CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
AUGUST FAR-OFF.
In time of peace, and if her children had perished by any other mode, itmight have been a consolation to Deesha to dwell for a time beside theirgraves. As it was, the deep bark of the murderous dogs filled her earperpetually, and their fangs seemed to tear her heart. Her misery inthe quiet mansion of the mornes was unendurable; and the very day afterthe funeral she departed, with her husband, to a place where no woman'seye could mark her maternal anguish--where no semblance of a home keptalive the sense of desolation. She retired, with her husband and histroop, to a fastness higher up in the Morne-du-Chaos, whence they keptwatch over the regular entrenchments below, cut off supplies ofprovisions from the French, harassed all their marches, and waged aspecial war against the bloodhounds--the negro's most dreaded foe.More, however, were perpetually brought over from Cuba, and regularlytrained, by means too barbarous for detail, to make negroes their prey.From the hour when Deesha first heard the cry of a bloodhound, more thanthe barbarism of her native Congo took possession of her. Never morewas she seen sowing under the shade of the tamarind-tree. Never moredid she spread the table, for husband or guests, within a house. Nevermore was her voice heard singing, gaily or plaintively, the songs thatshe had gathered from the palm groves of Africa, or the vineyards ofFrance, or from the flowery fields of a mother's hopes. Henceforth shecarried the rifle, and ate her meal in stern silence, in the cave of therock. When she laughed, it was as her shot went straight to hervictim's heart. When she spoke, it was of the manoeuvres of hermountain war; and the only time that she was ever seen to shed tears waswhen a rumour of a truce reached the pinnacle on which she dwelt.Though assured that any truce could be only, as every negro knew, atruce till August, the mere semblance of accommodation with the foeforced tears of vexation from eyes which were for ever after dry. Ifshe felt a gleam of satisfaction before leaving Le Zephyr, it was at thesingular accident by which Juste, always so bent upon being a soldier,shared the honours of a military funeral. Juste and Tobie were buriedwith the soldiers who had fallen in the defence of the house; and to thefather, who followed the coffins, and the mother, who hid herself in thethicket, there was something like pleasure in the roll of the drum, andthe measure of the dead march, and the warlike tone of the shrill dirgewhich was sung round the open graves, and the discharge of firearms overthem--a satisfaction like that of fulfilling the last wish of their boy.This done, and the graves fenced and planted, the childless pairdeparted, wishing, perhaps, in their own hearts, that they could weeptheir misfortune like those whom they left behind.
For some time forward from that day there was no more cause for weepingat Le Zephyr. The season had come for the blacks to show what theycould do. In the hope, as he said, of hastening on the peace, Vincenttold all that he knew of the plans and resources of the outlawed chiefs;and, in consequence, the French at length proceeded to vigorous action,believing that if they could force the post at the Plateaux, they couldso impoverish and disable the negro leaders as to compel them to becomemere banditti, who might be kept in check by guarding themountain-passes. The French force was, therefore, brought up again andagain to the attack, and always in vain. The ill success of theinvaders was, no doubt, partly owing to the distress which overtooktheir soldiery whenever they had been a few days absent from their campand their ships. Whichever way they turned, and however sudden thechanges of their march, they found the country laid waste--the housesunroofed, the cattle driven away, the fields burned or inundated, andnothing but a desert under their feet, and flames on the horizon, whilethe sun of the tropic grew daily hotter overhead. These weredisadvantages; but the French had greatly the superiority in numbers, inexperience, and in supplies of ammunition. Yet, for many weeks, theyfailed in all their attempts. They left their dead before the entranceof the Plateaux, or heaped up in the neighbouring fields, or strewedalong the mountain-paths, now to the number of seven hundred, nowtwelve, and now fifteen hundred; while the negroes numbered their lossesby tens or scores. The first combined attack, when Maurepas, with hisarmy, joined Rochambeau, and two other divisions met them from differentpoints, was decisively disastrous; and even Vincent began to doubtwhether the day of peace, the day of chastisement of L'Ouverture'sromance, was so near as he had supposed.
The last time that the French dared the blacks to come forth from theirentrenchments, and fight on the plain afforded the most triumphantresult to the negroes. So tremendous was the havoc among the French--while the blacks charged without intermission, rolling on their forcefrom their entrenchments, each advancing line throwing itself upon theground immediately after the charge, while those behind passed overtheir bodies, enabling them to rise and retreat in order to rush forwardagain in their turn--that the troops of the Rhine and the Alps wereseized with a panic, and spread a rumour that there was sorcery amongthe blacks, by which they were made invulnerable. It was scarcelypossible, too, to believe in the inferiority of their numbers, sointerminable seemed the succession of foes that presented a fresh front.Rochambeau saw that, if not ordered to retreat, his troops would fly;and whether it was a retreat or a flight at last, nobody couldafterwards determine. They left fifteen hundred dead on the field, andmade no pause till they reached Plaisance.
From this time, the French generals resolved against more fighting, tillreinforcements arrived from France. New hopes inspired the blacks--allof them, at least, who did not, like L'Ouverture and Christophe,anticipate another inundation of the foe from the sea. Placide, who wasforemost in every fight, was confident that the struggle was nearlyover, and rode up to Le Zephyr occasionally with tidings which spreadhope and joy among the household, and not only made his mother proud,but lightened her heart.
He told, at length, that the French, not relishing the offensive warbegun by Christophe, had blockaded his father in the Plateaux. Hetreated this blockade as a mere farce--as a mode of warfare which woulddamage the French irreparably as the heats came on, while it could notinjure the blacks, acquainted as they were with the passes of thecountry.
Placide would have been right, if only one single circumstance had beenotherwise than as it was. L'Ouverture had nothing to fear from ablockade in regard to provisions. He had adherents above, among theheights, who could supply his forces with food for themselves and fodderfor their horses inexhaustibly. Every ravine in their rear yieldedwater. They had arms enough; and in their climate, and with the summercoming on, the clothing of the troops was a matter of small concern.But their ammunition was running short. Everything was endeavoured, andtimely, to remedy this; but there was no effectual remedy. Many aperilous march over the heights, and descent upon the shore, did one andanother troop attempt--many a seizure of French supplies did theyactually effect--many a trip did Paul, and others who had boats, make toone and another place, where it was hoped that powder and ball might beobtained; but no sufficient supply could be got. The foe were not slowin discovering this, and in deriving courage from their discovery. Fromthe moment that they found themselves assailed with flights of arrowsfrom the heights, and that their men were wounded, not always with ball,or even shot, but with buttons, nails, and other bits of old metal--withanything rather than lead--they kept a closer watch along the coast andthe roads, that no little boat, no cart or pack-horse, might escapecapture. Towards the end of April the difficulty became so pressing,that L'Ouverture found himself compelled to give up his plan ofdefensive war, with all its advantages, and risk much to obtain theindispensable means of carrying on the struggle.
It was with this view that he mustered his force, gave out nearly thelast remains of his ammunition, burst victoriously through theblockading troops, routed them, and advanced to attack the French linesposted at Plaisance. Behind him he left few but his wounded, commandedby Dessalines, who was yet hardly sufficiently recovered to undertake amore arduous service. Before him were the troops under Maurepas, whomhe had always believed he could recall with a word, if he could but meetthem face to face.
Others probably believed so too; for those troopshad, on every occasion, been kept back, and so surrounded, as that noone from their old haunts and their old companions could reach them.Now, however, the French force was so reduced by the many defeats theyhad undergone, that it was probable they would be obliged to put faithin the renegado division, if attacked; and L'Ouverture was not withouthopes of striking a decisive blow by recalling the negroes in the Frenchlines to their allegiance to himself.
Everything answered to his anticipations. When he advanced to theattack, he found the troops of Maurepas posted in the front, to weakenthe resolution of their former comrades, or receive their first fire.His heart bounded at the sight; and all his resentment against them asrenegades melted into compassion for the weakness of those who had beenreared in terror and servility. He rushed forward, placing himself,without a thought of fear, between the two armies, and extended his armstowards the black lines of the enemy, shouting to them--
"My soldiers, will you kill your general? Will you kill your father,your comrades, your brothers?"
In an instant every black was on his knees. It was a critical momentfor the French. They rushed on, drowning the single voice on whichtheir destruction seemed to hang, threw the kneeling soldiers on theirfaces, strode over their prostrate bodies, and nearly effected theirobject of closing round L'Ouverture, and capturing him. His danger wasimminent. The struggle was desperate;--but his soldiers saved him. Thebattle was fierce and long, but again and again turning in his favour,till all seemed secure. He was forcing the enemy from their lines, andgiving out the inspiring negro cry of victory, when a new force marchedup against him, stopped the retreat of the French, and finally repulsedthe blacks--exhausted as they were, and unable to cope with a fresh foe.In the most critical moment, four thousand troops, fresh from the shipshad arrived to convert the defeat of the French into a victory; and theybrought into the battle more than their own strength in the news thatreinforcements from France were pouring in upon every point of thecoast.
The news reached L'Ouverture, and completed the discouragement of hislittle army. It decided him at once in what direction to retreat. Itwas useless to return to the Plateaux, as the force there was more thanproportioned to the supply of ammunition. This fresh descent of theFrench upon the coast would have the effect of dispersing the smallbodies of black troops in the north. A rendezvous was necessary, inorder to make the most both of the men and stores. He proceeded to posthis troops at Le Dondon, and Marmalade, sending orders to Christophe tomeet him there. There they might possibly be usefully employed incutting off access to the French army at Plaisance, and at the same timesupplying their own wants, while deliberating on what plan to carry onthe struggle, under the new circumstances, till August; for, whatevertreachery and defection might have to be encountered elsewhere, therewas never a moment's doubt that Nature would prove a faithful ally, whenher appointed season came.
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