The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1895-10-16
A Breath from a Cuban Battlefield.

Helene NJ. Bowen, in Chicago Tribune.
"Madre de Dios! 1t is hard to die so slow
ly when life is young"
With the intensity of a tropical noon the
sun seemed to expend it's entire force of
terrible heat upon the unsheltered spot
where lay the lead of the Cuban battle
field. The soldiers had rushed on as best
they could after the wary, scattering body
of insurgents"
The black. hook-billed ;udios already were
circling above the forms Of the victims
which this encounter had furnished tnem.
1t would be hours yet before the darkness
would fall mercifully upon the putrid re.
mains of what had been men at the rising
of the sun.
The wide, tortured eyes of a boy stared
fearfully upward to the blazing zenith. past
the voracious birds which seemed watching
his sufferings with calculating vision. He
thought with sick brain of the vine-clad
hills of Spain-the running streams-the lit
tie home-the mother. Tears welled up into
his scorched orbs. He felt the hot drops
creep down his cheeks. He did not try to
wipe them ~away-what matter? The dead
could not see. The mother never would
know that he had fought as valfantly as a
Spaniard can, and was dying as nobly as
he knew how. Dying-for what? For these
wretched Cubans. With what little energy
he had left he reached out and thrust his
foot savagely against the PROSTATE form of
one of those whom he had been sent from
Spain to conquer. He knew nothing of
their grievances. He had heard nothing of
their wrongs. He had been drafted to as
sist his country in retaining forcible pos
session of her treasure island. That was all.
The man whom he had thought dead
stirred with the vigor of the kick His eyes
opened. They held not the staring horror
of those from whom life has fed
"Que quiere w" the Cuban questioned
family.
"Aguar' answered the spaniard. sur
prised.
'can you use your hands?' inquired the
Cuban.
1.-The right one"
s'Try to reach my belt-on the other side.
You will find my-cantina-"
The Spanish boy managed, with groans he
could not stif1e. to drag himself far enough
to do as the Cuban suggested. He extracted
the canteen from the mans belt before he
discovered that the Cuban's arm was shot
off.
"Dios mior' he cried. "You are bleeding
to death!'
at is true" assented the Cuban calmly.
You are horribly mangled, senor!" the
boy said pitifully, forgetting his own suffer-
ings.
Eyes. butt is for Cubav' the man MUIR
INJURED.
And YOU have made no complaint! 1
thought that you were dead"
Il shall be SOON" A smile touched the
Cuban's features.
santa Mariar' The boy looked wonder
ingly into the mans pain-drawn face. Are
YOU one of those ] hit when / shot from
behind that barricade of dead bodies?'
1T may be so,'' sighed the man weakly.
what difference? A Spanish bullet is a
Spanish bullet. Each of us fought for what
he thought right. You are only a boy. Spain
does i'll to send such as you against u.s."
The boy. shook the canteen. The sound Of
it's contents against the side Of the tin made
him frantic. He lifted it to his lips. but be-
fore the moisture had touched his parched
mouth he jerked the vessel away with
heroic effort. He bent and pressed IL to the
mouth of the man who generously had re-
linquished the precious possession to him
"prink!S he ordered.
The dying man allowed some of the price
moye tia his head se Ito to one side. 'p' '"e" ne
ut is too valuable TO waste on me-" he
said, closing his eyes. II shall soon be
gone; but you-you are not badly
wounded; you will live"
81 am dying now, senor." The boy tried
to say it bravely, but there was a break in
his voice.
Turn on your face" advised the Cuban.
at is easier-to breathe with the face to
the earth, and-you cannot see the-judios."
The lad turned himself partially over.
Bravo, You will live TO be-rescued."
the Cuban.
"Rescued?' the Spaniard echoed. "They
never will come back for us poor devils,
The dead are left on the field"
by the SpaEiards-yesi" assented the
man.. with a scorn none the less potent be-
cause it was uttered with weakening
breath. But we are more merciful."
Think you that ! would let the insur-
gents take me alive ?" demanded the Span
lard. i would use your machete frst.' 7
The Cuban .reopened his eyes.
Have you come over here TO light us be-
cause of your love for Spain; or-are you
paid for comingT" he asked significantly.
The young Spaniard hesitated. His keen
memory recalled with unpleasant distinc-
ness the many promises that had been
made him and his ,omrades-promiscs
that had met no fulfllnlent. In that mo-
ment he relived all that Fad passed through
since leaving the dear mother country full
of enthusiasm and tire determination of
the Cubans; and, though he would not con-
fess IL, he knew that all that Spain had
given him in return for his life was-de-
ceit.
You have not been paid" pronounced
the Cuban slowly. You never will be paid.
When Cuba wins this war-as win she will