I being an old sailor (not in years but in experience), as I had crossed the Atlantic several times, felt very superior on this occasion, and looked down without sympathy on the maiden efforts of my suffering sister; and, having dressed, goaded her almost to distraction to get up and do likewise, which she obstinately refused to do.

After ordering breakfast I ventured out on deck, to find myself alone, among deserted camp-stools. I realized then that the others preferred "rocking in the cradle of the deep" in their berths and in the privacy of their cabins. I myself felt very shaky as I stumbled about on the deck holding on to the rails, and I, hurrying back to the haven of my stateroom, happened to meet the struggling steward endeavoring to balance the tray containing the breakfast I had ordered, and to make his way through my door.

The steward, the tray, and I all collided. The result was disastrous: the food made a bee-line for the ceiling, the drinkables flooded the already wet floor and our shoes, while cups, saucers, plates, and dishes were scattered to fragments.

All that day we and every one were dreadfully sick; but what a contrast the next day was! A hot, tropical sun blazed down on us, the awnings were put up, the ladies appeared in lighter costumes, the men in straw hats and thin jackets. How odious our warm wraps and rugs seemed! And how completely our discomforts of the day before had disappeared! Laura had forgotten her miseries, and was already planning another sea-trip, and eagerly scanning the menu for dinner, to which she did ample justice.

The third day was still hotter; parasols, summer dresses, and fans made their appearance, and at four o'clock we saw Morro Castle and the lighthouse; and we steamed (literally, for we were so hot) up the exquisite harbor, where white Havana lay like a jewel on the breast of the water.

Hot! It must have been one hundred and ninety in the shade--if there had been any; but there was none. The glare of the whiteness of the city and the reflection on the water, the air thick with perfumes, gave us a tropical tinge, and made us shudder to think what we should have to endure before we could rest in the hotel, which we hoped would be cool.

Young Isnaga, who has just come from Harvard College, where I knew him, and who was now returning to his native land to help his father on the plantation, served us as a guide; in fact, he was our Baedeker. He told us that all those hundreds of little boats with coverings like hen-coops stretched over them, which swarmed like bees about our steamer, did not contain native ruffians demanding our money or our lives, as they seemed to be doing, but were simply peaceable citizens hoping to earn an honest penny.

We dreaded going through the custom-house in this excessive heat; but Isnaga recognized one of his servants, in a small boat coming toward us, gesticulating wildly and waving a paper; this paper meant, it seemed, authority with the officials, so we had no delay, as Isnaga took us under his wing. I almost wished that the custom-house had confiscated my thick clothes and the fur-lined coat; and as for the boa, it looked like a vicious constrictor of its own name, and I wished it at the bottom of the sea.

Isnaga took us in his boat and landed us on the tropical "Plaza," where we found his _volante_ waiting. He insisted on our getting into this unique vehicle, which I will describe later when I have more time.

Our one thought was to reach the hotel, which we did finally, sending the _volante_ back to its owner by a sweeping wave of the hand in the direction of the quay, which the black Jehu seemed to comprehend.

Fortunately the proprietor spoke what he thought was English, and we were able to secure very good rooms overlooking the harbor. How delicious the cool, marble-floored room appeared to us! How we luxuriated in the fresh, cold water, the juiciest of oranges, the iced pineapples, and all the delicious fruits they brought us, and, above all, in the balmy air and the feeling of repose and rest! We reappeared in the thinnest of gauzes for the repast called dinner.

Adieu, cold and ice! _Vive le soleil!_

This hotel (San Carlos) is situated right on the bay. The quay in front of us is garnished with a row of dwarfy trees and dirty benches, these last being decorated, in their turn, by slumbering Cubans. There were colonnades underneath the hotel, where there were small shops, from which the odor of garlic and tobacco, combined with the shrieks and the snapping of the drivers' whips, reached us, as we sat above them on our balcony.

The hotel is square, with an open courtyard in the middle, and all the rooms open on to the marble gallery which surrounds the courtyard. This gallery is used as a general dining-room; each person eats at his own little iron table placed before the door of his bedroom.

Our large room contains two iron beds (minus mattresses), with only a canvas screwed on the iron sides, but covered with the finest of linen sheets. An iron frame holds the mosquito-net in place.

Evidently a wash-stand is a thing to be ashamed of, for they are concealed in the most ingenious way. Mine in the daytime is rather an attractive commode; Laura's is a writing-table, which at night opens up and discloses the wash-basin. Otherwise there is little furniture: two cane-bottomed chairs, two bamboo tables (twins); one has a blue ribbon tied on its leg to tell it from its brother. Two ingeniously braided mats of linen cord do duty for the _descente de lit_. Oh yes! there is a mirror for each of us, which in my hurry to finish my letter I forgot to mention; but they are so small and wavy that the less we look in them the better we are satisfied with ourselves.

We have a large balcony, which has a beautiful view of the harbor and the opposite sh.o.r.e, two huge wooden so-called windows, which are not windows, opening on to the balcony. There is a panel in the middle which you can open if you want some fresh air. Gla.s.s is never used for windows, so that when you shut your window you are in utter darkness. Opposite is the door which is not a door, but a sort of a gate with lattice shutters, giving the room the look of a bar-room. There is s.p.a.ce above the shutters which is open to the ceiling.

Any one in the gallery who wanted to could stand on a chair and peer over.

Everything that goes on in the gallery, every noise, every conversation, can be clearly overheard, and if one only understood the language it might be very interesting.

The bars and locks on our doors and windows date from the fifteenth century, I should say, and it is with the most herculean efforts that we manage to shut ourselves in for the night; and we only know that the day has broken when we hear the nasal and strident Cuban voices, and the clattering of plates on the other side of the gate. Then we work like galley-slaves unbarring, and the blazing sun floods our room.

I don't know if bells are popular in Havana; but in this hotel we have none. If you want a chambermaid, which you do about every half-hour, you must open your gate and clap your hands, and if she does not come you go on clapping until some one else comes.

For our early breakfast we begin clapping at an early hour, and finally our coffee and a huge plate filled with the most delicious oranges, cut and sugared, are brought to us. We tried to obtain some simple toast; but this seemed unknown to the Cuban cuisine, and we had to content ourselves with some national mixture called rolls.

CUBA, _January 24, 1873._

The letters of introduction which kind Admiral Polo (Spanish Minister in Washington) gave me must be very powerful and far reaching, for we are received as if we were Princesses of the blood. The Governor-General came directly to put himself, his house, his family, his Generalship--in fact, all Cuba--_a la disposicion de usted_. The Captain of the Port appeared in full gala uniform, and deposited the whole of the Spanish fleet, his person, and the universe in general at my feet, and said, "That no stone should be left unturned to make our stay in Havana ill.u.s.trious in history."

What could the most admirable of Polos have written to have created such an effect? Then came the General Lliano, a very handsome man, but who I thought was rather stingy, as he only put the Spanish Army at my disposition, and himself (_cela va sans dire_).

Next came Senor Herreras, dressed all in white, with the most perfect patent-leather boots, much too tight for him, and which must have caused him agonies while he was offering to put himself (of course), his bank, and all his worldly possessions in my hands.

I accepted all with a benign smile, and answered that I only had America and my fur-lined coat and boa to offer in return.

We had so many instructions given to us as to what to do and what not to do in this perfidious climate that we were quite bewildered.

Never to go out in the sun. Result--Malaria and sudden death.

Never put your feet on the bare floors. Result--Centipedes.

Never drink the water. Result--Yellow fever.

Never eat fruit at night. Result--Typhoid fever.

If you sleep too much; if you sit in the draught; if you let the moon shine on you. Result--Lockjaw and speedy annihilation.

These admonitions were very confusing, and we lay awake at night thinking how we could manage to live under these circ.u.mstances.

What a delight to look at the view from our balcony! I never imagined anything so beautiful: the distant hills are so blue, the water so sparkling, the sun gilds the hundreds of sails in the harbor. At night the water is brilliant with phosph.o.r.escence, and when the boats glide through it they throw out a thousand colors; even the reflection of the stars is multicolored. And then, pervading all, the delicious fragrance of fruit and flowers and tropicality!

When I am not poetical, as above, I notice the oxcarts with their cruel drivers yelling at their poor beasts and goading them with iron-pointed sticks. When they were not striking them, they struck picturesque att.i.tudes themselves, leaning on their carts and smoking endless cigarettes. The cabmen are also picturesque in their way. After their return from a "course," tired out from whipping their forlorn horses into the sideling trot which is all they are equal to, and after flicking their ears until they are too lazy to continue, they hang their hats and stockingless feet over the carriage lamps and chew sugar-cane, looking the picture of contentment.

Cabs are cheap; twenty-five cents will take you anywhere _a la course_.

But if you go from one shop to another, or linger at a visit, fancy knows no bounds, for there is no tariff and the coachman's imagination is apt to be vivid; and as you can't trust anything else, you must trust to your conversational power to get you out of the sc.r.a.pe.

_Volantes_ are capricious and too exotic a vehicle to trifle with; moreover, they turn corners with difficulty, and corners in Havana are the things you meet the most of.

The streets are narrow; so that if you wish to avoid adventures you must be careful to give your coachman the correct address before starting off.

The porter of the hotel did this for us to-day, as our Spanish has not reached _perfection_ yet.

All the streets are labeled _subida_, which means, "go up this street," or _bajado_, "down this street." If, by chance, you want to go to _27 subida_ and you amble on to 29, it takes you hours to go _bajado_ and get back to _subida_ again, going round in a _cercle vicieux_. We spent a whole broiling afternoon buying two spools of thread, my parasol being mightier than my tongue, as the poor coachman's back can vouch for. When everything else failed we shouted in unison, "Hotel San Carlos," and the black coachman grinned with delight. Seeing _bajado_ so often at different points, Laura thought it was the sign of an a.s.surance company; when I saw it on the same house as Maria Jesus Street I thought it was some kind of charitable inst.i.tution.

A _volante_, as I have said, is a unique and delightful vehicle, which one requires to know to appreciate. There are two huge wheels behind and none in front; the animal, secured between the shafts, supports the weight of the carriage. The seat is very low, so that you recline, more than sit; your feet are unpleasantly near the horse's tail; a small seat can be pulled out between you and your companion if there is a child in the party. A dusky postilion decked out in high top-boots, with enormous spurs of real silver, sits astride the horse between the shafts, and a huge sombrero covers his woolly head.

The harness, spurs, buckles, and a good deal of the carriage tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs are silver; the horse's tail is braided once a week and tied to the saddle. No frisky frightening off the flies from his perspiring and appetizing body!

Sometimes (in fact, usually) there is an extra horse outside of the traces, so that labor is thus divided. The _volante_ drags the people; the horse in the shafts drags the _volante_, and the extra horse drags everything; the coachman does the spurring, whipping, and shouting, and the inmates do the lolling.

I forgot to say that my friend, Lola Maddon, whom I used to know in Paris, is here, married to Marquis San Carlos, who was a fascinating widower with several children, whom Lola, like the dear creature she is, had taken under her youthful wing. She rushed to see me the moment she heard that I had come, and has already begun to "turn the stones" which are to be turned for me to make my "visit ill.u.s.trious" here. She has invited us to the opera to-morrow, and gives a _soiree_ for me on the following evening.

I confess I am rather curious to see a _soiree_ in Havana. I hope they have ice-chests to sit on and cool conversation. I shall not talk politics; in the first place I can't, and in the second place because it is heating to the blood.

Lola says her husband is a rabid Spaniard. "A rabid Spaniard!" Could anything be more alarming? No; I will not be the innocent means to bring about discussions, and precipitate a conflict between the Cubans and the Spaniards! I have pinned upon the bed-curtains, next to the precautions for preserving health and the washing-list, the words, "Never talk politics, nor be led into listening to them," I can always, if pushed into a corner, a.s.sume an air of profundity and say, "Is the crisis--" and then stop and look for a word. The politician, if he is anything of a politician, will finish the phrase for me, with the conviction that I know all about it but am diplomatic.

To see the cows in Havana is enough to break your heart. I weep over them in a sort of milky way. I have always seen cows in comfortable stables, with nice, clean straw under their feet and pails full of succulent food placed within easy reach, while at certain intervals a tidy, tender- hearted young milkmaid appears with a three-legged stool and a roomy pail, and extracts what the cow chooses to give her. But here the wiry creatures roam from door to door, and drop a pint or so at each call. It is pitiful to see the poor, degraded things, with their offspring following behind.

The latter are graciously allowed to accompany them; but no calls on Nature are permitted, the poor little things are even muzzled!

Whenever I wish to go into the public parlor, where there is a piano, I meet the Countess C----, who has evidently just been singing to her son and her husband.

The first day I met her I approached her with the intention to talk music; but she swept by with a look which withered me up to an autumn leaf and left the room, followed by her music, son, and husband; but afterward, when she saw the Captain of the Port in full gala offering me "_Cuba et ses dependences_," she changed her manner, and _then it was my turn!_ When she asked me if I also knew Count Ceballos, the Governor General, I answered, with a sweet smile, "Of course I do." "And many other people here?" she asked, "All I think that are worth knowing," I replied, getting up and leaving the room as abruptly as she had done. It was great fun, though L---- thought I was rude.