The time I had given myself to wait seemed endless, my isolation never as apparent as amid Gustavia’s jumble of sailors, slaves, and all manner of lowlifes. I rose early in the morning on the second day, paid my fee up front to the foreman at the stables who now knew me well enough to call me by my first name, and then I set off. This third time that I followed the road that connects Gustavia and Cul-de-Sac, I made a better job of finding my way, and on the only occasion that I paused at a crossroads in order to choose between right and left, I heard the sound of a horse approaching behind me, and from around the bend there came none other than Jarrick, Ceton’s man. He greeted me with a somewhat startled expression.
I had not found myself alone in his company before, and he did not appear to be a particularly sociable man. He pointed me onto the right trail, and he kept me company for about a mile. He was suffering severely from a hangover which he made no attempt to conceal, and at regular intervals he assuaged his thirst with greedy drafts from the flask he carried in his jacket pocket. In his crude French he said that he had been to Gustavia on his master’s behalf, to deliver some goods. He interrupted himself with a sudden chuckle that I did not understand, but his speech was not always easy to follow and, as he was likely making an attempt at humor, I laughed along politely, which made him even merrier. As his horse was much faster than mine, he soon excused himself after confirming that I knew my way, and rode off.
When I entered the valley, I saw Tycho Ceton in the distance sitting on his veranda with a glass in his hand, and as soon as I made it to the yard he walked over to meet me. He bade me welcome, as well mannered as ever, but could not hide the fact that the moment was marked with gravity, for reasons I did not understand. “Come with me, Erik. We have much to discuss.” To my astonishment, he waved me over to the slave quarters, which were unlocked, the door wide open. He stepped aside and led me in, and I shuddered at the thought of being greeted with a sight like the one beneath Captain Jones’s bloodstained deck. As soon as my eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, however, I found that I had worried for no reason, as all the rooms were empty. Surprised, I turned to Ceton, and he answered gravely. “The reason that you and your cousin did not find any slaves here is that they are now all free men. I have no interest in the enslavement of others and this island fills me with disgust. There are a few of us who think alike and I have formed a pact with one of them, an English skipper. I buy slaves at the marketplace and house them here only to await his arrival. He knows every shoal and reef along the eastern shore. At regular intervals, he sets anchor and sends a longboat for the slaves. Afterwards he sets a course to Hispaniola and sends them ashore among their brothers, the rebels, where they can support the fight for an independent nation, free from oppression.” Ceton led me out and peered out over the sea with a hand at his brow. Then he turned back and looked me right in the eyes.
“Schildt came to me three days ago. He demanded that I answer all his questions, and although he is Bagge’s man, at least in title, I had no choice but to lay my cards on the table. I lack the talent to mislead a man of such keen mind. Instead I put myself completely in his hands, divulged my secret, bared my throat, and hoped for understanding.” Ceton leaned closer. “And Schildt gave it to me, with all his heart. He abhors slavery as much as I do, and did not hesitate one moment before deciding to join our cause.”
“But where is Johan Axel now?”
“He took the ship to Hispaniola, to make sure that the last cargo safely reaches its destination and to see what contacts he himself can make that will further advance our fight. Those of us who are united in this have long looked for a man like Schildt, who can speak on our behalf on that opposing shore, and the value of his contribution can hardly be overestimated. They set off yesterday, with the turn of the tide.”
Ceton let what he had had to say sink in and waved Jarrick over. “Schildt left a letter for you.” He handed me a single page, folded and sealed with Johan Axel’s signet. I broke the wax and found the message brief. Only a few sentences, written in haste. His handwriting was unmistakable. A heartfelt adieu was inscribed above his name. “There wasn’t much time, otherwise he would doubtless have written more. His decision to accompany the freed slaves was made swiftly, from the heart, and haste was of the essence as the tide will wait for no man.”
Then he threw up his hands. “And now it all comes down to you, Erik. All power over our fates lies in your hands.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have learned all of my secrets, just as your cousin did. If you choose to return to His Grace, Governor Bagge, and tell him everything, I won’t be able to stop you. He would surely reward you handsomely for your loyalty, and my life will be forfeit. I stand before you humbly and await your sentence.” To my great amazement he fell to his knees before me. Even though I couldn’t find the words, Ceton read my silence correctly. Gratitude could be read in that ragged smile. “We will be needing your help, Schildt and I.”
I remained at Cul-de-Sac until the shadows had grown long, and we spoke at length about the path I now had to tread before I took my leave. Just before nightfall, I glimpsed the firelight in Gustavia and managed to emerge victorious in my race against the dark. In my bed at Davis’s, I read Johan Axel’s note again and again, touched by the fact that the farewell must have caused him a significant amount of pain, as the page was stained with tears.