Voyage of Malice

by Paul C R Monk

  ‘It is neither wise nor reasonable. But my dear, kind Pastor Duvaux, this is stronger than reason, it is hope! And to do nothing is to waste it, is it not?’

  ELEVEN

  The lieutenant governor of Leogane had spent a restless night being jabbed by mosquitoes, followed by a whole morning deliberating how to dispose of the Huguenot without rousing suspicions. In his agitation, he had scratched the bites on his inner thigh, making them worse. He was in no mood for compromise when he summoned Delpech and his niece that afternoon to his office.

  ‘Sir, I have no explanation to give you.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You are condemned to leave, or face a more serious charge!’ said the lieutenant governor to the Huguenot, who was standing on the other side of his desk.

  Did the man not realise he was doing him a favour? In fact, he was saving his bloody life, and that of his ‘niece’ to boot. He had enough on them to have them both roasted for heresy. However, Lieutenant Dumas prided himself on being a gentleman of honour, loathe to have more killings under his jurisdiction than was strictly necessary.

  To the left of Delpech stood Marianne Duvivier. Behind them stood two soldiers waiting to escort the prisoners out.

  Dumas opened the drawer in front of him and took out three folded, wax-sealed letters, which he laid out one by one on his desk. Pointing successively to the handwritten documents, he said, ‘These are your orders. One for the boat that leaves this night for Petit Goave. This, for passage aboard La Charmante, which will take you to Cow Island. As soon as you make landfall, hand this one to the commander of the island, Major de Graaf. He will arrange accommodation for you.’ Dumas got to his feet. ‘Take them. I wish you fair winds.’ He nodded to his men to escort the Huguenots out.

  ‘May the Lord be your guide, Sir,’ said Jacob, picking up the orders and turning to Marianne, who was standing beside him. But she stood firm.

  She said, ‘Sir, have you news of my grandmother?’

  Dumas looked levelly at the young lady who stood unflinchingly before him. She was clever, her clear voice was a model of articulate wisdom, and he was not insensitive to her becoming appearance. In truth, he was sorry to see her go. But Dumas was also a pragmatic man, and go she must, for she would never marry a Catholic, and so never bring forth new blood to the colony.

  ‘Mademoiselle,’ he said sternly, to stress his ascendance over youth and the fairer sex, ‘you would do well to learn to speak when spoken to.’ He knew it was the wrong thing to say the instant it slipped out.

  ‘If I did, Sir, then I would never know what has become of my only family,’ she said, indomitable as ever. ‘Surely you can tell me if La Concorde made landfall or not. My grandmother is Madame de Fontenay of—’

  ‘I know her name,’ said the lieutenant governor, raising a hand to stop her discourse. It was typical of the young woman. Would she never let up? ‘I have already told you, I will send news to you in due course. My word is as good as my bond. Now, good day to you, Mademoiselle, Monsieur.’ With a lordly flick of the hand, he signalled again to his men to accompany the prisoners out.

  *

  An hour later, Jacob was standing in the study of the planter’s residence. It was past five o’clock. The afternoon heat had abated. Monsieur Verbizier was holding, of all things, a toise, which was a measuring stick of the length of one toise, or six French feet. He was showing Delpech another one of his tricks which, he was proud to say, adroitly summed up his philosophy on life. He was determined to give the gentleman another demonstration of his superior reasoning and perhaps leave him wondering how the son of a rope maker had made a success in Paradise, and how Jacob, the son of a physician, now lived in poverty.

  The long wooden stick was graduated with notches representing inches, of which there were seventy-two, there being twelve inches to a French foot.

  ‘So, Delpech, if this toise represents a man’s life and each inch a year, this is where you are in your life right now. Provided, of course, you live to seventy-two.’ Verbizier planted a thick digit on a notch which corresponded to the forty-second inch. ‘So, this part represents what life there is remaining to you,’ he said, indicating the space on the rod above the forty-second inch.

  ‘Fascinating,’ said Jacob. ‘It certainly puts it into perspective. Thank you for showing me, Monsieur Verbizier.’

  ‘Not a great deal, you will agree. So you may as well make it fruitful, my good fellow. I hope you shall seriously think the matter over. It might help you see reason yet.’

  ‘I shall, Sir, I shall. And I should hope you do too.’

  ‘Do what, Sir?’

  ‘Seriously think the matter over. Because if I understand rightly, this is where you are on the toise of life, provided you live to seventy-two, of course. For you could die of a seizure tomorrow; God only knows.’

  Delpech placed an index finger six inches above where Verbizier had put his. Indicating the space to the end of the rod, he said, ‘And this is how much time you have left to save your soul, my good fellow! Good luck, Monsieur Verbizier.’

  A few minutes later, Jacob was setting off down the track towards the township for the last time, with his escort in tow.

  *

  As he marched ahead of his escort between the neatly laboured fields, flanked by luxuriant jungle vegetation, Jacob admired the dazzling view. Set against the westering sun and the beautiful teal-blue sea, it could well have been a tableau of Paradise.

  However, on one side, there were rows of men hacking down cane stalks and stripping them of their leaves; women piling them onto carts; carts being hauled away by oxen. As Jacob passed, some slaves dared to cast their eyes his way. The white water diviner had been good to them. Jacob gave a half nod, but then a barrage of insults, like a bark of triumph, heralded the crack of the whip. Jacob halted, turned, and protested to the black slave driver, but through pure insolence, the man cracked his whip again as the armed escort pushed Jacob onward.

  On the other side of the plantation, he saw women clearing away new land, building retaining walls and planting poles. Verbizier had told Jacob the plantation was set to double its workforce in just two years. But how? If, God forbid, everyone in the French colony had the same obsession with sugar, it would take the population of an entire country to harvest the crop and work the mills.

  He passed the mill, where unspeaking workers were feeding the diabolical crushing machine with cane. What did they think of? Home, most likely. And like Jacob, they yearned for their freedom, to put meat in the pot for their families, to dance on fete days, to hear women sing and their elders tell tales of old. The liberty to recall their past lives—among buffalos, tigers, and giraffes in ancestral forests, vast plains and great watering holes—was the only sanctuary left to them. Their minds were their only escape now, Jacob realised, but for how long? In a generation, even these memories would be gone.

  Verbizier’s banning chatter and song while feeding the machine had not helped the workers focus their minds on their labour at all. More lives had already been lost. Was it any wonder that these men were accident prone? But were they? A downcast moment in the day, the slip of a hand, and their torment was over. How horrible. At least, on Jacob’s advice, now the cane feeders were allowed to alternate with the ox driver to get them out of the seat of temptation. No, this was not Paradise.

  A pretty domestic slave girl strolled wearily by him on her way up to the big house. She was carrying two dead hens in a basket. Though she must have been no more than thirteen, Jacob noticed her belly had grown considerably since he first came to the plantation. She used to be a favourite of Verbizier, full of smiles and bubbling with life. She glanced at Jacob for a fleeting moment, then at the soldier behind him, before casting her eyes downward and walking on.

  He would miss the child. She had given him a cause in this godforsaken place. She was walking again; she was brave. How long would she live before her smile was stolen from her too? Had his time here counted for anything
at all? A few lashings averted, perhaps, but that was already in the past. Would these black men and women remember that a white man had not accepted their condition of servitude? Or would their bitterness and hatred for all white men grow in their hearts and in those of their children?

  He wished he could say goodbye to the child, at least to leave a seed in her memory, in her heart. But his escort had strict orders. The Huguenot was to retrieve his effects and go directly to the port. He was to see no one.

  But then he saw the child’s mother. Monifa was working in the indigo field. As he passed her by, she raised her head, then placed her free hand over her mouth. She was twenty yards away from him. They locked eyes for a brief, telling moment. Then he looked straight ahead again. He did not want her to feel the tongue of the whip.

  He passed parallel to the last well, which was protected by a circular wall, as they all were now. He had deliberately placed this one as close as possible to the slave quarters so that the women and children would not have to carry the water so far. But he knew their shacks could be shifted at any time as needs befit the expansion of the plantation.

  He prayed inwardly that these people would find God’s peace one day. Otherwise, what justice would there be in the world?

  *

  Two hours later, Jacob gave his first order to the skipper of the small cargo boat.

  Huguenots were not allowed to congregate. But Madame Grosjean and Professor Bourget had braved the restriction to wave Delpech and Duvivier off. Marianne bade a tearful farewell. Jacob was about to offer the address of his house on the Quercy plain, all those leagues away. But then he remembered he no longer had an address to give.

  ‘May God be with you, my friend,’ said Professor Bourget. ‘I shall watch over Madame Grosjean with Madame Colier,’ he said to Marianne.

  ‘And I shall watch over the doctor,’ said Madame Grosjean, leaning on her cane.

  Something in the surgeon’s expression told Jacob he had resigned himself to his fate, that he would die here on the coast of Saint-Domingue, thousands of leagues from his homeland, like so many others. However, the esteemed professor seemed content with the consolation of the simple but jovial company of the old lady.

  They embarked and cast off, waving as they left the township walls behind them, and sailed into the encroaching night.

  The little vessel, rigged with a single sail, advanced slowly at first along the channel that led into the roadstead. Jacob scanned the shore to his left. Then he saw her. Lulu in her mother’s arms, and Bono was there too, all waving.

  Heavy-hearted but relieved to see them, he waved back. ‘God be with you, my friends,’ he called out. ‘May God give you strength, Monifa, Bono, Lulu,’ he shouted, waving harder. ‘Goodbye. Goodbye, my friends . . . Goodbye, Lulu! Goodbye, Lulu!’ They soon became a huddled shadow and were engulfed by the darkness.

  This could well have been Paradise. But it was not.

  TWELVE

  Were he a Catholic, Pastor Duvaux would have made the sign of the cross three times over.

  But he was not, so he closed his eyes and prayed to God to give the boat safe passage. At least they would not be going out in the middle; they would be hugging the coast, he thought to himself. He had been helping Jeannot and Cephas lug the baggage aboard.

  The boat to Lausanne via Morge was packed mostly with French refugees and their spartan baggage and knapsacks. Below deck was already packed solid. Above deck, families were staking their claim to every flat sheltered surface while trying to take refuge from the infuriating gusts of wind that made the gentlemen hold on to their hats and pulled wisps of hair from under ladies’ bonnets. Some of the travellers had already begun breaking their bread and slicing dried sausage, for it was already past midday. The departure had been delayed because of a dispute.

  Those at the end of the queue had been told they would have to wait for the next boat. For a good number of them, that meant having to wait another three days. So, having no place to stay, they remonstrated and pleaded.

  ‘All right, I can take a dozen more,’ the captain had said, in spite of protests from regular passengers from Morge. ‘Long as you don’t complain about seating arrangements, cause there ain’t none!’ The captain had given a loud roar into the wind that rivalled the cries of gulls and gestured to his men to let the remaining passengers board.

  ‘Why does she always have to carry so much?’ grumbled Jeannot, lugging another bagful of provisions.

  ‘For the children, who do you think!’ Ginette called back.

  The pastor opened his eyes. Amid the assortment of people in their diversified garb, he saw the distinct green coat of Jeanne Delpech again. She was approaching after arranging a corner for her things on the lee side. Her smile was intelligent, sublime, and resolute, he thought.

  ‘You should be in Morge in about three days if this wind keeps up,’ he said, picking up the thread of their conversation.

  ‘I shall miss Geneva, and my little rooms,’ said Jeanne, with a smile. ‘And I shall miss our outings.’

  The pastor simply bowed his head in acquiescence.

  Jeanne continued, ‘But now you must start your life anew, Pastor.’ He gave a smile. He was glad she said it. She was implying that she knew that his feelings for her had brought to the surface emotions that his wife’s death had nullified. It was like a benediction to live again.

  ‘I have much to do, as you well know, Madame Delpech. Summer is soon upon us. And frankly, I won’t know which way to turn now that I have no one to lean on.’

  ‘There will be another to take up the flame, I am sure.’

  ‘Not like you, though. But you are right to move on, my dear Madame Delpech.’

  ‘Thank you, and may the Lord bring you happiness.’

  He mirrored her smile and took her hand with thanks. The Fleurets and Paul joined her in their farewells.

  ‘My goodness, I nearly forgot!’ he said, reaching inside his cape. ‘Here. You must take these; you will need them on your travels.’ He had made out an attestation for each family, and one even for Crespin, to enable them to travel on without hindrance.

  He disembarked, and waved and nodded to other passengers who had known him through the church. It was a lone man, however, who stood on the lake wharf, but a man with perhaps a new lease of life. An odd thought occurred to him standing there: he could never have become a Catholic priest.

  The main sail flapped in the wind, the lake surface was full of watery humps, but the captain, to the general relief, ordered the moorings to be detached.

  ‘I do wish this wind would ease up, though,’ said Ginette, glancing dubiously at the sky while tucking wisps of hair beneath Rose’s bonnet.

  ‘I am sure everything will be fine, with God’s grace,’ said Jeanne, doing likewise to Ginette’s other daughter, Aurore, while Pierrot and Paul stood leaning over the side, waving.

  ‘Oh aye, I’m sure you’re right, because I’m not particularly in any hurry to meet Him just yet, are you?’ said Ginette with a little chuckle.

  The dockers, with burly, weather-browned forearms, released the lines, and the flat-bottomed vessel carrying forty-three passengers was soon setting sail north-eastward.

  *

  Goodness knows what it must be like on the open sea, thought Jeanne, remembering how Jacob was loathe to travel over water, as she covered her son with a blanket. The Fleurets were huddled next to them, the youngest children sleeping upon sacking placed on the decking. A number of passengers had already felt the effects of the Joran that swept off the slopes of the Jura, and which bunched up the waves that made the boat roll.

  They passed Versoix, which was French territory; then they sailed on to the waters of Coppet, where they anchored as evening encroached. The lamps were turned on above and below deck, and despite the constant pitch, folk lay down their heads to sleep. The wind, however, fell off completely after dark, and the whiplashes against the mast became nothing more than a rattling in the rigging amid the g
hostly sounds of cracking timbers.

  Clouds scurrying by in the grey light of morning, and the faraway sight of vineyards on slopes, were what met the voyagers as they rubbed sleep from their eyes.

  ‘That be French territory, just over that ridge,’ said one man, a merchant from Morge, nodding and yawning towards the distant hills.

  ‘Too close for comfort, I say,’ said Jeannot Fleuret, chewing on his pipe while sitting on the port-side steps.

  The wind that obeyed neither man nor beast picked up, despite the merchant’s promise that the Joran wouldn’t blow till evening.

  ‘Whoa, steady as she goes!’ he cried out as the ship seemed to dip into a deep trough and rise up again unexpectedly. Over the ensuing half hour, the dreaded Joran did pick up dramatically and now sent powerful gusts bowling into the square sail of the vessel.

  Jeannot and the merchant were still sitting on the port-side steps when all of a sudden, a gush of cold lake water sprayed over the rim of the boat. Jeanne, Ginette, and the children, who were huddled together still half in slumber, let out screams of alarm. Some of the passengers shot up onto their feet. But the mountain wind that skimmed across the deck in quick successive gusts knocked some of them off balance, causing them to slip over, which brought an explosion of nervous laughter from some of the onlookers. However, any mirth was immediately dampened as another wave bowled over the side of the boat, then another.

  Very quickly the lower deck was ankle deep in water. From the sombre hatch, the sound of frightened people replaced that of grunts and groans. Jeanne moved back from the dripping rim and held on tightly to her son; Ginette followed suit and pulled her clutch together around her. Jeannot, who had pocketed his pipe and risen to his feet, looked around from the steps to catch the captain’s eye.

  ‘She’s too heavy, man,’ he hollered. ‘She’s too low in the water. Let loose some cargo!’

  ‘Nobody move, and she’ll hold,’ bayed the captain at the bar.