“Bouckmann, chief of the hundred and twenty negroes of the Blue Mountain, whose liberty was recognized by the Governor-General of Belle Combe, has fallen in the glorious struggle of liberty and humanity against tyranny and barbarism. This gallant chief has been slain in an action with the white brigands of the infamous Touzard. The monsters have cut off his head, and have announced their intention of exposing it on a scaffold in the main square of the town of Cap. Vengeance!”
A gloomy silence succeeded the reading of this despatch; but the Obi leapt on his altar, and waving his white wand, exclaimed in accents of triumph—
“Solomon, Zerobabel, Eleazar Thaleb, Cardau, Judas Bowtharicht, Avenoes, Albert the Great, Bohabdil, Jean de Hagul, Anna Baratio, Daniel Ogromof, Rachel Flintz, Allornino, I give you thanks. The science of the spirits has not deceived me; sons, friends, brothers, boys, children, mothers, all of you listen to me. What was it that I predicted? the marks on the forehead of Bouckmann announced that his life would be a short one, that he would die in battle, and that he would appear on the scaffold. The revelations of my art have turned out true to the letter, and those points which seemed the most obscure are now the most plain. Brethren, wonder and admire!”
The panic of the negroes changed during this discourse to a sort of admiring terror. They listened to the Obi with a species of confidence mingled with fear, whilst the latter, carried away by his own enthusiasm, walked up and down the sugar case, which presented plenty of space for his short steps.
A sneer passed over Biassou’s face as he addressed the Obi.
“Your reverence, since you know what is to come, will you be good enough to tell me the future of Jean Biassou, Brigadier-General?”
The Obi halted on the top of his strange altar, which the credulity of the negroes looked upon as something divine, and answered, “Venga vuestra merced” (“Come, your Excellency”). At this moment the Obi was the most important man in the army; the military power bowed to the spiritual.
“Your hand, general?” said the Obi, stooping to grasp it. “Empezo (“I begin”). The line of junction equally marked in its full length promises you riches and happiness; the line of life strongly developed announces a life exempt from ills, and a happy old age. Its narrowness shows your wisdom and your superior talents, as well as the generosity of your heart; and, lastly, I see what chiromancers call the luckiest of all signs, a number of little wrinkles in the shape of a tree with its branches extending upwards, this promises health and wealth, it also prognosticates courage. General, it curves in the direction of the little finger, this is the sign of wholesome severity.”
As he said this the eyes of the Obi glanced at me through the apertures of his veil, and I fancied that I could catch a well-known voice under the habitual gravity of his intonation, as he continued—
“The line of health, marked with a number of small circles, announces that you will have, for the sake of the cause, to order a number of executions; divided here by a half-moon, shows that you will be exposed to great danger from ferocious beasts, that is to say, from the whites, if you do not exterminate them. The line of fortune surrounded, like the line of life, by little branches rising towards the upper part of the hand, confirms the position of power and supremacy to which you have been called; turning to the right, it is a symbol of your administrative capacity. The fifth line, that of the triangle prolonged to the root of the middle finger, promises you success in all your undertakings. Let me see your fingers: the thumb marked with little lines from the point to the nail shows that you will receive a noble heritage, that of the glory of the unfortunate Bouckmann, no doubt,” added the Obi, in a loud voice. “The slight swelling at the root of the forefinger, lightly marked with lines, promises honours and dignities. The middle finger shows nothing. Your little finger is covered with lines crossing each other, you will vanquish all your enemies, and rise high above your rivals. These lines form the cross of Saint Andrew, a mark of genius and foresight. I also notice the figure of a circle, another token of your arrival at the highest power and dignity. ‘Happy the man,’ says Eleazar Thaleb, ‘who possesses all these signs. Destiny has its choicest gifts in store for him, and his fortunate star announces the talent which will bring him glory.’ And now, general, let me look at your forehead? ‘He,’ says Rachel Flintz, of Bohemia, ‘who bears on his forehead, on the line of the sun, a square or a triangular mark, will make a great fortune.’ Here is another prediction, ‘If the mark is on the right, it refers to an important succession;’ that of Bouckmann is, of course, again referred to. The mark in the shape of a horseshoe between the eyebrows, on the line of the moon, means that prompt vengeance will be taken for insult and tyranny. I have this mark as well as you.”