Hayti; or, The black republic.

ARMY AND POLICE.

The Army.

A large portion of the revenues is spent in keeping up a nominally numerous army, but in reality the most undisciplined rabble that ever were assembled under arms. With the exception of a few hundred tirailleurs, who were, in the time of President Geffrard, disciplined by an intelligent officer, Pétion Faubert, a man who had seen service in the French army, the regiments have been always composed of the peasantry, without any discipline, and officered by men as ignorant as themselves. I have seen a battalion on parade numbering thirteen privates, ten officers, and six drummers—the rest of the men thinking it unnecessary to present themselves except on pay-day.

A French admiral asked permission to see a Sunday morning’s review. On approaching a cavalry regiment equally low in numbers with the battalion mentioned above, the President gravely turned to the Frenchman and said, “Beaucoup souffert dans la dernière guerre.”

A more motley sight can scarcely be imagined than a full regiment marching past. Half the men are in coats wanting an arm, a tail, or a collar, with a broken shako, a straw or round hat, a wide-awake, or merely a handkerchief tied round the head; officers carrying their swords in their right or their left hands according to caprice; the men marching in waving lines, holding their muskets in every variety of position; whilst a brilliant staff, in all the uniforms known to the French army, gallops by. President Geffrard used to look on with a smile of satisfaction on his face, and gravely ask you whether there were any finer troops in the world. As I have elsewhere related, the Treasurer-in-chief, who had passed some time in Paris, assured him that although the soldiers there were more numerous, they had not the tenue of the Haytian, and suggested that it would be as well for the President to send some of his officers to France as models for the French army to imitate. This is no exaggeration. I have myself heard similar observations. The negro is generally an ill-made shambling fellow, who rarely looks well in uniform and detests the service; but in order to render the work less fatiguing for the poor fellows, the sentries are provided with chairs!

It was after watching such a march-past as I have described above that a French naval officer asked me, “Est-ce que vous prenez ces gens au serieux?” And yet they look upon themselves as a military nation, and constantly boast that they drove the English and French out of the island; forgetting the part taken by their most potent allies, climate and yellow fever; and until disease had carried off the mass of their oppressors, and the renewal of the war in Europe enabled the English to lend their aid, they were crushed under the heel of the French.

The Haytian army has greatly varied in numbers. In the early years (1825 to 1830) of General Boyer’s Presidency it was calculated at 30,000 men, with only a fair proportion of officers. Some months after the fall of General Geffrard (1867) an account was published stating that the army in round numbers consisted as follows:—

It is never possible to say what is the exact force of the army; in a late return it is stated at 16,000, and among the non-effectives are about 1500 generals of division. However, the old system continues, and to most of the battalions the President’s observation, “Beaucoup souffert dans la dernière guerre,” could be aptly applied. As Gustave d’Alaux somewhere remarks, “Tout Haïtien qui n’était pas général de division était au moins soldat.”

The cause of the great superabundance of general officers arises from nomination to a superior grade being a form of reward for political services which costs little. Every successful revolution brings with it a fresh crop of generals and colonels, as a lesser rank would be despised. I know a general who kept a small provision shop, and have seen him selling candles in full uniform. A counter-revolution made him fly the country, and for some time after he was acting as groom in some French seaport.[18] A Minister of War wishing to please a courtesan, gave her a commission in blank, which she sold for about five pounds.

President Salnave raised a common workman to the rank of general of brigade. As he had no money to buy a uniform, he began by stealing a pair of gold-laced trousers from a tailor’s shop, but did not do it unobserved. Chase was given, and the culprit fled to the palace, and took refuge in Salnave’s own room, who, however, handed him over to the police. The stolen trousers were then fastened round his neck and a rope secured to one ankle, and in this manner the new general was led round the town, receiving every now and then blows from the clubs of the soldiers. When he was quite exhausted, they mounted him on a donkey with his face to the tail, a placard with the word “Thief” fixed on his breast, and the gold-laced trousers still tied round his neck.

The great majority of the officers are in reality civilians, without any military training whatever, but they have a hankering for wearing a uniform, which is partly excusable on account of the respect with which the lower classes regard an officer.

The blacks laugh a little at their own love of gold lace. One day, whilst entering the cathedral with the diplomatic and consular corps in full uniform, I heard a negro say to his companions, “Gardé donc, blancs là aimé galon too!” (“Look, the whites also like gold lace!”), and a grunt of acquiescence showed that they were not a little pleased to find that the whites shared their weakness. “Too,” by the way, is almost the only English word which remains to testify to our former presence in the island.

Military honour has never been a distinguished feature in the Haytian army,—I mean that military honour which implies fidelity to the Government that they have sworn to serve. This was most marked in the revolution which broke out at Cap Haïtien in 1865 under Salnave and Delorme. Nearly every superior officer appeared more or less to have betrayed General Geffrard; but as they hated Salnave more, their treachery consisted in plots, in preventing successes, but not in aiding the enemy. Geffrard knew this, and so put over the army General Nissage-Saget, an ex-tailor, I believe, who was utterly incapable and as unsuccessful as the rest. Salnave could not have held his position a week had the officers done their duty; but they appeared to think only of how their personal interests could be best served, and never of the honour or dignity of the Government and country. Some entered into a conspiracy to murder the President, but being discovered, the most compromised fell on his knees before Geffrard and pleaded for mercy, which was somewhat contemptuously granted, with the remark, “You are not of the stuff of which conspirators should be made.”

There was no want of personal courage shown by the chiefs during the long civil war between civilisation and barbarism in 1868 and 1869, and some officers showed conspicuous dash and bravery, as Monplaisir-Pierre (negro) and Brice (coloured), (who subsequently were foully murdered by order of their then ally, Septimus Rameau), and Boisrond (coloured), who really merited the epithet of sans peur et sans reproche which was given him at a banquet at Port-au-Prince.

Traits of individual courage were constantly occurring, as during the defence of the town of Les Cayes, when young Colonel Lys distinguished himself. He, as all the bravest and best, has lately fallen a victim to the ferocity of the negro authorities; The Haytian, however, is not a fighting animal. Roused to fury by the excesses of his French masters, the negro of the time of the Revolution fought well, but since then many of his military qualities have departed. He is still a good marcher, is patient and abstemious; but Soulouque’s ignominious campaigns in Santo Domingo showed that the Haytian soldier will not fight. There has been little or no real fighting since; overwhelming numbers would sometimes endeavour to capture a post, but no battle took place during the civil war of 1869. The only really daring act performed by numbers was the surprise of Port-au-Prince in December of that year, and the chiefs of the expedition were Brice and Boisrond-Canal, supported by a land force under General Carrié.

The ignorance of the officers often leads them into ludicrous mistakes. A general commanding at Port-au-Prince saw a boat entering the harbour with the Spanish flag flying, and he instantly went down to the wharf. “Who are you?” said he to the officers. “Spaniards,” was the reply. “Paniols!” exclaimed he, “then you are enemies!” and proceeded to arrest them, under the mistaken idea that all Spaniards must be Dominicans, with whom Hayti was at war. It required the most vigorous language, and some emphatic gestures with his foot on the part of the French Consul-General, to prevent the Spanish officers being thrust into the common jail. The negro had never heard of Spain, although Cuba is within sight of Haytian shores.

An English admiral came into the harbour of the capital, and President Salnave sent an officer on board to welcome our naval chief. This was a black general, who, when he got on board, was so tipsy that he commenced making formal bows to the mainmast, under the mistaken idea that it was the admiral, who, hearing of his maudlin state, came to receive him on deck, and soon dismissed him. I heard that he afterwards declared he had seen two admirals on board. I knew this man well, and though a tipsy savage, was intrusted with a most important military command.

The army is legally recruited by conscription, the term of service being seven years, though volunteers serve only four; this, however, is purely nominal. During my stay, the invariable practice was for a colonel of a regiment to send out parties of soldiers, who seized in the streets any man whom they thought would suit. As this only occurred in times of danger, or when the President’s body-guard had to be completed, these captured volunteers had the greatest difficulty in getting free from the clutches of the recruiting sergeant. I have seen even deputies and senators walked off to the barracks.

As soon as it is known that the recruiting parties are about, men begin to stay at home, and only women come in from the country. This brutal system of enlistment was one of the causes of the fall of President Geffrard. To punish the inhabitants of Cap Haïtien for their unsuccessful insurrection in 1865, the President had recruiting parties sent out into that town, and the respectable young men were captured by dozens, transferred to Port-au-Prince, and forcibly incorporated into the battalions of tirailleurs. It was they who in 1867 gave the signal for those revolutionary movements which finally upset the President. The brutality shown by these recruiting parties is revolting, as the men are armed with clubs, and permitted to use them at discretion.

General Geffrard used to harangue these unhappy volunteers as if they were burning with enthusiasm to join the army, whilst, bleeding, tattered, and torn, they listened sulkily to his words, all the time carefully guarded by their brutal captors. Their chief pretended not to see their state.

This reminds me of an incident which occurred during the late war between Chili and Peru. Some hundreds of Indians had been lassoed in the interior, and brought down to Lima to fill up the regiments. President Prado was urged to address them, and they were collected under one of the windows of the palace. The general approached with his staff, and leaning out of window began—“Noble volunteers,” when he perceived that the men were tied together, and that a dozen pairs were secured by a long rope. He drew back hastily and said, “Noble volunteers indeed. I cannot lend myself to such a farce;” and no persuasion would induce him to return to continue his speech. President Prado has been deservedly criticised for his conduct during this war; but had his countrymen listened to his advice, there would have been no war between Chili and Peru.

The pay of the Haytian army is nominally as follows:—

The rations of a foot-soldier on duty are about two shillings a week, whilst that of a cavalry-man are three shillings. As the soldiers not on duty are allowed to work, they receive no rations. The President’s guard, consisting of several battalions, was composed principally of the mechanics and respectable labourers of the town and neighbourhood, who often paid the colonels so much per week to be exempt from active service.

The ordinary battalions are recruited among the country people, and these rarely present themselves except on pay-day. Even for this there is little encouragement, as if they do not present themselves at the appointed time, the officers divide the balance of the pay amongst themselves. If any man persistently comes to receive his dues, he is detained to do active duty for a month or two, which effectually checks his zeal and his love of dollars.

When the pay of officers is so trifling, it is to be supposed that the better classes do not enter the army as a profession. The higher grades are generally named for political services, whilst the lower are filled by men raised from the ranks. Except in a few special cases, it is rare for a man to have gone through all the grades of officer.

The generals are a power in the State, and have to be conciliated. The most ignorant blacks, as I have mentioned, are given the most important commands, from their supposed influence among the lower orders, whom they perfectly resemble in everything but uniform. They supplement their inadequate pay by every illegitimate means.

President Geffrard had really a desire to form an army, but the materials at hand were poor. His lower officers were as usual taken from the ranks, and inclined to pilfering. A captain was detected in the act of robbing the custom-house. As he had charge of the guard, the President determined to make an example. I find the incident recounted in my journal written at the time, and as the incidents are very characteristic of the people, I will tell the whole story. The danger of not knowing the connections of those to whom you are speaking may be exemplified by the following:—During the inevitable quarter of an hour before dinner, I was sitting next a charming Haytian lady, educated in England and married to an Englishman, when she began to tell me the news of the day. At the parade that morning the President had ordered the epaulettes of an officer to be torn off his coat on account of a petty theft he had committed at the custom-house. After he had given the order, the President turned away his head, but presently remarked, “Is he dead yet?” “Dead! your Excellency,” exclaimed an aide-de-camp. “Yes, dead. I thought that an officer of my army so publicly disgraced would instantly have put an end to his existence.” The lady’s anecdote produced a hearty laugh, first at the acting of the President, and then at the idea of any Haytian officer having a notion of such delicate honour. I remarked to my companion that the President would have done better, instead of only punishing the petty thieves, to lay a heavy hand on the great robbers, as for instance Mr. ——. The lady quietly turned to me and said, “I am sure you do not know that Mr. —— is my brother.” The start I gave convinced her that I did not; but I felt uncomfortable until, during dinner, with a nod and a smile, she asked me to take wine with her. Mr. —— had been engaged with some others in a détournement, as it was delicately called, of about seventy thousand dollars, but when I knew him afterwards, he was Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, and a more unworthy man it would have been difficult even for Hayti to produce.

President Salnave had a favourite regiment that he kept up to its full strength, and the men were fairly well disciplined. They were the only men in his pay who really looked like soldiers, but they were most insolent and overbearing. In order to strike terror into the town, Salnave ordered their colonel to march them down to the “Rue des Fronts Forts,” where the retail shopkeepers live, and there gave them leave to plunder. His little speech on this occasion has become a proverb in Hayti—“Mes enfans, pillez en bon ordre.” Whenever there were any political executions, the shooting squad was chosen from among them, and they have the discredit of having been employed to murder all the political prisoners confined in the jail at Port-au-Prince in December 1869.

The only battalions which, in time of peace, are kept up to their full strength, are those which are sent from their own districts to garrison distant towns, where those not actually on duty are allowed to look for work.

The Police.

Of all the institutions in Hayti, the police is certainly the worst conducted. There are regular commissaries employed under the prefects, but ordinary soldiers do the work of constables. In my time they went about the streets with a thick stick of heavy wood in their hands called a cocomacaque, and they used it in such a way as to confirm the remark that cruelty is an innate quality with the negro. Never did I see a Haytian of the upper classes step forward to remonstrate—probably he knew his countrymen too well—whilst the lower orders simply laughed and enjoyed the sight of punishment.

Every one arrested accused of a crime is immediately treated as if he were guilty, and the cocomacaque is brought to play on his head and shoulders. As an observer remarked, “In Hayti no prisoner has any right to be considered innocent.” A woman was arrested near my house accused of having killed the child of a neighbour from motives of jealousy. They said she was a loup garou, and as soon as the soldiers seized her they began to beat her. Before she reached the prison she was covered with wounds, and a relative who endeavoured to interfere shared the same fate.

One day, whilst at the American Consulate, I heard a disturbance outside. I took no notice at first, but presently looking out, saw the police raising a prostrate man. He had been insolent to his overseer, and a passing general ordered him to be taken to prison by the soldiers who were following him. They fell upon the man, and in a few moments he was a mass of bruises, and died before he reached his destination. A few weeks after, I saw a body of a negro lying near the same spot; this was that of a thief, on whom the police had executed summary justice with their clubs.

An English merchant saw two soldiers arrest a man accused of murder. As he resisted, they tied his feet together and dragged him along the streets, his head bumping against the stones. The Englishman remonstrated, but he was threatened with the same treatment. A negro arrested for stealing fowls had his arms bound behind him and a rope attached to one ankle, which was held by a policeman, while another kept close to the prisoner, beating him with his club, and as he darted forward to avoid a blow, the other would pull the rope, and the unfortunate accused would fall flat on his face. And all this done in public before the authorities, both civil and military, and no man raising his voice to stop such barbarous work! I have myself seen so many of these brutal scenes that I feel convinced that no account can be exaggerated.

As detectives these soldier-police are quite useless, and crime, unless openly committed, is rarely detected. Robbers have continued in their profession for years though perfectly well known, and no attempt has been made to capture them. There was one who was notorious for the impunity with which he had committed a long series of crimes. When he entered a house he intended to rob, he stripped, rubbed his body with oil, and crawled in, knife in hand. Unluckily for him, one night, being disturbed in his operations, he stabbed his assailant, who proved to be a Senator. It was all very well to rob and stab common people, but a Senator could not be thus treated with impunity; and the man, fearing no pursuit, was quietly captured in bed. The commissary of police, thinking that the fellow had had rope enough given him, and being sure that he would again escape from prison if sent there, had him taken out of town, and he was promptly shot, under pretence of having attempted to escape—la ley de fuga, as the Spaniards call it.

General Vil Lubin was, during the time of the Emperor Soulouque, in command of the arrondissement of Port-au-Prince; he proved efficient in his post, but he was a hard man, and one day ordered two soldiers to be beaten. Their comrades carried out the order so effectually that in a short time two bruised corpses were lying at the barrack door. Soulouque heard of it, and, furious at the treatment of two of his own guard, bitterly reproached Vil Lubin, and for months could not meet him without using the expression, “Rendez-moi mes soldats.” Yet how many hundreds met their death by his order! In both the civil and military administration brutality is the rule, not the exception.

There has been much talk of establishing a rural police, but nothing effective has come of it.

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.

When the procession arrived at the place of execution, there was a mob collected of several thousand spectators, principally ferocious negresses. A shout arose, “We were promised five! where is the fifth?” and the crowd closed in on the procession, with knives drawn and pistols ready. The cowardly officers replied, “The fifth is coming,” and sent word to President Salnave. He, unwilling to disappoint his most faithful followers, looked over the list of those in prison, and finding that there was a parricide, whom he had pardoned but the day before, ordered him to execution. In the meantime, the four others had been kept waiting, exposed to the insults of the people—particularly one prisoner, whose long white beard and hair and white skin made him particularly obnoxious.

The arrival of the fifth prisoner pacified the crowd. The five were clumsily shot, and then the spectators rushed in with their knives and mangled the bodies under every circumstance of obscenity. Such are the negresses when excited by political leaders, and such are evidently the most devoted followers of President Salomon, if we can place any faith in the accounts of the fearful atrocities perpetrated by them during the massacres of September 1883.

The chief of this ferocious band was a young negress who went by the name of Roi Petit Chout, to whom President Salnave gave a commission as general. She used to come in front of the Legation with some of her companions, knife in one hand and pistol in the other, and utter ferocious threats, on account of our having received some political refugees. These women were used as a high police to keep down disaffection, and horrible stories are told of the murders and cruelties practised by these wretches. When the revolution triumphed, Roi Petit Chout was arrested, but though murder could readily have been proved against her, she was soon restored to liberty.

As all the police department is most inefficiently paid, its members are generally open to bribes, and are accused of levying black-mail on the poorer inhabitants. During the time of Salnave they were unbridled in their savage acts, and every man they met in the streets, foreign or native, was liable to be seized and sent to the forts as a recruit. As regular police commissaries accompanied these groups, these arrestments were made in a spirit of wanton mischief; at other times it was to obtain a pecuniary recompense for their good-nature in letting a foreigner go.

To show how ordinary police affairs are managed in Hayti, I must give an account of an incident which occurred to the Spanish chargé d’affaires and myself. A dishonest servant forced open the window of our wine-cellar and stole eighteen dozen of claret, and then fled. We gave notice to the police, who were very energetic in taking up the case, and every now and then brought us information of their proceedings. At last they recovered some of the wine, and in triumph brought us two dozen and seven bottles. A few days passed, and a Haytian friend happening to breakfast with us, took up a claret bottle and saw the mark, “Château Giscours, De Luze, Bordeaux.” He laughed and said, “Now I understand a remark made by the Minister of the Interior, when he said what capital wine the English Minister imported.” On further inquiry, we found that the police had recovered fourteen dozen of our wine (the other four had been bought knowingly by our most intimate friend), and that they had divided eleven dozen and five bottles among various high officials. The only observation my colleague made was, “Quel pays!” but I felt inclined to agree with the people when they say of the officials, “Quel tas de voleurs!” The robber was afterwards arrested for another offence, and I could not but pity him, when I saw him tied, bleeding and stumbling under the blows of a policeman’s club.

During the siege of Port-au-Prince in the civil war (1868) my French and Spanish colleagues and I were walking through the town, when we were startled by the sound of firing in the next street. On arriving at the spot, we found that the police had arrested a young Frenchman. As he objected that he was a foreigner and not liable to conscription, a crowd soon assembled, and a follower of Roi Petit Chout’s band, a ferocious negro, raised his carbine and shot the lad through the body, and my French colleague had barely time to catch his last words before he expired.

Nothing that the French representative could say had any effect on the Haytian Government; the murderer was promoted to be a sergeant, and sent to the army to get him out of the way; but he soon came back to Port-au-Prince, to be more insolent than ever. We had, however, the satisfaction of knowing that, when the revolution triumphed, this man was condemned to death for his other crimes and shot, my French colleague taking care to be present at the final ceremony, to see that the sentence was not evaded. For killing a white he would never have been executed.

It must not be supposed, because I generally refer to my own experiences, that things mended afterwards. Probably during the presidencies of Generals Nissage-Saget and Boisrond-Canal the police, though as dishonest, were less insufferable; but under Domingue and Salomon they were worse than ever, as they always are under the government of the black section of the community.

Under the present regime neither the white nor the coloured man has any rights which the black is bound to respect.