HAVANA--HÔTEL CUBANO--OUR HOME ON THE CERRO.
No pencil can give an adequate picture of Havana as one enters its
harbor. It is the loveliest gem of the ocean. To us, who had so long
dealt with the rough realities of life, it was as a bit of fairy-land,
where everybody was happy, sailing, driving, and gliding about, for
very lack of work-day occupation. Entering between the beetling heights
of El Morro on one side and the frowning guns of La Punta on the
other, as we steamed up toward the queen city of the “Ever-faithful
Isle,” the panorama that gradually unfolded itself in the golden rays
of the rising sun was gorgeous in its enchanting beauty. The water
of the landlocked, tideless bay, made foully offensive by receiving
the drainage of a very dirty city for a century or more, and on whose
capacious bosom float ships from every clime, was nevertheless the
bluest and most sparkling ever seen.
The solid, substantial public buildings and warehouses that bordered
the landing were relieved of all work-day, business look by the
surrounding airy structures in red, blue, and yellow, with light,
graceful balconies and turrets; while here and there tall, waving
palms, cocoa-palms, dark-green orange, and other tropical fruit-trees
hedged them in, shading them even to the water’s edge.
The rising ground beyond, the _cerro_ (hill) crowned all with its
Oriental quintas and pleasure-gardens, and gradually faded away into
the ethereal distance of the loveliest skies that bend over tired man.
Church spires and belfries, very Moorish in design, diversified the
whole landscape, and the clang or chime of church-bells was ceaselessly
wafted on the air.
How prosperous and rich Cuba was in those days! How happy the people!
how animated and gay! We arrived when it was at the very acme of its
opulence, when fairly drunk with the excess of wealth and abundance.
The reaction upon us was almost stunning. Arriving at the hotel, it was
very evident I really and truly had “nothing to wear,” where ladies
sailed in and out the marble-floored drawing-room, in long, trailing
garments of diaphanous texture, with flowers in their hair and jewels
on their bosoms. We were at Hôtel Cubano, kept by an enterprising
American woman, whose genial hospitality, exceeding liberality, and
excellent table, had for years attracted the best American visitors,
and now the house was overflowing with Southerners. The building was
of stone, five stories in height, extending around a paved court, the
only entrance to which was a massive gateway sufficiently ample to
admit a coach and four. On the ground-floor were the carriage-rooms
and stabling for horses of mine hostess, who rode in the most stylish
victoria that frequented the _paseo_. The second floor, being _entre
suelo_ (half-story), its low apartments were devoted to the uses of
servants and inferior offices. On the third floor were the parlors,
dining-hall, a few bedrooms, and kitchen. The two stories above
were occupied as bedrooms. All these apartments opened upon broad
balconies that surrounded the inner court. The upper tier, which
received some of the sun’s rays at noon, were embellished with pots
of gay blossoming plants and festooned with vines. The front of the
house had deep windows leading out upon narrow balconies, whereas the
other rooms had only small openings half-way up to the ceiling which
afforded ventilation with limited light The flat roof, laid in cement
and protected on all sides with high, stone parapets, furnished a
charming evening promenade, whence an extended view of the ocean and
harbor could be had; and it also overlooked the _azoteas_ and courts
of neighboring houses, affording glimpses of Cuban interiors that were
often very amusing. The laundry occupied a portion of this _azotea_,
but its area was so ample that the domestic operations did not
interfere with the enjoyment of the guests. One broad marble stairway,
with massive balustrades of the same material, wound from bottom to
top of the building, providing the inmates with the only means of
communication with its different stories. Bags of charcoal, barrels of
flour, and other bulky articles, were secured by ropes in the court
and hoisted by main strength to the wash-house on the roof, or the
kitchen on the third floor, as required; refuse was lowered at night by
the same hand-labor. Sweet memories cluster around this quaint hotel,
for it was a haven of rest for us as long as we lived in Cuba. We
became extremely attached to its generous hostess; and to her cordial
hospitality and kindly courtesies, continued through a decade of trying
years, we were indebted for some of the brightest days of our residence
on the island.
The _salons_ and balconies were thronged with Confederates as homeless
as ourselves, but I found difficulty in recognizing in some of the
belaced and befrilled beauties gliding about, the women who scarce had
stockings and handkerchiefs when I last saw them in Texas.
Though having no plan that involved even a temporary residence in
Havana, we never for a moment contemplated a return to the United
States until peace was restored and quiet assured. The confinement in
the hotel soon became, however, intolerably irksome to the children and
servants. (Zell, who drove our mules through the rushing Nueces River,
had arrived previously with my brother.) Martha’s experience before the
_alcalde_ in Mexico had made her so timid that no amount of persuasion
would induce her to venture upon the strange, narrow streets unless I
was at her side and almost holding her by the hand. Henry had led such
a vagabond life that, while he did not go on the streets, the corridors
and balconies were not half big enough for him, and his restless
enterprise was forever getting him into hot water. One day Patrona, the
black chambermaid of the hotel, electrified me by appearing at my door,
one hand filled with slit and jagged shirt-collars, and, moving the
two forefingers of the other to represent scissors, explained, in her
broken, almost unintelligible English, “De _muchacho_, dat littee man,
yo’ littee boy, do _dis_!” and she gave a vicious snip at a fragment
of collar with the improvised implement. Master Henry had found a lot
of soiled linen collars, belonging to a guest of the house, which
had been freshly marked and spread in the sun on the balcony floor.
Remembering a description I had once read to him of the manufacture of
paper collars, he cut these to bits, and was surprised, he innocently
explained, to find what a splendid imitation of the genuine article
could be made of paper! The owner was a red-haired _colporteur_, or
missionary of some sort, established in Havana to receive and forward
to Matamoras Bibles and tracts for the use of the Southern army. The
custom-house authorities had seized the very first installment, as in
Cuba, Bibles are contraband. The poor man was so roiled and outraged
thereby, that Henry’s unfortunate raid on his wardrobe was resented in
what the child considered very unreasonable and ungenerous terms.
The surrender of our armies, long expected though it may have been
by the clear-sighted among us, was none the less a severe blow. We
at once realized that a return to our own country must be delayed. A
search was instituted for a small residence on the _cerro_, outside
the old city walls, where the streets were wider and each house had
“space to breathe.” To our great surprise, a small house was not to
be found. Mostly of one story, they seemed small from the street, but
they all straggled back into an indefinite, almost unlimited number of
apartments. The location of the one finally decided upon was almost its
only attraction. The English consul lived directly opposite, the German
consul within a stone’s-throw, the Russian representative around the
corner, and a few American and English-speaking merchants and business
men near by, forming a most delightful and congenial _entourage_. We
did not hesitate long, though the domicile did not quite fill, or
rather, I should say, more than filled, our requirements. Having lived
so long in one or two rooms, the thought of ten or a dozen appalled us.
Like all houses in that voluptuous climate, the windows, stretching
from ceiling to floor, and innocent of glass, were only protected by
stout iron bars, that might have suggested an insane-asylum or prison
had they not exposed such gay and cheerful interiors, where the inmates
moved about as freely, talked as gayly, and enjoyed their elaborately
spread banquets as unrestrainedly as though they were not the observed
of every idle passer-by. The three front rooms of our exposed castle
opened upon a broad veranda, situated immediately upon the street;
but there was a brave yard in the rear filled with mammee, aguacate,
and bread-fruit trees, which interlaced their boughs, forming a shade
so dense that the sun’s rays never penetrated. It was soon found that
even a damp towel hung there mildewed before it dried. At the foot of
this yard was a rushing, tearing, noisy stream of water--perhaps six
feet wide--that made as much tumult and transacted as much business
as some pretentious rivers; for, as it dashed and hurried along with
great speed, it received and transported refuse and _débris_ from all
the houses on its banks, whither I know not, but I presume the noisome
freight was deposited in the beautiful bay of Havana, the foulness of
whose depths is a reproach to Cuban civilization. A few rooms of this
house were scantily furnished, for, to use the words of Susan Nipper,
we were “temporaries.” There, with Zell and Martha, we kept house, in
accordance with our means, for a year.
With the first news of surrender came several Confederate officers,
induced by fear of imprisonment to leave the country. Hon. J. P.
Benjamin and General Breckinridge were the first to arrive. They were
quickly followed by others; some came in small boats from the Florida
coast, others _via_ Mexico. Scarcely a day passed that news of fresh
arrivals did not reach us, and we met many friends on that foreign
shore whom we had not seen since the first gun was fired at Sumter.
Generals Breckinridge, Toombs, Fry, Magruder, Bee, Preston, Early,
and Commodore Maffitt, were at Hôtel Cubano about the same time. Many
were accompanied by their wives. Exiles though all were, they enjoyed
to-day, not knowing what the morrow had in store. One by one, as
assurance of personal safety was secured, they drifted back to their
old homes.
My husband set about with his wonderful energy to find a business
opening in this foreign land, where matters seemed to be settled,
though not on the best principles. He mingled as freely as
possible with the people, cultivated the acquaintance of bankers
and business-men, the most energetic and successful of whom were
foreigners, and made various visits to the interior, always to return
enamored of the soil and resources of what is really the most prolific
spot on the globe.
Governor Moore, of Louisiana, joined us in our _cerro_ home for weeks;
and when he left, grand old General Toombs, “the noblest Roman of them
all,” with his lovely and devoted wife, took the apartments vacated.
General Toombs joined in many of my husband’s trips over the island,
and shared his admiration of its unrivaled agricultural wealth, while
Mrs. Toombs and I sat in our marble-floored parlor or on the broad,
gas-lighted veranda, and enjoyed the _dolce far niente_ so much needed
to restore our overtaxed and enfeebled constitutions.