If the devastation attending the revolutionary wars of Saint Domingo was
great, it was repaired with singular rapidity. Thanks to the vigorous
agencies of nature in a tropical region, the desolated plains were
presently covered with fresh harvests, and the burnt woods were buried
deep under the shadow of young forests, more beautiful than the old.
Thanks also to the government of the wisest mind in the island, the
moral evils of the struggle were made subordinate to its good results.
It was not in the power of man to bury past injuries in oblivion, while
there were continually present minds which had been debased by tyranny,
and hearts which had been outraged by cruelty; but all that could be
done was done. Vigorous employment was made the great law of society--
the one condition of the favour of its chief; and, amidst the labours of
the hoe and the mill, the workshop and the wharf--amidst the toils of
the march and the bustle of the court, the bereaved and insulted forgot
their woes and their revenge. A now growth of veneration and of hope
overspread the ruins of old delights and attachments, as the verdure of
the plain spread its mantle over the wrecks of mansion and of hut. In
seven years from the kindling of the first incendiary torch on the
Plaine du Nord, it would have been hard for a stranger, landing in Saint
Domingo, to believe what had been the horrors of the war.
Of these seven years, however, the first three or four had been entirely
spent in war, and the rest disturbed by it. Double that number of years
must pass before there could be any security that the crop planted would
ever be reaped, or that the peasants who laid out their family
burying-grounds would be carried there in full age, instead of perishing
in the field or in the woods. The cultivators went out to their daily
work with the gun slung across their shoulders and the cutlass in their
belt: the hills were crested with forts, and the mountain-passes were
watched by scouts. The troops were frequently reviewed in the squares
of the towns, and news was perpetually arriving of a skirmish here or
there. The mulatto general, Rigaud, had never acknowledged the
authority of Toussaint L'Ouverture; and he was still in the field, with
a mulatto force sufficient to interrupt the prosperity of the colony,
and endanger the authority of its Lieutenant-Governor. It was some
time, however, since Rigaud had approached any of the large towns. The
sufferers by his incursions were the planters and field-labourers. The
inhabitants of the towns carried on their daily affairs as if peace had
been fully established in the island, and feeling the effects of such
warfare as there was only in their occasional contributions of time and
money.
The Commander-in-chief, as Toussaint L'Ouverture was called, by the
appointment of the French commissaries, though his dignity had not yet
been confirmed from Paris--the Commander-in-chief of Saint Domingo held
his head-quarters at Port-au-Prince. Among other considerations which
rendered this convenient, the chief was that he thus avoided much
collision with the French officials, which must otherwise have taken
place. All the commissaries, who rapidly succeeded one another from
Paris, resided at Government-House, in Cap Francais. Thence, they
issued orders and regulations in the name of the government at home;
orders and regulations which were sometimes practicable, sometimes
unwise, and often absurd. If Toussaint had resided at Cap, a constant
witness of their ignorance of the minds, manners, and interests of the
blacks--if he had been there to listen to the complaints and appeals
which would have been daily made, he could scarcely have kept terms for
a single week with the French authorities. By establishing himself in
the south, while they remained in the north, he was able quietly to
neutralise or repair much of the mischief which they did, and to execute
many of his own plans without consulting them; while many a grievance
was silently borne, many an order simply neglected, which would have
been a cause of quarrel, if any power of redress had been at hand.
Jealous as he was for the infant freedom of his race, Toussaint knew
that it would be best preserved by weaning their minds from thoughts of
anger, and their eyes from the sight of blood. Trust in the better part
of negro nature guided him in his choice between two evils. He
preferred that they should be misgoverned in some affairs of secondary
importance, and keep the peace, rather than that they should be governed
to their hearts' content by himself, at the risk of quarrel with the
mother-country. He trusted to the singular power of forbearance and
forgiveness which is found in the negro race for the preservation of
friendship with the whites and of the blessings of peace; and he
therefore reserved his own powerful influence over both parties for
great occasions--interfering only when he perceived that, through
carelessness or ignorance, the French authorities were endangering some
essential liberty of those to whom they were the medium of the pleasure
of the government at home. The blacks were aware that the vigilance of
their Commander-in-chief over their civil rights never slept, and that
his interference always availed; and these convictions ensured their
submission, or at least their not going beyond passive resistance on
ordinary occasions, and thus strengthened their habits of peace.
The Commander-in-chief held his levees at Port-au-Prince on certain days
of the month, all the year round. No matter how far-off he might be, or
how engaged, the night before, he rarely failed to be at home on the
appointed day, at the fixed hour. On one particular occasion, he was
known to have been out against Rigaud, day and night, for a fortnight,
and to be closely engaged as far south as Aux Cayes, the very evening
preceding the review and levee which had been announced for the 20th of
January. Not the less for this did he appear in front of the troops in
the Place Republicaine, when the daylight gushed in from the east,
putting out the stars, whose reflection trembled in the still waters of
the bay. The last evolutions were finished, and the smoke from the last
volley had incited away in the serene sky of January, before the
coolness of the northern breeze had yielded to the blaze of the mounting
sun. The troops then lined the long streets of the town, and the avenue
to the palace, while the Commander-in-chief and his staff passed on, and
entered the palace-gates.
The palace, like every other building in Port-au-Prince, consisted of
one storey only. The town had been destroyed by an earthquake in 1770;
and, though earthquakes are extremely rare in Saint Domingo, the place
had been rebuilt in view of the danger of another. The palace therefore
covered a large piece of ground, and its principal rooms were each
nearly surrounded by garden and grass-plat. The largest apartment, in
which the levees were always held, was the best room in the island--if
not for the richness of its furniture, for its space and proportions,
and the views which it commanded. Not even the abode of the
Commander-in-chief could exhibit such silken sofas, marble tables,
gilded balustrades, and japanned or ivory screens, as had been common in
the mansions of the planters; and Toussaint had found other uses for
such money as he had than those of pure luxury. The essential and
natural advantages of his palace were enough for him and his. The door
of this, his favourite apartment, was covered with a fine India matting;
the windows were hung with white muslin curtains; and the sofas, which
stood round three sides of the room, between the numerous windows, were
covered with green damask, of no very rich quality. In these many
windows lay the charm, commanding, as they did, extensive prospects to
the east, north, and west. The broad verandah cast a shadow which
rendered it unnecessary to keep the jalousies closed, except during the
hottest hours of the year. This morning every blind was swung wide
open, and the room was cool and shady, while, without, all was bathed in
the mild, golden sunshine of January--bright enough for the strongest
eye, but without glare.
To the east and north spread the Cul-de-Sac--a plain of unequalled
richness, extending to the foot of the mountains, fifteen miles into the
interior. The sun had not yet risen so high but that these mountains
cast a deep shadow for some distance into the plain, while their skirts
were dark with coffee-groves, and their summits were strongly marked
against the glowing sky. Amidst the wide, verdant level of the plain,
arose many a white mansion, each marked by a cluster of trees, close at
hand. Some of these plantation houses looked bluish and cool in the
mountain shadows; others were like bright specks in the sunshine, each
surmounted by a star, if its gilded weathercock chanced to turn in the
breeze. To the north, also, this plain, still backed by mountains,
extended till it joined the sands of the bight.
Upon these sands, on the margin of the deep blue waters, might be seen
flashing in the sun a troop of flamingoes, now moving forward in a line
into the waves, and diligently fishing; and then, on the alarm of a
scout, all taking wing successively, and keeping their order, as they
flew homewards, to the salt marshes in the interior--their scarlet
bodies vividly contrasted with the dark green of the forests that
clothed the mountain-sides. To the west lay the broad azure sheet of
the bay, locked by the island of Gonave, and sprinkled with
fishing-boats, while under the forest-tufted rocks of the island two
vessels rode at anchor--a schooner belonging to Saint Domingo, and an
English frigate.
In the shady western piazza sat a party who seemed much occupied in
looking out upon the bay, and watching the vessels that lay under the
island; from which vessels boats might be seen putting off for the town
just at the time of the commencement of the levee. The party in the
piazza consisted chiefly of women. Madame L'Ouverture was there--like,
and yet unlike, the Margot of former years--employed, as usual--busy
with her needle, and motherly, complacent, tenderly vigilant as of old;
but with a matronly grace and dignity which evidently arose from a
gratified mind, and not from external state. Her daughters were beside
her, both wonderfully improved in beauty, though Genifrede still
preserved the superiority there. She sat a little apart from her mother
and sister netting. Moyse was at her feet, in order to obtain the
benefit of an occasional gleam from the eyes which were cast down upon
her work. His idolatry of her was no surprise to any who looked upon
her in her beauty, now animated and exalted by the love which she had
avowed, and which was sanctioned by her father and her family. The
sisters were dressed nearly alike, though Aimee knew well that it would
have been politic to have avoided thus bringing herself into immediate
comparison with her sister. But Aimee cared not what was thought of her
face, form, or dress. Isaac had always been satisfied with them. She
had confided in Genifrede's taste when they first assumed their rank;
and it was least troublesome to do so still. If Isaac should wish it
otherwise when he should return from France, she would do as he desired.
Meantime, they were dressed in all essentials exactly alike, from the
pattern of the Madras handkerchief they wore (according to universal
custom) on their heads, to the cut of the French-kid shoe. The dress
was far from resembling the European fashion of the time. No tight
lacing; no casing in whalebone--nothing like a hoop. A chemisette of
the finest cambric appeared within the bodice, and covered the bosom.
The short full sleeves were also of white cambric. The bodice, and
short full skirt, were of deep yellow India silk; and the waist was
confined with a broad band of violet-coloured velvet, gaily embroidered.
The only difference in the dress of the sisters was in their ornaments.
Aimee wore heavy ear-drops, and a large necklace and bracelets of
amethyst; while Genifrede wore, suspended from a throat-band of velvet,
embroidered like that which bound her waist, a massive plain gold
crucifix, lately given her by Moyse. Her ear-rings were hoops of plain
gold, and her bracelets again of embroidered velvet, clasped with plain
gold. In her might be seen, and in her was seen by the Europeans who
attended the levee of that day, what the negro face and form may be when
seen in their native climate, unhardened by degradation, undebased by
ignorance, unspoiled by oppression--all peculiarities of feature
softened under the refining influence of mind, and all peculiarities of
expression called out in their beauty by the free exercise of natural
affections. The animated sweetness of the negro countenance is known
only to those who have seen it thus.
Paul was of the party, looking very well in the French uniform, which he
wore in honour of his brother on great occasions, though he was far from
having grown warlike on his change of fortune. His heart was still in
his cottage, or on the sea; and now, as he stood leaning against a
pillar of the piazza, his eye was more busy in watching the
fishing-boats in the bay than in observing what went on within the
house. The only thing he liked about state-days was the hours of
idleness they afforded--such hours as this, when, lounging in the shade,
he could see Moyse happy at the feet of his beloved, and enjoy the soft
wind as it breathed past, laden with spicy scents. During such an hour,
he almost forgot the restraints of his uniform and of his rank.
There was yet another person in the piazza. Seated on its step, but
sheltered by its broad eaves, sat Therese--more beautiful by far than
Genifrede--more beautiful by far than in her days of girlhood--
celebrated as she had then been throughout the colony. Her girlishness
was gone, except its grace; her sensitiveness was gone, and (as those
might think who did not watch the changes of her eye) much of her
animation. Her carriage was majestic, her countenance, calm, and its
beauty, now refined by a life of leisure and the consciousness of rank--
leisure and rank both well employed--more imposing than ever. Her
husband was now a general in Toussaint's army. When he was in the
field, Madame Dessalines remained at home, on their estate near Saint
Marc. When he was in attendance on the Commander-in-chief, she was ever
a welcome guest in Toussaint's family. Madame L'Ouverture loved her as
a daughter; and she had endeared herself to the girls. At this time,
from an accidental circumstance, she was at the palace without her
husband. It was evident that she felt quite at home there; for, though
she had arrived only a few hours before, she did not appear disposed to
converse. As she sat alone, leaning against the base of the pillar, she
now and then cast her eyes on the book she held open in her hand, but
for the most part looked abroad upon the terraced town, the bay, or the
shadowy clefts of the rocky island which closed it in.
The sound of feet and of voices from within increased from moment to
moment. The Commander-in-chief had assumed his place, with his aides on
either hand; and presently the room was so nearly filled as to leave no
more space than was required for the deputations to pass in at one
entrance on the south of the apartment, appear before the General, and
pass out at the other door. Toussaint stood at the centre of the north
end, beside a table partly covered with papers, and at which sat his
secretary. On this table lay his cocked hat. His uniform was blue,
with scarlet capo and cuffs, richly embroidered. He had white trousers,
long Hessian boots, and, as usual, the Madras handkerchief on his head.
While walking up the apartment, he had been conversing on business with
his officers, and continued to do so, without the loss of a moment,
till, on his taking his place, two ushers came up with an account of the
parties waiting for admittance, desiring to know his pleasure as to who
should have precedence.
"The clergy," said Toussaint; "the first in duty must be first in
honour."
In a few moments there was a loud announcement of the clergy from the
districts of Saint Marc, Leogane, Mirbalais, and so on, through a long
enumeration of districts. The priests entered, two and two, a long
procession of black gowns. As they collected into a group before him,
every one anxiously making way for them, Toussaint crossed his arms upon
his breast, and bowed his head low for many moments. When he looked up
again, an expression of true reverence was upon his countenance; and, in
a tone of earnestness, he asked for what service they desired to command
him.
Father Antioche, an old priest, assisted by a brother at least thirty
years younger, offered sealed papers, which, he said, contained reports
from the several districts concerning the religious and moral condition
of the inhabitants. Toussaint received them, and laid them, with his
own hand, upon the table beside him, saying, with much solicitude--
"Do I see rightly in your countenances that you bring good news of your
flocks, my fathers!"
"It is so," replied the old priest. "Our wishes are fast fulfilling."
"Eight thousand marriages have been celebrated, as will appear in our
reports," added the young priest.
"And in the difficult cases of a plurality of wives," resumed Father
Antioche, "there is generally a willingness in the cultivators to
maintain liberally those who are put away."
"And the children?"
"The children may be found in the schools, sitting side by side in
peace. The quarrels of the children of different mothers (quarrels
often fatal in the fields) disappear in the schools. The reports well
exhibit the history of our expanding system."
"God be thanked!" Toussaint uttered in a low voice.
"Under the religions rule of your excellency," said the young priest,
"enforced by so pure an example of piety, the morals of this colony will
be established, and the salvation of its people secured."
"You," said Toussaint, "the servants of Christ, are the true rulers of
this island and its inhabitants. I am your servant in guarding external
order, during a period which you will employ in establishing your flocks
in the everlasting wisdom and peace of religion. I hold the inferior
office of keeping our enemies in awe, and enabling our people to find
subsistence and comfort. My charge is the soil on which, and the bodies
in which, men live. You have in charge their souls, in which lies the
future of this world and of the next. You are the true rulers of Saint
Domingo; and we bow to you as such."
Every head was immediately bowed, and the priests went out, amidst the
obeisances of the whole assemblage--some of the order wondering,
perhaps, whether every mind there was as sincere in its homage as that
of the Commander-in-chief.
The superintendents of the cultivators came next--negroes dressed in
check shirts, white linen jackets and trousers, and with the usual
Madras handkerchief on the head. They, too, handed in reports; and to
them also did Toussaint address his questions, with an air of respect
almost equal to that with which he had spoken to the priests.
"I grieve," said he, "that you cannot yet fulfil your function
altogether in peace. My generals and I have done what we can to
preserve our fields from devastation, and our cultivators from the
dangers and the fears of ambushed foes; but Rigaud's forces are not yet
subdued; and for a while we must impose upon our cultivators the toil of
working armed in the field. We are soldiers here," he added, looking
round upon his officers, "but I hope there is not one of us who does not
honour the hoe more than the gun. How far have you been able to repair
in the south-eastern districts the interruption in the September
planting?"
The superintendent of those districts came forward, and said that some
planting had been effected in November, the sprouts of which now looked
well. More planting had been done during the early part of the present
month; and time would show the result.
"Good!" said Toussaint. "Some of the finest crops I have seen have
risen from January plants, though it were best it were done in
September. How do you report about the rats?"
"The nuisance is still great," replied the head superintendent; "their
uninterrupted possession of the fields during the troubles has made them
very powerful. Would that your excellency were as powerful to conquer
the rats as the mulattoes!"
"We have allies," said Toussaint, gravely--"an army more powerful than
that which I command. Where are the ants!"
"They have closed their campaign. They cleared the fields for us in the
autumn; but they have disappeared."
"For a time only. While there are rats, they will reappear."
"And when there are no more rats, we must call in some force, if your
excellency knows of such, to make war upon the an Is; for they are only
a less evil than that which they cure."
"If they were absent, you would find some worse evil in their stead--
pestilence, perhaps. Teach your children this, if you hear them
complain of anything to which Providence has given life and an errand
among us. The cocoa walks at Plaisance--are they fenced to the north?"
"Completely. The new wood has sprung up from the ashes of the fires,
like a mist from the lake."
"Are the cottages enlarged and divided, as I recommended?"
"Universally. Every cottage inhabited by a family has now two rooms, at
least. As your excellency also desired, the cultivators have spent
their leisure hours in preparing furniture--from bedsteads to baskets.
As the reports will explain, there are some inventions which it is hoped
will be inspected by your excellency--particularly a ventilator, to be
fixed in the roofs of cottages; a broad shoe for walking over the salt
marshes; and--"
"The cooler," prompted a voice from behind.
"And a new kind of cooler, which preserves liquids, and even meats, for
a longer time than any previously known to the richest planter in the
island. This discovery does great credit to the sagacity of the
labourer who has completed it."
"I will come and view it. I hope to visit all our cultivators--to
verify your reports with my own eyes. At present, we are compelled,
like the Romans, to go from arms to the plough, and from the plough to
arms; but, when possible, I wish to show that I am not a negro of the
coast, with my eye ever abroad upon the sea, or on foreign lands. I
desire that we should make use of our own means for our own welfare.
Everything that is good shall be welcomed from abroad as it arrives; but
the liberty of the blacks can be secured only by the prosperity of their
agriculture."
"I do not see why not by fisheries," observed Paul, to the party in the
piazza, as he caught his brother's words. "If Toussaint is not fond of
fish, he should remember that other people are."
"He means," said Therese, "that toil, peaceful toil, with its hope, and
its due fruit, is best for the blacks. Now, you know, Paul L'Ouverture,
that if the fields of the ocean had required as much labour as those of
the plain, you would never have been a fisherman."
"It is pleasanter on a hot day to dive than to dig; and easier to draw
the net for an hour than to cut canes for a day--is it not, uncle?"
asked Aimee.
"If the Commander-in-chief thinks toil good for us," said Moyse, "why
does he disparage war? Who knows better than he what are the fatigues
of a march? and the wearisomeness of an ambush is greater still. Why
does he, of all men, disparage war?"
"Because," said Madame, "he thinks there has been enough hatred and
fighting. I have to put him in mind of his own glory in war, or he
would be always forgetting it--except, indeed, when any one comes from
Europe. When he hears of Bonaparte, he smiles; and I know he is then
glad that he is a soldier too."
"Besides his thinking that there has been too much fighting," said
Aimee, "he wishes that the people should labour joyfully in the very
places where they used to toil in wretchedness for the whites."
Therese turned to listen, with fire in her eyes.
"In order," continued Aimee, "that they may lose the sense of that
misery, and become friendly towards the whites."
Therese turned away again, languidly.
"There are whites now entering," said Paul; "not foreigners, are they?"
"No," said Madame. "Surely they are Creoles; yes, there is Monsieur
Caze, and Monsieur Hugonin, and Monsieur Charrier. I think these
gentlemen have all been reinstated in their properties since the last
levee. Hear what they say."
"We come," exclaimed aloud Monsieur Caze, the spokesman of the party of
white planters; "we come, overwhelmed with amazement, penetrated with
gratitude, to lay our thanks at your feet. All was lost. The estates
on which we were born, the lands bequeathed to us by our fathers, were
wrenched from our hands, ravaged, destroyed. We and our families fled--
some to the mountains--some to the woods--and many to foreign lands.
Your voice reached us, inviting us to our homes. We trusted that voice;
we find our lands restored to us, our homes secure, and the passions of
war stilled, like this atmosphere after the storms of December. And to
you do we owe all--to you, possessed by a magnanimity of which we had
not dared to dream!"
"These passions of war, of which you speak," said Toussaint, "need never
have raged, if God had permitted the whites to dream what was in the
souls of the blacks. Let the past now be forgotten. I have restored
your estates because they were yours; but I also perceive advantages in
your restoration. By circumstances--not by nature, but by
circumstances--the whites have been able to acquire a wide intelligence,
a depth of knowledge, from which the blacks have been debarred. I
desire for the blacks a perpetual and friendly intercourse with those
who are their superiors in education. As residents, therefore, you are
welcome; and your security and welfare shall be my care. You find your
estates peopled with cultivators?"
"We do."
"And you understand the terms on which the labour of your
fellow-citizens may be hired? You have only to secure to them
one-fourth of the produce, and you will, I believe, be well served. If
you experience cause of complaint, your remedy will be found in an
appeal to the superintendent of cultivators of the district, or to
myself. Over the cultivators no one else, I now intimate to you, has
authority."
The gentlemen bowed, having nothing to say on this head.
"It may be in your power," continued Toussaint, after applying to his
secretary for a paper from the mass on the table--"it may be in your
power to do a service to the colony, and to individuals mentioned in
this paper, by affording information as to where they are to be found,
if alive; which of them are dead; and which of the dead have left heirs.
Many estates remain unclaimed. The list is about to be circulated in
the colony, in France, and in the United States. If you should chance
to be in correspondence with any of the owners or their heirs, make it
known to them from me that they will be welcome here, as you are. In
the mean time we are taking the best care in empower of their estates.
They must rebuild such of their houses as have been destroyed; but their
lands are cultivated under a commission, a part of the produce being
assigned to the cultivators, the rest to the public treasury."
Toussaint read the list, watching, as did every one present, the
countenances of the Creoles as each name was pronounced. They had
information to offer respecting one or two only; to the rest they gave
sighs or mournful shakes of the head.
"It is afflicting to us all," said Toussaint, "to think of the slaughter
and exile of those who drank wine together in the white mansions of
yonder plain. But a wiser cheerfulness is henceforth to spread its
sunshine over our land, with no tempest brewing in its heats."
"Have we heard the whole list?" asked Monsieur Charrier, anxiously.
"All except three, whose owners or agents have been already summoned.
These three are, the Athens estate, Monsieur Dank; the Breda estate, the
attorney of which, Monsieur Bayou--"
"Is here!" cried a voice from the lower part of the room. "I landed
just now," exclaimed Bayou, hastening with extended arms to embrace
Toussaint; "and I lose not a moment--"
"Gently, sir," said the Commander-in-chief, drawing back two steps.
"There is now a greater distance between me and you than there, once was
between you and me. There can be no familiarity with the chief of a
newly-redeemed race."
Monsieur Bayou fell back, looking in every face around him, to see what
was thought of this. Every face was grave.
"I sent for you," resumed Toussaint, in a mild voice, "to put you at the
head of the interests of the good old masters;--for the good alone have
been able to return. Show us what can be done with the Breda estate,
with free labourers. Make the blacks work well. Be not only just, but
firm. You were formerly too mild a master. Make the blacks work well,
that, by the welfare of your small interests, you may add to the general
prosperity of the administration of the Commander-in-chief of Saint
Domingo."
Monsieur Bayou had no words ready. He stared round him upon the black
officers in their splendid uniforms, upon the trains of liveried
servants, handing coffee and fruits and sangaree on trays and salvers of
massive silver, and on the throng of visitors who crowded upon one
another's heels, all anxious, not merely to pay their respects, but to
offer their enthusiastic homage at the feet of his former slave. His
eye at length fixed upon the windows, through which he saw something of
the outline of the group of ladies.
"You desire to greet Madame L'Ouverture?" said Toussaint, kindly. "You
shall be conducted to her." And one of the aides stepped forward to
perform the office of introducer.
Monsieur Bayou pulled from his pocket, on his way to the window, a
shagreen jewel-case; and, by the time he was in front of Madame he had
taken from it a rich gold chain, which he hung on her neck, saying, with
a voice and air strangely made up of jocoseness, awkwardness, and
deference--
"I have not forgotten, you see, though I suppose you have, what you gave
me, one day long ago. I tried to bring back something prettier than I
carried away--something for each of you--but--I don't know--I find
everything here so different from what I had any idea of--so very
strange--that I am afraid you will despise my little presents."
While speaking, he shyly held out little parcels to Genifrede and Aimee,
who received them graciously, while their mother replied--
"In those old days, Monsieur Bayou, we had nothing really our own to
give; and you deserved from us any aid that was in our power. My
daughters and I now accept with pleasure the tokens of friendship that
you bring. I hope no changes have taken place which need prevent our
being friends, Monsieur Bayou."
He scarcely heard her.
"Is it possible," cried he, "that these can be your girls? Aimee I
might have known--but can this lady be Genifrede?"
Genifrede looked up with a smile, which perplexed him still further.
"I do not know that I ever saw a smile from her before; and she would
not so much as lift up her head at one of my jokes. One could never
gain her attention with anything but a ghost story. But I see how it
is," he added, stooping, and speaking low to her mother, while he
glanced at Moyse--"she has learned at last the old song that she would
not listen to when I wanted to tell her fortune:--
"`Your heart's your own this summer day;
To-morrow 'twill be changed away.'
"And Aimee--is she married?"
"Aimee is a widow--at least, so we call her," said her mother, smiling.
"Isaac (you remember Placide and Isaac)--her brother Isaac is all the
world to her; and he is far away."
Aimee's eyes were full of tears in a moment; but she looked happy, as
she always did when Isaac was spoken of as her own peculiar friend.
"I was going to ask about your boys," said Bayou. "The little fellow
who used to ride the horses to water, almost before he could walk
alone--he and his brothers, where are they?"
"Denis is with his tutor, in the palace here. Placide and Isaac are at
Paris."
"At Paris! For education?"
"Partly so."
"And partly," interposed Paul, "for an object in which you, sir, have an
interest, and respecting which you ought, therefore, to be informed.
There are those who represent my brother's actions as the result of
personal ambition. Such persons have perpetually accused him to the
French Government as desiring to sever the connection between the two
races, and therefore between this colony and France. At the moment when
these charges were most strongly urged, and most nearly believed, my
brother sent his two elder sons to Paris, to be educated for their
future duties under the care of the Directory. I hope, sir, you see in
this act a guarantee for the safety and honour of the whites in Saint
Domingo."
"Certainly, certainly. All very right--very satisfactory."
"Everybody who understands, thinks all that the Commander-in-chief does
quite right," said Madame, with so much of her old tone and manner as
made Bayou ready to laugh. He turned to Paul, saying--
"May I ask if you are the brother who used to reside on the northern
coast--if I remember right?"
"I am. I am Paul--Paul L'Ouverture." He sighed as he added, "I do not
live on the northern coast now. I am going to live on the southern
coast--in a palace, instead of my old hut."
"Monsieur Bayou will see--Monsieur Bayou will hear," interrupted Madame,
"if he will stay out the levee. You will not leave us to-day, Monsieur
Bayou?"
Monsieur Bayou bowed. He then asked if he had the pleasure of any
acquaintance with the other lady, who had not once turned round since he
arrived. Therese had indeed sat with her face concealed for some time
past.
"Do not ask her," said Aimee, eagerly, in a low voice. "We do not speak
to her of old times. She is Madame Dessalines."
"The lady of General Dessalines," said Madame. "Shall I introduce you?"
She called to Therese. Therese just turned round to notice the
introduction, when her attention was called another way by two officers,
who brought her some message from Toussaint. That one glance perplexed
Monsieur Bayou as much as anything he had seen. That beautiful face and
form were not new to him; but he had only a confused impression as to
where and when he had seen them. He perceived, however, that he was not
to ask. He followed her with his eyes as she rose from her low seat,
and placed herself close by one of the open jalousies, so as to hear
what passed within.
"It is the English deputation," said Paul. "Hear what my brother will
say."
"What will become of them?" said Madame. "I do not know what would
become of me if my husband were ever as angry with me as I know he is
with them."
There were indeed signs of wrath in the countenance which was commonly
gentle as the twilight. The rigid uprightness of his figure, the fiery
eye, the distended nostril, all showed that Toussaint was struggling
with anger. Before him stood a group of Englishmen--a sailor holding a
wand, on which was fixed a small white banner, two gentlemen in plain
clothes, the captain of the frigate which rode in the bay, and a colonel
of the English troops in Jamaica.
"It is all very well, gentlemen," Toussaint was saying--"it is all very
well as regards the treaty. Twenty-four hours ago we should have had no
difficulty in concluding it. But what have you to say to this treatment
of women on board the schooner you captured? What have you to say to
your act of taking all the gentlemen out of your prize (except one who
would not quit his sister), leaving the ladies in charge of a brutal
prize-master, who was drunk--was it not so?" he added, turning to one of
his officers.
"It was: he was drunk, and refused the ladies access to their trunks of
clothes, denied them the wine left for their use, and alarmed them
extremely by his language. These ladies were wives of our most
distinguished officers."
"It matters not whose wives they were," said Toussaint: "they were
women; and I will treat with none who thus show themselves not to be
men."
"We do not ask you to treat with my prize-master," said Captain
Reynolds. "If it be true--"
"It is true," said a voice from the window, to which all listened in a
moment. "My maid and I were on board that schooner; from which we
landed four hours ago. It is true that we were confined to the cabin,
denied the refreshments that were before our eyes, and the use of our
own clothes; and it is true that the oaths and threats of a drunken man
were in our ears all night. When morning came, we looked out to see if
we were really in the seas of Saint Domingo. It seemed as if we had
been conveyed where the whites are still paramount." And Therese
indignantly walked away.
"You hear!" said Toussaint. "And you ask me to trade with Jamaica!
While permitted to obtain provisions from our coast, you have captured a
French schooner and a sloop in our seas; you have insulted our women;
and now you propose a treaty! If it were not for that banner, you would
have to treat for mercy."
"When shall I be permitted to speak?" asked Captain Reynolds.
"Now."
"The blame is mine. I appointed a prize-master, who, it now appears,
was not trustworthy. I was not aware of this; and I left in the cabin,
for the use of the ladies, all their own property, two cases of wine,
and such fruits as I could obtain for them. I lament to find that my
confidence was misplaced; and I pledge myself that the prize-master
shall be punished. After offering my apologies to the offended ladies,
I will retire to my ship, leaving this business of the treaty to appear
as unconnected as it really is with this mischance. Allow me to be
conducted to the presence of the ladies."
"I will charge myself with your apologies," said Toussaint, who knew
that any white stood a small chance of a good reception from Therese.
"I accept your acknowledgment of error, Captain Reynolds, and shall be
ready to proceed with the treaty, on proof of the punishment of the
prize-master. Gentlemen, I regard this treaty with satisfaction, and am
willing to enclose this small tract of peace in the midst of the dreary
wilderness of war. I am willing to see trade established between
Jamaica and Saint Domingo. There are days when your blue mountains are
seen from our shores. Let to-morrow be a bright day when no cloud shall
hide us from one another's friendship."
"To-morrow," the deputation from Jamaica agreed, as they bowed
themselves out of the presence of the Commander-in-chief.
"More English! more English!" was whispered round, when the name of
Gauthier was announced.
"No; not English," observed some, on seeing that the five who now
entered, though in the English uniform, were mulattoes.
"Not English," said Toussaint, aloud. "English soldiers are honourable,
whether as friends or foes. When we meet with the spying eye, and the
bribing hand, we do not believe them to be English. Such are the eyes
and hands of these men. They have the audacity to present themselves as
guests, when their own hearts should tell them they are prisoners."
"Prisoners!" exclaimed Gauthier and his companions.
"Yes, surely--prisoners. Your conduct has already been judged by a
military commission, and you are sentenced. If you have more to say
than you had to plead to me, say it when I have read."
Toussaint took from among the papers on the table a letter brought, as
Gauthier alleged, from the English commander, Sir Thomas Brisbane,
declaring Gauthier empowered to treat for the delivery to the British of
the posts of Gonaives, Les Verrettes, and some others, in order to
secure to the British the freedom of the windward passage. Toussaint
declared that the messengers had brought with them bags of money, with
which they had endeavoured to bribe him to this treachery. He asked of
them if this were not true.
"It is," said Gauthier; "but we and our authorities acted upon the
precedent of your former conduct."
"What former conduct? Did those hands ever receive gold from the
coffers of an enemy? Speak freely. You shall not suffer from anything
you may say here."
"You have been the means by which posts have been delivered to an enemy.
We remember hearing of the surrender of Marmalade, Gros Morne, and some
others."
"I was the means, as you say; but it was done by a wiser will and a
stronger hand than mine. In that transaction my heart was pure. My
design was to lose rank, and to return to poverty by the step I took.
You ought to have inquired into facts, clearly understood by all who
know me, before you proceeded to insult me. Have you more to say?"
"It was natural that we should believe that he through whom posts had
been delivered would deliver posts again; and this was confirmed by
rumours, and I believe, even by letters which seemed to come from
yourself, in relation to the posts now in question."
Gauthier appealed to his companions, who all assented.
"There are other rumours concerning me," said Toussaint, "which could
not be perverted; and to these you should have listened. My actions are
messages addressed to the whole world--letters which cannot be forged;
and these alone you should have trusted. Such misunderstanding as yours
could hardly have been foreseen; but it will be my fault, if it be
repeated. The name of the First of the Blacks must never again be
associated with bribery. You are sentenced by a military commission,
before which your documents have been examined, to run the gauntlet.
The sentence will immediately be executed in the Place d'Armes."
"Are you aware," cried Gauthier, "that I was second in command at Saint
Marc when it was in the possession of the British?"
"I am aware of it."
"This is enmity to our colour," said another. "To our being mulattoes
we owe our disgrace."
"I have beloved friends of your colour," said Toussaint. "Believe me,
however, the complexion of your souls is so disgusting that I have no
attention to spare for your faces. You must now depart."
"Change our punishment!" said Gauthier. "Consider that I am an emigrant
officer. Some other punishment!"
"No other," said Toussaint. "This is the fit punishment--mean as your
design--ridiculous as your attempt. Are the French Commissaries in
waiting, Laroche? Let them be announced."
The prisoners were removed by one door, while the imposing party from
France entered by the other.
Commissary Hedouville, who had been for some time resident at Cap
Francais, entered, followed by a party of his countrymen, just arrived
from Paris. There was among them one, at sight of whom Toussaint's
countenance changed, while an exclamation was heard from the piazza,
which showed that his family were moved like himself. The person who
excited this emotion was a young black officer, who entered smiling, and
as if scarcely able to keep his place behind the Commissary, and General
Michel, the head of the new deputation.
The Commander-in-chief quitted his station, and advanced some steps,
seizing the officer's hand, and asking eagerly--
"Vincent! Why here? My boys--how, where are they?"
"They are well: both well and happy in our beloved Paris. I am here
with General Michel; sent by the government, with gifts and compliments,
which--"
"Which we will speak of when I have offered my welcome to these
representatives of the government we all obey," said Toussaint, turning
to the Commissary and the General, and remembering that his emotions as
a father had caused him, for the moment, to lose sight of the business
of the hour. He made himself the usher of the French Commissaries to
the sofa, in front of which he had himself been standing. There he
would have seated Hedouville and General Michel. Hedouville threw
himself down willingly enough; but the newly arrived messenger chose to
stand.
"I come," said he, "the bearer to you of honours from the Republic,
which I delight to present as the humblest of your servants.--Not a word
of apology for your graceful action of welcome to Brigadier-General
Vincent! What so graceful as the emotions of a parent's heart? I
understand--I am aware--he went out as the guardian of your sons; and
your first welcome was, therefore, due to him. The office of guardian
of your sons is, ought to be, in your eyes, more important, more sacred,
than that of Commissary, or any other. If our national Deliverer--if
the conqueror of Italy--if our First Consul himself were here, he ought
to step back while you embrace the guardian of your sons."
The party in the piazza saw and heard all.
"If," said Madame, in a whisper to Genifrede, "if these honours that
they speak of come from Bonaparte--if he has answered your father's
letter, your father will think his happiness complete--now we know that
the boys are well."
"The First Consul has written, or will write, no doubt," said Aimee.
"It must be pleasant to him as to my father, to greet a brother in
destiny and in glory. Surely General Vincent will come and speak to us;
will tell us of my brothers! He looked this way just now."
"The First Consul will not write," said Moyse. "He is a white; and
therefore, though a brother in destiny and in glory, he will not notice
the Commander-in-chief of Saint Domingo."
"You are right, Moyse," said Madame Dessalines. "And it is best so."
"But that will disappoint my husband very much," said Madame. "He likes
the whites better than you do."
"He does," said Therese. "But let us listen."
Hedouville was at the moment exerting himself to introduce his
secretary, Monsieur Pascal.
"An honoured name," observed Toussaint.
"And not only in name, but by blood connected with the great man you
refer to," said Hedouville.
"None are more welcome here," said Toussaint, "than those who bring with
them the honours of piety, of reason, and of science." And he looked
with deep interest upon the countenance of the secretary, which did in
truth show signs of that thoughtfulness and sagacity, though not of the
morbid suffering, which is associated in all minds with the image of the
author of the Provinciales. Monsieur Pascal returned the gaze which was
fixed upon him with one in which intense curiosity was mingled with
doubt, if not fear. His countenance immediately, however, relaxed into
an expression of pleased surprise. During this brief moment, these two
men, so unlike--the elderly, toil-worn negro, and the young, studious
Frenchman--felt that they were friends.
Monsieur Pascal stepped aside to make way for Monsieur Moliere.
"Are we to welcome in you," asked Toussaint, "a messenger of mirth to
our society?"
The group of Frenchmen could scarcely restrain their laughter at this
question. Monsieur Moliere had a most lugubrious countenance--a thing
not always inconsistent with a merry humour: but Monsieur Moliere's
heart was believed never to have laughed, any more than his face. He
answered, as if announcing a misfortune, that he claimed no connection
with the dramatist, though he believed some of his family had attempted
to do so.
"Monsieur Moliere discharges the duty of a pious descendant, however,"
said Vincent. "He laughs himself into such a state of exhaustion every
night over those immortal comedies, that he has to be carried to bed.
That is the reason we see him so grave in the morning."
"Think of Monsieur Moliere as a trusted secretary of the messenger from
the republic to yourself," said General Michel.
"I come," said Michel, assuming a pompous tone, "I come associated with
an officer of the republican army, Monsieur Petion--a native of this
colony, but a stranger to yourself."
Monsieur Petion paid his respects. He was a mulatto, with shy and
reserved manners, and an exceedingly intellectual countenance.
"We lost you early," said Toussaint; "but only to offer you the warmer
welcome back. It was, as I remember, to attend the military schools of
France that you left your home. Such scholars are welcome here."
"And particularly," observed Michel, "when they have also had the
fortune to serve in the army of Italy, and immediately under the eye of
the First Consul himself."
"Is it so? Is it really so?" exclaimed Toussaint. "I can never hear
enough of the ruler of France. Tell us--but that must be hereafter. Do
you come to me from him?"
"From the government generally," replied Petion.
An expression of disappointment, very evident to his watchful wife,
passed over the face of Toussaint.
"There is no letter," she whispered to Genifrede.
"We bring you from the government," said Michel, "a confirmation of the
dignity of Commander-in-chief of this colony, conferred by Commissary
Santhonax."
Toussaint bowed, but smiled not.
"See, he sighs!" said Madame, sighing in echo.
"These are empty words," said Therese. "They give him only what they
cannot withhold; and at the very moment they surround him with spies."
"He says," replied Madame, "that Hedouville is sent here `to restrain
his ambition.' Those were the words spoken of him at Paris, where they
will not believe that he has no selfish ambition."
"They will not believe, because they cannot understand. Their
Commander-in-chief has a selfish ambition; and they cannot imagine that
ours may be a man of a higher sold. But we cannot help it: they are
whites."
"What a dress--what a beautiful dress!" exclaimed Madame, who almost
condescended to stand fairly in the window, to see the presents now
displayed before her husband by the commissary's servants.
"These presents," pursued General Michel, while Petion stood aloof, as
if he had no concern in the business--"this dress of embroidered velvet,
and this set of arms, I am to present to you, in the name of the late
Directory of France, in token of their admiration of your services to
the colony."
Toussaint stretched out his hand for the sword, which he immediately
assumed instead of the one he wore, observing that this sword, like that
which he had now laid aside, should be employed in loyal service to the
republic. As he took no notice of the embroidered dress, it was
conveyed away.
"Not only in the hall of government," resumed Michel--"but throughout
all Europe, is your name ringing to the skies. A eulogium has been
delivered at the Council of Ancients--"
"And an oration before the governors of the Military Schools," added
Hedouville.
"And from Paris," said Pascal, "your reputation has spread along the
shores of the Rhine, and as far north as Saint Petersburg; and in the
south, even to Rome."
Toussaint's ear caught a low laugh of delight from the piazza, which he
thought fit alone for a husband's ear, and therefore hoped that no one
else had heard.
"Enough, gentlemen," he said. "Measuring together my deeds and this
applause, I understand the truth. This applause is in fact given to the
powers of the negro race; and not to myself as a soldier or a man. It
belongs not, therefore, to me. For my personal support, one line of a
letter, one word of message, from the chief of our common country, would
be worth the applause of Europe, of which you speak."
Monsieur Petion produced a sealed packet, which he delivered; and this
seemed to remind General Vincent that he had one too. Toussaint was
unable to refrain from tearing open first one, and then the other, in
the intense hope of receiving some acknowledgment, some greeting from
the "brother in destiny and in glory," who was the idol of his loyal
heart. There was no word from Bonaparte among the first papers; and it
was scarcely possible that there should be in the other packet; yet he
could not keep his eye from it. Other eyes were watching from behind
the jalousies. He cast a glance, a half smile that way; the consequence
of which was that Aimee, forgetting the time, the deputation, the
officers, the whole crowd, sprang into the room, and received the letter
from Isaac, which was the only thing in all that room that she saw. She
disappeared in another moment, followed, however, by General Vincent.
The father's smile died away from the face of Toussaint, and his brow
darkened, as he caught at a glance the contents of the proclamations
contained in Petion's packet. A glance was enough. Before the eyes of
the company had returned from the window, whither they had followed the
apparition of Aimee, he had folded up the papers. His secretary's hand
was ready to receive them: but Toussaint put them into his bosom.
"Those proclamations," said Hedouville, rising from the sofa, and
standing by Toussaint's side, "you will immediately publish. You will
immediately exhibit on your colours the words imposed, `Brave blacks,
remember that the French people alone recognise your freedom, and the
legality of your rights!'"
As the commissary spoke these, words aloud, he looked round upon the
assembled blacks, who, in their turn, all fixed their eyes upon their
chief. Toussaint merely replied that he would give his best attention
to all communications from the government of France.
"In order," said Hedouville, as if in explanation of a friend's
purposes, "in order to yield implicit obedience to its commands." Then
resuming his seat, he observed to Toussaint, "I believe General Michel
desires some little explanation of certain circumstances attending his
landing at Cap."
"I do," said General Michel, resuming his solemn air. "You are aware
that General Vincent and I were arrested on landing?"
"I am aware of it. It was by my instant command that you were set
free."
"By whose command, or by what error, then, were we arrested?"
"I hoped that full satisfaction had been afforded you by Monsieur
Raymond, the Governor of Cap Francais. Did he not explain to you that
it was by an impulse of the irritated blacks--an impulse of which they
repent, and to which they will not again yield, proceeding from anger
for which there is but too much cause? As you, however, are not to be
made responsible for the faults of your government towards us, the
offending parties have been amply punished."
"I," said Hedouville, from the sofa behind, "I am held responsible for
the faults of our government towards you. What are they?"
"We will discuss them at Cap," replied Toussaint. "There you will be
surrounded by troops of your own colour; and you will feel more at
liberty to open your whole mind to me than, it grieves me to perceive,
you are when surrounded by blacks. When you know the blacks better, you
will become aware that the highest security is found in fully trusting
them."
"What is it that you suppose we fear from the blacks?"
"When we are at Cap, I will ask you what it was that you feared,
Monsieur Hedouville, when you chose to land at Saint Domingo, instead of
at Cap--when you showed your mistrust of your fellow-citizens by
selecting the Spanish city for your point of entrance upon our island.
I will then ask you what it is that your government fears, that it
commits the interests of the blacks to a new legislature, which
understands neither their temper nor their affairs."
"This was, perhaps, the cause of the difficulty we met with at Cap,"
observed General Michel.
"It is the chief cause. Some jealousy on this account is not to be
wondered at; but it has not the less been punished. I would further
ask," he continued, turning again to Hedouville, "what the First Consul
fears, that--"
"Who ever heard of the First Consul fearing anything?" cried Hedouville,
with a smile.
"Hear it now, then."
"In this place?" said Hedouville, looking round. "In public?"
"In this place--among the most loyal of the citizens of France," replied
Toussaint, casting a proud look round upon his officers and assembled
friends. "If I were about to make complaints of the First Consul, I
would close my doors upon you and myself, and speak in whispers. But it
is known that I honour him, and hold him to my heart, as a brother in
destiny and in glory: though his glory is now at its height, while mine
will not be so till my race is redeemed from the consequences of
slavery, as well as from slavery itself. Still, we are brothers; and I
therefore mourn his fears, shown in the documents that he sends to my
soldiers, and shown no less in his sending none to me."
"I bring you from him the confirmation of your dignity," observed
General Michel.
"You do so by message. The honour is received through the ear. But
that which should plant it down into my heart--the greeting from a
brother--is wanting. It cannot be that the First of the Whites has not
time, has not attention, for the First of the Blacks. It is that he
fears--not for himself, but for our country: he fears our ambition, our
revenge. He shall experience, however, that we are loyal--from myself,
his brother, to the mountain child who startles the vulture from the
rocks with his shouts of Bonaparte the Great. To engage our loyalty
before many witnesses," he continued, once more looking round upon the
assemblage, "I send this message through you, in return for that which I
have received. Tell the First Consul that, in the absence of
interference with the existing laws of the colony, I guarantee, under my
personal responsibility, the submission to order, and the devotion to
France, of my black brethren. Mark the condition, gentlemen, which you
will pronounce reasonable. Mark the condition, and you will find happy
results. You will soon see whether I pledge in vain my own
responsibility and your hopes."
Even while he spoke, in all the fervour of unquestionable sincerity, of
his devotion to France, his French hearers fell that he was virtually a
monarch. The First of the Blacks was not only supreme in this palace,
and throughout the colony; he had entered upon an immortal reign over
all lands trodden by the children of Africa. To the contracted gaze of
the diplomatists present, all might not be visible--the coming ages when
the now prophetic name of L'Ouverture should have become a bright fact
in the history of man, and should be breathed in thanksgiving under the
palm-tree, sung in exultation in the cities of Africa, and embalmed in
the liberties of the Isles of the West:--such a sovereignty as this was
too vast and too distant for the conceptions of Michel and Hedouville to
embrace; but they were impressed with a sense of his power, with a
feeling of the majesty of his influence; and the reverential emotions
which they would fain have shaken off, and which they were afterwards
ashamed of, were at the present moment enhanced by sounds which reached
them from the avenue. There was military music, the firing of salutes,
the murmur of a multitude of voices, and the tramp of horses and of men.
Toussaint courteously invited the commissaries to witness the
presentation to him, for the interests of France, of the keys of the
cities of the island, late in the possession of Spain, and now ceded to
France by the treaty of Bale. The commissaries could not refuse, and
took their stand on one side of the First of the Blacks, while Paul
L'Ouverture assumed the place of honour on the other hand.
The apartment was completely filled by the heads of the procession--the
late Governor of the city of Saint Domingo, his officers, the magistracy
of the city, and the heads of the clergy.
Among these last was a face which Toussaint recognised with strong
emotion. The look which he cast upon Laxabon, the gesture of greeting
which he offered, caused Don Alonzo Dovaro to turn round to discover
whose presence there could be more imposing to the Commander-in-chief
than his own. The flushed countenance of the priest marked him out as
the man.
Don Alonzo Dovaro ordered the keys to be brought, and addressed himself
in Spanish to Toussaint. Toussaint did not understand Spanish, and knew
that the Spaniard, could speak French. The Spaniard, however, chose to
deliver up a Spanish city in no other language than that of his nation.
Father Laxabon stepped forward eagerly, with an offer to be interpreter.
It was an opportunity he was too thankful to embrace--a most favourable
means of surmounting the awkwardness of renewed intercourse with one, by
whom their last conversation could not be supposed to be forgotten.
"This is well--this fulfilment of the treaty of Bale," said Toussaint.
"But it would have been better if the fulfilment had been more prompt.
The time for excuses and apologies is past. I merely say, as sincerity
requires, that the most speedy fulfilment of treaties is ever the most
honourable; and that I am guiltless of such injury as may have arisen
from calling off ten thousand blacks from the peaceful pursuits of
agriculture and commerce, to march them to the gates of Saint Domingo.
You, the authorities of the city, compelled me to lead them there, in
enforcement of the claims of France. If warlike thoughts have sprung up
in those ten thousand minds, the responsibility is not mine. I wish
that nothing but peace should be in the hearts of men of all races.
Have you wishes to express, in the name of the citizens? Show me how I
can gratify them."
"Don Alonzo Dovaro explains," said the interpreter, "that it will be
acceptable to the Spanish inhabitants that you take the customary oath,
in the name of the Holy Trinity, respecting the government of their
whole region."
"It is indeed a holy duty. What is the purport of the oath?"
"In the name of the Holy Trinity, to govern wisely and well."
"Has there lived a Christian man who would take that oath?"
"Every governor of the Spanish colony in this island, from Diego, the
brother of Columbus, to this day."
"What is human wisdom," said Toussaint, "that a man should swear that he
will be always wise? What is human virtue, that he should pledge his
salvation on governing well? I dare not take the oath."
The Spaniards showed that they understood French by the looks they cast
upon each other, before Laxabon could complete his version.
"This, however, will I do," said Toussaint. "I will meet you to-morrow,
at the great church in Port-au-Prince, and there bind myself before the
altar, before the God who hears me now, on behalf of your people, to be
silent on the past, and to employ my vigilance and my toils in rendering
happy the Spanish people, now become my fellow-citizens of France."
A profusion of obeisances proved that this was satisfactory. The late
governor of the city took from one of his officers the velvet cushion on
which were deposited the keys of Saint Domingo, and transferred it to
the hands of the Commander-in-chief. At the moment, there was an
explosion of cannon from the terrace on which stood the town; the bells
rang in all the churches; and bursts of military music spread over the
calm bay, with the wreaths of white smoke from the guns. The flamingoes
took flight again from the strand; the ships moved in their anchorage;
the shouts of the people arose from the town, and those of the soldiery
from the square of the great avenue. Their idol, their Ouverture, was
now in command of the whole of the most beautiful of the isles of the
west.
As soon as he could be heard, Toussaint introduced his brother to the
Spaniards. Placing the cushion containing the keys upon the table, and
laying his hand upon the keys, he declared his intention of giving to
the inhabitants of the city of Saint Domingo a pledge of the merciful
and gentle character of the government under which they were henceforth
to live, in the person of the new governor, Paul L'Ouverture, who had
never been known to remember unkindness from day-to-day. The new
governor would depart for the east of the island on the morrow, from the
door of the church, at the close of the celebration.
The levee was now over. Spanish, French, and the family and guests of
the Commander-in-chief, were to meet at a banquet in the evening.
Meantime, Toussaint and his brother stepped out together upon the
northern piazza, and the room was cleared.
"I wish," said Paul, "that you had appointed any one but me to be
governor of that city. How should a poor negro fisherman like me govern
a city?"
"You speak like a white, Paul. The whites say of me, `How should a poor
negro postillion govern a colony?' You must do as I do--show that a
negro can govern."
"But Heaven made you for a ruler."
"Who thought so while I was yet a slave? As for you--I know not what
you can do till you have tried; nor do you. I own that you are not the
man I should have appointed, if I had had a choice among all kinds of
men."
"Then look around for some other."
"There is no other, on the whole, so little unfit as you. Henri must
remain in the field while Rigaud is in arms. Jacques--"
"Ay, Dessalines--and he might have a court--such a wife as he would
carry."
"Dessalines must not govern a city of whites. He hates the whites. His
passion of hatred would grow with power; and the Spaniards would be
wretched. They are now under my protection. I must give them a
governor who cannot hate; and therefore I send you. Your love of our
people and of me, my brother, will rouse you to exertion and
self-denial. For the rest you shall have able counsellors on the spot.
For your private guidance, I shall be ever at your call. Confide wholly
in me, and your appeal shall never be unanswered."
"You shall be governor, then. I will wear the robes, and your head
shall do the work. I will amuse the inhabitants with water-parties, and
you--"
"No more of this!" said Toussaint, somewhat sternly. "It seems that you
are unwilling to do your part of the great duty of our age and our race.
Heaven has appointed you the opportunity of showing that blacks are
men--fit to govern as to serve;--and you would rather sleep in the
sunshine than listen to the message from the sky. My own brother does
what he can to deepen the brand on the forehead of the negro!"
"I am ashamed, brother," said Paul, "I am not like you; but yet I will
do what I can. I will go to-morrow, and try whether I can toil as you
do. There is one thing I can do which Henri, and Jacques, and even you,
cannot;--I can speak Spanish."
"You have discovered one of your qualifications, dear Paul. You will
find more. Will you take Moyse with you?"
"Let it be a proof that I can deny myself, that I leave my son with you.
Moyse is passionate."
"I know it," said Toussaint.
"He governs both his love and his hatred before you, while with me he
indulges them. He must remain with you, in order to command his
passions. He inherited them from me; and I must thus far help him to
master them. You are all-powerful with him. I have no power."
"You mean that Genifrede and I together are all-powerful with him. I
believe it is so."
"To you, then, I commit him. Moyse is henceforth your son."
"As Genifrede is your daughter, Paul. If I die before the peace of the
island is secured, there are two duties which I assign to you--to
support the spirit of the blacks, and to take my Genifrede for your
daughter. The rest of my family love each other, and the world we live
in. She loves only Moyse."
"She is henceforth my child. But when will you marry them?"
"When Moyse shall have done some act to distinguish himself--for which
he shall not want opportunity. I have a higher duty than that to my
family--it is my duty to call out all the powers of every black. Moyse
must therefore prove what he can do, before he can marry his love. For
him, however, this is an easy condition."
"I doubt not you are right, brother; but it is well for me that the days
of my love are past."
"Not so, Paul. The honour of your race must now be your love. For this
you must show what you can do."
They had paced the northern piazza while conversing. They now turned
into the eastern, where they came upon the lovers, who were standing
half shrouded by creeping plants--Moyse's arm round Genifrede's waist,
and Genifrede's head resting on her lover's shoulder. The poor girl was
sobbing violently, while Moyse was declaring that he would marry her,
with or without consent, and carry her with him, if he was henceforth to
live in the east of the island.
"Patience, foolish boy!" cried his father. "You go not with me. I
commit you to my brother. You will stay with him, and yield him the
duty of a son--a better duty than we heard you planning just now."
"As soon as you prove yourself worthy, you shall be my son indeed," said
Toussaint. "I have heard your plans of marriage. You shall hear mine.
I will give you opportunities of distinguishing yourself, in the
services of the city and of the field. After the first act which proves
you worthy of responsibility, I will give you Genifrede. As a free man,
can you desire more?"
"I am satisfied--I am grateful," said Moyse. "I believe I spoke some
hasty words just now; but we supposed I was to be sent among the
whites--and I had so lately returned from the south--and Genifrede was
so wretched!"
Genifrede threw herself on her father's bosom, with broken words of love
and gratitude. It was the first time she had ever voluntarily
approached so near him; and she presently drew back, and glanced in his
face with timid awe.
"My Genifrede! My child!" cried Toussaint, in a rapture of pleasure at
this loosening of the heart. He drew her towards him, folded his arms
about her, kissed the tears from her cheek, and hushed her sobs, saying,
in a low voice which touched her very soul--
"He can do great deeds, Genifrede. He is yours, my child; but we shall
all be proud of him."
She looked up once more, with a countenance so radiant, that Toussaint
carried into all the toils and observance of the day the light heart of
a happy father.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. I have to acknowledge that injustice is done in this work to
the character of General Vincent. The writer of historical fiction is
under that serious liability, in seizing on a few actual incidents,
concerning a subordinate personage, that he makes himself responsible
for justice to the whole character of the individual whose name he
introduces into his story. Under this liability I have been unjust to
Vincent, as Scott was to Edward Christian, in "Peveril of the Peak," and
Campbell to Brandt, in "Gertrude of Wyoming." Like them, I am anxious
to make reparation on the first opportunity. It is true that in my
Appendix I avowed that Vincent was among those of my personages whose
name alone I adopted, without knowing his character; but such an
explanation in an appendix does not counteract the impression already
made by the work. Finding this, I had thoughts of changing the name in
the present edition; but I feared the character being still identified
with Vincent, from its being fact that it was Vincent who accompanied
Toussaint's sons to Paris, and returned with the deputation, as I have
represented; I think it best, therefore, to say here that, from all I
can learn, General Vincent was an honourable and useful man, and that
the delineation of character under that name in my book is purely
fictitious. The following extract from Clarkson's pamphlet on Negro
Improvement will show in what estimation General Vincent is held by one
whose testimony is of the highest value:--
"The next witness to whom I shall appeal is the estimable General
Vincent, who now lives at Paris, though at an advanced age. He was a
Colonel, and afterwards a General of Brigade of Artillery in Saint
Domingo. He was detained there during the time both of Santhonax and
Toussaint. He was also a proprietor of estates in the island. He was
the man who planned the renovation of its agriculture after the
abolition of slavery, and one of the great instruments in bringing it to
the perfection mentioned by La Croix. In the year 1801 he was called
upon by Toussaint to repair to Paris, to lay before the Directory the
new Constitution, which had been agreed on in Saint Domingo. He obeyed
the summons. It happened that he arrived in France just at the moment
of the Peace of Amiens. Here he found, to his inexpressible surprise
and grief, that Bonaparte was preparing an immense armament, under
Leclerc, to restore slavery in Saint Domingo. He remonstrated against
the expedition: he told him to his face that though the army destined
for this purpose was composed of the brilliant conquerors of Europe,
they could do nothing in the Antilles. He stated, as another argument
against the expedition, that it was totally unnecessary, and, therefore,
criminal; for that everything was going on well in Saint Domingo; the
proprietors in peaceable possession of their estates, cultivation making
rapid progress, the Blacks industrious, and beyond example happy."