“Do nothing of the kind, your Excellency,” cried a voice which I recognized as that of the planter with whom I had had a duel. “Do nothing of the kind; give no arms to the mulattoes.”
“What, do you not want to fight?” asked a planter, with a sneer.
The other did not appear to hear him, and continued: “These men of mixed blood are our worst enemies, and we must take every precaution against them. It is from that quarter that the insurgents are recruited; the negroes have but little to do with the rising.” The poor wretch hoped by his abuse of the mulattoes to prove that he had nothing in common with them, and to clear himself from the imputation of having black blood in his veins; but the attempt was too barefaced, and a murmur of disgust rose up on all sides.
“Yes,” said M. de Rouvray, “the slaves have something to do with it, for they are forty to one; and we should be in a serious plight if we could only oppose the negroes and the mulattoes with whites like you.”
The planter bit his lips.
“General,” said the Governor, “what answer shall be given to the petition: shall the mulattoes have the arms?”
“Give them weapons, your Excellency; let us make use of every willing hand. And you, sir,” he added, turning to the colonist of doubtful colour. “Go arm yourself, and join your comrades.”
The humiliated planter slunk away, filled with concentrated rage.
But the cries of distress which rang through the town reached even to the chamber in which the council was being held. M. de Blanchelande hastily pencilled a few words upon a slip of paper, and handed it to one of his aides-de-camp, who at once left the room.
“Gentlemen, the mulattoes will receive arms; but there are many more questions to be settled.”