# In the Shadow/Chapter 17
### CHAPTER XVII
#### THE SAVAGE ISLAND

DESSALINES, Rosenthal, and Jules were deep in consultation in the main saloon.
The valet de chambre had proved himself discreet and subtle. Since the beginning of his campaign Dessalines had confided in him without reserve; on all occasions he asked his counsel.
The two were honest friends. There is no doubt that the birdlike little Frenchman cherished for his black master a sincere liking as well as an unbounded admiration. True, he was very proud of Dessalines; proud of the sensation he produced wherever he went; proud to be in his service, and no doubt with something of the pride of the keeper of a wild animal supposed to be dangerous but known by the tamer to be quite docile. Deeper than this was Jules's real devotion to Dessalines, enhanced as it was by a sense of obligation and responsibility evoked by the Titan weaknesses of the great negro—the devotion of the mind to the body.
Dessalines was intensely fond of Jules. The little fellow flattered him; cheered him when depressed; called back his self-confidence; made him laugh. He was a great fellow for grimaces, was Jules. He could twist his birdlike features into contortions at the ludicrous effect of which Dessalines would throw himself on the floor and roll in a paroxysm of mirth. Then Jules could ​dress him as no other person could have done; he was a skilled maître d'hôtel; could devise ingenious entertainments for his guests, as in the matter of the 'rikishas at his water party. Quite recently he had discovered that Jules possessed a mind far superior to his own, but this carried no jealousy. Of course not! Had he wished could he not have squeezed the life from the valet with one hand as one squeezes an orange?
Jules and Rosenthal also cherished mutual esteem. Jules was too much a man of the world to look down upon Rosenthal because he was a Jew; also, he had scrutinized Rosenthal closely and decided that he would deal honestly by his master. The little Frenchman had seen at once that the Jew was laid out on broad lines; no dishonesty with him would be a theft, it would be a financial coup. He knew the influence of Rosenthal upon his master. Dessalines, in truth, was very fond of him; trusted him, admired his mind and energy. Jules saw that the Jew would spare nothing to place Dessalines in power. Then, very properly, he would ask for and receive a bonus; a subsidy; special export duties for his coffee or timber grants. As for the agent, he knew that if successful he had but to ask. Dessalines was generous.
Their conference contained no element of dissension; the three mutually friendly, mutually respectful; their floreate expressions were not rococo, they gilded strong sentiments.
These three men are not such infrequent types as one might think; there are to be met many such if one travels their paths. These were rather admirable characters; they possessed courage, generosity, ambition, loyalty.
​A map of Hayti was spread upon the table; on its geographical features there were inscribed in the fine, accurate hand of the Jew, countless notes, figures, memoranda in different colored inks. Each of the three men had committed these memoranda to memory. This had been a baffling task for Dessalines. The figures rioted elusively through his brain; the fine schedules, schema, devised by Rosenthal and commended by Jules, bewildered him; on the other hand he knew the country itself, the topographical features, the relative distances, the time necessary to traverse a district, everything pertaining to mobilization. He knew Hayti well, having ridden over much of it; what he did not know he felt. For locality, bearings, direction, the negro had the head of a hound.
Rosenthal laid both hands on the rim of the table and thrust himself violently backward. His swarthy face was flushed and under the black, bushy, Mephistophelian eyebrows, which drew a straight line from temple to temple, his agate-colored eyes, with their multiple spots of light brown, glinted with excitement. For a moment he pondered, beating a tattoo with his strong fingers, and the click of the heavy rings he wore rang like castanets.
"Let us sum up, my friend," he remarked suddenly. "One cannot too fully impress upon the mind the general plans of campaign." He paused and stroked his black imperial.
"Proceed, my dear fellow," said Dessalines. Jules cocked his birdlike head and his beady eyes flitted from Rosenthal's face to the map.
"We are now off the Mole," began Rosenthal; "we ​are a British tramp steamer bound for Curaçao; our captain has been paid by Comte Dessalines to set him ashore en route at St. Marc." He glanced at the others.
"Bon," gurgled Dessalines.
"At St. Marc," pursued Rosenthal, "Monsieur le Comte, accompanied by Maître Jules, will go ashore, proceeding at once to Port au Prince where he will examine the political situation and confer with General Lin Miragoâne who has five hundred men in the environs of Port au Prince. Monsieur le Comte will then proceed to La Coupe, where he will be the guest of the Fouchères, thus disarming suspicion of political activity."
"Bon," muttered Dessalines.
"In the meantime," continued Rosenthal, "our dear friend and ally, General Tirésias Bisoton, on sighting our vessel from St. Marc, will proceed to a point five miles down the coast, where he will be taken aboard and pilot us to a point six miles south of Gonaïves, where we will embark the two hundred disaffected Firminists under General Soult; thence we will proceed to Jeremie to receive the hundred and fifty men under Monsieur le Duc de La Fitte; thence to Anse-à-Veau for the two hundred men of the General Peligro; thence to Grand Goâve, where it is safe to say that we may count upon one hundred and fifty men, friends of my own."
"Bon," muttered Dessalines.
"When all is in readiness in Grand Goâve," continued Rosenthal, "I will dispatch a courier to Monsieur le Comte at La Coupe. The man will have a slip of paper upon which will be written two numbers: the first, the day of the month upon which our emperor-elect shall march down upon Port au Prince at the head of his ​brave following; the second, the hour at which he may expect us to begin to land our troops under the protection of our six-pounders."
"Bon," muttered Dessalines deeply.
"So much for our general plans," said Rosenthal briskly, "and now, dear friends, let us apply ourselves to the details."
Dessalines leaned upon the rail and stared moodily at the land as the Waccamaw steamed slowly into the charming bay of St. Marc. The sun was getting low; the afternoon shower had come and gone; the lustrous, tropic foliage, still wet and 'glistening, flashed and glittered and sparkled in the rich, ripe, mellow sunshine. But two vessels, one a sailing ship, were lying in the port and these rode light, a broad band of smutty green in the one case and red in the other denoting that trade was at a standstill as the result of the several-sided revolution. Along the beach were the usual heaps of compèche; but little coffee, cotton, or cacao was in evidence. Apparently some work of a sporadic character was going on about the picturesque ruins of the old French fort, but this appeared to be desultory and half-hearted.
At a few furlongs from the beach the telegraph rang sharply; the propeller sucked the water astern and the anchor splashed overboard. Several boats were alongside, and a moment later the vessel was boarded by a stout mulatto who claimed to be the harbor master. At the sight of Dessalines he started, then came forward, his bland yellow face wreathed in smiles.
"Ah, mon cher Comte Dessalines! C'est vraiment vous!" They embraced.
​"But, yes; my dear Calisthène!" cried Dessalines. "I was so unfortunate as to miss the Hollandia, but was lucky enough to secure a passage by this vessel the very next day. She is bound for Curaçao, but I prevailed upon our captain to set me ashore here; he was unwilling to go to Port au Prince for fear of complications."
"You have come at a critical time, my dear fellow. One hardly dares to speak; we are in frightful confusion. There is some one here now who will rejoice to see you." He watched Dessalines narrowly. "Your old friend General Miragoâne."
"I am charmed!" exclaimed Dessalines. "But come below, my dear Calisthène; I have some excellent champagne and this vessel makes ice. I am starving for the news."
He led his friend below, where Jules served them with champagne. Rosenthal, of course, did not appear.
"Is your captain then not anxious to proceed at once?" inquired Calisthène, and again his chocolate-colored eyes examined Dessalines covertly. The latter, was, however, diplomatic. Though finding it difficult to keep traces of real emotion from his mobile features he possessed the animal cunning requisite to disguise the cause of this emotion.
"He is first anxious to see if it will not be possible to secure a little coffee or cacao now that he is here; also, they must land my horse."
"Your horse!"
"Yes, an American horse, a beautiful animal. But tell me," he exclaimed, "what is the news? The political situation?"
The mulatto exhibited some nervousness. "One can ​scarcely say. You have heard of course of the destruction of the Crête-à-Pierrot?"
"Yes, yes."
"Since that event it is said that Firmin is losing ground. One says that he has enemies here." The eyes of the mulatto grew catlike. "I doubt if he will continue his efforts. Jean Jumeau, his general, still occupies Gonaïves, and as long as he can hold that place Nord Alexis is walled up in the north. Fouchard, in the south, has sent an expedition against Firmin. They will probably meet at Petit Goâve, where there will no doubt be a bloody encounter."
"And at Port au Prince?"
"The Chamber has elected Boisrund Canal as President of the Provisional Government. Really, my dear comte, poor Hayti is at the mercy of the strongest arm. One cannot hold political opinions. Myself, I mind my business and sell my coffee for as much as I can get, which is little enough, God knows!"
Dessalines turned away to hide his exultation.
"You are proceeding to Port au Prince, of course," said Calisthène presently. "I do not think that the captain of this vessel will get any coffee to carry; the trade is practically controlled by the Holland and German lines; the freights are very low. In that case I beg that you will honor me by being my guest until to-morrow."
Dessalines bowed. "I shall be delighted! I am most fortunate; and now if you will excuse me I will attend to the landing of my horse. Could you procure me a lighter, my dear friend. He is a very fine animal; I dislike to swim him to the beach."
​The mulatto politely acceded and went on deck to give the necessary orders. Dessalines went to Rosenthal's stateroom.
"I will bid you au revoir, my friend. General Miragoâne has been here and is no doubt already on his way to the rendez-vous."
"And the situation?" asked Rosenthal. Dessalines in a few words put him in possession of the facts given him by the mulatto.
In their delight the two embraced.
"There is nothing more to be said?" asked Dessalines.
"I can think of nothing, my king!" exclaimed the Jew. "It now remains only to act. Haste is necessary. Our blows must be swift, strong, and final. And now, once more, au revoir! When next I greet you may it be as emperor!" Again they embraced, Dessalines so overcome by his emotion that he was unable to speak. Dashing the tears from his eyes he returned to the deck and a moment later was convulsed with laughter at the frantic struggles of his horse as the animal was lowered into a lighter.
Dessalines went ashore with his friend. The sun had set; the swift, tropic day was falling. As they proceeded to the house of Calisthène he caught the glow of the port light on the Waccamaw as she headed down the coast.
A short walk brought them to the home of the mulatto. It was a bungalow, somewhat pretentious, shabby, placed in the middle of a charming tropical garden. Many people, women for the most part, slipped in and out, peering, whispering, disappearing around corners. ​One caught a glimpse of fluttering garments through slanting jalousies; heard stifled laughter from shadowy recesses.
As they entered the yard a young lad of perhaps fifteen years approached Calisthène. The boy was a shade lighter in hue than his father; a handsome boy, with great, soft eyes and rather delicate, rounded features.
"Ah, petit Justitian!" cried the parent. "Salute the Comte Dessalines who is to be our guest."
The boy saluted Dessalines with respectful graciousness, then turned to his father.
"Dear papa, General Miragoâne received a message which made it necessary for him to return at once to Gonaïves. He set out immediately and left this note for you; also, he requested me to express his regrets for his sudden departure."
The boy's French was Parisian, perfect; the voice soft and musical.
"Hélas!" cried Calisthene, "it is a pity; he has missed meeting his old comrade." Again Dessalines felt the examining eyes upon him. "But never mind; we will be gay. Justitian, my heart, bid the servants fetch lights and if you love me, some fruit. It will be long since Comte Dessalines has tasted a mango."
The boy departed.
"A charming child," said Dessalines.
"Is he not? My youngest, a child by placage; his mother is a Dominican, almost white. Next year I shall send him to Paris for his education. He is very bright and a charming musician. You shall hear him play the flute. And now tell me all about our dear Paris; would you believe it, it is four years since I was last there. ​These troublous times! What a blessing to be rich; not to be harassed by cares of business!"
Dessalines spent a pleasant evening. As they were about to retire early, according to local custom, Calisthène remarked with a half smile:
"You are to be envied, Aristide; one does not come back to Hayti every day, and from England. Tiens. But what a change."
With a quick movement he arose and threw wide the French windows. From without there came in swelling chorus the soft diapason of insect orchestra; the night air was heavy with dew-cooled, tropic perfumes.
"Hear it," said Calisthene. "Smell it! Ah, Hayti is only Hayti, is it not? Justitian, cher petit, come bid our guest bon soir."
Dessalines slept ill that night; the depth of fantasy which in the negro fills the place of sentient imagination had been more stirred by the events of this day of his arrival in his native country than at any time since the first formation of his ambitious projects. The night before he had been stirred to deep religious fervor, a proper emotion; this night it was different. The glamour of the black, voluptuous island lay upon his chest; the first sight of the vivid foliage ablaze in the sensuous sunlight; the first inhalations of honey-sweet odors of jasmine and Stephanotis had sent his senses reeling; all of the animalism in him seemed to awake and stretch, yawning, then glare about with bright, eager, interested eyes; a tiger, his prototype in the lower animal world, rousing from the lap of the verdant springtide. Old memories set his muscles atwitch; old desires set his nerves atingle; his flesh throbbed.
​The casual conversation of his host had set his fancies flowing and contributed to banish sleep. Deeply religious as he was, and so with a new and powerful religion which had shone in upon him during his Oxford course with the sudden shocking illumination of a search light, he was torn between the spirit and the flesh. Waking, his fierce animalism screamed aloud; sleeping, hell blazed before his anguished eyes. Toward midnight, exhausted, he had recourse to prayer, as the night before, and so praying fell asleep and slept the night through, kneeling.
He arose early, refreshed; for his sleep, when it arrived, had been deep. Jules brought him his coffee, and when he had drunk it and eaten a mango and some fig bananas, his cheerfulness, never long absent, returned, As he was in haste to proceed Calisthène had placed two horses and a chaise at his disposal. In this he put his personal luggage in the charge of Jules and a negro driver; he himself rode upon his great American horse.
Dessalines had considered the possibility of being stopped en route by some of the Firminists, but even in this case it did not seem likely that he would be delayed. He was well known, respected, had never meddled in the politics of the country; his enmity would not be sought gratuitously, especially at this time when each leader needed as many friends and few enemies as was possible.
The roads were very passable and by sunset they had reached Bourassin, a village about fifty kilometers from Port au Prince. Such military bands as they encountered passed them without molestation. They reached the capital early the following day.
​Dessalines sent his effects on up the mountain to La Coupe, with a note to Madam Fouchère, begging that he be permitted to avail himself of her hospitality proffered the previous month. He himself passed around the north of Port au Prince on the outskirts of the city, to reach the residence of General Miragoâne, one of his proposed staff, a man whom he had known from boyhood and always liked and trusted. Miragoâne was one of the ministers of the Provisional Government.
Dessalines knew the house well. Throwing the rein over a gatepost, he dismounted from his tired horse and entered the inclosure; but before he had reached the veranda a screen door was thrown open and a man burst out.
"Aristide! Ah, m'cher camarade. Oh! Oh! Oh, m'cher!"
A very black negro seized him in an eager embrace. Dessalines, always emotional, never failing to reciprocate warmth of feeling, kissed his friend upon the lips; they reëmbraced.
"But, my dear Aristide!" cried Miragoâne, "I have been expecting you daily!" His eyes rolled warily about him. "But we must be discreet! Come enter; you will be my guest? That is your horse? a magnificent animal! How fat he is!"
Miragoâne was a man of the people: honest, simple, brave; illiterate, he was regarded with some contempt by the more finished Haytians, among them Dr. Fouchère. He was of medium height, very muscular, and inclined to rotundity. His skin was as black as Dessalines' own but less fine. He spoke Creole; Jules could scarcely have understood him.
​"You are too kind, Toto, dear comrade," answered Dessalines; "but I am promised to the Fouchères."
"Ah!" Miragoâne sucked in his breath in a little gasp. "You are fortunate, Aristide. La Fouchère has returned in greater beauty than ever. She spoke of you when I saw her one night." His manner grew furtive; then suddenly his bonhomie returned. He slapped Dessalines between the shoulders. "You have made an impression, you handsome rascal! Madam is interested in you; I think that you might find her kind." He sucked in his saliva thirstily. "La-la, I envy you!"
"You forget, my dear Toto, that I am not a gay fellow like yourself; besides, we have serious work to do."
"There is always time for love! But you are right, Dessalines. Must you then go up to La Coupe to-night?"
"Yes, but first let us go over our plans. Are we quite safe from eavesdroppers?"
"Entirely," replied Miragoane crisply. He was a natural soldier and loved things military. "One moment; I will get my list and we will go over the thing in detail."
Their conference lasted until an hour before sunset. Miragoâne confirmed the news given to Dessalines by Calisthène. He was delighted with the thoroughness of Dessalines' preparations; praised Rosenthal highly; spoke of him as the only leblanc that he had ever met who was not at least half mad; promised to be ready to strike and to strike hard when the time came. It had been arranged that Dessalines should communicate with ​Rosenthal at Petit Goâve, telling him where to land the arms for the following of Miragoâne.
Dessalines remounted his rested horse and rode slowly up the steep incline to La Coupe. His heart was beating joyously. As he rode, he whistled and sang; talked to his horse, to himself, to the chattering peasants who were returning up the mountain, a long cavalcade, mostly women, sitting sideways upon the diminutive, half-starved donkeys who had carried their wares to market, and were now carrying their mistresses back, to the admonition of cruel, reckless blows across the head, the nose, the ears, from clubs which in a civilized country one would not use upon an ox. From these peasants Dessalines' appearance, style, and magnificent mount, drew cries of delight. The more attractive of the women stared at him aslant, sometimes full, challenging his attention. They received in answer a cheery word, which set them giggling and stuffing the corners of their soiled one-piece costumes into their mouths. A joke would set them ascreaming, convulsed, falling from their donkeys. One strapping wench ran after him, baring the bosom of a black Juno for his inspection. Dessalines tossed her a kindly word and a bright shilling, then touched his horse with the spur. He understood his people.
Up he went, his heart, expanding for the fair promise of his prospects and the grandeur of the view below him.
Straight down the steep side of the mountain the jungle closed in, thick, dense, soft as green plush in the distance, filled with splashes of black shadow as the sun neared the crest of the ridge. Facing him, on the other side of the valley, the flat flank of the mountain blazed ​a golden green; peaks, uplifting gray, heavy masses of rain-cloud, loomed beyond. The Haytian proverb flashed across his mind: "Derrière mornes, gagner mornes,"—behind mountains there are mountains. The darkening valley swept away toward the sea, where it widened, became brighter, lost the sinister shadows of a chasm, and became flecked instead with bright tiled roofs. Beyond lay the sea; farther still, an azure cloud, the island of Gonâves was poised at the junction of sea and sky.
It was almost dark when he drew rein before the villa of Dr. Fouchère. It was a picturesque spot, pitched on the brink of a slope so steep as to be almost a precipice. Beneath, the valley of darkest green stretched away to the sea. Beyond, lay the city of Port au Prince, at this range a beauty spot; at close range, a foul ulcer teeming with a life of poisonous corruption. On the other hand one caught a vista of the lakes, far beneath, shimmering azure, dazzling with the reflected brilliance of the late sun. Above, rose the mountain.
As Dessalines drew in his tired but still willing horse, Jules hurried from the rear where he had been bandying blague with a handsome negress, the maid of Madam Fouchère, an old friend of the little Frenchman.
"Madam has been resting," he said. "She has left orders to be called upon the arrival of Monsieur le Comte."
"Then I will dare to countermand the order," replied Dessalines. "Do not permit her to be disturbed. And the doctor——?"
"He is in Port au Prince. He is expected home this evening. We thought it probable that you would meet."
​Dessalines threw his rein to Jules and walked toward the house. As he was about to ascend the steps some jalousies overhead rattled. A soft voice floated down from above:
"Ah, it is you, dear Dessalines! May I come down en negligé? I cannot wait to greet you!"
There was a timbre to her seductive voice; a caressing quality which made Dessalines' heart leap suddenly.
"Madam is too kind—" he began.
"And monsieur too formal, for such a dear friend as I wish him to be." Her voice held a subtle mockery. "At any rate I shall descend in a robe de boudoir. Jules!"
"Madam."
"You will tell Célèstine to prepare some refreshment for monsieur; it is yet two hours before we dine and Monsieur le Comte must be faint. It is a frightful climb up here, and, mon Dieu! Such roads!"
The voice ceased; a bell rang and a maid servant passed swiftly up the stairs. Several minutes elapsed, them Dessalines heard a rustle on the threshold and turned.
"Ah, my dear Dessalines! What pleasure!"
She came toward him, both hands outstretched. She was clad in a silk kimono, a V-shaped opening beneath her white throat; her hair was dressed à la Japonaise, a great smoky cloud beneath which the pale, piquant face shone elfishly, the large multicolored eyes sparkling, audacious, reckless. The filmy wrap enhanced her figure; the sleeves ran back to the shoulder as she stretched both matchlessly molded arms to him, hands wide in greeting.
Dessalines almost recoiled from his rush of emotion; ​the woman's words, welcome, costume, and demoralizing beauty, all invited an adventure; he thought of the words of General Miragoâne.
Suddenly he contrasted this with the greeting of another woman but a fortnight before; a woman purely white in skin and soul. The contrast shocked him; every conscious motive of the man was toward principle, probity, decency, the things which gentlefolk do. La Fouchère tempted him sorely. Few prices would be too high to pay for the privilege of yielding to the rush of feeling which was almost overpowering him.
She looked up, smiling seductively.
"Welcome to La Coupe, mon prince" she murmured. The words were intended to excite him; to stroke his vanity. They acted as a cold plunge.
He was royalty elect; he was a man of destiny; his star was in the zenith; should he swerve now? He swept his great hand across his forehead and moistened his lips.
"Madam is gracious," he said, and taking her hands laid one upon the other and raised them to his lips. Just for the second her eyes flashed with savage, animal ferocity; then she laughed.
"It is necessary to be gracious to one's sovereign-to-be. 'The king can do no wrong,' else I would say that monseigneur was cold; does not appreciate the loyalty of his subjects." She clapped her hands. "Lights, Célèstine!"