, a harbor entrance that is more striking and picturesque than
the watery gateway which leads from the ocean to the spacious upper bay
of Santiago. It does not look like an inlet of the sea, but suggests
rather a tranquil, winding river, shut in by high, steep ramparts of
greenery, with here and there an opening to a beautiful lateral cove,
where the dark masses of chaparral are relieved by clumps of graceful,
white-stemmed palms and lighted up by the solid sheets of bright-red
flowers which hide the foliage of the _flamboyam_, or flame-tree.

As ours was the first vessel that had entered the harbor in nearly two
months, and as we were flying the Red Cross flag, our arrival naturally
caused great excitement in all the little settlements and at all the
villas along the shores. Men, women, and children ran down to the
water's edge, waving their hats and handkerchiefs or brandishing their
arms in joyous welcome, and even old, gray-haired, and feeble women, who
could not get as far as the shore, stood in front of their little
houses, now gazing at us in half-incredulous amazement, and then
crossing themselves devoutly with bowed heads, as if thanking God that
siege and starvation were over and help and food at hand.

About half-way between Morro Castle and Santiago there is a high, bare,
flat-topped hill, or mesa, called the Behia, on which there is a
signal-station with a mast for the display of flags. Just before this
hill is reached the channel widens, and, as the steamer rounds a high,
bold promontory, the beautiful upper bay comes into view, like a great
placid lake framed in a magnificent amphitheater of mountains, with a
fringe of cocoanut-palms here and there to break the level shore-line,
and a few splashes of vivid red where flame-trees stand out in brilliant
relief against the varied green of the mountain background. Two miles
away, on the eastern side of the harbor, appeared the city of
Santiago--a sloping expanse of red-tiled roofs, green mango-trees, and
twin-belfried Spanish churches, rising from the water's edge to the
crest of a range of low hills which bound the bay on that side. A week
or ten days earlier I had seen the town from the rifle-pits of the Rough
Riders at the front of our army; but its appearance from the harbor was
so different that I could hardly recognize it as the same place. Seen
from the intrenched hill occupied by General Wheeler's brigade, it
appeared to consist mainly of barracks, hos