The negro who saves them is Toussaint Breda, afterward called Louverture. The son of an African chief, Gaou-Guinon, with no drop of white blood in his veins. He had been the born slave of the Count de Breda, and had been well treated by his manager, Bayou de Libertas. He was the husband of one wife and the father of children. With religious aspirations, an inflexible integrity, and an inquiring mind, he had been a valuable slave and had been raised from a field-hand to be M. Bayou's coachman.
Toussaint was never hungry while a slave; he was not whipped. His hut was comfortable; vines twined around his door. Bananas and potatoes grew in his garden. Toussaint, it seems, was not a beast of burden. To make sugar he was worth no more than a Bozal just stolen; but with these rare virtues—patience, courage, intelligence, fidelity—he might have sold for five hundred dollars and might be trusted to drive horses. When the rebellion broke out he did not join it, but assisted M. Bayou with his family to escape, and shipped a rich cargo to the United States for his maintenance.
Toussaint was then fifty years old. None knew the day of his birth; the records of stock then and there were not carefully kept. For fifty years this negro had lived the life of a slave; his only occupation the hoeing of cane and the grooming of horses. What thoughts, what struggles, what hopes had taken shape in that uncultivated brain no man knows—for Toussaint was a man of few words, and he left no writings. It was late in life to begin a new trade; late to begin to find out his own powers and strength; late to trust himself to freedom, he who had always had a master; late to speculate upon the destinies of the black race; late to attempt to shape them. But in revolutionary times men learn fast; great men need only the opportunity; they rise to the emergency. Cromwell was not a born or trained general or ruler, nor was Washington, nor was William Tell. Toussaint had bided his time. This slave was ignorant, knew nothing. He learned to read when approaching his declining years; then he studied: Raynal, Epictetus, Cæsar, Saxe, Herodotus, Plutarch, Nepos—these were the books and lives he knew.
He decided to join his race, and having some knowledge of simples was made physician of the forces commanded by Jean François. Here he served well, as he always did, and learned the trade of war. Shocked at the cruelties of whites and blacks he took the side of mercy and saved lives from the sword as well as from disease. He saw the vanity of François, the rashness of Biassou, the cruelty of Jeannot; but he retired disgusted to no stupid monastery; he returned not to the ease and degradation of slavery, but was equal to the facts of life, however hard, and grappled with them and mastered them as a man should. He was then loyal to the King, and he was loyal to the Church, a devout Catholic.
In 1792, the three commissioners, sent out from France to "settle" the affairs of the colony, had been thwarted and finally driven away by the whites. In September (1792), Santhonax, Polverel, and Ailhaud had arrived with troops, money, and instructions and a new governor, Desparbes, in place of Blanchelande. He soon became disgusted, alarmed, and he fled. The commissioners bestirred themselves to settle the commotion. The rich planters were for the King; the Petits Blancs were for the Directory; the mulattoes, under Rigaud, ravaged the West: the revolted negroes, under Jean François, Biassou and others, threatened on the North. France herself, that ancient kingdom, was now fermenting; struggling—yet with hope—to realize in the state her unformed faith in democracy, and with the energy of despair striving to beat back the waves of bayonets which beat and bristled on her borders. Thus matters stood in France, thus in Santo Domingo. The slaves in both countries had risen, and rushed to arms. Their remedy was desperate; so was their disease.
General Galbaud, a new governor, arrived from France in May (1793). The commissioners were engaged in the west in fighting Rigaud. They returned to Cap François to fight the Governor whose authority they disputed. Galbaud held the ships and the arsenals and determined to assert his authority. His soldiers and sailors entered the town and abandoned themselves to drunkenness, pillage and brutality. The commissioners armed the slaves in the town, promised them freedom, and sent for aid to the negro generals. Jean François and Biassou refused; but a chief, Macayo, at the head of three thousand blacks, entered the town, and the conflict raged. The whites were driven into the sea and slaughtered. Madness ruled, and none fiercer than the mulattoes. Galbaud fled, and half the city was destroyed by fire. At last—for a while—the whites gave up the hope of recovering their slaves. Thousands fled—some suppose nine-tenths—and found refuge along the American coasts.
Famine had more than once increased the misery during these three years, yet the island was fruitful, and cultivation, here and there, went on. The sagacious Jean François had initiated cultivation along the mountain-sides, and in the valleys; and thus secured an unfailing magazine of supply.
Toussaint, meanwhile, continues his duties with the negro troops. Steadily and surely, if not rapidly, he gains strength and influence and knowledge of war. He has measured himself with Jean and Biassou, and is not wanting. His prudence, patience, silent will, and courage make him useful to them, and his justice and determination and mercy make him the idol of the men. The Marquis Hermona, Governor of the Spanish part of the island, made advances to the negro chiefs. Santhonax, in his extremity after the destruction of Cap François, sent Macayo to propose an alliance, but they distrusted him.
Meanwhile Louis XVI was beheaded. They said, "We have lost the King of France, but the King of Spain esteems us and gives us succor." They declined the proposals of the commissioners, and ranged themselves on the side of Spain. Toussaint was loyal to the memory of the King, and followed François and Biassou. Hermona saw that Toussaint was a man; and while Jean François was advanced to the first rank, Toussaint was raised to that of colonel in the Spanish army. He at once applied himself to his duties, and what he did was always well done. His troops became, as if by a word, the best disciplined in the army. The reason was plain: he knew what men ought to do and what they can do; and the men knew that he was upright and wise. So these ragged, ignorant, roving hordes became efficient troops. Confidence begat confidence: the commander trusted his men, and they relied on him; together they were strong. Idleness was not Toussaint's policy. The insurgents under Jean François, Biassou, and Toussaint held strong positions in the mountains south of Cap François. Brandicourt, the general of the French troops, was at once trapped and compelled to order his troops to lay down their arms. Grande Rivière, Dondon, Plaisance, Marmalade, and Ennery, the most important places in the north, quickly fell into Toussaint's hands.
The French commissioners were getting into straits. The Spanish troops were against them; the blacks were against them. The remaining whites were divided; some wore the black cockade, others the white; the troops, and friends of the commissioners, the tricolor; the mulattoes, the red. War was everywhere, and no man was safe but with arms in his hands and in the strongest party. But this was not enough: some of the planters mounted the English hat and sent to the English for succor. Even "perfide Albion" was welcome, if they might but reëstablish slavery and get again their estates. In this extremity, Santhonax decided to make friends with the blacks, and proclaimed at Cap François universal freedom (August 20, 1793). Polverel repeated the proclamation at Port au Prince. The enthusiasm among the negroes was great, but not universal. Their leaders were not moved; they distrusted the commissioners and they doubted the stability of the French Republic—so the war went on.