“Has that opinion of yours been offered to your Commander, Vincent?”
“It would have been, if he had asked for it. He probably knows that I had rather have seen him high in honour and function under Leclerc, than an outlaw, entrenched in the mornes.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I am here to protect those who cannot protect themselves, in these rough times. I am here to guard these ladies against all foes, come they whence they may,—from France, or out of our own savannahs,—from earth, air, or sea.—But hark! Silence, ladies! Silence all, for a moment!”
They listened, ready to take alarm from him, they knew not why. Nothing was heard but the distant baying of hounds,—the hunters coming home as it was supposed.
“Those are not Saint Domingo hounds,” said Vincent, in a low voice to Dessalines.
“No, indeed!—Home, all of you! Run for your lives! No questions, but run! Thérèse, leave me! I command you.—If this is your doing, Vincent—”
“Upon my soul, it is not. I know nothing about it.—Home, ladies, as fast as possible!”
“My children!” exclaimed Madame Bellair. “I can find them, if you will only tell me the danger,—what is the danger?”
“You hear those hounds. They are Cuba bloodhounds,” said Dessalines. “The fear is that they are leading an enemy over the hills.”