FROM FLAG TO FLAG

                 _A WOMAN’S ADVENTURES AND EXPERIENCES
                      IN THE SOUTH DURING THE WAR,
                         IN MEXICO AND IN CUBA_


                                   BY
                         ELIZA McHATTON-RIPLEY


           “Faith! I ran when I saw others run.”--I HENRY IV.

              “See here, my friends and loving countrymen;
                 This token serveth for a flag of truce
                    Betwixt ourselves.”--I HENRY IV.


                                NEW YORK
                         D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
                                  1889




                            COPYRIGHT, 1888,
                      BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.




                                 NOTE.


The years covered by this narrative were full of stirring interest.
Civil war in the United States put the nation under arms from the
St. Lawrence to the Rio Grande, and shattered the entire social and
political fabric of the South. Mexico was conquered by the French,
who, in time, were driven from the country, and the improbability of
any European power obtaining a foothold there forever settled. A large
portion of the Island of Cuba was for years under the control of the
insurgents; and, not until a sea of blood and millions of treasure had
been poured out, was a semblance of peace secured.

The minor part I bore in these exciting times has been a thrice-told
tale at my fireside; and, believing the unfamiliar pictures of life,
varied incidents, and historical facts worthy of record, I have written
why, and how, we ran “from flag to flag.”




                               CONTENTS.


  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE

     I. A PLANTATION HOME IN LOUISIANA                                 7

    II. THE NEW FLAG--CAMPAIGN SEWING SOCIETY--CAPTURE
        OF NEW ORLEANS                                                10

   III. A CREVASSE--OCCUPATION OF BATON ROUGE--DEFENSELESS
        CITIZENS                                                      19

    IV. WILLY’S ERRAND--BRECKINRIDGE’S MESSAGE--THE RAW
        RECRUITS                                                      27

     V. THE BATTLE--RUSH TO ARLINGTON--DISASTER--DEPARTURE
        OF OUR GUESTS                                                 33

    VI. RESTORING ORDER--SCENES OF VANDALISM--PREPARATIONS
        FOR DEPARTURE                                                 42

   VII. SECOND VISIT OF THE ENEMY--MIDNIGHT FLIGHT--FAREWELL
        TO ARLINGTON                                                  53

  VIII. “PICKETS DOWN DAR!”--HARD JOURNEYING--WILLY’S
        FATE--CHARLOTTE                                               60

    IX. CAMPING BY NIGHT--FORLORN WOMEN--BEAUMONT--HOUSTON            66

     X. TRAVELING THROUGH TEXAS--NEARING THE RIO GRANDE               76

    XI. LAREDO--MEXICAN ESCORT TO PIEDRAS NEGRAS--THE
        CUSTOM-HOUSE--A NORTHER--SAN ANTONIO--SCARCITY
        OF NECESSARIES                                                83

   XII. FINAL TRIP TO THE RIO GRANDE--MATAMORAS OCCUPIED
        BY THE FRENCH--WAITING!--MARTHA BEFORE THE ALCALDE--WAR
        OVER!                                                        104

  XIII. HAVANA--HÔTEL CUBANO--OUR HOME ON THE CERRO                  125

   XIV. STREET SIGHTS AND SOUNDS--EVENINGS IN THE CITY--SHOPS
        AND SHOPPING--BEGGARS--VACCINATION                           134

    XV. A POLYGLOT--ZELL--BEATRIZ’S SCHOOL--IGNORANT GUAJIROS        142

     XVI. PLANTATION PURCHASED--LIFE AT “DESENGAÑO”--AT
          WORK ONCE MORE                                             149

    XVII. RAINY SEASON--CULTIVATING ABANDONED FIELDS--DON
          FULGENCIO’S MODE--FIRST SUMMER AT DESENGAÑO--BOOKS         156

   XVIII. MORE LABORERS REQUIRED--HENRY SHOOTS WILD DOGS--MILITARY
          RULE--EXTORTION                                            165

     XIX. NEW CHINESE--COOLIE REBELLION--ZELL’S BRAVERY--CHINESE
          LABOR CONTRACT--VICIOUS INSECTS                            170

      XX. CIRIACO--PLANTATION GARDEN--TASAJO--NEGRO MUSIC
          AND DANCING                                                183

     XXI. THE GOOD OLD PRIEST--RELIGION AND SUPERSTITION
          OF THE NEGROES--THE SEÑORA’S GHOST                         190

    XXII. CATTLE--BUTTER AND CHURN--OVERRUN WITH CATS--CURIOUS
          VOLCANO--MAJA AND JUTIA                                    197

   XXIII. HARASSED BY THE MILITARY--LAWLESS SITUATION--MEN
          DRIVEN TO THE MOUNTAINS--RESTRICTED
          WALKS                                                      205

    XXIV. MURDEROUS ASSAULT--COMPLAINTS TO THE CAPTAIN-GENERAL--CARLOS
          GARCIA                                                     210

     XXV. “BEHOLD A MAN FULL OF LEPROSY!”                            222

    XXVI. SUGAR-MAKING--DINNER AT “JOSEFITA’S”--DOMESTIC
          SERVICE--POOR DON PEDRO                                    227

   XXVII. A PARADISE--A GUAJIRO BALL--OUR NEIGHBORS--A
          DAY WITH THE MARQUIS                                       234

  XXVIII. FERTILITY OF THE SOIL--WORK DURING SUGAR-MAKING--FIRE
          IN THE CANE-FIELDS                                         253

    XXIX. DON RUANO’S COFFEE ESTATE--COFFEE-MILLS AND COFFEE-POTS--WASTE
          OF FRUITS--DON RUANO AND HIS
          MOTHER                                                     263

     XXX. HOUSE-BUILDING ANTS--ELLIE’S YOUNG OWLS--HENRY
          SAYS “ADIOS”                                               270

    XXXI. BEAUTIFUL OCTOBER--VIEW FROM THE MOUNTAIN--TERRIBLE
          TEMPORAL--DEVASTATION                                      277

   XXXII. DULLNESS--ISOLATION--WEARINESS--CUBA, FAREWELL!            288




                          FROM FLAG TO FLAG.




                              CHAPTER I.

                    A PLANTATION HOME IN LOUISIANA.


A spacious mansion, with deep verandas supported by fluted columns,
so closely following the architectural features of the historic Lee
homestead on the Potomac as to give the name of “Arlington” to the
plantation, was the home of my early married life.

The house faced a broad lawn, dotted here and there with live-oak
and pecan trees. An avenue, over which the “pride-of-China” trees
cast their shade, and beside which the Cherokee rose grew with great
luxuriance, led to the river-bank, and commanded a magnificent view of
the Mississippi for many miles above and below.

To this house, with all its attractive appointments, I came a bride,
and from this home I took a hurried departure a decade later. Time has
not dimmed the memory of those years; on the contrary, it has added to
their radiant brightness.

Turning back a quarter of a century, I see a picture of peace,
happiness, and the loveliest surroundings. In those spring days at
Arlington the air was so pure and fragrant that its inhalation was a
positive luxury. It was delightful to wander over the lawn, with its
fresh carpet of green, and note the wonderful growth of vegetation
on every side. The roses that arched the gateways, the honeysuckles
and jasmines that climbed in profusion over the trellises, the
delicate-foliaged crape myrtle with its wealth of fairy pink blossoms,
all contributed perfume to the breeze.

Those grand autumnal days, when smoke rolled from the tall chimney of
the sugar-house, and the air was redolent with the aroma of boiling
cane-juice; when the fields were dotted with groups of busy and
contented slaves, and their cabins resounded with the merry voices of
playing children; when magnolia and oak trees were musical with the
mocking-birds, whose throats poured forth melodies unknown to any other
of the feathered tribe, and nimble squirrels gathered their winter
stores in the pecan-groves--oh, those grand autumnal days!

Those Christmas-days, when the house was filled with gay throngs of
city guests, and the broad halls resounded with merry laugh and romp;
when the “plantation band,” with the inspiring airs of “Monie Musk”
and “Come, haste to the Wedding,” put wings to the giddy feet--how the
happy moments fled! oh, the jolly days, when we danced the hours away!




                              CHAPTER II.

    THE NEW FLAG--CAMPAIGN SEWING SOCIETY--CAPTURE OF NEW ORLEANS.


Basking in the sunshine of prosperity during the stirring events that
crowded one after another through the winter of 1860-’61, buoyed up by
the hope and belief that a peaceful solution of national complications
would be attained, we were blind to the ominous clouds that were
gathering around us. Prophets arose in our midst, with vigorous tongue
and powerful eloquence lifting the veil and giving us glimpses of the
fiery sword suspended over our heads; but the pictures revealed were
like pages in history, in which we had no part nor lot, so hard it was
for people who had for generations walked the flowery paths of peace,
to realize war and all that that terrible word imports.

It was during the temporary absence of my husband, and Arlington full
of gay young guests, when our city paper described the device for
“_the_ flag,” as decided upon at Montgomery, the cradle of the new-born
Confederacy. Up to and even far beyond that period we did not, in fact
could not, realize the mightiness of the impending future. Full of
wild enthusiasm, the family at Arlington voted at once that the banner
should unfold its brave States-rights constellation from a staff on
our river-front. This emblem of nationality (which, on account of
its confusing resemblance to the brilliant “Stars and Stripes,” was
subsequently discarded) consisted of a red field with a horizontal
bar of white across its center; in one corner was a square of blue
with white stars. There were red flannel and white cotton cloth in
the house, but nothing blue could we find; so a messenger was hastily
dispatched to town with orders for goods of that color, no matter what
the quality or shade.

On a square of blue denim the white stars were grouped, one to
represent each seceded State. We toiled all that Saturday, and had no
little difficulty in getting our work to lie smooth and straight, as
the red flannel was pieced, the cotton flimsy, and the denim stiff.
From the negroes who had been spending their half-holiday catching
drift-wood, which in the early spring floats from every tributary down
on the rapidly swelling bosom of the broad Mississippi, we procured a
long, straight, slender pole, to which the flag was secured by cords,
nails, and other devices. When the staff was firmly planted into the
ground, on the most prominent point on the river-front, and its gay
banner loosened to the breeze, the enthusiastic little party danced
round and round, singing and shouting in exuberance of spirit. At that
critical moment a small stern-wheel Pittsburg boat came puffing up the
stream; its shrill whistle and bell joined in the celebration, while
passengers and crew cheered and hallooed, waving newspapers, hats, and
handkerchiefs, until the little Yankee craft wheezed out of sight in a
bend of the river. Of all the joyous party that danced and sung round
that first Confederate flag raised on Louisiana soil, I am, with the
exception of my son, then a very small boy, the only one living to-day.

It made such a brave show, and we were so exhilarated, that we passed
all that bright Sunday in early spring under its waving folds, or on
the piazza in full view of it.

When my husband, after a two weeks’ absence, boarded the steamer
Quitman to return home, the first news that greeted him was,
“There is a Confederate flag floating over your levee!” He was
thunder-struck! That far-seeing, cautious man was by no means an
“original secessionist,” and did not, in his discretion, and the
hope that lingered long in his breast of an amicable adjustment of
the difficulties, countenance the zealous ardor of his hasty and
impetuous household. Our flag was already beginning to look frayed
and ragged-edged. We had no means of lowering it, and its folds had
flapped through fog and sunshine until the sleazy cotton split and the
stars shriveled on the stiff blue ground. The coming of the “general
commanding,” as we now playfully called him, signalized the removal
of our tattered banner; but we had the satisfaction of knowing that
advantage of his absence had been taken to float it a whole week, and
that it was no hostile hand that furled it at the last.

The wild alarms of war roused us at last from this Arcadian life of
ease and luxury. The rumbling thunder of battle was making itself heard
from Sumter on the one side and Manassas on the other. “Dixie” and “The
Bonnie Blue Flag” were replacing the soul-stirring battle-songs of our
fathers.

Men who had never saddled their mettled steeds, nor harnessed their
own teams for pleasure-excursions, now eagerly bestrode any nag they
could command, or drove lumbering mule-teams, or, worse still, plodded
on foot with a military company on its march to the front; while the
daintily nurtured women, who, in the abundance of service that slavery
afforded, had scarce put on their own shoes, assembled and toiled
day after day in the preparation of clothing for the soldiers, which
quickly became their all-absorbing occupation.

In the neighboring city of Baton Rouge we organised the “Campaign
Sewing Society.” Its very title shows how transient we regarded the
emergency; how little we deemed the _campaign_ would develop into a
four years’ war! There many of us received our first lessons in the
intricacies of coats and pantaloons. I so well remember when, in the
glory of my new acquirements, I proudly made a pair of cottonade
trousers for a brother we were fitting out in surpassing style for
“service,” my embarrassment and consternation when I overheard him
slyly remark to my husband that he had to stand on his head to button
them--they lapped the wrong way! Stockings had also to be provided, and
expert knitters found constant work. By wearing a knitting-bag at my
side, and utilizing every moment, I was by no means the only one able
to turn off a coarse cotton stocking, with a rather short leg, every
day.

From the factory in our little city--the only one, by the way, of any
size or importance in the State--we procured the cloth required for
suits, but in the lapse of time the supply of buttons, thread, needles,
and tape, in fact, of all the little accessories of the sewing-room,
was exhausted, and to replenish the stock our thoughts and conversation
were necessarily turned into financial channels. I cordially recommend
to societies and impecunious institutions the scheme in all its
entirety that we adopted as vastly superior to the ordinary and
much-maligned fair; the plan was the offspring of necessity; the
demand was so instant and urgent that we could undertake no fair or
entertainment that involved time, work, or expense.

A “Tombola,” where every article is donated and every ticket draws a
prize, was the happy result of numerous conferences. The scheme was
discussed with husbands and brothers; each suggested an advancement
or improvement on the other, until the project expanded so greatly,
including all classes and conditions of donors, that it was quickly
found that not only a large hall but a stable and a warehouse also
would be required to hold the contributions, which embraced every
imaginable article from a tooth-pick to a cow! The hall was soon
overflowing with minor articles from houses and shops. Nothing was
either too costly or too insignificant to be refused. A glass show-case
glittered with jewelry of all styles and patterns, and bits of rare
old silver. Pictures and engravings, old and faded, new and valuable,
hung side by side on the walls. Odd pieces of furniture, work-boxes,
lamps and candelabra, were arranged here and there, to stand out in
bold relief amid an immense array of pencils, tweezers, scissors,
penknives, tooth-picks, darning-needles, and such trifles. The stalls
of the stable were tenanted by mules, cows, hogs, with whole litters
of pigs, and varieties of poultry. The warehouse groaned under the
weight of barrels of sugar, molasses, and rice, and bushels of meal,
potatoes, turnips, and corn. Tickets for a chance at this miscellaneous
collection sold for one dollar each. As is ever the case, the blind
goddess was capricious: with the exception of an old negro woman, who
won a set of pearls, I can not remember any one who secured a prize
worth the price of the ticket. I invested in twenty tickets, for which
I received nineteen lead-pencils and a frolicsome old goat, with beard
hanging to his knees, and horns like those which brought down the walls
of Jericho. Need I add that the “general commanding” refused to receive
that formidable animal at Arlington?

The “Tombola” was a grand, an overwhelming success; without one dollar
of outlay--the buildings and necessary printing having been donated--we
made six thousand dollars. Before this sum could be sent to New Orleans
for investment, that city was in the hands of its captors.

Thus cut off from the means of securing necessary supplies, and at
the same time from facilities for communication with those whom we
sought to aid, the “Campaign Sewing Society” sadly disbanded. The busy
workers retired to their own houses, the treasurer fled with the funds
for safe-keeping, and, when she emerged from her retreat, six thousand
dollars in Confederate paper was not worth six cents!

The Federals captured New Orleans in April, and there was intense
excitement all up and down the river. We boasted and bragged of what
we could do and what we were going to do, like children whistling in
the dark to keep their courage up. We had never seen soldiers “on deeds
of daring full intent.” We had never seen any drilling and manœuvring
of companies and battalions, except our own ardent and inexperienced
young men, full of enthusiasm that was kindled and encouraged and in
many cases bolstered up by the women, who, like most non-combatants,
were very valiant, and like all whose hearthstones are threatened very
desperate. So the landing of the enemy in our chief city, and the
capitulation of our defenses, roused every drop of blood in our hearts.
Nothing but “war to the knife” was spoken of. While we openly declared
that New Orleans should have been fired, like Moscow, rather than
surrendered, men went about destroying cotton wherever it was stored,
and fierce and loud were the denunciations against any man who even by
gentle remonstrance made the slightest objection to having his property
touched by the torch of his neighbor, to prevent the possibility of its
capture by the “hordes of hirelings” as we called the Northern soldiers
and their naturalized comrades.

All the blankets and bedding that could reasonably be spared had been
gathered during the winter, by teams driven from house to house, making
one grand collection for our suffering troops.

Now, thoroughly alarmed at the possibility of being cut off from all
communication with our soldiers in the field, and prevented from
contributing to their comfort, carpets were ripped from the floors
of many houses, cut into suitable blanket-size, and sent _via_ “Camp
Moore”--now our only outlet--to the army in the mountains of Virginia
and on the borders of Tennessee. There was no combined or concerted
plan; each acted his individual part, and made personal sacrifices
to help the cause. Plantations were adjoining, but the residences too
remote to meet and discuss matters when time was so precious. Black
William and I drew the tacks from every carpet at Arlington; brussels,
tapestry, and ingrain, old and new, all were made into blankets and
promptly sent to the front. One half the house was closed, and a deal
of management was required to keep the other half comfortable without a
carpet or rug to lay over the bare floor. So it happened that when the
Federals, after an exciting siege, captured New Orleans, very little
was left in the houses on the river that could be made available for
the use of the army.




                             CHAPTER III.

     A CREVASSE--OCCUPATION OF BATON ROUGE--DEFENSELESS CITIZENS.


The rapidly rising river was another element of danger menacing us. It
is a fearful sight to see the relentless flood plunging by, bearing
great trees and logs of drift-wood on its muddy surface many feet
above the ground on which you stand, an embankment of earth your only
defense, and the waves of passing steamboats dashing over that frail
barrier and falling in spray at your feet. It is startling to realize
that busy craw-fish, the dread enemy of every man whose “lines are
laid” behind a Mississippi levee, are constantly boring holes through
the earthworks, and invading the ditches carefully constructed to
receive and bear away to the rear swamps and drains the seepage that
exudes all the time from the pressure on the outer side; and terrible
to know that one malicious cut of a spade would make an insidious
fissure through which those battling waters would in a few hours rush
in an overwhelming torrent, destroying property worth thousands of
dollars--a calamity greatly dreaded, and guarded against day and night
by trusty men with shovels and lanterns.

My husband, whose duty it was as levee inspector, notified our
neighbors of a dangerously “weak spot” on an adjoining plantation
front, but so fearful were all planters at that time of negro
assemblages, so apprehensive lest they communicate from plantation
to plantation, and a stray spark enkindle the fires of sedition and
rebellion, that the responses to his call were not adequate, and the
result was a _crevasse_ between Baton Rouge and Arlington, four miles
south, that cut a broad chasm directly across the road, and through
our cane-fields far back for miles to bayous and draining canals,
leaving a wide ravine with a rush of roaring water that poured millions
of gallons a minute, plowing a deep canal through roads and fields,
spreading and widening over the rear swamps in its destructive errand,
until it reached the river again in a bend twenty-five miles away.

But the terrors and subsequent losses by such a calamity were forgotten
in the greater alarm and the foreshadowing of untold disaster to the
panic-stricken planters’ wives, who were in many instances left by
their soldier husbands in charge of threatened homes. The negroes,
already seeing the dawning rays of liberty, which at that time meant
plenty to eat and nothing to do, “jist like marster,” were becoming
lazy and impudent. So the crevasse and the injury it was destined to
inflict were of small moment to us when the prospect of cultivating the
growing crop, grew beautifully less day by day.

One magnificent morning in early summer the whole river, the silence on
whose surface had remained now many weeks undisturbed, was suddenly,
as if by magic, ablaze with the grandeur of Federal gunboats and
transports with flags and bright-colored streamers flying from every
peak, their decks thronged with brilliantly uniformed officers. We
stood upon the veranda, with streaming eyes and bursting hearts, the
gay strains of “Yankee Doodle” as they floated o’er the waters filling
our souls with bitterness unspeakable, and watched the victorious
pageant, until, with a mighty sweep to avoid the boiling and surging
currents of the crevasse, it anchored amid blare of trumpet and beat
of drum beside the deserted landing of our dear little city. The
enemy was there! But there was a barrier between us that cut off all
communication by land, and, though they could forage above and back of
the town, as is the way with hungry soldiers, we had the melancholy
satisfaction of knowing that access to Arlington was not feasible.

By and by the old Mississippi began to subside; the tributary streams
had well-nigh exhausted their superfluous floods. Water began slowly
and steadily to recede from the fields; day by day we could see from
the windows and verandas new bits of green here and there; places
where bridges that spanned ditches had been swept away; and deep ridges
cut by the action of rushing torrents where were once smooth, level
fields of waving cane.

But the big gully at the mouth of the crevasse was still there,
deep, muddy, and unutterably foul with the odor of dead fish lying
stranded all about. The road was cut in two by an impassable barrier,
a fathomless mud-hole. So the crevasse was a blessing, and we were
at least thankful that, if we did not have a crop, we were safe from
unwelcome visitors.

My little baby was two weeks old, and I was reposing quietly in
bed, early one morning, when, lo and behold! not a cloud of dust,
but a splash of mud; and a company of soldiers made their unwonted
appearance on the hither side of our defenses. Before Charlotte could
run up-stairs with the spoons and forks, hastily gathered from the
breakfast-table, to hide under my pillow--for the darkies had been
carefully taught that the whole war was a thieving expedition to steal
our homes and property--before Charlotte could tell the news and tuck
the spoons away, the clatter of hoofs on the lawn and the voices of
strange men revealed the fact that the Federal soldiers were upon us!

My husband, whose disability, from the loss of an eye, relieved him
from active service, was equal to the occasion, and met the party at
the door; explained the invalid condition of his wife till one might
have thought that nothing less than a miracle could save her delicate
life; requested the officers not to permit their men to dismount,
offered them milk, the only refreshment we had that they would accept,
and it was handed around by William, in a pail; after every man was
refreshed, they quietly and decorously rode away. I was up and peeped
through a hole in the curtain at the only company of Federal soldiers I
saw during the war.

Their gentlemanly deportment quite disarmed Charlotte of her fears for
the safety of the silver; as she took it from under my pillow, she
said, “I don’t believe them men would ’onderscend to steal _spoons_.”

They went on, though, those very men, to a plantation five miles
beyond. The poor, old gentleman had all his sons in the Confederate
service; he kept a horse tied at his back gate, day and night: it seems
he did not share our confidence in the protection of the muddy gully,
so he was always in retreating order. When the soldiers rode into his
front yard, the tip of his horse’s tail could be seen vanishing in the
distance; in Southern parlance he “took to the woods.” Finding no one
to represent the host but a very young and bashful daughter-in-law,
they soon disposed of her in a safe place--a bedroom with locked
doors--and for twenty-four hours remained on the premises, engaged in
collecting all they could find for food and forage. Cattle, corn,
molasses, and hay were shipped to town by the ferry-boat sent to their
assistance. In due course of time, finding the coast was clear and the
whole place “cleaned out,” the old gentleman ambled home. The bashful
lady of the castle had been released from her confinement, and order
somewhat restored, so there was little left to do but estimate the
damage.

Charlotte told me the story as she had it from the sable “cloud of
witnesses” that pervaded every Southern household, ending the recital
with the wise remark, “We didn’t hide them spoons none too soon.”

“Bombs bursting in air” every few days gave assurance that the
“guerrillas,” as a hastily organized band of rowdies and bullies,
that hovered on the outskirts of the town, chose to style themselves,
had “run in and fired off and run out again,” making just enough
demonstration to call a return fire from the gunboats and scare
everybody in town. These occurrences became so frequent that scarce
a day passed that we did not hear, either of an intended raid by the
“guerillas,” or the hissing and explosion of bombs, with shudders of
unutterable agony for the safety of aged and defenseless friends.

The towns-people actually made excavations in their yards and covered
them with planks for refuge in a bombardment. Some of the plank
coverings were struck and shattered by fiery missiles, so the wretched
inhabitants had to dig tunnels by which they could obtain shelter
beyond the covered entrance. Plans and diagrams for these were passed
around, and neighbor helped neighbor in the life-saving work. It was a
terrible state of things, no military organization at hand to control
the rowdy element on the Confederate side, and the Federals claiming to
have no other way of putting a stop to these senseless raids except by
firing from their gunboats.

In the midst of these occurrences, which we viewed from a safe
distance, I was startled one day by seeing a man dressed in the striped
and numbered garb of a convict enter the gates. He hurriedly explained
to my husband that the doors of the penitentiary at Baton Rouge had
been thrown open by military order, and the convicts freed, with
injunctions to report at headquarters and enlist.

I do not know how many inmates there were, but the people of the
town were terrified to find the whole criminal gang of the State
turned loose upon their streets. The man who sought to escape the
Federal service as well as the jurisdiction of the prison was a South
Carolinian, who in a sudden burst of passion had made himself amenable
to the law. He begged to be supplied with citizen’s clothing and
transportation beyond the limits of the State, so that he could reach
his home. We opened trunk after trunk that had been left at Arlington
for safe-keeping, by men long gone to the front, to find a suit that
would fit the slender, under-sized man. At last we succeeded, and gave
him my little boy’s only hat, as the one that best fitted, and with its
broad brim somewhat concealed his face, bleached from long confinement
in the cotton-factory. A slight change of clothing was also provided in
an improvised traveling-bag. My husband advanced him the needful funds,
loaned him a pony, and gave minute directions as to the safest road to
Camp Moore, where he could leave the animal and board the train that
would quickly carry him toward his old home. When warned to be very
cautious lest he be apprehended on the road, and not to carry anything
on his person that could betray him, with moistened eyes and quivering
lip he drew from his pocket and handed me a package of photographs of
his little children and a bundle of letters the only things he turned
back for when the portals of the prison were opened. “I can not tell
you what a gift you are sending to my wife when you put me on the road
to home; read these, they will tell you.” We stood on the back piazza
at early dawn and watched the retreating form of that happy man until
it disappeared from sight--then burned the unread letters and the
thumbed and worn photographs.

Twenty years after, we heard from him as quietly and peacefully living
in Carolina, surrounded by his family.




                              CHAPTER IV.

       WILLY’S ERRAND--BRECKENRIDGE’S MESSAGE--THE RAW RECRUITS.


Taxes had to be paid on plantations in Mississippi. Federal gunboats
cut off the usual means of communication. From New Orleans to
Baton Rouge, and from Cairo to Vicksburg, they were in undisturbed
possession. So we were compelled to send a messenger by land to
Greenville, some distance beyond Vicksburg. I well remember how
carefully Willy, a boy of fourteen, very bright and manly, though
small for his age, was prepared for the undertaking. He had never been
through the country. So he had a memorandum given him, how far and by
what road to go the first day, and that would bring him to a certain
house where my husband was known; he was to tell who he was and who
sent him “on an errand,” but on no account to divulge the nature of his
errand, and “die” before he told about the money he had on his person!

Day after day his route was mapped out; he was told what to say, what
not to say, and where to stop each night; at Greenville to pay the
clerk of the court the fifteen hundred dollars he had belted around
his waist, get a receipt, and return home.

Willy was an orphan, whose entire family had died of yellow fever
in New Orleans; a bright, intelligent boy, with only the little
education we had been able to give him before the schools were closed
and people’s minds turned to more exciting things; he was so apt and
faithful that we confided many things to his care, though of course
he had never been trusted to the extent of a four days’ journey on
horseback with a large amount of money in his keeping. Even if we had
found a man to send, he was liable to conscription on the road, so we
had to depend on the boy’s natural shrewdness, willingness to obey
orders implicitly, and diminutive size, to help us.

Days went by and no Willy returned. We began to whisper our anxieties
to each other, when out on the lawn where no one else could hear;
having already learned to be wary of the darky. We were afraid he had
_died before he told_, as he had been cautioned to do again and again.
At last, one day Willy presented himself all right and fresh as a
rose. Pony looked as though he had been in clover instead of on a long
and rather perilous journey. The boy came to me, in the absence of my
husband, and handed the receipt. To my eager inquiries as to the delay,
he could furnish no sensible reason. He was detained, could not tell
by what. Did he lose the road? “No.” Was he sick? “No.” Did pony give
out? “No.” “What was the detention?” Well, he “couldn’t just tell.” “Of
one thing you may be sure, sir; your uncle will make you tell.” And he
was dismissed with a frown. The orphan boy was no relative, but called
my husband uncle, from association with our nephews.

My husband’s step was heard. Willy ran to meet him, and they had a long
and anxious talk, walking down the road. The bright, animated face of
the youth, and his uncle’s bowed, eagerly listening attitude, warned
me that Willy _did_ have a “tale to unfold” that was not simply “No,”
for the talk came from him. My assiduous pumping must have started
the stream, for the anxious listener was eagerly drinking refreshing
draughts of news.

We were only two in those days: the children were young, the negroes
crafty, and the neighbors scattered; so we were only two, and never
did two hearts beat as one as ours did in those times that tried men’s
souls, and made the bravest among them feel the need of help, even
though it were the help of a woman, whose quick inspirations often
assisted her husband’s deductions, and sometimes solved the problem
by intuition. There was no secret I did not share--there was nothing
done--and, dear me! we felt, while the world was “up and doing,” that
we could do so little--but there was nothing done wherein I was not
allowed to help. That night we walked by the silent river’s bank, and
then I heard the story that made my blood run quick. I longed to be a
soldier, and go forth to battle for my beloved land, like Joan of Arc.

When Willy reached within a few miles of home, he was astounded to find
a “whole army,” as he called it, on the wary march. He was arrested, as
traveling in the direction no one was allowed to pass.

General Breckinridge, with a totally inadequate contingent of men, was
moving toward Baton Rouge, then in possession of the Federals. If he
could swoop down upon them suddenly, and have the co-operation of a
Confederate gunboat, he hoped by strategy to accomplish what might be
impossible in open battle. Willy was detained two or three days, before
obtaining permission to see General Breckinridge. When admitted, he
related his story to the general, even that part he was cautioned to
“die before telling,” and in sheer desperation showed the tax-office
receipt. General Breckinridge immediately dispatched the boy with a
secret message to my husband (with whom he was personally intimate),
to the effect that he “was slowly approaching Baton Rouge, and needed
all the assistance possible; if he could send any men to join him,
to do so; they could bring arms if they had them. He had no hospital
supplies. No one could be spared to attend to the disabled, and men
who could not engage in actual conflict could battle with disease and
wounds in the rear. If lint and bandages could be had, send them, and
come himself within two days.” Poor, burdened Willy trotted home, big
with the secret no man knew this side of the advancing command.

By the light of the moon I heard the stirring story, and earnestly we
talked and planned. We each had a tired and wounded brother only a few
days home from the battle-field of Shiloh, on sick leave, both the poor
fellows up-stairs in bed, ragged, foot-sore, tired, disgusted, and
inclined to think that the “hireling horde” the North was pouring down
upon us was a well-disciplined, almost invincible foe. We knew those
young men would need no “bugle-call” to summon them to the front; while
they really had nothing to buckle on but a tin water-can, they would be
off at the earliest moment, and take the chance of getting arms from
the first captured men. Then, one by one, we recalled the names and
whereabouts of some eight or ten others. Some were exempts; some called
themselves by the alluring name of “Home-Guards,” that would fight
“right thar,” but couldn’t go all the way to Virginia to do it; and
one or two were, like our two, home from Shiloh. We made our plans to
recruit, under the calm radiance of an August moon that was destined to
shine on many an upturned face on that bloody battle-field, unpitying
for the agonies that surge far and wide, blasting hearts that never
heard the cannon’s roar. Next morning my husband sallied forth.

  “Not with the roll of the stirring drum
  And the trumpet that sings of fame,”

but in a very cautious way he went after recruits, and succeeded in
raising a dozen, all told. In the gray of the early morning of the day
following there assembled at Arlington a rough stalwart set of men. I
do not know how many fought the next day, nor how many ran, but they
were quietly and soberly enthusiastic. We furnished a hearty breakfast
by candle-light, filled their tin cans with coffee, and, as they were
not burdened with arms or accoutrements, a substantial lunch was put
into their pockets. They marched off in the early dawn, toward the rear
of the plantation, and no more earnest prayer was ever offered to the
God of battles than ascended from our lips as, with dimmed eyes and
beating hearts, we watched them vanish in the veil of mist which at
that hour rises from the river.

Knowing that the assault was planned for the following morning, we felt
anxious and excited all day; and at evening my husband mounted his
horse, followed by an attendant, both loaded down with hastily prepared
lint, linen sheets for bandages, and all the medicines we had. They
also vanished amid the descending shades of night, and I was left alone
with two little children and a few house-servants.




                              CHAPTER V.

   THE BATTLE--RUSH TO ARLINGTON--DISASTER--DEPARTURE OF OUR GUESTS.


The next morning, at the first blush of dawn, firing was distinctly
heard from the direction of the town. Now, while the town was distant
four miles by the road winding with the river, it was not half that far
as the crow flies. Baton Rouge was on a sharp point; then the river
made a deep bend, and Arlington was on the next point of the scallop;
so that, looking toward the town from the windows, we looked partly
over water, and the city had somewhat the appearance of being built
on an island, the two points were so sharp and well-defined. It is
proper to add here, twenty-five years make at least twenty-five changes
in that most fickle of rivers. To-day, Arlington Point may have been
washed away--I do not know.

My little baby, whose advent was made such a good excuse for asking the
soldiers not to alight on our lawn, was now two months old. With care,
anxiety, a never-ceasing interest in all that surrounded us, and rather
delicate health at the best, I was by no means in good fighting order
for what had to be endured on that most memorable day. I sprung from
my bed, and flew half dressed to the windows commanding a view of the
scene. The roar of cannon was distinctly heard, and the house seemed
to tremble and shake with the unusual noise; the rattle of musketry,
the flying of bursting bombs from the Federal boats, the incessant
smoke and the rumble of nameless battle-sounds, kept us in suspense and
excitement, pride and fear, alarm and enthusiasm, that were painful.
General Breckinridge’s name had always carried victory with it in civil
life, where we knew him best. So, as I watched and prayed, I could not
bring my thoughts to the point that _our_ men could be beaten on their
_own_ ground under my very eyes! My thoughts turned from these exultant
channels, to see what at first seemed to be stampeded sheep, emerging
from the foggy mist in the far-away bend of the road, swelling and
surging, and rushing in the wildest hurry and flight, through a volume
of dust made ten times more stifling by the fierce heat. These were not
sheep, but human beings, running pell-mell, under intense excitement,
as fast as their legs could carry them. It is a sad commentary on
humanity that individuals are swallowed up in masses. When we prayed
that our troops might conquer and prevail, no thought of the hearts
that might be made desolate forever by the fatalities of war came to
us. “Victory! victory!” was the cry of every woman, as she buckled
on the sword, and sent husband and son to fight. No thought came of
her own or any other woman’s desolation. So, that morning, standing
alone at my window, watching through the dim mist what seemed to be the
ebb and flow of battle, hearing in the distance the booming, hissing,
and rattling sounds of conflict, I never once thought of the homes
of that besieged city, of the women and children, the old men and
the sick--never once thought of them, so swallowed up the destiny of
the day every other consideration. But when that struggling mass was
revealed to me--pouring, panting, rushing tumultuously down the hot,
dusty road, hatless, bonnetless, some with slippers and no stockings,
some with wrappers hastily thrown over night-gowns; now and then a
coatless man on a bare-back horse, holding a helpless child in his arms
before him, and a terrified woman clinging on behind; men trundling
children too young to run, in dirty wheel-barrows, while other little
half-clad, barefooted ones ran beside, weary and crying; an old man,
who could scarcely totter along, bearing a baby in his trembling arms,
while the distracted mother carried an older child with wounded and
bleeding feet; occasionally could be descried a battered umbrella held
over some delicate woman to temper the rays of what was fast becoming a
blazing August sun. Some ran, some stumbled along, others faltered and
almost gave out; but, before I could hurry on my clothes, they poured
into our gates and invaded the house, a small army of them, about five
hundred tired, exhausted, broken-down, sick, frightened, terrified
human beings--all roused from their beds by firing and fighting in the
very streets; rushing half-clad from houses being riddled with shot and
shell; rushing through streets filled with men fighting hand to hand;
wildly running they scarce knew whither, being separated from children
and wives and mothers in the midst of the roar of battle, and no time
to look for them; no turning back; on--on--through yards and over
fences and down narrow, dusty lanes--anywhere to get from the clash of
steel and the bursting of countless bombs!

Once on the open road and away from the very midst of battle, they ran
as though demons pursued them, never turning back or branching off.
There was but the one hot, dusty road to run, and that led straight to
our ever-open gates and to other gates beyond; but when they gained the
first, by common consent they turned in.

The battle roared and surged, but there was a roaring and surging
battle for bread in that house which for the moment silenced every
other. Our store-closets were thrown wide open; but how the crowd
managed that day I never knew. Before noon news came of our defeat. I
was sick and heart-sore, too much so to eat my own slender breakfast
which Charlotte smuggled up the back stairs under her apron; too sick
to care, too overwhelmed with the immensity of the undertaking of
feeding a great multitude with five loaves and no fishes, to attempt it.

I lay down beside my half-starved babe, whose nourishment was cut short
by the excitements of the morning, and, while I wept the bitterest
tears I ever shed, told the little unconscious child it did not matter
much whether we lived or died; we were beaten--beaten!

The few men in the army that invaded Arlington foraged as
better-disciplined ones do, and brought in some sheep and an ox;
killed, skinned, and cut them up with such knives as they could find,
and in lieu of better, used their own pocket-knives. Bits of meat
distributed around hastily cooked, smoked, and singed, they devoured
like savages; the famished babies had pieces given them to suck.
Long before noon the twelve pounds of tea from the store-closets had
entirely disappeared. We had immense iron kettles “set” in the laundry
where soap had been made by the barrel for plantation use, fires were
kindled under them and tea made _ad libitum_, but, to use Charlotte’s
forcible language, “it was drunk faster than it was made”; it could
not be furnished fast enough to meet the demands of the parched and
thirsty crowd. In the tumult of finding something to eat and drink, as
in all such cases, the strongest and hardiest being the enterprising
ones, fared the best, and the weak and ailing were in a measure
overlooked and neglected by the general crowd. By and by individual
cases attracted attention. One frail woman came down that road,
carrying a child five years old, wrapped in the blanket in which it
had lain at death’s door for days and nights. At first the distracted
parents thought they would stand by the suffering bedside amid all the
sounds of battle; it would be certain death to remove the patient.
They remained until a bomb exploded in their yard, carrying off part
of the house-top; then the mother, in a light night wrapper, snatched
the child up, enveloped in its blanket, and ran after the terrified
crowd down the road, the father by her panting side, with a younger
child in his arms whose weight was more than that of the invalid. That
distressed family was provided with the luxury of a bed, and the entire
room was almost yielded to them by the crowd at Arlington, who still
had wit enough to know that malignant scarlet fever was almost as bad
as bullets.

Time and again Charlotte, who was the Lady Bountiful of the occasion,
came to tell me that first one, then another, and still another poor
woman was in peril, and little garments went from my scanty store to
the innocent babes who opened their eyes on that eventful day, and
nothing but the supreme terror of their mothers prevented them from
first seeing light amid scenes of carnage and desolation.

So the day wore on--such a long day and such a short one it was; so
much crowded into it--and night found us all more tired and anxious
than ever.

The brief conflict was over. We knew we were beaten; the bad news
followed swiftly after the defeat; but the news of our dear ones, the
anxiety to know particulars, the surmises, hopes, and fears, but, above
all, the overwhelming news that we were _beaten_, wore us all out.
About sunset a sergeant and a few men from the victorious enemy came
down to Arlington and demanded to see my husband. Of course, he was
not at home, and I received them, bewitched to know what to say, for I
could not tell them that he was with General Breckinridge’s wounded.
I made the most plausible excuse possible for his temporary absence,
and the sergeant handed me a permit for him to enter their lines and
visit General Clark, of Mississippi, a most dear friend, who had been
grievously wounded and was their prisoner. My husband returned before
bedtime, and hurriedly availed himself of the permit. In his absence
word came to me, from a man who said he was just from town, that the
Federal officer in command said, if we did not send that rebel crowd
away from Arlington, a gunboat should be dispatched to shell them out.
I was desperate then, and simply replied that I could not send that
homeless multitude adrift. Many became alarmed, however, and took up
their weary march, some going down to neighboring plantations on the
river-bank, and others going back into the woods and swamps; enough
remained, however, to overflow the house--every stair-step had its
reclining form, every inch of sofa, bed, and floor was occupied by
tired, sleepy humanity. There was the usual rain that follows heavy
cannonading; it was damp and miserable everywhere. There were two very
large oak-trees in front of the house, with wide-spreading branches and
luxuriant foliage, a favorite resort for mocking-birds, whose songs
(how I should delight in them now!) were often an intolerable nuisance.
In those sturdy trees a whole colony of boys roosted, congratulating
themselves that nobody could turn them out, the thick leaves sheltering
them from falling drops of rain. So wearied nature gradually sought
repose; the last noises were the occasional twitterings of the wingless
occupants of the oak-trees. A hissing noise rent the air, and a bomb
exploded in front of the house; then another, and another; and a fourth
went whizzing over our heads, exploding with loud reports back of the
house, and on this side and on that. A gunboat anchored in the river
was sending its deadly missives far and wide. Far and wide they were
meant to be; for surely, if they intended to strike the house, they
could have done so, such a shining, big white mark as it was. The first
bomb that burst on the lawn roused our poor wingless birds, and the
boys tumbled out of those trees like overripe fruit in a gale, like
something that falls faster than that; like a great shake to a tree of
ripe persimmons, all fell at once. Each bomb called forth wails and
shrieks of terror from the thoroughly alarmed and nervously excited
people. After having accomplished their purpose, the boat moved off;
but there was no more roosting that night, nor sleeping either. A
feeling that something more was to happen pervaded the air, and we sat
about in anxious groups and desperately waited for it.

The first slanting rays of the rising sun saw a good many tired fathers
and mothers march off with their little half-clad families in various
directions. Others wandered back to their demolished and desecrated
homes, or to the homes of friends in the country; and by noon none were
left to our hospitable care, except the mothers with the new babies.

The poor woman with the sick child was frightened by the mere threat of
bombardment; she picked up the scarlet fever and blanket, there seemed
little else tangible--the patient was so emaciated and lifeless--and
sought refuge in the woods. I would add here that the child is alive
to-day, a beautiful woman, so deaf from that illness and cruel exposure
that she has almost lost her speech.




                              CHAPTER VI.

   RESTORING ORDER--SCENES OF VANDALISM--PREPARATIONS FOR DEPARTURE.


No one, who has not had the experience, knows what a litter and
indescribable confusion of dirt and _débris_ is left after twenty-four
hours’ occupancy of a house and grounds by a host, such as I have
attempted to describe. For days the negroes were cleaning up, and
restoring some kind of order. We moved around in a melancholy way,
ministering to the wants of our reluctant guests as far as we could,
and bidding them Godspeed when one by one they recovered sufficient
strength to pick up their additional little burden and creep away
to join their own friends, and to collect as far as they could the
remnants of their scattered (in many instances shattered) belongings,
or to erect other hearthstones over the remains of what had once been
not only comfortable but luxurious homes.

Though the days were prolonged by our constant anxiety, the remainder
of the summer gradually wore away. We stayed quietly at home; the
horses, except a small pony, had been given away, and we had no means
of locomotion except behind heavy wagon-mules, quite unfit for our
landau; and we were reluctant to yield with grace to that order of
things, so we kept at home. Books, portraits, and family plate had
already been sent to remote places of safety. Poultry was all devoured.
Some sheep and cattle remained, perhaps enough to supply the plantation
with food for some months longer. So we had nothing tangible to afford
us occupation or entertainment; no crop to cultivate, the planted cane
having been plowed up by the waters. Corn was put in the ground, but
the worms which invariably appear on a submerged field devoured it as
fast as it sprouted. The negroes, in a half-hearted way, as if they
foresaw the doom that awaited the plantation, repaired only a few
bridges, leveled some ruts, and in a listless manner pottered around as
though they knew perfectly well “it was no use”; we realized the same,
but felt the necessity of furnishing these dependent laborers with
occupation.

It is difficult at this distant day for me to realize how isolated
we were. Having relied almost entirely on the Mississippi River
packets for intercourse with the world beyond, all facilities of
communication through that medium were now suspended. The post-office
might as well have been closed so far as we were concerned, for no
mails were received from, or dispatched to, any point outside of
the Federal lines. Near relatives sickened, died, and were buried
within a day’s ride of our home, of whose extremity we did not know
for weeks--receiving the information then through a casual passer-by.
People journeying from point to point avoided towns on the river-bank
and sought hospitality at plantation or farm houses. So frequent were
the demands made upon Arlington by lonely and forlorn travelers, that
a couple of rooms in the rear of the house were set apart for their
convenience.

Occasionally small companies of Federals made raids in the
neighborhood, under some pretext or other; notice of the intended visit
was often mysteriously conveyed to the planter in time for him to
prepare.

On one occasion, word was brought to my husband of an intention to
search Arlington for arms and accoutrements. Our two soldier brothers
had crept home under shadow of night, a few days after the battle, with
guns captured on the field; William had secreted them in our attic. As
he was absent, I went in search of them. The attic covered the entire
house; it was never used, and was not floored. Carefully stepping from
beam to beam in the darkness, trusting more to the sense of touch than
sight, in search of the guns, by an unlucky step one foot went through
lath and plastering. I was alone, and struggled desperately, sinking
deeper with every effort, until I was actually in danger of descending
bodily into the room below. Finally extricating myself, I hobbled
in a very scratched and bruised state down-stairs, to find that the
accident had occurred immediately over the bed where one of the sick
brothers lay unable to rise, his bed covered with the _débris_, and he
convulsed with laughter. We eagerly watched the small detachment of
soldiers approach our gate, and without even pausing, ride by. When
we left Arlington, the arms were still secreted in the attic; and as
the substantial homestead still stands--dismantled, shutterless, and
perhaps in many places floorless though it be--those guns are doubtless
lying in some remote corner under the roof, mute witnesses of the
horrors of war.

When the Federals left the town I do not remember, but after a while
they did leave, and we had something to say about a barren victory,
forgetting that Baton Rouge was no strategic point. In those days, to
us Baton Rouge was a considerable place, only second in importance to
New Orleans, and that city ranked with Richmond in our estimation. One
fine day the fleet of gunboats steamed away, accompanied by transports
loaded to the edge with their black freight. Negroes from every
direction flocked in after the battle, old and young and of both sexes.
Some went from Arlington, too; several women, in their eagerness,
and desiring to be unencumbered, left their sleeping babies in the
cabin beds. The Federals, in acknowledgment of their loyalty, took
them to New Orleans, and the general who first gave them the title of
_contraband_ must have been well-nigh overwhelmed by the motley crew
that hastened to put themselves under his protection.

For many weeks we had not passed beyond our plantation limits. My
husband’s business, which formerly took him daily to the little city,
was suddenly and disastrously terminated when the Federals took
possession. During this depressing interval, General Clark’s wife
arrived at Arlington from his plantation in Mississippi, after a six
days’ ride through a very rough country. The distracted woman had heard
that her husband was seriously wounded--no more; but we were able
to comfort her with the assurance that he was alive and in General
Butler’s care. It was hard to recognize, in the heart-broken, weary
traveler, the robust, cheerful woman, who formed one of the party when
we accompanied our delegate husbands to the Democratic Convention at
Charleston in April, 1860.

The incidents of those stormy days can never be effaced from my mind.
From my favored seat in the gallery I witnessed the proceedings every
step of which led to more tumultuous excitement, culminating at last in
the disruption of the convention, and opening the way for a momentous
future of which we had little conception. How well I remember my
intense emotion while leaning over the gallery rail, listening to the
roll-call of States to ratify the adoption of the platform, seeing one
Southern delegation after another, with a few words of explanatory
protest from its chairman, rise and solemnly file out of the hall!
How my heart beat at the call “Louisiana!” how intently I listened to
catch the words of grand old Governor Mouton, as with French accent,
made ten times more unintelligible by his vehement manner and rapid
utterance, he explained the attitude of his State! Pointing a tremulous
finger at the seated representatives of Louisiana, with emphatic
delivery and quivering voice he concluded: “Louisiana instructed her
delegation to vote as a unit; two of the number refuse to act with the
majority; they can retain their seats, but they have no voice, they can
not represent the State.” The impetuous old gentleman descended from
the bench on which he stood, to command attention to his remarks, and
strode out of the assembly, followed by nine of his _confrères_. To my
unspeakable dismay--for I was too hot-headed to be reasonable amid so
much excitement--I saw my husband and his colleague remain seated, the
delinquents toward whom the defiant finger of the creole Hotspur had
been directed. General Clark’s attitude in the Mississippi delegation
was scarcely less conservative than that of my clear-headed husband.

Poor Mrs. Clark was detained several days, until a flag of truce could
be obtained from the nearest Confederate post to escort her to New
Orleans, and we had ample time to talk over the rush of events since
the exciting period when we had last sat side by side.

After the Federals evacuated we were induced to go to Baton Rouge to
inquire concerning the welfare of certain friends who had returned
to town, and of others who remained during the conflict witnesses of
the struggle. Pickets commanded all the approaches during the Federal
occupation, and at first only the _loyal_ were permitted to pass. It is
needless, perhaps, to say what class composed the “truly loyal,” thus
early in the war, in an extreme Southern State. Ignorant and brutal
negroes, who for generations had been kept under some kind of control,
rushed past the pickets without a challenge, and no doubt contributed
no small share to the indiscriminate robbery and devilish destruction
which we in our indignation attributed to the common soldiers, who,
by the death of General Williams (unfortunately killed in the battle
of Baton Rouge), were left under officers certainly unequal to the
task of keeping them in subordination. It was only after the place
had been _sacked_--I believe that is the word, though it is scarcely
comprehensive enough--that the former residents were allowed to enter
and view the abomination of desolation. More than one distressed
man returned to his wife, detained at Arlington by the claims of
maternity, with a few broken articles or a bag of willfully mutilated
clothing, and reported, “This is all I could find at home.”

Several days after the evacuation we ventured to enter the gates of
our sweet little city, on errands of mercy, mingled with no little
curiosity to see the condition in which it had been left by its
unwelcome and turbulent visitors. The tall, broad-spreading shade-trees
that lined the streets had been felled and thrown across all the
leading thoroughfares, impeding travel so that our landau made many
ineffectual attempts to thread its way. At last I descended and walked
the dusty, littered, shadeless streets from square to square. Seeing
the front door of the late Judge Morgan’s house thrown wide open,
and knowing that his widow and daughters, after asking protection
for their property of the commanding general, had left before the
battle, I entered. No words can tell the scene that those deserted
rooms presented. The grand portraits, heirlooms of that aristocratic
family, men of the Revolutionary period, high-bred dames of a long-past
generation in short bodices, puffed sleeves, towering head-dresses,
and quaint golden chains--ancestors long since dead, not only valuable
as likenesses that could not be duplicated, but acknowledged works
of art--these portraits hung upon the walls, slashed by swords clear
across from side to side, stabbed and mutilated in every brutal way!
The contents of store-closets had been poured over the floors;
molasses and vinegar, and everything that defaces and stains, had
been smeared over walls and furniture. Up-stairs, _armoires_ with
mirror-doors had been smashed in with heavy axes or hammers, and the
dainty dresses of the young ladies torn and crushed with studied,
painstaking malignity, while china, toilet articles, and bits of
glass that ornamented the rooms were thrown upon the beds and broken
and ground into a mass of fragments; desks were wrenched open, and
the contents scattered not only through the house, but out upon the
streets, to be wafted in all directions; parts of their private letters
as well as letters from the desks of other violated homes, and family
records torn from numberless bibles, were found on the sidewalks of the
town, and even on the public roads beyond town limits!

Judge Morgan’s was the only vacated house I entered. It was enough:
I was too heart-sick and indignant to seek another evidence of the
lengths to which a conquering army can go in pitiless, unmeaning
destruction, when nothing can result from such vandalism but hatred and
revenge.

All the devastation that harrowed my soul on that visit was not
entirely due to the conquering army. The Confederate attack, on that
day so full of sad and tender memories, was made from the rear of the
city. The men in gray sprung over the fences and swarmed through the
cemeteries, trampled down the graves, rushed over the little crosses
and demolished and scattered the larger monuments that marked the
resting-place of their own beloved dead, making, in that wild and
desperate onslaught, ruins that tender hands and loving hearts have
never yet been able to entirely repair.

My husband soon found that the distracted state of the country, the
upheaving of the very foundation upon which our domestic life was
based, and the idleness into which the negroes lapsed, partly from lack
of steady work caused by the destruction of the growing crops, was more
than he could endure.

So, in direct violation of military orders issued from headquarters in
New Orleans, prohibiting the transfer of slaves from one plantation to
another, a number of our negroes were sent to my brother’s plantation,
where work was provided for them, by which they could at least earn
their food, and at the same time partially relieve us of an element of
querulous discontent that was fast becoming dangerous.

Our experience before and after the battle was so painful and harassing
as to lead to the determination never again to be placed under the
arbitrary rule of the army of occupation, whose frequent arrests and
incarcerations in the common jail of unoffending citizens under the
most frivolous pretexts, and often with no pretexts at all, made
our very lives insecure. Believing that at no distant day we would
have to accept the only alternative, voluntary exile, preparations
for departure were quietly matured. The landau was exchanged for
a rockaway, and this, with the curtains buttoned down, and some
alterations in the seats to render a sleeping-place possible, made a
reasonably comfortable traveling vehicle. A stout wagon, with a cotton
cover, was put in order, to carry food and such articles as were
necessary in camping out during a long journey, and six of the best and
strongest mules were stabled with their harness hanging beside them for
use at a moment’s warning. We did not have long to wait.




                             CHAPTER VII.

  SECOND VISIT OF THE ENEMY--MIDNIGHT FLIGHT--FAREWELL TO ARLINGTON.


The only exact date I can remember, and _that_ I can never forget, was
the 17th of December.

The weather was warm for the season, a thick fog hung over the river,
obscuring objects only a few yards distant. As I stood by the window,
in the early morning, completing my toilet, the white, misty curtain
rolled up like a scroll, revealing a fleet of gunboats. Far as the
eye could reach, up and down and around our point, the river was
bristling with gayly flagged transports, anchored mid-stream, waiting
for the dissipation of the mist to proceed. In a twinkling all was
excitement with the hurry and bustle of preparation for our immediate
departure. A breakfast eaten “on the fly,” as it were, a rushing here
and there, and packing of necessaries for our journey, God only knew
whither, we did not care where, so we escaped a repetition of scenes
that had made us old before our time, and life a constant excitement
that was burning us up. William was dispatched to the city on a tour
of observation. He returned, to report ten thousand men and the most
warlike demonstrations that the darky’s genius could invent; pickets
to be stationed away beyond Arlington, and all of us to be embraced
within the lines and made to “toe de mark.” “Mars Jim, and every white
man what harbored a Confederate soldier de time of de fight, was to be
tuk prisoner.” The more William told, the more he remembered to tell;
and, long before he was through with his recital, I was perplexed,
bewildered, and almost distracted.

The negro men were summoned from their quarters to help load the wagon.
We put in cooking-utensils, some dishes and plates, bedding and a small
mattress, a few kegs and boxes of necessary provisions, a trunk of
clothing, some small bags and bundles--that was all.

I wandered through the dear old rooms of the house where we had lived
ten happy years, taking a mournful farewell of a whole _armoire_ of
dinner and ball dresses, that were of no use to me now, packed a trunk
full of laces, flowers, feathers, and other such useless things that
were found here and there in boxes and drawers, leaving the packed
things in a front room. The only thing among them I specially remember
was a partly made album quilt that bore the signatures of numberless
friends and of some distinguished personages. When Baton Rouge was
threatened, and indeed after its capture, trunks, bags, and bundles,
belonging to men off “on service,” were at various times conveyed to
Arlington for safe-keeping. These I now opened, and all the letters and
papers they contained were destroyed.

The mules safely locked in the stable, the harnesses all ready to
slip on, extra straps and ropes thrown into the wagon--too excited to
sleep, we threw ourselves on our beds for the last time; too tired to
talk, sore at heart, too worn out to weep. There we lay in a fitful
and uneasy slumber. In the dead stillness of the night there came a
low tap at our chamber-door. “Mars Jim!” My husband was on his feet
with a bound. “Your niggers is all gone to de Yankees; de pickets is
on our place, and dey done told your niggers you would be arrested at
daylight!” The speaker was head sugar-maker on an adjoining plantation,
himself a slave. “Call Dominick and tell him to get my buggy ready
while I put on some clothes,” was the only response. I lighted the
candle and hurried my husband off, while he whispered directions for
me to join him immediately after breakfast at the house of a neighbor
five miles back of us, which he could speedily reach by going through
the woods, and to have one of the men drive the wagon and one drive the
ambulance through the longer but better wagon-road.

That was all--and he was gone! Knowing that my husband’s disregard
of military orders by the removal of negroes from Arlington to my
brother’s plantation rendered him liable to immediate arrest, it was
an untold relief to feel that he was safe beyond Federal reach.

I did not lie down again, but wandered around in an aimless sort of
way, too excited and nervous to sit still a moment, and too distracted
to do a useful or sensible thing. At the first appearance of dawn I
aroused William to prepare breakfast, and Charlotte to get the table
ready. Before the children were awake, I was down at the stable, having
William and Willy hitch up the teams. I saw with half an eye that
William was not in sympathy with our plans, and knew intuitively that
my husband distrusted him, else he and not Dominick would have been the
one to pilot him through the canebrake and woods the previous night.
Incidentally William dropped remarks to the effect that he “could
lend a hand at harnessing, but he never _druv_ mules; he _know’d_ a
_smatterin’_ ’bout _hosses_, but _mules_ (with a sneer) was clean away
from him.” With difficulty I repressed my disappointment regarding
further help from him in my emergency. He who had been my husband’s
valet in his gay bachelor days and our confidential servant, our very
aid and help in all my bright married life, had had his poor woolly
head turned by that one trip to town, and asserted his independence
at the first shadow of provocation. William failing me, I knew I
must seek other help. Some of the negroes had left during the night,
but I was aware that others remained who might seek exemption from
service now that they were in sight of the flag whose brilliant stars
and stripes were plainly visible floating from the dome of the State
Capitol. Being ready and eager to start, I immediately went down to
the quarters a half-mile distant; there I waited, going from cabin to
cabin, and walked to the dwelling-house and back again. Willy stood by
the hitched-up teams, and Sabe, near by, held the baby in her arms,
while little Henry clung to her skirts. Then back to the quarters.
This man “had a _misery_ in his back--had it ever since the crevasse”;
that man “never _druv_ in his life--didn’t I know he was de engineer?”
Another man “wouldn’t drive old Sall--she was de _balkinest_ mule on
de place; you won’t git a mile from here ’fore she takes de _studs_
and wont budge a step.” “Well, drive us that mile.” “Not me! I don’t
’low to walk home wid dis here lame foot.” I could have sat down and
wept my very heart out. It was long past noon; the harnessed mules had
to be fed, and William made out to say: “We had better take a little
_snack_ and give it up; if we stayed home, Mars Jim would come back;
the Yankees didn’t have nothing ’gin him.”

I could hardly hold my tongue by almost biting it off--so helpless--so
worried; and ever and anon the thought of my husband’s impatient
waiting almost crazed me. At last old Dave said he “warn’t no hand
wid mules, but he ’low’d he could tackle old Sal till she balked.”
There was no time for bargaining for another driver now. I caught at
Dave’s offer before he knew it, only stopping long enough to bid all
the deluded creatures a hasty good-by. Old “Aunt Hannah” (that was
my mother’s laundress long before I was born, and who had been given
a cabin to herself to sun away her half-blind and grumbling old age)
stood in her little cabin-door, as straight as an arrow; she always
complained of _rheumatiz_, and I don’t think I ever saw her straight
before; but there she stood, with the air of one suddenly elevated to
an exalted position, and waved me a “Good-by, madam--I b’ar you no
malice.”

Dave was hurried by my rapid steps back to the stable, and Sabe came
out with the tired children. Just as I thought we were fairly off,
William announced, “Sence you was gone, a Yankee gunboat is cum down
and I see it’s anchored ’tween us and Kernel Hickey’s.” A peep around
the corner of the house confirmed the truth of his statement. Hastily
grasping a carpet-bag, lying ready packed in the ambulance, I ascended
to my bedroom, took from it two large pockets quilted thick with jewels
which I secured about my person, while Charlotte put the breakfast
forks and spoons in the bottom of the bag. When I returned to the
teams, everybody was standing about, apparently waiting to see what
“Miss ’Liza” would do _now_. Summoning every effort to command a voice
whose quaver must have betrayed my intense emotion, I directed Willy
to mount the wagon, a few last baskets and packages were tossed into
the ambulance, and Henry’s little pony tied behind. I got in, then
the little ones and Sabe; Dave shambled into his place in front; the
curtain cutting off the driver’s seat was carefully rolled up, so I
could have an unobstructed view, and Willy was told to lead the way.
Twice I had bidden Charlotte, whose mournful eyes had followed me all
day, a tearful farewell, and twice I had returned from a fruitless and
unsuccessful tramp to the negro quarters. At the last moment I waved
her good-by as she stood sobbing by William’s side on the veranda,
watching us as with bowed heads and heavy hearts we drove through the
gate of our once lovely home.

So I rode away from Arlington, leaving the sugar-house crowded to its
utmost capacity with the entire crop of sugar and molasses of the
previous year for which we had been unable to find a market within “our
lines,” leaving cattle grazing in the fields, sheep wandering over
the levee, doors and windows flung wide open, furniture in the rooms,
clothes too fine for me to wear now hanging in the _armoires_, china in
the closets, pictures on the walls, beds unmade, table spread. It was
late in the afternoon of that bright, clear, bracing day, December 18,
1862, that I bade Arlington adieu forever!




                             CHAPTER VIII.

    “PICKETS DOWN DAR!”--HARD JOURNEYING--WILLY’S FATE--CHARLOTTE.


The whole plantation field-work was done with mules, and I really
believe Willy was the only person on the place, capable of driving,
who had never managed a team of four. He moved slowly up toward the
town, as directed. I think Dave felt a little reassured so long as
he faced the Federal flag; but at Gartness Lane the wagon turned in,
leaving the starry emblem to the left; then Dave stopped to remark
that he believed he “had gone ’bout far enough--p’raps Sabe could
drive, but _he_ wouldn’t.” Here was the supreme moment for me. There
was a small pistol-case on the seat behind me. I do not know to this
day whether that pistol was loaded or not, but there was no time to
waste, and I was in no frame of mind for hesitation. I pulled it out
like a professional highwayman, held it close to Dave’s woolly head,
and ordered him to follow the wagon, or I’d blow his brains out! Even
now, when I think of that moment, my lips quiver and my hands tremble.
Not a word did Dave utter, but, with one scared look that made his old
black face ashy, he drove through the gate and closely followed the
wagon.

By evening we reached the end of Gartness Lane, and a black head
popped out of the bushes. “Don’t go dat road, pickets down dar!”
so we turned up the road we wanted to go down. When it was quite
dark, we reached a house, where we asked to remain all night, and
there to my intense astonishment I met our overseer, who, instead of
remaining on the plantation attending to his duties, had taken flight
on the first appearance of the Federals. He had departed without the
slightest notification, leaving me to do the best I could, without
the help of a living soul but little Willy; seeking a place of safety
for his worthless self, and in that place of safety I found him at
night--waiting for me!

I was too dejected, helpless, and cowed, to say anything more than that
I was pleased to see him, and would he be good enough to help Willy
feed the mules; and be sure to put Dave in a safe place, as he was my
only dependence for a driver until I could join my husband?

The next morning, the first thing I heard was, that Dave had stolen
Henry’s pony and absconded! Words fail to express my indignation, but
I controlled sufficient vocabulary to give the overseer my opinion of
him in terms that must have made him think he was a very contemptible
piece of humanity. He was given to understand that he must tie his
horse to the tail of the wagon, and take the reins of the four mules,
while Willy would drive the ambulance.

I never saw before the people who so hospitably entertained us that
night, and have forgotten their names, but I presume they thought I was
equal to any emergency, and did not wonder I had been left to “paddle
my own canoe.”

The rest comes to my mind in vague confusion. Recollections of woolly
heads popping out of bushes at every cross-road, and sending us the
roundabout way, with the whisper, “Pickets down dat road!” temporary
bridges over impassable places, felled trees shoved aside, fences
taken down for us to pass through woods and fields to come to an
open road, and the oft-repeated warning, “Pickets down dar!”--it
is all now like a dim, troubled dream. On the third day we emerged
on a broad highway, where were wagons loaded with furniture, beds,
bundles, cooking-utensils, articles of clothing, old trunks and barrels
overflowing with hastily collected household effects, being laboriously
drawn by broken-down, emaciated horses, whose days of active service
had long since departed. A few decrepit, bedraggled, dejected women,
with whole families of shivering children, walked the dusty road-side.

These were the “rear-guard,” as it were, of a little army of wretched
citizens fleeing from their broken homes. On the afternoon of that
(my third) day’s travel, now quite voiceless from severe cold, and
very nearly exhausted, we arrived in front of a comfortable-looking
plantation-house. I gave out completely when I saw its wide-open
veranda doors and all the surroundings of a luxurious resting-place.
Willy was sent in to ask if we could stop there, and returned with a
beaming face to say it was Mr. Pierce’s house, and that my husband
had been there looking for me, and had gone to make further search,
promising to return at night. His anxiety for my safety had been
greatly increased through numerous reports circulated by the refugees
from Baton Rouge, to the effect that a Federal gunboat had landed at
Arlington subsequent to his hurried departure, and, failing to capture
him, had taken his wife and children on board, and then proceeded to
New Orleans. The rumor, reasserted in various forms, had so great a
resemblance to truth that he was nearly distracted, and not till late
in the evening, when he found us safe at Mr. Pierce’s, did he know
the facts. My heart burst with its burden of anxieties when I saw my
husband again and was infolded in his strong arms, only thirteen miles
from our own home, and I had been three days making it! Arlington
with all its attractions was nothing. I said then, as I say now, “I
never desire to see it again.” The brightest hours of my early life
were spent there, but the remembrance is blotted out by the painful
incidents of the last days at the dear old home.

In consequence of the contagious nature of the illness in Mr. Pierce’s
house, we took a hasty departure the following morning. He gave us a
small army-tent that was found on his place after the battle; it was
thankfully stored in the wagon. Thirty miles farther brought us to my
brother’s home, where we tarried several days. Willy was reluctant to
go on with us, and we needed him no longer, so he returned to Arlington
with the buggy, which was also useless. The boy, months afterward,
while engaged in guarding a neighbor’s cotton from roving bands of
self-styled guerrillas, who were as much to be feared as the enemy, was
found stark and stiff with a bullet in his heart and a gun clutched in
his cold hands, his face turned heavenward, whither his brave spirit
had flown. Sad fate for the noble, faithful boy!

One word about Charlotte, a type of a class of slaves, one specimen at
least of which was to be found in every well-governed establishment.
“Aunt” Charlotte was a trusted member of my husband’s family when “old
miss,” as she with affectionate reverence always called his mother, was
at the head of the household. Her zeal in our service never flagged;
she had no higher ambition than the faithful discharge of her daily
duties. She superintended the details of our house with systematic
precision, “achieved,” as she expressed it, from “old miss.” The
day after our abrupt departure, the Federals took possession of all
that remained on the plantation. Our old home was quickly stripped.
Charlotte--I think in the vain hope of our return--claimed certain
valuable articles of furniture and my portrait, and, with William and
their baby, secured a vacant house in town, and there they received
Willy upon his return. This much we knew before we left Louisiana.

To a relative who saw her two years later in her own room, the poor
creature with sobs told of the death of her baby, repeating again and
again, “If Miss ’Liza had been here, my baby wouldn’t have died.” She
opened the trunk I had left in the house, and with careful hands took
out the faded finery and bit of silk patchwork to show how she was
keeping it for “Miss ’Liza.” A short while after this the poor soul
became hopelessly insane. Now she rests!




                              CHAPTER IX.

          CAMPING BY NIGHT--FORLORN WOMEN--BEAUMONT--HOUSTON.


We were going to Texas, the great State that opened its hospitable
doors to hundreds of refugees fleeing like ourselves from their own
homes. We were going to Texas for many reasons.

A loving brother was there, and our slaves were there at peaceful work
on land cultivated on shares. We had, besides, the feeling that the
Federals could never get a foothold on its boundless prairies, though
they had made an ominous beginning by capturing its most valuable
seaport; but, above and beyond all, we could take refuge in Mexico if
the worse came to the worst.

We had long journeys of days that ran into weeks, of camping under a
tent that was scarce large enough to cover four. Every night after
the day’s ride, fodder, that was picked up in the fields bordering
the road, was carefully spread on the bare ground, with comforts and
a blanket on top, and we stowed ourselves away, each with a child to
keep warm. Often we rose in the morning to find the ground covered
with frost, and the tent too stiff to be folded into the wagon. Then,
crossing rivers by rope-ferries, “manned” by women whose husbands were
in the mountains of Virginia or the swamps around Vicksburg--frail
rope-ferries, that could only take one vehicle at a time without
risk of sinking; riding by day, camping by night, occasionally in
rainy weather asking shelter at houses by the road-side; though
never refused, the accommodations were always scant and more or less
uncomfortable. Proceeding west, we found the people poorer and more
ignorant, consequently more helpless. In many instances only women
and children were left in the almost destitute farm-houses. One rainy
Sunday afternoon we stopped at a miserable country house--the first
one we had seen all that day--which consisted of two rooms and a porch
perched a few feet above the ground on the inevitable six stumps
which formed the foundation, and a retreat at the same time for pigs
and chickens. After rapping and calling for some time, finding no
response, and the door on the latch, we ventured to enter the deserted
house. The rafters were hung with long leaves of partly cured tobacco,
and there was a remnant of fire on the capacious hearth, with other
evidences that the owner was temporarily absent. Not a living thing was
to be seen around the premises but a broken-down, one-eyed horse, and
an ancient rooster, that strutted around in solitary state. In the
course of the afternoon two forlorn women made their appearance with a
handkerchief full of “borrowed” corn-meal, for, except a pound or two
of rusty bacon, they had nothing whatever in the house to eat. It was
difficult for my husband to believe they could be so destitute that
they had to walk in a drizzling rain four miles to a neighbor to borrow
a half-peck of meal; he freely offered to pay any price for a few ears
of corn for the mules. They were not to be had.

Their husbands (they were mother and daughter) had gone “to fight
Lincoln,” they pathetically told us, and when they went, “now gwine
on two year,” they expected to “git done with the job” in a month.
The poor women had eaten everything their husbands left them but the
“_terbacker_,” and, from the way they smoked and chewed that night, I
am afraid they consumed all that before the men returned, if, alas!
they ever did. We had hoped, being only twenty miles or so from the
town of Beaumont, on the Sabine River, to find some variation in our
own camp-diet. The poor baby had been fed on sweet-potatoes--the brave
little fellow only six months old. When we asked for milk, they showed
us the old one-eyed _mar_, stretching her long, skinny neck over the
broken fence, as the “onlyest she-critter’” they had. In despair for
ourselves and pity for them, we brought out our camp supplies--coffee,
sugar, salt, and hard-tack--and the famished women enjoyed a sumptuous
feast with the hot corn-bread and fried bacon they were able to add.

We were allowed to occupy their only bed, and I think there were a
million of _cimices lectuarii_ in it, for Henry and the patient little
baby presented the appearance of having measles when we awoke the next
morning.

We parted from our wagon and its camping facilities at the door of this
old cabin, sending it by road direct to Houston, proposing ourselves
to take cars at Beaumont, thereby saving at least sixty miles of wagon
travel, which mode of conveyance had become intolerably wearisome to
the children.

The only tavern at that picturesquely located town was less adapted
to the accommodation of man than of beast. There was but one
guest-chamber, and its only entrance was through a combination of
office, bar, smoking and lounging room, presided over by the landlord,
a kindly, hunchbacked dwarf, whose wife, a comely, intelligent woman,
by the way, was the first “_dipper_” I ever saw. She confined herself
mostly to the kitchen, where her pot of snuff and dip-stick were
conveniently at hand on the window-sill, and between dips--I refrain
from describing the process--attended to her domestic duties. The
universal assembly-room was the only one provided with a fireplace.
As a severe storm of rain and sleet, accompanied by a sharp fall in
temperature, set in on Monday, the very day of our arrival, and
continued with increasing fury until Friday, I sat all those days in
a corner by a smoky fire, with baby wrapped in shawls on my lap. We
were the only lodgers, so far as could be discovered, but the boarders
hung round the same pitiful fire from meal to meal, reluctant to brave
the inhospitable elements. They smoked pipes, talked, chewed, and
expectorated hour after hour, but I was so glad of a warm, dry corner,
and not inappreciative of the scant courtesy showed to the only lady in
the crowd, that I had no complaints to make. No recollection remains to
me regarding the time-table of the Houston and Beaumont Railroad, but
a dim idea dawns that it was intended to make a round trip daily, _Deo
volente_, which implied “weather permitting”; but when rain soaked the
wood piled by the road-side so that it would not make steam, or when
sleet made the rails slippery, travel was entirely suspended. As both
these contingencies existed the week we were in Beaumont, of course no
travel could be thought of.

At Orange faint rumors were circulated that Galveston had been
recaptured by the Confederates. Proceeding west, those rumors became
more frequent and positive; and the last day at Beaumont we had the
happiness to have them verified by eye-witnesses of General Magruder’s
heroic and gallant act, which could scarcely have been excelled by any
similar event of the war. The story, repeated again and again, with
added particulars at every recital, gave us mighty food for boastful
talk, and our hearts so glowed with the warmth of excitement, that it
was not surprising the sun burst out from the dark clouds then and
there, and scattered the sleety rain-drops.

Master Henry had been so long confined to the smoky, stale odor of the
sitting-room, that he took immediate advantage of the clearing weather
to explore the town, whose mysteries he had studied for days through
the grimy, rain-spotted windows. When missed, he could not be found.
Beaumont is located on a high, almost perpendicular bluff, which runs
sheer down to the bed of the narrow river. As the tavern was only a
stone’s-throw from this precipitous bank, the first thought was that
the child might have tumbled into the river. Our kind landlord himself
headed a search, and, when the children at the school were dismissed
at recess, they also joined in. When, some time afterward, the
enterprising young scamp was found, quietly watching the men at work in
a saw-mill out of town, the whole population had already been aroused.
Meanwhile my husband--with an occasional little inquiring trip to the
door, which did not arouse my suspicions--remained with me engaged in
earnest discussion of the news from Galveston, in which, as in all
particulars concerning the war, I was always so easily interested as to
become for the time oblivious of every other subject. So well did he
manage the self-imposed task, that the little truant was brought back
before I had felt any anxiety on the score of his absence.

After a long day’s snail-like progress, the train stopping every few
miles to take a load of wet and soggy wood, and every few minutes to
get up steam, slipping, sliding, and sometimes refusing point-blank
to budge until all the men got out in the mud and slush to “giv her a
shove,” we reached Houston after midnight, tired, cold, hungry, and
cross, to find no conveyance at the muddy, inhospitable shed of a depot
to carry us to a hotel.

One of our fellow-passengers, who had also sat by the Beaumont fire,
procured a carriage from a stable near by, and in the wee hours of the
morning our party tumbled into the “Old Capitol.” I believe there is a
new hotel of the same name on the spot now, of which Houstonians are
justly proud; and, as our advance in the refinement of life is measured
by the depths from which we started, they will not be offended if
reminded that the “Old Capitol,” in war-times, was about as wretched a
hostelry as could have been found on the face of this continent.

A small bucket, filled with cold meat and sweet-potatoes by the hostess
of the Beaumont tavern, to serve in case of delay, was so liberally
shared with the other hungry passengers of the train, that we were
famished when we arrived at Houston. Nothing whatever to eat was
procurable at that late hour. Sabe managed to kindle a fire in the
grate of our chilly chamber, already filled with half-burned coals,
ashes, scraps of paper, stumps, and quids of discarded tobacco, and we
were made more comfortable by a cup of coffee from our own camp supply.

Upon the edge of boasted grazing prairies, where the grass furnished
boundless pasturage for cattle too numerous to be counted, not a drop
of milk could be had for patient baby, who had almost forgotten the
taste of the only food he ought to have had, not a particle of butter
to soften the dry sweet-potato he had to eat, not even a piece of
broiled steak. Milk and butter, we were coolly told, were out of season
(one would have thought they were vegetables and fruit like green
peas and peaches), and the meat, tough and stringy, was fried to the
consistency of leather.

A dark purple calico dress and black cloth sacque, my hair combed
straight back _à la chinoise_, and protected from dust by a cap of
chenille, a home-made palmetto hat of the “wash-bowl” pattern, with
a fold of black bombazine around the crown, constituted the costume
in which I had traveled and camped. The first morning in that unique
hotel, decked out in my black bombazine, my hair in the broad,
spreading bands over the ears, as was the fashion, I sallied out to
breakfast. A freshly shaved gentleman in broadcloth passed and repassed
me with a perplexed look that attracted my notice. Glances of inquiry
were exchanged, followed by peals of laughter; the outfit of our
Beaumont friend had been even shabbier than mine, and each found the
other metamorphosed by change of clothes almost beyond recognition.
While enjoying a hearty laugh over the affair, another butterfly
emerged from the chrysalis state, and we stoutly refused to recognize
my husband fresh from the barber and boot-black.

Drums were beating, flags flying, and the whole city in holiday
attire, streets filled with crowds jostling their way toward a grand
stand erected on a broad open space in Main Street, where, with some
music, more speeches, and most cheers, a pretty young lady in a blue
silk evening-dress presented in the name of the “Lone Star State” (as
Texas loved to call herself) a superb sword to the gallant general
whose dashing heroism had wrested their island city from the grasp of
the foe, and much more to the same effect. General Magruder, whose
soldierly bearing was somewhat marred by an unfortunate lisp in
his utterance, conveying the impression of effeminate affectation,
graciously received it, and, refusing the assistance of his aide,
buckled it himself about his gorgeous uniform with a solemn oath that
it should never be sheathed while the enemy was on Confederate soil,
etc., all very grand, glittering, and impressive. I can not but smile
now when the scene comes back to me, as I stood in the thickest of
the throng, holding Henry by the hand, my heart almost bursting with
proud emotion, my eyes dim with grateful tears, and hoping the boy
was inhaling patriotism with every breath, though still too young to
understand and appreciate the greatness of the occasion. That the
elegant sword was _borrowed_ for the presentation from a veteran of
the war with Mexico, and was only typical of a more magnificent weapon
to be substituted later when circumstances would permit, and was to
be returned with thanks to its owner that very night, did not cause
a ripple of a derisive smile. Every emotion was merged in patriotic
fervor.

Years after, when General Magruder became our guest in a foreign land,
how uproariously we laughed at the incident when he repeated, in his
peculiarly halting lisp, portions of the gushing address, and in his
inimitable way went through the motions of buckling on the borrowed
saber, which, by the way, the donors had never been able to replace!




                              CHAPTER X.

           TRAVELING THROUGH TEXAS--NEARING THE RIO GRANDE.


Once in Texas, we moved around with our fast-vanishing _lares et
penates_ as business or convenience required. The dear baby succumbed
to the first illness he ever had, and one beautiful April day his
little body was carried to the cemetery at Houston and buried, as was
our blessed Saviour, in a tomb belonging to another. The cradle that
had been kindly loaned us by a neighbor, and the various little cups
and mugs, also borrowed, were returned, the medicine-bottles put out of
sight, and I sat down desolate and lonely in the empty room, with no
heart to do any more, feeling that there was nothing now to do but to
lie down and die.

My husband, whose energy was all-controlling, and who knew no such word
as fail, rose above every emergency. It seems now, when I recall it
all, the heavier were the blows, the stouter his resistance. I actually
learned in those days to feel something discouraging had happened when
he came into my presence with a brighter smile and more cheerful words
than usual. His was one of those rare natures to persevere and resist
against the blows that would have prostrated almost any other man. He
had contracts to move Government cotton to the frontier, which afforded
him opportunities to move his own; and in following up that cotton we
took more than one trip to the Rio Grande, repeating the camping out,
minus the tent, which was patriotically turned over to General Magruder
upon our arrival at Houston.

We now made our bed in the ambulance; only two could possibly occupy
that. Sometimes Henry shared it with me, and his father lay upon the
ground underneath the vehicle, and often the boy slept on Mother Earth.
We still had that “prairie-schooner” of a wagon to carry our clothing,
provisions, cooking-utensils, and a servant-woman. Our ablutions were
performed habitually in the horse-bucket, and the towel--we were
reduced to one, the others having been ruined or blown away while
camping out--the precious towel, pinned to the ambulance-curtain,
flapped in the breeze and dried as we rode along.

It was not always plain sailing; adventures were frequent. We had the
ill luck, on the first trip to the Rio Grande, to put up in Victoria
at the meanest and dirtiest hotel I ever dreamed of. It was not half
so comfortable as the ambulance and the horse-bucket, but that could
not be found out until it had been tried. The room assigned us was
immediately over what they were pleased to call the office, but which
was really a bar-room; and one unacquainted with Texas in those days
can not understand what a bar-room pure and simple was. I was too tired
and sleepy to fight long with the various creatures in the bed that had
previous possession, which is nine points of the law. By and by, giving
up the battle, I fell sound asleep.

My husband, being a light sleeper, was easily roused by outside noises.
He spent the greater part of the night with ear and eye at the cracks
in the floor, that furnished a pretty good view into the bar-room
beneath, and then and there heard the thirsty, boisterous couriers
from General Bee to General Magruder tell that the Federals were in
Brownsville, and that the place was evacuated. The ubiquitous Yankees!
Even away out on the borders of the Guadalupe River we had to hear the
old story--“Pickets down dat road!”

What to do was the question that concerned us now. The couriers
fortified themselves with drinks, and were off to Magruder before the
dawn. By the time I was awake, my husband had procured a dilapidated
old map, and was studying out the situation. Our cotton was on the
road to Brownsville; the news soon came, however, that General Bee
had ordered all the cotton-teams back, and directed them to Laredo.
To Laredo we prepared to go. At General Bee’s urgent advice, it
was, at the last moment of starting, decided that Henry, my negro
servant-woman, and I, should return to my brother’s in the interior
of Texas. My husband and a few men, on the same cotton errand, joined
together for mutual protection, but they did not relish the additional
care of two women and a great white covered wagon, that could be seen
for miles over the flat prairie country, only broken with a low growth
of chaparral and prickly-pear. All this was being discussed during
the first day’s ride from Fernando Creek, where we met General Bee.
My husband could see, by my burning face and resolute eye, that I was
inwardly protesting the whole time.

When we camped that night, the mules were chained to the wagon-wheels,
to provide against a chance of stampede; the men, with loaded guns,
were detailed to stand watch, with eyes and ears on the keen alert. My
husband and I crept into our ambulance, buttoned the curtains closely
down, and, while he held a dim candle in a bottle, I divided in half
the few pieces of gold coin we had; sewed twenty pieces for him in a
broad, coarse cotton belt, and twenty for me in the bosom and hips of
my corset. Then began the division of our scanty bedding; his eyes
were filled with tears--that resolute man, who had borne every blow
so bravely! We could not talk, our hearts were too full; each dared
not unnerve the other by a word. The division took place in absolute
silence; he held the candle, and I did the work. Then we lay down for
the last time together; we, who had fought such a brave fight side
by side, were to separate now, because the dangers to be encountered
were too much for the woman. Lying very quiet, each hoping the other
would sleep, oh! how the thoughts surged through my brain the short
remnant of that night; how earnestly I prayed to be shown the right
way; how I petitioned the all-wise God to shut from my view all feeling
of _self_--myself, himself--and show me the way, whether to turn back
alone or go on by his side! At the earliest dawn I took advantage of
a slight move to ask if he was awake, and then told him in emphatic,
plain, unmistakable terms that I was _not_ going back. He pressed me
to his thankful heart without a word. As we journeyed on with the rest
of the little company, we laughingly proposed that all the money and
watches be trusted to my keeping, for, if the Mexican outlaws should
pounce upon us, surely they would not search the only lady in the party.

The next night our camp was by the ruins of an abandoned well. Only
twenty-four hours after, a party of four men were attacked by Mexican
bandits at that very spot, and robbed of everything, even their horses.
We did not know of our narrow escape till some days afterward, when the
rifled men wearily tramped into Laredo. It was a four-days’ trip, and
in that exciting and perilous journey I am sure that Henry and I were
the only ones that slept.

The sportsmen of our party often varied the bill-of-fare with game. On
several occasions early in the journey one of the number, Mr. Dodds,
brought down a fine wild-turkey. A particularly handsome one furnished
me with a “turkey-tail fan,” the ragged edges of which are still in my
possession.

Nearing the Rio Grande, the country was so barren that the only growths
were prickly-pear and mesquite, except on the banks of the few streams.
Even in that desolate region an occasional mule-eared rabbit was
brought to camp and made into a delicious stew.

Desiring to accomplish thirty-five miles each day, we always started
at the earliest dawn, fortified with a cup of black coffee and a
cracker. At noon a halt was called of a half-hour or so, and at four
we camped for the night, when _the_ meal of the day was leisurely
prepared and enjoyed. Frequently we were able to procure a kid. One
of the men, who had made the overland journey to California in the
fifties, and therefore was endowed with envied experience, was very
expert in finding, where no one else could, Mexican _jeccals_ (huts)
and kids, and preparing the meat in a variety of tempting ways; so by
common consent Mr. Crossan became our commissary and _chef_. Being
the only lady in the company, I was allowed to do nothing, and ate
the hard-tack and salt pork, when there was nothing better, with the
relish that stimulating air and exercise always impart, immensely
enjoying the savory roasts and stews. Many chats Mr. Crossan and I
had while I reclined on an improvised divan and watched him stretch
the kid on cross-sticks and incline it over the fire _à la barbecue_;
as he turned and basted it, there arose an appetizing odor that was
absolutely delightful. I was constantly reminding the kindly man by my
presence, of one trip he made to California when his young wife was the
only woman in the company; and the tempting, dainty dishes he contrived
for me, and the laughable stories he told to while away the time, I
always considered a tribute to the memory of that other woman who was
so patient and brave.




                              CHAPTER XI.

     LAREDO--MEXICAN ESCORT TO PIEDRAS NEGRAS--THE CUSTOM-HOUSE--A
            NORTHER--SAN ANTONIO--SCARCITY OF NECESSARIES.


On the fourth day at noon we camped amid sand and prickly-pear, to
brush up and make ourselves presentable to appear before strangers. An
hour afterward we drove into the scattering town of Laredo, amid the
plaudits of numberless little, half-naked _muchachos_ who never had
seen an ambulance, never had seen anything but themselves and the muddy
river, and at long intervals a lonely wagon. So they hung on to the
traces, ran by the wheels, and caught on behind, at the imminent risk
of bodily injury. If they had ever heard of Queen Victoria, they might
have thought she was coming to town, for I was the first _white_ woman
and my attendant the first _black_ one the generation had seen.

I often think of the days we spent in quaint Laredo--of the old priest
who three times a day solemnly issued from his adobe hut and tolled
off the hours from the big, harsh-sounding bell that surmounted a
tall staff beside the little mud-covered church--of the courtesy and
kindness of the women who brought me almost daily presents of little
loaves of bread, alas! full of caraway-seed, but sweet and warm from
the adobe ovens that were scattered at convenient distances through
the village--of the men, wrapped in blankets like Indians, standing
aside and giving me a courteous, deep salaam, _sombrero_ in hand, when
necessity compelled me to take the quart-cup and go to the public pen
for goat’s milk--of the dexterous manner with which said goats were
milked, all herded in a crowded pen: the milker fastened his eye on a
certain nanny, made a rapid dart, caught her by the left hind-foot,
which he secured under his right arm, thereby lifting the struggling
creature quite off her legs; with a quick stoop and a few lightning
strokes the cup foamed over and Mrs. Goat was released. This trick
was repeated with an accuracy and dexterity quite bewildering. All
the animals looked alike to me, but the milker never seemed to make
the mistake of catching the same one twice. I sometimes stood and
watched the whole process, until the froth and foam of my cup settled
down, revealing very little milk. Daily I went to the pen, both
because I could ask for it in their mixture of Spanish and Indian, and
because Delia with her ebony face was such a curiosity as to excite a
commotion every time she stepped out of the house, and therefore she
was reluctant to go. I need not tell of the hours I sat at the only
window of our temporary home, and wrote letters that were never sent,
or made entries in a diary that was subsequently lost, while a crowd
of inquisitive urchins gathered about, until I was forced to retreat
inside and put the writing away; nor of days that I wandered to the
bluff, and met long processions of women returning from the river,
with curiously shaped jars of water deftly balanced on their heads,
or suspended by one hand over the shoulder, and watched other women
washing clothes without soap or hot water, by spreading them on rocks
over which the waters of the river lapped, and beating and turning and
beating them again with queer wooden mallets, while the naked children
paddled in and out, diving, ducking, floating, and splashing around as
though water was their native element; nor of other days when I stood
on the bank to see the long-expected cotton-wagons cross the ford to
the Mexican side; nor of the startling rumor that the Federals, who
seemed to be sweeping over the country like a swarm of locusts, were
rapidly marching up the Rio Grande!

The alarm was premature, but we immediately crossed into Mexico.
My husband’s first business venture, when still a youth, was the
superintendence of a “stage line” in the West, for which he had a
“mail contract.” In Laredo he found one of his old employés, who had
drifted there after the war with Mexico, married an olive beauty,
and settled down to a life of masterly inactivity. Through his kindly
offices we had been able to obtain quite comfortable quarters, but when
we crossed to “foreign parts” were not so well housed, albeit we found
more life and animation. The frolicsome men of American Laredo, to
avoid conscription had emigrated also. Here they amused themselves with
feats of horseback-riding and lofty tumbling, some of which were quite
astonishing. It was a frequent exploit for a rider to lean over and
pick a silver dollar from the ground while his horse was in full gallop
under whip and spur. During the annual festival of their patron saint,
“Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe,” we walked through the plaza, filled
with gaily decked booths, and saw both men and women win and lose bags
of money at the gambling-tables with a _sang-froid_ that indicated
familiarity with the game.

The repeated rumors of Federal advance soon caused the order to be
issued to close the custom-house at Laredo and open one at Piedras
Negras, still farther up the Rio Grande, and on the Mexican side of
the river, to which point all cotton-trains were now directed. Our
Confederate official procured from the Governor of the State of Nuevo
Leon an armed escort, and we eagerly embraced the opportunity of safe
convoy through that wild and lawless region by joining his party. I
presume there were valuables, perhaps specie, in his train, from
the extraordinary precautions observed against attack. Away in front
of our _cortège_, the striped _serape_ of the Mexican captain was
always visible, fluttering in the wind, as he rode rapidly forward
reconnoitring the country, while we followed in single file, surrounded
by his armed men. It was a four-days’ journey, if my memory serves me.
Sometimes we halted in the middle of the day, scarcely having scored
a dozen miles, and sometimes rode until quite dark, in order to avoid
dangerous and exposed camping-places.

Arrived at Piedras Negras, the party was directed to the only public
building in the town, to which it had been assigned by the courtesy of
the Mexican governor, and I believe, also, the only one that boasted
a fireplace, a tiny grate in an inconvenient corner, that could hold
about two chips and a handful of coals. The weather, though late in
December, gave no indications, however, that even a small fire would
be necessary for our comfort. The building consisted of one long,
narrow room, with a small window, innocent of glass at one end, and
two doors opening on opposite sides, one to the narrow, sandy lane
that represented a street, and the other to an uninclosed yard, at the
extreme end of which a dead dog lay swollen to the size of a calf,
but so pure was the air, no odor from the disgusting object--which,
of course, was now quickly removed--had invaded the premises. Our
building was stucco, with some attempt at ornamentation, in the way of
whitewashed walls, with daubs of blue here and there. The floor, of
Mother Earth, well trodden and quite smooth, was tesselated with an
ever-moving panorama of fleas; here we spread the wagon-cover, and upon
some rough boxes, collected with no small cost of energy and money,
was placed our still comfortable though long-used ambulance-mattress.
Chairs were so scarce that none could be procured; fortunately, I had
retained in all our wanderings a little splint-bottomed rocking-chair,
brought from Arlington, and this was doubly appreciated as the “woman
in the case” was comfortably provided for (when we left Mexico, for the
last time, I gave that chair to a friend, and twenty years after, in
New Orleans, sat in it again). The scarcity of furniture arose from the
fact that the natives, even when in comfortable circumstances, slept
on rawhides spread upon the floor, and squatted about in uncomfortable
attitudes, oblivious of the luxury of chairs.

In these quarters we remained two months. The accommodating collector
gave the room to us entirely at night, but during the day it was his
office. There he had a table for his papers and a store-box to sit on,
and there he dispatched his business as “collector of the customs for
the Confederate States.” That high-sounding title meant a great deal
to us then, empty as it is now. Here teamsters were paid for hauling
Government cotton to the Rio Grande, and here permits were granted for
various purposes. The collector made me feel very important at first,
but I was fearfully burdened afterward by his appointing me custodian
of the specie. There was no bank, of course, nor any other place of
deposit for valuables in Piedras Negras, as the natives to the manor
born could carry on their persons without effort everything they owned,
clothes and all.

Mexican silver dollars arrived in stout coffee-sacks, consigned to
the Confederate officer, to pay cartage. I opened and emptied my
only trunk, and the money was rattled in like stones turned from a
wheelbarrow, until the trunk was full to bursting; then I locked it,
sat on it during the day, and slept on it at night, as it was dragged
under the lower edge of our mattress at bed-time. I was almost afraid
to wink, the responsibility of my charge so overwhelmed me. Rapidly
those clumsy dollars were paid out to big-booted, red-shirted men,
with pistols in their belts and fire in their eyes, who tied them in
coarse handkerchiefs and heavy stockings, though mostly in bags made of
pantaloon-legs. In very many instances the men, not yet ready to start
on the home journey--though I was an entire stranger--begged me to keep
their bags until called for.

Then traders on their own business intent, Jews, and that class of men
of peace always found where there is a chance of money-making, came
out of the Confederacy to Piedras Negras, with their precious bags of
hoarded gold, _en route_ for the interior of Mexico, to purchase goods.

These wary men quickly learned there was an American woman in town who
could be persuaded to take care of their money till they were ready
to start. So to the office they came, with courteous though cautious
manner, casting keen glances at my face and around the room, asking
occasional questions as to its being lonesome in there, if I never
went out to walk, or left the place for any length of time. Then they
would slyly bring out the inevitable bag from a deep pocket and ask me
to keep it “till to-morrow,” adding they had to sleep in their wagons,
where it was not safe to keep valuables. Two months I sat on money,
slept on money, watched by money, not knowing the amount, the names,
nor often the faces even of the trusting depositors.

It was not always spring-like and balmy on that sandy bank. One night
we were roused by a knock at the back door, with news that Mr. W----
was frozen stiff in his wagon! There was a shuffling and a rush in
the intense cold, the door hastily opened and as rapidly closed on
the “good collector,” in a very dazed and half-frozen condition, his
overcoat and blanket wrapped about him, yet so benumbed and helpless
that he could only move by the aid of two men who supported him.
Laying him on the floor, before the “two chips and a handful of coals,”
we retired once more to bed. Then came a big _bump_ at the front door.
We thought it was a belated native, and that he might as well go home;
but another bump and a sharp rattle gave positive indications that he
was going no farther. To my husband’s call, “Who’s there?” came the
chattering utterance: “Simmes, just arrived; let me in for Heaven’s
sake! I’ve got lumbago, and can’t stay out here!” So poor Mr. Simmes
was admitted, and, wrapped up like a mummy, he lay as close to the fire
as he could. The next morning, when I awoke, our thawed guests had
departed. I arose, shook out my skirts, and the toilet was complete.

The provisions were frozen, eggs were solid, so was the fresh beef, and
they had to be brought inside and thawed before the fire. The cold was
accompanied by high winds, that blew the fine sand in blinding clouds
up the narrow streets, drifting it into every crack and crevice of
the house, though the shutters were tightly closed, so that a candle
was needed all that day. Delia brought the kitchen-utensils inside to
prepare our meals, yet, notwithstanding all these precautions, sand
sifted into the coffee-pot and over the food, making everything gritty.

In the midst of our work, one of the _depositors_ called to say that a
friend of his was ill in a wagon outside. We immediately thawed some
eggs, and with a cup of milk made the invalid the most attractive
delicacy that the circumstances would admit, and sent it, with the
promise of some beef-tea in an hour or two.

During the following day the wind subsided, the room was cleared of the
sandy dust, that covered everything with a whitish coat, and we were
soon again quite comfortable.

Later we went into Texas for several months’ sojourn, fording the Rio
Grande in a terrible wind-storm. The blinding sand swept in great gusts
over the river and down the level, desolate road, whirled through the
ambulance in stinging blasts, and blew into the faces of the frightened
mules. Starting in the forenoon after a hurried, unsatisfactory,
gritty breakfast, a floundering drive of ten miles brought us to the
chaparral, where we were obliged to halt and camp. The _personnel_
of the party was the most agreeable we had met in all our camping
experiences. Besides a very jovial, entertaining physician from New
Orleans, there were two intelligent, genial young Englishmen, members
of commercial houses in London, regular cockneys, on their first trip
through a rough country; everything new and novel was attractive to
them, and even exceedingly unpleasant occurrences were accepted with
good-nature.

We halted with dry and parched throats by a brackish well, the water of
which was scarcely fit to cleanse our faces from the gritty dust, and
still less desirable for making coffee, though improvised filtration
somewhat improved it. While a fire was kindling, and preparations
for dinner were being made, our doctor in utter despair was heard to
exclaim, “I would give a thousand dollars for a good drink of brandy!”
to which I promptly replied, “There’s a whole bottle of cognac in my
trunk to be had for less than that.” My husband, knowing full well the
importance of keeping a small supply on hand, looked very anxious, and
shook his head; but the offer was renewed, only exacting the promise,
as it was a full bottle, the cork never having been disturbed, that
the contents should be equally divided among all the gentlemen. Of
course, the proposition met with universal approval, and the doctor,
with smacking lips, readily accepted the conditions. To the insinuation
that the existence of the brandy was a myth, the ready reply came,
“The collector gave me a bottle full of brandy on New Year’s, with
the injunction not to open it except in dire emergency. That time has
come.” From my trunk in the wagon was then produced, amid the intense
hilarity of the crowd, a dainty toy-bottle holding perhaps a wine-glass
of liquor, and the disappointed doctor was compelled to fulfill the
agreement, by which each gentleman of the party received about “forty
drops.”

Following the old routine of travel and camping-out, I often became
stiff and weary from the tedious rides, and found the change to a brisk
walk very refreshing. When the teams rested beside a stream or well at
noon, I frequently walked long distances on the lonely and desolate
roads before the ambulance overtook me. We halted on the pebbly bank of
the Frio to rest and refresh the mules and soak the wheels, whose tires
in the long, dusty drive had become loose and unsafe. I walked up the
road, perhaps a mile, enjoying the quiet and relief which a change of
locomotion afforded. Suddenly was perceived at the top of a slight rise
a “solitary horseman” slowly approaching. While I was still looking at
him, uncertain what to do, he sprung from his horse, and advanced with
rapid steps, leading the animal by the bridle.

Having been so often warned of the hazard incurred by these lonely
walks, I was paralyzed with alarm, till the spell was broken by the
familiar voice of Mr. Crossan, our commissary and _chef_ of months ago:
“Mrs. ----! I would have known that bonnet on Mount Ararat!”

We found San Antonio to be the most attractive and interesting town
we had visited in all our journeyings. Though laid out with some
regularity, and ornamented by several modern structures, its narrow
streets, many low stone houses, quaint churches, and busy plaza, mark
its Spanish origin.

The San Antonio River, clear as crystal, heads from two springs a
short distance above the town, and through its tortuous channel and
irrigating canals the water is carried in easy access to most of the
houses. The _missions_ are curiosities. Those of Conception, San
José, San Juan, and La Espada, are within a couple of miles of the
city. Although now in dilapidated condition, they bear full evidence
of the substantial architecture and elaborate finish of the immense
establishments erected nearly two centuries ago to extend the power and
authority of the Roman Catholic Church.

Here stands the Alamo, celebrated in the history of Texan independence
as the scene of the desperate struggle between the Mexican army under
General Santa Anna and one hundred and fifty Texans, in which every one
of the latter was slaughtered, among them the eccentric Davy Crockett
and the heroic Bowie.

San Antonio was now the business point to which all the wagon-trains
from Mexico converged. Hundreds of huge Chihuahua wagons were to be
seen “parked” with military precision outside the city, waiting their
turn to enter the grand plaza, deliver their packages of goods, and
load with cotton for their outward trip. Everything was hurry, bustle,
and confusion. The major-domo, urging his train of wagons through the
streets, was loud and vociferous in his language, and each driver and
outrider added copiously to the babel of tongues. Merchants of every
clime were here, anxious to sell or exchange for cotton, or to procure
transportation for their goods far into the interior of Louisiana and
Arkansas.

Hearing there were men in town with a miscellaneous assortment of
dry-goods, with a friend I went to the warehouse where they were
stored to make some purchases. We were told “the goods were not even
to be opened in San Antonio. They were imported especially for the
Louisiana trade.” We implored the privilege of buying some much-needed
articles, and at last moderated the request to “just one set of
knitting-needles.” The Jew was polite, but inexorable; he protested
“he did not own the goods--they were simply in his keeping; the owner
lived in Shreveport; there were no knitting-needles in the stock that
he knew of; and really the ladies could not be accommodated; he had not
the power.” My disappointed friend exclaimed, “Well, Mrs.---, we will
have to give it up!” Quick as thought the man turned his searching eyes
to my face. “Are you the lady who was in Piedras Negras last January?”
I gave an assenting nod. “I was the sick man you made custard and soup
for. You and your friend can have anything you want.” A box was quickly
opened, and not only knitting-needles but handkerchiefs were selected.
We took only what was absolutely required, for we expected to pay at
least five dollars for a set of knitting-needles, and perhaps as
much for each handkerchief. We thankfully helped ourselves, and, when
we offered to pay, the grateful Jew declined, saying: “But for your
kindness to a person you never knew or saw, I might have been buried in
the sand at Piedras Negras; a few paltry needles and handkerchiefs are
little to give in return for your goodness to me. Only,” he added, as
with protestations and thanks we retired, “don’t tell anybody, for I
_can not_ open my goods here.”

All household and family goods were scarce during the war, even in
Texas, that had Rio Grande facilities not enjoyed by the other Southern
States, as the great bulk of the importations were specially adapted to
army purposes. The difficulty of procuring stockings, handkerchiefs,
articles of prime necessity, was very great; those for whom I helped
to provide wore for two years home-made stockings, knit of heavy
cotton yarn; and I recall cutting up my only silk dress--a brown
India silk, with white dots--to supply the demand for handkerchiefs,
making my husband a coat of a linen sheet, and helping a friend rip
up a calico bed-comfort that she might make a dress of the material.
Even planters, with large tracts of land and abundant supply of
workmen, often suffered for the necessaries of life other than those
they could raise on the plantation. Through Southern Texas, where
our wanderings led us, railroads were few and the service poor. The
“Houston and Beaumont” afforded a fair specimen of the entire system.
Many plantations were situated twenty miles and more from any railroad
or navigable stream, and often half that distance from a town or
post-office. I spent weeks with a family that could not procure salt to
put up their meat, and were reduced to the necessity of utilizing the
dirt-floor of their smoke-house, which was rich in saline properties
from the accumulation during a series of years of the waste salt and
drippings. First leaching the earth (in the old-fashioned way of making
lye from ashes), then, by evaporating the brine, sufficient salt was
procured to cure a small amount of bacon. Neither lamp-oil nor candles
could be purchased; candle-molds and the material to make them were
extremely scarce, so that families were compelled to exercise their
ingenuity in home production to meet the necessity. The dainty young
ladies who played brilliant sonatas on jangling pianos, filled the
house with melodious song, and read Racine and Molière in the original,
spent hours over the boiling fat, striving with patient perseverance
to make symmetrical tallow-dips, that for lack of adequate supply
of candlesticks would probably shine from the necks of black glass
bottles. The energetic mother, with broad, flattened stick carefully
tested the soap during the process of manufacture, and succeeded in
obtaining a fair saponaceous compound, which had often to be used in
such a crude, immature state that it damaged the linens and faded the
colored garments. On wash-stands in numberless houses little saucers of
soft-soap were placed for toilet-use, salt being too precious for even
a few grains to be spared to harden this domestic production.

Home-made looms were built in many back rooms, and housewives who
had indistinct recollections of the industry, as practiced by their
grandmothers, or a theoretical knowledge of the handicraft, labored to
help black “mammy” recall the forgotten art of weaving cotton cloth for
plantation use.

Many a young girl stepped back and forth to the whirring music of a big
old spinning-wheel, while others with clumsy, clattering cards, costing
fifty dollars the pair, laboriously prepared the fleecy cotton rolls.

A needle dropped or mislaid was searched after for hours; if one was
broken, its irreparable loss was lamented. Needles, pins, hair-pins,
and such insignificant articles, so common in every household that
no reckoning is made of the number used and wasted, rapidly became
very scarce, and occasionally vanished entirely, leaving an “aching
void.” Tooth-brushes were replaced by twigs of shrubs, nicely peeled,
and the ends chewed into brushes. Often one comb did duty for a
whole family, the aid of a hair-brush being entirely dispensed with.
Breakage of china or glassware was a household calamity, and, with
the heedless, scatter-brain darkies who handled such valuables, one of
painful frequency. Alas! it was so easy to wear out, lose, and destroy
insignificant articles that could not be replaced! Garments were often
patched and darned until the original material was so merged in repairs
as to lose its identity. A member of the household, the winter we spent
in Houston, was a valued friend of my father. Week by week I put his
garments through such a series of metamorphoses that, when his wife
arrived, in the spring, she could not tell his linen clothes from the
cotton!

Wheat-flour was brought in limited quantities from Northern Texas,
mostly for army use; very little was offered for sale, and then at such
extravagant prices that hundreds of families were for months entirely
deprived of its use, and, without having made the experiment, it is
difficult to realize what an indispensable household article it is.
“_Corn-meal_ pound-cake” was one of our table luxuries; it is doubtful
if even Marian Harland ever had a recipe that was so frequently copied
and used: it required a peck of coarse, country-ground meal (the only
kind to be had) passed through a wire sieve, a piece of tarlatan, and
finally several thicknesses of muslin, to obtain a pound of corn-flour
fine enough for the cake.

We stopped at many houses where there was no sweetening for coffee--and
such coffee; or rather such substitutes! Peanuts, sweet-potatoes, rye,
beans, peas, and corn-meal were used; the latter was the favorite at
the taverns, all of them wretched imitations, though gulped down, when
chilly and tired, for lack of anything better--a hot, sickening drink,
entirely devoid of the stimulating, comforting effects of the genuine
article.

Tea-drinkers fared no better: weak decoctions of sage or orange-leaves
served for those dependent on the cheering cup, and could only be taken
in moderation, as both are powerful sudorifics. Bitter willow-bark
extracts and red-pepper tea were used as substitutes for quinine by the
poor, shaking ague-patients who lived near miasmatic bayous and swamps.

Paper became so scarce that many newspapers suspended publication
entirely, while others reduced the size of their issues to the
minimum that would contain war and other topics of vital interest.
When the supply of white paper was exhausted, various grades of brown
wrapping-paper met the necessity, and as a final resort, in some
instances, wall-paper, figured on one side, came into use. Reports of
battles, with long lists of killed, wounded, and missing, indistinctly
printed on the uneven surface of this coarse, colored paper, passed
from hand to hand until worn out.

Confederate notes so rapidly depreciated, their purchasing power was
reduced to a minimum. In the interior of the country, where these notes
were current, there were scarcely any goods. San Antonio, the chief
trading-point of Texas, had a working population of thrifty Germans,
who cultivated market-gardens and raised poultry. This shrewd class,
and the ease-loving Mexicans, refused to accept any currency other than
specie in exchange for goods or labor; and buyers whose purses did not
contain the genuine article had to lead lives of great self-denial.
Women whose husbands, in the army or Confederate Congress, were paid in
the depreciated paper currency, fared very badly. I recall meeting, in
those trying days, a very bright, intelligent woman, born in the “White
House” and educated in Europe, whose husband represented the State of
Texas in the Confederate Congress at Richmond, and hearing her say that
her “gude man’s” monthly salary was not sufficient to supply her table
with vegetables for a week! Nothing remarkable was said or thought of
one family in Houston who paid five dollars every day for a measure
of Irish potatoes for their dinner, as it was understood that they
brought a whole bed-tick stuffed with Confederate money from Louisiana!
I remember well paying thirty dollars for a pair of flimsy, paper-sole
Congress shoes, that were not fit to be seen after ten days’ wear. My
crowning extravagance was the last purchase made in that currency, when
ninety dollars was paid for one yard and a half of common blue cotton
denims, to make little Henry a pair of pantaloons! He often says, with
a quaint smile, that he once owned a ninety-dollar pair of trousers,
and wishes he had them now, but, alas! they were too greatly needed to
keep--he had to put them on in a hurry, such was his emergency.




                             CHAPTER XII.

        FINAL TRIP TO THE RIO GRANDE--MATAMORAS OCCUPIED BY THE
        FRENCH--WAITING!--MARTHA BEFORE THE ALCALDE--WAR OVER!


We made a final trip to Mexico, the following September, and had almost
our first experience in camping during stormy weather. From San Antonio
to Laredo everything was soaked. We often experienced great difficulty
in making camp-fires--more than once starting in the early morning, all
damp and miserable, and without the usual hot coffee. Near the Frio
we met the only American train I saw, accompanied with a woman (it
was not unusual to see women in Mexican trains, making chocolate and
_tortillas_ for their teamster lords). A Texas teamster, with a wife
and two children, returning from the Rio Grande, was camping by the
road-side in a drenching rain, dismally trying with wet chips and twigs
to make a fire, as they had no cooked provisions. Pitying their forlorn
condition, we shared our cold coffee and hard-tack with them, for which
they were exceedingly grateful. The poor woman told me that her husband
was hauling Government cotton with his only team, and she accompanied
him, because they lived in such an isolated part of the country she was
afraid to remain at home alone with the little ones.

The third day brought us to the Nueces River, which was rushing,
boiling, and seething, from the overflow of its springs far up the
country, and by the unusual rise the ford was obliterated. Here we
found ourselves five miles from any forage. Teams and horsemen had been
there for days waiting to cross, and their cattle had devoured all the
grass. Ours were almost famished, while “green fields and pastures new”
waved at us from the opposite shore.

A number of wagons on the other side were caught also by the flood;
and their freight, consisting chiefly of bags of perishable goods,
was being transported across the angry stream in improvised floats of
rawhides, with Mexicans swimming at the four corners and guiding them.
My husband at once thought that if these men could be hired to take our
baggage over in the same way, we might be able to cross in the empty
wagons. The banks of the stream were deep, almost perpendicular. One of
the men of our party, who was riding a tall horse, at last volunteered
to search for the ford by crossing back and forth two or three times.
The rushing waters of the narrow stream wet the pommel of Mr. Dodds’s
saddle, but he succeeded in finding what he considered a safe place
to venture. In the meager Spanish I could muster by the aid of an old
“Ollendorff,” the Mexicans were engaged to unload and transport the
contents of the wagon. After it was emptied, and the big cotton cover
removed, Zell, our darky driver, seated himself behind the mules; I
laid aside all superfluous articles of dress, took my seat on the very
top rail of the wagon, planted my feet firmly on a soap-box, with
my hands above my head, grasped the curved wooden frame intended to
support the cover, shut my eyes, said, “All ready!” and held my breath.
Dodds on his horse, and my husband on an ambulance-mule, each with a
handful of pebbles, rode on either side of the team. “Now start!” Zell
gave a sharp “click” and a cut with his whip, and down the steep bank
of the river the four mules plunged. Touching cold water, there was a
feint to hold back, but Zell’s whip, the outriders’ vigorous use of
pebbles which were fired at them, and the shouts and whoops of all the
teamsters gathered on the bank to see the _fun_, forced them to plunge
in. For a moment they were out of sight, then their heads emerged from
the water, which was pouring over their backs. They would have floated
helplessly down the rapid current but for the shouting, yelling,
cracking of whips, and firing of pebbles, which so confused them they
could neither stop nor balk. Never for an instant losing my grip or
self-possession, wet up to my knees, soap-box careering down the tide,
we rushed up that steep and slippery bank triumphant! The outriders
went back for the rest of our belongings, an empty ambulance, Henry,
and my colored maid Martha. Dodds brought the last two over behind him
on his horse. Then my husband drove over the ambulance, while Dodds,
with stones, whip, and shouts, assisted him. Loading up and moving
slowly off, we were inspirited by the applause of the astonished
spectators, who had not the courage to follow in our footsteps.

Soon we found the inviting green, which at a distance looked so
tempting, was only a narrow fringe of verdure on the bank; a few rods
farther revealed a wide and deep morass, covered with slimy green
water, in which were several ox-teams hopelessly stalled. The tired
teamsters had fought bravely to get through, but at last had given up,
leaving the wagons sunk to the axles in the mud, and the dejected and
hungry oxen, with yokes on, standing about wherever they could obtain a
foothold.

It seemed hopeless for us to attempt the feat of crossing a bog where
so many had failed, but our invincible Dodds rode its length, his
horse sinking at every step up to his knees, occasionally deeper. At
the distance of two hundred yards, there was a perceptible rise in
the surface of the submerged land, and beyond that a pretty fair road
leading to a ranch. It was unsafe to attempt to drive the mules over
with more than the wagon and empty ambulance. So, by the aid of a
stump, I mounted the horse behind Dodds, and rode across the boggy
marsh to dry land, descending on another stump. He brought Henry and
Martha over in the same way. Then the old tactics were resorted to, by
means of whips and pebbles, to encourage the ambulance-mules through
the mire, which was often so deep that the traces swept the scummy,
green surface. Zell’s team of four had followed the ambulance so long,
that it did not require very much urging to keep them close to its rear
curtain. A drive of five miles brought us to General Benavides’s ranch.
There we camped by the side of a clear, pebbly rivulet, a half-mile
from the shepherd’s quarters, where there was something green for the
tired, hungry mules, and a low growth of bushes affording me a rustic
retreat, while I indulged in an extra wash out of the horse-bucket, and
hung all the wet things out to dry.

The surrounding country was rolling and beautiful, the growth stubby
mesquite, very little grass, and that only in patches here and there.

We soon had a crackling fire, some coffee, fried bacon, and hard-tack,
after which the refreshed party rested a while, discussing the events
of the day, and congratulating one another on the perseverance that
brought us finally to such a delightful camping-spot. While the
smoldering brands still glowed and the strong odor of the frying-pan
hovered over the _débris_ of our appetizing supper, Henry rolled
himself up in his blanket under the ambulance, and we pinned down the
curtains and curled up inside to sleep. The moon shone brightly. I lay
for a long time peeping through a crack at the lovely scene around me,
too enraptured with its beauty to sleep. Mesquite has the light foliage
of the myrtle, and grows in graceful clusters, shading the ground so
that no grass flourishes beneath, here forming a slight hedge, there
a bower, presenting in the deceptive moonlight all the effects of a
charming piece of landscape-gardening, with even the accessory of
a purling stream meandering through it in this instance. There was
a bit of clearing, necessary for our camping and cooking, and the
ambulance was drawn up by the side of it. In the night my husband’s
quick ear detected strange sounds issuing from our impromptu kitchen,
and, peeping out, saw--what, tired as he knew I was, he felt I must
see also--a whole congregation of prairie-wolves (coyotes) around the
remnant of fire, enjoying the departing odor of fried meat, a regular
circle of them seated on their haunches with heads turned up in the
air like great ferocious dogs. A few preliminary low barks, and the
meeting was opened by the most extraordinary long and mournful howls,
all in unison; the wails gradually died down to a low, low key and an
occasional snap. Then one gaunt old veteran began a solo harangue:
it really seemed that he was wailing out such a pitiful story of
grievances that, before he concluded, the sympathy of the whole
audience was aroused, and his plaint was joined by other prolonged
and distressing sounds that seemed a chorus of lamentations. I was
so surprised and startled, that I did not at first think of our boy
sleeping on the ground almost at the very tail of one of the ferocious
howlers. When I made a stealthy motion to rouse the child, quick as a
flash those beasts slid away, among the bushes here and there, fading
noiselessly out of sight, like shadows in the moonlight.

Laredo had assumed a business air since our visit of the previous
year. The little _muchachos_ had become so accustomed to the sight
of ambulances and teams that the last entrance into town was not
triumphant. Proceeding to Matamoras, on the Mexican side of the river,
we found the road narrow, with the thick brushwood lining the sides
literally festooned with bits of cotton from passing teams. On the
first day, as we drove slowly along this monotonous country road, my
husband’s watchful eye perceived, in a small opening by the side of the
ambulance, a huge rattlesnake coiled, with head erect, forked tongue,
and glistening eyes, following in an almost imperceptible motion the
fitful efforts of a large frog vainly trying to get out of his way. The
snake had fastened his eyes on the eyes of the frog; the poor creature
could not even wink, he could not escape the fascinating gaze. Turning
his body, though not his head, he would make a pitiful little squeak
and a desperate effort to jump; but the wretched frog could not jump
backward. Every motion he made was accompanied by a corresponding
motion of the wily serpent. So intent were they that we alighted from
the vehicle, and Mr. Dodds stood near with pistol in hand; neither the
snake nor the frog seemed to have consciousness of the presence of any
other object than the one upon which its eyes were fixed. At last the
head of the serpent slowly approached nearer and nearer its victim, the
poor creature made one despairing croak that sounded almost human in
its agony, and leaped into the full distended jaws of the rattlesnake!
At the same instant the watchful Mr. Dodds fired his pistol with such
accurate aim that the vertebra was struck close to the head, the jaws
suddenly relaxed and fell open, and out sprang Mr. Frog! If ever a
frog made haste to get away, that frog was the one. He was out of his
enchantment, out of the jaws of death, and out of our sight in an
instant. The thirteen rattles that tipped the tail of that enterprising
snake remained in my possession for many years, a memento of the
incident.

In all our camping experience we found the four or five days from
Laredo to Matamoras the most forlorn and depressing, partly perhaps
from the accumulated fatigue and exposure incident to repeated trips
of a similar nature. There were not even the usual number of _jeccals_
(huts) by the road-side to enliven the mournful scene. At long
intervals two or three small collections of adobe huts, surrounding the
inevitable dusty plaza, marked as many towns. On the scrubby bushes
around these, thin, ragged slabs of raw beef hung, drying in the sun,
presenting at a short distance much the appearance of red-flannel
garments in various stages of dilapidation. The stiff raw hides used
for beds were tilted against the sides of the _jeccals_ to air, and
to afford the multitudes of fleas opportunity to stretch their legs.
A few frowsy women with stone _matets_ were laboriously grinding corn
for _tortillas_, while the lords of creation sunned themselves in
the doorways, or majestically strutted before the dingy shops that
surrounded the plaza. At these uninviting places we usually halted for
fresh water and hot _tortillas_. At Mier, the chief town on the route,
there was a rest of several hours. After leaving, Zell, our driver,
told us that our old Delia, who was so afraid of going for goat’s milk
on the first visit to the frontier, and who disappeared the morning we
left Piedras Negras to return into Texas, had drifted down to Mier, and
was living there.

On the narrow roads leading from one of these dirty towns to the next
there was little to break the monotony save the frequent meeting of
Mexican trains, generally composed of twenty large Chihuahua wagons,
each drawn by twelve mules, returning from Matamoras, where they had
delivered loads of cotton-bales brought from the interior of Texas.
The vociferations of the gayly decked drivers and the loud cracking of
whips could be heard long before they were in sight, affording us ample
time to turn out of the way, among the trodden and dusty bushes on the
road-side.

We knew that Maximilian was occupying the city of Mexico, and that
the flag of the French army floated over the centers of Mexican
civilization. The ignorant and apparently apathetic people whom we met
on the Rio Grande border did not seem even to know this much; still
less were they able to give us any information of the progress of the
invasion. Our last custom-house transactions were with the officers of
the Juarez government, who conducted their business and collected their
fees in apparent blissful ignorance of national complications.

Arriving at Matamoras early in the afternoon, we drove like tired,
travel-stained emigrants straight to the plaza--direct, as though we
had been there a dozen times before, for the cathedral and public
buildings that surrounded it were conspicuous sign-posts that indicated
the spot to which all the chief streets converged. We were surprised
to find the city in the hands of the French, garrisoned and picketed
by an invading army! Only a short time before our arrival, Mejia, the
brave Mexican-Indian general, who embraced the cause of Maximilian,
and thereby forfeited his life by the side of that ill-starred prince,
had, by a forced march from Monterey with an army of French and Mexican
troops, surprised and captured Cortinas, who held the garrison at
Matamoras.

A few miles away, on the south bank of the Rio Grande, the Mexican
Government held possession; the opposite bank was under Confederate
control. Here the French were exulting over the capture of the city;
and across the river the Federal army occupied Brownsville--the flags
of four nationalities floating almost in sight of each other, amid the

  “Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war.”

The first night we secured a room facing the plaza. It was found
necessary for me to make a personal appeal to the proprietor of the
_posada_ adjoining it, coupled with a promise to procure other quarters
the next day, before he would consent to vacate it for our temporary
use. We might as well have sat up in the ambulance all night, tired as
we were, so far as rest and sleep were concerned. The _posada_ did not
close its doors till a very late hour, and if the stamping of feet,
clicking of glasses, odor of liquors, and hum of voices, were not
commotion enough to disturb our rest, the success was rendered complete
by the steady tramp and challenge of sentinels passing and repassing
with military precision all night long. Glad enough were we to find, on
the morrow, a small, one-story stone house of two rooms, remote from
the noises and disturbances in the garrison buildings, near the grand
plaza. Here we spread once more the old ambulance mattress over boxes
and trunks, where we could rest our weary bones and aching heads.

Dodds was the only man I saw who walked around fearlessly night or day.
He was as brave a specimen of manhood as ever lived, and, though in a
foreign country, in the midst of a revolution, and wholly unacquainted
with the language, he moved about as independently as if on his native
heath. How we laughed one night when he walked in upon us, and, being
asked if he was not afraid of the sentinels that were at every corner,
replied: “No, I have the password; why! when one of them lightning-bug
fellows” (alluding to the lanterns they carried) “ses to me, ‘_King
Beebe!_’ (‘_Quien vive!_’) I jes ses back to him--‘_Lem me go!_’
(‘_Amigo!_’) and they let me go right on.”

In a few days I was surprised in my obscurity by an invitation from
Messrs. Helld and Fromm, the leading German merchants of the city, to
witness from their balcony a review, by General Mejia, of the French
troops. Much as war had been the topic of thought and conversation
for almost four years, and painful as had been our experience of the
effects of it, I had never seen a review of troops that had been in
active service.

General Mejia, short, broad-shouldered, compact, with strongly marked
Indian physiognomy and unusual dark complexion, was every inch a
soldier, having a bearing that was almost majestic.

His bold stand carried great moral force with it. The apathetic
inhabitants of Matamoras, familiarized with political excitements,
_pronunciamentos_, and revolutions, which kept their unhappy land in
a vacillating state of unrest, either ready to accept another form of
government, or overawed by the display of military force under the
French banner, quietly reconciled themselves to the inevitable. Surging
swarms surrounded the plaza, and gazed upon company after company of
brilliantly uniformed French soldiers, with the no small contingent
of swarthy natives, as they marched past the reviewing general
and his staff. The review was no doubt a most imposing spectacle,
but the brightest picture of the day, that recurs to me, was the
unbounded courtesy and hospitality of the wealthy merchants on whose
banner-draped balcony we were seated. The delicious French confections
and wines they so freely offered their guests, delicacies of which we
had been so long deprived, I remember, after the lapse of more than
twenty years, with greater distinctness than the evolutions of the
military that we were invited to witness.

Many and earnest were the conferences held between a sweet little Texas
woman, who occupied quarters near our own, and myself on the subject
of costumes suitable for the ball given after the review, on which
occasion General Mejia was host or distinguished guest, I quite forget
which, but he was _the_ figure _par excellence_ of the ball-room.

My dainty young friend had a pink gown that had done service before
the war, and had already been twice refurbished for banquet occasions
in Houston, where she had mingled much in gay military circles, her
husband being one of General Magruder’s staff. This was brought forth
again, carefully inspected and freshened up with such bits of lace as
we could muster; while I, being entirely destitute of finery, purchased
a modest white tarlatan, with lace flounces. I opened, for the first
and only time in all these wanderings, my caskets, which were two
large pockets made of stout linen, containing not only my own and my
husband’s jewels, but the pins, studs, and chains of four soldier
brothers, left with me for safe-keeping when they marched to the
front. All these valuables were separately wrapped in soft cotton, and
stitched into the pockets, secured to strong belts, I wore on either
side often for weeks at a time, day and night, never feeling that they
could be laid aside even for an hour during the dangers of camping
out and temporary residence, in strange and more or less exposed
places. So it was on this festive occasion; while resplendent with
my own jewels, I carried those of others concealed on my person. The
ball over, we Cinderellas returned to the brick floors of our humble
homes and the cotton gowns suited to those surroundings. My neighbor
folded away the pretty pink silk, to be opened when we met again under
the Spanish flag many months thereafter, while I carefully quilted
the diamonds into the pockets from which their shining facets did not
emerge for a long, long time.

Finding our quarters, besides being too remote from business centers
for my husband’s convenience, were rather cramped, as we were limited
to two rooms, and without an out-building that could serve for a
kitchen, another house-hunt was instituted, and eventually we succeeded
in making ourselves very comfortable in comparison with the rough life
that had been ours whenever we had previously been on the frontier. We
had one long, narrow room, that had been a storage-place for saddles
and harness, but the temptation of high rents put it on the market
as a “desirable residence.” Another move was made. The first day was
spent in flooding the brick floor with pails of scalding lye, in order
to rid the building of fleas, that were so numerous that they hopped
around like animated dust as we walked over the floor. When the hot-lye
application was made, they jumped up the sides of the walls, till we
had a well-defined dado of fleas! Preferring a stationary white one,
they were mopped out with whitewash-brushes. That vigorous campaign
rewarded us at last with as complete a rout of the enemy as could have
been expected; but, so long as we held the fort, an occasional scout
was captured and mercilessly put to death. Thoroughly tired of our
wandering life, circumstances now arose that made a lengthy residence
in Matamoras quite probable. So a bed, two cots, and a wire safe were
bought, and a little reed-hut in the yard repaired for a kitchen; a
carpenter rigged a light scantling quite across one end of the room,
to which was tacked brown sheeting, thus making a partition. Then we
had two rooms. Turkey-red draped across the top of the partition, and
lambrequins of the same over the windows fronting the narrow street,
made us feel quite civilized. A store-box on end was a bureau, and
the plain deal-table served for dining and ironing by turns. We
settled down to housekeeping, with our wagon-driver, Humphrey, and a
little darky-girl about fourteen years old, for servants. Humphrey
was cook--the Southern negro is a born cook. Beef and onions, onions
and kidneys, liver and onions, stocked the Matamoras market; so his
culinary skill was not greatly taxed. Bread, made by the native
women, and baked in adobe ovens, was always light, wholesome, and
easily procured. If one was not too dainty, and did not witness the
manipulation necessary, _tortillas_, baked on flat iron plates, made a
very acceptable variety with the everlasting fried beef and onions, and
kidney-and-onion stews, that formed our chief diet.

We could get clothes washed and delivered to us rough dried, for
the amazing pittance of one dollar a dozen in good Mexican silver.
The monotony of my indoor life was varied by acquiring the useful
knowledge, and then teaching Martha how to starch and iron clothes.
The faithful young girl made herself doubly useful by often doing what
I had not the physical health to attempt. My husband had business to
attend to (one can readily understand this was no pleasure-trip), so
that he was all day long occupied, while I sat and waited, as thousands
of women have to do sometimes in their lives--waited! waited! One
stormy, fearfully dark night in early February, when, in the narrow,
unpaved street that fronted our door, the mud in places was almost
knee-deep from the long-continued rains, my husband returned at a
late hour from a grand banquet given in honor of Prince Polignac by
a committee of the leading business-men in Matamoras. He found all
quietly sleeping at home, but presently there was excitement and
commotion in our little room. The next morning Henry heard he had
a baby sister. I can never cease to gratefully remember the lovely
young Texas woman who, stranger though she was, trudged through almost
impassable streets to make me a helpful visit every day for a week.

Business was booming in Matamoras; large warehouses were opened
and filled, vessels of every size and nationality unloaded at
the _Boca_--several miles below the city at the mouth of the Rio
Grande--and goods were hauled to Matamoras in an endless stream of
wagons. A regular fast stage-line was in full operation also for
business-men to travel to the _Boca_ and back again. The whole sleepy
little city woke up and rubbed its eyes one fine morning to find that
it was inspired by new life, and was fast becoming a busier and noisier
place than it had ever dreamed of.

The Confederate Government made stupendous efforts to procure
army supplies through Mexico; but the great distance, scarcity of
transportation, lack of harmony between the several branches of the
service, and the unscrupulousness of speculators, interfered with
well-laid plans, diminished anticipated results, and subjected the
officers of the department to severe criticism for their failure to
furnish the army with everything needed, and vituperation from every
contractor who did not get the pound of flesh demanded. Traders shipped
hither merchandise of every description, with the expectation of
selling to the Confederate authorities at such fabulous profit as would
warrant taking proportionate hazard in regard to securing payment, all
tending to wild speculation, reckless business methods, and amazing
complications.

Such a promising trade sprung up in a night, as it were, with Havana,
that some enterprising New Yorkers actually started a line of steamers
between the two _neutral_ ports, to facilitate the business with the
Confederacy. The pioneer steamer of the line was advertised to sail
from the _Boca_ on a certain day toward the latter part of February. My
husband had urgent business in Havana, where some of his blockade-run
cotton had been landed under very suspicious circumstances. He
determined to take passage in the new steamer and ascertain the exact
situation. Here arose another discussion. Weak as I was, I did not
propose to stay behind, and pleaded my ability to go, pointing to the
past as evidence that I could endure the journey, having borne greater
perils than a short voyage on a comfortable steamer with a baby only
three weeks old. Of course, these arguments prevailed. A very energetic
man, who in the great rush of business in Matamoras had not been able
to find a place to store himself and his constantly increasing stock
of goods, eagerly purchased our elegant belongings, lambrequins and
_bureau_ included, at original cost price--all but the splint-bottomed
rocking-chair. We packed up our trunk and Martha’s bundle. The wagon
found a ready purchaser. Ever since the driver of the same sent us
word, one morning, that he was “too sleepy and tired to go to market,
and we had better go ourselves” we knew that he proposed leaving our
employ; therefore, no arrangements were made that included him.

All dressed and bonneted, I sat in the little rocking-chair, waiting
for the _Boca_ stage, when, lo! in walked two Mexican officials,
piloted by our late Humphrey, who, with an air of great importance,
pointed out my servant, and Martha was arrested and conducted before
the _alcalde_. My husband followed, in a quickly gathered crowd through
the streets, and, being entirely ignorant of the whole business,
and unfamiliar with the language, called our physician--a long-time
resident--to his aid. Humphrey had complained that Martha was about to
be taken to Cuba without her consent. By the aid of an interpreter,
the _alcalde_ questioned the young girl closely. At first she was
thoroughly alarmed and confused, being, as she afterward told me,
utterly unaware of the conspiracy; but when the idea dawned upon her
mind that it was a matter of separation from us, she burst into tears
and implored to be permitted to “go with Miss ’Liza.” His honor,
being convinced that she was under no compulsion, dismissed the case.
Humphrey departed with his new-made Mexican friends, and Martha was
hurried back, to find the stage impatiently waiting at the door, baby
and I already inside; the others were rapidly hustled in, and, amid
crack of whip and the nameless shouts and yells of the driver, we soon
lost sight of “La heroica Ciudad de Matamoras.”

Within the following six weeks the Confederacy fell. Lee gracefully
surrendered his heroic sword, the weary, foot-sore soldiers returned to
desolate homes. The busy traders of Matamoras scattered panic-stricken,
and the city itself lapsed into sleepy insignificance with a suddenness
that made the army of the French and the lazy natives stare. The line
of steamers to run weekly to Havana began and ended in the wheezy
little craft in which we made the trip--I have forgotten its name,
but, as Toots says, “it’s of no consequence,” for its name is written
in water: it went to the bottom the first time it attempted a more
ambitious feat than crossing the Gulf.

Thus faded the Confederacy. We prayed for victory--no people ever
uttered more earnest prayers--and the God of hosts gave us victory in
defeat. We prayed for only that little strip, that Dixie-land, and the
Lord gave us the whole country from the lakes to the Gulf, from ocean
to ocean--all dissensions settled, all dividing lines wiped out--a
united country forever and ever!




                             CHAPTER XIII.

             HAVANA--HÔTEL CUBANO--OUR HOME ON THE CERRO.


No pencil can give an adequate picture of Havana as one enters its
harbor. It is the loveliest gem of the ocean. To us, who had so long
dealt with the rough realities of life, it was as a bit of fairy-land,
where everybody was happy, sailing, driving, and gliding about, for
very lack of work-day occupation. Entering between the beetling heights
of El Morro on one side and the frowning guns of La Punta on the
other, as we steamed up toward the queen city of the “Ever-faithful
Isle,” the panorama that gradually unfolded itself in the golden rays
of the rising sun was gorgeous in its enchanting beauty. The water
of the landlocked, tideless bay, made foully offensive by receiving
the drainage of a very dirty city for a century or more, and on whose
capacious bosom float ships from every clime, was nevertheless the
bluest and most sparkling ever seen.

The solid, substantial public buildings and warehouses that bordered
the landing were relieved of all work-day, business look by the
surrounding airy structures in red, blue, and yellow, with light,
graceful balconies and turrets; while here and there tall, waving
palms, cocoa-palms, dark-green orange, and other tropical fruit-trees
hedged them in, shading them even to the water’s edge.

The rising ground beyond, the _cerro_ (hill) crowned all with its
Oriental quintas and pleasure-gardens, and gradually faded away into
the ethereal distance of the loveliest skies that bend over tired man.
Church spires and belfries, very Moorish in design, diversified the
whole landscape, and the clang or chime of church-bells was ceaselessly
wafted on the air.

How prosperous and rich Cuba was in those days! How happy the people!
how animated and gay! We arrived when it was at the very acme of its
opulence, when fairly drunk with the excess of wealth and abundance.

The reaction upon us was almost stunning. Arriving at the hotel, it was
very evident I really and truly had “nothing to wear,” where ladies
sailed in and out the marble-floored drawing-room, in long, trailing
garments of diaphanous texture, with flowers in their hair and jewels
on their bosoms. We were at Hôtel Cubano, kept by an enterprising
American woman, whose genial hospitality, exceeding liberality, and
excellent table, had for years attracted the best American visitors,
and now the house was overflowing with Southerners. The building was
of stone, five stories in height, extending around a paved court, the
only entrance to which was a massive gateway sufficiently ample to
admit a coach and four. On the ground-floor were the carriage-rooms
and stabling for horses of mine hostess, who rode in the most stylish
victoria that frequented the _paseo_. The second floor, being _entre
suelo_ (half-story), its low apartments were devoted to the uses of
servants and inferior offices. On the third floor were the parlors,
dining-hall, a few bedrooms, and kitchen. The two stories above
were occupied as bedrooms. All these apartments opened upon broad
balconies that surrounded the inner court. The upper tier, which
received some of the sun’s rays at noon, were embellished with pots
of gay blossoming plants and festooned with vines. The front of the
house had deep windows leading out upon narrow balconies, whereas the
other rooms had only small openings half-way up to the ceiling which
afforded ventilation with limited light The flat roof, laid in cement
and protected on all sides with high, stone parapets, furnished a
charming evening promenade, whence an extended view of the ocean and
harbor could be had; and it also overlooked the _azoteas_ and courts
of neighboring houses, affording glimpses of Cuban interiors that were
often very amusing. The laundry occupied a portion of this _azotea_,
but its area was so ample that the domestic operations did not
interfere with the enjoyment of the guests. One broad marble stairway,
with massive balustrades of the same material, wound from bottom to
top of the building, providing the inmates with the only means of
communication with its different stories. Bags of charcoal, barrels of
flour, and other bulky articles, were secured by ropes in the court
and hoisted by main strength to the wash-house on the roof, or the
kitchen on the third floor, as required; refuse was lowered at night by
the same hand-labor. Sweet memories cluster around this quaint hotel,
for it was a haven of rest for us as long as we lived in Cuba. We
became extremely attached to its generous hostess; and to her cordial
hospitality and kindly courtesies, continued through a decade of trying
years, we were indebted for some of the brightest days of our residence
on the island.

The _salons_ and balconies were thronged with Confederates as homeless
as ourselves, but I found difficulty in recognizing in some of the
belaced and befrilled beauties gliding about, the women who scarce had
stockings and handkerchiefs when I last saw them in Texas.

Though having no plan that involved even a temporary residence in
Havana, we never for a moment contemplated a return to the United
States until peace was restored and quiet assured. The confinement in
the hotel soon became, however, intolerably irksome to the children and
servants. (Zell, who drove our mules through the rushing Nueces River,
had arrived previously with my brother.) Martha’s experience before the
_alcalde_ in Mexico had made her so timid that no amount of persuasion
would induce her to venture upon the strange, narrow streets unless I
was at her side and almost holding her by the hand. Henry had led such
a vagabond life that, while he did not go on the streets, the corridors
and balconies were not half big enough for him, and his restless
enterprise was forever getting him into hot water. One day Patrona, the
black chambermaid of the hotel, electrified me by appearing at my door,
one hand filled with slit and jagged shirt-collars, and, moving the
two forefingers of the other to represent scissors, explained, in her
broken, almost unintelligible English, “De _muchacho_, dat littee man,
yo’ littee boy, do _dis_!” and she gave a vicious snip at a fragment
of collar with the improvised implement. Master Henry had found a lot
of soiled linen collars, belonging to a guest of the house, which
had been freshly marked and spread in the sun on the balcony floor.
Remembering a description I had once read to him of the manufacture of
paper collars, he cut these to bits, and was surprised, he innocently
explained, to find what a splendid imitation of the genuine article
could be made of paper! The owner was a red-haired _colporteur_, or
missionary of some sort, established in Havana to receive and forward
to Matamoras Bibles and tracts for the use of the Southern army. The
custom-house authorities had seized the very first installment, as in
Cuba, Bibles are contraband. The poor man was so roiled and outraged
thereby, that Henry’s unfortunate raid on his wardrobe was resented in
what the child considered very unreasonable and ungenerous terms.

The surrender of our armies, long expected though it may have been
by the clear-sighted among us, was none the less a severe blow. We
at once realized that a return to our own country must be delayed. A
search was instituted for a small residence on the _cerro_, outside
the old city walls, where the streets were wider and each house had
“space to breathe.” To our great surprise, a small house was not to
be found. Mostly of one story, they seemed small from the street, but
they all straggled back into an indefinite, almost unlimited number of
apartments. The location of the one finally decided upon was almost its
only attraction. The English consul lived directly opposite, the German
consul within a stone’s-throw, the Russian representative around the
corner, and a few American and English-speaking merchants and business
men near by, forming a most delightful and congenial _entourage_. We
did not hesitate long, though the domicile did not quite fill, or
rather, I should say, more than filled, our requirements. Having lived
so long in one or two rooms, the thought of ten or a dozen appalled us.
Like all houses in that voluptuous climate, the windows, stretching
from ceiling to floor, and innocent of glass, were only protected by
stout iron bars, that might have suggested an insane-asylum or prison
had they not exposed such gay and cheerful interiors, where the inmates
moved about as freely, talked as gayly, and enjoyed their elaborately
spread banquets as unrestrainedly as though they were not the observed
of every idle passer-by. The three front rooms of our exposed castle
opened upon a broad veranda, situated immediately upon the street;
but there was a brave yard in the rear filled with mammee, aguacate,
and bread-fruit trees, which interlaced their boughs, forming a shade
so dense that the sun’s rays never penetrated. It was soon found that
even a damp towel hung there mildewed before it dried. At the foot of
this yard was a rushing, tearing, noisy stream of water--perhaps six
feet wide--that made as much tumult and transacted as much business
as some pretentious rivers; for, as it dashed and hurried along with
great speed, it received and transported refuse and _débris_ from all
the houses on its banks, whither I know not, but I presume the noisome
freight was deposited in the beautiful bay of Havana, the foulness of
whose depths is a reproach to Cuban civilization. A few rooms of this
house were scantily furnished, for, to use the words of Susan Nipper,
we were “temporaries.” There, with Zell and Martha, we kept house, in
accordance with our means, for a year.

With the first news of surrender came several Confederate officers,
induced by fear of imprisonment to leave the country. Hon. J. P.
Benjamin and General Breckinridge were the first to arrive. They were
quickly followed by others; some came in small boats from the Florida
coast, others _via_ Mexico. Scarcely a day passed that news of fresh
arrivals did not reach us, and we met many friends on that foreign
shore whom we had not seen since the first gun was fired at Sumter.
Generals Breckinridge, Toombs, Fry, Magruder, Bee, Preston, Early,
and Commodore Maffitt, were at Hôtel Cubano about the same time. Many
were accompanied by their wives. Exiles though all were, they enjoyed
to-day, not knowing what the morrow had in store. One by one, as
assurance of personal safety was secured, they drifted back to their
old homes.

My husband set about with his wonderful energy to find a business
opening in this foreign land, where matters seemed to be settled,
though not on the best principles. He mingled as freely as
possible with the people, cultivated the acquaintance of bankers
and business-men, the most energetic and successful of whom were
foreigners, and made various visits to the interior, always to return
enamored of the soil and resources of what is really the most prolific
spot on the globe.

Governor Moore, of Louisiana, joined us in our _cerro_ home for weeks;
and when he left, grand old General Toombs, “the noblest Roman of them
all,” with his lovely and devoted wife, took the apartments vacated.

General Toombs joined in many of my husband’s trips over the island,
and shared his admiration of its unrivaled agricultural wealth, while
Mrs. Toombs and I sat in our marble-floored parlor or on the broad,
gas-lighted veranda, and enjoyed the _dolce far niente_ so much needed
to restore our overtaxed and enfeebled constitutions.




                             CHAPTER XIV.

       STREET SIGHTS AND SOUNDS--EVENINGS IN THE CITY--SHOPS AND
                    SHOPPING--BEGGARS--VACCINATION.


The new, unfamiliar, and ever-varying street sights were an unfailing
source of entertainment. The bulk of commercial business is transacted
in the early morning. Clattering _volantes_, carrying merchants and
bankers from princely homes around us to city offices, were the
earliest sounds. Then followed a succession of peripatetic venders all
day long. The milkman, with one poor little cow and straggling, muzzled
calf, was our first visitor. In response to his shrill call, “_Lêché_,”
Martha ran out and watched the dexterity in milking so as to overflow
the cup with foam that subsided long before he turned the corner,
revealing very little milk for a _real_.

The vegetable, fruit, and poultry men, with various jingling
harness-bells, discordant cries or whistles, seemed to pass in an
endless procession, with long lines of heavily laded ponies, the head
of each tied to the closely plaited tail of its leader, the foremost
one mounted by a _guajiro_ (native peasant), his shirt worn outside
the pantaloons, and belt ornamented with a broad knife. Poultry,
generally tied by the feet in great bunches and thrown across the
pony’s back, or attached to various parts of the saddle, dangled in
a distressing condition until a purchaser was found; when released,
it was often hours before they could stand. Sometimes the ponies were
laded with _meloja_--young stalks of green corn, that had been sown
broadcast--and one only saw great heaps of green, with the tips of
the ears, switch of the tail, and stumbling feet of the weary animal
visible. The water of the city, conducted from house to house in
pipes, was so foul that even the poorest families denied themselves
other necessaries to afford drinking-water brought from the springs
at Marianao, nine miles distant, and carted in ten-gallon kegs all
over the city. We paid a doubloon ($4.25) a month for it, delivered
to us tri-weekly in those kegs. About noon, _dulceros_, with tinkling
triangles or shrill calls, that always attracted children and servants,
passed with large trays deftly poised on their heads, bearing little
bowls and cups of freshly made sweetmeats, preserved guavas and
mammees, grated cocoanut stewed in sugar, and a very delicious custard
made with cocoanut-milk, besides various other fruit-preparations.
Families daily supplied themselves with dessert from these _dulceros_,
who walked the streets with their wares exposed, oblivious of sun or
dust.

_Volantes_ were generally kept inside the houses, and the horses
stabled next to the kitchen. I have dined in elegant houses in Havana
where as many as four vehicles were ranged against the dining-room
walls, and the noise of stamping hoofs could be distinctly heard. In
the cool of the evening, _volantes_ and victorias sallied out of the
houses. The fair occupants in full evening costume, already seated,
their trailing robes, of brilliant colors and light, gauzy material,
arranged to float outside the open vehicles, with shoulders and arms
bare, and raven locks crowned with flowers, among which were tiny
birds mounted on quivering wires, made a display of striking and
unusual elegance. The coachman in full livery, silver-laced jacket,
silver-buckled shoes, and immense spurs of the same metal, the horses
prancing under the weight and jingle of silver-mounted harness and
light chains, all proceeded in gay trot to join the endless procession
that made the _paseo_ in Havana the most animated and bewitching sight
imaginable in those affluent days of Cuba.

At night, doors and windows of houses were flung wide open, showing a
vista of rooms, from the brilliantly lighted _salon_ through bedroom
after bedroom, until the line of view vanished at the kitchen; bright
lamps swung from all the ceilings, even that of the veranda; and in
long rows of rocking-chairs, in never-ceasing motion, the _señoras_
gayly chatted and sipped ices; while idle strollers in the streets
paused to admire and audibly comment upon the elegant ladies or listen
to the light nothings that were being uttered with so much spirit and
gesture.

I never knew when the shops in Havana closed, nor when they opened
their doors, nor saw them with all the shutters up, even on
Sunday--except during the last three days of holy week, when business
of every nature is entirely suspended. Returning after midnight from
opera or ball, one found every store brilliantly lighted and thronged
with jostling crowds. In the hot days, two or three hours’ shopping
before breakfast was not unusual. The same men stood behind the
counters day and night, many in their shirt-sleeves and smoking; though
the most overworked human beings in existence, they always appeared
fresh, and were exceedingly amiable and accommodating, even to the
extent of leaving their own counters and accompanying strangers to
other stores to act as interpreters. The leading merchants had men in
their employ who spoke both French and English.

The Havana _señoras_ generally made purchases from samples sent to
their houses; if they visited the shops at all, it was after early
morning mass, or the evening drive on the _paseo_, when goods were
brought to the _volante_ for their inspection. They were quite as
critical as any other shoppers; so the obliging merchant often brought
to the narrow side-walk, where there was scarcely room for a person to
pass, roll after roll of elegant goods, and patiently waited while the
ladies with calm complacency examined them.

At Miro y Otero’s (our grocers) I often found the whole establishment
at breakfast. A long table was spread down the middle of the store,
the members of the firm and every employé, including the porters and
cartmen, were seated around the board; if a customer entered, some one
would rise, wait upon him, and then resume breakfast. There were no
dining-rooms or lunch-counters where business men and clerks “stepped
out” at meal-times. In offices, ware-rooms, banks, commercial houses,
and stores, meals were served to all employés. Numberless little
_bodegas_, and cheap, dirty shops were scattered about the purlieus
and back streets, where white and colored laborers side by side ate
fried fish or garlic stew, and drank _aguadiente_ (native rum) or red
wine. In some of the _bodegas_ of the lower order asses were kept tied
to the counter, to be milked on the spot, for invalids and people of
delicate digestion. The coffee served at these very _bodegas_ was rich
and delicious. Often after we moved to the country and visited Havana,
I fortified myself for the early start home on the train, at one of
these places, with a cup of coffee, “fit for the gods,” and a sovereign
preventive of headache so sure to follow three hours’ ride in a close
car filled with tobacco-smoke. Smoking is so universal that every car
is a “smoking-car.”

All Saturday the streets were thronged with beggars, many of them
dirty, diseased, deformed, and repulsive; a few, healthy in appearance
and handsomely attired, were followed by attendants carrying bags
to receive alms. They visited shops, and were invariably rewarded
with contributions mostly of small wares, a spool of thread or cheap
handkerchief. One mendicant, with his license conspicuously exposed
(all beggars in Havana are licensed), passed frequently up our street
ringing a small bell. Servants came out from the various houses, and,
by giving him a piece of money, had the privilege of kissing a blest
but dirty picture that hung on his breast. I was frequently surprised
by a call at my veranda-window, from an elegantly dressed lady, her
flowing train, of fine linen lawn, decorated with elaborately fluted
rufflings, and her stylishly dressed hair partly concealed by a scarf
of rich Spanish lace. I was utterly at a loss to understand a rapid
formula she repeated in a low, musical voice. To my perplexed look and
shake of the head, she always bowed and gracefully moved away--only to
return and repeat the performance the following week. Subsequently I
learned she was a licensed mendicant. Every Saturday--the only day they
were allowed to ply their calling--she was in the habit of leaving her
two nicely dressed little boys at the house of a count on the _cerro_,
and begging.

In the courts of many aristocratic and wealthy houses, food was
distributed in generous quantities to all who applied, and even
comfortable seats were provided for those who desired to rest while
they ate. This was generally done in fulfillment of a vow made to the
Virgin or a saint in time of distress. A lady living near us, when her
children were ill, made a vow to keep the _cerro_ church in perpetual
repair, if their lives were spared. It was the daintiest of little
churches, all pure white and gold inside, with an elaborate altar of
marble decorated with flowers and tall silver candlesticks, and a
noticeable absence of tawdry display and wretched daubs of pictures
which disfigure so many Catholic churches. Although the family was
subsequently exiled from Cuba for political reasons, and for years
resided in Paris, the vow made long before was religiously kept. Though
now restricted in means, their great wealth squandered and confiscated,
no doubt the church still receives their careful attention. I had a
fine opportunity to admire it.

Vaccination, like baptism, is compulsory in that much-governed country;
while the former, performed by surgeons appointed by the government for
that especial service, is absolutely gratuitous, the minimum pay for
the latter is two dollars, the church rendering no service without
an equivalent. The morning papers each day announced the church where
vaccination was to take place, as our journals furnish the weather
indications.

At the appointed day for the _cerro_ church, Martha and I presented our
baby at the vestry, where were already four little darky babies. The
surgeon was kind enough to quiet any anxiety I might have evinced by
announcing that he had _white_ virus and _black_ virus, and he never
got them mixed. Our addresses were registered, and we were told to
report the following week at same time and place. Martha and I, after
the operation, followed the colored party into the church, and as the
French express it, “assisted” in the baptism of the little Africans. I
was nervous about the _white_ virus and _black_ virus, and was greatly
relieved to find it did not “take”; but the next week the polite
official presented himself at our door. He was kind enough to believe
we did not appreciate the importance of vaccination, and when the
second application of the lancet proved successful, our little lady was
furnished with a formidable certificate necessary for admission into
any school in Cuba.




                              CHAPTER XV.

        A POLYGLOT--ZELL--BEATRIZ’S SCHOOL--IGNORANT GUAJIROS.


Henry went to a little school a few doors off, kept by a Danish woman,
who conversed readily in their native tongue with the French, German,
Russian, Italian, and English consuls, all of whom lived in the
neighborhood. There Henry, now nine years old, was taught to read in
French and Spanish, and, with the quickness of intelligent childhood,
soon learned to speak the latter quite fluently. Zell did our cooking
and ran on errands, and, as the darky also readily acquires a foreign
lingo, it was not long before he could master enough Spanish for
any occasion. He was considered such a _savant_ that he applied for
permission to give English lessons at the corner _bodega_. “Dey’ll
give me four dollars a month jist to go dar and talk evenings,” he
explained; “tell em de names of things, jist like I was a-buying.... I
jist go dar and look at it and say, ‘What’s price dat ar coffee?’ or I
p’int at de box and say, ‘What you ax for dat sugar?’ and den tell ’em
what to say back.” Zell did “go _dar_,” though I never knew the result
of his teachings, pecuniarily or otherwise. He prided himself on his
attainments, and once was heard to tell a man--who, hearing him speak
both languages, inquired where he learned to speak English--that he was
an Englishman!

In time he mentioned his need of a watch, and at Christmas found a
big silver one in his stocking, which he ostentatiously sported when
in full dress; but on several occasions my husband warned him that it
was being left carelessly about the kitchen, where it was liable to be
stolen. Zell came to me one morning in considerable agitation. “Miss
’Liza, you seen my watch? Well, it’s done gorn. I left it on dat nail,
and now somebody is tuk it.”

“What’s that? Your watch gone, Zell?”

“Yes, Mars Jim, I just step out a minute, and lef it on a nail in de
kitchen, all kivered up wid de dish-rag, and now, when I look again,
it’s gorn.”

“Didn’t I tell you so? What’s to prevent anybody from walking into that
kitchen and taking anything they find hanging on a nail?”

“Don’t say anoder word, Mars Jim, I know who’s tuk it; dat big nigger
at Miss Bollag’s is got it. Kase I never lay eyes on dat ar fool but
he ses to me, ‘Hay! Zell, _que hora son_?’ Dat means, ‘What’s time o’
day?’”

“Now listen to me; don’t say another word on the subject; you deserve
to lose it, and it’s gone.”

For several days Zell was downcast and miserable, ceasing to show
interest in his _classes_; but one morning the watch was found on the
nail; and Zell, with eyes gleaming like torches, said, “I know’d Mars
Jim had dat watch all de time, kase he ain’t de kind er man to let no
nigger steal outen his yard and never _persecute_ it.”

Henry’s school was an endless source of interest. Señora Bollag (the
children all called her Beatriz) kept the school in her own bedroom,
although she occupied an entire house. In the very early morning the
pupils began to assemble. Before the sun was fairly up, _volantes_
arrived at Beatriz’s door, and sable maids deposited their little
white-frocked charges, and the _volantes_ drove off. Boys in panama
hats, and full suits of spotless white linen from tip to toe, their
piercing eyes and coal-black hair giving the only touch of what
the artist calls character to the picture, rode up on ponies with
white-robed attendants; and so, long before our American hours for
breakfast, Beatriz’s school was under full headway. I could distinctly
hear the murmur of voices, varied by Beatriz’s sharp reproof, and
the patter of little feet on the uncovered floor. About ten o’clock
_volantes_ and servants on foot with breakfast-trays began to appear.
In the order of their arrival the children retired to a rustic bower
in the back yard where there was a rude table surrounded by a bench;
there, with a snowy spread of napkins, they ate breakfast, with
servants to replenish the claret-glasses, and break the eggs over
the rice, spread the fried bananas over the _tasajo_ or other meat
arrangement; in short, perform such menial service as was required by
all well-bred children in that voluptuous land. One by one they went
to _almuerza_, and returned to lessons smacking their lips and picking
their little teeth. Waiters and _volantes_ severally vanished with
empty dishes and trays. At two o’clock servants were seen crossing
the street from up, down, and directly opposite, with napkin-covered
glasses of _refresco_, made of orange, pineapple, tamarind, or the
expressed juice of blanched almonds, for the thirsty little ones,
who lived near enough to share refreshments with their mammas. Funny
stories reached us of Beatriz’s discipline. If a child presented itself
with an unclean face, Beatriz’s own maid was summoned, with a huge
sponge (such as was used for mopping floors) dripping with water, to
wash it; and a frouzy head was made smooth with an enormous comb kept
for the purpose.

Beatriz Bollag had a flourishing school somewhat on a crude
Kindergarten pattern, for there were little ones learning to spell
with blocks, who spent most of their time playing with dolls. All who
offered were received, however; even Ellie, a grown niece of ours, who
joined us in Cuba, and desired to study Spanish, was not refused. The
school had no opening nor closing hour. The children came when they
were ready, and left when Beatriz had a headache or was tired. She
was at her post every day in the week; there was no regular day for
holiday. The _dias santos_--holy days--of the ecclesiastical calendar,
only were observed; their occurrence, although frequent, was irregular.
She had no license, therefore presented no bills. Each month Henry
was told, “To-morrow is the seventh.” And that meant he must bring
his _tres doublones_ ($12.75) when he came again. And when Ellie was
dismissed, with “To-morrow, my dear,” she understood that to imply her
_onza_ ($17) was due.

The laws were so peculiarly rigid, that it was almost impossible to
obtain a license to teach in Cuba. That parental government is so
zealous on the score of education, so dreadfully afraid that the
pupils would not learn the right thing, or be taught the wrong,
that a teacher’s certificate is hedged about with obstacles almost
insurmountable. Possibly the lives of the saints and church dogmas
bristle around conspicuously in the barrier. No mind can grasp the
lives of all the saints and holy men, and know every _double-cross_
day and its wherefore in the Spanish calendar, and know much of
anything else. An American woman of my acquaintance secured a teacher’s
situation in a regularly licensed school on the _cerro_. Upon her
refusal to obey the orders of the inspectors to discard her text-books
and substitute others so antiquated and replete with errors as to
be almost useless to the present generation, she was debarred from
teaching.

The wealthy class, in order to have their children taught some of the
solid branches besides music and the languages, frequently secure
governesses in the United States. We were often amused at some of the
specimens that came under our observation. A wealthy marquis, who
owned an estate near Havana, had as teacher for his children a coarse,
showy-looking woman, with a broad Irish brogue. She fairly murdered
Lindley Murray. “Me and him,” “They be afther going,” etc., fell from
her lips every time she opened them. So I was not surprised to learn
that she had been a hotel-chambermaid. The marquis was ambitious,
and spared no expense on his daughters, and, when he pompously
congratulated himself on having secured a governess who did not speak
Spanish, I longed to tell him that she was equally ignorant of English.

The priests in the interior villages gather the children together and
teach them that “Nuestra Señora de Cobre” is a patron saint of Cuba,
because she miraculously appeared to two negroes who were paddling
about in a skiff, and pointed out to them valuable copper-mines on
the coast. They are also taught their Paternosters and Ave Marias;
occasionally a pupil is graduated who can read and write; but, as a
rule, the class that inhabit the country towns are very ignorant. An
intelligent officer of the Spanish army, who had been stationed in the
extreme eastern part of the island, told us he was astounded to see,
during some raids upon insurgent camps, how primitive, indeed, how near
to Adam and Eve, the country people remote from settlements were. He
saw women, with even less adornment than Eve was constrained to wear,
picking wild rice and digging roots in the wilderness. When they do not
live in rocky caves, their abodes are rude huts that scarcely deserve
the name. Literally existing from hand to mouth, “they toil not,
neither do they spin.”




                             CHAPTER XVI.

     PLANTATION PURCHASED--LIFE AT “DESENGAÑO”--AT WORK ONCE MORE.


At last my husband found a sugar-plantation for sale--“positively to
be sold.” It would be hard to tell how many he went to inspect, and
found the titles imperfect. This one was encumbered by a minor’s lien.
The old man who owned that one was crazy, and could not make a title.
A third belonged to a whole family of heirs, who had fallen out among
themselves, and would not agree upon terms of sale. Another was in the
merciless grasp of the city merchant, who would ultimately sequestrate
it. And so on, through an appalling list of disappointments. At last a
plantation was found, so hopelessly in debt, so wretchedly managed, in
such bad repute from lack of energy and care, that the owners (three
brothers) offered to sell it, or rather consented to allow it to be
sold, under the heavy mortgage. As it had been settled originally by
their ancestors, and descended in unbroken line, the chain of title
was perfect. We closed the bargain, and in May moved our little
belongings, Martha and Zell included, to “_Desengaño_,” sixty-five
miles from Havana. As the lives of these two devoted and faithful
servants were interwoven so closely with our own, it might be well to
give them a more personal introduction. Martha was a mulatto whose
profile, albeit no beauty, strangely resembled that of the famous St.
Cecilia; while Zell was a full-blooded creole negro, black as ebony,
tall, broad-shouldered, with a big mouth, full of dazzling ivories--one
of the best-natured, jolliest souls that ever lived.

In Cuba the laws are so complex, the officials so full of dishonest
trickery, that oftentimes the laws seem framed to obstruct rather than
to facilitate justice. We were permitted to take possession in May,
though the final transfer was not completed until August. While Lamo
(a contraction of _el amo_, the master, as my husband was now called)
had entire possession in the field, I had not similar advantages in the
house, which was still full of the furniture and other movables of the
Señores Royo, the late owners. Wretched pictures of “Nuestra Señora
de Cobre” hung in every room of the house; and we were told, whenever
the engine broke down, or the cane-fields were on fire, and the whole
neighborhood was responding to the tones of the alarm-bell, the Royos
prostrated themselves in agony of prayer before the “Señora.”

The dwelling-house at Desengaño was the most pretentious and
substantial in the Matanzas district. Eighty feet front, one hundred
and twenty feet deep, of one story about twenty feet in height, built
of stone and cement, the walls were three feet thick, with immense
beams of solid cedar sustaining the ceiling. The floors of concrete,
covered with a preparation of clay and milk, admitted a high polish.
From a wide veranda you entered the parlor; the dining-room, back of
this salon, was inclosed its entire rear width with venetian blinds;
there was a series of rooms on each side the parlor extending back six
deep, forming a square court when the great gates in the rear, reaching
from side to side, were closed. No wood-work, except the heavy doors
and solid window-shutters. The windows were protected by strong iron
bars, extending from top to bottom, and imbedded in the stone walls.
The veranda, of solid stone, protected by an iron railing, commanded a
view of the avenue a third of a mile, with stately palms a hundred feet
high, bordering the drive on either side.

Never can I forget the horrors of the early days at Desengaño. When
the black woman, in a dirty, low-necked, sleeveless, trailing dress, a
cigar in her mouth, and a naked, sick, and whining child on one arm,
went about spreading the table, scrupulously wiping Royo’s plates with
an exceedingly suspicious-looking ghost of a towel, the prospect for
dinner was not inviting. I had eaten kid stewed in blood, craw-fish,
frogs, and _chili colorado_--and nobody knows what’s in _that_
mess--in my journeyings, so one might have thought my stomach had no
weak point in it; but its weakness developed that day, and I dined on
boiled eggs and roast sweet-potatoes.

Until a tidy Chinaman was installed in the kitchen I was very dainty,
and thought and talked more of what I was eating, or intended to eat,
than in all my previous life or since.

“Martha, that water has a wretched taste.”

“Miss ’Liza, I b’lieve dere’s something in the bottom of dis
_tenajo_, but, bein’ as it ain’t ourn, I don’t want to meddle wid
it”--and she pointed to the inevitable water-cooler, the rotund jar
of porous pottery, so indispensable in that climate. I ventured to
have Royo’s jar scalded: out came fragments, legs, bodies, beards,
and heads of cockroaches, that had formed such a solid mass at the
bottom that nothing less than scalding water and a thorough shaking
could disintegrate and bring it forth! We never drank from a doubtful
_tenajo_ after that.

Among the belongings was an old-fashioned piano, with faded and
somewhat damaged pink silk flutings over the upright front. One day I
raised the cover, dusted the old yellow keys, and ran my fingers up and
down with a loud rattle; out sprang myriads of cockroaches from all the
folds and crevices of that faded, dingy silk; the unwonted noise roused
them as nothing else had ever done.

There was no cleaning house, no settling down, with all that dirty
plunder cumbering the floor. Many and active were the scampers we
had after great horny cockroaches, that glared at us in a way almost
human, their backs so hard that, when we got a fair rap at one, the
shell broke with a loud crack. The evenings were rather dull and
listless. Lamo was too tired with his day’s occupations to entertain
us. The heat, together with mosquitoes and all manner of flying bugs
attracted by the light, kept us remote from lamps. I do not know what
we should have done, but for the ubiquitous cockroaches. In the dim
light of evening they sallied forth from crack and crevice; from the
silk-covered piano to the humble foot-stool they crept out. Ellie,
Martha, and I, each armed with a flexible slipper, watched, jumped,
slapped, ran, and laughed to our hearts’ content. The hunt was the
more vigorous as the game was so wary. An old grayish fellow would
glare at you with glistening, beady eyes, and wave his long feelers
like a challenge; you ran, made a dashing slap with the slipper, and,
like the Irishman’s flea--he wasn’t there! The vigor and voracity of
these pests were beyond belief. They scampered all over the house;
sometimes strayed into mouse-traps, and were caught by the neck like
a mouse. Books, papers, and clothing they nibbled and destroyed
freely, as though regular articles of diet. Driven by persistent and
vigilant warfare from the dwelling-house, they seemed to increase
about the adjoining buildings of the plantation, and were intolerable
even at the _infermeria_ where medicines for plantation use were
kept, devouring quantities of ipecac, Dover’s powders, rhubarb, and
even lucifer-matches; in fact, anything and everything that could
be reached. On one occasion a package of pulverized borax, intended
to be mixed with sugar and scattered about their haunts, for the
express purpose of destroying them, was partly devoured in a night,
indicating conclusively that the internal organs of a Cuban cockroach
are fearfully and wonderfully made. By reason of their intolerant,
pugnacious, omnivorous nature, which leads them to make warfare upon
every other insect that crosses their path, the negroes refrain from
molesting them, as they are less objectionable in their estimation than
a multitude of others, and their barracoons are strongholds from which
they issue to colonize wherever and whenever vigilance is relaxed.

Royo’s furniture was carted off at last; the unsavory water-jar, and
the untidy house-maid in whose care the belongings had been left,
disappeared together. Our scanty furniture was soon disposed to the
best advantage, and quickly that dirty house was scalded, scrubbed, and
whitewashed. With all things made clean, floors washed every day, and a
deal of turning up and out, the horrid cockroaches had no rest, day nor
night; and the rapidity with which those sly old scamps disappeared
from about our feet challenges belief.

We soon settled down to a life that was almost as new to us as if we
had dropped from the moon. The mixture of bad Spanish and African
jargon of the negroes I never did understand--nor did Lamo--but in
time they understood me. Henry and Zell, and by-and-by Martha, could
interpret for black and white, while Ellie and I could talk to and
understand the whites. We worked with an energy, born of a more
vigorous clime, that amazed our apathetic neighbors. The money had to
be dug and plowed out of the ground to pay for that beautiful place. We
had never dug nor plowed, but Lamo knew how it ought to be done; so,
while he was in the field teaching the stupid negroes and dazed Chinese
to dig and plow, I was busy in the house with its manifold surroundings
and dependencies. Not an idle hour did we have, we so greatly enjoyed
the new excitement of work with the certainty of reward. Lamo was in
the fields before the first blush of day tinged the sky, and I was up
with the sun’s first slanting rays--busy all day long, and tired enough
to sleep soundly at night.




                             CHAPTER XVII.

RAINY SEASON--CULTIVATING ABANDONED FIELDS--DON FULGENCIO’S MODE--FIRST
                      SUMMER AT DESENGAÑO--BOOKS.


Summer on a sugar-plantation is what is known in common parlance as the
“dead season.” The days are long and hot. Work begins before the dawn,
pauses at midday, and ends when it is too dark to see. And the latter
is an uncertain hour, for the radiance of the moon in that latitude is
quite surprising. The middle of the summer’s day is devoted to rest.
From the tap of the great bell at noon, to two taps at 3 P. M., no work
is done, everybody eats and sleeps. When it is unusually rainy, and
summer is the rainy season, still less work can be accomplished. As the
day waxes and the heat becomes so intense that it seems impossible to
be hotter, the rain, the blessed rain, descends in torrents, often from
a cloudless sky.

We frequently walked fifty yards to the garden, when the sun was
glowing with tropical fervor, to enjoy the shade of the umbrageous
fruit-trees, and in five minutes there would descend such a flood of
rain that we would be drenched before reaching the house.

It was never comfortable or safe to ride on horseback ever so short a
distance without umbrella and extra coat--water-proofs they had never
heard of. Portable sheds were erected at suitable distances in the
fields for refuge from showers that were due at any moment from noon
to sunset. Many a time, from the garden, I have seen the laborers in
the field, working under the broiling sun, suddenly drop their hoes
and run to shelter; it was raining on them, and not where I stood. We
frequently looked out from our veranda while all was bright sunshine
about us, and, pointing to a gray belt on one side, “It is raining at
the Lima,” to a belt on another side, “It is raining at the Josefita”;
another belt midway, “Now, see, it rains at Palos,” just as distinct
little belts of falling water as though they were gray ribbons
stretched from sky to earth, and all around and between a clear blue
sky and a blaring sun.

There was a large field near the house that, after years of
cultivation, had been pronounced exhausted, and was abandoned to the
weeds. Lamo, feeling confident that, with proper treatment, it could
be made fruitful, imported from Louisiana subsoil plows, and, with
four yoke of heavy oxen to each plow, set about breaking up the land.
Horses and mules are not used for plantation purposes. Oxen are the
sole beasts of burden. A heavy beam across the nape of the necks,
secured by rawhide thongs passing around the horns and across the
forehead, attaches the animal to the plow (or cart), and the draught
comes upon the head. Lamo’s immense plows were unheard-of innovations,
and so at variance with any cultivation ever before seen, that the
strongest field-hands could not manage them, and my husband himself had
to run a furrow to show what could and must be done. Once thoroughly
understanding, the stalwart men, with ebon backs glistening with
moisture, drove the plows deep into the earth, the teams were started,
and, as the straining oxen slowly moved, furrows of rich earth were
rolled up, fully confirming Lamo’s faith in the latent wealth of the
soil.

We rode from our fields to see how one of our near neighbors was
cultivating, and paused in the shade of a zapote-tree to see Don
Fulgencio plow. The old planter said he was eighty-four, and he looked
every day of it. His weazened, weather-beaten, tobacco-smoked face was
so seamed with thready wrinkles that it scarcely looked human; but
Don Fulgencio had some energy, and was plowing the poor, rocky field
that he inherited from his father, and that had never known any better
cultivation than it was receiving then--a stake that raked the ground
producing very little more impression than the broom-stick a boy rides
on a dusty road. An ox, attached to the stake by a rope fastened around
its horns, walked sleepily along, with scarcely energy enough to switch
its tail. Don Fulgencio pushed the primitive plow, while a little
blackie ran by the side of the animal, clicking and occasionally poking
it in the well-defined ribs with a long stick when it went entirely
to sleep. In the distance was the cot of the patriarch, a simple,
home-made, palm-thatched cot, with neither chimney nor window, and
with dirt floors. Wide-open doors led out to a covered veranda, where
his two pretty-faced daughters were sewing, with a half-dozen little
naked negroes playing at their feet. The old mother, deaf and almost
blind, sat in the doorway and smoked, smoked, smoked strong, home-made
cigars till she was perfectly stupid, and dried like a herring. The
sons--there were several of them--were probably at a cock-fight or in
the nearest _bodega_. As the aged Don approached with his plow, we
exchanged salutations. In his slippered feet and coarse linen shirt
hanging outside the pantaloons, he had the graces and courtesies of
the most polished gentleman. “Wouldn’t we alight? Wouldn’t we accept a
cup of coffee, the day is so warm, or a lemonade? His house, himself,
all he owns is at our disposal.” This with a bow and a wave of the
toil-stained hand that almost confused us with its lordly style. We
were not quite familiar with such high-flown speeches, and simply
paused to exchange the courtesies of the day, then rode back to our own
well-cultivated fields.

It was a hard task to get comfortably through the first summer at
Desengaño. It was an unusually wet season. Sometimes for days we saw
the sun only when it rose in ethereal fields of glory, and when it
descended amid billows of gorgeous golden and crimson clouds. All day
long the rain fell in torrents, and the waters poured and rushed in the
furrows through the fields. The negroes huddled under the broad eaves
of the sugar-house and other farm-buildings; and Lamo walked restlessly
about the dwelling, noting great patches of grass here and there
through the fields, that had sprung up like magic since yesterday,
choking the tender young cane. It either poured in a deluge or dripped,
dripped, with a damp, splashing sound that made one almost shiver,
though the atmosphere was hot and musty.

On those days we had to rub mold off the shoes every morning, and wear
damp clothes--and sometimes move the table into the parlor, when an
unusual down-pour flooded the venetian protected dining-room. On those
wet, miserable days, cunning little green lizards crept in from the
dripping vines that garlanded the iron-barred windows; ants swarmed
in from their flooded nests, and there was unusual visitation of the
insect life that crept or flew about us more or less all the time.
Milk foamed and seethed like yeast in the pans before the cream had
had time to rise to the surface. Meat cooked one day was sour and
rancid the next. Oh, those wet, summer days, how long and tedious and
uncomfortable they were! In Cuba there are no fireplaces or places for
fire in the houses. Cooking is done in small charcoal furnaces set
in solid masonry, arranged so as to concentrate the heat beneath the
cooking-utensils, and radiate as little as possible. Thus, even the
kitchen afforded no facilities for drying clothing or warming one’s
self. There was no glass in the windows; when it rained in on one side,
we closed the solid wooden shutters, and moved to the other side with
our sticky sewing and rusty needles. The table-linen, bedding, books,
everything became damp and clammy, with the peculiar odor of mold.
There were two weeks of such weather at one stretch, preceded and
followed by showery, sunshiny days, when the rains were short, sudden,
and partial, so that field-work was not entirely suspended.

In our spring rambles down the avenue and through the fields, Ellie and
I picked up a number of dainty little white shells; and Henry returned
from his explorations in the woods with pockets full of red and yellow
beans, such as are now brought in quantities from Florida, whither
they have been borne by the Gulf Stream from the tropical zone, and
scattered along the sandy beach.

When that dull, rainy spell set in, we amused ourselves by ornamenting
a tall, three-cornered, home-made stand of shelves that was found
in the infirmary. A portion of each day was spent gluing the beans
and shells in pretty combinations of color and design all over the
_étagère_, as we now called it.

In due time we produced a piece of furniture that was really a beauty;
the wood completely covered, so that the entire exterior was a mosaic
of odd forms and varied colors. It was proudly moved into a conspicuous
corner of the parlor, a few vases and knickknacks arranged upon it, and
there it stood, the admiration and wonder of every one that entered the
house so long as we remained at Desengaño.

Of the china, pictures, books, etc., sent to various supposed places
of safety when our Louisiana home was threatened, nothing could be
found, when we had once more an abiding-place, but a box of books. The
house where the pictures were stored was robbed in the absence of its
owner, and years after I heard that some of our family portraits had
been seen in the cabins of neighboring negroes. The china--a wedding
anniversary gift, and therefore doubly prized--had never been wholly
unpacked; the few sample pieces that were taken out at Arlington were
carefully replaced, and the cask sent to my widowed sister’s plantation
on Bayou Fordoche. While General Lawlor was in command in the vicinity,
the enterprising colonel of a New York regiment “captured” it while
passing through the plantation. Some efforts were made for the recovery
of the china, but they were unsuccessful, and later my sister was
informed that it had been shipped North. When the books arrived, we
felt very much like the parson whose hat was passed around and returned
to him empty, “thankful that nobody took the hat.” In the general and
indiscriminate custom of “appropriating” that prevailed during that
exciting period we were thankful that nobody took the books.

Rejoicing to see their dear old faces, we planned a tier of shelves
in the parlor for their reception. With the exception of a fine
French and Spanish library in the office of our merchant in Havana,
ours was the only receptacle for books that I ever saw in Cuba. There
were scattered volumes about the houses, but barely enough to make it
necessary to provide a place for them. The universal exclamation of
visitors, on entering the parlor at Desengaño, was, “_Ay! que libros!_”
(“What a number of books!”) No Cuban woman could understand why we
read so much. Her everyday literature consisted of simpering “to be
continued” stories in the daily newspapers, which were so completely
under government espionage that their news consisted of an editorial
laudatory of Spain; a paragraph relating the killing of, perhaps,
one insurrectionist and the capture of two others, and a horse, in
some engagement of the previous week; some legal notices, arrivals
and departures of steamers, notices of funeral services, where any
“visiting priest desiring to _assist_ would receive the gratuity of
_un escudo_ ($2.12¹⁄₂),” etc. Our private mail, on steamer days, was
greater than that of all the neighbors combined; besides numbers of
letters, we regularly received papers and periodicals from the States.
Twice a week the whole family assembled on the veranda to greet Zell,
with the anxiously looked-for mail-bag! American engineers in that
vicinity, even miles remote, availed themselves of every opportunity
to borrow newspapers from us; apparently caring very little how old
the dates, so long as they brought tidings from home. We willingly
obliged them, and the courtesy was so thoroughly appreciated that at
any time, when accidents to the machinery rendered skilled mechanical
labor necessary, we could command the best talent in the _partido_,
often without recompense. In fact, the rumor that the engine at “Los
Americanos” had broken down would bring with dispatch volunteer aid
for leagues around. Oftentimes persons whom we had never seen, brought
their own introductions, and expressed themselves as gratified at being
able to make some return for the rare pleasure they had derived from
the newspapers and magazines we had so freely circulated.




                            CHAPTER XVIII.

       MORE LABORERS REQUIRED--HENRY SHOOTS WILD DOGS--MILITARY
                           RULE--EXTORTION.


The first year crept slowly by. We fought a brave fight against odds;
sometimes sick at heart and almost discouraged, as petty annoyances
rose here and there, thick about us. Our slight knowledge of the
language, our utter ignorance of the habits and ways of the country
people; the strangeness of the negroes, who feared and distrusted us;
the trickery and untruthfulness of the white men we had to employ;
the grand _hidalgo_ airs and graces, and hollow professions of
friendship, of our few visitors--made us suspicious and timid, bold
and self-asserting, by turns. We realized, all the first year, that
we were strangers in a strange land, misunderstood and unappreciated.
People who said “yes” when they meant “no,” could not understand us who
meant what we said. Their _mañana_ (to-morrow) never came, never was
intended to come; our _mañana_ came, the bill was paid, the business
transacted, or the pledge fulfilled, just as surely as the morrow’s sun
rose. The beginning of the second year found us unscathed by the fires
of suspicion and distrust, while the mists of doubts and fears slowly
vanished from our own minds, for “truth is mighty and will prevail.”

Lamo soon found that the pressing need of more laborers compelled him
to visit Havana, in order to secure the only kind available--Chinese
coolies.

In his absence, Henry went up the mountain (which we called a steep
hill back of the house) to shoot wild dogs, that had been raiding old
Cinto’s chicken preserves.

Vegetation is so vigorous and rank, through cane-fields as well
as uncultivated land, that animals wandering into the thicket any
considerable distance become bewildered. Cane sprouting year after
year from the same joint, sends up, with fantastic irregularity, bent
and crooked stalks, whose interlacing leaves cover the furrows, so
that they are almost obliterated, while the forest-trees are draped
with luxuriant vines reaching from tree to tree, and the undergrowth
forms an almost impenetrable barrier to human footsteps. Cur-dogs, that
abound all over the island, wander into these seclusions, making their
beds and rearing their young. In time the woods become infested with
these semi-wild animals, that rarely venture outside the fastnesses,
except when driven by hunger to the hen-roosts of the clearings. We
heard firing here and there for a few hours, and Henry returned, all
aglow with the sport, to say that those he did not kill were scared to
the woods, and old African Cinto would not have cause to complain again.

Before night there was a visit from _el capitan_--our district captain,
who was stationed at the nearest village. We always knew, when he came
clattering up the avenue, armed to the teeth, with a whole staff at
his heels, that he “meant business,” which, so far as our experience
extended, was the collection of a fine, or fee. In those days (twenty
years ago) Cuba was in the merciless grasp of the military. The civil
guard, as it was called, promenaded the rural districts in pairs,
dressed in striped blue linen with scarlet trimmings. Year in and year
out, in fact week in and week out, for I am sure at least four times a
month, two _guardia civiles_ crossed our fields in some direction, with
no apparent purpose; but they walked past with wonderful regularity,
rarely pausing for even a drink of water, or speaking unless spoken
to. What they were after, what good they ever did, what good they
could have done, I do not know. At every railroad-station--and between
us and Havana, stations were almost in sight of each other--when the
train halted, a couple of _guardia civiles_ walked through; there was
a fiction that their business was to examine the _cedulas_ (passes) of
strangers and suspiciously appearing persons--a document that every
soul in Cuba was required to procure, and have renewed yearly, paying
a round sum every time--but in all my journeyings I never saw the
_guardias_ speak to any one, much less ask for a paper. Our _capitan_
had nothing to do with the _guardia civiles_; his was another branch of
the service, whose ramifications, like the octopus, spread and squeezed
the life out of the people, and drove them at last to desperation
and a sickly revolt. The rural captains were advisers, counselors,
exponents of the law, registrars, judges, and executioners, besides
being military commanders. Their power was almost absolute; but the pay
was so small (I believe it was only two _onzas_--thirty-four dollars--a
month) it could not house and feed the man, much less his wife and
children, mother and mother-in-law, sisters and sisters-in-law, and a
stray cousin or aunt; for it was not only a disgrace for a woman to
earn her own bread, but a stinging reproach upon every male relative,
collateral or otherwise she had. It is apparent, therefore, that these
poorly paid men had a hard time make ends meet; and they resorted to
many devices that in any other country, or with any other people, would
have been a disgrace far beyond allowing an able-bodied woman to make
her own living. I presume the home government believed, or pretended to
believe, that a captain’s salary was all he needed and all he received,
but everybody knew that the wealthy planters were black-mailed and
unjustly fined to an outrageous extent; and there existed a system
of extortion and oppression that no honest government would have
countenanced, and to which none but an ignorant, down-trodden people
would have submitted.

To resume: before night our _capitan_ came clattering up. Leaving his
mounted staff at the door, he entered, and, after depositing sword and
pistols very ostentatiously on the parlor table, proceeded to business.
“There was firing on this plantation to-day.”--“Yes, Henry shot some
wild dogs on the outskirts of the field.” We were then informed, by
a recent decree (they had a recent decree every day, and for every
emergency under the sun), that no private individual was allowed a gun
or pistol. To my startled question, “But, in case of self-defense?” the
reply came, “They can have a sword or knife.”--“One can’t hunt wild
dogs, that threaten to overrun us, with swords and knives!” He was
inexorable: we must deliver to him all the fire-arms on the plantation,
to be sent to headquarters at Matanzas. I had a feeling that Mr.
Captain’s pretended mission was not his true purpose; but, being
disgusted with his way of doing business, womanlike, I acted with more
haste than discretion.

Henry stood on the veranda with tearful eyes, and watched the
procession gallop down the avenue. “What will papa say when he finds
all the guns are gone?” he asked. I was too exasperated to care.




                             CHAPTER XIX.

     NEW CHINESE--COOLIE REBELLION--ZELL’S BRAVERY--CHINESE LABOR
                      CONTRACT--VICIOUS INSECTS.


In a few days Lamo returned, bringing Zell, whom he summoned to Havana
to interpret from English into Spanish; and Ramon, a Chinese, whose
term of service on the plantation was drawing to a close, to interpret
from Spanish into Chinese; also thirty-five newly imported coolies. The
new crowd presented a grotesque appearance. Beardless, and with long
pig-tails, loose blouses, and baggy breeches, they looked like women.
Stolid, quiet, and undemonstrative as Indians, they tumbled out of the
wagon that had been sent to the depot for them. Having been months on
the voyage, packed in a coolie-ship, and fed on light rations of tea
and rice, they were in no physical condition to work, or to endure the
showers that were already beginning to be of daily occurrence; so some
light occupation in the vicinity of the house was assigned to them, and
when a poor fellow rubbed his stomach, rolled up his eyes, and patted
his head, he was forthwith marched to the infirmary and dosed. From
long privation on ship, with the stimulation of climatic change, they
were so voracious that, if permitted to eat all the food craved, they
would have gorged themselves to death.

A moderate allowance was meted out three times daily, which disappeared
with marvelous rapidity, leaving them muttering and discontented.
Coming as they did from various districts, and speaking different
dialects, they could not always communicate intelligibly with each
other, and it required under the best of circumstances two interpreters
to reach the ear of Lamo.

For many days the Chinese, now giving unmistakable tokens of refractory
discontent, were our chief topic of thought and conversation. We could
not understand their constant complaints, and so worried along, hoping
that time, which heals most things, would adjust matters. Unwilling to
allot them any regular occupation, we dared not allow them to saunter
at their own sweet will under the mango-trees, now laden with unripe
fruit; so, on the whole, life was almost as much of a burden to us,
with this new discontented element, as it was to the Chinese themselves.

Long ago formal application had been made, through the grasping
captain, for the return of our arms from Matanzas, but without any
response. We watched with ever-increasing anxiety the gradual recovery
of strength, coupled with angry insubordination, in the new ranks. The
climax arrived, as is usually the case, in an unguarded moment. One
morning Lamo and Henry, who for weeks had hovered around the house,
rode off to visit a neighbor.

Suddenly our ears were assailed by a low, rumbling noise in the
distance, which rose rapidly to shouts and unearthly yells. Before I
could rise from my seat to make inquiry, Zell rushed in breathless.
“Chinese is riz! Don’t be skeered--I’ll git my gun.” And from under his
own bed he hastily pulled out an old blunderbuss. The doors and windows
of the house were quickly barred, and with a calm self-possession--the
thought of which almost makes me turn pale now--I stood outside the
rear door. The Chinese were in full rebellion: stripped to the middle,
their swarthy bodies glistening in the hot sun, they rushed with savage
impetuosity up the road, leaped the low stone fence that surrounded the
cluster of plantation-buildings, of which the massive dwelling-house
formed the center, brandishing their hoes in a most threatening manner,
and yelling like demons, as with hastily grasped rocks from the fences
they pelted the retreating overseer. Ramon rushed from his bench at the
carpenter-shop, and did his best to stem the tide; but they brushed him
by in their determined assault upon the overseer, who, while issuing
them full rations, would not yield to their demand for an unlimited
supply of food.

When the howling horde had completely invaded the inclosure, and showed
no abatement of their frenzy, I called to Ramon to ring the bell.
Seizing the rope, he gave it a succession of rapid strokes.

The plantation-bell, weighing nine hundred pounds, and mounted on a
high frame, was tolled for all ordinary purposes--calling the hands
from the field, changing the watch during sugar-making, marking the
hours for meals; but a pealing, rapid ring was the signal of danger, to
which not only the district captain but neighbors responded.

Zell headed off the crowd as best he could, but rocky missiles fell
thick about the _mayoral_, frequently striking his frightened horse.
Seeing no sign of cessation of hostilities, I called upon Zell to fire!
Strange to say, they knew nothing about a gun, and were only afraid
of a sword; so the presence of Zell with his blunderbuss had not in
the slightest degree intimidated the furious crowd. At my command, he
fired at random; but one man received the charge in his hip, and with a
wild shriek fell over. This produced some consternation and confusion,
in the midst of which the terrified _mayoral_ made good his escape.
Lamo and Henry, hearing the alarming peals of the bell, put spurs to
their horses and came galloping up. The insurgent rebels, finding the
overseer gone, and one of their number wounded, began to quiet down,
gradually strolling to the veranda of their own barracoon, where they
assembled in groups and fanned themselves, apparently waiting to see
what we were “going to do about it.”

The alarm-signal had been heard at the village, and very soon the
captain and his merry men made their appearance on the scene. Swords
were drawn, and the insurgent army slapped by the glittering blades
into line, in short order. The captain asked their complaint, and it
required a blow or two from his sword to elicit any response; but in
time, through Ramon, they made their grievances known. He then read
their contract to them, Ramon repeating it sentence by sentence in
Chinese. They stood in a double row--thirty-five of them--sullen but
somewhat defiant, straight upright and a bit arrogant. The soldiers
with drawn swords, at the order of _el capitan_, walked up the ranks,
taking each by the long pig-tail and with one blow severing it close
to the head. How quickly they wilted! how cowed they looked! The
captain then prepared to chain them in couples, but Lamo interposed,
begging that no further punishment should be inflicted. That official
reluctantly yielded, protesting that they did not seem at all
submissive, and he was sure he would have to make another visit before
they would be content.

Gradually order was restored. Fortunately, the wounded man was only
slightly injured, for the blunderbuss was loaded with bird-shot. The
valiant _mayoral_ returned and marched the cowed and sullen ranks back
to their work in the field. Martha “calkerlated she’d go and gather up
all dat har, and sell it to some of dese here señoritas.” She collected
a basketful of tightly-braided tails, and hired another darky to clean
them. Black as is the hair of a señorita, that of a Chinaman is many
shades blacker. Chinese hair, besides, was a drug in the market, and so
I think she eventually made a pillow of it.

We commended Zell for his prowess. Lamo, with a sly glance in the
direction of the _mayoral_, said that he felt quite safe to leave
Miss ’Liza in his care, for he was no coward. When asked how he
happened with a gun when we did not know there was one on the place,
he answered: “Soon as dat dar ole captain open his mouf ’bout guns,
I know’d what he was arfter dat time, and I jist run in and hid mine
and little Mars Henry’s fur back under my bed, I never sed nuthin’
’tall ’bout it, nudder; I know’d we warn’t safe here stripped of every
impli_ment_, so I jist hid a couple, but I didn’t say nuthin’, for I
ain’t forgot de trick Mars Jim played on me ’bout dat watch.”

The Chinese were intelligent, and it seems almost incredible that
any people could be reduced to such abject poverty as would lead to
selling themselves or some member of their family into servitude, but
such was the fact. No doubt, however, many of them were felons and
dangerous characters; for we heard that numbers were landed in Cuba
with only one ear, and some without any, and these were perhaps sold
by their own government to the importing company. Even in this low and
depraved class it was rare to find one so ignorant as not to be able
to read in his own language and keep his slender accounts. Each man,
before embarking from China, subscribed to a printed contract, one page
in Spanish and the other in Chinese characters, setting forth that Ah
Sin (Christian name José), province of Macao, is contracted with his
own free-will and consent to--“La Alianza y Co.”--to do field-labor,
to be granted one day in seven for rest, two full suits of clothing,
one blanket and one overcoat annually, twelve ounces of meat and two
and a quarter pounds of vegetables--yams or rice--per day; medical
attendance and medicines; comfortable living quarters, and four dollars
in gold monthly; the privilege also of complaining to the captain of
the _partido_, in case of non-compliance with these terms. The Spanish
law, in regard to the management and treatment of Chinese coolies
by the contractors for their labor, was very explicit and generous
to the laborers. One of their own race only, or a white man, could
oversee their work. No punishment but confinement in the stocks was
permitted. If the planter found them insubordinate, and requiring
severer discipline, they must be reported to the captain. The Chinese,
when once acclimated and accustomed to the routine, were docile and
industrious; they could not stand the same amount of exposure as an
African, but they were intelligent and ingenious; within-doors, in the
sugar factory, in the carpenter-shop, in the cooper-shop, in driving
teams, they were superior to the negro. They were orderly and cleanly;
the poorest, lowest coolie carried his contract on his person, and
never hesitated to assert his rights, but sometimes had to be reminded
that the planter also had rights; and it generally happened that each
new lot arriving on a plantation had to be interviewed by the captain
of the _partido_ two or three times, to reduce them to a proper regard
for the discipline of a well-managed estate. After the first season
they became acclimated and accustomed to their duties, and when their
contract expired their experience rendered them very valuable, and
they readily commanded higher wages, though few chose planting as an
occupation. Before the insurrection in Cuba there was no restraint
placed upon the movements of that class from one domicile to another.
They were allowed to flock into cities and villages, where they became
wonderful peddlers or small shopkeepers, and readily found employment
as brakemen on railroads, or in any occupation other than digging in
the ground.

Nostalgia was frequent among the newly imported. Like all diseases of
a purely mental and emotional nature, its symptoms varied, usually
tending to distressing melancholia, though sometimes to the desperation
of suicide. The superstition of the lower classes of Chinese leads
to the belief that when _felo-de-se_ is committed without mutilating
the body or shedding blood, the spirit is wafted back to the Flowery
Kingdom, and we heard of some shocking instances of suicide by hanging
and plunging into wells, resulting from this irrational faith.

We had one case of nostalgia which deeply touched our sympathies.
Epifanio (they were christened and named _by the cargo_, upon landing
in Cuba, for which the Church received $4.25 for each _convert_), a
tall, well-made, robust Chinaman, gradually faded away to a shadow.
Never speaking, or taking any interest in his surroundings, and
seemingly without any physical ailments, he was pronounced unfit for
active work--daily dragging his reluctant feet and wasted body from
the hospital to the _infermeria_ to be examined, and as he had no
tangible ailment, to be remanded back--he soon lay flat upon his cot,
with the wooden pillow he had brought from home, under his head, unable
apparently to rise, abject misery depicted on his every feature, Lamo
soon saw that Epifanio would die if something was not done speedily
to rouse him. It was during the dull season, when all the hands
were in the fields, and quiet reigned about the premises, that my
tender-hearted husband had the melancholy creature brought daily under
the shed of the sugar-house near the window of our room, and by his
bedside, with books and work, we sat a portion of every day. At first
he took no notice whatever of our movements and voices; mutely he lay
upon the bed, with open eyes and a far-away look upon his pinched face,
that was unutterably painful. Unable to persuade or tempt him, we had
almost to force him, to swallow a few spoonfuls of soup from time to
time. With this patient care, little by little he revived, and by
November was able to undertake some light work about the sugar-house;
in time he mastered the mysteries of sugar-boiling, and could tell “to
a turn” when the bubbling sirup had reached the granulating point and
was ready to be thrown into the coolers. Epifanio voluntarily remained
at Desengaño long after his term of service had expired, though he had
the option of returning to the home for which he had suffered and pined
so long.

We had no further trouble with our laborers, who soon saw that we
treated them with justice and all proper consideration, and they
were intelligent enough to appreciate it. They became expert in the
occupations to which they were assigned, and many remained in our
employ after their contracts were fulfilled.

Some years later, two of their number, after accumulating what they
deemed a competency, returned to their native land, and called on
us in New York, to express their kindly feeling, and receive our
congratulations on their prosperity.

The negroes, direct descendants of imported Africans, were more or less
stupid and stolid, like “dumb-driven cattle.”

The sad experience of our predecessors, the Royos, with small-pox,
when they lost forty of their laborers, one year’s entire sugar-crop,
and suffered months of complete isolation from quarantine, which
precipitated their destruction, already imminent from long years of
prodigality and mismanagement, made us anxious to protect ourselves
as far as possible from the loathsome disease that ravages Cuba,
notwithstanding government precautions. We applied to all the
physicians in the neighborhood, but none were licensed to vaccinate;
then sent to Havana for virus, but our merchant replied that it could
not be procured, as it was in official hands. Not to be baffled in our
humane undertaking, some was obtained through a friend in New York, and
my brother seemed likely to raise another rebellion when he applied the
lancet to every one on the plantation.

Our good-natured doctor was surprised and amused when he called, a
short time after, and was shown the array of swollen and scarred arms
in the hospital. He said he presumed, as we were foreigners, that we
could do as we pleased, but no Cuban would have dared disobey the law.
The patients recovered, however, and nothing was said or done about the
committal of such a flagrant act.

There is an infinitesimal insect in the tropics that bores into the
toe at the very edge of the nail, producing by that action the very
slightest sensation of itching; but if the owner of that toe does not
employ _instanter_ a pair of keen eyes and a fine needle to extract
the vicious insect that is entering the flesh, wo to him! Once under
the skin, all sensation of uneasiness ceases, but in a few days the
toe becomes inflamed and swollen to twice its normal size, and a sac
of matter forms that must be cut open and allowed to discharge. The
poor sufferer hobbles around for days, unable to put the injured
foot to the floor. Sometimes, neglect of warning leads to fearful
results, even lock-jaw supervening. One of our earliest experiences
at Desengaño was to stand helplessly by and see a child, twelve years
old, die of that surpassingly horrible disease tetanus, utterly unable
to account for its cause until a physician’s examination revealed the
condition of her feet. Application of coal-oil was considered the best
preventive, disagreeable as it is. The care of seventy feet belonging
to the Chinese gang, who did not appreciate the danger of neglect,
was a worry. Every morning they were marched to the infirmary,
their feet examined, and then dipped into a pail of coal-oil. The
coal-oil foot-bath is a very simple thing, but, as the oft-referred-to
_contract_ did not include that ceremony, it was always attended with
remonstrances and threats.




                              CHAPTER XX.

     CIRIACO--PLANTATION GARDEN--TASAJO--NEGRO MUSIC AND DANCING.


From that band of Chinese, one with a good countenance and neat
appearance was selected for a cook. It is surprising how quickly and
accurately the Chinese imitate. Before Ciriaco could understand the
language, he had already learned to cook quite well. A cloth, some
ashes, and a rub or two from Martha, explained that “cleanliness was
next to godliness,” and that we delighted in clean pots and pans.
Martha made a pot of soup; solemnly and silently he watched every
ingredient and every motion; the next day he made soup, and the only
mistake was a seasoning of dog-fennel which he mistook for parsley!
He was given a portable grate once used to heat flat-irons. Martha
measured the coffee into the pan, tempered the heat, and showed him
with a stick how to stir the coffee till it was properly roasted. To
the last day at Desengaño that fellow three times a week put the grate
in the same spot, measured the coffee into the same pan, stirred it
with the identical stick, and I doubt not gave it the same number of
stirs each time. I never saw any servant so systematic, so methodical,
so quiet, so solemn, so intent, so clean. During the eight years he was
in the kitchen, there was not an hour in the day when Ciriaco could not
be found. He brought his wood from behind the sugar-house at the same
hour every afternoon, drew the water from the cistern with the same
regularity, carrying it Chinese fashion in pails swung at each end of a
pole.

The meals were always promptly served. He was like a machine wound up
when he kindled the morning fire, and run down when he turned the key
in the court at night.

There was a large area on the mountain planted in yams, malangas,
bananas, and other vegetables for plantation use. Wagon-loads were
brought to the store-room daily, to be weighed out to the cooks,
of which there were three--one for the house, one for the Chinese,
and one for the negroes. Green bananas of a very large and coarse
variety, such as are rarely seen in the United States, roasted in
ashes, and a thick mush, called _funcha_, made of yellow-corn meal,
were the universal substitutes for bread, and thousands, both white
and black, in Cuba never had any other. We ground corn daily in such a
mill as Sarah used when Abraham bade her “to make ready quickly three
measures of meal and make cakes”--i. e., a big stone worn hollow by
the operation of grinding: the upper stone is grasped by both hands,
and the weight of the body brought down upon it as it moves over the
lower stone, producing golden meal of excellent flavor, that was
daily very acceptable on our table in varied forms. Cuba is no corn
country, though there is no month in the year when green corn can not
be had; but the stalks are low and spindling, the ear small, somewhat
tasteless, and invariably yellow. We planted white corn of various
kinds obtained from both the Northern and Southern States; experimented
with broom-corn and pop-corn; but never succeeded in producing an ear
from any other seed than the native yellow corn of the island. We
endeavored to introduce a change of diet among our hands by making a
portion of the meal into bread to vary the regular rations of mush,
but neither negroes nor Chinamen relished it. More success, however,
attended our importation of navy-bread from the States for the same
purpose.

Rice of a cheap grade was imported from India, and frequently issued to
the Chinese in place of mush. The meat used was _tasajo_ (jerked beef)
cut in great slabs a half-inch thick, and sun-dried on the elevated
table-lands of South America--baled like skins, tied with rawhide
ropes, and sent to Cuba by ship-loads. It is cut into chips and stewed.
Hashed very fine and prepared with tomatoes, it makes an appetizing
diet, found on every table. Flour was from seventeen to twenty-five
dollars a barrel, and always of inferior quality. Large bakeries in
the cities supplied the inhabitants with crusty little rolls; but I
was unable to procure yeast, or any preparation of yeast-powders or
cakes that would keep in that climate. Ciriaco sometimes succeeded
in making an eatable though tasteless loaf of bread, by a mixture of
new milk, flour, salt, and sugar, fermented in the sun. Bread made
with this yeasty preparation, and also “raised” by a couple of hours’
exposure to the sun, was “fair to look upon,” and in lieu of better,
we ate it. One enterprising member of the family electrified us on
several occasions by presenting buckwheat-cakes of marvelous lightness
for breakfast. The secret of the “raising” power that produced the
delicacy was strictly kept; even Ciriaco, who had the honor of cooking
them, was not initiated into the mystery of their preparation. When the
sedlitz-powders gave out, the secret was “out” too! The first attempt
at these buckwheat-cakes caused a great laugh. We had been prepared for
a feast, the nature of which was kept a profound secret; but Ciriaco
baked the batter and served it in a pudding-dish!

Besides granting small patches of land to the negroes, where a few
thrifty ones cultivated tobacco, and such vegetables as they desired,
they were permitted to raise hogs. A piece of ground was set apart for
that purpose directly behind their barracoon. Each negro had his own
pen, and during the year fattened his animals, and every facility was
afforded him for an advantageous sale. But such arrant rogues were
they, that frequently they stole each other’s hogs during the night,
carrying them off on Lamo’s horses! So we had to appoint, every night,
two of their number to watch the pens, and one to watch the horses.

Even then, whenever a tired and blown horse was found in the morning,
it was _prima facie_ evidence that a hog had disappeared from the pen
during the night. We could not, with all our endeavors, find watchmen
equal to coping with the thieves.

Holiday afternoons the negroes were permitted to dance on the hard and
firm _patio_ in front of their barracoon. Their music consisted of
two _tombos_--hollow logs with skins stretched tightly over one end,
somewhat like a drum.

The heavy instrument is suspended by a strap from the neck of the
player, who strides and beats upon it with the flat palms of his
hard black hands, occasionally scratching variations with the tough
thumb-nail. The two _tombos_ make a mournful, monotonous thrumming,
beating time in regular cadence, and are accompanied by a dry bladder
containing a few shells or stones, which is rattled by an old, tattooed
African woman, whose cracked voice adds a melancholy wail, producing a
peculiarly penetrating repetition of the same dull sound, that lingers
in the ear long after the vibrations have ceased.

The musicians ready, and the circle formed, a woman glides into the
arena, and, catching her flowing train with each hand, sways round and
round with a shuffling, half-sliding motion, turning her face from side
to side, and sweeping the long dress clear of the ground at every step.

After making the circuit once or twice, one of the men bounds into
the circle and follows her from side to side with outstretched arms,
as though offering her an embrace. She deftly eludes the advance,
casting backward glances from the corners of her eyes to tempt him
on. Occasionally he falls, first upon one knee, then upon the other,
throwing himself into the most amazing attitudes, sometimes falling
prone upon the ground and rolling over, to catch the hem of her dress
as she passes, both dancers with every step and gesture keeping
wonderful time with the weird _tum-tum_ of the _tombos_; when fatigued,
or another ambitious couple step forward, they retire. The same
performance was repeated and repeated; the same sliding, shuffling,
and postulating in rhythm to the atrabilious noise, that often drove
me with aching nerves to the far end of the avenue of palms, and
there, long after the tap of the bell--a signal that the dance must be
over--the diabolical _tombo_ beat a devil’s tattoo in my head.

The Chinese did not mingle with the negroes, either in their work or
socially, though subject to the same rules and regulations in regard
to their hours of labor and hours of rest. On Sundays they would array
themselves in clean clothes, add the ornamentation of a string of
tweezers and ivory tooth-picks around their necks, and in groups of
twos and threes saunter about in a listless manner, scarcely pausing to
see the Africans dancing, and often giving little evidence of animation
save the perpetual use of large fans. In their own barracoon they were
inveterate gamblers, and, if two or more were seen squatting together,
they were surely at their besetting vice. If one “lay out” or “outfit,”
or whatever it may be called, was taken from them, another was quickly
substituted.

They gambled with a few little sticks, or grains of rice, or
lemon-seeds. And frequently, Monday morning, a Chinaman presented
himself to work clad in a coffee-sack, the scamp having risked and lost
the very clothes off his back; and it was next to impossible to make
him tell which one of his countrymen had won the garments.




                             CHAPTER XXI.

  THE GOOD OLD PRIEST--RELIGION AND SUPERSTITION OF THE NEGROES--THE
                            SEÑORA’S GHOST.


The old _cura_ (priest) in the village had the spiritual surveillance
of all the inhabitants of his _partido_ (district); and we were often
notified to discharge certain duties we owed the church, of which,
being heretics, we were ignorant. I think the fine for failing to have
a slave child christened before it was six months old, was nearly one
hundred dollars. Every six months the _cura_ admonished us to send
to the village church the babies with their mothers, and an _escudo_
($2.12¹⁄₂) for each child. The kindly old man then sprinkled the little
blackies, gave the _escudos_ back to the mothers, and perhaps never
saw the new church-members again until they went up with the next
generation of babies. The good old priest is dead now; but he saved
many souls that way during the thirty-five years he was _cura_ at the
village, and sprinkled several generations, for in Cuba they marry
early and often. Many stories reached us of his kindly, priestly
offices to the poor and distressed, as well as to the wealthy, in
their hour of need. When the former owners of Desengaño had forty
cases of small-pox on the plantation at one time, and the place was
rigidly quarantined--not even a physician being permitted to minister
to them--the _cura_ went to perform his religious offices; he said
no human authority could keep him from that stricken family, and the
blessed Virgin, or his patron saint, or some supreme power, I do not
remember now what, would shield and protect him. So he went and staid
with them, and when the long agony culminated in the death of the aged
mother of the family, the _cura_, in defiance of law, carried her body
to the village cemetery to be deposited in consecrated ground.

No one ever went to him in the hour of need, black or white, that his
benevolence did not assist. He never came to Desengaño after it passed
into heretic hands; but he had long been accustomed to get the lime
from there to whitewash the church and his own house. And every year
or two when we fired the lime-kiln, he wrote us to send enough lime to
whiten the sacred edifice and he would in return pray for us, and, when
we died, say a mass or two.

On Holy Thursday he never failed to notify “los Americanos,” as we
were often called, not to sound the bell, neither the plantation-bell
out-of-doors or dinner-bell in the house, from Thursday night to
Saturday morning, as it was in violation of civil as well as
ecclesiastical law.

Though devoted to the church and its duties, the jolly old man was not
averse to the amusements in which all classes indulged. He was the
owner of the best fighting-cocks in the whole neighborhood. As Sundays
were the days of _fiesta_, he prepared his birds for the fray and
deposited them, safely secured in the folds of a silk handkerchief, on
the church-porch during morning service; and the celerity with which
that divine disposed of his sacerdotal vestments after celebrating
mass, and hastened with the crowd to the cockpit, was something quite
extraordinary!

Such of the coolies as were true to the wholesale christening they
received upon arrival in Cuba, and all the negroes, were furnished with
codfish in place of _tasajo_ during Holy Week. Numbers of the Africans
fasted by abstaining entirely from food on Good-Friday, and by many
acts indicated their reverence for the church. At _vesperos_ (evening
bell), wherever they might be, and whatever their occupation, the older
ones stopped for a moment, uncovered their heads, made the sign of the
cross, and repeated a short prayer.

Frequently a woman at the _tombo_-dances would seat herself beside a
small table covered with a white cloth, on which was placed a lighted
candle and a cup. Those who felt disposed dropped a coin into the
receptacle, and the amount thus collected was sent to the _cura_ to
pay for a mass for the repose of the soul of some relative.

There was a strange combination of African superstition and church
formula in the attention paid by the negroes to the dying. Two things
they were particular about--that their friends should depart from the
world naked, and with a lighted candle in the hand.

A blessed candle is kept in every Cuban family, to be placed in the
hands of their expiring friends. The same one is used from generation
to generation. There is something touching and pathetic in the
sentiment that the same lighted emblem, typical of the faith, is placed
and held in the hand of grandfather, father, son, and grandson in the
supreme moment, to light them through the dark valley of the shadow of
death.

Señora Royo was eighty years old when she died of small-pox. Although
her body was well sprinkled with quicklime and interred in the village
cemetery, the negroes had a superstition that the señora’s ghost
visited the garden every night and took its seat on the bench beneath
the zapote-tree where she had spent so many hours during her life. The
old lady must have been, like many Cuban women, a hard task-mistress,
for the negroes who remembered and had served her, were mortally afraid
of seeing her again.

The garden was large, and in many places the shade was dense. There
were arbors draped with flowering vines; zapote, aguacate, and guava
trees--all of which have low-spreading branches--lemon and orange,
too, and palms, besides many varieties of shrubs. On one side of the
entrance was a parterre devoted to flowers. The beds, arranged in a
series of graceful geometrical designs, were inclosed within stone
walls kept dazzling with whitewash and raised about two feet above the
promenade, thus rendering it convenient for the aged lady to touch and
admire her flowers without being compelled to stoop. The garden was
surrounded by a dense growth of banana-trees, only broken by the tall,
narrow gate which led into the inclosure. Now, the Chinese had never
known the awful señora, and so were not afraid of her ghost. They made
predatory raids upon the garden, often robbing it of unripe fruit.

One night, seated on the veranda with the children, enjoying the
tropical radiance of the moon, I noticed something white moving
at the entrance to the garden--moving, moving--in a mysterious
will-o’-the-wisp way. Sometimes the tall white figure was in full
view, and again in profile. Now and again it vanished, as if to rest
on the zapote bench in the dark, but quickly to reappear. Under the
waving palms it seemed to bow, courtesy, and even beckon. We all
watched the slow-moving, weird, white object with conjectures and
surmises. At last I tested Henry’s courage by asking, “Would you dare
go to the garden and touch that thing?” After some bantering from the
others he went half-way down, and returned to say that it was the
tall gate left unfastened and swaying in the evening air. Zell, who
was always hovering around after the day’s work was done to hear some
of the stories by which I endeavored to entertain the children, at
once suggested a plan to play ghost and “skeer dem Chinese, fur dey
done got dat bad we can’t get no decent orange outen dat garden now.”
So he hastily tucked a sheet under his arm, and, stealthily creeping
around the back way, entered the inclosure over the rear wall. When
all was ready, I called Ciriaco from the kitchen and ordered him to
close the garden-gate. He walked down in the glittering moonlight,
utterly fearless. As he placed his hand on the gate, Zell, enveloped
in white, rose from the bench under the dark-foliaged tree, and slowly
and solemnly bowed. There was one wild, unearthly yell, followed by a
succession of piercing shrieks, as Ciriaco fled toward the house with
the speed that fear imparts.

Quick as a flash all the other Chinamen appeared. Ciriaco had gained
the house, almost paralyzed, when his alarmed countrymen met him.
With gasps and groans he told the fearful tale. After a rapid debate
among themselves, a few of the bravest agreed to go in a body and
investigate the supernatural specter that barred the entrance to those
delicious fruit-groves. Zell had retired, to await results. About a
score of wary braves proceeded cautiously and slowly toward the spot,
peering with keen and anxious eyes as they advanced. When they reached
the gate, Zell slowly rose from out the darkness and seemed ten feet
in height in that white shroud, as with outstretched arms he made
one step forward into the moonlight. The brave band broke ranks and
fled with woful yells and shrieks. The fun was too much for Zell. The
overwhelming success of the pantomime so convulsed him with laughter
that he rolled over and over on the ground, trailing the winding-sheet
after him. The nut was cracked with a loud explosion, but the kernel
was lost when the good-natured negro’s unmistakable “guffaw” rose above
every other sound.




                             CHAPTER XXII.

CATTLE--BUTTER AND CHURN--OVERRUN WITH CATS--CURIOUS VOLCANO--MAJA AND
                                JUTIA.


Although the draught cattle on the island are large and
well-proportioned, the cows are poor milkers, partially from the fact
that the cane-tops on which they are fed in winter are not productive
of milk. The scanty product of five cows furnished us with a small pat
of butter daily. Of course, nobody there ever saw a churn, and Lamo had
to go to the carpenter-shop, make a dasher, and fit it to the top of a
two-gallon stone jar, to provide me with one. With great care, keeping
the milk-pans placed in cold water, skimming the little film of cream,
and churning before the sun was up, we managed to have the unheard-of
delicacy of butter.

In return for a neighbor’s courtesy in sending me pineapples quite
out of season, I sent her a pat of butter. Immediately she called in
her _volante_, and was so earnest in her inquiries that I showed her
the bowl of cream and the churn, and explained the process. Butter
was to be obtained in Havana in small glass jars, with open mouths;
occasionally it was brought to the plantations, but during the transit,
through lack of facilities for protection from heat, it was reduced so
nearly to a liquid state that a broad knife or spoon offered the most
convenient means of removing it from the jar.

Families relied greatly upon goat’s milk as nourishment for their
children; so they were frequently trained for wet-nurses. While calling
on a family in our neighborhood, the young baby cried; immediately
a goat ran into the room, laid itself on the floor in a convenient
position for the child to get its nourishment, and the baby availed
itself of the opportunity as readily as it would from its own mother.
After the goat had fulfilled the maternal duties, she walked carefully
over the child and disappeared. A goat so well trained is greatly
appreciated, and is passed from family to family like a monthly nurse.

Native sheep have no coat of wool, and at a little distance look like
a pack of cur-dogs. We imported a few Southdowns from New York, hoping
to improve the breed; in two or three generations they, too, lost their
wool, and presented no better appearance than the old stock. The flesh
deteriorated with equal rapidity, and was little prized for the table.
The securing of variety of meats for table use was a constant household
care. At certain seasons Henry’s gun furnished us with quail, wild
Guinea-fowls, and occasionally venison. Chickens were always abundant,
but beef and mutton were poor; and the great reliance was pork, which
was really more savory than one would imagine it could be in the
tropics, with the mercury at 90° in the shade. The hogs are fed almost
entirely on grass and the berries of the palm-trees--a food easily
obtained, each tree yielding a cart-load--and the pork was so rich and
delicate that it was the _pièce de résistance_ at every household feast.

One obstacle in keeping fresh meats was the intolerable nuisance of
cats, that had their retreats in crevices of the stone fences, and, as
any number of rats lived thereabout, I think they fraternized. They
never came about the house during the day, but were seen scudding and
scampering over the fences and darting into the cane. They broke up
hens’ nests, destroyed the eggs, devoured the young chickens, and often
made night hideous with battles and concerts while roaming through the
house, to which the open windows afforded free access, knocking china
off the sideboard and lamps off the table, and doing so much damage in
the kitchen that Ciriaco’s life was made a burden.

In a fit of desperation I offered to pay five cigars for every deceased
feline that was brought to the house. It was fun for Zell and Ciriaco.
Zell had his old blunderbuss always loaded and conveniently hidden,
and between times took quiet little hunts. Ciriaco, like a patient
Chinese as he was, would sit for hours at night in a dark corner of
the court, immovable as a sphinx, with a few billets of wood ready,
and he rarely hurled a missile that missed its mark. “Here’s dat ole
yaller cat; I hit him dis time: he’s de very varmint dat broke Marthy’s
lamp--you kin smell de ile on his fur yit.” And Zell proudly held up
to view a magnificent feline. “Ciriaco ’lows he kin tan dese skins,
and, I tell you, some is beauties.” So Ciriaco soon had the west side
of the cooper-shop adorned with skins in process of curing. When about
fifty of the choicest were ready, I determined to make a rug, and for
days had them spread over the veranda floor, fitting the various shapes
together like a dissecting map. Some were quite complete, even to the
head; others were minus a leg or a tail. They were of every conceivable
color--“ring-streaked, speckled, and spotted”--some young and little,
some old and big. This sewing of cat-skins was not a dainty job,
albeit Ciriaco had cured them very thoroughly; but I persevered unto
the end, stimulated by the admiring remarks of the various members of
the family, who were more liberal in their suggestions as to tones and
contrasting colors than willing to lend helping hands. Soon the rug
was completed; it was both curious and beautiful. Bound and lined with
red, and spread upon the dark polished floor before an inviting sofa,
it challenged the instant admiration of every one entering the parlor.
But, alas! when flea-time came in the spring, and those intolerable
pests were so numerous that even the dust in the fields furnished a
quota, the soft, thick fur became such a resort for the nimble acrobats
that it had to be entirely discarded.

Legions of bats came about the building in the witching hours of night.
We rarely saw one, but the disagreeable odor pervading the veranda in
the early morning gave unmistakable indications of their visits while
we slept. We were for a long time at a loss to know whence they came,
for there was no appearance of bats’ nests in the buildings. Several
evenings at dusk, when Henry chanced to be on the mountain, he noticed
from a distant point a small, smoky column rise, gradually increasing
in circumference as it ascended, till it floated away like a cloud.
One of the neighboring _guajiros_ gravely informed him that it was a
volcano, that smoked only for a few moments every evening.

Not content with this explanation, Henry’s curiosity tempted him
to visit a volcano that performed its operations with such strange
and unaccountable uniformity. So one summer evening he rode in the
direction, timing himself to arrive at “the rising of the curtain,”
and found a bat-cave. Every night at dusk the animals rushed out by
myriads, with a whirring, pouring noise, in so dense a mass that the
column rose straight in the air a considerable distance before they
could disentangle themselves. As they became free, they spread in every
direction, flying over miles of territory. They lived in this cave
during the day, hanging together like a swarm of bees, were on the wing
all night, gradually returning toward morning, and by the first light
of dawn were again within their rocky home.

It is generally conceded that every animal on the island was brought
there, except the jutia and the maja (pronounced _hootia_ and _mahar_),
the first a species of mammoth field-rat, the latter a snake; both live
in the rocky crevices and infest the cane-fields. Both are occasionally
used for food by the poorer classes; the Chinese, especially, enjoying
them.

The maja is an immense serpent, of the boa-constrictor species,
destroying his victim by constriction. We presented one, sixteen
feet long, to the Central Park Museum in New York, and it was not an
unusually large specimen. The Chinese were fearless and expert in
capturing them for food, frequently coming in from their work dragging
a monster with a rope. They were sometimes kept in store-rooms, to
rid the place of rats. A peep through a hole made for the purpose, to
see that the serpent was not coiled, was all the precaution necessary
before entering the room. We had one in a long, narrow box, secured
by slats across the top; before we were ready to ship it to a
friend in Havana, the maja disappeared; how he escaped nobody could
conjecture--the box was intact, but no snake inside. Several nights
after this mysterious disappearance, there arose a series of agonizing
yells in the court-yard. All rushed to the spot, to find Ciriaco
prancing around in the most frantic manner. We thought he had some kind
of a fit; when suddenly Zell spied a very suspicious-looking object
protruding from Ciriaco’s baggy pantaloon-leg, and bravely catching
hold, with a pull, out came Mr. Maja! Ciriaco had gone with a candle
into a dark closet where were odd pots and pans, and the maja glided up
his leg to escape the sudden glare of light.

Later we procured a larger one, and, while in our possession, one night
he quietly slipped or crawled out of his skin. The thin cuticle about
the head became loose, and he worked his body out as you would turn a
glove-finger off, beginning at the head and finishing with the tip of
the tail. While still moist, Ciriaco turned this skin right side out.
We had this tissue-like cuticle for years after we left Cuba, and, as
it was fully fourteen feet long and very perfect, much regret was felt
when moths eventually destroyed it.

Some weeks after, I had occasion to visit our invalid merchant in
Havana, and was shown a jar filled with a substance resembling
corn-meal, and tasting like dried shrimp. It was our maja, that had
been killed, sun-dried, and pounded in a mortar; the poor sufferer
was taking it, a spoonful at a time, for his disease. It is perhaps
unnecessary to add that he derived no benefit from this rather peculiar
medicine.




                            CHAPTER XXIII.

    HARASSED BY THE MILITARY--LAWLESS SITUATION--MEN DRIVEN TO THE
                     MOUNTAINS--RESTRICTED WALKS.


I returned from a flying visit of six weeks to New York, to find Lamo
harassed by the exactions of the military almost beyond endurance. The
insurrection in a remote southern part of the island had furnished
excuses for innumerable taxes, forced loans, and impressments of horses
and cattle from the planters in every district. We, of course, did not
escape. There were war-taxes, church-taxes, taxes to repair bridges we
had never heard of, and to make roads we could never travel. Uniformed
men lighted down upon us almost daily, armed with orders we could not
understand and which they could not explain. When Lamo resisted, he was
politely informed that they had the power to seize negroes or sugar to
the amount demanded. So it was when I returned Lamo was almost daft.

During my absence I chanced to spend a few days with friends in
Connecticut, who gave me an elegantly engraved breakfast invitation
they had previously received “to meet the President and Mrs. Grant.”
I carried it home as a souvenir, and to show the latest style of
invitation-cards, little dreaming what a valuable souvenir it would
prove to be.

The next collector that called had the pleasure of meeting the señora
just home from the States, and, before he had time to divulge his
business, was shown the invitation. He evidently inferred I had been
the recipient of numerous courtesies from that august quarter, in fact
was on the most intimate terms with the occupants of the White House.
Moreover, we assured him that our ideas of proper allegiance would not
permit citizens of the United States to pay the war-taxes of a foreign
government; that we had been cautioned to maintain strict neutrality
with Spain and her colony, and much more to the same effect, quietly
adding that assessment bills against Desengaño must be presented at the
office of our merchant in Havana, to be approved, if necessary, by the
American consul.

In our ignorance of the laws and customs of Spain and other despotic
governments, and knowing full well the venality of all the officials we
had any business with, we naturally entertained serious suspicions that
we were being imposed upon.

Lamo actually worked himself into the belief that a lot of impecunious
knaves masqueraded as tax-collectors, and raced to Desengaño every
time they wanted money. About the time the elegant invitation was
thumbed and soiled, letters of a purely personal nature began to
arrive for my husband in the consul’s private mail-bag. “Executive
Mansion, Washington, D. C., R. M. Douglas, Private Sec’y,” conspicuous
on the official envelope. The innocent missives were laid away, but
the envelopes were ostentatiously spread over the parlor-table and
exhibited to visitors and officials, who regarded them as unmistakable
evidence of our constant communication with the home government.

The _ruse_ worked a miracle. We paid no more _claims_ at the
plantation, and very few were ever presented to our merchant.

Matters were rapidly assuming a more unsettled state, and in the
lawless condition of affairs even life was becoming unsafe. Our
fire-arms had not yet been restored to us; so, except Zell’s clumsy
blunderbuss and Henry’s small shot-gun, we had nothing more formidable
with which to defend ourselves than the swords worn by the _mayorals_.

The order to disarm all civilians was deemed necessary by the
Government, as it closed one avenue of supply availed of by the
insurgents.

The tax-collectors, not content with all they could wrest from the
wealthy planters, were driven by the exigencies of insurrectionary
trouble to seek every possible means of raising money, and at length
invaded the _sitios_ of the poor and lazy _guajiros_, where often
there was nothing but a horse that could be levied upon, and their
horses were as dear to them as their children.

No doubt many a man would have remained quietly at home but for the
threatened seizure of his prized animal. To save this he fled to
the fastnesses of the mountains and hid in caves, often drifting
gradually into a lawless life. The _guajiros_ earned from seventeen
to twenty-five dollars a month during the busy winter season. It is
pitiful to call these meager monthly earnings by the comprehensive
title of _income_; but the tax-collectors now began to claim that a
percentage of _all_ wages must be paid into the government coffers.

Several brothers, who owned a few acres of land adjoining us, were
dependents on our estate. For years they had been employed as teamsters
by the former owners, and we continued to hire them. So exasperated
were they at the demand for a portion of their incomes that they
refused to work. Earning barely sufficient at best for their modest
needs, if they had to divide with the tax-collector, they might as well
_strike_, not for higher wages, but for no work. Hundreds acted in this
way, finally becoming utterly idle, hopeless, and miserable. In many
instances desperation drove them to follow an abandoned, vicious career
on the road.

Soon our doctor, who on account of his calling was allowed the special
privilege of carrying arms, came on his errand of mercy, followed by a
lusty attendant, and had to disembarrass himself of a belt and sword,
and remove the formidable pistols from his holsters, preparatory to
visiting the bedside of his patient. It was not safe for him to travel,
even in broad daylight, without these preparations for defense, and no
emergency ever called him out after nightfall.

Ellie and I were repeatedly warned not to walk over the fields or up
the mountain-side, as had been our daily custom, so our promenades were
gradually confined to the broad avenue in full view of the house.




                             CHAPTER XXIV.

 MURDEROUS ASSAULT--COMPLAINTS TO THE CAPTAIN-GENERAL--CARLOS GARCIA.


My husband, who never knew the meaning of the word _fear_, rode bravely
about our own domain, sometimes alone, but more frequently accompanied
by an interpreter, whose services were often needed. Early one autumn
morning he rode unattended to a remote part of the plantation, quite
a mile distant from the house. While he could see, by the rustling of
the long, slender leaves, that the plows were busy in the midst of
the tall cane, and could hear the mournful creak of the wheel that
was slowly drawing water from a neighboring well, two mounted men, of
rather diminutive size and questionable appearance, suddenly presented
themselves on each side the narrow roadway and politely asked the time
of day, emphasizing their request by pointing to the sun and to Lamo’s
watch. He intuitively knew they were on deeds of evil intent, and while
repeating his stereotyped phrase, “_No intende_” (“Don’t understand
you”), by motion invited them to the house, whose white façade
terminated the long vista of the straight road.

Before he could advance a step, one of the men wheeled his horse across
the narrow pathway in front of him and, pointing menacingly at the
tempting fob that hung from his pocket, repeated the _demand_ (as now
appeared) in a low and threatening tone. If my husband had previously
entertained any doubts regarding their intentions, he had none now.
He made a desperate rush to advance, when a pistol was quickly drawn
and two shots fired in rapid succession. Each time the hurried aim was
rendered ineffectual by blows from an open umbrella, and the bullets
flew wide of the mark.

Meanwhile the accomplice, armed with a machete (a large, broad-bladed,
short-handled knife, used for cutting cane), pressed forward. Lamo, by
a dexterous whirl of his horse, was enabled to catch him by the waist
and hurl him to the ground. The unexpected, bold defense, and the fall
of one of the men, produced a moment’s confusion, which Lamo, never
for a moment losing his presence of mind, availed himself of to ride
rapidly away. Two shots followed the retreating figure, and my brave
man received a bullet in the side of the neck. All this occurred so
quickly that the men plowing in the tall cane, alarmed by the shots,
rushed to the spot only in time to see Lamo wildly riding toward the
house, swaying from side to side, unable to steady himself in the
saddle. The assailants had already disappeared around the first corner,
concealed by the towering growth of the fields.

I was leisurely sewing in my usual seat by the window, when the clatter
of horse’s feet and a rapid running toward the front of the house,
coupled with exclamations of wonder and alarm, brought me breathless
to the veranda to see my husband’s fainting, and, as I then thought,
lifeless form, bathed in torrents of blood, fall from the horse into my
brother’s open arms.

He was stretched, gasping, upon the sofa. The wound, which had
swollen his neck alarmingly, was tenderly wiped with damp cloths. My
brother, who had some knowledge of surgery, and great presence of
mind, cautiously felt for the missile, and, by a dexterous pressure,
dislodged a large conical bullet that had missed the jugular vein by
the sixteenth of an inch. Pitcher after pitcher of cold water was
poured over the wound until the swelling gradually subsided. Messengers
were dispatched at the earliest moment for medical aid, and to notify
the captain of the _partido_, who immediately sent his clerk to take
the deposition of the supposed dying man. Lamo was found able to give
sufficient explanation to satisfy all that it was a case of murderous
assault; whereupon a _posse_ of the captain’s men were sent in hot
haste to pursue and arrest the highwaymen.

The village doctor did not receive the summons until after the
officials had departed, and, being afraid to venture without an
escort, was unable to make his appearance until our patient had
received all needful attention. Finding the bullet on a shelf and the
swelling reduced, there was nothing left for him to do but to go into
an exhaustive explanation of the _law_ that governs such cases, by
which it appeared that all we had the legal right to do was to lay
the sufferer down and summon a surgeon. We had no right to remove the
bullet, or even to wash the blood from the wound! I will here add that,
if one finds a man lying wounded and bleeding on the public road-side
in Cuba, he must on no account touch the body himself, but call a
physician, or notify the captain at the nearest available station,
for, if he should act the part of the good Samaritan, he would surely
be arrested on suspicion. The way of the priest and the Levite is the
legal and therefore the only safe way in that land where the Bible is
contraband.

By the first mail we dispatched letters, written under intense
excitement, giving alarming accounts of the whole affair to the
American consul, to our merchant, and to a friend, a wealthy and
influential citizen, President of the Bank of Commerce in Havana.
Each, not knowing but that he was the only one whose good offices were
invoked, repaired immediately to the captain-general’s palace. They
were admitted by turns to the presence of that august official, who,
after giving audience to three prominent persons on one and the same
business, realized the necessity of taking active and immediate steps
in the premises, and gave our zealous friends every assurance to that
effect.

Then followed days of slow but steady convalescence. The old village
doctor kept us in alarm by repeating at each visit that lock-jaw--a
very common disease in Cuba--was almost sure to follow a wound
treated, as this had been, with cold water! Lamo united caution with
bravery, and kept quietly within-doors long after he felt well enough
to resume his busy life. Our tranquillity was disturbed every few
days by official visits. A surgeon, with a consulting brother, was
sent from Matanzas (our estate being located in that district) to
examine and report upon the wound. He was followed by some Matanzas
officials, whose exact business we did not fathom. The assailants had
not been captured, and there began to be doubts whether our _partido_
captain had been as efficient in the matter as the law required; hence
higher authorities were ordered to investigate. The long and tedious
deposition was repeated over and over again, through the aid of
government interpreters, whose knowledge of English was so imperfect
that Lamo kept Henry at his side, to listen to both languages and
detect errors that might creep in, with a tendency to invalidate his
statement. Every article of clothing my husband wore on the occasion
had been taken by our captain, to which was afterward added the broken
and ragged umbrella found on the field of battle.

Then followed a visit of surgeons from Havana, armed with orders to
examine the wound, which was by this time so far healed that only the
scar remained as evidence. Our neighbors could not comprehend the
bravery of a man who, assailed by two armed highwaymen, would make a
sturdy defense with an open umbrella for his only weapon, when, by
emptying his pockets and relinquishing his watch, he would have been
allowed to ride gracefully away. The watch was opened, turned over, and
critically examined by our incredulous visitors, as though seeking in
its intricacies for a confirmation of the brave story.

The description of the assailants which Lamo gave, on the day of the
occurrence, to the pursuing party, was so accurate, that several of
them, including the lieutenant, declared they recognized the men.
Subsequently we had reason to know they had no intention of compassing
their capture. Zell, whose loyal heart was bursting with vengeance,
had mounted his horse and followed the uniformed men who raced down
the avenue and disappeared in a twinkling in their apparent hot haste
to overtake the scoundrels. The party did not return to Desengaño, but
Zell did, and he secretly imparted valuable information to Lamo. “Dey
know’d dem men better’n dey know you, Mars Jim. And when a ’ooman
at dat _bodega_, by Valera’s field, tole ’em she had jist seed ’em
cutting for all dey was worf down Valera’s Lane, dat ar white-livered
lieutenant ses ‘’Tain’t dem--it’s no use,’ and dem fool cowards dey
jist tuk tail and rode back. De minit dey smell de scent, dey drap’d de
trail.”

Of course, “negro testimony” was not admissible; but Zell’s word was
always received in our family without a doubt or question. We imparted
this information, in the garb of strong suspicion, to the officials in
Havana, whence a company was now sent to scour the Matanzas district
and capture those bandits, of whose identity there remained no doubt.
They were so closely pressed now that surrender was inevitable; and,
without even a semblance of trial, they were immediately shot. Upon
their persons were found _cedulas_ such as the _guardia civiles_
are required to demand of suspicious persons on the highways, as
evidence of good standing. These passes had been lately _viséed_ by
our “white-livered” lieutenant, and his knowledge that these _cedulas_
were in their possession accounted for his unwillingness to arrest
them; so he was involved in a net of his own weaving. The last heard of
that unworthy official he was journeying over the rough country roads
between plantations and through tangled woods to Matanzas, handcuffed,
strapped astride his horse, with his face turned to the animal’s tail,
and surrounded by a howling escort. Whether that unique mode of
punishment was the only one inflicted we never knew.

We had reason to hope that the decisive action of the government
would relieve us from the possibility of any further aggressions by
roving bands, and for a long time we were undisturbed. The two outlaws
referred to were not highwaymen in the fullest acceptation of the term.
They were _guajiros_, who worked for planters around us, and doubtless
driven to desperation by government oppression, had become bold and
lawless.

There were bands of freebooters--not a result of government
oppression--who made robbery their only pursuit. They swept over the
island with the fleetness of the wind; here to-day and there to-morrow,
possessing such a thorough knowledge of all the wild country around
that a place of concealment or an avenue of escape was always open to
them. They did not go in detached parties, but in well-organized bands,
and were a law unto themselves, bidding all government defiance, long
before the insurrection was in existence. Indeed, marauding bands of
like nature have flourished since the earliest days of _civilization_
in Cuba.

The Spaniards claimed that the rebel army was composed of these
outlaws. No doubt some did join, as affording a wider field for
their daring, and others became purveyors for the rebels; but the
professional brigands generally retained their organizations, and
recognized no allegiance superior to their captain. In course of
time our plantation, in the absence of Lamo and myself, was visited
by such a band, and I can not better describe the affair than by the
introduction of a letter written some time after the event:

“The world breathes easier hereabout. Carlos Garcia, the renowned
freebooter, has at last been sent to his final account. Five
captains-general pardoned him at as many different times in his career,
but a pardon to return to the field of his exploits Garcia will receive
no more. Long before the insurrectionary war in Cuba, Garcia, though
a young man (born in 1832), was a desperate, fearless, and noted
highway robber. Always accompanied with a band of from ten to twenty
men, he rode when and where he pleased, overawed the planter on his
large estate, cursed the poor peasant in his hut, took the fine horses
and carefully hoarded doubloons of the humble farmer. His followers
were well disciplined, and obeyed his every look and gesture. If one
showed too little zeal or too much mercy, behold him stretched upon the
road-side with a bullet in his brain, and a paper pinned to his breast,
penciled ‘_no sirve_’ (no account).

“‘You are a gentleman, sir; if I can serve you in future, command me:
my name is Garcia--Carlos Garcia.’ These were the parting words of the
scoundrel as he took leave of me, after selecting the finest horses,
all the saddles, etc., ransacking the dwelling, and securing all the
coin that could be found. While he and four of his men were searching
and stealing, six others, with cocked pistols, stood guard over me
and the white men in my employ. They did their work systematically,
accomplished all in twenty minutes, and the politest gentleman that
ever cut a throat rode off at the head of his troop, offering me,
with all the airs of a Turveydrop, his _services_ at any time! What
could a man do, but turn back into his house, pick up the scattered
and rifled bureau-drawers, shut the plundered desk, and estimate the
losses? This elegant gentleman always respected the presence of ladies.
A raven-haired señorita in the house was a protection that no weapon
could insure; her flashing eyes did the execution denied the Minié
rifle, for not a man of them would enter a dwelling to rob it when a
timid señorita met him at the threshold with her low, musical ‘_Buenos
dias, señor._’

“For years this state of things existed. Once in a while a
captain-general would order the arrest of the party, but the _partido_
captains had neither the men nor the courage to meet Garcia. In fact,
they seemed inclined to keep out of his way. After his visit to me,
I, being a foreigner, and claiming protection of a flag that was not
red-and-yellow, made formal complaint to the captain-general at Havana,
who at once issued orders and furnished men to hunt the outlaws.
Garcia, finding himself closely beset, appeared in person one morning
at the captain-general’s palace at Havana. After a short interview with
that vice-regal dignitary, he mounted his horse and proudly rode off,
unmolested. The next day a free pardon to Carlos Garcia was proclaimed.
It is whispered that Spanish ounces did the work. The clink of gold
is as sweet to the ear of the Spaniard to-day as it was to Cortes and
Pizarro in the proudest days of Spain.

“Meanwhile he became bolder and less merciful in his outrages. His
cruelty soon excited the whole people. Cubans submit with good grace to
robbery, they are used to that, but cruelty is revolting to them; they
are a kind-hearted, sympathetic race.

“Later, Lersundi became captain-general, and one of his first official
acts was to dispatch from Havana three hundred men, under efficient
and reliable officers, with peremptory orders to capture Garcia. They
were divided into various detachments. In a few hours the country in
the vicinity of Garcia’s last exploit was alive with the red-and-yellow
uniforms. He fled, almost unattended, to the Guanamon swamp, which was
quickly surrounded, and soldiers ambushed at every possible outlet. A
soldier gave me an account of the final act of the tragedy. ‘We took
our position at the pass of El Jobo, at 9 P. M., thirteen in company;
saw nothing until 7 A. M., then we saw three outlaws riding toward us.
At the command ‘_Fuego!_’ we all fired. One fell dead; another reeled
a moment, holding his rifle with both hands, then tumbled dead over the
head of his horse--this was Garcia; the third rode rapidly off, turned
suddenly, and, with deliberate aim, fired, killing one of our men.
Again ‘_Fuego!_’ and the bold woman, as she proved to be, fell dead.’

“Garcia had three women in his band, one of the others has since
presented herself for ‘free pardon,’ according to custom.

“Garcia’s right arm was broken years ago, and he never quite recovered
its use; so he had to discard his heavy Winchester rifle and use a
Smith and Wesson, which was the handsomest article of the kind I ever
saw: the stock was solid gold, exquisitely carved, and fretted with
precious stones. This, besides a pair of Colts, of extra size and
finish, and a rifle, were in his possession at the time of his death.”

Garcia was a type of a class of freebooters infesting every highway,
and lurking in obscure and unprotected city streets--while the others
sneak like thieves in the night, he was bold and daring. All this in
a land of military and priestly rule, where few live more than five
miles from a captain’s headquarters, or beyond the jurisdiction of a
_visible_ church!




                             CHAPTER XXV.

                    “BEHOLD A MAN FULL OF LEPROSY!”


Our merchant in Havana was a leper. Poor Don Anastasio had had the
disease in increasing loathsomeness for fifteen years before we
knew him--a native, I believe, of Central America, a man of wealth,
cultivation, and refinement, and one of the clearest-headed, best
business men in Havana--best in every sense; for, with great tact
and shrewdness, he combined perfect honesty and integrity, rare
virtues in those business circles. Leprosy was the inheritance of Don
Anastasio; until he was thirty years of age no symptoms of the poison
had manifested themselves. And his portrait, taken in early life, that
hung in his office, represented a very handsome man. Our dear friend
was confident that the disease was stimulated into activity from large
doses of quinine prescribed to save his life while suffering from a
congestive chill, and he often regretted that he had not risked the
consequences of refusing the medicine.

In the incipiency of the disease he placed himself in a hospital
in France, in the hands of specialists. From there he visited noted
springs in the Pyrenees, bending his whole energies and invoking the
best medical skill to eradicate, if possible, the fearful malady that
was beginning to consume his body. The disease steadily pursued its
course, its steps were never arrested. The patient’s condition was
never alleviated; there were no days when he felt that he was better,
no hours when he had even a flickering hope that he might remain as he
was, much less recover. No solace came to him that he looked better
to-day, even if it was to look worse to-morrow. He never looked better.
Neither medicine, springs, nor treatment ever brought relief. When we
first saw him the poison had been creeping through his frame so long
that he was a pitiful sight to look upon. How much more pitiable he
became no tongue can tell. In his office, which opened into a small
parlor on one side, and into a couple of bedrooms on the other, Don
Anastasio lived day in and day out, season after season, year after
year, with his faithful friend and partner, who attended to all the
out-door business of the firm. Don Anastasio very rarely ventured
outside the walls of his abode. He could only walk a few steps, and
every movement was painful. It followed, therefore, that all our
business transactions with him were conducted in his office. There the
poor sufferer, in loose clothing and thickly wadded dressing-gown,
confined to his chair, was always to be found, with a clear brain and
an honest heart, ready with keenness and intelligence, counsel and
advice, to help us in our perplexities, and show us the way.

His hands in mittens, his head covered with a thick cap, his feet
muffled in loose slippers, not a hair on his head, eyelashes, eyebrows,
and beard all gone; tips of his fingers gone, so that, even with a
three-sided pen-staff strapped to his hand, it was with the utmost
difficulty that he could sign his name.

The kindly old man gradually crumbled away. His face became swollen,
livid, and mottled by turns. The cartilage of his nose vanished by slow
degrees, till that feature, with seams and scars, and vivid blotches,
sunk to a level with the cheeks. His ears dropped away little by
little, as though pieces had been snipped out of their ragged edges;
his fingers perished, joint by joint, until he could no longer turn
the leaf of a book. By and by his senses began to decay, his sight
became dim, hearing dull; and when, after a twelve months’ absence from
Havana, I saw Don Anastasio for the last time, he had already become so
blind that he could only distinguish light from darkness, and so deaf
that the familiar voice of his partner and life-long friend was the
only one that reached him; his voice was so low and grating, so hollow
and unlike anything human, that no one but the same devoted companion
could catch and interpret its meaning.

Touch went with the earliest ravages, for leprosy is a skin-disease.
Even when Don Anastasio had fingers to hold a cigar, the odor of
burning flesh was the first indication that its lighted end had touched
his hand.

I frequently cast inquiring eyes upon the portrait of the vigorous,
dark-eyed young fellow with bright smile, ruddy glow, and clustering
curls, that hung upon the wall before me, with a painful effort to
trace any resemblance in it to the pinched and shriveled wreck of
humanity that sat muffled in quilted garments at my side. The little,
flickering spark of life remaining, while still illuminating his grand
intellect and imperishable soul, had not sufficient power to impart
warmth to his decaying body. While others were all aglow with the heat
and moisture of a tropical day, he sat shivering in his cushioned
chair, with skin dry and unresponsive as parchment.

Don Anastasio had been more than business agent to us; more than buyer
and seller for the plantation. He had been our unwavering, steadfast
friend, an adviser whose advice was always the best, a counselor whose
counsels were always the wisest. Through more than twenty years of
living death Don Anastasio maintained his position among the prominent
merchants of Cuba, daily transacted business that required the utmost
foresight and caution, and was intrusted with negotiations of the most
delicate and confidential nature. When scarcely enough of his body
remained to serve as a casket for his generous soul, he retained his
mental faculties unimpaired, was as kind in his thoughts and sound in
his judgment as ever, and to the end “nobly bore the grand old name of
gentleman.”




                             CHAPTER XXVI.

SUGAR-MAKING--DINNER AT “JOSEFITA’S”--DOMESTIC SERVICE--POOR DON PEDRO.


During the sugar-making time in winter all was excitement and confusion
on the plantations, suddenly, as if by magic, awakened from the
summer’s sleepy quiet. Owners, who had city homes, came from Havana,
Matanzas, Guïnes, and Guanabacoa, to _el campo_; and then we, who had
no city home, and had long vegetated in seclusion, enjoyed a little
society.

On those lovely winter days, when the roads were dry and smooth,
and the skies cloudless, and the sun warm, the air redolent with
the nameless odors of tropical fruits and flowers blended with the
all-pervading aroma of boiling cane-juice, there was much visiting and
entertaining, much galloping about in gay cavalcades from house to
house, calling and extending invitations to breakfasts and dinners, and
offering one’s home with all that therein is to each other.

Ladies in flowing robes of every bright color, gracefully seated on
elaborately decorated _left-sided_ saddles of similar pattern to those
used by Catharine of Aragon and her maids of honor in their triumphant
entry into London four centuries ago; their gallant cavaliers in
spotless linen from top to toe, Panama hats, and clanking silver
spurs--the party, all mounted on blooded stallions, came galloping up
the long avenue of palms. Caridad and Pancho, Manuel and Reglita, Leon
and Félicia, and so on to the number of fifteen or twenty, alighted for
a moment, accepted a cup of coffee, and off again like a bright vision
of brave knights and fair ladies.

A dinner at the _Josefita’s_ was the social event of the year to us
eagerly accepted. When we arrived, resplendent in our best clothes, the
house was already filled with guests. The Josefita family and their
city visitors numbered a score, with a score more of the neighbors, and
perhaps a half-score of the plantation dependents. It reminded one of
the feudal feasts Scott so loved to describe, where the honored guests
sat above, and the followers of the chief below, the salt. The long
table was spread on the front veranda; so, in order to avoid a sight
of the preparations, guests were invited to enter at the rear of the
house--a table was pieced out by various devices below the salt, as it
were, some lower, some wider than the table proper; but the food was
the same, and the boundless hospitality of the host reached all. The
entire dinner was placed upon the board before the company was seated.
The odor was not quite appetizing to us, where every dish had a dash
of garlic or the unsavory scent of crude olive-oil.

Great heaping piles of blood-colored rice, dressed with a vegetable
that imparts that vivid tinge, glistened with lard; chickens, garnished
with olives, raisins, prunes, and blanched almonds; sausages, no larger
than one’s little finger, in dear little links, served with a fringe
of garlic; beautiful dishes of omelet, streaked with the blood of
all the fowls sacrificed for the banquet, with just enough garlic to
impart to them the prevailing flavor; slices of meat, fearfully and
wonderfully prepared with red wine and sugar; various salads, served
in oils; ripe bananas, stewed in wine and sirup; green bananas, fried
dry and crisp like Saratoga potatoes; a whole roast pig, decorated with
ribbons and brilliantly colored, impossible paper-flowers; vegetables,
whose unpronounceable names I have forgotten; varieties of tropical
fruits, all juicy, all delicate, all more or less insipid, all tasting
somewhat alike; sweets of cocoanut, guava, sweet-potato, pineapple,
marmocilla--no end of sweets; no end of delicate Spanish wines; no
end of cigars; no end of cigarettes; no end of gay, little, feathered
tooth-picks, made from the plumage of the most brilliant birds; no end
of talk. A confusion as of Babel--so fast, emphatic, loud, and so full
of gestures, of _Ave Marias!_ “Ohs!” and “Ahs!” bursts and ripples of
laughter that we, not to the manor born, had not half an idea what was
being said, and not the remotest idea what we were eating.

The custom of helping another at table, and then smelling of the plate;
the custom of raising a dish to one’s nose, and, with an audible sniff
and a shrug, replacing it untouched, or, if favorably impressed,
helping one’s self, arose, I presume, from the desire to know by the
surest channel if the right quantity of oil and garlic were present.

Don Pancho sat by Ellie, and it seemed his duty to assume charge of her
and smell of her plate, and, when he found a particularly appetizing
_morceau_ in his own, to transfer it to her mouth; she playfully
resisted, telling me afterward that she hoped they did not think her
rude, but she could not eat from Don Pancho’s fork. Caridad, the
hostess, placed me at her right hand, and hospitably heaped my plate
with the choicest of the viands.

And so we dined. At the improvised end of the table sat the _mayoral_
and his assistant, the _boyero_ (herdsman), the little, old, dried-up
doctor, who administered herb-teas and foot-baths at the plantation
hospital, the two sugar-makers and two engineers, of various dusky,
olive shades, all clean and orderly, quiet and voracious. They took
their seats with a dignified salutation, and retired when cigars and
tooth-picks were passed around, accompanied with coffee.

A score of darkies, in various stages of inexperience, waited upon
us, under the vigilant, outspoken directions of the host and hostess.
There was no attempt at style or ceremony, no whispering of orders or
sly hints as to duties, no gestures or winks; everything was free and
open, every order given in an unmistakable key; so that there was an
_abandon_ at one of these country festivals absolutely bewitching.

Scarcely a country that boasts of the luxuries and elegancies of life
had so poorly performed domestic service as Cuba. Servants, moving
leisurely about, were seen everywhere, but there was no running
to do one’s bidding. A lady’s-maid did not serve more than one in
her capacity. A nurse cared only for one child. One cook could not
prepare the meals unaided, be they ever so simple. One scullion was
not sufficient for kitchen-cleaning. A seamstress could only do the
sewing and repairing for one señora. A family, a type of the best,
though not the wealthiest, of the island, that I visited, at their
_quinta_ at Madruga, had twenty-five servants about the house! a much
smaller retinue than in their city residence, and therefore considered
themselves rather unattended and uncomfortable. The family consisted
of a mother and six children, ranging from eight to eighteen, and
an intelligent American governess, gifted with an infinite tact and
the convenient attribute of ubiquity, on whom the burden of the
entire establishment seemed to rest, and her cheerful presence and
systematic rule were everywhere visible. The father for political
reasons was banished to Spain, and for social reasons the mother,
still a young woman, could not go into society in his absence. Their
domestic arrangements were a never-ceasing wonder to me. The mother
and two daughters each had a maid in constant attendance, to pick up a
handkerchief or arrange a stray ribbon when not employed in dressing
and undressing their ladies, whose principal occupation was the toilet.
The ebony butler had three white-coated assistants. One cook prepared
the meats, another made the sweets and _refrescos_; neither of them had
time to wash a pan or wipe a cup; so several scullions were sitting
around _waiting_ to help. There was a laundress for household linens,
another for skirts and dresses, a third for servants’ washing, and a
Chinaman who only laundried pantaloons, vests, and coats. None of them
had time to make fires or bring the water they used, servants of lower
degree doing this for them. Washing and ironing were in progress from
one end of the week to the other. Servants, servants everywhere and
very little done. All seemed acting their parts in a comedy of “how not
to do it.”

One of our neighbors, Don Pedro, with so limited an estate that an
ox-mill was used to grind his cane, had to hire a large percentage of
his force in order to make a few hogsheads of sugar, and frequently
wound up the season by selling the remainder of his crop standing,
because he had not sufficient labor to cut and grind it. Don Pedro had
a wife and several grown-up daughters, and fourteen servants about
the premises to wait upon the ladies, oftentimes the house servants
outnumbered the field-hands. A visit to their hospitable home revealed
an untidy parlor with a dog curled asleep on each chair--vicious
game-cocks secured by long strings, roosting on the window-shutters,
or strutting in their red and naked splendor about the veranda, a
half-dozen frouzy, half-clad negroes standing at open doors whispering
their admiration of the visitors. Nobody seemed to be working, every
living thing had a lazy, idle air, and poor Don Pedro who belonged to
a race that could not economize time, labor, or anything else, was
harassed because he could not get his cane cut, for lack of help. When
plans involving economy of time and curtailment of domestic service
were suggested, to help him out of his financial difficulties, his
doleful answer was ever “_No se puede!_” (“Impossible!”).




                            CHAPTER XXVII.

   PARADISE--A GUAJIRO BALL--OUR NEIGHBORS--A DAY WITH THE MARQUIS.


Cuba is a paradise for those who are too lazy to do anything but exist,
as one can live there without labor. The tall, straight palm-tree,
of which the poorer houses are built, can be split from end to end
with wedge and axe, the pith easily removed, and the crescent-shaped
sides, weighted down with heavy rocks upon the ground, will dry as
flat as planks. The trunk, split half in two, makes excellent troughs
and gutters, the feathery branches thatch their dwellings, the
berries furnish food for their hogs, and the core of the pinnacle is
as delicious as cauliflower. One palm-tree will furnish material for
a _guajiro’s_ house complete, sides, roof, door, and eaves-troughs
included.

The _jicory_, a large gourd that the _guira_-tree bears not only on
its branches but its trunk from the very ground up, makes all the
table-ware necessary for the modest palm hut; divided in twain, and the
mossy interior removed, then slowly dried in the shade, it furnishes
plates and bowls; with only one small aperture at the stem-end, it
is a jug; and if a coarse netting of the strong, fibrous aloe is
knotted about it, behold a demijohn (of one or two gallons capacity),
that can be easily slung over the shoulder and carried about! The
cordage, ropes, and bridles of _pita caruja_ are strong and durable;
oftentimes the latter are very ingeniously and elaborately braided and
twisted. Any _guajiro_ can make the rude pottery required in their
cooking, for which clay is always easily procured, immense amounts
being used in the manufacture of certain low grades of white sugar;
none of the indigenous fruits and vegetables require more cultivation
than the _machete_ affords, and those most generally prized and used,
have only to be replanted at intervals of years. Very little clothing
is required, and that of the thinnest and lightest material. In the
country, children run about _au naturel_ until they are eight or ten
years of age. Even in cities, with well-to-do families, a child, until
it walks, wears but one thin, short covering, and that, in order to
afford more freedom to the limbs, is often knotted around the waist.

I have more than once alluded to a family of _guajiros_, who lived near
us, and were somewhat dependent on Desengaño. They owned an acre or two
of land, planted in sweet-potatoes, melangas, and other edible roots.
Their simple dwellings consisted of one or two rooms each, and were
shaded by a few palms and a clump of banana-trees.

The aged mother and one unmarried son occupied the principal hut, and
it was surrounded by those of three married sons with their wives
and hosts of dusky little black-eyed children; here they had lived
“even unto the third and fourth generation,” probably not one of
them ever having been out of the _partido_. The men were employed in
hauling our produce to the depot for shipment from December until May;
the remainder of the year they did nothing but attend to their own
patches, and one man could easily have done all that and had time to
spare. During the summer, when pressed for plowmen, we made frequent
tempting overtures to them, which were invariably refused. The women
raised chickens, but none for sale; fattened hogs, but they were for
home consumption; and braided a few Panama hats for their husbands
and sons. We paid each man seventeen dollars in gold, and an _arrobe_
(twenty-five pounds) each of rice and _tasajo_ a month, while they
worked for us, and were in the way of continuing the rations, to a
limited extent, during the idle season, if there was sickness or want
with them. If Panchito came to tell me his _mama_ was sick, I sent
her some rice; and if Pio or Manuel, the two boys who were Henry’s
attendants on his _jutia_-hunts, had a _mal de cabeza_ (headache),
Henry was sure to think a little _tasajo_ would make him feel better,
and it generally did. _Per contra_, when they heard--which they were
sure to do, for some one of them dropped in at Desengaño every
day--that Ellie was not well, or Lamo had a twinge of rheumatism,
immediately Pio would present himself with a chicken or a few eggs
tied up in a _listado_ handkerchief, with the compliments of his
_mama_. Once when Panchito, in awkward handling of a hogshead of sugar,
received a hurt, I rode over to their _sitio_ with Henry to express in
person our regret at the accident, and to take him a cup of jelly. I
so often rode in their direction without crossing the boundary, that
my appearance produced no commotion until I had gained the center hut
and offered to dismount. The scattering of the children of all ages
and sexes to the friendly shelter of the banana-bushes, and behind the
coffee-sack curtains that hung at the doors, was amusing.

They were entirely naked, but one by one, as they gained the assistance
of their mammas, they appeared arrayed in the thinnest of muslin slips,
the merest shadow of an excuse for a covering.

One of the women was braiding a hat in one piece. She began the work at
the center of the crown with several very narrow strips of _palma téa_,
gradually adding more strips as it increased in circumference, until
the top of the crown was complete, then shaping the sides and brim. It
was amazing to see the precision and dexterity with which her slender
fingers accomplished the intricate work. I became so interested, that
several subsequent visits were made to learn the art. Though the woman
was painstaking and patient in her endeavor to teach, she failed to
impart the mysterious skill she so deftly exhibited. The hats Ellie and
I made were long strands of braided palmetto sewed into shape; those of
Carlota had the appearance of imported Panamas. That family was a fair
type of innocent, harmless, kindly peasantry, sufficiently numerous
to constitute a marked domestic feature peculiar to the island. They
were law-abiding, and in their humble way useful, but with scarcely a
spark of enterprise. Panchito wanted to marry, but the little patch of
land they jointly owned was not sufficient to support a fourth family,
so he traded his interest to his brothers for a horse with _aparejo_
(saddle, etc.), two oxen, and a wagon, the creak of whose clumsy
wooden wheels could be heard rods off, and prepared to emigrate to the
adjoining _partido_, perhaps ten miles away; but the captain refused
to issue him a _permit_ to change his domicile, therefore he could not
go. About that time military exactions, of which I have made mention,
drove Panchito and his brothers to the desperate resolve to sit down in
abject idleness.

The families of the wealthy planters spent so little time on their
estates that, for a large portion of the year, we were deprived of
their pleasant society, and soon learned to take interest in the
occasional entertainments of our more humble neighbors, who were always
courteous and friendly. Don Pedro’s four pretty daughters, though
lacking in education and cultivation, and quite unused to the best
urban society, were amiable, sprightly girls, who talked agreeably,
danced gracefully, and played by ear on the piano or guitar the pretty
Cuban _danzas_ that, by reason of the peculiar accentuation, are so
difficult to learn by note. Several times they had proposed to Ellie,
of whom they were very fond, to accompany them to a _guajiro_ ball
in the village of Cabezas. One day Félicia called with her father to
urge me to chaperon the whole party, as their mother was unable to
accompany them. I consented, simply to oblige, and at dusk the four
girls and _papaito_ (as they affectionately called Don Pedro) arrived
on horseback, followed by an attendant with a pack-horse carrying their
wardrobe in hampers. Ellie and I, already dressed for the occasion,
seated ourselves in the _volante_, our escort mounted a horse, and
we drove rapidly off. A _volante_, the most unique of vehicles, is
a chaise-body swung low on leather braces between and a little in
advance of two enormous wheels--the peculiar construction giving it a
swinging motion seemingly independent of the propelling one, that makes
the riding exceedingly easy and comfortable. One horse is harnessed
between the very long shafts, and the other, the “near” horse, outside,
hitched by stout traces to the body of the vehicle. The _calisero_
rides the trace horse and leads the other by the bridle, and on every
occasion, except a funeral, proceeds at full gallop. The picturesque
_volante_, the only style of vehicle equally suited to the city streets
and the rugged country roads (for it is impossible to upset it), and
the graceful mantilla, so well adapted to that voluptuous climate,
have gradually yielded to the encroachments of the clumsy cab and the
hideous bonnet.

Arrived at Cabezas, we followed the Don to a friend’s house, where the
señoritas proposed to unpack the hampers and array themselves in full
evening dress. Ellie and I with the gentlemen of our party, and a few
of the villagers who sauntered in and out as freely and unrestrainedly
as if the house was their own, waited until the young ladies were
ready, then we adjourned _en masse_ to the ball. It was given in a
building especially designed for the purpose. Besides the ball-room
proper, was one adjoining, used as a retreat for the _duennas_ to
smoke a cigarette and take a gossipy cup of coffee, and for the young
mothers who had not graduated to the position of wall-flowers, to
retire and nourish the babies that were apparently about as numerous
and demonstrative as any other class of guests; then a third apartment,
where the _caballeros_ occasionally vanished to enjoy a roast rib of
pork and a glass of red wine or _aguadiente_, and whence cigarettes
and coffee were dispatched to their respective señoras. The Dons
did not have to withdraw to smoke; many of them danced with cigars
in their lips. Each of these rooms had long windows; and the heavy
bars, extending from top to bottom, were availed of by the guests
as hitching-posts for their horses, thus giving the equines ample
opportunity to gaze upon the scene.

As the younger ladies were mostly sought for partners, I found myself
relegated to the back tier of seats, and the captain’s faded wife came
out from the nursery with an invitation for me to join the coterie of
gossips. Although I neither smoked, nursed, nor talked, my presence was
no manner of restraint on the other occupants of the room, who pursued
these various diversions with perfect _abandon_ and innocent composure.

The assembly was thoroughly representative of Cuban rustic life, and,
though occupying different grades of social rank, mingled freely and
unreservedly in conversation and in the dance. Ellie soon discovered
that a formal introduction was not considered necessary to assure
her every attention from the beaux, but she was able to decline the
solicitation of numerous aspirants on the score of ignorance of the
_danza_. I imagine Don Pedro’s exceedingly pretty daughters were the
_crême de la crême_, but there were others, in low russet-leather
shoes and plain _listado_ dresses (a striped linen worn by the
poorer classes), with escorts resplendent in cotton-velvet jackets
and gorgeous chains and pins, who were the most willowy and graceful
dancers. All the _danzas_ peculiar to Cuba are slow and gliding, the
quintessence of voluptuous ease and grace. The music is _pianissimo_,
well accentuated, and the animated throng keep exquisite time, and are
untiring. The violins were replaced by a _banduria_--a small guitar
of native construction--and the ball concluded with a _pas-de-deux_:
a couple in _listado_ and cotton-velvet appeared in a typical Cuban
dance, “_El Zapateado_”--a most graceful, courtly, and symmetrical
measure, that perfectly illustrated the betwitching poetry of motion.

It was almost morning when we stepped into our own rooms again, fresh
from our first and only experience at a _guajiro_ ball. For days we
talked about it, recalling the many unique and amusing incidents of the
occasion, none of which impressed us more fully than the thoughtful
courtesy and perfect decorum that prevailed during the entire evening.
Not a loud or noisy voice was heard; not the slightest indication of
undue exhilaration from the frequent visits to the roast pig and red
wine, nor a single occurrence to remind us that we were witnessing
the festivities of an abused and down-trodden peasantry who had no
opportunity or hope of rising above the humble station that had been
their lot for generations.

Don José Brito lived on the mountain. The lines of his plantation
joined ours; and my husband always thought him the best manager in the
_partido_, from his careful supervision of many important matters not
appertaining to the one absorbing industry of sugar-making. He had a
rope-walk, and manufactured from the aloe all the cordage and rope used
on his place; besides, he had better pasturage, and therefore finer
stock, than any one else.

Don José was genial and sociable, and the gentlemen of the two families
exchanged occasional visits. He was a representative of rural Cuban
grandeur, rare even then, and now entirely passed away. His favorite
steed was a large, milk-white Andalusian mule, with shaved tail
terminating in a little tuft of hair tied with a bright ribbon, and
cropped mane; the equipment was an elaborate russet-leather Spanish
saddle with cantle almost as high as the back of a chair, and huge
holsters on each side of the pommel, from which gold-mounted pistols
projected. A broad crupper extended from the saddle to the switch-like
tail, and a band of variegated leather and fringe hung in a graceful
festoon across the breast of the animal from side to side. All this
leather-work was richly embossed, stitched in brilliant colors, and
glittering with silver mountings, wherever a place could be found
for them. A superb Toledo blade, full thirty-two inches long (the
regulation length of a Toledo), in an ornamented scabbard, completed
the equestrian outfit of this gorgeous gentleman. Don José was stout
and swarthy, with a most gracious and winning manner, and a pleasant
smile, revealing magnificent teeth. His small brown hands sparkled
with numerous jeweled rings, and two heavy gold chains crossed his
breast, both attached to watches which nestled in the pockets of
his spotless white vest. A more friendly, accommodating neighbor we
could not have found in any land. With all this love of display, he
was thoroughly practical; and long experience with the small details
of plantation-work, that are generally so irksome to the average
Cuban planter as to be avoided altogether, made Don José’s advice and
counsel valuable, and he was so obliging that we often feared we were
imposing on his good-nature. Although there were other neighbors more
accessible, Don José Brito’s horse (the Andalusian mule was for festive
occasions) was the first one seen approaching when the peals of our
bell announced fire or other danger at Desengaño. La Señora, his wife,
was so obese that she was afraid to descend the steep mountain-road
in her _volante_, so was unable--as her genial husband told us again
and again--to extend to us the courtesy of a visit; but she was very
neighborly in her feelings, frequently sending us little bowls of
delicious _dulces_ of her own make, and kept Ellie abundantly supplied
with _cascarilla_, a powder made of egg-shells, for the complexion, and
universally used by the Cuban ladies, to whose olive faces it imparts a
chalky, ghastly tint.

We became greatly attached to Don José’s nephew, the “little doctor,”
as we called him. He was such a diminutive specimen of manhood, that
the embroidered shirt-bosoms and dainty, perfumed handkerchiefs he
exhibited seemed quite appropriate; not so the massive watch-chains
and charms, which were better fitted to a man twice his size. Don
Tomas was such a genial, whole-souled gentleman, and was so cultivated
and refined, that we were always glad to see him enter and deposit
his formidable pistols and sword-belt on the parlor-table; it was the
signal of a bright, entertaining visit. Ellie and I often wondered why
we never met him at any of the social gatherings; and he rarely called
on us, unless sent for professionally. As he had never married, and
always seemed confused and uncomfortable when bantered on the subject
of being a bachelor, I found myself weaving romances in which he
figured as the disappointed lover.

One day Don José, arrayed in all his elegance, paused on his way home
from the _paradero_ (railroad-station) to tell us that Don Tomas would
return on the morrow, and then to us was revealed the kindly little
doctor’s heart-story. When a young student, in Matanzas, he became
enamored of a pretty señorita, who reciprocated his love, and they were
to be married after he had graduated in his profession; but a dashing
Spanish officer appeared upon the scene as a rival, and the young girl
was forced by her parents to accept what appeared to them the most
advantageous offer. After a short honeymoon, the officer announced
that he had received an unexpected summons to Spain, and proposed that
his wife remain with her mother during his temporary absence.

Intelligence reached them, after his departure, that he already had a
family in his native country! In Cuba, both by civil and ecclesiastical
law, she was still a wife, and such she must remain so long as the
deceiver lived. As it is not _comme il faut_ for a married woman to
participate in society unattended by her husband, her life became
one of entire seclusion. The heart-broken young doctor withdrew to
the country, and lived on a plantation with his uncle, in the utmost
retirement, refusing all social pleasures, and devoting himself
exclusively to his profession. “Now,” added Don José, with a radiant
smile, “after seventeen years of waiting, news has arrived from Spain
of the death of that officer, and Don Tomas has gone to Matanzas to
marry the only woman he ever loved.” In due time we called upon the new
señora, and were presented to a faded, shy little body, with a daughter
taller than herself. She was not particularly attractive, and her
manner was somewhat constrained, as would naturally be the case with
one who had lived years under anomalous and grievous repression; but
she was all the world to the faithful little doctor.

One of our neighbors was a marquis. He was in the habit of visiting his
plantation once a year, and then he entertained in a most lavish and
hospitable manner. My husband had made his acquaintance in Havana,
and shortly after we arrived at Desengaño he called to welcome us,
in a superb _volante_ with prancing white horses, whose harnesses
glittered with elaborate silver ornaments. The _calisero_ and outriders
in livery, wearing (in lieu of the conventional knee-boots of other
lands) low black slippers with enormous silver buckles, and glittering
spurs of the same metal. No one else in all that _partido_ moved about
in such royal state, for no one else could display such a gorgeous
crest as that proud _hidalgo_ of Spain. On one occasion, when his house
was filled with city guests, he came in person to invite us to what
he called in his quaint English a “peek-a-neek.” We were promised a
_déjeûner à la fourchette_ in a grove, to be followed by the ascent
of a mountain, from whose summit a view of unrivaled extent could be
obtained. Ellie and I were charmed to accept a gracious invitation that
promised such an attractive episode in our monotonous lives. When we
arrived at the rendezvous, which was the marquis’s lawn, other guests
were already assembled in _volantes_ and on horseback. A brilliant
cavalcade we presented on the route to the grove, which was located on
the side of a dashing stream of clear water. Here an arbor covered with
fresh palm-branches had been improvised to shelter us from the sun’s
rays. And in this shade the banquet was spread, a right royal feast of
wild Guinea-fowls garnished with olives, quails served with raisins,
roast ribs of fresh pork, and bananas cooked in a variety of tempting
and delicate ways; salads, garlic, and unlimited fruit _dulces_, any
quantity of Spanish wines, and stronger Cuban drinks made of cane-juice
and bitter-orange peel--all sumptuously served, and partaken of with a
relish that invariably attends an out-door feast. Nothing was omitted
by our titled host that could add to the perfection of the occasion.
What a happy time Ellie and I had! We did not understand all that was
said, everyone talked with so much volubility and gesture, and often
we detected a perplexed look in bright and kindly faces when one
of us ventured a remark that from defective idiom or pronunciation
blundered into incoherence. No matter if the courtly marquis himself
failed in his attempt to read “Hamlet” to Ellie from an English edition
of _Shake-es-pere_, and she did not understand a word. It was all
delightful, and gave us ample theme for thought and conversation for
many a quiet hour. The marquis, who spoke English “as she is spoke,”
acquired his pronunciation from an Ollendorf or something worse; but,
confident of his fluency in the language, of which theoretically he was
a master, he was by no means timid, though often making most ludicrous
mistakes. Notwithstanding we were in a foreign land, and floundering
through the embarrassment of making ourselves intelligible in a
language we had not learned even from books, we were, at times almost
forced to turn aside and smile at his absurd mistakes.

His native Castilian, which was pure and free from the idioms that
abound in many Spanish-speaking countries, we could perfectly well
understand. A thorough education and extended travel, as befits a
wealthy nobleman of proud Spain, had greatly improved a naturally good
intellect; and, being a gentleman of elegant leisure, he was able to
devote much time to the translation of English and French classics into
his native tongue. I am informed that his published translation of
Shakespeare’s dramas, notably “Hamlet,” evinced marked ability.

After the feast came the walk up the mountain; and, to provide for
occasional refreshment as we paused to admire the distant landscape,
we were followed by a pack-horse, with hampers of green cocoanuts, and
juicy, ripe pineapples; the first universally used in its immature
state, when a dexterous stroke of a knife makes an aperture into a
sphere of limpid water, clear and sparkling, possessing a slightly
sweet and slightly saline taste, mingled to perfection and wonderfully
cool and refreshing. The pineapple, easily stripped of its rough coat,
is rich and succulent, with an indescribably luscious flavor. In Cuba a
single ripe one fills a whole house with its incomparable fragrance.

We mounted by winding paths through a never-ending bower of dense
foliage, with blossoming shrubs and vines on every side, and, when the
apex of the _monte_ was reached, stood on such an elevation that a
magnificent panorama opened upon our vision.

A broad plain of waving cane, broken by towering palms and dotted by
plantation-houses, lay at our feet. In the remote distance, clusters of
white and yellow buildings surrounding tiny church-spires and crosses,
indicated the two neighboring hamlets of Palos and Cabezas. Away and
beyond were woods and fields on either side, stretching far as the eye
could reach; and at the very horizon were narrow threads of sparkling
blue, which the marquis assured us were the Caribbean Sea on the one
side and the Atlantic Ocean on the other. We lingered to rest, and
admire a scene so grand and beautiful, until warned by brilliant clouds
and freshening breezes that the day was almost spent; then turned our
backs on the lovely vision and reluctantly descended.

It was during this expedition that Ellie saw the haunts of the veiled
owl, a rare and handsome bird with a dusky shimmer over its white
plumage, like a gossamer web. The gallant host eagerly offered to
secure her a pair of young ones for pets, little dreaming, perhaps, how
difficult the task--their nests being constructed in such inaccessible
and inhospitable places that even a _maja_ or _jutia_ (the serpent and
the mammoth rat) would scarcely venture to intrude.

It was night, and the moon was flooding the whole landscape with a
brilliant light, that made visible every inequality in the narrow
road that led to Desengaño, when we bade our courteous host _adios_;
and, while he gallantly raised the broad top of the _volante_ so as
to exclude all the light possible, charged us to be careful not to
“receive de moon.” On one occasion he “did receive de moon, and it turn
de features of his face quite a--round.”

Ellie and I with difficulty restrained our merriment over the quaint
conceit, until we were quite beyond the hearing of the marquis, who
stood on the veranda watching the _volante_ until it vanished from
sight. But Zell, our _calisero_, assured us that it was really very
dangerous to expose one’s self to the direct rays of that luminary.
“Why, I am keerful to kiver over my hog-pens dese nights, I is. If a
hog even lays in de moon all night, next mornin’ his snout is turned
clean ’round under one ear! No, I never seed one dat way, but dat’s
what dey tell me; and, ef you notis, you never see no animal ’bout
here laying ’sleep in de moon; oven de lizards, dey creeps under de
leaves and in de rocks. Don’t you ’member dat time in Havana, when
Captin-Gin’ral Mansano went to dat big dinner down to Marianao, and
stayed eatin’ and drinkin’ till ’most mornin’, den he rid home in a
open kerridge, and dropped dead de very next day? Well, dat was fur
ridin’ in de moon.”

The marquis long since retired to his native Spain. Oppressive
taxation, together with extravagant habits and luxurious tastes,
overwhelmed him, and the carelessly managed “peek-a-neek” plantation
was sold for debt. He used to say, “My engine walk well.” It walked out
of his possession years ago, and not even a Hamlet’s ghost of all his
Cuban wealth remains to mock him.




                            CHAPTER XXVIII.

     FERTILITY OF THE SOIL--WORK DURING SUGAR-MAKING--FIRE IN THE
                             CANE-FIELDS.


Generation after generation of thriftless Cubans cultivated the same
fields, with but slight diminution in the harvests; and the belief
in the inexhaustibility of the soil was so universal, that the land
was neither enriched, nor allowed to rest, until the evidence of the
long-continued drain became very apparent. Our own was one of the
estates that had been “overworked”--first in coffee, then in cane; and
realizing the necessity of thorough fertilization, we, like others,
used cane-stalk ashes and sugar-skimmings, the immense accumulation of
which, during the grinding season, filled a large pool, in which the
mixture remained till thoroughly rotted, when it was freely spread upon
the land. The coral formation of the mountain-range was pierced with
innumerable caves, affording safe retreats for myriads of owls, bats,
and jutias. In all these caverns was a fertilizing deposit, possibly
the accumulation of centuries. Convinced of its value, samples were
sent to the United States, where the analysis more than confirmed
the most sanguine expectations. Lack of transportation facilities
prevented utilizing it, as we hoped, for exportation; but the judicious
application on many exhausted fields brought forth vigorous growth.

By the liberal use of fertilizers, thus within our reach, the soil
soon regained pristine fruitfulness, yielding crops largely in excess
of what had ever been produced before--averaging nearly four thousand
pounds of sugar and two hundred gallons of molasses per acre. Cane is
often grown in large tracts never touched by a plow, the surface of the
ground being so entirely covered with soft, porous rocks that the cane
can only be planted between the stones by the aid of a pick, one joint
deposited in each hole, and only cultivated with a grubbing-hoe; yet it
yielded abundantly. We had several acres of cane on the mountain-top,
planted in such a rocky field that scarcely any soil was visible, yet
the growth was luxuriant and the yield satisfactory. The cane from this
elevation was slid down the steep mountain-side in an immense chute
prepared for the purpose.

The fertility of the soil is almost beyond comprehension. Weeds and
grass grow luxuriantly, and it requires the utmost diligence to keep
the ground free from tangled vegetation till the cane attains a height
sufficient to make a shade in which the weeds can not flourish. Cane
once planted, and properly cultivated and cared for while young and
tender, will yield good crops year after year. We made excellent sugar
from cane that we were solemnly assured had not been replanted in forty
years. Sweet-potato vines live for many years, bearing abundantly;
in time the product deteriorates in quality, becoming misshapen and
tasteless, so at long intervals the plant has to be renewed. One
banana planted--they are propagated from the stalk, and not from the
seed--bears within twelve months a cluster of fruit, and perishes; but
from the root spring a half-dozen stalks; each bears its one cluster,
dies, and sends up its half-dozen sprouts. So there is a rapidly
increasing renewal from the one original plant. Many plants that are
annuals in the United States become perennials in Cuba. The blossoms
sometimes diminish but more often increase in size. Tomatoes grow wild
through the fields and by the fence-borders; they are to be had the
year round. The fruit is very small and seedless, but the taste is the
same, and, for seasoning, very freely used. There are myriads of wild
flowers and blossoming vines of brilliant colors through the woods and
on the rocky hill-sides. A species of bean, whose flowers are as large
and variously colored as pansies, is to be found in the early autumn,
covering every fence with its luxuriant drapery, and making it “a
thing of beauty.” Lily-bulbs, in quiet field-corners or shady spots,
send up their long, thick stems topped with brilliant red or purple
blossoms. Morning-glories tie slender tendrils round the growing cane,
and hang their delicate pink and blue cups on every blade, and in dewy
mornings the glistening web of the field-spider is spread over all like
a dazzling veil. Few of these beautiful flowers have any fragrance,
but the air is always redolent with the odor of blooming and ripening
fruits. Strange though it may appear, the brilliant-plumaged birds that
frequent those woods are not singers. A rooster rarely crows unless he
is of the fighting breed, and a hen never cackles when an egg is laid.

The amount of work accomplished during the six winter months was
enormous and varied. Every operation, from the planting of cane to the
shipping of sugar, was in progress at the same time. As the cane--to
be ground--was cut and hauled away, the field was taken possession of
by the _boyero_ to herd and feed his oxen, and they followed day by
day in the wake of the cane-cutters. The slender cane-tops, and leaves
that grow along the stalk, form the only food the cattle receive in
winter, though in time the saccharine matter contained therein destroys
the teeth. In two weeks after the oxen gleaned a field, young cane
sprouted up, straight and stiff like asparagus-shoots, till all was
covered with a carpet of delicate green; then the plows and hoes were
used to destroy the weeds that crept in among the tender cane-sprouts.
Meanwhile cane was being hauled in heavy wagons all day long to the
sugar-house, passed through the powerful mill, that crushed it to a
pulp; the extracted juice was carried through troughs to the kettles
and boiled; the newly made sugar was shoveled into hogsheads, placed
over the molasses-cistern to drain eight or ten days, then “headed up”
and shipped to the city by cars.

The pressed cane-stalks, spread over the ground, were tossed in the
sun to dry for fuel. Men were plowing, hoeing, cutting cane, loading
wagons, driving teams, boiling, skimming, stirring fuel, filling
hogsheads, and driving wagons to the depot loaded with sugar and
molasses, day after day. For manifest reasons, no insurance could be
effected on plantation property; therefore the planters deposited
their produce in city warehouses as rapidly as possible. Our hogsheads
were all made from staves and heads shipped direct from Maine, and
put together by Chinese in our cooper-shop. Casks to contain molasses
were furnished by a merchant in Matanzas (the great molasses market),
whose warehouses were provided with enormous tanks into which the casks
were emptied, then returned to be filled again. We had a well-equipped
carpenter-shop and blacksmith’s forge, and mechanics, mostly among our
own laborers, who were equal to almost any emergency. Other plantations
around us were similarly provided and managed. There was daily more
or less of _borrowing_ going on; though only a matter of sixty miles
from Havana, it was often impossible to obtain from the city the aid
required in a sudden emergency. The planters were generous, kindly,
and mutually helpful in cases when extra assistance was needed, often
sending their own mechanics and sugar-makers if necessary.

Six months of tireless activity was conducted with clock-work
regularity. The bell tolled the hours of meals, and changes of watch
day and night. No one, from Lamo in the house to the cattle-tenders
in the field (except the delicate women), had more than six hours for
sleep during the twenty-four.

After the first week, all became accustomed to the change; and, by the
end of the season, every living creature was rounder and fatter, except
the hard-worked oxen. These had to be sent at once to a _potrero_
(grazing-farm), and boarded at the rate of a dollar a month, until the
next busy season.

Toward the end of winter all vegetation, albeit _green_, was parched
and dusty; the cane-leaves hung from the stalks in dry and curled
shreds. A carelessly dropped match, or a half-extinguished cigar, often
caused a conflagration that swept over acres, and destroyed property
worth thousands of dollars. From the veranda we had a commanding view
of the broad plain which spread from the mountain to the sea, and
scarcely a day passed that ascending smoke did not indicate burning
cane-fields, sometimes in two or three widely separated places.

While a fire on an adjoining plantation was an excitement, it did not
compare with the intense alarm created by one in our own fields. The
first shout of “_Fuego!_” and loud peal of the bell, started every
one to his feet. Several horses were kept saddled, and others hitched
under the sugar-house shed, for such emergency. So well did they
know the signal of the bell at an unusual hour, that with the first
taps they were frantic to start, and, if a rider did not immediately
appear, sometimes broke loose and ran at the top of their speed in the
direction of the fire. At the first alarm, Lamo, Henry, and Zell, were
on the saddled horses, and off at a sweeping gallop. I snatched the
key from its hook and hurried to unlock the store-room, where Ciriaco
and Martha stood ready, each side the door, to distribute _machetes_
(cane-knives)--always kept in reserve for such an emergency--to the
men who were at work about the sugar-house. Those first ready mounted
the tethered horses, sometimes two or three on one animal, and were
off like the wind. It was an unwritten law that a fire-alarm _must_
command an immediate response from laborers, white and black, on every
plantation in sound of the bell. Before the echoes of our signal had
died away, Brito’s hands could be seen pouring pell-mell down the
mountain-side, followed by the ardent Don José himself, on horseback,
urging them forward; from the right, Valera’s workmen, _machete_ in
hand, tumbled over the low rock fence and aloe hedge that divided the
two estates; while from another direction came Don Pancho, on his fiery
stallion, brandishing his sword, and hurrying the entire force of the
“Josefita” to the scene of action.

The excitement was intense and wide-spread. Steam is shut off, fires
hastily raked from under the sugar-kettles, and all work at the
sugar-house abandoned. Every hand that could wield a _machete_ sped to
the fiery fields, only a few white employés remaining in the vicinity
of the buildings.

With straining eyes and bated breath the handful of us left at the
house stood upon the veranda and watched the black volume of smoke
rise in dense clouds and spread like a pall over the place where the
brilliant flames were shooting heavenward in fiery, forked tongues.
The shouted orders of the _mayorals_ rose above the crackling sounds
of destruction. By the aid of a field-glass we followed the rapid
riding hither and thither, and rushing of hands with the glistening
_machetes_, as the fitful wind changed from side to side. Sometimes an
erect rider, with uplifted sword, was revealed against such a brilliant
background of flame and rose-tinted smoke, that he seemed enveloped
with the fiery element. Breathlessly we watched, passing the glass from
one to another! How nervous and anxious we were, lest the flakes of
fire, swept by a whirlwind through the air, might fall among dry leaves
and increase the conflagration, and truly thankful when the diminished
smoke and flame indicated a victory; and later saw the negroes, all
begrimed and drenched with the sweat of toil, who had been fighting the
fire inch by inch until it was subdued, turn their faces toward the
house, where a refreshing dram of _aguadiente_ (native rum) was waiting
for them! The planters and _mayorals_ rode around the charred field,
estimating the number of acres burned, that they might be fully advised
whether we required assistance in cutting and hauling the scorched cane
that stood in blackened, serried ranks, forming a melancholy blot in
the midst of the universal verdure that hemmed it in on every side. Our
generous neighbors were ready with men and teams to help, if more cane
was injured than could be put under shelter in a week; longer delay, or
a rain, rendered it sour and worthless.

The whole party adjourned to the veranda, all more or less disheveled
and begrimed, some having lost their hats, and others singed their
beards, in the fierce conflict, but all in good-humor; and, while
partaking of coffee, extended their sympathy in our loss, and freely
offered further assistance if needful.

In the United States, under similar circumstances, some more
stimulating beverage than coffee would have been in “good form”; but,
after such fatigue and exposure, it would not have been accepted in
Cuba. While it is the custom of a Cuban to offer you his house and all
that therein is when you call, or his _volante_-horses if you chance to
admire them, or his watch if you cast a glance at it when he tells you
the hour, there lies beneath all this effusion, which to matter-of-fact
people seems so unmeaning and absurd, a genuine kindness of heart.
You are not expected to accept the horses or watch; it is only their
Oriental way of signifying a desire to serve you. Our neighbors, who
had so promptly responded to our signal of danger, however, were not
like the disappointed and chagrined Frenchman, who “did offer his
_voiture_ for _la politesse_, and he took it for ride!”

The offer of laborers and teams was a frequent occurrence, in fact a
business accommodation, and meant more than _la politesse_--it meant
just what was expressed. While in such emergencies Lamo had on several
occasions suspended work, in order to loan for a day all of Desengaño’s
available force to a neighbor, it had always happened that we were able
to triumph over misfortune without placing ourselves under similar
obligations.




                             CHAPTER XXIX.

   DON RUANO’S COFFEE ESTATE--COFFEE-MILLS AND COFFEE-POTS--WASTE OF
                   FRUITS--DON RUANO AND HIS MOTHER.


We rode to Don Francisco Ruano’s coffee estate, hoping to hire a few
hands from him to tide over the unexpected rush of work. The Don, with
his octogenarian mother, had lived many years on a small and neatly
managed _cafetal_, whose boundaries touched Desengaño. The Don never
ventured farther from home than the depot or nearest village; and the
aged _señora su madre_ had not been beyond the limits of her domain for
so long that she--like many others of advanced life in that voluptuous
land--had lost all desire to move. The avenue to the house was bordered
with straggling, rough-barked cocoa-palms, loaded at all seasons with
the valuable nuts that grew, ripened, and rotted in great bunches on
the trees year after year. A coffee estate is necessarily a fruit-farm
also. Coffee is a delicate plant, requiring heat tempered with shade,
and, as it grows in long rows of detached shrubs on the cleanly kept
ground, tall, broad-spreading avenues of fruit-trees shelter it from
the direct rays of the scorching sun.

A well-kept _cafetal_--and it has to be well kept, else it goes rapidly
to ruin--is like a beautiful, symmetrical garden, planted with utmost
precision.

The foliage is a light green; the leaves are small, and grow along
the straight, slender branches in clusters; while the broad-spreading
boughs of the towering trees, of a darker and richer green, cast their
refreshing shade over all. Coffee is of slow and delicate growth. The
plant is four to six years old before it begins to bear fruit. Once
matured, it continues to increase in value and capacity for, perhaps,
fifteen or twenty years before it deteriorates, and the necessity
of renewal is apparent. In the late spring the shrubs are thickly
sprinkled with a shower of white blossoms, somewhat resembling in form
and fragrance those of the orange. When the petals of these flowers
strew the ground, tiny green buds appear in great profusion the whole
length of the slender branches, turning red like holly-berries as they
increase rapidly in size, bending the boughs down with their weight.
These transformations take place during the rainy season, and through
that period a _cafetal_ is wonderfully beautiful and fragrant.

The first clear days in October, the berries, then the size of small
hazel-nuts, are carefully harvested in immense flat baskets and spread
upon a broad paved court to dry in the sun, protected from chance
showers during the day and drenching dews at night by being heaped
into piles under sheds or covered with heavy cloths. Any moisture
during the drying process rots and ruins the berry. At Don Ruano’s the
drying _patio_ was under his mother’s supervision, and the old lady
found occupation in watching the coffee, seeing that it was frequently
stirred so that each grain received its due proportion of sun and heat,
and that it was also protected from dampness.

All through the country coffee is sold in the hull, which contains two
grains laid face to face, covered with a brown, dry husk, from which it
is easily separated.

The door of every country-house, be it dwelling or _bodega_, is
ornamented by the unattractive but useful coffee-mortar with its clumsy
wooden pestle, and a sieve made of pita caruja hangs by its side, in
which the contents of the mortar are tossed in the wind and the light
husks blown away, leaving the firm, hard berry.

One of the sights that arrests the eye of a stranger in Cuba is the
multitude of bags hanging at the door of every little shop and for sale
at every step in the country as well as in the towns--bags of coarse
red flannel, fitted with a hoop around the top and terminating in a
point at the bottom; bags of every size, from those that would contain
only a pint to others with the capacity of many gallons. These are the
coffee-pots of Cuba, from which come the most delicious draughts of
that much-prized and much-disparaged beverage. Half filled with finely
pulverized coffee and suspended from a hook on the wall, cold water is
gently poured on from time to time till the whole mass is saturated.
The first drops which fall into the receiver placed beneath the bag are
thick and black. One spoonful in a cup of boiling milk yields a draught
of coffee that is deliciousness itself, such as is not to be found in
any other land. The red bag hangs day and night, and the process of
dripping coffee is ceaseless. All classes and ages offer and drink it
freely as we do water. The wealthiest banker in his gilded palace and
the poorest peasant in his scanty hut use the same red flannel bag
and drink the same coffee. It is quite as rich and delicious served
in coarse pottery in the _bodegas_ about the market-places, where the
workmen assemble in the early dawn, as in the dainty Sèvres at “El
Louvre” or “La Dominica,” where the _élite_ tarry the night away. So
universal is its use that the _mayorals_, _boyeros_, cartmen, and,
indeed, every class of white laborers on plantations, exact their cup
of coffee before they begin the work of the day.

After the harvest, the coffee-plants which were not disturbed during
the summer are carefully weeded, the decayed and decaying fruit
removed, and the ground kept cleanly _swept_. Mamey, marmocillo,
zapote, and aguacate trees are by reason of their splendid shade the
chosen growth of a _cafetal_. The fruit of all is rich, juicy, and
greatly prized in the cities, while in the country the abundance is
in many instances a nuisance and an expense. While Don Ruano had men
employed in carrying off baskets of fruit to be cast away and we had
barrow-loads of lemons wheeled from our garden, no way was provided by
which this superabundance could be transported to a market. The cities
received their supplies entirely through private enterprise, either by
trains of pack-horses or by small vessels from one port to another,
whose traffic, always hampered, was now almost suspended by military
espionage and exactions. Therefore tropical fruits were often more
expensive in Havana than in many interior cities of the United States.

With a railroad, connecting Havana with Matanzas and Union, passing
so near that the smoke of the engine could always be seen and the
rattle of the passing train often heard from his door-step, there were
no facilities for Don Ruano to ship his fruit. We occasionally made
the attempt to send Don Anastasio (our invalid merchant) a basket
of zapotes; but, no matter how well secured and sealed or carefully
dispatched, the basket invariably reached its destination with
diminished contents. As freight on small packages must be prepaid, and
no guarantee was given by the railroad company (then under military
control), of course there could be no reclamation. I presume that Don
Ruano never dreamed of patronizing the road at such risks.

The Don had a comfortable, simple country home. All the cots and
bed-room furnishings were sunning by the side of the house as we
entered. The old señora, in a low-neck, almost sleeveless muslin
garment, too infirm and obese to rise from her chair without great
effort, received us most cordially, and ordered _la mulata_, as she
called her chocolate attendant, to pass me the cigars and a taper.
Every morning it was her devoted son’s first duty to make, with his own
fingers, cigars for his mother’s use during the day. They were long
and thick, dark and strong, but limited in number to six. The señora
mentioned, as though it were an indication of praiseworthy self-denial,
that she never allowed herself to exceed that number. Don Ruano, with
his white linen shirt starched stiff as pasteboard and glistening with
polish, the skirt hanging in unyielding drapery over his pantaloons,
was as courtly and gracious as a dancing-master. A sugar-planter’s
harvest begins after that of a _cafetero_ ends, and from the latter
the planter recruits the extra workmen required. From this neighbor we
hired all the extra laborers we needed for our busy season, and in any
emergency he cheerfully increased the number for a limited time. With
Henry’s aid he was informed of our urgent need of any workmen he could
spare for a month, and we were assured, with hand on his immaculate
shirt-bosom and a thousand protestations of undying friendship, that we
not only could command all the laborers he had, but his house and all
its contents were also at our disposal!




                             CHAPTER XXX.

     HOUSE-BUILDING ANTS--ELLIE’S YOUNG OWLS--HENRY SAYS “ADIOS.”


Henry delighted in repairing to the bench under the zapote-trees in
the garden with his lesson-books, pretending that the quiet of that
retreat was conducive to mental application, but most of his time was
employed in watching the movements of certain large ants that had great
subterranean caves under his feet. The industrious little insects
were not compelled, like the historic ant, to lay up winter stores,
therefore their energies were spent in house-decorations. Their nests
were huge excavations, lateral galleries leading to roomy chambers. In
many places the ground for a considerable space was honey-combed with
their abodes. The apertures on the surface were so small and usually
concealed or protected by leaves that they were not visible, and
passers-by could scarcely realize that they were treading over myriads
of busy lives when they walked the carefully swept paths of the garden.
Henry, book in hand, would sit hour after hour on the bench, curiously
watching the march of long processions of these _hormigas_ issuing
from a minute, obscure hole in the ground, moving, with the regularity
and precision of trained troops, in a direct line to the base of a
small orange or pomegranate tree, that had already been ascended by
an advance corps, and which, with their sharp mandibles, they were
rapidly denuding of foliage. The small particles of leaves that fell
in showers to the ground were _shouldered_ in a position to utilize
the propelling power of any air in circulation, and the long, brown
retinue was rapidly converted into a fluttering green ribbon, threading
another route to their home. So wonderfully methodical and orderly
were they, that the little green sails were of uniform size, and the
returning legions marched without a straggler. Henry, boy-like, amused
himself by placing obstructions in their pathway. If only a stick, they
boldly trudged over it; if a stone or some seemingly insurmountable
barrier, the whole army halted in line, while a few scouts went forward
to examine the enemy’s works and report; frequently a _détour_ was
decided upon, to fall into line again as soon as practicable. These
fresh, green leaves furnished their houses with not only floor but wall
decorations. Repairs completed, the colony retired behind their gates,
and there remained in peaceful seclusion until the nests required
renovating. Then all the withered _débris_ was laboriously brought to
the surface, scattered broadcast, and everything within made ready
for new furnishing. There was frequently cause to complain of their
depredations. They destroyed or bodily removed the seeds of certain
vegetables as often as they were deposited in the ground, and the young
sprouts of many others when they appeared above the surface. They
made their excavations through the fields also, but their presence
resulted in no injury to the cane. Our merchant, Don Anastasio, assured
me that in some parts of the island these insects were so numerous
and destructive that their nests frequently extended beneath the
foundations and undermined large stone houses, rendering them so unsafe
that the buildings had to be abandoned!

Great excavations were made with spades down into the recesses of the
ants and the places filled with fire and brimstone, but even these
violent measures seemed to make no appreciable diminution in their
numbers, though millions must have been destroyed; in a week or two
they were as numerous and destructive as ever. The dainty little
_tomiguins_, that flew like canaries all about the garden, fearless
as birds become that are never molested, often pierced an orange with
their sharp little bills and extracted the juice; then a corps of
_hormigas_ followed and robbed it of the pulp; so an orange, “fair to
see” as it hung in its golden beauty among the clustering green leaves,
was often light and deceptive as a toy balloon.

Henry’s love of the whole animal kingdom was gratified in some
measure by a choice collection of gay-plumaged birds that he kept in
cages made of the delicate twigs of the _caña brava_ (wild cane).
Our friendly neighbors were constantly adding to the number, and one
end of the veranda was devoted to his pets. Don José sent him a cage
of ring-doves, whose mournful cooing always reminded my homesick
husband of the days when he was a boy in a Western clearing. To these
the generous Don added a number of pure white Guinea-fowls, and a
pair of rabbits; the latter we colonized on the mountain, but they
did not possess the agility of the _jutias_, and the hungry _majas_
eventually destroyed them. It had been Henry’s desire to find a nest of
the beautiful veiled owl, and secure the young, which he hoped to be
able to tame. The marquis had maintained an ominous silence regarding
the pair promised Ellie, though doubtless he made every effort to
compass their capture. One day, however, a _guajiro_ whose services
had been enlisted, presented himself, the fortunate possessor of two
very young birds which he desired to offer to the señorita. Almost
naked of plumage, with heads of abnormal size, and great, bulging
eyes, they were, of course, very unattractive; but the full-grown owl
is so handsome that Ellie eagerly accepted the gift, and used every
effort to tame them. As they grew, they became so vicious and snappish
that she found it hazardous to approach, even with caresses. No downy
white feathers appeared; they were long-legged and skinny, and Henry
began to ask Ellie if it was not time for her owls to put on their
veils and conceal their nakedness! Don Ruano called one morning, on
business bent, and seeing the forlorn birds with blinking eyes and
drooping heads, their legs tied with long strings to the banisters of
the veranda, innocently inquired of Henry what we intended to do with
those buzzards! Ellie, who had already dawning suspicions of their
genuineness, was horrified, and the dejected creatures were removed by
Zell, who “’low’d he know’d all de time dem was buzzards, or sum’thin’
wuss.”

Scarcely a day passed that news was not brought our boy of some
attractive out-door sport. The discovery of a tree filled with
wild honey made from the flowers of the banana, orange, or other
fruit-trees, the most fragrant in odor, delicate in color, and
delicious in taste in the world, was sure to take him to the woods and
bring him back laden with spoils.

Permission having been tacitly given to use fire-arms, his gun was in
constant requisition, and excursions in search of game or adventure
were temptations hard to resist. With all these distractions, added to
the frequent calls of importance made upon Henry as interpreter and to
transact many minor details of business, it became evident that there
were too frequent interruptions to render a continuous course of study
possible while living on the plantation. Naturally bright and studious
as he was, the necessity of the discipline and application enforced
by an academic course was too apparent to be ignored. When he was
fourteen we felt compelled to make the sacrifice, an unusually great
one, of parting from him. Lamo felt that it was hardly in the bounds
of possibility to spare the boy, who had been at our side through all
these vicissitudes, not only a dear son, but a valued assistant who had
become well-nigh indispensable, but there was no other alternative than
to send him to the United States to school.

In July he took a lingering farewell of all his boyish pets. His gun
was carefully oiled and put away, with injunctions not to let it be
disturbed. The little pet _tomiguins_ that had been trained to hop on
his finger and peck seed from his mouth, were set free in the garden.
The pigeons that flocked daily at the sound of his voice were called
and fed from a basket of rice for the last time. Old Mish, the cat,
that nestled in his arms every night, had a last nap in that cozy
embrace. The pony had his last gallop up the mountain, and Bob brought
the last wounded dove, at his young master’s bidding. To all the
neighbors he made farewell calls. The kind old priest in the village,
who was found sipping his _vino Colorado_, and playing cards with some
of his parishioners, when “Enrique” called to bid him _adios_, rose and
solemnly laid his hand upon the boy’s head and blessed him.

When the hour for departure arrived, he mounted his pony and galloped
down the avenue. Passing through the _Josefita_ plantation, he paused
at the hospitable house, where the tender-hearted Caridad was found
waiting with tearful eyes and open arms to embrace him. Don Pancho
mounted the white stallion, already saddled at the door, and rode
by his side to the depot; while bluff, brawny McClocky, the Scotch
engineer, who had made so many helpful visits to Desengaño, threw
his old cap after him, shouting, “God bless ye, me boy!” A goodly
number of _guajiros_, headed by Manuel and Pio, his companions in
many a woodland expedition and field-hunt, were already assembled at
the _paradero_. Henry had endeared himself to all classes. Full of
enthusiasm for boyish sports and adventures, he was the _beau-idéal_ of
every _guajiro_. “_Adios! Enrique!_” “_Adios, amigo mio!_” echoed again
and again through the air, as the cars rumbled off from the depot, and
a last glimpse was had for a long time of his home surroundings--a home
that was ever strange to us, but the home of the boy’s childhood, was
very dear to him. How desolate it became after his departure he never
knew.




                             CHAPTER XXXI.

          BEAUTIFUL OCTOBER--VIEW FROM THE MOUNTAIN--TERRIBLE
                        TEMPORAL--DEVASTATION.


October was upon us. The summer rains had ceased, the air was full
of the odor of fruit and fruit-blossoms by day, and overpowering,
when the shades of evening fell, with the fragrance of the brilliant,
white, night-blooming cereus, which flung its exuberant wealth of
golden stamens in prodigal profusion over the coral-rock fences that
bounded the grassy lawn. All nature that never donned a russet or
yellow coat, or dropped a withered leaf, bloomed forth in freshly
washed green. Vines, that had hung their heads under beating showers
for six months, took heart again, and ran riot over the fences, and
hung in long, tangled, graceful festoons from tree to tree, draping
the rocky mountain’s sides with curtains of verdure besprinkled with
gorgeous blossoms of crimson and gold; while aloft on the mountain-top,
in every tree nestled the beautiful dark-green parasites of the
tropics, hanging in clusters, here and there and everywhere; with the
overflowing abundance that Nature so lavishly provided in Cuba, there
was sustenance for all, so that the idle parasite, that had nothing to
do but exhibit its beautiful self, did not diminish the vitality of the
generous tree on which it feasted.

The rasping notes of the wild Guinea-fowl and the sharp whistle of
the quail were heard all through the cane-fields, where the long,
sweeping leaves had tenderly sheltered their nests, and now they were
coming forth with abundant broods. The tiny yellow _tomiguin_, with his
musical chirp, the brown _arriero_ (mule-driver), with his two long,
slender tail-feathers and his strident call; the gorgeously plumaged
_tocalor_ (every color), nestled in the mango-trees, swung upon the
slender branches of the mimosa, and flew joyously over our heads; while
the buzzards that we jestingly claimed were entitled to be emblazoned
on our coat-of-arms, as at least one was forever to be seen perched on
the arch at the end of the avenue, sailed in grand and graceful curves
over and above all.

The mountain-range that runs like a backbone through the length of Cuba
was only a quarter of a mile east of our dwelling, and a ride or walk
up the steep sides well repaid a lover of nature. From the summit there
spread before us an extended view of Oriental loveliness and exquisite
beauty. At our feet limitless cane-fields hung their light-green
leaves, topped here and there with erect torches of blossoming seed
that shimmered and glistened in the sun like molten silver. In the
distance, amid the intense green of fruit-trees and whole avenues of
kingly palms, towering chimneys of sugar-houses and groups of modest
buildings marked the domain of neighboring planters. Far off to the
right a broad expanse of still darker green revealed a coffee estate.
To the left a tiny church-spire surmounted by a white cross denoted the
village home of the captain and the _cura_, who exercised controlling
influence in all matters temporal and spiritual, considerately
relieving the docile population of that grandly beautiful country from
all responsibility in the present and the future. The cerulean dome,
scarcely flecked by a single fleecy cloud, stretching from zenith to
horizon, the gently undulating landscape, the soft, hazy, languid
atmosphere, the faint zephyrs redolent with perfume, suggested Arcadian
peace and rest.

September, which so often took a boisterous farewell, retired with
gracious smiles, and it seemed that every bird and bush felt safer when
she was gone; but September had left a legacy to the incoming month.

Almost imperceptibly the air became still, oppressive in its stillness;
not a leaf stirred in the topmost branches of the tall palms, whose
feathery summits danced and tossed in every breeze. They became as
painted trees on a painted landscape. Birds were to be seen restless
and flying aimlessly about; horses whinnied and stamped and pulled from
their halters under the shed where they were tied. Old Mish, the cat,
came mewing pitifully around and refused to be comforted. Dogs whined
and howled, got up and turned around, only to lie down again, as though
too nervous and restless to be still a moment. All nature was wretched
and uncomfortable. The atmosphere became preternaturally transparent,
and objects long distances off were revealed as though seen through
a powerful field-glass. The total lack of vitality in the air made
its very inhalation an effort. Cattle about the fields drifted in a
restless manner to their pens and huddled together. Sheep found shelter
in their mountain-cave, where they stood with noses to the ground; bugs
and ants crept in through the doors and windows which had been flung
wide open to catch the faintest breath of air.

The most inanimate of created things seemed to share in the depression.
Leaves of trees curled and drooped, and flowers closed their limp
petals as though a sirocco had swept over them.

Suddenly all was flurry and excitement to prepare for the cyclone
that even the very lizards knew was coming. Sledge-hammers, axes, and
immense timbers were hastily brought inside the house. We rapidly
prepared to occupy and defend the three front rooms only. Ciriaco
brought in some cold meat and bread, brandy, _aguadiente_, and a pail
of water, which were deposited in a corner of the parlor.

The rear of the house was closely barred and secured in the strongest
way possible. There was a sudden and hurried rush into the various
buildings. Chinese and negroes fled to their respective barracoons
and fastened themselves in. Lamo, with two white men in our employ,
and several trusty, stalwart negroes, waited to see that all were
protected, thoroughly safe as possible, barely allowing themselves time
to rush into the house and close the last windows when the hurricane
broke upon us. The wind rose in great, howling gusts, and swooped down
and around with tumultuous roar like the booming of cannon. A rattle
and a bang, as though we were being assaulted with battering-rams
on one side the house, and all rushed to the threatened windows to
secure them with great solid timbers driven by sledge-hammers into the
polished floor, and forced against the massive panels of the shutters
that closed from within. A rushing and a whizzing sound, broken into
a prolonged roar, admonished us that the wind had veered, and now
the opposite windows were threatened; before they could be properly
secured, a great rattling and howling at the door drove every one with
axes, sledge-hammers, and timbers to the front of the house. So the
wind whirled round and round, stopping at every door and window to blow
a louder and more startling blast. Like a great giant battling for
admission, or a besieging army attacking first on one side, then on
another, then all around at once, in the determination to carry the
defenses by storm, the merciless wind fought. We knew only too well
that if it gained admission, the house would be wrecked; one of its
mighty blasts could lift the very stone roof.

Meanwhile, except for a single candle in a corner, so shielded for fear
of sudden gusts that it only served to make darkness visible, we were
without any light. A panel a few inches square, hung on hinges in a
front shutter, was our only means of obtaining a glimpse of the outside
world, and we dared not open this while the storm was doing its utmost.
For thirty hours we bravely and unceasingly defended the besieged
castle--thirty hours of mortal terror and incessant vigilance--before
the giant, with one last, deafening howl, diminished the force of the
attack, and gave us one moment’s peace. Cautiously taking hurried
peeps through the little panel, while the tornado was whirling with
fearful impetuosity through a roseate atmosphere, the very wind seemed
a tangible pink element sweeping everything before it. _Débris_ of
every kind was being borne upon its mighty wings. Great sheets of
metal roofing from the sugar-house went careering along like scraps of
paper; huge palm-trees whirled aloft and away like straws; while tiles,
bricks, and smaller objects sailed with lightning rapidity across the
horizon like motes in a breeze, so utterly insignificant were they
in the grasp of the mighty element. A few holes, wrenched through
the strong stone roof of the house, gave access to the rain, that now
poured down in blinding floods, and we were soon like Noah’s dove,
flying in vain search of a dry spot.

When at last, after thirty hours of exhaustive battle and mortal alarm,
our doors were once more thrown open, the scene of desolation was
beyond all powers of description. The boundless fields of waving cane,
that delighted our eyes only two days before, had entirely disappeared;
beaten flat down by the wind, the rapidly descending waters rushed
completely over them. The sugar-house was wholly unroofed; and for days
broad strips of the metal, bent as though Vulcan’s hammer had beaten
them into a thousand fantastic shapes, were brought from the fields
hundreds of yards away. Rock fences had been dashed to pieces and the
fragments strewed over the fields. The proud army of majestic palms,
that had for so many decades stood guard of our entrance, lost twenty
of its bravest veterans. The grand old bell, whose ringing peals so
often summoned help in the hour of danger, and whose gentle, solemn
toll always brought to my tired heart memories of peaceful Sabbath
days, lay shattered on the ground, its silvery tongue silenced forever!

Desolation was everywhere supreme. When the waters subsided (they ran
off into low places and partly filled creeks with surprising rapidity),
the negroes sallied forth from their long confinement. The first
move was to count all hands at the barracoons. Many had had wonderful
escapes, and it was a great satisfaction to ascertain that only one, a
Chinese, was missing. While the rushing waters were still several feet
deep, messengers on horseback were dispatched to search for him. He was
found extended upon a fragment of fence that surrounded the cattle-pen,
insensible, and in that condition brought to the house, hanging in
front of one of the riders. After rolling the poor, water-logged
fellow again and again on a bench, and rubbing him with dry mustard,
some evidence of life appeared. At the first signs of vitality copious
draughts of brandy were administered, and he soon entirely recovered.
The half-drowned cattle, that huddled together with the impulse of
brute instinct, began to hold up their beaten and weary heads. The
horses, that crowded into the sugar-house when it was under bare poles,
with the intuition that taught them they were safer there than in the
open field, escaped without serious injury. Basket after basket of
drowned and half-drowned fowls were brought to the house; many of them
had even their feathers wrenched out by the wind. The birds that had
flown, in gay plumage and joyous note, from tree to tree only a short
time before, were gone; hushed was the busy call of the Guinea fowl;
silent was the whistle of the quail--the angry winds had whirled them
away. A few buzzards, whose vitality is so proverbial--it is even
averred that a bullet can not kill one--were to be seen perched, day
after day, in a most dejected and melancholy attitude, on the remnants
of fences and posts, with scarcely a tail-or wing-feather left, naked
and shivering, too helpless and disheartened to hop down; to attempt to
fly would have been suicidal.

A walk through the house revealed broken and wrenched railings,
battered windows, and a court-yard strewed with stone and cement plowed
out of the roof by relentless winds. Everything was wet--each shoe
floated in its particular puddle, all our garments dripped, and every
chair-seat was soaked. Water ran in small streams over the floors; the
very beds were saturated; the occupancy of each little dry spot had
to be contested with ants, lizards, and scorpions that invaded the
premises by myriads.

I wondered, on first seeing Desengaño, why people in a mild, soft
climate should build a house solid as a castle, with walls three feet
thick; and I wondered, after that _temporal_, that any one dared to
live in a house less substantial and with less protection than massive
walls and a stone roof afford.

Long before securing any degree of comfort, we had to help our
neighbors, particularly the _guajiros_, who had a _sitio_ between us
and the village. Panchito and Manuel waded through the submerged roads
to tell that their houses were entirely blown away. The places were
washed and smoothed over all fresh and clean to begin again: four
holes and four uprights and some cross-poles, with a covering of green
palm-branches, made each as complete as it was before. We furnished
men and means to tide them over their losses. In the beginning of the
_temporal_, or rather when it threatened, they sought refuge in the
caves of the mountain-side, and a merciful Providence saved their lives
from destruction.

Under the warm rays of the sun the cane soon lifted crooked and bent
stalks, with their few remaining leaves whipped into shreds, and nature
slowly recovered from the fearful shock.

It was hard work to get the sugar-house in order to take off the crop,
greatly diminished though it was. Weeks passed before we were again
even moderately comfortable in the house. By and by the water-logged
trunks, the contents of drawers, and the soaked shoes, after long
exposure to the sun, dried, but the musty odor of mold never seemed
to depart from them. All the creeping things of the earth, and the
flying things that live in dark places, came upon us like a plague.
Ants and curious little split-tailed bugs swarmed by thousands, and
the floor was often marked with the black streak of the one battalion,
or the glittering yellow line of the other. Centipedes started from
under every pillow, and big-bodied spiders, with long, hairy legs, ran
from among the damp books, while the mosquitoes, that were always with
us, became more voracious and tormenting than ever. Cunning little
lizards, the least objectionable of all our reptile visitors, darted
about with their pretty emerald coats and shining black eyes, and the
glorious _cucullos_, with blazing lanterns on their heads, flew in and
out the open windows, when the shades of night revealed the brilliancy
of their tiny lamps.




                            CHAPTER XXXII.

            DULLNESS--ISOLATION--WEARINESS--CUBA, FAREWELL!


A Cuban life is intolerably monotonous to one who has always known
activity and enterprise. In the cities there are amusements and
distractions, though of a very insipid and languid nature, but in the
country the dullness is oppressive. We wearied of the eternal soft,
mild air; the never-varying green of the landscape; the perpetual
equable temperature that made the thinnest linen comfortable--the
seasons only varied by dry and wet--the dry very dry and dusty, and
the wet--very wet and muddy. The country roads are so narrow that
the constant travel with loaded ox-teams all winter cuts them into
deep ruts, and the summer rain soon makes them well-nigh impassable.
A climate like this palls upon one who has been accustomed to the
variations of the temperate zone. Unchanging verdure is like the
everlasting, simpering smile on a pretty woman’s face--so constant as
to become meaningless and insipid.

We wearied of the senseless platitudes of our few visitors, and of
the foreign tongue, that, with all its smoothly flowing euphony,
could never be to our ears as sweet as the voices of our fatherland.
In our isolation, every new book, magazine article, or newspaper
topic, started a discussion that enlivened the table at meals from one
steamer-day to the next; and even a quaint advertisement was commented
upon, giving food for thought and speech other than the details of the
plantation, that were becoming so tiresome and threadbare.

As Ellie and I could not spend all our leisure in reading--neither of
us being particularly literary or studious--the wonderfully brilliant
heavens offered attractive astronomical research, and with the aid
of an odd volume of Dick’s “System”--the only book on the subject we
had, and a good field-glass--we were quite successful in locating the
position of stars and constellations, many of which are not visible in
more northern latitudes.

We had very little fancy-work. No Berlin wools work was needed in that
climate, so the materials were not procurable. The laborious drawing
of thread-in fine linen and embroidering over the drawn places in
delicate, cobwebby designs, so intricate that it makes one’s eyes ache
to look at them, had no charms for us, though it was the favorite
occupation of Cuban señoras. We embroidered conventional morning
glories and wheat on pillow-shams; scalloped flounces and dress-waists,
and made yards upon yards of senseless tatting, till we wearied
with the work. Sewing-thread could be had in abundance, and our busy
fingers produced wonderful tidies and spreads, for which we had no
use. There remains in my possession a round-table cover, five yards
in circumference, crochetted in Spanish sewing-thread--the center an
elaborate arrangement of pansies and fuchias, the border enlivened by
forty performing monkeys in the midst of acrobatic feats. This pure
white spread is not only valuable as a memento of a dull summer’s
occupation, but an ingenious specimen of handicraft accomplished with
scarcely an outline of instruction or pattern. Improvising a design to
widen from a center to a periphery of sixteen feet, though by no means
a slight undertaking, is diminutive compared with successful execution
of the work.

Martha had time to “take in” sewing, and Ellie and I amused ourselves
by designing--even frequently helping in the work itself--_tombo_
dresses for the African belles on the plantation. Any new occupation
that presented itself was eagerly welcomed. Zell brought us, from the
swamps in the rear of the marquis’s place, quantities of palmetto,
which we bleached in the sun, split into suitable widths, and braided
into hats, pressing the crowns into _shape_ by ironing them over a
perfectly _round_ tin pail! Soon every one had a brand-new palmetto
hat, which a few showers ruined.

Henry, who, with the keen perception of boyhood, saw so much in his
out-door life which brightened and cheered us, and whose incoming
always brought a breath of fresh air--was gone. The daily duty of
hearing him recite lessons amid countless interruptions that at the
time were so trying, was sadly missed now. His father walked in and out
of the rooms with a weary, listless air, missing the boy at every turn;
while Ellie ceased to care for the early morning rides which they had
so often enjoyed together.

Life was becoming a burden: we were wearying and losing heart; it
was not occupation we needed, it was recreation, but the only change
available in our dull lives was change of work. Ellie offered to teach
Zell and Martha to read, but Zell “low’d half dese here white folks
can’t read; I’se no time fur _dictionary_ work. While I’se settin’ down
readin’, who’s waitin’ on Lamo and ’terpretin’ fur him?” The faithful
soul, now that “little Mars Henry” was gone, followed Lamo around,
hoping to cheer and assist him in the varied occupations of the day.
Martha was more easily persuaded, but she was rather dull, and at the
end of a winter’s schooling, coming up every night with her book, had
only advanced to words with two syllables. So the experiment was not
very encouraging.

Finding Zell, now twenty years old, was casting amorous glances at a
dusky Maud Muller, who raked cane in the field, I suggested that, if
he contemplated marriage, it would be well to open a bank account,
for he was inclined to be extravagant with his money. Martha, whose
opportunities to spend her earnings were limited to an occasional visit
with me to Havana, also brought up her little savings. In return I
gave to each a note bearing ten per cent. interest. From time to time
they were encouraged in adding to the amount; and when, at the end of
the first year, the notes with accrued interest were renewed, and they
understood how the money “grow’d,” they became enthusiastic capitalists.

Notwithstanding our heroic efforts to amuse and divert the mind with
something to relieve us of the tiresome and busy routine of work,
we found in time that a radical change was imperatively necessary,
first to one, then to another, of the brave little household. Ellie,
who had so lovingly and unselfishly shared my burden and lightened
my cares, went home to her mother and remained several months. I had
made various short and rapid trips to New York, which were exceedingly
refreshing. Lamo, who felt his presence absolutely necessary at
Desengaño, as indeed it was, valiantly staid year after year at his
post, until his step began to falter, a paleness overspread his once
ruddy countenance, a tired, dull look crept into his eye, and the
faint smile that replaced his old cheery laugh, warned us there was a
limit to the endurance of even the bravest spirit. When I spoke firmly
and determinedly of a trip to the United States, insisted upon the
(somewhat imaginary) business that needed his personal attention, and
urged that the storm had so reduced the crop that it could easily be
harvested without his aid, I think he realized that a still stronger
motive was hidden in the proposition, and that his overtaxed mind
and body demanded an entire change of climate. Deeply regretting the
urgency of the step, he could no longer hesitate; and one of the
bravest acts of an unselfish life was, turning his back on Desengaño
for a whole six months, and leaving me there. Henry’s departure had
already sundered one of the ties that bound us to the Cuban home that
the boy loved so well. It was easy for us to break away after that. A
few years later we left the island forever.

During the latter years of our residence, and those that immediately
followed, military exactions and ruinous taxation crushed the life out
of Cuba.

The gradual emancipation of slaves was enforced, the importation of
coolies prohibited, and, as an inevitable sequence, an untold number of
valuable estates were abandoned by their impoverished owners, thereby
revolutionizing the entire financial and domestic status of the island.

Brito’s beautiful plantation, notwithstanding the rare administrative
ability of its owner, is to-day a forsaken wilderness; and the once
genial, whole-souled Don José, now broken-hearted, walks dejectedly
the roads he erst traveled in such magnificent state.

The buildings of the “Josefita” were destroyed by fire; the family
wealth taxed out of existence; Don Pancho, who was so attentive to
Ellie, and such a kindly neighbor, dead of gout; the family all
impoverished and scattered, and the hospitable old Cuban home wiped
off the face of the earth. All the prancing steeds were seized by
the Spaniards on the one side or the insurgents on the other; no
cattle left for the _boyero_ to care for, or labor for the _mayoral_
to superintend; no engine for the sturdy Scotch engineer to run--all
gone--and little else than a waste of weeds and choked cane left
to indicate the spot where, little more than a decade ago, stood
a magnificently equipped and managed sugar estate! If Spain had
ravaged her “siempre fiel Isla de Cuba” with fire and pestilence, the
destruction could scarcely have been more rapid and complete.

That superb province, whose natural resources are almost inexhaustible,
has been bled to death by the leeches and parasites to whom her welfare
and government were intrusted.

Zell, having already formed the strongest of ties, decided to remain
at Desengaño, with his wife and children, even after it had passed
into other hands. Through Mr. Hall, our consul-general in Cuba, he was
furnished with all the necessary papers of United States citizenship.
After assisting him in making a favorable contract for work with the
new owner of the plantation, in the same capacity as in the past,
viz., _mandadero_ (messenger), we paid him several hundred dollars,
the accumulated amount of his savings. Year after year we received
letters from him, written in Spanish by some plantation employé,
giving all the neighborhood news of interest, and messages from the
Chinese and negroes, among whom we had lived and labored almost ten
years--invariably subscribing himself “Your devoted and faithful
_slave_.” _Serviente_ was the conventional phrase used from equal to
equal, and may not have appeared expressive enough to suit Zell, so
it was _esclavo_ (_slave_). One day a mourning letter came to Henry.
Zell was dead! congestion or fever, it mattered little--Zell was dead!
Bitter tears we wept over that black-bordered letter, the last one we
ever received from Desengaño. Faithful friend--not slave!

Martha returned to the United States with us, and, when she married,
her savings were found sufficient to purchase a lot and pay for the
building of a comfortable house in Virginia, near enough for us to see
her almost every year, when she could take our daughter, already taller
and larger than herself, in her loving arms, and call her “my Mexican
baby.”

Now that tender, faithful soul, who ministered to our comfort, not as
slave but helpful companion during those trying years, has gone “where
change shall come not till all change end”--thus severing one of the
few remaining links that bound us to the old, old life.


                               THE END.




                  _D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS._


=A VIRGINIA INHERITANCE.= By EDMUND PENDLETON, author of “A
Conventional Bohemian.” 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00.

 “‘A Virginia Inheritance’ will easily take rank among the best novels
 that have appeared this year, both for the remarkable interest and
 artistically skillful development of the story, and for the brilliancy
 and originality of its character-sketching.”--_Boston Home Journal._

=A NYMPH OF THE WEST.= By HOWARD SEELY. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth,
$1.00.

 “In his ‘Nymph of the West’ Mr. Howard Seely has presented a lively
 and picturesque, if somewhat highly colored, study of life on the
 ranch and the range in western Texas, which region, as well as with
 the habits of its people, he appears to be unusually familiar. Cynthia
 Dallas, the heroine, is a fresh and original conception--a frank,
 high-minded girl, with enough of the innocent coquetry of her sex to
 make her almost irresistible.”--_The Sun_ (New York).

=A DÉBUTANTE IN NEW YORK SOCIETY.= HER ILLUSIONS, AND WHAT BECAME OF
THEM. By RACHEL BUCHANAN. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25.

 “There is a keenness of social satire, an intimate acquaintance with
 New York society, and an abundance of wit, which combine to make the
 book unusually attractive.”--_Boston Courier._

 “It seems to be the work of a lady who has witnessed what
 she chronicles. She makes her report on the actualities and
 illusions of New York society without a particle of sarcasm or
 ill-feeling.”--_Journal of Commerce._

=NINETTE: An Idyll of Provence.= By the author of “Véra.” 12mo. Paper,
50 cents; half bound, 75 cents.

 “The tale in itself is true to nature and tenderly pathetic.”--_London
 Post._

 “This is a particularly well-told story.”--_London Globe._

=A COUNSEL OF PERFECTION.= By LUCAS MALET, author of “Mrs. Lorimer,”
“Colonel Enderby’s Wife,” etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; half bound, 75
cents.

 “It would require us to go back to Miss Austen to find anything that
 better deserved the praise of fine form, fine grouping, fine coloring,
 humorous delineation, and precision of design.”--_London Spectator._

=THE ELECT LADY.= By GEORGE MACDONALD, author of “Home Again,” etc.
12mo. Paper, 50 cents; half bound, 75 cents.

 “There are some good bits of dialogue and strong situations in the
 book.”--_The Athenæum._

 “Rich in imaginative beauty and fine insight into the mysteries of
 spiritual life.”--_London Spectator._

=THE DEEMSTER.= A ROMANCE. By HALL CAINE, author of “The Shadow of a
Crime,” etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; half bound, 75 cents.

 “The spiritual grandeur of its conception and the tremendous nature of
 the forces engaged raise it to the region of tragic drama.... Grandly
 conceived and grandly executed.”--_London Academy._

 “It is a marvelous study ... by the creative power of
 genius.”--_Literary World, London._

 “Fascinates the mind like the gathering and bursting of a
 storm.”--_Illustrated London News._

=AN UNLAID GHOST.= A STUDY IN METEMPSYCHOSIS. By an American Author.
12mo. Paper, 50 cents; half bound, 75 cents.

 “It would not be fair to the readers to outline the strange
 _dénoûment_ of this tale, or to prompt his attention to the identity
 of the spirit in the two parts of the romance. So subtile, yet
 unmistakable, is the suggestion of identity that it is startling.
 The exquisite language, the poetic power of description, enchant the
 reader, and the novel is one which will make one of the greatest
 successes of the day.”--_Boston Traveller._

=THE CASE OF MOHAMMED BENANI.= A STORY OF TO-DAY. 12mo. Paper cover, 50
cents; half bound, 75 cents.

 This novel is based upon certain exciting events that occurred in
 Morocco during the past year. The author is an American gentleman
 residing in Tangier, who lately came to Washington to expose the
 cruelties existing in Morocco under the protection of the American
 flag. The political events of the narrative are secondary to the
 incidents of the story, while for the novelist’s purpose Russia and
 Russian personages take the place of the United States and Washington
 officials.

 “The story is well told, and keeps the attention fixed throughout. It
 passes backward and forward, from Africa to Russia, and deals now with
 actual personages, now with creations of fancy.”--_The Athenæum._

=THROUGH GREEN GLASSES=: ANDY MERRIGAN’S GREAT DISCOVERY AND OTHER
IRISH TALES. By F. M. ALLEN. With Illustrations by M. FITZGERALD. 12mo.
Paper cover, 50 cents; half bound, 75 cents.

 “The book is full of drollery, laughter is rippling over every
 page.”--_London Spectator._

 “Deliciously humorous sketches.”--_Whitehall Review._

 “The funniest book of the year.”--_St. Stephen’s Review._

=ONE MAID’S MISCHIEF.= By GEORGE MANVILLE FENN, author of “The Story
of Antony Grace,” “The Master of the Ceremonies,” etc. 12mo. Paper, 30
cents.

 Mr. Fenn has produced many excellent novels, but none more pleasant
 and enjoyable than this.

=HOME AGAIN.= A NOVEL. By GEORGE MACDONALD, author of “Annals of a
Quiet Neighborhood,” etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; half bound, 75 cents.

 “‘Home Again’ is a more compact and complete story than some of
 his later works. It is, of course, full of good things, pithy
 sayings, and deep thought.... A master’s hand shows itself in every
 page.”--_Literary World._

=THE STORY OF ANTONY GRACE.= A NOVEL. By GEORGE MANVILLE FENN, author
of “The Master of the Ceremonies,” etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; half
bound, 75 cents.

 An admirable story of the struggles, adventures, and ultimate
 successes of a young boy in London.

=THE NUN’S CURSE.= A NOVEL. By Mrs. J. H. RIDDELL, author of “Miss
Gascoigne,” etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; half bound, 75 cents.

 A powerful story that is not merely interesting but exciting,
 delineating fresh and remarkable phases of life in the north of
 Ireland, and with some admirably-drawn characters.

“=THE RIGHT HONOURABLE.=” A ROMANCE OF SOCIETY AND POLITICS. By JUSTIN
MCCARTHY, M.P., and Mrs. CAMPBELL-PRAED. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; half
bound, 75 cents.

 “The moral is sound. It is one of duty victoriously achieved though
 at great cost; and perhaps verisimilitude is not strained by the
 idealization which imputes to the woman’s superior strength of
 renunciation and moral stamina the successful passage through the last
 and most fiery trial. Incidentally there is much bright description
 of fashionable life and people. Nowhere is there any lack of power or
 knowledge.”--_New York Tribune._

=SCHEHERAZADE=: A LONDON NIGHT’S ENTERTAINMENT. By FLORENCE WARDEN.
12mo. Paper, 25 cents.

 “Miss Warden has surpassed herself in ‘Scheherazade.’ In originality,
 daring, and startling incident it goes far beyond her previous
 works.”--_London Morning Post._

 “Miss Warden has conceived and wrought out a plot of peculiar
 ingenuity.... We are not aware that any girl exactly like Nouma is to
 be found within the limits of contemporary fiction. She is entitled to
 the rank and dignity of a creation.”--_London Globe._

 “Nouma is a subtle character, far more subtle than anything Dickens
 ever attempted.... The book is full of real life.”--_Pall Mall
 Gazette._


                 _FLORENCE WARDEN’S PREVIOUS NOVELS._

  THE HOUSE ON THE MARSH.
  AT THE WORLD’S MERCY.
  DELDEE; OR, THE IRON HAND.
  A PRINCE OF DARKNESS.
  A VAGRANT WIFE.
  DORIS’S FORTUNE.

12mo. Paper, 25 cents each.

 =THE ROMANCE OF THE CANONESS.= A LIFE-HISTORY. By PAUL HEYSE, author
 of “In Paradise,” etc. Translated from the German by J. M. PERCIVAL.
 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; half bound, 75 cents.

 =THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SLANDER.= By EDNA LYALL, author of “Donovan,”
 “We Two,” etc. 12mo. Paper, 25 cents.

The author dedicates this suggestive little book “to all whom it may
concern.”

 =THRALDOM.= A NOVEL. By JULIAN STURGIS, author of “Dick’s Wandering,”
 “An Accomplished Gentleman,” “John Maidment,” etc. 12mo. Paper, 50
 cents; half bound, 75 cents.

“The tale contains two or three delightfully subtle and effective
character-creations that give it an enduring value.”--_Scottish Leader._

 =THE BAG OF DIAMONDS.= By GEORGE MANVILLE FENN, author of “The Master
 of the Ceremonies,” “Double Cunning,” etc. 12mo. Paper cover, 25 cents.

“It is full of incident, the mystery is well guarded and quite
unguessable.”--_London Athenæum._

 =RED SPIDER.= A NOVEL. By S. BARING-GOULD, author of “Little
 Tu’penny,” etc. 12mo. Paper cover, 50 cents.

“A well-told and neatly-contrived story, with several excellent
figures exhibiting broad traits of human character with vivacity and
distinctness.”--_London Athenæum._

 =A TERRIBLE LEGACY.= A TALE OF THE SOUTH DOWNS. By G. W. APPLETON,
 author of “Frozen Hearts,” etc. 12mo. Paper cover, 50 cents.

“The book has movement and vigor, and is readable throughout.”--_London
Academy._

 =MISS GASCOIGNE.= A TALE. By Mrs. J. H. RIDDELL, author of “Susan
 Drummond,” etc. “The Gainsborough Series.” 12mo. Paper cover, 25 cents.

 =A GAME OF CHANCE.= A NOVEL. By ANNE SHELDON COOMBS, author of “As
 Common Mortals.” 12mo. Cloth, $1.00.

“A Game of Chance,” by Mrs. Coombe, will, in its fresh and vigorous
character drawing, and its fidelity to American life, fully justify the
expectations awakened by her first novel, “As Common Mortals.”

 =IN THE GOLDEN DAYS.= A NOVEL. By EDNA LYALL, author of “Donovan,” “We
 Two,” “Won by Waiting,” “Knight-Errant.” _A new edition_, uniform with
 the author’s other books. 12 mo. Cloth, $1.50.

“‘In the Golden Days’ is an excellent novel of a kind we are always
particularly glad to recommend. It has a good foundation of plot and
incident, a thoroughly noble and wholesome motive, a hero who really
acts and suffers heroically, and two very nice heroines. The historical
background is very carefully indicated, but is never allowed to become
more than background.”--_Guardian._

 =ARIUS THE LIBYAN=: AN IDYL OF THE PRIMITIVE CHURCH. _A new edition in
 new style, at a reduced price._ 12mo. Cloth, $1.25.

“Arias the Libyan” is a stirring and vivid picture of the Christian
Church in the latter part of the third and beginning of the fourth
century. It is an admirable companion volume to General Wallace’s “Ben
Hur.”

 =A DATELESS BARGAIN.= A NOVEL. By C. L. PIRKIS, author of “Judith
 Wynne,” etc. 12mo. Paper cover, 30 cents.

“A clever and interesting novel.”--_London Literary World._

“Mrs. Pirkis has supplied fresh proof of her skill in turning out very
good and workmanlike fiction.”--_Academy._

 =TEMPEST-DRIVEN.= A ROMANCE. By RICHARD DOWLING. 12mo. Paper cover, 50
 cents.

 =THE GREAT HESPER.= A ROMANCE. By FRANK BARRETT. 12mo. Paper cover, 25
 cents.

“Two of the scenes of this tale can lay claim to more power than
anything of the kind that has yet been written.”--_London Post._

 =DICK’S WANDERING.= A NOVEL. By JULIAN STURGIS, author of “John
 Maidment,” “An Accomplished Gentleman,” etc. _A new edition._ 12mo.
 Paper cover, 50 cents; half bound, 75 cents.

 =MISS CHURCHILL=: A STUDY. By CHRISTIAN REID, author of “A Daughter of
 Bohemia,” “Morton House,” “Bonny Kate,” etc., etc. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00;
 paper, 50 cents.

The author calls “Miss Churchill” _a study_, for the reason that it
consists so largely of a study of character; but there is no little
variety of scene in the story, the action taking place partly in the
South and partly in Europe, while the experiences and vicissitudes of
the heroine are of great interest. The contrasts of place and character
make it a very vivid picture.

 =THE MASTER OF THE CEREMONIES.= A NOVEL. By GEORGE MANVILLE FENN,
 author of “Double Cunning,” etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; half bound, 75
 cents.

“The interest in the plot is skillfully kept up to the end.”--_Academy._

“The story is very interesting.”--_Athenæum._

 =LIL LORIMER.= A NOVEL. By THEO GIFT, author of “Pretty Miss Bellew,”
 etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; half bound, 75 cents.

Lil Lorimer, the heroine of this novel, is a character marked by many
individual and fascinating qualities, and enlists the sympathies of the
reader to an unusual degree. The action of the story takes place partly
in South America, with an English family residing there, affording some
fresh and striking pictures of life.

 =IN ONE TOWN.= A NOVEL. By EDMUND DOWNEY. 12mo. Paper, 25 cents.

“A story of unusual merit; by turns romantic, pathetic, and
humorous.”--_Westminster Review._

 =A ZEALOT IN TULLE.= A NOVEL. By Mrs. WILDRICK. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00;
 paper, 50 cents.

The scenes of “A Zealot in Tulle” are laid in Florida, the introductory
part in Florida of seventy years ago; the main story in Florida of
to-day. The plot turns mainly upon romantic incidents connected with a
treasure buried in an old fort by the Spaniards at the time of their
occupancy.

 =THE WITCHING TIME=: TALES FOR THE YEAR’S END. By F. MARION CRAWFORD,
 W. E. NORRIS, LAURENCE ALMA TADEMA, VERNON LEE, EDMUND GOSSE, and
 others. Uniform with “The Broken Shaft.” 12mo. Paper cover, 25 cents.

 =“GOOD FORM” IN ENGLAND.= By AN AMERICAN, resident in the United
 Kingdom. 12mo, cloth. Price, $1.50.

“The _raison d’être_ of this book is to provide Americans--and
especially those visiting England--with a concise, comprehensive, and
comprehensible hand-book which will give them all necessary information
respecting ‘how things are’ in England. While it deals with subjects
connected with all ranks and classes, it is particularly intended to
be an exhibit and explanation of the ways, habits, customs, and usages
of what is known in England as ‘high life.’ Such being the society to
which American ladies and gentlemen have the _entrée_, it is hoped that
the book will be useful to them.”--_From the Preface._

 =SOCIAL ETIQUETTE OF NEW YORK.= Rewritten and enlarged. 12mo, cloth,
 gilt. Price, $1.00.

In response to constant applications from all parts of the country
for information regarding social forms and usages in New York, the
author has prepared a work in which special pains have been taken to
make it represent accurately existing customs in New York society,
in distinction from the many manuals that have simply reproduced the
codes of Paris and London. The subjects treated are of visiting and
visiting-cards, giving and attending balls, receptions, dinners, etc.,
débuts, chaperons, weddings, opera and theatre parties, costumes and
customs, addresses and signatures, funeral customs, covering so far as
practicable all social usages.

 =DON’T; or, Directions for avoiding Improprieties in Conduct and
 Common Errors of Speech.= By CENSOR.

 PARCHMENT-PAPER EDITION. Square 18mo. 30 cents.

 VEST-POCKET EDITION. Cloth, flexible, gilt edges, red lines. 30 cents.

 BOUDOIR EDITION (with a new chapter designed for young people). Cloth,
 gilt. 30 cents.

“Don’t” deals with manners at the table, in the drawing-room and In
public, with the rules of taste in dress, with personal habits, with
common mistakes in various situations in life, and with the ordinary
errors of speech.

 =THE CORRESPONDENT.= By JAMES WOOD DAVIDSON, A. M. 12mo. Cloth, 60
 cents.

The aim of this book is to give in convenient and immediately
accessible form information often needed by the American correspondent
in regard to forms of address, salutation, complimentary close,
superscriptions, etc., and other matters connected with correspondence.

 =ENGLISH AS SHE IS SPOKE; or, A Jest in Sober Earnest.= Compiled from
 the celebrated “New Guide of Conversation in Portuguese and English,”
 Square 18mo. Parchment-paper. 30 cents.

 =ENGLISH AS SHE IS WROTE=, showing curious ways in which the English
 Language may be made to convey Ideas or obscure them. Square 18mo.
 Parchment-paper. 30 cents.

 =CHINA.= TRAVELS AND INVESTIGATIONS IN THE MIDDLE KINGDOM. A Study of
 Its Civilization and Possibilities. WITH A GLANCE AT JAPAN. By JAMES
 HARRISON WILSON, late Major-General United States Volunteers, and
 Brevet Major-General United States Army. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.

 =ROUNDABOUT TO MOSCOW.= AN EPICUREAN JOURNEY. By JOHN BELL BOUTON,
 author of “Round the Block.” 12mo. Cloth, ornamented cover, Russian
 title-page, 421 pages, $1.50.

“This genial book gives the first truly American view of the land of
Nihilists and Novelists. The author exposes and playfully ridicules the
current English misrepresentations of Russia. His epicurean circuit for
getting into and out of the empire includes nearly every country of
Europe. He keeps on the track of all the comforts and luxuries required
by American travelers. Tourists will find the volume a boon companion.
But it is no less designed to please those who stay at home and travel
only by book.”

 =BRAZIL=: ITS CONDITION AND PROSPECTS. By C. C. ANDREWS,
 ex-Consul-General to Brazil; formerly U. S. Minister to Norway and
 Sweden. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.

CONTENTS: Prefatory. Voyage to Brazil. Getting to Housekeeping. Rio
and its People. Life and Manners. The Emperor of Brazil. Tijuca--Pedra
Bonita. Situation, Resources, and Climate. American-Brazilian
Relations. A Trip into the Interior. Visit to a Coffee-Plantation.
Public Instruction. Local Administration. Parliamentary Government.
Brazilian Literature. Agriculture and Stock-raising. The Amazon Valley.
Beasts of Prey. Slavery and Emancipation. The Religious Orders. Public
Lands and Immigration.

“I hope I maybe able to present some facts in respect to the present
situation of Brazil which will be both instructive and entertaining
to general readers. My means of acquaintance with that empire are
principally derived from a residence of three years at Rio de
Janeiro, its capital, while employed in the service of the United
States Government, during which period I made a few journeys into the
interior.”--_From the Preface._

 =A STUDY OF MEXICO.= By DAVID A. WELLS, LL. D., D. C. L. 12mo. Cloth,
 $1.00; paper cover, 50 cents.

“Mr. Wells’s showing is extremely interesting, and its value is great.
Nothing like it has been published in many years.”--_New York Times._

“Mr. Wells sketches broadly but in firm lines Mexico’s physical
geography, her race inheritance, political history, social condition,
and present government.”--_New York Evening Post._

“Several efforts have been made to satisfy the growing desire for
information relating to Mexico since that country has become connected
by railways with the United States. But we have seen no book upon the
subject by an American writer which is so satisfactory on the score
of knowledge and trustworthiness as ‘A Study of Mexico,’ by David A.
Wells.”--_New York Sun._

 =IN THE BRUSH=; OR, OLD-TIME SOCIAL AND POLITICAL LIFE IN THE
 SOUTHWEST. By H. W. PIERSON, D. D. With Illustrations by W. L.
 Sheppard. 16mo. Cloth, $1.50. New cheap edition, paper, 50 cents.

“It has peculiar attractions in its literary methods, its rich and
quiet humor, and the genial spirit of its author.”--_The Critic._


          New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3 & 5 Bond Street.




                          Transcriber’s Notes

Punctuation errors have been corrected.

Page 25: “on the Confedate side” changed to “on the Confederate side”

Page 110: “fading noislessly” changed to “fading noiselessly”

Page 146: “eclesiastical calendar” changed to “ecclesiastical calendar”

Page 198: “monthy nurse” changed to “monthly nurse”

Page 249: “Shakespere’s dramas” changed to “Shakespeare’s dramas”

Page 286: “Centipeds started” changed to “Centipedes started”