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:

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:

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.

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:

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.