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 brave following; the second, the hour at which he may expect us to begin to land our troops under the protection of our six-pounders."

"Bon," muttered Dessalines deeply.

"So much for our general plans," said Rosenthal briskly, "and now, dear friends, let us apply ourselves to the details."

Dessalines leaned upon the rail and stared moodily at the land as the Waccamaw steamed slowly into the charming bay of St. Marc. The sun was getting low; the afternoon shower had come and gone; the lustrous, tropic foliage, still wet and 'glistening, flashed and glittered and sparkled in the rich, ripe, mellow sunshine. But two vessels, one a sailing ship, were lying in the port and these rode light, a broad band of smutty green in the one case and red in the other denoting that trade was at a standstill as the result of the several-sided revolution. Along the beach were the usual heaps of compèche; but little coffee, cotton, or cacao was in evidence. Apparently some work of a sporadic character was going on about the picturesque ruins of the old French fort, but this appeared to be desultory and half-hearted.

At a few furlongs from the beach the telegraph rang sharply; the propeller sucked the water astern and the anchor splashed overboard. Several boats were alongside, and a moment later the vessel was boarded by a stout mulatto who claimed to be the harbor master. At the sight of Dessalines he started, then came forward, his bland yellow face wreathed in smiles.

"Ah, mon cher Comte Dessalines! C'est vraiment vous!" They embraced. 213