The young volcano explorers

By the time the boys were stirring the next morning the colored woman and the boy and girl were gone. The storm had cleared away and the sun was shining brightly. But out in the roadway and in the garden attached to the hotel the traces of the heavy downfall of rain were still in evidence.

“I see some beautiful flowers around here,” said Mark, taking a walk with the professor before sitting down to breakfast. “But a great number are strange to me, and so are many of the vegetables and fruits they use.”

“The vegetables mostly in use throughout the island are white and sweet potatoes, carrots, turnips, beets, radishes, cabbage, yams, yautias, cassava, or tapioca, and okra root,” answered Professor Strong. “There are many kinds of beans and peas and also a great variety of squashes and pumpkins. Of fruits the banana is, of course, the leader, but Porto Rico pineapples are delicious and so are the oranges and the cantelopes. Limes are much in use for lime water. Lemons are raised for export. There are also a vast number of shrubs and trees which furnish medical extracts, and numerous dyewoods are found here, including fustic, which gives a yellow dye, divi-divi, which gives a reddish-brown dye, mora, which gives bluing, and annotto, which grows in great profusion and furnishes the peculiar golden yellow often used in coloring butter and cheese.”

“Gracious, I didn’t know they used coloring here,” cried Mark.

“They use some, but I am sorry to say the most of the butter coloring goes to the United States. There are also trees here which produce a variety of gums and resins, some of them very much in demand, and which, consequently, bring fancy prices.”

“It’s certainly a land of plenty,” said Frank, who had come up while the professor was speaking. “The Porto Ricans ought to be happy.”

“They will be as soon as they have gotten used to the new order of things, Frank. But I doubt if they will ever get used to what we call hustling. They are used to taking their own time about everything, and the climate is against the strenuous life.”

The town of Aguas Buenas is perched high up on the side of a mountain, with a broad valley lying below,—where the flood had occurred. The place is of small importance and contains little but thatched huts, with here and there a building of prominence. There is an old church, and a hotel or two is springing up, ready to accommodate the American tourist when he comes, and he surely will come when this fine climate is better known.

By nine o’clock they were again on the way heading along the smooth road leading to Caguas, five miles away. As they went down into the valley the tropical vegetation became more luxurious than ever, the out-spreading branches of palms and other trees often brushing them as they passed.

“Not far away from here is a wonderful opening,” said Professor Strong. “It is called Dark Cave, and is said to extend over a mile underground. I was never inside, but the interior is said to be very beautiful.”

“Let us go and see it,” cried Frank.

“No, we haven’t time, and besides, it is said to be a very dangerous cave to visit, on account of the numerous pitfalls.”

As they journeyed along the professor pointed out the Luquillo Mountains far to the eastward.

“That highest peak is Mount Yunque, the highest peak on the island,” he said. “It has quite a history. Years and years ago Porto Rico was swept by hurricanes and earthquakes, and then the natives thought that Mount Yunque was angry and did all they could think of to appease the monster.”

They did not stop at Caguas but pushed on directly for Cayey, fifteen miles to the south-westward. They now passed numerous villages, each but a collection of thatched huts, some standing directly on the ground and others, near the water, on little stilts. But few animals were visible outside of cows and sheep. Of poultry there was a large quantity, and at one spot they came upon a group of natives watching a cock fight directly in the middle of the road. The cocks had been fighting for some time, evidently, for both were horribly wounded.

“What a barbarous custom!” exclaimed Sam, with a shudder. “I hope that our government puts a stop to that sport.”

“It will come in time, Samuel,” said the professor. “But everything cannot be done at once. As it is, I am glad there are no more bull fights.”

At the streams they passed they would often come upon native women washing clothes and numerous youngsters in bathing. Youngsters also filled the roadway at certain villages, running and shouting in their sport. The majority wore but little clothing, and in some cases they acted as if even this was a burden to them. A good many would run away on seeing the Americans and shout out in Spanish, “the shooters!” thinking of the soldiers that had fought on the island during the late war.

“This whole territory was in a state of suspense during the war,” said Professor Strong. “The army was under General Miles and an advance was made from three different directions. The natives were secretly in sympathy with our soldiers, but Spain had many soldiers here and the natives were forced to obey them. The fighting was stopped in the midst of a battle, when a messenger appeared with news that an armistice had been agreed upon. Then, as you know, the war came to an end, and some time later, Porto Rico was ceded by Spain to the United States, along with the Philippines and other islands of lesser importance.”

After a stop at Cayey over night they pushed westward to Aibonito, a distance of ten miles further. A gentle breeze was blowing into the valley from the mountains, making the ride more delightful than ever, and they visited several plantations in that vicinity.

“This is the best of the weather to be met with in Porto Rico,” observed the professor, as they moved along at a walk, to take in the scenery around them. “For a sick man nothing is better, unless, of course, he needs the bracing air of a high altitude. I think in years to come folks will come here for their health just as they now go to Jamaica and the Bermudas.”

At Aibonito the accommodations were very poor, and late as it was they decided to push on to Coamo, on the river by that name. This was a distance of seven or eight miles, and Hockley growled at having to ride so much further. But nobody paid attention to him.

“He is getting to be a regular sore-head,” whispered Frank to Mark. “If he keeps on I guess the professor will have to take him in hand.”

“He hasn’t gotten over that trick on shipboard,” replied Mark. “And he has received money. That always puffs him up.”

“Do you think the professor knows about the money?”

“I guess not. Glummy never shows his wad when the professor is around. But he loves to shove it under our noses,” added Mark.

All were thoroughly tired when Coamo was reached and after supper were glad enough to retire. They slept soundly, although Darry afterward declared that he had been bitten almost to death by fleas.

“Yes, Porto Rico has its full share of those pests,” said Professor Strong, when told of this. “I felt them myself. It is too bad, but there seems to be no help for it. The natives will have to fight them long and hard if they ever wish to get totally rid of the pests.”

There was not much to see in Coamo outside of the church and one or two small public buildings, and some odd looking fishing smacks on the river, and shortly after breakfast they started on the last stage of their journey across the island. Their course was now westward, through Juan Diaz, where they stopped for another day, and towns of lesser importance. For the greater portion of the distance, the road here is not more than five miles from the sea, and at certain high points they could catch glimpses of the rolling Caribbean, flashing brightly in the sunlight. They crossed half a dozen streams, and at last turned down the slope leading into the outskirts of Ponce, named after the well-known discoverer, Ponce de Leon.

“It’s certainly been a delightful trip,” was Sam’s comment. “And we have seen a good deal of native life. Much more than a fellow could see by rushing past in a train—if there was a railroad.”

Ponce is situated about three miles north of the harbor, in a wide plain surrounded by numerous gardens and plantations. The boys could see numerous churches and public buildings, and as they came closer saw several fine hotels which have been erected within the past two years.

“This is something like it,” said Darry, as he smiled at the scene. “Is Ponce a very large place?”

“It has a population of about thirty thousand,” answered the professor, “although newcomers are drifting in from the States by every steamer. It is a great shipping point for all islands south of this, and, as you know, the terminus of one of the three railroads of Porto Rico.”

Half an hour saw them in the center of the city, at the hotel the professor had selected, a hostelry very much like that they had stopped at in Havana. The street was filled with people coming and going, and venders were pushing their way this direction and that, each with a wide board balanced on his head, containing fruits, candies, or pastries. Around at the side door of the hotel were several mules, each carrying two trunks, strapped together and hung over the beast’s sides. And over all a little native boy was running along with a bundle of newspapers under his arm shrieking at the top of his lungs: “Americano news! Who buy de papair? Americano newspapair!”

“Hurrah! At last we have struck the Porto Rican cousin of the Bowery newsboy!” cried Frank. “I declare, it makes a fellow feel quite at home. Let’s buy some papers.” And they did, paying what was equal to fifteen cents each for the sheets. They were New York papers and nearly a week old, but all were satisfied later on to sit down and read them thoroughly.