Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [203]
“Good,” said Toussaint. “They are coming.”
It had been cold through the night on Morne Barade, though Guizot had not felt it much in the midst of all the fighting. Now, in the low desert they had entered, there was a dry, suffocating heat, and the sun burned out of a cloudless sky, inhuman empty blue. Guizot marched at the head of his company, just behind Rochambeau’s vanguard. The general’s black shako, a little scuffed from its recent mistreatment, bobbed at the head of the line. A steady tattoo of drums encouraged them. Guizot’s tongue rasped over dry lips. He’d drunk from the stream before they left it, but in this heat one was sweated dry again in less than a half-hour. Sergeant Aloyse pegged along at his right, snuffling with the effort, blood crumbs blackened around his nostrils. His nose had been broken, no worse than that.
Despite his exhaustion, Guizot’s heart was high. Except for a high cactus hedge on their right, this was open country, level and flat; a Negro army would never stand against them here, and what did it matter to lose the powder magazine if the enemy army could be destroyed? And the enemy was in sight, just ahead, standing with a steadfastness Guizot would not have expected.
“Ready! Aim! Fire!” Rochambeau himself gave those commands. The forward rank knelt to recharge muskets; Guizot ordered his own men to fire. There at the front of the enemy line was that same little man with the feathered bicorne, flourishing a musket now as he directed the enemy musketeers—
“En avant!”
The French were charging, bayonets lowered, and Guizot ran with them, just behind the first line, his drawn sword at the ready and his eye fixed on the feathers of that bicorne, the red plume floating high above the rest. Kill that man and the battle was won. Capture him and the bet was won. Capture him and the war was won . . . But after the first shock, Guizot lost sight of him. The enemy was holding. Then, finally, yielding a little under the pressure of the bayonets. The French advance sped to the pace of a run; it seemed as if the enemy had broken, but still Guizot could not relocate that red feather, will-of-a-wisp that his quarry was. In his excitement he’d outrun his company, except for Aloyse; the two of them were now abreast of Rochambeau’s advance guard. Then came another shock, from the left this time, and Guizot realized they’d been flanked. The blacks were pushing toward them; Guizot parried a bayonet with his sword, ducked, stabbed underneath the musket barrel, spun through and away. And now again the French advance was moving.
With the enemy advance guard barely forty yards away, Toussaint had turned to whisper to Placide. “Go with Monpoint,” he said. “Take Guiaou with you. The rest of the cavalry is there behind that hedge. Monpoint will hold them in reserve to break the French line when the time is right.”
Placide squeezed his heels into the flanks of his horse. Guiaou was cantering on his right, while Guerrier remained in the infantry line, beside Toussaint. Monpoint had ranged his horsemen on the Marie Louise road, covered by a cactus hedge nearly twelve feet high. He did not take any action at first, but sat his horse quietly, watching the infantry clash.
At this remove, Placide’s mind was clear and he could watch calmly. After the first exchange of volleys, the lines collided with bayonets—the French had a terrible skill with that weapon. There was a break in Toussaint’s line, and Placide heard Labarre’s voice shouting, “What! do you forget your vow! remember the Governor is among us!” Placide looked at Monpoint, nudged his horse forward, but Monpoint stayed him with a hand—it was too soon, and in fact Toussaint’s line had rallied.
Placide calmed himself, forcing a deep breath; now he could see that Rochambeau had not deployed his men to take advantage of his superior numbers, and Toussaint must have seen that also: now two companies of chasseurs were flanking the French line on the left, moving quickly through the cover of the raket and baroron, then wheeling, doing tremendous damage