The Hour and the Man Part 67

"But you need comfort. You will rest better afterwards."

"Well, well; in the evening, perhaps. I must be quiet now. Comfort, indeed!" he muttered. "Yes, I want comfort enough, 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 his 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, wept and prayed, on behalf of Papalier and all sinners. Again and again she implored that these wretched hatreds, those miserable strifes, might be all hushed in the grave,--might be wholly 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 confession, 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 off 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 knew 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 avail anything to a soul wholly unsanctified?

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?"

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

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 Francais. It contained the following:--

"It is said that General Leclerc is in a bad state of health at Tortuga. Of this you will inform me. If you see the Captain-General, be sure to tell him that the cultivators are no longer disposed to obey me, for the planters wish to set them to work at Hericourt; which they certainly ought not to do.

"I have to ask you whether any one near the person of the Captain-General can be gained to procure the release of D--, who would be very useful to me from his influence at La Nouvelle, 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, made the subject of a consultation in the Captain-General's quarters. Amidst the boastings which he sent home, and by which France was amused, Leclerc felt that his thirty-five thousand soldiers had made no progress whatever in the real conquest of Saint Domingo. He was aware that France had less power there than before she had alienated L'Ouverture.

He felt that Toussaint was still the sovereign that he had been for ten years past. He knew that a glance of the eye, a lifting of the hand, from Toussaint, wrought more than sheaves of ordinances from himself, 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 sh.o.r.e or in the woods, without being reminded that they 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 herself. Leclerc and his confidential advisers committed the error of attributing all this to Toussaint'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 France. 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 vigilant friends. Day by day he was warned of an ambush here, of spies there, or of an attempt meditated for such an hour. During a fortnight of incessant designs upon his person, he so baffled all attempts as to induce a sort of suspicion among the French soldiery that he was protected by magic.

It was an anxious season for his family. Their only comfort was that it would soon be 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 hope throughout the island. The household at Pongaudin counted the days till August; but it was yet only the beginning of June; and the season pa.s.sed heavily away. On one occasion, a faithful servant of Toussaint's was brought in dead--shot from a thicket which his master was expected to pa.s.s. 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 provided by some of his scouts. Now and then, some one mentioned retiring to the mountains; but Toussaint 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 enfeebled and distracted by sickness. Caution and patience, for two months more, would probably secure freedom without bloodshed. 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 Toussaint owed his danger to Christophe, 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 French treachery towards his friend. By day, he was scouring 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 required; 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 departure from the mode of life he had proposed on retiring to his estate. Almost daily, therefore, he rode; and exhilarating did he find the rapid exercise, the danger, and, above all, the knowledge 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 affairs, and had his best advice. This kind of correspondence, 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, concerning which he had received applications at home. In dispersing his troops over 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 troops; 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 command, General Brunet wrote that this was an affair which came within his department; that he was necessarily ignorant of the localities of Saint 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 circ.u.mstances. He proposed that General Toussaint should meet him in the centre of the canton of Henneri, and instruct him concerning the better distribution of the troops.

"See these whites!" said Toussaint, handing the letter to Monsieur Pascal. "Till they find they are wrong, they have no misgivings; they know everything; and they are obliged at last to come, and learn of old Toussaint."

"You will not meet General Brunet, as he proposes," said Monsieur Pascal. "You will not place yourself in the centre of the canton, among their troops?"

"No, no; you will not! You will not think of going!" cried Madame L'Ouverture.

"For once, Margot, you bear ill-will towards those who compliment 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 Monsieur Pascal.

"I think he will; not because they trust me, for they know not what trust is; but because I could gain nothing by any injury to General Brunet and twenty soldiers that could compensate 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 _bona fide_ an escort of twenty. There is reason for the meeting taking place here. Maps will be wanted, and other a.s.sistance which we might not remember to provide elsewhere. General Brunet must be my guest; and Madame L'Ouverture will make him admire our hospitality."

General Brunet immediately accepted the invitation, promising to present himself at Pongaudin on the tenth of June.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

A FEAT.

General Brunet brought with him no more than his allotted twenty soldiers, and a secretary. Christophe 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 off constraint and fear together as the two generals, with their secretaries, retired to the library, after coffee.

Placide had been with Christophe all day, and was the means by which the household had been a.s.sured of the tranquillity 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 a.s.sault 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 Christophe.

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 encampment on Tortuga. When all of this kind had been said, and the conversation turned upon points of military science or management, which he did not care about, Denis drew off to the window, and thence into the balcony, where he looked out 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 out 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 within; 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 off, Denis sang louder as he sank deeper into reverie. Monsieur Pascal became aware of some embarra.s.sment, 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--till 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 the waters between the island and the sh.o.r.e. As he strained his sight, and as the waned moon rose higher, he discovered that it was a ship. It 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 something stranger still soon met his ear--sounds, first odd, then painful--horrible. There was some bustle below--on the beach, within the little gate--he thought even on the lawn. It was a scuffle; there was a stifled cry. He feared the guard were disarmed and gagged-- attacked on the side of the sea, where no one dreamed of an a.s.sault, and where there was no Christophe to help. Denis knew, however, 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 sh.o.r.e. 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 Monsieur Pascal to the balcony. Monsieur Pascal re-entered in an instant, saying--

"The house is surrounded--the lawn is crowded. Make no resistance, and they may spare your life."