Now their mother calls them to bring in some sticks
for the fire. When these are added to the flame,
the firelight shines out in the darkness and guides
the father on his homeward way.
He has been working on the coffee plantation near,
and is now climbing the narrow, winding path up the
hill with his load of plantains. Perhaps the
wife will cook some for supper.
The children satisfy their hunger, and then creep
into their corner or hammock and are soon fast asleep.
Out in the darkness we hear the tinkle of a homemade
guitar. Now another, and then another, takes
up the Spanish or Indian air. Perhaps the beater
of a drum is added to the little band of musicians
which has gathered in an open space near the small
village.
The natives compose much of their own music, and wild,
strange melody it is. It seems to inspire one
with a wish to dance. The Puerto Ricans are very
fond of this amusement, and when they hear the music
of the band, they gather around for a frolic.
Once a week, at least, they gather for a dance; and
this, with their cock-fighting and gambling, is almost
their only form of amusement.
Few of these people can write or read. They have
no books and can not afford to buy even a newspaper.
The life of the peasant in Puerto Rico, you see, is
not an easy or pleasant one; but he does not suffer
from cold or hunger, as do the poor in northern countries.
* * * *
*
We have now a very good idea of San Juan and of rural
life in districts near it.
So let us travel about the island a bit, for glimpses
of other parts of the country, and of the other important
cities.
The most comfortable way to do this would be to make
the voyage around the island on board the ship, going
ashore for sight-seeing when the ship makes port for
freight.
But this would give us no opportunity to see the interior
of the island; so we make up our minds to endure poor
roads in order to enjoy the mild adventures that fall
to our lot (as all good travelers should do).
We decide to celebrate the seventeenth of November,
the anniversary of the discovery of the island, at
the place where the ship of Columbus first touched
land over four hundred years ago.
We find no Pullman cars on the railroad which leaves
San Juan for Aguadilla; but the novelty of the ride
takes the place of the luxuries to which we are accustomed
at home.
[Illustration: Sending sugar abroad.]
The train goes leisurely along at the rate of sixteen
miles an hour. We are glad that it goes no faster,
for it gives us an opportunity to see the beautiful
country through which we are passing.
The line follows the coast most of the way. Upon
one side are frequent views of the ocean, and upon
the other a constant panorama of wonderful scenery.
