LI E. R.AR.Y 
 
 OF THL 
 
 UNIVLR.5ITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 623 
 1841 
 
 V.I
 
 The person charging this f ate^al is re- 
 soonsible for its return to the librar) trom 
 w'hich it was withdrawn on or betore the 
 Latest Date stamped below. 
 
 Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books 
 are rUsons for disciplinary action and may 
 result in dismissal from the Un.vers.ty. 
 
 UNIVERSITY OP ILLINOIS L^RA^^^MURBANA^CHA^ 
 
 OCT 1 2 198' 
 •JUL 2 4 1990 
 
 i 
 
 MAR 1 1 20 
 
 Li6i_O-1096
 
 --> ^2^iJL^
 
 y I- .V 
 
 
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 1
 
 THE HOUR AND THE MAN 
 
 ^ l^istorical Bomana. 
 
 HARRIET MARTINEAU. 
 
 •' Now there was found in it a poor wise man, and he by his wisdom 
 delivered the city ; yet no man remembered that same poor man." — Eccls- 
 siASTEs, ix. 15. 
 
 •' Thou hast led captivity captive."— Psalm Ixviii. 18. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 EDWARD iA;OXON, DOVER STREET. 
 
 MDCCCXLI,
 
 PKJ.MKRS, VVmrtKHIARS. 

 
 8£S 
 
 v.l. 
 
 CONTENTS TO VOL. I. 
 
 CHAP. P'*^^ 
 
 I. WAITING SUPPER 1 
 
 H. THE EXCLUSIVES ^8 
 
 III. WHAT TO DO ! ^6 
 
 IV. WHITHER AWAY? 69 
 
 „, 94 
 
 VI. THE HOUR .....■• 
 
 V. GRIEFS OF THE LOYAL ..... 
 
 
 
 119 
 
 VII. THE ACT lO- 
 
 VIII. BREDA AGAIN 1''^ 
 
 IX. THE MAX . . . ■ • • • 18/ 
 
 X. A MORNING OF OFFICE -'^'-^ 
 
 XI. l'etoile and its people 265 
 
 XII. A NIGHT OF OFFICE 308
 
 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WAITING SUPPER. 
 
 The nights of August are in St. Domingo the 
 hottest of the year. The winds then cease to be- 
 friend the panting inhabitants ; and while the ther- 
 mometer stands at 90% there is no steady breeze, 
 as during the preceding months of summer. Light 
 puffs of ^vind 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 22nd of August 1791. This was one of five days 
 appointed for rejoicings in the town of Cap Fran- 
 gais, — festivities among the French and Creole 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 Z THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 their celebrations by what happened at 
 Paris; and never had the proceedings of the mo- 
 ther-country been so important to the colony as now. 
 During the preceding year, the white proprietors 
 of St. Domingo, who had hailed with loud voices 
 the revolutionary doctrines before which royalty 
 had begun to succumb in France, 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 innocently understood the words accord- 
 ing to their commonly received meaning, and 
 expected an equal share with the whites in the re- 
 presentation 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 free-born mulattoes, with every pos- 
 sible manifestation of contempt and dislike, an 
 effort had been made to wring from the whites
 
 WAITING SUFFER. 6 
 
 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 Fran^ais. 
 These young men were executed, under circum- 
 stances of great barbarity. Their sufferings were 
 as seed sown in the warm bosoms of their com- 
 panions and adherents, to spring up, in due season, 
 in a harvest of vio^orous reveno^e. The whites sus- 
 pected this ; and were as anxious as their dusky 
 neighbours to obtain the friendship and sanction 
 of the revolutionary government at home. That 
 government was fluctuating in its principles and in 
 its counsels; it favoured now one party, and now the 
 other ; and on the arrival of its messengers at the 
 ports of the colony, there ensued sometimes 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 Vincent Oge had inter- 
 ested 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 
 B 2
 
 4 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 tyranny of the whites. The abb6 Gregoire pleaded 
 for them in the National Assembly ; and on the 
 15th 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 admission to these 
 civil functions of free-born persons, many of whom 
 were wealthy and many educated; but to the whites 
 of St. Domingo the decree was only less tremen- 
 dous than the rush of the hurricane. 
 
 It arrived at Cap Fran^ais on the 30th of June, 
 and the tidings presently spread. At first, no one 
 believed them but the mulattoes. When it was no 
 longer possible to doubt, when the words of Robe- 
 spierre passed from mouth to mouth, till even the 
 nuns told them to one another in the convent gar- 
 den, — " 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 14th 
 of July (as they now decHned taking the civic oath), 
 and proposed to one another to offer their colony 
 and their allegiance to England.
 
 WAITING SUFFER. 5 
 
 They found means, however, to gratify their 
 love of power, and their 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 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 
 httle 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 Leo- 
 gane, in the southern region of the island, so early 
 as the 9th of August. After exchanging greetings, 
 and vows of fidelity to their class-interests, under the 
 name of patriotism, they adjourned their assembly to 
 the 25th, when they were to meet at Cap Francais.
 
 6 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 sympa- 
 thised 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 20th, the deputies were congregated at 
 Cap Fran9ais ; and daily till the great 25th were 
 they seen to confer together in coteries in the shady 
 piazzas, or in the Jesuits' Walk, in the morning, and 
 to dine together in parties in the afternoon, admit- 
 ting friends and well-wishers to these tavern din- 
 ners. Each day till the 25th was to be a fete day 
 in the town and neighbourhood ; and of these days 
 the hot 22nd was one. 
 
 Among these friends and well-wishers were the 
 whites upon all the plantations in the neighbour- 
 hood of the town. There was scarcely an estate in 
 the Plaine du Nord, or on the mountain steeps which 
 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,
 
 WAITING SUPPER. < 
 
 in the cool of the morning ; and there was a holi- 
 day 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 ordi- 
 nary business, when there were the mulattoes to be 
 ostentatiously insulted, and the mother-country to be 
 defied. So the negroes slept at 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. Perhaps they 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 Franc^ais. The attorney, or bailiff 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 Condorcet, he rarely 
 found anything harsh to utter when Caton got 
 drunk and spoiled his dinner ; when Venus sent up
 
 8 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 particularly 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 even- 
 ing, the 22nd. This family did not live in the 
 slave- quarter. They had a cottage near the stables, 
 as Toussaint Breda had been M. Bayou's postilion ; 
 and, when he was latel)^ 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, ob- 
 served his restlessness ; for Toussaint was a great 
 reader, and seldom looked off the page for a moment
 
 WAITING SUPPER. 
 
 of any spare hour that he might have for reading 
 either the books M. Bayou lent him, or the three 
 or four volumes which he had been permitted to 
 purchase for himself. 
 
 " Do you see Jean V 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 with 
 Jean, mother ?" asked Genifrede from the piazza. 
 
 " No ; they have a supper at Latour's to-night ; 
 and wesliould nothavethoughtof inviting Jean, but 
 that he wants some 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 tendrils 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 ? So Denis 
 cried out imperiously to be hfted up. His father 
 set him on the shelf within the piazza, where the 
 calabashes were kept, — a station whence he could 
 B 3
 
 10 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 see into the nest, and watch the bird, without being 
 able to touch it. This was not altogether satis- 
 factory. The little fellow looked about him for a 
 calabash to throw at the nest ; but his mother had 
 carried in all her cups for the service of the supper 
 table. As no more wind came at his call, he could 
 only blow with all his might, to swing the tendril 
 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. Genifrede 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 
 snow-berries 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 
 re-appeared. 
 
 " Ha ! boy ! a book in your hands already ! I 
 hope you may have as much comfort out of that 
 book as I have had, Denis."
 
 WAITING SUPPER. 11 
 
 *' What is it ? what is it about ?" 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. Come 
 and try." 
 
 The child knew the letter E, and, with a good 
 deal of help, made out, at last, Epictetus. 
 
 " What is that?" asked the boy. 
 
 " Epictetus was a negro," said Genifrede, com- 
 placently. 
 
 " Not 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 will 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. From respect to him, Geni-
 
 12 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 frede kept Denis quiet by signs of admonition ; 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 
 chorus of frogs from a distant swamp. Uncon- 
 scious of this din, from being accustomed always 
 to hear more or less of it, the boy amused himself 
 with chasing the fire-flies, 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 up. It came from a large 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 beautiful. The globe of 
 green light floated on till it burst above the moun- 
 tains, illuminating the lower clouds, and revealing 
 along the slopes of the uplands the coffee- groves, 
 waving and bowing their heads in the wandering 
 winds of that high region. Genifrede shivered at
 
 WAITING SUPPER. 13 
 
 the sight, and her brother threw himself upon her 
 lap. Before 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 wall 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, 
 M'hich had been actually seen by some travelled 
 persons now in Cap Francais. It took some time 
 and argument to give him an idea of cold coun- 
 tries ; but his uncle Paul, the fisherman, had seen 
 hail on the coast, only thirty miles from hence; and 
 this was a great step in the evidence. Denis listened 
 with all due belief to his sister's description of those 
 pale lights shooting up over the sky, till 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, how^ever, was little like the pale, 
 cold rays of the aurora borealis. It was a fiery red 
 which, shining to some height in the air, was 
 covered in by a canopy of smoke.
 
 14 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 " Look up, Genifrede," 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 
 burns 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 Jean had desired 
 to have with him. As he stood with folded arms, 
 looking from the one conflagration to the other, 
 Genifr^de clung to him, trembling with terror. — In 
 a quarter of an hour, another blaze appeared on 
 the horizon ; and, soon after, a fourth. 
 
 " The sky is on fire," cried Denis, in more 
 delight than fear. " Look at the clouds ! " And 
 the clouds did indeed show, throughout their huge 
 pile, some a mild flame-colour, and others a hard 
 crimson edge, as during a stormy sunset.
 
 WAITING SUPPER. 15 
 
 " 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 I " 
 
 Margot wept bitterly. " O, 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 me to bear and forbear, — 
 yes, my boy, as this book says, and as the book of 
 God says. We will 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 ! 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 himself must remain to watch at home.
 
 16 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 Placide did not come when called, nor was be at 
 the stables. He was gone some way off, to cut 
 fresh grass for the cattle, — a common night-labour 
 on the plantation. 
 
 " Call Isaac, then," said Toussaint. 
 
 *' Run, Genifrede," said her mother. " Isaac and 
 Aim6e 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 laugh- 
 ter 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 by splashing each other 
 with more than half the water they drew. Their 
 bright eyes and teeth could be seen by the mild
 
 WAITING SUPPER. 17 
 
 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 Genifrede crouching alone in a cor- 
 ner 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 nicrht for bovs 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.
 
 18 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE EXCLUSIVES. 
 
 The party of deputies with whom M. Bayou 
 was dining, were assembled at the great hotel, at 
 the corner of Place Mont Archer, at Cap Fran9ais. 
 Languidly though gladly did the guests, especially 
 those from the country, enter the hotel, overpowering 
 as was the heat of the roads and the streets. In the 
 roads, the sand lay so deep, that 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 pil- 
 lars, if accidentally touched, seemed to burn the 
 hand ; and the hum of traffic, and the sound of 
 feet, appeared to increase the oppression caused by 
 the weather. Within the hotel, all was compara- 
 tively cool and quiet. The dining and drawing 
 rooms occupied by the guests adjoined each other, 
 and presented none but the most welcome images.
 
 THE EXCLUSIVES. 19 
 
 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 in the other, diagonally across the 
 Rue Espagnole, the Jesuits' Walk, an oblong 
 square laid down in grass, and shaded in the midst 
 by an avenue of palms. Immediately opposite the 
 hotel was the Convent of Religieuses, over whose 
 garden wall more trees were seen : so that the 
 guests 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
 
 20 THE HOUR AND THE MAN^. 
 
 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 corners of the room, 
 causing a continual fanning of the air, and circula- 
 tion of the perfumes of the flov/ers. 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 vi^aterfalls. 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 bestowed 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 com- 
 pliment was to Henri, the black cook from St.
 
 THE EXCLUSIVES. 21 
 
 Christophe, whence he had been brought over by 
 the discerning hotel-keeper, who detected his 
 cuHnary 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 tabled 
 that he would command Henri's attendance, to 
 receive the testimony of the company respecting the 
 dinner he had sent up, and to take a glass of wine 
 from them. 
 
 Dr. Proteau, 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 grinning 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 poured into the room again, 
 and stood in two rows from the door, where Henri 
 appeared, not laughing like the rest, but perfectly 
 grave, as he stood, white apron on, and napkin 
 over his arm, his stout and tall figure erect, to 
 receive the commands of his masters. 
 
 " Was your father a cook or a gourmand, 
 Henri ? Or are you all good cooks at St. 
 Christophe ?"' asked a deputy.
 
 22 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 *' If it is the air of St. Christophe 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 ?" asked a third. 
 
 " How many boys has your wife brought you, 
 Henri ? We shall bid high for them, and make 
 your master's fortune, if he trains them all 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 you than was ever 
 offered yet." 
 
 " Your 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 answering any. He stood looking on the 
 ground, till a glass of champagne was brought to him, 
 bowed to the company, drank it oif, 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 
 dare say he is snapping his fingers, and telling the
 
 THE EXCLUSIVES. 23 
 
 women that all the money in St. Domingo won't 
 buy him." 
 
 " You 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 some- 
 thing 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 staid 
 out of the room," observed M. Leroy. " He has 
 nothing of the mulatto in him, has he ? 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 all!" 
 
 Everybody said "Silence!'' and Dr. Proteau 
 rose. 
 
 He declared himself to be in a most remarkable 
 situation, — one in which he was sure every French- 
 man present would sympathise with him. Here 
 he stood, chairman of a meeting of the most loyal.
 
 24 THE HOUR AND THK MAN. 
 
 the most spirited, the most patriotic citizens of the 
 empire, — chairman of an assemblage of members of 
 a colonial parliament, 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 which it had, till now, been customary to 
 sanction their social festivities. As for the toast, 
 now never more to be heard from their lips, — 
 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 
 recalling from the horizon, where it was just dis- 
 appearing, the tempest cloud of tyranny, to over- 
 shadow 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 hail which every voice 
 had been loud, and every heart had beat high. 
 Neither 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
 
 THE EXCLUSIVES. 25 
 
 name of the National Assembly of France. 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 occupy the 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 freedom, the 
 mother country had, through the instrumentality 
 of its National Council, endeavoured to strip its 
 faithful 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 attempt was 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 
 their property, the honour of their colour, and the 
 prosperity of the colony. He rejoiced to see around 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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, pro- 
 posed by shallow enthusiasts, seconded by designing 
 knaves, and destined to be wrought out by the 
 agency of demons — demons in human form. He 
 called upon all patriots to join him in his pledge ; 
 and in token of their faith, to drink deep to one 
 now more deserving of their homage than was ever 
 king or National Assembly, — he need not say that 
 he alluded to the noblest patriot in the colony — its 
 guardian, its saviour — Governor 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 importance 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 all colours, and
 
 THE EXCLUSIVES. 33 
 
 therefore entitled to be listened to by all with atten- 
 tion, when he spoke on the conflicting interests of 
 races. However his opinions might please or dis- 
 please, 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 mulattoes 
 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 stir- 
 ring the white 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 lips to 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 all countries where portions of the people strug- 
 gle for power which they ought not to have. But we 
 have settled that matter for ourselves, by the help 
 of our good governor, and I firmly believe that we 
 are at the commencement of a long age of peace." 
 c 2
 
 28 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 Here some applauded, while two or three shook 
 their heads. Odeluc continued, 
 
 " I see some of my friends do not altogether share 
 my hopes. Yet are these hopes not reasonable? 
 The Governor has himself assured me that nothing 
 shall induce him to notice the obnoxious decree, 
 till he has, in the first place, received it under all the 
 official forms ; — in the next place, written his remon- 
 strance to the government at home; and, in the third 
 place, received an answer. Now, all this will take 
 some time. In threedays, we deputies shall begin our 
 session ; and never were the members of any assem- 
 bly 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 ? The management of 
 this colony has always succeeded well in the hands 
 of the whites ; 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 EXCLUSIVES. 29 
 
 the masters and their force than in the colony of St. 
 Domingo ? If all has worked so well hitherto, is 
 it to be supposed that an ignorant shout in the 
 National Assembly, and a piece of paper sent over 
 to us thence, can destroy the harmony, and over- 
 throw the prosperity which years have confirmed ? 
 I, for one, will never believe it. I see before me 
 in ray colleagues men to whom the tranquillity of 
 the colony may be safely confided ; and over their 
 heads, and beyond the wase laws they are about to 
 pass for the benefit of both the supreme and subor- 
 dinate 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 pro- 
 pose, not only that we shall now drink his health, 
 but that we shall meet annually in his honour 
 on this day. Yonder is Government-House. If 
 we open our jalousies wide enough, and give the 
 honours loudly enough, perhaps our voices may 
 reach his ears, as the loyal greeting that he de-
 
 30 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 " Do not you smell smoke ?'' asked Bayou of his 
 neighbour, as the blinds were thrown open. 
 
 " What a smell of burning !" observed the chair- 
 man 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 Government-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
 
 THE EXCLUSIVES. 31 
 
 him, trusting in the protection and blessing of a 
 just Providence, which will preserve our rights, 
 and chastise those who would infringe them; — 
 feeling thus, and thus trusting, 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 guiJty 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 
 becomes us, in gratitude to a preserving Provi- 
 dence, in fidelity to that which is dearer to us than 
 hfe — our fair fame, — in regard to the welfare of 
 our posterity, it becomes us to mark our repro- 
 bation 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 
 Vincent Oge ! " 
 
 Several members of the company eagerly filled 
 their glasses : others looked doubtfully towards
 
 32 THE HOLR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 out- 
 side." 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
 
 THE EXCLUSIVES. 33 
 
 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 sym- 
 pathise in his 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 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 dis- 
 cussion 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 connexion with the events of last
 
 34 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 hope my young friend 
 will reserve his wine for the next toast.'** 
 
 M. Brelle 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 circumstances 
 attending it, which made him and others apprehend 
 that all was not right among the negroes. His 
 facts and surmises went 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 fidehty of the 
 negroes were groundless. He agreed with M.
 
 THE tXCLUSIVES. 
 
 35 
 
 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 life 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 demagogues 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 pervaded by a dull, 
 changeful, red light, derived from the sky, which 
 glowed above the trees of the Jesuits' Walk with 
 the reflexion of extensive fires. The guests were
 
 36 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 puffs 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 
 sounds. The band struck up, unbidden, with all 
 its power, the Marseillaise Hymn ; and every voice 
 in the piazza, and, by degrees, along the neigh- 
 bouring streets and square, seemed to join in 
 singing the familiar words, 
 
 " Allons, enfans de la patrie, 
 Le jour de gloire est arrive." 
 
 The consternation of the deputies and their 
 guests was extreme. Every man showed his terror 
 in his own way ; but one act was universal. Each 
 one produced arms of one sort or another. Even 
 Odeluc, it appeared, had not come unarmed. 
 While they were yet standing in groups about the 
 table, the door burst open, and a negro, covered 
 with dust and panting with haste, ran in and made
 
 THE EXCLUSIVES. S7 
 
 for the head of the table, thrusting himself freely 
 through the parties of gentlemen. The chairman, 
 at sight of the man, turned pale, recoiled for a mo- 
 ment, and then, swearing a deep oath, drew the 
 short sword he wore, and ran the negro through the 
 body. 
 
 " O 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 betw'cen 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, Proteau ! 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 Proteau, strug- 
 gling 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 Marseillaise peal through
 
 38 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 the room. They instantly stopped, and de- 
 parted. 
 
 " There ! you have sent them out to tell what 
 you have done," observed a deputy. 
 
 " I will defend my deed," Proteau repeated, when 
 he had 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 Odeluc. 
 
 " What do you mean, sir ?" cried Proteau, laying 
 his hand on the hilt of his dripping sword. 
 
 " I mean what I say. And I will 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. Brelle made 
 shorter work. He rolled it over with his foot, and 
 kicked it under the table. It was out of sight
 
 THE EXCLUSIVES, o9 
 
 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 dis- 
 mantled the mills, burned the sugar-houses, set fire 
 to the crops, murdered the overseers, and, he 
 feared, in some cases, the proprietors. 
 
 " Where ? '' " Whose estates ? " ** What pro- 
 prietors ? '" asked every 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 family 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 our quarter, at present, I trust,'' 
 said Papalier to Bayou : " but shall we be gone ?
 
 40 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 Your horse is here, I suppose. We can ride to- 
 gether." 
 
 " 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 ! Gallifet's force risen ! 
 Not they ! They would be firm 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 guest," said the landlord, with a bow as polite 
 as on the most festive occasion. " I am happy that 
 my roof should — " 
 
 «* Who brought this report ? " cried Odeluc. 
 " 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."
 
 THE EXCLUSIVES. 41 
 
 " I will bring them to their senses," said Odeluc, 
 with sudden quietness. " I have power over thena. 
 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 making speeches here, like a holiday 
 fool ! I will bring them to their senses presently. 
 Make way, friends, — make way." 
 
 And Odeluc stepped out among the blacks on 
 the piazza, — that being the shortest way to Go- 
 vernment-House. 
 
 " I hope he 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 off." 
 
 A sort of scream, a cry of horror, from one who 
 stood close by, stopped the deputy. 
 
 *' Boirien ! what is the matter?'' cried the 
 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. " O, this is horrible ! They have mur- 
 dered his brother-in-law on Flaville s estate, and
 
 42 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 carried ofF 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 to 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 commo- 
 tions. It soon appeared, however, that this was not 
 the opinion of the sisters themselves, on the pre- 
 sent 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 take refuge on board the vessels in the bay. 
 All night long, boats were plying in the harbour, 
 conveying women, children, plate, and money, on 
 board the ships which happened to be in the roads.
 
 THE EXCLUSIVES. 48 
 
 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 landlord to sweep away his plate, but 
 they laid hands on the wines ; and many a smart 
 speech, many a light laugh, resounded within those 
 walls till morning, while consternation reigned 
 without. When these thoughtless creatures saun- 
 tered 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, had disappeared, 
 and no one would tell 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
 
 44 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 came to band 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 Haut du Cap. We 
 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 ? " 
 asked Bayou. " I know you will tell me 
 truth." 
 
 " Indeed, master, I know nothing," replied 
 Henri. " You say you shall meet Toussaint. I 
 will ride 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, except to urge
 
 THE EXCLUSIVES. 4.5 
 
 on the horses up the steep, sandy road, 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 
 cape and 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 occa- 
 sional 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 providing 
 for the public safety. 
 
 On surmounting the ridge, Henri stretched out 
 his hand, and pulled the bridle of M. Bayou's horse
 
 46 THE HOUR, AND THE MAN. 
 
 to the left, so as to turn 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 higli road to the plain,"' answered 
 Henri, quietly. To M. Bayou he explained that 
 Toussaint would probably choose this road, through 
 Madame Oge's plantation. 
 
 ** Come 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 led horse 
 from Breda. Not far behind him was Madame 
 Oge's house, the door standing wide, and, seen by 
 the light within, a woman in the door-way. Tous- 
 saint pulled up, Henri leaped down, and ran to
 
 THE EXCLUSIVES. 47 
 
 shake hands with his friend. PapaHer took the 
 opportunity to say, in a low voice, to Bayou, 
 
 " You must send your fellow there on board ship. 
 You must, there is no doubt of it. The Governor, 
 and all the householders in Cap, are 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 
 postilion : and it was his postilion that struck him 
 to the heart. You must send Toussaint on board 
 ship : and I will tell you how . . . ." 
 
 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 ship ?" 
 
 " No, no ; nonsense," said Bayou ; " I am not 
 going to send anybody on board ship. — All quiet 
 at Breda, I suppose, Toussaint ?" 
 
 " All quiet, sir, at present. — M. Papalier, — on 
 board ship I will not go."
 
 48 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 " As your master pleases. It is no concern of 
 mine, Toussaint," said Papalier. 
 
 " So I think," replied Toussaint. 
 
 " You see your faithful hands, your very obe- 
 dient 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?" Tous- 
 saint asked of liis master. *' Madame Og6 is 
 standing in the doorway." 
 
 Bayou was about to turn his horse's head, but 
 the person in the doorway came out into the dark- 
 ness, and called him by his name. He was obliged 
 to go forward. 
 
 " Madame," said he, " I hope you have no 
 trouble with your people. I hope your people 
 are all steady." 
 
 " Never mind me and my people," replied a tre- 
 mulous voice. " What I want to know is, what 
 has happened at Cap. Who have risen ? Whose 
 are these fires ? " 
 
 " The negroes have risen on a few plantations : 
 that is all. We shall soon . . ."
 
 THE EXCLUSIVES. 49 
 
 " The negroes ! " echoed the voice. " You are 
 sure it is only the negroes ?" 
 
 *' Only the negroes, madam. Can I be of service 
 to you ? 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 Papa- 
 lier. " She hoped to hear that her race had risen, 
 and were avengino- 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 staid 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 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 right, when a man feels glad that he has only 
 himself to take care of. Our negroes are better off 
 than we, so far. Hey, Toussaint ?" 
 
 " I think so, sir.'* 
 
 " How many wives and children have you, 
 Toussaint ? " asked Papalier. 
 
 " I have five children, sir." 
 
 " And how many wives in your time ?" 
 
 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 mas- 
 ter observed that Toussaint was rather romantic, 
 and did not like jesting on domestic affairs. 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 gene- 
 rally in family matters. 
 
 " Does he take upon himself to be scandalised at 
 us ? " asked Papalier. 
 
 " I do not ask him. But if you hke to consult
 
 THE EXCLUSIVES. 51 
 
 him about your Therese, I do not doubt he will 
 tell you his mind." 
 
 ^' Come, cannot we get 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 Cap. 
 When the gentlemen arrived at Arabie, his planta- 
 tion, they found the 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 tops and sprouts, 
 — the doors of the sugar-house and mansion re- 
 moved, 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 intercepted his path at a sharp 
 turn, caught his bridle, and said, — 
 
 " My dear fellow, come with me. There is 
 
 nothing to be done here. Your people are all gone ; 
 
 and if they come back, they will only cut your 
 
 throat. You must come with me ; and under the 
 
 D 2
 
 52 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 circumstances, I cannot stay longer. I ought to 
 be at home." 
 
 " True, true. Go, and I will follow. I must 
 find out whether they have carried off Therese. I 
 must, and I will." 
 
 Toussaint pricked his horse into the court-yard, 
 and after a searching look around, dragged out 
 from behind the well a young negress who had 
 been crouching there, with an infant in her arms. 
 She shrieked, and struggled till she saw Papalier, 
 when 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 mis- 
 chief.?'^ 
 
 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
 
 THE EXCLUSIVES. 53 
 
 before morning,— that Papalier's people made no 
 difficulty about going, only stopping to search the 
 house for what arms and ammunition 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 bloodshed ; — 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, impatiently. 
 
 " I will, thank you. Toussaint, help her up 
 behind me, and carry the child, will you ? Hold 
 fast, Therese, and leave ofi" trembling as soon as you 
 can." 
 
 Therese would let no one carry the infant but 
 herself. She kept her seat well behind her master, 
 though still trembling when she alighted at the 
 stables at Breda.
 
 54 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 Placide and Denis were on the watch at the 
 stables. 
 
 " Kun, Denis !" said his brother. And Denis 
 was off to tell his mother that Toussaint and M. 
 Bayou were safe home. 
 
 " Anything happened, Placide?" asked Bayou. 
 
 " Yes, 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 Cassius, nor 
 Antoine, nor — " 
 
 " Is there any mischief done ? Anybody hurt ?" 
 
 " No, sir. They went off very quietly." 
 
 " Quietly, indeed ! They take quietly enough 
 all the kindness 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. Bayou," 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 will have them ready for 
 us " 
 
 '* Good, good ! Papalier, we cannot do better. 
 Come in. Toussaint, take home this young woman.
 
 THE EXCLUSIVE S. 55 
 
 Your girls will take care of her.— Eh ! what's the 
 matter ? Well, put her where you will, — only let 
 her be taken care of— that is all."" 
 
 " I will speak to Jeannette, sir." 
 
 "Ay, do. Jeannette will let Therese come 
 to no harm, Papalier. Come in, till Toussaint 
 brings a report of how matters stand with us poor 
 masters.'^
 
 56 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WHAT TO DO ! 
 
 The report brought by Toussaint was astound- 
 ing 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 hope that 
 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 completely 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 pro- 
 tection that the colony afforded. The two gentle-
 
 WHAT TO DO I 07 
 
 men agreed, as they sat at the table covered with 
 supper, wine, and ghttering arms, that to remain 
 was to risk their Hves 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, 
 and he could not give up at once, and for ever, the 
 lands which his 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 slept for this night with 
 D 3
 
 68 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 his arms at hand, and under the watch of Placide, 
 who might be trusted to keep awake and hsten, as 
 his father vouched for him. Bajou was gone pre- 
 sently, with such Httle 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 valu- 
 able ; 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 pockets- 
 ful of cash and gold trinkets. Before evening, 
 Toussaint, who rode like the wind, and seemed 
 incapable 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 
 Fran9ais, whom, till now, he had always supposed
 
 WHAT TO DO ! 59 
 
 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 neighbouring 
 palm-tree tops, whose stiiF leaves struck one another 
 as they waved in the wind, when Jean appeared 
 from behind the mill. 
 
 " You have stopped our wheel," said Toussaint, 
 pointing to the reeking water-wheel. " It will be 
 cracked in the sun before you can set it going 
 again." 
 
 " Yes, we have stopped all the mills,"" replied 
 Jean. " Every stream in the colony has a holiday 
 to-day, and may frolic as it likes. — 1 am afraid I 
 made you wait supper last night.?" 
 
 '* You gave me poison, Jean. You have poi- 
 soned my trust in my friends. I watched for you 
 as for a friend: and what were you doing the while ? 
 You were rebelling, 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, —
 
 60 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 if they have oppressed their 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 revenore." 
 
 o 
 
 " Why do I not understand it ? Because you 
 knew that I should disapprove it, and kept me at 
 home by a false appointment, 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 be- 
 tween night and morning, and T 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 tell 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 ? "
 
 WHAT TO DO ! 61 
 
 *' 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 revolutionary whites. The 
 king and all his family tried to escape from France 
 in June. They were overtaken on the road, and 
 brought back prisoners to Paris." 
 
 Toussaint, who always uncovered his head at 
 the name of the king, now bent it low in genuine 
 -grief. 
 
 " Is it not true," said Jean, '* that 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 r 
 
 '' It is true. But they would still have been less 
 guilty than those who add ravage and murder to 
 rebellion." 
 
 " There was no stopping the people when the 
 messengers from the Calypse crossed the frontier, 
 and sent the cry, ' Vive le Roi ! et I'ancien regime,' 
 through the negro quarters of every estate they 
 reached. The people were up on the Noe planta- 
 tion at the word. Upon my honour, the glare of
 
 62 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 up, 
 with knife and firebrand, those may keep revenge 
 from kindling 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 day by giving them warning. 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 sol- 
 diers turn back to Cap : and I believe they would, 
 but for Odeluc's obstinacy in coming among us. If 
 he would have kept 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 Arabic will be attacked to-night, 
 and Bayou had better roost in a tree till morning." 
 
 " My master is safe."
 
 63 
 
 " Safe ? Where ? " 
 
 " On the sea." 
 
 " You have saved him. Have you — I know 
 your love of obedience 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 partv 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 
 ari'ival of the Blonde frio^ate 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 will be attacked. Your family is 
 almost the only one remaining on it. Have you 
 thought what you will do?" 
 
 "1 have; and your news only confirms my 
 thought."
 
 64 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 " You will not attempt to 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 you ! 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 conquered the colony for the king. That 
 done, you will avow your loyalty." 
 
 " Such is not my purpose, Jean," replied Tous- 
 saint, 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 colony for the 
 king ; but it shall be to restore to him its lands as 
 the King of 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
 
 WHAT TO DO ! 65 
 
 half-savage forces, after the whites should have 
 been driven to entrench themselves in the towns, it 
 is possible that this idea of crossing the Spanish 
 line, and putting himself and his people under the 
 command of these alhes, might be a welcome rehef 
 to his perplexity. 
 
 " And your family,'^ said he : '' will the Spa- 
 niards 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 doubtless go with me; and we 
 shall have crossed the river before morning." 
 
 " You 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 ? " 
 said Toussaint, smiling. " I will command them 
 on one other condition, — that they will treat well 
 any white who may happen to be with me." 
 
 " I said nothing about your commanding them,""
 
 66 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 protect, 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 pro- 
 mising everything," said Jean, making a virtue of 
 what was before a strong inclination. " Set out in 
 two hours from this time. I will put the command 
 of the plain into Biasson's hands, and make a camp 
 near the Spanish lines. The posts in that direction 
 are weak, and the whites panic-struck, — if indeed 
 they have not all fled to the fort. Well, well," he 
 continued, " keep to your time, and I will join you 
 at the cross of the four roads, three miles south of 
 Fort Dauphin. All will be safe that far, at least." 
 
 " If not, we have some strong arms among us," 
 replied Toussaint. '* 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!"
 
 67 
 
 " Ay, how do you feel, now you are free ?" said 
 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 star-light," 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 coun- 
 tenance 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 preparations for departure. 
 In the midst of the hurry, Aimee consulted Isaac 
 about an enterprise which had occurred to her, on
 
 68 THE HOUIl AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 when 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. When 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 all, then .?" 
 
 Aimee put in her word. 
 
 *' Why do they not take care of you, as father 
 did of M. Bayou r
 
 WHITHER AWAY? 69 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WHITHER AWAY? 
 
 M. Papalier 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 he despised 
 the negroes, he preferred travelling in their com- 
 pany to hiding among the monkeys ; and he there- 
 fore decided at once to do as Toussaint con- 
 cluded 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 sun- 
 set and sunrise. Three or four horses, and two 
 mules which were left on the plantation, were suffi- 
 cient for the conveyance of the women, boys, and
 
 70 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 V 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 shall 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 ; — repub- 
 lican as you are. You know the Spaniards are allies 
 of the king of France.*" 
 
 '' They are allies of France, and will doubtless 
 receive any honourable French gentleman," said 
 Papalier confidently, though Toussaint's question 
 only echoed a doubt which he had already spoken 
 to himself. " You are acting so like a friend to 
 me here, Toussaint, that I cannot suppose you will
 
 WHITHER AWAY? 71 
 
 do me mischief there, by any idle tales about the 
 past;' 
 
 " I will not ; but I hear that the Marquis d'Her- 
 mona 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 I do with The- 
 rese, 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 con- 
 dition and their neighbours. There is no harm 
 about poor Therese. Indeed, she is very well edu- 
 cated ; I have had her well 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 \vill 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 Genifrede and Aimee*
 
 72 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 " 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 
 Toussaint himself." 
 
 He called to the sulky fellow, however, and the 
 sulky fellow came. What Papalier wanted to say 
 was: — 
 
 " You seem to know more of these Spaniards 
 than I. What will become of Therese, if I take 
 her among them ; which, you see, you oblige me 
 todo.?" 
 
 " 1 proposed to her," said Toussaint, " to leave 
 her with some of our people near Fort Dauphin." 
 
 " Fort Egalite, you mean. That is its present 
 name, you know. So you asked her ! W^hy did 
 not you speak to me about it ? It is my affair, not 
 hers." 
 
 " I thought it her affair. She will not remain
 
 73 
 
 behind, however. She begged me to say nothing 
 to you about her leaving you." 
 
 " Indeed ! I will soon settle that." And the 
 planter immediately overtook the horse on which 
 sat Therese, with her infant on her arm. Theresa 
 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 jerk- 
 ing the infant from her arm. Her master let her 
 get over the difficulty 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 shoul- 
 ders, and his path marked by the fire-flies, which 
 flew round his head, or settled on his woollen cap. 
 Isaac had made Aimee happy, by getting on her 
 mule. Genifrede heard from the direction in which 
 they were, sometimes smothered laughter, but, for 
 the most part, a never-ending, low murmur of 
 voices, as if they were telling one another inter- 
 minable stories. Genifrede never could make out 
 what Isaac and Aimee could be for ever talking 
 about. She wondered that they could talk now, 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 when every monkey-voice from the wood, every 
 click of a frog from the ponds, every buzz of insects 
 from the citron-hedge, struck fear into her. She 
 did not ask Placid e to walk beside her horse ; but 
 she kept near that on which her mother rode, be- 
 hind Denis, who held a cart-whip, which 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 bam- 
 boos, from the recess of a ravine here — from the 
 mouth of a green road there, beside the brawling 
 brook, or from their couch among the canes, ap- 
 peared negroes, singly or in groups, ready to join 
 the travelling party. Among all these, there were 
 no women and children. They had been safely 
 bestowed somewhere ; 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. *' Vive le Roi, et Fancien regime !'' 
 was the word, as each detachment joined ; — a word 
 most irritating to Papalier, who thought to himself
 
 WHITHER AWAY? 75 
 
 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, gather- 
 ing 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 forests, 
 with an eye which, to Margot, appeared as if it 
 could pierce through darkness itself. 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 
 E 2
 
 76 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 cap ; " but, thank God ! we have the King for our 
 master now." 
 
 *' You will come and see us," said she. '' We shall 
 see you sometimes while you are serving the king.'"* 
 
 '' Yes." He was called away by another accession 
 of numbers, a party of four who ran down among 
 them from a mountain path. Toussaint brushed 
 away his unwonted tears, and went forward, hear- 
 ing 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 Dessahnes ?" 
 
 " 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 Dessahnes ; but before it 
 was done, Dessahnes was mounted on Papalier's 
 horse. Jacques had told Papaher, on finding that 
 he had not been walking at all, that his horse was
 
 WHITHER AWAY? 77 
 
 wanted, and Papalier had felt all the danger of 
 refusing to yield it up. He 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 forward to Toussaint, to ask and to tell 
 much concerning their singular circumstances. 
 
 " Your party is too noisy,"" said he. " The whole 
 country is up : and I saw, not far off, two hours 
 ago, a party that were bringing ammunition from 
 Cap. There 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 utmost 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 kept in 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."
 
 78 THE HOUR AND THE MAN, 
 
 " The suspected ones are. They are the silly 
 and the harmless 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 will 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 not call us your regiment, and take 
 the command as a matter of course, as Jean has 
 done .?" 
 
 " If it is desired, I am ready. Hark ! " 
 
 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 
 green 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
 
 WHITHER AWAY ? 79 
 
 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 dark- 
 ness and stillness, unless, as Genifrede feared, the 
 beating of her heart might be heard above the 
 hum of the mosquito, 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 Therese, 
 in fear of her infant crying, pressed it so close to 
 her bosom as to awaken it, or whether the rumbling 
 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
 
 80 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 a strong hand wrenched the child from her grasp 
 in the black darkness, and that all was still, unless, 
 as she then and ever after had a shuddering appre- 
 hension, there was something of a slight gurgle 
 which reached her strained ear. Her own involun- 
 tary 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 child ! " said Therese, fearfully. « 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 ? " asked Papalier, coming beside 
 her horse. She told her grief, as she prepared to 
 spring down. 
 
 " No, keep your seat ! Don't get down," said 
 he, in a tone she dared not disobey. " I will in- 
 quire for the child." 
 
 He went away, and returned — without it. 
 
 " This a sad thing," said he, leading her horse
 
 WHITHER AWAY? 81 
 
 forward with the rest. " No one knows anything 
 about the poor thing. Why did you let it go ? " 
 
 " Have you asked them all ? Who snatched it 
 from me ? O, ask who took it ! Let me look for 
 it. I will,— I will " 
 
 *^ It is too late now. We cannot stop or turn 
 back. These sad accidents will happen at such 
 times." 
 
 " Leave me behind — O, 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 spare 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 ; — con- 
 ditional — for, from moment to moment, she believed 
 and disbeheved that Papalier had destroyed her 
 child. The thought sometimes occurred that he 
 was not the only cruel one. No one seemed to pity 
 E 3
 
 82 THE HOUR ANB THE MAN. 
 
 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 per- 
 fect quiet and order in the march. When they 
 arrived at the cross, at the junction of 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 Franc^ais 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 off his cocked hat, in saluting 
 Toussaint, and commended his punctuality and his 
 arrangements. 
 
 *' Jean always admires what my husband does," 
 observed Margot to her acquaintance Jacques. 
 * * You hear how he is praising him for what he has 
 done to-night." 
 
 " To be sure. Everybody praises Toussaint 
 Breda," replied Jacques.
 
 "^^ HITHER AWAY 
 
 The wife laughed with dehght. 
 
 " Everybody praises him but me," pursued 
 Jacques. " I find fault with him sometimes ; and 
 to-night particularly." 
 
 " Then you are wrong, Jacques. You know 
 you have everybody 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." 
 
 " O, you do not blame him 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 he 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." 
 
 " Perhaps Toussaint did see it," said the man 
 himself, from the other side of his wife's horse.
 
 84 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 " But he saw another thing too — that any whites 
 who staid 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. 
 
 " Yes, 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 group, " why 
 is Jean commanding 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. 
 
 " Yes, — ^^just as if my father was under him, —as 
 if the march were not ours. We began it." 
 
 " I command those who began it, — that is, my
 
 WHITHER AWAY ? 85 
 
 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. You will follow his lead, 
 Margot ?'' 
 
 " O ! yes, if he leads straight. Jean is a com- 
 mander, Placide. Look at his cocked hat.'"* 
 
 ** And he calls himself commander-in-chief of the 
 armies of France." 
 
 " In St. Domingo. Well, so he is," said Tous- 
 saint, smiling, and pointing to the troop. " Here 
 are the armies of the king of France in St. Domingo ; 
 and here Jean commands." 
 
 At this moment, Jean made proclamation for 
 Toussaint Breda; and Toussaint joined him, leaving 
 his wife saying, *' You see he wants my husband 
 at every turn. I am sure he thinks a great deal of 
 my husband.'*'' 
 
 *' Toussaint," said Jean, " I shall introduce you 
 to the Marquis d'Hermona, and I have no doubt 
 he will give you a command." 
 
 " I shall introduce myself to him, Jean."''' 
 
 " But he will be expecting you. He will receive 
 you according to my report, — as a man of ability, 
 and a most valuable officer. I sent messengers
 
 86 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 forward to tell him of my approach with reinforce- 
 ments ; 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 all the linen, and as 
 little cloth as they can. But the hat, Toussaint — 
 the hat ! You will not show yourself to the 
 Marquis d'Hermona in a cap ! For my sake, do 
 not show yourself till you have procured a cocked 
 hat." 
 
 " Where did you get yours, Jean .?'' 
 
 Jean could only say that it was from one who 
 would never want it again. 
 
 " We will go as we are," said Toussaint. " You 
 look like a commander, as you are ; — and I look 
 like what I am, Toussaint Breda.'*'' 
 
 " But he will not believe what I shall 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 slope, all 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 troops now facing the east would wait for his 
 appearance. To the left, where the ridge sank 
 down into the sea, lay Mancenille 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 mountains. At the first 
 moment, these peaks, rising eight thousand feet from 
 the plain, appeared hard, cold, and grey, between
 
 88 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 the white clouds that encumbered their middle 
 height and the kindUng sky. But from moment to 
 moment their aspect softened. The grey melted into 
 lilac, yellow, and a faint blushing 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 sweep. The banyan-tree, 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 off dews and 
 slumber from the gorgeous parasitic beauties which 
 they sustained. With the first 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
 
 WHITHER AWAY? ^ 89 
 
 plain, the river no longer glimmered grey through 
 the mists, but glittered golden among the meadows, 
 upon which the wild cattle were descending 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 slope of 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 con- 
 trast with the black islets of the Seven Brothers, 
 which caught the eye as if just risen from the sea. 
 
 " No windmills here ! No cattle-mills ! " 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 I Those cattle are wild, and yonder 
 are the hunters going out ! By God, it is a fine 
 place r' 
 
 In somewhat different ways, every one present, 
 but PapaUer and Therese, was indulging the 
 same mood of thought. There was a wildness in 
 the scene which made the heart beat high with
 
 90 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 bro- 
 ther, and, except to bid his family 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 pre- 
 sence, taking possession of the centre of the green 
 space before the tent, where the Marquis d'Her- 
 mona 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, Caesar'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, without chief and without
 
 WHITHER AWAY ? 91 
 
 followers ; the few men who had left Breda with 
 him having ranged themselves with the force of 
 Jean Fran9ais. He came alone to offer the strength 
 of his arm, on behalf of his king, to the allies of 
 royalist France. 
 
 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 France would 
 not be much aided by such an ally. It is probable; 
 for a smile 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 
 troops, — 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
 
 92 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 
 French, he could wish to converse with him. 
 
 " Laxabon understands French, I think," said 
 the marquis to a gentleman of his staff. The aide 
 assented. 
 
 " Your 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 French colony within 
 the last two nights. On being told that his 
 attendance was eagerly 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, his bosom bursting with deep 
 and thick-coming sobs. 
 
 " 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."
 
 WHITHER AWAY ? 93 
 
 " You 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 employ- 
 ment gone, — and I, by his will, a free man, but 
 unprepared, unfit ? — Receive my confession, father. 
 and guide me from this time." 
 
 '* Willingly, my son. 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.
 
 94 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 GRIEFS OF THE LOYAL. 
 
 Margot 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 during 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, occasionally trouble 
 her, as she knew they weighed heavily on her hus- 
 band's mind. When she saw Genifrede growing 
 up, handsome 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 
 depended on the will of M. Bayou, she shuddered to 
 think what it might be. When M. Bayou told
 
 GRIEFS OF THE LOYAL. 95 
 
 Genifrede that she was well coiifee,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. Bayou should bring some one to 
 their cottage, and desire Genifrede to marry him. 
 When Margot looked upon her sons, and upon 
 Aim^e, now so inseparable from Isaac, and consi- 
 dered that their remaining together depended not 
 only on M. Bayou's will, but on his life, she trem- 
 bled 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 wanting to her immediate 
 comfort. Now, amidst the perplexities of her new 
 settlement, she was apt to forget that she had for- 
 merly had any cares. 
 
 Where to house the party had been the first 
 difficulty. But for old Dessahnes, who, being no
 
 96 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 soldier, had chosen to hide himself in the same 
 retreat with them, they would hardly have had 
 good shelter before the rains. Paul had received 
 them kindly ; but Paul's kindness was of a some- 
 what 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 son Moyse, a fine lad of sixteen, had not 
 been there to do something more effectual, in find- 
 ing 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 hail-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
 
 GRIEFS OF THE LOYAL. 97 
 
 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 off 
 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 believed 
 that both boys and girls ran into a thousand dan- 
 gers, 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 slept away the hours. 
 Paul wanted help in his fishing ; and it was com- 
 monly Isaac who went Mith him ; for Isaac was 
 more fond of boating than rambling, \yhere 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 man- 
 groves which bordered the neighbouring cove, un- 
 der pretence of cleaning the fish, or of mending the 
 nets, or of watching the cranes which stalked about 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 the sands. Sometimes, in order to be yet more 
 secure from disturbance, the brother and sister would 
 put off again, when they had landed Paul with his 
 prize, and get upon the coral reef, half a mile off — 
 in calm weather collecting the shell-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 
 door-way, and see their dusky forms upon the reef, 
 now sitting motionless in talk, now stooping for 
 muscles 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 Genifrede 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 Genifrede'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 accom- 
 pany Placide and Moyse in their almost daily ex-
 
 GRIEFS OF THE LOYAL. 99 
 
 peditions, 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 mountain-ponds, and sometimes a hog or 
 a calf from the droves and herds which flourished 
 in the rich savannahs on the southern side, on 
 which tliey looked down from their ridge. In the 
 joy of seeing her children home again, gladsome as 
 they Vf^re, and feeling that they brought plenty 
 and luxury into her cottage, Margot kept her 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 
 case 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 platform, 
 looking up as he approached, to see whether she 
 was on the watch. She was always on the watch, 
 F 2
 
 100 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 She liked to admire his uniform, 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 hear as she to 
 tell ; 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 themselves. 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 diffi- 
 cult 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 acquaint- 
 ance with the common diseases of the country, and
 
 GRIEFS OF THE LOYAL. 101 
 
 the natural remedies provided by its soil. When the 
 Marquis d'Hermona had insisted upon his resum- 
 ing 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 
 rapidity of march, wherever violence was expected, 
 that the spirit of outrage throughout the colony 
 was, at length, kept in 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 
 established, — 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
 
 102 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 countenance always grew sad when Margot asked 
 what ships had arrived from France 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 audaciously informed the repre- 
 sentatives 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 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 king : 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 them- 
 selves in trying to collect enough of the ripening 
 sea-side grape for a feast. The bright round leaves 
 were broad and abundant ; but the clusters of the 
 fruit were yet only of a pale yellow, and a berry 
 here and there was all that was fit for gathering. 
 The grape-gathering was little more than a pre-
 
 GRIEFS OF THE LOYAL. 103 
 
 tence 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 man- 
 chineel overhung the tide ; the mangroves sprang 
 out of the waters; the sea-side grape overspread 
 the sands with a thick green carpet, and kept them 
 cool ; so that as the human foot sought the spot, 
 the glittering lizards forsook it, and darted away to 
 seek the hot face of the rock. For full half a mile 
 this patch of verdure spread ; and over this space 
 were dispersed Margot and her household, when 
 Toussaint crossed the ridge, on one of his frequent 
 visits. As he descended, he heard laughter and 
 singing ; and among the singing voices the cracked 
 pipe of old Dessalines. Toussaint grieved to inter- 
 rupt this 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
 
 104 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 mounted soldiers, instead of one, followed him this 
 time, and they led several horses. 
 
 " O, you are come to take us home !" cried Mar- 
 got, joyfully, as she met him. 
 He shook his head as he replied, 
 " No, Margot, not yet. But the time may 
 come." 
 
 " I wish you could tell us when it would come," 
 said Dessahnes. *' It is all very well gathering 
 these things, and caUing 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 sea- 
 son through, not a drop did I taste ^ I wish you 
 had left your revolutions 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." 
 
 " Indeed, I wish so too, Dessalines. But you 
 shall have some wine." 
 
 " Ay, send us some. Jacques will tell you what 
 I like. Don't forget, Toussaint Breda. They 
 talk of palm-whie in the season; but I do not 
 believe we shall get any worth drinking from the 
 palms hereabouts.""
 
 GRIEFS OF THE LOYAL. 105 
 
 " What is the matter with our palms?'''* 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 palmeto, 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 hus- 
 band. " 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 !" 
 
 " Yes," said Toussaint, throwing himself down 
 in the shade. " Our country and its people are 
 F 3
 
 106 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. . 
 
 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 ?" 
 
 " Yes, 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 
 country 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. 
 " You will give me your gun, and let me go to 
 the camp." 
 
 " Yes, Moyse : rather you than I. You are a 
 stout lad now, and I know nothing of camps. 
 You shall take the gun, and I will stay and 
 fish." 
 
 *' Leave your father his gun, if he chooses to
 
 GRIEFS OF THE LOYAL. 107 
 
 remain, Moyse. We will find arms for you. 
 Placide ! Isaac ! " he continued, looking from the 
 one to the other of his sons. 
 
 " And Denis/' cried the boy, placing himself 
 directly in his father's eye, as he returned breath- 
 less from the discharge of his errand. 
 
 "Yes, my boy, by-and-by, when you are as 
 strong as Placide. You shall come to the camp 
 when we want you." 
 
 " I will go to-day, father," said Placide. 
 
 " What to do ?" said Isaac. " I do not under- 
 stand." 
 
 Other eyes besides Aimee's were fixed on Tous- 
 saint'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 V 
 
 Isaac made no direct reply, and Aimee had 
 strong hopes that he was prepared with some wise,
 
 108 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 unanswerable reason for remaining where he was. 
 Meantime, his father proceeded, — 
 
 « In all 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 Aimee to Isaac. 
 
 He pressed her arm, which was within his, in 
 token of silence, while his father went on : 
 
 " You heard the proclamation I sent out among 
 our people a few weeks ago." 
 
 " Yes," said Placide ; " that in which you tell 
 them that you prefer serving with Spaniards who 
 own a king, than with French who own none." 
 
 " Yes. 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 considera- 
 tion."
 
 GRIEFS OF THE LOYAL. 109 
 
 " What do they promise us ? " asked ^largot 
 eagerly. 
 
 *' Nothing that we can accept. I have written a 
 letter in reply, saying that I cannot yield myself 
 to the will 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." 
 
 '' It is a beautiful letter, I am sure,'* said Mar- 
 got. " Is it not, Paul ? " 
 
 " I don't doubt Father Laxabon is right," said 
 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 ? " 
 said Toussaint, laying his hand on his breast
 
 110 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 " Put your hand a little lower, and I say it would 
 have been all the better for us," said the old negro, 
 lauffhing, " for we should not have gone without 
 wine all this time." 
 
 " What do you think?" Aimee, as usual, asked 
 Isaac. 
 
 " 1 think it was good for my father to be loyal 
 to the king, as long 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 
 w^hat 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 teUing all his warlike intentions to 
 Genifrede, who was looking in his face with a coun- 
 tenance of fear and grief. 
 
 " You think nothing of us," she cried at length, 
 giving way to a passion of tears. " We have been
 
 GRIEFS OF THE EOYAL. Ill 
 
 SO happy here, all together ; and now you are glad 
 to go, and leave us behind. You 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 knovr 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 would stay. Nothing should part him from 
 those he loved best. 
 
 Toussaint was not unmindful of what was passing. 
 Genifrede's tones of distress, and jNIoyse's protes- 
 tations, 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 slept 
 every day alike, and went out to our work, and 
 came in to our food, without having to think of
 
 112 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 anything 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. You 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,"*' Genifr^de muttered 
 to herself, as she cast down her eyes under her 
 father's compassionate gaze. He looked towards 
 Aimee, who answered, with tearful eyes, 
 
 " Yes, father. They must go; and we will not 
 hinder them ; but they will soon be back, will not 
 they?" 
 
 " 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? I am sure 
 there is room enough in yonder valley for all the 
 people on this coast."
 
 GRIEFS OF THE LOYAL. 113 
 
 " Room 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 General 
 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 himself greeted as General 
 Moyse by aU the boys: and even Genifrede 
 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 cabbage 
 from the palmeto, adding, that if they gave him a 
 crood knife, he would take it off as neatlv 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. You do not know 
 what you say. Remember, — never mention the 
 king unless we ask you."
 
 114 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 Denis was glad to run after his cabbage. His 
 father remembered 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 camp, and the prospects of the war. 
 Their eager gestures were watched by those they 
 left 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 married, how desolate 
 we should be one day on the sea-shore, — with our 
 master at Baltimore, and the king dead, and no 
 king likely to come after him ! What will become 
 of us?"
 
 GRIEFS OF THE LOYAL. llo 
 
 " But, Margot,'* interposed Dessalines, " how 
 should we be better off at this moment, if the king 
 were alive and flourishing at Paris?" 
 
 " How !" repeated Margot, indignantly. " Why, 
 he would have been our protector, to be sure. He 
 would have done some fine thing for my husband, 
 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 expedi- 
 tion to St. Marc, and of his keeping quiet all these 
 plantations near Marmalade, and of the thousands 
 that he has brought over from the rebels, do you 
 think a good master like the king would have left 
 us to pine here among the rocks, while Jean Fran- 
 ^ais is boasting all day long, as if he had done 
 everything with his own hand ? No, our good 
 king would never have let Jean Francais' wife 
 dress herself in the best jewels the white ladies left 
 behind, while the wife and daughters of his very 
 best officer 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 
 losin": the kino^ we are orohans." 
 
 " I can get you as good clothes as ever Jean's 
 wife wore, Margot," said Paul, whose soft heart
 
 116 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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. And who knows whether we shall ever see 
 our boys again V 
 
 " Curse the war ! " muttered Paul, wiping his 
 brows. 
 
 " Mother,"" said Aimee, in a low voice, " have 
 we not God to protect us still ? One master may 
 desert us, and another may die ; but there is still 
 God above all. Will not he protect us?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear. God takes care of the world ; 
 but then he takes care of our enemies as well as 
 of us." 
 
 " Does he?" exclaimed Denis, in a tone of surprise. 
 
 " Yes; ask your father if Father Laxabon does 
 not say so. The name of God is for ever in the 
 mouths of the whites at Cap : but they reviled the 
 king ; and, true enough, the king was altogether on 
 our side, — we had all his protection."
 
 GRIEFS OF THE LOYAL. 117 
 
 " 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 off taking care of them, then ?" 
 asked Denis, " and take care only of us ?*" 
 
 " 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, will 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 everybody," said Denis, " what is all this fighting 
 about ? We are not fighting for him, are we ? " 
 
 " Your father is," said Margot; "for God is 
 always on the side of kings. Father Laxabon 
 says so."
 
 118 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 choos- 
 ing to go."
 
 THE HOUR. 119 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE HOUR. 
 
 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, how- 
 ever, amidst the heats, toils, and laborious offices of 
 the camp. They felt themselves 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 up within them, by which they could look 
 before and after, perceive that the future of their 
 lives was in their own hands, and therefore under- 
 stand 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
 
 120 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 youth. The strong and busy years on which they 
 were entering had been all spent by him in acquir- 
 ing one habit of mind, to which his temperament 
 and his training alike conduced — a habit of endur- 
 ance. 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 
 grandfather, held under the palm shades, or pur- 
 suing the lion-hunt 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 speculation as in- 
 consistent 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
 
 THE HOUR. 121 
 
 into his speculations and his hopes. He had read, 
 from year to year, of the conquests of Alexander 
 and of Ca?sar : he had studied the wars of France, 
 and drawn the plans of campaigns in the sand be- 
 fore his door till he knew them by heart ; but it had 
 not occurred to him that while empires were over- 
 thrown in Asia, and Europe was 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 hap- 
 pened in another hemisphere, it had not occurred to 
 him that change would 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 con- 
 vulsion 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 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 order was broken up, and in time for 
 them to grasp a future, and prepare for it — that 
 theirs was the lot of whites, in being involved in 
 social changes, he regarded them with a far deeper 
 solicitude and tenderness than in the darkest mid- 
 night 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 qua- 
 lities and powers — enterprise, forecast, and aspira- 
 tion of various kinds, adorning their youth with a 
 promise which made their father sigh at the re- 
 trospect 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 for- 
 wards to displaying their military accomplishments 
 to those with whom they were always exchanging
 
 THE HOUR. 123 
 
 thoughts over the ridoe. He foresaw that when 
 they should have improved a little in certain exer- 
 cises, 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 camp. 
 
 Meantime, he amused them in the evenings, with as 
 many of his officers 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 suc- 
 cession 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 bhnd, who dehghts in describing 
 natural scenery — thus unconsciously enjoying the 
 stir within him of powers whose appropriate exer- 
 cise is forbidden. xA midst this survey of the re- 
 gions of history, he felt, with humble wonder, that 
 G 2
 
 124 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 while his boys were like bright-eyed children sport- 
 ing fearlessly in the fields, he was like one lately 
 couched, by whom the order of things was gra- 
 dually 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 listen- 
 ing 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 him- 
 self — that he was learning from their natural ardour 
 something 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 authorita- 
 tive tap on the shoulder. Roused by an appeal to 
 his attention now so unusual, he turned quickly, 
 and saw a black, who beckoned him away. 
 
 " Why cannot you speak ? — Or do you take me 
 for some one else ? Speak your business."
 
 THE HOUR. 1*25 
 
 " I cannot," said the man, in a voice which, 
 though too low to be heard by any one else, 
 Toussaint knew to be Papalier's. '' 1 cannot speak 
 here — I must not make myself known. Come 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 curtain at the entrance. 
 Some saw that a woman stood within the folds of 
 the tent. 
 
 " Close the tent," said Papalier, 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 off 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 him- 
 self, even as to his clothes, which Therese must 
 have brought in the bundle which she carried.
 
 126 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 She now stood leaning against one of the tent-poles, 
 looking grievously altered, — worn and wearied. 
 
 "Will you not sit down, Therese?" said Tous- 
 saint, pointing to a chair near his own, Papalier 
 having seated himself on the other side of the 
 table. 
 
 Therese threw herself on a couch at some dis- 
 tance, and hid her face. 
 
 " I must owe my safety to you again, Tous- 
 saint," said Papalier, " I understand General 
 Hermona is here at present.*" 
 
 *' He is." 
 
 " You 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. I 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 should have 
 reached a worse pass than when I crossed the 
 frontier ! It seemed so incredible that I should 
 not be able to preserve any wreck of my property
 
 THE HOUR. 127 
 
 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. Why, even Therese," he 
 continued, pointing over his shoulder towards the 
 couch, " Therese, who would not be left behind at 
 Fort Egalite the night we came from Breda, — 
 even Therese has not been using me as she should 
 do. I believe she hates me." 
 
 " You are in trouble, and therefore I will not 
 . speak with you to-night about Therese," said 
 Toussaint. " You are in danger from the deter- 
 mination of the Spaniards to deliver up the enemies 
 of the late king to — '* 
 
 " Rather 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 Odeluc and Clement, and fifty 
 more." 
 
 " However that may be, your immediate danger 
 is from the Spaniards, — is it f 
 
 " 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."
 
 128 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 " No other way than by looking like a negro," 
 said ToLissaint, calmly. " Well, now you are here, 
 what do you mean to do next ?" 
 
 *^ I mean, by your influence with General Her- 
 mona, 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 Flermona to this.'* 
 
 " I hope not, as he voluntarily gave you per- 
 mission to enter this territory. I will ask for his 
 safe-conduct in the morning. To-night you are 
 safe, if you remain here. I request that you 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 your- 
 self alone, or more ?" 
 
 " No one knows better than you,""* said Papalier, 
 hastily, " that I have only one servant left,"
 
 THE HOUR. 129 
 
 pointing again to the couch. " And," lowering his 
 voice, so that Therese could not hear, " she, 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 Therese, 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, '' 1 will go 
 nowhere with you." 
 
 " Hey-day ! what is that?" 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. Y^ou 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 ?" asked her 
 master, sharply. 
 
 "1 mean what you said just now — that I hate 
 you." 
 
 *' O ! silence ! " exclaimed Toussaint. He then 
 G 3
 
 130 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 added in a mild tone to Therese, " This is ray 
 house, in which God is worshipped 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 attempt to reach Cap ?" 
 
 " To reach Cap ! AVhat i after the decree ? 
 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 4th of February 
 last." 
 
 " I have not heard of it." 
 
 " Then it is as I hoped ; — that decree is not con- 
 sidered here as of any importance. I trusted it 
 would be so. It is merely a decree of the Conven- 
 tion, confirming and proclaiming the liberty of the 
 negroes, and declaring the colony henceforth an 
 integrant part of France. It is a piece of folly and 
 nonsense, as you will 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
 
 THE HOUR. 131 
 
 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 
 sutlers'* wives for the night. 
 
 Having put on the table such fruit, bread, and 
 wine as remained from his own meal, (Papalier 
 forbidding further preparation, for fear of exciting 
 observation without,) Toussaint went out with 
 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 con- 
 viction 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 continued to glare forth
 
 132 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 at intervals, refusing to be quenched. It was this : 
 — that if it were indeed true that the revolutionary 
 government of France had decreed to the negroes 
 the freedom and rights of citizenship, to 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 his imagination. As one 
 inference after another presented itself before him, 
 — as a long array of humiliations and perplexities 
 showed themselves in the future, — he felt as if his 
 heart was bursting. For hour after hour of that 
 night he paced the floor of his tent ; and if he rested 
 his hmbs, 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 certain 
 crises of the human mind and lot, do the work of 
 years ; and this night carried on the education of 
 the noble soul, long repressed by slavery, to a 
 point of insight which multitudes do not reach in a 
 lifetime. No doubt, the preparation had been 
 making through years of forbearance and medita- 
 tion, and through the latter months of enterprise 
 and activity ; but yet, the change of views and
 
 THE HOUR. 133 
 
 purposes was so great as to make him feel, be- 
 tween night and morning, as if he were another 
 man. 
 
 The lamp burned out, and there was no hght but 
 from the brilHant flies, a few of which had found 
 their way into the tent. Toussaint made his re- 
 peater 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 light 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 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 
 camp— the voice of waters, so loud to the listen- 
 ing; ear. but so little heeded amidst the hum of
 
 1S4 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 unper- 
 plexed with duties and with cares. 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 Toussaint 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, all seemed 
 dark. Laxabon slept so 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 ? " cried 
 Laxabon. 
 
 " I, Toussaint Breda; entreating your pardon, 
 father.^' 
 
 " Why are you here, my son ? There is some 
 misfortune, by your face. You look wearied and 
 anxious. What is it ?" 
 
 ** No misfortune, father, and no crime. But my
 
 THE HOUR. 135 
 
 mind is anxious, and I have ventured to break your 
 rest. You will pardon me ? " 
 
 *' You 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 him- 
 self 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 with you, 
 father ; and I desire to confess, 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-citi- 
 zens, and the colony declared an integrant part of 
 France.''" 
 
 ** Surely I have. The General was speaking of 
 it last night ; and I brought away a copy of the 
 proclamation consequent upon it. Let me see," 
 said he, rising, and taking up the lamp, " where 
 (lia I put that proclamation ?"
 
 136 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 " 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 proclamation, officially 
 given. " The General does not seem to think much 
 of it, nor does Jean Fran^ais." 
 
 " To a commander of our allies the affair may 
 appear a trifle, father ; and such white planters as 
 cannot refuse to hear the tidings may scoff at 
 them ; but Jean Fran^ais, a negro and a slave, — is 
 it possible that he makes light of this ?" 
 
 '* He does : but he has read it, and you have not. 
 Read it, my son, and without prejudice." 
 
 Toussaint read it, again and again. 
 
 " Well !" said the priest, as Toussaint put down 
 the paper, no longer attempting to hide with it the 
 streaming tears which covered his face. 
 
 " Father,'' said he, commanding his voice com- 
 pletely, " is there not hope, that if men, weakened 
 and blinded by degradation, mistake their duty 
 when the time for duty comes, they will be for- 
 given ? " 
 
 " In what case, my son ? Explain yourself." 
 
 " If I, hitherto a slave, and wanting, therefore.
 
 THE HOCR. 137 
 
 the wisdom of a free man, find myself engaged on 
 the wrong side, — fighting against the providence of 
 God, — is there not hope that I may be forgiven on 
 turning to the right?" 
 
 " How the wrong side, my son ? Are you not 
 fighting for your king, and for the allies of 
 France ?" 
 
 " I have been so pledged and so engaged ; and I 
 do not say that I was wrong when I so engaged and 
 so pledged myself. But if I 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 sun shall not find me), holding a command 
 against the highest interests of my race, — now, at 
 length, about to be redeemed." 
 
 " You — Toussaint Breda — the loyal ! If Heaven 
 has put any of its grace within you, it has shown 
 itself in your loyalty ; and do you speak of desert- 
 ing the forces raised in the name of your king, and 
 acting upon the decrees of his enemies ? Explain 
 to me, my son, how this can be. It seems to me 
 that 1 can scarcely be yet awake." 
 
 '' And to me it seems, father, that never till now 
 have 1 been awake. Yet it was in no vain dream
 
 138 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 that I served my king. If he is now where he can 
 read the hearts of his servants, 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 mi^ht have been if he had still 
 lived ; for it seems to me now that God has esta- 
 blished a higher royalty among men than even that 
 of an anointed sovereign over the fortunes of many 
 millions of men. I think now that the rule which 
 the free man has over his own soul, over 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, an 
 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 you mean freedom, my son ? Remember 
 that it is in the name of freedom that the French 
 rebels have committed the crimes which — which 
 it would consume the night to tell of, and
 
 THE HOUR. 139 
 
 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 killed their king. The object of my devotion 
 will now be nothing that has to be wrenched from 
 an anointed ruler, nothing which can be gained by 
 violence, — nothing 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. Domingo of late ? No real change has taken 
 place ; and yet you, who wept that 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 escape from a con- 
 dition they had not patience to endure. All this 
 was corrupt ; 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
 
 140 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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? You do not answer, father. 
 Is it not so V* 
 
 " 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. 
 You 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, 
 more acceptable to God, tlian the comforts of self- 
 will." 
 
 " My father, if my will ensnares me, lay open
 
 THE HOUR. 141 
 
 the snare, — I say not for the sake of my soul only, 
 — but for far, far more, — for the sake of ray 
 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." 
 
 " You will give up your command ?" 
 
 " I shall." 
 
 " And your boys, — what will you do with them ? " 
 
 '' Send them whence they came, for the present. 
 I shall dismiss them by one road, while the resigna- 
 tion of my rank goes by another." 
 
 " And you yourself by a third." 
 
 " When I have 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 with a 
 word. I shall therefore avoid speaking that word, 
 as it would be a false first step in a career of free-
 
 142 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 dom, to make them enter upon it as slaves to my 
 opinion and my will," 
 
 " But you will at least address them, that they 
 may understand the course you pursue. The 
 festival of this morning will 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 Cap, all in 
 the interest of the planters, will receive you ? " 
 
 " I do not think it ; and I shall not offer my- 
 self.'^ 
 
 " Then you will sink into nothing. You will 
 no longer be an officer, nor even a soldier. You 
 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." 
 
 " You will sink to less than nothing. You will
 
 THE HOUR. 143 
 
 be worse than useless before God and man. You 
 will be held a traitor." 
 
 " I shall ; but it will be for the sake of a higher 
 fidelity." 
 
 There was a long pause, after which Laxabon 
 said, in a tone, half severe and half doubting, 
 
 " So, here ends your career ! You will dig a 
 piece of ground to grow maize and plantains for 
 your family ; — you will read history in your piazza, 
 and see your daughters dance in the shade, while 
 your name will never be mentioned but as that of 
 a traitor. So, here ends your career ! " 
 
 " From 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 encouraged my children, when they, who fear 
 neither the wild bull nor the tornado, looked some- 
 what fearfully up to the eclipsed moon ! Who 
 was it but you that 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 leadinor her on through the 
 heaven, still pouring radiance into her lamp, not the 
 less bricjht because it was hidden from men ? A
 
 144 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 thick shadow is about to pass upon my name ; but 
 is it not possible, father, that God may still be 
 feeding my soul with light, — still guiding me to- 
 wards himself? Will 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.' 
 You know what a station you hold in this camp — 
 how you are prized by the General for the excel- 
 lence of the military discipline 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. You 
 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 all the duties
 
 THE HOUR. 145 
 
 which belong to them, and sink yourself in infamy 
 — and with yourself, the virtues you have advo- 
 cated. How ^vill you answer this to God ? '' 
 
 " Father, was there not one in whose path lay all 
 the kingdoms of the world and the glory of them, 
 and who yet chose ignominy — to be despised by the 
 world, instead of to lead it ? 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, ray son, unique in the world. 
 The Saviour had a lot of his own. Common men 
 have rulers appointed them whom they are to serve; 
 and, if in rank and honour, so much the greater the 
 favour of God. You entered this service with an 
 upright mind and pure intent ; and here, therefore, 
 can you most safely remain, instead of casting your- 
 self down from the pinnacle of the temple, which, 
 you know, the Son of God refused to do. Re- 
 member his words, * Thou shalt not tempt the Lord 
 thy God.' Be not tempted yourself, by pride of 
 heart, to compare 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 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 found 
 ready. Meantime, not for another day will I stand 
 in the light of their liberties. — Father," he conti- 
 nued, with an eagerness which grew as he spoke, 
 " you know something of the souls of slaves. You 
 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 ! You 
 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 presume : but if I 
 might say all . . . " 
 " Say on, my son."
 
 THE HOUR. 147 
 
 *' 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 1 
 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 wrong 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 have 
 led them 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 angels: 
 — for, you know, he has made us, even us, but a 
 little lower than they." 
 
 H 2
 
 148 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 " 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 Fran9ais, 
 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 therefore that we are appointed to guide 
 and help you, my son. You now know my mind, 
 and have received my admonition. Let us proceed 
 to confession ; for the morning draws on towards 
 the hour for mass."
 
 THE HOUR. 149 
 
 "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 shall be."*' 
 
 " Impossible, my son. I dare not so pray for 
 one self-willed and precipitate ; nor, till 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 I 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. You see it is dawning. 
 You 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.''
 
 150 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 Toussaint 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, unconfessed, unab- 
 solved : 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 ? and will he reject me 
 if, in my obedience, I come to him ? 1 will try, — 
 I will dare. I am alone; and he will hear and 
 help me."" 
 
 Without priest, without voice, without form of 
 words, he confessed and prayed, and no longer felt 
 that he was alone. He arose, clear in mind, and 
 strong in heart : wrote and sealed up his resigna- 
 tion of his commission, stepped into the next tent 
 to rouse the three boys, desiring them to dress for
 
 THE HOUR. 151 
 
 early mass, and prepare for their return to their 
 homes immediately afterwards. He then entered 
 his own inner apartment, where Papalier was 
 sleeping so soundly that it was probable the early 
 movements of saint's- day festivities in the camp 
 would not awaken him. As he could not show 
 himself abroad till the General's protection was 
 secured, his host let him sleep on j 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 camp.
 
 152 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE ACT. 
 
 Papalier was probably the only person in the 
 valley who did not attend mass on this sainfs-day 
 morning. The Spanish general was early seen, 
 surrounded by his staff, moving towards the rising 
 ground, outside the camp, on which stood the 
 church, erected for the use of the troops when 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, till their forces joined before the church. The 
 sun had not yet shone down into the 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.
 
 THE ACT. 153 
 
 This church was little more than a covered 
 inclosure. It was well shaded from the heat of the 
 sun by its broad and low roof; but, between the 
 comer 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, 
 except that 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, except the 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 Francais 
 entered after him, and seated himself on the oppo- 
 site 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 
 H 3
 
 154 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 could find room ; the rest closing in round the 
 building, so as to hear the voice of the priest, 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 amarylHs, plucked from 
 among the high grass, with which it grew thickly 
 intermixed all over the valley ; and beautiful to the 
 e3^e were the snowy, drooping blossoms, contrasting 
 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 morn- 
 ing breathed around and through the building. 
 There were smiles on almost every face; and a 
 hum of low, but joyous, greetings was heard with- 
 out, till 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.
 
 THE ACT. loo 
 
 Jean Fran9ais watched his every movement with 
 the mingled triumph and jealousy of a superior in 
 rank, but a rival in fame ; and by the negro troops 
 he was so beloved, that nothing but the strict disci- 
 pline which he enforced could have prevented their 
 following him in crowds wherever he went. When- 
 ever he smiled, as he passed along in conversation, 
 they laughed without inquiring why ; and now, 
 this morning, on observing the gravity of his coun- 
 tenance, 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 wafer to such as desired to receive it. Among 
 these, Toussaint bent his head lowest, — so low, 
 that the first slanting sun-beam that entered be- 
 neath the thatch 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 Francais, observing 
 that General Hermona was making some remark 
 about Toussaint to the officers about him, endea- 
 voured 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
 
 156 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 per- 
 form 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 Her- 
 mona looked as if he scarcely knew whether to 
 take this as an act of humility, or to be oiFended ; 
 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?" 
 
 " As we have business, my friend, I will come
 
 THE ACT. 157 
 
 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 jus- 
 tice. I have ever received from you more than 
 justice." 
 
 " You have attached your men to yourself with 
 singular skill," said the General, on their way down 
 the slope from 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 attach- 
 ment to you is singular. I no longer wonder 
 at your achievements in the field." 
 
 " It is by no skill of mine," replied Toussaint ; 
 " it is by the power of past tyranny. The hearts 
 of neo^roes are made to love. Hitherto, all love in 
 which the mind could share has been bestowed 
 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 Fran9ais, as 
 far as your reasons go ; but Jean Francais is not 
 beloved like you. He looks gayer than you, my 
 friend, notwithstanding. He is happy in his new-
 
 158 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 rank, probably. You have heard that he is enno- 
 bled by the court of Spain V 
 
 " I had not heard it. It will please him." 
 "It evidently does. He is made a noble ; and 
 his military rank is now that of lieutenant-general. 
 Your turn will come next, my friend ; and if pro- 
 motion 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 obeis- 
 ance ; " and very perfect soldiers they look, young 
 as they are. They seem born 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 ? "
 
 THE ACT. 159 
 
 " 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 will not delay their journey." 
 
 And the General touched his hat to the lads, with 
 a graciousness 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 
 till he and his guest had disappeared within the 
 tent, to gallop off. They wondered at being made 
 the bearers of a letter, as they knew that his horse 
 was ordered to be ready beside his tent, immediately 
 after breakfast, and had not a doubt of his arriving 
 at the shore almost as soon as themselves. 
 
 PapaHer was lounging on the couch beside the 
 table where breakfast was spread, when General 
 Hermona and his host entered. He started up, 
 casting a look of doubt upon Toussaint. 
 
 i
 
 160 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 « Fear nothing, M. Papalier," said Toussaint ; 
 " General Hermona 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 till too late to escape, without your 
 especial protection, a fate he dreads.'* 
 
 " You mean being delivered up as a republican ?" 
 
 " Into the hands of my own negroes, my lord," 
 said Papalier, bitterly. " That is the fate secretly 
 designed for any unfortunate planter who may yet 
 have survived the recent troubles over the frontier." 
 
 " But how can I protect you ? The arrange- 
 ment 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 fur- 
 nishing 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 ? 1 shall 
 do it with much more pleasure as a slight favour to 
 one whom I strongly regard. You shall have your 
 safe-conduct, M. Papalier. In the mean time . . ." 
 
 And he looked towards the steaming chocolate
 
 THE ACT. 161 
 
 and the piles of fruit on the table, as if his appetite 
 was growing urgent. 
 
 " One word more, my lord, before offering 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 a hundred 
 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 
 offence between us ? " 
 
 " If any, my lord, I alone am the offender. 
 Will you be pleased to " 
 
 " O yes, I will breakfast ; and was never more 
 ready. M. Papalier, our morning mass has kept 
 you waiting, I fear." 
 
 Papalier seated himself, but was near starting up 
 again when he saw his negro host preparing to 
 take his place between his two guests. Papalier 
 had never yet sat at table with a negro ; and his 
 impulse was to resent the necessity : but a stern
 
 162 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 kept clear 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 ear- 
 liest convenience. 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 
 
 " Yes, now for the explanation of this fancy of 
 not receiving kindness from your best friends. 
 Let us hear." 
 
 " I have this morning, my lord, dispatched 
 letters to Don Joachim Garcia, at St. Domingo — " 
 
 " You are in communication with the Colonial 
 Government : and not through me ! What can 
 this mean ? " 
 
 " And here, my lord, are exact copies of my
 
 THE ACT. 163 
 
 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 amusement at the idea of a 
 negro sending despatches of any importance 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 Tous- 
 saint reappeared from within, — no longer glittering 
 in his uniform and polished arms, but dressed in 
 his old plantation clothes, and with his woollen 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 astonish- 
 ment.
 
 164 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 " He is addressing the troops ! " he cried, draw- 
 ing his sword, and rushing forth. 
 
 Toussaint was not addressing the troops. He 
 was merely informing Jacques, whom he had re- 
 quested 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 shov/- 
 ing him that the cause of negro freedom was now 
 one with that of the present government of France, 
 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 becom- 
 ing 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 amaryllis and the orange that they
 
 THE ACT. 165 
 
 carried. The Spanish soldiers, however, endea- 
 voured 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 op- 
 position, and, amidst a shower of white blossoms 
 which stre^ved the way, instantly carried him 
 beyond the camp. Well-mounted soldiers, and 
 many of them, were behind, however ; and it was a 
 hard race between the fugitive and his pursuers, as 
 it was witnessed from the camp. Along 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 steep. Then 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
 
 166 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 troops to Tous- 
 saint Breda was as strong as he himself had that 
 morning declared 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 you speak of a man to whom you owe 
 your life this very day, — and not for the first 
 time."" 
 
 " 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 
 troops ; 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
 
 THE ACT. 167 
 
 myself that those papers had come in question, God 
 knows I should have called him something very 
 different." 
 
 " 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 absurd extent. 
 I alw^ays 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 troops were busy, to a man, in 
 learning from Jacques, and repeating to one an- 
 other, the particulars of what was in the procla- 
 mation, and the reasons of Toussaint's departure. 
 General Hermona found that the two remaining 
 black leaders, Jean Fran^ais and Biasson, were not 
 infected by Toussaint'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
 
 168 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 the proclamation as slightly as Don Joachim Garcia 
 could possibly have wished. The}'^ met with little 
 response, however; and every one felt, amidst the 
 show and parade and festivity of the day, a rest- 
 lessness 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 any- 
 thing that might take place, though the men were 
 sufficiently orderly in the discharge of their duty 
 to render any interference with them unwarrant- 
 able, and any precautions against their defection 
 impossible. The great hope 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 
 best 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, and reckoning forces, Jacques was 
 satisfying himself that the preponderance of num-
 
 THE ACT. 169 
 
 bers was greatly on the side of his absent friend. 
 His hatred of the whites, which had never inter- 
 mitted, 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 withdrawing 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 of 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 re- 
 membering the first time he had seen Therese — 
 on the night of the escape across 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 
 morning, 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. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 Jacques entered the tent: and there stood Therese, 
 declaring that she would leave her master, and never 
 see him more, but prevented from escaping by Pa- 
 palier having intercepted her passage to the entrance. 
 Her eyes glowed with delight on the appearance of 
 Jacques, to whom she immediately addressed her- 
 self. 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " Yes, 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 ! '^ 
 
 "Yes. 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 tlie presence of a white, 
 Jacques explained to Therese in the negro lan- 
 guage (which she understood, though she always 
 spoke French), the new hopes which had arisen
 
 THE ACT. 171 
 
 for the blacks, and his own intention of following 
 Toussaint, to make him a chief. He concluded in 
 good French, smihng maliciously at Papalier as he 
 spoke, 
 
 " You will come with me now to the priest, and 
 be my wife.""* 
 
 " I will," replied Therese, calmly. 
 
 " Go," said Papalier. '* You have my leave. 
 I am til us honourably released from the care of 
 you till times shall change. I am glad that you 
 will not remain unprotected, at least." 
 
 " Unprotected ! " exclaimed Therese, 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. ^Vhen people flatter you, Therese, 
 (as they will do ; for there is not a negress in all 
 the island to compare with you) — remember who 
 made you a lady. You will promise me that 
 much, Therese, at parting ?"' 
 
 •* Remember who made me a lady ! — I have 
 forgotten too long who made me a woman,"" said 
 Therese, devoutly upraising her eyes. " In serv- 
 I 2
 
 172 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 ing him and loving my husband, I will strive to 
 forget you." 
 
 '* All alike!" muttered Papalier, as the pair 
 went out. " This is what 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 half- 
 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, promising 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 Fran^ais and Biasson were left with 
 scarcely twenty followers each ; and those few 
 would do nothing. The whites felt themselves 
 powerless amidst the noon-day heats, and opposed 
 to three-fold 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
 
 THE ACT. 173 
 
 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 trip, now 
 singing to the music of the band, and now making 
 the hills 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.'' 
 
 " You may have changed your opinions since 
 the sun rose, gentlemen," said Hermona : " but 1 
 am not sure that I have." 
 
 " How ! Is it possible ? We do not under- 
 stand you, my lord." 
 
 " Do you suppose that you understand him ? 
 Have we been of a degraded race, slaves, and 
 suddenly offered restoration to full manhood and
 
 174 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 citizenship ? How otherwise can we understand 
 this man ? I do not profess to do so." 
 
 " You think well of him, my lord?" 
 
 " 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 Her- 
 mona. " It is their exodus that we are watching."
 
 BREDA AGAIN. 175 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 BREDA AGAIN. 
 
 The French proclamation was efficiently pub- 
 lished along the line of march of the blacks. Thev 
 shouted and sang the tidings of their freedom, 
 joining with them the name of Toussaint Breda. 
 These tidinors of freedom rano^ throuojh 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 vengeance of the whites and mulattoes, 
 and to escape sharing in the violence of the negro 
 force which Jean Fran^ais 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
 
 176 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 hurricane, 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 Lad 
 sat upon his knee, yet felt that there was something 
 impressive in the simple habit of forgiveness, the 
 vigilant spirit of mercy which distinguished Tous- 
 saint Breda from all his brethren in arms, — from 
 all the leading men of his colour, except his friend 
 Henri Christophe. 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, 
 returning 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
 
 BREDA AGAIN. 177 
 
 joyous progress of the little army, hastening on to 
 find their chief. These involuntary spies gathered 
 at every point of observation news which would 
 gall the very soul of Jean Fran^ais, 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 hills, straight 
 across the plain to the Breda estate, where Tous- 
 saint meant to await his family. How unlike 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, were now a jungle. The 
 old plants had run up till they had leaned 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 inclosed 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 
 i3
 
 178 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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. 
 
 " Perhaps he 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 Therese, " 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 traps for the feet of trespassers. 
 The front of the piazza was completely overgrown 
 with the creepers which had been brought there only 
 to cover the posts, and hang their blossoms from 
 the eaves. They had now spread and tangled
 
 BREDA AGAIN. 179 
 
 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 tossing the loose coils about. 
 Jacques entered the gap, and immediately looked 
 out again, smiling, and beckoning Therese to come 
 and see. There, in the piazza, they found Tous- 
 saint, stretched asleep upon the bench, — so soundly 
 asleep, for 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 up. 
 
 " No, not Henri. I am Jacques. You are not 
 awake yet, and the place is dark. I am your friend 
 Jacques, five inches shorter than Henri. You see ? "
 
 180 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 " You here, Jacques ! and Therese ! Surely I 
 am not awake yet." 
 
 " Yes, you are, now you know Therese, — whom 
 you 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 will 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, well- 
 known voice of the powerful Christophe, 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 pro- 
 clamation there.?*' 
 
 " Affairs are going badly at Cap. The mulat- 
 toes will no more bear our proclamation, than the 
 whites would bear theirs. They have shut up
 
 BREDA AGAIN. l81 
 
 General Laveaux in prison ; and the French, with- 
 out their mihtary leader, do not know what to do 
 next. The commissary has no authority, and talks 
 of embarking foi France; and the troops are 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 work already hes straight be- 
 fore 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 par- 
 tially armed, and have strong hearts and ready 
 hands." 
 
 Toussaint turned round, as if to know what 
 Jacques could mean. 
 
 " General," said Jacques, " the army 1 speak of 
 is there, among those fields, burning to greet you, 
 their commander : but in the mean time, I believe, 
 supping heartily on whatever they can find in your 
 wilderness here, in the shape of maize, pumpkins, 
 and plantains — and what else, you know better 
 than I. That is right, Therese : rest yourself
 
 182 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 will join on the way." 
 
 " We must free Laveaux before sunrise," said 
 Toussaint. " Will our troops be 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 France, if 
 you will only lead them," replied Jacques. " Go 
 to them, and they will do what you will." 
 
 " So be it ! " said Toussaint, his bosom for a mo- 
 ment heaving with the thought that his career, even 
 as viewed by Father Laxabon, 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
 
 BREDA AGAIN. 183 
 
 plain that could resist your numbers, if you are 
 sure of your troops. The road is open, if they 
 choose that it be so." 
 
 " I am sure of only half 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 ^lorne, so as to arrive by 
 the Haut-du-Cap, in 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 sunrise, while the scouts of the mulatto 
 rebels were looking for them across the eastern 
 plain. 
 
 This settled, Jacques went down among his 
 forces, to tell them that their general was engaged 
 in a council of war, — Henri Christophe having 
 joined from Cap, with 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 them-
 
 184 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 selves 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 beginning to form while the 
 leader of their march was yet speaking. 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 ?"" 
 
 *^ I know not, — I care not," said she. " There 
 are no whites here ; and I am well where they are 
 not. Will you not let me stay here ?'"' 
 
 " Did Jacques say, and say truly, that you are 
 his wife ?" 
 
 " 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
 
 BREDA AGAIN. 185 
 
 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 you will presently be safe, 
 and well cared for, I hope. My wife and my 
 children are coming home, — coming, probably, in 
 a few hours. They wiU make this a home to you 
 till Jacques can give you one of your own. You 
 shall be guarded here till my Margot arrives. 
 Shall it be so ?" 
 
 " Shall it ? O thank God ! Jacques,"*' she cried, 
 as she heard her husband's step approaching, 
 " O 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. You will atone, (will 
 you not ?) by the purity of your hfe ; — by watching 
 over others, lest they suffer as you have done. 
 You will guard the minds of my young daughters : 
 will you not ? You will thank God through my 
 Genifrede, my Aimee?" 
 
 " I will, I will," she eagerly cried, lifting up her
 
 186 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 face, bright through her tears. " Indeed my 
 heart will be pure, — longs to be pure." 
 
 " I know it, Therese,'' said Toussaint. " I have 
 always believed it, and I now know it/' 
 
 He turned to Jacques, and said, 
 
 " You declare yourself to be under my com- 
 mand ?' 
 
 " Yes, Toussaint ; you are my general."" 
 
 " Well, then, I appoint to you the duty of re- 
 maining here, with a troop, to 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. You hate the whites too much to like my 
 warfare. Farewell, Therese ! Jacques, follow me, 
 to receive your troop."
 
 THE MAX. T87 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE MAN. 
 
 The town of Cap Fran9ais was next morning in 
 a hurry, which attracted the attention of General 
 Laveaux in bis 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 sail 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 pre- 
 pared 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
 
 188 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 from the allied forces. Messengers had arrived, 
 one after another, with despatches which had been 
 intercepted by the mulattoes. Those 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 swept the 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 been watching that 
 mountain-side for some time : and, if I am not much 
 mistaken, there is an army of dusky fellows there." 
 ** Dusky ! mulattoes ! then we are lost !"" cried 
 Polverel. " If the mulattoes from the south have 
 come up in any numbers . . /'
 
 THE MAN. 189 
 
 "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 
 France just yet, M. Polverel." 
 
 Notwithstanding the display of black forces on 
 the Haut-du-Cap, the 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 neighbour- 
 ing public offices ; in which quarter the mulattoes 
 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 withstand an army 
 of twenty thousand men (only doubling the real
 
 190 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 off, in due form, to bring Commissary 
 Polverel home to Government-House. Toussaint 
 himself went to the prison, to bring out General 
 Laveaux, with every demonstration of respect ; and 
 all presently wore the aspect of a jour-de-fete. 
 
 Hour by hour, tidings were spread which in- 
 creased the joy of the French, and the humiliation 
 of their foes. The intercepted despatches were 
 given up, and 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 re- 
 publican France ; and after them, Gros-Morne, 
 Henneri, and Le Dondon. 
 
 The news of the acquisition of these last arrived 
 in the evening, when the French officials were 
 entertaining the ne«:ro chief in the salon of Govern- 
 ment-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
 
 THE MAN. 191 
 
 great as had been the fatigues of the negro troops, 
 they were not yet weary of hearing the praises of 
 their own Toussaint. Adding their numbers to 
 those of the white inhabitants of Cap, they thronged 
 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 tlieir 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 hope of getting one more glimpse of Toussaint 
 on this night of his triumph. From mouth to 
 mouth circulated the words which General La- 
 veaux 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
 
 192 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 to his invariable custom) refusing wine, he was re- 
 minded by all 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 
 France ; 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 m military affairs im- 
 plicitly by his counsels. Toussaint heard, and felt 
 that, in truth, his career was not ended. He was 
 requested 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 
 Convention 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 poHtical 
 equality which the Convention had decreed. In 
 the midst of the strongly-expressed sympathy of 
 his hosts, who were this day disposed to approve
 
 THE MAN'. 193 
 
 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 despatches which told of 
 the acquisition of the posts of Limbe 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 festival ; and the oaths 
 shall be taken at Port Paix. Was not that district 
 considered the most obstinate, General ? " 
 
 Toussaint did not answer. He did not hear. 
 The mention of Port Paix 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. Pol- 
 verel, gazing at his guest. 
 
 *' Yes," rejoined Laveaux, '^ he is the Napoleon 
 Bonaparte of St. Domingo." 
 
 " Who is he .^— who is Napoleon Bonaparte ? " 
 asked Toussaint, roused to listen. '• I have heard 
 his name. What has he done ? " 
 
 " He is a young French artillery officer ..." 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 *' A Corsican by birth," interposed Polverel. 
 
 " Is he really ? I was not aware of that," said 
 Laveaux. " That circumstance somewhat in- 
 creases 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 con- 
 nexion 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 ? " 
 
 " Yes. 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
 
 THE MAN. 195 
 
 eager ears outside. The black attendants, the 
 gazers and listeners who went in and out, intoxi- 
 cated 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 mountains 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 mul- 
 titude, fully comprehending what the word con- 
 veyed in its application to their chief, " Toussaint 
 L''Ouverture !" Henceforth the city, the colony, 
 the island, and, after a lime, 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 general would address them/' said Pol- 
 verel. '• You wish to speak to the people. General 
 Toussaint." 
 
 *' No," said Toussaint. 
 
 " What, then ? " inquired Laveaux. 
 K 2
 
 196 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 " I would be alone," said Toussaint, stepping 
 backwards from the table. 
 
 " Your fatigues have doubtless been great," 
 observed Laveaux. " Lights shall be ordered in 
 your apartment." 
 
 " I cannot sleep yet," said Toussaint. " I can- 
 not sleep till 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 admira- 
 tion 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 irk- 
 some 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 pur- 
 poses in their intercourses with him. He needed 
 this evening the sincerities as well as the soothings
 
 THE MAN. 197 
 
 of nature ; and it was with a sense of relief that he 
 cast himself once again upon her bosom, to be in- 
 structed, 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. 
 
 " Yet 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 minis- 
 ter. It seems as if I were the one of whom I 
 myself have spoken as likely to arise, — not, as 
 Laveaux says after Raynal, 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
 
 198 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 I have been this day to accept the 
 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 hard- 
 ened by power ! Let me not see in their faces the 
 look jof authority, nor hear in their voices the tones 
 of pride ! Be with my people, O Christ ! The 
 weaker I am, the more be thou with them, that thy 
 gospel may be at last received ! The hearts of my 
 people are soft — they are gentle, they are w,eak : — 
 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
 
 THE MAN. 199 
 
 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 Des- 
 
 salines and Moyse were all there, safe and happy, 
 
 except for their dismay at finding the cottage and 
 
 field in such a state of desolation. 
 
 " They will not mind when they hear that they 
 
 are to live in a mansion henceforward,"' said Placide. 
 
 "Jean Fran^ais 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 you." 
 
 " 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
 
 200 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 for the sake of the blacks, than go off to the court 
 of Spain . . ." 
 
 '' What made you 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 happy there." 
 
 " 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 ?"" 
 
 "Every one knows it, — everyone in Cap. Every 
 one knows that Jean has done with us, and that the 
 Commissary is going home, and that General 
 Laveaux means to be guided in everything 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 proud." 
 
 "The Commissary and the General said that 
 you are supreme, — the idol of your colour. Those 
 were their words."
 
 THE MAN. 201 
 
 " 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 of my ordering. 
 Glor}^ 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.'" 
 
 " O father ! do but listen. Hark again ! ' Tous- 
 saint L'Ouverture !' " 
 
 " I will strive to make that shout a prophecy, 
 my sons. Till then, no pride ! Are you not 
 weary? Come in to rest. Can you s;eep 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 troops were 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. 
 
 K 3
 
 202 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A MORNING 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 deso- 
 lated 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 could be done was done. Vigorous 
 employment was made the great law of society, — 
 the one condition of the favour of its chief; and.
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 203 
 
 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 of hope overspread 
 the ruins of old delights and attachments, as the 
 verdure of the plain spread its mantle over the 
 wrecks of mansion 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 culti- 
 vators went out to their daily work with the gun 
 slung across their shoulders, and the cutlass in 
 their belt: the hills were crested with forts, and 
 the mountain passes were watched by scouts. The 
 troops were frequently reviewed in the squares of
 
 204 THE HOUR AND THE MAK. 
 
 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 still in the 
 field, with a mulatto force sufficient to interrupt 
 the prosperity of the colony, and endanger the 
 authority of its Lieutenant-Governor. It was some 
 time, however, since Rigaud had approached any 
 of the large towns. The sufferers by his incursions 
 were the planters and field-labourers. The inha- 
 bitants 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 in their occasional contributions of time and 
 money. 
 
 The Commander-in-chief, as Toussaint L'Ouver- 
 ture was called, by the appointment of the French 
 commissaries, though his dignity had not yet been 
 confirmed from Paris — the Commander-in-chief of 
 St. Domingo held his head -quarters at Port-au- 
 Prince. Among other considerations which ren- 
 dered this convenient, the chief was that he thus 
 avoided much collision with the French officials, 
 which must otherwise have taken place. All the 
 commissaries, who rapidly succeeded one another
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. ^05 
 
 from Paris, resided at Government- House, in Cap 
 Fran^ais. Thence they issued orders and regu- 
 lations in the name of the government at home ; 
 orders and regulations which were sometimes prac- 
 ticable, sometimes unwise, and often absurd. If 
 Toussaint had resided at Cap, a constant Avitness 
 of their ignorance of the minds, manners, and in- 
 terests 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 kept terms 
 for a single week with the French authorities. By 
 establishincr himself in the south, while thev re- 
 mained 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 consulting 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 evils. He preferred that they should be mis-
 
 206 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 governed 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 friendship 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 interference always availed: and these convic- 
 tions ensured their submission, or at least their not 
 going beyond passive resistance on ordinary occa- 
 sions, 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 mi"-ht be, or 
 how engaged, the night before ; he rarely failed to 
 be at home on the appointed day, at the fixed hour.
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 207 
 
 On one particular occasion, he was known to have 
 been out against Rigaud, day and night, for a fort- 
 night, and to be closely engaged as far south as 
 Aux Cayes, the very evening preceding the review 
 and levee which had been announced for the 20th 
 of January. Not the less for this did he appear in 
 front of the troops in 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 the blaze of the mounting sun. The troops then 
 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, consisted of one story only. The town 
 had been destroyed by an earthquake in 1770 ; 
 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 space of ground, and its principal 
 rooms were each nearly surrounded by garden and
 
 f208 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 proportions, and the views which it 
 commanded. Not even the abode of the Com- 
 mander-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 Toussaint 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 nume- 
 rous windows, were covered with green damask, of 
 no very rich quality. In these many windows lay 
 the charm, commanding, as they did, extensive 
 prospects to the east, north, and west. The broad ve- 
 randah cast a shadow which rendered it unnecessary 
 to keep the jalousies closed, except during the hot- 
 test hours of the year. This morning every blind 
 was swung wide open, and the room was cool and 
 shady, while, without, all was bathed in the mild,
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 209 
 
 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 unequalled 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 
 coffee-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 the bight. 
 
 Upon these sands, on the margin of the deep 
 blue waters, might be seen flashing in the sun, a 
 troop of flamingoes, new moving forward in a line 
 into the waves, and diligently fishing; and then, 
 on the alarm of a scout, all taking wing succes- 
 sively, and keeping their order, as they flew home-
 
 210 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 wards, 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, 
 locked by the island of Gonave, and sprinkled with 
 fishing-boats, while under the forest-tufted rocks 
 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 
 commencement of the levee. 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 from external state. Her 
 daughters were beside her, both wonderfully im- 
 proved in beauty, though Genifrede still preserved 
 the superiority there. She sat a little apart from 
 her mother and sister, netting. Moyse was at her
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 211 
 
 feet, in order to obtain the benefit of an occasional 
 gleam from the eyes which were cast down upon 
 her work. His idolatry of her was no surprise to 
 any who looked upon her in her beauty, now ani- 
 mated 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 
 Aimee cared not what was thought of her face, 
 form, or dress. Isaac had always been satisfied 
 with them. She had confided in Genifrede'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 lacing ; no casing in whalebone ; 
 — nothing Hke a hoop. A chemisette of the finest 
 cambric appeared within the boddice, and covered
 
 212 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 the bosom. The short full sleeves were also of 
 white cambric. The boddice, 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 sisters was in their ornaments. 
 Aimee wore heavy ear-drops, and a large neck- 
 lace and bracelets of amethyst ; while Genifrede 
 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 hoops of 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, unhard- 
 ened by degradation, undebased by ignorance, 
 unspoiled by oppression, — all peculiarities of fea- 
 ture softened under the refining influence of mind, 
 and all peculiarities of expression called out in their 
 beauty by the free exercise of natural affections. 
 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
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 213 
 
 French uniform, which he wore in honour of his 
 brother on great occasions, though he was far from 
 having grown warhke 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 fish- 
 ing-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 jMoyse happy at 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 step, but sheltered by its broad eaves, 
 sat Therese, — more beautiful by far than Geni- 
 frede, — more beautiful by far than in her days of 
 girlhood, — celebrated as she had then been through- 
 out the colony. Her girlishness was gone, except 
 its 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,
 
 214 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 now refined by a life of leisure and the conscious- 
 ness 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 Dessalines remained at home, 
 on their estate near St. Marc. When he was in 
 attendance on the Commander-in-chief, she was 
 ever a welcome guest in Toussaint's family. Ma- 
 dame L'Ouverture loved her as a daughter; and 
 she had endeared herself to the girls. At this 
 time, from an accidental 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 disposed to converse. 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 
 rocky island which closed it in. 
 
 The sound of feet and of voices from within 
 increased from moment to moment. The Com- 
 mander-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
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 215 
 
 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 
 cape and cuffs, richly embroidered. He had white 
 trousers, long Hessian-boots, and, as usual, the 
 Madras handkerchief on his head. While walk- 
 ing up the apartment, he had been conversing on 
 business with his officers, and continued to do so, 
 without the loss of a moment, till, 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 announce- 
 ment 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
 
 216 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 counte- 
 nance ; 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 contained 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 fulfilling." 
 
 " Eight thousand marriages have been cele- 
 brated, as will appear in our reports," added the 
 young priest. 
 
 "And in the difficult cases of a plurality of 
 wives,'' resumed Father Antioche, " there is 
 generally a willingness in the cultivators to maintain 
 liberally those who are put away." 
 
 " And the children V 
 
 " The children may be found in the schools,
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 217 
 
 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 
 will exhibit the history of our expanding system.'' 
 
 " God be thanked ! " Toussaint uttered in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " Under the religious 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." 
 
 " You,'' 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 establish- 
 ing 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. 
 You have in charge their souls, in which lies the 
 future of this world and of the next. You are the 
 true rulers of St. Domingo ; and we bow to you as 
 such." 
 
 Every head was immediately bowed, and the 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 Superintendants 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 
 Rigaud'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 hope there 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 planting?" 
 
 The Superintendant of those districts came for-
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 219 
 
 ward, and said that some planting had been effected 
 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. 
 
 " Good !" said Toussaint. " Some of the finest 
 crops I have seen have risen from January plants : 
 though it were best it were done in September. 
 How do you report about the rats ? " 
 
 " The nuisance is still great," replied the head 
 superintendant. " 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 mulat- 
 toes ! "" 
 
 " 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 
 will reappear." 
 
 " And when there are no more rats, we must call 
 in some force, if your excellency knows of such, to 
 L 2
 
 220 THE HOUU AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 com- 
 plain of anything to which Providence has 
 given life and an errand among us. — The cacao 
 walks at Plaisance — are they fenced to the north?" 
 
 " 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 cultivators 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 ven- 
 tilator, to be fixed in 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
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 221 
 
 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 hope to 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 abroad as it arrives ; but the 
 liberty of the blacks can be secured only by the 
 prosperity of their agriculture." 
 
 ''I do not see why not by fisheries," observed 
 Paul to the party in the piazza, as he caught his 
 brother's words. '' If Toussaint 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."
 
 222 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 " 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?" asked 
 Aimee. 
 
 " If tiie Commander-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 still. Why does he, of all men, disparage 
 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, indeed, 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 fighting," said Aimee, *' he wishes that the 
 people should labour joyfully in the very places where 
 they used to toil in wretchedness for the whites." 
 
 Therese turned to hsten, with fire in her eyes. 
 
 "In order," continued Aimee, "that they may 
 lose the sense of that misery, and become friendly 
 towards the whites."
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 223 
 
 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. Caze, 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. Caze, the 
 spokesman of the party of white planters; "we 
 come, overwhelmed with amazement, penetrated 
 with gratitude, to lay our thanks at your feet. All 
 was lost. The estates on which we were born, the 
 lands bequeathed to us by our fathers, were wrenched 
 from our hands, ravaged, destroyed. We and our 
 families fled, — some to the mountains, — some to the 
 woods, and many to foreign lands. Your 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 all, — to you, possessed by 
 a magnanimity of which we had not dared to 
 dream !" 
 
 " These passions of war, of which you speak,"
 
 224 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 knowledge, 
 from which the blacks have been debarred. I 
 desire for the blacks a perpetual and friendly inter- 
 course with those who are their superiors in edu- 
 cation. As residents, therefore, you are welcome ; 
 and your security and welfare shall be my 
 care. You find your estates peopled with culti- 
 vators ? " 
 
 *' We do." 
 
 '' And you understand the terms on which the 
 labour of your fellow-citizens may be hired ? You 
 have only to secure to them one-fourth of the 
 produce, and you will, I believe, be well served. 
 If you experience cause of complaint, your remedy 
 will be found in an appeal to the Superintendant of 
 Cultivators of the district, or to myself. Over the 
 cultivators no one else, I now intimate to you, has 
 authority."
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 225 
 
 The gentlemen bowed, having nothing to say on 
 this head. 
 
 " It may be in your power," continued Toussaint, 
 after applying 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 you 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 cultivators ; 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 
 
 L 3
 
 226 THE HOCJR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 hence- 
 forth to spread its sunshine over our land, with 
 no tempest brewing in its heats." 
 
 "Have we heard the whole list?" asked M. 
 Charrier, anxiously. 
 
 " All except three, whose owners or agents have 
 been already summoned. These three are, the 
 Athens estate, M. Dauk; the Breda estate, the 
 attorney of which, M. Bayou . . .'" 
 
 "Is here ! " cried a voice from the lower part of 
 the room. " I landed just now," exclaimed Bayou, 
 hastening with extended arms to embrace Tous- 
 saint : " 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
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 227 
 
 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. 
 You were formerly too mild a master. Make the 
 blacks work well, that, by the welfare of your 
 small interests, you may add to the general pros- 
 perity 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 in their splendid uni- 
 forms, 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 en- 
 thusiastic 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. 
 
 " You desire to orreet Madame L'Ouverture?" said
 
 228 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 Toussaint, kindly. *' You 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 sup- 
 pose you have, what you gave me, one day long 
 ago. I tried to bring back something prettier than 
 I carried away — something for each of you, — but — I 
 don't know — I find everything here so different 
 from what I had any idea of — so very strange — 
 that I am afraid you will despise my little pre- 
 sents." 
 
 While speaking, he shyly held out little parcels 
 to Genifrede and. Aimee, who received them gra- 
 ciously, while their mother replied, 
 
 " In those old days, M. Bayou, we had nothing 
 really our own to give; and you deserved from us 
 any aid that was in our power. My daughters and 
 I now accept with pleasure the tokens of friendship 
 that you bring. I hope no changes have taken
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 229 
 
 place which need prevent our being friends, M. 
 Bayou." 
 
 He scarcely heard her. 
 
 " Is it possible," cried he, " that these can be 
 your girls ? Aimee, I might have known — but, 
 can this lady be Genifrede ? " 
 
 Genifrede looked up with a smile, which per- 
 plexed 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 
 
 would 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 all the 
 world to her; and he is far away." 
 
 Aimee's eyes were full of tears in a moment ; but
 
 230 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 alone, 
 — he and his brothers, where are they ? " 
 
 " 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 persons have 
 perpetually accused him to the French Government 
 as desirinsc to sever the connexion 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 bro- 
 ther sent his two elder sons to Paris, to be educated 
 for their future duties under the care of the Direc- 
 tory. I hope, sir, you see in this act a guarantee 
 for the safety and honour of the whites in St. Do- 
 mingo."
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 231 
 
 " Certainly, certainly. All 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 man- 
 ner as made Bayou ready to laugh. He turned to 
 Paul, saying, 
 
 " May I ask if you are the brother who used 
 to reside on the northern coast, — if I remember 
 right?" 
 
 " I am. I am Paul,— Paul L'Ouverture." He 
 sighed as he added, " I do not live on the northern 
 coast now. I am ffoino: to live on the southern 
 coast, — ^in a palace, instead of my old hut.'' 
 
 " M. Bayou will see, — M. Bayou T\-ill hear," 
 interrupted Madame, " if he will stay out the 
 levee. You 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 lo^v 
 voice. " We do not speak to her of old times. 
 She is Madame Dessalines.'''
 
 232 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 *' The lady of General Dessalines," said Ma- 
 dame. " Shall I introduce you ?" 
 
 She called to Therese. Therese just turned 
 round to notice the introduction, when her atten- 
 tion was called another way by two officers, who 
 brought her some message from Toussaint. That 
 one glance perplexed M. Bayou as much as any- 
 thing 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 will say." 
 
 " What will become of them ? "" said Madame. 
 " I do not know what would become of me, if my 
 husband was ever as angry with me as I know he 
 is with them." 
 
 There were indeed signs of wTath in the coun- 
 tenance which was commonly gentle as the twilight. 
 The rigid uprightness of his figure, the fiery eye, 
 the distended nostril, all showed that Toussaint 
 was struggling with anger. Before him stood a
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 233 
 
 group of Englishmen, — a sailor holding a wand, 
 on which was fixed a snaall white banner, two 
 gentlemen in plain clothes, the captain of the 
 frigate which rode in the bay, and a colonel of the 
 English troops in Jamaica. 
 
 " It is all very well, gentlemen," Toussaint was 
 saying, — " it is all very well as regards the treaty. 
 Twenty-four hours ago w^e should have had no 
 difficultv in concluding it. But what have vou 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 (except one, who would not quit his sister) ; 
 leaving the ladies in charge of a brutal prize- 
 master, who was drunk, — was it not so ? " 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 
 Toussaint : " they were women ; and I will treat 
 with none who thus show themselves not to be 
 men."
 
 234 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 *' 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 all listened 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 ears 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 Therese 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."
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 235 
 
 " 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 apo- 
 logies to the offended ladies, I will retire to my 
 ship, 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 reception from Therese. *' I ac- 
 cept your acknowledgment of error, Capt. Reynolds, 
 and shall be ready to proceed with the treaty, on 
 proof of the punishment of the prize-master. Gen- 
 tlemen, 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-
 
 236 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 morrow be a bright 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 pre- 
 sence of the Commander-in-chief. 
 
 " More English ! more EngHsh !" 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 En- 
 glish uniform, were mulattoes. 
 
 " Not English," said Toussaint, aloud. " En- 
 glish 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 En- 
 gHsh. 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 com- 
 panions. 
 
 " Yes, surely — prisoners. Your 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
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 237 
 
 table a letter brought, as Gauthier alleged, from 
 the Enghsh commander, Sir Thomas Brisbane, 
 declaring Gauthier empowered to treat for the de- 
 livery 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 en- 
 deavoured to bribe him to this treachery. He asked 
 of them if this were not true. 
 
 " It is," said Gauthier; " but we and our autho- 
 rities acted upon the precedent of your former con- 
 duct." 
 
 " What former conduct? Did these hands ever 
 receive gold from the coffers of an enemy? — 
 Speak freely. You shall not suffer from anything 
 you may say here." 
 
 " You have been the means by which posts have 
 been delivered to an enemy. We remember hearing 
 of the surrender of Marmalade, Gros Morne, 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. iVIy 
 design was to lose rank, and to return to poverty
 
 238 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 by the step I took. You ought to have inquired 
 into facts, clearly understood by all who know me, 
 before you proceeded to insult me. Have you 
 more to say ? " 
 
 " It was natural that 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. You 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."
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 239 
 
 " Are you aware," cried Gauthier, '* that I was 
 second in command 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." 
 
 " 1 have beloved friends of your colour," said 
 Toussaint. " Believe me, however, the complexion 
 of your souls is so disgusting that I have no atten- 
 tion to spare for your faces. You must now depart."*** 
 
 " Change our punishment V said Gauthier. " Con- 
 sider that I am an emigrant officer. Some other 
 punishment ! " 
 
 " No other," said Toussaint, «' This is the fit 
 punishment, — mean as your design, — ridiculous as 
 your attempt. Are the French Commissaries in 
 waiting, Laroche ? 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 Fran^ais, 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 excla-
 
 240 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 mation was heard from the piazza, which showed 
 that his family were moved hke 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 asking eagerly, 
 
 "Vincent! Why here? My boys, — how, where 
 are they ?" 
 
 " They are well : both well and happy in our 
 beloved Paris. 1 am here with General Michel ; 
 sent by the Government, with gifts and compli- 
 ments which " 
 
 " Which we will speak of when I have offered 
 my welcome to these representatives of the Govern- 
 ment 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 himself the usher of the French 
 Commissaries to the sofa, in front of which he had 
 himself been standing. There he would have 
 seated Hedouville and General Michel. Hedou-
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 241 
 
 ville threw himself down, willingly enough ; but 
 the newly arrived messenger 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 wel- 
 come to Brigadier-General Vincent ! What so 
 graceful as the emotions of the parent's heart ? I 
 understand, — I am aware, — he went out as the 
 guardian of your sons ; and your first welcome was 
 therefore due to him. The office of guardian of 
 your sons is, ought to be, in your eyes, more 
 important, more sacred, than that of Commissary, 
 or any other. If our national Dehverer, — 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 fathers 
 letter, your father will think his happiness com- 
 plete, — 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 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 24*2 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 will 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." 
 
 " You are right, Moyse," said Madame Dessa- 
 lines. " 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 introduce 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 h(? looked 
 with deep interest upon the countenance of the 
 secretary, which did in truth show signs of that 
 thoughtfulness and sagacity, though not of the mor-
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 243 
 
 bid suffering, 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 imme- 
 diately, 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 Frenchman — felt 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. Mo- 
 liere's heart was believed never to have laughed, 
 any more than his face. He answered, as if an- 
 nouncing a misfortune, that he claimed no con- 
 nexion with the dramatist, though he believed some 
 of his family had attempted to do so. 
 
 " M. Moliere discharges the duty of a pious de- 
 scendant, however," said Vincent. " He laughs 
 M 2
 
 244 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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. MoUere 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 co- 
 lony, but a stranger to yourself." 
 
 M. Petion paid his respects. He was a mulatto, 
 with shy and reserved manners, and an exceedingly 
 intellectual countenance. 
 
 «' 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 France 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 ? Is it really so ? " exclaimed Tous- 
 saint. " I can never hear enough of the ruler of
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 245 
 
 France. Tell us . . . but that must be hereafter. 
 Do you come to me from him ? " 
 
 *' From the government generally," replied Pe- 
 tion. 
 
 An expression of disappointment, very evident 
 to his watchful wife, passed over the face of 
 Toussaint. 
 
 " There is no letter," she whispered to Geni- 
 frede. 
 
 " We bring you from the government," said 
 Michel, " a confirmation of the dignity of Com- 
 mander-in-chief of this colony, conferred by Com- 
 missary Santhonax." 
 
 Toussaint bowed, but smiled not. 
 
 " See, he sighs ! " said Madame, sighing in echo. 
 
 " These are empty words," said Therese. 
 " They give him only what they cannot withhold ; 
 and at the very moment, they surround him with 
 spies." 
 
 *' He says/* replied Madame, *' that Hedouville 
 is sent here ' to restrain his ambition.' Those were 
 the words spoken of him at Paris, where they will 
 not believe that he has no selfish ambition." 
 
 " They will not believe, because they cannot un- 
 derstand. Their Commander-in-chief has a selfish
 
 246 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 ambition ; and they cannot 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 ! " ex- 
 claimed Madame, who almost condescended to stand 
 fairly in the window, to see the presents now dis- 
 played before her husband by the commissary's 
 servants. 
 
 " These presents," pursued General Michel, while 
 Petion 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 de- 
 livered at the Council of Ancients ..."
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 'J41 
 
 '' And an oration before the governors of the Mi- 
 litary Schools," added Hedouville. 
 
 " And from Paris," said Pascal, '' your reputa- 
 tion has spread along the shores of the Rhine, and 
 as far north as St. Petersburgh : and in the south, 
 even to Rome." 
 
 Toussainfs 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 message, from the chief of our common 
 country, would be worth the applause of Europe, 
 of which you speak." 
 
 M. Petion produced a sealed packet, which he 
 delivered ; and this seemed to remind General Vin- 
 cent that he had one too. Toussaint was unable to 
 refrain from tearing open first one, and then the 
 other, in the intense hope of receiving some ac- 
 knowledgment, some greeting from the " brother in
 
 248 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 consequence 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 all that room that she 
 saw. She disappeared in another moment, followed 
 however by General Vincent. 
 
 The father's smile 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 imme-
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 249 
 
 diately 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 
 government 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 
 circumstances 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 landing ? " 
 
 " I am aware of it. It was by my instant com- 
 mand that you were set free." 
 
 '• By whose command, or by what error, then, 
 M'ere we arrested ? " 
 
 " 1 hoped that full satisfaction had been afforded 
 you by M. Raymond, the Governor of Cap Fran- 
 M 3
 
 250 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 ^ais. 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? As you, however, are not to 
 be made responsible for the faults of your govern- 
 ment towards us, the offending parties have been 
 amply punished." 
 
 " I," said Hedouville, from the sofa behind, " I 
 am held responsible for the faults of our govern- 
 ment towards you. What are they ? " 
 
 " We will discuss them at Cap," replied Tous- 
 saint. *' There you will be surrounded by troops 
 of your own colour j 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 Cap, I will ask you what it 
 was that you feared, M. Hedouville, when you 
 chose to land at St. Domingo, instead of at Cap, — 
 when you showed your mistrust of your fellow-
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 251 
 
 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 tem- 
 per nor their affairs.'' 
 
 " This was, perhaps, the cause of the difficulty 
 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 Hedouville, " what the 
 First Consul fears, that . . ." 
 
 " Who ever heard of the First Consul fearing 
 anything ? " cried Hedouville, with a smile. 
 
 " Hear it now, then.*" 
 
 " In this place?" said Hedouville, looking round. 
 "In public?'' 
 
 " In this place, — among the most loyal of the 
 citizens of France," rej)lied Toussaint, casting a 
 proud look round upon his officers and assembled 
 friends. *' If I were about to make complaints 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
 
 252 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 heart, as a brother in destiny and in glory ; though 
 his glory is now at its height, while mine will not 
 be so till my race is redeemed from the conse- 
 quences of slavery, as well as from slavery itself. 
 Still 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 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 
 himself, but for our country : he fears our ambi- 
 tion, our revenge. He shall experience, however, 
 that we are loyal, — from myself, his brother, to the 
 mountain child who startles the vulture from the 
 rock with his shouts of Bonaparte the Great. To 
 engage our loyalty before many witnesses," he con- 
 tinued, once more looking round upon the assem- 
 blage, " I send this message through you, in return 
 for that which I have received. Tell the First
 
 A MOENING OF OFFICE. 253 
 
 Consul that, in the absence of interference with the 
 existing laws of the colony, I guarantee, under my 
 personal responsibihty, 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 happy results. You will soon see 
 whether I pledge in vain my own responsibility 
 and your hopes." 
 
 Even while he spoke, in all the fervour of un- 
 questionable 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, all 
 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 thanksgiving 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 Hedouville to em-
 
 254 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 brace ; 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 afterwards 
 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. Among these 
 last was a face which Toussaint recognised with 
 strong emotion. The look which he cast upon 
 Laxabon, the gesture of greeting which he offered, 
 caused Don Alonzo Dovaro to turn round to
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 2o5 
 
 discover whose presence there could be more impos- 
 ing to the Commander-in-chief than his own. The 
 flushed countenance of the priest marked him out 
 as the man. 
 
 Don Alonzo Dovaro ordered the keys to be 
 brought, and addressed 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 Laxabon stepped forward eagerly, 
 with an oflPer to be interpreter. It was an oppor- 
 tunity 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
 
 256 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 the peaceful pursuits of agriculture and commerce, 
 to march them to the gates of St. Domingo. You, 
 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 responsibihty 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 inter- 
 preter, " that it will 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 well." 
 
 ** 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 MORNING OF OFriCE. 261 
 
 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 not take the 
 oath." 
 
 The Spaniards showed that they understood 
 French by the looks they cast upon each other, 
 before Laxabon could complete his version. 
 
 *' 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 
 happy the 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 trans- 
 ferred 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 all the churches ; and bursts of mihtary 
 music spread over the calm bay, with the wreaths 
 of white smoke from the guns. The flamingoes
 
 258 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 took flight again from the strand ; the ships moved 
 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 intro- 
 duced 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 gover- 
 nor, Paul L'Ouverture, 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 levee was now over. Spanish, French, and 
 the family and guests of the Commander-in-chief, 
 were to meet at a banquet in the evening. Mean- 
 time, Toussaint and his brother stepped out toge- 
 ther upon the northern piazza, and the room was 
 cleared.
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 2o9 
 
 " I wish," said Paul, " that you had appointed 
 any one but me to be governor of that city. How 
 should a poor negro fisherman like me govern a 
 city ?" 
 
 " You speak like a white, Paul. The ^vhites 
 say of me, ' How should a poor negro postilion 
 govern a colony ? ' You must do as I do, — show 
 that a negro can govern." 
 
 " But Heaven made you for a ruler." 
 
 " Who thought so while I was yet a slave ? As 
 for you, — I know not what you can do till you have 
 tried ; 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. Henri must remain in the field, while 
 Rigaud is in arms. Jacques ..." 
 
 " Ay, Dessalines ; . . . and he might have a 
 court — such a wife as he would carry." 
 
 " DessaHnes must not govern a city of whites. 
 He hates the whites. His passion of hatred w^ould 
 grow with power ; and the Spaniards would be 
 wretched. They are now under my protection. I 
 must give them a governor who cannot hate; and
 
 260 THE HOUR AND THE MAN, 
 
 therefore I send you. Your love of our people and 
 of rae, my brother, will rouse you to exertion and 
 self-denial. For the rest, you shall have able coun- 
 sellors on the spot. For your private guidance, I 
 shall be ever at your call. Confide v^^holly in me, 
 and your appeal shall never be unanswered." 
 
 " You 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 opportunity of show- 
 ing that blacks are men, — fit to govern as to serve ; 
 — and you would rather sleep in the sunshine than 
 listen to the message from the sky. My own brother 
 does what he can to deepen the brand on the fore- 
 head of the negro ! " 
 
 "I am ashamed, brother," said Paul. " I am 
 not like you : but yet I will do what I can. I will 
 go to-morrow, and try whether I can toil as you do. 
 There is one thing I can do which Henri, and 
 Jacques, and even you, cannot; — I can speak 
 Spanish."
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 261 
 
 "You have discovered one of your qualifications, 
 dear Paul. You will find more. — Will you take 
 Moyse with you ? " 
 
 " 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 hence- 
 forth 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 Genifrede 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 ? '*
 
 262 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 " When Moyse shall have done some act to dis- 
 tinguish himself ; — 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." 
 
 " 1 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 your love. For this you must show what 
 you can do." 
 
 They had paced the northern piazza while con- 
 versing. They now turned into the eastern, where 
 they came upon the lovers, who were standing half 
 shrouded by creeping plants, — Moyse's arm round 
 Genifrede's waist, and Genifrede'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. 
 " You go not with me. I commit you to my bro-
 
 A MORNING OF OFFICE. 263 
 
 ther. You 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. You shall hear 
 mine. I will give you opportunities of distinguish- 
 ing yourself, in the services of the city and of the 
 field. After the first act which proves you worthy 
 of responsibility, I will give you Genifrede. 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. 
 
 o 
 
 " 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
 
 264 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 hushed her sobs, saying, in a low voice which 
 touched her very soul, — 
 
 '' He can do great deeds, Genifrede. 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 all the toils and 
 observances of the day the light heart of a happy 
 father.
 
 l'etoile and its people. 265 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 l"'etoile and its people. 
 
 One radiant day of the succeeding spring, a 
 party was seen in the plain of Cul-de-Sac, moving 
 with such a train as showed that one of the prin- 
 cipal 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 Commander-in-chief, who, with tutors, visiters, 
 and attendants, formed the group seen in the Cul- 
 de-Sac 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 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 Europe to some of the beauties 
 of the most beautiful island in the world. 
 
 Madame L'Ouverture had had presents of Euro- 
 pean 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 swamps 
 occurred which could be crossed only by single 
 horses, accustomed to pick their way in uncer- 
 tain ground. The ladies of the colony, there- 
 fore, 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 they intended to rest, either till
 
 l'etoile and its people. 267 
 
 evenincr, or till the next mornincij, 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 deep, 
 moist shade in the midst of the glare of the 
 morning — now across fields of sward, kept green 
 by the wells which were made to overflow them ; 
 and now through swamps where the fragrant 
 flowering reeds reached up to the flanks of the 
 horses, and courted the hands of the riders, the 
 inhabitants of the region wat<;hed 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, ber.t 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 windows, 
 or in the piazzas of their houses, rose and curtsied 
 N 2
 
 268 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 deep to the ladies L'Ouverture. Many a little 
 black head rose dripping 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 obstruc- 
 tion 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. Loi- 
 sir, the architect from Paris, said to Genifrede, it 
 appeared as if vegetation itself went on to music. 
 The servants of their own party sang in the rear ; 
 Moyse and Denis, and sometimes Denis'*s sisters, 
 sang as they rode; and if there was not song
 
 l'etoile and its people. 269 
 
 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 vari- 
 ous than the nightingale, and sweeter than the 
 canary. But for the bird, the Spanish painter, 
 Azua, would have supposed 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 fra- 
 grance. If you dam up his mountain streams 
 you have, instead of fragrance, poison and pes- 
 tilence; 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
 
 270 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 Aimee; " so that 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 thunderbolt fire the cottage or the 
 mill, tremble, and call the lightning-rods magic. 
 My father is a magician of the same sort, except 
 that 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 himself? " 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 ? " 
 
 " There is no need," she replied. " From the
 
 l'etoile and its people. 271 
 
 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 ? Does 
 he make you study here, while he is being educated 
 there?" 
 
 *' No: he does not make me study. But I know 
 what he is doing. . . I 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 flou- 
 rishing 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 ? " 
 
 " Indeed I wish I knew," sighed Aimee. " I 
 believe, that depends on the First Consul."
 
 272 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 " The First Consul has so much to do, it is a 
 pity their return should depend upon his memory. 
 If he should forget, you will go, and see Paris, and 
 bring your brothers home."" 
 
 " The First Consul forgets nothing," replied 
 Aimee. " He knows and heeds all that we do here, 
 at the distance of almost half the world. He never 
 forgets my brothers : he is very kind to them." 
 
 " All that you say is true," said Vincent, who 
 was now on the other side of Aimee. " Every thing 
 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 happy he is there." 
 
 '* He does ; but I had rather see him here." 
 
 " You 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 perhaps 
 the grandest, but the most beautiful. It is now
 
 L^ETOILE AND ITS PEOPLE. 273 
 
 ruined; but we hear that enough remains for 
 M. Loisir to make out the design."" 
 
 She turned to Vincent, and told him that Gene- 
 ral Christophe was about to build a house ; and 
 that he wished it to be on the model of L'Etoile, 
 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, while toil- 
 ing 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 em- 
 bowered 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 ani- 
 mation, 
 
 " Ha ! the opuntia ! what a fence ! what a wall ! " 
 
 " You 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 ?"" said Azua, 
 forgetting the heat in his admiration of the blos- 
 soms, some red, some snow-white, some blush- 
 N 3
 
 274 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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." 
 
 With the servants appeared a tall and very 
 handsome negro, 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 of slavery, without losing 
 his fitness for freedom. He might have returned, 
 ere this, to Africa, or he might have held some 
 military office 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 Etoile estate did not appear, nor transmit his
 
 l'etoile and its people. 275 
 
 claim. Bellair, therefore, and two of his 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 pre- 
 senting a strange contrast of simplicity and luxury. 
 
 The court-yard througli which they passed was 
 strewed with ruins, which, however, were almost 
 entirely concealed by the brushwood, through which
 
 276 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 only a lane was kept cleared 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 
 walls, 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 steps and entrance-hall were 
 kept clear 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 sin- 
 gular junction with the portion of the ceiling which 
 remained, and which exhibited a blue sky-ground,
 
 l'etoile and its people. 277 
 
 with gilt stars. An alcove had been turned into 
 the fire-place, necessary for cooking. The kitchen 
 corner was partitioned off from the sitting-room bj 
 a splendid folding screen of Oriental workmanship, 
 exhibiting 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 
 un pain ted wood were ranged together porcelain 
 dishes from Dresden, and calabashes from the 
 garden ; wooden spoons, and knives with enamelled 
 handles. A harp, with its strings broken, and its 
 gilding tarnished, stood in one corner : and musical 
 instruments of Con^o origin huno^ against the wall. 
 It was altogether a curious medley of European 
 and African civilisation, brought together amidst 
 the ruins of a West Indian revolution. 
 
 The young people did not remain long in the 
 house, however tempting its coolness might have
 
 278 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 appeared. At one side of the mansion was the 
 colonnade, which engrossed the architect's atten- 
 tion : on the other bloomed the garden, offering 
 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 were here partly for the sake of a 
 drawing lesson from Azua ; and perhaps she had 
 some idea of taking a sketch during this walk with 
 Moyse. He snatched the book from her, however, 
 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 will 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 again. 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 will be happy for ever."
 
 l'etoile and its people. 279 
 
 " Then you will be killed, — or you will be sent 
 to France, or you will love some one else, and forget 
 me .... " 
 
 " Forsret you ! — love some one else ! Oh I Heaven 
 and earth!" cried Moyse, clasping her in his arms, 
 and putting his whole soul into the kisses he im- 
 pressed on her forehead. ''And what, "^ he con- 
 tinued, in a voice which thrilled her heart, " what 
 would you do if I were killed ?'' 
 
 " I would die. O 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 will 
 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. '' You do not fear 
 me now — you cling to me. And why fear me then ? 
 I shall be yours still. I shall be Moyse. I shall 
 be about you, — haunting you, whether you see and 
 hear me or not. Why not see and hear me ?" 
 " Why not ?" said Genifrede, in a tone of assent.
 
 280 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 *' But I dare not— I will not. You 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?" 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 watch her stately 
 form, as she made a pathway for herself amidst the 
 tangled shrubs. The walk, once a smooth-shaven 
 turf, kept green 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 jessa- 
 mine danced before her face ; and the white datura, 
 the pink flower-fence, and the scarlet cordia, closed 
 round her form, or spread themselves beneath her 
 feet. Her lover was soon again by her side, ward- 
 ing off* every branch and spray, and saying, 
 
 " The very flowers worship you : but they and 
 all, — all must yield you to me. You are mine ;
 
 l'etoile and its people. 281 
 
 and yet not mine till I have won you from your 
 father. Genifrede, how shall I distinguish my- 
 self? 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." 
 
 " You do not wish it ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Not for your sake ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 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 happy 
 Moyse. 
 
 " Here, or anywhere;— in the cottage at Breda; 
 — in your father's hut on the shore; — anywhere, 
 Moyse, where there is 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 ?" 
 
 " Then I fear for you, which is worse. Why 
 cannot we live in the woods or the mountains,
 
 282 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 where there would be no dangerous duties, and no 
 
 " 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. You 
 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 
 steep, or 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 ; 
 and then, when I have once come back, it shall rest 
 upon mine for ever." 
 
 " Beside my father ? He never rests. Your 
 father would leave us in peace : but he has com- 
 mitted you to one who knows not what rest is." 
 
 *' Nor ever will," said Moyse. " If he closed 
 his eyes, if he relaxed his hand, we should all be 
 sunk in ruin."
 
 l'etoile and its people. 283 
 
 *' We ? Who ? What ruin ? " 
 
 " The whole negro race. Do you suppose the 
 whites are less cruel than they were ? 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 ? Does he not trust the whites ? Does 
 he not order all things for their good, from rever- 
 ence and affection for them ? " 
 
 "Yes, he does," replied Moyse, in a tone which 
 made Genifrede anxiously explore his countenance. 
 
 " You think him deceived ? " she said. 
 
 ** No, I do not. It is not easy to deceive 
 L'Ouverture." 
 
 "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
 
 284 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 out, and they alone can let us in. And then again, 
 . . . Genifrede, it seems to me that he loves best 
 those who have most injured him.'' 
 
 " Not best," she replied. " He delights to for- 
 give : but what white has he ever loved as he loves 
 Henri ? Did he ever look upon any white as he 
 looked upon me, when . . . when he consented. 
 Moyse, you remember ? " 
 
 " 1 do. But still 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.'' 
 
 " O ! hush ! hush ! Speak lower. Does my 
 father know this ? " 
 
 " Why should he ? If he once knew it . . ." 
 
 " Nay, if he knew it, he would give up his pur- 
 poses of distinction 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 France, if we are not strong, — and as 
 watchful as we are strong. If I and others leave
 
 l'etoile and its people. 285 
 
 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, Geni- 
 frede," he continued, soothing her trembhngs at 
 the idea. " The bones of the whites shall be scat- 
 tered over the island, like the shells on the sea-shore, 
 before my Genifrede shall be a slave. I will 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 will, never 
 shall 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 oui 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?" 
 
 " You must choose between him and me. Love 
 the whites with him, or hate them with me." 
 
 " But you love my father, Moyse? " 
 
 " I do. I adore him as the saviour of the blacks.
 
 286 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 You adore him, Genifrede. Every one of our race 
 worships him. Genifrede, you love him, — your 
 father." 
 
 " I know not Yes, I loved him the other day. 
 
 I know not, Moyse. I know nothing but that 
 
 I will hate the whites as you do. I never loved 
 them : now I hate them." 
 
 " You shall. I will tell you things of them that 
 will 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 subtilty, in them that he does not 
 understand ? Knowing all this, he curses, not 
 them, but the power which, he says, corrupted 
 them. He keeps from them this power, and 
 believes that all will be well. I shall tell him 
 nothing.''' 
 
 " Yes ; tell him all, — all except " 
 
 " Yes, and tell me first," cried a voice near at 
 hand. There was a great rustling among the 
 bushes, and Denis appeared, begging particularly 
 to know what they were talking about. They, in
 
 l'etoile and its people. 287 
 
 return, begged to be told what brought him this 
 way, to interrupt their 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 pecuHar 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, pre- 
 served 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 really was, it was difficult to ascertain at 
 the first glance, so hidden was the margin with 
 reeds, populous with wild-fowl. 
 
 Denis war. cr,rnestly watching these fowl, as he 
 lay among the high grass at some little distance 
 from the water, and prevented his companions from
 
 288 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 hke. I shall go fowling with Juste." And 
 he began to strip off his clothes. 
 
 His companions were of opinion, however, that 
 a son of the Commander-in-chief 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 asked. Denis had 
 never cared for his rank, except when 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 
 Genifrede. 
 
 " I have seen him take five fowl in 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 cala- 
 bash which appeared to be floating among others
 
 l'etoile and its people. 289 
 
 on the surface of the pond. That particular cala- 
 bash 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 
 Ij'ing near them with his head covered by the 
 calabash. The little fellow was not satisfied with 
 the admiration of the beholders ; he ran home- 
 wards, with his clothes in his hand, Denis at his 
 heels, and his game dangling from his waist, and 
 dripping as he ran. 
 
 " Many a w^hite 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 Genifrede. " You 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 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 Geni- 
 frede, while she was selecting the fruit of most 
 fragrant rind from the same tree, to carry into the 
 house. 
 
 " You must come in, — you must come to dinner,'* 
 cried Denis. " Aimee 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 Genifrede. 
 *' You threw away my sketch-book, Moyse. You 
 may find it, and follow us." 
 
 Their path lay together as far as the garden- 
 house. When there, Moyse seized Denis unawares, 
 shot him through the window 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 have detained him in combat. She was
 
 l'etoile and its people. 291 
 
 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 Genifrede idle T 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 Genifrede 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, Genifrede was really no 
 longer idle. While Denis and Juste were at play, 
 they both at once stumbled and fell 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 
 o 2
 
 292 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 left the drawing party seated under their clump of 
 cocoa-nut trees, and went to hear what Madame 
 was relating to Bellair and Deesha, in the hearing 
 of M. Moliere, Laxabon, and Vincent. Her nar- 
 ration 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 hunts, and its sunshine idleness, — 
 how he used thus to talk in the evenings, and on 
 Sundays, to the boy upon his knee ; so that Tous- 
 saint 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 
 especially 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 re-
 
 L^ETOILE AND ITS PEOPLE. 293 
 
 called by their hearers to that which all could 
 understand. Mohere and Laxabon listened 
 earnestly ; and even Loisir, occupied as he was 
 still with the architecture of the mansion, found 
 himself impatient if he lost a word of the story. 
 Vincent alone, negro as he was, was careless and 
 unmoved. He presently sauntered away, and 
 nobody missed him. 
 
 He looked over the shoulder of the architect. 
 
 *' What pains you are taking ! " he said. " You 
 have only to follow your own fancy and convenience 
 about Christophe's house. Christophe 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 be quiet 
 now." 
 
 " Nay, — do not you find the blacks one and all 
 ready to devour your travellers' tales, — your prodi- 
 gious reports of European cities ? You have] only 
 to tell like stories in stone and brick, and they will 
 believe you just as thankfully.*" 
 
 " No, no, Vincent. I have told no tales so 
 wicked as you tell of your own race. My travel-
 
 294? THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 lers' tales are all very well to pass an hour, and be 
 forgotten ; but Christophe's mansion is to stand for 
 an age, — to stand as the first evidence, in the 
 department of the arts, of the elevation of your 
 race. Christophe 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." 
 
 " Christophe knows ! Christophe has taste ! '' 
 
 " Yes. 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 prejudiced mind 
 can learn in all Rome/* 
 
 " So Loisir is of those who flatter men in 
 power ! " said Vincent, laughing. 
 
 " I look further,*" said Loisir ; " I am working 
 for men unborn. I am ambitious; but my ambi- 
 tion is to connect my name honourably with the 
 first great house built for a negro general. My 
 ambition 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."
 
 l'etoile and its people. 295 
 
 " If you find it, you may bring it me. Azua 
 has found something half as good, — a really fine 
 statue in the grass." 
 
 Vincent was off to see it. He found the draw- 
 ing party more eager in conversation than about 
 their work. Aimee was saying, as he ap- 
 proached, — 
 
 " General Vincent declares that he is as affec- 
 tionate 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 ? Is he not like 
 a father to my brothers ? ^"^ 
 
 " Certainly," said Vincent. " Do not your 
 brothers confirm this in their letters ?" 
 
 " Do they not, Genifrede 1"^ 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? " 
 
 " 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 deso-
 
 296 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 lations 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 all — 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 
 friends, 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, drily.
 
 l'etoile and its people. 297 
 
 " And are there not whites too, from this island, 
 who watch every movement ?^' 
 
 " Yes : 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 pene- 
 trate 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." 
 
 Aimee 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, interrupting herself. 
 
 " Certainly. No man is more devoted to 
 L'Ouverture.'^ 
 
 " Devoted to my father,'^ pursued Aimee, " and 
 yet devoted 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 Aimee's worship," said Genifrede. *^ Worship 
 o 3
 
 298 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 Isaac still ; for that is a harmless idolatry ; but 
 give up your new religion, Aim6e ; for it is not 
 sound." 
 
 " Why not sound ? How do you know that it 
 is not sound ? "" 
 
 *' When have the blacks ever trusted the whites 
 without finding 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 Aimee. 
 
 " Nay, Grod knows what end, if we trust the 
 French." 
 
 " You 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, Aim6e, and seven of its brethren, and
 
 l'etoile and its people. 299 
 
 installed them at Cap, they 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 commissaries, one 
 after another, from Mirbeck to Hedouville, 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 rolled himself 
 about, like a drunken man— like Mirbeck, as he 
 had seen him in the streets of Cap. 
 
 '* Then they sent St. Leger, the Irishman,*" con- 
 tinued Moyse, " who kept his hand in every man's 
 pocket, whether black or white.'" 
 
 Denis forthwith had his hands, one in Vincent's 
 pocket, the other in Azua'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 Aimee. 
 
 " He was amiable enough, biit so weak that he 
 soon had to go home, where^he was presently joined 
 by his successor, Santhonax, whom, you know, 
 L'Ouverture had to get rid of, for the safety of
 
 300 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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. 
 
 " For shame, Denis ! " said Aimee. " You are 
 ridiculing him who first called my father L'Ouver- 
 ture." 
 
 " And do you suppose he knew the use that 
 would be made of the word ? " asked Genifrede. 
 " If he had foreseen its being a title, he would have 
 contented himself with the obsequious bows I re- 
 member so well, and never have spoken the word." 
 
 Denis was forthwith bowing, with might and main. 
 
 ** Now, Denis, be quiet ! Raymond, dear Ray- 
 mond, 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 Cap,*" said Moyse. " But 
 we have been speaking of whites, not of mulattoes, 
 — which is another long chapter." 
 
 " Raymond was sent to us by France, however,'* 
 said Aimee. 
 
 " So was our friend Vincent there ; but that is 
 nothing to the purpose."
 
 l'etoile and its people. 301 
 
 '« Well ; who next ? " cried Denis. 
 
 "Do not encourage him," said Aimee. "My 
 father would be vexed with you for training him 
 to ridicule the French, — particularly the autho- 
 rities." 
 
 " Now we are blessed with Hedouville,'" pur- 
 sued Moyse. *' There you have him, Denis, — only 
 scarcely sly, scarcely smooth enough. Yet, that is 
 Hedouville, 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 Ailhaud. Ailhaud — ^" 
 
 " Stay a moment," said Azua, whose voice had 
 not been heard till then. 
 
 All looked at him in surprise, nobody supposing 
 that, while so engrossed with his pencil, he could 
 have cared for their conversation. Aimee saw at a 
 glance that his paper was covered with caricatures 
 of the commissaries who had been enumerated. 
 
 " You must have known them,"' was Aimee's 
 involuntary testimony, as the paper went from hand 
 to hand, amidst shouts of laughter, while Azua sat, 
 with folded arms, perfectly grave.
 
 302 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 " I have seen some of the gentlemen," said he, 
 " and M. Denis helped me to the rest." 
 
 The laughter went on till Aimee was somewhat 
 nettled. When the paper came back to her, she 
 looked up into the tree under which she sat. The 
 staring monkey was still there. She made a vigor- 
 ous 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 only worthy fate of a piece of 
 mockery of people wiser than ourselves, 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 ridi- 
 cule 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
 
 l'etoile and its people. 303 
 
 pelting the monkeys, and left them to their study 
 of the arts in peace. 
 
 " Your drawings, my daughters !"' said L'Ouver- 
 ture, with a smile, as if he had been perfectly at 
 leisure. And he examined the Naiad, and then 
 Genifrede'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 com- 
 panions," said her father ; " no cocoa-nut clumps, — 
 no broken fountains among the aloes, — no groups 
 that will remind him of home. Isaac shall pre- 
 sently have these, Aimee. I am on my way to Cap, 
 and 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 follow me immediately, with M. Pascal. By 
 them, Aimee, you will send your packet for Isaac. 
 My own horse is waiting." 
 
 ** Do not go alone, — do not go without good
 
 304 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 escort," said Moyse. " I can give you rea- 
 son." 
 
 " I know your thoughts, Moyse. I go for the 
 very reason that there are, or will be, troubles at 
 Cap. — 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 over- 
 heard 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 H6douville s staff . . ." 
 
 " They say," proceeded Toussaint, smiling, 
 " that they only want three or four brigands to 
 seize the ape with 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 mind and on my tongue. — General 
 Vincent, a word with you." 
 
 While he and Vincent spoke apart, Aimee 
 exclaimed 
 
 " O, Moyse ! Go with my father !"
 
 305 
 
 " Do not, — O, do not !" cried Genifrede. " You 
 will never return !" she muttered to him, in a voice 
 of terror. " Aimee, you 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, Mademoi- 
 selle 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." 
 
 " You are going?" said Aimee. 
 
 " 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. 
 You will attend them to Pongaudin : and then
 
 306 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 let me see you at Cap, with the speed of the 
 wind." 
 
 " With a speed like your own, if that be pos- 
 sible," said Moyse. 
 
 " Is there danger, father ? " asked Genifrede, 
 trembling. 
 
 " My child, there is danger in the air we breathe, 
 and the ground we tread on : but there is protection 
 also, everywhere." 
 
 " You will see Afra, father," said Aimee. " If 
 there is danger, what will become of Afra ? 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 Pon- 
 gaudin.*' 
 
 They saw him mount before the Court-yard, and 
 set off, followed 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. 
 
 Vincent, having received written instructions
 
 l'etoile and its people. 307 
 
 from the secretary, 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 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.
 
 308 THE HOUK AND THE MAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 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 pro- 
 bably depended on his reaching Cap by the early 
 morning, — in time to prevent certain proclamations 
 of Hedouville, framed in ignorance of the state of 
 the colony and the people, from being published. 
 Forty leagues lay between L'Etoile and Cap, and 
 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, he meditated the work of the next day, 
 while he yet kept his eye awake, and his heart open 
 to the beauty of the night.
 
 A NIGHT OF OFFICE. 309 
 
 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 swept by. 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 pipe and 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 
 w^as 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 steep, that 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
 
 310 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 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 every 
 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 sound; there were no more 
 flitting fires. Still as sleep rose the mountain peaks 
 to the night. Still as sleep lay the woods below. 
 Still as sleep was the outspread western sea, silvered 
 by the steady stars which shone, still as sleep, in 
 the purple depths of heaven. Such was the star- 
 light on that pinnacle, 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 moun- 
 tain top. The hunter, resting on the heights from 
 his day's chase of the wild goats, started from his 
 sleep, to listen to what he took for a threatening of
 
 A NIGHT OF OFFICE. 311 
 
 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 
 herself 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 midnight. 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 steeps above Atalaye ; 
 and from the loftiest point, the features of the 
 wide landscape became 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
 
 312 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 verge of the rivers, and in the green recesses where 
 the springs burst from the hill-sides. He looked 
 westwards, where the broad and full Artibonite 
 gushed into the sea, and where the yellow bays 
 were thronged with shipping, and every green pro- 
 montory 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 
 by-corners, and rebuke whatever 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 till his 
 horse stood trembling and foaming under the hot 
 sun, now touching the Haut-du-Cap, where the 
 riders had at length pulled up. Here 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
 
 A NIGHT OF OFFICE. 313 
 
 Morne, and had overtaken him as he was toiling up 
 the Haut-du-Cap. 
 
 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 him- 
 self 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 the 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 
 Cap. They departed with great zeal, while Tous- 
 saint ascended to the mountain-pool, to take the 
 plunge in which he found his best refreshment 
 after a long ride. He was presently walking lei- 
 surely down the sloping field, through which he 
 could drop into the grounds of Government-House 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 314 THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 by a back gate, and have his interview with Hedou- 
 ville 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 under- 
 stand, in its literal sense, the expression of his 
 worshippers, that he rode at ease upon the clouds. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
 LON'UON : 
 nKADBUKY AXD EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
 
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