One other personage, whose scientific knowledge interested me greatly, was a Colonial assistant-surgeon from Castries, the chief town of St Lucia. He was returning to England, having just been offered a more advanced appointment in our West African possessions. He gave me a paper to read, which he had drawn up on the conveyance of disease by mosquitoes, in which he declared: “It is no longer a theory, but an established fact, that Malaria and Yellow Fever are conveyed from the sick to the healthy by mosquitoes.” He further explained many interesting experiments which have been made with “infected mosquitoes,” which, he stated, “ought to convince the most sceptical that yellow fever (and other diseases) is carried by mosquitoes.” The result of the establishment of this theory resolves itself into “the destruction of the mosquitoes which carry them (parasites), and of their breeding-places.” These latter he describes to be such places as stagnant swamps and offensive puddles and pools. It is interesting also to know that the Military Governor of Havana, General Leonard Wood, issued instructions for the method of disinfection for yellow fever based on this theory, and the effect of this change is, that this particular disease has been stamped out of Havana in less than ten months, and the city which has been the home of yellow fever since 1762 can now rank as a healthy city of the world. “Finally,” he wrote, “the complete control over the spread of yellow fever that the Sanitary Department of Havana has obtained this year, by the enforcement of prophylactic measures that are based solely on the doctrine of the transmission of yellow fever by the mosquito, goes very far to prove that there is no other channel of communication of the disease. These results have been obtained by the systematic destruction of mosquitoes in every house where a case presented itself. If this success is interrupted, the responsibility must fall upon the physician who conceals a case of the disease.” Evidently the splendid results of the Cuban campaign against mosquitoes has exceeded the expectations of the most sanguine, and one may hope in a few years this disease, which is the scourge of the Brazils and many tropical countries, will be relegated to the history of the past.
When I contemplated taking the trip to the islands it was naturally my hope to see Mont Pelée in action, nor was I entirely disappointed. On the route up to St Thomas the mountain was partially enveloped in the densest donas of smoke, but returning, we went as near the shore as was prudent. The mountain then was covered in impenetrable clouds of smoke. It was a moonlight night and the effect was grand, but weird in the extreme; lightning at intervals was illuminating the sky to the north, but no rain fell. Presently, as we approached nearer, we smelt sulphur and felt dust in our faces, together with warm currents of air. We kept our eyes fixed on the crater, or, to speak more correctly, at the spot where we supposed it to be. Nor were we disappointed, for we saw a stream of “living fire” leap from under the thick concealing smoke and race down the mountain-side in a serpentine track. We did not see it plunge into the sea, but the officer on the bridge got a sight of it. He told us afterwards that it had taken exactly ten minutes for this fiery torrent to travel five miles, which was the distance the sea lay from the old crater. The whole aspect was terrifying. One felt one did not care for a nearer acquaintance with a burning mountain.
We did not land at St Pierre to see the ruins; for that you require a French permission. We saw where they lay, and a tiny light glimmered close down towards the water’s-edge, which probably belonged to the craft which the professor at the Observatory has ready for escape at the first symptom of danger. St Pierre must have been one of the most important towns in the West Indies. It was the most famous town of Martinique, and contained 25,000 persons. It used to be the port of call of the Royal Mail; the steamers go now to Port of France, between which and St Pierre a beautiful road, bordered with woods, formed the favourite drive taken by visitors to the island. On either side are seen “giant ferns and huge parasites clinging to the branches of gigantic trees, the whole woven together by creepers of extraordinary grace. Suddenly the view opens out, and splendid points of vantage are reached whence one commands the eastern and western sides of the island; for this road, traced (whence its name Trace) for the most part by the Caribs almost always follows the ridge of the mountains.”
In disembarking at St Pierre one was faced by the Place Bertin; on one side stood a round tower serving as a semaphore, having a red light visible for 9 miles, opposite stood the Chamber of Commerce. The town possessed two banks, a seminary, a theatre, a military hospital, rum factories and a beautiful Botanical Garden with quantities of native and exotic plants, waterfalls, and a miniature lake with three islets called respectively, Martinique, Dominica, and Guadeloupe, because their shapes were similar to these islands. Life was luxurious at this French colonial town; every house had its bath-room, there was an excellent hydropathic institution, food was abundant and cheap. Whether or no there was any truth in the report that this city was famed for its wickedness, I am not able to say. St Pierre, I know, was considered by many to be a modern Gomorrah, and piously-disposed people regarded its extinction as the righteous judgment of an indignant Deity. I will only refer my readers on this head to a story of what went on at St Pierre, Good Friday afternoon last (1902), as given in an article in The Fortnightly of October 1902, entitled “A few Facts concerning France.” It appears that atheistical agitators went to the island preaching an anti-religious crusade, the outcome of which was on that Good Friday afternoon a procession paraded the streets of St Pierre, hooting and blaspheming. In the midst of this gathering of human scum was held aloft, on a cross, a pig, crucified alive. Its head was adorned with wreaths of flowers, and the crowd mockingly aped its dying wriggles. To put a climax to their folly, in a mad rush of hatred towards all things sacred they marched up the slopes of Mont Pelée to a spot where a Calvary stood, and was seen far and wide in the island landscape. This they tore down, flinging the crucifix into the crater, with shouts of “Go to hell, from whence thou camest!” I met a very charming French priest, who had, by his own exertions, built a church in one of the parishes of Dominica; I believe it was called Soufrière. I asked him concerning the truth of this story. He had heard of it, but—and he lifted up his hands in holy horror at the very mention of the wickedness of St Pierre—he was not able to confirm it, though he considered it more than likely to be true. In Mr George Kennan’s book, which describes the tragedy of Pelée, an interesting incident is recorded. On the eve of the catastrophe a local newspaper called Les Colonies deprecated the panic which had been caused by previous heavy detonating explosions and the appearance of incandescent matter at the summit-fissure, in consequence of which many persons left for different parts of the island. “Mont Pelée is no more to be feared by St Pierre than Vesuvius is feared by Naples,” said this newspaper. Captain Leboffe, the skipper of the Italian barque, Orsolina, which was in the harbour loading with sugar for Havre, thought differently. He went to the shippers, told them he did not consider the roadstead safe, and gave notice that he should sail for Havre immediately.
“But,” said they, “you can’t go yet; you have not got aboard half the cargo.”
The captain, however, declared he should sail rather than risk remaining there. The shippers angrily explained that the mountain was not dangerous, since it had once before thrown out ashes and smoke in the same way.
“If Vesuvius looked as your volcano does this morning, I’d get out of Naples, and I am going to get out of here,” said he. The shippers told him if he sailed without permission and without clearance papers he would be arrested on reaching Havre.
“All right,” imperturbably he replied; “I’ll take my chance of arrest, but I won’t take any chances on that volcano. I’m going to get my anchor up, and make sail just as soon as I get aboard.” And he went away.
The shippers sent two Customs officers to the barque, with instructions to prevent her leaving. The captain, however, addressed them as follows: “Gentlemen, I sail from this port in less than an hour. If you want to go ashore, now is your time to leave. If you stay, I shall take you to France.”