ETBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS 
 
A Tale of San Domingo, 
 
 BY 
 
 E. W. GILLIAM, M.D. 
 
 BALTIMORE: 
 
 JOHN MURPHY & CO., 
 1890. 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 n A\/TC 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1890, BY E. W. GILLIAM, M. D. 
 
TO 
 
 THOMAS L. REESE, 
 
 THE HONEST MEBCHANT, THE DUTIFUL SON, THE JUDICIOUS FRIEND, 
 
 THIS FIRST ESSAY AT FICTION, 
 
 CARRIED ON TO COMPLETION UNDER HIS ENCOURAGEMENT, 
 IS DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAOX. 
 
 CHAPTER I. Introduction, - 1 
 
 II. Cape Francis, 20 
 
 III. La Plaine du Nord, - - 35 
 
 IV. A Discussion, .... 56 
 
 V. The "Crop Over," - - 93 
 
 VI. The Outbreak, 110 
 
 VII. The Battle, - 127 
 
 VIII. Interceding, - 148 
 
 IX. Vain Pleading, - - 171 
 
 X. A Thoughtful Ride, 196 
 
 XI. The Interview, - - ' 223 
 
 XII. The Court-martial, 232 
 
 XIII. The Cage, - 251 
 
 XIV. Jacque, 258 
 
 XV. The Flight, - 268 
 
 XVI. On the Massacre, - 284 
 
 XVII. Cape Fra^ois Again, - 294 
 
 XVIII. Conclusion, - - - '- - 304 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In preparing, for one of the periodicals, an article 
 entitled " The African Problem," the author was led to 
 examine the history of San Domingo which island, since 
 the slave insurrection of 1791, has been controlled by 
 the blacks ; and, in certain incidents connected with that 
 terrible outbreak, he found material which, he thought, 
 would lay the foundation for a readable story. The 
 story, therefore, was begun, and the result is in the fol 
 lowing pages. 
 
 The historical portions are authentic, with the excep 
 tion of a single anachronism (so to call it). It was 
 necessary to place the scene of the story at the beginning 
 of the outbreak. The author further desired to introduce 
 Jean Jacque Dessalines. Since this negro chieftain, how 
 ever, does not appear in history till several years later, 
 the author has taken the liberty of representing Paul 
 Dessalines as the twin brother of Jean and the fomenter 
 of the insurrection, and of transferring to the former the 
 
 well known character of the latter. 
 
 vii 
 
viii Preface. 
 
 The "African" discussion between Colonel Tourner 
 and M. Tardiffe fairly represents the views on that sub 
 ject as held by the French Jacobins on the one hand, and 
 the San Domingo planters on the other. 
 
 The introductory chapter first appeared as an historical 
 article in The Magazine of American History, under the 
 title of " The French Colony of San Domingo : Its Rise 
 and Fall." The story, with some cutting down, was 
 afterwards published serially in The Catholic World. 
 Those who have read the serial will see in the book form 
 substantial additions. 
 
 Among the works on the West Indies in general and 
 San Domingo in particular, the author is especially 
 indebted to Franklin's volumes and Rainsford's elabo 
 rate history. 
 
179UH ZTale of San 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 AN Domingo, in natural advantages, 
 is unsurpassed. Three mountain 
 ranges, of moderate elevation, tra 
 versing its entire length, are a guarantee for 
 attractive scenery and well-watered land. The 
 heat is tempered by the trade winds. The 
 climate is salubrious, save along the coast. 
 Splendid flowering plants adorn the plains. 
 Majestic forests of pine, mahogany of the finest 
 kind, the most valuable dye and cabinet woods, 
 clothe the mountain sides. The soil is one of 
 exceeding fertility, the low-lying districts yield- 
 
 1 
 
2 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 ing in profusion the best varieties of tropical 
 growths, while the productions of temperate 
 regions thrive on the elevated slopes. In short, 
 it is excelled by no other portion of the world. 
 In its day it was called " The Garden of the 
 West Indies," "The Queen of the Antilles;," 
 and it was the boast of Columbus, when its 
 native richness and beauty burst upon him, 
 that he had found the original seat of Paradise. 
 
 Columbus discovered this turtle-shaped island 
 December 6, 1492, and at Isabella, on the 
 northern coast, established the first Spanish 
 colony. The city of San Domingo was founded, 
 1496, by the brother of the renowned admiral. 
 For half a century these settlements received 
 marked attention from the mother country, and 
 rose to great prosperity. But, as other parts 
 of America were discovered, the inhabitants 
 were drawn off; and the indigenes having been 
 exterminated by excessive work and general 
 ill-usage, the island, for a period, declined. 
 
 In 1789 its sovereignty was divided between 
 France and Spain. The French colony occupied 
 the western portion of the island, an irregular 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 3 
 
 north-and-south line separating it from Spanish 
 territory. The area of this colony was ten 
 thousand square miles, or one-third of the 
 whole, being somewhat larger than the State of 
 Vermont. It embraced three provinces, north 
 ern, southern, and western, presided over by a 
 governor-general. Cape Frangois, in the north 
 ern province, was the metropolis, and the Paris 
 of the Western World. At the above date 
 French San Domingo had reached a remark 
 able state of prosperity and splendor. 
 
 The utmost effort had been made to stimulate 
 and improve agriculture, and on every hand 
 the teeming colony smiled with successful in 
 dustry. Spread over it were a thousand sugar 
 plantations, and three thousand -of coffee, not to 
 mention the cultivation of indigo, cacao, cotton, 
 etc., and the splendid tropical fruits yielded to 
 trivial care. The narrow but rich plain of Cul 
 de Sac itself contained one hundred and fifty 
 sugar plantations, while the rising slopes, up to 
 the Spanish lines, were clothed with coffee farms, 
 that appeared from the hill-crests as so many 
 thickets. In 1789 the colony laded, for France 
 
4 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 alone, four hundred vessels. It supplied Europe 
 with half of its sugar. Its exports were valued 
 at $28,000,000. Numerous roads, spacious and 
 most beautifully kept, intersected the country in 
 all directions. The planters lived in j ovial splen 
 dor, in the loveliest homes in the world. From 
 1750 to 1789 (the beginning of revolutionary 
 activity) the growth of the colony was marvel 
 ous, at the latter date reaching a height superior 
 to all other colonial possessions. 
 
 The inhabitants were whites, mulattoes or 
 people of color, and negro slaves. The rise of 
 each is written in dark lines. 
 
 In 1630 a small body of French and English, 
 who had established themselves on St. Chris 
 topher, one of the Windward islands, were ruth 
 lessly driven out by the Spaniards. The greater 
 part found refuge in Tortuga, a small island 
 near the northwest coast of San Domingo, where 
 they increased rapidly, and as buccaneers, be 
 came the terror of the neighboring seas. Upon 
 the commerce of the Spaniards, their special ene 
 mies, they took the amplest revenge. Predatory 
 excursions soon gave them a footing on the 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 5 
 
 western coast of San Domingo. Eventually, 
 the English buccaneers settled in Jamaica. The 
 French section continued to gain ground in San 
 Domingo, where gradually they left off piracy, 
 and became planters. The French government 
 now began to extend its care. Governors were 
 appointed. The planters were increased by 
 immigrants from the mother country. Wives 
 were sent out. Negro slaves were taken in 
 raids upon Spanish territory. An incursion to 
 Jamaica in 1694 secured two thousand, and a 
 notable impulse was given to the cultivation 
 of sugar. The colony, in 1697, had greatly 
 developed in numbers and importance, and 
 the Spaniards, unable to cope with France, 
 by the treaty of Ryswick formally ceded to 
 the latter country the western portion of the 
 island. 
 
 In 1789 the whites were known as Europeans 
 and as Creoles, between whom great jealousies 
 existed. The former, generally, were public 
 functionaries, military men, or merchants 
 lived chiefly in the towns assumed an air of 
 superiority, and exercised much petty tyranny. 
 
6 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 The Creoles or planters considered themselves 
 the heirs of the soil were excessively imperious 
 and voluptuous, impatient of restraint, jealous 
 of wealth and honor, unbounded in self-indul 
 gence, yet hospitable and charitable. They 
 commonly lived on the estates they cultivated, 
 and resented disdainfully the assumed superi 
 ority of the European. 
 
 Of the mulattoes many were cultivated men, 
 opulent and large slave-owners. Their charac 
 ters often commanded respect, yet meanness of 
 birth could not be forgotten. The whites looked 
 down upon them contemptuously, and their 
 condition, on the whole, was truly degrading. 
 They were exposed to perpetual insult and 
 humiliation were governed by a set of local 
 laws applicable only to themselves on attain 
 ing their majority they were compelled to serve 
 three years in a kind of militia, to keep run 
 away slaves in check were subject to a "cor 
 vee" for the maintenance of the roads ex 
 cluded from public employments and the liberal 
 professions and not allowed to bear the names 
 of their white fathers. Many had been highly 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 7 
 
 educated in France, and possessed large estates, 
 and the deprivation of political and personal 
 rights was borne with a gathering and ominous 
 sense of resentment. 
 
 The circumstances connected with the intro 
 duction of the negro slaves, to replace the 
 exterminated indigenes, opens the blackest page 
 in Spanish history. 
 
 These indigenes as they appeared to Colum 
 bus, before they had been broken and debased 
 by the Spaniard's cruelty were an interesting 
 race. Reliable accounts represent them as 
 being of lighter color than the inhabitants of 
 the neighboring islands, and generally superior 
 singular in feature, but not disagreeable in 
 aspect timid and gentle, in person not tall, but 
 well-shaped and active, weak in body, incapable 
 of much labor, short lived, and extremely frugal. 
 They were guileless in their manners, possessed 
 fair apprehensions, were remarkably obedient 
 to their rulers, humble, patient, submissive, 
 with a love for quietude, and dislike for dis 
 putes. They exercised a simple agriculture 
 and had made some progress in the arts of 
 
8 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 ornament and of utility, displaying ingenuity 
 in working beaten gold, and in the manufacture 
 of a plain cotton cloth and earthern pitchers. 
 In a word, they occupied a middle state between 
 savage life and polished society an unoffend 
 ing, peaceable and amiable race. Their char 
 acter was in keeping with the native fauna of 
 the island, which contained no beast of prey, 
 and no wild animal larger than a hare. 
 
 The bold bearing of the Spaniards, their 
 great size and strength, and splendid aspect in 
 shining armor and on caparisoned horses, pro 
 duced in the minds of the simple islanders a 
 reverential awe. They regarded them as hav 
 ing descended from the heavens, and gave them 
 the honor due to superior beings. But the 
 Spaniards were ravening wolves ; and under a 
 course of most merciless treatment the history 
 of the indigenes is pitiful, till it ends with their 
 extinction fifty years on. 
 
 Pioneer colonists are commonly reckless ad 
 venturers, without money or character. On 
 his second voyage, to colonize Hispaniola, Co 
 lumbus, good and great as he was, committed 
 
1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 9 
 
 the profound mistake of taking with him, for 
 want of better material to complete his number, 
 a lot of convicted criminals, who, let loose 
 among the natives, made themselves free with 
 their wives and property, and turned the colony 
 into a hell. 
 
 The outrages became unbearable, even to 
 this submissive people, and an unsuccessful 
 attempt at resistance was followed by the impo 
 sition of a yearly tribute. In lieu of tribute, 
 a slavery presently succeeded unequaled for 
 cruelty and destructiveness. Unprotected by 
 the stronger physiques which the ordinary 
 environments of an underling race are naturally 
 fitted to secure, they fell an easy prey to the 
 pitiless Spaniards, who exhausted against the 
 defenseless creatures every advantage their 
 manifold superiorities conferred. 
 
 Under Governor- General Bobadilla, they 
 were divided into classes, and distributed, like 
 cattle, among the Spaniards, by fifties and hun 
 dreds. The attempt of his successor, van do, 
 to modify these distributions into Mrings, where 
 by, for a certain sum and for a specified time, 
 
10 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 the Indians were compelled to work for the 
 Spaniards, only deepened their oppression. 
 Payment was made a plea for multiplied exac 
 tions. The character of the pitiless slavery 
 advanced under Albuquerque and others, and 
 the death of Isabella removed all check upon 
 its rigors. The serious efforts of this amiable 
 and illustrious princess in behalf of the politi 
 cal as well as the religious interest of the 
 indigenes had been frustrated by the cruelty of 
 the Spaniards. Their merciless treatment had 
 been studiously concealed from her. It re 
 mained unknown till she lay upon her dying- 
 bed, and deeply distressed the last hours of the 
 pious Queen. 
 
 Spanish cruelty had its root in avarice. 
 
 Quid non mortalia pectora cogis 
 Auri sacra fames f 
 
 This grew so intense that the Indians came 
 to believe that gold was the Spaniards' real 
 God. Neglecting agriculture, they drove the 
 natives to the mines, and there imposed tasks 
 upon this feeble-bodied people that would have 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 11 
 
 been excessive for a far hardier race. They 
 were worked till they spat blood, and the milk 
 dried up in the breasts of nursing women. 
 
 Resistance offered at the outset proved utterly 
 futile. On the Vega Real an army of a hundred 
 thousand was dreadfully routed by a Spanish 
 force but two hundred strong. 
 
 Resorting now to starvation against their 
 enemies whom they had observed, in contrast 
 with their own frugal ways, as being immense 
 eaters they pulled up their edible roots, sus 
 pended agriculture, and fled to the mountains. 
 The device recoiled against themselves. A 
 third of the population perished ; and the lime 
 stone caverns near the mountain summits still 
 abound with the bones of the wretched fugitives 
 who preferred death by starving to the intol 
 erable tyranny of the Spaniards. 
 
 Henceforth they hopelessly submitted, and 
 sank into a sluggish, dazed condition, with a 
 perfect hatred towards their oppressors and 
 everything pertaining to them. Those about 
 to die and exhorted to baptism, refused the rite 
 with expressions of abhorrence for the Chris- 
 
12 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 tian's heaven, on being told that Spanish souls 
 had gone thither. 
 
 The Indians worked only under the spur of 
 blows and ill-usage. No indignity, no wrong, 
 no treachery was spared them. They almost 
 lost the semblance of human beings; and to 
 such intellectual blights some of the newly 
 arrived priests hesitated to administer the sac 
 raments. The Spaniards spurned those whom 
 their oppression had driven towards idiotcy, 
 and treated them as an inferior species of 
 animals. Instances are mentioned (in a neigh 
 boring colony) of Indian infants having been 
 fed to hounds, and of a princess' son bartered 
 for a cheese. 
 
 Multitudes perished in the four chief mines 
 multitudes disappeared from suicide, famine, 
 fatigue, and superinduced disease. Laborers 
 became scarce, and, to supply the want, the 
 Spaniards visited one of the Bahamas, and, 
 representing to the islanders that the spirits of 
 their departed friends and ancestors were living 
 happily in Hispaniola, entrapped, within a few 
 years, forty thousand, and sent them to the 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 13 
 
 mines. To close the dreadful recital: the 
 Spaniards worked these mines so actively, that, 
 at the end of fifty years, there remained not one 
 hundred natives out of the one-and-a-half mil 
 lion who happily inhabited the island upon its 
 discovery by Columbus. It is a horrible story 
 against Spain ; and from these infernal wrongs, 
 has arisen the wrath of Grod to wither, to this 
 clay, the Spanish settled portions of the New 
 World. 
 
 The inhuman treatment of the indigenes 
 raised up advocates. The most notable was 
 Las Casas. He thought it less cruel to work 
 negroes. They had far greater powers of 
 endurance, one negro being considered the 
 equal of five Indians. To mitigate, therefore, 
 the sufferings of the latter, as well as to sustain 
 the colony now languishing for labor, the 
 Emperor Charles V. adopted Las Casas' sug 
 gestion, and granted to one of his Flemish 
 favorites a patent for the yearly importation of 
 four thousand. This privilege, sold to Genoese 
 merchants, became the foundation of a regular 
 trade for supplying the colony a trade that 
 
14 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 continued to increase throughout the whole 
 archipelago, where the negroes multiplied with 
 prodigious rapidity. It has been noticed as a 
 remarkable historical fact, that the humane 
 efforts of this noble-hearted priest should be so 
 closely associated with the establishment in 
 America of the African slave trade. 
 
 In 1789 the colony contained '450,000 slaves 
 the mulattoes and free blacks being 24,000 
 the whites, 40,000. 
 
 At this date it had reached a height of 
 prosperity without parallel in the history of 
 colonial possessions. Many of the proprietors, 
 enormously rich (hence the phrase, as rich as a 
 Creole) , lived half the year in Paris in the most 
 sumptuous style, attended, as a special act of 
 legislation allowed, by retinues of slaves 
 passing the winters in their beautiful West 
 India homes. Others resided permanently in 
 France, and spent all their revenues abroad ; 
 yet, so vast were the capabilities of the island, 
 that, under a careful system of tillage which 
 "wrested from a most fertile soil the most 
 immense wealth," riches multiplied as if by 
 
1791 ^f Tale of San Domingo. 15 
 
 magic. The private luxury and public gran 
 deur of the colony astonished the traveler, and 
 its accumulation of wealth was a constant 
 source of surprise to the mother country. 
 
 Unhappily, dissoluteness had advanced with 
 equal strides, and the outward splendor rested 
 on frail virtuous supports. Morally, the 
 mulattoes appear to have been the superior 
 class. The planters and negroes were alike 
 depraved. The former were sybarites. Opu 
 lent and dissipated, they had reached a state 
 of sentiment and manners the most vitiated, 
 and the slaves had caught the infection. If the 
 master was proud and voluptuous, the slave 
 was vicious and often riotous, and the punish 
 ment frequently cruel and unnatural. 
 
 Society, moreover, was throughout in a con 
 dition of antagonisms, the creole slave regard 
 ing with scorn the newly imported African ; 
 the free mulatto disdaining the creole slave; 
 while the whites looked down with contempt 
 upon all, and were themselves divided by the 
 wretched jealousies between planters and func 
 tionaries. It was an atmosphere of suspicion 
 
16 1791^1 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 and ill-will, in which an evil construction was 
 given to everything. No determinate princi 
 ples guided the superior classes. Each passing 
 event became a new occasion for discontent. 
 In a society so circumstanced the revolutionary 
 spirit agitating the mother country found ready 
 entrance, and the dissolution of social order was 
 apparently threatened. 
 
 In the discussions in France (1787-88) that 
 preceded the meeting of the States-General, 
 each race became profoundly interested. The 
 doctrine of "liberty, equality, and fraternity " 
 was warmly indorsed by the whites yet for 
 themselves alone. The mulattoes saw the 
 opportunity for realizing political and social 
 rights. The slave, too, became an interested 
 listener, and began to feel the stirring of new 
 aspirations. The latter, at the outset, remained 
 quiet, though, as Rainsford observes, the efforts 
 in their behalf by Lafayette, Mirabeau, and 
 the Abbe Gregoire made their condition a 
 prominent topic of conversation and regret in 
 half the towns of Europe. 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 17 
 
 The mulattoes, however, promptly insisted 
 upon political equality ; and at once arose be 
 tween them and the whites a bitter struggle, 
 which the vacillating course of home legisla 
 tion now favoring one party, now the other 
 prolonged and greatly intensified. It was a 
 most deplorable state of affairs, and tore the 
 colony dreadfully. Both sides were in arms, 
 and not infrequently in bloody encounters. 
 There were collisions, and then settlings towards 
 repose; then fresh aggravations and impend 
 ing conflict, followed by recedings from the 
 verge of war. 
 
 Finally, May 15, 1791, the national assembly 
 passed a decree warmly supported by Lafay 
 ette, Condorcet, Gregoire, and other leaders 
 granting to the "people of color" full political 
 rights. The tidings reached San Domingo in 
 June, and fell like a thunderbolt from a clear 
 sky. It at once consolidated all parties among 
 the whites against the mother country. The 
 colonists had been dividing against themselves, 
 as the sentiment of the national assembly de 
 veloped towards the enfranchisement of the 
 2 
 
18 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 colored races, some advocating one course 
 others another. But race feeling is deeper than 
 political feeling ; and the whites, in the pres 
 ence of the enforced equality of the " bastard 
 and scorned" mulatto, by a natural esprit de 
 corps, became consolidated. The worst, too, 
 was feared from the decree's effect upon the 
 slaves, who had already grown noticeably delib 
 erative and restless. In a frenzy of rage they 
 determined to reject the civic oath. They forced 
 the governor to suspend the operation of the 
 decree, till they could appeal to France. In the 
 northern provincial assembly a motion was 
 made to raise the British flag. 
 
 The mulattoes, alarmed, yet exasperated to 
 the last degree, gathered in armed bodies. The 
 sentiment prevailed that one or the other party 
 must be exterminated. War seemed inevitable 
 when the blacks (August 15), rising in vast 
 numbers, suddenly appeared upon the scene, 
 and within four days laid one-third of the 
 northern province in utter ruin. 
 
 The whites, in consternation, now promptly 
 granted civil rights to the mulattoes, and these 
 
1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 19 
 
 (generally slaveholders), turning against the 
 blacks with all the zeal that the powerful inter 
 ests of property inspire, peace appeared not 
 improbable when the fatal legislation of the 
 national assembly reached its climax. For, 
 moved by the remonstrances of the planters' 
 agents, who raised the cry that the colony was 
 about to be lost, and ignorant of the black rising 
 and the accord between whites and mulattoes, 
 the assembly (September 24) repealed the de 
 cree of May 15. The mulattoes could not be 
 persuaded that the planters had not instigated 
 the repeal lost all confidence in the whites 
 threw themselves into the negro camp and a 
 furious and fatal war ensued. 
 
 Thus perished amid unparalleled scenes of 
 uproar, butchery, and beastly outrage this 
 splendid colony, founded in the cruelties of the 
 Spaniard and the buccaneer. It was a day of 
 blood for blood of vengeance for those wretched 
 indigenes whose merciless slavery these blacks 
 had been imported to bear. It is amid these 
 scenes that the following narrative takes its 
 rise. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 CAPE FRANCOIS. 
 
 APE Francois, before its destruction 
 by the revolted negroes, was a splen 
 did city, the real capital of French 
 St. Domingo. It was strikingly situated upon 
 a small plain hollowed out from between two 
 noble mountains (called Homes by the natives) 
 that rose from the city's limits towards the west 
 and the north, the latter ending abruptly upon 
 the bay, and giving a strong site to Fort 
 Picolet, whose guns commanded the entrance 
 to the harbor. A narrow passage to the north 
 west, and a broader one southward, between 
 the Western Morne and the bay, led to the 
 celebrated " Plaine du Nord," whose fertile ex 
 panse was studded with thriving towns, smiling 
 villages, and its far-famed coffee and sugar 
 20 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 21 
 
 plantations. Thirty well-built streets crossed 
 each other at right angles ; public squares were 
 numerous and attractive, and in its air of 
 graceful wealth and elegance the Cape, as it 
 was commonly called, rivalled the foremost 
 cities of Europe. 
 
 It was on an August evening, 1791, in a 
 handsomely furnished room at the Hotel de 
 Ville a fine stone structure on la rue St. Louis, 
 and facing the Place de Clugni that Charles 
 Pascal and his son Henry were conversing in 
 earnest tones. The elder Pascal was dressed 
 with scrupulous neatness, in the style prevail 
 ing anterior to the Revolution: a square-cut 
 and collarless coat, long-flapped waistcoat, stock 
 ings gartered at the knee and beneath the 
 breeches, which buttoned over them; low- 
 quartered, square-toed shoes, with red heels 
 and buckle. The hair was gathered in a queue, 
 and a broad black ribbon, called a solitaire, 
 encompassing the throat and fastened behind, 
 completed the attire. He was a tall, spare, 
 rather feeble-looking man, who had scarcely 
 turned fifty, but one would have taken him to 
 
22 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 be far older. A settled shade of care or grief 
 lessened the effect of regular and clearly-cut 
 features. His manner was grave and courteous, 
 yet firm withal. 
 
 A year before a victim to the uproar and 
 terrors of the times Charles Pascal had lost 
 a beloved wife, nee Beatty, from one of the 
 Carolinas, whom he had met in early life, during 
 a business visit to Baltimore. Recent pecuniary 
 losses had all but wrecked an abundant fortune. 
 The first inroad was an outlay as endorser for 
 his brother, who by injudicious investments and 
 mismanagement lost his wealth, and was now 
 living in Jamaica, whither he had gone with 
 the hope of rebuilding his fortune. About the 
 same time an opportuuity offered to buy at 
 advantage a valuable plantation, which, as ad 
 joining his own, he had long 'desired, and his 
 bank-balance was well-nigh exhausted in the 
 purchase. He soon realized his mistake ; for 
 the revolutionary spirit in France, extending to 
 St. Domingo and embroiling the whites and 
 mulattoes, had paralyzed trade and spread ruin 
 through the colony. The planters were espe- 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 23 
 
 cially affected. That the slaves should be 
 indifferent to passing events was impossible; 
 They had grown increasingly restless, insubor 
 dinate, and idle, and agriculture, that before had 
 proven enormously remunerative, was now con 
 ducted at a loss. Under these circumstances 
 plantation life had become exceedingly irksome 
 to M. Pascal, when the confirmation of certain 
 fears hastened a change he had been contem 
 plating. Dismissing his salaried manager, and 
 placing plantation affairs in the hands of his 
 body-servant, Jacque Beatty, he closed his 
 mansion, and had that morning domiciled him 
 self at the Hotel de Ville. 
 
 His companion was a well-proportioned young 
 man of three- and-twenty, with light hair and 
 clear gray eyes, inherited from his mother. 
 Excepting the chin a feature so often deficient, 
 but here perfect and an excellent set of teeth, 
 his lineaments, taken singly, were not specially 
 noticeable. The combination, however, was un 
 usually attractive, and gave the impression of 
 an amiable, intelligent, and resolute character. 
 He had received in the best schools of Cape 
 
24 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 Francois a finished commercial education, de 
 clining, in view of his parents' health and being 
 an only child, an opportunity his father offered 
 to study at the French capital. For some years 
 he had been agent for Thomas Harrison, a 
 wealthy Englishman, who conducted in Balti 
 more a large trade in West India fruit. Since 
 the outbreak of the revolutionary spirit his 
 business had greatly declined, and Mr. Har 
 rison, in appreciation of his efficient services, 
 had been corresponding with him in reference 
 to the transfer of the agency to Jamaica, and 
 connecting with it a branch house for the sale 
 of American goods. He had but recently re 
 turned from an extended visit of inspection to 
 Kingston, and it was a current on-dit that he 
 was on the eve of removing thither. 
 
 " You are doubtless surprised, Henry," said 
 the elder Pascal as the former entered the apart 
 ment in response to a note from his father, " at 
 my being domiciled here, and without a line to 
 you of my intention." 
 
 " In truth I am," he replied, " though these 
 are days of surprises." 
 
1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 25 
 
 "Life at Sans Souci, Henry, had become a 
 heavy drag." 
 
 "I know that, sir, and have often advised 
 your spending a portion of your time at the 
 Cape." 
 
 " I should probably have remained, however, 
 had I not had grounds for apprehending an 
 outbreak of the slaves." 
 
 " An outbreak of the slaves ! " cried Henry 
 Pascal with a mingled sense of astonishment 
 and dread, for he knew his father possessed a 
 cool, clear judgment, and was little controlled 
 by idle alarms. " I trust, indeed, you are mis 
 taken, sir." 
 
 " I have such fears, Henry." 
 
 " No such fear is felt here," quickly rejoined 
 the son. 
 
 " Ah ! Henry, the spirit of liberty is abroad, 
 often, alas ! wild and irrational ; but its cry, for 
 good or for evil, rings through the air. The 
 Commons are seizing it in France ; the mulat- 
 toes are struggling for it here; may not the 
 slave, too, strike to be free ? " 
 
26 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 "Why, sir, I cannot but think and I ex 
 press the common opinion that the negroes 
 have been remarkably quiet under the extra 
 ordinary provocations to excitement they have 
 received for the past two years." 
 
 "I have noticed a tendency to deliberate," 
 replied the elder Pascal. 
 
 "And what inference do you draw ? " 
 
 " That deliberation among slaves is the pre 
 lude to revolution. They are a vicious set, 
 corrupted by their profligate, sybarite masters, 
 and ready for anything." 
 
 " Do you think," asked Henry Pascal reflec 
 tively, " if a revolt were precipitated, it could 
 possibly be successful ? " 
 
 "Why not, Henry?" 
 
 " Because a black rising would at once con 
 solidate the whites and mulattoes ; and against 
 the alliance what could the slaves effect, without 
 wealth, education, or military means ? " 
 
 " Upon the question of success I might say, 
 Henry, that there is a point where mere num 
 bers must outweigh the united force of wealth, 
 intelligence, and prestige ; that the blacks pos- 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 27 
 
 sess splendid physiques, are not deficient in 
 personal courage, and stand nearly ten to one 
 against whites and mulattoes combined." 
 
 The elder Pascal had been speaking in a 
 quiet manner, but at the same time in a manner 
 so assured that his son could not avoid sus 
 pecting that behind his calm utterances there 
 was something which had not yet appeared. 
 Pausing a moment, he said : 
 
 " My dear father, this is a matter of startling 
 import. Let me hear the precise grounds for 
 the fear you have expressed." 
 
 "They are briefly stated," he answered, 
 counting off the arguments upon his fingers. 
 
 " First : these days of uproar and change 
 tempt to such a movement. Second : we have 
 among us not a few recently imported Africans, 
 who sigh for their savage freedom, and remem 
 ber against us the wrongs done them, the 
 kindred from whom they have been torn, and 
 the horrors of the middle passage. Third and 
 especially : the negroes are becoming convinced 
 that the mulattoes will triumph in their strug 
 gle for political rights, and fear the result upon 
 
28 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 themselves. Though apparently quiet, they 
 have been on the alert and eager in their inqui 
 ries, and are as conscious of the general course 
 of affairs as you or I. They have leaders who 
 keep them informed. They see that the senti 
 ment of the National Assembly is becoming 
 more and more Jacobin, and developing over 
 whelmingly on the side of the mulattoes ; and 
 that, with the whole power of France exerted 
 to enforce the 15th of May decree, the mulattoes 
 must win. The mulattoes are known to be 
 hard masters, and with the enlargement of 
 their civil rights the negroes fear their own lot 
 will become more straitened." 
 
 " I must say, sir, that these grounds appear 
 to me largely speculative." 
 
 " Have you seen, Henry, the Abbe Gregoire's 
 letter, addressed to the people of color upon 
 the passage of last May's decree?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " It distinctly declares," continued the elder 
 Pascal, "that the logical sequence of that 
 decree must be the ultimate liberty of the 
 blacks." 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 29 
 
 "But why not believe with the abbe," re 
 joined Henry Pascal, " that emancipation will 
 come by-and-by, and peacefully ? " 
 
 " Never, Henry, never ! African slavery is 
 essential to the best interests of the colony, and 
 has so grown into the body politic that it could 
 not be torn away without rending a thousand 
 fibres and letting out blood. The abbe's most 
 unfortunate letter has already sped through the 
 blacks as a fire among dry leaves. Besides/' 
 he added, bending towards his son and speaking 
 in a lowered and intense voice, "/ have had a 
 warning from Jacque" 
 
 "What, from Jacque!" exclaimed Henry 
 Pascal, starting from his seat and suddenly 
 showing the most profound interest. " Has 
 Jacque Beatty had aught to say about this?" 
 
 " He has," replied his father. 
 
 "What are the disclosures ?" was the hurried 
 inquiry. 
 
 "Two days ago he sought me in private, 
 and I will confide his information upon the 
 pledge of secrecy he required, as involving 
 his life." 
 
30 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 " The pledge is given," said Henry Pascal ; 
 when his father proceeded : 
 
 " Jacque's words were few but startling 
 that a movement looking to revolt was wide 
 spread and well-organized ; and that the out 
 break would probably occur within a few days. 
 Inquiries could elicit no more." 
 
 "God knows, it is enough! ejaculated the 
 younger Pascal. 
 
 " The interview ended," continued his father, 
 " with my obtaining permission to speak of his 
 disclosures to you. Your duties often take you 
 to the plantations, and, as you were uncon 
 vinced by other considerations, it becomes 
 necessary to give you the benefit of this faithful 
 negro's warning." 
 
 Henry Pascal for some moments remained 
 buried in thought. By all who knew him 
 Jacque Beatty was held in the highest esteem. 
 His fidelity to the Pascal family had been 
 thoroughly tested, and Henry Pascal at once 
 realized the gravity of the disclosure. 
 
 "Would it violate the pledge," he asked, 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 31 
 
 " to advise the authorities, on general grounds, 
 to take steps against the danger?" 
 
 " Not a finger, Henry, can be raised in that 
 direction. The pledge to Jacque, that what he 
 said should lead to no action beyond the per 
 sonal safety of my family, is sacred. He has 
 risked his own life for mine, and my word of 
 honor shall be inviolate." 
 
 "At least I can speak to Col. Tourner, and 
 urge his coming to the Cape. The relations I 
 bear to his daughter place his family within 
 the conditions of the pledge. I must see him 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Further conversation followed in this direc 
 tion, when the elder Pascal said: "There is 
 another topic, Henry, pressing for considera 
 tion. You know the condition of my personal 
 affairs. What real estate I own in this city is 
 now all but valueless, and planting is carried 
 on at a loss. Even if matters become no worse, 
 the course of my affairs is directly towards 
 bankruptcy. An outbreak of the negroes is 
 upon us, and, whether ultimately successful or 
 not, it would further depress agriculture, and I 
 
32 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 am broken up root and branch. A frail state 
 of health at my age excludes the hope of 
 rebuilding my fortunes, even should the colony 
 prosper again ; and I must be looking towards 
 you, Henry, for aid. Mr. Harrison's con 
 siderate offer for so, I think, I may call it 
 is most opportune. Your business here has 
 greatly declined, with little prospect of 
 recovery. You speak English as fluently as 
 French, and would have in Jamaica superior 
 opportunities. I advise acceptance. I would 
 go with you, and would leave this accursed 
 island without a regret, did not your mother's 
 dust rest within its soil." 
 
 Henry Pascal was a noble son, full of warm 
 sensibilities, and his father's tone struck deeply 
 into them. His filial look and manner gave 
 the true reply. His words were : 
 
 "My dear father, Mr. Harrison's proposal, 
 as you are aware, I have been very carefully 
 revolving, and shall now most probably feel 
 obliged to accept it, though tender ties bind 
 me to St. Domingo. Wherever I am my 
 strength is yours, yours always." And of the 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. v 33 
 
 spirit oi these words Henry Pascal's entire life 
 had been the faithful expression. 
 
 Filial affection ! how lovely a grace ! Alas ! 
 that it is fading out in this material age. Par 
 ents are parents still, and encircle their chil 
 dren with pure, rich currents of love. But 
 children know not parents, or, like dumb cattle, 
 are mindful only of the hand that provides. 
 Alas ! for our Christian name, that filial piety 
 decays, and to-day finds its best expression in 
 a heathen land. 
 
 It was a late hour when Henry Pascal bade 
 his father good- night, and left for his lodgings 
 on la rue St. Simon. The elder Pascal soon 
 retired, but it was long before he slept. A 
 thousand thoughts thronged his mind. He 
 dwelt upon his married life, upon its happy 
 course, upon his wife's love; and with the 
 memory of her loss was mingled a sense of 
 satisfaction that she was removed from the 
 burden of such days. His mind ran back to 
 his early years, to the home of his youth ; and 
 the scenes and incidents illustrating his par 
 ents' tender care and his own conduct towards 
 2 
 
34 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 them he recalled with all the freshness of 
 yesterday. With a restful feeling his thoughts 
 then turned upon his noble, generous son. The 
 angry cloud that had gathered so suddenly, 
 and was about to burst upon the distracted 
 colony, would .complete, he knew, his financial 
 ruin. But through the gloom filial affection 
 was a star of hope that shone with a steady 
 and cheering ray. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 LA PLAINE DU 
 
 LLIAM Tourner came of a good 
 English family. A wild, reckless 
 young man, and overwhelmed by 
 debt, he fled his country and found refuge on 
 the island of Tortuga, among the buccaneers 
 a French and English piratical aggregate. A 
 difficulty resulted in the separation of the 
 nationalities. The English buccaneers became 
 settled in Jamaica. William Tourner, for some 
 cause, remained with the French section, which 
 finally secured a firm footing on the western 
 coast of St. Domingo. There, like many others 
 of the buccaneers, he amended his ways, became 
 a cultivator, and took to wife a Spanish woman, 
 from which union descended the Col. Tourner 
 of our narrative. 
 
 35 
 
36 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 Col. Tourner his former rank in a militia 
 regiment gave him the title was a well- 
 preserved, middle-aged man of character, taste, 
 and cultivation. True to his English and Span 
 ish origin, he manifested, save to his intimates, a 
 somewhat reserved disposition, the more notice 
 able among the lively French Creoles. He was 
 blunt of speech and impatient in temper, a fre 
 quent cause (to speak in a Johnsonian way) of 
 his being disagreeable to others and a source of 
 unhappiness to himself. Those who knew him 
 well valued his worth. Good men are better 
 than they seem to be, and bad men are worse. 
 
 His fortune stood in his estates, which he cul 
 tivated with pride and successful care. Though 
 far from being a voluptuary, as the planters 
 generally were, he supported, under a stimulus 
 from Madame Tourner, a superb and expensive 
 establishment, and accumulated little out of his 
 revenues. His Creole wife, nee Marie Andre, 
 was an attractive and accomplished woman, free, 
 affable, amiable, but over-indulged and wordly- 
 minded, and a votary to the ostentation of 
 wealth. A leader of fashion and a devotee to 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 37 
 
 display, she maintained an elegant style of 
 living, and paid homage to riches as the means 
 of gratifying her luxurious tastes. 
 
 Their only child was a daughter, Emilie, a 
 beautiful character, harmoniously blending the 
 best qualities of her parents. Henry Pascal had 
 won the heart of Emilie Tourner. The families 
 lived near each other in the same parish, and 
 were intimate. The children grew up, as it 
 were, together, and had formed for each other 
 an affection of the strength of which they were 
 unconscious until separated by Elmilie Tourner's 
 going abroad. 
 
 The disturbed condition of France induced 
 Col. Tourner to send his daughter to England to 
 complete her education. Eighteen months be 
 fore she had returned in the fulness and fresh 
 ness of her charms. Henry Pascal eagerly 
 pressed his suit, and bore away the prize from 
 a number of competitors. Marriage, however, 
 had been deferred, first, by the death of Madame 
 Pascal, and again by the disastrous conflicts 
 between the whites and mulattoes, and the dis 
 tracted state of colonial affairs. Among those 
 
38 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 who had sought her hand was a young ex- 
 proprietor, Louis Tardiffe, an accomplished man, 
 but thoroughly unprincipled. Shrewdly per 
 ceiving at the commencement of revolutionary 
 activity the probable course of affairs and depre 
 ciation of property, he had sold his valuable 
 San Domingo possessions and invested the pro 
 ceeds in foreign funds. Fifty thousand pounds 
 in the Bank of England was for those days a 
 substantial worldly guarantee. Though a re 
 jected lover, M. Tardiffe continued to pay 
 occasional visits to the Tourner family, where 
 he was warmly received by Madame Tourner, 
 with whom he had early ingratiated himself, and 
 who admired him the more as the wisdom of his 
 investments became more and more apparent ; 
 and, generally, his solid wealth, when fortunes 
 were everywhere crumbling, made him a person 
 of marked consideration. As colonial troubles 
 multiplied he had thoughts of quitting the 
 island. A mingled sentiment of love for fimilie 
 Tourner and revenge against his successful rival 
 restrained him ; and in the waning fortunes of 
 their families and his own secure wealth he 
 
1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 39 
 
 began, as he thought, to perceive a lever which, 
 worked with the address he felt conscious of 
 possessing, might yet capture the one and crush 
 the hopes of the other. He was now living in 
 fine style at the Cape, on the interest of his 
 investments, and in politics professed to be an 
 extreme Republican. 
 
 Belle Vue, the home of the Tourners, was five 
 leagues southward from Cape Frangois, on the 
 road between Petite Ance and Dondon, and a 
 league from the former village. The Pascal 
 plantation, known as Sans Souci, lay a league 
 and a half east from Belle Vue, on the road 
 connecting Petite Ance and Grand Riviere. 
 
 A morning ride in the West Indies is de 
 lightful. But to enjoy it one must be up 
 betimes, for the sun rises at six, and his early 
 ray is powerful. The morning after the con 
 versation given in the last chapter Henry Pascal 
 rose with the earliest dawn. He had slept but 
 little. Thoughts of the impending revolt, of its 
 possible success, of its disastrous effects in any 
 event, of the distractions it would add to the 
 already distracted colony, of his father's embar- 
 
40 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 rassments, of his leaving San Domingo, of 
 Emilie Tourner, filled his mind and banished 
 sleep for hours. 
 
 He dressed hastily and looked out. A rain 
 for the wet season was at hand had fallen 
 during the night. Save a stretch in the east, 
 which was slightly reddening, the sky was still 
 overcast ; but the clouds hung high and moved 
 lazily. In the upper air a few bats were skim 
 ming for the morning's meal. Otherwise, all 
 nature lay in repose, and looked freshened by 
 the evening's rain. Having despatched a simple 
 breakfast, he mounted the livery bespoke the 
 previous evening, and, stirring the mettle of his 
 horse, in a few moments lost sight of the Cape 
 behind the Western Morne. 
 
 His road lay through the finest portion of 
 La plaine du Nord, and the opening day dis 
 closed, in its kind, a scene of unrivalled beauty. 
 The French colonists adopted every means to 
 stimulate and improve agriculture, and the best 
 results were exhibited on this celebrated plain. 
 On every side, the deep, dark, rich soil was 
 tilled with the utmost care, and with prodigious 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 41 
 
 returns. Separated commonly by citron hedges 
 studded with wild flowers that never lost their 
 bloom, field succeeded to field, the sameness 
 being relieved here and there by the plantation 
 houses and the luxurious mansions ol the pro 
 prietors and managers, approached through 
 magnificent avenues, and all embowered in flora 
 of varied and splendid description. It is usual 
 throughout the West Indies sometimes on the 
 same plantation for cultivation to be carried 
 on the whole year round. A ride, therefore, of 
 a few miles often suffices as on the morning 
 before us to show the cane at every stage 
 of advancement, from the planting to the cut 
 ting. From the well-kept road shaded at 
 almost every point by rows of lime-trees, or 
 the graceful papaw or spreading mango, and 
 with wild flowers innumerable decking its 
 borders wide stretches of cane-cuttings, of the 
 dense, dark-green middle growth, or of the cane 
 in flower and waving its delicate lilac crest, 
 came successively in view. And when the 
 glorious tropical sun arose and spread his 
 radiance over the scene the effect was magical. 
 
42 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 The prospect was, indeed, eminently beautiful, 
 and though Henry Pascal had ofttimes wit 
 nessed it, its influence was still fresh and irre 
 sistible, and dispelled for the moment the gloom 
 into which his thoughts had plunged him. 
 
 On entering the Belle Vue plantation he 
 became conscious of more than ordinary activity 
 and bustle. Here, as elsewhere, great columns 
 of black smoke were rolling up from the sugar- 
 works. His attention, however, was particu 
 larly drawn to the gangs of slaves, who, under 
 the field overseers, were cutting down the 
 straw-yellow cane, and, though at all times a 
 merry race, their unusual hilarity, while with 
 boisterous song and sally they vigorously plied 
 their work, indicated, as did the aspect of the 
 fields, the " Crop Over," or what elsewhere is 
 known as the " Harvest Home," when, the last 
 cane having been cut and sent to the sugar- 
 house, each slave receives a quart of rum, a 
 holiday, and a feast and dance prepared for 
 them on the green. 
 
 A gang of negro women near the road-side, 
 in turbaned head, and osnaburg petticoat well 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 43 
 
 tucked in at the waist, were especially notice 
 able for their queer song, the dolorous senti 
 ments of which were in sharp contrast with 
 their superb physiques and the abundant 
 evidences of rich and joyous life around them. 
 One served as leader, the rest joined in the 
 refrain; and the words Englished would run 
 as follows : 
 
 " Sangaree da kill de capt'in. 
 
 Oh! Lor', hemus'die; 
 New rum kill de sailor, 
 
 Oh ! Lor*, he mils' die ; 
 Hard work kill de nigger, 
 
 Oh! Lor*, hemus' die.'' 
 
 From the road entrance, framed in massive 
 stone and iron, the approach to the Belle Vue 
 mansion was through an avenue of superb 
 mountain-cabbage trees, towering often a hun 
 dred feet. Behind these on either side, and 
 some distance off, stood the negro cabins the 
 better class rudely made of stone, roofed with 
 a thatch-work of palm; and all embowered 
 among mangoes, Java-plums, sour-sops, sapa- 
 dilloes, and other trees bearing sweet and 
 pleasant fruit. The mansion an ample frame 
 
44 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 building, somewhat low for its area and simple 
 in structure, yet possessing an air of elegance, 
 with large, high-pitched rooms, wide, airy 
 passages, and girt with deep galleries protected 
 by trellis-work on the sun-exposed sides 
 occupied a central eminence in the midst of 
 a green lawn as smooth as velvet. A succes 
 sion of terraces formed so many blooming and 
 brilliant circles. Fountains and -swimming- 
 pools, cut in stone, cooled the air. Winding 
 walks, set in beautiful little shrubbery, and 
 shaded by trees in graceful variety the 
 feathery-plumed mountain cabbage, the stately 
 palmetto, the waving cocoanut, the palm, the 
 papaw, sand-box, and silk-cotton led through 
 the spacious grounds, the open places of which 
 abounded with flowers, rich in many colors, 
 and splendid beyond description. 
 
 Henry Pascal rode up, flung the reins to a 
 valet, and a moment after was closeted with 
 Col. Tourner. 
 
 " I have ridden hard and early," he said, 
 after the exchange of salutations, "to make 
 a vital disclosure, but require a pledge to 
 
1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 45 
 
 secrecy, and to no further action than the 
 safety of your family may demand." 
 
 " Zounds ! Henry Pascal, you all but take 
 away my breath," exclaimed the Colonel, whose 
 look of surprise at his visitor's unusually timed 
 call and urgent manner was increased by his 
 words ; " and you will completely do so, if you 
 strap me up so tightly." 
 
 "There is no alternative," Henry Pascal 
 gravely answered. 
 
 " I have so received the communication, and 
 must so transmit it." 
 
 "But, in all seriousness, monsieur, do you 
 deem it wise and safe to bind one's self thus 
 absolutely, and in regard to an unknown and 
 what you call vital communication?" 
 
 " The conditions," his visitor answered, " are 
 unyielding." 
 
 " But, suppose," the Colonel continued, " I 
 should bind myself to a wrong ? " 
 
 "Col. Tourner," came the impressive reply, 
 "I am here for your good. The pledge is 
 required for the protection of a friend. It 
 must be given, or I am compelled to return 
 
46 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 with the word unspoken, and the consequences 
 upon your head." 
 
 The Colonel's scruple was advanced rather 
 on the spur of the instant than as seriously 
 entertained. It was a momentary resistance 
 to a sudden and unlooked-for assault upon the 
 will, and easily gave way, as reason asserted 
 its office, before the high character and peculiar 
 earnestness of his guest. He therefore added, 
 after a moment's pause : 
 
 " I yield the point. Let me hear what you 
 have to say." 
 
 "It is even this: Jacque Beatty reveals to 
 my father that a negro insurrection is at hand, 
 and has advised him to improve his chances of 
 safety by a residence at the Cape." 
 
 "Mon Dieu! And what action has your 
 father taken?" asked the Colonel quickly, and 
 with a changing countenance. 
 
 " He is now domiciled at the Cape, twenty- 
 four hours after the disclosure." 
 
 "Dreadful! dreadful!" murmured the Colonel. 
 " God take mercy on us ! " 
 
 " But what precisely," he added, looking up 
 
1791^1 Tale of San Domingo. 47 
 
 at his visitor in an eager way, " did you gather 
 from Jacque's communication that a plot is 
 forming, or that an outbreak is actually at 
 hand?" 
 
 " The latter," was the reply. 
 
 "And you have full confidence in Jacque's 
 statement?" the Colonel asked. 
 
 "Implicit. You must know, indeed, that 
 the circumstances of the colony for the past 
 two years afford speculative grounds for sup 
 posing such an event highly probable; but 
 Jacque's word is enough." 
 
 " And you think," asked the Colonel again, 
 " there is no exaggeration?" 
 
 " You know, monsieur, Jacque's character for 
 prudence and fidelity. Not a doubt exists with 
 me that an appalling calamity hangs over us." 
 
 "Why, Henry Pascal," broke out Col. 
 Tourner as a new thought struck him, "I 
 feel confident my slaves would defend me. 
 They are preparing to celebrate the ' Crop 
 Over' this very evening; and I have never 
 seen them more contented, or enter so heartily 
 into the spirit of the occasion." 
 
48 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 "That may be," his visitor rejoined; "but 
 do you suppose there are even chances that 
 the defence would be successful?" 
 
 "What, then, in Heaven's name, do you 
 advise?" asked Col. Tourner, throwing him 
 self back in his chair with an air of anxious 
 uncertainty. 
 
 " That you follow my father's example, and 
 go with your family at once to the Cape." 
 
 " Henry Pascal, you are right," said his host 
 after a thoughtful pause. " No other course is 
 open. 'Twould be folly to risk my family by 
 remaining here." 
 
 " My GJ-od ! what a prospect ! " he bitterly 
 added, and in apparent soliloquy. " I have 
 been persuading myself that a brighter day 
 would dawn; but, should the slaves rise, no 
 hope remains, at least for the present proprie 
 tors. The colony becomes a wreck, and all of 
 us beggars." 
 
 It was finally arranged that Henry Pascal 
 should secure apartments for the Tourners at 
 the Hotel de Ville, when the former, again 
 pressing upon the Colonel immediate action, 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 49 
 
 bade his host adieu, to join Emilie Tourner, 
 whom he had observed upon the lawn. Slightly 
 above the medium height, with the graceful 
 symmetry of outline in form and feature so 
 expressive everywhere in tropical life, in the 
 bloom of youth and health, her full, dark 
 eyes beaming with intelligence and sensibility, 
 Emilie Tourner, in her personal charms, amply 
 sustained the reputation for which Creole 
 maidens are famous. Her character, in cer 
 tain aspects, was a tropical exception. Possess 
 ing the simplicity, the enthusiasm, the purity 
 of heart and warmth of affection characteristic 
 of Creoles, she was without the ordinary air 
 of languor and tendency to inactivity and 
 indolence, born of an enervating climate and 
 habitual dependence upon retinues of slaves. 
 Whether due to her remnant of English blood, 
 or to her English education, or to both com 
 bined, her mental fibre had in it a useful 
 element of firmness and energy. If we add 
 a sweet voice and a winning manner, the 
 portraiture is complete. 
 4 
 
50 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 Some work to be done in the grounds pre 
 liminary to the "Crop Over" had required 
 her direction, and she was returning as Henry 
 Pascal approached, her graceful figure showing 
 to advantage in the morning costume simple, 
 as became the hour, yet elegant, as became the 
 daughter of a San Domingo proprietor. They 
 met with the recognition of lovers. Startled, 
 as her quick eye read the troubled mind of 
 Henry Pascal, Emilie Tourner was the first to 
 
 "Monsieur," she exclaimed hurriedly and 
 with a look of alarm, " what has happened, tell 
 me what has happened ? You seem worn and 
 anxious as I have never marked before." 
 
 "Be not disturbed, mademoiselle; I slept 
 little last night, and have ridden since the 
 morning's dawn." 
 
 " Are you not from Sans Souci?" 
 
 "No, mademoiselle; I left the Cape at 
 four." 
 
 " Why, then, this long, early ride ? And I 
 am told by the valet that your horse has been 
 urged!" 
 
1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 51 
 
 " The condition of the colony, mademoiselle, 
 is sufficient cause for anxiety." 
 
 " Such, monsieur, has been its condition for 
 two years and more. So much angry discus 
 sion, so much rumor and turmoil and conflict, 
 so many sudden and wild changes all this has 
 bewildered me. I am kept in a state of fearful 
 expectance, and ready to start almost at my own 
 shadow. Pardon my precipitancy. But your 
 look, monsieur, and the circumstances of your 
 visit, argue something unusual, and I must 
 know what it is. It is far better, in these dread 
 days, to know the worst than be racked with 
 imaginings about some danger suspected." 
 
 To this appeal Henry Pascal replied that 
 she had conjectured correctly; that there was 
 something unusual ; and that in truth he had 
 sought her to speak of it. He then pointed 
 out, in a general way and at length, that the 
 struggle of the mulattoes for civil rights was 
 exerting the same influence upon the negroes 
 that the struggle of the Commons in France 
 had exerted upon the mulattoes ; that the 
 slaves, in many quarters, were ominously rest- 
 
52 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 less and threatening ; that he greatly feared 
 they would very soon be another element in 
 the disorder of the colony ; that the times were 
 becoming more lawless, and plantation life 
 more unsafe; that his father, in consequence, 
 had just changed his residence to the Cape; 
 that he had come over to advise similar action 
 to Col. Tourner ; that, as the result of the inter 
 view, her father had instructed him to secure 
 apartments for his family at the Hotel de Ville, 
 and that he earnestly desired her to stimulate 
 her parents, so far as she could, to immediate 
 action. 
 
 " I shall do as you wish me," she answered, 
 pausing to reply, "for I confide in your judg 
 ment. Yet all this has about it a suddenness 
 I cannot fathom." 
 
 " I am forbidden now, mademoiselle, to speak 
 my mind more fully. You shall know more 
 hereafter. Trust me," he added in significant 
 tones, " and heed my warning." 
 
 She glanced at her companion, but said noth 
 ing. They had been slowly walking along the 
 shaded way, and having now reached a seat 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 53 
 
 beneath a silk-cotton, occupied it in silence 
 fimilie Tourner absorbed in what she had just 
 heard, her companion in the thoughts to which 
 he was about to give expression. Presently 
 he spoke, and with a touch of hesitation : 
 
 "Mademoiselle, I begin to despair of the 
 colony, and my thoughts have been running 
 upon the Harrison offer." 
 
 " Henry ! " she cried, her manner suddenly 
 assuming great tenderness, and tears filling 
 her eyes, " will you can you add to these new 
 forebodings the prospect of your leaving San 
 Domingo?" 
 
 " Dearest Elmilie," he replied, deeply touched, 
 and speaking in a strain of equal tenderness, 
 "it is my love for you that moves me. My 
 own business, as you are aware, is sadly re 
 duced. My father's fortune hangs by a thread. 
 He has but his estates and slaves. Should 
 trouble with the latter arise, the former are 
 valueless. If the Harrison offer justified it, I 
 would ask you to name our bridal day, and 
 take you with me from this distracted island." 
 
 " Have you, then, decided upon going ? " she 
 
54 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 quickly asked, catching at what she supposed 
 might be his implied meaning, and turning 
 upon her companion a searching glance. 
 
 " I have not," he replied. " I was but 
 speaking of what might become necessary." 
 
 "Do you think your going probable?" she 
 again asked. 
 
 " Press me not, fimilie. I could not answer 
 without speaking of matters upon which my 
 lips are for the present sealed." 
 
 She had regained outward composure, but 
 deep and despairing grief was in her words as 
 she replied: 
 
 "My heart, Henry, has become lead, and 
 sinks within me. I thought the excitements 
 produced by the 15th of May decree were 
 calming down, and danger disappearing. The 
 darkness is gathering again, and seems deeper 
 than ever. If there be light beyond, G-od help 
 us to reach it ! " 
 
 "I will not disguise from you, fimilie," 
 replied her lover, pressed with fears, yet anx 
 ious to cheer her, " what I regard as the 
 extreme gravity of affairs ; but keep a brave 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 55 
 
 spirit. The skies shall yet brighten for us. 
 Hasten your father to the Cape ; you will there 
 be secure, and we can speak together of these 
 matters more fully." 
 
 The horse had been ordered, the adieus were 
 spoken, and Henry Pascal, mounting the gig, 
 and urged by the energy of his thoughts, was 
 speedily at the Cape again ; for the road was 
 excellent, the sky still somewhat overcast, and 
 the day an unusually cool one. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 A DISCUSSION. 
 
 |PON the departure of his guest, Col 
 onel Tourner at once sought his 
 daughter, and learned the character 
 of the communication Henry Pascal had made 
 to her. They agreed it would be better to defer 
 speaking to Madame Tourner of the expected 
 removal till the morrow. She was taking, as 
 usual with her, a lively concern in the prepara 
 tions for the " Crop Over." A lady of fashion 
 though she was, she had at heart warm, tender 
 sympathies, and, sincerely interested in the 
 welfare and happiness of the slaves, and per 
 sonally attached to many of them, the " Crop 
 Over " was just the event to awaken her kind- 
 heartedness. On these occasions her best stores 
 were spread without stint before them, and she 
 56 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 57 
 
 was now busily adding to her stock of guava 
 jelly and other delicacies, and superintending 
 with great spirit the general arrangements for 
 the feast to the great delight of her husband, 
 who was well known for his humanity towards 
 his slaves, and encouraged to the utmost such 
 exhibitions of domestic zeal. 
 
 The Colonel expressed his determination, in 
 view of the increasing lawlessness, to ride over 
 to the Cape early next morning, and, if proper 
 provisions had been made, to remove thither 
 immediately, in which proposed step his daugh 
 ter warmly sustained him. 
 
 The afternoon brought an unexpected and, 
 under all the circumstances, an unwelcome 
 visitor in the person of M. Tardiffe. He had 
 that morning ridden over to Dondon to see 
 some friends. Calling at Belle Vue on his way 
 back to the Cape, he accepted a pressing invita 
 tion from his bonne amie, Madame Tourner, to 
 stay to the "Crop Over." 
 
 M. Tardiffe was a thorough type of the 
 Frenchman of the period. A retrousse nose 
 and a pair of small, bright eyes occupied their 
 
58 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 usual place in an oval, clean-shaven, and secre 
 tive countenance. He was marked by a stoop 
 in the shoulders, used glasses, and addressed 
 one with a suspicious kind of smile and turned- 
 up cast of the eyes. The ordinary conception 
 of a gentleman he very well realized, being 
 skilled in the accomplishments of the day, 
 well-informed, polished, and agreeable, but 
 withal was vain, insincere, vindictive, and dis 
 solute though his pretensions were otherwise. 
 
 Preparations in hand for the "Crop Over" 
 gave Madame Tourner and her daughter satis 
 factory excuses for absence, and during the 
 afternoon Colonel Tourner and his guest were 
 together alone. Conversation almost neces 
 sarily turned upon politics and colonial affairs, 
 which, though apparently not so threatening as 
 they had been a month or two before, were yet 
 threatening enough, and were in the heart and 
 on the lips of every one. 
 
 It was a period when the strifes of factions 
 had become merged into a sentiment of intense 
 hostility to the mother country. At the begin 
 ning of revolutionary activity, and with an eye 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 59 
 
 to the preservation of slavery, the planters 
 were a unit for legislative independence, it 
 being justified in their view by the intelligence 
 and wealth of the colony and the impossibility 
 of speedy communication with France over the 
 wide ocean between them. They argued that 
 the local affairs of the planters would be best 
 administered by the planters themselves, and 
 that in periods of excitement and danger 
 prompt and prudent action by those on the 
 ground and familiar with all the circumstances 
 might be essential to the life of the colony. 
 
 But as the tendency towards enfranchisement 
 of the colored races developed in the National 
 Assembly, other parties arose. Some and 
 among these was Colonel Tourner favored a 
 British protectorate; others desired colonial in 
 dependence under the general guardianship of 
 the European powers; others were monarch 
 ists, or friends of the late regime; whilst others 
 were republicans. To the latter party belonged 
 M. Tardiffe, who was conspicuous for cham 
 pioning the shifting sentiments of the National 
 Legislature. 
 
60 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 These divisions greatly weakened the cause 
 of the whites. They were suddenly healed, 
 however, by the effect of the 15th of May de 
 cree, which terminated the embittered struggle 
 in the enfranchisement of the mulattoes. For 
 two years the colony had been in uproar, often 
 in arms ; but the storm that burst upon receipt 
 of the news of this decree was unparalleled. 
 With the exception of a few inveterate repub 
 licans, all parties at once became consolidated 
 against the mother country. In the Northern 
 province, and especially in its capital, Cape 
 Frangois, the feeling was exceptionally intense. 
 A motion was made in the Provincial Assem 
 bly, then in session at the Cape, to reject the 
 civic oath and raise the British flag. A depu 
 tation was forthwith despatched to France to 
 intercede for the repeal of the obnoxious decree, 
 the execution of which the governor-general at 
 the peril of his life was forced to suspend until 
 the result of the embassy should be ascertained. 
 The hopes thus raised had abated somewhat 
 the outward agitation; a deep and wrathful 
 feeling nevertheless remained. 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 61 
 
 The mulattoes, on their part, furious at the 
 palpable injustice done them and the cow 
 ardly conduct of the governor-general, sullenly 
 awaited the aid of the French government. 
 The disastrous issue of former conflicts alone 
 restrained them from open hostilities. The 
 two parties thus stood at daggers drawn, and 
 a dreadful sense of uncertainty and insecurity 
 pervaded the colony. 
 
 At this crisis M. Tardiffe, alone among 
 the prominent citizens of the Cape, remained 
 attached to the republican cause, even up to 
 the point of justifying the 15th of May decree. 
 A close observer of events in France, he foresaw 
 the triumph of the extreme republicans, and 
 having no property interests in San Domingo . 
 to be affected by the immediate results of the 
 Jacobin policy towards universal liberty, he 
 was influenced by a not uncommon political 
 incentive, the wish to be on the winning side. 
 He predicted the speedy emancipation of the 
 slaves, and even went so far as to hold that it 
 would be to the ultimate benefit of the colony. 
 These opinions, freely advocated in public, 
 
62 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 drew upon him an excessive degree of odium. 
 On more than one occasion violence was offered 
 him, and his life being seriously threatened, 
 he took the advice of friends and for a period 
 withdrew from the Cape, remaining at Dondon, 
 where he had relatives. Under these circum 
 stances, he became exceedingly popular with 
 the mulattoes and blacks, and suddenly rose to 
 great influence over them. His name was 
 everywhere on their lips, and far and wide he 
 was known as Vami des noirs. He was now 
 at the Cape again, for the excitements had 
 sensibly declined. But his opinions he held 
 very quietly, and, though no craven, deemed it 
 advisable to withdraw almost entirely from 
 public view. 
 
 Restless under this mental repression and 
 seclusion, it was with a sense of relief that he 
 discussed affairs with Colonel Tourner. Their 
 opinions differed widely. But on former occa 
 sions they had amicably debated their differ 
 ences, and though the Colonel understood the 
 character of his guest, and had no special 
 admiration for him, yet M. Tardiffe's manner 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 63 
 
 was conciliating, and the latter felt safe in 
 giving free expression to his views. 
 
 On Colonel Tourner's part the conversation 
 at the outset was reluctant and cold. The 
 interview with Henry Pascal had left him 
 abstracted and moody, and he would greatly 
 have preferred his visitor's absence. His 
 heart, however, held a heated current of 
 thought, which, struck by M. Tardiffe, soon 
 sent glow and point into the dialogue. 
 
 " I am happy, Monsieur Tourner," said M. 
 Tardiffe, in his smiling way and florid style, 
 " that affairs wear a more improved aspect than 
 when we last met." 
 
 " I see no change but for the worse," was the 
 somewhat short answer. 
 
 "For the worse! Ma foi, monsieur, you 
 must speak jestingly." 
 
 "There are maladies, Monsieur Tardiffe, 
 wherein the sufferer outwardly seems rallying, 
 while inwardly the disease hastens its deadly 
 work." 
 
 " Pardon me, but I fail to comprehend." 
 
 " I mean this," said the Colonel : " the shilly- 
 
64 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 shally course of that madcap body, the National 
 Assembly, now favoring the whites and now 
 the mulattoes, has so embittered the struggle, 
 and so spun out the wrangle over what are 
 called the natural rights of man, that Jacobin 
 follies have taken root among the slaves, and 
 I fear we are threatened with a strike for 
 freedom, which would give the colony its coup 
 de grace" 
 
 " You astonish me, monsieur, and I must 
 regard your view a mistaken one." 
 
 " Very well, we shall see." 
 
 " The aspiration for freedom," continued M. 
 Tardiffe, "has doubtless been caught by the 
 blacks ; but it's incredible they should attempt 
 to realize it by violence, when a legal and 
 peaceful medium is perceived to be at hand." 
 
 " You think, then, the slaves will be free, 
 one way or another? " 
 
 "I do, monsieur. Prance will confirm the 
 enfranchisement of the mulattoes, the current 
 is all in that direction ; and the freedom of the 
 slaves must ensue as a logical sequence." 
 
 " So says the Abbe Gregoire." 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 65 
 
 " Yes, monsieur, and a noble letter the Abbe 
 has written." 
 
 "Noble! forsooth!" exclaimed the Colonel 
 with a frown. " Yes noble you may call it, if to 
 breed rebellion and blood be noble ! The slaves 
 understand that letter far too well." 
 
 "They also understand, Monsieur Tourner, 
 how affairs in France are progressing in their 
 favor. Why should they attempt to seize the 
 prize, when a resort to violence would ensure 
 the postponement of it, quite probably the 
 absolute loss? Their peaceable emancipation, 
 monsieur, I believe would be for the advantage 
 of us all." 
 
 " Pshaw ! " replied the Colonel, rising and 
 showing impatience at the sentiment " I have 
 looked carefully into this question myself, yet 
 know no grounds for any such notion." 
 
 "What say you to the abstract ground, 
 Monsieur Tourner? Has not the negro a 
 natural right to be free ? " 
 
 " Let me tell you and pardon my plain 
 speaking that when I hear one propose a view 
 in the abstract, I am ready to hear nonsense. 
 5 
 
66 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 The circumstances and qualities of a thing are 
 a part of the thing itself. Abstractions are 
 mental toys, and cannot solve real questions. 
 Take the negro as he is among us, with all his 
 surroundings, and what are your emancipation 
 reasons, or grounds for believing he has the 
 wits for self-government and becoming a fit 
 factor in our civilization ? " 
 
 Colonel Tourner delivered this with an en 
 ergy that surprised his guest. The latter, 
 however, whilst resolved not to offend the Col 
 onel whom he had special reasons for wishing to 
 please, accepted the challenge, and continued : 
 
 "Is not the negro, monsieur, of the same 
 stock with ourselves, and must we not suppose 
 he possesses capabilities qualifying him to 
 reach our altitude ? " 
 
 " Of the same stock with ourselves, eh ? 
 How do you account for his black skin and 
 negro tokens ? " 
 
 " By climatic influence. My opinion is, that 
 the human race was one at the first in origin 
 and color that it multiplied and spread 
 and that separate sections, settled in different 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 67 
 
 latitudes, took on, under climatic influences 
 acting with abnormal force in that early and 
 impressionable period of the race's age took 
 on, I say, monsieur, under these circumstances, 
 different hues, which, as the race grew and 
 hardened, crystallized into permanent charac 
 teristics. Those who first dwelt beneath a 
 tropical sun, became negroes." 
 
 " Clearly, but partially put, Monsieur Tar- 
 diife. Now hear my opinion : it is that mental 
 change and bodily change were contempo 
 raneous, and that the same tropical sun which 
 blackened the skin and crinkled the hair of 
 those first dwellers, permanently weakened the 
 brain also, whereby the negro is unfitted for 
 successful freedom by the side of the white 
 
 man." 
 
 " You push the climatic effect too far, mon 
 
 sieur." 
 
 " I see not how. I know no ground to bar 
 the mental change. Every thing whitens to 
 wards the poles, and darkens and degenerates 
 towards the equator at least as respects man. 
 His most perfect development is in the centre 
 
68 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 of the temperate continents; and the first 
 dwellers there were the ancestors of the white 
 race, who, beneath a friendly sun, permanently 
 received, in that early and impressionable age 
 you speak of, their superiorities over the black- 
 skin brother." 
 
 "You are hard upon Monsieur le Noir" 
 replied M. Tardiffe, somewhat disconcerted by 
 the unforeseen turn in his argument. 
 
 " Do you think I am one to be unfair to the 
 negro ? " asked the Colonel, with a spice of 
 warmth. 
 
 "No, no, monsieur, not intentionally. I 
 recognize fully your well- deserved reputation 
 as an exceptionally benevolent master, and I 
 believe you are ready to credit the negro with 
 the abilities you honestly regard him as pos 
 sessing. But I think you underrate those 
 abilities. There are facts, plain facts, mon 
 sieur, that support higher claims than you 
 allow." 
 
 " Facts are jewels," remarked the Colonel. 
 
 " The facts I refer to," continued his guest, 
 "are the talents and erudition individual 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 69 
 
 negroes have displayed, and which gauge the 
 possibilities of the race." 
 
 " Give your facts." 
 
 "Well Benjamin Bannaker is a notable one, 
 a Maryland negro, residing near Baltimore." 
 
 " Bannaker is not unknown to me," said 
 Colonel Tourner. 
 
 " You know, then, his reputation for eminent 
 scientific attainments they have been recog 
 nized by the savants of France. Monsieur 
 Pascal, Jr., has one of Bannaker's almanacs, 
 received through his Baltimore house, and it 
 is a monument to this negro's astronomical 
 abilities." 
 
 "Bannaker is a man of science," answered 
 Colonel Tourner, " and deserves the more praise, 
 because his chances have been few and scant. 
 But can he be a warrant for the intellectual 
 hope of the negro, when his grandmother was 
 a white woman ? " 
 
 " It's true," continued the Colonel in answer 
 to M. Tardiffe's expression of surprise. " His 
 grandmother was a Welsh woman, who freed 
 one of her slaves and then married him ; and I 
 
70 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 fancy Bannaker's fine gifts are rather to be 
 traced to his large measure of white blood." 
 
 "Well, well, Monsieur Tourner, I own to 
 little knowledge about Bannaker, beyond his 
 very remarkable ^ciics. Should he prove 
 unavailable for my purpose, I am yet not 
 without examples." 
 
 " Let me hear them," the Colonel said. "This 
 question has been a study with me, and I 
 welcome any light you can shed upon it." 
 
 " I direct your attention, then, to one Thomas 
 Fuller, a pure African, I believe if I mistake 
 not, an imported African a United States 
 negro, too, resident in the State of Virginia. 
 The accounts are, that, entirely unaided, Fuller 
 has attained phenomenal proficiency as a calcu 
 lator, being able, by pure mental effort and 
 more rapidly than the scholar's pencil, to solve 
 the most difficult questions, involving series of 
 multiplications, and with products extending 
 into the millions." 
 
 " I make a note of all such cases, Monsieur 
 Tardiffe, and know, too, something of ' Negro 
 Tom,' as he is called." 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 71 
 
 " Very well and what think you of ' Negro 
 Tom,' as an argument ? 
 
 "Are you aware that this negro can neither 
 read nor write, and that, beyond his wonderful 
 gift for calculation, there is nothing to show he 
 has more than a common-place negro mind?" 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "Such are the facts, as I have read them; 
 and his case is of a piece with those negroes 
 some have come under my eye in whom a 
 rare musical gift allies itself with a general 
 mental state verging almost upon idiotcy." 
 
 "Nevertheless," replied M. Tardiife, "these 
 facts are intellectual phenomena, and possess 
 significance. How will you value them ? " 
 
 "As tokens of a high origin as signs of 
 what the source of the race is, not of what the 
 race itself will be. Look around you, Monsieur 
 Tardiife. What promise do you see of advanced 
 mental life in the negroes, as a whole ? Is not 
 the intelligence of the lower races centred in 
 the mulattoes, and in them as they near the 
 white stock? Look down the course of his 
 tory. Where has the African built cities, 
 
72 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 adorned letters, or founded great and conquer 
 ing states?" 
 
 " We should look forward" eagerly interposed 
 M. Tardiffe, " for negro civilization, and believe 
 that as Asia was once in the ascendant, as Eu 
 rope is now, so the day for Africa is to dawn." 
 
 " Monsieur," rejoined the Colonel, " the 
 growth of civilization is not the evolution of suc 
 cessive continents. If civilization has withered 
 in one quarter to bloom in another, it has been 
 brought forth, in every instance, by some variety 
 of the white or yellow race. Sixty centuries have 
 passed, yet Africa remains the dark continent. 
 If the blacks have the capabilities you claim 
 for them, it is incredible that the history of the 
 world should not point to a single illustration. 
 I grant the talents and culture of individual 
 Africans, such as Amo, Capitein, and Phillis 
 Wheatley; but, believing the negro to be a dete 
 riorated part of the human family, these occa 
 sional instances of cultivation, and such mental 
 marvels as < Negro Tom ' exhibits, are proofs, to 
 my mind, of a noble ancestry from which the race 
 has fallen, not of a height it is yet to reach." 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 73 
 
 "Monsieur," said M. Tardiffe, resisting a 
 Voutrance, " you furnish material for reflection, 
 but I agree not with you. Was not the primi 
 tive condition of man, let me ask, that of a 
 savage?" 
 
 "Civilized man, then, has risen from sav- 
 ageism, eh ? " 
 
 " Precisely so, Monsieur Tourner ; and when 
 the critical influence reaches the negro, or the 
 proper impact from without strikes him, why 
 should he not rise too, as the whites have 
 done?" 
 
 " Perhaps you go a step further, and imagine 
 what in these days we are beginning to hear, 
 that the savage has risen from the ape, eh?" 
 
 " The theory appears plausible." 
 
 "Bagatelle que tout cela!" broke out the 
 Colonel " a theory certain savants are amus 
 ing their leisure with. Have you read their 
 books ? " 
 
 " Some of them." 
 
 "Don't they assume that developments in 
 nature are smooth and gradual ? " 
 
 " Yes, monsieur." 
 
74 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 , then, do they fill the sudden and 
 broad gap between the savage and the ape?" 
 
 "By an extinct species of lemur, known to 
 savants as a pentadactyle, plantigrade buno- 
 dont." 
 
 "Their learned jargon! Has this five- 
 fingered, flat-footed bunodont, as they term 
 it, ever been seen?" 
 
 " It is visible, monsieur, to the eye of science." 
 
 "Have any traces of it in what are called 
 the geological ages, ever been found? " 
 
 "Savants explain their absence, monsieur, 
 through a theory of fossil formation." 
 
 "Yes, yes," responded the Colonel, "they 
 have troops of theories, I own. See here, 
 Monsieur Tardiffe, this fancied ape is the latest 
 of its kind. There are numbers of older and 
 living species. How happens it that this has 
 been lost ? Let them find it, or show traces of 
 it, and prove the link, or yield to man a free 
 chain of his own." 
 
 " Well, monsieur, dismiss the ape, if you 
 will. N'importe. But, apropos, allow me one 
 question: Is not civilization a development?" 
 
1791 ,4 Tale of San Domingo. 75 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Very well : are not civilized peoples devel 
 opments from savage peoples ? " 
 
 "No certainly not from savages of the lower 
 grade." 
 
 "What say you, then, of the Groths and 
 Vandals, and other northern ancestors of the 
 present European nations?" and M. Tardiife's 
 keen little eyes sparkled again at having, as he 
 supposed, caught the Colonel in a corner. 
 
 " That they were not degraded savages." 
 
 "Not savages, monsieur, when their name 
 is a synonym for all that is merciless and vile ! " 
 
 "I say, not degraded savages," replied the 
 Colonel. " The accounts we have of them are 
 mainly from their enemies. The Gothic races 
 lived in villages, followed husbandry and the 
 chase, were organized into powerful military 
 bodies, and showed aptitude for the higher 
 culture the moment they touched it. Take the 
 fiercest of them all, Attila and his Huns. 
 Their war with the Roman Empire was a 
 struggle between the free life of the plains and 
 those luxurious settlements of Southern Europe 
 
76 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 that had transferred political power to some of 
 the meanest and basest of mankind. Attila, 
 their king, could entertain Roman Embassa- 
 dors with dignity and splendor, and was offered 
 in marriage the sister of a Roman Emperor. 
 Do you place such a people, sir, on the level of 
 African savages, with wooly head and turned- 
 out lip?" 
 
 M. Tardiffe sat silent, and the Colonel con 
 tinued : 
 
 " BTo, monsieur, I do not believe that civiliza 
 tion has its sources in savageism. What does 
 this new science of geology witness, but that 
 the oldest and lowest manhood is a real man 
 hood? that in the deepest strata in which 
 human remains are found, we find a real man, 
 not a savage, but a real man, bearing rule over 
 nature, and with aptitudes giving the hope of 
 what he has since become? And when life's 
 river appears within the bounds of history, it is 
 seen to flow nobly from the start, and ever 
 maintains, at some point at least, a high level. 
 If it lowers in one quarter, it swells in another. 
 From time to time it renews itself by a union 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 77 
 
 of currents, and is illustrated in its course by 
 the Mosaic writings, Assyrian and Egyptian 
 grandeur, Greek art and poetry, Roman law, 
 and modern civilization. The lower forms of 
 savageism, sir, are certain chronic degenera 
 tions, the swamps and bogs along its banks." 
 
 At this point the entrance of a servant with 
 sangaree and fruit interrupted the discussion. 
 It was renewed, almost immediately, under 
 a special and practical shape the effect of 
 emancipation in St. Domingo. 
 
 " Monsieur Tardiffe," said Colonel Tourner 
 having dismissed the valet, and now assuming 
 the aggressive, " what grounds have you for the 
 notion that freedom would prove a betterment 
 to this colony ? " 
 
 " I can express it in one word," replied M. 
 Tardiffe, as he drained a glass of sangaree 
 "the blacks would be free to develop their 
 capabilities ; and the whites could then procure 
 more intelligent workmen, without the burden 
 of many slaves either too young or too old to 
 labor." 
 
 " Do you imagine the two peoples would 
 
78 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 grow side by side peacefully, without race 
 jealousies and struggles ? " 
 
 " In great social revolutions, monsieur, jar- 
 rings must accompany adjustments. C'est in 
 evitable. But adjustment must come, and with 
 advantage, since the change would rest on 
 justice." 
 
 " Is it your opinion, Monsieur Tardiffe, that 
 the two peoples would remain apart? " 
 
 "For a period, undoubtedly. But as the 
 blacks attain wealth and cultivation, why 
 should there not be a gradual coalescence?" 
 
 "Humph!" was the Colonel's brief reply, 
 given very expressively. 
 
 "The twenty thousand mulatto half-breeds 
 among us," his guest went on, "with every 
 circumstance most unfavorable for the blacks, 
 I take as a pledge for such a result, when the 
 blacks, free and advancing, shall have reversed 
 these circumstances." 
 
 The Colonel's question had been in a measure 
 leading, and the answer made not unantici 
 pated, but M. Tardiife's manner was so cool 
 and matter-of-course, and his response such a 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 79 
 
 combination of statement and argument, that 
 the Colonel fired up and delivered a hot reply. 
 
 " In the lusty roves of white men among 
 slaves I see no tendency towards a proper 
 blending of bloods, Monsieur Tardiffe. Fusion, 
 sir, would follow from the thorough social 
 intermingling of the two races on terms of 
 unconsciously recognized equality, and the 
 freedom of marriage across the color line and 
 the bar to this, sir, I hold to be insuperable." 
 
 " Monsieur, you speak positively," answered 
 M. Tardiffe, in his usual, inflated way ; "nev 
 ertheless I am constrained to believe such 
 a coalescence both reasonably possible, and 
 highly probable." 
 
 "Hut! tut!" the Colonel exclaimed. "Eman 
 cipation, citizenship, full political rights, may be 
 possibilities, but social fusion, never ! ! Fusion 
 with the blacks, forsooth ! Become what they 
 may, negroes will never see union with the 
 children or children's children of their masters. 
 Set it down as a sure thing. The whites would 
 spurn honorable alliance with them, as they 
 have done with the bastard mulatto." 
 
80 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 " Your prejudices, Monsieur Turner, are par 
 donable." 
 
 " Call it prejudice or what not, it has a scien 
 tific and permanent basis. This fusion you 
 speak of, sir, is forbidden by natural laws." 
 
 "What ! Are my ears open ? Forbidden by 
 natural laws, do you say, when the wise inform 
 us that mingling of bloods is an ethical bless 
 ing?" 
 
 "Mixing bloods is not a blessing, unless 
 between varieties of the same group." 
 
 " I do not altogether perceive your meaning, 
 
 monsieur." 
 
 "I mean, that mankind is marked off by 
 color into three great groups, white, yellow, 
 black; that the blending of varieties within 
 each group is a betterment, but not the blend 
 ing of the groups themselves." 
 
 "Ah! monsieur," said M. Tardiffe smilingly, 
 " you are representing the theory of some intense 
 Caucasian, no doubt." 
 
 " Theories were in order just now, to coin the 
 bunodont," answered the Colonel, relaxing him 
 self into a grim sort of smile; "but I give 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 81 
 
 demonstrations : The Griquas of South Africa, 
 hybrids of Dutch colonists and Hottentots 
 the Mongolian and Slavic mixture of Russian- 
 Asia the Portuguese and negro half-breeds of 
 Brazil mongrel races, in make and mind and 
 morals below the baser stock are the facts in 
 proof of what I say." 
 
 " Monsieur Tourner, I confront facts with 
 facts. In spite of the obstacles a powerful race 
 prejudice originates, are not many of the wealth 
 iest, best educated, and most respectable among 
 us, the half-breed mulattoes ? " 
 
 " That certain grades of the mulatto are far 
 above the negro, I allow ; but others are below 
 him, and experiments show that the blending 
 of whites and blacks would end in a debased 
 hybrid race inferior to the native negro 
 ancestry." 
 
 " Permit me, monsieur, for the word ' experi 
 ments ' to suggest ' race partialities,' as being a 
 more accurate term." 
 
 " They are the experiments, sir, of those 
 men of science to whom you have shown a 
 willingness to appeal, and the result, mark you, 
 6 
 
82 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 is fact, not theory. Suppose fusion effected, 
 sir, and the white blood of this colony all 
 absorbed by negro embraces. It is certain 
 that, under the division and subdivision of the 
 white element, the grade of the mixed race 
 would rapidly lower, and sink to points beneath 
 the negro level. Fusion across the color-line 
 would prove a pure curse, Monsieur Tardiife ; 
 and the riddle for emancipationists is to find 
 betterment in turning loose half a million negro 
 slaves among one- tenth their number of highly 
 cultivated whites, the former scarcely raised 
 above savageism, and the two races remaining 
 rigidly apart." 
 
 " It occurs to me, Monsieur Tourner, that for 
 a practical man you expend a vast deal of vigor 
 upon a somewhat theoretical question. Should 
 it ever be at all, complete, unobstructed amal 
 gamation is in the far future. Suppose the 
 races are to continue asunder. Why should they 
 not improve severally, and be mutual helps ? " 
 
 " Two free peoples, standing apart, will not 
 go forward side by side, without a struggle for 
 the mastery," was the Colonel's reply. "The 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 83 
 
 world has never seen it, and a priori grounds 
 are all against it." 
 
 " Methinks an intense Caucasian like Mon 
 sieur Tourner should not object to the struggle, 
 seeing all the advantages would be on his side." 
 
 " What think you the odds are ? " asked the 
 Colonel. 
 
 "Why, monsieur, the immense superiority 
 of the whites in respect to wealth, intelligence, 
 and prestige." 
 
 " There is a point, Monsieur Tardiffe, where, 
 under forms of law, mere numbers will over 
 match wealth, intelligence, and prestige, com 
 bined. The blacks are more than ten to one 
 against us." 
 
 " But would the blacks be disposed to utilize 
 their power ? The submissiveness born of slav 
 ery must needs linger long among them, and 
 the race is known to be unambitious and un- 
 persistent." 
 
 " Yet are they capable," replied the Colonel, 
 " of sudden and great effort for an immediate 
 end ; and, roused and banded by a powerful 
 esprit de corps, the outcome of white repugnance 
 
84 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 and repression, they would resent the attempt 
 to hold them as underlings. Realizing their 
 power and led by demagogues, they would 
 seize political power, and use it for race ends. 
 The negro heel, sir," exclaimed the Colonel, 
 with an outburst of startling energy, " would 
 be on the neck of the white man, and kept 
 there by the mere inertia of the mass. St. 
 Domingo would become a hell, sir the prince of 
 tyrants is he who has once been a slave /" 
 
 A knowledge of the brewing plot imparted 
 to the Colonel's conversation a peculiar point 
 and bitterness, which, in view of the apparently 
 improved condition of affairs, was a constant 
 source of surprise to M. Tardiffe. He could 
 not understand it. Astonished now at the vehe 
 mence of his host, he remained silent, and the 
 Colonel continued : 
 
 "What, Monsieur Tardiffe, are the leading 
 traits of the negro ? I pass by theft and false 
 hood. They are the vices of slaves. Let 
 slavery, too, explain, if it can, why the negro 
 shrinks from thought, from foresight, and from 
 toil. The race, sir, is gay and jovial, but, mark 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 85 
 
 you," he added, raising the finger of emphasis, 
 "it is cruel, revengeful, and intensely lewd. By 
 whom are the most fiendish crimes done among 
 us? We shield our daughters red-handed, and 
 the doom of the negro ravisher is swift and 
 terrible. Yet does not his powerful lust often 
 brave this doom in the beastliest and most 
 pitiful outrage ? Let the swelling numbers of 
 this people, chafed by race antagonisms into 
 vindictive moods, once get the upper hand, and 
 what fate, sir, awaits the whites? " 
 
 " At the approach of such danger, monsieur, 
 they would of course depart the island." 
 
 "Yes, they would be driven out in stark 
 beggary what would be left of them." 
 
 " Well, monsieur," said M. Tardiife, deeming 
 it advisable to shift the point, " you must allow, 
 that the tendency of the age is to advance the 
 political power of the commons, and they rule 
 through majorities. I put an imaginary case. 
 Suppose that numbers have prevailed and that 
 the whites have emigrated, leaving the blacks 
 in sole control. Do you think, with the monu 
 ments of civilization before them and the 
 
86 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 memory of its methods fresh, they would 
 improve?" 
 
 " No ! I do not," was the Colonel's emphatic 
 reply. "Semi-savages, used to no other sub 
 ordination than that of domestic slavery, could 
 not unite in the relations of regular govern 
 ment, or be moulded into a system of artificial 
 society." 
 
 " I do not mean, Monsieur Tourner, that the 
 negro would immediately, or within a genera 
 tion, become an enlightened citizen ; but would 
 he not manifest advancement in that direction ? 
 He is a trained laborer, and labor is the basis 
 of prosperities." 
 
 "He has been a laborer by compulsion," 
 answered the Colonel, "and emancipation would 
 be. but another name for basking sloth." 
 
 "Such, monsieur, might be the immediate 
 result. Liberty's first draught is intoxicating. 
 But would not the ultimate effect be to stimu 
 late and improve him? At the close of the 
 last century the Scottish peasantry were as 
 averse to settled industry as we can conceive 
 any people to be. They were thieves and 
 
1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 87 
 
 vagabonds, living without law and begging from 
 door to door. What is Scotland to-day, mon 
 sieur? The land of thrift and steady habits." 
 " The curse of the Scotch," responded the 
 Colonel, " was insecurity of law. With a 
 change of administration, betterment came. 
 These Scotch, too, were another sort of people 
 to the negro, with his immature, semi-civilized 
 brain. A rising generation, Monsieur Tardiife, 
 must be frugal, industrious, temperate, and 
 ambitious. I see no hopes of these becoming 
 marks of negro character. Emancipation would 
 mean emancipation from work. His indolence 
 would find an ally in the bounty of the soil, 
 and the negro would be an inveterate drone in 
 an island where one month's steady labor would 
 buy an acre, and one day*s work in the week 
 on that acre, yield food enough to maintain a 
 family for a year. Left to himself and as he 
 now is, he would sink below his present level. 
 This splendid civilization would crumble at his 
 touch. San Domingo, sir, which is meant to 
 be a paradise, would become a pig-sty, and 
 wild hogs root over these teeming fields." 
 
88 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 " You say, monsieur, ' as he now is,' " 
 remarked M. Tardiffe, catching at the Colonel's 
 expression. " There are circumstances, then, 
 under which you conceive it possible for free 
 blacks to improve." 
 
 The Colonel nodded assent. 
 
 "Well, monsieur, I shall be delighted to 
 hear them, and have you furnish at least one 
 ray of light to this dark theme." 
 
 "The circumstances, I think," was the Colo 
 nel's reply, "would be their emancipation 
 among ah advanced white population, with the 
 two races nearing each other in numbers. The 
 whites would make and administer the laws 
 and guide public opinion, and their energy and 
 culture would be lifting to the vain and imi 
 tative black. He would have the spur and 
 steerage he needs, the moral control exerted by a 
 superior race ; and, tutored thus for some gener 
 ations, would probably be able to stand alone." 
 
 " Very good, very good," exclaimed M. Tar- 
 diife, in whom the discussion had developed a 
 personal interest in his side, " and what next 
 for Monsieur le Noir 9 " 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 89 
 
 "At a certain point," replied the Colonel, 
 "the races should be separated. They have 
 differing degrees of wit, and deep-seated social 
 repulsions, and could not harmoniously unfold 
 themselves within the same sphere. The negro 
 has a meagre nature. He is but a grown child, 
 an immature man, and the limit of his devel 
 opment is mediocrity or a semi-civilized state. 
 Trained in the methods of civilization and set 
 off by himself, he might thrive in his way and 
 to his degree." 
 
 " Ah! monsieur, your word * might 1 obscures 
 even this hope for the poor blacks." 
 
 " The theme is a dark one, take it as you 
 will. A black state, even under these circum 
 stances, would be beset with perils, and would 
 need at the outset the helping hand of the 
 whites ; for nations, Monsieur Tardiffe, ripen 
 slowly, and the sudden formation of a political 
 body is a most difficult feat." 
 
 " You think the races should be separated," 
 said M. Tardiffe, in a musing sort of way. 
 
 " I do, monsieur." 
 
90 1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 " Their remaining together you think would 
 be an evil." 
 
 "An unmixed and disastrous evil," replied 
 the Colonel. " Beyond a certain height the 
 whites would resent the black man's rise, as a 
 menace to their own dominion. They would 
 keep him an underling. In all quarters the 
 blacks would be checked by the aroused antag 
 onism and competition of the better trained 
 race. Their growing self-assertion would be 
 doomed to unceasing mortification. Every 
 higher step of progress, every deepening of 
 aspiration, would carry with it increased 
 humiliation. The vantage-ground of the blacks 
 would be their phenomenal fecundity ; and the 
 task of the whites would be to hold down a 
 swelling, struggling, scowling race, gaining 
 upon them in numbers, and enraged at being 
 repressed. From this .point, sir, I can see 
 naught but troubles, mounting in magnitude, 
 and ending with a life- and- death race struggle." 
 
 "But, monsieur," interrupted M. Tardiffe, 
 "might not the tension be' relieved by the 
 gradual concentration of the races in different 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 91 
 
 sections, and the local supremacy of each on its 
 own- ground?" 
 
 " My answer, Monsieur Tardiffe, is, that the 
 blacks are naturally unqualified for reaching 
 the level to become meet helpers in sustaining 
 an advanced civilization. Fitted for low flight, 
 they would lose their wings in the attempt to 
 soar near the sun. They would sink below 
 the natural limit of their development, and, 
 becoming moribund, would drag down those 
 with whom they are allied. Race conflicts 
 would multiply politics would grow utterly 
 vile and the poison from a decaying member 
 spread universal decline." 
 
 Warned by the stroke of the six o'clock 
 plantation bell, the Colonel brought the discus 
 sion to a close : 
 
 " But, monsieur, I must allow time for your 
 toilet. A word more : You are not to think 
 I am in any sense a foe to the blacks. My life 
 as a master is a pledge the other* way. I know 
 some noble negroes. My opinion of the race, 
 as drawn from long observation and study, has 
 been given. I hold that the three great divi- 
 
92 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 sions of the human family black, yellow, 
 white should develop within themselves towards 
 their respective bounds, these being a half- 
 civilized, civilized, and enlightened state." 
 
 With these words Colonel Tourner rang up 
 the valet and placed M. Tardiffe in his charge. 
 The latter was soon busy at his toilet, which 
 he elaborated with true French art and under 
 the stimulus of meeting fimilie Tourner ; and 
 if thoughts in regard to her predominated, he 
 yet retained a vigorous impression of the con 
 versation in which he had just participated, 
 and the reflection would come up that Colonel 
 Tourner was a needle-witted opponent, and 
 bristled all over with " negro " points. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 THE "CROP OVER." 
 
 was an hour later when M. Tar- 
 diffe entered the drawing-room. His 
 dress was strictly fashionable, and 
 in the style, as far as tropical climate allowed, 
 developed with the advance of the French 
 Revolution : the coat long, and buttoning at 
 the waist, whence it sloped off upwards and 
 downwards, with a collar spreading upon the 
 shoulders ; the waistcoat open at the throat ; 
 breeches rather close-fitting and extending to 
 the middle of the calf, where they were met by 
 half-top boots ; the cravat was tied loosely in 
 bows, and the hair was worn long and gathered 
 in a queue. 
 
 Emilie Tourner appeared in a style of simple 
 elegance. The light muslin dress was short- 
 
 93 
 
94 1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 waisted, and fell in straight, loose folds to her 
 feet. The sleeves, tight on the upper arm, ex 
 panded from the elbow, and terminated in a 
 fringe of rich lace. About the throat a white 
 handkerchief, with a flavor of lavender-water, 
 was adjusted in such a manner as to represent, 
 according to the fashion of the times, the breast 
 of a pigeon ; her coiffure was made en boucles, 
 after the prevailing mode, the front hair form 
 ing a light mass of short curls with the back 
 hair flowing, and she displayed a few pieces of 
 rare bijouterie, a style of adornment for which 
 creole young ladies generally show a passion. 
 The only addition to the company was the 
 manager in white dittoes, M. Fauchet, the 
 usual guest of the proprietor on these occa 
 sions. 
 
 Tea was taken rather quietly. The Colonel 
 had been so free in speech during the afternoon 
 that rest was natural. Emilie Tourner was 
 noticeably abstracted, and wore a pensive look. 
 The conversation was chiefly confined to M. 
 Tardiffe and Madame Tourner, the latter being 
 in high spirits, and entertaining her guest in 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 95 
 
 the gracious and charming manner of which 
 she was the mistress. 
 
 After tea she invited the company to an 
 inspection of the festive tables. M. Tardiffe 
 escorted Emilie Tourner, the latter protected 
 against the dangerous dew by a hat trimmed 
 with bows of ribbon and of great expanse of 
 border,and the former by a peculiar palm 
 chapeau, which, among San Domingo fashion 
 ables, replaced the flat, round brim, and tall, 
 conical crown of the Parisian beaver. 
 
 The scene illustrated the proverbial loveliness 
 of moonlight evenings in the West Indies. 
 The clouds had all fled. The atmosphere, puri 
 fied by the recent rain, was perfectly clear, and 
 sweet with the odor of roses and lemon-flowers. 
 The stars shone brilliantly. Myriads of fire 
 flies sparkled in the trees, and the mild radiance 
 of the rising gibbous moon was paling the light 
 of the many-colored lanterns that at every turn 
 illuminated the grounds. 
 
 Cooking in the West Indies is done in small 
 charcoal furnaces and out-of-door brick ovens, 
 and for the two preceding days Madame Tourner 
 
96 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 had been taxing her resources in this direction. 
 The result was the rich and bountiful feast 
 spread beneath a branching mango. Fowls, 
 hams, Gruinea-birds, turkeys, flying-fish, butter- 
 fish, pastry, tarts, guava jelly, preserved ginger, 
 custard apples, pineapples, melons, etc., with 
 jorums of lemonade and tamarind water, made 
 a feast fit for a king. 
 
 Two dishes prepared especially for the negro 
 taste were opossum and agouti, the latter larger 
 than a rat and less than a rabbit, somewhat 
 resembling both, and eaten by West India 
 negroes with the gout of an alderman for turtle. 
 A small table of honor was arranged apart for 
 the " drivers " or field overseers. These com 
 monly were old negroes of tried fidelity, who, 
 under the white manager, superintended field- 
 work. The single addition of turtle, served 
 with rum punch, varied its viands from the 
 general cheer. 
 
 The tables were in charge of a number of 
 trusted servants, to whom Madame Tourner now 
 gave some parting directions, when the company 
 proceeded to the lawn in front of the mansion, 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 97 
 
 where, as the boisterous mirth indicated, a large 
 assemblage of jovial " darkies " were having a 
 " high " time. 
 
 The negro disposition is eminently social and 
 convivial, and the beautiful moonlight evenings 
 in the tropics are their delight. They are great 
 chatterers, and will keep late hours spinning 
 yarns and telling " Nancy " stories, or tales of 
 ghosts and goblins, which West India negroes 
 call "jumbees." The slaves, too, often gave 
 "parties" or balls, to which not uncommonly, 
 it must in truth be added, the larders and 
 wardrobes of their masters and mistresses were 
 made to furnish liberal contributions. Dancing 
 is a passion, and on these occasions they fre 
 quently " do " with skill and grace the prevailing 
 styles, which their imitative powers have caught 
 from their owners. During the soiree at the 
 mansion one might often see the slaves on the 
 green beneath the open windows, executing, 
 with extra agility and chuckling delight, the 
 various "sets" at the call of the musician. 
 
 Near the centre of the lawn, in front of the 
 mansion, the carpets had been spread for 
 7 
 
98 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 dancing. The musicians a fiddler, a tambou 
 rine-player, and a man beating what is called 
 a triangle were seated on an elevated plat 
 form, where they did duty with a gravity 
 befitting their office. Beneath them was a 
 crowd of lively blacks, looking as pleased as 
 Punch, and all in holiday rig. The slaves 
 were excessively vain of their personal appear 
 ance, and, if necessary, would go in rags during 
 the week to have something to wear on a, fete 
 day or at a " party." The men on this occasion 
 wore woollen caps, the dews being heavy and 
 dangerous. The women were tricked out in 
 different styles of flashing kerchiefs twisted 
 into high turbans, gaudy gowns, many-colored 
 sashes, and a profusion of cheap ornaments. 
 
 In the midst were the dancers " doing," in 
 their turn, Scotch reels and quadrilles with 
 intense gout and joyousness. Encircling these 
 was a throng of blacks constantly moving in 
 and out among themselves and giving vent to 
 a thousand gay sallies, cracking their ready 
 jokes upon the manners and customs of the 
 "buckras," and breaking now and then into 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 99 
 
 loud and glad laughter at some of their witti 
 cisms, the point of which it was often difficult 
 to see. The jabber was " immense." On the 
 outside crowds of little blacks as plump as 
 puddings were gambolling and cutting capers 
 over the green. 
 
 They were a lively set free and easy, for 
 the occasion was privileged, yet perfectly well- 
 ordered bubbling over with the merriment 
 born of a jovial temperament and superb phy 
 sique ; and their healthy, contented, happy 
 countenances reflected the care of a benevolent 
 master. 
 
 At the instance of her maid, who was a 
 reigning belle, and now craved the aid of her 
 young mistress in completing her personal 
 adornment, fimilie Tourner returned for a few 
 moments to the mansion. The Colonel, in 
 expectation of a sojourn at the Cape, was con 
 ferring with Manager Fauchet in regard to 
 plantation affairs; and M. Tardiffe saw the 
 coveted opportunity for a word in private with 
 Madame Tourner. 
 
 He had keep himself thoroughly informed 
 
100 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 as to the circumstances both of the elder and 
 the younger Pascal, and was cognizant of their 
 unsatisfactory condition. This, indeed, was a 
 common remark among the Pascals' acquain 
 tances. For Henry Pascal he professed friend 
 ship, was not unfrequently in his company, 
 knew of the Harrison offer, and had discovered 
 by adroit and apparently casual inquiries that 
 acceptance was not improbable. He often 
 dropped in at the Hotel de Ville, it being a 
 news centre and resort for men of wealth and 
 leisure, and was aware of the elder Pascal's 
 arrival and taking apartments an hour after 
 the event. Putting all this and the on dits of 
 the Cape together, his shrewd and interested 
 intelligence had drawn conclusions and con 
 cocted insinuations which he was most desirous 
 to communicate to Madame Tourner. He 
 therefore at once joined her and proposed a 
 turn in the grounds. 
 
 " Verily, I must congratulate you," he said. 
 " The banquet your kindness has prepared for 
 these blacks is really sumptuous." 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 101 
 
 "The Colonel, monsieur, allows me a carte 
 blanche on these occasions." 
 
 "I trust, too, madame, your efforts will be 
 justly appreciated, and that the black taste may 
 not discard your delicacies for 'possum fat and 
 agouti." 
 
 The expression, though highly ill-bred, was 
 a natural one under the circumstances, and had 
 a logical connection in M. Tardiffe's mind. 
 His aim was to lodge among Madame Tour- 
 ner's thoughts an objection against matching a 
 daughter reared in luxury with a man the 
 worldly fortunes of whom were in so critical 
 a condition as those of Henry Pascal. The 
 general idea uppermost was the unwisdom of 
 joining things ill-suited for each other, and, 
 without reflecting on the impropriety, he seized 
 upon the illustration before him, in the spread 
 ing of such delicacies before the gross appetites 
 of negroes, and not rather allowing their plate 
 and palate to accord. 
 
 He had no sooner spoken, however, than he 
 perceived the faux pas as being an uncalled-for 
 fling at the slave, as well as a stricture upon 
 
102 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 Madame Tourner's judgment, and was not 
 surprised, therefore, at the evident displeasure 
 conveyed both in the substance and the manner 
 of her answer. 
 
 " They are negroes and slaves, I know, mon 
 sieur, but they have human hearts, and will 
 be grateful for at least having offered to them 
 what is rare and costly." 
 
 "Pardon me, dear madame; but I was 
 reflecting pardon my saying so that the 
 times are not the most propitious for revealing 
 to slaves the difference between cabin fare and 
 the luxury of the mansion." 
 
 It was a clumsy effort to extricate himself, and 
 Madame Tourner rejoined with an arch smile : 
 
 " What danger can follow, monsieur, when 
 the slave, as you are aware, disdains the higher 
 style of living ? " 
 
 " I own the thrust," he replied laughingly. 
 " But pray, madame, tell me why mademoiselle 
 appears like one bereaved. 'Tis her wont to 
 charm us all with her grace and high spirits." 
 
 " I cannot tell, and it troubles me not a little. 
 Monsieur Pascal made a hurried visit this 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 103 
 
 forenoon, but I was so busy at the ovens you 
 see, monsieur," she parenthetically remarked 
 in her winsome way, " I have quite a range 
 of aptitudes that he left before I could 
 speak with him. Since then Emilie has been 
 depressed." 
 
 " Ah! Ah! I perceive an affaire du cceur 
 a case of melancholy la maladie sans maladie." 
 
 " I haven't had an opportunity," Madame 
 Tourner continued, " of speaking with her fully ; 
 and she seems to be reticent. I trust Monsieur 
 Pascal brought no alarming news from the 
 Cape." 
 
 " I have heard of none," M. Tardiffe replied, 
 " except what relates to the Pascals them 
 selves." 
 
 " The Pascals ! " cried Madame Tourner 
 excitedly, stopping in her walk, and turning 
 in astonishment upon the speaker. "What 
 can have happened to the Pascals ? " 
 
 " Ah! madame, la langue triafourche" insidi 
 ously answered M. Tardiffe. " It repents me 
 to have awakened your curiosity, since 'tis mere 
 street gossip, and may be unjust to our friends." 
 
104 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 "It is no curiosity, but matter of deep per 
 sonal interest, monsieur ; let me know what 
 this gossip is." 
 
 " After all, madame, it scarcely comes within 
 the category of ' alarming,' " remarked M. Tar- 
 diffe who had reached the point for disclosing 
 his beguiling news, but held it back with a kind 
 of orator's pause, that he might give it with 
 increased emphasis. 
 
 " Explain yourself, Monsieur Tardiffe," spoke 
 up his companion with symptoms of impatience. 
 " What concerns the Pascals concerns us." 
 
 "Well, Dame Rumor has it, if it must be 
 spoken, that Monsieur Pascal is unable to meet 
 his obligations and may lose his estates." 
 
 "Mon Dieu! Can it be true?" cried out 
 Madame Tourner. " But, monsieur," she added 
 with a sudden lowering of tone, "the rumor 
 may be an error, or at least overdrawn." 
 
 "It has probably originated," replied her 
 guest, "in another rumor that Monsieur Henry 
 is about to become a clerk in a Kingston 
 counting-room." 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 105 
 
 "He has had such an offer, I know," 
 remarked Madame Tourner with a serious air, 
 and apparently regaining composure. 
 
 "It is surmised," continued M. Tardiffe, 
 "that he would not accept so poor a position, 
 and one so remote, if his father had cash to 
 spare." 
 
 He glanced at his companion, but she said 
 nothing and he went on : 
 
 "Monsieur Pascal has left Sans Souci, and 
 taken apartments at the Hotel de Ville." 
 
 " Indeed ! " spoke up Madame Tourner. 
 
 "And the on dit is that, under all the cir 
 cumstances of the family, he will probably 
 emigrate with his son." 
 
 " The Pascals to leave San Domingo and we 
 know nothing of it ! Monsieur, it is impossi 
 ble!" exclaimed Madame Tourner, again arrest 
 ing her steps and facing her companion. " And 
 yet," she continued after a moment's considera 
 tion, and as if communing with herself, "it 
 would explain this abrupt visit and Elmilie's 
 dejection." 
 
 "I'm very sorry for the Pascals," remarked 
 
106 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 M. Tardiffe in his bland, oily way. "But, 
 after all, madame, virtue is the only nobility." 
 
 " True, monsieur, true ; yet for those who 
 have known affluence to shrink themselves into 
 the fittings of poverty is a difficult and a painful 
 task." 
 
 " Ah ! madame, Jamaica is a prospering isle, 
 and Monsieur Henry is young and capable. 
 He will speedily win fortune for mademoiselle." 
 
 "My daughter, Monsieur Tardiffe, has no 
 occasion to be solicitous for fortune," answered 
 Madame Tourner with dignity. 
 
 " Pardon me, dear madame, mademoiselle is 
 richly and doubly endowed, I know, in person 
 as in purse." 
 
 For a moment or two Madame Tourner 
 remained silent and in thought, when with a 
 sudden and remarkable change of manner, 
 abruptly answering her own reflections, and 
 breaking away as if from a spell, she gaily 
 cried : 
 
 " You shall not cloud our ' Crop Over/ Mon 
 sieur Tardiffe. That such reverses and pro 
 posed changes should exist, and we have heard 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 107 
 
 not a word concerning them is perfectly incredi 
 ble, monsieur, and I will give no credence to 
 these idle Cape on dits. Come, we will rejoin 
 our friends ; they are awaiting us." 
 
 Notwithstanding her assertion of incredulity, 
 as the party became one again M. Tardiffe 
 was not unobservant of the significant glances 
 Madame Tourner gave her daughter, and felt 
 satisfied he had lodged in the mind of the 
 former some judicious trains of thought. 
 
 West India dews, as has been already 
 remarked, are heavy and dangerous, and upon 
 the coming up of Madame Tourner with her 
 guest the party repaired to the piazza. 
 
 In the meanwhile the negroes had been doing 
 fine service at the tables, and were now, in 
 jovial bands, returning to the dance. At a 
 signal the sounds suddenly ceased, and all 
 became expectant, as four young dusky fellows 
 took a position on the green, midway between 
 the piazza and the carpets, and sang in their 
 patois, to a plaintive air and with really fine 
 effect : 
 
108 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 " Me be a nigger-boy, born in de hovel,* 
 
 What plantain da shade from de sun wha da shine ; 
 Me learn to dig wid de spade and de shovel, 
 
 Me learn to hoe up de cane in a line. 
 Me drink my rum in de calabash oval, 
 
 Me neber sigh for de brandy or wine ; 
 Me be a nigger-boy, born in de hovel, 
 
 What plantain da shade from de sun wha da shine. 
 Me be a nigger-boy, 
 Me be a nigger-boy : 
 When me live happy, wha for me repine ? 
 
 " Me neber run from my master's plantation. 
 
 Wha for me run ? Me no want for get lick. 
 He gib me house, and me no pay taxation ; 
 
 Food when me famish, and nurse when me sick. 
 'Mancipate-nigger, he belly da empty ; 
 
 He hab de freedom ; dat no good for me ; 
 My massa good man ; he gib me plenty, 
 Me no lub free-nigger better dan he. 
 * Me be a nigger-boy, 
 
 Me be a nigger-boy, 
 Me happy fellow; den why me want free?" 
 
 It was a delightful incident, expressive of the 
 simple truth, and to Colonel Tourner, cognizant 
 of the brewing plot, especially pleasing. The 
 French planters, generally, were capricious 
 masters, by turns excessively indulgent and 
 severe. The power to control was in conse 
 quence diminished, while their sensual, sybarite 
 habits spread an evil example among the slaves, 
 
 * A song current throughout the West Indies in slavery days. 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 109 
 
 and rendered them less controllable. Colonel 
 Tourner was a man of pure, unsullied character ; 
 a firm, just, and generous master; and the 
 tender, sympathetic nature of his wife had 
 endeared herself and family to the slaves by a 
 thousand kindly little acts in sickness and on 
 other occasions. The effect upon them was not 
 only an exceptional reputation for character 
 and efficiency, but a deep personal attachment 
 to their master, to whom not unfrequently they 
 would kneel for a blessing when he visited the 
 cabins, as he often did, in looking after their 
 welfare; and Colonel Tourner felt justified in 
 the opinion he had that morning expressed to 
 Henry Pascal, that should the negroes rise, he 
 was confident his slaves would defend him. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 THE OUTBREAK. 
 
 ILE Colonel Tourner's negroes were 
 thus regaling themselves and mak 
 ing merry, another body had assem 
 bled at no great distance off, and for a far 
 different purpose. The meeting was at the 
 cabin of one Sharper, a sawyer by trade, who, 
 like many of the more intelligent negroes, was 
 allowed to hire his time, he accounting to his 
 master for so much per month. He lived in 
 an out-of-the-way spot in a forest, as suitable 
 to his trade, at the declivity of the high range 
 of hills between Dondon and Grande Riviere. 
 His cabin of two rooms was made of wattling, 
 plastered on the inside with clay, and roofed 
 with a thatch-work of palm, the walls being 
 adorned with paper cuts of all shapes and 
 110 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. Ill 
 
 sizes, many of bizarre design, and irregularly 
 arranged after negro fashion. Here were 
 met a score of insurrectionary leaders. They 
 dropped in one by one, and having assembled, 
 placed sentries, with watchword, upon every 
 possible avenue of approach. 
 
 The plot was widespread and well organized, 
 the general plan being to murder the plantation 
 whites and fire the buildings ; surprise, if pos 
 sible, the smaller interior towns, and, when 
 pressed, to retire to the mountains, where they 
 could concentrate and drill, and secure arms, 
 as they hoped, from their Spanish neighbors. 
 For a commissariat they looked to the labor of 
 their women and the natural bounty of the 
 soil. 
 
 The special objects now were to decide upon 
 the date and the scope of the impending mas 
 sacre. To lessen the chances of discovery it 
 was important that the date should be as early 
 as possible, allowing time for the runners to 
 speed the word. The second day from the 
 meeting was accordingly agreed upon, August 
 22 the hour, midnight. 
 
112 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 As for the other question who should be 
 the victims? some favored sparing women 
 and children. A majority, however, at the 
 outset, pressed for indiscriminate massacre, and 
 the sentiment became unanimous after an ha 
 rangue from a notorious runaway. This fellow 
 bore the name of Welcome ; and one Latour 
 was the monster master from whose cruelties 
 he had fled and who had lost, it was alleged, 
 within three years, fifty of his negroes from 
 inhumanity. Welcome harangued as follows: 
 
 " Some of you sabe 'bout me. I tell you all. 
 My massa, he da sen' me out to hunt he run 
 aways. I hunt day an' night, an' me no fin' 
 'em. I go home, an', my massa, he da lick- me 
 an hour wid a cart lash. De lash, it da go roun' 
 my body, an' break de skin eb'ry time. Den, 
 my massa, he sen' me out ag'in. I hunt up an' 
 down, an' me no fin' 'em. I go home, an', my 
 massa, he da lick me ag'in till I faint. I be 
 laid up one whole week in de sick-house. Den, 
 my massa, he sen' me out ag'in, an' now I be 
 runaway, too. 
 
 " I git plenty to eat an' hab good time. But 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 113 
 
 I want fur to see my mammy, Elsee. My 
 mammy, she be good to me. She be de only 
 one dat lub me. One night I stole in to my 
 mammy's cabin ; but she be dead. My massa, 
 he say to her, < You sabe where Welcome be ' ; 
 an 7 he da lick her, an' he da pour bilin' water 
 down her throat. An' my mammy, she be dead, 
 an' I be fur blood. Ef we doan lick de buckras, 
 you all sabe it'll be de same to de nigger, ef he 
 hit sof or ef he hit hard. De buckras will 
 lick us an' torment us an' string us up all de 
 same. I be fur to hit hard. Ef we doan git to 
 be free, we'll hab blood for blood." 
 
 The 22d of August began with sunshine, but 
 closed in furious storms. Until noon the day 
 was clear and still and the sun shone with un 
 usual splendor. An hour later a freshening 
 breeze blew from the south-west. Presently, 
 in that direction, the sky became overcast. 
 The cloud rose with a whitish, clearly-defined 
 border, and deepened in color until near the 
 horizon it assumed a uniform purplish black, 
 through which lightning flashed, and above 
 whose line a mass of broken cloud, angrily 
 8 
 
114 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 moving within itself, rolled rapidly forward. 
 As it neared the zenith its velocity apparently 
 increased. A few spiteful gusts disturbed the 
 perfect stillness, when, with abrupt and furious 
 onset, the storm burst. Clouds of driven dust 
 filled the air. The wind roared through the 
 trees, which bent and groaned and lashed their 
 strong arms in the struggle of resistance. 
 Suddenly the darkness deepened, and the flying 
 leaves and branches could scarce be seen. The 
 sequence, however, was but a heavy rainfall. 
 The fury of the storm had passed ; yet at inter 
 vals other storms followed, with lightnings and 
 mighty thunderings, making such a night as is 
 seldom seen beyond the tropics. Wind and rain 
 ceased towards midnight, though the heavens 
 remained shrouded. It was an evening typical 
 of the frightful passions swelling in the breasts 
 of thousands of the blacks, and about to burst 
 forth in scenes of uproar, butchery, and beastly 
 outrage without a parallel. 
 
 Shortly after midnight confused and dreadful 
 rumors of a negro rising began to prevail 
 at the Cape. The first intimation were the 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 115 
 
 conflagrations that suddenly started up over 
 the Plaine du Nord, as observed from the Vigie, 
 or signal port, on the summit of the Morne du 
 Cap, the lofty eminence on the southwestern 
 outskirts of the city. 
 
 It had been the day appointed for the Tour- 
 ners' coming. Till a late hour Henry Pascal 
 had remained at the Hotel de Ville, surmising 
 that if a start had been made before the storm 
 they might possibly arrive after its subsidence. 
 Its continued violence, however, dispelled this 
 view. His father having retired, he went down 
 to the office, and as the storm gave tokens of 
 passing off, concluded, before venturing out, to 
 await further abatement. The hour was late ; 
 besides the drowsy clerk no one else was in, 
 and, seating himself, he became buried in his 
 own reflections. The non-arrival of the Tour- 
 ners strangely oppressed him, and his fancy- 
 ings took every possible drift. Madame Tour- 
 ner may have interposed objections, he thought, 
 or the preparations may not have been com 
 pleted ; if the start had been made before the 
 storm, where had they found shelter? Sup- 
 
116 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 pose the delay should prove fatal ; what if the 
 negroes should rise to-night ? It would be, he 
 thought, a fit night for such work ; and the idea 
 took possession of him, and drew around him 
 a spell, and the elements grew weird and evil- 
 looking, until the flashings and distant thunder- 
 rolls from the receding storm seemed in his 
 brooding imagination the gleam of knives and 
 the groans of the dying. 
 
 The rain had ceased, and rousing himself 
 out of such reveries, Henry Pascal sought his 
 lodgings in la rue St. Simon. He had slept 
 perhaps a couple of hours when a gun from the 
 arsenal awoke him. A second brought him to 
 his feet in a tumult of apprehension, and, rush 
 ing to the window, he learned from a citizen 
 hurrying by that the negroes on the Plain were 
 murdering the whites and firing the plantations. 
 To throw on his clothes and rush out was the 
 work of an instant. Fugitives from the im 
 mediate estates, affrighted by the conflagrations, 
 had arrived, alarm guns were booming, and the 
 streets already in commotion. 
 
 Henry Pascal's first care was to rouse his 
 
1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 117 
 
 father, for he knew the Cape itself was in dan 
 ger. Hastening along la rue St. Simon and 
 passing into la rue St. Louis, he reached the 
 Hotel de Ville to find his father up and expect 
 ing him. They were aghast at the dreadful 
 fate that most probably had overtaken the 
 Tourners. A faint hope remained that the 
 Colonel's slaves had proven faithful, and that 
 he had escaped with his family to some neigh 
 boring town or settlement, as Dondon or Petite 
 Ance, whence the fugitives might make for the 
 Cape in sufficient numbers for defence before 
 the negroes could concentrate. 
 
 Wrung with anguish, Henry Pascal hurried 
 forth again to get tidings from the plain. By 
 this time the city had become thoroughly 
 aroused. Mistrustful of the large mulatto 
 element among them, the whites generally 
 remained at home under arms, in dread uncer 
 tainty awaiting day-break and the action of the 
 authorities. Many with friends and kindred 
 on the Plain were upon the streets in quest of 
 news. Some were making for the Morne du 
 Cap, the summit of which commanded an 
 
118 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 extended view. With others Henry Pascal 
 sought the thoroughfare by which fugitives 
 would enter. Hastily traversing, therefore, 
 la rue St. Louis, and turning north into a 
 crossing street at the Place Royale, he entered 
 the broad la rue Espagnole, along which he 
 pressed past the Cimetiere, past the base of the 
 Western Morne, till he reached a point to scan 
 the Plaine du Nord. Towards the south in 
 every quarter the horizon was aglow. What 
 scenes were occurring beneath the light of those 
 flames ! He stood spellbound, transfixed by a 
 horrible fascination. 
 
 Commencing without a sign of warning on a 
 plantation owned by the Count de Noe, in the 
 parish of Acul, where fourteen negroes mur 
 dered the overseers and fired the buildings, the 
 rising spread with the utmost rapidity and 
 overwhelming force. Excepting Cape Frangois 
 and one or two other ports, the entire northern 
 province was overrun and at the mercy of fero 
 cious and lusty negro bands. Instances were 
 not wanting of remarkable devotion to their 
 masters, but the general conduct of the insur- 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 119 
 
 gents was unexampled for brutality and heart 
 rending outrage. Within four days two-thirds 
 of the magnificent Plaine du Nord lay in ruins, 
 and the wretched remnants of hundreds of 
 white families, suddenly reduced from opulence 
 to beggary, fled, terror-stricken and barely 
 clothed, to the Cape. 
 
 What had been the fate of the Tourners ? 
 
 The day after the "Crop Over" the Colonel 
 rode down to the Cape, and finding that Henry 
 Pascal had been prompt to make satisfactory 
 arrangements, he decided upon bringing over 
 his family the following morning. But on the 
 eve of departure, even of a temporary character, 
 one often finds unexpected things to do, and, in 
 the absence of such sources of delay, the Tour 
 ners did not prove an exception. Preparations 
 had not been completed when it became evident 
 that a storm of unusual force was developing. 
 The departure was, in consequence, postponed 
 till the next day, and everything made ready 
 against an early move, to avail themselves of 
 the forenoon, which even in the rainy season is 
 commonly open. These preparations had kept 
 
120 1791 ,4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 them up late, and, after retiring, the outbursts 
 of the elements allowed but a broken rest. 
 The cooled air and quietude, however, that 
 came with the close of the storm invited repose, 
 and Colonel Tourner had fallen into sound sleep, 
 when a piercing cry from his daughter smote 
 his ear. 
 
 Her anxiety of mind, consequent upon the 
 general condition of affairs, had been greatly 
 deepened by Henry Pascal's visit and prepara 
 tions for flight to the Cape, and this evening, 
 after a day of bustle and fatigue, her brooding 
 spirit had risen to a state of positive agitation 
 at the unexpected delay and their having to 
 pass another night in the midst of lurking and 
 horrible dangers. The terrors of the storm 
 lent their aid, and her imagination became so 
 wrought upon that it was long before she could 
 catch even fitful sleep. In one of her rousings 
 her suspicious ear detected, as she thought, 
 footfalls upon the lawn. She rose and looked 
 out. The heavens were shrouded, but the moon 
 was up and cast a dim light. She could see 
 nothing, however, and supposed, as the negroes 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 121 
 
 kept late hours, it may have been some one 
 passing through the grounds after the storm. 
 Examining anew the lower sash of the windows, 
 the fastenings of which she had taken the 
 precaution to secure, she again sought her 
 couch, when presently sounds on the piazza- 
 roof startled her. Were they rain-drops shaken 
 from the boughs, or the stealthy movements of 
 an intruder? With her heart in her mouth 
 she started up, and as she drew aside a curtain 
 a negro burst upon the sash. She sprang back 
 terror-stricken, and with the appalling cry that 
 aroused her father. Bounding from the bed, 
 he seized his sabre and a brace of heavy double- 
 barrelled pistols, as his daughter wildly entered, 
 exclaiming that negroes were breaking into her 
 room. 
 
 " Be in reach of me with this, if you can, and, 
 if I fall, use it upon yourself," he said in a 
 breath, thrusting a pistol into her hand (for it 
 would be impossible, he knew, in the struggle 
 upon him, to control the sabre and more than 
 one pistol ; nor could he, being in night-dress, 
 secure the other about his person), and rushing 
 
122 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 out, for he was a man of courage and a master 
 of weapons, he met the foremost negro in the 
 hall-way and ran him through, yet not without 
 receiving a slash upon the upper left arm. 
 Another negro, making at him with an axe, 
 fell dead from a pistol-shot within the door- way 
 of his daughter's room. At a third, who was 
 entering the window, he fired, but in the dim 
 light the ball went astray, and the negro, 
 adroitly avoiding a sabre-thrust, sprang upon 
 him with a yell. Colonel Tourner was a man 
 of strength as well as courage, but the left arm 
 was helpless from the stab in the muscles, and 
 the negro, who was a powerful fellow, had borne 
 him to his knees, and was wrenching the sabre 
 from him, when he cried out, " Shoot, Emilie!" 
 She had kept behind her father, almost 
 expiring with terror, yet resolute to help him, 
 if she could. She could tell in the dimness he 
 was wounded, for his left side was all bloody, 
 and when the hand-to-hand struggle began, 
 she saw his disadvantage with an awful, 
 despairing, sinking dread. But as her father 
 went down a tremendous spring of energy 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 123 
 
 suddenly steeled her, and at his outcry, quick 
 as thought, she levelled the weapon and fired 
 at close quarters, the negro pitching over, 
 fatally struck. 
 
 Meanwhile, two of the insurgents had broken 
 into the Colonel's chamber and were now strug 
 gling with the house-servants, who, having 
 rushed up-stairs at the uproar, came to their 
 master's aid. Seizing the pistol from his 
 daughter, the Colonel despatched one of these 
 with the remaining barrel, when the other 
 negro was overpowered. 
 
 Madame Tourner, at the outburst of terror, 
 had remained a moment in an agony of prayer. 
 She was one of those ordinarily nervous women, 
 whose steadiness comes to the surface in extrem 
 ities. Descending by a private stairway, with 
 outcries to the house-servants, she ran for the 
 alarm-bell. The ringing and firings at once 
 aroused the plantation. The manager rushed 
 forth with arms, the slaves flocked from the 
 quarters, and falling upon the rest of the band 
 in greatly superior numbers, speedily put them 
 to flight. 
 
124 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 With a sense of infinite relief Colonel Tour- 
 ner saw from the window that his slaves were 
 proving faithful, cheered his wife and daughter 
 as they stanched and bound his wound, and 
 hastened out. But the insurgents had fled, 
 leaving several of their number, slain in the 
 melee. Calling his slaves about him, he thanked 
 them again and again for their devotion, and 
 asked if they would protect him to Petite Ance, 
 where the neighboring whites, he knew, would 
 concentrate for safety. They answered with a 
 will ; and directing M. Fauchet to have a con 
 veyance in immediate readiness, he turned in for 
 the preparations. Not an instant was to be lost, 
 for the insurrection would gather every moment 
 in numbers and ferocity. All blood-stained 
 and among frightful corpses, Madame Tourner 
 and her daughter threw on their garments and 
 entered the double gig with the Colonel and M. 
 Fauchet. The accompanying negroes, armed 
 with plantation implements and whatever else 
 they could lay hands on, were fleet of foot and 
 kept up with the horses. A third of the dis 
 tance had been made when, looking back, they 
 
1791 ,4 Tale of San Domingo. 125 
 
 saw Belle Vue in flames, fired either by another 
 band or a disaffected remnant of the plantation 
 negroes. At the end of the next mile the 
 negro guard returned, Petite Ance being in 
 view ; and, a few moments after, Colonel Tour- 
 ner and his family, thanking Grod for their 
 lives, pressed into the distracted village. 
 
 Fugitives from massacred homes were flying 
 in at intervals, their agonies finding vent on 
 realizing their personal safety, and increasing 
 every instant the consternation. The terrified 
 people thronged the street, uncertain what 
 course to pursue. Some were for making a 
 stand at the village. Others thought that if 
 the rising was general the negroes would soon 
 unite in overpowering force, and that they could 
 make a body sufficiently numerous to resist 
 the individual bands in which the insurgents 
 were for the moment acting, and reach the 
 Cape. Colonel Tourner's arrival strengthened 
 the latter view, and a considerable party at 
 once set out for Cape Francois. Progress was 
 as rapid as circumstances would allow, for 
 almost all were afoot, the greater part in naked 
 
126 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 feet, and among them many tender women, 
 accustomed to every surrounding and refine 
 ment of wealth. Negro bands were met, but 
 the party was too strong to be taken, and 
 towards day-break reached the Cape. Henry 
 Pascal had remained at his post, eagerly search 
 ing and inquiring among the fugitives. In 
 this group he found his friends, and, trans 
 ported with joy, accompanied them to the Hotel 
 de Ville. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 [HE morning of the 23d broke dismally 
 over Cape Francois. The first action 
 of the authorities, as the formidable 
 character of the insurrection became more and 
 more apparent, was to lay an embargo on the 
 vessels in the harbor and send aboard the 
 women and children. Of the British vessels 
 in port, one was despatched to Jamaica for aid, 
 and this step, following the loud talk that had 
 been prevalent at Cape Francois of a British 
 protectorate, gave rise to a widespread rumor 
 among the insurgents that the English were 
 coming to possess themselves of the island. 
 
 The General Assembly was now in session 
 at the Cape. Imitating the example of the 
 National Legislature, it had taken affairs en- 
 
 127 
 
128 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 tirely into its own hands, the royalist governor- 
 general, M. Blanchelande, giving a mere formal 
 assent to proceedings he could neither arrest 
 nor amend. The sudden presence of a great 
 and common danger healed the breach. The 
 General Assembly at once placed in the gov 
 ernor's hands the National Guard; as many 
 sailors and marines as could be spared from the 
 ships were sent ashore; all able-bodied men 
 were enrolled into the militia, and a force of 
 five or six thousand straightway organized for 
 the city's defence. A strong mulatto contingent 
 formed a part of this force. For, moved by 
 the extreme gravity of affairs, the General 
 Assembly not only took measures to protect 
 the mulattoes from the threats of the petits 
 blancs, but by formal action ratified the 15th 
 of May decree. The mulattoes were, in con 
 sequence, entirely won, and with all the zeal 
 that the powerful interests of property inspire 
 (the well-to-do among them being universally 
 slave owners), they proffered to march with 
 the whites against the insurgents, leaving their 
 wives and children as hostages. A part of the 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 129 
 
 troops was employed in fortifying and guarding 
 the city. An assault by land was possible only 
 at two points the strip between the bay and 
 the Western Morne, and a narrow exit to the 
 northwest between the Western Morne and its 
 northern companion. The guns of the British 
 frigate Sappho commanded the seaward strip, 
 and the attention of the authorities was con 
 centrated upon making good the northwestern 
 passage. The larger and more efficient portion 
 of the troops was designed for offensive opera 
 tions against the insurgents. 
 
 In the midst of all these preparations M. 
 Tardiffe managed to elude military service. 
 A soft, sensual, luxurious mode of life the 
 truffles and capons of Gonaives would alone 
 satisfy him rendered him averse to war, even 
 had he naturally possessed a more martial 
 spirit. He was, too, secretly with the blacks, 
 and believed they would ultimately triumph, 
 if not through their vast numerical superiority, 
 at least by the aid of the rising Jacobin party 
 in France. Besides, he had no interests in San 
 Domingo beyond his passion for Emilie Tour- 
 9 
 
130 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 ner ; and in behalf of this passion he was eager 
 for freedom to turn to account the auspicious 
 opportunities events were placing before him. 
 Availing himself, therefore, of the recognized 
 influence with the blacks which his extreme 
 and well-known Jacobin opinions had procured 
 for him, he successfully represented to M. 
 Blanchelande, while professing hearty sympa 
 thy with the whites in the present crisis, that, 
 as an occasion for mediation might arise, it 
 would be better that he should remain neutral. 
 Early next morning he made a flying visit 
 to Madame Tourner and her daughter on the 
 man-of-war Sappho, where they had quarters. 
 Prior to going he had brought forth from its 
 drawer in the escritoire his bank-book, between 
 the leaves of which were a number of 100 
 notes recently received from London, and these 
 he took out and held for some moments in a 
 meditative way. He was evidently weighing 
 something, and presently reached a conclusion 
 a conclusion quite satisfactory, judging from 
 the ripple of complacency that passed over his 
 features, and one apparently involving the use 
 
1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 131 
 
 of a part of this money; for, drawing out a 
 note, he very carefully folded it, and securing 
 the same in a neat little package, transferred 
 it to his vest-pocket. Before replacing the 
 book, he turned with triumphant eyes to his 
 bank-account. There stood the 50,000 record 
 of deposit, made four years back ! There, too, 
 stood the interest interest that had been freely 
 used, but still showing a substantial balance. 
 There it was; all down in black and white, 
 and no mistake. 
 
 "Sagacious me, happy me," ran his thoughts, 
 "who have this in solid British gold in place of 
 howling, cut-throat blacks and wasted planta 
 tions ! Emilie Tourner captured, and then for 
 England! For where one's treasure is, there 
 one's home should be also, and there shall the 
 nest be made for this shy little bird. The 
 maiden disdains me, but I shall possess her 
 with the greater joy. And you, my potent 
 yellow boys" as with an exulting ha! ha! he 
 patted the bank-book " aid thy master's cause." 
 
 He was cordially received by Madame Tour 
 ner, still dazed by the shock she had sustained, 
 
132 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 and who, in an hour so dreadful, thinking less 
 of personal loss than of the common peril, was 
 most eager for authentic news. Notwithstand 
 ing the excited throng aboard they succeeded 
 in finding a place apart for conversation ; and 
 as they became seated he said, in the bland 
 and turgid style peculiar to him : 
 
 " Most heartily, Madame Tourner, do I felici 
 tate you again" for his greeting had been 
 given with an expression of joy at seeing 
 her alive " upon your marvellous deliverance. 
 All manner of on dits are current in regard to it." 
 
 " I am indeed thankful, monsieur." 
 
 "Where is mademoiselle, and how is she?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " Poor fimilie ! she is prostrated, and unable 
 to see any one." 
 
 " Is it true," he queried, " that she slew one 
 of her father's assailants? Her magnificent 
 conduct is the town's talk." 
 
 " She has skill with the weapon, having often 
 practised with her father, and fired to save him. 
 The ebb of the terrible strain has left her well- 
 nigh undone. But oh ! monsieur," she added, 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 133 
 
 4 
 
 averting her head, and with a movement of the 
 hand as if pushing away something dreadful, 
 " spare me from recalling the horrors of that 
 night! Let us speak of the present. What 
 news have you of Colonel Tourner? I have 
 neither seen nor heard from him for the past 
 twelve hours." 
 
 " Your husband, madame, is now a veritable 
 colonel, commanding a citizen regiment, and 
 fortifying the Northwestern pass beyond the 
 Champ de Mars." 
 
 " What is Monsieur Pascal doing ? " 
 
 " You refer, I presume, to the younger Pas 
 cal?" 
 
 " Yes. He sent fimilie a hurried note yester 
 day afternoon, telling her he expected to be in 
 battle on the 25th to-morrow yet saying 
 nothing of his special duties." 
 
 " Monsieur Pascal has been assigned to an 
 artillery company, and is drilling at the 
 arsenal." 
 
 " Tell me, monsieur, how go affairs in the 
 city, and what is thought of the situation ? " 
 
 u The Cape is a bee-hive, void of drones," 
 
134 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 * 
 
 he replied; "every soul pressed into service 
 and laboring most sedulously. Even Monsieur 
 Charles Pascal refuses to be excused, and is in 
 the ranks of the citizen soldiery." 
 
 "How happens it, then, monsieur, that we 
 have you here?" 
 
 " Have I not sufficient interest in you and 
 yours, madame, to importune for an hour's 
 leave of absence ? " 
 
 "Your kindness is most considerate," she 
 answered. 
 
 "My dear madame," he said, expanding 
 somewhat his usual smile, "the leave of absence 
 is a jest. Notwithstanding, my interest in your 
 behalf is none the less sincere. The truth is, a 
 conference with M. Blanchelande has resulted 
 in my being held in reserve for special pros 
 pective duties, in the discharge of which I may 
 be far more serviceable than I could possibly 
 be on the field or in the trench." 
 
 A moment's pause ensued, when he answered 
 the inquiry he saw upon the lips of his 
 hostess : 
 
 "It is known, as you are no doubt aware, 
 
1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 135 
 
 that I possess influence with the blacks, and I 
 am reserved as a possible peace-maker." 
 
 " Are hopes of peace entertained?" she asked 
 eagerly, "and do you think, monsieur, we shall 
 regain our possessions ? " 
 
 The latter interrogatory turned the conversa 
 tion in the precise direction desired by M. Tar- 
 diffe, who replied : 
 
 " I might answer more definitely after to-mor 
 row's battle. The blacks are concentrating 
 near Petite Ance under the notorious Dessa- 
 lines, and a number of battalions march from 
 the Cape to-morrow morning to attack them." 
 
 " Would our prevailing, do you think, mon 
 sieur, crush the rebellion ? " 
 
 With a shrug of the shoulders, and lifting 
 his brows, he slowly answered : 
 
 " Pos-si-bly." 
 
 " ' Possibly ' ! do you say, monsieur ' Pos 
 sibly/ under these circumstances?" she asked, 
 as the distress upon her countenance visibly 
 deepened. " Mon Dieu ! then you despair." 
 
 " The sentiment of France, madame, favors 
 the blacks. The planters may recover their 
 
136 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 estates, but their slaves, in my judgment, 
 never ! " 
 
 "What are estates without cultivators?" 
 she asked, with an absent air and a tone of 
 bitterness. 
 
 " The estates, madame, if regained would be 
 but naked soil. Fire, I hear, has devoured 
 the plain. The blacks have destroyed every 
 thing, and rendezvous in the mountains. I 
 trust your own sterling slaves have saved 
 Belle Vue." 
 
 " No, monsieur ; alas ! no. The flames burst 
 forth ,when we were a mile away. We have 
 lost everything" tears filling her eyes, "and 
 have sunk at once to utter poverty." 
 
 " Hundreds of others, madame, are in similar 
 circumstances," said her visitor in a voice of 
 apparent sympathy. 
 
 " So much the worse, monsieur. 'Tis impos 
 sible for me to realize our situation. I know 
 the dreadful truth must come crushingly come; 
 but I am utterly confounded, and as yet it 
 makes little impression upon me that, except 
 the clothes we wear and a casket of jewelry I 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 137 
 
 caught up in leaving, we are absolutely penni 
 less. My woes, Monsieur Tardiffe, are like 
 those sudden and fatal wrenchings of the body 
 which deprive the victim of the power to 
 feel." 
 
 "It gratifies me to know," said M. Tardiffe, 
 as if endeavoring delicately to divert from her 
 self her painful thoughts, yet adroitly pursuing 
 his object, " that the circumstances of our Pas 
 cal friends are not so deplorable as I had 
 supposed." 
 
 She turned upon the speaker a look of inter 
 ested inquiry, and he continued : 
 
 " You remember my mentioning, the evening 
 of the * Crop Over/ a bit of Cape gossip, that 
 the Pascal estates were to pass under the auc 
 tioneer's hammer ? " 
 
 She nodded assent. 
 
 "Well, the gossip was an error," he went on 
 to say, "and arose out of Monsieur Pascal's 
 half- formed purpose to dispose of his profitless 
 possessions." 
 
 " In what respect, monsieur, is he better off?" 
 
 " I apprehend, madame, that simply to lose 
 
138 1791^1 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 all is preferable to losing all and being, more 
 over, encumbered with debt." 
 
 " I suppose so," she answered, in a dejected 
 and negative sort of way. 
 
 " Last evening Monsieur Pascal was telling 
 me he had naught remaining save his son's 
 right arm, and he bitterly regretted not having 
 realized, as he had had thoughts of doing, upon 
 his plantations." 
 
 " Alas ! monsieur, how many are stung with 
 the same regret!" 
 
 " At the beginning of revolutionary activity," 
 remarked Monsieur Tardiffe, "I anticipated 
 the probability of these issues and disposed of 
 my possessions here ; and I would have bidden 
 adieu to San Domingo," he added, dropping his 
 voice to the pitch of emphasis, " had not my 
 love for your daughter restrained me a love, 
 alas ! that has proven hopeless." 
 
 At a loss for reply to the latter sentiment, 
 Madame Tourner asked abruptly : 
 
 "What, monsieur, are your present pur 
 poses ? " 
 
 " To take flight the instant I can arrange my 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 139 
 
 affairs. San Domingo is no longer a domicile 
 for whites, even for those possessing affluence." 
 
 " And whither do you go?" she asked again. 
 
 " To old England." 
 
 " Your investments are there," she remarked. 
 
 " Yes, madame ; investments in lieu of what 
 otherwise would have been insurgent slaves 
 and estates in ashes." 
 
 " Oh ! that my husband, monsieur, had shown 
 the same forecast! Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" 
 she exclaimed in tones of keen distress, as the 
 thoughts her visitor had been thrusting upon 
 her took effect, "what will become of us? 
 Where we shall go, what we shall do, God 
 only knows ! " 
 
 Deeming the wound sufficiently irritated for 
 the emollient, M. Tardiffe said, in his kindest 
 manner : 
 
 " Be reassured, dear madame, be reassured ; 
 you have a stay in adversity, even able and 
 willing friends. At this juncture to realize on 
 your bijouterie would be impossible, and I crave 
 acceptance of this," handing her the little 
 package from his vest-pocket. "One word 
 
140 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 more, madame, if you please" as he saw him 
 self threatened with interruption. "If you 
 can't receive it absolutely, reimburse at your 
 convenience. I concede the amplest limit ; and 
 remember," laying stress to his words, whatever 
 I possess is freely at your service." 
 
 She was still on the point of replying, when 
 he again interposed : 
 
 "Pray, don't speak of it, madame, don't 
 speak of it, I must insist. The obligation is 
 upon myself for the opportunity. I must now 
 to the city," he said, rising and extending his 
 hand. " Remember, dear madame, you are to 
 feel perfectly secure as regards finance. What 
 are we for but to assist each other ? And please 
 commend me to mademoiselle." 
 
 On opening the package immediately after 
 the departure of her guest, Madame Tourner 
 was surprised at the amount, and doubted 
 much whether, without the concurrence of her 
 husband, she should have taken it. It annoyed 
 her, likewise, that while their pecuniary condi 
 tion was most deplorable, she had gone beyond 
 the strict reality in stating it, since Colonel 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 141 
 
 Tourner had saved his cash in hand, and 
 u absolutely penniless" was not the actual 
 status. There was, too, a pang from wounded 
 pride in receiving this aid. The result of M. 
 TardifFe's visit, however, "was a decided balance 
 of comfort, and for his considerate and ample 
 generosity her thoughts went out towards him 
 in a very grateful way. 
 
 Thursday morning, the 25th, a force some 
 three thousand strong, commanded by M. de 
 Touzard, a distinguished French officer, left 
 the Cape in high feather to assault the insurgent 
 camp. The march was from the arsenal along 
 the quay, and as the troops passed the Sappho 
 at the southern extremity of the city, they 
 received a salvo from the man-of-war. Emilie 
 Tourner was on deck in the throng, but seemed 
 oblivious to the roar and huzzas. In apparent 
 expectancy her eyes were bent upon the troops 
 filing by. Suddenly her countenance bright 
 ened as she caught the flutter of a handkerchief 
 from one of the batteries, and a wave from her 
 own answered the salute. 
 
 The San Domingo blacks were a remarkably 
 
142 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 energetic race of negroes, and, in numbers and 
 efficiency greatly underrated by the whites, 
 had now concentrated near Petite Ance. Their 
 leader was Paul Dessalines, twin brother to 
 the famous chief, Jean Jacques Dessalines, who, 
 some years later, aided by yellow fever, drove 
 out the veterans of Napoleon, avenging the 
 perfidious seizure of Toussaint 1'Ouverture, 
 and winning black independence. The equal 
 of Jean in ability, he would have equalled him 
 in renown had not his cruelties early in the 
 struggle made him the victim of a conspiracy. 
 The brothers, physically and morally, bore 
 to each other the most striking resemblance. 
 Paul Dessalines was the black slave of a 
 mulatto carpenter of the same name, from 
 whose cruelties he had fled to the mountains, 
 where he raised the standard of revolt. The 
 course of affairs in France and the struggle of 
 the mulattoes for civil rights engendered among 
 the blacks a wild spirit of liberty, which a 
 general laxity of rule throughout the colony 
 greatly favored. Under these circumstances, 
 Dessalines gained many recruits, and soon 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 143 
 
 became the recognized head of a formidable 
 band, and was the chief fomenter of the insur 
 rection. His men were disciplined with inex 
 orable severity and drilled in the most careful 
 manner, arms being readily obtained from the 
 neighboring Spaniards, whose troops were dis 
 tributed along the line of demarcation, and 
 between whom and the French there existed 
 an inveterate jealousy. They were indifferent 
 shots, but the dreadful bayonet, attached to 
 muskets of unusual length, proved in their 
 powerful hands well-nigh resistless. Dessalines 
 himself was entirely illiterate, unable either to 
 read or write, yet possessed a shrewd intelli 
 gence, and delighted in the display of a low 
 cunning. His profound knowledge of negro 
 character, joined to great bodily strength and 
 undaunted courage, enabled him to acquire 
 over his followers unbounded influence. His 
 military talents stood in daring movement and 
 astonishing celerity. In his morals he was 
 execrable, a lustful, bloodthirsty monster, whose 
 savage character was deepened by daily pota 
 tions of rum. His subordinates trembled before 
 
144 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 him, and never felt their heads safe upon their 
 shoulders until out of his presence. Withal, 
 a preposterous vanity possessed him. He sur 
 rounded himself with mimic royalty, gave his 
 officers grand titles, dressed in flashy uniform, 
 and (it is said) even carried about with him a 
 dancing-master, whose instructions, as McKen- 
 zie has humorously observed, very much resem 
 bled an attempt to teach a tiger civilization. 
 He made occasional forays upon the plain, 
 retiring with the booty beyond the Spanish line, 
 and his name was a terror throughout all the 
 Northern province. 
 
 A league west from Petite Ance, or, rather, 
 from its site, for Dessalines had just destroyed 
 the village in fire and blood, lay a valley, 
 skirted on three sides by dense woods, a sylvan 
 cut de sac. At the head of this valley Dessa 
 lines had encamped with a force six or seven 
 thousand strong, a force constantly increasing, 
 almost wholly unorganized, many without arms 
 save an axe or a club, yet fresh from massacres, 
 raging with ferocious passion as famished tigers 
 that had tasted blood, and conscious of the fate 
 
1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 145 
 
 awaiting failure. Every step of progress on 
 the part of the French from the time of leaving 
 the Cape his runners made known to the black 
 chief. He awaited an attack, instead of being, 
 as he usually was, the attacking party, because 
 his camp was a centre for concentration, and 
 every possible moment was needed to put in 
 some sort of array the raw and swelling throng. 
 His trained musketeers, divided into squads, 
 he distributed through the mass to serve as 
 centres of discipline and steadiness. Fearing 
 the effect of the artillery, in order to counter 
 act it, as well as to force, as far as possible, 
 hand-to-hand fighting, and give the superb 
 physique of the blacks its opportunity, Dessa- 
 lines encouraged a notion prevailing among 
 them, that could they once touch the cannon 
 and mutter over them certain magical words 
 the guns would be hurtless. 
 
 M. de Touzard rested his troops through the 
 mid-day, and sighting the insurgents late in 
 the afternoon, immediately advanced upon 
 them with his batteries . in the centre. The 
 first discharge from the cannon was a signal 
 10 
 
146 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 for the onset of the blacks, who rushed with 
 wild cries to the muzzles of the guns. Several 
 of these were served by experienced artillerists 
 from the ships -of- war in port, and did fearful 
 execution. The blacks, moreover, were exposed 
 to a cross fire from the wings, and before the 
 deadly volleys fled into the forest. The French 
 began to think the battle ended, when the 
 enemy again charged pell-mell from the woods. 
 These charges were repeated with a promptness 
 and impetuosity astonishing to De Touzard; 
 and though the blacks in some instances 
 reached the enemy's line and got in bloody 
 work, yet they were invariably driven back 
 by the fatal French fire, and as nightfall 
 approached, Dessalines resolved upon a change 
 in the disposition of his men. Concentrating, 
 therefore, his musketeers, he placed himself at 
 their head, and, followed by his entire force, 
 threw himself resistlessly upon the batteries. 
 The artillerists were overwhelmed, and clubbed 
 or bayoneted almost to a man; the French 
 centre was completely broken, and De Touzard 
 was in despair, when, to his utter amazement, 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 147 
 
 the main body of these brave but untutored 
 warriors, having put the spell upon the cannon 
 and being unconscious of their advantage, 
 betook themselves with a number of prisoners 
 to the woods. The French rallied, and drove 
 back the remainder of the enemy. 
 
 It was now dark, and firing ceased. De 
 Touzard, confounded at the numbers and 
 desperate courage of the blacks, and finding 
 they were receiving constant accessions, deemed 
 it prudent to retreat. With the camp-fires 
 burning, he quietly withdrew, leaving his dead 
 and cannon behind, and reached the Cape after 
 midnight. The French loss was small com 
 pared with that of the insurgents, who exposed 
 themselves in the most reckless way. 
 
 Among the captives was Henry Pascal. He 
 had been struck down senseless, and was about 
 receiving a bayonet stab when a powerful black 
 rushed up, and, thrusting aside the weapon, 
 exclaimed : " He's my prisoner ! " His res 
 cuer, whoever he was, became lost to him in 
 the darkness and tumultuous retreat to the 
 woods. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 INTERCEDING. 
 
 1HEN Dessalines discovered the retreat 
 of the French it was too late to pur 
 sue ; but he despatched several fleet 
 mulatto runners, who, mingling with the mu 
 latto troops in the French army, entered the 
 Cape in the confusion, and during the night 
 scattered on the streets copies of his proclama 
 tion. As shown below, it was a bombastic 
 and sanguinary production, thoroughly charac 
 teristic of the man, and written, at his dicta 
 tion, by his secretary, Chantalle, an educated 
 mulatto ; for Dessalines' learning did not go 
 beyond the ability mechanically to scrawl 
 his name. 
 
 "LIBERTY OR DEATH! 
 
 " Blacks ! the G-od of justice -has brought the 
 148 
 
1791^1 Tale of San Domingo. 149 
 
 axe to bear upon the decrepit tree of slavery 
 and prejudice, and raised my arm to strike off 
 your fetters. The irritated Genius of San 
 Domingo appears his aspect is menacing his 
 hand is powerful. Like an overflowing and 
 mighty torrent, that bears down all opposition, 
 let your vengeful fury sweep away your oppres 
 sors. Tyrants ! usurpers ! tremble. Our dag 
 gers are sharpened, your punishment ready! 
 Ten thousand men, obedient to my orders, burn 
 to offer a new sacrifice to Liberty. Awakened 
 from your lethargy, with arms in your hands, 
 join your brothers, and claim your sacred and 
 indelible rights. Where is the black so vile, 
 so unworthy of regeneration, as to pause ? If 
 there be one, let him fly ; indignant nature 
 discards him from our bosom. Let him hide 
 his infamy far from hence. The air we breathe 
 is not suited to his gross organs ; it is the air 
 of liberty, pure, august, and triumphant. 
 
 "Yellows! whom the infernal politics of 
 Europeans for a long time endeavored to 
 divide from us, rally to our standard. Similar 
 calamities, hanging over your proscribed heads, 
 
150 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 should make us indivisible and inseparable. 
 It is the pledge of your happiness, your salva 
 tion, and your success. It is the secret of being 
 invincible. Independence or death ! Let these 
 sacred words be the signal of battle and of 
 union. 
 
 " They tell us that the English from Jamaica 
 are coming to assist the French, and refasten 
 upon our limbs the galling fetters of slavery. 
 Let these English be accursed. Every man 
 from Jamaica falling into our hands shall be 
 put to death. 
 
 "Headquarters near the Cape, August 24, 
 1791. 
 
 "(Signed) GENERAL DESSALINES." 
 
 Tidings of the repulse spread like wild-fire, 
 and the morning of the 26th found the Cape in 
 an agony of despair. The inhabitants were 
 horror-stricken and in the most dreadful state 
 of uncertainty as to what course to pursue. It 
 was believed that Dessalines was marching on 
 the city. His force was vastly exaggerated, 
 and many thought it 'better at once to make 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 151 
 
 terms, even with such a monster, than to pro 
 voke his rage by fruitless resistance. Such at 
 the moment was the fear and irresolution that, 
 had the black chief appeared before the Cape, 
 it must undoubtedly have fallen. Happily for 
 it, he was then planning an assault upon Don- 
 don and Grand Riviere, and the inhabitants 
 of the Cape, recovering from their panic, soon 
 rendered its naturally strong defences impreg 
 nable. 
 
 The news of Henry Pascal's capture at once 
 became known throughout the city, where his 
 frank, open manners, and generous qualities 
 had made him a universal favorite. In view 
 of Dessalines' proclamation, there was but one 
 opinion as to his fate; for he was partly 
 English or American born, had an English air, 
 and spoke the language as a native. Withal, 
 he had recently arrived from Jamaica, and, in 
 ignorance of the proclamation, would not be on 
 his guard. Beyond this consideration, it was 
 thought the savage Dessalines would not fail to 
 wreak vengence on the prisoners for the horri 
 ble tortures with which certain captured blacks 
 
152 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 had been just put to death at the Cape. Early 
 on the morning of the 26th Colonel Tourner, 
 who could not leave his duties, by one of his 
 men despatched a note to his wife with a copy 
 of the proclamation, acquainting her with the 
 situation, and deeply commiserating the capture 
 of M. Pascal. He detailed the grounds for the 
 opinion universally entertained in regard to 
 his fate, and added that, as his daughter would 
 scarcely avoid hearing the report, it would be 
 better she should break the news to her with 
 out delay, and as considerately as possible. 
 
 Confused rumors of the disaster had reached 
 the Sappho. Wild fears prevailed among the 
 refugees aboard. The desire for authentic 
 intelligence was intense. Madame Tourner, 
 therefore, received her husband's letter with 
 the utmost eagerness, and immediately repaired 
 to her apartment to read it, accompanied by 
 her daughter. The latter was intently listen 
 ing, when suddenly her mother's voice ceased. 
 
 " What is it?" she anxiously cried, advanc 
 ing to look over the letter. 
 
 "In a moment, Emilie; there is something 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 153 
 
 here for me" answered Madame Tourner, as 
 her eyes rapidly ran over the lines. 
 
 An explanation was unavoidable, and making 
 a hurried finish, she said before her daughter 
 could speak, and with as much composure as 
 she could assume : 
 
 "Your father, fimilie, mentions unpleasant 
 news as to one of our friends." 
 
 "What friend? Is it Monsieur Pascal?" 
 she exclaimed almost in the same breath ; for 
 she knew he had been exposed to danger, and 
 it flashed into her mind there could be no 
 other friend whose misfortune would be likely 
 to be withheld from her. 
 
 " Yes, Emilie ; but" 
 
 " Has he been killed? " she broke in with a 
 quivering lip. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Wounded?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 "What, then, has befallen him?" 
 
 " He is a captive." 
 
 " A captive in the hands of Dessalines ! " she 
 cried out, with a countenance turning deadly 
 
154 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 pale, as the negro horrors she had lately expe 
 rienced, and all the stories she had heard of 
 the black chief, conjured up the most harrowing 
 fate. " Maman ! Maman ! it would have 
 been better had he fallen in battle!" And 
 she sank into her seat and sobbed aloud in her 
 anguish. Madame Tourner rose, and tenderly 
 kissing her daughter, put her arms about her. 
 
 " He yet lives, Emilie, and while there is 
 life there is hope." 
 
 "What does my father say?" she asked, 
 looking up. 
 
 Her mother remained silent. 
 
 " Let me see his letter." 
 
 There was a momentary reluctance to yield 
 it, when she wildly cried : 
 
 " Oh ! I must see it, I must know all ! " And 
 receiving the letter, she read it and the enclosed 
 proclamation with intense expression, her man 
 ner the- while undergoing an evident change ; 
 for, having finished, she said with a firm voice 
 and resolute air : 
 
 " There is but one possible means to save him, 
 and I must put it into immediate execution." 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 155 
 
 Madame Tourner directed towards her daugh 
 ter a quick glance of interrogation, and she 
 replied : 
 
 "I will crave the intercession of Monsieur 
 Tardiffe; he has great influence with the 
 blacks," rising, as she spoke, to make prepara 
 tions for leaving. 
 
 " My child ! my child ! " exclaimed Madame 
 Tourner, alarmed for her daughter's mind 
 under these terrible and repeated strainings, 
 " are you beside yourself? Will you go to the 
 city, and unprotected, too, when Dessalines is 
 hourly expected, and they are preparing the 
 Sappho for action ? " 
 
 " I have no fears," she replied with a calm 
 ness strange to her mother; for her being, 
 though powerfully roused, had become harmo 
 nious and steady, as all the faculties settled 
 around a definite, firm, and hopeful resolve. 
 " My father's messenger will be my companion." 
 
 " But, Emilie, my child, consider, I beseech 
 you. What grounds have you for reckoning 
 upon success with Monsieur Tardiffe? He 
 has noble, generous qualities, and such an 
 
156 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 appeal may not exceed their limit; but it 
 would, under all the circumstances be straining 
 them very far." 
 
 " I know," she answered, with the same 
 strange and sudden calmness, more alarming 
 to her mother than the outgush of grief had 
 been, "that I have declined his addresses to 
 receive those of the man for whose life I am to 
 entreat his intercession ; but these very circum 
 stances are the nobleness of the opportunity. 
 If there be in Monsieur Tardiffe anything great 
 and generous, he will hear me ; and I feel I 
 shall succeed," she added, glowing with noble 
 thought, and judging him from the standpoint 
 of her own lofty nature. 
 
 Madame Tourner knew the resolute character 
 of her daughter. She was fearful, too, of the 
 effect of useless opposition upon an already 
 overstrained mind ; and conscious, withal, that 
 any hope for Henry Pascal lay in the direction 
 of the proposed step, ceased to remonstrate. 
 In a few moments Emilie Tourner had made 
 herself ready, and stood in the presence of the 
 Sappho's commander, Captain Winslow, to ask 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 157 
 
 a permit for an hour ashore. Astounded at 
 the request, the first impulse of the captain 
 was a downright, peremptory refusal. But 
 youth and beauty, pleading for a noble object, 
 make a powerful advocate. Captain Winslow 
 listened, and, as Dessalines had not been re 
 ported near, at length yielded to his lovely 
 suppliant on a life and death mission ; exacting, 
 however, her immediate return aboard upon 
 the signal of the enemy's approach, a gun from 
 the Sappho ; and within an hour after the arri 
 val of her father's messenger she had landed 
 on the quay, with her companion, from the 
 jolly-boat of the ship. 
 
 They at once crossed to la rue St. Nicholas, 
 fimilie Tourner being closely veiled and direct 
 ing her companion ; for the Cape was familiar 
 to her, and she knew the location of M. Tar- 
 diffe's home. A few blocks off, they turned 
 north into la rue Dauphine, up which their 
 course lay. Comparatively few persons were 
 met, the citizens being all under arms at the 
 assailable points. Here and there groups of 
 mulatto women were observed gossipping in 
 
158 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 low tones, and the city wore a hushed and 
 oppressive air. At the corner of la rue des 
 Trois Chandeliers they passed "Aunt Sabina," 
 in those days a well-known and eccentric Cape 
 character, who for many years had been vending 
 from this corner her famous ginger-bread and 
 sugar-candy. The terrors of the hour were 
 apparently lost upon the aged negress, who 
 occupied her customary stool, with a tray of 
 merchandise before her. A twenty minutes' 
 walk brought them to the Place d'Armes, the 
 most beautiful square in Cape Francois, and 
 fronting which on the north side stood the 
 mansion of M. Tardiffe. The fountain was 
 playing, and the park, under the influence 
 of the early rains, in splendid leaf and flower, 
 but, absorbed in her thoughts, ISmilie Tourner 
 was oblivious to external objects. Of the 
 church alone, just south from the park, did she 
 appear conscious, and, in passing it, devoutly 
 crossed herself in supplication upon her mis 
 sion. Here she dismissed her attendant, with 
 a message to her father to see her as soon as 
 possible. A stroke from the knocker brought 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 159 
 
 the valet, and she was ushered into M. Tardifte's 
 luxurious drawing-room. 
 
 When he presently appeared he was so 
 utterly confounded at meeting Emilie Tourner, 
 and at such a crisis, and with a countenance so 
 stricken by the terrors and griefs she had ex 
 perienced, that for a moment he could not speak. 
 Recovering himself, he quickly advanced, ex 
 tending his hand, and, catching from the intense 
 soul before him a spirit of reality, broke through 
 the mask of blandishment he commonly wore, 
 and exclaimed with genuine feeling : 
 
 "Mademoiselle! Is it possible? In God's 
 name, what has happened?" 
 
 In low, intense tones, without a blush or 
 hesitation, for self-consciousness was sunk in an 
 overpowering fear for her lover, she answered : 
 
 " Monsieur Pascal is a prisoner, and I am 
 here to ask you, as the only hope for his life, 
 to intercede with Dessalines ; a word from you, 
 monsieur, can save him." 
 
 M. Tardiffe was again completely thunder 
 struck, and for an instant could not reply. 
 When he did, it was to repeat the words : 
 
160 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 "To intercede with Dessalines! Mademoi 
 selle, do you know anything of this man ? " 
 
 " I have heard of him," she replied, " as a 
 bloody-minded, merciless marauder, and he 
 swears death to every comer from Jamaica." 
 
 " Yes, mademoiselle ; and if he has heard of 
 the horrible and indiscriminate torturing of 
 blacks here, his fury is boiling to revenge it." 
 
 " It needs not, monsieur, to deepen the char 
 acter of Dessalines. I know enough to feel 
 persuaded that you alone may save Monsieur 
 Pascal, even if it be not already too late to 
 make the effort." 
 
 " It was not my design, mademoiselle, believe 
 me," replied M. Tardiffe, falling into his usual 
 turgid manner of speech, "to assure you of the 
 fate of these unhappy captives, but to indicate 
 the danger, even to an intercessor, with Dessa 
 lines in his present mood." 
 
 "But you have great influence with the 
 blacks," she answered. 
 
 " I have influence in that direction, they 
 say, mademoiselle ; though quite probably it is 
 overestimated." 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 161 
 
 "And I have ventured here, monsieur, to 
 beg of you to use it in mercy," spoke the same 
 low, intense voice. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he replied, still bewildered 
 at the request, yet beginning to see in it possi 
 ble advantages for himself, and delaying an 
 answer until he could better take in the bear 
 ings, " I have never met Dessalines." 
 
 " But Dessalines, monsieur, certainly knows 
 of you, and he will hear your word. Let 
 me entreat this favor" she added with fervid 
 emphasis, and lifting her hands in supplica 
 tion ; " beyond it there is no hope." 
 
 It was observed just now that a lovely 
 women, in distress, and pleading for a noble 
 end, wields a magic eloquence; and Emilie 
 Tourner's profound grief and appealing look 
 and voice drew sympathy even from a nature 
 as cold and as selfish as that of M. Tardiffe. 
 He could not find it in his heart to prolong or 
 dally with the mental agony visible behind her 
 comparatively calm exterior, and which gave 
 her an almost preternatural aspect ; and there 
 fore replied : 
 11 
 
162 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, I am at your service, freely. 
 Whatever can be done shall be done. But I 
 must have time to consider. What you ask 
 involves difficulty and danger. The where 
 abouts of Dessalines is not now known. Many 
 think he is advancing upon the Cape. Some 
 definite intelligence will doubtless be received 
 this afternoon, and I shall be able, most proba 
 bly, to give an answer by four o'clock. Under 
 no circumstances could action be taken before 
 to-morrow morn." 
 
 Warmly and fittingly milie Tourner ex 
 pressed her thanks, and, rising, said : 
 
 " I must now return. I had but an hour's 
 leave of absence, and the time is almost 
 expired," glancing, as she spoke, at an antique 
 French clock, the face of which was ingeniously 
 contrived to form portions of a picture upon 
 the wall. 
 
 "But, mademoiselle, you must not return 
 afoot and in the heat. I will have a gig 
 instanter," said M. Tardiffe, as he left the 
 room ; and ordering a servant immediately to 
 place refreshments before his guest, he went 
 
1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 163 
 
 for the vehicle himself, dwelling the while 
 upon this startling request to intercede with 
 Dessalines. Returning with the livery, he 
 rapidly drove his visitor to the Calle opposite 
 the Sappho. The ship's boat was hailed, and 
 fimilie Tourner went aboard a few moments 
 behind time. 
 
 Madame Tourner's note and the accounts 
 given by the messenger greatly alarmed the 
 Colonel, and the jolly-boat had been scarcely 
 made fast when he hailed its return to the Calle. 
 
 " Tidings have just come," he said, as he 
 embraced his wife and daughter, overjoyed at 
 seeing him, " that Dessalines is yet in camp, 
 and planning a move upon Dondon, and I 
 have a bit of time off. I am here mainly on 
 your account, Emmie," turning to his daughter, 
 and using the name by which he commonly 
 addressed her. " I reached Monsieur Tardiffe's 
 just after you had left. Your trip to town was 
 reckless, RECKLESS, my child, and it amazes me 
 that Captain Winslow should have allowed it." 
 
 " Well, it is all over," she answered, with a 
 faint smile, " and you see me safe and sound." 
 
164 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 "I don't see/' he replied, "that you are 
 altogether safe and sound ; your face is flushed, 
 and your eyes look congested," scrutinizing 
 her as he spoke. "My daughter," he added 
 in quickened tones, as he took her hand and 
 pressed it, "have you fever?" 
 
 " Oh ! no," was her answer, with an evident 
 effort to brighten up. "Don't you think I 
 have passed through enough to account for 
 some excitement and headache ? " 
 
 " I dread, Emmie, these keen mental strain 
 ings. They are fraught with danger; and it 
 grieves me you should have heightened them 
 this morning by what will prove, I fear, a barren 
 effort." 
 
 " There is hope for success, my father," she 
 eagerly rejoined. "As far, at least, as regards 
 Monsieur Tardiffe's willingness." 
 
 " Emmie, Emmie, don't set your heart upon 
 this hope. It needs a great height of generosity, 
 such as I must believe is beyond Monsieur 
 Tardiffe's reach." 
 
 This remark drew a response from Madame 
 Tourner. The character of M. Tardiffe, as 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 166 
 
 suitor to their daughter, had often come up for 
 discussion between herself and her husband, 
 and she as often had defended it from what 
 she considered unjust disparagements. His 
 recent generous conduct would not permit her 
 to be silent now. 
 
 " Monsieur Tardiffe," she said, " has taken all 
 the action which, up to this time, is possible ; he 
 has declared his willingness to do what he can, 
 and so far, at least, I think he deserves credit." 
 
 " Professions are cheap things, Marie," dryly 
 observed the Colonel. 
 
 " He was our first visitor since our arrival 
 on board," went on Madame Tourner, worried 
 at the unfair reflections upon her friend. " He 
 came here early yesterday morning to inquire 
 after us, and offered, too, to place his means at 
 
 our service." 
 
 "Professions again, my dear, and in this 
 quarter I have never doubted Monsieur Tar- 
 diffe's ability." 
 
 Madame Tourner had determined for the 
 present, at least, 'to withhold from the knowl 
 edge of her husband M. Tardiife's benefaction ; 
 
166 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 but the opportunity to maintain her view and 
 clear the character of her Mend was an irre 
 sistible temptation, and she replied with an air 
 of triumph, as she drew forth the bill : 
 
 " Does not this 100 note Monsieur Tardiife 
 left with me prove him a man of deeds ? " 
 
 The Colonel's face darkened in silence. 
 Never before had money been received under 
 such circumstances. Madame Tourner saw his 
 chagrin, and hastened to exclaim : 
 
 " Forgive me, my husband ! Monsieur 
 Tardiffe's delicacy presented it not as a gift, 
 but to be paid back whenever we choose. I 
 was in doubt whether I should receive it, and 
 knew not the amount until after his departure. 
 But, whatever our own views about taking- 
 it, its bestowal, I think, shows him to be 
 something more than a bundle of mere pro 
 fessions." 
 
 " Marie," the Colonel gravely said, pursuing 
 the train of thought awakened by this incident, 
 " we are not yet outright beggars." 
 
 "My husband, what have we left, save a 
 remnant of cash and a few pieces of jewelry ? " 
 
1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 167 
 
 " Getting back our own, Marie, is not impos 
 sible." 
 
 "Oh! that I could see the faintest ray of 
 hope," she exclaimed. " Shall we get back our 
 slaves, with the negroes in open rebellion, and 
 the current of national legislation setting in 
 strongly towards emancipation ? " 
 
 " But, Marie, the horrible deeds of the vil 
 lains must change the current." 
 
 "And do you suppose, my husband, the 
 negroes would yield then, outnumbering us as 
 they do, and flushed as they are by their 
 successes?" 
 
 " And do you suppose," rejoined the Colonel 
 with emphasis, " we shall not be able aided, 
 as we hope to be, from Jamaica to bring an 
 effective force against them ? " 
 
 "Oh! Colonel Tourner, I can't imagine 
 a darker prospect. Even were our slaves 
 regained, how could we get on our feet again, 
 with fields stripped and every house in ashes ? " 
 
 " Affairs are dark, dark, Marie, I own ; yet 
 light has broken over darker outlooks. As for 
 this money, I grant the generosity of the act ; 
 
168 1791 ^ Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 but my wish is that you hand it back, and that 
 you say to Monsieur Tardiffe we have enough 
 for present wants. When a loan is needed, 
 there are other friends I would prefer seeking." 
 
 "My dear husband," his wife replied, still 
 pressing into view her despairing thoughts, 
 " where can you find that other friend who is 
 not also beggared ? And should one be found, 
 what security have you to offer for a loan? 
 Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! what is to become 
 of us?" 
 
 " Come, come, Marie ! Our talk is distress 
 ing Emmie, whose looks, by the way, give me 
 concern. I've been absorbed in public duties, 
 with little time for thought upon personal 
 matters, yet I am not and shall not be hope 
 less. Great mercies have been granted us in 
 the sparing of our lives, and, whatever the 
 darkness, in the path of right I shall look for 
 light." 
 
 "Emmie, my dear child," he continued, 
 turning to her, and speaking in a voice of 
 subdued tenderness, " calm yourself, and yield 
 to whatever Glod may will. You are a brave 
 
1791^1 Tale of San Domingo. 169 
 
 girl and a good Christian, and an hour like 
 this is a trial by fire. The panic is waning, 
 and the Cape can be made sure against all the 
 force Dessalines may bring. In any hap, you 
 and your mother are thoroughly safe here." 
 
 " Do you think there is hope for M. Pascal ?" 
 she asked in an intense way, indicative of her 
 burning thoughts. 
 
 "Have you read my note to your mother, 
 Emmie?" 
 
 "Yes," she said, "but I thought your opin 
 ions may have undergone some change for 
 the better." 
 
 " I have nothing to add, my child, and let 
 us not dwell upon this." 
 
 " Do you think, please let me ask, that M. 
 Tardiffe's intercession would be successful?" 
 
 "I have warned you," he replied, "not to 
 set heart upon his trying it." 
 
 " But, my father, should he attempt it, what 
 think you would be the issue? " 
 
 "Well, Emmie, I can say thus much: M. 
 Tardiffe has undoubted weight with the blacks, 
 and should he have the daring and greatness 
 
170 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 of soul to meet Dessalines and press the cause, 
 I believe there would be good ground for hope. 
 But I must have a word with the captain 
 before leaving." 
 
 And so saying, he sought Captain Winslow, 
 an interview with whom in reference to certain 
 matters bearing on the Cape's defence consumed 
 the residue of the Colonel's time. Kissing, 
 therefore, his wife and daughter, and bidding 
 them keep brave hearts, and promising, if 
 nothing prevented, to see them again on the 
 morrow, he took the jolly-boat and was speedily 
 put ashore. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 VAIN PLEADING. 
 
 IMMEDIATELY upon her father's 
 leaving, fimilie Tourner sought her 
 sleeping apartment for repose, de 
 clining le second dejeuner, the light midday 
 repast common among the upper classes in the 
 West Indies. Madame Tourner had partaken 
 of refreshments, and was sitting at the table 
 abstracted when M. Tardiffe's card, requesting 
 a private interview, was handed to her. She 
 at once received him, and they conferred 
 together long and earnestly. 
 
 The substance of his communication was, 
 that San Domingo could no longer be a fit 
 place for whites ; that, had emancipation been 
 brought about peacefully and by degrees, with 
 the institutions and methods of civilization 
 
 171 
 
172 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 preserved, and the negroes gradually raised to 
 a fair standard of citizenship, their freedom, 
 as he believed, would have been a blessing 
 to all ; but that, having risen in merciless 
 rebellion, the ignorant and bloody wretches 
 would keep the colony a pandemonium ; that, 
 under the most favorable circumstances, pros 
 perity could not return for a generation, and 
 that he had resolved, by the first opportunity, 
 to leave for England; that if Henry Pascal 
 were alive, of which he had very little expecta 
 tion, his penniless condition morally freed 
 mademoiselle from her engagement; that M. 
 Pascal himself, as soon as he had time for 
 sober reflection, could not, as a man of honor, 
 do otherwise than insist upon the release ; that 
 his own desire and purpose was to offer himself 
 again in marriage to the daughter; that the 
 effort of his life would be to provide for her a 
 happy home in Old England, and that he 
 would welcome her parents to share it with her. 
 He thanked Madame Tourner very warmly for 
 her friendliness towards him, expressed the hope 
 that she would second his final suit, and asked 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 173 
 
 her to give to mademoiselle the note he pre 
 sented, as an answer to her supplication to inter 
 cede with Dessalines in behalf of Henry Pascal. 
 Madame Tourner entered into M. Tardiffe's 
 views and hopes with the utmost eagerness. 
 The latter had sedulously cultivated her, and 
 succeeded in thoroughly insinuating himself 
 into her favor. Flattered and pleased by his 
 adroit blandishments, she remained deceived 
 as to his real character, and regarded him as 
 being altogether the most eligible offer she 
 knew of in the colony. From the first she had 
 been partial to his suit, as the Colonel had 
 been to that of Henry Pascal. At the same 
 time she entertained a just regard for the high 
 character of the latter, and, her daughter's 
 decision having been made, acquiesced in it 
 cheerfully. Jfow, however, as the fortunes of 
 both families had been swept away at a stroke, 
 and the continuance of the engagement, in her 
 view, out of the question, she considered it the 
 plainest wisdom and a moral necessity on her 
 daughter's part to accept M. Tardiffe's offer. 
 A lady of fashion and of luxurious tastes, 
 
174 1791^1 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 which wealth had enabled her freely to gratify, 
 the sheer poverty confronting her was an un 
 speakable dread, and she became wrought up 
 almost into an ecstasy for the complete and 
 happy deliverance so easily within her daugh 
 ter's power. She was persuaded M. Tardiffe 
 had the qualities to make a good husband, and 
 could in time win Emilie Tourner's affections ; 
 and the contrast between her daughter's portion 
 as the wife of such a man, with a home of 
 affluence in sterling Old England, her father's 
 ancestral land, and where she herself had but 
 recently been educated the contrast between 
 this outlook and a life of despairing poverty in 
 distracted San Domingo, with the island in the 
 hands of insurgent slaves, and not an influence 
 at work or in prospect under which the Colonel 
 could expect to lift himself up, was so over 
 whelmingly for the former view that she could 
 not be without hopes that the offer would com 
 mend itself to her daughter's solid judgment. 
 Nevertheless, she thought with alarm of 
 opening the subject to her, a request M. Tar 
 diffe had been particular in pressing. She 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 175 
 
 well knew how closely the affections of fimilie 
 Tourner's strong nature were knit to Henry 
 Pascal; the excitements and terrors, too, of 
 the past few days were visibly affecting her; 
 and, deeply loving her daughter, she dreaded 
 to add aught to the strain. But she regarded 
 it as a life-and-death crisis. It was a vital 
 moment, not to be recalled, for attempting the 
 deliverance of her daughter and family from 
 unutterable wretchedness, and Madame Tour- 
 ner summoned her resources to the delicate 
 and fateful task. As four o'clock drew on, 
 Emilie Tourner rose from the ottoman, whereon 
 she had vainly wooed sleep, and made ready 
 to meet M. Tardiffe. Her expectations for a 
 favorable response had been heightened by the 
 news her father brought, that Dessalines was 
 yet in camp. She presently joined her mother, 
 and, scanning the quay, expressed the hope 
 that M. Tardiffe would justify his reputation 
 for punctuality. 
 
 "I trust you are feeling better, iSmilie," 
 said Madame Tourner, greeting her daughter 
 in a cheery way. 
 
176 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 "No, maman, I am not better, and my father's 
 apprehensions may be realized. I shall be glad, 
 indeed," shading her eyes with her hands as 
 she spoke, as though the light was painful, 
 " when the interview with Monsieur Tardiffe 
 
 is over." 
 
 " I hear," remarked Madame Tourner, hesi 
 tating from a sense of dread to open the subject 
 her mind was full of, "that Captain Winslow 
 intends sailing for England as soon as the 
 safety of the Cape is assured and the embargo 
 raised." 
 
 " For England! " musingly replied her daugh 
 ter " England is a favored land." 
 
 " It is indeed, Emilie." 
 
 " Strange that this people should be so quiet 
 and prosperous, while a few miles over the 
 channel another people are writhing in political 
 insanity ! " 
 
 "Would to G-od, my child, we were all 
 there!" 
 
 " I have passed some happy days in Eng 
 land," remarked Emilie Tourner, unheeding 
 her mother and speaking in the same musing 
 
1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 177 
 
 way, as her eyes pensively looked out over the 
 northward waters, "days so expectant and 
 hopeful. Ever since my return the clouds 
 have been darkening, darkening over us." 
 
 "I hear, too, iSmilie, that Monsieur Tar- 
 diffe is to leave for England by the first oppor 
 tunity ; perhaps on the Sappho." 
 
 " I'm not surprised," answered the daugh 
 ter. " My surprise is that, having transferred 
 his wealth thither when he saw this storm 
 brewing, he should have remained till it burst." 
 
 "You know the cause, Emilie. Who has 
 held him in San Domingo ? " 
 
 " I have never given him encouragement, 
 maman," she quickly answered. 
 
 " Alas ! my child, 'tis but too true. As affairs 
 have gone, it would have been far, far better 
 had you listened to Monsieur Tardiffe's suit." 
 
 "But the matter is decided, maman, and 
 why should you recall the issue now ? I hope," 
 she added, " he will soon be here," as she 
 again scanned the quay and drew her hand 
 across her forehead. 
 
 Madame Tourner's moment had come. 
 12 
 
178 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 "Emilie," she said, speaking slowly and 
 with a sudden accession of mingled tenderness 
 and solemnity, " I have somewhat to say to 
 you, and I beseech you, as though they were a 
 mother's dying words, to hear me patiently." 
 
 Surprised at the strength and abruptness of 
 the appeal, her daughter answered, as she drew 
 back in the attitude of amazement : 
 
 "Maman, what can you mean? Have I 
 been disposed to be wanting in proper respect 
 for your opinions and wishes ? " 
 
 " When I look, my child, upon your stricken 
 face," her eyes filling at her words, " I dread 
 to speak ; but I must speak. Will you consider 
 what I have to say ? " 
 
 " Maman, what do you mean ? " she replied, 
 more and more astonished at her mother's 
 language and manner. "What I must know 
 let me know at once, and I promise the filial 
 heed you have ever received." 
 
 " fimilie, my word is this, and bear with me 
 in saying it : If Monsieur Tardiffe seeks your 
 hand once more, let me implore you to ponder 
 the opportunity." 
 
1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 179 
 
 A solicitation more unexpected, and, under 
 all the circumstances, more trying, to Emilie 
 Tourner could scarcely be conceived. With 
 disaster and distress multiplied around her, 
 and her tenderest anxieties profoundly roused 
 at the desperate straits of Henry Pascal, it 
 was an appeal, at the very moment she was 
 endeavoring to rescue her lover, to turn her 
 back upon him for his discarded rival. She 
 perceived, too, in the suggested breach of faith 
 a moral obliquity, and altogether her mother's 
 words smote her intensely. Hardly believing 
 her ears, she exclaimed with suppressed indig 
 nation : 
 
 " And this from you to me, maman ! Is it 
 possible you can counsel so heartless an aban 
 donment of Monsieur Pascal at the hour, too, 
 of his utmost need, and when my effort for him 
 springs from the relation I bear to him ? " 
 
 "My heart bleeds for you, my daughter," 
 tenderly answered Madame Tourner. " Alas ! 
 that they who love must often weep. But 
 hear me through, and decide. Have you not 
 promised filial heed ? " 
 
180 1791 J. Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 " I have," she replied ; " but, mon Dieu ! 
 why reopen here this closed issue ? " 
 
 " I will tell you, fimilie. fimilie, I love 
 Monsieur Pascal, I applaud your effort for him, 
 yet I see not how the engagement can continue." 
 
 "On what grounds ?" 
 
 " Because the fortunes of the families have 
 changed, Emilie. Monsieur Pascal is penniless, 
 and what dowry could you bring him ? " 
 
 " If the worst should continue here, he still 
 has expectations," replied Emilie Tourner, with 
 evident effort and reluctance at speaking, yet 
 unavoidably drawn into the conversation. 
 
 " You refer to the Harrison project in Ja 
 maica?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But you are aware, fimilie, of the common 
 talk, that this rising of the slaves must rouse 
 those in Jamaica, and that the hope of Eng 
 land's interfering in our affairs is founded upon 
 her fears in this direction." 
 
 She looked towards her daughter for an 
 answer, yet received none. 
 
 " Monsieur Pascal's expectations, Emilie, are 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 181 
 
 very doubtful; were they far more assured, 
 mere expectations are not the proper prepara 
 tion for matrimony ; even were they realized, 
 Emilie, Monsieur Pascal's income would be 
 meagre and insufficient, with an infirm father, 
 too, now dependent upon him." 
 
 Emilie Tourner sat silent, with eyes down 
 cast. Fever was in her veins, and grief swell 
 ing in her heart. 
 
 " fimilie," her mother continued, "had the 
 fortunes of the families a year since been what 
 they are to-day, do you think Monsieur Pascal, 
 whatever his affection for you, would have 
 sought you in marriage ? " 
 
 Her daughter still sat silent. 
 
 " For a stronger reason, Elmilie, are you 
 morally freed from the engagement, because 
 both of you have suddenly sunk from affluence 
 to poverty, with all the trainings of affluence 
 remaining; and Monsieur Pascal, as soon as 
 he can reflect, will, I feel sure, insist upon the 
 release." 
 
 An answer came from poor Emilie in a flood 
 of hot tears. 
 
182 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 Sorrow is king of this world, thought 
 Madame Tourner, as her eyes tenderly dwelt 
 upon her stricken daughter. Her tears she 
 deemed it best not to attempt to interrupt. 
 She herself, though hoping the worst now over, 
 was nevertheless greatly moved. The pang 
 she felt compelled to inflict upon her daughter 
 touched her motherly heart to the core, and, 
 Emilie Tourner's paroxysm of tears having 
 passed, she said to her, in a voice low and full 
 of sweet sympathy : 
 
 "It distresses me, Emilie, very deeply indeed, 
 to have to say these things; but a mother's 
 love moves me, and if I have chosen this hour 
 to speak, it is because an unparalleled and 
 appalling crisis is upon us." 
 
 " Maman," answered her daughter, to whom 
 tears had brought temporary relief, and who 
 for the moment felt less disinclined for a part 
 in conversation, " I understand you, and believe 
 you speak for what you think is best. But 
 even should reverse of fortune result in cancell 
 ing the engagement" (her eyes filling again), 
 
1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 183 
 
 "it is enough that my hand cannot be given 
 where my heart is withheld." 
 
 "Ihnilie," rejoined her mother in a tone of 
 earnest yet tender expostulation, " It is a school 
 girl's notion that matrimony must needs be the 
 sequence of a passion." 
 
 " Matrimony, maman, is a sacrament, and a 
 holy estate, and, should I wed Monsieur Tar- 
 diffe, I would be guilty before God." 
 
 "No, JCmilie, no; what justifies marriage, 
 on sentiment's side, are the qualities that com 
 mand friendship." 
 
 "And are you yet to learn, maman, that 
 Monsieur Tardiffe, in my own estimation at 
 least, is lacking in such qualities? " 
 
 " His wooing was rejected, Emilie, as I had 
 supposed, not from positive dislike, but because 
 your preference had been won in another 
 direction." 
 
 "I forbear," rejoined Elmilie Tourner, "to 
 speak here of his character as I have read it ; 
 for he shows a disposition to aid in Monsieur 
 Pascal's rescue, and so far I own his conduct 
 noble, and am deeply, deeply grateful." 
 
184 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 "ICmilie," said her mother with increasing 
 earnestness, and encouraged by a willingness 
 on her daughter's part to bear the conversation-, 
 " our straits are desperate ; one word from 
 
 can save us." 
 
 " I know our forlorn condition, mam an ; no 
 word from you can deepen my sense of it, and 
 to any honorable sacrifice I would give myself, 
 oh! how joyfully." 
 
 "The hour is supreme, fimilie; out of it 
 issues for life will come. Reflect before finally 
 answering Monsieur Tardiffe. / beg you on my 
 knees" exclaimed Madame Tourner, with pas 
 sionate energy, rising and apparently about to 
 assume the humiliating posture. 
 
 " Never ! You must not ! Will you forget, 
 maman, a parent's dignity?" exclaimed fimilie 
 Tourner, rising herself and extending her hand 
 deprecatingly. 
 
 " I forget everything, my child, save the 
 pressure of this crisis. Will you weigh your 
 answer, Emilie?" she added, resuming her 
 seat and bending upon her daughter an intense 
 look. 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 185 
 
 " You have my word to give you filial heed. 
 But, maman, be brief, if you have aught else 
 to say. I feel I hardly know how," passing 
 her hand across her brow ; for the momentary 
 betterment was vanishing before the rising 
 fever. " I can scarce sit up, and this light 
 seems burning into my eyeballs." 
 
 " Bear with me, my daughter, one moment 
 more. Emilie, Monsieur Tardiffe is a gentle 
 man, amiable and in every way accomplished, 
 a man of experience and ripened judgment, of 
 ample fortune, and with no faults that a good 
 wife would not be able to control." 
 
 She paused, expecting a reply, but fimilie 
 Tourner sat mute, with her head bowed and 
 the left hand shading her eyes. 
 
 " A man of such a character, Emilie, devoted 
 to your happiness, should command the friend 
 ship that justifies marriage. If you would 
 listen to him he would take us all to England 
 to England, where you have lived some 
 happy years, and for which, since these awful 
 days have darkened over us, I have often heard 
 you sigh." 
 
186 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 She glanced at her daughter, but no response 
 came from the bowed form. 
 
 " The alternative, iSmilie, is wretchedness for 
 you and for us. We are face to face, my 
 daughter, with absolute, hopeless poverty, and 
 this, to those who have known affluence, means 
 a living death. Even should our slaves be 
 recovered a hope I see no expectation of ever 
 being realized how utterly despairing, Emilie, 
 would the prospect be, with the estate in ashes, 
 our friends as stripped as ourselves, and the 
 colony all torn and at the mercy of Jacobin 
 legislation ! Your father, Emilie, is unskilled 
 in any calling. Were it otherwise, where 
 would positions offer in distracted San Do 
 mingo ? And could a position be obtained, the 
 pay would be that of a menial and cover only 
 vulgar wants. His mind is now absorbed in 
 other directions the defence of the Cape excites 
 and engrosses him ; but he must soon wake up 
 to his personal condition, and cruel, cruel days, 
 Emilie, are at hand days of weary and fruit 
 less strugglings with poverty, and of bitter 
 memories, and humiliation for his family. 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 187 
 
 Oh ! my daughter, save yourself and us from 
 lifelong woe ! " 
 
 Her mother again paused ; when lifting her 
 head, and displaying a countenance on which 
 grief and illness were tracing unmistakable 
 lines, Emilie Tourner replied : 
 
 " Maman, I shall weigh the answer, as you 
 have asked me to do ; but I must retire. Call 
 me when Monsieur Tardiffe comes." 
 
 " He has been here already, limilie," said 
 Madame Tourner. 
 
 " Been here already ! " she cried out in blank 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Why did you not call me ? " 
 
 " It was unnecessary, my daughter." 
 
 " He refuses, then," she said. 
 
 "No, Emilie, he has arranged to go early 
 to-morrow morning ; but he goes conditionally, 
 and his valet is to be here at six for your 
 answer. This is his note." 
 
 She seized it and read : 
 
 " MADEMOISELLE : San Domingo can no 
 longer be an eligible abode for whites, and 
 
188 n$lA Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 by the next ship I bid it adieu for England. 
 On the eve of departure let me solicit again 
 the hand I have sought so long, and place at 
 your feet what fortune I possess, and the love 
 that repulse has not diminished. Let me ask 
 you and your parents to share with me a 
 happy home in a noble land, far away from 
 this frightful island. 
 
 *"Your mother is empowered to explain 
 matters more fully ; and should this note 
 receive your approval, I shall hasten to comply 
 with your request, and imperil my life in the 
 attempt to rescue M. Pascal. 
 
 " I am, mademoiselle, with profound respect, 
 
 "Louis TARDIFFE." 
 
 In her disturbed state of mind the closing 
 sentence, for an instant, was unintelligible. 
 She re-read the note, and its import delivered 
 a blow not to be withstood. The sudden 
 extinguishment of all hope for Henry Pascal, 
 save at the price of wedding a rejected suitor, 
 from whose character she shrank, and whose 
 heartlessness now took such an advantage of 
 
1791 ,4 Tale of San Domingo. 189 
 
 her necessity together with her mother's dis 
 tressful appeal was too much for an already 
 overburdened spirit, and Emilie Tourner sank 
 fainting to the floor. 
 
 Madame Tourner's experience in the planta 
 tion hospital taught her the proper course at 
 this crisis. Quickly adjusting her daughter's 
 form to a horizontal position, she applied cold 
 water plentifully to the face. Under these 
 influences Emilie Tourner rapidly revived, and, 
 her mother having hurriedly called in help, 
 they assisted the patient to her apartment, 
 w"here, exchanging the dress for a wrapper, 
 ]5inilie Tourner sought her bed, desiring to be 
 left entirely to herself and protected against 
 light and noise. Madame Tourner retired to 
 the sitting apartment, and, collecting her 
 thoughts, received comfort at this dreaded 
 interview's being over. On the whole it was 
 much more satisfactory than she had had 
 reasons for expecting, and she was not without 
 some decided hopes for a successful issue. She 
 felt convinced her daughter's practical mind 
 must see that the engagement to Henry Pascal 
 
190 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 was at an end, and several considerations 
 encouraged the impression that she would, 
 upon reflection, think favorably of M. Tardiffe's 
 offer brilliant under ordinary circumstances, 
 and now plainly providential. Misinterpreting 
 the source of fimilie Tourner's comparative 
 passiveness (for it was illness, not a tendency 
 to acquiesce), she considered it hopeful that 
 her daughter did not resist the appeal more 
 decidedly. Her wish, too, just expressed, to 
 be left entirely to herself, was taken to signify 
 reflection on what had been said to her, and 
 reflection, under all the circumstances, Madame 
 Tourner regarded as a prelude to the hoped-for 
 decision. The advantageousness of the proposal 
 in every way, and the moral necessity of closing 
 with it, could not but commend itself, she 
 thought, to her daughter's practical intelli 
 gence ; and even should she regard its accept 
 ance as a pure offering to her parents' welfare, 
 her mother knew there was a spirit and a piety 
 equal to the sacrifice ; for Emilie Tourner was 
 heroic of soul, and a daughter, too, in whom 
 filial affection and dutifulness were " ornaments 
 
1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 191 
 
 of grace to the head and chains of gold about 
 the neck." These favoring circumstances being 
 dwelt upon by Madame Tourner, and colored 
 and exaggerated by her intense desires, she 
 was wrought up to think that what her daugh 
 ter ought to do she would do, and awaited 
 the arrival of M. Tardiffe's valet with some 
 sanguine anticipations. From time to time 
 she softly approached the entrance to the 
 apartment of her daughter, whom she found 
 apparently resting in quiet, and would not 
 disturb. 
 
 The exterior quiet, however, was fallacious. 
 Elmilie Tourner was on the verge of acute 
 illness. The fever was fast passing into de 
 lirium, and her outward repose was in vivid 
 contrast with the agitation of the mind, whose 
 chambers were thronged with dreadful visions 
 drawn from the horrors of the past few days. 
 At six the valet arrived punctually, and Madame 
 Tourner entered her daughter's apartment as 
 the latter, in a state of semi-consciousness, was 
 rousing herself from one of these frightful 
 visions, in which the monster Dessalines orders 
 
192 1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 Henry Pascal to execution. Seeing her daugh 
 ter awake, she said : 
 
 " Emilie, Monsieur Tardiffe's valet has come ; 
 are you ready to give an answer ? " 
 
 " Oh ! let him save Monsieur Pascal," she 
 cried in tones of deepest pathos, starting up 
 and resting on the elbow, and speaking with 
 a wild, terrorized look, which, in the shaded 
 room, was lost upon Madame Tourner. 
 
 " On the conditions, milie, he has asked ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes!" 
 
 " Shall I write him in your name ? " 
 
 " Yes ; he must save him." 
 
 " Henry ! " she cried, with an outbreak of 
 tears, and for a moment becoming herself, 
 "what horrors have I dreamed! The light," 
 she almost screamed, looking towards the 
 entrance to her apartment, the curtain of which 
 Madame Tourner had partly drawn, " is blind 
 ing me oh ! my head is bursting ! let me be 
 alone" and she clasped her hands to her 
 forehead and sank back upon the couch. 
 
 In the agony of a great grief even a mother 
 is an intruder, and Madame Tourner imniedi- 
 
^4 Tale of San Domingo 193 
 
 ately withdrew. Anxiety in regard to the 
 decision now gave place to sympathy for the 
 sufferer. She knew through what pangs the 
 decision had been reached, and her heart was 
 wrung for her daughter. Still, there was a 
 vast sense of relief that it was all over, and 
 over so happily. It would all be for the best, 
 she knew, and her daughter's words rung in 
 her ears as angels' voices. The prospect cleared 
 up beautifully. A dark, devouring cloud rolled 
 off from before her, and a flood of silvery sun 
 shine began pouring in. She at once addressed 
 herself to the note to M. Tardiffe, and wrote 
 as follows : 
 
 " DEAR MONSIEUR TARDIFFE : I write in 
 haste and in Emilie's name. She accepts the 
 conditions : and I trust and believe, should you 
 find M. Pascal alive, that you will be able to 
 rescue him. fimilie, as you may suppose, is 
 in great distress. But the storm will soon be 
 over, and all, I am sure, will be bright and for 
 the best. 
 
 "Be on your guard against the claws of 
 13 
 
194 1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 Dessalines. He is a veritable tiger, and I 
 shall be in dread till your return. 
 
 " I remain, monsieur, most sincerely, 
 
 "MARIE TOURNER." 
 
 Madame Tourner handed the note to the 
 valet, and saw him off, and had returned to her 
 quarters but a few moments when, hearing her 
 daughter's voice, and hastening to her side, she 
 was astounded and very greatly alarmed to 
 find her in a state of delirium, in which the 
 names of Henry Pascal, Dessalines, and M. 
 Tardiffe were continually and piteously recur 
 ring. The ship's surgeon was immediately 
 summoned. After a brief examination he 
 pronounced it a case of acute and critical cere- 
 britis, superinduced by intense mental strain. 
 Help was called in, and the patient soon dis 
 robed and the prescribed remedies adminis 
 tered, when Madame Tourner withdrew a 
 moment to despatch a second note to M. Tar 
 diffe. As ardently as she desired the match 
 with the ex-proprietor, yet she was a woman of 
 honor and a true mother, and would not, for 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 195 
 
 an instant, allow M. Tardiffe to act under 
 mistaken impressions. She accordingly wrote 
 to him that her daughter had been suddenly 
 stricken with brain fever, and that her sup 
 posed assent to the " conditions " was given, as 
 she now feared, in a moment of delirium and 
 irresponsibility. 
 
 On applying to Captain Winslow for the 
 service of a messenger, she found that the 
 hour for allowing permits ashore had passed. 
 The letter was delayed, therefore, until the 
 following morning, and despatched then at the 
 earliest practicable moment. It failed, how 
 ever, of its object ; for the messenger reported 
 on his return that M. Tardiffe had left for the 
 country an hour previous to his arrival. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 A THOUGHTFUL RIDE. 
 
 HIS last effort to capture 
 
 Tourner had not appeared very 
 hopeful to M. Tardiffe. He was, 
 therefore, most happily surprised at receiv 
 ing the madame's note. "The sweet bird," 
 he inwardly congratulated himself, "that has 
 eluded me so long is at last caged and shall 
 now sing for me alone." He had really no ex 
 pectation of being able to rescue M. Pascal. It 
 was universally believed that the prisoners had 
 been put to death. The excessively cruel char 
 acter of Dessalines stimulated as the mons 
 ter was by the carnival of massacre, emboldened 
 by victory, and pressed towards revenge by the 
 horrible tortures with which a number of blacks, 
 without show of trial, had just been put to 
 196 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 197 
 
 death at the Cape gave ample warrant for 
 such an opinion. It was felt, too, that Dessa- 
 lines would be disposed towards violent meas 
 ures, in order to make the breach between the 
 whites and blacks irremediable. And in regard 
 particularly to Henry Pascal, no one who had 
 read the proclamation entertained a doubt that 
 his recent arrival from Jamaica, should it come 
 to the knowledge of the negro chief, would 
 alone and at once decide his fate. 
 
 M. TardifiVs supposition was that he would 
 not have to advance far into the country before 
 receiving intelligence in regard to the fate of 
 the captives definite enough to warrant his 
 return ; and, though he should not have rescued 
 M. Pascal, yet he felt that fimilie Tourner 
 would be virtually within his grasp. The 
 taking-oif of her lover would remove the main 
 obstacle between them, and the attraction resid 
 ing in his ample and secure wealth, joined to 
 the powerful advocacy of Madame Tourner, 
 would, he felt assured, finally win the prize. 
 Well known though he was as an ami des noirs, 
 he was sensible, in the present spirit existing 
 
198 1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 among the blacks, of the danger he was en 
 countering in advancing even a few miles beyond 
 the Cape, and took what precautions he could 
 against them. One was to go entirely unarmed. 
 Weapons, though unused, would show, he 
 argued, latent resistance and tend to rouse 
 aggression; and where resistance is hopeless 
 complete defencelessness is the safer state. 
 His dress, too, was of the plainest style consis 
 tent with the air of a gentleman, and he dis 
 carded every kind of ornament and valuable 
 likely to tempt the cupidity of black marauders. 
 He put aside, therefore, his rings and watch, 
 and replaced a well-lined silken purse with a 
 few loose coin. 
 
 To avoid the heat as well as the rain, which 
 at this season usually begins falling about noon, 
 the gig had been ordered early, and an hour 
 before sunrise M. Tardiffe was a league beyond 
 the Cape. It was Saturday, the chief market- 
 day, and within the first few miles numbers of 
 colored women were passed, adroitly balancing 
 on the head, with arms akimbo, great trays of 
 fruit and vegetables, and bundles of Guinea- 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 199 
 
 grass. A sudden and exorbitant rise in the 
 price of such commodities, the demand being 
 especially pressing from the shipping in port, 
 had tempted the venders to venture forth. 
 Beyond this limit evidences of the insurrection 
 grew distinctly visible, becoming more and 
 more pronounced as M. Tardiffe advanced. 
 But a few days before he had driven through 
 this splendid plain then teeming with a busy, 
 prospering, and opulent population, and bear 
 ing on its fertile bosom in richest profusion 
 every staple of tropical growth. How miser 
 ably had all changed! Dessalines' plan of 
 operations displayed his sagacity. This, as 
 mentioned elsewhere, was to desolate the plains 
 and rendezvous in the mountains, where the 
 labors of the women, aided by the soil's natural 
 bounty, would supply a commissariat. The 
 results were now before M. Tardiffe's eyes. 
 Broken hedges and fencing, utterly wasted 
 fields, the cane being everywhere cut down 
 or trodden under foot, the charred debris of 
 tobacco and indigo houses, of mansion and 
 sugar-mill, had converted a magnificent and 
 
200 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 exhilarating prospect into one broad scene of 
 desolation. 
 
 The accounts M. Tardiffe had received, 
 though of the most vivid character, failed to 
 convey fit impressions of this wide and wanton 
 waste, ' and around him began deepening a 
 sense of apprehension which the perfect soli 
 tude tended to enhance. Where were the 
 thousands and thousands of blacks who at 
 this hour were wont to go forth to work and 
 greet the rising sun with joyous song and sally, 
 as in long lines they would hoe up the cane 
 or cut down the straw-colored stalks? The 
 greater part had betaken themselves to the 
 mountains, and for those remaining the hour 
 was too early, since the negro is a drowsy crea 
 ture, and had now ample opportunity to indulge 
 his bent. The first blacks seen were a couple of 
 women sitting near the roadside beneath a lime, 
 not far from a massive stone bridge spanning 
 a brawling brook. M. Tardiffe rode by with 
 out speaking. They were uncanny, ill-looking 
 objects, and he had little hope of obtaining 
 from them the information he desired ; and had 
 
1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 201 
 
 his expectations been higher, the impudent and 
 malicious way in which they eyed him would 
 have been sufficient cause for passing in silence. 
 He had crossed the bridge, and was still mus 
 ing upon their peculiar leers as boding no 
 good, when the interpretation came in his being 
 set upon by a gang of marauding blacks who 
 had been sleeping off a carouse in the cabins 
 attached to a ravaged plantation on his right. 
 Their wild, maudlin cries were all the more 
 startling, inasmuch as the view of the ruins, 
 caught a few moments before, had roused in M. 
 Tardiffe's mind a train of especially depressing 
 reflections. The mansion, that stood here, now 
 in ashes, was familiar to him. It was a hand 
 some structure finely situated on one of the 
 many beautiful thoroughfares that radiated 
 from Cape Francois. In his country drives M. 
 Tardiffe had repeatedly passed it. More than 
 this, he personally knew the proprietor, M. De 
 Villiers moved in the same social circle and, 
 before his obnoxious political opinions estranged 
 him from the planters, had, on divers occa 
 sions, been a guest at its elegant soirees. The 
 
202 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 smoke was still ascending from the debris, and 
 M. Tardiffe's thoughts were at once absorbed 
 in conjectures respecting the possible fate of the 
 occupants. Had this charming family escaped? 
 (thus ran his musings) he had not heard of 
 their being among the refugees at the Cape 
 that was ominous they may have found a way 
 to Plaisance, or Dondon, or Grand Riviere, or 
 some other near town or had they, alas! fallen 
 victims to the lust and rage of the negroes? 
 He feared they had. The thought profoundly 
 shocked him, and at that moment of concen 
 tration on a particular, the horrors of the 
 insurrection stood out before him with a depth 
 and clearness he had not before experienced. 
 
 A period of terror, grand and awful scenes, 
 cannot be conveyed fitly to the mind by general 
 delineations. A period or scene of this kind 
 is an aggregation of particulars, and as long as 
 these are not accurately taken in, the impres 
 sion made by the whole is inadequate. But 
 let a typical particular be sharply set forth. 
 The mind at once seizes it, multiplies it, 
 and conceives in its fullness the entire scene. 
 
^ Tale of San Domingo. 203 
 
 Caesar, for example, describing, in his Com 
 mentaries, a certain battle-field, is not content 
 to rest in a general description of its uproar 
 and carnage. He selects, with a master's judg 
 ment, an individual illustration, and represents 
 a father seeing his son pressed by two German 
 warriors. In an agony of grief and rage the 
 father rushes to his son's aid. Alas ! too late. 
 The son falls, and the sword that is with 
 drawn dripping from his body, pierces his own 
 heart. A few strokes from Caesar's unrivalled 
 pen portrays the battle scene in colors far 
 deeper than pages of general description could 
 effect. 
 
 An impression, after this manner, was now 
 made on M. Tardiffe's mind. The accounts of 
 the insurrection he had received, were dreadful 
 enough. But as he now confronted the smould 
 ering ruins of the familiar mansion, in whose 
 brilliant halls he had mingled in revelry with 
 the wealth and beauty of this splendid colony, 
 and thought upon the harrowing fate that all 
 too probably had befallen his quondam friend 
 and his charming family, the horrors of the 
 
204 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 negro rising unfolded with a vividness not till 
 then realized. 
 
 In truth the spot was memorable as the 
 scene of one of the most heart-rending, most 
 beastly, most villainous massacres in the his 
 tory of the outbreak. 
 
 M. De Villiers was a wealthy and hospitable 
 planter, and the head of an interesting family, 
 a wife and five children (two sons and three 
 daughters). The sons were under ten years 
 of age, but the daughters were elegant young 
 ladies, the eldest being eighteen years old, the 
 youngest scarcely fourteen. 
 
 In the details of the insurrection, agreed 
 upon in the secret meetings of the slaves, the 
 country was divided off into small districts, and 
 these placed severally under a guiding head. 
 The planters were all singled out, and a certain 
 number of blacks, proportioned to the resis 
 tance that might be expected, were assigned, 
 under a designated leader, against each spe 
 cially. The De Villiers family was one of the 
 few, that, by a formal decree, were to be spared. 
 M. De Villiers was not only the kindest of 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 205 
 
 masters, but had uniformly borne towards the 
 blacks generally, an amiable demeanor ; and all 
 this was now remembered in his favor. 
 
 Gautier was the name of the leader desig 
 nated to conduct this family in safety towards 
 the Cape. He was the trusted slave of a 
 neighboring planter, and in the transaction of 
 his master's business with M. De Villiers (they 
 having close relations with each other) was 
 often at the house of the latter. Under these 
 circumstances they came to know each other 
 well, and a friendship sprang up, such as might 
 exist between slave and planter. M. De Vil 
 liers was gracious and approachable, and Gau 
 tier often consulted him in regard to his own 
 private affairs, and was the recipient of many 
 a little favor from him. At his own request 
 he had been put at the head of the band to do 
 this deed of mercy. 
 
 For several days vague rumors of an ap 
 proaching outbreak had been afloat, originating 
 no one could tell exactly how perhaps in 
 something peculiar in the bearing of the blacks, 
 or in ominous expressions let fall in moments 
 
206 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 of ill humor or anger. The planters generally 
 pooh-poohed them ; yet they remained a new 
 subject of most anxious thought and conversa 
 tion. 
 
 It was in the small hours of that awful night 
 of August 22nd, that foot-falls on the front 
 piazza, followed immediately by loud raps 
 upon the door, roused M. De Villiers. In 
 her colonies, as well as in France, it was a 
 period of upheaval and profound agitation, 
 when the least unusual night noise was doubly 
 startling. Springing up and drawing aside 
 the curtain from a southward window, which, 
 from the mansion's elevated site, commanded 
 an extended prospect, M. De Villiers stood 
 horror-stricken. The conflagrations visible 
 over la plaine du nord unmistakably revealed 
 the outbreak. Entreating his wife to control 
 herself and support the children, for she was 
 now up and by his side and wringing her 
 hands in agony, M. De Villiers threw on his 
 nether garments, and, arming himself, hastened 
 below. To a question put from within the 
 door as to who the intruders were, the answer 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 207 
 
 came that it was Gautier and his band, all 
 friends, who had come to save him and his. 
 A window was now thrown up, and a parley 
 held through the blinds. Gautier told him the 
 slaves had risen over all the province, but 
 that M. De Villiers and his family, by an 
 express order, were to be spared that he had 
 been assigned for his protection and asked 
 admittance till dawn, when he would conduct 
 his family towards the Cape beyond the line 
 of danger. 
 
 M. De Villiers was overjoyed and poured 
 forth his gratitude. He reminded Gautier of 
 the kindly feelings that had so long existed 
 between them, and of the many favors he had 
 done him. The latter replied that he was 
 sensible of all this that M. De Villiers' 
 humanity towards his slaves and good will 
 among the blacks generally had now got its 
 reward and that he (Gautier), as knowing 
 him well and being under obligations to him, 
 had been given, at his own request, the post of 
 protector. 
 
 While this conversation was going on, an 
 
208 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 under current of thought darted through M. 
 De Villiers' mind : Could he resist with any 
 chance of success, should he have occasion to 
 doubt Gautier's sincerity ? He himself would 
 be powerless, he knew, against this armed 
 band. A pistol shot might rouse the planta 
 tion. But it would be the signal for massacre 
 before any help from that quarter could possi 
 bly reach him ; for the cabins and overseer's 
 house were two furlongs away. (The facts, in 
 truth, were that his own slaves were all off on 
 the special work assigned them, and the over 
 seer lay murdered in his doorway.) He must 
 trust Gautier there was no alternative and 
 he really felt, from what he knew of him and 
 from the long-continued kindly relations with 
 him, that he could trust him safely ; while he 
 reflected, moreover, that had Gautier's inten 
 tions been hostile, he certainly would have 
 acted in a different way, not rapping, as he 
 had done, for admittance, but either forcing 
 the house, or entering it stealthily. 
 
 All this thought was the flash of an instant, 
 and before Gautier had ceased speaking M. De 
 
1791 J. Tale of San Domingo. 209 
 
 Villiers' course was clear to him, and a decision 
 made. Renewing, therefore, to Gautier and 
 those with him the most fervent thanks, and 
 calling down blessings upon them, he said he 
 must let his family know the state of affairs 
 and calm their fears, when he would at once 
 return to admit them. 
 
 He found his wife and children all up and 
 awaiting him in the utmost consternation of 
 mind. The little boys were crying bitterly at 
 being suddenly roused from sleep and terrified 
 at some impending evil, which they saw in the 
 manner of those about them, but the exact 
 nature of which they were too young fully to 
 understand. The mother was endeavoring to 
 quiet them in vain; for her own tears and 
 agonized expression belied her words. The 
 daughters stood apart speechless with terror, 
 as pale as ghosts, and convulsively grasping- 
 each other's hand. 
 
 M. De Villiers' information gave immense 
 relief, though all remained conscious of the ap 
 palling circumstances still surrounding them. 
 The daughters especially were half dead with 
 14 
 
210 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 terror at the thought of being captives in the 
 hands of barbarians. M. De Villiers spoke 
 encouragingly. They would be saved, he said 
 and all haste must be made to prepare to 
 leave ; for, at the earliest dawn, an hour hence, 
 a plantation wagon would bear them and the 
 guard towards the Cape. 
 
 He then returned to admit the negroes. No 
 sooner was this done than they demanded food. 
 Madame De Villiers, therefore, came down, 
 and, with the greatest alacrity and in the most 
 engaging way, spread before them, from her 
 ample stores, a rich repast. Gautier presently 
 called for wine a request M. De Villiers heard 
 with dismay, dreading the possible effects. 
 Under the circumstances, however, he could 
 not refuse, and so wine was brought out. 
 
 Gautier and his men ate and drank long and 
 freely, and Madame De Villiers called her 
 daughters down, to aid her in serving. A fatal 
 step ; for Gautier was now inflamed by drink, 
 and at the sight of these elegant young ladies 
 his animal instincts took fire. As they moved 
 about the table his eyes followed them with an 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 211 
 
 ominous expression. In the greatest alarm 
 M. De Villiers saw it, and privately gave his 
 daughters (who themselves were now frightened 
 by the negro's manner) a signal to retire. In 
 the act of leaving, Gautier bade them remain, 
 adding an insulting remark. This hastened 
 the movement towards the door, when Gautier, 
 springing up, seized the arm of the foremost 
 and instantly a ball from the pistol of the 
 infuriate father grazed the negro's ear. All 
 was now in uproar. Before M. De Villiers 
 could draw a second pistol, he was pressed to 
 the floor by two of the blacks, and, by Gautier 's 
 order, securely tied. The three daughters 
 were borne fainting to a room above, locked 
 in, and a guard of two blacks stationed at the 
 door. The massacre then began. The little 
 boys were stabbed, as the mother, with heart 
 rending cries, threw herself upon ' them to 
 receive herself a fatal thrust. M. De Villiers, 
 a witness to these butcheries, was next des 
 patched in the most cruel way, his arms and 
 legs being first cut off, and then the head 
 severed from the body. The villains now made 
 
212 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 for the room where the young ladies were con 
 fined. The sole mitigation to their fate was 
 its unspeakable, overwhelming character; for 
 there is a point towards suffering's extreme 
 end where the agony turns upon and partially 
 throttles itself. The God of pity hath so 
 tempered us that the shock from the antici 
 pation of what these poor creatures were about 
 to endure, brought a merciful degree of insensi 
 bility. Prostrate on the floor more dead than 
 alive, the mortal cries from below just reached 
 their swooning ears, as the features of a confused 
 and ghastly dream. We omit the details of the 
 repeated outrage, as given by Franklin. Death 
 at length delivered them. The mansion was 
 then fired, and the smoke was still issuing from 
 the smouldering ruins as M. Tardiife passed 
 by. Had he known the circumstances his 
 heart must have sunk within him. 
 
 To return to the narrative of his journey : 
 M. Tardiffe was one of those nervous and 
 apparently timid men we often see, whose 
 impressionable nature conjures up and exag 
 gerates the tokens of danger, but who, when 
 
1791 ,4 Tale of San Domingo. 213 
 
 the danger itself becomes manifest, at once 
 stiffen themselves resolutely to oppose it ; and 
 he was conscious, as the maudlin blacks ran 
 towards him with wild cries of " Buckra ! 
 Buckra ! " that it was a crisis calling for all his 
 resources. The blacks seized his bridle and 
 compelled him to dismount, and hustled him 
 very roughly, paying no regard to his assevera 
 tions that he was Louis Tardiffe and a friend 
 to their race, and were going through his 
 pockets for valuables when the leader of the 
 gang, recognized by the marauders as " Cap'n 
 Cato," rode up on a mettlesome nag. 
 
 " Cudjoe ! " spoke the captain in a loud, 
 blustering tone of command, addressing a 
 young fellow of stout build and having the 
 plump appearance characteristic of sugar-mill 
 hands who have free access to the cane-juice, 
 " hold dis here snaffle." 
 
 Cudjoe at once sprang forward with great 
 alacrity, for military obedience, he had already 
 learned, must needs be swift. The veriest of 
 masters, how r ever, is he who has once been a 
 slave, and Captain Cato, partly to emphasize 
 
214 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 his authority, partly to bully the white man, 
 thought fit immediately to add : 
 
 " D'ye hear, boy ? You Guinea nigger ! " 
 " I hear, sah!" answered Cudjoe, as he seized 
 the bridle. 
 
 Captain Cato dismounted, and eyeing his 
 prisoner all over as he approached him, de 
 manded in brow-beating style who he was, 
 where he was going, and on what business. 
 The latter replied that his name was Louis 
 Tardiffe, that he was well known as a Mend to 
 the blacks, and that he was on his way to 
 confer with General Dessalines on matters of 
 importance. At this announcement, delivered 
 in a manner at once cool and remarkably 
 polite, the captain's features relaxed considera 
 bly ; for he had frequently heard the name of 
 M. Tardiffe mentioned in connection with the 
 asserted rights of the lower races. But the 
 negro is suspicious by nature, and the captain's 
 features grew grim again as the thought popped 
 into his head that the prisoner might be 
 deceiving him. He therefore said, looking 
 sharply at his man : 
 
1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 215 
 
 " Buckra, me sabe who M. Tardiffe be ; but 
 how can me sabe ef you be him ? " 
 
 Strange to tell, not until that moment had 
 M. Tardiffe considered the highly probable 
 necessity he would be under to make good his 
 identity, and to extricate himself his fertility 
 of resource seized upon a ruse de guerre, the 
 success of which depended upon the negro's 
 inordinate vanity. It was fraught with hazard, 
 yet not enough in M. Tardiife's judgment to 
 balance the danger of being held by these 
 maudlin marauders. The blacks here and 
 there, had picked up a little learning and were 
 able to read. M. Tardiffe, however, had a 
 conviction that Captain Cato's intellectual pro 
 gress had not advanced so far ; yet he believed 
 the man's vanity, which he could see had 
 been powerfully stimulated by his new-born 
 authority, would not permit him to deny the 
 accomplishment, could its possession be so 
 adroitly insinuated as to allow him to claim it 
 without reasonable risk of his deceit's being 
 exposed. 
 
 Drawing forth, therefore, a chance letter 
 
216 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 which proved to be a brief business one convey 
 ing his last London remittance and speaking 
 in a suave, engaging manner, he said : 
 
 " This, Monsieur le Capitaine, is my passport, 
 secretly sent me by General Dessalines, and 
 which I read : 
 
 " ' HEADQUARTERS, NEAR PETITE ANCE. 
 
 n 
 
 " ' This permits Monsieur Louis Tardiffe to 
 pass and repass my army lines. He who 
 molests him shall answer before me. 
 
 " ' [Signed] GENERAL DESSALINES.' 
 
 " But you can see for yourself, Monsieur le 
 Capitaine. I presume you can read a pass 
 port." 
 
 The captain took the proffered letter, and 
 scrutinized it very carefully with his maudlin, 
 stupid eyes; but the examination was made, 
 as M. Tardiffe observed, with the paper upside 
 down, and the latter felt greatly relieved at 
 seeing his surmise justified and the stratagem 
 succeeding. Handing back the paper, he 
 stepped aside with his men, and they whis- 
 
1791^1 Tale of San Domingo. 217 
 
 pered together for some moments, he informing 
 them, with many gesticulations, that the man 
 was not only M. Tardiffe, the " nigger's friend," 
 but that he bore a passport from General Dessa- 
 lines, and that no harm or hindrance must 
 come to him. In truth, the wily negro had a 
 thought though the smooth and confident way 
 in which M. Tardiffe had read the paper made 
 a decided impression that the alleged pass 
 port might be a deception. There was, how 
 ever, he felt, at least a probability of its being 
 genuine, in which event Dessalines' threat was 
 one to tremble at. So Captain Cato made up 
 his mind to allow M. Tardiffe to pass, to which 
 conclusion he was materially assisted by know 
 ing that the prisoner had about him nothing 
 valuable. Returning, therefore, to where he 
 had left M. Tardiffe standing, he grasped him 
 by the hand, and told him he was glad all over 
 to know him. In his rude style he apologized 
 for the roughness of his men, and said there 
 would be no further trouble, as the way was 
 clear to an outpost " better'n a league ahead," 
 
218 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 and that thence he would be safely escorted to 
 the general's presence. 
 
 M. Tardiffe returned thanks in suitable terms, 
 and followed with searching inquiries as to the 
 fate of the captives, yet could gain nothing 
 definite. To a special question the captain 
 replied that he had not heard of their having 
 been shot. At parting the captain drew forth 
 an ample flask of taffia and offered it to our 
 traveller, who saluted the bottle with apparent 
 good-will. Shaking hands with Captain Cato, 
 and bowing politely to his men, now officiously 
 friendly, M. Tardiffe remounted his gig and 
 rode forward, with a salvo of yells from the 
 blacks. His cogitations were serious, as he 
 now saw himself compelled to go on to the 
 negro camp. He had never for a moment 
 contemplated meeting Dessalines. And what 
 if Henry Pascal should be alive? To inter 
 cede for him had been equally far from his 
 thoughts. It became necessary, therefore, to 
 devise some reason for the interview, and a 
 plausible one quickly suggested itself in the 
 desire to shield certain friends at Dondon, 
 
1791^1 Tale of San Domingo. 219 
 
 which town Dessalines, it was currently re 
 ported, was preparing to assault. He soon 
 reached the outpost. The officer in command 
 was a young mulatto lieutenant, who at once 
 recognized and warmly greeted him. He had 
 often seen him at the Cape, where the latter, 
 particularly after his pronounced advocacy of 
 enfranchisement, was a conspicuous object to 
 the colored races. His recognition and the 
 cordiality of the reception were most gratifying 
 to M. Tardiffe, and he concluded to accept an 
 invitation to take refreshments and rest himself 
 and beast over the noon a step to which he 
 was the more inclined as rain had just com 
 menced falling. The inquiry as to the captives 
 was here renewed, and our traveller received 
 the astounding information that not only had 
 they not been shot, but that Dessalines, being 
 in want of funds (the negro insurgents having 
 secreted for themselves by far the larger part 
 of the money found), was strongly inclined to 
 hold them at a ransom. 
 
 Prior to leaving he obtained a letter of intro 
 duction to the chief, and got some insights into 
 
220 1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 his character useful in the coming interview. 
 The lieutenant declared Dessalines would be 
 delighted at seeing him, and would accord him 
 a royal welcome ; that he needed at this junc 
 ture just such a friend to indicate to him the 
 pulse of the colony, and take counsel with in 
 regard to future plans. He said, too, that since 
 the victory the lower order of negroes fairly 
 worshipped him, that all regarded him as being 
 invincible, and that he was really a man of 
 superior military sagacity and indisputably 
 brave. A squad of men were detailed to 
 accompany M. Tardiffe through the lines, and 
 the latter, again remounting the gig, proceeded 
 on his way, protecting himself as well as he 
 could against a steady fall of rain. 
 
 " Well ! well ! " he inwardly ejaculated, 
 " Henry Pascal alive, and possibly to be ran 
 somed ! That does not suit me at all it does 
 not" he added, with an emphatic blow in the 
 air, as if he were hitting his rival. " Suppose 
 I should succeed in rescuing him ; one sight of 
 her lover would turn mademoiselle's head, and 
 she would find some way to twist out of her 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 221 
 
 promise. And even were she disposed to 
 abide by it, would not an ugly settlement with 
 Henry Pascal be inevitable? " 
 
 He knew the latter was a determined man and 
 dangerous when roused, and that the attempt 
 to wrest Elmilie Tourner from him would ren 
 der him furious. And though M. Tardiffe, as 
 has been mentioned in these pages, was himself 
 not wanting in courage, yet, under all the 
 circumstances, he shrank from the thought of 
 meeting the wrath of Henry Pascal. It was a 
 subject of grave import, and he dwelt long 
 upon it. Some conclusion, however, was at 
 length reached, for a couple of miles, perhaps, 
 had been made when his manner suddenly 
 changed. He raised his head, cheered his 
 horse, and began to inspect the surroundings. 
 The black camp was evidently near; for the 
 strategic points were all well guarded, and on 
 every hand negro soldiers were multiplying, 
 though the weather had driven great numbers 
 to shelter. The rain increasing, the horses 
 were urged, and the party soon reached a 
 cross-roads occupied by a large negro force. 
 
222 1791^1 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 Here M. Tardiffe deemed it advisable to remain 
 till he could receive an answer to the letter of 
 introduction. This was forthwith despatched 
 to Dessalines' headquarters, at the residence of 
 a wealthy mulatto a mile away. Within a 
 half-hour the answer came, exceedingly polite 
 and cordial, and M. Tardiffe, greatly raised in 
 spirits, immediately sought the presence of the 
 negro chief. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 THE INTERVIEW. 
 
 [HE anticipation of the lieutenant in 
 regard to the manner in which M. 
 Tardiffe would be received were 
 fully realized. Dessalines' language was ex 
 cessively coarse and vulgar, and his manner 
 habitually bullying, and it was not his wont 
 before any one to place restraint upon himself 
 in respect either to speech or passion. But 
 M. Tardiffe, whose keen eyes were wide open 
 to indications, could see that the marked cordi 
 ality was genuine, and all fears for himself 
 were dismissed. He at once proceeded to 
 business, and informed Dessalines of the object 
 of his mission that he had dear relations in 
 Dondon, and having heard of the chief's inten 
 tion immediately to assault the town, and not 
 
 223 
 
224 1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 doubting the success of the attempt, he had 
 risked the dangers of the road in seeking him 
 to intercede in their behalf, and he expressed 
 the hope that what he had done and suffered 
 for the blacks would win this favor. 
 
 Dessalines promptly replied that M. Tar- 
 diffe's wish was a law, and asked for the names 
 of his friends and location of their residences, 
 declaring, with a great oath, that not a hair of 
 any of them should be touched. The memo 
 randum was made out and presented, when 
 Dessalines observed, in his vernacular a very 
 curious compound of profanity and coarseness, 
 oddity of expression, and affected smartness 
 that M. Tardiffe's visit was well-timed ; that 
 he had upon his hands a number of prisoners, 
 and being in need of shiners, for so he denomi 
 nated the sinews of war, he was half in mind 
 to put them at a ransom, and hoped he could 
 obtain from M. Tardiffe information in respect 
 to their ability. 
 
 "Blow me, monsieur," he remarked, giving 
 expression to his sense of their marketable 
 worth, " if they an't mostly officers a rum lot, 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 225 
 
 as Old Harry said 'bout the ten Commandments 
 and I want 'em to bring me ready money." 
 
 M. Tardiffe replied, expressing regrets that 
 his knowledge in this direction was so scant, 
 that round sums could no doubt be had for any 
 officers from the arsenal or ships, that he was 
 acquainted with the circumstances of only one 
 of the prisoners, M. Henry Pascal, and that 
 he knew him now to be as poor as a barber's 
 cat. To Dessalines' answer that no such name 
 was upon his list he replied that Henry Pascal's 
 capture was the talk of the Cape, whereupon 
 Dessalines, producing the list, handed it to him 
 with the remark that he could see for himself. 
 
 He took the paper, and having rapidly 
 glanced over it, stood for a moment abstracted 
 and with a puzzled air. A second look was 
 more carefully made, and reaching a certain 
 name he paused to scan it. The result was 
 satisfactory ; for almost immediately he ex 
 claimed, as a smile played over his features : 
 
 " I have it, Monsieur le General, though it's 
 under disguise. It's given here as Henry 
 Beattie, but it must be Henry Pascal. Beattie 
 15 
 
226 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 was the name of his mother, an Englishwoman," 
 he added. 
 
 Madame Pascal was of English blood only 
 in so far as she was an American. But M. 
 Tardiffe had a purpose in making the false 
 statement, and the expression of his eye 
 deepened on Dessalines to note the effect of 
 this last word. 
 
 "English, is he, confound him!" growled 
 out the chief. "I'll be shot if that don't 
 kinder rile me." * 
 
 "I beg pardon, Monsieur le General, half- 
 English only," put in M. Tardiffe, to keep the 
 English thought well before the mind of Dessa 
 lines and nurse his rising wrath. 
 
 " That's nuf to git my hump up," said Dessa 
 lines. " What in the dickens, anyhow, has he 
 gone and took his mammy's name for ? " 
 
 " I can't imagine ; but it must be he ; he is 
 just now on a visit from Jamaica, his present 
 home," replied M. Tardiffe, cutting another 
 
 * Dessalines' peculiar speech, for the most part, cannot be literally rendered 
 into our tongue. The author has endeavored to give the best possible English 
 equivalent. The brigand's drill-sergeant was a marine, a deserter from a French 
 man-of-war, who had formerly been a professional boxer, and from him Dessalines 
 had learnt a slang vocabulary. 
 
1791^1 Tale of San Domingo. 227 
 
 significant glance at Dessalines. To depict 
 the rage which upon this announcement shot 
 from the eyes of the brigand and expressed 
 itself on his swelling features would be impos 
 sible. Springing from his seat, with loud slaps 
 on the thigh, as was his wont when unusually 
 aroused, he skipped about the room under 
 intense excitement, crying out: "Kickeraboo! 
 kickeraboo ! " * Then stopping suddenly before 
 his guest, he continued, wildly gesticulating. 
 
 " I'll cook the buster's goose. I'm jiggered 
 if he sha'n't dance on air, and that in a jiffy." 
 
 M. Tardiffe had often had accounts of Dessa 
 lines, and was prepared for outbursts of passion ; 
 but the suddenness, the degree, and the eccen 
 tricity of his fury were astonishing, and in the 
 " tiger " before him he recognized the justness 
 of the title that fame had given this notorious 
 outlaw. He saw, too, his own private scheme 
 in the course of a perfect fulfilment. Feigning 
 surprise, however, at Dessalines' deadly pur 
 pose, he said : 
 
 * 
 
 * A term used by West India negroes and meaning "dead," being a corruption 
 of "kick the bucket." 
 
228 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 " Why, Monsieur le General, I thought you 
 were meditating a ransom ! " 
 
 "Haven't you seed my proclamation? I'll 
 act on the square with the Frenchers; but 
 these English furriners from Jamaica, who 
 come over to stick a finger in the pie and help 
 the Frenchers put bracelets on us niggers, I'll 
 not let up, I tell ye, on nary one I catch. Is 
 the chap," asked the chief, as a turn of thought 
 struck him, "kin to the old one at Sans Souci?" 
 
 "Yes, they are the Sans Souci Pascals," 
 replied M. Tardiffe, mentioning some circum 
 stances in regard to the family. 
 
 " He's a gone goner. I'll court-martial 
 Henry Seattle slap-dash," said the chief, signi 
 ficantly emphasizing " Beattie." " We'll re 
 ceive the codger in full rig, and you be there to 
 see how I'll bamboozle him and slip into him. 
 I'll flummux him as clean as a whistle," con 
 tinued Dessalines, as a twinkle in his eyes at 
 the trick he was concocting replaced their 
 angry fire. 
 
 This .precipitated a grave dilemma. Should 
 anything befall Henry Pascal, M. Tardiffe 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 229 
 
 realized it would never do to have a suspicion 
 exist that at the time he was in the camp ; and 
 on the other hand, Dessalines had been drink 
 ing freely, and was in a state in which it was 
 sound policy not to cross his wishes in the most 
 trivial particular. He therefore, in his insinu 
 ating way, represented that as he was well 
 known to Henry Pascal and to his family, he 
 hoped, if the chief found cause to take any step 
 against the prisoner, that the latter should 
 neither see him nor hear of his presence, nor 
 any one learn that he had given information 
 concerning him. 
 
 " N. C. nuf ced," responded Dessalines in 
 his remarkable lingo. " Come, I'll give yer a 
 pig's whisper." And suiting the action to the 
 word, he added, speaking close to M. Tardiffe's 
 ear, "I'll not let on, but you are bound to see 
 the fun. We'll scrouge you in a corner where 
 your peepers can git him but his'n can't git 
 you." 
 
 M. Tardiffe saw the necessity of yielding to 
 the wish of Dessalines, who, having conceived 
 a plan for entrapping Henry Pascal, was 
 
230 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 delighted with an opening for at once gratify 
 ing his brutal cunning and displaying his acute- 
 ness before his distinguished guest. He there 
 fore made a virtue of the inevitable, and readily 
 acquiesced in the proposed arrangement as to 
 his presence. At the same time he took the 
 precaution to ask that his name should not be 
 known in the camp, and pointedly solicited 
 Dessalines to be sure of so placing him as to be 
 invisible to the prisoner, requesting besides an 
 opportunity to make some necessary personal 
 preparations, the ride and the rain having in 
 no slight degree disordered his dress. 
 
 "Right you are," replied Dessalines; "and 
 after yer drive I'll bet you're needing inside 
 lining, and something damp wouldn't be away. 
 I've got golopshus articles, to be sure; bang 
 up stuff, monsieur, bang up, I tell ye; first 
 class, letter A, No. 1. Here, you Sampson, 
 you," he continued, calling out vigorously to 
 an attendant, a squat, dapper-looking fellow in 
 gray fearnought suit, with his wool combed up 
 before in queer fashion, who stood in waiting 
 outside the doorway, "git some belly -timber 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 231 
 
 for monsieur, and a swig of ' 0-be-joyful ' " 
 the latter being Dessalines' expression for his 
 favorite rum. Sampson, who had but lately 
 entered the special service of the chief and was 
 unfamiliar with all of his gastronomical allu 
 sions, stood perplexed as to what was signified 
 by " 0-be-joyful," when Dessalines broke out: 
 
 "Why don't you leg it, you lazy cuss? 
 Blame me, if you wouldn't lay down yer mus 
 ket for to sneeze." 
 
 Sampson explained his hesitation by saying, 
 with the profoundest servility, that he did not 
 quite understand the order. 
 
 " Od drot a chucklehead ! Meat and drink, 
 then, for monsieur, and the best we've got, and 
 plenty of it, and in a crack, or I'll sock into 
 you," rattled off Dessalines, menacingly shak 
 ing his brawny arm. Sampson vanished before 
 the redoubtable fist, of whose vigor the chief's 
 subordinates had not unfrequent experience ; 
 and another attendant having been called, and 
 instructions given to provide apartments for 
 " monsieur," and assist in his toilet, Dessalines 
 hastened out to arrange for the court-martial. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE COURT-MAKTIAL. 
 
 |HE house occupied as headquarters 
 for the black army was a stone struc 
 ture, with ample piazzas fronting 
 north and south, and latticed in, as usual, on 
 their east and west sides. At a table in its 
 best and largest room, and an hour subsequent 
 to the events recorded at the close of the last 
 chapter, sat Dessalines, with his secretary and 
 four of his chief officers, being the military 
 board for the trial of Henry Pascal, who had 
 just been brought in under a guard of soldiers. 
 Dessalines alone wore his military hat. As 
 a token of distinction it was unnecessary, for 
 this celebrated negro possessed an individuality 
 amply sufficient to distinguish him without 
 adventitious aids. The first impression he pro- 
 232 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 233 
 
 duced was perhaps that of physical power. 
 Somewhat below the medium height, he yet 
 showed great breadth and depth of chest, his 
 whole aspect being suggestive of the personal 
 strength for which he was remarkable. His 
 features presented some unexpected contrasts. 
 The lower portion of his face was good, singu 
 larly so for an African. There was none of 
 that disproportionate and peculiar development 
 of the inferior jaw often observed in the negro, 
 in which the angle protrudes backwards and 
 the mouth is thrust forward, giving the lower 
 face a retreating chin and an apish aspect. 
 The chin, on the contrary, was relatively small 
 and symmetrical in all its lines, the direction 
 and curve of what anatomists call its symphysis 
 being perfect the chin rather of refinement 
 and delicacy. 
 
 These favorable impressions, however, were 
 entirely overborne by the truculent and repul 
 sive features that formed the residue of the 
 face. The forehead was low, round and bulg 
 ing ; anger gleamed in the eyes, ill-nature sat 
 upon the mouth. The nose, of true African 
 
234 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 type, was small and flat, and supported what 
 limners call the "lines of malignity," which, 
 making out from the base of the spreading 
 nasal wings, terminated at the commissure of 
 the mouth, and curved the right upper lip in 
 such a way that the teeth on that side were 
 just visible. The brows were heavy and con 
 tracted, the eyeballs prominent, standing out 
 in fatness and lust, with obtrusive whites, and 
 a slight obliquity in the visual axes. A life of 
 perpetual danger and the necessity of being 
 always on guard accounted for the sudden 
 starts of the eyes, which looked blood-shot and 
 angry from these abrupt and incessant strain 
 ings ; and over the entire face a habit of deep 
 drinking gave unmistakable manifestations. 
 The temple veins were turgid, the muscles 
 uniformly swollen and puffed up, and it was 
 solely for the lack of a white skin that grog- 
 blossoms were not more conspicuous. His 
 uniform, a matter upon which the inordinate 
 vanity of this brigand laid special stress, was 
 a kind of blue jacket with eight rows of lace 
 on the sleeves, a full red cape falling over the 
 
1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 235 
 
 shoulders, red cuffs and brilliant epaulettes, 
 scarlet waistcoat and pantaloons, with half- 
 boots, round hat with red feather, and a cutlass 
 of unusual size and weight. 
 
 Over against the chief stood the prisoner, 
 Henry Pascal. To follow up his fortunes 
 subsequent to the battle : The night succeeding 
 that disaster to the French arms a copy of 
 Dessalines' proclamation, by some means, no 
 one could tell how, found its way into the 
 prisoners' room. Next morning it was eagerly 
 read, by none so eagerly as by Henry Pascal, 
 who saw in it features having a special interest 
 for himself. It was not simply the closing 
 paragraph, wherein Dessalines expressed his 
 bloody purpose in reference to any English 
 from Jamaica falling into his hands, but that 
 these words were underscored. The lines had 
 not been very clearly made, but at once caught 
 his eye. He was in no sense an Englishman, 
 except that he spoke the language fluently. 
 As for Jamaica, however, he had but recently 
 returned from an extended visit to that island, 
 and it was currently believed, he knew, that 
 
236 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 he had removed thither. These circumstances, 
 the rather remote personal relation of which to 
 the proclamation he might otherwise have 
 overlooked, the underscoring brought home to 
 him, and their significance grew as he dwelt 
 on them and on the capricious character of 
 Dessalines. 
 
 While musing thus, with his eye still upon 
 the passage, he suddenly perceived with great 
 astonishment what he thought must be a per 
 sonal allusion in the underscoring itself; for it 
 stood in a succession of short dashes, made by 
 skips of the pencil point, and these were eleven 
 in number, answering to the letters of his name. 
 And he even fancied he saw a wider space 
 between the dashes separating the two parts of 
 the name. Of this he could not be certain, 
 since the pencil, where it jumped the surface, 
 shaded off the lines, and the paper at this 
 point had become rubbed by being folded, and 
 the tracings partly worn. Still, there was 
 enough to amaze and greatly interest him. 
 Could it be a mere coincidence? It is true 
 his full name was Henry Beattie Pascal, but 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 237 
 
 he was commonly known as Henry Pascal 
 simply. Besides, of all the prisoners he alone 
 could be considered as coming in any degree 
 within the scope of Dessalines' threat, and 
 altogether he could not resist the conviction 
 that the proclamation was meant for himself 
 as a warning from some friendly hand. 
 
 Strange as it may seem, this circumstance, 
 though it revealed new and exceptional peril, 
 was a source of real comfort. It was a token 
 of sympathy all unlocked for a rift, however 
 slight, in the black, angry cloud that hung over 
 him. From the short and fitful sleep to 
 which exhausted nature had at last yielded 
 the prisoners awoke that Friday morning 
 with renewal of the most dreadful forebodings. 
 What mercy could be hoped for from these 
 cruel, red-handed, infuriate blacks, in the hour, 
 too, of triumph, and frantic over freedom to 
 settle with the whites for the treasured-up 
 wrongs of years? The prospect was utterly 
 despairing, and the prisoners expected momen 
 tarily to be ordered out to execution. It was 
 very gratifying, therefore, to Henry Pascal's 
 
238 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 feelings, even for humanity's sake, to note a 
 sign of sympathy emerging from this fren 
 zied, malevolent mass ; to feel that among these 
 blacks one heart at least was solicitous for him, 
 that one hand had been raised, at least to this 
 degree, in his behalf. After reading Dessalines' 
 bloody proclamation the thought came over him 
 like a warm message of love and peace, and 
 round it a shadowy hope began to play the 
 reflection, perhaps, that possibly the same hand 
 might be raised again in some more effectual 
 way. 
 
 As to what course to pursue in order to 
 avoid this new danger he was uncertain. Per 
 haps it was meant (so his thoughts ran) that he 
 should be ready with explanations against any 
 questions which might arise regarding his 
 rumored residence in Jamaica, or perhaps it 
 might be better to assume another name. His 
 business as a fruit-buyer often carried him to 
 the plantations, and he must be known person 
 ally, he thought, to many in the black army ; 
 nevertheless, to disguise his name would lessen 
 the chances of discovery. He was unable to 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 239 
 
 reach a satisfactory decision, and deeming it 
 best to await the issue of events and shape his 
 conduct accordingly, he turned to the considera 
 tion of who this friendly hand might be. 
 Instinctively his thoughts were directed to 
 wards Jacque Beattie. That the latter was in 
 Dessalines 7 army he considered highly proba 
 ble; and whose image, under all the circum 
 stances, would a thought of succor from the 
 blacks so naturally call up as that of this 
 faithful slave ? Against Jacque's identity, how 
 ever, with the " friendly hand " lay, upon the 
 whole, a large balance of probability. So 
 argued Henry Pascal. For, supposing it 
 altogether certain he was in the black army, 
 there was the merest chance he should know 
 that his young master was among the captives. 
 But Jacque was not the only one, he reflected, 
 from whom such a warning might have come. 
 Throughout the province his father was well 
 known as a just and humane master a charac 
 ter all the more conspicuous for the excessively 
 severe and capricious conduct which the plant 
 ers often exhibited towards their slaves. Henry 
 
240 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 Pascal, too, was himself a generous soul, with a 
 gracious, attractive bearing, and had won the 
 general favor of the blacks, with whom (par 
 ticularly with the leaders among them) his 
 business trips to the plantations had brought 
 him into not unfrequent intercourse. Towards 
 his family, therefore, and himself especially, 
 he felt that there must be those in the black 
 army who were well disposed, and from whom, 
 in return for some of his many little kindnesses, 
 this hint may have emanated. 
 
 Such were his thoughts that Friday morning 
 when, at an early hour, Chantalle, Dessalines' 
 private secretary, entered the prisoners' apart 
 ment to obtain a list of the names. A decision 
 as to his own at once became necessary, and he 
 gave his name as Henry Beattie. It was the 
 thing to be done so he thought at the time. 
 
 These personal reflections, which shot through 
 the prisoner's mind upon the discovery of the 
 underscorings, interrupted but for a few brief 
 moments the course of thoughts that had been 
 torturing him ever since his capture. Loss of 
 sleep, a wounded temple, and the vitiated air 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 241 
 
 of an overcrowded apartment had brought on a 
 raging headache ; physical discomfort, however, 
 was scarcely regarded under a dreadful pres 
 sure of thoughts from without. Having no 
 hope for himself, with what agony did he think 
 of his father, old and feeble, and utterly 
 stripped of the fortune to whose ease and 
 delicate delights his life had been habituated ! 
 Why had they not gone to Jamaica as they 
 had had thoughts of doing before all this? 
 Oh ! that he had taken his father thither when 
 the first muttering of the storm was heard ! 
 His filial heart sank within him, borne down 
 as by an awful weight. And Emilie Tourner, 
 dear Emilie Tourner, bereft, too, of fortune, 
 and still prostrate within the shadow of the 
 ghastly dangers she had just escaped, what 
 new trials must she bear! These harrowing 
 thoughts, the dark impressions of which his 
 bodily discomfort tended strongly to deepen, 
 became too much even for the resolute spirit of 
 Henry Pascal. His firmness gave way to the 
 pressure, and for a moment he bowed his head 
 and wept. 
 16 
 
242 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 Blessed gift of tears, for saint and sinner 
 blest ! On the believer's soul, when in its arid 
 moods and spiritual motion forced and dull, 
 they fall like Hermon's dew and arouse the 
 tenderest and sweetest intercourse with God. 
 And for the natural man these tears avail. 
 They signify some lessening of the strain, some 
 lifting of the cloud, and turn to view the 
 brighter side of things, as through the humid 
 eye a bow of hope is thrown upon the visual 
 nerve. 
 
 Henry Pascal experienced the relief which 
 naturally follows a flow of tears, and began 
 to take a little courage, thinking that possibly 
 his fortunes might not be altogether desperate. 
 In the thick darkness this warning he had 
 received was the solitary ray round which hope 
 would now and then rally. The proclamation, 
 which he had himself retained, he drew forth 
 for the oft-repeated time, and scrutinized again 
 the underscorings. Imagination is a potent 
 factor in practical affairs, and under its influ 
 ence uncertainties are prone to beget magni 
 tudes. Possibly this friend, he would say to 
 
1791 ,4 Tale of San Domingo. 243 
 
 himself, may be some one near Dessalines and 
 able to do a good turn. And he would dwell 
 on this thought, recalling the prominent blacks 
 whom he knew and could remember having 
 befriended, and budding hope would color his 
 imaginings, and a prospect of deliverance sud 
 denly sweep his spirit like a breath of fresh air. 
 From such fancyings he would rouse himself 
 and treat them as extravagances. The train of 
 thought, however, would return upon him 
 again and again, and in one of these reveries 
 he was absorbed when a summons came to 
 appear before Dessalines. 
 
 A great sensation among the prisoners fol 
 lowed. Henry Pascal himself was apparently 
 the least affected. He could not understand 
 the summons, yet the frame of mind in which 
 it found him inclined him to regard it rather 
 favorably than otherwise. He very well appre 
 hended the character of Dessalines; but the 
 monster, he also knew, had on some rare occa 
 sions been generous, and hope whispered at his 
 ear that this exceptional summons might in 
 some way be connected with this unknown 
 
244 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 friend. With such an impression on his 
 mind he was hurried by the guard into the 
 presence of Dessalines and his officers. His 
 face bore the effect of physical and mental 
 suffering. He was pale and heavy-eyed, the 
 paleness being deepened by a dark band across 
 the Wounded temple, caused by extravasated 
 blood ; yet there was withal a certain air of 
 collectedness such as a brave spirit, animated 
 by some secret hopes, might manifest under 
 such circumstances. 
 
 M. Tardiffe had entered the apartment pre 
 vious to the prisoner's arrival, and seeing no 
 means of concealment and that recognition 
 would be inevitable, insisted upon a position 
 on the piazza. This was a spacious appendage 
 to the building, latticed in at the ends, and 
 showing on the open side a partial view of the 
 estate, with the windmill standing among 
 palms on an eminence. Here M. Tardiffe was 
 seated by a window connected with the room. 
 The sash was raised, but the shifting Venetian 
 blinds were down, and he had full command of 
 the apartment without risk of being observed. 
 
1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 245 
 
 As he took in the situation on the prisoner's 
 entrance, his eyes sparkled and he rubbed his 
 hands in glee over the way things were going. 
 Dessalines, who was in that state of incipient 
 intoxication signified by the word "primed" 
 a state precisely suited for the display of his 
 personality and who keenly relished such an 
 opportunity for exhibiting his brutal cunning, 
 began the interrogatories with artful dissimula 
 tion. 
 
 " What's yer name? " he asked the prisoner, 
 in as kindly a manner as he was capable of 
 assuming. 
 
 " Henry Beattie." 
 
 " Chantalle," said the chief, turning towards 
 his secretary and attempting the high-sounding 
 language for which negroes, even as naturally 
 shrewd as Dessalines, have an irresistible 
 penchant, " set down his deposition." 
 
 "Where d'ye live?" 
 
 " At the Cape." 
 
 " What's yer business ? " 
 
 " A fruit-buyer." 
 
 " I thought you was somebody else," said the 
 
246 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 chief. " I thought yer name was Henry Pascal. 
 They've been telling me about him. They tell 
 me Henry Pascal's a prisoner, and I thought 
 you was him." 
 
 He paused and fixed his red, roving eyes full 
 upon the prisoner, as if expecting some answer. 
 The latter, however, though profoundly startled, 
 controlled his emotions and remained silent, 
 wondering what the end would be, and Dessa- 
 lines continued : 
 
 " You're here, buckra, and I'll tell ye why. 
 They call me a devil, don't they ? And them 
 priests say a devil can't do good ; but blest if I 
 an't one that can. Look a-here: I'm on top 
 now, but you sabe I was once on a time a poor 
 runaway. He couldn't catch me ; I mean him 
 I had to call master curse that name ! " Des- 
 salines added parenthetically and in a low 
 gnashing tone, and then immediately broke 
 out, almost in a shout, " Vive la devolution! 
 Qa ira! Qa ira! no he couldn't catch me; 
 but, I tell you what, he took it out on my old 
 woman, Tamoen. I used to creep in of nights 
 to the cabin, and I knowed how she was tor- 
 
1791 ,4 Tale of San Domingo. 247 
 
 mented. She got the cow-skin, got it heavy, 
 and they drove her to the field starved and 
 naked; that's what made me a devil, buckra," 
 lifting his great brows and shaking the fore 
 finger as he spoke. 
 
 " Well, one moony night I meet in the road 
 Monsieur Pascal. I'd heard 'em say he was a 
 good master and had feelings for niggers. I 
 tell him my story, and I asked for money to git 
 things for Tamoen, and I got it, and I'm a 
 devil that an't a-going to disremember. Well, 
 buckra, they've been telling me you is his son, 
 and I was going to say to his son, You is free ; 
 and if his dad's got to the Cape, I was going to 
 send him to him safe and sound as a remember 
 from Dessalines." 
 
 Henry Pascal followed Dessalines' words 
 with great and increasing agitation of mind, 
 and was entirely misled by the assumed man 
 ner and apparent sincerity of the speaker, as 
 well as by the circumstances interwoven in the 
 address. Monster though he was, Dessalines 
 had done, as young Pascal knew, some eccen 
 tric acts of generosity ; the conduct attributed 
 
248 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 to his father was altogether in keeping with 
 his character, and paralleled by many marked 
 instances of kindness to blacks which Henry 
 Pascal could himself recall ; and the allusions 
 Dessalines more than once made to those who 
 knew Henry Pascal and had been talking to 
 the chief about him agreed with impressions 
 already made by the underscoring. Completely 
 deceived, therefore, and with a sentiment of 
 gratitude towards Dessalines as profound as 
 the occasion for it was unexpected, he eagerly 
 availed himself of the pause to speak out, in a 
 husky voice, and almost overborne by emotion : 
 
 " Sire, I am the son of the man of whom you 
 speak; my name is Henry Beattie Pascal. 
 Let me " 
 
 But he was not permitted to express his 
 eager thanks, for, bursting into a roar of 
 laughter so wild and so loud as to resound 
 through the chamber, Dessalines at that instant 
 sprang from his seat and cried out : 
 
 "Yes, you Jamaica slubberdegullion yes, 
 I've heard 'bout you, for true. I 'llowed I'd 
 git you. Come to fight niggers, eh ? And now 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 249 
 
 the Lord has delivered you into a nigger's 
 hand. Out with him, guard, out with him, and 
 make daylight through him in a kick." 
 
 As Henry Pascal saw the trap into which he 
 had fallen, a flush shot athwart his countenance 
 and as rapidly ebbed, leaving in its track a 
 death-like pallor. Yet he was himself in all 
 the whirl of thoughts vengeful, spiritual, 
 filial which rushed on his mind and pressed 
 for solution within the compass of an instant. 
 Against Dessalines, whom a moment before he 
 was regarding with the liveliest sentiments of 
 gratitude, the revulsion of feeling was intense, 
 and the impulse to curse the brute to his face 
 instinctive and all but resistless. The result, 
 however, he foresaw would be his death on the 
 spot, and why sacrifice the moments of life now 
 remaining and yield his soul in a tumult of 
 passion? Explanations flashed on him but 
 would he be heard? If heard, would he be 
 believed ? At least he would make the effort 
 for truth's sake, if no more. 
 
 It was all in vain. He was in the clutch of 
 a fiend to whom in such moods justice and 
 
250 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 mercy were utterly unknown, and who, as 
 Henry Pascal attempted to speak, broke out 
 upon him : 
 
 " Come, come, none o' yer lip, or I'll settle 
 your hash right here myself." 
 
 By this time the guard, who knew the neces 
 sity of despatch in executing the orders of this 
 negro, had hustled the prisoner to the door, 
 when Dessalines stopped them : 
 
 " Chain him down in the cage to-night. It's 
 where they've teached dogs to go for niggers, 
 and I want the buster to lay there a while and 
 think. But hark ye," lifting a finger as he 
 spoke, " he's to be cold meat by sun-up ! " 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 THE CAGE. 
 
 HE " cage " referred to by Dessalines 
 had been brought into the camp 
 from the plantation of M. Latour, 
 the brutal master spoken of in a preceding 
 chapter. It was a cube in shape, measuring 
 six feet each way, and made out-and-out of 
 iron. The sides were finished in with strong 
 bars crossing each other at right angles, and 
 an extension of this lattice-work formed the 
 frame of the roof, upon which boards were 
 laid. It had been used by M. Latour at times 
 as a prison for slaves under discipline, but 
 more generally as a kennel for his blood-hounds 
 when in training to catch runaways. In train 
 ing these dogs the usual method was as follows : 
 They were early parted from the dam, and,, in 
 
 251 
 
252 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 order to develop fully their natural ferocity, 
 were reared as far as possible upon warm 
 blood taken from various animals. At a suit 
 able age the belly of a negro dummy, filled 
 with blood and entrails, was opened before 
 them, and the hounds encouraged to feed from 
 it; and this was repeated day after day until 
 the savage creatures associated the negro form 
 with the satisfaction of hunger. They were 
 then shut up in a strong kennel or cage, such 
 as this from M. Latour's, and kept there 
 without food, water only being supplied to 
 them, till symptoms of starvation began to 
 become manifest. When thus maddened by 
 hunger the keeper would bring a negro dummy, 
 stuffed with their favorite food, and place it 
 upright before them, and the hounds, furious 
 at the sight, would howl dreadfully, and make 
 frantic efforts to break through the bars. To 
 excite them the more the keeper presently 
 would slowly advance the dummy nearer and 
 nearer, motioning all the while towards its 
 breast and encouraging the dogs, whose howls 
 would now be exchanged for low, intense whines 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 253 
 
 and murmurs of delight. Then he would 
 suddenly remove the dummy back, at which 
 the wildest cries of fury would burst from 
 the brutes, and not unfrequently, in the 
 rage of disappointed desire, they would fall 
 upon and destroy each other. At last, when 
 they had been roused to the utmost, the 
 door would be opened, and they would rush 
 upon the dummy and instantly rend it into 
 pieces. 
 
 While at the horrid meal they were carefully 
 caressed by the keeper, and so taught to dis 
 tinguish between white and black, as between 
 friend and foe ; and this was the keeper's 
 protection when the hounds were out upon 
 their human hunts. So accustomed were they 
 to regard the negro as their lawful prey that 
 it was necessary to keep them securely chained. 
 At times they would break loose, and the most 
 dreadful things are told of how on such occasions 
 they would rend innocent blacks, and especially 
 children, that they met by chance. With the 
 greatest accuracy these creatures learned to 
 discriminate the African scent, and, once on 
 
254 1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 the trail of a runaway, followed it up *with 
 deadly sagacity. Escape was well-nigh impos 
 sible, unless the black took to a .tree and 
 awaited the keepers, whose mercies, by the 
 way, were often scarcely more tender than those 
 of the hounds. As may be supposed, the 
 negroes regarded them with mortal terror. 
 Naught else human conveyed to their minds 
 such ideas of horror. 
 
 The morning after the battle a party of 
 negroes, headed by Welcome, had brought over 
 the "cage" in triumph from the Latour plan 
 tation, but a few leagues away, and it now 
 stood beneath a lime in a rear enclosure con 
 nected with the headquarters, where it was 
 regarded by the blacks with great curiosity as 
 being intimately associated with the cruelties 
 of a notoriously brutal master. In this kennel 
 Henry Pascal was locked up for the night. 
 Save a sawn section of a tree that had been 
 rolled in for the occasion, it was void of furni 
 ture. On this block the prisoner was seated, 
 and to it his fetters were secured by chain and 
 staple, while a plate of coarse dry fish that had 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 255 
 
 been sent in for his supper remained untasted 
 beside him. 
 
 Negroes are great gossips, and " news " goes 
 from mouth to mouth with astonishing speed. 
 It was almost immediately known throughout 
 the camp that a prisoner was on trial, and 
 many loitered about headquarters to hear the 
 issue. When, therefore, they saw the prisoner 
 thrust into the "cage," and learned from the 
 guard that he was to be shot next morning, the 
 report passed through the camp like a flash, 
 and the blacks began flocking to the spectacle. 
 Presently it was noised about that the prisoner 
 was no other than M. Latour himself, and 
 this greatly increased both the numbers and 
 the excitement. A peering, scowling, cursing 
 throng became rapidly massed about the " cage," 
 and the guard had difficulty in keeping hands 
 off. In the press were many women, great 
 numbers of whom thronged the camp, drawn 
 thither either by the curiosity natural to the 
 sex, or as connected with the commissariat 
 (the black army at the time received its supplies 
 almost exclusively through this channel), and 
 
256 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 the hags far outdid the men in their hideous 
 grimacing and vituperation, and most foul and 
 horrible imprecations. Woman ! woman ! 
 
 In every age, race, and degree, 
 
 The main of tenderness and sweet charity 
 
 Abides, O womankind, with thee ; 
 
 Yet if thou shouldst a demon be, 
 
 A good one thou, a good one verily. 
 
 Suddenly above the tumult came a sharp 
 bark. The allusion was instantly perceived, 
 and every note of the dog broke from the 
 angered and imitative blacks whines, yelps, 
 bays, barks, snarls, growls, and howls, in a 
 most strange and a most frightful chorus. The 
 effect was maddening, recalling, as the cries 
 did, every blood-hound horror; and the passions 
 of the crowd, acting and reacting on each other, 
 rose into a frenzy, and it looked as if they would 
 drag the prisoner from the "cage" and tear 
 him piecemeal. The guard, however, succeeded 
 in convincing those nearest them that the 
 prisoner was not M. Latour, and the rain, 
 which now began to fall heavily, drove many 
 away and had a cooling effect on the rest, 
 to whom, moreover, the guard more fully 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 257 
 
 explained the circumstances of the trial ; and in 
 the face of approaching darkness these, too, 
 began to depart, till the vicinity of the " cage " 
 was deserted save by a solitary black. He was 
 a negro of striking aspect, and his manner and 
 actions altogether peculiar. 
 
 17 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 JACQUE. 
 
 JHEN the key turned in the lock of 
 the prison-door Henry Pascal closed 
 his eyes on earthly things. Towards 
 his father and towards Emilie Tourner his 
 thoughts would now and then go out, but it 
 was torturing and disturbing, and he forced 
 them back and bent them upon himself. To 
 prepare for death was now the work before 
 him; and it pressed, as he had but a span to 
 live. Solemn is that closing hour far more 
 so if faith has enlightened the soul when all 
 related things must be forgotten and we really 
 get face to face with ourselves. In current 
 life such converse is rarely held. These related 
 things continually engross us and shut the 
 " ego " from view. What am I ? Whither 
 258 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 259 
 
 am I going ? are moving questions when their 
 eternal possibilities are at the point of solution. 
 In a glance Henry Pascal took in his past 
 life. The retrospect was one of light and 
 shadow, yet far above the average of his class. 
 He had been upright and honorable before the 
 world, his filial duties had been discharged 
 with singular devotedness, and, compared with 
 the young men of his day, who had very 
 generally become infected with the rank infi 
 delity of France, and whose morals were notori 
 ously corrupt, he was religious. At an era of 
 aggressive, defiant, fashionable unbelief he had 
 not been ashamed to avow his faith, and his 
 connection with the church, made in early life, 
 had never been formally broken. But the age, 
 as we have said, was eminently a scoffing one ; 
 the planters, many of them enormously rich, 
 were steeped in licentiousness, a race of sybar 
 ites ; every tendency towards vice and license 
 had been prodigiously stimulated by the spirit 
 caught from the mother country; and these 
 adverse influences were concentrated at the 
 Cape, where Henry Pascal had been residing 
 
260 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 for some years, apart from his family. Besides 
 all this, the distractions of the colony exerted 
 an irreligious bias, and in his mother's death 
 he had lost a spiritual friend. It is not sur 
 prising, therefore, that in spite of himself, as it 
 were, he should have yielded more or less to 
 such environments, and religious duties, of late 
 years, fallen into neglect. At heart, however, 
 he was religious. There remained a root of 
 faith, strong in early culture. Weeds had 
 sprung up round it, but had not choked it. 
 
 As he now seated himself upon the prison 
 block, he drew from his pocket a small silver 
 crucifix. It was doubly dear, for it had been a 
 gift from his mother years before, and ever 
 since he had very carefully kept it about his 
 person. Even of nights he would hang it 
 round his neck or fasten it to a button-hole, 
 and it came to be a point with him never to 
 have it parted from him. Had he been less 
 enlightened, he could scarcely have regarded 
 so suggestive an object as a mere charm. Still, 
 he had a sense of being uncomfortable when 
 the crucifix now and then chanced to become 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 261 
 
 misplaced, as if some protective influence had 
 departed. This crucifix, which in other times 
 he had so often and so fervently pressed, and 
 which even in the latter days of carelessness he 
 had sacredly kept near him, he now drew forth. 
 It was fragrant with a mother's memories, and 
 he dwelt upon her and all she had taught him. 
 Upon her he dwelt, for she was among the 
 dead, and he was soon to be numbered with 
 her. Of his father he would not permit him 
 self to think. 
 
 Scarcely had these communings begun when 
 they were broken in upon by the tumult that 
 almost immediately arose around the " cage/' 
 At first it was distracting, and Henry Pascal 
 prayed for night and quietude. But the inten 
 sity of his emotions was preoccupying, and he 
 soon ceased to regard the uproar, save as it fell 
 in with his own mental workings. As he 
 pressed the crucifix and thought of the Man of 
 Sorrows, stretched on a cross innocent and 
 unheard, his naked body blistering under Sy 
 ria's noonday sun, and every eye that turned 
 upon him a dagger, he saw in his own circum- 
 
262 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 stances, with this deafening storm of passion 
 raging round him, some sort of a parallel, and 
 it gave to his supplications a vivid realism. 
 
 " Jesu ! Jesu ! " he would cry within himself, 
 " through how much pain and how little pleas 
 ure didst Thou press on to a bitter death ! 
 Oh ! be a friend to me. Holy Mary ! pray for 
 me. And thou, my guardian angel, help me 
 at this hour." 
 
 As the numbers and rage of the crowd began 
 to lessen rapidly under the influence of the 
 elements and the explanations of the guard, 
 Henry Pascal welcomed the approach of peace. 
 He now withdrew more entirely within himself, 
 and failed to notice a black who had passed 
 several times to and fro just in front of the 
 " cage," and each time, as he reached the rear 
 of the solitary guard (for his comrade had 
 gone to supper), raised his forefinger across his 
 lips, as if soliciting recognition. This negro 
 had been a looker-on upon the outside of the 
 throng, taking no part in the demonstrations. 
 He was a tall, powerful-looking man, appar 
 ently in the prime of life, erect as an Indian, 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 263 
 
 head small, but symmetrical, and firmly set on 
 massive shoulders. As he passed for the third 
 time Henry Pascal, who had lifted his eyes 
 and was looking out with a far-away expression 
 into the gathering darkness, caught the gesture, 
 and bending his gaze through the gloom, with 
 a thrill recognized the form. Jacque (for it 
 was no other than he) saw the recognition, and 
 repeating the sign, passed on. Upon the return 
 he again raised the finger to the lips, and receiv 
 ing the sign from his young master, immedi 
 ately withdrew. 
 
 It is no reflection upon the sincerity of Henry 
 Pascal's spiritual preparations that another 
 train of thought now rushed into prominence. 
 He stood upon the threshold of life, full of 
 health and strength, and bound to the world 
 by tender ties. Naturally, he desired to live, 
 and the hopes and conjectures originated by 
 Jacque' s appearance on the scene filled and 
 agitated his mind. From his knowledge of 
 Jacque's fearless character and devotion to his 
 family he felt perfectly certain an attempt at 
 rescue would be made should the slightest 
 
264 1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 opportunity offer. But could the faithful negro 
 succeed? Jacque must be single-handed, he 
 reflected, and could he possibly rescue him, 
 imprisoned and under guard, from the centre 
 of a military camp? The night was stormy, 
 and, so far, favorable, he thought ;. the vigilance 
 of the raw blacks, too, must be at a minimum 
 in such weather ; and Jacque was sagacious as 
 well as brave. There was a chance, and he 
 clung to it, and kissed the crucifix again and 
 again for it. 
 
 The night was, in truth, a stormy one. The 
 day had opened bright and breezy. The sky 
 wore a brilliant blue, and not a cloud could be 
 seen save a few white strata lying low along 
 the eastern horizon. Towards noon some 
 mare's-tails appeared in the north, and by-and- 
 by there was an overcast, the sun occasionally 
 breaking through ; but the clouds, which moved 
 slowly from the southwest, seemed too high for 
 rain. They grew more dense, however, and an 
 hour later the rain began, at first in a drizzle, 
 gradually increasing, with now and then, as 
 darkness drew on, heavy, quiet pours. From 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 265 
 
 this time a tempest developed, the wind rising 
 and the lightning displaying itself over the 
 heavens in broad areas, followed by high roll 
 ing thunder. It was one of those growing 
 storms sometimes seen in the tropics, the rain 
 falls ordinarily being sudden and furious, with 
 terrific descending peals, and succeeded often by 
 brilliant sunsets. 
 
 The prisoner being chained within an iron 
 " cage " under lock and key, the captain of the 
 watch deemed two guards sufficient ; and as the 
 night advanced, and all save the elements had 
 become quiet in the camp, these arranged 
 between themselves to take shelter by turns in 
 a neighboring out-house. Toward midnight 
 the weather was tempestuous. It rained, blew 
 hard, and was very dark. The man on duty 
 was squatting against the lime that stood at the 
 southwest corner of the " cage," resting the 
 muzzle of the musket on the ground, and 
 clasping the lock in the arm-pit in the endeavor 
 to protect it from the damp. His cap was 
 drawn down close over the eyes, and he was 
 dwelling upon the execution to take place in 
 
266 1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 the morning, wondering how many would be 
 detailed to shoot, whether he himself would be 
 among them, whether Ms shot would take 
 effect, etc., when his ear negroes are remarka 
 bly quick to hear caught the sound of a foot-fall 
 to the rear. Supposing it was his comrade, 
 yet surprised, as he felt sure his time was not 
 out by half, he started up and turned in the 
 direction of the sound. As he did so, a deadly 
 blow stretched him on the sod. He fell with 
 out a groan, as dead as if the heart had been 
 pierced. 
 
 Jacque and his companion, (for the former 
 was accompanied) at once fell to work. They 
 dreaded the lightning, which in a storm of this 
 character shone in wide sheets of mild blue 
 light, making objects as distinct as day. Not 
 a word was spoken. The door of the " cage " 
 yielded easily to a prizing-bar, Henry Pascal's 
 fetters were quickly broken, and silently and 
 rapidly the three moved on, under Jacque's 
 guidance, till a point in the wood was reached 
 outside the limits of the camp. Here Jacque 
 stopped and hurriedly said that he must go 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 267 
 
 back, that he held a position of prominence, 
 and, to avoid suspicion, should be in his place 
 before the return of the other guard to his post 
 and the escape became known ; that he (Henry 
 Pascal) could fully trust his companion, who 
 would explain everything; that pursuit, he 
 thought, would be out of the question, as the 
 rain would destroy all trace of footsteps. He 
 further told him that it was he who had saved 
 him in the battle and who had gotten in the 
 proclamation, and also that M. Tardiife was on 
 a visit to Dessalines. All this was said in the 
 most hurried manner possible. Time was pre 
 cious to each. Jacque held out to his young 
 master the hand of adieu, at which the latter 
 fell upon his neck, and having embraced him 
 with the utmost ardor, struck out with his 
 guide. Two miles away a musket report, borne 
 upon the stormy wind, told the tale of the 
 escape ; but they considered themselves secure 
 from pursuit, and felt assured Jacque had had 
 time to make good his return. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE FLIGHT. 
 
 |P THE insurrectionary negroes some 
 were guided by lofty motives and 
 took no hand in the ghastly excesses 
 that characterized by far the larger part. 
 Among these was Jacque Beattie. He had 
 been identified with the movement from its 
 inception, and his high character and intelli 
 gence at once secured position. The officers 
 for the black army Dessalines selected almost 
 wholly from his own trained men. Outside of 
 this body Jacque was one of the very few who 
 received a responsible place. He was known 
 in the army as Colonel Beattie, his command 
 consisting of some five hundred men, at the 
 head of whom he had shown conspicuous gal 
 lantry in the late battle. Though not within 
 268 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 269 
 
 that limited circle around Dessalines where 
 military measures were authoritatively dis 
 cussed, yet he was in a position to learn at 
 once conclusions reached. He knew of Dessa 
 lines' disposition to ransom the prisoners 
 almost as soon as formed, and, to warn Henry 
 Pascal against Jamaica reports, contrived 
 through the guard to have a copy of the 
 proclamation, with the pencillings that had 
 been correctly read, dropped into their room. 
 He was aware, too, of M. Tardiffe's presence in 
 camp. He knew well this man's real character, 
 and shared his young master's opinion of him, 
 I ami des noirs though they called him. As a 
 trusted body-servant in the Pascal family, he 
 was fully cognizant of the rivalry between him 
 and his young master. When the latter was 
 suddenly summoned before Dessalines a sus 
 picion at once arose that M. Tardiffe might be 
 at the bottom of it, and the impression deepened 
 on his learning the nature of the false charges 
 for which Henry Pascal had been ordered to 
 execution. What other source for these charges 
 so likely, he thought, under all the circum- 
 
270 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 stances? Upon the accusation or its origin, 
 however, he did not dwell. His sole thought 
 now was the rescue of his young master, and 
 this he resolved to attempt if a possible chance 
 of success offered. 
 
 In the person of another negro, with the 
 sobriquet of Kingfisher, Jacque had a confeder 
 ate. His real name was Francis, and in early 
 life he had been the property of Colonel Tour- 
 ner. His wife, however, belonged to another 
 proprietor, whose estate lay in the northeastern 
 corner of the province, not far from the town of 
 Limonade ; and as the Colonel's efforts to buy 
 the woman had proven fruitless, he had dis 
 posed of Francis, upon his own entreaty, to 
 this proprietor, that man and wife might not 
 be parted. In felling timber Francis had sus 
 tained an injury that permanently disabled one 
 of his legs, and a crab-yaw afterwards attacked 
 the foot. Rendered unfit for active plantation 
 work, his master, a kind-hearted man, had 
 settled him, in requital for faithful services, 
 upon a few acres near the mouth of the Yaqui 
 or St. lago, a river that empties into the sea, 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 271 
 
 by a broad and deep channel, some fifty miles 
 eastward from Cape Frangois. Here Francis 
 lived practically free. Bella, his wife, looked 
 after the patch. He himself devoted his time 
 to fishing, for which the Yaqui and its tribu 
 taries afforded an excellent field ; and in this 
 occupation he became so expert that he was 
 commonly known as Kingfisher. After supply 
 ing his master and himself from the products 
 of his nets and traps enough remained to 
 enable him to turn many an honest penny, 
 and altogether he was a well-to-do, happy 
 " nigger." 
 
 Kingfisher had brought in fish and vegeta 
 bles for the army, ascending in his canoe a 
 western branch of the Yaqui to within a few 
 miles of the camp, and soon came across Jacque 
 Beattie. Jacque and he were close friends, 
 though Jacque was much the younger. In 
 earlier life (the Pascals and Tourners. being 
 intimate and the estates near each other) they 
 had been a great deal together, and after the 
 latter's removal they were not so far apart as 
 not to meet at least occasionally the slaves, of 
 
272 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 nights, being notorious go-abouts, and often 
 making astonishing journeys. The moment 
 Jacque (who was intensely on the watch) 
 learned the result of the court-martial, he 
 sought out Kingfisher. He had influence with 
 him, and knew him to be good grit, and that he 
 cherished a warm regard for the Pascal family. 
 So he sounded him, and finding him to his 
 mind, made known the facts in regard to Henry 
 Pascal, dwelling particularly on his belief that 
 his young master's hapless fate was due to the 
 machinations of M. Tardiffe, envenomed against 
 him as the successful suitor for the hand of 
 milie Tourner. All this touched old King 
 fisher, under whose black skin beat a big, 
 tender heart. He remembered very gratefully 
 his good old master, nor had he forgotten the 
 many little kindnesses of Madame Tourner, 
 nor the sweet face of " Ma'm'selle." He had 
 not seen her since she was a child, she having 
 been abroad at school. But her beauty and 
 winsomeness were fresh before him. He knew, 
 too, Jacque's young master, especially as the 
 playmate of " Ma'm'selle," when he belonged 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 273 
 
 to the old plantation. To help him was like 
 helping the " old folks ; " and all this, aided by 
 Jacque's strong personal influence, readily won 
 him into an ally. Jacque and Kingfisher con 
 ferred together, but nothing definite at the 
 moment could be settled upon. The stormy 
 night was favorable. The point of difficulty 
 related to the guard. Should a strong one be 
 posted, an attempt to rescue would be futile. So 
 it was arranged that Kingfisher, when darkness 
 set in, should leave the camp with his baskets, 
 as if homeward bound, and having secreted 
 them by the wayside, meet Jacque at a desig 
 nated place, some hours later, for instructions. 
 Meanwhile the latter was on the lookout, and 
 soon informed himself as to the number and 
 disposition of the guard that two only were 
 detailed, and they on duty, turn about, at 
 intervals of a couple of hours. His plan, there 
 fore, was to slay the guard as soon after reach 
 ing his post as he thought his comrade would 
 be asleep, pilot Henry Pascal from the camp, 
 and, placing him in charge of Kingfisher, 
 return to his own quarters before the discovery 
 18 
 
274 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 of the rescue. How far the execution was 
 successful has been already mentioned. 
 
 To return to Henry Pascal and Kingfisher : 
 Little conversation occurred as they hurried on 
 as fast as circumstances would allow. The 
 latter informed his companion that their imme 
 diate destination was his own home near the 
 mouth of the Yaqui, where Henry Pascal 
 might strike a brig or schooner ; and that, in 
 default of such good luck, he would try to get 
 him to the Cape by night through the country. 
 Beyond this nothing was said, save a necessary 
 word now and then, Kingfisher's attention 
 being absorbed by the difficulties of the way. 
 Between the camp and the country there was 
 a vast amount of passing, and parties might 
 be met even at such hours on such a night. 
 Kingfisher, therefore, whenever he could, chose 
 turn-outs and blind paths and obscure roads, 
 and though he was thoroughly familiar with 
 every foot of the country, the darkness and 
 the storm and his lame leg withal made pro 
 gress necessarily slow. Full three hours were 
 consumed in going the six miles to the point 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 275 
 
 on the Riviere du Massacre, where had been 
 left the canoe or dugout, as it was commonly 
 called, being hewn and hollowed from a section 
 of a tree. It was well that Kingfisher had 
 taken the precaution to draw the light craft 
 some distance ashore, otherwise it would have 
 been lost or destroyed in the swollen waters. 
 The canoe was found safe in its place of con 
 cealment, but to proceed for the present was 
 out of the question. The Massacre, at all times 
 a rapid stream in this piedmont country, the 
 heavy rain-fall had now made a torrent. It 
 became necessary to wait for day, by which 
 time Kingfisher hoped the waters would so far 
 have run down as to enable him, in the light, 
 to manage the boat. 
 
 It was a wild, unfrequented, densely wooded 
 spot, and several hours of delay being -before 
 them, Kingfisher urged on his companion the 
 necessity for all the sleep he could get, as the 
 next three leagues would be trying. They 
 reascended, therefore, the precipitous bank to 
 its summit, and in an open space beneath 
 a pimento-tree sought repose, Henry Pascal 
 
276 1791 ^f Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 resting against the trunk, and the old negro 
 stretched out upon the wet leaves. Henry 
 Pascal had thought that sleep was impos 
 sible, but no sooner had he settled himself 
 and exertion ceased than over-wrought nature 
 responded to the invitation. The great and 
 prolonged tension suddenly relaxed, and before 
 he knew it he was sleeping soundly. He awoke 
 within an hour. Sleep had been short, yet 
 intense and refreshing. How changed was 
 all ! The morning was fair, with a few flying 
 scuds. The stars were out, shining beautifully 
 bright through the cleared-up atmosphere, while 
 the moon, in her last quarter, hung in the 
 western sky. Henry Pascal felt buoyant and 
 strong. How sharp the turns in life, he 
 thought ; how quickly our levels rise and fall, 
 and show the slowly changing world in new 
 aspects! The occurrences of a few hours 
 before were a dreadful dream, resembling 
 those storm- driven clouds that had been 
 drenching the earth and sending forth light 
 nings and thunderings, but had now all passed" 
 away and given place to the peaceful stars. 
 
1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 277 
 
 He reproached himself for not having expressed 
 the fulness of his gratitude to brave, noble- 
 hearted Jacque Beattie. But the time was so 
 short, all were so hurried, Jacque would under 
 stand it, and Jacque should yet know the 
 depths of his heart towards him. His thoughts 
 then turned upon the loved ones at the Cape. 
 How joyfully would they meet? The crucifix 
 was in his hands. He knelt and poured forth 
 thanks. When he rose the gray dawn was 
 just peeping over the eastern mountains. 
 Kingfisher still slept heedless of the mountain 
 gnats, though the bite is like a spark of fire 
 and he was allowed to sleep on ; for down 
 towards the shaded river it was yet densely dark. 
 The deep forest silence, enhanced rather by 
 the waters' monotonous flow, the stir of life, 
 coincident with incoming day, now began to 
 break. From a neighboring tree a potoo gave 
 one of its loud, hoarse ho-hoos, followed by a 
 lower note from the depths of the throat. The 
 mate answered ; then all was still again. Sud 
 denly came a rushing, whizzing, startling sound. 
 It was a piramidig, or night-hawk, swooping 
 
278 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 on its insect prey. The swoop apparently was 
 a signal ; for immediately these birds, deprived 
 by the storm of the evening's meal, were out 
 in great numbers, winnowing the crisp morning 
 air with their long, narrow, arcuate wings 
 now flying low, now careering on, now beating 
 up and up, to get space to swoop in perpen 
 dicular descent; now following each other in 
 close and persistent pursuit, "eager for the 
 nuptial rite upon the wing ; " now darting 
 on prey, with their broad, viscid mouths wide 
 opened; wheeling and doubling, with sudden 
 zigzag dodgings, and stationary flutterings 
 when a choice catch happened to be made. 
 As Henry Pascal sat musing and observant 
 the while of these birds, watching their move 
 ments and listening to their singular cries, the 
 day had rapidly advanced. In the glowing 
 east, beneath some purple strata that hung 
 motionless in their resplendent settings, a fiery 
 rim shot above the horizon, and anon the 
 glorious tropical sun, full orbed, was sending 
 forth his level rays. 
 
 Henry Pascal roused Kingfisher, whose first 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 279 
 
 care was to hasten down the bank to learn the 
 state of the waters. He reported, to the sur 
 prise of his companion, that he thought they 
 could proceed. These island streams run off as 
 suddenly as they rise, and though the Massa 
 cre was still swollen and dangerous, Kingfisher 
 was an expert boatman, and good reasons 
 existed for making the start at the earliest 
 practicable moment. He then explained to 
 Henry Pascal the circumstances of the journey 
 before them that the course of the Massacre 
 for the next three leagues was through a wild, 
 broken section, and the stream so rapid and 
 rough, especially in its present state, that day 
 light was necessary for managing the boat; 
 that as the river was now more or less a high 
 way for the coast negroes bearing supplies to 
 the camp, his safety required that he should 
 covertly follow the canoe along the bank ; that 
 he hoped these difficulties would be surmounted 
 early in the afternoon, and the point reached 
 where the river approaches the savannas of the 
 lower lands, and its waters grow calmer ; that 
 here they would remain in hiding till nightfall, 
 
280 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 and then, under cover of darkness, continue 
 their journey together in the canoe. 
 
 They broke their fast, from Kingfisher's wal 
 let, on cassada cakes and roasted yams and 
 plantains. Henry Pascal aided to launch the 
 boat, and the journey began. It was a toilsome 
 one to both, their efforts, by the way, being in 
 precisely opposite directions Kingfisher's en 
 deavors were to hold back, those of his com 
 panion to press forward. The former was 
 greatly hindered by the fish-box in tow. He 
 thought several times of cutting it adrift, but it 
 was a good one, and had been long in use, and 
 he decided it was worth extra trouble. In the 
 turns and eddies of the swift current, with this 
 box swinging from side to side and varying the 
 canoe's course, his best skill as a boatman was 
 called into exercise. Henry Pascal's progress 
 was by far the more difficult, and at very many 
 points it became necessary for Kingfisher to 
 pole ashore and await him. To thread a virgin 
 tropical forest, even when one may vary his 
 course along the line of least resistance, is a 
 feat. The difficulty vastly increases when the 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 281 
 
 course is prescribed, and that along a river's 
 margin. The dense vines and undergrowth, 
 many of them, like the sensitive plant, armed 
 with the sharpest needles, would have been 
 impenetrable but for the hatchet which King 
 fisher had supplied from the canoe's outfit. 
 Great prostrate trunks, so soft with decay as to 
 be scarcely able to sustain their own weight, 
 were often in the way. Not unfrequently 
 considerable detours became absolutely neces 
 sary, at which times communication with King 
 fisher was maintained through whistles and 
 halloos. Here and there tributaries interrupted 
 progress, when our fugitive would either take 
 to the water or be carried over in the boat. 
 Besides all this, it was necessary to be con 
 stantly on guard against venomous insects 
 and creeping things. In the nine miles but 
 one public road was passed, where a bridge 
 spanned the Massacre, and here Kingfisher 
 took the lead and carefully reconnoitered. At 
 noon a halt was made, though half a league only 
 of the journey remained. A delightful north 
 wind, moderating the weather, had followed in 
 
282 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 the wake of the storm, but down by the river the 
 heat was stifling, and Henry Pascal felt com 
 pletely worn out. A short repose renewed his 
 strength, and the fugitives struck out again, 
 anxious to finish this part of their course as 
 soon as possible, in order to get rest against 
 the night journey ; and two hours later they 
 reached the point of which Kingfisher had 
 spoken, where the Massacre becomes broader 
 and smoother and approaches the cultivated 
 lands. 
 
 They had suffered no interruption save 
 from natural obstacles. Throughout this wild, 
 sparsely-settled section, close upon the Spanish 
 line, not a living soul had been seen or heard, 
 and the swollen waters of the Massacre had 
 forbidden ascending boats. Here the light 
 cottonwood canoe was drawn ashore, and ar 
 rangements made for substantial rest. Henry 
 Pascal had, indeed, a battered look. He was 
 excessively fatigued, and his garments all soiled 
 and rent and in the utmost disorder ; but his 
 heart was light, bubbling over with emotions 
 of gratitude and joyous anticipations. High 
 
1791 ,4 Tale of San Domingo. 283 
 
 upon the bank a spot was chosen, and the 
 contents of the provision-wallet having been 
 well explored, he stretched himself out, with 
 the trusty negro by him, for the rest and sleep 
 his jaded frame needed, and to which all the 
 surroundings lent their aid ; for on this eleva 
 tion, where the forest was less dense and the 
 open country in the near distance, the cool 
 north wind blew, the light of the effulgent 
 sun came down to him softened and subdued 
 through the myriads of green leaves that 
 rustled above, fragrant sweetwoods and log 
 woods and many kindred growths loaded the 
 air with " Sabean odors," and the forest birds 
 sang a lullaby. Beautiful little todies the 
 robin redbreast of the West Indies in grass- 
 green coat and crimson gorget, gave forth low, 
 sibilant cries as they sought from twig to twig 
 their insect prey ; from the thickets, where 
 they were darting to and fro, came the full, clear 
 whistle of keen-eyed, fidgety hopping-dicks, 
 while overhead in the tree-tops, or circling 
 above them in their strong but short flights, 
 were screaming macaws and paroquets. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 ON THE MASSACRE. 
 
 HE negro is peculiarly sensitive to 
 cold. He gets chilly with the going 
 down of the sun, and through the 
 night sleeps well covered, even in tropical 
 latitudes. As the shades of evening fell and 
 the atmosphere became charged with dewy 
 freshness, the lowered temperature roused King 
 fisher. It was time to renew the journey. He 
 awoke his companion ; the canoe was launched, 
 and the fugitives were borne along on the 
 bosom of the Massacre. It was one of those 
 beautiful tropical evenings which once seen is 
 never forgotten. The stars, admirable for size 
 and radiance, shone out from the depths of a 
 perfectly clear sky, " a firmament of living 
 sapphires." Westward the distant lightning 
 284 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 285 
 
 incessant at this season played fantastically 
 in the low banks of clouds skirting the horizon. 
 The night breeze blew deliciously; and the 
 canoe, for whose steerage an occasional stroke 
 of the paddle sufficed, glided forward on the 
 swift, smooth current of the river. Refreshed 
 by his nap, exhilarated by the surroundings, 
 and no longer preoccupied by the difficulties 
 and dangers of the way, Kingfisher was talk 
 ative. He knew, too, how to adapt himself to 
 his audience; for he dwelt almost exclusively 
 upon incidents in the child-life of his com 
 panion, when he himself belonged to the old 
 plantation, and the former was a constant 
 visitor at Belle Vue as the playmate of 
 " Ma'm'selle " to all of which Henry Pascal 
 lent an attentive ear. ^ 
 
 Kingfisher's sense of deference induced him 
 frequently to pause, and the conversation on 
 his part was only renewed under some soliciting 
 remark from his companion. One of these 
 pauses proved extended. The old negro had 
 just spoken incidentally of M. Tardiffe, and 
 the mention of the name called up a train of 
 
286 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 thought which Henry Pascal wondered at him 
 self for not having before considered. In the 
 hurried information given by Jacque at the 
 parting moment one of the few items was that 
 M. Tardiffe was in the camp. What could he 
 be doing there? Many were the surmises to 
 which this question gave rise. Was it in his 
 own behalf (for he had properties at Dondon 
 he might wish to save), or in that of his friends, 
 or of the prisoners, or the colony at large? 
 He finally settled down into the opinion that 
 the colonial legislature, then in session at the 
 Cape, must have deputed him on some mission 
 of conciliation or humanity. Could he be the 
 person, it flashed across his mind, who had 
 spoken against him to Dessalines ? No, no, he 
 would not entertain the thought. Little as he 
 admired the character of the man, of so foul a 
 plot he could not possibly be the author. In 
 truth, it was a satisfaction to him not to know 
 the author. He was so thankful for his deliv 
 erance (at least thus far wrought), so grateful 
 for the friends that had been given him, so 
 filled with happy anticipations, the frame of 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 287 
 
 his mind was so joyful and loving, he was glad 
 he knew no one to rouse counter emotions. 
 Ruminations about M. Tardiffe, however, were 
 far less pleasing than Kingfisher's reminis 
 cences, and breaking from them with a remark 
 in reference to the old plantation life, he gave 
 the cue to his companion, who started off again 
 with his charming anecdotes, taking care to 
 have "Massa Henry" and "Ma'm'selle" always 
 appear together, and relating, with great gusto, 
 the prognostications the negroes were wont to 
 indulge in with regard to them. His narrations 
 had all the minuteness of detail with which 
 age recalls early impressions, and if, in his 
 efforts to please, fancy should to some extent 
 have lent her aid, it was a tribute to the old 
 negro's kindly heart, if not to his absolute 
 veracity. 
 
 A two-hours' run had been made, when it 
 became necessary for Kingfisher to concentrate 
 energy upon the paddle. The Massacre by 
 this time had fairly entered the savannas 
 towards the coast, and the current slowed. A 
 few sharp strokes, now on this side, now on 
 
288 1791^1 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 that, and kept up with the endurance of a 
 veteran boatman, sent the light craft forward. 
 An hour later they passed into the broad, 
 deep St. lago or Yaqui ; and within the next 
 hour, near midnight, made a final landing at 
 the foot of the pathway that led to Kingfisher's 
 home. A fourth of a mile off, in the midst 
 of a small clearing, stood the cabin, which 
 belonged to the better class of negro dwellings. 
 The posts were bamboo, the sides wattles, with 
 rafters of sweetwood, on which the ordinary 
 thatch was laid. Interiorly it was plastered 
 and white-washed. There were two rooms, one 
 for sleeping, the other for cooking, and well 
 furnished with ordinary negro household arti 
 cles. Bella, Kingfisher's spouse, had long 
 retired, and not expecting her " old man " at 
 such an hour, and the times being so out of 
 joint, she was startled on hearing approaching 
 footsteps, which her ear, too, detected as belong 
 ing to more than one person, and in sharp 
 tones demanded the cause of the intrusion. 
 Reassured on recognizing the familiar voice, 
 Bella delayed not admittance, when, receiving 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 289 
 
 a word from Kingfisher, she hastened back to 
 frock herself, and returning almost instantly, 
 struck a light, and, with every mark of alacrity, 
 set about preparations for lodging her guest. 
 The provision was simple enough, yet sufficient. 
 In a corner of the room, intended for a mattress, 
 lay a pile of dried cocoa-nut leaves, and these, 
 spread out and topped with a bamboo mat, 
 constituted the bed into which Henry Pascal 
 was fain to turn. 
 
 Next morning all were up betimes ; for the 
 heart-rending condition of Cape Frangois men 
 aced by foe and famine, was attracting succors 
 from every quarter, and any hour they might 
 signal a craft making for the Cape from some 
 one of the Spanish towns or settlements up the 
 river. Kingfisher started off for his fish-pots. 
 Meanwhile, Bella, whose manner indicated to 
 Henry Pascal not only that she knew all but 
 that he had in her a good friend also, had got 
 ten out her bread-stones and charcoal furnace, 
 and having bruised the moistened corn into the 
 finest flour, deftly kneaded it into cakes, and 
 had the tortillas ready against Kingfisher's 
 19 
 
290 1791 .4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 return with a string of snappers and yellow- 
 tails. Breakfast followed, of fish, tortillas, 
 yams, and plantains, each the best of its kind, 
 with the strong coffee in use among the negroes. 
 Henry Pascal, who had suffered on prison 
 rations, lingered before the first tasty fare he 
 had seen for some days, and Kingfisher, leaving 
 him at the board, hastened out to prepare a 
 station for signalling any incoming or outgoing 
 vessel. He returned speedily, and the two at 
 once started off, Bella, of course, receiving a 
 warm adieu. 
 
 The location chosen was a third of a league 
 away, just at the river's embouchure, where 
 the channel curved somewhat westward, and a 
 species of small, fan-leaved palm, scarce fifteen 
 feet high, densely covered the shore. Mingled 
 among the palms were sea-side grape-trees, 
 thick with crimson-veined leaves and bunches 
 of red berries, and a clump of these growths, 
 with the slightest aid from Kingfisher, formed 
 at once both a shelter from the heat and a 
 hiding-place from any chance hostile blacks, 
 whilst affording the amplest outlook seaward. 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 291 
 
 They had remained here perhaps an hour when 
 a sail was seen making down the river. It was 
 a three-masted craft, with jibs out and all her 
 canvas set. As she stood two miles off, abreast 
 the point, Henry Pascal and Kingfisher came 
 out upon an open space on the beach, and 
 waved a token repeatedly, and even ventured 
 halloos ; but she sailed past, not recognizing 
 or unheeding the signals. It was a bitter dis 
 appointment. Kingfisher was sympathizing, 
 his consolations running in this wise: that 
 Monday was always a good day for ships ; that 
 he knew another would be along after a while ; 
 that he was sure it would come nearer in, with 
 a variety of similar reflections very creditable 
 to his kind-heartedness, after indulging in 
 which he presently took a turn up the river for 
 certain nets and fish-baskets that had now been 
 without attention for several days, and in exam 
 ining which he could also have an eye for 
 passing sails. 
 
 By this time the fierce tropical sun was well 
 up, and Henry Pascal, seeking his shelter, had 
 leisure to observe the surroundings. The tide 
 
292 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 was low on a smooth, snowy beach, and the 
 white breakers came rolling in, to expand, 
 coalesce, and spread out in broad sheets upon 
 the foamy shore. Below him, at the extremity 
 of the curve making from the point of the 
 embouchure, a group of pelicans were disport 
 ing, some sailing on flagging wing, some plung 
 ing for prey, while others preened their plum 
 age, perched on the fibrous roots of the palms, 
 which here and there formed stretches of 
 vaulted open network along high-water mark. 
 In imagination his eye followed up the beach, 
 and with a sweep was fifty miles away at the 
 Cape, and many and long were his musings, 
 When he recalled himself to his surroundings, 
 an hour, he thought, must have thus passed. 
 The sun had perceptibly advanced. The tide, 
 too, having turned, was now rushing in with a 
 freshening breeze, and he was watching the 
 swift arrows of water shoot along the line of 
 contact, where the advancing swell, about to 
 break on the shore, met the reflow of its pre 
 decessor, when Kingfisher came running up 
 as fast as his stiff leg would allow, with the 
 
1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 293 
 
 intelligence that a sail was on the way down 
 the river. In a moment she emerged within 
 view, and when nearly against the point made 
 a tack that brought her far towards the western 
 side. The signals were observed, and Henry 
 Pascal's heart bounded; for it was the final 
 assurance of safety, and the cry of the Ten 
 Thousand rose within him, " Thalassa ! tha- 
 lassa!" on seeing the sails slacken and the 
 anchor heaved. A boat put off, and Henry 
 Pascal, after pouring out his gratitude to King 
 fisher, and wringing the old negro's hand 
 again and again, was presently aboard. It 
 proved to be the brigantine Elizabeth, trading 
 between the Cape and the Spanish settlements 
 on the Yaqui. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 CAPE FRANCIS AGAIN. 
 
 IJTORMS and head-winds followed that 
 afternoon and the next day, retard 
 ing progress, and it was not till the 
 afternoon of Wednesday, the last day of 
 August, that the Elizabeth anchored in the 
 harbor of Cape Frangois. The news of Henry 
 Pascal's arrival spread with the greatest rapidity 
 throughout the city, and excited the liveliest 
 interest; for he was well known and popular, 
 and his hapless capture had been a universal 
 theme. He was on everybody's lips, and great 
 numbers sought him personally, as well on 
 his own account as to learn the first really 
 authentic tidings from the negro camp. On 
 reaching shore he hastened to the Hotel de 
 Ville where, indeed, the news had preceded 
 294 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 295 
 
 him to meet his father, who received him as 
 though from the dead. While here a message 
 comes from the governor-general, M. Blanche- 
 lande, and the next two hours are passed in 
 reporting before him and the chief officers 
 commanding in the city such information as he 
 had been able to gather respecting the strength, 
 efficiency, and temper of the black army, 
 together with the immediate movements con 
 templated by Dessalines, and his purpose 
 towards the prisoners. The circumstances of 
 his escape he dwelt upon only in a general 
 way, concealing, for obvious reasons, the names 
 of his benefactors. But late that evening, 
 after receiving a host of friends, he privately 
 gave the full details to his father and Colonel 
 Tourner, who were delighted beyond measure 
 at the devotion shown by Jacque and King 
 fisher, and, in truth, often fairly wept over 
 the recital. 
 
 Next morning he went aboard the Sappho, 
 whose decks now wore the usual aspect, all 
 the fugitives, save the Tourner family, having 
 returned to the Cape on the subsidence of the 
 
296 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 panic. Madame Tourner, in expectation of 
 the visit, was all ready to receive him. The 
 Colonel, the preceding afternoon, the moment 
 he caught the report of Henry Pascal's return 
 flying about the city, had despatched a mes 
 senger to his wife with the news. She com 
 municated it to Captain Winslow, of the 
 Sappko, who immediately went ashore. He 
 was one of the officers before whom, at the 
 governor-general's residence, Henry Pascal re 
 ported, and through him the latter conveyed 
 word to Madame Tourner that he would call 
 on the morrow. 
 
 A great change had taken place in certain 
 of her views. As her daughter lay in delirium, 
 and life for hours trembled in the balance, 
 bitterly did she reproach herself as the cause, 
 in having been a party to M. Tardiffe's scheme 
 and so urgent for his suit. In spite, also, 
 of her partiality for the man, the more she 
 reflected the more her generous nature was 
 compelled to admit the utter meanness of this 
 scheme, to which she had assented under a 
 supreme sense of helplessness and despair. 
 
1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 297 
 
 Her daughter's illness, too, had opened her 
 eyes to values she had hitherto not fully 
 weighed. It has been before observed that 
 beneath Madame Tourner's worldliness, the 
 accident rather of a sunny nature and tempting 
 surroundings, beat a warm, womanly heart, and 
 deep currents flowed out towards her husband 
 and daughter. But these currents had been 
 moving on undisturbed for years, and she knew 
 not how vitally they bound her till a sudden 
 fear of interruption revealed their strength. 
 Never before had her daughter been so criti 
 cally ill; for the first time she saw herself 
 menaced with the loss of her only child and 
 all this because she had been seeking M. Tar- 
 diffe's gold. Sorely did she bewail and lament 
 her folly. It was a grief that swallowed up 
 every other. What was gold she so often 
 bitterly cried within herself, as those watching, 
 anxious hours passed against her daughter's 
 life and love ? She all but cursed the gold, and, 
 terribly stung with self-reproaches, vowed, if 
 her child was spared, never more to cross her 
 affections. 
 
298 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 For Henry Pascal's escape she was, indeed, 
 overjoyed. All on a sudden it opened up new 
 hopes, and, naturally enough, she took a more 
 rational and better view of his prospects. The 
 opening in Jamaica she now regarded as very 
 good, and Henry Pascal fully able to improve 
 it. She thought, too doubting not they would 
 all go thither that the English ancestry of her 
 husband would tend to help him to opportuni 
 ties in this prosperous English colony; and 
 altogether there was much, in her opinion, to 
 be thankful for. For very plain reasons she 
 earnestly hoped Henry Pascal's escape had 
 been in no way connected with the efforts of 
 M. Tardiffe. That the latter had not returned 
 with him gave ground for such a hope, and the 
 replies to the first questions addressed to her 
 visitor put her mind at rest in this direction. 
 His first question was of Mademoiselle, whose 
 dangerous illness he had heard of through the 
 Colonel. A week had just elapsed since the 
 beginning of the attack. It had been of great 
 severity, but comparatively short, and it was 
 a coincidence that the crisis had passed the 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo, 299 
 
 very day of Henry Pascal's return. As the 
 fever ebbed and the delirium went off her 
 inquiries after Henry Pascal were anxiously 
 repeated, and the ship's surgeon advised that 
 the news of his return be at once, yet gently, 
 communicated. Madame Tourner had feared 
 that complications connected with M. Tardiffe 
 might prove a source of distress, and delayed 
 the tidings till she had seen Henry Pascal 
 himself and learnt particulars. Relieved on 
 finding that "the news" was unencumbered, 
 she replied in fine spirits to her visitor's ques 
 tion, saying her daughter was better, and might 
 be able to see him presently, and asked to be 
 allowed to retire a moment to aid in some 
 preparations. 
 
 The attack had left fimilie Tourner pros 
 trated in body and in mind. The events which 
 immediately preceded and led up to it seemed 
 to her a ghastly dream, and when the reality 
 broke upon her the effort to recall them was 
 unsatisfactory. She remembered having inter 
 ceded with M. Tardiffe, and his expression of 
 willingness to oblige her, but what followed 
 
300 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 was all indistinct. Whether he had gone, or 
 how he had gone, she could not tell. The 
 circumstances were wholly confused, only that 
 she retained an impression of something sinis 
 ter connected with them ; and to the clearing 
 up of the mystery her earliest inquiries were 
 directed. Her mother, however, gave evasive 
 replies, and endeavored, in her enfeebled state, 
 to lead her mind in less disquieting directions. 
 As Madame Tourner now entered the apart 
 ment of her fever- worn daughter the latter, still 
 engrossed with the one thought, turned towards 
 her and said : 
 
 " The servant tells me you've had a visitor." 
 
 " Yes, Emilie." 
 
 " Has he brought news ? " 
 
 "Yes, my darling; some authentic tidings 
 from Dessalines have just reached the Cape." 
 
 "What of the prisoners?" she cried with 
 sudden energy, partly raising herself as she 
 spoke, but, immediately sinking back in the 
 vain effort to sustain the position. 
 
 "Be calm, my dear child. The news is 
 not bad. We hear that Dessalines, being in 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 301 
 
 need of funds, is disposed to ransom the 
 prisoners." 
 
 A momentary flush of satisfaction which 
 brightened her features and seemed to expand 
 her frame passed away as she replied in slow, 
 halting, drooping tones : 
 
 " To hear of ransom is better than to hear of 
 death, but where can the means be had ? and 
 what must the end not be ? " 
 
 "Possibly, fimilie, he may have escaped. 
 Monsieur Pascal is known and liked by the 
 negroes generally, and he must have friends in 
 the black army." 
 
 "0 maman! don't oppress me with vain 
 hopes." 
 
 "Well, Emilie, the news really is that he 
 has escaped." 
 
 " Escaped ! " replied the daughter, bending 
 upon her mother a look of the deepest interest. 
 
 "Yes, escaped through the aid of Jacque 
 Beattie. Rumor has it that Monsieur Pascal 
 descended the Riviere du Massacre by night, 
 and he is supposed to be now at some point on 
 the coast." 
 
302 1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 " Heaven be praised ! " exclaimed the daugh 
 ter, with a beaming countenance. " Yet," she 
 added thoughtfully, "dangers must still sur 
 round him." 
 
 "Suppose, Emilie," said Madame Tourner, 
 as an arch smile played over her features, " the 
 point on the coast it is thought he has reached 
 should be Cape Francois ! " 
 
 Regarding her mother with a half-frightened 
 expression, as if she could not think she would 
 trifle with her, yet afraid of trusting such per 
 fect news, she asked solemnly : 
 
 " Maman, can you be jesting ? " 
 
 "Let us thank God, my child; Monsieur 
 Pascal is indeed safe at the Cape, and all the 
 city rejoices." 
 
 To this announcement Emilie Tourner could 
 only reply by burying her face in her handker 
 chief and weeping for joy. 
 
 When the burst of feeling had presently 
 passed she turned to her mother, and with eyes 
 still filling with happy tears, said in a depre 
 cating voice : 
 
 " Surely, maman, you are not deceiving me?" 
 
1791 A Tale of San Domingo. 303 
 
 "Well, my child," smilingly rejoined Mad 
 ame Tourner, " if you can't believe me, I shall 
 allow Monsieur Pascal to speak for himself. 
 Our visitor is none other than he, and he awaits 
 my return for permission to see you." 
 
 Another application of the handkerchief now 
 became unavoidable, Madame Tourner the 
 meanwhile giving hasty touches here and there 
 to complete the order of the apartment. It is 
 scarcely necessary to add that the effect of the 
 interview was in every way salutary, and that 
 fimilie Tourner 's improvement advanced with 
 astonishing rapidity. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 |HE day following Admiral Affleck, 
 in response to the appeal for help, 
 arrived from Jamaica with the fri 
 gates Blonde and Daphne. Seeing he could 
 effect nothing against the insurgents, concen 
 trated, as they were, in the interior, he resolved 
 to return, after landing supplies and debarking 
 a force to aid in securing the Cape's defence 
 till troops should be sent from the mother 
 country. He delayed departure a few days, 
 to enable certain families, who had determined 
 upon leaving San Domingo at once, to complete 
 arrangements. Among these were the Pascals 
 and Tourners. 
 
 In the mail for Cape Frangois, brought by 
 the Blonde, was a letter which Mr. Harrison 
 304 
 
1791^ Tale of San Domingo. 305 
 
 had directed to Henry Pascal at Kingston, and 
 which the latter's uncle had forwarded. It 
 contained a formal offer, on advantageous 
 terms, to open an agency at Kingston, to which 
 offer Henry Pascal, resigning his military 
 office, promptly wrote an acceptance. Colonel 
 Tourner, after full consultation with his family, 
 also determined upon going thither. Nothing 
 could now be done at the Cape. Opportunities 
 of some sort, he considered, would present 
 themselves in Jamaica, and it would be far 
 better to await there the issue of San Domingo 
 affairs. He therefore relinquished his com 
 mand, his military services being no longer 
 necessary ; Emilie Tourner was carefully re 
 moved to the Blonde, and the latter part of 
 the week the good ship safely reached Kingston. 
 Here Henry Pascal succeeded far beyond his 
 expectations, and in due time his nuptials 
 with fimilie Tourner were celebrated. Within 
 a few years he became the Jamaica partner of 
 the Harrison house. Ultimately, upon Mr. 
 Harrison's decease, the Kingston branch passed 
 absolutely into his hands, and he rose to 
 20 
 
306 1791 ^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 wealth and influence. As for Colonel Tourner, 
 though his San Domingo possessions were 
 irretrievably lost, he fairly prospered at Kings 
 ton, living happily near his daughter, and 
 occasionally accompanying his son-in-law to 
 London, where the latter had established 
 business relations. 
 
 M. Tardiffe became a victim to Dessalines' 
 wrath, falling into the trap he had prepared 
 for another. When the guard, in turn, came 
 on duty the night of the escape and found his 
 comrade dead and the prisoner gone, an alarm 
 was sounded through the camp. Little, how 
 ever, could be done before morning, when 
 every effort was made to obtain a clue, but in 
 vain. Dessalines was in a tremendous fury. 
 Naturally he suspected Jacque Beattie, as 
 having been a favored servant in the Pascal 
 family, and set afoot some secret investigations. 
 But Jacque had cleverly concealed his tracks, 
 and nothing was discovered. While brooding 
 over the matter, his rage at being baffled 
 growing with his potations, Dessalines remem 
 bered M. Tardiffe's saying he knew the Pascals 
 
1791 ^t Tale of San Domingo. 307 
 
 well, and how very desirous he was that 
 his presence in camp should not be known to 
 Henry Pascal ; and, altogether, his drunken 
 suspicions being aroused, he did not stickle 
 ordering him to be searched, when, to the 
 astonishment of every one, including M. Tar- 
 diffe himself, who had not thought of the 
 ensnaring document, the note from Madame 
 Tourner was found. Dessalines was convinced 
 of his complicity in the escape, would listen to 
 nothing from him, threw him into prison, and 
 a day or two after, on hearing of the tortures 
 inflicted upon captured blacks at the Cape, in 
 a gust of passion ordered all the prisoners to 
 execution. 
 
 Jacque Beattie bore an active part in the 
 long and dreadful struggle that finally ended, 
 twelve years later, in the complete triumph of 
 the blacks, under Jean Dessalines. He had 
 become full weary of war, and the peace that 
 followed the proclamation of black independ 
 ence proved a profound disappointment. Jean 
 Dessalines was the counterpart of his twin- 
 brother, Paul, and his horribly wicked and 
 
308 1791^4 Tale of San Domingo. 
 
 bloody rule so disgusted Jacque that he disposed 
 of his possessions, which had now become con 
 siderable, and came to Kingston. He was at 
 once manumitted by Henry Pascal, who with 
 every member of his own and his wife's family 
 held him in great honor, and never grew weary 
 in manifestations of gratitude. He lived at 
 Kingston many years, and as "Colonel Beattie" 
 was a familiar and highly-respected character. 
 It was through Jacque that Monsieur Tardiffe's 
 perfidy and the circumstances of his fate first 
 became known. 
 
 Henry Pascal made repeated efforts, but in 
 vain, to get tidings of Kingfisher. For the 
 noble old fellow he always kept a fresh, warm 
 place in his heart, and his memory as a grand 
 hero was transmitted to his little children, 
 whom he would often delight with the story 
 of his rescue and escape. His eldest child, by 
 the way, was called Jacque, and for another 
 he gravely suggested to his wife the name of 
 " Kingfisher;" but she deemed it altogether 
 too bizarre, and they agreed upon Francis, 
 Kingfisher's original prsenomen. 
 
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 1791: a tale of San S4 
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