We spent the following morning in driving about the city. At half-past two
crossed the ferry to Yuanana-bocca, where we found the amiable director
and the rest of the party. The cars, with their cane-bottomed seats, were
cool. The scenery was exquisite. On both sides of the road were real
jungles of tropical growth, with the purple mountains as a background. We
passed many _ingenios_ (plantations), with their tall, smoking chimneys,
all in full blast.
On reaching our destination we were met by _volantes_ and saddle-horses.
The former were for the ladies, the latter for the gentlemen of the party,
and we made our way through the narrow, dirty streets, passed the walls of
the city, and came out on to the beautiful road, where a gang of chained
prisoners were breaking stones.
We passed many villas and well-kept gardens, and arrived at the bottom of
the hill, where we were obliged to get out and walk, for the roads became
impassable. It was a stiff climb; but when we reached the summit we were
rewarded by a most magnificent view. We descended and reached the
_volantes,_ the drivers whipped up their horses, and away we went over
rocks and ruts, but feeling nothing of them. That is the charm of a
_volante;_ only the wheels, which are behind you, get the jerks and jolts.
After a half-hour's drive we reached the famous cave, Laura and I were
supplied with garments looking like mackintoshes, and, provided with
torches, we began to descend. We first came to a large, vaulted hall,
where miles of stalactites in every form and shape twinkled in the light
of the torches.
We had to crawl through a small opening to get into another vaulted room
which boasted of an echo. The guide struck a note and I sang a cadenza,
which resounded like a thousand voices.
There never could have been a thermometer made that could register such
heat as we felt here; the air was frightfully oppressive and almost
intolerable.
They pointed out the Pope's Miter, the Virgin's Veil, the Altar, the Boat
--all looking about as much like their names as an apple looks like a pack
of cards. After being shown the lake I begged for fresh air, and we
mounted the steep wooden stairs. The hot air outside seemed like a wintry
breeze when we came into it, and we were told that we must cool off before
venturing into the hot sun. Then we _volanted_ back to Matanzas.
Our next visit was to the well-known _ingenio_ (sugar-plantation)
belonging to the cousin of the Marquis San Carlos. The sugar-mill stood in
front of the master's house, so that the master could watch from his broad
balcony the bringing in of the sugar-cane, which was hauled by huge cart-
loads drawn by oxen. The sugar-cane, on its arrival, was put between great
crushing wheels before it was thrown into the vats. The sturdy negresses,
up to their elbows, stirred the foaming syrup after it had boiled. Then it
was skimmed and boiled again to purify it. It went through a centrifugal
process to crystallize it, and afterward was packed in boxes and stamped
in less time than it takes to relate this. I liked to breathe the hot
vapors coming from the huge tanks. What remains of the sugar is used as
fuel; so nothing is wasted.
All the slaves seemed gay and well-fed. The Chinese, I believe, are liked
better than the natives, they are so clean and adroit. We visited the
houses of the slaves and found them all well kept. The master threw silver
pieces (ten cents) to the children, who seemed content in their bare
nakedness and clamored for more pennies. We drank _querap_ (molasses)
from the tanks mixed with whiskey. It was very good; but a little went
very far. Two small children fanned us with palmettos during dinner. We
passed the night there in the _ingenio_; but we saw no tarantulas, as
was predicted. The next morning, when our coffee was brought, there was an
assortment of delicious fruits--pineapples, guavas, bananas, cocoanuts,
mangos, etc., which we enjoyed immensely. There was a little excitement
before we started: the gardener, a bridegroom of eighty-five summers, was
married to a blooming young person of eighty, both slaves and black as
ink. We arrived at Havana that evening.
You can't tell how grieved I was to hear of the kind and good Emperor
Napoleon's death. He was only sixty-five years old. I thought he was
older. What an eventful life he had--tragical would be the right word.
What did he not endure? When he was a child he was an exile, and since
then, until he became first President and then Emperor, he was knocking
about the world, sometimes hidden and sometimes pursued. However, he had
fifteen years of glory, for there was not in all Europe a man more
considered than he was, and he had until the last four years of his reign
more prestige than any other sovereign. I think after the tragedy of
Mexico his star began to pale.
The Emperor Napoleon was certainly the kindest-hearted and best-
intentioned man in the world, so full of life, fun, and appreciation. I
can see him now shaking with laughter when anything amused him, as was
often the case at Compiègne.
The papers say that he had once been a policeman in London. I do not
believe this is true, though the Emperor told me himself that he had lived
very humbly at times; still, that is very different from being a
policeman. I wonder if the Prince will try to get back the throne. He does
not look as if he had a strong character, nor does he look as if he had
the energy of the Emperor, which enabled him to go through so many
hardships to gain his ends.
How sad it is! I am sure the Empress's only consolation is the thought
that her son can recover the position the father lost.
We returned to Havana quite tired out with our little journey, and glad to
rest in the quiet of our cool rooms, and I looked across the water,
crowded with boats of every description, and gazed with delight at the
distant mountains, with their clouds dragging themselves from one summit
to the other.
How hot it is! I never thought that the sun, which is so high up, could
pour down so; but it does pour down. I think it is hotter here than in
Matanzas.
We shall be leaving here in a few days, and I suppose we shall find ice
and snow in New York, and return to india-rubbers and umbrellas--things
unknown here. During our absence some German men-of-war have arrived here,
and stationed themselves right in front of our windows.
It must be their wash-day, for all the sailors' clothes are hanging out to
dry.
Lola San Carlos is in light gray--the mourning one wears for a brother-in-
law is not heavy in this warm country. She has invited us to a card-party
for tomorrow; card-parties are evidently not gay enough to interfere with
tears.