 Chapter 31 of Historical Tales, Volume 3, Spanish American. Chapter 31. Maseo and the Struggle for Cuban Independence. On the 24th of February, 1895, the people of Havana, the capital of Cuba, were startled by a report that rebels were in the field, a band of twenty-four having appeared in arms at Ibarra in the province of Matanzas. Other small bands were soon heard of elsewhere in the island. A trifle this seemed in view of the fact that Cuba was guarded by twenty-thousand Spanish troops and had on its military rolls the names of sixty-thousand volunteers. But the island was seething with discontent and trifles grow fast under such circumstances. Twenty years before a great rebellion had been afoot. It was settled by treaty in 1878, but Spain had ignored the promises of the treaty and steadily heaped up fuel for the new flame which had now burst out. As the days and weeks went on the movement grew, many of the plantation hands joining the insurgents until there were several thousand men in Arias. For a time these had it all of their own way, raiding and plundering the plantations of the loyalists and vanishing into the woods and mountains when the troops appeared. The war to which this led was not one of the picturesque old affairs of battle and banners, marches and campaigns. It displayed none of the pomp and circumstance of glorious war. Forest ambushes, sudden attacks, quick retreats and brisket frays that led to nothing forming the staple of the conflict. The Patriots had no hope of triumphing over the armed and trained troops of Spain, but they hoped to wear them out and make the war so costly to Spain that she would in the end give up the island in despair. The work of the Cuban Patriots was like the famous deeds of Marion and his men in the swampy region of the Carolina coast. Two-thirds of Cuba were uncultivated, and half its area was covered with thickets and forests. In the wet season the lowlands of the coast were turned into swamps of sticky black mud. Underbrush filled the forest so thick and dense as to be almost impassable. The high bushes and thick grasses of the plains formed a jungle which could be traversed only with the aid of the machete, the heavy, sharp, cutlass-like blade which the Cuban uses both as tool and sword, now cutting his way through bush and jungle, now slicing off the head of an enemy in war. Everywhere in the island there are woods, there are hills and mountains, there are growths of lofty grass, affording countless recesses and refuges for fugitives and lurking places for ambushed foes. To retire to the long grass is a Cuban phrase meaning to gain safety from pursuit, and a patriot force might lie unseen and unheard while an army marched by. In brief, Cuba is a paradise for the bushfighter, and the soldiers of Spain were none too eager to venture into the rebel haunts, where the flame of death might suddenly burst forth from the most innocent-looking woodland retreat or grass-grown mead. The soldiers might search for days for a foe who could not be found, and as for starving out the rebels that was no easy thing to do. There were the yam, the banana, the sweet potato, the wild fruits of the woodland which the fertile soil bore abundantly, while the country people were always ready to supply their brothers in the field. Such was the state of affairs in Cuba in the Rebellion of 1895. For a time the rebels gathered in small bands with none but local leaders, but the outbreak had been fomented by agents afar, fugitives from the former war, and early in April twenty-four of these exiles arrived from Costa Rica, landing secretly at a point near the eastern end of the island. Chief among the newcomers was Antonio Maseo, a mulatto who would want a high reputation for his daring and skill in the past conflict, and who had unbounded influence over the Negro element of the rebellion. Wherever Maseo was ready to lead they were ready to follow to the death if he gave the word, and soon proved himself the most daring and successful soldier in the war. He did not make his way inland with safety. Spanish cavalry were patrolling the coast to prevent landings, and Maseo and his comrades had a brisk fight with a party of these soon after landing, he getting away with a bullet hole through his hat. For ten days they were in imminent danger, now fighting, now hiding, now seeking the wild woodland fruits for food, and so pestered by the Spanish patrols that the party was forced to break up, only two or three remaining with Maseo. In the end these fell in with a party of rebels from whom they received a warm and enthusiastic welcome. Maseo was a rebel ingrain. He was the only one of the leaders in the former war who would refuse to sign the Treaty of Peace. He had kept up the fight for two months longer and finally escaped from the country, now to return without the load of a broken promise on his conscience. The new leader of the rebellion soon had a large following of insurgents at his back, and in several sharp brushes with the enemy proved that he could more than hold his own. Other patriots soon arrived from exile, Jose Marti, the fulmenter of the insurrection, Maximo Gomez and Abel Soldier, and several more whose presence gave fresh spirit to the rebels. The movement, which had as yet been a mere hasty outbreak, was now assuming the dimensions of a regular war, hundreds of patriots joining the ranks of these Abel leaders, until more than six thousand men were in the field. Almost everywhere that they met their enemy they were largely outnumbered, and they fought mostly from ambush, striking their blows when least expected, and vanishing so suddenly and by such hidden paths that pursuit was usually idle. Much of their strength lay in their horses. No Cossacks or Cowboys could surpass them as riders, in which art they were far superior to the Spanish cavalry. Many stories are told of women who rode in their ranks and wielded the machete as boldly and skillfully as the men. And in this there is doubtless much truth. Their horses were no show animals, but a sore-backed, sorry lot fed on rushes or coya, there being no other grain, left standing unsheltered rain or shine, but as tough and tireless beasts as our own broncos, and ever ready to second their riders in mad dashes on the foe. The favorite mode of fighting practiced by the insurgents was to surprise the enemy by a sharp skirmish fire, their sharpshooters seeking to pick off the officers. Then if there was a fair opportunity they would dash from their covert in a wild cavalry charge, machete in hand, and yelling like so many demons, and seek to make havoc in the ranks of the foe. This was the kind of fighting in which Maseo excelled. Through 1895 the war went on with endless skirmishes and only one affair that could be called a battle. In this Maseo was the insurgent general, while Martinez Campos, Governor General of Cuba, a man looked upon as the ablest general of Spain, led the Spanish troops. Maseo had caused great annoyance by attacks on trained loads of food for the fortified town of Bayamo, and Campos determined to drive him from the field. Several columns of Spanish troops were set in motion upon him from different quarters, one of these fifteen hundred strong led by Campos himself. On the thirteenth of July the two armies met. Maseo, with nearly three thousand men, being posted on a stock farm several miles from Bayamo. The fight began with a sharp attack on the Spaniards intended to strike the division under Campos, but by an error it fell upon the advance guard led by General Santos Ildes, which was saluted by a brisk fire from the wooded hillsides. Santos Ildes fell dead, and a bullet tore the heel from the Governor General's boot. Maseo, surmising from the confusion in the Spanish ranks that some important officer had fallen, now launched his horsemen upon them in a vigorous machete charge. Though Campos succeeded in repelling them, he felt himself in a critical situation, and hastily drew up his whole force into a hollow square with the wagons and the dead horses and mules for breast-works. Around this strong formation the Cubans raged for several hours, only the skill of Campos saving his men from a disastrous route. An assault was made on the rearguard early in the affray, Maseo hoping to capture the ammunition train, but its defenders held their ground vigorously and fought their way to the main column where they aided to form the square. Finally the Spaniards succeeded in reaching Bayamo pursued by the Cubans and having lost heavily in the fight. They were saved from utter destruction by Maseo's lack of artillery, and Campos was very careful afterwards not to venture near the staring leader without a powerful force. Maximo Gomez, one of the principal leaders in the earlier war, had now been appointed Commander-in-Chief of the Cuban forces, with Antonio Maseo as his Lieutenant General. He had made his way westward into the province of Santa Clara, and in November Maseo left the eastern province of Santiago de Cuba to join him. In his way lay the Troca, the famous device of the Spaniards to prevent the free movement of the Cuban forces. It may be of interest to describe this new idea in warfare devised by the Spaniards to check the free movement of their rebel foes. The word Troca means trench, but the Spanish Trocas were military lines cut through the woods and across the island from side to side, and defended by barbed wire fences, while the felled trees were piled along both sides of the roadway, making a difficult breastwork of jagged roots and branches. At intervals of a quarter-mile or more along this well-guarded avenue were forts, each with a garrison of about one hundred men, it needing about fifteen thousand to defend the whole line of the Troca from sea to sea. Such was the elaborate device adopted by Campos and by Weyler after him to check the Cuban movements. We needn't only say here that despite its cost and the number of men it tied up on guard duty, the Troca failed to restrain the alert islanders. Gomez had crossed it in his movement westward, and Maseo now followed with equal readiness. He made a faint of an attack and force on one part of the line, and when the Spaniards had concentrated to defend this point, he crossed at an unprotected spot without firing a shot or losing a man. Westward still went the Cubans heedless of Trocas or Spaniards. From Santa Clara they entered Matanzas province, and from this made their way into the province of Havana, bringing the war almost to the gates of the capital. Spain had now sent more than one hundred thousand troops across the ocean, though many of these were in the hospitals. As for the Cubans, the island had now risen almost from end to end, and their force was estimated from thirty to fifty thousand men. It was no longer a rebel outbreak that Spain had to deal with, it was a national war. By the end of the year the Cubans were firmly fixed in Havana province, many Negro-field hands and Cuban youths having joined their ranks. They fought not only against the Spaniards, but against the bandits also, of whom there were many abroad plundering from both sides alike. These were hanged by the Patriots whenever captured. Maseo was the active fighter of the force, Gomez being occupied in burning sugar cane fields and destroying railroads so as to deprive Spain of the sinews of war. In January, 1896, a new movement westward was made, Maseo leading his men into the province of Pinar del Rio, which occupies the western end of the island. Here was the great tobacco district, one into which insurrection had never before made its way. Within a year, rebellion had covered the island from end to end, the Spaniards being secure nowhere but within the cities, while the insurgents moved wherever they chose in the country. The sky around the capital was heavy with smoke by day and lurid with the flames of burning fields at night, showing that Gomez was busy with his work of destruction, burning the crops of every planter who sought to grind his cane. Let us now follow the daring mulatto leader through the remainder of his career. General Wyler had now succeeded Campos, and began his official life with the boast that he would soon clear the provinces near Havana of rebels and arms. But he was hardly in the Governor's Chair when Maseo was back from the west and swooping down on the city of Haruko, which he looted and burned. Wyler sent troops into Pinar del Rio, where they found no one to oppose them, and he was soon able to inform the world by a proclamation that this province was pacified. But the ink was barely dry upon it when Maseo, having burned the port of Batobano, on the southern coast, was back in the pacified province where he made his headquarters in the mountains and defied all the power of Spain. Instead of seeking him here, Wyler now attempted to confine him by building a new troca cutting off that end of the island. This took two months to complete, during which Maseo continued his work almost unopposed, destroying the tobacco of loyalists, defeating every force sent against him, and leaving to Spain only four fortified cities in the southern part of the province. Not until autumn opened did Wyler take the field, marching into Pinar del Rio at the head of thirty thousand men, confident now of putting an end to the work of his persistent foe, whom he felt sure he had hemmed in with his troca. Between the two forces, Spanish and Cuban, the province was sadly harried, and became so incapable of supporting a large force that Maseo was obliged to dismiss the most of his men. Leaving the slender remnant under the control of one of his lieutenants he once more passed the troca, this time rowing round its end in a boat and landing in Havana province. He had sent orders in advance for a concentration of the Cuban forces in this region that he might give Wyler a new employment. The daring partisan leader was near the end of his career, brought to his death by the work of a traitor, as was widely believed. While waiting for the gathering of the forces, he, with the few men with him, was fired on from a Spanish ambush and fell mortally wounded. Thus died the most dashing soldier that the Cuban rebellion called into the field. Doctor Sertuca of his staff was charged with treachery in leading him into this ambush, though that is by no means proved. Maseo was one of his nine brothers, all soldiers, and all of whom had now died in the great struggle for Cuban independence. His body was recovered from the enemy after a desperate fight. His valiant spirit was lost to the cause. Yet his work had not been without a veil, and the country porch he had fought so bravely was left by him on the high road to liberty. Lieutenant Hobson and the sinking of the Merrimack. About three o'clock of a dark morning, whose deep gloom shrouded alike the shores and waters of Cuba's tropic isle, a large craft left the side of the New York, the flagship of Admiral Samson's fleet off Santiago, and glided towards the throat of the narrow channel leading to its landlocked harbor. This mysterious craft was an old coal carrier named the Merrimack. On board were Richmond P. Hobson, assistant naval constructor, and seven volunteer seamen. Their purpose was to sink the old hulk in the channel and thus to seal up the Spanish ships in Santiago harbor. The fact that there were ten chances to one that they would go to the bottom with their craft, or be riddled with Spanish bullets, did not trouble their daring souls. Their country called, and they obeyed. Ranged along the sides of the ship below decks was a series of torpedoes prepared to blow the vessel into a hopeless wreck when the proper moment came. A heavy weight in coal had been left on board to carry her rapidly to the bottom, and there was a strong hope that she could be dropped in the channel like a cork in the neck of a bottle, and bottle up, Admiral Cervera and his cruisers. But it was an errand of imminent risk that did not trouble the bold American Tars. There were volunteers enough eager to undertake the perilous task to form a ship's crew, and to the six seamen chosen, Coxwin-Clauson added himself as a stowaway. The love of adventure was stronger than fear of death or captivity. It was the morning of June 3, 1898. During the night before, an attempt to go in had been made, but the hour was so late that the Admiral called the vessel back. Now an earlier start was made, and there was no hindrance to the adventurous voyage. Heavy clouds hid the moon as the Merrimack glided in towards the dark line of the coast. Not a light was shown, and great skill was needed to strike the narrow channel squarely in the gloom. From the New York, eager eyes watched the collier until its outlines were lost beneath the shadow of the hills. Eyes continued to peer into the darkness, and ears to listen intently, while a tense anxiety strained the nerves of the watching crew. Then came a booming roar from Marrow Castle, and the flash of a cannon lit up for an instant the gloom. Other flashes and booming sounds followed, and for twenty minutes there seemed a battle going on in the darkness. The Merrimack was under fire. She was meeting her doom. What was the fate of Hobson and his men? Cadet J.W. Powell had followed the collier with a steam launch on four men, prepared to pick up any fugitives from the doomed ship. He went daringly under the batteries and hung about until daylight revealed his small craft. But not a man was seen in the ruffled waters, and he returned disappointed at six-fifteen a.m., pestered by spiteful shots from the Spanish guns. He had followed the Merrimack until the low-lying smoke from the roaring guns hit her from view. Then came the explosion of the torpedoes. Hobson had done his work. Powell kept under the shelter of the cliffs until full day had dawned, and before leaving he saw a spar of the Merrimack rising out of the water of the Channel. The sinking had been accomplished, but no one could say with what result to Hobson and his men. Let us now leave the distant spectators and go on board the Merrimack, seeking the company of her devoted crew. It was Hobson's purpose to sink her in the narrowest part of the Channel, dropping the anchor and handling the rudder so as to turn her across the stream. Her length was sufficient to close up completely the deeper Channel. He would stop the engines, let fall the anchor, open the traps made for the sea water to flow in and explode the torpedoes. Ten of these lay on the port side of the ship, each containing eighty two pounds of powder, and they were connected so that they could be fired in train. There were two men below, one to reverse the engines, the other to break open the sea traps with the sledgehammer. Those on deck were to let fall the anchor and set the helm. Then Hobson would touch the electric button and fire the torpedoes, and all would leap overboard and swim to the dinghy towing a stern, in which they hoped to escape. Such were their plans, but chance, as it so often does, set them sadly astray. On through the darkness they went, hitting the Channel squarely, and steaming in under the frowning walls of the morrow, through gloom and deathlike silence. But the Spaniards were not asleep. A small picket boat came gliding out under the Collier's stern, and fired several shots at the suspicious craft. One of these carried away the rudder, and spoiled one important item of the plans. The dinghy, which was trusted to for escape, disappeared, perhaps hit by one of these shots. The picket boat, having done this serious mischief, then hurried ashore and gave the alarm, and quickly the shore batteries were firing on the dark hell. The ships in the harbor echoed the shots with their guns. The Spaniards were alert. They thought that an American battleship was trying to force its way in, perhaps with the whole fleet in its wake, and were ready to give it a hard fight. Through the rain of balls the Merrimack drove on, unhurt by the bombardment, and even by a submarine mine which exploded near her stern. The darkness and her rapid motion rendered her hard to hit, and she reached the desired spot in the narrowest spot of the Channel. None the worse for the shower of iron hail. So far all had gone well. Now the critical moment had arrived. Hobson gave the signal fixed upon, and the men below reversed the engine and opened the sea connections. They then dashed for the deck. Those above dropped the anchor and set the helm. Only then did Hobson to his bitter disappointment discover that the rudder had been lost. The ship refused to answer her helm, and the plan of setting her lengthwise across the Channel failed. The final task remained. Touching the electric button, the torpedoes went off with a sullen roar, and the ship lurched heavily beneath their feet. The sharp roll threw some of the men over the rail, the others leapt into the sea. Hobson went the Merrimack with a surge of the bow, cheers from the forts and the ships greeting her as she sank. The gunners thought that they had sent to the depths one of the hostile men of war. At the last moment of leaving the New York, an old catamaran had been thrown on the Merrimack's deck, as a possible aid to the crew in extremity. This float lay on the roof of the midship house, a rope fastening it to the traffrail, with enough slack to let it float loose after the ship had sunk. It was a fortunate thought for the crew as it had afforded them a temporary refuge in place of the lost dinghy. We may let Lieutenant Hobson speak for himself at this point in our narrative. He says, I swam away from the ship as soon as I struck the water, but I could feel the eddies drawing me backward in spite of all I could do. This did not last very long, however, and as soon as I felt the tugging cease, I turned and struck out for the float, which I could see dimly bobbing up and down over the sunken hull. The Merrimack's masks were plainly visible, and I could see the heads of my seven men, as they followed my example and made for the float also. We had expected, of course, that the Spaniards would investigate the wreck, but we had no idea that they would be added as quickly as they were. Before we could get to the float, several row-boats and launches came around the bluff from inside the harbour. They had officers on board, and armed marines as well, and they searched that passage rowing backward and forward until the next morning. It was only by good luck that we had got to the float at all, for they were upon us so quickly that we had barely concealed ourselves when a boat with quite a large party on board was right beside us. An event which they thought unlucky now proved to be the salvation of the fugitives, who very likely would have been shot on the spot by the marines if they had been seen from the boats. The rope which fastened the float to the ship was too short to let it swing free, and one of the pontoons that supported it was dragged partly under water, lifting the other above the surface. If the raft had lain flat on the water they would have had to climb on top and would have made an excellent mark for the marines. As it was they got under its lifted side, and by thrusting their hands through the slats that formed the deck they kept their heads above water and had a chance to breathe. Luckily for them the Spaniards paid no attention to the old half-sunken raft that floated above the wreck. They came near it frequently, and the hidden sailors could hear their words, but no one seemed to suspect it. The fugitives spoke only in whispers, and at times were almost afraid to breathe, lest they should be heard, but their hiding place remained unsuspected. The water, warm at first, grew cold as the hours went on, and their fingers ached as they clung desperately to the slats. As the night passed their teeth began to chatter with the cold till it seemed to them as if the Spaniards must hear the sound, so distinctly to their ears came the noises on the water and on shore. The situation in fact became at last so trying that one of the men let go and began to swim ashore. Hobson called him back, and he obeyed, but the call was heard by the men in the boats and created some commotion. They rode up towards the float and looked sharply about, but no one thought of investigating the float itself, and soon they went off into the shadows again, letting the hidden men once more breathe freely. The question that most interested the Spaniards was to learn what ship it was they had sunk. Hobson heard them talking and guessing about it, and understood many of their words. He soon perceived that the officers had taken in the situation, and more astonished at the boldness and audacity of the attempt. The boats appeared to be from the fleet, a fact of the lieutenant's satisfaction, as he felt more like trusting to the tender mercies of a Spanish sailor than of a soldier. At this point we let him take up the narrative again. When daylight came a steam-launch full of officers and marines came out from behind the cliff that hid the fleet and harbour and advanced toward us. All the men on board were looking curiously in our direction. They did not see us. Seeing that someone of rank must be on board, I waited till the launch was quite close, and hailed her. My voice produced the utmost consternation on board. Everyone sprang up. The marines now crowded to the bow, and the launch engines were reversed. She not only stopped, but she backed off until nearly a quarter of a mile away where she stayed. The marines stood ready to fire at the word of command when we clambered out from under the float. There were ten of the marines, and they would have fired in a minute had they not been restrained. I swam towards the launch, and then she started towards me. I called out in Spanish, is there an officer on board? An officer answered in the affirmative, and then I shouted in Spanish again, I have seven men to surrender. I continued swimming, and was seized and pulled out of the water. As I looked up when they were dragging me into the launch, I saw that it was Admiral Cervera himself who had hold of me. He looked at me rather dubiously at first, because I had been down in the engine room of the Merrimack, where I got covered with oil, and that, with the soot and cold dust, made my appearance most disreputable. I had put on my officer's belt before sinking the Merrimack as a means of identification, no matter what happened to me, and when I pointed to it in the launch, the Admiral understood and seemed satisfied. The first words he said to me when he understood who I was were, bien venita seos did, which means you are welcome. My treatment by the naval officers and that of my men also was courteous all the time I was a prisoner. They heard my story as much of it as I could tell, but sought to learn nothing more. Sharks? No, I did not have time to think of them that night, was Hobson's reply to a question. We saw a great many things, though, and went through a great many experiences. When we started out from the fleet, I tied to my belt a flask of medicated water supplied to me by my ship's surgeon. The frequency with which we all felt thirsty on the short run into the passage and the dryness of my mouth and lips made me believe that I was frightened. The men felt the same, and all the way the flask went from hand to hand. Once I felt my pulse to see if I was frightened, but to my surprise I found it normal. Later we forgot all about it, and when we got into the water there was no need for the flask. The remainder of this stirring adventure must be told more briefly. The prisoners were taken ashore and locked up in a cell in Morro Castle. Meanwhile there was much anxiety on the fleet as to their fate, but this was relieved by the generous conduct of the Spanish Admiral, who sent his chief of staff out the next morning under a flag of truce, to report their safety and to make an offer for their exchange. Cervera's message was highly complimentary. It ran, Admiral Cervera, the commander of the Spanish fleet, is most profoundly impressed with the brilliant courage shown by the men who sank the seamer Merrimack in our harbor, and in admiration of their courage he has directed me to say to their countrymen that they are alive, and with the exception of two of the men who were slightly hurt, they are uninjured. They are now prisoners of war and are being well cared for, and will be treated with every consideration. Cervera kept his word, though the captives found themselves in different hands later, when they were turned over to General Linares, commander of the troops in San Diego. They remained in captivity about five weeks, being exchanged on July 7, when a Spanish lieutenant and fourteen privates were offered an exchange for Hobson and his Gallant Seven. The story of their return to the American ranks is an exhilarating one. As the brave eight passed up the trail leading to the American lines through the avenue of palms that boarded the road, the soldiers stood in reverent silence, bearing their heads as the band struck up the star-spangled banner. But as Hobson and his men swung onward, cheers and a roar of welcome broke the silence, while a cowboy yell came from the rough riders. Breaking from all restraint the men rushed in, eagerly grasping the hands of Hobson and his men. All the way to Sybony the cheers and excitement continued, and when Hobson set foot on the deck of the New York, the crew grew wild with enthusiasm, while Admiral Sampson embraced him in the warmth of his greeting. As for his comrades, they were fairly swallowed up in the delirious delight of the men. Thus ended one of the most gallant deeds of that short war. It must be said, however, that skillfully as it had been managed, the effort to close the port proved a failure. Though the sunken ship closed part of the channel, there was room enough to pass beside her, this being strikingly proved on the morning of July 3rd, when the squadron which Hobson had sought to bottle up came steaming down the channel past the sunken Meramec, and put out to sea, where it started on a wild fight for freedom. The result of this venture does not need to be retold, and it must suffice to say that a few hours later all the Spanish ships were shell-riddled wrecks on the Cuban shore, and Cervera and all who survived of his men were prisoners in American hands. But the Admiral was as much of a hero as a captive, for his captors could not soon forget his generous treatment of Hobson and his men.