Rambles in Cuba

NEW YORK: Carleton, Publisher, Madison Square. LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO. MDCCCLXX. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by GEORGE W. CARLETON, In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. Stereotyped at The Women’s Printing House, Eighth Street and Avenue A, New York.


In the Tropics—First View of Havana—Entering the Bay—Surrounded—Landed—A Street in Havana—“Queen’s Hotel”—A Breakfast—The Harbor—The Coolies—The Plaza de Armas—Cuban Women—A Volante—Fine Avenues—A Priest—Shopping.
Havana, March 1, 18—.
HE first dawn of day found me already on deck, to assure myself we had really arrived at the shores of a tropical-world.
I was not disenchanted. A mist had possessed, like a dream, the blue quiet of the entire bay, half dissolving its masts and sails, softening the picturesque battlements of Morro Castle, throwing over the walls, domes, and spires of the city an air of hoary distance so complete that I half fancied those solitary palm-trees waved their arms over some city half-buried in the mirage of deserts, or the pages of some mediæval romance.
But the dream departs, and so must we. Stirring music from the two men-of-war lying at anchor unite with the first sounds from the long, low barracks close by, and with the signal guns from the Morro, to say that the sun is risen, and consequently we may go on shore.
First comes the pilot,—a stout Spaniard in supernaturally white trousers and inexplicably thick overcoat. He sits under the awning of his boat, and is rowed by twelve bronze, attenuated creoles, dressed in wide-mouthed jackets, bare feet, much hair,—a few wearing turbans.
The steps are lowered; the pilot comes on deck, says good-morning to the captain, in dislocated English, and goes forward to his duty.