The Red City: A Novel of the Second Administration of President Washington

by S. Weir Mitchell

  XI

  When De Courval lost sight of the red city, and while the unusual warmthof the winter weather was favoring their escape from the ice adrift onthe bay, the young man reflected that above all things it was wise to beon good terms with his captain.

  Accordingly, he said: "It is fit, sir, that you should advise me as toMr. Wynne's instructions. Have the kindness to read them. I have notdone so."

  Much gratified, the captain took the paper. "Hum!" he exclaimed, "toreach Port au Prince in time to prevent unloading of the _GeorgeWashington_. To get her out and send her home with her cargo." Hepaused. "We may be in time to overhaul and stop her; but if she hasarrived, to carry her out from under the guns of the fort is quiteanother matter. 'To avoid the British cruisers.' Well, yes, we are onlyin ballast,"--he looked up with pride at the raking masts andwell-trimmed sails,--"the ship does not float can catch the _Marie_.'Free to do as seems best if we are stopped by privateers.' Ah, he knowswell enough what I should do."

  "He seems to have provided for that," said De Courval, glancing at thecarronades and the long Tom in the bow such as many a peaceful shipprudently carried.

  The captain grinned. "That is like Hugh Wynne. But these island foolsrely on us for diet. They will be starving, and if the _GeorgeWashington_ reach the island before we do, they will lose no time, and,I guess, pay in worthless bills on France, or not at all. However, weshall see." This ended the conversation.

  They had the usual varied luck of the sea; but the master carried sail,to the alarm of his mates, and seeing none of the dreaded cruisers,overtook a French merchant ship and learned with certainty of theoutbreak of war between France and Great Britain, a fresh embarrassment,as they well knew.

  At sundown on February the 15th, the lookout on the crosstrees saw themountains of San Domingo back of the city of Port au Prince, and runningin under shelter of one of the many islands which protect the bay, thecaptain and the supercargo took counsel as to what they should do.

  "If," said De Courval, "I could get ashore as a French sailor at night,and learn something of how things stand, we might be helped."

  The captain feared risks neither for himself nor for another, and atlast said: "I can run you in at dark, land you on a spit of sand belowthe town, and wait for you."

  Thus it was that in sailor garb, a tricolor cockade in his hat, DeCourval left the boat at eight at night and began with caution toapproach the town. The brilliant moon of a clear tropic night gavesufficient light, and following the shore, he soon came upon thewarehouses and docks, where he hoped to learn what ships were in theharbor. Soon, however, he was halted by sentries, and being refusedpermission to pass, turned away from the water-front. Passing among rudecabins and seeing almost no one, he came out at last on a wide,well-built avenue and into a scene of sorrowful misery. Although the newcommissioners of the republic had put down the insurrection of theslaves with appalling slaughter, their broken bands were still busy withthe torch and the sword, so that the cities were filled with refugees ofthe plantation class--men and women who were quite helpless and knew notwhere to turn for shelter or for the bread of the day.

  De Courval had been quite unprepared for the wretchedness he now saw.Indistinct in the moon-made shadows, or better seen where the light lay,were huddled groups of women and children, with here and there near by aman made helpless by years of the ownership of man. Children werecrying, while women tried in vain to comfort them. Others were silent orwildly bewailing their fate. To all seeming, indifferent to theoft-repeated appeals of misery, went by officials, army officers,smoking cigarettes, drunken sailors, and such women as a seaporteducates to baseness. Half of the town had been for months in ashes. Thecongestion of the remainder was more and more felt as refugees fromruined plantations came hither, hungry and footsore, to seek food wherewas little and charity where was none.

  Unable to do more than pity, the young vicomte went his way with carealong a street strangely crowded with all manner of people, himself onthe lookout for a cafe where he might find seamen. Presently he foundwhat he sought, and easily fell into sea-talk with a group of sailors.He learned only that the town was without the usual supplies of foodfrom the States; that the troops lived on fish, bananas, and yams, andthat General Esbarbe had ruthlessly put down the negro insurrection.Only one ship had come in of late. The outbreak of war between Englandand France had, in fact, for a time put an end to our valuable tradewith the islands. Learning nothing of value, he paid his score and stooda moment in the doorway, the drunken revel of idle sailors behind himand before him the helpless wretchedness of men and women to whom wanthad been hitherto unknown. He must seek elsewhere for what he wished tolearn. As he hesitated, two men in white linen went by with a woman.They were laughing and talking loudly, apparently indifferent to thepitiable groups on door-steps or on the sidewalks.

  "Let us go to the Cocoanut," said the woman. One of the men said "Yes."They went on, singing a light drinking song. No one seemed to care forany one else: officials, sailors, soldiers, destitute planters seemedall to be in a state of detachment, all kindly human ties of man to manbroken. In fact, for a year the island had been so gorged with tragedythat it no longer caused remark.

  De Courval followed the men and women, presuming that they were going toa cafe. If he learned nothing there, he would go back to the ship.

  Pushing carelessly by a group of refugees on the outside of the"Cocoanut," the party went in, and one, an official, as he seemed to be,sat down at a table with the woman. De Courval, following, took thenearest table, while the other companion of the woman went to thecounter to give an order. The woman sat still, humming a coarse Creolelove-song, and the vicomte looked about him. The room was dimly lighted,and quite half of it was occupied by the same kind of unhappy people wholay about on the streets, and may have paid for leave to sit in thecafe. The unrestrained, noisy grief of these well-dressed women amazedthe young man, used to the courage and self-control of the women of hisown class. The few tables near by were occupied by small parties ofofficers, in no way interested in the wretchedness about them. A servantcame to De Courval. What would he have? Fried fish there was, and bakedyams, but no other dish. He asked for wine, paid for it, and began to beof a sudden curious about the party almost within touch. The woman was ahandsome quadroon. Pinned in her high masses of black hair were a dozenof the large fireflies of the tropics, a common ornament of a certainclass of women. From moment to moment their flashing lanterns strangelyilluminated her hair and face. As he watched her in wonder, the man whohad gone to the counter came back and sat down, facing the crowd.

  "Those _sacres enfants_," he said, "they should be turned out; one canhardly hear a word for the bawling. I shall be glad to leave--"

  "When do you go, Commissioner?" said the woman.

  "In a day or two. I am to return to France as soon as possible and makeour report."

  De Courval was startled by the voice, and stared at the speaker. Theface was no longer clean-shaven, and now wore the mustache, a recentJacobin fashion. The high-arched eyebrows of the man of the Midi, thesharp voice, decided him. It was Carteaux. For a moment Rene had theslight vertigo of a man to whose intense passion is forbidden the reliefof physical action. The scene at Avignon was before him, and instantly,too, the sense of need to be careful of himself, and to think solely ofhis errand. He swallowed his wine in haste, and sat still, losing noword of the talk, as the other man said:

  "They will unload the American ship to-morrow, I suppose."

  "Yes," said Carteaux; "and pay in good republican _assignats_ andpromises. Then I shall sail on her to Philadelphia, and go thence toFrance. Our work here is over."

  De Courval had heard enough. If the ship went to the States, there hewould find his enemy. To let him go, thus unpunished, when so near, wasobviously all that he could do. He rose and went out. In a few minuteshe had left the town behind him and was running along the beach,relieved by rapid action. He hailed the boat, lying in wait off theshore, and had, as he stood,
the thought that with his father's murdererwithin reach, duty had denied him the privilege of retributive justice.It was like the dreams with which at times he was troubled--when he sawCarteaux smiling and was himself unable to move. Looking back, as theboat ran on to the beach, he saw a red glow far away, and over it thepall of smoke where hundreds of plantations were burning, witheverywhere, as he had heard, ruin, massacre, and ruthless executions ofthe revolted slaves set free. Such of the upper class as could leave haddeparted, and long since Blanchelande, ex-governor, had been sent toFrance, to be remembered only as the first victim of the guillotine.

  The captain, uneasy, hurried De Courval into the boat, for he had beengone two hours. There was a light, but increasing wind off shore to helpthem and before them a mile's pull. As they rowed to the ship, thecaptain heard De Courval's news. "We must make sure it is our ship,"said the captain. "I could row in and see. I should know that old tub ahundred yards away--yes, sir, even in the night."

  "The town, Captain, is in confusion--full of planters, men, women, andchildren lying about the streets. There is pretty surely a guard onboard that ship. Why not beat in closer without lights, and then, withall the men you can spare, find the ship, and if it is ours, take herout?"

  "If we can. A good idea. It might be done."

  "It is the only way. It must be done. Give me the mate and ten men."

  "What! Give you my men, and sit down and wait for you? No, sir. I shallgo with you." He was of a breed which has served the country well on seaand land, and whose burial-places are battle-fields and oceans.

  It was soon decided to wait to attack until the town was asleep. In theinterval De Courval, in case of accident, wrote to his mother and toSchmidt, but with no word of Carteaux. Then for a while he sat still,reflecting with very mingled feelings that success in carrying the shipwould again cut him off from all chance of meeting Carteaux. It did seemto him a malignant fate; but at last dismissing it, he buckled on hissword, took up his pistols, and went on deck.

  At midnight the three boats set out with muffled oars, and after a hardpull against an off-shore wind, through the warm tropic night, theyapproached the town.

  The captain whistled softly, and the boats came together.

  "Speak low," he said to De Courval. "It is the _George Washington_ andno mistake. They are wide-awake, by ill luck, and singing."

  "Yes, I hear them."

  "But they are not on deck. There are lights in the cabin." The "Ca Ira"rang out in bits across the water. The young noble heard it with theanguish it always awakened; for unfailingly it gave back to memory theman he longed to meet, and the blood-dabbled mob which came out of thehall at Avignon shouting this Jacobin song.

  The captain said: "We will board her on this side, all together. She islow in the water. Pull in with your boat and secure the watch forwardand I will shut the after hatches and companionway. Look out for theforecastle. If her own men are on board, they will be there."

  De Courval's heart alone told him of the excitement he felt; but he wascool, tranquil, and of the temperament which rises to fullest competencein an hour of danger. A minute later he was on deck, and moving forwardin the silence of the night, came upon the watch. "Hush!" he said; "nonoise. Two to each man. They are asleep. There--choke hard and gag.Here, cut up this rope; a good gag." In a moment three scared sailorsawoke from dreams of their Breton homes, and were trussed with sailorskill.

  "Now, then," he said in French, "a pistol ball for the man who moves.Stay by them, you Jones, and come, the rest of you. Rouse the crew inthe forecastle, mate. Call to them. If the answer is in French, let noman up. Don't shoot, if you can help it."

  He turned quickly, and, followed by four men, ran aft, hearing wildcries and oaths. A man looking out of a port-hole had seen two boats andthe glint of muskets. As the captain swung over the rail, half a dozenmen ran up on deck shouting an alarm. The captain struck with the buttof his pistol. A man fell. De Courval grappled with a burly sailor, andfalling, rose as the mate hit the guard on the head with amarline-spike. Then an officer fired, and a sailor went down wounded. Itwas savage enough, but brief, for the American crew and captainreleased, were now running aft from the forecastle, and the French weretumbled into the companionway and the hatches battened down in haste,but no man killed.

  "Get up sail!" cried the captain. "An ax to the cable; she is moored toa buoy. Tumble into the boats, some of you! Get a rope out ahead, andpull her bow round. Now, then, put out the lights, and hurry, too!" Ashe gave his orders, and men were away up the rigging, shot after shotfrom the cabin windows drew, as was meant, the attention of the town.Lights were seen moving on the pier, the sound of oars was heard. Therewas the red flare of signals on shore; cries and oaths came from belowand from the shore not far away.

  It was too late. The heavy ship, as the cable parted, swung round. Thewind being off the land, sail after sail filled, and picking up hisboats in haste, the captain stood by the helm, the ship slowly gatheringway, while cannon-shots from the batteries fell harmless in her wake.

  "Darn the old sea-barrel!" the captain cried. Two boats were after them."Down! All of you, down!" A dozen musket-balls rattled over them. "Givethem a dose, boys!"

  "No, no!" cried De Courval. "Shoot over them! Over! Ah, good! Welldone!" For at the reply the boats ceased rowing, and, save for a fewspent bullets, the affair was ended. The brig, moving more quickly, soonleft their pursuers, and guided by lights on the _Marie_, they presentlyjoined her.

  "Now, then," said the captain, "get out a boat!" When one by one thedisgusted guard came on deck and in the darkness were put in the boat,their officer asked in French who had been their captors.

  De Courval, on hearing this, replied, "His Majesty's schooner _St.George_, privateer of Bristol."

  "But, _mon Dieu_," cried the bewildered man, "this ship is American. Itis piracy."

  "No, monsieur; she was carrying provisions to a French port." Thepersistent claim of England, known as the "provision order," was well inforce, and was to make trouble enough before it was abandoned.

  The officer, furious, said: "You speak too well our tongue. Ah, if I hadyou on shore!"

  De Courval laughed. "Adieu, Citizen." The boat put off for the port, andthe two ships made all sail.

  By and by the captain called to De Courval to come to the cabin. "Well,Mr. Lewis,--if that is to be your name,--we are only at the beginning ofour troubles. These seas will swarm with ships of war and Englishprivateers, and we must stay by this old tub. If she is caught, theywill go over the manifest and take all they want out of her, and men,too, damn 'em."

  "I see," said De Courval. "Is there anything to do but take our chanceon the sea?"

  "I shall run north and get away from the islands out of their cruisinggrounds."

  "What if we run over to Martinique? How long would it take?"

  "Three days and a half as we sail, or as that old cask does. But whatfor?"

  "I heard that things are not so bad there. We might sell the old tub'scargo."

  "Sell it? They would take it."

  "Perhaps. But we might lie off the port if there is no blockadeand--well, negotiate. Once rid of the cargo, she would sail better."

  "Yes; but Mr. Wynne has said nothing of this. It is only to risk what wehave won. I won't risk it."

  "I am sorry," said De Courval, "but now I mean to try it. Kindly runyour eye over these instructions. This is a matter of business only."

  The captain reddened angrily as he said, "And I am to obey a boy likeyou?"

  "Yes, sir."

  The master knew Hugh Wynne well, and after a pause said grimly: "Verygood. It is out of the frying-pan into the fire." He hated it, but therewas the order, and obedience to those over him and from those under himwas part of his sailor creed.

  In four days, about dawn, delayed by the slower ship, they were off theport of St. Pierre. The harbor was empty, and there was no blockade asyet.

  "And now," said the captain, "what to do? You are the master, it see
ms.Run in, I suppose?"

  "No, wait a little, Captain. If, when I say what I want done, it seemsto you unreasonable, I shall give it up. Get a bit nearer; beat about;hoist our own flag. They will want to understand, and will send a boatout. Then we shall see."

  "I can do that, but every hour is full of risk." Still he obeyed,beginning to comprehend his supercargo and to like the audacity of thegame.

  Near to six o'clock the bait was taken. A boat put out and drew nearwith caution. The captain began to enjoy it. "A nibble," he said.

  "Give me a boat," said De Courval. "They will not come nearer. Thereare but five men. I must risk it. Let the men go armed." In ten minuteshe was beside the Frenchmen, and seeing a young man in uniform at thetiller, he said in French: "I am from that brig. She is loaded withprovisions for this port or San Domingo, late from the States."

  "Very well. You are welcome. Run in. The vicomte will take all, and paywell. _Foi d'honneur_, monsieur; it is all as I say. You are French?"

  "Yes; an _emigre_."

  "We like not that, but I will go on board and talk it over."

  When on the _Marie_ they went to the cabin with the captains of the twoAmerican ships. "And now let us talk," said De Courval. "Who commandshere for the republic?"

  "Citizen Rochambeau; a good Jacobin, too."

  De Courval was startled. "A cousin of my mother--the vicomte--aJacobin!"

  "Is monsieur for our side?" asked the officer.

  "No; I am for the king."

  "King, monsieur! The king was guillotined on January 21."

  "_Mon Dieu!_"

  "May I ask your name, monsieur?"

  "I am the Vicomte de Courval, at your service."

  "By St. Denis! I know; you are of Normandy, of the religion, likeourselves. I am the Comte de Lourmel."

  "And with the Jacobins?"

  "Yes. I have an eminent affection for my head. When I can, my brotherand I will get away."

  "Then we may talk plainly as two gentlemen."

  "Assuredly."

  "I do not trust that vicomte of yours--a far-away cousin of my mother, Iregret to say."

  "Nor would I trust him. He wished the town illuminated on account of theking's death."

  "It seems incredible. Poor Louis! But now, to our business. Any hour maybring a British cruiser. This cargo is worth in peace twenty thousanddollars. Now it is worth thirty-two thousand,--salt beef, potatoes,pork, onions, salt fish, and some forty casks of Madeira. Ordinarily weshould take home coffee and sugar, but now it is to be paid for in louisd'or or in gold joes, here--here on board, monsieur."

  "But the cargo?"

  "The sea is quiet. When the money is on deck, we will run in nearer, andyou must lighter the cargo out. I will give you one day, and only one.There is no other way. We are well armed, as you see, and will stand noJacobin tricks. Tell the vicomte Sans Culottes I am his cousin, DeCourval. Stay, I shall write a note. It is to take on my terms, and atonce, or to refuse."

  "He will take it. Money is plenty; but one cannot eat louis d'ors. Howlong do you give us?"

  "Two hours to go and return; and, monsieur, I am trusting you."

  "We will play no tricks." And so presently the boat pushed off and wasaway at speed.

  "And now what is all that damned parley-vouing? It was too fast for me,"said the captain; but on hearing, he said it would work. He would hoverround the _George Washington_ with cannon loaded and men armed. Withinthe time set the officer came back with another boat. "I have themoney," he said. "The vicomte swore well and long, and would much desireyour company on shore." De Courval laughed. "I grieve to disappointhim."

  "The lighters are on the way," said De Lourmel--"a dozen; and upon myhonor, there will be no attempt at capture."

  The ship ran in nearer while the gold was counted, and then with allpossible haste the cargo, partly a deck-load, was lightered away, thewind being scarcely more than a breeze. By seven at night the vessel wascleared, for half of the _Marie's_ men had helped. A small barrel ofwine was put in the count's boat, and a glad cheer rang out as all sailwas set.

  Then at last the captain came over to where De Courval, leaning againstthe rail, allowed himself the first pipe of the busiest day of his life;for no man of the crew had worked harder.

  "I want to say you were right, young man, and I shall be glad to say soat home. I came darn near to not doing it."

  "Why, without you, sir," said De Courval, "I should have been helpless.The cutting out was yours, and this time we divide honors and hold ourtongues."

  "Not I," said the master; nor did he, being as honest as any of his raceof sea-dogs.

  The lumbering old brig did fairly well. After three stormy weeks, inmid-March off the Jersey coast they came in sight of a corvette flyingthe tricolor. The captain said things not to be put on record, andsignaled his clumsy consort far astern to put to sea. "An Englishman allover," said the captain. Then he sailed straight for the corvette withthe flag he loved flying. There was a smart gale from the east, and aheavy sea running. Of a sudden, as if alarmed, the Stars and Stripescame down, a tricolor went up, and the _Marie_ turned tail for theJersey coast. De Courval watched the game with interest. The captainenjoyed it, as men who gamble on sea chances enjoy their risks, andsaid, laughing, "I wonder does that man know the coast? He's a morselreckless."

  The corvette went about and followed. "Halloa! He's going to talk!" Acannon flash was followed by a ball, which struck the rail.

  "Not bad," said the captain, and turning, saw De Courval on the deck."Are you hit, man?" he cried.

  "Not badly." But the blood was running freely down his stocking as hestaggered to his feet.

  "Get him below!"

  "No, no!" cried De Courval. The mate ripped open his breeches. "A badsplinter wound, sir, and an ugly bruise." In spite of his protests, theycarried him to the cabin and did some rude sea surgery. Another sharpfragment had cut open his cheek, but what Dr. Rush would have called"diachylon plaster" sufficed for this, and in great pain he lay andlistened, still for a time losing blood very freely. The corvette veeredand let go a broadside while the captain looked up at the rigginganxiously. "Too much sea on," he said. "I will lay his damn ribs onAbsecom Beach, if he holds on."

  Apparently the corvette knew better, and manoeuvered in hope to catcha too wary foe, now flying along the shallow coast in perilous waters.At nightfall the corvette gave up a dangerous chase, got about, and wasoff to sea. At morning the English war-ship caught the brig, beingclever enough to lie off the capes. The captain of the _GeorgeWashington_ wisely lacked knowledge of her consort the schooner, and theEnglishman took out of his ship five men, declaring them Britons,although they spoke sound, nasal Cape Cod American.