"I sent for you," resumed Toussaint, in a mild voice, "to put you at the head of the interests of the good old masters;--for the good alone have been able to return. Show us what can be done with the Breda estate, with free labourers. Make the blacks work well. Be not only just, but firm. You were formerly too mild a master. Make the blacks work well, that, by the welfare of your small interests, you may add to the general prosperity of the administration of the Commander-in-chief of Saint Domingo."
Monsieur Bayou had no words ready. He stared round him upon the black officers in their splendid uniforms, upon the trains of liveried servants, handing coffee and fruits and sangaree on trays and salvers of ma.s.sive silver, and on the throng of visitors who crowded upon one another"s heels, all anxious, not merely to pay their respects, but to offer their enthusiastic homage at the feet of his former slave. His eye at length fixed upon the windows, through which he saw something of the outline of the group of ladies.
"You desire to greet Madame L"Ouverture?" said Toussaint, kindly. "You shall be conducted to her." And one of the aides stepped forward to perform the office of introducer.
Monsieur Bayou pulled from his pocket, on his way to the window, a s.h.a.green jewel-case; and, by the time he was in front of Madame he had taken from it a rich gold chain, which he hung on her neck, saying, with a voice and air strangely made up of jocoseness, awkwardness, and deference--
"I have not forgotten, you see, though I suppose you have, what you gave me, one day long ago. I tried to bring back something prettier than I carried away--something for each of you--but--I don"t know--I find everything here so different from what I had any idea of--so very strange--that I am afraid you will despise my little presents."
While speaking, he shyly held out little parcels to Genifrede and Aimee, who received them graciously, while their mother replied--
"In those old days, Monsieur Bayou, we had nothing really our own to give; and you deserved from us any aid that was in our power. My daughters and I now accept with pleasure the tokens of friendship that you bring. I hope no changes have taken place which need prevent our being friends, Monsieur Bayou."
He scarcely heard her.
"Is it possible," cried he, "that these can be your girls? Aimee I might have known--but can this lady be Genifrede?"
Genifrede looked up with a smile, which perplexed him still further.
"I do not know that I ever saw a smile from her before; and she would not so much as lift up her head at one of my jokes. One could never gain her attention with anything but a ghost story. But I see how it is," he added, stooping, and speaking low to her mother, while he glanced at Moyse--"she has learned at last the old song that she would not listen to when I wanted to tell her fortune:--
""Your heart"s your own this summer day; To-morrow "twill be changed away."
"And Aimee--is she married?"
"Aimee is a widow--at least, so we call her," said her mother, smiling.
"Isaac (you remember Placide and Isaac)--her brother Isaac is all the world to her; and he is far away."
Aimee"s eyes were full of tears in a moment; but she looked happy, as she always did when Isaac was spoken of as her own peculiar friend.
"I was going to ask about your boys," said Bayou. "The little fellow who used to ride the horses to water, almost before he could walk alone--he and his brothers, where are they?"
"Denis is with his tutor, in the palace here. Placide and Isaac are at Paris."
"At Paris! For education?"
"Partly so."
"And partly," interposed Paul, "for an object in which you, sir, have an interest, and respecting which you ought, therefore, to be informed.
There are those who represent my brother"s actions as the result of personal ambition. Such persons have perpetually accused him to the French Government as desiring to sever the connection between the two races, and therefore between this colony and France. At the moment when these charges were most strongly urged, and most nearly believed, my brother sent his two elder sons to Paris, to be educated for their future duties under the care of the Directory. I hope, sir, you see in this act a guarantee for the safety and honour of the whites in Saint Domingo."
"Certainly, certainly. All very right--very satisfactory."
"Everybody who understands, thinks all that the Commander-in-chief does quite right," said Madame, with so much of her old tone and manner as made Bayou ready to laugh. He turned to Paul, saying--
"May I ask if you are the brother who used to reside on the northern coast--if I remember right?"
"I am. I am Paul--Paul L"Ouverture." He sighed as he added, "I do not live on the northern coast now. I am going to live on the southern coast--in a palace, instead of my old hut."
"Monsieur Bayou will see--Monsieur Bayou will hear," interrupted Madame, "if he will stay out the levee. You will not leave us to-day, Monsieur Bayou?"
Monsieur Bayou bowed. He then asked if he had the pleasure of any acquaintance with the other lady, who had not once turned round since he arrived. Therese had indeed sat with her face concealed for some time past.
"Do not ask her," said Aimee, eagerly, in a low voice. "We do not speak to her of old times. She is Madame Dessalines."
"The lady of General Dessalines," said Madame. "Shall I introduce you?"
She called to Therese. Therese just turned round to notice the introduction, when her attention was called another way by two officers, who brought her some message from Toussaint. That one glance perplexed Monsieur Bayou as much as anything he had seen. That beautiful face and form were not new to him; but he had only a confused impression as to where and when he had seen them. He perceived, however, that he was not to ask. He followed her with his eyes as she rose from her low seat, and placed herself close by one of the open jalousies, so as to hear what pa.s.sed within.
"It is the English deputation," said Paul. "Hear what my brother will say."
"What will become of them?" said Madame. "I do not know what would become of me if my husband were ever as angry with me as I know he is with them."
There were indeed signs of wrath in the countenance which was commonly gentle as the twilight. The rigid uprightness of his figure, the fiery eye, the distended nostril, all showed that Toussaint was struggling with anger. Before him stood a group of Englishmen--a sailor holding a wand, on which was fixed a small white banner, two gentlemen in plain clothes, the captain of the frigate which rode in the bay, and a colonel of the English troops in Jamaica.
"It is all very well, gentlemen," Toussaint was saying--"it is all very well as regards the treaty. Twenty-four hours ago we should have had no difficulty in concluding it. But what have you to say to this treatment of women on board the schooner you captured? What have you to say to your act of taking all the gentlemen out of your prize (except one who would not quit his sister), leaving the ladies in charge of a brutal prize-master, who was drunk--was it not so?" he added, turning to one of his officers.
"It was: he was drunk, and refused the ladies access to their trunks of clothes, denied them the wine left for their use, and alarmed them extremely by his language. These ladies were wives of our most distinguished officers."
"It matters not whose wives they were," said Toussaint: "they were women; and I will treat with none who thus show themselves not to be men."
"We do not ask you to treat with my prize-master," said Captain Reynolds. "If it be true--"
"It is true," said a voice from the window, to which all listened in a moment. "My maid and I were on board that schooner; from which we landed four hours ago. It is true that we were confined to the cabin, denied the refreshments that were before our eyes, and the use of our own clothes; and it is true that the oaths and threats of a drunken man were in our ears all night. When morning came, we looked out to see if we were really in the seas of Saint Domingo. It seemed as if we had been conveyed where the whites are still paramount." And Therese indignantly walked away.
"You hear!" said Toussaint. "And you ask me to trade with Jamaica!
While permitted to obtain provisions from our coast, you have captured a French schooner and a sloop in our seas; you have insulted our women; and now you propose a treaty! If it were not for that banner, you would have to treat for mercy."
"When shall I be permitted to speak?" asked Captain Reynolds.
"Now."
"The blame is mine. I appointed a prize-master, who, it now appears, was not trustworthy. I was not aware of this; and I left in the cabin, for the use of the ladies, all their own property, two cases of wine, and such fruits as I could obtain for them. I lament to find that my confidence was misplaced; and I pledge myself that the prize-master shall be punished. After offering my apologies to the offended ladies, I will retire to my ship, leaving this business of the treaty to appear as unconnected as it really is with this mischance. Allow me to be conducted to the presence of the ladies."
"I will charge myself with your apologies," said Toussaint, who knew that any white stood a small chance of a good reception from Therese.
"I accept your acknowledgment of error, Captain Reynolds, and shall be ready to proceed with the treaty, on proof of the punishment of the prize-master. Gentlemen, I regard this treaty with satisfaction, and am willing to enclose this small tract of peace in the midst of the dreary wilderness of war. I am willing to see trade established between Jamaica and Saint Domingo. There are days when your blue mountains are seen from our sh.o.r.es. Let to-morrow be a bright day when no cloud shall hide us from one another"s friendship."
"To-morrow," the deputation from Jamaica agreed, as they bowed themselves out of the presence of the Commander-in-chief.
"More English! more English!" was whispered round, when the name of Gauthier was announced.
"No; not English," observed some, on seeing that the five who now entered, though in the English uniform, were mulattoes.
"Not English," said Toussaint, aloud. "English soldiers are honourable, whether as friends or foes. When we meet with the spying eye, and the bribing hand, we do not believe them to be English. Such are the eyes and hands of these men. They have the audacity to present themselves as guests, when their own hearts should tell them they are prisoners."
"Prisoners!" exclaimed Gauthier and his companions.
"Yes, surely--prisoners. Your conduct has already been judged by a military commission, and you are sentenced. If you have more to say than you had to plead to me, say it when I have read."