The Power and the Glory (25 page)

“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.”

Toussaint looked from one officer to the other and did not blink.

“The embargo is not directed at you,” Richard intruded into the awkward pause. “It is directed at all French colonies and is meant to starve French military bases into submission.” Instantly he regretted the lameness of that statement in contrast to the fluency and logic that preceded it.

“
Peu importe, Lieutenant
,” Toussaint scoffed. “You may report to Monsieur Adams that his embargo is doing precisely that. But to whose advantage? Who is suffering here? It is not your enemies. France does not impose an embargo against Rigaud. No,
monsieur
, those who suffer are those who
fight
your enemies. We both seek to defeat the French, if for our own reasons. And if I lose this war, you may be assured that Saint-Domingue will remain a French colony, and thus your enemy, for many years to come. You may also be assured that my officers and soldiers, all of them, will be executed, and I will be first in line. It will be a bloodbath the likes of which history has never seen. Afterward, there will be few black people left alive on this island.

“Victory can be ours—victory
is
ours—if only you will help us. My army needs weapons. My people need food. I repeat: those who have suffered the most from your mistaken policies are the innocent people of Saint-Domingue. These people do not blame the French or the Spanish or even the English for their misery. They blame the United States. Why? Because the United States is our neighbor, you have fought your own war for independence, and you are in a position to
do
something to help us achieve ours. Thus far, you have chosen to do nothing but sit by and watch.”

Richard remained silent, unwilling to answer accusations that he knew to be true. He glanced to his left. Hugh Hardcastle was staring
across the table at Dessalines, who returned his stare with arms folded stiffly across his chest.

“What of the French on the island, General?” Richard asked, changing tack. “How many remain?”

“Are you asking how many
white
people remain on Saint-Domingue?” Toussaint asked drily.

Richard nodded. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“The answer is not many. Most of them fled the island a long time ago, leaving Rigaud and the Spanish to do their dirty work. When this war is over, if Rigaud has prevailed, some whites will return to reclaim their estates. Those who do will do so at their peril. Rigaud does not discriminate between your race and mine, Lieutenant. He is prepared to kill blacks and whites alike to get what he wants.”

“And that is what, exactly?”

“Self-rule for Saint-Domingue, with himself as colonial ruler and with everything he needs supplied by France. He may tolerate certain whites, the planters and others of wealth, if he believes he can use them for his own purpose. He will not tolerate free blacks under any conditions. If he has his way, he will enslave those blacks he does not execute, just as the British have done.” He glanced at Hugh. “I do not have Rigaud's reputation for gratuitous violence. I do not encourage slave rebellion elsewhere, because doing so would cause the deaths of too many of my race. It is not I, Lieutenant, but the French—Victor Hugues and his kind—who have encouraged such rebellions. And I will welcome the whites back to Saint-Domingue, though not as masters; never that. We have confiscated their plantations and we have put former slaves to work on them. We sell what we produce and we earn more money from what we produce than the whites did when the
exclusif
—what you English refer to as mercantilism, Captain Hardcastle—restricted trade solely to France. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Both officers indicated that they did.

“
Eh bien
. This is what I ask you to report to your superiors. If England will withdraw its forces from Hispaniola and cede to me its bases here—and if the United States will end its embargo and send me weapons and supplies to defeat Rigaud—I will open our seaports to trade between our countries. That will benefit you and me and everyone but France, no? And I pledge to do whatever I can to
discourage
slave rebellions elsewhere. What purpose would such rebellions serve? Because of what has happened on Saint-Domingue, whites are now better prepared
and will quickly crush any attempt by slaves to resist their masters. Too many Africans would be needlessly slaughtered. When Hispaniola is free and independent, all blacks will be welcome here, wherever they come from.” He looked meaningfully at Richard. “And this I pledge to you, Lieutenant: when our ports are open and we are at peace with America, I will grant an
exclusif
of a different kind to foreign companies I want to do business with—companies such as your own Cutler & Sons. Your customers would welcome our coffee. It is the best coffee in the Indies. Some claim it is the best coffee in the world.”

Richard remained poker-faced at hearing an offer that whispered bribery while shouting out a financial windfall for his family that would make even Jack Endicott sit up and take note. “You are too kind, Excellency,” he said noncommittally. He then asked, to steer negotiations back on the course plotted by Truxtun, “Is the Directory aware that you have requested American aid to achieve your independence?”

“
Qui sait
? We must assume that it is. Rigaud has spies everywhere. Does that concern you?”

“It may concern my government.”

“And why is that?”

“There is talk that the Directory now seeks peace with my country. If the United States supports your revolution, that support may not help the cause of peace.”

Toussaint looked at Hardcastle. “Does Great Britain support such a peace?”

Hardcastle shrugged. “His Britannic Majesty has no say in the matter, Excellency. England is America's friend in this war, not its ally. We fight a common enemy under separate banners. I can only assure you that England will fight on against France whatever the United States may decide to do.”

Toussaint looked back to Richard and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything shouts of warning sounded from the underbrush directly behind the encampment. The shouts were followed by the
pop!
of a musket shot, and then another. A third shot, and a man screamed in agony.

“What in God's name . . . ?” Hardcastle said, half-rising and turning in his chair.

At the sound of the first shot, five of Toussaint's personal guard had formed a human barricade between him and the brush, standing shoulder to shoulder with muskets steady at waist level, aimed toward the
threat. From down the beach, where the ship's boats had been pulled onto the sand, a squad of fourteen American Marines came running toward the meeting site.

“Bayonet the bastard!” they heard someone shout from the undergrowth. Richard recognized the voice. It belonged to Lieutenant Carter. A man screamed a curse in French.

Richard ran out on the beach and held up a hand.

“Stand down!” he ordered the Marines. “Sergeant, send four men back to the boats! Make ready to evacuate! Keep the others here and stay low!” He grabbed a musket from a Marine private, a pistol from a corporal. He returned to the grassy area and handed the pistol to Hugh Hardcastle.

They heard another crack of musket fire and a cry from someone hit.

“What do you make of it, Hugh?” Richard shouted. Each had dropped to one knee on the grass, and their four eyes were searching through thick brush and fading sunlight for the source of the shots.

“I can't see a bloody thing in there, Richard. I suggest we get the general off the beach pronto and onto
Redoubtable
. She's closest in.”

Just then Lieutenant Carter came running from the brush. Two Marines ran behind him, dragging a fourth man.

“What is it, Lieutenant?” Richard demanded to know when Carter had joined them on the grass and was stooped over, gasping for breath.

“Snipers,” Carter managed to report. “Don't know how many. Didn't see them at all until Swanson,” referring to a Marine private, “happened to stumble onto one hidden in a pit dug in among the bushes. Then all hell broke loose.”

“What of him?” Richard pointed to the man dragged in by the two Marines and now lying face down on the hard ground where he had been summarily dumped. A thin line of red trailed out from his left side.

“He shot at us but missed,” Carter answered. “Meyers bayoneted him in the stomach. He's badly wounded. I brought him in so that you could question him.” His breathing was easier now.

“What's the status in there, Lieutenant?” Hardcastle demanded.

“Uncertain, Captain,” Carter replied. “Captain Turner has them on the run—those we've managed to roust from their nests. There may be others in there. My men are conducting a search.”

“Any of ours wounded?” Richard asked.

“Swanson. He took a bullet in the leg. I'm going back in to help bring him out.”

Another volley of musket fire sounded, this time from the undergrowth down the beach.

“Right. We'll evacuate Toussaint and his men. And Swanson as soon as you get him out. Captain Hardcastle and I will stand by until all the Marines are off.”

“
Un moment, s'il vous plaît, Lieutenant
.”

Toussaint L'Ouverture was approaching them, a pistol in his right hand. Two of his personal guards escorted him, one on each side. The others stood firm in a single line on the edge of the flat, pebbly soil between the grass and the beginnings of the underbrush.

“Pull this man up,” he ordered, indicating the rag-trousered mulatto lying on the grass. Toussaint's escorts seized the man and wrenched him to his knees. Blood oozed from the side of the man's mouth and from an ugly gash below the left side of his ribcage. His head, jerked backward when he was yanked up, slowly came level.

Toussaint stepped in front of him. He brought the muzzle of his pistol up against the man's forehead and thumbed back the hammer to half-cock. “
Vous voulez me dire quelque chose
?” he sneered.

The mulatto looked up at Toussaint with jet-black eyes of hatred. “
Je vais vous dire rien!
” he croaked defiantly.

Toussaint thumbed the hammer back to full-cock. “
Ensuite, monsieur, vous êtes un homme mort
.”

The mulatto spat on the ground, then raised his eyes for the final time. “
Je suis un homme mort, quelle que soit.”

Toussaint squeezed the trigger. The pistol ball exploded through the man's brain and out the back of his head, spraying the two guards holding him with flecks of gore. As the man slumped, dead, to the grass, three shots rang out from the brush. Richard heard the zing of a ball above his head as another ball struck down a soldier standing directly in front of Toussaint. A third ball struck Hugh Hardcastle and spun him around.

The American Marines on the beach riddled the brush with musket fire. Directly ahead, seven of Toussaint's guard also returned fire. A man amid the brush rose into view, took aim, then threw up his arms and fell backward out of sight when a pistol shot hit him.

“Hugh, are you hurt?” Richard cried.

Hardcastle shook his head. “Bastard grazed me, is all.” He glanced around. “Seems I was wrong about this place, Richard. I must apologize
to Captain Truxtun at the next opportunity. For the moment, however, I suggest we get the hell out of here.”

“I'm with you on that, Hugh. Hold steady for a moment.” Richard tore off his neck stock, ripped it in two, and wrapped half of it tightly around the wound in Hardcastle's left hand. Richard was relieved to note that the wound was not deep.

“Marines, cease fire!” he commanded after a second volley went off. “Our own men are in there!
Cessez-le-feu!”
he shouted at Touissant's guards. “Sergeant Lovett, the signal to withdraw!”

“Sir!” the ruddy-jowled sergeant of Marines acknowledged. To his squad: “Reload . . . signal to withdraw . . . make ready . . . fire!”

A musket, its muzzle directed straight up, discharged, followed by a second discharge three seconds later, then another and another at three-second intervals until six shots had rung out. That was the prearranged signal to those on the island to stop whatever they were doing and hightail it back to the boats.

Richard said to Toussaint: “General, I must insist that you and your men depart immediately for the British frigate.”

Toussaint needed no further prompting. He and Dessalines made for the boats down the beach, their scribe following close behind with Toussaint's guards, who helped their wounded comrade.

Richard said to Hardcastle: “Hugh, go with Toussaint. I'll see to everything here.”

Hardcastle shook his head. “I appreciate your concern, Richard, but I'll stay here with you. I'll have that pistol back, if you please.” He indicated the weapon on the sand that had been dashed from his grip when he was hit. Richard picked it up, checked to see that it was loaded, and gave it to him.

In ones and twos and small groups, British and American Marines emerged from the brush farther down the beach. Red-coated Royal Marines carried the bodies of two comrades and assisted three others who had been wounded. Sporadic gunfire and shouts in French continued to issue from the darkening interior of the island.

“What's the butcher's bill?” Richard asked James Carter once the two were together and Sergeant Lovett had concluded a nose count.