Puerto Rico; its conditions and possibilities

Introduction

IT has been the writer's earnest desire, in the accompanying pages, which relate exclusively to our new possession, Puerto Rico, to place before the reader as complete a presentation as possible of the industrial, commercial, political, and social conditions existing on that island today; together with sufficient facts, figures, and comparisons of past institutions to give those personally interested in the future development of the fertile isle a comprehensive grasp of the administrative problems which confront us, and the possibilities for the embarking of American business enterprises.

Under the direction of Messrs. Harper & Brothers, the author spent the two months immediately following the Spanish evacuation of the island, constantly in touch with the leading Spanish citizens and native Puertoriquenos, who were importers, manufacturers, shopkeepers, estate-owners, lawyers, and politicians, and he has, by the aid of the varying opinions elicited, attempted to embody in this work a crystallization of the most profound and valuable ideas expressed.

He feels a deep appreciation of the courtesies extended to him by army officers — whereby he was enabled readily to traverse the island from end to end and make careful studies of agricultural and manufacturing interests — and wishes to tender special thanks to General Guy V. Henry and General John R. Brooke, who assisted him in gaining access to Spanish records.

INTRODUCTION

To the late Librarian of Congress, Honorable John Russell Young, he is particularly indebted for opportunity to study Puerto Rican literature in the archives of that library and elsewhere.

William Dinwiddie.

New York, March, 1899.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. The Evacuation of Puerto Rico 3

II. General Characteristics 9

Chapter I The Evacuation

SPAIN formally released Puerto Rico from her sovereignty at twelve o'clock on Tuesday, October i8, 1898, by the withdrawal of her troops from the capital city of San Juan. It was the breaking of the last tie which has bound the easternmost fertile isle of the western hemisphere to a galling yoke of tyranny and taxation for nearly four hundred years.

The dawn of this memorable day in Puerto Rican history came clear, colorless, and hot; not a cloud dotted the sky, and, as the sun rose toward the zenith, the narrow, brick-paved streets of San Juan quivered with moist heat, and, in the breathless air, the surging crowds elbowed one another for positions of vantage within the narrow shadows of noonday.

Two days before the ceremony, every hotel in the town was crowded to its utmost capacity, and, on the night before the evacuation, strangers slept three and four together in the tiny, dark rooms, whose only source of light was the stained-glass doors opening into a central rotunda, suffering all night long from an infestation of humming, insatiable mosquitoes.

In the harbor lay a Spanish transport, ready to carry home the soldiers, while outside, on a calm ocean, lay our ships loaded with blue-uniformed men, waiting for the moment when the booming of the midday gun was to sound the death-knell of Spanish supremacy and give Puerto Rico to the American government.

At daylight on Tuesday, the last callings of the Spanish bugles rang through the town from the quartels of San Cristobal and Morro, and sixteen hundred Spanish soldiers prepared to march through the massive-walled portals, down the narrow streets of the town, and out to the westward suburban town of Santurce, where they were to camp temporarily until the arrival of a second Spanish steamer; but, through the courtesy of General John R. Brooke, commanding our forces, they were granted permission to remain in their barracks until all the Spanish transports arrived.

A surrender of the conquered to the conqueror is a sad function from its very nature, but in this instance it was far more than sad ; it was the acme of human misery, arising, however, not from the hurt done to martial spirit, but from the annihilation of happy homes. The Spanish soldiers and Guardia Civil have married largely among Puerto Rican women, and have become factors in the domestic life of the island. The evacuation program did not provide for a condition like this, so the Spaniard went back to his own country — though only for a time, perhaps— and his wife and children must weep and go hungry until his return.

As if in answer to the shrill blasts of Spanish bugles, came the deeper notes of our own, echoing back from without the city limits, and soon the steady, sturdy tramp of our own stalwart men resounded between the low walls of the city streets. We were going to cheer our country's

SAN JUAN HARBOR — VESSELS DECORATED I\ HONOR OF THE DAY

SPANISH SOLDIERS IN SAN CRISTOBAL BARRACKS

THE EVACUATION

flag and glory in our new possessions ; they — well, no one knows what the Spanish soldiers felt ; a mixture, perhaps, of pleasure in going back to their hillside vineyards, of heartache at leaving their loved ones, and of well-masked hatred for those who had broken Spain's arrogant power.

As the hour of twelve drew near, American soldiers stood before the white front of the balconied home of past Spanish Governor-Generals, and in the Plaza before the Chamber of Deputies and the City Hall, and again at the gates of the castles of Morro and San Cristobal, patiently awaiting the coming of the hour. Around them, at all these places, were gathered queer, interesting, and withal motley crowds of American tourists and newspapermen, of well-dressed Spanish and Puerto Rican merchants and landholders, and of the dark-colored, ragged, and tattered natives. Little talk was indulged in, and enthusiasm, if there was any, was withheld from active expression. The minutes were passed in hushed waiting, a straining of eyes toward the bare flag-poles, and a nervous consultation of watches.

Now it was coming, and a long-drawn breath sighed through the packed crowds, followed by the first uneasy shuffling of feet. The cry of "Attention ! " caused every soldier to straighten rigidly on his heels, except a few poor fellows who had dropped, weak and sweltering, under the fierce heat of the sun, and lay uncaring beneath the shaded walls. The newsmen craned their necks in eager expectancy, and the click of adjusted camera shutters could be heard from every point of elevation.

At each flagstaff a shoulder-strapped man stood grasping the flag-halyards, trying them now and again in fear lest they might fail at the critical moment, and, from their high-perched positions, they watched the clocktowers or looked seaward toward the bold, rugged, fortified castles for the first flash of fire and smoke from the great black guns.

Ding! and the little, sweet-toned bell of a near-by cathedral sang the first stroke of twelve; it was overpowered in its first vibrations by the deep-bellowing clang of the great bell on the City Hall. They answered each other in rhythmic chime, the ponderous and the weak, one after another, until the last echoing thrill of twelve made Puerto Rico ours.

The stars and stripes rose gently over every building, and were wafted by a new-born breeze, as if in sympathy with the rousing cheers of the surging Americans beneath, and as if in salutation to the roaring guns which belched their smoke far to seaward, as they boomed out the twenty-one shots of honor and of freedom.

It was a deeply impressive ceremony — done without ostentatious display, done without gold-laced uniforms or martial panoply, but well done. The very simplicity of the celebration appeals to American hearts. Our attitude was not that of the dictator, but of the protector. No bombastic speeches wounded the still sensitive Spanish pride, no great military pomp caused the teeth of a vanquished enemy to grind in hidden rage; we raised our flag softly, proudly, if you like, but we raised it with an outstretched hand of friendship.

With the floating of our flag over Spain's provincial capital of San Juan, the United States became, not only the master of a veritable Garden of Eden, but the possessor of a vast amount of government property. In the cities of the whole island permanent structures have been erected, in the nature of buildings for officials, barracks for soldiers, many hospitals, and, on the seacoast, massive stone forts. In San Juan, itself, our prizes include two wonderful stone forts, whose grey, moss-covered walls

RAISING THE FLAG OVER SAN JUAN, OCTOBER l8, li

IHE EVACUATION

tell a story of antiquated defenses, which would, however, even now offer a very material protection against modern projectiles. On them were mounted fifty-six guns, new and old, twenty-eight of which are fairly modern, six-inch, breech-loading, rifled guns, and four modern mortars. In the magazines were stored immense quantities of powder and ammunition ; in fact, shortly before war was declared, an entire shipload of the most approved projectiles was landed at San Juan, and now belongs to our government. Again, in this city, we now own a five-storied infantry barracks, which has been constructed during the last five years and will hold loo,- cxx) men. It was damaged badly, but not beyond repair, during the three hours' naval bombardment of the city, when it was believed that Cervera's fleet lay in hiding in the harbor. There are two other immense barracks, but they are of old Spanish architecture — the quartel San Cristobal and the Marine barracks. The United States also owns a new city hall and a great public building, the " Intendencia," both facing the plaza of the city. The value of our entire acquisitions ruris up into millions of money, which have been expended by Spain in furnishing homes for her soldiers and her officials, and in the vain attempt to protect and hold her colonial possessions, even though, in years gone by, she has valiantly and successfully repelled all assailants.

The American officers who had the honor of raising the flags at San Juan were Major J. T. Dean at the Governor's palace; Colonel Goethals, of the Engineer Corps, over the " Intendencia"; Major Carson, of the Quartermaster's Department, at the City Hall ; and Major Day, in command of a battery of the Fifth Artillery, over Morro castle. Major Day also raised the first American flag floated at Ponce.

Few troops took active part in the ceremony : two battalions of the Eleventh Infantry at different points ; troop A of the Sixth Cavalry at the palace, and the Fifth Heavy Artillery at Morro and San Cristobal. All the afternoon, however, the soldiers were marching from camps without the city's limits, until at nightfall several thousand men were scattered through the town. On Monday night at every street corner stood the Spanish Guardia Civil, the official tyrant of the island, while sentries of the Spanish army were posted near all government buildings;' when Tuesday's sunset came, our armed soldiers paced back and forth over the selfsame posts, while the Spanish soldiers — without guns, though armed with bayonets — wandered through the town as aliens, or gathered in clusters, in animated discussion. It was a curious metamorphosis.

Almost at the moment that the brilliant planet Venus shone faintly in the waning light of evening, a great gun on Morro castle, manned by men in blue, belched forth a farewell salute to day. The long white curls of smoke were wafted eastward slowly out to sea, and, as its billows ascended high in the air, the sinking sun tinted their top-' most crest with rosy light, an omen, it was said, that the black cloud of Spanish cruelty had passed away, and in its stead had dawned the pearl- and rose-colored promise of future happiness for Puerto Rico.

CHAPTER II GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS Physical Features

THE first impressions one receives of the island of Puerto Rico from the water, as the steamer churns through a placid sea as blue as the beautiful Mediterranean, are rather disappointing. These impressions depend largely upon how novel to the traveler are the expanses of limpid azure, with the distant highlands gradually rising from the flat earth near the sea to rough foothills, and then to sharp-pointed, irregular peaks, piled high behind each other, all clothed in the same unvarying, intense green, the entire landscape being wonderfully crowned with low-hanging, vaporous clouds, which roll forever into new, fantastic, nebulous forms.

If one has not seen the giant mountain-ranges of the southeastern coast of Cuba, Hfted seven thousand feet in air, or those of the heart of the Antillean chain in Santo Domingo, which rise twelve thousand feet, in pinnacled peaks of verdure, from bases bound in coral and washed by the waves of a summer sea, then one will be tempted to exclaim, " What a paradise! " Comparison, the invidious mental enemy, alone can detract from the loveliness of this " Isle of the Gate of Gold."

Puerto Rican mountain-ranges rise massively only two thousand feet above the level of the sea, with here and there a peak gaining gradual elevation to three thousand, or, in the case of El Yunque in the northeast, thirty-seven hundred feet, but there are no great heights which hold the eye entranced. Neither do they make an effective showing from the sea, as the most marked elevations are far inland ; in fact the mountainous backbone traverses almost the center of the island, beginning at a point near San German in the southwest corner, and crossing diagonally to El Yunque, the highest land near the northeast.

In circumnavigating the island, the western end has few suggestions of scenic beauty. The isle of Desecheo, like a partially-submerged cone, — the home of sea-birds only, — guards the northwest corner like a lonely sentinel. Looking toward Aguadilla, on the mainland, the country is slightly rolling, backed by a single low range of carved, ancient-coral formation in the middle ground, while in the misty distance there are suggestions of greater mountains. Mayaguez, the great western shipping port, is almost invisible from the sea, lying low down on the shore-line, and fronting an open harbor which is a dangerous one in heavy southwesterly or westerly weather. Still farther to the south, one looks into apparently betterprotected, landlocked harbors, while the distant view carries the eye from the near-by, rolling foothills along the axes of heavy ranges.

The western end of the southern coast is monotonous in the extreme, and nothing breaks the weariness of the view except the dashing of waves on coral reefs, whose tireless builders have thrust their castellated homes upward through the foam and spray. The ancient and almost-deserted port of Guanica, foreshortened from the water into a mere dent in the coast-line, develops into as fine and beautiful a harbor as any on the island — excepting, perhaps, the sea-sheltered havens near Fajardo on the

lO east. It is surprising that cities should have sprung up near almost useless ports, while at this point — offering as it does a fine deep-water harbor, too narrow for much maneuvering at its mouth — a town once recognized as a point of ocean trade has not only failed to expand commercially, but has lost its old-time prestige. Its deterioration could probably be traced to political discrimination in San Juan.

Ponce, to the west of the center of the southern coast-line and two miles from the ocean, can just be seen with a field-glass, cradled in palms and green trees among the first of the rolling foothills, while the Playa, its port-town, stands, with flat roofs and whitened walls, on the disintegrated coral of the shore. The harbor is very open and shallow, though protected somewhat on the east by a spur of land, and slightly on the west by a little island reef, made a gem of beauty by the simple architecture of its white lighthouse.

From Ponce westward the landscape from the sea grows more pleasing, and one realizes the beauty of the mountain-ranges, each rising higher behind the other, the effect enhanced by the great spur from the main series which breaks away and follows the seacoast not many miles inland. At Jobos, on this portion of the shore-line, occurs another fine harbor with ample sea-room, which is used only by a few coasting vessels ; the thriving city of Guayama, but five miles away to the westward, uses — curiously enough — the open roadstead of Arroyo, four miles on the other side, for shipping purposes, in preference to the fine, landlocked body of water at Jobos.

From the island of Vieques, on the southeast corner, to San Juan, on the northern coast, the landscape is broken by islets and islands, and the mainland shows jutting, rocky promontories, producing kaleidoscopic vistas of which one never tires.

II

The islands of Vieques and Culebra, which He ofi the east coast and belong to Puerto Rico, are low in contour, with little running water, though they are fertile in the' extreme, and the waving cane-fields of Vieques, which stretch over hill and dale, are far more lovely, in their undulating, silken tassels, than those of the mainland, covering flat, unrelieved plains.

The thousand small islands which form the Lesser Antilles and curve off in a great arc to the southward from Puerto Rico, together with the innumerable coral islets shooting out from the northeast corner of the island, constitute a sea-screen which protects all the harbors of the eastern side; and it is quite probable that, under the impetus of American development, this side of the island — instead of being almost wholly deserted commercially — will become in time the most favored and sought after, for it undoubtedly offers natural advantages in a marked degree, in the shape of protected sea-room, with deep waters close inshore, such as are not possessed by the other three sides. It should be stated, however, that coral reefs and shoals abound, among which navigation is highly dangerous at present, owing to the lack of accurate charts ; but when the Coast Survey shall have carefully mapped the submarine pathways, these difficulties will be overcome, for, between these submerged reefs, which act as sea-walls, are ample passageways of deep water.

It is said that this is the less fertile end of the island, but the opinion has gained credence from the fact that hitherto this region has contributed less in commercial products, and hence has attracted less attention in business centers, rather than because the soil possesses any inherent sterility, for it is beyond question quite as rich and productive as any other section of the land, and — given population and land and sea transportation facilities— it should outstrip other regions tributary to the lessfavored harbors on the open coasts.

The northern side of the island has no good ports, with the exception of the embayed harbor of San Juan, and the landscape from afar is almost a dreary one. Arecibo is the only city — after the capital — which attracts the eye landward. Its cathedral seems to rise from a veritable city of thatched huts, though in reality these only hang upon the skirts of the main city, which is well built. Past its doors flows the second largest river on the island, Rio Grande de Arecibo.

San Juan is a city of delight to the vision. Its massive, high-walled, grey-grown forts may be seen far out at sea, their battlements crowning every bold salient of the shore-line. Across its harbor entrance, in heavy northern weather, the white-crested billows pile high on each other in a frenzied race toward shore ; this, viewed as a picture in nature, fills the heart with rapture, but, seen with the eye of the mariner, causes the face of the stoutest navigator to pale.

The deep, fast-flowing rivers, which fall into the sea from this side, are all spoken of by previous writers as being navigable for several miles inland, but mention is made, at the same time, of sand-bars and spits which close them eflfectually to shipping. From a commercial standpoint they would be of little use, even if their mouths were opened by dredging, as they flow between banks quite too close for the handling of anything but small fishing smacks, and, during a receding tide, the outspeeding current whips the water's surface into eddying whirlpools, which would be dangerous even for moored vessels.

On the whole it must be admitted that Puerto Rico, from the water, is not an impressive sight; that it has few good harbors, and that the best of them appeal neither to the artistic nor technical eye ; but it should be remem-- bered that this little island has less than three hundred and fifty miles of coast-line, all told — ^or, roughly speaking, about as much as the coast of Massachusetts — and in this short distance it lays claim to fourteen harbors, though, in point of real commercial utility, it has not more than six. In an island which averages but ninetyfive miles in length by thirty-five in breadth, half a dozen good ports will feel the strain of competition severely, when the time shall come that railroad transportation and good roads bind the agricultural country closely to the business centers.

Once on shore, the traveler through the island realizes for the first time what a wealth of artistic loveliness and fertile possibilities lies in this land clothed with a livery of tropical vegetation. Almost every foot of ground is steep and rolling, except along the coast-lines and in a few narrow valleys of the interior, where the earth lies seemingly as flat as a floor, from the banks of the wandering rivers to the very foot of the mountains, which rise abruptly to sharp, curved crests, a thousand feet above.

Table-lands there are none; the mountain uplifts are flexed into razor-backed ridges, and time and weather have fought against the form-preserving vegetation with sufficient success to mold their sides into soft erosional shapes, steep-sided and high, but covered to their very tops with rich, fertile, and cultivatable soil.

While there are no flat-topped mountain-ranges in the interior, the few narrow valleys, found mainly on the northern side east of the center, are elevated above the sea as much as a thousand feet, and no more delightful place of abode for white men can be imagined : perfeet landscapes, a soil in which almost everything under heaven will grow, cool nights, bearable days, and the whole of this idealistic conception set off with a filigree-work of heaving clouds, wonderful rainbows overhanging the green of stately palms, waving, broad-leaved banana plantations, food- and fruit-trees, and jungle forests whose odd shapes and queer foliage lend a never-tiring charm to the scene. It is a tropic Elysium, and will become the winter Mecca of America.

Climate

Ask the average man who formed an integral part of the Army of Invasion which went to Puerto Rico what he thinks of the climate, and his opinion will most likely be forcibly expressed by the word " damnable." His judgment is a biased one, however, for it should be remembered that he bore all the hardships of a severe campaign. With a system weakened by life in fever-infected camps, and after a prolonged interval aboard cramped, foul-smelling transports, he was forced out, during the heat of summer, into torrid suns, chilling rains, and bottomless mud in tangled trails, subsisting, meantime, on a diet unknown to him in his own comfortable home — a mixture of " government straight " and tropical fruits. It is little wonder that his plaintive song voiced itself in the words of " God's Countrie." The fact is patent, however, that the army of Puerto Rico returned, in spite of necessary exposure, with few men left behind in lonely graves, and with a small percentage of sickness in its ranks, as compared with the men who were forced into the death-trap of Santiago, while those who have remained on the island, quartered in barracks, show a less percentage of illness in their forces than they did before leaving the United States.

In spite of various and contrary opinions, the climate of Puerto Rico is not a difficult one for North Americans to hold their own in the year around, though it is most enjoyable in the middle of winter, when our own broad United States is clothed in ice and snow, chilled by sullen rains, or frozen by the biting winds of bitter blizzards.

The island lies within the torrid zone, between latitudes 17° 54' and 18° 30' N. On the mainland of North America at this latitude, the climate is quite unbearable to the unacclimated during the entire year — unless it be perhaps in sections where the altitude is five thousand feet or over — but, owing to Puerto Rico's position far out on the ocean to the eastward (longitude west from Greenwich 65° 35'- 6']'' 15'), away from the warm waters of the Gulf Stream, together with the comparatively small area, which permits it to be swept by the prevailing trade-winds from end to end, the climate is one in which those of temperate regions may safely live, provided some care be taken of the health for the first few months until physical adjustment has taken place,

In the heat of summer, the temperature never rises above 95° Fahrenheit on the seacoast, and the nights are usually cool. Whatever unpleasantness pertains to the climate is the outcome of the excessive humidity of the atmosphere during the rainy season, and the clammy dampness of clear, dew-laden nights. Unquestionably the rainy season is a trial to the constitution, for the wet air, heated by sudden sunbursts, is difficult to breathe, and exposure to the chilly damp of night is apt to bring on pernicious and malarial fevers; however, with anything like proper care of the person and a fair diet of quinine, the summer season may be safely tided over.

In winter — or rather during the " dry season " of November, December, January, and February — the upper limit of the mercury is about 80° on the coast and ten degrees less in the mountains, dropping lowest in January. There is a greater range in temperature between day and night at this season than in summer, the mercury sometimes falling, during darkness, to 65° on the coast and ten degrees lower in the highest altitudes. Sixtyfive degrees means really cold weather to the Puertoriqueflo, and the American who has lived on the island for a few months does not disdain to envelop his linen-clad person in a light overcoat.

The difference between the temperature in open sunlight and dense shade is so marked that it is actually dangerous to seek shelter from the sun, when overheated, in the shade of tree or jungle. Pneumonia is commonly produced in this way, and many of the pulmonary complaints arising in the island may be traced to injudicious cooling off beneath umbrageous natural arbors. A bit of superstition exists in the minds of the untutored natives to the effect that certain large trees, which form bowers of shade, exhale poisonous, noxious vapors, and that those who unwittingly or foolishly rest beneath them die with frightful pains in the chest and back ; the true explanation being, of course, that acute congestion is superinduced.

The rainfall of Puerto Rico is very copious, estimated in its annual quantity, but the amount at any specific point varies greatly from year to year and month to month ; also, some portions of the island are better watered by the dews of heaven than others.

In April and May the spring rains begin to drop their moisture from the sky, and it is no uncommon thing for it to pour down in heavy torrents almost constantly for two or three weeks, this incessant rain usually occurring on the northern half of the island, well up in the mountains. During such periods the roads are impassable for saddle or pack animals, and it is almost impossible for human beings to travel on foot over the trails.

During the interval from May to September, there is little rain — that is, comparatively little rain for a tropical country; it must be understood that in Puerto Rico a day never passes without rain falling somewhere in the mountain country, but, between the scheduled rainy seasons, it does not pour down for hours and days, but comes in quick, driving showers of a few minutes, usually late in the afternoon, and clears up with the dying sun, when one is almost paid for the discomforts of a drenching by the rare effects of a sky filled with glorious, crimsoned clouds and double rainbows.

The alarming stories of months of constant precipitation and deluge have no foundation in fact. It is known that the average annual rainfall at Havana is but a few inches more than in New York ; though these statistics will not serve as a basis for judging the rainfall of the interior or mountainous regions, where the total annual precipitation is much greater. It is not probable that the yearly fall of rain, measured in inches, varies greatly in Puerto Rico from that in Cuba. Rains come more quickly and fall harder in a given time in the tropics than in more temperate climes, but there is the comforting compensation of their seldom lasting for more than a few minutes at a time. If these tropical countries had the same firm soils and as good roadways, complaints would never be advanced against the watery weather.

The northern half of the island — that is, the portion which lies to the northward of the great mountain watershed— has never known a drought, though near the coast-line several weeks have occasionally passed without rain, during the dry season. The southern half, on the contrary— particularly the southeastern section — has at times

i8 been without a drop of moisture on its coast-skirting soil for over three months, and it is related by the inhabitants of Vieques that a score of years ago the population had to bring fresh drinking-water from the main island, so general and lasting was the dried-up condition of their own.