'As I am about to visit La Cachita for dental purposes only,' says the considerate gentleman, 'you shall on this occasion act as my practicante.'
Early next morning we are on the threshold of the sacred ground. Don Francisco boldly enters the stone ante-chamber, which I have so often timidly approached, and taps with a firm knuckle on the torno.
'Ave Maria Purísima!' murmurs the door-keeper from behind.
'Pecador de mí!' (sinner as I am) replies the practised Don.
'Que se ofrece usted?' (what is your pleasure?) inquires the voice. And when the dentist has satisfied the door-keeper's numerous demands, a spring door flies open, and we step into a narrow passage. Here we remain for some moments, while our persons are carefully identified through a perforated disc. Then another door opens, the mysterious door-keeper appears and conducts us into the very core of the convent. As we look over the convent garden, which is tastefully laid out with tropical plants and kitchen stuff, a thickly veiled nun approaches us. The lady seems to be on familiar terms with the dentist, whom she addresses in a mild, soothing tone, as if she were administering words of comfort to a sick person. We follow her through a narrow corridor, where I observe numerous doors, which I am told give access to the apartments or cells occupied by the convent inmates. We pass a chamber where children's voices are heard. There is a school attached to the convent, for the benefit of those who desire their offspring to receive religious instruction from the nuns. Music and fancy needlework are also taught, and some of the distressed damsels, who, like Cachita, are undergoing a term of conventual imprisonment for similar offences, impose upon themselves a mild form of hard labour by assisting to improve the infant mind. Cachita, who is a good musician, takes an active part in this branch of education.
At last we are ushered into a gloomy, white-washed apartment (everything in the convent appears to be of wood and whitewash), where our guide takes leave of us.
While the dentist, assisted by his practicante, is arranging his implements for tooth-stopping on a deal table, which, together with a couple of wooden chairs, constitute the furniture of this cheerless chamber, an inner door is thrown open, and a couple of nuns, attired in sombre black, enter with Don Francisco's fair patient. Cachita is dressed in spotless white, a knotted rope suspended from her girdle, and a yellowish veil affixed in such a manner to her brow as to completely conceal her hair, which, simple practicante though I be, I know is dark, soft, and frizzled at the top. Her pretty face is pale, and already wears (or seems to wear) the approved expression of monastic resignation.
At Don Francisco's suggestion, I carefully conceal my face while Cachita seats herself between the sentinel nuns.
The dentist, with a presence of mind which I emulate but little, commences his business of tooth-stopping, pausing in his work to exchange a few friendly words with his patient and the amicable nuns. Hitherto my services have not been in requisition; but anon the subject of the tooth-powder is introduced.
Will La Cachita allow the dentist to recommend her a tooth-powder of his own preparation?
Cachita is in no immediate need of such an article, but the dentist is persuasive, and the young lady is prevailed upon to give the powder a trial.
'You will derive much benefit from its use,' observes Don Francisco. 'My assistant' (and here the cunning tooth-stopper, being close to his patient's ear, whispers my name) 'will bring it you presently.'
'What ails la Niña?' inquires one of the nuns, bending forward; for Cachita has uttered a cry, and swooned away.
'Nothing, señora,' says Don Francisco with the same sang-froid already noted. 'Only a nerve which I have accidentally excited in my operation. She will be better presently.'
The dentist desires me to bring him a certain bottle, and with the contents of this, his patient is soon restored to consciousness.
'Keep her head firm,' says my artful friend, addressing me with a faint smile on his countenance, 'while I put the finishing touches to my work.'
I obey; and though my hands are far from being as steady as an assistant's should be, I acquit myself creditably.
Cachita's mouth is again open to facilitate the dentist's operations, but also, as it seems to me, in token of surprise at the apparition now bending over her.
'You will find much relief in the use of this tooth-powder,' continues my friend, in a careless tone, as though nothing had happened. 'Very strengthening to the gums. When you have got to the bottom of the box—just open your mouth a little wider—when you have got to the bottom of the box—where' (he whispers) 'you will find a note—I will send you another.'
Cachita, by this time accustomed to my presence, can now look me fearlessly in the face with those expressive eyes of hers, which I can read so well, and before the dentist's operations are over, we have contrived, unobserved, to squeeze hands on three distinct occasions.
Assured by this means of my lover's constancy, I now take my leave of her, and, advised by my friends, patiently await the term of her convent captivity, which expires, as I have already stated, in four months and three weeks.
Upwards of three of these months elapse and I hear nothing more of the fair recluse, and during that long interval many strange and unexpected events transpire as to the 'Ever-faithful Isle.'
A CRUISE IN THE WEST INDIES.
Cuban Telegraphy—TheNew York Trigger—News from Porto Rico—A day in Porto Rico—Don Felipe—A Mail Agent—Coasting—Aguadilla—Mayagüez—Santo Domingo—Sight-seeing—Telegraphic News.
There has been a sad dearth of news in the tropics for many long months. The war of Santo Domingo is at an end. The great hurricane at St. Thomas has passed into oblivion. The rising of negroes in Jamaica is forgotten. The civil war in Hayti is suspended for the nineteenth time. Not so much as a shipwreck is afloat; even the yellow fever is on the wane, and not a single case of cholera has been quoted. The people of the tropics are enjoying a delightful and uninterrupted repose, and the elements and climate are perfectly inoffensive. It seems as if our part of the world had sunk into a delicious paradise, and that my services on behalf of theNew York Triggerwould be for the future dispensed with.
I am, shortly, recalled to my journalistic duties by the arrival of some 'startling' news from Porto Rico. An insurrection has broken out in the interior of that island, where the inhabitants have planted what they call their 'flag of freedom,' intimating their intention to rebel against their Spanish rulers.
This is food for theTrigger, and I hasten to prepare it daintily, for transmission by telegraph.
At the office of the telegraph, I meet the American consul's secretary. Now, as I know that that gentleman is connected with theCentral Press of Havana, I conclude that he is upon the same errand as myself. In the interests of theNew York Trigger, it is therefore my duty now to forestall the secretary, by forwarding my news before he has had time to dispatch his.
The secretary is at the telegraph table scribbling at a rapid rate, and you may be sure he does not slacken his speed when he becomes conscious of the presence of the formidable agent of theNew York Trigger! Only one instrument is used for telegraphic purposes, so he whose telegram is first handed to the clerk is first to be served by that functionary.
The system of telegraphy—like every other system in Cuba—is supervised by the Spanish administration. Every telegram must be submitted to the authorities before it is dispatched, in case anything treasonable or offensive to the government should enter into its composition. The dispatch being approved of, it is returned to the telegraph office and transmitted in the usual manner. The sender is, however, obliged to pay for his message in paper stamps, and these must be affixed to the document; but under no circumstances is he permitted to make his payments in Spanish coin.
This paper money—which in form resembles postage-stamps—cannot be obtained at the telegraph office, but must be purchased at the 'Colecturía,' a certain government establishment in another part of the town. Thus, the unfortunate individual who happens to be unprovided with sufficient stamps, is often at a standstill.
By a miracle, my important news from Porto Rico is ready for transmission as soon as that of my rival, the American secretary; but, unfortunately, that gentleman is before me in presenting his document to the telegraph clerk. The latter examines the message carefully to see that nothing is wanting, when, to my great joy, he returns it with the remark, that the indispensable stamps have not been affixed!
My rival is aghast, and offers to pay in golden doubloons; but the official is not to be bribed—especially before a witness—so the American secretary, who is unprovided with stamps, has no other alternative but to go in quest of them.
Meanwhile I, whose pocket-book is full of the precious paper-money, hand in my message, which the clerk accepts, and in my presence ticks off to Havana. From thence it will proceed by submarine cable to the coast of Florida, where, after being duly translated into English, it will be transmitted to New York, and to-morrow, if all goes well, it will appear in the columns of theNew York Trigger.
On my way to a neighbouring café for refreshment after my labours, I gather from a printed placard on a wall of the governor's palace, some further particulars concerning the rebellion:—
'The Spanish troops have had an encounter with the insurgents, and utterly routed them, with a loss, on the Spanish side, of one man killed and three slightly wounded. The enemy's losses are incalculable!'
This piece of intelligence, of course, proceeds from government sources, and is therefore doubtful; but all is fish that comes to my journalistic net, so I return to the telegraph office, and give theTriggerthe benefit of the doubt.
In the course of the day, I obtain the rebel version of the fight:—
'A great battle has been fought between thePatriotsand the Spaniards, in which the latter were forced to retreat with considerable losses.'
Twenty-three words more for theTrigger.
The revolution spreads; the news circulates, and every mail steamer from Porto Rico brings correspondence for me from the agent in that island. Day by day theNew York Triggeris filled with telegrams and editorial paragraphs about the revolution in the Spanish colony; and that widely circulating newspaper is often in advance, and never behind, its contemporaries with 'latest intelligence from the seat of war.'
At length a fatal piece of news reaches us.
Afraid lest the revolutionary mania should infect our town, the Spanish authorities have subjected the mail bags from Porto Rico to an epistolary quarantine; in other words, all our correspondence is overhauled at the post-office, and any document bearing upon the revolution is confiscated.
The central agent in Havana of theNew York Triggeris beside himself when he finds that no more telegrams and news-letters are forthcoming, and reminds me, per wire, of my duties. It is in vain to assure him of the true state of affairs, and of my inability to supply him with the dearly coveted 'intelligence.' He will not believe that my resources for information are as limited as I represent them to be. One day I receive a mighty telegram from him, acquainting me with the fact that a contemporary of theTriggerhas actually published some 'startling' news from the seat of war!
This fearful announcement is shortly followed by another dispatch to the following effect:—
'If you cannot obtain the news required by remaining in Santiago, leave immediately for Principe (our alias for Porto Rico). If no steamer is ready, charter a sailing vessel. Collect all the information you can in detail, and return without loss of time. N.B. Spare no expense. The "Gatillo" (Spanish for "Trigger") thirsts for particulars.'
As no steamer is announced to sail before another week, I take the other alternative, and charter a small sailing vessel.
I land in due time at Porto Rico. I seek our agent, Don Felipe, and after some trouble, I find him—in jail! He is a native of the village near the scene of the outbreak, and for some mysterious reason has been arrested 'on suspicion.'
Assisted by the English and American consuls, to whom I have letters of introduction, and using theTrigger'sdollars for the pockets of the officials, I ultimately succeed in procuring the agent's release. Don Felipe then produces press copies of certain communications which he had dispatched by the last mail steamers, but which had been intercepted at the Cuban post-office, and, after inviting me to lunch at one of the finest cafés I have ever had the pleasure of entering, he accompanies me over the town, where we collect the latest particulars respecting the insurrection.
San Juan de Puerto Rico is a fine city. The houses are three and four stories high, and are constructed after the American fashion. The streets are wide and symmetrically arranged. The roads are all paved and hilly. Every street leads to a fort, a gun and a sentry; and, in some cases, to high cliffs with an extensive view of the open sea. In short, San Juan is a strongly-fortified place. Everything is very clean, very new, and very modern looking. The cathedral is a noble edifice, and the theatre is in every way equal to the best buildings of the kind in Europe.
Crossing an open square, in which appear a number of bronze statues, Don Felipe conducts me back to the café, where we partake of refreshment, and arrange the various items of news which we have collected during our afternoon's ramble over the town.
Don Felipe advises me to dispatch the frail bark which had brought me from Cuba, and return by the mail steamer which has just arrived from St. Thomas, and is announced to sail for Cuba early next morning. As this is by far the speediest way of getting home, I follow my friend's advice, and accept his invitation to repose for the night at his humble dwelling.
The rest of the day and evening is passed very agreeably.
The British consul—a fine military-looking old fellow—invites me to dine with him and his charming family. It is pleasant to speak and hear spoken one's native tongue again, after being comparatively deaf and dumb in that language for nearly five years. It is still more delightful to feel at home with one's countrymen and countrywomen in a strange land, and thus, when I take leave of my hospitable English host and his family, I sincerely regret, with them, the brevity of my visit.
I rise at a very early hour next morning, and, accompanied by Don Felipe, I take my passage on board the 'Pájaro del Oceano,' that being the name of the steamer which is to convey me to Cuba.
The naval agent of the English mail company, who is a young Cuban named Fernandez, salutes me as I embark, for we had been slightly acquainted with one another in Santiago. Before taking leave of Don Felipe, I introduce him to the mail agent, for by the latter's means I hope for the future to ensure the safe delivery of my dispatches from Porto Rico and other islands. Don Fernandez touches at the port of Santiago at least once a month, and if he can be pressed into theTrigger'sservice, he will be invaluable to that newspaper.
The mail agent has a compartment on board all to himself, and invites me to occupy one of the comfortable berths which it contains. He is in other ways so civil and obliging, that his company is altogether most congenial during the voyage, and before our arrival in Cuba, we have become the closest of friends.
I am alarmed to find that our steamer will touch at other ports before reaching its destination; but Fernandez assures me that the voyage will occupy much less time than it would if it were made in a sailing vessel, especially in the present somewhat stormy weather. In short, if all goes well, we shall sight the Morro Castle in less than five days.
In sorting his correspondence, the mail agent discovers some important missives addressed to me. These, which he kindly hands to me, I find come from theTrigger'sagents in St. Thomas, Jamaica, and other islands; and contain some interesting intelligence respecting the projected purchase by the United States of the Bay of Samana, together with the particulars of an earthquake near Callao, a scheme for a floating dock at Kingston, Jamaica, and other topics equally interesting to Americans. These matters, together with my Porto Rico news, I proceed to arrange in concise form, for immediate dispatch by telegraph, on my arrival at Santiago.
Friend Fernandez very much excites my curiosity by exhibiting the mail bags from Southampton. One of these bags is labelled 'Havana,' the other 'Santiago de Cuba,' and as they contain the correspondence from Europe, doubtless letters and newspapers addressed to me and Nicasio Rodriguez y Boldú are among the number. But the mouths of both sacks—which makemymouth 'water'—are securely tied and sealed, and the mail agent dares not venture to open them, until they have been deposited at the Cuban post-office.
On the evening of the following day we land in a boat at Aguadilla—a small watering-place on the coast of Porto Rico. The village is represented by a row of tumble-down houses and a scattering of picturesque negro huts. While my companion confers with the postal agent of Aguadilla, I occupy the time by a saunter through the quiet, primitive streets, picking up here and there from a communicative native scraps of news concerning the insurrection, which I learn is now very much on the wane.
The business of the mail agent being over, we return to our steamer, where, after partaking of a hearty meal—in spite of wind and weather—we turn into our snug berths and chat and smoke our cigarettes till sleep overtakes us.
We awake early next morning to find that we have already anchored off Mayagüez.
Mayagüez is an important sea-side town on the Porto Rico coast, and is surrounded by the loveliest tropical scenery that I have yet beheld in the West Indies. One long, broad and perfectly level street runs in a direct line from the quay to the confines of the town. Branching off from this formidable thoroughfare are a few narrow streets which terminate in small rivers and streams, across which innumerable little bridges are thrown.
As we are destined to halt at this delightful spot for several hours, we make the most of our time. After calling upon our vice-consul—who is also the English postal agent, and has an office in one of the numerous warehouses which face the quay—and after having partaken of some refreshment at a café, my companion and I hail a quaint dilapidated vehicle of the fly species and drive throughthestreet of the town. This street beginning with shops, continues with tall private dwellings, which, in turn, are succeeded by pretty villas, till the open country suddenly appears.
I am amazed to find that for our drive through the town, half a mile beyond it and back again, we are charged the astonishingly modest fare of two-pence half-penny!
We have embarked again and are off to Santo Domingo, where we land on the following day.
Santo Domingo—the capital of the island of that name—is an antiquated city, with brown, sombre-looking stone houses intermingled with quaint towers and gateways, tropical trees, shrubbery and ruins. We reach the city in a small boat, passing up a long river called the Ozana, and after Don Fernandez has deposited his mail bags at the post-office, we wander over the town. My companion knows every part of it well, having, as he tells me, visited it at least twice a month for the past three years. Acting, therefore, as a cicerone, he conducts me through the Calle del Comercio, which is the principal street in the city, but which has a very dismal and deserted aspect. The cathedral is an ancient building, and has resisted wind, weather, earthquake, and revolution for upwards of three hundred years. The interior is full of interest for the artist and the antiquarian, containing, among other objects, the first mausoleum of Christopher Columbus. Don Fernandez tells me that the remains of the great discoverer were originally brought from Spain and deposited here, and that they were afterwards transferred to the cathedral of Havana, where they at present repose.
On our way from the cathedral we meet a number of coloured officials belonging to the republic; and for the first time in my experience, I behold a negro policeman! We pause before an old picturesque archway where a sentry is on guard. The sentry is a black youth of not more than eighteen Dominican summers. His uniform consists of a ragged shirt, brown holland trousers, and a broad Panama hat. He has apparently an easy life of it, for his musket reposes in a corner of the gateway, while he himself is seated, half dozing, on a big stone!
After inspecting the quaint old market-place, together with an ancient Franciscan monastery called La Forsza, the 'Well of Columbus,' and other interesting 'sights,' Don Fernandez warns me that the hour for our departure is near. I accordingly accompany him to the office of the English consul, where he has to receive the mail bags of Santo Domingo. We have to wait some time at the consul's office, for important dispatches from President Baez. I devote the time which elapses before these dispatches appear, to a little business on behalf of theNew York Trigger. There is, however, scarcely any news of importance to be obtained. Since the war of Santo Domingo, the inhabitants have enjoyed an uninterrupted peace, and with the exception of a few petty squabbles with their neighbours, the Haytiens, and the projected purchase of the Bay of Samana, nothing eventful has transpired in the island.
The President's dispatches having arrived, we take leave of the consul and the company assembled, and, under the escort of a torn and tattered negro porter bearing the mail bags, reach the quay. Passing through the custom-house, which is represented by a roof and eight posts, we embark in our little canoe, and gliding over the waters of the river Ozana, which skirts the town, reach our steamer.
In rather more than forty-eight hours the Morro Castle is sighted, and in due course I land once again at the Pearl of the Antilles.
The various items of information collected during my cruise being already carefully prepared for telegraphic purposes, I repair without loss of time to the telegraph office.
Behold me safely seated in the scribbling department of that establishment, rejoicing in the fact that I am the sole occupant of the apartment. From the perfect quiet which reigns in the operating room, I conclude that the clerks are not very busy, and that they are prepared to 'wire' any number of words which I may present to them. I have no dread of competition, at least for the present; for even if my rival correspondents should have received news by the same steamer which brought me, I know from experience, that some hours must necessarily elapse before it can be in a condition for telegraphing.
With a triumphant smile, I seize a quire of printed telegraph forms, and proceed to copy in 'a clear, bold hand' from my notes.
Now to astonish theTrigger, and all whom my abundant information may concern!
I have scarcely finished my first instalment of news, when a telegraph messenger taps me on the shoulder and staggers me with the information, that in consequence of a serious interruption in the line of communication with Havana, the operations of the telegraph are for the present suspended!
Then I learn for the first time that a great revolution has broken out in Spain, and that, despite the precautions of the governor of our town, the revolutionary mania has seized the natives of Cuba, many of whom have already risen in arms not many leagues from Santiago! Among other achievements, the rebellious party have cut the telegraph wires and intercepted the land mails.
There are no railways in direct communication with Havana, and the postal service is effected by means of mounted carriers. Thus the speediest ways for conveying news to Havana are cut off, and there is no other resource but the tardy steamer. I accordingly return without delay to the 'Pájaro del Oceano,' which is to sail for Havana in three hours' time, and finding my good friend Don Fernandez on board, I secretly hand him my big budget of news, begging him by all the saints in the calendar to deliver the same into the hands of the Havana agent.
I am afraid to think what effect this further delay will have upon theNew York Trigger! Still it may be some consolation for the enterprising proprietor of that newspaper if he find that his contemporaries are suffering from the same complaint.
A STATE OF SIEGE IN CUBA.
A Cuban Newspaper Office—Local Intelligence—The Cuban Revolution—Spanish Volunteers—A Recruit—With Bimba—- 'Los Insurrectos'—At a Fire—Cuban Firemen.
'We are in a state of siege!' says my friend, Don Javier, editor of a Cuban periodical calledEl Sufragio Universâl.
'Y bien, amigo mio; how does the situation affect you?'
'Malisísimamente!' returns Don Javier, offering me a seat at his editorial table. 'The maldito censor,' he whispers, 'has suppressed four columns of to-day's paper; and there remains little in the way of information, besides the feuilleton, some advertisements, and a long sonnet addressed to 'Lola' on the occasion of her saint's day, by an amorous Pollo-poet.
The weather is sultry and oppressive. The huge doors and windows ofEl Sufragio Universâloffice are thrown wide open. Everybody is dressed in a coat of white drill, a pair of white trousers, is without waistcoat, cravat, or shirt-collar, wears a broad-brimmed Panama, and smokes a long damp cigar.
The sub-editor—a lean, coffee-coloured person, with inky sleeves—is seated at a separate table making up columns for to-morrow's 'tirada,' or impression. Before him is a pile of important news from Puerto Rico and San Domingo, besides a voluminous budget from that indefatigable correspondent, Mr. Archibald Cannie, of Jamaica. More than half of this interesting news has been already marked out by the censor's red pencil, and the bewildered sub looks high and low for material wherewith to replenish the censorial gaps. Small, half-naked negroes, begrimed with ink—veritable printer's devils—appear and crave for 'copy,' but in vain.
'Give out the foreign blocks,' says the editor, in the tone of a commander.
The foreign blocks are stereotyped columns, supplied by American quacks and other advertisers to every newspaper proprietor throughout the West Indies. On account of their extreme length and picturesque embellishments, these advertisements are used only in cases of emergency.
While the foreign blocks are being dispensed, the 'localista,' or general reporter, enters in breathless haste. He has brought several fragments of local information. Four runaway negroes have been captured by the police. Two English sailors have died of yellow fever in the Casa de Salud. A coolie has stabbed another coolie at the copper mines, and has escaped justice by leaping into an adjacent pit. A gigantic cayman, or shark, has been caught in the harbour. The localista has also some items of news about the Cuban insurrection. The rebels have increased in numbers. They have occupied all the districts which surround our town, destroyed the aqueduct, cut the telegraph wire, and intercepted the land mails to Havana. There is now no communication with the capital, save by sea. Troops have again been dispatched to the interior, but their efforts have proved ineffectual. Upon their appearance, the rebels vanish into the woods and thickets, and there exhaust the patience and the energy of the military.
The sub-editor notes everything down, taking care to eschew that which is likely to prove offensive to the sensitive ears of the authorities. The material is then given out for printing purposes; for his worship the censor will read nothing until it has been previously set up in type. As many hours will elapse before the proof sheets are returned with censorial corrections, Don Javier proposes a saunter through the town.
On the way, Don Javier entertains me with an account of the revolution.
'The first grito de independencia,' says he, 'took place on October the tenth (1868), at La Demajagua—an ingenio, or sugar estate, belonging to Don Carlos Manuel Cespedes, a wealthy Cuban planter and a distinguished advocate. One hundred and forty-seven men, armed with forty-five fowling-pieces, four rifles and a few pistols and machetes, constituted the rebellious band which, under Señor Cespedes' leadership, had ventured to raise the standard of independence. Two days after, their numbers were increased to 4,000.
'When our governor was first told that a party of Cubans had risen in open revolt, not many leagues from our town, he publicly proclaimed that the rebellious band consisted of a small crowd of "descamisados," or ragged vagrants, and runaway negroes, whom a dozen policemen could easily disperse. In spite of this pretended indifference, he nevertheless thought fit to communicate with the Captain-General of Havana. That mighty functionary thought more seriously of the outbreak; he was perfectly aware of the heavy taxes which had been imposed upon the inhabitants of our island; of the state of ruin into which many of our leading planters had been thrown by these taxes; and conscious also of the oppression and despotism which had been exercised over our colony during the reign of the lately dethroned Queen of Spain, he doubtless calculated that the revolutionary mania inaugurated in the Mother Country would naturally be imitated in the Loyal and Ever-faithful Isle. But whatever may have been his speculations, certain it is that as soon as he heard of the rebellious movement, he telegraphed to our governor, commanding him to dispatch to the scene of the outbreak as many troops as could be safely spared from the garrison at Santiago. Meanwhile, he himself dispatched a battalion of tried warriors from the capital.
'Before our apathetic governor had had time to obey the orders of his chief, an encounter had already taken place at Yara, in the district of Manzanillo, between some of the rebels and a column of the Crown regiment who were quartered at the town of Bayamo.
'Our governor was now alive to the gravity of the situation, and in due course began to take what he called "active measures." Following the example set by the governor of Manzanillo, he declared our town in a state of siege; and you will now have an opportunity of judging for yourself what a siege in Cuba is like.'
The usual military precautions against assault on an unfortified place have been taken. The entrances to the streets have been barricaded with huge hogsheads containing sand and stones; small cannon stand in the plaza and principal thoroughfares. At every corner that we turn, we are accosted by a sentry, who challenges us three times over: 'Who goes there?' 'Spain.' 'What kind of people?' 'Inoffensive.' And so forth. The theatre, the bull-ring, the promenade, are all closed for the season. The masquerading and carnival amusements are at an end. Payments have been suspended, and provisions have become scarce and dear. The people whom we meet have grown low-spirited, and the sunny streets look gloomy and deserted. We glance in at the warehouses and manufactories, and find everybody within attired in military costume; for many of the inhabitants have enrolled themselves as volunteers for the pleasure of wearing a uniform at their own expense, and of sporting a rifle provided by the government. The names of those who object to play at soldiers have been noted down, and their proceedings are narrowly watched.
The Plaza de Armas is crowded with volunteers; their uniform consists of a blue and white striped blouse, white drill trousers, and a Panama hat, to the band of which is attached a vermilion-coloured cockade embellished with silver lace. The majority of these amateur warriors are Catalan shopkeepers, and clerks from Spanish warehouses.
Don Javier tells me that these gentlemen, together with the Havana volunteers, represent a very formidable army; and that in the event of affairs taking a more serious turn, the volunteers would take an active part in the hostilities.
'The Catalan shopkeepers,' says Don Javier, 'are even more interested than Spain in preserving our colony under its present administration.'
'Under a more just and humane government, together with the abolition of slavery, these traders would be considerable losers; for most of them are large slave-owners, and enjoy certain mercantile privileges, which would be denied them under a new policy.'
I remind Don Javier that these said Catalans are after all Spaniards born, and that, whatever their private object may be, for patriotic reasons it seems only natural that they should desire to maintain order in the Spanish colony.
'No muy! not a bit of it,' says my friend; 'they are not prompted by any feeling of patriotism. They have been too long estranged from their home at Barcelona, and love Cuba and her rich resources too much, to make that a consideration. I have heard them say that they would take up arms against their own government, rather than that Cuba should enjoy the privileges to which I have alluded.'
While we are conversing, a couple of volunteers approach and salute us.
One of them is my friend Bimba, who tells me that he has enlisted, partly for the 'fun' of wearing a uniform, and partly to ensure himself against arrest.
'Well, Don Javier,' says he,'are you not one of us yet? And you too, Don Gualterio, surely you will help to protect our town?'
I plead, as an excuse, my nationality.
'Que caramba!' exclaims Bimba; 'why, your countryman, the clerk in B—— 's warehouse, is a volunteer; and so are the S—— 's from the German house in the Calle de la Marina.'
Don Javier observes that our numerous duties prevent us from joining the corps.
'Car! Que duties y duties?' says Bimba; 'business is slack with all of us now. You, Don Javier, will have an easy time of it, notwithstanding your trade of news-disseminator; for you know, only "official" accounts of the war are fit for publication in your paper! As for you, amigo Gualterio, there will be no more triumphal arches wanted for the present; and no more "monos" (portraits) of defunct people, till the revolution is over, and then I have no doubt there will be more than enough to occupy you and your partner Nicasio! The theatre, too, is closed until further notice, so there will be no more theatricals.'
Leaving Don Javier to chat with the other volunteer, I withdraw with Bimba to a quiet corner of the square and converse with him in private.
Bimba is one of the favoured few who is aware of my connection with an American newspaper, because, for obvious reasons, I have always been careful to preserve my incognito. Now, more than ever, it behoves me to adopt this precaution.
As a blind to the authorities and in order to facilitate my journalistic operations, Bimba suggests that I should join the volunteers. He tells me that our governor has signified his intention to make another sally with the troops, and that he has invited some of the volunteers to accompany the expedition. Enrolled as a volunteer, my friend says that it will not be difficult to obtain permission to follow with others in the rear of the Spanish regulars, and that by so doing I shall be able to 'report progress.'
Our mutual friend Tunicú has not yet enlisted, I find.
'That gentleman is otherwise engaged,' says Bimba; 'his leisure moments are occupied at the house of his uncle Don Benigno, in the enjoyment of the society of his little mulatto-lady, who is, as you know, Don Benigno's adopted daughter.'
'What! the pretty Ermiña?' I exclaim; 'why, she is a mere child!'
'She was a child five years ago, when you and your partner were the Don's guests,' says Bimba. 'Now Ermiña is a grown woman of fifteen tropical summers.'
'There is some mystery connected with that young lady,' I observe; 'and I have never yet been able to fathom it. Can you enlighten me?'
'Not much,' returns Bimba; 'I strongly suspect—but let us not talk scandal in these warlike times. I only know that Ermiña is a remarkably white mulatto of the octoroon class; that she has been educated like a lady; and that she is the bosom companion of Don Benigno's daughters.'
My curiosity being aroused, I resolve to probe Tunicú on the subject of his affaire de cœur, at our next meeting.
Meanwhile I adopt friend Bimba's suggestion and enroll myself in his corps, and, with others, obtain permission to accompany the troops on their expedition.
Some days, however, elapse before our feeble-minded governor can make up his mind to the sally. A couple of Spanish frigates lie at anchor in the harbour, in readiness to bombard the town if the rebels should effect an entrance and stir up the inhabitants, their countrymen, to revolt. The garrison has been considerably augmented by the arrival of fresh troops from Puerto Rico and Spain, who are quartered indiscriminately in the jail, the hospitals, and churches, to expire there by the score of yellow fever, vómito negro, and dysentery. Meanwhile the besiegers make no attempt at assault, but occasionally challenge the troops to sally from their stronghold by firing their sporting rifles within earshot of the town.
Several foreign vessels of war are stationed in the bay ready, if necessary, to assist the foreign residents of the town. Among these vessels are the American war steamer 'Penobscot' and H.B.M.'s steam-ship the 'Eclipse;' the latter having been summoned from Port Royal, Jamaica, by the English vice-consul of Santiago.
One day a great panic is raised, with cries of' Los insurrectos! Los insurrectos!' followed by a charge of mounted military through the streets. It is reported that the insurgents are coming; so everybody hastens home, and much slamming of doors and barring of windows is heard. But the alarm proves a false one; and, with the exception of a few arrests made by the police, just to keep up appearances, no further damage results.
One memorable night, shortly after the inhabitants have retired, the terrible cry of 'fire!' is heard throughout the town, and a report spreads that the insurgents have at last effected an entrance, and set fire to several houses.
Sure enough, from the roof of our studio, Nicasio and I witness what, at our distance, seems to be the burning of Santiago de Cuba! The sky is black with smoke, and from the centre of the town broad flames mount high into the air. Verily, part of Santiago is in flames, but the cause of the conflagration is—as we afterwards find—in no way connected with the insurrection.
A 'panaderia' (baker's shop) and a linen-draper's warehouse, called 'El Globo,' owned by Catalans, have both caught fire by accident. Under ordinary circumstances, the disaster would not have created any other alarm than that which usually accompanies such a rare event as a fire in Cuba. But having connected its origin with the pending revolution, the town is thrown into a state of extreme panic, and until the truth is made manifest, the greatest confusion prevails. Mounted guards and policemen—armed to the teeth—charge through the streets in all directions, and the volunteers turn out en masse and congregate in large numbers before the scene of the conflagration in the Plaza de Dolores.
Even the foreign consuls share for the moment in the popular apprehension. Their national flags are seen to flutter over their respective consulates, and a few well-armed marines from the 'Penobscot' and 'Eclipse' war-steamers are despatched by the captains of these vessels for the protection of the American and English residents. Passing the British consulate on our way to the Plaza de Dolores, we observed a couple of British tars—their cutlasses shouldered and with revolvers in their belts—on guard at the open doors.
Meanwhile the black 'bomberos,' or firemen of the town, are at their work. But they are ill-provided with the machinery for extinguishing a great fire. Only one engine is available, and their water is supplied in buckets and by means of a long hose which communicates with the court-yard of an opposite house.
The gallant captain of the British war-steamer offers to provide the firemen with an engine and men from his vessel; but the bomberos are able to dispense with this assistance, as their plan of operations consists chiefly in cutting off all communication with the fire, by destroying the surrounding houses.
If any proof were wanting to show that the despised, but free and well-paid negro, is not devoid of ability and energy, these black and brown bomberos would surely provide ample testimony. A better conducted, better disciplined body of men than the coloured firemen of Cuba it has never been my fortune to meet anywhere. Steady, earnest of purpose, and perfectly free from excitement, they work like veritable negroes, and they prove as serviceable as the whitest of their bombero brethren.
In less than four hours the safety of the surrounding habitations is ensured, and the fire, being now confined to the doomed buildings, is left to burn itself out.
CUBAN WARFARE.
Spanish Soldiers—A Sally—Prisoners of War—'Los Voluntarios'—A triumphant Return—Danger!—Cuban Emigrants.
Our vacillating governor having at last consented to another chase after the rebels, under the leadership of a certain Spanish colonel, a body of volunteers—myself among the number—join the troops on the appointed day and march with them from town.
The Spanish troops muster some five hundred strong. Their hand weapons are of the old-fashioned calibre, and they carry small field guns on the backs of mules. Every man is smoking either a cigarette or a cigar as he tramps along. His uniform is of dark blue cotton, or other light material suitable to the tropical heat. He carries little else besides his gun, his tobacco, and a tin-pot for making coffee; for the country through which he is passing abounds naturally in nearly every kind of provender.
The besiegers have altogether disappeared from the neighbouring country, and for the first few miles our march is easy and uninterrupted. But soon the passes grow narrower, until our progress is effected in single file. Occasionally we halt to refresh ourselves, for the weather is intensely hot, and the sun blazes upon our backs. To ensure ourselves against brain fever, we gather a few cool plantain leaves and place them in layers in the crowns of our Panamas. Our way is incessantly intercepted by fallen trees and brushwood; but we can see nothing of the enemy, and hear little besides the singing of birds and the ripple of hidden water. Many of our party would gladly abandon the quest after human game, and make use of their weapons in a hunt after wild pig, or small deer, which animals abound in this part of the country.
'Alto!' We have waded at last through the intricate forest, and halt in an open plain. It is evening, and as we are weary with our wanderings, we encamp here all night. A moon is shining bright enough for us to read the smallest print; but we are disinclined to be studious, and smoke our cigarettes and sip our hot coffee. Men are dispatched to a neighbouring plantation in quest of bananas, pumpkins, Indian corn, sugar-cane, pine-apples, pomegranates, cocoa-nuts, and mangoes, and with this princely fare we take our suppers. Then sleep overtakes us.
Early next morning we are called to arms by the sound of firing, which seems to reach us from a hill in the distance. The noise is as if a thousand sportsmen were out for a battue. Our commander assures us that the enemy is near at hand, and soon crowds of mounted men appear on the hill before us. With the aid of our field-glasses, we watch their movements, and can distinguish their dresses of white canvas, their sporting guns, and primitive spears. A body of them surrounds a thatched hut, over the roof of which droops a white banner with a strange device, consisting of a silver star on a square of republican red. The enemy appears to be very numerous, and as he marches along the ridge of the hill, his line seems interminable. All our opponents are mounted on horses, or mules with strange saddles and equipments.
'Adelante!' We advance to meet the foe. Some hours elapse before we can reach the thatched hut, as our course is exceedingly circuitous. We find the hut occupied by a decrepit, half-naked negro, but our birds have flown. The negro, who tells us he is a hermit, and that his name is San Benito, can give us no information as to the whereabouts of the enemy, so we make him a prisoner of war. The opposing forces have left nothing but their patriotic banner behind them. This trophy our commander possesses himself of, and bears off in triumph. Then we scour the country in companies of fifty; but we meet with nothing more formidable, than a barricade of felled trees and piled stones. Once we capture a strange weapon, made out of the trunk of a very hard tree, scooped and trimmed into the form of a cannon, and bound with strong iron hoops. Upon another occasion we discharge our rifles into a thicket whence sounds of firing proceed, and we make two more prisoners of war, in the shape of a couple of runaway negroes.
Though we have had no encounter with the enemy, our 'losses' are not inconsiderable; many of the soldiers having been attacked by those terrible and invincible foes—fever and dysentery. In this manner at least two-thirds of our force is puthors de combat. Our colonel is in despair. As for the volunteers, their disappointment at the unsuccessful issue is very great.
At length our colonel, disgusted with the result of the campaign, orders a retreat. The troops willingly obey, and are preparing for their march back, when twenty of the volunteers come to the front and propose making one effort to storm the enemy's impregnable fortress. Finding our colonel opposed to such a wild enterprise, these gentlemen, reckless of the consequences, plunge headlong into an adjacent thicket, and thence presently the sound of fire-arms proceeds. For upwards of an hour we await the return of these mad adventurers, and during the interval the firing is incessant. Finally the 'besiegers' are seen to emerge from a distant part of the thicket. When we join them, we find that more than half their number are wounded, and the rest bear between them no less than three prisoners of war! For the first time I have the pleasure of standing before veritable rebels! Two of the prisoners are whites and are seriously maimed; the third is a mulatto youth of not more than sixteen years. They are all attired in brown holland blouses, white trousers, buff-coloured shoes and straw hats. The white men have been disarmed, but the mulatto lad has still a revolver and machete-sword in his belt.
The volunteers are elated beyond measure by their formidable(?) captures, and endeavour to persuade their chief to make another attempt with the troops. But the colonel will not hear of it, and commands the men instantly to retreat. The volunteers obey this time, in spite of their protestations, but before doing so, a horrible scene is enacted.
The mulatto lad, who is only slightly wounded, is bound hand and foot with strong cords, and consigned to the care of the soldiers, but the other two unfortunates, who lie groaning in agony on the ground, are brutally seized by some of the volunteers, who, after maltreating them in a shocking manner, stab them to death with the points of their bayonets!
Sickening at the fearful spectacle, I gladly follow the colonel and his men, who are unanimous in their indignation at the outrage.
A two days' march brings us to the confines of the town again; but before we proceed to enter, the governor, accompanied by a staff of officers and a band of music, comes out to meet us. A cart, driven by oxen, is procured, and upon it are placed the captured cannon and rebel banner, the former of which is as much as possible concealed by Spanish flags and flowers. A procession is then formed, and in this way we pass through the streets, followed by the military band, which plays a hymn of victory in commemoration of our triumphant return. The houses become suddenly decorated with banners, blankets, and pieces of drugget suspended from the windows, and the inhabitants welcome us with loud cheers and 'vivas.'
Immediately upon quitting the ranks, I repair to the office ofEl Sufragio Universál, for the purpose of reporting to Don Javier the result of our expedition. Strange to relate, that gentleman has already perused a glowing account of our glorious campaign inEl Redactor, the government organ in Cuba. The editor hands me a copy of that periodical, and there, sure enough, is a thrilling description of what we might have achieved, if we had had the good fortune to encounter the enemy in the open field!
But the editor has some strange news for my private ear. He tells me that a fillibustering expedition from the United States has landed with arms, ammunition, and a thousand American fillibusters, in the Bay of Nipe, not many leagues from our town. With this reinforcement it is confidently expected that the rebels will make an attempt to attack the Spanish troops in their stronghold. Don Javier, who is a Cuban to the bone, is sanguine of his countrymen's success. With a few more such expeditions, he is sure that the colony will soon be rid of its Spanish rulers. Then the editor gives me some extraordinary information about myself. It appears that during my absence,El Redactorhas made the wonderful discovery that I am one of the agents of an American newspaper; has referred in its leading articles to the 'scandalous and untruthful reports' published by its American contemporary, and has insinuated that henceforth the climate of Cuba will be found by many degrees too warm for me.
But this is not the worst news which the Cuban editor has to impart. The cholera, he says, has been raging in many parts of the town, and innumerable families have in consequence of this disaster and the continued arrests, fled from Santiago. The majority of them had embarked in the first steamer announced to leave the island, which happened to be the 'Caravelle,' bound for Jamaica; others had taken refuge at their estates in the country, while numbers of young Cubans, who had been threatened with arrest, had made their escape and joined the insurgent army.
On my way from Don Javier's office, I meet Bimba, and from him I learn further particulars respecting this wholesale flight of Cubans. He tells me that, among the departures are Don Benigno and his family, who fled to his country estate. That Don Severiano andhisfamily have set sail for Europe, taking with them my creole lady-love, who had been for this purpose released from the convent. My friend says that their destination is Paris. So au revoir, Cachita mia; we may meet again! Quien sabe?
Bimba then discloses the wonderful intelligence, that among the passengers by the French steamer bound for Jamaica was my companion Nicasio Rodriguez y Boldú; and he hands me a letter which my partner had entrusted to his care. The contents of this document only confirms what I have already heard. The cholera, the recent arrests, the fact that Nicasio is the close friend of the formidable agent of theNew York Trigger, have combined to induce him to abandon the island before my return. He urges me to follow his example without delay and embark in the first steamer which leaves the island. He himself will remain in Jamaica till he hears from me, and if I am unable to join him there, we shall—si Dios quiere—meet again in that part of Europe where for many years we have dwelt together and practised, under more favourable auspices, 'the divine art of Apelles.'
The first steamer announced to leave Santiago is the 'Pelayo,' and as this vessel will sail for Havana in four hours' time, I prepare for my journey to the Cuban capital. Bimba and those of my friends who still remain in this disturbed part of the Ever-faithful Isle, accompany me on board. Foremost is the editor ofEl Sufragio Universál, who, after wishing me a 'bon voyage' and a hearty 'vaya usted con Dios,' secretly hands me a bundle of papers, containing, among other matters, the 'leavings' of the censor for the past fortnight, which Don Javier hopes will be acceptable to the proprietors of theNew York Trigger.
I had almost forgotten Tunicú! 'What has become of him?' I ask.
Bimba tells me that Tunicú has disappeared no one knows whither.
'Eloped with his mulatto lady?' I suggest.
'No muy!' says Bimba; 'la Ermiña accompanied Don Benigno to his estate. You will probably hear of them again.'
HAVANA CIGARETTES.
Cigars—The Etiquette of Smoking—A Cigarette Manufactory—The Courteous Proprietor—The Visitors' Book—Cigarette Rolling.
That the characteristics of Cuba, and the ways of the people, are better observed in the Santiago end of the island than they are in Havana, is apparent to me after my arrival in the latter city. Here I am reminded in many respects of a fashionable European town—indeed, by reason of its modern innovations, the Cuban capital has been styled the 'Paris of the tropics.' Compared with Santiago, Havana offers few attractions to the traveller in quest of 'Cosas de Cuba,' besides its tobacco; and to this subject I accordingly devote my attention.
I am in the Louvre. Not the French palace of that name, but a fashionable café in the heart of Havana. The interior of the Café del Louvre is tastefully decorated; the walls are concealed behind huge mirrors, the floor is of marble, and countless tables crowded with Habaneros and foreigners from all parts of Las Americas, are distributed about the saloon. At one end is a long 'mostrador' or counter, where fancy chocolate, confectionary, and tobacco in all its branches are sold. Here you have your pick of brands, from the gigantic and costly Ramas cigar to the 'tamaño pequeño' cigarette. But do not suppose that because you are at the birthplace of your choice Havanas, you will get those articles at a cost comparatively next to nothing. I, who from infancy upwards have cherished this fiction, am lamentably disappointed when I discover what exorbitant prices are demanded for the best brands. The cedar boxes, with their precious contents, set like gems in the midst of tinfoil and fancy-cut paper, look inviting; but I seek in vain for a cigar at the ridiculously cheap rate I have prepared myself to pay. I try Brevas, and ask for a penn'orth of the best, but am horrified when I am told that a single specimen of that brand costs five-pence! The Intimidads alarm me; the Bravas unman me; and as for the Cabañas, the Partagas, the Henry Clays, and the Upmanns, I am filled with awe at the bare mention of their value per pound. A real Ramas, I am informed, is worth eighteen-pence English, while superior Upmanns are not to be had under ten sovereigns a hundred. In despair of finding anything within my means at the Louvre counter, I purchase a 'medio's' worth of cigarettes—a medio, or two-pence half-penny being the smallest coin current in Cuba—order a cup of café noir, and sally forth in quest of cheaper smokeables.
Crossing the square where the Tacon theatre and circus stand, I wander through the narrow, ill-paved streets of the Cuban capital. At the corner of every hotel, under archways and arcades, I meet with tables laid out like fruit-stalls, bearing bundles of cigars and cigarettes. Here, at least, I expect to find something to smoke at a fabulously low rate. Yes; here are cigars at two, three, and five for a silver two-pence; but those I invest in do not satisfy me; they are damp, new, badly rolled, won't draw, and have all kinds of odd shapes. Some are curved like Turkish scimetars, others are square and flat, as if they had been mangled or sat upon, while a few are undecided in form like horse-radish. The vendor assures me that all his cigars are born of 'tabaco legitimo,' of 'calidad superior,' grown on the low sandy soil of the famous Vuelta Abajo district; but I know what a very small area that tract of land comprises, and I will no more believe in the abundance of its resources than I will in those of Champagne and Oporto.
In my peregrinations, I gaze fondly into the interior of wholesale cigar warehouses, but dare not enter and demand the price of half of one of those countless cedar-boxes, which I see piled up to the very ceiling in walls fifty boxes thick. At last I founder on the Plaza de Santa Isabel, a spacious square, laid out with pretty gardens and tropical trees. Here is the grand hotel where the Special Correspondent to theNew York Triggerwields his mighty pen. To him and to other acquaintances I apply for information on the subject of tobacco. My foreign friends assure me you cannot get a good cigar in Havana at any price, as all the best are exported to Europe and the United States; unless you prefer German tobacco, of which great quantities are imported into Havana. The natives have quite a different account to give. They declare that the best cigars never leave the country but are easily obtained if you know where to seek them; and they refer me to the warehouses. Every one whom I consult graciously offers me a few specimens from his own particular cigar-case; and as in Cuba it is considered an offence to refuse a man's tobacco, I am soon in possession of a goodly stock, which I calculate will last me for the next eight and forty hours at least.
A singular etiquette is observed all over Cuba with respect to smoking, which a rough Britisher does not always appreciate. An utter stranger is at liberty to stop you in the middle of the street to beg the favour of your 'candela,' or light from your cigar. If you are polite, you will immediately hand him your weed, with the ashes carefully shaken off, and the lighted end conveniently pointed in his direction. Part of your fire having been successfully transferred to his cigar, the stranger is bound to return your property, presenting it, by a dexterous turn of the wrist, with the mouth end towards you; an operation which requires no little practice, as it is accompanied with a downward jerk to express deep obligation. If, after this, you are inclined to abandon your cigar for a fresh one, you may not do so in the stranger's presence, but wait till he has disappeared. There is a sort of smoking freemasonry, too, between Cubans all over the world. A Cuban recognises a compatriot anywhere, by the manner in which he screws up his cigarette, holds it, and offers or accepts a light.
Advised by a friend who is a great smoker, I give up my cigar investigations, and devote my attention to the humbler cigarette. With this object in view, I ramble down the narrow 'calles' or streets of St. Ignacio, del Obispo, and de Cuba. At every twelfth house which I pass is a small shop where only the article I seek is sold. In the first-mentioned calle is the 'deposito' of the far-famed Cabañas cigarette; in the second, the Gallito and Honradez stores. I visit the latter, which holds the highest reputation, and take an inventory of the stock. I am shown an endless variety of cigarettes at comparatively insignificant prices; a packet of twenty-six of those mostly in vogue costing only a silver medio, or two-pence half-penny English. There are innumerable sizes, from the smallest named Acacias, to the biggest, or tamaño mayor, called Grandifloras. The floor of the shop is sanded with burnt cigarette ends, looking like exhausted cartridges, and the pavement without is peppered with their fragments. Every man or responsible child whom I pass has a little tube of smoking paper between his lips, and glancing in at an open restaurant, I observe a group of feeders, each of whom has a cigarette stuck behind his ear like a pen.
At last I pause before the imposing factory of Louis Susini and Son, situated in a little plaza in the Calle de Cuba. It is here that the best cigarettes, popularly known as Honradez, are manufactured. The exterior of the building, with its marble columns reminding one of a Genoese palace, is worthy of attention. Above the grand entrance is the Honradez figure of Justice, bearing the famous motto: 'Los hechos me justificarán' (my deeds will justify me). But there is much to be seen within; and as a party of half a dozen ladies and gentlemen are about to enter, I join them and unite with them in begging permission of the proprietor to inspect the works. One of the firm soon appears, and after a polite greeting, kindly appoints an assistant to show us over the manufactory. We are told that everything in connection with cigarette making, except the actual growing of the tobacco, takes place within these extensive premises, and are forewarned that a long afternoon is necessary to see everything to our satisfaction.
Before we begin, we are politely requested to affix our signatures in a ledger provided for visitors to the establishment; and having obeyed, copies of our autographs are made on slips of paper, and, by a mechanical contrivance in the wall, these are dispatched for some mysterious purpose to the regions above. At the suggestion of the cicerone, we follow our names; not by the same means, however, but by winding staircases and intricate passages. Before starting, we peep into the engine-room to glance at the steam power which works the machinery required in the different departments. The first ascent brings us to spacious store-rooms, where loose cigarettes, and those already packed in bundles, are kept. The walls are literally papered with cigarettes in wheels, which look like complicated fireworks. As we move from one wheel to another, we are invited to help ourselves to, and test, the different qualities, which some of us accordingly do in wine-tasting fashion; taking a couple of whiffs from each sample and flinging the rest in the dust. Further on, we come to a small apartment where the operation of sorting the labels for enveloping each packet of twenty cigarettes, takes place. The labels are fresh from the printers; a workman is standing before a round movable table, and as this revolves, he drops them into little boxes belonging to their respective patterns. Each label is stamped with the Honradez figure of Justice, accompanied either by a charade, a comic verse, a piece of dance music on a small scale, an illuminated coat of arms, or a monogram pattern for Berlin wool-work. Some are adorned with artistic designs of a superior order, such as coloured landscapes, groups of figures, or photographs of eminent persons.
Another ascent, and we are in the stationery department. It seems odd to examine large sheets and thick reams of paper, which we have been accustomed to see only in the form of cigarette books or tubes of small dimensions. A wonderful variety of rice and other paper is before us. There are two or three qualities of white, and endless shades of brown and yellow. Some are lightly tinted as the complexion of a half-caste; others are quadroon-hued, or of a yellow-brown mulatto-colour. We are shown medicated and scented papers. The first of these, called pectoral paper, is recommended by the faculty to persons with weak chests; the last, when ignited, gives out an agreeable perfume.
Yet another floor, and we are introduced into a long chamber with rows of long tables, at which a hundred Chinese workmen are engaged in counting the already twisted cigarettes into bundles of twenty-six, and enveloping them in their ornamental labels or covers. To accomplish this operation with necessary speed, much practice and dexterity in the handling is required. The coolies—a thousand of whom are employed on the establishment—are, however, great adepts at the art, and patient and plodding as beasts of burthen. But among the celestials there is one master-hand who distinguishes himself above all the others by his superior skill. Piles of loose cigarettes and gummed labels are before him. Into the former he digs his dexterous fingers, and he knows by the feel alone whether he has the prescribed twenty-six within his grasp. By a peculiar shake he humours the handful into its tubular form, and with another movement wraps it lightly in a paper cover, which he leaves open at one end and neatly tucks in at the other. He is so rapid in his work, that we can scarcely follow him with our eyes, and the whole performance, from beginning to end, looks to us like a conjuring trick. Our guide tells us how many thousands of packets per day are in this way completed by these useful coolies.
'Arriba!' Another flight leads to the 'picadura' department, where tobacco leaves are prepared for cigarette making. The aspect on all sides reminds us of a room in a Manchester factory. We wade carefully through a maze of busy machinery. There are huge contrivances for pressing tobacco into solid cakes hard as brickbats; ingenious apparatus for chopping these cakes into various sized grains of 'picadura' or tobacco cuttings; horizontal and vertical tramways for forwarding the latter to their respective compartments. Near us is a winnowing chamber for separating particles of dust from the newly cut picadura. We enter by a spring door which closes after us with a bang, and everybody is immediately seized with a violent fit of sneezing. Particles of escaping tobacco dust float in the air and tickle our olfactories. We are actually standing within a huge snuff-box! After inhaling a wholesale pinch of this powder, which leaves us sneezing for the next quarter of an hour, we clamber to the heights of the establishment, and find ourselves in the printing and paper cutting departments. Here artists are engaged in preparing lithographic stones and wood blocks with various picturesque designs for cigarette labels. Gilders are illuminating labels, and cutters are shaping paper into their cigarette and label sizes. Further on are printing offices, where all the letterpress and lithography required in the establishment is accomplished. This is far from an insignificant item in the manufactory, for, besides the pictorial and letterpress covers, there are the Honradez advertisements to print; circulars, pamphlets, together with dedicatory dance music, and an occasional local newspaper. We linger lovingly about this interesting department, and, before we leave, the foreman of the printing office presents each lady member of our party with a piece of Cuban dance music, upon the cover of which is printed a few words of dedication, accompanied by the lady's own name in full. Whilst wondering at the magic by which this mark of attention has been quietly accomplished, we descend to the ground floor, and are again met by the courteous proprietor, who presents each gentleman visitor with a newly-made packet of cigarettes upon which, lo! and behold! are our names. It is pleasing to see one's name in print, and when it is witnessed on an ordinary Havana cigarette packet, the charm is greatly augmented.
Before taking leave of our civil host, we are invited to comment upon what we have seen, in the visitors' book, and you may be sure that our observations are not unfavourable to the courteous proprietor and his interesting exhibition. Susini & Son have published a thick pamphlet containing a list of names and remarks of distinguished visitors to his establishment. It is a curious work in its way, for the epigrammatic effusions are varied, amusing, and composed in at least half a dozen languages. Some of the authors have chosen a poetic style of commentary, while others content themselves with matter-of-fact prose. A well-known signature is here and there recognisable among these cosmopolitan productions. A famous Italian opera star has rhymed in her native lingo; a popular French acrobat—possibly one of a company of strolling equestrians—has immortalised himself in Parisian heroics. M. Pianatowsky, the Polish fiddler, has scrawled something incomprehensible in Russian or Arabic—no matter which; while Mein Herr Van Trinkenfeld comes out strong in double Dutch. Need I add that the immortal Smith of London is in great force in the book, or that his Queen's English is worthy of his world-wide reputation?
We are in the act of quitting the Honradez establishment, when it suddenly occurs to one of us that, after all that has been said and seen, we have failed to watch a cigarette in actual process of manufacture. What! have we presided at a performance of 'Hamlet' with the hero omitted; or are the component parts of cigarettes planted in the ground to sprout out ready-made like radishes?
I return and ask for information on this subject.
'Perdonen, ustedes,' says our hospitable friend, 'I had forgotten to tell you that our cigarrillos are rolled by the presidiarios.'
What's a 'presidiario'? A 'presidiario' is a convict, and convicts in Cuba are sentenced to eternal cigarette-making in lieu of oakum-picking. The government contract with the manufacturers for this purpose, and—voilà tout!
Anxious to 'sit out' the whole cigarette performance to the very last act, I ask and obtain permission to visit the town jail. In one of the stone apartments of this well-regulated building are groups of convicts dressed in white blouses and loose trousers of coarse canvas. Amongst them are Africans, Congos, mulattoes of many shades, Chinese—Chow-chows as they are called—and sun-burnt whites, who are principally insubordinate Spanish soldiers and sailors. Each has a heavy chain dangling from his waist and attached to his ankle, wears a broad-brimmed straw hat of his own manufacture, and incessantly smokes. Before him is a wooden box filled with picadura and small squares of tissue paper. Great nicety is required to roll a cigarette after the approved fashion; the strength or mildness of the tobacco being in a great measure influenced by the way the grains are more or less compressed. A smoker of course finds a tightly-twisted cigarette more difficult to draw than a loosely twisted one.
The presidiario does not seem to object to his hard labour, but doubtless prefers it to other kinds of perpetual rolling on a wheel. He employs no sticky element to secure the edges of his cigarette, but tucks the ends neatly in, by means of a pointed thimble which he wears on his forefinger.
Ponder well over this, ye Havana cigarette smokers! and when next you indulge in a whiff from your favourite luxury, remember that a pickpocket has had his hand on your picadura!