AT the termination of the ceremony the Obi bowed respectfully to
Biassou; then the general rose and, addressing me in French, said—
“We are accused of having no religion. You see it is a falsehood, and
that we are good Catholics.”
I do not know whether he spoke ironically or in good faith. A few
moments he called for a glass bowl filled with grains of black maize; on
the top he threw some white maize, then he raised it high in his hand so
that all the army might see it.
“Brothers,” cried he, “you are the black maize; your enemies are the
white maize.”
With these words he shook the bowl, and in an instant the white grains
had disappeared beneath the black; and, as though inspired, he cried
out, “Where are the white now?”
The mountains re-echoed with the shouts with which the illustration of
the general was received; and Biassou continued his harangue, mixing up
French, Creole dialect, and Spanish alternately.
“The season for temporising has passed; for a long time we have been as
patient as the sheep to whose wool the whites compare our hair; let us
now be as implacable as the panthers or the tigers of the countries from
which they have torn us. Force alone can obtain for us our rights, and
everything can be obtained by those who use their force without pity.
Saint Loup (Wolf) has two days in the year consecrated to him in the
Gregorian calendar whilst the Paschal Lamb has but one. Am not I
correct, your reverence?”
The Obi bowed in sign of corroboration.
“They have come,” continued Biassou, “these enemies of ours have come as
enemies of the regeneration of humanity; these whites, these planters,
these men of business, veritable devils vomited from the mouth of hell.
They came in the insolence of their pride, in their fine dresses, their
uniforms, their feathers, their magnificent arms; they despised us
because we were black and naked in their overbearing haughtiness; they
thought that they could drive us before them as easily as these
peacock’s feathers disperse the swarms of sandflies and mosquitoes.”
As he uttered these concluding words, he snatched from the hands of his
white slaves one of the large fans, and waved it over his head with a
thousand eccentric gesticulations. Then he continued—
“But, my brethren, we burst upon them like flies upon a carcase; they
have fallen in their fine uniforms beneath the strokes of our naked
arms, which they believed to be without power, ignorant that good wood
is the stronger when the bark is stripped off; and now these accursed
tyrants tremble, and are filled with fear.”
A triumphant yell rose in answer to the general’s speech, and all the
army repeated, “They are filled with fear.”
“Blacks, Creoles, and Congos,” added Biassou, “vengeance and liberty!
Mulattoes, do not be led away by the temptations of the white men. Your
fathers serve in their ranks, but your mothers are with us; besides, ‘O
bermanos de mi alma’ (‘O brethren of my soul’), have they ever acted as
fathers to you? Have they not rather been cruel masters, and treated you
as slaves, because you had the blood of your mothers in your veins?
Whilst a miserable cotton garment covered your bodies scorched by the
sun, your cruel fathers went about in straw hats and nankeen clothes on
work days, and in cloth and velvet on holidays and feasts. Curses be on
their unnatural hearts. But as the holy commandments forbid you to
strike your father, abstain from doing so; but in the day of battle what
hinders you from turning to your comrade and saying, ‘Touyé papa moé, ma
touyé quena toué?’ (‘Kill my father, and I will kill yours?’) Vengeance
then, my brethren, and liberty for all men. This cry has found an echo
in every part of the island; it has roused Tobago and Cuba. It was
Bouckmann, a negro from Jamaica, the leader of the twenty-five fugitive
slaves of the Blue Mountain, who raised the standard of revolt amongst
us. A glorious victory was the first proof that he gave of his
brotherhood with the negroes of Saint Domingo. Let us follow his noble
example, with an axe in one hand and a torch in the other. No mercy for
the whites, no mercy for the planters; let us massacre their families,
and destroy their plantations! Do not allow a tree to remain standing on
their estates; let us upturn the very earth itself that it may swallow
up our white oppressors! Courage then, friends and brethren; we shall
fight them and sweep them from the face of the earth. We will conquer or
die. As victors, we shall enjoy all the pleasures of life; and if we
fall, the saints are ready to receive us in heaven, where each warrior
will receive a double ration of brandy, and a silver piastre each day!”
This warlike discourse, which to you appears perfectly ridiculous, had a
tremendous effect on the insurgents. It is true that Biassou’s wild
gesticulations, the manner in which his voice rose and fell, and the
strange sneer which every now and then appeared on his lips, imparted to
his speech a strange amount of power and fascination. The skill with
which he alluded to those points which would have the greatest weight
with the negroes, added a degree of force which told well with his
audience.
I will not attempt to describe to you the outburst of determined
enthusiasm which the harangue of Biassou roused amongst the rebels.
There arose at once a discordant chorus of howls, yells, and shouts.
Some beat their naked breasts, others dashed their clubs and sabres
together. Many threw themselves on their knees, and remained in that
position as though in rapt ecstasy. The negresses tore their breasts and
arms with their fish-bone combs. The sounds of drums, tom-toms, guitars,
and tambourines were mingled with the discharge of firearms. It was a
veritable witches’ Sabbath.
Biassou raised his hand, and, as if by enchantment, the tumult was
stilled, and each negro returned to his place in the ranks in silence.
The discipline which Biassou had imposed upon his equals by the exercise
of his power of will struck me, I may say, with admiration. All the
soldiers of the force seemed to exist only to obey the wishes of their
chief, as the notes of the harpsichord under the fingers of the
musician.