Dance on the Volcano

by Marie Vieux-Chauvet

  “They’re fighting!” exclaimed Rigaud, surprised.

  “And we’re trapped in here,” whimpered one of his companions, a strapping, dark-skinned young man named Boury. “How awful…”

  The guard approached.

  “Shh!” said Rigaud. “Everyone pretend to be asleep, as well as you can. And you, Boury, get to work…it’s our last chance…”

  They threw themselves to the ground and stayed there unmoving. The guard opened the door of the cell, carrying bread, which he threw on the ground.

  “Your meal, Messieurs,” he said mockingly.

  Two strong hands suddenly grabbed his neck.

  “Squeeze him tight, Boury,” whispered Rigaud, breathless with worry.

  The keys fell out of the guard’s hand. Rigaud grabbed them.

  Boury continued squeezing the man’s neck although he was long dead. After opening the door to the cell, Rigaud signaled to his companions to stay quiet. He stole a glance into the courtyard; everything was deserted. They were then able to slink along the walls and reach the exit without encountering a living soul.

  Once outside, they were immediately engulfed by a vociferous crowd of Whites, brandishing cut-up parts of a human body.

  “Down with Mauduit!”

  “Where’s his head?”

  It appeared at that very moment, at the end of a pike, and was greeted with shouts and insults.

  Rigaud and his companions made their way to an out-of-the-way path without being noticed. They walked through the night and arrived exhausted in Mirebalais, where they met up with Beauvais and Pierre Pinchinat who, suspected by the planters, were waiting in the sidelines for the opportunity to react and rejoin the struggle.

  XXXII

  THE NEW GOVERNOR fled to Cap-Français and the palace remained unoccupied. For days, the Colonel’s mutilated corpse haunted the inhabitants of Port-au-Prince. Cap-Français had barely recovered from the horrific death of Ogé and Chavannes when news of Colonel de Mauduit’s assassination by his own soldiers became known. Moreover, despite the planters’ triumphant smiles, the princely teams of horses, and the costly receptions thrown to receive the regiments from Artois and Normandy, a terrifying sadness remained in the people’s hearts.

  Was it some sort of forewarning? It seemed to everyone that they would never again recover their carefree ways and love of life. Although the planters were celebrating, they were still unsettled. Their victory did not keep them from being overcome by worry from time to time. Where could the danger come from? They still did not know. But this fraught and mysterious atmosphere they at times felt all around them became more and more intense with each passing day. Their worry made them a hundred times more arrogant and cruel. For some time, their insulting dominance spread throughout the entire colony and brought it to its knees, defeated. Defeated, but not at all resigned, for the freedmen had been completely disillusioned as far as the Governor and the King’s functionaries’ promises were concerned. Realizing that they had simply been used without there ever having been an intention of giving them real rights, they gathered around their own leaders, Beauvais and Lambert, to organize in secret.

  Rather than lessening their resolve, Ogé and Chavannes’ defeat, torture, and death had unleashed the spirit of revolt that had long remained dormant in them. They threw themselves desperately and headlong into the fight and swore an oath to emerge victorious. The Colonel’s assassination had just shown them that the Whites were capable of ruthlessness, even toward their own brothers.

  Their attitude changed completely. If the Whites would assassinate their brothers, why should they show the Whites any respect?

  That was their attitude when Joseph returned from Dondon. He was so thin that Lise cried when she saw him. She pulled herself together and began to forget about the bloody spectacle she had witnessed in Saint-Marc. Because of her, they spoke only in low tones about Ogé and Chavannes’ torture and the Colonel’s murder. Bizarrely, even Nicolette seemed interested in the latest turn of events. She arrived at Jasmine’s house, her eyes gleaming, overexcited, and gently asking for details about the torture and death of the two freedmen.

  Even more astonishing was the fact that she had raced to Jasmine’s to announce that the King of France had just been dethroned. It was important and overwhelming news – and had spread nearly everywhere within the blink of an eye. Who had informed Nicolette? they worried. A white soldier. Was the information reliable? No one could say. When the news became official, the white planters celebrated their victory loudly. They began imagining their autonomy. They were already in charge of the colony; they held a half-terrorized population under their heel.

  From then on, hiding their true thoughts beneath indifferent smiles, the people of Saint-Domingue returned to their old ways. The theater reopened its doors and the Vaux-Halls brought back its salons and gambling rooms. M Acquaire, having been in dire straits for several weeks, was intent on refilling the empty coffers immediately. All the events had dealt the actors a real shock. Mme Tessyre had had to sell a wet nurse she had purchased during better days. Magdeleine Brousse was living off of prostitution, and the others by their wits. They came back to the Comédie with gaunt, defeated faces that betrayed their recent privations. To eat and to pay the rent, Mme Acquaire had gone to Mesplès. Unfortunately, M Acquaire continued playing dice and promptly lost whatever they earned from giving their dance and elocution lessons. This deeply worried Scipion, who feared being sold in a moment of desperation, so he did his best to make himself useful while hoping the Comédie would return to its former activity. It did so, but without Minette, who refused to perform in the play that had been announced on the weekly billboards. Despite Acquaire and Goulard’s pleading, she refused to sign a new contract and would not give any reason. M Mesplès, though on the side of the white planters, also wanted to see her return to the theater. When he learned of her refusal, he went to her house himself to try and convince her.

  “You, Monsieur!” she exclaimed, surprised. She pointed to a chair he seemed not to see.

  “Yes, me. It would seem you’ve abandoned the theater. I’ve come to find out your reasons.”

  “I have none, Monsieur.”

  “Well then why do you persist in refusing to perform?”

  “The Comédie has done me great honor for a long time, Monsieur. I now refuse that honor.”

  “Ah! So you want us to beg you?”

  “As I’ve gotten older, I couldn’t care less about being begged to do anything.”

  “Too bad. We’ll go on without you.”

  “The Comédie means a great deal to me, Monsieur. I wish the actors all the success they deserve.”

  Devastated in her love for Lapointe, saddened by the spectacle of the victorious white planters, troubled by the changes she had seen in Joseph since the deaths of Vincent and Chavannes, she lived among the group of freedmen and, like them, had thrown herself headlong into the struggle. She felt less alone at their side, and sought in their revolt a means of combating her despair. This revolt, no matter what the Whites believed, was not powerless. It was just being cleverly hidden by the dispersal of their leadership. They knew they were being watched, monitored; they became stealthy. Their whole lives, they had hidden their discontent. So it was easy for them to present serene countenances as they developed their plan of attack. They would soon demand their rights, weapons in hand.

  One evening, with Beauvais and Lambert in charge, they all left together for Louise Rasteau’s plantation. Beauvais decided on the rankings and placed Pétion, whose calm bravery he admired, at the head of the artillery. Then, unfurling a flag with the national colors, he brandished it and demanded that everyone swear with him to obtain the rights so long denied them, even if it should cost them their lives.

  “Let Justice always be our guide,” he added with a determined and animated voice.

  Everyone swore the oath.

  The young people were called upon: Pétion, Roubiou, Pons, Joseph, and some o
thers were charged with rallying to their cause the slaves hidden in the neighboring area. They returned triumphant, with three hundred committed slaves who they immediately enrolled in their army.

  During the night, they decided to move farther away from Portau-Prince and headed toward Caïman Hole. Lambert and Beauvais led the way and were explaining their battle plan to the young people when a group of white soldiers suddenly attacked them from the rear.

  “Watch out!” someone screamed.

  Hidden in the cane fields, the Whites shot at them from point-blank.

  Lambert and Beauvais dismounted their horses and began opening fire, when the slaves shouted and began lighting torches, which they threw into the cane fields. The fields immediately caught fire, sowing panic in the ranks of the Whites, soon surrounded by the crackling flames.

  When the flames diminished, the Whites had fled, abandoning the dead and wounded among the calcified crops.

  That had been, on the spot, an initial victory, which the freedmen celebrated with great song. The future seemed full of promise and their courage invincible. The first real sign of victory came with the peace offering made by the frightened Whites of Port-au-Prince. They accepted the proposal without condition and delegates from the two parties met in Damiens. The Whites signed an accord recognizing the freedmen’s political rights. M de Caradeux, conciliatory, held out his hand to Beauvais and Lambert, saying to them:

  “And now that’s settled, freedmen.”

  When the freedmen’s army, composed of fifteen hundred men, among whom the slaves who had been responsible for their success in battle, entered Port-au-Prince, it was welcomed by a crowd of people of color screaming: “Long live the Confederates!” Flags unfurled and drums beating, Lambert and Beauvais’ army traversed the city and gathered at Bursar’s Square.

  A mass was meant to be performed to celebrate and sanctify this unexpected reconciliation. Everyone put down his weapons and M de Caradeux, who led the National Guard, took Beauvais and Lambert by the arm, while a soldier in charge of the artillery put his hand familiarly on Pétion’s shoulder.

  “My name is Praloto,” he said. “I’m in charge of the national artillery.”

  “And I am Pétion. I’m leader of the Confederate artillery.”

  Praloto had a sly smile and a hypocritical look in his eye that Pétion did not like.

  That one, he said to himself, must hate us more than any other White.

  After the meal offered in the Confederate barracks, M de Caradeux was named Commander General of the National Guard of the West, and Beauvais his second in command, to great joy and enthusiasm.

  To prove to everyone that peace had been reestablished and that they had generously accepted coming to terms with the freedmen, M de Caradeux appeared in public again, linking arms with Beauvais, who had just established his troops at the Government palace and in Bel-Air.

  The victors and the defeated showed unprecedented joy. They were tired of fighting, of hating one another, and of living in fear. These were days of mad celebration during which the Comédie, the Vaux-Halls, and all public places had enormous success.

  Minette and Lise saw a lot of Zoé Lambert during this time. The triumph of their cause had finally uprooted the implacable hatred she felt for the Whites, and she had begun to smile. All the freedmen held up their heads again, embracing the future with a smile. The Whites were no longer their enemies. With great joy, they rid themselves of bitterness, refusing to acknowledge even the insults hurled at them by the poor Whites, jealous of their victory.

  Goulard and Acquaire had come to congratulate Minette and kissed her affectionately.

  “Will you come back to the theater now?” Mme Acquaire asked, giving her a sidelong glance as if to say she was well aware of her political activities.

  “I promise I will, Madame.”

  “Will you perform in our next play?”

  “I will, Madame.”

  M Mesplès, M de Caradeux – they had been defeated. And so? A deep sense of joy took her breath away for a moment. She and those like her had become the equal of Whites. Ah! How Ogé and Chavannes must be feeling proud and happy in their graves! Joseph himself had a peaceful look in his eye that she had not seen for a long time. Lise was better; she had begun curling her hair in front of the mirror again and went dancing with Pétion and the others at the Vaux-Halls.

  Young Jean had grown up and looked more and more like his father.

  “You’re not even ten years old and you’ve already seen our cause prevail,” Minette said to him one day as she caressed his hair.

  “What cause?” he asked, astonished.

  “Well, let me explain it all to you. Thanks to your older brothers, when you’re a young man you’ll be able to choose the profession you want, you’ll give your opinion in public meetings, and you’ll be a full-fledged citizen in a country that is truly yours.”

  “It wasn’t always like that?”

  “No. Brave and courageous men suffered so we could have these rights. They died under the worst torture. Others fought so that tomorrow you and all other freedmen could be seen as men in this world…”

  “I’ll fight, too…”

  “Of course. I’ll talk to the leaders about it,” she answered him with a laugh. “But I’m afraid that battle has been won already.”

  XXXIII

  THUS PEACE HAD returned. At least, people tried to make themselves believe that, working twice as hard to make up for lost time. The cabarets, the Vaux-Halls, and the restaurants all were going non-stop, adding a touch of madness to an already too sensual atmosphere. Couples kissed full on the mouth, whores invaded the waterfront, where the sailors welcomed them with triumphant cheers. They dangled bags of money to tempt them and led them off, whispering obscenities in their ears. The irresistible stench of a warm, perverse wind reached all the way to the freedmen soldiers confined to the Governor’s palace. Despite their leaders’ refusal to let them venture out, they abandoned their posts and went to rejoin their families.

  “It’s just normal,” stammered young Pons to Lambert, won over. “We’re young, and we’ve got to, to, to…”

  “Fine,” Lambert interrupted, “but don’t forget that the Whites still have their eyes on you.”

  For the moment, they were completely unconcerned. One only ever saw them entangled in the arms of some woman, in the gambling dens, the cabarets, and the Vaux-Halls for people of color. They, too, wanted to make up for all they had been missing out on.

  Though he hosted lavish parties every evening, on seeing the dispersal of the freedmen’s forces M de Caradeux immediately decided to break the Damiens Accord. Without their well-established battalions, they seemed so unimpressive to him that he had come to regret ever ceding to them.

  “We were stupid to have accorded them those rights,” he said to Praloto. “Now they’re taking advantage of them, parading around with white whores on their arms. They think they’ve won, with those arrogant airs of theirs…”

  The feeling got the better of him – the freedmen seemed to be everywhere he turned. As he confessed to a group of planters in formal dress who had come to his reception from a neighboring area, he had a hard time seeing himself on the same level as those mixed-bloods, so many of whom were sons of former slaves. He had played his role well enough to appease them and to force them back into the shadows. Now it was time to act as quickly as possible. Giving one’s word to the freedmen and then taking it back was child’s play. Who possibly could have believed that that whole production had been serious?

  “The freedmen themselves,” pointed out a powdered Marquis, fanning himself nonchalantly.

  “Well that’s their problem,” said Praloto coldly.

  An hour later, as the women were off together talking about clothes, the men deliberated, surrounded by slaves who were hanging on their every word.

  “We’ll break the accord,” they decided, “and as soon as possible…”

  The sight of the slaves who
had fought alongside the freedmen troubled them, for they feared that other slaves might follow their example. So they demanded that the slaves be sent away from Port-au-Prince, promising to free them afterward.

  “They’ll be free – they just have to leave,” M de Caradeux had insisted.

  Beauvais and Lambert asked for a few days to consider this. They were accorded them.

  Would M de Caradeux and the other planters keep their promise? Would the slaves be freed? Who knows whether they would be abandoned in some godforsaken place?…

  After numerous discussions, in which the women also participated, it was decided: concerned that the Whites would otherwise rip up the accord, they agreed to meet their terms.

  “No,” pleaded Minette. “Don’t do it. Don’t abandon the slaves to the Whites…”

  “You may come to regret this,” added Zoé.

  The men dismissed this feminine sensitivity, unwarranted in a struggle such as this one, they said. Any of the men who agreed with the women they called weak.

  “But those slaves helped us win that battle…”

  “Yes,” answered Beauvais. “But if their deportation can keep the Whites from breaking the accord, we’ve got to cede…We aren’t sending them to their death, for heaven’s sake!…”

  All the same, watching them leave with the Whites, they couldn’t help feel – like Minette and Zoé – terribly worried.

  For Minette, it was a rift in what she had thought was deep solidarity. So then Lapointe was right! The freedmen exploited the slaves to plead their own cause and obtain rights for themselves!

  When they learned several days later that, instead of being freed, the slaves had been beheaded on the pontoons of Môle Saint-Nicolas, confusion, remorse, and dissension spread through the ranks of the freedmen.

  Minette realized once again that the battle being waged before her eyes was a pitiless one. The three hundred decapitated slaves often haunted her thoughts, as they did those of the freedmen. The lovely harmony of the recent past seemed broken. An unease that everyone recognized all too well turned those who once had been brothers, firmly united in bloodshed and in battle, into enemies. The Whites had cut deeply into the very heart of the peace. Unsettled and anxious, they began to divide up. The Whites had been waiting for this moment to launch their attack, this time publicly threatening to break the accord.