A CRUISE IN THE WEST INDIES.
Cuban Telegraphy--The _New York Trigger_--News from Porto Rico--A
day in Porto Rico--Don Felipe--A Mail
Agent--Coasting--Aguadilla--Mayagueez--Santo
Domingo--Sight-seeing--Telegraphic News.
There has been a sad dearth of news in the tropics for many long months.
The war of Santo Domingo is at an end. The great hurricane at St. Thomas
has passed into oblivion. The rising of negroes in Jamaica is forgotten.
The civil war in Hayti is suspended for the nineteenth time. Not so much
as a shipwreck is afloat; even the yellow fever is on the wane, and not
a single case of cholera has been quoted. The people of the tropics are
enjoying a delightful and uninterrupted repose, and the elements and
climate are perfectly inoffensive. It seems as if our part of the world
had sunk into a delicious paradise, and that my services on behalf of
the _New York Trigger_ would be for the future dispensed with.
I am, shortly, recalled to my journalistic duties by the arrival of some
'startling' news from Porto Rico. An insurrection has broken out in the
interior of that island, where the inhabitants have planted what they
call their 'flag of freedom,' intimating their intention to rebel
against their Spanish rulers.
This is food for the _Trigger_, and I hasten to prepare it daintily, for
transmission by telegraph.
At the office of the telegraph, I meet the American consul's secretary.
Now, as I know that that gentleman is connected with the _Central Press
of Havana_, I conclude that he is upon the same errand as myself. In the
interests of the _New York Trigger_, it is therefore my duty now to
forestall the secretary, by forwarding my news before he has had time to
dispatch his.
The secretary is at the telegraph table scribbling at a rapid rate, and
you may be sure he does not slacken his speed when he becomes conscious
of the presence of the formidable agent of the _New York Trigger_! Only
one instrument is used for telegraphic purposes, so he whose telegram is
first handed to the clerk is first to be served by that functionary.
The system of telegraphy--like every other system in Cuba--is supervised
by the Spanish administration. Every telegram must be submitted to the
authorities before it is dispatched, in case anything treasonable or
offensive to the government should enter into its composition. The
dispatch being approved of, it is returned to the telegraph office and
transmitted in the usual manner. The sender is, however, obliged to pay
for his message in paper stamps, and these must be affixed to the
document; but under no circumstances is he permitted to make his
payments in Spanish coin.
This paper money--which in form resembles postage-stamps--cannot be
obtained at the telegraph office, but must be purchased at the
'Colecturia,' a certain government establishment in another part of the
town. Thus, the unfortunate individual who happens to be unprovided
with sufficient stamps, is often at a standstill.
By a miracle, my important news from Porto Rico is ready for
transmission as soon as that of my rival, the American secretary; but,
unfortunately, that gentleman is before me in presenting his document to
the telegraph clerk. The latter examines the message carefully to see
that nothing is wanting, when, to my great joy, he returns it with the
remark, that the indispensable stamps have not been affixed!
My rival is aghast, and offers to pay in golden doubloons; but the
official is not to be bribed--especially before a witness--so the
American secretary, who is unprovided with stamps, has no other
alternative but to go in quest of them.
Meanwhile I, whose pocket-book is full of the precious paper-money, hand
in my message, which the clerk accepts, and in my presence ticks off to
Havana. From thence it will proceed by submarine cable to the coast of
Florida, where, after being duly translated into English, it will be
transmitted to New York, and to-morrow, if all goes well, it will appear
in the columns of the _New York Trigger_.
On my way to a neighbouring cafe for refreshment after my labours, I
gather from a printed placard on a wall of the governor's palace, some
further particulars concerning the rebellion:--
'The Spanish troops have had an encounter with the insurgents, and
utterly routed them, with a loss, on the Spanish side, of one man killed
and three slightly wounded. The enemy's losses are incalculable!'
This piece of intelligence, of course, proceeds from government
sources, and is therefore doubtful; but all is fish that comes to my
journalistic net, so I return to the telegraph office, and give the
_Trigger_ the benefit of the doubt.
In the course of the day, I obtain the rebel version of the fight:--
'A great battle has been fought between the _Patriots_ and the
Spaniards, in which the latter were forced to retreat with considerable
losses.'
Twenty-three words more for the _Trigger_.
The revolution spreads; the news circulates, and every mail steamer from
Porto Rico brings correspondence for me from the agent in that island.
Day by day the _New York Trigger_ is filled with telegrams and editorial
paragraphs about the revolution in the Spanish colony; and that widely
circulating newspaper is often in advance, and never behind, its
contemporaries with 'latest intelligence from the seat of war.'
At length a fatal piece of news reaches us.
Afraid lest the revolutionary mania should infect our town, the Spanish
authorities have subjected the mail bags from Porto Rico to an
epistolary quarantine; in other words, all our correspondence is
overhauled at the post-office, and any document bearing upon the
revolution is confiscated.
The central agent in Havana of the _New York Trigger_ is beside himself
when he finds that no more telegrams and news-letters are forthcoming,
and reminds me, per wire, of my duties. It is in vain to assure him of
the true state of affairs, and of my inability to supply him with the
dearly coveted 'intelligence.' He will not believe that my resources
for information are as limited as I represent them to be. One day I
receive a mighty telegram from him, acquainting me with the fact that a
contemporary of the _Trigger_ has actually published some 'startling'
news from the seat of war!
This fearful announcement is shortly followed by another dispatch to the
following effect:--
'If you cannot obtain the news required by remaining in Santiago, leave
immediately for Principe (our alias for Porto Rico). If no steamer is
ready, charter a sailing vessel. Collect all the information you can in
detail, and return without loss of time. N.B. Spare no expense. The
"Gatillo" (Spanish for "Trigger") thirsts for particulars.'
As no steamer is announced to sail before another week, I take the other
alternative, and charter a small sailing vessel.
I land in due time at Porto Rico. I seek our agent, Don Felipe, and
after some trouble, I find him--in jail! He is a native of the village
near the scene of the outbreak, and for some mysterious reason has been
arrested 'on suspicion.'
Assisted by the English and American consuls, to whom I have letters of
introduction, and using the _Trigger's_ dollars for the pockets of the
officials, I ultimately succeed in procuring the agent's release. Don
Felipe then produces press copies of certain communications which he had
dispatched by the last mail steamers, but which had been intercepted at
the Cuban post-office, and, after inviting me to lunch at one of the
finest cafes I have ever had the pleasure of entering, he accompanies me
over the town, where we collect the latest particulars respecting the
insurrection.
San Juan de Puerto Rico is a fine city. The houses are three and four
stories high, and are constructed after the American fashion. The
streets are wide and symmetrically arranged. The roads are all paved and
hilly. Every street leads to a fort, a gun and a sentry; and, in some
cases, to high cliffs with an extensive view of the open sea. In short,
San Juan is a strongly-fortified place. Everything is very clean, very
new, and very modern looking. The cathedral is a noble edifice, and the
theatre is in every way equal to the best buildings of the kind in
Europe.
Crossing an open square, in which appear a number of bronze statues, Don
Felipe conducts me back to the cafe, where we partake of refreshment,
and arrange the various items of news which we have collected during our
afternoon's ramble over the town.
Don Felipe advises me to dispatch the frail bark which had brought me
from Cuba, and return by the mail steamer which has just arrived from
St. Thomas, and is announced to sail for Cuba early next morning. As
this is by far the speediest way of getting home, I follow my friend's
advice, and accept his invitation to repose for the night at his humble
dwelling.
The rest of the day and evening is passed very agreeably.
The British consul--a fine military-looking old fellow--invites me to
dine with him and his charming family. It is pleasant to speak and hear
spoken one's native tongue again, after being comparatively deaf and
dumb in that language for nearly five years. It is still more
delightful to feel at home with one's countrymen and countrywomen in a
strange land, and thus, when I take leave of my hospitable English host
and his family, I sincerely regret, with them, the brevity of my visit.
I rise at a very early hour next morning, and, accompanied by Don
Felipe, I take my passage on board the 'Pajaro del Oceano,' that being
the name of the steamer which is to convey me to Cuba.
The naval agent of the English mail company, who is a young Cuban named
Fernandez, salutes me as I embark, for we had been slightly acquainted
with one another in Santiago. Before taking leave of Don Felipe, I
introduce him to the mail agent, for by the latter's means I hope for
the future to ensure the safe delivery of my dispatches from Porto Rico
and other islands. Don Fernandez touches at the port of Santiago at
least once a month, and if he can be pressed into the _Trigger's_
service, he will be invaluable to that newspaper.
The mail agent has a compartment on board all to himself, and invites me
to occupy one of the comfortable berths which it contains. He is in
other ways so civil and obliging, that his company is altogether most
congenial during the voyage, and before our arrival in Cuba, we have
become the closest of friends.
I am alarmed to find that our steamer will touch at other ports before
reaching its destination; but Fernandez assures me that the voyage will
occupy much less time than it would if it were made in a sailing vessel,
especially in the present somewhat stormy weather. In short, if all goes
well, we shall sight the Morro Castle in less than five days.
In sorting his correspondence, the mail agent discovers some important
missives addressed to me. These, which he kindly hands to me, I find
come from the _Trigger's_ agents in St. Thomas, Jamaica, and other
islands; and contain some interesting intelligence respecting the
projected purchase by the United States of the Bay of Samana, together
with the particulars of an earthquake near Callao, a scheme for a
floating dock at Kingston, Jamaica, and other topics equally interesting
to Americans. These matters, together with my Porto Rico news, I proceed
to arrange in concise form, for immediate dispatch by telegraph, on my
arrival at Santiago.
Friend Fernandez very much excites my curiosity by exhibiting the mail
bags from Southampton. One of these bags is labelled 'Havana,' the other
'Santiago de Cuba,' and as they contain the correspondence from Europe,
doubtless letters and newspapers addressed to me and Nicasio Rodriguez y
Boldu are among the number. But the mouths of both sacks--which make
_my_ mouth 'water'--are securely tied and sealed, and the mail agent
dares not venture to open them, until they have been deposited at the
Cuban post-office.
On the evening of the following day we land in a boat at Aguadilla--a
small watering-place on the coast of Porto Rico. The village is
represented by a row of tumble-down houses and a scattering of
picturesque negro huts. While my companion confers with the postal agent
of Aguadilla, I occupy the time by a saunter through the quiet,
primitive streets, picking up here and there from a communicative native
scraps of news concerning the insurrection, which I learn is now very
much on the wane.
The business of the mail agent being over, we return to our steamer,
where, after partaking of a hearty meal--in spite of wind and
weather--we turn into our snug berths and chat and smoke our cigarettes
till sleep overtakes us.
We awake early next morning to find that we have already anchored off
Mayagueez.
Mayagueez is an important sea-side town on the Porto Rico coast, and is
surrounded by the loveliest tropical scenery that I have yet beheld in
the West Indies. One long, broad and perfectly level street runs in a
direct line from the quay to the confines of the town. Branching off
from this formidable thoroughfare are a few narrow streets which
terminate in small rivers and streams, across which innumerable little
bridges are thrown.
As we are destined to halt at this delightful spot for several hours, we
make the most of our time. After calling upon our vice-consul--who is
also the English postal agent, and has an office in one of the numerous
warehouses which face the quay--and after having partaken of some
refreshment at a cafe, my companion and I hail a quaint dilapidated
vehicle of the fly species and drive through _the_ street of the town.
This street beginning with shops, continues with tall private dwellings,
which, in turn, are succeeded by pretty villas, till the open country
suddenly appears.
I am amazed to find that for our drive through the town, half a mile
beyond it and back again, we are charged the astonishingly modest fare
of two-pence half-penny!
We have embarked again and are off to Santo Domingo, where we land on
the following day.
Santo Domingo--the capital of the island of that name--is an antiquated
city, with brown, sombre-looking stone houses intermingled with quaint
towers and gateways, tropical trees, shrubbery and ruins. We reach the
city in a small boat, passing up a long river called the Ozana, and
after Don Fernandez has deposited his mail bags at the post-office, we
wander over the town. My companion knows every part of it well, having,
as he tells me, visited it at least twice a month for the past three
years. Acting, therefore, as a cicerone, he conducts me through the
Calle del Comercio, which is the principal street in the city, but which
has a very dismal and deserted aspect. The cathedral is an ancient
building, and has resisted wind, weather, earthquake, and revolution for
upwards of three hundred years. The interior is full of interest for the
artist and the antiquarian, containing, among other objects, the first
mausoleum of Christopher Columbus. Don Fernandez tells me that the
remains of the great discoverer were originally brought from Spain and
deposited here, and that they were afterwards transferred to the
cathedral of Havana, where they at present repose.
On our way from the cathedral we meet a number of coloured officials
belonging to the republic; and for the first time in my experience, I
behold a negro policeman! We pause before an old picturesque archway
where a sentry is on guard. The sentry is a black youth of not more than
eighteen Dominican summers. His uniform consists of a ragged shirt,
brown holland trousers, and a broad Panama hat. He has apparently an
easy life of it, for his musket reposes in a corner of the gateway,
while he himself is seated, half dozing, on a big stone!
After inspecting the quaint old market-place, together with an ancient
Franciscan monastery called La Forsza, the 'Well of Columbus,' and other
interesting 'sights,' Don Fernandez warns me that the hour for our
departure is near. I accordingly accompany him to the office of the
English consul, where he has to receive the mail bags of Santo Domingo.
We have to wait some time at the consul's office, for important
dispatches from President Baez. I devote the time which elapses before
these dispatches appear, to a little business on behalf of the _New York
Trigger_. There is, however, scarcely any news of importance to be
obtained. Since the war of Santo Domingo, the inhabitants have enjoyed
an uninterrupted peace, and with the exception of a few petty squabbles
with their neighbours, the Haytiens, and the projected purchase of the
Bay of Samana, nothing eventful has transpired in the island.
The President's dispatches having arrived, we take leave of the consul
and the company assembled, and, under the escort of a torn and tattered
negro porter bearing the mail bags, reach the quay. Passing through the
custom-house, which is represented by a roof and eight posts, we embark
in our little canoe, and gliding over the waters of the river Ozana,
which skirts the town, reach our steamer.
In rather more than forty-eight hours the Morro Castle is sighted, and
in due course I land once again at the Pearl of the Antilles.
The various items of information collected during my cruise being
already carefully prepared for telegraphic purposes, I repair without
loss of time to the telegraph office.
Behold me safely seated in the scribbling department of that
establishment, rejoicing in the fact that I am the sole occupant of the
apartment. From the perfect quiet which reigns in the operating room, I
conclude that the clerks are not very busy, and that they are prepared
to 'wire' any number of words which I may present to them. I have no
dread of competition, at least for the present; for even if my rival
correspondents should have received news by the same steamer which
brought me, I know from experience, that some hours must necessarily
elapse before it can be in a condition for telegraphing.
With a triumphant smile, I seize a quire of printed telegraph forms, and
proceed to copy in 'a clear, bold hand' from my notes.
Now to astonish the _Trigger_, and all whom my abundant information may
concern!
I have scarcely finished my first instalment of news, when a telegraph
messenger taps me on the shoulder and staggers me with the information,
that in consequence of a serious interruption in the line of
communication with Havana, the operations of the telegraph are for the
present suspended!
Then I learn for the first time that a great revolution has broken out
in Spain, and that, despite the precautions of the governor of our town,
the revolutionary mania has seized the natives of Cuba, many of whom
have already risen in arms not many leagues from Santiago! Among other
achievements, the rebellious party have cut the telegraph wires and
intercepted the land mails.
There are no railways in direct communication with Havana, and the
postal service is effected by means of mounted carriers. Thus the
speediest ways for conveying news to Havana are cut off, and there is
no other resource but the tardy steamer. I accordingly return without
delay to the 'Pajaro del Oceano,' which is to sail for Havana in three
hours' time, and finding my good friend Don Fernandez on board, I
secretly hand him my big budget of news, begging him by all the saints
in the calendar to deliver the same into the hands of the Havana agent.
I am afraid to think what effect this further delay will have upon the
_New York Trigger_! Still it may be some consolation for the
enterprising proprietor of that newspaper if he find that his
contemporaries are suffering from the same complaint.