To Cuba and Back by Richard Henry Dana, Jr.

All day there have been earnest looks to the northwest, for the smoke of the Cahawba. We are willing and desirous to depart. Our sights are seen, our business done, and our trunks packed. While we are sitting round our table after dinner, George, Mr. Miller's servant, comes in, with a bright countenance, and says "There is a steamer off. " We go to the roof, and there, far in the N. W., is a small but unmistakable cloud of steamer's smoke, just in the course the Cahawba would take. "Let us walk down to the Punta, and see her come in. " It is between four and five o'clock, and a pleasant afternoon, (there has been no rain or sign of rain in Cuba since we first saw it -- twelve days ago), and we saunter along, keeping in the shade, and sit down on the boards at the wharf, in front of the Presidio, near to where politicians are garroted, and watch the progress of the steamer, amusing ourselves at the same time with seeing the Negroes swimming and washing horses in the shallow water off the bank. A Yankee flag flies from the signal-post of the Morro, but the Punta keeps the steamer from our sight. It draws towards six o'clock, and no vessel can enter after dark. We begin to fear she will not reach the point in season. Her cloud of smoke rises over the Punta, the city clocks strike six, the Morro strikes six, the trumpets bray out, the sun is down, the signals on the Morro are lowering -- "She'll miss it! " -- "No -- there she is! " -- and, round the Punta comes her sharp black head, and then her full body, her toiling engine and smoking chimney and peopled decks, and flying stars and stripes -- Good luck to her! and, though the signal is down, she pushes on and passes the forts without objection, and is lost among the shipping.

My companions are so enthusiastic that they go on board; but I return to my hotel and take a volante, and make my last calls, and take my last looks, and am ready to leave in the morning. In half an hour, the arrival of the Cahawba is known over all Havana, and the news of the loss of her consort, the Black Warrior, in a fog off New York -- passengers and crew and specie safe. My companions come back. They met Capt. Bullock on the pier, and took tea with him in La Dominica. He sails at two o'clock tomorrow.