 ports of call on blue horizons far at the world's end strange fascinating lands back in us bid us revel in their exotic splendor come with us as we head for ports of call as our steamer cuts to the shark infested waters of the Caribbean Sea we approach an island of extraordinary beauty rising precipitously from palm-fringed beaches great craggy mountains are set against the transparent tropical sky reaching stony fingers to the hot shield of the sun overhead and then sweeping down swiftly beyond toward luxuriant planes dense jungles deep swamps this is the land on which Columbus first set foot when he sailed into the dark mystery of the western sea this is Haiti land of Toussaint Louverture of Christophe the black emperor Haiti the land of voodoo this is the Negro Republic this is Haiti our port of call our ship docks at Capetian on Haiti's northern shore not much this is the black man's country and they don't like the white man sipping around voodoo's against the law anyway yeah so is liquor for a while in America it was not far from the side of the bustling town of Capetian that Columbus landed in 1492 and it was through this country that the ruthless Spaniards hunted and killed so many Indians that finally they were forced to import slaves from Africa to do the work of the colony at the close of the 17th century the western half of Columbus Island of his panayola was granted to the French and under the administration of their eminently successful colonial system Haiti or San Domingo as the French called it became the richest colonial possession in the world magnificent plantations covered the land cities and roads were built fields of sugarcane coffee cotton and indigo flourished under the tropical skies but with swollen wealth inevitably came dissipation and bittering corruption unrest and dissatisfaction began to smolder among the 500,000 Negro slaves the 50,000 yulattos and the 40,000 whites in the dead of night in reeking compounds the miserable black men we are tortured we are degraded our wives and daughters are taken from us our bodies ache for food our souls long for freedom there are some among us who can remember freedom of the plague in the jungles of Africa and among the mulattoes that cast sprung up from the union of white aristocrats and black mistresses there was the age-old heartbreak of the half-breed refused acceptance by one cast or the other often in their homes they met and we are called free men of color but are we free no no we're but the property of the colony compelled to serve in the backs forced to live on the highways we have black blood yes but we are also half-white are we not intelligent have not many of us been educated in France have we not all so accumulated riches and slave your sales call new sales our friends in Paris are petitioning the National Assembly for complete freedom and in the shops and stores of the petite block the little whites the petty tradesmen of Haiti jealousy and hatred reigned not only do the big whites cheat us out of our office but these mulattoes I despise them they make this much more me as we don't hate them worse than I hate the blacks they want equality but the upstart while over the mansions of the Grand Blanc the big whites the aristocrats of exorbitant wealth the Paul of satire in decay descended I tell you Pierre we must watch these trades people they're becoming insolent year month year it is not the trades people we must watch it is these insufferable mulattoes they gain too much power they are getting rich we must put tighter restrictions on them yeah oh I'm so angry please do not get so excited by sharing remember my nerves now what is it that miserable slave the black cook she burned the pastry for the banquet all the cushion well well what did you do what did I do what was there to do in the fire I had a throne into the army into this confusion and turmoil into the seething colony was born in the middle of the 18th century a black slave boy destined to lead his race out of bondage his name was too sad and he was owned by monsieur court dino an aristocratic planter an exceptional man who believed that slaves were at least half human taking a liking to the boy too sad he taught him to read and write made him his body servant it was when he was 18 that to Sam married Susan Susan Simon wife of go a slave who had been sold away from the plantation on their wedding night when Susan and to say have retired to their hut the beat of the voodoo drums sounds to the jungle I never knew you was looking at me to say we share I've held you in respect for a long time but so long as go was with you he was your man now that go was going away I think you need another man a real husband this time I'm very grateful to Sam no where in all the land could I have gotten a better one than you why what's the matter more share why are you so quiet those drums I hate them woman woman forging the chains of ignorance and superstition about the souls are people I hate voodoo don't say that voodoo listening all the leads and declared to you I have fear voodoo you talk like that I unmarry you Suzanne Sherry you must stop fear and voodoo right now you and your son place he must not listen to the voodoo drums you frighten me more than the drums when you talk like that to Sam go never talk like that go with a good man but he did not know what I know what you mean I show you this book I brought from master's house I'll read something for you sounds different from talking reading does but you listen good and you know what it means go ahead you read it for me here's what it says nations of Europe your slaves are not in need of your councils to break the sacrilegious yoke which oppresses them the Negroes lack only a chief where is that great man he will appear he will show himself and he will unfurl the sacred standard of liberty he will open the door of freedom for the slaves but and you heard the name arm as you will move it sure I took that name today you know what it means move it sure it means the opener of the door to liberty for us slaves then you are going to be this grand this big man yes how'd you know I know and then you made big mistake too Sam you took the wrong woman I'm just a plain slave woman I can't help you when you get to be that big man come on dear it's a papaloid we go the voodoo papaloid heard your talk he's coming for you did you hear me we go I heard you too Sam you say you're going to free the slaves I say you're dying black lunging too Sam see the voodoo listen every place I say to them come down Balagambamba tonight you'll be my maloy the drums are calling calling the drums are calling the drums are calling the drums are calling I'm not afraid of you. You'll never be afraid of afraid he's afraid of you he's run away under the jungle you know you're gonna kill him but he knows you better than Pastor pan father which art in heaven says beat unanimous the kingdom come Thou will be done on earth as it is in heaven. The fall of the Bastille in Paris in 1789 shook the French colonial empire to its very foundations. When the National Assembly passed its famous declaration of the freedom and equality of all men, Curie seized the colonists in Haiti. The white aristocrats put the mulattoes to death. When the priests attempted to intervene, the white bourgeoisie executed them. While to molten gulf the towns, there was an ominous rumbling, growing nightly more powerful. From the mountains came the ceaseless, throbbing beat of the voodoo drums. Night after night, black men slipped furtively from their compounds to join the tense throngs around the drums. They fight more and more among themselves. They don't think of us now. We have secured many iron implements and staves. We have our knives. We must be strong. We have everything to gain and nothing but an unhappy life to lose. They all recounting liberty and equality. Will we too have a right to liberty, equality, fraternity? While Anarchy carries its banners of flames through the streets of Haitian towns, an important visitor arrives in Port-au-Prince from Paris. One of the first men he calls upon is Monsieur de Noe, Toussaint Louverture's master. Monsieur Compte-Noe? Oui. And that's our door. Indeed, Monsieur, I am grateful for this audience. As you may readily see, I am a melancholy. Though I have spent most of my life in Paris, the cause of the need you of Haiti is close to my heart. I come partly to praise your enlightened treatment of your slaves and pathways. Your pardon, Monsieur Doge. Toussaint, will you come in? I presume you come in because of the society of friends of the blacks. I do indeed, Monsieur. I should like my slave Toussaint to hear you. Master. This gentleman from Paris represents the cause of your people, Toussaint. I thought you would be interested. This, then, must be Vincent Doge. Oui. You arrived on the boat today with General Lavaux? Oui. With a message of hope. The Monsieur de la Rouge Foucault and our forgetten Robespierre, no doubt. Our question, their hope for our early freedom. Our time has not yet come. The streets of Port-au-Prince are bright with liberty caps and one hears a cry of liberty and one hears a cry of liberty and equality everywhere. But this is hysteria, Monsieur. Who do hysteria? It cannot last. But liberty. Who has offered us liberty? The lesser whites of the island are shouting it. Yes, and regaling themselves with titles and uniforms. But the slaves. But the slaves. But the slaves. Where is their liberty? It is theirs for the taking. Do you suggest leading them into violence, Monsieur? Oui. How else? Then I only say you know not what you do. You're pardoned, master. This man is a slave. I take considerable pride in owning the wisest slave on the island. You own a cage, Perich. Good day, Mr. Perich. Toussaint Louverture was powerless to stop the ill-advised and hot-headed Massau Doge. He could only remain silent. Sadly, watching his people led toward doom. For under the leadership of the fanatico mulatto, drunk on the new freedom of revolutionary Paris, the long-threatened black uprising became a fact. Suddenly, all over the colony, thousands upon thousands of slaves, insane with the memory of bloody cruelties, delirious with unnameable hopes, arose to throw from their bleeding backs the unendurable oppression of slavery, burning, slaying, torturing. They spread like molten lava from one plantation to another. But the white men captured Massau Doge, and they put him to death on the rack. Then the leadership of the black uprising fell upon the shoulders of Rigo, the fanatical voodoo papaloi. Deep in the jungle, Rigo incites his followers to still greater fury. It's the plantation of logginess. It's the cause of burn. Toussaint's soaking up the books. Toussaint's soaking up the books. He's gonna die in the voodoo. He's gonna die in the black. He's gonna die in the black. It's the cause of burn in the flame. Master. We? Oh, well, Toussaint. Why are you waking me in the middle of the night? Master, Rigo is leading his mob again. They ravaged Monsieur Lebrun's estate. Now come on here. Now beg your tip, madame, and flee for your lives. To the United States. Peace reigns. I will send for you, monsieur. And to the port. I will hold them. Godspeed, your master and mistress. Bless you, Toussaint. Farewell. Juan Rico, I warned them. Toussaint, you traitor to the black people. I'll set the zombies after you. These black men raiding with me come new from their graves. They ain't men. They're zombies. And they're going to eat your flesh, Toussaint. You hear them? I see nothing but childish focus, focus. And a cloud of poor, misguided plantation slaves making fools of themselves. Don't swallow, Rigo. Hey, who's there? Toussaint, Louverture. I place you under arrest. By whose order? By the order of Monsieur Raymond, the deputy. For what offense? For inciting Vincent D'Auge, Rigo, and the voodoo cult to violence. That is not so. I hate the voodoo. Now I'm an enemy of Rigo. I attempted to dissuade Vincent D'Auge from his plans. I can't argue about that. I was told to arrest you. Come along now. I've got your family in the cart over there. My family? They too are under arrest. You cannot do this today. Then you come along quietly. No, I'll regret, Monsieur Le Capitaine, but I'm compelled to resist. And I've orders to kill the dirty lot of you. I would not attempt it, monsieur. You black dog, pull your gun on me. I'm sorry I had to kill you, monsieur. You apparently would not take me seriously. Oh, sir, are you all right? We sure are. I'm all right. Is it war at last, father? Yes. Will we be free at last? Toussaint fled with his family to the mountains, where he gathered about himself a terror-demilion army of slaves. Slowly he fought his way across Haiti, until he had won half the former French colony. The Spaniards of Santo Domingo on the eastern half of the island welcomed Toussaint as host as conquering heroes. But when Toussaint heard that the Spaniards had leaked with the British who were slave owners, he suspected a trap, ordered the Spaniards to leave the island. Then with lightning-like maneuvers, he took his army west to Port-au-Prince in time to repel a British landing party. Toussaint at last was master of the island. They offered to make him king, wisely he refused, installing rather a benign dictatorship under which reforms were instituted. Schools built, roads repaired, everyone black and white worked, and everyone was paid for his labor. Prosperity returned to Haiti, and Toussaint's palace became the center of culture. But not everyone serenely accepted the black Napoleon. The French hated him, plotted for his downfall. In the office of Monsieur Sontenax, General Edovire and the deputy are in deep conversation. I tell you, Sontenax, there is only one way to get at him. And how is that? Rigo. Secretly I have dispatched rifles and ammunition to him and his voodoo cacos. Slowly we can build Rigo into an army. What do you think of that idea? We could control Rigo. I think you are rash, monsieur. Then are we to watch Toussaint certainly usurp this rich colony from our possession? It is clearly in his mind. Power, boundless ambition. Not the ideal of equality and liberty for all, black and white. Oh, no, Sontenax. Oh, I'm not so sure. All this time, Toussaint had not broken from the mother country. Had governed Haiti with outstanding success as a colony of France. But his very success engendered antagonism, for he had hoped it would gain him friends. Monsieur Bançois, colonial delegate to Haiti, makes his report to Napoleon in Paris. There is fear in some quarters, first consulate, that this black leader is planning to seize the iron promise that Martinique and Water Lupe would follow. I have talked with Toussaint. I do not believe these stories. The man is magnificent. You are there the record of his achievements. Yes. I, Napoleon, have read here the blur of contemptuous hatred of black caricature of myself. I have read in this letter to me an audacious declaration of defiance. Excellency, you do not understand the conditions in the colony. Monsieur Bançois, Toussaint L'Overture will be destroyed. And for your presumption, you will be exiled to Elba. You may go. Yes. Excellency. Hmm. A new army is restless for action. They will see it. My sister's husband, Leclerre, will be in command. Leclerre will be crushed to the earth, annihilated. Thus was it done. Toussaint, preparing to greet Leclerre as an envoy from Napoleon, was faced instead by a broadside from Leclerre's armada as he sailed into Port-au-Prince. Toussaint loyal to France due to Napoleon, until Leclerre's shells burst about his head, that moment declared war on Napoleon and his France. Fleeing to the hills once more, Toussaint assembled his scattered forces, but he was no match for the well-trained army of Leclerre. Deep in the jungle he was defeated, submitted to arrest, was taken to France. The man whom history has called the Black Napoleon faces the Emperor of the French, Napoleon I. So, this is Toussaint L'Overture, the renegade Black Monarch. Never a renegade, your Imperial Highness. Never a monarch. You are insolent. I can only speak the truth. I strove for the freedom of my race. Never was I disloyal to your Imperial Highness. You had ambition. That is disloyalty. I had ambition only for my people. I want no more of your presumption. I want only one thing from you. Yes, sire. Tell me where you have hidden your gold. I have no gold. Where is your gold hidden? My only gold is a dream of freedom from all slavery. Bovee. Yes, sire. The dungeon of Fort Deau should loosen this black-robed tunnel. Yes, sire. See that he's taken there, and he is treated with the least amount of consideration. So, Toussaint L'Overture, black child of the tropics was thrown into the cold, wet dungeon of Fort Deau to dream his nostalgic dreams of deep green jungles and clear blue skies. And each day he was visited by two brutal guards. And each day the same ritual was conducted until... Toussaint. Toussaint L'Overture. For the last time, where is your gold hidden? Answer. Answer all the whips. Gentlemen, dear fellow friends, again, I say, my only gold. Yes. We know the rest. Your only gold is the dream of freedom from all slavery. This gross tiresome, always the same answer. Frogging jam. Eh, bien. Oh, wait. Wait. It will not be necessary. What? Look. At last, he is dead. Good. That ends the pleasure that has grown. Uninteresting. Come. Just leave him there. He is too foul to move. Thus perished Toussaint L'Overture, the great hero of Haiti, a misunderstood, despised prisoner in a dungeon half a world away from his warm, sunny island homeland. But Toussaint had sown the seeds and other black men found him who reaped the harvest. Haustain I was crowned King of Haiti, and he was followed by the fabulous Christophe, Emperor Henry I, who built the famous palace of Saint-Souci at Cape Haitian, and on the towering hill behind, the formidable and utterly useless fort of Laferrière, the most amazing structure of the new world, the erection of which cost nearly as many lives as the great pyramid of Giza. From Cape Haitian, we travel across Haiti, through sleepy Guineve and Saint-Marco, across mountains and over plains, past coffee and sugar plantations, past little huts of fetch with cattle and pigs and goats and ebony babies cluttering the doorways, past streams where groups of chattering black women are pounding their washed clothes to whiteness, past palm trees and pines, rowing side by side, on towards the first city of the land, Porto Plants. The road becomes congested with peasant women going to market, huge bundles balanced on their heads, and patient, lot-feared donkeys laden with produce. Soon the city appears, stretching leisurely between the mountains and the bay. All about us we see the improvements in roads and public buildings, docks and barracks which were built by the American Marines during their long occupation of Haiti, an occupation which just last year came to an end as Haiti showed its ability to govern itself wisely and well. From Porto Plants, we take the steamer which will carry us back as our liner pushes out into the windward passage and as the throngs in the crowded markets and the huge white government buildings fade from view, our gaze goes up to the towering mountains. We seem to hear the mystical, magical booming, the rhythm of Haiti, the soul of Haiti, the boom, boom, booming of the voodoo drums. We invite you to join us again next week at this time as we journey to another of the world's fascinating places of call.