The Pearl of the Antilles, or An Artist in Cuba

Having bribed Guadalupe with a bundle of cigars and a coloured handkerchief for a turban, I obtain from her, in return, some intelligence of her young mistress.

'Have you heard how la Niña Cachita fares?' I inquire.

'Badly,' says the negress. 'The monastic life does not agree with her lively disposition, and she yearns for freedom again, la pobre!'

'Then the nuns have not succeeded in converting her?'

'I think not, miamo. In a letter to her mother, Doña Belen, who has still a good opinion of your worship, mi amita Cachita ridicules the Monjas (nuns), and describes their strange ways.'

'Has Don Severiano expressed his intention to release la Niña at the expiration of her allotted six months?'

'I believe so; but even then, it will be nearly five long months before she can be with us again!'

The most important information which I draw from the communicative black is, that my medical friend, Don Francisco, who is a dentist as well as a doctor, is attending my beloved for professional purposes. I resolved to call upon Don Francisco, and when Guadalupe has taken her departure with a packet containing a selection from Cachita's letters, and one of my own, which I have carefully worded, in case it should fall into wrong hands, I repair at once to the house of my medical friend.

Don Francisco sympathises with me, and promises to aid me in a plan which I have conceived for communicating by letter with my absent mistress; but he warns me that there are many difficulties in the way of doing so.

'The nuns,' he says, 'who accompany my patient, stand like a couple of sentinels on each side of her, and no word or gesture escapes their attentive ears and watchful gaze. He must have more than a conjuror's hand who can perform any epistolary feat and escape their keen observation.'

The allusion to conjuring reminds me of my scheme.

Will Don Francisco recommend to his patient a box of his registered tooth-powder?

He will be delighted to have that opportunity.

'One of my assistants who accompanies me in my convent rounds shall include such a box in my dentist's bag.'

Don Francisco sees through my 'little powder plot,' as he calls it, and hands me a box of his patented tooth-powder, beneath which I afterwards carefully deposit a billet-doux.

But Don Francisco can improve upon my scheme, and staggers me with his new idea.

'You shall deliver the box yourself!' says he.

The convent rules, he explains, allow him to introduce an assistant, or 'practicante,' as he is called. The same practicante does not always accompany him in his semi-weekly visits to the convent.

'As I am about to visit La Cachita for dental purposes only,' says the considerate gentleman, 'you shall on this occasion act as my practicante.'

Early next morning we are on the threshold of the sacred ground. Don Francisco boldly enters the stone ante-chamber, which I have so often timidly approached, and taps with a firm knuckle on the torno.

'Ave Maria Purísima!' murmurs the door-keeper from behind.

'Pecador de mí!' (sinner as I am) replies the practised Don.

'Que se ofrece usted?' (what is your pleasure?) inquires the voice. And when the dentist has satisfied the door-keeper's numerous demands, a spring door flies open, and we step into a narrow passage. Here we remain for some moments, while our persons are carefully identified through a perforated disc. Then another door opens, the mysterious door-keeper appears and conducts us into the very core of the convent. As we look over the convent garden, which is tastefully laid out with tropical plants and kitchen stuff, a thickly veiled nun approaches us. The lady seems to be on familiar terms with the dentist, whom she addresses in a mild, soothing tone, as if she were administering words of comfort to a sick person. We follow her through a narrow corridor, where I observe numerous doors, which I am told give access to the apartments or cells occupied by the convent inmates. We pass a chamber where children's voices are heard. There is a school attached to the convent, for the benefit of those who desire their offspring to receive religious instruction from the nuns. Music and fancy needlework are also taught, and some of the distressed damsels, who, like Cachita, are undergoing a term of conventual imprisonment for similar offences, impose upon themselves a mild form of hard labour by assisting to improve the infant mind. Cachita, who is a good musician, takes an active part in this branch of education.

At last we are ushered into a gloomy, white-washed apartment (everything in the convent appears to be of wood and whitewash), where our guide takes leave of us.

While the dentist, assisted by his practicante, is arranging his implements for tooth-stopping on a deal table, which, together with a couple of wooden chairs, constitute the furniture of this cheerless chamber, an inner door is thrown open, and a couple of nuns, attired in sombre black, enter with Don Francisco's fair patient. Cachita is dressed in spotless white, a knotted rope suspended from her girdle, and a yellowish veil affixed in such a manner to her brow as to completely conceal her hair, which, simple practicante though I be, I know is dark, soft, and frizzled at the top. Her pretty face is pale, and already wears (or seems to wear) the approved expression of monastic resignation.

At Don Francisco's suggestion, I carefully conceal my face while Cachita seats herself between the sentinel nuns.

The dentist, with a presence of mind which I emulate but little, commences his business of tooth-stopping, pausing in his work to exchange a few friendly words with his patient and the amicable nuns. Hitherto my services have not been in requisition; but anon the subject of the tooth-powder is introduced.

Will La Cachita allow the dentist to recommend her a tooth-powder of his own preparation?

Cachita is in no immediate need of such an article, but the dentist is persuasive, and the young lady is prevailed upon to give the powder a trial.

'You will derive much benefit from its use,' observes Don Francisco. 'My assistant' (and here the cunning tooth-stopper, being close to his patient's ear, whispers my name) 'will bring it you presently.'

'What ails la Niña?' inquires one of the nuns, bending forward; for Cachita has uttered a cry, and swooned away.

'Nothing, señora,' says Don Francisco with the same sang-froid already noted. 'Only a nerve which I have accidentally excited in my operation. She will be better presently.'

The dentist desires me to bring him a certain bottle, and with the contents of this, his patient is soon restored to consciousness.

'Keep her head firm,' says my artful friend, addressing me with a faint smile on his countenance, 'while I put the finishing touches to my work.'

I obey; and though my hands are far from being as steady as an assistant's should be, I acquit myself creditably.

Cachita's mouth is again open to facilitate the dentist's operations, but also, as it seems to me, in token of surprise at the apparition now bending over her.

'You will find much relief in the use of this tooth-powder,' continues my friend, in a careless tone, as though nothing had happened. 'Very strengthening to the gums. When you have got to the bottom of the box – just open your mouth a little wider – when you have got to the bottom of the box – where' (he whispers) 'you will find a note – I will send you another.'

Cachita, by this time accustomed to my presence, can now look me fearlessly in the face with those expressive eyes of hers, which I can read so well, and before the dentist's operations are over, we have contrived, unobserved, to squeeze hands on three distinct occasions.

Assured by this means of my lover's constancy, I now take my leave of her, and, advised by my friends, patiently await the term of her convent captivity, which expires, as I have already stated, in four months and three weeks.

Upwards of three of these months elapse and I hear nothing more of the fair recluse, and during that long interval many strange and unexpected events transpire as to the 'Ever-faithful Isle.'

CHAPTER XXIII.

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 – Mayagüez – 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 'Colecturía,' 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.