Overhead the foliage was so dense that the heat
was not oppressive. All Nature seemed asleep. The deathlike
stillness was rarely broken by the faintest sound, - though
unseen life, amidst the heat and moisture, was teeming
everywhere; life feeding upon life. For what purpose? To
what end? Is this a primary law of Nature? Does cannibalism
prevail in Mars? Sometimes a mocking-bird would pipe its
weird notes, deepening silence by the contrast. But besides
pestilent mosquitos, the only living things in sight were
humming-birds of every hue, some no bigger than a butterfly,
fluttering over the blossoms of the orchids, or darting from
flower to flower like flashes of prismatic rays.
I killed several alligators; but one day, while stalking what
seemed to be an unusual monster, narrowly escaped an
accident. Under the excitement, my eye was so intently fixed
upon the object, that I rather felt than saw my way.
Presently over I went, just managed to save my rifle, and, to
my amazement, found I had set my foot on a sleeping reptile.
Fortunately the brute was as much astonished as I was, and
plunged with a splash into the adjacent pool.
A Cambridge friend, Mr. Walter Shirley, owned an estate at
Trelawny, on the other side of Jamaica; while the invalids
were recovering, I paid him a visit; and was initiated into
the mysteries of cane-growing and sugar-making. As the great
split between the Northern and Southern States on the
question of slavery was pending, the life, condition, and
treatment of the negro was of the greatest interest. Mr.
Shirley was a gentleman of exceptional ability, and full of
valuable information on these subjects. He passed me on to
other plantations; and I made the complete round of the
island before returning to my comrades at Golden Grove. A
few weeks afterwards I stayed with a Spanish gentleman, the
Marquis d'Iznaga, who owned six large sugar plantations in
Cuba; and rode with his son from Casilda to Cienfuegos, from
which port I got a steamer to the Havana. The ride afforded
abundant opportunities of comparing the slave with the free
negro. But, as I have written on the subject elsewhere, I
will pass to matters more entertaining.
CHAPTER XVII
ON my arrival at the Havana I found that Durham, who was
still an invalid, had taken up his quarters at Mr.
Crauford's, the Consul-General. Phoca, who was nearly well
again, was at the hotel, the only one in the town. And who
should I meet there but my old Cambridge ally, Fred, the last
Lord Calthorpe. This event was a fruitful one, - it
determined the plans of both of us for a year or more to
come.
Fred - as I shall henceforth call him - had just returned
from a hunting expedition in Texas, with another sportsman
whom he had accidentally met there. This gentleman
ultimately became of even more importance to me than my old
friend. I purposely abstain from giving either his name or
his profession, for reasons which will become obvious enough
by-and-by; the outward man may be described. He stood well
over six feet in his socks; his frame and limbs were those
of a gladiator; he could crush a horseshoe in one hand; he
had a small head with a bull-neck, purely Grecian features,
thick curly hair with crisp beard and silky moustache. He so
closely resembled a marble Hercules that (as he must have a
name) we will call him Samson.
Before Fred stumbled upon him, he had spent a winter camping
out in the snows of Canada, bear and elk shooting. He was
six years or so older than either of us - I.E. about eight-
and-twenty.
As to Fred Calthorpe, it would be difficult to find a more
'manly' man. He was unacquainted with fear. Yet his
courage, though sometimes reckless, was by no means of the
brute kind. He did not run risks unless he thought the gain
would compensate them; and no one was more capable of
weighing consequences than he. His temper was admirable, his
spirits excellent; and for any enterprise where danger and
hardship were to be encountered few men could have been
better qualified. By the end of a week these two had agreed
to accompany me across the Rocky Mountains.
Before leaving the Havana, I witnessed an event which, though
disgusting in itself, gives rise to serious reflections.
Every thoughtful reader is conversant enough with them; if,
therefore, he should find them out of place or trite, apology
is needless, as he will pass them by without the asking.
The circumstance referred to is a public execution. Mr.
Sydney Smith, the vice-consul, informed me that a criminal
was to be garrotted on the following morning; and asked me
whether I cared to look over the prison and see the man in
his cell that afternoon. We went together. The poor wretch
bore the stamp of innate brutality. His crime was the most
revolting that a human being is capable of - the violation
and murder of a mere child. When we were first admitted he
was sullen, merely glaring at us; but, hearing the warder
describe his crime, he became furiously abusive, and worked
himself into such a passion that, had he not been chained to
the wall, he would certainly have attacked us.
At half-past six next morning I went with Mr. Smith to the
Campo del Marte, the principal square. The crowd had already
assembled, and the tops of the houses were thronged with
spectators. The women, dressed as if for a bull-fight or a
ball, occupied the front seats. By squeezing and pushing we
contrived to get within eight or nine yards of the machine,
where I had not long been before the procession was seen
moving up the Passeo.
