A summer on the borders of the Caribbean sea.

by J. Dennis Harris

On the Atlantic slope rain falls in greater or less abundance for the entire year; vegetation is rank, and the climate damp and proportionately insalubrious, while the Pacific slope and the elevated regions of the interior are comparatively dry and healthy.

With this variety of “physical circumstances,” also, the people differ, and have always differed, in a direct and corresponding ratio; the inhabitants of the cool and healthy regions having at the time of the discovery systematized forms of government and worship, while the hotter and less salubrious coasts were occupied by a distinct family of men unfixed in their abodes, having no social enjoyments, and living on the natural fruits of the earth. In Central America, therefore, Dr. Smith’s celebrated essay on “Civilization—its Independence of Physical Circumstance,” receives a striking illustration, the damp Musquito coasts having propagated only a rude tribe of men; while San Salvador, for example, sustains a population highly civilized, and equal in number to New England.

But I have dwelt at most length on the island of Hayti, because it is a source of greatest interest to us, and because there is perhaps no country the intrinsic value of which is so little known; and while I can see no objection but every thing to encourage by governmental influence the establishment of a colony in some parts of the Central American States, neither do I know why it might not be established in the Spanish territory of Hayti. I have given another gentleman’s views, which are worth more than my own, as to the vast population the country is capable of sustaining, and have shown that especially from Porto Cabello west, to the Bay of Samana east, no finer province could certainly be desired. That noble bay, as I am informed, has been surveyed heretofore by a corps of American engineers, who pronounced it the choicest point for a naval station on the Caribbean coasts. It is also assumed, from the rapid increase of the coral reefs in the Bahama channels, that this in time will furnish the only safe channel for California steamers, and even for larger vessels bound from the Northern States to New Orleans. I have nothing to do with that, further than to state it as I have it. The insurance companies will however appreciate this assumption, if we are to judge from the number of wrecks which have recently occurred between the Caicos and Florida reefs.

Surrounding the bay of Samana are beds of coal as if on purpose to supply such steamers; but they now lie unworked, useless, and almost unknown. Into this bay empties the Yuna river, which takes its rise far back in the northern and middle range of mountains, and, fed by innumerable tributaries, winds its course towards this magnificent harbor through the widest portion of the Royal plains.

“In briefly describing the principal bays of Dominicana,” says Mr. Courtney, “the first of importance is the far-famed and magnificent bay of Samana, at the north-eastern end of the island, at the mouth of the Yuna river. It is about fifty miles from east to west, and varying in width from fifteen to twenty miles, and of a great depth. The entrance to it is at the east end, and is about a mile wide, as beyond that is shoal water, to the south side some little islands and bars appearing above the surface. An old fort, erected long since on the high bluff on the north side, a few miles above the mouth and before it widens out, commands its entrance. The hills and mountains on either side of the bay rise back from it to a great height, their sides being covered with beautiful slopes, plateaus, and benches. The coasts are here and there indented with minor bays and inlets, the most important of which is at the town of Samana, about twenty-five miles up the bay on the north side. It is a land-locked harbor and very deep, as are all the inlets. The view of the bay from either side across to the opposite shores, covered as it is with swarms of ducks and swans and other water fowl; and the coasts and hills and mountains covered with flowers and verdure and fruit, is truly beautiful and sublime, equalling, if not surpassing, in beauty and magnificence, the Bay of Naples, and is obviously the key to the Gulf of Mexico.

“Here all the navies of the world could lie at anchor in safety.”

It would be useless for me to give a minute description of each particular bay in each particular State, thus swelling these pages into the usual ponderous three-dollar volumes which nobody buys, and so none read. I am aware that the Bay of Fonseca, and others on the Spanish Main, are equally deserving, if necessary, to be described. Mr. Wells has shown this, and also that the interior districts of Honduras are as rich in silver and gold as any region of which California can boast. I understand, however, that parties have since been formed on the strength of Mr. Wells’ report, and thoroughly equipped for mining operations. But as I am informed, they were not allowed to enter the interior in consequence of those filibustering propensities which all white Americans are supposed to possess.

A party organized to work the mines on a small scale in Dominicana has lately sailed for the island. They will not be interrupted by the present government, but the durability of that government is, I am sorry to say, a question which may be agitated, and even settled, before I finish writing this book.

And now I have struck the key note of all I have to say. The most beautiful countries in the world are the most lamentably ill-governed. It makes no difference to any one having foreign protection, as to their personal safety, whether there be revolution or not. This white Americans and all Englishmen or anybody else have, but the free colored people of America. They have no protection anywhere.

Now this is a shame and a disgrace to the civilized world. But so it is, and, as Mr. Douglas would ask, “What are you going to do about it?”