The Prince George's enquirer and southern Maryland advertiser. (Upper Marlborough, Md.) 1882-1925, 1897-01-15


the thought.
This is what you get for interfering
in other peoples troubles-yellow fe-
yer, risk Of drowning, wound when
the troops storm the trenches, and now
l-ugh-a white wall and a firing par
ty," he muttered half aloud; and La
Costa, who was proud ofhis knowledge
of English-or rather American-an-
swered:
"Ah! my frent, it is the fortune of
war-all the same in fifty year-and
We die in good cause
Even then Marshall could not but
admire the soldierly grace of his com
panion, as the latter flung his arms
above his head, showing his broad chest
and long straight limbs-a fine type of
the old Spanish blood, the American
thought; and he tried to smile in reply.
But it was an unsatisfactory ghost
of smile, for the journalist had no de-
sire to die just then-in good cause,
or otherwise. Besides, having seen the
Spanish troops, mostly poor hill peas
ants, torn from their homes by a ruth
less conscription, dying like flies in
pestilential swamps, and dropping out
of the ranks in scores on every scorch-
ing march to die by the waysidc, yet
bearing starvation and sickness with
heroic fortitude, he was by no means
so sure as he was in the beginning that
the revolutionary party monopolized
the virtues of courage and endurance.
Neither was he so absolutely convinced
of the goodness Of the cause. After
all, he thought, La Costa was right; it
would be all the same in fifty years,
"ready. present. fire." wcll-directcd
volley, the sting of bullet-and after
wards darkness and oblivion. Then
the fear came that it might not be II
welldirected volley; for he had seen
some ghastly sights that campaign;
men, half slain by the bungling aim of
recruit battalions. done to death by rifle
butt or bayonet thrust. Anyway,
there was no escape now; he must
make the best of it, and, if the insur-
gent could take things philosophically,
he would too. Presently the Cuban
also approached the window and, point
ing to distant hillside where tall
palms rose clearly against the morning
blue, observed:
"There are our friends, the Marti-
nez column. 1t is not far, and yet they
do not know-and to-day we die. Ay
de mil"
After this came silence, and, for what
seemed hours, the American sat with
his head in his hands, until there was
4 hammering ut the door, and a Span
ish soldier stood at the threshold. beck
oning with his finger. Their time had
come; and, pulling himself together,
Marshall stepped out into the glare of
tropic sunlight.
Il Half a company of Cazadores Cana
rios, conscripts from the volcanic rocks
of Teneritfe and Grand Canary march
ed in front with fixed bayonets, and
half a company followed behind the
nickel buttons of their dull green uni
forms and the brass medallions on their
clumsy kepis glinting in the sun.
When they reached the little town,
the narrow streets lay baking in fer
vent heat. A cloud of hot dust, stirred
up by the tread Of marching feet, pow
dered the Cazadores. turning their
green to gray; and every fat azotea
roof and narrow sidewalk was crowded
with Whitehead citizens, all revolution
aries at heart, who scowled at the
Spanish troops from beneath their
broad-brimmed hats.
, The sunlight flashed back from slip
perry stones and white walls, and Mar
shall pushed his battered straw hat
down on his forehead to shut out the
| dazzling brightness and the eager gaze
of the crowd; but La Costa drew his
crimson sash tighter round his ragged
garments, and swung his costly Pana-
ma to the ground. as low murmur of
sympathy and pity rose from the spec
: tators, while the eyes of the women
grew dim, and many swarthy Cuban
: fe a choking in his throat.
l Then the murmur changed into a
: fierce growl Of hate and defiance, and
1 the crowd pressed forward. their hands
upon the hafts of their long knives.
\ hoarse voice raised the cry 'Viva
, la Cuba! Viva Ia Costa! Viva los
Americanos!" and it echoed from man
| to man down all the winding street,
| until the listless air seemed full of the
sound; but the front rank of the GAIA
| dores swung their bayonets to the
charge, and the march went on.
Steadily the line OF bright bayonets
and dull green uniforms pressed on be-
tween rows of stern faces and pitying
: eyes, past gardens filled with fragrant
flowers, and booths piled high with
luscious fruit. At last, in front of the
alcade's house, where the Spanish flag
hung in dropping folds of blood and
gold, a creaking mule cart numbered
across the way, and the perspiring
troops halted to let it pass.
Then, with Spanish courtesy, the