A TRIP TO CUBA

CONTENTS.


CHAP. PAGE

I. THE DEPARTURE 1

II. NASSAU 10

III. FROM NASSAU TO CUBA 20

IV. THE HARBOR OF HAVANA 30

V. HAVANA--THE HOTELS 40

VI. HAVANA--YOUR BANKER--OUR CONSUL--THE FRIENDLY CUP OF TEA 48

VII. HAVANA--THE JESUIT COLLEGE 57

VIII. SAN ANTONIO DE LOS BAÑOS 66

IX. THE MORRO FORTRESS--THE UNIVERSITY OF HAVANA--THE BENEFICENZA 79

X. CAN GRANDE'S DEPARTURE--THE DOMINICA--LOTTERY-TICKETS 94

XI. COMPANY AT THE HOTEL--SERVANTS--OUR DRIVE--DON PEPE 111

XII. MATANZAS 132

XIII. THE PASEO--THE PLAZA--DINING OUT 145

XIV. GAME-CHICKENS--DON RODRIGUEZ--DAY ON THE PLANTATION--DEPARTURE 157

XV. RETURN TO HAVANA--SAN ANTONIO AGAIN 177

XVI. SAN ANTONIO--CHURCH ON SUNDAY--THE NORTHER--THE S. FAMILY 190

XVII. EDUCATION--LAST NIGHT IN SAN ANTONIO--FAREWELL 202

XVIII. SLAVERY--CUBAN SLAVE LAWS, INSTITUTIONS, ETC. 212

XIX. FAREWELL! 238




A TRIP TO CUBA.




CHAPTER I.

THE DEPARTURE.


Why one leaves home at all is a question that travellers are sure,
sooner or later, to ask themselves,--I mean, pleasure-travellers. Home,
where one has the "Transcript" every night, and the "Autocrat" every
month, opera, theatre, circus, and good society, in constant
rotation,--home, where everybody knows us, and the little good there is
to know about us,--finally, home, as seen regretfully for the last time,
with the gushing of long frozen friendships, the priceless kisses of
children, and the last sad look at dear baby's pale face through the
window-pane,--well, all this is left behind, and we review it as a
dream, while the railroad-train hurries us along to the spot where we
are to leave, not only this, but Winter, rude tyrant, with all our
precious hostages in his grasp. Soon the swift motion lulls our brains
into the accustomed muddle. We seem to be dragged along like a miserable
thread pulled through the eye of an everlasting needle,--through and
through, and never through,--while here and there, like painful knots,
the _dépôts_ stop us, the poor thread is arrested for a minute, and then
the pulling begins again. Or, in another dream, we are like fugitives
threading the gauntlet of the grim forests, while the ice-bound trees
essay a charge of bayonets on either side; but, under the guidance of
our fiery Mercury, we pass them as safely as ancient Priam passed the
outposts of the Greeks,--and New York, hospitable as Achilles, receives
us in its mighty tent. Here we await the "Karnak," the British Mail
Company's new screw-steamer, bound for Havana, _viâ_ Nassau. At length
comes the welcome order to "be on board." We betake ourselves
thither,--the anchor is weighed, the gun fired, and we take leave of our
native land with a patriotic pang, which soon gives place to severer
spasms.

I do not know why all celebrated people who write books of travels begin
by describing their days of sea-sickness. Dickens, George Combe, Fanny
Kemble, Mrs. Stowe, Miss Bremer, and many others, have opened in like
manner their valuable remarks on foreign countries. While intending to
avail myself of their privilege and example, I would nevertheless
suggest, for those who may come after me, that the subject of
sea-sickness should be embalmed in science, and enshrined in the crypt
of some modern encyclopædia, so that future writers should refer to it
only as the Pang Unspeakable, for which _vide_ Ripley and Dana, vol.,
page. But, as I have already said, I shall speak of sea-sickness in a
hurried and picturesque manner, as follows:--