Pioneering in Cuba

by James Meade Adams

I was deeply impressed by the courage and self-reliance of the colonists. From the start they showed a splendid ability to take care of themselves. One day early in February a white-bearded old fellow past seventy years of age, with blue overalls on and a hoe over his shoulder, appeared at the door of General Van der Voort's tent.

"General," he said, "if a man owns a lot, has anybody else a right to come on to it and pick fruit of any kind?"

"Not if the owner has a revolver and bowie knife," laughingly replied Van der Voort.

"Well," said the man, "I just thought I'd ask ye. A couple o' fellers (Cubans) came on to my lot to-day while I was at work there and began to pick some o' these 'ere guavas. I told 'em to git out, but they didn't go. Then I went for 'em with this hoe. One of 'em drawed his machete, but I didn't care for that. I knew I could reach him with my hoe before he could reach me with his knife. They went off."

General Van der Voort laughed heartily, and evidently was satisfied that the man with the hoe was able to protect himself without the aid of the La Gloria police force.

The old man's name, as I afterwards learned, was Joseph B. Withee. Some of the colonists who had become intimately acquainted with him familiarly called him "grandpa," although he was not the oldest man in the colony. His age was seventy-one years, and he hailed from the state of Maine. None of his family or friends had come to Cuba with him, but he had grown children living in the Pine Tree state. Alone and single-handed he began his pioneer life in La Gloria, but he was not daunted by obstacles or fearful of the future. On the contrary, he was most sanguine. He worked regularly every day clearing and planting his plantation, and was one of the first of the colonists to take up his residence on his own land. He soon had vegetables growing, and had set out strawberry and pineapple plants, besides a number of banana, orange, and lemon trees. It was his boast that he had the best spring of water in the colony, and it certainly was a very good one. Mr. Withee declared that his health was much improved since coming to Cuba, and that he felt ten or fifteen years younger. Everybody in the colony could bear witness that he was remarkably active and industrious. Once his relatives in Maine, not hearing from him, became alarmed, and wrote to the company asking if he were alive and in La Gloria. I went down to his plantation with the letter, and asked him if he was alive. He thought he was, and suspended work long enough to sniff at the idea that he was not able to take care of himself.

Mr. Withee was wont to admit that before he came to Cuba he had a weak back, but the only weakness we were ever able to detect in him was an infirmity of temper which foreboded pugnacious action. Most assuredly he had plenty of backbone, and his persistent pugnacity was highly amusing. He was always wanting to "lick" somebody, and I know not what my fate will be if we ever meet after he reads these lines, although we were excellent friends in La Gloria. I can imagine that my friend Withee was brought up in one of those country school "deestricts" where every boy had to fight his way step by step to the respect of his associates, and where it was the custom for the big scholars to attempt each winter to thrash the teacher and throw him into a snowdrift. If so, I will warrant that Withee was held in high respect.

Withee had a great idea of standing up for his rights, and for a long time he was on the war-path, as he confided to me, in pursuit of a surveyor who had cut down a small palm tree on his plantation. He didn't know which individual of the survey corps it was who perpetrated the "outrage," but if the old man found out, one of Chief Kelly's men was in for a good licking. Of course, the surveyor was entirely innocent of any intent to injure the property of Mr. Withee or anybody else, and cut the tree while running a survey line. It was some months after this, in September, that the spirit of Withee's revolutionary sires joined issue with his fierce indignation, and produced fatal results—fatal to several chickens that invaded his premises. A neighboring colonist, who lived on the other side of the avenue, kept a large number of hens, and allowed them free range. They developed a fondness for wandering across the road, and feeding in Withee's well-stocked garden. They didn't know Withee. The old man sputtered vehemently, and remonstrated with the owner—but the chickens continued to come. Finally, Withee went to a friendly colonist and borrowed his gun. Soon after his return home, one of the detested hens wandered nonchalantly across the dead line, and presently was minus a head. Another essayed the same feat, with the result that there were two headless chickens in La Gloria. Withee's aim was as good as when he used to shoot chipmunks in the Maine woods. The owner of the hens heard the reports of the gun, and came over. He was told to go home and pen up his poultry. Taking the two dead chicks, he went to the Rural Guards and entered a complaint. While he was gone, Withee reduced the poultry population of La Gloria by one more. The owner of the hens returned, accompanied by Rural Guards, several prominent Cubans, and a few colonists. They had come to take the gun away from Withee. The old man stood the whole crowd off, and told them to keep their feet clear of his place. They obeyed the order, but told him he must kill no more chickens under penalty of arrest. He told them to keep the chickens off his premises under penalty of their being killed. The old man was left the master of the situation, and the hens were restricted to a pen.

Speaking of courage and self-confidence reminds me of a remark of big Jack McCauley. There was included in the company's property, about five miles from La Gloria, a deserted plantation known as Mercedes. Upon it was an old grove of orange trees, which, in the spring of 1900, bore a fine crop. For a long time everybody was allowed to help himself at will, and Cubans, colonists, and surveyors availed themselves of the opportunity to lay in a supply of fruit. At length, as the oranges grew riper, orders were given that no one should take more than he could eat on the spot, but the oranges continued to disappear by the bagful. Stalwart Jack McCauley was at that time employed about the camp by the company, and it was decided to station him out at Mercedes, with a view to stopping the raids on the orange grove. Before leaving to undertake this duty, Jack quietly remarked: "I'll go out there and see if I've got any influence, and if not, I'll create some!" Big Jack's "influence" proved to be ample, and the balance of the orange crop was saved.

McCauley's close friend and "pardner" was J. A. Messier, familiarly known as "Albany." Together they held a large tract of plantation land. "Albany" worked as a flagman in one of the surveying parties. Once, when the mosquitoes in the woods were more than ordinarily thick and ferocious, he made a complaint, a rare thing in him or any other surveyor. "They surround you," he said, "and you can't push them away because there is nowhere to push them!" "Albany" was the leading big snake killer in the colony, and was an adept at stretching and preparing their skins. But perhaps his greatest distinction was that of being floor manager of the first ball in La Gloria, a notable event which will be described in a later chapter.