Chapter Thirty Four.
Receding.
Leclerc was eager to receive proposals of peace,—to owe a respite to dissimulation itself, rather than continue the war, under his present difficulties. It was weary work, keeping up a show before the eyes of the blacks, when, of the twelve thousand soldiers whom he had brought with him, five thousand had fallen in battle, and five thousand more were in the hospitals. Twenty thousand had arrived within a few weeks, from France; and, of these, scarcely eleven thousand remained fit for service. Happy indeed was Leclerc to receive replies to his overtures of peace; and anxious was he to testify every respect to the generals whom he had lately insulted and defied. He revoked their outlawry, commending them to the esteem and good offices of those to whom he had desired to deliver them as traitors. It is true, he transmitted to France magnificent accounts of the surrender of the blacks, of their abject supplications for their lives, and of the skill and prowess by which he had subdued the rebels, and restored the colony to France. But these boastings were not known in Saint Domingo; though the true state of the case was whispered in Paris, as regarded the mortality among the white troops, and the formidable influence still retained by the negro leaders.
Leclerc invited Toussaint to visit him at Cap; as well aware, doubtless, as Toussaint himself, that this open indication of amity was necessary to protect the army from the ill-will of the blacks, who would not believe, on any other authority than L’Ouverture’s own, that he had made peace with the invaders.
It was a mournful, though showy demonstration, and all parties were glad when it was over. As L’Ouverture rode from Le Dondon to Cap Français, followed by a guard of three hundred and fifty horse, he was greeted by the inhabitants with the profoundest respect. Only in by-places, or from the depths of some wood, did a few voices sing, in negro language, the new song which was spreading over the island in praise of August,—exhorting to patience and peace till August. As he entered the town of Cap, the thunder of artillery reverberated from the heights around. Every fort along the coast, every vessel in the roads, fired its salute; and the inhabitants of every colour issued from their houses, to pay honour to their adored L’Ouverture.
Leclerc stood ready to receive him, and to administer to him the oath of allegiance in the hall of Government-House, the doors of which stood wide, and were carefully kept so by Toussaint’s own guard, who would not, for a moment, let their commander be hidden from their sight. They formed in the Walk, and in the court of Government-House, remaining in fighting order, with drawn sabres, during the whole of the interview between the late and the present Commander-in-chief.
With an unaltered countenance, Toussaint took once more the oath of allegiance to France;—the oath which it had never been his desire to break. He smiled when he heard this simple act proclaimed by another roar of artillery, such as might have greeted a victory. Leclerc frowned; for it was not followed, as he had hoped, by acclamations. The echoes died away into deep silence.
It was an awkward moment. Leclerc hoped that Toussaint would lead the conversation. But Toussaint was deep in thought. Gazing on the anxious and sickly face of the Captain-General, he was grieving at heart that he, and so many thousands more who might have lived long and useful lives at home, should be laid low, in the course of a bad enterprise against the liberties of the natives. The mournful gaze of his mild eyes confused the Captain-General, so that he said the first thing that occurred, in order to break the silence. He observed that he understood there was some business yet standing over for settlement between the parties who had so happily met at last. He had no doubt that General Toussaint would see clearly that in his allegiance to France was involved the duty of accounting to the government for the wealth of the island, whether open to estimate or concealed in the mornes, or elsewhere.
“I have heard something of this before,” said Toussaint, “and are as ignorant as yourself of any buried treasure. In this island, Nature is so perpetually bountiful, that we have not the temptation which we are told exists elsewhere, to amass wealth against a time of dearth. I have no treasure.”
“If so, how could you have proposed to remain out of the bounds of the law, as you did till lately? Nature is not bountiful on the mountain-peaks, which must then have been your abode. At least, Nature does not there bring forth arms and ammunition. Without treasure, with which to purchase supplies, how would you have obtained arms and ammunition?”
“I should have taken yours.”
Leclerc saw that even his own followers were more disposed to applaud than resent these words; and he, therefore, changed the topic.
“It is fortunate, then, for all parties,” said he, “that future struggles are avoided. We are friends. Let it go abroad through the whole island that we are friends.”
Toussaint made no reply. Leclerc continued—
“You, General, and your troops, will be employed and treated like the rest of my army. With regard to yourself, you desire repose.”—Looking round, he repeated the words emphatically. “You desire repose: and you deserve it. After a man has sustained for several years the government of Saint Domingo, I apprehend he needs repose. I leave you at liberty to retire to which of your estates you please. I rely so much on the attachment you bear the colony of Saint Domingo, as to believe you will employ what moments of leisure you may have during your retreat, in communicating to me your ideas respecting the means proper to be taken to cause agriculture and commerce again to flourish. Respecting your forces, and those of General Christophe, I hold full information. As soon as a list and statement of the troops under General Dessalines are transmitted to me, I will communicate my instructions as to the positions they are to take.”
“I will send a messenger from my guard to General Dessalines, this day,” said Toussaint. “I shall be passing near his post, on my way to my house at Pongaudin; and he shall have your message.”
“This day?” said Leclerc, in a tone of some constraint. “Will you not spend this day with us?”
“I cannot,” replied Toussaint. “I must be gone to my home.”
As soon as it was believed that he was fairly out of hearing, the acts of the morning were proclaimed throughout Cap Français as the pardon of Generals Toussaint and Christophe. This proclamation was afterwards published, by Leclerc’s orders, in the Gazette du Cap, where it was read by Toussaint in his study at Pongaudin.
“See!” said he, pointing out the paragraph to Pascal, with a smile. “This is the way of men with each other. See the complacency with which one man pardons another for the most necessary, or the best deed of his life!”
During a halt on the road to Pongaudin, Isaac and Aimée appeared. Aimée was tearful, but her face was happy. So were her words.
“Oh, father!” she said, “who could have hoped, after what has happened, that all would so soon be well!”
“I am rejoiced to see you happy, my children.”
“And you, father, you are happy? Honoured as you are—the colony at peace—all parties friends—no more divisions—no more struggles in families! Father, answer me. Is it not all well?”
“No, my child.”
“Are you unhappy, father?”
“Yes, my child.”
“I am quite disappointed, quite grieved,” said Aimée, drawing back from his arms, to look in his face.
“Vincent gave us a glorious account on Tortuga,” said Isaac, “of the welcome you had at Cap. We thought—”
“I did not see Vincent at Cap.”
“He was not there; but he knew all—”
“But, father,” said Aimée, “you will see General Vincent. You will see him at Pongaudin. Now that you have done as he did—now that you are friends with the French, as he is, you will see him, father?”
“I have never done as Vincent did, Aimée; and my friendship with the French is what it ever was. If Vincent comes as your husband, I will see him as such. As a friend, I cannot. Is he your husband, my love?”
“No!”
“He is to be your husband?”
“If you would see him. If he were your friend. He urges me, father; and Madame Leclerc and Isaac urge me; but I cannot marry him yet. Father, you do not know how much my heart is with you and my mother.”
“Are you happy, Aimée?”
“Madame Leclerc is very kind; and Vincent’s love is everything that ought to make me happy, but—”
“Will you go home with me, my child?”
“How glad I should be, if only you loved Vincent!”
“I cannot, Aimée. Would that I could!”
“Then, when I have married him, you will see him as my husband? I cannot marry till my heart is more at ease—till I see everybody as friendly as Vincent said they were. But when we are married we will come to Pongaudin. May we?”
“Come, my dear, when you will. Your parents’ home and hearts will always be open to you. Meantime, write often to us, Aimée.”
“Oh, yes! I will. I will write very often; and you will answer. I have heard perpetually of my mother, and of poor Génifrède. But where is Placide? I thought we should have met him. Was not he at Cap?”
“At Cap! No, indeed! He was too heart-broken to be at Cap to-day.”
“I wish I could understand it all!” said Aimée, sadly. “I am sure there are many things that I do not know or comprehend. I thought all had been right now; and yet you and Placide are unhappy. I cannot understand it all.”
“Time will explain, my child. There will come a day when all doubts will be cleared up, and all woes at an end—when the wicked will cease from troubling, love, and the weary be at rest.”
“Must you be going, father, already? Oh! I wish—”
And she looked at Isaac, as if purposing to go to Pongaudin. Isaac, had, however, promised Madame Leclerc to return by an appointed hour. There could be no difficulty, he said, in going to Pongaudin any day: but to-day he had promised that they would both return to Madame Leclerc. Aimée, therefore, bade her father farewell for the present—only for a very little while. He must tell her mother that they should certainly meet very soon.
In the piazza, at Pongaudin, Toussaint found Christophe.
“I wish,” said Christophe, “you would send to Dessalines not only the Captain-General’s message, but your own request that he will yield.”
“I cannot, Henri.”
“But he may spoil all by holding out.”
“I have done what I can in yielding myself. I can do no more.”
“You approve our act? Surely you do not repent of what you have done?”
“I cannot repent of what I could not avoid. But enough of business for to-day, my friend. Where is Madame Christophe? Where are your children? Bring them here; and let us enjoy leisure and friendship once more, while we can.”
“We will. But, Toussaint, if you could only say that you are satisfied that we have done what is best, it would relieve me much.”
“I cannot, Henri. But, be assured, I fully acquiesce. One has not always the comfort of being able to acquiesce.”
“Can you say, then, that you forgive me, in as far as you think me wrong?”
“Can you doubt it?” replied Toussaint, turning upon him a countenance full of frank affection. “Are you not a friend of many years?”
“God forgive me if I have misled you, Toussaint!”