At the sound of fire-arms my pigeons
take flight, and as they rise I fire into their midst. My companion now
discharges his second barrel into a covey of quails, which had been
feeding unobserved within a few paces of him. I take a shot at one of
these birds as it flutters incautiously over my head, and it falls with
a heavy thud at my feet. The firing has reached the quick ears of Don
Benigno's watch-dogs, and anon our favourite animals, Arrempuja and
No-se-puede, come bounding towards us. The sagacious brutes help to
bring in our wounded, which we are gratified to find are more numerous
than we contemplated. Gathering together our spoil, we remove to another
spot, where our performances are repeated, though scarcely with the same
success. The sun has already begun to cast broad shadows along the soil,
and warns us that the hour for our 'tienta pie,' or early meal,
approaches; so we return to our hut, change our damp linen for dry, and
join the company, who are already seated on the broad balcony of Don
Benigno's house, watching the interesting process of milking cows. Bowls
of warm milk are presently handed round by negroes, who bring also new
milk rolls which have just arrived from the village ten miles distant.

'What luck have you had?' inquires our host of his sporting friends.

We exhibit the result of our morning's sport, which gains us much
applause and approving cries of 'Ay! que bonito. Ay! que bueno.' The
black cook to whom we consign our game, promises to do culinary justice
to them at breakfast.

We employ the interval which precedes that late meal in a saunter
through Don Benigno's sugar works, where some of us are initiated into
the mysteries of sugar making and rum distilling. The operations are
conducted under a spacious shed in the piazza which faces the Don's
dwelling-house, and here the whole process, from the crushing of the
newly-gathered cane to the distilling of the aguardiente, or white
brandy, is explained to us by our host, who apologises because he cannot
show everything in working condition at this time of the year. He,
however, enlightens us as to the uses of all we behold, and leaves the
rest to our imagination.

Here is the store-house where the freshly-gathered cane is kept ready
for the crushing process. Under that spacious shed is the engine-room in
connexion with the rollers that crush the cane. Near us are the tanks or
boilers for the reception of the 'jugo' or cane-juice. We ar