A CUBAN SKETCH
By Harvey H. Hannah.
By Harvey H. Hannah.
By Harvey H. Hannah.
“Anita, my child, the Alcalde declared last night at the market place that the Americans would come to-day. I want you to braid fresh flowers in your hair as your mother used to do, then take my hand, child, and lead me down by the Plaza de Jesus, close by the fountain, that we may await the coming of our friends.”
“But, father, my dress is all torn and ragged, and you are old and blind; they will not expect such as we are to welcome them. They are soldiers, father, and I am afraid of soldiers since the Spanish guards beat you down at the Palace gate when you asked for alms.”
“Yes, I know, little one, they are soldiers, but they are American soldiers, American volunteers who have come to liberate Cuba; then let us hurry, child, and reach the Plaza before it is crowded.”
The old man was a Cuban reconcentrado, lame and blind and homeless, the miserable creature of Spanish cruelty. The child that led him was his grandchild, whose father was killed at “Royal Blanco,” defending the Cuban flag. She was a typical little creole beauty, with face as sweet as a poet’s dream, yet sorrow and poverty made her beauty pathetic. Leading the old blind man, she entered the crowded Plaza, and whispering to him, said: “Father, we are near the fountain, now, and your seat on the stone bench is vacant.”
“Yes, my Anita,” said the old man, making the sign of the cross, “I hear the gurgling of the water which the blessed Virgin gives to us poor people to drink; now let me sit down and we will wait. There seem to be many people on the Plaza to-day and from their voices they must indeed be happy.”
“Oh! yes, father,” said the child, “I have never seen so many people since General Wilder’s army was here; and all the ladies are dressed in white and carry wreaths of flowers on their arms; and so many, father, have little flags in their hands. I’ve never seen such flags before; they are striped with red and white, and one corner is blue like the sky, all full of silver stars. They are beautiful! and must mean something good for our poor Cuba.”
“Yes, Anita,” said the old man, as a strange light lit up his face, “it’s the flag of liberty, the American stars and stripes. Oh! that I could only see them; but what is the cheering, child? What is the cause of the people’s huzzas? Are the soldiers coming?”
“No, father, no,” said the little one; “but General Gomez is taking down the yellow flag of Spain from the City Hall and putting up your liberty flag—the one of the stars and stripes—in its place.”
“God be praised,” muttered the old man on the stone bench, feebly making the sign of the Cross. He leaned back as if he had fallen asleep, but it was a sleep from which no mortal could awake him. The old patriot’s heart had when he ceased to beat, with happiness, knew that his unhappy land was free.
Anita, thinking that he had fallen asleep, tried to arouse him, and cried out to him, “Father, don’t go to sleep—don’t you hear the music? And listen to the people’s cheer! Let us join in their cry, ‘Viva los Americanos!’ Oh, father, here they come! Look! look! all dressed in blue with that beautiful flag waving over them. See the ladies throw their wreaths of flowers on the ground before them! Wake up, dear father; please wake up. I will take the roses out of my hair and throw them, too.” And holding the hand of the old dead man on the rock bench at the fountain, little Anita threw her only rosebud to our Volunteers in Blue.
One soldier in the ranks saw the child and picked up the flower. It brought to him memories of one back in Tennessee. The next day the city officials reported the death and burial of an old pauper, with many others, but the world never knew that the old man’s heart stopped beating with happiness over his country’s freedom, and none inquired what had become of the dark-eyed child who held his hand. Anita was all alone in the street, but the Tennessean who picked up her rosebud watched after her, and she soon became the pet of the American camp. New dresses, new shoes, new friends, made in her a great change, and she was soon the idol of the boys in blue.
But again Anita stands at the fountain in the Plaza de Jesus all alone. The Tennessee Volunteers have been ordered home, they have done everything in their power to leave the child comfortable and in tender hands, but she follows them to the Plaza. Tears fill the eyes of the boys as they tell her good-bye; the flowers seem to wither in her hair, the smiles die on her lips, the old sorrow comes back in her eyes, her soldier friends are gone, the liberty flag is gone; the old rock bench by the fountain is empty; she is all alone on the Plaza to-night—poor little Anita. How much like Anita is Cuba, and how much like Cuba is Anita.