The Civil Guards and Their Crimes—Horrible Murder of EightInnocent Men—A Man After Weyler's Own Heart—How the Spanish Gain"Victories"—Life, Liberty and Property Sacrificed—The War Not aRace War—Resistance to the Bitter End.
Cuba has been under martial law for over fifty years, and its enforcement by the Civil guards (as the officers appointed by the Spanish government are called) has been responsible for innumerable outrages against the lives and property of the inhabitants. These officials have been guilty of every crime in the calendar, but protected by their positions they have escaped legal punishment, and it has only been on occasions when, driven to desperation, the people have acted as judges and executioners by taking the law into their own hands that any redress has been possible.
If for any reason these guards wish to persecute a man, the fact that he is a non-combatant is no protection to him, nor to his family. They have been the means of adding to the ranks of the insurrectionists, for frequently the man who has seen his relatives and friends shot before his eyes, to satisfy some personal spite, or in order that some officer may get credit for a battle, has left his fields and gone to strike a manly blow for his country and his home.
The story of eight peaceable white men, who were shot without trial, at Campo Florida, near Havana, will serve as an example of the work of these fiends.
These poor fellows were arrested, their arms were tied, and they were taken to the police station. One of them had just completed a coffin for a woman, and he was dragged to the station with a rope about his neck. The next day, without even the pretense of a trial, they were taken two at a time into a ravine near the fort, where a trench had been lately dug, and in spite of the most pitiful pleas for mercy, they were shot down in cold blood by the cruel guards, who seemed to take fiendish delight in their work of blood.
The following statement was seat by Cuban, patriots, with the request that it be given the widest publicity possible, among the people of the United States:
"If the government that unhappily rules the destinies of this unfortunate country should be true to the most rudimentary principles of justice and morality, Colonel Jull, who has been recently appointed Military Governor of Matanzas province, should be in the galleys among criminals. It is but a short time since he was relieved by General Martinez Campos of the military command at Cienfuegos, as he had not once engaged any of the insurgent forces, but vented all his ferocious instincts against innocent and inoffensive peasants.
"In Yaguaramas, a small town near Cienfuegos, he arrested as suspects and spies Mr. Antonio Morejon, an honest and hard-working man, and Mr. Ygnacio Chapi, who is well advanced in years, and almost blind. Not being able to prove the charge against them, as they were innocent, he ordered Major Moreno, of the Barcelona battalion, doing garrison duty at Yaguaramas, to kill them with the machete and have them buried immediately. Major Moreno answered that he was a gentleman, who had come to fight for the integrity of his country, and not to commit murder. This displeased the colonel sorely, but, unfortunately, a volunteer sergeant, with six others, was willing to execute the order of the colonel, and Morejon and Chapi were murdered without pity.
"The order of Jull was executed in the most cruel manner. It horrifies to even think of it. Mr. Chapi, who knew the ways of Colonel Jull, on being awakened at three o'clock in the morning, and notified by the guard that he and Morejon had to go out, suspected what was to come, and told his companion to cry out for help as soon as they were taken out of the fort. They did so, but those who were to execute the order of Jull were neither moved nor weakened in their purpose.
"On the contrary, at the first screams of Chapi and Morejon they threw a lasso over their heads, and pulled at it by the ends. In a few moments they fell to the ground choked to death. They were dragged on the earth, without pity, to the place where they were buried. All this bloody scene was witnessed by Jull from a short distance. Providence had not willed that so much iniquity should remain hidden forever. In the hurry the grave where these two innocent men were buried was not dug deep enough, and part of the rope with which they were choked remained outside. A neighbor, looking for a lost cow, saw the rope, took hold of it, and, on pulling, disinterred the head of one of the victims. He was terror stricken, and immediately gave notice to the judge, who, on ascertaining that the men had been killed by order of Colonel Jull, suspended proceedings.
"The neighbors and all the civil and military authorities know everything that has been related here, but such is the state of affairs on the island that General Weyler has no objection to appointing this monster, Colonel Jull, Military Governor of Matanzas. Such deeds as those enumerated are common. The people of the town of Matanzas, with Jull as Governor, and Arolas at the head of a column, will suffer in consequence of their pernicious and bloody instincts.
"That the readers may know in part who General Arolas is, it may be well to relate what has happened in the Mercedes estate, near Colon. It having come to his knowledge that a small body of rebels was encamped on the sugar estate Mercedes, of Mr. Carrillo, General Arolas went to engage them, but the rebels, who were few in numbers, retreated. Much vexed at not being able to discharge one shot at them, he made prisoners of three workmen who were out in the field herding the animals of the estate and without any formality of trial shot them. When the bodies were taken to the Central they were recognized, and to cover his responsibility somewhat, General Arolas said that when he challenged them they ran off, and at the first discharge of musketry they fell dead."
Life, liberty and property have all been sacrificed by these determined patriots for the sake of the cause they love. Their towns have been burned, their homes pillaged, their wives and children starved, and in many sections of the island nothing but ruin and waste meets the eye. Even their sick and wounded are not safe from the oppressor's sword, and wherever the insurgents have a hospital, they have a garrison to protect it. Each of the six provinces has an insurgent hospital, with a staff of physicians and nurses, and a detachment of the army.
The largest of these lies in that part of Santa Clara called the Isthmus of Zapata. It is a wild, swampy region, through which the natives alone can distinguish those precarious tracks, where the slightest deviation means being engulfed in the treacherous morass.
A prominent Cuban, who may be said to speak for his entire race, makes this declaration:
"The population of the island is, in round numbers, 1,600,000, of which less than 200,000 are Spaniards, some 500,000 are colored Cubans, and over 800,000 white Cubans. Of the Spaniards, a small but not inconsiderable fraction, although not taking an active part in the defense of our cause, sympathize with, and are supporting it in various ways. Of the Cubans, whether colored or white, all are in sympathy with the revolution, with the exception of a few scattered individuals who hold positions under the Spanish government or are engaged in enterprises which cannot thrive without it. All of the Cubans who have had the means and the opportunity to join the revolutionary army have done so, while those who have been compelled for one reason or another to remain in the cities are co-operating to the best of their abilities. If the people of the small section of the western part of the island, which yet remains quiet, were supplied with arms and ammunition they would rise, to a man, within twenty-four hours.
"This revolution of the whole Cuban people against the government of Spain is what the Spanish officials are pleased to describe as a disturbance caused by a few adventurers, robbers, bandits, and assassins! But they have a purpose in so characterizing it, and it is no other than to justify, in some way, the war of extermination which the Prime Minister of Spain himself has declared will be waged by his government against the Cuban people. They are not yet satisfied with the rivers of human blood with which in times past they inundated the fields of Italy, of the Low Countries, of our continent of America, and only a few years ago, of Cuba itself. The Spanish newspaper of Havana, 'El Pueblo,' urges the Spanish soldiers to give no quarter, to spare no one, to kill all, all without exception, until they shall have torrents of Cuban blood in which to bathe themselves. It is well. The Cubans accept the challenge, but they will not imitate their tyrants and cover themselves with infamy by waging a savage war. The Cubans respect the lives of their Spanish prisoners, they do not attack hospitals, and they cure and assist with the same care and solicitude with which they cure and assist their own, the wounded Spaniards who may fall into their hands. They have done so from the beginning of the war, and they will not change their humane policy.
"The Spanish officials have also attempted to convince you that the Cuban war is a war of races. Of what races? Of the black against the white? It is not true, and the facts plainly show that there is nothing of the kind. Nor is the war waged by Cubans against the Spaniards as such. No. The war is waged against the government of Spain, and only against the government of Spain and the officials and a few monopolists, who, under it, live and thrive upon the substance of the Cubans. We have no ill feeling against the thousands of Spaniards who industriously and honestly make their living in Cuba.
"But with the Spanish government we will make no peace, and we will make no compromise. Under its rule there will be nothing for our people but oppression and misery. For years and years the Cuban people have patiently suffered, and in the interests of the colony, as well as in the interests of the metropolis, have earnestly prayed for reforms. Spain has not only turned a deaf ear to the prayers, but instead of reforming the most glaring abuses, has allowed them to increase and flourish, until such a point has been reached that the continuation of Spanish rule means for the Cuban people utter destruction."
Importance of the American Consulate at Havana in a CriticalTime—General Fitzhugh Lee the Man for the Place—Sketch of theLife of Lee—A Nation's Confidence in Its Popular Hero—How HeLeft Havana and How He Promised to Return Wife and Family ofGeneral Lee—His Place During the Early Period of the War.
Never was there a more genuine and typical American gentleman in a difficult position where a genuine and typical American gentleman was needed, than Fitzhugh Lee, the American consul-general at Havana during the most critical time prior to the outbreak of our war with Spain. The Cuban consul generalship is an office of much greater importance than others of the same name in other countries where diplomatic representatives are maintained. It includes the obligations of diplomacy as well as those of commerce, and Lee was the man for both.
His predecessor in the office, Ramon Williams, had held the position for many years and it was recognized by him as well as by the authorities at Washington that a change should be made because of the unusual demands upon the office. His long and faithful service in the tropical country had undermined his health so that his energies were lessened thereby, at a time when they were most needed for the safety of American interests.
It was in the spring of 1896 that President Cleveland, believing that a man of unusual ability should represent the United States at Havana, chose Fitzhugh Lee for the post. The selection was approved from the first by everyone who knew him, and not many months had passed until General Lee became an idol and a hero of the whole American people.
His Havana record has been no surprise to those who knew of his exploits during the war, or of his family. Blood will tell, and it has told in the case of General Lee. His family has always been famous in American history. How could the grandson of "Lighthorse Harry, the Revolutionary hero," or the nephew of Robert E. Lee, be anything else but courageous and possessed of tact and common sense?
The son of a naval officer, he preferred the army as a career. Graduating from West Point, he fought on the frontier for six years before the opening of the Rebellion, and was engaged in several desperate encounters with the Comanche Indians in Texas. On one of these occasions he was pierced through the lungs by an arrow, but he lived to tell the story. On another occasion he grappled with a big Indian in a hand-to-hand encounter, threw his antagonist on the ground and killed him.
Though only twenty-seven years of age, Lee was an instructor in cavalry tactics at West Point when the war broke out. He "followed his State" into the secession movement. His war record is a matter of pride to every Virginian. The dashing young officer was an ideal trooper, fearing nothing and loved by his men. He was modest, too. After some brilliant movement of personal valor his brigade formed in a body and determined to serenade him at his headquarters, expecting, of course, a speech. But Lee got an inkling of the matter, and when he saw them coming he slipped out of his tent and hid in the bushes. After the disappointed troopers had called for him in vain and dispersed he peeped furtively from his hiding place, and in a subdued tone asked, "Have they gone?"
General Lee possessed remarkable composure in battle. He never got the least rattled under the most trying conditions, except at Saylor's Creek, on the retreat from Petersburg; he never betrayed anxiety, and, though often under a rattling fire, no one ever saw him dodge. This cannot be said of many of the bravest men. Sometimes a bullet will unexpectedly whizz close to one's head, and the impulse to dodge is almost irresistible, though it never did anybody any good.
One of the officers with him said once that the only time he had been moved by the enemy's fire was at the battle of Winchester. He and General Early met under an apple tree near the summit of a hill and in a very exposed place. There was no firing at the time, but while the two generals, still on their horses, were intently examining a map, one shot was fired. It fell short and they paid no attention to it. But lo! another came, struck the apple tree just above their heads, and as the apples rained down on them they concluded the map could be better examined in a less exposed position—a conclusion in which all others agreed with remarkable unanimity. And nobody stopped to get any apples.
General Lee is a superb horseman. He rode a splendid mare named Nellie. She had the form, the strength, the nimbleness of limb, the tapering neck, the alert poise of the head, the bright and intelligent eyes that made her a model worthy to bear any master. She was all grace and beauty. When the confederate columns were broken in the same battle and the rout began, for it was little less, General Lee was at a very exposed point. The fire of thirty pieces of artillery was directed against it. The air was full of exploding shells; horses were plunging about on three legs, neighing piteously for a place of refuge; others were disemboweled by the furious shot; others were loose, running to and fro, bewildered by the terrible havoc, while the mutilated bodies of men could be seen on every hand; numbers who were crippled were hobbling away, and all seemed doomed to death. It was here that the beautiful Nellie was gored by one fragment of shell and her master's leg torn by another.
He was noted for his geniality and jollity. He loved humor and fun, and got all there was to be had in those trying times. But his cheerfulness failed at Appomattox. There he cried.
After the war had ended, General Lee settled in Stafford County as a farmer and miller. His life was the quiet and uneventful one of a country gentleman, caring for nothing but his wife, whom he married in 1871, and his children. About 1875 he began to take an active part in politics, and he attended the national convention of 1876 as a delegate. In 1885 he was elected governor of Virginia. It was then that he again became conspicuous. General Lee headed the southern division of the inauguration parade, and his handsome presence and splendid horsemanship forced the men on the sidewalks to cheer him with more vim than they did anyone else. A similar demonstration occurred when, four years later, General Lee led the Virginia troops in the Washington centennial parade in New York to the stirring tune of "Dixie." On both of these occasions he sat in the identical saddle which his uncle, General Robert E. Lee, had used on his familiar gray war horse, Traveler. Who could occupy it more worthily? Any one who has seen "Fitz" Lee mounted like a centaur on a Virginia thoroughbred is certain to have in memory ever afterward an ideal figure of a knightly "man on horseback." Afoot he is not so imposing, being only of medium stature, and, of late years, quite portly. He has a fine head and face, with frank steel blue eyes and a ruddy complexion, set off by his now almost white hair, mustache and imperial. His bearing is alert and military. Altogether, he does not look, and probably does not feel, his sixty-two years.
During Mr. Cleveland's second term he was made collector of internal revenue at Lynchburg, Va.
Once settled in his position in Havana, General Lee's fame began to multiply. The American opinion of him was voiced immediately after the destruction of the Maine, by L. P. Sigsbee, the brother of the commander of that ill-fated ship, when he said: "There's a man down there looking after the interests of this country who cannot be blinded. He has more sand than anybody I know of, and if there's anything treacherous in this explosion we'll know of it without delay. The man I mean is General Fitzhugh Lee."
The same thought occurred to every American who had watched his career. From first to last everybody had confidence in his Americanism, his bravery and his cool-headedness. He held his office through merit alone, no politician gaining any success in the effort to win from him that position of distinction and profit, after the change of administration when President McKinley assumed the executive chair. The nation recognized that he was first an American and an interference with him on partisan grounds would not have been tolerated.
Jealous of American honor, and firm in insisting upon the rights of his countrymen, he has always kept cool. Courteous and polite as well as courageous, he has never blustered and he has won the respect and admiration of the Spaniards as well as their fear.
Throughout his service in Cuba, General Lee's figure was a familiar one in Havana, and even by those most antagonistic to him because of their official position, he was heartily admired. No matter what the threat of violence from hot-headed Spaniards, when the relations were most strained between the two countries, General Lee never admitted the slightest danger to himself and refused to accept any guard except that which he himself was able to maintain for himself. Upon the streets and in the hotels and cafes he was exempt from disrespect by the sheer force of his splendid personality. And never until the last day of his stay in Havana when all diplomatic relations were severed, did the Spanish authorities in that city omit any of the forms of courtesy.
On that day, when in company with the British Consul General he went to bid farewell to Captain General Blanco, the latter refused to see him upon the excuse that he was too busy. When the homeward voyage was actually begun, in the little boat that carried to the steamer the Consul General and the last newspaper correspondents who remained in Havana till the end, the malice of the Spanish onlookers at the docks could restrain itself no longer. With imprecations and scornful and insulting epithets they raised their voices against him. With proper dignity General Lee ignored it all, except to say in one definite last message, that he would be back again before long with troops to stand by him.
In his office in the consulate at Havana, General Lee gained the admiration and the confidence of every American who had occasion to meet him. Brave as an American should be, and equally gentle and tender-hearted, he was the man for the place. The Spanish outrages upon American citizens roused in him but two sentiments. One was sympathy and grief for those who suffered. The other was indignation and enmity against those who were guilty. To the extent of all his power he guarded and aided those for whom that first sentiment was roused. He left Cuba with an accumulation of detestation for Spanish outrages in that unhappy island against Americans and Cubans, that would stimulate to deeds of valor through whatever warfare might follow in which he should be a leader. With a great heart, a brilliant mind and a magnificent physique, General Lee combined all the qualities which made him worthy of the American pride which was centered upon him.
Spanish Hatred of the American Nation—Instances of Injustice—The Case of Dr. Ruiz—His Death in a Dungeon—Julio Sanguilly—Action of the United States Senate in His Behalf—A Correspondentin Morro Castle—Walter Dygert's Experiences—General Lee ShowsHis Mettle in the Case of Charles Scott.
Not content with their cruel and inhuman treatment of Cuban patriots, the Spanish officials have seemed to take special satisfaction in imprisoning and even murdering American citizens on the slightest pretext. The object of their most bitter hatred is the insurgent, but if they are to be judged by their deeds, it would appear that the American occupies a close second place in their black-list.
Time and again our government has been compelled to interfere to save the lives of its citizens, and unfortunately this interference has on several occasions been too late. It is not possible to present a list of all the men and women of American birth who have lost life, liberty and property by Spanish authority, from the massacre of the crew of the Virginius to the wrecking of the Maine, but a few instances may be mentioned, which will prove conclusively that the retribution, of which the glorious victory in Manila bay was but the commencement, came none too soon.
One of the most flagrant of these outrages was the imprisonment of Dr. Ricardo Ruiz, a Cuban by birth, but a naturalized citizen of the United States. He was a dentist by profession, having studied in a Pennsylvania dental college, and after receiving his diploma, he returned to his native country to practice his profession.
He was accused of being in sympathy with the revolutionists, arrested and kept in prison for two years, when he died, probably from violence. In the following letter, written from Havana, regarding the case, will be seen the reasons for this supposition:
"Ruiz died, according to the surgeons, from congestion of the brain, caused by a blow or blows. When General Lee and Mr. Calhoun visited the jail in Guanabacoa, they were shown the cell in which the Spanish say that Ruiz died. The guard explained to General Lee and Mr. Calhoun that he heard thumping on the inside of the door, and when he opened it and went in, Ruiz was running at the heavy door and butting it with his head. Ruiz had only one wound on the top of his head. Had he butted this door, as the jailer says, his scalp must necessarily have been lacerated in several places."
Julio Sanguilly is another American citizen who was tried for treason, and sentenced to life imprisonment. This case attracted a great deal of attention in the United States, and a resolution was passed by the Committee on Foreign Relations of the Senate, making a demand on the Spanish government for his release. During the debate on this resolution, Senator Daniel, of Virginia, said:
"Two years ago yesterday, Julio Sanguilly, an American citizen, was thrown into prison. Two years have gone by and this government has done practically nothing for this citizen. Great Britain would have released him as soon as one of her battleships could reach Havana. He has been brutally treated and condemned on unsworn testimony before military tribunals. This country and all civilization have been disgraced by the treatment meted out to this unfortunate man. Every citizen of this country would have patriotically applauded the President if he had sent a fleet of American battleships and compelled the release, of this American citizen, whose country has been insulted by the treatment accorded to him and to our representative in Cuba."
The Prime Minister at Madrid, realizing that trouble of a serious nature was likely to come from this affair, cabled Weyler to discharge the prisoner from custody, and banish him from the island.
Sanguilly immediately came to the United States, where he was warmly received by his friends, and he has since been actively engaged in work for Cuba's freedom.
Charles Scott, an employe of the American Gas Company, was arrested at Regla, charged with having Cuban postage stamps in his possession. He was in solitary confinement, in a damp, empty cell, five feet by eleven, for fourteen days. Once during his imprisonment he was left for two days without even a drop of water. General Lee, then United States Consul at Havana, cabled to Washington, asking that arrangements be made to send war vessels to Havana, in case of necessity, and declaring that unless his requests were complied with, he would leave the island. In this affair, as in many others, General Lee proved that he was the right man in the right place, for it was due to his efforts in Scott's behalf that he was finally given his liberty.
Mr. Charles Michaelson, a newspaper correspondent, and his interpreter, were imprisoned, in Morro Castle as suspects. It required fine detective work to discover this fact, for they were missing for some time before it was definitely known that they were in the clutches of Weyler, but the "Butcher" finally admitted it, and after a short delay was persuaded by the United States Consul to release them. Mr. Michaelson's treatment was almost brutal in its nature.
The interior of the castle is like a dungeon, and he was compelled to sleep on the floor, as a hammock sent to him by friends outside was not given to him till the day of his release. His food was thrown to him through the bars of the door, and meals sent in to him were eaten by the guards. Rats were his constant companions, and when, occasionally, he would sink into a light slumber, he would be suddenly awakened to find one of the animals in his hair, another burrowing under his coat, and still another making a meal on his shoes. On one occasion he threw a shoe at a rat, which struck the door of his cell, whereupon the guard threatened to punish him for a breach of prison discipline, the noise being against the rules.
Walter Dygart relates his experience while the enforced guest of the Spanish government. It is evident that the keeper of a prison in Cuba has a profitable occupation.
"A child may weep at brambles' smart,And maidens when their lovers part;But woe worth a country whenShe sees the tears of bearded men."
"These lines by the poet, Scott, recurred to me when I saw aged men weeping and heart-broken at being separated from their families and shut up in this hell. But why does the Spanish government shut up helpless cripples and non-combatants? This is a question that puzzled me for some time, but I finally solved it, and will answer it after I have described the food and water.
"A little after six in the morning we were, each of us, given a very small cup of coffee. The first meal of the day, if it could be called a meal, came after nine o'clock. It consisted of a little rice, which was generally dirty, a few small potatoes, boiled with their skins on, and often partly rotten, a little piece of boiled salt beef, or beef cut up in small bits, with soup, just about half enough, and of the poorest quality. The meat was often spoiled and unfit for anything but a vulture to eat. The second and last meal of the day came about four in the afternoon, and was the same as the first.
"I had no opportunity to count the prisoners, but I learned that there were about 180 on the average confined there. I learned as definitely as I could, without seeing the contract, that a certain party had the contract to feed these prisoners at twenty-five cents each per day. Thus he gets $45 a day, and I learned that the food costs him only $7 to $8 a day, and, as some of the prisoners did the cooking, his profit can be readily seen. On such a contract he could afford to divide with the judge and army officers to keep the prison full."
The Southern Baptist Missionary Society has a mission in the city of Havana, and it was formerly in charge of Rev. Alberto J. Diaz, whose home is in the United States. Ever loyal to his flag, and believing in the institutions of his country, he lost no opportunity to preach civil as well as religious liberty, and though often warned to desist, by the Spanish authorities, he continued the course which he regarded as his solemn duty. He gives particulars of his arrest as follows:
"About three o'clock one morning I was aroused by a knock at the door of my house, and when I opened it I saw some fifty or sixty Spanish soldiers, with their guns leveled at me. I quickly shut the door and talked through it. The captain said he must search the house, and I consented to let three men come in. They spent seven hours looking through two trunks full of sermons, and other papers, and when the search was completed they had found no incriminating documents."
Nevertheless, both Dr. Diaz and his brother were imprisoned in Morro Castle. They were tried for treasonable utterances and sentenced to death. Fortunately one of the sentries of the prison was a member of Dr. Diaz's church, and through his kind offices, a message was sent to the president of the Southern Baptist Missionary Society in Atlanta. He communicated with the authorities at Washington. This resulted in the execution being postponed, and the brothers were accorded more humane treatment than they had received heretofore.
Dr. Diaz now addressed a telegram to our Secretary of State, giving the particulars of the arrest, trial and conviction, and appealing to him to demand their immediate release. The message was smuggled on board a boat bound for Key West, and Weyler, hearing of it, at once cabled to Washington that Diaz had been released. He, with his brother and his family, was compelled to leave the island by the first steamer, and they returned to the United States.
In our treaty with Spain, which was in force up to the time of the declaration of war, was the following clause:
"No citizen of the United States, residing in Spain, her adjacent islands, or her ultramarine possessions, charged with acts of sedition, treason, or conspiracy against the institutions, the public security, the integrity of the territory, or against the supreme government, or any other crime whatsoever, shall be subject to trial by any exceptionable tribunal, but exclusively by the ordinary jurisdiction, except in the case of being captured with arms in hand."
This treaty was supposed to protect American citizens from trial by martial law, but it was disregarded by Spanish officials in Cuba time and again, and, in fact, up to the time of General Lee's arrival in Havana, an American citizen had very little advantage over a Cuban insurgent, when the safety of his property or his person was concerned.
A Great Leader in a Great Cause—A Modern Judas—The Worthy Sonof a Noble Sire—The Farewell Letter—An Estimate of Maceo'sCharacter—Rejoicing Among Spanish Supporters—Their MistakenBelief—Patriotic Ardor of the Insurgents.
In the death of Antonio Maceo the Cuban cause lost one of its strongest defenders. Besides being a man of acute intellect, and a general of great military skill, he had the rare gift of personal magnetism, and no one ever followed his leadership who did not feel for him the devotion which often gives courage to cowards and makes heroes in the time of need.
That his death was due to treachery there is little doubt. Doctor Zertucha, his physician and trusted friend, is accused of having betrayed him to the Spaniards. An Insurgent officer, who was with the general when he received his death wound, says that they heard gun shots in the vicinity of Punta Brava. Zertucha galloped into the brush a short distance and returned, calling to them to follow him. Maceo at once put spurs to his horse, and, followed by his aides, rode swiftly after the physician, who plunged into the thick growth on the side of the road. They had ridden only a short distance, when Zertucha suddenly bent low in his saddle and swerved sharply to one side, galloping away like mad. Almost at the same moment a volley was fired by a party of Spanish soldiers hidden in the dense underbrush, and Maceo and four of his aides dropped out of their saddles mortally wounded.
The single survivor, the one who tells this story, managed to make his way back to his own men, and brought them up to the scene of the tragedy, but the bodies had been removed, and when they were finally discovered, they had been mutilated in a most shocking manner. It was then learned that one of the victims was Francisco Gomez, a son of the Commander-in-Chief of the Cuban army, who was one of Maceo's aides. It seems that his wound was not necessarily a fatal one, but he refused to leave his dying commander, and rather than to fall alive in the hands of his foes, he committed suicide. This letter was found in his hand:
Dear Mamma, Papa, Dear Brothers: I die at my post. I did not want to abandon the body of General Maceo, and I stayed with him. I was wounded in two places, and as I did not fall into the hands of the enemy I have killed myself. I am dying. I die pleased at being in the defense of the Cuban cause. I wait for you in the other world. Your son,
Torro in San Domingo.
(Friends or foes, please transmit to its destination, as requested by one dead.)
Dr. Zertucha surrendered to a Spanish officer shortly after Maceo was killed. He said that the dead leader was discouraged by the continual failures of the insurgents to make any headway against their foes; that, on account of his color, the subordinate officers in the Cuban ranks did not show proper respect for him, or obedience to his commands, and that he had purposely placed himself in range of the enemy's rifles, deliberately seeking death.
These statements are manifestly false, and go far to confirm the belief that the coward who made them had a guilty knowledge concerning the manner of the death of the brave soldier he maligned.
A gentleman who made Maceo's acquaintance in Havana, prior to the present insurrection, gives this estimate of his character:
"Maceo was a natural politician in that he had the genius of divining popular opinion, and taking the leadership of popular movements. He was in Havana at that time sounding men and scheming for the present revolution. He was always of the sunniest disposition, closely attaching all people to him, and a man of the strictest moral integrity. He never drank wine, he never smoked, and that in a land where tobacco is as common as potatoes in Ireland, and he never played cards. He had a great abhorrence of men who drank to excess, and would not tolerate them about him.
"He always dressed, when in Havana, in the most finished style. His massive frame—he was about five feet ten inches in height and unusually broad shouldered—was displayed to advantage always in frock coat, closely buttoned, and he usually wore a silk hat. He was neat, even to fastidiousness, in his dress. He usually carried a cane.
"When Maceo took the field, however, he roughed it with his men, and dressed accordingly. When in battle he carried a long-barreled 38-caliber revolver with a mother-of-pearl handle, and a Toledo blade made in the form of a machete. The handle of this machete was finely wrought silver and turquoise shell, and had four notches in it, into which the fingers could easily fit. Maceo always had three horses with him on his marches, the favorite being a big white one."
Probably no event in the war up to that time caused such general satisfaction among the supporters of the existing government, both in Cuba and in Spain, as the death of Maceo. When Jose Marti was killed, they were certain that the loss of that leader would compel the insurrectionists to abandon hopes of success. On the contrary, it inspired them with greater determination than before. But the Spanish sympathizers learned nothing from that experience, and when it was definitely known that Maceo was no longer to be feared, they were unanimous in the belief that the end of the struggle was at hand. Subsequent events have shown how little they knew of the kind of men with whom they were at war.
"The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church," and every Cuban patriot who has fallen in this conquest of extermination has but added fuel to the fires of liberty, which are sweeping Spanish rule from the island, leaving the tyrants nothing but the ashes of their hopes.
The Object of the Plan—Slaves of Spain—The Massacre of theInnocents—Deserted Fields and Farms—A Fearful Mortality—TheCubans the Oldest Americans of Caucasian Blood—Women and ChildrenDoomed to Die—An Appeal for Help—Our Manifest Duty.
When General Weyler promulgated his policy of reconcentration he hypocritically claimed that it was intended to protect the non-combatant peasantry of the island, but his sole object was to compel them to put themselves wholly in the power of the Spanish officials. No one knew better than the "Butcher" that the Cuban peasant, no matter what he might publicly profess, was bound with all his heart to the cause of free Cuba, and that he never lost an opportunity to aid the insurgents by every means in his power. And when he formulated the plan compelling them to abandon their homes in the rural districts, and to herd like sheep in the cities and towns which were still under his rule, it was to prevent them from giving aid and information to the rebels. He must have known that the enforcement of this edict meant certain starvation to thousands of the inoffensive inhabitants, but no thought of the misery and injustice which he thus wrought upon them deterred him in his determination to crush the unhappy people, and keep them still the slaves of Spain.
The order found a very large proportion of the working classes absolutely destitute of money, and the men, knowing there was no work for them in the towns, hesitated about going with their families, while they did not dare to remain in their poor homes, where, at least, they could be sure of food. The consequence was that thousands of homes were deserted. The women and children were sent to the towns to look out for themselves as best they could, while the men joined the insurgent army. In a number of cases wives refused to be separated from their husbands, and followed them into the ranks of the revolutionists, where they fought like the Amazons of old. Some of them found a melancholy pleasure in nursing the sick and wounded, others fought side by side with the men, and the fear of death was not half as strong as the thoughts of the horrors which awaited them at their homes, or among the reconcentrados in the towns. Marriages have been solemnized, and children have been born upon the fields of battle. Spain is nursing a forlorn hope when she counts on subduing patriots like these.
Hon. C. W. Russell, an attache of the Department of Justice of the United States, went to Cuba shortly after the order for reconcentration went into effect. It was his purpose to learn by personal observation how much or how little truth there was in the reports that had come to this country regarding the terrible suffering among the reconcentrados. He states the result of his investigations as follows:
"I spent just two weeks in Cuba, visited Havana, went south to Jaruco, southwest to Guines, northeast to Matanzas, eastwardly about two hundred miles through the middle of the country to San Domingo, Santa Clara and Sagua la Grande. I visited Marianao, a short distance west of Havana, and saw along the railroad thirty or forty towns or stations. In Havana I visited the Fossos, the hospital prison at Aldecoa, where I talked with the father of Evangelina Cisneros, and a place called the Jacoba. I found reconcentrados at all three places, and begging everywhere about the streets of Havana.
"The spectacle at the Fossos and Jacoba houses, of women and children emaciated to skeletons and suffering from diseases produced by starvation, was sickening. In Sagua I saw some sick and emaciated little girls in a children's hospital, started three days before by charitable Cubans, and saw a crowd of miserable looking reconcentrados with tin buckets and other receptacles getting small allowances of food doled out to them in a yard. In the same city, in an old sugar warehouse, I saw stationed around the inside walls the remnants of twenty or thirty Cuban families.
"In one case the remnant consisted of two children, seven or eight years old. In another case, where I talked to the people in broken Spanish, there were four individuals, a mother, a girl of fourteen, and two quite small girls. The smallest was then suffering from malarial fever. The next had the signs on her hands, with which I had become familiar, of having had that dreadful disease, the beri-beri. These four were all that order of concentration had left alive of eleven. At San Domingo, where two railroads join, the depot was crowded with women and children, one of the latter, as I remember, being swollen up with the beri-beri, begging in the most earnest way of the few passengers.
"San Domingo is little more than a railroad station in times of peace, but at present it has a considerable population, living in cabins thatched with the tops of royal palm trees, composed of the survivors of the reconcentrados. The huts are arranged close together in a little clump, and the concentration order required and apparently still requires these people to live within a circle of small block houses, commonly dignified in the dispatches by the name of forts. They had no work to do, no soil to till, no seed to plant, and only begging to live on. I do not know the exact measure of the dead-line circle drawn around them, but there was certainly nothing within it upon which a human being could subsist. Practically they were prisoners. At every one of the numerous stopping places along the road a similar collection of huts could be seen, and at most of them beggars, often nice looking women and beautiful children, invaded the cars. Between the stations, although I traveled always by daylight, as the trains do not run at night, and I was observing as carefully as possible, I saw no signs of the reconcentrados going away from the forts. If they had gone, it takes seed, instruments, land, and three or four months to raise the vegetable which could be soonest produced, and nowhere away from the block houses was there any sign of vegetables growing. Near the larger towns the circle of concentration seemed to be somewhat larger, and some planting of vegetables, tobacco, etc., seemed to be going on. At this a very few persons, possibly some of the reconcentrados, found employment.
"All along the railroad, as far as could be seen, were stretches of the most fertile and beautiful country, with very few trees, even on the low mountains, and most of these royal palms. I saw many dozens of burned canefields, and one evening, going from Guines to Havana, saw the sky all lighted up along the road with fires, principally of the tall grass of the country, but partly of cane. The whole land was lying perfectly idle, except that I saw two or three or four sugar mills where cane was growing, but in all such instances the mill and cane were surrounded by forts, manned by soldiers, who are paid, I was told, by the owners. Except in the cities, I saw no indication that any relief whatever was being afforded to the starving people. Neither in Havana nor elsewhere did any priest, religious woman or other person seem to be paying any attention to the wants of the starving, except that at the Fossos, and some other places, charitable Cubans were nursing the sick. The Church, being a state institution, was, so far as I could see, leaving the victims without either bodily or spiritual relief. In fact, the general air of indifference to suffering which seemed to prevail everywhere was astonishing.
"As the country was stripped of its population by the order of concentration, it is easy to believe that 400,000 persons were gathered behind the forts without being given food, medicine, or means of any kind to earn a living, except where in the larger cities some few could find employment in menial offices. Judging by the orphans I was shown at Jacoba, Aidecoa and elsewhere, and from all I saw and heard, I believe that half of the 400,000 have died as the result of starvation. I know from the official register of the city of Santa Clara, which ordinarily has a population of about 14,000, that the deaths for November were over 1,000, and the number of deaths for December was over 900, and showed an increase, considering the loss of the former 1,000, from its total population. The exact figures for December are 971. At that city the government was distributing 500 single rations per day out of a total appropriation for the purpose of $15,000. This was not relief, but a mere prolongation of the sufferings of a small part of the reconcentrados of the city.
"So far as any evidence of relief was visible to my eyes or was even heard of by me in all my talks on the island, the surviving 200,000 people are in the same condition and have the same prospect of starvation before them as had their kindred who have died. There is as much need of medicine now as food, and they are getting neither. The reason given by the Spanish sympathizers in Cuba is that the troops must be first fed, and it is certain that many of the soldiers are sick and suffering for want of proper food. I saw many myself that looked so. I was informed on all sides that they had not been paid for eight months, and that most of the civil officials had not been paid for a similar period. It is, therefore, most probable that Spain is practically unable to supply the millions which are immediately necessary to prevent the death of most of the surviving reconcentrados, but this leads to political questions, which I desire to avoid.
"I wish merely to state in such a way as to be convincing that in consequence of the concentration of the people, some 200,000 Cubans are daily suffering and dying from diseases produced by a lack of nourishment, in the midst of what I think must be the most fertile country in the world, and that something must be done for them on a large scale, and at once, or a few months will see their extermination. So far as I could see, they are a patient, amiable, intelligent set of people, some of them whom I saw begging having faces like Madonnas. They are Americans, probably the oldest Americans of European descent. Constant intercourse with the United States has made them sympathize with and appreciate us, who are but six hours by boat from them, if we do not sympathize with or care for them. No order or permission from General Blanco can save the lives of many of them. Indeed, many are too far gone to be saved by the best care and treatment.
"There was no indication of a cessation of hostilities by the insurgents. If they do not voluntarily cease, their tactics are such that Spain cannot conquer them, if at all, before the reconcentrados will have had the finishing stroke. But even the speedy termination of the war would not save many of them. What they need is instant pecuniary assistance to the extent of $20,000 a day, distributed by our consuls. Private charity, it seems, will hardly produce the amount. Twenty thousand dollars would be but ten cents apiece for medicine, clothes and food. When I left Havana I was informed that Consul General Lee had received $5,000 and some hundreds of cans of condensed milk. As there are about 30,000 sufferers in Havana alone, the inadequacy of such contributions is manifest. Whether Congress should make an appropriation, as in the case of the San Domingo refugees and other cases, it is not for me to say, but I beg the charitable to believe the statement of facts which I have made, and try to realize what they mean."
A correspondent in Cuba gives an interesting account of a case that came under his notice among the reconcentrados in the town of Guadaloupe. It is substantially as follows:
In all misery-ridden Cuba there is no town in which the reign of misery is so absolute as in Guadaloupe. Even the situation of this place might be said to be in "the valley of the shadow of death." It is not upon the earth's surface, but far below, in a broad, deep hole. The all-surrounding hills are not green, but black. For these up-sloping fields, upon which many a rich tobacco crop has been raised, lie now under blackening ashes—the work of insurgent torches. In this low-lying town 3,000 reconcentrados are naked, shelterless and starving. That aid has not come to them till now is because of the ingratitude and treachery of two of their own number.
As the two guilty ones have just paid the penalty of their crime, the Red Cross Society will probably have a relief corps in Guadaloupe by the time this letter is printed.
The tragedy of Guadaloupe, to the denouement of which I was an eyewitness, shows that the insurgents have learned the art of butchery as taught by the Spanish, and that a reconcentrado will sometimes betray the Samaritan who helps him. A faithful mule carried me into Guadaloupe at 2 o'clock in the afternoon, the siesta hour. I had come from the coast many miles away, over the hills. As I rode into the town, I said to the mule: "The next artist who is given an order to illustrate Dante's 'Inferno' ought to come here. He could draw from life, pictures more infernal than a mere human mind could conceive."
Reconcentrados lay everywhere under the broiling sun. The mule picked his way between human heaps that looked like so many little mounds of rags. Skeleton legs and arms protruded from out the heaps. Soft moans of mothers and the wailing of little children gave evidence of so many living deaths.
I presented my credentials to the commandante. He was the most genial Spanish official I had met between Havana and Guadaloupe. When he smiled, his face was all kindness. When he spoke of the reconcentrados, tears welled from his eyes. Yet around his mouth and chin were the cruel lines of a nature as stern as it was commiserative. He told me that the hospital was full, always full; there was room in its wards for only 200 patients, and only one doctor for all. All who entered that place of sickness came out of it, not cured, but dead. Three thousand human beings, mostly women and children, had passed away in that town in three months. Nearly all had died of starvation and exposure. When the cemetery was full, they began burying in the still burning tobacco fields on the hillsides.
But it was the siesta hour. The commandante excused himself, saying he would rest awhile and advised me to do the same.
The commandante's house was in the center of the town. Round about was a circle of the houses of those who had owned the tobacco fields. Beyond these homes of the well-to-do were hundreds of huts. In these lived the reconcentrados, several families in each, or as many as could huddle within and not pull the roughly constructed frame of palm stalks down about their heads. Outside the circle of huts were the blackened fields and hills. On the tops of the hills, at intervals of 200 yards, was a circle of small houses that looked like sentry boxes. They were really little forts, with four soldiers in each. Beyond the forts were, heaven only knows how many, insurgent guerillas, lynx-eyed human watch dogs, always lurking and waiting for a chance to swoop upon one of the little forts, slay the garrison of four and dash back into the bushes.
At this moment not a soldier was in sight. Perhaps all were sleeping, like the commandante. Or perhaps the soldiers always remained inside the barricades surrounding their forts, fearing that to step outside would be to attract the bullets of the lurking insurgents. For such is warfare in Cuba's hills to-day; much the same sort of warfare our American forefathers knew when each man who stepped from his doorway was likely to become a target for the arrows of the lurking and invisible redskins.
I was making a mental note of this picture of war and misery, when suddenly I saw a human form on the hilltop over which I had just come. The peculiar shape of the white hat worn by this apparition told me it was a soldier. In the middle of the white road he stopped, lowered a burden from his shoulders to the ground. What was that soldier doing there and what was the nature of his apparently heavy burden? From my perch on the balcony I beckoned to the sentry, who was pacing up and down in front of the commandante's house. The sentry came up to the balcony, took one look in the direction of my pointing finger, and then rushed into the house. The next moment the commandante appeared. With a field glass he surveyed the figure on the hilltop.
"He is carrying something," I said, as I watched the man in the distance reshoulder his burden and begin descending the hill.
"A dead man," said the commandante. And he closed the glasses, thoughtfully. Then he gave me a long black cigar.
We waited. At the end of half an hour the soldier approached the house. Yes, on his back he was carrying a corpse.
He laid his burden down in the road and saluted the commandante. A group of officers and soldiers had gathered round. The body was that of a noted insurgent captain. A scrap of paper was produced. It had been found in the dead man's pocket by the soldier who had carried the body into town.
The commandante read the paper. His brow contracted. Now he was all sternness.
"Bring the man, Jose Manual, here," he said to a sergeant.
Five minutes later an old man, all bones and skin, stood before us. The miserable man trembled as with the palsy.
"Si, senor, I did it. I ran over the hill. I informed. I alone am to blame."
Evidently the wretch knew of what he was accused. It was also apparent that he was not the only guilty one.
"Who wrote this for you?" the commandante asked.
"I did, senor; I wrote it."
"The man lies," murmured one of the officers.
"Bring hither the son of Jose Manual," was the next order.
With that, another skeleton, a young one, stepped forward.
"I am here, senor, and I wrote the note. That is all. We two, senor. I wrote and my father ran. He was stronger, that day, than even my younger bones."
The commandante compressed his lips. He turned to the sergeant and said: "At sunset have these two men shot."
The two men merely spat upon the ground. For them death evidently had no terrors. As they were led away they made the sign of the cross again and again upon their naked breasts. A hundred starving wretches followed them in silence.
When we were again alone on the balcony—a broad, square balcony it was—the commandante noticed my look of inquiry.
"The story can be briefly told," he said. "You are simply the witness of a tragedy that had its beginning on this very balcony one month ago. I sent word by the priest to a lady in Havana—an English lady—that we had 4,000 starving people in this town. Could she help us? Always generous, beneficent, self-sacrificing, the lady responded in person. She came by the coast steamer, landed at broad noon, traversed the two miles over which you came a few hours ago from the coast, bringing with her seven ox-cart loads of provisions, clothing and medicine. With her came her daughter, a young girl just over from England. Their charity was distributed from this very balcony to the starving people. The distribution occupied two entire days. Out of 4,000 people, 2,000 were given food and clothing and medicine. She promised the other half equal relief as soon as she could go to Havana and return again with the stores. On the night before she was to leave us the ladies and gentlemen of the leading families here, together with the officers of my staff, proposed to give the good Samaritans a banquet. The proposal was accepted. All gathered for the banquet on this balcony. I draped the front of the house in the Spanish colors, and hung out all the available lamps. That illumination was our ruin. Thirty-four sat down to dine. Only thirty lived through the first course. Of a sudden a hailstorm of bullets was poured into our midst. A bottle of wine in front of me flew into bits. Not a whole plate or a whole glass was left. We sprang up and fled into the house. Not all of us, though. No. Three men— three of my best officers—had fallen from their chairs, dead. The other—oh, God!"
The commandante could not continue. He made a gesture indicating that I was to step into the house.
In his room he opened a huge wardrobe and took out a jacket, a tiny coat, such as might be worn by a soldier boy. The sleeves were loaded with the gold lace and golden stars of a colonel in the Spanish army. On the left side of this jacket or coat was a ragged hole.
"The bullet entered here," the commandante said, sorrowfully. "It pierced her heart. The poor mother carried her dead back to Havana. That is all."
I understood. A fatal volley had been poured into that dinner party by insurgents on the hilltops. The house was in the center of the town, and the lamps illuminating the Spanish colors had rendered the balcony the best of targets. These Spanish officers and an innocent young English girl, a Samaritan, were murdered.
And by whom? By the insurgents, who were guided to the hilltops by two of the very reconcentrados whom the victims had saved that day from starvation. One had written a note informing the insurgents of the circumstance, time, and place of the banquet. The other had delivered the note to one of the murderers. Father and son were equally guilty of ingratitude and treachery. The incriminating note had been found on the dead body of the insurgent captain, carried into town by the soldier of Spain.
At sunset a squad of twenty men, armed and in charge of a first lieutenant, filed out of the barracks. In front of the squad marched the two prisoners, their arms tied together above the elbows, behind their backs. Behind the soldiers came perhaps a thousand of the wretched and starving.
No murmuring, no uplifting of arms, nothing but solemn silence. In front of a wall, lining one of the blackened fields, the prisoners were made to kneel down. A priest stood over them speaking the last consoling words.
Out of the squad of twenty soldiers, eight stepped forth and leveled their rifles at the kneeling father and son.
The eight shots sounded as one, and one of the blackest crimes of this atrocious war was expiated.