Failed Moments

Chapter 4: St. Domingue

Chapter 4

St. Domingue

GRACE BEGAN TO speak as she observed the scene from above with her nephew. “Patrick, the gentleman who is pacing on the porch is you, my dear. The year is 1790 and you are a mixed-race slave owner in the French colony of St. Domingue by the name of Patrice Beaumont. Your life was going very well at this point and you’ve displayed great charity and kindness to your slaves. During this period, slave owners were particularly brutal and slaves would often die after a few years only to be replaced by other new arrivals from Africa—but not on the Beaumont Plantation. Your slaves thrived because you treated them more like valued employees than property. While they would have preferred freedom, they knew they were better off with you than just about any other slave owner on the island, especially the other mixed-race slaveholders, who were more brutal than the whites. Your wife died during childbirth several years ago and a slave named Gabrielle is your current partner. You have one child with Gabrielle by the name of Christophe—he is five, and another child—Claude—from your deceased wife. He just turned six. So those are the basic facts. Once we finish this chat, we will assume our old identities. Here I am walking out onto the porch.”

“Monsieur Beaumont, dinner is ready.”

“Merci, Camille. I don’t know what I would do without you,” Patrice responded to his lifelong house slave who, more than anyone else, had raised him as a child.

“You be just fine, Monsieur. Just fine.” Camille enjoyed the freedom with which she spoke to Patrice while in the house. In her early years, Camille had been exposed to a brutal slave owner, and she celebrated the day Patrice’s father, Guillame Beaumont, purchased her from a neighboring plantation to be his nanny. Now in her fifties, an unheard of age for a slave in St. Domingue, Camille was still able to do many things around the big plantation house. Making sure Patrice ate properly was her most important role, and she enjoyed the daily ritual of summoning him for dinner. His standard response to her announcement of the evening meal—“I don’t know what I would do without you”—made her smile.

The island’s class system was firmly in place: the ruling grands blancs, who owned most of the largest plantations, were in charge in all respects. The petits blancs—lower-class whites who worked as artisans, shopkeepers, or overseers—came next in terms of political clout, and then the gens de couleur, who had full economic rights, but limited basic civil liberties. The slave population, which outnumbered all of the other groups combined by a factor of ten to one, had no economic or civil rights, but clearly were the engine that drove the thriving St. Domingue economy.

Camille circled the table making sure everything was correct in all respects and then turned to Patrice and said, “Monsieur Beaumont, I just wanted to thank you for what you done for Elise. Letting her go town to see her sister was a great…”

She was interrupted by Chantal Archambeau, a close family friend and frequent dinner guest, who offered, “Excuse me, Camille, would you mind checking on my tea in the kitchen?”

Camille didn’t finish her thought, excused herself, and left Patrice and Chantal alone in the dining area as she headed for the kitchen.

“Patrice, being the best of the worst is nothing to celebrate. These little acts of kindness you seem to take such pleasure in providing pale in comparison to what you should be doing for people like Elise. You can call her a servant, Patrice, but we both know she’s a slave. Why not use your influence as a prominent gens de couleur to give her the biggest favor of all—her freedom.”

“Chantal, I understand what you are saying, but the timing has to be right.”

“You’ve been saying that for years, Patrice. Now that the revolution in France has ended, and the National Assembly passed the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, the timing couldn’t be better. The end of s*****y is near and you can’t stay on the sidelines.”

“I don’t plan to, Chantal. We are all awaiting news of our appeal to the governor of St. Domingue for full rights for the gens de couleur. Our leader, Vincent Ogé, is personally making the appeal. Before the slaves can be free, we need to have full rights, but I don’t believe their time is now.”

“Ah, so more of your ‘go along to get along’ philosophy. You may not have the colony-wide status of Vincent Ogé, but in southern St. Domingue—certainly in the town of Jacmel—there is no other gens de couleur with greater influence than you. All I am asking is that you look for opportunities to move things forward. It is my job to remind you from time to time. I’m happy to play that role, and you know what, Patrice? It was nice what you did for Elise.”

“Thank you, Chantal.” Patrice got up to pull the curtains closed; he always insisted on privacy and would close the dining room curtains when they ate. The head of the table was reserved for Patrice. The seats to his right and left were for Gabrielle and Claude. Christophe sat next to his mother, with Chantal across from him. Patrice nodded to Camille and she removed her apron and sat at the other head. In the privacy of his home, and within the sanctity of his dinner table, he wanted the people closest to him to understand they were full partners in his life. Two seats remained empty on either side of Camille; one for the rare guest, and the other for Camille’s son, Andre, who was an overseer of sorts at the Beaumont Plantation. Andre never joined the family for dinner, but Patrice left the seat unoccupied in the hope that one day he would.

“Mon pere! Mon pere!”

“Yes, Claude. What is it?”

“Father, can Christophe and I go to town with you tomorrow?”

“Why yes, Claude, I think that will be fine. But do you think you understand the rules well enough so we will not have any problems?”

“Yes, sir. We won’t wander off or try to play with any of the white children and we’ll act like we don’t want to play with the Black children.”

“Good boys, we’ll see if we can work it out.”

Patrice realized his sons already grasped the essentials of St. Domingue society. He turned and admired Gabrielle, looking lovely as always in her long white dress. He appreciated her and loved the way that she cared for the boys. His gaze at his partner led to a daydream of his deceased wife, Marie, whose time at Beaumont was short, but memorable. Patrice’s eyes started to roll upward and Gabriele needed to raise her voice to bring Patrice back to reality. “Patrice! Patrice! Don’t let these boys talk you into buying any candy.”

The boys pouted but then perked up right away when Patrice managed a little wink, which meant they needn’t worry. Aunt Chantal flashed a matching smirk, which suggested there would be more goodies waiting for them at her café. Two house slaves, Elise and Henriette, entered the room to serve the appetizer just as the gallop of a horse could be heard in the distance. Camille was barely able to get out of her seat and put on her apron before Jacob Bernard burst through the door exclaiming, “Patrice! Patrice! It’s happening!”