Twelve years have passed since at the door of his slave home
Toussaint stood with his wife and his small children, and, as the
fires reddened the sky, with prophetic fear said, “the slaves have
risen!” Three score years are upon the head of the “old negro,” and
once more he is to enjoy the repose of home and the satisfaction of
his family. He has seen great things in those twelve years—he is to
see more. To his present affairs he gives himself with interest; his
coffee and orange groves flourish under his eye, briars and cactus
thickets vanish, the rich juices of nature are turned to delights. In
his district he is the one upon whom all eyes rest, to whom all come
for counsel and assistance—everywhere he is equal to the demand, and
he is visited by strangers and by natives—for he is _the_ man of St.
Domingo. Does he fear nothing? If he is too wise not to fear evil
would proceed from pride, he is also too wise to urge pride into evil
by distrust and reproaches. That he has small faith in the wisdom of
the planters, who had so signally shown that they had none, or in the
ultimate honor of the French, it is easy to believe. He knew that
neither the French nor the planters would rule the island for the
good of the blacks, and therefore that their rule must be short. But
he had the oaths of Le Clerc, and he is the man to wait the proof.
But did Le Clerc fear nothing? He feared everything. The French
soon got into straits—their provisions failed them—their white
officers would not be ranked by the black officers who retained their
commissions—the black troops must be fed, or they must be disbanded
to prowl the country and indulge in plunder, perhaps in worse. Le
Clerc determined to disarm them, but they were wary and suspicious,
for they yet feared slavery more than death. Le Clerc was perplexed.
The heat increased, and the scourge of the foreigner came among them;
it came silently but surely, this consuming fever of the Tropics—none
could see it, feel it, touch it, smell it—it was impalpable but it
was deadly. The weak went down before the yellow pestilence, and the
strong were as grasshoppers. Then the French cursed the day that
Napoleon sent them to St. Domingo—but they could not escape, they
were doomed to die—and to die ingloriously. They rotted like sheep;
five hundred a day were carted away, thrown into holes or into the
sea, the living among them. Despair and dismay produced riot and
revelry—drunkenness and songs were the companions of death. Through
all the death, Pauline, “the Venus Victrix,” kept her court and her
beauty. One after another of her courtiers or lovers was struck down;
others came and she was not dismayed. Meanwhile the blacks were at
home in St. Domingo, and were proof against the pestilence. Toussaint
had foreseen that this must come, and only hoped to maintain the
liberty of the island till the fever should destroy the armies or
drive them away. Now is his hour for vengeance; but he does not raise
his standard—he yet waits.
The true sportsman gives his bird the wing. The true knight strikes
not his unarmed enemy. The true man rests upon honor. The assassin
strikes in the dark—the dastard deals in treachery—the base man
knows not honor. The one was the black Toussaint—the other the white
Napoleon!
Le Clerc believed the blacks must take advantage of his weakness;
why should they not? If they rose, would not Toussaint be compelled
to lead them? Might he not, even then, be plotting to do so? He
suspected this, and he waited not for proof. He filled the district
of Ennery with troops, which only excited the blacks. Toussaint
sent a remonstrance for them. “This was exactly what was wanted,”
said one who knew Le Clerc’s plans. General Brunet (7th June) wrote
to Toussaint, inviting him to his house, to arrange the matter,
saying:—“You will not find there all the pleasures I could wish,
to welcome you, but you will find nothing but the frankness of
an honorable man who desires only your happiness and that of the
Colony.”[62] Toussaint at once agreed to meet him at the house
Georges (10th June), on the road between Cap and Gonaïves.
With a few attendants Toussaint goes. The day is fine—Brunet and his
companions charming. They confer as to the troops, they go over the
maps; Toussaint is himself again; he knows the country thoroughly and
the wants of the inhabitants—is ready and proud to do what is in
his power to suit their wants, and the requirements of the General.
The shades of evening draw on—Brunet leaves the room. Colonel
Ferrari enters it with twenty men, with swords drawn. He says: “The
Captain General has given me orders to arrest you; your guards
are overpowered; if you resist, you are a dead man: give me your
sword!”[63]
The deed was done!
’Twas a wicked one in the annals of dynasties and despotisms. No
earthquake yawned, no thunderbolt came down—yet the deed was not
forgotten nor unexpiated. Toussaint was hurried aboard the frigate
Hero, shut up from his family, who were also prisoners, and sent from
the home and the island he knew and loved so well.
He stands in his manacles on the deck of the ship, and as she slowly
parts from the island, he says: “They have in me struck down but the
trunk of the tree; the roots are many and deep, they will shoot up
again!”[64]
These were his last words! But he might in his destruction have thus
recorded his accusation, before the throne of God, and in the face of
men:—
1. I charge—That you white man, with no orders from God, stole the
black man from Africa and subjected him to labor, to tyranny, and to
the lash—for _your_ ends, not for _his_ benefit.
2. I charge—That for centuries you made a beast of him, and when he
turned in desperation and rent you, you wondered that he was a beast.
3. I charge—That you have ever denied him all chance for improvement,
all chance to be a MAN.
4. I charge—That when I, Toussaint Louverture, “with a commission
from Heaven,” triumphantly vindicated his manhood and mine, you
ruthlessly trampled him and me down again into degradation and ruin.
5. I charge—That the misery, the blood and the “horror” of St.
Domingo lie at your door, white man, for you sinned knowingly and
willfully.
6. I charge—That you, white man—not God!—are the father and defender
of Slavery, that you disgraced your Bible, corrupted your State, and
depraved your soul to sustain and continue this great wrong towards
me, and to entail unknown misery upon your children and the world.