Sagua la Grande
Referring again to the diary I find the following record:
Sagua la Grande and Cienfuegos yet remain within our limits to be reached at once. We have not a day to lose, and again leave at six o’clock for Sagua la Grande. This means the usual morning ride in the dark, the ferry and the beautiful opening of the day speeding on through a strange land of waste and desolation. Our same company assembled, and as we neared Sagua we were met by our friend, Consul Barker, and later on the mayor, Senor Machado. Carriages were taken and inspection made of the reconcentrados, their condition and needs, the land, etc. While there is evidently great want here, there is still an atmosphere of care and effort on the part of the best people and the officials which fills one with an earnest desire to help them on. The best place possible for the poor had been provided by the mayor, and as he passed among them, pointing out to us especial cases and conditions, their eyes followed him with a look of grateful devotion. While sympathizing with all, his deepest care seemed to be for the young girls; to find some occupation for them, and some protection. The plan most feasible to him was the starting of a cigarette factory where the hundreds might be employed, with suitable time for instruction, earn their living, and be kept out of danger. I am glad to know that he is partially succeeding in this, and also that he had, and I think still has, the earnest co-operation of our good consul at Sagua, Mr. Barker.
The day had been very fully occupied, and we must remain until morning to witness the operation of the kitchens established by the consul and the mayor, where the poor are fed with well-cooked rice, beans and such vegetables as can be obtained.
These people are desperately poor, and need all the help that can be given them, and yet they are not in the condition of the people of Matanzas. Their doctors are caring for the sick, and the ladies of the town giving every assistance in their power. The mayor again reverts to his great interest in the young girls; “Here is the greatest danger of all. Can you not help me out with this?” His earnestness made such an impression upon me that I finally asked if he had young daughters of his own. He hesitated a moment, and then with a look of confidence, as if he were about to entrust a secret to me, he replied: “We have an adopted daughter, who is very, very dear to us. She is the sister of Miss Cisneros, but does not know it, and we have not the courage to tell her. She is some fourteen or fifteen years of age, has read everything regarding Miss Cisneros, and admires her intensely, but never mistrusts the relationship.” “Will you not tell her?” I asked. “Oh yes; some day,” he replied, “and it must be before long; but the relationships are so sweet that my wife and I both dread to break them. Of course, some day we must tell her, but we put it off as long as we can.” He then explained that the father had been an active patriot and fell under political censure; in his imprisonment the family was broken up, and this little girl, then a mere babe, had been adopted by the mayor and his wife, who were intimate friends of the family. I hope I have not betrayed a trust; but there was a little touch of romance in this—something so sweet and paternal in the relationship—and something altogether so interesting in the thought of this bright young girl reading and admiring the courage and successful exploits of her own sister, without ever dreaming that it was anything to her—it seems really too good a point to keep dark. I trust that the good mayor, if he ever learns that I have betrayed his trust, will forgive me.