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.