Newspapers in the United States only mentioned an unexpected “turn-over” in Haiti “because it might affect the recent appointment.” But when on October 7, 1889, Légitime was thrown out of office and Hyppolite became president, the Administration declared it a purely domestic matter, and the United States representative was instructed to proceed to his post. Unexplained “troubles” had delayed Douglass’ departure, but now the reasons for keeping him in Washington rapidly exhausted themselves. The first week in November, Douglass, accompanied by his wife, sailed for Port-au-Prince. Nature is lavish with her gifts in the Caribbean. They thought they had seen her finest habiliments along the Riviera, but even world travelers hold their breath or speak in awed whispers as out of the violet distance emerges the loveliest jewel of the Antilles. Across a bay of deepest blue, the purple of the mountains of La Gonaïve loomed against the western sky as if tossed from the cerulean depths of the gulf. Fanning up from the great bay rise the hills, wrinkled masses of green and blue and gray and orange, their dim wave of color relieved by crimson splotches of luxuriant gardens or by the pointed spires of trees. The city of Port-au-Prince spilled over into the water with its crowded harbor, large and small boats and white sails skimming over the surface. In the center of the city rose the great Gothic cathedral, to one side the white palace occupied by Haiti’s President. Two smart, attentive officials were on the dock to meet Frederick Douglass. Behind sleek, glistening horses they drove the new Minister and his wife to the spacious villa which was to be their home. The house was already staffed with servants, who gathered, European fashion, to greet the new tenants. The maids smiled shyly at Mrs. Douglass, then whisked her away to her rooms. The officials took their leave, saying that the President would be happy to receive Mr. Douglass at his pleasure. That afternoon, accompanied by his secretary, who would also act as interpreter, Douglass drove to the palace to present his credentials. He was cordially received by a uniformed adjutant. In a short while they were being ushered up a wide, sweeping staircase and into a frescoed hall. They paused here. “There is the anchor of the _Santa Maria_,” the secretary whispered, “the anchor Columbus lowered in the Môle St. Nicolas.” Douglass walked closer. He was so deeply absorbed that he did not see the huge doors swing open. The secretary had to touch his arm. The President of Haiti was coming to greet the representative from the United States, his hand extended. They went in to his study. President Hyppolite was large and dark. He knew he was in a dangerous game. He knew that he was only a pawn. Wary and watchful, he listened more than he talked. For underneath everything else--far deeper than personal ambitions--was his determination to keep Haiti out of the scheming hands that clutched at her so greedily.