IN THE SHADOW
Rosenthal at Petit Goâve, telling him where to land the arms for the following of Miragoâne.
Dessalines remounted his rested horse and rode slowly up the steep incline to La Coupe. His heart was beating joyously. As he rode, he whistled and sang; talked to his horse, to himself, to the chattering peasants who were returning up the mountain, a long cavalcade, mostly women, sitting sideways upon the diminutive, half-starved donkeys who had carried their wares to market, and were now carrying their mistresses back, to the admonition of cruel, reckless blows across the head, the nose, the ears, from clubs which in a civilized country one would not use upon an ox. From these peasants Dessalines' appearance, style, and magnificent mount, drew cries of delight. The more attractive of the women stared at him aslant, sometimes full, challenging his attention. They received in answer a cheery word, which set them giggling and stuffing the corners of their soiled one-piece costumes into their mouths. A joke would set them ascreaming, convulsed, falling from their donkeys. One strapping wench ran after him, baring the bosom of a black Juno for his inspection. Dessalines tossed her a kindly word and a bright shilling, then touched his horse with the spur. He understood his people.
Up he went, his heart, expanding for the fair promise of his prospects and the grandeur of the view below him.
Straight down the steep side of the mountain the jungle closed in, thick, dense, soft as green plush in the distance, filled with splashes of black shadow as the sun neared the crest of the ridge. Facing him, on the other side of the valley, the flat flank of the mountain blazed
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