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.