Written as an essay for a class exploring Slavery in the Americas, this piece outlines factors that led to the successful uprisings against colonial forces on the Caribbean island of Saint Domingue, currently known as Haiti.

Photo credit: Bruno Scramgnon, Pexels

During the “Age of Revolution,” enslaved people in the Caribbean unexpectedly shook the very foundations of the forces that bound them.^[1] One of the greatest examples of collective resistance occurred at the beginning of the Haitian Revolution.^[2] The series of conflicts resulted in the emancipation of enslaved people across all French colonies in the Americas and the establishment of the first Black republic in the world, Haiti, formerly known as Saint Domingue.^[3] People of enslaved communities enacted colony-wide, collective efforts to destroy plantation capital. The enslaved drew on their military, spiritual, and cultural ties to Africa and levied their newly acquired networks across the islands to unsettle the inhumane system of slavery in the French Caribbean. Though the colonial social order stratified groups and pitted potential allies against one another, the enslaved of Saint Domingue amassed an unstoppable campaign to reclaim their freedom and assert their stake in the new revolutionary government.^[4] Unsatisfied with anything less than liberation, the enslaved drove their former oppressors out and claimed the island as their own.

How did these enslaved people, under the burden of bondage, rise up to stave off their imperial oppressors?^[5] Who, really, were these enslaved insurgents that managed to wrangle back their freedom? The historiography of the revolutionary French Caribbean often centers the stories of the great leaders such a Toussaint L’Ouverture or Jean-Jacques Dessalines.^[6] In doing so, the insurgents’ depth of variance is often masked, and we lose the particulars that highlight the characters of the enslaved. Primary accounts from Black witnesses are limited since literacy amongst the enslaved was rare, even within the elite. Still, their calls for freedom were clear and their actions deliberate. Through sources like personal eyewitness accounts, colonial administrative reports, legal proclamations, and plantation records, it is possible to assess their impact on the fledgling French Republican government and extract a more nuanced image of “the black masses’” journey towards liberation.^[7]

Enslaved and Black populations in the French Caribbean utilized a conglomeration of African and creole socio-cultural experiences to navigate colonial politics to stake their rightful claims to freedom. Though individual experiences varied widely for the enslaved, through sharing and building upon interlinking experiences, they forged a cohesive front of resistance against French colonial domination. The varied experiences of the enslaved population coalesced in a way that allowed them to put pressure on several facets of society. This paper argues that resistance-based mobilization across the French colonies was facilitated by the maintenance and exchange of African-creole cultures and knowledges amongst the enslaved. Networks between plantation enslaved people, maroons, and the wider world ensured that crucial information about conspiracies and developments in local and international politics reached all enslaved people. These networks developed through large social gatherings that drew enslaved people from plantations throughout the colony. During these gatherings, people bonded over music and physical competition, and participated in religious ceremonies. Voodou, a hybrid religion drawing on African and creole traditions, inspired a sense of autonomy and self-determination within those contesting with oppressive forces.^[8] The Saint Domingue conspiracy was solidified at one such event, and once the plan set into motion, the military backgrounds of the Africans enhanced the insurgents’ combat.^[9] Enslaved people of the French colonies asserted themselves as a contending force to be reckoned with.^[10]

By 1789, production in Saint-Domingue, the western third of Hispaniola, accounted for forty percent of France’s total exports. As the richest and most productive colony in the Caribbean, it “was hailed by publicists as the ‘Pearl of the Antilles’ or the ‘Eden of the Western World.’”^[11] However, these astonishing numbers were planted in the flesh and watered with the blood of hundreds of thousands of Africans. While Europeans enjoyed their sweetened breads and drinks, Africans choked on the bitter realities of slavery – the utter denial of their humanity and human rights. Africa and her inhabitants were being consumed.^[12] The Transatlantic Slave Trade impacted the face of the continent and fundamentally altered the lifestyles of the uprooted enslaved; However, aspects of African cultural practices survived and made their way into the New World. Cultural remnants and memories from Africa would later serve to link the enslaved in stratified societies and empower them to fight back.

The French sought to satisfy demands for labor, particularly with young African males, to keep up such enormous production figures in the colonies.^[13] From 1700 to 1792, an average of 14,500 captives per year were imported to the French West Indies; those averages surged to 37,000 from 1783 to 1792.^[14] Many died in the Middle Passage, a treacherous journey which lasted from one to three months.^[15]  Once on the island, the brutal working conditions on the plantations, coupled with the tropical Caribbean environment rife with a plethora of diseases, led to horrifyingly steep death rates. While over 800,000 Africans were brought to Saint Domingue between 1680 to 1776, only 290,000 remained by the end of the period.^[16] Of those who survived the voyage, only one in three remained after three years on the islands.^[17] The constant cycle of death and displacement and more death meant that by 1791, a majority of Saint Domingue’s population had been born in Africa and had “arrived within ten years of the start of the revolution. …60-70 per cent of the adults listed on inventories in the late 1780s and 1790s were African born.”^[18] These survivors, who had experienced routine violence inflicted upon their psyches and bodies, became a core component of insurgents in the uprisings.

In colonial society, enslaved people outnumbered the ruling and free classes by large proportions. In 1789, Saint Domingue had a large population  – 465,000 enslaved people, 30,000 whites, and 28,000 gens de couleur.^[19] Guadeloupe was slightly less populous, with 90,134 enslaved people, 13,969 whites, and 3,125 gens de couleur.^[20] To maintain social superiority, and to compensate for their lack of numerical majority, whites made distinctions among the enslaved population, giving special privileges to those that policed the social order. Those stratifying indicators were based on skin color, skills and occupation, gender, and origin of birth (ie. creole or non-creole). The socially elite of the enslaved – coachmen and drivers by occupation, to name a few – were typically creole, while Africans typically occupied field labor. There were constant temptations to collude with the oppressive social order. Despite attempts by the colonial authorities to undermine intraracial cohesion, networks existed across plantations and included maroons and free people of color.^[21]  Ironically, members of the enslaved elite organized the mass rebellion in the northern province of Saint Domingue. Ultimately, their variant backgrounds informed their strategies and enhanced campaigns against the oppressors.

Though the historiography typically addresses maroon communities’ contributions as distinct forms of resistance, maroon-enslaved networks played an integral role by facilitating and participating in uprisings.^[22] Maroon communities functioned both as a symbolic and (in)visible reminder that it was possible to escape colonial authority. Maroon communities existed in a tense coexistence with plantation society, relying on raids to supplement their diet and exchange information with their fellows. These strong social networks operated outside of the will of the metropole and spread throughout the domain of the enslaved society. Ironically, since maroon communities served as an outlet for those who could no longer endure the hardship of bondage and oppression, attempts to curtail incidents of marronage might have spurred the revolution. David Geggus argues that up until the 1780s, enslaved people in Saint Domingue were relatively “remarkably unrebellious,” and credits the relatively accessible option of marronage into mountains, forests, neighboring Santo Domingo, or major cities, as diffusing tensions on the island.^[23] The pressure to rebel, instead of flee, only mounted once marronage no longer became a viable option due to shrinking frontiers and increasing attempts to recover maroons from neighboring Santo Domingo.^[24] 

In 1787, colonial officials across the French domain, threatened by increasing interaction and affinities between free and enslaved, established a force to police social gatherings involving enslaved people.^[25] Serving in the maréchaussée, or colonial police force, offered a chance at emancipation after several years of service. In the countryside of Basse-Terre, Guadeloupe, “the calandats – “tumultuous” gatherings – were seen as a threat throughout the Antilles. They not only provided a space in which people in bondage from different plantations could act in a community but were also known to be the site of religious rituals whose practice frightened and mystified whites.”^[26] Men, women, and youth socialized in song, dance, and sport with “distinct African roots.”^[27] The calandats were theperfect venue to distribute news, strengthen social networks, and mingle various African cultural traditions – sometimes identified by specific ethnic affiliations. These exchanges laid the foundation for the early revolts of 1790s.^[28]

Religious undertones permeated cultures of resistance in the French colonies. Voodou originated within Caribbean culture as a hybrid of “West African, Bantu, and Christian – and doubtless helped relieve anomic tensions.”^[29]  Through voodou, bound people were able to realize a collective identity and express solidarity.^[30] It also allowed the enslaved to develop autonomous, empowering ideas about freedom and humanity. Bois Caiman, the voodou ceremony in which elite enslaved people across plantations in the northern province vowed to simultaneously revolt, demonstrated the efficacy of superstitious pacts. Led by Dutty Boukman and Cécile Fatiman, the oppressed gathered in vigorous dance and song, and intently received Boukman’s sermon:

“The god who created the sun which gives us light, who rouses the waves and rules the storms… he watches us. He sees all that the white man does. The god of the white man inspires him with crime, but our god calls upon us to do good works. Our god who is good to us orders us to avenge our wrongs. He will direct our arms and aid us. Throw away the symbol of the god of the whites who has so often caused us to weep, and listen to the voice of liberty, which speaks in the hearts of us all.”^[31]

Boukman’s invocation of natural elements and guardianship was reminiscent of animist and spiritual sensibilities derived from Africa that claimed the spirits of ancestors lived on in nature. Under the protective eyes of their ancestors, the enslaved made sacred oaths to each other, sealed with blood, to maintain loyalty and secrecy. Insurrection plots were frequently betrayed; that this massive uprising took colonists by surprise speaks to the seriousness of the pact and solidarity of all involved.

Equipped with strong cultural bonds, spiritual conviction, and a sense of international political discourse, the people determined to secure their liberation exacted cunning strategy that pushed their demands for emancipation to the forefront. Rumors circulated and gained traction amongst the enslaved. Colonial authorities believed these “misinterpretations” were planted by anti-slavery or those hoping to undermine political stability. By the late 1780s, the enslaved communities in the French Caribbean were highly attuned to news originating outside of their immediate domains.^[32] Enslaved people, aware of the tense relationship between metropolitan authorities and local administrators, and in need of allies, manipulated republican discourse and inserted themselves as defenders of the revolutionary government that claimed “liberty, fraternity, equality.”^[33] Convinced they would find sympathy in the French revolutionary government, enslaved people counted on the support of metropolitan authorities. In April 1793 in Journal républicain de la Guadeloupe reported two hundred armed men in Trois-Riviéres, Martinique planned and organized uprising including most of the males in bondage from the Gondrecourth plantation to quell a royalist conspiracy.  When confronted, they declared themselves “Citizens and friends!” and chanted “Vive la République!,” once again aligning with the Republic and its ideals.^[34] The enslaved reinterpreted and co-opted the language and ideas of the French Revolution for their own means; they insert themselves into the French Republican discourse, claiming their stake in the creation of a new order.^[35] They made bold proclamations about freedom, based on overheard conversation and rumor, yet grounded in the belief that they too should participate in the new world as free people. Enslaved people steadfastly clung to ideas advocating for their emancipation. In July 1789, in Saint-Pierre, Martinique, an anonymous letter, signed “Us, Blacks,” demanded the colonial government recognize freedom they believed had been granted by the French king.^[36] Amazingly, these documents materialized even before any such proclamation had been declared. The collective signature points to a sense of aligned identity, despite social stratification between the marginalized, and also a sense of the anonymity of the masses.

 The enslaved again attempted to incite insurrection in Guadeloupe in April 1790 and in January 1791 in Port-Salut, the southern province of Saint-Domingue.^[37] Though the plots were betrayed before they could be set into motion, the August 1791 insurrection in Saint-Domingue shortly followed. Prefaced by a religious “celebration or sacrifice in the middle of an uncultivated woods on the Choiseul plantation, known as Caiman,” ^[38] the ones fighting for their freedoms wrought destruction on twenty-three of twenty-seven parishes in the north province of Saint Domingue, with a total of 200 sugar and 1200 coffee estates destroyed.^[39] Pierre Mossut, a plantation manager, in letter to his absentee plantation owner, scoffed, “All experienced planters know that this class of men have neither the energy nor the combination of ideas necessary for the execution of this project, whose realization they nevertheless are marching toward with perseverance …” ^[40] The ruling class, out of necessity, convinced themselves that those they subjected to inhumanity were incapable of strategic planning and coordination, but enslaved people had always been keenly aware and responsive to their options, and so, expertly played to stereotypes that satisfied their oppressors.^[41] Gros, a local official taken captive by the insurgents, reported, “I heard a uniform language among all the negres; everywhere they believed that the king had been imprisoned and that they had been ordered to arm themselves and restore his liberty…”^[42] Whether they truly believed they were fighting for the king, or if these were well practiced lines, or a combination, the enslaved presented a united message advocating for their right to arm for freedom.

Uprisings undermined the very foundations of colonial society, both materially and ideologically. For a relatively brief moment, the established racial hierarchy of white supremacy and Black inferiority was turned on its head in Le Cap, Saint Domingue. Those pursuing their freedom roamed the streets, wielding plantation tools as weapons, while oppressors cowered at the threat of violence. People from all segments of society recoiled at the chaos and destruction, particularly among the formerly ruling class. Visual depictions of the revolution often emphasize the ways in which white women were targeted and violated by Black troops, though several witness accounts largely contradict such claims.^[43] In fact, based on witness testimony, women were less often targeted than men; However, the sentiment and symbolic impact conveyed a message in  support of colonial slavery – the institution of slavery, its governing principles, and the most cherished and vulnerable of white society were under direct attack.

Despite depictions of universal upheaval, there are several accounts of Blacks and whites that chose to forgo racial solidarity. The momentary reversal did not immediately send all who had been violently subjugated into a vengeful frenzy – even in the heat of conflict, some empathized with their oppressors and protected them from harm.^[44] Even those that led or participated in the uprising exercised compassion for their prisoners. An eyewitness attested that a Black woman who led two white women to safety when the rebels were distracted.^[45] Conversely, some whites were rumored to have colluded with the insurgents in the planning and execution of their plots.

An anonymous account of the earliest days of the revolts of 1791 depicted the bands of Black soldiers as eager to slay whites and pilfer homes, but also commented on the measured attitude of Dutty Boukman. The insurgents stormed the author’s house and found him hiding behind the bed, and, on orders from Boukman, took him prisoner instead of killing him. On the decision to spare his life, he marveled, “I would not thought him susceptible, in these circumstances, of so much humanity.”^[46] The insurgents also experienced a change in demeanor. As they transported their captive, Boukman’s anonymous prisoner noted, “The blacks already seemed remorseful for the crimes they had committed… But Boukman… planted himself behind them and struck them with his rifle butt: ‘March, Negro dogs, march or I’ll shoot you down!’ Truly, the apathy and the reluctance of these animals was such that if only ten whites had arrived at that moment, they would have broken up this savage horde with no resistance.”^[47] This series of events illustrates several key ideas, if not exaggerated accounts. One, the rebels were not merely one-dimensional avengers, but experienced a range of emotions and reactions to their deeds.^[48] Though gripped by passionate indignation at their condition, empathy for the humanity of their oppressors still remained. Two, leaders oftentimes exacted a harsh control over rebels, commanding compliance. In fact, many of the leaders of the insurrection were considered socially elite amongst the enslaved, and therefore accustomed to doling out such threats.^[49] The social order had become so ingrained in the psyches of all that even amidst the chaotic restructuring, many proved reluctant to abandon those established hierarchical roles.

Those participating in the uprisings in the French colonies were not only predominantly African born, but due to the patterns of French trade in human life, were typically experienced in warfare. John K. Thornton particularly underscores African war veterans as a crucial component in the success of the early Haitian uprisings.^[50] The enslaved demonstrated an impressive military discipline and cohesion, as the overwhelming majority of them originated from one of two coastal regions in Africa – Angola and Lower Guinea, also known as “the Slave Coast,” which is modern day Benin, Togo and Nigeria.^[51] In fact, Thornton contends that a substantial portion of the newly arrived African population arrived by way of warfare. In Angola, the Kingdom of Kongo erupted in a massive civil war that peaked in 1780. In the Lower Guinea region, the great powers of the Oyo Empire and the Kingdom of Dahomey vied for dominance, while smaller independent nations in Nago region and Mahi country resisted their expansion.

These war patterns had an impact on French trafficking, and certainly on the demographics of the enslaved populations in the colonies. French merchants took advantage of the influx of captives and extracted people from these conflicts, operating along the coasts of the Kongo and Zaire River. In the decade before the revolution, “French ships transported over 224,000 people from Africa, …of which 116,000 (51%) came from the Angola coast, and 55,000 (25%) from Lower Guinea, making together over three-quarters of the total.”^[52] Because of their largely similar origins, many of the people arriving to the French Caribbean islands shared a common geographic and militaristic traditions, which proved indispensable for tactical organizing.

African soldiers had a particular impact in the northern region of Saint Domingue, where enslaved people commanded the political and militaristic trajectory of the revolution, and made way for figures like Toussaint Louverture and Jean-Jacques Dessalines to rise to power.^[53] In the early days of Haitian insurrection, tensions churned between creole organizers like Jean-Francois and Biassou and African born leaders who commanded bands of fighters.^[54] While creoles were largely responsible for planning the conspiratorial uprisings, Africans possessed the combat experience that drove the armed resistance. To Biassou’s and Francois’s frustration, they did not possess the means to control the will of the bands of soldiers. Their earliest proposal to the Civil Commissioner, which promised the insurgents would return to the fields in exchange for their own and their follower’s emancipation, only increased animosity between their leadership and the soldiers.^[55]

Perhaps the inability of creole leaders to initially reign in the African troops was due, in part, to a misunderstanding of the nature of Kongolese tactical organizing. Instead of a centralized figurehead, several junior leaders commanded small units. The Kongolese favored independent groups that could join together for larger attacks and just as quickly disband. These formations were highly flexible, mobile, and effective at guerilla-style, strike-and-retreat engagement that confounded European troops. They utilized the natural environment to disperse into the foliage of the surrounding areas, then reconvened, making retaliation nearly impossible. Though the units could function independently, they were also capable of disciplined collaboration.  An eyewitnesses attested that “they might advance with great clamour and then suddenly and simultaneously fall silent.”^[56] Another added, “sometimes when rebel forces advanced, there was complete silence, so that only thing that could be heard was the ‘incantations of their sorcerers.’”^[57] The reference to incantations indicates that religious and cultural elements encouraged armed militants. These chants were affirmations and prayers, rooted in an acknowledgement of their African heritage.

The veterans’ combat prowess, rooted in African knowledge of military techniques, proved indispensable in the first years of the revolution. These initial engagements compelled the colonists, Spaniards, British to train and arm those who they kidnapped and oppressed to fight for their cause, further undermining notions of the passive slave. While many were drawn by promises of freedom, others defected and joined ranks with the likes of Toussaint Louverture and Jean-Jacques Dessalines, whose military careers were propelled by the fortitude of their African troops. African military knowledge pressured the ruling classes to contend with an unprecedented militaristic presence and empowerment of those once subjugated, radically altering the ways that oppressors and liberation-seekers considered the positions of all within French colonial society.

Though he recently obtained his freedom by the start of the Saint Domingue insurrections, Toussaint Louverture embodied the principles that made the Black revolution a success. He was a devout Christian and enraptured with European inspired revolutionary ideals, though he never lost touch with his African cultural ties.^[58] He was fluent in his father’s language, and was known to converse with those who shared the language.^[59] His intimate knowledge of enslaved, free, Black, white, domestic and international societies meant that he could navigate the complex political terrain with a refined elegance.^[60] His informed visionary leadership, resembling a collection of all the key factors that made the revolution a success, spurred the cause of the Black masses forward.

Across the French Caribbean, the enslaved developed enclaves which fostered cultural mixing and promoted solidarity amongst each other. Enslaved people typically gathered once a week to socialize and participate in religious rituals and ceremonies.  Voudou further dislodged the artificial wedge that deteriorated relations between subjugated people and opened the floodgates for the revolutionary thinking that fueled insurrection. Enslaved Africans across the French colonies of Saint Domingue, Guadeloupe and Martinique inspired each other, news of their attempts simultaneously fueling a climate of resistance that persisted throughout the Caribbean. Though enslaved Africans had been relegated to agricultural work, they still retained the skills and military prowess from their prior combat experience. Despite attempts to limit solidarity among their ranks, and in spite of tensions that threatened to unravel their cohesion, the Black revolutionaries of the French Caribbean found ways to channel their collective knowledges and cultures into a mighty foundation for the campaign to reclaim their freedom. 

Bibliography

Dubois, Laurent. A Colony of Citizens: Revolution and Slave Emancipation in the French Caribbean, 1787-1804. Chapel Hill and London: University of North Carolina Press, 2004.

Dubois, Laurent. Avengers of the New World: The Story of the Haitian Revolution. The Belknap Press, 2005.

DuBois, Laurent, and John D. Garrigus. Slave Revolution in the Caribbean 1789-1804: A Brief History with Documents. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2006.

Fick, Carolyn E. The Making of Haiti: The St. Domingue Revolution from Below. Knoxville: The University of Tennessee Press, 1990.

Geggus, David. “The Haitian Revolution” in The Modern Caribbean. University of North Carolina Press, 1989.   

James, CLR. The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L’Ouverture and the San Domingo Revolution. London: Secker and Warburg, 1938.

Popkin, Jeremy D. Facing Racial Revolution: Eyewitness Accounts of the Haitian Insurrection. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 2005.

Rainsford, Marcus. An Historical Account of the Black Empire of Hayti. Edited by Paul Youngquist and Gregory Pierrot. London: Duke University Press, 2013.

Redpath, James, pub. Toussaint L’ouverture: A Biography and Autobiography. Books for Libraries Press: New York, 1971.

Thornton, John K. “African Soldiers in the Haitian Revolution” in Caribbean Slavery in the Atlantic World, ed. Verene Shepherd and Hilary Beckles. Kingston: Ian Randle Publishers, 1999.

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^[1] DuBois, Laurent, and John D. Garrigus. Slave Revolution in the Caribbean 1789-1804: A Brief History with Documents. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2006.

^[2] Dubois, Laurent. Avengers of the New World: The Story of the Haitian Revolution. The Belknap Press, 2005.

^[3] James, CLR. The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L’Ouverture and the San Domingo Revolution. London: Secker and Warburg, 1938.

^[4] Geggus, David. “The Haitian Revolution” in The Modern Caribbean. University of North Carolina Press, 1989. 

^[5] James, “The Black Jacobins.”

^[6] Fick, Carolyn E. The Making of Haiti: The St. Domingue Revolution from Below. Knoxville: The University of Tennessee Press, 1990.

^[7] Popkin, Jeremy D. Facing Racial Revolution: Eyewitness Accounts of the Haitian Insurrection. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 2005.

^[8] James, “The Black Jacobins,” 66.

^[9] Thornton, John K. “African Soldiers in the Haitian Revolution” in Caribbean Slavery in the Atlantic World, ed. Verene Shepherd and Hilary Beckles. Kingston: Ian Randle Publishers, 1999.

^[10] Dubois, Laurent. A Colony of Citizens: Revolution and Slave Emancipation in the French Caribbean, 1787-1804. Chapel Hill and London: University of North Carolina Press, 2004.

^[11] Geggus, “The Haitian Revolution,” 404.

^[12] Daniels, Jason. “African Slavery,” (lecture, Slavery in the Americas. Galesburg, IL, 2015.)

^[13] Ibid.

^[14] Fick, “The Making Of Haiti,” 22.

^[15] Daniels, lecture.

^[16] Fick, “The Making of Haiti,” 26.

^[17] Daniels, lecture.

^[18] Thornton,  “African Soldiers in the Haitian Revolution,” 934.

^[19] DuBois, “A Colony of Citizens,” 50.

^[20] Ibid.

^[21] Fick, “The Making of Haiti.”

^[22] Ibid, 4, 51.

^[23] Geggus, “The Haitian Revolution,” 404.

^[24] Dubois,  “A Colony of Citizens,” 40.

^[25] Ibid, 54.

^[26] Ibid, 58.

^[27] Ibid, 59.

^[28] Ibid 60, 88.

^[29] Geggus, “The Haitian Revolution,” 404.

^[30] James, “The Black Jacobins,” 67.

^[31]Ibid.

^[32] Dubois, “A Colony of Citizens,” 92.

^[33] Ibid, 90.

^[34] Ibid 128.

^[35] Ibid, 67.

^[36] Dubois, “Slave Revolution in the Caribbean,” 65.

^[37] Ibid, 24.

^[38] Ibid, 90.

^[39] Fick, “The Making of Haiti,” 105.

^[40] Dubois, “Slave Revolution in the Caribbean,” 93.

^[41] James, “The Black Jacobins,” 10.

^[42] Dubois, Slave, 105.

^[43] Popkin, Jeremy D. Facing Racial Revolution: Eyewitness Accounts of the Haitian Insurrection. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 2005. 55, 75,164.

^[44] Ibid, 178, 365.

^[45] Ibid, 53.

^[46] Ibid, 51.

^[47] Ibid, 52.

^[48] James, “The Black Jacobins,” 68.

^[49] Ibid, 11.

^[50] Thornton, “African Soldiers in the Haitian Revolution.”

^[51] Ibid, 934.

^[52] Ibid, 934.

^[53] Redpath, James, pub. Toussaint L’ouverture: A Biography and Autobiography. Books for Libraries Press: New York, 1971.

^[54] Thornton,”African Soldiers in the Haitian Revolution,” 937.

^[55] Dubois, “Slave Revolution in the Caribbean,” 100.

^[56] Thornton, “African Soldiers,” 940-1.

^[57] Ibid

^[58] James, “The Black Jacobins,” 16.

^[59] Geggus, “The Haitian Revolution,” 409.

^[60] James, “The Black Jacobins,” 71.