WE departed from Matanzas shortly after our return from the cave. The scenery along the route to Havana leaves the impression that the country is declining. The buzzards fly close to the train, apparently gentle escorts, and sufficiently numerous to be the national emblem—a heavy fine being the penalty for injuring one of these scavengers. They are styled the red-crested vultures of Cuba, for grandeur.

The island is surrounded by a chain of keys, reefs, and shoals, which make it inaccessible except to the experienced pilot. Havana was permanently settled by Velasquez, and named in 1519. At the point of entrance to the bay is a rock on which stands El Moro, or Castellos de los Santos Reyes, the light-house, and signal-station, where an excellent, revolving light can be seen from a distance of more than twenty miles. The following description is given of Moro Castle when it was first built: “It was of triangular shape, containing some heavy pieces of ordnance, which produced a perceptible quaking in the vicinity when fired.” Forty pieces of cannon, of twenty-four pounds each, were mounted on the parapet. From the main castle there runs a line, or wall, mounted with twelve very long pieces of cannon, lying almost level with the water. These are all thirty-six-pounders, and most of them brass, being called “The Twelve Apostles” by way of eminence. At the point between this castle and the sea stands a tower having a round lantern at the top, where a sentinel is constantly on duty to see what ships are approaching the harbor, of which he signals by hoisting as many flags as they are in number. In 1691 the whole fort was surrounded by a moat filled with water, when it was captured and destroyed by an English fleet under Sir George Pocock, after a siege of twenty-nine days, at which time a thousand Spaniards were killed. The present Castle del Moro guards the bay on the east side, and is able to resist all attacks by sea, having two bastions toward the water, and two on the land side. Around this old structure lingers as many unpleasant memories as the Venetian Bridge of Sighs, which led from the palace to the prison—it being the prevailing opinion that whoever crossed it never returned. Those against whom any accusation can be brought of sufficient magnitude to thrust them in the Moro will find the chances greatly against their ever seeing the outside world again, or enjoying their freedom. Another castle, built opposite this, is called El Punta. This communicates with the city, and is usually well filled with soldiery. It has four regular bastions, and a platform mounted with sixty pieces of brass cannon.

The city of Havana, a hundred years since, was the most important port in America for the Spanish commerce, where a thousand ships could anchor in nearly forty feet of water, it then being a rendezvous for other fleets when coming from the Spanish possessions of the Western Continent. All the Spanish galleons and merchant-ships met at this point every year, in September, to obtain supplies and water, that they might return to Spain together. They held a kind of carnival during their stay, which lasted until a proclamation from the governor was issued, forbidding any who belonged to the ships remaining in the city on pain of death, and at a given signal they all retired on board. This fleet was regarded the richest in the world, carrying several million pounds sterling. They came from Spain laden with merchandise, and were frequently attacked by pirates and buccaneers. These galleons were only factors for the other countries among which this wealth was distributed when they made a successful voyage. In 1796 the Santo Domingo massacre drove twelve thousand families to Havana, which now has a population of two hundred thousand. The dwellings are built entirely of rock, or brick, which is furnished from the island. The substantial manner in which the most common tenements are constructed is really remarkable, looking as though they were designed to last forever. The style of architecture now in use was originally of Moorish origin. The windows descend from the ceiling to the floor, with iron rods extending the whole length, more nearly resembling cages for wild beasts, but are retreats from which beauty casts many sly glances. In private residences curtains are drawn during the day, but in stores and market-houses the windows and doors are closed only at night, thus exposing the inside movements of the occupants all day. The dwellings for private residences have only one entrance for man or beast. The mistress and volante come in together, when the horse is stabled on the first floor, and the lady walks up-stairs to her parlor. The narrow streets and narrower sidewalks keep the minds of visitors in a constant state of trepidation for fear of seeing some one crushed under the fast-moving vehicles. The mules, while waiting for a load, turn their heads from instinct, to let conveyances pass. Gradually the city proper has crossed the old wall boundaries, and now the outside is more attractive in appearance than inside. Soldiers are seen all about the city, but they are very peaceable. A censorship is kept over the newspapers, and letters from way-stations are delivered into the hands of the mail agent, instead of bags, while a dark veil conceals its politics and movements, in every way cherishing with jealous care the condition of all its internal troubles.

El San Carlos is situated nearest the bay, and most convenient for travelers. This hotel is four stories high, commanding a fine view of the city and Moro, where we are now promenading for the purpose of sight-seeing. The roofs of the houses are mostly flat, and a favorite resort after sunset. The surrounding scenes entertain us. Children and chickens are seen in close proximity on the neighboring house-tops, where they live and sport apparently happy and hearty in their contracted boundaries. This resort being protected by a high wall around the outside, which prevents any accident to the occupants, whole families resort here to smoke and talk, it being more private than any fresh-air resort on the premises. The rear of all the residences is a kind of labyrinthian retreat of avenues, accessible by an indescribable variety of movements, together with flights of steps of different altitudes. In these coverts swarms of human beings are born, live, and die, in this condensed condition, regardless of comforts. At night, when the curtains are raised, heads are seen in these tenements as thick as rows of pins in a paper. Neither stoves nor fire-places are used in Havana: the cooking is done on a furnace in the back-yard—charcoal, made by the colliers in the mountains, being the only fuel required.

The firing of heavy cannon from the English man-of-war anchored in the bay, and echoed by the Moro guns, agitate our thoughts and break the quiet of the dying day. The panorama before us is changing. An invisible hand behind the scene has dropped a shadow over the light of day draped in its brilliant and gorgeous glories. When the curtain rises again, the Queen of Night, more lovely than any queen of kingdoms, arrayed in her robes of royalty—for God has dressed her with the glories of heaven—appears, reflecting her full orb in the water, when an unbroken trail of silvery light apparently connects the two worlds. El Paseo, where the wealth and fashion of the city come at the close of the day for an airing, where are seen the beautiful seÑoritas, their eyes sparkling with the bright thoughts of their hearts, giving signals to their friends and lovers with their fans, which are readily comprehended and returned, although not a word has been spoken. The liveried postilions, with jack-boots, bare legs, brass buttons, and blue coats, accompany the Cuban volantes in which they ride. This vehicle has been superseded to a considerable extent by a lighter conveyance known as “El Coche,” or the French coach. This coach is capable of containing two persons with ease; sometimes three are seen riding in it. A screen of canvas, buttoned to the back of the driver’s high seat, and then fastened to the top of the conveyance, excludes the rude gaze of the vulgar, gaping throngs, through which we are driven. The residence of the Captain-general is situated on the edge of El Paseo Militaire. Here, amid the song of birds from the aviary, the falling waters of the cascade, cooling echoes from the numerous jets d’eau and fountains, the sweet odors that freight the air from the flowers, and the picturesque landscape over which the royal palms watch with their waving wands, we should expect to find the home of happy hearts. It is quite the reverse: the general has a care-worn visage, beneath which beats a troubled heart. He rides in a fine coach drawn by matched iron-grays, and guarded by armed postilions. He walks with an escort, for his kingdom is filled with insurrection. He is invested with almost unlimited power, being in command of the civil, military, and religious authorities, and from his decision there is no appeal.

Many tourists appear desirous of getting over the greatest amount of space in the least possible time. It was that class of persons composed our party in visiting this object of interest. How they rushed about as though a policeman was on their track, in hot pursuit, and they could not stop to look at any thing! “O supper will be ready!” they kept constantly exclaiming, as though eating was the sole object of their existence. El Salle de los Mercaderes is the street on which the banks are located, the ladies resorting there only in their volantes and coaches for the purpose of shopping. They never display their charms by alighting; it would be considered immodest: all goods which they wish to examine are brought to them while seated in their conveyances. The prevailing religion here is Catholic. Several years since this city contained more priests than people, more holidays than working ones—this kind of government basis requiring indulgence in order to insure allegiance. The scenes enacted on Sunday in the market-house are the same as on other days. The cobbler, seated on his bench at the door, made fun of us as we entered, thinking we could not comprehend him. “Sombreros Americanos!” said he. I looked at him, repeating the words, “Vaya usted”—Begone! when, as if taken aback, he ceased his impudence and commenced sewing. What a profusion of fruits is seen here! bushels of oranges, immense bunches of bananas, cocoa-nuts by the wagon-load, plantains—until we wonder what will be done with them all—but when fried they form an important article of diet among the Cubans—besides many fruits for which we cannot find a name or use. Meats of any kind were not exposed in quantities, but much fish, among which the gar appeared most abundant. Much of this produce is brought here in panniers on the backs of mules or horses, while long lines of moving

bundles come filing in, with the animals that bear them invisible, except their legs. These pack-mules are more used than wagons, on account of the narrow streets, the danger in passing being less than with loaded vehicles. The amount sold to each purchaser appears small: a piece of meat wrapped in a paper, and a little fruit tied up in a handkerchief, is all. When a purchase is made a present is expected, which they call cuntra. In proceeding to the cathedral we pass the stores and shops, all of which are open. The tailor sits, with his legs crossed, sewing as earnestly as though he was repeating his Paternoster. They are all Roman Catholics, who have already been to receive the supposed requisite supply of grace for the week, and have now returned to their business vocations. The drinking-saloons are open, with their patrons in full view, seated at the marble-topped tables, chatting with their friends, their favorite beverages in front of them, while the blind beggar, with his wife, stands outside singing Spanish ballads. The drays and wagons are not running, which is all the contrast between work-days and Sunday in Havana. The proximity between wealth and misery here is close, and the contrast so visibly marked that the impression received is more lasting than in America. Beggars expostulate and importune us until our hearts sicken with the sight of our surroundings. “Lottera!” is cried on every side by miserable-looking men and women selling tickets, which may be blanks or prizes, to be tested in the great Havana Lottery.

The cathedral occupies a fine position in the city, being located in the Calle del Ignacio. It has stood so long, and withstood so much, that it has become an historic record, uniting the past and present. Here happy hearts have plighted their vows, and many times the last tribute of tenderness rendered to loved ones. Here the faithful follower of this religion has counted her beads, while the penitent knelt, confessing his crimes, and tarried for absolution. It contains numerous altars devoted to different saints. In rear of the cathedral is a monastery for the Padres. The cathedral, with its mystical scenes, causes our thoughts to revert to the times of Aaron, when, with his priestly vestments trimmed with tinkling bells and pomegranates, he stood before the altar and burned incense as an oblation for the sins of the people. The plate and ornaments of the main altar are silver and gold. The candelabra are of the most curious workmanship—some of them weighing nearly a hundred pounds. The bishop, assisted by twenty-four fathers and acolytes, conducted the service. Mass was read in Latin, the acolytes composed the choir, the members responding audibly. Worship, like other things in Cuba, is conducted with a zest. The number of worshipers in attendance was small. Those who came assumed the most devotional of attitudes, kneeling, during the entire service, in a promiscuous manner, on the hard tiles, if they had not provided themselves with soft rugs for the occasion. I could not determine where the line of distinction in color was drawn—white and black all supplicating together. The most elaborately-dressed seÑoras and seÑoritas bend before the confessional. A poorly-dressed Cuban woman, among the number, kept prostrating herself lower and lower until she kissed the marble tiling, when she rose with a look of satisfaction, as though the act of humiliation had unburdened her soul. The organ sent forth its thundering tones from behind the colossal pillars, playing the “Te Deum” and “Miserere”—thus enabling us to comprehend, to a certain extent, the grandeur of the music at St. Peter’s Church in Rome.

On the right of the main altar is a tablet, on which is engraved the following inscription: “O restos È y imagen del grande Colon! Mil siglos duraran guardados en la urna y en la remembranza de nuestra nacion.” “O ashes and image of the great Columbus! You will be guarded for a thousand centuries in the tomb and in the heart of our nation.” The great injustice done him while living cannot be atoned for now when dead by dragging his remains about the world. He died in Valladolid, Spain, where he was buried. His body was exhumed and taken to Seville, then to Santo Domingo—afterward, with great ceremony, to Cuba, and deposited in the cathedral, where it will, no doubt, be kept until some other idea seizes the minds of his impulsive countrymen. The cathedral walls are hung with the choicest of peaceful, benign portraits, of their glorified saints, looking with calmness upon us. Among the number is a life-size, finely-executed painting of St. Christopher, or Santo Christobal, who flourished during the third century A.D., and is the guardian saint of Havana. Immense statues of St. Christopher are still to be seen in many cathedrals. He is always represented as girded, with staff in hand, for a journey, which gives expression to his allegoric wanderings through the sea of tribulation, by which the faithful intended to signify the many sufferings passed before he arrived at the Eternal Gate.

This saint was formerly implored against pestilential misfortunes or distempers. He adopted the name of St. Christopher as an inestimable treasure. His martyrdom is commemorated on the 9th of May. Many paradoxical things are related of him: “That he was a giant with a dog’s head, and devoured men, but a transformation occurred when he believed on Christ. He is said to have been instructed from heaven in the way of right; that he was baptized by the moisture in a cloud which came from the sky, an invisible voice uttering the sacramental words.” He is related as having had numerous contentions with Satan—his majesty’s presence only being kept at bay by crossing himself. He was advised by a hermit, as an act of penance, to pray. “That I cannot do,” he replied. “Then you must carry travelers over deep rivers.” While performing his assigned tasks a child applied to him, to whom, when seated, he said, “You seem heavy as the whole world.” The child replied, “I created the world, I redeemed the world, I bear the sins of the world.” Then Christopher saw that he had borne Christ over the river, and for this reason he is always represented with the infant Jesus on his shoulders. It was common, during the Middle Ages, to place effigies of him in statuary outside the gates of a city, as he who looked on this figure of St. Christopher was safe from sudden death that day. The following inscription accompanies the figure of St. Christopher:

Monday morning I ordered a coach for the purpose of visiting Cemetario de Espeda, named for an ancient bishop in Havana. The entrance to this cemetery is through a fine rock archway, designed only for pedestrians, and not carriages. The office has to be passed, and money handed in, before any corpse has a Christian burial in these consecrated grounds. Whatever might have been their virtues while living, the dead one here is to have wealth to take the body into a vault and the soul through purgatory. This cemetery contains not less than fifty acres of ground, around which is built a rock wall eight feet in height and about the same thickness. These walls are made of well-dressed rock, in which are vaults for interment. Inside the main inclosure are built other high walls for the same purpose. Paved walks cross each other through the grounds, covered with square-cut rock, which give a hollow echo when stepped upon, and, no doubt, contain other tombs. Vaults of sufficient size to admit a coffin are made in all these walls, which are afterward sealed, then a tablet of marble is fitted in, being secured with mortar, on which is placed the inscription, chiseled in Spanish. This tablet is arranged in accordance with the taste of the friends of those deceased who survive them. Some contain glass cases, with pictures of the Virgin; others, wreaths of black beads strung on wire, hung over the tomb. In one I saw a chameleon cozily ensconced, as though the wreath was made for him. Lizards were crawling in all directions; harmless little creatures, they liked the retirement of death’s victims! The inscriptions were mostly very simple. Here are two of them: “A NUESTRO QUERIDO, HIJO TOM.” “To our beloved son Thomas.” “HIJA, MIA.” “My beloved daughter.” No mounds of earth mark the resting-place of any. Many birds of varied plumage were singing their songs among the roses, cape jasmines, pride of China, and mimosa trees.

As we alighted, two bodies had just preceded us into the cemetery for deposit—a rich and a poor man, distinguishable by distinctions in death as in life. The rich man was in a fine casket, with his name engraved on the lid, and six silver handles, borne by liveried attendants, dressed in black clothes, trimmed with wide white stripes. No women were present, but a large number of dignified-looking Spanish gentlemen. The casket was placed in a vault, after which workmen, with brick and mortar, commenced closing up the orifice, which was witnessed by those in attendance until it was finished, when they retired with the same manifestations of grief as though a dead leaf had dropped from a tree. The poor man was borne on the shoulders of four rough-looking fellows, who grunted as though the body might have weighed a ton. They trotted away into a corner with the bones, and no mourners, as if it were a log, instead of a human being, where once dwelt the breath and likeness of the Eternal God.

A hundred dollars is considered a remuneration for the use of a vault twenty years—at the expiration of which time, if there is no renewal of funds, the remains are taken out and thrown into a common pit, or potter’s-field, where the poor are buried without coffins. The corpse of a pretty little girl, dressed in white, her head wreathed in flowers, was brought in a coffin with no cover, accompanied by a few poor, sad friends, when a rock tablet was raised by means of ropes drawn through iron rings, and the child’s body thrown into a deep pit—the coffin being taken away, which could be used again in bringing many more poor children for burial. Protestants are not permitted sepulture here, on any consideration, if the fact is known to those in charge. We retired from this “garden of slumberers” to the entrance, where sat the Padres, one of whom smiled and called el coche with a peculiar p-s-t-s-c-h, which sound goes whizzing through the air like a rocket.

There are persons with whom we meet in life whose smile means mischief, whose friendly grasp is a covering for treachery, which fact is, alas! true in regard to the Cubans, for they rarely mean what they say to you. Ah! it was only a promise. Then there is so little manifestation of repentance with them, if you are disappointed. They pile up excuses for all untoward acts until you are led to believe it was not a reality—only a mistaken idea of your imagination.

It is thus in Havana. Orders are given to be called in time for the early train. Soon after retiring, peaceful slumbers possess your body and pleasant dreams your mind, until finally, on awakening, you come to realize the facts that too much time has passed, the train gone, and a day longer before you, where the thought of remaining had not crossed your mind. It appears to be a preconcerted plan, on the part of landlords, to retain paying patrons. Persons having a large amount of patience will find frequent exercise for it while traveling in Cuba.