etween these walls of rock."

Every man of the party was off in pursuit of his game, except Placide,
who remained to ask his father, now they were alone, what was to happen
at the season of the second indigo-cutting. They threw themselves down
beneath the cotton-tree, which with its own broad shades, deepened by
the masses of creepers which twined and clustered about it, and weighed
it down on every side, afforded as complete a shelter from the shower of
sun-rays as any artificial roof could have done.

"The second indigo-cutting is in August, you know," said Toussaint.
"August will decide our freedom, if it is not decided before. August is
the season when Nature comes in as our ally--comes in with her army of
horrors, which we should not have the heart to invoke, but which will
arrive, with or without our will; and which it will be the fault of the
French themselves if they brave."

"Foul airs and pestilence, you mean!" said Placide.

"I mean foul airs and pestilence. All our plans, my son--(it is a
comfort to make a counsellor of my own son!)--all the plans of my
generals and myself are directed to provide for our defence till August,
certain that then the French will be occupied in grappling with a
deadlier foe than even men fighting for their liberties."

"Till August!" repeated Placide. "Nearly six months! I scarcely think
the French could hold their footing so long, if--but that--"

"If what? Except for what?"

"If it were not for the tremendous reinforcements which I fear will be
sent."

"I thought so," said his father.

"All France is eager to come," continued Placide. "The thousands who
are here (about twelve thousand, I fancy; but they did what they could
to prevent our knowing the numbers exactly)--the thousands who are here
are looked upon with envy by those who are left behind. The jealousy
was incredible--the clamour to gain appointments to the Saint Domingo
expedition."

"To be appointed to pestilence in the hospitals, and a grave in the
sands!" exclaimed Toussaint. "It is strange! Frenchmen enough have
died here, in seasons of trouble, to convince all France that only in
times of peace, leisure, stillness, and choice of residence, have
Europeans a fair chance of life here, for a single year. It is strange
that they do not foresee their own death-angels clustering on our
shores."

"The delusion is so strong," said Placide, "that I verily believe that
if these twelve thousand were