I came upon something that I had been unprepared for: three rows of realistic-looking Black heads, nineteen in all, in red or white bandannas covered in cowries, erected on pikes. In the artists’ rendering, each of them had been given a distinctive face. There, out front in a row by himself, stood the head of Charles Deslondes, his mouth slightly agape as if caught in the act of speaking. The white marble plaque in front of it bore his name, together with a single-word legend: Leader.
