A STATE OF SIEGE IN CUBA.
A Cuban Newspaper Office--Local Intelligence--The Cuban
Revolution--Spanish Volunteers--A Recruit--With Bimba--- 'Los
Insurrectos'--At a Fire--Cuban Firemen.
'We are in a state of siege!' says my friend, Don Javier, editor of a
Cuban periodical called _El Sufragio Universal_.
'Y bien, amigo mio; how does the situation affect you?'
'Malisisimamente!' returns Don Javier, offering me a seat at his
editorial table. 'The maldito censor,' he whispers, 'has suppressed four
columns of to-day's paper; and there remains little in the way of
information, besides the feuilleton, some advertisements, and a long
sonnet addressed to 'Lola' on the occasion of her saint's day, by an
amorous Pollo-poet.
The weather is sultry and oppressive. The huge doors and windows of _El
Sufragio Universal_ office are thrown wide open. Everybody is dressed in
a coat of white drill, a pair of white trousers, is without waistcoat,
cravat, or shirt-collar, wears a broad-brimmed Panama, and smokes a long
damp cigar.
The sub-editor--a lean, coffee-coloured person, with inky sleeves--is
seated at a separate table making up columns for to-morrow's 'tirada,'
or impression. Before him is a pile of important news from Puerto Rico
and San Domingo, besides a voluminous budget from that indefatigable
correspondent, Mr. Archibald Cannie, of Jamaica. More than half of this
interesting news has been already marked out by the censor's red pencil,
and the bewildered sub looks high and low for material wherewith to
replenish the censorial gaps. Small, half-naked negroes, begrimed with
ink--veritable printer's devils--appear and crave for 'copy,' but in
vain.
'Give out the foreign blocks,' says the editor, in the tone of a
commander.
The foreign blocks are stereotyped columns, supplied by American quacks
and other advertisers to every newspaper proprietor throughout the West
Indies. On account of their extreme length and picturesque
embellishments, these advertisements are used only in cases of
emergency.
While the foreign blocks are being dispensed, the 'localista,' or
general reporter, enters in breathless haste. He has brought several
fragments of local information. Four runaway negroes have been captured
by the police. Two English sailors have died of yellow fever in the Casa
de Salud. A coolie has stabbed another coolie at the copper mines, and
has escaped justice by leaping into an adjacent pit. A gigantic cayman,
or shark, has been caught in the harbour. The localista has also some
items of news about the Cuban insurrection. The rebels have increased in
numbers. They have occupied all the districts which surround our town,
destroyed the aqueduct, cut the telegraph wire, and intercepted the land
mails to Havana. There is now no communication with the capital, save
by sea. Troops have again been dispatched to the interior, but their
efforts have proved ineffectual. Upon their appearance, the rebels
vanish into the woods and thickets, and there exhaust the patience and
the energy of the military.
The sub-editor notes everything down, taking care to eschew that which
is likely to prove offensive to the sensitive ears of the authorities.
The material is then given out for printing purposes; for his worship
the censor will read nothing until it has been previously set up in
type. As many hours will elapse before the proof sheets are returned
with censorial corrections, Don Javier proposes a saunter through the
town.
On the way, Don Javier entertains me with an account of the revolution.
'The first grito de independencia,' says he, 'took place on October the
tenth (1868), at La Demajagua--an ingenio, or sugar estate, belonging to
Don Carlos Manuel Cespedes, a wealthy Cuban planter and a distinguished
advocate. One hundred and forty-seven men, armed with forty-five
fowling-pieces, four rifles and a few pistols and machetes, constituted
the rebellious band which, under Senor Cespedes' leadership, had
ventured to raise the standard of independence. Two days after, their
numbers were increased to 4,000.
'When our governor was first told that a party of Cubans had risen in
open revolt, not many leagues from our town, he publicly proclaimed that
the rebellious band consisted of a small crowd of "descamisados," or
ragged vagrants, and runaway negroes, whom a dozen policemen could
easily disperse. In spite of this pretended indifference, he
nevertheless thought fit to communicate with the Captain-General of
Havana. That mighty functionary thought more seriously of the outbreak;
he was perfectly aware of the heavy taxes which had been imposed upon
the inhabitants of our island; of the state of ruin into which many of
our leading planters had been thrown by these taxes; and conscious also
of the oppression and despotism which had been exercised over our colony
during the reign of the lately dethroned Queen of Spain, he doubtless
calculated that the revolutionary mania inaugurated in the Mother
Country would naturally be imitated in the Loyal and Ever-faithful Isle.
But whatever may have been his speculations, certain it is that as soon
as he heard of the rebellious movement, he telegraphed to our governor,
commanding him to dispatch to the scene of the outbreak as many troops
as could be safely spared from the garrison at Santiago. Meanwhile, he
himself dispatched a battalion of tried warriors from the capital.
'Before our apathetic governor had had time to obey the orders of his
chief, an encounter had already taken place at Yara, in the district of
Manzanillo, between some of the rebels and a column of the Crown
regiment who were quartered at the town of Bayamo.
'Our governor was now alive to the gravity of the situation, and in due
course began to take what he called "active measures." Following the
example set by the governor of Manzanillo, he declared our town in a
state of siege; and you will now have an opportunity of judging for
yourself what a siege in Cuba is like.'
The usual military precautions against assault on an unfortified place
have been taken. The entrances to the streets have been barricaded with
huge hogsheads containing sand and stones; small cannon stand in the
plaza and principal thoroughfares. At every corner that we turn, we are
accosted by a sentry, who challenges us three times over: 'Who goes
there?' 'Spain.' 'What kind of people?' 'Inoffensive.' And so forth. The
theatre, the bull-ring, the promenade, are all closed for the season.
The masquerading and carnival amusements are at an end. Payments have
been suspended, and provisions have become scarce and dear. The people
whom we meet have grown low-spirited, and the sunny streets look gloomy
and deserted. We glance in at the warehouses and manufactories, and find
everybody within attired in military costume; for many of the
inhabitants have enrolled themselves as volunteers for the pleasure of
wearing a uniform at their own expense, and of sporting a rifle provided
by the government. The names of those who object to play at soldiers
have been noted down, and their proceedings are narrowly watched.
The Plaza de Armas is crowded with volunteers; their uniform consists of
a blue and white striped blouse, white drill trousers, and a Panama hat,
to the band of which is attached a vermilion-coloured cockade
embellished with silver lace. The majority of these amateur warriors are
Catalan shopkeepers, and clerks from Spanish warehouses.
Don Javier tells me that these gentlemen, together with the Havana
volunteers, represent a very formidable army; and that in the event of
affairs taking a more serious turn, the volunteers would take an active
part in the hostilities.
'The Catalan shopkeepers,' says Don Javier, 'are even more interested
than Spain in preserving our colony under its present administration.'
'Under a more just and humane government, together with the abolition of
slavery, these traders would be considerable losers; for most of them
are large slave-owners, and enjoy certain mercantile privileges, which
would be denied them under a new policy.'
I remind Don Javier that these said Catalans are after all Spaniards
born, and that, whatever their private object may be, for patriotic
reasons it seems only natural that they should desire to maintain order
in the Spanish colony.
'No muy! not a bit of it,' says my friend; 'they are not prompted by any
feeling of patriotism. They have been too long estranged from their home
at Barcelona, and love Cuba and her rich resources too much, to make
that a consideration. I have heard them say that they would take up arms
against their own government, rather than that Cuba should enjoy the
privileges to which I have alluded.'
While we are conversing, a couple of volunteers approach and salute us.
One of them is my friend Bimba, who tells me that he has enlisted,
partly for the 'fun' of wearing a uniform, and partly to ensure himself
against arrest.
'Well, Don Javier,' says he,'are you not one of us yet? And you too, Don
Gualterio, surely you will help to protect our town?'
I plead, as an excuse, my nationality.
'Que caramba!' exclaims Bimba; 'why, your countryman, the clerk in B----
's warehouse, is a volunteer; and so are the S---- 's from the German
house in the Calle de la Marina.'
Don Javier observes that our numerous duties prevent us from joining the
corps.
'Car! Que duties y duties?' says Bimba; 'business is slack with all of
us now. You, Don Javier, will have an easy time of it, notwithstanding
your trade of news-disseminator; for you know, only "official" accounts
of the war are fit for publication in your paper! As for you, amigo
Gualterio, there will be no more triumphal arches wanted for the
present; and no more "monos" (portraits) of defunct people, till the
revolution is over, and then I have no doubt there will be more than
enough to occupy you and your partner Nicasio! The theatre, too, is
closed until further notice, so there will be no more theatricals.'
Leaving Don Javier to chat with the other volunteer, I withdraw with
Bimba to a quiet corner of the square and converse with him in private.
Bimba is one of the favoured few who is aware of my connection with an
American newspaper, because, for obvious reasons, I have always been
careful to preserve my incognito. Now, more than ever, it behoves me to
adopt this precaution.
As a blind to the authorities and in order to facilitate my journalistic
operations, Bimba suggests that I should join the volunteers. He tells
me that our governor has signified his intention to make another sally
with the troops, and that he has invited some of the volunteers to
accompany the expedition. Enrolled as a volunteer, my friend says that
it will not be difficult to obtain permission to follow with others in
the rear of the Spanish regulars, and that by so doing I shall be able
to 'report progress.'
Our mutual friend Tunicu has not yet enlisted, I find.
'That gentleman is otherwise engaged,' says Bimba; 'his leisure moments
are occupied at the house of his uncle Don Benigno, in the enjoyment of
the society of his little mulatto-lady, who is, as you know, Don
Benigno's adopted daughter.'
'What! the pretty Ermina?' I exclaim; 'why, she is a mere child!'
'She was a child five years ago, when you and your partner were the
Don's guests,' says Bimba. 'Now Ermina is a grown woman of fifteen
tropical summers.'
'There is some mystery connected with that young lady,' I observe; 'and
I have never yet been able to fathom it. Can you enlighten me?'
'Not much,' returns Bimba; 'I strongly suspect--but let us not talk
scandal in these warlike times. I only know that Ermina is a remarkably
white mulatto of the octoroon class; that she has been educated like a
lady; and that she is the bosom companion of Don Benigno's daughters.'
My curiosity being aroused, I resolve to probe Tunicu on the subject of
his affaire de coeur, at our next meeting.
Meanwhile I adopt friend Bimba's suggestion and enroll myself in his
corps, and, with others, obtain permission to accompany the troops on
their expedition.
Some days, however, elapse before our feeble-minded governor can make up
his mind to the sally. A couple of Spanish frigates lie at anchor in the
harbour, in readiness to bombard the town if the rebels should effect an
entrance and stir up the inhabitants, their countrymen, to revolt. The
garrison has been considerably augmented by the arrival of fresh troops
from Puerto Rico and Spain, who are quartered indiscriminately in the
jail, the hospitals, and churches, to expire there by the score of
yellow fever, vomito negro, and dysentery. Meanwhile the besiegers make
no attempt at assault, but occasionally challenge the troops to sally
from their stronghold by firing their sporting rifles within earshot of
the town.
Several foreign vessels of war are stationed in the bay ready, if
necessary, to assist the foreign residents of the town. Among these
vessels are the American war steamer 'Penobscot' and H.B.M.'s steam-ship
the 'Eclipse;' the latter having been summoned from Port Royal, Jamaica,
by the English vice-consul of Santiago.
One day a great panic is raised, with cries of' Los insurrectos! Los
insurrectos!' followed by a charge of mounted military through the
streets. It is reported that the insurgents are coming; so everybody
hastens home, and much slamming of doors and barring of windows is
heard. But the alarm proves a false one; and, with the exception of a
few arrests made by the police, just to keep up appearances, no further
damage results.
One memorable night, shortly after the inhabitants have retired, the
terrible cry of 'fire!' is heard throughout the town, and a report
spreads that the insurgents have at last effected an entrance, and set
fire to several houses.
Sure enough, from the roof of our studio, Nicasio and I witness what, at
our distance, seems to be the burning of Santiago de Cuba! The sky is
black with smoke, and from the centre of the town broad flames mount
high into the air. Verily, part of Santiago is in flames, but the cause
of the conflagration is--as we afterwards find--in no way connected with
the insurrection.
A 'panaderia' (baker's shop) and a linen-draper's warehouse, called 'El
Globo,' owned by Catalans, have both caught fire by accident. Under
ordinary circumstances, the disaster would not have created any other
alarm than that which usually accompanies such a rare event as a fire in
Cuba. But having connected its origin with the pending revolution, the
town is thrown into a state of extreme panic, and until the truth is
made manifest, the greatest confusion prevails. Mounted guards and
policemen--armed to the teeth--charge through the streets in all
directions, and the volunteers turn out en masse and congregate in large
numbers before the scene of the conflagration in the Plaza de Dolores.
Even the foreign consuls share for the moment in the popular
apprehension. Their national flags are seen to flutter over their
respective consulates, and a few well-armed marines from the 'Penobscot'
and 'Eclipse' war-steamers are despatched by the captains of these
vessels for the protection of the American and English residents.
Passing the British consulate on our way to the Plaza de Dolores, we
observed a couple of British tars--their cutlasses shouldered and with
revolvers in their belts--on guard at the open doors.
Meanwhile the black 'bomberos,' or firemen of the town, are at their
work. But they are ill-provided with the machinery for extinguishing a
great fire. Only one engine is available, and their water is supplied in
buckets and by means of a long hose which communicates with the
court-yard of an opposite house.
The gallant captain of the British war-steamer offers to provide the
firemen with an engine and men from his vessel; but the bomberos are
able to dispense with this assistance, as their plan of operations
consists chiefly in cutting off all communication with the fire, by
destroying the surrounding houses.
If any proof were wanting to show that the despised, but free and
well-paid negro, is not devoid of ability and energy, these black and
brown bomberos would surely provide ample testimony. A better conducted,
better disciplined body of men than the coloured firemen of Cuba it has
never been my fortune to meet anywhere. Steady, earnest of purpose, and
perfectly free from excitement, they work like veritable negroes, and
they prove as serviceable as the whitest of their bombero brethren.
In less than four hours the safety of the surrounding habitations is
ensured, and the fire, being now confined to the doomed buildings, is
left to burn itself out.