The Hour and the Man Part 40

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, pa.s.sive and stupified, into the arms of two nuns.

Seeing the abbess standing behind, he took off his hat, and would have said something; but his lips 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 TWENTY TWO.

A LOVER'S LOVE.

This new violence had for its object the few whites who were rash and weak enough to insist on the terms of Hedouville'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 discontented. They exasperated each other with 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 Francais now lay. Stories, however, pa.s.sed 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--rumours 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 obnoxious masters, either in their own houses, or, as in the case of Monsieur Revel, where they happened to meet them.

On the Haut-du-Cap 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 affairs changed. There was an air of irresolution 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 troops caught his mood. Some of the inhabitants of the town, who wore on the watch with gla.s.ses from the gates, from the churches, and from the roofs of houses, afterwards testified to there having been a shaking of hands, and other amicable gestures. They testified that the insurgents 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 remained on the heights till daylight; and the inhabitants, feeling themselves wholly unprotected, sent off 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 of General Moyse, who ridiculed the idea of further danger, and required the inhabitants to be satisfied with his a.s.surances of protection. Fortunately, however, one or two messengers who had been sent off a few hours before, on the first alarm, had reached their destination, while General Moyse was yet on the Haut-du-Cap.

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 ringleaders 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 office, who were regarded by the inhabitants as accessories.

This kind of speculation was not abated by the sight of L'Ouverture, as he pa.s.sed 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 approached, some humbly to ask, others eagerly to offer information.

With all these last he made appointments, and rode on. His way lay past Monsieur 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 coffin was brought out, he took off his hat, and remained uncovered till it moved on, when he turned his horse, and followed the train to the corner 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 Government-house, he proceeded 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 off towards the apartment in which he was to be guarded, he requested an interview with the Commander-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 Government-house. Messengers were sent to Fort Dauphin, to the commanding officer at Limbe, and to every military station within thirty miles. Orders were issued for the garrison of Cap to be kept close within their quarters. Not a man was to be allowed, on any pretence whatever, to pa.s.s the barrack-gates, which were well-guarded by the Commander-in-Chief's own guards, till troops for 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 you. 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 unhappy

"Genifrede."

Toussaint left the room, and was but too well directed by the countenances of his servants to the room where Genifrede 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.

Genifrede looked up, on hearing some one enter. When she saw that it was her father, she again buried her face in the cus.h.i.+ons, saving only--

"Oh, why did you come?"

"Stay, my child, why did you come? 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, Genifrede. 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 he is."

"The salon!" said Genifrede, as if relieved. She had probably imagined him chained in a cell. This one word appeared to alter the 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 will come again."

When he rejoined her, she was still haggard and agitated, but appeared far less wretched than before.

"Genifrede!" 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, Genifrede! Call him back! I must see him.

If you ask him, he will come. Call him back, Genifrede!"

"If you are engaged, Moyse," said she in a sickening voice, "if I am in 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.

"You shall not go, my love--my Genifrede," cried Moyse, supporting her to a sofa. "I did not know--I little thought--Are you 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? How can you make me think it?"

"Why, Genifrede, you cannot suppose anything _very_ serious will happen.

What frightens you so? Once more I ask you the old question that we must both be weary of--what frightens you so?"

"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? And are you not a prisoner, waiting for trial--and that trial for--for--for your life?"

"Never believe so, Genifrede! Have they not told you that the poor blacks behaved perfectly well from the moment they met me? 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 honour, his professional standing, are everything--"

Seeing a painful expression in 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 himself 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. You 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?"