“There they are! There they come from behind the wood, if we could but see them for the dust!” exclaimed some.
“Oh, this dust! we can see nothing!” cried others. “Who can give a guess how many they are?”
“It is impossible,” said Bellair. “Without previous knowledge, one could not tell them from droves of bullocks and goats going to market at Saint Marc.”
“Except for their caps,” said Euphrosyne. “I see a dozen or two of feathers through the crowd. Do not you, Afra?”
“Yes, but where is their music? We should hear something of it here, surely.”
“Yes, it is a dumb march,” said Dessalines, “at present. They will strike up when they have turned the shoulder of that hill, no doubt. There! now listen!”
All listened, so that the brook, half a mile behind, made its babbling heard, but there was not a breath of music.
“Is it possible that Rochambeau should be in the way,” asked Thérèse.
“He cannot be in the way,” said her husband, “for where I stand, I command every foot of the road, up to our posts; but he may be nearer than we thought. I conclude that he is.”
“Look! See!” cried several. “They are taking another road. Where are they going! General Dessalines, what does it mean?”