Pioneering in Cuba

by James Meade Adams

The first few days after our arrival we led a strange and what seemed to many of us an unreal life. Shut into a small open space by a great forest, with no elevation high enough for us to see even so much of the outside world as hills, mountains, or the sea, it almost seemed as if we had dropped off of the earth to some unknown planet. Day after day passed without our seeing the horizon, or hearing a locomotive or steamboat whistle. We had no houses, only tents, and there was not a wooden building of any sort within a dozen miles. At night the camp was dimly lighted by flickering fires and the starry sky, and through the semi-darkness came the hollow, indistinct voices of men discussing the outlook for the future. There were always some who talked the larger part of the night, and others who invariably rose at three o'clock in the morning; this was two hours before light. In the deep forest at night were heard strange sounds, but high above them all, every night and the whole of the night, the harsh, complaining note of a certain bird who seemed to be eternally unreconciled to the departure of day. I think it was a bird, but it may have been the wail of a lost soul.

It was lonesome there in the wilds of Cuba in those early days of the new colony, and doubtless there was some home-sickness, but the reader should not gain the impression that the pioneers were downcast and unhappy. On the contrary, they were delighted with the climate and the country, despite the difficulties encountered in entering it and the deprivations which had to be put up with. From the first, the colonists, generally speaking, were more than cheerful; they were happy and contented. Buoyant in spirits, eager to explore and acquire information concerning the surrounding country, they enjoyed the pioneer life with the keenest relish. They laughed at the hardships and privations, made friends with each other and with the Cubans, and tramped the woods and trails with reckless disregard of mud and water and thorny underbrush. The men were astonished to find themselves in such excellent health; the more they exposed themselves, the more they seemed to thrive, until nearly every man in the colony was ready to say that he was better physically and mentally than when he left home. It was the same with the women, whose improved health, entire cheerfulness, and evident contentment were a revelation to the observer. There are many women who take as readily to a pioneer life as do the men. This was notably the case in La Gloria.

The colonists had not come to La Gloria in search of a health resort—at least, the great majority had not—but that is what they found. Scarcely had we set foot on the soil of Cuba when those of us who had catarrh—and what Yankee has not?—found that we no longer suffered from the affliction. This cure, which proved permanent, was something the majority of us had not counted on. Nor had we counted on the entire freedom from colds which we enjoyed in the island. But the cure of catarrh was of small importance in comparison with the sudden and marked improvement in those who suffered from nervous diseases. It is not too much to say, that many found the soothing Cuban climate a specific for such disease which they had not dreamt of in their philosophy. Those with kidney ailments and rheumatism reported themselves improved, and there was not wanting evidence that persons with consumptive tendencies and other weaknesses would find the air salubrious and a residence in this part of the island beneficial.

The temperature at this time was delightful, a close approach to perfection, the thermometer ranging from 70° to 84° at noon, and rarely falling below 60° at any time of day. It still rained frequently, an unusual and remarkable prolongation of the rainy season, which ordinarily ends in November, but the water fell in brief showers and left the rest of the day bright and clear. Indeed, it was not until February that the rain ceased altogether and the dry season fairly began. The Cubans declared that they had never known the wet season to continue so late.

The long continued rains were held responsible, perhaps justly so, for many of the inconveniences and drawbacks which the colonists encountered. The company stoutly declared that to these unusual meteorological conditions was due the failure to build the road to the port which had been promised, and that the absence of the road prevented the transportation of the lumber for the construction of the hotel. This latter assertion was true beyond all question. The "hotel" was a subject of much comment and immoderate mirth. It existed on paper in spacious and imposing elegance; it was a splendid structure of the imagination. But let it not be thought for one moment that the hotel was wholly a myth. Not so; the situation would not have been half so funny if it had been. There stood the foundation for the immense building squarely across Central avenue, about a quarter of a mile back from the front line of the town. A large space had been cleared in the forest, and the centre of this opening was the hotel site. The foundation consisted of large logs of hard wood, sawed about four feet long and stood upright. They were set in cement on stone that was sunk slightly below the surface of the ground. How many of these logs there were I cannot say, but there was a small army of them, aligned across Central avenue and extending far to either side. Under the dim light of the stars they looked like a regiment of dwarfs advancing to attack the camp. Workmen were putting the finishing touches on this foundation when we arrived, but the work was soon discontinued altogether, leaving the wooden army to serve as an outpost of slowly advancing civilization. Of course, we always directed new arrivals to the "hotel" as soon as they came in over the "road" from the port! After a while we became so fond of the hotel joke that I think we should have been sorry to see the building completed.

The bad road to the port also cut off all chance of getting the sawmill up to La Gloria, and it daily became more evident that we should continue to dwell in tents for some time to come. We were destitute enough during those first days in the colony. Our trunks had not come, and did not for several weeks, and many of us were without change of clothing or even a towel. We washed in a small creek which ran through the Cuban camp, wiping our hands and faces on handkerchiefs. This and other creeks served us well for drinking water, and there was also an excellent spring on the company's reserve north of the town. Very little freight could be brought up from the port, and hence it was that we were not over-well supplied with provisions. There was usually enough in quantity, but the quality was poor and there was a painful lack of variety. The engineer corps' cook house was hastily enlarged into a public restaurant upon our arrival, and did the best it could to feed the hungry colonists. Some of the latter boarded themselves from the start—purchasing what supplies they could get at the commissary—and perhaps had a shade the best of it.

I shall never forget my first supper in La Gloria. It was at the company's restaurant. We were crowded together on long, movable benches, under a shelter tent. Before us were rough board tables innocent of cloth. The jejines (gnats or sand flies) swarmed about us, disputing our food and drink and even the air we breathed. The food was not served in courses; it came on all at once, and the "all" consisted of cold bread without butter, macaroni, and tea without milk. There were not even toothpicks or glasses of water. Amid the struggling humanity, and regardless of the inhumanity of the jejines (pronounced by the Cubans "haheens"), my gentlemanly friend from Medfield, Mass., sat at my right and calmly ate his supper with evident relish. He was fond of macaroni and tea. Alas! I was not. At home he had been an employé in an insane asylum. I, alas! had not enjoyed the advantages of such wholesome discipline. Of that supper I remember three things most distinctly—the jejines, my friend's fondness for macaroni and tea, and the saintly patience and good-humor of our waiter, Al Noyes.

It was not long before there was an improvement in the fare, although no great variety was obtainable. We usually had, however, the best there was in camp. The staples were salt beef, bacon, beans, and sweet potatoes or yams, and we sometimes had fresh pork (usually wild hog), fried plantains, and thin, bottled honey. We often had oatmeal or corn meal mush, and occasionally we rejoiced in a cook whose culinary talent comprehended the ability to make fritters. The bread was apt to be good, and we had Cuban coffee three times a day. We had no butter, and only condensed milk. It was considerably later, when I ate at the chief engineer's table, that we feasted on flamingo and increased our muscular development by struggling with old goat. If it had been Chattey's goat, no one would have complained, but unfortunately it was not. Chattey was our cook, and he kept several goats, one of which had a pernicious habit of hanging around the dining tent. One day, just before dinner, he was discovered sitting on a pie in the middle of the table, greedily eating soup out of a large dish. Chattey's goat was a British goat, and had no respect for the Constitution of the United States or the table etiquette which obtained in the first American colony in Cuba. The soup was dripping from Billy's whiskers, which he had not even taken the trouble to wipe. It is certain that British goats have no table manners.