TO walk upon the beach and see the bright golden waves rolling beneath our feet on a sunny day, and hear the gentle surge moving like the soft cadence of dying echoes, creates in us a desire to be wafted into other climes, where we can see untold wonders, and be regaled with something new to feast our senses. It was from the promptings of a restless spirit that we embarked on a fine sailing vessel for Cuba as the morning tide was receding. An escort of sea-gulls, with their white pinions and unwearied wings, followed us far from land, as messengers of peace, wishing us a bon voyage.

We soon commenced to feel contented in our isolated moving habitation, with its strong canvas buoying us up in the breeze, like a huge bird of passage in its aËrial flight, and we looked out on the “waste of waters” as only an untried experiment, about which very fearful things had been said, but not so bad after all. While we were watching for new wonders, the sun sunk into the sea, and the stars came out one by one from their canopied homes in the blue sky, the larger, brighter ones rising first, like the stronger spirits in life, which leave their beds with the dawn, to make preparation for the feebler little footsteps that now open their eyes

Portuguese Man-of-war
Portuguese Man-of-war

timidly on the great world into whose magnitude and mysteries they are just entering. The monotony of a sea-voyage is always broken by the daily revolutions of the earth on its axis, if not more stirring events. Our second morning at sea the winds and waves were hushed quietly as the calm which pervades a sinner’s sensibilities when the angel of peace first speaks comfort to his sin-burdened soul. Our sails hang loosely as a gambler’s conscience, while the surge swings us around freely without taking us forward. The spars squeak, twist, and groan, as though in distress at our condition. The sailors are busy tying up ropes, mending sails, and climbing about in the rigging like cats. A kind of sea-polyp, Physalia utriculus, or Portuguese men-of-war, which move passively on the surface of the water, have been in sight all day, with their bubble sails of rainbow hue, supported by emerald hulls, with their anchors steadying them in their swift, uncertain voyage over the sea. How fragile and ethereal they look! These little creatures only trim their sails in fine weather, but when the wind blows they descend into more quiet quarters. The sailors look with suspicion upon their movements, as they say their appearance indicates foul weather. They present a concave surface above the water of three or four inches that is guided by purple rudder-bands, which descend about two feet into the sea. These filaments are very poisonous when handled—the sailors, while in bathing, being sometimes stung by them, which is accompanied with a very painful burning sensation, like the nettle. They may be classed among the many other curious and wonderful beings that inhabit the great deep, of which we know but little or nothing.

The old tars have been singing to-day,

Last night, as we were retiring, the sky was banking up black clouds, which indicates a nor’-wester. Now, when we look across the crested surface of the deep, dark sea, our thoughts are too sacred for bosom-confidants, and too serious to bear much sounding by ourselves, being shadowed by forebodings, not unmixed with melancholy, when we think on the fate of many who have sailed before us. Our rough old captain, who commences his day’s duties before sunrise by giving the steward a cursing for what he has done or left undone, as a kind of recreation when he is drinking his coffee, has been giving his oracle, the barometer, some mysterious looks all day.

The sun has gone to her home in the west, and we now feel that a night of darkness—it may be destruction—has drawn her deepest shadows over us. The wind is blowing a gale, above which is heard at the wheel aft the same cross old captain screaming his orders through the storm-trumpet, which sound dismal as death: “Lower the foresail!” “Take down the topsails!” “Put out a watch!” “Let her drive before the wind!” Old Neptune has commenced his fearful frolics in earnest, rolling the white caps in every direction. The vessel has commenced plunging through a trackless pathway, while the sea boils like a pot.

It is when messengers from the realms of King Storm are abroad in the land—when the sea rises at his call, and the winds meet from their hidden coverts, to exercise their strength and contend for victory—that the poetry of sailing on deep water vanishes, and we look stern reality in the face, and feel the danger of being swallowed up, which overbalances all the adventurous spirit for sight-seeing.

The tempest which was now shrieking and howling in its fury bore no resemblance to any thing disagreeable enough by which a comparison could be made, except falling clods upon the coffin of an only friend and protector, or the click of a pistol that sends a soul into eternity. In imagination I could hear the gnashing teeth of fighting fiends, in reality the roaring thunders, threatening with their stunning proximity, while torrents of water were descending—thus bringing a yawning abyss before us under circumstances of appalling nearness, when the sea, in its fiercest moments of fury, has often plunged the ship and mariners into an open chasm, with cold, cruel waves for a winding-sheet, while the winds sung a requiem. It was an epoch in the history of my life, when I felt my grasp upon tangible substance weakening, and at any moment that I might be hurled into that shoreless, fathomless depth, from whose uncertain soundings and unexplored domains there would be no return. As the wind increased the sea commenced washing over decks, which movement would not be mistaken, for purling streams meandering through green lawns and “flowery meads.” The pantry contributed its share to the general din—the plates all falling down, the tumblers, cups, and bowls, never ceasing to roll over—at the same instant a big wave coming in washed the tinware from the galley, while the cook-stove, with its legs nailed fast to the floor, remained a mute spectator. The chairs gathered in groups and skated across the oil-cloth at each lurch of the vessel. Nothing revealed those terrible troughs in the sea before us but the vivid lightning, which also enabled the sailors to see the spars, and keep a portion of the sails reefed. The deep waters resembled liquid mountains piled in pyramidal forms, dissolving like dew with every wind that passed, at which we were not dismayed while the vessel could leap over them. Meanwhile there came a heavy sea that shipped down the gangway and commenced washing out the cabin—at the same instant a gust extinguished the binnacle lamp. As a precautionary movement, to keep the mast from being jerked out, the foresheet was secured. The beating billows, rattling chains, and inky darkness, combined, were suggestive of a passage contained in the Epistle of Jude, where the fallen spirits are spoken of as “reserved in everlasting chains under darkness unto the judgment of the great day.” The hour of midnight, when the clock shall have struck twelve, is looked for with much solicitude during a gale. How the men worked! How the pumps groaned! Our vessel was only a toy with which the waves were playing as a pastime, whose angry waves we were willing to appease by a promise that we would come no more, if only spared from a dive beneath their surface. Storms and adversity are both great levelers in life. How all social barriers of distinction vanish as we feel our dependence upon the roughest tar that climbs the mast at sea, or rolls like a swine in the gutter on shore! With what eagerness we notice every movement of the officers in times of peril, and listen for their foot-fall on deck, or the rustle of their rough-weather tarpaulins, as they walk through the cabin, watching to see that fire does not break out from the lamps, or spontaneous combustion take place in the hold, which then severs the last gleam of hope, except that which awaits us beyond a grave in the sea when we sink beneath the waves, where all is peace! While we are certain a commander, in times of danger, will do all in his power to save the lives of those on board, is it not then we should lean on that One all-powerful to aid, and feel for the Hand “that holds the waters in its hollow?” A little after midnight the captain, worn out with his duties, “had turned in.” The winds seemed to lull, and except very heavy seas, a fair prospect of peace overshadowed us. However, we soon afterward found we had been nursing a delusion, as a little before 2 A.M. the breeze freshened; it came in gusts, increasing in severity, and the vessel becoming unmanageable, the captain was called on deck, while the mate rushed forward to take in sail. He had proceeded but a short distance when a heavy sea struck the ship, and the bow-hatches were five feet under water, with the mate swimming against the deck-railings, and the trumpet-toned commands issued to a powerless crew. It was a fearful moment, never to be forgotten in the history of a lifetime, when all hopes, joys, sorrows, and past recollections, are merged into an instant of time, to be swept away by a breath.

A little after daybreak we sighted an English vessel on her course for South America. She sailed swiftly, never stopping to tell us the danger she had passed, as a chopped sea was running, which denoted the expiring struggle through which it was passing in trying to calm its fury. The sun rose at last, and our rent sails were all that told the perils we had encountered; for the same Voice that could command “the winds and the sea” to obey was with us, and we were saved.

About midday we passed the Isle of Pines, whose proximity our quadrant indicated before we saw it. In making for the south side of Cuba, this land is all we see during the passage. It is said rain falls here when the weather is pleasant in every other place—to which is attributable its unusual appearance of verdure and its fine streams of fresh water, which first attracted the attention of the early Spanish settlers. The large amount of rain which falls here is accounted for by the trade-winds in these seas blowing from the north-east. Marble and jasper of various colors are found on this island. It was formerly frequented by pirates, the last of whom was Bernardo del Soto, who was a Spaniard, and commanded the band. They named their cruising-ship the “Pinta,” which in Spanish implies a point. Their closing exploit was robbing and destroying the brig Mexican, near Cape San Antonio. All the crew were murdered except two, who were spared on condition they would join the pirates. These two unfortunate survivors afterward escaped to the United States, when they gave information in regard to their companions who had been so cruelly murdered, and also the rendezvous of these high-sea pirates, which led to their capture by the brig Summers. The buccaneers were taken to Boston, and tried for murder, of which they were all convicted and executed, except the commander, whose wife came from Cuba and interceded with President Van Buren, that the life of her husband might be spared. Her entreaties were not unavailing, and his existence was prolonged, only to reward her solicitude by murdering her in a fit of passion, for which crime he soon atoned with his life.

Mexican Gulf.—Soon after dinner we noticed an unusual appearance in the sky, like fog and mist. The sailors, with a terrified look, were standing in a group together on deck, while the captain took the helm. A storm on ship-board, strange as it may appear, develops more profanity than reverence among sailors; but water-spouts are something with which they never presume to trifle. Two of these were plainly visible. One passed aft the vessel, missing it about fifteen feet; the other presented a most peculiar phenomenon, which is said to be caused by the reciprocal attraction of the cloud above and the sea beneath. The water rises toward the cloud, which elongates itself in the form of a tube to meet and receive the fluid below—this ascending column resembling in form a speaking-trumpet, with its base uppermost. They were called presters by the ancients, which word in the Greek denotes an igneous fluid—the more singular on account of those who applied the term having no knowledge of electricity. These terrible missiles of destruction often annihilate every thing in their pathway, although only a few drops of water reached us from these. They are fearful objects, unlike most others which come clothed in darkness, they being only veiled in thin mist, rising like a mysterious presence from the depths of the sea to join the forces in the air, thus making the combined influences doubly formidable. The ship had been tacked to port side just as the water-spouts had been discovered, and we were sailing southward away from them. They may be properly termed “sea-cyclones, carrying up drops of water which they have separated from the surface of the waves.” The beauty, terror, and grandeur accompanying these visitants can never be imagined by one who has not witnessed them, much less definitely described by a terrified spectator. The sun shone brightly during the time, as though the storm-fiend was not abroad in his chariot, riding swiftly on wings of wind, ready to hurl the missiles of death at any hapless mariner who crossed its pathway. Ever shall I remember how utterly undone those poor sin-hardened, rough sailors appeared while waiting for orders that would give expression to their feelings, no words coming from those uncultured lips which could furnish any conception of their mental agitation.

Cuba, February 28.—The most precious jewel of the Antilles is the Isle of Cuba, which we are now approaching. It is about seven hundred and ninety miles in length, its greatest width being one hundred and seven miles. The mountains add beauty and boldness to its scenery, the highest elevation on the island being about eight thousand feet. It was first discovered by the famous Columbus, in 1492, but not conquered from the Indians until 1511, at which time the Spaniards killed nearly five hundred thousand of the natives. From the following well-authenticated account we may be enabled to form some idea of the barbarity which characterized these movements: “One morning, as the Spaniards were tying an Indian cazique to the stake for the purpose of burning him alive, a Franciscan Friar approached, and informed him that if he would embrace their religion he should go to heaven, but if not he must burn in hell forever. The prince then asked him if there were any Spaniards in heaven. The friar responded in the affirmative—to which he replied, ‘If that be so, I would rather be with the demons in hell than the Spaniards in heaven; for their cruelty is such that none can be more miserable than where they are.’” The cause of the Indians being so cruelly destroyed by the Spaniards was their covetous wish to possess the entire island, with its supposed wealth in silver and gold. Unfortunately, after they had murdered the Indians, their visionary dreams of vast fortunes were never realized, as very little precious metal was discovered, which many have supposed was a judgment on them for their cruelty.

The soil in Cuba is itself a mine of wealth, on which can be produced from five to seven crops yearly, spring-time and harvest continuing all the season. There are mines of copper ore here, from which the early settlers made their cannon.

About two hundred miles from Cape San Antonio Light, upon the south side of Cuba, is an entrance called Fernandina Del Jauga Bay, the coast being lined with rocks of a coral formation. Ten miles from the Mexican Gulf, at the head of this bay, surrounded by a country of unsurpassed fertility, is the city of Cienfuegos, named in honor of the general to whom its present prosperity is in a great measure attributable. The fort which guards the entrance to this town impresses us with its entire inefficiency to resist an attack from our modernized implements of warfare, or to even make a show of strength for any length of time during a siege. One lone sentinel rushes upon the parapet, and presents arms, when a vessel approaches, as though he had a hundred-pound ball, which could be sent with sufficient force to sink any ship that should make an attempt to enter the port. The harbor upon which the town is situated is commodious and safe. Two gun-boats are anchored here, which, judging from their shape and size, look as though they would require assistance to advance, but are said to make six miles an hour when under full headway. They are not regarded as formidable by military men. The report from the guns would, no doubt, be more demoralizing than the effect. The houses in the city are built mostly of brick and concrete. They have no yards in front, the walls of the residences being even with the streets, only a narrow sidewalk sometimes intervening. The buildings are painted blue or green, straw-color, and white—the doors being differently colored from the houses. The windows have no glass, as it would make the dwellings warmer, and the ladies could not look from the folds of their curtains into the streets so easily without being seen as they do now. The windows are protected by iron rods and bars, which give them a cage-like appearance—the houses have no chimneys or fire-places, and the apartments are furnished in a very simple manner. The floors are made of marble and tiles—the carpet is only a large rug in the center of the room, upon each side of which are placed two rows of chairs, most of them being willow-work rocking chairs; also a center-table and sofa, with a willow back and seat, sometimes a piano, embrace the list of parlor fixtures. At night the doors and windows are thrown open for ventilation, the rooms being lighted by gas chandeliers—every thing can be seen, even to the beds on which the family sleep. The bedsteads are made of iron, and are very light, upon which is placed a wooden frame with a piece of canvas tacked across it. There are no mattresses or feather-beds used. A sheet of Canton-flannel is the first appearance of bedding, over which are spread linen sheets of snowy whiteness, pillows filled with cotton or moss—the whole being overhung with pink and white-lace curtains, to keep out the musquitoes, that never leave on account of climatic changes. But few of the dwellings are more than one story high. If the ancient Spanish custom were to be observed here—that the rent of the first floor was for the king—there would be no income left to the owners. Many of these structures have ceilings twenty feet in height. They build them as airy as possible, and afterward dedicate them to the god of the winds, whose presence is many times oftener invoked than received. However, the land-breeze at night, and the sea-breeze during the day, render the climate more delightful than can be imagined by one who has never visited here. In this locality days and weeks steal imperceptibly away, leaving no visible impress except a feeling of repose, as though earth had no cares or pains which would ever torture our minds again with their unwelcome visitations. The great amount of leisure every one appears to command is really surprising. The rich enjoy their condition to the fullest extent of the term—no titled lords or ladies have more courtly grace and elegant manners. The poor ape the rich in their movements, as though it were undignified to be brisk, or manifest any haste, going about quietly as though at peace with all the world. Every thing in their houses is exceedingly neat, the lower part being stuccoed several feet from the base with designs, no doubt intended as the escutcheons of royalty. The floors are also laid in tiles, ornamented with flowers of sapphire color, being connected with each other by patterns which, when in position, are plainly seen. May not these be identified with the sapphire foundations of which the Prophet Isaiah speaks? Among the recent discoveries made in the Moorish ruins of Italy are also found similar floors.

It is a novelty to look in the houses and see the family circles gathered in their homes, all smoking and talking but the babies. The cares of life apparently rest very lightly on them, while their clothing is more airy than all—the little baby-girls with only a pair of ear-rings, the boys dressed in the shadow of the nurse, or night falling softly on them. What a multitude of unformed thoughts enter our minds as we look at the novel sights appearing before us, where only a foreign language is sounding in our ears! They all speak the Spanish, which is derived mostly from the Latin, and resembles it, except some words from the Arabic, which came into use with them after Spain was conquered by the Moors. The pantomimic efforts made by salesmen and servants, in trying to make us comprehend that they would like to be attentive and please us, is very amusing. The marketer explains the price of his fruits by showing us a corresponding piece of silver. If we shake our heads, he reduces the amount, and writes it down in figures. Although we can feast our eyes on the various scenes which come before us while in Cuba, we must remember the natives are looking at us, uttering a jargon of words, not much of which we can comprehend, except Americano and sombrero, which implies that we are Americans, and wear hats. The Spanish ladies wear veils, the men only wearing hats.

Cruelty to seamen while in Cuban ports is an evil which needs reforming. The vessels in whose service they are engaged are mostly from a frozen clime, that return loaded with cargoes of sugar and molasses. The change of climate to a person of leisure is very perceptible, but when required to perform the heaviest of labor under a tropical sun, it is too overpowering—it is cruelty! The sailor is frequently sent aloft to grease the mast at midday, when he is overpowered by heat, and drops on the decks, gasps once, and is gone! Poor fellow! Only a man! There is an Irishwoman living in Cienfuegos, called by the sailors “Mother Carey,” and the duped sailors her chickens. She is married to a Spaniard, and keeps a Sailor’s Home, or saloon. She employs runners to inveigle mariners into her shop, and then for fifty cents’ worth of whisky will take a good pair of boots, or any kind of clothing, from the stupid wretches. After robbing them in this unfeeling manner she turns them out, to find their way back to the ship as best they can. The sailor has few inducements for doing right, but the avenues for his destruction are never closed night or day.

Cuba has been on the altar for sacrifice several years. The United States have been looking for some time toward the event of its severance from Spain, when it would gravitate toward her for protection. The present movement is being made because the people have no voice in their own government; they are overburdened with taxes to support declining royalty from Spain, for the purpose of making laws and administering them. Would an embassy of Americans, with authority from Washington, be more acceptable to the Cubans than their present rulers? Does our administration now evince that efficiency, justice, and prowess to protect the unprotected, and strengthen the weak, which would encourage a feeble foreign principality to seek an asylum beneath the “stars and stripes,” where a shelter free from discord and contention could be furnished as a refuge in times of danger? Does not the successful warfare in which it has been engaged for a number of years indicate the first fundamental principles of self-government and defense? How terrible the fate of all insurgents when captured, at the sight of which humanity sickens! and yet they neither appear intimidated nor appalled. The victim for execution is led out at the dawn of day, with no escort but the priest and executioner. Upon his bended knees he repeats his prayers after the padre. The condemned man is then shot in the back, his head cut off, his body thrown in a cart, and carried to a pit, where it is tumbled in and left. No words of extenuation, no excuse or quarter, is tolerated for an instant.

Within twenty miles of Cienfuegos, among the mountains, there has numbered a force of rebels somewhere in the vicinity of twelve thousand. Their movements show both strategy and strength—their mode of warfare the guerilla. Over a month since four hundred troops were landed here from Spain, and shortly afterward ordered into an engagement, or to make an attack upon the insurgents. They were not regulars—some of them beardless youths. When the fray was over, it is said but one escaped, because he had a better horse than his pursuers. The destruction of this force was only a before-breakfast pastime for the rebels. They are now constantly making incursions upon the planters, firing fields of cane, sugar-mills, and, before the work of destruction is half finished, they are miles away, strewing desolation wherever they pass. The Cuban rebellion is no longer of infantile growth; the entire inefficiency of the volunteers, who go racing about the country, is plainly to be seen. Every thing pertaining to military movements is shrouded with an air of mystery. When the wounded and dying are brought in on the cars, guards are placed at the doors—no person but surgeons admitted, no questions answered, or satisfaction given to outsiders. It is shocking to see a country of such luxuriance and beauty fall a prey to the unrelenting hand of war, which gluts itself with human gore, and is only satiated when the fiend of destruction has no more blood to shed, or conquests to make.

“La Purisima Conception” is the name of the only church in the city. It has two towers and ten bells. The tallest tower was erected to contain a clock, and afterward the church was built around it, thus rendering the style of architecture any thing but imposing. The materials used are stone and brick, with marble floors. It is singular to see a people among whose progenitors in Spain the Christian religion was first planted by the apostles themselves, cherish so little zeal in regard to the observance of its ordinances in any way. The congregation outside is larger than the number of worshipers inside, on Sabbath morning. The men stand about the entrance, and make remarks about those going into church, as though they were engaged in the path of duty. Their conduct is a reminder that the chivalric days of elegant address and lordly demeanor are passing away from the Spanish people who reside this side of the water. At 8 o’clock A.M. the best society residents come out to worship. In a population of ten thousand souls a goodly number might be expected to witness the imposing ceremonial of a high mass on Sabbath morning. The church has an elegant interior, the architecture being Doric, the arched roof supported by numerous pilasters. At the terminus of the nave is placed the grand altar, ornamented with images of dazzling brightness and golden candlesticks of gigantic proportions, containing immense wax candles, which, when lighted, shed a star-like luster. There are also eight other altars of less dimensions, where the more humble kneel to receive consolation. The priest looks as ancient as the religion he represents, and chants mass with an intonation that would be creditable to one less in years. With fine music, choice paintings from Spanish and Italian masters, representing saints preceded by a record of unsullied purity, upon which were beaming subdued rays of light through stained glass of rare design and workmanship, besides all that could be attractive in a church and service combined, there were only about fifty persons present, including white and black. The edifice was designed to seat only a few of the congregation. A noticeable peculiarity in attending worship here is that each lady-worshiper is accompanied by a servant, who carries a low cane-seated chair for her mistress to occupy during service, and an elegant rug made of long, soft cashmere goat’s hair, beautifully dyed, which is placed in front of the chair. On this mat the mistress kneels to repeat her devotional exercises, with an ease which would have been considered quite sacrilegious by St. Francis, or any of those old hair-shirt-wearing friars. The servant in attendance, if young, kneels by the side of her mistress upon the marble tiles, where she is expected to repeat all the prayers connected with the ritual. If she is seen gazing about, as an admonition to give attention to her religious duties, she receives a tap on the head from her mistress’s hand, which causes her lips to move again, and her eyes to cease their voyages of discovery. Old servants kneel behind their mistress, and go through the forms of worship as a religious duty and safeguard against sin. At 11 o’clock A.M. the poor people attend church in the same place; the heat is too fervent for the rich to venture out then. Spiritual consolation is a commodity not much sought after in this market by rich or poor, if the numbers in attendance are any criterion. What few are assembled go through the service in a hurried, business-like manner, which has no soul in it.

The plaza in Cienfuegos is the largest on the island. It is kept in order by the coolies—a race of people brought from the mountains of Asia, which forms the most numerous servile population in the country. At night it is the scene of a grand display, or military parade. The band comes from the barracks, surrounded by a military escort, near which no one is permitted to pass. The guards are all extremely tall, dark, well-formed men, being of Moorish origin. While on duty they stand as mute and motionless as statuary, with their guns pointing upward, but ready for instant action at the word of command. It is here the chill winds never come, and drape the foliage in somber hues—the flowers are always blooming, sweet as dreams borne on angels’ wings. To this plaza, at night, the entire population of the city resort for recreation, and to breathe the fresh air. The grounds are divided into parterres, laid out at right angles, through which are wide avenues, paved with flat rocks. In the center is a fountain and grotto, near which are four marble statues representing the seasons. No fabled habitation of the genii, or enchanting description of the Isle of Calypso, could fill the imagination with more delightful emotions than the real scene before us. The bright moonbeams come stealing softly through the scarlet hibiscus, and feathery palms wave their graceful wands above our heads, while the most gentle zephyrs fan our brows with their blandest breeze, and every thing seems tipped with silver sheen, and too unreal for earth. The gay and beautiful seÑoritas soon commence promenading, many of them dressed in white, with long, starched trains to their robes, and skirts that swept over the paved boulevards with a rushing sound, like the waves plashing against a vessel, although the accompaniment of shuffling sandals and slip-shod slippers of the men make a grinding noise nothing suggestive of grace or elegance. The music soon struck up, with its most fascinating strains; everybody seemed to partake of its harmonious cadence, and commenced moving about with the grace of sylphs. The soldiers and police, with their brusquiere movements, were the only ones present not given up to the most perfect abandon for enjoyment. Among other choice and beautiful pieces, the band played Il Trovatore. The melody seemed intensified by the same pathos that seized the mind of the great composer when he wrote it; and as its sounds died away among the moonbeams and perennial foliage, while its echoes lingered in the air, the surroundings appeared too beautiful for any thing but the culmination of all on earth that might be termed grand.