The Dark Secret of Josephine

by Dennis Wheatley

  It was a nightmare journey which lasted two days and two nights. Charlemange and his men made it clear that they neither understood nor approved the order they had received to keep the prisoners alive. In consequence, nothing whatever was done to make their slow progress over appalling by-roads under the torrid sun more easily supportable. On the contrary, morning and evening their food was flung to them, they were frequently denied water for many hours at a stretch, and the women were at times placed in such embarrassing situations that but for a certain stoicism that their previous unhappy experiences had developed in them, they must almost have died of shame.

  At last this grim progress came to an end. Of the name of the locality they had reached they had no idea. They knew only that they must have travelled some fifty miles in a south-easterly direction and had come to a big rambling mansion that stood in a forest clearing among the foothills of a range of mountains.

  This once noble property was in just the state de Bouçicault had described as the fate of large houses taken over by the negroes. Evidence of neglect was everywhere and the building swarmed with negroes, negresses and piccaninnies, all living together in an indescribable state of squalor. Several hundred of them inhabited the house and every corner of its outbuildings. On seeing the coach draw up they poured forth in a swarm and surging round the white prisoners screamed abuse and insults at them. No one seemed to have any authority over this dangerous rabble, so Roger feared that they were all about to be massacred upon the spot. But Charlemange stood up on the box of the coach and shouted to them that General Toussaint had ordered him to shoot anyone who attempted to lay a hand on the prisoners, upon which the crowd sullenly gave back.

  The question of quarters for the newcomers was settled arbitrarily by Charlemange’s ordering his men to eject half a dozen protesting families from three attics at the top of the house. The women were given one, the men another, while the Lieutenant took the largest of the three for himself and their guard.

  The low-ceilinged, rooms were filthy and bug infested. As the ejected negroes had taken their scant belongings with them they were also now bare of furniture, and appeals to Charlemange to procure even mattresses proved unavailing. With a callous shrug he said that there were none to be had. Asked what he meant to do about himself and his men, he replied that he would commandeer their requirements but had no intention of depriving honest coloured folks to provide comforts for the type of people who for generations had treated them like animals. His orders went no further than to protect his prisoners from harm; so for a change they could live like animals themselves.

  That was indeed the miserable state to which they were very near reduced. They had at least been allowed to retain the small portmanteaux they had brought, so were able to use these for pillows, and the contents of them provided minor ameliorations of their hard lot. But the food they were given was hardly better than pig swill, and they had to eat it out of one big crock with their fingers; the sanitary arrangements were degrading and the smell of the place disgusting; no water was allowed them to wash with and for many hours each day the atmosphere of the attics was stifling from the strong sun beating down on the roof.

  Soon they were all scratching themselves from scores of insect bites, and had not Fergusson had the forethought to bring with him a bottle of de Bouçicault’s essence of Cinchona bark, a little of which he gave each of them in water every morning, some of them would, almost certainly, have gone down with Yellow Fever. In spite of the appalling conditions in which they lived their health remained good; and as they were not called upon to exert themselves in any way both Tom and Roger regained some of their former strength.

  As a means of combating melancholia they divided the day into sections with a variety of activities which would occupy their minds. First thing every morning they held a competition while delousing themselves, the winner being given the choice of what games should be played up till midday. During the heat of the afternoon they endeavoured to sleep, then later took turns in telling stories or describing events in their own lives. Dan’s yarns of his years as a smuggler proved particularly popular, and Wilson kept them interested for many hours telling them about the War of Independence and life in the new United States. Then in the evening they held a sing-song.

  Yet by the end of the week the lack of new items to introduce into this routine and, by then, the certainty that their jailers had no intention of ever taking any step to lessen the utter wretchedness of their existence, began to make these sessions more like work than play.

  For most of the day the negro community below lazed about, but with the coming of night they roused up and threw all their latent energy into Voodoo ceremonies. The chanting, drumming and dancing at these took the place for them of all other recreations, with the exception of watching cock fights. By midnight they had hypnotised themselves into such a frenzy of abandonment that the house shook from the stamping of their feet on the floors of the lower rooms, and frequently it was not until the early hours of the morning that the sound of their orgies gradually ceased.

  Night after night, as Roger lay turning restlessly on the hard boards listening to the maddening rhythm of the drums, he tried to plan some means of escape. But the problem proved beyond him.

  By now he no longer needed his crutches; so had he been alone, or his party consisted only of men, an escape might have been effected by night through one of the skylights and over the roof. Although, even had it been successful, it was very doubtful if the many miles of hostile country that separated them from British troops could have been traversed without recapture. But such an attempt hampered by four women was out of the question. A breakout was equally unthinkable, as, although they might possibly have overpowered their slack and somnolent guards, they could not have done so without the alarm being raised, and their chances of fighting their way through the horde of negroes who lived in the house were about as good as trying to swim the Atlantic. In fact, ill-disposed to them as Charlemange was, he and his men were their only shield. They had already proved their loyalty to their General by standing their ground in the face of several hostile demonstrations against the prisoners; so to have deliberately rendered them hors de combat while the murderous mob below had still to be encountered would have been sheer madness.

  The thought of indefinite captivity in their present surroundings appalled them all, and in vain they endeavoured to reconcile themselves to the fact that even months away there was no deadline beyond which they could be certain of release. Clarissa, perhaps because she was the youngest, was the most seriously affected by this demoralising uncertainty. In every crisis of action she had so far kept her head and shown as much courage as the older women; but now, with ultra pessimism, she declared that they would be there for years, that if ever she did get free again it would only be with a haggard face and scrawny body, and that the cruel Fates clearly intended to rob her of her youth in this way. Each night she sobbed herself to sleep and, in fact, her looks did begin to deteriorate with alarming rapidity. Her high-bridged nose became a bony beak, her cheeks lost their bloom and her golden hair its lustre. Yet there was nothing they could say to cheer her or do to check the draining away of her vitality.

  Christmas Day came and passed like any other, as to attempt any form of rejoicing would have been too bitter a mockery. But on the afternoon of Boxing Day they were aroused from their torpor by an order which brought them scrambling to their feet breathless with excitement. From the passage-way Charlemange had shouted:

  ‘Get your things together. We are leaving here.’

  Instantly their hearts bounded with the hope that General Toussaint had succeeded in arranging an exchange for them; but the one-armed Lieutenant would neither confirm or deny that. After spitting on the floor he just shrugged and muttered surlily:

  ‘I have received an order to take you to another place. That is all you need to know. Hurry now!’

  They needed no urging. Their quarters and treatment at the place to whi
ch they were to be taken could hardly be worse than the conditions under which they had lived for the past ten days. Within a few minutes they had packed their meagre belongings and were again being protected by their guards, as they made their way downstairs, from the menaces of scores of yelling blacks of both sexes.

  The coach stood before the house. They noticed at once that its window curtains had disappeared and that the fine leather harness had been replaced with pieces of old rope. Then they saw that its well-sprung seats and back cushions had all been ripped out, leaving its interior a bare wooden box. Nevertheless, those of them who had come there in it were glad enough to take places on its floor in the hope that it would carry them to better times.

  Actually, owing to the removal of the seats, the continued infliction of needless hard usage by their guards, and their journey being somewhat longer than the previous one, they suffered even more severely. Yet, hope now strengthened by the knowledge that they were being taken towards the coast, enabled them to bear it with a greater degree of fortitude.

  On the fourth evening the coach was halted at a crossroads and its occupants told to get out. With the others they were marched some distance along a track and then, just as the sun set, into a wood. After another half-hour’s walk they came to a ruin, which they judged to be the remains of a monastery erected in the days of the Spanish occupation.

  Some negro soldiers emerged from among the piles of great stones, and their officer held a brief consultation with Charlemange, at the conclusion of which the one-armed Lieutenant marched his men away without so much as a glance at his late prisoners. They knew that they probably owed their lives to his conscientious obedience to the orders he had been given, yet none of them could feel sorry to see him go.

  The other officer gruffly told them to follow him, but refused to answer any questions; so surrounded by a new and larger escort they proceeded deeper into the forest until they reached a wide clearing. On its eastern edge they waited for over an hour, so pent up with excitement that they could hardly contain themselves. At length a single shot rang out somewhere to the west of them. The officer gave an order and two of his men fired their muskets into the air; so it was evident that the first shot had been a pre-arranged signal.

  A few minutes later, in the faint starlight, several groups of men could be seen emerging from the trees on the far side of the clearing. Led by their officer a number of the negro soldiers went forward to meet them. There was an exchange of passwords, then Roger heard a voice speaking in such bad French that it could only have belonged to an Englishman. Several of his companions had realised that too, and with unutterable relief they kissed, embraced and with tears of joy running down their cheeks, wrung each other’s hands.

  After that everything seemed to happen very swiftly. Laughing and chattering the negro troops disappeared with the prisoners that the British had handed over to them, while Roger and his party found themselves surrounded by grinning red-coats and shaking hands with a plump young man who introduced himself as Captain Mansfield of the 41st.

  As in a dream they walked another mile to a road where carriages were waiting. During a long drive they hardly spoke but soon after dawn they entered Mole St. Nicholas.

  It had well been termed the Gibraltar of the Indies, as it possessed a fine natural harbour and the great fortress out on the promontory dominated the strait between Saint-Domingue and Cuba. But Captain Mansfield did not take them up to it. He explained that it was already overcrowded with refugees; so accommodation had been taken for them at the Hotel de France, which was situated in the central square of the little town that lay in the shelter of the Mole.

  At the hotel they were welcomed by its proprietor, Monsieur Ducas. The plump Captain said that he would wait upon them later in the day, and they managed to murmur their thanks to him. Then they were led to their rooms and, pulling off their filthy clothes, flopped into bed.

  When they awoke they could hardly credit that they were free again, but were soon reassured that they were not dreaming by the tangible comfort of their beds and solid appointments of the well-furnished rooms. The dinner hour had long since passed but Mansfield had foreseen that they would sleep through most of the day, so had called only to leave the Garrison Commander’s compliments with a purse of twenty-five guineas for their immediate necessities, and orders that trays were to be sent up to them as soon as they roused from their slumbers. Having eaten and, although still almost speechless from relief, paid brief visits to one another in their rooms they slept once more.

  Next morning the hotel servants were kept busy for an hour carrying up many copper cans of hot water, so that the new arrivals could thoroughly cleanse themselves in hip baths. Two barbers were sent for and a mercer who brought with him a selection of ready-made garments. By midday the gentry of the party, if not fashionably dressed, were at least presentable, and the others had substituted clean tropical attire for their flea-infested clothes.

  At two o’clock Mansfield arrived to carry Roger, Wilson, Fergusson and the three ladies up to the fortress to dine with its Commandant, Colonel Seaton. He proved to be a dour, elderly Scot, who had made his way in the Army by conscientious, if not enlightened, endeavour. It was at once clear to them that he was no courtier, but shrewd enough to realise that the goodwill of such influential people as the Governor designate of Martinique and the Countess of St. Ermins might one day stand him in good stead. Having commiserated with them on their misfortunes he expressed his willingness to help them in any way he could.

  They thanked him in no measured terms for having rescued them by agreeing to an exchange of prisoners, and for his other courtesies; after which Roger reimbursed him for his loan with a draft on Hoare’s Bank, and said that they would all like to go to Jamaica as soon as a passage could be arranged. He told them that as his communications with Kingston were frequent he thought there should be nothing to prevent their leaving in the next few days. They then went in to dinner.

  It proved an indifferent and far from cheerful meal. Although the Colonel spoke guardedly, it was clear that he felt a bitter resentment against the powers at home who showed a most lamentable lack of understanding about the problems and needs of troops campaigning in the West Indies, and that he was greatly depressed by the heavy toll that death from Yellow Fever was taking of his men.

  Recalling Droopy Ned’s advice, Roger suggested that he should send the greater part of them to sea for a short voyage; but he seemed pessimistic about such a step having results of permanent value, and said that in any case his numbers were so reduced that he could not possibly do so without risking the security of the Fortress.

  They finished dinner about seven, upon which the ladies retired to the drawing-room while the men sat over their port. An hour later they joined the ladies and soon afterwards Georgina initiated the polite movements for making their adieux. At this the Colonel expressed unfeigned surprise, reminding them that it was New Year’s Eve, and saying that his officers were greatly looking forward to welcoming them in the mess to celebrate seeing the old year out.

  In their complete absorption with their freedom they had completely forgotten the date, and although they would rather had once more savoured the joy of getting between clean sheets at the hotel, politeness demanded that they should now stay on where they were. As none of them had any acquaintances in common with the Colonel, and he did not know enough about Saint-Domingue to be interesting on that subject, the conversation was kept up only by gallant efforts on the part of the visitors. But at last it struck ten o’clock and he led them through several chilly stone passages to the Officers’ Mess.

  As British women were as rare at Mole St. Nicholas as flies in December at home, the thirty-odd officers assembled there greeted Georgina, Amanda and Clarissa with a tremendous ovation. But they had been through too much too recently to meet it with a genuine response. They did their best to show their appreciation of the many gallant toasts drunk to them, and did their utmost to disguise the a
ccumulated weariness from which they were still suffering, but they, and Roger, Fergusson and Wilson too, were heartily glad when the New Year of 1795 had been ushered in with the singing of Auld Lang Syne, and they were at last free to take their departure.

  Next day, after sleeping late and the luxury of another bath, Roger felt much more like his old self and, having found out where Madame de Bouçicault was living, he performed the sad duty of waiting upon her with the news of her husband’s death. Then, on returning to the hotel, as he had nothing to do, he decided that it would be interesting to learn the views of a rich bourgeois on possible developments in Saint-Domingue. Accordingly, he sought out Monsieur Ducas and suggested that the landlord should join him in a bottle of wine.

  Murmuring his appreciation of the honour ‘Son Excellence le Gouverneur’ proposed to do him, the hotelier led Roger to his private sanctum and sent for a bottle of his best Chateauneuf-du-Pape. Soon, as Roger’s French was so perfect, he kept forgetting that he was talking to an Englishman and in response to skilful leading questions began to give free rein of his beliefs.

  He was a loyal Frenchman. In Saint-Domingue, just as in France, the nobility had been stupid, greedy and overbearing; so to begin with he had been all in favour of the Revolution which promised to pull them down a peg or two. But somehow everything had gone wrong. In Paris the demagogues had abandoned God and murdered their King. Then they had seized upon the discord in the colonies to further their criminal designs against all owners of property. To save themselves from wholesale massacres the colonists had been forced to call in the English. What else could they do? Yet France would in time become sane again, and Saint-Domingue was almost as much a part of her as Provence. So in due course it must be restored to the mother country. There would be difficulties of course. But it was to be hoped that the British would see the obvious necessity for this.