OUTRAGES ON AMERICANS IN CUBA.
How Spain Pays Her Debts--An Old Soldier's Experience--The Case
of Pedro Casanova--Destruction of Property--Robbery and Murder--A
Cruel Attack--The Insurgents to the Rescue--Hiding in a Cane
Field--The Appeal to the Consul--Intervention Justifiable.
Many American citizens in Cuba have been confined in Spanish
prisons, a number have been sent to the penal colonies, the
property of some has been confiscated, and others have been
murdered in cold blood. A celebrated case, which shows how slowly
the wheels of justice sometimes revolve, was that of Antonio
Maximo, a naturalized American citizen. He was condemned to death,
and his estates declared the property of the government, by order
of a court-martial, in 1870. He was charged with participating in
the revolution then going on in Cuba and convicted, in spite of
the fact that he was not residing on the island. The United States
demanded restitution and indemnification, and in 1873 the Spanish
republic admitted that the claim was just. The decree was
confirmed in 1876 by the royal government, but the authorities in
Cuba delayed its execution until the estates were in ruins. Spain
finally offered the sum of 1,500,000 pesos as indemnity, and this
offer was accepted in 1886. The Cortes, however, made no
appropriation for the payment, and in 1888 the Spanish minister of
state attempted to affix to the agreement the new condition that
certain claims of Spanish subjects should be adjudicated and
settled simultaneously. Secretary Bayard rejected the proposition,
and our government continued to urge the Spanish authorities to
fulfill their contract. On June 12, 1895, Secretary Olney
instructed Hannis Taylor, United States minister at Madrid, to ask
Spain to give assurances that she would settle the claim within
two months. The Spanish government then offered to pay the
principal of the claim, and the claimant agreed to forego the
interest. On September 14, the original claimant having died, the
Spanish government paid $1,499,000, equal to 1,500,000 pesos, in
settlement of the long-standing claim.
AN OLD SOLDIER'S EXPERIENCE.
William Ewing, of Buffalo, New York, served in the Seventeenth
United States infantry all through the civil war, and is a member
of the G. A. R. He went to Cuba, and invested $7,000, all the
money he had, in a sugar plantation, and with his wife and
daughter and his brother-in-law, William Hamilton, he took up his
abode on the island.
Finally, owing to the unsettled conditions resulting from the war,
he sent his family back to the United States, and joined the
insurgent army. His brother-in-law also espoused the Cuban cause,
and was killed in battle. Discouraged by his reverses, he decided
to return to his native land, and made his escape from the island
by boarding a blockade runner, which landed him at Atlantic City,
from where he walked to New York. Grand Army comrades gave him
food and shelter, and assisted him to reach his family. This man
has a personal interest in the success of the cause, for when that
time comes he hopes to regain possession of his property.
THE CASE OF PEDRO CASANOVA.
Pedro Casanova, a citizen of the United States, resided near the
little railway station of San Miguel de Jaruca with his family,
which consists of his wife and three children and his nephew, the
latter born in the United States. He told the story of his wrongs
at the hands of the Spaniards to a representative of the New York
Herald in the following words:
"I have suffered great outrages from the Spanish soldiers. The
soldiers recently passed on the road, and my wife called my
attention to the fact that they had broken into a vacant house
where valuable property was stored, and were pulling things in
pieces. Just then I saw two officers coming toward the house. I
was very glad, and went out to meet them, and invited them to
enter the house and refresh themselves. They accepted, and said
they liked coffee. While they were drinking, one or two soldiers
came and spoke to the captain, who asked me, 'Who are the men in
the sugar house?' 'My employes,' I replied, 'including one
engineer. The others are engaged in repairs.'
"The captain said: 'I hear rebels are hidden there. I must take
the men before the major for examination; the major himself will
be here to-morrow.'
"After he left I found the door of the house on the hill broken
open. A quantity of bottled beer had been taken, also my saddles
and bridles, and many other things. Gloves and other articles of
woman's apparel were tossed in the yard. I went to the station.
The drug store looked as if it had been visited by a mad bull. All
the shelves and drawers were thrown out and smashed. An empty
store opposite was in the same condition. The counter was thrown
down and the door posts hacked by machetes. The large coffee mill
was broken, and all was in disorder. An account of this work was
what the soldiers had whispered to the captain. The officer had
remarked to me with a sneer: 'The insurgents are very kind to you,
as no harm has been done here.'
"I was surprised on the following Wednesday morning to hear shots
as of several volleys of musketry. About three hundred soldiers--
infantry and cavalry--were, in fact, outside, having surrounded my
house. More soon appeared under command of Captain Cerezo
Martinez. In most brutal and vulgar terms he ordered all in the
house to go outside. The soldiers rushed in and dragged me out by
the coat collar. My wife, with her baby, was taken out, a rifle
being pointed at her breast. Eleutrie Zanabria, a negro servant,
who was badly frightened, tried to hide. He was pulled to the
front, and before my eyes a soldier struck him a heavy blow with
his machete, cutting him deep in the head and arm, leaving a pool
of blood on the floor. The wound was serious.
"An order was then given to take into custody all men on the
estate. Near a tree beyond the hill, one hundred yards from the
house, I stopped, about forty paces from the others, to talk to
the captain, who had been at the house the week before. At that
moment a young negro, Manuel Febels, made a dash to escape. Some
cavalrymen rushed after him, firing. He fell, and they mutilated
his body, taking out his eyes. The officer, enraged at the negro's
flight, pulled out his sabre, and shouted to the others of the
party: 'Get down on your knees!' They obeyed and he had them bound
and kept in that position a quarter of an hour.
"While I was talking to the captain my wife and five-year-old
child were begging for mercy for me. The cavalrymen helped
themselves to corn for their horses, and finally started. The
officers told me that my nephew's life and my own were only spared
because we were Americans, and they did not want to get into
trouble with the United States. They then ordered me to leave San
Miguel without waiting a moment.
"Their explanation of the raid was that the rebels had fired upon
the troops, and that they saw one man run, as he fired, into my
house, and that, under the major's instructions, the whole family
should have been killed. My wife and children were in agony while
I was away. My employes were all taken away by the troops.
"An officer of high rank in the Spanish army passed my place after
I left, came to me here, and said: 'I know what has happened. The
man in command is unfit to be an officer of Spain.' I heard that
my men had been taken to the Spanish camp and shot while eating
breakfast."
DESTRUCTION OF PROPERTY.
The brothers Farrar, in presenting their claim for indemnity, made
the following statement:
"On Saturday, March 21, the dwelling house of the coffee
plantation Estrella was the object of a wanton attack by the
column of Gen. Bernat, operating in that region. The said building
received cannon shots of grape and cannister, breaking the door,
one window, several piazza columns, and greatly endangering the
lives of the families of my brothers, Don Tasio and Don Luis
Farrar, both American citizens. There were two small children in
the house. From my information it appears that the troops
mentioned had sustained fire with a rebel band in Paz plantation,
a quarter-league from Estrella. The rebels having fled to Pedroso
and Buena Esperanza plantations, the government troops advanced
toward Estrella in quite an opposite direction from that taken by
the rebels. On arriving at the borders of Estrella plantation the
Spanish column began firing cannon at the dwelling house, and it
was immediately invaded by the soldiers, who ransacked it,
carrying off wardrobes, all jewelry and men's clothing which they
contained, as well as the sum of about $60 in money. They also
took away everything found in workmen's dwellings, arresting at
the same time twelve of the occupants, whom they conducted to
Alquizar as insurgents. It should be observed that the cannon were
fired solely at the dwelling house of the owners, although there
were twenty other buildings on the plantation, and the place was
entirely clear of insurgents.
"In consideration of all the above, and particularly on account of
the danger to which his relatives were exposed, and also for the
unjustifiable looting on the part of the regular troops in the
service of a constituted government, the undersigned does most
solemnly protest, and asks an immediate indemnity for the damages
suffered, which he values at $5,000, as all work has been stopped
on the plantation and everything abandoned."
A CRUEL ATTACK.
The case of Dr. Deligado is a particularly pathetic one. His home
was in New York, where he was a practicing physician, but he went
to Cuba to take possession of some property which he had
inherited. His father told the story of their sufferings to a
correspondent, and his account was supplemented by additional
particulars from the doctor himself. The elder gentleman said:
"Our plantation is called Dolores, the old name being Morales. It
was about half past one on the 4th day of March when a regiment of
rebels, about four hundred or five hundred men, invaded the place.
They told us they were Maceo's men, and soon after them came
Maceo, with twenty-four women, sixteen whites and eight mulattoes.
I understood that these women were the wives of the officers.
"Maceo shook hands politely and asked if I would allow them to
take breakfast with us. Of course there was nothing to do but say
yes, and the men spread themselves over about seventy acres of the
plantation, the officers and ladies coming into the house. They
had provisions with them, but desired to cook and serve them,
which they did. They sat down at the table and were soon joking
and laughing. Suddenly we heard rifle shots. Hernandez yelled to
his wife to hand him his machete. Then all went out and found that
the firing had come from what seemed to be an advance guard of the
Spanish troops. There was some skirmishing at a distance, and the
insurgents rode away. They did not wish to fight on the
plantation, as they were on another mission.
"The Spaniards had fired the cane, thinking there were other
insurgents hiding there. Spanish bullets rattled on the tiled roof
of the house, and farm hands who were plowing back of the house
got frightened and wished to come in.
"After a while I opened the window to see how matters stood and
saw two cavalrymen and a captain, with two soldiers. My son and
the farm hands went out toward the burning cane in an attempt to
save some oxen that were near the cane. When the captain saw them
he shouted: 'Who are those people?' I told him they were our
workmen, and he then gave orders to clear the house. They rushed
their horses right through the house, the captain leading them. I
took out my American papers and showed them to him to prove that I
was a peaceful citizen. 'They are the worst documents you could
have,' said the captain. They answered my son in the same way, and
the captain repeated the order to clear the house. Then they
ordered us to march on as prisoners and told the women to stay
back. My son asked them to let me stay back with the women, and
they allowed me to do so. Of course the women were panic-stricken
and screaming when they saw their husbands being taken away.
"We heard shots and then a second volley. One of the women cried
out: 'They have killed my husband!' Her words were true. After
about three hours I ventured out, and I saw coming towards the
house the old farm hand, a man of about seventy. He seemed to be
holding a red handkerchief over his arm, but when I got nearer I
saw that it was covered with blood. He cried out when he saw me:
'They have killed them!' 'My son! My son!' I cried. 'He was the
first one they killed,' he said.
"I took the man in the house and tried to bind up his arm, which
had been shattered by a bullet. I endeavored to pacify the women,
and told them they should go to the nearest neighbors for help.
The two white farm hands, who had been hiding in the cane, then
came over toward the house, while I was trying to quiet the women.
They were afraid to move, panic-stricken, and would not go for
help.
"Suddenly a young man dashed up to the house at full gallop. He
drew his revolver and told the farm hands to get cots and pillows
and medicine to bring to the missing men in case any of them
should be still alive. He said he would shoot them if they
disobeyed, and they did as he directed. They made up a litter, and
we walked on till we found the place where the men lay in a pool
of blood.
"I looked into my son's face and cried out: 'My son, my son!' He
opened his eyes and whispered: 'Father, they have killed us.'"
The old gentleman broke down in a passion of weeping at these
recollections of the awful scene, and the son gave his account of
the horrible butchery:
"They marched us along," said the Doctor, "and I spoke to the
general: 'General, I am an American citizen, and here are my
papers from Mr. Williams.' 'They are the worst things you could
have,' he said. 'I wish the Consul were here himself, so that I
could treat him thus,' and he struck me three times in the face.
Then he sounded the bugle calling the volunteers, and ordered us
taken to the rear guard. Of course, we knew that this meant death.
They tied us in a line with our hands pinioned. I knew the
sergeant and said to him: 'Is it possible that you are going to
kill me?' 'How can I help it?' he answered. Then the order was
given and the soldiers rushed upon us with machetes. Their knives
cut our ropes as we tried to dodge the blows, and the soldiers
fired two volleys at us. The first shot grazed my head, and I
dropped to the ground as though dead. The old farm hand also threw
himself to the earth. This act saved our lives.
"The other four men who tried to fight were killed. At the second
discharge a bullet pierced my side. When we all lay as though dead
they came up and turned us over and searched our pockets--mine
first, of course, as I was better dressed than the other men. One
of the soldiers noticed that my breast moved and shouted out:
'This fellow is not dead yet. Give him another blow,' and he
raised his machete and gave me a slash across the face and throat.
Then I became unconscious."
Delgado's father took up the story as his son left off: "The brave
young man who brought us to the place where my son was, now jumped
from his horse and gave orders to the men to lift my son on the
litter, as we found he was the only man still living. We put a
pillow under his head, and the two farm hands lifted the litter
and carried it into the cane field. Meanwhile the women relatives
of the dead men came up and began to wail and cry. The young man,
whom we afterwards found was an insurgent leader, told them they
should be quiet, as their lamentations would bring the Spanish
troops upon the scene again.
"Then the litter was carried into the cane field. This young man
said: 'You must immediately write to the American consul. I will
furnish you with a messenger, and you may rest safely in this cane
field with your son. I will put a guard of 500 men around it so
that they cannot burn it, as they do when they know people are
hiding in the cane.'
"For five days I was in the cane field with my son. It rained upon
us, and then I put the pillows over my son's chest, in order to
protect him. I suffered greatly from rheumatism. Only the young
man appeared and said that General Maceo had sent a guard to
escort me back to my home. With my boy we were taken there and
guard kept around our house. The messenger came back from the
Consul, and I came on to Havana to see General Weyler, who had my
son brought here to the city."
Stories of outrages on Americans that are unquestionably true
might be furnished in numbers sufficient to more than fill this
entire volume, but enough have been given to convince the most
skeptical that the demand for intervention was justified on our
own account, as well as for the sake of the people of Cuba.