The Pearl of the Antilles, or An Artist in Cuba

'Whatever your plan may be, dearest Tunicú,' said I, 'I agree to it blindly.'

'Then,' said he, 'you will also agree to our temporary separation. You will accompany my uncle to the farm?'

To this I also, though reluctantly, acceded.

So my mother was returned to Don Vicente, with whose family she was to reside until a purchaser was found. Tunicú remained in town; while I and Don Benigno's family were conveyed in a covered cart drawn by oxen to the farm-house.

We arrived opportunely. The town which we had left was, as you know, already in a state of siege, and shortly after our departure, Count Valmaseda's dreadful manifesto, announcing that every man, woman, and child who should be discovered in certain districts of the country were to be shot like dogs, was published. We dared not now venture beyond the limits of the farm-grounds, for the report of fire-arms was continually heard in the neighbouring woods. Don Benigno was in daily fear lest the volunteers should visit our retreat, for he was well acquainted with the details of their past iniquities.

Early one morning we were awakened by a negro, who hastened to the farm-house, shouting as he came: 'Los Insurrectos! Los Insurrectos!'

'The insurgents are coming!' was the signal of alarm usually adopted by non-combatants, because the insurgents, and not the volunteers, were said to be the scarecrows of our island.

It was, however, 'Los Voluntaries' and not 'Los Insurrectos' this time, for a party of volunteers were visible on a distant eminence.

Our black sentinel, however, still persisted in shouting, 'Los Insurrectos!' The same cry was echoed by other negroes, who, with their faces tinged with the pale green of a black's fear, came running towards us with the information that three insurgents were riding within a mile of our habitation. The statement proved correct, for presently three horsemen arrived at the farm. All three were armed with revolvers, and short swords called 'machetes,' and they were attired in brown holland blouses, buff-coloured shoes, and Panama hats.

One of these men appeared to be suffering great bodily pain, but his face was so besmeared with dirt and blood, that we could scarcely tell whether he was a mulatto or a white man. The poor fellow had been seriously wounded, and groaned in agony as Don Benigno's slaves assisted him to dismount.

After he had been placed upon a catre in one of our apartments and revived with a draught of aguardiente, the invalid smiled mournfully around him, and then, to our unspeakable astonishment, inquired whether we did not recognise in him Don Benigno's nephew!

I will not describe the scene which followed this disclosure, but I will endeavour to repeat to you what Tunicú had now to reveal. His first words caused me great happiness; though the strange tone in which they were uttered seemed scarcely to correspond with the good news conveyed in them.

'Your mother,' said he, glancing in my direction, 'is free!'

He now told us how, in spite of his efforts to steal my dear parent, Don Vicente had succeeded in selling her to a brutal slave-trader, who contemplated employing her as a common labourer at a coffee plantation, and how, being aware of this, my lover determined to save her from such a terrible fate.

Parties of young Cubans were then secretly planning expeditions into the heart of the country, where their compatriots in arms were concealed, and this being known to my lover, he lost no time in enrolling himself among them. A party of these young men were on the eve of departing on their rebellious or patriotic mission, and as my mother's new master had already started for his plantation with his recent purchases and half-a-dozen armed negroes, Tunicú persuaded his companions to help him to rescue my parent. Well armed, well acquainted with the roads of their intricate country, and mounted on fast trotting horses, the little band of warriors followed in the track of the slave-owner, and, after some hours of hard riding, they succeeded in overtaking him. They then demanded, in the name of 'Cuban justice,' every slave in his possession, declaring, that now the Cuban people had risen in defence of their rights and for the abolition of slavery, they were no longer amenable to Spanish law.

'We are all Cubans,' said they, 'and well armed, as you see; and we intend to fight for both causes whenever an opportunity presents itself.'

Hostile measures were, however, quite unnecessary in this instance. The eloquence of my brave countrymen sufficed to create a mutiny among the trader's black body-guard, who with one accord came over to the enemy. In short, the slaves were all released, and their late owner, after vowing to be avenged, rode off to the nearest garrison for the purpose of reporting to the authorities what had happened, and, if possible, obtain redress for the wrongs he had sustained. In the meantime the victorious party hastened to join their brethren in arms, some of whom were encamped in one of the strong fortifications which nature so generously provides in our well-wooded mountains. But they had scarcely reached this part of the country, when a battalion of volunteers, guided by the slave-trader, went in pursuit of them.

Tunicú then described an encounter which afterwards took place between the latter and the patriots. He said that for upwards of an hour shots were exchanged, but with no advantage to either side; till the slave-trader (doubtless acquainted with the roads of this intricate country) suddenly discovered an opening in the forest. Through this opening he, followed by a number of the volunteers, entered, and, sheltered by the surrounding foliage and trees, took deadly aim at those of their enemies who were exposed to their view. Many of my countrymen fell in this cruel slaughter, and amongst them were two of the recently captured slaves. Horrible to relate, one of these slaves was my mother. Seeing her fall, Tunicú boldly advanced towards the spot whence the firing proceeded, and there beheld the slave-trader who, he had no doubt, was my parent's assassin. Without a moment's hesitation, Tunicú shot this man dead with his revolver. A dozen rifles were levelled at the daring fellow as he hastened to return to his companions, and unfortunately a bullet lodged in his side.

My warlike countrymen now retreated to a safe part of the forest, and here they remained, till the patience and the ammunition of their assailants were exhausted.

As soon as my lover was sufficiently recovered from his wound, he was escorted by two of his companions to Don Benigno's farm, where they duly arrived.

How shall I describe the agony which Tunicú's narrative caused me! My mother was indeed free, and by the hand of her own master; but alas! how dearly was her liberty purchased! I consoled myself with the reflection that my dear parent had been saved from a fate such as was in store for her had she been recaptured by her owner. Our anxiety was now devoted to my lover, who had suffered considerably from his long ride to the farm. We were able to attend the invalid unmolested; though news reached us that the insurrection was spreading in all directions, and we were in constant fear that it would reach too near our retreat.

I was happier with my lover during his recovery, than I had ever been. The perils which he had undergone for my sake seemed to have toned down his volatile nature, and although his habit of promising had not wholly deserted him, I had reason to be grateful for at least one sweet promise which he made me!

'Ermiña de mi alma!' said he, one evening that we were alone together, 'my uncle contemplates leaving with you all for North America, there to remain till the revolution is over. I cannot accompany you, but we shall meet there, and if, after your intercourse with the white society of that country – where you will be treated as an equal – your feelings with regard to me are unchanged, we will be married, and I will endeavour to make your life happier than it has hitherto been.'

'Not happier than it is now,' said I.

…

'Los Insurrectos! – Los Insurrectos!'

The insurgents again? No; our swarthy sentinels were wrong this time, for presently a dozen Spanish troopers, all armed to the teeth, galloped into our court-yard. We were, of course, greatly alarmed at their appearance; for we had no doubt that they had come to apprehend my lover. We were, however, soon agreeably relieved from our anxiety on this account, by a letter which the officer in command had brought for Don Benigno. This letter came from his future son-in-law, Don Manuel, who, since the commencement of the revolution, had been quartered with his regiment at Manzanillo, not many leagues from our farm. Aware that we had left town for Don Benigno's plantation, and conscious of the danger which was now threatening every district in the eastern extremity of the island, Don Manuel proposed that we should join him without delay at Manzanillo, and thence proceed to Havana, to which the young officer was shortly to be transferred. As yet perfect tranquillity reigned at the Cuban capital; and 'here,' suggested Don Manuel, 'we might remain,' under his official protection, 'until the rebellion was suppressed.'

'The rest of her story,' says Don Benigno, breaking in at this point of it, 'is soon told. The soldiers remained with us for two or three days while we prepared for our departure, and in the meantime they discussed the merits of our fried bananas with boiled rice, our bacalao and casabe, our tasajo, our chimbombó, our ajiaco and our Catalan wine. Then, consigning my plantation to the care of my trusty major-domo, we all left for Manzanillo, under our military escort. Shortly after our arrival, Tunicú set sail for North America; for Don Manuel was of opinion that unless my nephew joined the Mambís (nickname for the rebellious party), it would not be safe for him to remain in any part of the Ever-faithful Isle. But we hope to meet him there, and, meanwhile we intend to practise those virtues of patience and amiability which have hitherto served us so well – eh, mi Ermiña? My daughter's marriage will soon be celebrated, and after the nuptials some of us will, I hope – si Dios quiere – depart for the great city of New York.'

CHAPTER XXIX.

A CUBAN WEDDING

Open Engagements – A Marriage Ceremony – A Wedding Breakfast – The Newly-Married Couple

A number of Don Benigno's relatives and friends have, like ourselves, taken refuge in the peaceful city of Havana. Some of them purpose remaining here till affairs at Santiago are more settled, while others, like Don Benigno, intend to make New York their temporary abode.

Surrounded by his friends, the Don begins to feel at home again. Every evening he holds a tertulia at his temporary residence, as of old, and upon these occasions I recognise many familiar faces. Señor Esteban, the lawyer, Don Magin, the merchant, and Don Felipe, the sugar planter, are the Don's guests again. Doctor Francisco and his family have also arrived in Havana, en route for Europe: for even our medical friend has been in danger of arrest for having administered to some wounded 'patriots' at a village near Santiago.

Don Manuel is of course a constant visitor at Don Benigno's, but I do not envy him the term of courtship which precedes the marriage, nor is the ceremony itself very inviting.

In his capacity of lover, Don Manuel is bound to submit to many hardships. He may not meet his fiancée alone under any circumstances; her society must be enjoyed only in the presence of the numerous friends and relatives who visit her at all hours of the day and evening. Then, he is expected to return some of these visits, in company with his future bride, her mother and sister. He must also submit to certain formalities required of him by the priest who is to unite the 'promessi sposi,' and the most irksome of these is that of confession. Paquita confesses, and that is nothing new to her, but it is otherwise with the young officer. In short, until Don Manuel is actually a happy husband, his position is by no means enviable, and for my own part, I would gladly relinquish two years of married life in Cuba for half an hour's secret love-making at a certain grated window!

The wearisome ordeal at length comes to an end – the nuptial day arrives. The ceremony, such as it is, takes place very late in the night; indeed, it is early morning before Don Manuel and his male friends reach the cathedral, where the event is to be celebrated. A single bell tolls like a funeral knell as we enter a small chapel connected with the sacred edifice. It is a dreary apartment, dismally lighted with two long wax candles. Nobody is present, save Don Manuel, the male friends already mentioned, and the sacristan, who enlivens us by trying (and failing) to beautify, with false flowers and false candles, a miserable altar-piece at one extremity of the chapel. The young officer's importance as a bridegroom is not at present appreciated, either by himself or by his friends, with whom he converses upon indifferent subjects, and who, like myself, are attired in ordinary walking costume.

Presently a Quitrin, drawn by a couple of mules, with a black postilion in jack-boots, halts without. The bride, accompanied by her mother and a friend, alight, and, without taking notice of anybody in particular, pass silently into the chapel. The importance of Don Manuel's position does not reveal itself by this act, nor is it considerably improved, when the ecclesiastic, who is to marry the happy pair, emerges from a dark corner, smiles artificially around him, and exhausts the rest of his amiability with the ladies. But the priest is not so unconscious of Don Manuel as that gentleman supposes. Soon he singles the officer out from the group of males, and bids him follow the bride, and his future mother-in-law, into an adjacent chamber. But little is required of the bridegroom besides his signature to a paper, which he does not read; and when the holy man has addressed something or other to him in the Latin language, he is politely requested to withdraw. Shortly after Don Manuel's retirement, the bride and her escort issue from the mysterious chamber, and, after saluting us all round, take their departure and drive away. Don Manuel's distinguished position seems to be scarcely increased by these proceedings; but when his friends congratulate him, the lights of the chapel are extinguished, and the decorations on the miserable altar-piece are stowed away, he endeavours to realise the feelings of a married man. Don Manuel follows his friends as they lead the way to the bride's parental roof, consoling himself with newly-rolled cigarettes as he walks along.

It is nearly two A.M. before we reach the scene of the festivities, where most of the guests are already assembled. A long table has been tastefully arranged with sweetmeats, cakes, fruit, wine, and other luxuries, and some of the guests, whose appetites could not be restrained, have already inaugurated the festivities. Much confusion, uproar, and struggling after dainties peculiar to a Cuban banquet, prevail, and it is not without an effort that the young officer contrives at last to find a place near his bride. Healths are drunk and responded to incessantly, and often simultaneously; rather, as it would seem, for the excuse of drinking champagne and English bottled ale, than from motives of sentiment.

When enough cigarettes have been smoked, and enough wine and beer have been disposed of, all the company rises with one accord. The ladies throw light veils across their shoulders, the gentlemen don their panamas; and the bride and her mother, together with the bridegroom and all the guests, followed by an army of black domestics, leave Don Benigno's habitation, and marching in noisy procession along the narrow streets, arrive at the bride's future home. It is a one-storied dwelling with marble floors and white-washed walls, and is furnished with bran-new cane-bottomed chairs and other adornments belonging to a Cuban residence. The huge doors and windows of every apartment are thrown open to their widest and the interior being brilliantly lighted with gas, the view from the street is almost as complete as within the premises. Everybody crowds into the latter, and examines the arrangements of each chamber with as deep an interest as if they were wandering through an old baronial mansion with cards of invitation from its absent owner. The reception-room, the comedor or dining-room, the out-houses round the patio or court-yard, are carefully inspected by the throng, who are irrepressible even in respect to the dormitory assigned for the use of the bridegroom, and that allotted to the bride, and situated in quite a different quarter.

Everybody's curiosity being satisfied, everybody, save the newly-married pair and a few black domestics, is wished a 'muy buenas noches,' or, more correctly speaking (for the hour is 4 A.M.), a very good morning.

CHAPTER XXX.

CUBANS IN NEW YORK

The Morro Castle again – Summer and Winter – Cuban Refugees – Filibusters – 'Los Laborantes' of New York and their Work – American Sympathisers

I am a prisoner in the Morro Castle again, and this time my fellow captives are more numerous. We occupy separate apartments. The chamber which has been allotted to me is considerably smaller than that of the fortress at Santiago. So small that the floor measures barely four feet in width, and seated in my narrow cot, my head approaches within a few inches of the ceiling. Don Benigno, his wife, his unmarried daughter, and the pretty Ermiña, together with a score of Cuban families, are all imprisoned in the same stronghold, whence there is no escape. For we are encompassed on every side by a moat so deep and so wide that no engineering skill would avail to connect us with terra firma.

This is, however, not the Havana Morro, nor is it the fortress at Santiago de Cuba; but an American steamer called the 'Morro Castle' and bound for New York, where – wind and weather permitting – we shall all arrive, in little more than four days!

Although the month is January, the atmosphere is still sultry and oppressive; so much so that most of the passengers prefer to sleep on deck. But on the morning of the third day of our voyage, there is a perceptible change in the temperature. The passengers are seen to shiver and to huddle together in warm corners of the cabin. Everybody has exchanged his or her summer clothing for warmer vestments. The ladies appear no more in light muslin dresses, and without any head covering. The gentlemen have eschewed their suits of white drill and Panama hats, and have assumed heavy over-coats and flannel under-clothing. It is a 'nipping and an eager air,' closely resembling winter, and reminding everybody of the fact, that in one short hour we have tripped lightly from the perpetual summer of the tropics into the coldest season of the north. Some sea water which had been hauled up in a bucket half an hour ago was perfectly tepid, and now when the bucket is lowered and raised we are amazed to find that the contents are icy cold!

Next day the liquid in our water jugs is discovered to be in a freezing condition, and fires have been lighted in all the stoves. But our chilly Creoles derive little or no warmth from these artificial means, although they are swathed in garments ten inches deep.

Great is the joy when the 'Morro Castle' at last sails into the wide and picturesque harbour of the great American city, and when we have safely landed, satisfied the Custom-house officers, and are finally lodged in a comfortable hotel in Broadway, our happiness is complete.

Numbers of Cuban families are already encamped in the hotel which Don Benigno has selected for himself, family and friend, and at the table d'hôte where we take our first American meal, the conversation is held exclusively in the Spanish language. Don Benigno is delighted to find himself among his countrymen again, and as the city is over-run with Cuban refugees, he soon meets many of his old friends. Some of them tell him that, having had their property confiscated, and being too old to take part in the revolution, they intend to remain in America, where they hope to improve their fortunes; while the more able-bodied are recruiting with a view to certain secret expeditions to Cuba.

Tunicú, who joins us shortly after our arrival, is of course overjoyed at our appearance, and welcomes some of us literally with 'open arms!' Having passed some weeks in New York, he is of course already acquainted with everybody of note in the city, and is familiar with American ways. He tells us all about the Cuban 'Laborantes' of New York, and how they are labouring in behalf of their bellicose countrymen. How juntas are held, and how the Cuban ladies take a prominent part in these meetings, and provide funds for the relief of their sick and wounded compatriots in arms. Tunicú informs us that a grand bazaar, with this object in view, is now being promoted by these energetic señoras, and when Doña Mercedes hears of this, she and her daughters are soon busy at their favourite occupation. Tunicú says that the proceeds of the bazaar will not be wholly devoted to the purpose for which it is publicly announced, but that a large amount will be set apart for the purchase of arms and accoutrements; it being whispered that another fillibustering expedition is contemplated, and that great hopes are entertained of its safe departure from America. He says that an important landing has been lately effected at Guanaja – a small town on the Cuban coast – where Manuel Quesada, the newly-appointed general of the Cuban army, has arrived with eighty well-drilled men, 2,700 muskets and necessary ammunition.