CUBA AND THE CUBAN CAMPAIGN.

We had scarcely returned from Armenia when paragraphs began to appear in the press from all sections of the country, connecting the Red Cross with some undefined method of relief for Cuba. These intimations were both ominous and portentous for the future, something from which we instinctively shrunk and remained perfectly quiet. “The murmurs grew to clamors loud,” and, I regret to say, not always quite kind. There were evidently two Richmonds in the field, the one ardently craving food alone, simply food for the dying. The other wanting food and arms. They might have properly been classed under two distinct heads. The one, merely the friends of humanity in its simple sense; the other, friends of humanity also, but what seemed to them a broader and deeper sense, far more complex. They sought to remove a cause as well as an effect, and the muffled cry of “Cuba Libre” became their watchword. Naturally, any general movement by the people in favor of the former must have the effect to diminish the contributions of the latter, too small at best for their purpose, and must be wisely discouraged. Thus, whenever an unsuspecting movement was set on foot by some good-hearted, unsophisticated body of people, and began to gain favor with the public and the press, immediately would appear most convincing counter paragraphs to the effect that it would be useless to send relief, especially by the Red Cross:

First, it would not be permitted to land.

Next, whatever it took would be either seized outright, or “wheedled” out of hand by the Spanish authorities in Havana.

That the Spaniards would be only too glad to have the United States send food and money for the use of Havana.

Again, that the Red Cross being international, would affiliate with Spain, and ignore the “Cuban Red Cross” already working there and here. As if poor Cuba, with no national government or treaty-making power, could have a legitimate Red Cross that other nations could recognize or work with.

That doubtless the American Red Cross, flushed with victory in Armenia, would be only too glad to enter on another campaign, direct another field, and handle its donations. Tired, heart-sore and needing rest, we were compelled to read columns of such reports, and understanding that it was not without its political side and might increase to proportions dangerous to the good name of the Red Cross, we felt compelled to take steps in self-protection. Accordingly through the proper official authorities of both nations, we addressed to the government of Spain at Madrid a request for royal permission for the American Red Cross to enter Cuba and distribute, unmolested, among its starving reconcentrado population such relief as the people of America desired to send.

This communication brought back from Spain perhaps the most courteous assent and permission ever vouchsafed by a proud government to an individual request, especially when that request was in its very nature a rebuke to the methods of the government receiving it. Not only was permission granted by the crown, the government, the Captain-General at Cuba, and the Queen Regent, but to the assent of the latter were added her majesty’s gracious thanks for the kindly thought.

This cablegram was published broadcast through the Associated and United Presses in its exact text, with all official signatures duly appended, and over my signature the statement that the American Red Cross was ready to enter upon the relief of the starving Cubans whenever the people of the United States should place at its disposal a sum in money or material sufficient to warrant a commencement of the work.

Strange to say, so sensational had the tone of our press become, so warped the judgment, so vitiated the taste of its readers, that in the hurried scramble between headlines and the waste basket they failed to discriminate between this announcement of clear, true official relations on the part of a government, with a body which it held sufficiently responsible to deal with officially, and the sensational guess of some representative of the press.

It will seem a little singular to any one who should ever take the time to coolly read this account (if such there be), that in response to this announcement not one dollar or one pound ever came or was offered, and the cry for “starving Cuba” still went on as if no door had been opened. Had the nation gone mad, or what had happened to it?

Societies of women were formed to raise money; among these the most notable, influential and worthy ladies in American society. They labored, instant in season and out of season, with small results; perfectly unable to comprehend their want of success.

I think that dear Mrs. Thurston, one of their most ardent members, came to comprehend it a little by the strong, prophetic words she spoke to me as months later in Havana our carriages rattled and thundered over rocky streets from one hospital of death to another. And this only comparatively a few hours before the cruel, restless sea surged out of that worn, frail body the soul that glowed with the flame of humanity, justice and pity to the last.

This state of things continued through the year of 1897, but as the present year of ’98 opened the reports of suffering that came were not to be borne quietly, and I decided to confer with our government and learn if it had objections to the Red Cross taking steps of its own in direct touch with the people of the country, and proposing their co-operation in the work of relief. I beg pardon for the personality of the statement which follows, but it is history I am asked to write:

Deciding to refer my inquiry to the Secretary of State, I called at his department to see him, but learned that he was with the President. This suiting my purpose, I followed to the Executive Mansion, was kindly informed that the President and Secretary were engaged on a very important matter and had given orders not to be interrupted. As I turned to leave I was recalled with, “Wait a moment, Miss Barton, and let me present your card.” Returning immediately, I entered the President’s room to find these two men in a perplexed study over the very matter which had called me. Distressed by the reports of the terrible condition of things so near to us, they were seeking some remedy, and producing their notes just taken revealed the fact that they had decided to call me into conference.

WRECK OF THE BATTLESHIP “MAINE,” HAVANA HARBOR.

THE PRADO—PRINCIPAL STREET IN HAVANA.

The conference was then held. It was decided to form a committee in New York, to ask money and material of the people at large to be shipped to Cuba for the relief of the reconcentrados on that island. The call would be made in the name of the President, and the committee naturally known as the “President’s Committee for Cuban Relief.” I was courteously asked if I would go to New York and assume the oversight of that committee. I declined in favor of Mr. Stephen E. Barton, second vice-president of the National Red Cross, who, on being immediately called, accepted; and with Mr. Charles Schieren as treasurer and Mr. Louis Klopsch, of the Christian Herald, as the third member, the committee was at once. established; since known as the Central Cuban Relief Committee.

The committee was to solicit aid in money and material for the suffering reconcentrados in Cuba, and forward the same to the Consul-General at Havana for distribution. My consent was then asked by all parties to go to Cuba and aid in the distribution of the shipments of food as they should arrive. After all I had so long offered, I could not decline, and hoping my going would not be misunderstood by our authorities there, who would regard me simply as a willing assistant, I accepted. The Consul-General had asked the New York Committee to send to him an assistant to take charge of the warehouse and supplies in Havana. This request was also referred to me, and recommending Mr. J.K. Elwell, nephew of General J.J. Elwell, of Cleveland, Ohio, a gentleman who had resided six years in Santiago in connection with its large shipping interests, a fine business man and speaking Spanish, I decided to accompany him, taking no member of my own staff, but going simply in the capacity of an individual helper in a work already assigned.

On Saturday, February 6, we left Washington for Cuba via Jacksonville, Tampa and Key West.

Thus, with that simple beginning, with no thought on the part of any person but to do unobtrusively the little that could be done for the lessening of the woes of a small island of people, whom adverse circumstances, racial differences, the inevitable results of a struggle for freedom, the fate of war, and the terrible features of a system of subjugation of a people, which, if true, is too dark to name, was commenced the relief movement of 1898 which has spread not alone over the entire United States of America from Maine to California, from Vancouver to the Gulf of Mexico, but from the Indias on the west, to the Indias on the east, and uniting in its free-will offerings the gifts of one-third of the best nations in the world.

HAVANA.

“We reached Havana February 9, five weeks ago, and in all the newness of a strange country, with oriental customs, commenced our work.”

The above entry I find in my diary. In speaking of conditions as found, let me pray that no word shall be taken as a criticism upon any person or people. Dreadful as these conditions were, and rife as hunger, starvation and death were on every hand, we were constantly amazed at the continued charities as manifested in the cities, and small, poor villages of a people so over-run with numbers, want and woe for months, running into years; with all business, all remuneration, all income stopped, killed as dead as the poor, stark forms around them, it was wonderful that they still kept up their organizations, municipal and religious, and gave not of their abundance, but of their penury; that still a little ration of food went out to the dens of woe. That the wardrobe was again and again parceled out; that the famishing mother divided her little morsel with another mother’s hungry child; that two men sat down to one crust, and that the Spanish soldier shared, as often seen, the loaf—his own half ration—with the eager-eyed skeleton reconcentrado, watching him as he ate. In another instance the recognition might have been less kind it is true, for war is war, and all humanity are not humane.

The work was commenced in earnest. I still turn the pages of the diary, which says: “We were called on deck to look at Morro Castle, which, grim and dark in the bright morning sunlight, skirts the bay like a frowning ogre.”

We were met at the dock and driven to Hotel Inglaterra, where letters of welcome awaited us. After paying our official respects, our first business was to meet the committees appointed for the distribution of food. We found them pleasant gentlemen. We were notified of the arrival of the steamship “Vigilancia,” with fifty tons of supplies, sent by the New York Committee; took carriage and drove to the dock. It was a glad sight to see her anchors dropping down into the soil of that starved spot of the earth. We boarded her, met the gentlemanly officers, and saw the goods being put on the lighters. This was the largest quantity of supplies that had yet arrived by any one steamship. In returning to land, we threaded our way through the transports and yachts—among the latter the “New York Journal,” that had just taken Julian Hawthorne across from Key West—and grandest of all, the polished, shining battleship “Maine.” She towered above them like a monarch, or rather like an elegant visitor whom all the household felt bound to respect. On landing, we resumed our carriage and drove to Los Fosos, a large, long building filled with reconcentrados,—over four hundred women and children in the most pitiable condition possible for human beings to be in, and live; and they did not live, for the death record counted them out a dozen or more every twenty-four hours, and the grim, terrible pile of rude black coffins that confronted one at the very doorway, told to each famishing applicant on her entrance what her exit was likely to be.

We went from room to room, each filled to repletion—not a dozen beds in all. Some of the inmates could walk, as many could not,—lying on the floors in their filth—some mere skeletons; others swollen out of all human shape. Death-pallid mothers, lying with glazing eyes, and a famishing babe clutching at a milkless breast. Let me attempt no further description. The massacres of Armenia seemed merciful in comparison.

We went our rounds, and sought the open air; drove to another building of like character, but in a little better condition—one hundred and fifty-six inmates. These persons had been recommended by someone, who paid a little for each, and thus kept them from daily starvation. From here to the third building (the Casino), of about an equal number, still a little better off.

From here to the fourth building (La Yocabo)—two hundred and fifty persons, the best of the reconcentrados. The sisters of charity had recently taken hold of these, and cleanliness and order commenced to appear. The children had books, were being taught, and rooms were fitted out for some kind of industrial training. This place seemed like heaven in comparison.

From here to the fifth building, a distributing house, where American rations were given out on Sundays to great crowds of people who thronged the streets.

This finished, we drove to our warehouse, the San Jose, where our supplies were stored. Here was what remained of the several shipments which had preceeded us, the result of the tireless and well directed efforts of the New York Committee, only so recently established, and so new in its work. Possibly three hundred tons of flour, meal, rice, potatoes, canned meat, fruit, bacon, lard, condensed and malted milk, quinine, some of which had come by the first shipment, showing how difficult the distribution had been found to be; and it was not strange that a “warehouse man” had been asked for by the Consul General. Surely Mr. Elwell had not a sinecure.

Somehow the report got abroad that we had brought money for distribution, and a thousand people thronged the hotel.

We found among our supplies large quantities of flour, and the people had no way of cooking it. There are no ovens in these oriental countries except those of the baker. Consequently only he could make bread of flour. We found a baker with whom we arranged to take our flour and return bread in its place at a fair percentage.

“The Consul General has named a desire to have an orphanage created, and asked of me to find a building, and establish such an institution. I commence a search among the apparently suitable buildings of the town, but regretting always that I have not his knowledge of the city and its belongings. Up to this time the search, although vigilant, has been fruitless. Still there are only three days of it all since our arrival, and to-morrow will be Sunday.”

This hopeful entry ended the first half week of life in Cuban relief. Up to this moment no American food had ever entered Los Fosos, as the institution was under Spanish military and municipal direction. How to get our distributors into proper and peaceful aid there, if not into control, was a politic question.

The diary continues: “That Sunday morning, fine, clear and warm, brought three matters of interest to our attention:

“First. An interview with a householder concerning the orphanage—unsuccessful.

“Second. The visiting of all the various points, some nine in number, where American food would be distributed for the coming week to the waiting thousands and—

“Third. A bull fight.”

One would feel something of the same dread in attempting to describe these gathering moving masses of starving humanity as in picturing the “still life” of Los Fosos. The children of three and four years old often could not walk and the mother was too weak to carry the burden, and they fell in a heap among the crowd.

The food was distributed by tickets, suited to the family and put up in paper bags, for few had any vessel to get it in.

At the first place of distribution there were 1000 fed; at the second, 1300; at the third, 2200, and so on—some larger, some less. At one of the larger distributions, when about half served, it was announced that there was no more food and the people were directed to disperse. We inquired the cause and were told there were no more American supplies in Havana—that they had been so informed. We could not persuade them that they had been misinformed, that there was plenty of food in the warehouse, but we did succeed in having the disappointed, hungry hundreds called back and told to come again next day and get their food. We never knew how the mistake occurred, but were more than ever convinced that some systematic work must be instituted among the constantly arriving supplies at the warehouse. The task had all along been too great. The next morning took us with proper assistants to San Jose, when a systematic inventory of stock as per each shipment was instituted. At 3.30 p.m. our work was interrupted. A cordial invitation from Captain Sigsbee to visit the “Maine” that afternoon had been received. His launch courteously came for us; his officers received us; his crew, strong, ruddy and bright, went through their drill for our entertainment, and the lunch at those polished tables, off glittering china and cut glass, with the social guests around, will remain ever in my memory as a vision of the “Last Supper.”

The next day took us again to the warehouse. I cannot refrain from taking the liberty of mentioning my most distinguished volunteer assistant, General Ross, a general in our Civil War and the uncle of Commissioner Ross, of Washington, D.C. Being in Havana on a passing tour, and perceiving the need, he volunteered freely to do the work which he had once commanded his under officers to direct their private soldiers to do. It was most intelligent help.

While passing quickly among the rows of barrels, with dress pinned back, a letter of introduction from the Consul-General was handed to me by a manly, polished-mannered gentleman, on whose playful features there mingled a look of amused surprise, with a tinge of well-covered roguishness and complacency, that bespoke the cultured man of the world. The note, addressed to my hotel, said that the Consul took pleasure in introducing to me Mr. William Willard Howard, of New York. Although never having met we were by no means strangers. He had worked on the Eastern fields of Armenia in the hard province of Van, while I was in Constantinople, and our expeditions in the great centre districts of Harpoot and Diarbeker. He evidently felt that the surroundings were a little rough and unexpected for a first meeting, but collecting himself, at once rallied me with the grand opportunity I was affording him for a sensational letter to the States, with a cartoon of the president of the American National Red Cross in a Cuban warehouse, with dress pinned back, “opening boxes.” He admitted that the latter stroke of the picture was a little stretch of imagination, but he hoped it might realize, as he really wanted it for his cartoon. After a few moments of pleasant badinage he left, under pretext of not hindering me in my favorite occupation of “opening boxes.”

The next day I was detained at home by an accumulation of clerical work and heavy mails to be gotten off (I had as yet no clerk), but on the return of the men at night they reported a marvelous day’s work. That Mr. Howard had come early in the morning, thrown off his coat, and, calling for a box opener, had opened boxes all day. They had never seen a better day’s work. A messenger was immediately dispatched to his hotel, inviting Mr. Howard to come and dine with us. From that time on, during his stay, he continued to dine with us. We compared methods of relief work with the experiences we had gained, and when we separated it was with the feeling on my part that any work of relief would be a gainer that could enlist men of such views, experience and capacity as Mr. Howard in its ranks.

The heavy clerical work of that fifteenth day of February held not only myself but Mr. Elwell as well, busy at our writing tables until late at night. The house had grown still; the noises on the streets were dying away, when suddenly the table shook from under our hands, the great glass door opening onto the veranda, facing the sea, flew open; everything in the room was in motion or out of place—the deafening roar of such a burst of thunder as perhaps one never heard before, and off to the right, out over the bay, the air was filled with a blaze of light, and this in turn filled with black specks like huge spectres flying in all directions. Then it faded away. The bells rang; the whistles blew, and voices in the street were heard for a moment; then all was quiet again. I supposed it to be the bursting of some mammoth mortar, or explosion of some magazine. A few hours later came the terrible news of the “Maine.”

Mr. Elwell was early among the wreckage, and returned to give me news.

The diary goes on. “She is destroyed. There is no room for comment, only who is lost, who has escaped, and what can be done for them? They tell us that most of the officers were dining out, and thus saved; that Captain Sigsbee is saved. It is thought that 250 men are lost, that one hundred are wounded, but still living, some in hospital, some on small boats as picked up. The Chief Engineer, a quiet, resolute man, and the second officer met me as I passed out of the hotel for the hospital. The latter stopped me saying, ‘Miss Barton, do you remember you told me on board the “Maine” that the Red Cross was at our service; for whenever anything took place with that ship, either in naval action or otherwise, someone would be hurt; that she was not of a structure to take misfortune lightly?’ I recalled the conversation and the impression which led to it,—such strength would never go out easily.

“We proceeded to the Spanish hospital San Ambrosia, to find thirty to forty wounded—bruised, cut, burned; they had been crushed by timbers, cut by iron, scorched by fire, and blown sometimes high in the air, sometimes driven down through the red hot furnace room and out into the water, senseless, to be picked up by some boat and gotten ashore. Their wounds are all over them—heads and faces terribly cut, internal wounds, arms, legs, feet and hands burned to the live flesh. The hair and beards are singed, showing that the burns were from fire and not steam; besides further evidence shows that the burns are where the parts were uncovered. If burned by steam, the clothing would have held the steam and burned all the deeper. As it is, it protected from the heat and the fire and saved their limbs, whilst the faces, hands, and arms are terribly burned. Both men and officers are very reticent in regard to the cause, but all declare it could not have been the result of an internal explosion. That the boilers were at the two ends of the ship, and these were the places from which all escaped, who did escape. The trouble was evidently from the center of the ship, where no explosive machinery was located.

“I thought to take the names as I passed among them, and drawing near to the first in the long line, I asked his name. He gave it with his address; then peering out from among the bandages and cotton about his breast and face, he looked earnestly at me and asked: ‘Isn’t this Miss Barton?‘ ‘Yes.’ ‘I thought it must be. I knew you were here, and thought you would come to us. I am so thankful for us all.’

“I asked if he wanted anything. ‘Yes. There is a lady to whom I was to be married. The time is up. She will be frantic if she hears of this accident and nothing more. Could you telegraph her?’ ‘Certainly!’ The dispatch went at once: ‘Wounded, but saved.’ Alas, it was only for a little; two days later, and it was all over.

“I passed on from one to another, till twelve had been spoken to and the names taken. There were only two of the number who did not recognize me. Their expressions of grateful thanks, spoken under such conditions, were too much. I passed the pencil to another hand and stepped aside.”

I am glad to say that every kindness was extended to them. Miss Mary Wilberforce had been at once installed as nurse, and faithful work she performed. The Spanish hospital attendants were tireless in their attentions. Still, there was boundless room for luxuries and comforts, delicate foods, grapes, oranges, wines, cordials, anything that could soothe or interest; and no opportunity was lost, nor cost nor pains spared, and when two days later the streets filled with hearses bearing reverently the bodies of martyred heroes; and the crape and the flowers mingled in their tributes of tenderness and beauty, and the muffled drums and tolling bells spoke all that inanimate substance could speak of sorrow and respect; and the silent, marching tread of armies fell upon the listening ear,—the heart grew sick in the midst of all this pageant, and the thoughts turned away to the far land, smitten with horror, and the homes wailing in bitter grief for these, so lone, so lost; and one saw only the:

We were still in hotel—excellent of course—but a home should be made for the body of assistants it was by this time proposed to send for. I remembered the visit of a lady—one among the hundreds who called the day before—and who impressed me as being no ordinary person. She had the air of genuine nobility and high birth. I had retained her card:

Senora J.S. Jorrin, 528 del Cerro.

It would be certain I thought that this lady knew something of suitable homes; and we drove to her residence next day, to find one of the loveliest villas in the city, surrounded by gardens, fountains, flowers, baths, a little river rushing through the garden, palms, bananas, cocoanuts, all growing luxuriantly. This was the home of Senora Jorrin, given her as a wedding gift many years before by her husband, a man of great power in the island, and who had three times represented Cuba in the Senate of Madrid. Three months before he had died on a visit to New York. La Senora was alone with her retinue of servants, and waiting to make some suitable disposition of her mansion, in order to join her only daughter residing in America.

The desired disposition was quickly made, and in the next day or two we were safely installed in our new home, with Senora as honorary hostess, to the delight and advantage of all. This pleasant arrangement has never been interrupted, and is the origin of the charming Red Cross headquarters at Cerro, that all our friends and visitors recall with such admiration. I might be pardoned for adding that Senora Jorrin, who was early called to Washington by the sudden death of her beautiful and only daughter, has remained with her grandchildren, and we have continued such loving care as we were able to extend over her palatial home from that time to the present.

The diary now makes the following notes, which I remember to have once copied in a letter to some periodical which perhaps published it. I never knew; but will venture to reproduce it here, as the description of the first visit made to any point of the country outside of Havana.

We were overborne by requests to visit towns and villages filled with suffering and death. The notes run:

Jaruco.

It was a clear warm day. I had retired early to be ready for a five o’clock start for the town of Jaruco, some twenty miles away. It was as dark as night when we stepped into the carriage to go to the ferry and the train—damp, heavy, just a morning for chills. Some members of the committee joined us at the train, and as daylight and sunrise came, the sight, in spite of neglect and devastation, was magnificently lovely. The stately groves of royal palms looked benignly down on the less pretentious banana and cocoanut, each doing its best to provide for and keep life in a starving, dying people. Nine o’clock brought us to the town, where we were met and right royally welcomed by its leading people. The mayor took us in his carriage to the church, followed by a crowd of people that filled its centre. The plain, simple services told in repeated sentences the heart gratitude of a stricken people to God for what he had put into the hearts of America to do. She had remembered them when all was gone, when hunger, pain and death alone remained to them; and when that assemblage of pale, hollow faces and attenuated forms knelt on the rough stone floor in praise to the Great Giver, one felt if this was not acceptable, no worship might ever hope to be. From the church to the house of the mayor, the judge, the doctor and other principal men of the town. It now remained to see what we had “gone for to see.” Two hours’ wandering about in the hot sunshine from hovel to hovel dark and damp, thatched roof and ground floor, no furniture, sometimes a broken bench, a few rags of clothing; some of the people could walk about, some could not, but all had something to eat. Thank God, if not all their lean bodies might crave, still something, and while they showed their skeleton bodies and feet swollen to bursting, they still blessed the people of the country that had remembered them with food.

The line of march was long and weary, and ended with the “hospital.” What shall I say of it? If only a sense of decency were consulted one would say nothing; but truth and facts demand a record. We tried to enter, to reach a poor, wretched looking human being on a low cot on the far side of the room, but were driven back by the stench that met us, not alone the smell one might expect in such a place of neglect, but the dead had evidently lain there unremoved until putrefaction had taken place. There were perhaps four wrecks of men in the various rooms, doubtless left there to die. Like a body of retreating soldiers, driven but not defeated, we went a few rods out and rallied, and calling for volunteers and picked men for service, determined to “storm the works.”

Jaruco is one of the great points of devastation; it is said that more people have died there than the entire town numbers in time of peace; it is still almost a city of reconcentrados.

Naturally, the inhabitants who survive have given all they had many times over in these terrible months. Everything is scarce and dear; even water has to be bought. This was the first point of attack. Twenty good soldiers, with only dirt and filth as enemies, can make some progress. Water by the dray load, lime by the barrel, brushes, brooms, blue for whitewash, hatchets, buckets and things most needful, made up the equipment; and late in the afternoon, when Mr. Elwell, who might well be termed the “Vigilant,” returned to look after the work, preparatory to leaving for home, he found the four poor patients in clean clothes, on clean beds, in the sunshine, eating crackers and milk, the house cleaned, scrubbed, limed, and being whitewashed from ceiling to floor.

It will be finished to-morrow. Sunday and to-day (Monday), we ship cots, blankets, sheets, pillow-slips, all the first utensils needed to make a plain hospital for twenty-five, to be increased to fifty—the food to go regularly. The sick, lying utterly helpless in the hovels, to be selected with care and sent to the hospital, a nurse placed with them, the doctor already there in Jaruco to attend them, and send frequent reports of condition and needs. In two weeks time we may hope to see, not only a hospital that may bear the name, but progress of its patients that may be noted.

I am writing this at length, because it is the first of hundreds that should follow throughout the island, and a type of what we shall endeavor to accomplish.

It will naturally be asked if we expect the Spanish authorities to permit us to do this. Judging from to-day, we have reason to expect every co-operation. The commandant of the town was one of the men who welcomed us; and so far as they had the materials desired, offered them for our use; it was very well, as there were some we could get in no other way.

The crowd that followed us was bewildering—the little children in pitiful proportions. We had prepared ourselves for this by a large invoice of five-cent scrip. An intimation of our desire to the priest arranged the matter quickly. All under, perhaps, six to seven years old, were sent into the church to come out at a side door, with Mr. Elwell and myself on each side as doorkeepers. Every pale passing hand took its scrip, and the gladness that beamed in their little wan faces was good for angels’ eyes. They rushed into the street, romping and tumbling like actual live children, which they had no longer seemed to be.

There was but one more feature to mark this memorable day. After leaving the hospital we were told that a deputation of ladies desired to call on us. We were in the house of a naturalized American citizen, and prepared to receive them. They entered slowly and reverently, the leader bearing a deep plate of choice flowers. As she handed them to me, I perceived in the center a large envelope with a half-inch border of black, and a black ribbon with a tied bow encircling it. The envelope was addressed to me. The first sentence, with tender, trembling voice, told the purport of it all: “For the dead of the Maine.”

The crowd, full of hope and blessing, followed us to the train, and as we passed on, gentle, tender-eyed women came down the banks from their cottages with little baskets of flowers to be passed into the carriage—and ever the black-bordered tribute:

“To the dead of the Maine.”

It was long after dark when we reached our new home, and we were weary enough to find it welcome; but glad of our day’s work, as a type of many more which we confidently expect will follow.

In our banking operations I learned the full address of our excellent hostess, which she had been too modest to name to me:

“Senora Serafina Moliner de Jorrin.” Titles: “Eccelentisima.” “Ilustrisima.”

We have always had occasion to feel those titles to be well deserved.

Indeed, in groping our way among the poor and helpless, we have found that Cuba is not without its diamonds of worth, nobleness and culture.

We were still searching diligently for a suitable location for the orphanage which I had been requested to open.

Through the social relations of Senora we were immediately put into communication with Senor José Almagro on Tulipan street, who placed at our disposal his own private residence, a charming house with large gardens, stables, swimming baths, fruit and flowers.

Members of the staff, Drs. Hubbell and Egan, together with Dr. and Mrs. Lesser, had meanwhile arrived by steamship from New York.

The diary goes on to say in regard to the orphanage, its location and surroundings:

“It seems to lack nothing. Large, commodious, healthful, easy of access, beautiful to elegance, with tropical gardens, royal palms, swimming baths, and capable of caring for two hundred children, either well or sick,—and for all this the modest, little rent of one hundred and two dollars per month. Attention was first directed to this piece of property on Saturday, February 27. At night the contract was made and signed. On Sunday—“tell it not in Gath”—oh, Christian world, be gentle in your judgment, if a few men, rather than stand about the streets, hunger-stricken, waiting for the crust that came not, earned a few welcome dollars on its frescoed walls, stained glass windows and marble floors.

“On Monday seventy-five new cots, blankets, pillows and sheets adorned its spacious rooms. On Tuesday, March 1, Mrs. Dr. Lesser, our practical “Sister Bettina,” who had taken the superintendence, made the necessary outfit,—food and medicine from the warehouse; and from Los Fosos, that terrible den of suffering, the pale lifeless, helpless, starved little creatures to fill the waiting cots—a few good nurses to lift the heads that could not lift themselves and fill the mouths that had scarcely ever before been filled.”

This, then, was the orphanage. May I be pardoned for saying reverently, we looked on our work and found it good, and felt that we might now leave the little, tired creatures to rest in the faithful hands that had so lovingly and intelligently taken them up, while we turned away to other fields.

Matanzas.

Among the welcome, notable persons who from time to time visited us, led by their interest in the great suffering reported through the press, were Senator Redfield Proctor and his friend, Hon. M.M. Parker, of Washington, D.C. They had come imbued with the desire, not only to see the condition of the island and the people, but to try to find as well, what could be done for them,—to gain some practical knowledge which could be used for their benefit. There seemed to be no more certain way of their gaining this information than by inviting them to accompany us on the various tours of investigation which we would be now able to make outside of Havana. Reports of great suffering had come from Matanzas, and it was decided that that should be our next point of inspection. The once-a-day run of the trains made early rising a necessity; and half-past four in the morning, dark and chilly, found us on the way to the train for Matanzas. Our own small party was joined at the ferry by our Washington friends, and together, as the train speeded on, we watched the gorgeous sunrise spread itself over these strangely deserted lands.

Matanzas has some fifty thousand of its own inhabitants, greatly increased by the reconcentrado element, which had gathered there to exist hopelessly in enforced idleness for nearly two years.

It is needless to say that all the diseases incident to exposure, physical want and mental woe, from gaunt, lingering hunger down to actual starvation and death, had developed among them. For some reason—possibly a sense of pity—our consul seemed to dread to show us their worst, which were evidently their hospitals, and hesitatingly led the way to other centres of the town. But there was no hesitancy on the part of the governor, Senor Francisco de Armas—a royal Cuban and a new appointee of Captain-General Blanco—with warm heart and polished manner, in welcoming us to his elegant mansion, and in bringing his wife, his mother and sister, to assist in receiving and to bid us welcome to all they had to offer or that we could desire. The half-hour’s seance in that polished marble salon, with its spacious elegance, the deep feelings of the governor, the still deeper sympathy of the ladies, whose daily time is given to the poor sufferers around them, was a scene not to be forgotten. In all that was said, not a word of crimination, nor a disrespectful allusion to any person, or nation, or government; but the glistening eyes and trembling lips when the word Americano was spoken, told how deep a root the course of our people had taken in the thrice harrowed soil of these poor broken hearts.

But the worst must be seen, and as we drove out of the town we halted for a short call at the municipal hospital, generally attended by sisters of charity, scantily provided it is true, but well cared for; a little is paid per week, either by, or, for each patient in this institution, which helps to keep up the general fund. Our welcome by the sisters was most cordial, and we were grateful for every faint smile that passed over each pallid face. A mile further on we came to the four hospitals where nothing was paid, and apparently nothing had. There were between one hundred and two hundred men, women and children, in all stages of hunger and disease. There were empty beds for as many more that could have been thrice filled from the huts outside; but the hospital authorities feared to take more in, lest they die through their inability to feed them. It is not my purpose to detail woe, nor picture horrors; I leave that to others, if more of it must be had; let my few words tell how they were met and how the comfort that could be given, was given, or at least attempted.

The purses and the pockets of our entire party were emptied, and as the cold, thin fingers closed feebly over the coin so strange to the touch, the murmured prayer for America fell from every lip. Our visit had been one of inspection, returning to Havana by the afternoon train.

The hospital committee and surgeons had been organized to work under our charge, and begging that one of our Red Cross men be temporarily assigned to them for their distribution, we turned our steps toward Havana, with a thankfulness unspoken in our hearts for the great head of our country who had asked for this food, the great-hearted people who had given it, and the efficient and tireless committee which had organized and sent it.

The train of next day took out supplies of cereal foods, condensed milk, malted milk, meal, rice, flour, crackers, meat, fish, farina, tomatoes, canned vegetables and fruits—more than enough to hold those four hospitals comfortable till the promised shipment by the “Bergen” from New York, direct to Matanzas, should arrive.

It was from information gathered by the party on this trip that Senator Proctor afterward made his speech in the U.S. Senate upon the condition of the reconcentrados.

[From a speech by Senator Redfield Proctor, of Vermont, in the U.S. Senate, March 17, 1898.]

There are six provinces in Cuba, each, with the exception of Matanzas, extending the whole width of the island, and having about an equal sea front on the north and south borders. Matanzas touches the Caribbean Sea only at its southwest corner, being separated from it elsewhere by a narrow peninsula of Santa Clara Province. The provinces are named, beginning at the west, Pinar del Rio, Havana, Matanzas, Santa Clara, Puerto Principe and Santiago de Cuba.

My observations were confined to the four western provinces, which constitute about one-half the island. The two eastern ones are practically in the hands of the insurgents, except a few fortified towns. These two large provinces are spoken of to-day as “Cuba Libre.”

Havana, the great city and capital of the island, is, in the eyes of the Spaniards and many Cubans, all Cuba, as much as Paris in France. But having visited it in more peaceful times and seen its sights, the tomb of Columbus, the forts of Cabanas and Morro Castle, etc., I did not care to repeat this, preferring trips in the country.

Everything seems to go on much as usual in Havana. Quiet prevails and except for the frequent squads of soldiers marching to guard and police duty and their abounding presence in all public places, one sees little signs of war.

Outside Havana all is changed. It is not peace, nor is it war. It is desolation and distress, misery and starvation.

Every town and village is surrounded by a trocha (trench) a sort of rifle pit, but constructed on a plan new to me, the dirt being thrown up on the inside and a barbed wire fence on the outer side of the trench.

These trochas have at every corner, and at frequent intervals along the sides, what are there called forts, but which are really small block-houses, many of them more like a large sentry box, loop-holed for musketry, and with a guard of from two to ten soldiers in each. The purpose of these trochas is to keep reconcentrados in as well as to keep the insurgents out.

From all the surrounding country the people have been driven into these fortified towns and held there to subsist as they can. They are virtually prison yards and not unlike one in general appearance, except that the walls are not so high and strong, but they suffice, where every point is in range of a soldier’s rifle, to keep in the poor reconcentrado women and children.

Every railroad station is within one of these trochas and has an armed guard. Every train has an armored freight car, loop-holed for musketry, and filled with soldiers and with, as I observed usually, and was informed is always the case, a pilot engine a mile or so in advance. There are frequent block-houses enclosed by a trocha and with a guard along the railroad track. With this exception there is no human life or habitation between these fortified towns and villages throughout the whole of the four western provinces, except to a very limited extent among the hills, where the Spaniards have not been able to go and drive the people to the towns and burn their dwellings.

HAVANA HARBOR.

CAPTAIN C.D. SIGSBEE.

I saw no house or hut in the 400 miles of railroad rides from Pinar del Rio Province in the west across the full width of Havana and Matanzas Provinces, and to Sagua La Grando on the north shore and to Cienfuegos on the south shore of Santa Clara, except within the Spanish trochas. There are no domestic animals or crops on the rich fields and pastures except such as are under guard in the immediate vicinity of the towns.

In other words, the Spaniards hold in these four western provinces just what their army sits on.

Every man, woman and child and every domestic animal, wherever their columns have reached, is under guard and within their so-called fortifications. To describe one place is to describe all.

To repeat, it is neither peace nor war.

It is concentration and desolation. This is the “pacified” condition of the four western provinces.

All the country people in the four western provinces, about 400,000 in number, remaining outside the fortified towns when Weyler’s order was made, were driven into these towns, and these are the reconcentrados. They were the peasantry, many of them farmers, some land-owners, others renting lands and owning more or less stock, others working on estates and cultivating small patches, and even a small patch in that fruitful clime will support a family.

It is but fair to say that the normal condition of these people was very different from that which prevails in this country. Their standard of comfort and prosperity was not high, measured by our own, but according to their standards and requirements, their conditions of life were satisfactory.

They lived mostly in cabins made of palm or in wooden houses. Some of them had houses of stone, the blackened walls of which are all that remains to show that the country was ever inhabited.

The first clause of Weyler’s order reads as follows:

“I order and command:

“First—All the inhabitants of the country now outside of the line of fortifications of the towns shall within the period of eight days concentrate themselves in the town so occupied by the troops. Any individual who after the expiration of this period is found in the uninhabited parts will be considered a rebel and tried as such.”

The other three sections forbid the transportation of provisions from one town to another without permission of the military authority, direct the owners of cattle to bring them into the towns, prescribe that the eight days shall be counted from the publication of the proclamation to the head town of the municipal districts, and state that if news is furnished of the enemy which can be made use of it will serve as a “recommendation.”

Many doubtless did not learn of this order. Others failed to grasp its terrible meaning. Its execution was left largely to the guerillas to drive in all that had not obeyed, and I was informed that in many cases a torch was applied to their homes with no notice, and the inmates fled with such clothing as they might have on, their stock and their belongings being appropriated by the guerillas.

When they reached the town they were allowed to build huts of palm leaves in the suburbs and vacant places within the trochas, and were left to live if they could. Their huts are about ten by fifteen feet in size, and for want of space are usually crowded together very closely. They have no floor but the ground, and no furniture, and after a year’s wear but little clothing, except such stray substitutes as they can extemporize.

With large families or with more than one in this little space, the commonest sanitary provisions are impossible. Conditions are unmentionable in this respect.

Torn from their homes, with foul earth, foul air, foul water and foul food, or none, what wonder that one-half have died and that one-quarter of the living are so diseased that they cannot be saved.

A form of dropsy is a common disorder resulting from these conditions. Little children are still walking about with arms and chests terribly emaciated, eyes swollen and abdomen bloated to three times the natural size. The physicians say these cases are hopeless.

Deaths in the streets have not been uncommon. I was told by one of our consuls that people have been found dead about the markets in the morning where they had crawled hoping to get some stray bits of food from the early hucksters, and that there had been cases where they had dropped dead inside the market, surrounded by food.

These people were independent and self-supporting before Weyler’s order. They are not beggars even now. There are plenty of professional beggars in every town among the regular residents, but these country people, the reconcentrados, have not learned the art. Rarely is a hand held out to you for alms when going among their huts, but the sight of them makes an appeal stronger than words.

The hospitals—of these I need not speak; others have described their condition far better than I can.

It is not within the narrow limits of my vocabulary to portray it. I went to Cuba with a strong conviction that the picture had been overdrawn; that a few cases of starvation and suffering had inspired and stimulated the press correspondents, and that they had given free play to a strong, natural and highly cultivated imagination.

I could not believe that out of a population of one million six hundred thousand, 200,000 had died within these Spanish forts, practically prison walls, within a few months past, from actual starvation and disease caused by insufficient and improper food.

My inquiries were entirely outside of sensational sources. They were made by our medical officers, of our consuls, of city alcaldes (mayors), of relief committees, of leading merchants and bankers, physicians and lawyers. Several of my informants were Spanish born, but every time came the answer that the case had not been overstated.

What I saw I cannot tell so that others can see it. It must be seen with one’s own eyes to be realized.

The Los Fosos Hospital, in Havana, has been recently described by one of my colleagues, Senator Gallinger, and I cannot say that his picture was overdrawn, for even his fertile pen could not do more. He visited it after Dr. Lesser, one of Miss Barton’s very able and efficient assistants, had renovated it and put in cots.

I saw it when 400 women and children were lying on the stone floors in an indescribable state of emaciation and disease, many with the scantiest covering of rags, and such rags! and sick children, naked as they came into the world. And the conditions in the other cities are even worse.

Miss Barton and her work need no indorsement from me. I had known and esteemed her for many years, but had not half appreciated her capability and devotion to her work. I especially looked into her business methods, fearing there would be the greatest danger of mistake, that there might be want of system, waste and extravagance, but found she could teach me on these points.

In short, I saw nothing to criticise, but everything to commend. The American people may be assured that the bounty will reach the sufferers with the least possible cost and in the best manner, in every respect.

And if our people could see a small fraction of the need, they would pour more “freely from their liberal store” than ever before for any cause.

When will the need for this help end? Not until peace comes and the reconcentrados can go back to their country, rebuild their homes, reclaim their tillage plots, which quickly run up to brush in that wonderful soil and clime, and until they can be free from danger of molestation in so doing.

Until then the American people must in the main care for them. It is true that the alcaldes, other authorities and relief committees are now trying to do something, and desire, I believe, to do the best they can. But the problem is beyond their means and capacity and the work is one to which they are not accustomed.

General Blanco’s order of November 13 last somewhat modifies the Weyler order, but it is of little or no practical benefit. Its application is limited to farms “properly defended,” and the owners are obliged to build “centres of defense.”

STREET IN CAVITE SHOWING GENERAL AGUINALDO’S HEADQUARTERS.

ARTEMISA.

Whilst these various provisions and improvements in and around Havana, in the little orphanage and Los Fosos were going on, food was going out from the great warehouse upon requisition, to thirty or forty towns and villages in number, which no one had yet had the time to visit; and their first distribution must be made on trust. From many sources we had heard of the needs of Artemisa, several miles to the east by rail. As usual, there was but one train daily from Havana, and that, like the road we had traveled to Jaruco and Matanzas on the west, left at six o’clock in the morning, and also meant rising at half-past four, a carriage ride of three-quarters of an hour in the dark. Our party again formed, including Mr. Elwell, Drs. Hubbell and Egan, Senator Proctor, Colonel Parker and a few other attendants. The day was clear and fine, affording an excellent opportunity to observe the condition of the country as we passed through. There was entire lack of cultivation; the tall palm threw its stately shadow over miles of desolated, rolling and meadow land; no people in sight save in the little thatched hovels; no cattle, no tools, the rank, wild grass swarding the soil where the richest of crops belong; and we bringing food grown on the sterile fields of North America, among the gravel and rocks, with a quarter of the year under snow, nearly one-half under frost, to a country like this, where the verdure is perpetual and three crops possible, where the rain and the sun never fail, where land is abundant and yet where millions of hands want acres and millions of acres want hands. Heavenly Father, what is the matter with this beautiful earth that Thou hast made! “And, what is man that Thou art mindful of him!”

Eight o’clock in the bright morning sunshine found us at Artemisa. A brief examination by carriage served to show us where its defences had once been, now practically abandoned and the field of military activity drawn to other points.

We found here a most practical mayor, with two thousand to three thousand people about him almost entirely without food. Since November 24, until some three months ago, the Spanish government had issued small rations to these people, but these grew less and less, and finally stopped altogether. This small help from the government had saved the people thus far, but they were now beginning to be dangerously hungry. What gladness it was to feel that our provisions would fall in just in time to save, we hoped, the greater portion of those remaining.

The district of Artemisa had originally 10,000, and the town 2000 inhabitants. Into this small number 10,000 reconcentrados had been sent. Three thousand of these had died; some had strayed away to other places in the hope of more food and fewer persons to eat it; 5000 still remained. In August 770 persons died—now the death rate is 5 to 6 persons per day, or about 175 per month. We found only one hospital and this for smallpox, far out in the fields, with forty patients. There were three physicians who would be more than glad to make up a hospital—if there were anything to provide it with—attend to it personally, and find women who would care for the sick, as nurses. They were directed to do this at once, and suitable hospital food would be sent to them as soon as their hospital was reported ready for it. They were also directed to gather all the sick in the outlying hovels and bring them into hospitals. One of our physicians would go directly with the food and assist in the establishment of the institution. We remained over night; the distribution of food which had been sent them took place at seven the next morning. Their system of tickets was excellent; a better system of relief we had not seen. The mayor himself would visit every family and the physicians the same, until the sick would be all in hospitals. It was a welcome sight at eight o’clock that morning, when the crowd of waiting thousands stood around the mayor, to see the tight hand grasp on the bag of rations, like a godsend from heaven when hope was lost. The mayor had a thousand acres of land lying within the military lines of fortifications, which he offered free for the use of the people, if they could get permission, and if the people could help to cultivate it. In three months, he said, under their own cultivation it would feed them all.

Our work at Artemisa closed at noon and we returned to Havana.

SAGUA LA GRANDE.

Referring again to the diary I find the following record:

Sagua la Grande and Cienfuegos yet remain within our limits to be reached at once. We have not a day to lose, and again leave at six o’clock for Sagua la Grande. This means the usual morning ride in the dark, the ferry and the beautiful opening of the day speeding on through a strange land of waste and desolation. Our same company assembled, and as we neared Sagua we were met by our friend, Consul Barker, and later on the mayor, Senor Machado. Carriages were taken and inspection made of the reconcentrados, their condition and needs, the land, etc. While there is evidently great want here, there is still an atmosphere of care and effort on the part of the best people and the officials which fills one with an earnest desire to help them on. The best place possible for the poor had been provided by the mayor, and as he passed among them, pointing out to us especial cases and conditions, their eyes followed him with a look of grateful devotion. While sympathizing with all, his deepest care seemed to be for the young girls; to find some occupation for them, and some protection. The plan most feasible to him was the starting of a cigarette factory where the hundreds might be employed, with suitable time for instruction, earn their living, and be kept out of danger. I am glad to know that he is partially succeeding in this, and also that he had, and I think still has, the earnest co-operation of our good consul at Sagua, Mr. Barker.

The day had been very fully occupied, and we must remain until morning to witness the operation of the kitchens established by the consul and the mayor, where the poor are fed with well-cooked rice, beans and such vegetables as can be obtained.

These people are desperately poor, and need all the help that can be given them, and yet they are not in the condition of the people of Matanzas. Their doctors are caring for the sick, and the ladies of the town giving every assistance in their power. The mayor again reverts to his great interest in the young girls; “Here is the greatest danger of all. Can you not help me out with this?” His earnestness made such an impression upon me that I finally asked if he had young daughters of his own. He hesitated a moment, and then with a look of confidence, as if he were about to entrust a secret to me, he replied: “We have an adopted daughter, who is very, very dear to us. She is the sister of Miss Cisneros, but does not know it, and we have not the courage to tell her. She is some fourteen or fifteen years of age, has read everything regarding Miss Cisneros, and admires her intensely, but never mistrusts the relationship.” “Will you not tell her?” I asked. “Oh yes; some day,” he replied, “and it must be before long; but the relationships are so sweet that my wife and I both dread to break them. Of course, some day we must tell her, but we put it off as long as we can.” He then explained that the father had been an active patriot and fell under political censure; in his imprisonment the family was broken up, and this little girl, then a mere babe, had been adopted by the mayor and his wife, who were intimate friends of the family. I hope I have not betrayed a trust; but there was a little touch of romance in this—something so sweet and paternal in the relationship—and something altogether so interesting in the thought of this bright young girl reading and admiring the courage and successful exploits of her own sister, without ever dreaming that it was anything to her—it seems really too good a point to keep dark. I trust that the good mayor, if he ever learns that I have betrayed his trust, will forgive me.

CIENFUEGOS.

Although a rather early train on the next day would take us to Cienfuegos, the visit to the kitchens with their great, steaming cauldrons of food must not be passed by. Although it was simply beans, rice, such other dry vegetables as could be obtained, and the little meat or lard that came with the ration, slowly and thoroughly cooked, it was still a food that any good appetite could appreciate—wholesome, clean and as abundant as the circumstances would permit. It was a pleasure to see the children and the mothers come up with the little pails and buckets and receive the one large ladle of food, steaming hot from the cauldron, and bear it cheerfully away for the coming meal. There was a degree of order and systematic thought in this rarely met under occasions so grave. It will remain ever a happy memory with Consul Barker and the good mayor of Sagua, that under their wise direction this system was instituted and carried out. The courtesies of the railroad were cheerfully extended to us, and without incident worth relating the night found us at Cienfuegos. The country round about Cienfuegos is favorable to cultivation; the troubles there had been of a less grave nature, consequently the suffering has been less. Judging from the report of the consul, there had been very little; but to our stranger eyes, upon personal observation, there were traces of something not compatible with thrift, prosperity and happiness. We were sure that some help might be comfortably given there, and made our preparations accordingly. This also was a visit of investigation, and being Tuesday, the next day’s boat from Havana to the States must take our good friends from us, and an early start, over a long, jolting road, took us from Cienfuegos back to Havana.

BACK TO HAVANA.

Our journey through the three or four districts had shown us the worst of human suffering, the greatest of desolation, and a degree of discouragement as hard perhaps to rally the people from as the absolute physical conditions under which they existed. We had arranged for food for all. The ships with their various consignments were already on the way, the “Fern” to Matanzas, a shipment from the Philadelphia Red Cross on the “Bergen,” also bound for Matanzas, from both of which supplies could go forward to Artemisa and Sagua, for the railroads were generous in giving free transportation; and we were informed that a shipment was also en route for Cienfuegos. Remembering our own generous shipment of food to Matanzas of the third instant, we felt that we might give the time of a day or two to the institutions we were founding and supporting in Havana. The little hospital was growing finely, increasing in numbers, and the numbers increasing in strength. The frail, pale creatures were commencing to sit up in bed and hold the playthings that generous friends had brought them by the basketful; some even walked about and tried to play. Their heavenly godmother, “Sister Bettina,” was providing everything for their comfort, also for their nurses and the little household that made up a pattern hospital. Dr. Lesser had established a clinic on the grounds, and under the shade of the great, beautiful garden trees the poor invalids of the town assembled by the hundred each afternoon with the various maladies that misfortune, poverty and neglect had brought them. The gratitude which their strange tongues spoke in evident blessing upon him who had thought to come to their relief, and the great brown eyes that followed him as he turned quickly and gently from one to another, were pictures not to be forgotten.

Los Fosos, on the other hand, was fast losing its terrors. A regular distribution of American food had gone into it, and even rooms were partitioned off for a dispensary, fairly well provided with medicines, and another for clothing and bedding fast filling up from our warehouse were all in grateful operation. All had beds, the floors and stairs were strengthened, and the food went regularly through twice a day among all the waiting inmates. M. Sr. J. Palacios y Airoso, the Consul of Bolivia, and a member of our committee, had volunteered to take personal charge, and his fine, manly form seen day by day among these poor, suffering creatures, watching and providing their wants, was like a benediction from heaven. And Sister Bettina, with her band of faithful nurses, soon carried strong traces of order and cleanliness where it had once seemed impossible.

The morning that saw our first welcome party of American visitors, Senator Proctor and friends, leave us, brought another party still larger, among whom were Senator and dear Mrs. Thurston, Senator Money and nieces, Senator Gallinger, Mr. Cummings, Mr. Smith, and others. It was not only comforting, but hopeful, to see such interest manifested in these dreadful conditions by the highest prestige in our country and those who had it in their power to make these conditions better. We welcomed them with an earnestness they could scarcely comprehend.

There was in all these surroundings a feeling akin to horror, an isolation from the world it seemed, and it is not difficult to understand the welcome we gave in our hearts to those who came to us. Our new guests visited Havana, its institutions, the little orphanage, and the Los Fosos of that day—a terror to them, but a comfort to us, as we saw it daily growing better and better.

Matanzas must of course be visited, and another early morning train found our large party en route for that city and the sights that had so distressed us ten days before. Although realizing how terrible the state of things must seem to our party of American visitors, we still rejoiced during the entire journey that they were not to see those hospitals in the condition in which we had first found them. Our supplies, so promptly and generously sent, we were sure had dulled the keen edge of hunger, and could not fail to show an improvement there. Our guests, then, would not see all the terrors of unfed famine that had so shocked us, and we knew that by that time the ships from the North must have arrived. The breakfast at the hotel and a second visit to our hospitable governor brought with them no apprehension of what was to meet us a little later. We drove to the hospitals, to learn that no food had been distributed or received. Those whom we had seen dying there on our first visit were gone; others had taken their places, and it was only a repetition of the first visit, with the addition of ten days more of hunger. Astonished and shocked beyond description, we drove at once to the railway station, to find in its freight house our four tons of provisions sent from Havana ten days before. Although every notice had been given by us that the goods would be sent—again that they were sent—and the authorities asked to look out for them, our consul appeared to have no intimation that they were there. The hospital authorities, of course, had none, and it only remained for us to order out the provisions and get something to the patients as quickly as possible, leaving Dr. Hubbell to see that at last they had a supper.

It is not strange that from this event went out the cry of “starving Matanzas,” although at that moment, in addition to our four tons of goods previously sent, the “Fern” lay in the harbor under the American flag, with fifty tons of American supplies, and fifty rods away lay the “Bergen,” under the same colors, bearing a cargo of fifty-two tons from the Philadelphia Red Cross, faithfully sent through the New York Committee, by request. So uncontrollable a thing is human excitement that these facts could not be taken in, and the charities of our whole country were called afresh to arms over “starving Matanzas,” which was at that moment by far the best provided city in Cuba. The result of this was an entire train of supplies from Kansas, which, remaining there after the blockade, not being consigned to the Red Cross, was, we were informed, distributed among the Spanish soldiery by the Spanish officials. Goods bearing the mark of the Red Cross were everywhere respected, and we have no record of any of our goods having been appropriated by the Spanish authorities.

The third member of the Cuban Relief Committee of New York, Mr. Louis Klopsch, having arrived, it was perhaps natural and proper that the work of relief and distribution under the consul-general should pass to his direction. Accordingly, by request of Mr. Klopsch, no more visits were made to other cities, and by his direction Mr. Elwell gave his entire attention to the warehouse, and I continued the very hopeful negotiations I had commenced with the Spanish authorities for the privilege of unmolested cultivation by the reconcentrados of the broad glades of land lying within the trochas. In some instances, as around Sagua, hundreds of acres lay thus unoccupied by either Cubans or Spanish, and only the fear of the Spanish soldiery from their own side of the trochas prevented the cultivation of this land by the reconcentrados gathered in the towns. In some long and earnest interviews with General Blanco I laid this matter before him, and begged his interference and commands on behalf of the safety of the poor people who might desire to cultivate this land. The captain-general said they had the matter already under consideration, and desired me to meet his board of education, who would be glad to co-operate. I met this body of gentlemen—middle-aged, thoughtful, intelligent men. They had already taken some important steps, but were perplexed on both sides; first by the Spanish soldiery, liable to attack the workers, likewise the Cuban guerillas, who were equally as dangerous. And yet, despite all this, some important steps had really been taken and some little commencement made. I need not say that the exciting news which followed in less than a month put to an end all thoughts of steps in that direction. A new enemy would appear and the ground was likely to be plowed by shells from the monster ships that would line the bay.

I met the Spanish authorities, not merely as a bearer of relief, but as the president of the American National Red Cross, with all the principles of neutrality which that implied, and received in return the unfailing courtesy which the conditions demanded. From our first interview to the last sad day when we decided that it was better to withdraw, giving up all efforts at relief, and leave those thousands of poor, dying wretches to their fate, there was never any change in the attitude of the Spanish authorities, General Blanco or his staff, toward myself or any member of my staff. One of my last visits before the blockade was to the palace. The same kindly spirit prevailed; I was begged not to leave the island through fear of them; every protection in their power would be given, but there was no guarantee for what might occur in the exigencies of war. I recall an incident of that day: General Blanco led me to the large salon, the walls of which are covered with the portraits of the Spanish officials for generations past, and pointing to the Spanish authorities under date of 1776, said, with a look of sadness, “When your country was in trouble, Spain was the friend of America. Now Spain is in trouble, America is her enemy.” I knew no answer for this but silence, and we passed out through the corridor of guards, he handing me to my carriage with a farewell and a blessing. I could but recall my experience with the Turkish officials and government, where I entered with such apprehension and left with such marks of cordiality.

During this interval of time important business had called me to Washington, and I only returned to Cuba some time during the second week of April, when the diary commences with, “strong talk of war.”

LEAVING HAVANA.

It is needless to say that the strong talk went on—well or ill, wise or unwise, welcome or unwelcome—it went on. Evidently the blockade was near at hand and a declaration of war liable to follow. What should one do but to ask counsel of all within reach? I have given the result of my interview with the Spanish authorities; cabling to American authorities brings the answer, “The consul should know best. Take no chances.” Reference to the consul brings the kindly reply, “I am going myself.” The order was for all American citizens to leave Havana, and the order was obeyed, but not without having laid the matter formally in counsel before my staff of assistants and taking their opinion and advice, which was to the effect that while personally they would prefer to remain for the chance of the little good that might be accomplished, in view of the distress which we should give our friends at home, and, in fact, the whole country, when it should be known that we were inside that wall of fire that would confront us, with no way of extricating or reaching us, it seemed both wiser and more humane to leave. And the ninth of April saw us again on shipboard, a party of twenty, bound for Tampa. We would not, however, go beyond, but made headquarters there, remaining within easy call of any need there might be for us. Here follow the few weeks of impending war. Do we need to live them over? Do we even want to recall them? Days when the elder men of thought and memory pondered deeply and questioned much! When the mother, patriot though she were, uttered her sentiments through choking voice and tender, trembling words, and the young men, caring nothing, fearing nothing, rushed gallantly on to doom and to death! To how many households, alas, these days recall themselves in tones never to be forgotten! Notwithstanding all this excitement and confusion and all the pressure that weighed upon him, our good President still remembered the suffering, dying reconcentrados, and requested that a ship be provided as quickly as possible loaded from the warerooms of the indefatigable Cuban Relief Committee in New York, and be sent for the relief of the sufferers in Cuba whenever they could be reached. One need not say with what promptness this committee acted, and I was informed that the “State of Texas” laden with fourteen hundred tons of food would shortly leave New York en route for Key West, and it was the desire of that committee and the Government that I take command of the ship, and with my staff and such assistants as I would select, undertake the getting of that food to its destination.

Some members of the staff were in New York, and with Dr. Hubbell in charge sailed from that port on Saturday, the twenty-third of April. A hasty trip from Washington, gathering up the waiting staff at Tampa, and pushing on by the earliest train brought us to Key West in time to meet the “State of Texas” as she arrived, board her and take charge of the snug little ship that was henceforth to take its place in American history. She was well built, but by no means new, nor handsome. Her dull black hull could in no way compare with the snow white, green and red striped hospital ships, those heralds of relief that afterwards graced the waters of that bay. Still she was firm, sound, heavy-laden, and gave promise of some good to someone at some future day, that day being only when the great war monsters should have pealed out to the world that an entrance was made on the coast of Cuba, and we would be invited to follow.

By the authorities at Washington, the “State of Texas” had been consigned to the protection of the navy, and accordingly we must report our arrival. This was done to the senior officer, representing Admiral Sampson, in the port, Captain Harrington, of the monitor “Puritan.” This brought at once a personal call from the captain with an invitation to our entire staff to visit his beautiful ship the following day. The launch of the “Puritan” was sent to take us, and not only was the ship inspected, but the dainties of his elegant tea table as well.

When all was over the graceful launch returned us safely to our ship, with grateful memories on the part of the younger members of our company, who had never chanced to form an intimate acquaintance with a piece of shipping at once so beautiful and so terrible, as that death-dealing engine of destruction. I record this visit and courtesy on the part of Captain Harrington as the first of an unfailing series of kindnesses extended by the navy to the Red Cross from first to last. There was no favor too great, no courtesy too high to be cheerfully rendered on every occasion.

The memories of pitiful Cuba would not leave us, and, knowing that under our decks were fourteen hundred tons of food, for the want of which its people were dying, the impulse to reach them grew very strong, and a letter was addressed to Admiral Sampson.

This brought immediately the launch of the “New York” to the side of our ship, and Captain Chadwick, the gallant officer whom no one forgets, stepped lightly on board to deliver the written message from the admiral, or rather to take me to the “New York.” Nothing could have exceeded the courtesy of the admiral, but we were acting from entirely opposite standpoints. I had been requested to take a ship, and by every means in my power get food into Cuba. He, on the other hand, had been commanded to take a fleet, and by every means in his power keep food out of Cuba. When one compared the two ships lying side by side and thought of a contest of effort between them, the situation was ludicrous, and yet the admiral did not absolutely refuse to give me a flag of truce and attempt an entrance into Havana; but he disapproved it, feared the results for me and acting in accordance with his highest wisdom and best judgment, I felt it to be my place to wait. By the concurrence of the admiral our letters were both given to the public, and appear elsewhere in these pages, and we remained, as we had been, neighbors and friends.

These days of waiting were by no means lost time. The accidents constantly occurring in a harbor filled with transports, kept the surgeons of the Red Cross constantly in active duty, while the twenty or thirty Spanish ships which had been and were being captured as prizes, lay a few miles out, unprovided either by themselves or their captors. They had been picked up whilst out at sea, some of them having no knowledge of the existence of a war and supposing themselves as safe as in the balmiest days of peace. Most of them were provided with a little open well in the bottom of the ship where live fish were kept. But for this provision, it is by no means certain that deaths from starvation would not have occurred. The ships were mainly little Spanish vessels—their crews honest working men, who knew their ships and the hills and harbors of Spain and Cuba, and little else—could speak no word of any language but their own—our people, unused to privateering or to the treatment of captives, forgot to provide them, and thus they waited, living on the few fish in their holds, with neither meat, lard, butter, nor oil for their cooking, nor vegetables, nor bread as accompaniments. Our men learned this state of things, and naturally attended to it. It is enough for me to say that recently the thanks of all Spain, through its Red Cross, has come back to us for the kindnesses rendered her captive seamen.

The days waxed and waned; the summer sun poured its burning rays down on the glistening waters of the bay; the reveille and tattoo warned us that we were in camp, with the little difference between land and sea—waiting for some onward movement.

TAMPA.

Tampa became the gathering point of the army. Its camps filled like magic, first with regulars, then volunteers, as if the fiery torch of Duncraigen had spread over the hills and prairies of America; the great ships gathered in the waters; the monitors, grim and terrible, seemed striving to hide their heads among the surging waves; the transports, with decks dark with human life, passed in and out, and the great monarchs of the sea held ever their commanding sway. It seemed a strange thing, this gathering for war. Thirty years of peace had made it strange to all save the veterans, with their gray beards, and the silver-haired matrons of the days of the old war, long passed into history. Could it be possible that we were to learn this anew? Were men again to fall, and women weep? Were the youth of this generation to gain that experience their fathers had gained, to live the war lives they had lived, and die the deaths they had died? Here was abundant food for reflection, while one waited through the days and watched the passing events.

At length the fleet moved on, and we prepared to move with, or rather after, it. The quest on which it had gone and the route it had taken bordered something on the mystery shrouding the days when Sherman marched to the sea. Where were the Spanish fleets? and what would be the result when found and met? and where were we to break that Cuban wall and let us in? Always present in our minds were the food we carried, the willing hands that waited, and the perishing thousands that needed. We knew the great hospital ships were fitting for the care of the men of both army and navy. Surely they could have no need of us, and the knowledge that our cargo was not adapted to army hospital use brought no regret to us.

CITIZENS OF JARUCO PRESENTING A MEMORIAL FOR THE VICTIMS OF THE “MAINE.”

Copyright, 1898, by The Christian Herald.

LITTLE CONVALESCENTS IN HOSPITAL.

These days of quiet waiting were like the lull that precedes the storm. The time seemed long regarded only from that standpoint, but when it is remembered that these few days were all that had been allowed for a great nation with thirty years of peace to rouse up and plunge itself into a war, the time seems comparatively short. We had taken possession of our ship at Key West on the twenty-ninth of April; it was now the twentieth of June, and the great national records of two countries at least will always give the history of those days. It is our part to keep as clearly, truthfully and kindly as possible the record of the little that fell to us to perform in this great drama. Our arrangements for putting out to sea were quickly made. Such supplies and such persons as were not to go with us must be landed and left. Among the latter, to our deep and lasting regret, was our charming friend, Mrs. J. Addison Porter, who had kindly passed the last weeks with us, leaving us as she did, however, with the comforting promise to return if she should find it possible.

All preliminaries arranged, at ten o’clock, the twentieth of June we weighed anchor at Key West and steamed for the open sea, having first taken the official advice of Commodore Remie, commanding the navy at that point, to find Admiral Sampson and report to him.

The twenty-fifth gave us our first view of the water of Santiago. Our transports and battleships were gathered there, and the advice of Admiral Sampson was that we proceed to Guantanamo, where the marines had made a landing and were camped on the shore. There had been some fighting at Guantanamo. The “Solace” was there. Its harbor was fine, and the run of forty miles was made by noon of that day. Whoever has enjoyed the quiet, sheltered harbor of Guantanamo will not require to be reminded of it—protected on three sides by beautifully wooded hills. At six o’clock our anchors sunk in the deep still waters, and we had time to look about us and see for the first time the beginning of the war. The marines were camped diagonally along the brow of a beautiful hill. On our right a camp of Cubans, and all about us the great monsters with their protruding guns which told of forthcoming trouble. Captain McCalla, who was in command of Guantanamo, had sent compliments and a launch pointing out our place of anchorage.

The courtesies of the navy, so early commenced at Key West, were promptly continued. At eight o’clock we received a visit from Commander Dunlap of the “Solace” which, after a long and cordial interview, closed by his proposing to send his launch at ten o’clock the following day to take our entire company for a visit to the “Solace” and its fifty wounded men. If that beautiful ship or its management had left room on the records of our country’s mead of gratitude for more words of appreciative praise, I should be glad to speak them. Only those familiar with the earliest history of the Red Cross in our country and the methods by which our navy alone of all the Red Cross nations had gained even an approximately legal place, can judge what the sight of that first naval relief ship on our American waters was to me. It brought back so vividly the memory of the day when President Arthur called me to him to carefully explain the conditions of the treaty which he had just signed in 1881, and that Congress, having generously included the navy in its treaty for war, he would provide to hold it carefully until the probable widening of the original treaty would include the navies of the world as well as the armies. I was thankful for themodus vivendi, which I knew was as welcome to Spain as to ourselves, that had made it possible to pick up these poor wounded sailors and given them kindly care among their own, that there were not to be left uncared for, or thrown into land hospitals where everything would be strange to them. My twenty or thirty assistants glided about the polished decks of the magnificent ship, with a kindly greeting for every poor, wounded fellow, and delighted with everything they saw. For me, I had few words, prayerful gratitude, and many memories of the long years of patient waiting that had brought the American Red Cross even up to the point it had attained.

LOCATION OF SHORE BATTERIES, SANTIAGO.

Before the day closed news came to us of a more serious character than we had before learned. The daring Rough Riders had been hardly dealt by; Hamilton Fish and Capron had been killed, and the wounded needed help. Wherever they might be, it must be possible to reach them, and it was decided that no time be lost. Our men commenced work in the hold of the ship to get at medical supplies and dressings, and the captain took his orders. I find in my diary at the close of that day the following paragraph:

“It is the Rough Riders we go to, and the relief may be also rough; but it will be ready. A better body of helpers could scarcely be gotten together.”

Nine o’clock of the same night, June 26, found us in Siboney and anchored in its waters, which can scarcely be called a harbor. It seems to be rather an indenture in the coast. Shall I be pardoned if I again revert to the diary which, by some means, I found time to hastily pencil:

Siboney, Cuba, June 27, 1898.

We were wakened at daybreak to see the soldiers filing up over the hill in heavy marching order, forming in lines by ones and twos, winding up, in and out among the hills, higher and higher, like a great anaconda. As we watched them through a glass, they were a moving line trailing on toward the clouds, till lost in the mist, and we can only think as we look at them, on how many or on which is set the mark of death, He knows no more than we, poor fellow, and unthinkingly, perhaps, with his swinging, careless gait, toils up and up and waits for—he knows not what.

The hospitals, both American and Cuban, are located on the shore just to the right of us, and have been visited by our men during the night. Some of their surgeons called on us; all seemed interested in the Red Cross, but none thought that a woman nurse would be in place in a soldier’s hospital; indeed, very much out of place. I suggested that that decision was hard for me, for I had spent a great deal of time there myself. They appeared to understand that perfectly, or were so polite as not to criticise it, but there seemed to be a later line which could not be crossed. The Cubans, who had just come into camp, were less conventional and expressed a great desire for any assistance we could give them. “Sister Bettina” and her four trained “Sisters,” Drs. Egan and Hubbell went ashore to the hospitals. This had been proposed the evening before at General Garcia’s headquarters; but they were begged to wait just one day until their hospital could be in a little better order. These “Sisters” were not the persons to grant that day of preparation. On the contrary, we were told that as soon as they were fairly in the wards they commenced putting things into order and cleanliness, and worked through the day without interruption, coming home only after dark, tired it must be, but fresh and happy, full of the conviction of a work well done. Long before that day’s work was ended our own American hospitals alongside commenced to be jealous of the Cubans, and believed that they had spoken first. Be that as it might, we were equally forgetful, and from that time no distinction between the hospitals was known.

Dr. Lesser, Mr. Kennan and Mr. Elwell tramped, for there was no other mode of conveyance, to our advance line within three miles of Santiago. They found the artillery up and things nearly ready for attack, which it was thought would be on the following Wednesday.

JULY FIFTH IN RIFLE PITS.

The sea grew wild and rough; the water was too deep for firm anchorage, and we rocked at such a fearful rate that in pity for the pale faces about me, I begged the captain to draw as near the shore as possible and let, at least, a portion of them onto the land. Let them have, if only a few minutes, the solid ground under their feet. He drew up to within two or three hundred feet of the cliff which runs around like a firm sea wall, and succeeded in anchoring; took a boat and tried to land some of our people, but there were no wharves; the poor little seven by nine bench, designated as a wharf, running out into the sea, against which the boats swung and crashed as they tried to land supplies, was all there was, except the narrow beach with a heavy surf. Our people declined the landing, and headsick, heartsick and seasick returned to the ship.