Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [183]
Tocquet was certain enough that no troops would advance through this flood. The three of them stayed in the cave through the night, rotating a watch, though probably it was unnecessary. Tocquet woke spontaneously the moment the rain stopped, though cascades of run-off still roared all around their shelter. Gros-Jean was watching at the mouth of the cave. They roused Bazau and set out in the velvet dark. Presently their way was lit by a moon the parting clouds disclosed.
At dawn there was gunfire in the hills and Tocquet had to lead them on less familiar, more difficult paths to avoid Christophe’s retreat from Marmelade. Their going was all the more difficult for the rainwater that still ran down every available channel. More often than not they had to go on foot, leading the horses, coaxing or whipping them up the twisted ascents and steep defiles.
It was past noon when they reached Thibodet, and the grand’case was deserted. All work appeared to have stopped in the coffee groves. A few people tended their provision grounds, while the rest simply rested somewhere in the shade. Few adult men were in evidence, but the women and children drifted over the property as if unconcerned by the chatter of muskets just one ridge away.
Tocquet found Merbillay behind the grand’case, stirring an iron cauldron of gros bouillon. Gros-Jean and Bazau dipped up gourdfuls right away, not waiting for any invitation. Oblivious to the glance Merbillay fired in their direction, they sat crosslegged on the ground to eat.
“Koté madamn mwen?” Tocquet asked. Where is my wife?
Merbillay inclined her handsome head and scraped the sides of the iron cookpot with a long wooden spoon. Her youngest, Marielle, clung to her skirts and peeped, smiling shyly at Tocquet.
“Li pati pou Sancey, ak tout blan sa yo,” Merbillay said, noncommittally. She has gone to Sancey, with all the other whites.
Tocquet nodded and scooped up a gourd of stew. He ate slowly, squatting on the ground by the others, and stopped before his hunger was wholly satisfied, so as to remain alert. The three of them got fresh horses, saddled up and rode on. At Sancey the situation was the same: the plantation drained of able-bodied men, the grand’case deserted but for servants. These latter were able to tell Tocquet that Elise and the other whites from Thibodet had indeed passed through earlier in the day. With Suzanne Louverture and some of her relatives, they’d gone further south, in the direction of Périsse.
At first Placide had been afraid that Bel Argent would be altogether too much horse of him, though to ride him was an honor he would never have declined. But with half an hour in the saddle, on the road from Sancey to Thibodet, he and the white stallion reached an understanding, and Placide knew that he would manage. He savored the impression he made on General Christophe by materializing in the midst of the mountain skirmishing, on his father’s best-known mount. But despite his excitement, the elation of action, Placide could see that Christophe was in a bad way—both he and his men demoralized by their defeat at the seemingly impregnable post of Morne à Boispins. Though they were still delaying the French, though Christophe swore through his teeth he would defeat them, Placide concluded that Doctor Hébert was right: the line above Ennery could not hold for long.
The whites of the grand’case had already departed by the time Placide and Guiaou rode back into the main compound of Thibodet. He would have liked to continue on their trail to Sancey—to kiss his mother, take Isaac’s hand one time before the battle Isaac would not share. But the family was probably already