At Length The Bay Of Matanzas Opened Before Us; A Long Tract Of Water
Stretching To The Northeast, Into Which Several Rivers Empty Themselves.
The Town Lay At The Southwestern Extremity, Sheltered By Hills, Where The
San Juan And The Yumuri Pour Themselves Into The Brine.
It is a small but
prosperous town, with a considerable trade, as was indicated by the
vessels at anchor in the harbor.
As we passed along the harbor I remarked an extensive, healthy-looking
orchard of plantains growing on one of those tracts which they call
_diente de perro_. I could see nothing but the jagged teeth of whitish
rock, and the green swelling stems of the plantain, from ten to fifteen
feet in height, and as large as a man's leg, or larger. The stalks of the
plantain are juicy and herbaceous, and of so yielding a texture, that with
a sickle you might entirely sever the largest of them at a single stroke.
How such a multitude of succulent plants could find nourishment on what
seemed to the eye little else than barren rock, I could not imagine.
The day after arriving at Matanzas we made an excursion on horseback to
the summit of the hill, immediately overlooking the town, called the
Cumbre. Light hardy horses of the country were brought us, with high
pommels to the saddles, which are also raised behind in a manner making it
difficult to throw the rider from his seat. A negro fitted a spur to my
right heel, and mounting by the short stirrups, I crossed the river Yumuri
with my companions, and began to climb the Cumbre.
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