by Jane Harris
At last, a shadowy figure emerge from the underbrush. Not the overseer, unless he had took to wearing petticoat. A woman – a house-slave by the looks of her – picking her way up the riverbank with a degree of stealth, evidently – like us – searching for a place to cross. She had just passed a patch of rushes at the edge of the water when someone, somewhere, hiss like a goose. The woman gave a gasp and turn to peer at the river.
‘Who’s there?’ she cried, in fright.
Another sharp hiss then a small figure rose up from the rushes: Angélique. A moment later, Chevallier stood up beside her.
‘Is that you, LeJeune?’ said Angélique.
The woman clutched at her breast.
‘Jésis-Maïa! You trying to kill me, tati?’
‘Pffft!’ said Emile, beside me. ‘It’s only LeJeune.’
He help me to my feet whiles Céleste fetch my poles. The others had already gathered around LeJeune, speaking in low voices. Beneath the starlight, she looked much older than last time I had seen her, worn out and scrawny.
‘Why you coming this way?’ Chevallier asked. ‘You could go easy on the road.’
‘Not tonight,’ said Lejeune. ‘My master in a temper. Hmm. Mmhmm. Tore up my Christmas ticket. Had to wait for him to get drunk so I could sneak off. That’s why I’m late.’ She glanced around at the rest of us. ‘Is this all of you? Where is everybody?’
‘The faster ones went on ahead,’ Céleste explained.
‘Faster ones?’
‘Young field hand,’ said Angélique. ‘Boys and men, young women. They’re up ahead somewhere. Anybody quick on his feet, they went first in another group.’
LeJeune glanced around at us again, this time seeming to notice our cumbrances and afflictions: the collars and shackles, the crutches, lost wits, babies and so forth. I could see her mind working fast-fast.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘I’m quick on my feet, I suppose. Hmm – I am, for true. Perhaps – perhaps I should try to catch them. Mm-hmm – that’s what I’ll do. Who wants to come with me?’
She looked around at us again but – when nobody made reply – she continued:
‘Oh well, I’ll just go on and catch them, I suppose, if that be the case. Hmm. Best get moving, find a way across this river. See you at the boat. A talé … a talé.’
So saying, she picked up her skirts and – with a brief wave – set off again at such a pace she soon passed out of sight. We stared after her, in silence. Behind me, the waterfall crashed on, boiling, relentless, as loud as a million angry bumble-bee. An air of gloom had descended once again over the entire party.
‘Look at her flap and run,’ said Céleste. ‘Chicken-hearted.’
‘For true,’ I said. ‘She probably needs to lay an egg.’
Weak attempt at humour though it were, at least it made my brother and a few others chuckle and the mood lightened somewise.
Emile pointed to a narrow pool near the far side.
‘Over there might be our best bet.’
It occur to me that the fallen tree I had been sitting on might bridge the gap between the riverbank and a pile of flat rocks in midstream and so I suggested we might try to move it.
Emile, Léontine, Charlotte, Polidor, Chevallier and Rosalie joined forces and by a process of pushing, rolling, lifting and toppling the trunk – under direction from Céleste – they manage to manoeuvre it into place. Sure enough, it was a near perfect fit.
Emile, panting, slap me on the back.
‘Well done, bug,’ he said. ‘Good man.’
Well, that was the first time he had ever call me a man. My heart swelled up like a globefish.
Chapter Forty-Four
Those who were able walked across, carrying the children. The rest of us – including Angélique, Choisie, Raymond, Augustin and me – were oblige to shuffle over on our hind quarters, Augustin pushing his weight ahead of him.
On the far side of the river, we carried on downhill. After descending toward the coast somewhile, we reached a dirty-dirty creek and followed the sluggish water a short distance to a break in the trees ahead. The creek flowed across a road and into woods on the other side. Most of the cloud had drifted off by then and the moon shone down on the highway, gleaming in a milky puddle like the pearl of an oyster. Took me a short while to recognise that this was the coast road, where Emile and I had scuttled across on the day we came to the island. We had reach Petit Havre, at last.
This spot by the creek was where we had arrange to rencontre the fast group. My brother hesitated among the trees, a stone throw short of the road. When I poled up beside him, he put his arm around me and murmured in my ear.
‘We made it.’
Such foolhardy temptation of Providence made me wince but Emile too lost in his thoughts to notice. We scan the darkness around us, looking for field hand, and Raymond gave a few tentative hoot but though we waited, nobody presented himself.
The others gathered around and Emile spoke to us in a low voice.
‘Keep your ears open. Saturnin and the rest may have been delayed.’
Angélique snorted.
‘They probably sailed off already. Be halfway to Martinique by now.’
‘They might have gone down to look at the boats,’ said Emile. ‘Let’s cross the road here. We can see the bay from the cliff on the other side. Watch your step.’
Magdelon and Cléronne kept lookout whiles the rest of us slipped across the highway to the belt of woodland along the cliff-edge. Emile came over last of all. We crept forward through the undergrowth and – beyond a gap in the trees – the bay spread out below us, shining in the starlight. The two drogher that had been there early in the week had gone. Emile pointed to a sloop at anchor between the two fist of headland.
‘That must be Cléophas,’ he said.
The Daisy had been moored up closer to shore, the skiff empty but ready in the water at her stern. I could see no movement on any of the vessel. The fast group might have been hiding in the trees that fringe the sand, but it was too dark to tell.
‘I’ll go down, see if they’re there,’ said Emile. ‘Let’s go back across the road; it’s safer.’ He turn to Choisie. ‘We must be quiet, tonton. Can you keep hush a while longer?’
Choisie mocked his tone, sour-face.
‘Mim mim mim mim mim mim mim?’
My brother mutter to me.
‘Try to keep them quiet.’
We cross the road once more and retreated somewise into the forest. Emile sent the two women in collars to stand watch. Then he threw his arm around my neck.
‘Tjenbé rèd,’ he told me. ‘Pa moli.’
Still clasping me, he reached out to Céleste and drew her into the embrace. After a moment, I wriggled out of their grasp and step back, leaving them to stand there, as one, for a few heartbeat, their cheeks press together. Then Emile released her and bounded over the road toward the bay, until he was just a fleeting shadow among the trees on the other side. Céleste watched him go, her fingers on her own face where his skin had touched hers. After a moment, she turned away, smoothing both hands across her head-wrap.
Meanwhile, some of the women had settle down among the gnarled roots of a black sage. Raymond and Augustin perched on a fallen tree trunk nearby and I went to join them. Céleste led Choisie over and sat him down beside me. The smelly old soul rested his head on my shoulder. Eyes shut, I listen to the sounds of the forest. ’Ti gounouys. Toads. Some kind of nightbird. Choisie breathing through his mouth. The creak of bamboo. The soft coo of a distant pigeon. Choisie sat up and poke me in the ribs. Another coo from a pigeon, more urgent. I open my eyes. Was that a real pigeon? Or a warning from the lookouts?
‘Mèd,’ said Raymond, and stood up.
A third coo – this time answered by another – and then a figure emerge from the darkness: Saturnin. Raymond and Augustin mutter to each other in relief. I haul myself up onto my poles. Never thought I would feel glad to behold that driver, but now the sight of him help to calm m
y scudding pulse. He peered around at us, then spoke to me.
‘Where’s your brother?’
‘He went to find you. Where’s the rest of them?’
The driver jerked a thumb toward the far side of the bay.
‘There’s another creek over there, sweeter water. They were thirsty.’ He grinned at me. ‘I’ll bet you thought we had gone without you.’
‘Well, no,’ I said. ‘We saw the boats. Is Cléophas onshore?’
‘Nobody seen him yet.’
‘What about White, the Englishman?’
‘Not him either. The beach is deserted. What I want to know is, how are we suppose to get out to that boat. Hardly one of us can swim.’
‘There’s a skiff,’ I told him. ‘They’ll send it ashore to fetch us.’
‘You seem to know everything,’ he said. ‘Almost as much as your brother. Well, he probably found the rest of them by now. We may as well go down there.’
I hesitated.
‘Emile told us to wait here.’
‘Suit yourself,’ said Saturnin. ‘Sooner we get on this boat, the better. Get this damn sea-sailing over and done with.’
He turn to leave, but before he could take another step, Céleste put her hand on his arm to stop him.
‘Wait,’ she whispered. ‘What’s that noise?’
Still as pillars, we stood and listened. A low rumble drifted across the land, just audible above the night sounds of the forest. A distant thunder. At first, I thought it came from the east. Next, I was sure it came from the south. I peered up through the canopy of branches. Hardly a cloud in the sky, just a thousand stars scattered across the heavens, twinkling, like God had spilled a bag of diamond dust and tiny stones. Saturnin cocked his head to one side and frowned.
‘Cho! Will they make us set sail in a storm?’
‘Hush,’ said Céleste. ‘That’s no storm. Listen.’
We fell silent, every one of us straining our ears. The low grumble continued, a little louder, a little closer. Now, from somewheres among the trees came an urgent pigeon-coo – a definite warning – followed straightways by the thud of naked heels on dirt and the rushing sound of a person running redshank through the forest. Then Magdelon came crashing out of the darkness, holding onto her collar.
‘Horses,’ she panted, in a loud whisper. ‘About half a dozen.’
‘Mèd,’ said Saturnin. ‘Probably a parcel of Goddam swillers, raising hellfire for Christmas. Get back from that road – take Choisie and the children. Go on. Hide. Just stay back until they pass.’
I glanced around. Chevallier and Angélique had already disappeared. Shadowy figures receded into the darkness. Rosalie push Casimir into the undergrowth whiles Magdelon led Choisie away from the highway. Meanwhile, Saturnin crept to the edge of the forest and crouch down behind some bushes, at a place where he had a view of the road. He waved his arm at me, urging me out of sight but my gaze was drawn to the break in the trees where I had last seen my brother. It occur to me that – even on crutches – I might have time to head down to the bay and find him, make sure he was safe. I turn to Céleste and found her staring at the same spot, no doubt a similar notion passing through her mind. For an instant, it looked as though she might dart across the road but then she grab my elbow.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘He knows what to do, better than anyone.’
She helped me into a thicket of sapling where slender branches and liane had wove together to form a cave of leaves. The thicket stood next the highway but we had no time to seek cover elsewhere, and the night would conceal us provided we kept quiet. Somewheres behind us, I could hear that puling Casimir, but the horses so loud they would likely drown him out. I peer back through the foliage to check on the others. Augustin was still staggering to and fro in search of a hiding place, his iron weight in both hands. Raymond had step behind a nearby campèche but now he scuttled out again.
‘Ss – ss – go there,’ he hiss. Then he dived into a sparse patch of ferns, leaving Augustin to haul his weight and chain behind the tree.
All this while, the riding party kept approaching at reckless pace. Now, they had rounded the corner and I could hear the chink-chink of several bridle. The sounds echoed around the bay, making it hard to tell how many were coming. Magdelon was right, I reckoned: six riders, possibly more, perhaps on their way to Gouyave in pursuit of further rum and revel. At least if they were drunken they might be less alert. Closer, closer, they came, until the din of metal horseshoe on dirt fill the night, the clank of snaffle-bits, the poor animals grunting and panting. The riders hurtle past, oblivious to the handful of figures sweating and quaking here and there at the edge of the forest. On they flew down the highway, leaving the scent of stables and hot leather drifting in their wake.
Yet, before I could heave any sigh of relief, the sound of the hooves changed as the horses slow down. They faltered, slowed again, then came to a halt further on, where the dirty creek cross the highway. Without all that thunderous Tantivy, the night resumed its usual level of clamour, above which I could just make out the sound of the men striking up a muttered conversation among themselve but the forest-chatter drowned out their words and it was hard to tell if they were English or French. I waited a short while then gingerly peered out between the branches of our leafy cave.
At first, I could see only a cluster of moving shadows. I counted five, then six horses, their heads bent to the creek. The riders had dismounted and stood in the night-shade beneath the trees. Snatches of the conversation drifted to my ears and I thought I recognise something familiar in the cadence of their voices. Seem to me that at least two of them might be Scottish, like my old protector, John Calder. As I watched, one of their number wandered across the road and proceeded to drain his pump. The moon had bathe that side of the highway in silver light such that I could see the man clearly, his cocked hat like a giant bat perch low on his head. Something about that three-corn made me uneasy: the pale trim just visible in the moonlight. Then one of his companion joined him. This second man wore a high cap or mitre, military style. My inners gave a lurch. He had to be an officer or dragoon, and the man in the three-corn, it dawned on me, was a musketeer. I saw now their uniform, the red jackets black neath the starlight, pale cuffs and collars gleaming. They both carried havresacks and cartridge boxes on their backs. This must be some of those Glasgow Greys we had heard about, a mounted party of troops from the fort, most likely on their way to relieve their fellows at one of the redoubts on the coast.
Céleste slipped her hand into mine and gently squeeze my fingers. I understood what she meant: the men would ride on as soon as they had watered their horses; all we had to do was wait, quiet-quiet. Sure enough, moments later, some bustle of activity among the little group indicated that they were about to set off again.
However, instead of remounting, they took their horses by the rein and – on foot, one by one – began to lead them into the woods on the bay side, picking their way between the trees, heading down to the shore. Céleste breathed in sharply. Her grip on my hand grew tighter. We watch the last stallion flick his tail as he high-step in among the trees until the darkness swallowed his vast rump. In the same instant, with a whish in the undergrowth, Saturnin pushed his way into our thicket, at a crouch.
‘See that?’ he said. ‘You think they know something?’
Céleste and I gazed at each other for just a flash, each of us thinking of Emile, the need to warn him. Then, as one, we made a move but Saturnin seize Céleste by the arm and me by the collar.
‘Are you mad?’ he said. ‘I’ll go down and warn them. You take these others into the hills.’
‘And then what?’ Céleste asked, hotly.
‘Hide somewheres and wait. We’ll find you.’
I glared at him, struggling to extricate myself, and would have wriggled out of my shirt had not Céleste grab both my arms and held me tight.
‘Do what he says. I’ll fetch your brother and the others.’ She turn to the driver.
‘You take this boy and hide him, make sure he’s safe.’
Before either of us could protest, she slipped away between the saplings. A fistle of foliage and she was gone.
Cursing under his breath, Saturnin drag me out of the thicket. Augustin had emerge from behind his tree, his weight in his hands like an offering.
‘Don’t just stand there,’ said the driver. ‘Move!’ To me, he said: ‘Hold onto those poles.’
Despite his small frame, Saturnin hauled me onto his back and began to carry me uphill, away from the road. Augustin fell into step behind us. We had gone but a few paces when – down by the shore – a scream pierce the night, followed shortly thereafter by the startling crack-whish of a musket, a report so loud that it echoed across the foothills. Saturnin stop dead in his tracks.
‘Puten!’ he muttered.
Another burst of gunfire, this followed swiftly by more shots, then other firelocks banging and balls whistling among the trees, the din ringing out to reverberate around the cove, provoking further disembody screams and the sound of a general chaos: people running pell-mell through the woods by the shore, calling out to each other in a panic above the crack of musketry and harsh Béké voices, yelling:
‘Stop there! Stand still! You there! Halt!’
And then, above all that and the din of the night, another rumble came to my ears from the direction of Fort Royal, where the highway rounded the bend and began to descend to the bay: a different sound this time: boots – many boots – hard leather hitting the pack dirt of the road. Well-shod men, perhaps a score of them, running in cadence, heading in our direction. Same instant, I heard a bark, answered by another, and then several dogs began to howl and yelp all at once.
Whoever was coming, they had brought with them a pack of hounds.
