Failed Moments

Chapter 5: Word Spreads

Chapter 5

Word Spreads

“JACOB, WHAT IS the meaning of this? How dare you burst into my home in this fashion?”

Jacob tried to regain his composure. “Mon ami, I’m sorry for the intrusion, but this is urgent. We must speak.”

Patrice excused himself and his trusted advisor, Chantal, from the dinner table and led Jacob Bernard to the parlor. Despite his efforts to control himself, Jacob was still trembling. Patrice also had problems maintaining his own composure on occasion and often his heart throbbed whenever he found himself in a stressful situation. This wasn’t good for him, and he tried to take his mind off of the problem at hand by taking in the details of his surroundings. This little game put him at ease. The parlor offered so many things to choose from, but Patrice’s eyes initially settled where they normally did, the chandelier in the center of the room. This elegant fixture was imported from France and given as a gift by his father. The elder Beaumont suggested that Patrice consider it a symbol of the better things in life and a daily reminder never to settle for mediocrity.

Two layers of drapes, the first white and the second gold, adorned the large windows along the front wall of the parlor. A petit blanc had painted a mural of a metal gate around the border of this main window in order to create an even more distinguished look. Patrice frowned as he remembered the parting message offered by the painter after accepting payment and a compliment for his excellent work. The artisan said he couldn’t believe all of this opulence was being wasted on a bunch of slaves. Patrice’s heart had also thumped at that moment as he required every ounce of his self-control to prevent himself from beating the artisan to a pulp. Unfortunately, mixed-race people in St. Domingue were often confronted with such remarks. Whenever Patrice saw the mural, he tried his best to focus on the excellent quality of the work, but once the memory of the comment returned, his heart again started to pound. He realized his mind game wasn’t relaxing him and looked elsewhere for relief.

Patrice turned his attention to the three beautifully framed portraits on the other side of the parlor. His portrait, positioned in the center, was flanked by paintings of his deceased wife, Marie, and father, Guillame. When Patrice felt lost or lonely, gazing into Marie’s loving eyes healed him and reminded him of what it meant to love unconditionally. Whenever he faced a difficult decision, staring into his father’s experienced eyes brought him back to the dozens of parlor discussions during which father taught his son the ways of the world and the principles upon which sound decisions could be made. Today, the news from Jacob Bernard had to be either extraordinarily good or bad, and Patrice began a consultation with his father as he walked toward the portrait. He might not have received any specific advice, but he did get what he needed and his heartbeat slowed, which would enable him to understand, process, and react appropriately to Jacob Bernard’s news.

Camille offered direction, “Elise clear the table. Don’t think much eatin’ goin’ on tonight. Everyone too on edge. Let’s bring the food into the kitchen.” Elise did as she was told and Henriette assisted. As they entered the kitchen, Camille took note of her son Andre, sitting at the table. “Nice seein’ you in the house ’round dinner time, but no dinner tonight, Andre. Jacob Bernard came runnin’ in here with some kind of news. Got everyone on edge. I’ll fix you a plate of food though, if you hungry.”

Andre walked over and glanced into each of the serving bowls. Both Elise and Henriette moved to the other side of the room to give him space. Camille stared at her only child as he reviewed his food choices. Andre grew up with Patrice and many people thought they could pass for brothers—both had relatively light skin, were well-built, and unusually tall at a height of almost six feet. They did act like brothers growing up, but their current relationship was both complicated and strained.

Camille hoped that Andre would come to appreciate the special privileges he had on the plantation, but knew that nothing short of the freedom promised by Patrice would satisfy him. When both boys were thirteen, Patrice had promised to make Andre a free man when they were older and the time was right. Patrice repeated this promise for the next few years with each new birthday celebration, but when the elder Beaumont became ill, and Patrice began to assume the day-to-day management of the plantation in his mid-twenties, the promise had morphed from freedom into special privileges. Patrice, the man, appeared to have no intention of keeping his adolescent pledge and Camille understood this to be the reason Andre had grown so bitter and confrontational. He knew to mind his behavior, however, when others were around.

“Ma mére, you look tired. Rather than you setting up a plate for me, I will set one up for you and bring it to your room. Okay?”

Camille was exhausted—she had gained a lot of weight over the last few years and she often had a good deal of swelling in her ankles. By dinnertime walking became difficult. Camille smiled, took her son’s advice, and headed for her room. Before Andre prepared the plate for his mother, however, he decided to sweep the area just outside the parlor so he could be within earshot of their surprise visitor. Elise whispered to Henriette, “Since when does he sweep?” Henriette just shrugged her shoulders. She would never question Andre, who had a kind of power and authority that came as a package with his special status at Beaumont. While he couldn’t be formally called the overseer—a slave could never hold that position—Andre did run things as Patrice’s right hand. All of the slaves did what he said without question.

Jacob Bernard finally started to speak. “Patrice. The governor turned him down. The governor turned down the petition for full rights. Vincent Ogé is forming an army of gens de couleur and we need to go into town tomorrow night to talk about joining his ranks. The grands blancs are together with the petits blancs in this and we do not want to be discovered, so we must be careful. Our day is coming, Patrice, but we are going to have to fight for it. Why would the grands blancs deny us these rights afforded to us by the Declaration? Don’t they understand that without us, they will never be able to control the five hundred thousand slaves on the island? Even with us, the slaves outnumber us ten to one.”

Chantal responded before Patrice. “You may use my café for your meeting. I will say I am closed for a private party.”

Patrice agreed. “We will meet at the café tomorrow night, but please be more discreet. Charging in here like you did tonight isn’t good for either the cause or us. Let’s not draw any unnecessary attention. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Andre was excited, confused, and upset by what he had just heard. He knew that Patrice professed to have a distaste for s*****y and promised he would advocate for its abolishment once the time was right. In Andre’s estimation, that time had arrived but Patrice didn’t seem to be honoring his word.

Andre had no formal education, but learned how to read from Patrice. He was proud of the fact that he’d read every book and pamphlet in Patrice’s library. Much of what he read either informed or entertained him, but the only document that ever fascinated him was the one Patrice did not freely offer. Andre had found it two weeks earlier, tucked in the back of Patrice’s desk drawer, while searching for an old ledger sheet. Dated just a few months back, this Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen gave Andre hope because it implied the end of s*****y was near.

Andre thought to himself. This is the final proof of his lies. He hid the Declaration from me and now he’s banding together with the grands blancs? I must tell the others about the Declaration and our great advantage in numbers. His mother’s plate of food would have to wait. Andre headed out to the slaves’ quarters and approached three slaves who were heading to their quarters after a long day in the fields. Andre leaned in and whispered in Creole, “Our time has come. France freed us but the gens de couleur and grands blancs want to hold us down. They are plotting against us in town tomorrow night, but their numbers are smaller than we think.”

The three slaves scattered in different directions and within minutes they had passed the message on to a dozen more. Those slaves then gave the message to others. Within thirty minutes the entire slave population at the Beaumont Plantation had received the message. One brave slave snuck away from the plantation and ran to a nearby maroon camp. The maroons, who were all runaway slaves, served as an inspiration to those still in captivity. Despite their outlaw status, they moved around and communicated with slaves from many plantations. Andre’s message had been passed too many times and, as a result, the content had mutated. The Beaumont Plantation slave ran up to the houngan, a Vodou priest who was the leader of this band of maroons, and screamed, “Our time has come. France freed us but the gens de couleur and grands blancs want to hold us down. Most have fled the area already so their numbers are small. We attack in town tomorrow night. Libète ou touye! Liberty or death!”

By nightfall the entire slave population had been informed and Jacmel was like a powder keg waiting to ignite.