All he could do then was to send more men up to the roof to aid the fire-fighting parry there, in the hope that if enough water was poured down on to the laundry that might yet check the advance of the fire. But the flames from the maize store were now leaping high and casting a new lurid light upon the scene. By it the attackers were able to see and snipe at the fire-fighters. Kilick was again wounded, this time in the hand, and shortly afterwards Ovid, de Boucicault's mulatto valet, was shot through the head; so these casualties, and the caution the others now had to exercise, nullified the extra help that had been sent up to them.
Soon after Kilick came down to have his hand bound up, flames burst through the laundry roof as if it had been a lid clamped down upon a seething volcano. In a matter of moments the main building caught fire and smoke began to drift through the house.
Sick with distress, Roger made his way to the dining-room. Taking a large jug he poured two bottles of wine into it, then the poison. Setting the jug on the table he placed nearby it a glass apiece for each of the survivors. But when he got back to the hall he could not yet bring himself to tell any of the others what he had done.
Unnoticed by him while he had been preparing the deadly brew, dawn had come. As he peered out through one of the loopholes at the side of the front door his heart sank afresh. Some way down the drive a body of at least a hundred negro soldiers stood casually leaning on their muskets and evidently awaiting orders. Reinforcements had arrived, so the last hope had gone of persuading the others to try a breakout instead of taking the terrible alternative.
As he watched, a tall negro in a plumed cocked hat signed to one of the soldiers to go forward. The man held something white. Next moment as he walked towards the house he raised it above his head, and Roger saw that it was a flag of truce. With trembling ringers he set about unbarring the door.
"In Heaven's name, what are you about?" exclaimed Amanda.
"They are offering us a parley," he replied, "and I am going out to meet them."
"Have you become crazed?" she cried. "They will tear you limb from limb. Monsieur de Boucicault knew these wretches well. He told me that he would sooner take the risk of sporting with a hungry shark than place his trust in them."
"No matter," replied Roger curtly. "It is a risk which I must run."
As he resumed the unbarring of the door Amanda stepped forward to fling her arms about him. Dan, sweating and smoke-begrimed, had just come down the wide staircase to report Roger, with his bright blue eyes hard as agates, called to him.
"Quick, Dan! Hold your mistress. It is imperative that she should not be permitted to thwart me at this moment."
After a second's hesitation Dan ran forward, gripped Amanda by the shoulders and drew her bade The other women were acting as loaders in other rooms. Old Eloi was getting a fresh supply of powder from under the stairs and Fergusson was guarding a door at the extreme back of the hall, which gave on to the terrace. Taking up his crutches Roger swung himself swiftly along to the doctor and in a low voice told him about the poisoned wine. As he returned, swirls of smoke were curling like the tentacles of a giant octopus across the lofty hall. Pausing before Amanda he said in a now gentle voice:
"My love. You may be right; but what I am about to do offers the only chance for all of us. Should your fears for me prove justified I beg you to promise me one thing. It is that you should do your utmost to persuade the others to drink the wine that I have left prepared in the dining-room, and to drink of it yourself."
The sudden distension of her eyes showed her realization that it was no ordinary glass of wine to which he referred. Slowly she nodded, then murmured: "You are right my sweet. It is the easier way. May God protect you and bring you back to me."
Old Eloi had seen that it was Roger's intention to go out; so now he completed the unfastening of the door, drew a deep breath, and opened it
With his home-made crutches tapping sharply on the stone steps Roger swung himself down them. The soldier with the flag of truce had by now approached to within twenty yards of the house. Halting, he called out in a rich voice: "General Toussaint l'Ouverture would speak with you."
"Lead on," replied Roger, and as the man turned he followed him down the drive.
On seeing him approach, the negro officer with the plumed hat left his men and came to meet him. When they were within two yards of one another both came to a standstill. Roger eyed the General with anxious speculation, striving to learn something of his character from his face. It was long and thin with a sensitive mouth, high forehead, and deep-set intelligent eyes. He was tall, bony and his gaudy uniform with its enormous gold epaulettes hung loosely upon him. After a moment he asked in the lisping Creole French that all the negroes used; "Are you the owner of this house?"
"No," replied Roger. "I have been here only as a guest for the past two weeks after having escaped from pirates, by whom I had the misfortune to be captured."
"What is your name, and when you were captured upon what were you engaged?"
"I am an Englishman named Brook, and I was on my way to take up the Governorship of Martinique."
The negro's eyes narrowed slightly. "Then you are a person of importance?"
Roger had swiftly seized upon the opening given him, and added quickly: "Apart from those permanently resident in the house, all the inmates are British; and among them is the Countess of St. Ermins, a lady who has far greater influence and wealth than myself."
The General nodded. "I had heard that there were women here. That is one reason why I offered you a parley. I am averse to making war on women, whatever their nationality."
"Do you mean that you are willing to grant them a safe conduct to Mole St Nicholas?" asked Roger with a sudden surge of hope.
'To that I cannot agree. But I am anxious to have the house so that I may lodge my wounded in it and that will be out of the question if it is allowed to burn down. If you will at once vacate it I will give you reasonable terms."
"What are they?" Roger enquired, striving to keep his anxiety out of his voice.
"With one exception, I am willing to grant you your lives. The exception is the man who shot my officer when you were first called on to surrender. For his callous act it is just that he should die."
"It was Monsieur de Boucicault, and he is already dead. What are your intentions with regard to the rest of us?"
"I mean to hold you as hostages. In view of your quality it may be possible for me to arrange to exchange you for some of my people whom the British have taken prisoner; but I can make no promise about that"
"Does your promise of protection apply to the coloured servants in the house as well as to my own party?"
"Theirs is a mistaken loyalty, but I admire honest devotion to any cause. They may go free. I will give orders that they are not to be molested, and shall hope that in due course they will realize where lie the true interests of their race."
"Should you fail to arrange an exchange, what is to happen to us?"
The deep-set eyes of the tall negro smouldered with a sudden glow that betrayed his fanaticism. "You will remain in captivity until I have driven every white man out of this island, then I will send you anywhere you wish."
Roger took mental note that the French terrorists had caught a tartar in making such a powerful personality as this negro General their ally, and that by secretly supporting him the Spaniards in the eastern end of the island were paving the way for the cutting of their own throats. But at the moment he was far more concerned with the fate of himself and his friends. To become the prisoners of a horde of blood-thirsty negroes, perhaps for an indefinite period, was a prospect that would have filled anyone with dismay. Yet it meant life —if General Toussaint's word could be relied upon.