We were just in the place where Columbus and his companions arrived on their expedition along the Cuban coast, to find out what countries lay beyond.

They sailed by day, and lay to at night, till their patience was worn out.

Another day or two of sailing would have brought them to where the coast trends northwards; but they turned back, and Columbus died in the belief that Cuba was the eastern extremity of the continent of Asia.
The Spaniards call these reefs "cayos," and we have altered the name to "keys," such as _Key West_ in Florida, and _Ambergris Key_ off Belize.
It was after sunset, and the phosphorescent animals were making the sea glitter like molten metal, when we reached the Isle of Pines, and steamed slowly up the river, among the mangroves that fringe the banks, to the village of Nueva Gerona, the port of the island.

It consisted of two rows of houses thatched with palm-leaves, and surrounded by wide verandahs; and between them a street of unmitigated mud.
As we walked through the place in the dusk, we could dimly discern the inhabitants sitting in their thatched verandahs, in the thinnest of white dresses, gossipping, smoking, and love-making, tinkling guitars, and singing seguidillas.

It was quite a Spanish American scene out of a romance.