Just then the barking of the dogs alerted the group that the stag had been brought to bay. Satisfied that Sara was safe, the hunters turned their attention back to the prey they had been pursuing all morning. First two or three men stole away from the outer edge of the group; then Henri, feeling that it would be impolite not to accompany them, departed, as well. Within ten minutes Sara and her governess were left alone with M. de Malmédie. The three returned to the house, where a feast had been laid out for the hunting party. The rest of the men joined them in short order, and Henri took great pride in presenting Sara with one of the stag’s hooves, which he had cut off himself. She thanked him graciously while he observed with satisfaction that all the pretty color had returned to her cheeks, and the dinner proceeded on a happy note. Henriette, still shaken by her charge’s ordeal, had asked to be excused from the party—but Sara, with the resilience of youth, presided over the table with her usual grace.
During dessert, several toasts were drunk to Sara’s escape from death. None of them, however, mentioned the unknown Negro or the strange hunter who had actually rescued her. All credit for the miracle was carefully ascribed not to Laïza and Georges, but to Providence, which had intervened to save M. de Malmédie’s beloved niece and Henri’s betrothed. The men then drank to their own bravery—and Sara, charmingly straight-faced, praised each of them for his courage in the hunt. At the end of the meal, M. de Malmédie’s overseer came in to tell his master that an escaped Negro had been caught and returned to the plantation. This was by no means an uncommon event, and M. de Malmédie merely nodded and said that the usual punishment should be administered.
“The usual punishment, Uncle?” Sara enquired. “And what is that?”
“Nothing, nothing, my child,” M. de Malmédie assured her, and turned back to his guests. Ten minutes later the men were informed that their horses were ready. Lord Murray’s soirée was scheduled for the following evening, and the party had agreed to return to Port Louis so that they might have an entire day to prepare themselves. Sara went to Henriette’s room to find her governess in good health, but still so upset that the girl told her to remain at the country house awhile longer to recover. It was no bother, insisted Sara; she could return to town on horseback quite easily, leaving the palanquin for Henriette.
As the group started out for Port Louis, Sara saw three or four blacks busily cutting up the carcass of the shark. The old mulatto nurse had told them where to find it, and they had hurried to retrieve this valuable source of oil. The rest of the plantation’s Negroes were assembled near Trois-Mamelles; as the party approached them they realized that the crowd was being forced to witness the punishment of a recaptured slave, as was customary in those days.
The victim in this case proved to be a young man around seventeen years of age who stood, bound with ropes, near the ladder on which he was to be stretched. As the riding party drew near, another black who had been sitting near the bound man and tending to a wound on his head stood up and moved toward M. de Malmédie—only to be restrained by the overseer.
“Here, what’s this?” M. de Malmédie asked.
“Monsieur, it is the slave Nazim you see bound and awaiting punishment,” the overseer replied. “He will receive the standard one hundred and fifty lashes.”
“And why has he been condemned to receive one hundred and fifty lashes?” demanded Sara.
“He ran away, mademoiselle. This is the man we caught earlier.”
“How did you get him?” inquired Henri.
“Oh, it was simple! I waited on the riverbank until he was quite far from shore, and then I went after him in a skiff with eight strong rowers. We followed him around the southwest cape; there were probably two leagues of ocean between us. He only had two arms, and we had sixteen; and he was in a miserable little canoe that was no match for our well-made boat. We overtook him without too much difficulty. He dove out of his boat like a porpoise and swam for shore, but he tired himself out pretty quickly and I struck him a good one on the head with an oar when he came up for air. He fainted straightaway—in truth, at first I thought I might have killed him—and we hauled him into our boat and tied him up. He didn’t come to until we had reached Brabant, but as you see, he’s on his feet now.”
“You might have seriously hurt him,” put in Sara, anxiously.
“Just a scratch, mademoiselle,” the overseer assured her. “These black devils have heads like rocks.”
“Why have you waited so long to administer the punishment?” demanded M. de Malmédie, severely. “It should have been done as soon as I gave the order.”
“Yes, sir,” said the overseer hastily. “But, you see, his brother—who is one of our best workers—said he had something important to tell you before the punishment was carried out. I knew you would be passing by shortly on your way back to Port Louis, so I allowed the delay.”
“It’s good that you did,” Sara assured the overseer. “But where is he, the brother of this unfortunate fellow?”
“I am here,” announced Laïza, coming forward. Sara uttered a little cry of surprise. She knew him immediately: He was the man who had so bravely risked his life that morning, attempting to save hers. Strangely, he gave no sign that he even recognized her. His eyes remained fixed on M. de Malmédie. Sara saw, as he came near her, that his arms and legs were still raw and bloody.
“Well, what do you want?” M. de Malmédie demanded.
“To beg a favor from you,” replied Laïza, keeping his voice low so that Nazim, who was not twenty paces away, would not hear him.
“What favor?”
“My brother, Nazim, is only a boy,” said Laïza. “He has lost a great deal of blood from the wound in his head. He might be too weak to survive the punishment you have decreed for him. If the lash kills him, you will have lost a Negro worth at least two hundred piastres.”
“What are you saying?” asked M. de Malmédie.
“I propose an exchange.”
“What sort of exchange?”
“Let me take the hundred and fifty lashes, instead of Nazim. I’m strong enough to bear it; I’ll work tomorrow as usual. My brother is only a child—a hundred and fifty lashes would kill him.”
“I can’t allow that,” said M. de Malmédie while Sara gazed at the slave in silent astonishment.
“Why not?”
“It would be an injustice. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“But I have,” Laïza said. “It was I who persuaded Nazim to run away. I made the canoe he used to escape; I shaved his head myself, with a bit of broken glass, and anointed him with coconut oil. So, you see, it is really I who deserve to be punished, and not my brother.”
Now Henri joined the conversation. “You should both be punished,” he put in. “Him for running away, and you for helping him do it.”
“Then give me three hundred lashes, and be done with it,” said Laïza steadfastly.
M. de Malmédie turned to the overseer. “A hundred and fifty lashes to each of these rascals.”
“Wait, Uncle!” Sara cried. “Please—I ask you to pardon both of these men!”
M. de Malmédie turned to his niece, astonished. “Why on earth should I do that?”
“Because this is the man who jumped into the river this morning to save me from the shark! He deserves to be rewarded, not punished.”
“She recognizes me!” murmured Laïza, as if to himself. Then, louder, to M. de Malmédie: “The only reward I ask is that my brother Nazim be spared.”
“Not so fast, you devil,” said M. de Malmédie. “Did you, or did you not, rescue my niece?”
“I did not,” replied Laïza. “She would have been lost, if it had not been for that young marksman.”
“But he did everything he could to save me, Uncle!” insisted Sara. “He fought the shark—look, his wounds are still bleeding!”
“I did fight the shark, but only to save myself,” said Laïza. “I had to kill it, to preserve my own life.”
“Plea
se,” Sara pleaded, turning to her uncle. “Surely you won’t refuse me their pardon?”
“I’m afraid I must,” said M. de Malmédie. “If there was even one example of mercy granted on an occasion like this, they would all try to escape, the devils—hoping there would be another pretty mouth like yours there to intercede on their behalf.”
“But—”
M. de Malmédie shook his head. “Just ask these fellows,” he said, gesturing to Henri’s hunting companions. The group assured Sara that a show of mercy could only lead to disastrous consequences. He turned back to his niece. “So you see, it’s impossible.”
The girl persisted. “A man who has risked his life for me shouldn’t be whipped on the very same day! He may have earned punishment from you, but he certainly deserves to be rewarded by me!”
“Well then, let each of us act as we must. You may reward him—after I have punished him,” said M. de Malmédie.
But Sara would not give up. “Uncle, please! After all, what wrong have they actually committed? Their escape plan did not succeed!”
“What they have done, my dear, is reduce their own value. A Negro who has tried to run away loses one hundred percent of his value, you see. Yesterday I might have gotten eight hundred piastres for this pair, five hundred for this one and three for that one over there; but today, if I asked six hundred, nobody would pay me that much.”
“Indeed, I wouldn’t give you that much,” agreed one of the hunters.
A man’s deep voice spoke up then, one that made Sara tremble. “Well then, monsieur, I’ll be more generous than you have been. I will pay a thousand.”
Turning, the girl saw the stranger from Port Louis, the man who had saved her life that morning. He stood nearby, dressed simply but elegantly in a hunting costume, leaning casually on a double-barreled rifle. He had obviously overheard the entire discussion.
“Ah!” said M. de Malmédie. “It is you, monsieur!” Henri did not speak, but a feeling he could not quite name caused the blood to mount to his face. “Let me thank you, sir,” his father continued, “for rescuing my niece—she has told me she owes her life to you. If I’d known where to find you, I would have come to you directly—not to make excuses for myself, but to express my sincere gratitude.”
The stranger did not reply, but bowed with an air that somehow combined both modesty and disdain—which did not go unnoticed by Sara. “Yes, monsieur,” she said, “we can certainly never repay you for your bravery. Please be assured, though, that I will never forget it was you who saved my life.”
“I hardly think two bullets and a bit of gunpowder warrant such thanks, mademoiselle,” said the stranger gallantly. “For my part, I would be quite content if Monsieur de Malmédie’s gratitude extends so far as to sell me these two slaves. I have much need of them, you see.”
M. de Malmédie turned to his son. “Henri,” he said in a low voice, “didn’t we hear someone say yesterday that a slave ship had been sighted near the island?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Ah! Then we can easily replace these ne’er-do-wells.”
“I await your reply, monsieur,” said the stranger.
“Yes,” said M. de Malmédie. “Ahem! I will turn them over to you, monsieur, with the greatest pleasure. You may take them, though they’re both a bit battered, as you see, and might not be able to work for a day or two. If I were you, seeing as neither of them has done a bit of work in three or four days, I would give them the correction they deserve, this very day.”
“That, monsieur, is my business now,” said the stranger, smiling. “I will send one thousand piastres to your house this very evening.”
“Wait, monsieur,” interrupted Henri. “I believe you have misunderstood my father’s meaning. He means to give you these slaves as a gift. Their miserable lives are worthless in comparison with my fair cousin’s. But let us at least offer you that which we have, and which you seem to desire.”
M. de Malmédie grimaced at his son. The stranger drew himself up. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said with dignity, “but that was not our agreement.”
“Then let me suggest a slight change to the agreement,” interposed Sara hastily. “Please accept these two slaves for the love of her whose life you saved, as a token of my especial gratitude.”
The stranger bowed. “I can hardly refuse such a gracious offer,” he said gallantly. “Now it is I who am in your debt.” He took a step backward to let the party move on. He exchanged salutations with the men as they passed; his eyes met Sara’s in a brief glance. He stared after them as they departed, a frown creasing his forehead as it always did when he was preoccupied with some bitter thought, then shook himself and turned to M. de Malmédie’s overseer. “Unbind this man,” he said, gesturing to Nazim. “He and his brother belong to me now.” The overseer, who had overheard the conversation between M. de Malmédie and this stranger, hastened to obey.
When this was done, and the two blacks stood beside their new owner, Georges pulled a bag, heavy with gold, from his pocket, and addressed the rest of M. de Malmédie’s slaves. “Since I have received a gift from your master,” he said, “it is only right that I make you a present in return. Take this purse, and divide its contents among you.” He placed the bag in the hands of the slave nearest him. Then he turned to Laïza and Nazim, who awaited his orders in respectful silence. “As for the two of you,” he said, “from this moment on you may do what you please. You are free.”
Cries of astonishment and joy erupted from the brothers. They were unable to believe that a man for whom they had done nothing could be so generous—but Georges repeated his words, and they fell to their knees, kissing his hands again and again.
It was growing late. Georges donned his broad-brimmed straw hat and, throwing his rifle over his shoulder, walked alone down the road to Moka.
XII
THE BALL
Port Louis was buzzing in anticipation of the dinner and ball to be given by Lord Murray at the governor’s palace on Monday night.
For one who has not lived in the colonies, especially île de France, it is difficult to imagine the luxury that reigns below the twentieth meridian. Besides the marvelous Parisian finery that crosses the ocean to grace the forms of wealthy Creole ladies, there are diamonds from Visapour, pearls from Ophir, cashmeres from Siam, and muslins from Calcutta. Every ship en route to Europe from the land of 1001 Arabian Nights stops at Port Louis to leave a portion of her cargo of treasures there. Even a man accustomed to Parisian elegance or English abundance cannot help but be dazzled by the brilliant spectacle of a party on île de France.
In his three short days on the island, the fashionable and comfort-loving Lord Murray had entirely redecorated the governor’s palace so that it resembled the finest apartments to be found on the rue du Mont-Blanc or in Regent Street. The colony’s elite began arriving there at four o’clock in the afternoon, the men dressed impeccably in the latest fashions and the ladies shimmering with diamonds and pearls, their soft and luscious delicacy—unique to Creole women—the only trait distinguishing them from their European counterparts. Each entrance was greeted with smiles and murmurs of recognition. As usual, the women tried to outdo one another in the richness of their gowns and jewels; the blond loveliness of the English ladies contrasted strikingly with the dark hair and eyes of the tropical beauties. Port Louis is a small place, and its upper classes are well known to one another; the only curiosity generally expressed would be which new dress this lady had lately bought, of what material it was made, and which ornaments she had chosen to wear. The Creole ladies were especially curious about what the female English guests would wear, since coquetry is the theater of île de France, and the native women strive eternally to outdo foreigners in loveliness and finery. The murmur that swept through the group at each new arrival was, in general, louder and more prolonged when the valet announced a European name whose sound jarred with that of the islanders’; this was especially evident when comparing the fresh brun
ettes of the tropics with the pale, blond daughters of the North.
As the newcomers entered the foyer, Lord Murray rose to greet them with the impeccable manners of a true English high-society gentleman. He offered his arm to the ladies and guided them to their seats with gallant compliments; he extended cordial handshakes and kind words to the men. Everyone was completely charmed by the new governor.
The arrival of the messieurs de Malmédie and Sara was awaited with particular interest, both because M. de Malmédie was one of the richest and most distinguished men in the colony and because Sara was known as an heiress of remarkable elegance and beauty. When they were finally announced, every head turned to watch Lord Murray as he went to greet her; surely it was this lovely girl’s toilette that had delayed her family’s arrival.
No. In contrast with the other Creole women and against all expectations Sara was dressed, with startling simplicity, in a ravishing gown of Indian muslin so light and filmy that Juvenal called the gauzy material “woven air.” The dress bore neither embroidery, nor diamonds, nor pearls, and she wore no jewelry—only a crown of wild roses in her hair and a posy of the same flowers at her waist. No bracelet was on her wrist to emphasize the rosy tint of her skin. Her raven hair tumbled to her shoulders in silky ringlets, and she carried the ivory fan purchased two days earlier from Miko-Miko.
Since île de France’s elite was rather small, as I have said, and everyone was acquainted with everyone else, the memorable entrance of the Malmédie family was assumed to be the last noteworthy arrival of the evening. The guests milled about the room and mingled among themselves, but it seemed as if Lord Murray was still waiting for someone to appear. This puzzling behavior was explained within ten minutes, as the doors were thrown open once again and the chamberlain announced in a loud voice:
Georges Page 13