olonists visited him and told him
gently but firmly that he must stop playing that piece so much; it was
making them all homesick. Not long after the cornet player disappeared.
I think there was no foul play. Probably he had simply betaken himself
to home, sweet home.

There were many good singers in camp. Some of them met regularly once or
twice a week and sang gospel hymns. These formed the choir at the Sunday
services. There was another group of vocalists, equally excellent in its
way, which confined itself to rendering popular songs. Some of the
latter, who dwelt and had their "sings" near my tent, would have done
credit to the vaudeville stage. They were known as the "Kansas crowd."
It gave me, a native of the Granite state, great satisfaction to hear
these Kansas people singing with spirit and good expression "My Old New
Hampshire Home." I was pleased to regard it as a Western tribute to New
Hampshire as the place of the ideal home.

CHAPTER XV.

A WALKING TRIP TO PUERTO PRINCIPE.

It was on the day after the Grand Ball, Tuesday, April 10, that a party
of us started on a walking trip to the city of Puerto Principe,
forty-five miles away. My companions, who, like myself, were all
colonists, were Jeff D. Franklin of Florida, David Murphy of New Jersey,
A. H. Carpenter of Massachusetts, and a Mr. Crosby of Tennessee. Mr.
Crosby was a man of middle age; the rest of us were younger, Carpenter
being a mere youth of perhaps eighteen. All were good walkers. The start
was made at about 8:30 in the morning. The day was pleasant and balmy,
but not excessively warm. The trail was now in good condition, and the
walking would have been altogether agreeable had it not been for the
packs upon our shoulders. We carried hammocks, blankets, and such food
as bread, crackers, sardines, bacon, and coffee. One of the party had a
frying-pan slung across his back. Our loads were not actually heavy,
but they seemed so after we had walked a few miles.

Our course lay to the southwest, through the deserted plantation of
Mercedes, where we stopped an hour to eat oranges and chat with the
colonists at work there. Resuming our march, we soon passed an inhabited
Cuban shack near an abandoned sugar mill, stopping a few minutes to
investigate a small banana patch near the road. We had been here before
and knew the owner. A mile further on we reached another occupied shack,
and called to get a drink of agua (water). We were hospitably