Matanzas
Among the welcome, notable persons who from time to time visited us, led by their interest in the great suffering reported through the press, were Senator Redfield Proctor and his friend, Hon. M.M. Parker, of Washington, D.C. They had come imbued with the desire, not only to see the condition of the island and the people, but to try to find as well, what could be done for them,—to gain some practical knowledge which could be used for their benefit. There seemed to be no more certain way of their gaining this information than by inviting them to accompany us on the various tours of investigation which we would be now able to make outside of Havana. Reports of great suffering had come from Matanzas, and it was decided that that should be our next point of inspection. The once-a-day run of the trains made early rising a necessity; and half-past four in the morning, dark and chilly, found us on the way to the train for Matanzas. Our own small party was joined at the ferry by our Washington friends, and together, as the train speeded on, we watched the gorgeous sunrise spread itself over these strangely deserted lands.
Matanzas has some fifty thousand of its own inhabitants, greatly increased by the reconcentrado element, which had gathered there to exist hopelessly in enforced idleness for nearly two years.
It is needless to say that all the diseases incident to exposure, physical want and mental woe, from gaunt, lingering hunger down to actual starvation and death, had developed among them. For some reason—possibly a sense of pity—our consul seemed to dread to show us their worst, which were evidently their hospitals, and hesitatingly led the way to other centres of the town. But there was no hesitancy on the part of the governor, Senor Francisco de Armas—a royal Cuban and a new appointee of Captain-General Blanco—with warm heart and polished manner, in welcoming us to his elegant mansion, and in bringing his wife, his mother and sister, to assist in receiving and to bid us welcome to all they had to offer or that we could desire. The half-hour’s seance in that polished marble salon, with its spacious elegance, the deep feelings of the governor, the still deeper sympathy of the ladies, whose daily time is given to the poor sufferers around them, was a scene not to be forgotten. In all that was said, not a word of crimination, nor a disrespectful allusion to any person, or nation, or government; but the glistening eyes and trembling lips when the word Americano was spoken, told how deep a root the course of our people had taken in the thrice harrowed soil of these poor broken hearts.
But the worst must be seen, and as we drove out of the town we halted for a short call at the municipal hospital, generally attended by sisters of charity, scantily provided it is true, but well cared for; a little is paid per week, either by, or, for each patient in this institution, which helps to keep up the general fund. Our welcome by the sisters was most cordial, and we were grateful for every faint smile that passed over each pallid face. A mile further on we came to the four hospitals where nothing was paid, and apparently nothing had. There were between one hundred and two hundred men, women and children, in all stages of hunger and disease. There were empty beds for as many more that could have been thrice filled from the huts outside; but the hospital authorities feared to take more in, lest they die through their inability to feed them. It is not my purpose to detail woe, nor picture horrors; I leave that to others, if more of it must be had; let my few words tell how they were met and how the comfort that could be given, was given, or at least attempted.
The purses and the pockets of our entire party were emptied, and as the cold, thin fingers closed feebly over the coin so strange to the touch, the murmured prayer for America fell from every lip. Our visit had been one of inspection, returning to Havana by the afternoon train.
The hospital committee and surgeons had been organized to work under our charge, and begging that one of our Red Cross men be temporarily assigned to them for their distribution, we turned our steps toward Havana, with a thankfulness unspoken in our hearts for the great head of our country who had asked for this food, the great-hearted people who had given it, and the efficient and tireless committee which had organized and sent it.
The train of next day took out supplies of cereal foods, condensed milk, malted milk, meal, rice, flour, crackers, meat, fish, farina, tomatoes, canned vegetables and fruits—more than enough to hold those four hospitals comfortable till the promised shipment by the “Bergen” from New York, direct to Matanzas, should arrive.
It was from information gathered by the party on this trip that Senator Proctor afterward made his speech in the U.S. Senate upon the condition of the reconcentrados.
[From a speech by Senator Redfield Proctor, of Vermont, in the U.S. Senate, March 17, 1898.]
There are six provinces in Cuba, each, with the exception of Matanzas, extending the whole width of the island, and having about an equal sea front on the north and south borders. Matanzas touches the Caribbean Sea only at its southwest corner, being separated from it elsewhere by a narrow peninsula of Santa Clara Province. The provinces are named, beginning at the west, Pinar del Rio, Havana, Matanzas, Santa Clara, Puerto Principe and Santiago de Cuba.
My observations were confined to the four western provinces, which constitute about one-half the island. The two eastern ones are practically in the hands of the insurgents, except a few fortified towns. These two large provinces are spoken of to-day as “Cuba Libre.”
Havana, the great city and capital of the island, is, in the eyes of the Spaniards and many Cubans, all Cuba, as much as Paris in France. But having visited it in more peaceful times and seen its sights, the tomb of Columbus, the forts of Cabanas and Morro Castle, etc., I did not care to repeat this, preferring trips in the country.
Everything seems to go on much as usual in Havana. Quiet prevails and except for the frequent squads of soldiers marching to guard and police duty and their abounding presence in all public places, one sees little signs of war.
Outside Havana all is changed. It is not peace, nor is it war. It is desolation and distress, misery and starvation.
Every town and village is surrounded by a trocha (trench) a sort of rifle pit, but constructed on a plan new to me, the dirt being thrown up on the inside and a barbed wire fence on the outer side of the trench.
These trochas have at every corner, and at frequent intervals along the sides, what are there called forts, but which are really small block-houses, many of them more like a large sentry box, loop-holed for musketry, and with a guard of from two to ten soldiers in each. The purpose of these trochas is to keep reconcentrados in as well as to keep the insurgents out.
From all the surrounding country the people have been driven into these fortified towns and held there to subsist as they can. They are virtually prison yards and not unlike one in general appearance, except that the walls are not so high and strong, but they suffice, where every point is in range of a soldier’s rifle, to keep in the poor reconcentrado women and children.
Every railroad station is within one of these trochas and has an armed guard. Every train has an armored freight car, loop-holed for musketry, and filled with soldiers and with, as I observed usually, and was informed is always the case, a pilot engine a mile or so in advance. There are frequent block-houses enclosed by a trocha and with a guard along the railroad track. With this exception there is no human life or habitation between these fortified towns and villages throughout the whole of the four western provinces, except to a very limited extent among the hills, where the Spaniards have not been able to go and drive the people to the towns and burn their dwellings.
I saw no house or hut in the 400 miles of railroad rides from Pinar del Rio Province in the west across the full width of Havana and Matanzas Provinces, and to Sagua La Grando on the north shore and to Cienfuegos on the south shore of Santa Clara, except within the Spanish trochas. There are no domestic animals or crops on the rich fields and pastures except such as are under guard in the immediate vicinity of the towns.
In other words, the Spaniards hold in these four western provinces just what their army sits on.
Every man, woman and child and every domestic animal, wherever their columns have reached, is under guard and within their so-called fortifications. To describe one place is to describe all.
To repeat, it is neither peace nor war.
It is concentration and desolation. This is the “pacified” condition of the four western provinces.
All the country people in the four western provinces, about 400,000 in number, remaining outside the fortified towns when Weyler’s order was made, were driven into these towns, and these are the reconcentrados. They were the peasantry, many of them farmers, some land-owners, others renting lands and owning more or less stock, others working on estates and cultivating small patches, and even a small patch in that fruitful clime will support a family.
It is but fair to say that the normal condition of these people was very different from that which prevails in this country. Their standard of comfort and prosperity was not high, measured by our own, but according to their standards and requirements, their conditions of life were satisfactory.
They lived mostly in cabins made of palm or in wooden houses. Some of them had houses of stone, the blackened walls of which are all that remains to show that the country was ever inhabited.
The first clause of Weyler’s order reads as follows:
“I order and command:
“First—All the inhabitants of the country now outside of the line of fortifications of the towns shall within the period of eight days concentrate themselves in the town so occupied by the troops. Any individual who after the expiration of this period is found in the uninhabited parts will be considered a rebel and tried as such.”
The other three sections forbid the transportation of provisions from one town to another without permission of the military authority, direct the owners of cattle to bring them into the towns, prescribe that the eight days shall be counted from the publication of the proclamation to the head town of the municipal districts, and state that if news is furnished of the enemy which can be made use of it will serve as a “recommendation.”
Many doubtless did not learn of this order. Others failed to grasp its terrible meaning. Its execution was left largely to the guerillas to drive in all that had not obeyed, and I was informed that in many cases a torch was applied to their homes with no notice, and the inmates fled with such clothing as they might have on, their stock and their belongings being appropriated by the guerillas.
When they reached the town they were allowed to build huts of palm leaves in the suburbs and vacant places within the trochas, and were left to live if they could. Their huts are about ten by fifteen feet in size, and for want of space are usually crowded together very closely. They have no floor but the ground, and no furniture, and after a year’s wear but little clothing, except such stray substitutes as they can extemporize.
With large families or with more than one in this little space, the commonest sanitary provisions are impossible. Conditions are unmentionable in this respect.
Torn from their homes, with foul earth, foul air, foul water and foul food, or none, what wonder that one-half have died and that one-quarter of the living are so diseased that they cannot be saved.
A form of dropsy is a common disorder resulting from these conditions. Little children are still walking about with arms and chests terribly emaciated, eyes swollen and abdomen bloated to three times the natural size. The physicians say these cases are hopeless.
Deaths in the streets have not been uncommon. I was told by one of our consuls that people have been found dead about the markets in the morning where they had crawled hoping to get some stray bits of food from the early hucksters, and that there had been cases where they had dropped dead inside the market, surrounded by food.
These people were independent and self-supporting before Weyler’s order. They are not beggars even now. There are plenty of professional beggars in every town among the regular residents, but these country people, the reconcentrados, have not learned the art. Rarely is a hand held out to you for alms when going among their huts, but the sight of them makes an appeal stronger than words.
The hospitals—of these I need not speak; others have described their condition far better than I can.
It is not within the narrow limits of my vocabulary to portray it. I went to Cuba with a strong conviction that the picture had been overdrawn; that a few cases of starvation and suffering had inspired and stimulated the press correspondents, and that they had given free play to a strong, natural and highly cultivated imagination.
I could not believe that out of a population of one million six hundred thousand, 200,000 had died within these Spanish forts, practically prison walls, within a few months past, from actual starvation and disease caused by insufficient and improper food.
My inquiries were entirely outside of sensational sources. They were made by our medical officers, of our consuls, of city alcaldes (mayors), of relief committees, of leading merchants and bankers, physicians and lawyers. Several of my informants were Spanish born, but every time came the answer that the case had not been overstated.
What I saw I cannot tell so that others can see it. It must be seen with one’s own eyes to be realized.
The Los Fosos Hospital, in Havana, has been recently described by one of my colleagues, Senator Gallinger, and I cannot say that his picture was overdrawn, for even his fertile pen could not do more. He visited it after Dr. Lesser, one of Miss Barton’s very able and efficient assistants, had renovated it and put in cots.
I saw it when 400 women and children were lying on the stone floors in an indescribable state of emaciation and disease, many with the scantiest covering of rags, and such rags! and sick children, naked as they came into the world. And the conditions in the other cities are even worse.
Miss Barton and her work need no indorsement from me. I had known and esteemed her for many years, but had not half appreciated her capability and devotion to her work. I especially looked into her business methods, fearing there would be the greatest danger of mistake, that there might be want of system, waste and extravagance, but found she could teach me on these points.
In short, I saw nothing to criticise, but everything to commend. The American people may be assured that the bounty will reach the sufferers with the least possible cost and in the best manner, in every respect.
And if our people could see a small fraction of the need, they would pour more “freely from their liberal store” than ever before for any cause.
When will the need for this help end? Not until peace comes and the reconcentrados can go back to their country, rebuild their homes, reclaim their tillage plots, which quickly run up to brush in that wonderful soil and clime, and until they can be free from danger of molestation in so doing.
Until then the American people must in the main care for them. It is true that the alcaldes, other authorities and relief committees are now trying to do something, and desire, I believe, to do the best they can. But the problem is beyond their means and capacity and the work is one to which they are not accustomed.
General Blanco’s order of November 13 last somewhat modifies the Weyler order, but it is of little or no practical benefit. Its application is limited to farms “properly defended,” and the owners are obliged to build “centres of defense.”