A Discovery for the Benefit of Smugglers—The Steamer Karnak—Adieu, Cuba!—An English Ship—Nassau—The Negro Custom-officer—English Hotel—An Ex-President—What the Island is and has—The Negro Element—The “Eastern Road”—The Air—The Beau Monde—Turtle Houses.
April 11th.
AST evening, after visits from nearly all our friends; after a long walk in search of Spanish books, to find them much dearer than in New York; after looking as a matter of curiosity at the diamonds which are so lavishly displayed in the shops, to find them all singularly yellow,—I retired to sleeplessness and suffocation in my air-tight room. I awoke this morning with only life enough left in me to rejoice in the prospect of the little sea-voyage before us.
At ten comes Mr. R—— to accompany us to the wharf, where we found other friends awaiting us, with row-boat and swarthy boatman ready to carry us out to the steamer.
And here, as a conscientious narrator of important and dignified historical events, I have to record an item of experience, an unintentional experiment, that possibly may be of service to future female travellers.
So soon as our volante reached the landing, the custom-house officer appeared, received my keys, proceeded with official composure to examine the trunks. But the instant the top of the first was raised, up popped, most ferociously, in his face, a white skeleton—a hooped petticoat! At the last moment I discovered it lying on the top of the wardrobe in the hotel, and in great haste had stuffed it in the top of the trunk I was locking. As you may guess, a general shout of laughter followed from the watching bystanders and my friends, and I soon found my chagrin giving way before the irresistibly funny scene, and joined in the merriment. B—— took the thing, flourished it for my benefit, and crowded it back again. He then pointed to the other trunks, but the nonplussed officer solemnly shook his head, declaring himself quite satisfied. He expressed doubts about our being people likely to carry contraband articles. Hereafter, when you wish to smuggle cigars, linen, or guava jelly, you have only to cram an apparition of this sort—a jack-in-the-box—in the top of your trunk, and you are safe.
But here we are at the steamer. Our friends come on deck; we sit talking until the last moment arrives for setting sail; they descend the step-ladder to the little boat, and their waving handkerchiefs are soon lost among the shipping.
A pretty, fair-haired girl sits near me, whom, from her resemblence to the captain, I perceive to be his daughter. Presently she asks me to go to the other end of the ship to see the anchor drawn up—always a cheerful sight when fifteen or twenty ruddy Englishmen march regularly round and round at the work, while the pleasant roundelay all sing directs their movements.
And now “the last link is broken which binds me to” this happy clime; we float down through the winding bay; past ships of all nations; past our favorite Cortina; the Punto; the Morro, that was the first to welcome and is the last to leave us; and now the low shores are receding fast in the distance, and the bright walls and brown tiles and pleasant friends fade out again into the past and the forever.