rospects, he would
rather not recall the feeling of a good meal. He, however, partakes of
some of my coffee, the odour of which is far too savoury for his
self-denial, and helps me with the tobacco.

Breakfast over, I take a siesta on half the furniture, and after a few
hours' delicious oblivion am awakened by the jailer, who comes with the
welcome news that the court is sitting, and that my presence is
required.

'Imprisoned and tried on the same day!' exclaims my Indian friend.
'Then,' says he, 'I may well wish you adieu for ever!'

A Cuban court of justice, broadly described, consists of two old men, a
deal table, a bottle of ink, and a boy. One of the elders is the alcalde
mayor, an awful being, invested with every kind of administrative power;
the other functionary is his escribano, or legal man-of-all-work, who
dispenses Spanish law upon the principle of 'French without a master.'
He professes to teach prisoners their fate in one easy lesson, without
the interposition of either counsel or jury. None but those immediately
concerned in the case are admitted into the tribune; so that the
prisoner, who is frequently the only party interested, has the court, so
to speak, all to himself!

The chamber into which I am ushered on the present occasion has very
much the appearance of a schoolroom during the holidays. The walls are
white-washed, and half a dozen short forms lie in disorder about the
brick floor. At one end of the apartment is a yellow map of the
Antilles; at the other is hung a badly painted oil portrait of her
Catholic Majesty Isabella, with a soiled coat-of-arms of Castile above
her, and a faded Spanish banner half concealing her royal countenance.
Beneath this trophy, on a raised platform, is seated the prison
magistrate, or fiscal, as he is called. Before him is a cedar-wood
table, with a bottle of ink, a glass of blotting sand and a quire of
stamped paper. On his right is an escribano and a couple of
interpreters, whose knowledge of the English language I afterwards find
to be extremely limited. On his left is seated my captive companion
Nicasio Rodriguez y Boldu. Everybody present, including a couple of
brown-holland policemen at the door, is smoking, which has a sociable
air, and inspires me with confidence. Upon my appearance in court
everybody rises; the fiscal politely offers me a cigar and a seat on the
bench.

As a matter of form--for my Spanish is by no means unintelligible--I am
examined