of my own negroes, my lord," said Papalier, 
bitterly. " That is the fate secretly designed for any unfortu- 
nate planter who may yet have survived the recent troubles over 
the frontier." 
" But how can I protect you ? The arrangement is none of 
mine : I cannot interfere with it." 
" Only by forgetting in this single instance the point of time 
at which we have arrived, and furnishing me with a pass which 
shall enable me to sail for Europe, as I acknowledge I ought to 
have done long ago." 
" So this is the act of justice you asked from me, Toussaint ! 
Why did you not say favour ? I shall do it with much more 
pleasure as a slight favour to one whom I strongly regard. 
Tou shall have your safe-conduct, M. Papalier. In the mean- 
time " 
And he looked towards the steaming chocolate and the piles 
of fruit on the table, as if his appetite were growing urgent. 
" One word more, my lord, before ofEering you my welcome 
to my table," said Toussaint. "I beseech you to consider the 
granting this pass as an act of justice, or of anything rather 
than favour to me. Yesterday, I would have accepted ahundred 
favours from you : to-day, with equal respect, I must refuse 
even one. I pledge myself to tell you why before you rise from 
table, to which I now invite you." 
" I do not understand all this, Toussaint." 
"I have pledged myself to explain." 
"And you say there is no personal feeling no ofEence 
between us ? " 
"If any, my lord, I alone am the offender. Will you be 
pleased to " 
" Oh, yes, I wiU breakfast ; and was never more ready. M. 
Papalier, our morning mass has keyou waiting,  fear." 
Papalier seated himself, but was near starting up again when 
he saw his negro host preparing to take his place between his 
  
NO LONGER A COMMANDER. TJ 
two guests, Papalier had never yet sat at table with a negro, 
and his impulse was to resent the necessity ; hut a stern look 
from the General warned him to submit quietly to the usages 
of the new state of society which he had remained to witness ; 
and he sat through the meal, joining occasionally in the con- 
versation, which, for his sake, was keclear of subjects which 
might annoy him. 
As soon as the servants, after producing pen, ink, and paper, 
had withdrawn, the General wrote a safe-conduct, and delivered 
it to M. Papalier, with an intimation that an attendant should 
be ready to guide him to the nearest port, at his earliest conve- 
nience. Papalier understood this as it was meant  as a hint 
,that there must be no delay. He declared, therefore, his wish 
to depart, as soon as the heat of the day should decline. 
" And now, my lord ," said Toussaint, 
" Tes, now for the explanation of this fancy of not receiving 
kindness from your best friends. Let us hear." 
" I have this morning, my lord, despatched letters to Don 
Joachim Garcia, at St. Domingo " 
" Tou are in communication with the Colonial Government ; 
and not through me ! What can this mean ? " 
" And here, my lord, are exact copies of my letters, which I 
request the favour of you to read, and, if I may be permitted to 
say so, without haste or prejudice  though, in this case, it is 
much to ask." 
Toussaint disappeared in the inner apartment; but not before 
he saw a smile on Papalier's face a smile which told of amuse- 
ment at the idea of a negro sending dispatches of any import- 
ance to the head of the government of the Spanish colony. 
The General did not seem to feel any of the same amusement. 
His countenance was perplexed and anxious. He certainly 
obeyed Toussaint's wishes as to not being in haste ; for he read 
the papers (which were few and short) again and again. He 
had not laid them down when Toussaint reappeared from within 
no longer glittering in his uniform and polished arms, but 
dressed in his old plantation clothes, and with his wooUen cap in 
his hand. Both his guests first gazed at him, and then started 
from their seats. 
Toussaint merely passed through the tent, bowing low to the 
General, and bidding him farewell. A confused noise outside, 
followed by a shout, roused Hermona from his astonishment. 
" He is addressing the troo! " he cried, drawing his sword, 
and rushing forth. 
Toussaint was not addressing the troops. He was merely in- 
forming Jacques, whom he had requested to be in waiting there, 
beside his horse, that he was no longer a commander  no longer 
in the forces ; and that the recent proclamation, by showing ffim 
  
  
that the cause of negro freedom was now one with that of the' 
present government of Prance, was the reason of his retirement 
from the Spanish territory. He explained himself thus far, in 
order that he might not be considered a traitor to the lost cause 
of royalty in France; but, rather, loyal to that of his colour, 
from the first day of its becoming a cause. 
Numbers became aware that something unusual was going 
forward, and were thronging to the spot, when the General 
rushed forth, sword in hand, shouting aloud  
" The traitor ! Seize the traitor ! Soldiers ! seize the 
traitor ! " 
Toussaint turned in an instant, and sprang upon his horse. 
Not a negro would lay hands on him ; but they cast upon him, 
in token of honour, the blossoms of the amaryilis and the orange 
that they carried. The Spanish soldiers, however, endeavoured 
to close round him and hem him in, as the General's voice was 
still heard  
" Seize him ! Bring him in, dead or alive ! " 
Toussaint, however, was a perfect horseman ; and his favourite 
horse served him well in this crisis. It burst through, or bounded 
over, all opposition, and, amidst a shower of white blossoms 
which strewed the way, instantly carried him beyond the cam
Well-mounted soldiers, and many of them, were behind, how- 
ever ; and it was a hard race between the fugitive and his pur- 
suers, as it was witnessed from the camAlong the river bank, 
and over the bridge, the danger of Toussaint appeared extreme ; 
and the negroes, watching the countenance of Jacques, preserved 
a dead silence when all the horsemen had disappeared in the 
woods which clothed the steeThen all eyes were turned 
towards the summit of that ridge, where the road crossed a 
space clear of trees; and there, in an incredibly short time, 
appeared the solitary horseman, who, unencumbered with heavy 
arms, and lightly clothed, had greatly the advantage of the 
soldiers in mounting the ascent. He was still followed; but he 
was just disappearing over the ridge, when the foremost soldier 
issued from the wood behind him. 
" He is safe ! he is safe ! " was murmured through the throng ; 
and the words reached the ears of the General in a tone which 
convinced him that the attachment of the black trooto Tons- 
saint Breda was as strong as he himself had that morning de- 
clared it to be. 
" Now you see. General," said Papalier, turning into the tent 
from which he too had come forth in the excitement of the scene 
" you see what you have to expect from these negroes." 
''I see what I have to expect from you," replied the General, 
with severity. '' It is enough to witness how yon speak of a man to 
whom you owe your life this very day and not for the first time." 
  
AN ANXIOUS POSITION.  
" Nay, General, I have called him no names  not even 
'traitor.'" 
" I have not owed him my life, M. Papalier ; and you are not 
the commander of these forces. It is my duty to prevent the 
defection of the negro troo; and I therefore used the language 
of the government I serve in proclaiming him a traitor. Had it 
been in mere speculation between him and myself that those 
papers had come in question, God knows I should have called 
him something very difEerent." 
" There is something in the man that infatuates  that blinds 
one's judgment, certainly," said Papalier. " His master. Bayou, 
spoiled him with letting him educate himself to an absm-d ex- 
tent. I always told Bayou so ; and there is no saying now what 
the consequences may be. It is my opinion that we have not 
heard the last of him yet." 
" Probably," said the General, gathering up his papers as his 
aide entered, and leaving the tent in conversation with him, 
almost without a farewell notice of Papalier. 
The negro troowere busy to a man, in learning from 
Jacques, and repeating to one another, the particulars of what 
was in the proclamation, and the reasons of Toussaint's depar- 
ture. General Hermona found that the two remaining black 
leaders, Jean Prangais and Biasson, were not infected by Tous- 
saint's convictions; that, on the contrary, they were far from 
sorry that he was thus gone, leaving them to the full enjoyment 
of Spanish grace. They addressed their soldiers in favour of 
loyalty, and in denunciation of treason, and treated the pro- 
clamation as slightly as Don Joachim Garcia could possibly 
have wished. They met with little response, however; and 
every one felt, amidst the show and parade and festivity of the 
day, a restlessness and uncertainty which he perceived existed 
no less in his neighbour than in himself. No one's mind was 
in the business or enjoyment of the festival ; and no one could 
be greatly surprised at anything that might take place, though 
the men were sufficiently orderly in the discharge of their duty 
to render any interference with them unwarrantable, and any 
precautions against their defection impossible. The great ho
lay in the influence of the two leaders who remained, as the great 
fear was of that of the one who was gone. 
The Spanish force was small, constituting only about one- 
fourth of the whole ; and of these, the besjt mounted had not 
returned from the pursuit of Toussaint;  not because they could 
follow him far in the enemy's country, but because it required 
some skill and caution to get back in broad day, after having 
roused expectation all along the road. 
While the leaders were anxiously calculating probabilities, 
ind reckoning forces, Jacques was satisfying himself that the 
  
o  
preponderance of numbers was greatly on the side of his absent 
friend. His hatred of the whites, which had never intermitted, 
was wrought up to strong passion this day by the treatment 
the proclamation and his friend had received. He exulted in 
the thought of being able to humble the Spaniards by withdraw- 
ing the force which enabled them to hold their posts, and by 
making him whom they called a traitor more powerful in the 
cause of the blacks than they could henceforth be in that ot 
royalist France. Fired with these thoughts, he was hastily 
passing the tent of Toussaint, which he had supposed deserted 
when he heard from within, speaking in anger and fear, a voice 
which he well knew, and which had power over him. He had 
strong reasons for remembering the first time he had seen The- 
rese  on the night of the escaacross the frontier. She was 
strongly associated with his feelings towards the class to which 
her owner belonged ; and he knew that she, beautiful, lonely, 
and wretched, shared those feelings. If he had not known 
this from words dropped by her during the events of this morn- 
ing, he would have learned it now ; for she was declaring her 
thoughts to her master, loudly enough for any one who passed 
by to overhear. 
Jacques entered the tent, and there stood Thferese, declaring 
that she would leave her master, and never see him more, but 
prevented from escaping by Papalier having intercepted her 
passage to the entrance. Her eyes glowed with delight on the 
appearance of Jacques, to whom she immediately addressed 
herself. 
" I will not go with him  I will not go with him to Paris, to 
see his young ladies. He shall not take care of me. I will 
take care of myself. I will drown myself sooner than go with 
him. I do not care what becomes of me, but I will not go." 
" Tes, you will care what becomes of you, Therese, because 
your own people care," said Jacques. " I will protect you. If 
you will be my wife, no white shall molest you again." 
" Be your wife ! " 
" Tes. I love the blacks ; and none so much as those whom 
the whites have oppressed  no one so much as you. If you will 
be my wife, we will " 
Here, remembering the presence of a white, Jacques explained 
to Th&ese in the negro language (which she understood, though 
she always spoke French), the new hopes which had arisen for 
the blacks, and his own intention of following Toussaint, to make 
him a chief. He concluded in good French, smiling maliciously 
at Papalier as he spoke  
" Tou wiU come with me now to the priest, and be my wife." 
" I will," replied ThSrese, calmly. 
"Go," said Papalier. "Tou have my leave. I am thus 
  
EXODUS OF THE NEGROES.   
honourably released from the care of you till times shaU change. 
I am glad that you will not remain unprotected, at least." 
" Unprotected ! " exclaimed Th&ese, as she threw on the 
Spanish mantle which she was now accustomed to wear abroad. 
" Unprotected ! And what has your protection been? " 
"Very kind, my dear, I am sure. I have spent on your 
education money which I should be very glad of now. When 
people flatter you, TMrese (as they will do ; for there is not 
a negress in all the island to compare with you),  remember 
who made you a lady. Tou will promise me that much, Therdse, 
at parting ? " 
" Remember who made me a lady !  I have forgotten too long 
who made me a woman," said Threse, devoutly upraising her 
eyes. " In serving Him and loving my husband, I will strive to 
forget you." 
" All alike ! " muttered Papalier, as the pair went out. " This 
is wha,t one may expect from negroes, as the General will learn 
when he has had enough to do with them. They are all alike." 
This great event in the life of Jacques Dessalines did not 
delay his proceedings for more than haK-an-hour. Noon was 
but just past, when he led forth his wife from the presence of 
the priest, mounted her on his own horse before his tent, and 
sent her forward under the escort of his personal servant, pro- 
mising to overtake her almost as soon as she should have crossed 
the river. When she was gone, he sent the word through the 
negro soldiery, who gathered round him almost to a man, and 
with the quietness which became their superior force. Jean 
Franpais and Biasson were left with scarcely twenty followers 
each ; and those few would do nothing. The whites felt them- 
selves powerless amidst the noon-day heats, and opposed to 
threefold numbers : and their officers found that nothing was to 
be done but to allow them to look on quietly, while Jacques led 
away his little army, with loud music and a streaming white 
flag. A few horsemen led the van, and closed in the rear. The 
rest marched, as if on a holiday trinow singing to the music 
of the band, and now making the hiUs ring again with the name 
of Toussaint Breda. 
As General Hermona, entirely indisposed for his siesta, 
watched the march through his glass from the entrance of his 
tent, while the notes of the wind-instruments swelled and died 
away in the still air, one of his aides was overheard by him to 
say to another  
" The General has probably changed his opinion since he said 
to you this morning, of Toussaint Breda, that God could not 
visit a soul more pure. We have all had to change our minds 
rather more rapidly than suits such a warm climate." 
"Tou may have changed your opinions since the sun 
  
  
rose, gentlemen," said Hermona; "but I am not sure that I 
haye." 
" How ! Is it possible ? We do not understand you, my 
" Do you suppose that you understand him ? Have we been 
of a degraded race, slaves, and suddenly offered restoration to 
full manhood and citizenship P How otherwise can we under- 
stand this man P I do not profess to do so." 
" Tou think well of him, my lord P " 
" I am so disposed. Time, however, will show. He has 
gone away magnanimously enough, alone, and believing, I am 
confident, from what Father Laxabon tells me, that his career is 
closed ; but I rather think we shall hear more of him." 
" How these people revel in music ! " observed one of the staff. 
" How they are pouring it forth now ! " 
"And not without reason, surely," said Hermona. "It is 
their exodus that we are watching." 
CHAPTER VIII. 
BREDA AGAIN. 
The French proclamation was eflB.ciently published along the 
line of march of the blacks. They shouted and sang the tidings 
of their freedom, joining with them the name of Toussaint 
Breda. These tidings of freedom rang through the ravines, and 
echoed up the sides of the hills, and through the depths of the 
forests, startling the wild birds on the mountain ponds and the 
deer among the high ferns ; and bringing down from their fast- 
nesses a multitude of men who had fled thither from the ven- 
geance of the whites and mulattoes, and to escasharing in the 
violence of the negro force which Jean Franais had left behind 
him, to pursue uncontrolled their course of plunder and butchery. 
Glad, to such, were the tidings of freedom, with order, and 
under the command of one whose name was never mentioned 
without respect, if not enthusiasm. The negro who did not 
know that there was any more world on the other side the 
Cibao peaks, had yet learned to be proud of the learning of 
Toussaint. The slave who conceived of God as dwelling in the 
innermost of the Mornes, and coming forth to govern His sub- 
jects with the fire of the lightning and the scythe of the hurri- 
cane, was yet able to revere the piety of Toussaint. The black 
bandit who had dipped his hands in the blood of his master, and 
feasted his ear with the groans of the innocent babes who had 
sat upon his knee, yet felt that there was something impressive 
in the simple habit of forgiveness, the vigilant spirit of mercy 
  
IN SEARCH OF TOUSSAINT.  
which distinguished Toussaint Breda from all his brethren in 
arms  from all the leading men of his colour, excehis friend 
Henri Ohristophe. At the name of Toussaint Breda, then, these 
flocked down into the road by hundreds, till they swelled the 
numbers of the march to thousands. The Spanish soldiers, re- 
turning to their camp by such by-ways as they could find, heard 
again and again from a distance the cries of welcome and of 
triumph; and one or two of them chanced to witness from a 
high point of rock, or through a thick screen of foliage, the 
joyous progress of the little army, hastening on to find their 
chief. These involuntary spies gathered at every point of obser- 
vation news which would gall the very soul of Jean FranQais, if 
they should get back to the camp to tell it. 
Jacques knew where to seek his friend, and led the way, on 
descending from the hUls, straight across the plain to the Breda 
estate, where Toussaint meant to await his family. How un- 
like was this plantation to what it was when these negroes had 
seen it last ! The cane-fields, heretofore so trim and orderly, 
with the tall canes springing from the clean black soil, rere now 
a jungle. The old plants had run up till they had leanbd over 
with their own weight, and fallen upon one another. Their 
suckers had sprung up in myriads, so that the racoon which 
burrowed among them could scarcely make its way in and out. 
The grass on the little enclosed lawns grew so rank, that the 
cattle, now wild, were almost hidden as they lay down in it; 
and so uneven and unsightly were the patches of growth, that 
the blossoming shrubs with which it had been sprinkled for 
ornament, now looked forlorn and out of place, flowering amidst 
the desolation. The slave-quarter was scarcely distinguishable 
from the wood behind it, so nearly was it overgrown with 
weeds. A young foal was browsing on the thatch, and a crowd 
of glittering lizards darted out and away on the approach of 
human feet. 
Jacques did not stay at the slave quarter ; but he desired his 
company to remain there and in the neighbouring field, while he 
went with Therese to bring out their chief to them. They went 
up to the house ; but in no one of its deserted chambers did they 
find Toussaint. 
" Perhahe is in his own cottage," said Therese. 
" Is it possible," replied Jacques, " that, with this fine house 
all to himself, he should take up with that old hut ? " 
" Let us see," said Ther&se ; " for he is certainly not here." 
When they reached Toussaint's cottage, it was no easy matter 
to know how to effect an entrance. Enormous gourds had 
spread their network over the ground, like trafor the feet of 
trespassers. The front of the piazza was completely overgrown 
with the creepers which had been brought there only to cover 
f 
  
  
the posts, and hang their blossoms from the eaves. They had 
now spread and tangled themselves, till they made the house 
look like a thicket. In one place, however, between two of the 
posts, they had been torn down, and the evening wind was toss- 
ing the loose coils about. Jacques entered the gaand imme- 
diately looked out again, smiling, and beckoning Therese to come 
and see. There, in the piazza, they found Toussaint, stretched 
asleep upon the bench  so soundly asleefor once, that the 
whispers of his friends did not alter, for a moment, his heavy 
breathing. 
" How tired he must be ! " said Jacques. " At other times I 
have known his sleep so light, that he was broad awake as quick 
as a lizard, if a beetle did but sail over his head." 
" He may well be tired," said Therese. " You know how 
weary he looked at mass this morning. I believe he had no rest 
last night ; and now this march to-day " 
"Well! He must rouse up now, however; for his business 
will not wait." And he called him by his name. 
" Henri ! " cried Toussaint, starting u
" STo, not Henri. I am Jacques. Ton are not awake yet, and 
the place is dax'k. I am your friend Jacques, five inches shorter 
than Henri. You see ? " 
"You here, Jacques! and Therese! Surelyl am not awake yet." 
" Yes, you are, now you know Therese  whom yon will 
henceforth look upon as my wife. We are both free of the 
whites now, for ever." 
" Is it possible ? " 
" It is true ; and we wiU tell you all presently. But first 
explain why you called me Henri as you woke. If we could see 
Henri Why did you name Henri ? " 
" Because he was the next person I expected to see. I met one 
on the way who knew where he was, and took a message to him." 
" If we could learn from Henri " said Jacques. 
" Here is Henri," said the calm, kindly, weU-known voice of 
the powerful Ohristophe, who now showed himself outside. The 
other went out to him, and greeted him heartily. 
"What news, Henri? " asked Toussaint. " How are affairs 
at Cap ? What is doing about the proclamation there ? " 
" Affairs are going badly at CaThe mulattoes wiU no more 
bear our proclamation than the whites would bear theirs. They 
have shut up General Laveaux in prison; and the French, 
without their military leader, do not know what to do next. 
The commissary has no authority, and talks of embarking for 
Prance ; and the trooare cursing the negroes, for whose sake, 
they say, their General is imprisoned, and will soon die of the 
heats." 
" We must deliver General Laveaux," said Toussaint " Our 
  
A PLAN OF ACTION.  
work already lies straight before us. We must raise a force. 
Henri, can you bring soldiers ? " 
" Ay, Henri," said Jacques, " what force can you bring to join 
ours ? General Toussaint Breda has six thousand here at hand, 
half of whom are disciplined soldiers, well armed. The rest are 
partially armed, and have strong hearts and ready hands." 
Toussaint turned round, as if to know what Jacques could 
mean. 
" General," said Jacques, " the army I speak of is there, 
mong those fields, burning to greet you their commander ; but 
in the meantime, I believe, supping heartily on whatever they 
can find in your wilderness here, in the shaof maize, pum
kins, and plantains  and what else, you know better than I. 
That is right, Therese ; rest yourself in the piazza, and I will 
bring you some supper, too." 
" Six thousand, did you say, Jacques ? " said Henri. " I can 
rally two thousand this night, and more wiU join on the way." 
"We must free Laveaux before- sunrise," said Toussaint. 
" Will our troobe fit for a march after this supper of theirs, 
Jacques  after supper and three hours' rest ? " 
" They are fit at this moment to march over the island  to 
swim from St. Domingo to Prance, if you wUl only lead them," 
replied Jacques. " Go to them, and they wiU do what you wiU.." 
" So be it ! " said Toussaint, his bosom for a moment heaving 
with the thought that his career, even as viewed by Father Laxa- 
bon, was not ended, " Henri, what is the state of the plain ? Is 
the road open  " 
" Far from it. The mulattoes are suspicious, and on the watch 
against some danger-I believe they are not clear what. I 
avoided some of their scouts ; and the long way they made me 
go round was the reason of my being late." 
Observing that Toussaint looked thoughtful, he proceeded : 
" I imagine there is no force in the plain that could resist your 
numbers, if you ai'e sure of your troops. The road is open, if 
they choose that it be so." 
" I am sure of only haK of them ; and then there is the town. 
It seems to me, Jacques, that I may more depend upon my 
troops, in their present mood, for a merry night march, though 
it be a long one, than for a skirmish through the plain, though 
it be a short one." 
Jacques assented. It was agreed that the little army should 
proceed by the mountain tracts, round by Plaisance and Gros 
Mome, so as to arrive by the Haut-du-Oain which direction 
it was not likely that a foe should be looked for. Thus they 
could pour into the town from the western heights before sun- 
rise, while the scouts of the mulatto rebels were looking for them 
across the eastern plain. 
  
 THE HOUR AND THB MAN. 
This settled, Jacques went down among liis forces, to tell them 
that their general was engaged in a council of war  Henri 
Christophe having joined from Cawith a promise of troops, 
and with intelligence which would open the way to victory and 
freedom. The general allowed them ten minutes more for 
refreshment, and to form themselves into order ; and he would 
then present himself to them. Shouting was forbidden, lest any 
foe should be within hearing; but a murmur of delight and 
mutual congratulation ran through the ranks, which were begin- 
ning to form while the leader of their march was yet spejiking. 
He retreated, carrying with him the best arms he could select 
for the use of his general. 
While he was gone, Toussaint stepped back into the piazza, 
where Therese sat quietly watching the birds flitting in and out 
among the foliage and flowers. 
" Therese," said he, " what will you do this night and to- 
morrow ? Who will take care of you P " 
" I know not  I care not," said she. " There are no whites 
here ; and I am well where they are not. WiU you not let me 
stay here ? " 
" Did Jacques say, and say truly, that you are his wife .P " 
" He said so, and truly. I have been wretched, for 
long " 
" And sinful. Wretchedness and sin go together." 
" And I was sinful ; but no one told me so. I was ignorant, 
and weak, and a slave. Now I am a woman and a wife. No 
more whites, no more sin, no more misery ! Will you not let 
me stay here ? " 
" I will : and here yon will presently be safe, and well cared 
for, I hope. Mjr vpife and my chilc&en are coming home  
coming.probably inafewhours. They will make this a home 
to you till Jacques can give you one of your own. Tou shall be 
guarded here till my Margot arrives. Shall it be so P " 
" Shall it ? Oh, thank God ! Jacques," she cried, as she heard 
her husband's step approaching. " Oh, Jacques ! I am happy. 
Toussaint Breda is kind  he has forgiven me he welcomes 
me  his wife will ' " 
Tears drowned her voice. Toussaint said gently  
" It is not for me to forgive, Therese, whom you have never 
offended. God has forgiven, I trust, your young years of sin. 
Tou will atone (will you not ?) by the purity of your life by 
watching over others, lest they suflEer as you have done. Tou 
wiU guard the minds of my young daughters : wiU you not .P 
Tou will thank God through my Genifrede, my Aimee ? " 
" I wiU, I will," she eagerly cried, lifting up her face, bright 
through her tears. " Indeed my heart will be pure longs to 
be pure."  
  
NEWS OF THE DEFECTION.  
"I know it, Therese," said Toussaint. "I have always 
believed it, and I now know it." 
He turned to Jacques and said  
" Tou declare yourself to be under my command P '' 
" Yes, Toussaint ; you are my general" 
" "Well, then, I appoint you to the duty of remaining here, 
with a trooto guard my family (who are coming in a few 
hours), and this estate. I have some hopes of doing what I want 
at Cap without striking a blow ; and you will be better here. 
Tou hate the whites too much to Kke my warfare. Tarewell, 
Therese ! Jacques, foUow me, to receive your troop." 
CHAPTER IX. 
THE MAN. 
The town of Cap Franijais was next morning in a hurry, which 
attracted the attention of General Laveaux in his prison, and the 
French commissary, Polverel, on board the vessel in the roads, 
in which he had taken refuge from the mulattoes, and where he 
held himself in readiness to set saU for France, in case of any- 
grave disaster befalling the General or the troops. From his cell, 
Laveaux heard in the streets the tramp of horses and of human 
feet ; and from the deck of the Orphee, Polverel watched through 
his glass the bustle on the wharves, and the putting off of more 
than one boat, which prepared him to receive news. 
The news came. The report was universal in the town that 
Toussaint Breda had gone over from the allies to the side of 
republican France ; and that this step had been followed by a 
large defection from the allied forces. Messengers had arrived, 
one after another, with dispatches which had been intercepted 
by the mulattoes. These who brought them, however, had given 
out that some posts had been surrendered, without a summons, 
into the hands of the French. This was certainly the case with 
Marmalade and Plaisance ; and others were confidently spoken of. 
'' Offered to our hands just when our hands are tied, and we 
cannot take them ! " said Polverel. " If our fresh regiments 
would only arrive to-day, and help us to wrench the prison keys 
from the hands of those devils of mulattoes, and let out Laveaux, 
the colony would be ours before night." 
As he spoke, he swethe horizon to the north and east 
with his glass ; but no welcome sail was visible. 
" Now look the other way," said the commander of the vessel ; 
" if there is no help at sea, try if there be none on land. I have 
  
 THn . 
been watching that mountain-side for some time ; and, if I am 
not much mistaken, there is an army of dusky fellows tiiere." 
"Dusky ! mulattoes ! then we are lost ! " cried Polverel. "If 
the mulattoes from the south have come up in any numbers " 
" They are black as the night that is just gone," said the 
commander, still keeping his eye fixed on the western heights 
above the town. " See, the sun strikes them now. They are 
blacks. The negroes under Toussaint himself, very probably. 
I shall not have the pleasure of carrying you to Trance just yet, 
M. Polverel." 
Notwithstanding the display of black forces on the Haut-du- 
Cathe bustle of the town seemed to be in the opposite direction. 
A few shots were fired in the south-east quarter, and some smoke 
arose from thence. This was soon explained by the news that 
Henri Christophe had approached the town from the plain, with 
four or five thousand men, and was forcing an entrance that way. 
There was little conflict. Toussaint poured down his force 
through the barracks, where the French soldiers gave him a 
hearty welcome, and along the avenues of Government House, 
and the neighbouring public offices, in which quarter the mulat- 
toes had little interest. Within an hour, the mulattoes had all 
slunk back into their homes, telling their families that they could 
have dealt with the French alone, but that they could not with- 
stand an army of twenty thousand men (only doubling the real 
number), which had dropped from the clouds, for aught they 
knew. The few dead bodies were removed, the sand sucked 
up their blood, and the morning wind blew dust over its traces. 
A boat was sent ofE, in due form, to bring Commissary Polverel 
home to Government House. Toussaint himself went to the 
prison to bring out General Laveaux, with every demonstra- 
tion of respect; and all presently wore the aspect of a jour-de-fSte. 
Hour by hour tidings were spread which increased the joy of 
the French, and the humiliation of their foes. The intercepted 
dispatches were given uand more arrived with the news of 
the successive defection from the allies of all the important posts 
in the colony, held by negro forces. In the name of Toussaint 
Breda, the garrisons of Marmalade and Plaisance first declared 
for republican France ; and after them, Gros-Mome, Henneri, 
and Le Dondon. 
The news of the acquisition of these last arrived in the evening, 
when the French officials were entertaining the negro chief in 
the salon of Government House, It was late : the house was 
brilliantly lighted ; and its illuminations were reflected from a 
multitude of faces without. Late as it was, and great as had 
been the fatigues of the negro troops, they were not yet weaiy 
of hearing the praises of their own Toussaint. Adding their 
numbers to those of the white inhabitants of Cathey thronged 
  
St/CCBSS OF TOUSSAINT.  
the court of Government House and the Jesuits' Walk ; and 
even in the Place d' Archer and the Rue Espagnole, passengers 
found it difficult to make their way. The assemblage could 
scarcely have told what detained them there, unless it were the 
vague expectation of more news, the repetition of the praises 
they loved to hear, and, perhaps, some hoof getting one more 
glimpse of Toussaint on this night of his triumph. From mouth 
to mouth circulated the words which General Laveaux had 
spoken in the morning, when released from his prison  " This 
man is the saviour of the whites the avenger of the authorities. 
He is surely the black, the Spartacus predicted by Raynal, 
whose destiny it should be to avenge the wrongs of his race." 
From mouth to mouth went these words; and from heart to 
heart spread the glow they kindled. 
Toussaint himself had heard these words ; and in his heart 
also were they glowing. As he sat at table, refreshing himself 
with fruits, but (according to his invariable custom) refusing 
wine, he was reminded by aU that passed that his career was not 
ended. He wore the uniform of brigadier-general  a token that 
he had not lost rank. M. Polverel had declared his intention of 
soon returning to Prance ; and General Laveaux had said that 
when he was thus left in charge of the colony, he should entreat 
General Toussaint, who best understood its affairs, to fill the 
office of lieutenant-governor, and should also be guided in 
military affairs implicitly by his counsels. Toussaint heard, 
and felt that, in truth, his career was not ended. He was re- 
quested to name a day when he would take the oaths publicly, 
and receive the homage of the grateful colony ; and in his reply 
he took occasion to declare with earnestness that his present 
course of action originated altogether in the decree of the Con- 
vention in favour of the negroes ; and that the resources of his 
power and influence should all be directed towards raising his 
race to that intellectual and moral equality with the whites, 
without which they could neither enjoy nor retain the political 
equality which the Convention had decreed. In the midst of 
the strongly expressed sympathy of his hosts, who were this day 
disposed to approve and admire all he said and did  while they 
were uttering hopes for his own people which touched his soul, 
the final news of this great day was brought in, contained in 
dispatches which told of the acquisition of the posts of Limb 
and I'Acul  the two bars to the north-western peninsula of the 
colony. The commanders declared their adhesion to the cause 
of the blacks and Toussaint Breda. 
" Bravo ! " cried the French general : " that obstinate region 
is ours ! We will march through those posts to hold our fes- 
tival, and the oaths shall be taken at Port Paix. Was not that 
district considered the most obstinate general ? " 
  
go  
Toussaint did not answer. He did not hear. The mention of 
Port Pais carried back his thoughts to the night when he was 
last there, heavy at heart, assisting his master to escape. 
" All is ours, now, through him," said M. Polverel, gazing at 
his guest, 
" Tes," rejoined Laveaux ; " he is the Napoleon Bonaparte of 
St. Domingo. 
" Who is he ?  who is Napoleon Bonaparte P " asked Toussaint, 
roused to listen. '' I have heard his name. What has he done P " 
" He is a young French artillery officer " 
" A Corsican by birth," interposed Polverel. 
"Is he really P I was not aware of that," said Laveaux. 
" That circumstance somewhat increases the resemblance of the 
cases. He was ill-used (or thought he was) by his officers, and 
was on the point of joining the Turkish service, when he was 
employed in the defence of the Convention, the other day. He 
saved the Convention  he saved Paris  and he is about to 
put off his uniform of brigadier-general " (and Laveaux smiled 
and bowed as he spoke)  "like yourself, he is about to put 
off his uniform of brigadier-general for that of a higher rank. 
His name was known before in connection with the siege of 
Toulon. But this last achievement is the grand one. He has 
cleared the path of the Convention. Polverel, did I not say rightly 
that General Toussaint is the Napoleon Bonaparte of St. 
Domingo ? " 
" Tes. General Toussaint also is making for us an opening 
everywhere." 
Toussaint heard the words, but they made a faint impression 
at the moment of his imagination being fixed on the young 
artillery officer. There were those present, however, who lost 
nothing of what was spoken, and who conveyed it all to the 
eager ears outside. The black attendants, the gazers and lis- 
teners who went in and out, intoxicated with the glory of the 
negro general, reported all that was said of him. These last few 
words of Polverel wrought wonderfully, and were instantly 
spread through the excited multitude. A shout was presently 
heard, which must have sounded far up the moimtains and over 
the bay ; and Polverel started with surprise when his word 
came back to him in a response like that of an assembled nation. 
" L'ouverture ! " " L'ouverture ! " cried the multitude, f uUy 
comprehending what the word contained in its application to 
their chief, " Toussaint L'Ouverture ! " Henceforth, the city, 
the colony, the island, and, after a time, all Europe, rang with 
the name of Toussaint L'Ouverture. 
When Toussaint heard the cry from without, he started to his 
feet; and his hosts rose also, on seeing the fire in his eye- 
brighter than during the deeds of the morning. 
  
THE NAPOLEON OP ST. DOMINGO.   
" The general woiild address them," said Polverel. " Tou 
wish to speak to the people, G-eneral Toussaint." 
" No," said Toussaint. 
" What then ? " inquired Laveaux. 
" I would be alone," said Toussaint, stepping backwards from 
the table. 
" Tour fatigues have doubtless been great,'' observed Laveaux. 
"Lights shall be ordered in your apartment." 
" I cannot sleep yet," said Toussaint. " I cannot sleep tiU I 
have news from Breda. But I have need of thought, gentlemen ; 
there is moonlight and quiet in these gardens. Permit me to 
leave you now. 
He paced the shrubberies, cool with moonlight and with dews ; 
and his agitation subsided when all eyes but those of Heaven 
were withdrawn. Here no flatteries met his ear  no gestures 
of admiration made him drop his eyes, abashed. Constrained 
as he yet felt himself in equal intercourse with whites, new to 
his recognised freedom, unassured in his acts, uncertain of the 
future, and (as he believed) unprepared for such a future as was 
now unfolding, there was something inexpressibly irksome and 
humbling in the homage of the whites  of men who understood 
nothing of him, and little of his race, and who could have none 
but political purposes in their intercourse with him. He 
needed this evening the sincerities as well as the soothings of 
nature ; and it was with a sense of relief that he cast himself 
once again upon her bosom, to be instructed, with infantine 
belief, how small an atom he was in the universe of God  how low 
a rank he held in the hierarchy of the ministers of the Highest. 
" Tet I am one," thought he, as the shout of his name and 
new title reached his ear, distinct, though softened by distance. 
" I am an appointed minister. It seems as if I were the one of 
whom I myself have spoken as likely to arise  not, as Laveaux 
says, after E/aynal, to avenge, but to repair the wrongs of my 
colour. Low, indeed, are we sunk, deep is our ignorance, abject 
are our wills, if such a one as I am to be the leader of thousands 
I, whose will is yet unexercised  I, who shrink ashamed before 
the knowledge of the meanest white  I, so lately a slave  so 
long dependent that I am an oppression to myself  am at this 
hour the ruler over ten thousand wills ! The ways of God are 
dark, or it might seem that He despised His negro children in 
committing so many of them to so poor a guide. But He despises 
nothing that He has made. It may be that we are too weak and 
ignorant to be fit for better guidance in our new state of rights 
and duties. It may be that a series of teachers is appointed to 
my colour, of whom I am to be the first, only because I am the 
lowest ; destined to give way to wiser guides when I have taught 
all that I know, and done all that I can. May it be so ! I will 
  
  
devote myself wholly; and when I have done may I be more 
willing to hide myself in my cottage, or lie down in my grave, 
than  have been this day to accethe new lot which I dare not 
refuse !  Deal gently with me, O God ! and, however I fail, let 
me not see my children's hearts hardened, as hearts are hardened, 
by power ! Let me not see in their faces the look of authority, 
nor hear in their voices the tones of pride ! Be with my people, 
O Christ ! The weaker I am, the moi-e be Thou with them, that 
Thy gospel may be at last received ! The hearts of my people 
are soft  they are gentle, they are weak :  let Thy gospel make 
them pure  let it make them free. Thy gospel  who has not 
heard of it, and who has seen it ? May it be found in the 
hearts of my people, the despised! and who shall then despise 
them again ? The past is all guilt and groans. Into the future 
open a better way '' 
" Toussaint L'Ouverture ! " he heard again from afar, and 
bowed his head, overpowered with hope. 
" Toussaint L'Ouverture ! " repeated some light gay voices 
close at hand. His boys were come, choosing to bring themselves 
the news from Breda  that Margot and her daughters, and old 
Dessalines and Moyse were all there, safe and happy, excefor 
their dismay at finding the cottage and field in such a state of 
desolation. 
" They wiU not mind when they hear that they are to live in 
a mansion henceforward," said Placide. " Jean Francjais had 
better have stood by his colour, as we do." 
" And how have you stood by your colour, my young hero ? " 
" I told Jean in the camp to-day " 
" Jean ! In the camp ! How came you there ? " 
" We were so near, that I galloped in to see what they thought 
of your leaving, and who had followed yon." 
" Then I thank God that you are here." 
" Jean caught me ; but the General bade him let me go, and 
asked whether the blacks made war upon children. I told him 
that I was not a child ; and I told Jean that you had rather live 
in a cave for the sake of the -blacks, than go ofE to the court of 
Spain " 
" "What made yon fancy I should go there ? " 
" Not you, but Jean. Jean is going, he says, because he is a 
noble. There will soon be peace between France and Spain, he 
says ; and then he shall be a noble at the court of Spain. I am 
glad he is going." 
" So am I, if he thinks he shall be hapthere." 
" We shall be better without him," said Isaac. " He would 
never be quiet while you were made Lieutenant-Governor of St. 
Domingo. Now you will be alone and unmolested in your power." 
"Where did you learn all this ? " 
  
" TOUSSAINT L'OUVBRTUSE.'"  
" Every one knows it  every one in CaEvery one knows 
that Jean has done with us, and that the Commissary is going 
home, and that General Laveaux means to be guided iu every- 
thing by you ; and that the posts have all surrendered in your 
name ; and that at Port Paix " 
" Enough, enough ! my boys. Too much, for I see that your 
hearts are protid." 
" The Commissary and the General said that you are supreme 
the idol of your colour. Those were their words." 
"And in this there is yet no glory. I have yet done nothing, 
but by what is called accident. Our own people were ready by 
no preparation of mine ; the mulattoes were weak and taken by 
surprise, through circumstances not ef my ordering. Glory 
there may hereafter be belonging to our name, my boys ; but as 
yet there is none. I have power : but power is less often glory 
than disgrace." 
" Oh, father ! do but listen. Hark again ! ' Toussaint L'Ou- 
verture ! ' " 
" I will strive to make that shout a prophecy, my sons. Till 
then, no pride ! Are you not weary ? Come in to rest. Can 
yon sleep in my fine chamber here as well as at Breda ? " 
" Anywhere," said Isaac, sleepily. 
Toussaint gave up his apartment to his sons, and went forth 
once more to survey the town, and see that his troowere in 
their quarters. This done, he repaired to his friend Henri, 
willing for one more night to forego his greatness ; and there, 
in his friend's small barrack-room, the supreme in the colony  
the idol of his colour slept, as he had hoped for his boys, as 
tranquilly as if he had been at Breda. 
CHAPTER X. 
A MOKNING OF OFFICE. 
If the devastation attending the revolutionary wars of St. 
Domingo was great, it was repaired with singular rapidity. 
Thanks to the vigorous agencies of nature in a tropical region, 
the desolated plains were presently covered with fresh harvests, 
and the burnt woods were buried deep under the shadow of 
young forests, more beautiful than the old. Thanks also to the 
government of the wisest mind in the island, the moral evils of 
the struggle were made subordinate to its good results. It was 
not in the power of man to bury past injuries in oblivion, while 
there were continually present minds which had been debased 
  
  
by tyranny, and hearts which had been outraged by cruelty; 
but all that conld be done was done. Vigorous employment was 
made the great law of society  the one condition of the favour 
of its chief ; and, amidst the labours of the hoe and the mill, the 
workshop and the wharf  amidst the toils of the march and the 
bustle of the court, the bereaved and insulted forgot their woes 
and their revenge. A new growth of veneration and o ho
overspread the ruins of old delights and attachments, as the 
verdure of the plain spread its mantle over the wrecks of man- 
sion and of hut. In seven years from the kindling of the first 
incendiary torch on the Plaine du Nord, it would have been hard 
for a stranger, landing in St. Domingo, to believe what had been 
the horrors of the war. 
Of these seven years, however, the first three or four had been 
entirely spent in war, and the rest disturbed by it. Double that 
number of years must pass before there could be any security 
that the crop planted would ever be reaped, or that the peasants 
who laid out their family burying-grounds would be carried 
there in full age, instead of perishing in the field or in the 
woods. The cultivators went out to their daily work with the 
gun slung across their shoulders and the cutlass in their belt : 
the hiUs were crested with forts, and the mountain passes were 
watched by scouts. The troowere frequently reviewed in 
the squares of the towns, and news was perpetually arriving of 
a skirmish here or there. The mulatto general, Rigaud, had 
never acknowledged the authority of Toussaint L'Ouverture; 
and he was stiU in the field, with a mulatto force sufficient to 
interruthe prosperity of the colony, and endanger the autho- 
rity of its Lieutenant- Governoi-. It was some time, however, 
since Eigaud had approached any of the large towns. The 
sufferers by his incursions were the planters and field-labourers. 
The inhabitants of the towns carried on their daily affairs as if 
peace had been fully established in the island, and feeling the 
effects of such warfare as there was only iu their occasional 
contributions of time and money. 
The Commander-in-chief, as Toussaint L'Ouverture was 
called, by the appointment of the Trench commissaries, though 
his dignity had not yet been confirmed from Paris  the Com- 
mander-in-chief of St. Domingo held his head-quarters at Port- 
au-Prince. Among other considerations which rendered this 
convenient, the chief was that he thus avoided much collision 
with the French officials, which must otherwise have taken 
place. AU the commissaries, who rapidly succeeded one another 
from Paris, resided at Grovemment House, in Cap Pranais. 
Thence they issued orders and regulations in the name of the 
government at home ; orders and regulations which were some- 
times practicable, sometimes unwise, and often absurd. If 
  
IN OFFICE.  
Tonssaint had resided at Caa constant witness of their igno- 
rance of the minds, manners, and interests of the blacks  if he 
had been there to listen to the complaints and appeals which 
would have been daily made, he could scarcely have keterms 
for a single week with the French authorities. By establishing 
himself in the south, while they remained in the north, he was 
able quietly to neutralise or repair much of the mischief which 
they did, and to execute many of his own plans without con- 
sulting them ; while many a grievance was silently borne, many 
an order simply neglected, which would have been a cause of 
quarrel, if any power of redress had been at hand. Jealous as 
he was for the infant freedom of his race, Toussaint knew that 
it would be best preserved by weaning their minds from thoughts 
of anger, and their eyes from the sight of blood. Trust in the 
better part of negro nature guided him in his choice between 
two evUs. He preferred that they should be misgoverned in 
some affairs of secondary importance, and keep the peace, rather 
than that they should be governed to their hearts' content by 
himself, at the risk of quarrel with the mother country. He 
trusted to the singular power of forbearance and forgiveness 
which is found in the negro race for the preservation of friend- 
ship with the whites and of the blessings of peace; and he 
therefore reserved his own powerful influence over both parties 
for great occasions  interfering only when he perceived that, 
through carelessness or ignorance, the French authorities were 
endangering some essential liberty of those to whom they were 
the medium of the pleasure of the government at home. The 
blacks were aware that the vigilance of their Commander-in- 
chief over their civil rights never slept, and that his inter- 
ference always availed; and these convictions ensured their 
submission, or at least their not going beyond passive resistance 
on ordinary occasions, and thus strengthened their habits of 
peace. 
The Commander-in-chief held his levees at Port-au-Prince on 
certain days of the month, all the year round. No matter how 
far off he might be, or how engaged, the night before, he rarely 
failed to be at home on the appointed day, at the fixed hour. 
On one particular occasion, he was known to have been out 
against Rigaud, day and night, for a fortnight, and to be closely 
engaged as far south as Aux Oayes, the very evening preceding 
the review and levee which had been announced for the th of 
January. Not the less for this did he appear in front of the 
trooin the Place Republicaine, when the daylight gushed in 
from the east, putting out the stars, whose reflection trembled 
in the still waters of the bay. The last evolutions were finished, 
and the smoke from the last volley had melted away in the 
serene sky of January, before the coolness of the northern breeze 
  
  
had yielded to tlie blaze of the mounting sun. The troothen 
lined the long streets of the town, and the avenue to the palace, 
while the Commander-in-chief and his staff passed on, and 
entered the palace-gates. 
The palace, like every other building in Port-au-Prince, con- 
sisted of one storey only. The town had been destroyed by an 
earthquake in ; and, though earthquakes are extremely 
rare in St. Domingo, the place had been rebuilt in view of the 
danger of another. The palace therefore covered a large piece 
of ground, and its principal rooms were each nearly surrounded 
by garden and grass-plat. The largest apartment, in which the 
levees were always held, was the best room in the island  if 
not for the richness of its furniture, for its space and propor- 
tions, and the views which it commanded. Not even the abode 
of the Commander-in-chief could exhibit such silken sofas, 
marble tables, gilded balustrades, and japanned or ivory screens, 
as had been common in the mansions of the planters ; and Tous- 
saint had found other uses for such money as he had than those 
of pure luxury. The essential and natural advantages of his 
palace were enough for him and his. The floor of this, his 
favourite apartment, was covered with a fine India matting; 
the windows were hung with white muslin curtains; and the 
sofas, which stood round three sides of the room, between the 
numerous windows, were covered with green damask, of no very 
rich quality. In these many windows lay the charm, com- 
manding, as they did, extensive prospects to the east, north, 
and west. The broad verandah cast a shadow which rendered 
it unnecessary to keep the jalousies closed, exceduring the 
hottest hours of the year. This morning every blind was swung 
wide open, and the room was cool and shady, whUe, without, 
all was bathed in the mUd, golden sunshine of January  bright 
enough for the strongest eye, but without glare. 
To the east and north spread the Cul-de-Sac  a plain of un- 
equalled richness, extending to the foot of the mountains, fifteen 
miles into the interior. The sun had not yet risen so high but 
that these mountains cast a deep shadow for some distance into 
the plain, while their skirts were dark with coflee-groves, and 
their summits were strongly marked against the glowing sky. 
Amidst the wide, verdant level of the plain, arose many a white 
mansion, each marked by a cluster of trees, close at hand. Some 
of these plantation houses looked bluish and cool in the mountain 
shadows; others were like bright specks in the sunshine, each 
surmounted by a star, if its gilded weathercock chanced to turn 
in the breeze. To the north, also, this plain, still backed by 
mountains, extended till it joined the sands of th bight. 
Upon these sands, on the margin of the deep blue waters, 
might be seen flashing in the sun a troop of flamingops, now 
  
G&NIFRkDE AND AIME.  
moving forward in a line into the waves, and diligently fishing ; 
and then, on <he alarm of a scout, all taking wing successively, 
and keeping their order, as they flew homewards, to the salt 
marshes in the interior  their scarlet bodies vividly contrasted 
with the dark green of the forests that clothed the mountain 
sides. To the west lay the broad azure sheet of the bay, looked 
by the island of Gonave, and sprinkled with fishing-boats, whUe 
under the forest-tufted rooks of the island two vessels rode at 
anchor  a schooner belonging to St. Domingo, and an English 
frigate. 
In the shady western piazza sat a party who seemed much 
occupied in looking out upon the bay, and watching the vessels 
that lay under the island ; from which vessels boats might be 
seen putting off for the town just at the time of the commence- 
ment of the levde. The party in the piazza consisted chiefly of 
women. Madame L'Ouverture was there  like, and yet unlike, 
the Margot of former years  employed, as usual  busy with 
her needle, and motherly, complacent, tenderly vigilant as of 
old; but with a matronly grace and dignity which evidently 
arose from a gratified mind, and not fi"om external state. Her 
daughters were beside her, both wonderfully improved in beauty, 
though Genifrede still preserved the superiority there. She sat 
a little apart from her mother and sister netting. Moyse was 
at her feet, in order to obtain the benefit of an occasional gleam 
from the eyes wliich were cast down upon her work. His ido- 
latry of her was no surprise to any who looked upon her in her 
beauty, now animated and exalted by the love which she had 
avowed, and which was sanctioned by her father and her family. 
The sisters were dressed nearly alike, though Aimee knew well 
that it would have been politic to have avoided thus bringing 
herself into immediate comparison with her sister. But Ainiee 
cared not what was thought of her face, form, or dress. Isaac 
had always been satisfied with them. She had confided in 
Genifrde's taste when they first assumed their rank ; and it 
was least troublesome to do so still. If Isaac should wish it 
otherwise when he should return from France, she would do as 
he desired. Meantime, they were dressed in all essentials 
exactly alike, from the pattern of the Madras handkerchief they 
wore (according to universal custom) on their heads, to the cut 
of the French-kid shoe. The dress was far from resembling the 
European fashion of the time. No tight laeing ; no casing in 
whalebone  nothing like a hooA chemisette of the finest 
cambric appeared within the bodice, and covered the bosom. 
The short fuU sleeves were also of white cambric. The bodice, 
and short full skirt, were of deep yellow India silk; and the 
waist was confined with a broad band of violet-coloured velvet, 
gaily embroidered. The only difference in the dress of the 
G 
  
  
sisters was in their ornaments. Aimee wore heavy ear-drops, 
and a large necklace and bracelets of amethyst; while Geni- 
frede wore, suspended from a throat-band of velvet, embroidered 
like that which bound her waist, a massive plain gold crucifix, 
lately given her by Moyse. Her ear-rings were hooof plain 
gold, and her bracelets again of embroidered velvet, clasped 
with plain gold. In her might be seen, and in her was seen by 
the Europeans who attended the levee of that day, what the 
negro face and form may be when seen in their native climate, 
unhardened by degradation, undebased by ignorance, unspoiled 
by oppression  all peculiarities of feature softened under the 
refining influence of mind, and all peculiarities of expression 
called out in their beauty by the free exercise of natural affec- 
tions. The animated sweetness of the negro countenance is 
known only to those who have seen it thus. 
Paul was of the party, looking very well in the French 
uniform, which he wore in honour of his brother on great occa- 
sions, though he was far from having grown warlike on his 
change of fortune. His heart was still in his cottage, or on the 
sea ; and now, as he stood leaning against a pillar of the piazza, 
his eye was more busy in watching the fishing-boats in the bay 
than in observing what went on within the house. The only 
thing he liked about state-days was the hours of idleness they 
afforded  such hours as this, when, lounging in the shade, he 
could see Moyse hapat the feet of his beloved, and enjoy the 
soft wind as it breathed past, laden with spicy scents. During 
such an hour, he almost forgot the restraints of his uniform and 
of his rank. 
There was yet another person in the piazza. Seated on its 
stebut sheltered by its broad eaves, sat Threse  more beau- 
tiful by far than Gnifrede  more beautiful by far than in her 
days of girlhood  celebrated as she had then been throughout 
the colony. Her girlishness was gone, exceits grace; her 
sensitiveness was gone, and (as those might think who did not 
watch the changes of her eye) much of her animation. Her 
carriage was majestic, her countenance calm, and its beauty, 
now refined by a life of leisure and the consciousness of rank  
leisure and rank both well employed more imposing than ever. 
Her husband was now a general in Toussaint's army. When he 
was in the field, Madame DessaUnes remained at home, on their 
estate near St. Marc. When he was in attendance on the Com- 
mander-in-chief, she was ever a welcome guest iu Toussaint's 
family. Madame L'Ouverture loved her as a daughter ; and she 
had endeared herself to the girls. At this time, from an acci- 
dental circumstance, she was at the palace without her husband. 
It was evident that she felt quite at home there ; for, though 
she had arrived only a few hours before, she did not appear 
  
RECEIVING DEPUTATIONS.  
disposed to conrerse. As she sat alone, leaning against the base 
of the pillar, she now and then cast her eyes on the book she held 
open in her hand, but for the most part looked abroad upon the 
terraced town, the bay, or the shadowy clefts of the roeky island 
which closed it in. 
The sound of feet and of voices from within increased from 
moment to moment. The Commander-in-chief had assumed his 
place, with his aides on either hand ; and presently the room 
was so nearly filled as to leave no more space than was required 
for the deputations to pass in at one entrance on the south of the 
apartment, appear before the General, and pass out at the 
other door. Toussaint stood at the centre of the north end, 
beside a table partly covered .with papers, and at which sat his 
secretary. On this table lay his cocked hat. His uniform was 
blue, with scarlet caand cuffs, richly embroidered. He had 
white trousers, long Hessian boots, and, as usual, the Madras 
handkerchief on his head. While walking up the apartment, he 
had been conversing on business with his oflBcers, and continued 
to do so, without tlie loss of a moment, tiU, on his taking his 
place, two ushers came up with an account of the parties waiting 
for admittance, desiring to know his pleasure as to who should 
have precedence. 
" The clergy," said Toussaint ; " the first in duty must be first 
in honour." 
In a few moments there was a loud announcement of the 
clergy from the districts of St. Marc, Leogane, Mirbalais, and so 
on, through a long enumeration of districts. The priests entered, 
two and two, a long procession of black gowns. As they collected 
into a group before him, every one anxiously making way for 
them, Toussaint crossed his arms upon his breast, and bowed his 
head low for many moments. When he looked up again, an 
expression of true reverence was upon his countenance ; and, in 
a tone of earnestness, he asked for what service they desired to 
command him. 
Father Antioche, an old priest, assisted by a brother at least 
thirty years younger, offered sealed papers, which, he said, con- 
tained reports from the several districts concerning the religious 
and moral condition of the inhabitants. Toussaint received 
them, and laid them, with his own hand, upon the table beside 
him, saying, with much solicitude  
" Do I see rightly in your countenances that you bring good 
news of your flocks, my fathers ? " 
" It is so," replied the old priest. " Our wishes are fast ful- 
filling." 
"Eight thousand marriages have been celebrated, as will 
appear in our reports," added the young priest. 
" And in the difficult cases of a plurality of wives," resumed 
o  
  
lOO  
Father Antioche, " there is generally a willingness in the culti- 
vators to maintain liberally those who are put away." 
"And the children P" 
" The children may be found in the schools, sitting side by 
side in peace. The quarrels of the children of different mothers 
(quarrels often fatal in the fields) disappear in the schools. The 
reports well exhibit the history of our expanding system." 
" God be thanked ! " Toussaint uttered in a low voice. 
"Under the religions rule of your excellency," said the young 
priest, "enforced by so pure an example of piety, the morals of 
this colony will be established, and the salvation of its people 
secured." 
" Ton," said Toussaint, " the servants of Christ, are the true 
rulers of this island and its inhabitants. I am your servant in 
guarding external order, during a period which you will employ 
in establishing your flocks in the everlasting wisdom and peace 
of religion. I hold the inferior office of keeping our enemies in 
awe, and enabling our people to find subsistence and comfort. 
My charge is the soil on which, and the bodies in which, men 
live. Ton have in charge their souls, in which lies the future 
of this world and of the next. Ton are the true rulers of St. 
Domingo ; and we bow to you as such." 
Every head was immediately bowed, and the priests went out, 
amidst the obeisances of the whole assemblage  some of the 
order wondering, perhaps, whether every mind there was as 
sincere in its homage as that of the Commander-in-chief. 
The superintendents of the cultivators came next  negroes 
dressed in check shirts, white linen jackets and trousers, and 
with the usual Madras handkerchief on the head. They, too, 
handed in reports ; and to them also did Toussaint address his 
questions, with an air of respect almost equal to that with which 
he had spoken to the priests. 
" I grieve," said he, " that you cannot yet fulfil your function 
altogether in peace. My generals and I have done what we can 
to preserve our fields from devastation, and our cultivators from 
the dangers and the fears of ambushed foes ; but Bigaud's forces 
are not yet subdued ; and for a while we must impose upon our 
cultivators the toil of working armed in the field. We are 
soldiers here," he added, looking round upon his officers, " but I 
hothere is not one of us who does not honour the hoe more 
than the gun. How far have you been able to repair in the 
south-eastern districts the interruption in the September plant- 
ing ? " 
The superintendent of those districts came forward, and said 
that some planting had been efPected in November, the sprouts 
of which now looked well. More planting had been done during the 
early part of the present month ; and time would show the result. 
  
IMPSO VMMBNTS. I O I 
" Good ! " said Tonssaint. " Some of the finest croI have 
seen have risen from January plants, though it were best it 
were done in September. How do you repoi-t about the rats ? " 
" The nuisance is still great," replied the head superintendent ; 
" their uninterrupted possession of the fields during the troubles 
has made them very powerful. Would that your excellency 
were as powerful to conquer the rats as the mulattoes ! " 
" We have allies," said Toussaint, gravely  " an army more 
powerful than that which I command. Where are the ants ! " 
" They have closed their campaign. They cleared the fields 
for us in the autumn ; but they have disappeared." 
" For a time only. While there are rats, they wiU reappear." 
" And when there are no more rats, we must call iu some force, 
if your excellency knows of such, to make war upon the ants ; 
for they are only a less evil than that which they cure." 
" If they were absent, you would find some worse evil in their 
stead  pestilence, perhaps. Teach your children this, if you 
hear them complain of anything to which Providence has given 
life and an errand among us. The cocoa walks at Plaisance  
are they fenced to the north p " 
" Completely. The new wood has sprung up from the ashes 
of the fires, like a mist from the lake." 
"Are the cottages enlarged and divided, as I recommended?" 
" Universally. Every cottage inhabited by a family has now 
two rooms, at least. As your excellency also desired, the culti- 
vators have spent their leisure hours in preparing furniture  
from bedsteads to baskets. As the reports will explain, there are 
some inventions which it is hoped will be inspected by your 
excellency  particularly a ventilator, to be fixed iu the roofs 
of cottages ; a broad shoe for walking over the salt marshes ; 
and " 
" The cooler," prompted a voice from behind. 
" And a new kind of cooler, which preserves liquids, and even 
meats, for a longer time than any previously known to the richest 
planter in the island. This discovery does great credit to the 
sagacity of the labourer who has completed it." 
" I will come and view it. I hoto visit all our cultivators 
to verify your reports with my own eyes. At present, we are 
compelled, like the Romans, to go from arms to the plough, and 
from the plough to arms ; but, when possible, I wish to show 
that I am not a negro of the coast, with my eye ever abroad upon 
the sea, or on foreign lands. I desire that we should make use 
of our own means for our own welfare. Everything that is good 
shall be welcomed from abi-oad as it arrives ; but the liberty of 
the blacks can be secured only by the prosperity of their agri- 
culture." 
" I do not see why not by fisheries," observed Paul, to the 
  
I  
party in tlie piazza, as he caugM his brother's words. " If Tons- 
saint is not fond of fish, he should remember that other people 
are." 
" He means," said Therese, " that toil, peaceful toil, with its 
hope, and its due fruit, is best for the blacks. Now, you know, 
Paul L'Ouverture, that if the fields of the ocean had required as 
much labour as those of the plain, you would never have been 
a fisherman." 
" It is pleasanter on a hot day to dive than to dig ; and easier 
to draw the net for an hour than to cut canes for a day  is it 
not, uncle p " asked Aimee. 
" If the Oommander-in-chief thinks toil good for us," said 
Moyse, " why does he disparage war ? Who knows better than 
he what are the fatigues of a march  and the wearisomeness 
of an ambush is greater stiR. Why does he, of aU men, dis- 
parage war ? " 
" Because," said Madame, "he thinks there has been enough 
hatred and fighting. I have to put him in mind of his own 
glory in war, or he would be always forgetting it  except, in- 
deed, when any one comes from Europe. When he hears of 
Bonaparte, he smiles ; and I know he is then glad that he is a 
soldier too." 
" Besides his thinking that there has been too much fight- 
ing,'' said Aimee, "he wishes that the people should labour 
joyfully in the very places where they used to toil in wretched- 
ness for the whites." 
Therese turned to listen, with fire in her eyes. 
" In order," continued Aimee, " that they may lose the sense 
of that misery, and become friendly towards the whites." 
Therese turned away again, languidly. 
"There are whites now entering," said Paul; "not foreigners, 
are they ? " 
"No," said Madame. " Surely they are Creoles ; yes, there 
is M. Gaze, and M. Hugonin, and M. Charrier. I think these 
gentlemen have all been reinstated in their properties since the 
last levee. Hear what they say." 
" We come," exclaimed aloud M. Gaze, the spokesman of the 
party of white planters ; " we come, overwhelmed with amaze- 
ment, penetrated with gratitude, to lay our thanks at your feet. 
AU was lost. The estates on which we were born, the lands 
bequeathed to us by our fathers, were wi-enched from our hands, 
ravaged, destroyed. We and our families fled some to the 
mountains  some to the woods  and many to foreign lands. 
Tour voice reached us, inviting us to our homes. We trusted 
that voice ; we find our lands restored to us, our homes secure, 
and the passions of war stilled, like this atmosphere after the 
storms of December. And to you do we owe aU to yon. 
  
TOUSSAINT'S MAGNANIMITY. IO 
possessed by a magnanimity of which we had not dared to 
dream ! " 
" These passions of war, of which you speak," said Toussaint, 
" need never have raged, if God had permitted the whites to 
dream what was in the souls of the blacks. Let the past now 
be forgotten. I have restored your estates because they were 
yours ; but I also perceive advantages in your restoration. By 
circumstances  not by nature, but by circumstances  the whites 
have been able to acquire a wide intelligence, a depth of know- 
ledge, from which the blacks have been debarred. I desire for 
the blacks a perpetual and friendly intercourse with those who 
are their superiors in education. As residents, therefore, you 
are welcome ; and your security and welfare shall be my care. 
You find your estates peopled with cultivators P " 
"We do." 
" And you understand the terms on which the labour of your 
fellow-citizens may be hired ? Tou have only to secure to them 
one-fourth of the produce, and you will, I believe, be well served. 
If yon experience cause of complaint, your remedy will be found 
in an appeal to the superintendent of cultivators of the district, 
or to myself. Over the cultivators no one else, I now intimate 
to you, has authority." 
The gentlemen bowed, having nothing to say on this head. 
" It may be in your power," continued Toussaint, after apply- 
ing to his secretary for a paper from the mass on the table  
" it may be in your power to do a service to the colony, and to 
individuals mentioned in this paper, by affording information as 
to where they are to be found, if alive ; which of them are dead ; 
and which of the dead have left heirs. Many estates remain 
unclaimed. The list is about to be circulated in the colony, in 
France, and in the United States. If you should chance to be 
in correspondence with any of the owners or their heirs, make 
it known to them from me that they will be welcome here, as 
yon are. In the mean time we are taking the best care in our 
power of their estates. They must rebuild such of their houses 
as have been destroyed ; but their lands are cultivated under a 
commission, a part of the produce being assigned to the cultiva- 
tors, the rest to the public treasury." 
Toussaint read the list, watching, as did every one present, 
the countenances of the Creoles as each name was pronounced. 
They had information to offer respecting one or two only ; to the 
rest they gave sighs or mournful shakes of the head. 
" It is afflicting to us all," said Toussaint, "to think of the 
slaughter and exile of those who drank wine together in the 
white mansions of yonder plain. But a wiser cheerfulness is 
henceforth to spread its sunshine over our land, with no tempest 
brewing in its heats." 
  
  
" Have we heard the whole list ? " asked M. Charrier, 
auxiouslj. 
''All excethree, whose owners or agents have been already 
summoned. These three are, the Athens estate, M. Dank ; the 
Breda estate, the attorney of which, M. Bayou " 
" Is here ! " cried a Toice from the lower part of the room. 
" I landed just now," exclaimed Bayou, hastening with extended 
arms to embrace Toussaint ; " and I lose not a moment " 
" Gently, sir," said the Commander-in-chief, drawing back 
two steps. " There is now a greater distance between me and 
you than there once was between you and me. There can be no 
familiarity with the chief of a newly-redeemed race." 
M. Bayou fell back, looking in every face around him, to see 
what was thought of this. Every face was grave. 
''I sent for you," resumed Toussaint, in a mild voice, ''to 
put you at the head of the interests of the good old masters ;  
for the good alone have been able to return. Show us what can 
be done with the Breda estate, with free labourers. Make the 
blacks work well. Be not only just, but firm. Ton were for- 
merly too mild a master. Make the blacks work well, that, by 
the welfare of your small interests, you may add to the general 
prosperity of the administration of the Commander-in-chief of 
St. Domingo." 
M. Bayou had no words ready. He stared round him upon 
the black officers iu their splendid uniforms, upon the trains of 
liveried servants, handing coffee and fruits and sangaree on 
trays and salvers of massive silver, and on the. throng of visitors 
who crowded upon one another's heels, all anxious, not merely 
to pay their respects, but to offer their enthusiastic homage at 
the feet of his former slave. His eye at length fixed upon the 
windows, through which he saw something of the outline of the 
group of ladies. 
" Ton desire to greet Madame L'Ouverture P " said Toussaint, 
kindly. "Tou shall be conducted to her." And one of the 
aides stepped forward to perform the office of introducer. 
M. Bayou pulled from his pocket, on his way to the window, 
a shagreen jewel-case ; and, by the time he was in front of 
Madame he had taken from it a rich gold chain, which he hung 
on her neck, saying, with a voice and air strangely made up of 
jocoseness, awkwardness, and deference  
" I have not forgotten, you see, though I suppose you have, 
what you gave me, one day long ago. I tried to bring back 
something prettier than  carried away  something for each of 
you  butI don't know  I find everything here so different 
from what I had any idea of so very strange  that I am afraid 
you win despise my little presents." 
While speaking, he shyly held out little parcels to Gnifrede 
  
M. bayou's surpkisb. ios 
and Aime, who received them graciously, while their mother 
replied  
" In those old days, M. Bayou, we had nothing really our own 
to give; and yon deserved from us any aid that was in our 
power. My daughters and I now accewith pleasure the tokens 
of friendship that you bring. I hono changes have taken 
place which need prevent our being friends, M. Bayou." 
He scarcely heard her. 
"Is it possible," cried he, "that these can be your girls P 
Aimee I might have known  but can this lady be Genifrode H " 
Genifrede looked up with a smile, which perplexed him still 
further. 
" I do not know that I ever saw a smile from her before ; and 
she would not so much as lift up her head at one of my jokes. One 
could never gain her attention with anything but a ghost story. 
But I see how it is," he added, stooping, and speaking low to her 
mother, while he glanced at Moyse  " she has learned at last the old 
song that she womd not listen to when I wanted to tell her fortune :  
' Your heart's your own this summer day ; 
To-morrow 'twill be changed away.' 
And Aimee  is she married ? " 
" Aimee is a widow  at least, so we call her,'' said her 
mother, smiling. " Isaac (you remember Placide and Isaac)  
her brother Isaac is aU the world to her ; and he is far away." 
Aimee's eyes were full of tears in a moment ; but she looked 
happy, as she always did when Isaac was spoken of as her own 
peculiar friend. 
" I was going to ask about your boys," said Bayou. " The 
little fellow who used to ride the horses to water, almost before 
he could walk aloue  he and his brothers, where are they P " 
"Denis is with his tutor, in the palace here. Placide and 
Isaac are at Paris." 
" At Paris ! For education ? " 
" Partly so." 
" And partly," interposed Paul, " for an object in which you, 
sir, have an interest, and respecting which you ought, therefore, 
to be informed. There are those who represent my brother's 
actions as the result of personal ambition. Such pei'sons have 
perpetually accused him to the French Government as desiring 
to sever the connection between the two races, and therefore 
between this colony and France. At the moment when these 
charges were most strongly urged, and most nearly believed, my 
brother sent his two elder sons to Paris, to be educated for their 
future duties under the care of the Directory. I hope, sir, you 
see in this act a guarantee for the safety and honour of the whites 
in St. Domingo." 
  
  
" Certainly, certainly. AH very right  very satisfactory." 
" Everybody who understands, thinks all that the Commander- 
in-chief does quite right," said Madame, with so much of her old 
tone and manner as made Bayou ready to laugh. He turned to 
Paul, saying  
" May I ask if yon are the brother who used to reside on the 
northern coast  if I remember right ? " 
"  am. I am Paul  Paul L'Ouverture." He sighed as he 
added, "I do not live on the northern coast now. I am going 
to live on the southern coast  in a palace, instead of my old 
hut." 
"M. Bayou will see  M. Bayou will hear,'' interrupted 
Madame, " if he will stay out the levee. Ton will not leave us 
to-day, M. Bayou ? " 
M. Bayou bowed. He then asked if he had the pleasure of 
any acquaintance with the other lady, who had not once turned 
round since he arrived. Therese had indeed sat with her face 
concealed for some time past. 
" Do not ask her," said Aimee, eagerly, in a low voice. " We 
do not speak to her of old times. She is Madame Dessalines." 
" The lady of General Dessalines," said Madame. " Shall I 
introduce you P " 
She called to Therese. Therese just turned round to notice 
the introduction, when her attention was called another way by 
two officers, who brought her some message from Toussaint. 
That one glance perplexed M. Bayou as much as anything he 
had seen. That beautiful face and form were not new to him ; 
but he had only a confused impression as to where and when he 
had seen them. He perceived, however, that he was not to ask. 
He followed her with his eyes as she rose from her low seat, and 
placed herself close by one of the open jalousies, so as to hear 
what passed within. 
" It is the English deputation," said Paul. " Hear what my 
brother wiU say." 
" What will become of them ? " said Madame. " I do not 
know what would become of me if my husband were ever as 
angry with me as I know he is with them." 
There were indeed signs of wrath in the countenance which 
was commonly gentle as the twilight. The rigid uprightness of 
his figure, the fiery eye, the distended nostril, aU showed that 
Toussaint was struggling with anger. Before him stood a group 
of Englishmen  a sailor holding a wand, on which was fixed a 
small white banner, two gentlemen in plain clothes, the captain 
of the frigate which rode in the bay, and a colonel of the English 
trooin Jamaica. 
" It is all very well, gentlemen," Toussaint was saying  " it 
is all very well as regards the treaty. Twenty-four hours ago 
  
THE ENGLISH DEPUTATION. IO 
we should have had no difficulty in concluding it. But what 
have you to say to this treatment of women on board the schooner 
you captured ? What have you to say to your act of taking all 
the gentlemen out of your prize (exceone who would not quit 
his sister), leaving the ladies in charge of a brutal prize-master, 
who was drunk  was it not so P " he added, turning to one of his 
officers. 
" It was : he was drunk, and refused the ladies access to their 
trunks of clothes, denied them the wine left for their use, and 
alarmed them extremely by his language. These ladies were 
wives of our most distinguished officers." 
" It matters not whose wives they were," said Toussaiut : 
" they were women ; and I wiU treat with none who thus show 
themselves not to be men." 
" We do not ask you to treat with my prize-master," said 
Captain Reynolds. " If it be true " 
" It is true," said a voice from the window, to which aU lis- 
tened in a moment. "My maid and I were on board that 
schooner ; from which we landed four hours ago. It is true that 
we were confined to the cabin, denied the refreshments that were 
before our eyes, and the use of our own clothes ; and it is true 
that the oaths and threats of a drunken man were in our eai-s all 
night. When morning came, we looked out to see if we were 
really in the seas of St. Domingo. It seemed as if we had been 
conveyed where the whites are still paramount." And Th&ese 
indignantly walked away. 
" You hear ! " said Toussaint. " And you ask me to trade 
with Jamaica ! While permitted to obtain provisions from our 
coast, you have captured a French schooner and a sloop in our 
seas ; you have insulted our women ; and now you propose a 
treaty ! If it were not for that banner, you would have to treat 
for mercy." 
" When shall I be permitted to speak ? " asked Captain 
Reynolds. 
"Now." 
" The blame is mine, I appointed a prize-master, who, it now 
appears, was not trustworthy. I was not aware of this ; and I 
left in the cabin, for the use of the ladies, -all their own property, 
two cases of wine, and such fruits as I could obtain for them. I 
lament to find that my confidence was misplaced ; and I pledge 
myself that the prize-master shall be punished. After offering 
my apologies to the ofEended ladies, I will retire to my shi
leaving this business of the treaty to appear as unconnected as 
it really is with this mischance. Allow me to be conducted to 
the presence of the ladies." 
" I will charge myself with your apologies," said Toussaint, 
who knew that any white stood a small chance of a good 
  
I  
reception from Therese. " I acceyour acknowledgment of error, 
Captain Reynolds, and shall be ready to proceed witli the treaty, 
on proof of the punishment of the prize-master. Gentlemen, I 
regard this treaty with satisfaction, and am willing to enclose 
this small tract of peace in the midst of the dreary wilderness 
of war. I am willing to see trade established between Jamaica 
and St. Domingo. There are days when your blue mountains 
are seen from our shores. Let to-morrow be a bi-ight day when 
no cloud shall hide us from one another's friendship." 
"To-morrow," the deputation from Jamaica agreed, as they 
bowed themselves out of the presence of the Commander-in-chief. 
" More English ! more English ! " was whispered round, when 
the name of Gauthier was announced. 
" No ; not English," observed some, on seeing that the five 
who now entered, though in the English uniform, were mulattoes. 
" Not English," said Toussaint, aloud. " English soldiers 
are honourable, whether as friends or foes. When we meet with 
the spying eye, and the bribing hand, we do not believe them to 
be English. Such are the eyes and hands of these men. They 
have the audacity to present themselves as guests, when their 
own hearts should tell them they are prisoners." 
" Prisoners ! " exclaimed Gauthier and his companions. 
" Tes, surely  prisoners. Tour conduct has already been 
judged by a military commission, and you are sentenced. If 
you have more to say than you had to plead to me, say it when I 
have read." 
Toussaint took from among the papers on the table a letter 
brought, as Gauthier alleged, from the English commander. Sir 
Thomas Brisbane, declaring Gauthier empowered to treat for the 
delivery to the British of the posts of Gonaives, Les Verrettes, 
and some others, in order to secure to the British the freedom of 
the windward passage. Toussaint declared that the messengers 
had brought with them bags of money, with which they had 
endeavoured to bribe him to this treachery. He asked of them 
if this were not true. 
" It is," said Gauthier ; " but we and our authorities acted 
upon the precedent of your former conduct." 
" What former conduct P Did these hands ever receive gold 
from the cofBers of an enemy ? Speak freely. Tou shall not 
suffer from anything you may say here." 
" Tou have been the means by which posts have been delivered 
to an enemy. We remember hearing of the surrender of Mar- 
malade, Gros Mome, and some others." 
" I was the means, as you say ; but it was done by a wiser 
will and a stronger hand than mine. In that transaction my 
heart was pure. My design was to lose rank, and to return to 
poverty by the step I took. Tou ought to have inquired into 
  
MULATTOES SENTENCED. I 
facts, clearly understood by all who know me, before yon pro- 
ceeded to insult me. Have you more to say ? " 
" It was natural tbat we should believe that he through whom 
posts had been delivered would deliver posts again; and this 
was confirmed by rumours, and I believe, even by letters which 
seemed to come from yourself, in relation to the posts now in 
question." 
Gauthier appealed to his companions, who all assented. 
" There are other rumours concerning me," said Toussaint, 
" which could not be perverted ; and to these you should have 
listened. My actions are messages addressed to the whole world 
letters which cannot be forged ; and these alone you should 
have trusted. Such misunderstanding as yours could hardly 
have been foreseen ; but it will be my fault if it be repeated. 
The name of the First of the Blacks must never again be 
associated with bribery. Tou are sentenced by a military com- 
mission, before which your documents have been examined, to 
run the gauntlet. The sentence will immediately be executed 
in the Place d'Armes." 
"Are you aware," cried Gauthier, " that I was second in com- 
mand at St. Marc when it was in the possession of the British ? " 
" I am aware of it." 
" This is enmity to our colour," said another. " To our being 
mulattoes we owe our disgrace." 
"I have beloved friends of your colour," said Tonssaiut. 
" Believe me, however, the complexion of your souls is so 
disgusting that I have no attention to spare for your faces. 
Tou must now depart." 
" Change our punishment ! " said Gauthier. " Consider that 
I am an emigrant officer. Some other punishment ! " 
" No other," said Toussaint. " This is the fit punishment  
mean as your design  ridicxdous as your attempt. Are the 
Trench Commissaries in waiting, Laroche P Let them be 
announced." 
The prisoners were removed by one door, while the imposing 
party from France entered by the other. 
Commissary Hedouville, who had been for some time resident 
at Cap Franais, entered, followed by a party of his countrymen, 
just arrived from Paris. There was among them one, at sight of 
whom Toussaint's countenance changed, while an exclamation 
was heard from the piazza, which showed that his family were 
moved like himself. The person who excited this emotion was 
a young black officer, who entered smiling, and as if scarcely 
able to keep his place behind the Commissary, and General 
Michel, the head of the new deputation. 
The Commander-in-chief quitted his station, and advanced 
some steps, seizing the officer's hand, and askingr eagerly  
  
no  
" Vincent ! * Why here ? My boys  how, where are 
they?" 
" They are well : both well and hapin our beloved Paris. 
I am here with General Michel ; sent by the government, with 
gifts and compliments, which " 
" Which we will speak of when I have offered my welcome 
to these representatives of the government we all obey," said 
Toussaint, turning to the Commissary and the General, and 
remembering that his emotions as a father had caused him, for 
the moment, to lose sight of the business of the hour. He made 
* I have to aokaowledge that injustiis done in this work to the cha- 
racter of General Viaoent. The writer of historical fiction is under that 
serious liability, in seizing on a few actual incidents, concerning a subor- 
dinate personage, that he makes himself responsible for justice to the 
whole character of the individual whose name he iutroduces into his 
story. Under this liability I have been unjust to Vincent, as Scott was 
to Edward Christian, in " Peveril of the Peak," and Campbell to Brandt, 
in " Gertrude of Wyoming." Like them, I am anxious to make repar- 
ation on the first opportimity. It is true that in my Appendix I avowed 
that Vincent was among those of my personages whose name alone I 
adopted, without knowing his character ; but such an explanation in an 
appendix does not counteract the impression already made by the work. 
Finding this, I had thoughts of changing the name in the present edition ; 
but I feared the character being still identified with Vincent, from its 
being fact that it was Vincent who accompanied Toussaint's sons to 
Paris, and returned with the deputation, as I have represented ; I think 
it best, therefore, to say here that, from all I can learn, General Vincent 
was an honourable and useful man, and that the delineation of character 
under that name in my book is purely fictitious. The following extract 
from Clarkson's pamphlet on Negro Improvement will show in what 
estimation GenertU Vincent is held by one whose testimony is of the 
highest value :  
"The next witness to whom I shall appeal is the estimable General 
Vincent, who now lives at Paris, though at an advanced age. He was a 
Colonel, and afterwards a General of Brigade of Artillery in St. Domingo. 
He was detained there during the time both of Santhonax and Toussaint. 
He was also a proprietor of estates in the island. He was the man who 
planned the renovation of its agriculture after the abolition of slavery, 
and one of the great instruments in bringing it to the perfection men- 
tioned by La Croix. In the year  he was called upon by Toussaint 
to repair to Paris, to lay before the Directory the new Constitution, 
which had been agreed on in St. Domingo. He obeyed the summons. 
It happened that he arrived in France just at the moment of the Peace 
of Amiens. Here he found, to his inexpressible surprise and grief, that 
Bonaparte was preparing an immense armament, under Leclero, to 
restore slavery in St. Domingo. He remonstrated against the expedition : 
he told him to his face that though the army destined for this purpose 
was composed of the brilliant conquerors of Europe, they could do 
nothing m the Antilles. He stated, as another argument against the 
expedition, that it was totally unnecessary, and, therefore, criminal ; for 
that everything was going on. well in St. Domingo ; the proprietors in 
peaceable possession of their estates, cultivation making rapid progress, 
the Blacks mdustrious, and beyond example happy," 
  
HONOURS FROM FRANCE. Ill 
himself the usher of the French Oommissaries to the sofa, in 
front of which he had himself been standing. There he would 
have seated Hdouville and General Michel. Hedouville threw 
himself down willingly enough; but the newly arrived mes- 
senger chose to stand. 
" I come," said he, " the bearer to you of honours from the 
Republic, which I delight to present as the humblest of your 
servants.  Not a word of apology for your graceful action of 
welcome to Brigadier- General Vincent ! Wliat so graceful as 
the emotions of a parent's heart ? I understand  I am aware  
he went out as the guardian of your sons ; and your first wel- 
come was, therefore, due to him. The office of guai'dian of your 
sons is, ought to be, in your eyes, more important, more sacred, 
than that of Commissary, or any other. If our national 
Deliverer  if the conqueror of Italy  if our First Consul himself 
were here, he ought to step back while you embrace the guardian 
of your sons." 
The party in the piazza saw and heard all. 
"If," said Madame, in a whisper to Genifrede, "if these 
honours that they speak of come from Bonaparte  if he has 
answered your father's letter, your father wiU think his happiness 
complete  now we know that the boys are well." 
" The First Consul has written, or will write, no doubt," said 
Aimee. " It must be pleasant to him as to my father, to greet 
a brother in destiny and in glory. Surely General Vincent will 
come and speak to us ; will tell us of my brothers ! He looked 
this way just now." 
" The First Consul wiU not write," said Moyse. " He is a 
white ; and therefore, though a brother in destiny and in glory, 
he will not notice the Commander-in-chief of St. Domingo." 
" Tou are right, Moyse," said Madame Dessalines. '' And it 
is best so." 
" But that will disappoint my husband very much," said 
Madame. '' He likes the whites better than you do." 
' He does," said Therese. " But let us listen." 
Hedouville was at the moment exerting himself to iutroduco 
his secretary, M. Pascal. 
" An honoured name," observed Toussaint. 
"And not only in name, but by blood connected with the 
great man you refer to," said Hedouville. 
" None are more welcome here," said Toussaint, " than those 
who bring with them the honours of piety, of reason, and of 
science." And he looked with deep interest upon the counte- 
nance of the secretary, which did in truth show signs of that 
thoughtfulness and sagacity, though not of the morbid sufPering, 
which is associated in all minds with the image of the author of 
the Provinciales. M, Pascal returned the gaze which was fixed 
  
  
upon him with one in which intense curiosity was mingled with 
doubt, if not fear. His countenance immediately, however, 
relaxed into an expression of pleased surprise. During this 
brief moment, these two men, so unlike  the elderly, toil-worn 
negro, and the young, studious rrenchman f elt that they were 
friends. 
M. Pascal stepped aside to make way for M. Moliere. 
"Are we to welcome in you," asked Toussaint, " a messenger 
of mirth to our society ? " 
The group of Frenchmen could scarcely restrain their laughter 
at this question. M. Moliere had a most lugubrious countenance 
a thing not always inconsistent with a merry humour : but 
M. Moliere's heart was believed never to have laughed, any 
more than his face. He answered, as if announcing a misfor- 
tune, that he claimed no connection with the dramatist, though 
he believed some of his family had attempted to do so. 
" M. Moliere discharges the duty of a pious descendant, 
however," said Vincent. " He laughs himself into such a state 
of exhaustion every night over those immortal comedies, that 
he has to be carried to bed. That is the reason we see him so 
grave in the morning." 
" Think of M. Moliere as a trusted secretary of the messenger 
from the republic to yourself," said General Michel. 
" I come," said Michel, assuming a pompous tone, " I come 
associated with an officer of the republican army, M. Petion  a 
native of this colony, but a stranger to yourself." 
M. Potion paid his respects. He was a mulatto, with shy 
and reserved manners, and an exceedingly intellectual coun- 
tenance. 
" "We lost you early," said Toussaint ; " but only to offer you 
the warmer welcome back. It was, as I remember, to attend 
the military schools of Prance that you left your home. Such 
scholars are welcome here." 
" And particularly," observed Michel, " when they have also 
had the fortune to serve in the army of Italy, and immediately 
under the eye of the First Consul himself." 
" Is it so P Is it really so ? " exclaimed Toussaint. " I can 
never hear enoflgh of the ruler of France. TeU us but that 
must be hereafter. Do you come to me from him P " 
" From the government generally," replied Petion. 
An expression of disappointment, very evident to his watch- 
ful wife, passed over the face of Toussaint. 
" There is no letter," she whispered to Genifrede. 
" "We bring you from the government," said Michel, " a con- 
firmation of the dignity of Commander-in-chief of this colony, 
conferred by Commissary Santhonax." 
Toussaint bowed, but smiled not. 
  
TOUSSAINJ'S FAME IN EUROPE. II 
" See, he sighs ! " said Madame, sighing in echo. 
" These are empty words," said Theresa. " They give him 
only what they cannot withhold ; and at the very moment they 
surround him with spies." 
" He sajs," replied Madame, " that Hedouville is sent here 
' to restrain his ambition.' Those were the words spoken of 
Mm at Paris, where they will not believe that he has no selfish 
ambition." 
" They will not believe, because they cannot understand. 
Their Commander-in-chief has a selfish ambition ; and they can- 
not imagine that ours may be a man of a higher soul. But we 
cannot help it : they are whites." 
" What a dress  what a beautiful dress ! " exclaimed Madame, 
who almost condescended to stand fairly in the window, to see 
the presents now displayed before her husband by the commis- 
sary's servants. 
"These presents," pursued General Michel, while Potion 
stood aloof, as if he had no concern in the business  " this dress 
of embroidered velvet, and this set of arms, I am to present to 
you, in the name of the late Directory of France, in token of 
their admiration of your services to the colony." 
Toussaint stretched out his hand for the sword, which he 
immediately assumed instead of the one he wore, observing that 
this sword, like that which he had now laid aside, should be 
employed in loyal service to the republic. As he took no notice 
of the embroidered dress, it was conveyed away. 
" Not only in the hall of government,'' resumed Michel  
" but throughout all Europe, is your name ringing to the skies. 
A eulogium has been delivered at the Council of Ancients " 
" And an oration before the governors of the Military Schools," 
added HdouviUe. 
" And from Paris," said Pascal, " your reputation has spread 
along the shores of the Rhine, and as far north as St. Peters- 
burg ; and in the south,even to Rome." 
Toussaint's ear caught a low laugh of delight from the piazza, 
which he thought fit alone for a husband's ear, and therefore 
hoped that no one else had heard. 
"Enough, gentlemen," he said. "Measuring together my 
deeds and this applause, I understand the truth. This applause 
is in fact given to the powers of the negro race ; and not to 
myself as a soldier or a man. It belongs not, therefore, to me. 
For my personal support, one line of a letter, one word of mes- 
sage, from the chief of our common country, would be worth the 
applause of Europe, of wliich you speak." 
M. Petion produced a sealed packet, which he delivered; 
and this seemed to remind General Vincent that he had one too. 
Toussaint was unable to refrain from tearing open first one, and 
  
  . 
then the other, in the intense hoof receiving some acknow- 
ledgment, some greeting from the '.' brother in destiny and in 
glory," who was the idol of his loyal heart. There was no word 
from Bonaparte among the first papers ; and it was scarcely 
possible that there should be in the other packet ; yet he could 
not keep his eye from it. Other eyes were watching from behind 
the jalousies. He cast a glance, a half smile that way ; the con- 
sequence of which was that Aimee, forgetting the time, the 
deputation, the officers, the whole crowd, sprang into the room, 
and received the letter from Isaac, which was the only thing in 
aU that room that she saw. She disappeared in another 
moment, followed, however, by General Vincent. 
The father's smUe died away from the face of Toussaint, and 
his brow darkened, as he caught at a glance the contents of the 
proclamations contained in Petion's packet. A glance was 
enough. Before the eyes of the company had returned from 
the window, whither they had followed the apparition of Aimee, 
he had folded up the papers. His secretary's hand was ready 
to receive them : but Toussaint put them into his bosom. 
" Those proclamations," said Hedouville, rising from the sofa, 
and standing by Toussaint's side, " you will immediately publish. 
You will immediately exhibit on your colours the words imposed, 
' Brave blacks, remember that the French people alone recognise 
your freedom, and the legality of your rights ! ' " 
As the commissary spoke these words aloud, he looked round 
upon the assembled blacks, who, in their turn, all fixed their 
eyes upon their chief. Toussaint merely replied that he would 
give his best attention to all communications from the govern- 
ment of France. 
" In order," said Hedouville, as if in explanation of a friend's 
purposes, '' in order to yield implicit obedience to its commands." 
Then resuming his seat, he observed to Toussaint, " I believe 
General Michel desires some little explanation of certain circum- 
stances attending his landing at Cap." 
" I do," said General Michel, resuming his solemn air. "You 
are aware that General Vincent and I were arrested on land- 
ingP" 
" I am aware of it. It was by my instant command that you 
were set free." 
" By whose command, or by what error, then, were we 
arrested ? " 
" I hoped that fuU satisfaction had been afforded you by M. 
Raymond, the Governor of Cap Franais. Did he not explain 
to you that it was by an impulse of the irritated blacks  an 
impulse of which they repent, and to which they will not again 
yield, proceeding from anger for which there is but too much 
cause P As you, however, are not to be made responsible for the 
  
BROTHERS IN DESTINY. II 
faults of your government towards us, the offending parties have 
been amply punished." 
" I," said HedouviUe, from the sofa behind, " I am held re- 
sponsible for the faults of our government towards you. What 
are they ? " 
" We will discuss them at Cap," replied Toussaint. " There 
you will be surrounded by trooof your own colour ; and you 
will feel more at liberty to open your whole mind to me than, it 
grieves me to perceive, you are when surrounded by blacks. 
When you know the blacks better, you will become aware that 
the highest security is found in fully trusting them." 
" What is it that, you suppose we fear from the blacks ? " 
" When we are at CaI will ask you what it was that you 
feared, M. HedouviUe, when yon chose to land at St. Domingo, 
instead of at Cawhen you showed your mistrust of your 
fellow-citizens by selecting the Spanish city for your point of 
entrance upon our island. I will then ask you what it is that 
your government fears, that it commits the interests of the blacks 
to a new legislature, which understands neither their temper nor 
their affairs." 
" This was, perhaps, the cause of the difiB.calty we met with 
at Cap," observed General Michel. 
" It is the chief cause. Some jealousy on this account is not 
to be wondered at ; but it has not the less been punished. I 
would further ask," he continued, turning again to HedouviUe, 
" what the First Consul fears, that " 
" Who ever heard of the First Consul fearing anything ? " 
cried HedouviUe, with a smile. 
" Hear it now, then." 
" In this place P " said HedouviUe, looking round. " In 
public ? " 
"In this place  among the most loyal of the citizens of 
France," replied Toussaint, casting a proud look round upon his 
officers and assembled friends. If I were about to make com- 
plaints of the First Consul, I would close my doors upon you and 
myself, and speak in whispers. But it is known that I honour 
him, and hold him to my heart, as a brother in destiny and in 
glory : though his glory is now at its height, while mine will 
not be so tiU my race is redeemed from the consequences of 
slavery, as weU as from slavery itself. StUl, we are brothers ; 
and I therefore mourn his fears, shown in the documents that 
he sends to my soldiers, and shown no less in his sending none 
to me." 
" I bring you from him the confirmation of your dignity," 
observed General Michel. 
" You do so by message. The honour is received through the 
ear. But that which should plant it down into my heart  the 
H  
  
Il  
greeting from a brother  is wanting. It cannot be that the First 
of the Whites has not time, has not attention, for the First of 
the Blacks. It is that he fears not for himseK, but for our 
country: he fears our ambition, our revenge. He shall experience, 
however, that we are loyal  from myself, his brother, to the 
mountain child who startles the vulture from the rocks with his 
shouts of Bonaparte the Great. To engage our loyalty before 
many witnesses," he continued, once more looking round upon 
the assemblage, " I send this message through you, in return for 
that which I have received. Tell the First Consul that, in the 
absence of interference with the existing laws of the colony, I 
guarantee, under my personal responsibility, the submission to 
order, and the devotion to France, of my black brethren. Mark 
the condition, gentlemen, which you will pronounce reasonable. 
Mark the condition, and you will find hapresults. Ton will 
soon see whether I pledge in vain my own responsibility and 
your hopes." 
Even while he spoke, in all the f ervom* of unquestionable 
sincerity, of his devotion to France, his French hearers felt that 
he was virtually a monarch. The First of the Blacks was not- 
only supreme in this palace, and throughout the colony ; he had 
entered upon an immortal reign over all lands trodden by the 
children of Africa. To the contracted gaze of the diplomatists 
present, aU might not be visible  the coming ages when the 
now prophetic name of L'Ouverture should have become a bright 
fact in the history of man, and should be breathed in thanks- 
giving under the palm-tree, sung in exultation in the cities 
of Africa, and embalmed in the liberties of the Isles of the 
West :  such a sovereignty as this was too vast and too distant 
for the conceptions of Michel and Hdouville to embrace ; but 
they were impressed with a sense of his power, with a feeling of 
the majesty of his influence ; and the reverential emotions which 
they would fain have shaken off, and which they were after- 
wards ashamed of, were at the present moment enhanced by 
sounds which reached them from the avenue. There was 
military music, the firing of salutes, the murmur of a multitude 
of voices, and the tramp of horses and of men. 
Toussaint courteously invited the commissaries to witness the 
presentation to him, for the interests of France, of the keys of 
the cities of the island, late in the possession of Spain, and now 
ceded to France by the treaty of Bale. The commissaries could 
not refuse, and took their stand on one side of the First of the 
Blacks, while Paul L'Ouverture assumed the place of honour on 
the other hand. 
The apartment was completely filled by the heads of the 
procession the late Governor of the city of St. Domingo, his 
officers, the magistracy of the city, and the heads of the clergy, 
  
CESSION OF ST. DOMINGO.    
Among these last was a face which Toussaint recognised with 
strong emotion. The look which he cast upon Laxahou, the 
gesture of greeting which he offered, caused Don Alonzo Dovaro 
to turn round to discover whose presence there could be more 
imposing to the Oommander-in-chief than his own. The iiushed 
countenance of the priest marked him out as the man. 
Don Alonzo Dovaro ordered the keys to be brought, and ad- 
dressed himself in Spanish to Toussaint. Toussaint did not 
understand Spanish, and knew that the Spaniard could speak 
French. The Spaniard, however, chose to deliver up a Spanish 
city in no other language than that of his nation. Father Lax- 
abon stepped forward eagerly, with an offer to be interpreter. 
It was an opportunity he was too thankful to embrace  a most 
favourable means of surmounting the awkwardness of renewed 
intercourse with one, by whom their last conversation could not 
be supposed to be forgotten. 
" This is well  this fulfilment of the treaty of Bale,'' said 
Toussaint. " But it would have been better if the fulfilment 
had been more prompt. The time for excuses and apologies is 
past. I merely say, as sincerity requires, that the most speedy 
fulfilment of treaties is ever the most honourable ; and that I 
am guiltless of such injury as may have arisen from calling off 
ten thousand blacks from the peaceful pursuits of agriculture 
and commerce, to march them to the gates of St. Domingo. 
Tou, the authorities of the city, compelled me to lead them 
there, in enforcement of the claims of France. If warlike 
thoughts have sprung up in those ten thousand minds, the re- 
sponsibility is not mine. I wish that nothing but peace should 
be in the hearts of men of all races. Have you wishes to express, 
in the name of the citizens? Show me how I can gratify them." 
" Don Alonzo Dovaro explains," said the interpreter, " that 
it vnll be acceptable to the Spanish inhabitants that you take the 
customary oath, in the name of the Holy Trinity, respecting the 
government of their whole region." 
" It is indeed a holy duty. What is the purport of the 
oath?" 
" In the name of the Holy Trinity, to govern wisely and weU." 
" Has there lived a Christian man who would take that oath ? " 
" Every governor of the Spanish colony in this island, from 
Diego, the brother of Columbus, to this day." 
"What is human wisdom," said Toussaint, "that a man 
should swear that he will be always wise ? What is human 
virtue, that he should pledge his salvation on governing well ? 
I dare net take the oath." 
The Spaniards showed that they understood French by the 
looks they cast upon each other, before Laxabon could complete 
his version. 
  
Il  
" This, however, will I do," said Toussaint. " I will meet 
you to-morrow, at the great church in Port-au-Prince, and there 
bind myself before the altar, before the God who hears me now, 
on behalf of your people, to be silent on the past, and to employ 
my vigilance and my toils in rendering hapthe Spanish people, 
now become my fellow-citizens of France." 
A profusion of obeisances proved that this was satisfactory. 
The late governor of the city took from one of his officers the 
velvet cushion on which were deposited the keys of St. Domingo, 
and transferred it to the hands of the Commander-in-chief. At 
the moment, there was an explosion of cannon from the terrace 
on which stood the town ; the bells rang in aU the churches ; and 
bursts of military music spread over the calm bay, with the 
wreaths of white smoke from the guns. The flamingoes took 
flight again from the strand ; the shimoved in their anchorage ; 
the shouts of the people arose from the town, and those of the 
soldiery from the square of the great avenue. Their idol, their 
Ouverture, was now in command of the whole of the most 
beautiful of the isles of the west. 
As soon as he could be heard, Toussaint introduced his brother 
to the Spaniards. Placing the cushion containing the keys upon 
the table, and laying his hand upon the keys, he declared his 
intention of giving to the inhabitants of the city of St. Domingo 
a pledge of the merciful and gentle character of the government 
under which they were henceforth to live, in the person of the 
new governor, Paul L'Ouvertnre, who had never been known 
to remember unkindness from day to day. The new governor 
would depart for the east of the island on the morrow, from the 
door of the church, at the close of the celebration. 
The levde was now over. Spanish, French, and the family 
and guests of the Commander-in-chief, were to meet at a ban- 
quet in the evening. Meantime, Toussaint and his brother 
stepped out together upon the northern piazza, and the room 
was cleared. 
" I wish," said Paul, " that you had appointed amy one but 
me to be governor of that city. How should a poor negro 
fisherman lite me govern a city ? " 
" Tou speak like a white, Paul. The whites say of me, ' How 
should a poor negro postillion govern a colony ? ' Tou must do 
as I do  show that a negro can govern." 
" But Heaven made you for a ruler." 
" Who thought  while I was yet a slave ? As for you  I 
know not what you can do till you have tried j nor do you. I 
own that you are not the man I should have appointed, if I had 
had a choice among all kinds of men." 
" Then look around for some other." 
"There is no other, on the whole, so little unfit as you. 
  
THE GOVERNOR OF ST. DOMINGO. II 
Heuri must remaiu in the field while Rigaud is in arms. 
Jacques " 
" Ay, Dessalines  and he might have a court  such a wife 
as he would carry." 
" Dessalines must not govern a city of whites. He hates the 
whites. His passion of hatred would grow with power ; and the 
Spaniards would be wretched. They are now under my pro- 
tection. I must give them a governor who cannot liate ; and 
therefore I send you. Your love of our people and of me, my 
brother, will rouse you to exertion and self-denial. For the rest 
you shall have able counsellors on the spot. For your pr'vate 
guidance, I shall be ever at your call. Confide wholly in me, 
and your appeal shall never be unanswered." 
" Tou shall be governor, then. I will wear the robes, and 
your head shall do the work. I will amuse the inhabitants with 
water-parties, and you " 
" No more of this ! " said Toussaint, somewhat sternly. " It 
seems that you are unwilling to do your part of the great duty 
of our age and our race. Heaven has appointed you the oppor- 
tunity of showing that blacks are men  fit to govern as to serve; 
and you would rather sleep in the simshine than listen to the 
message from the sky. My own brother does what he can to 
deepen the brand on the forehead of the negro ! " 
" I am ashamed, brother," said Paul. " I am not like you ; 
but yet I will do what I can. I wiU go to-morrow, and try 
whether I can toil as you do. There is one thing I can do wliich 
Henri, and Jacques, and even you, cannot ;  I can speak Spanish." 
" Tou have discovered one of your qualifications, dear Paul. 
You will find more. Will you take Moyse with you P " 
" Let it be a proof that I can deny myself, that I leave my 
son with you. Moyse is passionate." 
" I know it," said Toussaint. 
"He governs both his love and his hatred before you, while 
with me he indulges them. He must remain with you, in order 
to command his passions. He inherited them from me ; and I 
must thus far help him to master them. You are all-powerful 
with him. I have no power." 
" You mean that Genifrede and I together are all-powerful 
with him. I believe it is so." 
" To you, then, I commit him. Moyse is henceforth your son." 
" As Genifrede is your daughter, Paul. If I die before the 
peace of the island is secured, there are two duties which I 
assign to you  to support the spirit of the blacks, and to take 
my G&ifrede for your daughter. The rest of my family love 
each other, and the world we live in. She loves only Moyse." 
"She is henceforth my child. But when will you marry 
them?" 
  
iO  
" When Moyse stall liave done some act to distinguisli him- 
self  for which he shall not want opportunity. I have a higher 
duty than that to my family  it is my duty to call out all the 
powers of every black. Moyse must therefore prove what he 
can do, before he can marry his love. For him, however, this is 
an easy condition." 
" I doubt not you are right, brother ; but it is well for me 
that the days of my love are past." 
" Not so, Paul. The honour of your race must now be youi* 
love. For this you must show what you can do." 
They had paced the northern piazza while conversing. They 
now turned into the eastern, where they came upon the lovers, 
who were standing half shrouded by creeping plants  Moyse's 
arm round G-enifrede's waist, and GdnifrSde's head resting on 
her lover's shoulder. The poor girl was sobbing violently, while 
Moyse was declaring that he would marry her, with or without 
consent, and carry her with him, if he was henceforth to live in 
the east of the island. 
" Patience, foolish boy ! " cried his father. " Tou go not with 
me. I commit you to my brother. Tou will stay with him, 
and yield him the duty of a son  a better duty than we heard 
you planning just now." 
" As soon as you prove yourself worthy, you shall be my son 
indeed," said Toussaint. " I have heard your plans of marriage. 
Tou shall hear mine. I wUl give you opportunities of distin- 
guishing yourself, in the services of the city and of the field. 
After the first act which proves you worthy of responsibility, I 
wiU give you Gnifrede. As a free man, can you desire more ? " 
"I am satisfied  I am grateful," said Moyse. "I believe I 
spoke some hasty words just now ; but we supposed I was to be 
sent among the whites  and I had so lately returned from the 
south  and Genifrede was so wretched ! " 
Genifrede threw herself on her father's bosom, with broken 
words of love and gratitude. It was the first time she had ever 
voluntarily approached so near him; and she presently drew 
back, and glanced in his face with timid awe. 
" My Genifrede ! My child ! " cried Toussaint, in a rapture 
of pleasure at this loosening of the heart. He drew her towards 
him, folded his arms about her, kissed the tears from her cheek, 
and hushed her sobs, saying, in a low voice which touched her 
very soul  
" He can do great deeds, G&ifrede. He is yours, my child ; 
but we shall all be proud of him." 
She looked up once more, with a countenance so radiant, that 
Toussaint carried into aU the toils and observance of the day 
the light heart of a hapfather. 
  
 
CHAPTER XI. 
l'etoile and its people. 
One radiant day of the sviooeeding spring, a party was seen in 
the plain of Oul-de-Sac, moving with such a train as showed 
that one of the principal families of the island was travelling. 
Rigaud and his forces were so safely engaged in the south, that 
the plain was considered secure from their incursions. Port-au- 
Prince, surrounded on three sides by hills, was now becoming so 
hot, that such of its inhabitants as had estates in the country 
were glad to retire to them, as soon as the roads were declared 
safe ; and among these were the family of the Oommander-in- 
chief, who, with tutors, visitors, and attendants, formed the 
group seen in the Oul-de-Sao this day. They were removing to 
their estate of Pongaudin, on the shores of the bay of Gonaves, 
a little to the north of the junction of the Artibonite with the 
sea ; but instead of travelling straight and fast, they intended 
to make a three days' journey of what might have been accom- 
plished in less than two  partly for the sake of the pleasure of 
the excursion, and partly to introduce their friends from Euro
to some of the beauties of the most beautiful island in the 
world. 
Madame L'Ouverture had had presents of European carriages, 
in which she did not object to take airings in the towns and 
their neighbourhood ; but nowhere else were the roads in a state 
to bear such heavy vehicles. In the sandy bridle-paths they 
would have sunk half their depth; in the green tracks they 
would have been caught in thickets of brambles and low boughs ; 
while many swamoccurred which could be crossed only by 
single horses, accustomed to pick their way in uncertain ground. 
The ladies of the colony, therefore, continued, as in all time 
past, to take their journeys on horseback, each attended by 
some one  a servant, if there were neither father, brother, nor 
lover  to hold the umbrella over her during rain, or the more 
oppressive hours of sunshine. 
The family of L'Ouverture had left the palace early, and were 
bound for an estate in the middle of the plain, where thoy in- 
tended to rest, either tiE evening, or till the next morning, as 
inclination might determine. As their train, first of horses, and 
then of mules, passed along, now under avenues of lofty palms, 
which constituted a deemoist shade in the midst of the glare 
of the morning  now across fields of sward, kegreen by the 
wells which were made to overflow them ; and now through 
swamwhere the fragrant flowering reeds reached up to the 
flanks of the horses, and courted the hands of the riders, the 
  
  
inliabitants of the region watched their progress, and gave them 
every variety of kindly greeting. The mother who was sitting 
at work under the tamarind- tree called her children down from 
its topmost branches to do honour to the travellers. Many a 
half-naked negro in the rice-grounds slipped from the wet plank 
on which, while gazing, he forgot his footing, and laughed his 
welcome from out of the mud and slime. The white planters 
who were taking their morning ride over their estates, bent to 
the saddle-bow, the large straw hat in hand, and would not 
cover their heads from the hot sun till the ladies had passed. 
These planters' wives and daughters, seated at the shaded win- 
dows, or in the piazzas of their houses, rose and curtsied deep 
to the ladies L'Ouverture. Many a little black head rose dri
ping from the clear waters, gleaming among the reeds, where 
negro children love to watch the gigantic dragon-flies of the 
tropics creeping from their sheaths, and to catch them as soon 
as they spread, their gauzy wings, and exhibit their gem-like 
bodies to the sunlight. Many a group of cultivators in the 
cane-grounds grasped their arms, on hearing the approach of 
numbers  taught thus by habitual danger  but swung back 
the gun across the shoulder, or tucked the pistol again into the 
belt, at sight of the ladies ; and then ran to the road- side to 
remove any fancied obstruction in the path ; or, if they could do 
no more, to smile a welcome. It was observable that, in every 
case, there was an eager glance, in the first place, of search for 
L'Ouverture himself; but when it was seen that he was not 
there, there was still all the joy that could be shown where he 
was not. 
The whole country was full of song. As M. Loisir, the archi- 
tect from Paris, said to Genifrede, it appeai-ed as if vegetation 
itself went on to music. The servants of their own party sang 
in the rear ; Moyse and Denis, and sometimes Denis' sisters, sang 
as they rode ; and if there was not song already on the track, it 
came from behind every flowering hedge  from the crown of the 
cocoa-nut tree  from the window of the cottage. The sweet 
wild note of the mocking-bird was awakened in its turn ; and 
from the depths of the tangled woods, where it might defy the 
human eye and hand, it sent forth its strain, shrill as the thrush, 
more various than the nightingale, and sweeter than the canary. 
But for the bird, the Spanish painter, Azua, would have su
posed that all this music was the method of reception of the 
family by the peasantry; but, on expressing his surprise to 
Aimee, she answered that song was as natural to St. Domingo, 
when freed, as the light of sun or stars, when there were no 
clouds in the sky. The heart of the negro was, she said, as 
naturally charged with music as his native air with fragrance. 
If you dam up his mountain streams, you have, instead of 
  
AIMEE EXPLAINS TOUSSAINT'S POWER.   
fragrance, poison and pestilence ; and if you chain up the negro's 
life in slavery, you have, for music, wailing and curses. Give 
both free course, and you have an atmosphere of spicy odours, 
and a universal spirit of song. 
"This last," said Azua, "is as one long, but varied ode in 
honour of your father. Men of some countries would watch him 
as a magician, after seeing the wonders he has wrought. Who, 
looking over this wide level, on which plenty seems to have 
emptied her horn, would believe how lately and how thoroughly 
it was ravaged by war ? " 
" There seems to be magic in all that is made," said Aimde ; 
" so tliat all are magicians who have learned to draw it forth. 
M. Loisir was showing us yesterday how the lightning may now 
be brought down from the thunder-cloud, and carried into the 
earth at some given spot. Our servants, who have yearly seen 
the thunder-bolt fire the cottage or the mill, tremble, and call 
the lightning-rods magic. My father is a magician of the same 
sort, excethat he deals with a deeper and higher magic." 
" That which lies in men's hearts  in human passions." 
" In human affections ; by which he thinks more in the end is 
done than by their passions." 
" Did you learn this from himseM P " asked Azua, who listened 
with much surprise and curiosity to this explanation from the 
girl by whose side he rode. " Does your father explain to you 
his views of men, and his purposes with regard to them p " 
" There is no need," she replied. " From the books he has 
always read, we know what he thinks of men's minds and ways : 
and from what happens, we learn his purposes ; for my father 
always fulfils his purposes." 
"And who led you to study his books, and observe his 
purposes ? " 
** My brother Isaac." 
" One of those who is studying at Paris P Does he make you 
study here, while he is being educated there P " 
" No ; he does not make me study. But I know what he is 
doing  have books Isaac and I were always companions 
He learns from me what my father does But I was 
going to tell you, when you began asking about my father, that 
this plain will not appear to you throughout so, flourishing as it 
does now, from the road. When we reach the Etoile estate, you 
will see enough of the ravages of war." 
" I have perceived some signs of desertion in a house or two 
that we have passed," said Azua. " But these brothers of yours 
when will they return P " 
" Indeed I wish I knew," sighed Aimee. " I believe that 
depends on the First Consul." 
" The First Consul has so much to do, it is a pity their return 
  
 "HB . 
should depend upon his memory. If he should forget, you will 
go and see Paris, and bring your brothers home." 
" The Pirst Consul forgets nothing," replied Aime. " He 
knows and heeds all that we do here, at the distance of almost 
half the world. He never forgets my brothers : he is Tery kind 
to them." 
" All that you say is true," said Yincent, who was now on the 
other side of Aimee. " Everything that you can say in praise 
of the First Consul is true. But yet you should go and see Paris. 
You do not know what Paris is  you do not know what your 
brothers are like in Paris  especially Isaac. He tells you, no 
doubt, how haphe is there P " 
" He does ; but I had rather see him here." 
" Tou have fine scenery here, no doubt, and a climate which 
you enjoy : but there ! what streets and palaces  what theatres 
what libraries and picture-galleries  and what society ! " 
" Is it not true, however," said Azua, " that all the world is 
alike to her where her brother is ? " 
" This is L'Etoile," said Aimee. " Of all the country houses 
in the island, this was, not perhathe grandest, but the most 
beautiful. It is now ruined ; but we hear that enough remains 
for M. Loisir to make out the design." 
She turned to Vincent, and told him that General Christophe 
was about to build a house ; and that he wished it to be on the 
model of L'EtoUe, as it was before the war. M. Loisir was to 
furnish the design. 
The Europeans of the party were glad to be told that they 
had nearly arrived at their resting place ; for they could scarcely 
sit their horses, whUe toiling in the heat through the deep sand 
of the road. They had left far behind them both wood and 
swamp ; and, though the mansion seemed to be embowered in 
the green shade, they had to cross open ground to reach it. At 
length Azua, who had sunk into a despairing silence, cried out 
with animation  
" Ha ! the opuntia ! what a fence ! what a wall ! " 
"Tou may Know every deserted house in the plain," said 
Aimee, " by the cactus hedge round it." 
"What ornament can the inhabited mansion have more 
graceful, more beautiful P " said Azua, forgetting the heat in his 
admiration of the blossoms, some red, some snow-white, some 
blush-coloured, which were scattered in profusion over the thick 
and high cactus hedge which barred the path. 
" Nothing can be more beautiful," said Aimee, " but nothing 
more inconvenient. See, you are setting your horse's feet into a 
trap." And she pointed to the stiff, prickly green shoots which 
matted all the ground. " We must approach by some other way. 
Let us wait till the servants have gone round." 
  
AT L'ETOILE.  
With the servants appeared a tall and veiy handsome npgro, 
well known throughout the island for his defence of the Etoile 
estate against Rigaud. Charles Bellair was a Congo chief, 
kidnapped in his youth, and brought into St. Domingo slavery; 
in which state he had remained long enough to keep all his 
detestation for slavery, without losing his fitness for freedom. 
He might have returned, ere this, to Africa, or he might have 
held some military ofiBce under Toussaint; but he preferred 
remaining on the estate which he had partly saved from 
devastation, bringing up his little children to revere and 
enthusiastically obey the Commander-in-chief  the idol of 
their colour. The heir of the lltoile estate did not appear, nor 
transmit his claim. Bellair, therefore, and two of ms former 
fellow bondsmen, cultivated the estate, paying over the fixed 
proportion of the produce to the public funds. 
Bellair hastened to lead Madame L'Ouverture's horse round 
to the other side of the house, where no prickly vegetation was 
allowed to encroach. His wife was at work and singing to her 
child under the shadow of the colonnade  once an erection of 
great beauty, but now blackened by fire, and at one end 
crumbling into ruins. 
" Minerve ! " cried Madame, on seeing her. 
" Deesha is her name," said Bellair, smiling. 
" Oh, you call her by her native name ! Would we all knew 
our African names, as you know hers ! Deesha ! " 
Deesha hastened forward, all joy and pride at being the 
hostess of the Ouverture family. Eagerly she led the way into 
the inhabited part of the abode  a corner of the palace-like 
mansion a corner well covered in from the weather, and 
presenting a strange contrast of simplicity and luxmy. 
The courtyard through which they passed was strewed with 
ruins, which, however, were almost entirely concealed by the 
brushwood, through which only a lane was kecleared for going 
in and out. The whole was shaded, almost as with an awning, 
by the shrubs which grew from the cornices, and among the 
rafters which had remained where the roof once was. Ropes of 
creepers hung down the wall, so twisted, and of so long a growth, 
that Denis had climbed half-way up the building by means of 
this natural ladder, when he was called back again. The jalousies 
were decayed  starting away from their hinges, or hanging in 
fragments; while the window-sills were gay with flowering 
weeds, whose seeds even took root in the joints of the flooring 
within, open as it was to the air and the dew. The marble ste
and entrance-hall were keclear of weeds and dirt, and had a 
strange air of splendour in the midst of the desolation. The 
gilding of the balustrades of the hall was tarnished ; and it had 
no furniture but the tatters of some portraits, whose frame and 
  
  
substance had been nearly devoured by ants ; but it was weather- 
tight and clean. The saloon to the right constituted the family 
dwelling. Part of its roof had been repaired with a thatch of 
palm-leaves, which formed a singular junction with the portion 
of the ceiling which remained, and which exhibited a blue sky- 
f round, with gUt stars. An alcove had been turned into the 
replace, necessary fra cooking. The kitchen comer was parti- 
tioned off from the sitting-room by a splendid folding screen of 
Oriental workmanshiexhibiting birds-of-paradise, and the blue 
rivers and gilt pagodas of China. The other partitions were the 
work of Bellair's own hands, woven of bamboo and long grass, 
dyed with the vegetable dyes, with whose mysteries he was, like 
a true African, acquainted. The dinner-table was a marble slab, 
which still remained cramped to the wall, as when it had been 
covered with plate, or with ladies' work-boxes. The seats were 
benches, hewn by Bellair's axe. On the shelves and dresser of 
unpainted wood were ranged together porcelain dishes from 
Dresden, and calabashes from the garden ; wooden spoons, and 
knives with enamelled handles. A harwith its strings broken, 
and its gilding tarnished, stood in one corner; and musical 
instruments of Congo origin hung against the wall. It was 
altogether a curious medley of European and African civilisation, 
brought together amidst the ruius of a West Indian revolution. 
The young people did not remain long in the house, however 
tempting its coolness might have appeared. At one side of the 
mansion was the colonnade, which engrossed the architect's 
attention ; on the other bloomed the garden, oflering temptations 
which none could resist  least of all those who were lovers. 
Moyse and his Genifrede stepped first to the door which looked 
out upon the wilderness of flowers, and were soon lost sight of 
among the shrubs. 
Genifrede had her sketch-book in her hand. She and her 
sister wore here partly for the sake of a drawing lesson from 
Azua ; and perhashe had some idea of taking a sketch during 
this walk with Moyse. He snatched the book from her, how- 
ever, and flung it through the window of a garden-house which 
they passed, saying  
" You can draw while I am away. For this hour you are all 
my own." 
" And when wiU you be away ? Wherever you go, I will 
follow you. If we once part, we shall not meet again." 
" We think so, and we say so, each time that we part ; and 
yet we meet agaiu. Once more, only the one time when I am 
to distinguish myself, to gain you  only that once will we be 
parted ; and then we wUl be hapfor ever." 
" Then you will be killed or you will be sent to France, or 
you wUl love some one eUe and forget me " 
  
PASSIONATE VOWS.  
" Forget you !  love some one else ! Oh ! Heaven and 
earth ! " cried Moyse, clasping her in his avras, and putting his 
whole soul into the kisses he impressed on her forehead. " And 
what," he continued, in a voice which thrilled her heart, '' what 
would you do if I were killed P " 
" I would die. Oh, Moyse ! if it should be so, wait for me ! 
Let your spirit wait for mine ! It shall not be long." 
" Shall my spirit come shall I come as a ghost, to tell you 
that I am dead? Shall I come when you are alone, and call you 
away ? " 
" Oh ! no, no ! " she cried, shuddering. " I wiU follow  you 
need not fear. But a ghost oh ! no, no ! " And she looked up 
at him, and clasped him closer. 
" And why ? " said Moyse. " Tou do not fear me now you 
cling to me. And why fear me then ? I shall be yours stiU. 
I shall be Moyse. I shall be about you, haimting you, whether 
you see and hear me or not. Why not see and hear me ? " 
" Why not P " said Gnifrde, in a tone of assent. " But I 
dare not  I will not. Tou shall not die. Do not speak of it." 
" It was not I, but you, love, that spoke of it. Well, I will 
not die. But tell me  if I forget you  if I love another  
what then P " And he looked upon her with eyes so full of love, 
that she laughed, and withdrew herself from his arms, saying, 
as she sauntered on along the blossom-strewn path  
" Then I will forget you too." 
Moyse lingered for a moment, to wach her stately form, as 
she made a pathway for herself amidst the tangled shrubs. The 
walk, once a smooth-shaven turf, kegreen by trenches of water, 
was now overgrown with the vegetation which encroached on 
either hand. As the dark beauty forced her way, the maypole - 
aloe shook its yellow crown of flowers, many feet above her 
head ; the lilac jessamine danced before her face ; and the white 
datura, the pink flower-fence, and the scarlet cordia, closed round 
her form, or spread themselves beueath her feet. Her lover was 
soon again by her side, warding ofB every branch and spray, and 
saying 
" The very flowers worship you : but they and all  all must 
yield you to me. Tou are mine ; and yet not mine till I have 
won you from your father. Genifrede, how shall I distinguish 
myself ? Show me the way, and I shall succeed." 
" Do not ask me," she replied, sighing. 
" Nay, whom should I ask ? " 
" I never desired you to distinguish yourself." 
" Tou do not wish it ? " 
"No." 
" Not for your sake p " 
"Nq." 
  
  
And she looked around her with wistful eyes, in which her 
lover read a wish that things would ever remain as they were 
now that this moment would never pass away. 
" You would remain here  you would hide yourself here with 
me for ever ! " cried the hapMoyse. 
" Here, or anywhere ;  in the cottage at Breda ;  in your 
father's hut on the shore;  anywhere, Moyse, where there ia 
nothing to dread. I live in fear ; and I am wretched," 
" "What is it that you fear, love ? Why do you not trust me 
to protect you p " 
" Then I fear for you, which is worse. Why cannot we live in 
the woods or the mountains, where there would be no dangerous 
duties, and no cares ? " 
" And if we lived in the woods, you would be more terrified 
still. There would never be a falling star, but your heart would 
sink. Tou would take the voices of the winds for the spirits of 
the woods, and the mountain mists for ghosts. Then, there are 
the tornado and the thunderbolt. When you saw the trees 
crashing, you would be for making haste back to the plain. 
Whenever you heard the rock rolling and bounding down the 
steeor the cataract rising and roaring in the midst of the 
tempest, you would entreat me to fly to the city. It is in this 
little beating heart that the fear lies." 
" What then is to be done ? " 
" This little heart must beat yet a while longer j and then, 
when I have once come back, it shall rest upon mine for ever." 
"Beside my father p He never rests. Tour father would 
leave us in peace ; but he has committed you to one who knows 
not what rest is." 
" Nor ever wUl," said Moyse. " If he closed his eyes, if he 
relaxed his hand, we should all be sunk in ruin." 
" We P Who ? What ruin P " 
" The whole negro race. Do you suppose the whites are less 
cruel than they were P Do you believe that their thirst for our 
humiliation, our slavery, is quenched ? Do you believe that the 
white man's heart is softened by the generosity and forgiveness 
of the blacks?" 
"My father believes so," replied Genifrede; "and do they 
not adore him the whites whom he has reinstated ? Do they 
not know that they owe to him their lives, their homes, the 
prosperity of the island P Does he not trust the whites P Does 
he not order all things for their good, from reverence and affec- 
tion for them P " 
" Tes, he does," replied Moyse, in a tone which made Gni- 
f rede anxiously explore his countenance. 
" Tou think him deceived p " she said. 
" No, I do not. It is not easy to deceive L'Ouverture," 
  
MOYSE HATES THE WHITES.   
" You do not think  no, you cannot think, that he deceives 
the whites, or any one." 
" No. L'Ouverture deceives no one. As you say, he reveres 
the whites. He reveres them for their knowledge. He says 
they are masters of an intellectual kingdom from which we have 
been shut out, and they alone can let us in. And then again, 
GenifrSde, it seems to me that he loves hest those who have 
most injured mm." 
" Not best," she replied. " He delights to forgive : but what 
white has he ever loved as he loves Henri P Did he ever look 
upon any white as he looked upon me, when when he con- 
sented P Moyse, you remember ? " 
" I do. But stiQ he loves the whites as if they were born, 
and had lived and died, our friends, as he desires they should be. 
Yet more  he expects and requires that all his race should love 
them too." 
"And you do not ? " said Genifrede, timidly. 
" I abhor them." 
" Oh ! hush ! hush ! Speak lower. Does my father know 
thisP" 
" Why should he P If he once knew it " 
" Nay, if he knew it, he would give up his purposes of dis- 
tinction for you ; and we might live here, or on the shore." 
" My Genifrede, though I hate the whites, I love the blacks. 
I love your father. The whites will rise upon us at home, as 
they are always scheming against us in Prance, if we are not 
strong  and as watchful as we are strong. If I and others leave 
L'Ouverture alone to govern, and betake ourselves to the woods 
and the mountains, the whites will again be masters, and you and 
I, my Genifrede, shall be slaves. But you shall not be a slave, 
Genifrede," he continued, soothing her tremblings at the idea. 
" The bones of the whites shaU be scattered over the island, like 
the shells on the sea-shore, before my Genifrede shall be a slavei. 
I wlU cut the throat of every infant at every white mother's 
breast, before any one of that race shall lay his grasp upon you. 
The whites never wUl, never shaU again, be masters : but then, 
it must be by L'Ouverture having an army always at his com- 
mand ; and of that army I must be one of the officers. We 
cannot live here, or on the sea-shore, love, while there are whites 
who may be our masters. So, while I am away, you must pray 
Christ to humble the whites. Will you ? This is all you can 
do. Will you not ? " 
" How can I, when my father is always exalting them ? " 
" Tou must choose between him and me. Love the whites 
with him, or hate them with me." 
" But you love my father, Moyse P " 
" I do. I adore him as the saviour of the blacks. You adore 
  
  
him, Genifrede. ETery one of our race worshihim. GInifrede, 
you love him  your father." 
" I know not Yes, I loved Mm the other day. I know not, 
Moyse. I know nothing but that  will hate the whites as 
you do. I never loved them : now I hate them." 
"Tou shall. I will tell you things of them that wiU make 
you curse them. I know every white man's heart." 
" Then tell my father." 
" Does he not know enough already ? Is not his cheek 
furrowed with the marks of the years during which the whites 
were masters ; and is there any cruelty, any subtlety, in them 
that he does not understand ? Knowing all this, he curses, not 
them, but the power which, he says, corrupted them. He kee
from them this power, and believes that all will be well. I shall 
tell him nothing." 
" Yes, tell him all  all exce" 
" Yes, and tell me first," cried a voice near at nana. tThere 
was a great rustling among the bushes, and Denis appeared, 
begging particularly to know what they were talking about. 
They, in return, begged to be told what brought him this way, 
to interrutheir conversation. 
" Deesha says Juste is out after wild-fowl, and, most likely, 
among some of the ponds hereabouts." 
" One would think you had lived in Cap all your days," said 
Moyse. " Do you look for wild-fowl in a garden ? " 
" We will see presently," said the boy, thrusting himself into 
the thicket in the direction of the ponds, and guiding himself 
by the scent of the blossoming reeds  so peculiar as to be known 
among the many with which the air was filled. He presently 
beckoned to his sister ; and she followed with Moyse, till they 
found themselves in the field where there had once been several 
fish-ponds, preserved in order with great care. All were now 
dried up but two ; and the whole of the water being diverted to 
the service of these two, they were considerable in extent and 
in depth. What the extent reaUy was, it was difficult to ascertain 
at the first glance, so hidden was the margin with reeds, populous 
with wUd-fowJ. 
Denis was earnestly watching these fowl, as he lay among the 
high grass at some little distance from the water, and prevented 
his companions from approaching any nearer. The sun was 
hot, and Genifrede was not long in desiring to return to the 
garden. 
" Let us go back,'' said she. " Juste is not here." 
" Yes he is," said Denis. " However, go back if you like. 
I shall go fowling with Juste." And he began to strip ofE his 
clothes. 
His companions were of opinion, however, that a son of the 
  
NIGGER SPOST. II 
Oommander-in-ohief must not sport with a farmer's boy, without 
leave of parents or tutor ; and they begged him to put on his 
clothes again, at least till leave was asEed. Denis had never 
cared for his rank, excewhen riding by his father's side on 
review-days ; and now he liked it less than ever, as the pond 
lay gleaming before him, the fowl sailing and fluttering on the 
surface, and his dignity prevented his going among them. 
" What makes you say that Juste is here ? " said G&ifrede. 
" I have seen him take five fowl iu the last five minutes." 
As he spoke, he plucked the top of a bulrush, and threw it 
with such good aim, that it struck a calabash which appeared to 
be floating among others on the surface of the pond. That par- 
ticular calabash immediately rose, and the face of a negro child 
appeared, to the consternation of the fowl, whose splashing and 
screaming might be heard far and wide. Juste came out of the 
water, displaying at his belt the result of his sport. He had, as 
Denis had said, taken five ducks in five minutes by pulling them 
under the water by the feet, while lying near them with his head 
covered by the calabash. The little fellow was not satisfied 
with the admiration of the beholders ; he ran homewards, with 
his clothes in his hand, Denis at his heels, and his game dangling 
from his waist, and dripping as he ran. 
" Many a white would shudder to see that child," said Moyse, 
as Juste disappeared. "That is the way Jean's blacks wore 
their trophies during the first days of the insurrection." 
"Trophies!" said Gdnifrede. "Tou mean heads : heads with 
their trailing hair "  and her face worked with horror as she 
spoke. "But it is not for the whites to shudder, after what they 
did to Oge, and have done to many a negro since." 
"But they think we do not feel as they do." 
" Not feel ! O Christ ! If any one of them had my heart before 
I knew you  in those days at Breda, when M. Bayou used to 
come down to us ! " 
" Here comes that boy again," cried Moyse. " Let us go into 
the thicket, among the citrons." 
Denis found them, however  found Moyse gathering the 
white and purple blossoms for Genifrede, while she was select- 
ing the fruit of most fragrant rind from the same tree, to carry 
into the house. 
" Tou must come in  you must come to dinner," cried Denis. 
" Aimde has had a drawing lesson, while you have been doing 
nothing all this while. They said you were sketching; but I 
told them how idle you were." 
" I will go back with Denis," said G&ifrede. " Tou threw 
away my sketch-book, Moyse. Tou may find it, and follow 
us." 
' Their path lay together as far as the garden-house. When 
l 
  
  
there, Moyse seized Denis unawares, shot him through the win- 
dow into the house, and left him to get out as he might, and 
bring the book. The boy was so long in returning, that his 
sister became uneasy, lest some snake or other creature should 
haTe detained him in combat. She was going to leave the table 
in search of him, because Moyse would not, when he appeared, 
singing, and with the book upon his head. 
" Who calls Grdnifrede idle ? " cried he, flourishing the book. 
" Look here ! " And he exhibited a capital sketch of herself and 
Moyse, as he had found them, gathering fruits and flowers. 
" Can it be his own ? " whispered Gnifrede to her lover. 
Denis nodded and laughed, while Azua gravely criticised and 
approved, without suspicion that the sketch was by no pupil of 
his own. 
In the cool evening, Gfnifrede was reaUy no longer idle. 
While Denis and Juste were at play, they both at once stum- 
bled and feU over something in the long grass, which proved 
to be a marble statue of a Naiad, lying at length. Moyse 
seized it, and raised it where it was relieved by a dark green 
back-ground. The artist declared it an opportunity for a 
lesson which was not to be lost : and the girls began to draw, 
as well as they could for the attempts of the boys to restore the 
broken urn to the arm from which it had fallen. When Denis 
and Juste found that they could not succeed, and were only 
chidden for being in the way, they left the drawing party seated 
under their clump of cocoa-nut trees, and went to hear what 
Madame was relating to BeUair and Deesha, in the hearing of 
M. MoHere, Laxabon, and Vincent. Her narration was one 
which Denis had often heard, but was never tired of listening to. 
She was telling of the royal descent of her husband  how he 
was grandson of Gaou Guinou, the king of the African tribe 
of Arrudos : how this king's second son was taken in battle, 
and sold, with other prisoners of war, into slavery: how he 
married an African girl on the Breda estate, and used to talk of 
home and its wars, and its haunts, and its sunshine idleness  
how he used thus to talk in the evenings, "and on Sundays, to 
the boy upon Ms knee ; so that Toussaint felt, from his infancy, 
like an African, and the descendant of chiefs. This was a 
theme which Madame L'Ouverture loved to dwell on, and espe- 
cially when listened to as now. The Congo chief and his wife 
hung upon her words, and told in their turn how their youth 
had been spent at home how they had been kidnapped, and 
delivered over to the whites. In the eagerness of their talk, 
they were perpetually falling unconsciously into the use of their 
negro language, and as often recalled by their hearers to that 
which aU could understand. Moliere and Laxabon listened 
earnestly ; and even Loisir, occupied as he was still with the 
  
LOISW'S AMBITION.   
architecture of the mansion, found himself impatient if he lost a 
word of the story. Vincent alone,negro as he was, was careless and 
unmoTed. He presently sauntered away, and nobody missed him. 
He looked over the shoulder of the architect. 
" What pains you are taking ! " he said. " Tou have only to 
follow your own fancy and convenience about Christopne's 
house. Ohristophe has never been to France. Tell him, or any 
others of my countrymen, that any building you choose to put 
up is European, and in good taste, and they will be quite pleased 
enough." 
" You are a sinner," said Loisir ; " but bo quiet now." 
"Nay  do not you find the blacks one and all ready to devour 
your travellers' tales  your prodigious reports of European 
cities ? Tou have only to tell Uke stories in stone and brick, and 
they will believe you just as thankfully." 
" No, no, Vincent.  have told no talcs so wicked as you tell 
of your own race. My travellers' tales are all very well to pass 
an hour, and be forgotten ; but Christophe's mansion is to stand 
tor an age  to stand as the first evidence, in the department of 
the arts, of the elevation of your race. Ohristophe knows, as 
well as you do without having been to Paris, what is beautiful 
in architecture ; and, if he did not, I would not treacherously 
mislead him." 
" Ohristophe knows ! Ohristophe has taste ! " 
" Tes. While you have been walking streets and squares, he 
has been studying the aisles of palms, and the crypts of the 
banyan, which, to an open eye, may teach as much as a preju- 
diced mind can learn in all Bome." 
" So Loisir is of those who flatter men in power P " said 
Vincent, laughing. 
"I look further," said Loisir; "lam working for men unborn. 
I am ambitious ; but my ambition is to connect my name honour- 
ably with the first great house built for a negro general. My 
umbition is to build here a rival to the palaces of Europe." 
"Do what you will, you will not rival your own tales of 
them  unless you find Aladdin's lamp among these ruins." 
" If you find it, you may bring it me. Azua has found some- 
thing half as good  a really fine statue in the grass." 
Vincent was off to see it. He found the drawing party more 
eager in conversation than about their work. Aimee was saying 
as he approached 
" General Vincent declares that he is as affectionate to us as 
if we were the nearest to him of all the children of the empire. 
Did you not say so ? " she asked, eagerly. "Is not the First 
Consul's friendship for us real and earnest ? Does he not feel a 
warm regard for my father P Is he not like a father to my 
brothers?" 
  
 -fi . 
" Certainly," said Vincent. " Do not your brothers confirm 
this in their letters P " 
" Do they not, Genifrede ? " repeated Aimee. 
" They do ; but we see that they speak as they think : not as 
things really are." 
" How can you so despise the testimony of those who see what 
we only hear of P " 
" I do not despise them or their testimony. I honour their 
hearts, which forget injuries, and open to kindness. But they 
are young ; they went from keeping cattle, and from witnessing 
the desolations of war here, to the first city of the world, where 
the first men lavish upon them instructions, and pleasures, and 
flatteries ; and they are pleased. The greatest of aU  the First 
of the "Whites, smiles upon the sons of the First of the Blacks ; 
and their hearts beat with enthusiasm for him. It is natural. 
But, while they are in Paris, we are in St. Domingo ; and we 
may easily view affairs, and judge men differently." 
" And so," said Aimee, " distrust our best ft-iends, and despise 
our best instructors ; and all from a jealousy of race ! " 
" We think the jealousy of race is with them," said Moyse, 
bitterly. " There is not a measure of L'Ouverture's which they 
do not neutralise  not a fragment of authority which they will 
yield. As to friends, if the Consul Bonaparte is our best friend 
among the Whites, may we be left thus far friendless ! " 
"You mean that he has not answered my father's letters. 
M. Vincent doubts not that an answer is on the way. Remember, 
my brothers have been invited to his table." 
"There are blacks in Paris, who look on," replied Moyse, 
drUy. 
" And are there not whites too, from this island, who watch 
every movement P " 
" Tes : and those whites are in the private closet, at the very 
ear of Bonaparte, whispering to him of L'Ouverture's ambition; 
while your brothers penetrate no further than the saloon." 
" My brothers would lay down their lives for Bonaparte and 
France," said Aimee ; " and you speak treason. I am with them." 
" And with me," said Vincent, in a whisper at her ear. 
" Where I find the loyal heart in woman, mine is ever loyal 
too." 
Aime was too much excited to understand in this what was 
meant. She went on  
" Here is M. Vincent, of our own race, who has lived here 
and at Paris  who has loved my father.  You love my father 
and his government ? " she said, with questioning eyes, inter- 
rupting herself. 
" Certainly. No man is more devoted to L'Onverture." 
" Devoted to my father," pursued Aimee, " and yet devoted 
  
EIGHT UGLY FACTS.  
to Bonaparte. He is above the rivalry of races  as the First 
Consul is, and as Isaac is." 
" Isaac and the First Consul  these are the idols of Aimde's 
worship/'said G&ifrde. "Worship Isaac still; for that is a 
harmless idolatry ; but give up your new religion, Aimee ; for it 
is not sound." 
" Why not sound ? How do you know that it is not sound P" 
" When have the blacks ever trusted the whites without find- 
ing themselves bound victims in the end ? " 
" I have," said Vincent. " I have lived among them a life of 
charms, and I am free," he continued, stretching his arms to 
the air  "free to embrace the knees of both Bonaparte and 
L'Ouverture free to embrace the world." 
" The end has not come yet," said Moyse. 
" What end ? " asked Aimde. 
" Nay, God knows what end, if we trust the French.'' 
" Tou speak from prejudice," said Aimee. " M. Vincent and 
my brothers judge from facts." 
" We speak from facts," said Genifrede ; " from, let us see  
from seven  no, eight, very ugly facts." 
" The eight Commissaries that the colony has been blessed 
with," said Moyse. " If they had taken that monkey which is 
looking down at your drawing-, Aimee, and seven of its brethren, 
and installed them at Cathey would have done us all the good 
the Commissaries have done, and far less mischief. The monkeys 
would have broken the mirrors, and made a hubbub within the 
walls of Government-house. These Oommissai-ies, one after 
another, from Mirbeck to HddouviUe, have insulted the colony, 
and sown quarrels in it, from end to end." 
" Mirbeck ! Here is Mirbeck," said Denis, who had come up 
to listen. And the boy roUed himself about like a drunken man 
Uke Mirbeck, as he had seen him in the streets of Ca
" Then they sent St. Leger, the Irishman," continued Moyse, 
" who kehis hand in every man's pocket, whether black or 
white." 
Denis forthwith had his hands, one in Vincent's pocket, the 
other in Aaua's. Azua, however, was drawing so fast that he 
did not find it out. 
" Then there was Roume." 
" Roume. My father speaks well of Roume," said Aimde. 
" He was amiable enough, but so weak that he soon had to go 
home, where he was presently joined by his successor, Santhonax, 
whom, yon know, L'Ouverture had to get rid of, for the safety of 
the colony. Then came Polverel. What the tranquillity of St. 
Domingo was in his day we all remember." 
Denis took off Polverel, spying from his ship at the island, on 
which he dared not land. 
  
t$ THb HOVR AND THE MAN. 
" For shame, Denis ? " said Aime. " Tou are ridiculing him 
who first called my father L'OuYerture.'' 
" And do you suppose he knew the Tise that would be made of 
the word ? " asked Gnif rMe. " If he had foreseen its being a 
title, he would have contented himself with the obsequious bows 
I remember so well, and never have spoken the word." 
Denis was forthwith bowing, with might and main. 
"Now, Denis, be quiet! Raymond, dear Raymond, came 
next ; " and she looked up at Vincent as she praised his 
friend. 
" Raymond is excellent as a man, whatever he may be as 
governor of O.P," said Moyse. " But we have been speaking of 
whites, not of mulattoes  which is another long chapter." 
" Raymond was sent to us by lance, however," said Aimde. 
" So was our friend Vincent there ; but that is nothing to the 
purpose." 
" Well ; who next P " cried Denis. 
" Do not encourage him," said Aim&. " My father would be 
vexed with you for training him to ridicule the French  par- 
ticularly the authorities." 
" Now we are blessed witli HddouviUe," pursued Moyse. 
" There you have him, Denis  only scarcely sly, scarcely smooth 
enough. Tet, that is Hddouville, who has his eye and his smiles 
at play in one place, while his heart and hands are busy in 
another." 
"Busy," said Genifrede, "in undermining L'Ouverture's 
influence, and counteracting his plans; but no one mentioned 
AUhaud. AUhaud " 
" Stay a moment," said Azua, whose voice had not been heard 
till then. ' 
All looked at him in surprise, nobody supposing that, while S(T 
engrossed with his pencil, he could have cared for their conver- 
sation. Aim& saw at a glance that his paper was covered with 
earicatures of the commissaries who had been enumerated. 
" Tou must have known them," was Aimle's involuntary tes- 
timony, as the paper went from hand to hand, amidst shouts of 
laughter, while Azua sat, with folded arms, perfectly grave. 
" I have seen some of the gentlemen," said he, " and M. Denis 
helped me to the rest." 
The laughter went on till Aime was somewhat nettled. When 
the paper came back to her, she looked up into the tree under 
which she sat. The staring monkey was stiU there. She made 
a vigorous spring to hand up the caricature, which the creature 
caught. As it sat demurely on a branch, holding the paper as if 
reading it, while one of its companions as gravely looked over its 
shoulder, there was more laughter than ever. 
" I beg your pardon, M. Azua," said Aimee ; " but this is the 
  
A WASNINO.   
Only worthy fate of a piece of mockery of people wiser than 
onrselves, and no less kind. The negroes have hitherto been 
thought, at least, grateful. It seems that this is a mistake. For 
my part, however, I leave it to the monkeys to ridicule the 
French." 
Vincent seized her hand, and covered it with kisses. She was 
abashed, and turned away, when she saw her father behind her, 
in the shade of the wood. M. Pascal, his secretary, was with 
him. 
" My father ! " " L'Ouverture ! " exclaimed one after another 
of the party ; for they all supposed he had been far away. Even 
Denis at once gave over pelting the monkeys, and left them to 
their study of the arts in peace. 
" Tour drawings, my daughters ! " said L'Ouverture, with a 
smile, as if he had been perfectly at leisure. And he examined 
the Naiad, and then Genif ride's drawing, with the attention of 
an artist. Genifrede had made great progress, under the eye of 
Moyse. Not so Aimee ; her pencil had been busy all the while, 
but there was no Naiad on her page. 
" They are for Isaac," she said, timidly. " Among all the 
pictures he sees, there are no " 
" No sketches of Denis and his little companions," said her 
father ; " no cocoa-nut clum no broken fountains among the 
aloes  no grouthat will remind him of home. Isaac shall 
presently have these, Aime. I am on my way to Caand will 
send them." 
" On your way to Cap ! " cried every one  some in a tone of 
fear. 
"To Cap," said he, "where Father Laxabon will foUow me 
immediately, with M. Pascal. By them, Aimee, you wiU send 
your packet for Isaac. My own horse is waiting." 
" Do not go alone  do not go without good escort," said 
Moyse. " I can give you reason." 
" I know your thoughts, Moyse. I go for the very reason that 
there are, or will be, troubles at Ca The French authorities 
may sometimes decree and do that which we feel to be unwise  
unsuitable to the blacks," he continued, with an emphasis which 
gave some idea of his having overheard more or less of the late 
conversation ; " but we islanders may be more ignorant still of 
the thoughts and ways of their practised race." 
" But you are personally unsafe," persisted Moyse. " If you 
knew what is said by the officers of Hedouville's stafE  " 
" They say," proceeded Toussaint, smiling, " that they only 
want three or four brigands to seize the awith the Madras 
head-dress ; and then all would go well. These gentlemen are 
mistaken ; and I am going to prove this to them. An armed 
escort proves nothing. I carry something stronger still in my 
  
 THB HOUR AND THk MAN. 
mind and on my tongue. General Vincent, a word with 
you-" 
While he and Vincent spoke apart, Aimee exclaimed, 
" Oh, Moyse ! Go with my father ! " 
" Do not  Oh, do not ! " cried Genifrede. " Tou wiU never 
return ! " she muttered to him, in a roiee of terror. " Aimee, 
yon would send him away : and my mother  all of us, are far 
from home. Who knows but that Rigaud " 
" Leave Rigaud to me," cried Vincent, gaily, as he rejoined 
the party. " I undertake Rigaud. He shall never alarm you 
more. Farewell, Mademoiselle Aimee ! I am going to the 
south. Rigaud is recruiting in the name of France ; and I know 
France too well to allow of that. I shall stop his recruiting, and 
choke his blasphemy with a good French sword. Farewell, till 
I bring you news at Pongaudin that you may ride along the 
southern coast as securely as in your own cane-pieces." 
" Tou are going P " said Aim&. 
" This very hour. I south  L'Ouverture north " 
" And the rest to Pongaudin with the dawn," said Toussaint. 
" What is your pleasure concerning me ? " asked Moyse. " I 
wait your orders." 
" I remember my promise," said Toussaint ; " but I must not 
leave my family unprotected. Tou wiU attend them to Pon- 
gaudin : and then let me see you at Cawith the speed of the 
wind." 
" With a speed like your own, if that be possible," said 
Moyse. 
"Is there danger, father P " asked Gnifrfide, trembling. 
" My child, there is danger in the air we breathe, and the 
ground we tread on : but there is protection also, everywhere." 
" Tou win see Afra, father," said Aime. " If there is danger, 
what will become of Afra P Her father will be in the front, in 
any disturbance : and Government-house is far from being the 
safest place." 
" I will not forget Afra. Farewell, my children ! Go now to 
your mother ; and, before this hour to-morrow, I shall think of 
you resting at Pongaudin." 
They saw him mount before the courtyard, and set off, fol- 
lowed by one of his two trompettes  the only horsemen in the 
island who could keep up with him, and therefore his constant 
attendants in his most important journeys. The other was gone 
forward, to order horses from post to post. 
Viacent, having received written instructions from the secre- 
tary, set off in an opposite direction, more gay than those he left 
behind. 
The loftiest trees of the rich plain were still touched with 
golden light ; and the distant bay glittered so as to make the 
  
RIDING TO TROUBLE.   
gazers turn away their eyes, to rest on the purple mountains to 
the north : but their hearts were anxious ; and they saw neither 
the glory nor the beauty of which they heard talk between the 
painter, the architect, and their host. 
CHAPTER XII. 
A NIGHT OF OFFICE. 
As soon as Toussaint was out of hearing of his family and 
suite, he put his horse to its utmost speed. There was not a 
moment to be lost, if the peace of the island was to be preserved. 
Faster than ever fugitive escaped from trouble and danger, did 
the negro commander rush towards them. The union between 
the black and white races probably depended on his reachLag 
Cap by the early morning  in time to prevent certain proclama- 
tions of Hedouville, framed in ignorance of the state of the colony 
and the people, from being published. Forty leagues lay between 
L'Etoile and Caand two mountain ridges crossed his road : 
but he had ridden forty leagues in a night before, and fifty in a 
long day; and he thought little of the journey. As he rode, ho 
meditated the work of the next day, while he kehis eye awake, 
and his heart open, to the beauty of the night. 
He had cleared the plain, with his trompette at his heels, 
before the woods and fields had melted together into the purple 
haze of evening; and the labourers returning from the cane- 
pieces, with their tools on their shoulders, offered their homage 
to him as he sweby. Some shouted, some ran beside him, 
some kneeled in the road and blessed him, or asked his blessing. 
He came to the river, and found the ford lined by a party of 
negroes, who, having heard and known his horse's tread, above 
the music of piand drum, had thrown themselves into the 
water to point out the ford, and save his precious moments. He 
dashed through uncovered, and was lost in the twilight before 
their greeting was done. The evening star was just bright 
enough to show its image in the still salt-lake, when he met the 
expected relay, on the verge of the mountain woods. Thence 
the ascent was so steethat he was obliged to relax his speed. 
He had observed the birds winging home to these woods ; they 
had reached it before him, and the chirp of their welcome to 
their nests was sinking into silence; but the whirring beetles 
were abroad. The frogs were scarcely heard from the marshes 
below ; but the lizards and crickets vied with the young monkeys 
in noise, while the wood was all alight with luminous insects. 
  
  
Wherever a twisted fantastic cotton-tree, or a drooping wild fig, 
stood out from the thicket and apart, it appeared to send forth 
streams of green flame from eveiy branch; so incessantly did 
the fire-flies radiate from every projecting twig. 
As he ascended, the change was great. At length there was 
no more sonnd ; there were no more flitting fires. Still as sleep 
rose the mountain peaks to the night. Still as sleep lay the 
woods below. Stiff as sleep was the outspread western sea, 
silvered by the steady stars which shone, still as sleein the 
purple depths of heaven. Such was the starlight on tliat pin- 
nacle, so large and round the silver globes, so bright in the 
transparent atmosphere were their arrowy rays, that the whole 
vault was as one constellation of little moons, and the horse and 
his rider saw their own shadows in the white sands of their path. 
The ridge passed, down plunged the horseman, hurrying to the 
valley and the plain ; like rocks loosened by the thunder from 
the mountain toThe hunter, resting on the heights from his 
day's chase of the wild goats, started from his sleeto listen to 
what he took for a threatening of storm. In a little while, the 
child in the cottage in the valley nestled close to its mother, 
scared at the flying tramp ; while the trembling mother herseK 
prayed for the shield of the Virgin's grace against the night-fiends 
that were abroad. Here, there was a solitary light in the plain ; 
there, beside the river ; and yonder, behind the village ; and at 
each of these stations were fresh horses, the best in the region, 
and smiling faces to tender their use. The panting animals that 
were left behind were caressed for the sake of the burden they 
had carried, and of the few kind words dropped by their rider 
during his momentary pause. 
Thus was the plain beyond Mirbalais passed soon after mid- 
night. In the dark the horsemen swam the Artibonite, and 
leaped the sources of the Petite Riviere. The eastern sky was 
beginning to brighten as they mounted the highest steeabove 
Atalaye; and from the loftiest point, the features of the wide 
landscabecame distinct in the cool grey dawn. Toussaint 
looked no longer at the fading stars. He looked eastwards, where 
the green savannahs spread beyond the reach of human eye. He 
looked northwards, where towns and villages lay in the skirts of 
the mountains, and upon the verge of the rivers, and in the green 
recesses where the springs burst from the MU-sides. He looked 
westwards, where the broad and full Artibonite gushed into the 
sea, and where the yeUow bays were thronged with shipping, 
and every green promontory was occupied by its plantation or 
fishing hamlet. He paused, for one instant, while he surveyed 
what he well knew to be virtually his dominions. He said to 
himself that with him it rested to keep out strife from this 
paradise  to detect whatever devilish cunning might lurk in its 
  
S/GNS OF TROUBLE. \\\ 
by- comers, and rebuke whateTer malice and revenge might linger 
within its bounds. With the thought he again sprang forward, 
again plunged down the steeps, scudded over the wilds, and 
splashed through the streams; not losing another moment tUl 
his horse stood trembling and foaming under the hot sun, now 
touching the Haut-du-Cawhere the riders had at length pulled 
uHere they had overtaken the first trompette, who, having 
had no leader at whose heels he must follow, had been unable, 
with all his zeal, quite to equal the speed of his companion. He 
had used his best efforts, and showed signs of fatigue ; but yet 
they had come upon his traces on the grass road from the Gros 
Mome, and had overtaken him as he was toiUng up the Haut- 
du-Ca
Both waited for orders, their eyes fixed on their master's face, 
as they saw him stand listening, and glancing his eye over the 
city, the harbour, and the road from the Plain du Nord. He saw 
afar signs of trouble : but he saw also that he was not too late. 
He looked down into the gardens of Government-house. Was 
it possible that he would show himself there, heated, breathless, 
covered with dust as he was ? No. He dismounted, and gave 
his horse to the trompettes, ordering them to go by the most 
public way to the hotel, in Place Mont Archer, to give notice of 
the approach of his secretary and staff; and thence to th 
barracks, where he would appear when he had bathed. 
The trompettes would have gone round five weary miles for 
the honour of carrying messages from the Commander-in-chief 
through the principal streets of CaThey departed with great 
zeal, while Toussaint ascended to the mountain-pool, to take the 
plunge in which he found his best refreshment alter a long ride. 
He was presently walMng leisurely down the sloping field, 
through which he could drop into the grounds of Government- 
house by a back gate, and have his interview with Hedouville 
before interruption came from the side of the town. As he 
entered the gardens, he looked, to the wondering eyes he met 
there, as if he had just risen from rest, to enjoy a morning walk 
in the shrubberies. They were almost ready to understand, in 
its literal sense, the expression of his worshippers, that he rode 
at ease upon the clouds. 
  
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
AN OLD MAN IN NEW DATS. 
Befoeb the sun had touched the roofs of the town of Ga
while the streets lay cool and grey under the heights, which 
glowed in the flames of sunrise  most of the inhahitants were 
up and stirring. Euphrosyne Revel was at her grandfather's 
chamber-door ; first listening for his call, and then softly looking 
in, to see whether he could still he sleeping. The door opened 
and shut by a spring, so that the old man did not hear the little 
girl as she entered, though his sleep was not sound. As Eu- 
phrosyne saw how restless he was, and heard him mutter, she 
thought she would rouse him : but she stayed her hand, as she 
remembered that he might have sleill, and might slUl settle 
for another quiet doze, if left undisturbed. With a gentle hand 
she opened one of the jalousies, to let in more air ; and she chose 
one which was shaded by a tree outside, that no glare of light 
might enter with the breeze. 
What she saw from this window drew her irresistibly into the 
balcony. It was a tree belonging to the convent which waved 
before the window ; and below lay the convent garden, fresh 
with the dews of the night. There stretched the green walks, 
so glittering with diamond-droand with the gossamer as to 
show that no step had passed over them since dawn. There lay 
the parterres  one crowded with geraniums of all hues ; another 
with proud lilies, white, orange, and purale ; and another with a 
flowering pomegranate in the centre, while the gigantic white and 
blue convolvulus covered the soil all around, mixing with the 
bright green leaves and crimson blossoms of the hybiscns. No 
one seemed to be abroad, to enjoy the garden during this the 
freshest hour of the day ; no one but the old black gardener, 
Raphael, whose cracked voice might be heard at intervals from 
the depths of the shrubbery in the opposite comer, singing 
snatches of the hymns which the sisters sung in the chapel. 
When his hoarse music ceased, the occasional snap of a bough, 
and movements among the bushes, told that the old man was 
still there, busy at his work. 
Euphrosyne wished that he would come out, within sight of 
the beckon of her hand. She dared not call, for fear of waken- 
ing her grandfather: but she very much wanted a flowering 
orange branch. A gay little humming-bird was sitting and 
hovering near her ; and she thought that a bunch of fragrant 
blossoms would entice it in a moment. The little creature came 
and went, flew round the balcony and retired: and stiU old 
Raphael keout of sight behind the leafy screen. 
  
EUPBROSYNE AND THE HUMMING BIRDS. I 
" It will be gone, pretty creature ! " said Euphrosyne to 
herself; "and all for want of a single bougli from all those 
thickets ! " 
A thought struck her. Her morning frock was tied round 
the waist with a cord, ha-s-ing tassels which hung down nearly 
to her feet. She took off the cord, made a noose in it, and let 
it down among the shrubs below, swinging the end this way 
and that, as she thought best for catching some stray twig. 
She pursued her aim for a time, sending showers of dew-dro
pattering down, and knocking off a good many blossoms, but 
catching nothiug. She was so busy, that she did not see that a 
grey-suited nun had come out, with a wicker cage in her hand, 
and was watching her proceedings. 
" What are you doing, my cMld P " asked the nun, approach- 
ing, as a new shower of dew-droand blossoms was shaken 
abroad. " If you desire to iish, I doubt not our reverend mother 
wiU make you welcome to our pond yonder." 
" Oh, sister Christine ! I am glad you are come out," said 
Buphrosyne, bending over the balcony, and speaking in a low, 
though eager voice. " Do give me a branch of something sweet, 
orange, or citron, or something. This humming-bird will be 
gone if we do not make haste  Hush ! Do not call. Grand- 
pais not awake yet. Please, make haste." 
Sister Christine was not wont to make haste ; but she did her 
best to gratify Euphrosyne. She went straight to the corner of 
the shrubbery where the abbess's mpckiug-bird spent all its 
summer days, hung up the cage, and brought back what Eu- 
phrosyne had asked. The branch was drawn up in the noose 
of the cord, and the nun could not but stand and watch the 
event. 
The bough was stuck between two of the bars of the jalousie, 
and the gin. withdrew to the end of the balcony. The hum- 
ming-bird appeared, hovered round, and at last inserted its 
long beak in a blossom, sustaining itself the wlule on its quiver- 
ing wings. Before proceeding to another blossom it flew away. 
Euphrosyne cast a smile down to the nun, and placed herself 
against the jalousie, holding the branch upon her head. As she 
had hoped, two humming-birds returned. After some hesita- 
tion, they came for more of their sweet food, and Euphrosyne 
felt that her hair was blown about on her forehead by the motion 
of their busy wings. She desired, above everything, to keep 
still ; but this strong desire, and the sight of sister Christine's 
grave face turned so eagerly upwards, made her laugh so as to 
shaie the twigs very fearfully. E!eeping her hand with the 
branch steady, she withdrew her head from beneath, and then 
stole slowly and cautiously backward within the window  the 
birds following. She now heard her grandfather's voice, calling 
  
  
feebly and fretfully. She half -turned to make a signal for silence, 
which the old man so far observed as to sink his complaints to a 
mutter. The girl put the branch into a water-jar near the win- 
dow, and then stepped lightly to the bed. 
"What is all this nonsense P" said M. Revel. "Why did 
not you come the moment I called P " 
" Here I am, grandpa and do look  look at my humming- 
birds ! " 
" Humming-birds  nonsense ! I called yon twice." 
Yet the old gentleman rubbed his eyes, which did not seem 
yet quite awake. He rubbed his eyes and looked through the 
shaded room, as if to see Bnphrosyne's new plaything. She 
brought him his spectacles from the toilette, helped to raise him 
uthrew a shawl over his shoulders, and placed his pillows at 
his back. Per'eiving that he still could not see very distinctly, 
she opened another blind, so as to let one level ray of sunshine 
fall upon the water-jar, and the little radiant creatures that 
were hovering about it. 
" There ! there ! " cried M. Revel, in a pleased tone. 
" Now I will go and bring you your coffee," said Euphrosyue. 
" Stostochild ! Why are you in such a hurry ? I want 
to know what is the matter. Such a night as I have had ! " 
" A bad night, grandpaP I am sorry." 
" Bad enough ! How came my light to go out ? And what 
is aU this commotion in the streets P " 
Euphrosyne went to the night-lamand found that a very 
large flying beetle had disabled itself by breaking the glass, and 
putting out the light. There it lay dead  a proof at least that 
there were no ants in the room. 
" SiUy thing ! " said Euphrosyue. " I do wish these beetles 
would learn to fly properly. He must have startled you, grand- 
papa. Did not you think it was a thief, when you were left in 
the dark?" 
" It is very odd that nobody about me can find me a lamp that 
will serve me. And then, what is all this bustle in the town P 
Tell me at once what is the matter." 
" I know of nothing the matter. The trompettes have been 
by this morning; and they say that the Commander-in-chief 
is here : so there will be nothing the matter. There was some 
talk last night, Pierre said  some fright about to-day. But 
L'Onverture is come; and it will be all right now, you 
know." 
" You know nothing about it, child  teazing one with your 
buzzing, worrying humming-birds I Go and get my coffee, and 
send Pierre to me." 
" The birds will come with me, I dare say, if I go by the bal- 
cony. I will take them away." 
  
"black upstarts.  
" No, no. Don't lose time with them. Let them be. . Go 
and send Pierre." 
When Euphrosyne returned with the coffee, she fonnd, as 
Pierre had found before her, M. Revel so engrossed in looking 
through Ms spectacles at the water-jar, as to have forgotten what 
he had to ask and to say. 
" Ton will find the bath ready whenever you want it, grand- 
papa," said Euphrosyne, as she placed the little tray before him : 
" and it is a sweet airy morning." 
"Ay; I must make haste uand see what is to be done. 
It is not safe to lie and rest in one's bed, in this part of the 
world." And he made haste to stir his cofEee with his trembling 
hands. 
" Oh, yon have often said that  almost ever since I can re- 
member : and here we are, quite safe still." 
" Tell the truth, child. How dare you say that we have been 
safe ever since you remember ? " 
" I said ' almost,' grandpapa. I do not forget about our being 
in the woods  about but we wiLL not talk of that now. That 
was all over a long time ago ; and we have been very safe since. 
The great thing of all is, that there was no L'Ouverture then, to 
take care of us. Now, you know, the Oommander-in- chief is 
always thinking how he can take the best care of us." 
" ' No L'Ouverture then ! ' One would think you did not 
know what and where Toussaint was then. Why, chUd, your 
poor father was master over a hundred such as he." 
" Do you think they were like him ? Surely, if they had been 
like him, they would not have treated us as they did. Afra 
says she does not believe anybody like him ever lived." 
" Afra is a pestilent little fool." 
" Oh, grandpa! " 
" Well, well ! She is a very good girl in her way ; but she 
talks about what she does not understand. She pretends to judge 
of governors of the colony, when her own father cannot govern 
this town, and she never knew Blanchelande ! Ah ! if she had 
known Blanchelande, she would have seen a man who under- 
stood his business, and had spirit to keep up the dignity and 
honour of the colony. If that sort of rule had gone on till now, 
we should not have had the best houses in the island full of these 
black upstarts ; nor a mulatto governor in this very town." 
" And then I should not have had Afra for a friend, grandpapa." 
" You would have been better without, child. I do not like to 
see you for ever with a girl of her complexion, though she is the 
governor's daughter. There must be an end of it  there shall 
be an end of it. It is a good time now. There is a reason for it 
to-day. It is time you made friends of your own complexion, 
child ; and into the convent you go  this very day." 
  
  
" Oh, grandpapa, you don't mean that those nnns are of my 
compleKion ! Poor pale creatures ! I would not for the world 
look like them : and I certainly shall, if you pot me there. I 
had much rather look like Afra than like sister Benoite, or 
sister Cecile. GrandpaI you would not like me to look like 
sister Benoite ? " 
" How do I know, child ? I don't know one from another of 
them." 
" No, indeed ! and you would not know me by the time I had 
been there three months. How sorry you would be, grandpapa, 
when you asked for me next winter, to see all those yellow-faced 
women pass before you, and when the yellowest of all came, to 
haTe to say, ' Can this be my poor Euphrosyne ! ' " 
M. Revel could not help laughing as he looked up at the girl 
through his spectacles. He pinched her cheek, and said that 
there was certainly more colour there than was common in the 
West Indies ; but that it must fade, in or out of the convent, by 
the time she was twenty ; and she had better be in a place where 
she was safe. The convent was the only safe place. 
"Tou have often said that before," replied she, "and the 
time has never come yet. And no more it will now. I shall go 
with Afra to the cacao-gathering at Le Zephyr, as I did last 
year. Oh, that sweet cool place in the Momes du Chaos ! How 
different from this great ugly square white convent, with nothing 
that looks cheerful, and nothing to be heard but teaching, teach- 
ing, and religion, religion, for ever." 
''I advise you to make friends among the sisters, how- 
ever, Euphrosyne; for there you wiU spend the next few 
years." 
" I will not make friends with anything but the poor mocking- 
bird. I have promised Afra not to love anybody instead of her j 
but she will not be jealous of the poor bird. It and I will spend 
the whole day in the thicket, mocking and pining  pining and 
mocking. The sisters shall not get a word out of me  not one 
of them. I may speak to old Raphael now and then, that I may 
not forget how to use my tongue ; but I vow that poor bird shall 
be my only friend." 
" We shall see that. We shall see how long a giddy chUd 
like you can keep her mocking-bird tone in the uproar that is 
coming upon us ! What will you do, child, without me, when 
the people of this colony are cutting one another's throats over 
my grave ? What will become of you when I am gone ? " 
"Dear grandpapa, before that comes the question. What wUl 
you do without me ? What will become of you when I am gone 
into that duU place ? Tou know very well, grandpapa, that you 
cannot spare me." 
The old man's frame was shaken with sobs. He put liis thin 
  
THE URGENT MESSAGES. I 
hands before his face, and the tears trickled between Ms fingers. 
Euphrosyne caressed him, saying, 
" There ! I knew how it womd be. I knew I should never 
leave you. I never will leave you. I will bring up your coffee 
every morning, and light your lamp every night, as long as you 
live." 
As she happened to be looking towards the door, she saw it 
opening a little upon its noiseless hinges, and a hand which she 
knew to be Pierre's beckoning to her. Her grandfather did not 
see it. She withdrew herself from him with a sportive kiss, 
ordered him to rest for a while, and think of nothing but her 
humming-birds, and carried the tray out of the room. 
Pierre was there, waiting impatiently with a note from Afra. 
"I did not bring it in, Mademoiselle," said he, "because I 
am sure there is something amiss. A soldier brought the note ; 
and he says he has orders to stay for my master's commands." 
Afra's note told what this meant. It was as follows :  
" Dearest Ettpheosyne, 
" Do not be frightened. There is time, if you come directly. 
There is no danger, if you come to us. The cultivators are 
marching hither over the plain. It is with the whites that they 
are angry; so you had better make yourselves secure with us. 
The soldier who brings this will escort M. Revel and you this 
little way through the streets : but you must lose no time. We 
are sorry to hurry your grandfather; but it cannot be helped. 
Come, my dearest, to your " Afea Raymond." 
Pierre saw his young lady's face turn as pale as any nun's, as 
she glanced over this note. 
" The carriage, Pierre ! Have it to the door instantly." 
" With your leave. Mademoiselle, the soldier says no French 
carriages wiU be safe in the streets this morning." 
" Oh, mercy! A chair, then. Send for a chair this moment. 
The soldier will go for it  ask him as a favour. They will not 
dare to refuse one to a governor's guard. Then come, and 
dress your master, and do not look so grave, Pierre, before 
him." 
Pierre went, and was met at the door by a servant with 
another note. It was  
" Do not come by the street, dearest Euphrosyne. The nuns 
will let you through their garden, into our garden alley, if you 
can only get your grandfather over the balcony. My two mes- 
seno-ers will help you ; but they are much wanted :  so make 
haste. "A. R." 
"Make the soldiers sling an arm-chair from the balcony, 
j 
  
  
Pierre ; and send one of them round into the convent garden, to 
be ready to receive us there. The abbess will have the gate 
open to the Government-house alley. Then come, and dress 
your master ; and leave it to me to tell him everything." 
" Likely enough," muttered Pierre ; " for I know nothing of 
what is in those notes myself." 
" And I do not understand what it is all about," said Buphro- 
syne, as she returned to her grandfather. 
He had fallen into a light doze, lulled by the motion and sound 
of the humming-birds. Euphrosyne kissed his forehead, to rouse 
him, and then told him gaily that it was terribly late  he had no 
idea how late it was  he must get up directly. The bath ! no ; 
there must be no bath to-day. There was not time for it ; or, 
at least, he must go a little ride first. A new sort of carriage 
was getting ready 
She now looked graver, as Pierre entered. She said, that 
while Pierre dressed him, she would put up some clothes for a 
short visit to Government-house. 
M. Revel, being now alarmed, Euphrosyne admitted that some 
confusion in the streets was expected, and that the Governor and 
Af ra thought that their friends would be most quiet at the back 
of Government-house. 
To her consternation, M. Revel suddenly refused to stir a step 
from his own dwelling. He would not be deceived into putting 
himself and his child into the hands of any mulattoes upon 
earth, governors or other. Not one of his old friends, in Blanche- 
lande's time, would have countenanced svich an act ; and he 
would not so betray his colour and his child. He had rather die 
on his own threshold. 
" Ton must do as you please about that, sir," said Pierre; 
" but, for Mademoiselle Euphrosyne, I must say, that I think it 
is full early for her to die  and when she might be safe too ! " 
" Oh, grandpa! I cannot let you talk of our dying," cried 
Euphrosyne, her cheeks bathed in tears. " Indeed I will not 
die  nor shall you either. Besides, if that were all " 
The old man knew what was in her mind  that she was 
thinking of the woods. He sank down on his knees by the bed- 
side, and prayed that the earth might gaand swallow them up 
that the sea might rush in, and overflow the hollow where the 
city had been, before he and his should fall into the hands of the 
cursed blacks. 
"Grandpapa," said Euphrosyne, gravely, "if you pray such a 
prayer as that, do not pray aloud. I cannot hear such a prayer 
as that." Struggling with her tears, she continued : "I know 
you are very much frightened and I do not wonder that you 
are : but I do wish you would remember that we have very kind 
friends who will protect us, if we will only make haste and go 
  
A REFUGE.  
to them. And as for their being of a different colour  I do 
wonder that you can ask God to cause the earth to swallow us 
uwhen you know (at least, you have taught me so) we must 
meet people of all races before the throne of God. He has made 
of one blood all the nations of the earth, you know." 
M. Revel shook his head impatiently, as if to show that she 
did not understand his feelings. She went on, however :  
" If we so hate and distrust them at this moment, here, how 
can we pray for death, so as to meet them at the next moment 
there ? Oh, grandpa! let us know them a little better first. 
Let us go to them now." 
" Don't waste time so, child ; you hinder my dressing." 
He allowed himself to be dressed, and made no further 
opposition till he found himself at the balcony of the next 
room. 
" Here is your new coach," said Euphrosyiie, " and plenty of 
servants :" showing him how one of the soldiers and old Raphael 
stood below to receive the chair, and the abbess herself was in 
waiting in a distant walk, beside the wicket they were to pass 
through. 
Of course, the old gentleman said he could never get down 
that way ; and he said something about dying on his own thres- 
hold  this time, however, in a very low voice. But, in the 
midst of his opposition, Euphrosyne seated herself in the chair, 
and was let down. When she could no longer hear his com- 
plaints, but was standing beckoning to him from the grass-plat 
below, he gave up all resistance, was let down with pei-f ect ease, 
and carried in the chair, followed by all the white members of 
his household, through the gardens, and up the alley where 
Afra was awaiting them. There was a grey sister peeping from 
behind every blind as they crossed the garden, and trembling 
with the revived fears of that terrible night of ninety-one, when 
they had fled to the ships. It was some comfort to them to see 
old Raphael busy with rake and knife, repairing the damage 
done to the bed under the balcony  all trampled as it was. 
Each nun said to herself that Raphael seemed to have no fears 
but that the garden would go on as usual, whatever disturbance 
was abroad. 
" Have you seen him ? " asked Euphrosyne eagerly of her 
friend, the moment they met. 
" Oh yes. Tou shall see him too, from my window, if they 
will but talk on tiU we get there. He and the Commissary, and 
some of the Commissary's officers, are in the rose-garden under 
my window. Make haste, or they may be gone." 
" We must see grandpasettled hrst." 
" Oh yes ; but I am so afraid they may be gone ! They have 
been pacing the alley between the rose-trees this hour nearly  
  
tgO THE HOUR AND THE MaM. 
talking and arguing all the time. I am sure they were arguing ; 
for they stopped every now and then, and the Commissary made 
such gestures ! He looked so impatient and so vexed ! " 
" And did he look vexed, too ? " 
" Not in the least angry, but severe. So quiet, so majestic he 
looked, as he listened to all they said ! and when he answered 
them  Oh, I would not, for all the island, have his eyes so set 
upon me ! " 
" Oh dear, let us make haste, or they will be gone ! " cried 
Euphrosyne. 
While Euphrosyne was endeavouring to make her grandfather 
feel himself at home and comfortable in the apartment appointed 
for him by the Governor, Af ra ran to her window, to see if the 
potentates of the island were still at their conference. The rose- 
garden was empty ; and she came back sorrowfully to say so. 
As she entered the apartment of her guests, she heard M. Revel 
sending a message of compliments to the Commissary, with a 
request of an audience of a few minutes. The servants gave as 
much intimation as they dared of the Commissary being so par- 
ticularly engaged, that they had rather be excused carrying this 
message. The girls looked at one another, nodded agreement, 
and Euphrosyne spoke. 
" Suppose, grandpapa, you ask to see the Commander-in-chief. 
He never refuses anything that is asked of him : and he can do 
everything he wishes. I dare say he -will come at once, if you 
desire it, and if we do not detain him too long. If he had been 
ia this room once with us, how safe we should feel ! " 
" Oh, if we could see him once in this room ! " cried 
Afra. 
"Do you suppose I will beg a favour of that ambitious 
black P " cried M. Revel. " Do you think I will crave an audience 
of a fellow who, for aught I know, may have driven his master's 
carriage to my door in the old days P  ISo, if I cannot see 
HdouviUe, I wUl take my chance. Go, fellow ! and carry my 
message," he cried to Pierre. 
Pierre returned with the answer which might have been 
anticipated. The Commissary was so engaged, there was so much 
bustle and confusion throughout his establishment, that no one 
of his people would deliver the message. 
" That would not have been the answer if " whispered 
Euphrosyne to her friend. 
" Shall I venture ?  yes, I will shall I ? At least, I will keep 
upon the watch," said Afra, as she withdrew.' 
She presently sent in, with the tray of fruit, a basket of flowers, 
which Euphrosyne occupied herself in dressing, exactly as she 
did at home, humming the while the airs her grandfather 
hoard her sing every day. Her devices answered very well. 
  
A SURPRISE. V 
Ho presently occupied himself in pointing out, exactly as he 
always did, that there was too much green in this bouquet, and 
not enough in that. 
CHAPTER XIV. 
SPOILING SPOET. 
NOTHiiTG could exceed the astonishment of the Commissary on 
seeing Toussaint this morning. HedouTiIle was amusing 
himself, before the sun was high, alternately with three or f our 
of his officers, in duetting with a parrot, which had shown its 
gaudy plumage among the dark foliage of a tamarind tree in 
the garden. At every pause in the bird's chatter, one of the 
gentlemen chattered in reply ; and thus keup the discord, to 
the great amusement of the party. Hedouville was just declaring 
that he had obtained the best answer  the loudest and most 
hideous  when he heard the swing of a gate, and, turning round, 
saw Toussaint entering from the barrack-yard. 
" The a! " exclaimed one of the officers, in a whisper. 
"Who  who is it?" eagerly asked a nayal captain, lately 
arrived. 
" Who should it be but the black chief ? No other of his race 
is fond enough of us to be for ever thrusting himself upon us. 
He is confoundedly fond of the whites." 
" We only ask him," said Delon, another officer, " to like us 
no better than we like him, and leave us to manage our business 
our own way." 
" Say the word. Commissary," whispered the first, " and he 
shall not go hence so easily as he came." 
" I shoidd beg pardon. Commissary," said Toussaint, as he 
approached, "for presenting myself thus  for entering by a 
back-way  if it were not necessary. The crisis requires that 
we should agree upon our plan of operations, before we are seen 
in the streets. It is most important that we should appear to act 
in concert. It is the last chance for the public safety." 
"Crisis!  public safety!  seen in the streets!" exclaimed 
Hedouville. "I assure you. General, I have no thoughts of 
going abroad tUl evening. It will be a scorching day. Is tha 
crisis you speak of that of the heats P " 
" No trifling. Commissary ! Gentlemen," said he, turning to 
the officers, who happened to be laughing, " no levity ! The 
occasion is too serious for mirth or for loss of time. Shall we 
speak alone. Commissary P " 
  
  
" By no means," said Hedouville. " These gentlemen would 
not for the world miss hearing your news. Has a fresh insurrection 
been contrived already? or has any Frenchman forgotten 
himself, and kissed Psyche, or cuffed Agamemnon P " 
" A new insurrection has been contrived ; and by you. The 
cultivators are marching over the plain ; and in four hours the 
town will be sacked, i you, M. Hedouville, who have given the 
j>rovocation,[do not withdraw it. Tou must sign this proclamation. 
It is the opposite of your own now waiting for publication. 
But you must sign and issue it  and that within this hour. I 
hear what you say, gentlemen. Tou say that I have raised the 
cultivators. I have not. There is not a negro in the plain who 
does not at this moment believe that I am in the south. I come 
to put them down ; but I will not go out with the sword in one 
hand, if I do not carry justice in the other." 
'' What do you mean about justice. General ? What injustice 
has been done P " 
"Here is the draft of- your proclamation " 
"How came you by that paper  by the particulars of my 
intention ? " asked Hedouville. " My proclamation is yet locked 
up in my own desk." 
" Its contents are nevertheless known throughout the colony. 
When a Commissary, lightly and incidentally (and therefore 
the more offensively) settles, without understanding them, the 
most important points of difference between two unreconciled 
races, the very winds stoop in their flight, to snatch up the tid- 
ings, and drop them as they fly. See here ! See how you pro- 
nounce on the terms of fleld-service  and here, on the partition 
of unclaimed estates  and here, on the claims of the emigrants ! 
The blacks must be indeed as stupid as you hold them to be, 
if they did not spread the alarm that you ax% about to enslave 
them again." 
" I protest I never dreamed of such a thing." 
" I believe you. And that you did not so dream, shows that 
you are blind to the effects of your own measures  that the 
cultivators of the plain understand your proceedings better than 
you do yourself. Here is the proclamation which must be 
issued." 
And he offered a paper, which Hedouville took, but tore in 
pieces, trampling them under foot, and saying, that he had never 
before been so insulted in his function. 
" That is a chUdish act," observed Toussaint, as he looked 
down upon the fragments of the document. " And a useless 
one," he continued ; " for my secretary is getting it printed off 
by this time." 
" Are you going to dare to put my name to a proclamation I 
have not seen P " 
  
THE BURDEN OF GOVERNMENT. I 
" Certainly not. My name will suffice, if you compel me to 
dispense with yours. This proclamation grants " 
Hdouville here gave whispered directions to Delon, who 
hastened towards the nouse; and to another, who made for the 
barrack-yard. 
" Prom every quarter," said Toussaint, " you will have con- 
firmation of the news I brought. I will speak presently of what 
must be done. This proclamation," pointing to the torn paper. 
" grants an amnesty to all engaged in former conflicts of race, 
and declares that there are no ' returned emigrants ' in the 
island  that they are all considered native proprietors  that 
aU now absent shall be welcome again, and shall be protected 
that the blacks are free citizens, and will so remain ; but that 
they shall continue for five years to till the estates on which they 
live, for one-fourth of the produce." 
" I do not see the grounds of your disgust with my proclama- 
tion," said HedouviUe. " I think your anger absurd." 
" I have no doubt you do. This proves, with a multitude of 
other circumstances, that you must go." 
''Admirable ! And leave the colony to your government ! " 
" Just so. If you ask the whites of the island, they will tell 
you, almost to a man, that I can govern the whites ; while 
events daily show that you cannot rule the blacks. While you 
have held the title of Commissary, you know that you have 
ruled only by my permission  sometimes strengthened by my 
approbation  oftener spared by my forbearance. I am aware 
that these gentlemen are not of that opinion," he continued, his 
voice assuming the mildness which always distinguished it 
when he spoke of his personal injuries. '' They believe that if 
two or three brigands could be got to seize in his camp the a
with the Madras on his head, all would be well. But they are 
mistaken. They may play the brigand, and seize me now ; but 
then the town will be burning before night." 
" Ton should not believe all the saucy things that are told you 
you should not care for the impertinence of young soldiers," 
said HedouviUe, who suspected that his affairs were really in a 
critical state, and had now resumed his usual smoothness of 
manner. He led the way up the alley between the rose-trees, 
that the torn proclamation might be no longer in sight. 
" No doubt," observed an officer, gravely, " the Commissary 
will report to the First Consul (if you really persist in sending 
the Commissary away)  he wiU doubtless report to the First 
Consul the prodigious power you hold here, and how great a 
rival Bonaparte has on this side the water." 
" And how willing a servant," added Toussaint  "how wil- 
ling to bear the burden of government for the good of France." 
" Burden ! " exclaimed all. 
  
  
" Yes," replied Toussaint : " where is there a heavier burden? 
Do you suppose that men choose their own office in life ? If so, 
should I have chosen such a one as mine ? Was the pleasure 
of Heaven ever more clearly revealed than in my case ? Ask 
the First Oonsul whether it was possible for me to be other than 
I am. The revolution of St. Domingo proceeded without any 
interference from me  a negro slave. I saw that the dominion 
of the whites could not last, divided as they were among them- 
selves, and lost in the numbers of their foes. I was glad that I 
was a black. The time came when I was compelled to act. I 
associated myself with the Spaniards, who were the allies of my 
king, and who had extended protection to the loyal trooof my 
colour. But this protection served no end. The republic pro- 
claimed the general liberty of the blacks. An unerring voice 
told me that my allegiance was thenceforward due to the republic. 
The blacks in their new condition wanted a leader. They chose 
me to lead them  to be the chief predicted by Baynal, as General 
Laveaux declared. Inspired by this call, I entered into the ser- 
vice of France. The services that I have rendered prove that it 
was indeed the voice of God that called me. Why do I tell you 
this ?  Because I owe an account of my life to you ? No, indeed ! 
I teU you aU this that you may render my account to the First 
Consul, whom, it appears, I cannot reach by letter. I charge 
you, by your fidelity to the mother country, to repeat to Bona- 
parte what I have said." 
"Tou could do it more accurately and forcibly yourself," 
observed Hedouville. "Let me advise that you go instead of me." 
" Tou know," replied Toussaint, " who it was that said that I 
am the Bonaparte of St. Domingo, and that the colony could not 
exist without me. It was your brother functionaries who said 
it ; and never did they say anything more true." 
The naval captain, Meronet, observed that his shinow in the 
roads, happened to be that which had conveyed the Commissary ; 
and that it would greatly flatter him, after having brought out 
Commissary Hedouville, to carry back General Toussaint 
L'Ouverture. 
" Tour shisir," replied Toussaint, " will not contain a man 
like me  a man laden with the destinies of a race." 
" But you speak of the burden of your office," observed one of 
the aides. " It must be great ; and all men need occasional repose. 
Suppose you retire to France for an interval of repose ? " 
"PerhaI may," replied Toussaint, "when this shrub," 
pointing to the sucker of a logwood tree, " shall be large enough 
to make a ship to take me there." 
" Tou could devolve your cares upon your friend Raymond, 
General, if you do not wish fully to trust the whites. Be persuaded 
to visit your brother in destiny and glory, as you call Bonaparte." 
  
DANGER Pressing.  
'' Raymond is my friend, as you say, and a good man ; but he 
is not called to be arbiter of tbe fate of tlie colony. See ! Here 
are your messengers, Oommissaiy." 
The oificers entered from the barracks, with news that the 
plain was really in a state of commotion, and that no adequate 
defences appeared to be provided by the authorities of the town. 
" I  charge myself with the defence of the town," said 
Toussaint. " Tour part, Commissary, .is to sign the new pro- 
clamation instantly ; and to prepare to sail for Prance, with as 
many persons as desire to accompany you. On your promise to 
do this, I will guarantee the public peace. In this case, you 
incur no further dishonour than that of not understanding the 
temper and the affairs of the blacks. If you refuse to go, I 
shall arrest you here, and denounce you to the government of 
France, as the cause of the insurrection which will undoubtedly 
ensue. Tou will not choose to incur this infamy. Therefore," 
he continued, turning to Captain Meronet, " you will have the 
goodness to return to your shiand prepare it for the reception 
of the Commissary. He will probably join you in the course of 
this day." 
Again addressing the astonished funotionaiT, he continued, 
" Tou shall be protected to the latest possible moment, for the 
convenience of making your arrangements. When I can protect 
you no longer, I will cause the alarm gun on the height behind 
the barracks to be fired. At that signal, you will hasten to the 
boats, and be gone. Assure yourself of my justice, and render 
me an equal measure at the court of Prance. PareweU ! " 
As he entered Government-house, the oficers looked at each 
other in consternation. 
" What is to be done P " asked more than one. 
" It is true enough," said Hedouville, " that neither I nor 
any one else understand these people. The danger is really 
pressing, Delon." 
'' Most pressing, there is no doubt." 
" Then I have done with this mongrel colony ; and I am not 
sorry. At home I shall find means to vindicate my honour." 
" Tou mean to depart, then. Commissary ? " 
" When we hear the alarm gun. Not sooner. It is possible 
that it may be a mere threat." 
" If so, it wUl be the first mere threat in which this black has 
been detected." 
" That is true. He usually acts first, and speaks afterwards. 
Gentlemen, we shall have to go. I must first see about this 
proclamation, and discover whether anything else can be done. 
If not. Captain, au revoir ! " 
  
 
CHAPTER XY. 
GO OE STAT? 
The Commander-in-chief was not long closetect with G-Dvernor 
Raymond : for this was a day when minutes were precious. It 
was observed that there was a sudden actiidty among the mes- 
songers of the Governor, among the soldiers, anil among the 
citizens ; and every one felt that the voice of Toussaint was 
giving orders in every corner of the town, before he had yet 
come forth. The report spread that Moyse L'Ouverture was 
come; and he was soon seen, superintending the placing of 
cannon in the streets, and the mustering of soldiers in the squares. 
The presence of the young man inspired an enthusiasm inferior 
only to that which waited on the steof his uncle. Its influence 
on Moyse was seen in the fire of liis eye, the quickness of his 
movements, and the hilarity of his air. He appeared to notice 
every one who cheered, or waved hat or handkerchief to him, 
and to overhear all that was said as he passed along. In one 
instance he stopped to reply. 
" I little thought," he heard an old negro merchant say to a 
neighbour  " I little thought ever to see an Ouverture planting 
cannon against his own colour." 
" Nor do you see it now, friend," said Moyse. " The insur- 
gents in the plain are of'aU colours  almost as many whites as 
blacks are discontented with the Commissary, and " 
" Turn your guns upon the Commissary, then, young soldier ! " 
" There is no need, friend. "We shall be rid of the Commissary 
by an easier method ; and these guns will be wheeled home, as 
hai-mless as they came. My belief is that not a drop of negro 
blood wUl be shed ; and to that end do we plant our cannon. If 
we tranquiUise the whites of the town, and empty Government- 
house of the French, the negroes of the plain will find none 
but friends when they arrive." 
" Oh, ay ! That is your policy, is it ? " 
" That is L'Ouverture's policy. Tell it everywhere. He is 
the best friend of the blacks who best makes it mown." 
The explanation passed from mouth to mouth ; and the new 
proclamation, signed by Toussaint and Hedouville, from hand to 
hand. The proclamation was posted in the corners of the streets ; 
it was read dioud in the squares ; it was sent, by messengers of 
every colour, among the insurgents in the plain. The eSect of 
this, connected with the report, which every moment gained 
strength, that the Commissary was about to quit the colony was 
so evident, that Toussaint's wishes seemed likely to be accom- 
plished. The insurgents did uot, indeed, disband: they had 
  
M. REVEL.  
been too often deceived by the Commissary's bland promises to 
do that before they had gained their point : but there was every 
reason to believe that wiey would march upon the town, only 
to secure the departme of Hedouville and his adherents, and the 
fidelity of the government to the terms of the proclamation. 
WhenToussaint came forth fromhis conference with Raymond, 
Afra and Euphrosyne were awaiting him in the corridor. He 
would have passed them with a smile ; but he saw that Afra 
was urging Euphrosyne to speak, and that the blushing Euphro- 
syne dared not do so. He therefore stopped to tell Afra that his 
daughters had sent their love to her; that she was going to 
Pongaudin in a day or two ; and that her friends there would be 
very glad to see her. 
" Am I really going ? Does my father say that I may ? " 
" He is going too : he will be there before you." 
" My poor Euphrosyne, what will you do ? " exclaimed Afra. 
" This is Euphrosyne Revel," she continued to Toussaint ; 
" and " 
" Revel ! " he said. " Have not you an aged relative in this 
town, my dear ? " 
" In that room," hastily answered Afra. " He is very old, 
and much alarmed to-day ; and he cannot believe that he and 
Euphrosyne are safe, even here. If you wiU only assure Eu- 
phrosyne that there is no danger  M. she could tell him that you 
say so " 
" I will teU him myseH," said Toussaint. " He is in that 
apartment, you say P*" 
"Oh! but please your Excellency," exclaimed Afra, "he 
may not like  he may not wish Euphrosyne is as much 
devoted to you as we are, but " 
Toussaint was well aware that M. Revel might not like, would 
not wish, to see him, or any black. Among aU the hatreds which 
had deformed the colony, none more fierce had existed than that 
between M. Revel and the negro race. He had been a cruel 
master; hence his incessant terrors now. He had been marked 
out for vengeance at the time of the revolution, and his family 
had perished for his crimes ; and hence the detestation in which, 
as the survivor of these victims, he was regarded by most who 
knew the story. Euphrosyne knew nothing of it ; nor did her 
young companion. There was no one to teU them uselessly so 
painful a tale ; and there was nothing in M. Revel's present con- 
duct to awaken a suspicion of the truth. He rarely saw a black : 
and the tenderness which lies in some corner of the hardest hearts 
was by him lavished upon his only remaining descendant. Little 
did she suppose now, how much better her grandfather was 
known by Toussaint than by herself. 
" Trust me ! " said Tou,ssaint, smiling. " I will not annoy 
  
IS  
M. Revel. I will merely reassure him, and teU Mm a little good 
news ; and then leave him to his repose." 
" Tes, Alra," interposed Euphrosyne. " Oh yes, please your 
Bicellenoy, do go ! I will teU him you are coming." 
She flew along the corridor, and, with joyous smiles, prepared 
M. Revel for some great honour and pleasure, when Toussaint 
entered, and bowedlow, as it had ever been his custom to do 
before grey hairs. 
" I come," said he to the old man, who seemed at a loss 
whether to rise or not, but who would not ask his visitor to sit 
down, " I come to encourage you to dismiss aU fears. By the 
resolution of the Commissary to sail for France this day all 
further disputes are obviated. We have strong hopes that peace 
will not be disturbed." 
"The Commissary going home ! Who, then, is to govern us ? 
What is to become of the whites in the colony P " 
" I wiU take care of them. Those who are unwilling to 
remain, in the absence of the Commissary, can depart with him. 
There is shipping enough for more than will wish to go." 
Euphrosyne glanced apprehensively at her grand&ther, and 
then said, 
" Grandpais too old to go upon the sea any more ; and I 
am not afraid of anything here. I do not believe there is any- 
thing to be afraid of here ; is there ? " 
" Indeed, I believe not." 
" Besides," said Afra, " my father wiU not allow any harm to 
happen to his best friends. My father '' 
" Tour father, my dear, will not be here," said Toussaint. 
" He is appointed to the legislature, in the interior. I protect 
this town till a new governor is appointed. I told you we 
hoped to see you at Pongaudin. Ton wiU. pass your time there, 
with my family, while M. Raymond attends his duties in the 
legislature. I go, su-, to provide for the peace of the town. If 
I can be of service to you, you have only to send to me. I 
entreat you to rely upon my protection." 
And he went out. 
" Oh, grandpa! " exclaimed Euphrosyne, sighing. 
" My dears, I hoI was not rude to him. I know that he 
meant kindly by coming : and I would not be otherwise than 
civil. I hoI was not rude to the Commander-in-chief." 
Neither of his companions spoke, to give him comfort on this 
head. He grew angry. He declared that he did not understand 
all these changes and troubles, and he would go out of the way 
of them. He would sail with Hedouville; and so should 
Euphrosyne, and so should Pierre. He knew he should die 
before they had been a week at sea ; but he would not stay to 
see everything turned topsy-turvy by the blacks. 
  
toussaint's position.  
Afra gently said that she understood it was Hedouville who 
had endeavoured to turn everything topsy-turvy, and those who 
understood the affairs of the colony better, who hoped to keep 
them straight. Euphrosyne protested that it was impossible to 
get home, to pack iip their goods ; and even if they were at 
home, there was no time to do it properly. When she found all 
her objections of this class unavailirig, she gravely said that she 
fully believed what her grandfather had just declared  that he 
would die before they had been a week at sea ; and nothing, 
therefore, should make her consent to go. A compromise was at 
length agreed upon. Euphrosyne promised to enter the convent, 
if her grandfather should desire it : and on this promise, he con- 
sented to say no more about going to sea. 
As Toussaint went forth from M. Revel's apartment, he met 
M. Pascal, with his portfolio in his hand. 
" M. Pascal here already ! I am gratified  I am grateful ! " 
said Toussaint, grasping his hand. " Tou are weary  you must 
be very weary ; but can you work a little before going to rest P " 
" Willingly. No doubt. Most willingly." 
Toussaint desired that fruit and wine should be sent to the 
governor's private room, and that the reports of messengers from 
the city should be brought instantly to him there. M. Pascal 
and he then sat down beside a table, with pen, ink, and paper 
before them. 
" M. Pascal," Toussaint began, " the Commissary sails for 
Prance this day, with as many as desire to accompany him. 
Tou know the reasons which compel me to advise his departure. 
Tou came out as his secretary. D you desire to return with him ? " 
" I do not. With your permission, I will remain with you." 
" With what view P " 
" My own satisfaction, and the wish to serve the colony. My 
attachment to yourself is strong. I also perceive that you 
govern wisely and well ; and I desire to aid in so important a 
work." 
" Good. But you are not aware of the danger of attaching 
yourseM thus exclusively to me. Till to-day, if  fell, your way 
to France, your way in Prance, was open. After to-day, it will 
no longer be so. I am so surrounded with dangers, that I can 
scarcely escaruin or death. The mulattoes conspire against 
my power and my life. The blacks, for whom I have made 
myswf responsible, are yet full of passion, and not to be relied 
on in the present infancy of their education. The French 
ofBcials are so many malignant spies  excepting yourself, in- 
deed," he added, with a smile. " Bonaparte, who rules every- 
where, is surrounded by our emigrants, who attribute their 
sufferings to the blacks ; and he is jealous of me. I would rather 
say he distrusts me. Now you see my position. I ask.no 
  
l  
white to share its perils. H you go with Hedouville, you shaD 
carry with you my friendly farewell." 
" I will stay with you." 
" Thank God ! Then we are friends indeed ! Now to busi- 
ness. In the pressing affairs of to-day, we must not overlook 
the future security of the colony. The story which Hedouville 
will tell at home must be met and illustrated by our statement. 
Write so fully to the First Consul as that he may clearly see 
that it is to Hedouville's ignorance and presumption that the 
present disturbances are owing." 
" It is a clear case." 
" It is to us. Make it so to him. One word first. Will you 
undertake the office of governor of this town ? " 
" Instead of Raymond ? " 
" Instead of Raymond. He is a good man ; but I erred in 
appointing Mm. He is fit for deliberation, but not for action. 
But for my early arrival, this town would have been burned 
to-day, for want of even a show of defence. He is setting out 
now for the legislature, to which I have appointed him, and 
where he will be valuable. Will you assume his office ? " 
" By no means. I desire to remain beside you, and study your 
mode of government, before I attemmyself to govern." 
" I have no fixed mode of governing. I merwy act as seems 
to me good at the time." 
" Inspired by a generous love, ever," said Pascal 
" Enough of this. It would be an advantage to me, and to 
the colony, that you should undertake this office. There is no 
other white, there is no mulatto fit for it ! and the mulattoes 
need conciliation. If they see the office bestowed on a black, 
or occupied by me, in the interim they will feel themselves 
injured by Raymond's removal. Tou see the advantages of 
your filling the office." 
" I see yet more plainly the disadvantages, imfit as I am. I 
cannot acceit." 
" Very well. While you are writing, I will ascertain how 
the provisioning of the shigoes on, and wiU give you as much 
time as possible. But there is not a moment to lose. I wiU 
return presently to sign." 
Toussaint walked up and down the corridor, receiving reports, 
and issuing orders every moment. He found that the harbour 
was covered with boats carrying out hogs, fowls, vegetables, and 
water, according to his orders : but no baggage had been sent 
down from the quarters of the French offioisJs, though porters 
had been waiting for two hours past. Scouts had come in, with 
news of the approach of the insurgents. This information was 
communicated to Hddouville, with a hint that the shiwere 
(learly provisioned ; but no answer was returned. Moyse sent 
  
AFFAIRS BECOME CRITICAL. ll 
word tliat the preparations in the town were nearly complete, 
and the spirit of the inhabitants improving every hour, if only 
the Commissary would make haste and oe gone. Toussaint 
found the moment was coming for him to give the word to fire 
the alarm gun. 
" Are the despatches nearly ready P " he asked of Pascal, 
entering the secretary's apartment. 
" Quite ready for signature," replied Pascal, drying the ink 
of the last sheet. 
" Excellent ! " cried Toussaint, when he had read them. 
'' True and clear I " 
He signed and sealed them, and introduced the officer who 
was to be responsible for their delivery, assuring him that he 
would be welcome back to the honours which would follow the 
faithful discharge of his trust. He did not forget to request M. 
Pascal to go to rest. There might be no rest for either of them 
this night. 
As Euphrosyne sat beside M. Bevel, who was sleeping on a 
couch, after the fatigaes of the morning, old Pierre beckoned 
her softly out, sending in Euphrosyne's maid, and saying, as he 
shut the door, 
" She wUl stay with my master till he wakes. Mademoiselle 
Afra has sent for you, mademoiselle, to see from the upper 
gallery what is going on. The harbour is so crowded with boats, 
that they can hardly move ; and it is time they were moving 
pretty fast ; for the battle is beginning at the other end of the 
town ; and the Commissary is not ofE yet, though the gun was 
fired half-an-hour since. Ton heard the gun, mademoiselle ? " 
" Tes. I am glad it was only a signal. You are sure it was 
only a signal ? " 
" So they say everywhere. This is the way, mademoiselle. 
M. Pascal is up here  the secretary, you know  and Made- 
moiselle Raymond, and her gouvernante, and several more, who 
have nothing to do with the fighting." 
" But I do not want to see any fighting," said Euphrosyne, 
turning upon the stairs to descend. "Tell Mademoiselle 
Raymond that I cannot bear to see fighting.'' 
" There is no fighting yet, mademoiselle, indeed : and many 
say there will not be any. Indeed you must see such a fine 
sight as this. Tou can see the Oommander-m-chief galloping 
about the square, with his two trompettes at his heels." 
Euphrosyne turned again, and ran up to the towithout once 
stopping. There she was hastily introduced to M. Pascal, and 
placed by the gouvernante where she could see everything. 
By this time it had become a question whether the Commis- 
sary and his suite could get away. They were making every 
effort to do so; but it was clear that their road would have been 
K 
  
   
blockaded if the Commander-in-chief and his trompettes had 
not ridden round and round the party of soldiers which escorted 
them, clearing a passage by the power of a voice and a presence 
which always prevaifed. Meantime, a huge body of people, 
which filled aU the streets in the northern quarter, was gaining 
ground, pressing forwards against the peaceable opposition of 
the town's-people, and the soldiers, commanded by Moyse. The 
clamour of voices from that quarter was prodigious, but there 
were no shots. The wharves were covered with gentlemen, 
ladies, children, servants, and baggage, all being precipitated by 
degrees into boats, and rowed away, while more were perpetually 
arriving. 
" Is not this admirable ? " said M. Pascal. " The secret has 
actually been kethat the Commissary is on his way to the 
water side. See ! the cultivators are pressing on in this direc- 
tion. They think he is here. If they knew where he was, they 
might catch him. As it is, I believe he will escape." 
" Oh ! are they coming here ? Oh, my poor grandfather ! " 
cried Euphrosyne, turning very pale. 
" Fear nothing," said Afra. '' They wiU presently learn that 
there is nothing to come here for. Will they not, M. Pascal P " 
" No doubt : and if not, there is nothing to fear, I believe. 
Not a shot has been fired yet, but from the alarm gun." 
" Oh, how it echoed from the Haut-du-Cap ! '' cried Afra. "  
wonder what the cultivators understood by it. See ! my father's 
barge ! There is fighting there, surely." 
As Hedouville and his suite approached the wharf, the 
Governor's barge, which had lain at a little distance from the 
shore, began to press in, among the crowd of other boats, at a 
signal from one of the trompettes. The other boats, which were 
taking in terrified women and children, resisted this movement, 
and refused, at such a moment, its usual precedence to the 
Governor's barge. There was a hustling, a struggling, a shriek- 
ing, an uproar, so loud as to reach the ears and understandings 
of the insurgents. The word spread that the Commissary was 
escaping them. They broke through their opponents, and began 
a rush to the wharves. Not a few shots were now fired ; but 
the young ladies scarcely heeded them in the excitement of this 
decisive moment. 
" Oh, they will seize him ! They will tear him in pieces ! " 
cried Afra. 
" He cannot  no, he never can get away ! " exclaimed 
Euphrosyne. 
" And he gave me the sweetest smile as he was going out ! " 
said the weeping gonvernante. 
" There ! Bravo ! Bravo ! " cried M. Pascal ; and Pien-e 
echoed " Brav" 
  
ESCAPED.  
" What is it ? What is it ? " cried the girls. 
" He is safe ! He and his party  they are all safe ! Not in 
the barge  that is upset. Tou see those two green boats, now 
pulling off. They are there. They leaped into those boats just 
in time." 
" Oh, look, look ! what dreadful confusion ! " cried Euphrosyne, 
covering her eyes with her hands. 
" It is not so sure that they are safe yet," observed Pierre. 
" See liow the blacks are pouring into the water ! " 
" And carrying the ladies and children with them, I fear," 
said M. Pascal, gazing anxiously through his glass. 
In fact, the negroes had no idea of giving up the pursuit 
because they had reached the water. Hundreds plunged in; 
and their heads wore seen bobbing about all the surface of the 
bay. The rowers, however, pulled well, and presently left the 
greater number behind, to find satisfaction in the coolness of the 
element. 
" Thei-e is no great harm done," said M. Pascal, still gazing 
through his glass. " They have picked up two ladies and three 
children ; and none seem to be missing." 
" It is well that you and Monsieur were not there, Euphro- 
syne," observed Afra. 
Euphrosyne shuddered, and Pierre looked all amazement at 
the absurdity of such an idea. 
" No fear for us. Mademoiselle," said he. " See how empty 
the streets are, down below. None but the guard left, within 
half a mile," 
It did indeed appear as if the whole population of the town 
and plain was collected on the shores of the bay. Those who 
had thrown themselves into the sea had to wait for a footing on 
land, unless they chose to swim round the point  which some 
of them did. When at length the crowd began to move up into 
the town, it was because the Commander-in-chief was riding 
away, after having addressed the people. 
" What have you been about, child ? " exclaimed M. Eevel, an 
hour after. " Tou are never beside me when I wake." 
Euphrosyne did not point out that this was the first time she 
had failed to watch his siesta. She said that she had been seeing 
the Commissary set sail. 
" What, already I He is in a great hurry, I think." 
" The wind is quite fair, grandpapa. I suppose that is the 
reason why he made all the shiin the harbour sail the same 
way. He has carried off three frigates, and all the shipping in 
the roads. The sea is quite clear, grandpapa. There is not a 
single sail in sight, all along, as far as you can see. They are 
all off for France." 
" What in the world made him do that ? " 
K  
  
  
" Perhawe shall hear, some day. To be sure, he had to 
carry a good many people away with him." 
" Did many whites go with him ? " 
" I do not know how many whites. They say fifteen hundred 
went altogether ; but many of these were mulattoes ; and some 
few blacks, who went for a frolic, and will come back again when 
they hare seen France." 
" Strange doings ! Strange doings ! " sighed the old man. 
" And we shall have some glorious doings to-morrow, grand- 
papa. There was a little bustle and struggle when the Commis- 
sary went away  I am glad you were asleeand did not hear it. 
There will be no more  there will be no riot now, everybody 
says  the Commander-in-chief has behaved so finely, and the 
people are so fond of him. The danger is all over ; and the 
town's-people have begged him  the Deliverer, as they call him 
to attend the great church to-morrow, in state. Te Deum will 
be sung in all the churches, and it is to be a great fete-day. Are 
you not pleased F " 
" Not at aU pleased that Hedouville is gone, and fifteen hun- 
dred of his friends, and all the shipping." 
" Well, but we are all at peace now, and everybody satisfied." 
" Why are we here, then p Why am I not at home .' " 
" We will go home in a day or two. The streets will be noisy 
to-night ; and besides, one removal is enough for one day. Af ra 
will follow her father after to-morrow  he is gone, you know, 
this morning " 
" Whose guest am I, then? If I am the guest of the negro 
Toussaint " 
" Tou are the guest of M. Raymond while Afra is here. When 
she sets out, we will go home." 
" And shall I have to be swung up to the balcony, and have 
my brains dashed out, while all the nuns are staring at me ? " 
"Oh, no," replied Euphrosyne, laughing. "There will be 
nothing then to prevent your going in your own carriage to 
your own door. I am afraid we shall not find my pretty 
little hummiug-birds there. They will think I have forgotten 
them." 
" Ay, those humming-birds," said M. Revel, appearing to for 
get aU his troubles. 
  
is 
CHAPTER XVI. 
DREAMING AWAKE. 
THOrsH the peace of the town was now considered secure, there 
was little less bustle throughout the day and night than there 
had been in the morning. The cultiyators were sSl gone home. 
They poured out of the town almost as fast as they had poured 
into it, hapto have attained their object, in the defeat of the 
French authorities, and to be retm-ning without the loss or 
punishment of a man. As they attained the height behind 
which they would lose sight of the sea, they turned for one more 
view of the empty bay, and of the fleet, now disappearing on the 
horizon. They gave three cheers ; and this was the last that 
was heard of them, exceby such as met them in the plain, 
where they sang, as they walked, the words of their chief's pro- 
clamation. In negro fashion, they had set it to music ; and very 
well it sounded, when sung from the heart. 
In the town, the soldiers were busy removing the guns, and 
all signs of wai-fare, and the inhabitants in preparing for the fete 
of to-morrow. During the night, the hurry of footstenever 
ceased  so many of the citizens were going out into the country, 
and returning with blossoming shrubs to adorn the churches, 
and flowers with which to strew the path of the Deliverer. 
Under cover of these zealous preparations did discontent, like a 
serpent under the blossoms of the meadow, prepare to fix its 
poisonous tooth. There were men abroad in the streets who 
looked upon these preparations for rejoicing with a determina- 
tion that the rejoicings should never take place. 
The business of this arduous day being finished, Toussaint had 
retired early to rest, in a chamber in the south wing of Govern- 
ment-house  the part which had been inhabited by the Trench 
functionaries. He would allow no one to occuany apartments 
of the north wing (that which was appropriated to the governor 
of the town), while the daughter of the late governor and her 
guests remained there. His secretary, who had taken some 
hours' rest before, was busy writing, after midnight, in an apart- 
ment in the same wing. He was preparing dispatches for the 
Central Assembly, now sitting in the interior. 
M. Pascal was far from being on good terms with himself this 
night. H, in the morning, he had doubted his capacity for being 
governor of the town, he this night doubted his qualifications for 
the office of secretary, which he had thus far filled to his own 
satisfaction. To-night he could not command his ideas  he 
could not fix his attention. He wrote a paragraph, and then he 
dreamed ; he planned a proposition, and then he forgot it again ; 
  
l  
and, in despair, started \y to pace the floor, and disperse intru- 
siTe thoughts by exercise. These thoughts would intrude again, 
however ; and he found himself listlessly watching through the 
window a waving tree-toor a sinking star, while Ms pen dried 
in his hand. 
These intrusive ideas were of Af ra. He had never thought of 
love, in regard to himseK, even enough to despise it, or to resolve 
against it : and the time was apparently come when love was to 
revenge himself for this neglect. Perhait was this idea, as 
much as the attractions of Afra herself, that haunted him 
to-night. He felt that his hour was come ; that he was hence- 
forth, like other men, to be divided between two pursuits, to be 
dependent upon another for his tranquillity. He felt already 
that he could never again see Mademoiselle Raymond, or hear 
of her, without emotion. He had never understood love at first 
sight, and had hardly believed in it :  he now did not under- 
stand it ; but he could not but believe in it. He felt actually 
haunted. Every breath of air that whispered in the window 
brought her voice. Everything that moved in the night breeze 
made him start as if it was herself. At last, in despair about 
his task, which must be finished before dawn, he covered his 
eyes with his hands, as he leaned back in his chair, resolving not 
to move till he had ascertained what it was that he wanted to 
write next. 
A slight noise in the direction of the door, however, made him 
look up ; and he saw, advancing towards the light, no other than 
Afra herself. It was no wonder that he sat upright in his chair, 
his pale face paler than usual. In another moment, however, 
he blushed to the temples on hearing a suppressed laugh from 
some one who stood behind Afra, and who said, after some vain 
attempts to speak for laughing  
" M. Pascal takes us for ghosts." 
" By no means, Mademoiselle Revel. Ghosts do not wrap 
themselves in shawls from the night air, I believe ; nor come in 
at the door when the shorter way is through the wall ; or take a 
seat when asked, as I hoyou will do." And he placed chairs 
as he spoke. 
" We might have frightened you delightfully if we could have 
looked half as ghost-like as you did, the first moment you saw 
us. Perhait was the lamp " 
" Hush ! Euphrosyne," said Afra. " Tou speak too loud, and 
waste time. Remember what we came for. M. Pascal," she 
said, in a low voice, leaning towards him over the table, and 
refusing to sit down, "how is L'Ouverture guarded P " 
" Not at all, I believe. Why ? " 
The girls made a gesture of terror. Both said eagerly  
" He is in great danger ; indeed, indeed he is.'' 
  
WARNING.  
" Where are the soldiers ? " asked Euphrosyne. " Do send 
for them directly -. and ask him to lock himself up in the safest 
place till they come." 
" Tell me what you mean, and then '' 
" I think he is in danger, now the white rulers are gone, 
from the people of my colour," said Afra : " and I fear, this very 
night." 
" Do you mean, that they intend to murder him P " 
" Perhaso. Perhato seize him, and send him to Rigaud ; 
and that will he only a slower murder." 
"But how " 
" I wiU tell you. Euphrosyne and I sat rather late hehind 
the jalousies, in the dark, to see the people bring in flowers and 
fruit from the country for the morning. I saw many mulattoes 
in the walk ; but none of them had fruit or flowers. I watched 
them. I know their ways, their countenances, and their ges- 
tures. I saw they were gloomy and angry; and I found out 
that it is with L'Onverture. They were plotting mischief, I am 
certain." 
" But why so suddenly ?  why to-night ? " 
" So we thought at first ; and we went to rest, intending to 
teU L'Onverture to-morrow. But the more we thought and 
talked about it, the more uneasy we grew. We were afraid to 
go to sleep without telling some one in this wing; so we stole 
along the corridors in the dark, and saw that there was a light 
in this library, and ventured to look in, hoping it might be 
L'Onverture himself." 
" He is asleep in a I'oom near. I wiU waken him. Ton are 
not afraid to stay here a few moments, while I am gone  " 
"Oh, no." 
" He may wish to question you himself." 
" Tell him," said Alra, speaking rapidly, " that the mulattoes 
are jealous of him, because they think he wants to have all the 
power in his own hands. They say  ' There go the shi! 
There are no whites in power now. So much the better ! But 
here is Raymond displaced, and L'Ouverture is all in all. We 
shall have every office filled with blacks ; and the only chance 
for our degraded colour is in the fields or in the removal of this 
black.' Tell him this : but oh ! be sure you tell him my father 
and I do not agree in one word of it." 
" She would do anything in the world to save him," said 
Euphrosyne. 
" Ton are dear as a daughter to him," said M. Pascal, with 
eyes of love, as he left them. 
" I wish I was sure of that,'' said Afra. " But what can be 
done, Euphrosyne ? He has no guard ! And my father is not here, 
nor anyone to help us! I fancyevery moment I hear them coming." 
  
   
" I am not much afraid," said Eupkrosyne, her teeth chatter- 
ing all the while. " He is so powerful ! He never seems to 
want anybody to protect  scarcely to help him." 
" But asleep ! After midnight ! Thiiifc of it ! If they should 
seize him and bind him before he is awake ! " 
This fear was removed by his appearance, dressed, and like 
himself. He smiled at the girls, oflered them each an arm, and 
said he had a sight to show them, if they would look at it with- 
out speaking. He led them in the dark to a window, whence 
they looked down upon a court-yard, which was full of soldiers, 
awake and armed. In another moment, Toussaiut was con- 
ducting them along the corridors, towards' their own apartments, 
" Tou knew ! " whispered Afra. " "We need not have come. 
I believe you always know everything." 
" I suspected a plan to prevent the publishing of the amnesty 
to-morrow, and the filling up the offices of the colony with 
blacks. I suspected, but was not certain. Tour intelligence has 
confirmed me." 
" What will happen ? " asked Euphrosyne, trembling. " Will 
anybody be killed r " 
" Not to-night, I trust. Tou may go to rest secure that no 
blood will be spilled to-night ; and to-morrow, you know, is a 
holy-day. If you hear a step in the corridor of this your wing, 
do not be alarmed. I am going to send one of my own guard." 
He left them at their door, after standing to hear them fasten 
it inside. 
The girls keawake as long as they could, calling each 
other's attention to every fancied noise. They could be sure of 
nothing, however, but of the march of the sentinel along the cor- 
ridor. They both sleat last, and were wakened in broad day- 
light by the gouvernante, who entered in great trepidation, to 
say that there had been a plot against the Commander-in-chief ; 
that the window of his chamber had been entered at two 
o'clock by a party of mnlattoes, who had all been seized by 
L'Ouverture's soldiers. How it came to end so  how soldiers 
enough happened to be at hand at the right moment  how it 
was all done without fighting, without noise enough even to 
break her rest (and she always knew if anybody stirred)  the 
gouvernante could not tell. All she knew was, that L'Ouver- 
ture was the most considerate creature in the world. As soon 
as the eleven mnlattoes who had been taken were put into con- 
finement, L'Ouverture had sent one of his own guards into her 
corridor to prevent her being alarmed for herself and her young 
charge. 
  
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
THE GIFT AT THE ALTAR. 
Poor Euplirosyne ! She was not allowed by her grandfather to 
go to church this day. M. Bevel insisted upon it that it would 
be an act of treason for one of the French race to attend a thanks- 
giving for having got rid of the French authorities. In vain 
did Euphrosyne represent that the thanksgiving was for some- 
thing very different  for the deliverance of the town and dis- 
trict from war  for the security of white and black inhabitants 
alike.  Neither M. Revel nor Pierre would hear a word of this. 
They were quite sure that the faster the dark people thronged 
to the churches to rejoice, the more fervently should the whites 
mourn and pray for mercy at home. Her grandfather said 
Pierre should escort her to the chapel of the convent, where she 
might go without being seen. That service was a fitting one for 
her to attend ; and he would spare her for a couple of hours, to 
be so spent, under the eye of the abbess. This, however, 
Euphrosyne declined. She preferred remaining to see from 
behind the blind what went on in the Jesuits' Walk  to see 
Afra and her gouvemante dressed for chm-ch  to see L'Ouver- 
ture set forth  to see the soldiei-s follow, marching in a compact 
body, each man carrying a gi-een bough, in token of rejoicing. 
She did not know, any more than the crowd that lined the way, 
that in the centre of this body of military, and concealed by the 
green boughs, were the eleven mulatto prisoners. 
Afra entered quickly to say farewell ; and, lifting her veil 
hastily, she said, 
" Kiss me, and let me go. L'Ouverture says he shall take us 
into church himself, as my father is not here. Mademoiselle 
and I are going with Madame Ducie and her daughters ; and 
L'Ouverture will wait for us at the church, and lead us in. Poor 
Euphrosyne ! I wish you were going ! " 
" I never cared for anything half so much. WiU you reaUy 
walk all through the church to your seat on liis arm P And I 
should have been on the other side, if grandpawould have let 
me go I Do not stay, dear. Tell me all about it when you 
come back." 
" I must be gone. There will not be standing-room for one 
person to spare. Tou know every one of my colour in Cap is 
ordered to be in the church as the hour strikes. Farewell." 
Euphrosyne had thought she had heard the crier publish this 
order ; and presently Pierre brought her the handbill to the same 
effect, which was passing from hand to hand. If Euphrosyne 
  
  
and Pierre speculated curiously on what this order might mean, 
what must have been the anxiety of the mulattoes ! Most of 
them had known of the conspiracy of the day before : all had 
now heard of its failure. All were anxious to attend the church, 
as staying away would amount to a confession of disloyalty ; but 
there was not one of them who did not go with fear and trem- 
bling, wishing that the day was over, though dreading what it 
might bring forth. 
As Af ra, and the ladies who attended her, drew near the great 
church, they found the streets absolutely empty. Loyalty, and 
the desire to appear loyal, had carried the entire population to 
the churches ; and the houses appeared deserted by all but an 
aged or sick person, here and there, who looked forth upon the 
activity he could not share. In the centre of the area before the 
church were piled the arms of the garrison and of Toussaint's 
troo; and on the top of the pile of arms lay the fetters which 
had just been removed from the mulatto conspirators. L'Ouver- 
ture, in giving his orders to this effect, had said that arms should 
be laid aside in the act of thanksgiving for peace ; and bonds, 
while giving thanks for liberty. When, at length, he gave the 
signal for the military to enter the church after him, some of the 
officers looked earnestly to him for orders that a guard might be 
left with the arms. He understood their thoughts, and replied, 
with a smile :  > 
" Let every one enter to vforship : the arms are safe. There 
is no one near who would employ them against us." 
Afra's heart beat, and she did not forget Euphrosyne, as she 
was led to her seat by L'Ouverture, at whose entrance there 
was a half-suppressed murmur throughout the vast congrega- 
tion  a murmur which sank into silence at the first breathing 
of solemn music from the choir. The signs of gratulation for 
the escaof the Deliverer, first heard in the streets, and now 
witnessed amidst the worshipping crowd, were too much for the 
self-command of the conspirators. Their attitude became every 
moment more downcast their countenances more sullen and 
wretched. They had a strong impression that their execution 
was to seal the thanksgivings of this day ; and in every allusion 
to deliverance from danger, privy conspiracy, and rebellion, they 
believed that they read their own doom. A tempting idea of 
escanow and then crossed the imagination of one or other of 
them. As they sat with their heads upon their breasts, the 
thought that they were unfettered, and their guards unarmed, 
made them eager to glance around, and see if there was ho; 
but whenever they raised their eyes, and whichever way they 
looked, they encountered eyes seemingly as numerous as the stars 
of heaven  as many, as penetrating, but not so calm. Eyes 
which shone with love of L'Ouverture. could not look benignly 
  
FOSGIVENESS. I/I 
on those who would have kidnapped or murdered him. Nor 
did the eleven meet with any risible sympathy from the multi- 
tude of their own colour who were present. The greater num- 
ber looked studiously another way, in order to appear to have 
no connection with them ; and the countenances which were 
turned towards them wore a strong expression of displeasure, as 
towards men who had ruined the last hopes of a cause. The 
wretched men gave themselves uat length, to counting the 
minutes till the service should be over, and they should be once 
more retired from this myriad of eyes, when they were roused 
by a singular suspension of the service. 
After the prayer for divine pardon, ensuing upon mutual 
forgiveness, L'Ouverture arose from his knees, stepped from his 
place, and stood before the altar. He spoke, while all rose to 
hear. 
" In this place," said he, " brethren should be reconciled, or 
their offering of thanksgiving will not be pure. Will all who 
feel enmity towards me come to this holy spot, and exchange 
forgiveness ? " 
He looked towards the conspirators, who gazed upon him 
with eager eyes, but did not move. They could not believe that 
this appeal was intended for them, till he beckoned to them. 
They advanced with hesitating ste first one or two  then 
several  then all ; and as they drew nearer they rushed upon 
him, some kissing his hand, others kneeling and embracing his 
knees. Bidding these arise, he said gently, but in a voice so 
penetrating that it was heard in the farthest recess of the 
building, 
" I must have offended you, since you have conspired against 
me; and you are very guilty towards me and your country. 
May He who looks down with pity on the shameful strifes of 
men, bear witness to our hearty forgiveness of each other ! Can 
you with truth say Amen P  If not yet with truth, say it not tiE 
you have heard me." 
'' Amen ! " they cried, with a cry which was echoed first from 
the roof of the church, and then by every voice beneath it which 
was not choked with sobs. 
" If you had had patience with me," said Toussaint, " you 
would have found that I am above partiality in regard to race. 
When I find men of your colour fit for office, they shall be 
promoted to office as my friend Raymond was. I entreat you 
henceforth to give me time ; to watch me, though closely, 
generously ; and if I fail to satisfy you, to make your complaints 
to myself. As for the past, let it be forgotten by all. Go to 
your homes, and I trust no one will ever speak to you of this 
day. As for myself, I must go where I am wanted. It may be 
that I shall have to punish the leader of your colour, it he persists 
  
  
in disturbing the peace of the colony. But fear not that, if you 
do not share in his ofPenoes, I shall impute them to you. It is 
true that, however far off, my eye 'wiU be upon you, and my arm 
stretched out over you ; but as long as you are faithful, this my 
presence will be your protection. lter the blessing, the amnesiy 
I have promised will be read. This, my act of forgiveness, is 
sincere. Show that yours is so, I entreat, by cherishing the 
peace of the colony. By the sanctity of the place on which we 
stand, let there be peace among us all, and mutual forgiveness 
for all time to come ! " 
" Amen ! " again resounded, louder than the most joyous 
strain of the choir that ever rang through the building. 
L'Ouverture went back to his place, surrounded by the eleven 
released men, for whom room was made round his person by 
those who could best read his eye. After the priest had given 
the blessing, the amnesty was read which declared pardon for aU 
pohtical offences, and all personal offences against the Com- 
mander-in-chief, up to that hour. The moment it was concluded, 
those who had arrived at the church in custody, left it in freedom, 
though in shame, and sped away to their several homes, as if the 
death they had anticipated were at their heels. There they told 
I heir wonderful tale to their families, turning the desolation of 
wives and children into joy almost too great to be believed. 
Afra found, to her satisfaction, that no one had entered to tell 
Euphrosyne of this act of L'Ouverture. Euphrosyne had been 
full of perplexity about the mulattoes  almost disposed to think 
that the whole race must have suddenly gone mad. She had seen 
them two hours before, flocking to church with faces whose gloom 
contrasted strangely with their numbers, their holiday dresses, 
and their eagerness to be in time to secure admittance. She 
now saw them return, as if intoxicated with joy, cheering, the 
whole length of the walk, and crying with an enthusiasm, if pos- 
sible, surpassing that of the blacks, " Long live the Deliverer ! " 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
THE COTJNCIL OP FIVE. 
A corNCiL was held one morning, soon after the events just 
related, whose aspect would have perplexed an old colonist, if 
he could have looked forward in vision to that day. In a shady 
apartment of Toussaint's house at Pongaudin sat five men, in 
whose hands lay the fortunes of the colony ; and only one of 
these men was a white. 
  
GOOD-TIDINGS.   
The five came to report well to one another of the fortunes of 
the colony. Never, in the old days, coiild any set of counsellors 
have been gathered together, who could have brought with them 
such proofs of the welfare and comfort of every class of inha- 
bitants. In former times the colonial legislators were wont to 
congratulate the Assembly on the good working of their system ; 
which meant that the negroes were quiet, the mulattoes ke
under, and the cropromising ; but under this " good working " 
there were the heart-burnings of the men of colour, the woes 
and the depravity of the slaves, and the domestic fears and 
discomforts of the masters, arising from this depravity. Now, 
when there was no oppression and no slavery, the simple system 
of justice was truly " working well " ; not only in the prospect 
of the crops, and the external quiet of the proprietors, but in 
the hearts and heads of every class of men  of perhaevery 
family in the island. 
Jacques Dessalines had arrived from St. Marc, near which 
his estate lay. He had to tell how the handsome crescent of 
freestone houses behind tlie quay was extending  how busy 
were the wharves  how the storoliouses were overflowing  how 
the sea was covered with merchant shi and how the cheerful 
hum of prosperous industry was heard the long day through. 
Henri Christophe had come from the city of St. Domingo, 
quite through the interior of the island. He had to tell how the 
reinstated whites paid him honour as he passed, on account of 
his friendship with L'Ouverture ; how the voice of song went 
up from the green valleys, and from the cottage door ; how the 
glorious AjHiibonite rolled its fuU tide round the base of mountains 
which no longer harboured the runaway or the thief, and through 
plains adorned with plenty, and smiling with peace. 
M. Raymond arrived from the sittings of the Central As- 
sembly. What good things he had to report will presently be 
seen. 
Toussaint, with M. Pascal, had arrived from Cawhere all 
was at present quiet, and where he had done the best he could, 
as he believed, by making Moyse a general, and leaving him in 
charge of the town and district, till a person could be found fit 
for the difficult and most anxious office of Governor of CaThe 
two most doubtful points of the colony were Port-au-Prince and 
Cap Prancjais. They had been the great battle-grounds of races ; 
they were the refuge of the discontented whites ; and they were 
open to the operations of factious people from Prance. L'Ouver- 
ture was never sure of the peace and quiet of Caas long as 
French shicame and went ; but there was peace in the town 
at the present moment ; and he had left that peace in the tem- 
porary charge of one who had done much, under his eye, to 
establish it  who had shown no small energy and talent, and 
  
  
who had every inducement that could be conceived to go through 
his brief task well. Great had been Tonssaint's satisfaction in 
offering to Moyse this honourable opportunity of distinguishing 
himself ; and much had he enjoyed the anticipation of telling 
Genifrede of this fulfilment of her lover's ambition, and of the 
near approach of their union, in consequence. It is true, he had 
been disappointed by Geuifrede's receiving this news with a 
shudder, and by none but forced smiles having been seen from 
her since ; but he trusted that this was only a fit of apprehension, 
natural to one who loved so passionately, and that it would but 
enhance the bliss that was to succeed. 
If, as usual, L'Ouverture had to report the situation of Cap 
Franais as precarious, he brought good tidings of the South. An 
express had met him on his journey homewards, with news of 
the total defeat of the insurgent mulattoes by Vincent. Bigaud 
had surrendered his designs, and had actually sailed, with his 
principal officers, for Prance. Thus was the last torch of war 
extinguished in the colony, and matters of peaceful policy alone 
lay before this Council of Five. 
The announcement of the entire pacification of the island was 
the first made by L'Ouverture, when his friends and counsellors 
looked eagerly to him for what he should say. 
" Vincent is a fine fellow," said Dessalines, " and a credit to 
his colour." 
"He has been in the most pressing danger,'" observed Tous- 
saint. " God willed that he should escape, when escaappeared 
impossible." 
" What is to be done now with these cowardly devils of mu- 
lattoes P " asked Dessalines. 
M. Pascal glanced at Raymond, to see how he bore this. 
Raymond chanced to meet his eye, and replied to the glance. 
" Tou will not take me for a cowardly mulatto, M. Pascal, if 
I do not resent Dessaline's words. He is speaking of the rebels, 
not of the many mulattoes who, like myself, disapprove and 
despise all such jealousy of race as leads to the barbarism of 
aggressive war." 
" Yet," said Christophe, " I wish that we should all avoid 
such language as provokes jealousy of race." 
"In council one must speak plainly," replied Dessalines. 
" I hoM. Pascal agrees with me ; for doubtless certain affairs 
of the whites will be in question, with regard to which they may 
be uncivilly spoken of. I was going to say, for instance (what 
L'Ouverture's secretary ought to be able to bear), that if we wish 
this state of peace to last, we must studiously keep the whites 
down  exclude them from all situations of power and trust. 
Tou aU know that, in my opinion, they ought every one to have 
been done with some time ago. As that was not effected, the 
  
REWARDS TO VINCENT.   
next best policy is to let them die out. One may compute pretty 
well the time that this will take. If nothing better remains for 
them here than to liye upon their estates, without a chance of 
distinction, or of employment in public affairs.'they will grow 
tired of the colony ; the next generation, at farthest, will be glad 
to sell their property, and go home ; and we shall be rid of them." 
" By that time, Jacques," said Toussaint, " yon and I may 
find ourselves again in the midst of them, in a place whence we 
cannot drive them out." 
Dessalines' countenance told, as well as words could have 
done, that heaven would be no heaven to him if the spirits of 
white men were there. Toussaint well understood it, and 
resumed, 
" Better begin here what may be our work there  draw 
closer, and learn from them the wisdom by which they have 
been the masters of the world : while they may learn from us, if 
they wiU, forgiveness of injuries." 
" I am sick of hearing all that, Toussaint. It is for ever in 
your mouth." 
" Because it is for ever in my heart. Tou will hear it from 
me, Jacques, till I see that there is no occasion to say it more. 
As to Vincent, I propose to keep him, in token of honour, near 
my person ; and to request the Central Assembly to decree to 
him an estate of siich value as they shall think proper, to be 
purchased from the public treasury." 
'' That is, supposing he should desire to remain among us," 
observed Christophe ; " but Vincent is fond of f ranee." 
"Then his estate shall be in Prance, Henri. Our friend 
Raymond will charge himself with this business in the As- 
sembly." 
" If I bring it forward in the form of a message from your- 
self," replied Raymond, " there is no doubt of its being carried 
by acclamation. The finances of the colony are flourishing, 
and the attachment of the Assembly to your person most en- 
thusiastic." 
" What of the finances p " asked Toussaint. 
Raymond gave from his notes a statement which showed that 
both the customs' duties and internal taxes had been productive 
beyond all expectation; that the merchant- shiof almost every 
nation had visited the ports ; and that, after defraying the ex- 
penses of the war now closed, there would be a sm-plus sufficient 
for the extension of the schools and the formation of some new 
roads. 
" What of the attachment of the Assembly to L'Ouverfcure's 
person ? " asked Christophe. 
" Every member of it sees that the prosperity of the island is 
the consequence of the vigorous prosecution of his system ; and 
  
  
that there is no security but in its unquestioned continuance. 
The Commander-in-chief having been thus proved as eminently 
fitted for civil as for military government, the Assembly proposes 
to constitute him president of the colony for life, with power to 
choose his successor, and to appoint to all offices." 
All eyes were now fixed upon Toussaint. He observed that 
a dark cloud must have hidden France from the eyes of the 
Assembly, when they framed this proposition of independent 
sovereignty. 
Raymond had no doubt that France would agree to have her 
colony governed in the best possible manner. If there should 
be a difficulty about the title of president, that of governor 
might be substituted. The power being the same, there need 
not be a quarrel about the title. The Assembly would yield 
that point  probably the only one that France would dispute. 
M. Pascal believed that France would never yield the power 
of appointing to offices of importance for life ; still less that of 
choosing a successor. 
" France ought not to yield such powers," said Toussaint ; 
" and the Assembly ought not to bring upon me (representative 
as I am of my i"ace) the imputation of a personal ambition which 
I abjure and despise. I could tell the Assembly that, if I had 
chosen to stoop under the yoke of personal ambition, I might 
have been sovereign of this island without waiting for their call. 
Yes," he continued, in answer to the inquiring looks of his 
friends, " I have in my possession a treaty proposed to me by the 
British Government, in which the English ofEer to make me king 
of this island  in such case to be called by its ancient name of 
Hayti  on condition of exclusive commerce." 
" Is it even so ? " exclaimed Ohristophe. 
' Even so, Henri. The English believed that I had acted on 
my own account ; and that we, the children of France, should 
turn against our mother in the day of her perplexity, and join 
hands with her foes." 
"Any other man would have done it," said M. Pascal. 
" No, Pascal ; no man who was appointed, like me, to redeem 
nis race." 
"How do you consider that you wiU injure your race by 
accepting the proposal of the Assembly? " asked M. Pascal. " I 
understand why you would accenothing from the hands of the 
English ; and also why you would hesitate to assume a power 
which the government at home would doubtless disallow. But 
how would your race be injured by honours paid to you ? " 
" Tou are my friend," replied Toussaint. " Is it possible 
that you can fail to understand ? " 
"I call myself your friend too," said Dessalines, "and  
declare I can comprehend nothing of it." 
  
AN OPPORTUNITY REJECTED.   
" Tour prejudices on one point are strong, Jacques ; and pre- 
judice is blind. M. Pascal is singularly unprejudiced : and 
therefore I believed that he would understand me." 
" PerhaI do : but I wish to hear your reasons from yonr- 
" Particularly,'' interposed Raymond, " as to whether you 
believe the blacks (who are, we know, your first object) would 
be more benefited by continued connection with Prance or by 
independence. I believe M. Pascal is unprejudiced enough to 
bear the discussion of even this point." 
" It is that which I wish to understand clearly," observed M. 
Pascal. 
" Whether, if I believed my race would be benefited by the 
independence of this island, I could answer it to my conscience 
to separate from Prance," said Toussaint, " we need not decide, 
as I am convinced that, amidst all the errors committed under 
the orders of government, it is best for us to remain in connection 
with France. The civilization of the whites is the greatest 
educational advantage we could enjoy. Tes, Jacques ; and the 
more we despise it, the more we prove that we need it. The 
next great reason for remaining faithful is that we owe it to the 
white inhabitants of the colony not to deprive them of their 
connection with Paris, on the one hand, nor of their liberty to 
live and prosper here, on the other. As regards my own peculiar 
position, I feel that my first duty is to present an example of 
reverence and affection for my country, and not of a selfish am- 
bition. I may have other personal reasons also, tending to the 
same conclusion." 
" Some favourite passages in Epictetus, perhaps, or in the 
Bible," said Jacques : " some reasons confirmed by the whispers 
of the priests. Nothing short of priestly influence could blind 
you to such an opportunity as we now have of disembarrassing 
ourselves of the whites for ever." 
" Patience, Jacques ! " said Toussaint, smiling. 
" I believe," said Christophe, " that there is neither book nor 
priest in the case. I believe that it is your peculiar feeling 
towards Bonaparte, Toussaint, which strengthens your affection 
for France." 
Christophe saw, by a glance at his friend's countenance, that 
he was right. 
" I should act as you do," Henri continued, " if I were certain 
of a full and generous reciprocity of feeling on the part of the 
government and of Bonaparte. But I have no such confidence." 
" Hear him ! " cried Dessalines and Raymond. 
" Tou were not wont to doubt Bonaparte, Henri," observed 
Toussaint. 
" Because, tUl of late, there was no reason to doubt him. \ 
  
  
BtUl believe that he was in earnest at the outset, in his professed 
desire to serve Prance for the sake of Prance, and not for his 
own. But I believe that he has a head less strong than yours ; 
that we shall see him transformed from the pacificator into the 
aggressor  that, instead of waiting upon his pleasure, we may 
have to guard against injury from him." 
" These words from the generous Henri," said Toussaint, " are 
portentous." 
" I may be wrong, Toussaint. God grant, for the sake of the 
liberties of the world, that I may be proved mistaken ! But, in 
the hour of choice between your sovereignty and continued 
dependence, you must not suppose the sympathy between the 
First of the Whites and the First of the Blacks to be greater 
than it is." 
Toussaint could have told how Henri's words only confirmed 
misgivings as to the public virtues of Bonaparte, which had long 
troubled his secret soul. 
" Are you willing," he asked of M. Pascal, " to tell us your 
anticipations as to the career of the First Consul ? Do not speak, 
if you prefer to be silent." 
" I cannot predict confidently," replied Pascal ; ',' but I 
should not be surprised if we see Bonaparte imable to resist the 
offer of sovereignty. Once crowned, and feeling himself stiU 
compelled to speak incessantly of the good of his country, his 
views of good will become debased. He wiU invest Prance with 
military glory, and sink into ruin by becoming a conqueror ;  
a vulgar destiny, in tliis age  a destiny which Alexander himself 
would pi-obably scorn, if now born again into the world." 
" Alas ! my poor blacks, if this be indeed Bonaparte ! " 
exclaimed Toussaint. " Their supreme need is of peace ; and 
they may become the subjects of a conqueror." 
"And hapif they be no worse than subjects," said 
Christophe. 
" If," said Toussaint, " Bonaparte respects the liberties of the 
French no more than to reduce them from being a nation to 
being an army, he wUl not respect the liberties of the blacks, 
and wiU endeavour to make them once more slaves." 
" Ah ! you see ! " exclaimed Dessalines. 
" I neither see nor believe, Jacques. We are only speculating. 
I will be thoroughly faithful to my allegiance, till Bonaparte is 
unquestionably unfaithful to the principles by which he rose. 
At the moment, however, wlieu he lifts his finger in menace of 
the liberties of the blacks, I will declare myself the Champion 
of St. Domiugo;  not, however, through the offices of the 
English, but by the desire of those whom I govern." 
" Say King of Hayti," exclaimed Christophe. " This island 
was Hayti, when it lay blooming in the midst of the ocean, fresh 
  
"no retaliation.  
from the will of God, thi-onged with gentle beings who had never 
lifted up a hand against each other. It was Hayti when it 
received, as into a paradise, the first whites who came into our 
hemisphere, and who saw in our valleys and plains the Eden of 
the Scripture. It became St. Domingo when vice creinto it, 
and oppression turned its music into sighs, and violence laid it 
waste with famine and the sword. While the blacks and whites 
yet hate each other, let it be still St. Domingo : but when you 
withdraw us from jealousy and bloodshed, let it again be Hayti. 
While it holds its conquered name there will be heart-burnings. 
If it became our own Hayti, we might not only forgive, but 
forget. It would be a noble lot to be King of Hayti ! " 
" If so ordained, Henri. We must wait till it be so. My 
present clear duty is to cultivate peace, and the friendship of 
the whites. They must have their due from us, from Bonaparte 
himself, to the youngest infant in CaYou may trust me, 
however, that from the hour that there is a whisper about slavery 
in the lightest of Bonaparte's dreams, I will consent to be called 
by whatever name can best defend our race." 
" It will be too late then," said Dessalines. " Why wait till 
Bonaparte tells you his dreams ? We know, without being told, 
that all the dreams of all whites are of our slavery." 
"Tou are wrong, Jacques. That is no more true of all 
rliites, than it is true of all blacks that they hate the whites as 
you do." 
" Tou wiU. find too late that I am not wrong," said Jacques. 
" Remember, in the day of our ruin, that my timely advice to 
you was to send for your sons from Paris, and then avow 
yourself King of St. Domingo  or of Hayti, if you like that name 
better. To me that name tells of another coloured race, whom 
the whites wantonly oppressed and destroyed. One cannot 
traverse the island without hearing the ghosts of those poor 
Indians, from every wood and every hiU, calling to us for 
vengeance on their conquerors." 
" Take care how you heed those voices, Dessalines," said 
Christophe. " They are not the voices of the gentle Indians 
that you hear ; for the whites who injured them are long ago 
gone to judgment." 
" And if they were stiU in the midst of us," said Toussaint, 
' vengeance is not ours. Jacques knows that my maxim in the 
field  my order, which may not be transgressed  is, no 
EETAXIATION ! I will have the same rule obeyed in my council- 
chamber, as we all, I trust, observe it in our prayers. Jacques, 
you have not now to learn my principle and my command  no 
RETALIATION. Have you ever Imown it infringed, since the hour 
when you found me at Breda, and made me your chief ? " 
'Never." 
L  
  
lo  
" Nor shall you while I am obeyed. If the hour for defence 
comes we shall be ready. Till then we owe allegiance." 
" Ton will find it too late," Dessalines said, once more. 
" The Assembly," said Toussaint to Raymond, " will withdraw 
their proposition regarding my being President of this island. 
I have all needful power as Oommander-in-chief of the colony." 
" They have already published their request," said Raymond ; 
" which I do not regret, because " 
'' I regret it much," said Toussaint. " It will incense France.'' 
" I do not regret it," pursued Raymond, "because it renders 
necessary the publication of your refusal, which cannot but 
satisfy France." 
" On the point of Toussaint's supposed ambition it may satisfy 
France," observed Ohristophe. " But if Bonaparte be jealous of 
the influence of the First of the Blacks, this homage of the 
Assembly will not abate his jealousy." 
" Have you more messages for us, Raymond ?  No. Then M. 
Pascal and I will examine these reports, and prepare my replies. 
This our little council is memorable, friends, for being the first 
in which we could report of the entire pacification of the colony. 
May it be only the first of many ! My friends, our council is 
ended." 
CHAPTER XIX. 
LEISTJRE FOK ONCE. 
Pkecious to the statesman are the moments he can snatch for 
the common pleasures which are strewed over the earth meant, 
apparently, for the perpetual enjoyment of all its inhabitants. 
The chUd gathers flowers in the meadow, or runs up and dovra 
a green bank, or looks for birds' nests every spring day. The 
boy and girl hear the lark in the field and the linnet in the wood, 
as a matter of course : they walk beside the growing com, and 
pass beneath the rookery, and feel nothing of its being a privi- 
lege. The sailor beholds the stars every bright nigkt of the 
year, and is familiar with the thousand hues of the changing sea. 
The soldier on his march sees the sun rise and set on mountain 
and valley, plain and forest. The citizen, pent up in the centre 
of a wide-built town, has his hour for play with his little ones, 
his evenings for his wife and his friends. But for the statesman, 
none of these are the pleasures of every day. Week after week, 
month after month, he can have no eyes for the freshness of 
nature, no leiswe for small affairs, or for talk about things which 
  
MOMENTS OF SWEETNESS. ll 
cannot be called affairs at aU. He may gaze at pictures on his 
walls, and hear music from the drawing-room, in the brief 
intervals of his labours ; and he may now and then be taken by 
surprise by a glimpse of the cool bright stars, or by the waving 
of the boughs of some neighbouring tree. He may be beguiled 
by the grace or the freak of some little child, or struck by some 
wandering flower scent in the streets, or some efEeot of sanlight 
on the evening cloud. But with these few and rare exceptions, 
he loses sight of the natural earth, and of its free intercourses, 
for weeks and months together ; and precious in proportion- 
precious beyond its utmost anticipation  are his hours of holiday 
when at length they come. He gazes at the crescent moon 
hanging above the woods, and at the long morning shadows on 
the dewy grass, as if they would vanish before his eyes. He is 
intoxicated with the gurgle of the brook upon the stones, when 
he seeks the trout stream with his line and basket. The whir- 
ring of the wild bird's wing upon the moor, the bursting of the 
chase from cover, the creaking of the harvest wain  the song of 
the vine-dressers  the laugh of the olive-gatherers  in every 
land where these sounds are heard, they make a child once more 
of the statesman who may for once have come forth to hear them. 
Sweeter still is the leisure hour with children in the garden or 
the meadow, and the quiet stroll with wife or sister in the 
evening, or the gay excursion during a whole day of liberty. If 
Sunday evenings are sweet to the labourer whose toils involve 
but little action of mind, how precious are his rarer holidays to 
the state labourer, after the wear and tear of toil like his  after 
his daily experience of intense thought, of anxiety, and fear ! In 
the path of such should spring the freshest grass, and on their 
heads should fall the softest of the moonlight, and the balmiest 
of the airs of heaven, if natural rewards are in any proportion to 
their purchase money of toil. 
The choicest holiday moments of the great negro statesman 
were those which he could spend with his wife and children, away 
from observing eyes and listening ears. He was never long pent up 
in the city, or detained by afEairs within the walls of his palace. 
His business lay abroad, for the most part; and he came and 
went continually, on horseback, throughout every part of the 
island. Admirable as were his laws and regulations, and zealously 
as he was served by his agents of every description, there was 
no security for the working of his system so good as his own 
frequent presence among the adoring people. The same love 
which made him so powerful abroad interfered with his comfort 
at home. There were persons ever on the watch for a glimpse 
of him, eager to catch every word and every look : and the very 
rarest of his pleasures was unwitnessed intercourse with his 
family. 
  
I  TBB . 
At length, wlien Hedouville was gone away from one port, 
and Rigaud from another  when neither snor foe appeared to 
remain  it seemed to be time for him, who had given peace and 
leisure to everybody else, to enjoy a little of it himself. He 
allowed his children, therefore, to fix a day when he should go 
with them on a fishing excursion round the little island of 
Gonaives, which was a beautiful object from the windows of the 
house at Pongaudin, as it lay in the midst of the bay. 
The excursion had answered completely. General Vincent, 
leaving the south of the island in a state of perfect tranquillity, 
had arrived to enjoy his honours in the presence of L'Ouverture 
and his family. Madame Dessaliues had come over from St. 
Marc. As Afra was of the party, M. Pascal had found it pos- 
sible to leave his papers for a few hours. Toussaint had caught 
as many fish as if he had been Paul himself. He had wandered 
away with his girls into the wood, tiU he was sent to the boats 
again by the coimtry people who gathered about him; and he 
lay hidden with Denis under the awning of the barge, playing 
duck and drake on the smooth water, till the islandei's found out 
where he was, and came swimming out, to spoil their sport. It 
was a day too soon gone : but yet he did not consider it ended 
when they landed at Pongaudin, at ten o'clock. The moon was 
high, the gardens looked lovely ; and he led his wife away from 
the party, among the green alleys of the shrubbery. 
"I want to know what you think," exclaimed Madame 
L'Ouverture, as they emerged from a shaded walk upon a grass 
plot, on which the light lay, clear and strong  " I want to ask 
you "  and as she spoke, she looked round to see that no one 
was at hand  " whether you do not think that General Yincent 
loves Aimee." 
" I think he does. I suspected it before, and to-dav I am sure 
of it." 
" And are not you glad ? " 
" That partly depends on whether Aimee loves him. I doubt 
whether Vincent, who is usually a confident fellow enough, is ao 
hapabout the matter as you are." 
" Aime is not one who will ever show herself too ready 
Aimee is very quiet " 
" Well, but, is she ready in her heart ? Does she care about 
Vincent ? " 
" I do not knowthat she does qviite, yet though I think she 
likes him very much, too. But surely she will love him she 
must love him so much as he loves her and so delightful, so 
desirable a match as it is, in every way ! " 
" Ton think it so." 
" Why, do not yon ? Consider how many years we have 
known him, and what confidence you had in him when you sent 
  
A DOOMED MAN.   
him with our dear boys to Paris ! And now he has done great 
things in the south. He comes, covered with glory, to ask us for 
our Aimee. What could be more flattering ? 
" It was our child's future happiness that I was thinking of, 
when I seemed to doubt. Vincent is full of good qualities ; but 
he is so wholly French that " 
" Not so French as M. Pascal, who was bom, brought uand 
employed at Paris ; and you are pleased that he should marry 
Afra." 
" Vincent is more French than Pascal, though he is a black. 
He is devoted to Bonaparte " 
" What of that ? " said Madame L'Ouverture, after a pause. 
" He is devoted to you also. And are you not yourself devoted to 
France and to Bonaparte ? Do we not pray together for him 
every day of our lives ? " 
" Remember, Margot, to pray for him every day, as long as 
you live, if I am separated from you by death or otherwise. 
Pray that such a blessing may rest upon him as that he may be 
wise to see his duty, and strong to do it. If he injures us, pray 
that he may be forgiven." 
" I wiU," replied Margot, in a low voice ; " but   " 
She was lost in considering what this might mean. 
"As for Vincent," resumed Toussaint, "my doubt is whether, 
with his views and tastes, he ought to ally himself with a doomed 
man." 
" Vincent is ambitious, my dear husband ; and, even if he did 
not love our child as he does, he might be anxious to ally himself 
with one so powerful  so full of honours  with so very great a 
man as you. I would not speak exactly so if we were not alone : 
but it is very true, now that the Central Assembly has declared 
you supi-eme in the colony. Consider what Vincent must think of 
that ! And he has travelled so much in the island, that he must 
have seen how you deserve all that is said of you. He has seen 
how all the runaways have come down from the mountains, and 
the pirates in from the reefs and the coves ; and how they are 
all honestly cultivating the fields, and fishing in the bays. He 
has seen how rich the whole island is growing ; and how con- 
tented, and industrious, and honest, the people are, in this short 
time. He has seen that all this is your work : and he may well 
be ambitious to be your son-in-law." 
" Unless he has the foresight to perceive, with all this, that  
am a doomed man." 
" I thought you said so  I thought I heard that word before,'' 
said Margot, in a trembling voice ; " but I could not believe it." 
Toussaint knew by her tone that some vague idea of evil 
agency  some almost forgotten superstition was crossing her 
imagination : and he hastened to explain. 
  
  
" Do not imagine," said he, solemnly, " do not for a moment 
suppose that God is not on onr side  that He will for a moment 
forsake us. But it is not always His pleasure that His servants 
should prosper, though their good work prospers in the end. I 
firmly trust and beliere that our Father will not permit us to be 
made slaves again ; but it may be His will that I and others 
should fall in defending our freedom." 
" But the wars are at an end. Tour battles are all over, my 
loTe." 
"How can we be sure of that, when Bonaparte has yet to learn 
what the Assembly has done P HdouviUe is on the way home, 
eager to report of the blacks, while he is ignorant of their minds, 
and prejudiced about their conduct. M. Papalier and other 
planters are at Paris, at the ear of Bonaparte, while his ear is 
already so quickened by jealousy, that it takes in the lightest 
whisper against me and my race. How can we say that my 
battles ai-e over, love, when every new success and honour makes 
this man, who ought to be my brother, yet more ray foe ? " 
" Oh, write to him ! Write to him, and tell him how you 
would have him be a brother to you ! " 
" Have I not written twice, and had no reply but neglect ? 
I wrote to him to announce the earliest prospect of entire peace. 
I wrote again, to explain my intercourse with his agent Roume, 
and requested his sanction of what I had done. There has been 
no reply." 
" Then write again. Write this very night ! " 
" I wrote yesterday, to inform him fully concerning the new 
constitution framed by the Assembly. I told him that it should 
be put in force provisionally, till the pleasure of his government 
is made known." 
" Oh, then, that must bring an answer." 
Toussaint was sUent. 
" He must send some sort of answer to that," pursued Margot. 
" What answer do you think it will be P " 
" Ton remember the great esigle that I shot, when we lived 
nuder the mountains, Margot P Do you remember how the kids 
played in the pasture, with the shadow of that huge eagle floating 
above them P ' 
Margot, trembling, pressed closer to her husband's side. 
" Tou saw to-day," he continued, " that troop of gay dolphins, 
in the smooth sea beyond the island. Tou saw the shark, with 
its glaring eyes, opening its monstrous jaws, as it rose near the 
pretty creatures, and hovered about them." 
" But you shot the eagle," cried Margot ; "and Denis wounded 
the shark." 
" Heaven only knows how it may end with us," said Toussaint ; 
" but we have the shadow of Bonaparte's jealousy over us, and 
  
PARENTAL CARES.   
danger all about us. The greater our prosperity, the more certain 
is it to bring all France down upon us." 
" Oh, can Bonaparte be so cruel ? " 
" I do not blame him for this our danger ; and any future woe 
must all go to the account of our former slavery. We negroes are 
ignorant, and have been made loose, deceitful, and idle, by 
slavery. The whites have been made tyrannical and unjust, by 
being masters. They believe us now ambitious, rebellious, and 
revengeful, because it would be no wonder if we were so. All 
this injustice comes of our former slavery. God forbid that 
I should be unjust too, and lay the blame where it is not 
due ! For nothing done or feared in St. Domingo do I blame 
Bonaparte." 
" Then you think  Oh ! say you think there is no danger for 
Placide and Isaac. Bonaparte is so kind to them! Surely 
Placide and Isaac can be in no danger ! " 
" There is no fear for their present safety, my love." 
Toussaint would not for the world have told of his frequent 
daily thought and nightly dream, as to what might be the fate of 
these hostages, deliberately sent to France, and deliberately left 
there now. He would not subject himseK to entreaties respecting 
their return which he dared not listen to, now that their recall 
would most certainly excite suspicions of the fidelity of the 
blacks. Not to save his children would L'Ouverture do an act 
to excite or confirm any distrust of his people. 
" Bonaparte is kind to them, as you say, Margot. And if 
Vincent should win our Aimee, that wiU be another security for 
the lads ; for no one doubts his attachment to France." 
" I hoVincent will win her. But when will you send for 
the boys? They have been gone very long. When will you send P' 
" As soon as affairs will allow. Do not urge me, Margot. I 
think of it day and night." 
"Then there is some danger. Tou would not speak so if 
there were not. Oh ! my husband ! marry Vincent to Aimde ! 
Tou say that will be a security." 
" We must not forget Aime herself, my love. If she should 
hereafter find her heart torn between her lover and her parents 
if the hour should come for every one here to choose between 
Bonaparte and me, and Vincent should still adore the First of 
the Whites, what will become of the chihi of the First of the 
Blacks P Ought not her parents to have foreseen such a 
struggle ? " 
" Alas ! what is to become of us all, Toussaint ? " 
" PerhaGnifrede is the happiest of our children, Margot. 
She looks anxious to-day ; but in a few more days, I hoeven 
her trembling heart will be at rest." 
" It never will," said Margot, mournfully. '' I think there is 
  
   
some evil influence upon our poor child, to afflict her with per- 
petual fear. She still fears ghosts, rather than fear nothing. 
She enjoys nothing, excewhen Moyse is by her side." 
" Well, Moyse wiU presently be by her side ; and for life.  
I was proud of him, Margot, last week, at CaI knew his 
military talents, from the day when we used to call the boy 
General Moyse. I saw by his eye, when I announced him as 
Genera] Moyse in Cathat he remembered those old days on 
the north shore. Oh, yes, I was aware of his talents in that 
direction, from his boyhood ; but I found in him power of an- 
other kind. Ton know what a passionate loTer he is." 
" Tes, indeed. Never did I see such a lover ! " 
"Well, he puts this same power and devotedness into his 
occupation of the hour, whatever it may be." 
" Do you mean that he forgets Gnifrede, when he is away 
from her p " 
" I rather hothat it is the remembrance of her that animates 
him in his work. I'm sure that it is so ; for I said a few words 
to him about home, which made him very happy. If I were to 
see him failing, as we once feared he would  if I saw him 
yielding to his passions  to the prejudices and passions of the 
negro and the slave, my reproof would be, ' Tou forget Geni- 
f rede.' Moyse has yet much to learn  and much to overcome ; 
yet I look upon G&ifrede as pei-hathe most favoured of oui 
children. It is so great a thing to be so beloved ! " 
" It is indeed the greatest thing." Margot stopped, as a turn 
in the walk brought them in view of the house. The long 
ranges of verandah stood in the moonlight, checkered with the 
stiU shadows of the neighbouring trees. Every window of the 
large white mansion gave out a stream of yellow light, to con- 
trast with the silvery shining of the moon. " This is very unlike 
the hut we went to when we were married, Toussaint. Yet I 
was quite hapand contented. It is indeed the greatest thing 
to be loved." 
" And have you not that greatest thing here too ? Do I not 
love you, my Margot P " 
" Oh, yes ! Tes, indeed, we love each other as much as we did 
then  in that single room, with its earthen floor, and its cribs 
against the wall, and the iron pot in the fire-place, and the hen 
pecking before the door. But, Toussaint, look at the difEerence 
now ! Look at this beautiful house, and aU the gardens and 
cane-pieces and think of our palace at Port-au-Prince  and 
think of the girls as they look at church, or in the boat to-day  
and how the country is urejoicing, wherever you go  and now 
the Assembly consider you  think of all that has happened since, 
the wedding-dfl,y of ours at Breda ! It is so fine  so wonderful, 
that you shall not frighten me about anything that can happen. 
  
THE COTTAGE AND THE COURT.  
I am sure the blessing of God is upon you, my husband ; and you 
shall not make me afraid." 
"I would have none be afraid while God reigns, Margot. 
May yon ever say that you will not fear ! The blessing of God 
may be on us now, love ; but it was never more so than when 
we went home to our hut at Breda. When I lay under the 
treesat noon, taking care of the cattle, how many things I used 
to think of to say to you when I came homo ! " 
" And so did I, as I kneeled at my washing by the brook-side, 
and you were driving M. Bayou, twenty miles off, and were 
expected home in the evening. How much there was to say at 
the end of those days ! " 
" It was not for ourselves then, Margot, that we have been 
raised to what we are. We were as hapdrawing water in 
the wood, and gathering plantains in the negro-grounds, as we 
have ever been in these shrubberies. We were as merry in that 
single room at Breda as in this mansion, or in our palace. It is 
not for our own sakes that we have been so raised." 
" It is pleasant for our children." 
"It is. And it is good for ou. race. It is to make us their 
servants. Oh! Margot, if ever you find a thought of pride 
stirring at your heart, remember that if the blacks were less 
ignorant and more wise, it would not matter whether we lived 
as we used to do, or as we live now. It is because we negroes 
are vain and corrupted, that show and state are necessary : and 
the sight of our show and state should, therefore, humble us." 
"  am sure you are not fond of show and state. Ton eat and 
drinli, and wait upon yourself, as you did at Breda ; and your 
uniform is the only fine dress you like to wear. I am sure you 
had rather have no court." 
" Very true. I submit to such state as we have about us, for 
the sake of the negroes who need it. To me it is a sacrifice ; 
but, Margot, we must make sacrifices  perhasome which you 
may little dream of, while looking round upon our possessions, 
and our rank, and our children, worshipped as they are. We 
must carry the same spirit of sacrifice into all our acts ; and be 
ready to suffer, and perhato fall, for the sake of the blacks. 
The less pride now, Margot, the less shame and sorrow then ! " 
" I wish not to be proud," said Margot, trembling  " I pray 
that I may not be proud ; but it is difiicult Hark ! there is a 
footstep ! Let us turn into this alley." 
" Nay," said Toussaint ; " it is M. Pascal. No doubt I am 
wanted." 
" For ever wanted ! " exclaimed Margot. " No peace ! " 
" It was not so at Breda," said Toussaint, smiling. " I was 
just speaking of sacrifice, you know : and this is not the last 
Kight that the moon wiU shine.  News, M. Pascal P " 
  
   
" News from Cap," replied M. Pascal, in a depressed tone. 
" Bad news ! Here are dispatches. Not a moment is to be 
lost." 
" There is Ught enough," said Toussaint, turning bo that the 
moonlight fell upon the page. 
While he read, M. Pascal told Madame L'Ouverture that 
messengers had brought news of a quarrel at Caa quarrel 
between the races, unhappily, about HedouTille's proclamation 
again;  a quarrel in which several whites had been killed. 
AH was presently quiet ; but the whites were crying out for 
vengeance. 
" No peace, as you say, Margot," observed Toussaint, when 
he had run over the letters. " See what a strong hand and 
watchful eye our poor people require ! The curse of slavery is 
still upon us." 
" How is Moyse ? Tell me only that. What is Moyse 
doing?" 
" I do not understand Moyse, nor what he is doing," said 
Toussaint gloomily. " M. Pascal " 
" Tour horses are coming round," said Pascal, " and I shall 
be there almost as soon as you." 
" Eight : and Laxabon. From me, ask the favour of Father 
Laxabon to follow without delaj . Margot, take care of poor 
Gnifrede. PareweU ! " 
As he passed through the piazi,d, to mount his horse, Tous- 
saint saw Genif rede standing there, like a statue. He embraced 
her, and found her cold as marble. He returned to his family 
for an instant, to beg that she might not be immediately dis- 
turbed. In an hour or two she might be able to speak to her 
mother or sister ; and she could not now. Once more he whis- 
pered to her that he would send her early news, and was gone. 
Again and again Aimee looked timidly forth, to see if she 
might venture to approach her sister. Once Madame L'Ouver- 
ture went to her, and once Therese ; but she would say nothing 
but " Leave me ! " Prom her they went to Afra, who we
incessantly, though she did not reject their consolations. The 
night wore on wearily and drearily. When the moon set, and 
the damwere felt wherever the air penetrated, Madame 
L'Ouverture went once more to Genifrede, determined to take 
her to her own chamber, and win her to open her heart. But 
Genifrede was not there, nor in her chamber. The mother's 
terror was great, till a cultivator came to say that Mademoiselle 
L'Ouverture had gone a journey, on horseback, with her brother 
Denis to take care i)f her. Denis's bed was indeed found empty: 
and two horses were gone from the stables. They had fled to 
Moyse, no doubt. The howas that they might fall in with 
Father Laxabon on the road, who would surely bring the poor 
  
AFTER GENIFSkDE.   
girl back. There was another road, however : and by this road 
Th&ese declared that she would follow. 
" Tes, yes  go ! " exclaimed Madame L'OuYortnre. " She 
will heed you, if any one. She thinks you understand her. She 
says " 
" She loves me," said Therese, sighing, " because  hardly 
know but Heaven forgive me, if it be as she says !" 
" She says you hate the whites," declared Aimie. "If it be 
so, may indeed Heaven forgive you ! Moyse hates the whites : 
and you see how wi'etched we are ! " 
" Aim&, do not be hard. We are made to love  my heart 
inclines to all who are about me :  but if there are some  if 
one cannot  Oh, Aime, do not be hard ! " 
" It is those who hate who are hard," said Aimde, whose tears 
fell fast, in sympathy with Afra's. " Is it not so, Afra ? " 
" Well, I will go," said Therese, gently. " One kiss, Aimie, 
for Genifrede's saie ! " 
" For your own," said Aimee, tenderly embracing her. " Bring 
back poor Grenifrede! Tell her we will devote ourselves to her." 
" Bring back my child," said Margot. " Be sure you tell her 
that there may be good news yet. Moyse may have explanations 
to give ;  he may do great things yet." 
These words renewed Afra's weeping, in the midst of which 
Therese hastened away : when the remnant of the anxious family 
retired to their chambers, not to sleebut to pray and wait. 
CHAPTER XX. 
PEEPLBXITY. 
As it might be supposed, M. Revel and his grandchild had no 
desire to remain in Government-house a moment longer than 
was necessary, as Afra was obliged to leave it. Afra's last care, 
before quitting Cawas to see that her friends were properly 
escorted to their home. 
Euphrosyne was still struggling with the grief of saying fare- 
well to Afra, when she entered the pleasant sitting-room at 
home ; but she smiled through her tears when she saw how 
cheerful it looked. There was a mUd, cool light in the room, 
proceeding from the reflection of the evening sunshine from the 
trees of the convent garden. The blinds were open; and the 
perspective of one of the alleys was seen in the large mirror on 
the wall  the shrubs noiselessly waving, and the gay flowers 
nodding, in a sunlight and breeze which were not felt within. 
Euphrosyne's work lay upon the table ; the needle sticking in 
  
igO '  
the very stiteh of embroidery at which she had laid it down, 
wheu she went to see if her grandfather was awake, on the 
morning of their alarm. Some loose music had been blown down 
from the stand upon the floor ; and the bouquet of flowers was 
dead, the water dried uand the leaves fallen to dust; but 
when these were removed, there were no further signs of neglect 
and desertion. 
" How bright, how natural everything looks ! " cried Euphro- 
syne. " I do love this room. This is the place that we thought 
was to be sacked and burnt ! I won't believe such nonsense 
another time. I never will be frightened again. Grandpapa, 
do not you love this room P " 
" It is a pretty room, my dear ; and it looks very bright when 
you are in it." 
" Oh, thank you ! " she cried, dropping a sportive curtsey. 
" And now, will you look] at my work (sit down here)  and 
tell me  (where are your glasses ? )  tell me whether you ever 
saw a prettier pattern. It is a handkerchief fit for a princess." 
" It is very prettily worked, my dear. And whom is it for ? 
Some very elegant lady. Is it for the First Consul's lady ? They 
say she is the most elegant lady in the world  though she is a 
Creole, like you, my darling. Is your pretty handkerchief for her ?" 
" No, grandpapa. I dare say she has all the ladies in France 
to work for her. I should like, if you have no objection, to send 
this to Madame L'Ouverture ! " 
" To Madame L'Ouverture. Vf hy P Has not she daughters 
to work handkei-chiefs for her, and plenty of money to buy them ? 
Why should you prick your fingers in her service P " 
" I should like that L'Ouverture himself should observe, some 
day, that she has a beautiful handkerchief ; and then, if he should 
ask, he would find out that there is a little Creole girl who is 
very grateful to him for his generosity to her colour." 
"Do not speak of colour, child. Wliat expressions jou pick 
up from Af ra, and such people ! It is our distinction that we 
Imve no colour  that we are white." 
" That is the distinction of the nuns, I know ; but I hoped it 
was not mine yet. I do not forget how you pinch my cheek 
sometimes, and talk about roses." 
" What is there ? What do I see P " cried the old man, whose 
mind seemed open to everything agreeable that met his obser- 
vation, on his return home. " Are those the same little birds 
that you were wooing the other morning ? No creature that has 
ever seen you, my dear, ever forgets you. Nothing that you 
have spoken to ever deserts you. Shy creatures, that are afraid 
of everybody else, haunt you." 
" Oh ! you are thinking of the little spotted fawn." 
" Spotted fawn or squirrel  baby or humming-bird  it is 
  
A GENERAL FAVOURITE. II 
always the same, child. They all come to you. I dare say these 
little creatures have been flitting about the balcony and these 
rooms, ever since we went away. Now they have found you." 
" They do not seem to care much about me, now we have met," 
said Euphrosyne. She followed them softly to the balcony, and 
along it, as far as the window of M. Revel's room. There she 
found, stuck in the bars of the balcony, a rather fresh branch 
of orange-blossoms. While she was examining this, in some 
surprise, old Raphael spoke to her from below. He said he had 
made bold to climb up by his ladder, twice a day, with some- 
thing to entice the birds to that window ; as he supposed that 
was what she wi-shed, if she had been at home. The abbess had 
given him leave to take this liberty. 
" There ! " said M. Revel, when she flew to teU him, " there 
is another follower to add to your fawns and kittens. Old 
Raphael is considered a crusty fellow everywhere ; and you see 
how different he is with you ! " 
" I am very glad," declared Euphrosyne. " It is a pretty 
sight to amuse you with, every morning when you wake. It is 
kind of Raphael ; and of the abbess too." 
" I am pleased that the abbess and you should be good friends, 
Euphrosyne, because Ah ! that is the way," he said, in a 
mortified tone, and throwing himself back in his chair, as he 
followed with his eyes the flittings of the gii- about the room, 
after her birds. " Tou have got your own way with everybody, 
and we have spoiled you ; and there is no speaking to you upon 
a subject that you do not like. Tou will not hear, though it is 
a thing that lies heavy at the heart of a dying old man." 
" I wiU hear you, if you talk to me all my life," said Euphro. 
syne, with brimming eyes, seating herself on a low stool at the 
old man's knees. 
" And if you hear me, you will not give me a grave, steady 
answer." 
" Try me," said she, brushing away the gathering tears. " I 
am not crying about anything you are going to say ; but only 
because Oh, grandpa! how could you think I would not 
listen to you ? " 
" Well, well, my love ! I see that you are willing now. Tou 
remember your promise to enter the convent, if I desired it." 
" Tes." 
" Tou talk of nothiDg being changed by our alarm, two days 
ago, because this table stands in the middle of the room, and the 
ants and beetles have not carried off your pretty work. Hey ! " 
" May I speak, grandpa? " 
" Speak." 
" I said so because nobody's house is burnt, or even robbed ; 
and nobody has been killed, or even hurt " 
  
  
" But, nevertheless, there is a great change. Oar friends, my 
old friends, all whom I feel I could rely upon in case of need, 
are gone to France with HMouviUe." 
" Oh, grandpa! very few whites are gone  they were 
chiefly mulattoes who went with Hedouville; and so many 
whites remain ! And though they are not, except, perhaps, M. 
Oritois, exactly our friends, yet we can easily make acquaintance 
with them." 
" BTo, no, child. If they were not upstarts, as some of them 
are, and others returned emigrants, of whom I know nothing, it 
IS too late now for me to make new friends. My old companions 
are gone, and the place is a desert to me." 
His hands hung listlessly, as he rested on the arms of his 
chair. Euphrosyne looked up in his face, while she said, as well 
as she could for tears, 
" If you feel it so now, what wiU it be when I am shut up in 
the convent, and you will hardly ever see me ? " 
" That is no affair of yours, child. I choose that you should go." 
" Whose affair is it, if it is not mine P I am your grandchild 
your only one ; and it is my business, and the greatest pleasure 
I have in the world, to be with you, and wait upon you. If I 
leave you, I shall hear my poor mother reproaching me all day 
long. Every morning at my lessons, every night at my prayers, 
I shall hear her saying, ' Where is your grandfather ? How dare 
you desert him when he has only you left ? ' Grandpapa, I shall 
be afraid to sleep alone. I shall learn to be afraid of my blessed 
mother." 
" It is time you were sent somewhere to learn your duty, I 
think. We are at a bad pass enough ; but there must be some 
one in the colony who can tell you that it is your duty to obey 
your grandfather  that it is your duty to perform what you 
promised him." 
" I can preach that myself, grandpapa, when there is nobody 
else who can do it better. It is just what I have been teaching 
little Babet, this month past. I have no more to learn about 
that ; but I win tell you what I do want to learn  whether you 
are most afraid of my growing up ignorant, or (do just let 
me finish, and then we shall agree charmingly, I dare say)  
whether you are most afraid of my growing up ignorant, or 
unsteady, or ill-mannered, or wicked, or what ? As for being 
unsafe, I do not believe a word of that." 
" Everything  all these things, child. I am afraid of them all." 
"What, all ! What a dreadfully unpromising creature I 
must be ! " 
" Tou know you must be very ignorant. You have had no 
one to teach you anything." 
" Then I will go to the conveiit to study for four, six, eight, 
  
A WILLING SLAVE.   
twelve hours a day. I shall soon have learned everything in 
the world at that rate : and yet I can go on singing to you in 
the evenings, and bringing your coffee in the mornings. Twelve 
hours' study a day may perhamake me steady, too. That 
was the next thing, was it not ? " 
" Now have done. Say only one thing mere  that you will 
perform your promise." 
" That is a thing of course ; so I may just ask one other thing. 
Who is to wait upon you in my place ? Ah ! I see you have 
not fixed upon any one yet ; and, let me tell you, it will be no 
easy matter to find one who makes coffee as I do. Then, yon 
have been waited upon by a slave all your life. Yes, you have ; 
and you have a slave now sitting at your knee. People do not 
like being slaves now-a-days  nobody but me. Now I like it 
of all things. So, what a pity to change ! " 
" I know," said the old man, sighing, " that I am ato be 
peremptory. I know it is difiicult to please me sometimes. It 
is very late in life  I am very old to set about improving : but 
I will try not to hurt any one who will wait upon me, as I am 
afraid I have often hurt you, my dear. I will make any effort, 
if I can only feel that you are safe. Some one has been telling 
you stories of old times, I see. Perhayou can ask any servant 
that we may engage  you may make it your request that she 
will bear with me." 
'' Oh, grandpa! Stograndpa! I cannot bear it," cried 
the sobbing girl. " I never wiU joke again, if you do not see 
that it is because I love you so, that I will venture anything 
rather than leave you. We all love you dearly. Pierre would 
not for the world live with anybody else. Tou know he would 
not. And that is just what I feel. But I will do everything 
you wish. I will never refuse again  I will never jest, or try, 
even for your own sake, to prevent your having all your own 
way. Only be so kind, grandpapa, as never to say anything 
against yourself again. Nobody else would dare to do such a 
thing to me, and I cannot bear it." 
" Well, well, love ! I see now that no one has been babbling 
to you. We will never quarrel any more. Tou will do as I 
wish, and we will have no more disputing. Are they bringing 
our coffee ? "  j  .i. , 
When Euphrosyne came out from placing her grandfather s 
pillows, and bidding him good-night, she found Pierre lingering 
about, as if wanting to speak to her. 
" Have you anything to say to me, Pierre ? " 
" Only just to take the liberty of asking. Mademoiselle, whether 
you could not possibly gratify my master in the thing he has 
set his heart upon. If you could, Mademoiselle, you may rely 
on it, I would take every care of him in your absence." 
M 
  
  
" I have no doubt, Pierre, of your doing your part." 
" Tour part and mine are not the same, I know, Mademoiselle. 
But he is so persuaded of there being danger for jon here, that 
everything you do for him goes to his heart." 
" Have you that idea, Pierre?" 
" Indeed, Mademoiselle, I know nothing about it  more than 
that it takes a long time for people in a town, or an island, to 
live comfortably together, on equal terms, after having all their 
lives looked upon one another as tyrants and low revengeful 
servants." 
" I do not think any one looks on me as a tyrant, or would 
think of hurting poor grandpaor me. How you shake your 
head, Pierre ! We have lived seven years in peace and quiet  
sometimes being afraid, but never having found cause for fear. 
However, if grandpareally is uneasy " 
" That is the point. Mademoiselle. He is so." 
" Do you suppose I could see the abbess, if I were to go to 
the convent to consult her ? It is not late." 
" If the Dumonts were but here still ! " said Pierre  '' only 
next door but one ! It was a comfort to have them at hand on 
any difficulty." 
" If they were here, I should not consult them. They were 
so prejudiced against all the mulattoes, and put so little trust in 
L'Ouverture himself  as indeed their going off in such a hurry 
with HedouviUe proves  that I should not have cared for their 
opinion to-night. Suppose you step to the convent, Pierre, and 
ask whether the lady abbess could see me for half-an-hour on 
business. If I am to leave grandpapa, I should like to tell him 
in the morning that it is all settled." 
Pierre went with alacrity, and was back in three minutes, 
when he found Euphrosyne shawled and veiled for the visit. 
The lady awaited her. 
" What can I do for you, my child P " said the abbess, kindly 
seating Euphrosyne beside her, in her parlour. 
" Ton will teU me what you think it is my duty to do, when 
I have told you my stoiy. I know I have laughed and joked 
too much about this very matter ; and that partly because I had 
a will of my own about it. But it is all serious enough now; 
and I really do wish to find out my duty upon it." 
" In order to do your duty, whatever it may cost you ? " 
" Certainly." 
She then told her story. The lady at length smiled, and 
observed  
" You have no very strong inclination to join us, I perceive." 
" Not any," frankly replied Enphrosyno. " I have no doubt 
the sisters are very happy. They cboose their way of life for 
themselves. I only feel it is one that I should never choose. 
  
HER DUTY.  
Nor wotjd grandpafor me, for more than a short time. I 
hope, madam, you understand that we neither of us think of my 
ever heooming a nun." 
" I see that there is no present sign of its being your voca- 
tion." 
" And there never will be," cried Euphrosyne, very earnestly. 
" I assure you, I cannot bear the idea of it." 
" So I perceive, my dear. I am quite convinced, I assure you. 
Have you as great a dislike to being educated ? " 
" Almost, I am afraid. But I could get over that. I like 
reading very well, and learning things at my own time, and in 
my own way ; but I feel rather old to begin to be under orders 
as to what I shall learn, and when and how; and yet rather 
young to be so grave and regular as the sisters are. I am fifteen, 
you know." 
" Tou are not aware, I see, how much we laugh when we are 
by ourselves, nor how we like to see gii-ls of fifteen hapand 
gay. I think, too, that I may answer for the sisters not quarrel- 
ling with you about what you ought to learn. You will comply 
with the rules of the house as to hours ; and your preceptresses 
will allow you, as far as possible, to follow your bent." 
" Tou are very kind, as you always are. But I think far less 
of all this than of what grandpais to do without me. Con- 
sider what long, weary days he will have ! He has scarcely any 
acquaintance left in Cap ; and he has been accustomed to do 
nothing without me. He will sit and cry all day  I know he 
vrill." 
And Buphrosyne's tears began to overflow at the thought. 
" It is a great honour, my child, to have been made such a 
blessing to an old man." 
"It was almost the only one he had left. Up to that terrible 
ninety-one " 
The abbess shuddered. 
" Tou knew my mother and sisters P " 
" Very little. I was then a humble sister, and had little 
intercourse with any ladies who might occasionally visit us. 
But I remember her coming, one day, with her children  three 
girls  one who ran about the garden, and two modest, blushing 
girls, who accepted some of our flowers." 
" I must have been the little one who ran about, and the others 
were my poor sisters. Well, all these, besides my papa, were 
always about grandpa; and he never wanted amusement or 
waiting on. Since that dreadful time, he has had only me ; and 
now, in his old age, when he has no strength, and nothing to do, 
he is going to be all alone ! Oh, madam, I think it is wicked to 
xeave him ! Had anybody ever a clearer duty than I have to 
stay with him .P " 
M  
  
  
" Ton would be quite right if it was anybody but himself 
that desired you to leave Mm. Tour first duty, my dear, is to 
obey his wishes." 
" I shall never be able to learn my lessons, for thinking of 
him, sitting alone there  or perhalying in bed, because there 
is nothing to get up for." 
" Now yon are presumptuous. Ton are counting  upon what 
may never happen, and fearing to leave your parent in the hand 
of Him who gave you to him. Suppose you were to die to-night, 
I fear yon could not trust him in the hands of Him who wra
ns round with old age, before taking us home to Himself." 
" Oh, yes, I could so trust him to-night, if I myself had watched 
him to sleeBut a month hence, if I were to die, I should 
dread to meet iny parents. They would ask me, ' How is our 
father?' and I should have to answer, 'I do not know  I have 
left him  I have done nothing for him of late.' The whole 
time that I am here, madam, I shall be afraid to die and meet 
my mother." 
" We must lead you to doubt your own notions, and to trust 
more in God," said the lady, gently. " We know not what a 
day may bring forth ; and as you grow older, you wUl find how, 
in cases of hard and doubtful duty, our way becomes suddenly 
clear, so as to make us ashamed of our late anguish. Father 
Gabriel will tell you that one night he lost his way among the 
marshes in the plain. The clouds hung thick and low overhead, 
and there was not a ray of light. He plunged on the one hand 
into the marsh ; and on the other, the reeds grew higher than 
his head. Behind him was a wood that he had hardly managed 
to struggle through ; and he knew not what might be before 
him. He groped about for a firm place to stand on, and had no 
idea which way to move. At last, without his having felt a 
breath of wind, he found that the clouds had parted to the right, 
making a chink through which he saw the Gibao peaks standing 
up against a starlight sky ; and, to the left, there was, on the 
horizon, a dim white line which he could not understand, till 
the crescent moon dropped down from behind the cloudy canopy, 
across a bar of clear sky, and into the sea. This made him look 
whether the church of St. Hilaire was not close by. He made 
out its dim mass through the darkness, and in a few minutes 
stood in the porch. So, my child, is our way (even yours, young 
as you are) sometimes made too dark for our feeble eyes ; and 
thus, from one quarter or another, is a ray permitted to fall that 
we may not be lost." 
"Thank you," said Euphrosyne, softly. "May I come to- 
morrow P " 
" At any hour you shall be welcome, my dear," 
" If you will appoint me something to do every morning in thp 
  
euphrosyne's mother. igy 
garden, madam, grandpamight sit in the balcony, to see me, 
and talk to me. That will be a reason for his getting uThat 
wUl prevent his lying too long, for want of something to do." 
" A very good plan. If you love your grandfather so, Eu- 
phrosyue, how would you have loved your mother, if she had 
lived P" 
" Had you a mother, when you were my age ? " 
" Tes, my dear. But do not let us speak of that. Do you 
remember your mamma, my dear p " 
"Tes  a little. I remember her sitting in a wood  on the 
ground  with her head bent down upon her knees, and a great 
many black people about." 
" Well  tell me no more. I ought not to have asked you. I 
was not thinking of that horrid time." 
"But I do not mind telling you. I like to speak of it ; and I 
never can to grandpa it makes him so UI. Mamma shook so, 
that I remember putting my arms about her to keep her warm, 
till I found how burning hot her hands were. My sisters were 
crying ; and they told me not to ask any more why padid not 
come to us ; for he was dead. I remember being wakened by a 
noise when I was very sleepy, and seeing some soldiers. One of 
them lifted me uand I was frightened, till I saw that they 
were carrying mamma too. They put us both into a cart. I did 
not see my sisters ; and I believe they were both dead then, of 
grief and hardshiAnd mamma never spoke again. She looked 
as pale as her gown, as she lay in the cart, with her eyes shut. 
She was breathing, however, and I thought she was asleeI 
felt very sleeand odd. The soldiers said I was half -starved, 
and they gave me a plantain that they pulled by the road-side. 
I wanted them to give some to mamma too ; but they made me no 
answer. I put mine into her hand, but she let it fall ; and I 
cried because she would not take any notice. Then one of the 
soldiers bade me eat my plantain ; and I thought I must do as I 
was bid. I forget where we went next." 
" Tou remember more than I had supposed. Tour mother 
was brought on board the ship where we were ; and there she 
presently died." 
" Tou were on board shimadam P " 
" Tes  aU the sisters  for the town was not considered safe, 
even for us." 
" And where was " Euphrosyne stopped abruptly. 
" Tou were going to ask where my mother was," said the lady. 
" I feel that I was wrong in stopping you as I did just now  for 
you might fancy that my mother was in some way to blame. 
She was a good mother to me  full of kindness ; but I did not 
make her happy." 
" Tou did not P " 
  
  
" Indeed I did not. I crossed her in the thing she desired 
most of all  that we should live together. I believed it my 
duty to become a nun, and I left her. She returned to France, 
being a widow, and having no other child ; and there she died, 
among distant relations." 
" Was she angry with you ? " 
" She never said or showed that she was. But I know that 
she was grieved to the very soul, and for life. This, my dear, 
has been the greatest affliction I have ever known. I did not 
feel it so at the time, having no doubt of my vocation ; but what 
I have suffered since from the thought that an only child and 
only parent, who ought to have made each other happy, were 
both miserable, God only knows." 
" Yet you did what you thought was your duty to God. I 
wonder whether you were right ? " 
" If you knew how many times but," said the lady, inter. 
rupting herself, " we shall know all when our hearts are laid 
open ; and I may minister to my mother yet. If I erred, and 
there be further punishment yet for my error, I am ready to bear 
it. Tou see, my child, how much you have to be thaiiful for, 
that your difficulty is not from having failed in duty to your 
parent. For the future, fear not but that your duty will be 
made clear to you. I am sure this is all you desire." 
" Shall we have any more such conversations as this when I 
come to live here P If we can " 
" "We shall see," replied the lady, smiling. " Father Gabriel 
says there may easily be too much talk, even about our duties ; 
but occasions may arise." 
" I hoso," said Buphrosyne, rising, as she perceived that 
the lady thought it was time for her to go. " I dare say Pierre 
is here." 
Pierre had been waiting some time. 
The abbess sat alone after Euphrosyne was gone, contem- 
plating, not the lamthough her eyes wei-e fixed upon it, but 
the force of the filial principle in this lonely girl  a force which 
had constrained her to open the aching wound in her own heart 
to a mere child. She sat, till called by the hour to prayer, 
pondering the question how it is that relations designed for duty 
and peace become the occasions of the bitterest sin and suffering. 
The mystery was in no degree cleared up when she was called 
to prayer  which, however, has the blessed power of solving all 
painful mysteries for the hour. 
  
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
PERPLEXITY SOLVED. 
" What is the matter, child ? What makes you look so merry P " 
asked M. Revel, when his eyes opened upon Euphrosyne the 
next morning. 
" Nothing has happened, grandpapa. The only thing is, that 
I like to do what you wish ; and I always will, as long as you 
live. I will go to the convent to-day. You can send for me at 
any time when you want me, you know. I am sure the abbess 
will let me come whenever you send Pierre for me." 
'' Well, well  do not be in such a hurry. I do not wajit you 
to go to-day. Why should you be in such a hurry ? " 
When the breeze had come to refresh him, and he had had his 
coffee, M. Revel felt more complaisant, and explained what he 
meant by there being no hurry. Euphrosyne should not leave 
him till to-morrow ; and this day should be spent as she pleased. 
Whatever she liked to ask to-day should be granted. This indul- 
gence was promised under a tolerable certainty that she would 
ask nothing unreasonable : that she would not propose a dinner- 
party of dark-complexioned guests, for instance. There might 
also be an expectation of what it would be that she would choose. 
M. Revel was conscious that he did not visit his estate of Le 
Bosquet, in the plain of Limbe, so often as Euphrosyne would 
have liked, or as he himself knew to be good for his agent, the 
cultivators, and his heiress. He was aware that if he could have 
shown any satisfaction in the present order of affairs, any good- 
will towards the working of the new system, there might have 
been a chance of old stories dying away  of old grievances being 
forgotten by the cultivators, in his present acquiescence in their 
freedom. He could not order the carriage, and say he was going 
to Le Bosquet ; but he had just courage enough to set Euphro- 
syne free to ask to go. It turned out exactly as he expected. 
" We will do what you will, my child, to-day. I feel strong 
enough to be your humble servant." 
" It is a splendid day, grandpapa. It must be charming at Le 
Bosquet. If I order the carriage now, we can get there before 
the heat ; and we need not come home tOl the cool of the even- 
ing. We will fill the carriage with fruit and flowers for the 
abbess. May I order the carriage ? " 
Le Bosquet was only twelve miles off. They arrived when 
the cultivators were settling to their work after breakfast. It 
was now, as on every former occasion, a perplexity, an embar- 
rassment to Euphrosyne, that the negroes lost all their gaiety, 
aud most of their civility, in the presence of her grandfather. 
  
  
She could hardly wonder, when she witnessed th:s, at his in- 
tolerance of the very mention of the blacks, at his ridicule of all 
that she ever told him about them, from her own observation. 
When she was in any other company, she saw them merry, 
active, and lavish of their kindness and politeness ; and when- 
ever this occurred, she persuaded herself that she must have 
been mistaken the last time she and M. Revel were at Le Bos- 
quet, and that they ought to go again soon. The neit time 
they went, there was the same gloom, listlessness, and avoid- 
ance on the part of the negroes ; the same care on her grand- 
father's that she should not stir a step without the escort of 
Pierre or the agent. He would not even let her go with Portia, 
the dairy. woman, to gather eggs ; nor with little Sully, to see his 
baby-brother. She made up her mind that this was all wrong 
that all parties would have been more amiable and happy, if 
there had been the same freedom and confidence that she saw on 
other estates. Poor girl ! she little knew what was in all minds 
but her own what recollections of the lash and the stocks, and 
hunger and imprisonment on the one hand, and of the horrors 
of that August night on the other. She little knew how gene- 
rally it was supposed that she owed it to the grandfather whom 
she loved so much that she was the solitary orphan whom every 
one pitied. 
It was, as Euphrosyne had said, a splendid day; and all went 
well. M. Revel would not go out much ; but as he sat in the 
shaded room, looking forth upon the lawn, the agent satisfied 
him witli accounts of the prosperity of the estate, the fine pro- 
mise of the cacao walks, and the health and regular conduct of 
the negroes. Euphrosyne showed herself from time to time, now 
in the midst of a crowd of children, now with a lapful of eggs, 
and then with a basket of fruit. In honour of the master and 
young mistress, the dinner was very superb, and far too long ; 
so that the day had slipped away before Euphrosyne felt at all 
disposed to return. She was glad that the agent was engaged 
in a deep discussion with his employer when the carriage came 
round ; so that she was able to make one more short circuit in 
the twilight while they were settling their point. 
The gentlemen were talking over the two late proclamations 
L'Ouverture's and HdouviUe's. The agent wished that 
HMouville had never come, rather than that he should have set 
afloat the elements of mischief contained in his proclamation. 
M. Revel could not believe that a Commissary, sent out for the 
very purpose of regulating such matters, could have got very 
far wrong upon them ; and besides, the proclamation had never 
been issued. Never formally issued, the agent said ; but it had 
been circulated from hand to hand of those who were interested 
in its provisions. Some were, at that moment, preparing to act 
  
RETURNING. I 
upon it; and he feared that mischief might come of it yet. 
It was certain that L'Ouverture knew more about claims to 
deserted estates, and about the proper regulations as to tillage, 
than any novice from France could know; and it was no less 
certaia that he was ever more eager to gratify the whites than 
the blacks. It would have been by far the wisest plan to leave 
that class of afEairs in the hands of the person who understood 
them best ; and, if he was not much mistaken, the Government 
at home would yet rae Hedouville's rashness in acting without 
so much as consulting L'Ouverture. M. Revel was so amaaed at 
finding that L'Ouverture was not only worshipped by romantic 
young ladies and freed negroes, but approved and confided in by 
such practical and interested whites as his own agent, that he 
could only say again what he said every day  that the world 
was turned ujjside down, and that he expected to be stripped, 
before he died, of Le Bosquet, and of everything else that he 
had ; so that his poor child would be left dependent on the 
charity of France. To this the agent replied, as usual, that 
the property had never before been so secure, nor the estate 
so prosperous ; and that all would go well, if only the 
Government at home would employ competent people to write its 
proclamations. 
" "Where is this child P " cried M. Revel at last. " I am always 
kewaiting by everybody. It is dark already, and the carriage 
has been standing this hour. Where is she ? " 
" Mademoiselle is in the carriage," said Pierre, from the haU. 
" I made Prince light the lamps, though he thinks we shall not 
want them." 
" Come, come! let us lose no more time," said M. Revel, as if 
every one had not been waiting for him. 
Buphrosyne jumped from the carriage, where she had been 
packing her basket of eggs, her fruit, and her flowers, so that 
they might be out of her grandfather's way. He could not 
admire any of them, and found them all in his way. While the 
road lay under the dark shadow of the groves on the estate, he 
cast anxious glances among the taU stems on which the carriage 
lamcast a passing gleam. He muttered a surly good-night 
to the negroes who held open the gates ; but, when the last of 
these swung-to, when the carriage issued upon the high road, and 
the plain lay, though dim in the starlight, yet free and lovely to 
the eye, whUe the line of grey sea was visible to the left, the 
old man's spirits seemed to rise. It was seldom that he quitted 
the town ; and when he did, and could throw ofE his cares, he 
was surprised to find how reviving were the influences of the 
country. 
" It is a lovely night, really," said he. " If you ever go to 
Paris, my dear, you will miss this starlight. There the stars 
  
  
seem to have shrunk away from yon, a myriad of miles. Let 
those flowers be, child. Why may not I have the pleasure of 
smelling them ? There ! Let them lie. Who would believe that 
that sea, which looks so quiet now, will be rolling and dashing 
upon the beach in ISTovember, as if it meant to swallow up the 
plain P How it seems to sleep in the starlight ! Tou found 
little Sully grown, my dear, I dare say." 
" Oh, yes ! but more glad to see us than ever. He had to show 
me how ho could read, and how he had been allowed to put a 
new leg to the master's desk at the school. Sully will make a 
good carpenter, I think. He is going to make a box for me ; 
and he declares the ants shall never get through it, at the 
hinge, or lid, or anywhere. How the jpeople are singing all 
about ! I love to hear them. Prince drives so fast, that we 
shall be home too soon. I shall be quite sorry to be in the 
streets again." 
It seemed as if Prince had heard her, for, in another moment, 
he was certainly checking his horses, and their speed gradually 
relaxed. 
" He must have driven us fast, indeed," said M. Revel. 
" Look at the lights of the town  how near they are ! Are those 
the lights of the town P " 
" I should have looked for them more to the left," Euphro- 
syne replied. " Let ns ask Pierre. We cannot possibly have 
lost our way.'' 
Pierre rode up to the carriage window, at the moment that 
Prince came to a full sto
" We do not know," said Louis, the black footman, who was 
beside Prince  " We do not know what those lights can mean. 
They seem to be moving, and towards this way." 
" I think it is a body of people," said Pierre. " I fear so, sir." 
" We had better go back," said Euphrosyne. " Let us go 
back to Le Bosquet." 
" Forward ! Forward ! " cried M. Revel, like one frantic. 
" Wliy do you stand still, you rascal P I will drive myself if 
you do not push on. Drive on  drive like the devil  like what 
you all are," he added, in a lower tone. 
" Surely we had better go back to Le Bosquet." 
'' No, no, you little fool," cried the agonised old man, grasping 
hold of her, and dragging her towards himself. 
Louis shouted from the box, as Prince lashed his horses 
onwards, " We shall be in the midst of them, sir, this way." 
"Drive on," was stiU the command. " Drive through every- 
thing to get honuB ! " As he clasped his arms round Euphrosyne, 
and pressed her so closely that she could scarcely breame, hea
ing his cloak upon her head, she heard and felt him murmuring 
to himseM-  
  
SHOT.  
" To Le Bosquet ! No, indeed! anywhere but there! Once 
at home  she once safe  and then  " 
Euphrosyne would have been glad to see a little of what 
appeared  to know something of what to expect. Once or twice 
she struggled to raise her head ; but this only made the convul- 
sive clasp closer than before. AH she knew was, that Pierre or 
the men on the box seemed to speak, from time to time ; for the 
passionate " Drive on ! " " Forward ! " was repeated. She also 
fancied that they must at last be in the midst of a crowd ; for 
the motion of the carriage seemed to be interrupted by a sort of 
hustling on either side. Her heart beat so tumultuously, how- 
ever, and the sense of suffocation was so strong, that she was 
sure of nothing but that she felt as if dying. Once more she 
struggled for air. At the same moment, her grandfather started 
almost bounded from his seat, and relaxed his hold of her. 
She thought she had heard fire-arms. She raised her head ; 
but all was confusion. There was smoke  there was the glare 
of torches  there was a multitude of shining black faces, and 
her grandfather lying back, as if asleein the corner of the 
carriage. 
" IJrive on ! " she heard Pierre cry. The whip cracked, the 
horses plunged and scrambled, and in another moment broke 
through the crowd. The yelling, the lights, the smoke, were 
left behind ; the air blew fresh ; and there was only calm star- 
light without, as before. 
The old man's hand fell when lifted. He did not move when 
she stroked his cheek. He did not answer when she spoke. She 
put her hand to his forehead, and it was wet. 
" Pierre ! Pierre ! " she cried, " he is shot ! he is dead ! " 
" I feared so. Mademoiselle. Drive on, Prince ! " 
In an inconceivably short time, they were at their own door. 
Pierre looked into the carriage, felt his master's wrist and heart, 
spoke softly to Prince, and they drove on again  only past the 
corner  only to the gate of the convent. 
When it was opened, Pierre appeared at the carriage door. 
" Now, Mademoiselle," he said. He half pulled, half lifted her 
over the crushed fruit and flowers that were in her way  glanced 
in her face, to see whether she had observed that the body fell 
behind her  carried her in, and gave her, passive and stupified, 
into the arms of two nuns. Seeing the abbess standing behind, 
he took oif his hat, and would have said something ; but his li
quivered, and he could not. 
" I will," said the lady's gentle voice, answering to his thought. 
" My young daughter shall be cherished here." 
  
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
A loveb's love. 
This new violence had for its object the few whites who were 
rash and weak enongh to insist on the terms of HedouviUe's 
intended proclamation, instead of abiding by that of L'Ouverture. 
The cultivators on the estates of these whites left work, rather 
than be reduced to a condition of virtual slavery. Wandering 
from plantation to plantation, idle and discontented, they drew to 
themselves others who, from any cause, were also idle and discon- 
tented. They exasperated each olher vrith tales, old and new, 
of the tyranny of the whites. Still, further mischief might have 
been prevented by due vigilance and firmness on the part of him 
in whose charge the town and district of Cap Pran<;ais now lay. 
Stories, however, passed from mouth to mouth respecting General 
Moyse  anecdotes of the words he had dropped in dislike of the 
whites  of the prophecies he had uttered of more violence before 
the old masters would be taught their new place  rumom-s like 
these spread, till the gathering mob at length turned their faces 
towards the town, as if to try how far they might go. They 
went as far as the gates, having murdered some few of the ob- 
noxious masters, either in their own houses, or, as in the case of 
M. Revel, where they happened to meet them. 
On the Haut-du-Oap they encountered General Moyse coming 
out against them with soldiery. At first he looked fierce ; and 
the insurgents began to think each of getting away as he best 
might. But in a few moments, no one seemed to know how or 
why, the aspect of afEairs changed. There was an air of irresolu- 
tion about the Commander. It was plain that he was not really 
disposed to be severe  that he had no deadly intentions towards 
those he came to meet. His black troocaught his mood. Some 
of the inhabitants of the town, who were on the watch with 
glasses from the gates, from the churches, and from the roofs of 
nouses, afterwards testified to there having been a shaking of 
hands, and other amicable gestures. They testified that the in- 
surgents crowded round General Moyse, and gave, at one time 
cheers, at another time groans, evidently on a signal from him. 
No prisoners were made  there was not a shot fired. The 
General and his soldiers returned into the town, and even into 
their quarters, protesting that no further mischief would happen, 
but the insurgents remaiaed on the heights till daylight ; and 
the inhabitants, feeling themselves whoUy unprotected, sent ofE 
expresses to the Commander-in-Chief, and watched, with arms 
loaded, till he, or one of his more trustworthy Generals, should 
arrive. These expresses were stopped and turned back, by order 
  
MOYSE UNDER ARREST.  
of General Moyse, who ridiculed the idea of further danger, and 
required the inhabitants to be satisfied with his assurances of 
protection. Fortunately, however, one or two messengers who 
had been sent of a few hours before, on the first alarm, had 
reached their destination, while General Moyse was yet on the 
Haut-du-Oa
The first relief to the anxious watchers was on seeing the 
heights gradually cleared at sunrise. The next was the news 
that L'Ouverture was entering the town, followed by the ring- 
leaders from Limbe, whom he was bringing in as prisoners. He 
had proceeded directly to the scene of insurrection, where the 
leaders of the mob were delivered up to him at his first bidding. 
It now remained to be seen what he would do with those within 
the town, high or low in ofiice, who were regarded by the in- 
habitants as accessories. 
This kind of speculation was not abated by the sight of 
L'Ouverture, as he passed through the streets. Grave as his 
countenance usually was, and at times melancholy, never had it 
been seen so mournful as to-day. Years seemed to have sunk 
down upon him since he was last seen  so lately that the 
youngest prattler in the Cap had not ceased to talk of the day. 
As he walked his horse through the streets, many citizens a
preached, some humbly to ask, others eagerly to ofier information 
With all these last he made appointments, and rode on. His 
way lay past M. Revel's door ; and it happened to be at the very 
time that the funeral (an affair of hurry in that climate) was 
about to take place. At the sight, L'Ouverture stopped, opposite 
the door. When the coflBn was brought out, he took ofE his hat, 
and remained imcovered till it moved on, when he turned his 
horse, and followed the train to the comer of the street. There 
were many present who saw his face, and by whom its expression 
of deep sorrow was never afterwards forgotten. When he 
again turned in the direction of <rovernment-house, he pro- 
ceeded at a rapid pace, as if his purposes had been quickened by 
the sight. 
His aides, who had been dispersed on different errands, 
entered the town by its various avenues ; and some of them 
joined him in the Jesuits' Walk. At the gate of Government- 
house he was received by General Moyse, who had been almost 
the last person in Cap to hear of his arrival. L'Ouverture 
acknowledged his military greeting; and then, turning to his 
aides, said in a calm tone, which yet was heard half-way down the 
Walk, and thence propagated through the town, as if by echoes  
'' General Moyse is under arrest.'' 
As Moyse was moving ofE towards the apartment in which he 
was to be guarded, he requested an interview with the Com- 
mander-in-Chief. 
  
  
" After your business with the court-martial is concluded," 
was the reply. " On no account before." 
General Moyse bowed, and proceeded to his apartment. 
For some hours after, there was every indication of the rapid 
transaction of business in Grovernment-house. Messengers were 
sent to Fort Dauphin, to the commanding officer at Limbd, and 
to every military station within thirty miles. Orders were 
issued for the garrison of Cap to be keclose within their 
quarters. ISfot a man was to be allowed, on any pretence what- 
ever, to pass the barrack-gates, which were well guarded by the 
Oommander-in-Chief 's own guards, till troofor the service of 
the town could arrive from Fort Dauphin. As L'Ouverture was 
closeted with his secretary, message after message was reported; 
letter upon letter was delivered by his usher. Among these 
messages came, at length, one which made him start. 
" Mademoiselle L'Ouverture begs to be permitted to see 
General Moyse." 
Before he could reply, a note by another messenger was put 
into his hands. 
" I implore you to let me see Moyse. I do not ask to see 
yon. I do not wish it. I will disturb no one. Only give me 
an order to see Moyse  for his sake, and that of your unhap
" GENIFEtoE." 
Tonssaint left the room, and was but too well directed by the 
countenances of his servants to the room where Gnifrede was 
lying, with her face hidden, upon a sofa. Denis was standing 
silent at a window which overlooked the Walk. Both were 
covered with dust from their journey. 
Gdnifrede looked uon hearing some one enter. When she 
saw that it was her father, she again buried her face in the 
cushions, saying only  , 
" Oh, why did you come ? " 
" Nay, my child, why did you come P How  why  " 
" I always know," said she, " when misery is near ; and 
where misery is, there am I. Do not be angry with Denis, 
father. I made him come." 
" I am angry with no one, Gdnif i-ede. I am too much grieved 
to be angry. I am come to take you to Moyse. I cannot see 
him myself, at present ; but I will take you to the door of the 
salon where ho is." 
" The salon ! " said Genifrede, as if relieved. She had pro- 
bably imagined him chained in a cell. This one word appeared 
to altthe course of her ideas. She glanced at her travel-soiled 
dress and hesitated. Her father said  
" I will send a servant to you. Refresh yourself ; and in 
half-an-hour I wiU come agaiu." 
  
"he is merciful!'  
When he rejoined her, she was stiU haggard and agitated, but 
appeared far less wretched than before. 
" G<Snifrede ! " cried Moyse, as she entered and leaned against 
the wall, unable to go farther. " Genifrede ! And was not that 
your father who admitted you ? Oh, call him, Gdnifrede ! Call 
him back ! I must see him. If you ask him, he will come. Call 
him baclr, Genifrede ! " 
" If you are engaged, Moyse,'' said she in a sickening voice, 
" if I am iu your way, I will go." 
" No, no, my love. But I must see your father. Everything 
may depend upon it." 
" I will go  as soon as I can," said the poor girl, beginning to 
sink to the floor. 
" Ton shall not go, my love  my Genifrede," cried Moyse, 
supporting her to a sofa. " I did not know  I little thought 
Are yon all here ? " 
"No ; I came to see you, Moyse. I told you how it would be 
if we parted." 
" And how will it be, love ? " 
" Oh, how can you make me say it P How can you make me 
think it .P" 
" Why, Genifrede, you cannot suppose anything very serious 
will happen. What frightens you so P Once more  ask you 
the old question that we must both be weaiy of  what frightens 
you so P ' 
" What frightens me ! " she repeated, with a bewildered look 
in her face. " Were we not to have been married as soon as you 
were relieved from your command here P And are you not a 
prisoner, waiting for trial  and that trial for  for  for your life P " 
" Never believe so, Genifrfede ! Have they not told you that 
the poor blacks behaved perfectly well from the moment they 
met me P They did not do a single act of violence after I went 
to them. Not a hand was raised when they had once seen me ; 
and after I had put them into good humour, they all went to 
their homes." 
" Oh, is it so ? Is it really so? But you said just now that 
everything depended on your seeing my father." 
" To a soldier, his honoui-, his professional standing, are every- 
thing " 
Seeing a painful expression iu Genifrede's face, he explained 
that even his private happiness the prosperity of his love, 
depended on his professional honour and standing. She must be 
as well aware as liimself that he was now wholly at her father's 
mercy, as regarded all his prospects in life ; and that this would 
justify any eagerness to see him. 
" At his mercy," repeated Genifrede ; " and he is merciful. 
He does acts of mercy every day." 
  
  
" True  true. Ton see now you were too much alarmed." 
" But, Moyse, how came you to need his mercy ? But two 
days ago how proud he was of you ! and now Oh ! Moyse, 
when you knew what depended on these few days, how could 
you fail?" 
" How was it that he put me into an office that I was not fit 
for ? He should have seen " 
" Then let us leave him, and all these afPairs which make us 
so miserable. Let us go to your father. He will let us live at 
St. Domingo in peace.' 
Moyse shook his head, saying that there were more whites at 
St. Domingo than in any other part of the island ; and the plain 
truth was, he could not live where there were whites. 
" How was it then that you pleased my father so much when 
Hedouville went away ? He whispered to me, in the piazza at 
Pongaudin, that, next to himself, you saved the town  that 
many whites owed their lives and their fortunes to you." 
" I repent," cried Moyse, bitterly, " I repent of my deeds of 
that day. I repent that any white ever owed me gratitude. I 
thank God, I have shaken them off, like the dust from my feet ! 
Thank God, the whites are all cursing me now ! " 
" What do you mean ? How was it all ? " cried Genifrede, 
fearfully. 
" When HdouvUle went away, my first desire was to distin- 
guish myself, that I might gain you, as your father promised. 
This prospect, so near and so bright, dazzled me so that I could 
not see black faces from white. For the hour, one passion put 
the other out." 
" And when how soon did you begin to forget me ? " asked 
G&ifrede, sorrowfully. 
" I have never forgotten you, love  not for an hour, in the 
church among the priests  in the square among the soldiers, 
any more than here as a prisoner. But I thought my point was 
gained when your father stooped from his horse, as he rode away, 
and told me there would be joy at home on hearing of my charge. 
I doubted no more that all was safe. Then I heard of the insuf- 
ferable insolence of some of the whites out at Limbe  acting as 
if Hedouville was still here to countenance them. I saw exulta- 
tion on account of this in aU the white faces I met in CaThe 
poor old wretch Revel, when my officers and I met his carriage, 
stared at me through his spectacles, and laughed in my face as 
if " 
" Was his grandchild with him ? She was ? Then he was 
laughing at some of her prattle. Nothing else made him even 
smile." 
" It looked as if he was ridiculing me and my function. I 
was growing more angry every hour, when tidings came of the 
  
PROPOSING TO RUN AWAY.  
rising out at Limbe. I knew it was forced on by the whites.  
knew the mischief was begun by HedouTille, and keup by his 
countrymen ; and was it to be expected that I shonld draw the 
sword for them against our own people ? Could I have done so, 
Genif rede ? " 
" Would not my father have restored peace without drawing 
the sword at all ? " 
" That was what I did. I went out to meet the insurgents ; 
and the moment they saw that the whites were not to have their 
own way, they returned to quietness, and to their homes. Not 
another blow was struck." 
" And the murderers  what did you do with them ? " 
Moyse was silent for a moment, and then replied  
" Those may deal with them who desire to live side-by-side 
with whites. As for me, I quarrel with none who avenge our 
centuries of wrong." 
" Would to God my father had known that this was in your 
heart ! Tou would not then have been a wretched prisoner here. 
Moyse, the moment you are free, let us fly to the mornes. I 
told you how it would be, if we parted. Tou will do as I wish 
henceforward ; you will take me to the mornes ? " 
"My love, where and how should we live there ? In a cave 
of the rocks, or roosting in trees P " 
" People do live there  not now, perhaps, under my father's 
government : but in the old days, runaways did live there." 
" So you would institute a new race of banditti, under your 
father's reign ! How weU it will sound in the First Consul's 
council-chamber, that the eldest daughter of the ambitious 
Commander-in-Chief is the first bandit's wife in the mornes ! " 
" Let them say what they wiU : we must have peace, Moyse. 
We have been wretched too long. Oh, if we could once be up 
there, hidden among the rocks, or sitting among the ferns in the 
highest of those valleys, with the very clouds between us and 
this weary world below  never to see a white face more ! Then, 
at last, we could be at peace. Everywhere else we are beset 
with this enemy. They are in the streets, in the churches, on 
the plain. We meet them in the shade of the woods, and have 
to pass them basking on the sea-shore. There is no peace but 
high up in the mornes  too high for the wild beast, and the 
reptile, and the white man." 
" The white man mounts as high as the eagle's nest, Genif rede. 
Tou win not be safe, even there, from the traveller or the philo- 
sopher, climbing to measure the mountain or observe the stars. 
But while we are talking of the free and breezy heights " 
" Tou are a prisoner," said Genifrede, mournfully. " But 
soon, very soon, we can go. Why do you look so ? Tou said 
there was no fear  that nothing serious could happen  nothing 
N 
  
IO  
more than disgrace ; and, for each other's sake, we can defy dis- 
grace. Can we not, Moyse ? Why do not you speak ? " 
" Disgrace, or death, or anything. Even death, Genifrede. 
Tes  I said what was not true. They will not let me out but 
to my death. Do not shudder so, my love : they shall not part 
us. They shall not rob me of everything. You did well to 
come, love. If they had detained you, aud I had had to die with 
such a last thought as that you remained to be comforted, sooner 
or later, by another  to be made to forget me by a more prosperous 
lover  O God ! I should have been mad ! " 
" Tou are mad, Moyse," cried Genifrede, shrinking from him 
in terror. " I do not believe a word you say. I love another ! 
they kill you ! It is all false ! I will not hear another word 
I wiU go." 
To go was, however, beyond her power. As she sank down 
again, trembling, Moyse said in the imperious tone which she 
both loved and feared  
"I am speaking the truth now. I shall be tried to-night 
before a court-martial, which will embody your father's opinion 
aud will. They wiU find me a traitor, and doom me to death 
upoi the Place. I must die  but not on the Place  and yon 
shall die with me. In one moment, we shall be beyond their 
power. Tou hear me, Genifrede ? I know you hear me, though 
you do not speak. I can direct you to one, near at hand, who 
prepares the red water, and knows me well. I will give you an 
order for red water enough for us both. You will come  your 
father will not refuse our joint request  you will come to me 
as soon as the trial is over ; and then, love, we will never be 
parted more." 
Genifrede sat long with her face hidden on her lover's 
shoxdder, speechless. After repeated entreaties that she would 
say one word, Moyse raised her uand, looking in her face, said 
authoritatively  
" You will do as I say, GcSnifrede ? " 
" Moyse, I dare not. No, no, I dare not ! If, when we are 
dead, you should be dead to me too ! And how do we know ? If, 
the very next moment, I should see only your dead body with 
my own  if you should be snatched away somewhere, and I 
should be alone in some wide place  if I should be doomed to 
wander in some dreadful region, calling upon you for ever, and 
no answer ! Oh, Moyse ! we do not know what fearful things 
are beyond. I dai-e not ; no, no, I dare not ! Do not be angry 
with me, Moyse ! " 
" I thought you had been ready to live and die with me." 
" And so I am  ready to live anywhere, anyhow  ready to 
die, if only we could be sure Oh ! if you could only tell me 
there is nothing beyond ." 
  
THE BITTERNESS OF LOVE.  
"I have little doubt," said Moyse, " that death is really what 
it is to our eyes  au end of everything." 
" Do you think so ? If you could only assure me of that  
But, if you were reaUy quite certain of that, would you wish me 
to die too P " 
" Wish it ! Ton must  you shall," cried he, passionately. 
" Tou are mine  mine for ever ; and I will not let you go. Do 
not you see  do not you feel," he said, moderating his tone, 
" that you will die a slow death of anguish, pining away, from 
the moment that cursed firing in the Place strikes upon your 
ear? Tou cannot live without love  you know you cannot  
and you shall not live by any other love than mine. This little 
sign," said he, producing a small carved ivory ring from his 
pocket-book, " This little sign will save you from ttie anguish of 
a thousand sleepless nights, from the wretchedness of a thousand 
days of despair. Take it. If shown at No. , in the Rue Espagnole, 
in my name, you will receive what will suffice for us both. 
Take it, Genifrede." 
She took the ring, but it presently dropped from her powerless 
nands. 
" Tou do not care for me," said Moyse, bitterly. " Tou are 
like all women. Tou love in fair weather, and would have ns 
give up everything for you ; and when the hurricane comes, you 
will fly to shelter, and shut out your lover into the storm." 
Genifrede was too wretched to remind her lover what was the 
character of his love. It did not, indeed, occur to her. She 
spoke, however :  
" If you had remembered, Moyse, what a coward I am, you 
would have done differently, and not have made me so wretched 
as I now am. Why did you not bid me bring the red water, 
without saying what it was, and what for ? If you had put it to 
my li if you had not given me a moment to fancy what is to 
come afterwards, I would have drunk it  oh, so thankfully ! 
But now  I dare not." ' 
" Tou are not afraid to live without me." 
" Tes, I am. I am afraid of living, of dying  of everything." 
" Tou once asked me about " 
'' I remember  about your spirit coming." 
" Suppose it should come, angry at your failing me in my last 
desire ? " 
" Why did you not kill me ? Tou know I should have been 
thanltful. I wish the roof would faU and bury us now." 
She started and shrieked when she heard some one at tht 
door. It was her father's servant, who told her that Madame 
Dessalines had arrived, and that L'Ouverture wished her to 
come and receive her friend. The servant held the door open, 
so that there was opportunity only for another word. 
N  
  
  
" Bemember," said Moyse, " they are not to seduce oi force 
you back to Pongaudm to-day. Remember, you are not fit to 
travel. Remember," he again said, holding up the ivory ring, 
and then thrusting it into her bosom, " you come to me as soon 
as the trial is over. I depend upon you." 
He led her, passive and silent, to the door, where he kissed 
her hand, saying, for the ear of any one who might be without, 
" For once, I cannot accompany you further. Tell Madame 
Dessalines that I hoto pay my respects to her soon." He 
added, to the servant 
" See that Jnlien is at Mademoiselle L'Ouverture's orders, 
till I need his services myself." 
The man bowed, pleased, as most persons are, to have a com- 
mission to discharge for a prisoner. Before he had closed the 
door, Gnif rede was in the arms of Therese. 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
PANGS OF OFFICE. 
That night, Madame Dessalines was alone in a dimly-lighted 
apartment of Government-house  dimly lighted exceby the 
moon, shining in full at the range of windows which overlooked 
the gardens, so as to make the one lamp upon the table appear 
like a yellow taper. For most of the long hours that she had 
sat there, Therese had been alone. Denis had entered, before 
his departure homewards, to ask what tidings he was to carry to 
Pongaudin from her. Father Laxabon had twice appeared, to 
know if he could not yet see Gnifrede, to ofFer her consolation ; 
and had withdrawn, when he found that Genif rede was not yet 
awake. Madame Dessalines' maid had put her head in so often 
as to give her mistress the idea that she was afraid to remain 
anywhere else ; though it did not quite suit her to be where she 
must speak as little as possible, and that little only in whispers. 
So Therese had been, for the most part, alone since sunset. Her 
work was on the table, and she ooeasioiially took up her needle 
for a few minutes ; but it was laid down at the slightest noise 
without ; and again and again she rose, either to listen at the 
chamber-door which opened into the apartment, or softly to' pace 
the floor, or to step out upon the balcony, to refresh herself with 
looking down upon the calm lights and still shadows of the 
gardens. 
In the centre of one division of these gardens was a fountain, 
whose waters, after springing in the air, fell into a wide and deep 
reservoir, from whence were supplied the trenches which ke
  
THE TRIAL ENDED. . 
the alleys green and fresh in all but the veiy hottest weeks of 
the year. Four straight walks met at this fouutain  walks 
hedged in with fences of citron, geraniums, and lilac jessamine. 
These walks were now deserted. Every one in the house and 
in the town was occupied with something far different from 
moonlight strolls, for pleasure or for meditation. The chequered 
lights and shadows lay undisturbed by the foot of any intruder. 
The waters gleamed as they rose, and sparkled as they fell ; and 
no human voice, in discourse or in laughter, mingled with the 
murmur and the splash. Here Therese permitted herself the 
indulgence of the tears which she had made an effort to conceal 
within. 
" These young creatures ! " thought she. " What a lot ! They 
are to be parted  wrenched asunder by death  by the same 
cause, for indulgence of the same passion, which brought Jacques 
and me together. If the same priest were to receive their con- 
fession and ours, how would he reconcile the ways of God to 
them and to us ? The thought of my child burns at my heart, 
and its last struggle  my bosom is quivering with it still. 
For this Jacques took me to his heart, and I have ever since had 
alas ! not f orgetfulness of my child but a home, and the good 
fame that a woman cannot lire without, and the love of a brave 
and tender heart  tender to me, however hard to those we hate. 
Jacques lives in honour, and in a station of command, though he 
hates the whites with a passion which would startle Moyse him- 
self  hates them so that he does not even strive, as I do, to 
remember that they are human  to be ready to give them the 
cup of cold water when they thirst, and the word of sympathy 
when they grieve. He would rather dash the cup from their 
parched lips, and laugh at their woes. Tet Jacques lives in 
peace and honour at his palace at St. Marc, or is, iu war, at the 
head of troothat would die for him : while this poor young 
man, a mere novice in the passion, is too likely to be cast out, 
as unworthy to live among us  among us who, God knows, 
are in this regard more guilty than he ! The time may come, 
when Genifrede's first passion is over, when I may teU her 
this. Hark ! that trumpet ! The court-martial has broken u
Oh, I wish I could silence that trumpet ! It will waken her. 
It is further off  and further. God grant she may not have 
heard it ! " 
She stepped in, and to the chamber-door, and listened. There 
was no stir, and she said to herself that her medicine had wrought 
well. From the window, which opened on one of the court- 
yards, she heard the shuflBing of feet, and the passing by of many 
persons. She dared not look out ; but she felt certain that the 
trial was over, that the officers were proceeding to their quarters, 
and the prisoner to his solitude. Her heart beat so that she was 
  
  . 
glad to return to her seat, and cover her eyes from the light. 
She was startled by the openiug of the door from the corridor. 
It was L'Ouverture ; and she rose, as every one habitually did, 
at his approach. 
" Genifrede ? " he said, anxiously, as he approached. 
Threse pointed to the chamber, saying softly  
" She is there. I do not know what you wiU think of the 
means I have taken to procure her sleeBut she was so 
shaken  she so dreaded this night ! " 
" Tou have given her medicine. Is she asleep ? " 
" I gave her henbane, and she is asleep." 
" Is there a chance of her sleeping till noon ? " 
"If she be not disturbed. I have carefully darkened the 
room. What has been done P " she inquired, looking in his face. 
Struck with its expression, she exclaimed, "How you have 
suiiered ! " 
" Tes. Life is bitter to those whom God has chosen. If 
Moyse did but know it, I almost envy him his rest." 
'' Is it over, then P is he deadp " 
" He dies at sunrise. Tou think Genifrede may sleep tUlnoon? " 
Therese could not reply, and he proceeded  
" He is found guilty, and sentenced. There was no escape. 
His guilt is clear as noonday." 
"No escafrom the sentence," said Therese, eagerly. ''But 
there is room for mercy yet. You hold the power of life and 
death over all the colony  a power like that of God, and put 
into your hand by Him." 
" A power put into my hand by Him, and therefore to be 
justly used. Moyse's crime is great, and mercy to him would 
be a crime in me. I have fault enough already to answer for in 
this business, and I dare not sin yet further." 
" You yourself have sixmed ? " said Therese, with a gleam of 
hoin her countenance and tone. 
" Yes. I ought to have discerned the weakness of this young 
man. I ought to have detected the passions that were working 
in him. I was misled by one great and prolonged effort of self- 
control in him. I appointed an unworthy officer to the care of 
the lives and safety of the whites. Many of them are gone to 
lay their deaths to my charge in heaven. All I can now do is, 
by one more death (would to God it were my own!) to save 
and to reassure those who are left. It is my retribution that 
Moyse must die. As for Paul, as for Genifrede  the sin of the 
brother is visited upon the brother  the sin of the father upon 
the child." 
" But," said Th&ese, " you speak as if you had caused the 
innocent to be destroyed. Some few harmless ones may have 
died ; but the greater number  those who were sought by the 
  
tNTERCEDmC.    
sword's point  were factious tyrants  enemies of your Govern- 
ment, and of your race men who raslily brought their deaths 
upon themselves. They were passionate they were stubborn 
they were cruel." 
" True  and therefore were they peculiarly under my charge. 
I have guaranteed the safety of the whites ; and none need my 
protection so much as those who do not, by justice, obedience, 
and gentleness, by gaining the good-will of their neighbours, 
protect themselves." 
" But Moyse did not murder any. .He was not even present 
at any death." 
" It has just been proved that, while he knew that slaughter 
was going on, he took no measures to stop it. The ground of 
his guilt is plain and clear. The law of the revolution of St. 
Domingo, as conducted by me, is no retaliation. Every breach 
of this law by an oflScer of mine is treason ; and every traitor to 
the whites must die." 
" Alas ! why so harsh now  only now ? Tou have spared 
the guilty before, by tens, by hundreds. Why, now, cause all 
this misery for this one young life ? " 
" Those whom I have spared were my personal foes ; and I 
spared them not so much for the sake of their separate lives, as 
for the sake of the great principles for which I live and govern 
reconciliation and peace. For this end I pardoned them. For 
this end I condemn Moyse." 
" Tou make one tremble," said Th&ese, shuddering, " for 
one's very self. What if I were to tell you that it is not Moyse 
and Geniirede alone that " She stopped. 
" That hate the whites ? I know it," replied Toussaint. " I 
know that if God were to smite all among us who hate His chil- 
dren of another race, there would be mourning in some of the 
brightest dwellings of our land. I thank God that no commission 
to smite such is given to me." 
Therese was silent. 
" My office is," said Toussaint, " to honour those (and they 
are to be found in cottages all through the island) who forgive 
their former oppressors, and forget their own wrongs. Here, as 
elsewhere, we may take our highest lesson from the lowliest men. 
My office is to honour such. As for the powerful, and those who 
think themselves wise  their secret feelings towards all men are 
between themselves and God." 
" But if I could prove to you, at this moment, that Moyse's 
enmity towards the whites is mild and harmless  his passions 
moderation, compared with the tempest in the breasts of some 
whom you employ and cherish  would not this soften you  
would it not hold your hand from inflicting that which no priest 
can deny is injustice in God ? " 
  
l  
" I leave it to no priest, Th&ese, but to God HimseK, to yindi- 
cate His own justice, by working as He will in the secret hearts, 
or before the eyes of men. He may have, for those who hate 
their enemies, punishments too great for me, or any ruler, to 
wield; punishments to which the prison and the bullet are 
nothing. Tou speak of the tempest within the breast : I know 
at this moment, if you do not, that years of imprisonment, or a 
hundred death-strokes, are mercy compared to it. But no more 
of this ! I only say, Threse, that while Jacques " 
" Say me too ! " 
" While Jacques and you secretly hate, I have no concern with 
it, excein my secret heart. But if that hatred, be it more or 
less than that of this young man, should interfere with my duty 
to friend or foe, you see, firom his fate, that I have no mercy 
to grant. Jacques is my friend : Moyse was to have been my 
son." 
Neither could immediately speak. At length, Toussaint 
signed once more to the chamber-door, and once more said  
"GenifredeP" 
" I have something to teU you  something to show you," 
replied Th&ese. " Her sleep or stupor came upon her suddenly : 
but she kea strong grasp upon the bosom of her dress. When 
 laid her on the bed, she keher hands clasped one upon the 
other there. As she slemore heavily, the fingers relaxed ; her 
hands fell, and I saw one end of this." 
She produced a phial. 
" Ha ! the red water ! " exclaimed Toussaint. 
" I thought it was," said Threse. 
" Who taught her this ? Who has been tampering with her, 
and with her life P " 
" Perhathis may tell," said Therese, showing the ivory ring. 
Toussaint closely examined the ring, and then drew his hand 
across his brows. 
" How strange," said he, " are old thoughts, long forgotten ! 
This bit of ivory makes me again a young man, and a slave. Do 
you remember that I once had the care of the sick at Breda, and 
administered medicines ? " 
Therese shuddered. She remembered that when her infant 
was taken ill, Papalier had sent for Toussaint, because, though 
Toussaint was no longer surgeon to the quarter at Breda, he was 
thought to have great knowledge and skUI. Toussaint remem- 
bered nothing of this particular incident, and was not aware how 
he had touched her feelings. He went on : 
" I began that study as all of my race have begun it, tUl of 
late, in superstition. With what awe did I handle charms like 
this ! Can it be possible that my poor child has been wrought 
upon by such jugglery ? What do you know about it ? " 
  
A NIGHT Ot DISCIPLINE. / 
" No more than that the charm and the poison were hidden 
in her bosom." 
" It is hard to trouble a dying man," said Toussaint, " but 
the survivor must be cared for. If Moyse has poisoned her mind, 
as I much fear, he would have poisoned her body  But no  
it is an atrocious thought. If I wrong him  if hia lore for her 
is faithful, he will be glad to tell me what he knows, that her 
sick mind may be well tended. Father Laxabon is coming 
presently, to go to Moyse, and leave him no more. I wiU go 
with him." 
" How you suffer ! How you must suffer ! " said Therfese, 
again speaking her thoughts, as she looked in his face. 
" It is worse than going to my death," replied he ; " but for 
my child's sake  for my poor brother's sake, too  it must be 
done." 
He could say no more. Till Father Laxabon came, he paced 
the room  he listened at the chamber door he went out upon 
the balcony, to hide, as Therese well understood, his tears of 
agony. He again entered, listened again at the chamber-door, 
and, hastily approaching the table, took up the phial, saying  
" Are you certain that this is all p Are you certain that she 
only sleeps, and is not dying  or dead ? " 
" Indeed, I am not certain," exclaimed Therese, starting u
and softly entering the chamber. Toussaint followed with the 
lamshading it carefully with his hand. 
" Here is no pain," whispered Therese. "She breathes quietly. 
There is no pain. Satisfy yourself." 
She took the light from his hand, and saw him stoop above 
his sleeping child, extending his hands over her, as if in the act 
of prayer or blessing. 
" No pain, thank God ! " he repeated, as they returned to the 
salon, where they found Father Laxabon. 
" Are you prepared, father, to deal with a spirit as perturbed 
as that of the dead who cannot rest ? " 
" Christ will strengthen me for my office, my son." 
" And the other sviflerers P " 
" My brethren are engaged with them. Every man of the 
black troowiU be shriven this night." 
" Are there more doomed ? " asked Th&ese, faintly. 
" There are. There are many guilty ; and of some I must 
make an example. They know that they are guilty ; but they 
know not yet which and how many are to be spared. The dis- 
cipline of this night wiU, I trust, impress upon them that prin- 
ciple of our revolution which they have hitherto failed to learn, 
or have been tempted to forget. This night, father, will esta- 
blish your preceand mine, and that of our Master  no eeta- 
LIATION. If not, may God direct us, by whatever suffering, to 
  
l THE HOUR AND THE MAS: 
some other method of teaching it ; for, at whatever cost, it must 
be learned ! Let us begone." 
" One moment," exclaimed Thdrese, in agitation. " You have 
not told me when  whore " 
" He dies on the Place, at sunrise  a military, not an ignomi- 
nious death. Father Laxabon and I shall both be near at hand 
when Gnifrede wakes. Tour task shall be shared, though we 
must leave you now." 
Moyse had been permitted to remain in the same apartment 
which had been assigned to him after his arrest. When he heard 
the key turn in the lock, he sprang from his seat to the door, 
exclaiming  
" Tou nave come at last ! Oh, Genif rede ! to have keme 
waiting this last night " 
He turned, and walked back to his seat, when he saw his 
uncle and the priest. 
" You expected Genifrede P " asked Toussaint. 
" I did naturally." 
" She is asleeand she must not be awakened. Yon would 
be the last to wish it, Moyse." 
" Must not be awakened," repeated Moyse to himself, with 
something of doubt in his tone  sometliing of triumin his 
countenance. 
" Perhayou think," said Toussaint, fixing his eyes on the 
young man's face, " that she cannot be awakened. Perhayou 
think that she may have drunk the red water ? " 
" She has told, then. A curse upon woman's cowardice and 
woman's treachery ! Who would not have sworn that if ever a 
woman loved, Genifrede loved me P And now, when put to the 
test " 
" Now, when put to the test," interrupted Toussaint, " my 
poor child was prepared to die with you, though you had per- 
plexed her mind with superstition  terrified her with spells and 
charms " 
" You do not know her, uncle. She herself told me that she 
dared not die with me, though it was the only " 
" And you wished it  you required it ! You have striven to 
destroy her, body and soul, because you yourseM were lost  
and now you curse a woman's cowardice and treachery ! I leave 
you with Father Laxabon. Hasten to confess and cleanse your 
soul, Moyse ; for never soul needed it more.  leave you my 
pity and my forgiveness, and I engage for Genifrede's." 
" Stop ! " cried Moyse, " I have something to ask. Who has 
dared to keep Genifrede from me P She is mine." 
" Think of her no more, exceto implore Heaven's pardon 
for your intent towards her." And Toussaint produced the 
ivory ring and phial. 
  
LAST MOMENTS. ZIQ 
" Yes," exclaimed Moyse, " with that ring we obtained that 
water, which we were to have drunk together." 
" Here, then, I break the bond by which she was yom-s." 
And Toussaint crushed the ring to dust with the heel of his 
boot, and dashed the phial against the ceiling, from whence the 
poisonous water sprinkled the floor. 
" Tou spoke o treachery just now," said Moyse. " How do 
you propose to answer to my father for the charge he left you 
in lue ? " 
" Be silent, my poor son," said Father Laxabou. '' Do not 
spend your remaining moments in aggravating your crimes." 
" A few minutes' patience, father. I never before ventured 
to speak freely to my uncle. Not on account of any severity of 
his- -he never was severe to me  but on accoimt of a certain 
awe I felt of him  an awe which the events of this day have 
had a wonderful power to dispel." 
" It is well," said Toussaint. " There should be no awe of the 
creature when but a moment's darkness separates one from the 
Creator. Speak freely and fearlessly, Moyse." 
" I ask," said Moyse, in a somewhat softened tone, " how you 
will answer to my father for the charge he left you in me F " 
" Not by revealing to him the vices of the spirit he gave me 
to guide. If your father's heart must be broken for yon, it shall 
be for having thus lost a noble and gallant son, and not for 
But it is no time for reproach from me. Let me go now, my 
poor boy." 
" Not yet, uncle. It is far from sunrise yet. How do you 
mean to report of me to Genifrede ? WUl you make her detest 
me P Will you work upon her fears  her fears of my ghost  
to make her seek refuge with another ? Will you trample on 
the memory of the dead, to drive her into the arms of some living 
lover, that you may no longer be reminded of the poor wretch 
that you first fostered, and then murdered ? " 
" Leave us ! " said Laxabon to Toussaint. " He is desperate. 
Leave him to me, that he may not plunge deeper into sin with 
every word he speaks." 
" Presently, father.  Moyse, what Genifrede hears of you will 
be according to what Father Laxabon has to report of your last 
hours. Be assured that I shall not interpose between you and 
her. It rests with yourself to justify her love, and engage her 
affections to your memory. She has been laid to sleep this 
night, not out of enmity to you, but to save her brain. As Pro- 
vidence has decreed, it has also saved her life. When she 
awakes, she will regard you as a martyr to a professional 
necessity. A woman's love is sanctified and made immortal 
when baptised in the blood of martyrdom. Hers may be so, if 
your last moments are full of holy contrition, and purged from 
  
  
passion. Of Father Laxabon, and not of me, ill Genifrede 
inquire concerning you." 
" This is kind  this is generous," said Moyse, looking wistfully 
in his uncle's face. 
" And now,'' said Toussaint, " I have to ask you to be generous 
to me. I need and implore your pardon, Moyse. WhUe you 
were yet weak and wayward, I neglected the necessary watch 
over you. Too prone to ease and satisfaction, for my child's 
sake and my own, I too soon concluded you a man, and imposed 
upon you the duties of a man. Tour failure is my condemnation. 
I have cut short your discipline, and enabled you to throw away 
your life. All this, and much more, am I answerable for. 
Whether or not God may have mercy, can you yield me your 
pardon ? I implore it, Moyse." 
Moyse gazed at him in astonishment, and then cast himself at 
his uncle's feet, clinging to his knees, and crying  
" Save me ! uncle, save me ! Ton can  you will " 
" No, Moyse, I will not  I cannot," declared Toussaint, in a 
voice which silenced even that most piercing of all sounds  the 
cry for life. 
"Not one word !" continued L'Ouverture. " Keep your en- 
treaties for Him who alone can help you. Kneel to Him alone. 
Rise, Moyse, and only say, if you can say it, that your last prayer 
for me shall be for pardon." 
The awe of man was not destroyed in Moyse. He looked 
humbly upon the ground, as he again stood before his uncle, and 
said  
"My destruction is my own work; and I have felt this 
throughout. But if you have ever done me wrong, may it bo 
forgotten before God, as it is by me ! I know of no such 
wrong." 
" Thank God ! " cried Toussaint, pressing him to his breast. 
" This is the temper which will win mercy." 
" Leave us now," said Father Laxabon, once more ; and this 
time he was obeyed. 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
ALL EAB. 
TH:EEi)SE was. struck with awe as she stood, from time to time, 
beside the bed on which lay Genifrede. The room was so 
darkened that nothing was to be seen; but there she lay, 
breathing calmly, motionless, unconscious, while the blessings 
and hopes of her young life were falling fast into ruins around 
  
A MELTING SCENE.  
her. It seemed treacherous, cruel, thus to beguile her of that 
tremendous night  to let these last hours of the only life she 
prized pass away unused  to deprive her of the last glances of 
those eyes which were presently to be dim in death  of the 
latest tones of that voice which soon would never speak more. 
It seemed an irreparable injury to rob her of these hours of in- 
tense life, and to substitute for them a blank and barren slee
But it was done. It was done to save her intellect; it had 
probably saved her life ; and she could not now be wakened to 
any purpose. With sickening heart, Therese saw the moonlight 
disturbed by grey light from the east. In a few minutes, 
the sun would leap up from the sea, to quench not only the 
gleams of moon and star, but the more sacred lamp of human 
life. Brief as was always the twilight there, never had the 
gushing in of light appeared so hasty, so peremptory as now. 
By the rousing up of the birds, by the stir of the breezes, by 
the quick unfolding of the flowers, it seemed as if Nature her- 
self had turned against her wretched children, and was im- 
patient tUl their doom was fulfilled. Therese resolved to 
return no more to the chamber till all should be over, lest light 
and sound should enter with her, and the sufferer be roused too 
soon. 
As the yellow rays shone in fuller and fuller, the watcher's 
nerves were so stretched, that though she wrapped her head in 
her shawl as she sat, she felt as if the rustle of every leaf, the 
buzz of every insect-wing in the gardens, reached her ear. She 
heard at intervals the tap of a distant drum, and, she was cer- 
taiu, a discharge of fire-arms  not in a volley from the Place 
d' Armes, as she had expected, but further off, and mere dropping 
shot. This occurred so often, that she was satisfied it was 
not the execution ; and, while she drew a deep breath, hardly 
knew whether to feel relieved or not. The door from the corri- 
dor presently opened and closed again, before she could throw 
back the shawl from her face. She tiew to the door, to see if 
any one was there who could give her news. M. Pascal was 
walking away toward the further end. When she issued forth, 
he turned and apologised for having interrupted her, believing 
that the salon would be unoccupied at this early hour. 
" Tell me  only tell me," said she, " whether it is over." 
"Not the principal execution  it is about going forward 
now. I came away  I saw what melted my soul ; and I could 
endure no more." 
" Ton saw L'Ouverture ? " said Madame Dessalines, anxi- 
ously. 
M. Pascal went back with her into the salon, as glad to re- 
lieve his mind as she was eager to hear. 
" I saw," said he, " what I never could have conceived of. 
  
  
and would never have believed upon report. I have seen man 
as a god among his feUow-men." 
A gleam of satisfaction lighted up Madame Dessalines' face, 
through its agony. 
" It was too touching, too mournful to be endured," resimied 
M. Pascal. " The countenances of those poor creatures will haunt 
me to my dying hour. Never was man idolised like L'Ouver- 
ture. For him, men go willingly to their deaths  not in the 
excitement of a common danger ; not for glory or for a bright 
future  but solitary, in if,'nominy, in the light of a calm sunrise, 
with the eyes of a condemning multitude upon them. Without 
protest, without supplication  as it appears, without objection 
they stoop to death at his word." 
" I do not know  I do not understand what has been done," 
said Therese. " But does not every black know that L'Ouver- 
ture has no private interests  nothing at heart but the good of 
-us all?" 
" That is the spell," replied Pascal. " This sacrifice of his 
nephew will confirm it with my countrymen, as well as with 
yours, for ever. These thirteen others  for he has sacrificed 
thirteen of the soldiers, for dereliction of duty in the late rising 
these thirteen are from the garrison of Cachiefly, though it 
is said two or three are from Limbe. All the soldiery from these 
two places, and from Port Dauphin, are upon the Place. L'Ou- 
verture stood in the midst and addressed them. He told them 
that it was needless to explain to them what they had been 
learning from his whole course of conduct, since he was chosen 
by the blacks to lead and govern them. It was needless to insist 
on the protection due to every inhabitant of the colony, and 
especially the whites ; and on the primary duty of a liberated 
race that of keeping the peace. They knew their duty as well 
as he did ; and those who had violated it should suffer the long- 
declared and inevitable punishment of death. All knew that 
everything was prepared on the rampart, near at hand. L'Ou- 
verture walked slowly along each line of the soldiery ; and I 
declare to you, Madame, that though all knew that he was 
selecting victims for instant death, there was passionate love in 
every face." 
" I believe it," said Th&ese. " And he .P " 
" He was calm ; but a face of deeper sorrow never did I see. 
He is ten years older since last night. He spoke aloud the 
names of the most guilty, according to their own previous 
account of themselves to him, and the committee of investiga- 
tion." 
" And no one of the thirteen resisted ? " 
" Not one. One by one they joined their hands, bowed their 
heads humbly before him, and repaired where he pointed to 
  
EXECUTED.  
be shot. There was a spell upon me. I could not come 
away, though feeling at every moment as if I could endure 
no more. I did not, however, stay to see General Moyse brought 
out " 
As he was speaking, there was heard the heavy roll of drums 
at a distance, followed by a volley of musketry. 
" That is it," cried M. Pascal ; and he was gone. Th&fese 
sank back upon a sofa, and again drew her shawl over her head. 
She desired, in the sickness of her heart, never to see the day- 
light more. 
She knew not how long it was before the door was again 
gently opened. She did not move; but she presently heard 
Father Laxabon's soft voice, saying  
" Pardon, Madame, but I am compelled to ask where is 
Mademoiselle L'Ouverture ? " 
" She is asleep," said Threse, rousing herself  " asleeif 
indeed she be not dead. If this last sound did not rouse her, 
 think the trumpet of doom will scarcely reach her soul." 
This last sound had roused Geuif rede. She did not recognise 
it; she was not aware what had wakened her; but she had 
started usupposed it night, but felt so oppressed that she 
sprang from the bed, with a confused wonder at finding herself 
djessed, and threw open the door to the salon. There she now 
stood, bewildered with the sudden light, and looking doubtful 
whether to advance or go back. 
"My daughter " said Father Laxabon. She came for- 
ward with a docile and wistful look. " My daughter," he con- 
tinued, " I bring you some comfort." 
" Comfort P " she repeated, doubtingly. 
" Not now. Father," interposed Threse. " Spare her." 
" Spare me ? " repeated Genifrede in the same tone. 
" I bring her comfort," said the father, turning reprovingly to 
Madame Dessalines. " His conilict is over, my daughter," he 
continued, advancing to Genifrede. " His last moments were 
composed ; and as for his state of mind in confession " 
He was stopped by a shriek so appalling, that he recoiled 
as if shot, and supported himself against the wall. Genifrede 
rushed back to the chamber, and drove something heavy against 
the door. Therese was there in an instant, listening, and then 
imploring, in a voice which, it might be thought, no one could 
resist  
" Let me in, love ! It is Th&ese. No one else shall come. 
If yon love me, let me in." 
There was no answer. 
" You have killed her, I believe," she said to the priest, who 
was walking up and down in gi'eat disturbance  not vsdth him. 
self, but with the faithless creature of passion he had to deal with. 
  
 THE HOUR AND fHE MAN. 
" The windows ! " exclaimed Threse, vexed not to have 
thought of this before. She stepped out upon the balcony. One 
of the chamber-windows was open, and she entered. No one 
was there. G&ifrede must have fled down the stefrom the 
balcony into the gardens ; and there Therese hastened after her. 
In one of the fenced walks leading to the fountain, she saw the 
fluttering of her clothes. 
" The reservoir ! " thought Thdrese, in despair. 
She was not mistaken. G&ifrede stood on the brink of the 
deep and brimming reservoir  her hands were clasped above her 
head for the plunge, when a strong hand seized her arm, and 
drew her irresistibly back. In ungovernable rage she turned, 
and saw her father. 
" They say," she screamed, " that every one worshiyou. 
Not true now ! Never true more ! I hate  I curse " 
He held up his right hand with the action of authority which 
had awed her childhood. It awed her now. Her voice sank 
into a low shuddering and muttering. 
" That any one should have dared to tell you  that ny one 
should have interfered between me and my poor child ! " he 
said, as if involuntarily, while seating her on the fresh grass. 
He threw himself down beside her, holding her hands, and 
covering them with kisses. 
" This sod is fresh and green," said he ; " but would we were 
all lying under it ! " 
" Do you say so P " murmured Genif rede. 
" God forgive me ! " he replied. " But we are all wretched." 
" Tou repent, then ? " said Genifrede. " Well you may ! 
There are no more such, now you have killed him. Tou should 
have repented sooner : it is too late now." 
" I do not repent, Genifrede ; but I mourn, my child." 
" There are no more such," pursued she. " He was gallant." 
" He was." 
" He was all life : there was no deadness, no coldness  he 
was all life." 
" He was, my child." 
" And such a lover ! " she continued, with something of a 
strange proud smile. 
"He was a lover, Genifrede, who made your parents proud." 
" Such a soldier ! " she dreamed on. " War was his sport, 
while I trembled at home. He had a soldier's heart." 
Her father was silent ; and she seemed to miss his voice, 
though she had not appeared conscious of his replies. She 
started, and sprang to her feet. 
" Ton will go home now, G&if rede," said her father. " With 
Madame Dessalines yon will go. Tou will go to your mother 
and sister." 
  
IN THE CONVENT.  
"Home!" she exclaimed with loathing. "Yes, I must go 
home," she said, hurriedly. " Ton love Pongaudin  you call it 
paradise. I wish you joy of it now ! Ton have put an evil 
spirit into it. I wish you joy of your paradise ! " 
She disengaged herself from him as she spoke, and walked 
away. Therese, who had drawn hack on seeing that she was in 
her father's care, now intercepted her path, met her, and drew 
her arm within hers. Toussaint, who was following, retreated 
for a moment, to ease his agony by a brief prayer for his child, 
and for guidance and strength. Having acknowledged with 
humiliation that he found his mission well-nigh too hard for him, 
and imploring for the wounded in spirit the consolation which 
ho would willingly purchase for his brother and his child by a 
life of woe for himself, he repaired to his chamber of audience ; 
where, for the rest of the morning, he appeared wholly engrossed 
by the affairs of the citizens of CaThe steadiness of his 
attention to business was felt by his still agitated secretary as a 
rebuke to his own wandering thoughts. 
CHAPTER XXV. 
PBECH OP THE EAVBN. 
Etjphbostnb's life in the convent was duU and weary. It 
would probably have been so anywhere, for some time after the 
old man's death : but elsewhere there would have been more to 
do and to amuse herself with. Every one was kind to her  too 
kind. She had been accustomed to the voice of chiding during 
all the years that she had lived with her grandfather ; and she 
did not mind it. It would now have been something of a relief, 
something welcome and familiar, to have been called " child " 
and " little fool " at times, instead of being told at every turn 
that she was an angel and a love, and finding that she was every 
one's pet, from the abbess to old Raphael. 
The kindness of the household had begun from the moment 
the poor girl appeared, after having been consoled by Father 
Gabriel, and visited by Pierre, and the guardian to whose care 
her grandfather had confided her person and her property. Pierre 
had engaged to see her daily tOl the furniture should have been 
sold, and the house shut uand he himself about to embark for 
France, with the savings of his long service. Her guardian, M. 
Oritois, knew but little of young people, and how to talk to them. 
He had assured her that he mourned extremely the loss of his 
old acquaintance  the acquaintance of so many years  and so 
O 
  
 THE HOUR AND THP. MAN. 
lost. He declared his desire of discharging his office of guardian 
so as to prove himself worthy of the trust, and his hothat he 
and his ward should be very good friends. At present, it was 
his wish that she should remain where she was ; and he asked 
whether she did not find every one very kind to her. Euphro- 
syne could just say, " Tes ; " but she was crying too much to be 
able to add, that she hoped she should not have to remain in the 
convent very long. M. Critois saw that she was struggling to 
say something : but, after waiting a mhiute, he stroked her hair, 
promised to come again some day soon, lioped she would cheer 
uhad no doubt she would be very hap and was gone, glad 
to have done with sobbing girls for this day. 
When the gates had closed upon him, the petting began. The 
abbess decreed that Euphrosyne should have the sole chai-ge of 
her mocking-bird. Sister Angelique, who made the prettiest 
artificial flowers in the world, invited her to her apartment at 
all reasonable hours, when she might have a' curiosity to see to 
learn the process. Sister Celestine had invented a new kind of 
comfit which she begged Euphrosyne to try, leaving a paper of 
sweetmeats on her table for that purpose. Old Raphael had 
gained leave to clear a parterre in the garden which was to be 
wholly hers, and where he would rear such flowers as she parti- 
cularly admired. Father Gabriel himself, after pointing out to 
her the uncertainty of life, the sudden surprises of death, and 
the care with which it becomes social beings to discharge their 
duties to each other, since they know not how soon they may be 
parted  the serious Father Gabriel himself recommended her to 
amuse herseK, and to remember how her grandfather had liked 
to see her gay. She had, no doubt, been a good girl on the 
whole ; and she could not now do better than continue the con- 
duct which had pleased the dep.irted in the days that were gone. 
Petted people generally prove perverse ; and so, in the opinion 
of the universal household, did Euphrosyne. There could be no 
doubt of her love for her grandfather. One need but see the 
sudden tears that sprang, twenty times in a day, when any re- 
membrance of him was awakened. One need but watch her 
wistful looks cast up towards his balcony, whenever she was in 
the garden. Yet, when any one expressed indignation against 
his murderers, she was silent, or she ran away, or she protested 
against it. Such was the representation which sister Claire made 
to her reverend mother, on the first opportunity. 
" I was not aware that it was exactly so," replied the abbess. 
" It appears to me that she dislikes to hear any parties made 
answerable for the murder but those by whose hands it was 
actually done. She " 
The abbess stopped, and sister Claire started, at the sound of 
musketry. 
  
TERKIBLE JUSTfCE. / 
" Another shot ! " said the abbess. " It is a fearful execution. 
I should have been glad to have removed this poor child out of 
hearing of these shots; but I had no notice of vrhat was to 
happen, till the streets were too full for her to appear in 
them." 
" A piece of L'Ouverture's haste ! " said sister Claire. 
" A fresh instance, perhaps, of his wise speed," observed the 
abbess. " Events seem to show that he understands the conduct 
of affairs better than you and I, my daughter." 
" Again ! Hark ! Oh, mercy ! " cried sister Claire, as the sound 
of a prolonged voUey reached them. 
" Let us hoit is the last," said the abbess, with changing 
colour. " Christ save their sinful souls ! " 
The door opened, and Euphrosyne entered, in excessive 
agitation. 
" Madame," she cried, gasping for breath, " do you hear that P 
Do you know what it is P They have shot General Moyse ! 
Father Gabriel says so.  Oh no, no ! L'Ouverture never wouhl 
do anything so cruel." 
Sister Claire looked at the abbess. 
"My daughter," said the abbess, "L'Ouverture's duty is to 
execute justice." 
" Oh, Genifrede ! Poor, poor Gdnifrede ! She will die too. 
I hoshe is dead." 
" Hush, my child ! Her life is in God's hands." 
" Oh, how cruel ! how cruel ! " the girl went on, sobbing. 
""What would L'Ouverture say," interposed sister Claii-e, "if 
he knew that you, of all people, called him cruel P Have you to- 
day put on this P " she continued, calling Euphrosyne's attention 
to her new mourning ; " and do you call it cruel to execute 
justice on tli* rebels and their officers ? " 
"It is a natural and amiable grief in Euphrosyne," said the 
abbess ; '' and if it is not quite reasonable, we can give her time 
to reflect. She is among friends, who will not report the words 
of her hours of sorrow." 
" Tou may  you may,'' cried Euphrosyne. " Tou may tell 
the whole world that it is cruel to  to  They were to have been 
married so very soon !  Afra wrote me all about it." 
The abbess repeated what she had said about L'Ouverture's 
office, and the requirements of justice. 
" Justice ! justice ! " exclaimed Euphrosyne. " There has 
been no justice till now ; and so the first act is nothing but 
cruelty." 
The abbess with a look dismissed sister Claire, who, by her 
report of Euphrosyne's rebellion against justice, sent in Father 
Gabriel. 
" Euphrosyne thinks, father," reported the abbess, " that these 
o 
  
  
negroes, in consideration of their ignorance, and of their anger 
at having once been slaves, should be excused for whatever they 
may do now, in revenge." 
" I am surprised," said Father Gabriel. 
So was Euphrosyne when she heard her argument thus 
stated. 
" I only mean," said she, striving to subdue her sobs ; " I 
only mean that I wish sister Claire, and sister Benoite, and all of 
them, would not want me to be glad and revengeful." 
" Glad and revengeful ! " repeated Father Gabriel. " That 
would be diflSoult." 
" It makes me very miserable  it can do no good now  it 
could not bring grandpato life again, if every negro in Limbe 
were shot," she continued, as tears rained down her cheeks. 
" Dear grandpanever wished any Ul to anybody  he never did 
anybody any harm " 
The priest and the abbess exchanged glances. 
" Why do you suppose these wretched blacks killed him, my 
dear?" 
" T do not know why they rose, this one particular time. But 
I believe they have always risen because the whites have been 
proud and cruel ; because the whites used to put them in chains, 
and whip them, and part mothers and children. After doing all 
this, and after bringing them up ignorant and without religion, 
we expect them to forgive everything that has passed, while we 
will not forgive them ourselves. But I will  I wiU forgive them 
my share. For all that you religious people may say, I will 
forgive them : and I am not afraid of what grandpawould 
think. I hohe is in a place now where there is no question 
about forgiving those who have injured us. The worst thing is, 
the thing that I cannot understand is, how L'Onverture could do 
anything so cruel." 
" I have a word to say to you, my dear," said the priest, with 
a sign to the abbess. 
" Oh, father ! " replied the abbess, in an imploring tone. 
" We must bring her to a right view, reverend sister. 
Euphrosyne, if your grandfather had not been the kind master 
you suppose him  if he had been one of the cruel whites you 
spoke of just now, if his own slaves had always hated him, 
and " 
" Do stop ! " said Euphrosyne, colouring crimson. " I cannot 
bear to hear you speak so, fatlier." 
" Tou must bear, my child, to listen to what it is good for you 
to hear. If he had been disliked by every black in the colony, 
and they had sought his life out of revenge, would you still be 
angry that justice was done, and ungrateful that he is avenged ? " 
"Tou talk of avenging you, a Christian priest!" said 
  
EUPHROSYNES SYMPATHY.  
Euphrosyne. " Tou talk of justice  you, who slander the 
dead!" 
" Peace, my daughter," said the abbess, very gently. 
" Remember where you are, and whom you speak to." 
" Remember where my grandfather is," cried Euphrosyne. 
" Remember that he is in his grave, and that I am left to speak 
for him. However," she said  and, in these few moments, a 
thousand confirmations of the priest's words had rushed upon her 
memory  a thousand tokens of the mutual fear and hatred of her 
grandfather and the black race, a thousand signs of his 
repugnance to visit Le Bosquet  " however," she resumed, in a 
milder tone, and with an anxious glance at Father Gabriel's face, 
" Father Gabriel only said ' if '  if aU that he described had 
been so." 
" True, my chUd," replied the abbess : " Father Gabriel only 
said ' if it had been so.' " 
" And if it had," exclaimed Euphrosyne, who did not wish to 
hear the father speak again at the moment  " if it had been so, 
it would have been wicked in the negroes to do that act in 
revenge ; but it could never, never excuse us from forgiving them 
from pitying them because they had been made cruel and 
revengertil. I am sure I wish they had all lived  that they 
might live many, many years, till they could forget those cruel 
old times, and, being old men themselves, might feel what it is 
to touch an old man's life. This is the kind of punishment I 
wish them ; and I am sure it would be enough." 
" It is indeed said," observed the abbess, " ' Vengeance is 
mine ; I will repay, saith the Lord.' " 
" And oh ! poor Genifrede ! " pursued Euphrosyne. " She no 
more wished ill to my parent than I do to hers ; and her lover  
it was not he that did it : and yet Oh, Father Gabiiel, are you 
sure that that firing  that last volley " 
" It was certainly the death stroke of Moyse. I perceive how 
it is, my child. I perceive that your friendshiamong this 
new race have blinded your eyes, so that you cannot see that 
t]iese executions are, indeed, God's avenging of the murder by 
which you are made a second time an orphan." 
" Do you think L'Ouvertufe right, then P I should be glad to 
believe that he was not cruel  dreadfully cruel." 
" There is no doubt of L'Ouverture's being wise and right  of 
his having finally assured the most unwilling of the inhabitants 
of their security, and his stern justice. There is no doubt that 
L'Ouverture is right." 
"I could not have believed," said the abbess, "that my 
daughter would have required a justification of anything done 
by L'Ouverture." 
" Nor I," said Euphrosyne, sighing. 
  
  
" Under him," said Father Gabriel, " there is less crime in the 
colony than, I verily believe, in any other part of the empire. 
Under him have homes become sacred, children are instructed, 
and brethren are taught to dwell together in unity." 
" As," said the abbess, " when he stopped in his journey to 
greet an old negro of ninety-nine, and reconcile to him two who 
had ofEended out of his many children. L'Ouverture is never 
in so much haste but that he can pause to honour old age : never 
too busy for works of mercy. If the peace-makers are blessed, so 
is he." 
" And where," continued the father, " where are the poor ? 
We can observe his continual admonitioii to works of mercy, by 
nursing the sick, and consoling the afiUcted ; but we have no 
longer any poor. By Ms wisdom, he has won over all to labour. 
The fields are thronged with labourers : the bays are crowded 
with shi: the store-houses are overflowing with food and 
merchandise : and there is a portion for all." 
" And it was the French," said Euphrosyne, " who made this 
last commotion. If they had let L'Ouverture alone, how hap
we might all have been ! Now, Genifrede will never be hap
again. If L'Ouverture could only have forgiven this once ! But, 
father, I have no comfort  and never shall have comfort, as long 
as I think that men have been murdered for iojuring us." 
"Pray for comfort, my child. In prayer you will find 
consolation." 
" I dare not pray, now this has happened. If they were but 
alive, how I would pray for them!" 
" They are alive, my daughter, and where they much need 
your prayers. Pray for them, and your intercession may be heard." 
Euphrosyne saw that her feelings were not understood ; and 
she said no more. She listened to all the teaehings that were 
offered her, and reserved her doubts and troubles for Afra's ear. 
Afra would tell her whether it could be right in euch a Christian 
as L'Ouvertni-e to render violence for violence. As for what the 
father and the abbess said about the effect of ejcample, and the 
necessity and the benefit of assuring and conciliating the whites, 
by sacrificing negro ofEenders for tlieir sakes, she dissented from 
it altogether. She had witnessed Toussaiut's power  the power 
with which his spirit of gentleness and forbearance endowed him ; 
and she believed that, if he would but try, he would find he 
could govern better by declaring always for the right and against 
the wrong, and leaving vengeance to God, than by the violent 
death of all the ignorant and violent men in the island. She 
would ask A.fra. She was pretty sure Afra would think as she 
did : and, if so, the time might come  it made her breathless to 
think of it, but she could not help thinking of it every day  
the time might come when she might ask Toussaint himself what 
  
EUPHROSYNE'S FRIEND.  I 
y.e thought was exactly meant, iu all cases, by forgiving our 
enemies ; and particularly whether this did not extend to for- 
giving other people's enemies, and using no vengeance and no 
violence at aU. 
This idea of seeing Afi-a gained strength under all the circum- 
stances of her present life. It Father Gabriel offered her comfort 
which was no comfort, or reproved her when she did not feel 
herself wrong ; if the abbess praised her for anything she had 
not designed to be particularly right; if the sisters applauded 
sayings which she was conscious wore not wise; if her heart 
ached for her grandfather's voice or countenance ; if M. Oritois 
visited her, or Pierre did not ; if her lesson in history was hard, 
or her piece of needle-work dull ; if her flowers faded, or her 
bird sang so finely that she would have been proud for the world 
to hear it  the passion for seeing Afra was renewed. Afra 
would explain all she could not understand, would teach her 
what she wanted to know. Afra would blame her where she was 
aware she was wrong, instead of bidding her be quit of it with a 
few prayers, while laying much heavier stress upon something 
that she could cure much more easily. Afra wrote her a few 
letters, which were read by the abbess before they were de- 
livered to her ; and many more which Pierre slipped into her 
hand during their occasional interviews. She herself wrote such 
prodigiously long letters to Afra, that to read them through 
would have been too great an addition to the reverend mother's 
business. She glanced over the first page and the last; and, 
seeing that they contained criticisms on Alexander the Great, 
and pity for Socrates, and questions about flower-painting and 
embroidery, she skipped all that lay between. 
It was not that Euphrosyne did not love and ti'ust the abbess. 
She loved her so as to open to her all but the inner chambers of 
her heart ; and she trusted her with all but other persons' con- 
cerns. The middle pages of her letters contained speculation 
chiefly : speculation, in the first place, on Afra's future destiny, 
names and events being shrouded under mysterious expressions ; 
and, in the second place, on points of morals, which might be 
referred to M. Pascal, whose opinion was of great value. Eu- 
phrosyne had a strong persuasion, all the while, that she should 
one day tell her reverend mother the whole. She knew that she 
should not object to her seeing every line that Afra held of hers. 
Whatever was clandestine in the correspondence was for the 
sake of avoiding restraint, and not because she was ashamed of 
any of her thoughts. 
One morning the abbess found her in the garden, listlessly 
watching the hues of a bright lizard, as it lay panting in the 
sun. The abbess put her arm round her waist, while stooping to 
look. 
  
  
" How it glitters ! " said she. " It is a pretty piece of God's 
handiwork : but we must leave it now, my dear. This sun is 
too hot for you. Tour chamber, or sister Claire's room, is the 
fittest place for you at this hour. You find your chamber 
cool?" 
" Tes, madam." 
" The new ventilator works well ? " 
" Yes, madam." 
" You find this way, my dear  this alley is the most shady 
you find your little bed comfortable ? " 
" Yes, madam." 
"And your toilet-cover  sister Marie's work  is, I think, 
extremely pretty : and the book-shelf that Father Gabriel gave 
you very convenient. Your friends here, my dear, are fond of 
you. They are anxious to make you happy." 
" They are all very kind to me, madam." 
" I am glad you are sensible of it. You are not of an un- 
grateful nature, we all know." 
" I honot : but, madam, I cannot stay here always." 
" I was going to say, my dear, that we have not done every- 
thing in our power for you yet. We must not forget thai 
we grave women must be dull companions for a girl like 
you." 
" It is not that, reverend mother. But I cannot stay here 
always." 
" You wiU find it a very different thing when you have a 
companion of your own age, which I howill be the case very 
soon. There is a negotiation on foot respecting a sweet girl, 
eveiy way worthy of being your companion " 
" But, madam, I do not want that  I do not wish for any 
companion while I am here. I had much rather be alone ; but 
" But you would like to leave us  eh ? Tou would like to be 
on a plantation, where you could amuse yourself with playing 
with the little negroes, and driving about the country, and visit- 
ing your neighbom-s two or three times a week P " 
Euphrosyne smUed, and plucked a twig to play with. 
" You would like," continued the abbess, " to live with ac- 
complished people  to have a fine library, to lie on a couch and 
read during the hot hours ; and to sing gay songs in the piazza 
in the evening." 
Euphrosyne smiled again. 
" You would like," the abbess went on, " to dance, night after 
night, and to make pic-nic parties to the cacao walks, and to the 
shore. Tou would like to win over your guardian to let you 
have your own way in everything : and, to be sure, in comparison 
with his house, our convent ' 
  
AN ABBESS ON LOVE.  
" My guardian ! " exclaimed Euphrosyne. ' ' Live at M. Oritois' ! 
Oh no ! " And she laughed as she went on  
" He would be telling me every day that we should be very 
good friends. He would be saying all day long that it was his 
desire fully to discharge his duty to me. I can hardly help 
shaking off his hand now, when he strokes my hair : and, if it 
came to his doing it every morning, we should certainly quan-el. 
They say Madame Critois never speaks ; so I suppose she admires 
his conversation too much to interruit. There she and I should 
never agree.  Live at my guardian's ! Oh no ! " 
" You were thinking of some other house while I was de- 
scribing your guardian's, my dear. What were you thinking 
of ? Where would you live f " 
Euphrosyne plucked another twig, having pulled the first to 
pieces. She smiled again, blushed, and said she would tell her 
reverend mother very soon what home she was thinking of : she 
could not tell to-day ; but in a little while 
" In the meantime," said the abbess, with a scrutinising gaze, 
" in the meantime, I conclude Father Gabriel knows all that 
is in your mind." 
" Tou will know in good time what I am thinking of, madam : 
everybody will know." 
The abbess was troubled. 
" This is beginning early," she said, as if thinking aloud ; 
" this is beginning early with the mysteries and entanglements 
of life and the world ! How wonderful it is to look on, to be a 
witness of these things for two or three successive generations ! 
How every young creature thinks her case something wholly 
new  the emotions of her awakened heart something that God 
never before witnessed, and that man never conceived of ! After 
all that has been written about love, upon the cavern walls of 
Hindoo temples, and in the hieroglyphics of old Egypt, and 
printed over all the mountains and valleys of the world by that 
deluge which was sent to quench unhallowed love, every young 
girl believes in her day that something unheard-of has happened 
when the dream has fallen upon her. My dear child, listen to 
one who knows more of life than you do  to one who would 
have you happy, not only in the next world, but in this." 
" Thank you, reverend mother." 
" Love is holy and blessed, my dear, when it comes in its due 
season  when it enters into a mind disciplined for new duties, 
and a heart waiting for new affections. In one who has no mother 
to help and comfort " 
" No mother, it is true," said Euphrosyne. 
" The mother is the parent naturally most missed," said the 
abbess, supposing she was reading her pupUs mind. " Where 
there is no mother by a j'oung girl's side, and no brothers and 
  
  
sisters to serve, the fancy and the heart are ato fix prematurely 
on some object  too likely, in that case, to be one which will 
deceive and fail. But, my dear, such a young girl owes duty to 
herseK, if God has seen fit to make her solitary in the world." 
" One cannot say solitary," interposed Euphrosyne, " or 
without duties.' 
" Tou are right, my love. No one is, indeed, solitary in life, 
(blessed be God !) nor without duties. As I was going to say, 
such a young girl's business is to apply herself diligently to her 
education, during the years usually devoted to instruction. This 
is the work appointed to her youth. If, while her mind is yet 
ignorant, her judgment inexperienced, and her tastes actually 
unformed, she indulges any afl'ection or fancy which makes her 
studies tedious, liei- companions dull, and her mind and spirits 
listless, she has fallen into a fearful snare." 
" How long then would you have a girl's education go on ? 
And if her lover be very particularly wise and learned, do not 
you think she may learn more from him than in any other way ? 
And if she be not dull and listless, but very hap" 
" Every girl," interrupted the abbess, with a grave smile, 
" thinks her lover the wisest man in the world : and no girl in 
love would exchange her dreams for the gayest activity of the 
fancy-free." 
"Well, but, as to the age," persisted Euphrosyne; "how 
soon " 
' That depends upon circumstances, my dear. But in all 
cases, I consider sixteen too early." 
"Sixteen! Yes. But nineteen or, one may say, twenty. 
Twenty, next mouth but one." 
" My dear," said the abbess, stopping short, " you do not 
mean to say " 
" Indeed, madam," said Euphrosyne, very earnestly, " Afra 
will be twenty in two months. I know her age to a day, 
" And yon have been speaking of Mademoiselle Raymond all 
this time ! WeU, weU " 
" And you were thinking of me, I do believe. Oh, madam, 
how could you ! Why, I never saw anybody." 
" I was wondering how it could be," said the abbess, striving 
to conceal her amusement and satisfaction. " I was surprised 
that you should have seen any one yet ; and I was going to give 
you a lecture about half-confidences with Father Gabriel." 
" And I could not conceive what Father Gabriel had to do 
with Afra's affairs, orTiow you came to know anything about it. 
I have let it out now, however ; and I do not know what Afra 
will say." 
" You have not told me who the gentleman is, you know ; so 
  
A BIT OF GOSSIP.  
there is not much harm done. No, do not tell me, my dear, till 
Mademoiselle Raymond desires it." 
" Oh, I may as well, now you know so mucli. I dare say Afra 
would have no objection ; particularly as you will then under- 
stand what I meant about living somewhere else. When you 
talked of a fine library," she continued, laughiag, " how could 
I suppose you were thinking of any in the colony but M. 
Pascal's ? " 
" So he is the gentleman," said the abbess. " How times are 
changed ! A lady of colour may be Madame Pascal now, with- 
out reproach." 
" I am glad it is out,'' said Euphrosyue, gaily. " I can spt'ak 
now to somebody about Afra. Oh, madam, you do not know, 
you cannot imagine, how they love one another." 
" Cannot I ? "  and the abbess sighed. 
"And I may look forward to living with them. They say I 
may, madam. They say I must. And surely my guardian wiU 
have no objection. Do you think he can, madam ? " 
" Indeed I do not know. I am acquainted with the parties 
only by hearsay. Report speaks highly of M. Pascal. Some 
persons at Paris, and some formerly in ofiBce here, are surprised 
at his unqualified adherence to the Ouverture system; but I 
never heard anything worse of him than that." 
" And that is nothing but good, as any one would say who 
really knew all those dear people. L'Ouverture and M. Pascal 
are almost like father and son. Afra says " 
"My dear," interposed the abbess, "you wondered how I 
knew of this affair. You must allow me to wonder how you 
have gained all this intelligence. Mademoiselle Raymond must 
have crossed her letters with sympathetic inks, which the warmth 
of your friendship brought out ; for not a syllable of what you 
have told me have her letters conveyed to me." 
The abbess did not mean to press for au answer ; so iudulgent 
was she made by the complacency of discovering that her charge 
was not entangled in a love affair. While Euphrosyue was 
blushing, and hunting for a reply which should be true and yet 
guarded, she was relieved by the rapid approach of sister 
Benoite. 
" Something is amiss,' said the abbess, assuming the look of 
calmness with which she was wont to await bad news. " What 
has happened to alarm you, my daughter? " 
" There is a message, reverend mother," said the breathless 
nun, " from Madame Oge. She invites herself to our evening i-e- 
past. If you cannot receive her to-day, she will come to-morrow." 
" She shall be welcome," said the abbess ; without, however, 
much of the spirit of welcome in her tone. 
"So this is our calamity! " said Euphrosyue, laughing. 
  
  
" There is calamity at hand, assuredly," sighed sister Benoite. 
" Nay, nay, my daughter. This is superstition," said the 
abbess. 
" Whatever it be, reverend mother, do we not all, does not 
every one quake when Madame Oge comes abroad ? " 
" It is but seldom that she does," said the abbess, " and it is 
our part to make her welcome." 
" But seldom, indeed, reverend mother. When all goes well 
when the croare fine, and the island all at peace, no one 
hears of Madame Oge. She keewithin her coffee-groves " 
" Mourning her sons," interposed the abbess. 
" But," continued the nun, ' when any disaster is about to 
happen, we have notice of it by Madame Oge coming abroad. 
She came to this very house the first day of the meeting of the 
deputies, in that terrible August of ninety-one. She came a day 
or two before the rising against Hedouville. She came the night 
before the great hurricane of ninety-seven " 
" That was an accident," said the abbess, smiling. 
" Then you think it is not by accident that she always comes 
out before misfortunes happen ? " asked Euphrosyne, trembling 
as she spoke. 
" By no means, my dear. It is easily explained. Madame 
Oge looks upon her sons as martyrs in the cause of the mulattoes. 
When aU. goes well, as all has done, under L'Ouverture's rule, 
with only a few occasional troubles  fewer and slighter than 
might have been expected during such a change in society as 
we have witnessed  when all goes well, Madame Oge feels that 
her sons are forgotten ; and, as my daughter Benoite says, she 
mourns them alone in the shades of her coffee-groves. She 
seems, however, to have means of information which persons 
less interested have not: and when she has reason to believe 
that troubles will ensue, she hopes that the names of her sons 
will once more be a watchword, for the humiliation of both 
blacks and whites; and she comes forth with her hungry 
maternal heart, and her quick maternal ear, to catch the first 
echo of the names which are for ever mingled with her prayers." 
" Can she mingle those names with her prayers, and yet not 
forgive ? " 
" My chUd, is it not so with us all ? Do we not pray for our 
enemies, and ask to be forgiven as we forgive, and come out 
from our closets with ears open to the fresh slanders of the day, 
and hearts ready to burn at the thought of old injuries ? It 
might be well for us, if we had the excuse of this wretched 
woman, whose woes have been such as might naturally have 
shaken her reason, and prostrated her will. If there be any 
above others with whom God will be long suffering, it is with 
the mother whose children have been torn from her arms to be 
  
GUESTS AT THE CONVENT.  
tortm-od and destroyed, and their very names made a term of 
reproacli." 
" Tou think something is going to happen P " 
" As my daughter Benolte says, on one occasion there was a 
hurricane. To-morrow the sun may rise, or there may be a 
cloud in the sky." 
" Nay, but  " said sister Benolte. 
" Nay, but," said the abbess, smiling, " I wiU have nothing 
said which shall make Euphrosyne look upon my guest as a 
sorceress, or as the instrument  any evil one. I wish all my 
daughters to meet Madame Oge with cheerfulness. It is the 
best I have to offer her,  the cheerfulness of my family ; and 
that of which she has least at home. You hear, Euphrosyne ? " 
" Madam, you do not mean that I am to see her. Indeed I 
cannot,  indeed I dare not. It is no disrespect  quite the con- 
trary. But I could not hold up my head before one who " 
" Poor Madame Oge, if all said so ! " exclaimed the abbess. 
" That is true," said Euphrosyne. " I will be there : but, 
dear mother, do not speak particularly to me. Do not draw her 
attention upon me." 
" I will not, my dear." 
" Do you think she wiU speak angrUy of the Ouvertures P I 
hoshe will say nothing about poor General Moyse." 
" Tou must bear what she says, be it what it may." 
" True. And it is only for one evening. But I wish it was 
over. I shall be glad when to-morrow morning is come, and I 
shall be in this alley again." 
" Meantime, my dear, you have been long enough here for 
this morning. Let us go in." 
The prospect of any guest was in itself acceptable to the sister- 
hood. It gave them something to do, and afforded one day of 
variety. The abbess's parlour and the refectory had to be 
adorned with fresh flowers. Napkins, of the workmanship of 
one sister, were laid beside the plates ; and on the table were 
fruits gathered by another, sweetmeats made by a third, and 
chocolate prepared by the careful hands of a fourth. Even the 
abbess's veil looked whiter, and more exactly put on than usual. 
Everything within the walls was in its nicest order some time 
before Madame Oge's carriage drew up before the gate. 
Two or three of the sisters and Euphrosyne were with the 
abbess in her parlour, when Madame Oge entered. Euphrosyne 
had permission to bring in her work ; so that she could sit plying 
her needle, and listening to what went on, without many 
nervous feelings about being observed by a person whom she 
could become acquainted with only by stealing glances at her 
face. 
That face, she thought, must in its youth have had much of 
  
  
the beauty common among mulattoes, if not natural to them, in 
a favourable climate. It was now deeply impressed with 
so'rrow. Every line, every feature, told of sorrow. There 
was no other painf-il expression in it. There was great solemnity, 
but stillness rather than passion  nothing which warranted, 
in itself, the superstitious fears which the sisters had of the 
unhaplady. She was handsomely dressed, and her manner 
was quiet. 
The conversation turned first upon the state of the cofEee and 
sugar crops, about v/hich little could be said, because the 
prospect of every kind of produce was excellent. So much 
regard was everywhere paid to the processes of cultivation ; and 
the practice of ten years, under the vigilant eye of Toussaiiit and 
his agents, had so improved the methods of tillage and the habits 
of the cultivators, that the bounties of the soil and climate were 
improved instead of being intercepted. Every year, since the 
revolution, the harvests had been richer ; and this was the 
crowning year. 
" Tea," said Madame Oge : " we have heard a great deal of 
all that ; and I fancy we have nearly heard the last of it." 
" There mut, indeed," replied the abbess, " be some limit to 
the fruitfulness of the soil, and to the industry of those who 
till it : and it does seem a.s if the earth could yield no more than 
it is bringing forth this year." 
" father Gabriel says," observed sister Claire, " that in his 
journeys he could almost believe that the fields sing, and the 
hills rejoice with music, as the Scripture says  the cultivators 
are so hidden among the com and the canes, and the groves and 
the vines, that their songs really seem to come out of the 
ground." 
" It is in the woods," added sister Benoite, " as if the very 
trees shouted " 
She stopped abruptly before the name L'Onverture, remem- 
bering that it won'.d not be acceptable to all the present 
company. 
" I have no doubt," said Madame Oge, " that all the monkeys 
and parrots iire taught to shout L'Ouverture. Like his people, 
they are quick at learning that much. But I imagine there will 
be something else for Toussaint to do presently, than teaching 
the birds of the woods to praise him." 
As no one asked what was likely to happen, she reserved for 
the present the news they trembled to hear ; and went on,  
" It is grievous to see so good a negro as Toussaint lost and 
spoiled. I knew him of old, when he was at Breda : and many 
a time has M. Bayou told me that he was the most faithful, 
decent, clever, well-mannered negro on the estate." 
" I believe he preserves those qualities still," observed the 
  
AfADAME Oai'S VIEWS.  
abbess, reproving with a glance the laugh which was rising at 
this description of the Commander-in-chief. 
"If those had been masters who ought to have been masters," 
pursued Madame Og, " Toussaint would, no doubt, have been 
placed at the head of the negroes : for we knew him well   
and they whom I have lost. Then, without insubordination,  
without any being lifted out of their proper places, to put down 
others  we should have had a vast improvement in the negroes. 
Toussaint would have been made their model, and perhawould 
have been rewarded with his freedom, some day or other, for an 
example. This would have satisfied all the ambition he had by 
nature. He would have died a free man, and perhahave 
emancipated his family. As it is, they wiU all die slaves : and 
they will feel it all the harder for the farce of greatness they 
have been playing these ten years.  am very sorry for them : 
and I always was ; for I foresaw from the beginning how it 
would end." 
" Do you really imagine that any one thinks of enslaving this 
wonderful man again p And what should make him submit to it p " 
" He woidd sooner lay a train to the root of Oibao, and blow 
up the island," exclaimed Euphrosyne. 
" Ai'e you one of his party, young lady ? You look too 
much as if yoii were but just landed from France for me to 
sxippose that I was speaking before a friend of L'Ouverture's. 
If yon really are lately from France, you may know that there 
is a greater than our poor Toussaint, to whom he must yield at 
command." 
" I have never been at Paris, madame ; and I do not believe 
that there is a greater than L'Ouverfcure, there, or anywhere 
else." 
" Ton have been a hapchild, I see : yon have lived so retired 
from our miserable world as not to have heard of Bonaparte. It 
was by Bonaparte, my dear, for Bonaparte's convenience, and (it 
is my idea) for his amusement, that Toussaint was made what he 
is, and allowed to gallop about with his trumpeters behind him, 
for so long. Ton look as if you did not believe me, my dear. 
Well : time will show." 
" I thought," said Euphrosyne, " that Toussaint was the First 
of the Blacks before Bonaparte was the First of the Whites. I 
have no doubt, however, that it has been very convenient to 
Bonaparte, and very sui-prising to him and everybody, that the 
colony has been so perfectly well governed by one from whom 
they coiild have expected nothing. I hoBonaparte will be 
too wise and too grateftil to injure him, or even to hurt his feel- 
ings ; and I feel very sure that Bonaparte is not strong enough, 
with all the world to help him, to make L'Ouverture and his 
famUy slaves again." 
  
  
" We shall see. ETen I may live to see it ; and I have no 
doubt you will. Bonaparte is going to try ; and, if he cannot, 
as you say, do it by himself, he may now persuade all the world 
to help him : for he is making peace on all hands." 
" Ton have that news from France ? " inquired the abbess. 
" I have it from a sure quarter  never mind how. It will 
soon be generally known that the preliminaries of peace between 
France and England are signed : and I happen to know two 
things more : that Bonaparte has agreed to maintain negro 
slavery in Martinique, Guadaloupe, and Cayenne : and that  
(pray listen, young lady)  he declares to the English that he 
can do what he pleases in St. Domingo. I wish he could see that 
angry blush. Pray look at her, Madame ! I see she thinks 
Bonaparte a very impertinent fellow." 
"I do," replied Buphrosyne; ''and I hohe will know 
better, and feel better, before he is L'Ouverture's age." 
" Ha ! he ought to know what disloyal little hearts there 
are beating against him in this St. Domingo that he thinks all 
his own." 
" Perhaps," observed the abbess, " he used these words when 
he was not speaking of slavery ; but rather from being aware 
of the loyalty .of the Ouvertiire famUy ; which is, I believe, 
exemplary." 
'' It is," declared Enphrosyne, looking up with glowing eyes. 
" He has not only served, but worshipped Bonaparte, all the 
years that they have both ruled. In his own family, M. Pascal 
says  " 
" What is M. Pascal to do under the changes that are coming ? " 
interrupted Madame Oge. " He has placed himself in a diffi- 
culty, it seems to me. Will he go under the yoke with his 
father-in-law ? (for I suppose, in his devotion, he will be marrying 
one of Tottssaint's daughters). Will he take the hoe, and go 
into the field ? Tou are smiling, my dear young lady." 
Enphrosyne was indeed smiling. She could not but ho
that, as Madame Oge was so ill-informed about the affairs of M. 
Pascal, and of the Raymonds, who were of her own colour, she 
might be mistaken about the whole of her news. 
"Tou are smiling," repeated Madame Oge. "Though you 
stoop your head over your work, I see that you have some droll 
thought." 
" It would be strange, certainly," replied Enphrosyne, "to see 
the philosophical M. Pascal hoeing canes, or working at the mill. 
Tet I believe we may be certain that he will be a slave as soon 
as Toussaint, or any negro in St. Domingo," 
" Young people like to be positive," said Madame Oge to the 
abbess.  "But it does not mueh matter, as they have life before 
them ; time enough to see what is true, and what is not. Is it 
  
A HELL ON BART If.   
your doctrine, my dear young lady, that God has given over His 
wrath towards this island ; and that it is to be haphence- 
forth, with the negroes for masters P " 
" With the negroes for equals, I think it may be happy. But 
I never thought of God being wrathful towards us. I thought 
our miseries had arisen out of men's wrath with each other." 
" If ever," said Madame Oge, in a low tone, but yet so that 
every word was heard  " if ever there was a place set apart by 
cursing  if ever there was a hell upon this earth, it is this 
island. Men can tell us where paradise was  it was not here, 
whatever Columbus might say. The real paradise where the 
angels of God kewatch, and let no evil thing enter, was on 
the other side of the globe : and I say that this place was meant 
for a hell, as that was for a heaven, upon earth. It looked like 
heaven to those who first came : but that was the devil's snare. 
It was to make lust sweeter, and cruelty safer, that he adorned 
the place as he did. In a little while, it appeared like what it 
was. The innocent natives were corrupted ; the defenceless 
were killed ; the strong were made slaves. The plains were laid 
waste, and the valleys and woods were rifled. The very bees 
ceased to store their honey : and among the wild game there was 
found no young. Then came the sea-robbers, and haunted the 
shores : and many a dying wretch screamed at night among the 
caverns  many a murdered corpse lies buried in our sands. 
Then the negroes were brought in from over the sea ; and from 
among their chains, from under the lash, grew up the hatred 
of races. The whites hated the mulattoes, and despised the 
blacks. The mulattoes hated both the whites and the blacks ; 
and " 
"And," interposed Enphrosyne, courageously, "the blacks 
hated neither. They loved where they could; and where they 
could not love, they forgave ; and there lies the proof that this 
island is not hell." 
" Ton have proved nothing, my dear, but that yon do not 
know what has happened, even since you were born. Any 
white will tell you what the negroes did, so late as the year 
ninety-one  how they killed their masters by inches  how 
they murdered infants  how they carried off ladies into the 
woods " 
A sign from the abbess availed to stop Madame Oge, even in 
the midst of a subject on which none usually dared to interru
her. Enphrosyne, in some agitation, replied, 
" I am aware of all that you say : but every one allows 
that the most ignorant and cruel of the negroes did over again 
exactly what they had seen the whites do to their race. But 
these revengef nl blacks were few, very few, in comparison with 
the numbers who spared their masters, helped and comforted 
p 
  
  
them, and are now working on their estates  friends with all 
who will be friends with them. The place is not hell where 
thousands of men forget the insults of a life-time, and bind up 
the wounds of their oppressors." 
" I cannot doubt," said the abbess, " that ever since there 
was a Christian in the island, there have been angels of God at 
hand, to sanctify the evil which they were not commissioned to 
prevent. Violence is open to the day. Patience is hidden in 
the heart. Revenge has shouted his battle-cry at noon, while 
Forgiveness breathes her lowly prayer at midnight. Spirits 
from hell may have raged along our high roads ; but I trust that 
in the fiercest times, the very temper of Christ may have dwelt 
in a thousand homes, in a thousand nooks of our valleys and our 
woods." 
"Besides," sister Benolte ventured to say, "our worst 
troubles were so long ago ! For ten years now we have been under 
the holy rule of a devout man ; and, for the most part, at peace." 
" Peace ! " exclaimed Madame Oge, contemptuously. 
"There have been disputes among the rulers, as Father 
Gabriel says there are among all the rulers in the world ; but he 
says (and no one knows better than Father Gabriel) that the body 
of the people have not been troubled by these disputes, and are 
not even aware of them." 
" Does not Father Gabriel tell you that ten years are but a 
day in heaven and heU ? Tes, in hell  ihey may be long for suf- 
fering ; but they are short for revenge. The cruel master, who 
saw one slave faint under the lash, and let another die in the 
stocks, and tore the husband from the wife, and the child from 
the mother, might escafor the time with the destruction of 
his family, punished for his sake :  he might live safely in the 
midst of the city, for the ten years you speak of ; but, let him 
venture out for a single day  let him but drive to his own estate 
and back again, and, grey as his head is, he is shot in his own 
carriage, as soon as it is dark." 
Before the abbess could anticipate what was coming, the words 
were out. Before she could make a sign, Euphrosyne had rushed 
from the room. 
It was not long before the abbess entered the chamber of her 
charge. She found her stretched on the bed, not weeping, but 
shuddering with horror. 
" My daughter," said she, " I grieve that this trial should 
have come upoli you already. If one could have foreseen " 
" But, madam, is it true P She meant Aim, I know. Tell me 
faithfully, is it true P " 
" It is, my daughter." 
" What, all P Every one of those things ? " 
" AH true. Perhait is well that you should know it, that 
  
EUPHROSYNE PAINED.  
the departed may have the benefit of your prayers. But how 
differently would I have had you told ! " 
" Never mind that ! Whatever is true, I can and wiU. bear. 
I will pray for him, madam, day and night  as long as I live 
will I pray for him: for he was to me Oh, madam, how he 
loved me ! I will make reparation for him ; the reparation 
that he would make if he could. I will find out who were the 
poor creatures  will make them hapfor as long as they 
live, for his sake. Tou will help me, madam ? " 
" I will. It is a pious intention." 
" I owe him all that I can do. I ask one favour of you, madam. 
Let no one speak to me about him  never again. No one can 
understand what he was to me  what care he took of me  how 
he used to love me. Oh, madam, is it quite certain  are you 
quite sure that those things are true ? " 
" My child, do not give me the pain of explaining more. As 
you say, let this never again be spoken of.I propose to you, 
Euphrosyne, to make a virtuous effort." 
" Not to come down this evening, madam p " 
" Tes, my child, to come down this evening. I think it of 
importance that Madame Og should not discover how she has 
wounded you, and that nothing should occur to fix her attention 
on the descendant of one who was active in procuring the death 
of her sons. Trust me, my dear, it is worth an effort to prevent 
Madame Oge leaving this house your enemy." 
" I do not care for it, madam. Let her hate me. She is quite 
welcome." 
"Tou are thinking only of yourself, Euphrosyne. I am 
thinking also of her. Consider how sore a heart she carries 
within her. Consider how wretched her life has been made by 
the enmities in which she has lived. Will you not save her one 
more ? Tou have professed to pity her. Now you can show if 
your pity is real, by saving her from a new enmity." 
" I am willing to do that : but how can I speak, to her ? How 
can we know what things she may say ? " 
" Tou shall not converse with her again. The table is spread. 
Go down now, and take your place at the foot, beside sister 
Claire. When we rise from table, I will dismiss you to your 
room as in course." 
"I wish that time was come," sighed Euphrosyne, as she 
languidly arranged her hair. 
The abbess stroked her pale cheek, as she said that in an hour 
she would be glad the effort was made. 
" Tou can spend the evening in writing to your friend," said 
she ; " and if you think proper to tell her that I know her secret, 
you may assure her of my blessing and my prayers. They are 
due to one who loves my dear charge as she does." 
P 
  
  . 
Euphrosyne's cheeks were now no longer pale. 
" And may I tell her, madam, what Madame Oge has heen 
declaring about Bonaparte and his threats p " 
" It -vill be needless, my dear. If there be any truth in the 
matter, M. Pascal, doubtless, knows more than Madame Og" 
" In that case there can be no harm in mentioning it." 
Still the abbess thought it would be safer to say nothing about 
it ; and Euphrosyne gave up the point for to-night, remembering 
that she could perhasend a private despatch afterwards by the 
hands of Pierre. 
During the meal, while the length of the table was between 
them, Euphrosyne nearly escaped the notice of Madame Oge. 
When it was over, and the sisters rose, while the guest and the 
abbess passed out to the parlour, the abbess stopped at Euphro- 
syne, kissed her forehead, and commended her to her studies. 
Madame Oge stopped too, and put in an intercession that the 
young lady might be excused studying this evening, and per- 
mitted to return to her pretty fancy-work in the parlour. The 
colour rushed to Euphrosyne's temples  a sign of ardent hoof 
a holiday in Madame Oge's eyes. She therefore thought the 
abbess grievously strict when she replied that her charge would 
prefer spending the evening in her own chamber. 
" As you please," said Madame Og. " It was my wish to do 
the child a kindness ; and perhato have the pleasure myself of 
seeing a young face for an hour or two  the rarest of all sights 
to me. I seldom go out ; and when I do, all the young and 
cheerful faces seem to have hidden themselves." 
The abbess regulated her invitations for the evening by this 
speech. Sisters Debora and Marie, one the youngest, and the 
other the merriest of the family, were requested to bring their 
work-bags, and join the party in the parlour. 
" Good evening, young lady," said Madame Oge to Euphrosyne, 
holding out her hand. " I hoped to have procured you a little 
freedom, and to have had more conversation about your hero ; 
but " 
" If there are to be great changes in the colony," observed the 
abbess  " it may yet be in your power, madam, to show kindness 
to my charge." 
" If so, command me, my dear. But it is more likely that the 
changes to come will have the opposite effect. Then pretty 
young white ladies may have all their own way ; while the storm 
will burst again on the heads of the dark people." 
" If so, command me, madam," Euphrosyne exerted herself to 
say. The abbess's smile made her eyes fill with tears, almost 
before ste had spoken. 
" Are your eyes wet for me, my dear P " said Madame Og, 
with surprise. " Let the storm burst upon me ; for I am shat- 
  
FOREBODlNGb.  
tered and stricken already, and nothing can hurt me. But I shall 
remember your offer. Meantime, you may depend upon it, 
the news I told you is true  the times I warned you of are 
coming." 
" What news ? what warning ? " eagerly asked the sisters of 
Euphrosyne, as soou as the guest was out of hearing. 
" That there were hurricanes last November, and there wiU be 
more the next,'' replied she, escaping to her chamber. Before 
she slept, she had written all her news and all her thoughts to 
Afra, leaving it for decision in the morning, whether she should 
seud entire what she had written. 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
THE HBKALD ABKOAD. 
Madame Oge's news was too true. M. Pascal had held many 
an anxious conversation with L'Ouverture on the subject, before 
Afra showed him her little friend's letter. In a short time an 
additional fact became known  that Bonaparte had re-esta- 
blished the slave trade. His enmity to the race of blacks was 
now open and declared. 
The first intimation which the colony at large had of what had 
happened, was through the altered demeanour of their chief. From 
the first bright day of the prolific, gorgeous summer, to that in 
which the season merged in a fierce autumnal storm, L'Ouverture 
had been seen to be not less calm and quiet than usual, but 
depressed and sad. Some ascribed his gloom to the traui action 
at Caand the misery it must needs have introduced into his 
home. Others, who saw how much the colony had gained in 
confidence, and Toussaint's government in strength by that act, 
looked for a different cause. Some reminded each other that, 
while no man was more energetic in the hour of proof than their 
chief, his spirits were wont to droop when others were elated. 
It seemed as if some boding ghost whispered evil to him most 
peremptorily when the harvests were ripest before his eyes, when 
the laugh and the song were loudest in his ear, and when no one 
dreamed that the bright days of the colony would ever more be 
overclouded. 
It was even so. Wben Toussaint saw that his race was in 
peace, it filled him with grief that this peace was not likely to 
last. When he saw what the true African soul was, when cleansed 
from blood and anger, and permitted to grow in freedom and in 
harmony, it was torture to know (as he did too well) that new 
  
  
injuries were preparing for it  that it was certain to be again 
steeped in passion and slaughter, and all that was savage in it 
excited afresh. This, even more than the death of Moyse, cast 
gloom roraid his soul, during the last of the series of bright and 
prosperous summers that were to pass under his eye. When 
autumn came, it might have made him wonder, if he had had 
leisure to consider himself, to find how his spirits rose, and his 
heart grew light, exactly wheu dismay and dread began to over- 
cloud every face about him, but when he saw that suspense and 
struggle were coming to an end. He perceived perplexity in the 
countenance of his friend Pascal, even in the presence of his 
bride. He met sorrow in the mild eyes of Henri ; he heard that 
exultation in the voice of Jacques which always struck like 
discord upon his ear. He observed that in the bearing of Madame 
Dessaliues which carried back his memqry ten years into her past 
history. He saw Aimee tremble at the approach of any one who 
might bring news from France ; and he heard Margot weeping 
at her prayers, as she implored of Heaven the safe return of her 
sons. Tet all this caused to his sympathising heart scarcely a 
pang ; so clear was his path now, so distinct was the issue to 
which his duty, and the fate of his race was brought. 
" Here it ends then," said he, one day at the council-table, 
rising as he spoke. " Here ends all possibility of compromise. 
For Me blacks, it is slavery or self-defence. It is so, M. Pascal." 
" It is. The terms of the new peace are proclaimed." 
" And the fact substantiated that Bonaparte has declared that 
he will do what he pleases with St. Domingo." 
" Such were certainly his words." 
" Who is surprised ? " inquired DessaUnes. " I forewarned 
you of this, long ago : and I said, at the same time, that, if we 
waited for aggression, we might find it too late for defence.'' 
" Not a word of fear, Jacques. Our victory is as sure as the 
justice of Heaven." 
" Perhaso ; but it would have been easier if yon had not 
been training your people, aU these years, to love and cherish 
those whom they are now going to resist." 
"I see and admit our difficulty, Jacques. But if I had 
governed as you would have had me, we should have been in a 
worse. I should then have been the chief of a race of savages, 
instead of soldiers and citizens. If we had been extirpating 
the whites all this time, we should now have been destroying 
each other, instead of preparing to go forth to a righteous war. 
"True. Most true," declared Henri. " We may sufEer f or a 
time, and fight with the more difficulty, from our habits of 
observance towards those whom we must now oppose ; but God 
will not allow the spirit of forgiveness and love to be finally a 
snare." 
  
PREPARING FOR WAR.  
" Never," said Toussaint. " He has appointed fierce passions 
foi- a yoke, and mild affections for freedom. Tliougli Bonaparte 
betrays and oppresses, the Gospel stands.  It is now time for 
proclaiming the war throughout the colony." 
" I will prepare the proclamation this night," said M. Pascal. 
" If you will, my friend," said Toussaint. " But I intend to 
be my own proclamation. To-morrow morning I set forth for 
St. Domingo, to visit my brother in his city. I shall examine 
every fort, and call together the militia, as I go. The trip 
would be more effective if I could have my council about me." 
" I will go with you," said Henri. 
" And I," exclaimed Jacques. 
"And I ? " said Raymond, inquiringly. 
" No, Rajrmond ; stay at Port-au-Prince, to report my pro- 
ceedings to the legislature. And you, M. Pascal, remain here 
to receive the despatches which may arrive from Prance. My 
brethren-in-arms of the council will be with me. When we 
have satisfied ourselves, we wiU let you know whether or not 
those who would have loved and served Prance for ever as a 
guardian angel, can cast her off when she becomes an incubus." 
It was a time of high excitement  that in which L'Ouverture, 
attended by four of his generals, and a train of inferior officers, 
traversed the island, to communicate or confirm the intelligence 
that an expedition was believed to be setting sail from France, 
for the purpose of wresting from the blacks the freedom which 
was theirs by the law of the land. Toussaint found, not only 
that all hearts were ready for the assertion of freedom, but 
that all eyes were so fixed upon him, ail ears so open to his 
lightest word, that there was every probability of his purposes 
being fully understood and completely executed. At a word 
from him, the inhabitants of Cap Prauaise and Port-au-Prince 
began to remove their property into the fastnesses of the interior, 
and to prepare to burn those towns at the momeint of the French 
attempting to land. It was useless to think of preventing a 
landing, so exposed was the greater part of the coast. The more 
rational howas so to distress the foe on shore as to make them 
glad to go on board their shiagain. Equally satisfactory was 
the disposition of the interior. The municipal bodies through- 
out the colony, previously brought under one system, now acted 
in concert. Their means of communication had been improved, 
so that each settlement was no longer like an encampment in 
the wilderness : on the contrary, every order given by L'Ouver- 
ture seemed to have been echoed by the mountain-toaround, 
so promptly was it transmitted, and so continually did he find 
his commands anticipated. As he went, his four generals 
parted off, to examine the forts on either hand, and to inspect 
and animate the militia. Everywhere the same story was told. 
  
  
and everywhere was it received with the same eagerness and 
docility. " The French are coming to make slaves of us again ; 
but there shall never more be a slave in St. Domingo. They 
are coming ; but they are our countrymen till they have struck 
the first blow. "We will demand of them an account of our 
brethren in Cayenne, in Guadaloupe, and in Martinique. We 
will ask of them concerning our brethren on the coasts of Africa. 
If, in return, they throw us chains and the whiwe shall know 
how to answer. But not a blow must be struck tiU they have 
shovra whether they are brethren or foes. Our dark skin is no 
disgrace ; but the first drop of a brother's blood dyes us all in 
infamy. Let the infamy be theirs who assault us. At this 
moment our first duty is to our white brethren of this island ; 
in this time of our high excitement, they are full of grief ; they 
are guiltless of this attack upon our liberty ; they are as wUling 
as we to live and die raider the rule of L'Ouverture : and under 
the special protection of L'Ouverture, they shall, if they please, 
live and die. Beware of imputing to them the sins of their 
colour ; protect them from your heaxts  defend them with your 
lives. In the hour of danger, as you invoke the blessing of 
Heaven, save first the Creole whites, and next your wives and 
your children." 
Such were the exhortations spoken everywhere by Ghristophe, 
La Plume, and Olerveaux. It could not be expected of Dessa- 
lines that he should deliver the last clauses with perfect fidelity. 
The solemnity of the hour had, however its tranquillising efEect, 
even upon his ruling passion. Even his heart, which usually 
turned to stone at the sight of a white, was moved by the visible 
distress of the proprietors of that race, who were, with scarcely 
in exception, in despair. In private, they execrated the spirit 
and conduct of their former neighbours, now in Paris, whose re- 
presentations were the chief cause of the expedition now pro- 
jected. Instead of remaining or returning, to ascertain the real 
state of things in St. Domingo  instead of respecting the inte- 
rests and wishes of those who were entirely satisfied under the 
government of L'Ouverture, they had prejudiced the mind of 
the Pirst Consul, and induced him to bring back the ruin and 
woe which had passed away. The ladies weand trembled 
within their houses; their fathers, husbands, and brothers 
fiocked to every point where L'Ouverture halted, to assure him 
of their good-will to his government, and to remind him of the 
difficulty and danger of the position in which they were placed. 
These last carried some comfort home with them. All who had 
seen Toussaiut's face had met there the gaze of a brother. 
If there were two or three who went with doubtful minds, 
prepared to exult at the depression of the blacks, but thinking 
it well to bespeak protection, in case of the struggle ending 
  
PUBLIC SYMPATHY.  
tho wrong way  if there was a sprinkling of such among the 
throng of whites who joined the cavalcade from the cross-roads, 
they shrunk away abashed before the open countenance of 
the Deliverer, and stole homewards to wait the guidance of 
events. 
If it had not been that the city of St. Domingo was at the end 
of this march, Toussaint would have traversed the colony with 
a higher spirit and a lighter heart than during any of his 
sereuer days of power ; but the city of his brother's government 
was before him, and, at its gate, Paul, whom he had not met 
since the death of Moyse. He had not been forgetful of his 
sorrowing brother; he had immediately sent to him Father 
Laxabon  the best consoler, as the last confidant of the departed. 
Letter upon letter had. Toussaint sent deed upon deed of kind- 
ness had he attempted towards his brother; but stiU Father 
Laxabon had written, " Come not yet ; '' " He must have time ; " 
" Give him time if there is to be peace between you." Now it 
had become necessary that they should meet ; and far readier 
was Toussaint to encounter the armies of France than the 
countenance of his brother. For ever, in the midst of the 
excitements of the journey, he found himself asking in his own 
mind where and how Paul would meet him ; and whether he 
had cut off from himself his brother, as well as his brother's son. 
Meantime, the party rode proudly on, through the interior of 
the island, signs of welcome spreading aroimd them at every 
steFrom the grass-farms, in the wide savannahs, the herds- 
men hastened, with promises to drive their flocks up into the 
mornes, where no enemy should penetrate while a man remained 
to guard the passes. At each salute from the forts that rose at 
intervals along the way, the wild cattle rushed towai-ds the 
stee; while the parties of hunters turned back from their 
sports, to offer themselves as scouts and messengers on behalf of 
the colony. From some glade of the woods appeared the monk, 
charged with the blessing of his convent ; or the grazier, with 
a string of horses  his t, for the service of the army. Around 
the crosses which, half concealed by the long grass of the plains, 
yet served to mark the road, were gathered grouof women, 
bearing bags of money, or ornaments of gold and silver, which 
they would have thrust upon him, to whom they declared that 
they owed their all ; while every settlement displayed its com- 
pany of armed men, standing in military order, and rending the 
air with shouts, on the approach of their chief. La Plume and 
Clerveaux, to whom such demonstrations were less familiar than 
to the other generals, no longer doubted that all would be well. 
They pronounced that the colony already showed itself invin- 
cible. Toussaint thought that he might have been of the same 
opinion, if the expected foe had been any other than French. 
  
  
The event must show whether the pains he had taken to unite 
his race with their fellow-citizens as brethren would now weaken 
or strengthen his cause  whether it would enhance or mitigate 
the bitterness of the impending quarrel. 
On the morning of the last day of their survey of the interior, 
the party emerged from the shade of the woods, and, crossing 
the grassy levels of the Llanos, reached the ferry by which the 
Ozama was to be crossed near its mouth. On the opposite bank 
were horsemen, who, on observing the party approaching the 
ferry, put spurs to their horses, and galloped southwai'ds, in 
the direction of the city. They need not so have hastened ; for 
the Deliverer was stopped at every fishing hamlet  almost at 
every hut along the snores of the bay, to receive the loyal 
homage of the inhabitants  Spanish as well as French. In the 
midst of these greetings the eye and the soul of the chief were 
absent  looking to what lay before him. There, at some dis- 
tance, springing from the level of the plain, rose the cathedral 
of St. Domingo, and other lofty builngs, whose outline was 
distinctly marked against the glittering sea which spread im- 
mediately behind. An ungovernable impatience seized him at 
length, and he broke away, bursting through the throngs upon 
the road, and resolving not to stop tUl he should have seen his 
fate, as a brother, in his brother's eyes. 
A procession of priests was issuing from the city gates as he 
approached. They were robed, and they bore the Host under a 
canopy. At the first sound of their chant, the generals and 
their suite threw themselves from their horses, and prostrated 
themselves upon the grass. On rising, they perceived that the 
whole city had come out to meet them. " The whole city," 
Toussaint heard his companions say: and his heart throbbed 
when he strained his sight to see if the Governor of the city was 
the only one left at home. The procession of priests had now 
turned, and was preceding him  slowly  so slowly, that he 
would fain have dispensed with the solemnity. The people 
crowded round his horse and impeded his way. He strove to 
be present to the occasion ; but all was like a troubled dream  
the chanting, the acclamation, the bursts of military music from 
a distance  all that at other times had fired his soul was now 
disturbance and perplexity. A few faithless persons iu the crowd, 
on the watch for information with which they might make in- 
terest with the French on their arrival, noted the wandering of 
the eye and the knitting of the brow, and drew thence a portent 
of the fall of the Deliverer. 
At length the gate was reached ; and there, in the shadow of 
the portal, surrounded by his attendants, stood Paul. On the 
arrival of Ms brother at the threshold, he took from an oflcerthe 
velvet cushion on which the keys of the city were deposited, and 
  
THR BROTHERS MEET.  
advancing to the stirrup of the Oommander-in-ohief , offered them, 
according to custom. Eor an instant, Toussaint gazed on the 
aged, worn, melancholy countenance beside him, and then stooped 
from his horse, to fling his arms round the neck of his brother, 
breathing into his ear, 
" If you are in your duty at such a time as this, who else dare 
fail me ? I thank God! I thank God! We cannot fail." 
Paul withdrew himself, without speaking. His action was 
snllen. He led the way, however, towards the Gorernor's house, 
evidently expecting to be followed. Not another word passed 
between them on the way. Through one wide street after an- 
other L'Ouverture was led ; and from the balconies of whole ranges 
of fine houses, from the roof of many a church, and the porch of 
many a convent, was he hailed, before he could catch another 
glimpse of the countenance of the brother who preceded him. 
At the gate of the Governor's house there was a pause ; and way 
was made for the chief to pass in first. He did so ; and the next 
moment turned round in the vestibule, to speak to Paul ; but 
Paul had disappeared. Glancing round, Toussaint saw Father 
Laxabon awaiting him at the foot of the staircase. Each advanced 
to the other. 
" Father, he is wretched," whispered Toussaint. " Bring me 
to him." 
" Follow me," said the priest ; and, instead of mounting the 
marble staircase, L'Ouverture and the father were seen to enter 
a passage, into which every one else was forbidden to follow. 
Father Laxabon tapped softly at a door, and was desired to 
enter. He opened it, and closed it behind Toussaint, keeping 
watch outside, that the brothers might not be disturbed. 
Paul started to his feet from the couch on which he had thrown 
himself. He stood waiting. Now was the decisive moment; 
and Toussaint knew it was. Tet he stood speechless. 
" I left my son in your charge," said Paul, at length. 
" Tou did : and I " 
" And you murdered him.' 
" No, Paul ! I executed justice upon him. Hear me, brother, 
once for all. I am heart-broken for you as a brother : but as a 
magistrate, I will admit no censure. As his father in your stead, 
I was, as the event has proved, too ambitious for him : but, as a 
ruler, I did but my duty." 
" Tes ! Tou have been ambitious ! Tou have chosen your 
duty ! " 
'' My ambition was for him, Paul. As for my duty  remem- 
ber that I have too a child whom, by that act, I doomed to worse 
than death." 
" Tou see what liberty has brought to us. Look at the family 
of Ouverture  consider what has befallen since your struggle 
  
  
ior liberty began; and then, perhaps, you will give over 
struggling. Welcome the French  go back to Breda  send 
me home to my hut on the shore, that I may die in such peace 
as is left to a chUdless man. Why do you not answer me, 
Toussaint ? Why wiU you not give us a last chance of peace ? 
I must obey you at the city gate ; but I will importune you here. 
Why will you not do as I say ? " 
" Because I know that some  and the Ouvertures among them 
were not bom to live at ease  to pass their days in peace. I 
feel that some  and the Ouvertures among them  are bom to 
sufEer  to struggle and to die for their race. If you would know 
why, ask their Creator. I myself would fain know why. Mean- 
time, the will of God is so clear, that I have devoted, not myself 
only, but my children. My sons, you know " 
" And not your children only, but your brother and his child." 
" No. Moyse cast himself away. And, as for you, your hut 
still stands, as you say. Go to it, u you will ; or make friends 
with the French, if you desire to be a slave again. Tou have 
sufEered too much by me for me to ask you ever to serve me 
more. I shall never desire you to dedicate yoiu-seH anew to 
pain, in this crisis. Go and seek for ease. I shall incessantly 
pray that you may find it." 
"I shall not seek what is not to be found, Toussaint. I have 
never dared wretchedness as you have : but since I am and must 
be wretched, I will be an Ouverture. Tour eye and your voice 
make me an Ouverture again, even yet. Give me your com- 
mands." 
" Read this proclamation, with the eye of au Ouverture. 
Well! Do you like it? How do you understand it?" 
" You declare your aDegiance to France, declaring, at the 
same time, its limits, and appealing to your soldiers, in the 
event of aggression. It is plain from this that you mean to 
defend yourself, and anticipate war." 
" It is well. That is what I intend to convey. Tou will 
publish this proclamation, in your city and district, under the 
date of this th of December, . Tou will then concert with 
General Clerveaus the measures for the defence of this city, and 
report your decisions to me, on my return fi-om Cap Samana. 
Shall it be so, brother ? " 
" Be it so." 
" And we are friends ? " 
" We are f ellow-citzens  we are Ouvertures  and therefore 
faithful. I shall not betray you." 
" That is all I can ask, I know. We are old men, Paul, 
Fidelity for a while ! Beyond the grave, perhamore." 
" Tou are going already ? " 
" To Cap Samana ; and alone. Farewell ! " 
  
 
CHAPTER XXVII, 
ALL EYE. 
Day by day, in the intervals of Ms occupation about the defence 
of the colony, did Toussaint repair to Cap Samana, to look 
eastwards over the sea. Day by day was he more sure, from 
the information that reached him, that the French could not be 
far off. At length, he desired that his generals should be 
within call from Cotuy, a small town which stood on the banks 
of the Cotuy, near the western base of the mountainous promon- 
tory of Samana  promontory at low water, island at high 
tide. 
All was yet dark on the eastern point of this mountain, on the 
morning of the th of December, when two watchmen, who had 
passed the night under the ferns in a cleft of the steecame out 
to look abroad. On their mountain all was yet dark, for the 
stars overhead, though still rolling clear and golden  visible orbs 
in the empty depths of the sky  were so far dimmed by the 
dawn in the east as no longer to send down their shafts of light 
upon the earth. The point on which these watchmen stood was 
so high, that between them and the horizon the sea lay like half 
a world  an immeasurable expanse, spreading as if from a vast 
depth below up into the very sky. Dim and soundless lay the 
mass of waters  breaking, no doubt, as for ages past, against 
the rocky precipice below ; but not so as to be heard upon the 
steeIt might have appeared dead, but that a ray from some 
quarter of the heaven, capriciously touching its surface, showed 
that it was heaving as was its wont. Eastwards, at the point 
of junction of sea and sky, a dusky yellow light shone through 
the haze of morning, as behind a curtain, and told that the sun 
was on his way. As their eyes became accustomed to the dim 
light (which was darkness compared to that which had visited 
their dreams among the ferns), the watchmen alternately swe
the expanse with their glass, and pronounced that there was not 
a sail in sight. 
" I believe, however, that this wUl be our day ; the wind is 
fair for the fleet," said Toussaint to Henri. " Go and bathe 
while I watch." 
" We have said for a week past that each would be the day," 
replied Henri. " If it be to-day, however, they can hardly 
have a fairer for the first sight of the paradise which poets and 
ladies praise at the French court. It promises to be the love- 
liest day of the year. I shall be here again before the sun has 
risen." 
Anrl Ohristophe retired to bathe in the waterfall which made 
  
  
itself heard from behind the ferns, and was hidden by them ; 
springing, as they did, to a height of twenty feet and upwards. 
To the murmur and gush of this waterfall the friends had slept. 
An inhabitant of the tropics is so accustomed to sound, that he 
cannot sleep in the midst of silence : and on these heights there 
would have been everlasting silence but for the voice of waters, 
and the thunders and their echoes in the season of storms. 
When both had refreshed themselves, they took their seat on 
some broken ground on the verge of the precipice, sometimes 
indulging their full minds with silence, but continually looking 
abroad over the now brightening sea. It was becoming of a 
deeper blue as the sky grew lighter, exceat that point of the 
east where earth and heaven seemed to be kindling with a 
mighty fire. There the haze was glowing with purple and crim- 
son ; and there was Henri intently watching for the first golden 
spark of the sun, when Toussaint touched his shoulder, and 
pointed to the northwards. Shading his eyes with his hand, 
Christophe strove to penetrate the grey mists which had gathered 
there. 
" What is it P " said he  " a sail ? Tes : there is one  three 
four ! " 
" There are seven," said Toussaint. 
Long did he gaze through the glass at these seven sail; and 
then he reported an eighth. At this moment his arm was 
grasped. 
" See ! see ! " cried Christophe, who was looking southwards. 
From behind the distant south-eastern promontory Del 
Enganno, now appeared, sail after sail, to the number of 
twenty. 
" All French,'' observed Christophe. " Lend me the glass." 
"AU French," replied his friend. "They are, no doubt, 
coming to rendezvous at this point." 
While Henri explored those which were nearest, Toussaint 
leaned on his folded arms against the bank of broken ground 
before him, straining his eyes over the now-peopled sea. 
" More ! More ! " he exclaimed, as the sun appeared, and the 
new gush of light showed sail upon sail, as small specks upon 
the horizon line. He snatched the glass; and neither he nor 
Henri spoke for long. 
The east wind served the purposes of the vast fleet, whose 
three detachments, once within each other's view, rapidly con- 
verged, showing that it was indeed their object to rendezvous at 
Cap Samana. Silent, swift, and most fair (as is the wont of evil) 
was this form of destruction in its approach. 
Not a word was spoken as the great ships-of-the-line bore 
majestically up towards their point, while the lighter vessels 
akimmed the sea, as in sport, and made haste in, as if racing 
  
THE ENEMY.  
with one another, or anxious to be in waiting, to welcome their 
superiors. Nearer and nearer they closed in, till the waters 
seemed to be covered with the foe. When Toussaint was assured 
that he had seen them all  when he had again and again silently 
counted over the fifty-four ships-of-war  he turned to his friend 
with a countenance of anguish, such as even that friend of many 
years had never seen. 
" Henri," said he, " we must all perish. All Trance has come 
to St. Domingo ! " 
" Then we wiU perish," replied Henri. 
" Undoubtedly : it is not much to perish, if that were all. 
But the world will be the worse for ever. France is deceived. 
She comes, in an error, to avenge herself, and to enslave the 
blacks. France has been deceived." 
" If we were but all together," said Henri, " so that there 
were no momen< of weakness to fear. If your sons were but 
with us " 
" Fear no moments of weakness from me," said Toussaint, its 
wonted fire now glowing in his eye. " My colour imposes on me 
duties above nature ; and while my boys are hostages, they shall 
be to me as if they no longer existed." 
" They may posiiibly be on board the fleet," said Ohristophe. 
" If by caution we could obtain possession of them " 
" Speak no more of them now," said Toussaint.  Presently, 
as if thinking aloud, and with his eyes still bent on the moving 
ships, he went on : 
" JSTo, those on board those shiare not boys, with life before 
them, and eager alike for arts and arms. I see who they are 
that are there. There are the trooof the Rhine  troothat 
have conquered a fairer river than our Artibonite, storming the 
castles on her steeps, and crowning themselves from her vine- 
yards. There are the trooof the Al troothat have 
soared above the eagle, and stormed the clouds, and plucked the 
ice-king by the beard upon his throne. There are the trooof 
Italy  troothat have trodden the old Roman ways, and fought 
over again the old Roman wars  that have drunk of the Tiber, 
and once more conquered the armies of the Danube. There are 
the trooof Egy troothat have heard the war-cry of the 
desert tribes, and encamped in the shadow of the pyramids." 
" Tet he is not afraid," said Henri to himself, as he watched 
the countenance of his friend. 
" All these," continued Toussaint, " all these are brought 
hither against a poor, depressed, insulted, ignorant race  
brought as conquerors, eager for the spoil before a blow is struck. 
They come to disembarrass our paradise of us, as they would 
clear a fragrant and fruitful wood of apes and reptiles. And if 
they find that it takes longer than they suppose to crush and 
  
 .  
disperse ns, France has more thousands ready to come and hel
The labourer will leave his plough at a word, and the vine- 
dresser his harvest, and the artisan his shoFrance will pour 
out the youth of all her villages, to seize upon the delights of the 
tropics, and the wealth of the savages, as they are represented by 
the emigrants who will not take me for a friend, but eat their 
own hearts far away, with hatred and jealousy. All France is 
coming to St. Domingo ! " 
" But " interposed Christophe. 
" But, Henri," interrupted his friend, laying his hand on his 
shoulder, " not all France, with her trooof the Rhine, of the 
Alps, of the Nile, nor with all Euroto help her, can ex- 
tinguish the soul of Africa. That soul, when once the soul of a 
man, and no longer that of a slave, can overthrow the pyramid' 
and the Althemselves, sooner than be again crushed down 
into slavery." 
"With God's help," said Ohristophe, crossing himself. 
" With God's help," repeated Toussaint. " See here," he 
continued, taking up a handful of earth from the broken ground 
on which they stood, " see here what God has done ! See, here 
are shells from the depth of yonder ocean, lying on the mountain 
toCannot He who thus uproars the dust of His ocean floor, 
and lifts it above the clouds, create the societies of men anew, 
and set their lowest order but a little below the stars P " 
" He can," said Christophe, again crossing himself. 
" Then let aU France come to St. Domingo ! She may yet be 
undeceived  What now ? " he resumed, after a pause of obser- 
vation. " What manoeuvre is this P " 
The ships, almost before they had drawn together, parted ofE 
again; nearly two-thirds retiring to the north, and the rest 
southwards. 
" They are doing as we supposed they would," said Chris- 
tophe ; " preparing to attack Cap Franais and our southern or 
western ixiwns at once ; perhaboth St. Domingo and Port-au- 
Prince." 
" Be it so ; we are ready for them," replied Toussaint. " But 
now there is no time to lose. To Cotuy, to give our orders, and 
then all to our posts ! " 
Once more he took a survey of the vast fleet, in its two divi- 
sions, and then spread his arms in the direction of his chief 
cities, promising the foe to be ready to meet them there. In 
another moment he was striding down the mountain. 
His generals were awaiting him at Cotuy, and the horses of 
the whole party were saddled. 
" The French are come ? " they asked. 
" The French are come in great force. Fifty-four ships-of- 
war, carrying probably ten or twelve thousand men." 
  
PREPARING FOR ACTION.  
"We have twenty thousand regar troops," cried Dessaliues. 
" The day of the proud French has arrived ! " 
L'Ouverture's calm eye checked his exultation. 
" Ten or twelve thousand of the ite of the armies of Prance," 
said Toussaint, " are sailing along our shores ; and large re- 
inforcements may be following. Our twenty thousand troo
are untried in the field against a European foe ; but our cause 
is good. Let us be bold, my friends ; but the leaders of armies 
must not be presumptuous." 
All uncovered their heads, and waited only his dismissal. 
" Greneral Christophe, Cap Franijais and its district are wait- 
ing for you. Let the flames of the city give us notice when the 
French land." 
Christophe embraced his friend, and was gone. 
" Greneral Dessaliues, to your command in the west ! Preserve 
your line of messengers from Leogane to my gate at Pongaudin, 
and let me not want for tidings." 
The tramp of Dessaliues' horse next died away. 
" General La Plume, it is probable that your eye will have 
to be busier than your hands. Ton will be ever ready for battle, 
of course ; but remember that I rely on you for every point of 
the south-west coast being watched, from Leogane round to Aux 
Cayes. Send your communications through Dessaliues' line of 
scouts." 
La Plume withdrew, and Toussaint gazed after him in 
reverie, till he was out of sight. 
" And I ? " said Olerveaux, the only general officer now left in 
attendance. 
" Tour pardon. General Olerveaux. This your department in 
the east is likely at present to remain tranquil, as I forewarned 
yon. I now forewarn you that it may hereafter become the 
seat of war, when you wUl have your day. Meantime, I may 
at any time call upon your reserve ; and you will take care that 
the enemy shall find no solace in your department, if they 
should visit it. Let it be bare as the desert before them. Fare- 
well ; I leave you in command of the east." 
Olerveaux made his obeisance with an alacrity which caused 
Toussaint to say to himself, as he mounted  
" Is he glad that the hour is come, or that his post is in the 
rear of the battle ? " 
Toussaint's own road lay homewards, where he had assembled 
the choicest troops, to be ready for action on any point where 
they might first be wanted, and where the great body of the 
cultivators, by whom his personal influence was most needed, 
were collected under his eye. As he now sped like the light- 
ning through the shortest tracks, his trompettes proclaiming the 
invasion through all the valleys, and over all the plains as they 
Q 
  
  
went, he felt strong and buoyant in heart, like the eagle overhead, 
which was scared from its eyrie in Oibao by the proclamation 
of war. For ever, as he rode, the thought recurred to fire his 
soul, 
" He is my rival now, and no longer my chief. I am free. It 
is his own act, but Bonaparte has me for a rival now." 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
MANY GUESTS. 
Foe some weeks after the appearance of the fleet upon the 
coast, nothing took place which could be called war. Toussaint 
was resolved not to be the aggressor. Prepared at aU points, he 
waited till those whom he stiU regarded as his fellow-citizens 
should strike the first blow. He was the more willing to leave 
an opening for peace till the last, that he heard that ladies were 
on board  ladies from the court of France, come to enjoy the 
delights of this tropical paradise. The sister of Bonaparte, 
Madame Leolerc, the wife of the commander of the expedition, 
was there. It seemed scarcely conceivable that she and her 
train of ladies could have come with any expectation of 
witnessing such a warfare as, ten years before, had shown how 
much more savage than the beasts of the forest men may be. 
It was as little conceivable that they could expect the negroes 
to enter into slavery again at a word, after having enjoyed 
freedom, and held rule for ten years. There must still be ho
of peace ; and Toussaint spared no effort to preserve it, tiU the 
strangers should declare their intentions by some imequivocal 
act. 
For this object, L'Ouverture appeared gifted with ubiqtiity. 
No flying Arab was ever in so many places so nearly at once. 
Pongaudin, like every other estate which was in friendly hands, 
was a sort of camHere the Commander-in-chief and his 
officers had their head-quarters ; and here he was to be found, at 
intervals of a few hours. During those intervals, he was inspecting 
the fortifications of St. Marc, one of the strongest places of the 
island, and under the charge of Dessalines ; or he was overlooking 
the bight of Leogane, from behind Port-an-Prince ; or he 
was visiting L'Etoile, made a strong post, and held by Charles 
Bellair and his wife (for Deesha would not leave her husband) ; 
or he was riding through the mornes to the north, re-animating, 
with the sight of his beloved countenance, the companies there 
held in reserve. He was on the heights of tlie Gros Morne, an 
  
LANDING OF THE FRENCH.  
admiring spectator, on occasion of that act of Christophe which 
was the real cause of the delay and indecision of Leclerc and his 
troops. 
The main body of the French army was preparing to land, 
immediately on its arrival at Cap Frauais, when Christophe 
sent his friend and brother officer, Sangos, on board the fleet, to 
acquaint Leclerc with the absence of the Commander-in-chief of 
the colony, without whose permission the landing of troocould 
not be allowed. If a landing by force were attempted, the city 
would immediately be fired, and the inhabitants withdrawn. 
General Leclerc could not believe this to be more than an empty 
threat; but thought it as well to avoid risk, by landing in the 
night at points where he was not looked for. Accordingly, he 
sent some of his force on shore at Port Dauphin, to the east ; 
while he himself, with a body of troops, set foot on the fatal 
coast which he was never to leave, at Le Limbe, on the western 
side of the ridge which commanded the town, hoping to drop 
into the military quarter from the heights, before he was looked 
for. Prom these heights, however, he beheld the town one mass 
of fire. Christophe had withdrawn the inhabitants, including 
two thousand whites, who were to be held as hostages in the 
interior ; and so orderly and well-planned had been his proceedings, 
that not the slightest personal injury was sustained by any 
individual. Of this conflagration, Toussaint had been a witness 
from the heights of Gros Morne. The horror which it occasioned 
was for the strangers alone. All the movable property of the 
citizens was safe in the interior : and they were all safe in person. 
The dismay was for the French, when they found only a burning 
soil, tumbling roofs, and tottering walls, where they had expected 
repose and feasting after the ennui of a voyage across the Atlantic. 
For the court ladies, there existed at present only the alternative 
of remaining on board the ships, of which they were heartily 
weary, and establishing themselves on the barren island of 
Tortuga, the home of the buccaneers of former days. They shortly 
after took possession of Tortuga, which they found to be a tropical 
region indeed, but no paradise. It was not the best season for 
turtle ; and there was no other of the luxuries whose savour had 
reached the nostrils of the court of France. 
Among the two thousand whites removed from Cap were, of 
course, the ladies of the convent. They were safely established 
under shelter of the fortifications of St. Marc, with all their little 
comforts about them, and their mocking-bird as tuneful as when 
hanging in its own orange-tree. Euphrosyne was not with them 
nor yet with her guardian. M. Critois had enough to do to 
protect himself and his lady ; and he earnestly desired his ward 
to be thankful that she had friends among the ruling powers. 
Euphrosyne needed no commands on this head. She joined 
q 
  
o  
Madame Pascal, and was now with her and the secretary in the 
half -camhalf -household o Pongandin. 
Besides the family and establishment of the Commander-in- 
chief, as many of the white gentry of Cap were accommodated 
as the country palace of Pongaudin would contain. It seemed 
doubtful how long they would have to find amusement for 
themselves there ; for the invaders seemed to have fallen asleeA 
month had passed since the burning of Caand not another step 
had been taken. Expectation had begun to be weary. The 
feverish watching for news had begun to relax; the ladies no 
longer shuddered at the bare idea of walking in the shrubberies ; 
and some of the yoimger damsels had begun to need warnings 
from L'Ouverture himself not to go out of bounds  by no means 
to pass the line of sentinels in any direction. Instead of every- 
thing French being spoken of with a faltering voice, any one was 
now welcome who might be able to tell, even at second or third 
hand, that Madame Leclerc had been seen, and what she wore, 
and how she looked, and what she had said, either about the 
colony or anything else. The officers, both civil and military, 
found themselves able to devote their powers of entertainment 
more and more to the ladies ; and the liability to be called off in 
the midst of the game of chess, the poem, the song, or the dance, 
seemed only to make their attentions more precious, because 
more precarious, than those of the guests who knew themselves 
to be hostages, and who had abundance of time for gallantry, if 
only they had had spirits and inclination. Most of the party 
certainly found the present position of affairs very duU. The 
exceptions were few. They were poor Geuif rede, whose mind 
was whoUy in the past, and before whose eyes the present went 
forward as a dim dream ; her mother and sister, whose faculties 
were continually on the stretch to keep uunder such circum- 
stances, the hospitalities for which they were pledged to so large 
a household ; the secretary and his bride, who were engrossed at 
once with the crisis in public affairs and in their own ; and 
Euphrosyne, who could find nothing duU after the convent, and 
who unconsciously wished that, if this were invasion and war, 
they might last a good while yet. 
One evening, the th of February, was somewhat remarkable 
for L'Ouverture being not only at home, but at leisure. He was 
playing billiards with his oflicers and guests. It followed of 
course that General Vincent was also present. It followed of 
course ; for whether it was that Toussaint felt the peculiar in- 
terest in him which report made observers look for towards an 
intended son-in-law, or whether the chief distrusted him on 
account of his fondness for Paris and the First Consul, Vincent 
was for ever keunder the eye, and by the side of his General. 
Aimee was wont to sigh when she heard her father's horse 
  
A MOONLIGHT WALK. $! 
ordered ; for she knew tliat Vincent was going too ; and she 
now rejoiced to see her father at the billiard-table ; for it told 
her that Vincent was her own for the evening. 
Vincent was not slow iu putting in his claim. At the fii-st 
moment, when they were unobserved, he drew her to the window, 
where the evening breeze blew in, fragrant and cool ; then into 
the piazza ; then across the lawn ; then down to the gate which 
opened upon the beach. He would have gone furtlier; but 
there Aimee stopped, reminding him of the general order against 
breaking bounds. 
" That is all very well for the whites ; and for us, when the 
whites have their eyes upon us," said Vincent. " But we are 
not prisoners ; and there is not a prisoner abroad to-night. Come 
only as far as the mangroves ! We shall not be missed : and 
if we should be, we can be within the gate in two minutes." 
" I dare not," said Aimee, with a longing look, however, at 
the pearly sands, and the creaming waves that now overspread 
them, now lapsed in the gleam of the moon. The dark shadow 
of the mangroves lay but a little way on. It was true that two 
minutes would reach them ; but she stiU said, " I dare not." 
" Who is there ? " cried the sentinel, in his march past the 
gate. 
" No strangers, Claude. Any news on your watch P " 
" None, Mademoiselle." 
" AU quiet over towards St. Marc ?" inquired Vincent. 
" All quiet there, General; and everywhere else when the last 
reports came round, ten minutes ago." 
" Very well : pass on, good Claude. Come, come ! " he said to 
Aimee ; " who knows when we may have a moonlight hour 
again ! " 
He woidd not bide another refusal, but, by gentle violence, 
drew her out upon the beach, telling the sentinel, as they 
passed between him and the water, that if they were inquired 
for, he might call : they should be within hearing. Claude 
touched his cashowed his white teeth in a broad smile, and 
did not object. 
Once among the mangroves, Aimee could not repent. Their 
arched branches, descending into the water, trembled with every 
wave that gushed in among them, and stirred the mild air. The 
moonliglit quivered on their dark green leaves, and on the trans- 
parent pool which lay among their roots. 
" Now, would you not have been sorry if I had not made 
you come ? " said Vincent. 
" If we could only stay  stay here for ever ! " she exclaimed, 
leaning back against the bush under which they sat. " Here, 
amidst the whispering of the winds and the dash of the waters, 
you would listen no more for the roll of the drum, or the 
  
 THE HOUR AND THM MAN. 
boomiug of cannon at St. Marc. I am weary of onr life 
at Pongaudin." 
" Weary of rumour of wars, before we have the wars them- 
selves, love." 
" We can never hear anything of my brothers while we are 
on these terms with France. Day after day comes on  day after 
day, and we have to toil, and plan, and be anxious; and our 
guests grow tired, and nothing is done ; and we know that we 
can hear nothing of what we most want to learn. I am certain 
that my mother spends her nights in tears for her boys ; and 
nothing is so likely to rouse poor GSnifrede as the prospect of 
their coming back to us." 
"And you yourself, Aimee, cannot be hapwithout Isaac." 
" I never tried," said she. " I have daily felt his loss, be- 
cause I wished never to cease to feel it." 
" He is happier than you, dearest Aimee." 
" Do not teH me that men feel such separations less than 
women ; for I know it well already. I can never have been so 
necessary to him as he is to me ; I know that well." 
" Say ' was,' my Aimee. The time comes when sisters find 
their brothers less necessary to them than they have been." 
" Such a time has never come to me, and I believe it never 
will. No one can ever be to me what Isaac has been." 
" ' Has been ; '  true. But see how times have changed ! 
Isaac has left off writing to you so frequently as he did " 
" No, no. He never did write frequently ; it was never his 
habit to write as I wrote to him." 
" Well, well. Whatver expectation may lie at the bottom of 
this little heart, whatever secret remonstrance for his sUeuce, 
whatever dissatisfaction with his apologies, whatever mortifica- 
tion that such apologies were necessary " 
" How dare you What right have yon to pry into my 
heart?" exclaimed Aimfe, withdrainng herself from her com- 
panion's side. 
" The right of love," he replied, following till both were seated 
on the very verge of the water. " Can you suppose that I do 
not see your disappointment when L'Ouverture opens his dis- 
patches, and there is not one of that particular size and fold 
which makes your countenance change when you see it ? Can 
you suppose that I do not mark your happiness, for hours and 
days, Mter one of those closely- written sheets has come ?  ha
piness which makes me feel of no account to you  happiness 
which makes me jealous of my ary brother  f or my brother he 
is, as he is yours." 
" It should not do that," replied Aimee, as she sat looking 
into the water. " Tou should not be angry at my being happy. 
If you have learned so much of my thouglits " 
  
THE MAN OP PATE.  
" Say on ! Oh, say on ! " 
" There is no need," said she, " if you can read the soul 
without speech, as you seem to profess." 
" I read no thoughts but yours ; and none of yours that relate 
to myself. I see at a glance every stir of your love to all be- 
sides. If you care for me, I need to hear it from yourself." 
" If this quarrel comes to bloodshed, what will become of my 
brothers ? li you love me, tell me that." 
" Still these brothers ! " cried Vincent, impatiently. 
"And who should be inquired of concerning them, if not 
yon P Tou took them to France ; you left, them there " 
" I was sent here by Bonaparte  put on the deputation by his 
express command. If not, I should not now have been here  I 
should have remembered you only as a child, and " 
" But Placide and Isaac ! Suppose Leelerc and Rochambeau 
both killed  suppose Madame Leelerc entering once more into 
her brother's presence, a mourning widow  vrliat would Bona- 
parte do -with Placide and Isaac P I am sure you have no com- 
fort to give me, or you would not so evade what I ask." 
" I declare, I protest you are mistaken. Bonaparte is every- 
thing that is noble, and gracious, and gentle." 
" Ton are sure of that P " 
" Nay, why not P Have I not always said so ? and you have 
delighted to hear me say so." 
" I should delight to believe it now. I will believe it ; but 
yet, if he were really noble, how should this quarrel have 
arisen ? For, if ever man was noble, and gracious, and gentle, 
my father is. If two such men come to open defiance, whose is 
the crime, and wherein does it lie P " 
" If the world fall to pieces, Aimee, there can be no doubt of 
Bonaparte's greatness. What majesty he carries with him, 
through all his conquests ! How whole nations quail under his 
magnificent proclamations ! " 
" Are they really fine ? I have seen but few ; and they " 
" Are they not all grand p That proclamation in Egypt, for 
instance, in which he said he was the Man of Pate who had 
been foretold in the Koran, and that all resistance was impious 
and vain ! If it had not happened four years before Bonaparte 
went to Egypt, I should have thought your father " 
"I was just thinking of that. But there is a great diffe- 
rence. It was not my father, but Laveaux, who said that the 
black chief, predicted by Raynal, had appeared. And it was 
originally said, not as a divine prophecy, but because, in the 
natural course of things, the redeemer of an oppressed race 
must arise. Besides, my father says nothing but what he be- 
lieves ; and I suppose Bonapai-te did not believe what he was 
saying." 
  
  
"Do you think not P For my part, I believe his very words  
that to oppose him is impious and vain." 
" Heaven pity us, if that he true ! Was it not in that 
proclamation that Bonaparte said that men must account to him 
for their secret thoughts, as nothing was concealed from him P " 
" Yes ; just as L'Ouverture told the mulattoes in the church 
at Cap that, from the other side of the island, his eye would be 
upon them, and his arm stretched out, to restrain or punish. 
He almost reached Bonaparte's strain there." 
" I like my father's words the best, because all understood 
and believed what he said. Bonaparte may claim to read secret 
thoughts ; but before my father, men have no secret thoughts  
they love him so that their minds stand open." 
" Then those Italian proclamations, and letters to the Direc- 
tory," said Vincent; "how they grew grander, as city after 
city, and state after state, fell before him! When he sum- 
moned Pavia to open her gates to him, after her insurrection, 
how imperious he was ! If he had found that a drop of Trench 
blood had been shed, he declared not a stone of the city should 
have remained ; but a column should arise in its place, bearing 
the inscription, ' Here once stood Pavia ! ' There spoke the 
man who held the ages in his hand, ready to roll them over the 
civilized world  to crumble cities, and overthrow nations, in 
case of resistance to his will ! How Paris rang with acclama- 
tions when these words passed from mouth to mouth ! He was 
worshipped as a god." 
" It is said," sighed Aimee, " that Leclerc has proclamations 
from him for our people. I wonder what they are, and how 
they will be received." 
" With enthusiasm, no doubt. When and where has it been 
otherwise ? Ton shudder, my Aimee ; but, trust me, there is 
inconceivable folly in the idea of opposing Bonaparte. As he 
said in Egypt, it is impious and vain. Trust me, love, and 
decide accordingly." 
" Desert my father and my family in their hour of peril ! I 
will not do that." 
" There is no peril in the case, love ; it is gloiy and happi- 
ness to live under Bonaparte. My life upon it, he will do your 
father no injury, but continue him in his command, under 
certain arrangements; and, as for the blacks, they and the 
whites will join in one common enthusiasm for the conqueror of 
Europe. Let us be among the first, my Aimee ! Be mine ; 
and we will go to the French forces  among my friends there. 
It is as if we were called to be mediators ; it is as if the welfare 
of your family and the colony were, in a measure, consigned to 
our hands. Once married, and with Leclerc, how easuy may 
we explain away causes of quarrel ! How completely shall we 
  
A FAMILIAR VOICE. $ 
make him understand L'Ouverture ! And liow, tlirough us, 
Leclerc pan put your father in possession of the views of Bona- 
parte : Oh, Aimee, be mine, and let us go ! " 
" And if it were otherwise  if it came to bloodshed  to deadly- 
warfare P " 
"Then, love, you would least of all repent. Alone and 
desolate  parted from your brothers  parted from me." 
" From you, Vincent ? " 
" Assuredly. I can never unsheath my sword against those 
to whom my attachment is strong. I can never fight against 
an army from Paris  troothat have been led by Bonaparte." 
" Does my father know that ? " 
" He cannot know me if he anticipates anything else.  
execute his orders at present, because I admire his system of 
government, and am anxious that it should appear to the best 
advantage to the brother-in-law of the First Consul. Thus, I 
am contident that there will be no war. But, love, if there 
should be, you will be parted for ever from your brothers and 
from me, by remaining here  you will never again see Isaac. 
Nay, nay ! No tears ! no terrors, my Aimee ! By being mine, 
and going with me to that place where all are hap to Paris 
you will, through my interest, best aid your father ; and 
Isaac and I will watch over you for ever." 
'' Not a word more, Vincent ! Tou make me wretched. Not 
a word more, tiU I have spoken to my father. He must, he 
wiU tell me what he thinks, what he expects  whether he fears. 
Hark ! There are horsemen ! " 
" Can it be ? Horsemen approaching on this side P I will 
look out." 
" No, no ! Vincent, you shall not go  " 
Her terror was so great that Vincent could not indeed leave 
her. As the tramp of a company of horsemen became almost 
lost on quitting the hard road for the deep sand, he dropped his 
voice, whispering in her ear that she was quite safe, completely 
hidden under the mangroves, and that he would not leave her. 
She clasped his hand with both hers, to compel him to keep his 
word, and implored him not to speak  not to shake a leaf of 
their covert. 
The company passed very near ; so near as that the sand 
thrown up by the horses' feet pattered among the foliage of the 
mangroves. No one of the strangers was then speaking ; but iu 
another moment the sentry challenged them. They laughed, 
and were certainly stopping at the little gate. 
" We know your master, fellow," said one. " We have had 
more talk with him in one day than you in all your service." 
'' I am sure I ought to know that voice," whispered Aimee, 
drawing a long breath. 
  
  
The strangers were certainly intending to pass through the 
gate into the grounds ; and the sentry was remonstrating. In 
another moment he fired, as a signal. There was some cmnoui' 
and laughter, and Aimee started, as at a voice from the grave. 
" That is Isaac's voice ! " she exck,imed, springing from her 
seat. It was now Vincent's turn to hold her hands, or she 
would have been out in the broad moonlight in an instant. 
" Stay, love ! Stay one moment," he entreated. " I believe 
you are right ; but let me look out." 
She sank down on the sand, while he reconnoitred. At the 
moment of his looking forth, a young man who, he was certain, 
was Placide, was good-humouredly taking the sentry by the 
shoulders, and pushing him from his place, while saying some- 
thing in his ear, which made the poor soldier toss his hat in the 
air, and run forward to meet his comrades, whom the soimd of 
his gun was bringing from every direction, over the sands. 
" It is they, indeed," said Yincent. " Tour brothers are both 
there." 
While he was speaking, Aimee burst from the covert, made 
her way miraculously through the gathering horses and men, 
pushed through the gate, leaving her lover some way behind, 
flew like a lapwing through the shrubbery, and across the lawn, 
was hanging on her brother's neck before the news of the arrival 
was understood within the house. 
There was no waiting tiH father and mother could choose 
where to meet their cliildren. The lads followed the messenger 
into the salon, crowded as it was with strangers. L'Ouverture's 
voice was the first heard, after the sudden hush. 
"Now, Heaven bless Bonaparte for this!" he cried, "and 
make him a hapfather ! " 
" Hear him, O God ! and bless Bonaparte ! " sobbed Margot. 
A check was given to their words and their emotions, by seeing 
by whom the young men were accompanied. Therese was lead- 
ing forward Genifrede, when she stopped short, with a sort of 
groan, and returned to her seat, forgetful at the moment even 
of Genifrede ; for M. Papalier was there. Other gentlemen were 
of the company. The one whom the young men most punc- 
tiliously introduced to their father was M. Coasson, the tutor, 
guardian, or envoy, under whose charge General Leclere had 
sent them home. 
Toussaint offered him a warm welcome, as the guardian of his 
sons ; but M. Coasson himself seemed most impressed with his 
office of envoy: as did the gentlemen who accompanied him. 
Assuming the air of an ambassador, and looking round him, as 
if to require the attention of all present, M. Coasson discharged 
himself of his commission, as follows :  
" General Toussaint " 
  
THE PtRST CONSULTS COMMANDS.  
'' They will not acknowledge him as L'OuTerture," observed 
Therese to Madame Pascal and Gnifrede. Afra's eyes filled 
with tears. Geuifrede was absorbed in contemplating her bro- 
thers  both grown manly, and the one looking the soldier, the 
other the student. 
" General Toussaint," said Ooasson, " I come, the bearer of a 
letter to you from the First Consul." 
In his hand was now seen a gold box, which he did not, how- 
ever, deliver at the moment. 
" With it, I am commissioned to offer the greetings of General 
Leclerc, who awaits with anxiety your arrival at his quarters as 
his Lieutenant-General." 
" Upon what does General Leclerc ground his expectation of 
seeing me there ? " 
" Upon the ground of the commands of the First Consul, de- 
clared in his proclamation to the inhabitants of St. Domingo, 
and, no doubt, more fully in this letter to yourself." 
Here he delivered the box, desiring that the presence of him- 
self and his compauious might be no impediment to General 
Toussaint's reading his dispatches. 
Toussaint had no intention that they should be any hindrance. 
He read and re-read the letter, while all eyes but those of Aimee 
were fixed upon his countenance. With an expression of the 
quietest satisfaction, she was gazing upon her brothers, unvexed 
by the presence of numbers, and the transaction of state busi- 
ness. They were there, and she was happy. 
Those many eyes failed to discover anything from the coun- 
tenance of Toussaint. It was immovable ; and M. Coasson was 
so far disappointed. It had been his object to prevent the 
dispatches which he brought from being read in private, that he 
might be enabled to report how they were received. He had 
still another resource. He announced that he had brought with 
him the proclamation of the First Consul to the inhabitants at 
large of St. Domingo. As it was a public document, he would, 
with permission, read it aloud. Toussaint now looked round, to 
command attention to the words of the ruler of France. Vincent 
sought to exchange glances with Aimee ; but Aimee had none to 
spare. M. Papalier had unceremoniously entered into conversa- 
tion with some of the guests of his own complexion, and did not 
cease upon any hint, declaring to those about him, that none of 
this was new to him, as he was in the counsels of Bonaparte in 
all St. Domingo affairs. The tone of their conversation was, 
liowever, reduced to a low murmur, while M. Coasson read aloud 
the following proclamation :  
" Paris, Nov. , . 
" Inhabitants of St. Domingo, 
" Whatever your origin or your colour, j'ou are all Fi'ouch : 
  
  
you are all equal, and all free, before God, and before the Re- 
public. 
" France, like St. Domingo, has been a prey to factions, torn 
by intestine commotions and foreign wars. But all has changed : 
all nations have embraced the French, and have sworn to them 
peace and amity : the French people have embraced each other, 
and have sworn to be aU friends and brothers. Come also, em- 
brace the French, and rejoice to see again your European friends 
and brothers ! 
" The government sends you the Captain-Greneral Leclerc. 
He has brought " 
Here M. Ooasson's voice and manner became extremely em- 
phatic. 
" He has brought sufficient force for protecting you against 
your enemies, and against the enemies of the Republic. If you 
are told that these forces are destined to violate your liberties, 
reply, ' The Republic will not suffer them to be taken from us.' 
" Rally round the Captain- General. He brings you abundance 
and peace. Rally all of you around him. Whoever shall dare 
to separate himself from the Captain-General will be a traitor to 
his country ; and the indignation of the country will devour him, 
as the fire devours your dried canes. 
"Done at Paris," &c. 
" This document is signed, you wiU. perceive," said M. Ooas- 
son, " by the First Consul, and by the Secretary of State, M. H. 
B. Maret." 
Once more it was in vain to explore the countenance of 
L'Ouverture. It was still immovable. He extended his hand 
for the document, saying that he would retire with his secretary, 
for the purpose of preparing his replies for the First Consul, in 
order that no such delays might take place on his part, as the 
date of the letter and proclamation showed to have intervened 
on the other side. Meantime, he requested that M. Coasson, and 
all whom he had brought in his company, would make them- 
selves at home in his house ; and, turning to his wife and family, 
he commended his newly arrived guests to their hospitality. 
With a passing smile and greeting to his sons, he was about to 
leave the room witli M. Pascal, when M. (Joasson intimated that 
he had one thing more to say. 
" I am directed. General Toussaint," said he, " in case of your 
refusal to join the French forces immediately, to convey your 
sons back to the guardianship of the Captain-General Leclerc : 
and it will be my duty to set out with them at dawn." 
A cry of anguish broke forth from Margot, and Placide was 
instantly by her side. 
" Pear nothing," said Toussaint to her, in a tone which once 
  
Bonaparte's letter.  
more fixed all eyes upon him. His countenance was no longer 
unmoved. It was convulsed, for a moment, with passion. He was 
calm in his manner, however, as he turned to M. Coasson, and said, 
" Sir, my sous are at home. It rests with myself and with 
them, what excursions they make henceforth." 
He bowed, and left the room with M. Pascal. 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
THE HOUR OF PEOOP. 
" So the long-expected letter is come at last," observed M. Pascal, 
as the study-door closed upon himself and his friend. 
" Head it," said Toussaint, putting the letter into the secre- 
tary's hand, and walking up and down the room, till his friend 
spoke again. 
" "We hear," said M. Pascal, "that the First Consul under- 
stands men. He may understand some men  the soldiery of 
France, perha but of others he knows no more than if he 
were not himself a man." 
" He no more understands my people than myself. Can it be 
possible that he believes that proclamation will be acceptable to 
them  that mixture of cajolery and bombast. He has heard 
that we are ignorant, and he concludes that we are without 
understanding. What think you of his promise of abundance 
by the hands of Leclerc ? As if it were not their cupidity, ex- 
cited by oar abundance, which has brought these thousands of 
soldiers to our shores ! They are welcome to it all  to our 
harvests, our money, and our merchandise  if they would not 
touch our freedom." 
" Bonaparte has a word to say to that in his letter to you,'' 
observed the secretary. " ' What can you desire ? The freedom 
of the blacks ? You know that in all the countries we have been 
in, we have given it to the people who had it not ? ' What say 
the Venetians to that ? What says the Po! " 
" Does he suppose us deaf," replied Toussaint, " that we have 
not heard of the fate of our race in Guadaloupe, and Martinique, 
and Cayenne ? Does he suppose us blind, that we do not see the 
pirates he has commissioned hovering about the shores of Afiica, 
as the vulture preparing to strike his prey P Ignorant as we are, 
does he suppose us stupid enough to be delighted when, free 
already, we find ourselves surrounded by fifty-four war-ships, 
which come to promise ns liberty ? " 
" He does not know, apparently, how our commerce with the 
world brings us tidings of all the world." 
  
  
" And if it were not so  if his were the first shithat our 
eyes had ever seen  does he not know that the richest tidings 
of liberty come, not through the eye and ear, but from the heart ? 
Does he not know that the liberties of St. Domingo, large as they 
are, everlasting as they will prove to be  all sprang from here 
and here ? "  pointing to his head and heart. " This is he," he 
continued, " who has been king in my thoughts, from th hour 
when I heard of the artiUe officer who had saved the Conven- 
tion ! This is he to whom I have felt myself bound as a brother 
in destiny and in glory ! This is he with whom I hoped to share 
the lot of reconciling the quarrel of races and of ages ! In the 
eye of the world he may be great, and I the bandit captain of a 
despised race. On the page of history he may be magnified, 
and I derided. But I spurn him for a hero  I reject him for a 
brother. My rival he may make himself. His soul is narrow, 
and his aims are low. He might have been a god to the world, 
and he is a tyrant. We have followed him with wistful eyes, to 
see him loosen bonds with a divine touch ; and we find him busy 
forging new chains. He has sullied his divine commission ; and 
whue my own remains pure, he is no brother of my soul. Tou, 
my friend, knew him better than I, or you would not have left 
his service for mine." 
" Yet I gave him credit for a better appreciation of you, a 
cleai-er foresight of the destiny of this colony, than he has shown." 
" WhUe we live, my friend, we must accedisappointment. 
In my youth, I learned to give up hoafter ho; and one of 
the brightest I must now relinquish in my old age." 
" Two brilliant ones have, however, entered your dwelling 
this evening, my friend," said the secretary. 
" My boys ? Are they not ? But these are times to show 
what they are. In the joy of having them back, I might have 
forgiven and forgotten everything, but for the claim Tou 
heard, Pascal P " 
" About their leaving you at dawn. Tes ; that was amusing." 
" If they will not consider a negro a man, they might hare 
remembered that beasts are desperate to recover the young that 
they have lost. Leclerc will find, however, that this night will 
make men of my sons. I will call them my boys no more ; and 
never more shall this envoy call them his pupils, or his charge. 
These French will find that there is that in this St. Domingo ( f 
ours which quickly ripens young wits, and makes the harvest 
ready in a day. Let them beware the reaping ; for it is another 
sort of harvest than they look for.  But come," said he : " it is 
late ; and we have to answer the letter of this foreigner  this 
stranger to my race and nature." 
He took some papers from his pocket, sat down beside the friend, 
and said, with the countenance of one who has heard good news. 
  
A D/SASTER. /  
" See here how little they comprehend how negroes may be 
friends ! See here the proofs that they understand my Henri no 
better than myself." 
And he put into the hands of his secretary those fine letters of 
Christophe, which do everlasting honour to his head and heart, 
and show that he bore a kingly soul before he adorned the 
kingly ofB.ce. As M. Pascal read the narrative of Leclerc's 
attempts to alarm, to cajole, and to bribe Ohristophe to betray 
his friend's cause, and deliver up his person, the pale counte- 
nance of the secretary became now paler with anger and disgust, 
now flushed with pleasure and admiration. 
"Here is the friend that sticketh closer than a brother," 
said he. 
" Alas ! poor Paul ! he will be faithful, Pascal ; but he can 
never again love me." 
" Pardon me, I entreat you. I meant no allusion." 
" Ton did not. But everything serves as an allusion there ; 
for Paul is never out of my mind. Now for our letters ;  that 
to Leclerc modified, as you perceive, hy our knowledge of what 
has passed between him and Henri." 
" Modified, indeed ! " exclaimed Pascal. 
Their proceedings were destined to be further modified by the 
events of this night. Tidings as black as the darkest night that 
ever brooded over the island in the season of storms poured in 
to overshadow the prospects of the negroes, and the hopes of 
their chief. 
It was after midnight when, in the midst of their quiet con. 
sultation, Toussaint and his secretary thought they heard voices 
at the gate. Toussaint was going to ascertain, when he was met 
in the hall by news that a messenger from the south-west had 
arrived. The messenger entered, halting and slow. 
" It is no," said Pascal ; " surely it cannot be  " 
" Is it possible that you are Jacques ? " exclaimed Toussaint, 
his eyes shaded by his hand. 
'' I am Dessalines," said the wounded man, who had already 
sunk upon a seat. 
" Why come yourself, in this state !" cried Toussaint, hasten- 
ing to support him. 
" I could more easily come than write my news," replied 
Dessalines ; " and it is news that I would commit to no man's 
ear but your own.'" 
" Shall I go P " asked M. Pascal of Toussaint. 
" No. Stay and hear. Tell us your tidings, Jacques." 
" I am as well here as down in the south-west, or you would 
not have seen me." 
" You mean that aU is lost there ? " 
" All is lost there," 
  
  
" While the enemy is beguiling us with letters, and talk of 
truce ! " observed Toussaint to Pascal. " Where was your battle, 
Jacques ? How can all the west be lost ? " 
" The French have bought La Plume. They told him your 
cause was desperate, and promised him honours and office in 
France. Get me cured, and let me win a battle for yon, and I 
have no doubt I can buy him back again. Meantime " 
" Meantime, what has Domage done ? Is he with me or 
La Plume ? And is Chaney safe ? " 
" Domage never received your instructions. La Plume carried 
them, and no doubt, your aide-de-camp also, straight to the 
French. Ohaney has not been seen : he is traitor or prisoner." 
" Then Cayes is not burned, nor Jeremie defended ? " 
" Neither the one nor the other. Both are lost; and so is Port- 
au-Prince. My trooand I did our best at the Croix de Bos- 
quets : but what could we do in such a case ? I am here, 
wounded within an inch of my life ; and they are in the fast, 
nesses. Ton were a doctor once, L'Ouverture. Set me up again ; 
and I will gather my men from the mountains, and prick these 
whites all across the peninsula into the sea." 
"I will be doctor, or nurse, or anything, to save yon, 
Jacques." 
" What, if I have more bad news? Will you not hate me ? " 
" Lose no time, my friend. This is no hour for trifling." 
" There is no room for trifling, my friend. I fear  I am not 
certain  but I fear the east is lost." 
" Is Olerveaux bought too? " 
" Not bought. He is more of your sort than La Plume's. He 
is incorruptible by money; but he likes the French, and he 
loves peace. He would be a very brother to you, if he only 
loved liberty better than either. As it is, he is thought to have 
delivered over the whole east, from the Isabella to Cap Samana, 
without a blow." 
" And my brother ! " 
" He ha? disappeared from the city. He did not yield ; but 
he could du nothing by himself, or with only his griard. He 
disappeared in the night, and is thought to have put ofE by water. 
Ton will soon hear from him, I doubt not. Now I have told my 
news, and I am faint. Where is Therese ? " 
'.' She is here. Look more like yourself, and she shall be 
called. Ton have told all your news ? " 
"All; and I am glad it is out." 
" Keep up your heart, Dessalines ! I have you and Henri; 
and God is with the faithful.  Now to your bed, my friend." 
Instead of the attendants who were summoned, Therese 
entered. She spoke no word, but aided by her servant, had 
her husband carried to his chamber. When the door was closed, 
  
TOUSSAINT S HANDS UNTIED. / 
sad and serious as were the tidings wMch had now to be acted 
upon, the secretary could not help askiog L'Ouverture if he, had 
ever seen Madame DessaUnes look as she did just now. 
" Tes," he replied, " on certain occasions, some years since.  
But here she is again." 
Th&ese came to say that her husband had yet something to 
relate into Toussaint's own ear before he could sleep ; but, on 
her own part, she entreated that she might first be permitted to 
dress his wounds. 
" Send for me when you think fit, and I will come, madame. 
But, Therese, one word. I am aware that M. Papalier is here. 
Do not forget that you are a Christian, and pledged to forgive 
injuries." 
"Tou think you read my thoughts, L'Ouverture ; but you do 
not. Listen, and I am gone. His voice once had power over 
me through love, and then through hatred. I never miss the 
lightest word he speaks. I heard him tell his old friends from 
Cap that I was his slave, and that the time was coming when mas- 
ters would claim their own again. Now you know my thoughts." 
And she was gone. 
When Toussaint returned from his visit to Dessalines' cham- 
ber, he found M. Pascal sitting with his face hid in his hands. 
" Meditation is good," said Toussaint, laying his hand on his 
friend's shoulder. " Lamentation is unworthy." 
" It is so ; and we have much to do," replied the secretary, 
rousing himself. 
" Fear not," resumed Toussaint, " but that your bride will 
bloom in the air of the mountains. We may have to entrench 
ourselves in the momes  or, at least, to place there our ladies, 
and the civil ofiScers of the government ; but we ought to thank 
God for providing those natural homes, so full of health and 
beauty, for the free in spirit. I have still three brigades, and 
the great body of the cultivators, in reserve ; but we shall all act 
with stronger hearts if our heart's treasure is safe in the mornes." 
" Are we to lose Dessalines ? " asked M. Pascal. 
"I believe not. He is severely wounded, and, at this moment, 
exasperated. He vows the death of M. Papalier ; and I vow 
his safety whUe he is my guest." 
" Papalier and Madame Dessalines cannot exist in one house." 
" And therefore must this deputation be dismissed early in 
the morning, if there were no other reasons. Notice must be 
carried to them with their coffee, that I am awaiting them with 
my replies. Those delivered, negotiation is at an end, and we 
must act. My foes have struck the blow which unties my hands." 
" What has M. Papalier to do with the deputation ? " 
"Nothing, but that he uses its protection to attemto resume 
his estates. They are in commission ; and he may have them ; 
B 
  
  
though not, as he thinks, with men and women as jjart of his 
chattels. No more of him." 
"Of whom next, then? ExceChristophe, who is there 
worthy to be named by you ? " asked M. Pascal, with emotion. 
" Every one who has deserted us, except, perhaps, La Plume. 
He is sordid ; and I dismiss him. As for Olerveaux and his 
thousands, they have been weak, but not, perhaps, wicked. They 
may be recoTered. I take the blame of their weakness upon 
myself. Would that I alone could bear the consequences ! " 
" Tou take the blame of their weakness ? Is not their former 
slavery the cause of it ? Is there anything in their act but the 
sei-vility in which they were reared ? " 
" There is much of that. But I have deepened the taint, in 
striving to avoid the opposite corruption of revenge. I have 
the taint myself. The stain of slavery exists in the Eirst of the 
Blacks himself. Let aU others, then, be forgiven. They may 
thus be recovered. I gave them the lesson of loving and trusting 
the whites. They have done so, to the point of being treacherous 
to me. I must now give them another lesson, and time to learn 
it ; and they may possibly be redeemed." 
'' Tou win hold out in the momes  conduct your resistance 
on a pinnacle, where the eyes of the blacks may be raised to 
you fixed upon you." 
" Just so ;  and where they may flock to me, when time shall 
have taught them my principle and my policy, and revealed the 
temper and purpose of our invaders. Now, then, to prepare ! " 
Before dawn, the despatches for the French, on the coast and 
at home, were prepared ; and messengers were dismissed, in every 
direction, with orders by which the troowhich remained 
faithful would be concentrated, the cultivators raised and col- 
lected, stores provided in the fastnesses, and the new acquisitions 
of the enemy rendered useless to them. Never had the heads of 
these two able men, working in perfect concert, achieved such a 
mass of work in a single night. 
A little after sunrise, the French party appeared in the salon, 
where already almost every member of the household was col- 
lected ; all being under the impression that a crisis had arrived, 
and that memorable words were about to be spoken. 
Toussaint acknowledged the apparent discourtesy of appointing 
the hour for the departure of his guests ; but declared that he 
had no apology to offer :  that the time for courteous observance 
was past, when his guests were discovered to be sent merely to 
amuse and disarm him for the hour, while blows were struck at 
a distance against the liberties of his race. In delivering his 
despatches, he said, he was delivering his farewell. Within an 
hour, the deputation and himself must be travelling in different 
directions. 
  
GiNIFRhDp'S AVOWAL. J$ 
M. Coasson, on receiving the packets, said tliat he Jiatl no 
other desire than to be on his way. There couhl be no satisfaction, 
and little safety, in remaining in a house where, under a hypo- 
critical pretence of magnanimity and good-will, there lurked a 
spirit of hideous malice, of diabolical revenge, towards a race to 
whom nature, and the universal consent of men, had given a 
superiority which they could never lose. 
In unaffected surprise, Toussaint looked in the face of the 
envoy, observing that, for himself, he disclaimed all such passion 
and such dissimulation as his household was charged with. 
" Of course you do," replied Coasson : " but I require not 
your testimony. The men of a family may, where there is occa- 
sion, conceal its ruling passion : but, where there is occasion, it 
will be revealed by the women." 
Toussaint's eyes, like every one's else, turned to the ladies of 
his family. It was not Madame L'Ouverture that was intended, 
for her countenance asked of her husband what this could mean. 
It could not be Aimee, who now stood drowned in tears, where 
she could best conceal her grief. Geuif rede explained. She told 
calmly, and without the slightest confusion, that M. Coasson had 
sought a conversation with her, for the purpose of winning over 
her feelings, and her influence with her father, to the side of 
the French. He had endeavoured to make her acknowledge 
that the whole family, with the exception of its head, were in 
favour of peace, admirers of Bonaparte, and aware that they 
were likely to be victims to the ambition of their father. Her 
reply, in which she declared that she gloried, was that the 
deepest passion of her soul was hatred of the whites ; and that 
she prayed for their annihilation. 
" And did you also declare, my daughter," said Toussaint, 
" that in this yon differ from us all ? Did you avow that your 
parents look upon this passion in you as a disease, for which 
you have their daily and nightly prayers ? " 
" I did declare, my father, that I alone of the Ouvertures 
know how to feel for the wrongs of my race. But M. Coasson 
did not believe me, and vowed that we should all suffer for the 
opinions held by me alone." 
" It is true, I did not believe, nor do I now believe," said 
Coasson, " that the devil would single out one of a famUy, to 
corruher heart with such atrocious hatred as that whose 
avowal chilled the marrow of my bones. It was her coun- 
tenance of wretchedness that attracted me. I saw that she was 
less capable of dissimulation than the rest of you; and so I 
have found." 
" A wise man truly has the Captain-General chosen for an 
envoy ! " observed Toussaint : " a wise and an honourable man ! 
He sees woe in the face of a woman, and makes it his instrument 
 % 
  
 THB . 
for discovering the secret souls of her family. Blindly bent upon 
this object, and haying laid open, as he thinks, one heart, he 
reads the rest by it. But he may, with all his wisdom, and all 
this honour, be no less ignorant than before he saw us. So far 
from reading aU our souls, he has not eyen read the suffering 
one that he has tempted. Tou have opened the sluices of the 
waters of bitterness in my child's soul, M. Coasson, but you 
have not found the source." 
" Time will show that," observed the envoy. 
" It vriU," replied Toussaint ; " and also the worth of your 
threat of revenge for the words of my sufiering child. I have 
no more to say to you.  My sons ! " 
Placide sprang to his side, and Isaac followed. 
" I no longer call you boys ; for the choice of this hour 
makes you men. The Captain-General insists that you go from 
me. He has no right to do so. Neither have I a right to bid 
you stay. Hear, and decide for yourselves.  The cause of the 
blacks is not so promising as it appeared last night. News has 
arrived, from various quarters, of defeat and defection. Our 
struggle for our liberties will be fierce and long. It wiU never 
be relinquished ; and my own conviction is, that the cause of 
the blacks wiU finally prevail ; that St. Domingo vrill never 
more belong to Prance. The ruler of France has been a guardian 
to you-  an indulgent guardian. I do not ask you to fight 
against him." 
The faces of both the young men showed strong and Joyful 
emotion ; but it was not the same emotion in them both. 
"Decide according to your reason and your hearts, my 
children, whether to go or stay ; remembering the importance 
of your choice." Putting a hand on the shoulder of each, he 
said impressively, " Go to the Captain-General, or remain with me. 
Whichever you do, I shall always equally love and cherish you." 
Margot looked upon her sons, as if awaiting from them life 
or death. Aime's face was still hidden in her handkerchief. 
She had nothing to learn of her brother's inclinations. 
Isaac spoke before Placide could open his lips. 
" We knew, father," he said, " that your love and your rare 
liberality  that liberality which gave us our French education 
would not fail now. And this it is that persuades me that 
this quarrel cannot proceed to extremities  that it will not be 
necessary for your sons to take any part, as you propose. When 
Placide and I think of you  your love of peace, your loyalty, 
and your admiration of Bonaparte ; and then, when we think of 
Bonaparte  his astonishment at what you have done in the 
colony, and the terms in which he always spoke of you to us  
when we consider how you two are fitted to appreciate each 
other, wo cannot believe but that the Captain-General and yon 
  
DESERTED BY AIMiS. jy 
will soon be acting in harmony, for the good of both races. But 
for this assurance, we could hardly have courage to return." 
" Speak for yourself alone, Isaac," said his brother. 
" Well, then : I say for myself, that, but for this certainty, it 
would almost break my heart to leaye you so soon again, though 
to go at present no further oif than Tortuga. But I am quite 
confident that there will soon be perfect freedom of intercourse 
among all who are on the island." 
" You return with me ? " asked M. Coasson. 
" Certainly, as my father gives me my choice. I feel myself 
bound, in honour and gratitude, to return, instead of appearing 
to escape, at the very first opportunity, from those with whom I 
can never quarrel. Returning to Leclerc, under his conditional 
orders, can never be considered a declaration against my father : 
while remaining here, against Leclerc's orders, is an undeniable 
declaration against Bonaparte and France  a declaration which 
I never will make." 
" I stay with my father," said Placide. 
"Tour reasons?" asked M. Ooassou; "that I may report 
them to the Captain-General." 
' I have no reasons," replied Placide; " or, if I have, I cannot 
recollect them now. I shall stay with my father." 
"Welcome home, my boy!" said Toussaint; "and Isaac, 
my son, may God bless you, wherever you go." 
And he opened his arms to them both. 
" I am not afraid," said Madame L'Ouverture, timidly, as if 
scarcely venturing to say so much  " I am not afraid but that, 
happen what may, we can always make a comfortable home for 
Placide." 
" Never mind comfort, mother : and least of all for me. We 
have something better than comfort to try for now." 
" Give me your blessing, too, father," said Aimee, faintly, as 
Isaac led her forward, and Vincent closely followed. " You 
said you would bless those that went, and those that stayed ; and 
I am going with Isaac." 
The parents were speechless ; so that Isaac could explain that 
the Captain-General offered a welcome to as many of the Ouver- 
tures as were disposed to join him ; and that Madame Leclerc had 
said that his sisters would find a home and protection with her. 
"And I cannot separate from Isaac yet," pleaded Aimee. 
" And with Madame Leclerc " 
" General Vincent,' said Toussaint, addressing his aide 
before noticing his daughter, " have the goodness to prepare for 
an immediate journey. I will give yon your commission when 
you are ready to ride." 
After one moment's hesitation, Vincent bowed, and withdrew. 
He was not prepared to desert his General while actually busy 
  
 THE , 
in his affairs. He reflected that the great object (in order to the 
peace and reconciliation he hoped for) was to serve, and keep on 
a good understanding with, both parties. He would discharge 
this commission, and then follow Aimee and her brother, as he 
had promised. Thus he settled with himself, while he ordered 
his horses, and prepared for departure. 
Toussaint was sufflcientlv aware that he should prosper better 
without his shallow-miuded and unstable liide; but he meant 
to retain him about his person, on business in his serrice, till 
Aimee should have opportunity, in his absence, to explore her 
own mind, and determine her course, whUe far from the voice of 
the tempter. 
"Go with your brother, Aimee," he said, " rather than remain 
unwillingly with us. Whenever you wish it, return. You will 
find our arms ever open to you." 
And he blessed her, as did her weeping mother  the last, 
however, not without a word of reproach. 
" Oh, Aimee, why did not you tell me ? " 
"Mother, I did not know myself  was uncertain  
was Oh, mother ! it will not be for long. It is but a little 
way : and Isaac and I shall soon write. I will tell you everything 
about Madame Leclerc. Kiss me once more, mother ; and take 
care of Genifrede.", 
As Toussaint abruptly turned away, with a parting bow to 
the envoy, and entered the piazza, on his way to the urgent 
business of the day, and as the shortest escafrom the many 
eyes that were upon him, he encountered M. Pascal, who stood 
awaiting him there. 
" My friend ! " said M. Pascal, with emotion, as he looked in 
the face of Toussaint. 
"Ay, Pascal: it is bitter. Bonaparte rose up as my rival; 
and cheerfully did I accehim for such, in the council and in 
the field. But now he is my rival in my family. He looks 
defiance at me through my children's eyes. It is too much. 
God give me patience ! " 
M. Pascal did not speak; for what could he say? 
CHAPTER XXX. 
SPECITLATION IN THE PLATEAUX. 
PoNGATTDllT was no longer safe, as head-quarters for the Com- 
mander-in-chief, his family, and guests. The defeats which 
had been sustained were bad enough; but the defection was 
worse. Amidst the contagion of defection there was no saying 
  
CHOOSING A RETREAT. / 
who, out of tlie circle of immediate friends, might next join the 
French for the sake of peace ; and for the sake of peace, perhaps, 
deliver up the persons of the Ourertures, with their wounded 
friend, Dessaliues, and the brave young officers who formed the 
guard of the household. Ohristophe's letters had already proved 
to Toussaint and his secretary, that no reliance was to be placed 
on the honour of the French, in their dealings with negroes. 
Cajolery in speech, covering plots against their persons, appeared 
to be considered the conduct appropriate to business with blacks, 
who had no concern, it seemed, with the usages of war, as 
established among whites. La Plume had fallen by bribery; 
Olerveaux by cajolery ; and both means had been attempted with 
Ohristophe. The troowere assailed on the side of their best 
affections. They were told that Leolerc came to do honour to 
L'Ouverture  to thank him for his government of the island 
during the troubles of France, and to convey to him the appro- 
bation of the First Consul, in papers enclosed in a golden box. 
It is probable that, if they had not heard from Toussaint's own 
liof the establishment of slavery in the other French colonies, 
the authorisation of the Slave-trade, and the threat to do what 
was convenient with St. Domingo  aU the negroes would have 
made the French welcome, as Clerveaux had done. As it was, 
large numbers unquestionably remained faithful to their liberties 
and their chief  enough, as Toussaint never doubted, to secure 
their liberties at last : but how many, and after how long and 
arduous a struggle, it remained for time to show. 
Many houses had been offered as a retreat for the household 
of the Oommauder-in-chief. The one chosen this day was his 
friend Raymond's cacao-plantation, Le ZSphyr, in the Momes du 
Chaos  among the mountaias which retired above the right bank 
of the Artibouite. It was a spacious mansion, sheltered from 
storms, but enjoying a pleasant mountain air  the most whole- 
some that could be found, if the retreat should continue through 
the hot season. It was surrounded with never-failing springs of 
pure water. There were kids on all the hills, and cattle in every 
valley round. Grain and fruits were in the fields and gardens : 
and it was thought that one well-guarded post, at a pass below 
the Plateaux de la Ravine, would render the place inaccessible to 
the enemy. To the satisfaction of Raymond and his daughter, 
and the delight of Euphrosyne, this, their beloved summer 
mansion, was fixed on for the abode of the whole party, pro- 
vided Toussaint should find, on examination, that it would 
answer his purposes as well as was now supposed. 
Such was the plan settled presently after the deputation had 
left the gates  settled among the few confidential friends, whose 
tastes, as well as interests, Toussaint chose to consult. Madame 
Dessalines was among these ; and one of the most eager to be 
  
 THE HOUR AND THB MAN. 
gone. She engaged to remove her husband safely to a place where 
is recovery must proceed better than among the agitations of 
Pongaudin. By one of these agitations her desire to go had been 
much quickened. Before the departure of the deputation, she 
had chanced to meet M. Papalier in one of the corridors, equipped 
for his journey. She could not avoid passing him ; and he had 
greeted her with a significant " An revoir, Therese." Fervently 
she prayed that she might never meet him again ; and anxious 
was she to be gone to a place where he could not come. 
Before noon, li'Ouverture, with Placide riding by his side, and 
followed by some officers, who were themselves followed by a 
few soldiers, was among the heights which commanded the plain 
of the Artibonite on one side, and on the other the valleys 
which lay between their party and the Gros Morue. They had 
visited Le Zephyr, and were now about to examine the pass 
where their post was to be established. 
" This heat, Placide," said his father, as the sua beat down 
upon their heads, " is it not too much for you ? Perhayou 
had better But I beg your pardon," he added, smiling ; " I 
had forgotten that you are no longer my growing boy, Placide, 
whom  must take care of. I beg your pardon, Placide ; but it 
is so new to me to have a manly son beside me ! " 
And he looked at him with eyes of pride. 
Placide told how often at Paris he had longed to bask in such 
a sunshine as this, tempered by the fragrant breezes from the 
mountain-side. He was transported now to hear the blows of 
the axe in the woods, and the shock of the falling trunks, as the 
hewers of the logwood and the mahogany trees were at their 
hidden work. He was charmed with the songs of the cultivators 
which rose from the hot plain beloWi where they were preparing 
the furrows for the indigo-sowing. He greeted every housewife 
who, vrith her children about her, was on her knees by the moun- 
tain-stream, washing linen, and splashing her little ones in sport. 
All these native sights and sounds, so unlike Paris, exhilarated 
Placide in the highest degree He was willing to brave either 
heats or hurricanes on the mountains, for the sake of thus feel- 
ing himself once more in his tropical home. 
'' One would think it a time of peace," said he, " with the 
wood-cutters and cultivators all about us. Where wiU be the 
first cropping from those indigo-fields ? And, if that is saved, 
where wifl. be the second! " 
" Of that last question, ask me again when we are alone," 
replied his father. " As for the rest, it is by no vrill of mine 
that our people are to be called off from their wood-cutting and 
their tUlage. To the last moment, you see, I encourage the 
pursuits of peace. But, if you could see closely these men in 
the forest and the fields, you would find that, as formerly, they 
  
A LITTLE SPORT.   
have the cutlass at their belt, and the rifle slung across their 
shoulders. They are my most trusty soldiery." 
"Because they love you best, and owe most to you. What 
has Vincent discovered below there far ofE P Have you your 
glass, father p " 
" The deputation, perhaps,'' said Toussaint. 
" Yes : there they are ! They have crossed the Trois Rivieres, 
and they are creeping up towards Plaisance. What a mere 
handful the party looks at this distance ! What mere insects to 
be about to piill the thunder down upon so many heads ! What 
an atom of space they cover ! Tet Vincent's heart is on that 
little spot, I believe. Is it not so, father P " 
" Tes ! unless some of it is, as I fear, with the fleet beyond tlie 
ridge." 
" He will be missing, some day soon, then." 
" For his own sake and AimSe's, I trust not. This step of 
hers has disconcerted me : but no harm can be done by detaining 
Vincent in honour near me, till the turn of events may decide 
his inclinations in favour of Aimee's father, and of his own race. 
Detained he must be, for the present, in dishonour, if not in 
honour : for he knows too much of my afEairs to be allowed to 
see Leclero. If Aime returns to us, or if we gain a battle, 
Vincent will be ours without compulsion. Meantime, I keep 
him always employed besideme." 
" This is the place for our post, surely," said Placide. " See 
how the rocks are rising on either hand above this level ! No 
one could pass here whom we choose to obstruct." 
" Tes : this is the spot ; these are the Plateaux," replied his 
father, awaiting the officers and soldiers  the latter being pre- 
pared with tools, to mark out and begin their work. 
While the consultations and measurements were going on, 
Placide's eye was caught by the motion of a young fawn in the 
high grass of a lawny slope, on one side of the valley. He 
snatched the loaded rifle which one of the soldiers had exchanged 
for a spade and fired. The passion for sport was instantly roused 
by the act. Kids were seen here and there on the rocks. Marks 
were not wanting : and first Vincent, and then one and another, 
followed Placide's example ; and there were several shots at the 
same instant, whose echoes reverberated to the delighted ear of 
Placide, who was sorry when the last had died away among the 
mountain-tops. 
" Tour first and last sport for to-day," observed Toussaint. 
" Tou have given the game a sufficient alarm for the pre- 
sent." 
" We must find our game, as we have shot it," exclaimed 
Vincent. " My kid is not far off." 
" After it, then ! Tou will find me under the large cotton-tree 
  
  
yonder. The heat is too great here, Placide, between these walls 
of rook." 
Every man of the party was off in pursuit of his game, exce
Placide, who remained to ask his father, now they were alone, 
what was to happen at the season of the second indigo-cutting. 
They threw themselves down beneath the cotton-tree, which with 
its own broad shades, deepened by the masses of creepers which 
twined and clustered about it, and weighed it down on every 
side, afforded as complete a shelter from the shower of sun-rays 
as any artificial roof could have done. 
" The second indigo-cutting is in August, you know," said 
Toussaint. " August will decide our freedom, if it is not decided 
before. August is the season when Nature comes in as our ally 
comes in with her army of horrors, which we should not have 
the heart to invoke, but which vriU arrive, with or without our 
will ; and which it will be the fault of the French themselves if 
they brave." 
" Foul airs and pestUence, you mean ! " said Placide. 
" I mean foul airs and pestUence. All our plans, my son 
(it is a comfort to make a counsellor of my own son ! )  all the 
plans of my generals and myself are directed to provide for our 
defence till August, certain that then the French will be occu- 
pied in grappling with a deadlier foe than even men fighting for 
their liberties." 
" Till August ! " repeated Placide. " Nearly six months ! I 
scarcely think the French could hold their footing so long, if 
but that " 
" If what ? Excefor what ? " 
" If it were not for the tremendous reinforcements which I 
fear will be sent." 
" I thought so," said his father. 
" All France is eager to come," continued Placide. " The 
thousands who are here (about twelve thousand, I fancy; but 
they did what they could to prevent our knowing the numbers 
exactly)  the thousands who are here are looked upon with 
envy by those who are left behind. The jealou was incredible 
the clamour to gain appointments to the St. Domingo ex- 
pedition." 
" To be appointed to pestilence in the hospitals, and a grave 
in the sands ! " exclaimed Toussaint. " It is strange ! French- 
men enough have died here, in seasons of trouble, to convince all 
France that only in times of peace, leisure, stillness, and choice 
of residence, have Europeans a fair chance of life here, for 
a single year. It is strange that they do not foresee their own 
death-angels clustering on our shores." 
" The delusion is so strong," said Placide, '' that I verily 
believe that if these twelve thousand were all dead to-day, twenty 
  
INFATUATION.  
thousand more would be ready to come to-morrow. If every 
officer was buried here, the choicest commanders there would 
press forward over their graves. If even the Leelercs should 
perish, I believe that other relatives of the First Consul, and 
perhasome other of his sisters, would kneel to him, as these 
have done, to implore him to appoint them to the new expedition 
to St. Domingo." 
" The madness of numbers is never without an open cause,'' 
said Toussaint. '' What is the cause here ? " 
" Clear and plain enough. The representations of the emi- 
grants coming in aid of the secret wishes of Bonaparte, have, 
under his encouragement, turned the heads of his family, his 
court, and after them, of his people." 
" The emigrants sigh for their country (and it is a country to 
sigh after), and they look back on their estates and their power, 
I suppose ; while the interval of ten years dims in their memories 
all inconveniences from the climate, and from the degradation of 
their order." 
" They appear to forget that any form of evil but Oge and 
you, father, ever entered their paradise. They say that, but 
for you, they might have been all this while in paradise. They 
have boasted of its wealth and its pleasures, till there is not a 
lady in the court of France who does not long to come and 
dwell in palaces of perfumed woods, marbles, and gold and 
silver. Tliey dream of passing the day in breezy shades, 
and of sipping the nectar of tropical fruits, from hour to 
hour. They think a good deal, too, of the plate and wines, and 
equipages, and trains of attendants, of which they have heard 
so much; and at the same time, of martial glory and laurel 
crowns." 
" So these are the ideas with which they have come to 
languish on Tortuga, and be buried in its sands I These 
emigrants have much to answer for." 
" So Isaac and I perpetually told them ; but they would not 
listen to anything said by an Ouverture. JTor could we wonder 
at this, when persons of evei-y colour were given to the same 
boastings; so that Isaac and I found ourselves tempted into a 
like strain upon occasion." 
" It appears as if the old days had returned," said Toussaint ; 
" the days of Columbus and his crews. We are as the unhap
Indians to the rapacity of Europe. No wonder, if mulattoes and 
blacks speak of the colony as if it were the old Hayti." 
"They do, from Lanville, the coffee-planter, to our Mars 
Plaisir. Mars Plaisir has brought orders for I do not know how 
many parrots ; and for pearls, and perfumes, and spices, aud 
variegated woods." 
" Is it possible 'i " said Toussaint, smiling. " Does he really 
  
  
believe his own stories ? If so, that accounts for his staying 
with you, instead of going with Isaac ; which I wondered at. 
I thought he could not have condescended to ns, after having 
lived in France." 
"He condescends to be wherever he finds most scofor 
boasting. On Tortuga, or among the ashes of Cahe can boast 
no more. With us he can extol France, as there he extolled St. 
Domingo. If August brings the destruction we look for, 
the poor fellow ought to die of remorse ; but he has not head 
enough to suffer for the past. Tou can hold out till August, 
father ? " 
"If Maurepas joins us here with his force, I have no doubt of 
holding out till August. In these momes, as many as will not 
yield might resist for life ; but my own forces, aided by those of 
Maurepas, may effectually keep off the grasp of the French from 
all places but those in which they are acj;ually quartered. A few 
actions may be needful,  morally needful,  to show them that 
the blacks can fight. If this lesson wiU not suffice, August, alas ! 
will exterminate the foe. What do I see stirring among the 
ferns there p Is it more game ? " 
Placide started u
" Too near us for game," he whispered ; and then added 
aloud, " Shall we carry home another deer ? Shall I fire ? " 
At these words, some good French was heard out of the tall, 
tree-like ferns,  voices of men intreating that no one would fire ; 
and two Frenchman presently appeared, an army and a navy 
officer. 
" How came you here, gentlemen ? Are you residents in the 
colony ? " 
" If we had been, we should not have lost ourselves, as you 
perceive we have done. We are sent by the Captain-General to 
parley, as a last hoof avoiding the collision which the Captain- 
General deprecates. Here are our credentials, by which you will 
discover our names,  Lievitenant Martin," pointing to his com- 
panion, "and Captain Sabes," bowing for himself. 
" It is too late for negotiation, gentlemen," said L'Ouverture, 
" as the news from the south will already have informed the 
Captain- General. I regret the accident of your having lost 
your way, as it will deprive you for a time of your liberty. 
 ou must be aware that, voluntarily or involuntarily, you have 
fulfilled the office of spies; and for the present, therefore, I 
cannot part with yon. Placide, summon our attendants, and, 
with them, escort these gentlemen to Le Zephyr. I shall soon 
join you there, and hear anything that your charge may have to 
say." 
I'he officers protested, but in vain. 
"It is too late, gentlemen. Tou may thank your own 
  
TO THE MOUNTAINS.  
commanders for compelling me to run no more risks  for having 
made trust in a French officer's honour a crime to my own 
people. Ton may have heard and seen so much that I am com- 
pelled to hold you prisoners. As I have no proof, however, that 
you are spies, your lives are safe." 
In answer to Placide's shout  the well-known mountain-cry 
which he was delighted to revive  their followers appeared ou 
all sides, some bringing in their game, some empty-handed. 
The French officers saw that escawas impossible. Neither 
Imd they any thought, but for a passing moment, of fighting 
for their liberty. The Ouvertures were completely armed ; and 
there never was an occasion when a man would lightly engage, 
hand-to-hand, with Toussaint or his son. 
Half the collected party, including Vincent, accompanied 
Toussaint to Pongaudin. The other half escorted Placide and 
his prisoners up the morne to Le Zephyr ; these carried all the 
game for a present provision. 
Placide observed an interchange of glances between his pri- 
soners as they passed the spades, pick-axes, and fresh-dug earth 
in the plateaux. He had little idea how that glance was con- 
nected with the romancing he had just been describing ; nor how 
much of insult and weary suffering it boded to his father. 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
BBTBEAT. 
Pongaudin was indeed no longer safe. Immediately ou the 
return of Coasson to the fleet, under the date of the th of 
February, the Captain- General issued a proclamation of out- 
lawry 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, Pon- 
gaudin 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 hoof 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; nntrod, as it seemed now likely to 
  
  
remain, by the foot of an invader. They found the mansion at 
Le Zephyr, spacions 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 troowas a
pointed 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 
mome, 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 wMch embitter life in ul 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 occu- 
pation since the death of her lover. Therese was delighted to 
afPord her the opportunity of feeling herself useful, and per- 
mitted 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 con. 
duct of the French. Never was sick man more impatient to be 
strong than Pessalines, Genifrede regarded him as the pillar oi 
  
toussaint's army increases.  
the cause, on account of his uncompromising passion for ven- 
geance; 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. M. Pascal  the rational, 
sagacious M. Pascal  was of opinion that she believed this 
herself. 
On this station, and other heights which surrounded the man- 
sion, there were other objects of interest than the visitations of 
the clouds, and the whisperings of the breezes from the depths 
of the woods. Por 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 moun- 
tains. Soon after these three thousand, Christophe appeared 
with such force as could be spared from the gaiTisons m 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 acces- 
sions 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 stiU air ; if the morn- 
ing or evening breezes were abroad the harmony came in 
gushes ; and the shouts of greeting and reception were plainly 
distinguishable, and were responded to involuntarOy 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 
trooup 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 Oul- 
e-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 Tersed 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 circum- 
stances, the sportsman was one of the most useful members of 
the establishment. The air of the momes 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 
mome 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 MU-sides ; and often did Genifrede and the sentries 
hear the far-ofB shouts of the little sportsmen, or see the pufE 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 deli- 
cate 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 vrith a noose, and young pigs to barbecue. 
He filled baskets with plover's eggs from the high lands ; and 
of the vidld 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 dovra 
the mountains, on their way to the sea. In those days, Tobie 
promised.the tables at Le Zephyr should groan under the pro- 
fusion 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 triumto 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 triumto point out to his aides spot after 
  
EUPHROSYNE USEFUL.  
spot where the bird of prey hovered, seekinin vain for a space 
on which to pounce. Amidst these triumphs, Juste was almost 
satisfied not to be at the Plateau. 
Perhathe heaviest heart among all that household, scarflely 
excepting Genifrede's, was Madame L'Ouverture's ; and yet 
her chief companionshistrangely enough, was with the one 
who carried the lightest  Buphrosyne. It was not exactly 
settled whether Madame L'Onverture or Madame Pascal was 
hostess; and they therefore divided the onerous duties of the 
office ; and Buphrosyne 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 Onvertures ! It was an honour  it was an 
exquisite pleasure. She was perhathe first white lady in the 
island, out of the convent, who had gathered fruits, prepared 
vegetables, and made sweet dishes with her own hands. Morn- 
ing 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 thoy spent in the shaded 
store-room, amidst the fragrance of fruits and spices. Here 
the unhapmother, 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 wUl return to you," said Alra. 
" 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. Ton will find one of them, perhaboth, as hapon 
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 Buphrosyne; "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, Buphrosyne, my love  ' Siillen ' is a hard 
word for my poor, unhapchild." 
" Nay, madam ; no one can be more sorry for her than I am ; 
as you wiU 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 moon the mountain as she does, and speak to 
nobody, care for nobody, but the Dessalines. However, I wotdd 
 
  
  
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 helwhen 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 Af ra, again. She could 
think of no other consolation. 
" Those who know best say that everything is for good," con- 
tinued 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 mouth, 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 wiU hear that prayer," said Afra, cheerfully. 
"And  am sure Bonaparte will thank you for it," said 
Euphrosyne, " in that day when hearts will be known, and tilings 
seen as they are." 
" One might expect," sighed Madame L'Ouverture, " as one's 
children grow uthat 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 hothey 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 
anil wicked to have anything to do with that kind of peojSe. I 
  
A BATTLE NEAR.   
could tell you such a story of poor Moyse (and of many other 
uiiliappersons, 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 con- 
dition. 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 Prance." 
" 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 teU one another that his throne 
might, at this day, have been visited by ambassadors from all 
the nations, but for his loyalty to Prance ? 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 Rocham- 
beau is drawing near us, and that there is likely soon to be a 
battle. Hoigho ! " 
s 
  
  
" Is that bad news or good ? " asked Enphrosyne. 
" 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 Alra. 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 ai-e 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 wiU not do is fighting. But I tell you, my dears, the battle- 
day is coming on now. Seigho ! " 
There was a pause ; after which Euphrosyne said  
" I suppose we shall hear the battle." 
There was another pause, during which Madame's tears were 
dropping into her laAfra wondered how General Dessalines 
would bear to hear the firing from his chamber, so near, and he 
imable to hel
" That puts me in mind," said Madame, rising hurriedly  
" how could I forget ? It was the rery reason why my husband 
told me that Rochambeau was so near. We must prepare for 
the wounded, my dears. They will be sent up here  as many 
as the house wiU hold, and the tents which my husband is send- 
ing uWe must be making lint, my dears, and preparing 
bandages. My husband has provided simples, and Madame IDessa- 
lines will tell us Oh dear ! what was I about to forget all this ! " 
" Do not hurry yourself, dear madam," said Aira. " We wiU 
take care that everything is done. With Madame Dessalines to 
direct us, we shall be quite prepared. Do not hurry yourself so, 
I dare say Rochambeau is not at hand at this moment." 
At the very next moment, however, Euphrosyne's countenance 
showed that she was by no means certain of this. Madame 
L'Ouverture stood still to listen, iu her agitated walk about the 
room. There were distant shouts heard, and a bustle and buzz 
of voices, within and about the house, which made Euphrosyne 
empty her lap of the shaddocks she was peeling, and run out for 
news. 
" Joy ! Joy ! " she cried, returning. " Maurepas is coming. 
We can see his march from the station. His army has crossed 
the river. Make haste, Afra ; Dear madam, wiU you go with 
me to the station ? " 
" No, my love," said Madame, sitting down, trembling. 
" We can go as slowly as you like. There is plenty of time. 
Ton need not hurry; and it wiU be a glorious sight." 
"No, my dear. Do you young people go. But, Euphrosyne, 
are you quite sure it is not Rochambeau ? " 
  
VINCENT ATTRACTS NOTICE.  
" Oh, dear, yes ! quite certain. They come from the south, and 
have crossed the Artibonite ; they come from the very point 
they ought to come from. It is good news, you may rely upon 
it ; the best possible news." 
" I am thankful," said Madame, in a low, sad voice. " Go, 
my dears. Go, and see what you can." 
All who could leave the house, or the post of duty  that 
is, all but the two prisoners, the sentries, and Madame  were 
at the station, or on their way to it. The first notice had been 
given, it appeared, by some huntsmen who had brought iu 
game. 
'' My boys ! " said Madame Bellair, " what a pity they should 
miss this sight ! only that, I suppose, we could not keep Juste 
within bounds. He would be oft" to the camp before we could 
stop him. It may be a fortunate chance that he is on the 
northern hUls instead of the southern, to-day ; but I am sorry 
for my little Tobie. Whereabouts are they, I wonder. Has any 
one seen them within these two hours ? " 
The hunters had parted with the boys in the valley, at sun. 
rise, when they said they should seek fish and fowl to-day, in 
the logwood grove and the pond above it, as there were huntera 
enough out upon the hills. 
" If they are really no farther off than that," said their 
mother, " they may hear us, and come for their share of the sight. 
You walk well, General Dessalines." 
Dessalines declared himself well. The rumour of war was the 
tonic he needed. Even at this distance, it had done more for him 
than all Therese's medicines in a month. Thdrese saw that it 
was indeed so; and that he would be at the Plateaux now 
before the enemy. 
" Look at General Vincent," whispered Madame Pascal to 
her husband, on whose arm she was leaning, as all stood on the 
height, anxiously gazing at the road, which wound like a yellow 
thread across the plain, and round the base of the hUls. The 
troowere now hidden by a hanging wood; so that Afra rested 
her strained eyes for a moment, and happened to notice Vin- 
cent's countenance. " Look, do look, at General Vincent ! " 
Her husband shook his head, and said that was what he was 
then thinking of. Dessalines and his wife were similarly occu- 
pied ; and they and the Pascals communica,ted with each other 
by glances. 
" What is the matter, Vincent," asked Dessalines, outright. 
" Here are the long-expected come at last ; and you look as 
gloomily upon them as if they were all France." 
" I am not such a man of blood as you, Dessalines. I have 
never given up the hoof accommodation and peace. It is 
strange, when the great men on both sides profess such a desire 
  
  
for oeace, that we must see this breash made, nobody can tell 
why." 
" Why, my good fellow ! " exclaimed Dessaliues, staring into 
his face, " surely you are talking in your sleep ! The heats put 
you to sleep last summer, and you are not awake yet. i ou 
know nothing that has been done since December, I do 
believe. Come ! let me teU you, as little Tobie is not here to 
do it." 
''Don't, love," said Therese, pressing her husband's arm. 
" No disputes to-day, Jacques ! The times are too serious." 
"At another time. General," said Vincent, "I will instruct 
you a little in my opinions, formed when my eyes were wide 
open in France ; which yours have never been." 
" There they are ! There they come from behind the wood, 
if we could but see them for the dust ! " exclaimed some. 
" Oh, this dust ! we can see nothing ! " cried others. " Who 
can give a guess how many they are ? " 
" It is impossible," said Bellair. " Without previous know- 
ledge, one could not tell them from droves of bullocks and 
goats going to market at St. Marc." 
" Excefor their caps," said Euphrosyne. " I see a dozen or 
two of feathers through the crowd. Do not you, Afra ? " 
" Tes, but where is their music r We should hear something 
of it here, surely." 
"Tes, it is a dumb march," said Dessalines, "at present. 
They will strike up when they have turned the shoulder of that 
hill, no doubt. There ! now listen ! " 
All listened, so that the brook, half a mile behind, made its 
babbling heard, but there was not a breath of music." 
"Is it possible that Rochambeau should be in the way.' 
asked Therese. 
" He cannot be in the way,'' said her husband, " for where I 
stand, I command every foot of the road, up to our posts ; but 
he may be nearer than we thought. I conclude that he is." 
" Look ! See ! " cried several. " They are taking another 
road. Where are they going ! General Dessalines, what does 
it mean ? " 
" I would thank anyone to tell me that it is not as I fear," 
replied Dessalines. " I fear Maurepas is effecting a junction, 
not with us, but with some one else." 
" With Rochambeau ! " " Traitor ! " " The traitor Maurepas ! " 
" His head ! " " Our all for his head ! " cried the enraged 
gazers, as they saw Maurepas indeed diverging from the road to 
the post, and a large body of French trooturning a reach of 
the same road, from behind a lull. The two clouds of dust met. 
And now there was no more silence, but sound enough from 
below and afar. There was evidently clamour and rage among 
  
AN ALARM.  
the trooiu the Plateaux ; and bursts of music from the army 
of their foes, triiamphaut and insulting, swelled the breeze. 
" Our all for the head of Maurepas ! " cried the group again. 
"Nay," said Vincent, "leave Maurepas his head. Wholmows 
but that peace may come out of it ? If all had done as he has 
now done, there could be no war." 
" In the same way," exclaimed Pascal, " as if all of your 
colour thought as you do, there would then be no war, because 
there would bo no men to fight ; but only slaves to walk quietly 
under the yoke." 
" Be as angry as you will," said Vincent, in a low voice to 
Pascal. " No one's anger can alter the truth. It is impious and 
vain, here as elsewhere, to oppose Bonaparte. L'Ouverture will 
have to yield ; you know that as well as I do, M. Pascal ; and 
those are the best friends of the blacks who help to render war 
impossible, and who bring the affair to a close while the First 
Consul may yet be placable." 
" Has that opinion of yours been offered to your Commander, 
Vincent ? " 
" It would have been, if he had asked for it. He probably 
knows that I had rather have seen him high in honour and 
function under Leclerc, than an outlaw, entrenched in the 
momes." 
" Then why are you here P " 
" I am here to protect those who cannot protect themselves, 
in these rough times. I am here to guard these ladies against 
all foes, come they whence they may,  from France, or out of 
our own savannahs,  from earth, air, or sea.  But hark! Silence, 
ladies ! Silence all, for a moment ! " 
They listened, ready to take alarm from him, they knew not 
why. Nothing was heard but the distant baying of hounds,  
the hunters coming home as it was supposed. 
" Those are not St. Domingo hoimds," said Vincent, in a low 
voice to Dessalines. 
" No, indeed !  Home, all of you ! Eun for your lives ! No 
questions, but run ! Therese, leave me ! I command you.  If 
this is your doing, Vincent " 
" Upon my soul, it is not. I know nothing about it.  Home, 
ladies, as fast as possible ! " 
" My children ! " exclaimed Madame Bellair. " I can find 
them, if you wiU only toU me the danger, what is the 
danger ? " 
" Tou hear those hounds. They are Cuba bloodhounds," said 
Dessalines. " The fear is tliat they are leading an enemy over 
the hills." 
Not a word more was necessary. Every one fled who could, 
exceThdrese, who would not go faster than her husband's 
  
  
strength permitted him to proceed. The voice of the hounds, 
and the tramp of horses' feet were apparently so near, before 
they conld reach the first sentry, that both were lad to see 
Pascal hurrying towards them, with two soldiers, who carried 
Dessalines to the house, while Pascal and Therese ran for their 
lives, she striving to thank her companion for remembering to 
bring this aid. 
" No thanks ! " said Pascal. " General Dessalines is our great 
man now. We cannot do without him. Here is to be a siege,  
a French troop has come over by some unsuspected pass ;  I do 
not understand it." 
" Have you sent to the Plateaux ? " 
" Of course, instantly ; but our messengers wiU probably be 
intercepted, though we have spared three men, to try three 
different paths. If L'Ouverture learns our condition, it will be 
by the firing." 
Some of the sportsmen had brought in from the hiUs the 
news of the presence of an enemy in the morne  not, apparently, 
on their way to the plantation, but engaged in some search 
among the hills. Others spoke tidings which would not have 
been told for hours but for the determination of Madame Bellair 
to set out in search of her children, whatever foe might be in the 
path. It became necessaory to relate that it was too late to save 
her children. They had been seen lying in a track of the wood, 
torn in pieces by the bloodhounds, whose cry was heard now close 
at hand. Though there was no one who would at first undertake 
to tell the mother this, there were none who, in the end, could 
conceal it from her. They need not have feared that their work 
of defence would be impeded by her wailings and tears. There 
was not a cry ; there was not a tear. Those who dared to look 
in her face saw that the fires of vengeance were consuming all 
that was womanish in Deesha's nature. She was the soldier to 
whom, under Dessalines, the successful defence of Le Zephyr 
was mainly owing. Dessalines gave the orders, and superintended 
the arfangemeuts, which she, with a frantic courage, executed. 
Prom that hour to the day when she and her husband expired 
in tortures, the forces of the First Consul had no more vindictive 
and mischievous enemy than the wife of Charles Bellair. Never 
propitiated, and long unsubdued, Charles BeUair and his wife 
lived henceforth in the fastnesses of the interior ; and never for 
a day desisted from harassing the foe, and laying low every 
Frenchman on whom a sleepless, and apparently ubiquitous 
vengeance, could fix its gi-as
Deesha was not the only woman who seemed to bear a f oeman's 
soul. Therese looked as few had seen her look before ; and, busy 
as was her husband with his arrangements for the defence of the 
house, he could not but smile iu the face which expressed so 
  
VINCENT SHOT.  
much. To her, and any companions she could find among the 
women, was confided the charge of Sabes and Martin, who, 
locked into a room whence they must hear the firing of their 
comrades outside, could not be supposed likely to make a des- 
perate attemto escape. Therese answered for their detention, 
if she had arms for herself and two companions. Whoever these 
heroines might be, the prisoners were found safe, after the French 
liad decamped. 
There were doubts which, at any other time, would have 
needed deliberation. It was a doubt, for a moment, whether to 
imprison Vincent, whose good faith was now extremely ques- 
tionable : but there was no one to guard him ; and his surprise 
and concern were evidently so real, and his activity was so great 
in preparing for defence, that there seemed nothing for it but 
trusting him to protect the women who were under his charge. 
Dessalines, however, kehis eye upon him, and his piece in 
readiness to shoot him down, on the first evidence of treachery. 
Another doubt was as to the foe they had to contend against. 
How they got into the mome, and why such an approach was 
made to an object so important as securing a party of hostages 
like these ; whether, if Vincent had nothing to do with it, the 
spies had ; and whether, therefore, more attacks might not be 
looked for, were questions which passed through many minds, 
but to which no consideration could now be given. Here were 
the foe ; and they must be keofB. 
The struggle was short and sharSmall as was the force 
without, it far outnumbered that of the fighting men in what 
had been supposed the secure retreat of Le Zephyr ; and there 
is no saying but that the ladies might have found themselves 
at length on Tortuga, and in the presence of Bonaparte's sister, 
if the firing had not reached the watchful ear of L'Ouverture at 
the Plateaux, on the way to which aU the three messengers had 
been captured. Toussaint arrived with a trooin time to 
deliver his household. After his first onset, the enemy retreated; 
at first carrying away some prisoners, but dropping them on 
their road, one after another, as they were more and more hardly 
pressed by L'Ouverture, till the few survivors were glad to 
escaas they could, by the way they came. 
Toussaint returned, his soldiers bi-inging in the mangled 
bodies of the two boys. When he inquired what loss had been 
sustained, he found that three, besides the children, were killed ; 
and that Viacent was the only prisoner, besides the three mes- 
sengers turned back in the morne. 
" Never was there a more willing prisoner, in my opinion,'' 
observed Pascal. 
" He carries away a mark from us, thank Heaven ! " said 
Dessalines. " Madame Bellair shot him." 
  
  
It was BO. Deesha saw Vincent join the French, and go off 
with thera, on the arrival of L'Ouverture ; and, partly through 
revenge, but not without a thought of the disclosures it was in 
his power to make, she strove to silence him for ever. She only 
reached a limb, however, and sent him away, as DessaJines said, 
bearing a mark from Le Zephyr. 
One of the French troomade prisoner, was as communicative 
as could have been desired  as much so as Vincent would pro- 
bably be on the other side. He declared that the attack on Le 
Zephyr was a mere accident : that his company had entered the 
mome, led by the bloodhounds in pursuit of some negroes, from 
whom they wanted certain information for Rochambeau, re- 
specting the localities ; that they had thus become acquainted 
with the almost impracticable pass by which they had entered ; 
that, when the hounds had destroyed the children, and proved 
that there were inhabitants in the morne, the situation of Le 
Zephyr had been discovered, and afterwards the rank of its 
inhabitants ; that the temptation of carrying ofE these hostages 
to Bochambeau had been too strong to be resisted ; and hence 
the attack. 
" We shall have to remove," the ladies said to each other, 
" now that our retreat is known." 
" ShaU we have to remove P " asked Eiiphrosyne, whose love 
of the place could not be quenched, even by the blood upon its 
threshold. " I am not afraid to stay, if any one else wiU." 
" How can you be so rash, Euphrosyne P " asked Afra. 
" I wonld not be rash, Euphrosyne replied ; but we know 
now how these people came into the morne, and L'Ouverture 
will guard the pass. And remember, Afra, we have beaten 
them ; and they wiU take care how they attack us another time. 
Remember, we have beaten them." 
" We have beaten- them," said Dessalines, laughing. " And 
what did you do to beat off the French, my little lady P " 
" I watched the prisoners througlr the keyhole ; and if they 
had made the least attemto set the house on fire " 
"Tou would have put it out with your tears  hey. Made- 
moiselle Euphrosyne ? " 
" Ask Madame, your lady, what she would have done in such 
a case : she stood beside me. But does L'Ouverture say we 
must remove p " 
" L'Ouverture thinks," said Toussaint, who heard her ques- 
tion, " that this is stiU the safest place for the brave women who 
keep up his heart by their cheerful faces. He is ashamed that 
they have been negligently guarded. It shall not happen again." 
He was just departing for the Plateaux. As he went out he 
said to his wife, while he east a look of tender compassion upon 
Madame Bellair  
  
deesha's hate.  
" I shall teU diaries that ynii will cherish Deesha. It is well 
that we can let her remain here, beside the graves of her children. 
Bury them with honour, Margot." 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
ATJGXrST FAB, OFF. 
In time of peace, and if her children had perished by any 
other mode, it might have been a consolation to Deesha to dwell 
for a time beside their graves. As it was, the deep bark of the 
murderous dogs filled her ear perpetually, and their fangs 
seemed to tear her heart. Her misery in the quiet mansion of 
the mornes was unendurable ; and the very day after the 
funeral she departed, with her husband, to a place where no 
woman's eye could mark her maternal anguish  where no 
semblance of a home kealive the sense of desolation. She 
retired, with her husband and his trooto a fastness higher up 
in the Morne-du- Chaos, whence they kewatch over the 
regular entrenchments below, out off supplies of provisions from 
the French, harassed aU their marches, and waged a special 
war against the bloodhounds  the negro's most dreaded foe. 
More, however, were perpetually brought over from Cuba, and 
regularly trained, by means too barbarous for detail, to make 
negroes their prey. From the hour when Deesha first heard the 
cry of a bloodhound, more than the barbarism of her native 
Congo took possession of hei'. Never more was she seen sewing 
under the shade of the tamarind tree. Never more did she spread 
the table, for husband or guests, within a house. Never more was 
her voice heard singing, gaily or plaintively, the songs that she 
had gathered from the palm groves of Africa, or the vineyards of 
Fi-ance, or from the flowery fields of a mother's hopes. Hence- 
forth she carried the rifle, and ate her meal in stern silence, in 
the cave of the rock. When she laughed, it was as her shot 
went straight to her victim's heart. Wlien she spoke, it was of 
the manceuvres of her mountain war; and the only time that 
she was ever seen to shed tears was when a rumour of a ti'uce 
reached the pinnacle on which she dwelt. Though assured that 
any truce could be only, as every negro knew, a truce till 
August, the mere semblance of accommodation with the foe 
forced tears of vexation from eyes which were for ever after dry. 
If she felt a gleam of satisfaction before leaving Le Zephyr, it 
was at the singular accident by which Juste, always so bent 
upon being a soldier, shared the honours of a military funeral. 
Juste and Tobie were buried with the soldiers who had fallen 
  
  
in the defence of the house ; and to the father, who followed the 
coffins, and the mother, who hid herself in the thicket, there was 
something like pleasure in the roll of the drum, and the measure 
of the dead march, and the warlike tone of the shrill dirge 
which was sung round the open graves, and the discharge of 
firearms over them  a satisfaction like that of fulfilling the 
last wish of their boy. This done, and the graves fenced and 
planted, the childless pair departed, wishing, perhaps, in their 
own hearts, that they could weep their misfortune like those 
whom they left behind. 
For some time forward from that day there was no more 
cause for weeping at Le Zephyr. The season had come for the 
blacks to show what they could do. In the hope, as he said, of 
hastening on the peace, Vincent told all that he knew of the 
plans and resources of the outlawed chiefs ; and, in consequence, 
the French at length proceeded to vigorous action, believing 
that if they could force the post at the Plateaux, they could 'so 
impoverish and disable the negro leaders as to compel them to 
become mere banditti, who might be kein check by guarding 
the mountain-passes. The French force was, therefore, brought 
up again and again to the attack, and always in vain. The ill 
success of the invaders was, no doubt, partly owing to the dis- 
tress which overtook their soldiery whenever they had been a 
few days absent from their camp and their ships. Whichever 
way they turned, and however sudden the changes of their 
mai'ch, they found the country laid waste  the houses unroofed, 
the cattle driven away, the fields burned or inundated, and 
nothing but a desert under their feet, and flames on the 
horizon, while the sun of the tropic grew daily hotter overhead. 
These were disadvantages ; but the French had greatly the 
superiority in numbers, in experience, and in supplies of ammu- 
nition. Yet, for many weeks, they failed in all their attempts. 
They left their dead before the entrance of the Plateaux, or 
heaped up in the neighbouring fields, or strewed along the 
mountain-paths, now to the number of seven hundred, now 
twelve, and now fifteen hundred ; while the negroes numbered 
their losses by tens or scores. The first combined attack, when 
Maurepas, with his army, joined Rochambeau, and two other 
divisions mot them from different points, was decisively disas- 
trous i and even Vincent began to doubt whether the day of 
peace, the day of chastisement of L'Ouverture's romance, was 
so near as he had supx)osed. 
The last time that the French dared the blacks to come forth 
from their entrenchments, and fight on the plain afforded the 
most triumphant result to the negroes. So tremendous was the 
havoc among the French  while the blacks charged without in- 
termission, rolling on their force fi-om their entrenchments, 
  
NO AMMUNITION. I 
each advancing line throwing itself upon the ground imme- 
diately after the charge, while those beliind passed over their 
bodies, enabling them to rise and retreat in order to rush for- 
ward again in their turn  that the trooof the Rhine and the 
Alwere seized with a panic, and spread a rumour that there 
was sorcery among the blacks, by which they were made invul- 
nerable. It was scarcely possible, too, to believe in the infe- 
riority of their numbers, so interminable seemed the succession 
of foes that presented a fresh front. Rochambeau saw that, if 
not ordered to retreat, his troowould fly ; and whether it was 
a retreat or a flight at last, nobody could afterwards determine. 
They left fifteen hundred dead on the field, and made no pause 
till they reached Plaisance. 
From this time, the French generals resolved against more 
fighting, till reinforcements arrived from France. New hopes 
inspired the blacks  all of them, at least, who did not, like 
L'Ouverture and Ohristophe, anticipate another inundation of 
the foe from the sea. Placide, who was foremost in every fight, 
was confident that the struggle was nearly over, and rode up to 
Le Zephyr occasionally with tidings which spread hoand joy 
among the household, and not only made his mother proud, but 
lightened her heart. 
He told, at length, that the French, not relishing the offen- 
sive war begun by Ohristophe, had blockaded his father in the 
Plateaux. He treated this blockade as a mere farce  as a mode 
of warfare which would damage the French irreparably as the 
heats came on, while it could not injure the blacks, acquainted 
as they were with the passes of the country. 
Placide would have been right, if only one single circumstance 
had been otherwise than as it was. L'Ouverture had nothing 
to fear from a blockade in regard to provisions. He had adhe- 
rents above, among the heights, who could supply his forces 
with food for themselves and fodder for their horses inex- 
haustibly. Every ravine in their rear yielded water. They 
had arms enough ; and in their climate, and with the summer 
coming on, the clothing of the troowas a matter of small 
concern. But their ammunition was running short. Every, 
thing was endeavoured, and timely, to remedy this ; but there 
was no effectual remedy. Many a perilous march over the 
heights, and descent upon the shore, did one and another troop 
attem many a seizure of French supplies did they actually 
effect many a trip did Paul, and others who had boats, make 
to one and another place, where it was hoped that powder and 
ball might be obtained ; but no sufficient supply could be got. 
The foe were not slow in discovering this, and in deriving 
courage from their discovery. From the moment that they 
found themselves assailed with flights of arrows from the 
  
  
heights, and that their men were wounded, not always with 
ball, or even shot, but with buttons, nails, and other bits of old 
metal  with anything rather than lead  they kea closer 
watch along the coast and the roads, that no little boat, no cart 
or pack-horse, might escacapture. Towards the end of April 
the difficulty became so pressing, that L'Onverture found him- 
self compelled to give up his plan of defensive war, with all its 
advantages, and risk much to obtain the indispensable means 
of carrying on the struggle. 
It was with this view that he mustered his force, gave out 
nearly the last remains of his ammunition, burst victoriously 
through the blockading troops, routed them, and advanced to 
attack the Trench lines posted at Plaisance. Behind him he 
left few but his wounded, commanded by Dessalines, who was 
yet hardly sufficiently recovered to undertake a more arduous 
service. Before him were the troounder Maurepas, whom he 
had always believed he could recall with a word, if he could but 
meet them face to face. Others probably believed so too ; for 
these troohad, on every occasion, been keback, and so sur- 
rounded, as that no one from their old haunts and their old com- 
panions could reach them. Now, however, the French force was 
so reduced by the many defeats they had undergone, that it was 
probable they would be obliged to put faith in the renegade 
division, if attacked ; and L'Ouverture was not without hopes 
of striking a decisive blow by recalling the negroes in the French 
lines to their allegiance to himself. 
Everything answered to his anticipations. When he advanced 
to the attack, he found the trooof Maurepas posted in the 
front, to weaken the resolution of their former comrades, or re- 
ceive their first fire. His heart bounded at the sight ; and all 
his resentment against them as renegades melted into compassion 
for the weakness of those who had been reared in terror and ser- 
vility. He rushed forward, plachig himself, without a thought 
of fear, between the two armies, and extended his arms towards 
the black lines of the enemy, shouting to them  
" My soldiers, will you kill your general ? WiU you kill your 
father, your comrades, your brothers ? " 
In an instant every black was on his knees. It was a critical 
moment for the French. They rushed on, drowning the single 
voice on which their destruction seemed to hang, threw the 
kneeling soldiers on their faces, strode over their prostrate 
bodies, and nearly effected their object of closing round L'Ouver. 
ture, and capturing him. His danger was imminent. The 
struggle was desperate ;  but his soldiers saved him. The battle 
was fierce and long, but again and again turning in his favour, 
tiU all seemed secure. He was forcing the enemy from their 
lines, and giving out the inspiring negro cry of victory, when a 
  
A TRUCE PROPOSED. O 
new force marched up against him, stopped the retreat of the 
French, and finally repulsed the blacks  exhausted as they were, 
and unable to cowith a fresh foe. In the most critical mo- 
ment, four thousand troops, fresh from the shihad arrived 
to convert the defeat of the French into a victory; and they 
brought into the battle more than their own strength in the 
news that reinforcements from France were pouring in upon 
every point of the coast. 
The news reached L'Ouverture, and completed the discourage- 
ment of his little army. It decided him at once in what direc- 
tion to retreat. It was useless to return to the Plateaux, as the 
force there was more than proportioned to the supply of ammu- 
nition. This fresh descent of the French upon the coast would 
have the effect of dispersing the small bodies of black trooin 
the north. A rendezvous was necessary, in order to make the most 
both of the men and stores. He proceeded to post his trooat 
Le Dondon, and Marmalade, sending orders to Christophe to 
meet him there. There they might possibly be usefully em- 
ployed in cutting off access to the French army at Plaisauce, and 
at the same time supplying their own wants, while deliberating 
on what plan to carry on the struggle, under the new circum- 
stances, till August ; for, whatever treachery and defection 
might have to be encountered elsewhere, there was never a 
moment's doubt that Nature would prove a faithful ally, when 
lier appointed season came. 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
CONFLICTINS. 
" "What to do ! " said L'Ouverture to Christophe, as they entered 
his apartment at Le Dondon. " What to do ? Everything, this 
year and for the future, may depend on what we decide on for 
our next steAnd we must decide before we leave this room, 
say your thoughts, Henri." 
" I am for a truce." 
" I am for a retreat in the mountains. Now for our reasons ! 
Why do you desire a truce P " 
" Because I see that Leclero so earaestly wishes it, that I am 
confident we may make good terms, for the interval of waiting 
till we recover altogether our power, our territory, and our 
people. Leclerc wiU revoke our outlawry. That done, you will 
be the virtual ruler of our people till August ; after which no 
foes wiE be left upon onr soil. What have you to say against 
this?" 
  
  
" That it is yielding, unnecessarily and fatally, to the invaders. 
Where are our censures of Clerreaux and Manrepas, if we, too, 
yield to Leclerc, and make terms with him P " 
" Every one of our people will understand the difPerence in 
the cases. Every one of them sees the difference between falling' 
at the feet of Leclerc, like Olerveaux ; or joining him on the very 
field on which you were about to oppose him, like Maurepas ; 
and making a truce, for a short interval, when you are almost 
destitute of ammunition, and the enemy so exhausted with the 
heats as to decline coming into the field; while, at the same 
time, fresh trooare pouring in upon the coast, in such numbers 
as to prevent your regaining your independence by remaining in 
arms. If every man of the negroes has not wit enough to under- 
stand this for himself, who is better able than you to inform 
them of whatsoever yon desire them to know? Be assured, 
Toussaint, powerful as your influence is this day among om- 
people, it wiE be more so when you are no longer an outlaw. It 
is worth a large sacrifice of our feelings to have our outlawry 
revoked." 
" Have you more reasons to give for accepting a truce ; or, as 
the French understand it, a peace ? " 
" Let me first hear your reasons for a retreat in the moun- 
tains." 
" A retreat in the mountains is the more honest proceeding of 
the two, Henri. If we make terms with the French, it will be 
knowing that that which goes by the name of peace is no more 
than a truce till August." 
" And will not they know that as well as we ? Is it necessary 
to tell the whites, at this day, that they are liable to the fever 
in the heats, and that any army, however glorious in its strength 
previously, becomes a skeleton at that season ? This is a matter 
that is perfectly understood, by all the parties." 
" We must look forward, Henri, to the days to come, when 
August itself is past. The influence of myself or my successor 
win be injured by my having, even apparently, yielded to the 
invaders. My power over our people's minds will be immea- 
surably greater, if I shall have consistently refused to tolerate 
the foe, from the moment of their first hostile act to the end of 
the struggle. Am I not right ? " 
" That character of consistency wiU be purchased at a price too 
dear ;  at the cost of your characteristic of mercy, Toussaint  
of reverence for human life. Tou will be ranked with Dessalines, 
if you keep ufor four months, the disturbance and devastation 
of war, when every one knows that your end will be as certainly 
gained after these four months have been spent in peace. What 
a grief it would be to see you changed in all eyes from the adored 
L'Ouverture to Toussaint the bandit ! Pardon my freedom." 
  
A DISAGREEMENT. OS 
" I rpqnired it of yon, my friend; so do not speak of pardon. 
We are agreed that the moral influence of my conduct ia the 
main consideration, as the destruction of the French army is 
certain, sooner or later  our independence secure, if we so wiU 
it-. If we remain in the mountains, cutting off in detail the 
grasp which France shall attemto lay on any part of our 
territory or our system ; training our people, meantime, for another 
campaign, if France should attemanother; replenishing 
gradually our stores with perpetual small captures from the enemy, 
allowing them no asylum, discountenancing their presence, in 
every possible way  we shall be taking the shortest, and therefore 
the most mercifm method of convincing the French and the 
blacks at once that their empire here is at an end, and slavery 
henceforth impossible for the negroes of St. Domingo. But, if 
I make a peace or truce, how dim and perplexed will be the 
impression of my conduct ! I cannot hold ofBoe, civil or military, 
under the French. Henri, you would not have me do so ! " 
" Certainly not. Till August, retire to your estate, that every 
office in the colony may thereafter be in your hand." 
"If I co-operate with the French, even in the faintest 
appearance, my moral influence will be all on their side, and a second 
year of warfare wiU find us farther from peace or independence 
than the first. If I act, more or less, for the blacks, Leclerc will 
send me to France as a traitor. If I do nothing, neither party 
will believe in my doing nothing : each will suspect me of secret 
dealings with the other. It is also true that I cannot, if I would, 
be inoperative. Every glance of my eye, every word of my lips, 
in my own piazza at Pongaudin, would be made to bear its 
interpretation, and go to disturb the single and distinct image 
which I now stand before every eye and in every mind." 
" I do not agree with you," said Henri. " While the image 
of August is distinct in the minds of the St. Domingo people, it 
wUl keep your influence single and intelligible to them. As for 
what the French think, that is their own affair. They have the 
means of knowledge. Let them use them. There is one fact 
which no one can misunderstand, the while:  that after the 
defections under which you have suffered, and under your known 
want of military stores, an incursive war from the mountains 
appears ferocious  both revengeful and cruel when every one 
Imows that time will render it unnecessary." 
" These defections do not discourage me as they do you, Henri. 
FuU one third of my forces are faithful  are proved so by trial. 
These, with the goodness of our cause, are enough for my hopes  
almost for my desires. There is no ferocity, but rather mercy, 
in hastening on the day of our independence and peace, by using 
a force so respectable  so honoured, as this tried remnant of my 
army," 
T 
  
  
" Tou reckon fallaciously, Toussaint. You include my troo
in the force you speak of." 
" Henri ! " exclaimed L'Onverture, stopping in his walk up 
the apartment ; "it cannot be that yon will desert me. No, no ! 
forgive me that the words passed my li! " 
" Never will I desert you or our cause, Toussaint. Never will 
I intermit my enmity to our invaders ; never will I live for any 
other object than the liberties of our people. But the time may 
be come for us to pursue our common object by difPereut paths. 
I cannot go and play the bandit in the mountains." 
" Why did you not call me a bandit when I was at the 
Plateaux ? " 
" Because yon were then waging an honourable war. War, 
not peace, was then beckoning yon on to freedom. A state of 
voluntary outlawry, a practice of needless ravage, will make a 
different man of you. Say no more of it, Toussaint : I cannot 
be lieutenant to Do not make me utter the word." 
" Yon have always hitherto obeyed me, Henri." 
" I have ; and when we are in a state of war, I will obey you 
again. Do not class me with La Plume and Clerveaux  or, 
rather, do, if you will, and when August is past I will prove to 
you the difference." 
" Do not you see, Henri, that you not only cease to aid me at 
a great crisis but that you put a force upon me P " 
" I cannot help it ; I must do so, rather than go and be a 
butcher in the morues with Dessalines." 
" Say with me, too : caU me a butcher, too ! After the long 
years that you have known my heart, call me a butcher too." 
" Let us talk sense, Toussaint : this is no time for trifling. 
After August, I shall join you again  to fight, if it be necessary : 
but I hoit will not." 
" Not if heaven strengthens me to do my work without you, 
Christophe. After the fever, it is much for the sick to walk : 
we do not expect the dead to rise." 
"When I join you, after August," resumed Christophe, 
" whether for the labours of war or peace, you, and perhaeven 
Jacques, will wish that your hands were as clean from blood as 
mine. Your thought, Toussaint ! tell me your thought. 
" I was thinking that you will join us, Henri. Tou will 
labour till our great work is done. You may err ; and you may 
injure our cause by your error ; but you will never be seduced 
from the rectitude of your own intentions. That is what I was 
thinking. I would fain keep my judgment of you undisturbed 
by a grieving heart." 
"Tou are more than generous, Toussaint : you are just. I 
was neither. Pqrdon me. But I am unhapI am wretched 
  
DRIVEN TO A TRUCE.  
that yon are about to forfeit your greatness, when Oh, Tous- 
saint ! nothing should ever grieve- me again, if we could but 
agree to-day  if I could but see you retire, with your wonted 
magnanimity, to Pongaudin, there, with your wonted piety, to 
await the leadings from above. Where is your wonted faith, 
that you do not see them now, through the clouds that are 
about us ? " 
"  cannot but see them now," said Toussaint, sighing ; " and 
to see is to foUow. If you are wholly resolved to make a truce 
for yourseM and your division " 
" I am wholly resolved to do so.'' 
" Then you compel me to do the same. Without you, I have 
not force sufficient to maintain an effectual resistance." 
" Thank God ! then we shall see you again L'Ouverture, and 
no longer Toussaint, the outlaw. Tou will " 
" Hear me, Henri ! Tou put this constraint upon me. What 
are you prepared to do, if the French prove treacherous, after 
our peace is made P " 
" To drive them into the sea, to be sure. Tou do not suppose 
I shaU regard them as friends the more for making a truce with 
them ! We will keep our eyes upon them. We will preserve 
an understanding with the whole island, as to the vigilance which 
the blacks must exercise, day and night, over their invaders. 
The first treacherous thought in Leclerc's mind is a breach of 
the truce ; and dearly shall he rue it." 
" This is all well planned, Henri. If the cunning of Leclerc 
proves deeper than yours " 
" Say ours, Toussaint.'' 
" No. I have no part in this arrangement. I act under your 
compulsion, and under my own protest; as I require of yon, 
Henri, to remember. If we are not deep enough, vigilant 
enough, active enough, for Leclerc and his council  if he injures 
us before August, and Bonaparte ordains a second campaign 
after it, are you ready to endure the responsibility of whatever 
may bef aU ? " 
"lam." 
" Have you looked well forward into the future, and detected 
every mischief that may arise from our present temporising, 
and resolved that it was a less evil than losing the rest of this 
season, putting a compulsion upon your best friend, and 
fettering the deliverer of your people P " 
" I have so looked forward  -repudiating the charge of undu- 
tiful compulsion. I act for myself, and those under my com- 
mand." 
" Virtually compelling me to act with you, by reducing me 
from being the General of an army to be the leader of a troop ; 
and by exposing our cause to the peril  the greatest of all  of a 
T  
  
  
declared division between you and me. I yield, Christoplie ; but 
what I am going to do, I do under protest. Order in the French 
prisoners." 
" Tet one moment," said Henri. " Let me reason with yon 
a little further. Be satisfied of the goodness of the aet before 
you do it." 
" I do not need satisfaction on that. I do not quarrel with 
the terms we are to make. I do not protest against any of the 
provisions of the treaty. I protest against the necessity of 
treating. Summon the prisoners." 
" Can you," said Ohristophe, still delaying, " can yon improve 
upon the terms proposed ? Can the conditions be altered, so as 
to give more satisfaction to your superior foresight ? I would 
not use flattering terms at this moment, Toussaint ; you know I 
would not. But your sagacity is greater than mine, or any 
one's. I distrust myself about the terms of the treaty, I assure 
you." 
" About anything more than the mere terms of the treaty P " 
asked Toussaint, again stopping in his walk. 
" About the conditions  and about the conditions only." 
" Tour self-distrust is misplaced, and comes too late. Order 
the prisoners to be brought in." 
As Sabes and Martin entered, L'Ouverture and Ohristophe 
renewed, by a glance, their agreement to speak and act with the 
utmost apparent sameness of views and intentions. It was but 
a poor substitute for the real coincidence which had always 
hitherto existed ; but it was all that was now possible. 
"I am going to send you back to your Captain-General, 
gentlemen," said Toussaint. 
''Not without apology, I trust," said Sabes, "for having 
subjected to such treatment as we have undergone, messengers 
sent to parley  bearing actually the necessary credentials from 
the Captain-General. For nine weeks have my companion and 
I been dragged from place to place, wherever it suited your 
purposes to go, in perpetual fear for our lives." 
" I am sorry you have trembled for your lives, gentlemen," 
replied Toussaint. " It was an unnecessary suffering, as I gave 
you my word, on your capture, that your persons were safe. 
Considering that you were found crouching among the ferns, 
within hearing of my private conversation with my son respect- 
ing the affairs of the war, I think your complaints of your 
detention unreasonable; and I have no apology to make, on 
that ground, either to yourselves or your commander. I cannot 
hear another word of complaint, gentlemen. You know well 
that by any general in Euroyou would, under similar circum- 
stances, have been hanged as spies. Now to public business. 
I am about to send you to General Leclerc, with proposals from 
  
TERMS OF PEACE. O 
General Ohristophe and myself to bring this painful war to an 
end, according to the desire of the heads of both armies. We 
all know such to be the wish of the Captain-General." 
"No doubt. It was never his desire, nor that of any 
triie Frenchman," said Sabes, "to be at war on the soil of 
this colony. Ton alone, General Toussaint, are responsible 
for the loss of lives, and all the other miseries which it has 
occasioned." 
" How so ? Let him say on, Lieutenant Martin. No one 
suffers by speaking his thoughts to me, be they what they 
may. On what consideration is it possible to impute this war 
tome?" 
"It would never have broken out if you had not despised 
the authority, and thrown oH the control, of the mother- country. 
This view cannot be new to you. General Toussaint," continued 
Sabes, on seeing the look of amazement with which L'Ouverture 
turned to Christophe. 
'' Indeed it is," replied Toussaint. " The charge is as unex- 
pected as it is untrue. You, sir," he said, appealing to Lieu- 
tenant Martin, " are a naval officer. Tell me how you would 
act in such a case as this. Suppose you commanded a vessel of 
the state, authorised and approved in your office ? suppose 
another officer came  without notice, without your having 
heard a word of complaint  and leaped upon your deck, with 
a crew double the number of your own, striking down and 
fettering your men. If you resisted their violence in such a 
case, successfully or unsuccessfully, would you admit that you 
were the cause of the struggle  that you despised the govern- 
ment under which you held your command  that you threw off 
the control of your superiors ? " 
There was a pause. 
" Such is my case," said Toussaint ; " and thus you must 
represent it, if you be men of honour. The purport of my letter 
to the Captain-General (which wUl be ready by the time you 
are prepared for your journey), is to declare the willingness of 
General Christophe and myself to negotiate, as the continuation 
of the war, under the circumstances which have arisen, appears 
to be without object. The terms which we require, and which 
it is supposed General Leclerc will agree to, are an amnesty for 
aU who have ever fought, or otherwise acted, under our com- 
mand; and the preservation of the rank of aU black officers, 
civil and military. My friend Christophe and I wiU retire to 
our estates, to pray for the peace and welfare of the colony  
the peace and welfare which have, notwithstanding our prayers, 
been so unhappUy broken uGentlemen, there can be little 
doubt that the Captain- General will agree to these terms of 
pacification." 
  
IO  
"We cannot answer for his replies," said Martin. "Our 
representations shall be faithful." 
" I doubt it not," said Toussaint, " after experiencing your 
companion's courage and fidelity in rebuke ; for which, though 
he is mistaken in fact, I honour him. Nor can I doubt the 
readiness of the Oaptain-General to treat with us on the terms I 
shall propose ; for he must know that I shall always, among my 
native fastnesses, be strong to bum, ravage, and destroy. He 
must know, that though my negroes may be conquered, they will 
never more be subdued ; and that, entrenched in the momes, 
they can always effectually prevent an unfriendly settlement of 
the island. He must know that I am open to generous treat- 
ment ; but otherwise ready and able to sell deai-ly a life which 
has done our country some service." 
The French officers assented ; but waited, as if to hear some- 
thing more, besides Ohristophe's declaration, for his own part, 
of agreement in wha,t L'Ouverture had said. 
Sabes at length spoke, not without another cautionary sign 
from his companion. 
"Tour generous frankness, General Toussaint," said he, 
" induces me to remind you of one more duty which, in case of 
the desired pacification, yon tntU owe to the Captain-General. 
You wiU hold yourself indebted to France for all such treasure 
as, in an hour of alarm, you may have chosen to conceal." 
" What does this mean ? " said Toussaint. " General Chris- 
tophe, do you know of any public treasure being concealed iu 
any part of the island ? " 
" None," said Ohristophe, " public or private." 
" Nor do I. Ton hear, gentlemen." 
" Ton forget. General Toussaint, what we heard on the occa- 
sion of our capture." 
" Ton forget your own words to us," said Lieutenant Martin 
" that we had seen and heard too much for you to let us go." 
" I remember my words perfectly ; and that tlxey referred to 
my choice of a post in the momes, and a retreat for my family  
affairs long since made public enough. What else do you su
pose you saw and heard ? If I spoke of depositing my treasures 
in the momes, I was doubtless speaking of my household. Did 
you understand me to mean gold and silver? What was it that 
yon suppose you saw and heard p " 
" We saw new-made graves, and the tools that dug them, 
after having heard shots." 
" Ton are welcome to dig upon the Plateaux, and to take 
whatever treasure you may find. Ton will find only the bones 
of the brave who fell in attacking and defending the post." 
"Andof those who, being there, can tell no tales. Ton forget 
that we heard their death-shots before we saw their graves. 
  
The prince of dissemblers.    
The time is come for you to tell the secret that you buried with 
them." 
Ohristophe rarely laughed ; but he laughed now. 
" They beHeve," said he  " apparently they believe  that 
you hid treasure in the morne, and then shot and buried the 
servants employed." 
" We do," said the officers, gravely. 
" Were you really about to carry this story to the Captain- 
General P " asked Toussaiut, smiling. " Tell him that the wealth 
of the colony, sufficient for the desires of its iahabitants, is dis- 
persed through all its dwellings, to be enjoyed  not hidden by 
avarice, and sealed with blood." 
" We are too weU informed," said Sabes, " concerning the 
wealth and splendour of the colony to beheve that any part of 
its treasure has met our eyes that can be concealed. Duty to 
France now requires that she should be put in possession of the 
whole wealth of the island." 
" Let Prance ctdtivate an honourable peace," said Toussaint, 
" and her authorities will assuredly see the wealth of the colony 
spread over all its fields, and amassed in every harbour. We can 
then present an overflowing public treasury. That is all I have 
to offer : and it ought to be enough." 
Sabes did not press the point further, because he saw it would 
be useless. But he and his companion were more and more 
persuaded of the truth of their notion of what they had seen and 
heard, the more they recalled the tales told at the Court of Prance 
of the plate, the gems, the bullion and coin, and the personal 
ornaments which abounded, even in the prosperous days of the 
old emigrants. Every one knew, too, that the colony had been 
more prosperous than ever since. It is not known by whom the 
amount of the hidden treasure was, at length, fixed at thirty-two 
millions of francs. Sabes and Martin simply told their story and 
their ideas to Leclerc, adding the information that Toussaint 
L'Ouverture was an adein dissimulation ; that they had as 
nearly as possible been deprived of this piece of insight, by the 
apparent frankness and candour of his manners ; and that, but 
for the boldness of Sabes in pressing the affair of the buried trea- 
sure, they should actually have quitted the negro chief, after an 
occasional intercourse of nine weeks, without any knowledge of 
that power of dissimulation which had been formerly attributed 
to him by those who, it now appeared, knew him well, and which 
must be the guiding fact in all the Captain-General's dealings 
with him. His cunning must be met by all the cunning that 
Leclerc's united council could muster, or destruction would lurk 
under the pretended pacification. Accordingly, the whole of 
Leclerc's policy henceforth proceeded on the supposed fact of 
Toussaint L'Ouverture being the prince of dissemblers. 
  
 
CHAPTER XXXIV. 
RECEDING. 
LecLebc was eager to receiTe proposals of peace,  to owe a 
respite to dissimulation itself, rather than continue the war, under 
his present difficulties. It was weary work, keeping up a show 
before the eyes of the blacks, when, of the twelve thousand 
soldiers whom he had brought with him, five thousand had fallen 
in battle, and five thousand more were in the hospitals. Twenty 
thousand had arrived within a few weeks, from France ; and, of 
these, scarcely eleven thousand remained fit for service. Hap
indeed was Leclero to receive replies to his overtures of peace ; 
and anxious was he to testify every respect to the generals whom 
he had lately insulted and defied. He revoked their outlawry, 
commending them to the esteem and good offices of those to whom 
he had desired to deliver them as traitors. It is true, he trans- 
mitted to France magnificent accounts of the surrender of the 
blacks, of their abject supplications for their lives, and of the 
skill and prowess by which he had subdued the rebels, and 
restored the colony to France. But these boastings were not 
known in St. Domingo ; though the true state of the case was 
whispered in Paris, as regarded the mortality among the white 
troops, and the formidable influence still retained by the negro 
leaders. 
Leolerc invited Toussaint to visit him at Cap ; as well aware, 
doubtless, as Toussaint himself, that this open indication of amity 
was necessary to protect the army from the iU-will of the blacks, 
who would not believe, on any other authority than L'Onverture's 
own, that he had made peace with the invaders. 
It was a mournful, though showy demonstration, and all parties 
were glad when it was over. As L'Ouverture rode from Le 
Doudou to Cap Pranais, followed by a guard of three hundred 
and fifty horse, he was eeted by the inhabitants with the pro- 
foundest respect. Only in by-places, or from the depths of some 
wood, did a few voices sing, in negro language, tiie new song 
which was spreading over the island in praise of August,  ex- 
horting to patience and peace till August. As he entered the 
town of Cathe thunder of artillery reverberated from the 
heights around. Every fort along the coast, every vessel in the 
roads, fired its salute; and the inhabitants of eveiy colour 
issued from their houses, to pay honour to their adored 
L'Ouverture. 
Leclero stood ready to receive him, and to administer to hiro 
the oath of allegiance in the hall of Government House, the doors 
of which stood wide, and were carefuUy keso by Toussaint "s 
  
BEFORE LECLERC, I 
own guard, who would not, for a moment, let their commander 
be hidden from their sight. They formed in the Walk, and in 
the court of Government House, remaining in fighting order, 
with drawn sabres, during the whole of the interview between 
the late and the present Commander-in-chief. 
With an unaltered countenance, Toussaint took once more the 
oath of allegiance to Fiance ;  the oath which it had never been 
his desire to break. He smiled when he heard this simple act 
proclaimed by another roar of artUlery, such as might have 
greeted a victory. Leclerc frowned ; for it was not followed, as 
he had hoped, by acclamations. The echoes died away into 
deep silence. 
It was an awkward moment. Leclerc hoped that Toussaint 
would lead the conversation. But Toussaint was deep in thought. 
Gazing on the anxious and sickly face of the Captain-General, he 
was grieving at heart that he, and so many thousands more who 
might have lived long and useful lives at home, should be laid 
low, in the course of a bad enterprise against the liberties of the 
natives. The mournful gaze of his mild eyes confused the 
Captain-General, so that he said the first thing that occurred, in 
order to break the silence. He observed that he understood there 
was some business yet standing over for settlement between the 
parties who had so happUy met at last. He had no doubt that 
General Toussaint would see clearly that in his allegiance to 
France was involved the duty of accounting to the government 
for the wealth of the island, whether open to estimate or con- 
cealed in the momes, or elsewhere. 
" I have heard something of this before,'' said Toussaint, " and 
am as ignorant as yourself of any buried treasure. In this island, 
Nature is so perpetually bountiful, that we have not the tempta- 
tion which we are told exists elsewhere, to amass wealth against 
a time of dearth. I have no treasure." 
" If so, how could you have proposed to remain out of the 
bounds of the law, as you did till lately P Nature is not bountiful 
on the mountain-peaks, which must then have been your abode. 
At least, Nature does not there bring forth arms and ammuni- 
tion. Without treasure, with which to purchase supplies, how 
woxdd you have obtained arms and ammunition ? " 
" I should have taken yours." 
Leclerc saw that even his own followers were more disposed 
to applaud than resent these words ; and he, therefore, changed 
the topic. 
" It is fortunate, then, for all parties," said he, " that future 
struggles are avoided. We are friends. Let it go abroad through 
the whole island that we are friends." 
Toussaint made no reply. Leclerc continued  
" You, General, and youi' troops, will be employed and treated 
  
  
like the rest of my army. "With regard to yourself, you desire 
repose."  Looking round, he repeated the words emphatically. 
" You desire repose : and you deserve it. After a man has sus- 
tained for several years the government of St. Domingo, I 
apprehend he needs repose. I leave you at liberty to retire to 
which of your estates you please. I rely so much on the attach- 
ment you bear the colony of St. Domingo, as to believe you wiU 
employ what moments of leisure you may have during your 
retreat, in communicating to me your ideas respecting the means 
proper to be taken to cause agriculture and commerce again to 
flourish. Respecting your forces, and those of General Christophe, 
I hold full information. As soon as a list and statement of the 
troounder General Dessalines are transmitted to me, I will 
communicate my instructions as to the positions they are to take." 
" I wiU send a messenger from my guard to General Dessalines, 
this day," said Toussaiut. " I shall be passing near his post, on 
my way to my house at Pongaudin; and he shall have your 
message." 
" This day ? " said Leclerc, in a tone of some constraint. 
" Will you not spend this day with us ? " 
" I cannot," replied Toussaint. " I must be gone to my 
home." 
As soon as it was believed that he was fairly out of hearing, 
the acts of the morning were proclaimed throughout Cap !Franais 
as the PARDON of Generals Toussaint and Christophe. This pro- 
clamation was afterwards published, by Leclerc's orders, in the 
Gazette d/u, Gawhere it was read by Toussaint in his study at 
Pongaudin. 
" See ! " said he, pointing out the paragrato Pascal, with a 
smile. " This is the way of men with each other. See the 
complacency with which one man pardons another for the most 
necessary, or the best deed of his life ! " 
During a halt on the road to Pongaudin, Isaac and Aimee 
appeared. Aimee was tearful, but her face was happy. So were 
her words. 
" Oh, father ! " she said, " who could have hoped, after what 
has happened, that all would so soon be well ! " 
" I am rejoiced to see you happy, my children." 
" And you, father, you are hap? Honoured as you are  
the colony at peace  all parties friends no more divisions  
no more struggles in families ! Father, answer me. Is it not 
allweU?" 
" No, my child." 
" Are you unhappy, fatlier ? " 
"Yes, my child." 
"I am quite disappointed, quite grieved," said Aimee, draw- 
ing back from his arms, to look in his face. 
  
ISAAC AND AIMEE.  
" Vincent gave us a glorious account on Tortuga," said Isaac, 
" of the welcome you had at CaWe thought '' 
" I did not see Vincent at Cap." 
" He was not there ; but he Imew all " 
" But, father," said Aimde, " you wiU see General Yincent. 
You will see him at Pongaudin. Now that you have done as he 
did  now that you are friends with the French, as he is, you will 
see him, father ? " 
" I have never done as Vincent did, Aime ; and my friendship 
with the French is what it ever was. If Vincent comes as your 
husband, I will see him as such. As a friend, I cannot. Is he 
your husband, my love ? " 
" No." 
" He is to be your husband P " 
" If you would see him. If he were your friend. He urges 
me, father ; and Madame Leclerc and Isaac urge me ; but I 
cannot marry him yet. Father, you do not know how much my 
heart is with you and my mother." 
" Are you happy, Aimee ? " 
" Madame Leclerc is very kind ; and Vincent's love is every- 
thing that ought to make me happy, but " 
"Will you go home with me, my child ? " 
" How glad I should be, if only yon loved Vincent ! " 
" I cannot, Aimee. -Would that I could ! " 
" Then, when I have married him, you will see him as my 
husband P I cannot marry till my heart is more at ease  till I 
see everybody as friendly as Vincent said they were. But when 
we are married we wUl come to Pongaudin. May we P " 
" Come, my dear, when you will. Your parents' home and 
hearts will always be open to you. Meantime, write often to us, 
Aimee." 
"Oh, yes! I will. I will write very often; and you will 
answer. I have heard perpetually of my mother, and of poor 
Genifrede. But where is Placide ? I thought we should have 
met him. Was not he at Cap ? " 
" At Cap ! No, indeed ! He was too heart-broken to be at 
Cap to-day." 
" I wish I could understand it all ! " said Aime, sadly. " I 
am sure there are many things that I do not know or compre- 
hend. I thought all had been right now; and yet you and 
Placide are unhappy. I cannot understand it all." 
" Time will explain, my child. There will come a day when 
aU doubts will be cleared uand all woes at an end  when the 
wicked will cease from troubling, love, and the weary be at rest." 
" Must you be going, father, already ? Oh ! I wish " 
And she looked at Isaac, as if purposing to go to Pongaudin. 
Isaac, had, however, promised Madame Leclerc to return by an 
  
l  
appointed hour. There could be no difficulty, he said, in going 
to Pongandin any day : but to-day he had promised that they 
would both return to Madame Leclerc. Aimee, therefore, bade 
her father farewell for the present  only for a very little while. 
He must tell her mother that they should certainly meet very 
soon. 
In the piazza, at Pongaudin, Toussaint found Christophe. 
" I wish," said Christophe, " you would send to Dessalines 
not only the Captain-General's message, but your own request 
that he will yield." 
" I cannot, Henri." 
" But he may spoil all by holding out." 
" I have done what I can in yielding myself. I can do no 
more." 
" Tou approve our act ? Surely you do not repent of wliat 
you have done P " 
" I cannot repent of what I could not avoid. But enough of 
business for to-day, my friend. Where is Madame Christophe ? 
Where are your children P Bring them here ; and let us enjoy 
leisure and friendship once more, while we can." 
" We wUl. But, Toussaint, if you could only say that you 
are satisfied that we have done what is best, it would relieve me 
much." 
"  cannot, Henri. But, be assured, I fully acquiesce. One 
has not always the comfort of being able to acquiesce." 
" Can you say, then, that you forgive me, in as far as you 
think me wrong P " 
" Can you doubt it ? " replied Toussaint, turning upon him a 
countenance full of frank affection. " Are you not a friend of 
many years P " 
" God forgive me if I have misled you, Toussaiut ! " 
CHAPTER XXXV. 
STJSPBlfSE. 
Nattteb wrought with the blacks this season for the fulfilment 
of their hopes, and the defence of their precarious liberties. 
Never, within the remembrance of the young people at Pon- 
gaudin, had the heat set in so early, and the month of May been 
so sickly in the towns. To the eyes of such as G&ifrede, who 
were ever on the watch for signs, it might almost seem that they 
saw Pestilence floating, on her poison-droppiug wings, beneath 
the clouds which sailed from all quarters of the sky to the 
  
WATCHED.  
moimfain peaks ; clouds muttering in thunder, and startling the 
intruders with terrific lightnings, from night to night. The 
reports of feyer having broken out here and there among the 
invaders became more and more frequent. At first, those who 
were watching the times the most intently concluded that, early 
as the season was, " the wish " must be " father to the thought," 
and believed little of what they heard. But before Toussaint 
had been ten days at Pongaudin, it was certain that disease was 
raging to such an extent among the French trooat Cathat 
the Captain- General had retired to Tortuga, to join his lady, and 
others of the expedition who were the most carefully guarded. 
The garrison at St. Mare was thinning, Th&ese sent word ; and 
the country people conveyed to Pongaudin the news that funerals 
were becoming daily more frequent at Limbe, Le Dauphin, and 
other posts along the northern shore. 
Not for this, however, was there any relaxation of the vigilance 
with which L'Ouverture was watched by the foe. His mode 
of life was simple, and open to the observation of any who 
chose to look on. He improved his gardens ; he read much ; he 
interested himself in Denis's studies; he rode out daily, and 
conversed everywhere with the people by the wayside. He 
wrote many letters, sometimes with his own hand, and sometimes 
employing that of his friend, M. Pascal, who, with his wife, 
resided with the Ouvertures. Toussaint also received mmy 
letters, and a perpetual succession of visitors  of applicants 
about matters of business, as it seemed. The only mystery was, 
how all his despatches were sent to their destination. This was 
a mystery which grew out of the French practice of intercepting 
his correspondence. Accidents had happened to so many of his 
letters during the first week, that he presently learned the 
necessity of some plan for securing the privacy of his corre- 
spondence : and some plan he did devise, which quite succeeded ; 
as appeared from the French General having recourse to a new 
mode of surveillance  that of setting spies on the person and 
movements of the black chief. 
Toussaint's family were alarmed at finding his stetracked, 
and his repose watched. They heard incessantly of his path 
being crossed in his rides ; and they knew that many of the 
trifling messages which were brought, at aU hours of the day and 
night, to be delivered into L'Onverture's own ear, were mere 
devices to learn whether he was' at home. They saw that their 
grounds were never private ; and felt that eyes watched them 
from the outer darkness when their saloon was lighted for their 
evening employments and amusements. Toussaint smiled at 
the alarms of his family, admitting the fact of this incessant 
espionriage, but asking what harm it did, and pointing out that 
it was only an inconvenience oi a few weeks' duration. He 
  
l  
would not hear of any strengtliening of his guard. To increase 
his guard would be to encourage and authorise the suspicious 
which he was now daily weakening. He had nothing to conceal; 
and the sooner the invaders satisfied themselves of this, the 
better for all parties. 
In answer to Madame L'OuTcrture's frequent speculations as 
to what Leclerc could fix his suspicions on, Toussaint said he 
was probably supposed to be in communication with Dessalines. 
He thought so from his never approaching the momes, in his 
rides, without finding French soldiers overlooking his proceedings 
from every point of the hiUs. He was not in communication 
with Dessalines. He did not know, and he wished not to know 
even where he was  whether with the Bellairs, or training his 
soldiers elsewhere for further warfare. Dessalines had never 
submitted ; and while this was the case, it was obviously prudent 
for those who had made terVns to know nothing of any plans of 
his to which they might wish success. Therfese wotdd not com- 
promise the Ouvertures by living with them, in the present state 
of affairs. She remained quietly on her husband's estate, near 
St. Marc, only corresponding frequently with her friends at 
Pongaudin, in letters which all the world might see. 
The chief subject of this correspondence was the fever-hospitals 
preparing at St. Marc, as at all the other towns on the coast, for 
the reception of the sick whites. Whatever might be Therse's 
feelings towards the whites, her compassion towards sick persons 
of every colour was stronger. Her gentle nature asserted itself 
whenever weakness and suffering appealed to it ; and this season 
she began to inspire that affection in her neighbours  to establish 
that character for devoted charity, which afterwards made her 
the idol of the people. If her husband had been with her, he 
would probably have forbidden her to save the lives of any of 
that race whom he desired to exterminate. But though she could 
perhahave taken away life, with her ovni hand, on the battle- 
field, with the cry of liberty in her ear, she could form no com- 
pact with such an ally as pestilence. In the season of truce and 
retreat, in the absence of the sounds and sights of conflict, she 
became all the woman  the gentle spirit  to whom the colony 
from this time looked uas sent to temper her husband's 
ferocity, and wisely to direct his strengthening passions. She 
who was so soon after "the Good Empress," was now the Sister 
of Charity, actually forgetting former wrongs in present compas- 
sion for the helpless ; and ministering to the sick without thought 
whether, on recovery, they would be friends or foes. It was 
matter of speculation to many besides the Ouvertm-es, whether 
the invaders omitted the opportunity of making a hostage of her, 
because their sick needed her services, or because they were 
grateful for her ofBces, or because they knew Dessalines well 
  
NURSING THE WHITES.  IQ 
enough to be aware that, so far from such an act bringing him to 
submission, it would exasperate his ferocity, and draw down new 
sufferings and danger upon the discouraged whites. 
One evening, the household of the Ouvertures were where it 
was now their wont to be at sunset  under the trees, on a 
grassy sloof the gardens, fronting the west. There they 
usually sat at this hour, to see the sun sink into the ocean ; the 
darkness following almost as quickly as if that great fire were 
indeed quenched in the waters. On this occasion, the sun was 
still half-an-hour above the horizon, when Madame Dessalines 
appeared, in her riding-dress, and, as she said, in haste. She 
spoke apart with Madame L'Ouverture and Toussaiut ; and 
presently called Genifrede to the conference. 
Therese had of late wanted help at St. Marc  help in direct- 
ing the nursing of the sick. Now she must have it. M. Papalier 
was iU  verj' ill. The people of the house where he lived insisted 
upon sending him into the hospital this very night, if good 
attendance were not provided for him ; and now 
Th&rSse did not yet seem quite clear why this event had 
determined the moment of her application for Genifrede's assist- 
ance. She was agitated. She could only say that Genifrede 
had nursed Dessalines well ; and she must have her help again 
now. 
"Tou wOl go, Genifrede," said her father; "that Madame 
Dessalines may be at liberty to nurse M. Papalier herself." 
"No, no," said Therese, trembling. Genifrede also said 
"No." 
" Tou would not have me nurse him V said Therese. "Any 
one else ! Ask me to save Rochambeau. Send me to Tortuga, 
to raise Leclerc from the brink of the grave ; but do not expect 
me to be his nurse again." 
" I do hoit from you. I expect it of you, when you have 
considered the tenfold mercy of nursing hitn with your own 
hands. Think of the opportunity you will give him of retrieving 
wrongs, if he lives, and of easing his soul, if he dies. How 
many of us would desire, above all things, to have those whom 
we have injured beside our dying pillow, to make friends of 
them at last? Let M. Papalier die grateful to you, if he 
must die; and give him a new heart towards you, if he sur. 
vivos." 
" It was not this that I intended," said Therese. " Genifrede 
will do everything, under my care. Tou shall have my hel
Genifrfede." 
" No," said Genifrede. " Do not play the tempter with me. 
Find some one else. Tou will have much to answer for, if you 
make me go." 
" What temptation, Genifrede ? " asked hey moth?r. 
  
  
" Do not press her," said Toussaint, who read his child's mind. 
" You shall not be urged, GenirMe." 
" Tou do not know  I myseM do not know," said GInifrede, 
hurriedly, to Madame Dessalines, " what might happen what I 
might be tempted to do. Tou know  you have read what some 
nurses did in the plague at Milan  in the plague in London  in 
the night  with wet cloths " 
" Do not speak of it. Stay here, Genifrede. I can do without 
you." 
" If," continued Genifrede, " they could do that for money  
if the tempter moved their hands to that deed with whispers of 
money, with the sight of mere rings and watches, what might 
not a wretched creature do, at such a time, with revenge mut- 
tering for ever in her heart ! My ear is weary of it here ; and 
there  cannot go." 
" No, you cannot," said Therese.'' 
" Christ strengthen you, my child," said Toussaint, " as The- 
rese is strengthening ! She can already serve those whom she 
and you once hated alike : and she is about to save her foe of 
foes." 
" No, you will not save M. Papalier," said Genifrede. 
" L'Ouverture is a prophet, as all men are in proportion as 
they are Christians," said Therese. "If he says I shall save my 
enemy, I believe I shall." 
" Tou will, at least, try. If you are going, go ;  the sun is 
setting," said Toussaint. " What escort have you ? " 
" Old Dessalines and another, I want no more." 
" Old Dessalines ! " said Toussaint, smiling ; " then he must 
have wine. I must see him." 
" He is here," said Therese, calling him. 
The old man was, indeed, lingering near, preferring the chance 
of a word from L'Ouverture even to supper and wine within. 
He was ready enough to tell his story :  that he lived as butler 
at General Dessalines' ; and, that though master and servant 
had changed places, he liked the new times better than the old. 
He was treated with more respect now, by everybody, than when 
he was a negro tradesman, even though he then had a slave of 
his own. The place of butler suited him too. General Dessalines 
and his lady drank only water ; and they left him to manage 
the wine-cellar just as he liked ; exceat the present time, 
when a dreadful quantity of wine was wanted for the conva- 
lescents. It frightened him to think how soon the cellar might 
be emptied, if they went on at this rate. Old Dessalines was 
glad he had come to Pongaudin to-day. He had not only seen 
L'Ouverture, but had heard from L'Ouverture's own lithat 
General Dessalines' cellars shoidd never be quite empty while 
there was wine at Pongaudin. 
  
CHRISTIANITY.    
When Toussaint resumed his seat under the tree, where the 
Pascals, Euphrosyne, Placide, and Denis remained (the rest 
having gone into the house with Therese), he found Denis dis- 
cussing with M. Pascal the principle and policy of nursing the 
sick who were hereafter to be mown down on the battle-field. 
Denis had been reminded that this was a time of peace, and that 
he was not authorised to anticipate more battle-fields : and his 
reply had shown that he had no faith in this peace, but looked 
forward, like others of his colour, to August and its consequences. 
He was not contradicted here ; and he went on to ask whether 
the Crusaders (his favourite warriors) nursed the wounded and 
sick heathens whom they found on their road, and in the cities 
they took. 
" They were no Christians if they did not," said Euphrosyne. 
" It was a savage age," observed Placide. 
" Still they were the representatives of the Christianity of 
their day," said Afra ; " and Christianity requires us to do good 
to those who use us ill." 
" The Crusaders," said Toussaint, " lived in the early days of 
that Christianity which is to endure as long as the race of man. 
Like others, they did their part in acting out one of its prin- 
ciples. That one was not love of enemies,  which yet remains 
for us." 
" I agree with you," said Pascal. " There are many ways of 
warring for the Cross. Theirs was one ; ours is another." 
" You always speak as if you were a black, M. Pascal," said 
Denis. 
'' I would fain be a negro in heart and temper, Denis, if what 
your father thinks of the vocation of negroes be true." 
" But about those ways of warring for the Cross ! " inquired 
Afra. 
"I mean, and L'Ouverture, I think, means," said Pascal, 
" that nothing can immediately alter the nature of men ; that 
the glorious Gospel itself is made to change the face of the world 
gradually; all the more surely, because slowly and naturally. 
This seed of life was cast upon the flood of human passions, and 
the harvest must not be looked for till after many days. Mean- 
time it sprouts out, now here, now there, proving that it is alive 
and growing ; but the harvest is not yet." 
" We find one trace of the Gospel here, and another there," 
said Toussaint ; " but a Christian nation, or race, or class of 
people, who has seen ? " 
"Not in the earliest days ? " asked Euphrosyne. " Were not 
the first confessors and martyrs a Christian class ?'' 
"They were so according to their intention, to their own 
idea," said Toussaint. " They were votaries of the one Christian 
principle most needed in their time. The noble men, the 
U 
  
  
courageous women, who stood, calm and resolved, in the midst 
of the amphitheatre, with the heathen altar behind them, the 
hungry tiger before them, and a careless or scoffing multitude 
ranged aU around  these were strong witnesses to the great 
principle of Faith  noble proofs of the power of Hving and 
dying for things unseen. This was their function. It was for 
others to show forth the humility and modesty in which, as a 
class, they failed." 
" The anchorites," said Pascal, " each in his cave, solitary, 
abstemious, showed forth in its strength the principle of Devo- 
tion, leaving Charity unthought of." 
" And then the nun," said Toussaint 
" What possible grace of religion did the nun exhibit ? " asked 
Euphrosyne. 
" The original nun, Euphrosyne, was inspired with the rever- 
ence of Purity. In an age of licence, those who were devoted to 
spiritual things were the salt of the earth. But in their worship 
of purity they outraged human love." 
" The friar," said Pascal, " was a perpetual emblem of Un- 
worldliness. He forced upon the admiration of a self-seeking 
world the peace of poverty, the repose of soul which is troubled 
with no thought for the morrow. But for other teachers, how- 
ever, industry would have been despised  the great law of toil 
would have remained unrecognised." 
" The Crusaders worked nard enough,'' said Denis. "Thou- 
sands and thousands of them died of their toils, besides the slain." 
" They were the apostles of Zeal," said M. Pascal. " For the 
honour of the Gospel they suffered and died. They overlooked 
all that it teaches of toleration and universal love ;  of peace on 
earth and good-wiU to men." 
" None of these Christians," said Afra, " appear to have had 
much concern for men. They seemed to have lived for God and 
the faith, without love or care for those for whose sake God gave 
the faith." 
" Just so," said her husband. " That part of our religion had 
not yet come into action. The first step taken towards this 
action was one which united with it the former devotion to God. 
The organisation of the great Church of Christ united, in the 
intentions of those who formed it, care for the glory of God and 
the salvation of men. It was a great step." 
" But still," said Euphrosyne, " there was not the Charity, 
the living for the good of men; soul and body, which was what 
Christ taught and practised." 
" That, Euphrosyne, was a later fruit ; but it is ripening now. 
We have more Sisters of Charity than contemplative nuns, at 
this time. There are hospitals in every Christian land for the 
sick and the aged. It is remembered now, too, that Christ had 
  
A NBW CHARITY.  
compassion on the blind, and the deaf, and the insane : and 
charity to these is now the Christianity of a multitude." 
" And what is their defect P " asked Denis. " What essential 
do they overlook, as the anchorite and the crusader oTerlooked 
this same charity P " 
" It may be liberality  regard to the Christian liberty of 
others ;  it may be " 
" Let us not look too closely into their failures," said Tous- 
saint. " Let us not judge our brethren. These are too near our 
own time for us to be just judges. We see their charity the 
brightest light yet in the constellation of Christian principles; 
let us be thankful that our eyes hare seen it. It is brightening 
too ; so that day telleth to-day of its increase, and night is witness 
of it unto night. It is now not only the sick and infirm in body 
that are cared for ; but I am told there has been a man in Eng- 
land who has taken such pity on those who are sick and deformed 
in soul as to have explored the most loathsome of European 
prisons in their behalf. There has been a Briton who pitied the 
guilty above all other sufferers, and devoted to them his time, 
his fortune, his all. He will have followers, till Christendom 
itself follows him ; and he wiU thus haTe carried forward the 
Gospel one steThe charity which grieves more for the defor- 
mity of the Bom than the evils of the body is so far higher a 
charity, that it may almost be called a new principle." 
" What remains p " asked Euphrosyne. 
" Do you see anything further to be done, father P " inquired 
Denis. 
With a mournful smile, Toussaint replied that mankind had 
advanced but a little way yet. The world was very far from 
being Christianised. 
" In practice," said Euphrosyne. " But, supposing us all 
to fulfil what has been exemplified from the earliest days till 
now, do you suppose that many principles remain to be acted 
upon P " 
" No doubt. If I saw none, I should believe, from aU expe- 
rience, that revelations (or rather verifications of what Christ 
revealed) will succeed each other as long as men exist. But, 
from the beginning tUl now, individuals here and there have 
lived by the principles which classes and nations have overlooked. 
By a solitary ray shining here and there, we may foretell some- 
thing of the new lights about to rise upon the world. There 
wiU be more privileged classes, Euphrosyne ; and, Denis, these 
privileges are lying within our grasp." 
" A new charity, father ? " 
" A new charity, my boy. To solace the sick and infirm is 
good. To tend the diseased soul is better. But there is a higher 
charity stiU," 
  
  
" To do good to those who hate us," said M. Pascal ; " in 
doing good, to conquer not only our love of ease and onr fear of 
pain, but our prejudices, our just resentments, our remembrance 
of injuries, our disgust at oppression, our contemof pride  to 
forget or conquer Sil these through the love of men as men, is, in- 
deed, a higher charity than any wmch classes have yet illustrated." 
" The negroes are the race that will illustrate it," said Tous- 
Baint, with calm confidence. " The Gospel is for the whole world. 
It sprang up among the Jews ; the white Gentiles hold it now ; 
and the negroes are destined to fulfil their share. They are to 
illustrate its highest Charity. For tokens, mark their meek and 
kindly natures, the softness and the constancy of their afEections, 
and (whenever tried) their placability. Thus prepared, liberty 
is about to be opened to them in a region of civilisation. When 
God has given them the strength of the free, it wiU exalt their 
meekness and their love into that highest charity of which we 
have spoken. I myseK am old ; and though I shall do what I 
can on this side the grave, I cannot see the great day, excein 
faith. But my children may witness at least its dawn." 
" In those days, wars wiu cease," said Euphrosyne, recalling 
the thoughts she had revolved on the day of the death of Moyse : 
"there will be no bloodshed, no violence  no punishment of 
injuries to others, while your people forgive their own." 
" So will it be, I trust," said Toussaint. 
" Why not, then, begin now ? Why not act upon your whole 
principle at once P " 
" Because the nature of the negro has been maimed. He has 
been made selfish, cowardly, and indolent. He must be educated 
back into a fair condition ; and this necessary education circum- 
stances Lave imposed. We are compelled to the self-denial, 
toil, and danger of warfare, in order to obtain the liberty which 
ia to carry lis forward. I once hoped otherwise, Euphrosyne ; 
but I now see the bracing process of defensive warfare to be 
inevitable, and, on the whole, good for my people. Their liber- 
ties, thus hardly won, will be prized, so as to shut out the future 
danger of war. If, however, one stroke is inflicted for other 
purposes than defence  if one life is taken for vengeance, we 
shall be set back, long and far, in our career. It shall not be, 
under my rule. Alas ! for those who succeed me, if they permit 
it ! It will not ouly make the first black empire a by-word 
throughout the worldjbut it will render the Christian civilisation 
of my people difficult and slow." 
Toussaint spoke like a ruler; and he was virtually still a 
sovereign, as he had been for years past. Nor were the tokens 
of sovereignty altogether wanting. At this moment, as was 
continually happening, despatches arrived, on affairs of great 
importance, on which be must think and act. 
  
THE SICK-BED.  
" See what these French commanders are doing," said he, 
handing his letters to M. Pascal, " at the very moment that they 
disclaim all intention of enslaving the negroes ! What are they 
doing yonder but recommencing slaveiy ? It must not be. Are 
you disposed for business ? " 
" This moment," said M. Pascal, springing up before he had 
finished tlie letters. " Will you provide a messenger ? Slavery 
is restored ; and there is not a moment to be lost." 
As in old days, lights were ordered into the library; and the 
royal-souled negro dictated his commands to his friendly secre- 
tary, who smiled, at such an hour, at the thought of the exulta- 
tion of the French court over the "surrender" and "submission" 
of the blacks. 
CHAPTER XXXTI. 
DBPARTUKE WITHOUT KETINrB. 
" Stand where you are, Therese ; there, at the foot of the bed ! 
Stir not an inch without my leave ? I have let you have your 
own way too much of late. I call for hours, and you never 
come. I will not let you out of my sight again ? " 
So said M. Papalier in the delirium of his fever, as Madame 
Dessalines was nursing him in his chamber at St. Marc. It was 
a sad and dreary office ; but she had motive to go through with 
it. The more he wandered back in his talk to the old days, the 
more strongly she felt herself called upon to use the present 
generously. The more imperious the tone of command with 
which he addressed her, the more easily could she pass over 
the error. There was a degree of pleasure in giving momentary 
ease to him, while he could not recognise the hand that bestowed 
it. She dreaded, however, for the sake of both, an hour of 
sanity. If he slefor a short interval, she feared to hear him 
speak coherently on his waking ; and the more because little or 
no chance of his recovery remained. The thought of his carry- 
ing forward into the hour of death the insolent temper of his life 
was terrible. She almost hoped that, if he were to die, it would 
be without having been aware that he and his nurse were no 
longer master and slave. 
She was his sole nurse. There was no alternative between 
this and her not being with him at all. It was impossible to 
allow any servant, any stranger, to hear his talk of old times  
to witness the mode in which he addressed her. Excethe 
physician, no one but herself entered his chamber during his 
waking hours. 
  
  
She now sat. as lie desired, full in his view, at the foot of the 
bed, encouraging repose by her stillness, and gladly turning 
from the ghastly countenance of the dying man to the scene 
without  visible in all its splendour, as the room had a north 
aspect, and the window stood wide, to admit the breathing wind 
from the sea. The deep blue sea, under the heaven of a lighter 
blue, looked glorious from the shaded apartment. The rustle of 
the trees in the court-yard, and the fall of water there, spoke of 
coolness, and seemed to make themselves heard by the patient 
even in the midst of the fever-flames by which he was consumed, 
for he spoke of trees and fountains, and fancied himseK at 
Arable. He asked Therese to sing ; and told her what to sing. 
She did not wish to refuse ; she would have indulged him ; but 
there was a choking in her throat which forbade it. Papaher 
was not long peremptoiy. From commanding, his voice sank 
to complaining ; from complaining, to the muttering of troubled 
slumber ; and, at length, into the silence of slee
Therese sat still, as before, looking out upon the sea, till its 
brightness, combined with the whispers of foliage and waters, 
made her eyes heavy, and disposed her to sleep too. Leaning 
back against the bed-post, she was dreaming . that she was 
awake, when she heard her name so called that she awoke with 
a start. Papalier was himself again, and was demanding where 
he was, and what had been the matter. He felt the blister on 
his head ; he complained of the soreness and stifEuess of his 
mouth and tongue; he tried to raise himself, and could not; 
and, on the full discovery of his. state, he welike a child. 
Gently, but not tenderly, did Therese endeavour to comfort 
him. He had irrecoverably forfeited her tenderness. Gentle, 
however, she was, as she told him that his state now, however 
painful, was better than an hour ago, when he was unconscious 
of it. Gentle was her hand, when she wrapped fresh, cool leaves 
round his burning head. Gentle was her voice, when she per- 
suaded him to drink. Gentle was the expression of her eye, 
when she fixed its gaze upon his face, and by its influence 
caused him to check, like a child, the sobs that shook his frame. 
"Thdrese," said he, "I am dying. I feel that I am dying. 
Oh ! what must I do ? " 
" We must wait upon God's pleasure. Let us wait in quiet. 
Is there anything that can give you quiet of mind or body ? " 
Tears stole again from the heavy, closing eyes. 
'' We are all familiar with the end of our lives, almost from 
their beginning," said Th&ese. " There is nothing strange or 
surprising in it. The great thing is to throw ofE any burden  
any anxiety  and then to be still. An easy mind is the great 
thing, whether recovery is at hand, or " 
" Do not talk of recovery. I shall not recover." 
  
PAPALIER CONFUSED.  
" Can I do anything  listen to anything  so as to give you 
ease P Shall I call father Gabriel ? You may find comfort in 
speaking to him." 
"I want to speak to you first. I have not half done the 
business I came for : I have not half secured my estates for my 
daughters." 
"I believe yon have. I know' that L'Ouverture fully 
intends " 
" What does it matter what L'Ouverture intends ? I mean 
no contemto him by saying so. He intends very well, I dare 
say ; but in the scramble and confusion that are at hand, what 
chance will my poor orphan girls have for their rights ? " 
" Fear nothing for them. If there is to be a struggle, there 
is no doubt whatever as to how it will end. The French army 
will be expelled " 
" Ton do not say so ! Tou cannot think so ! " 
" I am certain of it. But the white proprietors will be as safe 
in person and property, as welcome to L'Ouverture, as during 
the years of his full authority. Tou were not here to see it ; 
but the white proprietors were very happy, perfectly satisfied, 
during those years (at least, all of them who were reasonable 
men). I can undertake for L'Ouverture that your daughters' 
income from their estates shall be sent to them at Paris, if you 
desire them to stay there ; or the estates shall be sold for their 
benefit ; or, if yon wiU trust them to my care " 
" No, no ! Impossible ! " 
" I am the wife of a general, and second to uo woman in the 
island," said Therese, calmly. " I have power to protect your 
daughters ; and, in an hour like this, you cannot doubt my sin- 
cerity when I say that I have the will." 
" It cannot be, Therese. I do not doubt you  neither your 
word nor your will. But it is impossible, utterly." 
" Is there strength, even in the hour of death, to trample on 
the dark race ? Oh ! better far to trample on the prejudices of 
race ! Will you not do this ? " 
'' Tou talk absurdly, Therese. Do not trouble me with non- 
sense now. Tou wiU Tuidertake, you say, that Toussaiut shall 
secure to my daughters the estates I have left to them by will. 
That is, in case of the blacks getting the upper hand. If they 
are put down, my will secures everything. HappUy, my will is 
in safe hands. Speak, Therese. Tou engage for what I have 
just said P " 
"As far as warranted by my knowledge of L'Ouverture and 
his intentions, I do. If, through his death or adversity, this 
resource should fail, your daughters shaU. not suffer while my 
husband and I have property." 
" Tour husband ! property ! It is strange,'' muttered Papalier, 
  
  
" I believe you, however, I trust you, TherSse ; and I thank you, 
love." 
Th&ese started at that old word  that old name. Eecover- 
ing herself, she inquired  
" Have you more to ask of me ? Is there any other service I 
can render you ? " 
"No, no. Ton have done too much for me  too much, con- 
sidering the new order of affairs." 
" I have something to ask of you. I require an answer to one 
question." 
" T'ou require ! " 
" I do. By the right of an outraged mother, I require to 
know who destroyed my chUd." 
" Say nothing of that, Therese. Tou should know betterthan 
to bring such subjects before a dying man." 
" Such subjects lie before the dead. Better to meet them 
prepared  atoned for, in as far as atonement is yet possible. 
For your own sake, and by my own right, I require to be told 
who destroyed my child P " 
"I did not, Therese." 
" Tou did not ! Is it possible ? Yet in this hour you could 
not deceive me. I have accused you of the deed, from that hour 
to this. Is it possible that I have wronged youV " 
" I do not say that I disapproved of it  that I did not allow 
it. But I did not do it." 
" Then you know who did it ? " 
" Of course I do." 
" Who was it ? " 
" I swore long ago that I would not tell ; and I never will. 
But you may lay the blame on me, my dear ; for, as I told you, 
I permitted the deed. It was necessary. Our lives depended 
on it." 
" May you not find your eternal death depend on it ! " said 
Thferese, agonised by suspicions as to whose hand it was by 
which her child had died. In a moment, she formed a resolve 
which she never broke  never again to seek to know that 
which Papalier- now refused to tefl. A glance at the counte- 
nance before her filled her with remorse the next instant, at 
what now seemed the cruel words she had just spoken. 
" Let me bring Father Gabriel to you," said she. " He will 
give you whatever comfort God permits." 
" Do not suppose I shall tell Father Gabriel what you want to 
discover," replied Papalier. " He has no business with more 
than my share of the affair : which is what you know already. 
i am too weak to talk  to Father Gabriel, or any one else." 
" But you need comfort. Tou will rest better afterwards." 
" Well, well ; in the evening, perhaps. I must be quiet now 
  
DEATH.  
Comfort, indeed ! " he muttered. " Tes, I want comfort enougli, 
in the horrid condition I am in. But there is no comfort till 
one lies dead. I wish I were dead." 
He fell into a restless doze. Moved by Ms misery and melted 
by the thought that she had wronged him, all these years, by 
harbouring the image of his hand on her infant's throat- 
distracted, too, by the new doubts that had arisen  Therese 
prayed and wept, weand prayed, on behalf of Papalier and 
all sinners. Again and again she implored that these wretched 
hatreds, these miserable strifes, might be all hushed iu the grave, 
might be whoUy dissolved in death. 
She was just stealing to the door, intending to send for Father 
Gabriel, that he might be in readiness for the dying man's con- 
fession, when Papalier started, cast his eyes round the room 
hurriedly, and exclaimed  
" It is in vain to talk of attaching them. If one's eye is ofE 
them for one moment Oh ! you are there, Therese ! I thought, 
after all I had done for you  after all I had spent upon you  
I thought you would not go off with the rest. Don't go 
Therese Therese ! " 
" I am here," said she, perceiving that he no longer saw. 
" I know you would stay," he said, very faintly. "I cannot 
spare you, my dear." 
The last words he said were  
" I cannot spare you  remember  Therese ! " 
To the pang of the thought that he had died unconfessed 
succeeded the question, more painful still  
"Could religious offices avaU anything to a soul wholly un- 
sanctified ? Is there a promise that any power can put such a 
spirit into immediate congeniality with the temper of Heaven ? 
Among the many mansions, is there one which would not be a 
prison to such ?  to the proud one who must there feel himself 
' poor and miserable, and blind and naked P ' " 
CHAPTER XXXVII. 
JUNE. 
Of the letters written by Toussaint and Pascal on the evening 
when news arrived of the imposition of compulsory labour on the 
negroes, some reached their destination ; but one did not. That 
one was to L'Ouverture's aide, Fontaine, at Cap Pranais. It 
contained the following :  
" It is said that General Leclerc is in a bad state of health at 
  
 THE HOUR AND THE- MAN. 
Tortuga. Of this you will inform me. If you see the Captain- 
General, be sure to tell him that the cultivators are uo longer 
disposed to obey me, for the planters wish to set them to work 
at Herioourt ; which they certainly ought not to do. 
" I have to ask you whether any one near the person of the 
Oaptain-General can be gained to procure the release of D , 
who would be very useful to me from his influence at La Nou- 
velle, and elsewhere. 
" Acquaint Gingembre that he is not to quit the Borgne, 
where the cultivators must not be set to work." 
This letter never reached Fontaine, but was, instead, mada 
the subject of a consultation in the Oaptain-Gneral's quarters. 
Amidst the boastings which he sent home, and by which Prance 
was amused, Leclerc felt that his thirty-five thousand soldiers 
had made uo progress whatever in the real conquest of St. 
Domingo. He was aware that Prance had less power there than 
before she had alienated L'Ouverture. He felt that Toussaint 
was stm the sovereign that he had been for ten years past. He 
knew that a glance of the eye, a lifting of the hand, from Tous- 
saint, wrought more than sheaves of ordinances from himseU', 
and all the commendations and flatteries of the First Consul. 
Leclerc, and the officers in his confidence, could never take a 
morning ride, or give an evening party  they could never hear 
a negro singing, or amuse themselves with children, playing on 
the shore or in the woods, without being reminded that ther 
were intruders, and that the native and abundant loyalty of the 
inhabitants was all for their L'Ouverture, now that France had 
put him in opposition to herseK. Leclerc and his confidential 
advisers committed the error of attributing aU this to Tous- 
saint's personal qualities; and they drew the false inference 
(most acceptable to the First Consul) that if Toussaint were 
out of the way, all would be well for the purposes of Prance. 
Having never seriously regarded the blacks as free men and 
fellow-citizens, these Frenchmen omitted to perceive that a 
great part of their devotion to Toussaint was loyalty to their 
race. Proceeding on this mistake, Leclerc and his council, 
sanctioned by the First Consul, ruined their work, lost their 
object, and brought irretrievable disgrace upon their names  
some of which are immortalised only by the infamy of the act 
which ensued. 
From day to day, they endeavoured to entrap Toussaint ; but 
he knew it, surrounded as he was by faithful and vigant friends. 
Day by day he was warned of an ambush hero, of spies there, or 
of an attemmeditated for such an horn-. During a fortnight of 
incessant designs upon his person, he so bafiBled all attempts 
as to induce a sort of suspicion among the French soldiery that 
he was protected by magic. 
  
IN PERIL.  
It was an anxious season for Ms family. Their only comfort 
was that it would soon bo over ; that this, like all other evils 
connected with the invasion, was to last only ' till August ; " 
the familiar words which were the talisman of hothi'oughout 
the island. The household at Pongaudin counted the days till 
August ; but it was yet only the beginning of June ; and the 
season passed heavily away. On one occasion, a faithful ser- 
vant of Toussaint's was brought in dead  shot from a thicket 
which his master was expected to pass. On another, the road 
home was believed to be beset ; and all the messengers sent by 
the family to warn him of his danger were detained on some 
frivolous pretext ; and the household were at length relieved by 
his appearing from the garden, having returned in a boat pro- 
vided by some of his scouts. Now and then, some one mentioned 
retiring to the mountains ; but Tonssaint would not hear of it. 
He said it would be considered a breach of the treaty, and 
would forfeit all the advantages to be expected from a few 
weeks' patience. The French were, he knew, daily more en- 
feebled and distracted by sickness. Caution and patience, for 
two months more, would probably secure freedom without blood- 
shed. He had foreseen that the present perils would arise from 
the truce ; and still believed that it had better not have been 
made. But, as he had agreed to it, the first breach should not 
be on his part. 
If Toiissaint owed his danger to Ohristophe, he owed him the 
protection by which he had thus far been preserved. "Worn as 
he was by perpetual labour and anxiety, Henri seemed never 
to close his eyes in sleep during this anxious season. He felt 
to the full his responsibility, from the hour of the first discovery 
of Fi-ench treachery towards his friend. By day, he was scour- 
ing the country in the direction of Toussaint's rides. By night, 
he was patrolling round the estate. It seemed as if his eye 
pierced the deepest shades of the woods ; as if his ear caught up 
whispers from the council-chamber in Tortuga. For Henri's 
sake, Toussaint ran no risks but such as duty absolutely re- 
quired ; for Henri's sake, he freely accepted these toils on his 
behalf. He knew it to be essential to Henri's future peace that 
his personal safety should be preserved through this season, and 
that Henri himself should be his chief guardian. 
Henri himself did not ask him to give up his rides. It was 
necessary that his people should have almost daily proof that 
he was among them, safe and free. It was necessary that the 
French should discern no symptom of fear, of shrinking, of de- 
parture from the mode of life he had pi'oposed on retiring to his 
estate. Almost daily, therefore, he rode ; and exhilarating did 
he find the rapid exercise, the danger, and, above aU, the know- 
ledge he gained of the condition of his people, in fortunes and 
  
  
in mind, and the confidence with which they hailed him, the 
constancy with which they appealed to his authority, wherever 
he appeared. 
This knowledge enabled him to keep up more than the show 
of co-operation with the French in matters which concerned the 
welfare of the people. He pointed out gross abuses ; and Leclerc 
hastened to remedy them. Leclerc consulted him occasionally 
in local afEairs, and had his best advice. This kind of corre- 
spondence, useful and innocent, could not have been carried on 
to equal purpose but for Toussaint's rides. 
By such excursions he verified a cause of complaint, concern- 
ing which he had received applications at home. In dispersing 
his trooover the colony, Leclerc had taken care to quarter a 
very large proportion in the districts near Gonaives, so as to 
enclose the residence of Toussaint with the best of the French 
forces. The canton of Henneri was overcharged with these 
troo; so that the inhabitants were oppressed, and the soldiers 
themselves suffered from scarcity of food, and from the fever 
which raged in their crowded quarters. Having ascertained this 
to be the fact, Toussaint wrote to represent the case to Leclerc, 
and received a speedy and favourable reply. By Leclerc's com- 
mand. General Brunet wrote that this was an affair which came 
within his department ; that he was necessarily ignorant of the 
localities of St. Domingo, and of their respective resources ; and 
that he should be thankful for information and guidance from 
one who had a perfect knowledge of these circumstances. He 
proposed that General Toussaint should meet him in the centre 
of the canton of Henneri, and instruct him concerning tha better 
distribution of the troops. 
" See these whites ! " said Toussaint, handing the letter to 
M. Pascal. " Till they find they are wrong, they have no mis- 
givings ; they know everything ; and they are obliged at last to 
come, and learn of old Toussaint." 
" Tou will not meet General Brunet, as he proposes," said M. 
Pascal. " Tou will not place yourseK in the centre of the canton, 
among their troo? " 
" No, no i you will not ! You will not think of going ! " cried 
Madame L'Ouverture. 
" For once, Margot, you bear ill-will towards those who com- 
pliment your husband," said Toussaint, smiling. " But be easy; 
I shall not go to the canton of Henneri. If I walk into a 
pitfall, it shall not be after having seen it made. I must meet 
General Brunet, however. I shall invite him here with an escort 
of twenty soldiers ; promising to limit my own guard to that 
number." 
" He will not come," said M. Pascal. 
" I think he will ; not because they trust me, for they know 
  
A CONSULTATION.  
not what trust is ; but because I could gain nothing by any 
injury to General Brunet and twenty soldiers that could com- 
pensate for a breach of the treaty." 
" The gain, from capture or violence, would be all the other 
way, certainly," said Pascal, in a low voice. 
" Henri will take care that General Brunet's is bond fide an 
escort of twenty. There is reason for the meeting taking place 
here. Mawill be wanted, and other assistance which we might 
not remember to provide elsewhere. General Bi-unet must be 
my guest ; and Madame L'Ouverture wUl make him admire our 
hospitality." 
General Brunet immediately accepted the invitation, pro- 
mising to present himself at Pongaudin on the tenth of June. 
CHAPTER XXXVni. 
Geneeai Beunet brought with him no more than his allotted 
twenty soldiers, and a secretary. Ohristophe ascertained to his 
own satisfaction, and let the household know, that not another 
French soldier breathed within a circuit of some miles, when the 
evening closed in ; so that the ladies threw ofE constraint and 
fear together as the two generals, with their secretaries, retired 
to the library, after coffee. 
Placide hsid been with Ohristophe all day, and was thermeans 
by which the household had been assured of the tranquUlity of 
the neighbourhood. He was of the patrol which was to watch 
the roads during the night. It seemed improbable, however, that, 
of all nights, that should be chosen for an assault when the 
Ouvertures must be particularly roused to observation, and when 
a French general was in their hands. Of all nights, this was 
probably the safest ; yet Placide, glad, perhaps, of an excuse to 
keep out of the way of a guest from Paris, chose to mount guard 
with Ohristophe. 
Denis was permitted to be in the library, as the business was 
not private, and, to one who knew the country as well as he did, 
very entertaining. For a time he found it so, while all the five 
were stooping over the maps, and his father was explaining the 
nature of the localities, and the interests of the inhabitants, and 
while words dropped from General Brunet which gave an insight 
into that object of Denis's strong curiosity  the French encam
ment on Tortuga. When all of this kind had been said, and 
the cpjivprsation turned upon points of military science or 
  
 - . 
management, -whioli he did not care about, Denis drew off to the 
window, and thence into the balcony, where he looked ont upon the 
night  vainly, for it was cloudy, and there was yet no moon. The 
air was cool and pleasant, however, and he remained leaning over 
the balcony, revolving what he had heard, and picturing to 
himself the little court of Madame Leclerc  so near, and yet 
Gilt of his reach. "While thus absorbed, it is probable that some 
distant voice of song instigated him to sing also. Like his race 
generally, Denis was almost always singing ; always when alone 
and meditative. It is probable that some notes of the air sung 
by those who looked to August for freedom  sung by the whole 
negro population  now caught his ear ; for he began, hardly to 
sing, but to murmur this popular air. The words were not heard 
withiu ; and it would not have mattered if they had been ; for 
the words were in the negro language. But the air was, by this 
time, intelligible enough to the invaders. In the interest of 
conversation, nothing escaped the eye of Toussaint. He saw an 
exchange of glances between General Brunet and his secretary, 
and a half smile on the face of each which he did not like. 
He thought it best to take no notice ; but, far from leaving 
ofP, Denis sang louder as he sank deeper into reverie. M. Pascal 
became aware of some embarrassment, and of its cause. 
" Denis, you disturb us," he called out from the table. 
They heard no more of Denis ; and their business proceeded. 
Vexed, partly with himself, and partly at having been rebuked 
in General Brunet's hearing, he went round the house by the 
balcony, and thence to the upper gallery, which commanded the 
finest sea view in the day-time, and the freshest sea breezes at 
night. There, in a somewhat perverse mood, he sang for his 
own pleasure the air which he had been checked for singing 
unconsciously. He remained there a long while  he did not 
know how long  tiU the moon rose, when he remembered that it 
must be midnight. As no one had called him, he supposed that 
the party in the library were still in consultation. 
As his eye rested on the bay, while he was considering whether 
he must not go in, he perceived something dark lying on tlie 
waters between the isaid and the shore. As he strained his 
sight, and as the waned moon rose higher, he discovered that it 
was a shiIt was strange. No ship ever had business there; 
though he had heard that there was a deep channel, and good 
anchorage in that little bay. It was very strange. But some- 
thing stranger still soon met his ear  sounds, first odd, then 
paindEul  horrible. There was some bustle below  on the beach, 
within the little gate  he thought even on the lawn. It was a 
scufiBe ; there was a stifled cry. He feared the guard were dis- 
armed and gagged  attacked on the side of the sea, where no one 
dreamed of an assault, and where there was no Christophe to 
  
ARRESTED.  
helDenis knew, lioweyer, how to reach Christophe. He did 
the right thing. Lest his purpose should be prevented if he 
entered the house, he clambered up the roof to its ridge, and 
swung the heavy alarm-bell. Its irregular clang banished sleep 
in a moment from a circuit of many miles. It not only startled 
the ladies of the family from their beds ; but every fisherman 
rushed from his hut upon the shore. Christophe and Placide 
were galloping to Pongaudin almost before they had drawn a 
breath. Every beast stirred in its lair ; and every bird rustled 
in its roost. .Rapid, however, as was the spread of sound, it was 
too late to save L'Ouverture. 
L'Ouverture himself had but a few moments of uncertainty 
to endure. In the midst of earnest conversation, suspicious 
sounds were heard. The two Frenchmen rushed to the door of 
the library, and M. Pascal to the balcony. M. Pascal re-entered 
in an instant, saying  
" The house is surrounded  the lawn is crowded. Make no 
resistance, and they may spare your life." 
" Hark ! The bell ! There is hope," said Toussaint. " No 
resistance ! but let us gain time." 
The door was burst open, and with General Brunet entered a 
personage whom he introduced as Admiral Ferrari, followed by 
a file of grenadiers. 
" What can be your errand at this hour ? " asked Toussaint. 
"I have orders from the Captain-General to arrest you," 
replied Admiral Ferrari. "Tour guards are disarmed and 
bound. Our ti'ooare everywhere. Ton are dead if you 
resist. Deliver up your sword!" 
" I shall not resist such a force as you have thought it neces- 
sary to bring against me," replied Toussaint, handing his sword 
to the admiral. "Am I to be a prisoner here, in my own 
house P " 
" No, indeed ! I have orders to convey you and your family 
to Cap Frangais. No delay ! To the boats this moment ! Tou 
will find your family on board the frigate, or on the way to it." 
" Do what you wiU with me ; but Madame L'Ouverture is iu 
weak health. Suffer her and my children to remain at home." 
"Lose no more time. General. March! orwe must carry you." 
Voices of lamentation and of passion were heard in the cor- 
ridor, which quickened L'Ouverture's movements more than 
threats or insults could have done. He left the library, and 
found the ladies of the household in the corridor  Margot 
weeping and trembling, and Genifrede addressing M. Coasson 
in a tone of high anger. 
" Ton here ! M. Coasson ! " said Toussaint ; " and availing 
yourself once more of the weakness and woes of women, I 
perceive." 
  
  
" I came as guide," replied M. Ooasson. " The admiral and 
his trooneeded some one to show them the way; and, as you 
are aware, I was qualified to do so. I have always felt, too, 
that I had a sort of appointment to fulfil with this young lady. 
Her kind expressions towards the whites on my last visit might 
be considered a sort of invitation to come again  with such a 
train as you see," pointing to the stiff row of grenadiers who 
stood beluud. 
Genifrede groaned. 
" Make yourself hapwith your train," said Toussaint, as 
he seized the wretch by the collar, hurled him back among the 
grenadiers, and kicked him over as he lay, introducing great 
disorder into the formal arrangements of that dignified 
guard. 
This would have been the last moment of Toussaint, if 
General Brunet had not drawn his sword, and commanded 
every one to stand back. His orders, he said, were to deliver 
his prisoner alive. 
" Come, my love," said Toussaint to Madame L'Ouvertnre. 
" We are to sleep on board a frigate this night. Come, Geni- 
frede ! We may sleep in peace. General Brunet wiU hardly 
be able to digest your hospitality, my Margot; but yov, may 
sleeWho else ? " he asked, as he looked round upon his 
trembling household. 
" We are following," said M. Pascal, who had his wife and 
Euphrosyne on either arm. 
" Pardon me," said General Brunet. " Our orders extend 
only to General Toussaint and his family. Tou must remain. 
Reverend father," he said to Father Laxabon, " you will remain 
also  to comfort any friends of General Toussaint whom you 
may be able to meet with to-morrow. They will be all incon- 
solable, no doubt." 
M. Ooasson whispered to the admiral, who said, in conse- 
quence, bowing to Euphrosyne  
" I can answer for this young lady being a welcome guest to 
Madame Leolerc. If she will afford to a countryman the pleasure 
and honour of conveying her, it will give him joy to introduce 
her to a society worthy of her." 
"I do not wish to see Madame Leclerc," said Euphrosyne, 
speaking with surprising calmness, though her cheek was white 
as ashes. " I wish to be wherever I may best testify my attach, 
ment to these my honoured friends, in the day of their unde- 
served adversity." 
She looked from M. Pascal to L'Onverture. 
" Stay with those who can be your guardians," said Toussaint. 
" For our sakes," added Genifrede. 
" Stay with us ! " cried M. Pascal and Af ra. 
  
" THE COUNTRY IS UP." / 
" Farewell, then," said Eupkrosyne, extending her arms to 
Madame L'Ouverture. 
'' We are losing time," said General Brunet, as the clang of 
the alarm-bell was heard again. By his order, some soldiers 
went in search of the traitor who was ringing the hell; and 
others pushed the captive family before them towards the door. 
M. Ooasson thrust himself between the parting friends, and 
began to count the family, in order to tell who was missing. It 
would not do, he observed, to leave any behind. 
" Lose no more time," said the admiral. " Those who may 
be left behind are cared for, I promise you. We have a hundred 
of them safe already." 
" A hundred of whom ? " asked Toussaint, as he walked. 
" Of your friends," replied Admiral Ferrari. 
This was too true. A hundred of Toussaint's most attached 
adherents had been seized this night. No one of them was ever 
again heard of in the island. 
At the door of the mansion Denis was brought forward, 
guarded. His eyes were flashing fire. 
" The country is up ! " he cried. " I got good service out of 
the old bell before they found me." 
" Right, my boy ! Thank you !" said his father, cheerfully. 
" Give Genifrede to me, father. My mother is ready to sink." 
Proudly he supported his sister to the boats, carrying her 
on so rapidly as to prevent the need of any soldier speaking to 
her. 
There was an array of boats along the shore of the bay. Dis- 
tant firing was heard during the whole time that the prisoners 
and the troowere embarking. 
" They must be very much afraid of us,'' observed Denis, 
looking round, as soon as he had taken his place beside his sister 
in the boat. " They have given us above a hundred guards, 
I believe." 
"They are afraid of us," said Toussaint. 
"There is terrible fighting somewhere," murmured the wee
ing Margot. " I am afraid Placide is in the midst of it." 
" He is in his duty if he be," said Toussaint. 
Placide had discharged this kind of duty, however, and now 
appeared to fulfil the other  of sharing the captivity of his 
parents. He leaped into the boat, breathless, after it had pushed 
ofE from the shore. 
" In time, thank God ! " gasped he. 
" He can hardly speak ! " exclaimed his mother. " He is wet ! 
He is wounded  cruelly wounded ! " 
" Not wounded at all, mother. Whole in heart and skin ! 
I am soaked in the blood of our enemies. We have fought glc- 
riously  in vain, however, for to-night. Latortue is shot ; and 
T 
  
 THB . 
Jasmin. There are few left but Christophe ; but he is fighting 
like a lion." 
" "Why did you leave him, my son .P " asked Toussaint. 
" He desired me to come, again and again, and I fought on. 
At last I was cut ofE from him. I could not give any more help 
there; and I saw that my business lay here. They say this 
frigate is the Creole. Whither bound, I wonder ? " 
" To Cap Franais," replied the officer in the stern : " to join 
the HSros, now in the roads there." 
"The Heros  a seTenty-four, I think," said L'Onverture. 
"A seventy-four  you are correct," replied the ofeer. No 
one spoke again. 
CHAPTER XXXIX. 
TEXrCE NO MOBE. 
When Toussaint set foot on the deck of the Heros, on the 
evening of the next day, the commander stood ready to receive 
him  and not only the commander. Soldiers also stood ready 
with chains, with which they lost no time in fettering the old 
man's ankles and wrist-s. While they were doing this, Tons- 
saint qmietly said to the commander  
" By my overthrow, the trunk of the tree of negro liberty is 
laid low ; only the trunk. It will shoot out again from the 
roots ; and they are many and deep." 
The moment the soldiers stepped back, and allowed access to 
him, Aimee was in his arms ; and Isaac, in great agitation, pre- 
sented himself. 
" I will never leave you more, father ! " said he. " These 
fetters ! Nothing should have made me believe such treatment 
possible. I trusted Leclerc as firmly as I trusted you. I have 
been living with him while he meditated chains for you. I am 
humbled for ever ! All I can do now is to devote myself to 
you, as Placide did at the right time. Would I were Placide ! 
I am humbled for ever ! " 
" No, my son: not for ever. It is a common lot to be humbled 
for the credulous canfidence of youth. It is a safer and a 
nobler error, Isaac, than its opposite. It is better than unbelief 
in the virtue of man." 
" Tou torture me with your goodness, father ! " 
" I deal with you as with myself, Isaac. In the young days 
of my freedom I trusted falsely, as you have done. I believed 
  
HUMBLED.  
in Bonaparte, as yon have believed in Leelere. "We have both 
received a lesson ; but I do not feel humbled for ever; nor must 
you." 
" "Would I were Placide ! " was all that Isaac could say. 
" Tou are so good to Isaac and me," said Aimee, timidly, 
"that perhayou would (could you P) see Yincent." 
" No, my child. Vincent is not like Isaac. He cannot be 
made wise by experience ; and his folly is scarcely to be distin- 
guished from treachery. I cannot see General Vincent." 
No choice was allowed, however. Vincent rushed forward, 
knelt before Toussaint, and clasped his knees, imploring, in a 
convulsion of grief, pardon for the past, and permission to devote 
every hour of his future life to the family whom he had 
ruined. 
" My pardon you have," said L'Ouverture. " I should rather 
say my compassion; for you never deHberately designed 
treachery, I am persuaded." 
" I never did ! I never did ! " 
" Neither had yon any good design. Tou have been selfish, 
vain, and presumptuous; as far from comprehending my pur- 
poses as from having criminal ones of your own. In the new 
circumstances in which negroes are placed, many must fall, 
however firmly some may stand. Tou are among the infirm ; 
and therefore, however I may mourn, I do not resent what you 
have done." 
" Thank God ! Tou pardon me ! Thank God ! Henceforth, 
with Aimee to watch over me  with you to guide me " 
" No, Vincent ! Tou cannot be with me. Aimee is free as 
she has ever been ; but you cannot be with me. I go to mar- 
tyrdom : to fulfil what appears to be the solemn vocation of the 
Ouvertures. I go to martyrdom ; and none but steady souls 
must travel that way with me." 
" Tou scorn me," said Vincent, springing from his knees. 
" Tour acts show that you scorn me. Ton take that poor fellow," 
pointing to Mars Plaisir, " and you reject me." 
" My son's servant," said Toussaint, smiling. " He goes to 
his beloved France, free to quit us for any other service, when 
ours becomes too grave for his light spirit. I would not insult 
you by taking you on a like condition. Tou must leave us, 
Vincent," pointing to the Creoles boat, now about to put off 
from the Seros. " We wiU pray for you. Farewell ! " 
" Aimee ! " said her lover, scarcely daring to raise his eyes 
to her face. 
" Farewell, Vincent ! " Aime strove to say. 
In vain Vincent endeavoured to plead. Aimee shook 
her head, signed to him to go, and hid her face on her 
father's shoulder. It was too much. Humbled to the point 
T  
  
 '  
of exasperation, Vincent threw himself over the ship's side iato 
the boat, and never more saw the face of an Onverture. 
" I have nothing left hut you," sobbed Aimee  " but you and 
my mother. If they kiU you my mother will die, and I shall 
be desolate." 
" Tour brothers, my child." 
" No, no. I have tried all. I left you to try. I loved you 
always ; but I thought I loved others more. But " 
" But," said her father, when she could not proceed, " you 
found the lot of woman. To woman the affections are all : to 
men, even to brothers, they are not. Courage, Aimee ! Courage ! 
for you are an Ouvertnre. Courage to meet your woman's 
martyrdom ! " 
" Let me rest upon your heart, father ; and I can bear any- 
thing." 
"Would I could, my child! But they will not allow it 
these jailors. They will part us.'' 
" I wish these chains could bind me too  these very links  
that I might never leave you," cried Aime, kissing the fetters 
which bound her father's arms. 
" Tour mother's heart, Aimee ; that remains." 
" I wiU keep it from breaking, father, trust me." 
And the mother and daughter tasted something like happiness, 
even in an hour like this, in their re-union. It was a strange 
kind of comfort to Aimee to hear from her mother how long ago 
her father had foreseen, at Pongaudin, that the day might come 
when her heart would be torn between her lover and her family. 
The impending blow had been struck  the struggle had taken 
place : and it only remained now to endure it. 
" Father ! " said Genifrede, appealing to Toussaint, with a 
grave countenance, "you say that none but brave and steady 
soials must go with you on your way to martyrdom. Tou know 
me to be cowardly as a slave, and unstable as yonder boat now 
tossing on the waves. Do you see that boat, father ? " 
" Surely  yes ; it is Paul ; " said Toussaint, looking through 
his glass. " Paul is coming to say farewell." 
" Let me return with him, father. Let me become his child. 
I am unworthy to be yours. And he and I are so forlorn ! " 
Her father's tender gaze encouraged her to say more. Draw- 
ing closer, she whispered  
"I have seen Moyse  I have seen him more than once in the 
Morne ; and I caimot leave this place. Let me stay." 
" Stay, my child. Seek consolation in your own way. We 
will aU pray for you ; we will all console your mother for your 
absence. We shall not meet again on earth, Genifrede." 
" I know it, father. But the time of rest  how long it is in 
coming ! " 
  
THR CONCEALED TREASURE.   
" My child, our rest is in the soiil  it lies not either in place 
or time. Do not look for it in the grave, unless you have it fii-st 
in the soul." 
" Then would I had never been bom ! " 
" How different will be your cry when you have been a 
daughter to Paul for a while ! When you see him consoled, and 
reposing upon your care, you will say, ' I thank God that I have 
lived for this ! ' A geat duty lies before you, my dear child ; 
and in the heart of duty lies rest  a deeper than that of the 
grave. Shall I give you a duty to discharge for me ? " 
" Oh, yes ! I will take it as your blessing." 
" Convey to Christophe my last message. Bid him rejoice for 
mo that my work is done. My work is now his. Bid him 
remember how we always agreed that freedom is safe. I bequeath 
the charge of it to him, with my blessing." 
" He shall know this, if he lives, before the moon rises." 
"If he does not live, let Dessalines hear what was my 
message to Christophe. He will know how miich to take to 
hiraseli." 
It was well that this message was given without further delay. 
Toussaint was summoned to speak with some officers of Leclerc's 
council, in the cabin below. At the clank of his chains upon 
the deck all eyes were upon him, excethose of his ovfn family, 
which were turned away in grief. 
" Before your departure," said one of the officers, in the small 
cabin to which Toussaint was conducted, " we would urge you 
to do a service to the colony which yet remains in your power. 
Ton must not refuse this last service." 
" I have never refused to serve the colony ; and I am as willing 
to-day as ever." 
" JCfo doubt. Reveal to us, then, the spot in the Momes du 
Chaos, in which your treasures lie buried, and state their 
amount." 
" I have before said that I have buried no treasures. Do you 
disbelieve my word ? " 
" We are sorry to do so ; but facts are against you. Tou 
cannot deceive us. We know that you caused certain of your 
dependents to bury treasure near the Plateaux de la Ravine ; 
and that you afterwards shot these servants, to secure your 
secret." 
"Is it possible?" 
" Tou see we have penetrated your counsels. The time for 
concealment is past. Tou take your family with you ; and none 
of you will ever return. Tour friends are, most of them, disposed 
of. A new order of things has commenced. Tou boast of your 
patriotism. Show it now by giving up the treasure of the colony 
to the uses of the colony." 
  
  
" I have already devoted my all to tlie colony. I reply once 
more that I leave behind me no treasure but that wHoh jou 
cannot appreciate  the grateful hearts of my people." 
The investigation was pressed  the inquiry made, under every 
form of appeal that could be devised ; and in vain. Toussaint 
disdained to repeat his reply; and he spoke no more. The 
officers left him with threats on their lips. The door was locked 
and barred behind them, and Toussaint found himself a solitary 
prisoner. 
During the night the vessel got under weigh. What at that 
hour were the secrets which lay hid in the mountain-passes, the 
forest-shades, and the sad homes of the island whose true ruler 
was now borne away from its shores ? 
Pongaudin was already deserted. Monsieur and Madame 
Pascal had, by great activity, obtained a passage for France in 
the ship which was freighted with Leclerc's boastings of his 
crowning feat. They were already far on the sea before the 
Ileros spread its sails. Leclerc's announcement of Toussaint's 
overthrow was as follows :  
" I intercepted letters which he had written to one Fontaiue, 
who was his agent at Cap Prangais. These afEorded an un- 
answerable proof that he was engaged in a conspiracy, and that 
he was anxious to regain his former influence in the colony. He 
waited only for the result of disease among the troops. 
"Under these circumstances, it would be improper to give 
him time to mature his criminal designs. I ordered him to be 
apprehended  a difficult task; but it succeeded through the 
excellent arrangements made by General Brunet, who was en- 
trusted with its execution, and the zeal and ardour of Admiral 
Perrari. 
"I am sending to Prance, with all his family, this deeply 
perfidious man, who, by his consummate hypocrisy has done us 
so much mischief. The government will determine how it should 
dispose of him. 
" The apprehension of General Toussaint occasions some dis- 
turbances. Two leaders of the insurgents are already in custody, 
and I have ordered them to be shot. About a hundred of his 
confidential partisans have been secured, of whom some are on 
board the Muiron frigate, which is under orders for the Mediter- 
ranean ; and the rest are distributed among the different shiof 
the squadron. 
" I am daily occupied in settling the affairs of the colony, with 
the least possible inconvenience : but the excessive heat, and the 
diseases which attack us, render it an extremely painful task. 
I am impatient for the approach of the month of September, 
when the season will renovate our activity. 
  
euphhusynb's cases.  
" The departure of Toussaint has produced general joy at Cap 
Francais. 
" The Oonmdssary of Justice, Mont Peson, is dead. The 
Colonial Prefect, Benezeoh, is breathing his last. The Adjutant- 
Commandant, Dampier, is dead: he was a young officer of great 
promise. 
" I have the honour, &c. 
(Signed) " Leclebc." 
On board the vessel which carried these tidings was Pascal, 
prepared to give a different version of the late transactions, and 
revolving, with Afra, the means by which he might best employ 
such influence as he had on behalf of his friend. Theirs was a 
nearly hopeless errand, they well knew; but the less hopeful, 
the more anxious were they to do what they could. 
Was Euphrosyne with them?  "So. She never forgot the 
duty which she had set before her  to stay near Le Bosquet, in 
hopes of better times, when she might make reparation to the 
people of the estate for what they had suffered at her grand- 
father's hands. A more pressing duty also detained her on the 
island. She could be a daughter to M. Raymond in Af ra's stead, 
and thus make their duty easier to the Pascals. Among the 
lamentations and prayers which went up from the mourning 
island were those of the old man and the young girl who we
together at Le Zephyr  scarcely attempting yet to forgive the 
enemies whose treachery had outraged thp Deliverer  as he was 
henceforth called, more fondly than ever. They were not wholly 
wretched. They dwelt on the siirprise and pleasure it would be 
to the Ouvertures to find the Pascals in France before them. 
Euphrosyne had also the satisfaction of doing something, how- 
ever indirectly, for her unfortunate friends; and she really 
enjoyed the occupation, to her so familiar, and still so dear, of 
ministering to the comfort of an old man, who had no present 
dependence but on her. 
Her cares and duties were soon increased. The habitations of 
the Plain du Nord became so disgusting and so dangerous as the 
pestilence strewed the land with dead, and the survivors of the 
French army became, in proportion to the visitation, desperate 
and savage, that Madame Oge was, at length, like all her 
neighbours, driven from her home. She wished to take refuge 
with one of her own colour ; and M. Raymond, at Euphrosyne's 
suggestion, invited her to Le Zephyr, to await better days. With 
a good grace did Euphrosyne go out to meet hsr ; with a good 
grace did she welcome and entertain her. The time was past 
when she could be terrified with evil prognostications. In the 
hour of the earthquake, no one heeds the croak of the raven. 
Aniong the nuns at St. Marc there was trembling, which the 
  
  . 
pale abbess herself could not subdue by reason or exhortation. 
Their ears were already weary with the moans of the dying. 
They had now to hear the shrieks and curses of the kidnapped 
blacks  the friends of L'Ouverture whose homes were made 
desolate. The terrified women could not but ask each other, 
" who next ? " for they all loTed L'Ouverture, and had declared 
their trust in him. No one injured the household of the abbess, 
however ; and the sisters were all spared, in safety and honour, 
to hear the proclamation of the Independence of Hayti, and to 
enjoy the protection and friendship of its beloved Empress. 
And where was she  Th&ese  when St. Marc was resounding 
with the cries of her husband's betrayed companions and friends? 
She was on the way to the fastnesses, where her unyielding hus. 
band was preparing a tremendous retribution for those whom he 
had never trusted. She rejoiced, solemnly but mournfully, that 
he had never yielded. She could not wonder that the first words 
of Dessalines to her, when he met her horse on the steewere a 
command that she would never more intercede for a Frenchman 
never more hold back his strong hand from the work which 
he had now to do. She never did, tUl that which, in a chief, 
was warfare, became, in an emperor, vengeance. Then she 
resumed her woman's office of intercession ; and by it won for 
herself the title of " the Good Empress." 
The eyes which first caught sight of the receding ship Heros, 
at dawn, were those of Paul L'Ouverture and Genifrede. They 
had sent messengers, more likely than themselves to reach 
Christophe and Dessalines, with the last message of Toussaint ; 
and they were now at leisure to watch, from the heights above 
their hut (their home henceforth), the departure of all who bore 
their name. They were left alone, but not altogether forlorn. 
They called each other father and daughter; and here they 
could freely, and for ever, mourn Moyse. 
Christophe received the message. It was not needed to rouse 
him to take upon himself, or to share with Dessalines, the oflice 
of him who was gone. The thoughts of his heart were told to 
none. They were unspeakable, exceby the language of deeds. 
His deeds proclaimed them : and after his faithful warfare, during 
his subsequent mild reign, his acts of liberality, wisdom, and 
mercy, showed how true was his understanding of the mission of 
L'Ouverture. 
There were many to share his work to-day. Dessalines was 
the chief : but leaders sprang up wherever soldiers appeared, 
asking to be led ; and that was everywhere, from the moment of 
the report of the abduction of Toussaint. Clerveaux revolted 
from the !French, and visited on them the bitterness of his 
remorse. Maurepas also repented, and was putting his repentance 
into action when he was seized, tortured, and murdered, with 
  
FAREWELL.  
his famUy. Bellair and his wife conducted with new spirit, 
from this day, a victorious warfare which was never intermitted, 
being bequeathed by their barbarous deaths to their exasperated 
followers. 
It was true, as Toussaint knew and felt in his solitary prison 
on the waters, that the groans which went up from the heights 
and hoUows, the homes and the fastnesses of the island, were 
such as could not but unite in a fearful war-cry ; but it was also 
true, as he had known and felt during the whole term of his 
power, that in this war victory could not be doubtful. He had 
been made the portal of freedom to his race. The passions of 
men might gather about it, and make a conflict, more or less 
tremendous and protracted ; but the way which God had opened, 
and guarded by awakened human hearts, no multitude of rebel- 
lious human hands could close. 
CHAPTER XL. 
MEETING WINTEE. 
It was a glorious day, that twelfth of June, when the Heros 
sailed away from the shores of St. Domingo. Before the Heros 
could sail quite away, it was compelled to hover, as it were, 
about the shadow of the land  to advance and retreat  to say 
farewell, apparently, and then to greet it again. The wind was 
north-east, so that a direct course was impossible ; and the 
Ouverture family assembled, with the exception of Toussaint 
himself, upon deck, gave vent, again and again, to their tears  
again and again strained their eyes, as the mountains with 
their shadowy sides, the stiU forests, the yellow sands, and the 
quiet settlements of the lateral valleys, came into view, or faded 
away. 
L'Ouverture's cabin, to which he was strictly confined during 
the voyage, had a -window in the stem, and he, too, had there- 
fore some change of prospect. He gazed eagerly at every shift- 
ing picture of the land; but most eagerly when he found 
himself ofE Cap Samana. With his pocket-glass he explored 
and discovered the very point of rough ground on tlie height 
where he stood -with Christophe, less than six months before, to 
watch the approach, and observe the rendezvous, of the French 
fleet. He remembered, as his eye was fixed upon the point, his 
naming to Henri this very shiin which he was now a prisoner, 
sailing away, never more to return. 
  
  
" Be it so ! " he thought, according to his wont. " My blacks 
are not conquered, and will never more be slaves." 
The wind soon changed, and the voyage was a rapid one. 
Short as it was, it was tedious ; for, with the exception of Mars 
Plaisir, who was appointed to wait on him, the prisoner saw no 
one. Again and again he caught the voices of his children, 
singing upon deck  no doubt iu order to communicate with him: 
but, in every instance, almost before he had begun to listen, the 
song ceased. Mars Plaisir explained that it was silenced by the 
captain's order. No captain's order had power to stop the pri- 
soner's singing. Every night was Aimde consoled, amidst her 
weeping, by the solemn air of her father's favourite Latin Hymn 
to Our Lady of the Sea : every morning was Margot roused to 
hoby her husband's voice, singing his matin-prayer. What- 
ever might be the captain's apprehensions of political danger 
from these exercises, he gave over the opposition which had 
succeeded so weU with the women. 
" My father crossed this sea," thought Toussaint: " and little 
could he have dreamed that the next of his race would cross it 
also, a prince and a prisoner. He, the son of a Mng, was seized 
and sold as a slave. His son, raised to be a ruler by the hand of 
Him who creates princes (whether by birth or royalty of soul), is 
kidnapped, and sacrificed to the passions of a rival. Such is our 
life ! But in its evil there is good. If my father had not crossed 
this sea as a slave, St. Domingo would have wanted me ; and in 
me, perhaps, its freedom and civilisation. If I had not been 
kidnapped, my blacks might have lacked wrath to accomplish 
the victory to which I have led them. If my father is looking 
back on this world, I doubt not he rejoices in the degradation 
which brought elevation to his race ; and, as for me, I lay the 
few years of my old age a ready sacrifice on the altar of An-ica." 
Sometimes he amused himself with the idea of surveying, at 
last, the Paris of which he had heard so much. Of tener, however, 
he dwelt with complacency on the prospect of seeing Bonaparte 
of meeting his rival, mind to mind. He knew that Bonaparte's 
curiosity about him was eager, and he never doubted that he 
should be called to account personally for his govenmient, in all 
its details. He did not consider that the great captain of the age 
might fear to meet his victim  might shrink from the eye of a 
brother-soldier whom he had treated worse than a felon. 
Time and disappointment taught the prisoner this. None of 
his dreams were verified. In Brest harbour he was hurried from 
the shiallowed a parting embrace of his family upon deck  
no more ; not a sentence of conversation, though all the ship's 
crew were by to hear. Mars Plaisir alone was wowed to accom- 
pany him. Two hurried whispers alone were conveyed to his 
ear. Placide assured him (yet how could it be ? ) that M. Pascal 
  
m FRANCE.  
was in Prance and would exert himself. And Margot told him, 
amidst her sobs, that she had done the one only thing she could 
she had prayed for Bonaparte, as she promised, that night of 
prophetic woe at Pongaudin. 
Nothing did lie see of Paris hut some of the dimly-lighted 
streets, as he was conveyed, at night, to the prison of the Temple. 
During the weeks that he was a prisoner there, he looked! in 
vain for a summons to the presence of the First Consul, or for 
the First Consul's appeai-ance in liis apartment. One of Bona- 
parte's aides, Caffarelli, came indeed, and brought messages : 
but these messages were only insulting inquiries about the trea- 
suresthe treasures buried in the mornes;  for ever these 
treasures ! This recurring message, with its answer, was aU the 
communication he had with Bonaparte ; and the hum and 
murmur from the streets were all that he knew of Paris. When 
Bonaparte, nettled with the reply  " The treasures I have lost 
are far other than those you seek,"  was convinced that no 
better answer would be obtained, he gave the order which had 
been impending during those weeks of confinement in the Temple. 
When Bonaparte found his first leisure, after the ftes and 
bustle occasioned in August by his being made First Consul for 
life, he issued his commands regarding the disposal of his West 
Indian prisoner : and presently Toussaint was traversing France, 
with Mars Plaisir for his companion in captivity  with an ofiicer, 
as a guard, inside the closed carriage ; another guard on the box; 
and one, if not two, mounted in their rear. 
The journey was conducted under circumstances of gi*eat mys- 
tery. The blinds of the carriage were never let down ; provisions 
were served out while the party was in full career ; aud the few 
baitings that were made were contrived to take place, either 
during the night, or in unfrequented places. It was clear that 
the complexion of the strangers was not to be seen by the inha- 
bitants. All that Toussaint could learn was that they were 
travelling south-east. 
" Have you mountains in your island ? " asked the oflBcer, let- 
ting down the blind just so much, when the carriage turned a 
corner of the road, as to permit to himself a glimpse of the 
scenery. " We are entering the Jura. Have you mountains in 
your island ? " 
Toussaint left it to Mars Plaisir to answer this question; which 
ie did with indignant volubility, describing the uses and the 
beauties of the heights of St. Domingo, from the loftiest peaks 
which intercethe hurricane, to the lowest, crested with forts 
or spreading their blossoming groves to the verge of the valleys. 
" We too have fortresses on our heights," said the officer. 
" Indeed, you will be in one of them before night. When we 
are on the other side of Pontarlier, we wiU look about us a little." 
  
  
"Then, on the. other side of Pontarlier, we shall meet no 
people," observed Mars Plaisir. 
" People ! Oh, yes ! we have people everywhere in France." 
When Pontarlier was passed, and the windows of the carriage 
were thrown open, the travellers perceived plainly enough why 
this degree of liberty was allowed. The region was so wild, that 
none were likely to come hither in search of the captives. There 
were inhabitants ; but few likely to give information as to who 
had passed along the road. There were charcoal-burners up on 
the hill-side ; there were women washing clothes in the stream 
which rushed along, far below in the valley ; the miller was in 
his mill, niched in the hollow beside the waterfall; and there 
might still be inmates in the convent which stood just below the 
firs, on the knoll to the left of the road. But by the way-side, 
there were none who, with curious eyes, might mark, and with 
eager tongue report, the complexion of the strangers who were 
rapidly whirled along towards Joux. 
Toussaint shivered as the chill mountain air blew in. Perha
what he saw chilled him no less than what he felt. He might 
have unconsciously expected to see something like the teeming 
slopes of his own mountains, the yellow ferns, the glittering 
rocks, shining like polished metal in the sun. Instead of these, 
the scanty grass was of a blue-green; the stunted firs were 
black; and the patches of dazzling white intermingled with them 
formed a contrast of colour hideous to the eye of a native of the 
tropics. 
" That is snow," exclaimed Mars Plaisir to his master, with 
the pride of superior experience. 
" I know it," replied Toussaint, quietly. 
The carriage now laboured up a steep ascent. The "brave homme 
who drove alighted on one side, and the guard on the other, aud 
walked up the hiU, to relieve the horses. The guard gathered 
such flowers as met his eye ; and handed into the carriage a blue 
gentian which had till now lingered on the borders of the snows, 
or a rhododendron, for which he had scaled a crag. His officer 
roughly ordered him not to leave the track. 
" If we had passed this way two or three months earlier," he 
said complacently to his prisoners, " we should have found cow- 
slihere and there, all along the road. We have a good many 
cowsliin early summer. Have you cowsliin your island ? " 
Toussaint smiled as he thought of the flower-strewn savan- 
nahs, where more blossoms opened and perished in an hour than 
in this dreary region all the summer through. He heard Mars 
Plaisir compelled to admit that he had never seen cowsliout of 
Prance. 
At length, after several mountings and dismountings of the 
driver and guard, they seemed, on entering a defile, to apply 
  
AT THE FORTRESS.  
themselves seriously to their business. The guard cast a glance 
along the road, and up the sides of the steeps, and beckoned to 
the horsemen behind to come on; and the driver repeatedly 
cracked his whiSilence settled down on the party within the 
carriage; for all understood that they drew near the fortress. 
In silence they wound through the defile, tOl aU egress seemed 
barred by a lofty crag. The road, however, passed round its 
base, and disclosed to view a small basin among the mountains, 
in the midst of which rose the steep which bore the fortress of 
Joux. At the foot of this steep lay the village ; a small assem- 
blage of sordid dwellings. At this village four roads met, from 
as many defiles which opened into this centre. A mountain- 
stream gushed along, now by the road-side, now winding and 
growing quieter among the little plot of green fields which lay 
in the rear of the castle rock. This plot of vivid green cheered, 
for a moment, the eye of the captives ; but a second glance 
showed that it was but a swamThis swamcrags, firs, and 
snow, with the dirty village, made up the prospect. As for the 
inhabitants  as the carriage stopped short of the village, none 
were to be seen, but a girl with her distafC amidst a flock of 
goats, and some soldiers on the castle walls above. 
There appeared to be but one road up the rock  a bridle or 
foot road to the right, too narrow and too steep for any carriage. 
Where this joined the main road the carriage stopped ; and the 
prisoners were desu'ed to alight. 
'' We must trouble you to walk up this hill," said the officer, 
" unless you prefer to mount, and have your horse led," 
Before he had finished speaking, Toussaint was many paces in 
advance of his guards. But few opportunities had he enjoyed, 
of late, of exercising his limbs. He believed that this would be 
the last ; and he sprang up the rocky pathway with a sense of 
desperate pleasure. Panting and heated, the most active of the 
soldiers reached the summit some moments after him. Tous- 
saint had made use of those few moments. He had fixed in his 
memory the leading points of the landscatowards the east  - 
the bearings of the roads which opened glimpses into two valleys 
on that side  the patches of enclosure  the nooks of pasture 
where cows were grazing, and children were at play  these 
features of the landscane eagerly comprehended  partly for 
use, in case of any opportunity of esca; partly for solace, if 
he should not henceforth be permitted to look abroad. 
A few, and but a few, more moments he had, while the draw- 
bridge was lowered, the portcullis raised, and the guard sent in 
with some order from his officer. Toussaint well knew that that 
little plot of fields, with its winding stream, was the last verdure 
that he might ever see. The snowy summits which peered over 
the fir-towere prophets of death to him ; for how should he. 
  
  
who had gone hither and thither under the sim of the tropics for 
sixty years, Utib chained among the snows ? "Well did he know 
this ; yet he did not wait to be asked to pass the bridge. 
The drawbridge and the courtyard were both deserted. Not 
a soldier was to be seen. Mars Plaisir muttered his astonish- 
ment, but his master understood that the presence of negro 
prisoners in the fortress was not to become known. He read in 
this incident a prophecy of total seclusion. 
They were marched rapidly through the courtyard, into a 
dark passage, where they were desired to stoIn a few 
moments Toussaint heard the tramp of feet about the gate, 
and imderstood that the soldiers had been ordered back to their 
post. 
" The Commandant ' " the officer announced to his prisoners ; 
and the Commandant Rubaut entered the dim passage. Tous- 
saint formed his judgment of him, to a certain extent, in a 
moment. Bubaut endeavoured to assume a tone of good- 
humoured familiarity ; but there appeared through this a mis- 
giving as to whether he was thus either letting himself down, 
on the one hand, or, on the other, encroaching on the dignity of 
the person he addressed. His prisoner was a negro ; but then 
he had been the recognised Commander-in-Chief of St. Domingo. 
One symptom of awkwardness was, that he addressed Toussaint 
by no sort of title. 
"We have had notice of your approach," said he; "which 
is fortunate, as it enables me to conduct you at once to your apart- 
ment. Will you proceed ? This way. A torch, BeHines ! We 
have been looking for you these two dfl,ys ; which happens very 
well, as we have been enabled to prepare for you. Torches, 
Bellines ! This way. We mount a few steps, you perceive. 
We are not taking you underground, though I call for lights ; 
but this passage to the left, you perceive, is rather dark. Tes, 
that is our well ; and a great depth it is  deeper, I assure you, 
than this rock is high. What do they call the depth, Ohalot ? 
Well, never mind the depth ! You can f oUow me, I believe, 
without waiting for a light. We cannot go wrong. Through 
this apartment to the left." 
Toussaint, however, chose to wait for Bellines and his torch. 
He chose to see what he could of the passages of Ms prison. If 
this vault in which he stood were not underground, it was the 
dreariest apartment from which the daylight had ever been built 
out. In the moment's pause occasioned by his not moving on 
when desired, he heard the dripping of water as in a well. 
Bellines appeared, and his torch showed the stone walls of 
the vault shining with the trickling of water. A cold stam 
appeared to thicken the air, oppress the lungs, and make the 
torch burn dim. 
  
toussaint's cell.  
"To what apartment can this be the passage?" thought 
Toussaint. " The grave is warm compai-ed with this." 
A glance of wretchedness from Mars Plaisir, seen in the 
torchlight, as Bellines passed on to the front, showed that the 
poor fellow's spirits, and perhasome visions of a merry life 
among the soldiers, had melted already in the damof this 
vault. Ruhaut gave him a push, which showed that he was to 
follow the torch-bearer. 
Through this vault was a passage, dark, wet, and slippery. 
In the left-hand wall of this passage was a door, studded with 
iron nails thickly covered with rust. The key was in this door. 
During the instant required for throwing it wide, a large flake 
of ice fell from the cefling of the passage upon the head of Tons- 
saint. He shook it off, and it extinguished the torch. 
" Tou mean to murder us," saidne, " if you propose to place 
us here. Do you not know that ice and darkness are the negro's 
poison ? Snow, too," he continued, advancing to the cleft of his 
dungeon wall, at the outward extremity of which was his small 
grated window. " Snow piled against this window now ! We 
shall be buried under it in winter." 
" Tou win have good fires in winter." 
" In winter ! Tes ! this night ; or I shall never see winter." 
" This night ! Oh, certainly ! Tou can have a fire, though 
it is not usual with us at this season. Bellines  a fire here 
immediately." 
He saw his prisoner surveying, by the dim light from the 
deep window, the miserable cell  about twenty-eight feet by 
thirteen, built of blocks of stone, its vaulted ceiling so low that 
it could be touched by the hand; its floor, though planked, 
rotten and slippery with wet ; and no furniture to be seen but 
a table, two chairs, and two heaof straw in opposite corners. 
" I am happy," said the Commandant, " to have been able to 
avoid putting you underground. The orders I have had, from 
the First Consul himseK, as to your being mis au secret, are very 
strict. Notwithstanding that, I have been able, you see, to place 
you in an apartment which overlooks the courtyard ; and which, 
too, affords you other objects "  pointing through the gratings 
to the few feet of the pavement without, and the few yards of 
the perpendicular rock opposite, which might be seen through 
the loop-hole. 
" How many hours of the day and night are we to pass in 
tliis place ? " 
" How many hours .P We reckon twenty-four hours to the 
day and night, as is the custom in Europe," replied Enbaut ; 
whether in ignorance or irony, his prisoner could not, in the 
dim twilight, ascertain. He only learned too surely that no exit 
from this cell was to be allowed. 
  
  
Firewood and light were brought. Eubaut, eager to be busy 
till he could go, and to be gone as soon as possible, found fault 
with some long-deceased occupant of the cell, for having covered 
its arched ceiling with grotesque drawings in charcoal; and 
then with Belliues, for not having dried the floor. Truly the 
light gleamed over it as over a pond. Bellines pleaded in his 
defence that the floor had been dried twice since morning; 
but that there was no stopping the melting of the ice above. 
The water would come through the joints tUl the winter frosts 
set in. 
"Ay, the winter frosts  they will set all to rights. Thej 
will cure the melting of the ice, no doubt." Turning to his 
prisoners, lie congratulated himself on not being compelled to 
search their persons. The practice of searching was usual, but 
might, he rejoiced to say, be dispensed with on the present occa- 
sion. He might now, therefore, have the pleasure of wishing 
them a good evening. 
Pointing to the two heaof straw, he begged that his 
prisoners would lay down their beds iu any part of the cell 
which pleased them best. Their food, and all that they wanted, 
would be brought to the door regularly. As for the rest, they 
would wait upon each other. Having thus exhausted his polite- 
ness, he quitted the cell ; and lock, bolt, and bar were fastened 
upon the captives. 
By the faint light, Toussaint then perceived that his com- 
panion was struggling with laughter. When Mars Plaisir per- 
ceived by his master's smile that he had leave to give way, he 
laughed till the cell rang again, saying  
" Wait upon each other ! His Excellency wait upon me ! 
His Excellency wait upon anybody ! " 
" There would be nothing new in that. I have endeavoured 
to wait upon others all my life. Rarely does Providence grant 
the favour to wait upon so many." 
Mars Plaisir did not comprehend this, and therefore con- 
tinned  
" These whites think that we blacks are created to be serving, 
serving always  always serving." 
" And they are right. Their mistake is in not seeing that 
the same is the case with all other men." 
In his incessant habit of serving those about him, Toussaint 
now remembered that it would be more kind to poor Mars 
Plaisir to employ him, than to speak of things which he could 
not comprehend. He signed to him, therefore, to shake down 
the straw on each side the fireplace. Mars Plaisir sacrificed 
some of his own bundle to widown the wet walls; but it 
was all in vain. During the silence, while his master was 
meditating at the window, the melancholy sound of falling water 
  
TEARS AND LAUGHTER. S 
dridriplash, plash  was heard all around, within and 
without the cell. When he had wiped down the wajls, from the 
door in the comer round to the door again, the place from which 
he had set out was as wet as ever, and his straw was spoiled. 
He angrily kicked the wet straw into the fire ; the consequence 
of which was that the cell was filled with smoke, almost to 
suffocation. 
" Ask for more," said Toussaint. 
Mars Plaisir shouted, knocked at the door, and used every 
endeavour to make himself heard ; but in vain. No one came. 
" Take some of mine." said Toussaint. " No one can lie on 
this floor." 
Mars Plaisir shook his head. He proceeded mournfully to 
spread the other heap of straw; but a large flake of ice had 
fallen upon it from the corner of the walls, and it was as wet as 
that which he had burned. 
This was too much for poor Mars Plaisir. He looked upon 
his master, now spreading his thin hands over the lire, his fur- 
rowed face now and then lighted up by the blaze which sprang 
fitfully through the smokehe thought of the hall of audience 
at Port-au-Prince, of the gardens at Pongaudin, of the Place 
d'Armes at Cap Franqais on review days, of the military journeys 
and of&cial fetes of the Commander-in-Ohief, and he looked upon 
him now. He burst into tears as unconti-oUable as his laughter 
had been before. Feeling his master's hand upon his shoulder, 
he considered it necessary to give a reason for his grief, and 
sobbed out  
" They treat your Excellency as if your Excellency were 
nobody. They give your Excellency no title. They will not 
even call you General." 
Toussaint laughed at this cause of grief in such a place ; but 
Mars Plaisir insisted upon it. 
" How would they like it themselves ? What wotdd the 
First Consul himself say if he were a prisoner, and his gaolers 
refused him his titles ?" 
" I do not suppose him to be a man of so narrow a heart, and 
so low a soul, as that such a trifle could annoy him. Cheer u
if that be all." 
Mars Plaisir was far from thinking this all ; but his tears and 
sobs choked him in the midst of his complaints. Toussaint 
turned again to the fire, and presently began to sing one of the 
most familiar songs of St. Domingo. He had not sung a stanza 
before, as he had anticipated, his servant joined in, rising from 
his attitude of despair, and singing with as much animation 
as if he had been on the Haut-du-CaThis was soon put a 
stop to by a sentinel, who knocked at the door to command 
silence. 
W 
  
  
"They cannot hear us if we want dry straw," said Mars 
Plaisir, passionately : " and yet we cannot raise a note but they 
must stop us." 
" We are caged birds ; and you know Denis's canary might 
sing only when it pleased his master. Have I not seen even 
you cover up the cage p But sing  sing softly, and they may 
not hear you." 
"When supper was brought, fresh straw and more firewood 
were granted. At his master's bidding, and under the influence 
of these comforts. Mars Plaisir composed himself to slee
Toussaint sat long beside the fire. He could not have slept. 
The weeks that had passed since he left St. Domingo had not 
yet reconciled his ear to the silence of a European night. At 
sea, the dash of the waves against the ship's side had lulled 
him to rest. Since he had landed, he had slelittle, partly 
from privation of exercise, partly from the action of over-busy 
thoughts ; but also, in part, from the absence of that hum of life 
which, to the natives of the tropics, is the incentive to sleep and 
its accompaniment. Here, there was but the crackle of the 
burning wood, and the plashing of water, renewed from minute 
to minute, till it became a fearful doubt  a passing doubt, but 
very fearful  whether his ear could become accustomed to the 
dreary sound, or whether his self-command was to be overthrown 
by so small an agency as this. From such a question he turned, 
by an effort, to consider other evils of his condition. It was a 
cruel aggravation of his sufferings to have his servant shut up 
with him. It imposed upon him some duties, it was true ; and 
was, in so far, a good ; but it also imposed most painful re- 
straints. He had a strong persuasion that Bonaparte had not 
given up the pursuit of his supposed treasures, or the hoof 
mastering aU his designs, real or imaginary ; and he suspected 
that Mars Plaisir would be left long enough with him to receive 
the overflowings of his confidence (so hard to restrain in such 
circumstances as theirs ! ) and would then be tampered with by 
the agents of the First Consul. What was the nature and 
efficacy of their system of cross-examination, he knew ; and he 
knew how nothing but ignorance could preserve poor Mars 
Plaisir from treachery. Here, therefore  here, in this cell, 
vrithout resource, without companionshivrithout solace of any 
kind, it would be necessary, perhaps, through long months, to 
set a watch upon his lips, as strict as when he dined with the 
French Commissaries at Government-House, or when he was 
weighing the Report of the Central Assembly, regarding a 
Colonial constitution. For the reserve which his function had 
imposed upon him at home, he had been repaid by a thousand 
enjoyments. Now, no more sympathy, no more ministering 
from, his family !  no more could he open to Margot his glory 
  
PAINFUL REFLECTIONS,  
in Placide, his hopes from Denis, his cares for his other children, 
to uphold them under a pressure of influences which were too 
strong for them ; no more could he look upon the friendly face 
of Henri, and unbosom himself to him in sun or shade; no 
more could he loot upon the results of his labours in the mer- 
chant fleets on the sea, and the harvests burdening the plains ! 
No more could hapvoices, from a thousand homes, come to 
him in blessing and in joy ! No more music, no more sunshine, 
no more fragrance ; no more certainty, either, that others were 
now enjoying what he had parted with for ever ! Not only might 
he never hear what had ensued upon the " truce tiU August," 
but he must carefully conceal his anxiety to hear  his belief 
that there were such tidings to be told. In the presence of Mars 
Plaisir, he could scarcely even think of that which lay heaviest 
at his heart  of what Henri had done, in consequence of his 
abduction  of his poor oppressed blacks  whether they had 
sunk under the blow for the time, and so delayed the arrival of 
that freedom which they must at length achieve ; or whether 
they had risen, like a multitudinous family of bereaved children, 
to work out the designs of the father who had been snatched 
from them. Of all this there could be no speech (scarcely a 
speculation in his secret soul) in the presence of one who must, 
if he heard, almost necessarily become a traitor. And then his 
f amUy ! From them he had vanished ; and he must live as if 
they had vanished from his very memory. They were, doubtless, 
all eye, all ear : for ever watching to know what had become of. 
him. For their personal safety, now that he was helpless, he 
trusted there was little cause for fear ; but what peace of mind 
could they enjoy, while in ignorance of his fate ? He fancied 
them imploring of their guardians tidings of him, in vain ; ques- 
tioning the four winds for whispers of nig retreat ; pacing every 
cemetery for a grave that might be his ; gazing up at the loo
holes  every prison, with a fear that he might be there ; 
keeping awake at midnight, for the chance of a visit from his 
injured spirit ; or seeking sleein the dim hothat he might 
be revealed to them in a dream. And all this must be but a 
dim dream to him, excein such an hour as this  a chance 
hour when no eye was upon him ! The reconciling process was 
slow  but it was no less sure than usual. 
" Be it so ! " was, as usual, his conclusion  " Be it so  for as 
long as Heaven pleases  though that cannot be long. The one 
consolation of being buried alive, soul or body  or both, as in 
this case  is, that release is sure and near. This poor fellow's, 
spirit will die within him, and his body will then be let out  
the consummation most necessary for him. And my body, 
already failing, will soon die, and my work be done. To die, 
and to die thus, is part of my work ; and I will do it as willingly 
w  
  
S  
as in the field. Hundreds, thousands of my race have died foi 
slavery, cooped upining, suffocated in slave-ships, in the 
vrastes of the sea. Hundreds and thousands have thus died, 
without knowing the end for which they perished. What is it, 
then, for one to die of cold in the wastes of the mountains, for 
freedom, and knowing that freedom is the end of his life and 
his death ? What is it ? If I groan, if I shrink, may my race 
curse me, and my God cast me out ! " 
A warmer glow than the dying embers could give passed 
through his frame ; and he presently slept, basking till morning 
in dreams of his sunny home. 
CHAPTER XLI. 
HAI.F FBEE. 
Atjtttmn faded, and the long winter of the Jura came on, with- 
out bringing changes of any importance to the prisoners  unless 
it were that, in addition to the wood-fire, which scarcely keup 
the warmth of life in their bodies, they were allowed a stove. 
This indulgence was not in answer to any request of theirs. 
Toussaint early discovered that Bubaut would grant nothing 
that was asked for.but Kked to bestow a favour spontaneously, 
now and then. This was a clear piece of instruction ; by which, 
however, Mars Plaisir was slow to profit. Notwithstanding his 
master's explanations and commands, and his own promises, fer- 
vently given when they were alone, he could never see the Com- 
mandant without pouting out all his complaints, and asking for 
everything relating to external comfort that his master had been 
accustomed to at Pongaudin. A stove, not being among the 
articles of furniture there, was not asked for ; and thus this one 
comfort was not intercepted by being named. Books were 
another. Mars Plaisir had been taught to read and write in one 
of the public schools in the island ; but his tastes did not lie in 
the direction of literature ; and he rarely remembered that he 
possessed the accomplishment of being able to read, excewhen 
circumstances called upon him to boast of his country and his 
race. Books were therefore brought, two at a time, with the 
Commandant's compliments ; two at a time, for the rule of 
treating the prisoners as equals was exactly observed. This 
civUity brought great comfort to Toussaint the greatest exce
solitude. He always chose to suppose that Mars Plaisir was 
reading when he held a book: and he put a book into his 
hands daily when he opened his own. Many an hour did he 
  
BOOKS FOR THE PRISONERS.  
thus obtain for the indulgence of his meditations ; and while his 
servant was wondering now he could see to read by the dim 
light which came in at the window  more dim each day, as the 
snow-heap there rose higher  or by the fitful flame of the fire, 
his thoughts were far away, beating about amidst the struggle 
then probably going on in St. Domingo ; or exploring, with won- 
der and sorrow, the narrow and darkened passages of that mind 
which he had long taken to be the companion of his own ; or 
springing forward into the future, and reposing in serene faith 
on the condition of his people when, at length, they should 
possess their own souls, and have learned to use their human 
privileges. Many a time did Mars Plaisir, looking off from a 
volume of the Philosoi)hical Dictionary, which yielded no amuse- 
ment to him, watch the bright smile on his master's face, and 
suppose it owing to the jokes in the Racine he held, when that 
smile arose from pictures formed within of the future senates, 
schools, courts, and virtuous homes, in which his dusky brethren 
would hereafter be exercising and securing their rights. Not 
ungratefully did he use his books the while. He read and en- 
joyed; but his greatest obligations to them were for the sugges- 
tions they afforded, the guidance they oilered to his thoughts to 
regions amidst which his prison and his sufflerings were for- 
gotten. 
At times, the servant so far broke through his habitual defer- 
ence for his master as to fling down his book upon the table, and 
then beg pardon, saying that they should both go mad if they 
did not make some noise. When he saw the snow falling per- 
petually, noiseless as the dew, he longed for the sheeted rains 
of his own winter, splashing as if to drown the land. Here, 
there was only the eternal dridriwhich his ear was weary 
of months ago. 
" Cannot you fancy it rain-drofalling from a palm-leaf ? 
Shut your eyes and try," said his master. 
It would not do. Mars Plaisir complained that the Com- 
mandant had promised that this drip should cease when the 
frosts of winter came. 
" So it might, but for our stove. But then our ears would 
have been frozen utoo. We should have .been underground by 
this time  which they say we are not now, though it is hard 
sometimes to believe them. However, we shall hear something 
by-and-by that will drown the driAmong these mountains, 
there must be thunder. In the summer, Mars Plaisir, we may 
hear thunder." 
" In the summer ! " exclaimed Mars Plaisir, covering his face 
with Ms hands. 
" That is, not you, but I. I hothey will let you out long 
before the summer." 
  
  
" Does your Excellency hoso ? " cried Mars Plaisir, spring- 
ing to Ms feet. 
" Certainly, my poor fellow. The happiest news I expect ever 
to hear is that you are to be released : and this news I do expect 
to hear. They will not let you go home, to tell where I am ; 
but they will take you out of this place." 
" Oh, your Excellency ! if you think so, would your Excel- 
lency be pleased to speak for me  to ask the Commandant to 
let me out ? If you wUl tell him that my rheumatism will not 
let me sleep I do not want to go home  I do not want to 
leave your Excellency, excefor your Excellency's good. I 
would say all I could for you, and kneel to the First Consul ; 
and, if they would not set you free, I would " Here his 
voice faltered, but he spoke the words  " I would come back 
into your Excellency's service in the summer  when I had got 
cured of my rheumatism. If you would speak a word to the 
Commandant ! " 
" I would, if I were not sure of injuring you by doing so. 
Do you not see that nothing is to be granted us that we ask for ? 
Speak not another word of liberty, and you may have it. Ask 
for it, and you are here for life  or for my life. Remember ! " 
Mars Plaisir stood deep in thought. 
"You have never asked for your liberty?" said his master. 
" ITo. I knew that, for my sake, you had not. Has no one ever 
mentioned Kterty to you P I understand," he continued, seeing 
an expression of comusion in the poor fellow's face. " Do not 
tell me anything ; only hear me. If freedom should be offered 
to you, take it. It is my wish  it is my command. Is there 
more wood ? None but this ? " 
" None but this damp wood that chokes us with smoke. They 
send us the worst wood  the green, damp wood that the poorest 
of the whites in the castle will not use," cried Mars Plaisir, 
striving to work off his emotions in a fit of passion. He kicked 
the unpromising log into the fireplace as he exclaimed  
" They think the worst of everything good enough for us, 
because we are blacks. Oh ! oh ! " Here his vrrath was aggra- 
vated by a twinge of rheumatism. " They think anything good 
enough for blacks." 
" Let them think so," said his master, kindly. " God does 
not. God did not think so when He gave us the soil of Africa, 
and the sun of St. Domingo. When He planted the gardens of 
the world with palms, it was for the blades. When He spread 
the wide shade of the banyan. He made a tent for the blacks. 
When He filled the air with the scent of the cinnamon and the 
cacao, was it not for the blacks to enjoy the fragrance P Has He 
not given them music ? Has he not given them love and a home ? 
What has He not given them P Let the whites think of us as 
  
SUSPICIONS.  
they will ! They shall be welcome to a share of what God gave 
the blacks, though they return us nothiug better than wet wood, 
to warm us among their snows." 
" It is true," said Mars Plaisir, his complacency completely 
restored  " God thinks nothing' too good for the blacks. I will 
teU the First Consul so, if " 
"The First Consul would rather hear something else from 
you : and you know, Mars Plaisir, the whites laugh at us for 
our boastings. However, tell the First Consul what you will." 
Again was Mars Plaisir silenced, and his couiftenance con- 
fused. Perpetually, from this hour did he drop words which 
showed an expectation of seeing the First Consul  words which 
were never noticed by his master. Every time that the increasing 
weakness and pain under which Toussaint suffered forced them- 
selves on his servant's observation  whenever the skeleton 
hands were rubbed in his own, to relieve cramand restore 
warmth ; or the friendly oifice was returned, in spite of the 
shame and confusion of the servant at finding himself thus 
served  with every drift of snow which blocked up the window 
and every relaxation of frost, which only increased the worse 
evil of the damMars Plaisir avowed or muttered the per- 
suasive things he would say to the First Consul. 
Toussaint felt too much sympathy to indulge in much con- 
temfor his companion. He, too, found it hard to be tortured 
with cramps, and wrung by spasms  to enjoy no respite from 
vexations of body and spirit. He, too, found the passage to the 
grave weary pad dreary. And, as for an interview with Bona- 
parte, for how long had this been his first desire ! How dis- 
tinctly had it of late been the reserve of his ho! B/eminding 
himself, too, of the effects on the wretched of an indefinite hope, 
such as the unsettled mind and manners of his servant convinced 
him, more and more, had been held out  he could not, in the 
very midst of scenes of increasing foUy and passion, despise 
poor Mars Plaisir. He mistrusted him, however, and with a 
more irksome mistrust continually, while he became aware that 
Mars Plaisir was in the habit of lamenting St. Domingo chiefly 
for the sake of naming Ohristophe and Dessalines, the companies 
in the mornes, the fever among the whites, and whatever might 
be most likely to draw his master into conversation on the hopes 
and resources of the blacks. He became more and more con- 
vinced that the weakness of his companion was practised upon, 
and possibly his attachment to his master, by promises of good 
to both, on condition of information furnished. He was neai-ly 
certain that he had once heard the door of the cell closed gently, 
as he was beginning to awake, in the middle of the night ; and 
he was quite sure that he one day saw Mars Plaisir bum a note, 
as he replenished the fire, whUe he thought his master was busy 
  
  
reading. Not even these mysterious proceedings could make 
Toussaint feel anything worse than sorrowing pity for Mars 
Plaisir. 
The Commandant had ceased to visit his prisoners. During 
the rest of the winter, he never came. He sent books occa- 
sionally, but less frequently. The supply of firewood was 
gradually diminished ; and so was the quantity of food. The 
ailments of the prisoners were aggravated, from day to day; and 
if the Commandant had favoured them with his presence, he 
would have Relieved that he saw two dusky shadows amidst the 
gloom of their cell, rather than men. 
One morning, Toussaint awoke, slowly and with difficulty, 
from a sleep which appeared to have been strangely sound for 
one who could not move a limb without pain, and who rarely, 
therefore, slefor many minutes together. It must have been 
strangely long, too ; for the light was as strong as it had ever 
been at noon in this dim cell. Before he rose, Toussaint felt 
that there was sunshine in the air ; and the thought that spring 
was come, sent a gleam of pleasure through his spirit. It was 
true enough. As he stood before the window, something like a 
shadow might be seen on the floor. No sky  not a shred the 
breadth of his hand  was to be seen. For six months past, he 
had beheld neither cloud, nor star, nor the flight of a bird! But, 
casting a glance up to the perpendicular rock opposite, he saw 
that it faintly reflected sunshine. He saw, moreover, something 
white moving  some living creature upon this rock. It was a 
young kid, standing upon a point or ledge imperceptible below 
by its action, browsing upon some vegetation which could not 
be seen so far ofE. 
" Mars Plaisir ! Mars Plaisir ! " cried Toussaint. " Spring is 
come ! The world is alive again, even here. Mars Plaisir ! " 
There was no answer. 
" He has sledeeply and long, like myself," said he, going, 
however, iato the darker corner of the cell where Mars Plaisir's 
bed was laid. The straw was there, but no one was on it. The 
stove was warm, but there was no fire in the fireplace. The 
small chest allowed for the prisoners' clothes was gone  every- 
thing was gone but the two volumes in which they had been 
reading the night before. Toussaint shook these books, to see if 
any note had been hidden in them. He explored them at the 
window, to discover any word of farewell that might be written 
on blank leaf or margin. There was none there ; nor any scrap 
of paper hidden in the straw, or dropped upon the floor. Mars 
Plaisir was gone, and had left no token. 
" They drugged mo hence my long sleep," thought Toussaint. 
" They knew the poor fellow's weakness, and feared his saying 
too much, when it came to parting. I hothey will treat him 
  
ALONE.  
well, for (thanks to my care for him !) he never betrayed me 
to them. I treated him well in taking care that he should not 
betray me to them, while they yet so far believed that he might 
as to release him. It is all well ; and I am alone ! It is almost 
like being in the free air. I am almost as free as yonder kid on 
the rock. My wife ! my children ! I may name you all now  
name you in my thoughts and in my song. Placide ! are you 
rousing the nations to ask the tyrant where I am ? Henri ! have 
you buried the dead whites yet in St. Domingo ? and have your 
rains done weeping the treason of those dead against freedom % 
Let it be so, Henri ! Your rains have washed out the blood of this 
treason ; and your dews have brought forth the verdure of your 
plains, to cover the graves of the guilty and the fallen. Take 
this lesson home, Henri ! Forget  not me, for you must remem- 
ber me in carrying on my work  but forget how you lost me. 
Believe that I fell in the momes, and that you buried me there ; 
believe this, rather than shed one drop of blood for me. Learn 
of God, not of Bonaparte, how to bless our race. Poison their 
souls no more with blood. The sword and the fever have done 
their work, and tamed your tyrants. As for the rest, act with 
God for our people ! Give them harvests to their hands ; and 
open the universe of knowledge before their eyes. Give them 
rest and stillness in the summer heats : and shelter them in vir- 
tuous and busy homes from the sheeted rains. It is enough that 
blood was the price of freedom  a heavy price, which has been 
paid. Let there be no such barter for vengeance. My children, 
hear me ! Wherever you axe  in the court of our tyrant, or on 
the wide sea, or on the mountain-towhere the very storms 
cannot make themselves heard so high  yet let your father's 
voice reach yon from his living grave ! No vengeance ! Free- 
dom  freedom to the last drop of blood in the veins of our race ! 
Let our island be left to the wild herds and the reptiles, rather 
than be the habitation of slaves : but if you have established 
freedom there, it is holy ground, and no vengeance must profane 
it. If you love me and my race, you must forgive my murderers. 
Yes, murderers," he pursued in thought, after dwelling awhile 
on the images of home and familiar faces, "murderers they 
aLready are, doubtless, in intent. I should have been sent hence 
long ago, but for the hoof reaching my counsels through Mars 
Plaisir. From the eyes of the world I have already disappeared ; 
and nothing hinders the riddance of me now. Feeble as I am, 
the waiting for death may yet be tedious. If tedious for him 
who has this day done with me, how tedious for me, who have 
done with him and with aU the world !  done with them, exce
as to the afPections with which one may look back upon them 
from the clear heights on the other side of the dark valley. 
That I should pine and shiver long in the shadows of that valley 
  
  
woiild be tedious to him who drove me there before my time, 
and to me. He has never submitted to what is tedious, and he 
will not now." 
The door of the cell was here softly opened, a head showed 
itself, and immediately disappeared. Toussaint silently watched 
the kid, as it moved from point to point on the face of the rock : 
and it was with some sorrow that he at last saw it spring away. 
Just then, BeUines entered with the usual miserable breakfast. 
Toussaint requested fire, to which BeUines assented. He then 
asked to have the window opened, that the air of the spring 
morning might enter. BeUines shrugged his shoulders, and 
observed that the air of these March mornings was sharThe 
prisoner persisted, however ; and with the fresh air, there came 
in upon him a fresh set of thoughts. OaUing BeUines back, he 
desired, in a tone of authority, to see the Commandant. 
It was strange to him  he wondered at himself on finding his 
mind filled with a new enterprise  with the idea of making a 
last appeal to Rubaut for freedom  an appeal to his justice, not 
to his clemency. With the chill breeze, there had entered the 
tinkle of the cow-beU, and the voices of children singing. These 
caUed up a vivid picture of the valley, as he had seen it on 
entering his prison  the smaU green level, the gushing stream, 
the sunny rock, the girl with her distaff, tending the goats. He 
thought he could show his title to, at least, a free sight of the 
face of nature ; and the impulse did not immediately die. During 
the morning, he listened for footstewithout. After some hours, 
he smiled at his own hope, and nearly ceased to listen. The 
face of the rock grew dim ; the wind rose, and sleet was driven 
in at the window ; so that he was compeUed to use his stiff and 
aching limbs in climbing up to shut it. No one had remembered, 
or had chosen to make his fire ; and he was shivering, as in an 
ague fit, when, late in the afternoon, BeUines brought in his 
second meal, and some fuel. 
" The Commandant ? " 
"The Commandant is not in the castle. He is absent to- 
day." 
" Where P " 
" They say the First Consul has business with him." 
" With me rather," thought Toussaint. He said aloud, 
" Then he is gone with my servant ? " 
" May be so. They went the same road ; but that road leads 
to many places." 
The road from Pontarlier ? " 
" Any road  all our roads here lead to many places," said 
BeUines, as he went out. 
"Poor Mars Plaisir!" thought Toussaint, as he carefuUy 
placed the wood so as to temthe feeble blaze. " Our road 
  
RUBAUT RE-APPEARS.  
has seemed the same for the last eight months ; but it leads to 
widely different points. I rejoice for him that his has parted ofl 
to-day ; and for myself, though it shows that I am near the end 
of mine. Is it this soldier, with comrades, who is to end me ? 
Or is it this supper, better drugged than that of last night ? Or 
will they wait to see whether solitude will kill a busy, ambitious 
Commander-in-Chief, as they think me ? " 
CHAPTER XLII. 
Day after day passed on, and the prisoner found no change in 
his condition  as far, at least, as it depended on his gaolers. He 
was more iU as he became enveloped in the damof the spring ; 
and he grew more and more sensible of the comfort of being 
alone. Death by violence, however, did not come. 
He did not give over his concern for Mars Plaisir because he 
was glad of his absence. He inquired occasionally for the Com- 
mandant, hoping that, if he could see Rubaut, he might learn 
whether his servant was still a prisoner, and whether his release 
from his cell had been for freedom, or for a worse lot than he 
had left behind. There was no learning from Bellines, however, 
whether the Commandant had returned to the fortress, or who 
was his lieutenant, if he had not. In the middle of April, the 
doubt was settled by the appearance of Rubaut himself in the 
cell. He was civil  unusually so  but declared himself unable 
to give any information about Mars Plaisir. He had nothing 
more to do with his prisoners when they were once taken out of 
his charge. He had always business enough upon his hands to 
prevent his occupying himself with things and people that were 
gone by. He had delivered Mars Plaisir into proper care ; and 
that was the last he knew of him. The man was well at that 
time  as well as usual, and pleased enough to be in the open 
air again. Rubaut could remember no more concerning him 
in fact, had not thought of him again, from that day to the 
present. 
" And this is the kind of answer that you would give con- 
cerning me, if my sons should arrive hither in search of me 
some days after my grave had been closed P " 
" Come, come ! no foreboding ! " said Rubaut. " Foreboding 
is bad." 
" If my sons should present themselves " proceeded Tous- 
  
  
" They will not come here  they cannot come here," inter- 
mpted Eubaut. " No one knows that you are here, but some 
three or four who will never tell." 
" How," thought Toussaint, " have they secured Mars Plaisir, 
that he shall never tell ? " For the poor man's sake, however, 
he would not ask this aloud. 
Rubaut continued : " The reason why we cannot have the 
pleasure of giving you the range of the fortress is, that the First 
Consul thinks it necessary to keep secret the place of your abode 
for the good of the colony, as he says. With one of our own 
countrymen, this seclusion might not be necessary, as the good 
people of the village could hardly distinguish features from the 
distance at which they are ; and they have no telescopes  no 
idea of playing the supon us, as we can upon them. They 
cannot distinguish features, so high up " 
"But they could complexion." 
" Exactly so ; and it might get abroad that some one of your 
colour was here." 
" And if it should get abroad, and some one of my sons, or 
my wife should come, your answer would be that you remember 
nothing  that you cannot charge your memory with persons and 
things that are gone by  that you have had prisoners of all 
complexions  that some have lived and some have died  and 
that you have something else to do than to remember wliat 
became of each. I hope, however, and (as it would be for the 
advantage of the First Consul) I believe, that you would have 
the complaisance to show them my grave." 
"Come, come ! no foreboding ! Foreboding is bad," repeated 
Rubaut. 
Toussaint smUed, and said  
" What other employment do yon afford me than that of look- 
ing into the past and future, in order to avoid the present  If, 
turning from the sickening view which the past presents of the 
treachery of your race to mine, of the abuse of my brotherly trust 
in him by which your ruler has aflBicted our hearts  if, turning 
from this moiu-nful past, I look the other way, what do I see 
before me but the open grave ? " 
" Tou are out of spirits," said Rubaut, building up the fire. 
" You wear well, however. Tou must have been very strong 
iu your best days. Tou wear extremely well." 
" I still live ; and that I do so is because the sun of my own 
climate, and the strength of soul of my best days, shine and glow 
through me now, quenching iu part even these damps. But I 
am old, and every day heayears on me. However, I am as 
willing as you that my looking forward should be for others than 
myself. I might be able to forebode for France, and for its 
ruler." 
  
"no foreboding.'"  
Rubant folded his arms, and leaned, as if anxious to listen, 
against the wall beside the fire ; but it was so wet that he quickly 
shifted his position ; stiU, howerer, keeping his eyes fixed on his 
prisoner. 
"And what would you forebode for Prance, and for hor 
ruler P" he asked. 
" That my country will never again be hers. Her retribution 
is as sure as her tyranny has been great. She may send out fleet 
after fleet, each bearing an army ; but the spirit of freedom will 
be too strong for them all. Their bodies will poison the air, and 
choke the sea, and the names of their commanders will, one after 
another, sink in disgrace, before they will again make slaves of 
my people in St. Domingo. How stands the name of Leclerc at 
this moment in France ? " 
" Leclerc is dead," said Rubaut ; repenting, the next moment, 
that he had said so much. Toussaint saw this by his countenance, 
and inquired no further. 
" He is dead ! and twenty thousand Freuchmen with him, 
who might at this hour have been enjoying at home the natural 
wealth of my country, the fruits of om- industry. The time was 
when I thought your ruler and I  the ruler, in alliance with 
him, of my race in St. Domingo  were brothers in soul, as wo 
were apparently in duty and ui fortune. Brothers in soul we 
were not, as it has been the heaviest grief of my life to learn. I 
spurn brotherhood of soul with one whose ambition has been for 
himself. Brothers in duty we were ; and, if we should yet be 
brothers in fortune  if he should fall into the hands of "a strong 
foe  But you are saying in your heart, ' No foreboding ! Fore- 
boding is bad ! ' " 
Rubaut smiled, and said foreboding was only bad for the 
spirits; and the First Consul's spirits were not likely to be 
affected by anything that could be said at Joux. To predict 
bad fortune for him was like looking for the sun to be put out 
at noonday; it might pass the time, but would not dim the sun. 
" So was it said of me," replied the prisoner, " and with the 
more reason, because I made no enemies. My enemies have not 
been of my own making. Tour ruler is making enemies on every 
hand ; and alas ! for him if he lives to meet the hour of retribu- 
tion ! If he, like myself, should fall into the power of a strong 
foe  if he should pass his remaining days imprisoned on a rock, 
may he find more peace than I should dare look for, if I had his 
soul!" 
" There is not a braver man in Europe, or the Indies either, 
than the First Consul." 
" Brave towards foes without and sufferings to come. But 
bravery gives no help against enemies harboured within, and 
evils fixed in the past. What will his bravery avail against the 
  
  
images of France corrupted, of Eurooutraged, of the blacks 
betrayed and oppressed  of the godlike power which was put 
into his hands abused to the purposes of the devil ! " 
" But perhahe would not view his affairs as you do." 
" Then would his bravery avail him no better. If he should 
be so blind as to see nothing highei and better than his own acts, 
then will he see no higher nor better hothan he has lost. 
Then will he suffer and die under the slow torment of personal 
mortifications and regrets." 
" Tou say you are sinking under your reverses. Tou say you 
are slowly dying." 
" I am. I shall die of the sickening and pining of sense and 
limb  of the wasting of bone and muscle. Day by day is my 
eye more dim, and my right arm more feeble. But I have never 
complained of evils that the bravery you speak of would not 
meet. Have I ever said that you hav? touched my soul ? " 
Rubaut saw the fire in his eye, glanced at his emaciated hand, 
and felt that this was true. He could bear the conversation no 
longer, now that no disclosures that could serve the First Consul 
seemed likely to be made. 
" Tou are going ? " said Toussaint. 
" Tes. I looked in to-day because I am about to leave thp 
fortress for a few days." 
" If you see the First Consul, tll him what I have now said ; 
and add that if, like him, I had used my power for myself, he 
would have had a power over me which he has not now. I 
should not then have been here-nay, you must hear me  I 
should not then have been here, crushed beneath his hand; I 
should have been on the throne of St. Domingo  flattered, as he 
is, by assurances of my glory and security  but crushed by a 
heavier weight than that of has hand ; by his image, as that of 
one betrayed in my infidelity to his country and nation. Tell him 
this ; teU him that I perish willingly, if this consequence of my 
fidelity to France may be a plea for justice to my race." 
" How people have misrepresented you to me ! " said Rubaut, 
bustling about the cell, and opening the door to call BeUines. 
" They told me you were very silent rarely spoke." 
" That was true when my duty was to thini," said Toussaint. 
" To-day my duty has been to speak. Remember that yours, in 
fidelity to your ruler, is to repeat to him what I say." 
" More wood, Belliues," said Rubaut, going to the door, to 
give further directions in a low voice. Returning, he said, with 
some hurry of manner, that, as he was to be absent for two or 
three days, he had sent for such a supply of wood and flam- 
beaux as might last some time. More books should also be 
brought. 
" When shall we meet again P " asked Toussaint. 
  
AN AWFUL FATE,  
" I don't know. Indeed I do not know,'' said the Com- 
mandant, looking at his watch by the firelight. His prisoner 
saw that his hands trembled, and that he walked with some 
irresolution to the door. 
" Au revoir !" said Toussaint. 
Rubaut did not reply, but went out, leaving the door standing 
wide, and apparently no one to guard it. 
Toussaint's heart beat at the thought that this might give 
him one more opportunity of being abroad in the daylight, 
perhain the sun ! He rose to make the attem; but he was 
exhausted by the conversation he had held  the first for so long ! 
His aching limbs failed him ; and he sank down on his bed, from 
which he did not rise tiU long after Bellines had laid down his 
loads, and left the place. 
The prisoner rose, at length, to walk, as he did many times in 
the day, from comer to corner of his cell. At the first turn, by 
the door, he struck his foot against something which he upset 
It was a pitcher of water, which, with a loaf of bread, had been 
put in that unusual place. The sight was as distinct in its 
signification as a yawning grave. His door was to open upon 
him no more. He was not again to see a human face. The 
Commandant was to be absent awhile, and, on returning, to find 
his prisoner dead. 
He used all means that he could devise to ascertain whether 
it were indeed so. He called BellineS from the door, in the way 
which Bellines had never failed to reply to since the departure 
of Mars Plaisir. Bellines did not come. He sang aloud, as he 
had never before been allowed to sing unchecked, since he entered 
the fortress. He now sang unchecked. The hour of the after- 
noon meal passed, and no one came. The evening closed, and 
no bolt had been drawn. The case was clear. 
The prisoner now and then felt a moment's surprise at expe- 
riencing so little recoil from such a fate. He was scarcely 
conscious even of repugfuance. His tranquillity was doubtless 
owing, in part, to his having long contemplated death in this 
place as certain ; to life having now little left to make its con- 
tinuance desirable; and to his knowing himself to be so reduced, 
that the struggle could not be very long. But he himself 
believed his composure to be ovring to another cause than any 
of these. 
" He who appointed me to the work of such a life as mine," 
thought the dying man, " is making its close easy to His servant. 
I would vrillingly have suffered to the extremity of His wiU : 
but my work is done ; men's eyes are no longer upon me ; I am 
alone with Him ; and He is pleased to let me enter already upon 
my everlasting peace. If Father Laxabon were here, would he 
now say, as he has often said, and as most men say, that, looking 
  
  
bct npon life from its close, it appears short as the time of the 
rly rains ? Instead of this, how long appear the sixty years 
at I have lived ! How long, how weary now seems the life 
hen I was a slave  though much was done, and it was the 
hooling of my soul for the work preparing for my hand. My 
!argot ! my children ! how quietly did we then live, as if no 
lange were ever to come, and we were to sit before our door at 
reda every evening, tUl death should remove us, one by one! 
Tiile I was composing my soul to patience by thought and by 
ading, how little did I dream that I was so becoming prepared 
free my race, to reign, and then to die of cold and hunger, 
ich as the meanest slave never knows ! Then the next eight 
lars of toil  they seem longer than all that went before, 
oubtless they were lengthened to me, to make my weak powers 
(ual to the greatness of my task ; for every day of conductiag 
ar, and making laws, appeared to me stretched out into a year, 
hese late seasons of reverse have passed over more rapidly, for 
leir suffering has been less. While all, even to Henri, have 
tied me during these latter years, they knew not that I was 
icovering the peace which I shall now no more lose. It is true 
lat I erred, according to the common estimate of affairs, in 
)t making myself a king, and separating my country from 
ranee, as France herself is compelling her to separate at last. 
 is true, I might now have been reigning there, instead of 
jdng here ; and, what is more worthy of meditation, my people 
ight now have been laying aside their arms, and beginniug a 
ng career of peace. It might possibly have been so ; but at 
hat cost ! Their career of freedom (if freedom it could then 
ive been called) would have begun in treason and in murder ; 
id the stain would have polluted my race for ever. Now, they 
ill have freedom still  they cannot but have it, though it is 
jlayed. And upon this freedom will rest the blessing of 
!eaven. We have not fought for dominion, nor for plunder; 
)r, as far as I could govern the passions of men, for revenge. 
Te began our career of freedom in fidelity, in obedience, and in 
iverence towards the whites ; and therefore may we take to our- 
Ives the blessing of Him who made us to be free, and demands 
lat we be so with clean hands and a pure heart. Therefore wiU 
le freedom of St. Domingo be but the beginning of freedom to 
le negro race. Therefore may we hothat in this race will 
le spirit of Christianity appear more fully than it has yet shown 
self among the proud whites  show itself in its gentleness, its 
ielity, its disinterestedness, and its simple trust. The proud 
hites may scorn this hope, and point to the ignorance and the 
issions of my people, and say, ' Is this your exhibition of the 
)irit of the Gospel?' But not for this will we give np our 
jpe. This ignorance, these passions, are natural to all men, 
  
LAST MOMENTS. Jig 
and are in us aggravated and protracted by our slavery. Remove 
them by the discipline and the stimulus of freedom, begun in 
obedience to God and fidelity to men, and there remain the love 
that embraces all  the meek faith that can bear to be betrayed, 
but is ashamed to doubt  the generosity that can forgive 
offences seventy-and-seven times renewed  the simple, open, 
joyous spirit which marks such as are of the kingdom of heaven. 
Lord ! I thank Thee that Thou hast made me the sei'vant of 
this race ! " 
Never, during the years of his lowliness, or the days of his 
grandeur, had Toussaint spent a brighter hour than now, while 
the spirit of prophecy (twin-angel with death) visited him, and 
showed him the realms of mind which were opening before his 
race  that countless host whose van he had himself led to the 
confines. This spirit whispered something of the immoi'tality of 
his own name, hidden, lost as he was in his last hours. 
" Be it so ! " thought he, " if my name can excite any to 
devotedness, or give to any the pleasure of being grateful. If 
my name live, the goodness of those who name it will be its life ; 
for my true self will not be in it. No one will the more know 
the real Toussaint. The weakness that was in me when I felt 
most strong, the reluctance when I appeared most ready, the 
acts of sin from which I was saved by accident alone, the divine 
constraint of circumstances to which my best deeds were owing 
these things are between me and my God. If my name and 
my life are to be of use, I thank God that they exist ; but this 
outward existence of them is nothing between Him and me. 
To me henceforward they no itiore belong than the name of 
Epaminondas, or the life of Tell. Man stands naked on the 
brink of the grave, his name sti-ipped from him, and his deeds 
laid down as the property of the society he leaves behind. Let 
the name and deeds I now leave behind be a pride to generations 
yet to come a more innocent pride than they have sometimes, 
alas ! been to me. I have done with them." 
Toussaint had often known what hunger was  in the momes 
he had endured it almost to extremity. He now expected to 
suffer less from it than then, from being able to yield to the 
faintness and drowsiness which had then to be resisted. From 
time to time during his meditations, he felt its sensations visiting 
him, and felt them without fear or regret. He had eaten his 
loaf when first hungry, and had watched through the first night, 
hoping to sleep his long sleep the sooner, when his fire should at 
length be burned out. During the day, some faint sounds reached 
him from the valley  some tokens of the existence of men. 
During the two last nights of his life, his ear was keawake 
only by the dropping of water  the old familiar sound  and the 
occasional stir of tlie brands upon the hearth. About midnight 
X 
  
  
of the second night, he fotmd he could sit np no longer. With 
trembling hands he laid on such pieces of wood as he could lift, 
lighted another flambeau, and lay down on his straw. He raised 
himself but once, hastily and dizzily in the dawn (dawn to him, 
but sunrise abroad). His ear had been reached by the song of 
the young goatherds, as they led their flock abroad into another 
TaUey. The prisoner had dreamed that it was his boy Denis, 
singing in the piazza at Pongaudin. As his dim eye recognised 
the place, by the flicker of the expiring flambeau, he smiled at 
his delusion, and sank back to sleep again. 
The Commandant was absent three days. On his return, 
he summoned Bellines, and said, in the presence of several 
soldiers  
"How is the prisoner there?" pointing in the direction of 
Toussaint's cell. 
" He has been very quiet this morning, sir." 
" Tory quiet ? Do you suppose he is iU ? " 
" He was as well as usual the last time I went to him." 
" He has had plenty of everything, I suppose ? " 
" Oh, yes, sir. Wood, candle, food, water  everything." 
" Very well. Get lights, and I will visit him." 
Lights were brought. A boy, who carried a lantern, shivered 
as he saw how ghastly Bellines' face looked in the yeUow gleam, 
in the dark vaiut on the way to the cell, and was not sorry to 
be told to stay behind, tiU called to light the Commandant back 
again. 
" Have you heard anything ? " asked Eubaut of the soldier, 
in a low voice. 
" Not for many hours. There was a call or two, and some 
singing, just after you went ; but nothing since." 
"Hush! Listen!" 
" They listened motionless for some time ; but nothing was 
heard but the everlasting plash, which went on all around them. 
" Unbar the door, Bellines." 
He did so, and held the door wide for the Commandant to 
enter. Bubaut stalked in, and straight up to the straw bed. He 
called the prisoner in a somewhat agitated voice, felt the hand, 
raised the head, and declared that he was gone. The candle was 
burned completely out. Rubaut turned to the hearth, carefully 
stirred the ashes, blew among them, and raised a spark. 
" Tou observe," he said to Bellines ; " his fire was burning 
when we found him." 
" Yes, sir." 
" There is more wood and more candle ? " 
"Yes, sir; the wood in this corner, and the candle on the 
table  just ujider your hand, sir," 
  
THE FIRST CONSUL SATISFIED. / 
" Oh, ay, here. Put on some wood, and blow up a flame. 
Observe, we found Ms fire burning." 
" Tes, sir." 
They soon re-appeared in the courtyard, and announced the 
death of the prisoner. Bubaut ordered a messenger to be in 
readiness to ride to Pontarlier, by the time he should have writ- 
ten a letter. 
" We must have the physicians from Pontarlier," observed 
the Commandant, aloud, " to examine the deceased, and declare 
what he died of. The old man has not been well for some time 
past. I have no doubt the physicians will find that he died of 
apoplexy, or something of the kind." 
" No wonder, poor soul ! " said a sutler's wife to another 
woman. 
" No wonder, indeed," replied the other. " My husband died 
of the heat in St. Domingo; and they took this poor man (don't 
tell it, but he was a black ; I got a sight of him, and he came 
from St. Domingo, you may depend upon it)  they took him out 
of all that heat, and put him into that cold, damp place there ! 
No wonder he is dead." 
" Well, I never knew we had a black here ! " 
" Don't say I told you, then." 
"I have no doubt- yes, we found his fire burning," said Bel- 
lines to the inquirers round him. " They will find it apoplexy, 
or some such thing, I have no doubt of it." 
And so they did, to the entire satisfaction of the First Consul. 
Tet it was long before the inquiring world knew with cer- 
tainty what had become of Toussaint L'Ouverture. 
x 
  
  
APPENDIX. 
Those who feel interest enough in the extraordinary fortunes of 
Toussaint L'Ouverture to inquire concerning him from the Bio- 
graphical Dictionaries and Popular Histories of the day, will find 
in them all the same brief and peremptory decision concerning 
his character. They all pronounce him to have been a man of 
wonderful sagacity, endowed with a native genius for both war 
and government; but savage in warfare; hypocritical in religion 
using piety as a political mask; and, in all his affairs, the very 
prince of dissemblers. It is true that this account consists 
neither with the facts of his life, the opinions of the people he 
delivered, nor the state documents of the island he governed. 
Tet it is easy to account for. The first notices of him were 
French, reported by the discomfited invaders of St. Domingo to 
writers imbued with the philosophy of the days of the Revo- 
lution ; and later accounts are copies of these earlier ones. From 
the time when my attention was first fixed on this hero, I have 
been struck with the inconsistencies contained in all reports of 
his character which ascribe to him cruelty and hypocrisy ; and, 
after a long and careful comparison of such views with his words 
and deeds, with the evidence obtainable from St. Domingo, and 
with the temper of his times in France, I have arrived at the 
conclusion that his character was, in sober truth, such as I have 
endeavoured to represent it in the foregoing work. 
I do not mean to say that I am the first who has formed an 
opinion that Toussaint was an honest, a religious, and a mild and 
merciful man. In an article in the Quarterly JReview (No. xlii.) 
on the "Past and Present State of Hayti," so interesting an 
account is given of the great negro, as to cause some wonder that 
no one has till now been moved hy it to present the facts of his 
life in the form of an historical novel. In that article it is justly 
observed that the onus rests with those who accuse Toussaint of 
hypocrisy to prove their allegation by facts. I would say the 
same of the other charge, of cruelty. Meanwhile, I disbelieve 
both charges, for these reasons among others :  
The wars of St. Domingo were conducted in a most barbarous 
spirit before the time of Toussaint's acquisition of power, and 
after his abduction. During the interval, the whole weight of 
  
 - . 
his influence was given to curb tlie ferocity of both parties. He 
pardoned Ms personal enemies (as in the instance of the mulat- 
toes iu the church) ; and he punished in his followers, as the 
most unpardonable offence they could commit, any infringement 
of his rule of " No Retaliation." When it is considered that 
the cruelties perpetrated in the rising of , and renewed after 
the fall of Toussaint, were invented by the whites, and copied 
by the negroes (who were wont to imitate their mastei-s in all 
they did), it is no small evidence of L'Ouverture's magnanimity 
that he conceived, illustrated, and enforced, in such times, such 
a principle as that of No Retaliation. 
All the accounts of him agree that, from his earliest childhood, 
he was distinguished by a tenderness of nature which would 
not let him hurt a fly. He attached to himself the cattle and 
horses which were under his charge when a boy, to a degree 
which made him famous in a region where cruelty to animals at 
the hands of slaves was almost universal. A man who lived 
tUl fifty, remarkable for a singular gentleness and placability, 
ought not to be believed sanguinary from that time forward, 
on the strength of the unsupported charges of his disappoiuted 
enemies. 
Piety was also his undisputed early characteristic. A slave 
bringing to the subject of religion the aptitude of the negro 
nature, early treated with kindness by a priest, evincing the 
spirit of piety from his infant years, finding in it the conso- 
lations required by a life of slavery, and guided by it in a course 
of the strictest domestic morality, while surrounded by licen- 
tiousness, may well be supposed siacere in his religion, under a 
change of circumstances occurring after he was fifty years of 
age. The imputation of hypocrisy is not, however, much to be 
wondered at when it is considered that, at the time when the 
first notices of Toussaint were written at Paris, it was the 
fashion there to believe that no wise man could be sincerely 
religious. 
As for the charge of general and habitual dissimulation, it can 
only be said that while no proof of the assertion is offered, there 
is evidence, in all the anecdotes preserved of him, of absolute 
frankness and simplicity. I rather think that it was the in- 
credible extent of his simplicity which gave rise to the belief that 
it was assumed, in order to hide cunning. The Qwartsrly Review 
quotes an anecdote thoroughly characteristic of the man, which 
is not introduced into my story, because, in the abundance of 
my materials, I found it necessary to avoid altogether the history 
of the English transactions iu St. Domingo. It was only by 
confining my narrative to the relations between Toussaint and 
Prance that I could keep my tale within limits, and preserve the 
clearness of the representation. There are circumstances, how- 
  
APPENDIX.  
ever, in his intercourse with the British, as honourable to 
Toussaint's character as any that I have related; and among 
them is the following, which I quote from the Quarterly Review. 
" General Maitland, preTious to the disembarkation of the 
troops, returned the visit at Toussaint's camp ; and such was his 
confidence in the integrity of his character, that he proceeded 
through a considerable extent of country, full of armed negroes, 
with only three attendants. Roume, the French Commissary, 
wrote a letter to Toussaint, on this occasion, advising him to 
seize his guest, as an act of duty to the republic : on the route. 
General Maitland was secretly informed of Eoume's treachery ; 
but, in f uE reliance on the honoiir of Toussaint, he determined 
to proceed. On arriving at head-quarters, he was desired to 
wait. It was some time before Toussaint made his appearance ; 
at length, however, he entered the room with two open letters iu 
his hand. ' There, General,' said he, ' before we talk together, 
read these. One is a letter from the French Commissary  the 
other is my answer. I could not see you till I had written my 
reply, that you might be satisfied how safe you were with me, 
and how incapable I am of baseness.' "  Quarterly Review, vol. 
xxi., . 
The charge of personal ambition is, above all, contradicted by 
facts. If anything is clear in Toussaint's history, it is that Ms 
ruin was owing to his loyalty to France, his misplaced trust in 
Napoleon, and his want of personal ambition. He did not, as 
he might have done, make himself a sovereign when France was 
wholly occupied with European warfare. He did not, as he 
might have done, prepare his people to resist the power of the 
mother-country, when she shotdd at length be at liberty to re- 
claim the colony. He sent away the French commissaries only 
when, by their ignorance and incompetency, they imperilled the 
peace and safety of the colony. He cherished the love of the 
mother-country in the hearts of the negroes, to the very last 
moment  till the armament which came to re-establish slavery 
appeared on the shores  till it was too late to offer that re- 
sistance which would have made him a king. Ohristophe's view 
of this part of his conduct is given in a manifesto, dated in the 
eleventh year of the Independence of Hayti :  
" Toussaint L'Ouverture, under his paternal administration, 
had reinstated, in full, force, law, morals, religion, education, and 
industry. Agriculture and commerce were flouri'shiug. He 
favoured the white colonists, particularly the planters. Indeed, 
his attentions and partialities had been carried to such a length, 
that he was loudly blamed for entertaining more affection for 
them than for thosei of his own colour. Nor was this reproach 
without foundation ; for, a few months before the arrival of the 
French, he sacrificed his own nephew, General Moyse, who had 
  
  
disregarded the orders he had given for the protection of tlie 
colonists. That act of the Governor, added to the great con- 
fidence he had placed iu the French authorities, vras the prin- 
cipal cause of the feeble resistance the French encountered in 
Hayti. Indeed, his confidence in these authorities was such, 
that he had discharged the greater part of the regular troops, 
and sent them back to the tiilage of the soil."  HaytianPoupers, 
. 
Such conduct is a sufficient answer to the allegation that 
Toussaint was actuated by a selfish ambition, cimning in its 
aims, and cruel in its use of means. 
Some light is thrown upon the character of his mind by the 
record of the books he studied while yet a slave. Rainsford 
gives a list, which does not pretend to be complete, but which is 
valuable as far as it goes. It appears that in his years of com- 
parative leisure he was completely engrossed by one book at a 
time, reading it at all spare moments, meditating its contents 
while in the field, and quoting it in conversation for weeks 
together. One of the first authors whose works thus entirely 
jjossessed him was Raynal : afterwards, Epictetus, in a French 
translation ; then others, as follows :  
Scriptores de Re Militari. 
CsBsar's Commentaries. French translation, by De Orisse. 
Des Olaison's History of Alexander and Caesar. 
D'Orleans' History of Revolutions in England and Spain. 
Marshal Saxe's Military Reveries. 
Guischard's Military Memoirs of the Greeks and Romans. 
Herodotus. 
Le Beau's Memoirs of the Academy of Inscriptions and 
BcUes-Lettres. 
Lloyd's Military and Political Memoirs. 
English Socrates, Plutarch, Cornelius Nepos, &e. &c. 
Great mystery hangs over the tale of Toussaint's imprisonment 
and death. It appears that he was confined in the Temple only 
as long as Napoleon had hopes of extorting from him information 
about the treasures, absurdly reported to have been buried by 
him in the momes,* under circumstances of atrocious cruelty. 
It has been suggested that torture was employed by Bonaparte's 
aide, CafEarelli, to procure the desired confession; but I do not 
know that the conjecture is founded on any evidence. 
As to the precise mode of L'Ouvertnre's death, there is no 
certainty. The only point on which all authorities agree is, that 
he was deliberately murdered; but whether by mere confine- 
ment in a cell whose floor was covered with water, and the 
I 'believe the term " mome " is peculiar to St. Domingo. A mome 
is a valley whose bounding hills are themselves backed by mountains. 
  
APPENDIX.  
walls with ice Ca conliuemeut necessarily fatal to a negro), or 
by poison, or by starvation iu conjunction with disease, may 
perhanever bo known. The report which is, I believe, the 
most generally believed iu France is that which I have adoptoil 
that the Commandant, when his prisoner was extremely ill, loft 
the fortress for two or three days, with the key of Toussaint's 
cell in his pocket; that, on his return, he found his prisoner 
dead; and that he summoned physicians from Pontarlier, wlio 
examined the body, and pronounced a serous apoplexy to be the 
cause of death. It so happened that I was able, in the spring 
of last year, to make some inquiry upon the spot ; the result of 
which I wiU relate. 
I was travelling in Switzerland with a party of friends, witli 
whom I had one day discussed the fortunes and character of 
Toussaint. I had then no settled purpose of writing about him, 
but was strongly urged to it by my companions. On the morning 
of the th of May, when we were drawing near Payerne from 
Freyburg, on our way to Lausanne, I remembered and men- 
tioned that we were not very far from the fortress of Joux, where 
Toussaint's bones lay. My party were all eager that I should 
visit it. There were difficulties in the way of the scheme  the 
cldef of which was that our passports were not so signed as to 
enable us to enter France; and the nearest place where the 
necessary signature could be obtained was Berne, which we had 
left behind us the preceding day. I had, however, very fortu- 
nately a Secretary of State's passport, besides the Prussian 
Consul's ; and this second passport, made out for myseK and a 
femme-de-chamhre, had been signed by the French Minister in 
London. One of my kind companions offered to cross the frontier 
with me, as my femme-de-chamhre, and to help me in obtaining 
access to the prison of Toussaint; an offer I was very thankful 
to accept. At Payerne, we separated ourselves and a very 
small portion of luggage from our party, whom we promised to 
overtake at Lausanne in two or three days. We engaged for 
the trip a double char-a-banc, with two stout little horses, and a 
brave homme of a driver, as our courteous landlady at Payerne 
assured us. Passing through Tverdun, we reached Orbe by five 
in the afternoon, and took up our quarters at the " Guillaume 
Tell," full of expectation for the morrow. 
On the th, we had breakfasted, and were beginning the 
ascent of the Jura before seven o'clock. The weather was fine, 
and we enjoyed a succession of interesting objects, till we reached 
that which was the motive of our excursion. First we had that 
view of the Alwhich, if it wore possible, it would be equally 
useless to describe to any who have and any who have not stood 
on the eastern sloof the Jura, on a clear day. Then we wound 
among the singular defiles of this mountain range, till we reached 
  
  
the valley which is commanded by Jougne. Here we alighted, 
climbing the sloto the gate of the town, while the carriage was 
slowly dragged up the steep winding road. Our appearance 
obviously perplexed the two custom-house officers, who questioned 
us, and peeped into our one bag and our one book (the Handbook 
of Switzerland) with an amusing air of suspicion. My companion 
told them that the aim of our journey was the fortress of Joux ; 
and that we expected to pass the frontier again in the afternoon, 
on our return to Orbe. Whether they believed us, or, believing, 
thought us very foolish, is best known to themselves ; but I sus- 
pect the latter, by their compliments on our cleverness, on our 
return. At Jougne we supplied ourselves with provisions, and 
then proceeded through valleys, each narrower than the last, 
more dismal with pines, and more chequered with snow. The 
air of desolation, nere and there rendered more striking by 
the dreary settlements of the charcoal-burners, would have 
been impressive enough, if our minds had not been full of the 
great negro, and therefore disposed to view everything with Ms 
eyes. 
The scene was exactly what I have described in my story, 
excethat a good road, made since Toussaint's time, now passes 
round and up the opposite side of the rock from that by which 
he mounted. The old road, narrow and steeremains ; and we 
descended by it. 
We reached the courtyard without difficulty, passing the two 
drawbridges and portcullis described. The Commandant was 
absent ; and his lieutenant declared against our seeing anything 
more than the great wheel, and a small section of the battle- 
ments. But for great perseverance, we should have seen nothing 
more; but we obtained, at last, all we wanted. We passed 
through the vault and passages I have described, and thoroughly 
examined the cell. No words can convey a sense of its dreari- 
ness. I have exaggerated nothing  the dim light, the rotten 
floor, shining like a pond, the drip of water, the falling flakes of 
ice, were all there. The stove was removed ; but we were shown 
where it stood. 
There were only three persons who pretended to possess any 
information concerning the negro prisoner. The solmer who was 
our principal guide appeared never to have heard of him. Avery 
old man in the village, to whom we were referred, could tell us 
nothing but one fact, which I knew before  that Toussaint was 
deprived of his servant, some time before his death. A woman 
in the sutler's department of the fortress pretended to know all 
about him ; but she had never seen him, and had no further title 
to authority than that her first husband had died in the St. 
Domingo invasion. She did us the good service of pointing out 
the grave, however. The brickwork which surrounds the coffin 
  
APPENDIX.  
now forms part of a new wall ; but it was till lately within the 
church. 
This woman's story was that which was probably given out 
on the spot, to be told to inquirers ; so inconsistent is it in itself, 
and with known facts. Her account was, that Toussaint was 
carried off from St. Domingo by the ship in which he was ban- 
queted by Leclerc (the last of a line of two hundred), weighing 
anchor without his perceiving it, while he was at dinner. The 
absurdity of this beginning shows how much reliance is to b 
placed upon the rest of her story. She declared that the Com- 
mandant Rubaut had orders from the Government to treat the 
prisoner well ; that his servant remained with him to the last ; 
that he was well supplied with books, allowed the range of the 
fortress, and accustomed to pass his days in the house of the 
Commandant, playing cards in the evenings : that on the last 
night of his life he excused himself from the card-table, on the 
plea of being unwell ; that he refused to have his servant with 
him, though urged not to pass the night alone ; that he was left 
with fire, fauteuil, flambeaux, and a book, and found dead in his 
chair in the morning f and that the physicians who examined the 
body declared his death to have been caused by the rupture of a 
blood-vessel in the heart. This last particular is known to be as 
incorrect as the first. As for the rest, this informant differs from 
all others in saying that Mars Plaisir remained with his master 
to the last day of his life ; and we may ask why Toussaint's 
nights were to be passed in his horrible cell, if his days were so 
favoured ; and how it was that no research availed to discover to 
the eager curiosity of all Euroand the West Indies the retreat 
of L'Ouverture, if he, a negro, was daily present to the eyes of 
the garrison of the fortress, and to those of all the inhabitants of 
the village, and of all the travellers on that road who chose to 
raise their eyes to the walls. 
Our third informant was a boy, shrewd and communicative, 
who could tell us the traditions of the place ; and, of course, 
young as he was, nothing more. It was he who showed us 
where the additional stove was placed when winter came on. 
He pointed to a spot beside the fireplace, where he said the 
straw was spread on which Toussaint lay. He declared that 
Toussaint lived and died in solitude ; and that he was found 
dead and cold, lying on that straw  his wood-fire, however, not 
being wholly extinguished. 
The dreary impressions of the place saddened our minds for 
long after we had left it; and, glad as we were, on rejoining our 
party at Lausanne, to report the complete success of our enter- 
prise, we cannot recur to it, to this day, without painful feelings. 
How the lot of Toussaint was regarded by the generous spirits 
of the time is shown in a sonnet of Wordsworth's, written 
  
  
during the disappearance of L'Ouverture. Every one knows 
this sonnet ; but it may be read by others, as by me, with a 
fresh emotion of delight, after having dwelt on the particulars 
of the foregoing history. 
" Toussaint, the most unhapMan of Men ! 
Whether the whistling rustic tend his plough 
Within thy hearing, or thy head be now 
Pillow'd in some deep dungeon's earless den :  
O miserable Chieftain ! where and when 
WUt thou find patience ? Yet die not : do thou 
Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow : 
Though fallen thyself, never to rise again, 
Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind 
Powers that will work for thee : air, earth, and skies 
There's not a breathing of the common wind 
That will forget thee : thou hast great allies ; 
Thy friends are exultations, agonies. 
And love, and Man's unconquerable mind." 
The family of Toussaint were first sent to Bayonne, and after- 
wards to Agen, where one of the sons died of a decline. The 
two elder ones, endeavouring to escafrom the surveillance 
under which they lived, were embarked for Belle Isle, and im- 
prisoned in the citadel, where they were seen in . On the 
restoration of the Bourbons, not only were they released, but a 
pension was settled on the family. Madame L'Ouverture died, 
I believe, in the South of France, in , in the arms of Placide 
and Isaac. 
What Napoleon afterwards thought of the dungeon of Tous- 
saint, is known through an anecdote which I have received from 
high authority. 
The next occupant of Toussaint's cell was the Duo de Riviere, 
afterwards the first Trench ambassador to Constantinople. The 
Due (then Marquis) was a young man, on the point of marriage 
with Mademoiselle de la Perte, when, for some unknown offence, 
he was thrown into prison at Joux, and apparently forgotten. 
There he wasted three of the best years of his life. Mademoiselle 
de la Ferte never relaxed in her efforts to obtain his liberation ; 
but she was told, at length, that Napoleon was weary of her 
solicitations, and that further efforts on her part would have no 
better result than increasing the displeasure of the Emperor. In 
the hour of her despair, the kind-heartedness of Josephine came 
to hor aid. The ladies caused a model of the cell at Joux to be 
prepared  bearing the most exact resemblance to the horrible 
abode ; and this model Josephine placed, with her own hands, on 
the bureau of the Emperor. 
" All ! fi done ! Quel est ce lieu abominable ? " said the 
Emperor. 
  
APPENDIX. S 
The Empress informed him that it was one of his Majesty's 
state prisons ; to which he replied that it was impossible ; that 
no man could live four-and-twenty hours in such a den. This 
brought out the information that the Marqids de Biviere had 
lived three years in it, and was still lying there, by his Majesty's 
commands. 
" Otez-moi sa ! " cried the Emperor, tartly. " Cette vue me 
fait frdmir." 
The model was removed. The Marquis was presently after- 
wards liberated. He retired to Germany, where he was met by 
Mademoiselle de la Perte, whom he there married. In after- 
years he was fond of relating the anecdote which I have given, 
as nearly as possible, in his method and language. 
For some years I have read whatever came within my reach 
on the subject of my present work : so that it would not now be 
easy to assign my authority for every view and every statement 
it contains. The authorities which I have principally consulted 
whUe actually writing, I will, however, give. They are  Rains- 
ford's " Historical Account of the Black Empire of Hayti ; " the 
above-mentioned article in the Quarterly Review; Bryan 
Edwards's "St. Domingo"; the article " Toussaint L'Ouverture," 
in the " Biographie Universelle ; " and the " Haytian Papers," 
edited by Prince Sanders. 
Of these, Bryan Edwards, who did not live to complete his 
history, barely names my hero ; and the reports he gives of Ihe 
Revolution of St. Domingo are useful chiefly as representing the 
prejudices, as well as the interests, of the planters. The article 
in the Qaarterly is valuable, as being an able and liberal digest 
of various narratives ; some derived from Hayti itself. Rains- 
ford's book is nearly unreadable, from the absurdity of its style ; 
but it is truly respectable in my eyes, notwithstanding, from its 
high appreciation of L'Ouverture's character. It contains more 
information concerning Toussaint than can be found, I believe, 
anywhere else, excein the Biographie ; and it has the advan- 
tage of detailing what fell under the writer's own observation. 
The Biographie furnishes many valuable facts ; but appears, 
from the inconsistency of various part, and the confused im- 
pression which it conveys as a whole, to be a compilation in 
which the workman has been more careful to record dates aud 
other facts correctly, than to understand the personage whose 
portrait he professes to give. The " Haytian Papers " are the 
most valuable of all authorities, as far as they go. 
Of my other personages, all had a real existence, exceM. 
Revel, Euphrosyne, and their servants ; some of the planters 
Tuentioned in the second chapter ; the ishildren of Bellair ; the 
  
  
Abbess and her establishment; and some of the Tisitors at 
Tonssaint's leree ; with a few other subordinate characters. 
Of the real personages, several were probably very unlike what 
I have represented them. I knew the names of some, without 
knowing their characters ; as in the instances of Placide and 
Isaac, MM. Pascal and Moliere, Mars Plaisir, Madame Oge, the 
Marquis d'Hermona, Laxabon, Vincent, and Paul. 
Of others, I knew the character and history, without being 
able to ascertain the names ; as in the instances of Madame 
DessaJines and Madame Bellair. Since the issue of my first 
edition, I have learned that the name of Madame Dessalines 
was Marie ; and her second name, before marriage, Claire or 
Clerc. I have not thought it advisable to substitute Marie for 
Therese in this edition, as nothing could be thereby gained 
which would compensate for disturbing the associations of my 
readers in regard to one of the chief personages of the story. 
Of others, such as the wife, daughters, and third son of Tous- 
saint, M. Papalier, and the tutors, Azua and Loisir, I knew only 
that they existed, without being able to learn their names or 
characters. The only character designed to be folly and faith- 
fully acenrdaut with history is that of Toussaint himself. 
Those which have much, but less absolute, pretension to his- 
torical truth are those of Jean Prangais, Christophe, Dessalines, 
and the other negro G-enerals, old Dessalines, Bellair, Raymond, 
tlie French Commissaries and Envoys, Bayon, and Moyse.