CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
ALL EYE.
Day by day, in the internals of his occupation about the defence of thecolony, did Toussaint repair to Cap Samana, to look eastwards over thesea. Day by day was he more sure, from the information that reachedhim, that the French could not be far-off. At length, he desired thathis generals should be within call from Cotuy, a small town which stoodon the banks of the Cotuy, near the western base of the mountainouspromontory of Samana--promontory at low water, island at high tide.
All was yet dark on the eastern point of this mountain, on the morningof the 28th of December, when two watchmen, who had passed the nightunder the ferns in a cleft of the steep, came out to look abroad. Ontheir mountain all was yet dark, for the stars overhead, though stillrolling clear and golden--visible orbs in the empty depths of the sky--were so far dimmed by the dawn in the east as no longer to send downtheir shafts of light upon the earth. The point on which these watchmenstood was so high, that between them and the horizon the sea lay likehalf a world--an immeasurable expanse, spreading as if from a vast depthbelow up into the very sky. Dim and soundless lay the mass of waters--breaking, no doubt, as for ages past, against the rocky precipice below;but not so as to be heard upon the steep. If might have appeared dead,but that a ray from some quarter of the heaven, capriciously touchingits surface, showed that it was heaving as was its wont. Eastwards, atthe point of junction of sea and sky, a dusky yellow light shone throughthe haze of morning, as behind a curtain, and told that the sun was onhis way. As their eyes became accustomed to the dim light (which wasdarkness compared to that which had visited their dreams among theferns), the watchmen alternately swept the expanse with their glass, andpronounced that there was not a sail in sight.
"I believe, however, that this will be our day; the wind is fair for thefleet," said Toussaint to Henri. "Go and bathe while I watch."
"We have said for a week past that each would be the day," repliedHenri. "If it be to-day, however, they can hardly have a fairer for thefirst sight of the paradise which poets and ladies praise at the Frenchcourt. It promises to be the loveliest day of the year. I shall behere again before the sun has risen."
And Christophe retired to bathe in the waterfall which made itself heardfrom behind the ferns, and was hidden by them; springing, as they did,to a height of twenty feet and upwards. To the murmur and gush of thiswaterfall the friends had slept. An inhabitant of the tropics is soaccustomed to sound, that he cannot sleep in the midst of silence: andon these heights there would have been everlasting silence but for thevoice of waters, and the thunders and their echoes in the season ofstorms.
When both had refreshed themselves, they took their seat on some brokenground on the verge of the precipice, sometimes indulging their fullminds with silence, but continually looking abroad over the nowbrightening sea. It was becoming of a deeper blue as the sky grewlighter, except at that point of the east where earth and heaven seemedto be kindling with a mighty fire. There the haze was glowing withpurple and crimson; and there was Henri intently watching for the firstgolden spark of the sun, when Toussaint touched his shoulder, andpointed to the northwards. Shading his eyes with his hand, Christophestrove to penetrate the grey mists which had gathered there.
"What is it?" said he--"a sail? Yes: there is one--three--four!"
"There are seven," said Toussaint.
Long did he gaze through the glass at these seven sail; and then hereported an eighth. At this moment his arm was grasped.
"See! see!" cried Christophe, who was looking southwards.
From behind the distant south-eastern promontory Del Euganno, nowappeared, sail after sail, to the number of twenty.
"All French," observed Christophe. "Lend me the glass."
"All French," replied his friend. "They are, no doubt, coming torendezvous at this point."
While Henri explored those which were nearest, Toussaint leaned on hisfolded arms against the bank of broken ground before him, straining hiseyes over the now-peopled sea.
"More! More!" he exclaimed, as the sun appeared, and the new gush oflight showed sail upon sail, as small specks upon the horizon line. Hesnatched the glass; and neither he nor Henri spoke for long.
The east wind served the purposes of the vast fleet, whose threedetachments, once within each other's view, rapidly converged, showingthat it was indeed their object to rendezvous at Cap Samana. Silent,swift, and most fair (as is the wont of evil) was this form ofdestruction in its approach.
Not a word was spoken as the great ships-of-the-line bore majesticallyup towards their point, while the lighter vessels skimmed the sea, as insport, and made haste in, as if racing with one another, or anxious tobe in waiting, to welcome their superiors. Nearer and nearer theyclosed in, till the waters seemed to be covered with the foe. WhenToussaint was assured that he had seen them all--when he had again andagain silently counted over the fifty-four ships-of-war--he turned tohis friend with a countenance of anguish, such as even that friend ofmany years had never seen.
"Henri," said he, "we must all perish. All France has come to SaintDomingo!"
"Then we will perish," replied Henri.
"Undoubtedly: it is not much to perish, if that were all. But the worldwill be the worse for ever. Trance is deceived. She comes, in anerror, to avenge herself, and to enslave the blacks. Trance has beendeceived."
"If we were but all together," said Henri, "so that there were nomoments of weakness to fear.--If your sons were but with us--"
"Fear no moments of weakness from me," said Toussaint, its wonted firenow glowing in his eye. "My colour imposes on me duties above nature;and while my boys are hostages, they shall be to me as if they no longerexisted."
"They may possibly be on board the fleet," said Christophe. "If bycaution we could obtain possession of them--"
"Speak no more of them now," said Toussaint.--Presently, as if thinkingaloud, and with his eyes still bent on the moving ships, he went on:
"No, those on board those ships are not boys, with life before them, andeager alike for arts and arms. I see who they are that are there.There are the troops of the Rhine--troops that have conquered a fairerriver than our Artibonite, storming the castles on her steeps, andcrowning themselves from her vineyards. There are the troops of theAlps--troops that have soared above the eagle, and stormed the clouds,and plucked the ice-king by the beard upon his throne. There are thetroops of Italy--troops that have trodden the old Roman ways, and foughtover again the old Roman wars--that have drunk of the Tiber, and oncemore conquered the armies of the Danube. There are the troops ofEgypt--troops that have heard the war-cry of the desert tribes, andencamped in the shadow of the pyramids."
"Yet he is not afraid," said Henri to himself, as he watched thecountenance of his friend.
"All these," continued Toussaint, "all these are brought hither againsta poor, depressed, insulted, ignorant race--brought as conquerors, eagerfor the spoil before a blow is struck. They come to disembarrass ourparadise of us, as they would clear a fragrant and fruitful wood of apesand reptiles. And if they find that it takes longer than they supposeto crush and disperse us, France has more thousands ready to come andhelp. The labourer will leave his plough at a word, and thevine-dresser his harvest, and the artisan his shop--France will pour outthe youth of all her villages, to seize upon the delights of thetropics, and the wealth of the savages, as they are represented by theemigrants who will not take me for a friend, but eat their own heartsfar away, with hatred and jealousy. All France is coming to SaintDomingo!"
"But--" interposed Christophe.
"But, Henri," interrupted his friend, laying his hand on his shoulder,"not all France, with her troops of the Rhine, of the Alps, of the Nile,nor with all Europe to help her, can extinguish the soul of Africa.That soul, when once the soul of a man, and no longer that of a slave,can overthrow the pyramids and the Alps themselves, sooner than be againcrushed down into slavery."
"With God's he
lp," said Christophe, crossing himself.
"With God's help," repeated Toussaint. "See here," he continued, takingup a handful of earth from the broken ground on which they stood, "seehere what God has done! See, here are shells from the depth of yonderocean, lying on the mountain-top. Cannot He who thus uprears the dustof His ocean floor, and lifts it above the clouds, create the societiesof men anew, and set their lowest order but a little below the stars?"
"He can," said Christophe, again crossing himself.
"Then let all France come to Saint Domingo! She may yet be undeceived--What now?" he resumed, after a pause of observation. "What manoeuvre isthis?"
The ships, almost before they had drawn together, parted off again;nearly two-thirds retiring to the north, and the rest southwards.
"They are doing as we supposed they would," said Christophe; "preparingto attack Cap Francais and our southern or western towns at once;perhaps both Saint Domingo and Port-au-Prince."
"Be it so; we are ready for them," replied Toussaint. "But now there isno time to lose. To Cotuy, to give our orders, and then all to ourposts!"
Once more he took a survey of the vast fleet, in its two divisions, andthen spread his arms in the direction of his chief cities, promising thefoe to be ready to meet them there. In another moment he was stridingdown the mountain.
His generals were awaiting him at Cotuy, and the horses of the wholeparty were saddled.
"The French are come?" they asked.
"The French are come in great force. Fifty-four ships-of-war, carryingprobably ten or twelve thousand men."
"We have twenty thousand regular troops," cried Dessalines. "The day ofthe proud French has arrived!"
L'Ouverture's calm eye checked his exultation.
"Ten or twelve thousand of the elite of the armies of France," saidToussaint, "are sailing along our shores; and large reinforcements maybe following. Our twenty thousand troops are untried in the fieldagainst a European foe; but our cause is good. Let us be bold, myfriends; but the leaders of armies must not be presumptuous."
All uncovered their heads, and waited only his dismissal.
"General Christophe, Cap Francais and its district are waiting for you.Let the flames of the city give us notice when the French land."
Christophe embraced his friend, and was gone.
"General Dessalines, to your command in the west! Preserve your line ofmessengers from Leogane to my gate at Pongaudin, and let me not want fortidings."
The tramp of Dessalines' horse next died away.
"General La Plume, it is probable that your eye will have to be busierthan your hands. You will be ever ready for battle, of course; butremember that I rely on you for every point of the south-west coastbeing watched, from Leogane round to Aux Cayes. Send yourcommunications through Dessalines' line of scouts."
La Plume withdrew, and Toussaint gazed after him in reverie, till he wasout of sight.
"And I?" said Clerveaux, the only general officer now left inattendance.
"Your pardon, General Clerveaux. This your department in the east islikely at present to remain tranquil, as I forewarned you. I nowforewarn you that it may hereafter become the seat of war, when you willhave your day. Meantime, I may at any time call upon your reserve; andyou will take care that the enemy shall find no solace in yourdepartment, if they should visit it. Let it be bare as the desertbefore them. Farewell; I leave you in command of the east."
Clerveaux made his obeisance with an alacrity which caused Toussaint tosay to himself, as he mounted--
"Is he glad that the hour is come, or that his post is in the rear ofthe battle?"
Toussaint's own road lay homewards, where he had assembled the choicesttroops, to be ready for action on any point where they might first bewanted, and where the great body of the cultivators, by whom hispersonal influence was most needed, were collected under his eye. As henow sped like the lightning through the shortest tracks, his trompettesproclaiming the invasion through all the valleys, and over all theplains as they went, he felt strong and buoyant in heart, like the eagleoverhead, which was scared from its eyrie in Cibao by the proclamationof war. For ever, as he rode, the thought recurred to fire his soul,"He is my rival now, and no longer my chief. I am free. It is his ownact, but Bonaparte has me for a rival now."
The Hour and the Man, An Historical Romance Page 27
