Secret History; or, the Horrors of St. Domingo: In a Series of Letters, Written by a Lady at Cape Francois, to Colonel Burr, Late Vice-President of the United States, Principally During the Command of General RochambeuSansay, Leonora
History
Secret History; or, the Horrors of St. Domingo: In a Series of Letters, Written by a Lady at Cape Francois, to Colonel Burr, Late Vice-President of the United States, Principally During the Command of General Rochambeu
Sansay, Leonora
Haiti -- History -- Revolution, 1791-1804; Haiti -- Social life and customs
About eight o'clock our guide said it was time to breakfast, and, tying
our horses, he struck a light, kindled a fire, and made chocolate. The
repast finished, we continued on our way through the same delightful
country; still breathing the purest air, but without discovering any
vestige of a human habitation.
About noon we saw a little hut. The guide, alighting, half opened the
door, saying "May the holy virgin bless this house!" This salutation
brought out a tall sallow man, who gravely taking his segar from his
mouth, bowed ceremoniously, and bid us enter. We followed him, and saw,
sitting on an ox hide, stretched on the ground, a woman, whose ragged
garments scarcely answered the first purposes of decency. She was
suckling a squalid naked child, and two or three dirty children were
lolling about, without being disturbed by the appearance of strangers.
A hammock, suspended from the roof, was the only article of furniture
in the house. Whilst the guide was unloading the mules to prepare our
dinner, I went out to seek a seat beneath some trees; for the filth of
the house, and the appearance of its inhabitants filled me with disgust.
To my infinite astonishment, the plains which extended behind the
house, as far as the eye could reach, were covered with innumerable
herds of cattle, and on enquiring of the guide to whom they belonged,
I learned, with no less surprise, that our host was their master.
Incredible as it may appear, this miserable looking being, whose abode
resembled the den of poverty, is the owner of countless multitudes
of cattle, and yet it was with the greatest difficulty that we could
procure a little milk.
A small piece of ground, where he raised tobacco enough for his own
use, was the only vestige of cultivation we could discover. Nothing
like vegetables or fruit could be seen. When they kill a beef, they
skin it, and, cutting the flesh into long pieces about the thickness
of a finger, they hang it on poles to dry in the sun; and on this they
live till it is gone, and then kill another.
Sometimes they collect a number of cattle and drive them to town, in
order to procure some of the most absolute necessaries of life. But
this seldom happens, and never till urged by the most pressing want. As
for bread, it is a luxury with which they are entirely unacquainted.
After dinner the guide, and the host, and all the family, lay down on
the ground to sleep the siesta, which, you know no consideration would
tempt a Spaniard to forget. Madame V---- walked with me under the
trees, near the house, and remarked the striking difference between
this country and St. Domingo. There, every inch of ground was in the
highest state of cultivation, and everybody was rich, here, the owners
of vast territories are in the most abject poverty.
This she ascribed to the different genius of the people, but I
think unjustly, believing that it is entirely owing to their vicious
government.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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