My progress was consequently slow.

The road passed among the sugar plantations, which were confined to the comparatively low lands near the sea shore; then ascending towards the mountains, winded through coffee and cacao estates, the successful cultivation of which articles of commerce requires a cooler and moister region than the sugar-cane.
During this journey, I often stopped my mule on the summit of a commanding height, and gazed admiringly around on the beautiful and extensive prospect.

The well-cultivated plantations, each appearing like a village in itself, scattered among the many hills and valleys and intervals even to the very sea coast; the sea beyond, which at that distance seemed as smooth and polished as a mirror, encasing the island in a frame of silver; the luxuriant tropical foliage, whose beauty I had often heard described; the cocoanut, orange, tamarind, and guava trees, loaded with fruit, with plantains, bananas, pineapples, aloes and cactuses on every side, all filled my heart with wonder and delight.
Taking the road leading over the mountains, which is impassable for carriages, I passed through vast tracks of forest, where the lofty trees were covered with stout vines reaching to the tree tops, rendering it difficult for man to penetrate those sylvan recesses.

Near the highest part of this mountain road, at a height of several thousand feet above the sea, is situated a romantic lake, called by the French the Grand Etang, or Great Lake, which fills the crater of an extinct volcano.
Near this spot, where the atmosphere is always cool and humid, we were suddenly enveloped in a cloud, and soon experienced the peltings of a tropical shower.

I received conclusive evidence that my garments were not water-proof before we could find shelter in a negro hut by the wayside.
After passing the Grand Etang, we began to descend the mountains on our way towards the north side of the island.