The maja is an immense serpent, of the boa-constrictor species, destroying his victim by constriction. We presented one, sixteen feet long, to the Central Park Museum in New York, and it was not an unusually large specimen. The Chinese were fearless and expert in capturing them for food, frequently coming in from their work dragging a monster with a rope. They were sometimes kept in store-rooms, to rid the place of rats. A peep through a hole made for the purpose, to see that the serpent was not coiled, was all the precaution necessary before entering the room. We had one in a long, narrow box, secured by slats across the top; before we were ready to ship it to a friend in Havana, the maja disappeared; how he escaped nobody could conjecture—the box was intact, but no snake inside. Several nights after this mysterious disappearance, there arose a series of agonizing yells in the court-yard. All rushed to the spot, to find Ciriaco prancing around in the most frantic manner. We thought he had some kind of a fit; when suddenly Zell spied a very suspicious-looking object protruding from Ciriaco’s baggy pantaloon-leg, and bravely catching hold, with a pull, out came Mr. Maja! Ciriaco had gone with a candle into a dark closet where were odd pots and pans, and the maja glided up his leg to escape the sudden glare of light.
Later we procured a larger one, and, while in our possession, one night he quietly slipped or crawled out of his skin. The thin cuticle about the head became loose, and he worked his body out as you would turn a glove-finger off, beginning at the head and finishing with the tip of the tail. While still moist, Ciriaco turned this skin right side out. We had this tissue-like cuticle for years after we left Cuba, and, as it was fully fourteen feet long and very perfect, much regret was felt when moths eventually destroyed it.
Some weeks after, I had occasion to visit our invalid merchant in Havana, and was shown a jar filled with a substance resembling corn-meal, and tasting like dried shrimp. It was our maja, that had been killed, sun-dried, and pounded in a mortar; the poor sufferer was taking it, a spoonful at a time, for his disease. It is perhaps unnecessary to add that he derived no benefit from this rather peculiar medicine.
CHAPTER XXIII.
HARASSED BY THE MILITARY—LAWLESS SITUATION—MEN DRIVEN TO THE MOUNTAINS—RESTRICTED WALKS.
I returned from a flying visit of six weeks to New York, to find Lamo harassed by the exactions of the military almost beyond endurance. The insurrection in a remote southern part of the island had furnished excuses for innumerable taxes, forced loans, and impressments of horses and cattle from the planters in every district. We, of course, did not escape. There were war-taxes, church-taxes, taxes to repair bridges we had never heard of, and to make roads we could never travel. Uniformed men lighted down upon us almost daily, armed with orders we could not understand and which they could not explain. When Lamo resisted, he was politely informed that they had the power to seize negroes or sugar to the amount demanded. So it was when I returned Lamo was almost daft.
During my absence I chanced to spend a few days with friends in Connecticut, who gave me an elegantly engraved breakfast invitation they had previously received “to meet the President and Mrs. Grant.” I carried it home as a souvenir, and to show the latest style of invitation-cards, little dreaming what a valuable souvenir it would prove to be.
The next collector that called had the pleasure of meeting the señora just home from the States, and, before he had time to divulge his business, was shown the invitation. He evidently inferred I had been the recipient of numerous courtesies from that august quarter, in fact was on the most intimate terms with the occupants of the White House. Moreover, we assured him that our ideas of proper allegiance would not permit citizens of the United States to pay the war-taxes of a foreign government; that we had been cautioned to maintain strict neutrality with Spain and her colony, and much more to the same effect, quietly adding that assessment bills against Desengaño must be presented at the office of our merchant in Havana, to be approved, if necessary, by the American consul.
In our ignorance of the laws and customs of Spain and other despotic governments, and knowing full well the venality of all the officials we had any business with, we naturally entertained serious suspicions that we were being imposed upon.
Lamo actually worked himself into the belief that a lot of impecunious knaves masqueraded as tax-collectors, and raced to Desengaño every time they wanted money. About the time the elegant invitation was thumbed and soiled, letters of a purely personal nature began to arrive for my husband in the consul’s private mail-bag. “Executive Mansion, Washington, D. C., R. M. Douglas, Private Sec’y,” conspicuous on the official envelope. The innocent missives were laid away, but the envelopes were ostentatiously spread over the parlor-table and exhibited to visitors and officials, who regarded them as unmistakable evidence of our constant communication with the home government.
The ruse worked a miracle. We paid no more claims at the plantation, and very few were ever presented to our merchant.