ISLE OF PINES, March 26th, 1906.
[DEAR MOTHER: — ]
We are just returning from the Isle of Pines. We reached
there after a day on the water at about six on Wednesday,
22nd. They dropped us at a woodshed in a mangrove swamp,
where a Mr. Mason met us with two mules. I must have said I
was going to the island because every one was expecting me.
Until the night before we had really no idea when we would go,
so, to be welcomed wherever we went, was confusing. For four
days we were cut off from the world, and in that time, five
days in all, we covered the entire island pretty thoroughly —
It was one of the most interesting trips I ever took and Cecil
enjoyed it as much as I did. The island is a curious mixture
of palm and pines, one minute it looks like Venezuela and the
next like Florida and Lakewood. It is divided into two
parties of Americans, the "moderates" and the
"revolutionists." The Cubans are very few and are all
employed by the Americans, who own nine-tenths of the Island.
Of course, they all want the U. S. to take it, they differ
only as to how to persuade the senators
to do it. I had to change all my opinions about the
situation. I thought it was owned by land speculators
who did not live there, nor wish to live there, but instead I
found every one I met had built a home and was cultivating the
land. We gave each land company a turn at me, and we had to
admire orange groves and pineapples, grapefruit and coffee
until we cried for help. With all this was the most romantic
history of the island before the "gringos" came. It was a
famous place for pirates and buried treasures and slave pens.
It was a sort of clearing house for slaves where they were
fattened. I do not believe people take much interest in or
know anything about it, but I am going to try and make an
interesting story of it for Collier. It was queer to be so
completely cut off from the world. There was a wireless but
they would not let me use it. It is not yet opened to the
public. I talked to every one I met and saw much that was
pathetic and human. It was the first pioneer settlement Cecil
had ever seen and the American making the ways straight is
very curious. He certainly does not adorn whatever he
touches. But never have I met so many enthusiastics and such
pride in locality. To-night we reach the Hotel Louvre, thank
heaven! where I can get Spanish food again, and not American
ginger bread, and, "the pie like mother used to make." We now
are on a wretched Spanish tug boat with every one, myself
included, very seasick and babies howling and roosters
crowing. But soon that will be over, and, after a short ride
of thirty miles through a beautiful part of the island, we
will be in Havana in time for a fine dinner, with ice. What
next we will do I am not sure. After living in that beautiful
palace of Morgan's, it just needed five days of the "Pinero's"
to make us
enjoy life at a hotel — If we can make connections, I think I
will go over to Santo Domingo, and study up that subject, too.
But, even if we go no where else the trip to the I. of P. was
alone well worth our long journey. I don't know when I have
seen anything as curious, and as complicated a political
existence. Love to all of you dear ones.
DICK.
