Chapter 638: Betrayal and Being Betrayed
Boukman, his expression fierce, descended from the hill, his right hand kept behind his back.
When he was about ten paces from the Native Americans, he suddenly drew his pistol and shot the man with the red feather in his hair dead. Then he bellowed at his subordinate officers:
“Kill them, quickly!”
Although the Native Americans were quite fierce, they were ultimately no match for the Black officers who had just come from battle. Almost instantly, half of them were cut down.
The remaining six or seven held on for a few more minutes before they all became corpses.
Facing the questioning gazes of his subordinates, Boukman pointed towards the opposite side of the hill and declared coldly:
“These damned Native Americans deserve to be cursed, just like the white devils!”
In reality, these Native American tribes bordering the United States had long begun to learn “civilization” and “enlightenment” from Westerners. They learned to ride horses, to use firearms, and even, like the Americans, established councils between tribes.
At the same time, they also learned to keep slaves.
The Native Americans soon discovered the immense profits from plantations, and then used the money they earned to buy more Black slaves and weapons. More and more chiefs participated in slaveholding.
Especially in the southeastern United States, Native American tribes near the United States built more than a dozen European-style towns and simultaneously developed numerous cotton plantations.
And this Oltamaho tribe was the Native American group closest to the United States.
Suddenly, faint gunshots echoed from a distance.
Boukman’s pupils instantly constricted. He reined his horse around, lashed it with his whip, and urgently cried out:
“Damn it, follow me back!”
To the east of Boukman’s army encampment, along the Savannah River, seven to eight thousand American soldiers suddenly appeared.
Yes, the Native Americans hadn't helped patrol for the Black rebels at all. Instead, they had negotiated a price with Brigadier General Wayne overnight and then used their tribal boats to ferry the American army across the river.
Boukman had accepted Chief Hoboaiser’s invitation and taken most of his senior officers to the banquet. The highest-ranking officer remaining in the army was just a Captain.
The unfortunate Captain was completely incapable of handling such a situation. He immediately ordered the entire army to retreat west, hoping to fall back into the Native American tribe’s territory.
But soon, they discovered nearly two thousand Native American warriors gathered by the hills to the west, and the moment they saw them, they raised their rifles and opened fire.
By the Savannah River, an American officer, seeing the Black rebel army fleeing through his telescope, immediately said to Brigadier General Wayne beside him:
“General, those Black devils are finished. Please allow me to lead the cavalry in pursuit!”
“No, we cannot let American soldiers bleed,” Wayne said calmly, waving his hand. “Just control the flanks and don’t let the Black devils escape. Let’s just watch the show from here.”
Driven by the Americans, Boukman’s rebel army soon clashed with the people of the Oltamaho tribe.
However, the Black soldiers had just suffered a crushing defeat a few days prior, and now lacked officer command. They had almost no will to fight, collapsing at the slightest contact.
Yet, in the chaotic battle, there were always those who fought desperately out of despair, and so, many Native Americans also died.
After more than an hour of fierce fighting, the majority of the over 1,200 Black rebels were killed, while the remaining three to four hundred trembled on their knees.
The Oltamaho tribe’s commander, who was Chief Hoboaiser’s eldest son, surveyed the battlefield, wiped blood from his face, beat his chest, and let out a loud cry:
“Ooo-woo-woo-woo—”
Other Native American warriors joined in the chant:
“Ooo-woo-woo-woo—”
Three miles away, Brigadier General Wayne heard the cries and smiled, gesturing to the officer beside him:
“See, aren’t the Black devils dealt with? All it took was 30,000 dollars. Colonel Alette, I’ll handle the savages. You proceed as planned.”
“Yes, General!” Brigadier General Wayne approached the battlefield, glancing at the scattered corpses, then nodded to Chief Hoboaiser’s eldest son and said: “You’ve done exceptionally well, as valiant as your father.
“Oh, the firearms and clothing we agreed upon are at the rear; please send someone to retrieve them.
“Now, let us return to the tribe and celebrate this great victory.”
“It’s a pleasure to cooperate with you,” the Native American said, clearly quite pleased. “As agreed, all the living Black devils now belong to our tribe.”
“Dead men have no need for Black slaves.”
No sooner had Wayne’s words faded than a dozen of his guards behind him simultaneously raised their rifles and fired at the astonished Native Americans opposite them.
The chief’s eldest son instantly fell from his horse, his head half-shattered like a dropped watermelon, splattering red and white matter across the ground.
The gunshots served as a signal. The five thousand American soldiers who had already encircled the area immediately began to close in. Meanwhile, the Native Americans, still joyfully collecting weapons from the battlefield or tying up and herding the Black captives, were momentarily stunned, unsure of what was happening, frozen in place.
However, the American flintlock muskets fired without hesitation, unleashing volley after volley under the officers’ command, tearing apart both the Native Americans and the surrendered Black people.
Meanwhile, in the Oltamaho tribe’s settlement, Colonel Alette commanded two infantry battalions to deploy at the main access routes and then began shelling the tribe.
Most of the Oltamaho tribe’s warriors had been sent to ambush Boukman’s rebels and were currently preparing for a celebration. After the sudden attack, the mere hundred or so remaining young men charged towards the cannons outside, their eyes bloodshot.
A volley of Brown Bess flintlock muskets awaited them.
Only when no more Native Americans retaliated did Alette order his soldiers to storm the tribe and take all men, women, and children as captives.
Three days later, the front pages of newspapers like the United States Gazette and the American News all read: “General Wayne Quells Black Slave Uprising and Recovers 70 Square Miles of Georgia State Land.”
In the Oltamaho tribe’s plantations, Boukman and his officers jointly killed over thirty Native American overseers, and led more than 130 Black people who were willing to follow him into the dense forests of Upper Georgia.
...
France.
Paris.
Joseph was on his way to Brittany to attend the maiden voyage ceremony of the Light of the Mediterranean when he received news from North America and the Caribbean Sea.
By then, more than fifty days had passed since Boukman’s uprising was suppressed.
He looked at the report in his hand and couldn’t help but frown slightly.
He hadn’t expected the Boukman Movement, on which he had placed so much hope, to be resolved by the Americans using such utterly unscrupulous methods.
The United States hadn’t suffered significant damage in this incident, so it seemed there was no hope of prematurely sparking a civil war for now.
Joseph couldn’t help but sigh. Regarding this ambitious and promising nation across the ocean, other methods would be needed to continue weakening it.
Fortunately, things were going smoothly on Brissot’s end. Now, with the exception of Jamaica, the entire Caribbean Sea region had successively declared independence, and the Black liberation movement had become an unstoppable force.
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