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By Root 2364 0

other as two brother officers ought to do. But Maillart had been in our country a long time. It was different with the other blanc officers who had just come out from France. There was Captain Paltre, who was much with Maillart in those days at Port-au-Prince. Paltre had been in the country once before, though not for long. Yet I did remember seeing him then, in the north. He had come and gone from Le Cap with the Agent Hédouville, when Toussaint chased him out. This seemed not a great thing to be proud of, but Paltre liked to boast of what he knew, and the things he had done and was going to do. His boasting was all built out of hints, maybe because there was no certain story he could tell. Maillart did not encourage this boasting, but he accepted Paltre’s company anyway. I felt a mean spirit living in Paltre, and I did not think he was so important as he claimed—no more important than Riau, since the General Boudet had sent us both away when they had opened the bottom of the box.

But maybe Paltre did have something hidden behind his head. In those days at Port-au-Prince, between the battles, I went sometimes to the house of Paul Lafrance. The old man’s wife would give me coffee and something to eat whenever I came, and the three daughters laughed and swung their hips at anything I said. I did not mean anything toward any one of them, but only saw the three of them together, though after a few times I could tell that Marie-Odette might like to be alone with Riau, without her sisters. But I had a respect for Paul Lafrance that held me back. Madame Lafrance was a good cook, and it was sweet to hear the voices of the girls together, but always when I left their house I would hear again in my head again the breaking voice of Paul Lafrance when he told the white officers how he would die to see his daughters slaves. How had that thought come into his head? It was against the proclamations. Still I could feel that Paltre, at least, and maybe others, would be glad enough to see those girls in chains.

Maillart would often play cards with Paltre, who did not play very well in spite of his boasting, so that Maillart usually won his money. I understood this, but I did not stay long with them when they played, and I would not drink with the two of them past the first few swallows, though with Maillart alone I would drink to the bottom of the bottle. Maybe Maillart only sat with Paltre to get his money from him at cards, because it did not seem that many thoughts were shared between them. Maillart never seemed to notice, but I felt the weight of some bad secret on a few of the white officers under the General Boudet, even the General Pamphile de Lacroix, though that blanc had an open heart and an open hand, was quick with his words and fond of laughter, so that everybody liked him.

It was Lacroix who told General Boudet that Riau ought to go down to the plain of Léogane to meet Lamour Dérance to see if he might bring his men to join with the French. How Lacroix came to have this thought I never knew, but it was not a bad one. I was glad to get away from Port-au-Prince for a few days too, though after the last time I was not so sure how Lamour Dérance would receive me.

Soon after, General Boudet went out of Port-au-Prince with most of the men that had come out of the French ships with him, and marched them north to fight Dessalines at Saint Marc. He left the General Pamphile de Lacroix with only six hundred men to defend Port-au-Prince, which was maybe not a wise thing to do. Dessalines had left Saint Marc by the time Boudet arrived there. As Riau had seen before, Dessalines had made Saint Marc ready for the burning a long time before, and he set fire to the tar-painted walls of every building as soon as Boudet and his army came in sight. I heard Paltre tell Maillart about it afterward and his face was pale even for a blanc and his voice shook in a way his boast-fulness could not control. It had been the same at Saint Marc as what Riau had seen after Léogane was burned, because Dessalines had ordered the killing of all the blancs