In 1792, the three Commissioners, sent out from France to “settle”
the affairs of the colony, had been thwarted and finally driven
away-by the whites. In Sept. (1792), Santhonax, Polverel, and
Ailhaud, had arrived with troops, money, and instructions, and a
new governor (Desparbes) in place of Blanchelande. He soon became
disgusted, alarmed, and he fled. The Commissioners distributed
themselves to settle the commotion. The rich planters were for the
King; the Petits Blancs were for the Directory; the mulattoes, under
Rigaud, ravaged the west; the revolted negroes under Jean François,
Biassou, and others, hung upon the north. France herself, that
ancient kingdom, was now fermenting; struggling (yet with hope) to
realize in the State her unformed faith in Democracy—with the energy
of despair, to beat back the waves of bayonets which bristled on her
borders. The dynasties of Europe were against her, for, on the 21st
of January, 1793, the people of France, determined no more to be
taxed, shot, and despotised by a dynasty, had, as Danton said, “flung
at their feet, as wager of battle, the head of a king!” Thus matters
stood in France—thus in St. Domingo. The slaves in both countries had
risen, and rushed to arms. Their remedy was desperate; so was their
disease.
General Galbaud, a new governor, arrived from France in May, (1793).
The Commissioners were engaged in the west, in fighting Rigaud. They
returned to Cap François to fight the governor, whose authority they
disputed. Galbaud held the ships and the arsenals, and determined
to assert his authority. His soldiers and sailors entered the town
and abandoned themselves to drunkenness, pillage, and brutality.
(21st June, 1793). The Commissioners armed the slaves in the town,
promised them freedom, and sent for aid to the negro generals. Jean
François and Biassou refused; but a chief, Macayo, at the head of
three thousand blacks, entered the town, and the conflict raged—the
whites were driven into the sea and slaughtered. Madness ruled—none
were fiercer than the mulattoes. Galbaud fled, and half the city was
destroyed by fire.
At last—for a while—the whites gave up the hope of recovering their
slaves. Thousand fled (some suppose nine-tenths),[29] and found
refuge along the American coasts. Gentlemen they mostly were,
certainly, (as far as their back teeth), but quite useless, a
spectacle to gods and men, of those who, having lived so long on the
forced labor of others, must now live on charity or die.
Famine had more than once increased the misery during these three
years—yet the island was fruitful, and cultivation, here and there,
went on. The sagacious Jean François had initiated cultivation along
the mountain-sides, and among their valleys; and he enforced it. He
thus secured an unfailing magazine. Rarely the songs of labor now
were heard, those sounds with which the negroes are wont to lighten
their weariness. Small parties were to be seen at work; but no man’s
life was safe, nor was he secure of the produce of his labor; and the
men and women scattered like frightened partridges at the tramp of
feet. They lay hidden among the canes, or in the ravines, till the
danger passed.