Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [149]
“What?” he said. “You hesitate in your choice? A man of honor must declare himself for one cause, and not try to serve two at the same time.”
“Very well,” Isaac said quickly, as if stung. “You see in me the faithful servant of France, who can never bear arms against her.”
“Soit,” Toussaint said. So be it. “I will cherish you all the same. You have my blessing, Isaac, wherever the roads of your life may take you.” But when he turned his face to Placide it was full of pain.
Placide, unthinking, dropped onto his knees and pressed his face against his father’s tightly trousered thigh, snuffling the scent of horse and sweat and leather for a moment. When he raised his face it was wet with tears. “I fear the future,” he heard himself say. “I fear slavery even more.” He swallowed and got better control of his voice. “I have already forgotten France and all its glory,” he said. “If it is God’s will, let me live or die by your side.”
“Good,” Toussaint said. For a moment he cradled the back of Placide’s head in both his hands, looking closely into his eyes. “Stand up now,” he said and rose himself. As Placide stood, Toussaint took him by the shoulder and turned him to face Morisset and General Vernet, who were standing by the stairwell that went down into the interior of the building.
“This is my son!” Toussaint said. “Now, go to the drummers and tell them to beat the call to arms.”
As Morisset and Vernet clattered down the stairs, Toussaint turned toward Isaac again. Up until now they had been speaking in the most formal French, but now he switched to Creole.
“Ba’m main’ou,” he said. Give me your hand. Isaac put his hand in his.
“You must go to your mother now,” Toussaint said. “Go up to Ennery and tell her how you have decided.”
Already the drums were rolling, beyond the headquarters building, toward the Place d’Armes. Toussaint dropped Isaac’s hand and, guiding Placide by his shoulder, hurried down the stairs. Isaac followed, a pace behind. As they emerged into the street, the two French captains rushed up toward them; the drum roll and stirring of the troops had thrown them into consternation.
“Ah, my friends,” Toussaint said. “You have been waiting a long time. I have a mission for you now. You have taken such care of my sons since they returned here—I ask you now to go with my son Isaac to his mother at Ennery.”
“But have you no reply for the Captain-General?” Cyprien said, with rather a sickly smile. “One would not wish to disrupt the filial pieties, but our business is too urgent for another such detour.”
“The Captain-General has accorded me an armistice of four days, as you probably already know,” Toussaint said. “I invite you to remain as my guests at Habitation Sancey during that time. My son will see to your comfort there, and these ten horsemen of my guard will assure your safety on the road.”
“Are we your prisoners, then?” said Cyprien.
“By no means.” Toussaint covered his mouth with his hand. “But at present it is not convenient that you return to the Captain-General.”
On the Place d’Armes the troops were already assembled: Toussaint’s personal guard in the strength of a battalion and two squadrons. The light of dawn was coming up quickly now, though still more bluish gray than rose. The tall palms shivered in the corners of the square. Shoulder to shoulder with Placide, Toussaint stood to address the men.
“The Captain-General Leclerc offers us ignominy and shame,” he said. “He wants to destroy the constitution, sole guarantee of our liberty—he wants us to abandon ourselves to the discretion of the French government. Are we cowards who’d submit to such caprices? Will we lower our heads again to wear the yoke of slavery?”
“Never!” Morisset led the cry, and led the men in flourishing their swords. “We all stand ready to die for liberty.”
“I give you Placide Louverture,” Toussaint shouted. “He is ready to die for our cause also. Accept him in the grade of a commander.”
Placide stepped forward,