Читать книгу In Quest of El Dorado - Stephen Graham - Страница 16

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We enter the harbor of San Juan de Porto Rico and leisurely pass the old stone castle on the rock and the Spanish fortifications. They look to be several centuries older than they are and are not unlike the weather-beaten ruins at the entrance to old ports on the east of Scotland. They mounted Spanish guns but were without power to repel the North American invader of 1898. The island was then wrested from Spain and added territorially to the United States. Natives of Porto Rico are now ipso facto American citizens. It was novel to me to realize that a whole population of American citizens was without English and that many did not know George Washington from Abraham Lincoln.

The boat was hailed by the quarantine authorities and stopped. The Spanish captain, the doctor, and the officers all seemed very nervous. This was apparent to the American doctor and immigration officials, who strove to keep them calm. There was nothing to worry over—the inspection was only a formality. The crew and the passengers lined up and showed their arms to be free from skin disease. The "aliens" were vaccinated. The immigration officers were remarkably polite. They brought copies of the New York Times on board, and those who could read English glanced at the news. They sat us one by one in front of them and asked us all those funny questions—what is your nationality? what is your race? are you a polygamist? do you believe in subverting an existing government by force? have you ever been in jail? how much money have you got? where is your final destination? are you booked through? Imagine old Columbus being questioned by an immigration officer—there's something humorous about it. And Spaniards, whose forefathers manned the galleons of the Plate Fleet and lorded it on land and sea, now pay, in addition to ten dollars for passport visa, a head-tax of eight dollars ere they land. But all that is prose.

There is no poetry in it, as there is little poetry in the "White Books" of the United States—"lies, damned lies and statistics," as we say in England. The Americans are a light-hearted, humor-loving people, but they are dull and forbidding as officials. The Spanish, even in an old Spanish harbor, felt nervous.

At last the ship is free and moves upon the silken water towards the palm trees and the white houses and the brigantines and schooners and sailing boats beside the shore. Negroes all in white, with fat cigars in their mouths, handle our luggage, and in ten minutes the passengers are dispersed to hotels and to their homes.