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 posed to have been an attempt on the part of one of the drunken crew to blow up the vessel with all on board."

"Seigneur!" rumbled Dessalines' deep voice.

"It appears that Admiral Killik, his surgeon, and two or three of the crew, all suffering from the effects of their debauch, had returned. The admiral, it is to laugh, my dear Comte, was suffering from a wound in the hand where he had been bitten by one of his sailors! One says that both the surgeon and the admiral had attempted to blow up the vessel; but whatever the cause, the effect was to draw the fire of the Panther, and after she had delivered a dozen or more shots from her rapid-firing guns the Crête began to sink, not having fired a shot. With her sank the admiral, the doctor, and two of the sailors, all too drunk to swim for their lives!"

Rosenthal concluded, and as he did so, leaned toward Dessalines as if to embrace him, but the negro drew slightly back. The congratulation of his agent seemed at the moment out of place, insufficient, flippant. Dessalines was overcome by the news; he was startled, numbed; his faculties lacked the rapidity to absorb it; he contemplated slowly the fact that the last serious impediment had been miraculously swept from his path. With the death of the mad white admiral, his success seemed assured; all things were working toward his ends.

His thick voice was caught in a sob. "It is necessary to be grateful to a Divine Providence," he said in a choking voice. His throat seemed to swell, the tears gushed from his eyes, his voice was inarticulate. Rosenthai, accustomed as he was to the Gallicized African, watched him curiously and in silence.

He knew Dessalines to be deeply religious; this was 200