[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XIV.

THE FIRST BALL IN LA GLORIA.

Meanwhile, the sale and allotment of plantations and town lots steadily continued, until on April 9, six months from the day the surveyors began their operations, about twelve thousand or fifteen thousand acres of land had been allotted, besides nine hundred and thirty-three city lots.

Many of the lots had been cleared, and parts of some of the plantations.

Quite an amount of planting, in the aggregate, had been done.

The survey corps and the colonists agreed that the semi-anniversary of the coming of the surveyors to La Gloria should be marked by a celebration, and the bold project of a grand ball was set on foot. When I first heard of it, I thought it was a joke, but when I saw a long list of committees conspicuously posted on Central avenue, and had been requested by "Albany" to announce the coming event at the regular meeting of the Pioneer a.s.sociation, I realized that the talk had been serious and that Terpsich.o.r.e had actually gained a footing in La Gloria. I was authorized to announce that the ball would be in charge of a French dancing master, which was the fact, for Floor Manager Messier ("Albany") was a Frenchman by birth. The ball and the accompanying supper were free to all, but the women of the colony had been requested to contribute food--and most n.o.bly they responded--while the men, particularly the surveyors, hustled for fruit, sugar, etc. It was a cheering sight when big Jack McCauley drove in from Mercedes with the mule team, bringing a whole barrel of oranges. These were some of the oranges which had been saved by Jack's "influence."

It was no small task to make the necessary preparations for the ball, and some of the committees were kept very busy. I was on the committee on music, and learned to my dismay, a few hours before the ball was to open, that Dan Goodman, the fiddler, had been attacked by stage fright and had declared that if he was to be the whole orchestra he would "hang up the fiddle and the bow." I interviewed Dan,--who was just as good a fellow as his name implies,--and found that he was really suffering from Pennsylvania modesty. Accordingly it devolved on me to build up an orchestra with Dan as a nucleus. I succeeded beyond my expectations. In a short time I had secured the musical services of Ed. Ford, Mr. and Mrs. Spiker, and others. The evening came, and like Jerry Rusk, they "seen their duty and done it." And it may further be said that they "done it" very well.

It was decided to hold the ball in a large canvas-covered structure which had formerly been used as a restaurant kitchen and store-house.

There was only a dirt floor, and hence the matter of a temporary flooring became a problem. Boards were almost an unknown luxury in La Gloria at that time, but a few were picked up about the camp, and the Rev. Dr. Gill kindly loaned the flooring of his tent for the evening.

Even then, only so much of the ballroom floor was boarded as was actually used for dancing. It is not too much to say that the ballroom was elaborately decorated. High overhead were fastened graceful and beautiful palm leaves, a dozen feet or more in length, and there were green wreathes and initial letters flecked with flowers and bright red berries. Men, women, and children joined efforts to make the interior of the tent a bower of tropical beauty. The effect was most pleasing. Such decorations in the Northern states would doubtless have cost a large sum of money. Here they cost only a little time and labor. I wish I could say that the ballroom was brilliantly lighted, but the gas and electric light plants were as yet unplanted, and we had to depend on kerosene lanterns suspended from the roof. However, as most of us had been using only candles for illumination, the lantern light seemed very good. No one thought of complaining that it was dark.

I shall not be able to describe the Grand Ball in all its wondrous details, but only to make brief mention of a few of the features which particularly impressed me. I remember that as the people gathered together we had great difficulty in recognizing each other. We had thought we were all well acquainted, but that was before the men and women had gone down into the bottom of their trunks and fished out their good clothes. The transformation, particularly in some of the men, was paralyzing, and after we had identified the individuals inside of the clothes, many of us forgot our company manners and opened our mouths wide in astonishment. Men who had been accustomed to wear, seven days in each week, a careless outing costume, or old, cheap clothes of cotton or woolen material, or mayhap nothing more than shirt and overalls, had suddenly blossomed out in well-fitting black suits, set off by cuffs, high collars, and silk ties. It was a dazzling sight for La Gloria. The men had been very negligent of their dress; scarcely one had brought his valet with him to Cuba! There may even have been a few dress suits at the ball, and I will not make oath that some of the women were not in decollete gowns; to be entirely safe, however, I will not swear that they were. The women looked very well and so did the men; all were a credit to an American colony.

Mr. J. A. Messier ("Albany"), the floor manager and master of ceremonies, was attired in neat and conventional dress, and performed his duties gracefully and well. The grand march was led by General Van der Voort and Mrs. Dan Goodman, followed by Chief Engineer Kelly with a daughter of Senor Rivas. I do not find among my possessions a dance order, and hence can give no description of it; and I apprehend that the others present would have no better success. But there was dancing, and a lot of it.

[Ill.u.s.tration: INTERIOR GEN. VAN DER VOORT'S HOUSE. (_April, 1900._)]

Furthermore, it was much enjoyed, both by the partic.i.p.ants and the spectators. About the middle of the evening some specialties were introduced. Chief Engineer Kelly performed a clog dance successfully, turning a handspring at the end, and Architect Neff executed an eccentric French dance with a skill and activity that brought down the house. There was also good clog dancing by some of the younger men.

The ball was attended by nearly the entire colony. This was made manifest when we lined up for supper, which was served across the street. The procession to the tables numbered one hundred and forty persons by actual count. The tables were set under shelter tents, and were beautifully decorated and loaded with food. There were meats, fish, salads, puddings, cakes, and a wonderful variety of pies, in which the guava was conspicuous. Coffee and fruits were also much in evidence.

Never before had La Gloria seen such a spread. On this occasion the women of the colony achieved a well-merited reputation for culinary skill and resourcefulness. Except for a few enthusiasts, who went back to the ballroom for more dancing, the supper wound up the evening's festivities. The semi-anniversary had been properly celebrated, and the first ball in La Gloria had proved successful beyond antic.i.p.ation. April 9, 1900, may be set down as a red letter day in the history of the colony.

Speaking of the ball and its orchestra calls to mind the music in the camp in the early days of the colony. There was not much. Occasionally a violin was heard; and more often, perhaps, a guitar or mandolin. But the most persistent musician was a cornet player, who for a time was heard regularly every night from one end of the camp. His wind was good, but his repertoire small. He knew "Home, Sweet Home" from attic to cellar, and his chief object in life seemed to be to make others as familiar with it as himself. He played little else, and the melting notes of John Howard Payne's masterpiece floated through the quiet camp hour after hour, night after night. Finally, the colonists visited him and told him gently but firmly that he must stop playing that piece so much; it was making them all homesick. Not long after the cornet player disappeared.

I think there was no foul play. Probably he had simply betaken himself to home, sweet home.

There were many good singers in camp. Some of them met regularly once or twice a week and sang gospel hymns. These formed the choir at the Sunday services. There was another group of vocalists, equally excellent in its way, which confined itself to rendering popular songs. Some of the latter, who dwelt and had their "sings" near my tent, would have done credit to the vaudeville stage. They were known as the "Kansas crowd."

It gave me, a native of the Granite state, great satisfaction to hear these Kansas people singing with spirit and good expression "My Old New Hampshire Home." I was pleased to regard it as a Western tribute to New Hampshire as the place of the ideal home.

CHAPTER XV.

A WALKING TRIP TO PUERTO PRINCIPE.

It was on the day after the Grand Ball, Tuesday, April 10, that a party of us started on a walking trip to the city of Puerto Principe, forty-five miles away. My companions, who, like myself, were all colonists, were Jeff D. Franklin of Florida, David Murphy of New Jersey, A. H. Carpenter of Ma.s.sachusetts, and a Mr. Crosby of Tennessee. Mr.

Crosby was a man of middle age; the rest of us were younger, Carpenter being a mere youth of perhaps eighteen. All were good walkers. The start was made at about 8:30 in the morning. The day was pleasant and balmy, but not excessively warm. The trail was now in good condition, and the walking would have been altogether agreeable had it not been for the packs upon our shoulders. We carried hammocks, blankets, and such food as bread, crackers, sardines, bacon, and coffee. One of the party had a frying-pan slung across his back. Our loads were not actually heavy, but they seemed so after we had walked a few miles.

Our course lay to the southwest, through the deserted plantation of Mercedes, where we stopped an hour to eat oranges and chat with the colonists at work there. Resuming our march, we soon pa.s.sed an inhabited Cuban shack near an abandoned sugar mill, stopping a few minutes to investigate a small banana patch near the road. We had been here before and knew the owner. A mile further on we reached another occupied shack, and called to get a drink of agua (water). We were hospitably received in the open front of the casa (house) and given heavy, straight-backed, leather-bottomed chairs of an antique pattern. The agua furnished was rain water which had been stored in a cistern, and had at least the virtue of being wet. There were at home an old man, a very fleshy elderly woman, and two rather good-looking girls, the appearance and dress of one of whom indicated that she was a visitor. This was about the only shack we saw where there were no young children in evidence. We tarried but a few minutes. After making inquiries about the road, as we did at almost every house, we continued on our way.

For the next three or four miles we had a good hard trail through the woods, but saw neither habitation nor opening. Shortly after noon we emerged from the woods into an open s.p.a.ce, where, on slightly elevated ground, stood two shacks. We had been here before and knew the man who occupied one of them. There was no land under cultivation in sight, and the only fruit a custard apple tree and a few mangoes. There were a good many pigs roaming about, and the shack we entered contained several small children. Our Cuban friend seemed glad to see us; his wife brought us water to drink, and we were invited to sit down. Our social call would have been more satisfactory if we had known more Spanish, or our host had spoken English. We made but a brief stay, and on departing asked the Cuban to point out to us the road to Puerto Principe. Since leaving the woods we had seen no road or trail of any sort. He took us around his house and accompanied us for some distance, finally pointing out an indistinct trail across high savanna land which he said was the right one. This path, which could hardly be seen, was the "road" from the coast to the third largest city in Cuba, only about thirty miles away! Such are Cuban roads. At times you can only guess whether you are in a road or out of it.

What lay before us was now entirely unfamiliar. At about one o'clock we halted by the side of the trail for a midday rest and lunch. We were a dozen miles from La Gloria, and about an equal distance from the Cubitas mountains, through which we were to pa.s.s. An hour later we took up the march again. We soon entered the woods and found a smooth, firm trail over the red earth. We pa.s.sed through miles of timber, of a fine, straight growth. In the thick woods but few royal palms were seen, but in the more open country we saw some magnificent groves of them. During the afternoon we pa.s.sed only two or three shacks, but as we approached the Cubitas mountains the few habitations and their surroundings improved in character. The houses continued to be palm-thatched, but they were more commodious and surrounded by gardens in which were a few orange and banana trees, and other fruits and vegetables. Some of the places were quite pretty. Occasionally we would see cleared land that had once been cultivated, but no growing crops of any amount. This part of the country had been agriculturally dead since the Ten Years' War.

How the natives live, I know not, but it is safe to say that they do not live well. They raise boniatos and ca.s.sava, a little fruit, and keep a few pigs. Often their chief supply of meat is derived from the wild hogs which they shoot. And yet these Cubans were living on some of the best land in the world.

Late in the afternoon, after walking for a mile or more along a good road bordered by the ornamental but worthless jack-pineapple plant, we came to a wide gateway opening into an avenue lined with cocoanut palms and leading up to a couple of well-made Cuban shacks. The houses stood at the front of quite a large garden of fruit trees. We called at one of the shacks, which proved to be well populated. An elderly man, large for a Cuban and well-built, came forward to greet us and was inclined to be sociable. His shirt appeared to be in the wash, but this fact did not seem to embarra.s.s him any; he still had his trousers. Of a younger man we bought a few pounds of boniatos (sweet potatoes) and after some urging persuaded him to go out and get some green cocoanuts for us from the trees. He sent his little boy of about twelve years of age up the tree to hack off a bunch of the nuts with his machete. We drank the copious supply of milk with great satisfaction; there is no more refreshing drink in all Cuba. As the boy had done all the work, we designedly withheld our silver until he had come down the tree and we could place it in his hands. We wondered if he would be allowed to keep it. Climbing the smooth trunk of a cocoanut tree is no easy task.

We camped that night among the trees by the side of the road a quarter of a mile further on. We had made twenty miles for the day, and were now on high ground near the base of the Cubitas mountains. The rise had been so very gradual that we had not noticed that we were ascending. The trunks of all the trees around us were stained for a short distance from the ground with the red of the soil, caused, as we believed, by the wild hogs rubbing up against them. Our supper of fried boniatos and bacon was skilfully cooked by Jeff Franklin, who used the hollow trunk of a royal palm, which had fallen and been split, for an oven. For drink we had cocoanut milk. By the vigorous use of Dave Murphy's machete we cleared away the underbrush so that we could swing our hammocks among the small trees. Franklin had no hammock, but slept under a blanket on a rubber coat spread on the ground. The night was comfortably warm and brilliantly clear. It was delightful to lie in our hammocks and gaze up through the trees at the beautiful star-lit sky. There were mosquitoes, of course, but they did not trouble us much, and we all slept well.

We were up early the next morning, a perfect day, and after eating a substantial breakfast proceeded on our journey. We felt little exhaustion from the long walk of the preceding day, but I was a sad cripple from sore feet. I had on a pair of Cuban shoes which were a little too short for me (although they were No. 40) and my toes were fearfully blistered and bruised. There was nothing to do, however, but go forward as best I could, so I limped painfully along behind my companions, keenly conscious that Josh Billings was a true philosopher when he said that "t.i.te boots" made a man forget all his other troubles.

A fraction of a mile beyond our camping place we discovered a well-kept shack ensconced in cosy grounds amid palms, fruit trees, and flowering shrubs. It was one of the prettiest scenes we saw. We called for water, politely greeted the woman who served us with our best p.r.o.nunciation of "buenos dias," and, murmuring our "gracias," went our way with some regrets at leaving so pleasant a spot. A mile or two further on we came to a distinct fork in the road. One way lay nearly straight ahead, the other bore off to the right. While we were debating which trail to take, a horseman fortunately came along, the first person we had seen on the road that day and the second since leaving Mercedes on the preceding forenoon. He told us to go to the right, and we were soon in the foothills of the mountains.

It was here that we found a deserted shack behind which was a cleared s.p.a.ce in the woods of several acres. On this little plantation grew bananas, cocoanuts, ca.s.sava, boniatos, and other vegetables. As it was in the Cubitas mountains near this spot that the Cuban insurrectionists had what they called their independent civil government for some time prior to the intervention of the United States, and secreted their cattle and raised fruit and vegetables to supply food for the "Army of Liberation," we guessed that this might be one of the places then put under cultivation. It certainly had had very little recent care.

After journeying past some chalk-white cliffs, which we examined with interest, we entered the mountain pa.s.s which we supposed would take us through the town or village of Cubitas, the one-time Cuban capital. The way was somewhat rough and rugged, but not very steep. The mountains were covered with trees and we had no extended view in any direction.

All at once, at about 10:30 a.m., we suddenly and unexpectedly emerged from the pa.s.s, when the shut-in forest view changed to a broad and sweeping prospect into the interior of Cuba. What we looked down upon was an immense savanna, stretching twenty miles to the front, and perhaps more on either hand, broken in the distance on all sides by hills and lofty mountains. It was a beautiful sight, particularly for us who had been shut in by the forest most of the time for months. The savanna was dry, but in places showed bright green stretches that were restful to the eye. It was dotted with thousands of small palm trees, which were highly ornamental. We could not see Puerto Principe, nor did we catch sight of it until within three miles of the city. There was no town or village in sight, and not even a shack, occupied or unoccupied.

The view embraced one vast plain, formerly used for grazing purposes, but now wholly neglected and deserted. We did not then know that we were to walk seventeen miles across this savanna before seeing a single habitation of any sort.

We had seen nothing of the village of Cubitas, and concluded that we had taken the wrong pa.s.s. We were afterwards told that Cubitas consisted of a single shack which had been used as a canteen. Whether the Cuban government occupied this canteen, or one of the caves which are said to exist in these mountains, I cannot say. The revolutionary government, being always a movable affair, was never easy to locate. It was, however, secure from harm in these mountains. We noticed later that the natives seemed to regard all the scattered houses within a radius of half a dozen miles from this part of the mountains as forming Cubitas.

The post-office must have been up a tree.

After a brief rest on the south slope of the mountains, we resumed our march, a wearisome one for all of us and exceedingly painful to me with my disabled feet. They seemed even sorer after a halt. My ankles were now very lame from unnaturally favoring my pinched toes. The midday sun was hot, and we suffered a good deal from thirst. There were no longer any houses where we could procure water. We had not seen a stream of any sort in the last twenty miles. I staggered along as best I could, a straggler behind my companions. A little after noon we came suddenly upon two or three little water holes directly in our path. It seemed like an oasis in the desert. We could not see where the water came from nor where it went, but it was clear and good, and we were duly thankful.

We ate dinner here under a small palm tree, and enjoyed a siesta for an hour.

In the afternoon we met only one person, a Cuban produce pedler on horseback. He treated those who cared for liquor out of a big black bottle. That afternoon's tramp will linger long in our memories. I thought we should never get across that seemingly endless savanna. At last, when it was near six o'clock, we reached an old deserted open shack which stood on the plain not far from the trail. Here we spent the night, cooking our supper and procuring in a near-by well tolerably good water, notwithstanding the dirty sc.u.m on top of it. We were within four miles of Puerto Principe, and my ears were delighted that evening with a sound which I had not heard in more than three months--the whistle of a locomotive. Our night was somewhat disturbed by rats, fleas, and mosquitoes, but we were too tired not to sleep a good part of it. The breeze across the savanna was gentle and soothing.

The next morning we walked into the time-scarred city of Puerto Principe--that is, the others walked and I hobbled. If possible, my feet were worse than ever. In the outskirts, our party divided, Franklin, Murphy, and Carpenter branching off to the left to go to the camp of the Eighth U. S. Cavalry two miles east of the city near the railroad track, and Crosby and I going directly into the heart of the town in search of a hotel. We had a long walk through the narrow and roughly paved streets before we found one. There is no denying that we were a tough-looking pair of tramps. We were unshaven and none too clean. Our clothes were worn and frayed, and soiled with mud and dust. We were bent with the packs upon our shoulders, and walked with very p.r.o.nounced limps.

Everywhere we were recognized as "Americanos," although it seemed to me we looked more like Italian organ-grinders. To the day of my death I shall never cease to be grateful to the people of Puerto Principe for the admirable courtesy and good manners exhibited to us. They did not stone nor jeer us; they did not even openly stare at the odd spectacle we presented. Even the children did not laugh at us, and the dogs kindly refrained from barking at our heels. At all times during our stay of several days we were treated with perfect courtesy and a respectful consideration which our personal appearance scarcely warranted and certainly did not invite. The Spaniards and Cubans seem to a.s.sociate even the roughest dressed American with money and good-nature. The humbler children would gather about us, pleading, "Americano, gimme a centavo!" while little tots of four years would say in good English and the sweetest of voices, "Good-by, my frien'!" It was the soldiers who had taught them this. Their parents rarely spoke any English whatever.

We stayed at the Gran Hotel, said by some to be the best in the city.

It was none too good, but not bad as Cuban hotels run. The terms were moderate, $1.50 per day, for two meals and lodging. A third meal could not be obtained for love nor money. I bought mine at street stands or in a cafe. Not a word of English was spoken at this hotel.

I cannot describe Puerto Principe at any length. It is an old Spanish city in architecture and customs, and might well have been transplanted from mediaeval Spain. As a matter of fact, it was moved here centuries ago from the north coast of Cuba, near the present site of Nuevitas, the change being made to escape the incursions of pirates. It has a population of about forty-seven thousand, and is the third largest city in Cuba, and the most populous inland town. Many of the residents are wealthy and aristocratic, and the people, generally speaking, are fine-looking and very well dressed. I several times visited the chief plaza, which had lately taken the new name of Agramonte, and watched with interest the handsome men and beautiful senoritas who promenaded there. I was told that late in the afternoon and early in the evening the young people of the best families in the city walked in the plaza.

They were certainly elegantly dressed and most decorous in behavior. The plaza was very pretty, with its royal palms and ornamental flower beds.

It was flanked by one of the several ancient Catholic churches in the city. While in Puerto Principe I was in receipt of unexpected courtesies from Mr. C. Hugo Drake, the American lawyer alluded to in an earlier chapter of this book.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AGRAMONTE PLAZA, PUERTO PRINCIPE, CUBA.

_Photograph by V. K. Van de Venter, Jan. 28, 1900._]

After spending four delightful days in Puerto Principe, I took the train to Las Minas, twenty miles to the eastward. There I joined my companions, who had preceded me by twenty-four hours. Here we boarded the private cane train of Bernabe Sanchez and rode to Senor Sanchez'

great sugar mill at Senado, six miles away. Senor Sanchez has a pleasant residence here, surrounded by fruit trees and shrubs. We saw ripe strawberries growing in his garden. Scores of Cuban shacks in the vicinity house his workmen and their families. We went all over his immense, well-appointed sugar mill, then in operation, and in the early afternoon rode on the flat cars of the cane train through his extensive plantation for nine miles, the land on either side of the track for all this distance being utilized for the growing of sugar cane.

The end of the track left us about eighteen miles from La Gloria. We set out to walk home, but late in the afternoon the party accidentally divided and both divisions got lost. Murphy and I spent an uncomfortable night in the thick, damp woods, and taking up the tramp early the next morning, found ourselves, two or three hours later, at the exact point near the end of Sanchez' plantation where we had begun our walk the afternoon before. We had walked about fifteen miles and got back to our starting point without realizing that we had deviated from the main trail. Stranger yet, the other division of the party had done exactly the same thing, but had reached this spot late the night before and was now half way to La Gloria.

Murphy and I made a new start, and after getting off the track once or twice, finally reached the Maximo river, crossed it on a tree, and got into La Gloria at 5:30 that afternoon, nearly worn out and looking like wild men. I had had nothing to eat for forty-eight hours save two cookies, one cracker, and half a sweet potato.