She was about eight years old when her mother faded out of her life forever. We know very little about the years that passed before this orphan would defiantly call herself: Solitude. . . .
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November 20, 1802: Basse-Terre, capital of Guadeloupe, French West Indies. The island had just suffered one of the most formidable black uprisings the New World had ever known. A few months earlier, three hundred rebels led by the Mulatto Louis Delgres, leader of the Armies of the Republic, had blown themselves up in small mountain fortress, thus ending the slave rebellion of Guadeloupe. Many women and children stood with them in that final sacrifice. They had stayed true to their slogan: “Freedom or death.”
Most of them were torn apart by the blast. The others died strung up on Constantin Hill, in the heights of Basse-Terre, and their bodies exposed to wind and rain “for all eternity,” in accordance with the ill justice dealt at the time.
But one of the greatest heroines of the revolution was temporarily pardoned. Given that the child in her womb was the property of her slave owner, her execution was rescheduled to the day after the birth.
She gave birth on November 28, 1802, and on the morning of the following day, the doors of the jail opened on an old woman no one recognized, not even those who had known her a few months earlier in the glory of her youth. Her skin furrowed to the bone, her hair whitened and shining in the sun, she stepped forward peacefully between two rows of spectators, while maternity’s milk slowly stained her night shirt: yet she was only thirty years old.
We know few things, very few things, about the origins of Solitude, the woman from Guadeloupe.
It seems that she was the fruit of a forced union that took place on a slave ship, between a French sailor and African woman being taken to the Americas. This forced conception, brief and violent, on some ship rolling in the middle of the ocean, is in many ways a perfect picture of the fate of Solitude, the mulatto girl.
No one knew when the strange name came to be hers, when it settled on her face like an emblematic mask. No slave sale certificate made note of it. It only appeared toward the very end, upon the writ condeming her to death.
She was about eight years old when her mother faded out of her life forever. We know very little about the years that passed before this orphan would defiantly call herself: Solitude. . . .
Under slavery, the mixing of the races often produced human beings of “imprecise” ancestry, beings torn between Africa and Europe and finding no succor on this earth. Very often, those of mixed race came to choose the side of the masters because the latter offered a few breadcrumbs and some dignity. Often, pulled apart by difficult options, they allied themselves with madness and death. But some, more numerous than is often mentioned, returned to the black part of their being, and advanced to the first ranks in the struggle for freedom. Such was the case in Guadeloupe. Such was the case among the main actors of the 1802 tragedy, which included such mulattoes as Delgres, Ignace, Massoteau; and such was the case for Solitude.
According to an old Brazilian proverb, the mulatto hangs the portrait of his father in the living room and that of his black mother in the kitchen.
Much is left to the imagination as to what led this child of rape, this “little yellow girl,” as mixed children used to be called, to take the side of her old African mother.
The Maroons’ settlement at La Goyave was made up exclusively of Bossales, who were also called saltwater blacks. They had come directly from Africa, unlike the island-born sweet water blacks. Solitude lived a few radiant months there. Her body, marked by long years of hardship, came back to life. She shivered in the wind to the African chants of her companions. She pierced the sun, they say, with the grace of a cane arrow. Then, on February 3, 1798, the troops of General Desfourneaux captured the La Goyave settlement and exterminated its leaders. The young woman became the leader of the survivors, taking her first steps into legend. Her small band made a noise over all of Guadeloupe. So she wandered, hunted by French troops and black militias, until Consul Napolean Bonaparte came to power. Napolean had his mind set on officially re-establishing slavery. A large fleet dropped anchor on May 5, 1802, in the waters off of Pointe-a-Pitre, in order to enforce that decree.
In 1793, a slave rebellion started, which made the upper classes turn to the British and ask them to occupy the island. In an effort to take advantage of the chaos ensuing from the French Revolution, Britain attempted to seize Guadeloupe in 1794 and held it from April 21 to June 2. The French retook the island under the command of Victor Hugues, who succeeded in freeing the slaves. They revolted and turned on the slave-owners who controlled the sugar plantations, but when American interests were threatened, Napoleon Bonaparte sent a force to suppress the rebels and reinstitute slavery. On May 20, 1802, slavery and the slave trade were reimposed there.
Almost all at once, black Guadeloupe was on fire. Solitude was at that point expecting the child of a Congo, an African who did not know two words of Creole but who brought her all the tenderness of the world. The joy from her belly reached her eyes and gave her the soft skin of a pretty filly dancing in the sun. At the sounds of the cannons, however, she pushed herself and her belly into the heart of the battles at Dole, Trou-aux-chiens, Fond-Bananier, and Capesterre. From victory to victory, and then from setback to setback, she pushed herself and her womb all the way up into the mountains before the final defeat. It is on that mountain, on the terrace of the Danglemont Plantation, that the Commandant Delgres decided that he and the last of the insurgents would blow themselves up by lighting a barrel of gunpowder with his pipe as the French troops charged in. The group of revolutionary soldiers killed themselves on the slopes of the Matouba volcano when it became obvious that the invading troops would take control of the island. The occupation force killed approximately 10,000 Guadeloupeans in the process of re-taking the island from the rebels.
Among the entangled bodies, Solitude, the Mulatresse, was picked up and carried to the Basse-Terre prison, which she left, with a halo of white hair, on November 29, 1802, after giving birth. Solitude was hanged by her enslavers, who would not murder her until she after she was delivered of a little child destined to be slave material for another slave master.
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After her death, a shroud of silence fell over the fate of Solitude. Up until the 1960s, no street, no alley in Guadeloupe had yet been named for her. Her name had not even been given to any ship, as had her companion, Commander Delgres; this ship now comes and goes twice a week between Pointe-a-Pitre and the island of Saint-Barthelemy, ferrying cattle.
Today, the souls of these other heroes may be at rest. Their names are on the lips of everyone and their stories are known by small children. Ignace, Massoteau, and Delgres have attained eternal life as the stuff of folklore.
As for Solitude, not only does her name now grace squares and avenues in Guadeloupe but she has also become a poem, a song, a library, and a museum room. She has even transformed herself into a very beautiful tune, played on country drums straight from Africa, whose sound she heard when she was still alive, when her companions, the maroons of La Goyave, played. . . .
General Dessalines honored the black heroes of Guadeloupe with the following lines from a letter he wrote. These lines testify to the solidarity and interaction between the revolutions in Haiti and Guadeloupe, a fact documented by Henri Bangou in his Histoire de la Guadeloupe:
“Wrecked and devastated Guadeloupe; its ruins are still smokng with the blood of children, women, and old men, felled by the sword; Pelage himself a victim of their tricks, after having cowardly betrayed his country and his brothers, the brave, immortal Delgresse was spirited away into the air along with the debris of his fort rather than accept the chains. Magnanimous warrior, your noble death, far from astonishing our courage, will merely tease the thirst in us to avenge or follow you.”
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