Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 27, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 August 1884 — UPON THE BARACOA RIVER. [ARTICLE]

UPON THE BARACOA RIVER.

A Back Dov View of tbe Domeatie and lad os trial Life of Cuba. It was <me slumj afternoon in February when we started, three of ns, for a little tour el discovery up one of the small rivers whioh dram the beautiful island of Cuba. We left the vessel in our dory, the only small boat we had, and rowed past a Spanish gun-boat and through a swarm of fruit-lighterers to the wharf, by the side of which the river enters the harbor. As we went up by the wharf, the two guards, who are always on watch there, came to the side and looked into our boat to see that we smuggled nothing ashore, bat being satisfied as oar peaceable intentions, they sauntered back to a crowd of loungers, while we passed on. We pass first the fruit houses of the different shipping firms, where we see cocoanute piled up, as we here are accustomed to see coal in the sheds, and then past a battery of back doors which open right on to the river. Here we have a grand chance to study the domestic life of the Cubans, and in some instances the sights that we saw were very amusing. One thing that we noticed whioh struck us as being rather peculiar, was that all the ladies smoked, not the dainty little cigarettes which some of our American girls have been known to indulge in, but real long, strong cigars, “casadoras” as they call them. It was like listening to music to hear them talk, for such a melodious language I never before heard. The next object of interest that we pass is the cocoanut mill where all broken or bad nuts, and in fact everything that would otherwise be wasted, are ground to make cocoa or palm oil. This is on the outskirts of the town, and soon after leaving it we pass a narrow, deep channel of the river, with a banana grove on one side and a tangled mass of wild grape on the other. Here the sea breeze is broken and the stream is as still as a pond. There is no sound except the splash of our oars or the occasional whistle of a bird, and as we float lazily onward it Beems hard to believe that it is' not all a dream. Still more unnatural does it seem as we come to an opening and see ahead of us a grove of tall, stately pahn trees, and it is no wonder that to our unaccustomed eyes the scene is one of delight and surprise. Just beyond the palm-grove is a ford in the river where we expected to be obliged to drag our boat, but we pass it all right, and here a novel sight presents itself to our view. All along both sides of the river, standing in the water are women and children, mostly black, washing clothes. Their manner of washing is very different from what we had seen anywhere else, and is certainly one of the most peculiar features of the people. They stand in the river and rinse their clothes, and then pound them on the smooth, flat rocks which line the edge of the water, and hang them to dry on the bushes all around. We kept on through the files of washers, who paid no particular attention to us, so that we had a good chance to watch their operations. We noticed that almost all of them after washing their clothes took a ducking themselves, which is quite an advantage they have over the American washerwoman.— Cor. Portland, Transcript.