The Government rely for the detection of conspiracies more upon informers than on the police, and as they are to be found in all ranks, friendship is often used for the purpose of obtaining information. President Geffrard sometimes referred to conversations to which members of the diplomatic corps had been parties, and perhaps too often, as, on comparing notes, they were enabled to fix on their communicative friends, and were thus free to let the President hear their real opinion about his measures, only so far, however, as it suited their purpose. Under Soulouque the system was carried to a greater extent, and his suspicious mind made him treat as truth every assertion of a spy. One day an old beggar-woman, passing before the palace, asked alms of some officers who were conversing together; on being refused, she ran under the Emperor’s window and began to shout, “Emperor, they are conspiring against you!” and made so great a disturbance that the guard turned out. The officers were too happy to get rid of the old woman by giving her money; she went off laughing, with her hands full of notes.
Under Salnave and Domingue the spy system was much employed, and it appears likely that, under the present Government, it is rampant, if we may judge by the series of military executions which have marked this Presidency.
The jails, as might be expected in such a country, are filthy places. I have often visited that of Port-au-Prince; it is a cluster of low buildings, surrounded by a wall perhaps ten feet in height, so insecure that no European could be kept there a night except by his own good-will. The ordinary negro prisoner, however, has no enterprise, and, rather liking the lazy life, lies down to sleep out his sentence.
Prisoners condemned to death, and too often political suspects, are confined in cells, and are manacled to a bar running across the room. I looked into one, and saw five men fixed to the same bar. As I knew that there were only four condemned to death, I asked what was the crime of the fifth. “Oh, he is a military defaulter, and we did not know where else to put him.”
In President Geffrard’s time a little attention was paid to the cleanliness of the jails, but during Soulouque’s reign and after Geffrard’s time everything was neglected. A friend once visited the prison, to find nine negroes manacled to the same bar, lying naked on the floor on account of the stifling heat, and the jailer admitted that he had not freed them from the bar for above a week, nor had he thought of having the cell cleaned out. The horrible odour issuing from the place when the door was opened fully confirmed the latter assertion.
I knew a general, still living, who had been confined from political motives in one of these cells, I believe for seven years, and his manacles were only occasionally secretly removed by the jailer. Murderers serving out their sentences, thieves, unimportant political prisoners, imprisoned sailors, are all indiscriminately confined in regal rooms opening on a court, and receive their food from friends or relatives. Unhappy would be the wretch who had no one to care for him, as the pitiful allowance for the prisoners, irregularly paid, rarely if ever reaches them.
Female prisoners are confined in the same building, but their rooms open on a separate court. The wife of a revolutionary general was imprisoned there in 1869. She was for a long time kept in irons, but at length heed was given to our remonstrances, and her irons were removed. She was a handsome negress, and took the jailer’s fancy, who tried to violate her, but the powerful woman thrust him from her cell. He threatened vengeance; but a few nights after she escaped from prison, and fled to our Legation, where she remained over three months, and it required the vigorous remonstrances of Lord Clarendon to enable us to embark her for Jamaica. On the day that we did so, as we approached the wharf, we noticed a crowd of negroes assembling with the object of insulting their countrywoman, but on my giving my arm to the black lady, an old negro remarked in their jargon, “Consite specté negresse-çi-là” (“The Consul shows respect to that negress”), and allowed us to pass without a word. This lady was from Cap Haïtien, and I may add that she was the only refugee out of many hundreds that I can remember who ever showed any gratitude for the services rendered them.
All the members of the diplomatic corps, since the first acknowledgment of the independence of Hayti, have at various times attempted to persuade successive Governments to look to their prisons, but never with much result. The prisons are indeed thoroughly bad, as might be expected among such a people. The worst on the island, however, is probably at Puerto Plata, in the Dominican republic.
Murder is sometimes punished with death, but that punishment is generally reserved for political opponents. I remember an instance which is worth relating, as it displays the Haytian character in the form it assumes when excited by political passion. In the autumn of 1868, five merchants of the southern province were captured and brought to Port-au-Prince. As they were connected with members of the revolutionary party then in arms, the mob clamoured for their lives, and they were ordered by President Salnave, to be shot. As we knew that these men were perfectly innocent, the French, Spanish, and English representatives made an effort to save them, and called on the Foreign Minister to ask him to accompany us to the palace to see the President. We were told that he was ill in bed, and could not accompany us. We insisted upon seeing him, and found this functionary covered up and trembling, not with ague, but fear. We begged him to get up, but he obstinately refused, declaring he was too unwell. We could not waste further time, as the execution was to take place within an hour. So we left, but I could not refrain from saying to this bedridden gentleman, “In such times as these, sir, a Minister has no right to be ill.” He never forgave me.
We went to the palace, but were refused admittance, and only got back to the French Legation in time to see the five prisoners pass to execution. Presently one returned whom the President had pardoned.