171 The pearl of the antilles? 



on a small coaster that traded with ports in Hispaniola and Central 

 America. All five of us then piled into the Ford and, with a troop 

 of ragged bootblacks and stray dogs yapping in our wake, we were 

 off. 



A party of viajeros setting out from a small Cuban town and 

 heading off along a dusty road that can lead nowhere but a dead 

 end down the coast, is evidently quite an event. We reached the 

 open fields on the edge of town, where there were only scattered 

 huts, and the ground was stripped clean by hundreds of goats, and 

 people stopped to stare openmouthed. We tooted our horn, 

 bouncing over the rough trail in reckless abandon, and waved 

 joyously to each and every citizen. Most of them waved back, 

 shouting something cheerful, or shaking their fists in some cases. 

 Arturo told me sagely that some of the shouts were "sort of 

 jokes," others were blessings, and a few were curses. "We have 

 all kinds of people in Cuba," he explained. 



On the coastal road to Niquero there are four or five large sugar 

 mills, each with a little town clustered about it. The cane is 

 raised in the hills farther inland, cut by hand, loaded on great 

 oxcarts, and laboriously hauled in to the narrow-gauge railway. 

 Transferred to the little flatcars, it is then carried by rail to the 

 mills. Our experience at the first mill was repeated at each one we 

 reached. In every village our host, Aurencio, had business of his 

 own, and a brief stop had to be made on that account. However, 

 before business came the social courtesies, the salaams, kowtows, 

 loving cups, and Latin embraces. The potentate of each village 

 was, of course, the manager of the sugar mill, and we called on 

 each of them immediately upon arrival. Most of the mills are 

 located on an eminence high above the sea, and swept by cooling 

 breezes. The Ford worked its way to the top, bounced to a stop 

 in front of the main office, and, with the gay informality that 

 appeared to be the tone of our expedition, we marched into the 

 potentate's presence. El capitdn, as an august official and repre- 

 sentative of the government, was pushed forward as exhibit num- 

 ber one. He had assumed a genial dignity, with just a touch of 

 the grim purposefulness that was appropriate to both his rank 

 and the seriousness of his mission. I, as a visiting Americano, was 



