The fish market and the "Tacon" theatre too, are well worth a visit. Both of them once belonged to the same individual, the noted pirate "Marti," whom I have seen many a time, in the streets of Havana, after his reformation. He was then a venerable looking old gentleman
"As mild a mannered man
As ever scuttled ship or cut a throat."
For a long time he had been chief of all the piratical bands that then infested the shores of Cuba. They plied their fearful trade with comparative impunity; the numerous lagoons on the coast, only accessible through tortuous and shallow channels, and hidden by mangrove bushes, affording safe shelter; while they could easily intercept many vessels passing through the narrow strait separating Cuba from Florida. They gave no quarter to man, woman, or child, and scuttled their prizes after taking from them what was most valuable. A ready sale was found for their plunder in Havana through accomplices there; and their depredations upon commerce finally became so extensive that the United States Government fitted out an expedition against them. General Tacon, at that time Governor-General of Cuba, also prepared an expedition to operate against them. This fleet was on the eve of sailing. The night was dark and rainy. A stranger, wrapped in a cloak for disguise, watched the sentry on duty before the door of the palace from a hiding place near by; and as the sentry turned his back for a moment or two from the door, the stranger slipped by him, undiscovered, and proceeded rapidly to the apartments of the Captain-General. His excellency was writing at a table; and the stranger had opened the door and entered the room without being discovered. When the Governor-General raised his eyes and saw the cloaked figure standing silently before him, he stretched his hand toward a bell near him, but the stranger interposed. "Stop, your Excellency," he said, "I am here upon a desperate enterprise. I have come to deliver into your hands every pirate on the Cuban coast upon one condition; a pardon for myself." "You shall have it," replied his excellency, "but who are you?" "I am Marti, and I rely upon the promise you have given to me." The Governor-General repeated his assurances of immunity upon the prescribed conditions. Marti had laid his plans well, having appointed a place of rendezvous for the different bands before venturing upon his perilous expedition. He acted as a guide to the force sent in pursuit, and every pirate was captured and afterwards "garroted." A large price had been set upon the head of Marti. This is the story as told by his contemporaries. For these distinguished services to the State the vile old reprobate was offered the promised reward. In lieu of it he asked for the monopoly of the sale of fish in Havana, which was granted to him; and the structure erected by him for a fish market is perhaps the finest of the sort in the world. He afterwards built the noble "Tacon" theatre, named after his benefactor,—and died in the odor of sanctity.
We were not sorry when the day of our departure came. There was a motley crowd of passengers on board the little steamer. "Paisanos" wearing broad brimmed sombreroes and in picturesque costume; "Padres" in their long gowns and shovel hats; pretty "senoritas" with hair plaited down their backs, and officers on their way to join the army in the field in San Domingo. But every one was amiable and disposed to be companionable. Most of them were aware of the fact that there was a state of war between the North and the South; and their sympathies were altogether with our side; for no earthly reason, probably, except that they entertained the blind hatred against the "Norte Americanos" so prevalent among the Latin race on this continent, and supposed the people of the South to be of different origin.[8]
We were half poisoned, and wholly saturated with garlic, while on board the little steamer; and men, women and children smoked incessantly. Our clever artist, Johnny T., drew a capital sketch of a portly old lady whose habit it was, after every meal, to take from her side pocket an oil skin bundle of huge cigars—evidently "plantations," and made to order. Selecting one, she would strike a light with her "matchero" and begin to puff away like a furnace. When fairly alight, she would dispose of the smoke in some mysterious inner receptacle, whence it would issue in a minute or more, from nose, eyes, ears, and even through the pores of her mahogany-colored skin, as it appeared to us.
We touched at many little ports, all of them very pretty and picturesque; little quiet basins of blue water, with the houses scattered about along the hill sides, and half hidden by foliage; the white surf thundering outside, and the surface, inside, glassy smooth. Our last port in Cuba was Santiago, since made memorable as the scene of the murder of the gallant and unfortunate Fry, and his companions in misfortune. Should these lines ever meet the eye of any of his old friends and comrades in the United States Navy, they will bear witness, that a brave and noble gentleman was there cruelly done to death. He had lost everything by our war, and dire poverty, with the responsibility of a family to support, forced him to the desperate venture of running the blockade in Cuba. Morally he was not more criminal than the British naval officers, who engaged in the same hazardous pursuit during our struggle.
FOOTNOTE:
[8] The educated Cubans must be exonerated from this charge. Many of this class have been at the schools and colleges in the United States; and admire our republican institutions. They are even now, and have been for years, maintaining a desperate struggle for the establishment of these institutions among themselves.