Hayti; or, The black republic.

by Sir Spenser St. John

At the back of the capital, at a distance of about five miles, was the village of La Coupe, the summer residence of the wealthier families. As it was situated about 1200 feet above the level of the sea and was open to every breeze, it afforded a delightful change from the hot, damp town; but during the civil war of 1868 the best houses were destroyed and never reconstructed. There is a natural bath there, the most picturesque feature of the place; it is situated under lofty trees, that cast a deep shade over the spot, and during the hottest day it is charmingly cool.

Cap Haïtien is the most picturesque town in Hayti; it is beautifully situated on a most commodious harbour. As you enter it, passing Fort Picolet, you are struck by its safe position—a narrow entrance so easily defended. My first visit was in H.M.S. “Galatea,” Captain Macguire; and as we expected that we might very possibly be received by the fire of all the batteries, our own crew were at their guns, keeping them steadily trained on Fort Picolet, whose artillery was distant about a couple of hundred yards. Having slowly steamed past forts and sunken batteries, we found ourselves in front of the town, with its ruins overgrown with creepers, and in the background the rich vegetation sweeping gracefully up to the summit of the beautiful hill which overshadows Cap Haïtien.

Cap Haïtien never recovered from the effects of the fearful earthquake of 1842, when several thousands of its inhabitants perished. To this day they talk of that awful event, and never forget to relate how the country-people rushed in to plunder the place, and how none lent a helping-hand to aid their half-buried countrymen. Captain Macguire and myself used to wander about the ruins, and we could not but feel how little energy remained in a people who could leave their property in such a state. It was perhaps cheaper to build a trumpery house elsewhere.

One of those who suffered the most during that visitation wrote before the earth had ceased trembling, “Against the acts of God Almighty no one complains,” and then proceeded to relate how the dread earthquake shook down or seriously injured almost every house; how two-thirds of the inhabitants were buried beneath the fallen masonry; how the bands of blacks rushed in from mountain and plain, not to aid in saving their wretched countrymen, whose cries and groans could be heard for two or three days, but to plunder the stores replete with goods; and—what he did complain of—how the officers and men of the garrison, instead of attempting to keep order, joined in plundering the small remnants of what the rest of the inhabitants could save from the tottering ruins. What a people!

The most striking objects near Cap Haïtien are the remains of the palace of Sans Souci, and of the citadel constructed by King Christophe, called La Ferrière. It requires a visit to induce one to believe that so elaborate, and, I may add, so handsome a structure, could exist in such a place as Hayti, or that a fortification such as the citadel could ever have been constructed on the summit of a lofty mountain, five thousand feet, I believe, above the level of the sea. Some of the walls are eighty feet in height, and sixteen feet in thickness, where the heavy batteries of English guns still remain in position. All is of the most solid masonry, and covering the whole peak of the mountain.

We were really lost in amazement as we threaded gallery after gallery where heavy fifty-six and thirty-two pounders guarded every approach to what was intended to be the last asylum of Haytian independence. Years of the labour of toiling thousands were spent to prepare this citadel, which the trembling earth laid in ruins in a few minutes. What energy did this black king possess to rear so great a monument? but the reverse of the medal states that every stone in that wonderful building cost a human life.

It is a popular idea in Hayti that the superiority of the northern department, and the greater industry of its inhabitants, date from the time of Christophe, and some express a belief that his iron system was suitable to the country; but the fact is that Moreau de St. Méry, writing in the last century, insists on the superior advantages of the northern province, its greater fertility, the abundance of rain, and consequently the number of rivers, as well as the superior intelligence and industry of the inhabitants, and their greater sociability and polish. They are certainly more sociable than in the capital, and people still seek northern men to work on their estates. As for Christophe’s system, no amount of increase in produce could compensate for its brutality.

Gonaives is a poor-looking town, constantly devastated by revolutions and fires, with a few broad, unfinished streets, and some good houses among the crowds of poor-looking buildings. This neighbourhood is famous for what are called white truffles. They are dried and sent to the different parts of the republic.

St. Marc, though not so scattered as Gonaives, is a small place. It was formerly built of stone; a few specimens of this kind of building still remain. Jacmel has a very unsafe harbour, but possesses importance as one of the ports at which the royal mail steamers call, and has a large export trade in coffee. Les Cayes, Jérémie, and other smaller ports I have only seen at a distance, but I hear they are much like the other cities and towns of the republic. Mackenzie says that the city and environs of Les Cayes are described as “très riante,” and that in his time it was kept in better order than the capital. This is said still to be the case.

My last long ride in Hayti was from Cap Haïtien to Gonaives, and nestling in the hills I found some very pretty villages, planted in lovely sites, with fresh, babbling streams, and fruit groves hiding the inferior-looking houses. The place I most admired was, I think, called Plaisance. There was a freshness, a brightness, a repose about the village that made me regret it was situated so far from the capital.