To Cuba and Back

In Short

This travelogue documents a brief journey from New York to Havana and into the Cuban interior during the late 1850s. Through the eyes of an observant, mid-century American, the book captures the sights of the tropics—the royal palms, the bustling sugar plantations, and the ornate rituals of the Catholic Church. More than a simple diary, it offers a measured, sobering analysis of the island's political climate, the mechanics of slavery, and the encroaching influence of modern commerce, serving as a primary window into a colonial society on the brink of profound change.

The Story

The narrative begins with the departure from a snowy Manhattan pier, where a motley collection of passengers—merchants, ailing seekers of health, and vacationers—board a steamer for the tropics. The ocean passage is efficient and quiet, a prelude to the sensory shift that occurs upon arrival in Havana. The author immediately finds himself navigating a world of profound cultural "otherness," marked by the indifferent service of local hotels and the strange, vibrant rhythms of a city dominated by Spanish influence.

Once settled, the traveler explores Havana’s public life. He visits the Cathedral, moved by the sight of Christopher Columbus’s remains, and observes the rigid social separations in local theaters, where women and men are kept strictly apart. His journey soon takes him into the countryside to visit sugar plantations, providing a direct look at the industrial heart of the Cuban economy. He describes the labor-intensive, often brutal, process of sugar production, the role of the mayoral (overseer), and the lives of the enslaved people whose labor sustains the island’s wealth. He also notes the rise of Chinese coolie labor, a new and unsettling feature of the economic landscape that creates further uncertainty about the future.

The author’s tone remains one of careful, analytical inquiry. He speaks with wealthy planters and refugees from the earlier unrest in Santo Domingo, gathering perspectives on the island’s governance. He learns that Cuba remains under a state of perpetual siege, governed by a Captain-General wielding nearly absolute, dictatorial power. He details the peculiar legal status of slavery, noting that while the law provides avenues for self-purchase, the reality for the enslaved remains one of forced, rigorous toil.

As the journey nears its conclusion, the author reflects on the contradictions he has witnessed: the immense beauty of the landscape versus the harshness of the sugar mills; the piety of the Jesuits at their schools versus the spectacle of the bullfights; and the precarious dependence of the economy on a single, volatile export. The narrative ends as it began, with a departure. He boards the steamer Cahawba, his decks piled high with oranges and cigars, and watches the glow of the Morro lighthouse recede into the darkness. He leaves behind an island of immense productivity and deep moral tension, carrying with him the vivid, lingering image of a tropical society that feels, to his Northern eyes, like a beautiful but uneasy relic of an older world.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins The narrative opens on a chaotic New York dockside, where the traveler leaves behind the winter cold for the promise of the tropics. The departure is marked by a surprising quietness, as the captain manages the steamer with silent signals rather than the typical clamor of a vessel leaving port.

First impressions of Havana Upon arrival, the author finds the local hospitality lacking, as he struggles to secure even basic accommodations from an indifferent French hotelier. He compensates for the lack of infrastructure by observing the daily habits of the city, from the early-morning coffee rituals to the grand, solemn architecture of the churches.

The life of the plantations The journey moves into the lush interior, where the author examines the scientific and industrial rigor of the sugar estates. He contrasts the "royal palm"—which he calls the hidalgo of the soil—with the mechanical, non-stop labor required to make the plantations profitable.

The politics of a colony The narrative turns toward a serious, late-chapter analysis of the island’s governing Royal Order of 1825, which maintains Cuba in a state of constant, martial tension. Through conversations with locals, he pieces together the precarious nature of both the colonial administration and the institution of slavery.

A final departure The book concludes with the practical preparations for the return trip, involving the loading of fruit and the final navigation of a crowded, busy harbor. The traveler reflects one last time on the sights and sounds of the island before the distant light of the fortress vanishes into the sea.

The People

The book is populated by a cross-section of mid-nineteenth-century society, defined by their roles within the colonial structure. The author acts as the primary, observant presence, ever-cautious to remain a neutral recorder of local customs.

He introduces Antonio, a swarthy, good-natured Spanish lad who serves as a hotel servant, providing the traveler with his first, somewhat comical lesson in the frustrations of Cuban service culture. Captain Bullock appears as the steady hand of the voyage, an efficient, quiet professional who represents the competence of Northern maritime industry.

Among the local elite, the author meets men like Mr. Chartrand, a planter who offers insight into the daily management of the sugar estates, and his neighbor, M. Bourgeoise, an elderly refugee from the Haitian Revolution. Bourgeoise, with his "ancien régime" manners, represents the fading, aristocratic past of the Caribbean, having survived the brutal historical shifts that dismantled the French colonial order.

The enslaved and the laborers, while often observed from a distance, are described with precision. The author notes the maquinista (the engineer)—an enslaved man who takes pride in his specialized knowledge of the mill’s machinery—and the Chinese coolies, whose uncertain status and lack of clear legal protections provide a haunting, unanswered question at the center of the narrative. Each figure, from the powerful captain to the voiceless laborers, is filtered through the author’s attempt to understand their place in a rigid, deeply stratified society.

In Its Own Voice

The steamer is to sail at one P.M.; and, by half-past twelve, her decks are full, and the mud and snow of the pier are well trodden by men and horses.

The book opens with this bustling, chilly scene of departure from a New York winter, setting the stage for the traveler's transition to the heat of the tropics.

It cannot grow beyond this narrow belt of the earth's surface. Its long, thin body, so straight and so smooth, swathed from the foot in a tight bandage of tawny gray, leaving only its deep-green neck, and over that its crest and plumage of deep-green leaves!

The author offers this striking, reverent description of the royal palm, which he views as a symbol of the tropical landscape’s unique and untamable dignity.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an investigation into the stability of a colonial society built on high-stakes, industrial slavery. It questions whether a system so reliant on "steam, fire, smoke, and a drive of labor" can maintain its equilibrium in a changing world. The author is preoccupied with the moral and economic contradictions of Cuba: the coexistence of extreme religious devotion with a brutal slave economy, and the presence of a "temporary" government that has persisted for decades. By examining the island’s lack of industrial variety and its absolute dependence on sugar, the book argues that Cuba is a land of fragile, if immense, riches, existing in a state of suspended, uncertain time.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow, deliberate pace of nineteenth-century prose will find much to admire in this travelogue. It is a rewarding read for those interested in the history of the Caribbean, as it captures the island at a specific, volatile moment before the wars for independence. The author’s writing is precise and descriptive, evoking the heat, the smell of the sugar mills, and the striking silhouette of the palm trees with remarkable clarity.

However, modern readers should be prepared for the book’s limitations. The author’s perspective is undeniably that of a privileged white man from the North; his discussions of slavery, while often observant of the cruelty involved, are filtered through the detached, sometimes cold lens of an economic analyst rather than a moral crusader. He exhibits the period-typical attitudes of his class, and the reader will encounter an analytical distance that can feel jarring when describing human suffering. There is also a fair amount of technical detail regarding trade, which may test the patience of a casual reader looking for a traditional narrative arc. Yet, for those willing to engage with its period perspective and its measured, sometimes detached voice, the book offers a haunting, vivid, and deeply informative look at a world that has largely vanished, preserved in the clear, steady prose of a man who simply wanted to see what the island of Cuba was really made of.