St. Domingo, its revolution and its hero, Toussaint Louverture. — John Shaqi
St. Domingo, its revolution and its hero, Toussaint Louverture.Elliott, Charles Wyllys
History
St. Domingo, its revolution and its hero, Toussaint Louverture.
Elliott, Charles Wyllys
Haiti -- History -- Revolution, 1791-1804; Toussaint Louverture, 1743-1803
“Le jour de gloire est arrivé!
Aux armes! aux armes! pour Liberté!”[20]
Consternation followed the feast—each man grasped his arms—into the
midst of the company rushed a negro covered with dust, panting with
heat. He sought his master. Pale with fear, and excited with wine, he
received him on the point of his sword. As the life and blood flowed,
he gasped, “Oh, master! Oh, master!” Murmurs of disapprobation filled
the room, but it was too late—the hour had come! the slaves had
risen. This poor creature had wished to save the man that owned him.
The rebellion broke out on the plantation of Noe, nine miles from
Cap François. At midnight the slaves sought the refiner and his
apprentice, and hewed them in pieces—the overseer they shot. They
then proceeded to the house of Mr. Clement—he was killed by his
postillon. They proceeded from plantation to plantation, murdering
the whites; their ranks swelled by crowds of scarred and desperate
men, who had nothing to lose but life; and life with slavery was not
so sweet as revenge. Everywhere, they applied the torch to the sugar
mills (those bastiles, consecrated to the rites of the lash and to
forced labor, dumb with fear), and to the cane fields, watered with
sweat and blood.
Towards morning, crowds of whites came pouring into Cap François,
pale, terror-stricken, blood-stained! Men, women, and children,
found the day of judgment was come—none knew what to do—all was
confusion—the signal gun boomed through the darkness, warning of
danger—and every man stood to his arms. The inhabitants of the city
were paralyzed with fear. They barred their doors and locked up their
house-slaves. The only living objects in the streets were a few
soldiers marching to their posts. Panic ruled the hour. The Assembly
sat through the night. Touzard was sent out to attack the negroes,
but was driven back. Guns were mounted, and the streets barricaded.
The morning dawned, and with the rising sun came rising courage. “It
is nothing!” said some—“Burn and hang a few negroes, and all will
go on as before.” The exasperation against the mulattoes, who were
charged with having fomented the rising, resulted in hatred, insult,
bloodshed, and murder, in and around Cap François; and a butchery
was only stayed by the vigorous opposition of the governor. Whatever
negroes were seized were tortured and massacred. “Frequently,” says
Lacroix, “did the faithful slave perish by the hands of an irritated
master, whose confidence he sought.”
The maddened negroes had tasted blood. They seized Mr. Blen, an
officer of police, nailed him alive to one of the gates of his
plantation, and chopped off his limbs with an axe.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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