At four a.m. he was shaken by a great roaring from Pelée. A loud rumble like thunder shook the town, and lightning flashed through the clouds that cloaked the mountain’s heights. Smoke poured out of the crater and filled the atmosphere with ominous gray swirls that lit up with orange-red flashes. Eeriness pervaded the town. Rémy stared at the pyrotechnics with a growing trepidation. His senses were on high alert. Something was going to happen. He could feel it in his bones.
The church bells rang early in honor of Ascension Day, yet Rémy was filled with a dire sense of foreboding. All of his instincts were telling him to flee, yet he was trapped by his uniform and his circumstances. To leave the inn meant capture, yet to remain meant certain death. He was sure of that. The minute he reached a roadblock, he would be discovered and detained. If he even made it that far. For now, he and Emilie were trapped like the tens of thousands of others who were awaiting rescue—or death.
Emilie’s eyes fluttered open. She cried out and sat up in bed. Ash blew in through the shutters, invading their quiet. He told her they should evacuate the city as soon as possible and that he had a bad feeling about the volcano no matter what the mayor and governor had said. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and asked him what time it was.
“Five o’clock,” he said, flipping his pocket watch open. “If we hurry, we can make it out before the streets fill up with people. I can take you up to your cousin’s house in Morne-Rouge. You’ll be safe there.”
“What about you?” she asked.
Rémy took a deep breath. “Everything will be just fine. I’m sure of it.”
She looked at him skeptically.
Rémy turned his back. “You’d better get dressed now. We have to leave soon.”
Emilie was crestfallen. “But I can’t leave without saying goodbye to Abbé Morel. He must be worried sick about me. As far as he knows, I’m still locked up in the hospital. Please, I must go and see him.”
Rémy pondered her request. They were only a few blocks from the prison. He supposed it wouldn’t be too difficult to find Abbé Morel. The streets looked fairly safe; most of the people would be heading to mass, and Emilie seemed to have a filial bond with the priest. Under the circumstances, he felt it was the least he could do.
“All right,” he said. “But if anything happens, I want you to be able to protect yourself.” He pulled out the pistol from his jacket pocket. “Don’t be frightened. I’ll show you how to use it.” He sat down next to Emilie. “There are only two rounds left, which means only shoot if absolutely necessary, if you feel your life is being threatened. But first you’ll have to flip the safety latch out of the safe position.” He showed her how to do it. “Understand?” She nodded with utmost seriousness. “Good girl. Remember, only use it as a last resort to save your life.”
Emilie took the pistol and hid it in her pocket.
After paying the innkeeper, they left the inn and headed down the muddy sidewalk. Ash was raining down like snow, coating them and making breathing difficult. They hurried down rue Petit Versailles as shops were beginning to open. At the corner, he spied two soldiers talking to some merchants. As they spoke, they brushed ash off their shoulders. Dodging them, Rémy pulled Emilie into a nearby alleyway and waited until the soldiers moved on. Sweat snaked down his temples. That was a close call; the soldiers had almost seen him. Slowly the town was starting to come alive. Soldiers would be out looking for him. It would be almost impossible to get through the roadblocks, but no matter, they had to try. They had to trust in fate to see them to safety. Taking Emilie by the hand, they left the safety of the alleyway and headed toward the prison. His mind raced. Somehow he had to find a way out of there. Survival, he felt, was close at hand.
Chapter 41
They hurried down rue Petit Versailles and made their way over to rue de la Prison. Emilie’s heart was racing. Freedom seemed so close. Luckily the streets were quiet aside from a few faithful heading to church. It was Ascension Day, and mass was starting at precisely five a.m. It was already a few minutes after five. They had to hurry. Emilie was filled with anxiety. There was always the possibility of discovery: by Lucien, by the Grand Zamy, by anyone who might recognize her. They waited outside until most of the guards had left for mass and the prison was quiet. Rémy looked especially wary. She uttered a silent prayer that Abbé Morel would be there and he would bless their journey. It was her last hope.
As soon as the way was clear, they hurried up to the prison gate and begged the guard on duty to see Abbé Morel. When he permitted them to enter, they hurried down the hallway until they reached his office. To Emilie it was like a refuge from the uncertainty and fears of life. She could feel his presence everywhere. When at last Abbé Morel appeared, she threw herself into his arms. Her beloved cousin’s embrace was so comforting. It felt just like the old days. Abbé Morel shook Rémy’s hand and immediately recognized him as the same lieutenant who had come to Domaine Solitude in search of Emilie. Abbé Morel’s relief at seeing Emilie was palpable. He told her how he had been worried sick about her ever since Lucien put her in the psychiatric hospital. He praised Rémy for rescuing her so quickly.
Emilie brought Abbé Morel up to date with everything that had happened, and Rémy wasted no time in informing the priest that he intended to spirit Emilie out of Saint-Pierre as quickly as possible. He told the priest he feared the volcano would erupt at any moment, sending the town into a frenzy. A look of gravity came over Abbé Morel’s face. He agreed with the lieutenant that something terrible was bound to happen soon, and he offered to give them a horse and a donkey to carry them safely to Morne-Rouge.
“There’s just one complication,” said Rémy. “I have no permission to leave the city. They will spot me at the first roadblock because of my uniform and detain me. They will probably arrest me for desertion. I left my post to rescue Emilie.”
Abbé Morel thought about it for a minute. “Then I shall give you a cassock and wide-brimmed hat. As a priest, you will be allowed to leave the city. Tell them you are taking the young lady to her family in Morne-Rouge for safety. I give you my blessing for a safe journey.”
“What about you, Tonton Abbé?” said Emilie. “Can’t you come with us?”
Abbé Morel shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I can’t leave the convicts alone at a time like this. The whole world has forgotten about them. They need me now more than ever. I promised to say mass for them and give them communion. I’ll join you in a day or two, God willing.”
Emilie clutched his arm. “I can’t leave you behind, Tonton Abbé. Please come with us. It may be your only chance.”
Abbé Morel shook his head. “Please go, my child. It is for the best.” The gravity in Abbé Morel’s face sent a chill through Emilie. She had never seen him with such a somber face. It left her so disheartened, she was at a loss for words. Rémy thanked the priest profusely, and Emilie hugged Abbé Morel.
“Thank you for everything, Tonton Abbé,” she said. “I love you and shall await your return.”
“I love you too, my child,” he said. “There’s no need for thanks. Perhaps this is the reason why I had to come back to Martinique. My only wish is for your happiness. I know you will be in good hands with Lieutenant Rémy. He risked everything for you.”
Abbé Morel gave Rémy a cassock, which he threw on over his tunic and trousers. Then Abbé Morel took them to the stable and gave them a donkey and a horse. Rémy saddled them and helped Emilie mount the donkey. Abbé Morel accompanied them to the road, and they took their leave of him.
“Goodbye, Tonton Abbé,” said Emilie.
“Go and may the saints protect you,” said the priest.
Heading down the cobblestoned street, Emilie suppressed a tear. She watched as Abbé Morel grew smaller and smaller by the side of the road. He looked so tired and forlorn. So frail. He bore a great burden of responsibility on his shoulders. For the prisoners, he represented their only link to God, their only link to absolution and heaven. He could not leave
them now. She understood this. Now her beloved Tonton Abbé was truly alone in the world. That realization broke her heart.
The clattering of hooves alerted them that a posse of mounted soldiers was trotting up the road. Thinking quickly, Rémy turned down an alleyway, but no sooner did they think they were free than a carriage overtook them, blocking their path. Rémy had no choice but to halt his horse. In a flash, Lucien jumped out and advanced toward him with furious eyes.
“Just where do you think you’re going with my fiancée?” he said.
“I’m getting her out of here,” said Rémy. “She’s not safe here.”
“She’s coming with me,” said Lucien. “I’ve been watching the prison, waiting for the rats to flee the sinking ship, and now I’ve caught you. You’re a coward and a disgrace, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let her go with you.”
“No, Lucien,” said Emilie. “Let us pass. I don’t belong to you anymore.”
Enraged, Lucien tried to pull her off the donkey, but Rémy slid down from his horse and shoved him away. “Leave her alone. She doesn’t want to go with you.”
“She doesn’t know what she wants,” said Lucien, panting. Red-faced and huffing, he pointed at Emilie. “This girl, who I considered beneath my stature, I was prepared to marry until I discovered her treachery. I can only describe her actions as a form of temporary insanity brought on by the sulfurous fumes of the volcano and her primitive instinct for survival. Naturally she was mistaken. She thought her best chances for survival were you, a warrior and a soldier. How tragically wrong she was! I bought two tickets on the Roddam, which sails tomorrow at noon. I paid ten thousand francs for them. Sadly, she won’t be on the steamer.”
“And do you think you’ll be on that steamer?” said Rémy. “If you do, you’re a fool.”
“No, you’re the fool,” said Lucien, his eyes blazing. “And now my dear Emilie is one as well. The both of you have made a foolish choice, and the two of you will die here together.”
Then, with hate-filled eyes, Lucien pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Rémy.
Rémy locked eyes with Lucien. “You must be going mad, because if you kill us, you’ll never board that ship. Right now there’s a whole contingent of soldiers searching for me. You’ll never get away with it.” Rémy inched closer to Lucien, his eyes on the pistol. Sweat poured down his temples. His breathing was heavy, and Emilie could see his muscles tightening.
“I’ve been waiting hours, days, weeks for this moment,” said Lucien in a voice dripping with contempt. “Finally I will have my satisfaction.”
“Put the gun down,” said Rémy, panting, sweat pouring down his face. “You’re not a murderer. You’re not a criminal.”
“Did you think I was going to let you run away with my fiancée?” said Lucien, cocking the hammer. “Now I know why I bought this pistol. You’re nothing but a lying, thieving scoundrel. Prepare to die, you bastard!”
Emilie uttered a terrifying scream.
Lucien turned to look at her, and in a flash Rémy lunged at Lucien, grabbed his arm, and pointed the pistol away. Rémy struggled against his adversary to control the weapon, while Lucien fought like a demon. Emilie watched in horror as the men were locked in a life-and-death struggle, each one attempting to seize control of the weapon. Lucien’s face contorted with rage as he strove to wrestle the pistol away from Rémy, while the latter twisted Lucien’s arm in an unnatural position. Using every ounce of strength, Lucien turned the pistol until it was barely pointing at Rémy’s neck. Rémy’s jaw set and his muscles bulged as he tugged and pulled with all his might, but it seemed hopeless. He could feel the cold metal pressing against his neck.
Suddenly a blast rang out. Lucien’s eyes bulged. Blood poured from a gaping wound in his chest. He stared at Emilie, dropped the pistol, and collapsed face-first on the ground. He twitched for a moment and lay still.
Stunned, Rémy turned to see Emilie holding a smoking pistol in her hand.
“Did I . . . ?” she said, her face drained of color.
“You handled that elegantly,” said Rémy. “You shot him in pure self-defense.”
“Is he dead?” she asked, watching a pool of blood collecting near his body.
“As dead as Robespierre,” said Rémy with admiration. “Come on; let’s get out of here.”
“What about the body?” she said. “We can’t just leave him here.”
Rémy picked up Lucien by the shoulders and dragged him toward the carriage. Before he threw him in headfirst, he managed to seize the two steamship tickets out of his pocket, and then he smacked the horse’s rear. The animal took off down the street, carrying the lifeless body of its owner away forever. “Good riddance,” said Rémy. “I suppose that’s the last we’ll see of Lucien.”
He mounted his horse and pulled up Emilie behind him. “Let’s ride together. I think we’ll make better time if we leave the donkey here.” He kicked the horse’s side, and together they cantered toward the city of Morne-Rouge, leaving Lucien and Saint-Pierre far behind them.
Chapter 42
Emilie clutched Rémy around his middle and held on tight as they cantered past the Savane du Fort, skirted the rivière Roxelane, and continued past the Jardin des Plantes, where the palm trees were coated in a thick layer of ash, giving them a skeletal look. They rode through the village of Trois Ponts and began to climb the steep mountain road toward Morne-Rouge. It would be a long, arduous climb with no water anywhere to drink. The horse panted but continued trotting with every muscle and sinew in its body, carrying them closer to safety with each herculean stride. The road zigzagged through great forests that looked more like a wintry scene under the volcanic dust. Soon they reached a plateau bordered with fields of sugarcane that had turned gray. Rémy urged the horse on. Deliverance seemed close at hand.
After about an hour, a strong wind began to blow, and the ground trembled. And then the sky darkened. It was an eerie sort of darkness, like a sudden storm. The passersby they encountered by the side of the road cried out and clutched each other in fear. Some knelt by roadside shrines to pray. Most of them looked spent, ready to collapse with exhaustion. Emilie calculated they had ridden about two miles. With each stride of the horse, Saint-Pierre grew smaller and smaller until it slowly disappeared from view. Still, the change in atmosphere filled her with terror. The air smelled ominous. She could see the sweat pouring down Rémy’s temples and soaking his shirt, but he kept urging the animal forward.
They continued climbing up the steep mountain road for another half mile, then suddenly the wind picked up. All at once they were assaulted by a downpour of ash, cinders, and muddy rain. The pellets beat down on their faces, hands, and bodies, lacerating them, burning them. Now they were surrounded by swirling clouds of ash. The horse reared, almost throwing them off. Rémy did his best to calm the animal, but they were at the mercy of the onslaught. The volcanic rocks were raining down like hailstones, pelting them with fury. The horse was near collapse, unable to breathe. Emilie and Rémy choked on the fumes that swirled around like the inside of a furnace. She thought that at any minute they would be asphyxiated. In the distance they heard wailing voices. There were a dozen people clinging together by the side of the road, their voices barely audible above the noise of the bombardment. That was the only way they knew they weren’t alone. But it was impossible to see them through the ash clouds.
Every now and then they detected flashes of lightning emanating from on high, adding to the ghostly atmosphere. They covered their noses and mouths with handkerchiefs, but it did little to filter the noxious fumes. Everything was coated with gray ash, including their hair and skin. It soaked into their clothes and streaked down their faces. The downpour was so overpowering, Emilie felt as if they were drowning under a waterfall of ash and cinders. Still, Rémy urged the horse with all his might, even beating the poor animal to keep moving. Emilie prayed silently, but it seemed as if they had entered the gates of hell itself. The ground was covered in a thick layer of
ash, pumice, and cinders, giving it the appearance of a moonscape. Suddenly Emilie screamed. Several feet away lay the body of a woman buried beneath a layer of volcanic debris. Beside her was a basket with all her worldly belongings and a tiny infant, his body gray and still, frozen in time.
Rémy told her to avert her eyes. There was nothing they could do for the baby, he said. Tears streaked down Emilie’s face. Death was close at hand now. How much longer could they take the ferocious pounding of volcanic debris? The cinders pummeled them with a fury, like the daggers of an invading army. As they coursed their way up the mountain road, they began to see more bodies strewn about under the debris. Emilie recoiled in horror. The dead looked like the pictures she had seen of the victims of Pompeii—gray, still, and lifeless.
“Hold on tight,” said Rémy. “We have to stay together.”
Emilie clutched him tighter. She buried her face in his back, hoping to shield herself from the assault, but the pain from the falling rocks was becoming unbearable. The fumes were entering her lungs with each breath, causing her to choke. She could hear the horse snorting. The poor animal was nearing collapse. Rémy kicked its side, urging it to continue, but Emilie was sure the animal would soon give up and sink into the mud. Then they would all asphyxiate and succumb to the mercy of the volcano.
“Are we almost there?” yelled Emilie. “How much longer?”
“I can’t see anything,” he said. “The volcano is . . . in full eruption now. God only knows how it will all end. Probably hundreds . . . thousands may die. I think we left at the last possible moment. Are you all right?” He turned to look at her. Emilie forced herself to smile, but she was literally gasping for breath. She was able to hide her face in his back, but Rémy was taking the attack head-on, shielding her with his body. She tried to calculate the distance from Morne-Rouge, but it was impossible. Minutes ticked by, and still they had not arrived. Rémy coughed into his handkerchief. Emilie could see spots of blood staining the cloth. He was getting sick too! Dear Lord, please save us from this calamity! Emilie was seized with terror. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing Rémy so soon after they were reunited. Her heart was overflowing with love for him. The thought of Rémy dying now was like a dagger to her heart. The pain was too great.
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