The Hour and the Man Part 59

"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 G.o.d will hear that prayer," said Afra, cheerfully.

"And I am sure Bonaparte will thank you for it," said Euphrosyne, "in that day when hearts will be known, and things seen as they are."

"One might expect," sighed Madame L'Ouverture, "as one's children grow up, that they should go mad for love; but I never thought of such a thing as their going mad for loyalty."

"Do you think it is for loyalty?" asked Euphrosyne. "I should call Placide the most loyal of your children; and, next to him, Denis."

"They think they are loyal and patriotic, my dear. I am sure I hope they will go on to think so; for it is the best excuse for them."

"I wish I had a magic gla.s.s," said Euphrosyne--

"My dear, do not wish any such thing. It is very dangerous and wicked to have anything to do with that kind of people. I could tell you such a story of poor Moyse (and of many other unhappy persons, too) as would show you the mischief of meddling with charms, Euphrosyne."

"Do not be afraid, dear madam. I was not thinking of any witchcraft; but only wis.h.i.+ng your children the bright mirror of a clear and settled mind. I think such a mirror would show them that what they take for loyalty and patriotism in their own feelings and conduct, is no more loyalty and patriotism than the dancing lights in our rice-grounds are stars."

"What is it, my dear, do you think?"

"I think it is weakness, remaining from their former condition. When people are reared in humiliation, there will be weakness left behind.

Loyal minds must call Bonaparte's conduct to L'Ouverture vulgar. Those who admire it, it seems to me, either have been, or are ready to be, slaves."

"One may pity rather than blame the first," said Afra; "but I do not pretend to have any patience with the last. I pity our poor faithless generals here, and dear Aimee, with her mind so perplexed, and her struggling heart; but I have no toleration for Leclerc and Rochambeau, and the whole train of Bonaparte's wors.h.i.+ppers in France."

"They are not like your husband, indeed, Afra."

"And they might all have been as right as he. They might all have known as well as he, what L'Ouverture is, and what he has done. Why do they not know that he might long ago have been a king? Why do they not tell one another that his throne might, at this day, have been visited by amba.s.sadors from all the nations, but for his loyalty to France? Why do they not see, as my husband does, that it is for want of personal ambition that L'Ouverture is now an outlaw in the mornes, instead of being hand-in-hand, as a brother king, with George of England? They might have known whom to honour and whom to restrain, as my husband does, if they had had his clearness of soul, and his love of freedom."

"And because they have not," said Euphrosyne, "they are lost in amazement at his devotion to a negro outlaw. Do not shrink, dear madam, from those words. If they were meant in anything but honour they would not be spoken before you. Afra and I feel that to be the First of the Blacks is now to be the greatest man in the world; and that to be an outlaw in the mornes, in the cause of a redeemed race, is a higher glory than to be the conqueror of Europe. Do we not, Afra?"

"a.s.suredly we do."

"They will soon learn whom they have to deal with in this outlaw," said Madame. "I can tell you, my dears, that Rochambeau is drawing near us, and that there is likely soon to be a battle. Heigho!"

"Is that bad news or good?" asked Euphrosyne.

"My husband means it for good news, my dear--at least, if Maurepas arrives from the south as soon as Rochambeau from the north."

"I wish Maurepas would come!" sighed Afra. Madame L'Ouverture went on--

"It has been a great mortification to my husband that there has been no fair battle yet. His people--those who are faithful--have had no opportunity of showing how they feel, and what they can do. The French have been busy spying, and bribing, and cajoling, and pretending to negotiate; and the one thing they will not do is fighting. But I tell you, my dears, the battle-day is coming on now. Heigho!"

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 lap. Afra wondered how General Dessalines would bear to hear the firing from his chamber, so near, and be unable to help.

"That puts me in mind," said Madame, rising hurriedly--"how could I forget? It was the very 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 will hold, and the tents which my husband is sending up. We must be making lint, my dears, and preparing bandages. My husband has provided simples, and Madame Dessalines will tell us--Oh dear! what was I about to forget all this!"

"Do not hurry yourself, dear madam," said Afra. "We will 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, in 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, will 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. You need not hurry; and it will be a glorious sight."

"No, my dear. Do you young people go. But, Euphrosyne, are you quite sure it is not Rochambeau?"

"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 in 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 off to the camp before we could stop him. It may be a fortunate chance that he is on the northern hills 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 sunrise, when they said they should seek fish and fowl to-day, in the logwood grove and the pond above it, as there were hunters 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. Therese saw that it was indeed so; and that he would lie 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 hills. The troops were now hidden by a hanging wood; so that Afra rested her strained eyes for a moment, and happened to notice Vincent'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 occupied; and they and the Pascals communicated 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 hope of accommodation and peace. It is strange, when the great men on both sides profess such a desire for peace, that we must see this breach made, n.o.body can tell why."

"Why, my good fellow!" exclaimed Dessalines, 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. You know nothing that has been done since December, I do believe. Come! let me tell 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 knowledge, one could not tell them from droves of bullocks and goats going to market at Saint Marc."

"Except for their caps," said Euphrosyne. "I see a dozen or two of feathers through the crowd. Do not you, Afra?"

"Yes, but where is their music? We should hear something of it here, surely."