Dance on the Volcano

by Marie Vieux-Chauvet

  Desires that had been dormant awakened in her and once again transformed her into a mere love-struck creature for whom nothing mattered but being in love. Whenever she felt afraid, she called his name softly. If a freedman was brutalized for no reason by a White, she thought of him and said to herself, Ah, if Jean were here, he’d make sure that one got a good old-fashioned knife in the back. And she loved that he would know so well how to kill – how to exact revenge.

  Increasingly impertinent, the poor Whites attacked people of color without provocation, insulting and even killing them. The women, especially, were their scapegoats. They shouted names at them, calling them “freedwoman sluts,” and proposed bedding them right in the middle of the street. Without admitting the real reason to herself, Minette also avoided going out in the street and confronting those unwarranted insults.

  That evening, Lise had a terrible migraine and needed medication. She asked Minette to go the next street over to buy some. The healer was with Labadie and was rubbing his ribs with bull’s fat that Jasmine had been heating. Minette freshened up and went out.

  The streets were crowded with poor Whites. Vendors, butchers, bakers, tinsmiths, and shoemakers had gathered and were debating noisily. Groups of sailors out for a drunken night on the town stumbled about, arms linked. A few elderly women out shopping went by them fearfully, while white and Mulatto prostitutes called out to them, their breasts half exposed and their hair undone.

  Minette hurried her step. A horse brushed by her at top speed then slowed down. The horseman dismounted and came up to her. It was Captain Desroches.

  “Oh, Captain,” she said, comforted by his presence. “You’re a welcome sight.”

  “You’re afraid, too?”

  “Women of color are being insulted, Captain, and the streets are full of drunken sailors.”

  “Take my arm, and calm down.”

  She put her trembling hand on the young man’s arm and looked timidly at the group of poor Whites.

  “It’s not right,” a fat, apron-clad man who seemed to be a butcher said at just that moment. “Some of those freedmen have land and slaves.”

  “People like that have land and slaves while we’ve got nothing. It’s time to take away their power,” said another.

  “They’ve been given weapons and the white pompom – it’s too much!”

  “It’s time we got to be the big lords – same as the planters.”

  Minette went into the shop and bought Lise’s medication, then ran out to join Captain Desroches, who was waiting for her next to his mount.

  “How can I ever thank you, Captain?” she asked him.

  “You know very well.”

  He leaned toward her abruptly and looked her straight in the eyes.

  “I’ve wanted you for a long time now, Minette. I’m so taken with you I can’t hold any other woman in my arms without feeling disgusted. Meet me in the King’s Garden tonight, won’t you?”

  “Captain Desroches, I know what I owe you…”

  “No, not like that, Minette.”

  “Would you want to be with me, without love?”

  “No.”

  “Well then I beg of you, Captain, keep being for me the gentleman who purchased a slave out of disinterested admiration for a poor young woman of color.”

  He looked at her sadly.

  “You make a strong case for yourself.”

  He brought her back to the corner of Traversière Street and left her saying:

  “It’s a pity.”

  Minette went in and found Labadie’s slaves there preparing to transport him in his carriage. He had spent eight days at Jasmine’s and they had been quite cramped for sleeping space. Supported by his slaves, he kissed Jasmine and her daughters.

  “Thank you, my children,” he said to them. “I hope one day to be able to give back to you all the good you’ve done for me.”

  Then, removing a magnificent ring topped with an emerald and holding it out to Minette, he said:

  “Keep this as a token of my affection and gratitude.”

  He had hardly been gone a moment before the market-women rushed into the front room.

  “There’s fighting outside!” cried one of them.

  My God, and with Labadie just leaving.

  “There’s fighting! Bring in the stands…”

  An indescribable din followed and as if to give the words of warning their full weight, the sound of gunfire exploded in the distance. Minette ran out to get young Jean, who was watching the stand. Terrified passersby were trying to figure out was happening and Minette saw the painter Perrosier close his door cautiously. Soldiers from the constabulary went by at a gallop…It was no battle, Minette soon realized. It was a massacre.

  Some Whites had just slaughtered a group of freedmen who had reacted to their insults. Several people of color had gathered together and planned to avenge the death of their brothers. The planters chased them away with lashes of the whip and, in the guise of serving justice, went to petition before the court, condemning ten freedmen to be strung up from lampposts.

  The planters were going too far. Someone had to rein in their claims and show them that the representatives of the King still had the right to govern the colony. The Colonel, buttressed by the support of the freedmen he had enticed with his promises and signs of friendship, was ready to confront the Committee of the West and disband it. Within the ranks of the “White Pompoms” were the poor Whites from the Assembly of Cap-Haitien who, frightened by the planters of the West’s demands, had just broken with them.

  Minette was aware of what was going to happen next. It had been spoken about in her presence at Lambert’s house and she herself had put the bottles of milk and the crackers in Joseph’s bag. In going to fight for Justice against M de Caradeux, he felt full of joy at the prospect of marching in the ranks at his brothers’ side and finally battling those ruthless enemies the white planters, one of whom had been his torturer. He forgot all about Christ’s magnanimity, he forgot all about religion and its doctrine of conciliation. Everything in him called for revolt, revolt and thirst for vengeance. The sweet and humble young man who recited prayers and sermons had been replaced by a revolutionary, called by the events of the moment to serve as righter of wrongs in the face of his enemies. Once again he had risked his liberty and even his life by continuing to harbor runaway slaves. He had wanted to do more. The events of the moment had constrained him to lower his head and to resign himself. Joseph had been nourished by Rousseau, and the application of those revolutionary ideas in France had torn him and his brothers out of their state of resignation. He would finally act again!

  In all of his political gatherings, M de Caradeux drank to the independence of Saint-Domingue. By rising up against the King and his representatives, he had been a dreadful example of insurrection that, according to him, the people he called “those bastards” would never be able to follow. But the example would indeed be followed to the letter, and not only by the freedmen of color.

  That day, Nicolette was not exaggerating when she came to announce, with her usual excitement, that there was fighting again on Dauphine Street, in front of the premises of the Committee. Minette made her sit down and served her a little glass of sweetened unrefined rum to calm her down. A volley of musket shots suddenly broke the silence. Worried, the market-women immediately brought in their stands and Lise called to Minette to ask what all the noise was about.

  “Sleep, my dear,” Minette said to her. “Those are the grenadiers doing their drills. Here, take this pill.”

  Ever since Julien’s murder, she had suffered from migraines and insomnia. Minette tucked her in like a baby and went away gesturing to Nicolette to speak softly…

  On Dauphine Street, Colonel de Mauduit had called three times to the Committee of the West, in the name of the Nation, the Law, and the King for them to fall in line with the orders of the Governor. The only response he had gotten was the volley of musket shot that had so frightened all the inhab
itants of Traversière Street. He then responded with another volley of musket shot, which sent all the pedestrians running for their homes, caught unawares by the sudden battle. From then on, the tumult exploded. More volleys of musket shot, a few bursts of gunfire, and the thunderous noise of the Rostaing infantry support guns deafened the inhabitants of the whole neighborhood for at least an hour.

  The Colonel’s troops had left the barrack grounds very early that morning. When they returned victorious, carrying the Committee’s flags as trophies, a delirious crowd cheered as it walked alongside them.

  The defeated colonists, enraged that people of color had been allowed to fight against them, were clear in showing their rage to the Governor and representatives of the King.

  For the moment, the Governor had the upperhand and he knew it. He heightened his despotic authority and was enjoying riling up his enemies. At the slightest provocation, his soldiers raided houses and dragged the “guilty” parties off to prison. People began wearing the white pompom out of fear, as a precautionary measure. The colonists’ hatred, though subdued and defeated, was simmering – waiting for the right moment to explode. That same day, in the evening, Joseph received a visit from someone he did not recognize straightaway. It was a market-woman wearing a basket of wares on her head. The market-woman insisted that he buy some handkerchiefs and, as she spoke, it seemed to Joseph that he had heard that voice somewhere before.

  “I’ll show you my wares in your room. We’ll be more comfortable there,” she said suddenly, winking at him.

  Immediately curious, he went up the stairs, followed by the market-woman, who continued boasting about the quality of her handkerchiefs. All of a sudden, the woman placed her basket on the bed, pulled off her hairpiece and revealed herself. It was his brother Vincent. Joseph trembled from shock, forgot his injury, opened his mouth to speak and let out a horrific, incomprehensible sound.

  “What’s happened to you?” cried Vincent, pulling him close.

  Joseph opened his mouth to show what was left of his tongue.

  Vincent sat down on the bed, his legs shaking.

  “My God,” he muttered. “Why didn’t you tell me about this in your letters?”

  He sat there for a moment, utterly dejected. Then, reacting finally, he looked at Joseph.

  “Have you seen my mother?”

  He shook his head no.

  “Have things gotten complicated here?”

  He nodded yes.

  “We worked hard in France to plead our cause,” continued Vincent, “but to no avail. I’ve come to see if I can be of assistance here, for I’ve sworn to see our demands triumph. I’ll go to Dondon to visit my mother. When I take off this disguise, I’ll call myself Poissac – don’t forget that, Joseph. And tell the others.”

  He hugged his brother again and tied the scarf back on his head.

  “Farewell, little brother. Things are going to change, you’ll see soon enough,” he promised.

  Though the freedmen had maintained absolute secrecy about Poissac’s true identity, the planters were tipped off about the arrival of a Mulatto named Vincent Ogé who had great influence within the “Society of the Friends of the Negroes.” They found out that he had left Dondon to visit his friend, Jean-Baptiste Chavannes, in Grande Rivière du Nord.

  Two letters signed by these two freedmen were addressed to the Governor and to the Provincial Assembly of the North.

  We demand, the letters said, that the principles promulgated by the National Party be enforced. We demand free access to all jobs, professions, and responsibilities…

  We demand the enforcement of the Decree of March 28, which grants suffrage to all people twenty-five years or older…

  They had dared to make fearless demands. Four hundred freedmen had rallied around them to await the decisions of the Governor and the Northern Assembly.

  The people of color in Port-au-Prince gathered to wait at Louise Rasteau’s home, where Minette, Zoé, and Marguerite Beauvais had gone as well, accompanied by the little Pons fellow and Pétion. Vincent had promised to send a messenger; they would not sleep until he arrived. Louise served punch, which they drank to the success of Ogé and Chavannes’ plan. They had barely put down their glasses when a horse galloping at top speed came to a stop in front of the house. They all looked up hopefully. The door opened and a horseman entered the room: it was Jean-Baptiste Lapointe. Minette went pale and leaned on her chair, closing her eyes.

  “You!” cried Lambert.

  “Yes, me. Bad news. The freedmen were defeated at Cap-Français. Ogé and Chavanne have fled into Spanish territory.”

  They fell back into their chairs, appalled by the news. Then Louise Rasteau made a sudden gesture of revulsion.

  “Oh, no, no!” she wept. “Defeated, always defeated. Does God only exist for the Whites? Are we meant to have no hope at all?”

  Marguerite Beauvais put a hand on her shoulder. She was young and expecting a child.

  “Let us hope, nonetheless,” she said, “for the sake of our children. Perhaps they’ll see our cause triumph in the end.”

  Jean-Baptiste Lapointe moved toward Minette’s chair. He stood looking at her for a moment, turning his straw hat in his hands.

  “I, I…” he stammered. “I have a message for this young lady. Er, a private message.”

  Minette rose without saying a word and followed him. He walked out to the courtyard without turning around. He then stopped and, taking her abruptly in his arms:

  “Swear to me – swear that you’ve been waiting for me!” he said, kissing her passionately.

  She whimpered with pleasure.

  “Do you still love me?”

  “I never forgot you.”

  It was all just as she remembered – his youthful strength, the smell of his body, the feel of his hands and his mouth. Oh! How had she been able to bottle up for so long that wave of desires that now kept her pressed against him, completely weak in his arms?

  “I’m afraid for you,” she murmured.

  “Oh, I have nothing left to fear. Those planters are far too preoccupied with other matters to waste their time chasing me down. I’m returning to Arcahaie tonight and I swear by all the gods that they’ll have me to contend with from now on…”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, worried.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got a nice little plan for revenge up my sleeve. If things go the way I expect, I’ll carve out an excellent situation for myself that’ll set me up definitively, as far as the Whites are concerned.”

  He pressed her to him forcefully.

  “And we’ll never be apart again?”

  “It’s all I hope for.”

  When they went back into the house, several of the others had already left.

  “Where’s Joseph?” Minette asked Louise.

  “He left with the others.”

  She headed back home on Lapointe’s arm. He had left his horse at Louise’s and planned to return for it later on. There were several isolated corners along the way. He pulled her into one of them and took her – half dead with fright and passion. He stayed with her until they had reached her doorstep and after making her promise to see him again as soon as possible.

  “You’ll come back to Boucassin?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Soon, I promise…”

  They would see one another even sooner than they anticipated. Political events themselves were accelerating and pushed them irresistibly toward one another, thus serving faithfully the ineluctable course of their destiny.

  XXX

  FRIGHTENED BY THE battle with Ogé and Chavannes, the Assembly of the North sought both to exact revenge and to strike fear in the other freedmen by demanding that the Spanish authorities extradite Ogé, Chavannes, and their collaborators.

  “The Spanish authorities will never hand them over,” said Lambert to Beauvais with great conviction.

  “I certainly hope not,” responded Beauvais, dec
idedly more pessimistic.

  The following day, they learned that not only had Ogé and Chavannes been delivered to the Whites in Cap-Français, but that they had been brought before a special tribunal and been condemned to death. Mad with worry, Joseph went to see Minette, who offered on the spot to accompany him to Cap-Français. That evening, Labadie himself brought the money for the trip. Minette entrusted Lise and young Jean to Jasmine’s care and left to take her place in the coach alongside Joseph. The journey was exhausting. Knocked about for an entire day, they arrived in Cap-Français completely spent.

  The atmosphere there was one of unparalleled agitation.

  With its grand houses graced with wide balconies, its picturesque little streets, and its shops decked out in the latest Parisian fashion, Cap-Français surpassed Port-au-Prince as much by the luxuriousness of its homes as by its bay full of ships. It even seemed to Minette and Joseph that the crowd there was denser, more active, and more diverse.

  The news was true. They found out as soon as they entered the hotel. A red-skinned Mulatto came to meet them and take their luggage.

  “Would you like one room?”

  “No, two rooms.”

  “Oh!…And I suppose you’ve come here like all the others to witness the torture of Ogé and Chavannes?”

  Minette glanced at Joseph, who had gone horribly ashen. She took his hand.

  “And so when’s the spectacle?” she asked, feigning indifference.

  “Well, it’s planned for tomorrow morning. Apparently they’ve been condemned to breaking on the wheel. The Whites are furious and have sworn not to take mercy on them…”

  They went up the stairs and arrived on the first floor, where the big Mulatto pointed out two adjoining rooms.

  Once they were alone, Minette took Joseph’s face in her hands.

  “Listen to me, don’t despair. He was probably just exaggerating. We’ll get some information soon. Get some rest. I’m going to freshen up and then we’ll go out together.”