After a light meal in a café, the travelers mounted their horses and set off for town. As they rode in silence, Emilie contemplated the worrisome scene they had witnessed. During the journey, she noticed Rémy never left her side. But he was in his own silent reverie. His eyes looked tired, and his dark hair was scattered over his sooty forehead. He looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
When they reached the fork in the road at rivière Blanche, they broke into two groups. Emilie, Durancy, and Césaire were heading north to Domaine Solitude, while Rémy, Aubert, Landes, and Mirville would head south to Saint-Pierre. Before they parted, Rémy pulled Emilie aside and said, “Mlle Dujon, may I speak to you for a minute?”
“Of course,” she said.
“Regardless of what M. Mirville says, I feel it’s my duty to inform you that if your family has a safe place to go, you should evacuate your plantation as soon as possible. No one can predict when the volcano will erupt, but it seems likely that it will.”
“How can you be certain?” she said.
“It’s a gut feeling I have.”
She frowned. “That would be hard. We’re right in the middle of the harvest.”
“Then at least you should go, together with your mother and your nanny. I’ve been studying the trajectory through my binoculars, and if the volcano erupts, I’m almost certain your plantation lies directly in the path.”
Emilie felt queasy. “It’s just what I feared all along. Tell me something, Lieutenant, what do you think lies beneath that large cinder cone?”
“I’m no expert on volcanoes, but I think it’s acting as an enormous plug for all the magma below it. If that cinder cone blows its top, some dangerous gases and huge amounts of lava could be released. If you stay in your house, I believe your lives could be in danger. Please take every precaution.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Godspeed to you.”
“Goodbye, mademoiselle.” He doffed the brim of his helmet and went to join the others. She watched Rémy go with the sinking feeling that something terrible was about to happen.
Chapter 16
Monday, April 28
Saint-Pierre
While the scientific committee was climbing up Mount Pelée, a general election was being held in Saint-Pierre for a seat in the Chamber of Deputies. The favored candidate was Fernand Clerc, a rich béké planter who represented the Progressive Party. His adversaries, Louis Percin and Joseph Lagrosillière, represented the Radical Socialist and Socialist Workers parties, respectively. For Marius Hurard, editor of Les Colonies, the results were discouraging. Clerc was his favored candidate, and he had won only by a slim margin, thereby forcing a runoff on May 11.
Although Hurard was personally sympathetic to the Radical Socialist agenda, he was a pragmatist by nature. The son of a rich mulatto businessman, he was used to the privileges of his class and longed to keep the status quo. This meant doing everything possible to ensure a victory for Fernand Clerc. The idea of electing a Radical Socialist like Percin to the Chamber of Deputies was anathema to the business community; it meant an unholy alliance with Hurard’s archenemy, Amédée Knight. For this reason, every vote counted in the runoff election. The only thing that stood in the way of a guaranteed victory was the rumbling on Mount Pelée, which was sending the people into paroxysms of fear. He decided that for the good of all, he would downplay the threat to the public. It was his civic duty to do everything possible to avoid a stampede out of the city. Naturally, this was a decision Mayor Fouché and Governor Mouttet supported wholeheartedly, also out of a sense of civic duty.
To everyone’s surprise, Governor Mouttet had found a sympathetic ally in Marius Hurard. For a newcomer to the labyrinthine world of West Indian politics, Mouttet needed allies in every corner. While he would never be fully accepted among the rich and influential békés, he enjoyed the favors and attentions the bourgeois mulatto community showered on him. And he was only too happy to oblige by returning the favor whenever the situation called for it.
To rally his support for the candidates, Mouttet decided to spend the night in his suite at the Hôtel Intendance in Saint-Pierre. With its French elegance and Creole ambiance, the hotel’s dining room was the perfect spot to hold court with the candidates and business community over a glass of Ti’ Punch and a fine Cuban cigar. The hotel defined everything Mouttet loved about life in the French West Indies: tropical elegance, easy luxury, and a refined ambiance that transcended anything his civil servant’s pay could afford back in France. But there were many irritating aspects about life in the tropics as well: malaria, yellow fever, cholera, Machiavellian politics, and all that volcanic activity. Since early February, he’d been hearing reports about a nauseating sulfur smell in Prêcheur that was sickening the residents. He had also heard that every silver object was mysteriously turning black. As the missives, telegrams, and reports began to pile up on his desk, he instructed his secretary, Didier, to file away the reports from Prêcheur so he could concentrate on more urgent matters. He promised to return to the situation as soon as his schedule cleared after the election.
Monday morning brought sunshine and a fresh breeze into Governor Mouttet’s suite—all the proof he needed that the confounded volcano was on the wane. The only thing marring an otherwise perfect day was a slight rumbling that came from the mountain at varying intervals, but it was nothing to get alarmed over. He opened the French doors and strode out to the balcony. The streets were starting to come to life. Merchants, clerks, laborers, customs officials, schoolchildren, nuns, priests, and marketwomen paraded down the street. The harbor was already full with schooners and steamers. But nothing gave him greater pleasure than watching the workers loading huge hogsheads of rum and sugar onto the ships. A profitable colony was a guarantee of job security and a lifetime of carefree living. Perfect bliss.
Mouttet decided to have breakfast on the balcony, all the better to take advantage of the sunshine and cool breezes. After he finished reading the latest issue of Les Colonies, he kissed his wife and told her he was heading downstairs to meet with the scientific committee.
At precisely 10 a.m. Rémy entered the dining room to find the governor surrounded by prominent members of the business community. When Rémy strode up to the table, the governor greeted him and told him to take a seat beside Professor Landes and M. Mirville. Shortly thereafter, the businessmen began filing out, leaving the scientific committee with relative privacy.
“Gentlemen, let’s get started,” said Mouttet.
A servant brought a steaming pot of coffee and doled out cups for everyone. Landes gathered his expedition notes and prepared to speak. After taking a sip of coffee, Landes cleared his throat and said, “Excellency, yesterday we climbed up to the summit and made an extensive field survey of both craters. What we found was disturbing, to say the least. Both craters were full of black volcanic mud, and quite a few new steam vents had opened up, filling the air with sulfurous fumes. At times it was difficult to breathe. We took some photographs that will give you a better picture of the situation once they are developed. But what worried us most was the state of the lower crater, the Étang Sec. It was full of black volcanic mud that was bubbling up from deep inside the volcano. I won’t mince words; it looks like Mount Pelée is experiencing some kind of eruption. How far this will go is impossible to predict. Hopefully it will die down as in past years, but there’s no way to say for certain when or if this will occur.”
Governor Mouttet’s brow furrowed. “What about those loud detonations we’ve been hearing? How dangerous are they?”
Rémy leaned forward and said, “Governor, we believe they are caused by the ignition of combustible fumes in the volcano’s chimney. While they sound dangerous, we don’t believe they pose an imminent danger to the public. But our assessment may change. Right now they mostly do a good job of scaring the population.”
“I agree,” said the governor. “So what is the likelihood this episode will die down shortly?”
“We can’t say for certain,” said Professor Landes. “But right now we don’t believe Saint-Pierre is in any direct danger. The city lies well outside the range of the volcanic projectiles. However, this may not be the case with regard to the small villages and plantations on the lower slopes of the volcano.”
“I see,” said Governor Mouttet. “What about the crater walls? Is it possible they could collapse from the buildup of steam and pressure?”
Landes paused for a minute. “If the sustaining walls collapse, then it’s possible we could see some volcanic mud flowing down the mountain. If the quantity of lava is such that it overflows into the streams, then we could have a problem on our hands. And if lava invades populated areas, it could prove hazardous.”
“How likely is that to occur?” said Mouttet.
“Doubtful,” said M. Mirville. “I checked the rock formations pretty thoroughly, and they looked sound. Also, we can assume that since the steam and gases are venting regularly, they won’t cause the lava to overflow the retaining walls. The lava may end up retreating back inside the volcano. The civilian population is safe for the time being. I would like to add that I believe the worst is over.”
“That’s encouraging,” said Governor Mouttet. He turned to Rémy. “And you, Lieutenant? Is there anything else you’d like to add?”
“As a matter of fact, I would,” said Rémy, sitting straighter. “While on the summit, I observed projectiles shooting out of the crater quite regularly. In most cases the rocks fell back to the upper slopes of the mountain. In the interest of public safety, we have to take every precaution in case the projectiles should change trajectory. You may wish to draw up an evacuation plan for the northern half of the island in case the volcanic bombs start heading toward populated areas.”
Mouttet’s face darkened. “Evacuate the northern half of the island? We’re talking about five thousand souls. Where do you suppose I put them, in the barracks?”
There was a nervous laugh around the table.
“Lieutenant Rémy, with all due respect,” said Didier, “the governor doesn’t have the authority to quarter civilians. In most cases they would be safer in their own homes than venturing out on the roads during an eruption.”
“Let’s return to what we were talking about,” said Mouttet. “So, Lieutenant, based on the situation with the projectiles, do you see any reason to evacuate Saint-Pierre at this time?”
“No, sir,” said Rémy. “But the situation might change.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” said the governor. “Right now, based on what you gentlemen have told me, the situation appears to be under control. I see no need to do anything further other than keep a watch on the volcano. Do you gentlemen agree?”
Rémy paused for a second and added, “Governor, there is one possibility that we haven’t considered.”
“Oh? What’s that?” said the governor.
“I’ve been studying the situation with Mount Krakatoa, and I find it worrying. When Mount Krakatoa erupted in 1883, thirty-six thousand people were killed from hot gases that were traveling at high speeds from the volcano. If the same situation were to occur here in Martinique, we could have a similar catastrophic loss of life. In my opinion, we have to consider this possibility, which means a large-scale evacuation may be necessary.”
“That’s preposterous,” said Mouttet, slightly flummoxed. “Think of the panic. And we simply don’t have the resources to house everyone.”
The governor dabbed his forehead with a napkin and drank a glass of water in one go. The men shot glances at each other and shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
“What Lieutenant Rémy mentioned is a worst-case scenario,” said Professor Landes. “I don’t foresee that happening at all. While I’m not overly optimistic about the situation with the volcano, I’m thankfully not quite as pessimistic. Other than that, I agree with Lieutenant Rémy about the projectiles. Some residents may have to move south temporarily.”
Didier, the governor’s aide-de-camp, added, “Gentlemen, let’s consider the runoff election as well. The governor’s job is to keep the public calm until then. If we emptied out whole villages, it could cause anarchy.”
“There would be a lot more anarchy if we don’t evacuate the civilians in the event of a major eruption,” said Rémy.
The governor drew a deep breath. “Isn’t it possible that all the ash and debris that have been ejected indicate that Pelée has exhausted itself and will die down shortly?”
“Yes, it’s possible,” said Landes.
“Which means we have every reason to believe the volcano is on the wane?”
“That is my opinion,” said Mirville.
Landes nodded his consent, but his face told a different story.
“I believe the release of gas and steam is a prime indicator that the volcano will go back to its dormant state,” said M. Mirville.
Rémy shook his head. “Forgive me for saying so, but there is no scientific basis for that position. It could also indicate the volcano will enter an even deadlier phase. We have to prepare for every possible scenario.”
Governor Mouttet rubbed the space between his eyes. “Gentlemen, you do realize we’re in the middle of an election cycle, don’t you?”
“Indeed,” said Professor Landes. “But unlike funerals, elections can be postponed.”
“Hurard won’t like this one bit,” said Mouttet. “He’s been pressuring me to keep the matter under wraps.”
“I understand, Excellency,” said Landes. “But even the esteemed editor of Les Colonies must serve the public interest first. I think the most prudent thing to do is keep watching the volcano and report back here in a week’s time. Then we can decide if any further action is required.”
Mouttet looked relieved. “That sounds reasonable. Do you gentlemen agree?”
The men nodded.
“Very well,” said Governor Mouttet. “Let’s adjourn for today and return on the fifth of May. Perhaps by then this strange episode will have died down, and we can drink to the future of Saint-Pierre.”
Chapter 17
Monday, April 28
The next day Emilie awoke with a feeling of disquiet. When she had returned the previous night, she had found her parents in a state of great agitation. They were pacing back and forth, and her father’s bleary eyes suggested he had been drinking. Her mother was nervous and agitated. She pounced on Emilie the minute she walked through the door, demanding to know why she came home so late and in such a bedraggled state.
Exhausted, Emilie had slumped in a chair and pulled off her muddied boots, trying to explain the terrifying sights they had seen on Mount Pelée. Her parents listened with concern when she described the bubbling black lava and the gas clouds, but neither of them believed her. They accused her of exaggerating the situation. They did not take the threat seriously at all. The final blow came when they told her that when Lucien Monplaisir found out she was hiking up the volcano with the scientific committee, he flew into a jealous rage. He ranted and raved, vowing to put an end to her independent streak. To placate Lucien, her mother had invited him to dine with them the following evening. When Emilie heard this, she felt as if the world was closing in on her. She could almost feel the cold shackles of a miserable marriage pressing against her ankles, binding her to Lucien forever. The thought made her nauseous. She had to find a way out of this disaster, even if it meant resorting to extreme measures. By the time she fell asleep that night, she decided she would do anything in her power to free herself from Lucien.
Early Monday morning Emilie took a small, two-seater carriage to Saint-Pierre on the pretext she had to do some shopping, but in her hand she clutched an address she had secured from the cook: 25, rue Longchamps. No doubt it was a desperate measure, but it was her last chance, perhaps her only chance. Under the circumstances, she believed God, the saints, and Sister Marie would forgive her.
She found the shop easily. The sign read, “GASTON FAUS
TIN JACQUET, HERBALIST AND HEALER.” After leaving the carriage, she collected her nerve, but all she could see was Sister Marie’s stern but loving face flashing before her eyes. She felt a pang of guilt but pushed it aside and continued with her plan.
Pushing open the door, she entered the shop. Almost immediately she spotted a handsome, well-dressed older gentleman with stern eyes, tufts of white hair, and an imposing presence sitting behind a massive mahogany desk. He was writing in a ledger with neat, elegant script, but as soon as she entered, he fixed his eyes on her, as if sizing her up. She felt uneasy but browsed around the shop for a few minutes, pretending to peruse various objects. But when the pounding of her heart became too great, she turned and was halfway to the door when a deep voice called behind her: “Bonjour, mam’selle, may I help you?”
Emilie stopped short, her heart pounding. Slowly she turned and said, “Thank you, monsieur; I was. . . uh. . . just looking.”
The gentleman invited her to continue browsing with a gracious smile that disarmed her. He was smooth in his manner and handsome enough to beguile her. She walked around the store with as much casualness as she could muster, as if browsing through the shop of a notorious voodoo witch doctor was the most natural thing in the world to do. From time to time she would catch him studying her while he pretended to be perusing his ledger books. He had an almost paternalistic quality about him, but he was suave and elegant to a fault. Although she couldn’t say for certain, she was sure the man behind the desk with the penetrating eyes and wizened face was the Grand Zamy. She had a strong intuition about it. Was this handsome, older gentleman the infamous quimboiseur who held the people of Martinique in his grip?
Emilie turned to meet his gaze. He smiled, showing a row of gleaming white teeth, yet there was nothing particularly friendly about his smile. As she continued browsing through the store, M. Jacquet’s eyes followed her every move. But Emilie sensed another quality lurking beneath the surface. Whether it was cunning or deviousness, she couldn’t say for certain. There was something haughty and domineering about him, as if he could see right through a person to his core and then use his cunning to control him.
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