of the colony. The commanders declared their adhesion to the cause of the blacks and Toussaint Breda.
"Bravo!" cried the French general: "that obstinate region is ours! We will march through those posts to hold our festival, and the oaths shall be taken at Port Paix. Was not that district considered the most obstinate, general?"
Toussaint did not answer. He did not hear. The mention of Port Paix carried back his thoughts to the night when he was last there, heavy at heart, assisting his master to escape.
"All is ours, now, through him," said Monsieur Polverel, gazing at his guest, "Yes," rejoined Laveaux; "he is the Napoleon Bonaparte of Saint Domingo."
"Who is he?--who is Napoleon Bonaparte?" asked Toussaint, roused to listen. "I have heard his name. What has he done?"
"He is a young French artillery officer--" "A Corsican by birth," interposed Polverel.
"Is he really? I was not aware of that," said Laveaux. "That circumstance somewhat increases the resemblance of the cases. He was ill-used (or thought he was) by his officers, and was on the point of joining the Turkish service, when he was employed in the defence of the Convention, the other day. He saved the Convention--he saved Paris--and he is about to put off his uniform of brigadier-general" (and Laveaux smiled and bowed as he spoke)--"like yourself, he is about to put off his uniform of brigadier-general for that of a higher rank. His name was known before in connection with the siege of Toulon. But this last achievement is the grand one. He has cleaved the path of the Convention. Polverel, did I not say rightly that General Toussaint is the Napoleon Bonaparte of Saint Domingo?"
"Yes. General Toussaint also is making for us an opening everywhere."
Toussaint heard the words, but they made a faint impression at the moment of his imagination being fixed on the young artillery officer.
There were those present, however, who lost nothing of what was spoken, and who conveyed it all to the eager ears outside. The black attendants, the gazers and listeners who went in and out, intoxicated with the glory of the negro general, reported all that was said of him.
These last few words of Polverel wrought wonderfully, and were instantly spread through the excited multitude. A shout was presently heard, which must have sounded far up the mountains and over the bay; and Polverel started with surprise when his word came back to him in a response like that of an assembled nation. "L'ouverture!"
"L'ouverture!" cried the multitude, fully comprehending what the word contained in its application to their chief, "Toussaint L'Ouverture!"
Henceforth, the city, the colony, the island, and, after a time, all Europe, rang with the name of Toussaint L'Ouverture.
When Toussaint heard the cry from without, he started to his feet; and his hosts rose also, on seeing the fire in his eye--brighter than during the deeds of the morning.
"The general would address them," said Polverel. "You wish to speak to the people, General Toussaint."
"No," said Toussaint.
"What then?" inquired Laveaux.
"I would be alone," said Toussaint, stepping backwards from the table.
"Your fatigues have doubtless been great," observed Laveaux. "Lights shall be ordered in your apartment."
"I cannot sleep yet," said Toussaint. "I cannot sleep till I have news from Breda. But I have need of thought, gentlemen; there is moonlight and quiet in these gardens. Permit me to leave you now."
He paced the shrubberies, cool with moonlight and with dews; and his agitation subsided when all eyes but those of Heaven were withdrawn.
Here no flatteries met his ear--no gestures of admiration made him drop his eyes, abashed. Constrained as he yet felt himself in equal intercourse with whites, new to his recognised freedom, unassured in his acts, uncertain of the future, and (as he believed) unprepared for such a future as was now unfolding, there was something inexpressibly irksome and humbling in the homage of the whites--of men who understood nothing of him, and little of his race, and who could have none but political purposes in their intercourse with him. He needed this evening the sincerities as well as the soothings of nature; and it was with a sense of relief that he cast himself once again upon her bosom, to be instructed, with infantine belief, how small an atom he was in the universe of God--how low a rank he held in the hierarchy of the ministers of the Highest.
"Yet I _am_ one," thought he, as the shout of his name and now title reached his ear, distinct, though softened by distance. "I am an appointed minister. It seems as if I were the one of whom I myself have spoken as likely to arise--not, as Laveaux says, after Raynal, to avenge, but to repair the wrongs of my colour. Low, indeed, are we sunk, deep is our ignorance, abject are our wills, if such a one as I am to be the leader of thousands--I, whose will is yet unexercised--I, who shrink ashamed before the knowledge of the meanest white--I, so lately a slave--so long dependent that I am an oppression to myself--am at this hour the ruler over ten thousand wills! The ways of God are dark, or it might seem that He despised His negro children in committing so many of them to so poor a guide. But He despises nothing that He has made. It may be that we are too weak and ignorant to be fit for better guidance in our new state of rights and duties. It may be that a series of teachers is appointed to my colour, of whom I am to be the first, only because I am the lowest; destined to give way to wiser guides when I have taught all that I know, and done all that I can. May it be so! I will devote myself wholly; and when I have done may I be more willing to hide myself in my cottage, or lie down in my grave, than I have been this day to accept the new lot which I dare not refuse!--Deal gently with me, O God! and, however I fail, let me not see my children's hearts hardened, as hearts are hardened, by power! Let me not see in their faces the look of authority, nor hear in their voices the tones of pride! Be with my people, O Christ! The weaker I am, the more be Thou with them, that Thy gospel may be at last received! The hearts of my people are soft--they are gentle, they are weak:--let Thy gospel make them pure--let it make them free. Thy gospel--who has not heard of it, and who has seen it? May it be found in the hearts of my people, the despised! and who shall then despise them again? The past is all guilt and groans. Into the future open a better way--" "Toussaint L'Ouverture!" he heard again from afar, and bowed his head, overpowered with hope.
"Toussaint L'Ouverture!" repeated some light gay voices close at hand.
His boys were come, choosing to bring themselves the news from Breda-- that Margot and her daughters, and old Dessalines and Moyse were all there, safe and happy, except for their dismay at finding the cottage and field in such a state of desolation.
"They will not mind when they hear that they are to live in a mansion henceforward," said Placide. "Jean Francais had better have stood by his colour, as we do."
"And how have you stood by your colour, my young hero?"
"I told Jean in the camp to-day--" "Jean! In the camp! How came you there?"
"We were so near, that I galloped in to see what they thought of your leaving, and who had followed you."
"Then I thank God that you are here."
"Jean caught me; but the General bade him let me go, and asked whether the blacks made war upon children. I told him that I was not a child; and I told Jean that you had rather live in a cave for the sake of the blacks, than go off to the court of Spain--" "What made you fancy I should go there?"
"Not you, but Jean. Jean is going, he says, because he is a noble.
There will soon be peace between France and Spain, he says; and then he shall be a noble at the court of Spain. I am glad he is going."
"So am I, if he thinks he shall be happy there."
"We shall be better without him," said Isaac. "He would never be quiet while you were made Lieutenant-Governor of Saint Domingo. Now you will be alone and unmolested in your power. Where did you learn all this?"
"Every one knows it--every one in Cap. Every one knows that Jean has done with us, and that the Commissary is going home, and that General Laveaux means to be guided in everything by you; and that the posts have all surrendered in your name; and that at Port Paix--" "Enough, enough! my boys. Too much, for I see that your hearts are proud."
"The Commissary and the General said that you are supreme--the idol of your colour. Those were their words."
"And in this there is yet no glory. I have yet done nothing, but by what is called accident. Our own people were ready--by no preparation of mine; the mulattoes were weak and taken by surprise, through circumstances not of my ordering. Glory there may hereafter be belonging to our name, my boys; but as yet there is none. I have power: but power is less often glory than disgrace."
"Oh, father! do but listen. Hark again! `Toussaint L'Ouverture!'"
"I will strive to make that shout a prophecy, my sons. Till then, no pride! Are you not weary? Come in to rest. Can you sleep in my fine chamber here as well as at Breda?"
"Anywhere," said Isaac, sleepily.
Toussaint gave up his apartment to his sons, and went forth once more to survey the town, and see that his troops were in their quarters. This done, he repaired to his friend Henri, willing for one more night to forego his greatness; and there, in his friend's small barrack-room, the supreme in the colony--the idol of his colour--slept, as he had hoped for his boys, as tranquilly as if he had been at Breda.
CHAPTER TEN.
A MORNING OF OFFICE.
If the devastation attending the revolutionary wars of Saint Domingo was great, it was repaired with singular rapidity. Thanks to the vigorous agencies of nature in a tropical region, the desolated plains were presently covered with fresh harvests, and the burnt woods were buried deep under the shadow of young forests, more beautiful than the old.
Thanks also to the government of the wisest mind in the island, the moral evils of the struggle were made subordinate to its good results.
It was not in the power of man to bury past injuries in oblivion, while there were continually present minds which had been debased by tyranny, and hearts which had been outraged by cruelty; but all that could be done was done. Vigorous employment was made the great law of society-- the one condition of the favour of its chief; and, amidst the labours of the hoe and the mill, the workshop and the wharf--amidst the toils of the march and the bustle of the court, the bereaved and insulted forgot their woes and their revenge. A now growth of veneration and of hope overspread the ruins of old delights and attachments, as the verdure of the plain spread its mantle over the wrecks of mansion and of hut. In seven years from the kindling of the first incendiary torch on the Plaine du Nord, it would have been hard for a stranger, landing in Saint Domingo, to believe what had been the horrors of the war.
Of these seven years, however, the first three or four had been entirely spent in war, and the rest disturbed by it. Double that number of years must pass before there could be any security that the crop planted would ever be reaped, or that the peasants who laid out their family burying-grounds would be carried there in full age, instead of perishing in the field or in the woods. The cultivators went out to their daily work with the gun slung across their shoulders and the cutlass in their belt: the hills were crested with forts, and the mountain-passes were watched by scouts. The troops were frequently reviewed in the squares of the towns, and news was perpetually arriving of a skirmish here or there. The mulatto general, Rigaud, had never acknowledged the authority of Toussaint L'Ouverture; and he was still in the field, with a mulatto force sufficient to interrupt the prosperity of the colony, and endanger the authority of its Lieutenant-Governor. It was some time, however, since Rigaud had approached any of the large towns. The sufferers by his incursions were the planters and field-labourers. The inhabitants of the towns carried on their daily affairs as if peace had been fully established in the island, and feeling the effects of such warfare as there was only in their occasional contributions of time and money.
The Commander-in-chief, as Toussaint L'Ouverture was called, by the appointment of the French commissaries, though his dignity had not yet been confirmed from Paris--the Commander-in-chief of Saint Domingo held his head-quarters at Port-au-Prince. Among other considerations which rendered this convenient, the chief was that he thus avoided much collision with the French officials, which must otherwise have taken place. All the commissaries, who rapidly succeeded one another from Paris, resided at Government-House, in Cap Francais. Thence, they issued orders and regulations in the name of the government at home; orders and regulations which were sometimes practicable, sometimes unwise, and often absurd. If Toussaint had resided at Cap, a constant witness of their ignorance of the minds, manners, and interests of the blacks--if he had been there to listen to the complaints and appeals which would have been daily made, he could scarcely have kept terms for a single week with the French authorities. By establishing himself in the south, while they remained in the north, he was able quietly to neutralise or repair much of the mischief which they did, and to execute many of his own plans without consulting them; while many a grievance was silently borne, many an order simply neglected, which would have been a cause of quarrel, if any power of redress had been at hand.
Jealous as he was for the infant freedom of his race, Toussaint knew that it would be best preserved by weaning their minds from thoughts of anger, and their eyes from the sight of blood. Trust in the better part of negro nature guided him in his choice between two evils. He preferred that they should be misgoverned in some affairs of secondary importance, and keep the peace, rather than that they should be governed to their hearts' content by himself, at the risk of quarrel with the mother-country. He trusted to the singular power of forbearance and forgiveness which is found in the negro race for the preservation of friendship with the whites and of the blessings of peace; and he therefore reserved his own powerful influence over both parties for great occasions--interfering only when he perceived that, through carelessness or ignorance, the French authorities were endangering some essential liberty of those to whom they were the medium of the pleasure of the government at home. The blacks were aware that the vigilance of their Commander-in-chief over their civil rights never slept, and that his interference always availed; and these convictions ensured their submission, or at least their not going beyond passive resistance on ordinary occasions, and thus strengthened their habits of peace.
The Commander-in-chief held his levees at Port-au-Prince on certain days of the month, all the year round. No matter how far-off he might be, or how engaged, the night before, he rarely failed to be at home on the appointed day, at the fixed hour. On one particular occasion, he was known to have been out against Rigaud, day and night, for a fortnight, and to be closely engaged as far south as Aux Cayes, the very evening preceding the review and levee which had been announced for the 20th of January. Not the less for this did he appear in front of the troops in the Place Republicaine, when the daylight gushed in from the east, putting out the stars, whose reflection trembled in the still waters of the bay. The last evolutions were finished, and the smoke from the last volley had incited away in the serene sky of January, before the coolness of the northern breeze had yielded to the blaze of the mounting sun. The troops then lined the long streets of the town, and the avenue to the palace, while the Commander-in-chief and his staff passed on, and entered the palace-gates.
The palace, like every other building in Port-au-Prince, consisted of one storey only. The town had been destroyed by an earthquake in 1770; and, though earthquakes are extremely rare in Saint Domingo, the place had been rebuilt in view of the danger of another. The palace therefore covered a large piece of ground, and its principal rooms were each nearly surrounded by garden and grass-plat. The largest apartment, in which the levees were always held, was the best room in the island--if not for the richness of its furniture, for its space and proportions, and the views which it commanded. Not even the abode of the Commander-in-chief could exhibit such silken sofas, marble tables, gilded balustrades, and japanned or ivory screens, as had been common in the mansions of the planters; and Toussaint had found other uses for such money as he had than those of pure luxury. The essential and natural advantages of his palace were enough for him and his. The door of this, his favourite apartment, was covered with a fine India matting; the windows were hung with white muslin curtains; and the sofas, which stood round three sides of the room, between the numerous windows, were covered with green damask, of no very rich quality. In these many windows lay the charm, commanding, as they did, extensive prospects to the east, north, and west. The broad verandah cast a shadow which rendered it unnecessary to keep the jalousies closed, except during the hottest hours of the year. This morning every blind was swung wide open, and the room was cool and shady, while, without, all was bathed in the mild, golden sunshine of January--bright enough for the strongest eye, but without glare.
To the east and north spread the Cul-de-Sac--a plain of unequalled richness, extending to the foot of the mountains, fifteen miles into the interior. The sun had not yet risen so high but that these mountains cast a deep shadow for some distance into the plain, while their skirts were dark with coffee-groves, and their summits were strongly marked against the glowing sky. Amidst the wide, verdant level of the plain, arose many a white mansion, each marked by a cluster of trees, close at hand. Some of these plantation houses looked bluish and cool in the mountain shadows; others were like bright specks in the sunshine, each surmounted by a star, if its gilded weathercock chanced to turn in the breeze. To the north, also, this plain, still backed by mountains, extended till it joined the sands of the bight.
Upon these sands, on the margin of the deep blue waters, might be seen flashing in the sun a troop of flamingoes, now moving forward in a line into the waves, and diligently fishing; and then, on the alarm of a scout, all taking wing successively, and keeping their order, as they flew homewards, to the salt marshes in the interior--their scarlet bodies vividly contrasted with the dark green of the forests that clothed the mountain-sides. To the west lay the broad azure sheet of the bay, locked by the island of Gonave, and sprinkled with fishing-boats, while under the forest-tufted rocks of the island two vessels rode at anchor--a schooner belonging to Saint Domingo, and an English frigate.
In the shady western piazza sat a party who seemed much occupied in looking out upon the bay, and watching the vessels that lay under the island; from which vessels boats might be seen putting off for the town just at the time of the commencement of the levee. The party in the piazza consisted chiefly of women. Madame L'Ouverture was there--like, and yet unlike, the Margot of former years--employed, as usual--busy with her needle, and motherly, complacent, tenderly vigilant as of old; but with a matronly grace and dignity which evidently arose from a gratified mind, and not from external state. Her daughters were beside her, both wonderfully improved in beauty, though Genifrede still preserved the superiority there. She sat a little apart from her mother and sister netting. Moyse was at her feet, in order to obtain the benefit of an occasional gleam from the eyes which were cast down upon her work. His idolatry of her was no surprise to any who looked upon her in her beauty, now animated and exalted by the love which she had avowed, and which was sanctioned by her father and her family. The sisters were dressed nearly alike, though Aimee knew well that it would have been politic to have avoided thus bringing herself into immediate comparison with her sister. But Aimee cared not what was thought of her face, form, or dress. Isaac had always been satisfied with them. She had confided in Genifrede's taste when they first assumed their rank; and it was least troublesome to do so still. If Isaac should wish it otherwise when he should return from France, she would do as he desired.
Meantime, they were dressed in all essentials exactly alike, from the pattern of the Madras handkerchief they wore (according to universal custom) on their heads, to the cut of the French-kid shoe. The dress was far from resembling the European fashion of the time. No tight lacing; no casing in whalebone--nothing like a hoop. A chemisette of the finest cambric appeared within the bodice, and covered the bosom.
The short full sleeves were also of white cambric. The bodice, and short full skirt, were of deep yellow India silk; and the waist was confined with a broad band of violet-coloured velvet, gaily embroidered.
The only difference in the dress of the sisters was in their ornaments.
Aimee wore heavy ear-drops, and a large necklace and bracelets of amethyst; while Genifrede wore, suspended from a throat-band of velvet, embroidered like that which bound her waist, a massive plain gold crucifix, lately given her by Moyse. Her ear-rings were hoops of plain gold, and her bracelets again of embroidered velvet, clasped with plain gold. In her might be seen, and in her was seen by the Europeans who attended the levee of that day, what the negro face and form may be when seen in their native climate, unhardened by degradation, undebased by ignorance, unspoiled by oppression--all peculiarities of feature softened under the refining influence of mind, and all peculiarities of expression called out in their beauty by the free exercise of natural affections. The animated sweetness of the negro countenance is known only to those who have seen it thus.
Paul was of the party, looking very well in the French uniform, which he wore in honour of his brother on great occasions, though he was far from having grown warlike on his change of fortune. His heart was still in his cottage, or on the sea; and now, as he stood leaning against a pillar of the piazza, his eye was more busy in watching the fishing-boats in the bay than in observing what went on within the house. The only thing he liked about state-days was the hours of idleness they afforded--such hours as this, when, lounging in the shade, he could see Moyse happy at the feet of his beloved, and enjoy the soft wind as it breathed past, laden with spicy scents. During such an hour, he almost forgot the restraints of his uniform and of his rank.
There was yet another person in the piazza. Seated on its step, but sheltered by its broad eaves, sat Therese--more beautiful by far than Genifrede--more beautiful by far than in her days of girlhood-- celebrated as she had then been throughout the colony. Her girlishness was gone, except its grace; her sensitiveness was gone, and (as those might think who did not watch the changes of her eye) much of her animation. Her carriage was majestic, her countenance, calm, and its beauty, now refined by a life of leisure and the consciousness of rank-- leisure and rank both well employed--more imposing than ever. Her husband was now a general in Toussaint's army. When he was in the field, Madame Dessalines remained at home, on their estate near Saint Marc. When he was in attendance on the Commander-in-chief, she was ever a welcome guest in Toussaint's family. Madame L'Ouverture loved her as a daughter; and she had endeared herself to the girls. At this time, from an accidental circumstance, she was at the palace without her husband. It was evident that she felt quite at home there; for, though she had arrived only a few hours before, she did not appear disposed to converse. As she sat alone, leaning against the base of the pillar, she now and then cast her eyes on the book she held open in her hand, but for the most part looked abroad upon the terraced town, the bay, or the shadowy clefts of the rocky island which closed it in.
The sound of feet and of voices from within increased from moment to moment. The Commander-in-chief had assumed his place, with his aides on either hand; and presently the room was so nearly filled as to leave no more space than was required for the deputations to pass in at one entrance on the south of the apartment, appear before the General, and pass out at the other door. Toussaint stood at the centre of the north end, beside a table partly covered with papers, and at which sat his secretary. On this table lay his cocked hat. His uniform was blue, with scarlet capo and cuffs, richly embroidered. He had white trousers, long Hessian boots, and, as usual, the Madras handkerchief on his head.
While walking up the apartment, he had been conversing on business with his officers, and continued to do so, without the loss of a moment, till, on his taking his place, two ushers came up with an account of the parties waiting for admittance, desiring to know his pleasure as to who should have precedence.
"The clergy," said Toussaint; "the first in duty must be first in honour."
In a few moments there was a loud announcement of the clergy from the districts of Saint Marc, Leogane, Mirbalais, and so on, through a long enumeration of districts. The priests entered, two and two, a long procession of black gowns. As they collected into a group before him, every one anxiously making way for them, Toussaint crossed his arms upon his breast, and bowed his head low for many moments. When he looked up again, an expression of true reverence was upon his countenance; and, in a tone of earnestness, he asked for what service they desired to command him.
Father Antioche, an old priest, assisted by a brother at least thirty years younger, offered sealed papers, which, he said, contained reports from the several districts concerning the religious and moral condition of the inhabitants. Toussaint received them, and laid them, with his own hand, upon the table beside him, saying, with much solicitude-- "Do I see rightly in your countenances that you bring good news of your flocks, my fathers!"
"It is so," replied the old priest. "Our wishes are fast fulfilling."
"Eight thousand marriages have been celebrated, as will appear in our reports," added the young priest.
"And in the difficult cases of a plurality of wives," resumed Father Antioche, "there is generally a willingness in the cultivators to maintain liberally those who are put away."
"And the children?"
"The children may be found in the schools, sitting side by side in peace. The quarrels of the children of different mothers (quarrels often fatal in the fields) disappear in the schools. The reports well exhibit the history of our expanding system."
"God be thanked!" Toussaint uttered in a low voice.
"Under the religions rule of your excellency," said the young priest, "enforced by so pure an example of piety, the morals of this colony will be established, and the salvation of its people secured."
"You," said Toussaint, "the servants of Christ, are the true rulers of this island and its inhabitants. I am your servant in guarding external order, during a period which you will employ in establishing your flocks in the everlasting wisdom and peace of religion. I hold the inferior office of keeping our enemies in awe, and enabling our people to find subsistence and comfort. My charge is the soil on which, and the bodies in which, men live. You have in charge their souls, in which lies the future of this world and of the next. You are the true rulers of Saint Domingo; and we bow to you as such."
Every head was immediately bowed, and the priests went out, amidst the obeisances of the whole assemblage--some of the order wondering, perhaps, whether every mind there was as sincere in its homage as that of the Commander-in-chief.
The superintendents of the cultivators came next--negroes dressed in check shirts, white linen jackets and trousers, and with the usual Madras handkerchief on the head. They, too, handed in reports; and to them also did Toussaint address his questions, with an air of respect almost equal to that with which he had spoken to the priests.
"I grieve," said he, "that you cannot yet fulfil your function altogether in peace. My generals and I have done what we can to preserve our fields from devastation, and our cultivators from the dangers and the fears of ambushed foes; but Rigaud's forces are not yet subdued; and for a while we must impose upon our cultivators the toil of working armed in the field. We are soldiers here," he added, looking round upon his officers, "but I hope there is not one of us who does not honour the hoe more than the gun. How far have you been able to repair in the south-eastern districts the interruption in the September planting?"
The superintendent of those districts came forward, and said that some planting had been effected in November, the sprouts of which now looked well. More planting had been done during the early part of the present month; and time would show the result.
"Good!" said Toussaint. "Some of the finest crops I have seen have risen from January plants, though it were best it were done in September. How do you report about the rats?"
"The nuisance is still great," replied the head superintendent; "their uninterrupted possession of the fields during the troubles has made them very powerful. Would that your excellency were as powerful to conquer the rats as the mulattoes!"
"We have allies," said Toussaint, gravely--"an army more powerful than that which I command. Where are the ants!"
"They have closed their campaign. They cleared the fields for us in the autumn; but they have disappeared."
"For a time only. While there are rats, they will reappear."
"And when there are no more rats, we must call in some force, if your excellency knows of such, to make war upon the an Is; for they are only a less evil than that which they cure."
"If they were absent, you would find some worse evil in their stead-- pestilence, perhaps. Teach your children this, if you hear them complain of anything to which Providence has given life and an errand among us. The cocoa walks at Plaisance--are they fenced to the north?"
"Completely. The new wood has sprung up from the ashes of the fires, like a mist from the lake."
"Are the cottages enlarged and divided, as I recommended?"
"Universally. Every cottage inhabited by a family has now two rooms, at least. As your excellency also desired, the cultivators have spent their leisure hours in preparing furniture--from bedsteads to baskets.
As the reports will explain, there are some inventions which it is hoped will be inspected by your excellency--particularly a ventilator, to be fixed in the roofs of cottages; a broad shoe for walking over the salt marshes; and--" "The cooler," prompted a voice from behind.
"And a new kind of cooler, which preserves liquids, and even meats, for a longer time than any previously known to the richest planter in the island. This discovery does great credit to the sagacity of the labourer who has completed it."
"I will come and view it. I hope to visit all our cultivators--to verify your reports with my own eyes. At present, we are compelled, like the Romans, to go from arms to the plough, and from the plough to arms; but, when possible, I wish to show that I am not a negro of the coast, with my eye ever abroad upon the sea, or on foreign lands. I desire that we should make use of our own means for our own welfare.
Everything that is good shall be welcomed from abroad as it arrives; but the liberty of the blacks can be secured only by the prosperity of their agriculture."
"I do not see why not by fisheries," observed Paul, to the party in the piazza, as he caught his brother's words. "If Toussaint is not fond of fish, he should remember that other people are."
"He means," said Therese, "that toil, peaceful toil, with its hope, and its due fruit, is best for the blacks. Now, you know, Paul L'Ouverture, that if the fields of the ocean had required as much labour as those of the plain, you would never have been a fisherman."
"It is pleasanter on a hot day to dive than to dig; and easier to draw the net for an hour than to cut canes for a day--is it not, uncle?"
asked Aimee.
"If the Commander-in-chief thinks toil good for us," said Moyse, "why does he disparage war? Who knows better than he what are the fatigues of a march? and the wearisomeness of an ambush is greater still. Why does he, of all men, disparage war?"
"Because," said Madame, "he thinks there has been enough hatred and fighting. I have to put him in mind of his own glory in war, or he would be always forgetting it--except, indeed, when any one comes from Europe. When he hears of Bonaparte, he smiles; and I know he is then glad that he is a soldier too."
"Besides his thinking that there has been too much fighting," said Aimee, "he wishes that the people should labour joyfully in the very places where they used to toil in wretchedness for the whites."
Therese turned to listen, with fire in her eyes.
"In order," continued Aimee, "that they may lose the sense of that misery, and become friendly towards the whites."
Therese turned away again, languidly.
"There are whites now entering," said Paul; "not foreigners, are they?"
"No," said Madame. "Surely they are Creoles; yes, there is Monsieur Caze, and Monsieur Hugonin, and Monsieur Charrier. I think these gentlemen have all been reinstated in their properties since the last levee. Hear what they say."
"We come," exclaimed aloud Monsieur Caze, the spokesman of the party of white planters; "we come, overwhelmed with amazement, penetrated with gratitude, to lay our thanks at your feet. All was lost. The estates on which we were born, the lands bequeathed to us by our fathers, were wrenched from our hands, ravaged, destroyed. We and our families fled-- some to the mountains--some to the woods--and many to foreign lands.
Your voice reached us, inviting us to our homes. We trusted that voice; we find our lands restored to us, our homes secure, and the passions of war stilled, like this atmosphere after the storms of December. And to you do we owe all--to you, possessed by a magnanimity of which we had not dared to dream!"