Let us look at France: she had grown desperate in her revolutionary fever; had risen en masse against the powers of Europe, and had beaten them back. Dugommier even had carried the war across the Pyrenees, and his soldiers, like demons, shouting the ça-ira, threatened Spain. The Convention at Paris on the 4th of February, 1794, confirmed and proclaimed the FREEDOM of all the slaves![32]—news of which came slowly across the Atlantic, and reached the ears of Toussaint upon the heights of Dondon.
FOOTNOTES:
[32] Biographie Universelle. Art. Toussaint L.
IX.
The hour was nigh! The hands advanced on the dial plate of time. Events, which no man could have foreseen or controlled, had gathered for judgment, and at last a great nation had decreed freedom to a poor, debauched and servile race. But who should lead them, who should now defend them against themselves—give shape and system to their undisciplined wishes—carry them safely through the anarchy of unbounded liberty, and crystallize them into a STATE, whose only sure basis is the Rights and Duties of Labor, Thought, Speech and Worship, the Rights and Duties of Manhood?
The Hour has come and the Man. Toussaint Breda, from his eyrie near Dondon, sweeps the horizon. In the East he sees the decadent power of Spain—it has spoken no word of freedom for the blacks. In the West he sees the white sails of England—she is hand and glove with the planters to reëstablish slavery. In the North France and Laveaux are nigh death. France only has proclaimed liberty to the blacks. Toussaint sees the “opening” for his race and for himself, and from this day he is Toussaint Louverture—the first of the blacks. Bone of their bone and skin of their skin, he alone knows their needs, their capacities and their hearts. With the clear glance of inspiration he sees the moment, with the firm grasp of talent he seizes it.
General Laveaux saw that this was the man, and through the Priest La Haye made advances to him. Toussaint is wise and he is wary, he keeps his own counsel—he consults not Jean François, who had once cast him into prison, nor Biassou, nor the Marquis Hermona. As usual, he performs his duties; as usual, he partakes of the communion; as usual, his troops look to him, and Hermona said “there exists on earth no purer soul.”[33] He has placed his wife and children in safety—he has ordered his affairs—his horse stands saddled and bridled: then, tearing off his epaulettes, he casts them at the feet of the Spanish officers, flings himself on his horse and rides like the wind out of the camp. The Spaniards are for a moment paralyzed—they pursue him; but neither hoof nor pistol can reach him. Toussaint is not to be caught. On the 4th of May (1794), he pulls down the Spanish and hoists the French colors. Marmalade, Plaisance, Ennery, Dondon, Acul and Limbé submit to him. Confusion and fear prevail among the Spaniards. Joy exalts the negroes. Laveaux is saved, and the colony not yet lost to France. Toussaint is a power in the State—the negroes everywhere respond to the sound of his voice—they look to him as their hero, defender, guide, and guard.
Did he deceive or sacrifice them? The mulattoes and whites have called him treacherous, ambitious and unscrupulous. It is easy to do so, and so to account for the power and success of this singular man—but the explanation is not satisfactory. No brave man will seek for a base motive, even in his enemy, when a noble one is patent and suffices better. Toussaint’s talent, courage, and honor were inspired by the lofty hope of redeeming his race; and the negroes, fanatic in their hatred of slavery, became invincible. The electric spark which fired his soul fired theirs. Great is he who spends his blood and his life, fighting for liberty—but base is the man who kills and destroys for fame or plunder.
Toussaint sets himself to his work. The whole province of the North soon falls into his hands, and he drives the Spanish ally, Jean François, westward along La Montaigne Noire. Then he hastens into the rich valley of the Artibonite, attacks and beats back the English, and besieges the strong fortress of St. Marc; but neither forces nor ammunition are sufficient and he retires to the mountain fastnesses of Marmalade to recruit his troops. On the 9th of October (1794), he carries the fortress of San Miguel by storm. Laveaux and Rigaud cannot withhold their admiration at his skill and prowess. His horse and he are as one. This black centaur carries success at his saddlebow. His troops love and admire, while his enemies fear him.
Toussaint determines to drive away the English, and he falls with fury upon General Brisbane in the Artibonite, and compels him to retreat. But Jean François hung over him in the heights of La Grande Rivière. Again he retires to Dondon and organizes his forces to repel the Spaniards—in four days he takes and destroys twenty-eight positions—but Jean François with a superior force threatens his rear, while the English are in front: again he is baffled; he returns to Dondon. Toussaint is no longer the leader of marauding bands, but the head of an army. His troops are mostly raw and ignorant, badly clothed, armed, and fed, but they trust in him and have courage. He seeks for efficient officers, and finds Dessalines, Desroulaux, Maurepas, Clervaux, Christophe and Lamartinière: these he must command with discretion—his troops he must provide with arms, ammunition and food—he must watch the forces of the Spaniards, the movements of the English—intrigues abroad and treachery at home: henceforth he must organize campaigns. He has now little time for the pleasures of sense—the enjoyment of books—the rest of home. Rarely can he snatch an hour for his wife and children from the life of ceaseless care. But does he, then, sigh for the hut and the bananas and the careless slavery of M. Bayou? Human nature is one; no one would have changed the life of a man, every faculty in action, for the repose of a dog: not the black Toussaint.