mediate environment. For as I have said it faced 
out upon the garden bounded on three sides by 
stone corridors, and odorous always with the 
scent of growing things. And here in the shade 
of one of these corridors were hung a dozen or 
more bird cages, each housing a feathered mu¬ 
sician. 
So, while we ate we could listen to the chiming 
of thrushes, the jocund warblings of a mocking 
bird, and the song of the clarino, that shy, sil¬ 
ver-throated flutist, whose voice never fails to 
remind one of a running brook in the fastness of 
some mountain solitude. And at the same time 
we were enjoying this medley of delightful 
sound, we could look out into the garden with its 
golden organges dappling the blue sky, and its 
clusters of bourganvillia massed against the por- 
tico in a fabulous wealth of color. 
During our stay at San Diego I had only one 
opportunity to go on a deer hunt. On the other 
hand I enjoyed good wing shooting in the val¬ 
ley lands, and bagged a number of quail and 
doves. 
Throughout Cuba, at least a dozen varieties of 
these birds are to be found in abundance. Of the 
doves I noticed five species,—the Carolina or 
mourning dove, ruddy quail dove, white winged 
dove, blue headed dove and little ground dove,— 
a pretty bird with a shell pink breast that looks 
mottled owing to the fact that the feathers 
shade to a darker tint along the edges. Unfor¬ 
tunately I did not succeed in getting any of the 
wood-pigeons (palomos) which are found in the 
mountain jungles and are very difficult and shy 
to hunt. But just to show what numbers of 
them are to be found in the vicinity, I remember 
one evening a swarthy young Cuban walking 
into the hotel with a back load of birds which 
included half a dozen varieties. Among them the 
red-billed and white-crowned pigeon were conspic¬ 
uous—the latter was an unusually ornate specimen 
with irridescent coloration, and known under the 
local name of “Perdis.” 
One evening when we were topping off sup¬ 
per with an inimitable draught of black coffee, 
the Senor leaned toward me from his place at 
the head of the long table, and graciously in¬ 
quired if I would care to participate in a deer 
hunt the following day. Needless to say I ac¬ 
cepted the invitation without urging, and it was 
arranged that we should start promptly at seven 
o clock the following morning. 
I awoke early to find it still dark. The stars 
glimmered faintly in a smoke colored sky. and 
through the door of the room, which opened out 
on an upper balcony, wafted a light breeze, laden 
with the heavy sweetness of the garden. Then 
FOREST AND ST REA 
M 
649 
all at once, as the yellow twilight of dawn crept 
into the east, a rodomontade of cocks broke upon 
the silence. From every niche and corner of 
San Diego these cheerful heralders of day crow¬ 
ed and crackled lustily. And as this unholy babble 
was mingled with the sound of clattering hoofs, 
yelping dogs, wagons rattling over cobble stones,' 
and the subdued chatter of people waking up, the 
east became suddenly flooded with the clear 
warm gold of arriving day. A moment later and 
the sun broke over the feathered crests of the 
palm trees, and touched with its long level rays 
the blue wave line of the mountains. 
Amid the general noise from outside, I got up, 
dressed and went downstairs to the posada, where 
I found the Senor and Lieut. M.—of the Rural 
Guard, already seated at the breakfast table. In 
a few minutes we were joined by the Senor’s son, 
a tall lank youth with melting Spanish eyes, who 
like his father valiantly struggled to converse in 
English. He was kind enough to lend me a Mar¬ 
lin Carbine, as I left my own rifle in Havana, I 
also carried a 12-gauge shot-gun in case we hap¬ 
pened to run across any feathered game. 
Breakfast over, we repaired outside, mounted 
our horses and rode off up a steep trail toward 
the mountains. Besides the Senor, his son and 
Lieut. M.,—we were accompanied by a sergeant 
and four privates of the Rural Guard. These 
men were part of a small detachment stationed 
at San Diego. They were trim, fine looking fel¬ 
lows, immaculately uniformed in khaki, and arm¬ 
ed with Remington carbines, caliber 7.7. M. M. 
Each man owned his own horse, splendid beasts 
caparisoned with russet leather saddles and 
bridles. Indeed the stamp and conformation of 
these mounts made one regret all the more keen¬ 
ly the shortcomings of horse flesh in the Amer¬ 
ican army. 
The work of the Rural Guard was at the time 
very efficient. No body of men could have 
served the government better during periods of 
stress and factional disturbances. Especiallv in 
outlying provinces and districts infested with 
banditti they had done much to preserve 
peace and order. And certainly to the American 
officer Col. Herbert J. Slocum, who was the in¬ 
stigator and organizer of the Rural Guards, does 
Cuba owe a large debt of gratitude. Let us hope 
that she will always maintain this invaluable 
constabulary and in seeing that it is officered and 
recruited with the right kind of men, keep up its 
original standard of efficiency. 
From the door of the hotel our way led unin¬ 
terruptedly toward the mountains. Sometimes 
we dropped into a little gully; sometimes forded 
a brawling mountain stream : sometimes crossed 
the green, rolling plantation fields that extended 
far up into the foothills. Very frequently we 
would break from the lucent shadows of the 
jugle to emerge unexpectedly on the outskirts of 
a banana garden, smuggled away in the greenery 
of the tropical forest. And as often we would 
follow a hillside clothed with ceiba and mahog¬ 
any trees, or ride along the crest of a beautiful 
valley, where the early sun smote deliciously 
warm upon our backs, and the quail piped sweet¬ 
ly in the long grasses. Then again we would dip 
into the cool of jungle thickets, mysterious twi¬ 
light places, streaked with vivid sunlight, fes¬ 
tooned with great lianas, alive with the bubbling 
ecstatic music of birds. Always the trail climbed 
steadily upwards. 
The Senor led the cavalcade, a Winchester 
across his knee, a hunting horn slung over one 
shoulder and a pair of hungry looking hounds 
trotting under his pony’s heels. After him rode 
his son, a picturesque individual clad in white 
drill and likewise equipped with rifle, horn and 
hounds. Lieut. M.—and myself, with the ser¬ 
geant and the four privates of the Rural Guard, 
brought up the rear. 
Of the party, however, the Senor cut decid¬ 
edly the most fantastic and unique figure. He 
reminded one of a character out of Dumas’ Monte 
Cristo, with his bean-pole anatomy, great hooked 
nose and flowing side whiskers, which as he con¬ 
versed he stroked constantly with lean yellow 
fingers. His manner brooked no stupidity on the 
part of those he was directing, and he rode with 
the air of command, his big Panama hat set 
jauntily on his head, his legs thrust into shiny 
boots of the ring-master style, that were several 
sizes too large. 
From the time we left San Diego until our 
return in the afternoon this quixotic gentleman 
and his son kept up a rapid fire conversation, ac¬ 
companied at times by wild gesticulations, and 
explosions in Spanish of a vituperative charac¬ 
ter. No one seemed to know just what they 
were so vehemently discussing, but I believe 
those two men were endowed with leather lungs, 
for they talked continuously from start to finish 
of our hunt. When they weren’t arguing they 
blew noisily on their hunting horns. 
Gradually as we ascended into the mountains 
che growing freshness of the air told us that we 
had reached an altitude of eight or nine hundred 
feet. The clouds of doves we had seen skim¬ 
ming with arrow flights over the valley lands, 
were encountered no more; but on every side 
echoed the clear whistle of the mountain quail. 
Once we came directly on a big flock sunning 
themselves in the dusty trail, but in the scramble 
*V 
I • ' 
Then Again We Would Dip Into the Cool of Jungle Thickets. 
Breakfast Over, We Mounted Our Horses. 
i 
