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Title: Cuba Past and Present

Author: Richard Davey

Release date: April 14, 2011 [eBook #35872]

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CUBA PAST
AND PRESENT ***

CUBA PAST AND PRESENT

Christopher Columbus
CHRISTOPHORUS COLUMBUS LIGURINDI.
ARUM PRIMUS INVENTOR ANNO 1492
Qui rate velivola occiduos penetrauit ad indos,
Primus et Americam Nobilitavit humum.
Astrorum consultus et ipso Nobilis ausu,
Christophorus tali fronte columbus erat.

CUBA
PAST AND PRESENT

BY
RICHARD DAVEY
AUTHOR OF "THE SULTAN AND HIS SUBJECTS"

With Illustrations and Map.

NEW YORK:
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1898

PREFACE.

ANY contribution to Cuban literature cannot, if so I may call it, but possess
considerable interest at this absorbing moment. The following pages
embody the experience gathered during a visit to Cuba some years ago, and
to this I have added many facts and memoranda bestowed by friends whose
knowledge of the country is more recent than my own, and information
collected from various works upon Cuba and West Indian subjects. I do not
pretend that the book is an authoritative text-book on Cuban matters—I give
it as the result of personal observation, so far as it goes, supplemented in the
manner already indicated; and as such I believe it will not be found lacking
in elements of interest and entertainment. Certain chapters on Columbus and
on the West Indian Manuscripts in the Colonial Exhibition have been
included as an Appendix.

The description of the youth of Columbus, the "Great Discoverer," has
never, so far as I am aware, been attempted before in the English tongue. It
appeared to me to be appropriate to a work on the island he was the first to
discover, and I have therefore included it in this book. It is founded on
original and authentic documents, discovered in the Genoese Archives by
the late Marchese Staglieno. These I have carefully examined and verified,
and to the facts therein contained I have added others, which I have myself
unearthed in the course of my own researches in the Città Superba.
The chapter on the Colonial Exhibition Manuscripts speaks for itself, and
my readers will be struck by the fact that the condition of the British West
Indian Colonies, at the close of the last century, resembled in many respects
not a little that of Cuba at the end of ours.
The chapter on the Bahamas, which closes the volume, has been inserted
to mark an evident contrast, and point a moral, which will hardly escape the
thoughtful reader's eye.
I cannot forbear paying here a tribute to the memory of the very
remarkable American gentleman, the late Mr George Wilkes, in whose
company I first saw the beautiful "Pearl of the Antilles." On the important
paper which he founded, the New York Spirit of the Times, I worked for
several very happy years, and I take this opportunity of expressing to its
present editor and to Mr Stephen Fiske, my gratitude for much and constant
courtesy, shown me ever since I left its staff.
RICHARD DAVEY.

CONTENTS.

PAGE
Preface v
Chapter I. THE ISLAND 1
" II. POPULATION 14
" III. A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE ISLAND 39

" IV. THE BEGINNINGS OF THE REBELLION 65
" V. HISTORY OF REBELLION UP-TO-DATE 93
" VI. HAVANA AND THE HAVANESE 121
" VII. MATANZAS 148
" VIII. CIENFUEGOS 161
" IX. TRINIDAD AND SANTIAGO DE CUBA 173
" X. SOME WEIRD STORIES 193
" XI. PLANTATION LIFE 205
" XII. AN ISLE OF JUNE—A CONTRAST 224
Appendix I. THE BOYHOOD OF COLUMBUS 237
SOME UNEDITED DOCUMENTS CONNECTED WITH THE
" II. 257
HISTORY OF THE WEST INDIES
Footnotes

ILLUSTRATIONS
Portrait of Columbus Frontispiece
Havana to face 121
MATANZAS " 148
SANTIAGO " 173
MAP OF CUBA at end of Book
click on any image to view it enlarged
(n. of etext transcriber)

CUBA PAST AND PRESENT

CHAPTER I.

The Island.

CUBA, "the Pearl of the Antilles" and the key to the Gulf of Mexico, is not
only the largest, but the most important and the wealthiest island in the West
Indian Archipelago. Its curious shape has been aptly compared to that of a
bird's tongue,—a parrot's by preference. From Point Maisi, at one extremity,
to Cape San Antonio, at the other, it describes a curve of 900 miles, being,
at its greatest breadth, only 120 miles from sea to sea. It is traversed
throughout its Eastern province by a range of mountains, which, according
to Humboldt, continue under the Ocean, and emerge thence in British
Honduras, to receive the somewhat unromantic appellation of the
Coxcombe Chain,—another proof, if such were needed, of the fact that, in
prehistoric times, this island, together with its numerous neighbours, formed
part of the main Continent.
The coast of Cuba, on either side beyond the range of the Sierra Maestra,
is singularly indented and irregular; and by reason of its innumerable tiny
bays, capes, peninsulas, shallows, reefs, "cays," promontories, and islets,
presents, on the map, the appearance of a deep curtain fringe. The surface
measurement of the island is fully 35,000 square miles. In other words, it is
a little bigger than Portugal, or somewhat over a fourth the size of Spain.[1]
The Sierra Maestra range rises from the coast, out of the Ocean, with
grand abruptness, immediately opposite the sister island of Jamaica. It here
presents much the same stately and varied panorama as may be admired on
the Genoese Riviera, and, by a series of irregular terraces, reaches the Ojo
del Toro, or the "Sources of the Bull," where it suddenly drops towards the
centre of the chain, whence it sends up one exceedingly lofty peak, the Pico
Turquino, rising 6900 feet above the sea. From this point the range
diminishes in height again, until it reaches the valley of the Cauto River,
whence it runs in a straight line to Santiago de Cuba, after which it rapidly
declines in height, and loses itself in the unwholesome Guananamo
Marshes. A section of this range is popularly known, on account of its
mineral wealth, as the Sierra de Cobre, or Copper Chain. Its principal peak,
La Gran Piedra, so called from a huge block of conglomerate perched upon

its extreme summit, is about 5200 feet high. None of the numerous peaks
and crags of the Sierra Maestra and the Cobre Ranges show the least trace
of recent volcanic eruption, although limestone is found high up among the
mountains, and alarming earthquakes are of frequent occurrence, notably in
the province of Santiago. At the eastern extremity of the island are a number
of isolated mountains, linked together by low-lying hills. Two other ranges
of hills exist, in the neighbourhood of Matanzas, and at the back of Havana,
but although they present an imposing appearance from the seaboard, at no
single point do they exceed a height of 1000 feet. The mountain ranges
occupy about one-third of the island; the other two-thirds are more or less
spreading and fairly well cultivated plains and level valleys, but even these
fertile regions are broken by lagoons and marshes, like those in the
Campagna.
Until quite late in the last century, coffee and tobacco were the principal
objects of the planter's care and industry, but in 1786 the French refugees
from San Domingo persuaded the Cubans to extend their sugar plantations,
and sugar very soon became the staple cultivation of the country. Next to
sugar, tobacco and coffee are the chief products, but cotton is also grown,
but not very extensively. Cocoa and indigo have received considerable
attention lately, and maize has always been one of the absolute necessaries
of life, and may be described as the bread of the country; cereals have no
place in its husbandry, and are imported, for the most part, unfortunately,
from Spain, which country holds a monopoly, which has had its share in
bringing about the unhappy civil war of the last three years. As the negroes
and the poor whites have rarely, if ever, tasted wheat flour, its absence is not
felt by them, but it is an absolute necessity to the upper classes and to the
foreigners. Yams, bananas, guavas, oranges, mangoes, and pineapples, are
the chief fruits cultivated for exportation. The decline in the popularity of
mahogany as a furniture wood in America and Europe—a mere freak of
fashion—has been greatly felt. It used to be a most valuable product, and
was exported in great quantities, especially to England,—the Cuban variety
being considered the finest.
The mountain regions of Cuba are extremely picturesque, but very
sparsely populated, and, for the most part, little known. Their slopes are
often covered by forests or jungles, whose rich vegetation, constantly
moistened by innumerable springs, rivulets, and heavy dews, is rankly

luxuriant. Immense mineral wealth is supposed to be hidden in the heart of
these mountains, but, though the copper mines are fairly well worked,
neither gold nor silver have yet been discovered in any quantity,
notwithstanding the ancient and persistent tradition as to their abundance.
The entire coast of Cuba is protected, in a measure, by coralline and rocky
reefs, "cays," and muddy shallows, which stretch out into the sea for miles.
These are most dangerous, and have often, in stormy weather, proved fatal
to large vessels, as well as to small fishing craft. Some of these banks are
really fair-sized islands, covered with beautiful vegetation, but, as a rule,
they are only inhabited by fishermen, and that merely at certain seasons of
the year. In many localities the sea is very deep quite close in-shore, and
offers excellent harbours and refuges for vessels plying on the busiest sea-
road in the Western Hemisphere. The most important of the numerous
outlying islands is La Isla dos Pinos, a famous health resort, where, for
some unaccountable reason, the pine-tree of our northern regions flourishes
to perfection amid tropical surroundings.
Every part of Cuba is supplied with fresh water. There are several fairly
broad, though shallow rivers. The Cauto, which takes its rise in the Sierra
Maestra, and flows into the sea at the mouth of Manzanillo Bay, is about
130 miles in length, and navigable for small craft. The only other rivers of
any importance are the Sagua Grande and the Sagua Chica. Neither of these
is navigable, even for small craft, except for a week or so at the close of the
rainy season. Springs and streams of exquisitely pure water are to be found
in incredible abundance. Indeed, the island has been described as consisting
of a series of vast caverns rising over huge reservoirs of fresh water, and the
number of caves and grottoes to be found circling over pools of limpid
water is really remarkable. In the mountains there are lovely waterfalls,
amongst which the cascades of the Rosario are the most celebrated. A
number of fair-sized lakes add considerably to the beauty of the scenery in
the interior of the island, and, what is more, they are well stocked with a
variety of fish of delicious flavour.
Cuba is phenomenally free from noxious animals and reptiles. Columbus
only found two quadrupeds of any size on the whole island—a sort of
barkless dog, the guaquinaji, possibly a racoon,[2] and a long-bodied
squirrel. Many imported domestic animals, such as the horse, the pig, the

dog, the cat, and the goat, have in the course of time run wild, and are to be
found in great numbers in the densest parts of the forests in the interior. Our
canine friend has modified himself considerably since he first landed on
Cuban soil. He has dwindled, on the one hand, into the tiny Havanese toy
spaniel, and has developed on the other into the colossal molasso, which
was constantly employed, but a few years back, in the highly humane sport
of slave-hunting. The prehistoric sportsman, however, must, if he was an
amateur of big game, have had a good time of it in Cuba, for fossils of
mastadons, elephants, hippopotami, and other large and uncanny beasts of
the antediluvian world, who have joined the majority countless ages ago, are
still constantly to be found.
Some members of the bat family grow to an enormous size, their wings
measuring from a foot to a foot and a half from tip to tip. I remember one
night, on a plantation near Puerto Principe, one of these most unpleasant
monsters flopped through my bedroom window on to the floor. For a few
moments I was convinced that I had received a visitation either from
Minerva's very own owl or from a dusky cherub.
With the sole exception of a rather long, but not particularly harmful boa,
venomous or dangerous snakes are, I was assured, not to be found anywhere
on the island. This, however, is a popular error, for in most of the sugar
plantations there dwells a small red asp, whose bite is exceedingly
dangerous. The creature may not be indigenous; he may have come over
with the first sugar-canes from San Domingo. According to the Cubans,
imported reptiles, even after a short residence on their native soil, become
innocuous, and it must be confessed that the scorpion, which is disagreeably
prominent in the island, is less hurtful here than elsewhere. As I happen to
have been bitten both by an Italian and a Cuban scorpion, I am in a position
to know something about the matter. The Italian rascal stung me in the foot,
and sent me to bed with a frightful pain, and a fever which lasted a week.
The Cuban gentleman nipped my finger, caused me awful agony, the arm
swelling up to twice its size; but I had no fever, neither was I obliged to
seek my bed. My Cuban wound, I, remember, was rubbed with a decoction
of deceased scorpions, preserved in oil, which certainly soothed the pain,
and, further, I was plentifully dosed with Kentucky whisky. In a few hours
the suffering passed off, and, after two days of extraordinary numbness in
all parts of the body, I completely recovered. My private opinion is that the

cure was effected by the decoction of defunct scorpions, and that no
difference really exists between the poisonous qualities of the European and
the Cuban reptile.
If Cuba possesses no very obnoxious reptiles, their absence is amply
atoned for by the surprising collection of annoying insects of all sorts and
kinds. The Cuban mosquitoes must be heard, seen, and felt, before they can
be imagined. I had hitherto thought the Venetian zanzare diabolical pests
enough in all conscience, but, when compared with their Cuban brethren,
they stand as angels to demons. Then there are irritating jiggers, ants, giant
wasps, infernal little midges, spiders as big as the crown of your hat, and
other disreputable gentry who shall be nameless, and who, I learn on good
authority, were first imported into our own unsuspecting continent from the
West Indies. Alas! they are with us still! In Cuba they haunt the woods and
gardens, secrete themselves in the turn-up of your trousers, and in the train
of your skirt. They soon let you know their whereabouts, I can assure you!
Two very remarkable insects deserve special mention. One is the large
"vegetable bee," a member of the bee family, condemned by nature to carry
an umbrella-shaped fungus of the Clavara tribe on his back, and the other,
the superb cucullo, a monster fire-fly, who emits rays of light from two eyes
on his back and one in his breast. Three of these creatures under a glass
shade suffice to illumine a moderate-sized room, and, if it were not for the
rhythmical flickering glare produced by the breathing of the insects, it
would be easy to read by their extraordinary glow.
The Cuban birds are identical with those found in other West Indian
islands. Among the great variety of humming-birds, only one is recognised
as indigenous to the island. All sorts of tropical fish abound, both in the sea,
in the rivers, and the lakes. On the latter, the rather exciting sport of
tortoise-hunting may be enjoyed, and the sportsman may chance an
unpleasant encounter with the dangerous, but easily avoided cayman. Most
Cuban travellers make acquaintance with the frightful-looking, but perfectly
harmless iguana, at some friend's house, where he occasionally joins the
family circle in the capacity of prime domestic pet. As to the lizards, they
are exceedingly well represented, both in gardens and in woods, from the
charming, bright-eyed little metallic green and blue opidian, to a very large
and ugly brown old lady and gentleman—they usually go abroad in pairs—
to be met with in your walks, and which the uninitiated are apt to mistake

for a couple of miniature crocodiles. But they are simply very large and
harmless lizards, with prodigiously long Latin names. Then, too, there is the
interesting and ever-changing cameleon, and the pretty striped flying
squirrel, and the delightful little dormouse, a long-established native of the
island, well beknown, it would seem, to Christopher Columbus and his
companions, who have condescended to make special mention of his timid,
yet friendly presence.
As to the flora, it is surpassingly beautiful. I shall have occasion to return
to it at greater length, and will only say in this place that it embraces nearly
every variety of plant, flower, and fern known in the tropical and sub-
tropical zones. European fruits, flowers, and vegetables can be easily and
largely cultivated on the highest plateaux of the Sierra Maestra.
The climate of Cuba is, for the tropics, a very tolerable one, quite
enjoyable indeed from November to the beginning of May, during which
time the heat is rarely oppressive. The summer season is extremely
enervating, and in many parts of the island actually dangerous, on account
of the excessive heat and the incessant torrents of rain, which together
create an unhealthy steaming miasma. The forests, with their prodigious
stratas of decaying vegetation, emit, especially in summer, unwholesome
malarial vapours, and the lagoons and marshes on the broads are sometimes
hidden for days at a time by a dense and deadly but perfectly white fog.
Yellow fever is said not to have made its appearance till 1761; at any rate it
is from that date only that it has been regarded as a distinct disease
indigenous to the island. The deadly vomito nigro has often appeared in
various parts of Cuba in epidemic as well as isolated form. It rarely if ever
attacks the negroes, but has proved only too fatal to newcomers.[3] I cannot
help thinking that it is mainly due to the filthy habits of a people
unacquainted with the hygienic laws, and who do not object to have their
latrines in the middle of their kitchens, and to a general system of drainage,
which, even in the capital and in the other principal towns, is wretchedly
antiquated. Dysentery annually carries off a great number of European
colonists, especially children, and cholera very frequently decimates the
blacks and Chinese, without doing the slightest injury to the whites among
whom they live. The wholesomest parts of the island are in the eastern
provinces, where yellow fever rarely makes its appearance. This is simply
due to a healthy combination of sea and mountain breezes. The outlying

island of Pinos, already mentioned, is remarkably healthy, no epidemic ever
having been known there, and it is, consequently, a favourite resort with the
wealthier Cubans and European colonists, who have built charming cottages
amongst its fragrant pine-groves.
I am quite persuaded that Cuba could be rendered fairly healthy by proper
irrigation and drainage. The towns are nearly all without proper drains, and
the inhabitants are generally very uncleanly in their habits, although well-
managed public baths abound. Like most members of the Latin family, the
Cubans seem to have a horror of cold water, and rarely indulge in a "tub."
On the other hand, to do them justice, at certain seasons of the year they
seem never out of the sea, which is often so warm that you can stop in it for
hours without getting a chill. However, whether they wash or not matters
little, for even in the best regulated families their hygienic habits apparently
are indescribably filthy. Add to this state of affairs the still dirtier practices
of the immense negro and coolie population, and a faint idea may be formed
of the real cause of the unhealthiness of the place. I have often wondered
that the pest did not carry off half the population. It has occasionally done
so, and Yellow-Jack is always seeking whom he may devour,—generally
some invalid from the United States, who has come out in search of health,
or some over-robust European emigrant. As an illustration of the rapidity
with which this fell disease overcomes its victims, I will relate an incident
which occurred during my first visit to the island, very many years ago. On
board the ship which conveyed us from New York to Havana was a certain
Senator L...., well known in New York and Washington for his good looks
and caustic wit. In his youth he had been engaged to a lovely Cuban girl,
whose parents had sternly rejected his suit, and had obliged their young
daughter to marry a wealthy planter very much her senior. She had recently
become a widow, and our friend, who had already been to Havana to lay his
fortune at her feet, and had been accepted, was hastening back to claim her
as his bride. On our arrival in Havana we all breakfasted together, the party
including the still very handsome widow Doña Jacinta. In the afternoon the
bridegroom went sketching in the market-place. Yellow-Jack laid his hand
on him, and before morning he was dead! The funeral took place on the
very day appointed for the wedding. I shall never forget the procession. The
whole of Havana turned out to witness it. The church of the Merced, where
the Requiem was sung, was so crowded that several persons were seriously
injured. The floral offerings were of surprising beauty. All the Donnas in the

town, in their thousands, accompanied the cortège conveying the coffin to
the port, where it was placed on an American steamer to be taken to New
York for burial. The local papers contained many really charming sonnets
and poems addressed to the afflicted Doña Jacinta, who, by the way, some
time afterwards followed her lover's body to New York, and there became a
Little Sister of the Poor.

CHAPTER II.

Population.

THERE must have been people in Cuba in the very night of time, for some
prehistoric race has left its trace behind. Numerous stone implements of war
and agriculture, closely resembling those so frequently found in various
parts of Europe, have been unearthed, near Bayamo, in the Eastern
Province. Then, again, within the last thirty years, a number of caneyes or
pyramidical mounds, covering human remains, many of them in a fossilized
condition, have been discovered in the same part of the island. Specimens of
rude pottery, bearing traces of painting, have also been dug up in various
places, and I have in my possession a little terra-cotta figure, representing
an animal not unlike an ant eater, which was found in the neighbourhood of
Puerto Principe, and exhibited in the Colonial Exhibition of 1886. Many
small earthenware images of a god, wearing a kind of cocked hat, and
bearing a strong resemblance to Napoleon I., are often picked up in out-of-
the-way places, but we have no other evidence that the ancient Cubans were
blessed with any conspicuous knowledge of the fine arts. The majority of
the friendly Indians who greeted Columbus on his first landing are believed
to have spoken the same language as the Yucayos of the Bahamas, and the
aboriginal natives of Hayti and Jamaica. Grijalva declares they used a
language similar to that of the natives of Yucatan—at any rate, on his first
expedition into that country, he was accompanied by some Cubans, who
made themselves understood by the inhabitants. Although Columbus
mentions the good looks of the early Cubans with admiration, there is every
reason to believe that the Discoverer flattered them considerably. They seem

to have been men of medium height, broad-shouldered, brown-skinned, flat-
featured, and straight-haired. The women are described as better looking
than the men, and do not appear to have disfigured themselves by
ornamental cheek slashes and other hideous tattooing. They were, as we
have already seen, an amiable set of savages, quite innocent of cannibal
tastes. Their huts were made of palm branches, and their cooking was
performed in the most primitive fashion, over a wood fire, lighted in the
open air. Some of their tribes, more advanced in civilization than others,
wore aprons decorated with shells or with the seeds of the caruba, strung
together in rather pretty designs.[4]
In order to understand the very complex matter known as the Cuban
question, it is necessary for the reader to know something about the
exceedingly mixed population of the island, whereof "Cubans" form by far
the greater part. The present population, estimated at over 1,600,000, may
be divided into six sections[5]:—The Cubans, the Spaniards, the Creoles, the
foreigners, the coloured folk of African origin, of all shades, from the
deepest ebon to the lightest cream, and the coolies or Chinese.
For three hundred years Cuba was exclusively inhabited by Spaniards, or
people of Spanish descent. The political and religious conditions of the
country were therefore far more favourable to peace and unity, and the
island was much less difficult to govern, than in these troublous times of
ours.
The "Cubanos" are the descendants of Spanish colonists, who have
inhabited the island for at least two generations. The slightest admixture of
African blood debars the enjoyment of this distinction. The first Spanish
immigration into Cuba began very soon after the conquest of the island, and
consisted mainly of adventurers who had accompanied the earlier
expeditions, and who settled permanently in the country, after having
returned to Spain, and transported their wives, and such members of their
families as were ready to follow them, to their new homes. Almost all these
individuals were either of Castilian or Andalusian origin. A few years later,
emigrants began to come in from the Basque Provinces, and from Catalonia.
The descendants of these early colonists form the present aristocracy of
Cuba, and many of them bear names which have cast lustre on Spanish
history.[6]

Cuba was governed, for over three centuries, by the laws which bound the
other Hispano-American colonies. These were framed by Philip II., and are
still known as Las Leyes de Indias.
The unbending nature, and jealous religious orthodoxy of the Spaniards,
offered scant encouragement to the establishment of settlers of any other
race or faith. The Inquisition soon reigned in the island, in all its gloomy
and mysterious horror. To its merciless pressure, and frequently cruel action,
we may perhaps ascribe the instinctive hatred of the "powers that be"—so
characteristic of the modern Cuban—even as hereditary memories of the
doings of Mary Tudor and her Spaniard husband have implanted a sullen
distrust of the Spanish nation in the breast of the average Englishman.
From the physical point of view, the Cubans are inferior to their Spanish
forefathers, a fact which may be attributed, perhaps, to the effect of an
enervating climate on successive generations. Still, it has been remarked
that they do not seem to have deteriorated, intellectually, to the same extent
as the descendants of the French and other European Creoles in the West
Indies. They are lithe, active, and occasionally very good-looking, in spite
of their pasty complexions and somewhat lustreless dark eyes. They are
certainly more progressive in their ideas, and more anxious to educate their
sons, at all events, to the highest possible standard, than are their Spanish
cousins. A remarkable impetus was given to education in Cuba by the
celebrated Las Casas, who governed the island from 1790. He increased the
endowment of the University of Havana, which had been established in
1721, and greatly extended its sphere of action, by creating several
important professorial chairs, and notably one of medicine. He assisted the
Jesuits in improving their colleges. It should be noted, to the credit of this
much maligned order, that the Fathers provided their pupils with a thorough
classical education, and also instructed them in foreign languages.
During the great Revolutionary and Napoleonic periods there was
considerable chaos in the island, and the vigilance of the censorship became
so relaxed, that the large towns were flooded with French and Italian
literature of an advanced kind, and the ex-pupils of the Jesuits devoured the
translated works of Voltaire, Rousseau, and Beccaria with an avidity which
must have sorely scandalized their orthodox instructors. The Voltarian spirit
thus introduced amongst the better class of Cubans has endured to this day,

and though they pay every outward respect to their religion, they are
exceedingly sceptical both in thought and speech. During the last seventy
years, again, the country has been overrun by Americans, who have
introduced every form of Protestantism, from Episcopalianism to
Quakerism, and even Shakerism. This large acquaintance with varied
schools of religious thought has had its effect in broadening the horizon of
the Cuban mind. Many young men are sent to schools and colleges in the
United States, in England, in France, in Germany even, or else to the Jesuits'
colleges at Havana and Santiago. Yet the mother country refused for years
to admit even the best class of Cubans to any share in the administration of
the island, and though within the last two decades this rule has been
somewhat relaxed, the result, politically speaking, has not always been
satisfactory, even to the natives. In the legal and medical professions they
have attained brilliant success, and some very large fortunes have been
made. The majority, however, follow the life of planters, or engage in
mercantile pursuits. Here again there is cause for trouble. In bygone days
the Spanish hidalgos were granted large estates in Cuba, and though they
rarely visit the country, they still retain them, entrusting the management of
their property to agents and overseers. Among these absentee landlords are
the Aldamas, Fernandinas, dos Hermanos, Santovenios, and the Terres,
whose palaces in the Cerro quarter of Havana have stood uninhabited for
years, except, perhaps, for an occasional and rare winter visit. Still there are,
or were, until quite lately, many wealthy Cuban planters who reside on their
plantations, with their wives and families. A few years ago—I daresay it is
so still, on such estates as have not been devastated by the Rebels or the
Spaniards—the grown-up sons lived with their parents, each attending to a
separate department of the plantation, until the father died. Then one of
them—the eldest, as a rule—took over the whole estate, paying each of his
brothers a proper proportion of his net yearly earnings, and if sufficient
frugality was exercised, he was able to pay them a share of the original
property into the bargain. But even when these events took place, they did
not necessitate the separation of the family.
The Cubans are naturally a domestic and affectionate people, exceedingly
happy in their home relations. In many a Hacienda, from one to four or five
families will live most peaceably, under the same roof. The men, as a rule,
make excellent husbands, and are passionately fond of their children, whom
they are apt to spoil, and often ruin, by allowing the coloured servants to

over-indulge them. In these patriarchal homesteads, the children, being not a
little isolated from other society, become exceedingly attached to each other.
When the girls attain a marriageable age they are placed in seclusion, under
the charge of a governess, or else sent to one or other of the great convents
in the Capital managed by French and Spanish nuns of the Sacré Cœur,
Assumption, and Ursuline orders. The results of this system are not always
fortunate. Premature marriages abound. Many a Cuban is a father before he
is eighteen years of age, by a wife a couple of years his junior—a fact which
may account, even more, perhaps, than the much-blamed tropical climate,
for the physical inferiority of the race. Then again, as is invariably the case
in slave countries, a pernicious laxity in morals is tolerated, and Cuban life,
in cities and plantations alike, will not, I have been assured on good
authority, bear too close investigation. If the ancestors were devoted to their
Voltaire and their Jean Jacques, the modern descendants are equally zealous
readers of all the most suggestive French and Italian novels. The fine
literature of the mother country has never found much favour in Cuba, and
the educated islanders are far more intimately acquainted with Zola,
Gaboriau, Gyp, and Huyssman than with Cervantes, Calderon, Lope, and
Fernan Cabalero. They do not even patronise their own national drama,
preferring modern French and Italian plays. It is a curious fact that even
really excellent Spanish troupes have failed to attract audiences in Havana,
whereas French and Italian companies have done tremendous business
during the few weeks of their stay in the city. I shall have occasion to speak
elsewhere of the great love of music which has long distinguished the
Cubans, whose principal Opera House has been kept up all through the
century to a pitch of excellence worthy of one of the great European
capitals.
The Cuban women, even in the lower classes, are generally far better
looking than the men. Those of the upper ranks are often extremely
fascinating. Their features are small and delicate, their eyes dark and fine,
and their hair magnificent. Their feet and hands are small, and although they
cannot vie in grace with their Andalusian sisters, they have a distinct and
striking charm, peculiar to themselves. They have a regrettable weakness
for plastering their faces with rice powder, to an extent which sometimes
makes them look absolutely ghastly, and, like most Creoles, they are apt,
except on formal occasions, to neglect the elementary duty of personal
neatness. They are fond of lolling about in their own homes, in wrappers,

none of the cleanest, and are much addicted to swinging in hammocks,
coiling themselves up on sofas, and, above all, rocking lazily to and fro, in
low American chairs.
Of society, even in the city of Havana, there is little or none. A few large
parties are given by the wealthier families in the winter season, but very few
people can converse easily on any interesting subject. Conversation must
soon flag, indeed, in a country where the intellectual pabulum of the fair sex
consists, generally speaking, of a singular combination of the Catholic
prayer-book and the worst stamp of French novel. The usual way of
spending the evening in a Cuban house is to place two long rows of
rocking-chairs opposite one another, and sit chatting, everybody,
meanwhile, smoking the inevitable cigarette. In some of the houses, music
of a high order may be heard, and not a few of the Cuban ladies sing
charmingly. During the Carnival, a good many dances take place in private
houses, but even these are extremely dull, for as soon as a gentleman has
danced with a lady, he is expected to lead her back to her rocking-chair,
where she sits smoking in smiling silence till the arrival of another partner.
It would be thought highly improper for a young man to start a
conversation, let alone a flirtation, with an unmarried girl.
The general want of that association between the sexes, so necessary to the
welfare of each, makes the Cuban women indifferent to the opinion of the
Cuban men. They care for nothing but the most childish chatter and gossip,
have no desire to improve their minds, no ambition beyond that connected
with their own personal comfort and vanity. They marry when they are mere
children, from twelve years of age to about eighteen,—and if no suitor has
appeared upon the scene by that time, they are looked on as old maids.
Belonging to a most prolific race, those who marry soon have large families
about them, and devoted as they are, in most cases, to their children, they
find their happiness in their domestic circle. The haughty spirit derived from
their Spanish ancestry is not dead in the hearts of the Cuban ladies. Many of
them have proved the fact, of late, by qualities of self-sacrifice, courage,
and splendid heroism, which have gone far to carry the revolutionary
struggle to its present phase. The exceedingly pernicious habit of bandaging
infants in swaddling clothes is still prevalent, even in the best regulated
Cuban families. This may account for the excessive infant mortality, for

though as many as eight or ten children are born to most parents, they rarely
succeed in rearing more than three or four.
There is a saying in Havana that "the church is good enough for the old
maids of both sexes." The women are pious from habit. Nearly all of them
begin the day by going to Mass, and in Holy Week they literally live in
church. But, for all this, religion does not seem to have any deep influence
on their lives. The men make no pretence to piety. Generally speaking,
Catholicism in Cuba has become a mere matter of form and custom,
although there are doubtless many sincerely pious people in the island, who
practise all the Christian virtues, both in public and in private. Still, I fear
the clergy can hardly have done their duty by their flocks for many
generations past. Yet, I am assured, a more evangelical spirit is stirring
among them at the present moment. This we may fairly ascribe to the
vigilance and zeal of the present Pope, Leo XIII., who has appointed more
energetic and able bishops than any of his predecessors, since the Apostolic
age. I am assured that the present Archbishop of Santiago and Bishop of
Havana—the island is divided into two dioceses—have effected many
remarkable reforms, not only among their clergy, but also among the laity.
To resume: the Cubans are, as I have already indicated, the descendants of
Spaniards born on the island. They form considerably over a third of the
population. The true Spanish population, which is not at all numerous,
includes the absentee grandees, who own at least a fourth of the island, the
numerous officials sent out from Spain, and the very considerable garrison
which has always been kept in Cuba, to maintain order, and suppress all
attempts at open rebellion. The Spaniards keep very much to themselves,
although, of course, many of them are allied with Cuba by family ties, and
are on very friendly terms, in times of peace, with their own kinsfolk. Still,
there is a local feeling against them, as the representatives of bad
government in a sorely-troubled colony. Their manners and customs are not
quite identical with those of the natives. Their women, for instance, have a
far higher sense of dignity than the native ladies. They are more sincerely
pious, and, in many cases, far more highly educated and accomplished. On
the other hand, the men are extremely overbearing and exclusive. Their
manners are ridiculously elaborate, but their hospitality, though courteously
proffered, is less genuine than that of the native Cubans. When a Cuban

says, "Come and stay," or "Come and dine with me," he means it, and is
hurt, however humble his circumstances may be, if you refuse.
During the last fifty years, a great many Americans have established
themselves in Cuba as planters, merchants, and shopkeepers. They come
from all parts of the United States, and associate very little with the
Spaniards, although they are generally very friendly with the Cubans. The
principal American settlements are at Cardenas, quite a modern town, and
known as "The American City," Havana, Cienfuegos, and Santiago. The
Spaniards, on the other hand, suspect and dislike the Americans. There are
not many English established on the island. The railroads, however, and
some of the best tobacco estates, are mainly in British hands. There is a
small French colony, consisting mainly, I am assured, of persons who
cannot live in their own country. In the old slave times, most of the
overseers were Frenchmen who had been expelled from France, and not a
few were well known as having "served their time." There is also a small
Italian colony, and a very considerable German contingent, who live their
own lives, apart from their neighbours. Until within quite recent times no
religion but the Roman Catholic was tolerated on the island, but, at the
present moment, there is, if anything, greater freedom of worship than in
Spain itself. From all I have heard, Cuba is the last place in the world where
people trouble their heads over theological or philosophical questions. Life
is essentially materialistic, and the chief aim and struggle of existence is to
get as much comfort as may be, out of an exceedingly uncomfortable
climate.
The Jews in Cuba barely number 500, and are mostly of Spanish origin,
and engaged in trade. A great many Jews fled to the West Indies from Spain,
in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but few remained in the Spanish
possessions. The danger was too great. Five or six of the Cuban Jewish
families are reported wealthy, and are much respected, but they keep
entirely to themselves. We next come to the two last divisions of the
heterogeneous population of the Pearl of the Antilles,—the coloured race,
and the Coolies.
The coloured folk of Cuba, who vary, as I have said, from the deepest
ebony to the lightest cream, form a little over a third of the whole
population. That they are not more numerous in proportion to the whites, is

due to causes which I shall endeavour to explain hereafter. At a very early
date, slaves were introduced into Cuba, to replace the massacred aborigines.
At first the black merchandise was exceedingly dear; in fact, according to
ancient authorities, slaves were "worth their weight in gold." But, in the
seventeenth century, the importation from Africa began on a great scale,
though very few females were at first landed, as the majority died on the
way over. This fact necessitated a system of constant replenishment of the
males, and it was only in the last century that negresses were brought to
Cuba in any great numbers. Their appearance was followed by the
inevitable result—a peaceful invasion of small niggers. And the dusky
Venus found scores of worshippers, among the haughty Dons. Even worthy
Brian Edwards, the pious author of the History of the West Indies, did not
neglect to pay tribute to the charms of the "Sable Aphrodite" in an Ode from
which I cannot resist culling the following lines:—
Her skin excell'd the raven plume,
Her breath the fragrant orange bloom,
Her eye the tropic beam.
Soft was her lip as silken down,
And mild her look as ev'ning sun
That gilds the Cobre stream.

The loveliest limbs her form compose,
Such as her sister Venus chose
In Florence, where she's seen,
But just alike, except the white,
No difference, no—none at night,
The beauteous dames between.

O sable Queen! thy mild domain
I seek, and court thy gentle reign,
So soothing, soft, and sweet,
Where meeting love, sincere delight,
Fond pleasure, ready joys invite,
And unbought raptures meet.

The prating Frank, the Spaniard proud,

The double Scot, Hibernian loud,
And sullen English, own
The pleasing softness of thy sway,
And here, transferr'd allegiance pay,
For gracious is thy throne.
Notwithstanding the nominal abolition of the slave trade, something like
half a million of slaves have been imported into Cuba since the first treaty
between England and France,—for the gradual abolition of slavery was
officially signed in 1856. The traffic continued even as late as 1886, when
slavery was at last entirely and finally suppressed. It was often connived at
by the Governor, and other high officials at Havana, who thus increased
their popularity, and their private fortunes. In the course of 1878 I was told,
on good authority, of a cargo of sixty Congo negroes, which had just been
landed in a small port in the neighbourhood of Havana, and sold to planters
in the interior. The first step towards emancipation was the freeing of all
infants born of slave parents, and of all slaves who had attained their fiftieth
year. This was achieved in 1856, with very curious consequences. The
infants, being deemed worthless by their parents' owners, as soon as they
realised the fact that when the children were reared they would have no
control over them, were purposely neglected, and thousands of them
perished in their earliest years. The old folk, on the other hand, were, in
most instances, turned adrift, to enjoy their freedom as best they might, as
vagrants on the highways and byways, or as beggars in the towns. Not a few
died of starvation, and this is one of the main causes which has reduced the
coloured population in Cuba much below its natural proportion, to that of
other countries, where slavery has lately existed. Many years have elapsed
since slaves were publicly sold in the market-places of Havana and the large
cities, but until ten years ago, advertisements for their sale continued in the
principal papers, and I hold a collection of these, which proves that very
little or no attention was paid to the freedom of infants, even after the
passing of the law in 1856. For the majority of these advertisements refer to
children of twelve and fifteen years of age, who are generally offered for
"private sale," the intending purchaser being asked to "inspect the goods at
the house of the present proprietor." Here is a specimen, dated April 1885:
—"Anyone who requires a nice active little girl of light colour, aged 12, can
inspect her at the house of her mistress. Price to be settled between the

parties privately" (here follows the address). This is a proof, if proof were
needed, of how the slave laws were regarded in Cuba; and even now, I am
assured, in many of the more lonely plantations, the blacks have not fully
realized that they are free, and continue working gratuitously, as in the old
days. On the other hand, the vast majority, being of opinion that freedom
means idleness, have ceased labour altogether, and, as their requirements
are remarkably modest, a number of them have departed for the woods and
wildernesses, where they lead much the primitive life led by their forebears
in their native Africa. These refugees have proved admirable recruits for the
rebel army, and have, on more than one occasion, found an opportunity of
wreaking their vengeance on their late masters' plantations and homesteads.
I do not think the slaves were any worse treated in Cuba than in the
Southern States of America before the Abolition, and, indeed, I have not
noticed in Latin slave-owning countries that strong prejudice, on the part of
the whites, against the blacks, which exists all over the United States, and
amounts to a sense of absolute loathing. I am convinced the free blacks in
Cuba are better treated than their liberated brethren in the Southern States.
They are more civilly handled by the whites, who appear to me to have very
little or no prejudice against them. They mingle freely with the white
congregations in the churches, and are even allowed to walk in the various
religious processions, side by side with their late owners. If the Americans
ever conquer Cuba, they will have to deal with a coloured population which
has long been accustomed to far more courteous treatment than the Yankees
are likely to vouchsafe to it.
The Spanish laws for the protection of the slaves were remarkable for their
humanity. According to the Leyes de Indias, all slaves had to be baptized,
and their marriages were to be considered legal. It was unlawful to separate
families. In the towns and villages, judicial tribunals were instituted, to
which any slave could have recourse against his master. It was illegal to
administer more than twenty-five lashes in a single week on the bare back
of any slave, male or female. It was murder to kill a slave, unless, indeed, it
could be proved that he had attempted to assassinate his master, or strike
him, to burn his house or property, or to violate his wife, daughter, or any
other white female, howsoever humble, in his employ. But these laws,
unfortunately, were rarely observed. It is true that Syndicates, as they were
termed, existed in the capital and in all the larger towns, and were

occasionally useful to the household slaves. But the unfortunate plantation
hands were either utterly ignorant of the existence of these tribunals, or
were unable to reach them. If a bold applicant contrived to apply to these
organizations, his master soon found means to make him regret his temerity.
The slaves were well fed, because they were considered useful beasts of
burden. But during the sugar harvest they were cruelly overworked,
sometimes labouring nineteen or twenty hours out of the twenty-four, and
this for weeks at a stretch, without any interruption, even on the Sundays.
They would often fall down exhausted from sheer fatigue, only to struggle
to their feet again under the overseer's merciless whip. Personally, I
witnessed very few acts of cruelty, during a visit to the island before the
emancipation. Once I did see a number of blacks in the coffee fields
wantonly flipped with the whip, simply to keep them "spry," as the Yankees
say. One horrible instance, however, took place to my knowledge. A
strikingly handsome mulatto had escaped into the woods. For a week after
his recapture he was daily subjected to the most horrible tortures, the
ostensible object of which was to strike terror into the souls of such of his
fellow slaves who might be tempted to follow his example. They subjected
him to torments too shocking for description, and rubbed his wounds with
agua ardiente. The poor wretch, writhing in agony, and shrieking with pain,
was bound hand and foot to the stump of a tree. The strangest part of it was
that the niggers for whom this torture, which eventually ended in death, was
intended as a warning, did not seem impressed by its horror. They merely
laughed and shrieked like so many fiends—possibly they were accustomed
to such scenes, and callous. The excuse given for the diabolical treatment of
this particular slave was that he had escaped into the forest, where a number
of other runaways were in hiding, and had formed a dangerous association,
with the object of pillage and incendiarism. I afterwards learnt that the
master of the plantation on which the awful crime took place was notorious
for his brutality, and consequently shunned by all his neighbours. A year or
so later, he was arrested on some charge or other connected with the ill-
treatment of his slaves, and after paying a heavy fine, found it to his interest
to leave the island. He came to Paris, where he was well known for his
eccentricity and extravagance, and there died some years ago. Even in the
case of this unfavourable specimen of the Cuban planter the household
slaves were treated with the utmost indulgence, and petted and pampered to
their hearts' content. They were as vicious, idle, happy-go-lucky a lot as

ever existed! I did hear some horrible stories of fiendish cruelty devised by
spiteful mistresses, and inflicted upon their female servants. One, for
instance, which may or may not have been true, of a lady who, because her
own eyes worried her, stabbed out those of her waiting-maid with pins.
Perhaps the worst features of slavery in Cuba were, as I have already stated,
the length of the working hours, and the fact that the masters considered
their religious duty to have ended with the wholesale administration of
baptism. It never entered their heads to teach the poor wretches any lesson
beyond that of implicit obedience to their own will and caprice. Even the
rudiments of the catechism were absolutely forbidden. Many a worthy priest
has found, to his cost, that any attempt to Christianize the field hands was
the worst possible mistake he could make in their owners' eyes. It not only
involved him in difficulties with the masters, but with his own ecclesiastical
superiors. The Jesuits and Franciscans were persecuted, and threatened with
expulsion over and over again, because they persisted in their efforts to
convert the negroes. The fact is, the masters were quick to understand that
the ethics of Christianity are not compatible with slavery. Yet many
household slaves received a religious education rather elaborate than
otherwise, were obliged to attend morning and evening prayers, and to say
the Rosary, a very favourite form of devotion at the present time with all
Cuban negroes, who will sit for hours in the glaring sun, telling their beads
and smoking cigarettes, with the oddest imaginable expression of mingled
piety and self-indulgence on their faces. Although the days of slavery are
long since passed,—and they were quite as harmful to the whites as they
were to the negroes,—the condition of the dark population in Cuba has not
greatly improved. On some of the more lonely plantations, as I have pointed
out elsewhere, they still seem unaware that they are emancipated, but the
vast majority have foresworn all regular employment, and live as best they
can, from hand to mouth.
That portion of the coloured population of Cuba which has been free for
several generations, is in better case than the corresponding section in the
United States. The negroes belonging to it earn their living as labourers,
workmen, servants, hackney-coach drivers, messengers, and even as
musicians, in the various towns. Some few are fairly well off. Whatever
their vices may be, they are by no means ambitious, and are contented with
the simplest pleasures. The men love a glass of agua ardiente, and the
women delight in any scrap of cast-off finery with which they can parade

the streets, and show themselves off to the admiration and envy of their
neighbours. I fancy that half the old ball dresses in Europe find their way,
after various vicissitudes, to Cuba. On a Sunday or a feast-day, the ebon
ladies sally forth in all their glory, arrayed in their white sisters' cast-off
finery, with low necks and short sleeves. The matter of underclothing is
frequently altogether overlooked, shoes and stockings never by any chance
appear, but a bright flower is invariably stuck in each woolly pate. Some of
the holiday makers sport a pair of long kid gloves, which have the oddest
possible effect. In church the dusky beauties squat, beads in hand, upon the
floor of the nave, which is reserved for their accommodation, while the
gentlemen darkies stand round in the side aisles. When Mass is over, the
sable congregation pours forth into the sunny streets, each member, almost
without exception, armed with a cigarette. The little negro children are the
sweetest little rascals upon earth, and I can quite understand the enthusiastic
lady who was heard to exclaim "Oh, why can't we have black babies who
turn white when they grow up." These said black babies are inconceivably
quaint, and the older children charming, and very intelligent, till they reach
their twelfth year, when their brains suddenly appear to cease all
development, excepting in the imitative arts. The Cuban negroes are madly
fond of music, and although they prefer the dreadful tom-tom, and their own
barbaric sounds, imported, doubtless, from Africa, they will crowd the
galleries of the Tacon Theatre to listen to Italian operas. When I was last in
Havana, nearly every darkie you met was whistling the Toreador song from
"Carmen," the favourite opera then being performed, to the accompaniment
of an orchestra largely composed of coloured people,—a peculiarity which
would never be tolerated in the States, where no white conductor would lead
a mixed band, and where half the audience would leave the house on
beholding woolly heads bending over instruments played by sable hands.
Many members of the Tacon orchestra, one of the best in existence, are full-
blooded negroes, and, with their co-operation, not only Italian, but
Wagnerian opera, is successfully performed.
Slavery has unfortunately been replaced, in Cuba, by coolie labour, a form
of the same cruel institution, which, for some occult reason, has never
excited the same amount of horror in Europe, possibly because it does not
bear the actual name of slavery, and because most people imagine the
wretched coolie sells himself, instead of being sold. In 1877 there were
43,000 Chinese workmen on the island, all that remained out of 100,000,

originally imported, of whom not less than 16,000 had died on their way out
from China. At the present moment the coolies number something like
40,000. These poor wretches do not bring their female belongings with
them, and are consequently reduced to a condition of enforced celibacy; for
so great is the contempt in which these voluntary slaves are held, not even
the lowest negress will have anything to do with them. Despised by the
whites, and detested by the blacks, they lead a miserable life, and die like
flies, in the scorching climate. The very partial success of the coolie
immigration scheme led, some years ago, to the importation of Mayas from
Yucatan, but this has not been followed by happy results; and what with the
depreciation of tropical produce, the number of estates which have gone out
of cultivation, and the revolutionary movement, the present condition of the
coloured class, and of the coolies, is exceedingly deplorable. They have
swollen the ranks of the malcontents, and form a portion of that starving
multitude of which we have heard so much of late. In a word, they are
workmen out of employment, starving plantation hands, and their condition
seems irremediable, unless, indeed, some wealthy Power should eventually
take the island in hand, and spend countless millions in the endeavour to lift
it, once more, to its former condition of prosperity.

CHAPTER III.

A Brief History of the Island.

IT was on the morning of Friday, 12th October 1492, that Christopher
Columbus first saw the New World rising on the ocean horizon. The
ardently prayed-for land proved to be an island, called by the natives
Guanahanè, and by the explorer baptized San Salvador, but known to us
now as the chief of the Bahamas group. After making friends with the gentle
natives, and taking in supplies of food and water, Columbus, though at some
loss as to which way he should direct his course, set sail once more. Such a
multitude of islands lay before him, large and small, "green, level, and
fertile," that he grew fairly confused as to which way to turn. He fancied he
was sailing in the Archipelago, described by Marco Polo as studding the

seas which washed the shores of Chin, or China, a great, great distance from
the mainland. These, the Venetian traveller had declared, numbered some
7000 or 8000—rich in gold, silver, drugs, spices, and many other precious
objects of commerce. Night obscured the delightful vision, and the verdure-
clad islands faded into the tropical darkness. The next morning Columbus
landed on a pretty islet, the inhabitants of which greeted him in the most
friendly manner, and to which he gave the name of Santa Maria de la
Concepcion. But the extreme simplicity of their costume—they were clad in
all their native innocence—and the absence of all signs of wealth, led the
Discoverer to think that perhaps, after all, he was still far from that part of
the world mentioned by the imaginative Marco. Next, he landed on a
beautiful island, now known as Exuma, to which he gave the name of
Fernandina, in honour of His Most Christian Majesty. Here the ladies
betrayed more native modesty, for, he gravely assures us, "they wore
mantles made of feathers, and cotton aprons." He had disembarked in a
noble harbour, bordered by shady groves, "as fresh and green as in the
month of May in Andalusia." The trees, the fruits, the herbs, the flowers, the
very stones, were, for the most part, as different from those of Spain as day
is to night.
On 19th October he left Fernandina, steering towards another island,
called Saometo, where, as he gathered from the natives, he was to find rich
mines of gold, and a monarch who held sway over all the surrounding lands.
This potentate was said to dwell in a mighty city, and to wear garments
studded with gold and gems. He reached the island in due time, but neither
monarch nor mine found he. It was a delightful spot, however, blessed with
deep lakes of fresh water, and with such swarms of singing-birds that the
explorer felt, so he declared, that he could "never desire to depart thence.
There are flocks of parrots which obscure the sun, and other brilliant birds
of so many kinds and sizes, and all different from ours, that it is wonderful,
and besides, there are trees of a thousand sorts, each having its particular
fruit, and of marvellous flavour." To this enchanting island he gave the
name of Isabella, after his royal patroness.
Whilst the Discoverer was seeking for healing herbs, and "delighting in
the fragrance of sweet and dainty flowers," and, moreover, "believing that
here were many herbs which would be of great price in Spain for tinctures
and medicines," his followers were clamouring to the natives concerning the

whereabouts of mines of gold and silver, which, we need hardly say, existed
only in their ardent, greedy, and deluded imaginations. Whether Columbus
and his companions mistook the natives' signs or not, certain it is that, for
several days, he was once more convinced he was in the neighbourhood of
the islands of which Marco Polo had written. The capital of this archipelago
was supposed to be a city called Quinsai, and there Columbus intended
personally to deliver the letter of the Castilian sovereigns to the mysterious
Khan. With his mind full of such airy castles, he set sail from Isabella on the
24th October, steering, haphazard, west-south-west. After three days'
navigation, in the course of which he touched at a group of small islands,
which he christened Islas de Arena, now supposed to be the Mucacas, he
crossed the Bahama Bank, and hove in sight of Cuba. Lost in contemplation
of the size and grandeur of the new island, its high soaring mountains,
which, he tells us, reminded him of those of Sicily, its fertile valleys, its
long, sweeping, and well-watered plains; its stately forests, its bold
promontories and headlands melting away into the softest distance, he once
more concluded that this, at last, must be the enchanted country of the
Venetian explorer. Landing, he took possession in the name of Christ, Our
Lady, and the Sovereigns of Spain, and christened the new country Juana, in
honour of the Infanta Doña Juana. The land on which he set foot is believed
to have been just to the west of Nuevitas del Principe, the seaport of the city
of Puerto Principe. The objects which first arrested his attention were a
couple of huts, from which the inmates had fled. Their interiors boasted no
evidences of civilization or wealth. Their sole contents were a few fishing-
nets, hooks, harpoons of bone, and a queer sort of dog (the breed, alas, is
now extinct, I fear!), "which never barks." With the humane consideration
which distinguished the illustrious Italian, though his Spanish followers can
never be said to have followed his good example, Columbus ordered that
nothing should be touched or disturbed in the two cabins. There was a
certain foresight, too, about the order; it was more advantageous to pose as a
demi-god than to run the risk of being taken for a thief.[7]
The scenery of Cuba is described by Columbus in his usual glowing
language. Then, as now, it was a marvel of tropical beauty. He was specially
impressed by the vivid splendour of the jewelled humming-birds, which
hovered around the innumerable and gorgeous blossoms clustering every
bough. The smaller species of fireflies he had frequently seen in Italy, but

the luccioli of the Old World were as sparks to lamps beside the meteor-like
creatures which, even on the brightest nights, made a flickering radiance in
the Cuban forests. In a word, Cuba broke upon him like an Elysium. "It is
the most beautiful island that eye of man ever beheld, full of excellent
woods and deep flowing rivers." He was utterly convinced, now, he had
reached Cipango, that wonderful spot which, according to Marco Polo,
possessed mountains of gold, and a shore the sands of which were strewn
with oriental pearls. A worthy native further deluded the already over-
credulous Discoverer by inducing him to believe that the centre of the
island, at a place called Cubanacan, literally glittered with gold. Now
Cubanacan is uncommonly like Cublia-Khan, the name of the Tartar
sovereign mentioned by Polo, and this confusion of names probably led
Columbus and his companions to the conviction that Cuba was not an
island, but part of the main continent.
Suddenly, one day, the weather changed; the sky, hitherto as blue as a
turquoise, grew dark and heavy, torrents of rain began to fall, and Columbus
was obliged to relinquish all further pursuit of adventure in the heart of the
island, and to confine his operations to the coast.
There is nothing more pathetic in the "Journal" of Columbus than those
passages which deal with the discovery of Cuba. Illusion after illusion fades
away. To-day there are reports of gold and silver mines; to-morrow someone
has heard of cinnamon and nutmeg trees, and even of the humble rhubarb,
but, on examination, gold and silver, cinnamon, nutmeg, and rhubarb, all
prove delusions. The Spaniards showed the natives pearls, at which they
merely smiled,—to them they were naught but pretty white beads. Gold did
not impress them as being of any particular value or beauty; and they were
understood to say that, in the more distant parts of the country, the people
wore ornaments made of that precious metal about their necks, arms, and
ankles. Then came an old native who announced that further on dwelt men
who had but one eye, and that below their shoulders; others who had dogs'
heads; and others, again, who were vampires, and sucked their prisoners'
blood until they died of exhaustion, and thereby confirmed Othello's
account of his adventures—
"In lands where dwell cannibals that each other eat,
The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads

Do grow beneath their shoulders."
Everything, in a word, was new and wonderful, and everything tended to
make the Discoverer think he was approaching that object of his dreams,
"the city of the Khan."
In November he was still wandering down the coast of the magnificent
island, which he believed to be part of the Continent,—an error in which he
continued until his death. Yet, had he but sailed three days further, he would
have touched the main coast of Florida. Certain writers assert that he landed
in British Honduras, without, however, realizing that, by so doing, he had
discovered the real Continent of America.
Here we must take our leave of the illustrious Discoverer and his
adventures. If I have dwelt so long upon them, it has been simply in order to
impress my readers with the fact that, when Columbus reached Cuba, he
discovered a country, the inhabitants of which were evidently at peace
among themselves and their neighbours. Yet, almost from the day of his
arrival to the present time, the unhappy island has been stained by incessant
tragedy. The illustrious Italian firmly believed he had brought a blessing to
the natives. His arrival, alas! only signified the beginning of their
extermination.
The early inhabitants, not only of Cuba, but of all the other islands, were
certainly of common origin, spoke the same language, practised the same
customs, and held similar superstitions. They bore a distinct resemblance to
certain tribes of Indians on the main Continent, to the Arrowauk in
particular. They were well made, of dark brown complexion, with goodly
features and long straight hair. They went by the generic name of Charaibes
or Caribees. Several distinct tribes may have existed, but the evidence is
that they were all of one family, which had in all probability swarmed out of
the great hive of the Mexican empire. Juan de Grijalva, a Spanish navigator,
declared, in 1518, that he found a people on the coast of Yucatan who spoke
the same language as the natives of the island. According to Las Casas, and
to Peter Martyr, who wrote on the authority of Columbus himself, there
were about 1,200,000 souls in Cuba at the time of its discovery. This was
possibly the result of some rough calculation made upon the large number
of people noticed as living upon the immediate sea-board. It is certain that

not Cuba only, but all the neighbouring islands, were thickly populated at
the time of their discovery, and also that the aborigines were exceedingly
gentle in character. They almost invariably received the European
adventurers as beings of a superior order, who had alighted from some spirit
world, evidently with the intention of doing them good—a conviction
strengthened by the graceful courtesy which still distinguishes their
descendants in Spain and Italy. This conviction was, ere long, to be cruelly
shaken! The islanders, in spite of many virtues, had a moral code of the
loosest description, and, if we may believe Ovando, Europe owes them its
first acquaintance with one of the most terrible penalties exacted by Nature
from the too fervent worshipper of Venus. Labour and cultivation appear to
have been little practised by the Caribbees, who found the great fertility of
their country sufficient to enable them to lead a life of delightful indolence.
Their fashions never changed—since they had none to change—and their
wives' milliner's bills troubled them not. They spent their time in athletic
exercises, in dancing, hunting, fishing, and in fact, according to
contemporary Spanish evidence, the aboriginal Cubans would seem to have
discovered the real secret of life, and to have been far more philosophical
than their restless and over-ambitious conquerors.
They treated their elders with respect, and their wives with affection; and
they were untainted with cannibalism and other objectionable savage
practices. The discovery of fragments of ancient pottery, by no means
inartistically designed, and other objects indicating a higher civilization than
that for which Columbus gave them credit, would lead one to believe that
the natives were not devoid of a certain degree of culture. Contemporary
testimony is almost universally in favour of their firm belief in the existence
of a personal Deity, who had power to reward merit and punish vice, a
heaven and a hell. Columbus, according to his own account, seems, between
the years 1492-4, to have acquired sufficient knowledge of the Indian
language to understand a good deal of what was said to him. He had taken
two Indians back with him to Spain, and had studied assiduously with them.
However that may be, he declares that on one occasion, in July 1494, during
his second visit, an aged Cuban made him the following speech as he
presented him with a basket of fruit and flowers: "Whether you are a
divinity," said he, "or a mortal man, we know not. You come into these
countries with a force which we should be mad to resist, even if we were so
inclined. We are all, therefore, at your mercy; but if you and your followers

are men like ourselves, subject to mortality, you cannot be unapprised that
after this life there is another, wherein a very different portion is allotted to
good and bad men. And if you believe you will be rewarded in a future
state, you will do us no harm, for we intend none to you."
The fairy-like opening of the dramatic history of Cuba, with all the quaint
descriptions of its Eden-like beauty bequeathed to us in its Discoverer's
Journal, was soon to degenerate into a horrible tragedy. Not a generation
elapsed before the Spaniards were deep in the very tactics which have been
disgracing their behaviour in Cuba during this last decade. In the most
wanton, senseless, and barbarous fashion, they fell on the wretched natives,
with no other object than that of extirpating them, so as to usurp their
possessions. They even went so far as to assure the poor wretches that if
they would embark with them on their ships they would take them to certain
islands where their ancestors resided, and where they would enjoy a state of
bliss of which they had no conception. The simple souls listened with
wondrous credulity, and, eager to visit their friends in the happy region
described, followed the Spaniards with the utmost docility. By these
damnable devices over 40,000 human beings were decoyed from their
homes and ruthlessly slaughtered. Las Casas and Peter Martyr relate tales
by the dozen concerning the frightful cruelty of the men whom they had the
misfortune to accompany to the New World. Martyr tells us that some
Spaniards made a vow to hang or burn thirteen natives in honour of the
Saviour and the Twelve Apostles every morning. Certain monsters, more
zealous than the rest, drove their captives into the water, and after forcibly
administering the rite of baptism, cut their throats to prevent their apostacy.
But I will not harrow the reader with further accounts of the astounding
cruelty shown by the Spanish conquerors of Cuba. I will simply repeat with
their own historian, Martyr, "that in the whole history of the world such
enormities have never before been practised." If any further testimony were
needed, we have that of the venerable Las Casas. Even Oviado, who strives
to palliate his countrymen's barbarities, confesses that in 1535, only forty-
three years after the discovery of the West Indies, and when he himself was
on the spot, there were not above 500 of the original natives left alive in the
island of Hispaniola.[8]
This wholesale massacre may have been carried out with a view to
ensuring the complete Spanish repopulation of the islands. The destruction

of the natives naturally led, in course of time, to the importation, on a very
large scale, of negro slavery, and the unnatural trade continued until its final
abolition, which took place some twelve years ago. Traces of Indian blood
are still evident amongst the inhabitants of the wild regions in the eastern
part of Cuba, who boast indeed that they are the "Caribbees." The women
are especially beautiful, and remarkable for the extraordinary length of their
hair, which sometimes touches the ground. A female attendant in the house
of a planter whom I visited in this part of the island some years ago, was, I
was assured, of undoubted Caribbean descent. She was rather tall, copper-
coloured, and her hair, when she let it fall loose, nearly reached her ankles,
perfectly straight, and intensely black. She was not a slave, and was treated
with respect and kindness by her employers.
Although Columbus revisited the island three times before he returned to
Spain, to rest his weary bones in that peace his enemies so persistently
denied him, he died, as I have said, in the full conviction that it formed part
of the Asiatic continent, and it was not until 1508 that, at the command of
Nicola Ovanda, a certain Captain Sebastian circumnavigated the island, and
established the undoubted fact of its being completely surrounded by water.
In 1511, Columbus' son Diego, then Governor of Hispaniola, otherwise
Hayti, sent Diego Velasquez to Cuba, with full authority to colonize it. This
process he performed by parcelling out the island among his followers and
reducing the natives to slavery. The poor creatures, never having been
accustomed to hard work, rebelled, and were forthwith mercilessly
exterminated. Velasquez founded many towns, among them Baracoa,
Bayamo, Trinidad, Puerto Principe, Santiago de Cuba (in 1515), and San
Christobal de Habana (Havana) (in 1519), this last city not exactly in its
present position.
More interesting by far than Velasquez was his lieutenant, Hernando
Cortez, eventually to be known as the intrepid explorer of Mexico. The
lustre of his career in Cuba was stained, however, by his ferocious treatment
of the aborigines, whom he condemned to work in his newly discovered
copper mines, and tortured to death because they refused to obey their
taskmaster. His love affairs, on the other hand, were romantic, and are still
enshrined in the legendary history of the island. His great, if cruel, name
figures in many a folk-lore tale, but no allusion is ever made to his
subsequent adventures on the main continent. Velasquez, too, is not

forgotten. His Governorship had evidently many features of excellence, and
if he bears the shame of having introduced the curse of negro slavery, he
must be given credit for having planted the first sugar cane in his fair
domain.
After his death, in 1524, the history of Cuba is a blank until the year 1538,
when Hernando de Soto landed in the island, and fitted out, in the harbour
of Santiago, the celebrated but unfortunate expedition to Florida, by means
of which he hoped to annex that country to the Spanish territory. The
undertaking, one of vast importance to the future welfare of the New World,
was disastrous in many ways. The flower of the Spanish colonists perished
in numerous battles with the natives, Cuba was drained of her European
population, and the progress of the island lamentably retarded. Meanwhile,
the venerable Las Casas had settled himself in Havana, and started many
wise reforms. Thanks to him, the future enslavement of the natives was
rendered impossible. The benevolent law, unfortunately, came all too late—
the great majority had already perished. Las Casas built several charitable
institutions and hospitals in various parts of the island, notably at Havana
and Santiago, and obtained for Havana the grant of civic rights, as capital of
the island. For a few years Cuba enjoyed a measure of peace and prosperity,
interrupted by fierce occasional raids by French, Dutch, and English
buccaneers and pirates.
The great Buccaneering period in West Indian history, from the second
quarter of the sixteenth century till the end of the seventeenth, is one of the
most romantic and exciting that can be conceived. This celebrated
association of piratical adventurers maintained itself in the Caribbean seas
for over a century, by dint of audacity, bravery, and shrewdness. It was
organized for a systematic series of reprisals on the Spaniards; but in the
course of time all sense of honour disappeared, and its members indulged in
indiscriminate piracy. Its name, singular to relate, is derived from the
Caribbee word bucan, a term for preserved meat, smoked dry in a peculiar
manner. From this the French adventurers formed the verb bucaner and the
noun bucanier, which was eventually adopted, oddly enough, by the
English, whereas the French preferred the word filibustier, a possible
corruption of our "freebooter," still used to designate a certain portion of the
Cuban rebels. The real motive for the existence of the buccaneers was the
universal detestation in which Spain was held in the West Indian

Archipelago. The Spanish assumption of a divine right to half of the New
World, in accordance with the grant bestowed on them by Pope Alexander
VI., and traced in his own hand on the famous Borgian map, and the
diabolical cruelties practised by them upon all foreign interlopers who
chanced to fall into their hands, led to an association for mutual defence
among all adventurers of other nations, whom the reports of its fabulous
wealth had attracted to this part of the New World. Their policy was war to
the death against all Spaniards. Their code was of the simplest. They lived
in community: locks and bars were proscribed as an insult to their honesty.
Each buccaneer had his comrade, who stood by him when alive, and
succeeded to his property at his death. Their centre of operations was the
island of Tortuga, near San Domingo, where, when not hunting the
Spaniards or being hunted by them in return, they enjoyed peace of a kind.
Their life was wild and terrible, and their history teems with cruelty and
bloodshed, but the lurid page is lighted here and there by tales of romantic
adventure, chivalrous valour, and brilliant generalship. Cupid, too,
occasionally lent his aid to soften the rugged asperities of the buccaneer's
career. Who has not heard how Peter of Dieppe fell in love with, and carried
off, the daughter of the Governor of Havana? and of how Van Horn lost his
life in saving his daughter's honour? Pre-eminent amongst such names as
L'Olonnais, Michael de Busco, Bartholomeo de Portuguez, and Mansvelt,
stands forth that of Henry Morgan, the Welshman, who organised fleets and
armies, besieged rich cities, reduced strong fortresses, displayed throughout
his long career an absolute genius for command, was finally knighted by
Charles II., and ended his wild and spirited career as Deputy-Governor of
Jamaica, a somewhat tame conclusion! Had he loved gold less, and power
more, he might have died Emperor of the West Indies, but he was content to
retire into comparative obscurity with his enormous fortune, after having
made the western hemisphere, from Jamaica to Rio, ring with his name and
fame. The buccaneers were then, as we see, a thoroughly well organised
association of sea-banditti, consisting mainly of English, French, and Dutch
adventurers, who harassed the coast of Cuba for over a century, and finally,
with the connivance of their respective Governments, laid hands on
Jamaica, Hayti, and others of the islands. In 1528 they even ventured to
attack Havana, set the town on fire, and reduce it to ashes. There were no
fortifications to repel them then, and the straw and wooden buildings burnt
merrily. When the buccaneers evacuated the ruins, Hernando de Soto, the

future discoverer of the Mississippi, hastened from Santiago, where he was
residing, and set himself to work to rebuild the city in its present position,
and surround it by well-designed and constructed fortresses. So great was
the terror inspired by the buccaneers, that special laws were enacted in Cuba
to protect the seaports from their predatory attacks. People were ordered to
keep within their doors after certain hours of the night. Every man was
commanded to wear his sword, not only by day, but by night, and it was
death to assist any buccaneer who attempted to escape, after falling into the
hands of the Spaniards. In 1556, Jacob Sores, a famous pirate, whose much-
dreaded name was used by the Cuban women to frighten their unruly
children, again attacked Havana, reduced the fortress, and sacked the church
and city. Terrible stories are told of the outrages and murders which he
committed, and of his hair-breadth escape from being captured, which he
owed to a Spanish lady who had fallen desperately in love with him. After
the departure of Sores and his gang, Havana and the other growing cities of
the island were fortified afresh, so that when Drake arrived in 1555, he
thought twice before attacking the capital, and sailed away without firing a
shot. In 1589 Philip II. built two castles, the Morro and Los tres Reyes (The
Three Kings), designed by Giovanni Batista Antonelli, an Italian architect in
his employ. These exist to this day, though, of course, greatly modified,
especially of late years, by being adapted to modern purposes of warfare.
Havana now had become too strong for the buccaneers, and although they
frequently threatened it, they dared not venture near enough to do much
harm. The town repulsed the persistent attack of the Dutch Admiral, Jolls,
who menaced it from August to September 1628.
During the seventeenth century, Havana and the other large towns of Cuba
were greatly extended, surrounded by walls (portions of which, as well as
the picturesque old gates, were recently standing), and soon became
renowned throughout the West Indies for their wealth and luxury. The long
series of Spanish Governors, or Captains-General, as they were and are still
called, made a point of importing splendid equipages, plate, china, and even
pictures by the great Spanish masters. When His Excellency went abroad, it
was in a gilded coach, not unlike that of our Lord Mayor, drawn by twelve
mules, caparisoned in yellow, red, and gold, the national colours of the
kingdom. A host of slaves of every tint, wearing gorgeous liveries, followed,
some on horseback, others running by the side of the sumptuous vehicle.
Trumpeters preceded, and men in armour closed the procession. His

Excellency's consort, who had to enact the part of Vice-Queen, was
instructed, before leaving Madrid, in all the formidable etiquette of the
Spanish court. Those members of noble Spanish families who had
established themselves, at an early period, in the colony, continued to bear
their titles, and formed an aristocracy which held aloof from the untitled
planters, and attended the court of the Governor with all the state it could
possibly assume. These magnates, likewise, went abroad in gilded coaches,
drawn by four, six, and even eight richly caparisoned mules, and had their
trains of gaily liveried slaves. Horses were at one time scarce in the island,
but before the end of the seventeenth century they were numerous enough,
and the volante, a picturesque carriage, evidently a modification of a similar
vehicle then in use in the Peninsula, made its first appearance. Another
feature of those days, which has long since disappeared, was the state
barges which served to convey the rich and highly-born across the harbour,
and which, if I may rely on a contemporary engraving now before me, were
richly carved and gilded, and rowed by as many as twenty oarsmen in gaudy
costumes. In another print, dated 1670, representing the market-place at
Havana, a number of ladies are seen wearing the old Spanish costume,
farthingale and mantilla au grand complet, as we see them in the pictures of
Velasquez, and attended by slaves carrying China silk parasols with deep
fringes, to shield their mistresses from the sun. In one corner a slave is
being sold, while in another a sacred image is carried in procession by a
number of friars. Half-naked negroes are running about hawking bananas,
oranges, and pineapples. To the left of the market-place is a church, now no
longer in existence, which must, I presume, have been that of San Domingo,
annexed to which were the prisons of the Holy Office, which undesirable
institution was established early in the 16th century, soon after the
foundation of the colony. It worked in Cuba with as much fierce cruelty as
in all the other Spanish dominions, and autos da fé of heretics and heathens
were a frequent form of entertainment. Early, too, in the 17th century, a
good-sized theatre, where the plays of Calderon and Lope de Vaga were
doubtless performed, was opened in Havana. In Holy Week, autos, or sacred
dramas, were given in the open, "weather permitting." In a word, Havanese
life, in those far-off times, was a reflection of life in Spain as it has been
depicted by Cervantes and Lesage, and the Countess d'Aulnoy.
Very soon after the Conquest, the Church obtained large grants of valuable
property, and down to the first quarter of the present century a good fifth of

the island was Church property. Most of the great religious orders were
represented—including the Benedictines and the Carthusians. The
Franciscan and Dominican friars had a number of priories in various parts
of the island, and were much esteemed by the people, whom they steadily
befriended. To their credit, be it recorded, the Dominican friars occupied
themselves a great deal with the condition of the slaves, obtained the
freedom of many, and redressed the wrongs of thousands. The Jesuits made
their first appearance very soon after the creation of their celebrated order.
They established themselves in Havana, Santiago, Matanzas, and Puerto
Principe, where they opened Colleges for the education of the sons of the
upper classes. There were also many nunneries, peopled generally by sisters
from Europe, who educated the daughters of the wealthy, and gave primary
instruction to the children of the people. As is usually the case in Catholic
countries, numbers of churches were built, some of them of considerable
architectural pretensions, in the well-known Hispano-American style, of
which many excellent examples are still extant, not only in Havana, but
throughout the whole of South America. Some of the more popular shrines,
like that of Neustra Señora de Cobre, the Lourdes of Cuba, were, and are
still, rich in ex votos, in gold, silver, and even jewels.
The Holy Week ceremonies still remain rather crude reproductions of
those which annually attract so many hundreds of visitors to Seville. But
notwithstanding the existence of many learned and estimable prelates and
priests, the general character of the clergy in Cuba has been indifferent, and
I am afraid the Cubans have ever held the gorgeous ceremonies of their
Church in greater affection than her moral teachings.
Up till 1788, the Cuban Church was ruled by a single bishop, but in that
year it was divided into two dioceses, each covering about one half of the
island. In 1804, Santiago, the eastern diocese, was raised to the dignity of an
archbishopric. The other, which contains the city of Havana, still remains a
bishopric.
The European revolutions of the end of the last and the beginning of the
present centuries had their effect on Cuba, and a great number of
monasteries and convents were closed, their inmates scattered, and their
property confiscated.

Unfortunately, the Inquisition, which had been implanted at an early
period everywhere in the Spanish colonies, with the object of compelling
the aborigines and the imported slaves to embrace Catholicism, was used as
a means of overawing refractory colonists, who were soon made aware that
either open or covert disapprobation of the proceedings of their rulers was
the most deadly of all heresies. From the middle of the 17th century until
the close of the 18th, the annals of the Havanese Inquisition contain endless
charges of heresy against native-born Spaniards—charges which were in
reality merely expressions of political displeasure, and had nothing
whatever to do with religion.
The palace of the Holy Office and its prisons, which stood close to the
Church of San Domingo, were destroyed many years ago, and are now
replaced by the old market-place of Cristina, once the scene of an unusual
number of autos da fé—a favourite form of religious entertainment in South
America, it would appear, for in a curious old book, dated 1683, which I
picked up in Havana for a few pence, the author complains of the dull times,
"nobody, not even a negro, having been burnt alive for nearly six months."
A Havanese auto da fé, in the palmy days of Spanish supremacy, must have
been quite a pretty sight, including, as it did, an allegorical procession to the
place of execution, with children dressed in white as angels, and little nigger
boys as devils, tails and horns complete, dancing before the condemned,
who, of course, wore the traditional san benito, a sort of high mitre and
shirt, embellished with demoniacal representations of Satan and his imps,
capering amid flames and forked lightning. Then came the Governor and his
court, the civil and military officials, the clergy, the monks, and the friars
singing the seven penitential psalms—in a word, everything "muy grandiose
y espectacolos."
The early years of the 18th century were exceedingly prosperous for Cuba.
The buccaneers and pirates had almost entirely ceased from troubling. The
sugar trade was at its zenith, and although the Spanish administration was
vile, the governors rapacious, and the taxation preposterous, colossal
fortunes were made by the Cuban planters, and the name of the island was
synonymous with the idea of wealth and riotous living. The Havanese
carnival was almost as brilliant in its way as that of Venice, and public and
private gambling was tolerated on a scale which attracted adventurers from
all parts of the southern hemisphere. Those were halcyon days, disturbed in

1762 by the rather unexpected appearance, in the port of Havana, of an
English war squadron of 32 sail, with 170 transports, bearing a considerable
body of troops under the command of his Grace of Albemarle and Sir
George Picknell. This formidable armament, altogether the largest America
had yet seen, laid siege to the city, which surrendered after an heroic
defence of two months' duration. The British troops were landed and
marched on Guanacaboa, from the heights of which place they fired down
upon Morro Castle and the city proper. The Spaniards made a fatal mistake
—blocking up the harbour by sinking two vessels at its mouth. This they did
to exclude the English and prevent the destruction of the Spanish fleet. But
though they did shut out the English they also imprisoned themselves, and
the enemy, seeing it was impossible for the Dons to escape, even if they
would, directed their whole attention to their land attack. After a gallant
struggle, the Spaniards, who numbered some 27,600 men, surrendered, and
were permitted to march out of the city with the honours of war, the spoil
divided by the British amounting to £736,000. The English troops next took
Matanzas, and remained in possession of this portion of the island of Cuba
for nine months, when, by the Treaty of Paris, it was restored to Spain, in
exchange for Florida. During the British occupation the trade of the country
was greatly improved by the importation of slaves from other British
possessions and by the newcomers' superior knowledge of agriculture; so
that the invasion proved, on the whole, a distinct benefit to the country,
opening out a new era of prosperity for the Spaniards and other colonists. It
has been said, indeed, that the real prosperity of the islands dates from our
occupation, which ended July 18, 1763.
About 1765 there was a remarkable emigration of Frenchmen, partly from
Martinique and partly from the mother-country into Cuba. The new
colonists brought improved agricultural implements, and not a few of them
opened shops in the chief cities, and did a large trade in French goods.
Some French missionaries also arrived about the same time. These were
mostly Jesuits, who, when they had acquired the language, began to preach
practical sermons, which were greatly relished by the inhabitants. The
French introduced apiculture, a branch of industry which has flourished ever
since, and which has enabled the Cubans to supply the neighbouring islands
with wax candles at a much cheaper rate than those hitherto imported from
Europe. It is curious to notice, in some of the old log-books still preserved,
the numerous entries as to the importation of wax candles made at Havana,

to Jamaica, Trinidad, and Nassau. In the log-book of the ship "Royal
George," which was in the harbour of Havana on 16th June 1810, I find this
entry—"Sent two men over to the town to purchase wax candles, which are
very well made in this city, and also 20 bars of French bees-wax, and some
soap for friends of mine in the Bahamas."
In 1763, France having ceded Luisiana to Spain, Don Antonio Alloa sailed
for New Orleans, to take possession in the name of Their Catholic
Majesties. He was so ill received as to be obliged to return forthwith to
Havana, where Marshall O'Reilly, an exile of Irish origin, organized an
expedition to Luisiana, and seized the capital, which, however, was not held
for very long.
A very interesting incident took place in 1776. The United States were
struggling for their independence, when their first embassy, headed by the
famous Benjamin Franklin, arrived in Paris in the spring of that year, and
solicited authorization from Louis XVI. to proceed to Madrid, to implore
Don Carlos III. to grant them the aid and protection of Spain. Two members
of the embassy, Messrs Arthur and Charles Lee, were allowed to present
themselves at court, and the king accorded them a most gracious reception,
and cordially promised them his support. His Majesty permitted Mr John
Jay, a prominent representative of the American Congress, to remain in
Madrid to continue negotiations, which resulted in Spain's affording the
Americans truly practical assistance in the shape of money and men, the
Spanish Minister for the Interior, Conde de Florida-Blanca, making them
several grants of money out of the treasury. Permission was also given them
to raise a corps of Spanish volunteers, who proceeded to Cuba, where they
were reinforced by Cubans, and embarked thence for the States. These
services were rewarded by the Americans with expressions of unbounded
gratitude. "The people of America can never forget the immense benefit
they have received from King Carlos III.," said Washington, and a few years
later, in 1780, a messenger was sent from Congress to the Spanish King,
carrying with him an illuminated address of thanks and a new bill for
£100,000, which they begged him to accept, "in the name of an
everlastingly grateful people." But even in those days there were doubts cast
upon the "lasting gratitude" of the American people. The Conde d'Aranda,
the Ambassador at Paris, wrote a letter to Florida-Blanca containing these
significant words:—"This American Republic was born a dwarf, but one

day she will become a giant. She will then forget the blessings she received
from France and Spain, and only think of her own aggrandisement."
The administration of Don Luis Las Casas, who arrived as Captain-
General in 1790, was one of the most brilliant epochs of Cuban history.
With indefatigable industry he promoted a number of public works of the
first importance, introduced the culture of indigo, extended the commercial
importance of the island by removing, as far as his authority permitted, the
trammels imposed upon it by the old system of ecclesiastical and
aristocratic privileges, and has left a glorious name in the long list of
Captains-General, only equalled by that of Tacon in our own century.
The great French Revolution produced a prodigious impression throughout
the whole of the West Indies. In many of the neighbouring islands,
especially in Jamaica and San Domingo, the negroes revolted, and the
action of Toussaint L'Ouverture, who had started as a Royalist, but who, on
the emancipation of the slaves in 1794, went over to the Republic, was a
subject of common talk in Havana, where the Spaniards had great difficulty
in suppressing a popular rising on the part of the Cubans, who were already
heartily disgusted with their maladministration. On many of the plantations
the more intelligent negroes, discovering that a decree for the emancipation
of slavery had been passed in the French colonies, clamoured in vain for a
like act of grace from the Spanish Government, and finally rebelled,
escaping into the woods, where they formed themselves into bands, which
soon became a dangerous nuisance, and were ruthlessly suppressed by the
cruel methods which have ever characterised Spanish rule. Throughout the
last quarter of the 18th century the Cubans, as distinguished from the
Spanish, manifested a strong desire to free themselves from the oppression
of the mother-country, and not a few ardent spirits were made to feel the
power of the Holy Office, their patriotism being skilfully interpreted as
heresy, and punished accordingly. I think I am correct in considering the
year 1766 as the date of the commencement of the Cuban Independence
movement, which has lately culminated in a breach of the prolonged peace
of two continents. But this is a subject which will require another chapter,
and this brief history of Cuba must close, for the present, on the threshold of
the century which has only two more years to run—years destined, in all
probability, to witness the opening of a new era, one, let us hope, of peace
and prosperity for the Pearl of the Antilles.

CHAPTER IV.

The Beginnings of the Rebellion.

THE difficulties of governing a colony blessed with so heterogeneous a
population as Cuba, are, as may well be conceived, great and manifold. The
ordinary newspaper reader is apt to conclude that his favourite daily fully
instructs him as to the Hispano-Cuban question, and takes the Spaniards for
a set of damnable inquisitors, who harry, torture, and starve the angelic
Cubans out of sheer devilry, precisely as the unlucky Abd'ul' Hamid is
supposed to have given his personal supervision to the Armenian massacres.
The Cuban business, like all other great political and social questions, is a
very complex one, and, in order to gain even a general idea of its intricacies,
some knowledge of its origin must be obtained.
Spain's greatest mistake has been the persistent obstinacy with which she
has attempted to govern her colonies by the sword and the crozier—a
combination of military and ecclesiastical methods which, successful as it
may have been in the earlier periods of her history, has proved ominously
fatal in our times, and especially so in Cuba, where, since the end of the last
century, education has made considerable strides, and the better class of
colonists have watched, with rising enthusiasm, the great revolutionary
wave which has swept over Europe and America alike.
The youth of Cuba entered heartily into the spirit of the times. Yet, when
the Great Revolution affected Spain, and spread to her colonies, which, for
the most part, rose in open rebellion against her, Cuba remained faithful to
the mother country,—in spite of her keen sympathy, expressed and actively
testified, for the United States in their late struggle for independence. At the
same time, Cubans were beginning to realise the fact that they themselves
were none too well governed; and indeed for over a century and a half the
Spanish islanders had been chafing against official exactions, and against
the obsolete form of government established in the island. The famous
colonial code, Las leyes de Indias, already mentioned, was still in force, and
unmodified, as yet, to suit the exigencies of a newer civilization. In 1766
there had been a distinct movement against the then Captain-General,—so
the Governor of the island was called,—who had taken upon himself to levy

a tax on all slaves imported, which tax he was accused of applying to his
own benefit. Then came the incident in the reign of Charles III., when Spain
afforded active assistance to the American insurgents, and a number of
Spanish and Cuban volunteers started from Havana, where they had
assembled, to join the rebellion against Great Britain. The words "freedom
and independence" were thus early rendered familiar to Cuban ears. A little
later, following the example of the great Anglo-Saxon colony of the North,
all the Spanish settlements in South America broke into open revolt, and
clamoured for their liberty. The name of Bolivar was soon to set men's
pulses beating under the Southern Cross, even as that of Washington had
lately stirred all hearts in the Northern Hemisphere. The Spanish empire in
the New World was tottering to its fall. One by one Spain's colonies were
torn from her feeble grasp. The long-drawn revolution in Mexico, which,
after fermenting for nearly half a century, tossed the unhappy country to and
fro from 1810 to 1824, had a definite effect on the destiny of Cuba, which
for over three centuries had been partially dependent on the government of
that once opulent colony.
In a Catholic country, when priestly influence becomes apparently
paramount, it is frequently opposed by an under-current of surreptitious
free-thought. This condition of things began, in the case of Cuba, quite early
in the present century. A number of secret societies were then formed, the
majority of them affiliated to the great Masonic Brotherhood, which has
worked so mightily to undermine Spanish dominion in the Southern
Americas. For the Cuban lodges, like those of Italy and France, have always
occupied themselves with the religious and political questions so rigorously
avoided by English Masons. Their influence has always been opposed to
that of the clergy, and therefore to that of a Government which has ever
encouraged the interference of the Church in temporal matters. For many
years, Cuba has been covered by a network of mysterious revolutionary
associations, such as the Rationales Caballeros, Soles de Bolivar, Aguila
Nigra, and a host of others, too numerous to mention. But these, for a
considerable time, showed no prominent activity—a circumstance
accounted for by a sudden change in the fortunes of the island. I have said
that, until 1800, Cuba had been dependent upon the Vice-royalty of Mexico,
which was bound to pay all the expenses of the maintenance of her public
institutions, ports, and roads. As the Spanish power in Mexico declined, the
island, as may be imagined, suffered; her ports soon fell into a deplorable

condition, and, owing to absolute monopolies imposed upon her trade,—
held partly by the Mexican Government, and partly by a chartered company
established at Seville,—the visits of merchantmen to her harbours grew few
and far between. The Revolution, which set a Bonaparte on the Spanish
throne, temporarily removed this incubus, and in 1805 the Cuban ports were
thrown open to general commerce, with the result that, whereas in 1804 less
than a dozen ships, all belonging to the Seville company, passed the Morro
Castle at Havana, in 1806 over a thousand vessels from all parts of the
world cast anchor in the harbour. And further, the French emigrants who had
fled, twenty years earlier, from the San Domingo massacres, had persuaded
their Cuban hosts to devote their attention to the sugar trade. Cane planting
had for some years increased, in all directions, and so rapidly, that travellers
declared they scarcely recognised the country, once so beautiful with its
scores of dainty green coffee plantations,—so exquisitely lovely when the
star-like blossoms scent the air,—now replaced by far-stretching acres of
unsightly cane. Be this as it may, sugar and tobacco were soon grown in
great abundance, and Cuba, with her ports freed from all the mediæval
trammels which had hitherto shackled her commercial capacities, was soon
able to supply more than half the total amount of sugar then consumed in
Europe. This commerce resulted in an era of exceptional prosperity, which
lasted until 1825. Meanwhile the Cubans proved their passionate affection
for their mother country by refusing to acknowledge the Napoleonic
supremacy, and even by openly joining the enemies of their deposed
sovereigns. Every member of the Cuban National Assembly took the oath to
preserve his country for his former king. Such ardent patriotism won the
island the proud title of "Cuba la sempre Fiel!"—"Cuba the ever Faithful."
The restoration of the Spanish monarchy, in 1814, was hailed with the
utmost enthusiasm by the colonists. Nevertheless, even at this time, feuds
between the Spaniards and the Cubans were frequent, the latter lampooning
the former as Godas or Goths; and it is even said that when the Spanish
ladies wore their hair long, the Cuban Senōras cropped theirs short—
whence the name of pelonas (croppies) given them by their rivals to this
day. Well would it have been for Spain had she availed herself of this
outburst of loyalty in the richest corner still left to her of her once
prodigious empire! But insensate counsels prevailed, and the mother
country, by her ruthless abuse of Cuban confidence, gave fresh and
lamentable proof of her incapacity for colonial government.

It must be admitted that, whether at home or abroad, the Spaniards have
never been an easily governed people. The renowned Guicciardini,
Florentine ambassador to Ferdinand the Catholic, reports a very interesting
conversation with that monarch concerning his subjects.
"Ah!" said the father of our Katherine of Aragon, "the Spaniards were ever
essentially a nation of warriors, and also most undisciplined! Everybody
wants to be at the top of the tree, and nobody consents to obey. The soldiers
are better than their officers. Every Spaniard knows how to fight, but none
knows how to command either himself, or others." Whereupon the
Florentine historian adds, by way of rider—"This, in all probability, is
because discord is natural to the Spaniards,—an illustrious, but arrogant,
irritable, and turbulent, though generous, race!"
If they were unmanageable in the days of their grandeur, when they had all
the wealth of the Indies at command, we may easily conceive what they
must be now, when they have fallen from the position of the richest, to that
of the poorest, nation in Europe.
The Cubans, the descendants of Spaniards, have inherited the Spanish
tendency to anarchy. When the army in Spain—as was of almost yearly
occurrence, earlier in this present century—made a Pronunciamento, their
Cuban brethren forthwith raised an insurrection, on some pretext or another,
of their own; and, as M. Charles Benoit says in his deeply interesting work,
L'Espagne, Cuba, et les Etats-Unis, "this natural tendency on the part of the
Spanish population in Cuba has been, if anything, augmented by the influx
of emigrants from all parts of the world, who have brought with them all
kinds of ideas and theories on the subjects of morals and politics, and have
thereby rendered the existing confusion tenfold greater than in the good old
times, when there were only Cubans—that is to say, Spanish and negroes—
on the island, and everybody thought more or less alike." For all this, deep
in his heart the Cuban retains an intense love of the mother country,—a
passionate affection, indeed, which, should the Americans be victorious in
the present war, may eventually cause them considerable trouble.
In spite of the high sounding but empty title of "Faithful Cuba," bestowed
on her generous island sons, Spain subtly reverted to her old methods, and
used their country as a sort of conquered El Dorado, the quickly developed
resources of which she was determined to turn to her selfish account,

regardless of possible consequences. The Cubans, however, who had learnt
many things since the opening of the century, soon showed a distinct
disinclination to submit to this process. The era of prosperity already
alluded to had attracted numbers of emigrants to the island, from every
quarter of the world,—more especially from the United States; and constant
contact with different races and varied religions, added to the influence of
the secret societies previously mentioned (which had by this time become
both wealthy and flourishing), soon made their impression upon the better
educated and more intelligent classes, and therefore upon the masses, who,
losing that extreme respect for religious authority, ordinarily so
characteristic of the Spanish race, learnt to despise a feeble Government,
which openly used its clergy for its own ends and purposes.
Fortunately for Spain, and also for her Cuban subjects, the island was
administered, during the early years of the nineteenth century, by Tacon, a
man of exceptional ability and energy, who recognised the immense
capabilities of the country, and did his utmost to develop them. He passed
many laws of a beneficent and useful nature, and, in a word, covered
himself with honour, his name being even yet synonymous, throughout the
island, with ideas of justice and good government. Even in his days some
feeble attempts at insurrection were made, and a certain Lorenzo placed
himself at the head of some 3000 rebels, mostly escaped negroes. Tacon had
not much difficulty in routing him and his ill-disciplined troops. The
Havana of that period was by no means a safe place of residence. It had
become the gambling hell of the Americas, and it was dangerous to walk its
darksome streets at night, without a considerable escort. Tacon availed
himself of the opportunity created by the great fire of 1802 (April 25-26) to
rebuild the quarter of the city then destroyed in a more regular style, and
prohibited the future erection of wooden houses, as dangerous to the public
safety. He lighted the city, suppressed the gambling saloons, prohibited the
national game of Monte, and established a well-organized police force and a
fire department. To sum it up, he proved, even in those far-off times, that
under a firm hand and common-sense administration, Cuba can be as well
and as easily governed as any other country under the sun. The great
Governor was guilty, however, of one dark deed: he encouraged the slave
trade. Hands were needed all over the Colony, on account of the marvellous
impetus which had been given to the sugar industries, and the unfortunate
Africans were used, so to speak, to pay the piper. In less than ten years, over

a hundred thousand negroes were imported into Cuba; and as the masters
never seriously attempted to civilize their field hands, the present
descendants of these slaves have added not a little to the general anarchy
now existing in the troubled island.
In 1812, the Cubans, still faithful to Spain, notwithstanding her many sins
of omission and commission, assisted in putting down a revolt among the
slaves in the neighbourhood of Bayamo, captured Aponte, the rebel chief,
and hanged him, together with eight of his associates. Hundreds of negroes
were massacred, or else driven into the forest, to die of want.
The era of prosperity, which for nearly a quarter of a century, staved off
open revolt, began to decline between 1822 to 1837. The United States had
consolidated, and their increasing trade interfered considerably with that of
the whole West Indian Archipelago. Spain, meanwhile, had gradually settled
back into her old mediæval ways—enlivened by palace scandals and
military Pronunciamentos. The series of governors who succeeded Tacon
were, with but few exceptions, a worthless set, and the crowd of minor
officials who accompanied them were mere leeches, whose sole object was
to seize every possible opportunity, legitimate or illegitimate, for lining their
own pockets. Ridiculous taxes, unreasonable dues and fees, were invented
and imposed. When the unfortunate Cubans raised an outcry against this
wholesale robbery, they were treated as rebels, and not a few,—chiefly
members of the various secret societies,—were arrested and imprisoned,
and even executed, without trial.[9]
In 1835 the Cubans claimed to have their interests represented in the
National Cortes by native members. The request was treated with a
contempt that will never be forgotten nor forgiven. From that day, a feeling
of bitter hatred and distrust has utterly severed the Cuban population from
its Spanish brethren. Ties of blood have been torn asunder, and the sad truth
that a family feud exceeds all others in bitterness, has received fresh and
inevitable confirmation. The earlier insurrections of the century were
invariably accompanied by the same cruel reprisals on both sides. But they
brought about no permanent improvement in the condition of the people.
Spain continued her obsolete and selfish policy; Cuba never ceased to rebel.
The revolutionary period of 1848 did not, as may well be imagined, pass
without leaving its mark on the island. Strange as it may seem, the starting

point of the fresh series of rebellions was the pretty Filarmonia Theatre, at
Santiago de Cuba, where, some forty years ago, the fascinating Adelina
Patti made her début. In the winter of 1850 General Lopez led a
filibustering expedition from the United States, with the object of seizing
Cuba, and proclaiming her independence. That his attempt was favoured,
and even financially assisted, by many Americans, is an undoubted fact; but,
unfortunately for its promoters, it was a signal failure. A number of hot-
headed young men,—some of them belonging to the best families in the
island—suspected of favouring Lopez and his companions, were arrested,
and several were shot, without form of trial. As may well be imagined, the
impression produced in the ancient capital of the Eastern Province, and
indeed throughout the island, by this violent action on the part of the
Spanish authorities, was profound, and the feeling soon reached such a pitch
that no native-born Cuban would be seen speaking to a Spaniard. The
Carnival gaieties were suspended, and the city was thrown into deep
mourning. The Spaniards, resolved to mark their contempt for the islanders,
gave a ball at the Filarmonia. Groups of young Cubans forced their way
through the terrified dancers, and proceeded to insult and disfigure a portrait
of Queen Isabella II. The confusion was terrible, and many ladies were
severely hurt. Yet the incident was allowed to pass without any attempt
being made to discover and punish the offenders, who, by-the-way, were
masked. A few weeks afterwards, a Cuban lady of high rank and great
wealth, hoping to cast oil on troubled waters, hired the same hall, and sent
out invitations for a tertullia, to which she bade representatives of both the
belligerent parties. The consequences were ghastly. The Spanish officers
and the Cuban jeunesse dorée found themselves, suddenly and
unexpectedly, face to face. An unlucky jest, at the expense of an old Spanish
officer, fired the mine, and in a moment the ball-room was in an uproar, and
the scene of gaiety changed to one of combat. Ladies fainted, and were
trampled under foot, chandeliers fell smashing to the ground, and the most
awful and horrible confusion ensued. Five or six people were killed—
amongst them a Spanish lady of distinction—and nearly a hundred persons
were seriously hurt. As to the luckless hostess, she betook herself to Europe
at the earliest possible opportunity, and there remained; but from that day to
this the incidents at the Filarmonia Ball have never been forgotten in Cuba.
Some of the young brawlers were arrested, and certain of them,—youths
belonging to the richest families in the city,—were imprisoned in the Morro

Castle, and thence transported to Ceuta, the Spanish penal station in
Morocco, whence they never returned.
For some years after this gloomy event, Cuba went from bad to worse, de
mal em peyor. But it would be useless, and, indeed, merely confusing, at
this date, to enter into the details of what is, after all, merely the local
history of a bye-gone time. The weak Government of Queen Isabella, which
lacked even the faintest sense of providence, continued to exploit Cuba in
every possible manner, and to send out needy generals, and pauper nobles,
to act as Governors. In the meantime, as it may be interesting, at this
juncture, to recall, the United States had already cast longing eyes on the
fair Queen of the Antilles. An almost forgotten episode of this period was
brought to light, but the other day, in the pages of the Fortnightly Review. In
a most interesting article, Mme. Colmache, the venerable and distinguished
widow of Talleyrand's last secretary, gives a terse and singularly interesting
account of an intrigue, all the details of which are in her personal
recollection. It seems that fifty years ago, Louis Philippe, seized with a
desire for territorial aggrandisement, took advantage of Spain's poverty to
make overtures for the purchase, not only of Cuba, but of Puerto Rico and
the Philippines. As a matter of fact, the deal would have been actually
concluded, but for the French monarch's parsimony. Queen Christina's
representative in Paris, Señor Campanuzo, was instructed to ask 30,000,000
reals for Cuba, and 10,000,000 for Puerto Rico and the Philippines. The
terms for the purchase of Cuba and Puerto Rico having been agreed, the
treaty was to have been signed at the Tuileries. But at the last moment, the
Bourgeois King demanded that the Philippines should be thrown in free;
and so firmly did he insist, that the Spanish representative could only
declare that the treaty had better be thrown into the fire. This course was
actually pursued.
Twenty years later another offer for the purchase of Cuba, and a far more
offensive one, was made by the United States. In the year 1860, President
Buchanan greatly alarmed the Spanish Government, by a message as
threatening in its nature as that recently despatched by President M'Kinley
to the advisers of Queen Christina, at Madrid. Its purport may be expressed
as follows, although, to be sure, the matter was not quite so plainly couched,
but the inference could not be misunderstood. "Circumstances and destiny
absolutely require that the United States should be masters of the island of

Cuba. That we should take it by filibustering or violence is not in
accordance with our national genius. It will suit our character and honesty
much better to obtain it by purchase. Let us therefore offer a fair price for it.
If that fair price[10] shall be refused, we, of course, shall have a casus belli.
Spain will have injured us, and we may declare war. Under these
circumstances, we should probably obtain the place without purchase, but
we will hope for better things."
This domineering proposal to annex Cuba by purchase was indignantly
refused at Madrid; but Mr Anthony Trollope, who happened to be in the
island at the time the proposition was made, tells us it elicited the greatest
possible enthusiasm there. "The plea," he writes, "under which Mr
Buchanan proposes to quarrel with Spain, if she will not sell that which
America wishes to buy, is the plea under which Ahab quarrelled with
Naboth. A man is individually disgusted that a President of the United
States should have made such an utterance. But looking at the question from
a broader point of view, one can hardly refrain from rejoicing at any event
which will tend to bring about that which in itself is so desirable." After all,
California had been purchased from Spain by the United States, and Texas
had been annexed by filibustering incursions. There can be no question that
both these States, though peopled by Spaniards, precisely as Cuba was, had
flourished exceedingly under the star-spangled banner. Mr Trollope gives us
a picture of the public mind in Cuba in 1860, which convinces us the local
opinion has undergone very little change since his day. That which he wrote
thirty-eight years ago reads exactly as if it had been penned yesterday. He
says—"From such information as I could obtain, I am of opinion that the
Cubans themselves would be glad enough to see the transfer well effected.
How, indeed, can it be otherwise? At present they have no national
privilege, except that of undergoing taxation. Every office is held by a
Spaniard. Every soldier in the island—and they say there are 25,000—must
be a Spaniard. The ships of war are commanded and manned by Spaniards.
All that is shown before their eyes of brilliance, and power, and high place,
is purely Spanish. No Cuban has any voice in his own country. He can never
have the consolation of thinking that his tyrant is his countryman, or reflect
that, under altered circumstances, it might possibly have been his fortune to
tyrannize. What love can he have for Spain? He cannot even have the poor
pride of being slave to a great lord. He is the lackey of a reduced gentleman,

and lives on the vails of those who despise his manners. Of course the
transfer would be grateful to him."
"But no Cuban will himself do anything to bring it about. To wish is one
thing, to act is another. A man standing behind his counter may feel that his
hand is restricted on every side, and his taxes alone unrestricted, but he must
have other than Hispano-Creole blood in his veins if he do more than stand
and feel. Indeed, wishing is too strong a word to be fairly applicable to his
state of mind. He would gladly consent that Cuba should be American, but
he would prefer that he himself should lie in a dormant state while the
dangerous transfer is going on."
The United States, whose hands were soon busied by the outbreak of their
own Civil War, dropped the Cuban proposal, and the whole question
remained in abeyance for some considerable time. Meanwhile matters had
reached an unendurable pitch. It was almost impossible for a Cuban to
obtain justice, and the Governor and his Spanish satellites continued their
systematic methods of bribery and corruption. Yet money was plentiful in
the island, where the commercial class had been immensely swelled by
numerous American and English fortune-hunters, who had purchased large
estates from impoverished Cubans, and had started sugar and tobacco-
growing on an improved system in various parts of the island. In 1865, the
Cubans, driven to despair by the vexatious treatment of their rulers,
addressed a petition to Queen Isabella II., which bore not less than 20,000
signatures, and implored Her Majesty to consider the pitiable condition into
which Spain's most splendid possession had fallen, and to send out a
Commission to inquire into the abuses which rendered their lives
unendurable, and prevented them from earning an honest living for
themselves and their children. Not the least of these abuses were capricious
and questionable management of the Banca Espanōl, the only bank in the
island. In answer to this petition, the Junta created a body of twenty-two
Cuban commissioners and twenty-two Spanish, which original number,
however, was unjustly increased by the admission of a perfect army of
Spanish nobles and officials. The Cuban members, thus left in a minority,
were not very hopeful of obtaining much benefit from the Commission.
They made a sensible proposal for the gradual diminution of the taxes,
especially those connected with the export trade, and submitted a plan for
the gradual emancipation of the slaves. One of their principal schemes for

diminishing taxation,—by the substitution of a direct tax on the total
revenue, instead of the existing vexatious system of indefinite and
capricious taxes on the export and import trades,—was rejected, or rather it
was turned against their real interests. The Custom House duties were
cunningly diminished, and the tax on the total revenue of the island raised
from five to ten per cent,—a clear case of robbing Peter to pay Paul, which
exasperated the island population beyond measure. The arrangement of the
question of the abolition of negro slavery was also eminently unsatisfactory.
A decree provided that newly-born slave children should be considered free,
and that all slaves over fifty years of age should be immediately
emancipated. I have elsewhere pointed out the unfortunate results of this
system. The slave trade continued in Cuba up till 1886, and during that
time, notwithstanding all the treaties signed between England and Spain,
several hundred thousand African negroes are said to have been imported
into Cuba, and sold with the connivance of the officials, who levied a
private tax of a gold doubloon, or about £3, on every woolly head so
purchased. To quote Mr Trollope once more—"The bribery and corruption
that goes on in Cuba is known to everyone, and best known to the
Government of Spain. Under these circumstances, who can feel sympathy
with Spain, or wish that she should retain her colonies? Does she not daily
show she is unfit to hold them? There must be some stage in misgovernment
which will justify the interference of bystanding nations, in the name of
humanity. That rule in life which forbids a man to come between a husband
and wife is a good rule. But, nevertheless, who can stand by quiescent, and
see a brute half murder the poor woman whom he should protect?"
At last the insurrection broke out in earnest at Yara, in the Eastern District.
A number of determined men, assisted, undoubtedly, by the secret societies
to which I have drawn attention in an earlier part of this chapter,
commenced a systematic propagation of the theory that unless force were
used, and the assistance of the United States and of the already emancipated
States of South America secured, there was no chance of justice for Cuba.
At the head of the movement was a man of very remarkable character,
Carlos Manuel Cespedes. He was no penniless adventurer, but a Cuban
gentleman of large means,—one of the wealthiest planters in the island. He
was not at first inclined to sever the island from the mother-country, for he
was, by nature, essentially loyal. Even before embarking upon his
undertaking he warned the Spanish Government of his intention, and of the

danger it ran by persisting in its old methods. A sincere Catholic, he refused
to join in any of the overt anti-religious propaganda then so greatly in vogue
among revolutionists. He desired to remain on friendly terms with the
clergy of the island, but at the same time he hoped that, under a more liberal
form of government, the Cuban clergy would administer the Catholic
Church in the same progressive spirit which has made her so respected and
powerful in the United States. To these fine qualities of heart and head
Cespedes added the advantages of a noble presence and of an extraordinary
oratorical talent.
In the beginning of 1865—the year of the petition to Queen Isabella,—
Cespedes' plans were nearly matured, but for various reasons he did not
intend the rebellion should break out before the autumn season.
Unfortunately, the individual to whom the funds destined for the
insurrection had been entrusted made off with the money, and betrayed the
secrets of the organization to the Spaniards on condition that he was
allowed to keep his booty. This act of treachery forced Cespedes' hand, and
he was obliged to move earlier than he had originally intended. He found
himself, not only without funds, but without arms. When his troops inquired
what weapons they were to use in the coming struggle, he replied, with
something of the spirit of an ancient Roman: "With those of our enemies"
("Con las de nos enemigos.") The few guns in his possession were
distributed among his followers, and he, with his band of some 500 men of
all degrees and, indeed, of all colours, started for Puerto de Buniatos, in the
vicinity of Santiago. On the way they seized all the fire-arms they could
find in every plantation they came across. For two months they remained
encamped outside the city walls without being attacked by the handful of
Spanish troops which composed the garrison. As a matter of fact, there were
exceedingly few Spanish troops in Cuba at that moment—barely enough to
keep order in the island. At the end of December, however, 30,000 troops
were landed, and presently augmented by a body of volunteers collected
from various parts of the island, among them a number of Catalan Cubans,
who shortly proved themselves absolute savages. A number of Spanish
warships also arrived in the ports of Havana and Santiago. Orders were sent
from Madrid to use the sternest measures for the immediate suppression of
the insurrection. The first step taken in this direction was the burning of the
vast plantation owned by Cespedes himself. This was the signal for a series
of massacres and reprisals all over the island. As if by magic, the absentee

Spanish grandees' great plantations were set ablaze. Then the Spaniards
fired the Cuban plantations, and in a few weeks a quarter of the island lay in
ashes, and thousands of slaves and workmen wandered about idle,
homeless, and starving. The insurgents, who were almost without arms,
were obliged to take refuge in the interior of the island, where they raised
the Cuban flag—the American stripes with one solitary star—and were soon
joined by men, women, children, and slaves, all flying before the Spanish
soldiery. The rebels installed themselves in the city of Bayamo, which for
several weeks they contrived to hold against the enemy. A conspiracy on the
part of certain Catalans, who had joined their forces, being discovered, the
traitors were put to death. On learning this the Spaniards, who had
encamped some miles from the city, suddenly appeared before its walls.
Seeing resistance was hopeless, Cespedes, with the consent of the
inhabitants, set the city on fire, rather than see it fall into the hands of the
enemy. An awful massacre ensued, in which the Spanish soldiers spared
neither man, woman, nor child. On the other hand, the rebels, it must be
confessed, were guilty of the most horrible atrocities. In vain did Cespedes
and his lieutenant, Ignacio Agramonte, implore their followers to remember
that those who fought for liberty and progress must set the example of
mercy. The rebel bands were not men like unto their leaders, gently born
and carefully educated, but a horde gathered together out of every social
class and every race, indeed, for thousands of plantation hands had fled their
burning hovels, and taken up arms in a cause which they believed would
lead them to liberty. Words fail to describe the scenes of horror which
ensued. The dogs of war were let loose upon the unhappy island. Up and
down it, from one end to the other, the plantations flamed. Towns and
villages were laid in ruins, and to add to the terrors of the situation, famine
and pestilence stalked the land, even as at the present moment. Hundreds of
young Cubans, suspected of favouring the revolution, were arrested on the
most flimsy pretexts. A jest, the wearing of a certain coloured flower, the
whistling of a popular tune, were sufficient to work a man's ruin. The
prisoners were shot in dozens, and shipped off by hundreds into penal
servitude. By the end of 1868, the Spanish garrison consisted of not less
than 80,000 men, all well armed, and whose officers, in their mad desire to
stamp out the rebellion which had now assumed formidable proportions,
laid no restraint on their subordinates' licence. In April of the following year
a proclamation was issued by the Spanish Commander-in-Chief at Bayamo,

which decreed that any individual over fifteen years of age found beyond
the limits of his property and unable to give an account of himself, should
be forthwith shot. All deserted houses, or all houses over which a white flag
of truce did not float, in sign of peace and devotion to the Government,
were to be immediately reduced to ashes. This order only increased the
horrors of the situation. Scores of planters who were ignorant of its
existence, and who were going peaceably on business intent between their
plantations and the neighbouring towns, were shot by the soldiers, who were
only too delighted to display their zeal and rob their victims, and hundreds
of houses were pillaged.
At this juncture Cuban affairs began once more to attract universal
attention in the United States. The interest taken in the rebellion and the
rebels by our American cousins was not, in all probability, exclusively
platonic. Whether this was the case or not, they contrived to supply the
insurgents, not with money only, but with men and arms, so that the
insurgent army rose in a short time to 55,000 well-armed men, mainly
entrenched in the mountainous districts, whence they were able to make
successful raids. On the 10th of April 1869, at the city of Guaimaro, in the
very heart of the island, the first Cuban Chamber of Deputies was opened
by Cespedes, and the new assembly forthwith proclaimed Cuban
independence and the establishment of a republic. General Cespedes was
unanimously elected President, and his brother-in-law, Manuel de Quesada,
who had served under Juarez, of Mexican fame, assumed the name of
commander-in-chief of the Cuban army. Slavery was formally abolished.
Freedom of worship was established, and equality of all in the eyes of the
law affirmed. The young Republic even ventured to send envoys to the three
countries which had shown her most sympathy,—England, France, and the
United States. The Envoy Extraordinary of Cuba to the United States of
America, Morales Lumus, was, however, received with great coolness by
General Grant, who steadfastly refused to recognise the new Government.
As a matter of fact, whilst Cuba had been fighting for her independence,
Spain had dethroned the kindly Queen Isabella, and replaced General Prim
at the head of the Iberian Republic. The great Republic of the New World
had naturally hailed the chief of a revolution which had driven Isabella II.
from one of the oldest thrones in the Old World; while Prim, who was
anything but the visionary he is generally supposed to have been, had
arrived at the conclusion that Cuba cost the mother country far more than

she was worth, and had actually proposed—through Hamilton Fish, then
Secretary of State—the sale of the island of Cuba to the United States
Government for a sum of 100,000,000 pesetas! It is only fair to add that, by
the suggested agreement, America was to grant the island its independence,
abolish slavery, and proclaim an armistice, pending the proclamation of
peace. Poor Lumus' heart sank within him, for he knew the Spanish
character by heart, and was perfectly well aware of what Prim was driving
at. If he himself remained in power, the United States would be allowed to
do with Cuba pretty much as they thought fit. Otherwise, if the ex-Queen or
her son were restored, the Marshal hinted an intention of securing the island
for himself. With a heart like lead, Lumus returned to Cespedes. The
outlook was of the darkest, for the fate of the mother country as well as that
of the newly-born island Republic hung in the balance.
General Sickles proceeded at once to Madrid, with full powers from the
United States Government, to conclude the proposed sale of Cuba to the
American Republic. The negotiations proved much more difficult than
President Grant had believed possible, Prim placing a thousand obstacles in
the way of the final conclusion of the bargain. Many believed that he had
been won over to the pro-slavery party. After a wearisome and fruitless
mission, Sickles was recalled. Later on an incident occurred—that of the
Virginius—too lengthy to recapitulate here, which resulted in the capture by
the Spaniards of that filibustering vessel, which was proceeding from the
United States to assist the rebels with arms, ammunition, and men. The
Virginius was taken to Havana, and sixty-one prisoners, including several
Englishmen and twenty-two Americans, were ultimately shot. On
November 5th, 1869, the leaders of the adventure, Navaro, Ryan, Jesus del
Sol, and Pedro Cespedes—the President's brothers—were put to death by
the Spaniards, and their heads carried in triumph through the streets. All this
is far-off history nowadays,—interesting, nevertheless, if only as a record.
The indignation excited throughout the United States by the Virginius
business was indescribable, and very nearly ended in a declaration of war.
Spain eventually thought it wise to make, through Señor Castelar, an abject
apology, and granted an indemnity to the families of the unfortunate men
who had been executed. The Virginius was formally handed back to the
Americans, but the luckless vessel, which had been severely damaged,
began to leak, and sank on her way home from Bahia de Honda to New

York. This closed, and somewhat tamely, an incident which was within an
ace of bringing about, some thirty years earlier, the events now taking place.
Whilst the negotiations for the release of the disabled Virginius were
dragging their slow length along—they were conducted by the Spaniards
with all the dilatoriness which distinguish them—that nation underwent a
weird series of political changes and intrigues. The Republican party,
although flattered by Prim, who wished in his heart to be the first President
of the Iberian Republic, was evidently distasteful to the majority of
Spaniards, accustomed to the pageantry of the solemnest and most stately of
European Courts. It was therefore deemed necessary to establish an
interregnum with Marshall Serano as Regent, and to cast about for some
Catholic prince to place upon the vacant throne of the Bourbons. Choice fell
upon Prince Leopold of Hohenzollern Sigmaringen—a most luckless
selection, since, by offending the susceptibilities of France, it led to the
Franco-Prussian war. King Victor Emmanuel's son, Amedeo, was now
offered the crown of Spain, and accepted it, swearing to observe the
Constitution over the body of Prim, who had been assassinated on
December 28, 1870, by an unknown hand. How Amedeo failed to satisfy his
new subjects, and finally was compelled to resign his ill-fitting crown and
return-to Italy; how an abortive attempt to establish a Republic failed, and
degenerated into anarchy; how Don Carlos and his followers caused useless
shedding of blood in the Northern Provinces; and how, finally, Queen
Isabella's son was restored in 1874, under the title of Alfonzo XII., are
matters of history doubtless well-known to every reader of this book, and
therefore only need to be recorded as reflecting upon Cuban affairs. When
the Cespedes' Republic fell, the victorious Monarchy reappeared. But
rebellion, overt and covert, still disturbed the distracted island until 1874,
when the tragic death of Cespedes broke down the revolutionary spirit and
brought about a temporary lull.
The adherents of Cespedes had by this time dwindled to a mere handful;
and, driven desperate by hunger and despair, the forlorn but still bold-
spirited band took refuge in a fastness on the Eastern coast, whence they
hoped to escape to Jamaica. A slave betrayed their hiding-place to the
Spaniards. A fierce hand-to-hand fight ensued. Cespedes fought like a lion
against overwhelming odds. His friends fell dead or wounded at his feet; but
still he battled on, slaying seven of his opponents with his own hand, and

wounding many others. At last, seeing all hope was lost, he fought his way
through the Spaniards, and, mortally wounded as he was, flung himself over
the rocks, and thus escaped his hated captors. His mangled body was
recovered, carried to Santiago, and there secretly buried. The dead man was
mourned, and is mourned even to this day, by all true Cubans. The stage on
which he played his part was, it may be said, a little one. His life and doings
may be forgotten beyond the limits of the country he strove to serve. But
such qualities of head and heart, such fervour of self-sacrifice and
steadiness of purpose, as marked the career of Carlos Manuel Cespedes,
must surely entitle him to an honoured place on the golden roll of the
world's true heroes. May he rest in peace!

CHAPTER V.

THE HISTORY OF THE REBELLION UP-TO-DATE.

THE dying Cespedes bequeathed his honours to his friend and henchman,
Don Salvador Cisneros y Bétancourt, Marquez de Santa Lucia, who was
forthwith elected President of the Republic. He displayed exceptional
ability, endeavoured to bring some discipline into the ranks of his more or
less disorderly followers, and succeeded for a time, not only in this attempt,
but also in reviving the dashed spirit of the rebels in the Eastern Province.
At length he wearied of what ultimately proved a thankless task, and retired
to make room for Don Francisco Aquelera, who became third President of
this essentially rural Republic, whose Parliament was wont to assemble in
the heart of a dense forest, or in some mountain solitude.
Aquelera, although a man of marked ability, was no longer in the prime of
life, and soon grew tired of the roving existence circumstances compelled
him to lead. After his retirement, a new name begins to figure prominently
in Cuban affairs,—that of Maximo Gomez, who was elected Commander-
in-Chief of the rebel forces, L'Ejercito libertador de la Republica de Cuba,
some twenty years ago. With a comparatively small following, he managed,
by sheer dint of audacity and profound strategical knowledge, to keep

20,000 Spaniards at bay. Gomez is a thorough soldier, one of the best the
New World has possessed. I met him once, and was greatly struck by his
martial bearing and his fiery black eyes, rendered still more conspicuous by
his perfectly white hair, and long moustachios. He was born in 1837.
Although afflicted with a terrible ulcer in his right leg, and unable to sit a
horse except in a side saddle like a woman's, he is an intrepid rider, and
knows not the meaning of the words fear or fatigue.
The other leader of the present rebellion is not less remarkable, Calixto
Garcia Iñiguez, who began his career as a bank clerk, and who, therefore,
combines with soldierly qualities of a high order, considerable financial and
business knowledge.
The treaty of Zanjou, signed February 10th, 1878, put a stop, for some
years, to anything like rebellion on a serious scale. A good deal of mystery
surrounds this treaty, to which the President of the Republic and his
secretary, only, affixed their signatures, without the formal consent of the
other rebel generals, officers, and deputies. However, Marshal Martinez
Campos, Commander-in-Chief of the Spanish army, approved it, although
the enemies of the Cuban cause describe the document, somewhat
sarcastically, as being more of a deed of capitulation than a treaty. The
clauses proposing that the political organization of the island should be
placed on the same footing as that of Puerto Rico, that a general amnesty for
all political offences should be forthwith promulgated, that political
prisoners should be pardoned, and that coolies and fugitive slaves who had
served in the Cuban army should be emancipated, met with the approval of
Señor Canovas de Castillo, and the treaty was officially signed and accepted
at Madrid. For some time afterwards, peace nominally existed in almost
every part of the island. The rebels were not, however, wholly inactive.
Notwithstanding the accepted treaty, there was still a President of the Cuban
Republic, Vicente Garcia, and a Parliament, which sat in the wilderness, at
stated periods of the year. In 1879 this "Parliament" was dissolved, and with
its dissolution the period of the "big rebellions" closes, and that of the little
wars, la guerra chiquita, opens. Meanwhile, Maximo Gomez, seeing there
was no immediate work for him to do, betook himself to San Domingo, to
bide his time, and to place himself in active correspondence with the Gran
Junta, or principal Cuban Revolutionary Association, in New York.

And here it may be as well to examine rather closely two matters
connected with Cuban affairs. The first is the assistance afforded to the
Cuban rebels by the United States, and the second, the conditions of the
rebel army, as it stood three years since, when the insurrection began to
assume alarming proportions.
As far back as 1823, John Quincy Adams said: "From a multitude of
considerations, Cuba has become an object of transcendent importance to
the commercial and political interests of our Union. Its commanding
position, ... the nature of its productions and of its wants, furnishing the
supplies and needing the returns of a commerce immensely profitable and
mutually beneficial, give it an importance in the sum of our national
interests with which that of no other foreign territory can be compared, and
little inferior to that which binds the different members of the Union
together."
The reasons which induced Adams to make this statement have not
diminished in late years; far from it, especially since the enormous
development of the Mississippi valley, and of the Gulf Coast. Although
there can be no question that the vast majority of the people of the United
States have expressed an unselfish sympathy for the unfortunate Cubans,
their politicians, and, above all, their financiers, have added to this
sentiment a profound knowledge of the great value which Cuba must
eventually prove to the Union, were she more firmly governed, and her
American interests better protected. Among the advocates for the
annexation of Cuba have been the following Presidents: Jefferson, Monroe,
John Quincy Adams, Jackson, Polk, Fillmore, Pierce, and Buchanan.
A remarkably interesting article on Cuban Diplomacy from 1795 to 1898
appeared recently in Harper's Magazine, in which Professor Albert
Bushnell traces the rise of the sympathy of the American people for Cuban
independence or annexation, and points out very plainly that "when, as in
1886, slavery was definitely abolished, the Spanish Government promised
other excellent reforms, but, as usual, very soon things fell back into their
old rut. The Captain-General was still practically absolute; the island was
saddled with the debt created to hold it in subjection; it was still exploited
for the benefit of Spain, and the same wearisome impediments were laid on
foreign traders. For example, in 1880 several vessels were fired upon by

Spanish gunboats outside the jurisdiction of Cuba; in 1881 an American
cattle steamer, subject to a tax of $14.90, was taxed $387.40, because she
had some lumber on board. In 1882 began a long drawn-out correspondence
on overcharges and illegal exactions by Spanish consuls over vexatious
fines for small clerical errors, and over annoying passport regulations. The
most serious trouble arose out of the refusal of the Spanish authorities, to
return estates confiscated during the war to American citizens of Cuban
birth.
"Meanwhile trade between the United States and Cuba was advancing by
leaps and bounds. In 1850 the sum of the Cuban trade into and out of the
United States was $20,000,000; in 1880 $76,000,000; in 1894
$105,000,000. American capital became engaged in sugar and other
industries. The two countries tried to put their tariffs on a better footing by
the Convention of 1884, for the mutual abandonment of discriminating
duties; in 1893 Spain accepted reciprocity under the tariff of 1890; but the
Cuban authorities evaded the privileges thus conferred, on the ground that
they were governed by a special Spanish translation from the English
version of the treaty, and not by the original Spanish version; and it was
three years before the Home Government could straighten out this petty
snarl.
"In 1884-5 came some filibustering expeditions; the United States exerted
itself to stop them, and there was no Cuban insurrection. On the whole, the
years from 1879 to 1894 were freer from diplomatic controversy than any
like period since 1845. Meanwhile the Cubans in the United States had
accumulated a revolution fund of a million dollars."
I have already stated that a network of secret societies has covered Cuba,
ever since the beginning of this century. Branches of these mysterious
associations have been established in nearly every city on the seaboard of
the two Americas, from New York to Buenos Ayres, at Boston, Savanah,
Charlestown, Norfolk, Tampa, Kingston (Jamaica), etc. Their headquarters
have been established, for some five and forty years, in the American
metropolis, and are known as the Gran Junta, or Cuban Revolutionary
Agency.
From this centre, the rebellion has been mainly worked. It is presided over,
at the present time, by Señor Thomaso Estrado Palma, who was born at

Bayamo, some sixty-seven years ago, and who for a short time acted as
President of the Cuban Republic. He was captured by the Spaniards, and
imprisoned for several years. About 1895 he reappeared in New York, as
headmaster of a Hispano-American College, and as one of the leading
members of the Junta. He is not only thoroughly well aquainted with all the
secrets of the rebels, but is also by no means ignorant of the movements of
the Spaniards. He bears an eminently respectable character, is a man of
considerable literary attainments, and, considering his age, may be
described as remarkably active. The New York Junta publishes a bi-weekly
paper, entitled La Patria, edited by Don Enrique José Varona, who, if I
mistake not, is a brother of that Varona who was shot during the affair of the
"Virginius." The line of Presidents of the Cuban Republic is still unbroken,
and the gentleman who at present fills the position is a man of considerable
culture, and, moreover, a wealthy planter, whose estates, however, he has
neglected for some years, in order the better to serve his country.
One of the great grievances of the Spaniards is the fashion in which the
American Government has tolerated the existence of this Gran Junta, and
the formation of branch offices, all over the States. And, when you come to
think of it, it does seem somewhat intolerable that a power which calls itself
friendly,—since it has a representative at the court of Madrid,—should
encourage a whole network of conspiracy against a Government, with
which it keeps up a constant interchange of official courtesies; but at the
same time, it should be remembered that these associations cannot be
suppressed, in a free country like America, so long as the members take care
not to go beyond the letter of the law. Under President Cleveland, matters
were otherwise. The United States Government made some pretence of
moderating the zeal of the Juntas, and spent many million dollars in
endeavours to prevent the departure of filibusters, to join the rebel forces.
But notwithstanding the dignified policy of President Cleveland, which for
some years gave the Spaniards a fair chance of pacifying the distracted
island, they utterly failed to avail themselves of the opportunity.
The task of restoring order in such an island as Cuba is one demanding
almost superhuman energy and tact, and these are qualities in which the
Spanish race, a naturally excitable one, is absolutely deficient. Yet it must
be allowed that the Cuban civil war resembles none other that has ever been
fought in any part of the world, or at any period of recorded history.

Revolution, as a rule, starts from the large cities, and thence penetrates by
degrees into the villages and rural districts. It is quite otherwise in Cuba.
With the exception of one or two easily quelled riots in Havana, Cienfuegos,
Santiago, and Bayamo, the capital cities and towns of the island have
scarcely participated in the rebellion; their citizens, although for the most
part Cuban born, have apparently remained aloof,—possibly because the
rebellion has proved exceedingly injurious to their trade and commerce.
This accounts for the curious fact that while we hear so much about the
terrible sufferings of the Cuban people, and their deadly hatred of their
Spanish masters, we see in numberless photographs, reproduced in our
illustrated papers, and representing the departure or arrival of Spanish
troops at Havana or other leading cities, such a display of enthusiasm on the
part of the citizens, as we should have little expected.
The long streets are thronged, the balconies are crowded, Spanish flags
float in all directions, and the troops march along under a shower of flowers,
whilst young ladies are seen rushing forward to offer them refreshments.
Now it must be remembered that at least two-thirds of these enthusiastic
spectators are quite as Cuban as the most ardent of the rebels; but they are
people who have something to lose by the continuance of the civil war, and
a good deal to gain by its cessation, therefore they eagerly welcome the
Spanish soldiers, in the hope that they may suppress the rebellion, without
the intervention of the Americans, a people who, however well-intentioned
they may be, are, from the Cuban point of view, aliens in race, and even in
religion. We should never lose sight of the fact that the rebels are not the
angels some writers would lead us to believe them. Even enthusiasts, who
see their budding wings, acknowledge that they have destroyed, burnt,
pillaged, and retaliated, quite as barbarously as their Spanish enemies.
I remember hearing, from the lips of one who saw the outrage perpetrated,
a story of some eight or ten Spanish women who, in the war of 1873, went
to the rebel camp to beg the lives of their captured fathers, brothers, and
husbands.
The unhappy women were treated in the most revolting manner, and
subsequently butchered. Hundreds of other stories, just as horrible, have
been told of Maceo, and above all, of Manuel Garcia, the ex-brigand chief,
who joined the rebel army, and boldly styled himself Manuel Ist, King of

the Cuban highwaymen. He surrounded himself with a gang of picked
ruffians, and became the terror of all the peaceful planters of both parties,
from whom he used to levy tribute, and whom he never hesitated to murder,
if they refused to submit to his extortions. This abominable personage was
killed on February 24th, 1895, by the sacristan of the parish church of Arcos
de Canosina.
Last year the rebel army was composed, so far as I have been able to
ascertain, very much as follows: 25,000 infantry without transport; 14,000
cavalry, with 13,000 horses and mules; artillery,—22 guns, 190 mules or
horses, and about 800 men; the whole regular and irregular army, amounting
to about 70,000 men, some 10,000 of whom are absolutely unarmed. During
the last two years these numbers have probably been greatly reduced. The
duty of the unarmed men consists in going round the field after a battle, and
gathering up the arms dropped by the wounded and the dead. Behind this
regular army, if so it can be called, is another, consisting of a horde of
civilized and uncivilized adventurers, recruited from all parts of the island,
and indeed from the four quarters of the globe; among them you will find
field hands out of employment, the riffraff turned out of the neighbouring
islands, Americans, Mexicans, Germans, Italians, and even a few
Englishmen. Yet a third band follows behind this extraordinary mass of
heterogenous humanity,—a mob of ex-slaves, reinforced by coolies, who
may be described as camp followers, and bring their women and children
with them. This formidable and incessantly moving army is divided into
sections, and distributed over various parts of the island, in camps (by
courtesy so called, for their tents are exceedingly few in number, and the
majority have to sleep in the open, unless they have time and skill to make
themselves huts with palm branches). These Cuban rebels, being
acclimatized, have a great advantage over the Spaniards in pursuit of them,
who, as often as not, are trapped by "Yellow Jack." They are less easily
overwhelmed by the deadly miasmas which hang over the desolate places
where, for safety's sake, they are compelled to pitch their tents.[11] Still
thousands of them do perish, for though the vomito nigro does not attack the
blacks, it carries off thousands of whites and coolies, while other loathsome
diseases decimate the uncleanly negroes and their coolie brethren.
The wildest imagination can scarcely conceive a more wonderful scene
than that presented by an encampment of Cuban rebels in one of the virgin

forests which still cover a considerable portion of the island, or else on
those level marsh lands, called Manigua, which bear so strong a
resemblance to the Roman Campagna.
Only those who have been in a tropical forest can form any idea of what it
is like. I remember once being taken by two excellent guides a few hundred
yards into one of these jungles. An English forest generally consists of one,
or, at the most, four or five varieties of tree—the oak, the pine, the ash, the
birch, the beech—with an undergrowth of wild nuts and bramble, and a still
lower one of bracken fern and grass. In a tropical forest almost every tree
and shrub is wholly different from its neighbour.
The first impression made upon me, as I sauntered into this green maze,
was one of absolute amazement, not unmingled with a certain sense of
terror. The vegetation around me was of such unusual proportions that I felt
myself a mere pigmy, a sort of Jack the Giant-Killer wandering in quest of
the Ogre's Castle. And indeed the thick growth of tree trunk and palm stems,
absolutely leafless for some forty or fifty feet, might easily be mistaken for
the dead walls of some enchanted fortress. Looking up, however, one
beheld, instead of blue sky, an aerial canopy of the densest foliage, varying
in tint from the deepest to the tenderest green.
These Cuban forests are pathless: to traverse them you must cut or burn
your way; their labyrinths remind you at every turn of the opening lines to
Dante's Inferno:
"Nel mezzo de cammin di nostra vita
Mi ritrovai per una selva, oscura
Chè la diritta via era smarrita."
As you pass along, clouds of winged creatures rise out of the grass, some
of them infamously unkind and pernicious, others beautiful and harmless. In
the openings the most inconceivably lovely flowers bloom, and humming
birds flash hither and thither, sparkling like variegated jewels in the few
rays of sunshine that penetrate the massive canopy of leaves.
Now and again their passage is barred by the rope-like branches of some
uncanny creeper, that come pouring down from above like the tangled
rigging of a wrecked ship. You draw back in alarm, lest the strange thing

should suddenly come to life, and turn into a chain of angry serpents. To
your surprise you perceive one side of it to be literally blazing with flame-
coloured orchids, red and orange. In the centre of yonder little open space is
a dead tree that some huge parasite has seized upon, dragged out of earth
and imprisoned in a woody cage, every bar of which is tapestried with the
most exquisite orchids. Yonder growth, which reaches far above your knees,
consists of the great wheel-shaped maiden-hair fern, whose fronds are so
exquisite and so brittle that you feel remorse at trampling so tender and
delicate a carpet under foot. Presently you find yourself ascending a rocky
eminence, crowned by half a dozen soaring cabbage palms, and thence you
plunge into a shrubbery where the exquisite Tabernæ-montana, or the
resplendent Calycophyllum, fills the hot moist air with an overpowering
perfume, recalling that of our homely syringa. On and on you go, through
groves of palm trees, tied together by entwined lianas, looking, for all the
world, like motionless boa constrictors, and on which countless tiny lizards,
or harmless little snakes, glisten in the sunlight. Now and then a flying
squirrel flashes past, or a monster bat is disturbed, or you form the
acquaintance of an ugly old iguana, who winks at you with a knowing eye,
and withdraws, as suddenly as he appeared, behind a trap door of broad
glossy leaves. Here are clusters of begonias, there a veritable cataract of
morning glory, the deep blue flowers so thickly set together that not a green
leaf is to be seen, for many yards. When you least expect it, the wooden
walls open, and discover a glimpse of some placid lake, embedded like a
jewel in a frame of dark green orange trees laden with golden fruit, and
covered with every sort of water lily, varying from the most dazzling white
to the deepest crimson and violet. The heat is so great that you feel an
irresistible impulse to throw off your clothes and jump into the pellucid
water; but your guide, divining your intention, soon makes you alter your
mind, assuring you that the bed of the lakelet swarms with uncanny aquatic
snakes, while perchance that unpleasant individual, the ugly caiman, lurks
in the dark, under yon mass of arum lilies, ready to pounce upon you, and
snap off your leg. Yonder is a turtle scudding along, and round the shores of
an islet, covered with delicate bamboo cane, sails a whole fleet of gorgeous
water fowl. The impulse to push forward and discover new wonders and
beauties for yourself is swiftly checked by your guide, who warns you that,
as the sun begins to drop, noxious vapours presently will rise,—vapours
charged with deadly fevers and incurable agues. And so you hurry back,

thanking heaven, all the time, that you have a guide with you, for without
his friendly aid you might wander round and round in this maze of luxuriant
vegetation, never straying far from the point whence you started, and sink at
last, exhausted, to die of hunger and thirst, with, it may be, a cluster of
tempting poison peaches dripping luscious but death-dealing syrup just
above your parched lips. In forests such as these, stretching for leagues
across the island, do the Cuban rebels pitch their camps.
Through these wild forsaken regions there are neither roads nor paths, and
the enemy has concealed the trace of his footsteps with the utmost
precaution. Every bush may mask an ambuscade, and behind every rock
some danger lurks. Sometimes the Spaniards—to whom experience has
taught many things—may mark the exact position of the rebels by the whirl
of the vultures, circling high above it, watching the time when, after the
camp has broken up, they may make a descent upon the scanty fragments of
victuals left behind, or upon the dead bodies of those who have perished of
wounds, of starvation, perchance, or of some malignant fever. Overhead is a
brazen black-blue sky, through which the sun darts red-hot rays, or else a
black stretch of dense clouds, belching cataracts of water from week's end
to week's end, and frequently torn by the most terrific storms of thunder and
lightning. The marvel of it is that so many men, and even women, are able
to live at all, under such dreadful conditions, more often than not lacking the
veriest necessaries of life, and depending for their daily food on their
knowledge of the qualities, poisonous or harmless, of the various fruits,
berries, and herbs they find about their path. I wonder if it ever occurs to
people who talk so glibly of Cuban affairs, over their well-spread tables,
that at this very moment there are considerably over a hundred thousand
human beings encamped, under these appalling conditions, in various
districts of Cuba, not to mention the miserable reconcentrados, or men out
of employment, whom the towns-people reject, whom the rebel army is not
allowed to absorb into its ranks, and who, between the two camps, have
been systematically starved to death, especially under the merciless and
cruel rule of General Weyler.
In the dry season matters are a trifle better, the fevers diminish, and it is
possible to sleep in the open air without serious risk. The insects, too, are a
trifle less vicious, and the brilliant moonlit winter's nights are often pleasant
enough. Then the bivouac becomes endurable, and if the enemy is

sufficiently distant, a certain element of gaiety lends a picturesque, even
romantic, character to the barbaric gathering. The negroes twang their
banjos, blow their horns, and dance in rings, and the white adventurers
gather round the camp fires, to tell old-world stories, or dream, perchance,
of their childhood, spent under more temperate skies,—and in their heart of
hearts, as their recollection slips back to home, to regret they ever embarked
on such pitiful adventures as these. Suddenly the alert is called, the trumpet
blows, an order is hoarsely shouted, and the motley crowd moves on
elsewhere, or is commanded to make a descent on some plantation to
demand provisions, and, may be, if the owner does not comply, to fire his
sugar canes. Not unfrequently, to screen their flight, they set light to the
prairie or to the forest, and the grass and the trees burn on for days and
nights on end. Some of these bands have a chaplain with them—a priest of
the sort called in England, before the Reformation, a "hedge-priest"—who,
on Sundays and feast days, celebrates Mass at an improvised altar, in some
forest glade. But, on the other hand, the negroes, of whom there are
thousands, seem, as a result of the free life they lead, to have reverted, in
most cases, by a species of atavism, to their old savage habits.
I have said elsewhere that in the olden days their Cuban masters only gave
them a veneer of Christianity; they soon relapse into the obscene and bloody
creed of Voudism, the traditions of which they have never lost. And in
almost every rebel camp there are a number of coolies who, although—to
please the Cubans—they prostrate themselves before the images of Neustra
Señora de Cobre, and of Our Lady of Guadalupe, secretly practise the
lowest forms of Buddhism.
It is now time to turn our attention to an extremely interesting personage,
who, in his day, has given the mother country more trouble, probably, than
any other of the numerous leaders of the rebellion—the famous Maceo. He
was a true son of the revolution, born at Santiago di Cuba in that great year
of universal revolt, 1848. He was not, as has been so frequently stated in
English newspapers, a gentleman of noble family. As a matter of fact, he
began life as a muleteer. Hence his wonderful knowledge of the Cuban
ravines and passes, which has been so precious both to his followers and to
himself. He never made any pretence of being a "Caballero," but gave
himself out for what he was, a blunt man of the people (egregiously vain, let
me add, and astonishingly ignorant!). Four years ago the following

description of Maceo was written me from Cuba by a friend who knew him
well. "This wonderful man, though short of stature, looks the very
incarnation of a Spadassin of the good old times of Calderon and Lope, and
this notwithstanding his strong evidences of negro blood. True, his features
are none too regular, but his complexion is, to say the best of it, swarthy.
His eyes are splendid, and he has formidable moustachios, which would
have roused the envy of a musketeer. He is scrupulously neat in his dress,
and wears his much belaced gold uniform with a gallant air. His broad-
brimmed white felt hat sets off his face to advantage. On the whole, he at
first impressed me very favourably. Suddenly, however, something annoyed
him, and he turned round on one of his men, and burst into a storm of oaths.
Then he showed his white teeth, shook with nervous fury, and looked very
fierce." For a good many years, Maceo was the hero of the day. Even in the
towns, where interest in the rising is apt to flag, people liked to talk of his
adventures. He bore the marks of twenty-five wounds,—twenty caused by
bullets, and five by sword thrusts. He possessed a quality of ubiquity which
at times seemed almost miraculous. When the Spaniards were perfectly
certain that Maceo and his men were in the west, they were tolerably certain
to turn up in the east. A dozen times, at least, he was reported killed, but
sooner or later he always reappeared, and in a condition altogether too lively
for Spanish taste. Some persons even now believe he was not shot, as
reported, on December 9th, 1895. But there can be but little doubt his
adventurous career is ended, otherwise he would have certainly reappeared
ere this, especially as he is sorely needed, no one having as yet risen up to
take his place. General Gomez and Maceo have been by far the most
interesting figures in the Cuban rebellion. In the time to come he will, I feel
sure, be the hero of a score of novels, as startling and sensational as any of
those of Mayne Reid or Fenimore Cooper.
Far be it from me to disparage the motives of the men who have conducted
this revolt against a distinctly vicious and obsolete government. The saddest
fact connected with the present struggle is that Spain's punishment has come
upon her at a time when she least deserves it, for during the last ten years,
though all too late, a great deal has been done for the island by the mother
country. In the first place, it is not true that Cubans are not admitted to any
official position in the administration of their country. At this present time at
least one-half of the Government employés, high and low, are Cubans.
There are some scores of Cuban officers in the Spanish army. Cuba is

represented at the Cortes by thirteen Senators, and thirty Deputies. The
University of Havana is almost entirely in the hands of Cubans; the Rector,
Don Joaquim F. Lastres, and the Vice-Rector, are both of them natives of the
island. All the Deans are Cubans, and out of eighty Professors, sixty are
Spaniards born in the island, ergo Cubans. All the Advocates of the
Supreme Court are Cubans, many belonging to families which have resided
for generations in the island. Still there is widespread and well-founded
discontent. The island is not properly administered. Everything is in a state
of confusion. Red-tapeism—the curse of Spanish bureaucracy—is rampant,
and the system of petty backsheesh is almost as universal as in Turkey.
There is much truth, too, in Mr Gossip's statement in his article in the May
number of the Fortnightly Review, entitled "The Mournful Case of Cuba,"
which runs as follows:—

"Spain has placed an almost insuperable barrier in the way of American merchants, should they
attempt to enter her ports with American products, in the form of a protective tariff, which resembles
in many respects, the policy once pursued by England against her American colonies, of which the
'Boston tea party' was the direct result, has proved very detrimental to American interests. For while
the United States purchases, at least, more than seventy per cent. of everything Cuba has to sell, Cuba
in return buys from the United States less than twenty per cent. of the articles she imports—chiefly
flour, petroleum, and other non-competitive articles, which Spain is unable to furnish; so that it is to
the land of the Stars and Stripes that Cuba must look, since, as long as beets are grown in Europe, the
product of the sugar cane will find no market on the European side of the Atlantic. Thus, the mother
country pockets annually, through her antiquated institutions, the Yankee millions, which, under
proper conditions of trade, would be returned to the people of the United States in payment for
American coal, iron, and manufactured goods, which are often sent to Spain and then re-shipped to
Cuba, as the only practical method of getting into the latter country. Owing to the backwardness of
Spanish industries, and the inability of Spain to supply Cuba with the products she requires, the
Cubans have to consume Spanish articles of inferior quality, or pay exorbitant prices for foreign
goods, owing to the prohibitive duties imposed, which merely place large sums in the Spanish
exchequer. Spanish merchants practise a novel fraud by nationalising foreign products for
importation into Cuba, and thus the senseless commercial policy of Spain is the cause of
inextinguishable discontent.
"It is true, also, that Cuba is within the economic orbit of the United States, and that the commerce
of the island is a strong factor in the Cuban problem, inasmuch as it is the active agent of civilization
everywhere; and sugar is omnipotent from the purely commercial American point of view. There are
certain fixed economic laws, which are as sure in their operation as gravitation, and must inevitably
affect the ultimate destiny of Cuba."

I do not think sufficient attention has been paid by students of the Cuban
question to facts wholly unconnected with bad government and of a purely
economic nature. First and foremost of these is the depreciation in the
commercial value of local produce, especially the loss on sugar, which is
mainly due to the popularity and cheapness of beetroot sugar on the
continent of Europe. Without undue entering into details, I would point out
that Cuba is in this respect going through precisely the same financial and
commercial crisis as the other and better-governed West Indian Islands. The
tobacco trade, I hear, is less flourishing than it used to be. It has to contend
with the prodigious development which has recently taken place in the
tobacco markets of Asia Minor, Egypt, Europe, and the United States. In a
word, Cuba has been doing very badly now for over twenty years, and
families which were not very long ago amongst the richest of our period,
are now paupers, eager to sell their few remaining jewels, bric-à-brac, and
even their fans, lace, and brocades, to the passing stranger. To add to the
general distress came the completion of the abolition of slavery, with its
usual result—the negroes refused to work. Coolies were imported, but the

climate did not suit them. White labour has not been tried, for the simple
reason that it is a foredoomed failure. Masters who have had to deal with
negroes all their lives are never able to manage poor whites. Hundreds of
plantations have gone out of cultivation, and thousands of half savage,
coloured folk, have gone to swell in the all-pervading anarchy which the
Spanish Government is not strong enough to suppress.
Meanwhile the rebellion has absorbed an incredible amount of Spanish
capital, and drained the mother country of hundreds of thousands of young
men, the great majority of whom will never see their homes again. Cuba, in
her present condition, is Spain's ruin, and it would have been well for the
Spaniards if they had sold the island half a century ago.
"Cuba," said a Spanish writer the other day, "is a sort of bottomless waste-
paper basket. The women of Cadiz and its neighbourhood hold the very
name of Cuba in execration, they have seen so many of their sons and
sweethearts depart thither, never to return."
I am not one of those who see an angel in every Cuban rebel, and a devil
in every Spaniard; I hold that in this, as in almost every other human
concern, the case, to put it vulgarly, is "six to the one, and half a dozen to
the other." There are grave faults, nay, crimes, on both sides, and the
condition of the island in the present half of the century, and especially
during the last five years, is a disgrace to civilization. When individual
Spaniards have tried to do their best for the Cubans, their good intentions
have not received much response from their superiors. Take, for instance,
Martinez Campos, who was sent out to the island some years back as
Commander-in-Chief; he was an honourable and humane man, desirous of
doing the best he could to reduce bitterness and evolve peace. But his
efforts were frequently baulked by the home Government, which was for
ever pressing him to take active measures. He knew the island, having been
there twenty years before, and under exceptional circumstances, but he was
powerless to plant the olive branch he had brought with him from Spain,
whence he had started amidst the most enthusiastic expectations, and to
which he returned, not unlike the proverbial rocket that went up in a blaze
of glory, to fall a flat, burnt stick. I cannot forbear thinking that the gravest
mistake of the Spanish Government in the whole of this Cuban business
was its peremptory recall of Martinez Campos, and, above all, the despatch

of such a man as General Weyler, with the strictest orders to put the
rebellion down at any cost.
Weyler, Marquis of Tenerife, is an extraordinary individual. He has been
charged with appalling cruelty, and although, in a recent interview in the
Daily Telegraph, he is described as bringing forward some justification for
certain of his acts, still the fact remains, that since the dreadful days of
Alva, the horrors he has perpetrated in Cuba have rarely been equalled in
human history. Indeed, with his Belgian descent, he seems to have inherited
something of the unrelenting nature of those cruel bigots who transformed
the Sablon Square in Brussels into a sort of permanent furnace, for the
roasting of human beings. He might be Caesar Borgia come to life again, in
a modern Spanish uniform. He conceived it his duty to extinguish the civil
war at any cost, and he used the self-same methods which made the fame
(or shame) of Hernando Cortez and of Alva. I have waded through a mass
of evidence against him, and must confess, even allowing for considerable
exaggeration, that he stands out in unpleasant relief against an ugly
background of massacre and starvation. His desperate struggle to stamp out
the revolt seems to have driven him to frenzy, and the rebels were roused,
on their side, to reprisals of an equally shocking character. But the rebellion
was not to be quelled even by General Weyler's bloody methods. Like some
gaunt skeleton, it rose up again, in its marshes and its forests, and defied
him. The wretched reconcentrados were starved to death, or shot down by
scores, but the undaunted resistance still waved its scarlet and white striped
banner, with the solitary "star of hope" glittering in its corner. At last, and
none too soon, in response to the indignant outcries of Europe and America,
Weyler was recalled. Meanwhile the New York Junta availed itself of the
excitement produced by the harrowing stories of Weyler's inhuman
methods, to work up the easily excited Americans to the very verge of
hysteria.
An incident occurred in Havana some little while back, which, although
trivial enough when reduced to its true proportions, has had a vast influence
in bringing about the present war. Miss Evangelina Cisneros, a daughter of
that Marquis de Santa Lucia who was second President of the Cuban
Republic, effected her escape from a Cuban prison under exceptional
circumstances. We are assured that she is exceedingly lovely, and, judging
by her numerous photographs, she certainly must be very pretty. Her aged

father has been in a State prison at Havana for some years. His dutiful
daughter, hearing that his health was breaking down under the prolonged
confinement, went one day to the governor of the prison, Colonel Berriz,
and throwing herself upon her knees before him, implored him to use his
influence to obtain her parent's liberation. If we are to believe Miss
Evangelina Cisneros' account of the affair, the colonel offered her the same
vile conditions that the Count de Luna suggests to Leonora (in Il Trovatore),
when that operatic heroine begs him to release Manrico. The fair
Evangelina scorned the proposal, and, in a whirlwind of indignation, fled
from her insulter's presence. According to the Colonel, there is not a word
of truth in the whole story; he vows he is the victim of an hysterical girl,
who had been caught carrying letters to the rebel army. Be this as it may,
Señorita Cisneros was arrested and sent to prison, and to what seems to
have been a very undesirable one, in which she was given scanty fare, and
forced to associate with the very lowest females. Here she remained for
many months, in the greatest agony of mind, until she managed, one fine
day, to communicate with Mrs Lee, the wife of the United States Consul, by
means of a few words scratched on a bit of paper with a pin, dipped in her
own blood. Mrs Lee contrived to visit her, and does not seem, to tell the
truth, to have had much difficulty in obtaining admission to her cell. The
sad story was soon afterwards published broadcast all over the United
States and England, thanks mainly to the arch-millionaire journalist, Mr W.
E. Hearst, who, perceiving that Evangelina's adventures would make
excellent copy for his paper, and considerably help the Cuban cause,
commissioned Mr Deckar, a young gentleman connected with his staff, to
go to Cuba and effect her release, which exploit was duly performed with
splendid courage and skill. The fair Evangelina was enabled, thanks to Mr
Deckar's intervention, to stupefy her companions with sweetmeats infused
with laudanum, and, whilst they lay in a profound slumber, to squeeze
herself through the bars of her cell window, to cross a ladder stretched from
roof to roof, and finally, after many hairbreadth perils and dangers, to effect
her escape from Cuba like another Rosalind, in the disguise of a boy—all of
which tends to prove that the Cuban prisons are not particularly well
guarded.
Meanwhile, a petition to the Queen of Spain, signed by hundreds of
American ladies, headed by the President's mother, was sent from New

York to Madrid, and yet another to the same purpose was forwarded from
London, where two ladies, famed for their instinctive horror of anything
approaching self-advertisement—Mrs Ormiston Chant and the fair author
of The Sorrows of Satan—warmly espoused the fate of the hapless
Evangelina, whose adventures, in spite of a monster reception in Madison
Square, attended by not less than 250,000 persons, with appropriate
banners, flowers, and bands of music, fell rather flat in New York. Her
gallant rescuer being a married man, Evangelina remains to this day in
"maiden meditation, fancy free."
But the sensation produced by this interesting case was immense. Portraits
of Mlle. Cisneros were sold by the thousand, and from New York to San
Francisco execration of the Spaniards rose to fever heat.
Soon afterwards occurred the terrible "Maine" disaster, which, coming on
the top of the Cisneros business, drove the American masses, egged on by
the clamours of the "yellow press," to force the reluctant President into a
strangely sudden declaration of war,—a struggle, the fate of which, even as
I write, yet hangs in the balance.

P.S.—Even as these pages go to press, a telegram announces the marriage
of "Miss Evangelina Cisneros to one of her rescuers."

HAVANA.

CHAPTER VI.

Havana and the Havanese.[12]

NOTWITHSTANDING the mosquito nuisance and indifferent drainage, the
traveller's first impression of Havana is distinctly agreeable, and the
pleasing illusion is never completely destroyed. The harbour is wonderfully
picturesque. Opposite the entrance stands the Morro Castle, built by Philip
II. of Spain in 1573. It was formerly almost a facsimile of that curious little
castellated Moorish fortress which faces the beautiful Monastery and
Church of Belem, at Lisbon, but has been considerably altered of late years
in the process of adaptation to uses of modern warfare. Then comes in view
the other historical fortress, La Punta, also erected by our Queen Mary's

sinister consort. To the left are two rather sharp promontories, crested by
several fine churches, one "Los Angeles," fully two hundred years old—an
age in the New World corresponding to hoar antiquity in the Old. Beyond
these, upon a number of low-lying hills, rises the city, an irregular mass of
one-storied dwellings, painted a vivid ochre, and interspersed with church
domes and towers, with here and there tall, lank cocoa palms, or a tuff of
banana leaves waving over some garden wall. Vessels from every part of
the world, feluccas, with their swallow-shaped sails, some dazzling white,
others a deep-red brown, fill up the foreground—whilst canoe-like market
boats, laden with tropical fruits, fish, vegetables, and flowers, and rowed by
negroes naked to the waist, scud in all directions over the deep-blue waters.
Arriving, as I did, from New York, which I had left deep in snow, this
summer scene was most exhilarating, and the exceeding transparency of the
Cuban atmosphere added considerably to its beauty. Everything seemed
unusual, novel, and, above all, utterly unlike what I expected. The impress
of the mother-country, Spain, is felt and seen everywhere, and modern
American influences are barely perceptible as yet. From the sea, Havana
might be Malaga or Cadiz, but when you land, memories of Pompeii
immediately crowd upon you. What we should call the city proper, the
commercial quarter of the Cuban capital, consists of a labyrinth of narrow
lanes, traversed by one or two broadish streets, the two principal of which
are known all over Southern America and the West Indies as Calle O'Reilly
and Calle O'Bisbo, and run from the Governor's Palace right out to the walls
of the city. Few of the houses which line these lanes and alleys are more
than one storey high, but that one storey is so exceedingly lofty that it
would make three in an average London dwelling. The lower half of every
house is painted either a deep darkish blue, a deep Egyptian red, or a vivid
yellow ochre; the upper part is always a dazzling white. As in Pompeii, you
notice rows of stucco columns, painted half one colour half another.
Peeping through the ever-open doorways you may, as you pass along,
obtain something more than a mere casual glimpse of the interior of the
dwellings. If you are early enough, you may behold the family at its toilet,
for there is very little privacy anywhere in Cuba, every act, from entry into
life to its final exit, from baptism to burial, being serenely performed in the
utmost publicity. The lower windows, overlooking the street, are protected
by heavy iron bars, and behind these you may, in certain quarters of the

town, see lively groups of Havanese Geishas, their faces thickly powdered
with rice flour, their long black hair plaited, and their opulent charms
displayed to liberal advantage—"sono donne che fano all'amore!"
The frequent curious overhanging windows, with their iron bars, would
give the place a prison-like appearance, were they not painted in the most
brilliant colours—orange, scarlet, and pea-green. More frequently than not,
the fragrance of the family dinner falls pleasantly on your olfactory nerve,
and you may even catch a glimpse of the cook, a negress, invariably
presiding over the charcoal stove in the kitchen, turban on head, a long
calico skirt streaming behind her, and in her mouth the inevitable cigarette,
without which no Cuban coloured lady can be happy.
There is no West End, so to speak, in Havana, the mansions of the wealthy
being scattered through every part of the city. Some of the better sort of
houses are exceedingly handsome, but they are all built on one plan, in the
classical style, with an inner courtyard, surrounded by handsome marble or
stucco columns. I imagine them to be designed much on the same plan as
the villas of ancient Rome. You first look into a fine hall—generally either
built of white marble or else stuccoed to look like it. Here the family
Victoria or old-fashioned Volante is usually stowed away. Here also stands,
rather for ornament than use, a sedan-chair, which is, more often than not,
richly painted and gilded. Beyond this hall is the Pateo, in the centre of
which there is usually a garden rich in tropical vegetation, shading either a
fountain or a large gilded aviary full of brilliant parrots and parrakeets. In
some houses there is a picture or statue of the Virgin, or some Saint, with a
lamp burning before it day and night. In the Pateo, the family assembles of
an evening, the ladies in full dress; and as it is generally brilliantly
illuminated, the pleasant domestic scene adds greatly to the gay appearance
of the streets, which fill with loungers in the cool of the evening.
The Havanese shops are plentifully supplied with European and native
goods, but, as in almost all tropical countries, very few of them have
windows, and the wares are exposed in the open, as in an Eastern bazaar.
Only a few years ago the jewellers' and goldsmiths' shops were renowned
throughout the Western world, but now, unfortunately, they are entirely
ruined. Even in 1878, when the shoe first began to pinch in Cuba, many fine
jewels, and some beautiful specimens of old Spanish silver, Louis XV. fans,

snuff-boxes, and bric-à-brac of all kinds, were offered for sale. Often a
negress would come to the hotel bearing a coffer full of things for
inspection; the mistress who sent the good woman must have had implicit
trust in her servant, for she frequently sold her wares for very considerable
sums. Few of the Havanese magnates and rich planters have anything worth
selling left them nowadays, but only a few years ago Havana was a happy
hunting-ground for bargain seekers.
The handsomest street in Havana is the Cerro, a long thoroughfare
running up a hill at the back of the town, bordered on either side by
enormous old villas, in the midst of magnificent gardens. The finest of these
mansions belongs to the very old Hernandez family, and is built of white
marble in the usual classical style. The adjacent villa, Santoveneo, has a
lovely garden, and used to be famous for its collection of orchids, the late
Countess de Santoveneo, a very wealthy lady, being a great collector. She
was a clever, agreeable woman, well known in Paris, where she usually
spent the summer and autumn. In the midst of a perfect forest of cocoa
palms stands the former summer villa of the Bishops of Havana, now a
private residence.
Then, one after the other, follow the handsome dwellings of the Havanese
aristocracy—of the Marquese dos Hermanos, of the Duque de Fernandina,
of the Conde Penalver, of the Marqueza d'Aldama, etc. The cacti in these
villa gardens are of amazing size and shape, some showing leaves thick and
strong enough to bear the weight of a full-grown man. In the gardens of the
Conde de Penalver there is a glorious mangoe grass, the first I ever saw, and
the finest. Unfortunately, these Havana Edens are infested all the year round
by swarms of mosquitos. The residents seem skin-proof, and do not appear
to suffer from the insects' attacks. But woe waits on the unwary new-comer
who tempts fate by lingering in these lovely gardens!
There are several delightful public promenades in the city and its suburbs,
the Paseo de Isabel for instance, with its wide pavement and its stately
central avenue of flowering trees. Here stands an exceedingly imposing
monument, the Fontana de India, which would put our all too notorious
"shaving-brushes" in Trafalgar Square to shame. On the summit of a snow-
white marble pedestal is a fine statue of the Antilles, represented by an
Indian maiden airily attired in robes of nihil, and adorned with beads and a

head-dress of plumes. Cornucopias full of tropical fruits and flowers rest at
her feet, and four monstrous dolphins cast down volumes of foaming water
into a spacious marble basin. Forming a background to this remarkable
work of art are the public gardens of La Glorietta, with their oleander
groves and towering palm trees. In the great pond the Victoria Regia floats
its colossal silver cups. Hard by is the Campo de Marte, or Mars' field,
where the soldiers drill, and beyond which stands the splendid palace of the
Aldama family, in the midst of a glorious tropical garden.
The Calzada de la Reina is another wide street, running from the Campo
de Marte, to the Calzada Belancion and the Paseo de Tacon. This is the
fashionable shopping street, and, as a rule, crowded with carriages in the
early morning hours, when the Cuban ladies make their purchases. No
Havanese lady ever condescends to leave her victoria to enter a shop—the
shopman invariably brings out his wares for her inspection, and the
bargaining takes place in the open street, and is often very animated and
amusing.
The Paseo de Tacon is, however, by far the finest promenade in the city,
and quite worthy of any capital in the world. A very broad drive passes
between a double row of splendid acacias of the "peacock" variety—so
called on account of their huge tufts of crimson and yellow flowers. The
Paseo dates back to 1802, and is adorned by several handsome statues and
memorial columns. Of an evening it blazes with electric light, and,
moreover, boasts an interminable switchback railway, a great source of
amusement to the young fry of Havana. At the extreme end of Tacon,
which, by the way, is sometimes as animated with carriages and pedestrians
as the Champs Elyseés, are the Botanical Gardens, which are surprisingly
fine. Imagine all the conservatories of Kew and the Crystal Palace without
their glass roofs, and you may then form a vague notion of the glories of
these gardens. There is an avenue of cocoa palms here which is of almost
unearthly beauty. I remember seeing these Gardens illuminated for a fiesta
with myriads of coloured lights, and surpassing in fairylike beauty any
transformation scene ever devised at dear old Drury. The stems of the palm
trees, "all set in a stately row," seemed converted into pillars of gold, and,
far above, a good hundred feet and more, scintillated clusters of tiny lamps,
like jewels among their waving fronds.

Of an early winter morning—a winter morning in Cuba is like an ideal
one in late May in our latitudes, Tacon Gardens are delightful, they are so
well arranged and so full of interest. In the centre is the Quinta, or summer-
house, which you reach by a very long verdant tunnel, formed of Pacific
roses and the clustering yellow banksia. Here also I first made the
acquaintance of the duck plant, or Aristolochia pelicana of which more
anon, and of the divinely beautiful Cuban morning glory, convolvulus major
—with its immense bunches of the deepest blue flowers. In the evening the
moon-flower opens its colossal white disks, and the night-blooming cerus is
also a perennial attraction to those who have never seen it burst into glory at
a given hour, and shed around an almost too powerful odour of attar of
roses.
Take Havana for all in all, in times of peace it is by far and away the
pleasantest city in the Southern Hemisphere—the most resourceful, for it
has capital public libraries, museums, clubs, and theatres. Of an evening it
is quite charming. Then the streets are thronged with people until early
morning. The bands play selections from the latest operas—even Wagnerian
airs—the señoras and señoritas parade up and down with their attendant
cabaleros, and mostly in evening, nay, full ball dress, with only a lace veil
over their heads. A brilliant double line of equipages fills the central drive,
and very smart many of them are—as well turned out as any in Hyde Park
or the Bois. The cafés, and there are hundreds of them, are dazzling with
electric and incandescent light, and packed by a motley crowd as
picturesque as it is animated. Negresses, in gaudy cast-off finery, offer you
dulce or sweetmeats, and coloured boys cry "limonata" and ice water.
Everybody has a cigarette between their lips or their fingers. Banjos twang
and mandolines tinkle in all directions, and if you chance to get a good seat
at the Café Dominico, or the Louvre, where the world of fashion is wont to
assemble to suck ice drinks through long straws, smoke cigarettes, and
criticise their neighbours, you can pass many an amused hour, watching the
passing show of this West Indian Vanity Fair.
If it please you to leave the gay throng to its devices, its cigarettes, and its
scandal, to quit the flaring thoroughfares and betake yourself to the semi-
deserted bye streets, you will find plenty to attract and amuse you. Here, for
instance, is a street so narrow, you might shake hands across it. The mellow
tropical moonlight falls only on the roofs of its tall one-storied houses, and

on the tapering campanile of some church or convent, which it transforms
for the time being into a column of burnished gold. A vivid glare across the
street attracts your attention. It proceeds from a cavernous-looking tavern,
whose otherwise gloomy interior is lighted up by strings of Chinese
lanterns. A crowd of negroes, smoking cigars or cigarettes, stand in a
confused group round a couple, consisting of a huge Congo black naked to
the waist, and a lady of a few shades lighter hue, dancing the obscene
Cubana, to the intense gratification of the dusky spectators. Down another
still narrower street, across a little Plaza, and we find ourselves in a sort of
covered gallery, where whole families of respectable citizens, gran'pa and
gran'ma included, are supping al fresco—by the light of a number of
curious brass lamps, such as the old Romans used. Not far off you catch a
glimpse of the sea glistening in the moonlight, which turns the distant
suburb of Regla, on the opposite side of the harbour, into rows of ivory
dice, the square one-storied houses looking for all the world like those
pernicious toys on a colossal scale. Resisting the pressing invitation of a
party of gaudily dressed ladies seated in the huge cage-like window of a
house hard by, we find ourselves, by a sudden turn, in the Cathedral Square.
Although late, the great church is open and brilliantly illuminated, and
within we can see the pious throng, kneeling before the high altar, chanting
Ave Maria—
Ora pro nobis, nunc et in ora mortis nostris.
Commend to me a city of the Latin race for delightful contrasts, and I
assure you Havana is no exception to the rule.
The picturesque volante, once as essentially Cuban as the gondola is
Venetian, has entirely disappeared, at all events from the streets of the
capital. It is, or perhaps I should say it was, a very singular-looking vehicle,
with its wonderful spider-web-like wheels, its long shafts, and its horse or
mule, upon whose back the driver should perch in a clumsily-made saddle.
It had something of the litter on wheels, and was usually occupied of an
afternoon on Sundays and holidays, by two or three ladies, magnificently
dressed in full ball costume, and blazing with jewels, the fairest of the trio
sitting on the knees of the other two. The volante was sometimes splendidly
decorated with costly silver platings and rich stuffs. The negro driver wore
a very smart dark blue and red cloth livery, covered with gold lace, high

jack-boots coming almost up to his waist, and carried a long silver-mounted
whip in his hand; victorias and landaus have usurped the place of these old-
world coaches, excepting in the country, where they are often to be met
with on the high roads.
For its size (the population is about 230,000) Havana is exceptionally well
supplied with public and private carriages. You can hire an excellent
victoria de plaza for 1 fr. 50 the hour, and a custom, which the London
County Council might imitate and introduce with advantage, has long been
in use in the Cuban capital. To avoid extortion from the cab-drivers, the
lamp-posts are painted various colours, red for the central district, blue for
the second circle, and green for the outer. Thus, in a trice, the fare becomes
aware when he gets beyond the radius, and pays accordingly. Trouble with
the Havanese hack coachman, usually a coloured man, and very civil, is of
the rarest occurrence.
Although an eminently Catholic city, Havana cannot be said to be rich in
churches. A goodly number have been destroyed during the various
rebellions, especially those of the middle of the century (1835), when the
religious orders were suppressed. The largest church is the Merced, a fine
building in the rococo style, with handsome marble altars and some good
pictures. It is crowded on Sundays and holidays by the fashionable world of
the place, the young men forming up in rows outside the church as soon as
Mass is over, to gaze at the señoritas and their chaperons. The Cathedral is
the chief architectural monument of interest in Havana. It was erected for
the Jesuits in 1704 on the site of a much older church built in 1519, and
dedicated to St Cristobal, the patron of the city. The first Bishop of Havana
was an Englishman, a Franciscan named Fray José White. He occupied the
See from 1522 to 1527. The old cathedral being considered too small, this
church was converted into a cathedral in the present century. It is built in
the usual Hispano-American style, with a big dome, and two stumpy towers
on either side of the centre. Internally the effect is rather heavy, owing to
the dark colour of the marbles which cover the walls, but compared with
most churches in these latitudes, the edifice is in exceptionally good taste,
with a remarkable absence of the tawdry images and wonderful collections
of trumpery artificial flowers and glass shades which, as a rule, disfigure
South American churches. The choir would be considered handsome even
in Rome, and the stalls are beautifully carved in mahogany. Almost all the

columns in the church are also mahogany, highly polished, producing the
effect of a deep red marble, most striking when relieved, as in this case, by
gilt bronze capitals. In the choir is the tomb of Columbus. The great
navigator died, as most of my readers will doubtless be aware, at Valladolid,
in Spain, on Ascension Day 1506, and his body was at first deposited, after
the most pompous obsequies, in the church of San Francisco, in that city.
In 1513, the remains were conveyed to the Carthusian monastery of Las
Cuevas, at Seville, where King Ferdinand erected a monument over them,
bearing the simple but appropriate inscription:—
"A CASTILE Y LEON
NUEVO MUNDO DIO COLON."
Twenty-three years later, the body of Columbus, with that of his son
Diego, was removed to the island of San Domingo, or Hayti, and interred in
the principal church of the capital; but when that island was ceded to the
French, the Spaniards claimed the ashes of the Discoverer, and they were
carried to Havana and solemnly interred in the Cathedral on the 15th
January 1796. The remains, which by this time, it seems, were scanty
enough, were placed in a small urn, deposited in a niche in the left wall of
the chancel, and sealed up with a marble slab, surmounted by an excellent
bust of the bold explorer, wreathed with laurel. The inscription, a very poor
one, excited considerable ridicule, and a pasquinade was circulated
lamenting the absence of the nine Muses on the occasion of its composition.
Of late years, however, the inhabitants of San Domingo[13] have set up a
protest in favour of certain bones which have been discovered in their own
cathedral, and declare by their gods, or by their saints, that never a bone of
Columbus left their island, and that the relics of the great Christopher in the
Cathedral of Havana, unto which so many pilgrimages have been made, are
as apocryphal as were those of certain saints mentioned by Erasmus.
As a matter of fact, so far as I can make out after the perusal of a number
of pamphlets on the subject, only half the bones of Columbus were taken to
Havana. The priests at San Domingo kept back a portion of the body and
hid it in the south of the sacristy of their Cathedral, where it was discovered
with many evidences of its authenticity in 1877.

Of the other numerous Havanese churches there is not much to be said,
except that nearly all have remarkable ceilings, decorated in a sort of
mosaic work in rare woods, often very artistic in design. Columns of
mahogany are frequently seen, and nearly all the churches are lined with
very old Spanish or Dutch tiles. The Church of Santa Clara, attached to a
very large nunnery, is a favourite place of devotion with the fashionable
ladies, who squat on a piece of carpet in front of the Madonna, with their
negro attendant kneeling a few feet behind them. When the lady has
performed her devotions, the sable footman takes up her carpet, and follows
her out of the church, walking solemnly a few feet behind her. In the
Church of the Merced there is a very curious picture representing a group of
Indians being slaughtered by a number of Spaniards. In the centre is a
wooden cross, upon the transverse portions of which Our Lady is seated,
holding the infant Jesus in her arms. In the corner is a long inscription of
some historical importance. It runs thus:—

"The Admiral, Don Christopher Columbus, and the Spanish Army, being possessed of the 'Cerro de
la Vega,' a place in the Spanish island, erected on it a cross, on whose right arm, the 2nd of May,
1492, in the night there appeared with her most precious Son, the Virgin, Our Lady of Mercy. The
Indians, who occupied the island, as soon as they saw Her, drew their arrows, and fired at Her, but as
the arrows could not pierce the sacred wood, the Spaniards took courage, and, falling upon the said
Indians, killed a great number of them. And the person who saw this wonderful prodigy was the V. R.
F. Juan."

The Jesuits have an important college for boys in Havana. Annexed to it is
the Observatory, said to be the best organised in South America. The church
is handsome, and over the high altar hangs a famous holy family, by
Ribeira. In connection with this college there is also a museum and library,
especially rich in drawings and prints, illustrating Cuban life and scenery,
from the sixteenth century down to our own times.
The wooden images of saints on the altars in the Havanese churches are
most picturesque, and their costumes often very quaint. St Michael, for
instance, may appear in white kid dancing shoes and a short velvet frock,
and the Madonna is usually attired in the cumbersome Spanish court dress
of the sixteenth century; with farthingale and ruff complete.
A remarkably fine old church is San Francisco, long since desecrated and
converted into the custom-house. It has a noble tower, and stands in a

conspicuous position down by the harbour. In the suppressed monastery is a
vast room with a glorious cedar-wood ceiling. San Francisco is famous in
the annals of Havana for a triple murder, which took place upon its altar in
1833, before the Church was converted to profane purposes, and was still
one of the most popular shrines in the city. Hard by is an old-world café—
the Leon de Oro—which in those days was tenanted by an Italian with a
pretty wife. The worthy man got jealous of her, and, finding out that her
paramour was the Secretary of the Captain-General, Don Alonzo Vales y
Sandoval—watched his opportunity to avenge himself. It chanced that the
noble Don was ordered to watch by the Sepulchre in this church on Holy
Thursday evening. Dressed, therefore, in his scarlet robes, as a member of
the Confraternity of the Sacred Blood, the unlucky gentleman was
apparently absorbed in prayer before the altar, when the infuriated Italian
dealt him a blow in the back with a stiletto, which killed him there and then.
Before the horrified congregation could arrest him, he murdered his wife,
who was kneeling in prayer close by her lover, and then stabbed himself—
all of which uncanny tragedy I found solemnly related in choice Spanish in
an old Havana journal, dated June 17, 1833.
The numerous charitable institutions in the capital, and throughout the
island, are well managed, and generally clean. The Casa de Beneficencia,
founded by the famous Las Casas, as an asylum for the extremes of life, the
very young and very old, is especially interesting. It is managed by those
admirable women, the Little Sisters of the Poor. Nothing can exceed the
exquisite cleanliness of the Lazar House, situated at some distance from the
city, in which six nuns and two priests have banished themselves from the
world in order to tend the many hapless lepers on the island.
But admirably managed, roomy, and well endowed though they
undoubtedly are, the charitable establishments of Havana do not supply the
demand, for the place swarms with beggars, especially in these recent hard
times. Never, no, not even in Spain or Italy, have I seen such terrible
beggars as those of Cuba. They haunt you everywhere, gathering round the
church doors, whining for alms, insulting you if you refuse them, and
pestering you as you go home at night, never leaving you till you either
bestow money on them, or escape within your own or some friendly door.

Kingsley described Havana as "the Western Abomination," so low was his
opinion of the moral tone of its inhabitants. Whether his judgment was right
or wrong, I dare not say, but I know enough to convince me that the average
Havanese drawing-room can provide quite as much ill-natured gossip as
any in London. Here, as elsewhere in Southern America, religion has
become a mere affair of ceremony and outward observance, with little or no
moral influence. I am assured that of late years there has been a
considerable reaction, and that numerous missions have been preached by
priests and friars, imported from Europe in the hope of exciting the zeal of
the native clergy, which has very possibly been affected by the enervating
influence of the climate. Be this as it may, the churches in Cuba are a never-
failing source of interest, by reason of the quaint and everchanging scenes
their interiors exhibit. In some of them the music is admirable in its way,
although entirely of an operatic character. At the Merced there is a full
orchestra, and the principal singers from the opera may often be heard at
High Mass.
Church has always, in Latin countries, been the scene of a good deal of
quiet flirtation, and I remember one Sunday morning, in the Cathedral of
Havana, being initiated by a friend into the mysteries of fan language. We
watched an extremely good-looking and richly apparelled young lady, who,
after she had said her preliminary devotions, looked round her as if seeking
somebody. Presently she opened her fan very wide, which, as the Cuban
who was with us at the time assured us, meant "I see you." Then she half
closed it; this indicated "Come and see me." Four fingers were next placed
upon the upper half of the closed fan, signifying, "At half-past four." The
fan was next dropped upon the floor, which, we were told, signified the fact
that the lady would be alone. A Havanese lady, who is expert in this system
of signalling, can talk by the hour with the help of her fan, and of a bunch
of variously coloured flowers, each of which has some special meaning.
Amongst so pleasure-loving a people as the Cubans, public amusements
hold a far more prominent place than they do in any of the United States,
with, perhaps, the sole exception of New Orleans, and the carnival at
Havana was at one time the most brilliant in the Americas. For many years,
however, its glories have been declining, and during the last few decades
the upper and middle classes have taken scant part in the festivities. I can
remember, however, many years ago, seeing the famous ribbon dance

performed by people of quality in the open streets. A gaily-dressed youth
walked in front of the company, holding a pole, from which floated a
number of coloured ribbons, which the various couples held in their hands,
and threaded into a kind of plait as they moved gracefully round the leader
of this al fresco cotillon. It was a very pretty sight to see hundreds of
masqueraders parading the streets, engaged in this graceful pastime, and
each band accompanied by a group of musicians. Throughout the carnival
the negroes are allowed to mingle with the white population in all
festivities, and even in the great gala procession of carriages, which passes
round the gaily decorated city during three successive afternoons, the
negroes' donkey tandems and brilliantly draped waggons are permitted to
take their places among the equipages of their masters. The negroes
formerly went about the streets masked and disguised, and as they formed
one-third of the population, there was no lack of variety of costume, but
neither bon-bons nor flower throwing had any place in this somewhat
formal pageant. The Cubans evidently do not appreciate cut blossoms, for
you rarely, if ever, see a bouquet in their houses, although their gardens
simply blaze with every sort of flowers.
After sunset the revel begins in earnest. The negroes come out in their
thousands, carrying lighted Chinese lanterns hanging from the top of
bamboo poles. They shout and leap, and at every open space they dance to
the sound of tom-toms and horns, their two chief musical instruments. All
the theatres have a masked ball, that of the Tacon[14], which is the finest and
largest theatre in the Southern Hemisphere, being exclusively devoted to the
upper and middle classes. Here there is a great display of jewellery, the
ladies, as in Italy, wearing the little loup mask and a domino, while most of
the gentlemen are in evening dress. Of recent years, the ball at the Tacon
has greatly diminished in gaiety and local colour. The usual European
dances fill the entire programme, and there is very little difference between
this veglione and any in Nice, Rome, or Naples.
At the "Payrete," an immense theatre near the Tacon, matters are quite
otherwise, and the coloured element largely prevails. An outlandish
orchestra, consisting of the usual horns and tom-toms, bangs a wild, savage
melody, with a kind of irregular rhythm, marking time, but without the
faintest vestige of tune. The couples stand and jig, facing each other,—
occasionally in a manner which is better left undefined, but usually with a

solemnity defying all description. Now and again the male dancers utter a
piercing whoop, and the couples forthwith change sides. It is impossible to
conceive that fun or amusement can be extracted from such a monotonous
performance. But that these good people do find enjoyment in it cannot be
questioned, since they frequently continue performing this dance, which is
known as the "Cubana," for many hours at a stretch, without moving a yard
from the spot where they began. Another popular dance is the Canga, a sort
of slow waltz, which, when danced by the class which dances in public in
Havana, is the most indecent spectacle conceivable. Meanwhile the barbaric
orchestra bangs ever, making noise enough to raise the dead—tom-tom
whack, tom-tom wick, tom-tom whoop—e da capo. It ends by maddening
the European ear, and the onlooker is forced to bolt or risk an epileptic
seizure, or some such misfortune. This weird carnival ball, as seen from a
box, is one of the most singular sights imaginable, but the spectator must
make up his mind to evil smells as well as noise—all the perfumes of Araby
would not sweeten the theatre. The scenes in the brightly lighted streets
outside struck me as infinitely preferable. The crowded cafés, before which
groups of smartly dressed young negro mandolinists play, and very
creditably, selections from popular operas, in the confident hope of being
treated to ices, or something stronger, have a distinct and original charm.
Punctually at twelve o'clock on Shrove Tuesday the cannon boomed from
Morro Castle, announcing that King Carnival had just expired. On the
morrow, the pious crowded the churches to receive the penitential ashes.
Lent began in earnest, and was very rigorously kept, so far as the eating of
flesh was concerned. An average Cuban negro would sooner take poison
than a mouthful of meat on the abstinence days, although, I fear, his moral
sense might easily be weighed and found wanting in other particulars.
The Cubans, notwithstanding their worship of the tom-tom and the horn,
and the popularity of noisy music, possibly imported from Africa by the
Congo slaves who swarm on the big plantations, are a very musical race.
The Tacon opera-house, which can accommodate 5,000 persons, is, in its
way, a very fine theatre, built in Italian fashion with tiers of boxes, one
above another. They are separated by gilded lattices, so as to afford every
possible means of ventilation. Round each tier of boxes is a sort of
ambulatory or verandah, overlooking the great Square. The upper gallery is
exclusively devoted to the coloured people, who, on a Sunday, fill it to

suffocation. They are considered the most critical part of the audience, and
their appreciation or disapproval is generally well founded, and liberally
demonstrated. The first two rows of boxes belong to the aristocracy and
wealthy merchants, and the display of jewellery on a gala night used to be
quite amazing. The lower part of the house is divided into a pit and
orchestra stalls. When crowded, the Tacon presents a really fine appearance.
The stage is, I should say, as large as that at Covent Garden, and the operas
are perfectly mounted and staged. A great peculiarity of this theatre is the
orchestra, which is of almost unrivalled excellence, although at least one
half of its performers are coloured, and some of them full-blooded negroes.
I think I am correct in saying that on several occasions the conductor
himself has been a coloured gentleman. Two of the very best performances
of Aïda (with Campanini and Volpini) I ever enjoyed, I saw at the Tacon,
where some of the greatest vocalists of the present century have appeared,
including Malibran, Grisi, Mario, Alboni, Tedesco, Patti, Nilsson, Nevada
and Guerrabella (Miss Genevieve Ward). I have seen it stated that Mme.
Adelina Patti made her début in the Filarmonia of Havana. This is an error.
This theatre is at Santiago, and it was there the fascinating prima donna
won her first laurels. Her mother and father, Signor and Signora Barili Patti,
both of them singers of the first rank, made, if I am not misinformed, their
last appearance on the stage at the Tacon theatre. The Cubans do not care
for the Spanish national drama. They prefer adaptations from the French
and Italian; and Havana, unlike Mexico, has not produced a single dramatist
of note. Spanish companies come every year from Madrid, but they are
rarely well patronised. On the other hand, Ristori, Salvini, Duse, and Sarah
Bernhardt have received almost divine honours in the Cuban capital.
One night I dropped into the Torrecillas, a little fourth-rate house, and on
going to the box-office to pay for my seat, to my utter astonishment I found
the employee absent, although the theatre was open, and a crowd thronging
in to attend a gratuitous rehearsal of a piece which was to be performed on
the following evening for money. The house was dimly lighted. The
orchestra consisted of a piano, and the back scene was formed of odds and
ends of scenery jumbled together in the funniest confusion. A stoutish
young fellow, a sort of Sancho Panza, was rehearsing the company, the
ladies of which lounged about in various parts of the house, smoking
incessant cigarettes. The play was one of the kind known in Spain as a

"Zarzuela," or farce. The plot was simple enough, dealing with the
adventures of a runaway negro, who tried to become manager of a strolling
troupe of players. The fun consisted in admirable delineation of each
character, and the spirited acting. One scene, representing the appearance of
the troupe at Mocha, a country village, was irresistibly droll. Some of the
actors went down among the audience, pretending to be country spectators,
and cracked excellent jokes at the expense of the troupe on the topics of the
day, and popular abuses in general. In the last scene the national "Garacha"
was admirably danced. It is as objectionable, in itself, as the "Cubana," but
it was quite transformed by the grace of the artists.
The bull-ring and the cock-pit are still national institutions throughout
Cuba. Each city has its ring and its cock-pit. I drove out one Sunday to the
"Galleria," as it is called, at the corner of the Calle Manuel, in a rather low
quarter of Havana. I found a motley assembly of beggars, cake-vendors,
and negroes, hanging about the entry and the box office, if so I may call it,
which was neat and smart enough for a metropolitan theatre. The price of
admission to the best seats was only two shillings. Passing a bar, before
which a noisy crowd was drinking gin and aguardiente, blaspheming and
quarrelling, I found myself in the "Galleria," which is of circular form built
of open wood-work, exactly like two large round hen-coops placed one on
top of another. There were four galleries, with several rows of chairs,
thronged by an excited betting crowd, which included the usual proportion
of negroes, but no women. As I entered, a fight had just come to a close,
and the noise was deafening. Everybody was shouting and gesticulating at
once. In a few moments the bell rang, and comparative silence ensued. The
ring was cleared, and two men appeared in the centre, each holding a
beautiful bird in his hands. The Cuban breed of cocks, although small, is
remarkably well-proportioned and elegant. I am no expert in cock-fighting
and will simply jot down my impressions of the combat. At first I found it
interesting enough, but, by and by, when the stronger bird crippled its
antagonist, the poor, bleeding creature was artificially excited to continue
the battle to the bitter end, by being "restored" with spoonfuls of Santa Cruz
rum blown in a spray from the mouth of its owner over its head, and the
sight grew simply disgusting. I was relieved when it was all over, and the
poor, beautiful bird lay dead. The audience interested me far more than the
fight. The people around me were so absorbed in the death struggle that

some faces grew ashen pale, others flushed, their eyes rolled, they roared,
they bellowed, and they pantomimed from the lower to the upper galleries.
Doré alone could have done justice to the scene, but, picturesque though it
was, it was a degrading exhibition of cruelty and base passion. The upper
classes, I am glad to say, have long ceased to frequent the "Galleria," and
some of the best houses have even closed their doors to young men known
to be frequenters of these cock-pits. I did not see a bull-fight while I was in
Cuba. They were, I suppose, not in season, otherwise they are as frequent
and as popular there as in Spain and the south of France. They are
conducted in exactly the same ceremonious and pageantic manner as in
Spain, and almost as magnificently, and, needless to say, they are as bloody,
if not more so, and quite as demoralizing. If it were not hypocrisy on the
part of an Englishman in these days of "general bookmaking," when the
"special," announcing the names of the "winners," is more eagerly bought
up than any containing political news of the highest importance, I might
descant on the immorality of the Cuban weekly lottery. Everybody is
interested in it, and I am assured it is "a curse" to the country. Doubtless it is
so, and so, indeed, are our own "winners." Gambling in some shape or other
seems inherent in the human race, and I cannot see much difference
between the Havanese lottery and our own racecourse. Both are equally
dangerous to those who cannot afford to bet. In Cuba the wretched negro
starves himself to put his last penny on some favourite number, and in
London the bootblack goes without his dinner in the hope of doubling the
"winner."

CHAPTER VII.

Matanzas.

MATANZAS.
THE immediate environs of Havana are disappointing, although some of the
neighbouring villages are pretty enough. Every visitor to Havana is sure to
be taken to three places—Puentes Grandes, Marianao, and Carmelo. A little
railway carries you, as slowly as steam can do it, in about an hour, out to
Marianao. If it were not for the groups of palm trees and the huge plantain
leaves, generally very dusty and tattered, hanging over the garden walls,
you might easily mistake the country for certain districts in Northern
France. It undulates, just as it does in Normandy, up and down over low-
lying hills, and the straight roads, bordered with coca palm trees, reminded
me forcibly of the poplar avenues round Rouen. Before very long, however,
you are made aware that you are under the Southern Cross, for, just before
you reach your destination, you form your first acquaintance with the
banyan tree, of which there is a celebrated group, considered one of the
finest in the West Indies, standing in the middle of a field. The central tree,
which must be of great age, is of vast size. From its upper branches it has
cast down numerous feelers, which, in their turn, have become big trees,
and so the one growth contrives to cover some four or five acres of ground.
After you have amused yourself by walking in and out of the innumerable

arches and avenues formed by this grand specimen of perhaps the most
extraordinary species of tree in existence, you follow a narrow path, and
walk on to Marianao, a Cuban village boasting an odd-looking church
painted a vivid blue, and some very nice country houses, embedded in
orange and banana orchards. There are a number of restaurants in the place,
and on Sundays the foreign residents, especially the Germans, come out
here to eat supper and drink lager-beer. What pleased me most about
Marianao were the country lanes, which are bordered by hedgerows
covered with delightful creepers, the coral,—with its clusters of pink and
white flowers,—the morning glory, with its wealth of azure blossoms,—the
scarlet passion flower,—the blue sweet pea,—and a species of wild
stephanotis, with an overpowering scent.
Puentes Grandes lies half-way between Marianao and Havana. It
possesses the only nail factory in the country, worked by several hundred
coolies. Carmello is a village of restaurants and cabarets, situated at the
head of a little sandy bay glorified by a tradition that it was once visited by
Columbus. Hither people drive out of an evening from Havana, to eat
oysters, lobsters, and other crustacea, and, above all, to enjoy the cool sea
breeze. Here I first beheld the most astonishing of all flowers—the
aristolochia pelicana. It is a variety of the aristolochia sìpho, which has
been recently brought over to England from America and acclimatised, and
which is popularly known as the "Dutchman's pipe," on account of the
peculiar shape of the flower, which is exactly like a little tobacco-pipe. The
Cuban variety is a sturdy creeper, with enormous, heart-shaped leaves. This
flower must be seen to be appreciated. When open, it presents the
appearance of a huge porous plaster about a foot in diameter. The edge is
perfectly white and waxy, the centre a dark brown, with a slit in the middle,
opening into a pod-shaped cup, and furnished with sharp bristles, usually
garnished with drops of syrup, to allure the flies and other insects, which,
when once they enter that little "parlour," find themselves in a veritable
ogre's castle, whence no escape is possible, for the hungry flower soon
absorbs and devours them. When the pouch is full,—and it will contain
several hundred insects,—the enormous flower closes, and assumes the
exact shape of a beautiful white duck. Severed from its stem, and placed in
the centre of a bouquet of flowers, or on a sheet of looking-glass in the
centre of a dining-table, this weird flower produces a very startling effect. It

is the custom in Havana to place one of these strange freaks of nature in the
centre of a bouquet, which is always offered to a successful prima-donna on
her first appearance at the National Theatre.
One fine morning towards the middle of Lent I left Havana with a friend,
to make a tour of the other cities of the island, beginning with Matanzas.
A Cuban railway is unlike any other railway in the world. The carriages
are built on the American plan, with a promenade from end to end, but there
are no glass windows, and when one considers the heat, one is thankful that
there are no cushions, to harbour dust and insects. The conductor stands in
front, and is perpetually ringing a bell, which does not seem to help on the
speed of the train in the very least degree.
Havana has no far-stretching suburbs, like most European cities, and you
very soon find yourself quite in the open country. It chanced that, on this
particular morning, a thick, low fog hung like a misty veil over the fields,
and the lofty palm trees shot up into the clear atmosphere above in the most
fantastic manner. However, by-and-bye, as the sun grew stronger, the mist
lifted entirely, and towards midday we found ourselves passing through an
extremely pretty country, traversed in every direction by interminable lines
of coca palm trees, which wound through the sugar-cane fields, otherwise
not particularly picturesque. We stopped for luncheon at a village called, I
think, Rincon, where there is a regular Cuban buffet. The principal dish, I
remember, was roast sucking-pig, cold but succulent. Coolies and negroes
came round with baskets of fruit—bananas, pineapples, oranges, mangoes,
and zapadillos. After this station, we travelled between rocky cliffs, in the
fissures of which grew the most exquisite ferns I have ever seen out of a
hot-house, the hardy, glossy, oak-leaf fern, so sought after in Covent Garden
Market being especially plentiful. At last, after a pleasant, but deadly slow
journey, we arrived safely at Matanzas, which, after the capital and
Santiago, is by far the most flourishing city in the island. Its real name is
San Carlos, though it is popularly known as Matanzas, or the "Butcheries."
Most of the encyclopædias inform you that it is so called after a frightful
massacre of Caribbees, which took place early in the 16th century. This is
an error. There was no city here till 1649, when the town was founded on
the site of an old slaughter-house, owned by the Havana butchers.

We drove straight from the station to the "Leon de Oro," reputed the best
hotel in the island. Cuban hotels, even those in the capital, are none of them
of superlative excellence, and although in all that concerns the elegances of
life the "Inglaterra", the "Louvre" and the "Pasage" at Havana are infinitely
superior to the old "Leon de Oro," they are distinctly its inferiors in point of
cleanliness, and, above all, in the matter of cooking.
Very brilliantly painted in fresco are the walls of the "Golden Lion" of
Matanzas. Venus rises from the sea in your bedroom, or rather in that
portion of an enormous dormitory which is allotted to you. Paris offers the
golden apple to the three goddesses in the dining-room, and the whole court
of Olympus, more or less successfully limned by an Italian artist, occupies
the lofty walls of the general sitting-room on the first and only floor. The
waiters are nearly all Coolies, and very clean and tidy they are. The
landlady, in the days of my youth, was a French, coloured dame of
enormous size, but also of almost preternatural activity. "Madame" was
everywhere, upstairs and downstairs, and never seemed to go to sleep. It
mattered little at what hour of the day or night you happened to come in,
you were sure to find the old lady, with a huge turban on her head, ready to
bid you welcome, with the very broadest of smiles. As my friend and
myself had brought her a letter, which, by-the-way, she could not read, of
introduction from one of her Havanese patrons, she made a prodigious fuss
in our honour. She felt sure, she said, that, being Englishmen, we should
like to have a bedroom all to ourselves, to which reasonable proposition we
very naturally assented. Presently she took us upstairs to a very long and
very lofty dormitory, furnished with about a dozen brass bedsteads,
arranged against the walls in a double line, each duly protected by mosquito
curtains, and supplemented by a table, a chair, an iron tripod, bearing a
basin and jug, and a flat candlestick. Having paraded us once or twice up
and down this apartment, she suddenly stopped in front of two neat little
bedsteads standing side by side, and, pointing to them, informed us in
Creole French (she came from Martinique) that she destined them for our
accommodation. But what about the proffered privacy? Were we to dress
and undress in the presence of the strange occupants of the other dozen
beds, and were we to be soothed, or otherwise, throughout the dreary
watches of the night, by their combined snores. We resolved, between
ourselves, to make no comment, to leave fate and Madame to work out our

destiny. We descended to our dinner without venturing the least
observation. When we went upstairs again to unpack our travelling trunks,
we were heartily amused to find that the worthy old soul had fenced us off
from our future companions, with four long sheets, fastened by old-
fashioned washing-pegs, to a rope stretched tightly across the room.
I remember we had an excellent dinner, the best we had yet eaten in Cuba.
There was a very good broth—sopa de pan—followed by a fair preparation
of fresh fish—pescado frito. Then came a great national dish—sheeps'
brains fried in butter, with tomato sauce, succeeded by a reasonably fat and
tender chicken, a la Creola, that is to say, with a delicious sauce made with
various vegetables; and a dish of ternero asado (roast veal) ended what
might be termed the serious portion of the meal. Then came guava jelly,
eaten with little cakes, and a splendid dessert of fresh bananas,—the small,
stumpy, fat one, plantano de Guinea, is the only one which is eaten as a
fruit in Cuba. The large ones, of the sort sent to England, are considered as
vegetables, and either fried as a separate dish, like potatoes, or cut up in
slices and used in salads. The Cuban oranges are magnificent, very large,
pale in colour, and innocent of seeds. The pine-apples are, of course,
splendid, and are cooked as sweet dishes, in a variety of ways. There is one
necessary of life which you are obliged to dispense with, and that is butter,
which is only likely to appear in the houses of the very rich, or at one or
two of the best hotels in Havana. There is an appalling decoction called
mantiquella, which is kept in a bottle, and poured out for the benefit of
American and English visitors, who are asked to believe it is butter! God
save the mark, it's exactly like train-oil. Everything is fried in olive oil, but
of excellent quality, so you soon learn to do without butter to your bread,
and, indeed, with as little bread as may be, for nowhere is it very good.
Otherwise, Cuban cooking is not bad when once the traveller knows the
ropes, and what to order. It is certainly much better than the Spanish
cuisine. There is a Cuban cookery book in the British Museum, printed and
published in Havana in the year 1879, the perusal of which I commend to
those of my readers who are interested in such matters. They will learn how
to make some excellent and very succulent dishes. Cuban cooks are not
strong on sweetmeats, and they rarely, if ever, attempt pastry. On the other
hand, their fruit cheeses, especially the famous guava jelly, are worthy of
their world-wide renown. Ice was only introduced into the island about

forty years ago, and is even now considered a great luxury; but a cocoa-nut
gathered before dawn, and kept as much in the shade as possible until
wanted, is the most refreshing of drinks. The milk which it contains is icy
cold, and with a few spoonfuls of rum or brandy, and a little sugar thrown
in, is really excellent. Then, too, wherever you go, you are sure to be
offered narangiata, or orangeade, which all Cubans make to perfection.
Excellent Spanish and French wines and lager beer are to be had in almost
all the inns.
The lower part of every Cuban hotel is used as a café and restaurant, and
stands open to the four winds of heaven. It begins to fill immediately after
sunset, and in warm weather is never empty until four o'clock in the
morning. In the middle of the café is the kitchen, and in the centre of the
kitchen will be found an indispensable retreat which does not add to the
sanitary advantages of the establishment. Otherwise, a Cuban kitchen
affords much interest and amusement to those in search of the picturesque.
Round it are arranged little open charcoal stoves, above which are
suspended an endless number of copper saucepans. Sometimes, up in a
corner, is an image of our Lady of Guadaloupe, blessing, apparently, from
the interior of her glass case, the motley gathering of cooks of all ages and
colours, who are intently busy doing nothing. Here on the floor sits a little
darkie shelling peas, and near him another small sable urchin howls because
his ears have just been boxed for licking his fingers. Yonder is a group of
chattering mulatresses whipping a cream, and there "Madame" herself roars
at the top of her voice at the chief cook, standing frying chicken livers,
strung on a skewer, over one of the innumerable charcoal fires, whose
fumes would suffocate the whole noisy party, if this weird kitchen were not,
but for its ceiling, quite an open air arrangement, for there are no glass
windows anywhere in the house, the only protection against a storm being
the green venetian blinds.
Our first night at the "Leon de Oro" was a memorable one. The hotel was
packed, and, notwithstanding the seclusion of our canvas walls, it was
impossible to get a wink of sleep,—in the first place, on account of the
mosquitoes, and in the second on that of the chorus of snores which
resounded on all sides after two o'clock in the morning, when our
neighbours, after chattering among themselves like so many magpies, and
even singing in chorus, finally succumbed to the claims of nature, and

tumbled to sleep. The next day Madame found us two small rooms at the
top of the house, where we were quite comfortable for the rest of our visit.
Matanzas is a well-built city, situated on a very beautiful bay, and backed
by an admirable range of hills. Two rivers flow through it, the Yumurri and
San Juan. The fine Plaza de Armas, in front of the Cathedral, and in the very
centre of the town, is planted with a double row of magnificent acacias. The
church, dedicated to St Charles, is fair sized, and has an imposing tower,
but is not otherwise interesting. There are two other smaller churches in the
town, but Matanzas is looked upon, throughout the country, as anything but
orthodox. There are, however, several convents, and two very well managed
hospitals. The fashionable quarter of the city is called "Versailles." Here the
wealthier citizens have built themselves a number of beautiful villas, in the
usual classical, one-storied style. These dazzling white marble columns,
elaborate iron-work balconies, mosaic pavements and handsome porticoes,
are doubtless a very accurate reproduction of the sort of house which lined
the Via Appia in the palmy days of ancient Rome. Most of these houses are
frescoed with mythological subjects, and painted in bright colours, whose
somewhat garish tones are subdued by the deep green of the wonderful
vegetation which surrounds them, and by the dazzling glare of the sunlight,
which, pouring down from the deepest of blue skies, seems to mellow even
the gaudiest colours into delightful harmony.
The chief attractions of Matanzas are not, however, within the city walls,
but a pleasant drive's distance beyond its gates. The first of these are the far-
famed caves of Bellamar. There are certain much-talked-of wonders of
nature, the first sight of which is apt to disappoint you,—Niagara Falls, for
instance, and even the Mammoth Caves of Kentucky; but the Matanzas
caverns are so dazzlingly beautiful that you are both astonished and
delighted. They surprise by their size, they fascinate by the clearness and
brilliance of their crystal walls. The first chamber, called the "Gothic
Temple," is 250 feet in length by 83 in width. Its walls are of pure crystal.
From the lofty roof hang monster stalactites covered with millions of
flashing crystals full of prismatic hues. Following the guide, who carries a
limelight, you next enter a large hall, or chamber, which looks absolutely as
if it had been made of whipped cream. Then, after passing through endless
crystal halls, you reach the fuente de nieve, the snow-fountain, in which the
stalactites have assumed the semblance of a cascade of frosted snow. These

caves extend for about three miles, and are between 300 and 500 feet below
the surface of the earth, and may therefore be reckoned amongst the largest
in the world. They were discovered quite accidentally, some fifty years ago,
by the workmen of a certain Don Manuel Santos Parga, who, whilst digging
in this vicinity, fell into what afterwards proved to be one of the principal of
the thirty-eight halls, or caves, which have subsequently been discovered.
To the credit of their proprietor, they are most beautifully kept, no one being
allowed to use smoky torches, or defile the crystals in any way, and
commodious bridges and foot-paths, which add considerably to the comfort
of the visitor, have been built at the owner's expense.
The next attraction of Matanzas is the famous valley of the Yumurri. To
see it to perfection, it should be visited, not by pale moonlight, but at the
decline of day, when the sun is setting behind the low-lying hills on the
opposite side of the fertile valley, through which the Yumurri river
meanders like a silver ribbon, fringed with innumerable tiny tributary
streams, which immensely increase the productive powers of this
magnificent expanse of richly cultivated land. The vegetation is
indescribably beautiful and varied. Every sort of palm tree grows, and as
the land is undulating in character, the panorama is broken up in the most
charming manner, by groups of slender columns, surmounted by waving
plumes, which intercept, without impeding, the view of golden cane fields
and the tender green coffee plantations which stretch in all directions, until
it fades into the delicate mauve tint of approaching evening. The view over
the valley of the Yumurri is one of those glorious things which a Milton
might have described, a Turner or a Martin might have painted. It baffles
the efforts of my humble pen. All I can say is that I have seen a good half of
the fair world in which man is called to spend his petty span, but never have
my eyes rested on any scene which could equal this in poetic loveliness. It
is a fragment, surely, left of that Paradise from which our first parents
managed between them to shut out their descendants for ever. We lingered
long, wondering at the beauty of it all, quite unable to tear ourselves away.
The sun, having passed through the closing phases of its daily course,
became a ball of glowing fire, and quenched itself within a violet cloud.
The moon rose and flooded the happy valley with golden radiance, so
brilliant that only the stars in the larger constellations, such as the Southern
Cross, were visible.

CHAPTER VIII.

Cienfuegos.

TO my mind, Cienfuegos is the Cuban port which should, under a sensible
and progressive administration, offer the finest prospect for future
development and prosperity. The bay is extremely beautiful, and on its deep
expanse the combined fleets of the nations might anchor in perfect security.
Four rivers, which might easily be rendered navigable, the Damuji, the
Salado, the Caonao, and the Orimao, flow into its waters. Here, in the
brighter times to come, when the Spaniards shall cease from troubling and
the rebels be at rest, will surely be the capital of a new Cuba.
Cienfuegos is on the direct line to Panama, and, once the isthmus is cut,
must become of vast commercial importance. At present it contains less
than 20,000 inhabitants, and its trade is of no exceptional value. It is not an
ancient city. It only dates from the beginning of the present century, and
derives its name from the celebrated Cuban general, Cienfuegos. The
church, a very hideous edifice, much older than the town, contains a famous
Madonna, whose robes of cloth of gold and violet velvet were presented by
Queen Isabella II., and who is the object of many pious pilgrimages. The
inns are fairly good, for Cuba. In one of them, La Fonda de Paris, I was
nipped by a scorpion, and that hotel is consequently bound up, as far as I
am concerned, with very unpleasant associations.
The country round Cienfuegos is far more interesting than the town, and a
long drive enabled me to form the acquaintance of a very interesting type of
Cuban—the Guajiro, or white peasant, who abounds in this part of the
island, where many of them cultivate a few acres, and live a life quite
distinct from that of the rest of the world. The Guajiro is generally of
Catalonian or Andalusian origin. Many trace their descent a long way back
to ancestors who came over to Cuba a century or two ago. As a rule, the
men are handsome, manly fellows. They sit a horse as if born on its back,
and seem, like the centaurs of yore, to form part and parcel of the animal.
Their dialect, a mixture of Spanish and of African, picked up among the
negroes, is exceedingly difficult to understand. The Guajiro used to be a
slave-owner, and a terribly hard task-master was he, for if there is one thing

he hates more than another, it is work. He enjoys sitting in the shade,
smoking his cigarette, and lazily, drowsily, watching his female belongings
at their labour. On the other hand, when roused to effort, he can perform
miracles: ride heaven only knows how many miles, in the blazing sun, and
build a palm hut in a few hours. Living from hand to mouth, rarely, if ever,
taking the trouble to cultivate his tiny domain properly, the true Guajiro is a
perfect illustration of the fact that "man wants but little here below." His
chief food consists of bananas hot, and bananas cold, of tomatoes, and other
vegetables and fruits unknown in European markets, which are said to be
both excellent and nourishing. He rarely touches meat, except pork, on
which he mainly feeds, but he often catches fish for his dinner, and looks
upon an iguana or a bull-frog as a desirable delicacy. When he is not a
liliputian landowner, he earns his living as a herdsman, for, from childhood
up, he has acquired a vast experience in the management of cattle and
horses—and, above all, of niggers. Under these circumstances he is obliged
to work. He hires himself out by the week or month, during the harvest
season, like any other labourer, and thereby earns a fair wage, which he
spends freely, on Sundays and fiestas, in the taverns, or in betting at cock-
fights or at the bull-ring.
The Guajiro who owns a few acres of land is a far more interesting
individual than his fellow, the hired labourer. He is so gloriously, insolently,
independent. What cares he for the luxuries of life, if he have but a dish of
bananas for his dinner, and a smart suit of clothes in his chest to wear o'
Sundays? Six days out of the seven see him pottering about his farmyard, a
magnificent dunghill, on which his brood of dark-eyed urchins flourishes in
primitive costumes, and spends its time in festive sports, together with the
family dogs, pigs, and cows. On high days and holidays he makes himself
very smart, dons his white "ducks" and his untanned pig-skin boots, his
gaudy waistband, and his broad-brimmed straw hat. The rest of the time he
wears his pants and his jacket only. A born musician, he plays the guitar,
and often sings charmingly. Sometimes that modern wandering Jew, the
Italian organ-grinder, accompanied by a monkey, stops in the dusty road in
front of the Guajiro's domicile, and tunes up "Il Baccio," or the "Blue
Danube Waltz," whereupon the Guajiro and his wife and their brood fall
into an ecstacy of wonderment, and reward the musician liberally, being

under the impression that his music is due to his skill and not to mere
mechanical contrivance.
The Guajira (the Missis) is also a character in her way. On her shoulders,
poor soul, falls the burden of the heavier work, all except tending the cattle.
She does the cooking, such as it is! She mends the family rags, and washes
them, and looks after the skinny fowls—nothing on earth will fatten a
Cuban fowl! Above all she keeps a vigilant eye on her mischievous flock of
Guajiritos, who never learn to read or write, but sprawl about the filthy
yard, or, when they are old enough, depart on joyous expeditions in the
woods, to search for natural curiosities fit for food, such as iguanas, lizards,
a large fat black snake, said to be very tender, and better than an eel, frogs
as big as your head, and other such horrors, which the Guajira converts into
succulent dishes.
The family mansion is built of palm branches, and has a rickety,
earthquaky appearance about it, that may be very picturesque, but must be
very uncomfortable. The whole family sleeps on the straw-littered floor.
Such Guajiros as I visited seemed to be happy enough, but in the rainy
season they often suffer from rheumatism, ague, and other like diseases.
Thousands of them have joined the rebellion, in the hope of its eventually
leading to a betterment in their condition, which, as they get into closer
contact with civilization, grows daily less endurable.
The Guajiro of bygone times, with his bright eyes and his guitar, is the
starving reconcentrado of to-day. I like to think of him as he was, not as he
is. Let us, therefore, behold the Señor and the Señora Guajiro in all the
glory of their war-paint, en route for the procession of the Angel, for
instance, in their village church of Santa-Fé. The Señor is dressed up in all
his Sunday go-to-meeting best, a costume very like that of our own coster-
boys, and the same blood doubtless courses through their veins, for I am
assured, on authority, that Whitechapel 'Arry and his "donah" originally
came from the sunny land of Spain, in Merry King Charles II.'s time, to sell
oranges to benighted Britishers, and that, liking us and our ways, he then
and there condescended to take up his abode amongst us. Certainly the
Cuban Guajiro shares 'Arry's propensity for mother-of-pearl and silver
buttons, with which he covers every available part of his clothing, his
jacket, his waistcoat, and his trousers. By her lord's side tramps the faithful

Guajira, a very beautiful young matron, frequently, with delicate, regular
features and soft brown eyes with sweeping lashes. Her gown is made of
gaudy chintz, patterned with flaring bunches of roses. Most probably the
fabric was made in England in the tasteless early Victorian days, and
intended as furniture covering. Its train sweeps up a cloud of dust, for it
would be derogatory for any respectable Guajira to lift her skirts like those
miserable English and American women, who hold up their petticoats to
their knees, and go picking their way along as if they were treading on eggs
and were afraid of breaking them. The very negresses know better.
Nevertheless, the Guajira takes good care to display her very small, brown,
stockingless feet, thrust into a pair of green or red zapatos, or slippers, in
which she intends to dance the Creola. Over her shoulders is a China crape
shawl, either white or rose-coloured—a wedding present,—and her raven
tresses are set off by a bunch of wax-like stephanotis or of scarlet hibiscus.
Before and behind their parents trot the "family," some dozen of them, the
baby borne in the arms of a small but very gorgeous negress. As to these
little brown ones, I have seen them trotting along without a stitch of
clothing, with their hair very neatly brushed and their small tawny feet
encased in patent leather shoes, the whole shaded by an old scarlet parasol.
Sometimes, however, the Guajiro and the Guajira may be particularly well-
to-do, and in this case they do not condescend to trapese along the dusty
roads like the common of mortals, negroes and mulattoes and "sich'z," but
make a triumphal entry on horseback, or on a little Cuban pony, gloriously
bedecked with silver and brass bells and buttons, and long tags of yellow
and red worsted balls. Or else they come along on bullock-back, the Guajira
sitting sideways on the beast's back, keeping her position by clinging to her
husband's waistband. Nothing quainter or more picturesque can be
imagined than this, to European ideas, queerest of methods of locomotion.
The bullock gallops clumsily enough, but seems to fancy himself
immensely in his rather novel character of horse. If, perchance, you meet a
dozen or so of these singular equestrians, you are likely to retain a pleasant
recollection of their picturesqueness to your dying day.[15]
But let us hasten, or else we shall lose our Guajiro and Guajira in the
crowd in the fiesta, and that would be a sad pity. Their first duty is to go to
church, where we shall see them praying with pathetic sincerity before the
illuminated shrine of Our Lady of the Cobre or of Guadalupe. No

philosophical doubt haunts the consciences of these good folk. God and His
Blessed Mother hear every word they say to Them, and, as they are on very
friendly terms with the Powers that be, they place their affairs most frankly
before Them, firmly believing that if they do their best to keep straight,
according to their lights, their prayers will surely be heard, else why pray at
all? They have a good deal to pray for. The Guajiro slily asks that he may
be inspired to bet on the winning cock, and the Guajira has a yellow lottery
ticket in her bosom, the number of which was selected at the instance of a
notorious African witch. Now that was very wrong, and the Guajira's mind
is not at all easy on the subject, for the new Cura, Padre Pablo has told her
over and over again that Lolla, the witch, is a black limb of Satan, and that
if things were as they ought to be, she would long ago have been burnt at
the stake. But still, if Our Lady would but make that number win, there
would be ten or twenty dollars to the good, and see what a lot of comforts
that would enable her to get. And, besides that, is not the old Guajiro's
grandmother, who is nearly a hundred, ill at home, and is she not always
wanting medicine, and things that poor people cannot afford to buy, and, the
children are really getting too old to go about without any clothing,
especially Cassandrina, who is nearly seven years of age. But how is one to
buy dresses, in these hard times, for growing wenches, even if they are
one's own children, unless a little windfall drops into one's lap? Therefore,
"O Most Pitiful Lady of the Cobre, ask your Son, whose image wears such
a pretty frock of sky blue satin, with a golden fringe, to let old black Lolla's
number win. Por amor de Dios."
Being perfectly satisfied that their prayers are duly registered in the Court
of Heaven, the worthy couple and their brood, who, by-the-way, have been
staring all the time, with eyes as big as halfpence, at the gorgeous robes of
Our Lady of the Cobre, flock out of church into the broad, sunny plaza,
where, although it is only six o'clock a.m. (everything in Cuba is done at an
unearthly hour on account of the heat), the Procession is already beginning
to form, so as to be over before High Mass begins. Bless me, how
magnificent it all is! So much better done than in the days of the old Cura, a
dreadful old person, concerning whom there were so many queer stories.
Since our blessed Pope, Leo XIII., has come to the throne, things have
changed for the better.

First come the confraternities of the Precious Blood and of Our Lady of
the Cobre, all very decently dressed, the blacks and the whites mixed up, on
a footing of perfect equality, holding candles in their hands, without any
distinction of caste or colour. Then the Children of Mary, not a few of them
dressed up as Saints,—St Agnes with her lamb, St John with sheep-skin
wound round his chubby limbs, St Francis as a little monk, and so forth.
And lastly, the priests in their showiest vestments, and the choir boys with
their incense, and the climax of the function, the Angel,—that is to say, a
chariot drawn by two white oxen, whose sweeping horns are tipped with
gold foil, in which, on a throne made of leaves and artificial roses, sits a
little girl attired as an angel with a flaxen wig, for in tropical countries,
where mortals are generally black-haired, all Celestial beings are supposed
to be blondes. The angel's wings are made of coloured bits of paper, cut in
the shape of feathers, arranged with a distinct eye to artistic effect. When
the angel and her chariot arrive in front of the Church the priests bring forth
the statue of Our Lady of the Cobre, and place it under a gorgeous canopy,
where it remains, whilst the terrestrial angel recites a loja or sonnet, in
honour of the Blessed Lady. Then the Benediction is given, all the motley
crowd drops on its knees, and afterwards everybody hurries into the Church
to hear Mass, and so the religious part of the fiesta ends. Later in the day
after the mid-day siesta, we shall find the Guajiro at the cockpit, which
women are prohibited by law from attending, so that the Guajira will be
discovered sitting outside the village fonda, gossiping with her cousins and
friends, and sipping tamarind water, whilst her numerous progeny disport
themselves in the middle of the square, where there is a sort of fair in
progress. If the favourite cock wins,—and it must surely win on this special
occasion,—the Guajiro will be in the best of humours, and he and his wife
will dance the Creola until the small hours, for a Cuban dances even when
he is half-dead. Long before the sun rises our friends will have wended their
way home, and there will be but little joy in their lives until the next fiesta
comes round. But as there happen to be seventy-two of them besides fifty-
two Sundays, the chintz dress with the big roses will stir up the dust
between the farm and Santa-Fé on many an occasion yet, before Christmas
comes round again, and everybody goes to pray before the Infante de
Dios[16] in the Parish Church.

In the neighbourhood of Cienfuegos, I had the questionable pleasure of
beholding a Cuban "duck hunt." In the diary of our good Boy-King, Edward
VI., appears the following entry:—
"1550, June 4. Sir Robert Dudley, eldest (surviving) son to the Earl of
Warwick, married Sir John Robsart's daughter, Amy, after which marriage,
there were certain gentlemen that did strive who should first take away a
goose's head which was hanged alive on two cross posts."
The cruel sport, at one time considered a courtly pastime in England, is
still a favourite in Cuba. Two posts are set up, some three yards apart, and
to the centre of the cross beam a live duck or goose is tied by the legs, head
downwards. Then some ten or twenty men on horseback dash under the
posts, and the victor is he who "takes away the goose's head" as he gallops
through. The wretched bird's head being well greased, it often happens that
the poor creature's sufferings are prolonged for many minutes, whilst the
wild crew of horsemen strive to wrench it off, without losing their balance
or falling from horseback. The hubbub is deafening, everybody shouts at
once, and, above the din, you can hear the piercing shrieks of the half-
strangled fowl. As all the horses must pass under the comparatively narrow
gangway, many are thrown down, while others take fright and gallop off,
frequently leaving their caballeros sprawling, and perhaps badly damaged,
on the ground. It is a disgusting and most cruel exhibition, and makes one
feel sorry that it should have been included among the wedding festivities
of so interesting and much to be pitied a heroine as Amy Robsart.

CHAPTER IX.

Trinidad and Santiago de Cuba.

THE next place of importance on our tour was Trinidad de Cuba, a queer
little city of about 18,000 inhabitants, with funny old-fashioned houses,
their windows protected by thick iron gratings, like those of a mediæval
Italian city, scrambling in somewhat disorderly fashion up and down the

sides of a steepish hill called the Vija, or Watch Tower. Trinidad is situated
about ten miles inland from the sea-shore, and is said to be one of the oldest
and quaintest towns in this part of the West Indies, having been founded by
Diego Velasquez in 1513. Historically speaking, its chief interest centres
round Cortez, who started on his famous expedition to Mexico from the
neighbouring bay of Casilda.
In a little shop in Trinidad, where ink and paper and a few old books were
sold, I picked up an almost contemporary engraving of Hernando Cortez,
which represents him as a fine-looking warrior, attired in a most elaborate
suit of richly damascened mail, over which he wears a striped petticoat-like
garment reaching below his knees. His feet are encased in plate armour. On
his head he wears a splendid helmet, from which float a score of
prodigiously long ostrich feathers. In his hand he bears a spear. The
background is a view of a distant city, with several palm trees. The features
are perfectly regular, and the illustrious Lothario sports a sweeping
moustache, and has a dare-devilry expression which the ancient and skilful
limner has reproduced with apparently scrupulous fidelity. It is evidently an
original portrait, and is dated 1542. It was copied, in all probability, from
some contemporary oil-painting, and engraved, of course, in Europe—
probably in Flanders.[17]

SANTIAGO.
We had early dinner here, at the hospitable residence of a rich American
planter, who has built himself a large and handsome house, just outside the
town, and furnished it sumptuously. It was very pleasant to meet cultivated
and intellectual women in such an out-of-the-way part of the world, and we
took leave of our host and hostess—the lady an excellent botanist—
regretfully, bearing away with us big baskets of luscious fruit and a bouquet
of exquisite flowers.
Late in the afternoon we embarked for Santiago on board a neat little
steamer which plies along the coast from Havana twice a week. We should
gladly have stayed a little longer at Trinidad; but the following was Palm
Sunday, and I was anxious to reach Santiago for Holy Week, although my
companion, being nothing like so indefatigable a sightseer as myself, was
much put out by my persistence.
The coast line between Trinidad and Santiago is extremely pretty—at least
what we saw of it, for darkness soon sets in in these latitudes, there being
absolutely no twilight, as in more northern regions. We were able, however,

to admire the very beautiful cluster of "cays" which rise out of the sea in all
directions, some of them large enough to be habitable, though they are left
desolate, and others mere barren rocks, with a palm tree or so growing on
their crests. The effect they produced in the setting sunlight was exquisite
enough to excuse the enthusiastic encomiums of Christopher Columbus
when he first beheld them, and mistook them for the islands mentioned by
Marco Polo as being off the coast of Asia.
At last the sun went down in a glorious blaze of purple and gold; a blue
darkness enveloped the enchanting scene. The night air was delightfully
balmy, so we sat on deck until quite late, being joined by several American
and Cuban ladies and gentlemen who were going our way. A remarkably
intelligent Bostonian, Major B——, said in the course of conversation, that
he felt sure Cuba would, within a few years, have passed out of Spanish
hands into those either of England or America. He had apparently great
interests in the island, knew every inch of it, and assured us that its fertility
and resources were incalculably great. It was, he said, in a very backward
state.
"On the majority of the plantations," he continued, "there are no improved
implements of husbandry—no labour-saving machines—nothing, indeed,
which indicates an advanced or advancing agriculture, although the
machinery for grinding the cane and making sugar is often of the best and
latest pattern. With the most generous of soils, there is worse culture in
Cuba than anywhere else in the civilized world, except, perhaps, in the
southern parts of Italy or Spain, and in both instances from like causes—
that is, from the consolidation of immense landed estates in the hands of a
few, mainly absentees—and the consequent withdrawal of the sources of
national wealth from general circulation.
"There are, comparatively speaking, only a small number of acres of
cultivable land held by small proprietors, who work on their own soil. The
largest number of acres are owned by Spanish and Cuban grandees, some of
whom have not been in the island for twenty years. They draw their revenue
hence to dissipate it in a whirl of frivolity, either in Paris or Madrid. This
system of accumulation in mortmain has hung for generations like a
millstone around the necks of the Cuban people, and will, I am afraid,
continue so to do. The abolition of slavery will, however, surely make a

difference. Very soon the large estates will have to be cut up for want of
sufficient hands; and the raising of cane, the grinding of it and the making
of it into sugar, will become two different occupations, similar to the plan
adopted in Germany, where the sugar-maker either buys the beet crop
entirely from the farmer, or grinds the beets on shares of the sugar made.
Then, again," remarked our new friend, "I cannot help alluding to the vast
difference in characteristics,—though they spring from the same race,—
between the Cubans and the Spaniards. The aggregation of men into cities
for purposes of trade, though necessary, does not tend to develop their
intellectual faculties. The habit of acting in masses, or with masses, as every
urban population must do, breeds a tendency to sacrifice duty to political
expediency. Principles are continually yielded to the will of others, and lose
their sacredness. In a rural population there is more isolation and more
individuality. This is peculiarly the case with the Cuban planters, farmers,
guarijos, and labourers. An agricultural population has always been deemed
the most simple-minded, and its character, whatever it may be, the most
unchangeable. So here, also, the Creoles are more unsophisticated than the
Spaniard, and have fewer of the vices and needs of modern society.
"After all, nations, like individuals, grow up under the influence of a vast
body of experiences. Not one cause, but a multitude of causes, extending
through many years, make people different from each other,—even those of
the same race, as is the case here in Cuba. They may be gradually moulded,
by these experiences, into absolute antagonism. The Spaniards are well
aware of the fact, and do not hesitate to say so. They acknowledge that they
can raise almost everything in this beautiful and fertile isle—except
Spaniards. Though, year after year, there is a steady stream of immigration
from the home country, it does not change the characteristics of the natives.
It appears to be a law of immigration that, if not the immigrant himself, his
children at all events, are sure to adopt the modes of thought of the people
among whom their parents have made their home. How could it be
otherwise? The children grow up with the children of the country, and it
becomes their country. The most durable of all associations—those of
childhood—make the children of the immigrant as faithful and as patriotic
as those of the men who have lived for generations in the country. All in
vain does Spain pour her troops into this island. Granted that by superior
numbers she maintains her sway over this people,—what a barren conquest

it is, when you come to think of it! The Cubans hate those who govern
them, and the Spaniards never feel secure. True, history tells us of but one
way by which the national character of a people can be modified, and that is
by conquest; but even conquest, without beneficial administration,
producing assimilation, fails, as it must fail where there is an absolute rule
by one antagonistic people over another, which engenders hatred, and
foments a passionate rebellion, even at the risk of martyrdom. The
Spaniards are a fine race, but they utterly misunderstand the difference
which has grown up between themselves and the Cubans. Although they
acknowledge them their own children, they persist in treating them as
inferiors, and governing them accordingly. Every attempt at improvement
on the part of the Cubans is systematically stamped out by the Government.
"The abolition of slavery has not proved a blessing either to the slaves or
their late owners. Like everything Spanish, it has been badly planned, and
has brought ruin to thousands without benefiting the negroes.
"The island is cruelly overtaxed, to keep up a garrison fifty times more
numerous than would be necessary if it were properly administered. I am
quite sure Spain will eventually lose this rich possession. I assure you, and
without the least prejudice, I think her quite incapable of keeping it. She has
had any amount of experience, but of the wrong sort; and as to her men, her
governors and commanders, however honest they may be in their own
country, so soon as they land here they grow either corrupt or tyrannical."
[18]

Morning found us running along some of the grandest coast scenery in the
world: at this point the Macaca or Sierra Maestra Mountains rise boldly
from the sea, to the height of 5000 and 6000 feet. The Ojo del Toro, one of
the highest peaks of the range, is fully visible far away in the extreme
distance, and towering above it you perceive the sharp peak of Turquino,
the loftiest in the whole island, 6800 feet high. I was much struck by the
resemblance between this coast-line and that between Nice and Monte
Carlo. The colouring is almost identical, the sea as deep a blue as the
Mediterranean; and the slopes of the rocky mountains are clothed with the
same rich tints, shading from indigo to the palest grey. At about ten o'clock
we were informed we were nearing Santiago, but it was a considerable time

before the city rose in sight, long, even, after we had passed Cabanas, the
first fort.
Santiago Bay is shaped like a champagne bottle, with a narrow neck and
an oblong body. It is a most difficult harbour to enter, and the town ought to
be impregnable; but the fortresses, although architecturally imposing,—
especially the Morro, which looks like a mediæval castle, its walls rising
straight out of the rocks,—are, I am assured, mere toys so far as modern
warfare is concerned. The bay itself, on which the city is built, spreads out,
once you have passed the straits, like a glorious lake, circled by green hills,
thickly covered by the most varied vegetation, with groups of tall palm-
trees standing out conspicuously here and there. Presently, a turn brings you
in front of the city, with its lofty cathedral towers, and its brightly painted
houses, terraced up the hill to a height of about 500 feet above the level of
the sea.
There is no more picturesque bay in the world than this, unless, indeed, it
be that of Naples. The scene is so enchanting, so brilliant, that one is
perfectly enraptured, and feels inclined to burst into open applause, as if in
the presence of some grand stage effect. Everything seems to have been
arranged by nature for some pageant. Nor is the illusion lost on landing, for
as you climb the steep streets you are constantly attracted by some
picturesque and unusual object or view. Here, for instance, facing you, as
you step to earth, is a fruit stall such as you can only see in Santiago.
Thousands of huge bunches of bananas, varying in colour from the deepest
apple-green to the palest gold, cover its lofty walls. These green ones are
unripe, and are intended for exportation. Then come countless rows of
pineapples, pyramids of oranges, baskets of crocodile pears and custard
apples, and enormous clusters of purple plums.
We put up at an hotel kept by an old Cuban, who, understanding European
ways, gave us two separate though very tiny bedrooms, and made us as
comfortable as possible. For luncheon he sent us up an excellent omelette,
the first we had tasted since we left New York. I remember, too, we had ripe
mangoes here, for the first time, and liked them only fairly well. Tropical
fruit, barring bananas, oranges, and pineapples, is, to my thinking, mighty
insipid. The Cuban mango, however, has its charms.

Santiago de Cuba is by far the most historical city in the country. It was
founded in 1515 by Diego Velasquez, who landed here, in obedience to the
commands of Diego Columbus, on his first voyage from Hayti, to take
formal possession of the island. From the port of Santiago, too, Juan de
Grijalva started in 1518 on his famous expedition for the conquest of
Yucatan. Hitherto also came Hernando Cortez, bent on the same
undertaking.
Less than a quarter of a century after these memorable visits, the place had
become so peopled with new settlers that it was elevated to the dignity of a
city, and, in 1527, was created a bishopric. A year later, Narvaez set forth
hence on his memorable expedition for the conquest of Florida, whence "he
never more returned." Later in the same year Hernando de Sotto arrived,
accompanied by over a thousand armed men, to assume the command of the
entire island. He brought with him his wife, Doña Isabella de Bobadilla, a
lady who was famous for her beauty and her virtues. During his celebrated
expeditions into the Americas, he left her here, in the responsible position
of Governess of the island. She was the only woman who ever ruled in
Cuba. Her sway was beneficent and mild, but the chroniclers relate that
when months and even years passed without her receiving any letters from
her husband, she "pined and languished, and fell into a lethargic state, so
that her life was despaired of." Whether Doña Isabella Bobadilla died in
Cuba or returned to Spain, I have never been able to ascertain. There is no
mention of her having been buried in the Cathedral here, where Velasquez
was certainly entombed, for in 1810 his body was found by some workmen
in a stone coffin, at a distance of about twenty feet below the soil.
The rest of the history of the town is a repetition of that of Havana, a
series of sieges by pirates and buccaneers. In 1662 it was attacked by Lord
Windsor, and bombarded by a squadron of fifteen vessels. The English
landed, destroyed the Morro Fort, blew up the Cathedral, and otherwise
behaved themselves more like Pagans than Christians.
On Palm Sunday morning, we went to the Cathedral to see the great
function of the blessing of the palms. The church is very large—the largest
in the island—and built in the usual Hispano-American style, with a squat
dome in the middle, and two rather fine towers on each side of the façade.
The nave is of unusual width, and the side chapels, of which there are a

great number, are full of rare marbles, and splendid mahogany woodwork.
The stalls in the magnificent choir and the seats throughout the church are
all made of solid deep red mahogany; the edifice otherwise presents nothing
of interest, excepting the priestly vestments, very fine specimens of old
Spanish needlework. We found the church packed, most of the ladies being
in deep mourning, but in low-necked dresses, which, at so early an hour,
produced a startling effect. It afforded us an opportunity for a most
interesting study of feminine shoulders, varying in tint from the snowy
white of the Creola, to the dainty olive of the mulatress, and the ebony
black of the ladies who originally hailed from the Congo. The stately
ceremonies, on this solemn occasion, were exactly the same as those in all
other Catholic churches throughout the world. The priests, however, carried
some very fine palm branches, their long fronds tipped with gold tinsel. In
the afternoon there was a sermon preached by a fiery little Capuchin monk,
who banged his hands on the edge of the pulpit with such force that I am
sure they must have been black and blue by the time he had finished.
In the evening we went for a long drive through some of the most
beautiful scenery I have ever seen. On the following day there was not
much in the way of sacred pageantry. On Holy Thursday the whole town
turned out in deep mourning to visit the Sepulchre in the Churches.
Meanwhile the opera house, the theatres, and all other places of public
amusement were hermetically closed, and Santiago did not present a very
lively appearance, but as we had plenty to see in the neighbourhood, this
did not trouble us much. The Good Friday procession was well worth
seeing. It was a miniature edition of the procession which takes place in
Seville, and was of interminable length. All the confraternities took part in
it. At intervals, life-sized groups made in carved wood, representing
episodes in Our Lord's Passion, were carried on the shoulders of ten or a
dozen negroes. Then came the image of Our Lady of Sorrows, dressed in
the full Court costume of the sixteenth century, made of cloth of silver, with
a mantle of the richest purple velvet. This was followed by the Archbishop
and his clergy, and the grandees of the place, wearing their decorations,
officers in uniform, and gentlemen in evening dress. The effect of the
procession winding through the narrow streets was extremely picturesque,
and it was received on all sides with profound respect, for the people of
Santiago are the most orthodox on the island, and also, by-the-way, the

most intelligent and the best-looking. Their good looks are said to be due to
their numerous inter-marriages with French women, daughters of emigrants
from San Domingo, who made their appearance here at the end of the last
century. Many of the ladies of Santiago are quite beautiful, and would be
much more so if they did not plaster their faces with cascaria powder to
such an extent that many of them make themselves look like female clowns.
On Holy Saturday morning we were awakened, very early, by the most
hideous noises, firing off of pistols, squibs, and rockets. The population
were busily engaged in hanging Judas Iscariot, an effigy of this archtraitor
being actually suspended to a lamp-post opposite our hotel, while a vast
assembly round it yelled excitedly, insulting it with an earnestness that
might have been intelligible had it been Judas in the flesh instead of a sham,
stuffed presentment.
Santiago was at one time quite a literary centre. Some years back one or
two learned priests devoted themselves there to the study of botany and
astronomy, among them being Padre Luis de Montes, who made a complete
catalogue of the flora of the island. Doña Luisa Perez de Montes de Oca, a
native of Santiago, has written some of the finest sonnets in contemporary
Spanish literature, and Doña Gertrude Gomez de Avellanda, also born at
Santiago, is another delightful poetess, whose name is well known where-
ever the Spanish language is spoken. One name, however, towers, in Cuban
literature, over all others—that of José Maria Heredia, who was born at
Santiago in 1803. His father, a gentleman of considerable position and
wealth, and ardent patriot, was exiled to Mexico, and carried with him his
motherless child, then only three years of age. At sixteen Heredia lost his
father, and returned to Havana, where, in 1823, he was admitted to the bar,
and sent to practise at the Supreme Court of Puerto Principe. His open
expressions of indignation at the manner in which his country was
mishandled, and his well-known liberal opinions on political and social
subjects, eventually roused the suspicions of the Government, and he was
privately advised to leave the island with all speed, unless he wished to end
his days in prison. He took the hint, abandoned Cuba for America, and
settled in New York. In 1825 he published his first volume of poetry, which
contained the celebrated "Exiles' Hymn," the opening lines of which are
singularly appropriate to present circumstances.

"Fair land of Cuba! on thy shores are seen
Life's far extremes of noble and of mean,
The world of sense in matchless beauty dress'd,
And nameless horrors hid within thy breast.
Ordain'd of Heaven the fairest flower of earth,
False to thy gifts, and reckless of thy birth,
The tyrant's clamour, and the slave's sad cry,
With the sharp lash in insolent reply,—
Such are the sounds that echo on thy plains
While virtue faints, and vice unblushing reigns.
Rise, and to power a daring heart oppose!
Confront with death these worse than deathlike woes,
Unfailing valour chains the flying fate,
Who dares to die shall win the conqueror's state!"
Another very remarkable poem, published a little later (1833), is the
famous "Niagara," made familiar to English readers by the late Mr Cullan
Bryant's noble blank-verse translation. Never has the grandest of cataracts
been more magnificently described, but, even in the presence of its
overwhelming majesty, Heredia could not forget the mournful beauty of his
beloved Cuba, and through the tremendous sound of its waters he thought
he detected the rustling of the palms of his native forests, when tossed about
by some overwhelming storm. Heredia died in Mexico in 1838. He was a
man of exceeding integrity, and most generous and amiable. As a poet, he is
acknowledged among the greatest who have cast honour on the tongue of
Calderon and Cervantes.
Milanes is another poet who first saw light at Santiago. He was a man of
humbler origin than Heredia, and of more subtle and refined genius. He
died young, of consumption, but his works, which were published some
years after his death, are considered classics by the Spanish. They are
perfect in form, exquisite in thought, but intensely melancholy. It has been
said of Milanes that "he saw life through tears." The greatest poet Cuba has
produced after Heredia, Gabriel de la Concepcion Valdes, better known by
his nom-de-plume of Placido, was born, not at Santiago,—although he
passed some years of his life there,—but at Matanzas. He was a mulatto by
birth. Nature and fortune were against him. His origin was of the lowest; his

father was a half-cast slave, and he was hideously ugly, miserably poor, and
very imperfectly educated. Yet he triumphed over every obstacle, and has
left a great name in Hispano-American literature. In 1844, rumours of an
intended rebellion among the slaves having reached the ears of the Captain-
General at Havana, a number of negroes and even poor whites (Guajiros),
suspected of sympathising with the slaves, were arrested, and some scores
of them suffered death under the lash. The poet Placido, of whom the whole
coloured population was intensely proud, was accused of having fermented
this rebellion by his eloquence. He was forthwith arrested, and thrown into
prison, and, though he protested his innocence, he was tried, found guilty,
and sentenced to be shot. Fortunately for literature, some time elapsed
between the passing of the sentence and its execution, and the delay enabled
him to compose his two finest poems—the sublime "Prayer to God" and the
touching "Farewell to his Mother." These fine works would alone suffice to
make the name of any poet in any language. Placido met his fate on 8th
June 1844, in the Great Square of Matanzas, together with nineteen other
persons, accused of abetting the negro rebellion. He walked from his prison
with a firm step and unbandaged eyes, and himself gave the signal to fire.
Unfortunately, he was only wounded, and fell in great agony to the ground.
The crowd was moved to horror and pity, but Placido silenced his many
friends present, and, rising to his feet, said firmly, "Farewell, world,—ever
pitiless to me." Then, pointing to his own brow, he cried, "Soldiers, fire
here." In another instant he fell dead—shot through the head.
Placido addressed several graceful sonnets to the Queen Regent of Spain,
Christina, mother of Isabella II., who took some interest in his fate, and
openly expressed her indignation when she learnt of his tragic death. Mr
William Hurlbut, in his Pictures of Cuba, gives an admirable study of the
works of this remarkable poet. "Placido's images," says he, "are often
pathetic in their originality, as, for instance, when he compares the sudden
passing of the moon from behind the cliffs into the open starlit sky, to the
advent into the ball-room of a beautiful woman, superbly dressed, and
wearing a cashmere shawl. Quaintly barbaric this image seems, yet how
charged it is with the sad history of gorgeous dreams and warm visions,
prisoned in the poet-brain of an outcast and a Pariah."
It would be scarcely just to Havana, if I were to create an impression that
Cuban literary genius was peculiar to the Eastern Province. Havana has also

produced several fine poets. Ramon Zambrana, who, by-the-way, married
the poetess Doña Luisa Perez de Monte de Oca, is a lyrist of the first rank.
His story is quite a romance. The poems of Doña Luisa de Oca were
published under a manly nom-de-plume. Admiring them exceedingly,
Zambrana entered into a correspondence with the author, then living at
Santiago. It was only after keeping up a very lively and interesting
correspondence for over a year that he accidentally discovered he had been
writing to a woman. A very trivial incident revealed the truth. In one of her
letters the lady enclosed, by mistake, a note intended for her milliner. On
this the gentleman determined to proceed to Santiago and make the
acquaintance of his fair correspondent, whom he discovered to be both
beautiful and wealthy. Very soon after the marriage, unfortunately,
Zambrana fell ill, and died in the flower of early manhood.
Don José de la Luz y Caballero, who was for a long time Director of the
College of San Salvador, was also the author of some excellent poetry, and
of a very valuable work on Cuban folk-lore. His views were altogether too
advanced to suit the Government, and he was considerably persecuted in
consequence. He joined the insurrection under Cespedes, and was killed in
the engagement off Bayanno in 1866. Among the minor poets of Havana
may be mentioned Zequeira, Lecares, Palma, Mendira, and Pina.
In a country where the censorship weighs so heavily on the press, and on
literature in general, as it does in Cuba, prose writers find little or no scope
for their talent. Poetry, especially high class poetry, does not appeal to the
masses so readily as prose, and being considered less dangerous is more
leniently dealt with. Besides, it is generally published "for private
circulation alone." Cuba has produced a few good local historians, among
them the compiler of a work which has been of the greatest assistance to me
in the historical portion of this book—Los tres historiadores de la Isla de
Cuba—a collection of the chronicles of Herrera, Valdes, and Urietta, with
copious notes and additions.
Although local journalism dates from the middle of the last century, the
Cuban newspapers of the present day are of the flimsiest and most stupid
description. They are even worse than those published in Constantinople,
the censorship being, if anything, more childishly interfering than that of
Abd'ul Hamid. Barring a few telegrams from Madrid and New York, the

great political events in Europe and America are barely noticed at all. On
the other hand, you will find plenty of information concerning the life of the
calendar saint of the day, of St Rosa of Lima, for instance, or of the Blessed
Filomena.
Although music is universally popular in Cuba, I know of no
distinguished Cuban composer, musician, or vocalist. Yradié has collected
and elaborated a number of Cuban popular airs, and Bizet has immortalised
the Habanera in Carmen, but the first ten bars of that air are the only ones
he has retained without alteration, though characteristic rhythm is well
preserved. The less celebrated Paloma, by Yradié, is, I think, more
genuinely Cuban. The negro melodies of the island are absolutely barbaric,
and devoid of time and tune. They have nothing in common with the
charming plantation airs of the Southern States of America.
Before leaving Santiago de Cuba we drove out to the celebrated Cobre
Mines, some four hours distant from the city, but unfortunately there had
been some accident on the previous day, and we were unable to descend
into them. The scenery along the road, from Santiago, is magnificent. We
went a little beyond the mines, and visited the shrine of Nuestra Señora de
la Caridad de Cobre, a famous place of pilgrimage, which, however, has
lost a good deal of its picturesque interest since the erection of the brand
new church, large and garish, in which the holy image is enshrined. As it
was not a fiesta there were very few pilgrims, and I, having seen many
other like shrines in Europe, was much more interested in the enormous
Caruba trees growing abundantly in the neighbourhood, which were hung
with giant pods, a yard long, containing casia, a dark brown paste, which is
made into a syrup, and said to be very beneficial in cases of sore throat. We
brought back a wonderful collection of pods and giant beans of all sorts,
and some beautiful ferns and flowers, which I contrived to press as soon as
I reached the hotel. However, before leaving Santiago I was presented with
a large album containing a complete set of the ferns of the island. Among
the commonest I noticed are our much prized gold and silver ferns, and
some exquisite maiden-hairs, which, I am assured, have never been
successfully transplanted. Whenever I turn over the pages of this album
with its faded fern leaves, the memories of a delightful week spent in
Santiago crowd into my mind, and I seem to see, as in a vision, the

exquisite bay and the kindly denizens of the old City, built by Diego
Velasquez, a good four hundred years ago.
The steamer which had brought us from Cienfuegos also took us to
Nuevitas. The coast scenery is marvellously fine, and full of interest on
account of its association with Columbus, who was familiar with every yard
of it. We passed Baracoa, the oldest city in the island, with its picturesque,
castle-crowned hill and its splendid mountain background.
Nuevitas is said to be the place where Columbus landed, though recent
students think he really first stepped on shore at Carmello, in the
neighbourhood of Havana. It is now the port of Puerto Principe, an
important town some forty miles distant. The bay of Nuevitas is very fine,
but we miss the lofty mountains of Santiago—this country being more or
less flat, but very rich in vegetation, and beautifully green. Nuevitas does a
good trade in sponges and turtles, and is the depot for the shipment of sugar
and molasses, this being a great cane country.
Puerto Principe itself is the counterpart of any other Cuban town. They are
all exactly alike—the same narrow streets of one-storied, brightly-painted
Pompeian-looking houses, the same wide Plaza with the same rococo
church with its twin towers and flat dome, and the same formal Almeida
full of tropical plants, where the people parade of a Sunday evening, to the
strains of the local band. It is a fairly lively place, and is reported to be a
well-known centre of rebellion.[19]

CHAPTER X.

Some Weird Stories.

NO account of Cuba would be quite complete without some reference to the
superstitious observances of the negro population, which have not failed to
affect, by a kind of reflex action, the ideas and customs of the white
inhabitants of the island.

The negroes have a smattering, of course, of Catholic teaching, and a
tincture of the superstitions which affect the lowest order of Catholic mind.
Super-added to these—or perhaps I should rather say, underlying them—we
find a great mass of Voudistic legend and tradition, and a consequent
observance and practice of those dark, weird, and blood-curdling mysteries
known as the worship of Obi. The origin of this form of idolatry is lost in
antiquity. It was known in ancient Egypt, where the serpent was called Ob
or Aub. Traces of it appear even in Holy Writ. Moses charges the Israelites
"not to inquire of the demon Ob"—described in the Vulgate as "divinator"
and "sorcilegus." The Witch of Endor is called Oub or Ob in the original,
and the word appears translated as Pythonessa, or Witch.
The African slaves imported their strange rites into the West Indies when
they were carried into slavery, and clung to them with all the tenacity of an
oppressed and cruelly handled race.
The occult power possessed by the Obi man or woman is believed to be
hereditary, but it rarely develops until the individual attains an advanced
age. Fetish worship is a fundamental doctrine, and the Obi man has the
power of causing the Obi, or evil spirit, to pass into any object he may
select, such as the jaw-bone of a horse, or the body of a monkey. To these
objects, living or dead, the worshippers offer fruit, fowls, and flowers. The
ceremony of calling the spirit into its new abode is full of mystery and
horror, and is generally performed at dead of night, and in some lonely and
sequestered spot, far from Christian and profane eyes.
Many a curious story have I heard, of strange fate and cruel misfortune,
connected with the dark practices of negro witchcraft. The following tale,
which was related to me by a relative of the victim, will serve as an instance
of Obi power. I need scarcely say I do not ask my readers to believe it, but I
am quite sure my informant, by no means an uneducated man, placed the
most implicit faith in every word he spoke.
A certain wealthy Cuban planter, whom I will call Don Pablo, once
suspected an old negro in his service of being an Obi man. He had but
recently returned to his estates, from a long sojourn in Europe, and was
determined to suppress, so far as in him lay, the diabolical ceremonies
which, his overseer assured him, were frequently performed by certain of

the negroes on his plantation, who had thus acquired a vast influence over
their fellows. One night, Don Pablo followed his overseer into the forest,
and reached a deserted hut, evidently used as a fetish temple, just as the
rites began. He hid himself among the jungle, and watched his opportunity.
The assemblage consisted of some twenty to thirty negroes, of both sexes,
plentifully bedecked with beads, shells, and feathers, but otherwise stark
naked. They opened proceedings by performing a sort of Pyrrhic dance,
shouting as they whirled round and round, and brandishing their torches.
Presently the door of the hut opened, and the Obi man appeared. He was
very old, and quite greyheaded. His naked body was marked with white
paint to represent a skeleton, and his appearance under the pale moonlight
and the livid glow of the torches was weird beyond description. Don Pablo
half wished himself at home—for, like all his race, he was both excitable
and superstitious. In due time, the Obi man brought forward a huge toad, in
which, after many ceremonies, he declared the Obi or fetish to be
embodied. This done, he began to worship it, and to indulge in certain
strange and obscene antics. Don Pablo, in his indignation, burst from his
hiding-place, pistol in hand, commanding the Obi man to desist, and
disperse the gathering, or take the consequences. To his surprise, the old
priest utterly defied him, and boldly told him that if he persisted in
disturbing the strange rites, the most fearful misfortunes would befall him.
The audacious speech was answered by a ringing shot, which ended the Obi
man's career, and broke up the meeting in wild confusion. A few days
afterwards, whilst Don Pablo sat at dinner, his wife fell suddenly forward
and expired. In less than a fortnight his only daughter died, of some quickly
developed and mysterious disease—probably poison. Broken-hearted and
alarmed by these crushing blows, following in such swift and merciless
succession, the unhappy man betook himself to a neighbouring plantation,
and sought to propitiate the offended deity through another well-known and
potent Obi man, but the attempt failed absolutely. The wizard declared he
had no power to undo the mischief, for, he alleged, the deceased Obi man
was far more influential with the spirits than himself. The miserable Don
Pablo returned to his desolate home to find a letter announcing the death of
his only son, who had been suddenly carried off in Paris, whither he had
been sent for his education.

The number thirteen is considered an unlucky and even fatal one in Cuba.
If you have a fever, the Obi man or woman will give you a little bag
containing twelve seeds of garlic, which you put under your pillow, and in
the morning you are sure to awake quite well,—unless, indeed, the witch
has maliciously inserted a thirteenth seed, in which case you may as well
order your coffin at once.
The evil eye is as prevalent as in Naples, and most houses are protected
from it by a horseshoe, such as we often see, for the matter of that, in non-
superstitious England! An Obi man or woman always has the evil eye—mal
de ojo—and can do harm by mere force of will power, even if the object be
many miles removed. If you have incurred the Obi man's anger, your
undertaking, whatever be its nature, is sure to fail; and on your return home,
you may find your favourite child has been stung by a scorpion, or is dying
of the fever, that your blacks are afflicted with some fell disease, and your
herds stolen, or decimated.
Some Obi women are famous as prophetesses. There was a negro witch on
the plantation of Doña Mary d'O——, an American lady, the widow of an
exceedingly rich Cuban planter, and a most kindly and hospitable lady. One
morning our hostess took us down to the negro quarters, to visit the dusky
pythoness, whom we found sitting in the shade of some huge banana plants,
smoking her cigarette. She rose to greet her mistress, and I was struck at
once by her tall, commanding figure, and the stately manner in which she
wore the long draperies of scarlet and white calico, which fell in ample
folds (none of the freshest, I am forced to add) down to her feet. Her name
was appropriate to her profession—Proserpina—Pina, for short. In answer
to our greeting and inquiries after her health, Proserpina informed us she
was well, but that owing to certain portents, she dreaded the near approach
of some misfortune. Sure enough, very shortly afterwards, the vomito nigro
appeared among the plantation hands, and many of them were swept away.
Proserpina was a skilful palmist, and told us our future with a fair degree of
success. She informed my fellow-traveller, and quite truly, that he would
die within eight years, and assured me I should live to be very old and very
rich. I would fain hope the oracle may yet come true! "Pina" persistently
refused to work, but her mistress, thinking it well to be on good terms with
a personage so greatly looked up to by her fellows, allowed her to take her
own way. She was in great demand among the plantation hands, in cases of

sickness and childbirth, and she was not above accepting her fees, like any
other lady doctor, exacted them, in fact, under threat of awful penalties.
This venerable dame, like most of her profession, was an adept in the
compounding of philtres and deadly poisons, the ingredients of which
recall, in some cases, the uncanny mixtures prepared by the weird sisters in
Macbeth—scorpion's blood six drops, the head of a toad, the belly of a
snake, the poison of a black spider, and strange herbs gathered by
moonlight. The whole mixed in a cauldron over a fire fed with dead men's
bones, and boiled between midnight and dawn.
Every thoroughbred Cuban believes in ghosts and haunted houses. To this
day certain plantations stand desolate, because nobody will face the spirits
which haunt them—proof, if proof were needed, of the awful crimes
committed within their walls. Before Tacon's time, such high roads as there
were in the interior of the island were very unsafe, and gangs of banditti
infested various parts of the country. They waylaid travellers, murdered
them, and stripped their bodies. Many years ago a well-known lawyer at
Porto Principe was arrested and charged with organising and financing a
gang of monteros who had turned highwaymen, and killed and plundered
various wealthy travellers on their way to certain plantations in the interior.
In the course of his trial it transpired that the bodies of the victims were
buried under the kitchen floor of a wayside fonda (inn), the precise spots
having been revealed to a negro seer by the ghosts of the slain. To this day,
nobody will pass that fonda on All Souls Eve, because they are sure to see
the spirits of the murdered men barring the road, and supplicating the
passer-by to have a mass and de profundis offered for the repose of their
unshriven souls.
Divers plantations have an evil reputation because negroes have been
burnt there in days long gone by for practising the rites of Obi, or because
their cruel masters desired to get rid of them, for reasons of their own.
When the tempest is at its height, you may yet see, wandering among the
palm trees, a black form wreathed in flames, whose wailing shriek rises
even above the howling of the storm.
The superstitions of the blacks affected the whites: it could hardly be
otherwise; for, however strong caste prejudice may be, the dominant race
must absorb some proportion of the prejudices inherent in those who have

nursed and waited on them in their tenderest and most impressionable
years. Cases have occurred, and may occur even now, in which white men
and women of the lowest class have joined in the strange and repellent rites
of the African religion, if so it can be called. But I need hardly say that the
more educated Cubans, though they admit the existence of a strange and
mysterious faculty in certain of the negro priests and priestesses, hold
themselves utterly aloof from such demoniac and degrading practices.
Whilst we are on gruesome subjects, I may be excused if I take the
opportunity of saying something about Cuban funeral customs, which have,
however, been greatly modified of late years, in the large towns, owing to
the advance of education, and to some slight improvement in the popular
appreciation of hygiene. Twenty years ago, however (and even now, in the
interior), the corpse used to be dressed up in its best clothes, the man in his
frock-coat, white cravat, and patent-leather boots, the woman, if married, in
her Sunday go-to-meeting best, or if she were a young girl, in white, with a
wreath of flowers round her head. Thus arrayed, the body, after being
exposed in a sort of lying in state in one of the principal apartments of the
house, would be conveyed to the cemetery, with the lid of the coffin open,
so that parents and friends might be able to admire the final toilette. This
custom, which is still general among the Eastern orthodox Greeks, led in
the course of time to the formation of a singular band of resurrectionists,
who, after some wealthy person's funeral, were wont to steal away by night
to the cemetery, dig up the body and despoil it of its fashionable garments,
which constantly found their way to the second-hand clothiers. At present,
among the educated classes, and in the large cities, the coffin lid is closed.
But a compromise has been devised by the introduction of a plate-glass lid,
through which the pleasing spectacle of the deceased lying at rest, bedecked
with this world's finery, can be enjoyed without risk. A Cuban funeral
procession is generally of very great length, and usually accompanied by a
band of musicians, the town band for preference, playing operatic airs and
even dance music. I once saw a young lady borne to her last home, her
coffin covered with splendid wreaths, and surrounded by weeping friends,
to the tune of the then popular Baccio waltz. Formerly, as in the East, men
and women used to be hired as mourners, and being trained for the purpose,
howled dismally enough to raise the dead. But they have been abolished,

except in country places, where, in Cuba as elsewhere, old fashions die
hard.
Among the guajiros, monteros, and poor whites generally,—and I believe
also amongst the Catholic negroes,—a ceremony takes place on the night
between the death and the funeral (which, by the way, always occurs within
twenty-four hours), which bears a strong resemblance to an Irish wake: it is
called a velorio; literally, watch or wake. The friends and relatives gather
round the coffin, and spend the night watching by the body, which is placed
in the centre of the chamber, the coffin being unclosed, covered with
wreaths of flowers and bouquets, and flanked by six lighted candles.
Originally this ceremony, like the Irish wake, was doubtless intended to be
of a highly devotional character, but it has degenerated, by degrees, into a
sort of orgie. A table covered with viands is set at one end of the room, and
close to it stands another of still greater importance, bearing numerous
bottles of aguardiente, gin, and wine. Frequent libations to the health of the
departed soul soon produce their effect, and the family begins to express its
grief in the most uproarious manner, by dismal exclamations, hair-tearing,
and breast-beating. They address the dead as if he were still living.
"Ah! my poor darling," they say, "don't make any mistake. We are sorry
indeed to lose you, but at present you see we are preparing the funeral
baked meats for those who loved you less than we do. When they have all
got their drinks, we will return, so don't be impatient. By and by we will
howl dismally enough to please you." (Luego te vamos gritar.)
As the night wanes, and the aguardiente grows lower in the queer-looking
bottles, the company can no longer restrain its grief. Everybody becomes
inconsolable at once. When dawn comes, and with it the confraternities and
the cura, to fetch the coffin, they not unfrequently find the company
singing, dancing, and shouting as if possessed. And here I may observe that
the Cubans can drink more aguardiente and gin, without showing any
unsteadiness, than any other people on the face of the earth. They contrive
to keep their legs at all events, though I am afraid they very frequently lose
their heads.
Nothing more dismal can be imagined than a Cuban cemetery, which is
usually located in the most arid spot in the neighbourhood of town or

village. The Cubans never dream of planting a tree or a shrub near the
graves of their lamented, for whom, by the way, they wear official
mourning about six times as long as in any other country. At one extremity
of the cemetery invariably stands the unpretentious chapel. In the centre is
the common field, where the poor and the coloured Catholics are buried,—
no heretic being allowed to rest in this cheerless campo santo. The wealthier
among the departed are commemorated by funereal monuments and slabs
inserted in the wall surrounding the grave-yard, which give their titles at
full length, and most unstintingly commend their virtues.
In the cemetery of Santiago, which, by the way, is one of the dreariest
fields of death I have ever beheld, there is a very interesting monument
erected to the memory of the celebrated Doctor Antomarchi, who attended
Napoleon I. at St Helena during his last illness. It is not remarkably artistic,
but is sufficiently imposing to attract attention. I must say I felt greatly
interested to learn why and wherefore Antomarchi elected to pass the last
years of his life in Santiago de Cuba. This is the information I obtained
concerning him. It seems that, shortly after the Emperor's death, he made a
tour of the world, in search of a missing brother, whom he had not seen or
heard of for many years. Chance threw them together in the streets of
Santiago, and Antomarchi determined to take up his abode in the same town
as the only other surviving member of his family. As he had a considerable
fortune, he took handsome apartments in one of the best streets of the city,
set up as oculist, and received patients for eye diseases, in the treatment of
which he seems to have been fairly successful. He often spoke of his
illustrious patient, and described his last hours. Dr Antomarchi was a
generous man and charitable to the poor; and although he only lived a few
years at Santiago, where he fell a victim to the yellow fever in 1826, he was
so greatly esteemed that this monument was erected to his memory by
public subscription.
The friend with whom I was travelling was, like myself, an ardent admirer
of Napoleon, and ordered a magnificent wreath to be placed on the tomb of
the man who closed the great Emperor's eyes, and who, like his imperial
master, was destined to end his days in a tropical island.
In these Cuban cemeteries you may occasionally notice certain large land
crabs sidling along with a lazy air, as if they had had an exceedingly good

dinner. All I will say anent them is, that they are often suspiciously covered
with earth, and that I would not eat one of them to save my life. The
negroes, however, declare them to be of exquisite flavour.

CHAPTER XI.

Plantation Life.

IT is only by visiting two or three of the great plantations, of various kinds,
that one can form any idea, not only of the agricultural wealth of the island,
but of the extraordinary beauty of its flora.
There are plantations and plantations in Cuba, just as there are country
houses and country houses in England: some (I am speaking of the island
before the present rebellion) are magnificent; others are distinctly rough and
tumbledown. The first sugar plantation I had the pleasure of visiting was
situated some miles from Havana, and belonged to an American gentleman.
The approach to the family residence (casa de vivienda) was through
handsome iron gates and an apparently interminable avenue of magnificent
Royal palms, which, by the way, although they produced a most imposing
effect, on account of the exceeding height of the vault of deep green foliage,
suspended some eighty to ninety feet above our heads, afforded little or no
shade, for their superb trunks are as straight as darts, and as smooth as so
many greased poles at an old-fashioned English country fair.
In front of the very large one-storied house was an open space, converted
into a garden by our charming hostess, a Bostonian lady, devoted to
floriculture. It was, I remember, conspicuous for the number of its immense
bushes of flaming hibiscus, then in full and glorious bloom. Hiding
modestly in the shade were some homely pale pink roses, which had been
imported from New England, and which, I was assured, required the
greatest possible care. Their sweetness seemed not a little overpowered by
their gorgeous and sturdy rivals, whose vivid flowers were as large as the
crown of my Panama hat. The drive up to the house was fenced in by

perfect walls of orange trees, whose strongly scented starlike blossoms
mingled with the ripe and golden fruit. On either side of the door were the
finest banana plants I have ever seen, their velvety leaves being fully ten to
fifteen feet in length. At the door stood our host and hostess, eager to
welcome us with true American cordiality. Mr G—— insisted upon our
taking a cocktail there and then, and a most refreshing and grateful
beverage it proved to be, after our long and dusty drive. The hall of this
hacienda, an enormous apartment, with a highly polished floor, served also
for drawing-room and place of general meeting. It was most beautifully
furnished, and at every turn the careful supervision of a woman of culture
was evident.
Here were immense Chinese vases full of fresh cut flowers, trailing
boughs of the golden trumpet vine, huge bunches of the peacock acacia, and
other specimens of brilliant tropical bloom, such as my eyes had never
rested on before.
"Ah," said our hostess, "you see I always have cut flowers in my rooms,
but you will never find them in the house of any Spaniard or Cuban. Even
the negroes seem to object to them, and are apt to throw them away as soon
as my back is turned. But what I want you to notice, whilst they are getting
breakfast ready for us, are some mantis which we caught this morning in
the garden;" and here the lady brought forward a box with a glass lid,
containing apparently four or five beautiful green leaves, about the size and
shape of a poplar leaf. But they were living insects, so cunningly formed by
Nature that even the birds disdain to touch them, be they ever so hungry,
fully believing them to be tasteless castaway foliage. The manti family is
largely represented throughout the whole of the West Indies, from the sly
gentleman who looks like a piece of broken brown stick, some four or five
inches in length, to the pale green leaf we had just admired, and to yet
another species which has all the appearance, and even the indentures and
veining, of an autumn-tinted oak leaf, and which, moreover, the better to
deceive its enemies, flutters to the ground exactly as if the wind had
detached it from the bough of some tall tree.
Everywhere in this fine hacienda, all that wealth could procure to increase
comfort had been introduced by a lavish and tasteful hand. The lofty
bedrooms, I remember, were deliciously clean and airy, and the brass

bedsteads—a real luxury in the tropics—were surrounded by the whitest
and most impenetrable of mosquito netting. The coloured servants, too,
looked sleek and happy, and spotless, in their snowy liveries.
Our host informed us that although since the emancipation of the slaves he
paid his ex-slaves a weekly wage, he had purposely kept up the numerous
institutions in connection with the plantation which were universal in the
slave days, but which many of the native planters had latterly dispensed
with, much to the inconvenience and regret of the poor black people, now
left, with little or no experience, to their own devices. There was a sort of
hospital on this estate, where the sick were looked after, and a nursery, in
which the little black gentry were screened from the blazing sun, and
carefully watched over by several old ebony and mahogany-tinted ladies
deputed for the purpose. At certain hours of the day the mothers were
allowed to tend their little ones, and to pass with them a half-hour or so of
that supreme bliss which is so dear to every mother's heart.
After a well served and most enjoyable luncheon, and a cigarette, we
sallied forth to see the sights of the place.
A sugar-cane field does not present a particularly inviting appearance, not
more so than the ordinary cane jungles you so frequently come across in the
Genoese Riviera. When green it is pretty enough; but ripe, it has a distinctly
disorderly appearance, and is not to be compared with an English wheat
field in the golden month of August.
There are two sorts of cane: the criolla or native cane, which, I was told,
was first imported from the Canaries by Columbus on his second voyage. It
is considered the least excellent in quality, and is not largely cultivated by
the planters. They leave it to the negroes, who consume vast quantities of
molasses—when they get the chance. The Otahite is the finest cane. It is
very thick, and grows to a height of from six to sixteen feet. As in the case
of all the cane family, the stem is divided into angular joints, which vary in
length as the cane tapers upwards. The moist, soft pith contains the sweet
juice, which, when pressed out by machinery, is converted into sugar. The
sugar harvest commences late in January, and ends in May, the planting
season taking place during the breaks in the wet season, which lasts from
June to the end of November. The cane is not grown from seed, as is

generally stated, but from slips taken from the top of the plant, the lower
leaves of which are stripped off. When stuck in the ground at regular
intervals, to a depth of about two inches, the cane slips soon take root, and
in about six months grow to maturity, sometimes, but very rarely, attaining
a height of twenty feet.
The field we first visited was a very large one, the ripe canes, of a pale
green turning to grey, undulating over it to a considerable distance. There
must have been some thirty or forty men, women, and children working in
this plot, under the supervision of a mounted over-seer. The men cut the
cane with a small hatchet, the women gathered it together and tied it into
bundles, whilst some of the negroes and most of the children peeled off the
leaves, which are good for fodder, or hoisted it on to the high-wheeled carts,
each drawn by four prodigiously long-horned oxen, of the breed so dear to
the Roman art student.
The sky above was hazy, almost an English grey, and everything was
subdued to its tone, whereby for once we avoided that glare which, in warm
climates, so often destroys the effect of those soft and fleeting tints of
"middle distance." Some dozen carts piled with the silver-grey canes filed
off in a slow procession down the white-sanded road towards the hacienda,
the noble-looking oxen occasionally lifting their heads to give vent to their
feelings, and express their opinion of things in general, by a prolonged
bellow. Each team was led by a negro, with a wide straw hat on his head,
and wearing only a pair of white drawers. Bobbing up and down among the
uncut canes we could see the bright turbans of the negresses, and
occasionally a little ebony imp would turn an impossible somersault right in
front of us, and then drop on his knees in the expectation, promptly realised,
of a liberal donation, as the price of his queer antic.
The carts take the cane to the mill, where they are unloaded, and where
huge wheels, worked by steam, or latterly by electricity, press the sugar out
of them,—the engine never ceasing its evolutions night or day. In the old
times, the negroes were worked, as I have elsewhere stated, as many as
nineteen and even twenty hours a day, at this, to them, terrible season. Even
now, their hours are very long, but they are at liberty to strike for higher
wages if they choose, and I am assured they very often do so.

It is very interesting to watch the cane being thrown into the mill, and to
observe the great wheels whirling round and round, while the continuous
river of pale green syrup flows into its wooden trough-like receptacles,
whence it is taken in buckets to the furnaces to be clarified. In its first state
it soon turns acid, and consequently has to be boiled and clarified
immediately, or else it would be ruined; and this is one of the principal
reasons why there is such a press of work during the sugar harvest. It cannot
be neglected for a single hour, and relays of hands have to relieve each
other constantly, rest being impossible, even on the Sabbath. The juice, after
being boiled and clarified, is filtered through vats, which, up to the rim, are
filled with bone black and changed every six or eight hours, until the juice
turns colour. According to the punctuality and skill with which the bone
black is changed, so does the quality of the sugar increase in excellence.
This apparently simple process is one of the chief expenses, as well as one
of the subtlest arts, of sugar-making. Once clarified, the sugar goes through
a variety of mechanical processes—very absorbing to the spectator, but not
particularly so to the reader,—until it is eventually converted into moist
sugar. Some portion, however, is retained, and sold as molasses, and golden
syrup. When duly prepared for exportation, it is tightly packed in wooden
cases, which are sealed up and strapped with slips of raw hide, ready for
market.
Our first evening on this plantation was delightfully spent. After dinner,—
which, by the way, was served as it would have been in an English country
house, everybody being in full evening dress,—we had some excellent
music. A young Cuban lady and gentleman entertained us by singing some
of the national airs, as arranged by Yradié. The lady sang with great spirit,
and her rendering of la Paloma and of the Habanera from Carmen was
simply perfect. I have never heard the latter song sung with greater spirit,
except by the famous Madame Calvé. Then two negro musicians were
ordered to appear and give us a sample of their skill. One of the men, who
evidently belonged to some very black and fierce Kaffir tribe, had a
melodious baritone voice, and sang several African melodies, which were
recalled to my memory some years afterwards, by some of the music so
dear to the Asiatics of Constantinople, which is of the same nasal and
twangy description, with endless cadences, and a certain absence of tune,
which should win the approval of all faithful Wagnerians.

As the night was exceedingly clear, before retiring to rest we went for a
stroll in the gardens. It was my first experience of the transcendent beauties
of a full moon in the tropics. Even the glories of an Italian moonlight must
fade before such radiance as I now admired. The light shed by this southern
"orb of night" was almost as golden as that of the sun, and yet the shadows
remained quite dark; hence a vigorous contrast of light and shade, such as I
have never seen elsewhere. The effect as we passed under the long avenue
of palm trees was most striking. We might have been in the nave of some
giant Gothic cathedral,—its columns were represented by the grey stems of
the towering Royal palms, whose interlaced foliage, high above our heads,
suggested the wonderful roof of Henry VII.'s chapel at Westminster. Some
of the hedgerows in the garden were quite white with the "moon flower," a
sort of snowy night-blooming convolvulus, the flowers of which are of
immense size, and as flat and thin as a sheet of paper. This flower is an
annual; several of its seeds which I carried back with me to England have
succeeded very well.
The next sugar plantation we visited was near Matanzas; but although I
saw several other sugar estates, they did not particularly interest me, as they
were, though perhaps on a larger scale, almost exactly like the first we had
inspected. I was, however, delighted with my first coffee plantation: I shall
not easily forget its fresh beauty and delightful odour. The coffee berry was
introduced into Cuba from Hayti, in 1742, and has flourished greatly, but
the trade has of late considerably diminished in importance. Nothing can
exceed the beauty of a coffee field. The plants are grown from seed, and are
planted in rows sometimes covering a thousand acres. To screen the shrubs
from the prodigious heat, they are carefully protected by other plants, such
as the banana and the pomegranate tree, under whose shade the shrubs grow
freely. Very often the cocoa plant is grown on the same plantation as the
coffee shrub. There are three kinds of chocolate-producing plants—the
caracas, the pods of which are red; the guayaquil, which bears purple pods,
whereas those of the criolla are yellow. The tree is not pretty: it looks too
much like a small stunted pear-tree, and the fruit grows in a very odd
manner, not in clusters among the leaves, but along the trunk, from the
ground upwards, the seeds being protected by thick, heavy pods, which,
sticking out as they do at regular intervals, produce a most whimsical
appearance. The fruit is ripe for gathering between June and December, at

about the same time as the coffee, the blossoms of which are in full glory
early in February,—distinctly the best month in which to visit a coffee
estate, and enjoy its loveliness to the full.
The hacienda to which the plantation I first visited was attached, belonged
to a Cuban gentleman, and was a great contrast to the finely-appointed
mansion we had recently left. There was no garden, and the front door was
usually encumbered by a noisy group of stark-naked little darkies of both
sexes, whom we generally caught tormenting some queer-looking animal
which they had caught in the fields—a land tortoise or a baby iguana. They
were always sprawling between our feet, but though they sometimes got
more kicks than ha'pence, they seemed perfectly happy, and as jolly as
sandboys. The entrance-hall was occupied by a double row of rocking-
chairs, and by a large deal table, on which our breakfast and dinner were
served, invariably without tablecloth or napkins. There were, however, any
number of looking-glasses, gorgeous French clocks, artificial flowers under
glass shades, and stupendous bronze lamps, such as you buy at the Louvre
or the Bon Marché, by way of works of art; there was a collection of framed
but extremely primitive chromos, representing scenes in the life of the
Blessed Virgin, and others in gay Parisian life, as it appeared at Mabile and
at the Bal de l'Opera, in the golden days of Müger. No books or newspapers
were anywhere to be seen; on the other hand, there was a plentiful supply of
playing-cards and dominoes, with which we contrived to amuse ourselves
during the evening, or, as I ought rather to say, throughout the night, for
nobody dreamt of going to bed till two o'clock in the morning. The planter
was a very hospitable man, who gave us the best of wines, and we had
several very palatable Cuban dishes, the dinner always winding up with the
inevitable roast sucking-pig, strongly flavoured with garlic. The Señora was
a very stout lady of forty, who lolled about the house all day long in an old
red flannel dressing-gown: when she was not rocking in a chair, she was
swinging in a hammock, with four or five negresses in attendance on her.
They all seemed on the best of terms, but as they spoke patois, I could not
understand their jokes, possibly made at our expense, for they used to look
at us slyly, and then burst into roars of ill-suppressed laughter. Be that as it
may, the Señora was a very different personage in the evening from the
rather disorderly-looking, middle-aged female, without shoes and stockings,
who was so busy doing nothing all day long. By supper-time she was

gorgeous, dressed up in the very latest of Parisian toilettes, her magnificent
glossy black hair carefully dressed, her podgy fingers blazing with diamond
rings, and her face so thickly coated with rice flour that you could scarcely
distinguish her features, except her lips, which were painted cherry red, and
her eyebrows, which were artificially arched. She had a rather pretty
daughter, called Dolores, who spent her days much after her mother's
fashion. There was yet another daughter, at a convent in Havana, and a
third, about seven years of age, who played with the little niggers on the
doorstep. There was a really fine grand piano in one corner of the room,
every single note of which was out of tune, and on this delightful
instrument the Señorita and a long, thin young German, whose exact
position in the family I never could define,—I think he must have been the
agent's son,—played airs from Luisa Miller, Ernani, and other pre-historic
operas, systematically disarranged for the piano, for four hands, by a certain
Signor Campara. They were exceedingly proud of their performance, and,
once started, there was no possibility of stopping them until the cards were
produced. Then they flew to the table and took a most active interest in a
game at "Nap," at which I lost a considerable sum of money the first night,
and won it back again the second, to the Señora's extreme and evident
annoyance.
The most extraordinary part about this house was that there were no single
bedrooms. They were replaced by two dormitories on opposite sides of the
house, one for gentlemen and one for ladies. It was all very odd and
amusing, but the hospitality was unbounded. On the last evening of our stay
a baile or dance was given in our honour, to which some of the neighbours
came, and danced the creola, and a very elaborate country-dance in which I
was forced to join. I am afraid I did not acquit myself with much grace, for
I was perpetually mistaking the figures, which provoked much laughter. The
ball ended at about two o'clock in the morning, and most of the company
went home on horseback, after a supper at which no less than four infant
pigs were consumed. I never saw such a people as the Cubans for pork and
sucking-pig,—about the very last dish I should have expected to have come
across in those latitudes. We took leave of our friends with no little regret,
for though they were primitive and very superficially educated people, their
manners were excellent, most courteous, kindly, and well-bred. The Señora,
however, could never keep herself from laughing at our Spanish, and at the

evident reluctance with which we endeavoured to make believe we enjoyed
certain impossible dishes,—a roast iguana among the number. I did
overcome my repugnance to partaking of so unpleasant-looking a reptile,
and found it tasted exactly like tough roast chicken.
Whilst we were staying with this amiable family we were initiated into the
mysteries of guava jelly-making by a tall mulatress, who acted as cook to
the establishment, and who was evidently held in great respect by every
member of the community, especially by the darksome urchins, who,
although they haunted her kitchen in the hope of purloining titbits,
constantly received sharp raps on their woolly pates, from a prodigiously
long iron spoon. There was no very great mystery about the guava jelly,—
the process is exactly like that of compounding any other fruit-jelly; and as
to the paste or cheese, I think that between the making of it and damson
cheese there is only the difference which exists between Tweedle-dum and
Tweedle-dee. However, I frankly admit my devotion to guava paste. And as
to the jelly,—the Easterns say we may hope to enjoy in the next world those
things which we like best to eat in this,—therefore pray I, that when I
shuffle off this mortal coil, I need not relinquish all hope of an occasional
treat of guava jelly!
A sketch of Cuba which contained no mention of tobacco would be very
much like "Hamlet" without the Prince of Denmark. The name of the dusky
chief whom Christopher Columbus found inhaling the fragrant leaf of the
tabaco, as he called it, should have lived even to our days. But, like that of
many another unknown hero, his title is unrecorded, and probably neither
Columbus nor his savage friend ever imagined the prodigious results that
were to grow out of the conversation, in the course of which the Indian
instructed the discoverer of the New World as to the value and properties of
the strange weed, the soothing properties of which he seemed so greatly to
enjoy. Little did they foresee that within a hundred years a Mahommedan
Kaliph and a Christian Pope were both to fulminate excommunication
against such of their followers as ventured to indulge a taste they deemed
unworthy and unclean. The aboriginal Indians did not smoke tobacco after
our present fashion. They inhaled the fumes through a forked cane, the two
prongs of which they applied to their nostrils, whilst the longer end was
plunged among the burning leaves. Such implements are still used, I am

assured, by the negroes in Cuba, and elsewhere, when they desire to forget
their sorrows in the dreamy sleep thus artificially produced.
Like the vine, tobacco depends for its quality on certain peculiarities of
soil and climatic influences, which have hitherto baffled investigation. Thus
the Cuban tobacco grown in the Vuelta Abajo district is the finest in the
world; and, though the plant grows luxuriantly in other parts of the island,
—as at San Juan dos Remedeos and at Rematos,—its quality never attains
the perfection of that which ripens in the immense fertile plain which
extends westward from Havana. This part of Cuba is known as the Vuelta
Abajo, or "lower valley," in contradistinction to the upper end of the island
called Vuelta Arriba, or "higher valley." Fortunately for the tourist, the best
tobacco plantations in the island are within an easy journey from the capital,
and close to a village called Guanajay, some twelve miles from the sea, and
accessible by train. It is situated in the midst of very pretty scenery, of an
essentially sylvan character, the numerous tobacco fields being dotted with
magnificent palms and tropical trees. Few tobacco plantations exceed a size
of thirty acres. Each is provided, as a rule, with a dwelling-house, some
cattle-sheds, and a few drying-houses. The processes of growing and
preparing the plant are of the simplest character, and do not require any
special machinery. The tobacco is not sown in the open field, but in small
prepared plots, whence the seedlings are transplanted when they are a few
inches high, and set out at regular distances in the fields. The Nicotiana,—
now common in most English gardens,—grows taller in Cuba than in this
country, usually reaching a height of from 6 to 8 feet. Each plant is
carefully tended until it is ready for harvesting. All superfluous and ill-
shaped leaves must be removed, and the greatest care taken to protect the
plants from the vivijagua, a very large and malicious ant, which is quite
capable of destroying a whole crop within a few hours. The field hands
employed in this cultivation are almost all blacks, who possess an
instinctive knowledge of the needs of each plant, and gather the leaves with
an astonishing delicacy of touch, and absence of over-handling. When the
harvesting and curing time arrives, the leaves are gathered into bundles of
from thirty to forty each, for the best, and from twenty to thirty, for the
second quality.[20] Some eighty to a hundred of these bundles, when pressed
and tied together, form a tercio or bale, weighing about 200 lbs., in which
form the tobacco is transported, on muleback, to Havana. A tobacco

plantation is a very pretty sight, and the fragrance is delightful, for a certain
number of plants in each plot are allowed to flower for seeding purposes.
The sowing-time lasts from June to October; the harvest begins in
December and goes on till May.
Some idea of the importance of the tobacco trade is conveyed by the fact
that one hundred million cigars, valued at about two million sterling, are
annually imported into England alone. The earliest shipments take place in
June and July, and are mostly sold to Germany; the British market being
supplied in October and November, when the tobacco is thoroughly
mellowed.
Almost all the Cuban tobacco planters are Spaniards, and the trade, with
few exceptions, is entirely in their hands. Two great foreign firms, however,
stand out prominently. The first, that of Messrs Bock & Co., is English, and
world renowned; the second is German, Messrs Behrens & Co., who are the
owners of the cigar connoisseur's latest "pet," the brand "Sol." With hardly
any exception, all the other brands of any renown—the Flor de Cuba,
Corona, Villa y Villa, Flor de J. S. Murias, Pedro Murias—are in the hands
of the Spaniards. It is a curious fact that hitherto no American firm has risen
to exceptional renown among the cigar manufacturers of the world,
although the neighbouring isle of Key West has lately sprung into
prominence as a tobacco land of much promise, and several important firms
have been established there with a fair measure of success. The true Havana
cigar is made in Havana only. Some of the large firms, such as Bock & Co.,
employ from three to five thousand hands, almost all Spaniards and Cubans,
white labour being preferred, on account of the delicate processes through
which the tobacco has to pass before it is converted into a cigar. Although
there are certainly more than a hundred cigar manufacturers in Havana,
only two or three of the factories are really worth visiting. The Corona is
perhaps the most striking, because it is located in what was until quite
recently the gorgeous palace of the Aldama family, in the Campo Marte.
The magnificent marble staircases and saloons, with their splendidly
frescoed ceilings, are now turned "to viler purposes," the tesselated
pavements are trodden by the zapatos of the cigar makers, and the Court of
Olympus, in the vaulted roof of the state ballroom, looks down upon busy
groups of tobacco sorters and cigar makers. Each cigar maker sits before a
low table. He begins operations by taking the tobacco leaf and spreading it

smoothly before him. Then he cuts out certain hard fibres which might
interfere with the shape of the cigar. Next he rolls up the leaf into the
correct shape, and if he be a skilful workman he will do this without further
recourse to knife or scissors. The cigars vary in length according to the
brand: they were made much longer formerly than they are at present. Some
used to measure eight inches, but now four inches is the most usual length.
Prices vary from thirty to one thousand dollars per thousand cigars.
No women are employed in the manufacture except for arranging the
cigars in boxes and pasting down the lids with their well-known and
brilliantly printed labels. The boxes, which are made of cedar wood, form
another important branch of Havanese industry. The Cubans themselves
never smoke cigars: they all use cigarettes, which most of them make and
roll, with a delicacy and grace peculiar to themselves. It is somewhat
remarkable that although the Cubans literally live with a cigarette between
their lips—they begin smoking the first thing in the morning, and continue
until they go to bed—they seem absolutely impervious to any form of
nicotine poisoning. May not its prevalence in European countries be the
result of smoking inferior and dirty tobacco? I was much struck, when
visiting the various tobacco factories in Havana, with the scrupulous
cleanliness everywhere observed. The cigar makers are obliged to wash
their hands constantly all through the day, and no dust or dirt is tolerated
anywhere.

CHAPTER XII.

An Isle of June—A Contrast.

IT was early on a bright winter morning that our good ship "San Jacinto"
steamed into the harbour of Nassau, the capital of New Providence. As I
leaned over the side and looked down into the waters over which our vessel
moved, I could scarcely believe my eyes. It seemed impossible that water
deep enough to float the ship should be so marvellously clear. We appeared
to be gliding over a sheet of sea-green crystal. Not a pebble, bit of sponge,

shell, fish, crab, or coral, but was distinctly visible, as if but a few inches
below the surface. It was like floating in ether, for the glint of shimmering
sunlight alone proved it was fluid. But water it was, and nothing else, for, as
we neared the wharf, a score or so of dusky forms splashed into the briny
mirror, breaking up its glassy surface, sent a spray of diamonds into the air,
and then dived into its pellucid depths in quest of coppers liberally scattered
by the amused passengers. "Please, Boss, deeve (give) us a small dive," was
the entreaty shouted by a good dozen or so of dusky urchins, who, on the
least encouragement, jerked off their coats and shirts and plunged into the
sea. Sometimes they caught the coin before it touched the bottom, at others
the diver remained quite a time searching for his prize, looking, as seen
from above, with his wriggling arms and legs, like a huge black spider.
When Christopher Columbus landed on the shores of "Guanahanè," on
October 17th, 1492, and named the present island of New Providence San
Salvador, he wrote a letter to the Spanish Sovereigns, full of his usual
expressions of delighted enthusiasm. "The loveliness," says he, "of this
island is like unto that of the Campaña de Cordoba. The trees are all
covered with ever-verdant foliage, and perpetually laden with flowers or
fruit. The plants in the ground are full of blossom. The breezes are like
those of April in Castille." Due allowance made for the exaggeration of an
explorer, in love with the treasure he has found, it must still be confessed
that his words, all glowing as they are, scarcely overpraise the charm of the
peaceful scenery which so stirred his poetic ardour. For truly the Bahamas
are islands like unto that chosen by Shakespeare for the scene of the
"Tempest,"—
"Full of infinite delight."
New Providence is about twenty miles long by seven in breadth, and is the
most important, though by no means the biggest, of the Bahama group,
which numbers over 600 islands and cays, and contains some 45,000
inhabitants, of whom 20,000 reside in Nassau and its neighbourhood.
The history of the island since its discovery by Columbus, down through
the Buccaneer period, is only interesting to its government and inhabitants.
However dark may be the memories of its old pirate days, it is now a
remarkably respectable place, not even a murder having thrown a shadow

during the past twenty-five years on its nearly untarnished reputation. It
would be difficult to imagine a quieter spot. On Sundays, especially, is it
peaceful, when not only all the shops, but the majority of the house-shutters
also, are closed, and the tranquil air is laden with church music of the most
sober and orthodox description.
The impression produced upon the tourist arriving from Cuba is very
striking, for it brings the different influences of the Spanish and the Anglo-
Saxon races, upon the negroes, into vivid contrast. Personal observation
only can, as I have already said, give any idea of the filth of the dwellings
of the lower classes of Cubans, and especially of the blacks. The coloured
folk of Nassau are, generally speaking, clean and tidy. Most of the Cuban
towns are more or less squalid. The city of Nassau is, if anything, too prim,
and its inhabitants are models of order both in their dress and habits. A
glance reveals the fact that the coloured people here have been disciplined
and trained by a race which is as certainly superior to the Spanish, in all that
concerns practicality and common sense, as it is inferior to it in natural
artistic instinct. I never saw anything—no, not even in the Whitechapel and
Drury Lane districts of London—to surpass the unutterable disorder and
general abomination of the interiors of the Cuban cottages. But as you pass
along the roads at Nassau, and glance into the windows of the negroes'
cottages, you will almost invariably see tidy interiors worthy of the brush of
a Teniers or a David Wilkie; a floor on which you could eat your dinner;
walls neatly papered with framed chromos symmetrically arranged upon
them; spotless curtains; shining brass lamps and cooking utensils, and a bed
covered with a counterpane as white as driven snow. If you peep in at meal
times you will note a clean cloth covered with orderly-arranged plates and
dishes. I am speaking of the dwellings of the negroes, of those self-same
coloured people who, in the same climate, only a day and a half's journey
away, in Cuba, dwell, under another race and civilization, in a condition too
nasty to be described here.
Straws show how the wind blows. I saw a poor coloured woman, the day
after I arrived in Nassau, soundly box her little girl's ears because she
appeared in public with a few fluffs of cotton sticking in her wool. The
ordinary afternoon occupation of the coloured ladies in Havana is to sit in
the shade of the big plantain leaves, picking something rather more
animated than cotton fluffs off each other's heads. The Cuban negresses

dress flaringly. They trail a yard of skirt behind them in the dust, cover their
shoulders with a vivid embroidered China crape scarf, and deck their heads
with a mantilla. The effect is picturesque enough, but look down at their
ankles, and you will soon perceive untidy petticoats and shoeless feet. The
coloured girls at Nassau are remarkably neat and clean, especially on
Sundays. The influence of the Sunday school teacher, preaching, and not in
the desert, the gospel of those four great evangelists, soap and water, comb
and brush, is everywhere manifest, even to the detriment of the picturesque.
As you drive through Grant's Town, the negro quarter of Nassau, you see
so much to gladden you that it does more real good to an invalid than many
a cunningly-prepared draught. Charmingly picturesque wooden huts,
thatched with palmetto, and as neat as you please, overshadowed by cocoa-
nut-trees and exquisite flowering creepers, border either side of the road.
On the thresholds are laughing groups of women and children of every
shade of black, mahogany, and "yullar." Then, when the shades of evening
grow long and deep in the thickets of the banyan-trees, coloured Pyramus
courts coloured Thisbe over the garden wall, and the roads swarm with little
darkies, romping, laughing, and chasing each other round and about, whilst
neatly-dressed women, standing at their doors, or leaning out of their open
windows, watch the return of their "men," as they boldly call their
husbands. The air is still and laden with the penetrating perfume of the
stephanotis, the white blossoms of which gleam like stars amidst the dark
foliage, and of the crimson and pink oleander, which flowers here to great
perfection. It is difficult to imagine a more peaceful scene—the cheerful
sounds of greeting, the merry chatter of the negroes, the tuning of the
banjoes, whilst overhead the beautiful sunset-lit clouds shed rosy tints
abroad, and set forth in bold relief the tall stems of the waving palms and of
the strange-named trees, whose bizarre foliage arouses wonderment, and
between whose gnarled boughs we catch glimpses of the high-roofed
houses of the city, of the cathedral spire, and of a sea blue as a turquoise,
now shivering beneath the gentlest of breezes.
The town of Nassau itself is not particularly interesting, inasmuch that,
with the sole exception of the cathedral, it cannot boast of a single
monument of artistic importance. The houses, mostly built of stone, faced
with wood, have high slated roofs and wide verandahs, which surround
each storey, and afford some shade during the sunny hours of the day. The

public buildings are clean, but unpretentious, and evidently modelled after
those of some English county town, in which the sturdy Georgian
architecture predominates. There are few traces, anywhere, of the influence
of the higher art, although the cathedral itself is a fairly handsome Gothic
building, wherein the services of the Church of England are admirably
conducted.
The gardens are trim and pretty, but, notwithstanding their profusion of
tropical plants, they lack the luxuriant charm which renders the ill-kept
gardens of Havana so romantic and picturesque. Very few of the gardens
belonging to private houses are of great size, and even Government House
is a modest-looking dwelling, erected on the highest of the surrounding
hills, and commanding a fine view of the town and harbour.
The chief monument of Nassau is not one built by hand, but a silk-cotton-
tree, planted, some two hundred years ago, by one John Miller, Esq.,
opposite the present "public buildings." It is a stupendous tree of Titanic
proportions. The roots, unable to find their way down through the rocky
soil, swell up like buttresses, radiating round the trunk some fifteen yards,
and, rising six and eight feet from the ground, form part of the actual bulk
of the tree, and give the huge veteran the appearance of a web-footed
monster, standing in solemn reverie. Amongst the gnarled and weird-
looking roots are ravines, in whose dark hollows a legion of elves might
dwell and hold their revels. High above this root-work spreads a canopy of
leaves of the most exquisite, tender green. Singular to say, the gigantic
growth flattens at the top, and is nearly squared off in correspondence with
the aspect the paucity of earth has forced the roots to assume. Had
Shakespeare seen this mighty monster,—which travellers from California
declare to be even more imposing than any of the Mammoth trees,—he
would have immortalised it in a few grand lines, or made it the background
of some quaint fairy scene, the home of another Herne the Hunter, Oberon
and Titania, Ariel, or Puck. There are several other fine silk-cotton-trees on
the island, and in Cuba this tree grows to perfection, but the specimen I
have attempted to describe is universally acknowledged to be the finest
known. I was much surprised to notice the rapidity with which the silk-
cotton tree burst into leaf. On my arrival I noticed one in the grounds of the
hotel which seemed to be dead. The rest were green, but this one was quite
barren. In three days it was lost to sight, hidden in its own foliage,

developed within the space of two nights. The silk-cotton-tree is so called
because it bears a pod full of flossy silk, which is used instead of down for
pillow cases, but the fibres are too short to be woven.
Nassau and its neighbourhood are really not unlike an open-air museum of
botanical and marine curiosities. As you drive, or walk, through the woods
and lanes, your attention is constantly attracted to some tree or shrub
remarkable for its curious shape, leaves, and flowers. If you ask its name
you will be told it is either the gum-arabic-tree, the guava, the banyan, the
ipicac, the pimento, the spice, the cinnamon, the pepper, the caper, the
castor-oil, or, in short, any one of half the plants which stock our drug or
grocery shops. One day I noticed an onion-like-looking plant, with
somewhat curious leaves, and asked its name. It turned out to be my old
acquaintance "squills," of syrup-fame. Lady Blake, who is not only a
distinguished artist, but an exceptionally learned botanist, has executed a
complete series of exquisite drawings of the flora of the Bahamas. It would
be difficult to overpraise the artistic, as well as the scientific value of this
collection, exhibited in the Bahama Court of the Colonial Exhibition of
1886. During the Governorship of her husband, Sir Henry Blake, Lady
Blake rendered a like service to the flora of Jamaica.
The cocoa-nut tree is a recent introduction into the Bahamas. Forty years
back there were few in the whole island of New Providence. The orange-
tree is indigenous to the island, and there is other fruit of exceedingly fine
quality. A very extraordinary fact about the local vegetation is, that the roots
are entirely exposed. The island is of coral formation, and only very lightly
covered with earth; but such is the abundance of the dews, and so great the
fertilising quality of the atmosphere, that a plant with one or two feelers
caught in the pores of the coraline rock will grow and flourish. There are
big trees with all their roots, save one, above ground. Some trees may be
noticed growing astride the public walks, with one half of their roots on one
side and the rest on the other. The immense amount of decayed animal
matter in the coraline makes it one of the richest of soils, and the heavy
dews which fall immediately after sunset, and of which I shall speak
presently, increase its fertility. A number of "air-plants" grow in the woods,
and of course derive their nourishment entirely from the abundant dews.
These curious plants are, for the most part, a species of wild pine. One of
the most remarkable of them is the "green snake," which looks exactly like

a long serpent. The common life-plant of the tropics grows everywhere,
and, together with the air-plants, rouses much curiosity among visitors from
Europe and North America. If you take one of its thick, waxy leaves, and
hang it on a nail, it will live for months, and shoot forth others without
needing either water or earth.
The useful sizel plant—a fibrous hemp yielding aloe—of great
commercial value, is now extensively cultivated, and with excellent results.
Great impetus was given to its culture by Sir Ambrose Shea during his
prolonged and popular Governorship.
The scenery round Nassau is of pancake flatness, and uninteresting,
except close to the town, where there are some little hills of inconsiderable
height, which might vie in altitude with a certain Mount Cornelia near St
Augustine, Florida, advertised as one of the attractions of a watering-place
called Mount George, because it is ninety feet high. Verily a dwarf is a giant
amongst pigmies, and Mount Cornelia is a Mount Blanc in flat Florida. If it
is ever planted with the eucalyptus-tree, now extensively cultivated in the
south, and which often attain the extraordinary height of 300 and 400 feet,
the trees will in due time be taller than the mountain.
There are some pretty little lakes in the interior of the island. One of these,
Lake Killarney, is a very charming spot, with a fine view of the western
coast. The lake is about three miles long by one in breadth. All along the
shores are pineapple plantations, which are uncommonly effective when the
pines are in bloom. The plants are set in rows all over the field, about one or
two feet apart, and what with their variegated foliage—bright green and
deep purple—and their vivid scarlet flowers, they make a striking
foreground to any picture. The Bahama pines are considered the best in
these latitudes, and are shipped in large quantities to Europe and North
America.
The crowning glory of Nassau is the unrivalled bay, with its enchantingly
clear, crystal water. Many a happy day have I spent, sailing round the pretty
shores of this pleasant island. We usually had for "captain" a certain
remarkable darkie, by name "Cap'en" Tannyson Stump, one of those sable
worthies you read about, full of drollery, shrewd and witty withal, and a
capital sailor into the bargain. The Cap'en is reputed wealthy, for he is a

great favourite with the visitors, and, moreover, is considered, by the
inhabitants of Grant Town, the greatest "dissentin' minister" on the island.
Amongst other natural wonders the "Cap'en" took us to see was the "sea
garden." I wish Victor Hugo could have studied it, for possibly he might
have been tempted to describe it, in his vivid language, as a pendant to his
sea-monster, the devil-fish of the "Toilers of the Sea." Thus should we have
had a glowing word picture of the beautiful instead of the hideous—the
paradise of the sea, and not its hell. They give you a box with a glass
bottom to look through. You put it over the side of the boat, and dip it
beneath the waves. Lo! you behold the garden of the sea-nymphs, the home
of Aphrodite. Beneath you, seen through the pellucid waters of this vast
aquarium, is a lovely sea-garden, full of every imaginable delicate-tinted
sea-flower. Some are pale pink, others light yellow, and some brown as
leaves in autumn, massed round the vivid purple and scarlet sea-anemones,
which cling to the summits of beds of pearly coral. Here purple sea-fans
wave gently to and fro. There are groves of trumpet sponges, and beds of
marine blossoms of all kinds and shapes. Fish as brilliant as hummingbirds
—red, blue, metallic-green, and orange—peep knowingly in and out of the
branches of this strange submarine vegetation, which is crossed and
recrossed in all directions by pathways of sparkling, silver gravel. Nothing
more fascinating, more fairy-like, can be imagined. You expect at any
moment to see Venus or one of her nymphs—or, perchance, old Edward's
Sable Aphrodite—rise suddenly to the surface from this abode of cool
delights.
Involuntarily the world-renowned description of the bottom of the sea was
brought to my mind,—
"Methought I saw ...
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalu'd jewels,
All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea.
Some lay in dead men's skulls, and, in those holes,
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept
(As 'twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems,
That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by."

A scene very similar to the one described by Shakespeare has been seen in
these clear waters after a wreck. Many years ago, when a hurricane of
unusual violence swept over the islands, and there were several ships lost in
the usually glassy harbour, people, when calm set in again, had the horror of
studying, from their boats, the tragic condition of the wrecked vessels at the
bottom of the bay. They could see the drowned dead below, whom some
weight oppressed and forbade to rise. I well remember, though 'tis long
years since, the dread impression produced upon me by the sight of the
"phantom ship." In the days of the Spaniards, a vessel of importance, a
man-of-war, was wrecked and sunk opposite a place called Hog Island—
Horace Greely's lovely daughter, Gabriele, re-christened it Isle of Porcina.
This vessel fell a victim in due time to the greed of those wondrous ants of
the sea, the coral insects, who, with infinite industry, soon contrived to coat
it with their microscopic huts, and now you see it lying full five fathoms
deep beneath you, all white and hoary in its coraline encasement. The deck,
the hull, the tattered rigging, ropes and chains, are all white with corals, and
around the ghastly ship rise the pale blue walls of its sea prison.
The moonlight nights at Nassau, although marvellously beautiful, are not
a little dangerous to fresh arrivals, on account of the heavy dews. I
remember one evening we all went out to see the ruins of the fort built in
1788 by the Earl of Dunmore, memorably connected with the American
Revolution. It certainly was a lovely sight, and the old grey walls and tower
looked as well as any ruin on Rhine or Nile by that argentine radiance,
approaching sunlight in its tropical brilliance, which renders things more or
less romantic, be they ever so commonplace. The tall palms rustled in the
breeze, and the bay was like a sheet of shivering quicksilver, just over
where the imprisoned phantom ship rests, five fathoms down, "woo'd for
ever to the slimy bottom of the deep." The sight was exquisite. The price
more than one visitor ultimately paid in aching head and stiff rheumatic
bones was anything but light!
And with this glimpse at an Isle of June, as New Providence has been
aptly called—introduced into this book merely as a contrast—I take my
leave.
Vale—gentle reader!—fare thee well.

APPENDIX I.

The Boyhood of Columbus.

NO historical question has been more keenly disputed than that of the real
place where Christopher Columbus was born. The majority incline to
believe him to have been a native of Genoa, or else of the neighbouring
town of Savona. One learned gentleman has even asserted in a very
elaborate pamphlet, published not long ago, that he came from Cremona.
The Abate Casanova of Ajaccio, in another pamphlet, attempts, on the
strength of a very ancient but equally obscure tradition, to prove that
Columbus was a Corsican. He goes so far as to point out the very house in
the Vico del Filo at Calvi, in which he firmly believes the Discoverer first
saw light. His statements, ingenious as they are, lack contemporary
evidence to substantiate them, and very little research suffices to scatter
them to the winds. I have lately seen a curious and rare French pamphlet, in
which Columbus is declared to be a native of Marseilles, and yet another,
the author of which endeavours to convince his readers that the Discoverer
was born at Albenga. In short, a voluminous literature has sprung out of this
vexed question, but to the serious student of the life and times of Columbus
Genoa and Savona alone appear worthy of respect.
To the Marquis Staglieno of Genoa, one of the most enterprising of
modern Italian historians, and to Mr Henry Harrisse, a learned and
indefatigable American student of the life of Columbus, the definite
determination of the great Navigator's birthplace is really due. He was born
in Genoa, in a house standing still, near the ancient and recently restored
gate of St Andrea, at the top of a long, steep street known as the Portorio, in
the parish of San Stefano.
Domenico Colombo, the father of the illustrious navigator, is described by
Washington Irving and other writers as a "wool comber," but in all the
contemporary documents discovered by the historians just named he is
invariably said to have been "a woollen manufacturer,"—a position very
different from that of a wool comber, the difference being that between a
mechanic and a tradesman. No wonder that Ferdinand Columbus
indignantly contradicted an assertion which most of us, even in this

democratic age, would keenly resent. Although never in affluent
circumstances, Domenico and Susanna Colombo, Christopher's parents,
were evidently highly respectable tradespeople, who spent the whole of
their lives between Genoa and Savona. Probably Domenico Colombo was
born at Quinto, a village not many miles distant from the capital of the
Genoese Republic. His father, Giovanni Colombo, undoubtedly lived there,
for, in a document dated 1439, he is described as "Giovanni Colombo of
Quinto, the father of Domenico of Genoa." This Giovanni was, it seems,
according to another and still more ancient deed, the son of a certain
Giovanni Colombo, of Fontanarossa, another village in the district. As the
inhabitants of this village were engaged in sheep-dealing, it is probable that
this Giovanni was a wool merchant, and since Fernando Columbo, with the
justifiable vanity of the son of a great man, seems to have been always
desirous of claiming a social position, and signs himself, on more than one
occasion, as "of Fontanarossa," we may go so far as to conclude that the
Colombo (or Columbus) family was, according to its own tradition, the
principal in that place. The family and Christian names of the great-
grandmother and grandmother of the Discoverer of the New World are lost.
His mother, however, was Susanna of Fontanarossa, a native of the suburb
of Bisagno. This is proved by a document in the Savonese archives,
whereby, on the 7th August 1743, "Susanna, daughter of Giacomo of
Fontanaruba (the Latin for Fontanarossa), in the Bisagno, agrees to allow
her husband, Domenico Colombo of Genoa, to sell a house situated in that
city, near the Olivella Gate." It is described as a house with a pleasant
garden, in the parish of San Stefano, and next door to the house and
property of Nicola Paravagna, and adjacent to the property of Antonio
Bondi. "The house faces the principal street, and is close to the old wall of
the town." In this document Domenico Colombo is specially designated as a
citizen of Savona—because, as he had by this time resided there some
years, he was entitled to citizenship.
This house, however, is not, as has been so frequently and erroneously
stated, the one in which Columbus was born. It has long since disappeared,
to make way for the enlargement of the neighbouring hospital. The Porta
(or Gate) Olivella stood for centuries to the right of the church of San
Stefano. As this house is very often mentioned in deeds of the period of the
last half of the fifteenth century as belonging to the family of Domenico

Colombo, we are able to trace its history with fair accuracy. It formed part
of the dower of Susanna Fontanarossa, for, as we have already seen, it could
not be sold without her permission. It is probable that the family, instead of
living in it, was in the habit of letting it. On more than one occasion the
tenant did not pay his rent, and in 1476 Domenico Colombo had to come
from Savona to Genoa to exact it. Unable to get the £20 due to him for
arrears, he raised (through his notary, a certain Signer Camogli) a loan on
the sum, the tenant, Malio, becoming a guarantee for the amount of his
unpaid rent—"Occasione pensionis euiusdem domus ipsius Dominici quam
tenet et conducit, etc."
Domenico Colombo possessed yet another house, still standing, and
situated close to the recently restored Gate of Sant Andrea, at the top of the
long, steep street still called Portorio. In this venerable building Christopher
Columbus was unquestionably born, in 1451.
Four years before the discovery of America by his illustrious son,
Domenico Colombo, being in reduced circumstances, was obliged to
transfer this house to his son-in-law Bavarello, the husband of his only
daughter Bianchinetta. The papers relative to this proceeding are still in
existence, and bear the date July 30, 1489. Domenico Colombo certainly
lived here with his wife and family from 1435 to 1470, when they went to
Savona. This is proved by the register of the monastery of San Stefano, in
which they are regularly entered as paying a yearly ecclesiastical tax to the
Prior during the whole of this period. They left Genoa in 1470, and resided
at Savona until 1484. The Savonese archives, however, contain frequent
mention of Domenico until 1494, when he again returned to Genoa, where,
in all probability, he died, some years later. In the deed authorising the sale
of the house in Porta Olivella, the witnesses are "Christopher Colombo and
Giovanni Pellegrino, sons of Domenico and Susanna Colombo."
Washington Irving was unaware of the existence of this son Giovanni
Pellegrino, for he states that "Christopher Columbus was the eldest of three
brothers only—Bartholomew and Giacomo, or James (written Diego in
Spanish)." Giovanni Pellegrino was the second brother, and died unmarried
in 1489. We have more than this proof of his existence. In another
document he is named together with his three brothers,—Christopher,
Bartholomew, and Giacomo. In 1501, ten years after his death, and some

time after that of his father, a man named Corasso Cuneo summoned the
sons of Domenico Colombo before the tribunals of Savona for non-payment
of the price due to him for lands purchased by their father Domenico many
years before his decease. In this curious document we read the names of
Christopher and James—"Christophorem et Jacobum, fratres de Columbi,
filiis et heredes quondam Dominici eorum patris." In the next register
concerning this affair, and dated the same month and year, Bartholomew is
mentioned—"Cristoferi, Bartolomei et Jacobi de Columbis, quondam
Domenici et ipsius heredem." There is no mention of Bianchinetta, the only
sister of the illustrious navigator. She, being a married woman, was not,
according to Genoese law, entitled to inherit from her father. Here, then, we
have the most positive contemporary evidence that Domenico Colombo was
the father of four sons, respectively named Christopher, Giovanni
Pellegrino or Pilgrim (a name sometimes found in old English registers),
Bartolomeo or Bartholomew, and Giacomo or Diego,—and, therefore, the
father of Christopher Columbus, Discoverer of the New World, who, as
everybody knows, had two brothers, companions in his travels, named
Bartholomew and Giacomo (or Diego). We learn that, according to
documents far too numerous to be quoted here, the said Domenico was a
taxpaying resident in the Via di Sant Andrea, in the city of Genoa, between
the years 1435 and 1470. Another and most important paper, recently
discovered by the Marquis Staglieno in the Atti Notarilli of the city of
Genoa, declares Christopher Columbus to be nineteen years old in 1470. He
was born then, we may presume, in October 1451, during the time of his
father's residence in the house now officially declared his birthplace, and
situated hard by the noble old Gate of Sant Andrea.
It is a fortunate thing for Italian history that, in accordance with a very
ancient custom, on the decease of a notary, his papers and registers are
taken charge of by the State, and carefully preserved in an office specially
set apart for the purpose. Although the enormous accumulation of papers
thus preserved from century to century may, in many instances, be deemed
of little importance, they have proved invaluable funds of information for
the historian. It was among the papers of the notary Stella that Signor
Bertolotti unearthed the particulars of the life and trial of Beatrice Cenci. It
was among those of Pietro Belasio and Nicola Raggio that the Marquis
Staglieno discovered the following curious facts concerning Columbus:—

"In 1470, on the thirtieth of October, Domenico Colombo and his son Christopher appeared before
the above-named notaries of the city of Genoa, in order to confirm and conclude a contract in which
the said Christopher Colombo declares himself, with his father's endorsement, debtor to the said
Belasio to the amount of Genoese lire 48. 15. 6. (or about 300 francs) for wine procured by him on
credit for the supply of his ship, now in the harbour of Genoa. Domenico, his father, holds himself
security for his said son, who is nineteen years of age. Christofferus de Colombo filius Domenico
Maior anni decemnovum."

And, according to Genoese law, of age.
Columbus tells us in his Autobiography that he went to sea when he was
fourteen. Hence, in 1470, he had been five years a sailor, but he had not, as
yet, wholly abandoned the paternal roof, to reside permanently in Portugal.
He did not do so until six years later. Now, if he went to sea when he was
fourteen, and was still at sea when he was nineteen, what time had he for
studying at the University of Pavia, where, according to most historians, he
acquired his proficiency in Latin, and in such sciences as were then taught?
In my opinion, he never was near Pavia in his life. No document in Pavian
archives proves that Columbus was a student at that renowned University.
The statement rests only on a very slender local tradition, and on Las Casas'
assertion that he "completed his studies in Pavia." Possibly this writer made
a slip of the pen, and, meaning Patria, wrote Pavia—or did the printer's
devil make the blunder? Certainly Columbus' family was not in a position
to send him to a distant University, and, moreover, there was no necessity
for their so doing, as Genoa possessed famous colleges and schools of her
own.
At the bottom of the long, steep street Portorio, not very far from his
father's house, was a school, directed by the Servite fathers, whose church,
Santa Maria de' Servi, still exists. It strikes me as much more probable that
the boy Columbus attended there, and that some learned monk taught him
Latin, than that he should have been sent to Pavia, as great a distance from
Genoa, in those days, as Paris is now. Moreover, the learned notary Andrea
de Cario was a friend and neighbour of the family. This gentleman was well
off, and, although married, usually wore an ecclesiastical habit, and acted as
the archbishop's Chancellor for close on half a century. Among his papers
and registers, still preserved, are several mentions of Domenico Colombo
and his wife and her family, the Fontanarosse. Possibly this learned

personage may have undertaken a part of the education of the precocious
lad.
If further proof were required of the intimate connection which always
existed between Domenico Colombo and his illustrious son Christopher, I
need simply record the fact that, even when the Great Man was himself in
dire distress, he remembered his aged father, and sent him money to relieve
his pressing debts. The affection between the three brothers seems to have
been extended to certain cousins, for we find, in a document dated 1476,
that Giovanni, Matteo, and Amighetto Colombo, of Quinto, signed a deed
whereby money was raised to enable the eldest, Giovanni, to go to Spain to
serve under his cousin Christopher, who is described as an Admiral. These
men were the sons of Antonio, a brother of Domenico.
Not one of the documents I have quoted is particularly interesting in itself.
They are very commonplace, and yet how wonderfully they help us to
reconstruct the past! A name here, an allusion there, an unpaid bill, a
summons before the tribunals on a pressing demand for payment of rent, a
receipt, a mere scrap of paper with a great name attached to it, opens out an
entirely new field of research, and dispels mountains of controversy and
theory. I felt myself in very intimate contact with Columbus when my eyes
first rested on the quaint, old-world documents which he, and his father, and
mother, and brothers, signed, four hundred years ago.
Quite recently, three papers, enriched with the signatures of Columbus and
his father, were unearthed in the State archives of the city of Genoa
(L'Archivio di Stato). From them we gather that, in 1470, Domenico
Colombo, either because his affairs were going badly, or because he
perceived a better chance for himself and family elsewhere, determined to
leave Genoa and establish himself in Savona. He was then in the debt of a
certain Geronimo da Porto, to the amount of 25 lire, or 117 francs modern
money, and evidently could not pay him. Da Porto must have heard of his
intention to leave the city. He summoned him and his eldest son Christopher
before the tribunal, for non-payment of the debt in question. The judge
decided that Domenico and Christopher Colombo should pay the amount
within a year from that date. Whether they eventually paid or not is
doubtful, for, in a codicil to Columbus' will, made some thirty years later,
he leaves "to the heirs of Geronimo da Porto, of Genoa, the father of Benito

da Porto, 20 ducats"—which is nearly double the amount originally
claimed, and leads one to think that it includes interest for a long period.
In these documents, Domenico Colombo is invariably described as
"Dominicus Columbus, lanerius de Janua, habitator in Saone,"—"a wool-
weaver, living in Savona." In addition to the evidence already given that
Columbus was born in Genoa, I will recall the facts that he himself, three
times in his biography, repeats that he was a native of that town—"where I
lived, and whence I came"—and that Andreo Bemaldez, curate of Los
Pallacios, who was his intimate friend, informs us that he told him he was
born in Genoa. His contemporaries, Agostino Giustinani, Antonio de
Herrera, and Antonio Gallo, the Chancellor of the Bank of St George, who
corresponded with Columbus, repeat the same assertion. Then, again, it is to
the city of Genoa that the dying Columbus leaves the breviary given him by
Pope Alexander VI. Where is it? Certainly not in Genoa.
Genoa in 1451 presented an aspect different from that which it wears now,
although the street in which Columbus was born, and its neighbourhood,
have not sustained many changes. The ancient houses still tower up six and
eight stories on either side of the narrow and picturesque thoroughfare of
the Portorio, some of them preserving traces of Gothic windows and doors,
and of a sort of Moorish decoration, running just below the projecting roof,
which is peculiar to Genoa. This street has been known as the Portorio, or
Porta Aurea, for centuries. It leads up the hill from the outer wall of the
city, and the characteristic church of San Stefano, with its black and white
marble façade, which gives its name to the suburb, to the inner gate of St
Andrea, and the second ring of walls, now destroyed. This gate is a noble
specimen of feudal architecture, recently somewhat over-restored. A few
years ago it was ten times more picturesque than now, with the quaint, old
houses clinging to its rough walls like barnacles on a ship's side. These have
been removed, and the grand proportions of the arch, formerly attached on
either side to stern and lofty walls, built in 1155 to resist the attacks of
Barbarossa, have been displayed. In front of this ancient gate is a little
platform, surrounded by tall and irregular houses, coeval with the gate
itself. No. 37, lately occupied by a tinman, is the house in which Columbus
was born, and spent his childhood and youth. I believe, with Mr Harrisse
and the Marquis Staglieno, that he was born in the front room—the best
bedroom—of the first floor, between October 1446 and October 1451. The

date must remain uncertain, because, although the important paper I have
mentioned described him as being nineteen years of age in 1470, it must be
remembered that nineteen was the legal age of manhood under the old
Genoese law, which was identical with the ancient Roman code. The fact
that he was of age—that is nineteen—would never have been specified, if
he had not been a very young man at the time. He might perhaps have been
twenty-three or even twenty-four, but the probability is that he had just
come of age. In 1886 the Municipality of Genoa purchased this house for
36,000 francs, and it is to be kept intact in memory of Columbus for ever.
Over the door is this inscription:—
Nulla. Domus. titulo, dignior
Heic
Paternis : in : ædibus.
Christophorus : Columbus.
Pueritium
Primioque . juvantam . trasegit.
I think, with Mr Harrisse, that "Forsam natus" might with propriety be
added.
The great Gothic arch of the stern old gate frowned down on the modest
dwelling, and the child Columbus must often have been told the story of the
chains, which in my own boyhood I remember to have seen, hanging on the
grim walls on either side of the arch. They were courteously restored in
1862 to the Pisans (from whom they had been captured in 1290) in honour
of Italian unity.
Not very far off stood, until quite the end of the last century, a curious old
house, with a figure of St Christopher painted upon it, which doubtless had
a lamp constantly burning before it. Possibly it was in honour of the saint
here represented that the future Discoverer of the New World was
christened Christopher. On entering the city proper, through the arch of St
Andrea, the prospect, in the days of Columbus' youth, was by no means
cheerful. The houses, like those of Edinburgh, rose seven and even eleven
storeys, making the narrow courts and passage-like streets look not unlike
dark openings in a Californian cañon. The hilly position of the town,
however, lent itself admirably to picturesque effects, and the brilliance of

the deep blue sky above, and of the broad streaks of sunlight falling on the
squares and little piazza, brightened what might otherwise have been
exceedingly gloomy and depressing. The palaces of the nobility looked
more like fortresses than civic residences, with scarcely a window on the
street. Each possessed a tall, turreted watch-tower of red brick, picked out
with marble, the finest specimen of which, now existing, is that of the
Imbriaci. The churches and oratories were amazingly numerous, but they
were nearly all exactly alike, built in very plain Gothic architecture, with
façades streaked with alternated layers of black and white marble. A few
have escaped the vandalistic restorations of the 17th and 18th centuries, and
of these the best remaining specimens are the Cathedral, San Matteo Doria,
Santa Maria del 'Orto (desecrated), San Cosmo, San Donate, San Stefano,
and Sant Agostino (desecrated).
But in the 15th century they were to be met with at every turn of the street,
giving a very peculiar appearance to the city. The finest palaces bordered
the Ripa by the port, and these were so beautifully decorated with frescoes
and gilding that Petrarch declared that "nothing could be imagined more
magnificent." The Strade Nuova, Nuovissima, and Balbi, with their
splendid Renaissance palaces, did not come into existence until late in the
16th and 17th centuries. The Cathedral was in much the same condition as
at present, and the Bank of St George, now in process of restoration, was
considered one of the wonders of the world.
If the architecture of the city was picturesque, its population was
indescribably so. The streets teemed with life and colour. There were men
in armour, sailors from all parts of the world, guardsmen in the Doge's
liveries striped scarlet and white, ladies of rank proceeding to church
attended by their women, and escorted by little negro pages bearing their
trains, or screening them from the ardour of the sun with immense, crimson
silk parasols. Rich dames, lolling in litters hung with painted Cordova
leather, were carried to and fro on the shoulders of stalwart African slaves.
Veiled women of the people, with their children clinging round them, sitting
outside their doors, not infrequently engaged in a hair hunt. Priests, monks,
and nuns, in every imaginable kind of ecclesiastical costume, mingled with
herculean porters from the quays, with soldiers and nobles, Levantines and
Jews, each in their own peculiar costume, so that if the houses were sombre,
the streets were ablaze with brilliant and varied dresses. At night, however,

the city looked desolate. Only the lamps burning before the images of the
Madonna and Saints lit up the gloomy thoroughfares and darksome piazzas.
At "Ave Maria," in winter time, everybody was indoors saying the Rosary.
Three times a day, as the "Angelus" tolled, the whole population stopped
and repeated the angelic salutation. This pious custom lasted until quite late
into the first half of the present century.
Unlike Venice, Genoa was no city of pleasure. On the other hand, its
population dearly loved pageantry. Religious processions of the utmost
splendour were of such everyday occurrence that people scarcely noticed
them. The Doge went about attended by at least a hundred officers and
servants. On great festivals the balconies were hung with brocades and
wreaths of fresh flowers, while half the town preceded the Host or the
images of the Madonna and Saints, to the admiration of the other half,
crowding the sidewalks and the overhanging balconies.
Such, then, was Genoa,—Queen of the Mediterranean, as Venice was
Queen of the Adriatic,—when Christopher Columbus first saw the light. His
parents were, as we have seen, people in a humble but eminently
respectable position. Their manner of life differed little from that of their
neighbours. Thus was passed, only fifty years ago, the life of an honest
Genoese family of the lower middle class. At five in the morning the family,
apprentices, and servants rose. After saying the "Angelus," they proceeded
to the nearest church to Mass. A slice of bread, with fruit in summer, or
dried figs in winter, and a glass of wine, formed the first meal or breakfast.
Then came work until noon, when the frugal dinner was served—meat once
a week, and sweets only on great festivals. As a rule, it consisted of a
minestrone, a succulent and wholesome sort of soup, made with all kinds of
vegetables, rice, and bits of pork cut up into square pieces, macaroni,
ravioli, and other like dishes. After this meal there was an hour for
recreation. Then to work again until sunset, when the whole household
repeated the "Angelus," and said the Rosary. In summer they would go
processionally from street image to image, singing their Aves and Paters
with uncommon unction before the holy figure, round which burned scores
of little oil lamps, amid cart-wheel-shaped bouquets. Sometimes one-half
the people on the street said the Rosary, while the other gave the responses.
It is not surprising if, after a regime of this sort, Christopher Columbus
grew up to be a very pious man. However, there were plenty of scandals

going the round of the town, even in 1451, and I am afraid religiosity rather
than piety was the true characteristic of this singular population. Still, the
evidence in favour of Columbus and his family is so greatly to their
advantage that we may feel sure they were really people of exceptional
integrity and sincere piety.
Little Genoese boys and girls were brought up rather sternly, and the
ferrula was much in use. Often, no doubt, did the small Columbus, both at
home and at school, hold out his chubby hand to receive the strokes. The
mother and sister appeared in public very rarely, and were invariably veiled.
The church was the principal object of these excellent people's existence. It
is so to this day with a majority of the lower and middle-class Genoese,
who spend half their time in church, and are quite as well pleased to go and
hear a sermon as their neighbours at Turin are to attend a new play. I am
quite sure that more than once a year the infant Columbus and his brothers,
dressed up as saints, and very artistically too, walked in the processions of
the three or four confraternities attached to the church and convent of St
Stefano. I daresay Christopher often impersonated the infant St John, or
even the Child Jesus, and was carried on the shoulders of some gigantic
brother disguised as St Christopher:
"San Cristofero grosso,
Porta il mondo a dorso."
—"the big St Christopher carries the world on his back."
In Holy Week, what a time these pious folks had, to be sure! There was so
much to see that people were fain to leave their business to take care of
itself, and either to walk in the processions or else watch them wend their
way along the tortuous streets. There were the flagellants to see, who
whipped themselves until their bare backs were red. As to the Guilds and
Corporations: they were a source of infinite interest and excitement! Each
had its Cassaccia or shrine to carry, and, above all, its tremendous crucifix,
which people wagered would never reach its destination, so terrific was its
weight. If the wretched man who carried it staggered and fell, hundreds of
lire changed hands, and if he managed to restore it to its place in the
Oratory belonging to the Guild, he was acclaimed as great a hero as a
victorious modern jockey. And the Sepulchres on Holy Thursday, and the

Procession of the Passion on Good Friday, all these wonderful things, and
many others too numerous to describe, did the youthful Columbus admire,
enjoy, and venerate,[21] we may be sure.
The boy Columbus had his sports, too, like any other lad in every part of
the world, old and new. He played boccie or bowls, and palla, a sort of
football, and, like all other Genoese urchins, he was, I doubt not, an
excellent diver and swimmer. His character in after life, so full of noble
courage, gentleness, piety, and justice, speaks volumes for the education he
received at his mother's knee. His devotion to parents is proved by his
frequent mention of them, and he loved the beautiful city "where he was
born, and whence he came" with patriotic ardour.
Although there is no positive proof that such was the case, we may safely
conclude that, together with all the Genoese of his period, he was imbued
from the earliest age with a love of the sea and of adventure. In the gloom
of his father's cavernous shop he must often have heard foreign and native
merchants, captains, and sailors, who came to purchase woollen goods,
relate tales of extraordinary discoveries made in the unknown seas beyond
the Pillars of Hercules. Vast, indeed, was the commerce of Genoa at this
epoch. Her vessels roamed the seas as far as the Caspian, where Marco Polo
found them trading from port to port. Genoa rivalled Venice in the Levant,
and held the keys of the commerce of North Africa. In Bruges her
merchants had a hall of their own; it still exists, with the effigy of St George
over its Gothic portal. Genoese merchants were well known in the crowded
thoroughfares of London city, and their velvets and silks were to be bought
in the High Street of Edinburgh and in the markets of Copenhagen and
Christiania.
In the last half of the 15th century the world talked much of discoveries of
magic isles of pearl, and of deceptive islands that rose on the horizon of the
Atlantic, and, syren-like, deluded venturesome travellers to their doom. In
Genoa lived the Vivaldi family, descendants of Vadino and Guido Vivaldi,
and of Ugolino and Tedesco Vivaldi, who, between 1285 and 1290,
discovered not only the Azores, but also Madeira and the Canaries. The fact
is mentioned very minutely in records of the 13th century. Often must
Columbus have heard of these bold pioneers, and likewise of the ship and
its crew of thirty men, which, in 1467,—as we learn from Pietro d'Abano, in

his Conciliatore,—the Genoese Government equipped in Lisbon, at its
expense, and sent on a mission of discovery, from whence none ever
returned. Sailors, whose frail vessels had been driven out to sea far beyond
the coast of Spain towards "the new lands," had doubtless seen the Azores,
and, returning home, had spread the most fantastic stories of cities of gold
inhabited by a people whose heads grew beneath their shoulders. In short,
the imaginative child must often have listened to tales of wonderment such
as Othello poured out to Desdemona. At fourteen he went to sea. He was in
the prime of his glorious manhood on that momentous morn of October
1492, when the verdant islands of San Salvador and Cuba rose like
emeralds out of the shining sea to delight his thankful vision, and enriched
European civilization by opening the gates of a New World before its
wondering eyes.[22]

APPENDIX II.

Notes on some Old Papers connected with the History of the
West Indies.

IN 1886-7 the writer of these lines became closely connected with the West
Indian Section of the Indian and Colonial Exhibition, South Kensington. Sir
Augustus Adderley, the Commissioner for the West Indies, a gentleman of
varied knowledge and experience, displayed an activity in organising the
Court for which he was responsible, which resulted in a thorough and most
satisfactory representation of the various West Indian islands under British
dominion. To add attraction to his Department, Sir Augustus set himself to
collect every historical document, book, print, and MS., illustrative of the
early history of the islands, which he could procure. With this object, he
entrusted the author with the mission of obtaining whatever records of
Columbus and his companions existed in Rome and elsewhere, even in the
Antilles. Thanks to letters from Cardinal Manning, an interview with
Cardinal Simeone, then Director of the Sacred Congregation of the
Propaganda, was soon obtained, and his introduction to the Secretary,

Archbishop Jacobini, granted, in the most friendly manner. A minute search
of the archives of this famous institution was immediately made, but
nothing of any particular importance connected with the subject of enquiry
was found to exist. Monsignore Jacobini, however, averred that he had
heard a story to the effect that in Napoleon I.'s time, the archives of the
Propaganda were roughly packed in carts, conveyed to Cività Vecchia, and
there embarked for France and Paris. Whilst passing through the streets of
Rome, several bundles of most valuable papers were jolted out, picked up,
and some—but very few—restored to the Congregation. Of the rest, only a
part were returned to the College, whilst almost all the earlier papers were
retained in Paris, and are now stored in the Bibliothèque Nationale and
elsewhere. The existing archives of the Propaganda only date from the first
half of the present century. It was found impossible to obtain permission for
the exhibition of many treasures among the Vatican MSS.—which, seen
through glass cases, would have hardly, indeed, produced the effect they
deserved. All my attention, therefore, was turned to the small but most
interesting collection of parchments and MSS. in the Borgian Museum. Pre-
eminent among these are the far-famed Borgian Maps, the first of which is
probably the earliest existing geographical record of Central America and
the West Indies. Down this famous sheet Pope Alexander VI.'s own hand
traced the lines dividing the whole of the New World into two equal
portions, one for Spain, the other for Portugal. Notwithstanding his evident
desire to oblige the Commissioner and the Committee, His Holiness
decided that so precious and historical a relic could not be allowed to leave
its place, but he courteously gave permission for the removal to the London
Exhibition of the second Borgian Map, known as "Diego Ribero," a
document of the highest archæological value. The drawing, perfect and
beautiful, was executed by Diego Ribero, geographer to Charles V. from
1494 to 1529, that is, during the lifetime of Columbus, and under his
personal supervision. Down the centre pass two slight lines, facsimile of the
divisional lines traced by Alexander VI. on the first Borgian Map. The map,
though singularly clearly drawn, is full of absurd inaccuracies. The West
Indies are shown with precision, and the names given with considerable
elaboration. America, on the other hand, is barely indicated, the coast alone
being defined, and Africa is introduced with the Nile wandering somewhat
at random down to three lakes, situated just above what is now known as
Cape Colony. A number of very well-drawn ships are introduced, of

colossal dimensions, in comparison with the land, and bearing inscriptions
to the effect that they are either bound for, or returning from, the
"Maluccas," by which it would appear that these were then considered the
principal maritime port of the world. The arms of Pope Julius II.—an oak-
tree with twisted branches—are introduced in a shield at the foot,
notwithstanding the fact that the map bears the date of Clement VII. As a
specimen of Italian, or rather Spanish, calligraphy, of the 16th century, it is
superb, and in most perfect preservation. The Congregation of the
Propaganda also lent an engraved reproduction of the famous Marco Polo
Map, a curious specimen of German geographical lore, at the
commencement of the 15th century, the original of which is engraved on
brass. It was found to be far too heavy for transportation. In this map the
world is reproduced surrounded by water, and the general appearance is not
unlike that of a drop of Thames water as seen through a powerful
microscope, so confused are the earth and water, and so mixed up with
representations of extraordinary living creatures.
A very interesting collection of books, maps, prints, and MSS., illustrative
of the early history of the West Indies, belonging to Sir Graham Briggs, Mr
Audley C. Miles, Mr Henry Stevens, and the writer, were also exhibited,
and the following notes on this improvised library, which will certainly
never be gathered together again, will doubtless be found of interest, as
throwing considerable light on the bygone domestic history of our colonies
in the Antilles.
In the eighteenth century their prosperity was at its height, and a
surprising amount of luxury and magnificence existed in the capitals of
each of our settlements. In 1741, we find the Island of Montserrat
considerably exercised (The Laws of Montserrat from 1640 to 1788) by
many open "Breaches of the Sabbath," a general neglect of "Public
Worship," to the scandalizing of the Protestant religion, and by the
encroachments of the "Scarlet Whore of Rome." To remedy this state of
affairs, the rites and ceremonies of the Church are, according to the
authority mentioned above, to be immediately placed on a footing with
those practised in England, and "an able preaching minister is to be
maintained, at a cost to the public exchequer of 14,000 lbs. of sugar per
annum, or the value thereof in tobacco, cotton, wool, or indigo. Moreover,
the said minister can demand not exceeding 100 lbs. of sugar, or the value

thereof as above, for the joining together any of the inhabitants of this
island in the holy and lawful state of matrimony." Meanwhile, Trinidad and
Cuba, on the other hand, were gravely occupied by the question of
Protestant encroachments. These islands were still Spanish, and the
Inquisition was in full swing, occasionally roasting an unhappy wight
suspected of heresy or idolatry.
"The Laws of Montserrat" enlighten us as to the manner in which the
negroes were treated in some of the islands. Thus, in 1670, an Act was
passed forbidding the negro to enter any plantation save his master's after
nightfall, and should any be found, the owner or overseer of such plantation
was given full power to punish him as he chose. "And should any negroes
harbour or conceal any such loiterers in their cabins, they shall be taken
before the next Justice of the Peace, and there his or her owner shall, in the
presence of the said Justice, exercise the punishment of forty lashes."
Slaves were not permitted to enter a field of cane with any lights or fire
whatsoever, as, "by their insufferable boldness in so doing, much damage
has been done, and more is likely to ensue, and this is enacted to prevent
future inconvenience, which may happen by such insufferable boldness."
Should a slave, transgressing this law, happen to set fire to the canes, he or
she "shall not only be whipped, but, if it pleases their master, be put to death
in any fashion he shall devise." If a negro stole a cow or any other head of
cattle, he was to be brought before the next Justice of the Peace and
publicly whipped. This punishment did not appear to have been sufficiently
severe, for by the year 1693, theft had grown so common that an Act was
passed ordaining that "henceforth any negro that shall be taken stealing or
carrying away stock, cattle, or provisions, amounting to the value of twelve
pence, shall suffer such death as his master shall think fit to award." If a
negro was proved guilty of a theft below the value of twelve pence current
money of the island, "he shall only suffer a severe whipping, and have both
his ears cut off for the first offence, but for the second offence he shall
suffer death in the form aforesaid ... and it shall be lawful to shoot at, and if
possible, kill any negro he shall find stealing his provision, provided such
provision be not within forty foot of the common path, and that the party so
killing hath not expressed hatred or malice against the owner of such
negro." The white servants might, it appears, "be kicked, but not whipped,"

otherwise they were treated very little better than the slaves. Negroes
caught without tickets authorising their absence from their own plantation,
are to be whipped with thirty-nine lashes by the constable who took them,
for which service, "in each case he receives six shillings." Should a slave
absent himself for the space of three months from his master's service, he
was to suffer death as a felon, the owner to be allowed 3500 lbs. of sugar,
out of the public stock, in compensation. Should a slave be killed or
maimed by another man's slave, his owner had his choice of the manner of
the offender's death for the first-named offence, and for the second he could
decide whether he should be whipped, or the offence be atoned by
compensation. From the Acts and Statutes of Barbados (1652), we find that
the maker of a fraudulent and deceitful sale on that island of any "servant,
cattel, negroes, and other flock or commodities, shall suffer six months'
imprisonment, and stand in the Pillory two hours with his ears nailed
thereto, with a paper in his hat, signifying the cause of his punishment ...
and whosoever shall be convicted of carrying away any goods whatsoever
after the same have been legally attached, shall be sent to prison during
fourteen days, and if before the fourteenth day he have not made
satisfaction to his Creditor, he shall be put in the Pillory and lose both his
ears."
To turn to pleasanter things, we learn (from A Short History of Barbadoes,
published in 1742) that nothing can exceed the splendour of the planters'
manner of life. They have as fine houses as any in England, and are
attended upon by regiments of negroes, and white servants in gorgeous
liveries. "Their plate and their china, their fine gowns and their genteel
manners, eclipse anything that the writer has ever seen on his travels, and
their hospitality cannot be imagined—an hospitality for which Great Britain
was once so deservedly famed." At the time when England was divided into
two factions, Cavaliers and Roundheads, the planters, though naturally
favouring one side or the other, made a law amongst themselves, forbidding
the use of either of the two words, on penalty of giving a dinner to their
neighbours. Many purposely made themselves liable to the penalty as a
pretext for entertaining their friends. In those good old times, the
Governors, notably those of Jamaica and Barbadoes, kept great state. When
they went to church, they were preceded by pages in silver and gold
liveries, and gorgeous officers—in fact, the splendour displayed recalled

that of the King himself, when he betook himself in State to St Paul's. A
good deal of jealousy was evinced, at times, between the citizens, as to who
was entitled to attend the Governor's entertainments. The scene round
Government House in James Street, Spanish Town on great ball nights,
must have been of the most picturesque description. The ladies arrived in
their Sedan-chairs, accompanied by armies of slaves, carrying torches.
There must have been some great beauties amongst them, for we find the
author of Letters from Barbadoes deeply impressed with "the majestic
beauty of Miss Dolton," "the divine Miss Gordon," "the celestial Miss
Alleyne," while, he declares,
"Sisters Carter, as two meteors bright,
Shine glorious round, and diffuse light."
Balls and parties, routs and dinners, suppers and theatres, occupied the
attention of the West Indian ladies to an extent which would have amazed
their descendants.
The advertisements in the Colonial papers of the last century teem with
offers of "brocaded silk and satins, beaver hats, gold-headed canes, snuff-
boxes, costly china, plate, and patch-boxes," which were imported on board
every vessel, and found a ready sale amongst the luxury-loving inhabitants.
No wonder that occasionally, as we learn from the Groans of the Plantation,
the islanders fell into pecuniary embarrassment, and that money grew so
scarce that large cargoes of negroes had to be exported for sale at
Charlestown and New Orleans.
The streets of a West Indian city must have presented a very picturesque
spectacle at this period. Here groups of great ladies—in hoops and
sarsenets, with powdered hair and "patches," escorted by their spruce
cavaliers in the daintiest satin garments which the London or Paris tailors
could supply, their white clad servants at a respectful distance behind them,
carrying their parasols and fans, or lagging in the rear with their heavily gilt
Sedan-chairs—pass up and down under the shadow of the tropical
vegetation, hardly pausing, probably, to notice the public flogging of a
couple of runaway slaves, or the edifying spectacle of a white servant
caught in the act of stealing, seated with his legs and arms in the pillory, and
his nose and ears freshly cut off. Yon learned-looking gentleman may be Dr

Hans Sloane, the famous naturalist, with his friend Dr Burton, a noted
preacher, who occasionally goes the round of the various islands to exercise
his eloquence, and eat a series of good dinners in return for his pious
endeavours to save the souls of his entertainers. The conversation is not of
the most elevated description. Little or no literature is consumed and
canvassed, save such as comes out in packages from England—The
Gentleman's Magazine, The Lady, The Tatler, Miss Frances Burney's latest
novel, Oliver Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield, or Fielding's Tom Jones.
Through the open windows of the roomy houses, with their broad
verandahs, floats the tinkling of the sempiternal spinette. Very occasionally,
as we learn from the Grenada Gazette (of which a complete file for the
years 1792-3 are exhibited by Mr. J. G. Wells), "a grand pianoforte" makes
its appearance, and is considered a great novelty, for which a very high
price is asked and paid.
The History of the Barbadoes states that Lord Howe became Governor in
1733, but fortunately for the Colony, he did not hold the office long, "for if
he had remained a few years longer, he would have ruined Barbadoes by his
introduction of luxury."
In every island, perpetual war was waged between the Governor and the
people, and the people seem to have had good cause to protest, for almost
without exception, it would appear, the Governors sent from the mother
country were most tyrannical and cruel in their methods. This is proved by
the continual protests and "Articles of Complaint" that were forwarded to
England. Many of these temporary rulers seem to have conceived their sole
mission to be to extort money for their own private pockets by every means
in their power, legal or illegal. To rule the country fairly, and to keep it in a
settled condition—a by no means easy matter in those times—appears to
have been quite a secondary matter in their eyes. A notable instance is that
of a Mr Lowther, who carried on the usual routine of extortion. He was sent
out to Barbadoes in 1711, and in justice to others it must be said, that for
downright wickedness, he far outstripped them. He "swallowed up the taxes
as fast as they were raised, ships forced on the island by stress of weather
were compelled to give him one half of their cargo to save the other; he
seized rich ships without cause; and he suspended Mr Skeen, the Secretary,
because he refused to allow him a pension of £400 per annum out of the
fees in office. He kept a cause of Haggot v. King hanging up in Chancery

all the time he was Governor, only because Mr Haggot would not consent to
the marriage of a young lady under his guardianship to a person to whom
Mr Lowther owned he had sold her for £15,000. Again, in order to
accomplish his bargain, he was about taking her from Mr Haggot when she
was married, and he did actually despoil him of the guardianship of her
sister, declaring that no parent had a right to appoint a guardian to his
child." When officially remonstrated with for some of his iniquities, Mr
Lowther simply replied, "D—— n your laws, don't tell me of the laws. I
will do it, and let me see who dares dispute it." Again, the Governor of the
Bahamas in 1701-2—Mr Elias Haskett—was, we are informed, such an
iniquitous personage, that "he seizes all the claret and brandy imported into
our own port for his own use, and most unmercifully doth whip the parish
beadle (this is enough, surely, to make the late Mr Bumble turn in his grave)
and the tax collector." This gentleman's evil doings are related in a curious
MSS. document of over twelve closely-printed pages, by one Captain Cole,
who, it appears, was deputed, on his return to England, by the people of
New Providence, to make an official complaint of their Governor.
A rare old pamphlet on the State of Jamaica, published early in the last
century, contains a curious account of the arrival in that island, in 1687, of
Christopher, Duke of Albemarle, on his appointment to the Governorship.
He was the only son and heir of John Monk, who had helped to restore
Charles II., and who had been rewarded with a dukedom, the Garter, and a
princely fortune, which his successor completely dissipated, and reduced
himself to beggary. To rid himself of his importunities, King James II. gave
him the above-mentioned position in Jamaica, where he died, childless,
soon after his arrival, and his honours became extinct. He seems, however,
to have lived long enough to collect a considerable sum of money for his
creditors. He entered into partnership with a Sir William Phipps, who,
having discovered the wreck of a Spanish plate-ship, which had gone down
in 1559, provided skilful divers to search for the sunken treasure, and the
partners are reported to have recovered twenty-six tons of silver. When
Albemarle arrived at Kingston, he behaved in a fashion as arbitrary as it
was whimsical. He immediately called an assembly, which he dissolved as
promptly, because one of the members, in a debate, repeated the adage
"Salus Populi suprema lex." His Grace took this member into custody, and
caused him to be fined 600 crowns for his offence. Evidently James II. had

entertained some hope of converting the island of Jamaica to the Roman
Catholic faith, for with Albemarle he sent out a missionary,—Father
Thomas Churchill, but the Duke's death and the Revolution of 1688 upset
the good Father's projects, and, after visiting Cuba, he returned to England.
The Duchess, who accompanied her husband, was a very remarkable
woman, and an exceedingly handsome one. The speaker of the assembly, in
his first address, expatiated upon her presence in the following
extraordinary strain of eloquence: "It is an honour," said he, "which the
opulent Kingdoms of Mexico or Peru could never arrive at, to be visited by
an English Duchess, and even Columbus' ghost would be appeased, could
he but know that his own beloved soil was hallowed by such footsteps." In
a very old private letter, included among the exhibits, was a singular
account of the subsequent career of this Duchess. It seems that on the death
of the Duke, she possessed herself of all the treasures he had rescued from
the Spanish plate-ship, and refusing to part with a shilling, even to pay his
legitimate debts, prepared to embark for England. But the creditors seized
her person in the King's house, in Spanish Town, and attempted to carry her
off. She contrived, however, to escape, and communicated her distress to
the House of Assembly, who thereupon appointed a formidable committee
of their ablest members to guard her day and night. After some delay, she
was safely embarked for England, on one of the King's ships, and arrived in
this country with all her fortune, on board the "Assistance" man-of-war, in
the beginning of June 1688. For a year or so she made a great show in
London society, gave her friends sumptuous entertainments, and herself, it
would seem, incredible airs. At last the poor lady's mind gave way. She
imagined herself destined to become the wife of the Emperor of China,
who, having heard of her immense wealth, was hastening, she declared, to
come to England, and pay her his addresses. She dwelt in Montague House,
on the site of which the British Museum now stands, and she furnished the
mansion sumptuously for the reception of her august suitor. She appears to
have been a gentle and good-humoured person, even in her lunacy, and her
attendants encouraged her in her delusions. They did more. They tried to
turn her folly to good account by assisting a certain needy peer, the Duke of
Montague, to personate his Chinese Majesty. "Here," continues the letter,
"is the prettiest piece of business that has ever been. My Lord of Montague,
disguised as the Chinese Emperor, has won the hand of that worthy, silly
old woman the Duchess of Albemarle, and will, doubtless, soon confine her

as a lunatic." She certainly was carefully enough guarded, but she seems to
have been allowed to indulge her mania to her heart's content. She was
wont to stride about her vast apartments, attired as a Chinese Empress, her
attendants taking good care to kneel as she passed, and to address her in
language befitting so transcendant a personage as the consort of the
supreme ruler of the celestial Empire. Her Grace the Duchess of Albemarle
and Empress of China survived her husband, the pretended Emperor, for
many years, and died in 1734, at the vast age of ninety-eight. She was, it
seems, served upon the knee to the end of her long career, and expired in
the full belief that she was a Celestial Empress.
The Grenada Gazette, a curious old newspaper to which I have already
alluded, throws considerable light on the manners and customs of the period
between 1792 and 1799. The details of the French Revolution are recorded
with great minuteness, and it was evidently a subject of deep interest to the
Gazette's numerous readers. The editor can scarcely contain his indignation
as he relates the sufferings of the unfortunate French king and queen, and he
feels sure God will punish the French people "for their barbarity and utter
godlessness." He is certain a judgment will fall upon them "for their
iniquitous conduct, their cruelty, and their general viciousness." "Oh!" he
exclaims, "I have scarce the power to tell the terrible news of this day: the
French king and queen are in prison. The French, by their own madness and
folly, have thereby prepared themselves and their heirs for the bitterest
punishment of God." When at length he reaches the execution of Marie
Antoinette, he is "prostrate with horror, and dumb with fear." He can no
longer proceed: "his pen is dry from sheer terror, and refuses to write." The
poor gentleman is "thrown into a consternation" as he thinks of the fate in
store for the afflicted little Dauphin. The series of slave advertisements
which disgrace every number of the Chronicle are curious in their way.
Thus the cargo of the ship "Ellen," consisting of 203 Gold Coast negroes,
and that of another ship containing 343 young slaves, are both offered for
sale. "Both cargoes are in high health, and the terms of sale will be made as
agreeable as possible to the purchaser." An estate in St Lucia, placed on the
market, comprises amongst its stock "250 negroes, large and small, and six
horses and five mules." "There are among the negroes twenty tradesmen of
great value." One person wants "a complete washerwoman. Anyone having
one to dispose of may hear of a purchaser." There are many advertisements

for the recovery of runaway slaves, "for whom a genteel reward will be
offered," to be recognized by their backs, still sore from recent whippings,
their cropped ears and split noses. These horrors seem to make no
impression on the editor—the humane gentleman who so deplores the
imprisonment of the French royal couple. He is not ashamed to advertise "a
pretty boy, nearly white, for sale, price, £20," nor to call attention to
Madame Marchand's announcement that she is about to leave the colony,
and wishes to dispose of her stock-in-trade, consisting of "hardware,
haberdashery, dry goods, a complete collection of the works of the best
French authors, an excellent washerwoman, and two bedsteads." However,
men should be judged, to some extent at all events, according to their lights,
and it must be remembered that although, in the year of grace 1792, slavery
was held throughout the West Indies to be a right divine, the papers above
alluded to contained constant appeals to slave-owners to treat their human
property with kindness. And perhaps, after all, the bulk of the negroes were
a good deal happier than many free men are to-day, for plenty of kindness
was shown them. They were allowed three wives—many, perhaps, will
think this was no very kind concession—and we read of parties given to the
negroes, at which servants dressed up in their mistresses' finery, and danced
to a most unreasonable hour of the night, to the sound of the sackbut and
the tabor. I exhibited in the St Vincent Court of the Exhibition a delightful
series of old engravings, representing negro festivities in the olden times.
The darkies had all Sunday to themselves, and raised pandemonium in the
principal streets of Spanish Town and Nassau, until the nuisance grew
unendurable, and was put down. They used to sing, dance, and wrestle, at
which last exercise they "were marvellously expert," to their hearts' content.
When their behaviour in the streets became unbearable, they were
prohibited from singing or dancing in the vicinity of churches or genteel
folks' houses. Their food was good, and their huts were waterproof, at all
events,—for it was to the interest of the owners, of course, to keep their
slaves in perfect health. Nevertheless, the negroes always felt themselves an
oppressed race, and many were their struggles for freedom. They concocted
various plans for a general rising, which was to make them masters and the
Christians slaves. But the plots were always discovered, and the ring-
leaders tortured and put to death, as an example to the rest. At one time
owners had great difficulty in preventing their slaves from hanging
themselves, either out of fear of possible punishment for some small fault,

or dread of vengeance threatened by masters or overseers. Consequently no
owner ever delayed a punishment. The darkies all had a firm belief in a
resurrection, and were convinced they would return after death to their own
country and begin their lives anew. This conviction led them to endeavour
to expedite their release from slavery. An owner who had lost several useful
slaves in this manner, "caused one of their heads to be cut off and fixed on a
pole 12 feet high, and obliged all his slaves to come forth and march round
this head, to show the poor creatures that they were in error in thinking the
dead returned to their own country, for this man's head was here, as they all
plainly saw, and how was it possible the body could go without the head?"
This simple theory was quite sufficient to convince them, and thenceforth
that owner never lost another slave by suicide.
Sometimes there was a theatrical performance in one or other of the
capitals of the various islands. Companies from England or France paid the
principal cities a visit, and occasionally amateurs undertook to assist the
professionals, or to supplement their efforts. The French theatre at St
George's, Grenada, had a great reputation throughout the islands. It was
opened about six times in the year, sometimes by an English and sometimes
by a French troupe. We read in the Grenada Gazette that "on Saturday, 31st
August 1792, 'Douglas' was performed, Lady Randolph by a lady—her first
appearance on any stage—and old Norval by a gentleman." "No
admittance," the announcement goes on to say, "on any account behind the
scenes. The gentility is invited to send their negroes early (to retain seats),
who are to sit in their places till five minutes before the curtain rises, when
they are to give up their places to the proper owners." The managers also
remind the audience to "bring their own candles." The negroes filled the
galleries, and were renowned for their judicious criticism, the warmth of
their applause, and the vehemence of their disapproval. Ladies of great
quality were accommodated with seats on the stage. We note that on one
occasion, in 1798, the French company gives "Nina Folle par Amour." This
must be either Copolla's or Paesiello's opera, composed about that time.
Cock-fighting, we learn from the same journal, was a fashionable sport of
the gentry. "On Saturday, the 31st September 1792, at 10 o'clock, a match of
twenty cocks will be fought by ten gentlemen. N.B.—A genteel dinner will
be provided." In the same day's issue is announced the appearance in
England of "a new sect, called the Anti-Chartists," whom it describes as

"another branch of those iniquitous wretches who are opposed to the slave-
trade."
Jamaica, then said to be the "wickedest place on earth," is mentioned with
great detail in The British Empire in America, or the History of the
Discovery, etc., of the British Colonies (published in London, 1708). The
island probably deserved its name, for, in point of fact, the inhabitants
mainly gained their livelihood at that period by trading with pirates, an
enormous number of whom infested the neighbouring seas, making raids
upon the Spanish islands, and carrying off immense treasure to Jamaica,
where it was spent in debauchery.
The same book gives some interesting details of the earthquake in Jamaica
on 7th June 1692. In many of the streets of Port Royal there were several
fathoms of water, "a great mountain split and fell into the level land, and
covered several settlements and destroyed many people." One settler's
plantation was carried half a mile from the place where it formerly stood.
Part of the mountain, after having made several leaps, overwhelmed a
whole family and great part of a plantation, lying a mile off; "and a large
mountain is quite swallowed up, and in the place where it stood there is
now a vast lake, four or five leagues over." About 2000 people perished by
this catastrophe.
Owners would never consent to allow their slaves to become Christians,
as will be seen by the following extract:—
"I took a great interest in a certain slave, Sambo, who wanted much to
become a Christian, and spoke to the master of the plantation on his behalf.
His answer was, that were Sambo once a Christian he could no longer be
accounted a slave, and thus owners would lose hold on their slaves. Were he
in this case to do so, such a gap would be opened that all the planters in the
isle would curse him."
We learn from another old volume (An Account of the Island of Domingo,
1668) that "there are several old mountains in the midst, which encompass
an inaccessible bottom, where from the top of certain rocks may be seen an
infinite variety of reptiles of dreadful bulk and length. The natives were
wont to tell of a vast monstrous serpent that had its abode in the said
bottom. They affirmed that there was in the head of it a very sparkling

stone, like a carbuncle, of inestimable price, that the monster commonly
veiled that rich jewel with a thin moving skin like that of a man's eyelid,
and when it went to drink, and sported itself in the deep bottom it fully
discovered it, and the rocks all about received a wonderful lustre from the
fire issuing out of that precious gem."
The original entry of the marriage of Lord Nelson in the register of the
parish church where it took place was exhibited in the Nevis Court. Very
singular also is the sales-list of the Byam estate in Antigua, from which we
learn the prices of slaves to have varied from £10 to £150, "warranted
sound." Some elderly ladies and gentlemen of colour are occasionally
"thrown in gratis." Several copies of the slave Bible were also shown, in
which all verses calculated to disturb the idea that slavery is an institution
by right Divine are carefully eliminated.

THE END.

INDEX

ABCDEFGHIJLMNOPQRSTUVWYZ
A.

Adderley, Sir Augustus, 257.

Advertisements for the sale of slaves, 271.

Albemarle, Duke of, captures Havana and Matanzas, 60.

" Duke of, Governor of Jamaica, 268.

" Duchess of, 269;
remarkable behaviour of, 270;

believes herself to be Empress of China, 270.

Amedeo, Prince, accepts the Spanish crown and resigns it again, 90.

American Revolution, the, 62.

Americans, influence of the, upon Cuba, 19;
settlements in the island, 26;
help the insurgents, 87.

Amusements in Havana, 129;
during Carnival, 139.

Animals found by Columbus in Cuba, 6;
animals of the forests, 106.

Antomarchi, Dr to Napoleon I., 203;
his death and monument, 203.

Apiculture introduced by French colonists, 61.

Aquelera, Don Francisco, elected President of the Cuban Republic, 93.

Aristocracy, Havanese, 126.

Aristolochia pelicana, the, 149.

Army, the rebel, its number and organization, 101.

Autos da fé, the frequency of, 56;
description of an, 59.

B.

Bahamas first sighted by Christopher Columbus, 38;
New Providence, 224.

Bananas, 4;
used as vegetables, 154.

Banyan tree, the, 148.

Baracoa founded by Diego Velasquez, 49.

Barbadoes, 263;
governorship of Lord Howe, 266.

Bats, enormous size of, 7.

Bayamo, founded by Diego Velasquez, 49;
taken by the Spaniards from the rebels, 85.

Beggars in Havana, the, 137.

Bellamar Caves, the, 158.

Berriz, Colonel, accusations brought against, by Miss Cisneros, 118.

Birds, 8.

Blake, Lady, 231.

Bobadilla, Doña Isabella de, Governess of Cuba, 181.

Bolivar, 67.

Borgian Maps, the, 258.

Botanical Gardens of Havana, the, 127.

British interests in Cuba, 26.

Buccaneers, the, and their romantic history, 51;

their hatred of the Spaniards, 52;
their rugged life, 52;
Henry Morgan, the Welshman, 52;
they burn Havana, 53;
enactments against the, 52;
the adventures of Jacob Sores, 53.

Buchanan, President, threatening message to Spain, 78.

Bull-baiting, 145.

Butter, lack of, in Cuba, 154.

C.

Cactus, the enormous size of the, 126.

Cafés and restaurants, Cuban, 155.

Campos, Marshal Martinez, agrees to the Treaty of Zanjou, 94;
his good intentions, 116.

Canga, the, 141.

Canovas, Señor, de Castillo, signs Treaty of Zanjou, 95.

Cardenas, called the "American City," 26;
its population, 192 (in note).

Carnival, dances given during, 23;
the Havanese Carnival, 139;
its end on Shrove Tuesday, 142.

Caruba tree, the, 190.

Cattle used as horses, 167 (in note).

Cauto River, the, navigable for small craft, 5.

Caves of the Bellamar, the magnificent, 158.

Cays, the, dangerous to vessels, 5;
their beauty, 174.

Cemeteries, Cuban, 202.

Cereals, exported from Spain, 4.

Cerro, the, 125.

Cespedes, Carlos Manuel, begins the rebellion, 83;
his character, 83;
the burning of his plantation, 85;
elected President of the Cuban Republic, 87;
his tragic death, 91.

Chinese, the wretched condition of the, in Cuba, 37;
the Chinese in the ranks of the rebels, 37;
their religious practices, 110.

Churches, the, of Havana, 132;
music in the, 138;
flirtation in church, 138.

Cienfuegos, the town and harbour, 161;
the surrounding country, 162.

Cipango, Columbus thinks Cuba is, 42.

Cisneros, Miss Evangelina, story of, 117.

Cisneros y Bétancourt, Don Salvador, elected President of the Cuban
Republic, 93.

Clergy, the, of the rebel army, 109.

Cleveland, President, tries to prevent filibustering expeditions to Cuba, 99.

Climate, 2 (in note);
is tolerable, 10;
108.

Coaches in Havana, 131.

Cock-fighting in Cuba, 145;
a century ago, 275.

Cocoa, 4;
the plant, 213.

Coffee, was one of the principal products, 3;
replaced by the sugar cane, 69;
a coffee plantation, 213.

Columbus, Christopher, first sights the New World, 38;
lands at Fernandina, 39;
the wonders he encounters, 39;
his followers grow clamorous for gold, 40;
the imaginery Quinsai, 40;
he discovers Cuba, 40;
and takes possession of it in the names of the Spanish sovereigns, 41;
convinced that it is the Cipango described by Marco Polo, 42;
believes Cuba to be a part of the mainland, 43;
said to have landed at British Honduras, 44;
Columbus and the native, 46;
visits the island twice again, 49;
the journeyings of his remains, 133;
his enthusiastic description of New Providence, 225;
his birthplace, 237;
and parents, 238;

the house in which he was born, 240;
his brothers, 241;
first goes to sea, 244;
his education, 244;
the sports he played when a child, 254.

Columbus, Diego, Governor of Hispaniola, 49.

Cook, the Cuban, 124.

Cookery, Cuban, 155.

Coolie labour, 36.

Cuba, Island of, its shape and size, I;
mountains, 2;
position and weather, 2 (in note);
coffee and tobacco once the chief articles of cultivation, 3;
French settlers persuade the Cubans to extend their sugar plantations, 4;
other products, 4; navigable rivers, 5;
animals and reptiles, 7;
disagreeable insects, 8;
flora, 10;
climate, 10;
filthy drains, 11;
its prehistoric inhabitants, 14;
present population and inhabitants, 16;
laws, 17;
first appearance of the Inquisition on the island, 18;
Las Casas gives an impetus to education, 18;
state of chaos in, during the Napoleonic period, 19;
overrun by Americans, 19;
society in, 23;
first sighted by Columbus, 40;
its numerous names, 41 (in note);
its beauties in the eyes of its Discoverer, 41;
first circumnavigated, 49;

Diego Velasquez sent to, 49;
he founds Havana, Santiago de Cuba, etc., 49;
Hernando Cortez in, 49;
C. during the buccaneering period, 51;
Drake appears off, 54;
prosperity of, at the beginning of the 18th century, 59;
taken by the English under the Duke of Albemarle in 1762, 60;
large French emigration to, 61;
administration of Don Luis Las Casas, 63;
effect of the Revolution upon, 66;
bad times for, 68;
opening of the Cuban ports, 68;
"Cuba la Sempre Fiel," 69;
the beneficent government of Tacon, 72;
the prosperity of, declining, 73;
the first indications of rebellion, 74;
offers to purchase C., 77;
C. in 1860, 79;
the state of the island going from bad to worse, 81;
result of the work of the Commission appointed to enquire into the affairs
of, 81;
Maximo Gomez, Commander-in-Chief of the rebel army, 93;
U.S. trade with Cuba, 97, 113;
Cuban forests, 104;
economic condition of, 114;
C. Spain's death-trap, 115;
description of Havana, 121;
Marianao, 148;
the cafés and restaurants of Cuba, 155;
Cienfuegos, 161;
Trinidad, 172;
backward state of the plantations, 174;
Santiago de Cuba, 179;
the newspapers of, 189;
a Cuban plantation, 205;
the beauty of the Cuban night, 212;
a Cuban household, 214.

Cubana, the dance, 141.

Cubanos, or Cubans, filthy habits of the, 11;
descent from early Spanish settlers, 17;
characteristics of the, 18;
Voltarian and free-thinking works read by the, during the Napoleonic Era,
19;
many, educated, 19;
the C. not permitted to share in the Government until twenty years ago,
20;
C. who live for generations on one plantation, 20;
a very domestic people, 21;
isolation of the children, 21;
premature marriages, 21;
laxity of morals among the, 21;
morbid literature read by the, 21;
the drama, 22;
their love of music, 23;
their large families, 24;
the piety of the women, 24;
insincerity of the, in their religion, 24;
their contract with foreign ideas, 71;
their wish to be represented in the Cortes at Madrid, 71;
they petition Queen Isabella to appoint a Commission to enquire into the
state of the island, 81;
C. in official positions, 112;
the Carnival in Havana, 139;
their theatricals, 144;
the Guajiros, 162;
early habits of the C. 168;
why they differ with the Spaniards, 176;
a Cuban funeral, 200;
a young Cuban lady, 215;
their partiality for smoking, 222.

Cucullo, the, 8.

D.

Decker, Mr, and the Miss Cisneros incident, 118.

Dinner, a Cuban, 154.

Dogs, 6;
the tiny spaniel and the colossal molasso, 6.

Drains, abominable condition of the, 11.

Drake, Sir Francis, appears off Cuba, 54.

Duck-hunt, a, 170.

"Dutchman's pipe," the, 150.

Dysentery among European colonists, 10.

E.

EARTHQUAKES, 3.

Eastern Province, the wholesomest part of the island, 11.

Education, impetus given to, by Las Casas, 18;
the education given by the Jesuits, 19.

Emancipation of the slaves, first steps towards the, 29;
its horrible results, 29.

Estates, the large, given to Spaniards, 20;
rarely if ever visited by the latter, 20;
curious custom on many Cuban estates, 20.

F.

Fan, the language of the, 138.

Ferdinand the Catholic, his opinion of the Spanish people, 70.

Fernandina, 39.

Filharmonia Theatre, an incident in the, 76;
the first appearance of Mme. Patti at the, 143.

Fish, 6; tropical, 8.

Flora, beauty and variety of the, 10;
in the forests, 105;
some strange flowers, 128;
the banyan tree, etc., 148;
ferns, 151, 184;
the moon-flower, 213;
the silk-cotton-tree, 229;
the vegetation of New Providence, Bahamas, 231.

Florida, failure of Hernando de Soto's expedition to, 50;
given to the English in exchange for Cuba, 60.

Foreign residents, 20.

Forests, Cuban, 4, 104.

Fossils of prehistoric fauna, 6;
of human remains, 14.

France wishes to purchase Cuba, 77.

French Revolution, effects of the, upon the West Indies, 64;

remarks upon the, 271.

French settlers, persuade the Cubans to enlarge their sugar plantations, 4;
large emigration of, in 1765, 61;
they introduce the art of apiculture, 61.

Fruits of Cuba, 4; oranges, bananas, etc., 154.

Funeral rites, 200.

G.

Galegos, immigration into Cuba of, 17 (in note).

Galleria, the, 145.

Gambling in Cuba, 144.

Game, prehistoric, 6.

Garcia, Manuel, the brigand, 101.

Genoa, the birthplace of Columbus, 238;
description and appearance of, 247;
the trade of, 255.

Genoese, the, 252;
the piety of the, 253.

Ghosts, Cuban belief in, 198.

Gomez, Maximo, Commander-in-Chief of the rebel forces, 93;
he retires to San Domingo, 95.

Government of Cuba, 74 (in note);
the bad, 77;

its backwardness, 115.

Governors, magnificence of the, 54;
their rapacity, 74.

Grant's Town, 228.

"Green snake," the, 232.

Grenada Gazette, 266, 271.

Guajiros, manners and customs of the, 162;
their supposed relationship with our own costers, 165.

Guanajay, 219.

Guava jelly, 217.

H.

Haskett, Mr Elias, Governor of the Bahamas, 267.

Hatuei, the Cacique, bravery of, 15 (in note).

Havana, the city of, society in, 23;
founded by Diego Velasquez in 1519, 49;
obtains civic rights under Las Casas, 50;
burnt by the buccaneers in 1528, 53;
rebuilt by Hernando de Soto, 53;
sacked afresh by the buccaneers, 54;
attacked by the Dutch under Admiral Jolls, who is repulsed, 54;
first theatre opened in, 56;
attacked and taken by the English under the Duke of Albemarle, 1762,
60;
Tacon rebuilds part of the town, 72;
Diego Velasquez calls Havana "La llave del Nuevo Mondo," 121 (in

note);
view of the town from the harbour, 121;
the houses of, 123;
the Cerro, 125;
aristocracy of, 126;
cathedral, churches, promenades, gardens, streets, etc., 126;
mode of shopping in, 127;
the Botanical Gardens, 127;
eventide in, 129;
coaches, 131;
the churches, 132;
charitable institutions, 137;
the beggars of, 137;
the Carnival, 139.

Havana University established in 1721, 18;
several chairs created by Las Casas, 19;
almost entirely governed by Cubans, 112.

Heredia, José Maria, Cuba's greatest poet, 184.

Holy Week in Santiago, 181.

Horses, scarcity of, in Cuba, 55.

Hotels in Matanzas, the, 152.

Houses of Havana, the, 123; of Matanzas,
157.

Howe, Lord, Governor of Barbadoes, 266.

Hurricanes, 2 (in note).

I.

Iguana, the harmless but hideous, 9;
roast, 217.

Indian and Colonial Exhibition, 257.

Indigo, 4.

Inhabitants, earliest, 14.

Inquisition, or Holy Office, first introduced into Cuba, 18;
used against State prisoners, 58.

Insects, disagreeable, 8; several insects first introduced into Europe from
Cuba, 8;
the cucullo, 8;
mosquitoes, 126.

Institutions, charitable, 137.

J.

Jamaica, 275; an earthquake, 276.

Jesuits, the education given by the, 19;
persecution of the, 34;
their first appearance in Cuba, 57.

Jewellery, quantity of, in Havana, 125.

Jews, the, in Cuba, 27.

Junta, Gran, in New York, 98;
excites the Americans against Weyler's atrocities, 117.

L.

Language of the early natives, 15.

Las Casas, aid given to education by, 18;
his good government, 50.

Las Casas, Don Luis, the good administration of, 63.

Leyes de Indias, Las, 18, 31.

Litterateurs of Cuba, 184.

Lizards, variety of, 9.

Louisiana, expedition to, under O'Reilly, 61.

Lowther, Mr, Governor of Barbadoes, 267.

M.

Maceo, cruelty of, 101;
his character and appearance, 110;
doubts as to whether he is shot, 111.

Mahogany, a once valuable product, 4.

"Maine" disaster, the, 120.

Maize, always been a necessity of life, 4.

Mangoes, 4.

Mantis, 207.

Marco Polo, 38.

Marianao, 148.

Matanzas taken by the English in 1762, 60;
its foundation and name, 152;
"The Golden Lion," 152;
description of M., 157;
its attractions, 158;
the Yumurri Valley, 159.

Mayas, importation into Cuba of, to take the place of coolie labour, 37.

Merced, 132; the curious picture in the, 135;
its orchestra, 138.

Mexico, the Revolution in, 68.

Milanes, the poet, 186.

Monserrat, condition of the island of, in
the 17th century, 260.

Moon-flower, the, 213.

Morgan, Henry, the Welsh buccaneer, 52.

Morro Castle, 121.

Mosquitos, swarms of, 126.

Mountains of Cuba, 2;
unhealthy condition of the mountain regions, 4.

Music, Cuban, 190.

N.

Nassau, the city of, 226;
Grant's Town, 228;
the silk-cotton-tree, 229;
its magnificent bay, 233.

Natives, language of the, at the time of Columbus, 15;
their appearance and manners of life, 15;
extermination of the, 15 (in note);
modesty of the native ladies, 39;
condition of the, at the time of the discovery, 44;
their affinity with the natives of the neighbouring islands and the
mainland, 44;
their number, 45;
their quiet life, 45;
and religion, 46;
Spanish cruelty to the, 47;
their few descendants, 48;
reduced to slavery, 49.

Narvaez starts from Santiago for Yucatan, 180.

Negroes introduced to replace the aborigines, 27;
the free blacks, 35;
their liking for gaudy dresses, 35;
in church, 35;
their love of music, 36;
rebellion of the, 64;
barbaric state of the rebel negroes, 109;
how the blacks enjoy themselves during the Carnival in Havana, 140;
piety of the, 142;
the n. at the opera, 142;
their superstitions, 193;
the n. of the Bahamas, 224;
their cleanly habits, 226;
the n. of Monserrat, 261.

Nelson, marriage of Lord, 277.

New Providence, Bahamas, 225;
a contrast after Cuba, 226;
its vegetation, 231;
the flatness of the island, 233;
the heavy dews, 236.

Newspapers, the, of Cuba, 189.

O.

Obi, the worship of, 193;
strange rites of, 194.

Ojo del Toro, Mountain of, 2.

Oranges, 4.

O'Reilly, Marshal, his expedition to Louisiana, 62.

P.

Palma, Señor Thomaso Estrado,
President of the Gran Junta in New York, 98.

Palm-trees, 205.

Patria, La, the Revolutionary journal, 98.

Payrete Theatre, the, 141.

Petition to the Queen-Regent of Spain, 119.

Philip II., laws framed by, 18;
fortifies Cuba, 54.

Philippe, Louis, wishes to buy Cuba, 77.

Pico Turquino, Mountain, 3.

Pine-apple, the, 4;
a plantation, 233.

Pinos, La Isla dos, a health resort, 5 and 11.

Plantations, or Haciendas, backward state of the, 174;
description of a, 205.

Population, sparse, in mountain regions, 4;
early inhabitants, 14;
present, 16;
the rural, 176.

Prim, General, proposes to sell Cuba to the U.S., 88;
assassination of, 90.

Procession, a religious, 169.

Propaganda, the archives of the, 258.

Puentes Grandes, 149.

Puerto Principe, founded by Diego Velasquez, 49;
description of, 192.

Punta, La, the fortress, 121.

Q.

Quesada, Manuel de, brother-in-law to Cespedes, elected Commander-in-
Chief of the insurgent army, 87.

Quinsai, the imaginery city, 40.

R.

Railways, mainly in British hands, 26;
Cuban, 150.

Rainy season, 2 (in note).

Rebellion, the Cuban, real commencement of the movement, 64;
first steps towards open, 75;
open revolt under Cespedes, 82;
the holder of the funds decamps, 84;
want of money and arms, 84;
rebels worsted at Bayamo, 85;
the horrors which resulted, 85;
tragic death of Cespedes, 91;
Maximo Gomez elected Commander-in-Chief, 93;
the Treaty of Zanjou, 94;
abstention of the towns from taking part in the, 100;
organization of the, 101;
an encampment, 107.

Rebels, cruelty of the, 101;
number and organization of the, 101;
amusements of the, 109;
their priests, 109.

Reconcentrados, the miserable lot of the, 108.

Religion, insincerity of the Cubans in their, 24;
present religious awakening, 24;
toleration, 26;
religion and slavery, 34;
Catholicism in Cuba, 56;

ceremonies of the Church, 57;
an Archbishopric created, 58;
reaction in favour of, 138;
a procession, 169;
state of, in Monserrat, 260.

Reptiles: the red asp, 7;
scorpions, 7;
cure for the bite of a Cuban scorpion, 7.

Republic, the Cuban, proclaimed by, and Cespedes elected President, 87;
send envoys to England, France, and the United States, 87;
tragic death of Cespedes, 91;
Don Cisneros y Bétancourt elected President, 93;
Don Francisco Aquelera, third President, 93;
the Treaty of Zanjou, 94;
the Republican Parliament dissolved in 1879, 95.

Rincon, 151.

Rosario waterfalls, 6.

S.

San Domingo, revolt of the negroes in, 63.

San Francisco, the church of, 136.

San Salvador, first sighted by Columbus, 38.

Santiago, the province of, earthquakes in, 3;
healthiest half of the island, 11.

Santiago de Cuba, founded by Diego Velasquez in 1516, 49;
its bay, 178;
most historical city in the island, 180;

the cathedral, 181;
Holy Week in, 181;
a literary centre, 184.

Santoveneo, the late Countess of, 125.

Secret societies formed, 67;
branches in America, 98.

Shea, Sir Ambrose, Governor of the Bahamas, 232.

Shopping in Havana, mode of, 127.

Sierra de Cobre, 3.

Sierra Maestra, 1;
resemblance to Genoese Riviera, 2;
its peaks, 2.

Silk-cotton-tree, the, 229.

Slaves, female, 28;
the trade, 29;
the first steps towards their emancipation, and its horrible consequences,
29;
continued sale of, notwithstanding the law, 30;
their idea of freedom, 30;
laws to protect the, 31;
inhuman torture of, 32;
the household slaves, 33;
their long hours of labour, 34;
slavery and religion, 34;
slavery replaced by coolie labour, 37;
large importation of, 73;
an arrangement for freeing them, 82;
laws against them, 261;
advertisements for the sale of, 271;

good treatment of the, 270.

Society, Cuban, 23.

Sores, Jacob, the adventures of, 53.

Soto, Hernando de, his ill-fated expedition to Florida, 50;
he rebuilds Havana, 53.

Spain aids the American revolutionists, 62;
mistaken policy of, with regard to Cuba, 66;
her revolting colonies, 67;
revolution in S., 90;
maladministration of, in Cuba, 112.

Spaniards in the island, 17;
bigotry of, 18;
S. and Cubans compared, 18;
their way of living, 25;
their cruelty, 47;
hatred in which they were held in the West Indies, 51;
dissipation of the Spanish landowners, 175.

Springs, fresh, 6.

Stories of the Obi, strange, 194.

Sucking-pig, the universal love of, 217.

Sugar, French colonists persuade greater growth of, 4;
sugar canes take the place of coffee, 69;
depreciation in value of, 114;
backward state of the plantations, 174;
description of a s. plantation, 208;
how sugar is made, 211.

Superstitions, Cuban, 193.

T.

Tacon, the good administration of, 72.

Tacon, Theatre, the orchestra of the, 36;
the Carnival ball at the, 140;
description of the, 142;
great singers at the, 143.

Theatres in the West Indies, 274.

Tobacco, one of the chief products, 3;
some of the best plantations in British hands, 26;
the trade in a bad state, 114;
the story of, 218;
Cuban, 219;
the tobacco industry, 221.

Tom-tom, the, 36.

Torrecillas Theatre, the, 144.

Tortoise-hunting, 8.

Tortuga, Island of, the headquarters of the buccaneers, 52.

Torture of slaves, inhuman, 32.

Trinidad de Cuba, founded by Diego Velasquez in 1513, 171;
the starting place of Cortez on his expedition to Mexico, 171.

Turquino, the highest point in Cuba, 178.

Twilight, no, in Cuban latitudes, 174.

U.

United States, the, wish to annex Cuba by purchase, 78;
will not recognise the Cuban Republic, 88;
another proposal for the purchase of the island, 88;
indignation in, over the "Virginius" affair, 89;
importance of Cuba to the, 95;
her trade with Cuba, 97, 113.

University of Havana established in 1721, 18;
several chairs created by Las Casas, 19;
almost entirely governed by Cubans, 112.

V.

Valdes, Gabriel de la Concepcion, the mulatto poet, and his works, 186.

Varona, Don Enrique Jose, editor of La Patria, 98.

Vegetation of Cuba, 104.

Velasquez, Diego, sent to Cuba, 49;
founds Havana, Santiago, and other towns, 49;
impressed by the harbour of Havana, 121 (in note).

Villa Clara, 192.

"Virginius," affair of the, 89.

Volante, first appearance of the, 55;
how it looked, 131.

Vomito nigro, the deadly, 10;
whites attacked by, 104.

W.

Waterfalls, the Rosario, 6.

West Indies, general condition of the, during the 17th century, 260;
different Governors of the, 266.

Weyler, General, Marquis of Tenerife, administration of, 116.

Y.

Yams, 4.

Yellow fever, said to have first appeared in 1761: the quickness with which
its victims succumb, 12;
statistics of, 103 (in note).

Yumurri Valley, the, 159.

Z.

Zambrana, Ramon, the poet, 188.

Zanjou, Treaty of, 94.

Map of Cuba

PRINTED BY NEILL AND COMPANY, EDIBURGH.

Etext transcriber's typgraphical corrections made:
caligraphy=>calligraphy
ansado=asado

FOOTNOTES:
[1] The island of Cuba lies between the Caribbean Sea on the S., and the Gulf of Mexico, the
Gulf of Florida, and Bahama Channel on the N., being nearly equidistant from the peninsulas of
Yucatan and Florida and the islands of Hayti and Jamaica. It stretches in N. lat. from 19° 50' to
23° 9', and in W. long. from 74° 8' to 84° 158'. The rainfall at Havana is said to be 92.68 inches,
or more than double that of the opposite coast of Florida. The atmospheric tendencies are less
violent than in the other islands. Hurricanes are frequent, but not so terrible as elsewhere in the
same zone. However, one of them, in October 1846, destroyed a third of Havana, while
hundreds were killed and thousands injured. The north wind blows with more or less strength
throughout the entire winter months. In summer, when the sun is at its zenith, torrential rains,

lasting for days at a time, are frequent. Hail is rare, but, once or twice in this century, snow has
fallen on the upper plateaus of the Sierra Maestra. According to the proverbial "oldest
inhabitant," the rainfall has considerably diminished of late years through the burning down of
some of the forests in the central district of the island. It has also been observed that in the past
twenty-five years the rainy season begins much later than it did in the good old times—in June
instead of April; and ends earlier—in July instead of in October.
[2] The American Racoon—Procyon lotor.
[3] The rainfall of Havana is said to be 92.68 ins., more than double that of the opposite part
of Florida. Very heavy, and in certain districts, dangerous dews, fall immediately after sunset.
The thunderstorms are of tremendous violence, the lightning being often so incessant as to give
quite a steady light.
[4] Between the years 1512-15 the whole island had been explored, and the aborigines had
already disappeared. The poor, timid, harmless creatures offered no resistance to their
conquerors. One chief alone, the Cacique Hatuei, tried to escape. He refused baptism lest it
might lead to his being condemned to spend eternity in heaven, in the company of his pious
persecutors, who consequently tormented him to death. This anecdote, related as it is by the
Spaniards themselves, gives the measure of their conception of Christian charity. There are,
however, two sides to every question, and I remember to have read in a very old Spanish work,
on the West Indies, an assertion that the aborigines of Cuba were afflicted with a certain fell
disease which rendered their disappearance imperative. This may account for the persistence
with which their extermination was carried out, and also for the recorded fact that in 1554 a
number of native families were brought to Havana, and isolated in a Lazaretto built for their
reception near Guanabacoa.
[5] Statistics of Cuban population are very unreliable. The prolonged rebellion, frequent
epidemics and other causes have considerably diminished the number of inhabitants, especially
of late years. Probably, the actual population does not exceed 1,300,000. According to Eliseé
Reclus, in his splendid Universal Geography (admirably translated into English, and published
by Messrs Virtue & Co.), "Despite revolutions, wars, and epidemics, the population of Cuba
has increased at least sixfold since the beginning of the last century. Enforced immigration of
whites, negroes, Chinese and Mayas has ceased, and free immigration is now encouraged by
grants of land. But independently of this movement, there is considerable natural increase by
the excess of births over deaths. In time of peace, the annual increase may be estimated at from
15,000 to 20,000, a rate according to which the whole population might be doubled in fifty
years. It rose from 600,000 in 1811, and 1,000,000 in 1841, to 1,521,000 in 1887 (last census),
and may now (1891) be estimated at 1,600,000." As to the coloured population, it is estimated
as amounting to between 600,000 and 700,000 all told, but I very much doubt if it at present
reaches anything like that figure, owing to the number of deaths from starvation, epidemic, etc.,
which have occurred during the last ten years, and the cessation of all coloured immigration
into the country.
[6] Since the abolition of slavery, some few Galegos have emigrated from Spain, mainly to
seek employment in the houses of the wealthy. It may interest the reader to know that the
peasantry of Galicia have for many ages supplied Spain and Portugal with their best domestic
servants. They are an honest and frugal race, faithful to their employers, and excellent cooks to
boot. They are much sought after in Cuba, where they obtain higher wages than they can earn
in the Peninsula.

[7] According to Las Casas and Herrera, the point first touched by Columbus was situated at
the extreme east of the island, at Baracoa. Navarreto, on the other hand, declares that Columbus
landed at the bay of Nipe; and Washington Irving is of opinion that it was at Nuevitas, the port
of Puerto Principe. Cuba has been called Fernandina, Santiago, and Ave-Maria Alfa y Omego,
but its original native name of Cubican or Cuba has alone been retained.
[8] Unfortunately, when we come to examine the matter closely, we soon discover that similar
atrocities have always accompanied discoveries of new lands and peoples. The swarming native
populations of North and South America have nearly all disappeared, and not precisely on
account of an advancing civilization. The unhappy aborigines of Africa have suffered a similar
fate.
[9] Perhaps it were as well if I here remind the reader that Cuba is ruled by a Governor or
Captain-General, whose despotic authority is derived directly from the Crown. He is supreme
head of the island's civil, military, and ecclesiastical jurisdiction, and is, surrounded by a crowd
of dependents of every degree, beginning with thirty-four lieutenant-governors, who preside
over as many cantons or divisions of the island, each of whom, in his turn has a host of
underlings. Judicial affairs are in the hands of the "Real Audienca Pretorat or Superine Court."
The judicial districts, of which there are twenty-six, are presided over by an Alcalde or Mayor,
who has a numerous staff of salaried satellites. The Maritime division of Cuba is subject to a
Commander-General, who is at the head of five stations with centres at Havana, Trinidad, San
Juan de los Remedios, Matanzos, and Santiago de Cuba. As almost every member of this army
of functionaries is Spanish born, and as the Yankees would express it, "on the mash," some idea
may be conceived of the waste of public money in the way of salaries, paid to men who, more
often than not, have no duties to perform. But it is quite untrue to assert that no Cubans "need
apply" when a vacancy occurs in this multitudinous burocracy. Quite the contrary. Many
Cubans are in the civil service of the island, but they are powerless to reform abuses, and
frequently are even less scrupulous than the Spaniards.
[10] The price offered was £40,000,000. The Yara rebellion, which broke out in 1868, cost
Spain over 100,000 men, and certainly not less than £40,000,000, the sum named for the
purchase of the island by the United States.
[11] In an exceedingly interesting letter from the New York correspondent of the Pall Mall
Gazette, dated May 24th, I found the following valuable statistics on the subject of epidemics in
Cuba:—
"The dread of yellow fever might reasonably have discouraged the enlistment of volunteers,
who could foresee that they would be needed in Cuba during the rainy season, but the offers
and applications show that the Government could take into the service to-morrow 500,000 men,
instead of the 125,000 already called, if it should consent to accept them. The mortality reports
of the Spanish army are appalling, but yellow fever has not been the most deadly of the
diseases with which the Spanish soldiers have contended. The number of deaths in the military
hospitals on the island last year was 32,534, and of the 30,000 sick men sent back to Spain at
least 10 per cent. must have died, for many of them were beyond cure. The reported deaths
were distributed as follows, in round numbers: Typhoid fever and dysentery, 14,500; malarial
fever, 7000; yellow fever, 6000; other diseases, 5000. And 2583 persons died of small-pox in
Havana. But the resident inspector of our Marine Hospital Bureau (which is a kind of National
Board of Health) reports that only one of the five large military hospitals in Havana is in good
sanitary condition; the others are little better than pest-houses, and one of them is characterised
by the inspector as 'the filthiest building in the city.' The Spanish soldiers have been sacrificed

to the greed and corruption of their commanders and the prevailing mediæval ignorance of
sanitation.
In the recent official indictments of Spanish misrule in Cuba, scarcely anything has been said
about the perpetual menace of yellow fever infection to which this country has been subjected,
and to the enormous actual cost in the United States of fever epidemics, the seeds of which
were introduced from the island. Of late years all our yellow fever epidemics have come from
Cuba, and the infection has entered our Southern States in spite of the most elaborate
precautions and defences. Many years ago the disease was sometimes brought from Vera Cruz;
but Mexico, under the effective and progressive rule of Diaz, has cleansed her infected ports,
and they are no longer to be feared. An epidemic of this fever on our southern seaboard, even if
it be of short duration and attended by slight mortality, causes very great alarm—because the
ravages of memorable visitations are recalled by the people—and paralyses commerce and
industry throughout a wide area. The actual cost of such an epidemic may be 100,000,000 dols.
The epidemic of last year entailed a loss of a third or a half of that sum. No relief can be
expected so long as the island shall suffer under Spanish misrule. But now we may look
forward with confidence to the time, not far distant, when this nuisance shall be abated."
[12] According to the best authorities, Diego Valasquez, the Conqueror of Cuba, founded the
famous city of San Christobal de la Habana in 1519, and being immensely impressed by the
width and depth of the harbour, and its generally favourable position for trade purposes, he
called it la llave del Nuevo Mondo, the key to the New World.
[13] See on this subject the following works: (1) Los restos de Colon, per Don José Manuel
de Echeverry, Santander, 1878; (2) Cristofero Colombo e San Domingo, per L. T. Belgrano,
Genova, 1879; (3) Los Restos de Cristobal Colon, by Tejera, Santo Domingo, 1879; (4) Los
restos de Colon, Emiliano Tejera, Madrid, 1878.
[14] The Tacon Theatre was built in 1830 by a man who made his fortune selling fish. Having
saved up a large sum, he invested it in land, and built the first market upon the site, and finally,
as an act of gratitude to his fellow-citizens for having assisted him in making some millions of
dollars, he built them their largest theatre.
[15] In a great many parts of the Eastern Province, cattle are used as horses.
[16] Literally God's Baby.
[17] Exhibited by the writer in the West Indian Court of the Colonial Exhibition.
[18] From notes made some years ago of the conversation in question.
[19] The two other important Cuban cities which I did not visit are Cardenas, which is known
as the American city, and which is situated immediately on the seaboard, and has a population
of about 20,000 inhabitants, and Villa Clara, which is situated on Jagua Bay, a noble expanse of
water which could easily accommodate and shelter half the fleets of Europe. Both these cities
are remarkably well drained and prosperous, and give evidence at every turn that they are in the
hands of an enterprising and energetic people. Between the two towns there must be between
five and ten thousand residents, all of whom are engaged in commerce.
[20] Those who wish to obtain a more perfect knowledge of tobacco and its cultivation will
do well to read the two exhaustive chapters on the subject, in "Cuba with Pen and Pencil," by
Samuel Hazzard, by far the best book ever written on Cuba.

[21] Then, in all probability, he witnessed the coronation of the Doge Paul of Novi, a dyer
who certainly did business with his father, and lived in the same neighbourhood. The romantic
and tragic history of this Doge recalls that of Marino Faliero. Deposed by the mob, he was
decapitated.
[22] This Appendix and the following one respectively appeared in another and less elaborate
form in the National Review and the Antiquary, and are reproduced here, with additional matter,
by the courteous consent of the editors of these reviews.—R. D.

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