“Twenty-four, in addition to our captain of Marines. You met Lieutenant Carter in Port Royal.”
“So I did. He seemed a fine officer. As is my own Captain Turner, who commands forty-three. If my math serves, we add your twenty-five to our forty-four and that gives us sixty-nine Marines. Add in Toussaint’s ten soldiers and we have a grand total of seventy-nine armed men, not to mention the many sailors and considerable armament we have on board your ship and mine. So be at your ease, Captain. You need not be concerned.”
“That depends somewhat on Rigaud, does it not?”
Hugh Hardcastle shrugged dismissively. “I don’t mean to sound condescending, Captain, but I rather doubt that Rigaud could do much of anything to anyone on this island even if he had a mind to. I would take a squad of my Marines, or yours, over a brigade of his picaroons any day. The same goes for Toussaint’s army. We are not discussing European soldiers here. These men have hardly any military training at all. Add both sides together and all you have is a horde of ill-clothed, ill-equipped, ill-led soldiers living on little more than morsels of hope and sips of promises.”
Much like the soldiers of the Continental army, Richard thought, and they managed to defeat Britain’s finest. “But why not parlay with Toussaint on board Redoubtable? You could guarantee security at no risk to anyone.”
“We offered that, Lieutenant, and Toussaint declined our offer. He prefers to meet us ashore. He is a proud and accomplished man, and I suspect he prefers to parley within his own seat of power, so to speak, where he feels most comfortable and where he believes he holds the upper hand. And that is the key point to remember. Toussaint believes he does hold the upper hand in our discussions, appearances to the contrary. In his mind he has more to offer us than we to him. If our superiors are ultimately to hammer out some sort of agreement with him, Toussaint must be convinced that he is conceding less than we are. He trusts us only to a point. In truth, he trusts no man outside his inner circle of confidantes. The only reason he is treating with us at all is because he believes we can help him achieve his objectives.”
Hardcastle’s gaze swung to Truxtun after Richard nodded his understanding. “Questions or comments, Captain?”
“Just one, the first one I asked. Exactly when do you and Lieutenant Cutler meet with Toussaint?”
Hardcastle drew a round, gold-plated watch from his waistcoat pocket. “It’s approaching six bells,” he said. “We shall go ashore at the start of the second dogwatch—in six hours. That will give us three hours of daylight, more than enough for our purpose.”
FROM HIS VANTAGE POINT in the stern sheets of Constellation’s gig, Richard Cutler stared ahead to a peninsula jutting out from the western reaches of Île de la Gonâve. Set before a rise of royal purple hills in the far distance was a sunlit white sand beach shaped like a giant arrowhead. The shaft of the arrow extended a good way eastward, toward the interior of the island and beyond, to the mainland of Saint-Domingue and the colonial capital of Port-au-Prince. From what he could observe, the vegetation on this part of the island, the westernmost tip, comprised thick, low-lying brush and scrub, with here and there a scrawny tree thirsting for what meager sustenance its roots could draw from this surprisingly barren land. Nowhere did he find evidence of the multicolored flora, towering coconut palms, or lush green vegetation so prevalent on Barbados, Saint Kitts, and other islands of his acquaintance. This island, in contrast, appeared flogged by the wind and more parched by the sun than enriched by it.
Dead ahead Richard could see the spot where the negotiations with Toussaint L’Ouverture apparently would take place: a grassy stretch perhaps forty or fifty feet up from the waterline. A gray canvas tent had been erected there near a table set between two flaming torches. Twenty feet or so beyond the tent, across a span of hard open ground, began the gnarl of low-lying brush. Within that tangle and confusion the Marines had been ordered to establish a defensive perimeter. How they would do that Richard could not imagine. From his perspective, the undergrowth appeared impenetrable.
He glanced to larboard. Nothing stirred anywhere upon the glassy water, except for the two frigates standing off to westward and, much closer, the jolly boat from Redoubtable, its oars dipping and pulling, dipping and pulling, conveying Capt. Hugh Hardcastle and a squad of Marines to the rendezvous ahead. The British Marines, much like his own men, sat still and expressionless on the thwarts, their muskets held upright between their knees. When Richard’s eyes met those of his brother-in-law, Hugh touched the forward edge of his gold-rimmed cocked hat. Richard touched his own fore-and-aft hat in reply.
“Toss oars!” the coxswain commanded as the gig approached the beach. Sixteen oars, eight to a side, rose aloft. The gig glided forward under its own momentum until its bow hissed onto the sand next to six other boats that had transported British and American Marines ashore earlier in the day. “Boat oars!” the coxswain ordered. Down came the oars to a position alongside the gunwales. Two bowmen jumped off and held the boat steady as Richard made his way over the thwarts from stern to bow. He stepped ashore and was joined shortly by Hugh Hardcastle.
“Stay here with the boats,” Richard ordered Sam Lovett, the sergeant of Marines. Together with his brother-in-law he started up the slight incline of the beach toward a group of men who had emerged from the tent and were now walking down the beach toward them.
Although all of the men were clearly of African descent, their leader’s identity was never in doubt. François-Dominique Toussaint L’Ouverture was dressed more like a European emperor than the commander of a rabble army. He wore a sea-blue uniform shirt with a high, stiff collar, the decorative design on its front partially obscured by a white sash running across his chest from his right shoulder to his left hip. A bright gold–tasseled epaulet graced each shoulder, and a second sash of white and red encircled his waist like a belt. His breeches were as white as any British sea officer’s, and his knee-high Hessian boots as shiny black as his own skin. From his left hip to his ankles hung a gilt-hafted, ornately designed sword of European provenance.
His personal guard wore a uniform of white breeches, soft leather gaiters, gold breastplates, and plumed shakos. Each soldier carried a gleaming musket a-tilt at his chest. Richard’s simple blue dress swallowtail jacket, with its two long vertical rows of brass buttons and a single gold epaulette on the right shoulder, formed a stark contrast to such military finery. The sword attached to a belt at his left hip was American-made and unadorned, save for the silver haft.
Toussaint held up a hand. His entourage stopped ten feet shy of the two naval officers. He stood silent, his eyes taking in first one officer, then the other. Ultimately his eyes settled on Richard, and it was Richard whom he addressed.
“On the one hand,” Toussaint said in nearly flawless English, “Great Britain sees fit to send a senior naval commander to parley with me. I know this man. He is respected on these islands. On the other hand, the United States sees fit to send a mere lieutenant as a representative. What message does that send me? Does your government believe I am unworthy of receiving a man of higher rank?”
Taken aback by those questions, Richard had no time to consider his response. He had to rely on instincts. Removing his cocked hat, he advanced one step toward Toussaint and bowed low, placing his left leg forward and his right hand over his heart. In his left hand he held his hat as far out to his side as possible. It was a grand display of deference to high authority that he had seen performed in the French court, most notably by the marquis de Lafayette. He straightened himself slowly, his eyes locked on Toussaint’s. “You are mistaken,” he said, “if you believe my government means to insult you by sending me here today. I admit I am not of the rank or caliber of Captain Hardcastle. Or of you, mon général. But it is not for me to question or explain the reasons why my country has entrusted me with this most crucial mission. I can only say that the honor of paying the respects of the United States of America to Your Excellency and discussing the possibility of allyi
ng our nations to our mutual benefit is one I neither deserve nor ever expected to receive.”
Still standing at full attention, he gave Toussaint a slight nod, a simple gesture of goodwill between two men. There came a pause as each took further stock of the other, the height and Anglo-Saxon features of one standing in sharp contrast to the high cheekbones, snub nose, narrowed eyes, and longish curly black hair of the other. Toussaint was a man of less than average height and build who nonetheless exuded authority and exemplified those hard-to-define qualities that define a born leader, a man of destiny, without that man having to utter a single word. The comparison that came instantly to Richard’s mind—along with the knowledge that it would cause his former naval commander to roll over in his grave—was with John Paul Jones.
“Eh bien. Who granted you this so-called honor?”
“My president, mon général. Monsieur John Adams.”
“You are a friend of le président?”
“Not a friend, mon général. A personal acquaintance. We live near each other in the state of Massachusetts.”
“I know of Massachusetts. But is it not a commonwealth rather than a state?” Toussaint allowed himself a trace of a smile.
“That is true, mon général,” Richard said, impressed by the general’s knowledge of a fact of which many citizens of Massachusetts were ignorant. “My president desires me to tell you, on his behalf, that he welcomes your correspondence with him. Further, he desires me to tell you that he holds you and your cause in the highest esteem. Your cause is America’s cause. And he told me to tell you that you remind him of our own national hero, General George Washington.”
With that comparison, Toussaint inclined his head. “Bien dit, Lieutenant Cutler,” he said. “I can see that you are a man I can trust, despite your rank. Please, if you and Captain Hardcastle will follow me. We have much to discuss and our time is short.” He turned about and started walking toward the grassy area.
As Hugh Hardcastle and Richard followed a short way behind, Hugh sidled over to Richard and said, sotto voce, “Well done, old boy. We’re off to a good start, thanks to you. Now tell me: from what pile of dung did you dig up that grandiose drivel?”
“I don’t know,” Richard whispered in reply. “It just seemed the right thing to say. Most of what I said is actually true.”
“Well, whatever you have on that shovel of yours, I suggest you continue slinging it.”
The crude rectangular table on the grassy stretch had been set up to accommodate six people, with three straight-backed wooden chairs on each side. Toussaint invited the two sea officers to sit on the side facing the gulf. While his personal guard flanked out around the area, he introduced them to Gen. Jean-Jacques Dessalines, a thick-necked, no-nonsense man wearing the grand uniform of his soldiers with a few extra embellishments. Sitting next to him was a third member of Toussaint’s party: a young, officious-looking ferret of a man wearing glasses and a thin moustache who had emerged from the tent armed with a quill, inkwell, and sheaf of paper. Five feet away from each end of the table, a torch affixed to an eight-foot-high wooden stake burned brightly within its wicker-shaped metal support, adding light and comfort to what was becoming a pleasantly cool late afternoon.
Hugh Hardcastle spoke first. “Before we begin, Excellency,” he said, his eyes flickering from Toussaint to the scribe, who began taking notes, “I am obliged to tell you that Lieutenant Cutler and I are not here in an official capacity. We are not emissaries of our governments. We are here strictly on a fact-finding mission to gather information and report back to our superiors. Whatever decisions may result from our discussions here today will be made by them, not by us. I realize that you are already aware of this, but I have strict orders to be perfectly clear on the matter.”
As he spoke, the scribe spoke softly in French to Dessalines, sitting on his right. Apparently this young man was acting not only as scribe but also as interpreter where appropriate. Richard listened intently to what was being interpreted. From what he could gather, the translation was accurate.
“That is my understanding, Captain Hardcastle,” Toussaint concurred. “Except for one item you seem to have omitted. I was informed by your agents that although you may not speak for your government, you have the authority to present the terms of what your government is prepared to offer me. I agreed to meet with you and Lieutenant Cutler to hear those terms, and to learn if the United States approves of them.”
A man who gets right down to business, Richard thought to himself. And knows how to conduct that business. He found himself admiring Toussaint all the more.
Hardcastle nodded. “My apologies, Excellency. You are correct, of course.” He placed his hands on the table and opened them, palms up. “Shall we begin, then? And shall we speak frankly to each other? What my government is prepared to offer you is quite straightforward. As you and General Dessalines are aware, Great Britain holds three military bases on Hispaniola. Your army lacks the means to take these bases from us, should it come to that. Rigaud cannot take them either, so we British are here to stay, should we choose to do so. Having made that point, I am instructed to inform you that Great Britain is now prepared to cede these bases back to you. Including Le Môle, which you doubtless realize is a base His Majesty’s government is most reluctant to relinquish.”
Toussaint’s smile lacked humor. “His Majesty’s government is most reluctant to relinquish it, unless, of course, His Majesty’s government has concluded that the forces needed to maintain these military bases are best deployed elsewhere, defending islands and waters it deems more critical to its national interests. This is especially true, is it not, if His Majesty’s government can convince someone else—a general on Saint-Domingue, perhaps, who commands 60,000 men—to fight its battles for it. You wish to talk frankly, Captain? Then let us talk frankly. You and I are both aware that Great Britain will not commit additional military forces or supplies to Hispaniola or anywhere else in the Indies as long as it is waging war in Europe. The forces and supplies you have here today are, at most, what you will have tomorrow and the next day. So you must deploy these forces to your greatest strategic advantage and to your enemy’s greatest disadvantage. Take from here, reinforce there, do whatever is necessary to find your enemy’s weak points and thrust in hard. It is a basic principle of war, Captain. Surely you read Julius Caesar in one of your excellent public schools in England, which I assume by your polished accent was, for you, either Eton or Harrow.”
“Westminster, actually.”
“Vive la différence. And in your classrooms you surely read the accounts of Alexander of Macedonia, William of Normandy, and Frederick the Great. If there is one lesson we can learn from such military leaders, it is that history repeats itself, especially in times of war. And as I believe a man of your intelligence and upbringing can agree, Saint-Domingue is not your enemy’s weak point. Am I correct?”
Silence suggested the answer.
“Ensuite, I say to you that invading Hispaniola in alliance with the Spanish was never in your country’s best interests. But what is done is done. To return to the matter at hand, do I understand correctly that your government is now willing to transfer to me intact the bases you hold on Hispaniola?”
Hardcastle’s tone in response carried less authority than it had earlier. Even forewarned, Toussaint’s erudition had taken him by surprise. “As I said, Excellency, I cannot promise anything specific. I can only state that my government would consider doing that under certain conditions.”
“State your conditions.”
“There are two. First, that you cease promoting slave rebellion on British-held islands in the West Indies and in the United States.” He held up a hand to stem any protest, although none seemed forthcoming. “And, second, that you provide assurances to His Majesty’s government that you can, in fact, defeat the forces of André Rigaud, and that when you do, you will not cede back to France the military bases we may now be prepared to cede to you.”
> Toussaint slowly shook his head. His voice remained calm, yet his expression revealed deep and mounting frustration. “What assurances can I give you,” he said softly, “that I have not already given? In numbers, my army is ten times that of Rigaud’s. I command the heart and soul of this island, Captain. Its people come in bare feet and rags to fight with me, to fight for me. And why is that? Is it perhaps because they trust me, they believe in me, they know I am fighting for them and their freedom? Is that possible of ignorant slaves, you ask? But let us not talk of emotions. Emotions are for women and children and are of minor consequence in such matters. Let us instead talk of war. Let us talk of strategy.
“My forces have Rigaud on the ropes, as you English like to say, despite the weapons and supplies he receives from France. Encore, I am fighting Rigaud and the French: your enemies, Captain. And yours, Lieutenant. And what do I get in return? What do I receive from Britain and America for fighting your enemies? Rien. Nothing. Zéro. Not a cannon, not a pistol, not a loaf of bread, not even a thank-you. Lieutenant, you said to me on the beach that my country’s cause is your country’s cause. Those are eloquent words that stir the heart. But they are meaningless words unless your country is prepared to act on them. Sadly, it is not. How do I know that? Because instead of giving me what I need to win this war, the United States does just the opposite. It maintains a trade embargo on Saint-Domingue. And what does this embargo do? It aids my enemies while it turns my people against you. It makes you their enemy. Can you Americans not see this? Are you truly so blind?
“Understand that I am prepared to pay a fair price for whatever arms and provisions you send me. And I will pay you in hard specie or in barter with what we produce, whichever you prefer. But, please almighty God, send me what I need to win this war! Victory is in my grasp—our grasp—if you will only do what you know in your heart and mind is in your best interest to do.”
The Power and the Glory Page 18