Brazil and La Plata: The personal record of a cruise

by C. S. Stewart

The probability is that the stay of the Congress will be very brief; and that, consequently, my personal knowledge of Havana and the Habaneros will be limited to a hasty glance, through such loop-holes of observation as I may accidentally light upon.

The beauty of the panorama from the anchorage is so varied and so striking, that in the enjoyment of it, I have been satisfied thus far without a visit to the shore, though this is the third day, including the Sabbath, since our arrival. While examining closely with a glass again and again, every feature of the open country to the east and south, I could but indulge in many a reminiscence of tropical life at the Sandwich Islands and South Seas, awakened by the plumed palm and broad-leafed banana, the brightly gleaming hill sides and velvet-like slopes characteristic of the scenery. On the opposite sides of the harbor, the city and its fortresses,—its private dwellings and public buildings, its towers and domes and embattled walls,—are open to like inspection through the same medium, a sea-telescope of surpassing excellence.

While in the midst of these observations this morning, screened from the mid-day sun by the well-spread awnings of the poop-deck, my attention was drawn to a movement near at hand on board, occasioned by a succession of visits of ceremony from the “powers that be” in this viceroyal dependency, to our commander-in-chief and our captain. I am told, whether correctly or not, that the same policy which of yore prevented Ferdinand and Isabella from keeping faith with Columbus, in his appointment as viceroy of the New World with undivided power, is still adhered to by the Spanish throne. The supreme authority, in place of being vested in one representative of the crown, is distributed among three—one at the head of the civil affairs, another chief in those that are military, and a third supreme in the control of the marine. Each is in his own department independent of the other, and keeps check on his compeers in any assumption of undue authority. The captain-general, however, has precedence in matters of ceremony, and is the nominal head of the government. He does not visit vessels of war, and the courtesy on his part is expressed through an aide-de-camp. The visitor in his stead on this occasion, was the Conde Villeneuva, a fine-looking young man, in a richly embroidered dress of blue and silver, but without military decorations. He had scarcely been ushered on the deck, with the usual ceremony, when a barge, still more stately in the number of its oarsmen and the dimensions of its banner of “blood and gold,” than that by which he had arrived, was reported by the quarter-master. This bore the Intendante, or Military Chief, who crossed the gangway in full costume, with a magnificent star on the breast and three or four crosses and badges of knighthood at the button holes. Neither name nor title was announced with sufficient distinctness to be heard, and in view of the number and brilliancy of his decorations, I felt authorized in giving him precedence of the count, by at least one grade in the peerage, and set him down for a marquis: especially as the state in which the next dignitary approached would lead to the supposition that he could be nothing less than a duke—a grandee of the first rank. He came in a superb sixteen-oared barge of the purest white, picked out in gold. He was a most stately old gentleman, portly in person, fresh in complexion for a Spaniard, and of the most courtier-like and finished manners. Three magnificently jewelled stars decorated his left breast, with the crosses of twice as many orders pendant beneath, and over all the broad ribbon and insignia of the Golden Fleece. It was the Commandant-general of Marine, or Naval Chieftain. These visits of mere ceremony were brief, referring in conversation to the most common-place topics, followed by a departure in the order of arrival.

The weather since we have been here has been like that of the finest days in June on the Hudson: the sun very hot, the sky glowingly bright, the breeze fresh and seemingly pure, with heavy showers occasionally in the afternoons. In the evenings and at night the scene from shipboard is striking and impressive. Long lines of brilliant gas-lights, marking the walls of the city abreast of us, with the gleamings of others from fortress and tower reflected by the glassy waters of the bay in streams of gold, and a glorious canopy of sparkling stars above, compensate in a degree for the absence of the moon; while a fine military band stationed on the ramparts nearly opposite us discourses eloquently, till nine o’clock, the compositions of the masters in opera.

July 8th.—My first visit on shore was in company with my messmate F——, after the heat of the day had begun to pass. The low quays of a yellowish stone which face the water, are thickly lined with the smaller craft, engaged in the commerce of the port. We made our way along these for some distance, through an atmosphere redolent of tar and pitch and cordage—coffee and tobacco,—amid soldiers and sailors and throngs of brawny negroes, more than half naked and reeking with perspiration, in the labor of loading and unloading cargoes. On turning into a narrow street leading into the city, we soon discovered, that the buildings which from our moorings meet the eye so strikingly in their gay tintings of sky-blue, pea-green, peach-blossom, lemon and straw colors, with their mouldings, cornices and balustrades of the purest white, are thickly interspersed with others, dingy, shabby, decayed and dirty: barn-like, stable-like and prison-like. To an untravelled visitor from the Northern States, this last characteristic would be the first peculiarity in the aspect of the houses to attract his attention. Every man’s dwelling here is literally his castle, the defences of which give to its exterior, on the ground floor especially, the appearance of a jail at home. The heavy doors opening on the street, are of the most massive make, and bossed and studded with iron so as to be bullet-proof, while the lower windows are universally guarded from top to bottom by strong bars and network of the same material. The general style of building is the Spanish-Morescan, many of the dwellings being only one story in height. The streets are straight and regular, but very narrow, scarcely admitting two vehicles to pass each other, while the sidewalks, as termed by us, are on a level with the way for carriages, and a foot or eighteen inches only in width.

A short walk from the point at which we left the quay, brought us upon a small but pretty and artistic square, called the Plaza de Armas. It is enclosed with a handsome iron railing, is regularly laid out in walks, bordered with gay flowers and shrubbery overhung by the silvery trunks and long pendant branches of the palm-tree, and ornamented in the centre with a fountain and statue of Ferdinand VII. of Spain. Its southern side is faced in its whole length by the palace of the governor-general, a spacious and handsome quadrangular structure of stone, stuccoed and painted sky-blue, with pilasters, cornice and balustrade around its flat roof, of white.

Our chief object in going on shore was the enjoyment of a drive outside the walls. The vicinity of the Plaza furnished us with the opportunity of a choice of equipage for the purpose. Lines and groups of vehicles were standing along its sides and at the corners. An omnibus of American fashion and manufacture was seen on its route, and a carriage of modern style passing here and there, but those on the stand were exclusively the common vehicle of the city and country, the volante—a two-wheeled clumsy-looking machine of by-gone times drawn on ordinary occasions by one horse. The body is larger than that of an American gig or chaise, hung very low like an old-fashioned phaeton, and so delicately poised on springs of great elasticity as to sway about, under the slightest impulse, with a most buoyant and luxurious motion.

I find even a pen-and-ink sketch so much more satisfactory than verbal description, in conveying just ideas of novelties such as this, that I am more than half disposed to attempt one here, at the double hazard of defacing my paper and bringing in contempt my skill in the arts. I will try it. The experiment is not quite so successful and effective as I could wish it to be, but it will answer the purpose. Do not think it, however, defective in the proportions exhibited, either in regard to man and beast, or to the distance of both from the body of the carriage. The wheels in their size and height, in comparison with the top of the volante, the length of the shafts, and the bulk of the black calesero, or postillion, in contrast with that of the little pony he bestrides, are all true to the reality, rather underdrawn than exaggerated. You must not suppose either that the little horse is without a tail: for though not very distinctly visible in the sketch, the tail is there; neatly plaited and closely twisted round the hip, like the braid of a lady’s hair around her ear, and made fast by a gay ribbon to the postillion’s saddle.

The colors of these carriages, in body, shafts and wheels, are more varied than those of the rainbow: scarlet, yellow, blue, green—in endless tintings, contrasting showily with mountings of silver or silver-gilt, in greater or less profusion and massiveness, according to the rank or riches of the owner. The harness to our eyes appears complicated and heavy. It also is ornamented more or less elaborately with silver or gilt platings. As to the postillion, picture to yourself the most perfect personification of Congo blackness you ever saw, in the form of a stout muscular negro, with features and heels to match; put him in a very short-waisted jacket—scarlet, blue, yellow or parti-colored, and gay with worsted lace for livery, and into very high riding boots, large enough for Goliath, and with the sketch, you will have a tolerable idea of the equipage in which F—— and I set off from the Café Dominica, not far from the Plaza de Armas, for a drive in the suburbs.

At the end of a half mile, it may be, through the narrow streets, with shops and counting-rooms and dwellings on either side, widely open and within reaching distance by the hand, we came to the principal gateway in the western walls, leading directly upon the Paseo de Isabella II., the fashionable promenade and drive without the walls: the Hyde Park and Champs Elysee of the Habaneros. This extends the whole length of the western side of the city, and is garden-like and beautiful in its trees, shrubbery and flowers. Two broad carriage ways run from end to end with four or more gravelled walks between them; a fountain ornaments either extremity, and in the centre is a statuette of Isabella II., erected shortly after her succession when a child: the more welcome from associations of purity and innocence, which an image of her majesty in later years would be little calculated to suggest.