Part 35 (1/2)
And then he said--and the echo came back from the Cannes Brulees--that the very bottom culpability of this thing rested on the Grandissimes, and specifically on their fugleman Agricola, through his putting the h.e.l.lish African upon him. Moreover, fever and death, to a degree unknown before, fell upon his slaves. Those to whom life was spared--but to whom strength did not return--wandered about the place like scarecrows, looking for shelter, and made the very air dismal with the reiteration, ”_No' ouanga_ (we are bewitched), _Bras-Coupe fe moi des grigis_ (the voudou's spells are on me).” The ripple of song was hushed and the flowers fell upon the floor.
”I have heard an English maxim,” wrote Colonel De Grapion to his kinsman, ”which I would recommend you to put into practice--'Fight the devil with fire.'”
No, he would not recognize devils as belligerents.
But if Rome commissioned exorcists, could not he employ one?
No, he would not! If his hounds could not catch Bras-Coupe, why, let him go. The overseer tried the hounds once more and came home with the best one across his saddle-bow, an arrow run half through its side.
Once the blacks attempted by certain familiar rum-pourings and nocturnal charm-singing to lift the curse; but the moment the master heard the wild monotone of their infernal wors.h.i.+p, he stopped it with a word.
Early in February came the spring, and with it some resurrection of hope and courage. It may have been--it certainly was, in part--because young Honore Grandissime had returned. He was like the sun's warmth wherever he went; and the other Honore was like his shadow. The fairer one quickly saw the meaning of these things, hastened to cheer the young don with hopes of a better future, and to effect, if he could, the restoration of Bras-Coupe to his master's favor. But this latter effort was an idle one. He had long sittings with his uncle Agricola to the same end, but they always ended fruitless and often angrily.
His dark half-brother had seen Palmyre and loved her. Honore would gladly have solved one or two riddles by effecting their honorable union in marriage. The previous ceremony on the Grandissime back piazza need be no impediment; all slave-owners understood those things. Following Honore's advice, the f.m.c., who had come into possession of his paternal portion, sent to Cannes Brulees a written offer, to buy Palmyre at any price that her master might name, stating his intention to free her and make her his wife. Colonel De Grapion could hardly hope to settle Palmyre's fate more satisfactorily, yet he could not forego an opportunity to indulge his pride by following up the threat he had hung over Agricola to kill whosoever should give Palmyre to a black man. He referred the subject and the would-be purchaser to him. It would open up to the old braggart a line of retreat, thought the planter of the Cannes Brulees.
But the idea of retreat had left Citizen Fusilier.
”She is already married,” said he to M. Honore Grandissime, f.m.c. ”She is the lawful wife of Bras-Coupe; and what G.o.d has joined together let no man put asunder. You know it, sirrah. You did this for impudence, to make a show of your wealth. You intended it as an insinuation of equality. I overlook the impertinence for the sake of the man whose white blood you carry; but h-mark you, if ever you bring your Parisian airs and self-sufficient face on a level with mine again, h-I will slap it.”
The quadroon, three nights after, was so indiscreet as to give him the opportunity, and he did it--at that quadroon ball to which Dr. Keene alluded in talking to Frowenfeld.
But Don Jose, we say, plucked up new spirit..
”Last year's disasters were but fortune's freaks,” he said. ”See, others' crops have failed all about us.”
The overseer shook his head.
”_C'est ce maudit cocodri' la bas_ (It is that accursed alligator, Bras-Coupe, down yonder in the swamp).”
And by and by the master was again smitten with the same belief. He and his neighbors put in their crops afresh. The spring waned, summer pa.s.sed, the fevers returned, the year wore round, but no harvest smiled.
”Alas!” cried the planters, ”we are all poor men!” The worst among the worst were the fields of Bras-Coupe's master--parched and shrivelled.
”He does not understand planting,” said his neighbors; ”neither does his overseer. Maybe, too, it is true as he says, that he is voudoued.”
One day at high noon the master was taken sick with fever.
The third noon after--the sad wife sitting by the bedside--suddenly, right in the centre of the room, with the door open behind him, stood the magnificent, half-nude form of Bras-Coupe. He did not fall down as the mistress's eyes met his, though all his flesh quivered. The master was lying with his eyes closed. The fever had done a fearful three days' work.
”_Mioko-Koanga oule so' femme_ (Bras-Coupe wants his wife).”
The master started wildly and stared upon his slave.
”_Bras-Coupe oule so' femme_!” repeated the black.
”Seize him!” cried the sick man, trying to rise.
But, though several servants had ventured in with frightened faces, none dared molest the giant. The master turned his entreating eyes upon his wife, but she seemed stunned, and only covered her face with her hands and sat as if paralyzed by a foreknowledge of what was coming.
Bras-Coupe lifted his great black palm and commenced: