The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1898-10-20

the divcoverer of Florida and the
subiugator of Porto Rica yet lie un-
buried Spain seems to have quite
forgotten one of the bravest of her
early Conquistadores, for nothing
has been said since the American CON
quest of taking his bones home to the
mother country, along with those
of Columbus. Uncle Samuel is very
remiss in his duty if he lets the latter
go, for since we took the island, with
all it contained, Spain has clearly no
more right to those sacred rights than
to the Havana Cathedral which holds
them.
The Dominican Church of San Juan
de Bautiste de Porto Rico is fine old
pile, though greatly the worse for the
wear and tearyof nearly foar' ceGtar-
les and apparently tottering to it's
fall. In a corner of the musty little
chapel attached to the church you
may any day see the lead case which
contains the dust of Ponce de Leon.
/
is only about three feet square, bound
with leathern straps, sealed in the
centre with the great municiple seal.
On the monument against which it
rests the inscription in Spanish, of
course, reads as follows:
This narrow grave contains the
remains of a man who was a Lion by
name and much more by his deeds"
Rather ambiguous and not altogether
true, remembering his cruel deeds
and the fierce mastiff, Berezillo; but
perhaps Ponce's spook appreciates
the intended compliment. The old
church is full of curious decorations,
rags of antique paintings and moldy
relics of bygone centuries; and it is
earnestly to be hoped that the pom
derous key will be turned in the rusty
lock and the whole thing burned to
ashes before careless alien hands are
allowed to disturb them.
Aside from the quaint Notifications
and Ponce's home and tomb there are
few ''sights" to interest the tourist
in the city Of st. John the Baptist.
There is the Government palace
so called the Palace OF Justice; a
shabby opera house, a market place
and a few dim shops and churches.
Among the most picturesque things
are the massive arch gateways in the
old wall that surrounds the city,
built for defense nearly four hundred
years ago. When the gates fronting
the sea are closed the only way to get
out of San Juan into the country, or
into the city from any part of the
island, is through an arched entrance
in the lower wall by the one narrow
street which communicates with the
outer world. This is the beginning
of the old Canine Real (royal road
the magnificent highway construct
ed by early Spaniards, which leads to
Ponce, on the other side of the island.
Nothing can be more delightful than
an early morning horseback ride a
few miles along this road. The way
leads first through green fields and
gardens, past the thatched huts Of the
poorer class of Porto Ricans, who are
mostly of African decent, via Jamaica.
more or less adulterated with native
blood. Each tiny cottage is sur
mounted by its dove cote (the doves
are a noticeable feature of Porto
Rico) and generally a tame parrot or
two screams from his perch on the
ridge pole, or in the over-shadowing
banana tree; while black pigs, lean
dogs and naked babies roll around
the door way in chummy confusion.
Presently the road turns abruptly
toward the bay where it runs some
distance close to shore, bordered on
one side by scant fringing of cocoa
palms, and on the other by the surf,
as it comes laundering in to assault
/ the walls of Morro Castle. Scattered
along the way are little hamlets each
with it's shops and drinking booths,
where in happier times the people of
San Juan came to pass the afternoons,
especially on Sundays. By and by
! the outer fort Of the peninsula-like
! island on which San Juan stands is
reached, and you cross quaint bridge
over the mangrove- bordered stream
to the mainland of Porto Rico. In
the distance you see Yunque, the
mountain king of the island, crowned
with clouds and holding court amid
a mighty retinue of hills-all clad in
hunters green, like the merry men of
Robin Hood. Passing the mangrove
swamp, if you chance to break an
overhanging branch you hear crack
ling of shells, as the oysters clinging
to the roots of the trees hastily shut
up shop at the first sign of disturb
ance. When the tide recedes some of
these curious tree-oysters are left high
and dry. The sight of them, hanging
with gaping mouths, reminds you of
Columbus surprise when he first saw
oysters growing on trees. History
tells us that he recalled Pliny's state
ment-"Pearls are generated from