The Hour and the Man, An Historical Romance

by Harriet Martineau

  CHAPTER FIVE.

  GRIEFS OF THE LOYAL.

  Margot doubted much, at the end of the first week, and at the end ofevery following week, whether she liked freedom. Margot had had fewcares during the many years that she had lived under the mild rule ofMonsieur Bayou--her husband faithful and kind, and her children providedfor without present anxiety on her part. Thoughts of the future would,it is true, occasionally trouble her, as she knew they weighed heavilyon her husband's mind. When she saw Genifrede growing up, handsome inher parents' eyes, and so timid and reserved that her father sometimessaid he wondered whether any one would ever know her mind better thanher own family did--when Margot looked upon Genifrede, and consideredthat her lot in life depended on the will of Monsieur Bayou, sheshuddered to think what it might be. When Monsieur Bayou told Genifredethat she was well coiffee, or that he wished she would show the othergirls among the house-negroes how to make their Sunday gowns sit likehers, Genifrede invariably appeared not to hear, and often walked awayin the midst of the speech; and then her mother could not but wonder howshe would conduct herself, whenever the day should come that must come,when (as there was no one on the Breda estate whom Genifrede liked, orwould associate with) Monsieur Bayou should bring some one to theircottage, and desire Genifrede to marry him. When Margot looked upon hersons, and upon Aimee, now so inseparable from Isaac, and considered thattheir remaining together depended not only on Monsieur Bayou's will, buton his life, she trembled lest the day should be at hand when Placidemight be carried away northward, and Isaac eastward, and poor Aimee leftdesolate. Such had been the mother's passing cares in the situation inwhich nothing had been wanting to her immediate comfort. Now, amidstthe perplexities of her new settlement, she was apt to forget that shehad formerly had any cares.

  Where to house the party had been the first difficulty. But for oldDessalines, who, being no soldier, had chosen to hide himself in thesame retreat with them, they would hardly have had good shelter beforethe rains. Paul had received them kindly; but Paul's kindness was of asomewhat indolent sort; and it was doubtful whether he would haveproceeded beyond looking round his hut, and lamenting that it was nobigger, if his spirited son Moyse, a fine lad of sixteen, had not beenthere to do something more effectual, in finding the place and thematerials for the old tiler to begin his work. It was Moyse whoconvinced the whole party from the plain that a hut of bamboo andpalm-leaves would fall in an hour before one of the hail-storms of thisrocky coast; and that it would not do to build on the sands, lest somehigh tide should wash them all away in the night. It was Moyse who ledhis cousins to the part of the beach where portions of wrecks were mostlikely to be found, and who lent the strongest hand to remove such beamsand planks as Dessalines wanted for his work. A house large enough tohold the family was soon covered in. It looked well, perched on aplatform of rock, and seeming to nestle in a recess of the hugeprecipices which rose behind it. It looked well, as Dessalines couldobtain neither of his favourite paints to smear it with. It stood,neither red nor blue, but nearly the colour of the rocks, against whichit leaned, and thatched with palm-leaves, which projected so far as tothrow off the rains, even to a depth below.

  Paul provided fish--as much as his relations chose to have; but theyoung people chose to have many other things, under the guidance ofMoyse; and here lay their mother's daily care. She believed that bothboys and girls ran into a thousand dangers, and no one would help her torestrain them. Paul had always let Moyse have his own way; andDessalines, when he had brought in drift-wood for her fires, which hedaily chose to do, lay down in the sun when the sun shone, and beforethe fire when the clouds gathered, and slept away the hours. Paulwanted help in his fishing; and it was commonly Isaac who went with him;for Isaac was more fond of boating than rambling. Where Isaac was,there was Aimee. She gave no contemptible help in drawing in the nets;and when the fish was landed, she and Isaac sat for hours among themangroves which bordered the neighbouring cove, under pretence ofcleaning the fish, or of mending the nets, or of watching the craneswhich stalked about the sands. Sometimes, in order to be yet moresecure 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 werestrewed there in multitudes, and watching the while the freaks andsports of the dolphins in the clear depths around; and in windy weathersitting in the midst of the spray, which was dashed over them from theheavy seas outside. Many times in a morning or evening did Margot lookout from her doorway, and see their dusky forms upon the reef, nowsitting motionless in talk, now stooping for mussels and crabs, andnever till the last moment in the boat, on their way home. SometimesDenis was with them--sometimes with her--but oftenest with the party ledby Moyse.

  Moyse had first enticed Genifrede up the rocks behind their dwelling, toget grass for hammocks, and to make matting for the floors. Almost fromthe first day, it appeared as if Genifrede's fears all melted away inthe presence of Moyse; and her mother became sure of this when, aftergrass enough had been procured, Genifrede continued to accompany Placideand Moyse in their almost daily expeditions for sporting and pleasure.They brought guanas, tender young monkeys, and cocoa-nuts from the wood,wild kids from the rock, delicate ducks from the mountain-ponds, andsometimes a hog or a calf from the droves and herds which flourished inthe rich savannahs on the southern side, on which they looked down fromtheir ridge. In the joy of seeing her children home again, gladsome asthey were, and feeling that they brought plenty and luxury into hercottage, Margot kept her cares to herself, from day-to-day, and did notinterfere with their proceedings. She sometimes thought she wasfoolish, and always was glad to see them enjoying their freedom; butstill, she felt doubtful whether she herself had not been happier atBreda. The only time when her heart was completely at ease and exultingwas when Toussaint came to see his family, to open his heart to hiswife, and to smile away her troubles. Her heart exulted when she sawhim cross the ridge, with a mounted private behind him, urge his horsedown the ascent, gallop along the sands to the foot of the rocks, throwthe bridle to his attendant, and mount to the platform, looking up as heapproached, to see whether she was on the watch. She was always on thewatch. She liked to admire his uniform, and to hear his sword clatteras he walked. She liked to see him looking more important, moredignified, than Bayou or Papalier had ever appeared in her eyes. Then,her heart was always full of thoughts about their children, which he wasas anxious to hear as she to tell; and he was the only one from whom shecould learn anything of what was going on in the world, or of whatprospects lay before themselves. He brought news from France, from Capand the plain, and, after a while, from America--that Monsieur Bayou wassettled at Baltimore, where he intended to remain till, as he said, thepacification of the colony should enable him to return to Breda. Therewas no fear, as Toussaint always found, but that Margot would be lookingout for him.

  The tidings he brought were never very joyous, and often sad enough. Hesaid little of his personal cares; but Margot gathered that he found itdifficult to keep on good terms with Jean. Once he had resigned hisrank of colonel, and had assumed an office of which Jean could not bejealous--that of physician to the forces--an office for which he wasqualified by an early and extensive acquaintance with the commondiseases of the country, and the natural remedies provided by its soil.When the Marquis d'Hermona had insisted upon his resuming his command,as the best officer the negro forces could boast, Jean had purposed toarrest him on some frivolous charge, and the foolish act had only beenprevented by a frank and strong remonstrance from his old friend. Allthis time, Toussaint's military successes had been great; and his namenow struck such awe into the lawless forces of the insurgent blacks,that it was unnecessary for him to shed their blood. He held the postof Marmalade, and from thence was present with such unheard-of rapidityof march, wherever violence was expected, that the spirit of outragethroughout the colony was, at length, kept in check. This peaceful modeof s
tanding by the rights of the king was more acceptable to the gentleToussaint than the warfare by which he had gained his power over his ownrace; but he knew well that things could not go on as they were--thatorder of some kind must be established--order which could be reachedonly through a fierce final struggle; and of what nature this order wasto be, depended wholly upon the turn which affairs took in Europe.

  He rarely brought good news from abroad. His countenance always grewsad when Margot asked what ships had arrived from France since his lastvisit. First he had to tell her that the people of Paris had met in theChamp de Mars, and demanded the dethronement of the king; then, thatDanton had audaciously informed the representatives of France that theirrefusal to declare the throne vacant would be the signal for a generalinsurrection. After this, no national calamity could surprise the loyalcolonists, Toussaint said; for the fate of Louis as a king, if not as aman, was decided. Accordingly, there followed humiliations, deposition,imprisonment, during which little could be known of the mind, and evenof the condition of the king: and those who would have served himremained in anxious suspense. It happened, one warm day in the spring,when every trace of the winter hail-storms had passed away, that thewhole party were amusing themselves in trying to collect enough of theripening sea-side grape for a feast. The bright round leaves were broadand abundant; but the clusters of the fruit were yet only of a paleyellow, and a berry here and there was all that was fit for gathering.The grape-gathering was little more than a pretence for basking in thesun, or for lounging in the shade of the abundant verdure, which seemedto have been sown by the hurricane, and watered by the wintry surf, soluxuriantly did it spring from the sands and the salt waves. Thestately manchineel overhung the tide; the mangroves sprang out of thewaters; the sea-side grape overspread the sands with a thick greencarpet, 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 faceof the rock. For full half a mile this patch of verdure spread; andover this space were dispersed Margot and her household, when Toussaintcrossed the ridge, on one of his frequent visits. As he descended, heheard laughter and singing; and among the singing voices, the crackedpipe of old Dessalines. Toussaint grieved to interrupt this mirth, andto 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 nohelp for it. As he pricked on his horse towards the party, the youngpeople set up a shout and began to run towards him, but stopped short onseeing how unusually large a train he brought. Five or six mountedsoldiers, instead of one, followed him this time, and they led severalhorses.

  "Oh, you are come to take us home!" cried Margot, joyfully, as she methim.

  He shook his head as he replied--"_No_, Margot, not yet. But the timemay come."

  "I wish you could tell us when it would come," said Dessalines. "It isall very well gathering these things, and calling them grapes, for wantof better; but give me the grapes that yield one wine. I wonder who hasbeen gathering the grapes from my trellis all this time, while, thewhole rainy season through, not a drop did I taste? I wish you had leftyour revolutions and nonsense till after my time, that I might have satunder my own vine and my own fig-tree, as the priest says, till the endof 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 wine in the season; but I do notbelieve we shall get any worth drinking from the palms hereabouts."

  "What is the matter with our palms?" cried Moyse, firing up for thehonour of the northern coast. "I will get you a cabbage for dinnerevery day for a month to come," he added, moderating his tone under hisuncle's eye--"every day, till you say that our palms, too, are as goodas any you have in the plain; and as for palm wine, when the seasoncomes--"

  "No, let me--let me cut the cabbage!" cried Denis. "I can climb asquick as a monkey now--a hundred feet in two minutes. Let me climb thepalmetto, 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 theshade."

  "All those horses," said Margot, anxiously: "what is to be done withthem to-day? There are so many!"

  "They will return presently," replied her husband. "I am not going tostay with you to-day. And, Margot, I shall take the lads with me, ifthey are disposed to go."

  "The lads! my boys!"

  "Yes," said Toussaint, throwing himself down in the shade. "Our countryand its people are orphaned; and the youngest of us must now makehimself a soldier, that he may be ready for any turn of affairs whichProvidences 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 hisimprisonment?"

  "They brought him to trial, and executed him. The apes plucked down theevening star, and quenched it. We have no king. We and our country areorphaned."

  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 yourgun, and let me go to the camp."

  "Yes, Moyse: rather you than I. You are a stout lad now, and I knownothing of camps. You shall take the gun, and I will stay and fish."

  "Leave your father his gun, if he chooses to remain, Moyse. We willfind arms for you. Placide! Isaac!" he continued, looking from one tothe other of his sons.

  "And Denis," cried the boy, placing himself directly in his father'seye, as he returned breathless from the discharge of his errand.

  "Yes, my boy, by-and-bye, when you are as strong as Placide. You shallcome to the camp when we want you."

  "I will go to-day, father," said Placide.

  "What to do?" said Isaac. "I do not understand."

  Other eyes besides Aimee's were fixed on Toussaint's face, in anxietyfor his reply.

  "I do not know, my son, what we are to do next. When the parent of anation dies, it may take some time to decide what is the duty of thosewho feel themselves bereaved. All I now am sure of is, that it cannotbut be right for my children to be fitted to serve their country in anyway that they may find to be appointed. I wish to train you to arms,and the time has come. Do not you think so?"

  Isaac made no direct reply, and Aimee had strong hopes that he wasprepared with some wise, unanswerable reason for remaining where he was.Meanwhile, his father proceeded--

  "In all that I have done, in all that I now say, I have the sanction ofFather Laxabon."

  "Then all is right, we may be sure," said Margot. "I have no doubt youwould be right, if you had not Father Laxabon to consult; but if hethinks you right, everything must be done as you wish. My boys,"pursued the tearful mother, "you must go with your father: you hearFather Laxabon thinks so."

  "Do you think so?" whispered Aimee to Isaac.

  He pressed her arm, which was within his, in token of silence, while hisfather went on:

  "You heard the proclamation I sent out among our people a few weeksago."

  "Yes," said Placide; "that in which you tell them that you preferserving with Spaniards who own a king, than with French who own none."

  "Yes. I have had to make the same declaration to the two commissarieswho have arrived at Cap under orders from the regicides at Paris. Thesecommissaries have to-day invited me to their standard by promises offavour and consideration."

  "What do they promise us?" asked Margot eagerly.

  "Nothing that we can accept. I have written a letter in reply, sayingthat 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 ofSpain, who faithfully rewards our services, and never intermits hisprotection and indulgence.
Thus, I cannot acknowledge the authority ofthese commissaries till they shall have enthroned a king. Such is theletter which, guided by Father Laxabon, I have written."

  "It is a beautiful letter, I am sure," said Margot. "Is it not, Paul."

  "I don't doubt Father Laxabon is right," said Dessalines; "only I do notsee the use of having a king, if people are turned out of house and homefor being loyal--as we all are. If we had not cared anything about theking's quarrel, we might have been under our vines at home, as I haveoften said before."

  "And how would it have been with us here?" said Toussaint, laying hishand on his breast.

  "Put your hand a little lower, and I say it would have been all thebetter for us," said the old negro, laughing, "for we should not havegone without wine all this time."

  "What do you think?" Aimee, as usual, asked Isaac.

  "I think it was good for my father to be loyal to the king, as long asthe king lived. I think it was good for us to be living here free, withtime to consider what we should do next. And I think it has happenedvery well that my father has shown what a soldier he is, which he couldnot so well have done if we had stayed at Breda. As for Dessalines, heis 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 atMoyse--how delighted he is!"

  Moyse certainly did look possessed with joy. He was rapidly telling allhis warlike intentions to Genifrede, who was looking in his face with acountenance of fear and grief.

  "You think nothing of us," she cried at length, giving way to a passionof tears. "We have been so happy here, all together; and now you areglad to go, and leave us behind! You will go and fight, without caringfor us--you will be killed in this horrid war, and we shall never seeyou again--we shall never know what has become of you."

  Moyse's military fire was instantly quenched. It immediately appearedto him the greatest of miseries to have to leave his cousins. Heassured Genifrede he could not really intend to go. He had only beenfancying what a war with the white masters would be. He hated thewhites heartily; but he loved this place much more. Placide and Isaacmight go, but he should stay. Nothing should part him from those heloved best.

  Toussaint was not unmindful of what was passing. Genifrede's tones ofdistress, and Moyse's protestations, all reached his ear. He turned,and gently drew his daughter towards him.

  "My child," said he, "we are no longer what we have been--slaves, whosestrength is in the will of their masters. We are free; and to be freerequires a strong heart, in women as well as in men. When MonsieurBayou was our master, we rose and slept every day alike, and went out toour work, and came in to our food, without having to think of anythingbeyond. Now we are free, and God has raised us to the difficult dutieswhich we have always reverenced in the whites. We men must leave ourhomes to live in camps, and, if necessary, to fight; and you, women andgirls, must make it easy for us to do our duty. You must be willing tosee us go--glad to spare us--and you must pray to God that we may notreturn till our duty is done."

  "I cannot--I shall not," Genifrede muttered to herself, as she cast downher eyes under her father's compassionate gaze. He looked towardsAimee, who answered, with tearful eyes--

  "Yes, father. They must go; and we will not hinder them; but they willsoon 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 willyou 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 allgo together? I am sure there is room enough in yonder valley for allthe people on this coast."

  "Room enough, but my family are better beside your father than amongsoldiers and the hunters of the mountains. Stay with them, or go withme. Shoot ducks, and pick up shell-fish here; or go with me, andprepare to be General Moyse some day."

  Moyse looked as if he would have knocked his uncle down at thesupposition that he would stay to pick up shell-fish. He could not butlaugh, however, at hearing himself greeted as General Moyse by all theboys; and even Genifrede smiled.

  Margot moved, sighing, towards the rocks, to put up for her boys suchcomforts as she could muster, and to prepare the meal which they musthave before they went. Her girls went with her; and Denis shouted afterthem, that he was to get the cabbage from the palmetto, adding, that ifthey gave him a good knife, he would take it off as neatly as the Parispeople took off the king. His father grasped his arm, and said--

  "Never name the king, my boy, till you feel grieved that you have losthim. You do not know what you say. Remember--never mention the kingunless we ask you."

  Denis was glad to run after his cabbage. His father remembered topraise it at dinner. No one else praised or liked anything. Margot andAimee were tearful; Genifrede was gloomy. The lads could think ofnothing but the new life before them, which yet they did not like toquestion their father about, till they should have left the tearsbehind. No sooner were they past the first turn up the ridge, than theypoured out their inquiries as to life in the camp, and the prospects ofthe war. Their eager gestures were watched by those they left behind;and there was a feeling of mortification in each woman's heart, onseeing this evidence that home was already forgotten for busier scenes.They persuaded themselves, and believed of each other, that their griefwas for the fearful death of the king; and they spoke as if this hadbeen really the case.

  "We have no one to look up to, now," said Margot, sobbing; "no one toprotect us. Who would have thought, when I married, how desolate weshould be one day on the sea-shore--with our master at Baltimore, andthe king dead, and no king likely to come after him! What will becomeof us?"

  "But Margot," interposed Dessalines, "how should we be better off atthis moment, if the king were alive and flourishing at Paris?"

  "How?" repeated Margot, indignantly. "Why, he would have been ourprotector, to be sure. He would have done some fine thing for myhusband, considering what my husband has done for him. If our belovedking (on his throne) knew of my husband's victory at Plaisance, and ofhis expedition to Saint Marc, and of his keeping quiet all theseplantations near Marmalade, and of the thousands that he had broughtover from the rebels, do you think a good master like the king wouldhave left us to pine here among the rocks, while Jean Francais isboasting 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 herselfin the best jewels the white ladies left behind, while the wife anddaughters 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 losing the king we are orphans."

  "I can get you as good clothes as ever Jean's wife wore, Margot," saidPaul, whose soft heart was touched by her grief. "I can run my boatalong to a place I know of, where there are silks and trinkets to behad, as well as brandy. I will bring you and the girls some prettydresses, Margot."

  "No, Paul, not here. We cannot wear them here. And we shall have nopleasure in anything, now we have lost the only one who could take careof us. And who knows whether we shall ever see our boys again?"

  "Curse the war!" muttered Paul, wiping his brows.

  "Mother," said Aimee in a low voice, "have we not God to protect usstill? One master may desert us, and another may die; but there isstill God above all. Will not he protect us?"

  "Yes, my dear. God takes care of the world; but then He takes care ofour 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 ofGod is for ever in the mouths of the whites at Cap; but they reviled theking; and, true enough, the king was altogether on our side,--we had allhis protection."

  "All that is a good deal changed now, I hear," said Paul. "The whitesat Cap are followin
g the example of the rebels at Paris, and do not relyupon God, as on their side, as they used to do."

  "Will God leave off taking care of them, then?" asked Denis, "and takecare 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 onthe just and on the unjust. And do not you know that he does? When therains come next month, will they not fall on all the plantations of theplain, as well as in the valley where the camp is? Our waterfalls willbe all the fresher and brighter for the rains, and so will the springsin Cap."

  "But if he is everybody's master, and takes care of everybody," saidDenis, "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."

  The boy looked puzzled, till Aimee said--

  "I think there would be none of this fighting if everybody tried toplease God and serve Him, as is due to a master--as father did for theking. God does not wish that men should fight. So our priest at Bredatold Isaac."

  "Unless wicked rebels force them to it, as your father is forced," saidMargot.

  "I suppose so," said Aimee, "by Isaac's choosing to go."