CATTLE--BUTTER AND CHURN--OVERRUN WITH CATS--CURIOUS VOLCANO--MAJA AND
JUTIA.
Although the draught cattle on the island are large and
well-proportioned, the cows are poor milkers, partially from the fact
that the cane-tops on which they are fed in winter are not productive
of milk. The scanty product of five cows furnished us with a small pat
of butter daily. Of course, nobody there ever saw a churn, and Lamo had
to go to the carpenter-shop, make a dasher, and fit it to the top of a
two-gallon stone jar, to provide me with one. With great care, keeping
the milk-pans placed in cold water, skimming the little film of cream,
and churning before the sun was up, we managed to have the unheard-of
delicacy of butter.
In return for a neighbor’s courtesy in sending me pineapples quite
out of season, I sent her a pat of butter. Immediately she called in
her _volante_, and was so earnest in her inquiries that I showed her
the bowl of cream and the churn, and explained the process. Butter
was to be obtained in Havana in small glass jars, with open mouths;
occasionally it was brought to the plantations, but during the transit,
through lack of facilities for protection from heat, it was reduced so
nearly to a liquid state that a broad knife or spoon offered the most
convenient means of removing it from the jar.
Families relied greatly upon goat’s milk as nourishment for their
children; so they were frequently trained for wet-nurses. While calling
on a family in our neighborhood, the young baby cried; immediately
a goat ran into the room, laid itself on the floor in a convenient
position for the child to get its nourishment, and the baby availed
itself of the opportunity as readily as it would from its own mother.
After the goat had fulfilled the maternal duties, she walked carefully
over the child and disappeared. A goat so well trained is greatly
appreciated, and is passed from family to family like a monthly nurse.
Native sheep have no coat of wool, and at a little distance look like
a pack of cur-dogs. We imported a few Southdowns from New York, hoping
to improve the breed; in two or three generations they, too, lost their
wool, and presented no better appearance than the old stock. The flesh
deteriorated with equal rapidity, and was little prized for the table.
The securing of variety of meats for table use was a constant household
care. At certain seasons Henry’s gun furnished us with quail, wild
Guinea-fowls, and occasionally venison. Chickens were always abundant,
but beef and mutton were poor; and the great reliance was pork, which
was really more savory than one would imagine it could be in the
tropics, with the mercury at 90° in the shade. The hogs are fed almost
entirely on grass and the berries of the palm-trees--a food easily
obtained, each tree yielding a cart-load--and the pork was so rich and
delicate that it was the _pièce de résistance_ at every household feast.
One obstacle in keeping fresh meats was the intolerable nuisance of
cats, that had their retreats in crevices of the stone fences, and, as
any number of rats lived thereabout, I think they fraternized. They
never came about the house during the day, but were seen scudding and
scampering over the fences and darting into the cane. They broke up
hens’ nests, destroyed the eggs, devoured the young chickens, and often
made night hideous with battles and concerts while roaming through the
house, to which the open windows afforded free access, knocking china
off the sideboard and lamps off the table, and doing so much damage in
the kitchen that Ciriaco’s life was made a burden.
In a fit of desperation I offered to pay five cigars for every deceased
feline that was brought to the house. It was fun for Zell and Ciriaco.
Zell had his old blunderbuss always loaded and conveniently hidden,
and between times took quiet little hunts. Ciriaco, like a patient
Chinese as he was, would sit for hours at night in a dark corner of
the court, immovable as a sphinx, with a few billets of wood ready,
and he rarely hurled a missile that missed its mark. “Here’s dat ole
yaller cat; I hit him dis time: he’s de very varmint dat broke Marthy’s
lamp--you kin smell de ile on his fur yit.” And Zell proudly held up
to view a magnificent feline. “Ciriaco ’lows he kin tan dese skins,
and, I tell you, some is beauties.” So Ciriaco soon had the west side
of the cooper-shop adorned with skins in process of curing. When about
fifty of the choicest were ready, I determined to make a rug, and for
days had them spread over the veranda floor, fitting the various shapes
together like a dissecting map. Some were quite complete, even to the
head; others were minus a leg or a tail. They were of every conceivable
color--“ring-streaked, speckled, and spotted”--some young and little,
some old and big. This sewing of cat-skins was not a dainty job,
albeit Ciriaco had cured them very thoroughly; but I persevered unto
the end, stimulated by the admiring remarks of the various members of
the family, who were more liberal in their suggestions as to tones and
contrasting colors than willing to lend helping hands. Soon the rug
was completed; it was both curious and beautiful. Bound and lined with
red, and spread upon the dark polished floor before an inviting sofa,
it challenged the instant admiration of every one entering the parlor.
But, alas! when flea-time came in the spring, and those intolerable
pests were so numerous that even the dust in the fields furnished a
quota, the soft, thick fur became such a resort for the nimble acrobats
that it had to be entirely discarded.
Legions of bats came about the building in the witching hours of night.
We rarely saw one, but the disagreeable odor pervading the veranda in
the early morning gave unmistakable indications of their visits while
we slept. We were for a long time at a loss to know whence they came,
for there was no appearance of bats’ nests in the buildings. Several
evenings at dusk, when Henry chanced to be on the mountain, he noticed
from a distant point a small, smoky column rise, gradually increasing
in circumference as it ascended, till it floated away like a cloud.
One of the neighboring _guajiros_ gravely informed him that it was a
volcano, that smoked only for a few moments every evening.
Not content with this explanation, Henry’s curiosity tempted him
to visit a volcano that performed its operations with such strange
and unaccountable uniformity. So one summer evening he rode in the
direction, timing himself to arrive at “the rising of the curtain,”
and found a bat-cave. Every night at dusk the animals rushed out by
myriads, with a whirring, pouring noise, in so dense a mass that the
column rose straight in the air a considerable distance before they
could disentangle themselves. As they became free, they spread in every
direction, flying over miles of territory. They lived in this cave
during the day, hanging together like a swarm of bees, were on the wing
all night, gradually returning toward morning, and by the first light
of dawn were again within their rocky home.
It is generally conceded that every animal on the island was brought
there, except the jutia and the maja (pronounced _hootia_ and _mahar_),
the first a species of mammoth field-rat, the latter a snake; both live
in the rocky crevices and infest the cane-fields. Both are occasionally
used for food by the poorer classes; the Chinese, especially, enjoying
them.
The maja is an immense serpent, of the boa-constrictor species,
destroying his victim by constriction. We presented one, sixteen
feet long, to the Central Park Museum in New York, and it was not an
unusually large specimen. The Chinese were fearless and expert in
capturing them for food, frequently coming in from their work dragging
a monster with a rope. They were sometimes kept in store-rooms, to
rid the place of rats. A peep through a hole made for the purpose, to
see that the serpent was not coiled, was all the precaution necessary
before entering the room. We had one in a long, narrow box, secured
by slats across the top; before we were ready to ship it to a
friend in Havana, the maja disappeared; how he escaped nobody could
conjecture--the box was intact, but no snake inside. Several nights
after this mysterious disappearance, there arose a series of agonizing
yells in the court-yard. All rushed to the spot, to find Ciriaco
prancing around in the most frantic manner. We thought he had some kind
of a fit; when suddenly Zell spied a very suspicious-looking object
protruding from Ciriaco’s baggy pantaloon-leg, and bravely catching
hold, with a pull, out came Mr. Maja! Ciriaco had gone with a candle
into a dark closet where were odd pots and pans, and the maja glided up
his leg to escape the sudden glare of light.
Later we procured a larger one, and, while in our possession, one night
he quietly slipped or crawled out of his skin. The thin cuticle about
the head became loose, and he worked his body out as you would turn a
glove-finger off, beginning at the head and finishing with the tip of
the tail. While still moist, Ciriaco turned this skin right side out.
We had this tissue-like cuticle for years after we left Cuba, and, as
it was fully fourteen feet long and very perfect, much regret was felt
when moths eventually destroyed it.
Some weeks after, I had occasion to visit our invalid merchant in
Havana, and was shown a jar filled with a substance resembling
corn-meal, and tasting like dried shrimp. It was our maja, that had
been killed, sun-dried, and pounded in a mortar; the poor sufferer
was taking it, a spoonful at a time, for his disease. It is perhaps
unnecessary to add that he derived no benefit from this rather peculiar
medicine.