It was a lovely morning, not a cloud in the sky; the harbour was as smooth as a mirror, and bright with the rays of a sun which had reached that height at which—­in tropical climates—­it gilds and gladdens the scene without scorching the spectator; the quay was lined with ships loading and unloading; small boats were flying about in every direction; all around was gay and fresh, but the filthy steamer was still beneath me.  I lost no time in calling a skiff alongside; then, shaking the dust from off my feet, I was soon pulling away for the shore.

As a matter of course, the Custom-house is the landing-place, and the great object of search seems to be for Filibustero papers, or books which advocate that cause.  Having passed this ordeal, you take your first drive in the national vehicle of the island, which rejoices in the appellation of a “Volante,” a name given it, I suppose, in bitter sarcasm; a “Tortugante” would have been far more appropriate, inasmuch as the pace resembles that of a tortoise far more than that of a bird.  I may here as well describe one of the best, of which, in spite of its gay appearance, I feel sure the bare sight would have broken the heart of “Humanity Dick of Galway.”

From the point of the shaft to the axle of the wheel measures fifteen feet, and as the wheel varies in diameter from six to seven feet, it of course extends three feet beyond the axle.  The body is something like a swell private cab, the leather at the back being moveable, so as to admit air, and a curtain is fitted in front joining the head of the cab and the splash-board, for the sake of shade, if needed; this body is suspended on strong leather springs, attached to the axle at one end, and to a strengthening-piece across the shafts, seven and a half feet distance from the axle, at the other.  The point of the shaft is fitted with rings, by which it hangs on the back-pad of the horse, whose head necessarily extends about four feet beyond; thus you will observe, that from the outer tire of the wheel to the horse’s nose occupies at least twenty-two feet, and that the poor little animal has the weight of the carriage lying on him at the end of a lever fifteen feet long.  Owing to their great length, it is excessively difficult to turn them; a “Tommy Onslow” would cut in and out with a four-in-hand fifteen miles an hour, where the poor Volante would come to a regular fix—­if the horses in Cuba came into power, they would burn every one of them the next minute.  It must however be admitted that they are excessively easy to ride in, and peculiarly suited to a country with bad roads, besides being the gayest-looking vehicles imaginable; the boxes of the wheels, the ends of the axle, the springs for the head, the bar to keep the feet off the splash-board, the steps, the points of the fastenings of carriage and harness are all silvered and kept bright.  Nor does the use of the precious metal stop here; the niggers who bestride the poor horses