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“You are the agent of Monsieur Leblanc, I believe.”

“The same.”

“Good! Now these rifles–you have them near by?”

“Within gunshot, Excellency. They are in the harbor at this moment.”

Laguerre’s face lighted. “Ha! A man of business, this Leblanc. You will fix the price, as I understand it.”

There followed a certain amount of bickering, during which the general allowed himself to be worsted. He agreed weakly to Inocencio’s terms, having already decided to appropriate the God-sent cargo without payment. The latter had counted upon this, and, moreover, he had rightfully construed the light in those bloodshot eyes.

“Monsieur le General must see these rifles for himself, to appreciate them, and he must count them, too, else how can he know that I am not deceiving him? We must observe caution, for there may be spies–” Inocencio spoke craftily.

“Pah! Spies? In Jacmel?”

“Nevertheless, there is a gunboat in the harbor and she flies the flag of the Republic. My skiff is waiting; we will slip out and back again–in an hour the inspection will be completed. You must see those rifles with your own eyes, Excellency. They are wonderful–the equal of any in the world; no troops can stand before them. They are magnificent.”

“Come!” said Laguerre, rising.

“But alone!” Inocencio displayed a worthy circumspection. “This is hazardous business. That war-ship with the flag of the Republic–my employer is a man of reputation.”

“Very well.” Laguerre dismissed an aide who had remained at a distance during the interview, and together the two set out.

“You arrived barely in time, for we march to-morrow,” said the general; “at least we march within the week. My defiance has gone forth. My country cries for her defender. There will be bloody doings, for I tell you the temper of the people is roused and they have no stomach for that tyrant at Port au Prince.”

“Bloody doings!” Inocencio smiled admiringly upon his companion. “And who could cope with them better than yourself? You have a reputation, Excellency. The name of Petithomme Laguerre is known, even in my country.”

“Indeed!” The black general’s chest swelled.

“We have heroes of our own–men who have bathed in blood defending our rights–but our soldiers are only soldiers, they are not statesmen. We are not so fortunate as Hayti. We would welcome, we would idolize such a one. Would that we had him; would that we boasted a–Petithomme Laguerre.”

The hearer was immensely gratified at this flattery and he straightened himself pompously, saying:

“But we are favored by God, we Haytians, and we have bred a race of giants. We have gained our proud position among the nations at the price of blood. Believe me, we are not ordinary men. Our soldiers are braver than lions, our armies are the admiration of the world, we have reached that level for which God created us. It requires strong hands to guide such a people. My country calls. I am her servant.”

The moon was round and brilliant as they walked out upon the rotting wharf–all wharves in Hayti are decayed–the night had grown still, and through it came the gentle whisper of the tide, mingled with the babel from the town. Land odors combined with the pungent stench of the harbor in a scent which caused Inocencio’s nostrils to quiver and memory to gnaw at him. He cast a worried look skyward, and in his ungodly soul prayed for wind, for a breeze, for a gentle zephyr which would put his vengeance in his hands.

He had dropped anchor well offshore, hence the row was long, but as they neared the Stella a breath came out of the open. It was hot, stifling, as if a furnace door had opened, and the yellow man smiled grimly into the night.

The crew were sleeping on the deck as the two came overside, but at sight of that glittering apparition of green and gold they rubbed their eyes open and stared in speechless amazement. They were reckless fellows, fit for any enterprise, but Inocencio had learned to keep a silent tongue, so they knew nothing of his present plans. They heard him saying: