The Hour and the Man Part 61

He was just departing for the Plateaux. As he went out he said to his wife, while he cast a look of tender compa.s.sion upon Madame Bellair--

"I shall tell Charles that you will cherish Deesha. It is well that we can let her remain here, beside the graves of her children. Bury them with honour, Margot."

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

AUGUST FAR-OFF.

In time of peace, and if her children had perished by any other mode, it might have been a consolation to Deesha to dwell for a time beside their graves. As it was, the deep bark of the murderous dogs filled her ear perpetually, and their fangs seemed to tear her heart. Her misery in the quiet mansion of the mornes was unendurable; and the very day after the funeral she departed, with her husband, to a place where no woman's eye could mark her maternal anguish--where no semblance of a home kept alive the sense of desolation. She retired, with her husband and his troop, to a fastness higher up in the Morne-du-Chaos, whence they kept watch over the regular entrenchments below, cut off supplies of provisions from the French, hara.s.sed all their marches, and waged a special war against the bloodhounds--the negro's most dreaded foe.

More, however, were perpetually brought over from Cuba, and regularly trained, by means too barbarous for detail, to make negroes their prey.

From the hour when Deesha first heard the cry of a bloodhound, more than the barbarism of her native Congo took possession of her. Never more was she seen sowing under the shade of the tamarind-tree. Never more did she spread the table, for husband or guests, within a house. Never more was her voice heard singing, gaily or plaintively, the songs that she had gathered from the palm groves of Africa, or the vineyards of France, or from the flowery fields of a mother's hopes. Henceforth she carried the rifle, and ate her meal in stern silence, in the cave of the rock. When she laughed, it was as her shot went straight to her victim's heart. When she spoke, it was of the manoeuvres of her mountain war; and the only time that she was ever seen to shed tears was when a rumour of a truce reached the pinnacle on which she dwelt.

Though a.s.sured that any truce could be only, as every negro knew, a truce till August, the mere semblance of accommodation with the foe forced tears of vexation from eyes which were for ever after dry. If she felt a gleam of satisfaction before leaving Le Zephyr, it was at the singular accident by which Juste, always so bent upon being a soldier, shared the honours of a military funeral. Juste and Tobie were buried with the soldiers who had fallen in the defence of the house; and to the father, who followed the coffins, and the mother, who hid herself in the thicket, there was something like pleasure in the roll of the drum, and the measure of the dead march, and the warlike tone of the shrill dirge which was sung round the open graves, and the discharge of firearms over them--a satisfaction like that of fulfilling the last wish of their boy.

This done, and the graves fenced and planted, the childless pair departed, wis.h.i.+ng, perhaps, in their own hearts, that they could weep their misfortune like those whom they left behind.

For some time forward from that day there was no more cause for weeping at Le Zephyr. The season had come for the blacks to show what they could do. In the hope, as he said, of hastening on the peace, Vincent told all that he knew of the plans and resources of the outlawed chiefs; and, in consequence, the French at length proceeded to vigorous action, believing that if they could force the post at the Plateaux, they could so impoverish and disable the negro leaders as to compel them to become mere banditti, who might be kept in check by guarding the mountain-pa.s.ses. The French force was, therefore, brought up again and again to the attack, and always in vain. The ill success of the invaders was, no doubt, partly owing to the distress which overtook their soldiery whenever they had been a few days absent from their camp and their s.h.i.+ps. Whichever way they turned, and however sudden the changes of their march, they found the country laid waste--the houses unroofed, the cattle driven away, the fields burned or inundated, and nothing but a desert under their feet, and flames on the horizon, while the sun of the tropic grew daily hotter overhead. These were disadvantages; but the French had greatly the superiority in numbers, in experience, and in supplies of ammunition. Yet, for many weeks, they failed in all their attempts. They left their dead before the entrance of the Plateaux, or heaped up in the neighbouring fields, or strewed along the mountain-paths, now to the number of seven hundred, now twelve, and now fifteen hundred; while the negroes numbered their losses by tens or scores. The first combined attack, when Maurepas, with his army, joined Rochambeau, and two other divisions met them from different points, was decisively disastrous; and even Vincent began to doubt whether the day of peace, the day of chastis.e.m.e.nt of L'Ouverture's romance, was so near as he had supposed.

The last time that the French dared the blacks to come forth from their entrenchments, and fight on the plain afforded the most triumphant result to the negroes. So tremendous was the havoc among the French-- while the blacks charged without intermission, rolling on their force from their entrenchments, each advancing line throwing itself upon the ground immediately after the charge, while those behind pa.s.sed over their bodies, enabling them to rise and retreat in order to rush forward again in their turn--that the troops of the Rhine and the Alps were seized with a panic, and spread a rumour that there was sorcery among the blacks, by which they were made invulnerable. It was scarcely possible, too, to believe in the inferiority of their numbers, so interminable seemed the succession of foes that presented a fresh front.

Rochambeau saw that, if not ordered to retreat, his troops would fly; and whether it was a retreat or a flight at last, n.o.body could afterwards determine. They left fifteen hundred dead on the field, and made no pause till they reached Plaisance.

From this time, the French generals resolved against more fighting, till reinforcements arrived from France. New hopes inspired the blacks--all of them, at least, who did not, like L'Ouverture and Christophe, antic.i.p.ate another inundation of the foe from the sea. Placide, who was foremost in every fight, was confident that the struggle was nearly over, and rode up to Le Zephyr occasionally with tidings which spread hope and joy among the household, and not only made his mother proud, but lightened her heart.

He told, at length, that the French, not relis.h.i.+ng the offensive war begun by Christophe, had blockaded his father in the Plateaux. He treated this blockade as a mere farce--as a mode of warfare which would damage the French irreparably as the heats came on, while it could not injure the blacks, acquainted as they were with the pa.s.ses of the country.

Placide would have been right, if only one single circ.u.mstance had been otherwise than as it was. L'Ouverture had nothing to fear from a blockade in regard to provisions. He had adherents above, among the heights, who could supply his forces with food for themselves and fodder for their horses inexhaustibly. Every ravine in their rear yielded water. They had arms enough; and in their climate, and with the summer coming on, the clothing of the troops was a matter of small concern.

But their ammunition was running short. Everything was endeavoured, and timely, to remedy this; but there was no effectual remedy. Many a perilous march over the heights, and descent upon the sh.o.r.e, did one and another troop attempt--many a seizure of French supplies did they actually effect--many a trip did Paul, and others who had boats, make to one and another place, where it was hoped that powder and ball might be obtained; but no sufficient supply could be got. The foe were not slow in discovering this, and in deriving courage from their discovery. From the moment that they found themselves a.s.sailed with flights of arrows from the heights, and that their men were wounded, not always with ball, or even shot, but with b.u.t.tons, nails, and other bits of old metal--with anything rather than lead--they kept a closer watch along the coast and the roads, that no little boat, no cart or pack-horse, might escape capture. Towards the end of April the difficulty became so pressing, that L'Ouverture found himself compelled to give up his plan of defensive war, with all its advantages, and risk much to obtain the indispensable means of carrying on the struggle.

It was with this view that he mustered his force, gave out nearly the last remains of his ammunition, burst victoriously through the blockading troops, routed them, and advanced to attack the French lines posted at Plaisance. Behind him he left few but his wounded, commanded by Dessalines, who was yet hardly sufficiently recovered to undertake a more arduous service. Before him were the troops under Maurepas, whom he had always believed he could recall with a word, if he could but meet them face to face. Others probably believed so too; for those troops had, on every occasion, been kept back, and so surrounded, as that no one from their old haunts and their old companions could reach them.

Now, however, the French force was so reduced by the many defeats they had undergone, that it was probable they would be obliged to put faith in the renegado division, if attacked; and L'Ouverture was not without hopes of striking a decisive blow by recalling the negroes in the French lines to their allegiance to himself.

Everything answered to his antic.i.p.ations. When he advanced to the attack, he found the troops of Maurepas posted in the front, to weaken the resolution of their former comrades, or receive their first fire.

His heart bounded at the sight; and all his resentment against them as renegades melted into compa.s.sion for the weakness of those who had been reared in terror and servility. He rushed forward, placing himself, without a thought of fear, between the two armies, and extended his arms towards the black lines of the enemy, shouting to them--

"My soldiers, will you kill your general? Will you kill your father, your comrades, your brothers?"

In an instant every black was on his knees. It was a critical moment for the French. They rushed on, drowning the single voice on which their destruction seemed to hang, threw the kneeling soldiers on their faces, strode over their prostrate bodies, and nearly effected their object of closing round L'Ouverture, and capturing him. His danger was imminent. The struggle was desperate;--but his soldiers saved him. The battle was fierce and long, but again and again turning in his favour, till all seemed secure. He was forcing the enemy from their lines, and giving out the inspiring negro cry of victory, when a new force marched up against him, stopped the retreat of the French, and finally repulsed the blacks--exhausted as they were, and unable to cope with a fresh foe.

In the most critical moment, four thousand troops, fresh from the s.h.i.+ps had arrived to convert the defeat of the French into a victory; and they brought into the battle more than their own strength in the news that reinforcements from France were pouring in upon every point of the coast.

The news reached L'Ouverture, and completed the discouragement of his little army. It decided him at once in what direction to retreat. It was useless to return to the Plateaux, as the force there was more than proportioned to the supply of ammunition. This fresh descent of the French upon the coast would have the effect of dispersing the small bodies of black troops in the north. A rendezvous was necessary, in order to make the most both of the men and stores. He proceeded to post his troops at Le Dondon, and Marmalade, sending orders to Christophe to meet him there. There they might possibly be usefully employed in cutting off access to the French army at Plaisance, and at the same time supplying their own wants, while deliberating on what plan to carry on the struggle, under the new circ.u.mstances, till August; for, whatever treachery and defection might have to be encountered elsewhere, there was never a moment's doubt that Nature would prove a faithful ally, when her appointed season came.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

CONFLICTING.

"What to do!" said L'Ouverture to Christophe, as they entered his apartment at Le Dondon. "What to do? Everything, this year and for the future, may depend on what we decide on for our next step. And we must decide before we leave this room, say your thoughts, Henri."

"I am for a truce."

"I am for a retreat in the mountains. Now for our reasons! Why do you desire a truce?"

"Because I see that Leclerc so earnestly wishes it, that I am confident we may make good terms, for the interval of waiting till we recover altogether our power, our territory, and our people. Leclerc will revoke our outlawry. That done, you will be the virtual rider of our people till August; after which no foes will be left upon our soil.

What have you to say against this?"

"That it is yielding, unnecessarily and fatally, to the invaders. Where are our censures of Clerveaux and Maurepas, if we, too, yield to Leclerc, and make terms with him?"

"Every one of our people will understand the difference in the cases.

Every one of them sees the difference between falling at the feet of Leclerc, like Clerveaux; or joining him on the very field on which you were about to oppose him, like Maurepas; and making a truce, for a short interval, when you are almost dest.i.tute of ammunition, and the enemy so exhausted with the heats as to decline coming into the field; while, at the same time, fresh troops are pouring in upon the coast, in such numbers as to prevent your regaining your independence by remaining in arms. If every man of the negroes has not wit enough to understand this for himself, who is better able than you to inform them of whatsoever you desire them to know? Be a.s.sured, Toussaint, powerful as your influence is this day among our people, it will be more so when you are no longer an outlaw. It is worth a large sacrifice of our feelings to have our outlawry revoked."

"Have you more reasons to give for accepting a truce; or, as the French understand it, a peace?"

"Let me first hear your reasons for a retreat in the mountains."

"A retreat in the mountains is the more honest proceeding of the two, Henri. If we make terms with the French, it will be knowing that that which goes by the name of peace is no more than a truce till August."

"And will not they know that as well as we? Is it necessary to tell the whites, at this day, that they are liable to the fever in the heats, and that any army, however glorious in its strength previously, becomes a skeleton at that season? This is a matter that is perfectly understood by all the parties."

"We must look forward, Henri, to the days to come, when August itself is past. The influence of myself or my successor will be injured by my having, even apparently, yielded to the invaders. My power over our people's minds will be immeasurably greater, if I shall have consistently refused to tolerate the foe, from the moment of their first hostile act to the end of the struggle. Am I not right?"

"That character of consistency will be purchased at a price too dear;-- at the cost of your characteristic of mercy, Toussaint--of reverence for human life. You will be ranked with Dessalines, if you keep up, for four months, the disturbance and devastation of war, when every one knows that your end will be as certainly gained after these four months have been spent in peace. What a grief it would be to see you changed in all eyes from the adored L'Ouverture to Toussaint the bandit! Pardon my freedom."

"I required it of you, my friend; so do not speak of pardon. We are agreed that the moral influence of my conduct is the main consideration, as the destruction of the French army is certain, sooner or later--our independence secure, if we so will it. If we remain in the mountains, cutting off in detail the grasp which France shall attempt to lay on any part of our territory or our system; training our people, meantime, for another campaign, if France should attempt another; replenis.h.i.+ng gradually our stores with perpetual small captures from the enemy, allowing them no asylum, discountenancing their presence, in every possible way--we shall be taking the shortest, and therefore the most merciful method of convincing the French and the blacks at once that their empire here is at an end, and slavery henceforth impossible for the negroes of Saint Domingo. But, if I make a peace or truce, how dim and perplexed will be the impression of my conduct! I cannot hold office, civil or military, under the French. Henri, you would not have me do so!"

"Certainly not. Till August, retire to your estate, that every office in the colony may thereafter be in your hand."

"If I co-operate with the French, even in the faintest appearance, my moral influence will be all on their side, and a second year of warfare will find us farther from peace or independence than the first. If I act, more or less, for the blacks, Leclerc will send me to France as a traitor. If I do nothing, neither party will believe in my doing nothing: each will suspect me of secret dealings with the other. It is also true that I cannot, if I would, be inoperative. Every glance of my eye, every word of my lips, in my own piazza at Pongaudin, would be made to bear its interpretation, and go to disturb the single and distinct image which I now stand before every eye and in every mind."

"I do not agree with you," said Henri. "While the image of August is distinct in the minds of the Saint Domingo people, it will keep your influence single and intelligible to them. As for what the French think, that is their own affair. They have the means of knowledge. Let them use them. There is one fact which no one can misunderstand, the while--that after the defections under which you have suffered, and under your known want of military stores, an incursive war from the mountains appears ferocious--both revengeful and cruel--when every one knows that time will render it unnecessary."

"These defections do not discourage me as they do you, Henri. Full one third of my forces are faithful--are proved so by trial. These, with the goodness of our cause, are enough for my hopes--almost for my desires. There is no ferocity, but rather mercy, in hastening on the day of our independence and peace, by using a force so respectable--so honoured, as this tried remnant of my army."

"You reckon fallaciously, Toussaint. You include my troops in the force you speak of."

"Henri!" exclaimed L'Ouverture, stopping in his walk up the apartment; "it cannot be that you will desert me. No, no! forgive me that the words pa.s.sed my lips!"

"Never will I desert you or our cause, Toussaint. Never will I intermit my enmity to our invaders; never will I live for any other object than the liberties of our people. But the time may be come for us to pursue our common object by different paths. I cannot go and play the bandit in the mountains."

"Why did you not call me a bandit when I was at the Plateaux?"

"Because you were then waging an honourable war. War, not peace, was then beckoning you on to freedom. A state of voluntary outlawry, a practice of needless ravage, will make a different man of you. Say no more of it, Toussaint: I cannot be lieutenant to--Do not make me utter the word."

"You have always. .h.i.therto obeyed me, Henri."

"I have; and when _we_ are in a state of war, I will obey you again. Do not cla.s.s me with La Plume and Clerveaux--or, rather, do, if you will, and when August is past I will prove to you the difference."

"Do not you see, Henri, that you not only cease to aid me at a great crisis but that you put a force upon me?"