Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [198]
Toussaint could no longer be seen in the confusion. Except for a few fallen horses, the cavalry had all got safely away, but now the brunt of the French charge had reached the first entrenchment, and the first few blanc soldiers had even spilled through. On the cliff, Labarre’s snipers had begun to fire faster, more wildly, though Labarre moved among them, calming them, encouraging them to take more careful aim. Some few who’d burned their ammunition had begun to hurl down stones.
“Come on!” Placide called to Guiaou, his voice nearly breaking. “Hurry!” Guiaou and Guerrier swung their horses after them, moving into a trot. Below, the blanc soldiers had broken altogether through the first entrenchment and were moving across the flat ground by the stream at a dead run. Guiaou looked back over his shoulder once, toward the peaks of more distant mountains beyond Morne Barade, where the black of the night sky was beginning to break up in patches of deep blue.
The doctor had scarcely time to organize his enterprise behind the third entrenchment when another stream of wounded began to come in, as rapidly as floodwater pouring down the gorge. He worked feverishly, cutting and binding, while trying to think with a part of his mind—how long since Tocquet had left with Paul and Caco, and what were their chances of getting clear of the ravine before all the defenses that dammed it gave way? But he could not manage to reckon the time. A stream of cavalry was coming back across the third entrenchment now, and word was that the first entrenchment had been overrun. He could hear the steady crump of cannon fire from the northern wall of the gorge.
Then Placide, Guiaou, and Guerrier came tumbling in upon him. The doctor was happy to see Guiaou, for both his women assistants were staggering from exhaustion. But Guiaou was not to be diverted into nursing. He gave the reins of his horse to Placide and, ignoring the doctor’s importunings, trotted back toward the third entrenchment, with Guerrier following. The doctor went after them, pleading his case, but stopped when Guiaou passed the trench and slipped out through the stakes behind it. From where he stood he could see the French charge rounding the bend into the unexpected volley from the defenders dug into the second entrenchment, a hundred yards forward. A great many French soldiers fell and the rest, momentarily, dropped back. Guiaou and Guerrier, meanwhile, scurried across the bare moonlit shoal and reached the shadow of the northern cliffs. On roots and vines and outcroppings of stone they climbed toward the stone doorway Tocquet had pointed out. Guerrier crouched on the lintel, knuckles to the stone, while Guiaou hesitated in the shadow of the frame. Then the door folded inward and Guiaou disappeared inside.
The charge on the second trench had been renewed, and spent balls were pocking into the gravel just before the third. The defenders here all urged the doctor away. With a long, draining sigh, he went stumbling back toward his makeshift surgery. The stream of the wounded had been broken; perhaps none could get through the fighting around the second entrenchment. Placide muttered something to him as he rode back toward the line, something about the horses just left here. The doctor squatted by the cold kettle, looking into the faces of Fontelle and Paulette, worn and grubby beneath their headcloths. They could be seen a little more plainly now, as the moonglow dissipated into the harsher, sharper light of dawn.
At that first contact, Guizot had believed that the resistance would not be very stout—perhaps less stubborn than what they’d met at the forts of Fort Liberté, for the enemy seemed to melt away in the darkness, where they, the French, had the advantage of high ground. He’d wanted to lead his company in a quick pursuit, but Sergeant Aloyse had restrained him, warning of the likelihood