The pelican is a source of great amusement to the negroes.  They call this bird blague a diable, because of the incredible number of fish it can stow away in its pouch.  They call the cormorant grand gosier, big gullet; and they make use of the membranous pocket which is found under the lower mandible of its beak to carry their smoking tobacco, fancying that it enhances the quality and keeps it fresh.  Among the queer birds is the cra-cra, or crocodile’s valet, a bold and restless bird with a harsh cry, represented in its name, which it uses to advertise the dozing crocodile of any hostile approach.  It is a great annoyance to the sportsman by mixing with the wild ducks and alarming them with the same nervous cry.]

Charming valleys open to sight from the coast, where the limestone bluffs let in the bays.  The eye follows the rivulets as they wind through green, sequestered places, till the hills bar the view, but do not prevent the fancy from exploring farther, and losing itself in a surmise of glens filled with rare vegetation and kept quiet by the inclosing shadows.  From the sea this picture is especially refreshing, with the heat left out which is reflected with great power from the sandy rocks and every denuded surface.  Below all appears beautiful, luxurious, and new; but above the signs of decrepitude appear, and the broad wastes stretch where little grows except the bayaonde, (Mimosa urens,) with its long murderous spines and ugly pods.  Sudden contrasts and absence of delicate gradations mark the whole face of the island.  All is extreme; and the mind grows disquieted amid these isolated effects.

The climate also corresponds to this region of luxury and desolation.  From November to April everything is parched with heat; some of the trees lose their leaves, the rest become brown, and all growth ceases.  From April to November everything is wet; vegetation revives without a spring, and the slender streams suddenly become furious rivers, which often sweep away the improvements of man, and change the face of the country in a single night.  During the dry season the inhabitants depend upon the sea-breeze which blows in over the heated land to replace the rarefied air.  It blows from six in the morning to three in the afternoon, in the eastern part of the island; in other parts, from nine to three.  But frequently a furious northeast wind interrupts this refreshing arrangement:  the air becomes hard and cold; thick, wintry-looking clouds sweep over the hills; the inhabitants shut themselves up in their houses to escape the rheumatism, which is a prevalent infliction; a March weather which was apparently destined for New England seems to have got entangled and lost among these fervid hills.  The languid Creole life is overtaken by universal discomfort.

Great fires break out over the elevated plateaus and hill-sides, during the dry season.  They sweep with incredible rapidity across great tracts, levelling everything in the way.  The mountains seem tipped with volcanic flames.  The angry glow spreads over the night, and its smoke mixes with the parched air by day.  These fires commence by some carelessness, though they are sometimes attributed to the action of the son’s rays, concentrated by the gray cliffs upon great masses of vegetation dried to tinder.