rom this
day, a victorious warfare which was never intermitted, being bequeathed
by their barbarous deaths to their exasperated followers.

It was true, as Toussaint knew and felt in his solitary prison on the
waters, that the groans which went up from the heights and hollows, the
homes and the fastnesses of the island, were such as could not but unite
in a fearful war-cry; but it was also true, as he had known and felt
during the whole term of his power, that in this war victory could not
be doubtful. He had been made the portal of freedom to his race. The
passions of men might gather about it, and make a conflict, more or less
tremendous and protracted; but the way which God had opened, and guarded
by awakened human hearts, no multitude of rebellious human hands could
close.

CHAPTER FORTY.

MEETING WINTER.

It was a glorious day, that twelfth of June, when the _Heros_ sailed
away from the shores of Saint Domingo. Before the _Heros_ could sail
quite away, it was compelled to hover, as it were, about the shadow of
the land--to advance and retreat--to say farewell, apparently, and then
to greet it again. The wind was north-east, so that a direct course was
impossible; and the Ouverture family assembled, with the exception of
Toussaint himself, upon deck, gave vent, again and again, to their
tears--again and again strained their eyes, as the mountains with their
shadowy sides, the still forests, the yellow sands, and the quiet
settlements of the lateral valleys, came into view, or faded away.

L'Ouverture's cabin, to which he was strictly confined during the
voyage, had a window in the stern, and he, too, had therefore some
change of prospect. He gazed eagerly at every shifting picture of the
land; but most eagerly when he found himself off Cap Samana. With his
pocket-glass he explored and discovered the very point of rough ground
on the height where he stood with Christophe, less than six months
before, to watch the approach, and observe the rendezvous, of the French
fleet. He remembered, as his eye was fixed upon the point, his naming
to Henri this very ship, in which he was now a prisoner, sailing away,
never more to return.

"Be it so!" he thought, according to his wont. "My blacks are not
conquered, and will never more be slaves."

The wind soon changed, and the voyage was a rapid one. Short as it was,
it was tedious; for, with the exception of Mars Plaisir, who was
appointed to wait on him, th