CHAPTER XLVII.

When the first bitter pang of grief had passed, a kind of fury took possession of me, and I entered the valley with a rapid step, for I felt the necessity of shortening the period of suspense. When I presented myself at the negro outpost the sergeant in command at first refused to permit me to pass. It seemed strange that I should have had to have recourse to entreaties to enable me to effect my object. At last two of them seized me by the arms and led me into Biassou’s presence.

As I entered the grotto he was engaged in examining the springs of various instruments of torture with which he was surrounded. At the noise my guard made in introducing me he turned his head, but my presence did not seem to surprise him.

“Do you see these?” asked he, displaying the horrible engines which lay before him.

I remained calm and impassive, for I knew the cruel nature of the hero of humanity, and I was determined to endure to the end without blenching.

“Leogri was lucky in being only hung, was he not?” asked he, with his sardonic sneer.

I gazed upon him with cold disdain, but I made no reply.

“Tell his reverence the chaplain that the prisoner has returned,” said he to an aide-de-camp.

During the absence of the negro, we both remained silent, but I could see that he watched me narrowly.

Just then Rigaud entered, he seemed agitated, and whispered a few words to the general.

“Summon the chiefs of the different bands,” said Biassou, calmly.

A quarter of an hour afterwards, the different chiefs in their strange equipments, were assembled in the grotto. Biassou rose.

“Listen to me, friends and comrades, the whites will attack us here at daybreak, our position is a bad one, and we must quit it. At sunset we will march to the Spanish frontier; Macaya, you and your negroes will form the advanced guards; Padrejan, see that the guns taken at Pralato are spiked, we cannot take them into the mountains; the brave men of Croix-des-Bouquets will follow Macaya; Toussaint will come next with the blacks from Léogane and Trose. If the griots or the griotes make any disturbance, I will hand them over to the executioner of the army. Lieutenant-Colonel Cloud will distribute the English muskets that were disembarked at Cape Cabron, and will lead the half-breeds through the byways of the Vista. Slaughter any prisoners that may remain, notch the bullets, and poison the arrows. Let three tons of arsenic be thrown into the wells; the colonists will take it for sugar, and drink without distrust. Block up the roads to the plain with rocks, line the hedges with marksmen, and set fire to the forest. Rigaud, you will remain with me; Candi, summon my body-guard. The negroes of Morne-Rouge will form the rear-guard, and will not evacuate the camp until sunrise.”

He leaned over to Rigaud, and whispered hoarsely—

“They are Bug-Jargal’s men; if they are killed, all the better. ‘Muerta la tropa, muerte el gefe!’ (‘If the men die, the chief will die.’) Go, my brethren,” he added, rising, “you will receive instructions from Candi.”

The chiefs left the grotto.

“General,” remarked Rigaud, “we ought to send that dispatch of Jean François; affairs are going badly, and it would stop the advance of the whites.”

Biassou drew it hastily from his pocket.

“I agree with you, but there are so many faults, both in grammar and spelling, that they will laugh at it.”

He presented the paper to me.

“For the last time, will you save your life? My kindness gives you a last chance. Help me to correct this letter, and to re-write it in proper official style.”

I shook my head.

“Do you mean no?” asked he.

“I do,” I replied.

“Reflect,” he answered, with a sinister glance at the instruments of torture.

“It is because I have reflected that I refuse,” replied I. “You are alarmed for the safety of yourself and your men, and you count upon this letter to delay the just vengeance of the whites. I do not desire to retain a life which may perhaps have saved yours. Let my execution commence.”

“Ha, boy,” exclaimed Biassou, touching the instruments of torture with his foot, “you are growing familiar with these, are you? I am sorry, but I have not the time to try them on you. Our position is a dangerous one, and we must get out of it as soon as we can. And so you refuse to act as my secretary? Well, you are right, for it would not after all have saved your miserable life, which, by the way, I have promised to his reverence my chaplain. Do you think that I would permit any one to live who holds the secrets of Biassou?”

He turned to the Obi, who just then entered.

“Good father, is your guard ready?”

The latter made a sign in the affirmative.

“Have you taken it from amongst the negroes of Morne-Rouge? for they are the only ones who are not occupied in preparations for departure.”

Again the Obi bowed his head.

Then Biassou pointed out to me the black flag which I had before remarked in a corner of the grotto.

“That will show your friends when the time comes to give your place to your lieutenant. But I have no more time to lose, I must be off. By the way, you have been for a little excursion; how did you like the neighbourhood?”

“I noticed that there were enough trees upon which to hang you and all your band.”

“Ah,” retorted he, with his hideous laugh, “there is one place that you have not seen, but with which the good father will make you acquainted. Adieu, my young captain, and give my compliments to Leogri.”

He bade me farewell with a chuckle that reminded me of the hiss of the rattlesnake, and turned his back as the negroes dragged me away.

The veiled Obi followed us, his rosary in his hand.