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Chapter 637: The Lament of the North American Continent

A black officer in a white uniform, observing Boukman's expression, hesitated before finally asserting, "Great Hougan, we should avoid these white armies; they're too numerous. Retreating into the South Carolina mountains or heading west is our best option."

The "Hougan" he referred to was the Great Voodoo Priest, the religious office Boukman currently held.

Boukman shot him a cold glance, shoved the telescope into his hand, pointed forcefully at the American camp, and declared through gritted teeth, "I can't abandon them."

The officer didn't comply. He knew that in the plantations where the white men were stationed, over 200 black people were hanging—he had seen them at a closer distance when he led a reconnaissance mission the day before.

Those black people were likely attempting to join the Boukman Movement, but they had been captured before they could leave the South Carolina area. The American forces then tied their wrists and hanged them from tree branches.

They had been hanging for three days; at least a third of them were already dead, but hundreds more were still agonizingly struggling.

The white men had deliberately hanged them in front of the camp, ensuring they could be easily seen from their side.

Boukman paced restlessly. Suddenly, he spun around and grabbed the officer by his collar: "I was once hanged like that too, and I know how much it hurts! I swore an oath to the Spirits of Nature that I would free all black people from such torment, and slaughter all the white men who torment us.

"The Spirits of Nature saved me; I did not die. Now, I too must save them!"

"Save the suffering!"

Boukman surveyed the soldiers with satisfaction and declared loudly, "Our ancestors will protect us! The Spirits of Nature will guide us!"

The soldiers fell prostrate on the ground, repeating his prayers.

Boukman released the officer and said gravely, "Anson, I will lead an attack from the south. You'll sneak into the plantation during the chaos to rescue them. Afterward, we will retreat into the northern mountains."

Anson glanced towards the American camp, finally nodding calmly. "Yes, Great Hougan."

At two o'clock in the afternoon, Boukman led 2,600 soldiers and circled around to the American army's right flank.

Many in his ranks still carried machetes. It wasn't that they lacked flintlock muskets, but that they didn't know how to use them. Just half a month ago, they had been picking cotton under the plantation owner's whip, yet now they were resolutely launching an assault on their enslavers, fighting for their own freedom and that of their brethren.

Brigadier General Anthony Wayne, commander of the "Legion of the United States," quickly received reports from his cavalry. A smile crept onto his face as he turned and issued a series of orders to several officers.

Boukman's attack hadn't even begun when it was met with a head-on ambush from the American elite First Infantry Legion, supported by three militia regiments.

Boukman shouted Voodoo prayers and fought hand-to-hand with the Americans like a beast.

But before long, American cavalry appeared behind him.

Anson, hearing the gunfire from the north, immediately led over 1,500 soldiers towards the plantations near the border.

Just as he could make out the faces of the hanged black slaves, a volley of gunfire erupted all around him.

The slaves, who had been hanging for three days, instantly found their suffering ended, their bodies torn to bloody shreds.

Simultaneously, a force of six or seven thousand American soldiers, marching to the beat of drums, converged from all directions.

The battle lasted until dusk; Anson's men were annihilated. Not a single one of these black warriors surrendered. Despite overwhelming odds, they fought to the death, taking over 300 American soldiers with them.

Boukman's side suffered equally terrible losses.

The veterans he had brought from Santo Domingo bravely held back the American cavalry, even capturing several warhorses.

Ultimately, under their cover, Boukman and his remaining 500-plus men broke through the American encirclement.

Boukman's remnants regrouped with 800 soldiers who had been tasked with providing support. Upon learning of Anson's death, they had no choice but to flee west. The Americans pursued them relentlessly. Boukman, following the previous instructions from an agent of the Duke of Leeds, waded across the Savannah River on the southwestern side of Georgia State, entering the territory of the Oltamaho Indian tribe.

Early the next morning, Boukman met the envoy of Chief Opemico Hopoieather of the Oltamaho tribe.

Upon learning that Boukman was at war with the Americans, the envoy immediately extended a warm welcome to them, not only providing food and tents but also dispatching tribal warriors to patrol along the Savannah River to guard against a surprise American attack.

Another day passed. In the rebel camp.

Boukman brutally kicked a black soldier who was groaning from his injuries and bellowed harshly, "Quiet down, you useless wretch!"

The surrounding moans immediately subsided.

Then, Boukman saw the soldier's abdominal wound and frowned instantly. He made a "cut" gesture to the guard behind him.

The guard immediately drew his dagger and plunged it into the wounded soldier's chest. The soldier convulsed for a moment, then quickly fell still.

Boukman walked among the soldiers, executing thirty or forty wounded soldiers without hesitation along the way. Given their injuries, they would at most live another three to five days, but would only become a burden to the army.

Just then, a black officer arrived, accompanied by two Indians.

The Indian wearing red feathers politely saluted Boukman by pressing his hand to his chest: "Commander, the Chief has prepared a feast for you and hopes you will attend."

Boukman was very intelligent. He had already picked up enough English to understand it roughly during his time in America. He bowed in return. "Thank you, Chief Hopoieather. I will certainly attend the feast."

Before long, Boukman, accompanied by over a dozen officers and guided by a small contingent of Indians, rode toward the chief's settlement.

After riding for over an hour, Boukman suddenly spotted a herd of stout, horned creatures grazing peacefully on a distant hillside.

"What are those?"

An Indian casually replied, "They're bison, Commander."

Boukman was immediately captivated by the free and tranquil air of the animals. On a whim, he spurred his horse, galloping towards the bison, eager to see them up close.

When the herd noticed someone approaching, they immediately turned and fled.

Boukman chased after them, continuing until he crested the hill. Just as he was about to gaze down at the herd, he suddenly froze—the other side of the mountain was an endless expanse of cotton fields.

He hastily unclipped his telescope from his saddle and peered through it. He saw countless black slaves bent over, planting cotton, and standing beside them were dozens of fierce, whip-wielding Indians...

By the Savannah River.

Several American officers rode abreast. One middle-aged man, a colonel, gazed at the opposite bank of the river and remarked with a frown:

"General Wayne, I can hardly believe we're cooperating with those despicable Indians."

Brigadier General Wayne smiled. "If it resolves the negro uprising, why not?"

"To be frank, I despise those savages. They've killed many of our men."

"Indeed." Wayne nodded. "So, after our cooperation, you are perfectly free to do as you please."