I was awakened the next morning by the merry songs of a hundred birds, that came appropriately blended with the perfume of the flowers that cl.u.s.tered around my windows; and I have seldom looked upon a more beautiful picture, than when I threw back the blinds, and caught a view of the landscape, rejoicing in the morning's sun, with all its wealth of tropical fruits and flowers, and the sea--the glorious sea--glittering like a mirror in the distance. Nothing can be more charming than the interior of an English household, when the ice has been broken and you have fairly gained admission into the interior of the temple. The successful entertainment of a guest is one of those _artless_ arts, of which the English gentleman, above all others, is master; and the art consists in putting the guest so entirely at ease, as to make him feel at home in the first half-hour. With a library, servants, and horses at your command, you are literally left to take care of yourself--meeting the family in the parlors and sitting-rooms, as much, or as little as you please.

From Flamstead, which was the name of the country-seat of my friend, we rode over to Bloxburg, the country-seat of his brother, where some ladies from the neighborhood did me the honor to make me a visit; and from Bloxburg we made several other agreeable visits to neighboring plantations. I was in an entirely new world--those mountains of Jamaica--and was charmed with everything I saw. All was nature; and nature presented herself in her most lovely aspect, whether we viewed the sky overhead, the sea at our feet, or the broken and picturesque country around us. Time flew rapidly, and what with delightful rides, and lunches, and evening parties, where music, and the bright eyes of fair women beguiled the senses, I should have been in danger of forgetting the war, and the _Alabama_, if Kell had not sent me a courier, on the third or fourth day, informing me that he was nearly ready for sea.

I descended at once from the empyrean in which I had been wandering, took a hasty leave of my friends, and in company with Mr. Fyfe, rode back to the coast. We took a new route back, and re-entered Kingston through a different suburb--stopping to lunch with one of Mr. Fyfe's friends, an English merchant, at his magnificent country-house. But, alas! much of the magnificence of the Kingston of former years is pa.s.sing away. I had known it in its palmiest days, having visited it when a midshipman in the old service, before the happy slave had been converted into the wretched freedman. It was then a busy mart of commerce, and the placid waters of its unrivalled harbor were alive with shipping bearing the flags of all nations, come in quest of her great staples, sugar, coffee, cocoa, gensing, &c. Now, a general air of dilapidation and poverty hangs over the scene. A straggling ship or two only are seen in the harbor; the merchants have become shop-keepers, and the sleek, well-fed negro has become an idler and a vagrant, with scarce rags enough to hide his nakedness. My host, in the few days I remained with him, gave me much valuable information concerning the negro, since his emanc.i.p.ation, which I will not detain the reader to repeat. I may say in a few words, however, that the substance of this information was, that there has been no increase, either in numbers, intelligence, or morals among them; and that, too, under circ.u.mstances, all of which were favorable to the negro. He was the pet of the government for years after his emanc.i.p.ation, and English fanatics have devoted their lives to his regeneration, but all without success. He is, to-day, with a few exceptions about the towns, the same savage that he is in his native Dahomey. An English parliament had declared that he was the political equal of the white man--that is, of the colonial white man, for England takes the best of care, that the imperial legislature is never tainted by his presence--and I found him a generation afterward, far below his former level of slave.

I found my gig in waiting for me at the wharf in Kingston, and taking leave of my friend, with many thanks for his hospitality, I pulled on board of my ship about sunset. And here, what a scene of confusion met me, and what reports Kell had to make of how my fellows had been "cutting up!"

The paymaster had been drunk ever since he landed, neglecting his duty, and behaving in a most disreputable manner. He was "hail fellow, well met"

with all the common sailors, and seemed to have an especial fancy for the sailors of the enemy. Kell had suspended his functions; and had sent on sh.o.r.e, and had him brought off under arrest. He had become partially sobered, and I at once ordered him to pack up his clothing, and be off. He was landed, bag and baggage, in half an hour, and in due time, as the reader has already seen, he married a negro wife, went over to England with her, swindled her out of all her property, and turned Yankee, going over to Minister Adams, and becoming one of his right-hand men, when there was any hard swearing wanted in the British courts against the Confederates.

This little matter disposed of, we turned our attention to the crew. They had had a run on sh.o.r.e, and Kell was just gathering them together again.

The ship's cutters, as well as the sh.o.r.e-boats, were constantly coming alongside with small squads, all of them drunk, some in one stage of drunkenness, and some in another. Liquor was acting upon them like the laughing gas; some were singing jolly, good-humored songs, whilst others were giving the war-whoop, and insisting on a fight. They were seized, ironed and pa.s.sed below to the care of the master-at-arms, as fast as they came on board.

A couple of them, not liking the appearance of things on board, jumped into a dug-out alongside, and seizing the paddles from the negroes, shoved off in great haste, and put out for the sh.o.r.e. It was night, and there was a bright moon lighting up the bay. A cutter was manned as speedily as possible, and sent in pursuit of the fugitives. Jack had grog and Moll ahead of him, and irons and a court-martial behind him, and he paddled like a good fellow. He had gotten a good start before the cutter was well under way, but still, the cutter, with her long sweeping oars, was rather too much for the dug-out, especially as there were five oars to two paddles. She gained, and gained, coming nearer and nearer, when presently the officer of the cutter heard one of the sailors in the dug-out say to the other, "I'll tell you what it is, Bill, there's too much cargo in this here d----d craft, and I'm going to lighten ship a little," and at the same instant, he saw the two men lay in their paddles, seize one of the negroes, and pitch him head foremost overboard! They then seized their paddles again, and away darted the dug-out with renewed speed.

Port Royal Bay is a large sheet of water, and is, besides, as every reader of Marryatt's incomparable tales knows, full of ravenous sharks. It would not do, of course, for the cutter to permit the negro either to drown or to be eaten by the sharks, and so, as she came up with him, sputtering and floundering for his life, she was obliged to "back of all," and take him in. The sailor who grabbed at him first, missed him, and the boat shot ahead of him, which rendered it necessary for her to turn and pull back a short distance before she could rescue him. This done, he was flung into the bottom of the cutter, and the pursuit renewed. By this time the dug-out had gotten even a better start than she had had at first, and the two fugitive sailors, encouraged by the prospect of escape, were paddling more vigorously than ever. Fast flew the dug-out, but faster flew the cutter. Both parties now had their blood up, and a more beautiful and exciting moonlight race has not often been seen. We had watched it from the _Alabama_, until in the gloaming of the night, it had pa.s.sed out of sight. We had seen the first manoeuvre of the halting, and pulling back of the cutter, but did not know what to make of it. The cutter began now to come up again with the chase. She had no musket on board, or in imitation of the _Alabama_, she might have "hove the chase to," with a blank cartridge, or a ball. When she had gotten within a few yards of her, a second time, in went the paddles again, and overboard went the other negro! and away went the dug-out! A similar delay on the part of the cutter ensued as before, and a similar advantage was gained by the dug-out.

But all things come to an end, and so did this race. The cutter finally captured the dug-out, and brought back Tom Bowse and Bill Bower to their admiring shipmates on board the _Alabama_. This was the only violation of neutrality I was guilty of, in Port Royal--chasing, and capturing a neutral craft, in neutral waters. My excuse was, the same that Wilkes made--she had contraband on board. I do not know whether Commodore Dunlap ever heard of it; but if he had complained, I should have set-off the rescuing of two of her Majesty's colored subjects from drowning, against the recapture of my own men. The fact is, the towns-people, themselves, were responsible for all these disorders. They had made heroes of all my fellows, and plied them with an unconscionable number of drinks. Every sea-port town has its sailor quarter, and this in the good old town of Kingston was a constant scene of revelry, by day as well as by night, during the stay of the _Alabama's_ liberty men on sh.o.r.e. There was no end to the "break-downs," and "double-shuffles," which had been given in their honor, by the beaux and belles of Water Street. Besides my own crew, there were always more or less English man-of-war sailors on sh.o.r.e, on liberty from the different ships, and upwards of a hundred had been landed from the _Hatteras_. It was quite remarkable that in these merry-makings, and debaucheries, the Confederate sailors and the Yankee sailors harmonized capitally together. They might frequently be seen arm and arm in the streets, or hob-n.o.bbing together--the Confederate sailor generally paying the score, as the Yankee sailor's strong box had gone down with his ship, and his paymaster was rather short of cash. They sailed as amicably together, up and down the contradance, and hailed each other to "heave to," when it was time to "freshen the nip," as though the _Alabama_ and _Hatteras_ had never been yard-arm and yard-arm, throwing broadsides into each other. In short, my men behaved capitally toward their late enemies.

There was no unmanly exultation over their victory. The most that could be seen was an air of patronage very delicately put on, as though they would say, "Well, you know we whipped you, but then you did the best you could, and there's an end of it."

Among the amusing things that had occurred during my absence in the Jamaica mountains, was a flare-up, which Captain Blake, my prisoner, had had with the British Commodore.

The steamer _Greyhound_ had a band of music on board, and as one of the young lieutenants was an old acquaintance of several of my officers, whom he had met at Na.s.sau, he ordered the band on the evening after our arrival, and whilst Captain Blake was still on board the _Alabama_, to play "Dixie;" which, I may remark, by the way, had become a very popular air everywhere, as much on account of the air itself, perhaps, as because of its a.s.sociation with a weak and gallant people struggling for the right of self-government. Captain Blake chose to construe this little compliment to the _Alabama_, as an insult to Yankeedom, and made a formal protest to the British Commodore, in behalf of himself, and the "old flag." Commodore Dunlap must have smiled, when he read Blake's epistle. He was certainly a man of humor, for he hit upon the following mode of settling the grave international dispute. He ordered the offending _Greyhound_, when she should get up her band, on the following evening, first to play "Dixie,"

and then "Yankee Doodle."

When the evening, which was to salve the Yankee honor, arrived, great was the expectation of every one in the squadron. The band on board the _Jason_, flag-ship, led off by playing "G.o.d save the Queen," that glorious national anthem, which electrifies the Englishman, as the Ma.r.s.eilles' hymn does the Frenchman, the world over. The _Challenger's_ band followed and played a fine opera air. The evening was still and fine, and the p.o.o.ps of all the ships were filled with officers. It then came the _Greyhound's_ turn. She first played something unusually solemn, then "Dixie," with slowness, sweetness, and pathos, and when the chorus

"In Dixie's land, I'll take my stand, I'll live, and die in Dixie!"

had died away on the soft evening air, such an infernal din, of drums, and fifes, and cymbals, and wind instruments, each after its fashion, going it strong upon

"Yankee Doodle Dandy!"

arose, as to defy all description! The effect was electric; the officers had to hold their sides to preserve their dignity, and--Captain Blake was avenged. There could be no protest made against this time-honored rogue's march. It was the favorite tune of the b'hoys, and there the matter had to end. I have never learned whether Mr. Seward ever called Lord Palmerston to an account about it, in any one of his "Essays on English Composition."

CHAPTER XLI.

DEPARTURE FROM JAMAICA--CAPTURE OF THE GOLDEN RULE--COASTING THE ISLAND OF HAYTI--CAPTURE OF THE CHASTELAINE--THE OLD CITY OF ST. DOMINGO, AND ITS REMINISCENCES--THE DOMINICAN CONVENT, AND THE PALACE OF DIEGO COLUMBUS--THE CAPTURE OF THE PALMETTO, THE OLIVE JANE, AND THE GOLDEN EAGLE--HOW THE ROADS ARE BLAZED OUT UPON THE SEA--CAPTAIN MAURY.

On the 25th of January, 1863, or just five days after our arrival at Jamaica, we had completed all our preparations for sea, and at half-past eight P. M. steamed out of the harbor of Port Royal, bound to the coast of Brazil, and thence to the Cape of Good Hope. We had made many friends during our short stay, and mutual regrets were expressed at departure. My gallant young officers had not been idle, whilst I had been visiting the mountains. Many little missives, put up in the tiniest and prettiest of envelopes, were discovered among the mail, as our last mail-bag was prepared for the sh.o.r.e, and as a good deal of damage may be done in five days, there were probably some heart-beatings among the fair islanders, as those P. P. Cs. were perused. There is no lover so susceptible, or so devoted, or whose heart is so capacious, as that of the young seaman. His very life upon the sea is a poem, and his habitual absence from the s.e.x prepares him to see loveliness in every female form.

Though it was night when we emerged from the harbor, and when we ought to have met with the blandest and gentlest of land breezes, laden with the perfume of shrub and flower, we pa.s.sed at once into a heavy head sea, with a stiff north-easter blowing. With yards pointed to the wind, and a laboring engine, we steamed along past Point Mayrant light, off which, the reader may recollect, we discharged the _Ariel_, some weeks before, and the morning's light found us in the pa.s.sage between Jamaica and St.

Domingo. The sun rose brightly, the wind moderated, and the day proved to be very fine.

My first duty, after the usual morning's muster at quarters, was to hold a court of general sessions, for the discharge of my vagabonds, many of whom, the reader will recollect, were still in irons; and a beautiful-looking set of fellows they were, when their irons were removed, and they were brought on deck for this purpose. They were now all sober, but the effects of their late debauches were visible upon the persons of all of them. Soiled clothing, blackened eyes, and broken noses, frowsy, uncombed hair, and matted and disordered beard, with reddened eyes that looked as if sleep had long been a stranger to them--these were the princ.i.p.al features. Poor Jack! how much he is to be pitied! Cut loose early from the gentle restraints of home, and brought into contact with every description of social vice, at an age when it is so difficult to resist temptation, what wonder is it, that we find him a grown-up child of nature, subject to no other restraint than such as the discipline of his ship imposes upon him?

"When wine is in, wit is out," was the proverb I always acted upon, on occasions similar to the present; that is to say, when the "wine" had any business to be "in." I expected, as a matter of course, when I sent my sailors on sh.o.r.e, "on liberty," that the result was to be a frolic, and I was always lenient to the mere concomitants of a frolic; but I never permitted them to abuse or maltreat the inhabitants, or perpetrate any malicious mischief. But if they got drunk on board, in violation of the discipline of the ship, or, in other words, if the wine had no business to be "in," I considered that the wit had no business to be "out." And so I listened to their penitential excuses, one by one, and restored them to duty, retaining one or two of the greatest culprits for trial by court-martial, as an example to the rest. Having disposed of the other cases, I turned to Tom Bowse and Bill Bower, the heroes of the moonlight-chase, and said to them, "And so you are a pretty set of fellows; you not only tried to desert your ship and flag, but you endeavored to commit murder, in your attempt to escape!" "Murder!"

replied Bowse, with a start of horror, that I could see was entirely honest, "we never thought of such a thing, sir; them Jamaica n.i.g.g.e.rs, they take to the water as natural as South-Sea Islanders, and there's no such thing as drowning them, sir." "That was it, your honor," now put in Bowse; "it was only a bit of a joke, you see, sir, played upon the officer of the cutter. We knew he'd stop to pick 'em up, and so give us the weathergauge of him." "That may do very well for the murder," I now rejoined, "but what about the desertion?" "Nary-a-bit of it, your honor," again replied Bowse; "we only meant to have another bit of a frolic, and come back all in good time, before the ship sailed." "Just so," added Bower; "the fact is, your honor, we were hardly responsible for what we did that night; for we had a small drop aboard, and then the moon was so bright, and Moll Riggs she had sent us such a kind message!" The moonlight and Moll clinched the argument, and turning to the master-at-arms, with an ill-suppressed smile, I directed him to turn the prisoners loose.

I had scarcely gotten through with this jail-delivery, before the cry of "sail ho!" rang out upon the clear morning air, from the mast-head. There was no necessity to alter our course, for the sail was nearly ahead. In an hour more, a very pretty, newly-painted bark, with her sails flapping idly in the calm which was now prevailing, arose to view from the deck. She had the usual Yankee ear-marks, tapering masts and cotton sails, and we felt sure of another prize. We showed her the United States colors as we approached, and a very bright "old flag" soon afterward ascended to her peak, drooping despondently for want of wind to blow it out. The cat did not torture the mouse long, for we soon changed flags, and gave the master of the doomed ship the same satisfaction that Jacob Faithful received, when he found his missing son's shirt in the maw of the shark--the satisfaction of being put out of doubt, and knowing that his ship would be burned. The prize proved, upon being boarded, to be the _Golden Rule_, from New York, for Aspinwall. She belonged to the Atlantic and Pacific Steamship Company, and was filled with an a.s.sorted cargo--having on board, among other things, masts, and a complete set of rigging for the United States brig _Bainbridge_, which had recently had everything swept by the board, in a gale at Aspinwall.

Judging from the bills of lading found on board, some small portions of the cargo appeared to be neutral, but there being no sworn evidence to vouch for the fact, in the way of Consular, or other certificates, I applied the well-known rule of prize law to the case, viz., that everything found on board an enemy's ship is presumed to belong to the enemy, until the contrary is shown by proper evidence; and at about six P.

M. applied the torch. The islands of St. Domingo and Jamaica were both sufficiently near for their inhabitants to witness the splendid bonfire, which lighted up the heavens far and near, soon after dark. A looker-on upon that conflagration would have seen a beautiful picture, for besides the burning ship, there were the two islands mentioned, sleeping in the dreamy moonlight, on the calm bosom of a tropical sea, and the rakish-looking "British Pirate" steaming in for the land, with every spar, and line of cordage brought out in bold relief, by the bright flame--nay, with the very "pirates" themselves visible, handling the boxes, and bales of merchandise, which they had "robbed" from this innocent Yankee, whose countrymen at home were engaged in the Christian occupation of burning our houses and desolating our fields.

One of the pleasant recollections connected with the picture, was that I had tied up for a while longer, one of the enemy's gun-brigs, for want of an outfit. It must have been some months before the _Bainbridge_ put to sea. There was another good act performed. Lots of patent medicines, with which the enemy was about inundating the South American coast, for the benefit of the livers of their fellow-democrats, were consigned to the flames. The reader had an opportunity to observe, when we captured the _Dunkirk_, how zealously our pious brethren of the North were looking out for the religion, and morals of the Portuguese, _in a sly way_. He now sees what a regard they have for the health of the atrabilious South Americans. Both operations _paid_, of course, and whether it was a tract, or a pill that was sold, could make but little difference to the manufacturers of the merchandise.

We steamed along the coast, at a distance of seven or eight miles, the remainder of that night without further adventure; and the next morning dawned clear, with a slight change of programme as to weather. There were clouds hurrying past us, wetting our jackets, now, and then, without interrupting the sunshine, and a stiff northeaster blowing. This was a head-wind, and we labored against it all day, with diminished speed. At three P. M. we made the remarkable island, or rather, mountain of rock, called in the beautiful Spanish, Alta Vela, or Tall Sail, from its resemblance to a ship under sail, at a distance. It rises, at a distance of ten or twelve miles from the main island of St. Domingo, with almost perpendicular sides, to the height of several hundred feet, and affords a foothold for no living creature, but the sea-gull, the gannet, and other water-fowl. Soon after nightfall, we boarded a Spanish brig from Montevideo, bound for Havana; and at eleven P. M., Alta Vela bearing north, and being distant from us, about five miles, we hove to, with a shot, another sail, that was running down the coast. She was a rakish-looking hermaphrodite brig, and in the bright moonlight looked Yankee. The report of our heavy gun, reverberated by a hundred echoes from Alta Vela, had a magical effect upon the little craft. Flying like a sea-gull before a gale only a moment before, she became, in an instant, like the same sea-gull with its wings folded, and riding upon the wave, without other motion than such as the wave gave it. Ranging within a convenient distance, we lowered, and sent a boat on board of her. She proved to be American, as we had suspected. She was the _Chastelaine_ of Boston, last from the island of Guadeloupe, whither she had been to deliver a cargo of staves, and was now on her way to Cienfuegos, in the island of Cuba, in quest of sugar and rum for the Boston folks. We applied the torch to her, lighting up the sea-girt walls of Alta Vela with the unusual spectacle of a burning ship, and disturbing the slumber of the sea-gulls and gannets for the balance of the night.

The next morning found us still steaming to the eastward, along the Haytian coast. Having now the crews of two ships on board, as prisoners, I hauled in closer to the coast, with the intention of running into the old town of St. Domingo, and landing them. We got sight of this old city early in the afternoon, and at about four P. M. ran in and anch.o.r.ed. The anchorage is an open roadstead, formed by the _debouchement_ of the picturesque little river Ozama, which seems to have burst through the rocky barrier of the coast, to find its way to the sea. We found but two vessels anch.o.r.ed here--one of them being a New York brig, recently put under English colors. She had a "bran-new" English ensign flying. Admiral Milne having failed to respond to the frantic cries of the New York "Commercial Advertiser," to protect the Yankee flag, the Yankee ship-owners, with many loathings and contortions, were at last forced to gulp the English flag. There was no other way of coaxing England to protect them. Being in a neutral port, I had no opportunity, of course, of testing the verity of this "cross of St. George," as the Yankees were fond of calling the hated emblem of England--hated, but hugged at the same time, for the protection which it gave ship and cargo.

It will be recollected that, at the time of my visit, Spain had repossessed herself of the eastern, or Dominican end of the island of St.

Domingo; and a Spanish naval commander now came on board to visit me. I had no difficulty in arranging with him for the landing of my prisoners. I sent them to the guard-ship, and he sent them thence to the sh.o.r.e. This done, and arrangements being made for some fresh provisions and other refreshments, to be sent off to the crew in the morning, I landed for a stroll, on this most cla.s.sical of all American soil.

The old city of St. Domingo! How many recollections does it not call up!

It was a large and flourishing city a hundred years before that pestiferous little craft, called the _Mayflower_, brought over the c.o.c.katrice's egg that hatched out the Puritan. It was mentioned, incidentally, as the reader may remember, whilst we were running down the north side of the island, on our way to catch Mr. Vanderbilt's California steamer, that the little town of Isabella, on that side of the island, was the first city founded in the New World; and that the new settlement was soon broken up, and transferred to the city of St. Domingo. The latter city grew apace, and flourished, and was, for many years, the chief seat of the Spanish empire in the New World. It is, to-day, in its ruins, the most interesting city in all the Americas. Columbus himself lived here, and hither his remains were brought from Spain, and reposed for many years, until they were transferred to Cuba, with great pomp and ceremony.

The names of Las Casas, Diego Columbus, the son and successor of the admiral, Oviedo, Hernando Cortez, and a host of others, are bound up in its history. The latter, the renowned conqueror of Mexico, was for several years a notary in an adjoining province.

We have not much time to spare, reader, as the _Alabama_ will be on the wing, again, with the morning's light, but I cannot forbear pointing out to you two of the princ.i.p.al ruins of this famous old city. One of them is the Dominican Convent, and the other the _Palacio_, or residence of Diego Columbus. The old city being named in honor of St. Dominic, great pains were evidently bestowed upon the church and convent that were to bear his name; and so substantially was the former built, that it stands entire, and is still used as a place of worship, after the lapse of three hundred and fifty years. The altars are all standing, though faded and worm-eaten, and see! there is a lamp still burning before the altar of the Holy Eucharist. That lamp was lighted in the days of Columbus, and has been burning continuously ever since! Observe these marble slabs over which we are walking. The entire floor is paved with them. They are the tombstones of the dead, that were distinguished in their day, but who have long since been forgotten. Here is a date of 1532, on one of them. It is much defaced and worn by the footsteps of the generations that have pa.s.sed over it, but we can see by the mitre and crozier, that have been sculptured on it, in _bas-relief_, that the remains of a bishop lie beneath. His name? We cannot make it out. The record of a bishop, carved upon the enduring marble, and placed upon the floor of his own cathedral, has been lost.

What a sermon is here in this stone! Raise your eyes now from the floor, and cast them on the wall opposite. In that niche, in the great cathedral wall, sang the choir of ancient days. These vaulted roofs have resounded with music from the lips of many generations of beauties, that have faded like the b.u.t.terfly of the field, leaving no more trace of their names and lineage than that little wanderer of an hour. There stands the silent organ, whose last note was sounded a century or more ago, with its gilding all tarnished, its stately carving tumbled down and lying in debris at its feet, and the bat and the spider building their nests in the cylinders that once mimicked the thunder, and sent thrills of devotion through the hearts of the mult.i.tude. There are remains of frescoes on the walls, but the damp and the mildew, in this humid climate, have so effectually performed their office, that the bright colors have disappeared, and only a dim outline of their design is visible.

Let us step over from the cathedral, to the conventual portion of the ma.s.sive block. The walls, as you see, are extensive, and are standing, in a sufficient state of preservation, to enable us to trace out the ground-plan, and reconstruct, in imagination, the ancient edifice. Its design is that of a hollow square, after the fashion prevalent in Spain.

On all four sides of the square are arrayed the cells of the monks, the colonnades in front of which are still standing. In the centre of the square, occupying the s.p.a.ce, which, in a private house, would have been appropriated to a _jet d'eau_, and flowers in vases, is an oblong hall, connected at either end with the main building. This was the refectory of the ancient establishment. What scenes does not the very sight of this refectory present to the imagination? We see the table spread, with its naked board, humble service, and still more humble food; we hear the dinner-signal sound; and we see long lines of bearded and hooded monks, with crosses and beads pendent from their girdles, enter, and seat themselves to partake of the wonted refreshment. We hear the subdued hum of many voices--the quiet joke, and half-suppressed merriment. There, at the head of the board, sits the venerable abbot, whilst the chaplain reads his Latin text, from his stand, during the repast. Let now the years begin to roll by. We shall miss, first one familiar face from the humble board, and then another, until finally they all disappear, being carried away, one by one, to their silent tombs! The abbots repose beneath those marble slabs in the cathedral that we so lately wandered over, with lightened footfall, and subdued breath; but the brothers are carried to the common burial-ground of the order, in the outskirts of the town. New generations enter, occupy the same seats, go through the same routine of convent life, and in turn disappear, to give place to newer comers still; and thus is ever swollen the holocaust of the mighty dead! "What is man, O Lord! that thou shouldst be mindful of him?"

"The dead--the honored dead are here-- For whom, behind the sable bier, Through many a long-forgotten year, Forgotten crowds have come, With solemn step and falling tear, Bearing their brethren home.

"Beneath these boughs, athwart this gra.s.s, I see a dark and moving ma.s.s, Like Banquo's shades across the gla.s.s, By wizard hands displayed; Stand back, and let these hea.r.s.es pa.s.s, Along the trampled glade."

The Convent of St. Dominic being situated in the southern part of the old city, in the angle formed by the river Ozama, and the sea, observe what a delightful sea-breeze meets us, as we emerge from the ruined refectory.

Let us pause a while, to lift our hats, from our heated brows, and refresh ourselves, while we listen to the unceasing roar of the surf, as it beats against the rocky cliff below, and throws its spray half-way to our feet.

What a charming view we have of the sea, as it lies in its blue expanse, dotted here and there with a sail; and of the coasts of the island east and west of us--those blackened, rock-bound sh.o.r.es that seem h.o.a.ry with age, and so much in unison with the train of thought we have been pursuing.

There are but three crafts anch.o.r.ed in the roadstead, where formerly fleets used to lie. Of two of these, we have already spoken. The third is the _Alabama_. There is a little current setting out of the river, and she lies, in consequence, broadside to the sea, which is setting in to the beach. She is rolling gently to this sea, displaying every now and then, bright streaks of the copper on her bottom. She is full of men, and a strange flag is flying from her peak--not only strange to the dead generations of whom we have been speaking, but new even to our own times and history. It is the flag of a nation which has just risen above the horizon, and is but repeating the history of the world. The oppressed has struggled against the oppressor since time began. The struggle is going on still. It will go on forever, for the nature of man will always be the same. The c.o.c.katrice's egg has been hatched, and swarms of the Puritan have come forth to overrun the fair fields of the South that they may possess them; just as the wild Germans overran the plains of Italy centuries before.

But away with such thoughts for the present. We came on sh.o.r.e to get rid of them. They madden the brain, and quicken the pulse. The little craft, with the strange flag, has borne her captain hither, on a pilgrimage to the shrine of the great discoverer, whose history may be written in a single couplet.

"A Castilla, y Leon Nuevo Mundo, dio Colon."

On her way hither, her keel has crossed the very track of the three little vessels from Palos--two of them mere open caravels--that first ventured across the vast Atlantic; and now her commander is standing where the great admiral himself once stood--on the very theatre of his early glory.

And alas! for Spain, on the theatre of his shame, or rather of her shame, too; for there stands the fortress still, in which are exhibited to the curious spectator the rings in the solid masonry of the wall, to which Columbus was chained!

A short walk will take us to the ruins of the palace of Diego Columbus. We must ascend the river a few hundred yards. Here it is, a little below the port of the present day. When built it stood alone, and we may remember that the townspeople complained of it, on this account--saying that it was intended as a fortress, to keep them in subjection. It is now surrounded, as you see, by the ruins of many houses. If you have read Oviedo's description of it, you are disappointed in its appearance; for that historian tells us, that "no man in Spain had a house to compare with it."

Its form is that of two quadrangles connected by a colonnade, but it, by no means, comes up to the modern idea of a palace. The roof has entirely disappeared, and the quadrangles are mere sh.e.l.ls filled with the acc.u.mulating debris of centuries, amid which large forest-trees have taken root and are flourishing. It was built of solid and substantial blocks of stone, and in any other country but the tropics, would have scarcely shown signs of age in three centuries. But here the fierce rays of a perpendicular sun, the torrents of rain in the wet season, and the occasional hurricanes and earthquakes, that desolate and destroy everything in their path, soon beat down the stanchest buildings--the very blocks of granite being disintegrated, by the alternate rain and sunshine, and crumbling away beneath their influence. It is situated on a rising ground, commanding a fine view of the sea, and the surrounding country. It is surrounded by walls and battlements, but the most imposing feature about it, must have been the approach to it from the city--the visitor pa.s.sing through a wide avenue of shade-trees, and gaining admission to it by a majestic flight of stone steps. The shade-trees have disappeared, and the stone steps have been removed to be worked up into other buildings.

We have called this house, the palace of Diego Columbus, but it must have been constructed either by his father, the admiral, or his uncle Bartholomew, the _Adelantado_, as we read that when Diego came out, after his father's death, to a.s.sume the viceroyalty, he found it ready built at his hand. Its blackened walls and dirt-filled saloons, now in the midst of a squalid purlieu of the modern city, must have witnessed many a scene of revelry in its day, as Oviedo tells us, that when the young admiral was restored to the honors and command of his father, he brought out to his new government, with him, some of the most elegant young women of Spain, as a sort of maids of honor to his own beautiful young wife--the marriage portions of all of whom he undertook to provide. And that in due time these young women were all happily bestowed upon gallant knights and wealthy planters.