Part 4

The great man, who has proved himself, knows himself; unconsciousness is the condition of ignorant genius. Toussaint had expressed in deeds, in ACTIONS, the dumb aspirations of his race for freedom, self-development and manhood; he had given them a chance to rise, and they felt it in every throb of their susceptible hearts, and they told him so in their love and loyalty to his person and commands. He was a leader of men, and he accepted his position with its powers and its cares.

He who retires from men, and dreams in the serene solitude of his hermitage, may solace himself with great thoughts, and poetic ideas and vague hopes—he may be a philosopher.

But such is not the fullest manifestation of God. It is when Thought is crystallized into Action; for a good deed is greater than a good word.

Nebulous, undefined, shadowy, matter floats in space till God speaks his thought in Act—then the vague, misty mass comes into harmonious order, and goes on its certain way through the boundless sky, a brilliant, beautiful star—a guide to the uncertain mariner, and the wandering fugitive, and the home for unknown life.

Creation is the speech—the Word of God.

Whoever, therefore, brings Order out of Chaos, Life and Action out of Thought and Aspiration, approaches to God, and such are the men whom the world (in the past) has deified: such were Hercules and Osiris, Confucius and Budha, Mahomet and Thor: these were godlike men.

Such, also, were Oberlin, Cromwell, Winthrop, Penn, Oglethorpe, and Washington.

Such, too, was Toussaint Louverture.

XIII.

This is the place to stop; from this point to watch with solicitude, but without fear, the development of this enfranchised people, under the direction of their chief. It cannot be—history does not stop; its march in the past cannot be changed—only the present and the future are plastic.

At this point, the horizon in St. Domingo is clear and serene; no man can see signs of a coming tornado. Only in the heart of Toussaint Louverture does the mercury tremble, indicating “change.” The convulsions which had shaken Europe are spent. Napoleon is the master of France, and the treaty of Amiens (1801) has secured a treacherous peace. Toussaint watched, with feverish solicitude, the movements of Napoleon. Dull flashes streaked the eastern horizon, and muttered threats hardly moved the air. Repeatedly he wrote to Napoleon, once addressing him as “The first of the blacks to the first of the whites”—repeatedly he urged his own loyalty, and that of his race, to France. Napoleon’s vanity was touched—Toussaint was talked about in Europe—in Paris.[54] He was another star—a black Napoleon! The Corsican stomach was quick.

What cared Napoleon, for France? What cared he for a St. Domingo negro? Napoleon Buonaparte was Napoleon’s god, and him he worshiped.

He received Toussaint’s suggestions and requests with contempt. This neglect moved Toussaint more than all other things; for, in the distance, Napoleon seemed to him a magnanimous and god-descended hero, a lover of liberty—as, indeed, at that time he did to many men in France—as he does to one Abbott at the present time. If we look for weakness in Louverture, we shall find it here; he trusted France, he trusted Napoleon, and he trusted the planters of St. Domingo. He believed that, by his justice and magnanimity to them, he could move them from their insane purpose of reënslaving the blacks. If he had brayed them in mortars he could not have got it out of them. Knowing the experience, education, resources, and power of the whites, and the ignorance and weakness of the blacks, he sought support in his work from the whites. He, in a degree, dimmed the prestige of his greatness, in the eyes of the blacks, by concessions made to the whites. So desirous was he of the confidence of the whites, and of a character for strict impartiality, that when the blacks in General Moyse’s district, in their sensitive fears of reënslavement, rose and murdered some of the whites, and were not hindered by General Moyse, he had him court-martialled, and allowed him to be shot, and he a superb officer and his own nephew. He disarmed his troops and sent them back to the labors of agriculture. But all these availed nothing.

Peace in Europe foreboded war in St. Domingo. Exasperated planters gathered in Paris; they clamored as ever for their old wealth and rights—they said:—“No slavery, no colonies!” Napoleon’s counselors recommended force. “What do you think of the matter?” said Napoleon, to the Abbé Grégoire. “I think,” said he, “that if these counselors were to change color, they would change opinions.” He never said more truth with less words. Make the blacks white, and to-morrow negro slavery would be ended. The restoration of slavery was resolved on in the Legislative body, by a vote of two hundred and twelve against sixty-five![55] This was in Republican France, under a Republican Consul, who shouted the words, “Peace” and “Liberty” till he was hoarse, and the world became sick of them and him. On the 20th May, 1801, Buonaparte issued the decree restoring the colonies to their condition previous to 1789—this authorized the slave-trade and abrogated liberty. But, perhaps, he had gone too fast? He afterwards decreed that St. Domingo and Guadaloupe should be excepted—for how long, he omitted to say. When General Vincent presented to him the draft for the Constitution sent by Toussaint, he caught his opportunity—“Here,” said he, “is a revolted slave whom we must punish—the honor of France is outraged.” Vincent pleaded; the minister, Forfait, attempted dissuasion—he was silenced by this answer:—“There are sixty thousand men that I want to send to a distance!” Old soldiers of the Republic—some of whom believed “Liberty” to be other than a shout.

The expedition was resolved on—man could not hinder it. The whites interested in this island were exultant; their joy vibrated in the hearts of some whites and mulattoes in St. Domingo. They reckoned that the blacks would at once pass under the yoke—created by God, as they were, for slavery; they forgot what twelve years of struggle and liberty might have done for the negro.[56] Yet, why is this great army sent? The colony is not in rebellion; it has not denied the authority of France—indeed, has not Toussaint driven out the Spaniards and English—those enemies of France—and refused liberty and protection from England? For what, then, is this mighty armament! these fifty-six warlike ships, this General Le Clerc, this Admiral Joyeuse, these 30,000 veteran soldiers—are all these needed to restore to France the island which she has never lost? If not for that, then for what are they intended?

FOOTNOTES:

[54] _Biog. Universelle_, T. L.

[55] BEARD, p. 154.

[56] LACROIX, vol. ii., p. 71.

XIV.

Not more sensitive to the breath of the evening air is the tender mimosa, than is Toussaint to the suspicion of danger—he who has suffered and hoped so many years, for the liberty and improvement of the blacks. He who has done so much for his own race and for the whites, who has shown mercy, when others were blood-thirsty, who has steadily looked to a great end, and has had faith that, in all his good purposes and hopes, he should be sustained by that generous nation, which had poured out its blood like water for freedom—he now hears, with dismay, that that great nation had resolved on something, and the whites said to restore him and his race to slavery; that all the blood, and toil, and suffering, were to be as nothing, and that, directed by the greatest captain of the age, these soldiers and these ships were approaching for his destruction.

Toussaint stands on the heights which overlook the wide and beautiful bay of Samana[57]—he, alone with Christophe. (Jan.) Sail after sail whitens the horizon and gathers to the rendezvous; and they count ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty-six! The mercury in the heart of Toussaint sinks from sight: he sees the hopes of his life made havoc, and destruction again driving away peace. He turns from the vision, and, with heavy steps, seeks his place.

From the ships went up the Te Deum and songs of thanksgiving, that Heaven had smiled on the speedy and prosperous voyage—the gods were propitious and success seemed certain. The ships were furnished with every munition of war. They bore Le Clerc as the leader of the expedition; and, with him, his wife, Pauline, the fascinating bacchante _venus victrix_, sister of Napoleon—for, was not this a holiday affair? With him were Admiral Vallaret Joyeuse, General Kerverseau, Rochambeau, Boudet, and Hardy. Were there not the mulatto chiefs, Rigaud, Petion, and Boyer? sagacious and brave mulattoes who may live to repent this suicidal act. It was clear that the blacks must again clasp their chains, that Toussaint must return to the grooming of Bayou’s horses, and a peaceful banana life. But not yet had Toussaint accepted the meanest existence possible to man. With his troops scattered over the island, (less than 20,000 men), what might yet be done? To die at least! “I took up arms for the freedom of my color,” said Toussaint; “it is our own—we will defend it or perish.”

The fleet had gathered in the Bay of Samana—in four divisions it had sailed away. On the mountain-range of Artibonite Louverture awaits the shock. Christophe is in the North, Dessalines in the South. The armaments approached the island at Fort Dauphin and Cap François on the North, at St. Domingo on the South, at Port au Prince on the West. No declaration of war, no negotiations preceded them. Christophe, at Cap François, waited the approach of the division led by Le Clerc and General Hardy. Large-hearted, prudent, active and daring, Christophe felt himself equal to the emergency. Lebrun, the aide-de-camp of Le Clerc, landed, and was conducted through the streets of the city to Christophe. He admired its well-built houses and its air of wealth, and he dropped along his route proclamations addressed to the inhabitants, breathing peace and liberty.

General Christophe received him—replied that the Commander-in-chief, Toussaint Louverture, only could receive his dispatches, that the fleet could not be allowed to enter the harbor, nor the troops to land except at his order. Lebrun whispered to Christophe, that Le Clerc had for him great marks of favor from the First Consul. Christophe turned from him and said:—“I know no chief but Toussaint.”[58]

The proclamations scattered by Lebrun made no mention of the chief of the blacks, and threatened conflagration and destruction in case of disobedience: they but increased the distrust of Christophe. He assembled his troops in the Place d’Armes, and administered an oath that they would conquer or perish, if force should be used against Toussaint, or the liberty of their race. The inhabitants of the town were distracted with conflicting fears; on the one hand was new, untried white dominion, with possible or probable slavery—on the other, the destruction of their beautiful town, desolation, and again the horrors of war. These doubts did not last long, Rochambeau had landed, driven the blacks before him, breached and carried Fort Dauphin, slaughtered his prisoners, and was marching on Cap. War was begun!

Disorder and panic spread on the Plain du Nord, and the frightened blacks came pouring into Cap, crying for arms. Christophe ordered all the unarmed inhabitants to leave the town; he took under his protection 2,000 whites, men, women, and children, and sent them to the interior. He steeled his heart, he was inexorable, he prepared for desperate measures:—“Go, tell your General,” he said, “that the French shall march here only over ashes, and that the ground shall burn beneath their feet.” Le Clerc feared delay; he put his ships in motion, and the noise of his cannon spread tumult and alarm. Christophe knew he could not successfully resist the combined attack, so he furnished his soldiers with torches, took one in his hand, and, raising it to Heaven, called God to witness, that he was driven to extremity! His own house, costly and beautiful, was his first sacrifice; then burst over the city an ocean of flame: it revealed the dismay of the whites, the bitter and silent fury of the blacks. They retired to the hights above Cap, the French marched over the burning ashes, and the explosion of the magazine completed the work of despair.

Port au Prince came nigh sharing the same fate. General Agé (a white), to whom it was entrusted, was not proof against persuasion or fear; but in Lamartinière, a quarteron, there was a determined soul. When Lacomb, who insisted upon admitting the French, refused to give up the keys of the magazine and arsenal, Lamartinière shot him through the head; such was his power of persuasion in extreme cases. “If the French land before we can be informed of the resolution of Toussaint, three cannon shot shall be the signal for destruction!” That was his reply. They did land, and the three cannon boomed over the plain. Flames arose on every hand and frightful disorder—the infuriated blacks fell upon the whites, and slaughtered them even to the gates of the church. The French charged up, rushed into the city and stayed the conflagration. Lamartinière fell back towards General Dessalines, afflicted at his failure to destroy the city rather than at his defeat.

In the East, the city of St. Domingo, under Paul Louverture, yielded to Kerverseau.

In the South, the seat of Rigaud’s triumphs and defeats, La Plume, the mulatto leader, had been treacherous to Toussaint; so had Clervaux. The principal towns were thus in the hands of Le Clerc: but was the island won? Toussaint, with Dessalines and Christophe, now retired toward the mountains, burning whatever might be a solace to the French. He knew, and the blacks now knew, what they were to look for from the invaders: the mask was torn away. There would be small chance for the blacks, when once they were disarmed; small chance, with a powerful French force in all the strongholds of the island, and with them, Rigaud, Petion, Boyer, and Chanlette, vindictive opponents of Toussaint. In the mountains, therefore, Toussaint gathered his shattered forces; but, the island was not yet won.

FOOTNOTES:

[57] Famous, now, for Mr. and Mrs. Cazneau’s two-horse diplomacy, 1854.

[58] The cajoling of Le Clerc and the manliness of Christophe, are sufficiently apparent in their published correspondence.—_See ap. to the Hour and the Man._

XV.

New tactics now seem necessary, and Le Clerc has them at hand.

Inland among the mountains, two days distance from Cap François, is the village of Ennery; there Toussaint has stationed his family. The quiet of the place is moved by an unwonted stir—what can it mean, for the sounds are not those of troops? Towards nine o’clock at night messengers bring word to the wife of Toussaint that her sons, they who had been so long absent in France, are coming. With a few friends, she goes with torches into the highway to meet them. In the midst of that great crowd, hushed to silence in the serene night, she greets them with joy and tears. Towards midnight of the next day Toussaint arrives; he presses his sons to his breast, and tears once more water the furrows of his worn face.

The young men present their tutor (M. Coisnon), who, after receiving the warm thanks of the father, hands him a golden box containing a letter from Napoleon. Toussaint reads it. Highly complimentary to him, it objected to the Constitution already formed, but suggested no other; it advised submission to the new Captain-General Le Clerc, and threatened punishment for disobedience; it spoke of their liberties as due to France (Toussaint is grave—he does not even smile here); it did not promise anything on this score, but pointed to the liberty France had given to other nations, and stated that they could only enjoy liberty as French citizens, and asked submission, co-operation, and peace.[59]

Toussaint turns to M. Coisnon, and says—“Three months after the date you bring me a letter which announces peace; the action of General Le Clerc is war. I had established order and justice here; now all is confusion and misery. Take back my sons, M. Coisnon, I cannot receive them as the price of my surrender.” The children were again sent to him; they threw themselves into his arms with entreaties. Toussaint remained inflexible. “My children,” he said, “make your choice—whatever it is, I shall always love you.” Placide alone said—“My father, I am yours; I fear the future—I fear slavery.”

FOOTNOTES:

[59] BEARD’S _Life_, p. 174.

XVI.

Le Clerc was indignant; and declared he would take Toussaint before he had his boots off! He issued his proclamation—almost as grand—brief as Napoleon’s, and declared Toussaint and Christophe outlaws, etc., etc., Toussaint reads it to his soldiers; with one voice they cried—“We will die with you!” His plan now is to harass the French continually, to leave them no rest, never to meet them in open warfare, but to cut them off in detail—to destroy all before them, houses, food and water; “throw corpses and horses into the fountains, burn and annihilate everything in order that those who come to reduce us to slavery may have before their eyes the image of that hell which they deserve.” “Do not forget while waiting for the rainy season, which will rid us of our foes, that we have no resource but destruction and flames.” Such are his instructions—the fierce Dessalines more than obeyed them. He drove the whites before him and destroyed their towns, and left dead bodies lying in heaps to tell the French of their desperation and ferocity. The “horrors” again were abroad—fear began them, the French seconded them; blacks again murdered whites—whites again slaughtered blacks. All the blacks, however, were not savage, nor all the whites bloodthirsty, for the heart of man returns to mercy.

The strong redoubt of Crête à Pierrot, built by the English, defends the entrance to the wild mountains of the Artibonite; there a small army can fight against numbers. Thither Toussaint collects his beaten forces, thither came Dessalines and Lamartinière, their leaders. He strengthens Crête à Pierrot, and charges them to defend it.

The French drew near under Debelle, Rochambeau, and Hardy; they were the troops of Italy and the Nile, twelve thousand strong, before whom this rabble of blacks were to fly like sheep. When they appeared Dessalines opened his gates and called upon all who feared or favored the French to walk out of the fort. Some went, but the rest were the stronger. The French came on with their usual ardor; the firing began; the moment they were within reach of the blacks the batteries swept them down. Four hundred men went down that day, among them Generals Debelle and Devaux. Le Clerc heard and was chagrined; he hastened from Port au Prince with General Boudet’s division. Dessalines had improved the time to build another strong redoubt. The French again advanced, Rigaud and Petion among them, and drove in the blacks; again the well-manned batteries mowed them down, and Boudet was wounded. General Dagua brought in his division; he was struck and but one general officer (Lacroix) kept the field. The blacks then charged and beat the assailants, and Le Clerc himself received a slight wound. The French in this attempt lost eight hundred men.

Le Clerc was still obliged to wear his boots, for Toussaint was not taken, nor even Crête à Pierrot. The French then sat down before this fort to invest and besiege it in regular form, for the blacks fought like devils; they would not fly.

During this time, Toussaint is not idle—everywhere the master-spirit is at work. He goes like the wind—he counsels—he schemes—he fights—he dares—he goes into the churches of the island, and with few and manly words rouses his people—he strengthens Charles Bellair in the mountain of Verettes—he cheers Maurepas in the northwest—he comes with a small force to Ennery, and the French garrison fly before him—he appears before Gonaïves—he hastens to Marmalade, and sends a new plan of operations to Christophe in the North—he goes to Plaisance, captures a fort, marches his troops to meet Desforneaux, and beats him back. Learning, then, that the fort of Crête à Pierrot was in danger, he hastens with a small and resolute force, determined to surprise and carry off Le Clerc. It is too late! Lamartinière, to whom Dessalines had entrusted the defense of the fort, had done all that skill, and courage, and heroism, could do, and at last had cut his way through the French lines, leaving only the ruined fortress and the bodies of dead men to the French army—no more, not even glory![60]

The fortress of Crête à Pierrot had fallen, and five thousand gallant Frenchmen were disabled or dead! The black soldiers of St. Domingo had met the white soldiers of France, and had proved themselves men.

The fortress had fallen, but not Toussaint. The French army, in separate divisions, took different directions. The country seemed to swarm with blacks, and they spared neither their own lives nor the lives of the French. General Hardy dragged his weary march towards Cap François, and five hundred of his men were destroyed before he reached it, yet no battle was fought. Boudet’s division returned to Port au Prince. Charles Bellair hung upon him—harassed him, and when he entered Port au Prince, a studied display was necessary to conceal his frightful losses. In the North, the war was kept alive by Christophe.

The blacks were everywhere beaten—but the situation of the French was one of extreme difficulty. Le Clerc had learned the truth of what Vincent had told Napoleon—“At the head of so many resources is a man, the most active and indefatigable that can possibly be imagined.” Though many of the blacks had joined the French, yet, fear of slavery, and hatred of white dominion, made the rest desperate—they were men to die. Of what use to fight against these? Victory was barren: ruined forts—burned cities—putrefying carcasses—desolate fields, were the rewards of the French. The climate was intolerable, the work of the soldiers severe, and they murmured; they said, “the Consul has sent us here to perish.” Twelve thousand of them were dead or in the hospitals. Le Clerc again tried diplomacy and persuasion, and with success.

FOOTNOTES:

[60] LACROIX, vol. ii., p. 170.

XVII.

Into the recesses of Mount Cahos Toussaint retires with a few soldiers and friends, here for a few days to enjoy repose, once more in the bosom of his family. The future is dark! What has he not attempted, achieved, suffered, and lost? Liberty, development and manhood for the despised blacks. The struggle is against the French nation—no sympathy or aid from without is possible, for England and America are both committed to Slavery. Not only so, but treachery, and weakness, and weariness, are among the blacks—La Plume, Clervaux, and Paul Louverture had succumbed—another blow followed—the defection of Charles Bellair:—and yet another, Maurepas, one of the bravest of his generals. Dark as is the prospect, Toussaint determines to deserve success. He resumes his operations with active energy, seconded by Christophe, Dessalines, and Lamartinière—everywhere his blows are felt, though he is not seen. He draws near Cap François and threatens the city, when fresh troops arrive from France.