Salomon offers Washington a protectorate and the island of Tortuga

In May 1883 President Lysius Salomon held confidential talks with the United States minister and put two things on the table. Haiti would accept an American protectorate, and it would hand over La Tortue, the island off the northern coast that had been the first French foothold in the country two centuries earlier. What he wanted in return was military help against the Liberals, his domestic enemies, who were then in open revolt against him. This is nineteenth century Haitian politics at its plainest. A president facing armed opponents at home reaches for a foreign power, and the currency he has to offer is sovereignty, in pieces. Nothing came of the approach. The United States kept returning to the northern coast in the decades that followed, wanting the Mole Saint-Nicolas rather than Tortuga, and in 1915 it took the whole country without needing to buy anything. What the 1883 conversation established was that such a bargain could be proposed at all.

Baptist missionaries reached the lower Congo in 1878 and 1879 and were welcomed at Sao Salvador by Pedro V. They built their church beside the ruined cathedral and in the early 1890s took stones from it for the walls, which to Kongolese eyes implied a continuity the Europeans did not intend, since the ruins were still the burial ground of generations of rulers and the central shrine of the kingdom. In August 1885 Henry Richards wrote from the station at Mbanza Manteke that the people were coming up in such numbers that services had moved outdoors and that more than seven hundred had converted, with a mass burning of images. Something similar happened at Sao Salvador a year later. The men who carried the new preaching outward included a blacksmith called Dom Miguel Ndelengeni and a young man at Stanley Pool named Ntoni, which is the Kongolese form of Anthony.

Arnold Toynbee, lecturing in 1884, produced the analysis of the industrial revolution that later writers worked from. Its essence for him was the replacement of medieval regulation by competition, which made the revolution a social event before it was an economic one. Eighty years later Ronald Hartwell defined the essential character of the same thing quite differently, as a sustained rise in the rate of growth of total and per head output at a pace that broke with everything before it. The two definitions travel together in most accounts, since freedom from old constraints was supposed to produce the growth. In the twentieth century the growth half took over, because every new state in the world was being told that the road to wealth ran through an industrial revolution of its own. Haiti heard that advice as often as anyone, and the word revolution in it carries this nineteenth century English cargo.

Monseigneur Guilloux was archbishop of Port-au-Prince from 1870 to 1885, and he wrote that the numerous parishes deprived of priests were crying out for pastors, each competing to be first to have its own curate, and that satisfying them all proved impossible. He read the demand as evidence of Catholic hunger. By the time he arrived the Church had been present in the territory for the whole history of slavery, and the population already held its own reading of Christianity, in which the rites, the saints and the symbols had long been annexed to the purposes of Vodou. Masses and ceremonies for the dead sat inside the framework of Vodou religious life. Being Catholic and serving the spirits became a single reality that still marks the country. Only a thin layer of privileged families entered the assimilation the missionaries had in mind.