yet have survived the recent troubles over the frontier."
"But how can I protect you? The arrangement is none of mine: I cannot interfere with it."
"Only by forgetting in this single instance the point of time at which we have arrived, and furnishing me with a pass which shall enable me to sail for Europe, as I acknowledge I ought to have done long ago."
"So this is the act of justice you asked from me, Toussaint. Why did you not say favour? I shall do it with much more pleasure as a slight favour to one whom I strongly regard. You shall have your safe-conduct, Monsieur Papalier. In the meantime--" And he looked towards the steaming chocolate and the piles of fruit on the table, as if his appetite were growing urgent.
"One word more, my lord, before offering you my welcome to my table," said Toussaint. "I beseech you to consider the granting this pass as an act of justice, or of anything rather than favour to me. Yesterday, I would have accepted a hundred favours from you: to-day, with equal respect, I must refuse even one. I pledge myself to tell you why before you rise from table, to which I now invite you."
"I do not understand all this, Toussaint."
"I have pledged myself to explain."
"And you say there is no personal feeling--no offence between us?"
"If any, my lord, I alone am the offender. Will you be pleased to--" "Oh, yes, I will breakfast; and was never more ready. Monsieur Papalier, our morning mass has kept you waiting, I fear."
Papalier seated himself, but was near starting up again when he saw his negro host preparing to take his place between his two quests, Papalier had never yet sat at table with a negro, and his impulse was to resent the necessity; but a stern look from the General warned him to submit quietly to the usages of the new state of society which he had remained to witness; and he sat through the meal, joining occasionally in the conversation, which, for his sake, was kept clear of subjects which might annoy him.
As soon as the servants, after producing pen, ink, and paper, had withdrawn, the General wrote a safe-conduct, and delivered it to Monsieur Papalier, with an intimation that an attendant should be ready to guide him to the nearest port, at his earliest convenience. Papalier understood this as it was meant--as a hint that there must be no delay.
He declared, therefore, his wish to depart, as soon as the heat of the day should decline.
"And now, my lord--," said Toussaint, "Yes, now for the explanation of this fancy of not receiving kindness from your best friends. Let us hear."
"I have this morning, my lord, despatched letters to Don Joachim Garcia, at Saint Domingo--" "You are in communication with the Colonial Government; and not through me! What can this mean?"
"And here, my lord, are exact copies of my letters, which I request the favour of you to read, and, if I may be permitted to say so, without haste or prejudice--though, in this case, it is much to ask."
Toussaint disappeared in the inner apartment; but not before he saw a smile on Papalier's face--a smile which told of amusement at the idea of a negro sending dispatches of any importance to the head of the government of the Spanish colony.
The General did not seem to feel any of the same amusement. His countenance was perplexed and anxious. He certainly obeyed Toussaint's wishes as to not being in haste: for he read the papers (which were few and short) again and again. He had not laid them down when Toussaint re-appeared from within--no longer glittering in his uniform and polished arms, but dressed in his old plantation clothes, and with his woollen cap in his hand. Both his guests first gazed at him, and then started from their seats.
Toussaint merely passed through the tent, bowing low to the General, and bidding him farewell. A confused noise outside, followed by a shout, roused Hermona from his astonishment.
"He is addressing the troops!" he cried, drawing his sword, and rushing forth.
Toussaint was not addressing the troops. He was merely informing Jacques, whom he had requested to lie in waiting there, beside his horse, that he was no longer a commander--no longer in the forces; and that the recent proclamation, by showing him that the cause of negro freedom was now one with that of the present government of France, was the reason of his retirement from the Spanish territory. He explained himself thus far, in order that he might not be considered a traitor to the lost cause of royalty in France; but, rather, loyal to that of his colour, from the first day of its becoming a cause.
Numbers became aware that something unusual was going forward, and were thronging to the spot, when the General rushed forth, sword in hand, shouting aloud-- "The traitor! Seize the traitor! Soldiers! seize the traitor!"
Toussaint turned in an instant, and sprang upon his horse. Not a negro would lay hands on him; but they cast upon him, in token of honour, the blossoms of the amaryllis and the orange that they carried. The Spanish soldiers, however, endeavoured to close round him and hem him in, as the General's voice was still heard-- "Seize him! Bring him in, dead or alive!"
Toussaint, however, was a perfect horseman; and his favourite horse served him well in this crisis. It burst through, or bounded over, all opposition, and, amidst a shower of white blossoms which strewed the way, instantly carried him beyond the camp. Well-mounted soldiers, and many of them, were behind, however; and it was a hard race between the fugitive and his pursuers, as it was witnessed from the camp. Along the river bank, and over the bridge, the danger of Toussaint appeared extreme; and the negroes, watching the countenance of Jacques, preserved a dead silence when all the horsemen had disappeared in the woods which clothed the steep. Then all eyes were turned towards the summit of that ridge, where the road crossed a space clear of trees; and there, in an incredibly short time, appeared the solitary horseman, who, unencumbered with heavy arms, and lightly clothed, had greatly the advantage of the soldiers in mounting the ascent. He was still followed; but he was just disappearing over the ridge, when the foremost soldier issued from the wood behind him.
"He is safe! he is safe!" was murmured through the throng; and the words reached the ears of the General in a tone which convinced him that the attachment of the black troops to Toussaint Breda was as strong as he himself had that morning declared it to be.
"Now you see, General," said Papalier, turning into the tent, from which he too had come forth in the excitement of the scene--"you see what you have to expect from these negroes."
"I see what I have to expect from you," replied the General, with severity. "It is enough to witness how you speak of a man to whom you owe your life this very day--and not for the first time."
"Nay, General, I have called him no names--not even `traitor.'"
"I have not owed him my life, Monsieur Papalier; and you are not the commander of these forces. It is my duty to prevent the defection of the negro troops; and I therefore used the language of the government I serve in proclaiming him a traitor. Had it been in mere speculation between him and myself that those papers had come in question, God knows I should have called him something very different."
"There is something in the man that infatuates--that blinds one's judgment, certainly," said Papalier. "His master, Bayou, spoiled him with letting him educate himself to an absurd extent. I always told Bayou so; and there is no saying now what the consequences may be. It is my opinion that we have not heard the last of him yet."
"Probably," said the General, gathering up his papers as his aide entered, and leaving the tent in conversation with him, almost without a farewell notice of Papalier.
The negro troops were busy to a man, in learning from Jacques, and repeating to one another, the particulars of what was in the proclamation, and the reasons of Toussaint's departure. General Hermona found that the two remaining black leaders, Jean Francais and Biasson, were not infected by Toussaint's convictions; that, on the contrary, they were far from sorry that he was thus gone, leaving them to the full enjoyment of Spanish grace. They addressed their soldiers in favour of loyalty, and in denunciation of treason, and treated the proclamation as slightly as Don Joachim Garcia could possibly have wished. They met with little response, however; and every one felt, amidst the show and parade and festivity of the day, a restlessness and uncertainty which he perceived existed no less in his neighbour than in himself. No one's mind was in the business or enjoyment of the festival; and no one could be greatly surprised at anything that might take place, though the men were sufficiently orderly in the discharge of their duty to render any interference with them unwarrantable, and any precautions against their defection impossible. The great hope lay in the influence of the two leaders who remained, as the great fear was of that of the one who was gone.
The Spanish force was small, constituting only about one-fourth of the whole; and of these, the best mounted had not returned from the pursuit of Toussaint;--not because they could follow him far in the enemy's country, but because it required some skill and caution to get back in broad day, after having roused expectation all along the road.
While the leaders were anxiously calculating probabilities, and reckoning forces, Jacques was satisfying himself that the preponderance of numbers was greatly on the side of his absent friend. His hatred of the whites, which had never intermitted, was wrought up to strong passion this day by the treatment the proclamation and his friend had received. He exulted in the thought of being able to humble the Spaniards by withdrawing the force which enabled them to hold their posts, and by making him whom they called a traitor more powerful in the cause of the blacks than they could henceforth be in that of royalist France. Fired with these thoughts, he was hastily passing the tent of Toussaint, which he had supposed deserted, when he heard from within, speaking in anger and fear, a voice which he well knew, and which had power over him. He had strong reasons for remembering the first time he had seen Therese--on the night of the escape across the frontier. She was strongly associated with his feelings towards the class to which her owner belonged; and he knew that she, beautiful, lonely, and wretched, shared those feelings. If he had not known this from words dropped by her during the events of this morning, he would have learned it now; for she was declaring her thoughts to her master, loudly enough for any one who passed by to overhear.
Jacques entered the tent, and there stood Therese, declaring that she would leave her master, and never see him more, but prevented from escaping by Papalier having intercepted her passage to the entrance.
Her eyes glowed with delight on the appearance of Jacques, to whom she immediately addressed herself.
"I will not go with him--I will not go with him to Paris, to see his young ladies. He shall not take care of me. I will take care of myself. I will drown myself sooner than go with him. I do not care what becomes of me, but I will not go."
"Yes, you will care what becomes of you, Therese, because your own people care," said Jacques. "I will protect you. If you will be my wife, no white shall molest you again."
"Be your wife!"
"Yes. I love the blacks; and none so much as those whom the whites have oppressed--no one so much as you. If you will be my wife, we will--" Here, remembering the presence of a white, Jacques explained to Therese in the negro language (which she understood, though she always spoke French), the new hopes which had arisen for the blacks, and his own intention of following Toussaint, to make him a chief. He concluded in good French, smiling maliciously at Papalier as he spoke-- "You will come with me now to the priest, and be my wife."
"I will," replied Therese, calmly.
"Go," said Papalier. "You have my leave. I am thus honourably released from the care of you till times shall change. I am glad that you will not remain unprotected, at least."
"Unprotected!" exclaimed Therese, as she threw on the Spanish mantle which she was now accustomed to wear abroad. "Unprotected! And what has your protection been?"
"Very kind, my dear, I am sure. I have spent on your education money which I should be very glad of now. When people flatter you, Therese (as they will do; for there is not a negress in all the island to compare with you),--remember who made you a lady. You will promise me that much, Therese, at parting?"
"Remember who made me a lady!--I have forgotten too long who made me a woman," said Therese, devoutly upraising her eyes. "In serving Him and loving my husband, I will strive to forget you."
"All alike!" muttered Papalier, as the pair went out. "This is what one may expect from negroes, as the General will leant when he has had enough to do with them. They are all alike."
This great event in the life of Jacques Dessalines did not delay his proceedings for more than half-an-hour. Noon was but just past, when he led forth his wife from the presence of the priest, mounted her on his own horse before his tent, and sent her forward under the escort of his personal servant, promising to overtake her almost as soon as she should have crossed the river. When she was gone, he sent the word through the negro soldiery, who gathered round him almost to a man, and with the quietness which became their superior force. Jean Francais and Biasson were left with scarcely twenty followers each; and those few would do nothing. The whites felt themselves powerless amidst the noonday heats, and opposed to threefold numbers: and their officers found that nothing was to be done but to allow them to look on quietly, while Jacques led away his little army, with loud music and a streaming white flag. A few horsemen led the van, and closed in the rear. The rest marched, as if on a holiday trip, now singing to the music of the band, and now making the hills ring again with the name of Toussaint Breda.
As General Hermona, entirely indisposed for his siesta, watched the march through his glass from the entrance of his tent, while the notes of the wind-instruments swelled and died away in the still air, one of his aides was overheard by him to say to another-- "The General has probably changed his opinion since he said to you this morning, of Toussaint Breda, that God could not visit a soul more pure.
We have all had to change our minds rather more rapidly than suits such a warm climate."
"You may have changed your opinions since the sun rose, gentlemen," said Hermona; "but I am not sure that I have."
"How! Is it possible? We do not understand you, my lord."
"Do you suppose that you understand him? Have we been of a degraded race, slaves, and suddenly offered restoration to full manhood and citizenship? How otherwise can we understand this man? I do not profess to do so."
"You think well of him, my lord?"
"I am so disposed. Time, however, will show. He has gone away magnanimously enough, alone, and believing, I am confident, from what Father Laxabon tells me, that his career is closed; but I rather think we shall hear more of him."
"How these people revel in music!" observed one of the staff. "How they are pouring it forth now!"
"And not without reason, surely," said Hermona. "It is their exodus that we are watching."
CHAPTER EIGHT.
BREDA AGAIN.
The French proclamation was efficiently published along the line of march of the blacks. They shouted and sang the tidings of their freedom, joining with them the name of Toussaint Breda. These tidings of freedom rang through the ravines, and echoed up the sides of the hills, and through the depths of the forests, startling the wild birds on the mountain-ponds and the deer among the high ferns; and bringing down from their fastnesses a multitude of men who had fled thither from the vengeance of the whites and mulattoes, and to escape sharing in the violence of the negro force which Jean Francais had left behind him, to pursue uncontrolled their course of plunder and butchery. Glad, to such, were the tidings of freedom, with order, and under the command of one whose name was never mentioned without respect, if not enthusiasm.
The negro who did not know that there was any more world on the other side the Cibao peaks, had yet learned to be proud of the learning of Toussaint. The slave who conceived of God as dwelling in the innermost of the Mornes, and coming forth to govern His subjects with the fire of the lightning and the scythe of the hurricane, was yet able to revere the piety of Toussaint. The black bandit who had dipped his hands in the blood of his master, and feasted his ear with the groans of the innocent babes who had sat upon his knee, yet felt that there was something impressive in the simple habit of forgiveness, the vigilant spirit of mercy which distinguished Toussaint Breda from all his brethren in arms--from all the leading men of his colour, except his friend Henri Christophe. At the name of Toussaint Breda, then, these flocked down into the road by hundreds, till they swelled the numbers of the march to thousands. The Spanish soldiers, returning to their camp by such by-ways as they could find, heard again and again from a distance the cries of welcome and of triumph; and one or two of them chanced to witness from a high point of rock, or through a thick screen of foliage, the joyous progress of the little army, hastening on to find their chief. These involuntary spies gathered at every point of observation news which would gall the very soul of Jean Francais, if they should get back to the camp to tell it.
Jacques knew where to seek his friend, and led the way, on descending from the hills, straight across the plain to the Breda estate, where Toussaint meant to await his family. How unlike was this plantation to what it was when these negroes had seen it last! The cane-fields, heretofore so trim and orderly, with the tall canes springing from the clean black soil, were now a jungle. The old plants had run up till they had leaned over with their own weight, and fallen upon one another.
Their suckers had sprung up in myriads, so that the racoon which burrowed among them could scarcely make its way in and out. The grass on the little enclosed lawns grew so rank, that the cattle, now wild, were almost hidden as they lay down in it; and so uneven and unsightly were the patches of growth, that the blossoming shrubs with which it had been sprinkled for ornament, now looked forlorn and out of place, flowering amidst the desolation. The slave-quarter was scarcely distinguishable from the wood behind it, so nearly was it overgrown with weeds. A young foal was browsing on the thatch, and a crowd of glittering lizards darted out and away on the approach of human feet.
Jacques did not stay at the slave-quarter; but he desired his company to remain there and in the neighbouring field, while he went with Therese to bring out their chief to them. They went up to the house; but in no one of its deserted chambers did they find Toussaint.
"Perhaps he is in his own cottage," said Therese.
"Is it possible," replied Jacques, "that, with this fine house all to himself, he should take up with that old hut?"
"Let us see," said Therese; "for he is certainly not here."
When they readied Toussaint's cottage, it was no easy matter to know how to effect an entrance. Enormous gourds had spread their network over the ground, like traps for the feet of trespassers. The front of the piazza was completely overgrown with the creepers which had been brought there only to cover the posts, and hang their blossoms from the eaves.
They had now spread and tangled themselves, till they made the house look like a thicket. In one place, however, between two of the posts, they had been torn down, and the evening wind was tossing the loose coils about. Jacques entered the gap, and immediately looked out again, smiling, and beckoning Therese to come and see. There, in the piazza, they found Toussaint, stretched asleep upon the bench--so soundly asleep, for once, that the whispers of his friends did not alter, for a moment, his heavy breathing.
"How tired he must be!" said Jacques. "At other times I have known his sleep so light, that he was broad awake as quick as a lizard, if a beetle did but sail over his head."
"He may well be tired," said Therese. "You know how weary he looked at mass this morning. I believe he had no rest last night; and now this march to-day--" "Well! He must rouse up now, however; for his business will not wait."
And he called him by his name.
"Henri!" cried Toussaint, starting up.
"No, not Henri. I am Jacques. You are not awake yet, and the place is dark. I am your friend Jacques, five inches shorter than Henri. You see?"
"You here, Jacques! and Therese! Surely I am not awake yet."
"Yes, you are, now you know Therese--whom you will henceforth look upon as my wife. We are both free of the whites now, for ever."
"Is it possible?"
"It is true; and we will fell you all presently. But first explain why you called me Henri as you woke. If we could see Henri--Why did you name Henri--" "Because he was the next person I expected to see. I met one on the way who knew where he was, and took a message to him."
"If we could learn from Henri--" said Jacques.
"Here is Henri," said the calm, kindly, well-known voice of the powerful Christophe, who now showed himself outside. The other went out to him, and greeted him heartily.
"What news, Henri?" asked Toussaint. "How are affairs at Cap? What is doing about the proclamation there?"
"Affairs are going badly at Cap. The mulattoes will no more bear our proclamation than the whites would bear theirs. They have shut up General Laveaux in prison; and the French, without their military leader, do not know what to do next. The commissary has no authority, and talks of embarking for France; and the troops are cursing the negroes, for whose sake, they say, their General is imprisoned, and will soon die of the heats."
"We must deliver General Laveaux," said Toussaint. "Our work already lies straight before us. We must raise a force. Henri, can you bring soldiers?"
"Ay, Henri," said Jacques, "what force can you bring to join ours?
General Toussaint Breda has six thousand here at hand, half of whom are disciplined soldiers, well armed. The rest are partially armed, and have strong hearts and ready hands."
Toussaint turned round, as if to know what Jacques could mean.
"General," said Jacques, "the army I speak of is there, among those fields, burning to greet you their commander; but in the meantime, I believe, supping heartily on whatever they can find in your wilderness here, in the shape of maize, pumpkins, and plantains--and what else, you know better than? That is right, Therese; rest yourself in the piazza, and I will bring you some supper, too."
"Six thousand, did you say, Jacques?" said Henri. "I can rally two thousand this night, and more will join on the way."
"We must free Laveaux before sunrise," said Toussaint. "Will our troops be fit for a march after this supper of theirs, Jacques--after supper and three hours' rest?"
"They are fit at this moment to march over the island--to swim from Saint Domingo to France, if you will only lead them," replied Jacques.
"Go to them, and they will do what you will."
"So be it!" said Toussaint, his bosom for a moment heaving with the thought that his career, even as viewed by Father Laxabon, was not ended. "Henri, what is the state of the plain? Is the road open?"
"Far from it. The mulattoes are suspicious, and on the watch against some danger--I believe they are not clear what. I avoided some of their scouts; and the long way they made me go round was the reason of my being late."
Observing that Toussaint looked thoughtful, he proceeded: "I imagine there is no force in the plain that could resist your numbers, if you are sure of your troops. The road is open, if they choose that it be so."
"I am sure of only half of them; and then there is the town. It seems to me, Jacques, that I may more depend upon my troops, in their present mood, for a merry night march, though it be a long one, than for a skirmish through the plain, though it be a short one."
Jacques assented. It was agreed that the little army should proceed by the mountain tracts, round by Plaisance and Gros Morne, so as to arrive by the Haut-du-Cap, in which direction it was not likely that a foe should be looked for. Thus they could pour into the town from the western heights before sunrise, while the scouts of the mulatto rebels were looking for them across the eastern plain.
This settled, Jacques went down among his forces, to tell them that their general was engaged in a council of war--Henri Christophe having joined from Cap, with a promise of troops, and with intelligence which would open the way to victory and freedom. The general allowed them ten minutes more for refreshment, and to form themselves into order; and he would then present himself to them. Shouting was forbidden, lest any foe should be within hearing; but a murmur of delight and mutual congratulation ran through the ranks, which were beginning to form while the leader of their march was yet speaking. He retreated, carrying with him the best arms he could select for the use of his general.
While he was gone, Toussaint stepped back into the piazza, where Therese sat quietly watching the birds flitting in and out among the foliage and flowers.
"Therese," said he, "what will you do this night and to-morrow? Who will take care of you?"
"I know not--I care not," said she. "There are no whites here; and I am well where they are not. Will you not let me stay here?"
"Did Jacques say, and say truly, that you are his wife?"
"He said so, and truly. I have been wretched, for long--" "And sinful. Wretchedness and sin go together."
"And I was sinful; but no one told me so. I was ignorant, and weak, and a slave. Now I am a woman and a wife. No more whites, no more sin, no more misery! Will you not let me stay here?"
"I will: and here you will presently be safe, and well cared for, I hope. My wife and my children are coming home--coming, probably in a few hours. They will make this a home to you till Jacques can give you one of your own. You shall be guarded here till my Margot arrives.
Shall it be so?"
"Shall it? Oh, thank God! Jacques," she cried, as she heard her husband's step approaching. "Oh, Jacques! I am happy. Toussaint Breda is kind--he has forgiven me--he welcomes me--his wife will--" Tears drowned her voice. Toussaint said gently-- "It is not for me to forgive, Therese, whom you have never offended.
God has forgiven, I trust, your young years of sin. You will atone (will you not?) by the purity of your life--by watching over others, lest they suffer as you have done. You will guard the minds of my young daughters: will you not? You will thank God through my Genifrede, my Aimee?"
"I will, I will," she eagerly cried, lifting up her face, bright through her tears. "Indeed my heart will be pure--longs to be pure."
"I know it, Therese," said Toussaint. "I have always believed it, and I now know it."
He turned to Jacques and said-- "You declare yourself to be under my command?"
"Yes, Toussaint; you are my general."
"Well, then, I appoint you to the duty of remaining here, with a troop, to guard my family (who are coming in a few hours), and this estate. I have some hopes of doing what I want at Cap without striking a blow; and you will be better here. You hate the whites too much to like my warfare. Farewell, Therese! Jacques, follow me, to receive your troop."
CHAPTER NINE.
THE MAN.
The town of Cap Francais was next morning in a hurry, which attracted the attention of General Laveaux in his prison, and the French commissary, Polverel, on board the vessel in the roads, in which he had taken refuge from the mulattoes, and where he held himself in readiness to set sail for France, in case of any grave disaster befalling the General or the troops. From his cell, Laveaux heard in the streets the tramp of horses and of human feet; and from the deck of the _Orphee_, Polverel watched through his glass the bustle on the wharves, and the putting off of more than one boat, which prepared him to receive news.
The news came. The report was universal in the town that Toussaint Breda had gone over from the allies to the side of republican France; and that this step had been followed by a large defection from the allied forces. Messengers had arrived, one after another, with dispatches which had been intercepted by the mulattoes. These who brought them, however, had given out that some posts had been surrendered, without a summons, into the hands of the French. This was certainly the case with Marmalade and Plaisance; and others were confidently spoken of.
"Offered to our hands just when our hands are tied, and we cannot take them!" said Polverel. "If our fresh regiments would only arrive to-day, and help us to wrench the prison keys from the hands of those devils of mulattoes, and let out Laveaux, the colony would be ours before night."
As he spoke, he swept the horizon to the north and east with his glass; but no welcome sail was visible.
"Now look the other way," said the commander of the vessel; "if there is no help at sea, try if there be none on land. I have been watching that mountain-side for some time; and, if I am not much mistaken, there is an army of dusky fellows there."
"Dusky! mulattoes! then we are lost!" cried Polverel. "If the mulattoes from the south have come up in any numbers--" "They are black as the night that is just gone," said the commander, still keeping his eye fixed on the western heights above the town.
"See, the sun strikes them now. They are blacks. The negroes under Toussaint himself, very probably. I shall not have the pleasure of carrying you to France just yet, Monsieur Polverel."
Notwithstanding the display of black forces on the Haut-du-Cap, the bustle of the town seemed to be in the opposite direction. A few shots were fired in the south-east quarter, and some smoke arose from thence.
This was soon explained by the news that Henri Christophe had approached the town from the plain, with four or five thousand men, and was forcing an entrance that way. There was little conflict. Toussaint poured down his force through the barracks, where the French soldiers gave him a hearty welcome, and along the avenues of Government-House, and the neighbouring public offices, in which quarter the mulattoes had little interest. Within an hour, the mulattoes had all slunk back into their homes, telling their families that they could have dealt with the French alone, but that they could not withstand an army of twenty thousand men (only doubling the real number), which had dropped from the clouds, for aught they knew. The few dead bodies were removed, the sand sucked up their blood, and the morning wind blew dust over its traces. A boat was sent off, in due form, to bring Commissary Polverel home to Government-House. Toussaint himself went to the prison to bring out General Laveaux, with every demonstration of respect; and all presently wore the aspect of a jour-de-fete.
Hour by hour tidings were spread which increased the joy of the French, and the humiliation of their foes. The intercepted dispatches were given up, and more arrived with the news of the successive defection from the allies of all the important posts in the colony, held by negro forces. In the name of Toussaint Breda, the garrisons of Marmalade and Plaisance first declared for republican France; and after them, Gros Morne, Henneri, and Le Dondon.
The news of the acquisition of these last arrived in the evening, when the French officials were entertaining the negro chief in the salon of Government-House. It was late: the house was brilliantly lighted; and its illuminations were reflected from a multitude of faces without.
Late as it was, and great as had been the fatigues of the negro troops, they were not yet weary of hearing the praises of their own Toussaint.
Adding their numbers to those of the white inhabitants of Cap, they thronged the court of Government-House and the Jesuits' Walk; and even in the Place d'Archer and the Rue Espagnole, passengers found it difficult to make their way. The assemblage could scarcely have told what detained them there, unless it were the vague expectation of more news, the repetition of the praises they loved to hear, and, perhaps, some hope of getting one more glimpse of Toussaint on this night of his triumph. From mouth to mouth circulated the words which General Laveaux had spoken in the morning, when released from his prison--"This man is the saviour of the whites--the avenger of the authorities. He is surely the black, the Spartacus predicted by Raynal, whose destiny it should be to avenge the wrongs of his race." From mouth to month went these words; and from heart to heart spread the glow they kindled.
Toussaint himself had heard these words; and in his heart also were they glowing. As he sat at table, refreshing himself with fruits, but (according to his invariable custom) refusing wine, he was reminded by all that passed that his career was not ended. He wore the uniform of brigadier-general--a token that he had not lost rank. Monsieur Polverel had declared his intention of soon returning to France; and General Laveaux had said that when he was thus left in charge of the colony, he should entreat General Toussaint, who best understood its affairs, to fill the office of lieutenant-governor, and should also be guided in military affairs implicitly by his counsels. Toussaint heard, and felt that, in truth, his career was not ended. He was requested to name a day when he would take the oaths publicly, and receive the homage of the grateful colony; and in his reply he took occasion to declare with earnestness that his present course of action originated altogether in the decree of the Convention in favour of the negroes; and that the resources of his power and influence should all be directed towards raising his race to that intellectual and moral equality with the whites, without which they could neither enjoy nor retain the political equality which the Convention had decreed. In the midst of the strongly expressed sympathy of his hosts, who were this day disposed to approve and admire all he said and did--while they were uttering hopes for his own people which touched his soul, the final news of this great day was brought in, contained in dispatches which told of the acquisition of the posts of Limbe and l'Aeul--the two bars to the north-western peninsula