A WALKING TRIP TO PUERTO PRINCIPE.
It was on the day after the Grand Ball, Tuesday, April 10, that a party
of us started on a walking trip to the city of Puerto Principe,
forty-five miles away. My companions, who, like myself, were all
colonists, were Jeff D. Franklin of Florida, David Murphy of New Jersey,
A. H. Carpenter of Massachusetts, and a Mr. Crosby of Tennessee. Mr.
Crosby was a man of middle age; the rest of us were younger, Carpenter
being a mere youth of perhaps eighteen. All were good walkers. The start
was made at about 8:30 in the morning. The day was pleasant and balmy,
but not excessively warm. The trail was now in good condition, and the
walking would have been altogether agreeable had it not been for the
packs upon our shoulders. We carried hammocks, blankets, and such food
as bread, crackers, sardines, bacon, and coffee. One of the party had a
frying-pan slung across his back. Our loads were not actually heavy,
but they seemed so after we had walked a few miles.
Our course lay to the southwest, through the deserted plantation of
Mercedes, where we stopped an hour to eat oranges and chat with the
colonists at work there. Resuming our march, we soon passed an inhabited
Cuban shack near an abandoned sugar mill, stopping a few minutes to
investigate a small banana patch near the road. We had been here before
and knew the owner. A mile further on we reached another occupied shack,
and called to get a drink of agua (water). We were hospitably received
in the open front of the casa (house) and given heavy, straight-backed,
leather-bottomed chairs of an antique pattern. The agua furnished was
rain water which had been stored in a cistern, and had at least the
virtue of being wet. There were at home an old man, a very fleshy
elderly woman, and two rather good-looking girls, the appearance and
dress of one of whom indicated that she was a visitor. This was about
the only shack we saw where there were no young children in evidence. We
tarried but a few minutes. After making inquiries about the road, as we
did at almost every house, we continued on our way.
For the next three or four miles we had a good hard trail through the
woods, but saw neither habitation nor opening. Shortly after noon we
emerged from the woods into an open space, where, on slightly elevated
ground, stood two shacks. We had been here before and knew the man who
occupied one of them. There was no land under cultivation in sight, and
the only fruit a custard apple tree and a few mangoes. There were a good
many pigs roaming about, and the shack we entered contained several
small children. Our Cuban friend seemed glad to see us; his wife brought
us water to drink, and we were invited to sit down. Our social call
would have been more satisfactory if we had known more Spanish, or our
host had spoken English. We made but a brief stay, and on departing
asked the Cuban to point out to us the road to Puerto Principe. Since
leaving the woods we had seen no road or trail of any sort. He took us
around his house and accompanied us for some distance, finally pointing
out an indistinct trail across high savanna land which he said was the
right one. This path, which could hardly be seen, was the "road" from
the coast to the third largest city in Cuba, only about thirty miles
away! Such are Cuban roads. At times you can only guess whether you are
in a road or out of it.
What lay before us was now entirely unfamiliar. At about one o'clock we
halted by the side of the trail for a midday rest and lunch. We were a
dozen miles from La Gloria, and about an equal distance from the Cubitas
mountains, through which we were to pass. An hour later we took up the
march again. We soon entered the woods and found a smooth, firm trail
over the red earth. We passed through miles of timber, of a fine,
straight growth. In the thick woods but few royal palms were seen, but
in the more open country we saw some magnificent groves of them. During
the afternoon we passed only two or three shacks, but as we approached
the Cubitas mountains the few habitations and their surroundings
improved in character. The houses continued to be palm-thatched, but
they were more commodious and surrounded by gardens in which were a few
orange and banana trees, and other fruits and vegetables. Some of the
places were quite pretty. Occasionally we would see cleared land that
had once been cultivated, but no growing crops of any amount. This part
of the country had been agriculturally dead since the Ten Years' War.
How the natives live, I know not, but it is safe to say that they do not
live well. They raise boniatos and cassava, a little fruit, and keep a
few pigs. Often their chief supply of meat is derived from the wild hogs
which they shoot. And yet these Cubans were living on some of the best
land in the world.
Late in the afternoon, after walking for a mile or more along a good
road bordered by the ornamental but worthless jack-pineapple plant, we
came to a wide gateway opening into an avenue lined with cocoanut palms
and leading up to a couple of well-made Cuban shacks. The houses stood
at the front of quite a large garden of fruit trees. We called at one of
the shacks, which proved to be well populated. An elderly man, large for
a Cuban and well-built, came forward to greet us and was inclined to be
sociable. His shirt appeared to be in the wash, but this fact did not
seem to embarrass him any; he still had his trousers. Of a younger man
we bought a few pounds of boniatos (sweet potatoes) and after some
urging persuaded him to go out and get some green cocoanuts for us from
the trees. He sent his little boy of about twelve years of age up the
tree to hack off a bunch of the nuts with his machete. We drank the
copious supply of milk with great satisfaction; there is no more
refreshing drink in all Cuba. As the boy had done all the work, we
designedly withheld our silver until he had come down the tree and we
could place it in his hands. We wondered if he would be allowed to keep
it. Climbing the smooth trunk of a cocoanut tree is no easy task.
We camped that night among the trees by the side of the road a quarter
of a mile further on. We had made twenty miles for the day, and were now
on high ground near the base of the Cubitas mountains. The rise had been
so very gradual that we had not noticed that we were ascending. The
trunks of all the trees around us were stained for a short distance from
the ground with the red of the soil, caused, as we believed, by the wild
hogs rubbing up against them. Our supper of fried boniatos and bacon was
skilfully cooked by Jeff Franklin, who used the hollow trunk of a royal
palm, which had fallen and been split, for an oven. For drink we had
cocoanut milk. By the vigorous use of Dave Murphy's machete we cleared
away the underbrush so that we could swing our hammocks among the small
trees. Franklin had no hammock, but slept under a blanket on a rubber
coat spread on the ground. The night was comfortably warm and
brilliantly clear. It was delightful to lie in our hammocks and gaze up
through the trees at the beautiful star-lit sky. There were mosquitoes,
of course, but they did not trouble us much, and we all slept well.
We were up early the next morning, a perfect day, and after eating a
substantial breakfast proceeded on our journey. We felt little
exhaustion from the long walk of the preceding day, but I was a sad
cripple from sore feet. I had on a pair of Cuban shoes which were a
little too short for me (although they were No. 40) and my toes were
fearfully blistered and bruised. There was nothing to do, however, but
go forward as best I could, so I limped painfully along behind my
companions, keenly conscious that Josh Billings was a true philosopher
when he said that "tite boots" made a man forget all his other troubles.
A fraction of a mile beyond our camping place we discovered a well-kept
shack ensconced in cosy grounds amid palms, fruit trees, and flowering
shrubs. It was one of the prettiest scenes we saw. We called for water,
politely greeted the woman who served us with our best pronunciation of
"buenos dias," and, murmuring our "gracias," went our way with some
regrets at leaving so pleasant a spot. A mile or two further on we came
to a distinct fork in the road. One way lay nearly straight ahead, the
other bore off to the right. While we were debating which trail to take,
a horseman fortunately came along, the first person we had seen on the
road that day and the second since leaving Mercedes on the preceding
forenoon. He told us to go to the right, and we were soon in the
foothills of the mountains.
It was here that we found a deserted shack behind which was a cleared
space in the woods of several acres. On this little plantation grew
bananas, cocoanuts, cassava, boniatos, and other vegetables. As it was
in the Cubitas mountains near this spot that the Cuban insurrectionists
had what they called their independent civil government for some time
prior to the intervention of the United States, and secreted their
cattle and raised fruit and vegetables to supply food for the "Army of
Liberation," we guessed that this might be one of the places then put
under cultivation. It certainly had had very little recent care.
After journeying past some chalk-white cliffs, which we examined with
interest, we entered the mountain pass which we supposed would take us
through the town or village of Cubitas, the one-time Cuban capital. The
way was somewhat rough and rugged, but not very steep. The mountains
were covered with trees and we had no extended view in any direction.
All at once, at about 10:30 a.m., we suddenly and unexpectedly emerged
from the pass, when the shut-in forest view changed to a broad and
sweeping prospect into the interior of Cuba. What we looked down upon
was an immense savanna, stretching twenty miles to the front, and
perhaps more on either hand, broken in the distance on all sides by
hills and lofty mountains. It was a beautiful sight, particularly for us
who had been shut in by the forest most of the time for months. The
savanna was dry, but in places showed bright green stretches that were
restful to the eye. It was dotted with thousands of small palm trees,
which were highly ornamental. We could not see Puerto Principe, nor did
we catch sight of it until within three miles of the city. There was no
town or village in sight, and not even a shack, occupied or unoccupied.
The view embraced one vast plain, formerly used for grazing purposes,
but now wholly neglected and deserted. We did not then know that we were
to walk seventeen miles across this savanna before seeing a single
habitation of any sort.
We had seen nothing of the village of Cubitas, and concluded that we had
taken the wrong pass. We were afterwards told that Cubitas consisted of
a single shack which had been used as a canteen. Whether the Cuban
government occupied this canteen, or one of the caves which are said to
exist in these mountains, I cannot say. The revolutionary government,
being always a movable affair, was never easy to locate. It was,
however, secure from harm in these mountains. We noticed later that the
natives seemed to regard all the scattered houses within a radius of
half a dozen miles from this part of the mountains as forming Cubitas.
The post-office must have been up a tree.
After a brief rest on the south slope of the mountains, we resumed our
march, a wearisome one for all of us and exceedingly painful to me with
my disabled feet. They seemed even sorer after a halt. My ankles were
now very lame from unnaturally favoring my pinched toes. The midday sun
was hot, and we suffered a good deal from thirst. There were no longer
any houses where we could procure water. We had not seen a stream of any
sort in the last twenty miles. I staggered along as best I could, a
straggler behind my companions. A little after noon we came suddenly
upon two or three little water holes directly in our path. It seemed
like an oasis in the desert. We could not see where the water came from
nor where it went, but it was clear and good, and we were duly thankful.
We ate dinner here under a small palm tree, and enjoyed a siesta for an
hour.
In the afternoon we met only one person, a Cuban produce pedler on
horseback. He treated those who cared for liquor out of a big black
bottle. That afternoon's tramp will linger long in our memories. I
thought we should never get across that seemingly endless savanna. At
last, when it was near six o'clock, we reached an old deserted open
shack which stood on the plain not far from the trail. Here we spent the
night, cooking our supper and procuring in a near-by well tolerably
good water, notwithstanding the dirty scum on top of it. We were within
four miles of Puerto Principe, and my ears were delighted that evening
with a sound which I had not heard in more than three months--the
whistle of a locomotive. Our night was somewhat disturbed by rats,
fleas, and mosquitoes, but we were too tired not to sleep a good part of
it. The breeze across the savanna was gentle and soothing.
The next morning we walked into the time-scarred city of Puerto
Principe--that is, the others walked and I hobbled. If possible, my feet
were worse than ever. In the outskirts, our party divided, Franklin,
Murphy, and Carpenter branching off to the left to go to the camp of the
Eighth U. S. Cavalry two miles east of the city near the railroad track,
and Crosby and I going directly into the heart of the town in search of
a hotel. We had a long walk through the narrow and roughly paved streets
before we found one. There is no denying that we were a tough-looking
pair of tramps. We were unshaven and none too clean. Our clothes were
worn and frayed, and soiled with mud and dust. We were bent with the
packs upon our shoulders, and walked with very pronounced limps.
Everywhere we were recognized as "Americanos," although it seemed to me
we looked more like Italian organ-grinders. To the day of my death I
shall never cease to be grateful to the people of Puerto Principe for
the admirable courtesy and good manners exhibited to us. They did not
stone nor jeer us; they did not even openly stare at the odd spectacle
we presented. Even the children did not laugh at us, and the dogs kindly
refrained from barking at our heels. At all times during our stay of
several days we were treated with perfect courtesy and a respectful
consideration which our personal appearance scarcely warranted and
certainly did not invite. The Spaniards and Cubans seem to associate
even the roughest dressed American with money and good-nature. The
humbler children would gather about us, pleading, "Americano, gimme a
centavo!" while little tots of four years would say in good English and
the sweetest of voices, "Good-by, my frien'!" It was the soldiers who
had taught them this. Their parents rarely spoke any English whatever.
We stayed at the Gran Hotel, said by some to be the best in the city.
It was none too good, but not bad as Cuban hotels run. The terms were
moderate, $1.50 per day, for two meals and lodging. A third meal could
not be obtained for love nor money. I bought mine at street stands or in
a café. Not a word of English was spoken at this hotel.
I cannot describe Puerto Principe at any length. It is an old Spanish
city in architecture and customs, and might well have been transplanted
from mediæval Spain. As a matter of fact, it was moved here centuries
ago from the north coast of Cuba, near the present site of Nuevitas, the
change being made to escape the incursions of pirates. It has a
population of about forty-seven thousand, and is the third largest city
in Cuba, and the most populous inland town. Many of the residents are
wealthy and aristocratic, and the people, generally speaking, are
fine-looking and very well dressed. I several times visited the chief
plaza, which had lately taken the new name of Agramonte, and watched
with interest the handsome men and beautiful señoritas who promenaded
there. I was told that late in the afternoon and early in the evening
the young people of the best families in the city walked in the plaza.
They were certainly elegantly dressed and most decorous in behavior. The
plaza was very pretty, with its royal palms and ornamental flower beds.
It was flanked by one of the several ancient Catholic churches in the
city. While in Puerto Principe I was in receipt of unexpected courtesies
from Mr. C. Hugo Drake, the American lawyer alluded to in an earlier
chapter of this book.
[Illustration: AGRAMONTE PLAZA, PUERTO PRINCIPE, CUBA.
_Photograph by V. K. Van de Venter, Jan. 28, 1900._]
After spending four delightful days in Puerto Principe, I took the train
to Las Minas, twenty miles to the eastward. There I joined my
companions, who had preceded me by twenty-four hours. Here we boarded
the private cane train of Bernabe Sanchez and rode to Señor Sanchez'
great sugar mill at Senado, six miles away. Señor Sanchez has a pleasant
residence here, surrounded by fruit trees and shrubs. We saw ripe
strawberries growing in his garden. Scores of Cuban shacks in the
vicinity house his workmen and their families. We went all over his
immense, well-appointed sugar mill, then in operation, and in the early
afternoon rode on the flat cars of the cane train through his extensive
plantation for nine miles, the land on either side of the track for all
this distance being utilized for the growing of sugar cane.
The end of the track left us about eighteen miles from La Gloria. We set
out to walk home, but late in the afternoon the party accidentally
divided and both divisions got lost. Murphy and I spent an uncomfortable
night in the thick, damp woods, and taking up the tramp early the next
morning, found ourselves, two or three hours later, at the exact point
near the end of Sanchez' plantation where we had begun our walk the
afternoon before. We had walked about fifteen miles and got back to our
starting point without realizing that we had deviated from the main
trail. Stranger yet, the other division of the party had done exactly
the same thing, but had reached this spot late the night before and was
now half way to La Gloria.
Murphy and I made a new start, and after getting off the track once or
twice, finally reached the Maximo river, crossed it on a tree, and got
into La Gloria at 5:30 that afternoon, nearly worn out and looking like
wild men. I had had nothing to eat for forty-eight hours save two
cookies, one cracker, and half a sweet potato.