Eliza Ripley. From Flag to Flag: A Woman’s Adventures in the South During the War, in Mexico, and in Cuba.
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."
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 thunderstruck!
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.
“The Bonnie Blue Flag.”
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 manoeuvring 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 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 “guerrillas,” 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 Confedate
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 nightgowns;
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
wheelbarrows, 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
headdresses, 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
roadside.
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
farmhouses. 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 sawmill
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 wartimes,
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
cortége,
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
windstorm. 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 candle-sticks
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
washstands 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 noislessly 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 tired
ambulance all night, 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 imprisomnent 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
shirtsleeves 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
sidewalk, 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
dishrag, 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 eclesiastical 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 Senora 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, crawfish,
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
mousetraps, 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 blazing 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,
homemade 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
($2.12 1/2),” 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 canefields
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
extorsion 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, woman-like,
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 XVIX.
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 impliment, 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 ($2.12 1/2) 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 of
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 monthy 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 facade
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 gamecocks
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.
A 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, melanges, 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 créme de
la créme, 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 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. Elliie 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 outdoor 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
Shakespere’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; even 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 drapped 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 firearms,
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.
BEAUTIFITL 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. Centipeds 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.
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 faxed 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
Notes
Crevasse. A hole in a levee. If it is not fixed quickley, it will result in a flud. French.