Life in the Rural Districts—A Cuban Bill of Fare—The Amusementsof the Country People—Sports of the Carnival—Native Dances—AnIsland Farm—Fruit Used for Bread—Cattle Ranches and Stock Farms—Population of the Island—Education and Religion—Railways andSteamship Lines.
The traveler from the north, landing for the first time on Cuban shores, will discover his greatest delight in the radical changes he finds from everything he has been accustomed to in his own land. If he has read Prescott and Irving, he knows something of Castilian manners and customs in theory, but as the peculiarities of the people, their home life, their amusements, their religious observances, and their business methods are brought before him in reality, he is impressed with the constant charm of novelty.
In times of peace, the native of Cuban soil in the rural districts knows nothing of the struggle for existence which faces the majority of mankind in colder climes. He "toils not, neither does he spin," for the reason that nature provides so freely that very little exertion is necessary to secure her gifts. Occasionally he may plow, or sow a little grain, or even pick fruit, but, as a rule, he leaves the labor to the negroes. If he lives on a main-traveled road, he may possibly provide entertainment for man and beast, where he delights in gossiping with all who come his way, and is ready to drink whenever invited. Neither does his raiment possess the glory of Solomon's, for it generally consists of a pair of loose trousers, belted with a leather band, a linen shirt of brilliant hue, frequently worn outside his pantaloons, a silk handkerchief fastened about his head, a palm-leaf hat, and bare feet encased in leather slippers.
He is astute, though frank, boastful, though brave, and superstitious, if not religious. Gambling is his chief delight, and his fighting cocks receive more attention than his wife and family.
His better half is more reserved than her lord, especially with strangers. She is an adept horse-woman, though she sometimes shares the animal's back with her husband, riding in front of him, almost on the neck of the horse. Her dress is the acme of simplicity (sometimes rather too simple to suit conventional ideas), and consists of a loose frock, and a handkerchief tied around her neck. Like her husband she dispenses with stockings, except on occasions of ceremony. Her pride is her hair, on which she bestows a great deal of attention, and she delights in displaying it at every possible opportunity.
The mode of life among the people of these rural districts is entirely unlike that of the residents of the cities. This difference extends even to their food and the manner of preparing it. In the populous centers, especially among the better classes, the table service is of the French mode, but among the country people will be found the real Cuban cuisine.
The morning meal usually consists of fried pork, of which they are very fond, boiled rice, and roasted plantain, which serves them for bread. Beef, birds or roast pork are served for dinner, together with plantains and a stew composed of fresh meat, dried meat, green plantains, and all kinds of vegetables. These are cooked in a broth, thickened with a farinaceous root called malanga, and flavored with lemon juice. Rice is a staple article of diet, and no meal is complete without it.
It is not in gastronomy alone that the Cubans of the country districts differ from their city cousins. They have their special amusements, some of which seem cruel to people of refinement, but it may be said in their defense that football is not a popular game on the island.
Cock fighting is the national sport, and men, women and children will wager their last possession on the result of an encounter between chickens of fighting blood. The goose fight is another cruel sport. Two poles are placed in the ground, with a rope stretched between them, on which a live goose is hung with its feet securely tied, and its head thoroughly greased. The contestants are on horseback, and ride at full speed past the goose, endeavoring to seize its head and separate it from the body as they pass. The fowl usually dies before the efforts are successful, but the rider who finally succeeds in the noble endeavor gains the glory and the prize.
There is a patron saint for every village, for whom there is a feast day, which is celebrated by masses at the church, and afterwards by games and dances. A procession is always arranged on this day, in which a little girl, dressed as an image, rides in a wagon, decorated with banners and flowers. Men in costumes of Indians lead the way, followed by others clad as Moors. A band is a necessary adjunct, and bringing up the rear are the inhabitants, marching and singing to the music of the band. When the church is reached, the people gather about the child, and she recites a composition written for the occasion.
During carnival time, processions of mountebanks, cavaliers, dressed as knights of old, on horses splendidly adorned, races, masques, balls and all manner of revelries are indulged in.
Dancing is a universal accomplishment, in which the young and old find enjoyment in all places and at all seasons. The Zapato, a dance peculiar to Cuba, is performed to the music of the guitar, accompanied by the voices of the dancers. It consists of fantastic posings, fancy marches, and graceful figures, and resembles in some details the "cake walks" of the negroes of our own country.
In the neighborhood of the larger cities are hundreds of "Estancias," which correspond to what are known as market gardens in the United States. These farms usually consist of less than a hundred acres each, and on them are raised vegetables, chickens, small fruits and other table delicacies, for the city trade. Properly looked after, this business might be one of great profit, but the land is, as a rule, cultivated by tenants, who pay a rental of about five dollars per acre a year, and who are too indolent to give it the care necessary to gain lucrative returns.
The principal vegetable raised on these farms is the sweet potato, of which there are two varieties, the yellow and the white. The soil and the climate are not favorable to the cultivation of the Irish potato, and it is necessary to import this luxury, which accounts for the fact that they are seldom seen outside the cities.
Plantains are raised in large quantities. This product is to the Cuban what bread is to us, and may be characterized as the standard article of food. Though less nutritious than wheat or potatoes, it is produced in vastly larger quantities from the same area, and with far less effort. It closely resembles the banana, and is in fact often regarded as a variety of that fruit. A fanciful name for it among the natives is "Adam's apple," and the story is that it was the forbidden fruit of the Garden of Eden.
On a number of these places the business of farming has been entirely abandoned, and kilns built, where the burning of lime is carried on extensively.
The raising of cattle is one of the important industries of Cuba, and as it costs comparatively nothing to fit the stock for the market, handsome profits are realized. Herds of vast numbers roam over the prairies, receiving no attention from their owners, and are sold without any preliminary fattening. Fabulous prices are received for the fierce bulls which are used for the bull fights in the cities, and the breeding of these animals brings large returns.
Hides are one of the principal exports of the island, and bone black, prepared from the bones, is sold in immense quantities to the sugar-makers, for use in the manufacture of that article.
The finest horses raised in Cuba come from Puerto Principe, and magnificent specimens of the noble animal they are. They are noted for their powers of endurance, and can journey day after day, covering sixty to seventy miles, at an easy gait, without showing signs of fatigue. As horses were unknown to the original inhabitants of the island, it is supposed that the Cuban horse of to-day comes from Spanish stock, and the fact that it differs so greatly from those animals, both in appearance and quality, is explained by the changed climatic conditions in its breeding. Whatever its origin may be, it is certain that there are no finer specimens of horse flesh than are to be found in Cuba, and the natives take great care of them, almost regarding them as belonging to the family. Like the Irishman who "kept his pig in the parlor," the Cuban often stables his horse in a room of his house.
One of the strangest customs that is likely to be observed by the tourist in the interior sections, is the ceremony attendant on the burial of the dead. First come small boys, with white linen gowns over their clothes, short enough to display their ragged trousers and dirty shoes. A boy in the center bears a tall pole, upon the top of which is a silver cross, partially draped, while each of the other boys carries a tall candlestick.
Behind them comes the priest, in shabby attire, in one hand his prayer book, from which he is chanting from time to time, while in the other hand, the sun being hot, he carries an umbrella. Following him, a venerable old man comes tottering along, personating the acolyth, the bell-ringer, the sacristan, or other church dignitary, as may be necessary, croning out in his dreary voice, as he swings the burning censor, the second to the chants of the priest. The coffin then makes its appearance, made of rough boards, but covered with black paper muslin, and borne upon the shoulders of four villagers, a crowd of whom, all uncovered, bring up the rear.
Here, as in all other Catholic countries, the spectators uncover their heads at the passing of a funeral cortege. At the church are ceremonies of reading prayers, burning candles, and sprinkling the coffin with holy water, after which the priest goes his way, and the procession takes up its line of march for the newly-made grave, in the dilapidated and neglected cemetery, where the coffin is deposited without further ceremony. No females are present during the whole affair.
A family in mourning in Cuba, not only dress in dark clothes, upon which there is no luster, but they keep the windows of the house shut for six months. In fact, by an ordinance of the government, it is now prohibited to display the corpse to the public through the open windows, as was formerly done, both windows and doors being now required to be shut.
The Cuban of the better class is noted for his hospitality. His door is always open to receive whomsoever calls, be he acquaintance, friend or stranger. There is a place at his table for the visitor at all times, without money and without price, and no one having the slightest claim to courtesy of this kind need hesitate to accept the invitation. There is little travel or communication on the island, so even if the guest be an entire stranger, his host will feel amply repaid for his hospitality by the news the traveler brings from the outside world. There is a good old custom among the Danes, that when the first toast is drunk, it is to the roof of the house which covers everyone in it, meaning thereby it is all one family. This same custom might appropriately be kept up amongst the Cuban planters, for when one takes his seat at the table, he is immediately installed as one of the family circle.
Education is woefully backward on the island. In the absence of recent statistics it is estimated that not one-tenth of the children receive lettered education of any kind, and even among the higher classes of society, liberal education is very far from being universally diffused. A few literary and scientific men are to be found both in the higher and middle ranks, and previous to the revolution, the question of public instruction excited some interest among the creole population.
At Havana is the royal university with a rector and thirty professors, and medical and law schools, as well as an institution called the Royal College of Havana. There is a similar establishment at Puerto Principe, in the eastern interior, and both at Havana and Santiago de Cuba there is a college in which the branches of ecclesiastical education are taught, together with the humanities and philosophy. Besides this there are several private schools, but these are not accessible to the masses. The inhabitants can scarcely be said to have any literature, a few daily and weekly journals, under a rigid censorship, supply almost all the taste for letters in the island.
To show how little liberty of opinion the newspapers of Cuba enjoy, we quote a decree issued by General Weyler, formerly Captain-General of the island:
Don Valeriano Weyler y Nicolau, Marquis of Tenerife, governor-general, captain-general of the Island of Cuba, and general-in-chief of this army.
Under the authority of the law of public order, dated the 23rd ofApril, 1870.
I Order and Command,
1st. No newspaper shall publish any news concerning the war which is not authorized by the staff officers.
2nd. Neither shall be published any telegraphic communications of a political character without the authority given by the secretary of the governor general in Havana, or by the civil officers in the other provinces.
3rd. It is hereby forbidden to publish any editorials, or other articles or illustrations, which may directly or indirectly tend to lessen the prestige of the mother-country, the army, or the authorities, or to exaggerate the forces and the importance of the insurrection, or in any way to favor the latter, or to cause unfounded alarm, or excite the feelings of the people.
4th. The infractions of this decree, not included in Articles first and sixth of the decree of February 16th last, will make the offenders liable to the penalties named in Article 36, of the law of the 23rd of April, 1870.
5th. All persons referred to in Article 14 of the Penal Code of the Peninsula, which is in force in this Island, will be held responsible for said infractions in the same order as established by the said Article.
6th. Whenever a newspaper has twice incurred the penalty of said offense, and shall give cause for a third penalty, it may be then suppressed.
7th. The civil governors are in charge of the fulfillment of this decree, and against their resolutions, which must be always well founded, the interested parties may appeal within twenty-four hours following their notification.
Havana, April 27, 1896.
Conflicting accounts render it impossible to arrive at anything like a certainty as to the number of inhabitants in Cuba at the time of its conquest, but it may be estimated at from 300,000 to 400,000. There is but little doubt, however, that before 1560 the whole of this population had disappeared from the island. The first census was taken in 1774, when the population was 171,620. In 1791 it was 272,300.
Owing to the disturbed condition of the island, no census of the inhabitants has been taken since that of 1887, when the total population was 1,631,687. Of this number, 1,111,303 were whites, and 520,684 were of negro blood. These figures make questionable the claim that the war for liberty is simply an insurrection of the colored against the Caucasian race.
Havana and Its Attractions for Tourists—How to Reach Cuba— Description of the Harbor of Havana—How the Proverbial Unhealthfulness of the City May Be Remedied—Characteristics of the Business Quarter—Residences and How the People Live—Parks and Boulevards—Other Features of Life in the City.
In spite of the little encouragement which American tourists have had for visiting the city of Havana, for many years it has been a popular place of resort for the few who have tried it or have been recommended to it by their friends. With the attractions it has had during Spanish administration, when an air of constraint and suspicion marked the intercourse with every American, it will not be surprising if under changed auspices and in an atmosphere of genuine freedom, Americans will find it one of the most delightful and easily accessible places possible for them to visit. It is not all pleasant, but the unpleasant things are sometimes quite as interesting as the pleasant ones. If the traveler forms his judgments according to the actual comforts he may obtain, he will be pleased from beginning to end of his stay. If the measure of his good opinion is whether or not things are like those to which he is accustomed, he will be disappointed, because novelty reigns. But novelty does not necessarily mean discomfort.
Havana may be reached by a sea voyage of three or four days from New York, on any one of several excellent steamers under the American flag, and even in winter the latter portion of the voyage will be a pleasant feature of the journey. Or the path of the American invading squadron may be followed, and the traveler, after passing through Florida by rail, may journey from Tampa by the mail steamers, and touching at Key West for a few hours, reach Havana after a voyage of two nights and a day.
The Florida straits, between Cuba and the Florida keys, which were the scene of the first hostilities of the war, are but ninety miles wide, and the voyage is made from Key West in a few hours. The current of the gulf stream makes the channel a trifle reminiscent of the English channel, but once under the lee of the Cuban coast the water is still and the harbor of the old city offers shelter.
In the days before the war, Morro Castle had an added interest to the traveler from the fact that behind its frowning guns and under the rocks on which it was built, were the cells of scores of sad prisoners, some of them for years in the dungeons, whose walls could tell secrets like those of the inquisition in Spain if they could but speak. Between Morro Castle and its neighbor across the way, La Punta, the vessels steam into that bay, foul with four hundred years of Spanish misrule and filth, where three hundred years of the slave trade centered, and into which the sewers of a great city poured their filth. Once inside the harbor, Cabana Castle frowns from the hills behind Morro, and on the opposite shore rise the buildings of the city itself.
The harbor always has been a busy one, for the commerce of the island and of the city has been large. In times of peace, scores of vessels lie at anchor in the murky waters. The American anchorage for mail steamers for years has been in the extremest part of the bay from the city of Havana itself, in order to avoid the contagion which was threatened by a nearer anchorage. Until the Maine was guided to her ill-fated station by the harbor master, it had been long since any American vessel had stopped in that part of the harbor.
The shallow harbor of Havana has its entrance from the ocean through a channel hardly more than three hundred yards wide, and nearly half a mile long, after which it broadens and ramifies until its area becomes several square miles. No fresh water stream, large or small, flows into it to purify the waters. The harbor entrance is so narrow, and the tides along that coast have so little rise and fall, that the level of water in the harbor hardly shows perceptible change day after day.
The result of this is that the constant inflow of sewage from the great city pouring into the harbor is never diluted, and through the summer is simply a festering mass of corruption, fronting the whole sea wall and throwing a stench into the air which must be breathed by everyone on shipboard. There is one part of the harbor known as "dead man's hole," from which it is said no ship has ever sailed after an anchorage of more than one day, without bearing the infection of yellow fever among its crew.
Along the shores of this very harbor are great warehouses for the sugar and tobacco shipped into the United States by the thousands of tons every year. To preserve our national health, our government has maintained an expensive marine hospital service and quarantine system along our southern ports which trade with Havana, in addition to supporting a marine hospital service under the eminent Dr. Burgess in Havana itself. To the rigid enforcement of this system, and the untiring vigilance of Dr. Burgess, must be credited the immunity which the United States has had from annual epidemics of yellow fever and smallpox.
The guilt of Spain in permitting this shocking condition to continue, cannot in any way be palliated. For four hundred years she has had sway in the island, free to work her own will, and drawing millions of dollars of surplus revenue out of the grinding taxes she has imposed. The installation of a sanitary system of sewage, which should discharge into the open sea instead of into this cesspool which lies at the city's feet, would have been the first solution of the difficulty. The threat of danger would have been finally averted by the expenditure of a few hundred thousand dollars, which would open a channel from the further extremity of the harbor to the ocean eastward. The distance is but a few miles and the engineering problem a simple one. This and the construction of a jetty northwestward from the point on which Morro Castle stands, would divert a portion of the current of the noble gulf stream into the harbor entrance, and the foul pond of to-day would be scoured of its filth by a perennial flood which could never fail.
Vera Cruz, on the Mexican coast, has proven that it is possible to exterminate yellow fever, and it is a duty owed to civilization that Havana shall follow along the same path. If all other excuses were to be ignored, the United States for years has had ample cause for intervention in Cuban affairs, as a measure of safety to the health of her own citizens, as truly as one man may complain to the authorities if his neighbor maintains a nuisance in the adjoining yard.
Once anchored in the safest place in the harbor, the mail steamers are surrounded without delay by a fleet of peculiar boats of a sort seen only in the bay of Havana. For a bit of silver, the traveler is taken ashore, the journey to the landing stage being a matter of but a few moments. The journey through the custom house is not a formidable one, for unless there is suspicion of some contraband goods, the customs officers are not exacting upon travelers. At the door of the custom house, or aduana, wait the cabs, which are cheaper in Havana than in any other city of the new world, and they serve as a conveyance to the hotels, which are all grouped in the same neighborhood.
The streets through which the traveler passes are picturesque, but hardly practical, from the American point of view. Some of them are so narrow that carriages cannot pass, and all traffic must go in one direction. Nearly all of the business streets have awnings extending from one side to the other, between the roofs, as a protection from the tropic sun. The sidewalks on some of the most pretentious streets are not wide enough for three persons to walk abreast, and on others two cannot pass. On every hand one gets the impression of antiquity, and antiquity even greater than the four hundred years of Spanish occupancy actually measures. Spanish architecture, however modern it may be, sometimes adds to that impression and one might believe himself, with little stretch of the imagination, to be in one of the ancient cities of the old world.
The streets are paved with blocks of granite and other stone, roughly cut and consequently exceedingly noisy, but upon these narrow streets front some shops as fine as one might expect to discover in New York or Paris. It is true that they are not large, but they do not need to be, for nearly all are devoted to specialties, instead of carrying stocks of goods of the American diversity. The one who wants to shop will not lack for temptations. The selection is ample in any line that may be named, the styles are modern and in exquisite taste, and altogether the shops are a considerable surprise to one who judges them first from the exterior. Stores devoted exclusively to fans, parasols, gloves, laces, jewels, bronzes, silks and the beautiful cloth of pineapple fiber known as nipe cloth, are an indication of the variety that may be found. The shoes and other articles of men's and women's clothing are nearly all direct importations from Paris, and where Parisian styles dominate one may be assured that the selection is not a scanty one. Clerks are courteous even to the traditional point of Castilian obsequiousness, and altogether a shopping expedition along this Obispo street is an experience to be remembered with pleasure.
You notice that everything is made to serve comfort and coolness. Instead of having panes of glass, the windows are open and guarded by light iron railings, and the heavy wooden doors are left ajar. You see into many houses as you pass along, and very cool and clean they look. There are marble floors, cane-seated chairs and lounges, thin lace curtains, and glimpses of courts in the center of each building, often with green plants or gaudy flowers growing in them between the parlor and the kitchen.
You find much the same plan at your hotel. You may walk in at the doors or the dining room windows just as you please, for the sides of the house seem capable of being all thrown open; while in the center of the building you see the blue sky overhead. Equally cool do all the inhabitants appear to be, and the wise man who consults his own comfort will do well to follow the general example. Even the soldiers wear straw hats. The gentlemen are clad in underwear of silk or lisle thread and suits of linen, drill or silk, and the ladies are equally coolly apparelled.
Havana is a dressy place, and you will be astonished at the neatness and style to which the tissue-like goods worn there are made to conform.
But come and see the apartment you are to rest in every night. Ten to one the ceiling is higher than you ever saw one in a private house, and the huge windows open upon a balcony overlooking a verdant plaza. The floor is of marble or tiling, and the bed is an ornate iron or brass affair, with a tightly stretched sheet of canvas or fine wire netting in place of the mattress you are used to. You could not sleep on a mattress with any proper degree of comfort in the tropics. There is a canopy with curtains overhead, and everything about the room is pretty certain to be scrupulously clean. Conspicuous there and everywhere else that you go is a rocking chair. Rocking chairs are to be found in the houses, and in regiments in the clubs.
Havana is the metropolis of the West Indies. It has more life and bustle than all the rest of the archipelago put together. If you are German, English, Scotch, Dutch, American, French or whatever you are, you will find fellow countrymen among its 250,000 souls. There is a public spirit there which is rare in these climes. The theaters astonish you by their size and elegance. The aristocratic club is the Union, but the popular one is the Casino Espanol, whose club house is a marvel of tropical elegance and beauty. Nearly all these attractions are on or near the broad, shady and imposing thoroughfare, the Prado—a succession of parks leading from the water opposite Morro Castle almost across the city.
In one or another of these parks a military band plays on three evenings of the week, and the scene on such occasions is wholly new to English eyes. It is at such times that one may see the beautiful Spanish and Cuban women. They do not leave their houses in the heat of the day unless something requires them to do so, and when they do they remain in their carriages, and are accompanied by a servant or an elderly companion. So strict is the privacy with which they are surrounded that you shall see them shopping without quitting their carriages, waited on by the clerks, who bring the goods out to the vehicles.
But when there is music under the laurels or palms the senoritas, in their light draperies, and wearing nothing on their heads save the picturesque mantilla of Old Spain, assemble on the paths, the seats, the sidewalks and in their carriages, and there the masculine element repairs and is very gallant, indeed.
Here you will listen to the dreamy melody of these latitudes, Spanish love songs and Cuban waltzes so softly pretty that you wonder all the world does not sing and play them. On other nights the walk or drive along the Prado is very interesting. You pass some of the most elegant of the houses, and notice that they are two stories high, and that the family apartments are on the upper stories, so that you miss the furtive views of the families at meals and of the ladies reclining in the broad-tiled window sills that you have in the older one-story sections of the city.
The Harbor of Matanzas—Sports of the Carnival—Santiago de Cubaand Its Beautiful Bay—Cardinas, the Commercial Center—EnormousExports of Sugar—The Beauties of Trinidad—Other Cities ofImportance.
The city of Havana may be said to stand in the same relation to Cuba that Paris does to France, for in it are centered the culture, the refinement, and the wealth of the island, but there are several other towns of considerable importance, and many of them have become places of interest since the struggle for liberty has attracted the attention of the civilized world.
Chief among these is Matanzas. This city, with a normal population of about 60,000, is situated fifty miles east of Havana, with which it is connected by rail and water. Its shipping interests are second only to those of the capital, as it is the outlet of many of the richest agricultural districts of the island.
The city is situated on the flats on both sides of the San Juan river, which brings down large quantities of mud and greatly impedes inland navigation. As an offset the bay is spacious, easy of access and sheltered from the violent gulf storms which prevail at some seasons. This makes the port a favorite with marine men. A large amount of money has been spent by the government to fortify and protect the city, and it has been connected by rail with all the principal towns and producing centers of the provinces. Thus it is a particularly favorite port of entry for all the supplies required in the plantations—food staples and machinery. Its exports consist principally of sugar, coffee, molasses, tobacco, honey, wax and fruits.
The city is built principally of masonry and in a most substantial manner, though little effort has been made to secure architectural beauty. The pride of the city is the new theater, which is pointed out as the handsomest building in Cuba. The Empresa Academy also takes rank equal with any for the excellence of its educational facilities.
There is no more charming spot in Cuba than Matanzas. The bay is like a crescent in shape, and receives the waters of the Yumuri and Matanzas rivers, two small unnavigable streams. A high bridge separates them. On this ridge back of the town stands a cathedral dedicated to the black virgin. It is a reproduction of a cathedral in the Balearic Islands. The view from its steeple is magnificent. Looking backward the valley of the Yumuri stretches to the right. It is about ten miles wide and sixty miles long, dotted with palms, and as level as a barn floor. The Yumuri breaks through the mountains near Matanzas bay something like the Arkansas river at Canon City. Carpeted with living green and surrounded with mountains this valley is one of the gems of Cuba.
About ten miles from Matanzas, on the left of the road, stand what are known as the Breadloaf Mountains. They rise from the plain like the Spanish peaks in Colorado. These mountains are the headquarters of General Betancourt, who commands the insurgents in the province. The Spaniards have offered $1,000 reward for his head. Several efforts have been made to secure it, but in all cases the would-be captor has lost his own head.
In accordance with the Weyler edict 11,000 reconcentrados were herded together at Matanzas, and within a year over 9,000 of them died in the city. In the Plaza, under the shadow of the Governor's residence, twenty-three people died from starvation in one day. The province of Matanzas is not larger in area than the state of Delaware, yet 55,000 people have perished from starvation and incident diseases since the order went into effect.
But all the people of Matanzas are not reconcentrados, and even in the midst of war's alarms they find time for amusement, as the following description of a carnival ball will prove:
"It was our good fortune to be in Matanzas during the last three days of the Carnival; and while the whole time was occupied by noisy processions and grotesque street masqueraders, the crowning ceremonies were on the last Sunday night. Then the whole town used every effort to wind up the season in a 'feu de joie' of pleasure and amusement. In almost every town of any importance there is an association of young men, generally known as 'El Liceo,' organized for artistic and literary purposes, and for social recreation. A fine large building is generally occupied by the association, with ample space for theatrical representations, balls, etc.; in addition to which there are billiard rooms, and reading rooms, adorned, probably with fine paintings. In Matanzas this association is known as 'El Liceo Artistico y Literario de Matanzas,' and is a particularly fine one, being composed of the elite of the city, with a fine large house, to which they made an addition by purchasing the 'Club,' beautifully situated upon the Plaza.
"Thanks to our letter of introduction, we were, through the kind offices of the members, permitted to enjoy the pleasures of their grand ball, called the 'Pinata,' which was indeed a very grand affair, attended by the beauty and fashion of Matanzas. The ball commenced at the seasonable hour of 8 o'clock in the evening; and at entering, each one was required to give up his ticket to a committee of managers, who thus had a kind of general inspection of all those admitted.
"The ball room was a long, large hall, at the other end of which was a pretty stage for theatrical representations; on each side of the room was an arched colonnade, over which were the galleries, where the band was posted. Hanged in double rows of chairs the full length of the room in front of the colonnade, sat hundreds of dark-eyed angels, calm, dignified, and appearing, most of them, to be mere lookers on; not a black coat among them. All of these, with the exception of a few courageous ones that were facing all this beauty, were huddled together at the other end of the room, wanting the courage (it could not be the inclination) to pay their respects to 'las Senoritas.'
"What is exactly the trouble in Cuba between the gentlemen and the ladies I never have been able to quite understand. The men are polished and gentlemanly, as a general thing—sufficiently intelligent, apparently; while the ladies are dignified and pretty. And yet I have never seen that appearance of easy and pleasant intercourse between the sexes which makes our society so charming.
"I am inclined to believe that it is the fault of custom, in a great degree, which surrounds women in Cuba with etiquette, iron bars and formality. This would seem to apply to the natives only, for nothing can be kinder, more friendly and courteous than the manners of the Cuban ladies to strangers, at least, judging from what is seen. It may be as a lady with whom I was arguing the point said: 'It is very different with strangers, Senor, and particularly with the Americans, who are celebrated for their chivalric gallantry to ladies.' Now I call that a very pretty national compliment.
"Taking the arm of my friend, we walk up and down to see, as he expresses it, 'who there is to be presented to,' and faith, if beauty is to be the test, it would seem to be a hard matter to make up one's mind, there is so much of it, but after a turn or two around the room, this form is gone through with, and one begins to feel at home and ready to enjoy one's self.
"When one finds ladies (and there are numbers) who have been educated abroad, either in the United States or Europe, he finds them highly accomplished and entertaining. Several that I had the pleasure of meeting on this and other occasions spoke French perfectly, some English, and one or two both of these in addition to their native tongue.
"But let us return to the ball, which is all the time going on with great eclat. It opens with the advent upon the stage of a dozen or more young men, under the direction of a leader, in some fancy costume very handsomely made, who, after making their bow to the audience, go through some novel kind of a dance. The performers take this means of filling up the intervals of the general dance, and amusing the audience.
"It is now getting late, and the rooms are terribly warm. The fans of the long rows of lovely sitters, who have not moved out of their places the whole evening, keep up a constant flutter, and one begins to sigh for a breath of fresh air, and relief from the discomforts of a full dress suit. But the grand affair of the evening is yet to come off, we are told, so we linger on, and are finally rewarded by the grand ceremony of the 'Pinata,' from which the ball takes its name. This word I can hardly give the meaning of as applied to this ceremony, which consists in having pendent from the ceiling a form of ribbands and flowers, the ribbands numbered and hanging from the flowery the rights to pull which are drawn like prizes in a lottery. Of these ribbands, one is fastened to a beautiful crown of flowers, which, when the ribband to which it is attached is pulled, falls into the hands of the lucky person, who has the privilege of crowning any lady he may deem worthy of the honor 'Queen of the Ball,' to whom every one is obliged to yield obedience, homage, and admiration. There is, also, the same opportunity afforded to the ladies to crown a king. The whole ceremony is pretty, and creates much merriment and amusement.
"This ceremony over, at midnight we sally out into the open air. But what a sight greets us there! Lights blaze in such profusion that it seems more than day. Music and dancing are everywhere. Songs and mirth have taken complete possession of the place, while people of all ages, sexes and colors are mixed together, in what seems inextricable confusion, intent upon having a good time in the open air while their masters and betters are doing the same thing under cover. This is a carnival sight indeed, and only to be seen in a tropical clime."
Approaching Cuba as Columbus did—across the narrow stretch of sea from San Domingo—you first sight the long, low promontory of the eastern tip, which the discoverer named Point Maysi. So different is the prospect from that seen at the other end of the island, as you come down in the usual route from New York or Florida, that you can hardly believe it is the same small country. From Maysi Point the land rises in sharp terraces, backed by high hills and higher mountains, all so vague in mist and cloud that you do not know where land ends and sky begins. Coming nearer, gray ridges are evolved, which look like cowled monks peering over each other's shoulders, with here and there a majestic peak towering far above his fellows—like the Pico Turquino, 11,000 feet above the sea. Sailing westward along this south shore, the "Queen of the Antilles" looks desolate and forbidding, as compared to other portions of the West Indies; a panorama, of wild heights and sterile shores, and surge-beaten cliffs covered with screaming sea birds. At rare intervals an opening in the rock-bound coast betrays a tiny harbor, bordered by cocoa palms, so guarded and concealed by hills, and its sudden revelation, when close upon it, astonishes you as it did the first explorer.
According to tradition, everyone of these was once a pirate's lair, in the good old days we read about, when "long, low, suspicious-looking craft, with raking masts," used to steal out from sheltered coves to plunder the unwary. Each little bay, whose existence was unknown to honest mariners, has a high wooded point near its entrance, where the sea robbers kept perpetual watch for passing merchantmen and treasure-laden galleons, their own swift-sailing vessels safe out of sight within the cove; and then, at a given signal out they would dart upon the unsuspecting prey like a spider from his web. Among the most notorious piratical rendezvous was Gauntanamo, which our warships are said to have shelled two or three times of late. In recent years its narrow bay, branching far inland like a river, has become of considerable consequence, by reason of a railway which connects it with Santiago, and also because the patriot army, hidden in the nearby mountains, have entertained hopes of overcoming the Spanish garrison and making it a base for receiving outside assistance. Before the war there were extensive sugar plantations in this city, now all devastated. The Cobre mountains, looming darkly against the horizon, are the great copper and iron range of Cuba, said to contain untold mineral wealth, waiting to be developed by Yankee enterprise. In earlier days $4,000,000 a year was the average value of Cuba's copper and iron exports; but in 1867 6,000,000 tons were taken out in less than ten months. Then Spain put her foot in it, as usual. Not content with the lion's share, which she had always realized in exorbitant taxes on the product, she increased the excise charges to such an extent as to kill the industry outright. For a long time afterward the ore lay undisturbed in the Cobre "pockets," until the attention of Americans was turned this way. Their first iron and copper claims in these mountains were recognized by the Cuban government about seventeen years ago. Three Yankee corporations have developed rich tracts of mining territory hereabouts, built railways from the coast to their works on the hills and exported, ore to the United States. The oldest of these companies employed 2,000 men, and had 1,600 cars and a fleet of twenty steamers for the transportation of its output. The Carnegie Company, whose product was shipped to Philadelphia, also employed upwards of a thousand men.
At last an abrupt termination of the stern, gray cliffs which mark this shore line indicates the proximity of Santiago harbor, and a nearer approach reveals the most picturesque fort or castle, as well as one of the oldest, to be found on the western hemisphere. An enormous rounding rock, whose base has been hollowed into great caverns by the restless Caribbean, standing just at the entrance of the narrow channel leading into the harbor, is carried up from the water's edge in a succession of walls, ramparts, towers and turrets, forming a perfect picture of a rock-ribbed fortress of the middle ages. This is the famous castle of San Jago, the Moro, which antedates the more familiar fortress of the same name in Havana harbor by at least a hundred years. Words are of little use in describing this antique, Moorish-looking stronghold, with its crumbling, honey-combed battlements, queer little flanking turrets and shadowy towers, perched upon the face of a dun-colored cliff 150 feet high—so old, so odd, so different from anything in America with which to compare it. A photograph, or pencil sketch is not much better, and even a paint brush could not reproduce the exact shadings of its time-worn, weather-mellowed walls—the Oriental pinks and old blues and predominating yellows that give it half its charm. Upon the lowermost wall, directly overhanging the sea, is a dome-shaped sentry box of stone, flanked by antiquated cannon. Above it the lines of masonry are sharply drawn, each guarded terrace receding upon the one next higher, all set with cannon and dominated by a massive tower of obsolete construction.
It takes a good while to see it all, for new stories and stairways, wings and terraces, are constantly cropping out in unexpected places, but as it occupies three sides of the rounding cliff and the pilot who comes aboard at the entrance to the channel guides your steamer close up under the frowning battlements, you have ample time to study it. Window holes cut into rock in all directions show how extensive are the excavations. A large garrison is always quartered here, even in time of peace, when their sole business is searching for shady places along the walls against which to lean. There are ranges above ranges of walks, connected by stairways cut into the solid rock, each range covered with lolling soldiers. You pass so near that you can hear them chattering together. Those on the topmost parapet, dangling their blue woolen legs over, are so high and so directly overhead that they remind you of flies on the ceiling.
In various places small niches have been excavated in the cliff, some with crucifixes, or figures of saints, and in other places the bare, unbroken wall of rock runs up, sheer straight 100 feet. Below, on the ocean side, are caves, deep, dark and uncanny, worn deep into the rock. Some of them are so extensive that they have not been explored in generations.
The broad and lofty entrances to one of them, hollowed by the encroaching sea, is as perfect an arch as could be drawn by a skillful architect, and with it a tradition is connected which dates back a couple of centuries. A story or two above these wave-eaten caverns are many small windows, each heavily barred with iron. They are dungeons dug into the solid rock, and over them might well be written, "Leave hope behind, ye who enter here!" A crowd of haggard, pallid faces are pressed against the bars; and as you steam slowly by, so close that you might speak to the wretched prisoners, it seems as if a shadow had suddenly fallen upon the bright sunshine, and a chill, like that of coming death, oppresses the heart. Since time out of mind, the Moro of Santiago has furnished dungeons for those who have incurred the displeasure of the government infinitely more to be dreaded than its namesake in Havana. Had these slimy walls a tongue, what stories they might reveal of crime and suffering, of tortures nobly undergone, of death prolonged through dragging years and murders that will not "out" until the judgment day.
Against that old tower, a quarter of a century ago our countrymen of the Virginius were butchered like sheep. Scores of later patriots have been led out upon the ramparts and shot, their bodies, perhaps, with life yet in them, falling into the sea, where they were snapped up by sharks as soon as they touched the water.
The narrow, winding channel which leads from the open sea into the harbor, pursues its sinuous course past several other fortifications of quaint construction, but of little use against modern guns—between low hills and broad meadows, fishing hamlets and cocoanut groves. Presently you turn a sharp angle in the hills and enter a broad, land-locked bay, inclosed on every side by ranges of hills with numerous points and promontories jutting into the tranquil water, leaving deep little coves behind them, all fringed with cocoa-palms. Between this blue bay and a towering background of purple mountains lies the city which Diego Velazquez, its founder, christened in honor of the patron saint of Spain, as far back as the year 1514. It is the oldest standing city in the new world, excepting Santo Domingo, which Columbus himself established only eighteen years earlier. By the way, San Jago, San Diego and Santiago, are really the same name, rendered Saint James in our language; and wherever the Spaniards have been are numbers of them. This particular city of Saint James occupies a sloping hillside, 600 miles southeast from Havana, itself the capital of a department, and ranks the third city of Cuba in commercial importance—Matanzas being second. As usual in all these southern ports, the water is too shallow for large vessels to approach the dock and steamers have to anchor a mile from shore. While waiting the coming of health or customs officials, these lordly gentlemen who are never given to undignified haste, you have ample time to admire the prospect, and if the truth must be told, you will do well to turn about without going ashore, if you wish to retain the first delightful impressions—for this old city of Spain's patron saint is one of the many to which distance lends enchantment.
Red-roofed buildings of stone and adobe entirely cover the hillside, with here and there a dome, a tower, a church steeple shooting upward, or a tell palm poking its head above a garden wall—the glittering green contrasting well with the ruddy tiles and the pink, gray, blue and yellow of the painted walls. In the golden light of a tropical morning it looks like an oriental town, between sapphire sea and turquoise mountains. Its low massive buildings, whose walls surround open courts, with pillared balconies and corridors, the great open windows protected by iron bars instead of glass, and roofs covered with earthen tiles—are a direct importation from Southern Spain, if not from further east. Tangiers, in Africa, is built upon a similar sloping hillside, and that capital of Morocco does not look a bit more Moorish than Santiago de Cuba. On the narrow strip of laud bordering the eastern edge of the harbor, the Moro at one end and the city at the other, are some villas, embowered in groves and gardens, which, we are told, belong mostly to Americans who are interested in the Cobre mines. The great iron piers on the right belong to the American mining companies, built for loading ore upon their ships.
Fifty miles east of Matanzas is the city of Cardinas, the last port of any consequence on the north coast of the island. It has a population of 25,000, and is the capital of a fertile district. It is one of the main outlets of Cuba's richest province, Matanzas, and is the great railroad center of the island, or, more properly speaking, it ought to be, as the railroads of the country form a junction fifteen miles inland, at an insignificant station called Jouvellenes.
In time of peace Cardinas enjoys a thriving business, particularly in sugar and molasses, its exports of the former sometimes amounting to 100,000 tons a year. To the west and south stretch the great sugar estates which have made this section of Spain's domain a prize to be fought for. The water side of the town is faced with long wharves and lined with warehouses, and its extensive railway depot would do credit to any metropolis.
There are a few pretentious public buildings, including the customs house, hospital and college. Its cobble paved streets are considerably wider than those of Havana, and have two lines of horse cars. There is gas and electric light, and more two-story houses than one is accustomed to see on the island.
But, notwithstanding the broad, blue bay in front, and the Paseo, whose tall trees seem to be touching finger tips across the road, congratulating each other on the presence of eternal summer, Cardinas is not an attractive town. One misses the glamor of antiquity and historic interest which pervades Havana, Matanzas and Santiago, and feels somehow that the town is new without being modern, young but not youthful.
Puerto Principe, or to give it its full name in the Spanish tongue, Santa Maria de Puerto Principe, is the capital of the Central department, and is situated about midway between the north and south coasts, 305 miles southeast of Havana, and forty-five miles southwest of Nuevitas, its port, with which it is connected by railroad. Its population is about 30,000 and it is surrounded by a rich agricultural district, the chief products of which are sugar and tobacco. The climate is hot, moist and unhealthy. It was at one time the seat of the supreme court of all the Spanish colonies in America.
One of the most attractive cities of Cuba is Trinidad, which lies near the south coast, three miles by rail from the port of Casildas. It is beautifully situated on high land overlooking the sea, and on account of its mild and very equable climate it is a favorite resort for tourists and invalids.
Nuevitas, Sancti Espiritu, Baracoa and Cienfuegos are all centers of population with many natural advantages, and with a just form of government, and the advent of American enterprise and capital, they might become prosperous, attractive, and of great commercial importance.