DULLNESS--ISOLATION--WEARINESS--CUBA, FAREWELL!
A Cuban life is intolerably monotonous to one who has always known
activity and enterprise. In the cities there are amusements and
distractions, though of a very insipid and languid nature, but in the
country the dullness is oppressive. We wearied of the eternal soft,
mild air; the never-varying green of the landscape; the perpetual
equable temperature that made the thinnest linen comfortable--the
seasons only varied by dry and wet--the dry very dry and dusty, and
the wet--very wet and muddy. The country roads are so narrow that
the constant travel with loaded ox-teams all winter cuts them into
deep ruts, and the summer rain soon makes them well-nigh impassable.
A climate like this palls upon one who has been accustomed to the
variations of the temperate zone. Unchanging verdure is like the
everlasting, simpering smile on a pretty woman’s face--so constant as
to become meaningless and insipid.
We wearied of the senseless platitudes of our few visitors, and of
the foreign tongue, that, with all its smoothly flowing euphony,
could never be to our ears as sweet as the voices of our fatherland.
In our isolation, every new book, magazine article, or newspaper
topic, started a discussion that enlivened the table at meals from one
steamer-day to the next; and even a quaint advertisement was commented
upon, giving food for thought and speech other than the details of the
plantation, that were becoming so tiresome and threadbare.
As Ellie and I could not spend all our leisure in reading--neither of
us being particularly literary or studious--the wonderfully brilliant
heavens offered attractive astronomical research, and with the aid
of an odd volume of Dick’s “System”--the only book on the subject we
had, and a good field-glass--we were quite successful in locating the
position of stars and constellations, many of which are not visible in
more northern latitudes.
We had very little fancy-work. No Berlin wools work was needed in that
climate, so the materials were not procurable. The laborious drawing
of thread-in fine linen and embroidering over the drawn places in
delicate, cobwebby designs, so intricate that it makes one’s eyes ache
to look at them, had no charms for us, though it was the favorite
occupation of Cuban señoras. We embroidered conventional morning
glories and wheat on pillow-shams; scalloped flounces and dress-waists,
and made yards upon yards of senseless tatting, till we wearied
with the work. Sewing-thread could be had in abundance, and our busy
fingers produced wonderful tidies and spreads, for which we had no
use. There remains in my possession a round-table cover, five yards
in circumference, crochetted in Spanish sewing-thread--the center an
elaborate arrangement of pansies and fuchias, the border enlivened by
forty performing monkeys in the midst of acrobatic feats. This pure
white spread is not only valuable as a memento of a dull summer’s
occupation, but an ingenious specimen of handicraft accomplished with
scarcely an outline of instruction or pattern. Improvising a design to
widen from a center to a periphery of sixteen feet, though by no means
a slight undertaking, is diminutive compared with successful execution
of the work.
Martha had time to “take in” sewing, and Ellie and I amused ourselves
by designing--even frequently helping in the work itself--_tombo_
dresses for the African belles on the plantation. Any new occupation
that presented itself was eagerly welcomed. Zell brought us, from the
swamps in the rear of the marquis’s place, quantities of palmetto,
which we bleached in the sun, split into suitable widths, and braided
into hats, pressing the crowns into _shape_ by ironing them over a
perfectly _round_ tin pail! Soon every one had a brand-new palmetto
hat, which a few showers ruined.
Henry, who, with the keen perception of boyhood, saw so much in his
out-door life which brightened and cheered us, and whose incoming
always brought a breath of fresh air--was gone. The daily duty of
hearing him recite lessons amid countless interruptions that at the
time were so trying, was sadly missed now. His father walked in and out
of the rooms with a weary, listless air, missing the boy at every turn;
while Ellie ceased to care for the early morning rides which they had
so often enjoyed together.
Life was becoming a burden: we were wearying and losing heart; it
was not occupation we needed, it was recreation, but the only change
available in our dull lives was change of work. Ellie offered to teach
Zell and Martha to read, but Zell “low’d half dese here white folks
can’t read; I’se no time fur _dictionary_ work. While I’se settin’ down
readin’, who’s waitin’ on Lamo and ’terpretin’ fur him?” The faithful
soul, now that “little Mars Henry” was gone, followed Lamo around,
hoping to cheer and assist him in the varied occupations of the day.
Martha was more easily persuaded, but she was rather dull, and at the
end of a winter’s schooling, coming up every night with her book, had
only advanced to words with two syllables. So the experiment was not
very encouraging.
Finding Zell, now twenty years old, was casting amorous glances at a
dusky Maud Muller, who raked cane in the field, I suggested that, if
he contemplated marriage, it would be well to open a bank account,
for he was inclined to be extravagant with his money. Martha, whose
opportunities to spend her earnings were limited to an occasional visit
with me to Havana, also brought up her little savings. In return I
gave to each a note bearing ten per cent. interest. From time to time
they were encouraged in adding to the amount; and when, at the end of
the first year, the notes with accrued interest were renewed, and they
understood how the money “grow’d,” they became enthusiastic capitalists.
Notwithstanding our heroic efforts to amuse and divert the mind with
something to relieve us of the tiresome and busy routine of work,
we found in time that a radical change was imperatively necessary,
first to one, then to another, of the brave little household. Ellie,
who had so lovingly and unselfishly shared my burden and lightened
my cares, went home to her mother and remained several months. I had
made various short and rapid trips to New York, which were exceedingly
refreshing. Lamo, who felt his presence absolutely necessary at
Desengaño, as indeed it was, valiantly staid year after year at his
post, until his step began to falter, a paleness overspread his once
ruddy countenance, a tired, dull look crept into his eye, and the
faint smile that replaced his old cheery laugh, warned us there was a
limit to the endurance of even the bravest spirit. When I spoke firmly
and determinedly of a trip to the United States, insisted upon the
(somewhat imaginary) business that needed his personal attention, and
urged that the storm had so reduced the crop that it could easily be
harvested without his aid, I think he realized that a still stronger
motive was hidden in the proposition, and that his overtaxed mind
and body demanded an entire change of climate. Deeply regretting the
urgency of the step, he could no longer hesitate; and one of the
bravest acts of an unselfish life was, turning his back on Desengaño
for a whole six months, and leaving me there. Henry’s departure had
already sundered one of the ties that bound us to the Cuban home that
the boy loved so well. It was easy for us to break away after that. A
few years later we left the island forever.
During the latter years of our residence, and those that immediately
followed, military exactions and ruinous taxation crushed the life out
of Cuba.
The gradual emancipation of slaves was enforced, the importation of
coolies prohibited, and, as an inevitable sequence, an untold number of
valuable estates were abandoned by their impoverished owners, thereby
revolutionizing the entire financial and domestic status of the island.
Brito’s beautiful plantation, notwithstanding the rare administrative
ability of its owner, is to-day a forsaken wilderness; and the once
genial, whole-souled Don José, now broken-hearted, walks dejectedly
the roads he erst traveled in such magnificent state.
The buildings of the “Josefita” were destroyed by fire; the family
wealth taxed out of existence; Don Pancho, who was so attentive to
Ellie, and such a kindly neighbor, dead of gout; the family all
impoverished and scattered, and the hospitable old Cuban home wiped
off the face of the earth. All the prancing steeds were seized by
the Spaniards on the one side or the insurgents on the other; no
cattle left for the _boyero_ to care for, or labor for the _mayoral_
to superintend; no engine for the sturdy Scotch engineer to run--all
gone--and little else than a waste of weeds and choked cane left
to indicate the spot where, little more than a decade ago, stood
a magnificently equipped and managed sugar estate! If Spain had
ravaged her “siempre fiel Isla de Cuba” with fire and pestilence, the
destruction could scarcely have been more rapid and complete.
That superb province, whose natural resources are almost inexhaustible,
has been bled to death by the leeches and parasites to whom her welfare
and government were intrusted.
Zell, having already formed the strongest of ties, decided to remain
at Desengaño, with his wife and children, even after it had passed
into other hands. Through Mr. Hall, our consul-general in Cuba, he was
furnished with all the necessary papers of United States citizenship.
After assisting him in making a favorable contract for work with the
new owner of the plantation, in the same capacity as in the past,
viz., _mandadero_ (messenger), we paid him several hundred dollars,
the accumulated amount of his savings. Year after year we received
letters from him, written in Spanish by some plantation employé,
giving all the neighborhood news of interest, and messages from the
Chinese and negroes, among whom we had lived and labored almost ten
years--invariably subscribing himself “Your devoted and faithful
_slave_.” _Serviente_ was the conventional phrase used from equal to
equal, and may not have appeared expressive enough to suit Zell, so
it was _esclavo_ (_slave_). One day a mourning letter came to Henry.
Zell was dead! congestion or fever, it mattered little--Zell was dead!
Bitter tears we wept over that black-bordered letter, the last one we
ever received from Desengaño. Faithful friend--not slave!
Martha returned to the United States with us, and, when she married,
her savings were found sufficient to purchase a lot and pay for the
building of a comfortable house in Virginia, near enough for us to see
her almost every year, when she could take our daughter, already taller
and larger than herself, in her loving arms, and call her “my Mexican
baby.”
Now that tender, faithful soul, who ministered to our comfort, not as
slave but helpful companion during those trying years, has gone “where
change shall come not till all change end”--thus severing one of the
few remaining links that bound us to the old, old life.
THE END.
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to general readers. My means of acquaintance with that empire are
principally derived from a residence of three years at Rio de
Janeiro, its capital, while employed in the service of the United
States Government, during which period I made a few journeys into the
interior.”--_From the Preface._
=A STUDY OF MEXICO.= By DAVID A. WELLS, LL. D., D. C. L. 12mo. Cloth,
$1.00; paper cover, 50 cents.
“Mr. Wells’s showing is extremely interesting, and its value is great.
Nothing like it has been published in many years.”--_New York Times._
“Mr. Wells sketches broadly but in firm lines Mexico’s physical
geography, her race inheritance, political history, social condition,
and present government.”--_New York Evening Post._
“Several efforts have been made to satisfy the growing desire for
information relating to Mexico since that country has become connected
by railways with the United States. But we have seen no book upon the
subject by an American writer which is so satisfactory on the score
of knowledge and trustworthiness as ‘A Study of Mexico,’ by David A.
Wells.”--_New York Sun._
=IN THE BRUSH=; OR, OLD-TIME SOCIAL AND POLITICAL LIFE IN THE
SOUTHWEST. By H. W. PIERSON, D. D. With Illustrations by W. L.
Sheppard. 16mo. Cloth, $1.50. New cheap edition, paper, 50 cents.
“It has peculiar attractions in its literary methods, its rich and
quiet humor, and the genial spirit of its author.”--_The Critic._
New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3 & 5 Bond Street.
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation errors have been corrected.
Page 25: “on the Confedate side” changed to “on the Confederate side”
Page 110: “fading noislessly” changed to “fading noiselessly”
Page 146: “eclesiastical calendar” changed to “ecclesiastical calendar”
Page 198: “monthy nurse” changed to “monthly nurse”
Page 249: “Shakespere’s dramas” changed to “Shakespeare’s dramas”
Page 286: “Centipeds started” changed to “Centipedes started”