Upon landing at Nassau we find everything quite different from our late
experiences in the large European cities, and are brought face to face
with nature,--with a tropical race and with tropical vegetation. Instead
of palatial edifices we have low native huts, while the people we meet
have the bronzed hue of Africans. This island, which was settled by
Europeans as early as 1629, contains nearly a hundred square miles. The
town has a small free library, several churches, a hospital, and a bank.
It seems singular that an island like New Providence, which is almost
without soil, should be so productive in vegetation. It is surrounded by
low-lying coral reefs, and is itself of the same formation. In a
pulverized condition this limestone forms the earth out of which spring
palm, banana, ceba, orange, lemon, tamarind, mahogany, and cocoanut
trees, with various others, besides an almost endless variety of
flowers. Science teaches us that all soils are but broken and decomposed
rock pulverized by various agencies acting through long periods of time.
So the molten lava which once poured from the fiery mouth of Vesuvius
has become the soil of thriving vineyards which produce the choice
grapes whence is made the priceless Lachryma Cristi wine of Naples. This
transformation of lava into soil is not accomplished in the period of a
single life.
The luscious pineapple, zapota, mango, pomegranate, citron,
custard-apple, and other fruits captivate the palate of the stranger,
while the profuseness and variety of beautiful ferns and orchids delight
the eye of the northerner. The negroes are mostly engaged in cultivating
pineapples, yams, sweet potatoes, and other vegetables, and a large
number of the males employ themselves in fishing and gathering sponges.
From this locality comes the largest supply of coarse sponge which is
used in England and America. There is also a considerable trade carried
on in fine turtle-shell, which is polished in an exquisite manner by the
patient natives. The Bahama sponges are not equal to those obtained in
the Mediterranean. But they are marketable for certain uses, and Nassau
exports half a million dollars' worth annually. It is said that sponges
can be propagated by cuttings taken from living specimens, which, when
properly attached to a piece of board and sunk in the sea, will increase
and multiply. Thus the fine Mediterranean sponge can be successfully
transported to the coral reefs of the Bahamas.
A short drive or walk inland over smooth roads, formed of smooth,
levelled coral rocks, brings us to the extensive pineapple fields, where
this handsome fruit may be seen in the several stages of growth, varying
according to the season of the year and the purposes of its use. If
intended for exportation, the fruit is gathered when well-grown but
still in a green state; if designed for canning,--that is,
preserving,--the riper it is, the better it is adapted to the purpose.
Great quantities are put in tin cans carefully sealed for use in this
and other countries. The visitor is sure to be impressed by the beauty
and grace of the cocoanut-trees, their plume of leaves, often sixty feet
from the ground, notwithstanding that the bare stem or trunk is rarely
over two feet in thickness.
There are said to be six hundred of the Bahama Islands, large and
small, of which Nassau is the capital, and here the English
governor-general resides. Many are mere rocky islets, and not more than
twenty have fixed inhabitants. The sea-gardens, as they are called,
situated just off the shore of the main island, are extremely
interesting. We go out a short distance in a row-boat, and by means of a
simple contrivance of wood and glass we can look many fathoms below the
surface of the sea. These water-glasses are easily made, being formed of
a small wooden box three or four inches square, open at the top and
having a water-tight glass bottom. With the glass portion slightly
submerged one is able to see distinctly the beautiful coral reefs with
their marvellous surroundings. There are displayed tiny caves and
grottoes of white coral, star-fishes, sea-urchins, growing sponges,
sea-fans, and bright-colored fishes, including the hummingbird fish, and
others like butterflies with mottled fins and scales, together with that
little oddity, the rainbow-fish. The prevailing color of this attractive
creature is dark green, but the tinted margins of its scales so reflect
the light as to show all the colors of the rainbow, and hence its name.
When bottled in alcohol for preservation, these fish lose their native
colors. This unique display is enhanced in beauty by the clearness of
these waters, and the reflected lights from the snow-white sandy bottom,
which is dotted here and there by delicate shells of various shapes and
colors. One longs to descend among these coral bowers,--these mermaid
gardens,--and pluck a bouquet of the submarine flora in its purple,
yellow, and scarlet freshness.
The surface life of these clear waters is also extremely interesting.
Here the floating jelly-fish, called from its phosphorescence the
glow-worm of the sea, is observed in great variety, sheltering little
colonies of young fishes, which rush forth for a moment to capture some
passing mite, and as quickly return again to their cover. If we take up
a handful of the floating gulf-weed, we find within the pale yellow
leaves and berries, tiny pipe-fish, seahorses, and specimens of the
little nest-building fishes. Thus this curious weed forms a home for
parasites, crabs, and shell-fishes, being itself a sort of mistletoe of
the ocean. The young of the mackerel and the herring glide rapidly about
in shoals, just below the surface, near the shore, like myriad pieces of
silver. Verily there would seem to be more of animal life below than
above the surface of the waters, which is not an unreasonable conclusion
when it is remembered that the whole surface of the globe is supposed to
have an area of about two hundred million square miles, and that of
these only about fifty millions are composed of dry land.
Much of the drinking-water, and certainly the best in use at Nassau, as
well as on some of the neighboring islands, is procured in a remarkable
manner from the sea. Not far from shore, on the coral reefs, there are
never-failing fresh-water springs, bubbling up from the bottom through
the salt water with such force as to clearly indicate their locality.
Over these ocean springs the people place sunken barrels filled with
sand, one above another, the bottoms and tops being first removed. The
fresh water is thus conducted to the surface through the column of sand,
which acts as a filter, the water being sweet and palatable, as well as
remarkable for its crystal clearness. So on the arid shores of the
Persian Gulf, where rain seldom falls, and where there are no rills to
refresh the parched soil, fresh water is obtained from springs beneath
the sea. There it is brought to the surface by employing divers, who
descend with leather bags. The mouth of a bag is placed over the
bubbling spring, quickly filled and closed again, being then drawn to
the surface by persons awaiting the signal from the diver, who then
hastens to rise for needed air. There is no mystery as to the source of
these springs. The rain falls on the distant mountains, and finding its
way through the rocky ledges, pursues its course until it gushes forth
in the bed of the gulf.
A fortnightly steamer from New York, bound for Cuba, touches at Nassau
on the southward trip to leave the mail, and we will avail ourselves of
this opportunity to visit the "Queen of the Antilles," as this island is
called. At first we steam to the north for half a day, in order to find
a safe channel out of the Bahamas, where there is more of shoal than of
navigable waters, and as we do so, we leave many islands behind us
inhabited only by turtles, flamingoes, and sea-birds. But we are soon
steaming due south again towards our destination, namely, the island of
Cuba, five hundred miles away. San Salvador is sighted on our starboard
bow (right-hand side), the spot where Columbus first landed in the New
World. It will be found laid down on most English maps as Cat Island,
and is now the home of two or three thousand colored people, the
descendants of imported Africans. The island is nearly as large as New
Providence. It is said that the oranges grown here are the sweetest and
best that are known. The voyager in these latitudes is constantly
saluted by gentle breezes full of tropical fragrance, intensified in
effect by the distant view of cocoanut, palmetto, and banana trees,
clothing the islands in a mantle of green, down to the very water's
edge. As we glide along, gazing shoreward, now and again little groups
of swallows seem to be flitting a few feet above the waves, then
suddenly disappearing beneath the water. These are flying-fish enjoying
an air-bath, either in frolic or in fear; pursued possibly by some
dreaded enemy in the sea, which they are trying to escape.
It is interesting to remain on deck at night and watch the heavens as we
glide through the phosphorescent sea. Is it possible that the moon,
whose light renders objects so plain that one can see to read small
print, shines solely by borrowed light? We know it to be so, and also
that Venus, Mars, and perhaps Jupiter and Saturn shine in a similar
manner with light reflected from the sun. It is interesting to adjust
the telescope, and bring the starry system nearer to the vision. If we
direct our gaze upon a planet, we find its disk or face sharply defined;
change the direction, and let the object-glass rest upon a star, and we
have only a point of light more or less brilliant. The glass reveals to
us the fact that the "star-dust" which we call the Milky Way is an
accumulation of innumerable single stars. Sweeping the blue expanse with
the telescope, we find some stars are golden, some green, others purple,
many silvery white, and some are twins. Our use of the words "first and
second magnitude" relates mainly to distance. It is most likely only a
question of distance which regulates our vision or capacity for seeing,
and which makes these "lamps of the sky" look larger or smaller to us.
When the lonely lighthouse which marks Cape Maysi, at the eastern point
of Cuba, comes into view on the starboard bow, the dim form of the
mountains of Hayti are visible on the opposite horizon. A subterranean
connection is believed to exist between the mountain ranges of the two
islands. We are now running through the Windward Passage, as it is
called; by which one branch of the Gulf Stream finds its way northward.
The Gulf Stream! Who can explain satisfactorily its ceaseless current?
What keeps its tepid waters, in a course of thousands of miles, from
mingling with the rest of the sea? And finally whence does it come?
Maury, the great nautical authority, says the Gulf of Mexico is its
fountain, and its mouth is the Arctic Sea. The maps make the eastern
shore of Cuba terminate as sharp as a needle's point, but it proves to
be very blunt in reality, where it forms one side of the gateway to the
Caribbean Sea, and where the irregular coast line runs due north and
south for the distance of many leagues.
The nights are mostly clear, soft, and lovely in this region. As we
double Cape Maysi, and the ship is headed westward, the Southern Cross
and the North Star blaze in the opposite horizons at the same time, the
constellation on our port side (left-hand), and the North Star on the
starboard side. Each day at noon the captain and his officers determine
the exact position of the ship by "taking the sun," as it is termed.
When the sun reaches the meridian, that is, the point directly overhead,
the exact moment is indicated by the nautical instrument known as a
quadrant, adjusted to the eye of the observer. The figures marked on the
quadrant give the latitude of the ship at the moment of meridian. The
ship's time is then made to correspond,--that is to say, it must
indicate twelve o'clock noon,--after which it is compared with an exact
timepiece called a chronometer, which keeps Greenwich (English) time,
and the difference enables the observer to determine the longitude. As
fifteen miles are allowed to the minute, there will be nine hundred
miles to the hour. Thus, by means of the chronometer and the quadrant,
the sailing-master is enabled to designate his exact situation upon the
ocean chart.
Soon after passing the remarkably sheltered port of Guantanamo, which
was for nearly a century the most notorious piratical rendezvous in the
West Indies, the famous castle of Santiago is seen. It is called Moro
Castle, but it is older than the better-known Moro of Havana, by nearly
a hundred years. This antique, yellow, Moorish-looking stronghold, which
modern gunnery would destroy in ten minutes or less, is picturesque to
the last degree, with its crumbling, honey-combed battlements, and queer
little flanking towers. It is built upon the face of a lofty,
dun-colored rock, upon whose precipitous side the fortification is
terraced. Its position is just at the entrance of the narrow river
leading to the city, six or eight miles away, so that in passing up the
channel one can speak from the ship's deck to any one who might be
standing on the outer battlement of the Moro.
The winding channel which leads from the sea to the harbor passes
through low hills and broad meadows covered with rank verdure, cocoanut
groves, and fishing hamlets. Thrifty palms and intensely green bananas
line the way, with here and there upon the pleasant banks a charming
country-house in the midst of a garden fragrant with flowers. So close
is the shore all the while that one seems to be navigating upon the
land, gliding among trees and over greensward rather than upon blue
water. Steaming slowly up the Santiago River, we presently pass a sharp
angle of the hills, leading into a broad sheltered bay, upon whose banks
stands the rambling old city of Santiago de Cuba, built on a hillside
like Tangier, in Africa, and it is almost as Oriental as the capital of
Morocco. The first and most conspicuous objects to meet the eye are the
twin towers of the ancient cathedral, which have withstood so many
earthquakes.
This city, once the capital of the island of Cuba, was founded by
Velasquez, and is now gray with age and decay. The many-colored,
one-story houses are ranged in narrow streets, which cross each other at
right angles with considerable regularity, though the roadways are in an
almost impassable condition. They were once paved with cobblestones, but
are now dirty and neglected, a stream of offensive water flowing through
their centres, in which little naked children, blacks and whites, are at
play. No wonder that such numbers die here annually of yellow fever. The
surprise is that it does not prevail all the year round.
Santiago dates back to the year 1514, making it the oldest city in the
New World, next to San Domingo. From here Cortez sailed in 1518 to
invade Mexico. Here has been the seat of modern rebellion against the
arbitrary and bitterly oppressive rule of the home government of Spain.
The city contains over forty thousand inhabitants, and is situated six
hundred miles southeast of Havana; after Matanzas, it comes next in
commercial importance, its exports reaching the annual aggregate of
eight millions of dollars. After climbing and descending these narrow,
dirty streets of Santiago, and watching the local characteristics for a
few hours, one is glad to go on board ship again, and leave it all
behind.
To reach Cienfuegos, our next destination, we take water conveyance, the
common roads in this district being, if possible, a degree worse than
elsewhere on the island. It is necessary to double Cape Cruz and make a
coasting voyage along the southern shore of the island, for a distance
of four hundred miles. This is really delightful sailing in any but the
hurricane months; that is, between the middle of August and the middle
of October.
Cienfuegos has some twenty-five thousand inhabitants, a large percentage
of whom speak English, nine-tenths of its commerce being with this
country. It was in this immediate neighborhood, as Columbus tells us, on
the occasion of his second voyage from Spain, that he saw with
astonishment the mysterious king who spoke to his people only by signs,
and that group of men who wore long white tunics like the monks of
mercy, while the rest of the people were entirely naked. The town is low
and level, occupying a broad plain. The streets are wide and clean,
while the harbor is an excellent and spacious one. It is pitiful to
behold such an array of beggars, and it is strange, too, in so small a
city. Here the maimed, the halt, and the blind meet us at every turn.
Saturday is the harvest day for beggars in Cuban cities, on which
occasion they go about by scores from door to door, carrying a large
canvas bag. Each well-to-do family and shop is supplied on this day with
a quantity of small rolls of bread, one of which is almost invariably
given to any beggar who calls, and thus the mendicant's bag presently
becomes full of rolls. These, mixed with a few vegetables, bits of fish,
and sometimes meat and bones, are boiled into a soup which at least
keeps soul and body together in the poor creatures until another
Saturday comes round.
Cienfuegos is in the centre of a great sugar-producing district.
Sugar-cane is cultivated much like Indian corn, which it also resembles
in appearance. It is first planted in rows and weeded until it gets high
enough to shade its roots, after which it is left pretty much to itself
until it reaches maturity. This refers to the first laying out of a
plantation, which will afterwards continue to throw up fresh stalks from
the roots, with a little help from the hoe, for several years. When ripe
the cane is of a light golden yellow, streaked here and there with red.
The top is dark green, with long narrow leaves depending,--very much
like those of corn,--from the centre of which shoots upward a silvery
stem fifteen or eighteen inches in height, and from the tip grows a
white-fringed plume. The effect of a large field at maturity lying under
a torrid sun, and gently yielding to the breeze, is very fine.
Though the modern machinery for crushing, grinding, and extracting the
sugar from the cane as lately adopted on the Cuban plantations is
expensive, still the result obtained is so much superior to that of the
old methods, that small planters are being driven from the market. The
low price of sugar and the great competition in its production renders
economy in the manufacture quite necessary, especially now that slave
labor is abolished.
The delightful climate is exemplified by the abundance and variety of
fruits and flowers. Let us visit a private garden in the environs of the
city. Here the mango with its peach-like foliage is found, bending to
the ground with the weight of its ripening fruit; the alligator-pear is
wonderfully beautiful in its blossom, suggesting in form and color the
passion-flower; the soft, delicate foliage of the tamarind is like our
sensitive plant; the banana-trees are in full bearing, the deep green
fruit (it is ripened and turns yellow off the tree), being in clusters
of nearly a hundred, tipped at the same time by a single, pendent,
glutinous bud nearly as large as a pineapple. Here we see also the
star-apple-tree, remarkable for its uniform and graceful shape, full of
green fruit, with here and there a ripening specimen. The zapota, in its
rusty coat, hangs in tempting abundance. From low, broad-spreading trees
hangs the grape fruit, as large as a baby's head and yellow as gold;
while the orange and lemon trees, bearing blossoms, and green and
ripening fruit all together, serve to charm the eye and to fill the
garden with rich fragrance.
Let us examine one of these products in detail, selecting the banana as
being the most familiar to us at the north. It seems that the female
banana-tree (for we must remember that there are sexes in the vegetable
as well as in the animal kingdom), bears more fruit than the male, but
not so large. The average clusters of the former comprise about one
hundred, but the latter rarely bears over sixty or seventy distinct
specimens of this finger-shaped fruit. The stem grows to about ten feet
in height; from the centre of its broad leaves, which gather palm-like
at the top, there springs forth a large purple bud ten inches long,
shaped like a huge acorn, though more pointed. This cone-like bud hangs
suspended from a strong stem, upon which a leaf unfolds, displaying a
cluster of young fruit. As soon as these are large enough to support the
heat of the sun and the chill of the night dews, the sheltering leaf
drops off, and another unfolds, exposing its little brood of fruit; and
so the process goes on until six or eight rings of young bananas are
started, which gradually develop to full size. The banana is a plant
which dies down to the ground after fruiting, but it annually sprouts
again from the same roots.
We will continue our journey towards Havana by way of Matanzas, crossing
the island so as to penetrate at once into a section of luxuriant
tropical nature, where we see the cactus in great variety, flowering
trees, and ever-graceful palms, with occasional trees of the ceba family
grown to vast size. Vegetation here, unlike human beings, seems never to
grow old, never to falter in productiveness; crop succeeds crop, harvest
follows harvest; it is an endless cycle of abundance. Miles upon miles
of the bright, golden sugar-cane lie in all directions; among the
plantations here and there is seen the little cluster of low buildings
constituting the laborers' quarters, and near by is the tall, white
chimney of the sugar-mill, emitting its thick volume of smoke, like the
funnel of a steamship. A little on one side stands the planter's house,
low and white, surrounded by shade-trees and flower-plats. Scores of
dusky Africans give life to the scene, and the overseer, on his little
Cuban pony, dashes hither and thither to keep all hands advantageously
at work. One large gang is busy cutting the ripe cane with sword-like
knives; some are loading the stalks upon ox-carts; some are driving
loads to the mill; and some are feeding the cane between the great steel
crushers, beneath which pours forth a continuous jelly-like stream which
is conducted by iron pipes to the boilers. Men, women, and children are
spreading the refuse to dry in the sun, after which it will be used as
fuel beneath the boilers. Coopers are heading up hogsheads full of the
manufactured article, and other laborers are rolling up empty ones to
be filled. Formerly the overseers were never seen without the
long-lashed whip, but slavery no longer exists as an institution. The
negroes are free, though they work for very small wages.
Occasionally in the trip across the island we pass through a crude but
picturesque hamlet, having the mouldering stamp of antiquity, with low
straggling houses built of rude frames, covered at side and roof with
palm-bark and leaves. Chimneys, there are none,--none even in the
cities,--charcoal being alone used, and all cooking is done in the open
air. About the doors of the long, irregular posada, or inn, a dozen
saddle-horses are seen tied to a bar erected for the purpose, while
their owners are smoking and drinking inside; but there are no wheeled
vehicles to be seen. The roads are only passable for men on foot or
horseback. The people, the cabins, and the horses all are stained with
the red dust of the soil, recalling our Western Indians in their war
paint. This pigment, or colored dirt, penetrates and adheres to
everything, fills the railroad cars, and decorates the passengers with a
dingy brick color. It is difficult to realize that these comparatively
indifferent places through which we glide so swiftly are of any
importance, and the permanent home of any one. When the cars stop at the
small way-stations, they are instantly boarded by lottery-ticket
sellers, boys with tempting fruit, green cocoanuts, ripe oranges, and
bananas, all surprisingly cheap. Here, too, is the guava-seller, with
neatly sealed tin cans of this favorite preserve. Indeed, it seems to
rain guava jelly in Cuba. At a shanty beside the road where we stop at
noon, a large mulatto woman retails coffee and island rum, while a score
of native whites lounge about with slouched hats, hands in pockets, and
puffing cigarettes,--pictures of idleness and indifference.
Stray dogs hang about the car-wheels and track to pick up the crumbs
which passengers throw away from their lunch-baskets. Just over the wild
pineapple hedge close at hand, half a dozen naked negro children hover
round the door of a low cabin; the mother, fat and shining in her one
garment, gazes with arms akimbo at the scene of which she forms a
typical part. The engineer imbibes a penny drink of thin Cataline wine
and hastens back to his post. The station bell rings, the steam whistle
is sounded, and we are quickly on our way again, to repeat the picture
six or eight leagues farther on.
As we approach Matanzas, the scene undergoes a radical change.
Comfortable habitations are multiplied, good roads appear winding
gracefully about the country, and groves and gardens come into view with
small dairy farms. Superb specimens of the royal palm begin to multiply
themselves, always suggestive of the Corinthian column. Scattered about
the scene a few handsome cattle are observed cropping the rank verdure.
There is no greensward in the tropics, grass is not cultivated, and hay
is never made. Such fodder as is fed to domestic animals is cut green
and brought into the city from day to day.
Notwithstanding the ceaseless novelty of the scene, one becomes a little
fatigued by the long, hot ride; but as we draw nearer to Matanzas, the
refreshing air from the Gulf suddenly comes to our relief, full of a
bracing tonic which renders all things tolerable. The sight of the broad
harbor, under such circumstances, lying with its flickering, shimmering
surface under the afternoon sun, is very beautiful to behold.