The machinery and engine are at present taking their periodical doze like a great boa constrictor. The engineer--a native of Philadelphia--has gone home for the holidays, and will not return till October or November, when the cane harvest begins and his indispensable services will be required. He has unscrewed all the bra.s.s fittings, taken out the slender and highly polished steel work, and stowed them away with fatherly care, while he has greased whatever is immovable, and then wrapped it up tenderly in machinery swaddling clothes.

Being an Englishman, I am looked upon by the company as an authority in matters mechanical, and my opinion touching the merits of the engineering works is consulted. I accordingly peer into everything with the air of a connoisseur, and happening to catch a glimpse of the maker's name and address on one of the shafts, observe grandly:--

'Ah, Fletcher and Company, I have heard of the firm.'

We have yet to visit Don Benigno's distillery, where the mola.s.ses or refuse of the sugar is converted into white brandy or rum. This is a simple process. The raw liquid is first boiled, and the steam which generates pa.s.ses through a complication of sinuous tubing until it reaches a single tap, where it spirts out in fits and starts into the cold colourless spirit called 'aguardiente.' A gla.s.s valve is connected with the tap, and by means of this the degrees of strength formed by the spirit are gauged. The distillers are already at work, as the operations in this department are best accomplished out of harvest time. One of them invites us to test the strength of the precious spirit, which the gentlemen of our party do with their mouths, while the ladies are content to bathe their hands and temples in the icy-cold liquid.

Everybody takes a deep interest in all that is shown by our amicable cicerone, save, perhaps, Don Manuel and his inamorata, who occasionally loiter behind congenial cogwheels, huge coolers, clarifying pans, and other objects used in the process of sugar-making. The attachment which the lovers conceive for this particular portion of Don Benigno's possessions is so great, that it is with difficulty that they are induced to abandon it. Their repeated visits to the same secluded spot upon subsequent occasions, only confirms our host's theory, that machinery has a strange fascination for persons of all ages and s.e.xes!

Our morning's perambulations terminate with a visit to the infirmary where the sick people, employed on the estate, are tended, and a stroll through the black barracks, which consists of rows of neatly built cottages, occupied by the Don's slaves and their families.

After a substantial breakfast, which resembles dinner in the variety of dishes provided, some of our party betake themselves to their dormitories with a siesta in view, being incapable of any more active service till the hot hours have pa.s.sed. Nicasio and I, however, prefer to improve the sunny moments under the grateful shade of our improvised wigwam, in which position we may sketch, fish, or shoot without much exertion: but despite our laudable efforts to do something useful, our pencils drop from our hands, our angling is neglected, and we surrender to the overpowering heat.

I am awakened by my companion, who enjoins me, perhaps because I am indulging too loudly in somnolence, to be silent.

'What is it? Fish or feather?' I ask.

'Both,' he replies, under his breath. 'Hush! it's a river bird.'

'What is its shape?'

'I haven't seen it yet; but it has been chirping among the reeds and long gra.s.ses there, for the last half-hour.'

My friend's gun is half c.o.c.ked in readiness, and presented through an aperture in our hut. After a long pause the bird emerges from its hiding-place, and with astonishing velocity half flies, half skims across the river, and vanishes between the reeds on the opposite bank.

Bang! bang! go both barrels of Nicasio's 'escopeta,' and both have missed their mark. My sporting friend is, however, determined to secure his game, which is an odd-looking creature, with a long neck and longer legs, similar to a crane. He accordingly fords the river at a shallow point, and in spite of my remonstrances (for a river bird is not easy to bag) goes in quest of his prey. At the expiration of a couple of hours, Nicasio, who has followed the bird two or three miles up and down the river, returns with it triumphantly, but he is himself very wet, footsore, and exhausted.

Our fishing is not so successful as our shooting to-day, and we have soon to abandon both amus.e.m.e.nts, together with our sketching, for the day is on the wane, and the ladies have come down to the river to take their afternoon's bath before dinner. So we modestly withdraw, and betake ourselves to a neighbouring 'cocoral,' where we refresh ourselves with the cool drink furnished by the cocoa-nut.

Towards nightfall, when dinner, with its indispensable accompaniments of cafe and cigars, is over, our host invites the gentlemen to accompany him to the plantations of a few friendly neighbours. Horses are accordingly saddled, spurs are affixed to our boots, and away we gallop.

Our first halt is made at a grazing-farm belonging to Don Benigno, and kept by his mayoral, or overseer, a stout, bronze-faced man, who, we are told, rarely moves during the day from a leather-bottomed chair, which he places slopingly against a post of the verandah. After inspecting Don Benigno's cattle, which consist chiefly of oxen, cows, and goats, we ride over to some coffee estates and tobacco farms, whose owners, or representatives, give us a hearty welcome, and are lavish of their hospitality, offering for our acceptance everything they possess except their wives and families, whom they, however, present to us as our 'servants.'

Our time being limited, we cannot partake of their bounty to-night, but promise to return another day. On the road homewards, we dismount at a coffee estate belonging to Don Benigno's kinsman, Don Felipe, where we remain for an hour or so, and watch the performances of a crowd of black labourers, who are keeping holiday in honour of some favoured saint.

Dancing, with 'tumba' or drum accompaniments, forms the leading feature in the entertainments. The negroes, in turn, take part in the drumming, which is performed by bestriding barrel-shaped tambours, and beating the parchment side rapidly with their hands. The strange measure of the dance is so varied and well sustained, that the outline of an air may be easily distinguished. This primitive music is accompanied by a performance on rattles, by singing, and by sc.r.a.ping the guiro. This instrument is, in the country, roughly made from a dry calabash, notched in such a manner that a hollow grating sound is produced by sc.r.a.ping the rough surface with a fragment of bone. The dancers warm to their work in every sense. Only two couples volunteer at one time, and when they are utterly exhausted, others take their place. The partners dance independently of one another, and only join hands occasionally. The women, attired in long cotton gowns and coloured turbans, a.s.sume a short, shuffling kind of step, which gives them the appearance of gliding on wheels, while the upper parts of their persons oscillate, or sway to and fro in a manner peculiar to their tribe. The men, whose evening costume consists of b.u.t.tonless shirts and short canvas trousers, are more demonstrative than their partners. Sometimes they throw up their arms in wild ecstacy, or leap madly into the air; varying these gymnastic performances by squatting, frog-fashion, near the ground, or turning pirouettes. They get so excited and warm over their gyrations, that their Panama hats, which have been doffed and donned fifty times, are thrown away, their buff-coloured shoes are kicked off, and finally their shirts are disposed of in a similar manner.

Nicasio and I contemplate the animated scene with painters' eyes, and during the pauses of the dance, we mix and fraternise with the swarthy company.

Having expressed a wish to immortalise on canvas a couple of brown divinities, picturesquely attired, our hospitable host, Don Felipe, who has already offered us his country residence, together with the surroundings, including horses, cattle, tobacco, coffee, and all that is his, does not hesitate to add to his list of gifts, the model-ladies that have attracted our observation; so, after his accustomed declaration, 'They are at your disposal,' he promises to have them 'forwarded' to Don Benigno's hacienda without much delay.

The lateness of the hour warns us that we must be moving, so after a parting cup with our host and his family, we remount our steeds, and turn homewards.

During our absence, the ladies and children have been playing the old-fashioned round game of loto, over which they are intently occupied when we join them.

Dona Mercedes is calling the numbers from a bag, but not in the orthodox way. In order to increase the excitement and confusion of the game, the playful lady invents noms de guerre for some of the numbers. Number one is by her transformed into 'el unico' (the only one); number two, when drawn, is termed 'el par dichoso' (the happy pair); and number three, 'las Gracias' (the Graces). Similarly, number fifteen becomes 'la nina bonita' (the pretty girl); number thirty-two, 'la edad de Cristo,' and so on up to number sixty-nine, which she describes as 'el arriba para abajo' (the upside down number). All the tens she gives in their numerical form, coupled with the creolised adjective 'pelao,' or shaven, because the ciphers in these numbers are thought to resemble a bald head.

When 'Loteria!' has been at last shouted by a successful winner, loto is abandoned, and cards, in which the gentlemen take the lead, are subst.i.tuted. Don Benigno proposes the exciting and speculative game of monte, and all the ready cash of the company is forthwith exhibited on the table. Long after the children and ladies have retired, the males of our party continue to gamble over this fascinating game.

While we are finishing our last round but six, a slave enters the broad airy balcony where we are a.s.sembled, and approaching our host, whispers mysteriously in his ear. Don Benigno directs a look at my companion and me, and observes, with a smile, 'Senores artistas, your models have arrived.'

True to his word, Don Felipe has dispatched our swarthy models that same evening, so as to be in readiness for to-morrow's pictorial operations, and the good-natured coffee-planter begs as a personal favour to himself, that we will return his property not later than the day after to-morrow.

CHAPTER XXI.

LOVE-MAKING IN THE TROPICS.

My Inamorata--Clandestine Courtship--A Love Scene--'Il Bacio' in Cuba--The Course of True Love--A Stern Parent.

I am in love. The object of my affection is, I need scarcely explain, the fair Cachita, who lives in the heart of sunny Santiago. She has the blackest of bright eyes, a profusion of dark, frizzled hair, with eyebrows and lashes to match. It is universally admitted that the complexion of my inamorata is fair for a daughter of the tropics, but truth compels me to state that in one sense Cachita is not so white as she is painted. During the day she plasters her delicate skin with 'cascarilla:' a chalky composition of powdered egg-sh.e.l.l and rum. This she applies without the least regard for effect, after the manner of other Cuban ladies, who have a theory that whitewash is a protection against the sun, and a check to unbecoming perspiration. Towards the cool of the evening, however, my Cachita divests herself of her calcareous mask, and appears in all her native bloom.

Since my return from Don Severiano's plantation, I have been a constant visitor at the parental residence in town, and here, in due course, the tender pa.s.sion gradually developes itself.

For reasons presently to be explained, we occasionally meet at the window of Cachita's boudoir, which is admirably adapted for purposes of wooing, being wide, lofty, and within easy reach from the street. Like other Cuban windows, it is guiltless of gla.s.s, but anything like elopement from within, or burglary from without, is effectually provided against by means of strong iron bars, placed wide enough apart, however, to admit the arm and shoulder of a Pyramus on the pavement, or the yielding face of a Thisbe on the other side. An open engagement in Cuba has many disadvantages which an open-air engagement has not. Seated in an uncongenial arm-chair, the conventional lover may enjoy the society of his betrothed any hour of the day or evening, but he may not meet her by gaslight alone, nor may he exhibit his pa.s.sion in a demonstrative manner, save in the presence of others. Warned by these objections, Cachita and I have agreed to keep our own counsel, and court in this al fresco way. Besides, it is the Cuban custom for a lady to sit before her window, in the cool of the evening, and converse with a pa.s.sing acquaintance, without infringing the rules of propriety.

Cachita's parents are in the 'comedor' taking their early supper of thick chocolate and new milk rolls. Dona Belen is a corpulent lady, with a couple of last century side-curls, and a round, good-natured face. Don Severiano is a short, shrivelled old gentleman, with a sallow countenance, closely shaved like a priest's, and a collar and cravat of the latest fashion. These worthy people are at present ignorant of their daughter's attachment, and we have agreed not to enlighten them, because their opinions respecting matrimony differ. Dona Belen is easily won if a suitor to her daughter's hand can prove his genuine white origin, while Don Severiano has an extreme partiality for gentlemen with coffee plantations, sugar estates, or tobacco farms.

The Spanish language is an agreeable medium for expressing the tender pa.s.sion; creole Spanish is even more suited to such a purpose, being full of endearing epithets and affectionate diminutives. I am not obliged to address my lady-love by her simple name of Caridad; I may call her Caridadcita, Cachita, Chuchu, Concha, Cachona, Conchita, or Cachumbita, and be perfectly grammatical, and at the same time fond. The same romantic language enables me to use such pretty epithets as 'Mi mulatica' (my little mulatto girl), 'Mi Chinita' (my little Chinawoman), 'Mi negrita' (my pretty negress).

And if these endearing epithets are found insufficient to express my affectionate regard, I have the option of addressing my beloved in such terms as:

Prenda de mi alma! My soul's jewel!

Botoncito de rosa! Little rose-bud!

Lucero de la manana! Dawn of the day!

Luz de mi vida! Light of my life!

Ojitos de cocuyo! Little fire-fly eyes!

Consuelo mio! My own joy!

Mi merenguito! My little merengue!

Ojitos de pega-pega! Eyes that rivet!

Mi monona! My lovely one!

Mi tormento! My little torment!

Mi consolacion! My consolation!

Hija de mi alma! Child of my soul!