A TRIP TO CUBA.
BY
MRS. JULIA WARD HOWE.
BOSTON.
TICKNOR AND FIELDS.
M DCCC LX.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by
TICKNOR AND FIELDS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY
H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.
| CONTENTS. | ||
|---|---|---|
| CHAP. | PAGE | |
| [I.] | THE DEPARTURE | [1] |
| [II.] | NASSAU | [10] |
| [III.] | FROM NASSAU TO CUBA | [20] |
| [IV.] | THE HARBOR OF HAVANA | [30] |
| [V.] | HAVANA—THE HOTELS | [40] |
| [VI.] | HAVANA—YOUR BANKER—OUR CONSUL—THE FRIENDLY CUP OF TEA | [48] |
| [VII.] | HAVANA—THE JESUIT COLLEGE | [57] |
| [VIII.] | SAN ANTONIO DE LOS BAÑOS | [66] |
| [IX.] | THE MORRO FORTRESS—THE UNIVERSITY OF HAVANA—THE BENEFICENZA | [79] |
| [X.] | CAN GRANDE'S DEPARTURE—THE DOMINICA—LOTTERY-TICKETS | [94] |
| [XI.] | COMPANY AT THE HOTEL—SERVANTS—OUR DRIVE—DON PEPE | [111] |
| [XII.] | MATANZAS | [132] |
| [XIII.] | THE PASEO—THE PLAZA—DINING OUT | [145] |
| [XIV.] | GAME-CHICKENS—DON RODRIGUEZ—DAY ON THE PLANTATION—DEPARTURE | [157] |
| [XV.] | RETURN TO HAVANA—SAN ANTONIO AGAIN | [177] |
| [XVI.] | SAN ANTONIO—CHURCH ON SUNDAY—THE NORTHER—THE S. FAMILY | [190] |
| [XVII.] | EDUCATION—LAST NIGHT IN SAN ANTONIO—FAREWELL | [202] |
| [XVIII.] | SLAVERY—CUBAN SLAVE LAWS, INSTITUTIONS, ETC. | [212] |
| [XIX.] | FAREWELL! | [238] |
A TRIP TO CUBA.
CHAPTER I.
THE DEPARTURE.
WHY one leaves home at all is a question that travellers are sure, sooner or later, to ask themselves,—I mean, pleasure-travellers. Home, where one has the "Transcript" every night, and the "Autocrat" every month, opera, theatre, circus, and good society, in constant rotation,—home, where everybody knows us, and the little good there is to know about us,—finally, home, as seen regretfully for the last time, with the gushing of long frozen friendships, the priceless kisses of children, and the last sad look at dear baby's pale face through the window-pane,—well, all this is left behind, and we review it as a dream, while the railroad-train hurries us along to the spot where we are to leave, not only this, but Winter, rude tyrant, with all our precious hostages in his grasp. Soon the swift motion lulls our brains into the accustomed muddle. We seem to be dragged along like a miserable thread pulled through the eye of an everlasting needle,—through and through, and never through,—while here and there, like painful knots, the dépôts stop us, the poor thread is arrested for a minute, and then the pulling begins again. Or, in another dream, we are like fugitives threading the gauntlet of the grim forests, while the ice-bound trees essay a charge of bayonets on either side; but, under the guidance of our fiery Mercury, we pass them as safely as ancient Priam passed the outposts of the Greeks,—and New York, hospitable as Achilles, receives us in its mighty tent. Here we await the "Karnak," the British Mail Company's new screw-steamer, bound for Havana, viâ Nassau. At length comes the welcome order to "be on board." We betake ourselves thither,—the anchor is weighed, the gun fired, and we take leave of our native land with a patriotic pang, which soon gives place to severer spasms.