Cape Francois.
The general in chief has returned from Port-au-Prince. Three days after his arrival the Cape was blockaded by five British ships, and news was received of war having been declared between England and France.
Every body is in the greatest consternation, for inevitable ruin threatens the place. The English will no doubt prevent all vessels from entering the port, and take all that go out; at the same time the negroes are said to be preparing another attack.
The general brought in his train all the belles of Port-au-Prince, and has given a ball, at which, incredible as it may appear to you, Clara and myself appeared. When the cards of invitation were brought, St. Louis declared that they should not be left; but major B——, who was present, represented so forcibly the danger of irritating the general, who has shewn some symptoms of a disposition to tyrannize, since his return which were never remarked in him before, that he consented to our going. When we entered the room attended by B, every eye was fixed on Clara, who never was so lovely. Dressed in a robe ornamented with wreaths of flowers, she joined the sweetness of Flora to the lightness of the youngest of the graces, and the recollection of certain late events gave an air of timidity to her looks which rendered her enchanting. General Rochambeau, by the warmth of his manner encreased her confusion, and fixed on her more pointedly the attention of every beholder. He was surprized at seeing her without her husband, and enquired what had wrought so wonderful a change? She replied that he had found a very good representative in major B——, and that he had acquired a little confidence in herself. She waltzed with more than her usual grace, and the general seemed flattered by the notice she attracted.
Most of the ladies from Port-au-Prince are widows
None of them are remarkable for their beauty or elegance. The only new face worth looking at was a madame V——, lately arrived from France; her hair was dressed a la Ninon de l'Enclos, part of it fastened on the top of the head, the rest hanging about her neck in loose curls.
The ball room had been newly furnished with regal splendor; all the chairs were removed, and long sophas with large cushions offered delightful seats. A recess at one end of the room had been fitted up a la Turc; the walls were entirely concealed with large looking glasses, which reached the ceiling; the floor was covered with carpets and the only seats were piles of crimson sattin cushions thrown on the ground. The lustres, veiled with green silk, gave a soft light, imitating that of the moon, and the ensemble breathed an air of tranquillity that invited to repose after the fatigue of dancing, and offered a retreat from the heat which it was almost impossible to resist. To this retreat general Rochambeau led Clara. A lady was lolling in one corner, and I entered at the same moment. He looked as if he wished us both away, but I never attend to looks that I am resolved not to understand.
Cape Francois.
A few days after the ball mentioned in my last, St. Louis determined to send Clara and myself to St. Jago de Cuba, and to follow us as soon as possible. This measure was opposed by major B——; but Clara insisted, and the day of our departure was fixed. The next day B—— breakfasted with us; and as soon as we were alone, told Clara that she was wrong in being so entirely governed by her husband. She replied, that she had suffered much in consequence of coquetting with general Rochambeau, in which her only intention had been to find amusement; but she was now convinced of its being highly dangerous and improper; and that it had been productive of much ill. She added, that she lived in continual inquietude, and that nothing would induce her to stay in the Cape if she could get away.
B—— spoke of the passion of the general,—said he had seen him that morning, and as a proof of her having been the subject of their conversation, gave her a letter from him. Is it possible, (she exclaimed) you in whom my husband has so much confidence? You are a fool, replied B——, and your husband is no better: and if his insolence to the general has not been punished it is owing to my interference.
Clara read the letter. It was filled with professions of admiration and unalterable love. He begged her not to think of leaving the Cape, which was in no danger; and further said he had taken measures to prevent her being sent away. He requested her to write to him, but this she positively refused.
Towards noon a proclamation was issued ordering all the passports which had been granted during the last three months to be returned. St. Louis was in despair: he had intended sending Clara off without eclat, having procured passports before, but B—— betrayed him. Yet in B—— he has the most unbounded confidence; and suffers Clara to receive nobody else. She walks with him when she pleases, and he never fails on such occasions to give the general an opportunity of speaking to her.
A few days ago we went to Picolet, to see the fort. The road to it winds along the seashore at the foot of the mountain. The rocks are covered with the Arabian jessamin, which grows here in the greatest profusion. Its flexible branches form among the cliffs moving festoons and fantastic ornaments, and its flowers whiter than snow, fill the air with intoxicating fragrance. After having visited the fort we were preparing to return, when we saw a troop of horsemen descending the mountain. They came full speed. We soon discovered they were the general and his suite; and as they followed the windings of the road, with their uniform a la mameluc, and their long sabres, they appeared like a horde of Arabs.
The general arrived first, and jumping from his horse, told Clara that he had left the table an hour sooner than usual to have the pleasure of seeing her. Then, said she, looking reproachfully at B——, you have a familiar spirit who informs you of my movements! Why not, he replied, are you not an enchantress, and have you not employed all the powers of magic to enslave me? You are in an error said Clara; I was flattered by your admiration, and gratified by the attentions with which you honoured me; but I used no art to attract the one, and am too sensible of my own defects not to feel that I am indebted for the other entirely to your goodness. That is too modest to be natural, cried the general. Nobody who possesses your charms can be ignorant of their power; nor could any one mistake the passion I have evinced for you, for the common attention every lady receives as her due. Then you do not believe a woman can be modest? asked Clara. Modest if you please, but not insensible, he replied. And suffer me to observe,—Oh no observations, I entreat, interrupted Clara; for this interview will, I fear, occasion too many.—But tell me, how did you learn I was to be here; and why have you left the table where you so often sacrifice till a late hour to the rosy god, to wander among these rugged rocks where despairing lovers alone would seek a retreat? And are you of that number? he enquired. No, she replied: but I have not your motives for staying at home: I was led here by curiosity; It is my first visit to this spot. Then believe, said the general, that I came here to offer at your feet that homage which envious fate has hitherto deprived me of an opportunity of paying. During this conversation, he had drawn her to a point of the rock; and the officers of his suite, surrounding me, sought to divert my attention by all the common place compliments of which they are so profuse. I had forgotten Clara for a moment, when, turning, I beheld the general, who bending one knee to the ground, seized her hand passionately, and at the same time I saw St. Louis ascending the mountain.
Pressing through the crowd I flew to her, saying, are you mad? Rise general, for heaven's sake! her husband approaches! what means this exhibition of folly? Yes I am mad, he replied, I adore your sister, and she refuses to listen to me. My sister is married, I answered. But, said he, she loves not her husband. At least I love no one more than him, said Clara, trembling at the idea of having been seen by St. Louis. Fortunately I had discovered him at the foot of the mountain, and the road winds round its base with so many turnings that it is of considerable length and before he arrived she was tolerably composed.
You have deceived me, said the general. I never listened to you, she replied. But you have read my letters.—I could not avoid receiving, but I never answered them. Still, he observed, interrupting her, I will hope; for your eyes cannot utter falsehood, and from them I have received encouragement.
At that instant St. Louis arrived; he appeared astonished at seeing Clara so surrounded, and advancing involuntarily, as if to defend her, took her arm.
The general, with his usual levity, told St. Louis, that he came in time to prevent him from running away with his wife. Then twining round her arm a wreath of jessamin he had taken from my hand, said, with such fetters only you should be bound! Does she find those that bind her too heavy? asked her husband. No, replied the general, she seems content. Then casting a look of disappointment at Clara, he mounted his horse and rode off.
Major B—— engaged St. Louis in a conversation on the situation of the colony, which made him forget the dangerous one in which he had found his wife.
Clara, leaning on my arm, seemed oppressed by a variety of sensations, among which indignation predominated. The security and presumption of the general shocked her, and the recollection of having, at least negatively encouraged him, gave an additional pang to her heart. We returned slowly home. Our meeting with general Rochambeau was thought accidental by St. Louis, and was taken no notice of.
Cape Francois.
Ah, my dear friend, where shall I find expressions to convey to you an idea of the horror that fills my soul; how describe scenes at which I tremble even now with terror?
Three negroes were caught setting fire to a plantation near the town. They were sentenced to be burnt alive; and the sentence was actually executed. When they were tied to the stake and the fire kindled, one of them, I understand, held his head over the smoke and was suffocated immediately. The second made horrible contortions, and howled dreadfully. The third, looking at him contemptuously said, Peace! do you not know how to die? and preserved an unalterable firmness till the devouring flames consumed him. This cruel act has been blamed by every body, as giving a bad example to the negroes, who will not fail to retaliate on the first prisoners they take. But it has been succeeded by a deed which has absolutely chilled the hearts of the people. Every one trembles for his own safety, and silent horror reigns throughout the place.
A young Creole, who united to the greatest elegance of person the most polished manners and the most undaunted courage, had incurred, I know not how, the displeasure of general Rochambeau, and had received a hint of approaching danger, but neither knew what he had to fear, nor how to avoid it, when he received an order to pay into the treasury, before three o'clock, twenty thousand dollars on pain of death. This was at ten in the morning. He thought at first it was a jest; but when assured that the order was serious, said he would rather die than submit to such injustice, and was conducted by a guard to prison. Some of his friends went to the government-house to intercede for him. Nobody was admitted. His brother exerted himself to raise the sum required; but though their house has a great deal of property, and government is indebted to them more than a hundred thousand dollars, it was difficult, from the scarcity of cash, to raise so large a sum in so short a time, and nobody thought there was any danger to be apprehended. At half after two o'clock he was taken to the fosset, where his grave was already dug. The captain of the guard sent to know if there was no reprieve: and was told that there was none. He sent again, the same answer was returned, with an order to perform his duty, or his life would be the forfeit of his disobedience. He was a Creole, the friend, the companion of the unfortunate Feydon. Ah! how could he submit to be the vile instrument of tyranny? how could he sacrifice his friend? Why did he not resign his commission on the spot, and abide by the consequence? Approaching Feydon, he offered to bind his eyes; but he refused, saying, No, let me witness your horrors to the last moment. He was placed on the brink of his grave. They fired: he fell! but from the bottom of his grave cried, I am not dead—finish me! My heart bleeds: I knew him; and while I live, the impression this dreadful event has made on me will never be effaced. At the moment he was killed his brother, having collected the required sum, carried it to the general, who took the money, and sent the young man, who was frantic when he heard of his brother's fate, to prison. It is said a reprieve had been granted, but had been suppressed by Nero the commandant de la place, who is as cruel, and as much detested as was the tyrant whose name he bears.
A few days after, nine of the principal merchants were selected. One hundred thousand dollars was the sum demanded from them; and they were imprisoned till it should be found. It was then the virtuous Leaumont approached, fearless of consequences, the retreat of the tyrant, and obliged him to listen to the voice of truth. He represented the impossibility of finding the sum demanded from these unfortunate men, and entreated to have a tax laid on every individual of the place in proportion to his property, which, after much debate was consented to. The money was soon furnished, and the prisoners released.
Since the death of Feydon the general appears no more in public. A settled gloom pervades the place, and every one trembles lest he should be the next victim of a monster from whose power there is no retreat. St. Louis, above all, is in the greatest danger, for he has the reputation of being rich, and, having excited the aversion of general Rochambeau, it is not probable that he will escape without some proof of his animosity.
Clara is in the greatest dejection. She repents bitterly the levity of her conduct, and is torn with anxiety for the fate of her husband. She loves him not, it is true, but would be in despair if through her fault the least evil befel him, and feels for the first time the danger of awakening the passions of those who are capable of sacrificing all considerations to gratify their wishes or revenge their disappointment. She requested the general to give her a passport for St. Jago de Cuba. He replied that he could only grant them to the old and ugly, and she, not being of this description, he was obliged to refuse her; however, after much solicitation, she obtained one for herself for me and her servants, and we shall sail in a few days. All the women are suffered to depart, but no man can procure a passport. Some it is true, find means to escape in disguise, and they are fortunate, for it is much feared that those who remain will be sacrificed. Every vessel that sails from hence is seized and plundered by the English; but, as we are Americans, perhaps we may pass.
Our intention is to stay at St. Jago till St. Louis joins us. God knows whether we shall ever see him again. With what joy I shall leave this land of oppression! how much that joy would be increased if I was going to the continent; but in all places, and in all countries I shall be affectionately yours,
Barracoa.
You will no doubt be surprised at receiving a letter from hence, but here we are my dear friend, deprived of every thing we possessed, in a strange country, of whose language we are ignorant, and where, even with money, it would be impossible to procure what we have been accustomed to consider as the necessaries of life. Yet here we have found an asylum, and met with sympathy; not that of words, but active and effectual sympathy, from strangers, which, perhaps, we should have sought in vain in our own country, and among our own people.
We embarked at the Cape, Clara, myself and six servants, in a small schooner, which was full of women, and bound to St. Jago. As soon as we were out of the harbour a boat from a British frigate boarded us, condemned the vessel as French property, and, without further ceremony, sent the passengers on board another vessel which was lying near us, and was going to Barracoa, where we arrived in three days, after having suffered much from want of provisions and water. Every thing belonging to us had been left in the schooner the English made a prize of. St. Louis, having forseen the probability of this event, had made Clara conceal fifty doubloons in her corset.
On our arrival at Barracoa, a Frenchman we had known at the Cape came on board. He conducted us ashore, and procured us a room in a miserable hut, where we passed the night on a board laid on the ground, it being impossible to procure a mattrass. The next morning the first consideration was clothes. There was not a pair of shoes to be found in the place, nor any thing which we would have thought of employing for our use if we had not been obliged by the pressure of necessity. Clara had given a corner of our hut to a lady who, with two children, was without a shilling.
While we were at breakfast, which we made of chocolate, served in little calabashes, lent us by the people of the house, a priest of most benign aspect entered, and addressing Clara in French, which he speaks fluently, told her that having heard of our arrival and misfortunes, he had come to offer his services, and enquired how we had passed the night? Clara shewed him the boards on which we had slept. He rose instantly, and calling the mistress of the house, spoke to her angrily. I afterwards learned that he reproached her for not having informed him of our distress as soon as we arrived. He took his leave and returned in half an hour with three or four negroes who brought mattrasses, and baskets filled with fowls, and every kind of fruit the island produces. Then, telling Clara that his sister would call on her in the evening, and begging her to consider him as her servant, and every thing he possessed at her disposal, he went away. In the afternoon he returned with his sister. She is a widow. Her manners are interesting, but she speaks no language except her own, of which not one of us understood a word.
Father Philip sent for the only shopkeeper in the place, who furnished us with black silk for dresses, and some miserable linen. By the next day we were decently equipped. We were then presented to the governor, whose wife is divinely beautiful. Nothing can equal the lustre of her eyes, or surpass the fascinating power of her graceful and enchanting manners. The changes of her charming countenance express every emotion of her soul, and she seems not to require the aid of words to be understood. She conceived at once a fervent friendship for Clara, and having learned our misfortunes from father Philip, insisted on our living in her house whilst we remained at Barracoa. This point was disputed by Donna Angelica, who said she had provided a chamber for us in her own. But madame la Governadora was not to be thwarted; she seized Clara by the arm, and drawing her playfully into another room, insisted on dressing her a la Espagnole, which is nothing more than a cambric chemise, cut very low in the bosom, an under petticoat of linen, made very stiff with starch, and a muslin one over it, both very short. To this is added, when they go out, a large black silk veil, which covers the head and falls below the waist. By this dress the beauty of the bosom, which is so carefully preserved by the French is lost.
Clara looked very well in this costume, but felt uncomfortable. As Donna Jacinta would not hear of our leaving her we consented to stay; and a chamber was prepared for us. In the evening we walked through the town, and were surprised to see such extreme want in this abode of hospitality. The houses are built of twigs, interwoven like basket work, and slightly thatched with the leaves of the palm tree, with no other floor than the earth. The inhabitants sit on the ground, and eat altogether out of the pot in which their food is prepared. Their bed is formed of a dried hide, and they have no clothes but what they wear, nor ever think of procuring any till these are in rags.
There are only three decent houses in the place, which belong to the governor, to father Philip, and his sister; yet these good people are happy, for they are contented. Their poverty is not rendered hideous by the contrast of insolent pride or unfeeling luxury. They dose away their lives in a peaceful obscurity, which if I do not envy, I cannot despise. There are many French families here from St. Domingo; some almost without resource; and this place offers none for talents of any kind. It is not uncommon to hear the sound of a harp or piano from beneath a straw built shed, or to be arrested by a celestial voice issuing from a hut which would be supposed uninhabitable.
Clara studies with so much application the Spanish language that she can already hold with tolerable ease a conversation, especially with the seignora Jacinta, whose eyes are so eloquent that it would be impossible not to understand her. She is a native of the Havanna, was married very young, and her husband having been appointed governor of Barracoa, was obliged to leave the gaiety and splendour of her native place for this deserted spot, where fashion, taste or elegance had never been known. It has been a little enlivened since the misfortunes of the French have forced them to seek in it a retreat.
Jacinta has too much sensibility not to regret the change of situation; but she never repines, and seeks to diffuse around her the cheerfulness by which she is animated. From early prejudice she loves not the French character. Fortunately Clara is an American; and the influence of her enchanting qualities on the heart of her fair friend is strengthened by the charm of novelty.
We are waiting for a vessel to carry us to St. Jago, and its arrival, I assure you will fill us with regret.
St. Jago de Cuba.
We have left Barracoa, the good father Philip, his generous sister, and the beautiful Jacinta. Removed from them for ever, the recollection of their goodness will accompany me through life, and a sigh for the peaceful solitude of their retreat will often heave my breast amid the mingled scenes of pleasure and vexation in which I shall be again engaged. Fortunate people! who, instead of rambling about the world, end their lives beneath the roofs where they first drew breath. Fortunate in knowing nothing beyond their horizon; for whom even the next town is a strange country, and who find their happiness in contributing to that of those who surround them! The wife of the governor could not separate herself from us. Taking from her neck a rosary of pearls, she put it round that of Clara, pressed her in her arms, wept on her bosom, and said she never passed a moment so painful. She is young, her soul is all tenderness and ardour, and Clara has filled her breast with feelings to which till now she has been a stranger. Her husband is a good man, but without energy or vivacity, the direct reverse of his charming wife. She can never have awakened an attachment more lively than the calmest friendship. She has no children, nor any being around her, whose soul is in unison with her own. With what devotion she would love! but if a stranger to the exquisite pleasures of that sentiment she is also ignorant of its pains! may no destructive passion ever trouble her repose.
She walked with us to the shore and waited on the beach till we embarked. She shrieked with agony when she clasped Clara for the last time to her breast, and leaning against a tree, gave unrestrained course to her tears.
The good father Philip accompanied us to the vessel, and staid till the moment of our departure. He had previously sent aboard every thing that he thought would be agreeable to us during the voyage. His friendly soul poured itself forth in wishes for our happiness. May all the blessings of heaven be showered on his head!
It is Clara's fate to inspire great passions. Nobody loves her moderately. As soon as she is known she seizes on the soul, and centres every desire in that of pleasing her. The friendship she felt for Jacinta, and the impression father Philip's goodness made on her, rendered her insensible to all around her.
The vessel was full of passengers, most of them ladies, who were astonished at beholding such grief. One of them, a native of Jeremie, was the first who attracted the attention of Clara. This lady, who is very handsome, and very young, has three children of the greatest beauty, for whom she has the most impassioned fondness, and seems to view in them her own protracted existence. She has all the bloom of youth, and when surrounded by her children, no picture of Venus with the loves and graces was ever half so interesting. She is going to join her husband at St. Jago, who I hear, is a great libertine, and not sensible of her worth. An air of sadness dwells on her lovely countenance, occasioned, no doubt, by his neglect and the pain of finding a rival in every woman he meets.
There is also on board a beautiful widow whose husband was killed by the negroes, and who, without fortune or protection, is going to seek at St. Jago a subsistence, by employing her talents. There is something inconceivably interesting in these ladies. Young, beautiful, and destitute of all resource, supporting with cheerfulness their wayward fortune.
But the most captivating trait in their character is their fondness for their children! The Creole ladies, marrying very young, appear more like the sisters than the mothers of their daughters. Unfortunately they grow up too soon, and not unfrequently become the rivals of their mothers.
We are still on board, at the entrance of the harbour of St. Jago, which is guarded by a fort, the most picturesque object I ever saw. It is built on a rock that hangs over the sea, and the palm trees which wave their lofty heads over its ramparts, add to its beauty.
We are obliged to wait here till to-morrow; for this day being the festival of a saint, all the offices are shut. No business is transacted, and no vessel can approach the town without permission.
This delay is painful; I am on the wing to leave the vessel, though it is only four days since we left Barracoa.—I wish to know whether we shall meet as much hospitality here as in that solitary place. Yet why should I expect it? Hearts like those of father Philip and the lovely Jacinta do not abound.—How many are there who, never having witnessed such goodness, doubt its existence?
We have letters to several families here, from the governor of Barracoa and father Philip, and St. Louis has friends who have been long established at this place. Therefore, on arriving, we shall feel at home; perhaps too, we may find letters from the Cape;—God grant they may contain satisfactory intelligence.
St. Jago de Cuba.
A month has passed, since our arrival in this place, in such a round of visits and such a variety of amusements, that I am afraid, my dear friend, you will think I have forgotten you. We were received by the gentleman, to whom Clara was directed, with the most cordial friendship. He is an ancient Chevalier de St. Louis, and retains, with much of the formality of the court of France, at which he was raised, all its elegance and urbanity; and having lived a number of years in this island, he is loved and respected by all its inhabitants.
The letters which father Philip and the governor of Barracoa gave us to their friends, have procured us great attention.
The people here are much the same as at Barracoa; perhaps they are a little more civilized. There is some wealth, with much poverty. The women have made great progress towards improvement since such numbers of French have arrived from St. Domingo.—They are at least a century before the men in refinement, but women are every where more susceptible of polish than the lords of the creation. Those of this town are not generally remarkable for their beauty. There are some, however, who would be admired even in Philadelphia, particularly the wife of the governor; but they are all remarkable for the smallness of their feet, and they dress their hair with a degree of taste in which they could not be excelled by the ladies of Paris.
We arrived in the season of gaiety, and have been at several balls; but their balls please me not!—Every body in the room dances a minuet, which you may suppose is tedious enough; then follow the country dances, which resemble the English, except that they are more complicated and more fatiguing.
There are in this town eleven churches, all of them splendid, and the number of priests is incredible! Many of them may be ranked among the most worthless members of the community. It is not at all uncommon to see them drunk in the street, or to hear of their having committed the most shocking excesses. Some, however, are excellent men, who do honour to their order and to human nature. But the thickest veil of superstition covers the land, and it is rendered more impervious by the clouds of ignorance in which the people are enveloped!
Clara, who speaks the language with the facility of a native, asked some of her Spanish friends for books, but there was not one to be found in the place. She complained some days ago of a head-ache, and a Spanish lady gave her a ribbon, which had been bound round the head of an image of the Virgin, telling her it was a sovereign remedy for all pains of the head.
The bishop is a very young man and very handsome. We see him often at church, where we go, attracted by the music. But one abominable custom observed there, destroys our pleasure. The women kneel on carpets, spread on the ground, and when they are fatigued, cross their legs, and sit Turkish fashion; whilst the men loll at their ease on sofas. From whence this subversion of the general order? Why are the women placed in the churches at the feet of their slaves?
The lower classes of the people are the greatest thieves in the world, and they steal with so much dexterity, that it is quite a science. The windows are not glazed, but secured by wooden bars, placed very close together. The Spaniards introduce between these bars long poles, which have at one end a hook of iron, and thus steal every thing in the room, even the sheets off the beds. The friars excel in this practice, and conceal their booty in their large sleeves!
In the best houses and most wealthy families there is a contrast of splendour and poverty which is shocking. Their beds and furniture are covered with a profusion of gilding and clumsy ornaments, while the slaves, who serve in the family, and even those who are about the persons of the ladies, are in rags and filthy to the most disgusting degree!
How different were the customs of St. Domingo! The slaves, who served in the houses, were dressed with the most scrupulous neatness, and nothing ever met the eye that could occasion an unpleasant idea.
The Spanish women are sprightly, and devoted to intrigue. Their assignations are usually made at church. The processions at night, and the masses celebrated before daylight, are very favourable to the completion of their wishes, to which also their dress is well adapted. They wear a black silk petticoat; their head is covered with a veil of the same colour, that falls below the waist; and, this costume being universal, and never changed, it is difficult to distinguish one woman from another. A man may pass his own wife in the street without knowing her. Their attachments are merely sensual. They are equally strangers to the delicacy of affection or that refinement of passion which can make any sacrifice the happiness of its object may require.
To the licentiousness of the people, more than to their extreme poverty, may be attributed the number of children which are continually exposed to perish in the street. Almost every morning, at the door of one of the churches, and often at more than one, a new-born infant is found. There is an hospital, where they are received, but those who find them, are (if so disposed,) at liberty to keep them. The unfortunate little beings who happen to fall into the hands of the lower classes of the people, increase, during their childhood, the throng of beggars, and augment, as they grow up, the number of thieves.
The heart recoils at the barbarity of a mother who can thus abandon her child; but the custom, here, as in China, is sanctioned by habit, and excites no horror!
St. Jago de Cuba.
We have received no news from the Cape, my dear friend, but it is generally expected that it will be evacuated, as several parts of the island have been already.
This place is full of the inhabitants of that unfortunate country, and the story of every family would offer an interesting and pathetic subject to the pen of the novelist.
All have been enveloped in the same terrible fate, but with different circumstances; all have suffered, but the sufferings of each individual derive their hue from the disposition of his mind.
One catastrophe, which I witnessed, is dreadfully impressive! I saw youth, beauty and affection sink to an untimely grave, without having the power of softening the bitterness of their fate.
Madame C——, a native of Jeremie, had been sent by her husband to Philadelphia, at the beginning of the revolution, where she continued several years, devoting all her time to improving the mind and cultivating the talents of her only child, the beautiful Clarissa.
Sometime after the arrival of the French fleet, Madame C——, and her daughter returned to Jeremie. She had still all the charms of beauty, all the bloom of youth. She was received by her husband with a want of tenderness which chilled her heart, and she soon learned that he was attached to a woman of colour on whom he lavished all his property. This, you may suppose, was a source of mortification to Madame C——, but she suffered in silence, and sought consolation in the bosom of her daughter.
When the troubles of Jeremie encreased, and it was expected every day that it would be evacuated, Monsieur C—— resolved to remove to St. Jago de Cuba. He sent his wife and child in one vessel, and embarked with his mistress in another. Arriving nearly at the same time, he took a house in the country, to which he retired with his superannuated favourite, leaving his family in town, and in such distress that they were often in want of bread.
Madame C——, too delicate to expose the conduct of her husband, or to complain, concealed from her friends her wants and her grief.
A young Frenchman was deeply in love with her daughter, but his fortune had been lost in the general wreck, and he had nothing to offer to the object of his adoration except a heart glowing with tenderness. He made Madame C—— the confidant of his affection. She was sensible of his worth, and would willingly have made him the protector of her daughter, had she not been struggling herself with all the horrors of poverty and therefore thought it wrong to encourage his passion.
He addressed himself to her father, and this father was rich! He lavished on his mistress all the comforts and elegancies of life, yet refused to his family the scantiest pittance! He replied to the proposal that his daughter might marry, but that it was impossible for him to give her a shilling.
Clarissa heard the unfeeling sentence with calm despair. She had just reached the age in which the affections of the heart develope themselves. The beauty of her form was unequalled, and innocence, candour, modesty, generosity, and heroism, were expressed with ineffable grace in every attitude and every feature. Clarissa was adored. Her lover was idolatrous. The woods, the dawning day, the starry heavens, witnessed their mutual vows. The grass pressed by her feet, the air she respired, the shade in which she reposed, were consecrated by her presence.
Her mother marked, with pity, the progress of their mutual passion, which she could not forbid, for her own heart was formed for tenderness, nor could she sanction it, seeing no probability of its being crowned with success. But the happiness of her daughter was her only wish, and moved by her tears, her sighs, and the ardent prayers of her lover, she at length consented to their union. They were married and they were happy. But alas! a few days after their marriage a fever seized Clarissa. The distracted husband flew to her father who refused to send her the least assistance. She languished, and her mother and her husband hung over her in all the bitterness of anguish. The impossibility of paying a physician prevented their calling one, till it was too late, and, ten days after she had become a wife, she expired. I have held this disconsolate mother to my breast, my tears have mingled with hers: all the ties that bound her to the world are severed, and she wishes only for the moment that will put a period to her existence, when she fondly hopes she may be again united to her daughter. To the husband I have never uttered a word. His sorrow is deep and gloomy. He avoids all conversation, and an attempt to console him would be an insult on the sacredness of his grief. He has tasted celestial joys. He has lost the object of his love, and henceforth the earth is for him a desert.
For the brutal father there is no punishment. His conscience itself inflicts none, for he expressed not the least regret when informed of the fate of his daughter.
But when the story became known, the detestation his conduct excited was so violent, that the friends of Madame C—— have caused her to be separated from him, and obliged him to allow her a separate maintenance. Unfortunately their interest has been exerted too late. A few weeks sooner it might have saved her daughter.
How terrible is the fate of a woman thus dependent on a man who has lost all sense of justice, reason, or humanity; who, regardless of his duties, or the respect he owes society, leaves his wife to contend with all the pains of want, and sees his child sink to an untimely grave, without stretching forth a hand to assist the one or save the other!
St. Jago de Cuba.
I write continually, my dear friend, though the fate of my letters is very uncertain. If they arrive safe they will prove that I have not forgotten you, and that I suffer no opportunity to pass without informing you that I exist.
I understand that, after our departure from the Cape, the tyranny of the general in chief encreased, and that the inhabitants were daily exposed to new vexations. St. Louis, in particular, was the distinguished object of his hatred. Eternally on guard at the most dangerous posts, it was finally whispered that something, more decidedly bad, was intended him, and he thought it was time to try to escape from the threatening danger. Being informed of a vessel, that was on the point of sailing, he prevailed on a fisherman to put him outside of the fort in his boat, and wait till it came out, the captain not daring to take him on board in the harbour. On the day appointed, St. Louis, disguised as a fisherman, went into the boat, and, working at the oar, they were soon beyond the fort. The vessel approached shortly after, and St. Louis, embarking, thought himself out of danger. As soon as they were in reach of the English ships they were boarded, plundered and sent to Barracoa.
St. Louis had no trunk, nor any clothes but what were on him, in which however was concealed gold to a great amount.
A gentleman, who left the Cape the day after him, informed us of his escape, and of his having been sent to Barracoa, and also that, as soon as the general had heard of his departure, he had sent three barges after the vessel with orders to seize him, take him back, and, as soon as he was landed, shoot him without further ceremony.
The whole town was in the greatest consternation. The barges were well manned and gained on the vessel, but a light wind springing up put it soon beyond their reach, and it was even believed that the officer, who commanded the barges, did not use all possible diligence to overtake them.
We were rejoiced to hear of the fortunate escape of St. Louis but felt some anxiety at his not arriving, when lo! he appeared and gave us himself an account of his adventures.
He is in raptures with the governor of Barracoa, his charming wife and the good father Philip, who, hearing that he was the husband of Clara, shewed him the most friendly attention. He brought us from them letters glowing with affectionate recollection.
He talks of buying a plantation and of settling here. If he does I shall endeavour to return to the continent, but poor Clara! she weeps when I speak of leaving her, and when I consider the loneliness to which she will be condemned without me, I have almost heroism enough to sacrifice my happiness to her comfort.
Before the arrival of St. Louis we lived in the house of the gentleman to whose care he had recommended us. He is a widower, the most cheerful creature in the world, but he lives in the times that are past; all his stories are at least forty years old. He talks continually of the mystification of Beaumarchais, and of the magic of Cagliostro. He told me, with all the solemnity of truth, that a lady at the court of France, who was past fifty, bought from Cagliostro, at a great price, a liquid, a single drop of which would take off, in appearance, ten years of age. The lady swallowed two drops, and went to the opera with her charms renewed, and her bloom restored to the freshness of thirty.—At her return she called her waiting woman, who had been her nurse and was at least seventy. She was nowhere to be found, but a little girl came skipping in. The lady, enquiring who she was, learned that old Ursula, intending to try the effect of the drops, had taken too large a dose, and was skipping about with all the sprightliness of fifteen.
Nothing enrages the old gentleman so much as to doubt the truth of what he relates, or even to question its probability. He assured me that he knew the lady, and that he witnessed the effect of the drops on herself and the chambermaid. As I can discover no purpose the invention of such a tale would answer, I listen without reply, and almost suffer myself to be persuaded of its reality.
Nothing can equal the unpleasantness of this town: it is built on the declivity of a hill; the streets are not paved; and the soil, being of white clay, the reflection is intolerable, and the heat insupportable. The water is brought on mules, from a river three miles off, and is a very expensive article. The women never walk, except to church, but every evening they take the air in an open cabriolet, drawn by mules, in which they exhibit their finery, and, not unfrequently, regale themselves with a segar.
Every body smokes, at all times, and in all places; and from this villanous custom arises perhaps, the badness of their teeth, which is universal.
The American consul, who has lived here many years, says that the people are much improved since he resided among them. At his arrival there was not a gown in the place. They are now generally worn.
This old consul is the greatest beau in the place. He gives agreeable parties, and makes love to every body, but I believe with little success. His very appearance would put all the loves to flight.