he take upon himself to be scandalised at us?” asked Papalier.
“I do not ask him. But if you like to consult him about your Thérèse, I do not doubt he will tell you his mind.”
“Come, cannot we go on faster? This is a horrid road, to be sure; but poor Thérèse will think it is all over with me, if she looks at the red sky towards Cap.”
There were reasons enough for alarm about Monsieur Papalier’s safety, without looking over towards Cap. When the gentlemen arrived at Arabie, his plantation, they found the iron gates down, and lying on the grass—young trees hewn down, as if for bludgeons—the cattle couched in the cane-fields, lapped in the luxury of the sweet tops and sprouts—the doors of the sugar-house and mansion removed, the windows standing wide, and no one to answer call. The slave-quarter also was evidently deserted.
Papalier clapped spurs to his horse, and rode round, faster than his companions could follow him. At length Bayou intercepted his path at a sharp turn, caught his bridle, and said—
“My dear fellow, come with me. There is nothing to be done here. Your people are all gone; and if they come back, they will only cut your throat. You must come with me; and under the circumstances, I cannot stay longer. I ought to be at home.”
“True, true. Go, and I will follow. I must find out whether they have carried off Thérèse. I must, and I will.”
Toussaint pricked his horse into the courtyard, and after a searching look around dragged out from behind the well a young negress who had been crouching there, with an infant in her arms. She shrieked and struggled till she saw Papalier, when she rushed towards him.
“Poor Thérèse!” cried he, patting her shoulder. “How we have frightened you! There is nobody here but friends. At least, so it seems. Where are all the people? And who did this mischief?”
The young creature trembled excessively; and her terror marred for the time a beauty which was celebrated all over the district—a beauty which was admitted as fully by the whites as by people of her own race. Her features were now convulsed by fear, as she told what had happened—that a body of negroes had come, three hours since, and had summoned Papalier’s people to meet at Latour’s estate, where all the force of the plain was to unite before morning—that Papalier’s people made no difficulty about going, only stopping to search the house for what arms and ammunition might be there, and to do the mischief which now appeared—that she believed the whites at the sugar-house must have escaped, as she had seen and heard nothing of bloodshed—and that this was all she knew, as she had hidden herself and her infant, first in one place, and then in another, as she fancied safest, hoping that nobody would remember her, which seemed to have been the case, as no one molested her till Toussaint saw her, and terrified her as they perceived. She had not looked in his face, but supposed that some of Latour’s people had come back for her.
“Now you will come with me,” said Bayou to Papalier, impatiently.
“I will, thank you. Toussaint, help her up behind me, and carry the child, will you? Hold fast, Thérèse, and leave off trembling as soon as you can.”
Thérèse would let no one carry the infant but herself. She kept her seat well behind her master, though still trembling when she alighted at the stables at Breda.
Placide and Denis were on the watch at the stables.
“Run, Denis!” said his brother. And Denis was off to tell his mother that Toussaint and Monsieur Bayou were safe home.
“Anything happened, Placide?” asked Bayou.
“Yes, sir. The people were sent for to Latour’s, and most of them are gone. Not all, sir. Saxe would not go till he saw father; nor Cassius, nor Antoine, nor—”
“Is there any mischief done? Anybody hurt?”
“No, sir. They went off very quietly.”
“Quietly, indeed! They take quietly enough all the kindness I have shown them these thirty years. They quietly take the opportunity of leaving me alone to-night, of all nights, when the devils from hell are abroad, scattering their fire as they go.”
“If you will enter, Monsieur Bayou,” said Toussaint, “my wife will get you supper; and the boys and I will collect the people that are left, and bring them up to the house. They have not touched your arms, sir. If you will have them ready for us—”
“Good, good! Papalier, we cannot do better. Come in. Toussaint, take home this young woman. Your girls will take care of her. Eh! what’s the matter? Well, put her where you will—only let her be taken care of—that is all.”
“I will speak to Jeannette, sir.”
“Ay, do. Jeannette will let Thérèse come to no harm, Papalier. Come in, till Toussaint brings a report of how matters stand with us poor masters.”
Chapter Three.
What to do!
The report brought by Toussaint was astounding to his hearers, even after the preparation afforded by the events of the evening. It was clear that the negroes had everything in their own hand, and that the spirit roused in them was so fierce, so revengeful, as to leave no hope that they would use their power with moderation. The Breda estate, and every one near it, was to be ravaged when those on the north side of the plain were completely destroyed. The force assembled at Latour’s already amounted to four thousand; and no assistance could be looked for from the towns at all adequate to meet such numbers, since the persons and property of the whites, hourly accumulating in the towns as the insurrection spread, required more than all the means of protection that the colony afforded. The two gentlemen agreed, as they sat at the table covered with supper, wine, and glittering arms, that to remain was to risk their lives with no good object. It was clear that they must fly.
Toussaint suggested that a quantity of sugar from the Breda estate was now at Port Paix, lying ready for shipment. There was certainly one vessel, if not more, in that port, belonging to the United States. If the gentlemen would risk the ride to the coast with him, he thought he could put them on board, and they might take with them this sugar, intended for France, but now wanted for their subsistence in their exile. Bayou saw at once that this was the best plan he could adopt. Papalier was unwilling to turn his back so soon, and so completely, on his property. Bayou was only attorney to the Breda estate, and had no one but himself to care for. Papalier was a proprietor, and he could not give up at once, and for ever, the lands which his daughters should inherit after him. He could not instantly decide upon this. He would wait some hours at least. He thought he could contrive to get into some town, or into the Spanish territory, though he might be compelled to leave the plain. He slept for this night with his arms at hand, and under the watch of Placide, who might be trusted to keep awake and listen, as his father vouched for him. Bayou was gone presently; with such little money as he happened to have in the house; and in his pockets, the gold ornaments which Toussaint’s wife insisted on his accepting, and which were not to be despised in this day of his adversity. He was sorry to take her necklace and ear-rings, which were really valuable; but she said, truly, that he had been a kind master for many years, and ought to command what they had, now that they were all in trouble together.
Before the next noon, Monsieur Bayou was on board the American
