prisoners, it seems as if a shadow had suddenly fallen upon the bright sunshine, and a chill, like that of coming death, oppresses the heart.  Since time out of mind, the Moro of Santiago has furnished dungeons for those who have incurred the displeasure of the government infinitely more to be dreaded than its namesake in Havana.  Had these slimy walls a tongue, what stories they might reveal of crime and suffering, of tortures nobly undergone, of death prolonged through dragging years and murders that will not “out” until the judgment day.

Against that old tower, a quarter of a century ago our countrymen of the Virginius were butchered like sheep.  Scores of later patriots have been led out upon the ramparts and shot, their bodies, perhaps, with life yet in them, falling into the sea, where they were snapped up by sharks as soon as they touched the water.

The narrow, winding channel which leads from the open sea into the harbor, pursues its sinuous course past several other fortifications of quaint construction, but of little use against modern guns—­between low hills and broad meadows, fishing hamlets and cocoanut groves.  Presently you turn a sharp angle in the hills and enter a broad, land-locked bay, inclosed on every side by ranges of hills with numerous points and promontories jutting into the tranquil water, leaving deep little coves behind them, all fringed with cocoa-palms.  Between this blue bay and a towering background of purple mountains lies the city which Diego Velazquez, its founder, christened in honor of the patron saint of Spain, as far back as the year 1514.  It is the oldest standing city in the new world, excepting Santo Domingo, which Columbus himself established only eighteen years earlier.  By the way, San Jago, San Diego and Santiago, are really the same name, rendered Saint James in our language; and wherever the Spaniards have been are numbers of them.  This particular city of Saint James occupies a sloping hillside, 600 miles southeast from Havana, itself the capital of a department, and ranks the third city of Cuba in commercial importance—­Matanzas being second.  As usual in all these southern ports, the water is too shallow for large vessels to approach the dock and steamers have to anchor a mile from shore.  While waiting the coming of health or customs officials, these lordly gentlemen who are never given to undignified haste, you have ample time to admire the prospect, and if the truth must be told, you will do well to turn about without going ashore, if you wish to retain the first delightful impressions—­for this old city of Spain’s patron saint is one of the many to which distance lends enchantment.