was cooling himself under a tamarind-tree, in a nook of the Breda estate.
He was not there to rest himself, while the world seemed to be falling into chaos around him. He was there for the duty of the hour—to meet by appointment the leader of the insurgents, Jean Français, whom, till now, he had always supposed to be his friend, as far as their intercourse went, though Jean had never been so dear to him as Henri. He had not sat long, listening for sounds of approach amidst the clatter of the neighbouring palm-tree tops, whose stiff leaves struck one another as they waved in the wind, when Jean appeared from behind the mill.
“You have stopped our wheel,” said Toussaint, pointing to the reeking water-mill. “It will be cracked in the sun before you can set it going again.”
“Yes, we have stopped all the mills,” replied Jean. “Every stream in the colony has a holiday to-day, and may frolic as it likes. I am afraid I made you wait supper last night?”
“You gave me poison, Jean. You have poisoned my trust in my friends. I watched for you as for a friend; and what were you doing the while? You were rebelling, ravaging, and murdering!”
“Go on,” said Jean. “Tell me how it appears to you; and then I will tell you how it appears to me.”
“It appears to me, then, that if the whites are to blame towards those who are in their power—if they have been cruel to the Ogés, and their party—if they have oppressed their negroes, as they too often have, our duty is clear—to bear and forbear, to do them good in return for their evil. To rise against them cunningly, to burn their plantations, and murder them—to do this is to throw back the gospel in the face of Him who gave it!”
“But you do not understand this rising. It is not for revenge.”
“Why do I not understand it. Because you knew that I should disapprove it, and kept me at home by a false appointment, that I might be out of the way. Do you say all this is not for revenge? I look at the hell you have made of this colony between night and morning, and I say that if this be not from revenge, there must be something viler than revenge in the hearts of devils and of men.”
“And now, hear me,” said Jean, “for I am wanted at Latour’s, and my time is short. It was no false appointment last night. I was on my way to you, when I was stopped by some news which altered our plans in a moment, and made us rise sooner, by three days, than we expected. I was coming to tell you all, and engage you to be one of our chiefs. Have you heard that the Calypso has put into port at the other end of the island?”
“No.”
“Then you do not know the news she brought. She has a royalist master, who is in no hurry to tell his news to the revolutionary whites. The king and all his family tried to escape from France in June. They were overtaken on the road, and brought back prisoners to Paris.”
Toussaint, who always uncovered his head at the name of the king, now bent it low in genuine grief.
“Is it not true,” said Jean, “that our masters are traitors? Do they not insult and defy the king? Would there not have been one shout of joy through all Cap last night, if this news had been brought to the deputies after dinner with their wine?”
“It is true. But they would still have been less guilty than those who add ravage and murder to rebellion.”
“There was no stopping the people when the messengers from the Calypso crossed the frontier, and sent the cry, ‘Vive le Roi! et l’ancien régime,’ through the negro quarters of every estate they reached. The people were up on the Noé plantation at the word. Upon my honour, the glare of the fire was the first I knew about it. Then the spirit spread among our people, like the flames among our masters’ canes. I like murder no better than you, Toussaint; but when once slaves are up, with knife and firebrand, those may keep revenge from kindling who can—I cannot.”
“At least, you need not join—you can oppose yourself to it.”
“I have not joined. I have saved three or four whites this day by giving them warning. I have hidden a family in the woods, and I will die before I will tell where they are. I did what I could to persuade Gallifet’s people to let Odeluc and his soldiers turn back to Cap: and I believe they would, but for Odeluc’s obstinacy in coming among us. If he would have kept his distance, he might have been alive now. As it is—”
“And is he dead?—the good Odeluc?”
“There he lies; and half-a-dozen of the soldiers with him. I am sorry, for he always thought well of us; but he thrust himself into the danger. One reason of my coming here now is to say that this plantation and Arabie will be attacked to-night, and Bayou had better roost in a tree till morning.”
“My master is safe.”
“Safe? Where?”
“On the sea.”
“You have saved him. Have you—I know your love of obedience is strong—have you pledged yourself to our masters, to oppose the rising—to fight on their side?”
“I give no pledges but to my conscience. And I have no party where both are wrong. The whites are revengeful, and rebel against their king; and the blacks are revengeful, and rebel against their masters.”
“Did you hear anything on the coast of the arrival of the Blonde frigate from Jamaica?”
“Yes; there again is more treason. The whites at Cap have implored the English to take possession of the colony. First traitors to the king, they would now join the enemies of their country. Fear not, Jean, that I would defend the treason of such; but I would not murder them.”
“What do you mean to do? this very night your estate will be attacked. Your family is almost the only one remaining on it. Have you thought what you will do?”
“I have; and your news only confirms my thought.”
“You will not attempt to defend the plantation?”
“What would my single arm do? It would provoke revenge which might otherwise sleep.”
“True. Let the estate be deserted, and the gates and doors left wide, and no mischief may be done. Will you join us then?”
“Join you! no! Not till your loyalty is free from stain. Not while you fight for your king with a cruelty from which your king would recoil.”
“You will wait,” said Jean, sarcastically, “till we have conquered the colony for the king. That done you will avow your loyalty.”
“Such is not my purpose, Jean,” replied Toussaint, quietly. “You have called me your friend; but you understand me no more than if I were your enemy. I will help to conquer the colony for the king; but it shall be to restore to him its lands as the King of kings gave them to him—not ravaged and soaked in blood, but redeemed with care, to be made fair and fruitful, as held in trust for him. I shall join the Spaniards, and fight for my king with my king’s allies.”
Jean was silent, evidently struck with the thought. If he had been troubled with speculations as to what he should do with his undisciplined, half-savage forces, after the whites should have been driven to entrench themselves in the towns, it is possible that this idea of crossing the Spanish line, and putting himself and his people under the command
