In the Shadow/Chapter 5
CHAPTER V
BLACK SHADOWS
FATIGUED by the excitement of the day, Virginia retired early that night. Her sleep was restless; there is a certain kind of sleep less refreshing than actual wakefulness; a condition of subconsciousness in which a leading impression, variously contorted, is passed and repassed before the tired mind. The unwelcome tenant of Virginia's mind was Dessalines.
Repeatedly she fully aroused herself; striving, through the domination of her subjective brain, to bring the cold light of analysis to bear upon the somber-hued fancies which were robbing her rest. After demonstrating the hollowness of the black aura cloaking her dreams she would turn resolutely to sleep and forgetfulness, but with waning will and drowsing mental vigilance the disturbing fancies would sneak back stealthily to join in howling chorus—a pack of prairie wolves, scattered by a firebrand. With these there would glide from some abyss a growing series of late, powerful impressions; morbid, exotic, blurred, distorted, like most dream bodies, growing fantastically out of their true shape.
The waking mind unconsciously resists thousands of disquieting elements, as the bodily tissues constantly resist the assaults of myriad bacteria; over the greater part of these mentally irritative elements a natural sleep will spread an obliterating blanket, as a light fall of snow smooths the uneven surface of the ground. Let there be some object, larger and more fantastic in design, and the sleep, like the snow, instead of softening the contours, serves only to cloak its true shape; puzzles the mind, the eye, and renders it more sinister for this distortion.
Virginia would waken, fix her mind on cheerful topics, fall into a light sleep and promptly become the prey of the same bizarre fancies differently presented; the constant element was the face of Dessalines; sometimes scowling, sometimes sad, stricken, or perhaps luminous with purposeful strength and dominant action. Certain characteristics were conspicuous: the close, kinky African hair; the broad, low forehead; the wide, flat nostrils; but above all, the black, lusterless skin which had been so striking in the center of hundreds fresh, fair, and glowing.
Yet his had been the one great central figure; not as a curiosity, but par excellence, by virtue of strong body and active mind. She felt that if some calamity had occurred, some crisis arisen, he would have been the natural leader; the others would have followed; that his great shoulders would have towered over theirs, his deep, resonant voice have thundered out commands, and the giant frame with its long elbow-bent arms would have hurled men right and left in their execution.
As the night wore on Virginia's fatigue gave way to anger; she rebelled at this domination of her mind; this appropriation of her thoughts by a huge negro. Aside from the proper gratitude which she felt toward a rescuer, she resented this possession; it was not the first time that she had encountered men of this race; she had met them in Paris, in London, at diplomatic functions, together with Moors, Turks, Hindoos, and Hottentots, for all she knew. Yet this one great, black, mobile face was mirrored in her mind until the break of dawn, when she fell into a sleep of utter exhaustion.
Four hours later when she awoke, although her first thought was of Dessalines, it was quiet, unemotional; she was bitterly angered at the recollection of her broken night's rest.
Giles was alone in the breakfast room when she entered; she was very glad, not only because she loved him, but because everything about Giles was so healthy that he became a natural antidote for a morbid night. As she entered she found him trying his best to establish hostile relations between two fox terrier pups by taking each by the scruff of the neck and rubbing its head against that of its brother. At her light step upon the parquet floor he started like a guilty schoolboy; the pups, roused to the fighting pitch and suddenly released, rolled over and over, two little snapping, snarling masses of rage.
"Hello!" said Giles, looking up and planting a firm and pacifying foot between the pups. "Good thing you came down, Ginny; got so lonely waiting here for you that I had to start a dog fight … what?" He stepped to her side and kissed her heartily.
"Good morning, Giles. Have you been riding?" she asked, looking at his boots. "Why did you not tell me?"
Giles's face fell. "Oh, I say! Would you have gone? I haven't been myself, though. Going to try a new hunter by and by. We'll ride this afternoon, what?"
Virginia looked vexed. "Count Dessalines is coming this afternoon," she said; she felt that she had had almost enough of Dessalines for, some time.
"Bother—so he is." Giles's gratitude was of a practical quality. Had he come on Dessalines struggling in a fish trap he would have tried to save him at any risk to himself, would have done as much for any one; because Dessalines had saved the lives of Virginia and himself he could see no reason why they should give up their ride.
"We can ride early," said he. "Dessalines is coming for tea. If he comes before we get home what's the odds! let him wait. The others can take care of him."
Virginia hesitated; she did not like the thought of leaving Dessalines with Manning, whose sense of duty would compel him to entertain the Haytian at whatever cost.
"I think that we had better wait," she replied.
Giles helped her to breakfast; he poured her tea and Virginia stirred it for several moments in silence.
"Giles," she asked suddenly, "do people often give you the creeps?"
"Well, rather!" replied Giles calmly.
Virginia toyed with her spoon. "When a person gives you the creeps," she asked presently, "do you have an odd craving to watch that person and get the creeps?"
"Not much! I want to steer clear of 'em … but I know what you mean. It's like listening to a rattling ghost story; and then there are some people who find it rather jolly to look at the blood where some one's just been hurt. Often wondered at it … there's my old pointer, Dash; got the finest nose in the world, but he'll go right out and roll in a dead hare … Oh, I say, … beg pardon! Forgot that you were at breakfast!"
Virginia laughed in spite of herself.
"There's a chap coming here to-morrow whom you will like, Ginny," said Giles. "A Dr. Leyden; he's a Dutch naturalist, an old acquaintance of pater's; awfully interesting … had no end of adventures all over the globe."
"Really?" said Virginia, brightening. "I'm glad. I like that sort. Is he old?"
"Pater's age; you must get some of his tales." He glanced at the clock, then rattled on about his horses.
"Finished?" he asked presently. "Come out and look at the gee-gee; bet you he chucks me off before I'm ten minutes older; Jennings says he's a rank one."
Virginia accompanied him to the stables.
They did not ride in the afternoon; Virginia, on reflection, feared that it might appear ungrateful to be absent when Dessalines called. It was about four o'clock that she looked out of the bay window where she was reading and saw a startling picture for that stately English frame.
Slowly advancing up the avenue, mounted upon a magnificent black horse, came Dessalines. The horse, an enormous animal, conspicuous for its full, arching neck and massive, foam-flecked chest, approached with springing steps, curbed to slowness by the powerful hand of the rider. The bulging, knotted muscles of the charger, aquiver beneath the smooth, glossy skin woven with the swelling veins of the thoroughbred, the wild, eager eye, everted crimson nostrils, all told of a spirit maddened by restraint. As Virginia watched, thrilled at the spectacle of the restrained power, the nervous tension contained in living bodies of such appalling energy, the animal caught the bits in his champing jaws and shook them savagely.
Dessalines was the statue of a Numidian king; the great, dominant face, muscular of jaw, haughty, prideful, seemed to proclaim the leader by divine right, the monarch of a virile race, and, as in his charger, the contour of the head, the clear velvet smoothness of the ebony skin indicated the pureness of the savage strain. Whatever he might lack, a glance proved the Haytian to be no mongrel; one would affirm that no vagrant corpuscle of alien blood had found its way into his veins.
He drew nearer slowly, and Virginia could see from the expression of the mobile face that the spirit of strife had entered him; his attitude showed a fierce exultation in his perfect mastery; the great shoulders thrown squarely back, one saw the swell of the pectoral muscles beneath the light coat; the hand, closed on all four reins, seemed to contain the power to tear the horse's jaw bodily from its sockets.
The gravel hissed beneath the twitching hoofs as Dessalines reined in before the door. Virginia heard a plunging step in the hall; Giles's clear voice rang out cheerily.
"Hello, Aristide! Glad to see you." Virginia, watching, saw again the vivid flash of strong white teeth as Dessalines swung his great frame to the ground as lightly as a panther. He was dressed in orthodox riding costume; the boots were of heavier leather than usual and a trifle loose about the legs, which were small in proportion to the bulk of the man; this seeming lack of proportion was augmented by the lack of calf muscle, the bulk of muscle being upon the outer side of the heavy bone, thus giving a bowed contour displeasing to the eye. The hand not on the bridle hung almost to the knee.
A deep voice rumbled up from the drive. "Good morning, Giles— Look out! Don't get too near that brute, my dear fellow; he's an ugly one to all but myself—Yes, a stallion. Let me ride him to the stables myself—He has already killed one groom." He laid one hand on the pommel and raised himself, rather than vaulted, to the saddle. Strong as was the horse his back appeared to sag. He moved slowly down the drive, Giles walking on the turf at one side. They turned a bend and the tall hedge hid them from view. Virginia turned at the sound of some one entering the room.
"The Ethiopian Giant!" exclaimed Lady Maltby, for it was she. "My dear, did you ever see such a sight in all your life? There is a face to haunt one's dreams! Fancy what it must be when he is enraged!"
Virginia stared out across the lawn. "I should like to see him in an amphitheater," she answered abstractedly, "fighting a lion with his bare hands. I suppose that he is the kind they bred for the arena—except that the gladiators were slaves, and this man is sleek and does not look as if he had ever worked with his hands—" She laughed nervously.
"Giles says that he is inclined to be luxurious," replied Lady Maltby, "that is, fond of comforts. Fancy him lolling on a divan . . . among silken cushions of bleu tendre while a French valet de chambre . . ."
"Oh, don't!" protested Virginia. "Horrible! it couldn't be so! It would be too terrible! It would not be so bad if he were lounging on a couch of flaming scarlet, in a room hung with portières of clashing discords, and musicians playing out of tune in minor keys, and half-frightened Circassian dancing girls . . ."
"That is what one might expect," said Lady Maltby, "but it is far from being the case. Giles tells me that he is horribly conventional and very religious."
"How creepy!"
"Let us go out, my dear," said Lady Maltby. "Really, there is scarcely room for him in a house! We will have tea in the pagoda."
On the driveway they met Giles and Dessalines returning.
"A study in black and white," said Lady Maltby in a low voice. "But I thought that he was very much taller." Virginia herself was surprised to see that there was no greater disparity in height. Giles was an even six feet, Dessalines three inches taller; Giles was big with a sturdy, well-proportioned Anglo-Saxon girth of limb and body, whereas the massivity of the Haytian was almost grotesque in some of its dimensions, but while of a strange and alien type, was yet not unpleasing in effect. Dessalines could not have greatly exceeded Giles in many of his measurements, yet owing to the comparatively greater size of his huge, bony structures he would have weighed perhaps fifty pounds more; the Haytian's herculean strength owed its source to this massive ponderance of bone.
The contrast was startling: Giles, with his fair complexion, sunny hair, sparkling blue eyes, seemed a creature of the full day of civilization, while Dessalines appeared to have not yet emerged from the black night of paganism.
Nevertheless they knew that he had given ample evidence of the ability of the active brain beneath the heavy African skull to more than hold its own with those about him; it was believed that it could emanate ideas worthy of an Anglo-Saxon mind. Virginia reflected that whatever the past history of the race of which he was an exponent, there surely must have been some long-forgotten epoch of enlightenment to have transmitted this intellect through the dark eras which had followed.
"It is a shame to oblige you to stable your own horse, Count Dessalines," said Lady Maltby as they met.
Dessalines bowed. "The fault is mine, Lady Maltby. If one will ride a dragon one must expect to be his own hostler. It is far less trouble to stable the animal than to provide for a widow and a family!"
"Fancy you don't find many mounts up to your weight, old chap," said Giles.
"That is true; Liberté, my stallion, is hackney and Percheron; I found him in Normandy, where he was monarch of all he surveyed; no one dared approach him, but . . ." a flash crossed the sable face, "we soon came to an understanding, and since then there has been no difficulty."
"He is a magnificent creature," said Lady Maltby, leading the way to the pagoda, which was on a little knoll in a grove of lustrous birches at the edge of the broad lawn. From this eminence one saw the stately house rising sheer from the close-cropped sward flanked with flower beds, ivygrown on the eastern wing; behind it the park; to the west the sunken gardens running down to the brimming edge of the lake, silver and azure, flecked with swans.
"It is entrancing!" cried Dessalines turning to Virginia, "a fairyland, . . . a dream place . . . in all but the harsh, rough climate." His face saddened. "How it could be done in Hayti! What an elysium it might be were it not for the sloth of my people!"
"You shall teach them," said Virginia.
"It is to be my work; but I could never teach them this," he waved his hand toward the fair prospect. "They would not understand—it is not in the Haytian blood; perhaps it is a matter of climate—where nature does so much, man refuses to do anything. Perhaps it is the very harshness of your climate which leads you English to work so hard to beautify your homes." He paused. "Do you know Hayti?" he asked abruptly, turning to Virginia. "It is a near neighbor; Giles tells me you are American {{..|3}} but no doubt your knowledge of Hayti is even less than mine of the States." His black features were crossed by a fierce gleam. "I have never been but once in the United States and that was but for a day."
"I have not seen my native country since I was a child," replied Virginia, "and I am ashamed to say that I know absolutely nothing of Hayti."
"It is a savage island lying midway between Cuba and Porto Rico; beautiful beyond description, rich beyond belief; favorable to human well-being by virtue of every God-given natural condition, and yet a country which promises no safety to life or property, because it is a negro republic, and the negro has not yet learned to govern himself or others."
The rich voice ceased. Virginia, glancing at Dessalines' face, was strangely moved; such words from such a source were startling; more so was the calm certainty with which they were delivered.
"That is why I am here, in England, at Oxford," continued Dessalines. "In Paris one may learn, but for some reason my countrymen return from there demoralized, to the injury of the country and the destruction of their souls." He stared thoughtfully across the delightful prospect which he scarcely seemed to see. His eyes were unfocused, resting on the distance.
"Slavery was a necessity for my race," he resumed, as if talking to himself, "it has lived for so long in the shadow that when given light too suddenly the result is to dazzle the eyes. To-day I am a believer in slavery for my entire race; it is a necessary step to civilization; it is kinder to the negro to lead him to civilization through the valley of the shadow than to knock off his fetters and leave him the victim of his own weaknesses, at the mercy of his own desires. The condition of the slave should be the care of the State; he must be protected from abuse. In my own country slavery no longer exists, in theory, but is it strange, my friends, that a strong, primitive people should be unable to support the extreme degree of a republic—a vote, in the place of leg irons? I ask you, is it not so?"
The note of appeal in the rich voice stirred his listeners. There was a moment's pause.
"But what is the alternative?" asked Lady Maltby.
"A monarchy … for a certain number of years. The autocracy of a wise and honest ruler of the same race. Through a monarchy a people might pass from slavery to democracy without the epoch of utter demoralization one sees in the Hayti of to-day."
Giles looked away; he had an uncomfortable sense of having heard this argument on the lips of Dessalines many times before, each time amended a trifle, but always couched in terms of flowing eloquence. He doubted that it was entirely original; less that than gathered here and there; pieced, parceled, but always rhetorical. He looked up with a quizzical smile.
"Long live King Dessalines!" he murmured. Virginia, watching the Haytian, saw a swift flash cross the mobile face; a smile full of good humor swept it away.
"Then you shall be British Minister, Giles. Ah, but you would love Hayti reconstructed!" He turned the conversation to a different topic, still monopolizing the bulk of it. Virginia, listening closely, was not long in discovering that she was held less by what he said than his manner of saying it. Afterwards she was surprised at the paucity of ideas transmitted by the man; she could not rid her ears of the vibration of the low, resonant voice, neither could she banish his image from her eyes.
Dessalines' departure was nearly attended by an accident. He was about to mount when one of the grooms stepped forward to take the horse's head; before the man discovered his danger, back went the stallion's ears, the lips were drawn upward, and with a snarl like a dog he had snapped at the man, caught him by the loose shoulder of his coat, thrown him down, and was about to spring upon him when Dessalines' great arm shot out, the thick black fingers closed like a vise upon the lower jaw of the animal; up flew the heavy crop and four blows which seemed enough to splinter the skull fell upon the glossy head. Just for a second Virginia caught a glimpse of the black face; the thick lips were curled up from the white teeth, the flat nose was flatter, with deep lines between it and the cheeks, the forehead wrinkled until the low-growing, kinky hair seemed about to touch the brow; then like a flash it cleared, and the girl wondered if the face she had seen were real.
At the last blow of the crop Giles had winced, for a gurgling moan had come from the staggering horse.
"Oh, I say …" he began. Dessalines wheeled; his face was calm, but there was a lurid light deep in the somber eyes.
"It is a pity," he said. "One does not wish to be cruel, but the brute is very dangerous and it is either that or a bullet."
He mounted with a lithe swing; Virginia saw a red stain against the black of his hand; blood was trickling from the mouth of the horse.
"Good afternoon," said Dessalines, bowing from the saddle. He spoke gently to the horse, which moved off down the road. Giles's eyes followed him.
"Gad, what a brute!"
"Which?" said Virginia.
"Both," said Lady Maltby under her breath.