once the capital of the island of Cuba, was founded by
Velasquez, and is now gray with age and decay. The many-colored,
one-story houses are ranged in narrow streets, which cross each other at
right angles with considerable regularity, though the roadways are in an
almost impassable condition. They were once paved with cobblestones, but
are now dirty and neglected, a stream of offensive water flowing through
their centres, in which little naked children, blacks and whites, are at
play. No wonder that such numbers die here annually of yellow fever. The
surprise is that it does not prevail all the year round.

Santiago dates back to the year 1514, making it the oldest city in the
New World, next to San Domingo. From here Cortez sailed in 1518 to
invade Mexico. Here has been the seat of modern rebellion against the
arbitrary and bitterly oppressive rule of the home government of Spain.
The city contains over forty thousand inhabitants, and is situated six
hundred miles southeast of Havana; after Matanzas, it comes next in
commercial importance, its exports reaching the annual aggregate of
eight millions of dollars. After climbing and descending these narrow,
dirty streets of Santiago, and watching the local characteristics for a
few hours, one is glad to go on board ship again, and leave it all
behind.

To reach Cienfuegos, our next destination, we take water conveyance, the
common roads in this district being, if possible, a degree worse than
elsewhere on the island. It is necessary to double Cape Cruz and make a
coasting voyage along the southern shore of the island, for a distance
of four hundred miles. This is really delightful sailing in any but the
hurricane months; that is, between the middle of August and the middle
of October.

Cienfuegos has some twenty-five thousand inhabitants, a large percentage
of whom speak English, nine-tenths of its commerce being with this
country. It was in this immediate neighborhood, as Columbus tells us, on
the occasion of his second voyage from Spain, that he saw with
astonishment the mysterious king who spoke to his people only by signs,
and that group of men who wore long white tunics like the monks of
mercy, while the rest of the people were entirely naked. The town is low
and level, occupying a broad plain. The streets are wide and clean,
while the harbor is an excellent and spacious one. It is pitiful to
behold such an array of beggars, and it is strange, too, in so small a